We're going fishing today. Might as well. It's in the 70s for the first time I can remember. Last night I drank 12 beers at home while L drank endless glasses of wine. Then we went to a bar. The girl at the end of the bar held her head down on the wood as she struggled through whatever conversation was taking through the speaker of her cell phone. I thought she was going to kiss her equally hot friend as they leaned in to argue about whatever bullshit drama they going through.

I feel somewhat better about the project at work. Even though we butt heads and I'm convinced that I'm the only one who knows jack shit about the project and what users will expect despite feeling like I shouldn't think that way, things are working out my way. I'm getting the shit done that needs to get done no matter how much that bitch drags her feet, makes absurd requests then later denies she ever did, and remains clueless about conventional design features. Fuck her.

If this bitch tells me one more time she doesn't understand what I mean when I say Web 2.0 design or schedules another meeting or replies to my email with the one-word response "interesting" I'm going to stuff that picture of her stupid kids and ugly unemployed husband down her throat.

I'm going fishing.

The effects of Ipecac

Things I have done since I bitched out on this blog and stopped posting

Became vegetarian. I Don't really know why. Maybe because a friend of mine is vegetarian and when he talks about it it made sense to stop eating meat. Not for ethical reasons. Just for general health reasons.

Been planning a wedding with a girl I've been together with for six years. It's amazing how completely unnecessary a man is in the wedding planning process. My genitals are stored neatly in a jar under her bathroom sink collecting dust. They will never been needed again.

Made it through a brutal round of layoffs at work. I'm still employed until next year. I had no idea working as a public relations writer would be so fucking cut throat.

Not redesigning this blog. This site is in such desperate need of a re-design and I'm completely uncapabale. It's fucking ugly. One of the worst blogs I've ever laid eyes on and it's mine. Incapable? Anyone wanna do it for me? I will be forever grateful.

Tried unsuccesfully to quit smoking and drinking. I only do these things on the weekend. But I can't seem to get unbored enough to not go out.

The Dildo Song

Probably not safe for work

Girl accidentally farts on American Idol knock off

A test for you

You down with OPP?
___ Yes
___ No
___ Yeah, you know me

You down with OPP?
___ Yes
___ No
___ Yeah, you know me

Who down with OPP?
___ Me
___ Not me
___ Every last homie

You people make me sick

An open letter to people so obese they have to navigate Sam's Club via a Rascal Scooter just to buy large volumes of Cracker Jacks and Pop Tarts

Please don't.

Random but effective ways to lose your job

get caught masturbating furiously to pictures of your boss' family.

leave copies of exotic porn on your desk: fat broads, over 50, and barely legal will suffice.

whenever someone asks you a question, stare back at them and suck your teeth for 30 seconds before you respond.

when someone asks you what you're doing this week, mumble something about killing kittens. chuckle.

make sure everyone can hear while you talk about how bad your boss/secretary needs to get laid.

keep a bottle of urine under your desk.

At night I've been dreaming, nightmaring, of the past a lot. Usually of people and places I miss. When I wake up in the middle of the night I feel strange. Like a composite of lonely and startled, as if the dream absolutely has to mean something but I don't know how to figure it out and I'm missing a very important message my subconscious is trying to tell me.

What I'm drinking this Friday night:

Hells yeah! Oh yeah, and here's a hot girl:

I went to a tanning salon tonight. And not because I'm a vain Guido. It was because I'm way too white and a slight image boost will motivate me to get into shape by summer. There's kind of a sick desperation in being "the guy" at the tanning salon.

I jumped out of the car at the shopping center and the second I walked in I realized my fly was down. This drastically intensified the stress I was already feeling from being Tanning Salon Guy. Especially since there were about 5 college-age girls standing at the counter. They all turned around to look at me as I walked in.

I checked in and had to wait for a few minutes amid a stack of overpriced lotions. Tanning salons feel kind of like the beach. It's warm, humid, and smells like burnt skin and lotion. All the clientele are cute girls practically in their pjs. While I'm waiting I'm trying to imagine which of my co-waiters have the little playboy bunny sticker on their navels and butts. Then I wonder who will get to see the design it makes next month.

Once a room opens I'm escorted in. There's always a slight tension when you have consider you'll soon be nude or semi-nude and laying on a surface that dozens of people a day lay. And sweat. And fart. This place is upscale so pretty clean. But the smell of burnt skin and lotion continues to linger. You're not really in a room as much as you're in a cubicle with high walls. You could easily stand on the chair and peak over the wall into the next tanning cubile if you so desired. I recommend not doing this.

I make the decision to go full nude. Fuck it. Get my money's worth but don't trust the radiation so I put the courtesy towel that's resting on the chair over my man-junk, put on the tiny sunglasses and let it rip. Only 8 minutes because I'm a tanning rookie. You're allowed to go for up to 20 minutes as you become seasoned and leathery.


Kelly Clarkson blares from a speaker located at the head of the bed. It's easy to get meditative and reflective once you're cooking. I think it's the warm heat in place where there usually isn't warm heat. Within a few minutes, sweat literally pools at the small of your back. I never realized my ass was capable of sweating that much. Because of the high-walled cubicle situation, it's easy to hear things and get freaked out at the thought of someone coming in on you. Especially if you saw I Know What You Did Last Summer and remember the scene where that girl gets locked in the tanning bed and is cooked alive.

Eight minutes goes by quickly. Time to get up and with your junk-protector-courtesy-towel mop up your sweaty pool. Say a prayer for the girl who has to come in and clean your ass cheek imprints from the glass, and get dressed.

Overall, not a bad experience. But it's not something I would openly brag about in public.

Oh, wait.


Technorati tags: tammy nyp tammy video nyp nyp tammy

Fridays are for naps, Saturdays are for chili and margaritas on the couch while watching Cops and Sunday is for trying to make chicken parmesan, sewing a button back onto your blazer and updating the iPod for the week. Unfortunately, it's also thinking about sit-ups because by this summer you want to have a look about you that will make women, upon talking to you for just a few minutes, want to take you into the bathroom and slob all over your knob.

Sometimes a blog needs an enema

Just like a colon, although mines never had one. So when your life changes so must your blog. Unless of course your blog is a notepad that serves only to document the fluctuations of your life.

I'm hungry tonight but everything I have requires preparation. When my ship comes in I want to hire a full-time Greek chef who will make gyros on demand. The only rules will be she has to cook in high heels and deliver every meal with a whisper in my ear. She'll know how to make caffeinated drinks that I can't pronounce but will solve the days problems on the first sip.

Ladder Theory examines the relationship between men and women as both friends and fuck buddies:

Women seem to especially like it if you are more devoted to your bad music, biker gang, forearm tattoo or marijuana. These all seem to work wonders. There are some interests you can show in a woman that will help you to fuck her: a healthy interest in destroying her self-esteem and in fucking her friends more than her seem to work wonders. Note that the following topics of disinterest have been field tested and shown conclusively not to work: Unix, literature, poetry, international politics, and sodomy.

Novelty - Let's face it, if you're like every other guy who works a normal job and tries to live a good life, you're probably like just about every other guy. Chicks don't dig this, and why would they? Who wants someone who is just like everyone else? Something different is more attractive. Like someone who does not have to work during the day like most people because they have lots of money from business or selling drugs. Or like someone who has stabbed a man and went to prison for it. Different and a veritable ticket to getting laid.

...

So it should be self-evident, if you are following this at all, that the people you want to have sex with the most will be at the top of the ladder. Descending down to the bottom of the ladder we pass the following people:

1. The people we really want, who may even be out of our league, are on top.
2. Then come the people we like.
3. Moving further down we pass the people who we would fuck if we were intoxicated and would admit to doing it later.
4. At the bottom are the people we would fuck drunk, and would lie about doing it later.

I'll finally admit that I like hockey. Not that I always have, but for the past few months I've been making an honest attempt at getting into it. It's the first time I've successfully convinced myself to appreciate a sport I wouldn't otherwise give much of a fuck about. More action plus raw combat with sticks and blades is hard to argue with. Maybe next to boxing, its one of the last un-tainted sports when it comes to absolute commerical saturation which detracts from the actual sport. Hockey players also seem to lack the ego that fucks up players in other sports. Or at least fucks up my perception of them.

No cheerleaders though.

Here are some bad jokes. Enjoy, then leave your own:

Q: How many kids with ADD does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
A: Wanna go ride bikes?

****

A pedophile and a little boy were walking into the woods. A storm was approaching and it was getting dark and windy.
"I'm scared" says the little boy.
"You're scared?!?" says the pedophile, "I'm the one who has to walk out alone..."

****

What did the deaf, dumb, blind baby get for Christmas?
Cancer

****

Doctor: "I've got bad news, and I have worse news,
Patient: "What is it?"
Doctor: "Well, for starters, you have cancer"
Patient: "Christ, what's the worse news?"
Doctor: "You have alzthimers"
Patient: "whew, at least I don't have cancer!"

*****

What's the worst part about sex with a 12 year old girl?
Getting the blood out of your clown suit

****

A clown's getting a blow job from a hooker. When he's done he says "Does that taste funny to you?"

****

I hope I die in my sleep just like my grandfather... not screaming like his passengers

***

Random Chuck Norris facts

Chuck Norris once roundhouse kicked someone so hard that his foot broke the speed of light, went back in time, and killed Amelia Earhart while she was flying over the Pacific Ocean.

Chuck Norris does not have AIDS but he gives it to people anyway.

Rather than being birthed like a normal child, Chuck Norris instead
decided to punch his way out of his mother's womb. Shortly thereafter
he grew a beard.

When Chuck Norris plays Oregon Trail his family does not die from
cholera or dysentery, but rather roundhouse kicks to the face. He
also requires no wagon, since he carries the oxen, axels, and buffalo
meat on his back. He always makes it to Oregon before you.

Chuck Norris built a time machine and went back in time to stop the
JFK assassination. As Oswald shot, Chuck met all three bullets with
his beard, deflecting them. JFK's head exploded out of sheer
amazement.

Chuck Norris sold his soul to the devil for his rugged good looks and
unparalleled martial arts ability. Shortly after the transaction was
finalized, Chuck roundhouse kicked the devil in the face and took his
soul back. The devil, who appreciates irony, couldn't stay mad and
admitted he should have seen it coming. They now play poker every
second Wednesday of the month.

A man once asked Chuck Norris if his real name is "Charles". Chuck
Norris did not respond, he simply stared at him until he exploded.

Chuck Norris recently had the idea to sell his urine as a canned
beverage. We know this beverage as Red Bull.

Chuck Norris can make a woman climax by simply pointing at her and
saying "booya".

Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.

Chuck Norris once shot a German plane down with his finger, by
yelling, "Bang!"

The chief export of Chuck Norris is pain.

After much debate, President Truman decided to drop the atomic bomb
on Hiroshima rather than the alternative of sending Chuck Norris. His
reasoning? It was more "humane".

Chuck Norris often asks people to pull his finger. When they do, he
roundhouses them in the abdomen. Then he farts.

Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are
trademarked names for his left and right legs.

If you can see Chuck Norris, he can see you. If you can't see Chuck
Norris you may be only seconds away from death.

One of the greatest cover-ups of the last century was the fact that
Hitler did not commit suicide in his bunker, but was in fact
tea-bagged to death by Chuck Norris.

Chuck Norris took my virginity, and he will sure as hell take yours.
If you're thinking to yourself, "That's impossible, I already lost my
virginity.", then you are dead wrong

The new design is a work in progress. Post your feedback here for any tips or suggestions.

Representative John Murtha (D-PA) today provided an absolutely schocking and absolutely fucking real comment in regard to the war in Iraq:

"U.S. and coalition troops have done all they can in Iraq," the senior lawmaker said. "It's time for a change in direction."

He said he believes all the forces could be redeployed over a six-month period.

Murtha, a former Marine Corps colonel and veteran of the Vietnam war, is the first senior lawmaker to call for an immediate withdrawal. Other critics of the war have asked President Bush to set up a timetable for withdrawal.

...
"Our military has accomplished its mission and done its duty," he said. "Our military captured Saddam Hussein, captured or killed his closest associates, but the war continues to intensify."
...

"I resent the fact that on Veterans Day, they criticized Democrats for criticizing them," Murtha said. "This [the war] is a flawed policy wrapped in illusion. The American public knows it, and lashing out at critics doesn't help a bit. You've got to change the policy. That's what's going to help the American people. You need to change direction."

Murtha -- who recently visited Iraq's Anbar province -- said it is Congress' responsibility to speak out for the "sons and daughters" on the battlefield, and relayed several emotional stories from soldiers recovering at Bethesda's Walter Reed Medical Center.

"I tell you, these young folks are under intense activity over there, I mean much more intense than Vietnam," he said. "You never know when it's going to happen."

The GOP has already started the smear campaign to discredit Murtha and his patriotism, since obviously logic can never be used. But thanks to carrolbluesfan from kos for pointing out these facts in a discussion:

"U.S. Rep. John P. Murtha . . had a long and distinguished 37-year career in the U.S. Marine Corps, retiring from the Marine Corps Reserve as a colonel in 1990. . ."

Let's compare that, shall we, to:

Dennis Hastert: did not serve.
Tom Delay: did not serve.
Roy Blunt: did not serve.
Bill Frist: did not serve.
Mitch McConnell: did not serve.
Rick Santorum: did not serve.
Trent Lott: did not serve.
Dick Cheney: did not serve. Five deferments. "I had other priorities in the '60s other than military service," Cheney told a reporter in 1989.
John Ashcroft: did not serve. Seven deferments to teach business.
Jeb Bush: did not serve.
Karl Rove: did not serve.
Saxby Chambliss: did not serve. "Bad knee." The man who attacked Max Cleland's patriotism. (Cleland lost both legs and an arm trying to pick up a grenade another soldier dropped in Viet Nam.)
Paul Wolfowitz: did not serve.
Vin Weber: did not serve.
Richard Perle: did not serve.
Douglas Feith: did not serve.
Eliot Abrams: did not serve.
Richard Shelby: did not serve.
Jon Kyl: did not serve.
Tim Hutchison: did not serve.
Christopher Cox: did not serve.
Newt Gingrich: did not serve.
Phil Gramm: did not serve.
John McCain: Silver Star, Bronze Star, Legion of Merit, Purple Heart and Distinguished Flying Cross.
Dana Rohrabacher: did not serve.
John M. McHugh: did not serve.
JC Watts: did not serve.
Jack Kemp: did not serve. "Knee problem," although continued playing in the NFL for 8 years.
Dan Quayle: Journalism unit of the Indiana National Guard.
Rudy Giuliani: did not serve.
George Pataki: did not serve.
Spencer Abraham: did not serve.
John Engler: did not serve.
Lindsey Graham: National Guard lawyer.
Sean Hannity: did not serve.
Rush Limbaugh: did not serve
Bill O'Reilly: did not serve.
Michael Savage: did not serve.
George Will: did not serve.
Chris Matthews: did not serve.
Paul Gigot: did not serve.
Bill Bennett: did not serve.
Pat Buchanan: did not serve.
John Wayne: did not serve.
Bill Kristol: did not serve.
Kenneth Starr: did not serve.
Antonin Scalia: did not serve.
Clarence Thomas: did not serve.
Ralph Reed: did not serve.
Michael Medved: did not serve.

I'm quitting smoking. I'm not really quitting but I'm just kind of not smoking so much any more.

I started smoking 11 years ago at the age of 17. I had been dating a girl at the time who smoked. When she broke up with me, I thought I could be closer to her by have an occasional smoke every now and again. I even started smoking her brand of cigarettes, which in retrospect reminds me that even I am not fully immune from doing really stupid things.

I'm reading a book right now that is reminding me how dumb it is to smoke. What I think is relieving stress or curing boredom is contributing to all those things, while at the same time making me stink and turning my teeth yellow and contributing to a lifestyle that isn't exactly contributing to my beer gut. It's no longer sexy, if it ever was. Unless you're an actor or in a rock band it doesn't do much for your social image, either.

If you give someone enough rope, they will hang themself somewhere along an infinite timeline.

Just ask Tom Delay. Just ask Bill Frist. And get ready to ask Karl Rove. Those of us who have been waiting for a group of heroes to rise up and dismantle this evil that this conspiracy of men has caused not only the U.S. but also the whole world are a bit surprised that the ultimate bitch slap will come down to a couple seemingly random people. Like a federal judge in Austin. A former CIA chief and a NYT reporter.

Karl Rove should have to go to real prison. A real deal Texas state pound me in the ass prison. There he would get his fat face smacked by a big, fat, hairy tatted up biker. He would last only a few minutes. Karl Rove should learn something about gay marriage while he is in prison.

As a rape victim, he should be moved from the prison and taken to a VA hospital, where he can spend the rest of life hearing the stories of maimed veterans blown up in Iraq. He should hear the stories of Vietnam vets who have had their benefits taken from the slowly over the years. He should get to experience how blacks and poor whites are treated.

Just a thought.

In texas in never really gets to be autumn, it just kind of goes from mild late summer to windy cold february. Right now we're in late summer, meaning its still in the 70s and 80s. One day soon I will wake up and it will be 25 and I"ll be scraping ice off my windshield wondering what the fuck happened I was sweating yesterday. I miss being in a place where the leaves really turn colors. Lots of colors. Where people burn leaves on their front lawn and indian corn is everywhere. Yellow orange and brown leaves get stinky wet and accumulate in piles and winter kind of creeps up on you over 4 weeks or so.

I visited Austin, Texas for this first time in 1991. I was there to attend my sister's wedding. I was 14. I was watching tv at her apartment one night and was amazed at the public access television there. Fucking anybody could have a show after a short wait on a list. One show was a bunch of teenagers sitting on the couch, stoned out of their mind, talking about sex. I would so fuck her, one would say. We'll both fuck her! The other would say. Another show was two guys sitting on a couch drinking beer in various places. They would never talk. No guests. Just two guys sitting on a couch drinking beer, only ocassionally dipping into a cooler to pull out a cold one. I still have yet to see anything like that on public access. At least where I live, where public tv has been hijacked by old ladies wanting to give you a Boston Pops DVD if you make a $500 donation to the station. Fucking weak.

I've been listening to a lot of podcasts for about 4 months or so, and I kind of get the same feeling I do when I watched public access tv for the first time. Most that I've found are professional, and only get my attention if someone says a swear. The guys at Diggnation drink beer and seem to considerably get fucked up while talking about Tech news. Soccergirl Inc is one of those "hippie for the sake of being hippie" types who gets by on little more than shallow discourse disguised as something of signifcance, kind of like my blog, but gets away with it more because she'll occasionally show her jugs on her blog which is never bad even though her face kind of hurts. Bicyclemark remains my hero, taking true public access media to the next level with discussions on everything from the political structure of Amsterdam to working as a waiter in Greenwhich Village to Apple computers. The way it should be.

Video iPods will take the podcasting game to the proverbial next level. While blogging has a way of reminding us that not everyone is a great or even interesting writer, and podcasting makes drinking and cussin' even more fun than usual, vidcasting will show us that anyone at all can be an amateur pornographer, which is what the internets is all about.

NEW OFFICE SLANG

404 - Someone who is clueless. From the Web error message, “404 Not Found,” which means the document requested couldn’t be located. “Don’t bother asking John. He’s 404.”

Adminisphere - The rarified organizational layers above the rank and file that makes decisions that are often profoundly inappropriate or irrelevant.

Alpha Geek - The most knowledgeable, technically proficient person in an office or work group. “I dunno, ask Rick. He’s our alpha geek.”

Assmosis - The process by which some people seem to absorb success and advancement by kissing up to the boss rather than working hard.

Batmobiling - putting up emotional shields. Refers to the retracting armor that covers the Batmobile as in “she started talking marriage and he started batmobiling”

Beepilepsy - The brief siezure people sometimes suffer when their beepers go off, especially in vibrator mode. Characterized by physical spasms, goofy facial expressions, and stopping speech in mid-sentence.

Betamaxed - When a technology is overtaken in the market by inferior but better marketed competition as in “Microsoft betamaxed Apple right out of the market”

Blamestorming - A group discussion of why a deadline was missed or a project failed and who was responsible.

Blowing Your Buffer - Losing one’s train of thought. Occurs when the person you are speaking with won’t let you get a word in edgewise or has just said something so astonishing that your train gets derailed. “Damn, I just blew my buffer!” (Synonym: “Head Crash”)

Body Nazis - Hard-core exercise and weight-lifting fanatics who look down on anyone who doesn’t work out obsessively.

Bookmark - To take note of a person for future reference. “After seeing his cool demo at Siggraph, I bookmarked him.”

Brain Fart - A byproduct of a bloated mind producing information effortlessly; a burst of useful information. “I know you’re busy on the Microsoft story, but can you give us a brain fart on the Mitnik bust?” Variation of old hacker slang that had more negative connotations.

CGI Joe - A hard-core CGI script programmer with all the social skills and charisma of a plastic action figure.

Chainsaw Consultant - An outside expert brought in to reduce the employee head count, leaving the top brass with clean hands.

Chip Jewelry - Old computers destined to be scrapped or turned into decoration. “I paid three grand for that Mac and now it’s nothing but chip jewelry.”

Chips and Salsa - Chips = hardware, salsa = software. “First we gotta figure out if the problem’s in your chips or your salsa.”

CLM (Career Limiting Move)- Used by microserfs to describe an ill-advised activity. “Trashing your boss while he or she is within earshot is a serious CLM.”

Cobweb - A WWW site that never changes.

Crapplet - A badly written or profoundly useless Java applet. “I just wasted 30 minutes downloading that crapplet!”

CROP DUSTING - Surreptitiously farting while passing thru a cube farm, then enjoying the sounds of dismay and disgust; leads to PRAIRIE DOGGING.....

Cube Farm - An office filled with cubicles.

Dead Tree Edition - The paper version of a publication available in both paper and electronic forms.

Dilberted - To be exploited and oppressed by your boss, as is Dilbert, the comic strip character. “Damn, I’ve been dilberted again! The old man revised the specs for the fourth time this week.”

Dorito Syndrome - The feeling of emptiness and dissatisfaction triggered by addictive substances that lack nutritional content. “I just spent six hours surfing the Web, and now I’ve got a bad case of Dorito Syndrome.”

Egosurfing - Scanning the Net, databases, etc., for one’s own name.

Elvis Year - The peak year of popularity as in “1993 was Barney the dinosaur’s Elvis year”

Flight Risk - Used to describe employees who are suspected of planning to leave a company or department soon.

Generica - Fast food joints, strip malls, sub-divisions as in “we were so lost in generica that I couldn’t remember what city it was”

Glazing - Corporate-speak for sleeping with your eyes open; a popular pastime at conferences and early-morning meetings. “Didn’t he notice that by the second session half the room was glazing?”

Going Postal - Totally stressed out and losing it like postal employees who went on shooting rampages

GOOD job - A "Get-Out-Of-Debt" job. A well-paying job people take in order to pay off their debts, one that they will quit as soon as they are solvent again.

Gray Matter - Older, experienced business people hired by young entrepreneurial firms trying to appear more professional and established.

Graybar Land - The place you go while you’re staring at a computer that’s processing something very slowly (while you watch the gray bar creep across the screen). “That CAD rendering put me in graybar land for like an hour.”

High Dome - Egghead, scientist, PhD

Idea Hamsters - People whose idea generators are always running.

Irritainment - Entertainment and media spectacles that are annoying, but you find yourself unable to stop watching them. The O.J. trials were a prime example.

It’s a Feature - From the old adage, “It’s not a bug, it’s a feature.” Used sarcastically to describe an unpleasant problem you wish to gloss over.

Keyboard Plaque - The disgusting buildup of dirt and crud found on some people’s computer keyboards.

Link Rot - The process by which web page’s links become obsolete as the sites they’re connected to change or die.

Meatspace - The physical world (as opposed to the virtual) also “carbon community” “facetime” “F2F” “RL”

Mouse Potato - The online generation’s answer to the couch potato.

Ohnosecond - That minuscule fraction of time during which you realize you’ve just made a terrible error.

Open-Collar Workers - People who work at home or telecommute.

Percussive Maintenance - The fine art of whacking the crap out of an electronic device to get it to work again.

Perot - To quit unexpectedly. “My cellular phone just perot’ed.”

Plug-and-Play - A new hire who doesn’t require training. “That new guy is totally plug-and-play.”

Prairie Dogging - When something loud happens in a cube farm, causing heads to pop up over the walls trying to see what’s going on.

Ribs ‘N’ Dick - A budget with no fat as in “we’ve got ribs ‘n’ dick and we’re supposed to find 20K for memory upgrades”

Salmon Day - The experience of spending an entire day swimming upstream only to get screwed in the end. “God, today was a total salmon day!”

Seagull Manager - A manager who flies in, makes a lot of noise, shits over everything and then leaves.

Siliwood - The coming convergence of movies, interactive TV and computers; also “Hollywired”

SITCOMs - What yuppies turn into when they have children and one of them stops working to stay home with the kids. “Single Income, Two Children, Oppressive Mortgage”

Square-Headed Spouse - Computer

Squirt the Bird - To transmit a signal up to a satellite. “Crew and talent are ready...what time do we squirt the bird?”

Starter Marriage - A short-lived first marriage that ends in divorce with no kids, no property and no regrets.

Stress Puppy - A person who thrives on being stressed-out and whiny.

Swiped Out - An ATM or credit card that has been used so much its magnetic strip is worn away.

Tourists - Those who take training classes just to take a vacation from their jobs. “There were only three serious students in the class; the rest were just tourists.”

Treeware - Hacker slang for documentation or other printed material.

Umfriend - One with whom one has a sexual relationship; as in, “this is Dale, my...um...friend.”

Under Mouse Arrest - Getting busted for violating an online service’s rule of conduct. “Sorry I couldn’t get back to you. AOL put me under mouse arrest.”

Uninstalled - Euphemism for being fired. Also: decruitment.

Vulcan Nerve Pinch - The taxing hand position required to reach all the appropriate keys for certain commands. For instance, the warm re-boot for a Mac II computer involves simultaneously pressing the Control key, the Command key, the Return key and the Power On key.

WOOFYS - Well Off Older Folks.

World Wide Wait - The real meaning of WWW.

Xerox Subsidy - Euphemism for swiping free photocopies from one’s workplace.

Yuppie Food Coupons - Twenty dollar bills from an ATM.

Today my best friend called me and asked if I would come to Dallas to see him in early October. I think we’re going to have a coming to Jesus talk about him leaving his wife, who is chronically depressed, and bordering on a pill/drug addiction. She sees her shrink as little more than a possible drinking buddy. This is going to be one of those exercises where I have to realize it isn’t what I say, but how I listen. Breakups suck. He’s always gung-ho about a divorce until I interlude with reality-based scenarios:

How will you be when you see her with her new boyfriend in six months? What if he’s driving your truck, or living in your house?

How will you divide up the Christmas ornaments that people bought for you back when you were a happy couple?

How do you divvy up the mutual friends, and when will it be Ok to start bringing the hot cheerleader to the mutual friends Christmas party?

How will you deal with the guilt if she becomes a hooker and to feed her addiction to turns tricks under the freeway overpass?

Other than that, I've been playing with my new toy. Its the new hotness.

A conversation with my friend after his bullshit job interview using Google's new Talk messenger.


Jack: Yo! You there?
Word em up!
Incoming call from Jack at 6:23 PM on Wednesday
Call from Jack missed at 6:29 PM on Wednesday
Michael: yo fool!
Sent at 6:41 PM on Wednesday
Jack: Yo!
Michael: sup...what are you up to
Jack: nothing chillin
what you got
Michael: me too.ive never wanted to take a nao si bad
nap so bad
Jack: I had my interview today
Michael: waddya think
Jack: was very very bad
completly not interested
Michael: shit what happened
aww man
Jack: they were looking for someone to build a brand new territory
not senior sales rep stuff at all
Michael: whats the difference?
Jack: more like right outta college stuff
Michael: ohhh
Jack: I have spent four years building my territory
not gonna start all over again for less pay
Michael: fuck that then
Jack: plus they were talking all kinds of shit
Michael: about you?
Jack: No in general
Dallas, etc
Michael: oh
Jack: then when I asked about specifics
they informed me I should have done my homework
Michael: weak
Jack: So, I basically said "fair enough" and walked out
Michael: whats the company's reputation?
Jack: They were being dicks o see how I reacted
They are the Kleenex of underlayment as far as what you put under tile...
but they are making a run at the siding business
pretty low margins considering the way all these jack offs were dressed
Michael: it might be a new group since they're going into a new direction...they might be lacking focus and quite don't know how to gauge shit within the industry...like whats appropriate and whats not
Jack: definitly
they sure felt they could bust my balls though
Michael: like i always say, people who do shit like that never last long anyway...just let them hang themlselves with the slack of the rope
Jack: "we are looking for the hunter mentality salesman"--they were using a bunch of two dollar words and shit.
being an asshole will not make your sales grow for sure
enough of that... whats up with you?
Michael: not shit..i have some freelance shit im supposed to finish tonight, but I really don't want to do it...so I'm sitting on the couch and looking at the pages instead
Jack: true dat... I 'm headed to the pub in about an hour to relish in the fact that where I work is really not that bad.
Michael: i was like that when I interviewed with a software developer a few weeks ago...i held the place up on a pedestal, but after the interview, I was like "fuck this shit."
Jack: NOOO Shit
Michael: nothing like what I imagined. they were interested, but it was generally an unprofessional environment, which is scary
Jack: very true... did they hammer you at all?
Michael: all business is pretty much the same...thats why everyone behaves a certain way within the organization...any company that allows employees to be outside the business mold scares me, because not many businesses do that..for good reason
i was grilled at first, which is fine, because I know my shit..once he realized I was down, it was cool, but he was trying to break my balls at first...
he was trying way too hard to sound like he knew what he was talking about....practically re-inventing industry terms to make himself feel superior.
Jack: Oh man what a joke
Michael: and then he found out that i read the trade publications and academic journals, and then he felt pretty bad i think
it would be like the guys telling you today that they sell "quadrated mineral-based laminated surface appliances."
Jack: I knew this one was gonna be crap when I went into my work history and he said told me to go back farther than five years
Michael: thats a common device
Jack: I was like well... I studied English in college...blah blah blah
Yeah I know, the second round of interviewers tried to trick me up on it as well
Michael: i just say "my relevant employment history to this position begins five years ago"

Jack: the thing taht pissed me off the most was when I asked who they align themselves with to get their product installed he said I should have done my homework... My reply was that I was called to interview on Monday afternoon (short time to prepare) and that their website was not that informative.
Michael: as if that shits important to learn before the interview...
Jack: No joke. he said "well, I don't have anything else." and I said "Fair enough and walked out."
Michael: it takes more effort, and loses more face, to tell you you should have done your homework than if they just told you the name of the company
Jack: I have lost total respect for the company
Michael: it sounds like they probably already had the position filled, and were just going through the motions
Jack: the grass ain't always greener thats for sure
Michael: i've been in those positions before, because you prepare so much and try so hard...and they're sitting there "yep, Ok...we'll call ya" when they filled it last week but want to appear fair
or they've already hired internally
i usually send them an e-mail afterwards and tell them to withdraw my name...at least that way you feel better and subconsciously don't feel like a bitch
Jack: I didn't let myself get worked up at all.. I knew it would have to be a really sweet deal for me to leave my current position
Thats a good idea about the withdrawl email
Michael: either way, interviews and job hunting SUCK...its good to it every now and again to make you realize how much you like your job...and it makes you feel better about your payroll direct deposits
Jack: Damn straight
Michael: "I feel that based on your presentation of the company this afternoon, we would not be a good fit. I wish you the best of luck in your search to fill this position."
Jack: Its good to see whats out there every now and again to keep shit real
Michael: "WHile I highly respect the overall quality of your company, I'm afraid I would be unable to perform effectively knowing that you are a closet homosexual and have a warped view of the sales industry, as apparent by your use of rhetoric"
Jack: Nice.. can I use that
Michael: of course.
you have to make a reference to the hunter mentality though
Jack: "We like to hunt that man ass"
Michael: "we're looking for real go getters."
as if anyone isn't looking for a go getter
Jack: no shit
Michael: "go getters" aren't impressed by people who use that term
Jack: seriously they were saying shit like "we are a foot on the gas organization"
Michael: ask to say three sentences that don't include a metaphor
ask him, i mean
Michael: [we want someone who can really put the spurs to the pony]
thats when you just sit there and take a deep breath
sigh
blow out a slow exhale
"aww fuck..I really thought you were looking for someone who didn't do shit all day...your ad didn't say anything about being a go getter"
Jack: It's only after its over do you realize the stupidity of the whole thing
Michael: yeah...20 minutes later you kind of feel like you just got punked
Jack: at first I was like what a joke
Michael: "what the fuck just happened?"
Jack: then pissed
then I started analysing the whole thing... now its just comical
The really funny thing is they buy a ton of stuff and I never met their regional guy once
Michael: the last stage of that process for me involves the fantasy of me saying something really hardcore..and usually lighting up a cigarette right before i do it
Jack: or kicking someone in the teeth
Michael: and putting the cigarette out in someones coffee before i walk out with the bird high in the air
Jack: knocking over the food cart
Michael: i like the idea of sweeping the contents off of someone's desk
Jack: this was so hoops it was the hyatt
Michael: or anything that involves me pulling my dick out
awww nice
that alone implies you may have to suck someones dick to get the job
Jack: I still just like theidea of grabbing someon by their tie and saying "I'll take you outside and whip your ass!"
Michael: or just a hard poke to the eyes with your index and middle finger
"shut the fuck up."
coffee is for closers.
"PUT. that. coffee. down."
"I like your style" and shoot him with
double-barreled fingers.
Jack: These fags couldnt close thier way out of a paper bag.
The hard sell days are over as more educated people join the industry
I felt like I was talking to career carpet guys who worked the trade shows back in the 80's
Michael: when you saw the interview going south, you should have jumped up, looked around and said "no. no. something's not right here. I see whats going. no, this isn't right at all. You guys are a bunch of faggots arent you?"
yeah the walking sales stereotypes?
Jack: exactly
real pushy and tranparent
Michael: the soon to be Willy Lomans
short sleeve shirts and brown ties, telling war stories about how they almost closed the big one
Jack: oh yeah... real slimy
car sales types
Michael: high fiving each other and sharing an inside joke about how gary once got a fat bitch to suck his dick at the sales convention in Reno last year
"but don't tell carol...she'd tie his dick in a knot!"
Jack: or say "Does it smell like man love in here to you guys?
Michael: "jesus christ..it smells like someone just shot a hot load into a mans asshole." Then pull your shirt up over your nose.
Jack: "Hey buddy you got some on your chin""
Michael: be over aggressive with your jokes. "Hey man you got some cum on your lips.." "Aww Im just fuckin with ya"
Jack: smack him real hard on the back
Michael: "yeah reminds me when I fucked your sister...nah I'm just playin man I didn't fuck her...no hard feelings right?"
"or maybe i did"
Jack: Nah I didn't fuck her... she only blew me dude
Michael: "i'm just breakin your balls....you're not upset are you?"
"sorry im late for the interview...i was just nailin your grandma"
look around suspiciously, then unbutton your dress shirt and reveal that you have a no fat chicks tshirt on underneath..then say "know what i mean? know what i mean? yeah you know what i mean dude"
Michael: i still like the idea of you just pulling your shirt up over your nose and then scowling and squinting..."man...thats fucked up."
all of these scenarios re better if you imagine yourself chewing gum obnoxiously
and with long sideburns
Jack: If you saw these guys you would be dting right now
dying rather
Bad toupees
Michael: i wish i knew when interview were gonna be like that so i could just fuck with them.
Jack: wrinkled clothing
Michael: aawww man i didn't know people still wore those
that says a lot about his esteem
Jack: The fat chich shirt is the best
these guys division managers pull down like 100K
Michael: these guys do, or there bosses?
Jack: Thats really weak for division managers in the industry
those guys were all some sort of managers
Michael: oh ok
Jack: but the position I was interviewing for was low on the totem pole--I found out when i got there
Michael: well, hopefully the pay does something to offset the pain a toupee brings..but i doubt it
Jack: money can't buy you class
Michael: complete entry level...
Jack: it would have been basically starting over
Well I gots to get ready to get my beer on
Michael: word word...im gonna try and get this bullshit started. raise one for me
Jack: Thanks for laughs man. My head hurts now.
Michael: should make for some fun bar talk
Jack: oh yeah... Lates
Michael: later

one from the inbox.

Office Dares


ONE-POINT OFFICE DARES
1) Run one lap around the office at top speed.
2) Ignore the first five people who say 'good morning'
to you.
3) Phone someone in the office you barely know, leave your name and say,
"Just called to say I can't talk right now. Bye."
4) To signal the end of a conversation, clamp your hands over your ears
and grimace.
5) Leave your zipper open for one hour. If anyone points it out, say,
"Sorry, I really prefer it this way."
6) Walk sideways to the photocopier.
7) While riding in an elevator, gasp dramatically every time the doors
open.

THREE-POINT DARES
1) Say to your boss, "I like your style" and shoot him with
double-barreled fingers.
2) Babble incoherently at a fellow employee, and then ask, "Did you get
all that, I don't want to have to repeat it."
3) Page yourself over the intercom (do not disguise your voice).
4) Kneel in front of the water cooler and drink directly from the nozzle
(there must be a 'non-player'
within sight).
5) Shout random numbers while someone is counting.

FIVE POINT DARES
1) At the end of a meeting, suggest that, for once, it would be nice to
conclude with the singing of the national anthem (5 extra points if you
actually launch into it yourself).
2) Walk into a very busy person's office and while they watch you with
growing irritation, turn the light switch on/off 10 times.
3) For an hour, refer to everyone you speak to as "Bob."
4) Announce to everyone in a meeting that you "really have to go do a
number two."
5) After every sentence, say 'Mon' in a really bad Jamaican accent. As
in "The report's on your desk, Mon." Keep this up for 1 hour.
6) While an office mate is out, move their chair into the elevator.
7) In a meeting or crowded situation, slap your forehead repeatedly and
mutter, "Shut up, all of you just shut up!"
8) At lunchtime, get down on your knees and announce, "As God as my
witness, I'll never go hungry again."
9) In a colleague's DAY PLANNER, write in the 10am
slot: "See how I look in tights."(5 Extra points if it is a male, 5 more
if he is your boss)
10) Carry your keyboard over to your colleague and ask, "You wanna
trade?"
11) Repeat the following conversation 10 times to the same person: "Do
you hear that?" "What?" "Never mind, it's gone now."
12) Come to work in army fatigues and when asked why, say, "I can't talk
about it."
13) Posing as a maitre d', call a colleague and tell him he's won a
lunch for four at a local restaurant.
Let him go.
14) Speak with an accent (French, German, Porky Pig,
etc) during a very important conference call.
15) Find the vacuum and start vacuuming around your desk.
16) Hang a 2' long piece of toilet roll from the back of your pants and
act genuinely surprised when someone points it out.
17) Present meeting attendees with a cup of coffee and biscuits,
smashing each biscuit with your fist.
18) During the course of a meeting, slowly edge your chair towards the
door.
19) Arrange toy figures on the table to represent each meeting attendee,
move them according to the movements of their real-life counterparts.

And if that wasn't enough for you... How to keep a healthy level of
insanity:
1) At lunchtime, sit in your parked car with sunglasses on and point a
hair dryer at passing cars.
See if they slow down.
2) Tell your children over dinner. "Due to the economy, we are going to
have to let one of you go."
3) Every time someone asks you to do something, ask if they want fries
with that.
4) Put your wastebasket on your desk and label it "IN".
5) Put decaf in the coffee maker for 3 weeks. Once everyone has gotten
over his or her caffeine addictions, switch to espresso.
6) Finish all your sentences with "In accordance with the prophecy."
7) Dont use any punctuation
8) Use, too...much; punctuation!
9) As often as possible, skip rather than walk.
10) Ask people what sex they are. Laugh hysterically after they answer.
11) Specify that your drive-through order is "to go."
12) Sing along at the opera.
13) Go to a poetry recital and ask why the poems don't rhyme.
14) Put mosquito netting around your work area. Play a tape of jungle
sounds all day.
15) Five days in advance tell your friends you can't attend their party
because you're not in the mood.
16) Have your co-workers address you by your wrestling name, "Rock
Hard."
17) When the money comes out of the ATM, scream "I Won! I Won! 3rd time
this week!!!"
18) When leaving the zoo, start running towards the parking lot yelling,
"Run for your lives, they're loose!"

The Tao of Neil Young

Come a little bit closer
Hear what I have to say
Just like children sleepin
'We could dream this night away.
But there's a full moon risin'
Let's go dancin' in the light
We know where the music's
playin' Let's go out and feel the night.
Because I'm still in love with you

I want to see you dance again
Because I'm still in love with you
On this harvest moon.

When we were strangersI watched you from afar
When we were loversI loved you with all my heart.
But now it's gettin' lateAnd the moon is climbin' high
I want to celebrate See it shinin' in your eye.

Because I'm still in love with you
I want to see you dance again
Because I'm still in love with you
On this harvest moon.

I kind of bitched out and broke a rule of blogging. The one that says you can't be a wuss and not blog when you're life looks like it may fall apart. I've gotten some very good e-mails from a lot of you. I feel stronger for the words you've shared with me. Thank you everyone for your kind thoughts.

I've spent this week faking smiles at work. Faking kind of works if you need to trick yourself into thinking everything is OK. I'm usually a spiritual person, but I've recently abandoned my relationship with God the same way I've abandoned my relationship with my blog. I need both to heal, and I need time to heal, also. I've forgotten that its kind of therapeutic to open up the blogger window and force myself to type. It makes me ask myself hard questions. What the fuck am I going to write about today? You don't really have to know. But you have to open that little window and say something, as often as possible. If you absolutely can't do that, you have to at least post pictures of britney and cletus.

I'm feeling stronger. I have to remind myself that I've been through a lot of tough things before, just like you have, and that it always works out Ok. Thats not to say its not painful and that I won't cry in the stall at work sometimes and blame allergies on my bullshit swollen eyes. But it does mean that things will be Ok. Eventually.

One of my weaknesses is that I deal with emotions way too late, and they all come on at once. When someone dies, or when someone leaves you, or when the Beastie Boys break up, I go through a lot of emotions at once for a pretty long period of time. I age a little bit faster for a few months, and I lie sleepless in bed and I get the shakes sometimes.

But one day, things eventually taper off. They get better a tiny bit each day, and one day you find yourself dancing on a beach and the bad things get tucked away. They never go away. They still resurface sometimes, but instead of crying or shaking you just kind of smile sadly because you're human and you're a rockstar and even though you rock, you still miss someone. Even Axl Rose wrote ballads about lost love. Even Joe Dimaggio, the Yankee Clipper who hit for 56 games straight smiled sadly sometimes. Some of you are smiling sadly now because you're reading this and its reminding you of someone who has learned to live without you.

But then you go back to dancing on the beach because you understand that everything is still interconnected. When someone puts a hole in your heart, its never really filled again, you just kind of stop digging into it. Or you go to your blog and you struggle with metaphors about holes and love.

Know that I'm very sad, but I also still find to smile, and those of you who take time out of your week to give me shout outs make that very, very possible.

About a week and a half ago my Mom called me to tell me she had abnormal test results. The next she went in for a biopsy, bloodwork, a CT and an MRI, and this is why I haven't been blogging much and hiding behind pictures of Britney and Cletus.

My mom's biopsy results aren't in yet, but the doctor has told her to prepare for the worse. On top of this, she has been diagnosed with diabetes, which was the last ailment my grandmother was diagnosed with before her death. Needless to say, my family is tripping. I haven't felt this alone in so long. Maybe ever. My days at my new job are going well, I think, even though they're spent in a fog. It's like I"m sedated.

Two days ago, my fiance and I decided to break up. I told her I felt alone and didn't know how to talk to her anymore, wanting so bad for her to say "we can fix that, let's try harder, please!" but she just cried and then she handed the ring back because sometimes that says all we need to know, because sometimes you can only ask so much of people before you force a smile and open their cage and let them go. Sometimes you need to realize when you're wasting someone's time.

My ulcer is bleeding for the first time since I was 12. After lunch today I smiled politely as I left the office. I held the door open for our secretary. Then I went to the bathroom and cried. Then puked. Then came back to the office, smiling.

I"ve been dreaming more than usual. Sometimes the same dreams. In one, I'm waiting at a bus stop, but the bus never comes, and I'm late. I keep asking the people at the bus stop where the bus is, but they smile, and when they try to talk, they hack blood all over me and choke.

A few days ago, I was standing in a food court waiting for lunch when I decided I had to get the fuck out. I started sweating, and I dropped a bag that contained a club sandwhich into the garbage. At the same time, the fire alarm went off. It was blinking and honking in the really modern techno-honk sort of way. Everyone wa slauging and running as they were being told to leave by the staff of the building. It was all I could do not to start running to get away from the horns. I was sweating more, and my legs felt cold.

In order to keep my shit together, I had to imagine I was CLint Eastwood in Firefox, which I happened to watch the night before. He's a badass retired fighter pilot, but gets called to sneak into Russia and steal their new bad ass plane out of the hangar. Once, in Russia, He's told by an operative to wait in the officer's dressing room at the hangar, and wait for the signal, and when you hear it, you know its time to go.

"What signal? How will I know?" he asks?

You'll know.

And when He lays in the shower in the middle of a breakdown in the officer's changing room, the fire alarm goes off. And he has to walk in a flight suit in the middle of hundreds of screaming scientists and engineers, go to the plane and run.

And thats what I had to think of. I was walking through a group of people trying absolutely so hard not to lose my shit.

And thats why I'm taking it slow on the blogging.

Here's one from the archive:

Five years ago this week I boarded a plane in Austin to go to Las Vegas. I was meeting 5 friends from high school for four days of gambling. I started the party the day before, and was very hung over as I boarded the plane. I was early, and I asked to have my seating assignment switched to an aisle seat. Being my first trip to Vegas, I thought the plane would be packed and crazy, but it was only about a third full. Just before we pushed back from the gate, about the time several flight attendants were going through their seatbelt routines, there was a commotion at the front of the plane. A late arrival. The door opened and a woman carrying a dooney purse and a sherpa bag with a pair of small white dogs got on the plane, walked down the aisle, and stopped at my elbows.

“Do you have the aisle? I thought I had the aisle?” she asked, a little whiney.

“You might have it. I asked for the aisle seat at the last minute.” I predicted this might happen, having made last minute arrangements. The airline industry does not respond well to last minute changes. I scooted over to the window seat, and the woman, wearing a Texas Longhorns sweatshirt and a Red Sox cap sat down. Her dogs were already whimpery, and she positioned them on the floor between her feet.

“I apologize in advance if my dogs start pissing you off,” she said. I was reading screwing with my cell phone, trying to coordinate plans with my friends who were set to arrive in Vegas shortly after me. I looked up to tell her something polite.

Holy shit. She’s really hot. And very smiley, even though she didn’t smile with her mouth open. Just…smiley. Good smiley.

“Oh, that’s all right.” I was way too submissive and polite. Overkill. Fuck.

The plane takes off. I put my preoccupation with the really hot woman next to me off after receiving a text message from my friend. “Late,” it read. That’s it. Fuck. My phone didn’t work after about the first two minutes of our climb.

“I just got to say, my son absolutely adores you. Could you sign this for him?” A mealy mothed WASPY looking guy is standing behind us leaning in, with a copy of SkyMall in one hand, a bic pen in the other.

WTF?

“Oh, sure. What’s his name?” my seat companion asks.

His name is Brian.

I look over, and on a white space next to an ad, the woman writes Brian’s name next to a huge, loopey heart, and signs S. Bullock with a big ass smiley face.

My testicles shrivel up and lodge somewhere next to my pancreas. My heart really stops for a second. I can feel the airpocket created by its stopping coarse slowly through my chest when it resumes its function, which up to this point, has been near-flawless for 23 years.

Within about two minutes, there is a line forming down the aisle behind us. Sandra Bullock signs probably 50 napkins. Some people have more than one napkin. I am now fiercely fingering my phone, trying to call someone, anyone.

The line is satisfied. Then comes the flight attendants. Then the pilot, or the co-pilot. He brought out about 4 pages of what appear to be flight charts. They’re all signed. The bottom of the brim of his cap is signed.

Then we are alone. Oh shit we are alone. There is a very fierce silence. She wants to me to talk so she can get the last asshole out of the way so she can get back to reading her Redbook. I can feel her looking at my in her peripheral vision, pretending to look out the window in front of us.

“Just wanna say I’m a fan…it’s really cool sitting next to you.” I said.

“Oh that’s so nice! Thank you!” Sandra Bullock says, smiling at me for a long time. Her beauty is piercing, I have to look away. I am like a broken dog who has been stared down by his master.

“Are you from Austin, too?” she asks. Holy shit.

Now, it’s well known in Texas that Sandra Bullock lives outside Austin, and has for about the past ten years. No one I know has actually seen her, but that’s no suprising considering the company that I keep.

“No, not far from here, though. I fly out of Austin. Cheaper airfare,” I say.

“So are you going to party it up in Vegas?” She asks.

“Yeah, my best friend from high school is getting married.” I said. “You?”

“I’m meeting friends, also,” she said.

We talk a lot about Austin. She said her sister was just married there, was thinking about moving there, and she recommended a Mexican restaurant that was to die for, she said. She asks where I’m staying in Vegas, I tell her. She recommends I try the Reuben sandwich at the hotel’s bakery. I promise I’ll try it.

We land, and we sit. Everyone gets off the plane, but not without stopping by us to say parting words, or just to stare at Sandra Bullock.

“Well this is our stop,” she said, fishing out her bag full of sleeping puppies. “It was nice talking to you, I’m Sandra,” and she extends 5 delicate digits. I shake, and tell her my name. I am wondering if the thin film of moisture running down my legs is sweat, or please, oh please dear Lord, don’t let it be piss.

“That’s a great last name, one of my best friends has the same last name,” she said.

We walk down the gate, and she turns and twiddles her fingers at me before disappearing into the crowd.

I meet my friends at the Hotel. We dine on Reuben sandwiches, and for some reason I don’t tell them the story. I don’t think they would believe me, or worse, they would act like they believe me but they won’t.

We stumble back to our room after a long night of boozing. The red light on the phone is blinking. A message from room service tells me there is a deliverable at the desk, and they tell me to let them know when to bring it up. I assume it’s a stripper for or from my friends. A desk clerk appears at my door with a dozen roses and a 12-pack of Japanese beer, he accepts a tip and dashes back to the elevator.

There is a typed note attached to the flowers.

“Michael and friends: Here’s to love, laughter, and all things grand. Xoxox Sandra.”

The Tao of Britney and Cletus

You've seen these before, but stop you're bitching. It's not like you pay to read my shit.

So I finally got a job. By the time many of you are reading this on Monday, I will be on my first day learning the ropes and hopefully not freaking out, so wish me luck.

Last week I went to an interview for a position writing things for an organization that I won’t mention here because everyone needs their privacy. Last Wednesday, I got an interview, and four hours later, they called and offered me a fair salary and good benefits. Right before they interviewed me, I was contacted by another company that I’ve really been holding out for. I’ll refer to them as company B. I accepted company A’s offer, but I have to interview with company B on Tuesday. Company A Doesn’t know about company B. They think I’m leaving to pick up a friend at the airport. But in reality I’m doing another interview just to make sure I’m not missing anything good.

I went out and got way drunk on Friday. Didn’t do shit but lay on the couch and take big dumps and eat fast food on Saturday. Today I went shopping for work clothes, which I haven’t done in awhile but I get to look like James Bond now when I go to work because its one of those jobs where its important to look really good, which is to say all jobs.

Thanks to everyone who left cool comments and sent cool e-mails about my unemployment delirium and tailspin. That’s another reason why blogs rule because when you’re going through shit you can write about it and within a few minutes you have people telling you “hang in there” or “yeah, me too, doesn’t that shit suck?” and you automatically feel better about things because sadness is pretty much feeling alone and its good to realize there aren’t many things that you feel that the rest of us haven’t felt or are feeling.

My friend Chad took it a step farther one night, and instead of shitting in his pants, actually shit in the living room. His girlfriend, a dabbling vegetarian, had gone out of town for the weekend, and left Chad alone to recklessly peruse Jack in the Box and KFC. Needless to say, this took an incredible toll on Chad's bowels. He had eaten a medley of tacos and burgers throughout the day on Saturday, and by the evening, he was a festering crock pot of hot and steamy shit sauce. He also was experiencing, not surprisingly, terrible gas. Chad was standing in his living room, and realized he had to break wind. In typical fashion, which to this day I don’t understand, Chad gripped and pulled on one of his ass cheeks and hiked his foot a few inches off the ground, presumably to aid in the passage of the fart.

Chad pushed to fart, only to discover that the pressure in his ass wasn’t a fart at all, but a chunky cork of crap that had accumulated on the business end of his sphincter, probably to keep all the shit stew in. When he pushed, his ass literally exploded in a celebration of steamy enchilada casserole. He was wearing shorts, so the nutty brownie batter poured down his leg, spackled his feet, and accumulated in a brownish-yellow pile. It’s only speculation, but I imagine at this point his mouth turned to a perfect circle-O. He excitedly did the Aztec two-step to the bathroom, and the movement induced a second incredible tremor, which sent a second wave of trouser chili everywhere – most notably, onto the shower curtain and the turtle-shaped bathmat that stood at the base of the toilet.

If Chad were to have dropped dead at that moment, the crime scene investigators would have certainly puzzled over the scene in the living room and bathroom (which were connected by a surprisingly consistent trail of dribbles and footprints). In short, it looked as if two people had a fight to the death with refried beans. Chad spent the rest of the weekend manually cleaning the carpets, the shower curtain, the fuzzy green turtle bathmat, and hardly unanticipated, some stains on the wall.

Michael and the Chocolate Factory

I’ve been caught in awkward positions before: Some thirty miles from civilization while fishing when it starts to thunderstorm. In Cabrini Green on the South Side of Chicago after dark. In my dark dorm room while my roommate and his girlfriend screwed like Billy goats on speed. But never as compromising as a steak night in 1999.

My best friend and I had a ritual of Friday night steaks. Single guy stuff. Lager and asparagus and lots of butter. Real fat ass stuff. On this night during dinner we received a call from two girls we knew that often went drinking with us. We’re partying tonight. You guys want to come over?, they asked. Sure. But we have to finish dinner and take showers.

We probably ate 2 pounds of steak and baked potatoes each, and maybe 5 beers. After dinner, my roommate boldly announces he’s going to jump into the shower, which occupied our only bathroom. He was notorious for long showers. I was on the front porch smoking a cigarette waiting for him to finish up so I could shower also. Smokers know that cigarettes, particularly those after dinner, often have a laxative effect. Tonight was not an exception. On about the sixth drag, my bowels instantly filled with water, and in a stark reflex, my sphincter tightened in a nearly lame attempt at diverting a serious disaster. I was about to blow mud and grease everywhere.

I ran to the bathroom, and hammered on the door with both hands, nearly sobbing. Dude! Let me in! Fucking Emergency! My friend liked to sing and fuck around in the shower and immediately dismissed my crisis as some sort of prank. “No way dipshit!”

I ran to the kitchen, and immediately evaluated my situation. My sphincter was about to blow its O-ring. I looked at the sink. Won’t wash down. The garbage can. The fridge. The freezer? Nothing was going to cut it. I couldn’t walk. I was cross-legged, contemplating jamming a thumb up my ass to offset the gusher. I only had one choice. The backyard.

I ran out back. Thankfully we had a fence. We lived in an absolute slum, and weeds and bugs and branches were everywhere, but I navigated to a spot that could meet its purpose. I was wearing swim trunks with netting, no boxers. I dropped my shorts, and let all hell break loose. I mean bad. It was a fiery, steamy fiesta of both color, sound and relief.

I’ve never shit in the woods. I didn’t know what posture to take, and had never considered the technicalities of how one shits au natural. I didn’t care. I was squatted down with my trunks around my ankles, and renewing my thanks with my maker. I was done.

I went to pull up my shorts, and just before doing so, complete sheer fucking terror hit me like a bucket of ice water. In squatting down, I failed to realize my shorts were directly under me. You can imagine my horror when I came to the realization that I had actually shat into my shorts as opposed to onto the ground. The runny celebration of butter and beef fat did little more than accumulate in the netting of the inside of my swim trunks.

Awww fuck.

I was at a loss. To enter the house, I was going to have to enter through the front. I sized up the situation. The porch light was on. There was traffic on the street. Again, I had simply run out of options. I kicked off my shorts, and ran to the door. All my man-garbage was bouncing in the night air.

You can imagine my friend’s surprise when as he was leaving the shower in a towel and whistling to himself, I came racing through the house with no pants on, cradling a cloth package full of shit that was my shorts, and whimpering audibly. He made some sort of sound that didn’t quite match any reasonable reaction. “Wharnk? Awwwwww!” It was more a sound of disappointment and shock, beautifully melded together.

I looked at him, surely almost crying. “Had to shit….backyard…it’s bad!”

He stood there staring at the closed door of my room for a long time, until I finally emerged holding a hefty bag at arm’s length, saddened as if carrying the corpse of a dead pet to its grave. “Are you done in the shower, ass fuck?” I asked him. “Yeah, dude, it’s all yours.” I threw the bag containing my swim trunks into the dumpster out back, and got into the shower for what would be the most thorough cleaning of my life. We made it to the party, at least.

Caption this photo, then wish Sabrina_C Happy Birthday!

One from the inbox:

Drinkers Dictionary

A collection of terms that every drinker should know.

Bait-and-switch - When an attractive person invites you to his or her table then steers you to a less attractive friend.

Barley sandwich - Beer for lunch. Also called a slurp sandwich.

Bayonetting the wounded - Gamely drinking the half-finished beers the morning after a party.

Booze coupons - Money.

Bedspins - The variety of spins that occur while lying prone. Putting one foot on the floor usually helps. If you are already on the floor, may God have mercy on your soul.

Beer bitch - The person sitting closest to the cooler or refrigerator at a party whose sole purpose in life is to grab another beer for you whenever you go empty.

Beer Buffet - Any bar with more than ten different beers on tap.

Beer blinders (Beer goggles) - One's perception when under the influence of alcohol. Often causes unattractive people to look hot, long distances to look jumpable, and also makes break dancing moves look easy.

Beer Pressure - The tendency to drink what your friends drink.

Beer queer - A straight man who will pretend to be gay in order to solicit free drinks from an unsuspecting homosexual.

Blackout Brigade - A group of heavy drinkers.

Booze compass - The instinct that leads you home when you're blackout drunk.

Booze muscle - The increase in courage and combat abilities linked to heavy alcohol consumption.

Booze snooze - A nap taken early in the afternoon after a morning of drinking, designed to prepare you for the evening's drinking.

Boozgart - The person who, when he is supposed to be passing the bottle of liquor around, stops to reflect on the first time he got drunk, last time he got drunk, etc. A derivative of the stoner term bogart.

Breaking the Seal - Urinating for the first time during a drinking session. Once the seal is broken, restroom trips become much more frequent.

Britney Spears - Rhyming slang for light beer. As in, "How can I take you seriously when you've been drinking Britney Spears all night?"

Buzzkill - That which destroys the buzz. Examples are fights with one's significant other while at the bar, boors who insist on telling that story one more time, your best friend admitting that he/she is sleeping with your significant other, horrible music after you've just heard three of your favorite songs in a row, or discovering that you actually have less than half of the money that you thought you had at the beginning of the evening.

Date Rape - Nickname given to any of a number of alcoholic beverages that taste like they have no booze in them whatsoever. Refers to their effectiveness in helping a high school boy get his hands down the pants of a girl who doesn't like beer.

De-boned - To become so drunk you appear not to have any skeletal structure to hold you up.

Deep-dish olive pie - A martini.

Deja booty - When a drunk inexplicably has sex with a person that he/she swore he/she would never speak to ever again, again.

Deja booze - When an infrequently enjoyed drink reminds you of the last time you enjoyed it. As in, "This margarita reminds me of when I was partying in Tijuana, just before I vomited on myself, picked a fight with the bartender and got thrown in the clink. Good times, good times."

Deserter - A full beer, possibly hidden, found when cleaning up the next day after a party.

Drink link - An ATM.

Drink shrink - Those who, after a few drinks, discover they have the ability to psychoanalyze and offer solid personal advice to their friends and/or strangers.

Drinking in stereo - Boozing with a drink in each hand.

Driving by brail - Using the sound and feel of the road turtles to keep your car on the highway.

Felony juice - Tequila.

Flip wire - That fine, fuzzy line between buzzed and hammered. As in, "That fucker ain't driving, he tripped the flip wire three shots ago."

Floored - When you're so drunk standing up just seems a silly waste of time.

Frontloading - Getting drunk before going to a nightclub because the club's drinks are expensive.

FUBAR - Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.

Fugly bus - The mysterious bus that whisks away all the ugly people from the bar and replaces them with their beautiful cousins while you're in the bathroom draining your tenth pint.

Get the fade on - Going out with intention of getting very, very drunk.

Grog monster - The part of the brain that insists you keep drinking long after you should have went home and passed out.

Gutter hugger - Drinkers who empty the contents of their stomach into a gutter or nearest trash can.

"Hell's Own Drag" Influence - As in, "See the size of that shot? Ever since I started dating the bartender, I've got hell's own drag at this bar."

Hooch hotel - The drunk tank.

Housed - Moderately drunk. This term is particularly popular with those who listen to the Grateful Dead and smoke large amounts of marijuana.

Jack and Jill - A shot of Jack Daniels and a beer.

Joint of no return - A bar from which you are 86'd.

Juice card - Received on your 21st birthday.

Jumping on the grenade - When two groups of the opposite sex meet, one member "jumps on the grenade" by talking to (or possibly sleeping with) the least attractive member of the other group so as to ensure the success of the rest of the group.

Jumping strays - Stealing unattended or abandoned drinks at a bar or party. As in, "I'm so broke I've been jumping strays all night."

Kamikaze eyes - The look a drunk gets when he spies someone he always hated but never had the guts to fight. Until now.

Keg commander - The boisterous chap who hovers around the keg so as to ensure everyone knows how to properly pour a beer.

Keg sitter - Someone who stands next to the keg and drinks. Anyone who abandons social interaction for the sake of insuring that they get their proper share of the beer.

Last call lothario - Someone who's shy until last call, at which point he'll try to hook up with anything that has a pulse and/or booze at their home.

Loudmouth soup - A shot of strong liquor.

MDA - Mysterious Drinking Accident. When you wake up with bruises and cuts you have no recollection of receiving. Also called UPI (Unidentified Party Injury), UBB (Unidentified Beer Bruise) and drunk marks.

NBR - No Beers Required. Someone sufficiently attractive enough to hit on while sober.

One for the ditch - A less optimistic version of One for the road.

Pavement pizza - Vomit on the sidewalk, often found outside bars.

Prole piss - Any cheap American lager.

Prole piss poser - A yuppie who attempts to appear down with the working class by making a point of ordering only bottom shelf liquor and cheap beer.

Mystery guest - The guy at the party no one seems to know. They usually lurk in the kitchen near the booze.

Riding a rocking horse into battle - Getting drunk on 3.2% beer.

Roadside Olympics - Roadside sobriety test.

Shelf jumper - Someone whose tastes improve from bottom to top shelf when someone offers to buy them a drink.

Skinflint sprint - The fast walk a departing patron employs after he's left the cocktail waitress a less-than-generous tip on the table.

Slop jaw - Someone who spills (unintentionally or otherwise) most of his shot down the side of his face. As in, "Don't waste anymore money on Mike, he slopjawed the last three shots."

Stout gout - The morning-after flatulence that often follows a night of drinking Guinness.

Tart fuel - Bottled alcopops, e.g. Hooch, Sky Blue, etc., regularly consumed by young women.

Thousand mile glare - The blank, vaguely hostile look a veteran bartender will give you when you ask a stupid question such as, "Is the beer cold?"

Tip jar anxiety - The fear that an unobservant bartender won't notice you left a good tip.

Trip dog - The invisible canine that starts getting underfoot around your tenth drink. Once he arrives he will trip you up the rest of the night.

Trojan hooch - Bringing an empty bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag to a party so you won't appear a mooch.

Twelve stepper - A reformed drinker or someone who wants to quit drinking early. As in, "Hold on there, twelve stepper, the bouncer hasn't even threatened us yet."

Two pint screamer - Someone who gets noticeably drunk after two drinks.

Vodka vision A liquor specific brand of beer goggles.

Wobbly pop - Any beverage containing alcohol.

New Words for Drunk: Jagged up, boiled as an owl, mothered, curried and mashed, de-ossified, full tight, skinned, pie-eyed, gibbled, in the paint, pile-axed, rat-assed, stinko, torn off the frame, torqued, troll-eyed, wired to the tits, banjoed, chateaued, one over the eight, pixelated, swipey, wankered, zigzag, slaughtered, juice-looped, 12 gauged, Boris Yelstinned, cop-sluggin' drunk, five winos gone, jackassed, liver-lubed, monkey assed, mullocked, paralytic, stolichnyed, ten feet tall and bulletproof, tore up from the floor up, Kennedied, wearing a big hat, shined up, wingdinged, off the leash, drunk uncled, picassoed, and finally, locked out of your mind.

Beer Blogging: going on the internet when you are hammered and posting random stuff that is filled with typos.

Beer Bidding: going on Ebay after last call and bidding on random stuff you don't need and would never buy sober.

When you’re unemployed time takes on a new meaning. The business hours, which are only of importance to those whose desk your resume is sitting on, is for waiting for callbacks and frantically searching near and high for ads. Lots and lots of ads. Seeking top notch individual. Are you self motivated? Immediate Opportunity. 401K! Are You Ready To Start Making Money? $1500-$3000 a week!

The late afternoon is for feeling inadequate. The nighttime is for the consultation of the bank accounts and doing nickel and dime freelance work and wondering what your girlfriend’s mother is saying about you. The period before you fall asleep is for thinking why you live here. Why you went to college. Why you stayed in college and got a masters when that guy you knew from high school is working as a plumber and just bought his first house. Why your friends with English lit degrees are making more money than you, even if it is in construction.

Sundays are for church so you can seek some divine answer for unemployment. You’re told to keep asking. Everything in God’s time. Everyone there needs some question that needs answering, and you look at them wondering if its been answered. There must be an answer here somewhere. Is it to calm your swagger, your arrogance in knowing you’re badass at doing what you do? It isn’t yet working with me, but I’m not anxious to throw down the gauntlet and sit atop the mast of that boat like Lieutenant Dan did in Forrest Gump, legless and tattered and screaming at the thunderstorm asking God if that’s all he’s got, to bring it on, you mother fucker. I’m not at that point yet. You might take a lesson like Johnny Cash who learned there aint no good in an evil hearted woman, that you ain’t cut out to be no Jesse James, and you don’t go writing hot checks down in Mississippi, and there ain’t no good chain gang.

Tony Pierce finally has his podcast up and running. I've been waiting some time for this. Be sure to check it out.

lets do one from the archive:

Because Missing: In Action is on tv tonight, it is appropriate for me to re-write my day as if it was lived by Chuck Norris starring as Colonel Braddock:

My alarm went off at 7am this morning. The news was on. More talk about US POWs missing in Vietnam, and failed attempts by government officials to bring them home.

I had fallen asleep on the bed, still in my jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt unbuttoned and revealing my washboard abs. There was a pile of empty Budweiser cans next to the bed, presumably left over from the night before as I tried to wash away my memories of the POW camp. It was a wonder I ever made it back alive. I am misunderstood.

I had to go to work. I went to the fridge and grabbed a morning Budweiser – an eye opener. The news was broadcasting more stories about POWs. In a single roundhouse kick, I waste my TV just before I walk out the door.

The Vietnamese kid mail clerk at work glares at me. He was there with me in the camps, pouring rats into my bamboo jail cell, and laughing with the other Viet Cong as they would piss and defecate on us. He must have made it out of ‘Nam in an attempt to make the American dream. He shoots me a knowing smile and squints. I stare back menacingly. I am clad in my sheepskin blazer and Wrangler jeans. I am wearing aviator sunglasses and my hair is flowing from the breeze, even though I am indoors.

I enter my office. The Senator's aide is waiting for me. I know it is her duty to keep tabs on me so that I don’t cause trouble that might interfere diplomatic relations. Her blouse is half unbuttoned, and she is leaning against my desk.

“I put some champagne on ice for us,” she said. “I think its time we got to know each other better.”

I begin unbuttoning my tight and revealing Wranglers, and a look for surprise crosses her face. She thinks I am eager to make love to her. She smiles coyly and turns her back to me, pretending to be bashful. I have other priorities. She is shocked when she turns and finds me changing into my black Ninja suit.

“I’ll be back,” I say as I walk past her like she is merely an object. I begin to crawl out the window. She is disappointed that she didn’t get any of my hot man goodness. “I gotta check out the city. Gonna find my boys.”

I leap outof the window, anticipating a landing after three stories. Several Vietnamese guards are below me and raise their weapons. I produce a hand grenade in each of my hands, pull their pins with my teeth in mid flight, and release them at the guards. They are wasted before I land on the pavement in a dramatic roll-flip. A third guard comes out from no where and I jump on him. I Judo-chop his shoulders. He falls to the ground. I stab him with my survival knife, just before he hits the ground.

I disappear into the night. The Senator's aide watches from the window, torn between her lust for me and her duty for the nation.

She doesn’t know that I have no intentions of returning.

The Tao of The Beastie Boys


I’m rolling down the hill snowballing getting bigger
An explosion in the chamber the hammer from the trigger
I seen him get stabbed I watched the blood spill out
He had more cuts than my man chuck chillout
24 is my age 22 is my gauge
I’m writing rhymes on a page going off in a rage
Out on a mission a stolen car mission
Had a little problem with the transmission
3 on the tree in the middle of the night
I have this steak on my head cause I got into a fist fight
Life comes in phases take the good with the bad
You bought those coins on the street and you got had
Because it’s all high spirit you know you gotta hear it
Don’t touch the mic baby don’t come near it
It’s gonna get you it’s gonna get you
It’s gonna get you girl it’s gonna get you

Looking down the barrel of a gun
Son of a gun son of a bitch
Getting paid getting rich

Ultra violence running through my head
Fuzzy navel y’all making me see red
Rapid fire louie like rambo got bullets
I’m a gonna die harder like my kid bruce willis
I love girlies waxing and milking
Coordinating chics is my man dave scilkin
Predetermined destiny is who I am
You got your finger on the trigger like the son of sam
I am like clockwork orange going off on the town
I’ve got homeboys bonanza to beat your ass down
I’m mad at my desk and I’m writing all curse words
Expressing my aggressions through my schizophrenic verse words
You’re a headless chicken chasin’ a sucker free basin
Looking for a fist to put your face in
Get hip don’t slip knuckle heads
Racism is schism on the serious tip

Its amazing how difficult it is to blog when one is unemployed. I spend my days looking at the classifieds, browsing online employment sites (waste of time), and faxing and mailing resumes all over the place. There's a very slow sinking feeling that is accompanied with unemployment. Not just the loss of identity, but the loss of purpose. I can stay pretty busy sending out resumes all day, and if I don't clean the kitchen, or if the apartment looks like shit, I feel like a waste of space. Everyone I know has a job. I have a fucking masters degree and some pretty good experience. WTF? this is like living in bizzarro world.

tonight, if you didn't know, is the all star game. it marks the halfway point of the baseball season, roughly half the summer. in theory, this means that we are halfway closer to the bullshit that always comes in october at the end of the world series.

It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. ~A. Bartlett Giamatti, "The Green Fields of the Mind," Yale Alumni Magazine, November 1977