The Real Air Guitar Champeen

Will Arnett is brilliant and should be the real US Air Guitar Champion. Cue the youtube to 5:32 if it's counting forward and 2:10 if you're counting backward and watch the magic happen.

This Will Get Taken Down (Feist 1-2-3-4 on Letterman last night)

This is like the Indie Rock We Are the World. Watch it quick before they take it down. Everyone Indie rock guy and gal seem to be singing backup on this.

Sweet Dreams are Not Made of These

First off, my iPod is totally gay for Cheap Trick and That1Guy on Shuffle. It's not so bad, I think both bands are awesome.

Second, went to bed at 8:30 PM again last night. That makes two nights in a row. It is what it is. Last night, however, I kept waking up and then had a weird dream within a dream experience where I woke up and it was 5:16 Am in the dream and I was just going to get up and get ready for work, but then realized that it was only 11:30 PM. It was super disorienting.

So, I wake up again at 1:00 AM with one of those jerk outs that happens in dreams sometimes and I try and remember what I was dreaming about and it was super weird. I was saving the world from an alien guy whose power was in a tube that resembled those Rain-blo gum tubes that we used to get as kids. So, after doing some ninja shit, I managed to get the tube and eat the gum and killed him. I distinctly remember that the last gumball thing had Nerds inside. So, then I woke up.

I fell back asleep and woke up at 4:00 AM in a cold sweat. I was dreaming that I woke up with Nicole Richie in bed and she was giving me shit about getting too drunk the night before and not being able to get it up and passing out on her. That one sucked.

I think these are three examples of why I sometimes become an Insomniac. My sub-conscious must just fucking hate me. Where are the dreams of a land of chocolate or jet packs and lightsabers or a house made of cake? Why don't I ever get good ones.

By the way, Black Eyed Peas suck Black Eyed Ass.

So This is What it's Like...

To lay on a bed of nails with a giant rock on your chest. I had to cancel a day drinking seminar that I was giving today because I'm in no shape. First, I've got this super deep leg bruise that is making it very difficult to get around and also to sleep. It sucks. I hate being tired. Second, I have no idea what's going on with the girl.

I'm a cool guy. I can go with the flow in most situations, however, there is some unprecedentation going on and I feel absolutely in the dark on everything on top of the fact that everything was so confusing anyway. I've seen glimpses of what must be the emotional equivalent of the visual representation of puppies and unicorns and I've seen other glimpses of candy being taken away from a baby. All I want in life at this point is simplicity and peace of mind. It seems that the only way to have those risk free, however, is to rid yourself of everything that you hold dear. Basically, if you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. This became apparent in a conversation I was having recently when I explained that when you are alone, being alone feels fine. When you have had a taste of what it feels like to not be alone, alone hurts again. Call it numbness or ignorance or simply shutting off some feelings, but it was working.

So, tidied up the apartment and made a grocery list and then realized the leg wasn't going to work and I was too tired and I was just supertense about the girl situation. It shouldn't be this tense and everything would be fine if she were just another girl, but we're not even technically dating and she is scared because she likes me...that's like hating a food because it's too good. Actually, isn't that how a lot of people feel about certain cakes and drugs. They're like "Oh, get that away from me. It's too good." Then, they eat it anyway in most situations.

She is not returning my calls after a bunch of texts last night and I'm just absolutely confused. A voicemail that said "Fuck you. I hate you. Don't call me" would be better than the current situation because when you don't know anything and your brain spins like mine does you start to get creative. I start asking myself things like "Did she realize she can't live with that small tuft of hair that I have on my lower back? Are my ears too big? Does she know about that calcium deposit on my skull from when I cracked it open? Is she going back to her secret French husband? Space monkeys? German transients? Clown gangs?" So, my move is to try and sleep it off so I'm not thinking about it. That's my healthy alternative to self-medicating, but then when I close my eyes I just think about her and I'm too tired to fight it and then can't sleep. So, I think the term right now is either bedogged or frazzled or just bummed.

Then, in the middle of this my stepdad drunk dials me and tells me that I should come out and visit him while my mom's at Michael Buble. A) I tell him that I really shouldn't be drinking when I feel like this. I've learned the hard way B) He just wants me to come out and fix his computer and C) Why the fuck is my mom going to Michael Buble? I thought he was a Target brand.

So, after splattering this crap into the InterSphere, I realize there are three possible outcomes to this. The first is that it finally built up to the point that the girl really doesn't want to pursue anything and doesn't want to communicate at all. That's fine. The second is that she is just having a freakout and does want to pursue something, but just can't deal with me right now. That's fine, but it's killing me. The third is, regardless of the previous two options I can cut bait and concentrate on work and laundry and getting stuff done because when my head is cloudy like this I can't do anything. Oh my god, am I pining? That is so weak. The third option is the nuclear bomb option and is definitely the one that I want to avoid and would be the hardest to do because she is in the top 5 awesome things that have happened to me in twenty years, but I just don't know what's going on? On top of that, she reads this blog and I just flipped all of my cards over for the world to see. It's like charades where instead of acting out the parts of the word like a mime, you just say what it is and your team has to guess or just repeat what you just said. It's the world's easiest version of charades, so shouldn't it make this a little easier. Fuck Me.

Ocho Cinco

This article, T-rex versus Beckham? Sorry, David, you're lunch states and I quote that "The smallest dinosaur could reach speeds of nearly 40 mph (64 kph) and even the lumbering Tyrannosaurus rex would have been able to outrun most modern-day sportsmen, according to research published on Wednesday."

That's fine, but notice that it says "most." This is because Ocho Cinco could beat the T-rex in a race. Why the fuck would the article compare it to Becks? He's not known for his speed. I mean if anything compare it to those two olympic busts from like 8 years ago. I can't even remember their names.

Beyond that, if Ocho Cinco was involved in Michael Vick's dog fighting ring, his dog would whip all the other dog's asses. In fact, if there was a T-rex there that had a dog, Ocho Cinco's dog would whip the T-rex's dog ass. It's hypothetical, but scientifically provable.

Just a Reminder

Ween is better than you. Way better.

Manstrual Cycle

I'm a firm believer in a male's manstrual cycle. The Urban Dictionary definition is close, but I think it goes much further than what Mr. Lewis Wandon submitted.

So, first let's look at the menstrual cycle. Wikipedia's definition gets a little too detailed, but I'll work with it. Basically, it is a set of physiological changes that occur in female human beings and great apes. Oh my god, I wish I hadn't read ahead like that. The follicular phase gets quite involved. So, maybe the manstrual cycle is making light of something that is a little bit more involved than it would seem on the surface or as it's referred to with its set of nicknames.

Okay, I'm way out of my element at this point. This is what I do know. A female's organs look like a cow's head. Please see Exhibit A. That's what I got out of Human Sexuality at Diablo Valley College, but the A only cost me $25. That's a local joke. If you watch the news, you'll get it.

Exhibit A

So, the manstrual cycle that I'm experiencing is similar to the first phase of the traditional menstrual cycle as experienced by women and ape women. It lasts about 2 to 7 days. It occurs about every 60 to 90 days. That's my personal cycle, but other males and ape men may differ. I get extremely irritable and almost want people to pick a fight with me even to the point of baiting them. I give shiteye to people. I get real quiet and introverted. I listen to sad emo music. I think a lot. I cramp up and retain water. I also develop adult acne in the form of breaking out.

Every couple to few months, I'll be in the bathroom getting ready for work and I'll look in the mirror and see a tiny blemish and I'll be like "Oh, fuck. Looks like it's my time of the year again." That's when my man-period starts.

Last night, I was totally on my guyrag. I was cranky and pissed off at someone over the phone because I wasn't getting what I wanted. It's crazy, though. I have no control over the way I'm feeling. I mean I'm not the chick crying in Bed, Bath and Beyond because her boyfriend can't remember her birthday or doesn't want the homo bedspread that she picked out, but I'll act out. I'll say things that I wish I didn't say that open up a can of worms that I can't recan, EVER.

So, I guess this is an apology to the world for the way I've been behaving and also a plea for patience at the same time. I don't want to demean you (the collective you), I don't want to stomp on your foot "accidentally" in a soccer game and then help you up and say "You all right, man?" when both of us know that I just stomped the fuck out of your foot because I'm getting a visit from Uncle Flow, and finally I just want to be good and feel good. Fuck this Charlie Brown bullshit. Whatever happened to Charlie Brown? Did he finally hang himself and leave some tragic love/suicide letter addressed to Lucy professing his unspoken love and also asking her to take care of his dog?

So, anyway, please be patient with me (the collective me) and if you see me on my period, just get in your car and leave me alone and we'll all be fine. It goes away.

FOTC - Business Time

Currently, this is making me laugh almost as much as the punch dancing scene in Hot Rod.

"Team building exercise '99"

Van Halen Reunion

And the new album cover is already done. I like the way they have modernized their 1984 philosophy. I'm assuming the album will be called 2008.

Douchefest '07

I found the funniest clip from The 2 Coreys. I was watching it last weekend and this was the part that made me lose it. It's so funny. Scripted or not scripted, who cares? Enjoy.

Corey Haim Cries Like a Little Girl

Posted Jul 23, 2007

Corey Haim breaks down in tears after learning from Corey Feldman that he's not being asked to do The Lost Boys sequel.

In Case You Were Wondering...

...this is how you play guitar like Joe Satriani.

Play Guitar Like Joe Satriani

It's that easy, dude. Now let's hear a little Satch Boogie outta ya. The live version.

That's not even his right gear. I guarantee you he's got an Ibanez Tube Screamer in his live rig. Everyone has the Tube Screamer except for me. Actually, my bad, he uses a Boss DS-1. Here's a link to his rig. Satriani's Rig.

I'm so outed by this.

Michael Cera Has More Funny Than You Do

Michael Cera, who played George Michael on Arrested Development (RIP) is eelarious. His dry delivery is unstoppable and after SuperBad he is going to blow up. Check out him and his buddy's web site where they post eelarity. And, god, I miss Arrested Development. Nothing since could even hold a candle to it.

Clark and Michael

Ms. New Booty

Here is a bitchslap of youtube goodness that a friend and I were passing back and forth over e-mail. I think we found it on digg.

When We Escape by Minus the Bear

Most of the people hitting this blog are coming from searches on Sisqo. You got me on that one. Apparently, the Thong song still kindles a flame in the soul of some people. Other people have been searching on Minus the Bear lyrics. So, I'm throwing a bone today and posting lyrics from an unreleased song from Planet of Ice. Here's where you preorder it. By the way, I'm a gaybird for doing this.

When We Escape

Someone's turning the lights down low
And the music up. Do you feel the beat?
I see you do by the way you move
I need to feel your body moving on me

You must be an illusion
Can I see through you?

Someone's pulling me out the house
Cars are parked up and down the street
Her dress is begging to come off
A quiet dark place is all we need.

You must be an illusion
Can I see through you?
You must be an illusion
You must be an illusion

When we escape
It's with a white lie
We're both alive
And now we lay this close
Catching measures of the pulse

You must be an illusion x like 25

Notice that the song title is actually in the lyrics. MTB is evolving. They are also superawesome. Buy the album. It's real good. Also, go to their shows. They are real good. Some would say amazing. I'm totally gay for Minus the Bear.

The Condition My Condition Is In

This guy fell asleep and had sex with a minor. He called his condition "sexsomnia." I need to hang out with this guy. I'll look him up on MegansList. He must have a personal ad on there or at least a Missed Connection.

I'd call bullshit on him, but I've totally done the same thing except it was with a consenting adult. I'm not gross.

Man cleared of sleepwalk sex with 15-year-old (The Daily Telegraph)

Finally, the Future is Here

Private jet packs, bitch.

I have a theory that the reason there is even a right wing of the population that has chosen Jesus over science is due to the disillusionment with the scientific community because of its failure to provide us with a jet pack by 2000. Well, now that we have personal jetpacks available, they can put down the Jesus juice and come back to us from all their abracadabra bullshit. Logic vs. magic. Come on people.

There are a some drawbacks to jetpacks, however. For now, the price of $155,000 is a slight hurdle and that's for the cheap one. Currently, there is only 30 seconds of hangtime on available jetpacks. That is not near enough time to jetpack to work. Lastly, the idea of strapping a tank of jet fuel or propane to one's back evokes the phrase "What could go wrong?" in bright neon letters in my head.

Other good news is that this is the first step towards getting me a fully functioning lightsaber. If we are tinkering with jet packs, someone is working on a lightsaber, or laser sword for N00bs, in their garage.

Basically, if I had a jetpack and a lightsaber, I would have no more excuses for not completing any goal I have ever set for myself. Wait, I need a jetpack, a lightsaber, a bear cub, and a subscription to Cat Fancy. That would do it.

Let's Make a Dealbreaker

Dealbreakers are mysterious and can happen as two people interact with each other in the early stages of building any type of relationship whether it be a new friendship, business associate, teammate, whatever. As the relationship building blocks lay a foundation, they become less of a problem, but there are still isolated instances where they occur late in a relationship and sometimes even too late. For instance, when you catch your husband in the bathroom with a jumbo tube of toothpaste, a strap-on, a penguin and the world's largest ketchup packet. If that happens to you, just grab a suitcase and leave immediately.

Now, let me clarify that a dissimilarity or disagreement on an issue, flavor, book, movie, musician, etc. just shows that the other individual has free thought and to roll over and agree just to avoid confrontation or because of a fear of dealbreaking is a weakness and unattractive. I have some really good relationships with some really good debaters and you would think that we hate each other, but I think we enjoy the way we challenge each other and there is definitely shared respect between us. On the other hand, I cannot even justify any type of conversation with the unintelligent. It pisses me off. Also, stay way from politics and god in any type of drinking establishment or drinking situation. Pro tip.

How can one expect someone to like ALL of the same things and agree on everything without the dispensing of some sort of paycheck or without being fucking Elvis? Everyone agreed with Elvis. So without further ado, here are some personal dealbreakers.

-Bad Hair
-Pot Smoker
-Butterfaiths (She's cute, but her faith)
-Non-Independent people
-Weak willed (Must fight back)
-Silver Dollar Nipples
-Wears overalls and baseball cap a lot
-Anything taller than me makes me feel like they should hold me
-Lack of wit or intelligence
-There's others, but I can't think of them

To be fair, here's my dealbreakers
-I watch Battlestar Galactica and spend my Saturday mornings drinking coffee and watching soccer
-I hate Jack Johnson
-I'm obesist
-I'm stubborn and opinionated
-Sometimes I need a tug on my choke chain or I will run with it
-I don't vacuum enough
-I have an unhealthy addiction to doing laundry (because I watch porn when I fold)
-I like some really horrible and inaccessible music
-I say some things without thinking about how they will affect the listener
-I play soccer a lot
-I don't like the movie Gladiator because of a lack of story and gay overtones (hoping that's not really significant)
-I've got a checkered past, however I'm currently running from it as much as possible

The whole idea behind this is that some stuff is ingrained and a part of a person's personality and also represents something much deeper. That is a lot different than a person's interests and opinions. Yeah, if I hung out with someone who thought Dick Cheney was awesome and Burt Reynolds wasn't, we might have a problem, but that's a pretty extreme example. So, you like Dave Matthews Band, James Blunt and A Date with Tad Hamilton. No problem. I like Gummo, Ween and Iron Maiden. It's called peanut butter and chocolate. Peanut butter and peanut butter just isn't as interesting.

Here We Go Again

Imagine it like this. You get fake like you know stuff about fine wines and good food. You manage to stay sober enough to get the girl home. You get her in your room, she disrobes. You put on Reanimator's Music To Slit Wrists By...And then fucking Eddie Van Halen goes to rehab. That means no reunion. No Diamond Dave. No soup for you. This is never going to happen, but what if it did?

If this works out great, but if it all falls apart again. That's fine, too. Why does Van Halen keep doing this to me?

Van Halen and Roth to Announce Tour Next Week (Yahoo! News)

Queen of Cats

In case you were wondering, Freddie Mercury loved cats.

Freddie Mercury and his Cats.

Don't Want to be a Hobo No More.

So, Myspace is officially done. Why? Hobos have fucking myspace pages. If you have an account go to the myspace page and look at the road pictures. I ain't a hobo, I just crush a lot.

Hobo Myspace page

Also, to learn other hobo stuff go here. Apparently, some people are really into hobos. There are a lot of hobo resources for hobo enthusiasts at that link.

Just a Quick Question

Why don't they do Circus of the Stars or Battle of the Network Stars anymore? I'm assuming because waitresses from Bennigans' and "dancers" are cheaper for reality shows, but wouldn't it be nice to see Emmanuel Lewis on a trapeze. Also, please note that in this link I am about to give you, if you look real closely, you will see that Abe Vigoda was in one of the first Circus of the Stars episodes. Yes, cat lady, this is one of those moments when I show my age. Also, please note, that I can't vouch for the quality of this product if you are ordering any of them, but I assume they are on VHS tapes.

70s TV Specials
Youtube results for Battle of the Network Stars
Youtube results for Circus of the Stars

Apparently,...

I'm the second biggest asshole in the world. I use netvibes to organize feeds and there is this Flickr widget that you can set the search to find pictures based on that criteria every time you open netvibes. I've set it to my name, Billie Piper, and now Muffin top. So, I felt kinda bad that I was searching on that, but couldn't help but click on one of the images and saw this person's Flickr account. It looks like they go to art & wine festivals and take pictures of people that are skinnily challenged or have gunts. The mean part of it is that they take pictures of their faces, too. Man, this makes me feel horrible.

I had been reading about this phenomenon called Public Shaming and is essentially what everyone does anyway when people watching, which is bag on people to make them feel better about themselves. Get on a soap box and tell me that you are evolved enough to not do it and you are fucking lying. You are doing it in your head and just not saying it out loud like I do. I straddle honesty and assholery on that one and really am trying to cool it a bit and have mercy on strangers who deserve every right that I have to a content, pleasing public outing without some person ruining it for them without them knowing. I know I'm obesist, though. I'm a total fucking obesist. It's horrible.

Anyway, that Flickr account is a great example of public shaming and this is probably the most famous one right now. It's the Malingering Flickr account. They actually shut it down for a bit. Also, she is actually a really good photographer. I have a problem with her love of the Dodgers, though.

The Randy Raft?!

This can't be serious. Summer Sex Positions. I think they are considered Summer because a bunch involve a pool. I suppose the Winter positions would utilize a menorah, Christmas tree and a ski pole somehow. The Sexy Sprinkler is Eelarious. And what about the fuckin' Randy Raft? The names are great, but the jury is out on the positions.

Oh my god. Every time I look at the Randy Raft, I burst out laughing. It looks like the dude has her wrapped around him like a gattling gun. Like he is going to start twisting his hips and shooting projectiles out of her mouth. So funny.

Oh and it's via The Bachelor Guy. I've never seen the site before today. I was just doing some sexual position research because I like to stay on top of my game. Sure.

Circus Sized Peanuts

First out, whoever found the blog by searching "and then we all bought yachts"; I have a soft spot in my heart for you. That's awesome.

So, last night I rode my bike down to get some tacos for dinner. The idea was to have a couple of beers and eat three tacos al pastor. I care for them mucho. I watched a rerun of Man U v. Watford from last year that they had on and ate my tacos. Man U spanked them 4 - 1. Soccer talk. Then, the guy who took over keeper for me for one of my teams so that I wasn't constantly turf burned and limping showed up. It's part of breaking my soccer cycle. We talked about the game that I have tonight and two beers turned into four. Then, one of the bartenders was talking to me about how he was going to Vegas this weekend for his bachelor party. He was sure that he was lucky because he had just been let go on a 75 in a 55 by a CHP. I told him he was let off because it's the second of the month and ticket quotas aren't kicking yet. He got a little irritated with me, so instead of a tip I gave him a buck and a lottery ticket. I was like "Prove it, dude." He scratched his winning number that he had to match to win as I watched intently over his shoulder. That grey crap was shooshed away with a dime in time to reveal ol' lucky number thirteen. I fucking lost it and started cracking up. Then, to recover, I told him that he was just bleeding out all his bad luck before he went. Went home and got ready for bed before it got dark...like I'm 8 years old.

Got to bed later than I would've liked, but got lazy and rolled into work an hour late today so that kind of made up for it. As it turns out, today is work picnic day. It's a three ring circus of awesome people watching.

I work in a pretty blue collar work place. At least, most of the people have their names on their shirts. When I first started, I had to prove myself or I was going to get shivved. At the first work Christmas party I was nearly killed next to the Sheraton pool. This big dude fuckin' came at me and started talking all this shit about all the time he had done in prison and got up in my shit for some reason. I'm blaming handsome and a shit eating grin. To be honest, if I was drinking, I may have been baiting, but I may have been innocent on this one. So, anyway, my female boss jumped between us and kept us separated for the night. If I had a male boss, someone would've went in the pool and I probably would have lost my job and maybe a fuckin' tooth.

For the next two years, I worked to bridge the gap between myself and some of the people that I worked with. They thought that since I wore a button up shirt to work and had an office upstairs that I was a rich asshole. I proved to them that I was Palo Alto poor and not that much different than them after about four years. It's quite an accomplishment, now that I look back on it.

Anyway, the picnic is today and features catering provided by the Grill Sergeant (sounds like something from The Simpsons) and a cover band. Last year, I got drunk and sat in for Little Wing and some other song. Jack-Fucking-Ass. Pulled it off, though. I just need a key signature and I can fake my way through anything. There is also a horseshoe tournament, a hat contest sometimes, and a giveaway item. My kitchen is composed of work logo emblazened glassware because of these giveaways. SPOILER ALERT: This year's giveaway is a beach mat. I'm really going to need to find a girl to give these beachmats, visors and canvas bags that I get at some of the events that I go to. The girl in charge of it always asks me what I think we should get because I used to deal in the tradeshow tchotke circuit. This year I suggested a rape whistle or flask. She wasn't a huge fan of either of those.

So, where was I. Oh, I was sandbagging the reader because the whole reason I am writing this is because there is a fucking cake walk at the picnic. And, it is walked to the live band. If you have never seen adults cakewalking to a live band, you have either never hallucinated on some good shit or have never lived. The first time I saw it, I could not move. I was absolutely frozen like a lean cuisine in the cat lady's groceries in front of me in line at Safeway. It's been five years and I'm getting used to it now. Or, at least I'm able to move when I watch it, but every year I can feel the energy in the air leading up to the event. Fuck the food, fuck the beer and fuck the beachmat. I'm at the picnic to see the Cakewalk...and to figure out their beer regulation method and break it.

That's the other thing I like about the picnic. Being the resident Chico Alumnus, I am consulted on all things to do with kegs. These topics include tapping them in a fashion to limit foam, pouring them in a fashion to limit foam and exactly how many red cups can be filled from one keg. I then put the number of cups to a keg in a spreadsheet and ran it against the number of expected employees and have seriously come within four cups of perfect for a couple of years. I have since passed the formula on and am no longer involved with the kegs. I've moved onto beer consumption regulation cracking.

The idea is that each employee is limited to a maximum of two beers each. That way we can have booze at the event and no one gets all shithoused and wrecks their car on the way home. We'd be responsible and have to cancel the booze at the picnic. Nobody wants that to happen, so we create methods to monitor what everyone has had to drink. The first year that I was here they did tickets. The work around was to find non-drinkers and get their tickets. That was a 10 (+8) beer day and absolutely no challenge.

So, the next year, maybe allegedly because of my gross abuse of their system, they brought in the stamp system. One stamp per beer. People with two stamps cannot get any more beer. Whatevs, dude. I went to the soda bin and put my hand in the water and ice and rubbed my stamp off. That was a 12 beer day (+10). I may have been self-medicating at that one.

Since then, I've figured out that if I just pour and hang around my old boss we'll just get wasted at the picnic. Last year, he took me on a quick tour of benchmarks around my work. That sounds like Dudley in the kiddie pool with the dude from WKRP. Gross. So, I guess the best method to crack the beer regulation system is just diplomacy and charm.

This year, I'm retiring from fucking with the system because I have a soccer game tonight and I'm a lot better not hungover and not under the influence. I will drink about a hundred Diet Cokes, though, and if I'm lucky, eat a fucking cake.

Oh My God This Is Fun

Let Them Sing It For You.

Text to speech program using pop songs. You can make it say "Give Me Back Mah Bucket" or "I'm Not Touching You" or whatever you want it to say.

My Office

Ozzfest Jauge Simpsonized

This conversation really just happened. I was working between three spreadsheets. It's like juggling with copy and paste and concatenation formulas and is kinda awesome. That data is then dropped into a script and magic happens. It's pretty easy, but you can't be distracted while you do it or you should just start all ever again. So, Office Dwight walks into my office and and I remove my iPod because I'm assuming he is having a problem. People only talk to me when they need help. That's one of my functions and callings in life. I'm a helper, if you are helpable. If you're helpless, I'm out. We'll start at the point that I press pause on my iPod and remove my headphones. By the way, I'm listening to The Fire Theft.

Me: "What's up?"

Office Dwight: "Hey. Have you ever seen Charlie's Angels? You know the new ones?"

Me: "No. Why?"

OD: "Damn." pumps fist downward

Me: "That it? Everything else is cool?"

OD: "You know, I went across the street yesterday and checked out their laptops. I tried to play a CD and the laptop ran out of batteries."

Me: "Yeah, you told me that yesterday. If you plug in a power supply, that shouldn't happen or you can just make sure that it's ch.."

OD: "The help desk showed me that there's a pinhole that if you push it, you can get the CD out when the power is off"

Me: "Yep. You sure can. Seriously, do you need help with anything?"

OD: "Oh no, there was just something really funny in Charlie's Angels that I wanted to talk to you about."

Me: "Dude, maybe a little later, I gotta get some stuff done."


Cranky. Don't need this shit. This guy is like ten years older than me and finds me as some kind of funny aficianado. He also references Beavis and Butthead and Monty Python a lot. Does he not know that the funny is all just a small part of brooding sub-genius? I'm an incredible brooder when I'm not being funny. It's what I do. I help. I brood. I make funny. It reminds me of back in the day and dealing with drunks in the bar. I like people. It's just that I only like attractive, witty and intelligent people. Is that bad?

So...

Last Friday I was hitting nothing but home runs and throwing nothing but no hitters at work. It kinda carried over into the weekend and I spent hours knocking on wood hoping that a gray cloud would not form above my head and another boot would not drop. It was a dumb move. A smarter move would have been to find an umbrella or to go limp like a drunk in a car accident. They never seem to get injured. That might explain why astronauts do it. The drinking, not the going limp part. Not even Burt Reynolds drives something as badass as an astronaut so maybe they know something that we don't. Back to me. To sum it up, your instinct is smarter than your gut. Buh-Lee-Dat!

So cloud formed and boot dropped, whatevs. I really did know it was coming and it's all part of the process and some things are just out of your control and they just get worse the more you try and control them, so you just gotta sit and watch and keep your nose clean and hope for the best. It's just like the eighth inning of a Giant's game. It's hard to watch, but occasionally(sometimes) the good guys win or things work out. Life can be really strange.

The bad news is that I started smoking for twelve hours again. Why? Because I'm a big fuckin' baby. Then, after smoking I beat up on myself for about an ever. Nobody can kick my ass verbally (not out loud, innervoice) like I can. I know all the weakspots like R2-D2 knew about the Death Star. Plus, you pick your battles. A few smokes is nothing compared to what I'm capable of when it comes to acting out. I'm trying to avoid that to the severe disappointment of the "Jauge Show" fans. There are some people who just really love the asshole in me. I don't get it. Some would call them enablers. On the other hand, everytime my family sees it, they want to take turns strangling me. It's really a waste. I will admit, however, that it can be entertaining to third parties, but I will not do the monkey dance for anyone...there are a few exceptions.

After work, I rode my bike home and had a nice tall glass of ice water and not a beer. I then laid down on the couch and processed everything and filed it away neatly. Skipped beer league softball because I thought better of drinking more beers than innings played and made myself dinner. Quit smoking again and watched the Giants game. It was a nice relaxing night. The smartest moves of the night and my own personal highlight reel consists of making dinner rather than going out for a couple of beers on a Wednesday and not picking up the phone when my mom called right when I was about to go to bed. I'm getting smarter. Watch your ass.

Only problems are that I keep waking up at 5:00 AM and then toss and turn until about 5:45. I get to work real fuckin' early right now. I do more before 9:00 AM than the Army does all day and they do more before 9:00 AM than most people do all day. So, I'm doing a lot before 9:00 AM when compared to the Army and most people. Also, I'm trying to pull off Nike Dunks with Kenneth Cole slacks and a polo shirt. I'm fuckin' high, but if I can pull this off I might be trying my white loafers with jeans pretty soon. It's like lying in that if you use the right tone and accents, no one will ever know that you are full of shit. I think my high school girlfriend probably still thinks that Titanic was a true story because of that. So, if you have clown shoes and Cavaricci's on, just carry yourself well and no one will bat an eyelash.