I am one of those loyalist type people. I find a product I like, I buy more from that company. I own several pairs of shoes by one designer, sweaters in multiple colors, shirts from the same company, computers are all dell etc. Canon digital cameras are all I know from (except the new panasonic I bought for the wife) and I will continue purchasing sex from women because, to date, women have always provided me with a product I enjoy. Hell, I have owned palm pilots and treos for as long as they've been making them and only finally switched to a blackberry when palm was so outdated that it was becoming embarrassing to carry a treo. Sadly, they are about to unleash a new phone that I would have loved (fortunately, I am loyal to verizon wireless and palm isn't making it available to verizon just yet).
Anyway, when it comes to my music, I am a zen user. I wrote about this a long time ago on my old blog. I listened to sony walkmen for years and then moved into the discman era with aplomb. As soon as the digital world took over I picked my favorite product and have been upgrading within the company ever since. The company is creative. They make some of the best digital media players around. So good that a certain fruit named company wound up paying a huge settlement after stealing infringing on some intellectual property a year or two back. They've been at it for much longer than the icrap and it shows. They make products that last. The only reason I have upgraded any of my systems was to get more space or smaller players. I've dropped them, dented the casing, got them wet and still, they keep on playing.
Plus, many different companies allow you to put music on these players and I am not stuck using a service like itunes where you can't listen to music without paying for it. Hell, I pay $15 a month now and I can put as much music as I can cram into my zen. sure, if the company goes out of business I might be fucked but I probably downloaded enough music in the past to make it a fair trade.
So, with that in mind, I bought my daughter a zen stone for couple of dollars and loaded it with all her music. She loved it. It was small and easy to use and she really dug it. Then she got it in her head that she needed an ipod because, well, they market their crap better than anyone. So, on her birthday this past December, she got an ipod nano. She loved it. It's taller and thinner than the stone but the stone holds more music (I think). She doesn't care about that and she doesn't have a big enough collection of songs to fill either so she's fine with the nano. About a week into owning it, the bottom of the nano fell off. Little plastic piece that is actually stuck in place with, what seems to be, the same "glue" that is on a post-it. Fortunately, she had the plastic piece and we popped it back in place. A day or two later she noticed it was gone and showed me the nano. It makes hooking it up to the mac or the piece of shit docking station that won't charge the nano a total bitch. So, my wife takes the nano to the apple store. She waits and waits and waits and they finally see her and tell her to go to some apple doctor or something. she goes there and they tell her the piece is not covered under warranty and she needs to buy a new ipod nano. Seriously, this is like losing the cap to a soda. this piece is nothing more than a small plastic plug of sorts, to protect the insides of the ipod from the outside. It should be screwed in place but it isn't. It's glued in place using pretend glue.
So, she brings it home and tells me this. I tell her that is total bullshit. We carry the stupid little nano around with us for a week or two until we are near the apple store again and I head in to get the piece. I walk up to some 9 year old in an orange shirt who has her nose pierced and she clearly thinks she is superior to me (and anyone else around me) because she has an iphone and a mac and they allow her to be one step closer to j-bs and I explain the problem to her and she says, in a voice dripping with contempt "you need to go to the genius bar and explain the problem to someone in an orange shirt."
I say "but you're wearing an orange shirt. do you have a function here besides standing around looking trendy?"
She pointed me towards the genius bar so, there I went.
Now, I am no genius but I am fairly sure I can hold my own with the pre-pubescent nerdfest that is the genius bar.
I walk over to a tweener in an orange shirt and a white hat right off the head of the gay guy from the high school musical series. I say "excuse me, the girl in the orange shirt told me to speak to a guy in an orange shirt and since I am color blind and can only see grown-up colors, can you help me?"
He says he can and I explain the problem. He then says to me "well, we need to show the ipod nano to one of our" and here, his face lit up and I think he stood a bit taller "geniuses, so they can determine the problem."
I said "are the geniuses the kids with peach fuzz behind the bar?"
he's fucking beaming now, like we're talking about the wizard of oz or, for this crowd, perhaps, a guy who's not only seen a real woman's breast but has touched it and it wasn't an accident and it wasn't a relative. "yes, they can tell us what needs to be done."
I start to walk over to the bar and he says "oh, you need an appointment to speak to the geniuses."
Now I'm starting to get pissed off. I pull out the nano and I hold it up and I say "look, my daughter got this piece of shit nano for her birthday and the bottom, which is apparently fixed in place using chewing gum, fell off so all I need is a new piece. can you ask one of the children if they have pieces in their lego sets so I can put it back in place and be on my merry way?"
Now he's a little upset. "Sir, we're very busy and people have appointments."
I explain that the store is set up to accomodate people buying and people fixing apple products and I find it very odd that the busies section is the fixing section and I find it odd that they built the store with this much space dedicated to fixing their products unless they knew, going in, that they were making high tech gadgets with low tech parts.
He tells me they are always this busy and I cut him off, telling him he shouldn't be promoting the fact that they make garbage products.
From the look on his face, I just told him I fucked his mom. In the ass.
He tells me he will go in the back and ask if they can fix this and if they have the part they will get it for me.
While I'm waiting I listen to the cacaphony around me, Everyone is pissed off. One woman is screaming at her son, no, wait, that's another orange shirt snot nosed kid. It seems she brought her daughter's laptop in to be fixed immediately after the girl got it and they told her to come back for her appointment yesterday. Well, yesterday was beyond the warranty expiration for that problem and, now, "you will have to pay to have it fixed, parts included."
oh man, she's pissed but who wouldn't be?
The fetus in a hat comes back and tells me they cannot squeeze me in and he tells me I can set up an appointment for tomorrow (today). And what is this appointment for? To exchange the nano for a new one. Seriously. This pimple tells me I need to come back to exchange the nano for a new one. I ask why we can't save us all the aggrivation and just get my daughter her replacement now.
"Only geeeeniusus can do that!"
Now I'm fucking mystified. A genius is needed to tell me that my product is under warranty and then hand me a new one. If they're geniuses, I'm einsteins smarter fucking brother.
So, anyway, I'm out of patience and it is clear that I am not going to leave the store with the replacement so I make the appointment for 2:20 Monday (today). My wife will deal from here on in. I'm officially bowing out.
I prepped her about the issue last night. I told her that they will replace the nano as the little boy told me the nano was covered by the warranty and we will be getting a replacement. I told her she will have to follow the yellow brick road to meet the wizard, known as the g3nius, and he's l33t and she should lol when he makes jokes and she should be all omfg when he helps her because he's a genius and they are to be held high and honored and we should be in awe of them. My wife, officially, thinks I'm nuts.
Until 3 pm today.
My wife calls me to tell me they still haven't taken her yet. I asked what the point of the appointment was and she said "I don't know but when I asked this little asshole 'why the fuck I made an appointment'" he said "ma'am, I would appreciate it if you didn't use those words"
She told him to fuck off.
I have no clue as to the outcome but I think this will be the last apple product bought in my home for a long, long time.
Oh, and for the record, last night my daughter was lying on my bed, watching tv, while I was digging through a drawer, looking for something and she saw her old Zen Stone and she said "Daddy, there's my stone, I thought I lost it. Can I use that instead of the ipod, it sounds better and it doesn't break all the time."
yes, darling, you can.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Geoffrey Giraffe Kicks My Ass
I got head butted by Geoffrey today. I was walking into Toys 'R' Us with my son and as we walked into the store the fucking giraffe bent over and spun around and slammed that massive fucking cloth and hard foam head into my melon. How fucking humiliating is that? Head slammed by a fucking kid in a giraffe costume.
That's all for today
That's all for today
Friday, February 13, 2009
Adsense - Not Again
So, one of my readers alerted me to an ad that consisted of "barbie type dolls" talking about nude pics or something. I've never seen this ad. Whenever I look at my blog I see crap about the shit I posted. There's no nude pics (there might be now that I've mentioned nude pics repeatedly - does porn pay more?) that I know of and there are no ads of this nature that I am aware of. I wish there were, I'd love to have my blog plastered with them. Then I might get some traffic, my adsense revenue might increase and I might actually get paid. As it stands, adsense owes me $25 for over a year's worth of blog ads. They don't pay interest and they don't give you your money until you get over a certain amount in the account. I think it might be a c note. Not sure.
Since we're talking advertising and I'm a total whore, I will now mention that I haven't smoked in 44 days. I'm the Reggie Jackson of no smoking. No cigarettes means...hopefully...no mesothelioma. What is mesothelioma you ask? Well, I'd tell you what mesothelioma means but then you wouldn't google mesothelioma using the google gadget to the right or the bottom of the blog. If you do google for mesothelioma you will learn what mesothelioma means and you might learn that lawyers pay large sums of money for mesothelioma ads on the internet. Well, they used to. Not sure if they still do but I guess we'll find out if mesothelioma ads still pay top dollar.
If you see an ad for a law firm, click it, let's see what they pay and I will donate the proceeds to charity - mesothelioma charity of course.
One last thought. Every time I mention Disney, someone snickers and makes reference to turkey legs. I thought this was a comment about the skinny legged fat people that are, apparently, in abundance there. Nope. My brother in law (the cool one) was kind enough to explain it to me (the loser talked about how awesome they are).
It seems they sell some kind of brontosaurus burger sized turkey leg and all the fatties, and quite a few skinnies, walk around gnawing on these things. My brother in law says they look more like ostrich legs. I asked about the fat people in carts and he said that a large portion of the crowd is riding around in them. Their disability? They're fat and lazy and eating a giant freakshow sized turkey leg is easier when you are driving to the next meal.
We've got a bet. He says the over/under for fat people in carts eating giant turkey legs is 13 (he confirmed this by sending several friends an email and they all concurred). So, we've placed a bet on the fat cart riding turkey leg eating total. I said it would be under 13 for the week.
I'll let you know how it goes. If you want to throw your own guess into the mix, feel free. No money shall be bet on my blog so there's nothing to win, except, perhaps a pat on the back and a good job from me.
In case this last thing brings up fat disney turkey ads, let me remind you to click the mesothelioma ads so I can bring in enough money to donate to the mesothelioma charities.
Since we're talking advertising and I'm a total whore, I will now mention that I haven't smoked in 44 days. I'm the Reggie Jackson of no smoking. No cigarettes means...hopefully...no mesothelioma. What is mesothelioma you ask? Well, I'd tell you what mesothelioma means but then you wouldn't google mesothelioma using the google gadget to the right or the bottom of the blog. If you do google for mesothelioma you will learn what mesothelioma means and you might learn that lawyers pay large sums of money for mesothelioma ads on the internet. Well, they used to. Not sure if they still do but I guess we'll find out if mesothelioma ads still pay top dollar.
If you see an ad for a law firm, click it, let's see what they pay and I will donate the proceeds to charity - mesothelioma charity of course.
One last thought. Every time I mention Disney, someone snickers and makes reference to turkey legs. I thought this was a comment about the skinny legged fat people that are, apparently, in abundance there. Nope. My brother in law (the cool one) was kind enough to explain it to me (the loser talked about how awesome they are).
It seems they sell some kind of brontosaurus burger sized turkey leg and all the fatties, and quite a few skinnies, walk around gnawing on these things. My brother in law says they look more like ostrich legs. I asked about the fat people in carts and he said that a large portion of the crowd is riding around in them. Their disability? They're fat and lazy and eating a giant freakshow sized turkey leg is easier when you are driving to the next meal.
We've got a bet. He says the over/under for fat people in carts eating giant turkey legs is 13 (he confirmed this by sending several friends an email and they all concurred). So, we've placed a bet on the fat cart riding turkey leg eating total. I said it would be under 13 for the week.
I'll let you know how it goes. If you want to throw your own guess into the mix, feel free. No money shall be bet on my blog so there's nothing to win, except, perhaps a pat on the back and a good job from me.
In case this last thing brings up fat disney turkey ads, let me remind you to click the mesothelioma ads so I can bring in enough money to donate to the mesothelioma charities.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Disney Yet Again and My Birthday
As I've mentioned, I was supposed to go to Disney back in November but little Toogin (not his real name)got sick and we postponed the trip. Fortunately, we had travel insurance that cost me $300 so, when Disney moved the dates and jet blue changed our flights for a total cost of $215, I was refunded the $215. Wait, what? That's right, I paid $300 to be refunded $215. In other words, travel insurance with Disney is a waste of money.
Anyway, we're planning on going next week. We've put the house on lock down. No play dates, no visits with friends or family. The kids go to school and come home. The wife has, brilliantly, opted to not try and set up interviews out of fear of picking up some ailment. We've even extended our no kissing rule to further prevent the spread of any diseases.
We'll all come down with typhus next Wednesday but we're still going to the house of mouse. I'm not going thru this build up to this crap again. While the wife and kids are all excited and working themselves up to some orgiastic frenzy, I am dreading this trip. For starters there's the boot. The fucking boot. The big, plastic, life altering boot. I fucking hate it. Of course, on the bright side, I'll probably get a tan. I hear Hell is lovely this time of year.
So, yeah, I'm fucking miserable.
To make matters worse, I turn 40 next month. I could care less about it. No, I am not one of those guys who thinks he looks better, feels better etc now that I am 40. On the contrary, I think I peaked when I was 20 or so. Sure I was crack addict thin but I had a great head of hair and all my teeth so I was a healthy crack addict. I did have my fat period between then and now and, yes, I probably do look better now than I did 10 or 15 years ago but it serves no purpose. It's not like I'm out getting laid as a result of it. Even my hands are rejecting me these days.
So, anyway, I'm turning 40 and my wife is all over it like flies on a ribroast (points for naming the movie). She wants me to have a party. A big birthday bash like the one I threw for her when she turned 40. I told her I wasn't really interested in something like that. I've never been a big fan of birthdays. Might have something to do with my parents always saying it was my birthday when we'd eat in restaurants where the waiters sang to the birthday kid. I was always so fucking humiliated by the attention. Another big issue I have with this party is that I'd be throwing it for myself. So, she is, basically, just planning it for me and I have to pay for it.
And I don't want to waste my money on it.
What I want, for my birthday, is to go somewhere. Alone.
New Orleans for jazz fest perhaps.
Vegas maybe.
Me and a few friends. No wives, no kids. No $150 a head, $6500 minimum, bar not included. No space limit but we have to invite....
Fuck all of them. I don't want the attention, I don't want the bill.
Maybe we'll celebrate in Disney. I'll get drunk and fuck minnie. I hear she's a real whore. Then I can come back here, blog about it and the two people who read this can laugh at my expense.
Anyway, we're planning on going next week. We've put the house on lock down. No play dates, no visits with friends or family. The kids go to school and come home. The wife has, brilliantly, opted to not try and set up interviews out of fear of picking up some ailment. We've even extended our no kissing rule to further prevent the spread of any diseases.
We'll all come down with typhus next Wednesday but we're still going to the house of mouse. I'm not going thru this build up to this crap again. While the wife and kids are all excited and working themselves up to some orgiastic frenzy, I am dreading this trip. For starters there's the boot. The fucking boot. The big, plastic, life altering boot. I fucking hate it. Of course, on the bright side, I'll probably get a tan. I hear Hell is lovely this time of year.
So, yeah, I'm fucking miserable.
To make matters worse, I turn 40 next month. I could care less about it. No, I am not one of those guys who thinks he looks better, feels better etc now that I am 40. On the contrary, I think I peaked when I was 20 or so. Sure I was crack addict thin but I had a great head of hair and all my teeth so I was a healthy crack addict. I did have my fat period between then and now and, yes, I probably do look better now than I did 10 or 15 years ago but it serves no purpose. It's not like I'm out getting laid as a result of it. Even my hands are rejecting me these days.
So, anyway, I'm turning 40 and my wife is all over it like flies on a ribroast (points for naming the movie). She wants me to have a party. A big birthday bash like the one I threw for her when she turned 40. I told her I wasn't really interested in something like that. I've never been a big fan of birthdays. Might have something to do with my parents always saying it was my birthday when we'd eat in restaurants where the waiters sang to the birthday kid. I was always so fucking humiliated by the attention. Another big issue I have with this party is that I'd be throwing it for myself. So, she is, basically, just planning it for me and I have to pay for it.
And I don't want to waste my money on it.
What I want, for my birthday, is to go somewhere. Alone.
New Orleans for jazz fest perhaps.
Vegas maybe.
Me and a few friends. No wives, no kids. No $150 a head, $6500 minimum, bar not included. No space limit but we have to invite....
Fuck all of them. I don't want the attention, I don't want the bill.
Maybe we'll celebrate in Disney. I'll get drunk and fuck minnie. I hear she's a real whore. Then I can come back here, blog about it and the two people who read this can laugh at my expense.
Monday, February 09, 2009
Tech Woes and The Grammys
So I spent the day Saturday at the office. Normally, this wouldn't be something I'd do this early in the season of hell but our server was in need of an upgrade and the timing was such that it couldn't wait any longer so I made the arrangements and I came in at 10 am. Got in at 9:30, the boy was going to come and changed his mind. No sooner did I walk thru the door than the phone rings, he wants to come to work with me. So I am going to head back uptown as soon as the tech crew arrives.
The show up, get started and off I go. I wind up stuck on the subway for 20 minutes, finally get there, grab the boy and he's hungary. So I get him food and he wants some toys to play with so I get him toys. Head back to the office and the geek squad rejects are whining about how slow this is going and they'll be here late and blah blah blah I don't give a fuck, I'm paying for this shit.
So, at 5 they tell me to go home, they'll be here for a while, it will all be up and running by Monday morning. I get the email Sunday, declaring a success. Everything is in order and I'm good to go.
Um, no.
I get to work this morning and I have a new email telling me the server upgrade should result in blazing fast business software.
Sure.
If it worked.
If anything worked.
I can't access the tax programs. Well, I can but it takes forever. My secretary can't even get her pc to load up and my bookkeeper? She's got her old pc which is on the verge of collapse but it works perfectly.
So I am without the ability to work for most of the day. On the bright side, plenty of time to fuck around and do nothing.
Which leads me, somehow, to the grammys. I watched them last night and here's what I think. I think they have made the show far more enjoyable for the public by removing the awards that are accepted by the people who write the music and produce the music, instead, giving the spotlight up, entirely, to the performers. This would be great if the performers were worth watching. Whitney Houston? She's clearly still smoking crack.
I don't understand the whole rap thing so I can't understand how lil wayne can run around with his underwear hanging out of hi pants. I don't understand how musicians, in general, get laid. These ugly guys are all scoring some very hot women and it is based solely on their music. It can't be on their looks. Robert Plant is frightening looking. Sure, back in the day he had the swagger and he was a huge star but he looks like some outcast from a casting call for a freak show. And Justin Timberlake? I figured him out. He's the Derek Jeter of musicians. An overrated performer that looks ok, has girls screaming for him and an ego the size of the stadiums he performs in.
Ok, Jeter's far uglier than him but you get my point.
And the MusiCares award winner was Neil Diamond. Neil Fucking Diamond. Seriously. For those of you that don't know this, MusiCares is a charity award given to one musician each year for their charity work. The night before the grammys, musicians gather to honor the winner by singing their songs and then the winner gets up there and performs. I went to the 2000 Grammys. I went to the Musicares award dinner the night before. The honoree? Elton John. That's right. It was insane. I think I took some ecstacy. I was sitting next to Hefner's table. Chatting with Hef's girls, knowing that was the closest I'd ever get to the grotto. I smoked butts outside with Brad Pitt (we didn't talk but I did mention that he lived in my building for a while, he didn't care). I listened to Elton John songs sung by all the best musicians around. It was insane. A few years later I went to the Grammys here in NYC. I went to the Musicares awards show the night before too. They honored Bono. Now, I am not the biggest Bono fan. I like old U2. I find Bono to be a big of an arrogant ass but his bandmates sure can write a song or two. Tony Bennet gave us his table as he was leaving early. I wound up sitting between Bill Clinton and Bono as BB King Performed. BB King, at one point, told me to stop kicking his chair. The show was insane, the performances were awesome.
So, this year, a bunch of losers paid to see other people sing Neil Diamond. That's sad. Sure, Sweet Caroline is catchy and we all shed a tear over his ET song that never made it into the movie and we all dig the Jazz Singer but, wait, nobody likes any of that shit. It's crap. So, they honor him Saturday night and then he comes out on Sunday, at the Grammys and I'm thinking this guy's a mess. If Dick Clark (today's Dick Clark) and Austin Powers jerked off in a cup, blended the goo and artificially inseminated Whitney Houston (because seriously, would anyone be so bold as to stick their dick where Bobby Brown's has been?), Neil Diamond would be the offspring. All slurring, cheesy lounge lizard freak fest.
The show itself sucked. Sure, there was some good in it. Blink 182 is back, Kid Rock is fucking awesome, that fat chick with the crush on the Jonas Brothers was great, the country music shit? No thanks. Keith Urban was everywhere. Why? Because by inviting him you get Nicole Kidman and I'd listen to country music if it means I get to look at Nicole Kidman. Miley Cyrus? Sure she's cute but she's typical trailer trash. She'll be fat by 21. Really fat. Let's see how big a star she is then.
M.I.A. all pregnant and gangsta was awesome. The other four dudes? Couldn't understand what the hell they were saying. Paper Planes was ruined as a result.
The Bo Didley medley was great, having to listen to actors introduce musicians as their friends was ridiculous. It goes back to the musician appeal. Samuel L. Jackson is one of the coolest dudes around. He sounded like he was ready to fondle balls when he was introducing Timberlake.
I wonder if he gets that way at Yankee games too.
And one last thing.
A Rod juiced. Everyone thought it. Now we know it. Now the Yankee fans have an excuse for his ridiculous behavior and his inability to get the clutch hits. Steroids don't make the bat bigger.
The show up, get started and off I go. I wind up stuck on the subway for 20 minutes, finally get there, grab the boy and he's hungary. So I get him food and he wants some toys to play with so I get him toys. Head back to the office and the geek squad rejects are whining about how slow this is going and they'll be here late and blah blah blah I don't give a fuck, I'm paying for this shit.
So, at 5 they tell me to go home, they'll be here for a while, it will all be up and running by Monday morning. I get the email Sunday, declaring a success. Everything is in order and I'm good to go.
Um, no.
I get to work this morning and I have a new email telling me the server upgrade should result in blazing fast business software.
Sure.
If it worked.
If anything worked.
I can't access the tax programs. Well, I can but it takes forever. My secretary can't even get her pc to load up and my bookkeeper? She's got her old pc which is on the verge of collapse but it works perfectly.
So I am without the ability to work for most of the day. On the bright side, plenty of time to fuck around and do nothing.
Which leads me, somehow, to the grammys. I watched them last night and here's what I think. I think they have made the show far more enjoyable for the public by removing the awards that are accepted by the people who write the music and produce the music, instead, giving the spotlight up, entirely, to the performers. This would be great if the performers were worth watching. Whitney Houston? She's clearly still smoking crack.
I don't understand the whole rap thing so I can't understand how lil wayne can run around with his underwear hanging out of hi pants. I don't understand how musicians, in general, get laid. These ugly guys are all scoring some very hot women and it is based solely on their music. It can't be on their looks. Robert Plant is frightening looking. Sure, back in the day he had the swagger and he was a huge star but he looks like some outcast from a casting call for a freak show. And Justin Timberlake? I figured him out. He's the Derek Jeter of musicians. An overrated performer that looks ok, has girls screaming for him and an ego the size of the stadiums he performs in.
Ok, Jeter's far uglier than him but you get my point.
And the MusiCares award winner was Neil Diamond. Neil Fucking Diamond. Seriously. For those of you that don't know this, MusiCares is a charity award given to one musician each year for their charity work. The night before the grammys, musicians gather to honor the winner by singing their songs and then the winner gets up there and performs. I went to the 2000 Grammys. I went to the Musicares award dinner the night before. The honoree? Elton John. That's right. It was insane. I think I took some ecstacy. I was sitting next to Hefner's table. Chatting with Hef's girls, knowing that was the closest I'd ever get to the grotto. I smoked butts outside with Brad Pitt (we didn't talk but I did mention that he lived in my building for a while, he didn't care). I listened to Elton John songs sung by all the best musicians around. It was insane. A few years later I went to the Grammys here in NYC. I went to the Musicares awards show the night before too. They honored Bono. Now, I am not the biggest Bono fan. I like old U2. I find Bono to be a big of an arrogant ass but his bandmates sure can write a song or two. Tony Bennet gave us his table as he was leaving early. I wound up sitting between Bill Clinton and Bono as BB King Performed. BB King, at one point, told me to stop kicking his chair. The show was insane, the performances were awesome.
So, this year, a bunch of losers paid to see other people sing Neil Diamond. That's sad. Sure, Sweet Caroline is catchy and we all shed a tear over his ET song that never made it into the movie and we all dig the Jazz Singer but, wait, nobody likes any of that shit. It's crap. So, they honor him Saturday night and then he comes out on Sunday, at the Grammys and I'm thinking this guy's a mess. If Dick Clark (today's Dick Clark) and Austin Powers jerked off in a cup, blended the goo and artificially inseminated Whitney Houston (because seriously, would anyone be so bold as to stick their dick where Bobby Brown's has been?), Neil Diamond would be the offspring. All slurring, cheesy lounge lizard freak fest.
The show itself sucked. Sure, there was some good in it. Blink 182 is back, Kid Rock is fucking awesome, that fat chick with the crush on the Jonas Brothers was great, the country music shit? No thanks. Keith Urban was everywhere. Why? Because by inviting him you get Nicole Kidman and I'd listen to country music if it means I get to look at Nicole Kidman. Miley Cyrus? Sure she's cute but she's typical trailer trash. She'll be fat by 21. Really fat. Let's see how big a star she is then.
M.I.A. all pregnant and gangsta was awesome. The other four dudes? Couldn't understand what the hell they were saying. Paper Planes was ruined as a result.
The Bo Didley medley was great, having to listen to actors introduce musicians as their friends was ridiculous. It goes back to the musician appeal. Samuel L. Jackson is one of the coolest dudes around. He sounded like he was ready to fondle balls when he was introducing Timberlake.
I wonder if he gets that way at Yankee games too.
And one last thing.
A Rod juiced. Everyone thought it. Now we know it. Now the Yankee fans have an excuse for his ridiculous behavior and his inability to get the clutch hits. Steroids don't make the bat bigger.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
A Good Old Fashion McRant
Let's see, where to begin. My wife told me that, since she has no source of income, she cannot figure out how she will pay her bills. So, being the caring husband that I am, I told her I would help her out but I had a few rules. First, they must all be current. If she hands me some late shit that she was avoiding (she does this), it won't count towards the current situation - old bills, incurred whilst working and all that.
Second rule, no excessive spending. I have no problem paying for the food, the kids shit etc. I do that anyway. Mrs. McNoogin has a way with credit cards and shopping that is a total mystery to me. She will walk into a store and drop $4,000 on shirts, knowing she will be returning $3,800 worth once she decides which one she really wants. This would all be fine, fucking moronic, but fine nonetheless, if she returned the stuff during the billing cycle. She doesn't. She keeps shit for two, three months, then she returns it. Again, all fine, idiotic for sure but, fine, provided she paid the bills each month. She has this thing where she figures, if she plans on returning it, she shouldn't pay for it. So, she incurs late fees and interest while she stores the items for the retailers. Fucking moronic. I've tried to show her how fucking wasteful this is but she just can't seem to understand it. So, I won't pay for any excessive spending. She wants a shirt, buy it. It. Not them. I see shit laying around the apartment that, she says, is for returns, fine. I find she hasn't returned shit during the cycle, no more free cheese from me.
Third, cut the fat. I asked her if she cancelled her gym membership. She said no, she can't do that. I know, y'all are thinking, cruel Floogin, cruel. On the contrary, she has been paying the gym for over 8 years now. She has been there 4 times. Each time was to discuss the money she paid without every using the facilities. She gets them to give her free training sessions, which she then never uses. I don't even know how much a membership costs but $1 a month for the last 8 years that would be $96 pissed away. So, I told her I wasn't paying for it. She told me she will start going, she needs to loses weight (she doesn't) blah blah blah which leads me to the final, most important aspect of my agreement.
She has to provide me with the thing I need most. Yup, I want it and I want it often. I don't care how she feels, how she looks or whether or not she is even interested, she must provide me with this.
I want to watch my shows without interruption. Every night I settle down to watch a show I taped, I thru about half the show and she plops down next to me and asks "what else is on?" Well fuck you. If I asked her to stop watching a show halfway thru it, she'd tell me to watch in the bedroom. I'm asking for the same fucking courtesy.
So, a couple of weeks ago, my old man told me how he lent my brother in law some money to help him with his business. I told him I thought he was nuts, that my brother in law was not capable of running a business and the only way for it to work would be if he brought in a partner to manage the business while he worked the selling and account management side of things. I then quickly added that I was not willing to take that job on. I asked my dad how much and he said he cosigned a line of credit for him in exchange for his receivables.
Well, then I found out that he tapped my dad for $25k 6 months ago, right around the time he bought a nice big flat screen tv, new home theater set up etc for his living room. Must be a coincidence. Then my dad told me he hasn't been making the necessary payments for withholding taxes and various employer required insurance. The penalties for not having workman's comp etc could be as high as $22,500 for the last 6 months. He didn't have the money to pay his employees' taxes. That was his reasoning. Ok. But he had the money to take his family to Disney. As soon as my sad cosigned the first of two lines ($100k total), he decided his family should fly rather than drive to Disney. Oh, and he also decided to throw himself a nice 40th birthday party which, a month earlier, he decided was a waste of money that he didn't have.
So, my dad, who is only free with his money when it comes to this deadbeat and his wife, is feeling a bit like a schmuck and, rightfully, so. Seems the fucknut missed the first payment, resulting in the bank tapping my dad's personal account for the payment. He asked me what he should do. I asked him if he was going to listen to me this time. He said yes. I told him to cut the guy off. Call the banks, tell them to freeze the line where it is.
I am exhausted dealing with stupidity and lunacy.
I need a reprieve.
Second rule, no excessive spending. I have no problem paying for the food, the kids shit etc. I do that anyway. Mrs. McNoogin has a way with credit cards and shopping that is a total mystery to me. She will walk into a store and drop $4,000 on shirts, knowing she will be returning $3,800 worth once she decides which one she really wants. This would all be fine, fucking moronic, but fine nonetheless, if she returned the stuff during the billing cycle. She doesn't. She keeps shit for two, three months, then she returns it. Again, all fine, idiotic for sure but, fine, provided she paid the bills each month. She has this thing where she figures, if she plans on returning it, she shouldn't pay for it. So, she incurs late fees and interest while she stores the items for the retailers. Fucking moronic. I've tried to show her how fucking wasteful this is but she just can't seem to understand it. So, I won't pay for any excessive spending. She wants a shirt, buy it. It. Not them. I see shit laying around the apartment that, she says, is for returns, fine. I find she hasn't returned shit during the cycle, no more free cheese from me.
Third, cut the fat. I asked her if she cancelled her gym membership. She said no, she can't do that. I know, y'all are thinking, cruel Floogin, cruel. On the contrary, she has been paying the gym for over 8 years now. She has been there 4 times. Each time was to discuss the money she paid without every using the facilities. She gets them to give her free training sessions, which she then never uses. I don't even know how much a membership costs but $1 a month for the last 8 years that would be $96 pissed away. So, I told her I wasn't paying for it. She told me she will start going, she needs to loses weight (she doesn't) blah blah blah which leads me to the final, most important aspect of my agreement.
She has to provide me with the thing I need most. Yup, I want it and I want it often. I don't care how she feels, how she looks or whether or not she is even interested, she must provide me with this.
I want to watch my shows without interruption. Every night I settle down to watch a show I taped, I thru about half the show and she plops down next to me and asks "what else is on?" Well fuck you. If I asked her to stop watching a show halfway thru it, she'd tell me to watch in the bedroom. I'm asking for the same fucking courtesy.
So, a couple of weeks ago, my old man told me how he lent my brother in law some money to help him with his business. I told him I thought he was nuts, that my brother in law was not capable of running a business and the only way for it to work would be if he brought in a partner to manage the business while he worked the selling and account management side of things. I then quickly added that I was not willing to take that job on. I asked my dad how much and he said he cosigned a line of credit for him in exchange for his receivables.
Well, then I found out that he tapped my dad for $25k 6 months ago, right around the time he bought a nice big flat screen tv, new home theater set up etc for his living room. Must be a coincidence. Then my dad told me he hasn't been making the necessary payments for withholding taxes and various employer required insurance. The penalties for not having workman's comp etc could be as high as $22,500 for the last 6 months. He didn't have the money to pay his employees' taxes. That was his reasoning. Ok. But he had the money to take his family to Disney. As soon as my sad cosigned the first of two lines ($100k total), he decided his family should fly rather than drive to Disney. Oh, and he also decided to throw himself a nice 40th birthday party which, a month earlier, he decided was a waste of money that he didn't have.
So, my dad, who is only free with his money when it comes to this deadbeat and his wife, is feeling a bit like a schmuck and, rightfully, so. Seems the fucknut missed the first payment, resulting in the bank tapping my dad's personal account for the payment. He asked me what he should do. I asked him if he was going to listen to me this time. He said yes. I told him to cut the guy off. Call the banks, tell them to freeze the line where it is.
I am exhausted dealing with stupidity and lunacy.
I need a reprieve.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
She Cooked!!! She Cooked!!!!!
No shit.
The apocolypse is upon us. Mrs. McNoogin made me dinner last night.
More or less but, given there was some stove usage and a few pots were actually used, I'm going to give this one to her for the effort.
I came home around 7:00 last night. I was greeted by the baby sitter and my daughter's best friend's sitter. The kids were quietly playing and my wife was nowhere to be found.
The friend's sitter asked me for the recipe for the sugar free crustless cheesecake. She said it was awesome. I thanked her as nobody else had tasted it so I didn't know if it was really good or I just like cream cheese. Now I know.
Anyway, I asked our sitter where my wife was and she smiled and said "in the bedroom getting dinner ready."
I was a bit surprised. I couldn't imagine my wife, who is not exactly the outgoing sexcapade type, was summonning me to the boudoir for some late afternoon fucking.
She wasn't.
She was on the internet looking up recipes. She was planning on making me dinner and she needed to learn how to make what she wanted to make.
Not a good sign.
Anyway, I removed my ridiculous boot, put on some sweats and a tee shirt and went to say hello to the kids. I was greeted by all three of them with hugs and kisses and cheers. Then my daughter leaned in close and whispered "mommy's cooking" in a somewhat frightened tone.
I told her not to worry, she was googling recipes and I'm sure it will be great.
I went into the kitchen and heard the sitters talking about their obama crushes, my wife's lack of skills in the kitchen and my apparent skills in that same room.
I stuck my head into the kitchen, more to see what was being prepped for me than anything else and this is what I saw.
A big bowl of chopped spinach - frozen and defrosting.
Butter in a pot
Several different seasonings
Heavy Cream
One nut
Two steaks wrapped in the shrink wrap that screams "not the best meat."
computer printouts
So I asked what was going on and the sitters said "steak and creamed spinach but she doesn't know what you can and can't eat so she took everything out and she's been waiting for you to come home before she started cooking."
So the butter, the heavy cream etc have all been sitting out for a few hours. gross.
The steaks? One was a shell steak, the other a ribeye. The label on the rib eye said bone in. There was no bone. The shell steak was some organic, no anti-biotic etc company. The color was not the color of raw steak. My wife came in as I was inspecting the meats and she said "they didn't have two rib eyes from the same company and the woman told me the steaks were identical so I got this one."
I had to explain the different cuts of meat to her.
I had to show her the colors.
I had to show her the fat on the steak and explain the importance of said fat.
I had to explain the concept behind aging - the steak she bought was new baby, new.
I had to do all of this without upsetting her as she was trying to make me dinner but she didn't know that you are better off going to a butcher for steaks.
I managed to do this without putting a damper on the night.
Then I hit the bottle.
It was a necessity. The steaks were not going to be great. They wouldn't suck but they would rank in the bottom of the list of all time great steaks.
Way down at the bottom.
But she was cooking so I couldn't complain.
So, the sitters left and we got the kids in bed and asleep and we went back to cooking our dinner.
I offered to help and my wife said she'd do it. I asked her if she was going to salt the steaks a bit and she asked what that meant. I explained that a light salt rub would seal in the juices, keep the steak nice and flavorful blah blah blah. she asked me to do it.
So I did.
So, the end result was, she made me creamed spinach. It was pretty good. The rib eye was eh and the shell was horrific. It turned an even stranger color after cooking and the only way I could eat it was by first drowning it in bleu cheese dressing.
All in all, she cooked so the cook watch is over.
Should I start the sex watch next? I can put up a sex watch clock right next to a hell freezes over clock.
We can all bet on which one ends first.
The apocolypse is upon us. Mrs. McNoogin made me dinner last night.
More or less but, given there was some stove usage and a few pots were actually used, I'm going to give this one to her for the effort.
I came home around 7:00 last night. I was greeted by the baby sitter and my daughter's best friend's sitter. The kids were quietly playing and my wife was nowhere to be found.
The friend's sitter asked me for the recipe for the sugar free crustless cheesecake. She said it was awesome. I thanked her as nobody else had tasted it so I didn't know if it was really good or I just like cream cheese. Now I know.
Anyway, I asked our sitter where my wife was and she smiled and said "in the bedroom getting dinner ready."
I was a bit surprised. I couldn't imagine my wife, who is not exactly the outgoing sexcapade type, was summonning me to the boudoir for some late afternoon fucking.
She wasn't.
She was on the internet looking up recipes. She was planning on making me dinner and she needed to learn how to make what she wanted to make.
Not a good sign.
Anyway, I removed my ridiculous boot, put on some sweats and a tee shirt and went to say hello to the kids. I was greeted by all three of them with hugs and kisses and cheers. Then my daughter leaned in close and whispered "mommy's cooking" in a somewhat frightened tone.
I told her not to worry, she was googling recipes and I'm sure it will be great.
I went into the kitchen and heard the sitters talking about their obama crushes, my wife's lack of skills in the kitchen and my apparent skills in that same room.
I stuck my head into the kitchen, more to see what was being prepped for me than anything else and this is what I saw.
A big bowl of chopped spinach - frozen and defrosting.
Butter in a pot
Several different seasonings
Heavy Cream
One nut
Two steaks wrapped in the shrink wrap that screams "not the best meat."
computer printouts
So I asked what was going on and the sitters said "steak and creamed spinach but she doesn't know what you can and can't eat so she took everything out and she's been waiting for you to come home before she started cooking."
So the butter, the heavy cream etc have all been sitting out for a few hours. gross.
The steaks? One was a shell steak, the other a ribeye. The label on the rib eye said bone in. There was no bone. The shell steak was some organic, no anti-biotic etc company. The color was not the color of raw steak. My wife came in as I was inspecting the meats and she said "they didn't have two rib eyes from the same company and the woman told me the steaks were identical so I got this one."
I had to explain the different cuts of meat to her.
I had to show her the colors.
I had to show her the fat on the steak and explain the importance of said fat.
I had to explain the concept behind aging - the steak she bought was new baby, new.
I had to do all of this without upsetting her as she was trying to make me dinner but she didn't know that you are better off going to a butcher for steaks.
I managed to do this without putting a damper on the night.
Then I hit the bottle.
It was a necessity. The steaks were not going to be great. They wouldn't suck but they would rank in the bottom of the list of all time great steaks.
Way down at the bottom.
But she was cooking so I couldn't complain.
So, the sitters left and we got the kids in bed and asleep and we went back to cooking our dinner.
I offered to help and my wife said she'd do it. I asked her if she was going to salt the steaks a bit and she asked what that meant. I explained that a light salt rub would seal in the juices, keep the steak nice and flavorful blah blah blah. she asked me to do it.
So I did.
So, the end result was, she made me creamed spinach. It was pretty good. The rib eye was eh and the shell was horrific. It turned an even stranger color after cooking and the only way I could eat it was by first drowning it in bleu cheese dressing.
All in all, she cooked so the cook watch is over.
Should I start the sex watch next? I can put up a sex watch clock right next to a hell freezes over clock.
We can all bet on which one ends first.
Monday, January 26, 2009
She Cooks, She Ruins, She Kills!!!! (almost)
Well, it was bound to happen. The wife actually made a meal.
Sort of.
I spent the better half of yesterday afternoon making cupcakes with my daughter and then a crustless sugar free cheesecake for myself. This is the second time my daughter has requested baking with daddy and it has proven to be a rather fun event. She loves going to the market to get the goodies, she loves mixing and pouring and making the desserts and she loves licking the bowl, as most kids do.
So, we baked. All afternoon.
My wife came home around 6 with my son. They spent the day at a birthday party and then they did some shopping and hit the Children's Museum. A great day, the little man claimed.
Then the wife announced "I'm making dinner."
A cold breeze ran thru the apartment and an eerie music could be heard.
So, while my daughter read a book and my son watched some tv, Mrs. McNoogin toiled away in the kitchen.
First she opened a can of beans that looked like pasta, poured them in a bowl and put them out in front of my son so he could snack on them. My daughter walked into the room just as my wife was doing this and she came skipping over, hoping to grab a few bites as well.
Both kids reached into the bowl, grabbed one of these long pasta looking things, put it in their respective mouths, took bites and spit it out.
"ugh, that's not pasta"
from both of them.
Next, my wife announced to the room "dinner is ready, wash up and sit down."
So, cart the kids off to the bathroom, they wash up and get ready for dinner. My daughter looks up at me and asks "what do we do when it tastes gross?"
I tell her it won't. I tell her mommy probably made something they love.
So, we sit down, the three of us. Apprehensive smiles on our faces.
And out she comes, holding what appears to be a quiche.
A quiche?
She didn't make dinner. She heated it.
The kids looked at the quiche on the table, looked at me, looked at my wife and looked back at the quiche with a bit of fear on their faces and my daughter says "I'll have soup."
My son then said "I want chicken thunders." (chicken tenders)
I tell them to try the quiche.
They look at me like I'm nuts. I then take a slice of the quiche and put it on my plate. I start eating the top portion, trying to avoid getting any of the crust in my mouth as I cannot eat that and I don't want my kids to see me spit out the crust.
My kids laugh at me and both get up from the table. They ask to be called back when their dinner is ready. I tell them to sit their asses back down and try the quiche.
My son says no, my daughter says fine. As soon as her soup is ready, she says, she will try the quiche.
So we sit and talk about the party, the baking and whatnot until the soup comes out.
My daughter eats the soup.
My son says it lookes like poop.
My wife comes out with another bowl of beans. Butter beans this time.
Shunned again.
I explain to my wife that the only way to get the kids to eat beans is by mixing them with something else, like rice.
"I'm not making rice"
I'm not asking you to, I tell her.
My son asks where his chicken is.
My wife says "shit, I forgot to plug the toaster oven in."
My daughter has her bowl of soup. My son, eventually, has his chicken thunders and the kids are excused from the table.
I tell the kids they have a few minutes before bed time and I ask them to behave as I am running out to grab some soda for myself.
When I return from the store I almost pass out. The smell of gas overwhelms me. I actually get my first whiff of it when I am outside the apartment, in the hallway.
I walk in, walk straight into the kitchen, open the window and look at the stove. The front left burner is on, no flame burning. Gas has been pumping into the apartment for some period of time.
I ask my wife if she smelled the gas and she said she thought it smelled a bit but it always smells a bit in our kitchen. This is true, there is, at times, a very faint gas odor.
Apparently she heated up some corn and some soup and in the process of moving pots around she accidentally turned one burner back.
I asked her when she made corn. She said she heated it up for our daughter but it didn't look or taste right so she didn't serve it.
So, my wife finally "cooked" a meal and almost asphyxiated the family in the process.
Here's what she cooked:
2 cans of beans. Process of cooking - open can, pour into bowls, serve.
1 can of corn. Process of cooking - open can, pour into pot, heat over low flame, serve. This resulted in disaster. The food couldn't be served (not sure why) and the gas was left on, almost killing my family.
1 can of soup. Process of cooking - open can, pour in pot, heat and serve. One child ate it, one didn't.
1 Quiche Lorraine. Process of cooking - preheat oven, unwrap and cook for 20 minutes.
Chicken Thunders. Process of cooking - preheat toaster oven, put one chicken fillet on the baking pan, slide into oven, cook for 7 minutes, flip, cook for 7 minutes and serve. One side was crunchy and browned, the other side was wet from not being flipped.
As I left the apartment this morning she said she was going to make dinner again tonight.
I'm increasing my life insurance and investing in gas masks for all.
Sort of.
I spent the better half of yesterday afternoon making cupcakes with my daughter and then a crustless sugar free cheesecake for myself. This is the second time my daughter has requested baking with daddy and it has proven to be a rather fun event. She loves going to the market to get the goodies, she loves mixing and pouring and making the desserts and she loves licking the bowl, as most kids do.
So, we baked. All afternoon.
My wife came home around 6 with my son. They spent the day at a birthday party and then they did some shopping and hit the Children's Museum. A great day, the little man claimed.
Then the wife announced "I'm making dinner."
A cold breeze ran thru the apartment and an eerie music could be heard.
So, while my daughter read a book and my son watched some tv, Mrs. McNoogin toiled away in the kitchen.
First she opened a can of beans that looked like pasta, poured them in a bowl and put them out in front of my son so he could snack on them. My daughter walked into the room just as my wife was doing this and she came skipping over, hoping to grab a few bites as well.
Both kids reached into the bowl, grabbed one of these long pasta looking things, put it in their respective mouths, took bites and spit it out.
"ugh, that's not pasta"
from both of them.
Next, my wife announced to the room "dinner is ready, wash up and sit down."
So, cart the kids off to the bathroom, they wash up and get ready for dinner. My daughter looks up at me and asks "what do we do when it tastes gross?"
I tell her it won't. I tell her mommy probably made something they love.
So, we sit down, the three of us. Apprehensive smiles on our faces.
And out she comes, holding what appears to be a quiche.
A quiche?
She didn't make dinner. She heated it.
The kids looked at the quiche on the table, looked at me, looked at my wife and looked back at the quiche with a bit of fear on their faces and my daughter says "I'll have soup."
My son then said "I want chicken thunders." (chicken tenders)
I tell them to try the quiche.
They look at me like I'm nuts. I then take a slice of the quiche and put it on my plate. I start eating the top portion, trying to avoid getting any of the crust in my mouth as I cannot eat that and I don't want my kids to see me spit out the crust.
My kids laugh at me and both get up from the table. They ask to be called back when their dinner is ready. I tell them to sit their asses back down and try the quiche.
My son says no, my daughter says fine. As soon as her soup is ready, she says, she will try the quiche.
So we sit and talk about the party, the baking and whatnot until the soup comes out.
My daughter eats the soup.
My son says it lookes like poop.
My wife comes out with another bowl of beans. Butter beans this time.
Shunned again.
I explain to my wife that the only way to get the kids to eat beans is by mixing them with something else, like rice.
"I'm not making rice"
I'm not asking you to, I tell her.
My son asks where his chicken is.
My wife says "shit, I forgot to plug the toaster oven in."
My daughter has her bowl of soup. My son, eventually, has his chicken thunders and the kids are excused from the table.
I tell the kids they have a few minutes before bed time and I ask them to behave as I am running out to grab some soda for myself.
When I return from the store I almost pass out. The smell of gas overwhelms me. I actually get my first whiff of it when I am outside the apartment, in the hallway.
I walk in, walk straight into the kitchen, open the window and look at the stove. The front left burner is on, no flame burning. Gas has been pumping into the apartment for some period of time.
I ask my wife if she smelled the gas and she said she thought it smelled a bit but it always smells a bit in our kitchen. This is true, there is, at times, a very faint gas odor.
Apparently she heated up some corn and some soup and in the process of moving pots around she accidentally turned one burner back.
I asked her when she made corn. She said she heated it up for our daughter but it didn't look or taste right so she didn't serve it.
So, my wife finally "cooked" a meal and almost asphyxiated the family in the process.
Here's what she cooked:
2 cans of beans. Process of cooking - open can, pour into bowls, serve.
1 can of corn. Process of cooking - open can, pour into pot, heat over low flame, serve. This resulted in disaster. The food couldn't be served (not sure why) and the gas was left on, almost killing my family.
1 can of soup. Process of cooking - open can, pour in pot, heat and serve. One child ate it, one didn't.
1 Quiche Lorraine. Process of cooking - preheat oven, unwrap and cook for 20 minutes.
Chicken Thunders. Process of cooking - preheat toaster oven, put one chicken fillet on the baking pan, slide into oven, cook for 7 minutes, flip, cook for 7 minutes and serve. One side was crunchy and browned, the other side was wet from not being flipped.
As I left the apartment this morning she said she was going to make dinner again tonight.
I'm increasing my life insurance and investing in gas masks for all.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Stupidity
Ok, so a bunch of local department stores settled a price fixing lawsuit recently and the end result is that starting this past Monday, they all had to give away free make-up. They are doing this until $175 million in overcharged merchandise is returned to the customers.
And how, you ask, are they doing this? Starting this past Monday, you simply had to go to any of the stores and pick up your free shit.
Since their doors opened Monday morning, there have been insane lines to get the freebies. At Macy's, the line stretches around the all four sides of the building and then heads into a back entrance. Where it goes from there is beyond me but the line barely moves. I've watched it. Bloomingdale's has a similar line, not quite as long and, I presume, the other stores also have lines like this.
Today is Friday. Five fucking days of standing on line, shuffling foreward two steps, standing still, shuffling, standing, shuffling. I asked how long the line was taking and the girls responded "hours."
Hours. Not an hour. Not a couple of hours or a few hours but hours. That, in my book, means 4 or more hours. Like this was an all day affair for these folks.
And all this waiting is for what?
I figured they were giving out store credit. The news said they were giving the overcharge back to men and women so it couldn't be a single product and, since it wasn't an overcharge of just one manufacturer, whatever they were returning should cover everyone and everything in the makeup section, no?
No. The women are waiting on line for a little mascara tube. One little tube of mascara. That's it. 4 or more hours for fucking mascara.
A product that costs $7 at walgreens and $25 at Nordstrom? Four hours for that? Seriously? Is this what we've come to? I'm waiting for free shit, regardless of the wasted day or the unpaid hours.
If I announced free shit for two days would all these morons line up for a bag of my shit, free?
I do think so.
An experiment is in order. I just need to start bagging my shit first.
I'd ask for help but then I'd be giving away your shit, not my shit and I highly doubt anyone would want to help bag my shit.
And how, you ask, are they doing this? Starting this past Monday, you simply had to go to any of the stores and pick up your free shit.
Since their doors opened Monday morning, there have been insane lines to get the freebies. At Macy's, the line stretches around the all four sides of the building and then heads into a back entrance. Where it goes from there is beyond me but the line barely moves. I've watched it. Bloomingdale's has a similar line, not quite as long and, I presume, the other stores also have lines like this.
Today is Friday. Five fucking days of standing on line, shuffling foreward two steps, standing still, shuffling, standing, shuffling. I asked how long the line was taking and the girls responded "hours."
Hours. Not an hour. Not a couple of hours or a few hours but hours. That, in my book, means 4 or more hours. Like this was an all day affair for these folks.
And all this waiting is for what?
I figured they were giving out store credit. The news said they were giving the overcharge back to men and women so it couldn't be a single product and, since it wasn't an overcharge of just one manufacturer, whatever they were returning should cover everyone and everything in the makeup section, no?
No. The women are waiting on line for a little mascara tube. One little tube of mascara. That's it. 4 or more hours for fucking mascara.
A product that costs $7 at walgreens and $25 at Nordstrom? Four hours for that? Seriously? Is this what we've come to? I'm waiting for free shit, regardless of the wasted day or the unpaid hours.
If I announced free shit for two days would all these morons line up for a bag of my shit, free?
I do think so.
An experiment is in order. I just need to start bagging my shit first.
I'd ask for help but then I'd be giving away your shit, not my shit and I highly doubt anyone would want to help bag my shit.
UBP, Firearms And A Good Book
So, I'm talking to a friend yesterday and I'm bitching about the boot I'm wearing and how, thanks to the size of the heel on this thing, I needed to put a small lift inside my right shoe to try and even out the legs. So, I'm complaining about teetering on two different heel sizes and I realized how hard it must be for women to walk around on those heel stilts. If I can barely handle an inch or so of insert in my shoe, how can women manage to walk on 6 inch heels?
Of course my calves and ass look great in these heels but has anyone noticed? Has anyone said "Floogin, check out the shape of those stems!"
Nope.
So, as I continued my whine about my long shapely legs, firm, tight butt and the foot pain I endure to provide the world with the view of the aforementioned legs and butt, I realized I was a couple of boobs away from being a woman so I told my friend I needed a pair of boobs and vageen to make me complete.
She laughed and the conversation turned, of course, to something a bit more graphic and she said I would not be too happy with the accidental period in public.
Would anyone? To spontaneously bleed from any hole is nasty. To do it in public and have that blood come from your most private of privates? Um, no thanks but, given that we all know women get their period each month, is it not expected that, sometimes, an accident might occur? And yes, we do all know. Y'all are sure to tell us. It's almost like we're reminded so as to turn us off in the event we want some sex (we do, we always do).
You know how it is.
Honey, do you have the phone with you?
I'm bloated.
Honey, what do you want to do for dinner?
I'm getting my period
Sweetheart, I'm going to leap in front of a bus.
I'm cramping.
And so it goes.
Anyway, where was I? Right, thanks. Accidents in public. So, anyway, this friend brings that risk up and I explain that it should not happen too often as women seem to always be "getting my period any minute" and, besides, it happens. Women certainly can't be embarrassed by it. Every other woman knows that risk and men? We don't care. We see a woman with a period stain and we're thinking "blowjob."
So I tell this friend I'd rather get the blood spots than a public erection.
A what?
Unwanted Public Boner. UBP. The dreaded public hardon.
Girls, you think the high beams were bad. Try pitching a tent and having to hide it from the class.
So, this friend asks what an unwanted public boner is and I simply say "imagine sitting at a funeral and your dick decides to stretch. Hard? At a funeral? Yeah, try getting a date with anyone now sicko.
UPB is actually far more common than accidental public period. Far more common. The wind blows the right way and BOING!! now you neeed to convince the other parents on the playground that you have a condition.
A woman flashes a smile, shows a bit of cleavage and HELLO. So, there you are, standing on the wing of an airplane that just crashed into a river in sub-arctic temps, sporting a giant pleasure stick.
If only we had control over it.
So, instead of trying to harness this power, and use it for good, we have mastered the art of concealing the UPB.
Some of the many ways to conceal:
Hunch over and claim back troubles.
Spill coffee all over yourself, yank the shirt out to dry. The untucked shirt should work as a nice cover.
Grab a pencil and stick your hand down your pants. If anyone notices, pull the pencil out and say "how the fuck did these get in there?" as you pull the first one out. Then dive back in for the others.
Do not tuck it up inside the waist band. The rubbing could prove to be disastrous. Then a coffee stain will be welcomed.
And somehow this leads me to gun control. Now, I'm not a pro or anti gun person. I've fired a gun before. It didn't make me feel like I had a bigger cock. I didn't feel any more power or control but that doesn't mean others don't get that rush. So, do we have the right to control gun ownership in our country? Yes and No. The second amendment to the constitution gives us the right to bear arms. Of course, at the time, they were using muskets and pistols which did little damage. Think bb gun. You know, you'll shoot your eye out Ralphie. Or, better yet, it'll lodge under the skin and cause a very bad infection (points to the reader who can tell me who said this and where).
So, our forefathers knew it was important that we, the people, be allowed to own a gun. Not a machine gun. Not some mini-cannon that shoots thousands of rounds of metal piercing bullets that enter your body and explode, releasing hot magman and flesh eating bacteria that sing abba tunes.
No, our forefathers wanted us to be able to shoot pheasant and deer.
How important was this right to bear arms? Pretty fucking important. Let's see, draw up the basic foundation of our laws and government. Done.
Wait, guys, we forgot something. We forgot to say "we have the right to speak our minds, to practice any faith we see fit (except witches, they burn in hell), the press can report what they want and we shall give everyone the right to protest the government. That should keep us all on our toes. Jolly good. Let's go.
WAIT!!!
We should also be allowed to carry guns.
Yes!
Let's see. Say what you want. Assemble peacably and protest. And do it all whilst carrying guns.
Brilliant.
Bunch of dope smoking drunks just put all the ingrediants for a riot into our consitution.
The second most important thing, behind free speach is the right to bear arms.
Fuck, the thirteenth freed the slaves and the nineteenth gave women the right to vote.
that means it was more important for a man to carry a gun than for a woman to vote.
Actually, if you look at the amendments, it looks like they tried to fix the mistakes created by the previous amendments.
1. free speech, free assembly etc.
somebody brought a gun to a rally.
2. right to own a gun
The military, knowing Jim had guns, took over his home during some fight.
3. Forbids the military from using a private citizen's home for quarters during peacetime.
someone had guns, wouldn't let a military man inside so they went in anyway and found contraband.
4. must have probable cause to search a home.
someone was re-arrested after using the 4th amendment as his excuse for why he shouldn't be in jail.
5. double jeopardy, grand jury indictment etc.
Read the amendments and put your own story together. It's fairly easy to see how the government was taking advantage of people until the amendments were added.
And the good book?
The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death by Charlie Huston.
I've read all of his books and they're all incredible. He writes pulpy pulp fiction. He's got a series of books about vampires, another about an ex baseball player who has some dealings with some bad people and two stand alone novels. The one out now, mentioned above and another called The Shotgun Rule.
All are incredible and, if you like to read action packed, funny stories this guy is your man.
Of course my calves and ass look great in these heels but has anyone noticed? Has anyone said "Floogin, check out the shape of those stems!"
Nope.
So, as I continued my whine about my long shapely legs, firm, tight butt and the foot pain I endure to provide the world with the view of the aforementioned legs and butt, I realized I was a couple of boobs away from being a woman so I told my friend I needed a pair of boobs and vageen to make me complete.
She laughed and the conversation turned, of course, to something a bit more graphic and she said I would not be too happy with the accidental period in public.
Would anyone? To spontaneously bleed from any hole is nasty. To do it in public and have that blood come from your most private of privates? Um, no thanks but, given that we all know women get their period each month, is it not expected that, sometimes, an accident might occur? And yes, we do all know. Y'all are sure to tell us. It's almost like we're reminded so as to turn us off in the event we want some sex (we do, we always do).
You know how it is.
Honey, do you have the phone with you?
I'm bloated.
Honey, what do you want to do for dinner?
I'm getting my period
Sweetheart, I'm going to leap in front of a bus.
I'm cramping.
And so it goes.
Anyway, where was I? Right, thanks. Accidents in public. So, anyway, this friend brings that risk up and I explain that it should not happen too often as women seem to always be "getting my period any minute" and, besides, it happens. Women certainly can't be embarrassed by it. Every other woman knows that risk and men? We don't care. We see a woman with a period stain and we're thinking "blowjob."
So I tell this friend I'd rather get the blood spots than a public erection.
A what?
Unwanted Public Boner. UBP. The dreaded public hardon.
Girls, you think the high beams were bad. Try pitching a tent and having to hide it from the class.
So, this friend asks what an unwanted public boner is and I simply say "imagine sitting at a funeral and your dick decides to stretch. Hard? At a funeral? Yeah, try getting a date with anyone now sicko.
UPB is actually far more common than accidental public period. Far more common. The wind blows the right way and BOING!! now you neeed to convince the other parents on the playground that you have a condition.
A woman flashes a smile, shows a bit of cleavage and HELLO. So, there you are, standing on the wing of an airplane that just crashed into a river in sub-arctic temps, sporting a giant pleasure stick.
If only we had control over it.
So, instead of trying to harness this power, and use it for good, we have mastered the art of concealing the UPB.
Some of the many ways to conceal:
Hunch over and claim back troubles.
Spill coffee all over yourself, yank the shirt out to dry. The untucked shirt should work as a nice cover.
Grab a pencil and stick your hand down your pants. If anyone notices, pull the pencil out and say "how the fuck did these get in there?" as you pull the first one out. Then dive back in for the others.
Do not tuck it up inside the waist band. The rubbing could prove to be disastrous. Then a coffee stain will be welcomed.
And somehow this leads me to gun control. Now, I'm not a pro or anti gun person. I've fired a gun before. It didn't make me feel like I had a bigger cock. I didn't feel any more power or control but that doesn't mean others don't get that rush. So, do we have the right to control gun ownership in our country? Yes and No. The second amendment to the constitution gives us the right to bear arms. Of course, at the time, they were using muskets and pistols which did little damage. Think bb gun. You know, you'll shoot your eye out Ralphie. Or, better yet, it'll lodge under the skin and cause a very bad infection (points to the reader who can tell me who said this and where).
So, our forefathers knew it was important that we, the people, be allowed to own a gun. Not a machine gun. Not some mini-cannon that shoots thousands of rounds of metal piercing bullets that enter your body and explode, releasing hot magman and flesh eating bacteria that sing abba tunes.
No, our forefathers wanted us to be able to shoot pheasant and deer.
How important was this right to bear arms? Pretty fucking important. Let's see, draw up the basic foundation of our laws and government. Done.
Wait, guys, we forgot something. We forgot to say "we have the right to speak our minds, to practice any faith we see fit (except witches, they burn in hell), the press can report what they want and we shall give everyone the right to protest the government. That should keep us all on our toes. Jolly good. Let's go.
WAIT!!!
We should also be allowed to carry guns.
Yes!
Let's see. Say what you want. Assemble peacably and protest. And do it all whilst carrying guns.
Brilliant.
Bunch of dope smoking drunks just put all the ingrediants for a riot into our consitution.
The second most important thing, behind free speach is the right to bear arms.
Fuck, the thirteenth freed the slaves and the nineteenth gave women the right to vote.
that means it was more important for a man to carry a gun than for a woman to vote.
Actually, if you look at the amendments, it looks like they tried to fix the mistakes created by the previous amendments.
1. free speech, free assembly etc.
somebody brought a gun to a rally.
2. right to own a gun
The military, knowing Jim had guns, took over his home during some fight.
3. Forbids the military from using a private citizen's home for quarters during peacetime.
someone had guns, wouldn't let a military man inside so they went in anyway and found contraband.
4. must have probable cause to search a home.
someone was re-arrested after using the 4th amendment as his excuse for why he shouldn't be in jail.
5. double jeopardy, grand jury indictment etc.
Read the amendments and put your own story together. It's fairly easy to see how the government was taking advantage of people until the amendments were added.
And the good book?
The Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death by Charlie Huston.
I've read all of his books and they're all incredible. He writes pulpy pulp fiction. He's got a series of books about vampires, another about an ex baseball player who has some dealings with some bad people and two stand alone novels. The one out now, mentioned above and another called The Shotgun Rule.
All are incredible and, if you like to read action packed, funny stories this guy is your man.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Counting The Days
It's been 21 days since I've had a smoke.
21 days without a toke
21 days, that's no joke.
21 days without a smoke.
15 days since the wife got fired.
15 days and so far here's what she's accomplished.
She has not made me one dinner. Nor has she cooked for the kids.
She has not, yet, filed for unemployment.
She has not, yet, dealt with her severance package.
She has not, yet, done shit.
She has, however, chastised me for not making good photo copies (she can go to fucking kinkos downstairs next time).
She has complained about how I should be more concerned about the cost of things. She told me this while she was shopping for shoes with a friend. (in her defense, she didn't buy anything or she hid the new boxes).
7 days since I got this dreadful boot on my foot. one week of hobbling around like some fucking frankenstonian gimp. one week of banging the bulky boot on doors and furniture.
do I feel better? nope. the moment I take the thing off, my ankle hurts. my knee is starting to ache from the new method of climbing up and down stairs.
7 days so far. 35 days left.
I need a fucking smoke.
21 days without a toke
21 days, that's no joke.
21 days without a smoke.
15 days since the wife got fired.
15 days and so far here's what she's accomplished.
She has not made me one dinner. Nor has she cooked for the kids.
She has not, yet, filed for unemployment.
She has not, yet, dealt with her severance package.
She has not, yet, done shit.
She has, however, chastised me for not making good photo copies (she can go to fucking kinkos downstairs next time).
She has complained about how I should be more concerned about the cost of things. She told me this while she was shopping for shoes with a friend. (in her defense, she didn't buy anything or she hid the new boxes).
7 days since I got this dreadful boot on my foot. one week of hobbling around like some fucking frankenstonian gimp. one week of banging the bulky boot on doors and furniture.
do I feel better? nope. the moment I take the thing off, my ankle hurts. my knee is starting to ache from the new method of climbing up and down stairs.
7 days so far. 35 days left.
I need a fucking smoke.
Monday, January 19, 2009
A Short One About The Short One
I took my kids to see may parents over the weekend. They'd been cooped up for days, sick with Strep so I figured a day or two out east would be nice. The bay is frozen, it snowed most of the time we were there and they stayed indoors for two days (except the trip to see the seals) but it was a change of scenery and it gave them a chance to see the frozen tundra of the east end of long island.
Anyway, Saturday night, we're having dinner and my son is cracking us all up. He's on a roll and he knows it. He has this ability to make everyone laugh and push all the right buttons, knowing just the right time to stop. So, he's going on about god knows what and my daughter, who's sitting next to him, is in hysterics. Suddenly, as she lets out a loud, hearty laugh, she releases a rather large, rather loud fart, amplified by the position she has taken on the large, wood dining room chair.
My son, without missing a beat, turns to her and says "that's enough apples for you"
and goes right back to his story.
my father almost had a heart attack from laughing so hard.
My wife was stunned, my mother was cracking up. Me? I had heard it once before so I just sat back, smiling, knowing that one day, soon probably, I was going to be meeting with teachers, trying to convince them my son isn't the trouble maker they make him out to be.
Anyway, Saturday night, we're having dinner and my son is cracking us all up. He's on a roll and he knows it. He has this ability to make everyone laugh and push all the right buttons, knowing just the right time to stop. So, he's going on about god knows what and my daughter, who's sitting next to him, is in hysterics. Suddenly, as she lets out a loud, hearty laugh, she releases a rather large, rather loud fart, amplified by the position she has taken on the large, wood dining room chair.
My son, without missing a beat, turns to her and says "that's enough apples for you"
and goes right back to his story.
my father almost had a heart attack from laughing so hard.
My wife was stunned, my mother was cracking up. Me? I had heard it once before so I just sat back, smiling, knowing that one day, soon probably, I was going to be meeting with teachers, trying to convince them my son isn't the trouble maker they make him out to be.
Friday, January 16, 2009
There's Hope For Our Future
I've read about these groups that bring Israeli and Palestinian kids together for summer camp, with the hopes that the kids will learn that the Hatfield and McCoy hatred is unwarranted, that they are all very much alike and that people can get along, if they actually open their minds to it and accept that we aren't all the same.
This morning I read more about the current situation in the Middle East. It always makes me ill.
Then I read about the plane that went down in the Hudson yesterday. The pilot's heroic landing, which has never been accomplished with zero fatalities (according to the Daily News) was incredible but to read that he then walked up and down the aisle, making sure everyone was ok, then he got everyone off the plane and then, as the water was rushing in, he took one more pass thru the plane to be 100% sure he was the absolute last man off the plane. A local cop was talking about the pilot and how cool he was. He said the pilot was sitting and drinking coffee a short while after, smiling and talking as if it was just another routine day.
The article went on to talk about the actual incident and, as a New Yorker, the first thing that came to mind was 9/11. Everyone who saw the plane said the same thing "oh no, here we go again."
One of the passengers on the plane was quoted as saying "god put me on that plane."
What? The fucking plane went down in 20 degree weather, crash landing in icy waters and you say god put you there?
I read on.
This gentleman, it seems, missed his flight and wound up on the doomed flight. He was responsible for saving an infant's life yesterday. His first reaction wasn't to think "why on earth did I have to miss my flight." No, this brave soul said he was put there to help.
Then I read about how the pilot gave very little warning "brace for impact" and then the plane went into the water. The passengers all helped each other off the plane. Women and children first. Ferry boats pulled up to immediately assist in the passenger removal.
All done in a calm, orderly, humane manner. The pics in the paper look horrific but the people? They all seem to be calm and in control.
Thank you humanity for showing you can, once again, rise up and act in a proper manner.
So, anyway, Gaza, Israel, Palestinians, Jews, Muslims, airplane crashes....What the fuck does this have to do with anything, right?
Here's the thing. I had a cute little story to tell from last night that, when taken in the context of current events, made me think that, perhaps,humanity has hope.
Here's the story.
My son is sick (both kids are - raging strep going around). So, he slept all day and now he's up all night and who does he keep up? Me.
So I'm lying in bed with him and he's talking talking talking about everything anything nothing. He's telling me about the store across the street with the magic box and how he has a present for me and on and on and on and suddenly he says...
"Dad, a plane crashed in the water yesterday. Near the Trepid (intrepid, we'd just visited a couple of weeks ago). A plane crashed and a boat hit the plane. I saw it on the news."
I tried to interrupt him, to tell him everyone was ok, nobody got hurt but he wouldn't let me speak.
"Dad, put your finger up. Now, put it to your mouth. Say shhhh"
(always makes me feel like a little boy when he does this. I almost say yes sir)
"Dad, the plane, it crashed. A boat hit it and then they took all the people to the hospital. It happened in the city."
I know, it happened in our city
"DAD, No, it happened in a city, where everyone is black. All black people"
(I'm clueless as to where this came from or where it might headed so I give him some rope)
all black people?
"Dad, yeah, Rock Obama is from there. He has two daughters you know. They're little girls, not as little as me but little. And he has a wife, Michelle. He's the president of the flag of the united states of america."
(he's 3 and a half)
I'm stunned. Not that he thinks all black people live in a city but that my three and a half year old, who can't even get his colors correct can tell me the name of our next president, his wife and that they have two daughters. Fucking impressive.
About ten minutes later my son gets up to pee and when he comes back he says "Dad, my hands have ink on them from before"
I tell him that the stamper he was playing with colored his hands and fingers and that was why I told him to be careful with the ink pad. He said "it won't come off" so I tell him it is permanent.
He gets this freaked out look on his face and starts rubbing his hands.
He then says "Dad, Barbara (his pre k teacher) is going to think I'm turning into a black person"
I start laughing and he looks up, his face is still red from the fever, his eyes are swollen and bloodshot and he looks, pretty much, like a tired, sick child. A smile creeps over his face and his eyes brighten up just a bit.
Dad, if I turn into a black person, I can be president too.
So, there you have it. My son only knows of a black president. He doesn't know that the current president is a mental midget from a wealthy family. He doesn't know that since the beginning of our nation's history, we've had white folk fucking things up and now we're giving a black man the same opportunity.
My son, only knows black presidents. In his eyes, if he were lucky enough to be black, he could, one day, run for president.
Oh, the times they are a change ing.
The Israeli/Palestinian Camp concept is pretty much the same concept. Get people when they are young, teach them the way it should be and maybe, just maybe, the prejudices of the world will fall by the wayside.
Of course, in most cases, the kids go home to parents who teach them that one color is better than the other, that one faith is better than another, my god kicks you god's fat, hairy pimpled celestial ass etc.
Not true.
Here's the deal folks. Pass this on to your kids. Maybe then we'll break the circle.
all colors are good, all colors are bad
all faiths are good, all faiths are bad
all gods suck ass. if they didn't, there'd be no death and no suffering.
there is only on race. the human race. better to run together than go it alone.
This morning I read more about the current situation in the Middle East. It always makes me ill.
Then I read about the plane that went down in the Hudson yesterday. The pilot's heroic landing, which has never been accomplished with zero fatalities (according to the Daily News) was incredible but to read that he then walked up and down the aisle, making sure everyone was ok, then he got everyone off the plane and then, as the water was rushing in, he took one more pass thru the plane to be 100% sure he was the absolute last man off the plane. A local cop was talking about the pilot and how cool he was. He said the pilot was sitting and drinking coffee a short while after, smiling and talking as if it was just another routine day.
The article went on to talk about the actual incident and, as a New Yorker, the first thing that came to mind was 9/11. Everyone who saw the plane said the same thing "oh no, here we go again."
One of the passengers on the plane was quoted as saying "god put me on that plane."
What? The fucking plane went down in 20 degree weather, crash landing in icy waters and you say god put you there?
I read on.
This gentleman, it seems, missed his flight and wound up on the doomed flight. He was responsible for saving an infant's life yesterday. His first reaction wasn't to think "why on earth did I have to miss my flight." No, this brave soul said he was put there to help.
Then I read about how the pilot gave very little warning "brace for impact" and then the plane went into the water. The passengers all helped each other off the plane. Women and children first. Ferry boats pulled up to immediately assist in the passenger removal.
All done in a calm, orderly, humane manner. The pics in the paper look horrific but the people? They all seem to be calm and in control.
Thank you humanity for showing you can, once again, rise up and act in a proper manner.
So, anyway, Gaza, Israel, Palestinians, Jews, Muslims, airplane crashes....What the fuck does this have to do with anything, right?
Here's the thing. I had a cute little story to tell from last night that, when taken in the context of current events, made me think that, perhaps,humanity has hope.
Here's the story.
My son is sick (both kids are - raging strep going around). So, he slept all day and now he's up all night and who does he keep up? Me.
So I'm lying in bed with him and he's talking talking talking about everything anything nothing. He's telling me about the store across the street with the magic box and how he has a present for me and on and on and on and suddenly he says...
"Dad, a plane crashed in the water yesterday. Near the Trepid (intrepid, we'd just visited a couple of weeks ago). A plane crashed and a boat hit the plane. I saw it on the news."
I tried to interrupt him, to tell him everyone was ok, nobody got hurt but he wouldn't let me speak.
"Dad, put your finger up. Now, put it to your mouth. Say shhhh"
(always makes me feel like a little boy when he does this. I almost say yes sir)
"Dad, the plane, it crashed. A boat hit it and then they took all the people to the hospital. It happened in the city."
I know, it happened in our city
"DAD, No, it happened in a city, where everyone is black. All black people"
(I'm clueless as to where this came from or where it might headed so I give him some rope)
all black people?
"Dad, yeah, Rock Obama is from there. He has two daughters you know. They're little girls, not as little as me but little. And he has a wife, Michelle. He's the president of the flag of the united states of america."
(he's 3 and a half)
I'm stunned. Not that he thinks all black people live in a city but that my three and a half year old, who can't even get his colors correct can tell me the name of our next president, his wife and that they have two daughters. Fucking impressive.
About ten minutes later my son gets up to pee and when he comes back he says "Dad, my hands have ink on them from before"
I tell him that the stamper he was playing with colored his hands and fingers and that was why I told him to be careful with the ink pad. He said "it won't come off" so I tell him it is permanent.
He gets this freaked out look on his face and starts rubbing his hands.
He then says "Dad, Barbara (his pre k teacher) is going to think I'm turning into a black person"
I start laughing and he looks up, his face is still red from the fever, his eyes are swollen and bloodshot and he looks, pretty much, like a tired, sick child. A smile creeps over his face and his eyes brighten up just a bit.
Dad, if I turn into a black person, I can be president too.
So, there you have it. My son only knows of a black president. He doesn't know that the current president is a mental midget from a wealthy family. He doesn't know that since the beginning of our nation's history, we've had white folk fucking things up and now we're giving a black man the same opportunity.
My son, only knows black presidents. In his eyes, if he were lucky enough to be black, he could, one day, run for president.
Oh, the times they are a change ing.
The Israeli/Palestinian Camp concept is pretty much the same concept. Get people when they are young, teach them the way it should be and maybe, just maybe, the prejudices of the world will fall by the wayside.
Of course, in most cases, the kids go home to parents who teach them that one color is better than the other, that one faith is better than another, my god kicks you god's fat, hairy pimpled celestial ass etc.
Not true.
Here's the deal folks. Pass this on to your kids. Maybe then we'll break the circle.
all colors are good, all colors are bad
all faiths are good, all faiths are bad
all gods suck ass. if they didn't, there'd be no death and no suffering.
there is only on race. the human race. better to run together than go it alone.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
No Smoking Observation
A double dose from me. Yay.
So, today is day 13 without a smoke. Not bad. Truth is, it has, so far, been somewhat easy. Too fucking cold to smoke. Seriously. So, I have not been tempted to inhale frozen air and smoke whilst my fingers ice over. No sir, not for me. The hands are warm and cozy stuffed into my pockets.
This cold sticks around and I should have no problem coasting thru January sans smoke.
And after almost two weeks, here's what's gone down.
My taste is back. Not in clothes. I'll always dress like a schmuck. No, the taste in my mouth. I can actually taste foods again. I know this because I had to order food from the diner last night and it tasted fucking amazing. Ok, perhaps it tasted great because it was a warm meal cooked just for me. So what if it was cooked for me by a fat sweaty man in a diner. If I close my eyes it could be Mrs. McNoogin. She has really let herself go since she got laid off last week. She looks like some greasy spoon chef, minus the food stains on her shirt of course. That only comes when you cook.
Another thing I noticed - my lungs are starting to clear themselves out. Gross? Yes. Still, it is happening. Climbed a shitload of steps coming out of the subway yesterday and I wasn't the slightest bit winded. That's comforting. Makes me feel like it is working.
Lastly, smells are back. For better or worse, I can smell everything again. I'm like a werewolf now. Riding on the subway yesterday, I sensed Chanelle #5 to my right, some sweaty pakistani man to my left, some cheap j lo perfume in front of me and what's that? is it? yup, curry sweats from an indian man behind me. I was identifiying the stink before the person came into view. It was impressive and horrific. I knew some dude at the end of the car stepped in two day old poodle shit and I knew that the baby on the platform had rice and peaches for breakfast as there was a nice rice and peach turd squishing around his diaper.
This is great. I can smell the secretary and she is a good 50 feet away, in another room. I can smell the take out shit the guy down the hall is eating and I can smell the sharp stench of piss mixed with urinal cake from the bathroom down the hall.
If I had known the world smelled like shit I never would have quit.
So, today is day 13 without a smoke. Not bad. Truth is, it has, so far, been somewhat easy. Too fucking cold to smoke. Seriously. So, I have not been tempted to inhale frozen air and smoke whilst my fingers ice over. No sir, not for me. The hands are warm and cozy stuffed into my pockets.
This cold sticks around and I should have no problem coasting thru January sans smoke.
And after almost two weeks, here's what's gone down.
My taste is back. Not in clothes. I'll always dress like a schmuck. No, the taste in my mouth. I can actually taste foods again. I know this because I had to order food from the diner last night and it tasted fucking amazing. Ok, perhaps it tasted great because it was a warm meal cooked just for me. So what if it was cooked for me by a fat sweaty man in a diner. If I close my eyes it could be Mrs. McNoogin. She has really let herself go since she got laid off last week. She looks like some greasy spoon chef, minus the food stains on her shirt of course. That only comes when you cook.
Another thing I noticed - my lungs are starting to clear themselves out. Gross? Yes. Still, it is happening. Climbed a shitload of steps coming out of the subway yesterday and I wasn't the slightest bit winded. That's comforting. Makes me feel like it is working.
Lastly, smells are back. For better or worse, I can smell everything again. I'm like a werewolf now. Riding on the subway yesterday, I sensed Chanelle #5 to my right, some sweaty pakistani man to my left, some cheap j lo perfume in front of me and what's that? is it? yup, curry sweats from an indian man behind me. I was identifiying the stink before the person came into view. It was impressive and horrific. I knew some dude at the end of the car stepped in two day old poodle shit and I knew that the baby on the platform had rice and peaches for breakfast as there was a nice rice and peach turd squishing around his diaper.
This is great. I can smell the secretary and she is a good 50 feet away, in another room. I can smell the take out shit the guy down the hall is eating and I can smell the sharp stench of piss mixed with urinal cake from the bathroom down the hall.
If I had known the world smelled like shit I never would have quit.
The Audition Process
Here's how an audition works. You show up, do your absolute best to convince the person hiring that you are the best person for the job, then you wait while that person sees other people and makes a decision. The most important thing is to do everything you can to convince the person making the decision that you are the absolute best person for the task.
So, with that in mind, my wife spent her first day auditioning for the role of stay at home mom. Yesterday I told you that I gave her three tasks. The first one was very high on the importance list. Ignored. The second one was not at all important. Ignored. The third one, make me dinner, was actually a joke. I knew it wasn't going to happen but, I figured, she understood the cardinal rule in my home. Make sure I have the three things that make me smile.
1. Coke Zero
2. Sugar Free Jello and Whipped Cream
3. Food should I want more than the first two. This usually consists of cheese, meat, eggs etc.
Not exactly fine dining. Hit the deli counter, the butcher counter and the dairy for eggs, jello and the whipped cream. All told, you can be out of the market in 12 minutes.
So, I get home last night around 7 PM. I take off the heavy coat, remove the scarf, hug the kids, work my way into my bedroom and start to undress for the night. I come back out in a pair of sweats and a tee shirt. Comfy, cozy, ready to talk to the kids, put them to bed, eat dinner and watch the first two hours of 24.
I go to the fridge to grab me a glass of zero. Nothing. Not even a fucking half drank can of flat soda.
So I ask my wife "no coke zero?"
The nanny, who was getting ready to leave, says "I told you daddy would be mad at us."
So I go back to the bedroom, put on jeans, pull on a sweater, put on socks, shoes, scarf, coat and head back out into the frigid cold to get myself a bottle of soda. As I am leaving, my wife says "oh, we need light bulbs too."
"For the lamp on your side of the bed?"
"yes" she tells me.
So, she can't even get herself a fucking light bulb. I guess she didn't notice when the light went on over her cartoon head because it was fucking burned out.
So I trudge out to get her bulbs and me soda. Of course this means two places instead of one. So I get the soda, the bulbs and get back home. Put the soda in the fridge, put the bulbs in the closet, take off the coat, the scarf, the sweater, the jeans, the shoes, the socks, put on the sweats and head out to pour myself a glass of soda. No glasses. What the fuck?
"oh, yeah, we need dishwasher detergent"
Did you do anything today?
"fuck you, I was running all over the place."
Fine. So I go get dressed again. Before I leave I take a piss in the kids's bathroom. I flush and go wash my hands. There's water in the sink. I open the drain. Water doesn't drain out. I wash my hands, filling the sink some more. I ask Floogin Junior why the sink is clogged. He tells me he stuck some tissues and a wipe in the sink. So I take off the coat, the scarf, the sweater and start trying to get the shit out of the sink. No such luck. Then the wife tells me "oh yeah, there's something wrong with the sink."
Did you think to ask the super to come fix it when he came to fix the drip in our bathroom?
"I didn't ask him to come up yet."
"too busy?"
"fuck you"
I get the coat on, scarf etc and head to the store again. Grab draino and the dishwasher stuff and head home.
undress, unclog, turn on the dishes, get to see the kids off to bed, order my food from the fucking diner and while I'm waiting for it to arrive, I put a nice sign up on the fridge. It reads:
THINGS THAT MAKE ME SMILE:
1. Coke Zero
2. Sugar Free Jello and Whipped Cream
3. Food That I Eat - eggs, cold cuts, etc
Signed,
Management
So, I'm still auditioning. Oddly enough, I got a call this morning from a photocopier sales rep. She is so damned hot that I actually had to tell her that she should come by once a month just so I could see her.
She called to say happy new year, see if we changed our minds about the copier and then she told me she had no heat last night and she said it was cold and if she only had a boyfriend, someone she could cuddle up to, stay warm with. She said she has this big apartment and she's all alone. She's got a fridge filled with her favorite things, coke zero, sugar free jello, whipped cream, eggs, cold cuts and steaks, and nobody to cook for.
When I get home tonight, I am not even taking the coat off. Just going to see what she didn't buy today. Then I am packing my bag and heading to copier girl's apartment.
So, with that in mind, my wife spent her first day auditioning for the role of stay at home mom. Yesterday I told you that I gave her three tasks. The first one was very high on the importance list. Ignored. The second one was not at all important. Ignored. The third one, make me dinner, was actually a joke. I knew it wasn't going to happen but, I figured, she understood the cardinal rule in my home. Make sure I have the three things that make me smile.
1. Coke Zero
2. Sugar Free Jello and Whipped Cream
3. Food should I want more than the first two. This usually consists of cheese, meat, eggs etc.
Not exactly fine dining. Hit the deli counter, the butcher counter and the dairy for eggs, jello and the whipped cream. All told, you can be out of the market in 12 minutes.
So, I get home last night around 7 PM. I take off the heavy coat, remove the scarf, hug the kids, work my way into my bedroom and start to undress for the night. I come back out in a pair of sweats and a tee shirt. Comfy, cozy, ready to talk to the kids, put them to bed, eat dinner and watch the first two hours of 24.
I go to the fridge to grab me a glass of zero. Nothing. Not even a fucking half drank can of flat soda.
So I ask my wife "no coke zero?"
The nanny, who was getting ready to leave, says "I told you daddy would be mad at us."
So I go back to the bedroom, put on jeans, pull on a sweater, put on socks, shoes, scarf, coat and head back out into the frigid cold to get myself a bottle of soda. As I am leaving, my wife says "oh, we need light bulbs too."
"For the lamp on your side of the bed?"
"yes" she tells me.
So, she can't even get herself a fucking light bulb. I guess she didn't notice when the light went on over her cartoon head because it was fucking burned out.
So I trudge out to get her bulbs and me soda. Of course this means two places instead of one. So I get the soda, the bulbs and get back home. Put the soda in the fridge, put the bulbs in the closet, take off the coat, the scarf, the sweater, the jeans, the shoes, the socks, put on the sweats and head out to pour myself a glass of soda. No glasses. What the fuck?
"oh, yeah, we need dishwasher detergent"
Did you do anything today?
"fuck you, I was running all over the place."
Fine. So I go get dressed again. Before I leave I take a piss in the kids's bathroom. I flush and go wash my hands. There's water in the sink. I open the drain. Water doesn't drain out. I wash my hands, filling the sink some more. I ask Floogin Junior why the sink is clogged. He tells me he stuck some tissues and a wipe in the sink. So I take off the coat, the scarf, the sweater and start trying to get the shit out of the sink. No such luck. Then the wife tells me "oh yeah, there's something wrong with the sink."
Did you think to ask the super to come fix it when he came to fix the drip in our bathroom?
"I didn't ask him to come up yet."
"too busy?"
"fuck you"
I get the coat on, scarf etc and head to the store again. Grab draino and the dishwasher stuff and head home.
undress, unclog, turn on the dishes, get to see the kids off to bed, order my food from the fucking diner and while I'm waiting for it to arrive, I put a nice sign up on the fridge. It reads:
THINGS THAT MAKE ME SMILE:
1. Coke Zero
2. Sugar Free Jello and Whipped Cream
3. Food That I Eat - eggs, cold cuts, etc
Signed,
Management
So, I'm still auditioning. Oddly enough, I got a call this morning from a photocopier sales rep. She is so damned hot that I actually had to tell her that she should come by once a month just so I could see her.
She called to say happy new year, see if we changed our minds about the copier and then she told me she had no heat last night and she said it was cold and if she only had a boyfriend, someone she could cuddle up to, stay warm with. She said she has this big apartment and she's all alone. She's got a fridge filled with her favorite things, coke zero, sugar free jello, whipped cream, eggs, cold cuts and steaks, and nobody to cook for.
When I get home tonight, I am not even taking the coat off. Just going to see what she didn't buy today. Then I am packing my bag and heading to copier girl's apartment.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Doctors Suck and As The Wife Turns.
So, let's see, I finally found a doctor who takes insurance and can see me in 2009. Everyone I called started off with "we don't take insurance and our next appointment is in 2013."
These doctors are the equivalent of the velvet rope night clubs. Nobody is being let inside and then, when you get inside, there's nobody there. Exclusivity so stringent that you feel compelled to pay out of your own pocket for services that other doctors will perform and bill your insurance directly for? Interesting concept. Where have I heard of someone who refuses admittance to almost everyone? Someone who rejects people without hearing their tale? Someone who's inner group was so select, so secretive, so fucking desirable that people were willing to skip the formalities of actually bothering to see if they knew what they were doing? Someone who created such a legendary myth that people blindly turned themselves over to him?
That's right, Bernie Madoff, Ponz Scum. Thanks for reminding me. By the way, that's my term but you can use it. Not like anyone would ever give me credit for anything.
My wife is spending her first day at home today. She spent the first 3 days of her unemployment clearing out her desk. Today, she woke up, took snoogin to school and then called me a few hours later to tell me she hasn't done shit yet and can't figure out what she should do first.
One fucking day without working and she is already becoming one of those women who I hear the old men bitching about on the golf course. OK, I don't play golf but it sounded good.
Here's the deal. My mother has had, as far as I know, two jobs in her life. Both of them were working for her own company, which my dad backed and supported. The first was a retail store with a very well known (back then) fashion designer. So, in essence, my dad's client wanted to open a store, needed money, asked my dad for assistance, he put up the cash and put his wife in the store to watch the investment. Store closed after a year or two. Designer and her boyfriend were drug fiends and other assorted problems, you know the drill.
Job 2, a print shop for higher end artwork. My dad and a client set their wives up with this one. Why? The client was (is) a very famous artist and my dad had many artist clients who needed a place to go for printing so they figured they'd set their wives up to supply the art world. Business lasted a few years, mainly fueled by the husbands' connections.
So, my mom, really never worked. She has no clue what it is like to deal with stress or deadlines or the specter of unemployment. she knows how to ask her husband for money, she knows how to spend it and she knows how sales people treat you well when you are buying. When my mom heard my wife lost her job, her reaction was to call my wife and tell her how sorry she was and how she knew what she was going thru because she "lost her new sunglasses this morning" and she's "devastated!!"
My dad will ask my mom to put gas in the car, pick up his dry cleaning, grab him some food from the takeout they like etc and she never, ever has the time. she does nothing all day but never has the time. So, my dad and I came to the realization that people who don't work have the busiest schedules.
How is this possible.
Think about it. All the time in the world to do the few things you need to do. So, you try to not finish anything, lest you find yourself with nothing to do and, therefore, boredom sets in. Or, perhaps, you simply cannot take on new work because you are so busy doing absolutely nothing that you have no time to spare. This second one might be the case.
Over thanksgiving, my mom was making a big deal about needing to head back to the city early Sunday morning because she "had a ton of things to do." I asked what and she got pissed off and stormed away from the table.
Last night, she was nagging my dad to leave our apartment to get home in time to watch the golden globes. They went on at 8 last night. It was 4:45 when she started nagging. They live 15 minutes away. My wife asked "what's the rush?" to which my mother said "I have to get home for the awards." My wife told her they were in 3 hours and she had plenty of time and my mom said "I have other things to take care of." My dad, playing with his grandson, looked up from the couch and said "no you don't. what could you possibly have to do on a Sunday night?"
Silence.
No more talking from mom.
So, here we go. My wife has been out of work for 3 days but today is the first day out of the office and she hasn't been able to figure out what she should do. The malaise of the non-working woman is setting in.
don't get me wrong. There are plenty of women who don't work who are sharp as tacks, take care of a million things and run a tight ship at home. I respect and applaud all of you. Seriously. I find those kind of women to be very appealing. They are no different than the high powered business women, only they have more sex appeal because most high powered business women I know have decided to release the motherly instinct and, in turn, that certain sex appeal goes with it.
No, I'm talking about the women who don't work, have someone else taking care of the kids, the house etc and have all day to do nothing but shop.
As I was leaving this morning I told my wife she needed to get ahold of the lawyer regarding the severance package, she needs to take our daughter's ipod to the apple store to get it fixed and she needs to go to the market and buy food so she can cook dinner tonight.
The nanny made a comment about how, in six years, she has never seen my wife cook anything. I said I hadn't seen any kitchen work in close to 15 years. My daughter said "mommy knows how to make toast. she usually only burns one piece before getting it right."
So, let's see, call the lawyer, hit the market and hit the apple store. Both stores are 5 minute walks from the apartment and the lawyer is a phone call. she should be done with all three by now.
If I got laid off and had three things to do, The three things would be done by 10 am and I'd be locked in my room with a ton of porn, some food, a bottle of coke zero and some lotion to avoid the chafe for the rest of the day. My wife? still trying to figure out which one to do first. Thus, the nonworking wife syndrome is setting in.
I'm doomed.
These doctors are the equivalent of the velvet rope night clubs. Nobody is being let inside and then, when you get inside, there's nobody there. Exclusivity so stringent that you feel compelled to pay out of your own pocket for services that other doctors will perform and bill your insurance directly for? Interesting concept. Where have I heard of someone who refuses admittance to almost everyone? Someone who rejects people without hearing their tale? Someone who's inner group was so select, so secretive, so fucking desirable that people were willing to skip the formalities of actually bothering to see if they knew what they were doing? Someone who created such a legendary myth that people blindly turned themselves over to him?
That's right, Bernie Madoff, Ponz Scum. Thanks for reminding me. By the way, that's my term but you can use it. Not like anyone would ever give me credit for anything.
My wife is spending her first day at home today. She spent the first 3 days of her unemployment clearing out her desk. Today, she woke up, took snoogin to school and then called me a few hours later to tell me she hasn't done shit yet and can't figure out what she should do first.
One fucking day without working and she is already becoming one of those women who I hear the old men bitching about on the golf course. OK, I don't play golf but it sounded good.
Here's the deal. My mother has had, as far as I know, two jobs in her life. Both of them were working for her own company, which my dad backed and supported. The first was a retail store with a very well known (back then) fashion designer. So, in essence, my dad's client wanted to open a store, needed money, asked my dad for assistance, he put up the cash and put his wife in the store to watch the investment. Store closed after a year or two. Designer and her boyfriend were drug fiends and other assorted problems, you know the drill.
Job 2, a print shop for higher end artwork. My dad and a client set their wives up with this one. Why? The client was (is) a very famous artist and my dad had many artist clients who needed a place to go for printing so they figured they'd set their wives up to supply the art world. Business lasted a few years, mainly fueled by the husbands' connections.
So, my mom, really never worked. She has no clue what it is like to deal with stress or deadlines or the specter of unemployment. she knows how to ask her husband for money, she knows how to spend it and she knows how sales people treat you well when you are buying. When my mom heard my wife lost her job, her reaction was to call my wife and tell her how sorry she was and how she knew what she was going thru because she "lost her new sunglasses this morning" and she's "devastated!!"
My dad will ask my mom to put gas in the car, pick up his dry cleaning, grab him some food from the takeout they like etc and she never, ever has the time. she does nothing all day but never has the time. So, my dad and I came to the realization that people who don't work have the busiest schedules.
How is this possible.
Think about it. All the time in the world to do the few things you need to do. So, you try to not finish anything, lest you find yourself with nothing to do and, therefore, boredom sets in. Or, perhaps, you simply cannot take on new work because you are so busy doing absolutely nothing that you have no time to spare. This second one might be the case.
Over thanksgiving, my mom was making a big deal about needing to head back to the city early Sunday morning because she "had a ton of things to do." I asked what and she got pissed off and stormed away from the table.
Last night, she was nagging my dad to leave our apartment to get home in time to watch the golden globes. They went on at 8 last night. It was 4:45 when she started nagging. They live 15 minutes away. My wife asked "what's the rush?" to which my mother said "I have to get home for the awards." My wife told her they were in 3 hours and she had plenty of time and my mom said "I have other things to take care of." My dad, playing with his grandson, looked up from the couch and said "no you don't. what could you possibly have to do on a Sunday night?"
Silence.
No more talking from mom.
So, here we go. My wife has been out of work for 3 days but today is the first day out of the office and she hasn't been able to figure out what she should do. The malaise of the non-working woman is setting in.
don't get me wrong. There are plenty of women who don't work who are sharp as tacks, take care of a million things and run a tight ship at home. I respect and applaud all of you. Seriously. I find those kind of women to be very appealing. They are no different than the high powered business women, only they have more sex appeal because most high powered business women I know have decided to release the motherly instinct and, in turn, that certain sex appeal goes with it.
No, I'm talking about the women who don't work, have someone else taking care of the kids, the house etc and have all day to do nothing but shop.
As I was leaving this morning I told my wife she needed to get ahold of the lawyer regarding the severance package, she needs to take our daughter's ipod to the apple store to get it fixed and she needs to go to the market and buy food so she can cook dinner tonight.
The nanny made a comment about how, in six years, she has never seen my wife cook anything. I said I hadn't seen any kitchen work in close to 15 years. My daughter said "mommy knows how to make toast. she usually only burns one piece before getting it right."
So, let's see, call the lawyer, hit the market and hit the apple store. Both stores are 5 minute walks from the apartment and the lawyer is a phone call. she should be done with all three by now.
If I got laid off and had three things to do, The three things would be done by 10 am and I'd be locked in my room with a ton of porn, some food, a bottle of coke zero and some lotion to avoid the chafe for the rest of the day. My wife? still trying to figure out which one to do first. Thus, the nonworking wife syndrome is setting in.
I'm doomed.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Mmmm Shit Sandwich, My Favorite
So the holiday season is over, life returns to normal. The kids go back to school, I gear up for the upcoming busy work schedule, the wife starts nagging about my birthday, her birthday, the spring trip, a late winter visit to her mother, a new car and anything else that she can think of that might be worth spending money on.
So, as the holiday spending spree is being tallied up by the various creidt card companies, let's focus on the upcoming trip to Disney and the inevitable request to visit her mother.
Yes, I'm going to Disney. The trip that was postponed thanks to Junior being sick was moved to presidents' week. Fitting time. Over crowded and just starting to get hot and rainy. A recipe for disaster for sure.
So, the trip is booked, the flights booked. Reservations for any and all meals were made. We are all set to go but...perhaps....maybe...well...we should at least think about.....visiting her mother for a few days before we head to Disney.
It would get the visit out of the way, keep the cost down by not forcing a second set of flights on my fragile wallet. Sure, great, and the psychiatric bills will quadruple thanks to the added time in the so called sunshine state.
Of course, all of this changed about 3 hours ago.
I highly doubt if there will be a single nagging request to go visit her mother. I doubt if there will be any nagging about me spending money on anything for a little while at the very least.
My wife got laid!!!!!!!!
off that is.
That's right, the company she worked for for 9 years, the company that screwed her out of back pay owed as a result of her working full time after taking a pay cut to work 4 days a week has let her go. They gave her ten weeks salary. At that point the pay becomes unemployment and the benefits are gone. So, right around the time I am celebrating my 40th year on this orb, I will be spending my well earned birthday present for myself on fucking medical insurance so my family is covered.
This unemployment thing is going to cost me a fortune. Forget the whole lack of income from the wife. I now need to get medical insurance which is very expensive for small companies such as mine. I need to put restructure my business and the tax handling to accomodate the salary and medical benefits for employees. I will, in about ten weeks, know if she is going to find a job or stay home with the kids. If she picks the latter, she is going to lose the nanny. This should result in some serious fights and other such fun stuff.
Yeah, stellar fucking day.
So, as the holiday spending spree is being tallied up by the various creidt card companies, let's focus on the upcoming trip to Disney and the inevitable request to visit her mother.
Yes, I'm going to Disney. The trip that was postponed thanks to Junior being sick was moved to presidents' week. Fitting time. Over crowded and just starting to get hot and rainy. A recipe for disaster for sure.
So, the trip is booked, the flights booked. Reservations for any and all meals were made. We are all set to go but...perhaps....maybe...well...we should at least think about.....visiting her mother for a few days before we head to Disney.
It would get the visit out of the way, keep the cost down by not forcing a second set of flights on my fragile wallet. Sure, great, and the psychiatric bills will quadruple thanks to the added time in the so called sunshine state.
Of course, all of this changed about 3 hours ago.
I highly doubt if there will be a single nagging request to go visit her mother. I doubt if there will be any nagging about me spending money on anything for a little while at the very least.
My wife got laid!!!!!!!!
off that is.
That's right, the company she worked for for 9 years, the company that screwed her out of back pay owed as a result of her working full time after taking a pay cut to work 4 days a week has let her go. They gave her ten weeks salary. At that point the pay becomes unemployment and the benefits are gone. So, right around the time I am celebrating my 40th year on this orb, I will be spending my well earned birthday present for myself on fucking medical insurance so my family is covered.
This unemployment thing is going to cost me a fortune. Forget the whole lack of income from the wife. I now need to get medical insurance which is very expensive for small companies such as mine. I need to put restructure my business and the tax handling to accomodate the salary and medical benefits for employees. I will, in about ten weeks, know if she is going to find a job or stay home with the kids. If she picks the latter, she is going to lose the nanny. This should result in some serious fights and other such fun stuff.
Yeah, stellar fucking day.
Saturday, January 03, 2009
I quit....and this time, I mean it. I hope.
Well, it's been almost 3 days without a smoke. Not even a puff. Shit, I won't even inhale when I pass a smoker in the street. So, far, so good. Around 11 PM on New Year's Eve I had my last smoke and the urge, while there, has yet to get the best of me. Sure, I haven't fully tested myself yet but I have certainly given myself many reasons to hit the stick.
My normal routine during the week is to wake up, shower and help the wife get the kids ready for school. Then one of us takes my daughter to school. If it is me, I drop her off and walk the ten or so blocks to my office. 2 butts smoked during the walk. Then I hit the office and I light up whenever I leave to get food, drinks, hit the bank etc. No smoking in my office. I smoke on the walk home. A mile, maybe a mile and a half walk. Several smoked along the way.
On weekends, the smoking is actually reduced. Wake up, toss on some clothes and get Starbucks. Smoke on the way to Starbucks and on the way back. Add another butt if I also pick up food for the kids (doughnuts, bagels etc). Then I smoke whenever I am alone. So, the wife realizes we are out of something I am very quick to run and get it. We need the car? I get it and pick the family up in front of the building so I can get one last smoke in before we hit the road.
So, I stopped on Wed. night. Yay me but the work day, the stress and the need for a break will put me to the test for sure. That said, so far, here's what I've done that has not resulted in my enjoying a long deep breath of carcinogens settling into my already scarred and tarred lungs.
1. Got the coffee two days in a row.
2. Ran several errands for the wife.
3. Two pointless, I am stressed and suffering from nicotine withdrawal fights.
4. One trip to get the car, on trip returning alone from the garage.
5. One long day at my mother in law's. That's right, I spend an afternoon with my wife and kids at my mother in law's apartment. To make the time there more enjoyable, my sister in law and her husband and kids were there. 9 people stuffed into her apartment while she berated and yelled at her daughters for infractions like trying to clean up, offering to help and being blond (not even natural).
6. Walked to my office from Times Square. Dropped the wife and kids off with her sister and her kids so they could do some touristy shit and, since my brother in law was not coming, I figured I'd head to the office, go thru the mail, fuck around and kill time. Freaked me out when I walked in to find someone else in the office - employee of the web design firm we share space with.
7. Took copious amounts of pain meds. The ankle has been acting up quite a bit lately. Might be the walking around, climbing up and down steep steps in the Intrepid (awesome, heading back on Wednesday I think) or just that the ankle is getting worse and, therefore, hurting more but I had to loot the percocet supply big time over the last 2 days and I do so love me a perc haze smoke. Still, I haven't had one.
I hate to be a gun jumping jackass but I will say that I have quit for extended periods before, once for about a year and the first week is usually tougher than the last few days have been so, perhaps, the whole mental planning, promising myself that, at 40 (3/12/09 start shopping now) I would no longer smoke etc worked as intended.
Who knows, maybe my seeign two movies in a row last week where one of the lead characters coughs up blood freaked me out enough. Don't care why it has, so far, been this easy. Just know that it has.
Oh, the two movies?
Bucket List which I had seen before but I was one of two people that really enjoyed the film. My wife was the other.
Gran Tourino - new Clint Eastwood movie. Fucking brilliant. Clint at his grizzled, crusty, angry codger with a heart best. Even if you removed Clint's oscar worthy performance, took away every other actor's incredible performance (they were all incredible) and you took away the amazingly emotional, comical, nerve wracking, heart wrenching story, you'd still have a movie worth seeing. The stereotypes, the bigotry and the ethnic slurs are genius. With about 8 minutes left in the movie, when you think you have heard every single asian slur known to man thru the course of the movie, Clint drops 4 or 5 new ones in a row.
While smoking.
My normal routine during the week is to wake up, shower and help the wife get the kids ready for school. Then one of us takes my daughter to school. If it is me, I drop her off and walk the ten or so blocks to my office. 2 butts smoked during the walk. Then I hit the office and I light up whenever I leave to get food, drinks, hit the bank etc. No smoking in my office. I smoke on the walk home. A mile, maybe a mile and a half walk. Several smoked along the way.
On weekends, the smoking is actually reduced. Wake up, toss on some clothes and get Starbucks. Smoke on the way to Starbucks and on the way back. Add another butt if I also pick up food for the kids (doughnuts, bagels etc). Then I smoke whenever I am alone. So, the wife realizes we are out of something I am very quick to run and get it. We need the car? I get it and pick the family up in front of the building so I can get one last smoke in before we hit the road.
So, I stopped on Wed. night. Yay me but the work day, the stress and the need for a break will put me to the test for sure. That said, so far, here's what I've done that has not resulted in my enjoying a long deep breath of carcinogens settling into my already scarred and tarred lungs.
1. Got the coffee two days in a row.
2. Ran several errands for the wife.
3. Two pointless, I am stressed and suffering from nicotine withdrawal fights.
4. One trip to get the car, on trip returning alone from the garage.
5. One long day at my mother in law's. That's right, I spend an afternoon with my wife and kids at my mother in law's apartment. To make the time there more enjoyable, my sister in law and her husband and kids were there. 9 people stuffed into her apartment while she berated and yelled at her daughters for infractions like trying to clean up, offering to help and being blond (not even natural).
6. Walked to my office from Times Square. Dropped the wife and kids off with her sister and her kids so they could do some touristy shit and, since my brother in law was not coming, I figured I'd head to the office, go thru the mail, fuck around and kill time. Freaked me out when I walked in to find someone else in the office - employee of the web design firm we share space with.
7. Took copious amounts of pain meds. The ankle has been acting up quite a bit lately. Might be the walking around, climbing up and down steep steps in the Intrepid (awesome, heading back on Wednesday I think) or just that the ankle is getting worse and, therefore, hurting more but I had to loot the percocet supply big time over the last 2 days and I do so love me a perc haze smoke. Still, I haven't had one.
I hate to be a gun jumping jackass but I will say that I have quit for extended periods before, once for about a year and the first week is usually tougher than the last few days have been so, perhaps, the whole mental planning, promising myself that, at 40 (3/12/09 start shopping now) I would no longer smoke etc worked as intended.
Who knows, maybe my seeign two movies in a row last week where one of the lead characters coughs up blood freaked me out enough. Don't care why it has, so far, been this easy. Just know that it has.
Oh, the two movies?
Bucket List which I had seen before but I was one of two people that really enjoyed the film. My wife was the other.
Gran Tourino - new Clint Eastwood movie. Fucking brilliant. Clint at his grizzled, crusty, angry codger with a heart best. Even if you removed Clint's oscar worthy performance, took away every other actor's incredible performance (they were all incredible) and you took away the amazingly emotional, comical, nerve wracking, heart wrenching story, you'd still have a movie worth seeing. The stereotypes, the bigotry and the ethnic slurs are genius. With about 8 minutes left in the movie, when you think you have heard every single asian slur known to man thru the course of the movie, Clint drops 4 or 5 new ones in a row.
While smoking.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Bernie Madoff, Mob Ties?
This is a reposting of a post by a member of abovetopsecret.com.
As I've been rather preoccupied with the madoff mess thanks to my connection to this via clients who've been bilked, I have spent quite a bit of time trying to find information on the case and on some of the players I've had contact with. My clients' family dealt with Frank Dipascali. He was their investment manager. In other words, they were being swindled by Madoff's right hand man. So, I did some digging on this guy who has been evasive with the feds so far. He's lawyered up and hasn't been saying much of anything yet, when anyone asked, they'd say nothing happened without talking to Frank first. Frank and Bernie controlled access to the 17th floor. The 17th floor was the floor where Bernie and Frank and 8 others worked. Everyone there was related to Madoff, except Frank. Odd, right?
Well, here's an interesting blog that might shed some light on it.
http://www.talkingpointsmemo.com/talk/blogs/mrs_panstreppon/2008/12/madoff-cfo-frank-dipascali-mar.php
"Frank pushes phony equities and his wife writes worthless mortgages"
The checks my clients received from Madoff over the years were drawn on a chase account. Frank's wife worked at chase.
Frank's wife is from Howard Beach, New York. This is one of those areas where there's a heavy mafia residence. Is it possible that Madoff was in with the Mob?
The blog linked above raises some rather interesting points.
The US Attorney General removed himself from the case as his son, Marc Mukasey, was representing DiPascali. Marc Mukasey and his dad have very close ties to Rudy Giuliani. Rudy was well known as the man who went after the mob when he was in the US Attorney's office. Giuliani was, publicly, a mob enemy but, is it possible, he was connected to the mob?Rudy's business partner and former top NYC cop, Bernard Kerik, has been linked to the mob and has fallen from grace, taking "gifts" from a jersey construction company among his many crimes. Then there's this blog regarding Rudy and a slip-up regarding his "family."
http://moreyetitrouble.blogspot.com/2007/09/giuliani-hints-darkly-at-mafia.html
Sure, it's reaching but, given the history of the mafia in NYC, is it not possible that Rudy was connected and his long time friends the Mukaseys are also connected, thus, Marc Mukasey is representing mob connected Frank DiPascali?
It wouldn't surprise me one bit to see the mafia linked to this. They've been linked to wall street scams for years.
http://www.wallstreetscandals.com/PARTI/criminal_activity/mafia3.html
why wouldn't they continue to operate in an arena where the profits were there for the taking?
If you'd like to add to the discussion, here's a link to the original thread:
http://www.abovetopsecret.com/forum/thread421674/pg1'
As I've been rather preoccupied with the madoff mess thanks to my connection to this via clients who've been bilked, I have spent quite a bit of time trying to find information on the case and on some of the players I've had contact with. My clients' family dealt with Frank Dipascali. He was their investment manager. In other words, they were being swindled by Madoff's right hand man. So, I did some digging on this guy who has been evasive with the feds so far. He's lawyered up and hasn't been saying much of anything yet, when anyone asked, they'd say nothing happened without talking to Frank first. Frank and Bernie controlled access to the 17th floor. The 17th floor was the floor where Bernie and Frank and 8 others worked. Everyone there was related to Madoff, except Frank. Odd, right?
Well, here's an interesting blog that might shed some light on it.
http://www.talkingpointsmemo.com/talk/blogs/mrs_panstreppon/2008/12/madoff-cfo-frank-dipascali-mar.php
"Frank pushes phony equities and his wife writes worthless mortgages"
The checks my clients received from Madoff over the years were drawn on a chase account. Frank's wife worked at chase.
Frank's wife is from Howard Beach, New York. This is one of those areas where there's a heavy mafia residence. Is it possible that Madoff was in with the Mob?
The blog linked above raises some rather interesting points.
The US Attorney General removed himself from the case as his son, Marc Mukasey, was representing DiPascali. Marc Mukasey and his dad have very close ties to Rudy Giuliani. Rudy was well known as the man who went after the mob when he was in the US Attorney's office. Giuliani was, publicly, a mob enemy but, is it possible, he was connected to the mob?Rudy's business partner and former top NYC cop, Bernard Kerik, has been linked to the mob and has fallen from grace, taking "gifts" from a jersey construction company among his many crimes. Then there's this blog regarding Rudy and a slip-up regarding his "family."
http://moreyetitrouble.blogspot.com/2007/09/giuliani-hints-darkly-at-mafia.html
Sure, it's reaching but, given the history of the mafia in NYC, is it not possible that Rudy was connected and his long time friends the Mukaseys are also connected, thus, Marc Mukasey is representing mob connected Frank DiPascali?
It wouldn't surprise me one bit to see the mafia linked to this. They've been linked to wall street scams for years.
http://www.wallstreetscandals.com/PARTI/criminal_activity/mafia3.html
why wouldn't they continue to operate in an arena where the profits were there for the taking?
If you'd like to add to the discussion, here's a link to the original thread:
http://www.abovetopsecret.com/forum/thread421674/pg1'
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
I almost looked like a hero
I'm horrible at picking out gifts for anyone over the age of 15. If one of my kids needs a gift, the wife asks me what to get. If one of our many nieces or nephews is having a birthday, I usually pick it. Perhaps it is my childish nature. I'm immature and I like to play with the kids and their toys so I have a pretty good handle on what to get them.
When it comes to adults, I'm a moron. A good friend of mine recently turned 40 and I went and picked up a tie. It was a good pick. Very nice. Normally, I'd pick something out that I would like but when I wear ties, they tend to be on the funkier side of things. So, when I came home with a tie for this friend, my wife was surprised and shocked. His wife called my wife to make plans shortly after his party and she said it was one of his favorite gifts. She thought it showed how much we cared that we didn't opt for the standard bottle of wine or champagne. She told my wife she has excellent taste and her husband wore it that Monday. My wife then said "Floogin picked it out. He didn't tell me he was doing it. Just went and picked it out."
Other than that one shining moment, I'm a total bust when it comes to gift buying. Every year, on my wife's birthday, our anniversary, mother's day and channukah, I basically tell her to go buy something for herself. It allows me the pleasure of not having to see her disappointed face when she opens some crappy gift from me.
So, when my sister's 20th wedding anniversary was coming up, I suggested we take my sister and her husband out for a night on the town. They live on Long Island and don't get to take advantage of all the city has to offer. My wife said she liked the idea and asked where we should take them. She thought I meant a restaurant. I did but I also thought it would be fun to see a show. So, I told her about Rock of Ages. It's an off broadway show that is described as "a romantic musical comedy set to the hottest tunes of the 80's." The songs in the show included hits by white snake, styx, reo speedwagon, foreigner etc. The website has a video from the show. It looked fucking awesome.
We were discussing the show with my younger sister and her husband and they both loved the idea and thought the show sounded awesome so I asked my older sister and her husband and they were all over it. They both thought the show sounded like a lot of fun and they said they hadn't been to the theater since our show closed back in 2001. (that's right, Floogin McNoogin as the title Broadway Producer on his resume).
So we set out trying to find a night the 6 of us were all free. After about a week of deliberating, we settled on a date and I went and bought 6 tickets. I got 6 seats in the front row, dead center. Normally, I'd want seats set back a few rows. Having produced a show and been involved with the theater machinations, I have learned to request house seats whenever possible, often doing this through back channels. They are rarely free but you wind up in the best seats in the house. These are the seats that the set designers, choreographers, lighting people, directors etc sit in when the show is in pre-production and these are usually the best seats for viewing the show. The only show I know of where the house seats were not necessarily the best in the theater was The Producers. Mel Brooks wanted the choreography to geared towards the orchestra seating but he also wanted to ensure that the folks in the second balcony would not be fucked over so many of the dance numbers were designed like the old synchronized swimming scenes from those movies from the 40's.
Anyway, I scored these front row seats and, judging from the video on the website, it looks like the show turns into a full on concert. People are dancing in the aisles, the cast comes off the stage to interact and dance with the audience. Quite a party.
I picked up the tickets and this past Friday I gave my sister and her husband their tickets at an anniversary party. I gave my other sister hers. she paid me for her share of the tickets and everything was set. All that was left was to pick a restaurant to hit before the show. No big deal as my younger sister wasn't going to spring for dinner too so it was just the 4 of us for this leg.
Today I got the email alerting me to the show's closing. A week before we are supposed to see the show. On sister is going away next week, the other might not be available the week after that. So, I'm going to have to get a refund and start thinking about a gift all over again.
One last thought. If you are on line for the bathroom in a restaurant, and there's someone behind you, do you let them in first if you plan on taking a dump? I was at a rather crowded restaurant Saturday night and there's a guy on line in front of me and he goes in and doesn't come out for a solid ten minutes. He finally comes out and as I walk in I am engulfed in the noxious odor. A thick, creamy, pea soup of stench permeates my clothes and I spend 3 minutes gagging and pissing. I wound up pissing all over the place as the heaving gags were making me move around as I peed.
When I came out of the bathroom there was a guy and a girl waiting behind me. Well, she was waiting for the lady's room but they were together and as I exited the room of death he said "why don't you go in here, I can go after you."
As she stepped into the bathroom, she must've got wind of what went down in there because she stopped dead in her tracks, spun around and practically leaped out of the bathroom. She was an odd shade of green and she had her hand over her mouth. Thru her fingers she gag spoke and said "you go ahead, this guy got personal in there."
I tried to defend myself but I realized I must've sounded pathetic so I lowered my head in unwarranted shame and fled the scene.
Monday, December 15, 2008
hot weekend. hot as hell.
Hell of a weekend. Or should I say the weekend was hell.
Friday was, for the most part, horrible. Spent the better part of the day investigating and researching into the Madoff scandal as I have a few clients who had investments with this petty thief. I've been saying for years how something wasn't right with this guy. For starters, in an arena where the technology is never fast enough to get your trades through, this guy was claiming to have the most cutting edge technology to aid in his system. Odd since his 1099's were sent out on handwritten or typed forms and his monthly reporting was done on old dot matrix style printer paper with the perforated edges. I didn't even know they made that shit anymore. Everything was so hush hush over there, only Bernie and his sons know what's going on blah blah blah. The whole thing appeared to be ridiculous and, I guess, those people who have lost it all with him now see that the age old adage is true. "If it looks too good to be true...."
I felt horrible when I learned of the scam , mainly because one of of my best friends and her family took a massive hit as a result. To make matters worse, over the last ten or so years, I've been trying to get my friend's dad to at lease diversify a bit, move some money into treasuries or other investments. He always asked the same thing "in a bad market will I still get 10 to 15%?"
So, when my friend got the call from her dad and the first words out of his mouth were "Floogin was right all along," I felt even worse. Normally, I 'd relish the I told you so moment, sneaking off into a private corner and rubbing one out in celebratory glee but not here, not now. This is horrific. Sure, there are people saying "they were rich, who cares" but the folks who were involved here weren't all rich. They thought they were thanks to what I'm guessing are made up statements, phony documentation and utter horseshit reporting. So, when my cousin's grandfather, who is in his late 80's and had one bank account that held everything, learns that the $75 million dollars he thought he had is actually a big zero, he's got a hell of a problem.
No money to pay the maintenance on his apartment. No money for food. No money for the various endowments he has set and promised to fund for as long as he lives. No inheritence for his kids, grand kids or great grand kids. He went from being the guy they all relied on to begging for handouts in the blink of an eye.
fucking sucks, regardless of your opinion of people with money.
So, that's Friday.
Friday night was my sister's anniversary. 20 years of marriage. Always fun to get the McNoogin clan in one room, locked away from the rest of the restaurant, and see what transpires. I had myself on drink as I like to stay relatively sharp at these things. Better to enjoy the chaos around you than to be a semi-willing participant in the maelstrom.
So, I watched as my younger sister's husband devolved into slurring, mumbling sweaty ass. I watched as the celebratory anniversary bride became a slurring, head lolling, eyes closing mess and I watched and listened as her kids (one 14, one 17) made fun of her drunken behavior.
My wife and I snuck out as soon as we could. Ugly gathering of ugly drunks. If I was a pickpocket or a con man, it might have been more fun.
Saturday I took the kids to get new phones for the apartment. Managed to put a bit too much pressure on the foot/ankle in the process of getting in and out of cabs and the pain was rather bad. I actually resorted to calling the wife and asking where the fuck my pills were. She was fucking carrying them around with her. Brilliant idea, if she were me. Dumb in an epic, biblical manner if she was not me.
She came home, I scored my meds, popped me a perc but it was too late. The pain was not going away.
Went to see The Reader. Ok movie, lots of Kate Winslet flesh scenes. I don't get her. She has the doughiest, flabby looking legs and arms but her wasit and body is fucking stellar. So odd. For some reason, the director of this movie thought she should look as much like Madonna as possible. So the german accent she used in the film made me think of Madonna's faux brit accent, further confusing me. The movie isn't bad. Seriously. A bit too much cock viewing for my taste but catching my own naked reflection in the mirror as I walk out of the shower is a bit too much cock viewing for me. Not that my cock is small. It isn't. Seriously. No, really. It isn't. Massive is more like it. It's like a forearm or something.
Fine, it's small. On the bright side, it's almost new. Rarely used. Maybe that explains the smallness. It's becoming akin to my appendix. Small, shriveled and useless. atrophied organ and all that.
Went to the outlass for a party at their club last night. Food was fair, company was ok. I let the wife drive and her stop and go style of driving made me nauseous. My son puked as soon as he got out of the car and my daughter begged me to drive home. I did.
While there the kids exchanged presents with their cousins. Good stuff. Always fun watching the kids get what they want. Even more fun watching the disappointment of gettting a lame gift. I'm cruel.
As we were loading up the car to head home I picked up the bag of gifts that my wife had left next to the car. She is such a good packer, she managed to fit all the gifts into one big bag.
She even managed to fit the $2000 SLR camera. Of course she didn't tell me this so, when I picked up the bag the camera rolled out and landed lens down. It was in the camera bag so, I figured, minimal damage.
Minimal if you consider a shattered lens filter minimal.
I'm heading to the camera store today to see if the lens is fucked.
Got home after 10. the kids were wired. They wanted to play with their new shit. My son had his face painted like spiderman but he wanted to wear his new extended wing batman cap thing. Paint from his face everywhere. Scratches and scrapes from the wings everywhere.
The weekend must've run me a couple grand between the anniversary gift, dinner and movies saturday, the phones, the shopping we did on saturday and sunday and now, add the likelihood of me needing a new lens for my camera and I might actually top the $3k mark.
fucked.
He runs the risk of being homeless.
Friday was, for the most part, horrible. Spent the better part of the day investigating and researching into the Madoff scandal as I have a few clients who had investments with this petty thief. I've been saying for years how something wasn't right with this guy. For starters, in an arena where the technology is never fast enough to get your trades through, this guy was claiming to have the most cutting edge technology to aid in his system. Odd since his 1099's were sent out on handwritten or typed forms and his monthly reporting was done on old dot matrix style printer paper with the perforated edges. I didn't even know they made that shit anymore. Everything was so hush hush over there, only Bernie and his sons know what's going on blah blah blah. The whole thing appeared to be ridiculous and, I guess, those people who have lost it all with him now see that the age old adage is true. "If it looks too good to be true...."
I felt horrible when I learned of the scam , mainly because one of of my best friends and her family took a massive hit as a result. To make matters worse, over the last ten or so years, I've been trying to get my friend's dad to at lease diversify a bit, move some money into treasuries or other investments. He always asked the same thing "in a bad market will I still get 10 to 15%?"
So, when my friend got the call from her dad and the first words out of his mouth were "Floogin was right all along," I felt even worse. Normally, I 'd relish the I told you so moment, sneaking off into a private corner and rubbing one out in celebratory glee but not here, not now. This is horrific. Sure, there are people saying "they were rich, who cares" but the folks who were involved here weren't all rich. They thought they were thanks to what I'm guessing are made up statements, phony documentation and utter horseshit reporting. So, when my cousin's grandfather, who is in his late 80's and had one bank account that held everything, learns that the $75 million dollars he thought he had is actually a big zero, he's got a hell of a problem.
No money to pay the maintenance on his apartment. No money for food. No money for the various endowments he has set and promised to fund for as long as he lives. No inheritence for his kids, grand kids or great grand kids. He went from being the guy they all relied on to begging for handouts in the blink of an eye.
fucking sucks, regardless of your opinion of people with money.
So, that's Friday.
Friday night was my sister's anniversary. 20 years of marriage. Always fun to get the McNoogin clan in one room, locked away from the rest of the restaurant, and see what transpires. I had myself on drink as I like to stay relatively sharp at these things. Better to enjoy the chaos around you than to be a semi-willing participant in the maelstrom.
So, I watched as my younger sister's husband devolved into slurring, mumbling sweaty ass. I watched as the celebratory anniversary bride became a slurring, head lolling, eyes closing mess and I watched and listened as her kids (one 14, one 17) made fun of her drunken behavior.
My wife and I snuck out as soon as we could. Ugly gathering of ugly drunks. If I was a pickpocket or a con man, it might have been more fun.
Saturday I took the kids to get new phones for the apartment. Managed to put a bit too much pressure on the foot/ankle in the process of getting in and out of cabs and the pain was rather bad. I actually resorted to calling the wife and asking where the fuck my pills were. She was fucking carrying them around with her. Brilliant idea, if she were me. Dumb in an epic, biblical manner if she was not me.
She came home, I scored my meds, popped me a perc but it was too late. The pain was not going away.
Went to see The Reader. Ok movie, lots of Kate Winslet flesh scenes. I don't get her. She has the doughiest, flabby looking legs and arms but her wasit and body is fucking stellar. So odd. For some reason, the director of this movie thought she should look as much like Madonna as possible. So the german accent she used in the film made me think of Madonna's faux brit accent, further confusing me. The movie isn't bad. Seriously. A bit too much cock viewing for my taste but catching my own naked reflection in the mirror as I walk out of the shower is a bit too much cock viewing for me. Not that my cock is small. It isn't. Seriously. No, really. It isn't. Massive is more like it. It's like a forearm or something.
Fine, it's small. On the bright side, it's almost new. Rarely used. Maybe that explains the smallness. It's becoming akin to my appendix. Small, shriveled and useless. atrophied organ and all that.
Went to the outlass for a party at their club last night. Food was fair, company was ok. I let the wife drive and her stop and go style of driving made me nauseous. My son puked as soon as he got out of the car and my daughter begged me to drive home. I did.
While there the kids exchanged presents with their cousins. Good stuff. Always fun watching the kids get what they want. Even more fun watching the disappointment of gettting a lame gift. I'm cruel.
As we were loading up the car to head home I picked up the bag of gifts that my wife had left next to the car. She is such a good packer, she managed to fit all the gifts into one big bag.
She even managed to fit the $2000 SLR camera. Of course she didn't tell me this so, when I picked up the bag the camera rolled out and landed lens down. It was in the camera bag so, I figured, minimal damage.
Minimal if you consider a shattered lens filter minimal.
I'm heading to the camera store today to see if the lens is fucked.
Got home after 10. the kids were wired. They wanted to play with their new shit. My son had his face painted like spiderman but he wanted to wear his new extended wing batman cap thing. Paint from his face everywhere. Scratches and scrapes from the wings everywhere.
The weekend must've run me a couple grand between the anniversary gift, dinner and movies saturday, the phones, the shopping we did on saturday and sunday and now, add the likelihood of me needing a new lens for my camera and I might actually top the $3k mark.
fucked.
He runs the risk of being homeless.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Starbucks Stupidity
Every morning, like clockwork, I enter my office building and head to the starbucks in the lobby to snag me a big cup of joe. Every morning they get me what I want without me asking. Every morning they put the heavy cream out for me. I never have to say a word. Of course I do speak to them. I say hello, ask how their weekends were, make small talk and thank them for the coffee etc. They all know me there.
Except when they get new folks into the mix. Then the system breaks down and all hell breaks loose.
So, this morning I walk in, hold my $2.28 out to the new lady behind the counter and ask for a venti bold. She takes my money and one of the women I know says goodmorning and hands me my coffee. Everything is moving along nicely.
I head over to the condiment bar to put my equal and heavy cream into my coffee. There, on the bar, is my cream. So far still good.
Then I hit the condiment bar. There's a new kid working there, cleaning it up. Two women are struggling to prepare their coffee on either side of the idiot taking up all the space as she cleans. there's a line of people waiting for their various drinks and there's a line of people waiting to use the condiment bar because this moron decided to clean it during the busiest time of the day.
So, I stand there, coffee in one hand, cream in the other, waiting for one of the women to finish making their coffee or for the employee to finish cleaning. The two women trying to make their coffee are, clearly, frustrated, by the cleaning going on.
They both finish up and leave and I move in. I put the cream down, I put the coffee down. I grab 4 packs of equal and go to put it in my coffee. Where the fuck is my coffee?
The woman cleaning up has moved my fucking coffee so she could continue cleaning.
I move my coffee back, open the faux sugar, pour it in and look for the cinammon. Find it, go to shake it into my coffee and it has moved again.
I move it back, shake the cinnamon and reach for a stirring stick. I go to stir my coffee and the fucking moron moved it again. Only this time she moved it under my arm and I manage to spill half my coffee onto the counter and myself. My rather expensive (bought at a major sale, more than 60% off) sheerling coat with the suede exterior is now doused in coffee on both arms.
The woman trying to clean now has a real fucking mess to clean and I am furious. I start wiping the coffee off my sleeves, trying to pat the fucking sleeves dry, hoping the jacket isn't destroyed, and the woman starts moving my shit around again. The new movement causes the coffee on the counter top to run over the sides, onto my legs and shoes.
I turn to her and tell her that, during the busiest time of the morning, her best bet is to stay as far away from the condiment bar as possible. The tourists are watching me. I need to remain calm. I don't want to be the ugly New Yorker but I am furious.
The woman tells me there's a mess that needs to be cleaned. I tell her there wouldn't be one if she wasn't trying to clean up after people while they are still cleaning.
She walks away as I mop up the coffee on my legs, shoes and coat and then I go and ask the barrista who is making the espresso based drinks to top off my cup and give me a new lid, please. she does and apologizes for the issue. I tell her not to worry. Not her fault. I'm pissed but what can I do, really?
Then the new hire comes over with a fucking wet nap for burning liquids or something.
I had no choice but to laugh. I look at her, tell her she just managed to spill coffee and ruin my coat, my sweater (light blue cashmere w/coffee colored stains around the sleeve edges), possibly my pants and shoes and that a little wet nap won't really do much. She says it will take out the sting. That's right, it will take out the sting. I tell her it's the sting in my wallet I'm concerned with and walk away.
I gather my shit, grab my coffee and as I'm leaving the door I hear "MOTHER FUCKER!" and turn around. The woman knocked over someone else's coffee.
Except when they get new folks into the mix. Then the system breaks down and all hell breaks loose.
So, this morning I walk in, hold my $2.28 out to the new lady behind the counter and ask for a venti bold. She takes my money and one of the women I know says goodmorning and hands me my coffee. Everything is moving along nicely.
I head over to the condiment bar to put my equal and heavy cream into my coffee. There, on the bar, is my cream. So far still good.
Then I hit the condiment bar. There's a new kid working there, cleaning it up. Two women are struggling to prepare their coffee on either side of the idiot taking up all the space as she cleans. there's a line of people waiting for their various drinks and there's a line of people waiting to use the condiment bar because this moron decided to clean it during the busiest time of the day.
So, I stand there, coffee in one hand, cream in the other, waiting for one of the women to finish making their coffee or for the employee to finish cleaning. The two women trying to make their coffee are, clearly, frustrated, by the cleaning going on.
They both finish up and leave and I move in. I put the cream down, I put the coffee down. I grab 4 packs of equal and go to put it in my coffee. Where the fuck is my coffee?
The woman cleaning up has moved my fucking coffee so she could continue cleaning.
I move my coffee back, open the faux sugar, pour it in and look for the cinammon. Find it, go to shake it into my coffee and it has moved again.
I move it back, shake the cinnamon and reach for a stirring stick. I go to stir my coffee and the fucking moron moved it again. Only this time she moved it under my arm and I manage to spill half my coffee onto the counter and myself. My rather expensive (bought at a major sale, more than 60% off) sheerling coat with the suede exterior is now doused in coffee on both arms.
The woman trying to clean now has a real fucking mess to clean and I am furious. I start wiping the coffee off my sleeves, trying to pat the fucking sleeves dry, hoping the jacket isn't destroyed, and the woman starts moving my shit around again. The new movement causes the coffee on the counter top to run over the sides, onto my legs and shoes.
I turn to her and tell her that, during the busiest time of the morning, her best bet is to stay as far away from the condiment bar as possible. The tourists are watching me. I need to remain calm. I don't want to be the ugly New Yorker but I am furious.
The woman tells me there's a mess that needs to be cleaned. I tell her there wouldn't be one if she wasn't trying to clean up after people while they are still cleaning.
She walks away as I mop up the coffee on my legs, shoes and coat and then I go and ask the barrista who is making the espresso based drinks to top off my cup and give me a new lid, please. she does and apologizes for the issue. I tell her not to worry. Not her fault. I'm pissed but what can I do, really?
Then the new hire comes over with a fucking wet nap for burning liquids or something.
I had no choice but to laugh. I look at her, tell her she just managed to spill coffee and ruin my coat, my sweater (light blue cashmere w/coffee colored stains around the sleeve edges), possibly my pants and shoes and that a little wet nap won't really do much. She says it will take out the sting. That's right, it will take out the sting. I tell her it's the sting in my wallet I'm concerned with and walk away.
I gather my shit, grab my coffee and as I'm leaving the door I hear "MOTHER FUCKER!" and turn around. The woman knocked over someone else's coffee.
Monday, December 01, 2008
Holidays Suck
So, the holiday came and went. I'm still alive, barely. I'm teetering on the brink of sanity but that's old news.
Went to the outlaw's before heading to my parents' place for the long weekend. Always hell at Satan's lair. The one upside to visiting her is her rx cabinet. She's a pill freak of epic proportions so I take the opportunity to grab some pain killers and vallium whenever I am there. I stocked up on a variety of goodies that were a necessity thanks to my still aching ankle. Then we headed to my parents' home. I hate going there. My kids are satanic when they are around their cousins, my mother is an ass and my younger sister drives me nuts. But, still, we go.
The dinner itself was fine. I abstained from drinking, as I tend to do at family functions. I feel someone needs to have their wits about them at these things and the alcoholic McNoogins are not to be relied upon for this. After the kids were put to bed I had to endure 3 hours of my brother in law's slurring, incoherent business plan. He's the only guy I know who has an exit strategy in place before he launches a business. Probably why he constantly fails. Truth is, he's got a stellar idea. If he'd let smarter people handle the business plan he'd probably have a hit on his hands. Sadly, his game plan (before the exit strategy) is all wrong and every time I tried to give him direction he simply ignored it and continued pressing in the wrong direction. As a result of this, his plan will, invariably, fail. There's only so much I can do to convince him otherwise. I'll be told that he knows this field better than I do (true) and that this is his area of expertise (true). I will attempt to show that I am somewhat wiser when it comes to running a business and I have a bit of experience in the area of starting a successful business.
So, I dealt with that crap. Then I dealt with entertaining my kids and his kids all weekend long. They (my sister and her husband) tend to ignore their kids when they are around my kids, leaving my wife and me to deal with them all. I dislike her kids. I know that's kinda harsh but her daughter seems doltish and her son is so damned annoying. The one fun aspect to him is that he is only interested in girl things and it drives his homophobic father nuts so I promote the use of the makeover game on barbi.com and other such girlie endeavors.
I did take my daughter to the park so she could finally ditch the training wheels on her bike. She was a champ. Rode like a pro. No more trainers for her. Of course I was forced to run alongside the tottering bike for hours, further aggrivating the ankle. I had plenty of pain meds to help get me thru that and to help me deal with the relatives all weekend.
On the way home we hit the outlaw's again and I stocked up a bit more on the meds.
Then, when I was unpacking, the wife saw the stash and went nuts. She swiped the bottle, presumably to flush them. The fight that ensued was rather ridiculous. She clearly thinks I'm an addict. I didn't have the energy or desire to fight so I let her do her thing. She called me all kinds of names, said all kinds of things. I said nothing. No point really. Let her rant and rave. What's she going to do, cut off the flow of great sex?
Went to see the doctor this morning to find out what the MRI showed. Frayed tendon. Not quite ruptured, not quite torn. What this means is I can have surgery to fix it but I can also try physical therapy to strengthen the area around the tendon to avoid the surgery. I opted for the therapy. I'll go see the guy who helped me with my back. He did a bang up job there so, perhaps, he can work his magic once again.
Went to the outlaw's before heading to my parents' place for the long weekend. Always hell at Satan's lair. The one upside to visiting her is her rx cabinet. She's a pill freak of epic proportions so I take the opportunity to grab some pain killers and vallium whenever I am there. I stocked up on a variety of goodies that were a necessity thanks to my still aching ankle. Then we headed to my parents' home. I hate going there. My kids are satanic when they are around their cousins, my mother is an ass and my younger sister drives me nuts. But, still, we go.
The dinner itself was fine. I abstained from drinking, as I tend to do at family functions. I feel someone needs to have their wits about them at these things and the alcoholic McNoogins are not to be relied upon for this. After the kids were put to bed I had to endure 3 hours of my brother in law's slurring, incoherent business plan. He's the only guy I know who has an exit strategy in place before he launches a business. Probably why he constantly fails. Truth is, he's got a stellar idea. If he'd let smarter people handle the business plan he'd probably have a hit on his hands. Sadly, his game plan (before the exit strategy) is all wrong and every time I tried to give him direction he simply ignored it and continued pressing in the wrong direction. As a result of this, his plan will, invariably, fail. There's only so much I can do to convince him otherwise. I'll be told that he knows this field better than I do (true) and that this is his area of expertise (true). I will attempt to show that I am somewhat wiser when it comes to running a business and I have a bit of experience in the area of starting a successful business.
So, I dealt with that crap. Then I dealt with entertaining my kids and his kids all weekend long. They (my sister and her husband) tend to ignore their kids when they are around my kids, leaving my wife and me to deal with them all. I dislike her kids. I know that's kinda harsh but her daughter seems doltish and her son is so damned annoying. The one fun aspect to him is that he is only interested in girl things and it drives his homophobic father nuts so I promote the use of the makeover game on barbi.com and other such girlie endeavors.
I did take my daughter to the park so she could finally ditch the training wheels on her bike. She was a champ. Rode like a pro. No more trainers for her. Of course I was forced to run alongside the tottering bike for hours, further aggrivating the ankle. I had plenty of pain meds to help get me thru that and to help me deal with the relatives all weekend.
On the way home we hit the outlaw's again and I stocked up a bit more on the meds.
Then, when I was unpacking, the wife saw the stash and went nuts. She swiped the bottle, presumably to flush them. The fight that ensued was rather ridiculous. She clearly thinks I'm an addict. I didn't have the energy or desire to fight so I let her do her thing. She called me all kinds of names, said all kinds of things. I said nothing. No point really. Let her rant and rave. What's she going to do, cut off the flow of great sex?
Went to see the doctor this morning to find out what the MRI showed. Frayed tendon. Not quite ruptured, not quite torn. What this means is I can have surgery to fix it but I can also try physical therapy to strengthen the area around the tendon to avoid the surgery. I opted for the therapy. I'll go see the guy who helped me with my back. He did a bang up job there so, perhaps, he can work his magic once again.
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