Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Rocking The Vote

Election day is almost here or, as my 4th grade social studies teacher, Ms. Chang, used to say "erection day is here." We got a hell of a kick out of that. The only other lesson that garnered equivalent laughs was the one that involved mass starbation in some african countries.

Anyway, in a matter of days we will vote for a new president and then, finally, the papers will go back to writing about news and they will stop printing crap about the cost of wardrobes, who is friends with terrorists, who is old and out of touch and who is or is not qualified to run the country.

I have learned a new level of insanity when I watched the conventions and when I watch these jackasses talk. The ardent followers of the either side scare me. You see these conventions and the rallies they attend and all I can think of is some crazy college football fans or, for my foreign reader(s), those football hooligans that bite off ears and tear down stadium seating. Seriously, these folks are nuts. Some of the smartest people I know are slowly finding themselves in my mental filing sytem, under "fucking nuts."

I've got clients that are working for both camps. The truth is, the folks backing the dems are a bit more sane. They have, basically, taken a stance that their guy is better, they have their reasons, and that is what they talk about. The folks from the republican camp, perhaps as a result of their thinking their side is in more dire straits, have taken to repeating the same bullshit stories that come from unnamed sources, blogs and emails. One of the smartest people I know sent me an email that contained a letter sent to Obama. My response was very simple. I'm not reading it because I highly doubt someone sent a letter and then sent a copy of it to the republican party to distribute to anyone and everyone they could. Same thing with the stories about McCain that I've seen. In the case of the McCain crap, the letters and emails have all been prefaced with "this can't be true."

At least they're admitting the bullshit meter is screaming red alert.

So, here's what I've learned about the candidates so far. One is black, one is white. One wants to raise my taxes, one doesn't, one wants to continue fighting in iraq, one doesn't, one has a big mouth, moron running mate, one has a big mouth moron running mate. One is lacking in experience, one is going to die and leave someone lacking in experience in the seat of power.

You know what? I have no experience either. Might as well write in Floogin McNoogin when you cast your vote. I'm serious. I am not going to promise anything. Why bother? I can't say if higher or lower taxes will help. I don't know if we can simply pull the troops out of Iraq. I don't know if bombing Iran is going to stop them. I don't know the names of most of the world leaders and I don't give a shit about them. The country needs the next administration to focus their efforts at home. Fuck the rest of the world. It seems that when we thrive, everyone thrives and, as is evident in the current global meltdown, when we suffer, everyone suffers so why focus on anything outside of our borders. Fix our own shit and the rest of the world will see their shit fixed by proxy. The key is that I won't promise to do anything beyond trying to do my best.

Last night my son watched a peanuts! doubleheader on tv. The Great Pumpkin and You're Not Elected. The reason for the back to back of these episodes is that the first one sets up Linus' fixation on the great pumkpin and in the second show, he almost blows the election by talking about the great pumpkin. He manages to get elected anyway and at the end, Sally makes him march into the principal's office to start working on his campaign promises. He exits the principal's office, sweaty and nervous, and announces that the principal told him to go ahead and do what he wanted but to run everything by him first, basically stifling Linus' voice of the people.

Sally walks away lamenting that he sold out, he's just like the rest, all promise, no punch.

Do we really think this round will differ from any other? Will Obama really do everything he promises to do? Will McCain?

The answer is a resounding no. The only real chance for either of them to come thru with their promises is with Obama because a win by him will give the Democrats control over all three divisions of the government. This is not, exactly, a good thing. I'm not saying you should vote for McCain, just pointing out that have the dems run everything might mean little or no resistance in getting everything they want passed thru all levels of the government. A scary thought.

Not as scary as having to look at McCain's shave monkey paw hands for 4 years and certainly not as scary as having to watch Sarah Palin announce that effective today, she has taken control of the white house and she wants to remind everyone that she is "totally prepared for this since she once subbed for the Akutan junior hockey league coach when he was recovering from the ice fishing incident."

Either way, we're fucked so vote for Floogin on Tuesday and go to bed at night knowing that I won't break any promises because I didn't make any.

I'll close this pointless posting with a quote from Plato as I think really covers the political process.

"Those who are too smart to engage in politics are punished by being governed by those who are dumber"

Friday, October 24, 2008

McNoogin McFishery and Other McRandomness

Ok, I've set up the ability to follow my blog. I did this to see if any of my readers care enough to come back for seconds. So far, the answer is no. No worries, I'm sure you're like me, you read it, have a chuckle and never come back again. You ungrateful bastards. You don't comment to tell me how brilliant I am or what a miserable piece of shit I am. The least you could do is click the fucking ads and sign up to follow me so I can laugh at you for following me.

I took my son to school the other day and the head teacher came over to say hello to me. She told me she adores my boy, how he's got an unbelievable sense of humor for a 3 year old (I heard the same thing about my daughter when she was 3) and how he is the sweetest, kindest kid. I had to confirm that we were talking about my son, the one who told the sales girl at the costume shop that he can't get a sword because "I hit my sister with the last one and my dad had to throw it away." Seems my son is an angel in public. I guess that's a good thing.

Anyway, the teacher then goes on to tell me that they've been learning about elections and they will be holding a class election at the end of the week (yesterday actually) so the class can vote on the name of the class fish. I asked them what the choices were and she said "Ariel and Nemo." She then said "your son was really excited about this and he tried really hard to get everyone to vote for his choice." And what was his choice? Floogin McNoogin! The assistant teachers, upon hearing our conversation, all chimed in, telling me they all loved the name and thought it was hysterical but, sadly, they can only pick the two most nominated names for the voting process. The end result was that Ariel won because the class is two thirds girls. When my son told me that Ariel won, I asked him who he voted for and he said "Floogin." I said that I thought he could only vote for Ariel or Nemo and he said "yes but I didn't like those choices so I added my own choice." Gotta love the kid for not accepting the limitations on fish naming. On the flip side, I'm not too thrilled with the boy wanting to name a fish that will die in a week after dear old dad.
As I wrote this the market continued on its downward spiral so, again, click the god damned links and have a great weekend.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Coaster Engineering Hell

Let's talk about the coaster construction kit I bought for Floogin Junior (not his real name). He likes to put shit together and then break it. Sounds like most 3 year olds, right? So, Jr, convinces me to buy the previously mentioned roller coaster construction kit. This thing is for 7 or 9 year olds and has like 1200 pieces. It's a fucking monstrousity. Close to 6 feet tall when finished, it is about as close to a real coaster in the livingroom as you're gonna get unless your name is Disney.

So, Sunday evening we pop open the box and scope out the pieces. All different colors and shapes and sizes and way above my pay grade. I can do this. It's for the boy. He's so psyched. Look at him, he's, what the fuck, he's playing with the bags holding all the pieces? He's gonna lose them. I explain to my son that we need to keep the pieces in the bags they came in. I told him I will pull out the pieces needed for each section and he will be in charge of them. He'll give them to me when I need them and he will help put them together. He says "ok daddy" and then he gets up and runs away. Shit. That's what I wanted to do when I saw the innards of this box. Smart kid.

I pull out the 19 pound tome marked "instructions" and open to the first page. Suddenly, I hear this cluttering clackety racket as Junior comes running back over. He's wearing his bob the builder hat, bob the builder tool belt and he's got all the tools in place and a few extra tools in his hands. "I'm ready daddy."

I'm near tears. This is the cutest thing I've ever seen. I wish the wife was around to witness it because in a matter of minutes, the boy will be heartbroken and distraught over his old man's inability to actually put this thing together.

Still, I soldier on. Page one of this book has a picture of the finished product. It's huge. I have no idea where we're going to put it. I have no idea where we'll store it while it is under construction. I'm sure I will be repairing the broken sections each night after junior and his destructive friend Zachary (his real name) rip it to shreds. Back to page one.

A nice picute of the coaster adorns the first page. The second page has a picture of all the parts spread out with a number next to each part. This is the number of each piece in the box. There's a small box in the lower left hand corner of the page that says "count all pieces and call K'Nex if any are missing."

Yeah, ok, I'm going to sit here and count out the 21,000 pieces while my son, in full handy man garb, patiently waits.

I open the bags for the pieces we need, take out the individual pieces that are needed for the first section, hand them to Junior and explain what, exactly, we will be doing.

"Junior, hand me the red sticks."
"Dad, I don't know my colors"
"They're the only sticks in front of you."
"OK daddy. These?" he asks as he hands me his toy hammer.
BONK BONK BONK goes the hammer
"No, these" I say as I pick up the sticks.
Slowly but surely I get the first section done. I look over at my son and he has taken all the track out of the box and is laying it all over the apartment.
"Don't do that. The track is the last part"
"Dad, it takes a long time to make a roller coaster. Can I watch tv?"
So it goes for 3 nights. He starts out all dressed and ready for construction and he gets bored after 3 minutes. Still, I build. I'm following the directions, piecing the plastic bits together and from nothing rises a tower. Then there are long extensions on either end. My wife is furious that this immense sculpture is in the living room during the night time and in our bedroom, safely tucked away from Zachary and his destructive hands, during the day.

For three days and nights the coaster cosumes me. I carry the instructions with me wherever I go. Partly to read up on the next sections, party because I figure it's a good workout carrying this giant fucking weight around.

Every morning and every night, I get the same question. "Daddy, can we put the track on now?"

Every morning and every night I say "soon, buddy, soon."

I see coasters in my sleep. I am forever building towers, higher and higher, never an end in sight. Until now.

Last night, around 1:30, I'm sitting in the living room, my knees and ankles aching from sitting on the floor and I am one step away from installing the motor. Once the motor goes in, it's TRACK TIME BABY!!

I can't wait to tell the boy we can put the track on. I can't wait to stop dreaming of coasters. I can't wait to get back to normal things, like eating and sleeping.

I'm so excited over the prospect of finishing this thing that I find a baguette has developed in my shorts. Ok, I had skinemax on but I was excited.

I need to put the hinges here, get those bent clip things, slide 5 spacers on a red stick and then a wheel thing and then another 5 spacers and, wait, where the fuck are the red sticks. Shit. They must be buried in the box. Let me do the other part first. I need two purple sticks, those green button like things and 5 yellow elbows. Ok, great. Got it got it got it got need it need it got it got it got where the fuck are the purple sticks.

Ok, I'm stuck. I empty the contents of the box. I emtpy each bag. I am missing the red and purple sticks.

FUCK

Step one - count the pieces.

I didn't bother.

Now I'm fucked

I have a 5 foot tall frame, a 1 and a half foot tall motor housing extension, several feet of track and nothing else.

I go online and learn that K'Nex is famous for shortchanging you on the pieces. Seems there are plenty of complaints about the coaster. Not as fast as the video on the site, rickety, missing pieces etc. So what? If I can build it, my son will love it right up to the point he tears it apart. Then he'll make me build the other suggested coaster. I'm fine with that but I can't do shit without the missing pieces.

I search the internet and learn that, not only are they notorious for not including all the pieces, you need to buy the missing pieces. That seems a bit ridiculous.

So, I wake up this morning, count the remaining pieces, make sure that when I call the company, I am armed with the exact number of missing parts. Then I add a few extra, just to be sure.

I spend the morning taking my son to school and chaperoning my daughter's class to see Teddy Roosevelt's birth place. My ankle, which I sprained in a previously discussed vomit slide, is not sprained. I must have broken or torn something. Dancing on it with the kids didn't help. It's burning with pain. I walk a half mile with the kids, up and down three flights of stairs, a half mile back to school and then a half mile to my office. My ankle is killing me. I swallow the pain, turn it to anger. Why? So I can unleash the tirade of all tirades when the idiots at K'Nex tell me I need to pay for my missing pieces.

I dial the 800 number, hit the 46 different options and get someone on the phone.

"Listen, I bought this serpent coaster thing and I'm missing pieces and I can't build the fucking thing and my son is going crazy and how the fuck can you sell incomplete shit and expect people to be happy with your products and I have a blog that reaches hundreds of thousands of people (a bit of an overstatement) a month and I will spend the rest of my days talking about how you guys sell shitty incomplete toys and .."
"Sir, if you'd just calm down, give me your name, address and the missing pieces, we'll send them right out. We don't charge anything for this. We know that our factories aren't 100% accurate and we know how awful it is when kids can't use the toys they get and we send these pieces out next day air, at our cost, to ensure that the kids don't suffer."

"um, well, ah, yeah!"

So, I gave this lovely woman my name, my address, the missing pieces and I thanked her profusely. I also apologized for the tirade. I explained that I had been prepared for the worst and she sort of threw me off.
Seems she gets a few of these calls a day.

So, the missing pieces will be here tomorrow. The coaster will be finished by the weekend and Junior McFloogin will be breaking it by Sunday.

I'm so excited.

Baguette in the pants excited.

Monday, October 20, 2008

A Break and the Hell That Comes With It.

So, work slowed to a grinding halt on Thursday. Sure, there's stuff to do but it came in late and I am over that wave of adrenaline fueled workaholism. So, I'm taking it easy. For starters, I'm taking my daughter to school in the mornings again. This gives us a chance to hang out and it also reminds me that my little girl is, one day, going to grow up and be a pain in the ass like her mother. My daughter is a lot like me. She's sarcastic, she's sharp, she's funny and she's always aware of her surroundings, even when she appears to be sleeping. OK, so I'm not all those things or, I am but not to the same degree that she is. She's so attuned to the things around her that she'd make a great spy. No shit. It's scary. Anyway, we get to hang out in the mornings again and it's usually a lot of fun. To compensate for this, I need to find the alone time with the boy. His school starts at 9 so taking him to school is a bit of a pain for me but I'll do it from time to time. I don't, however, get enough time with him this way so, this past weekend was all about him. Well, Sunday was. Saturday was pumpkin picking.

We schlepped about an hour and a half out of the city to some farm so we could pick pumpkins. My wife is like a kid with these things, she seems to enjoy them more than the kids. So much so that, when the kids picked two small, handpainted pumpkins, she went nuts trying to convince them we need a large pumpkin to carve up. Sure, if we lived in a burbs that might be a good idea. We live in an apartment builing. There's no place for a pumpkin and I'm fairly sure that sticking a candle in the thing would be breaking some kind of fire code and yet she made us get this giant pumpkin. The kids were too scared to make it past the entrance to the haunted house and they were bored to tears on the hay ride. They did like picking apples so, to go with our giant pumpkin, we now have about 1,400 apples in the apartment.

Throughout the day, I walked. Up and down hills and all around the fallen apples. I mention this because the turned ankle I experienced in my now famous vomit slide is, apparently, more than a simple twisted ankle. At least that is what I'm thinking because now, along with the hurt, I've got swelling. Not a lot but a noticeable amount and the ankle definitely hurts more today.

Of course, yesterday didn't help. Yesterday was Droogin's day (not his real name). I took him to the dentist for a cleaning and then we wandered around the city, hitting toy stores and other fun places. The dentist was a first for me. My wife usually takes them but I wanted to spend the day with him so I said I'd do it. He was awesome. For a bit. He showed me the game room, we played video games and hung out while we waited. Then we went into the office and they got us all set for the cleaning. The hygienist managed to clean two teeth and then my boy went berserk. Flailing, screaming, covering his mouth. We stopped and the doctor came in. She tried to calm him down a bit and he let her check for cavities but the cleaning never materialized. We talked a bit about how she didn't want to push it because he usually has no issues there and this might be a one off thing and blah blah blah. So I left. Oh, no, wait, I left after I paid them $125 for the cleaning. That's right, they whacked me for the whole bill.

My boy has 2 shiny $62.50 teeth in his head and I reminded him to smile and show off those two teeth as often as possible.

At the toy store my son convinced me I should by him this construction kit so we could build a rollercoaster for his "men." His "men" are his various super hero figures and other such critters. Being a total fucking idiot, I bought him the rollercoaster. I tried to convince him that we should get something else as this was really meant for 7 year olds but he wanted the coaster and they didn't have any other coaster kits. So, I bought it.

I walked home, pushing him, his giant coaster kit, the things I bought my daughter and the things I bought myself. I walked about 5 miles yesterday, always pushing a stroller with at least 40 pounds in it. Last night the ankle was punishing me for the walk.

Anyway, we get home and all he wants to do is put the coaster together. I open the box and feel the warm ooze as I shit my pants. The coaster is no ordinary construction kit. This fucker is 6 feet tall and has over 150 parts. Most of them are tiny. My son lies down on the floor and says he wants to help me. I think "this might not be so bad" and start opening up the pieces.

After 20 minutes, I've managed to get the first "box" of the frame built and my son is bored. He starts pulling all the parts out, laying the track all over the room, hanging his "men" from the small piece I've already built.

I lost my patience and put the coaster kit away. I tell him I'll work on it after work with him until we finish it but he has to help me.

He says "daddy, it takes a long time to put it together. return it"

Like I can do that now.

I'm trying to control my anger. He's 3, he has no idea how frustrating these things can be.

Then he hugs me and says "I love you daddy" My cold, angry heart melts. I feel a lump in my throat. Then he turns and as he walks away he says "even if you're too stupid to put the coaster together"

I'm about to throw the box at his back when I hear him say "just kidding daddy"

My body is battered and bruised and my fragile psyche has just been crushed by a three year old only to be mocked even further.


Life is good

Friday, October 17, 2008

You Lazy Fuckers

So I finally get my adsense back up and running and there are real ads showing and you lazy shits don't click a single ad? Seriously. There are at least 100 people who have shown up and read my this blog. You think this shit is easy? You think I sit down and the words just leap off my fingers onto the monitor? You think I'm doing this because I like it? I have mouths to feed, bills to pay, just like the ret of you. The little McNoogin's are getting bigger, they need new clothes. Mrs. McNoogin is spending my money like she's trying to break a record, not her husband. Don't forget, I'm taking the whole family to Disney. We're not packing up the metallic pea Wagon Queen Family Truckster and driving there. We're flying. The McNoogin's must go in comfort. I didn't when I was a kid. We drove south, endured the hell of long car trips with little sleep and annoying kids. My family is, apparently, better than that and they must fly. So I need those clicks. I need the income or little Groogin (not his real name) won't be able to get those mouse ears he covets.

It takes three seconds to click a link, so click a fucking link you lazy motherfuckers.

Ok, got that out of my system. I feel much better now.

Truth is, it's been an up and down kind of day. Had to take little Broogin (not her real name) to school for some parent thing they do once a month. Then I went to my office for 9 minutes and ran back to the hospital near Broogin's school to pick up Shroogin (not her real name) who just had a "procedure." No, not something good like bigger boobs. Nothing major, just some repair work on an unsightly vein. Anyway, I go to pick her up and they tell me the surgery started late so she won't be ready to leave for an hour or so. Sit and wait and I realize my morning is ruined.

Then the doc comes out, tells me she's fine the surgery went well and I can come see her. Once inside the doctor tells me she rejected his offer of a pain med script. Before I could beat her over the head, the doctor hands me a slip of paper covered in doctor chicken scratch. He says "she did, however, tell me you get upset when she rejects the pain med offers so I figured I'd giver you one anyway. I hope percocets are good."

I dropped to my knees and started unzipping the doctor's pants. He said that wasn't necessary. A full bottle of pain pills and I didn't have to be violated in any way? Too good to be true. I figure the wife will wait until I am good and fuzzy and then she'll start bitching about something (everything) just to ruin the good buzz.

Took her home, set her up on the couch with pillows to elevate her leg, got her a drink, the phone, reading material and then back downtown to the office. Moron client waiting for an hour is still here. I sit with him, take care of his request and toss him out so I can run to the bank and get money to pay the sitter. Commerce Bank, Friday, 3 PM. Should take an hour. I walk in and there are 5 tellers, nobody on line. I walk over to the one free teller, the really hot one who flirts with me and who I saw on the street once with the sexiest see through top, and hand her my withdrawal slip. She starts asking me questions about my plans for the weekend, have I seen Nick & Nora's Infinite Playlist, do I want a blowjob, have I eaten at the new restaurant around the corner, can I please fuck her, do I like her new shirt and WHAT????

I hold my hand up and say "no big plans, might see Nick and Nora, yes, no yes"

Life couldn't be better. Really. It's great. I'm not working late for a few weeks, I'm going to Disney, you guys are going to check out that ad for lawyers or big cock pills or whatever it appearing on the page, I've got a bottle of pain pills and the hot chick from the bank wants to make sexy time with me.

I'll probably get hit by a bus on my way home.

way it goes.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

I'm Going To Disneyworld!

Let me start out by saying, I am not a fan of the crowds at these places. I get somewhat disgusted by my fellow americans. I find them to be an ugly lot. Socks up the knees, fat, ugly kids. Obnoxious, loud parents. You know what I'm talking about.

I went to Hershey a year ago. The whole fucking town smells like chocolate. It's no wonder everyone there is overweight. I'd be too if I was constantly inhaling chocolate. It'd be like putting a crack addict in a cocaine plant. Everywhere you go they give you free chocolate bars. When we bought our passes for the park the nice guy behind the counter asked if it was ok to give the kids some treats. No, it isn't. We schlepped all the way from New York City, to the heart of a candy making conglomerate, to not eat candy. Moron.

Then, when you're inside the park you see these fat kids lined up, waiting to buy the same free shit out of candy vending machines. It's pretty fucking comical. They're paying $5 for a free chocolate bar and, being about 100 degrees, the shit comes out like, well, shit.

But anyway, I'm going to Disney world. I went to Disneyland in LA when I was 5. I have no memory of it. I went to Disney in Japan when I was 16 or 17. It rained and we were the only people in the entire park. I don't recall very much but I do recall having an awesome time. How could we not? No lines at all, no need to get off a ride if we wanted to go again. All the characters were bored so we were fucking around with them. Made out with a couple of princesses and almost convinced the chick in the Minnie Mouse get up to remove her head and get busy with me. I was a bit of a troublemaker in my youth. Needless to say, my only memories of the house of mouse are pubescent fantasy type fantasies and this trip is going to destroy everything I hold dear.

To make matters worse, I agreed to go on this trip without thinking about the dates. I'm going to be there the weekend before and the week of Thanksgiving. I'm travelling home the day before Thanksgiving. Notoriously, the worst day of the year to travel. What the fuck was I thinking? I'm racing home so I can be with my family? I hate my family. You'll hear about it eventually but, suffice it to say, the McNoogin clan are a dysfunctional group of drunks.

While we're at Disney, I won't be able to go on any of the good rides. My kids will either be too small or too scared. Probably a good thing, because I haven't been on anything scary since I was in college and I've seen some of the more modern rides. I'd probably have a heart attack and die.

One thing I will do is create as much trouble as possible. Disney is a freaky society and I plan on teaching my kids the ins and outs of the many conspiracies surrounding Walt Disney and his empire. They will learn about the little easter eggs tossed into the various disney films, they'll learn about the handling of pedophiles, the Disney jail system (I'm hoping to learn more firsthand, if possible) and they will learn about Disney's bigoted past.

It should be fun, if only the crowds would stay home.

Anyway, if you are in Orlando, see if you can spot me. I'll be the jackass in the mouse hears, eating a cruller and ice cream, with my red and green tube stripe socks pulled up to my knees and three cameras hanging around my neck.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Adsense attempt part 36

Well, after months of waiting, I finally got a new pin for adsense and I've attempted, yet again, to get some ads in the blog. With all the traffic I'm seeing, I should be ready for retirement some time in January of never.

Perhaps it takes a while for the ads to appear. I don't recall how it works. I do recall it being much harder to get the ads to appear back when I last had one of these blog things. I recall having to put my own code in the blog. Now, at least, there are buttons to push that do it all for you. Of course I'm not seeing ads so, perhaps, I'm doing something wrong (likely) or google has decided to fuck with me. Both options are probably.

In any event, today is October 15th. Technically, the last day of hell for me for a while. I say technically because the hell at work will go away but the hell at home will now be my primary focus. Time to deal with all the shit that went on while I was buried in my office.

Time to start taking the kids to school, time to start having fun with them on weekends, time to start dealing with the myriad of issues the wife has with me, with the kids, with her life. Really looking forward to this. It's great knowing how much my clients rely on me, how much they appreciate me. If not for this, the complete opposite treatment I get at home would be unbearable.

I shall begin each day by repeating my old mantra.

One day I'll be dead.

I think my the wife repeats the same mantra. You know, "One day he'll be dead." She must because she has asked me about my life insurance policy several times over the last few months. Either she's planning for the future or planning for my lack of one.

Time will tell.

Monday, October 13, 2008

The Good Old Days

There was a time when I would work thru my busy season, spending every waking hour in the office with nothing to look forward to but the bulging bank account. I'd work for two and a half months straight and, having not had a social life or any free time, my bills would be minimal. The month after this period, I'd sleep in, rest up, take it easy and reward myself for all that hard work by spending some of that hard earned coin.

Well, I'm married with kids now and guess what? I've got lots to look forward to. I will finish up this hectic week by not being able to rest and not being able to enjoy the fruits of my labor. My wife Spendoogin McNoogin (not her real name) has taken it upon herself to spend my hard earned money faster than I can earn it and my kids, Divaoogin and Terroroogin (not their real names) have already alerted me to all the things they want to do now that they've got daddy back. So, the rest will have to come later, like when I'm dead. And that might not be a bad thing because, when I'm dead, the insurance kicks in and Spendoogin will then have a lot more of my money to spend.

I just got the amex bill for the last month. Over this period, I have been in the office every single day. I haven't taken the amex card out of my pocket once, except to give it to my secretary when she needed to get some office supplies. My spending for the month is about $1200. This includes postage of $500, a few hundred in office supplies, some dry cleaning bills and my internet and phone bill. My amex bill is topping out at ten grand. The other $8800 seems to be a result of Spendoogin's newfound spare time. I don't mind her using my card for food, household shit, the kids etc but I'm fairly sure the Lord & Taylor charge ($943) and the Bergdorf charge ($839) are hers and not the kids. If they are the kids, I'm going to have to explain the coolness of stores like H&M where, for $15 you can get an incredibly cool jacket that, when the kids grow out of it in 2 weeks, you won't feel like a schmuck for overspending on what amounts to a clothing rental. The most annoying part of this is that Spendoogin overbuys everything with the idea that she can always return it later. Unfortunately, she might wait a month or two to return things so I am stuck paying for everything now and, hopefully, getting a credit later. I won't even get into her moronic method of not paying for the things she expects to return, eating the penalties for underpayment instead.

This month's bill also has the Disney trip on there. I know, this is a family thing and I shouldn't complain about it. I agree. That's not the issue. I agreed to go. My beef here is that, knowing there's a $5,000 (the airfare and deposit were on last month's bill) bitchslap on the card, why would Spendoogin go and drop another $2,000 of shopping spree shit on me. Is she so in the dark that she doesn't think about the pain in my bank account? Does she simply not care about it? Does she not know that people are hurting all over the world and, perhaps, now is not the best time to be shopping? Spendoogin is a sucker for a sale. She'll come home with some horrific looking shoes and say "look, they were $29,598 marked down to $11, isn't that a great deal?"

When I say, "they're ugly and, for the record, when you pay $11 for a pair of shoes, they're $11 shoes," she gets offended. She is turned on by the discount. She's got an illness. She cannot resist the sale. What she doesn't realize is, we are heading towards what might be the worst retail season ever and the sales are going to get even better. She's probably pissing away even more money by not waiting but, again, it's that red tag marked SALE that gets her hot.

Hmmm. Sales turn her on? Slashed prices make her hot?


I wonder. Should I get "MARKED DOWN MUST GO" tattooed below my belt line? How about simply hanging a tag that reads "SALE: Half Off" on my "mcnoogin?" Not only will the sale tag get her all hot and ready for love, the half off will make it seem like, at one time, it was, actually bigger.

Wednesday, October 08, 2008

Sinner McNoogin

So, atonement day is almost upon us (me). That's right, Floogin is jewish. I know, you're thinking, "Floogin McNoogin isn't a very jewish sounding name." Well, it seems that my great grandfather changed it when he arrived at Ellis Island. Originally it was McNoogginbergstein. I really don't know why he shortenend it. Such a grand name but I digress.

So, after sundown (or dinner, which ever comes first) I will not eat until the sun sets tomorrow night. Ok, the when the sun sets or passes behind a cloud creating a darkening effect. I will do this to absolve myself of all my sins from the last year. Truth is, other than thinking about sinning, I haven't actually done anything worthy of a sin. Sure, I've got drifter meat aging in the closet but offing a drifter or two isn't really a sin now, is it?

So, what is the worst sin a guy like Floogin could commit? That's right, adultery. Cheating on your significant other. I didn't do that. I sure as fuck thought about it a lot. Like every time I walk by a woman I think "yeah, I'd go there." I didn't do anything beyond that though so I should be ok, I think.

The cheating this is actually somewhat interesting. I read recently that the majority of men who cheat (90+% I think) do this not because they want to get laid but, rather, they needed that admiration, adoration and attention that they were no longer getting at home. In other words, they got caught and "honey you don't fuck me anymore so I figured I'd go get me someone who would" was too scary to admit so they said "you don't show me you care, I'm an emotional being, just like you and I need to feel important."

I call bullshit.

Sure, we all want to feel important and loved and needed. Sure, our spouses and significant others don't provide this anymore. Why? Because that's the way it is. They grow tired of the things you can do. The surprises become mundane. Sure, there was a time when farting under the blanket and smothering your lover in the stench was funny but she probably finds it annoying now. Sure, she got a kick out of the way you tossed your stained tighty whiteys just next to the hamper. Now she gets pissed and with each little annoyance, her disdain for you grows. It happens and the next thing you know, you are without sex for months on end. Maybe longer. Apparently, this is the real definition of marriage.

So, let's get back to cheating. I've put a lot of thought into this. If I am sleeping with one woman and it is understood that I will not sleep with anyone else and I do, this is cheating. If I am not sleeping with a woman and I go and sex up another woman, this is not cheating. Why? If woman 1 isn't willing to work the McNoogin Magic with me, I can't really cheat on her. It'd be like playing poker with your buddy and your phone rings and it's Dave, who's home, and he accuses you of cheating in your game with him.

So, if I were to go out and get me some love, the only person I'd really be cheating on would be Hand McFlooin and that is hardly cheating either as it seems I'm on a break from my hand as well.

What this all boils down to is, I have roughly 5 hours to find me a lady who wants a quick romp so that I can not eat tomorrow and be forgiven for my indiscretion.

Now this leads to another interesting point. If I fast and am absolved of my sins in god's eyes, doesn't that mean that my wife should forgive me? I'm not much of a god fearing/believing kinda guy but she is. Well, I think she is as she often tells him when I've done wrong. I assume she's doing this so that god has a list of things to wipe off my slate when I fast. She'll say "oh god, what a fucking idiot" or "god dammit, how can you be so fucking stupid." I used to think she was yelling at god but one time, when I started to back away from her and cower under a table she asked me what I was doing and I explained that, in the event god was real, I wanted to be a healthy distance from her when he smited her for giving him such lip. she told me she was actually talking about me and not him. So, she's making a list for me. Now, if she thinks it is so important to list my sins with the big guy, when the big guy says "you fasted, clean slate, I absolve you of your sins", shouldn't my wife follow suit? Wouldn't it be somewhat hypocritical to not forgive me when she gave god the list of things I needed to fast for in the first place?

now I have 4 hours and 45 minutes. I can't believe I'm wasting my time talking to nobody instead. In the off chance that someone actually reads this before sundown, and wants to experience a little loving Floogin Style, let me know.

Thursday, October 02, 2008

Floogin Gives Birth

So, I don't eat carbs. Most people know this. I lost a lot of weight thanks to the no carb/low carb diet and I liked how I felt. Not just the slimmer body but the whole internal thing as well. No more food coma, more energy, less gas etc.

There is a downside to the no carb diet. Pooping becomes an event. So, this morning, after a 3 day gestation period, I suddenly went felt a contraction. "This is it" I said to myself. I grabbed my pre-packed poop kit (newspaper) and headed to the can.

Yay! the middle stall is empty.

I sit down and tell myself to breath. Hee Hee Hoo Hoo, just like we learned in lamaze class. The cramps come. I feel the sweat starting to bead up on my body. It's crowing I shout to no one in particular.

"shut the fuck up" I am told in return. Must not have noticed the guy in the birthing stall next to mine.

Hee Hee Hoo Hoo I breath. I hear a flush from the shut the fuck up guy.

Congratulations! I shout.

"fucking weirdo" he says back. No thank you, no well wishes for me. Oh well, he must be exhausted.

Hee Hee Hoo Hoo
sweat ribulet twist and weave down my back.
Hee Hee Hoo Hoo
Beads of sweat weave thru my hair, across my scalp like little spiders.
HEE HEE HOO HOO
my intestines feel like they are straightening out.
HEE HEE HOO HOO
a clunk and a splash. Did I drop my watch in the toilet?

I lift up, look in and hear "daddy?"

Tears of joy stream down my face. I whip out my cell and start snapping pictures. Gotta capture the moment.

Much as I want to, I am not going to post the pictures here. I will hold out until one of the tabloids is willing to make a sizeable donation to the Floogin McNoogin Foundation. Once they pony up, the world will officially meet Poopin McFloogin