Thursday, November 20, 2008

Bathroom Follies

You ever open a bathroom door and there's someone leaving and there's that startled look on you and the other guy? Why is that? Why do you have this hand in the cookie jar look? why are you startled? It's normal to need to hit the can so why do we get all jumpy when the door opens.

OK, if you're leaving and the door opens and you've got the deer in the headlights look it could be attributed to the foul stench you left behind but still, it's a bathroom. What was the other guy expecting? Potpourri?

So, I'm peeing in a stall (I don't like take little floogin out if there's a risk of another man being around him) and there's a guy in the stall taking a dump and it's painfully obvious that he's got some serious assues (my word, you can use it). He's clearly trying to stifle the horrific sounds of emanating from his anus and the ensuing hose down effect of his liquid hitting the water. He's letting out those tight cheeked discrete farts that whistle and whine until you can no longer hold back the pressure. Then the mix of foghorn blast and water balloon burst sounds come echoing out of the stall and it takes all your energy not to laugh. That is until the smell hits you. It's thick and soupy that smell, with a biting acid tone to it and your nostrils burn and you suddenly find yourself gagging. A horrible scene that gets even worse when the poor bastard has to come out of the stall and show his face to anyone in the bathroom.

Is it polite to apologize if you are exiting the bathroom after leaving a nasal plague behind? Do you politely tell the incoming person that, for all intents and purposes, the bathroom is off limits?
It's no different than walking into an empty elevator and cutting open a fresh biscuit, only to have someone get on before you can get off. Do you apologize? Do you admit to too much fruit? Do you start talking about the pig who shit his pants and exited the elevator a floor earlier?

Here's something else. If you enter a stall and the seat is down and all you need to do is pee, lift the fucking seat up. I know, I sound like a woman but, seriously, most men, as they get older, have terrible aim and piss all over the seat and then next guy who needs to take a shit is going to be sitting on piss and that's just nasty.

On a side note, Disney is, officially, out. Little Moogin (not his real name) hit 103.9 on the temp this morning, had low oxygen while at the doctor's office, lung spasms followed and he wound up on a nebulizer. Poor kid is a trooper and, since Mrs. McNoogin was wise enough to take out full insurance, I am not paying for the trip, I figured some presents for the kids were in order. Santa McNoogin is coming tonight, making everything all right.
For the time being at least.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Sick McNoogin, Disney on High Alert

Well, we're 4 days from our trip to Disney and little Snoogin (not his real name) is sick as a dog. This is par for the course with the McNoogins. Whenever the elder McNoogins take a trip, one of the kids gets sick, putting the parental trip at risk. We've cancelled trips, postponed trips and we've gone away anyway, suffering the bad parent thoughts the whole time we were gone. When we've gone away as a family, the same thing occurs. Lately, it's been the boy who get sick. He was ill when we went to Montauk this summer and, sure as shit, he's fucking sick again. He's got a horrible cough, a fever, he's been puking up snot and he seems somewhat miserable. Who wouldn't be?

I spent the bulk of last night in his room with him. He woke up at two thanks to a wet bed, puked in the bed and then dozed off on the floor while my wife cleaned up the bed. Then my daughter came into our bed and I decided to take late night duty with the boy so I stayed with him thru more snot vomiting and more crying and coughing. He was, actually, in good spirits, given the circumstances. He was making jokes most of the time. Not bad, really. However, at 3 am, who the fuck has a sense of humor? I made him a nice glass of medicine laced juice and he would take a drink and ask me to put the juice on the table so I'd get up, put the juice down for him and get into the other bed. As soon as I would start to drift off to sleep I'd hear "daddy, can I have my juicy?"
And I'd get up, hand him the drink, lie back down, doze off and...."daddy, can you put this down for me?"

On and on it went. Until around 4 in the morning. Now, after an hour of this, I am fully awake. So, the boy finally crashes and sleeps like a log and I am wide awake. I figure I'll read a book or something but I can't go into my room to get it or I risk waking the girls.

So I lied there, staring into the blackness, wondering how the hell I will get thru the day with no sleep. I have appointments all over the place today and I will be a fucking wreck. So be it.

I'm off to take Snoogin to the doctor. He hates doctors. It's going to be an ugly scene for sure. On the bright side, my wife, in a moment of clarity, paid the $200 for full insurance on the trip. So, cancelling it means no Disney (boo hoo) and a full refund. Can't go wrong there I guess.

I'll update as I have news. I know nobody reads this and, therefore, nobody cares about updates but, hey, it helps to get shit out sometimes and it beats posting your problems in an arena where people will feel the need to respond, regardless of whether or not they actually give a damn.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Enough Already

Ok, I know it was a huge deal for the black community, the country and the world. The first democratically elected black man ever, anywhere. It's huge. I understand that. I'm proud of my country, I'm happy for the Obamas, for the country, the black community and the world. I'm sure the better man was elected. There's no doubt there but, seriously, do I still have to see all the vendors selling tee shirts and does every african american in the city have to wear the pins? I understand how much this means to the community but, still, is this going to be a four or even eight year thing? If he winds up fucking up the country even more, will the pins go away? I'm not saying I'm rooting for this, I'm just asking.

The way I see it, the president is nothing more than a figurehead. He wins a popularity contest and then he hires people to do all the important jobs, make all the important decisions and, if need be, take the fall if the decisions the president "makes," fail. I never expected Obama to lose. The way I saw it, he'd garner a shitload of black votes and he'd also garner a shitload of white votes. If he was the exact same guy, only he was white, would he have won the nomination, let alone win the race? I'm not sure. I'm glad he did though. The idea of Clinton scared me and the other options were, well, not good. So, the better man is moving into the white house and I'm thrilled.

I think the majority of the US and the majority of the planet, are excited about this. The only two groups that seem to be upset about Obama's win are the die hard republicans who actually bought into the bullshit their own party spun out about Obama and the comedians who seem to think there's nothing funny about Obama. This isn't really true. Hell, Fred Armisan (sp?) did a knock-out impersonation of his mannerisms and speech inflection on Saturday Night Live. It was brilliant and, if not for Tina Fey's even better Palin impersonation, Fred would've been getting all the press. Obama is funny. The problem is he's black. Comedians, well, the white ones, are going to be afraid of making any jokes for fear of being called a racist.

If you've ever seen any movies or tv shows geared towards african americans, you know that using the same scenarios in those movies, only transplanted to the white house, would be fucking hysterical. Think of a big momma type character in the white house. Think of Shaft or, even better, think of I'm Gonna Git You Sucka! Does the president need his own theme music? Absolutely. Is it funny to ask? If you've seen the blaxploitation movies like Shaft, Dolomite, Super Fly etc, you'd think so.

If SNL's The Ladies Man was funny enough to have its own movie, why wouldn't a presidential ladies man using the white house as a means of getting laid be funny?

I can understand the palinites not being happy about Obama and I can understand their bitching about it but the comedians? Grow some stones and test the waters. Even 9/11 eventually found its way into humor. The expression "went down like the tower 2, the wtc etc" has been in use for quite some time now. Funny? Not necessarily but at least the speaker is moving forward and realizing that, if you can't stay serious forever.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Floogin Can't Win

So my mother outlaw had back surgery yesterday. She's been gearing up for this surgery for a long, long time now and she finally had the surgery. So my wife goes to the hospital at 8:30 to be with her mom and I take my daughter to school and head to work. I'm very busy with work, clients coming to see me and a few other meetings and, before I know it, I'm running late for my haircut. I sprint uptown and get my locks shorn. I head home and tell the kids we need to call grandma. The sitter tells me Mrs. McNoogin called and the surgery started late and she should be moving to post-op within the hour. She called around 5:30 and it was now 6:30.

I sit with my daughter while she does her homework. Then the kids want some more food. Then I call my wife. She tells me the doctor just came out to see them. She updates me on the surgery and the status of her mother. Still living. Oh well.

I talk to my wife a bit more, then I call back my outlaw's friends who have been calling me for updates. Then I call my wife again to let her know I've called all the old hags who have been trying to reach her. She thanks me, tells me she shouldn't be home too late and says goodbye.

I watch some tv and go to bed. Around 11:30 my wife comes home, hangs up her coat, grabs a quick bite and then comes into the bedroom. As she's undressing she tells me how upset she is that I didn't call all day. I apologize and tell her that I was very busy and I figured she'd be unreachable as you aren't supposed to use cell phones in hospitals and, as a result of this, I figured she'd update me when she could. She raises her voice, tells me this is not a good excuse. I explain that it isn't an excuse, it's the truth. Again I apologize. Again she turns it into me being a dick. Again I apologize and explain that I have been very busy. She laughs and says there's always time to call. I explain that she never calls when she is going to be late, even though I tell her it would be nice to know so that I can tell the kids not to wait up. She says it's different and then she says I should just say I'm sorry. Again I apologize. She tells me if I would stop bringing it up we wouldn't be fighting about it. I realize my wife was drugged in the hospital and she is now acting like a fucking moron as a result of the narcotics.

I ask her how her mother is doing and she mumbles something about my brother in law calling all day long. I tell her he's a better person than I will ever be and that she can always go seek out a replacement.

I go to sleep.

This morning, all is back to abnormal in our home. Throughout a shitty night of no sleep I come to the realization that my mother in law has managed to drive my wife even closer to the edge of sanity. She probably awoke from the surgery and started in on my wife. "You wore that to the hospital?" "Your hair color is terrible." You get my drift.

I shower, I shave and I tap my wife on the ass to wake her and she bolts upright and asks, angrily, why'd you hit me? I explain that I barely touched her and she needs to get in the shower. She showers while I get dressed. She comes out of the shower as I am midway thru tying my tie. Odd because I never wear ties. We're supposed to meet with my son's teachers this morning and I guess I felt like I should look nice. Anyway, she comes out of the shower and starts telling me something. I say "yeah?' as I continue tying my tie.

She says "can't you even look at me when I'm talking to you?"

I tell her she started talking while I was in the middle of tying my tie and I stop with the tie and I turn to face her. I tell her she has my undivided attention.

She starts telling me something and she turns and starts putting lotion on her legs while she's talking.

I walk out of the bedroom and go to the kids' bathroom to tie my tie. She comes in and says "I was still talking!"
I tell her that she shouldn't tell me to look at her when she's talking if she's not going to look at me when she's talking.
(bad move on my part).

Well, I took a break to meet with some folks and now the piss and vinegar is gone. No matter, I'm sure I'll piss off Mrs. McNoogin tonight and have new material tomorrow.

In the meantime, click the links you lazy fucks. I need to feed the little McNoogins.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Dueling Sales Reps

Ok, so I've got a p.o.s. copier in the office. Had it for several years and it has always been a problem. The guy that sold it to us said it was more than suitable for our needs, based on our annual printing figures. Well, what shit fer brains didn't take into consideration is that the bulk of our printing is done over 2 and a half months in the spring and again in the fall. So, after the first heavy load, the printer was fucked. It has spent countless hours under the care of their inept technicians ever since. So, after dealing with this crap for a couple of years, I decided it was time to get a new one. I called the fat fuck that sold it to us and told him it was a lemon and I wanted it out of my office and a newer, better machines should be in its place. He came to see me, checked the service call records and was astounded and upset that we didn't contact him sooner. He says he'd have ensured that the machine would run perfectly from the first call. He sends his "specialist" over. Tells me this guy is the nuts and that all the problems will be resolved. In the meantime, he's going to work up numbers for a replacement.

So his "specialist" comes, takes the machine apart, spends two days on it, shutting down our productivity in the process. He finishes his job on a thursday. Friday morning, first print job since the two day overhaul and the paper jams in the same fucking places. The copies are still coming out slightly askew and somewhat faded. I call the guy again and tell him to not waste my time with a quote as I can't see how it would be in my best interest to get another machine from Toshiba or deal with their crappy service department any longer.

He tells me he will hook me up with a sweet deal. So I humor him. He comes in, fat fuck that he is, nasty moustache and all, and goes into his sales pitch. What's he pushing? The new version of the old lemon. I ask him why I would want the same machine when it the old version was incapable of handling my printing load and he says "oh, they've fixed all the bugs."

So, my machine is, admittedly, a buggy piece of shit.

I thank him, tell him I'll get back to him and as he leaves I throw his shit in the garbage.

Then I remember that young lady who tried to sell me some equipment about two years ago. She came in, cold, to see if there was anything she could do for me and has, since then, been emailing me once a quarter, to see if I need anything.

What the fuck was her name? When did she email me? Fuck!

Anna? Anita? Enya? No, wait, Anya? Ania?

Ania!! that's it. So I go scrolling thru my emails in search of her last transmission and there it is in July. So I shoot her an email, explain the problem, detail the current equipment and ask her to come in armed with relacement suggestions.

She gets back to me in ten minutes. She can't meet me for two days. No worries, I tell her and we set up a date.

So, Ania comes in to see me. She's fucking hot. I don't remember her being anywhere near this cute. Short skirt, showing off some very nice legs and the cleavage on display is more than ample. She knows how to sell sex, that's a plus.

She runs thru the equipment she's selling and she's explaining all the features, the capacity the tits tits tits tits legs tits tits tits.

That's right, I'm mesmerized by her flashing of flesh. My conference room has a glass table and I can see her legs thru the glass and she's leaning over the table to show me her tits, I mean her data sheeets and I am entranced.

We finish the meeting with me telling her to get me cost information. We email back and forth for three days after the meeting so I can get a better explanation of the numbers and now I'm about ready to call her back for one more meeting where we fight over the details and out of the blue Frank the Fat Fuck calls me, looking to set up an appointment.

So now I have two clowns vying for my attention. Frank is coming in this morning. Ania needs to schedule another appointment. I'm hoping to get her in here right after he leaves because I am going to need her womanly curves to offset the horrific image of Frank leaning over the table, exposing his manteet cleavage.

I'm planning on making Fat Frank jump thru hoops and I will gladly pay more to not have to deal with his company any more but I know nothing about Ania's firm, other than they have better sales reps. I wonder, if the machine is a lemon, will they send her over to make me happy?

Tuesday, November 04, 2008


The title says it all. This little phrase is used in every article to warn the reader that, in the article, you will be told of a major plot point in a book, movie or television show, thus ruining the story for you if you have not yet seen it. These plot points are usually the focal point of the entire movie, book or tv episode and, thankfully, the authors or these articles and reviews are kind enough to not screw over the reader, ruining the experience. When movies like The Crying Game came out, you couldn't read the reviews and articles if you hadn't seen the movie. This makes sense. If you've seen the movie you know what the final twist revealed at the end of the film. If you knew it going in, there'd be no point paying for the experience of watching the movie. The folks who put this kind of entertainment out should be in debt to the reviewers and writers who put up those spoiler alerts, right?

Then why the fuck to the same folks who put this entertainment out there allow the synopsis of their movies and tv shows to give away the spoilers in the descriptions of their product? Last night I watched a show and the synopsis in the paper, as well as the on air description (when you hit info), read "one of the gang gives the ultimate sacrifice..." So, we go in knowing someone will die. Then, in that final scene, when the tension is high and one of the characters does what he does to help the others, you know he's going to die. Hell, you knew one of the 4 characters in the scene was going to be offed and you knew it wasn't the two main stars and you figured it wasn't the one character who could be described as the lead's friend or confident so it had to be the guy who wound up allowing himself to be killed. I knew this as I watched it. I knew it from the minute I saw what they were going to try and accomplish. The show is a good show, a bit silly and outlandish but entertaining and the tense action is what makes it so much fun to watch. So, why on earth did I have to read in the morning paper that one of the characters was going to die?

I know, you're going to tell me not to read the synopsis posted in the paper or on cable's description. Well, here's the thing, I read the paper by accident. I thought the show was not on again until next week and I was scanning the pages to see what was on when I saw the name of the show and that synopsis. Had I not seen it in the paper, I would have definitely seen it when I watched it. Why? Because I record everything these days. I haven't watched a live show (other than sporting events) in years. I record everything I want to watch in case the kids keep me from watching it or I have other plans. I often have several episodes of unwatched shows on the box. Hell, I'm 4 shows behind on many of my favorites. So, anyway, I pull up the list of recorded shows and scan down to makes sure I am going to watch them in order. How do I do this? I check the date and the...SYNOPSIS!.

Even though I will probably not bother with it, pick a candidate and go vote - if I read in the papers that Floogin McNoogin got votes I will definitely be honored and I promise to fullfill all those promises I didn't make.

Monday, November 03, 2008

Weekend Stuff

Saturday was, um, fun? My kids were hung over from too much candy and 3 minutes prior to leaving the apartment for a party my son decides to taste my salad. One bite of the bleu cheese and he's bolting for the bathroom, announcing that he is going to vomip (not a typo). He makes it to the can in time, bends over and spews. Alas, little Cloogin (not his real name) didn't life the lid. Mrs. McNoogin stayed behind to clean up the mess, bless her heart, and off we went. A saturday afternoon birthday party for a family friend's son. Gym thing with inflatable slides, trampoline bunjee jumping and 0ther assorted fun things. The kind of Saturday afternoon party that tires the kids out, making it easy to put them to bed early.

Not when you have another party that night. We were stuck celebrating my sister in law's birthday as well as my mother outlaw's birthday. Good times.

My kids were a wreck. They were starving when we got to the restaurant and we had the inevitable hour and a half wait. Why? Because my moronic outlaw chose an italian restaurant that is about as touristy a place as you can get and, to add to the insanity, it was the night before the NYC Marathon so every runner in the city was dining on pasta.

So, we get to the restaurant with the knowledge that I am going to pick up the tab and not eat a thing. Carbs are not on my menu and this place is a carb factory. My kids are going berserk, the place is too crowded for us to stand anywhere and chaos ensures. Fortunately, I am friendly with the magician who seems to perform at every kid party these days and he gets a kick out of the fact that I am the only non-professional who can blow up those long skinny balloons used for making animals and swords and other shit. So, after messing around with the magicians and the kids, making such wonderful balloon things as "lower intestines" and "a virulent bactieria," I left for the dinner with a pocketfull of balloons.

So, at the restaurant I resort to making balloon things for my kids. My daughter, Soogin (not her real name) is having a blast, my son Cloogin (not his real name) is distracted from the hell of this restaurant and all seems right in the world. We all endured the hour wait, my wife acting as a human shield, keeping her mother away from the hostess. We finally get seated and my sister in law admits to not understanding why we are eating Italian food. She's married to an italian guy, they have this kind of food all the time, only it's good. Her husband cooks, her inlaws all cook and, she says, she'd "rather have fish."

My outlaw, Satan (her real name), then starts complaining about the poor lighting, the crappy table (it was in a corner, perfect for the kids) and the lack of bread, water, butter, gold flakes etc on the table. This is a ploy the red menace (her real nickname, so given by her dead husband's friends at his funeral) uses at every meal in a restaurant. She figures she'll bitch and moan thru the entire meal and then drop the "give me something free" line when she gets the bill. To make her seem like even more of a cheap lunatic, my brother in law and I pay for every meal. I deal with the waiters who are so thrilled to not have to talk to her that they end up comping my booze. And I drank a lot that night. No food for me, just a nice bourbon appetizer followed by a bourbon entree and I ended it with bourbon and coffee for dessert.

So the meal cost me a few buck. I went home and ate dinner. No biggie, I'm used to it. The outlaw knows I don't eat pasta so she picks italian meals whenever possible. It's her way of saying "recognize me."
I do my best to be nice but I tend to drop the odd comment or two that responds to her "recognize me" with a big "fuck off, it's my family, not yours." Truth is, she fancies herself as some Ewing matriarch, minus the oil, money, taste or looks.

So I woke up Sunday, mildly hungover, and we started planning the day. My wife wanted to take the kids to the Met to see the egyptian wing and the armor and weapons wing. Cool stuff but there's the NYC marathon and getting around the city can be hell, I tell her.

"But I want to take the kids to see the runners."

I am all for supporting your friends who run and I have the utmost respect for anyone who even plans on running, regardless of whether they finish. Hell, props to anyone who trains for it.

But standing on a cold corner, watching joggers? Why?

What's the fucking point of that? Who do we cheer? What if I'm cheering for one stranger and another stranger thinks it was for them? Should I run along side people, ask them their names so we can cheer for them? Do I just start cheering "GO YOU!" and point at people?

My son, clearly felt the same way. He was bored and itching to get in the museum so we split up from my wife and my daughter who was standing there watching the ice cream cart and not the runners.

The museum was pretty cool. I haven't been there in ages and my kids were somewhat into it for the most part. When they got bored we headed home. Stopping at a shoe store for the kids of course. Forced to listen to the owner tell us about the celebs that came in. He always mentions them coming in. We must just miss them every time we're there.

The night ended with me making leftover pasta for everyone and watching them all eat again. A fine end to the weekend.

Oh, and I managed to not have to repair the roller coaster yesterday for the first time since completion. Tonight or tomorrow, I'm taking it down. Takes up too much room and it is way too delicate.

Next week, the boy goes to the Intrepid and I'm taking my daughter to the magic museum near my office. Maybe I'll learn a few tricks, like how to make my outlaw stay in florida.