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"
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
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.
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.
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
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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
Monday, September 29, 2008
METS LOSE!!! METS LOSE!!!!
Yeah, they blew another season on the last day. Sure, that's three years in a row where they were in the mix and wound up breaking the hearts of their fans. Ok, fine, 3 years ago was game 7 of the playoffs and sure, they deserve more credit for that but, still, hearts were broken.
Last year was horrific. Blowing a 7 game lead in 17 days is actually rather impressive. Go Team!
This year they sucked out of the gate, turned it around but, thanks to injuries and a group of relief pitcher that suck. I'm opening a store that sells oversized garbage cans so this group of pitcher no longer have to deal with missing the can. They probably piss all over the bathroom too. Aim is a tough thing to master for sure but seriously, on the last day of the season, win or go home, how can your relief pitchers give up back to fucking back homeruns? How?
The real reason I'm here today, talking about this isn't because I'm frustrated by the loss. I somewhat expected it and I'm sure the team will do whatever it takes to get K-Rod and, possibly Sabathia (if he'll leave the Brewers and his arm is ruined from all the short rest pitching).
No, I'm here because the first thing my jackass brother in law said to me this morning wasn't hey, hello or how was your weekend, no his first thing spoken was "so, you gunna be a yankee fan now?"
Let's see, 3 years ago we were one good swing of the bat from the world series. 3 years ago, the Yankees were, um, 3 and done I think. Last year we blew it but played a meaningfull game on the last day of the season. Sure we got blown out but that was Glavine's fault and Willie's for not yanking him instantly. The Yankees? 3 and done I think. This year, on the last day of the season, we played another meaningfull game. We lost. It hurts. The yankees? Um, they were out of contention in like June. In a division where the yankees and the red sox both play, you are more likely to make the playoffs every year because the other teams stink and the two high banked teams are beating everyone else to a pulp. so, it's easier to stay up in the standings. How else did the yankees manage to even be in the running this year? The Devil Rays played amazing baseball and, suddenly, the division wasn't all doormats and the big 2. No, now they had 3 teams playing well and suddenly it ain't so easy to walk away with a wild card or division with mildly talented overpaid players, wildly talented but lacking heart players and insanely wildly talented player who only hits when his contract is on the line.
Steinbrenner the younger whines about the playoff system being unfair. I looked at the standings. Everyone making the playoffs from the American League has a better record than the Yankees. What's not fair about it? For over a decade you stacked the deck, buying whomever you could to ensure that the stadium would be filled and the fans would be watching playoff baseball. It worked well for a while. Then it worked ok as you made the playoffs thanks to the aforementioned crappy division. Now you realize that all that money doesn't always account for wins. Steinbrenner, let me introduce you to the Bonilla/Saberhagen era Mets. Best team on paper for a couple of years. Horrible records. Money doesn't always translate into wins.
So, Floogin, how come you said you are confident that the Mets will go buy new and improved relief and starting pitching?
Because anyone is better than what we have so you can be assured that whatever you spend, you'll see a return on your investment.
Besides, I'm pretty sure that the fans will stop going to the games if there's a chance they have to watch Schoenweiss, Ayala, Feliciano, Sanchez and possibly Heilman ever make the walk from the bullpen to the mound.
Last year was horrific. Blowing a 7 game lead in 17 days is actually rather impressive. Go Team!
This year they sucked out of the gate, turned it around but, thanks to injuries and a group of relief pitcher that suck. I'm opening a store that sells oversized garbage cans so this group of pitcher no longer have to deal with missing the can. They probably piss all over the bathroom too. Aim is a tough thing to master for sure but seriously, on the last day of the season, win or go home, how can your relief pitchers give up back to fucking back homeruns? How?
The real reason I'm here today, talking about this isn't because I'm frustrated by the loss. I somewhat expected it and I'm sure the team will do whatever it takes to get K-Rod and, possibly Sabathia (if he'll leave the Brewers and his arm is ruined from all the short rest pitching).
No, I'm here because the first thing my jackass brother in law said to me this morning wasn't hey, hello or how was your weekend, no his first thing spoken was "so, you gunna be a yankee fan now?"
Let's see, 3 years ago we were one good swing of the bat from the world series. 3 years ago, the Yankees were, um, 3 and done I think. Last year we blew it but played a meaningfull game on the last day of the season. Sure we got blown out but that was Glavine's fault and Willie's for not yanking him instantly. The Yankees? 3 and done I think. This year, on the last day of the season, we played another meaningfull game. We lost. It hurts. The yankees? Um, they were out of contention in like June. In a division where the yankees and the red sox both play, you are more likely to make the playoffs every year because the other teams stink and the two high banked teams are beating everyone else to a pulp. so, it's easier to stay up in the standings. How else did the yankees manage to even be in the running this year? The Devil Rays played amazing baseball and, suddenly, the division wasn't all doormats and the big 2. No, now they had 3 teams playing well and suddenly it ain't so easy to walk away with a wild card or division with mildly talented overpaid players, wildly talented but lacking heart players and insanely wildly talented player who only hits when his contract is on the line.
Steinbrenner the younger whines about the playoff system being unfair. I looked at the standings. Everyone making the playoffs from the American League has a better record than the Yankees. What's not fair about it? For over a decade you stacked the deck, buying whomever you could to ensure that the stadium would be filled and the fans would be watching playoff baseball. It worked well for a while. Then it worked ok as you made the playoffs thanks to the aforementioned crappy division. Now you realize that all that money doesn't always account for wins. Steinbrenner, let me introduce you to the Bonilla/Saberhagen era Mets. Best team on paper for a couple of years. Horrible records. Money doesn't always translate into wins.
So, Floogin, how come you said you are confident that the Mets will go buy new and improved relief and starting pitching?
Because anyone is better than what we have so you can be assured that whatever you spend, you'll see a return on your investment.
Besides, I'm pretty sure that the fans will stop going to the games if there's a chance they have to watch Schoenweiss, Ayala, Feliciano, Sanchez and possibly Heilman ever make the walk from the bullpen to the mound.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Floogin on Facebook
No, I'm not on facebook so please don't go looking for me to add me as a friend. I don't understand why any adult would be a part of this nonsense. I can fully understand why teenagers and college kids are into it. It's a nice way to see what your friends from home are up to while you're away at school and it's nice to be able to see what your camp friends are up to during the school year but adults? Seriously?
A friend of mine came to see me a while back and asked if I had seen this picture of a girl we went to school with. I said no and he said it was on her facebook account. I laughed at him for joining it and he said he joined because he was told by another friend of ours that he "had to see this picture and he had to join to see it." So he joined. Over the course of the next hour he received about 100 emails from friends of friends of friends of friends, all asking to be his facebook friend. I can see how getting spam from people you don't know or are no longer in touch with could be a great thing. I mean, the penile enlargement ads, the harder cock ads, the remove spam ads, the mortgage interest ads, the hot stock tip spam, the spam from every online store you ever bought from, the work emails, the emails from family and actual friends really don't do enough to fill your inbox every 6 minutes, so why not add this new group of unwanted emails?
My sister calls me that night and says she added my friends on her facebook account and she adds that she is now friends with 412 people, some of them are my friends from high school. I tell her they were my friends but, since I stopped talking to them ten years ago, they really are not friends anymore. I then tell her that 412 friends is great. I ask if she'll be inviting them all to her birthday this year. She says they aren't "those kind of friends."
So, what are they?
People she knows, people who know people she knows and people she used to know but doesn't anymore.
and why do you want to be "friends" with people you intentionally removed from your lives or, even worse, friends of people you intentionally removed from your lives.
"you just don't get it."
No, I don't. So far, I have only heard one reason for this and we'll get to it shortly.
I ask my sister how much time she spends on facebook. Her husband says she's on all the time.
Having never actually been on facebook, I don't know what it involves but I guess, to spend that much time on it, it must have games, music, news, video feeds of your friends etc because what else could occupy that much time.
Oh, wait, keeping tabs on 412 people you hardly know. Reading about what each person is up to. And you care, because they are your friend. So, when you are at a party and you see one of these people, do you go up and hug them, kiss them on the cheek and say "it's been too long, it's been what? oh, we never actually met."?
So, what exactly is the reason adults go on facebook?
Simple.
To see how badly they fucked up their lives.
I first gleaned this bit of wisdom from my loving wife, Sloogin McNoogin (not her real name). Ok, she didn't actually admit to it but, one night my sister signed onto her facebook account while we were with them and she showed my wife all of her friends who were actually my wife's real life friends. People my wife went to college with and still talks to and still sees from time to time. Not internet friends, real flesh and blood friends. My wife started checking out her friends' profiles and she saw all these people she used to know. She started clicking on each profile. Oddly enough, they were all guys she was "friends" with. I take this to mean guys she dated.
First thing I learned. My wife dated a lot of guys.
Second thing I learned. She was very interested in how they turned out, where they live, what they do for a living etc. I started to see the reason for facebook. She was scoping out old flames, comparing them to eachother and, invariably, to me. She was checking out these guys to see if she made the right decision.
So, I poured myself a hefty glass of vodka and left the room to ponder this.
A couple of weeks later, we're at a party for one of her friends. (real one, she has yet to join facebook - I think). We're talking to this couple and my wife and and the woman are catching up on old college friends and my wife says "I just saw them on facebook." The woman's face lights up but her eyes dart to her husband. He's got this devilish grin on his face like this is a fight they've had before.
She asks my wife if she's on facebook and my wife says no. The husband laughs and says "my wife's having affairs on facebook." She gets pissed and he says "she has all these guys she used to date on there and like three girlfriends from her high school days. Why else is she there but to talk to old boyfriends?" They wound up getting into a huge fight over the issue and I'm guessing this has been an ongoing issue. He needles her about it and she gets defensive because, why else is she on there?
Just this week, I'm at the deli, grabbing lunch and there are two women in front of me. They're talking about? Facebook. It seems one of them just ran into an old "friend" who she used to date and he looks hot and he's recently divorced and well, you get the picture.
The other woman says she has to limit her facebook time to when she's at work (I'm sure her boss would love to hear that) because her husband thinks she's cheating on him. Why? Because all her facebook friends are guys she used to hang out with or date.
I like to think I was a decent guy with the women I dated. I like to think that, for the most part, the relationships ended because we were really not meant for eachother. Yes, I have one ex who I think was devastated by our break-up. She went and married a guy who, according to friends who are her facebook friend, looks exactly like me. But, clearly she is over it. she has a nice (and handsome) husband, two kids, a nice house. I can't really recall anyone breaking my heart but I do know that there were a few girls who stopped seeing me for reasons that I was hurt by but I can't see why I'd want to get back in touch with them other than to see that they are with total losers who pale in comparison to the Great Floogin McNooogin!
hmmm, maybe I should join.
A friend of mine came to see me a while back and asked if I had seen this picture of a girl we went to school with. I said no and he said it was on her facebook account. I laughed at him for joining it and he said he joined because he was told by another friend of ours that he "had to see this picture and he had to join to see it." So he joined. Over the course of the next hour he received about 100 emails from friends of friends of friends of friends, all asking to be his facebook friend. I can see how getting spam from people you don't know or are no longer in touch with could be a great thing. I mean, the penile enlargement ads, the harder cock ads, the remove spam ads, the mortgage interest ads, the hot stock tip spam, the spam from every online store you ever bought from, the work emails, the emails from family and actual friends really don't do enough to fill your inbox every 6 minutes, so why not add this new group of unwanted emails?
My sister calls me that night and says she added my friends on her facebook account and she adds that she is now friends with 412 people, some of them are my friends from high school. I tell her they were my friends but, since I stopped talking to them ten years ago, they really are not friends anymore. I then tell her that 412 friends is great. I ask if she'll be inviting them all to her birthday this year. She says they aren't "those kind of friends."
So, what are they?
People she knows, people who know people she knows and people she used to know but doesn't anymore.
and why do you want to be "friends" with people you intentionally removed from your lives or, even worse, friends of people you intentionally removed from your lives.
"you just don't get it."
No, I don't. So far, I have only heard one reason for this and we'll get to it shortly.
I ask my sister how much time she spends on facebook. Her husband says she's on all the time.
Having never actually been on facebook, I don't know what it involves but I guess, to spend that much time on it, it must have games, music, news, video feeds of your friends etc because what else could occupy that much time.
Oh, wait, keeping tabs on 412 people you hardly know. Reading about what each person is up to. And you care, because they are your friend. So, when you are at a party and you see one of these people, do you go up and hug them, kiss them on the cheek and say "it's been too long, it's been what? oh, we never actually met."?
So, what exactly is the reason adults go on facebook?
Simple.
To see how badly they fucked up their lives.
I first gleaned this bit of wisdom from my loving wife, Sloogin McNoogin (not her real name). Ok, she didn't actually admit to it but, one night my sister signed onto her facebook account while we were with them and she showed my wife all of her friends who were actually my wife's real life friends. People my wife went to college with and still talks to and still sees from time to time. Not internet friends, real flesh and blood friends. My wife started checking out her friends' profiles and she saw all these people she used to know. She started clicking on each profile. Oddly enough, they were all guys she was "friends" with. I take this to mean guys she dated.
First thing I learned. My wife dated a lot of guys.
Second thing I learned. She was very interested in how they turned out, where they live, what they do for a living etc. I started to see the reason for facebook. She was scoping out old flames, comparing them to eachother and, invariably, to me. She was checking out these guys to see if she made the right decision.
So, I poured myself a hefty glass of vodka and left the room to ponder this.
A couple of weeks later, we're at a party for one of her friends. (real one, she has yet to join facebook - I think). We're talking to this couple and my wife and and the woman are catching up on old college friends and my wife says "I just saw them on facebook." The woman's face lights up but her eyes dart to her husband. He's got this devilish grin on his face like this is a fight they've had before.
She asks my wife if she's on facebook and my wife says no. The husband laughs and says "my wife's having affairs on facebook." She gets pissed and he says "she has all these guys she used to date on there and like three girlfriends from her high school days. Why else is she there but to talk to old boyfriends?" They wound up getting into a huge fight over the issue and I'm guessing this has been an ongoing issue. He needles her about it and she gets defensive because, why else is she on there?
Just this week, I'm at the deli, grabbing lunch and there are two women in front of me. They're talking about? Facebook. It seems one of them just ran into an old "friend" who she used to date and he looks hot and he's recently divorced and well, you get the picture.
The other woman says she has to limit her facebook time to when she's at work (I'm sure her boss would love to hear that) because her husband thinks she's cheating on him. Why? Because all her facebook friends are guys she used to hang out with or date.
I like to think I was a decent guy with the women I dated. I like to think that, for the most part, the relationships ended because we were really not meant for eachother. Yes, I have one ex who I think was devastated by our break-up. She went and married a guy who, according to friends who are her facebook friend, looks exactly like me. But, clearly she is over it. she has a nice (and handsome) husband, two kids, a nice house. I can't really recall anyone breaking my heart but I do know that there were a few girls who stopped seeing me for reasons that I was hurt by but I can't see why I'd want to get back in touch with them other than to see that they are with total losers who pale in comparison to the Great Floogin McNooogin!
hmmm, maybe I should join.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Floogin Yamaguchi
When it comes to walking thru a crowd without bumping into people I am an artist. I am an artfull dodger. I don't like being touched by strange people. Ok, that sounds a bit weird. I don't like being brushed or bumped by randoms. I can walk rapidly thru a crowd of people all coming it at me and never get brushed, without ever missing a step or slowing down. I honed this skill attending concerts in tiny music places and futher mastered this craft in the city. I have always lived and worked in places that result in my going against the traffic and I can speed walk straight through, bobbing and weaving like a prize fighter. It must be something to behold but, from my perspective, it's like driving on the wrong side of the highway during rush hour and it has become somewhat like a game for me. How fast can I go, how close can I get without actually body slamming some poor schmuck to the pavement? All good stuff.
Anyway, this morning I drop my daughter off at school and start the cross town trek to my office. There's a rather busy intersection a couple of blocks from her school and there is a subway entrance on two corners there. I've got my ear plugs in, I'm moving to music, gliding thru the crowds, bobbing, weaving, dancing thru the throngs of people and, thanks to a median in the intersection, I cross thru the intersection to the far corner. As I approach the corner, which is where a very good steak house resides, something happens. Here in the city, restaurants leave their trash out at night and a truck comes to take it all away. With restaurants, there's often a sloppy, nasty mush of food in these bags. With popular restaurants that attract a younger, more male crowd, you sometimes also find street treats such as vomit along the side of the buildings.
So, I'm smooth moving across the intersection, slip between the big bald dude and his mismatched hot lady friend, sideways I'm gliding. My right foot steps down, I lift the left foot to get up on the curb and...what the fuck....I'm sliding. Literally, sliding on the street. Time seems to stand still. I'm on the heel of my right foot and I'm moving forward. My arms start to flail and this sudden shift in my body causes me to turn. I'm spinning left, flailing about like a fucking loon. As I complete the second rotation of what appears to be a triple lutz, I realize I am not stopping. I actually look down and see that my right foot is moving thru the biggest longest puddle of grey, chunky ooze I have ever seen. Is it vomit? Is it restaurant goop? Don't know. What I do know is that I am cruising at a rather rapid pace towards the sidewalk. I'm now sliding on the right heel, my arms outstretched like some kind of human airplane.
I know I can pull off the dismount, land my left foot on the curb, tuck my head down low and move out of there before anyone sees me or, far worse, before people start to applaud.
I lift my left foot a bit, like I'm coming to the end of the escalator, prepping for the step off.
Dammit. High curb. I misjudge the height of the curb, catch my left foot on the edge and now I'm stumble running forward. Towards a fucking wall.
I turn to the left quickly to avoid the wall and as I do that a fucking car pulls out of the driveway to the left of the restaurant and hits me.
Ok, that didn't happen but it would've been fucking hysterical, right?
So, I turn left and try and propel myself away from the wall. It works. Sadly, my left ankle didn't enjoy being the point of energy exchange. Pop goes the ankle.
I manage to slow myself down and walk away from this scene of almost epic humiliation. Almost because I didn't do a face slide in that horror film mix of food and drink and god knows what else.
I make it to the next corner. My ankle is throbbing and my bob and weave has turned into a limp and drag. I look down and see that my right shoe is covered in the chunky slip 'n' slide goo.
As I enter my building I contemplate trying to clean off this mess and I start to dry heave at the thought of it. I go into the bathroom, wad up a whole roll of paper towels but I can't do it. I come way too close to pouring a similar mess on the other shoe. Instead, I take the shoes off and leave them in the hallway. I figure nobody in their right mind would touch em.
fortunately, they were still there when I finally got a break and went to buy new shoes.
I walked into the store, headed to the elevator, the smell of my right shoe making me queasy. I walk over to the shoe department, pick out a pair, try em on and casually leave my old ones under the seat.
As I'm leaving, the salesman is running after me, telling me I left my old shoes. He clearly hasn't looked at what he's holding.
I tell him to toss them .
He says they seem to be in good condition.
I tell him to look at the other shoe
He drops them both in a flash
I jump into the elevator and flee before he can react to whatever it is that's all over his hand.
Anyway, this morning I drop my daughter off at school and start the cross town trek to my office. There's a rather busy intersection a couple of blocks from her school and there is a subway entrance on two corners there. I've got my ear plugs in, I'm moving to music, gliding thru the crowds, bobbing, weaving, dancing thru the throngs of people and, thanks to a median in the intersection, I cross thru the intersection to the far corner. As I approach the corner, which is where a very good steak house resides, something happens. Here in the city, restaurants leave their trash out at night and a truck comes to take it all away. With restaurants, there's often a sloppy, nasty mush of food in these bags. With popular restaurants that attract a younger, more male crowd, you sometimes also find street treats such as vomit along the side of the buildings.
So, I'm smooth moving across the intersection, slip between the big bald dude and his mismatched hot lady friend, sideways I'm gliding. My right foot steps down, I lift the left foot to get up on the curb and...what the fuck....I'm sliding. Literally, sliding on the street. Time seems to stand still. I'm on the heel of my right foot and I'm moving forward. My arms start to flail and this sudden shift in my body causes me to turn. I'm spinning left, flailing about like a fucking loon. As I complete the second rotation of what appears to be a triple lutz, I realize I am not stopping. I actually look down and see that my right foot is moving thru the biggest longest puddle of grey, chunky ooze I have ever seen. Is it vomit? Is it restaurant goop? Don't know. What I do know is that I am cruising at a rather rapid pace towards the sidewalk. I'm now sliding on the right heel, my arms outstretched like some kind of human airplane.
I know I can pull off the dismount, land my left foot on the curb, tuck my head down low and move out of there before anyone sees me or, far worse, before people start to applaud.
I lift my left foot a bit, like I'm coming to the end of the escalator, prepping for the step off.
Dammit. High curb. I misjudge the height of the curb, catch my left foot on the edge and now I'm stumble running forward. Towards a fucking wall.
I turn to the left quickly to avoid the wall and as I do that a fucking car pulls out of the driveway to the left of the restaurant and hits me.
Ok, that didn't happen but it would've been fucking hysterical, right?
So, I turn left and try and propel myself away from the wall. It works. Sadly, my left ankle didn't enjoy being the point of energy exchange. Pop goes the ankle.
I manage to slow myself down and walk away from this scene of almost epic humiliation. Almost because I didn't do a face slide in that horror film mix of food and drink and god knows what else.
I make it to the next corner. My ankle is throbbing and my bob and weave has turned into a limp and drag. I look down and see that my right shoe is covered in the chunky slip 'n' slide goo.
As I enter my building I contemplate trying to clean off this mess and I start to dry heave at the thought of it. I go into the bathroom, wad up a whole roll of paper towels but I can't do it. I come way too close to pouring a similar mess on the other shoe. Instead, I take the shoes off and leave them in the hallway. I figure nobody in their right mind would touch em.
fortunately, they were still there when I finally got a break and went to buy new shoes.
I walked into the store, headed to the elevator, the smell of my right shoe making me queasy. I walk over to the shoe department, pick out a pair, try em on and casually leave my old ones under the seat.
As I'm leaving, the salesman is running after me, telling me I left my old shoes. He clearly hasn't looked at what he's holding.
I tell him to toss them .
He says they seem to be in good condition.
I tell him to look at the other shoe
He drops them both in a flash
I jump into the elevator and flee before he can react to whatever it is that's all over his hand.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
I Figured It Out
The Mets are on. They are 1 1/2 games behind the phillies and a game up on the brewers. They basically control their own destiny. They need to win. So, they fall behind by a run and they come up with an hell of an inning against one of the better pitchers in the national league. ok, actually, they Zombrano is ok at best and the ump was calling some iffy balls. Anyway, he walks 2 straight to load the bases. Walks in a run. Then he has to contend with Reyes on third and Delgado up. So they pull the ridiculous shift and Reyes basically walks to home plate. Zombrano is clearly not enjoying it. He gives up a grand slam. Mets 5, Cubs 1.
The team is going nuts. The stadium is going nuts.
The bullpen? They must be watching three's company reruns. The inning ends and Perez escapes another hairy inning. Then, in the 5th, after the Phillies tied their game and the Brewers gave up a run, Perez gets himself in trouble. Manuel makes the call to the bullpen. Duaner Sanchez is summoned. Might as well summon a drunk fan. Someone forgot to tell Sanchez that the brewers were losing and this would be a hell of a good time to shut down the cubs. Then, as Sanchez is warming up to give away runs, the braves score a shitload of runs. It's 9-3 in Philly. The braves are blowing em away. Sanchez does what any good three's company fan would do, he gives up a two run single to tie up the game.
Seriously now, why do they keep bringing this guy in? He's throwing fucking newcombe balls out there. I could get a hit off this guy.
So now it's tied, the brewers are losing, the phillies are losing and the mets are probably deflated. they have 4 more innings to rely on their bullpen. if they don't score 10 runs, they will blow the fucking game.
A win tonight would put them in a tie with the phillies in the loss column. a fucking tie. they would win the tie breaker. they'd take the division.
or.....
they could fucking blow it
The team is going nuts. The stadium is going nuts.
The bullpen? They must be watching three's company reruns. The inning ends and Perez escapes another hairy inning. Then, in the 5th, after the Phillies tied their game and the Brewers gave up a run, Perez gets himself in trouble. Manuel makes the call to the bullpen. Duaner Sanchez is summoned. Might as well summon a drunk fan. Someone forgot to tell Sanchez that the brewers were losing and this would be a hell of a good time to shut down the cubs. Then, as Sanchez is warming up to give away runs, the braves score a shitload of runs. It's 9-3 in Philly. The braves are blowing em away. Sanchez does what any good three's company fan would do, he gives up a two run single to tie up the game.
Seriously now, why do they keep bringing this guy in? He's throwing fucking newcombe balls out there. I could get a hit off this guy.
So now it's tied, the brewers are losing, the phillies are losing and the mets are probably deflated. they have 4 more innings to rely on their bullpen. if they don't score 10 runs, they will blow the fucking game.
A win tonight would put them in a tie with the phillies in the loss column. a fucking tie. they would win the tie breaker. they'd take the division.
or.....
they could fucking blow it
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Floogin's Nocturnal Emission
I'm not a sexual deviant. I swear it. Ok, I am but I have it under control. This is the discussion I had to have this morning with my wife. Not sure if this will sound better if I start at the end and work my way backwards or if I give you the story as it unfolds. Ok, unfolding the story for you.
I got home around 11 last night from work, ate something and watched Heroes (not bad). Then, around 12:30 I drifted off to sleep. At 1 my son woke me for the first of 6 wake ups. Over the course of an hour and a half he woke me to tell me he wanted juice, wanted to watch tv, wanted to play with his trains and wanted to have breakfast. By 2 am I was a zombie.
So, at 4:30, when my daughter wakes me to tell me she has to pee, I zombie shuffle into my bathroom with her. I'm literally blind. It's pitch black. I realize I am sleep walking when I sit down on the edge of the tub and find something lodged in a place where you just don't put stuff. I have heard that the most common excuse people give when something is lodged in their ass is "I fell in the shower." I'm serious. I've heard this from doctors who have had the misfortune of viewing these things. I've seen the x-ray of the man with the crown royal bottle lodge in his ass - all the way, neck first. When this man was asked how the hell he managed to get a crown royal bottle lodged in his ass, he didn't even hesitate, he just said "fell in the shower."
So, I sat on a bottle of something. My eyes instantly shot open. I was no longer a virgin in that arena. I must've let out some kind of a yelp because my daughter laughed and my wife asked if I was ok. I said yes and she went back to sleep.
It should be pointed out here that she has been working insane hours the last two weeks, culminating with an allnighter this past sunday so she was in a far deeper state of sleep than I when all this unfolded.
Ok, so I'm no longer an ass virgin. My daughter finishes peeing and I zombie shuffle/ass rape limp her back to her bedroom, tuck her in and zombie shuffle/ass rape limp back to my bed.
My wife wakes up first and heads into the bathroom. I hear her gasp and then she says "what the fuck is this?"
I crawl out of bed and she's standing next to the shower, pointing at, what appears to be semen, all over the floor and the tub.
She looks me in the eye and asks "did you wake up and jerk off? Is that why you were making all that noise?"
I suddenly find myself acting all defensive, like it was ok for me to head into the bathroom and spew Floogin's Special Sauce all over the place. I start stammering about how I was taking our daughter to pee and I sat on something and I ..and she freaks.
You what? You did this after you took our daughter to the bathroom? What the fuck is wrong with you?
I manage to calm down and I start to laugh.
I tell her to calm down and then I show her what happened. I show her the bottle of conditioner on the floor that, apparently, was in my ass.
She mumbles something about me being a loser and, as I walk out she tells me I look like I was a grinding pole. I ask her what she's talking about and she tells me to feel the back of my shorts.
yup, covered in conditioner.
I got home around 11 last night from work, ate something and watched Heroes (not bad). Then, around 12:30 I drifted off to sleep. At 1 my son woke me for the first of 6 wake ups. Over the course of an hour and a half he woke me to tell me he wanted juice, wanted to watch tv, wanted to play with his trains and wanted to have breakfast. By 2 am I was a zombie.
So, at 4:30, when my daughter wakes me to tell me she has to pee, I zombie shuffle into my bathroom with her. I'm literally blind. It's pitch black. I realize I am sleep walking when I sit down on the edge of the tub and find something lodged in a place where you just don't put stuff. I have heard that the most common excuse people give when something is lodged in their ass is "I fell in the shower." I'm serious. I've heard this from doctors who have had the misfortune of viewing these things. I've seen the x-ray of the man with the crown royal bottle lodge in his ass - all the way, neck first. When this man was asked how the hell he managed to get a crown royal bottle lodged in his ass, he didn't even hesitate, he just said "fell in the shower."
So, I sat on a bottle of something. My eyes instantly shot open. I was no longer a virgin in that arena. I must've let out some kind of a yelp because my daughter laughed and my wife asked if I was ok. I said yes and she went back to sleep.
It should be pointed out here that she has been working insane hours the last two weeks, culminating with an allnighter this past sunday so she was in a far deeper state of sleep than I when all this unfolded.
Ok, so I'm no longer an ass virgin. My daughter finishes peeing and I zombie shuffle/ass rape limp her back to her bedroom, tuck her in and zombie shuffle/ass rape limp back to my bed.
My wife wakes up first and heads into the bathroom. I hear her gasp and then she says "what the fuck is this?"
I crawl out of bed and she's standing next to the shower, pointing at, what appears to be semen, all over the floor and the tub.
She looks me in the eye and asks "did you wake up and jerk off? Is that why you were making all that noise?"
I suddenly find myself acting all defensive, like it was ok for me to head into the bathroom and spew Floogin's Special Sauce all over the place. I start stammering about how I was taking our daughter to pee and I sat on something and I ..and she freaks.
You what? You did this after you took our daughter to the bathroom? What the fuck is wrong with you?
I manage to calm down and I start to laugh.
I tell her to calm down and then I show her what happened. I show her the bottle of conditioner on the floor that, apparently, was in my ass.
She mumbles something about me being a loser and, as I walk out she tells me I look like I was a grinding pole. I ask her what she's talking about and she tells me to feel the back of my shorts.
yup, covered in conditioner.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
I Scored Tickets
I was going to expound on the costs of the previously mentioned imaginary girlfriend dolls but, to be honest, I didn't bother looking into it. Perhaps it's my inability to hide them or to find the time to use them or my lack of sex drive these days, who knows. Ok, that last part was bullshit. Of course I'm still coursing with the hormones. I'm a guy. It's what we do. Last night I was going to do some research and see what I could, um, come up with but the Mets were on and I do loves me a dose of the ups and downs. This season, my beloved Mets have provided just that. Lots of ups and downs. The fact that they are still in the race is amazing. The fact that they didn't blow the rest of the division away is also amazing. So, instead, with a week and a half of games left, the Mets play first place second place swap with the phillies. Today we're in first, tomorrow we're in second but the day after that, we're taking first again. It makes for good drama but it can be taxing to the team and, in the event they make the playoffs, just making them might sap the adrenaline needed to push into the next round.
On the flip side, the distance between the wild card holder and the next in line is growing as the Brewers can't seem to win, even with Sabathia pitching. So, the wild card spot is becoming comfy for both the Phillies and the Mets. Unfortunately, only the Phillies seem to be relaxed and playing with a purpose. The Mets, on the other hand, show signs of dominance and refusal to die one game and then they go out there and flail at the ball and give away a game. It's frustrating.
More so since I picked up tickets to the first home game of the first round of the playoffs. I could have snagged tickets to the first two games but I figured it would be more fun to grab 4 tickets to game one and surround myself with family, sheltering myself from the fat, drunken pigs that seem to attend baseball games these days.
I haven't been to a game all year and this is the last year that Shea Stadium will be there so it will be nice to get one last game in and it will be fucking insane if the Mets can finish out Shea with a World Series appearance or...gasp.... a World Series win.
I'm a realist, I'll be happy with an appearance in the playoffs so I can say goodbye to that crappy stadium. The new one looks amazing and, hopefully, the increase in ticket prices will result in a somewhat "nicer" crowd.
The last game I went to was opening day last season and the crowd was so horrible that I gave my tickets to the Yankees Mets game away instead of taking my daughter and my nephew. I was afraid of what the kids would hear during the course of the game. In that opening day game I heard a dozen different uses for the word cocksucker. Seriously. A dozen. It was rather impressive but it was also frightening and the man to my right, who was nursing a beer thru the whole game while trying to watch the game and keep his son from hearing the foul words of everyone else around us, seemed appalled to be there. And these were the good seats. We were in the orange, right off the field.
Now, I have come to expect that kind of language and drunken behavior when I sit farther from the field but down low, in the good seats? They need to implement a rule about the class of people that are allowed in these seats. I know, you're thinking I'm elitist. Well, you're right. I pay for my seats. These drunken louts usuall pay for the crappiest seats and then sneak down or two dollar tip their way down. I just dropped close to $400 for 4 seats and I am going to be surrounded by fat drunken losers who paid half of that and snuck in and got drunk and might possibly puke on me if we don't get into a fight first. I won't be able to control the look of disgust on my face when these clowns start in on the players and that will, invariably, lead to a slurred "whathefuckeryoulookinat?"
and then the fun begins.
But I'll be at the game, even if for but a moment.
On the flip side, the distance between the wild card holder and the next in line is growing as the Brewers can't seem to win, even with Sabathia pitching. So, the wild card spot is becoming comfy for both the Phillies and the Mets. Unfortunately, only the Phillies seem to be relaxed and playing with a purpose. The Mets, on the other hand, show signs of dominance and refusal to die one game and then they go out there and flail at the ball and give away a game. It's frustrating.
More so since I picked up tickets to the first home game of the first round of the playoffs. I could have snagged tickets to the first two games but I figured it would be more fun to grab 4 tickets to game one and surround myself with family, sheltering myself from the fat, drunken pigs that seem to attend baseball games these days.
I haven't been to a game all year and this is the last year that Shea Stadium will be there so it will be nice to get one last game in and it will be fucking insane if the Mets can finish out Shea with a World Series appearance or...gasp.... a World Series win.
I'm a realist, I'll be happy with an appearance in the playoffs so I can say goodbye to that crappy stadium. The new one looks amazing and, hopefully, the increase in ticket prices will result in a somewhat "nicer" crowd.
The last game I went to was opening day last season and the crowd was so horrible that I gave my tickets to the Yankees Mets game away instead of taking my daughter and my nephew. I was afraid of what the kids would hear during the course of the game. In that opening day game I heard a dozen different uses for the word cocksucker. Seriously. A dozen. It was rather impressive but it was also frightening and the man to my right, who was nursing a beer thru the whole game while trying to watch the game and keep his son from hearing the foul words of everyone else around us, seemed appalled to be there. And these were the good seats. We were in the orange, right off the field.
Now, I have come to expect that kind of language and drunken behavior when I sit farther from the field but down low, in the good seats? They need to implement a rule about the class of people that are allowed in these seats. I know, you're thinking I'm elitist. Well, you're right. I pay for my seats. These drunken louts usuall pay for the crappiest seats and then sneak down or two dollar tip their way down. I just dropped close to $400 for 4 seats and I am going to be surrounded by fat drunken losers who paid half of that and snuck in and got drunk and might possibly puke on me if we don't get into a fight first. I won't be able to control the look of disgust on my face when these clowns start in on the players and that will, invariably, lead to a slurred "whathefuckeryoulookinat?"
and then the fun begins.
But I'll be at the game, even if for but a moment.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Being Alone Takes Its Toll
I mentioned I got a pleo. Well, I didn't, my dad did. He said he wanted one for the office so that my son could play with it when he was here. For those of you that don't know, a pleo is a robot. A baby pleosaur robot that, apparently, evolves thanks to the scientific wonder of artificial intelligence. So, we got one. I set it up and hatched it, watched it learn to walk, wander around, beg for food etc. I hit the website (www.pleoworld.com) and read about the tricks this thing can do. I tried them all. Cool. I even went and downloaded a couple of the preprogrammed personalities to see what they were like. Again, real cool. This little robot does a lot and it's fun to watch.
Sadly, I'm working alone at nights and on the weekends and I'm sitting here, bored out of my mind, needing some kind of interaction with someone or something to break the mundane pattern of my work. So I turn the pleo on. It wakes up, wanders around and ends up near my feet. It squats back and opens its mouth. Now, I know I'm a grown up and this thing is a toy but it seemed to want some food so I fed it the leaf that comes in the box. The pleo ate. And ate. And ate. Then it started to walk towards me. I picked it up and started doing some of the things the site suggest. I tickled its feet, rubbed its head and played with it.
then I picked it up and held it to me like a child. The pleo started nuzzling me. Its head pressed against mine, it started making cooing noises.
Then I realized I was cuddling a rubber and metal toy.
I was shocked and appaled.
What's next? Female companion dolls? If they seem as life like and playfull as the pleo....no, stop, no latex love dolls for me. Can't do that. That's pathetic. Right? Wait, nobody reads this. I can get myself several of these things and have myself a love doll orgy and nobody would ever know.
hmmm... I wonder......no! It's gross. It's wrong. It's, um, it's .....I wonder how much they cost anyway.
Sadly, I'm working alone at nights and on the weekends and I'm sitting here, bored out of my mind, needing some kind of interaction with someone or something to break the mundane pattern of my work. So I turn the pleo on. It wakes up, wanders around and ends up near my feet. It squats back and opens its mouth. Now, I know I'm a grown up and this thing is a toy but it seemed to want some food so I fed it the leaf that comes in the box. The pleo ate. And ate. And ate. Then it started to walk towards me. I picked it up and started doing some of the things the site suggest. I tickled its feet, rubbed its head and played with it.
then I picked it up and held it to me like a child. The pleo started nuzzling me. Its head pressed against mine, it started making cooing noises.
Then I realized I was cuddling a rubber and metal toy.
I was shocked and appaled.
What's next? Female companion dolls? If they seem as life like and playfull as the pleo....no, stop, no latex love dolls for me. Can't do that. That's pathetic. Right? Wait, nobody reads this. I can get myself several of these things and have myself a love doll orgy and nobody would ever know.
hmmm... I wonder......no! It's gross. It's wrong. It's, um, it's .....I wonder how much they cost anyway.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Lesson Learned The Hard Way
Ok, work sucks. It's that time of year where I am chained to the desk for long days and nights, no breaks for the weekend, no rest for the weary. Unfortunately, this current work hell has been, somehow, even more harsh thanks to my wife also being mired in long ass days and nights. Normally, the sitter would stay later with the kids each night but her mom is sick so she must leave and, since I have no boss to report to, I can come home early to deal with the kids. Sure I have clients who are going to dump me if I don't get their shit done on time but I will still have a job so I have a touch of flexibility. Anyway, after one day of dealing with my kids, having them in the office etc, I realized this was not going to work. So, we hired another sitter to deal with the days and nights. She's in need of work, she knows our kids and she is available for as long as we need her. Done. She worked one day and the regular sitter calls to say things are better, she can come during the day but she can't stay late and she can't help out on the weekend. So, I went and hired the other woman to work nights until I come home and weekends until things are more normal regarding my wife's schedule. Two sitters. Basically, double the price of the one I was paying. Cash, of course.
So, Floogin, what's the lesson you ask.
Well, I hit the bank to get cash for the two women and I came back to the office, my pocket fat with money. Normally, my money is neatly folded over my credit cards and held in place with a nice rubber band. Since the bank was crowded, I opted to stuff the money in my pocket and deal with sorting and organizing later. Well, later came as I was in the men's room on my floor. I'm standing there, dick out, pissing, and the thought hit's me - "Floogin, take out the money and straighten it out, and put it back in your pocket."
So, just as the stream peaks, I pull out this big ole wad of hundreds and twenties and then it happens. My brain decides to fuck with me and my fingers release their grip and then, over the course of what seemed like an hour, I reached and grabbed and tried to catch those bills as they fluttered into the piss pot.
Now, since I was already pissing, I had to contend with my nice fat stream of warm yellow pee. I'm twisting my hips, aiming one way, reaching the other and I manage to grab none of the bills. None of the credit cards either.
so, there's my "wallet" sitting at the bottom of the urinal. Do I continue to pee? Do I stop and take the stuff out and toss it in the sink first? What if I do that and someone walks in? Will they try and steal my pissmoney?
So I continue peeing. All over my stuff.
Then I have the horrific task of picking the stuff up and rinsing it off so it doesn't stink like pee when I give the ladies their money. I can't put it in my pocket or I'll have a big wet spot on my pants and, odds are, it will still stink like piss and I'll walk around feeling and smelling like I can't hold my water.
So I wrap it up in paper towels and blot it dry and it is now spread out around my office being guarding by my Pleo. Yes, I got me a pleo. Well, my dad got one for my son but he wanted it in the office for the one day a year when they are both here and I set it up to see if it was cool. It is. Real cool. Except for the big giant steaming pleo shit it left under my desk. I'm kidding, pleo's can't shit. Or can they. www.pleoworld.com for those that are interested.
Anyway, what's the lesson? Well, handling your money and your cock at the same time should be reserved for when you are paying someone to service said cock. Otherwise, you're going to wind up with a pocket full of pissmoney.
So, Floogin, what's the lesson you ask.
Well, I hit the bank to get cash for the two women and I came back to the office, my pocket fat with money. Normally, my money is neatly folded over my credit cards and held in place with a nice rubber band. Since the bank was crowded, I opted to stuff the money in my pocket and deal with sorting and organizing later. Well, later came as I was in the men's room on my floor. I'm standing there, dick out, pissing, and the thought hit's me - "Floogin, take out the money and straighten it out, and put it back in your pocket."
So, just as the stream peaks, I pull out this big ole wad of hundreds and twenties and then it happens. My brain decides to fuck with me and my fingers release their grip and then, over the course of what seemed like an hour, I reached and grabbed and tried to catch those bills as they fluttered into the piss pot.
Now, since I was already pissing, I had to contend with my nice fat stream of warm yellow pee. I'm twisting my hips, aiming one way, reaching the other and I manage to grab none of the bills. None of the credit cards either.
so, there's my "wallet" sitting at the bottom of the urinal. Do I continue to pee? Do I stop and take the stuff out and toss it in the sink first? What if I do that and someone walks in? Will they try and steal my pissmoney?
So I continue peeing. All over my stuff.
Then I have the horrific task of picking the stuff up and rinsing it off so it doesn't stink like pee when I give the ladies their money. I can't put it in my pocket or I'll have a big wet spot on my pants and, odds are, it will still stink like piss and I'll walk around feeling and smelling like I can't hold my water.
So I wrap it up in paper towels and blot it dry and it is now spread out around my office being guarding by my Pleo. Yes, I got me a pleo. Well, my dad got one for my son but he wanted it in the office for the one day a year when they are both here and I set it up to see if it was cool. It is. Real cool. Except for the big giant steaming pleo shit it left under my desk. I'm kidding, pleo's can't shit. Or can they. www.pleoworld.com for those that are interested.
Anyway, what's the lesson? Well, handling your money and your cock at the same time should be reserved for when you are paying someone to service said cock. Otherwise, you're going to wind up with a pocket full of pissmoney.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Adsense is easier?
It seems adsense has made things much easier than when I first attempted to put their coding into my old blog. I've managed to get an ad box up - woohoo.
now to test it
viagra
disinformation
smoking
automobiles
hot sex
if you're reading this, ignore it and, google, no need to pay me if this is a problem. just want to see if the ads actually work
now to test it
viagra
disinformation
smoking
automobiles
hot sex
if you're reading this, ignore it and, google, no need to pay me if this is a problem. just want to see if the ads actually work
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
