Muy In Telly Hentai

I had to train a new employee on our application this morning. She cut me off constantly and breathed real heavy. That's no big deal. I can handle that. She then took the documentation that I gave her and started fanning herself. My office is freezing all the time; it couldn't possibly have been the office climate. It's seriously cryogenically cold. I thought she might have farted and was trying to fan the smell away or something. Then I saw them.

She had banana hands. I have them, so I shouldn't hate too much, but they were bigger than mine. I've never met a woman who had bigger hands than me. From the point of visual contact, I was unable to make eye contact for the rest of the training. It was extremely uncomfortable. She is also the person who called my office phone and asked "Is this your phone number?" I replied, "Yes. That's why I answer it." It made me really confused.

So, after that, I get a little bit of work done and she sends out a weird e-mail regarding the meeting out of a form letter template. I read some of it, but it got me thinking about our recruiting process in my department and I actually Googled "Socially Retarded Affirmative Action." I didn't see any pertinent results in the InterWeb, so we must have it in a low key capacity at this point; it can't just be a coincidence.

On that note, here is my latest conversation with OfficeDwight. It took place while I was getting a soda from the fridge in the break room.

"Hey, man. I saw the dumbest martial arts movie last night" he said.

I replied "Dude, there really is no such thing as a shitty martial arts movie. Where'd you see it? Local Access or something?"

"No. I got it from Netflix. I've been checking out some martial arts and Japanese Anime." He made a hip pump gesture thing at this point and I immediately felt like I walked in on my parents doing it as I realized he meant soft core Hentai. He continued "I only get the rated R ones, but I rent them for the funny translations from Japanese. I wonder if they are that funny in Japanese."

I just walked away at this point, however, I love the Netflixian/anime usage of I read Playboy for the articles. That actually was truly awesome. It's like saying that you watch porn for the cheesy music. I've actually done that, but I actually recorded the music onto an audio tape while my parents were at work and then would listen to it when I delivered pizza in high school. I wouldn't sit there and watch a porn and be like "Oh, I'm just listening to it. I'm not really watching it." Dur, dude.

Link Smatters

This is a bunch of crap that I bookmarked last week, but was too lazy/busy to post.

Philosophy of Taoism - I actually found this off of Jeff Bridges' blog and have recently been reading up on it again. It's one of the better religions in my opinion, but that's a pissing match that I will abstain from.

Karate Depot - With Christmas around the corner, it's important that you take a look at Karate Depot. Everyone is getting fuckin' nunchucks for Christmas this year. Oh, pardon me. I meant Nunchaku. If I know one thing, it's that Nunchaku is a dish best served cold.

Andy McKee - Wunderkind. This guy plays nutty guitar and rocks the shit out of Toto. This is one of the best lyrics ever written "Sure as kilimanjaro rises like olympus above the serengeti." that's seriously in the song. Seriously.

Jeff Bridges - He was in TRON, Lebowski and he is also one of the best bloggers ever. It's mostly handwritten and it features some of his photography. The guy is out there, but super refreshing. He seems like someone who would be awesome to have a taco with. I spent a lot of time on his blog last Friday. It's great. There are links to stuff that your grandparents would forward you over e-mail.

Cardboard Tube Fighting League - This will catch on much quicker than soccer ever had a chance to. There are leagues in both San Francisco and Seattle. Check the FLICKR pools and buy a shirt or something. Or, better yet, find out when the next event is in your area and start practicing.

Hudsonia - Ray Hudson is a sportscaster for GOL TV. He is like the soccer equivalent of Harry Caray. Check out this gem "Zigic barely touches him and Palop goes down like a bunch of broccoli."

The Interrobang - Simply fascinating. I would get a tattoo of this. It was my gateway to fringe punctuation. Also see the acclamation mark, the irony mark, and the sarcasm mark. These would come in handy on text messages and e-mail.

To Each His pwn3d

Okay, picked up mom's at the doctor and talked to "Paul's Homie." If you drink enough, you will know everyone everywhere. Or, at least they will know you. I'll be mayor someday.

So, here's some random stuff. I had this epiphanical Sunday where I accepted happiness into my life as my personal savior. I was sitting in a a pair of sweats, watching soccer, waiting for a pizza and it happened. It felt like 1000 pounds of weight lifted off my shoulders. It was just in time, too. The previous Friday, I spent a half day with my sister and she explained that she had never seen me truly happy since we were kids and said that she worries about me constantly. She asked me very nicely to go on meds and I was pretty much ready to. It's really a last ditch effort for me because I'm not a huge fan of medicated happiness. See Brave New World by Aldous Huxley and you will understand. It doesn't end well.

The truth is that she is right. I've lived through other's happiness most of my life and find satisfaction in making others happy, but have never truly understood how to be happy personally based on my own personal merits. I'm aware of it and it's scary as hell. I do feel, however, that it's getting seriously better. I've road tested the new happiness and thrown it up against family, booze, and whatever else I could find that might ruin it and it's been bulletproof so far. Of course, dating is out of the question and should not be approached under any circumstance. The last girl that I "dated" (it's in quotes because the term "dated" is a real loose use of the word) indirectly caused me to start smoking again and really left a mark. She was pretty cool and pretty cute, but it wasn't in the cards. Hung me up for a little bit, though. I didn't care for it.

So, no dating and spending Fridays that aren't on a soccer field at home watching this piece of shit. The Next Great American Band is one of the most dog shitty shows I have ever seen. An analogy would be if you were playing Trivial Pursuit with someone and every question that they answered, they got wrong and the person reading the card encouraged them by telling them that they got it right and you are stuck there never hearing the right answer to any of the questions. It's horrible. The glimmer of great was the little kids playing Iron Maiden, but the novelty wears off too quickly. Plus, thirteen year old boys with their shirts off feels weird. The dog shit supremacy award goes to the douche lead singer of The Hatch. I really hope they didn't take their name from Lost because that would be super gay. They are horrible, though. They are the chick at your party singing Bonnie Raitt with her finger in her ear as if her monitor went out and she was on stage. Like they look like they are doing it for real, but they sound like grilled ass.

On paper, I'm currently reading A Long Way Down. I got it at the Salvation Army for a dollar. I try to go once amonth and buy all the decent books that they have for a dollar. It brings used book shopping to the next level. Plus, you get to see all the freaks at the Salvation Army which is like taking the freaks at Walgreen's to the next level which is just the freaks from Long's at the next level. Anyway, it's an easy read and Nick Hornby is always enjoyable. I wasn't really into it at first, but there were some really weird coincidences in the book that kind of hit home, so I kept going. I'm almost done. It's good. I'm also reading Oracle Database 10g SQL. Not real interesting, but reinforcing my Structured Query language skills. I need structure in my life.

I'm currently listening to, of course, the new Ween. Pulling out old DJ Shadow and Cut Chemist stuff. Recently discovered Mac Lethal and I think I like him, but I'm wary of his Slim Shadiness. Calm Down Baby is one of my favorite jams right now, though. I found it extremely inspiring. He seems legit. The new Aesop Rock never gets old. I've also been getting melancholy to Feist and Cat Power when I'm hiding from the world. Tons of Elliot Smith which is very dangerous sometimes, but he was so fucking good. Also sneaking in old Stevie Wonder and some Coltrane. I like to throw my iPod on shuffle every once in a while to see what it shakes out. It loves the Karate Kid soundtrack very much. Also, digging Veto and KEXP live performance podcasts. Currently, listening to one by Magnet from April '06. It's pretty good.

So, funny story. I was on my way to my soccer game last Friday and discussing relationships and the caveats of dating married women to my neighbor. Then we discussed the importance of finding individual happiness and being okay with yourself and being okay alone. I looked at him and said "Dude, I'm happy with myself right now and even if a cute girl walked up to me and asked to exchange numbers, I would tell her 'no'."

So, after soccer, some of us went for beers at the bar near the field and it was full of Halloweeners. The one night of the year that I didn't stick out for having a soccer jersey on. It was kind of cool. I had taken a pretty bad shot to the neck from someone's cleat (you can still see it on my chest) and was out front squatting down because everything ached.

This red headed girl dressed as something Bavarian squatted down to talk to me. I just assumed she needed a cigarette. So we talked for a little bit and then I stood up and she started getting really close talkey. So, whatevs, I told her my name after she gave me a fake name and went inside. She was cute and I was in danger of being a hypocrite. The worst of all the crites combined.

I went out for a smoke and bumped into her again. I ended up buying her a drink while she started getting touchy and telling me how cute I was. I won't lie. I appreciate being told that I'm cute. Her friend ran in and told her that their friend was sick and that they had to go. This is the part where I got pwn3d. She asked to exchange numbers. Pure pwnag3.

She ended up coming back and we hung out for a bit. It was nice. She said "really" a lot and also tried to make out with me in the bar, but I'm not real down with that. It tends to send a mixed message to the bar patrons and I find it a disrespectful gesture to the public. And the crowning achievement of the night for me was waking up alone with my credit card and no hangover. I cared for it.

La Cucaracha

So, it's been ten days since I last posted anything. The reason? I've been happy as fuck. Like on drugs happy. I have no reason for it, but it's been...uncomfortable? It's nice, though. It's been a nice exploration of self enjoyment through solidarity.

A new Ween album came out last week. It's called La Cucaracha and is pretty good. They get back to the Pure Guava days on a couple of the tunes and "Your Party" is arguably one of the best songs ever written. Dave "Quiet Storm" Koz plays saxophone on it and the lyric "Cream Puffs and bourbon and the music was louder/My wife was competing in a game of chance/The party raged and the guests were screaming/I could've danced all night."

Crap. Gotta run and pick up my moms. She got an epidural. Gross. I just looked at what it is. Also, totally yelled at her last night like she was a kid. It's an uncomfortable role reversal.

Seriously

This is one of the best written songs in like ten years. The lyrics are so...penetrating? The Dance Dance Revolution line is awesome and the "The second plane hit at 9:02" brings it home more than a Giuliani $9.11 dinner. That second verse is absolutely chilling. Thank you John Vanderslice. You make the Bay Area proud.

I Bet You've Done This

Have you ever woke up an hour late for a meeting at work and then walked to your car 10 blocks away in the rain while texting your ex-wife and then realized that you gave your key and your credit card to the bartender the night before so you wouldn't drive because you were wasted and singing Van Halen at karaoke and then walked back home and got yelled at by an ex-girlfriend in a crosswalk who then gave you a ride to your apartment to get your spare car key and gave you a ride back to your car which you then drove to work to the meeting that you were late for and just killed it?

Responsibility is hard at 32, but I'm pretty sure I've nailed it.

Chest hair. Not just for breakfast anymore.

More Shredding

Steve Sanders on Dancing with the Stars. I don't know what star he is with, though. Image borrowed from Yahoo!

I found a direct link to all of StSanders youtubes. They are awesome and endlessly entertaining. The Santana one is so awesome. Also, Steve Vai Shreds in Denver is great with the tri-neck guitbox. Also, if his user name was short for Steve Sanders it would be even better, but he's Finnish, so I do't think so.

Link of the Month

This is from Wired. It's an article titled "Hilarious YouTube Parodies 'Shred' Guitar Gods." It's a brilliant premise. A Finnish guy came up with the idea while watching Steve Vai with no sound and playing along I guess. It's really funny. The clapping on the Ozzy/Jake E. Lee clip is so funny. Check it out.

Now, You Really Can't Go Home Again

So, last night, I was putting the final touches on the resolution of The Girl thing. It took a text from her that said calling late at night drunk was not cool. She was right. It's not and I did. I felt horrible and just apologized and took her number out of my phone so that it would never happen again. I followed it up with a nice e-mail letting her know that I would put her belongings that she left at my house in the closet in the event that she ever wanted them. It wouldn't be that big of a deal, but she left a laptop that I put back together like the king's men couldn't do for Humpty Dumpty.

I basically took the text as a "Please don't call me again, freak." Oh and there was a weird myspace friend drop that is so stupid for a man of 32 to experience and then even feel bad about. The weird part was that she even dropped my friends to sever any type of six degrees of Kevin Bacon connection. I felt a little vilified. I lightly self-medicated on Tuesday under close self-supervision and then just tried to take it easy and watch a movie last night. things were recalibrating back to manageable. I want happiness, but I need content. It's a matter of wants vs. needs.

I'm at home watching Knocked Up which was not living up to its word of mouth status at all. Paul Rudd is a genius and the dick and fart humor was funny at times, but it was no cult classic or anything. The movie was in Act II where the heroes experience something bad which they will always resolve in Act III in these type of movies and my phone rings. I look down and see that it's my mom. My first thought was to finish watching the movie and call her when I was done, but then decided I would answer it because maybe I could talk to her about feeling down lately. I know better than this, but I was planning on doing some mom and step-dad time this weekend in hopes of stabilizing my personal world. It turned out to be one of those calls. Apparently, I was going to add more complexity to what has got to be my Act II in life. I just wish it would only last 20 - 30 minutes like in the movies. It would also be nice to have some good one-liners in there. Actually, I do have a lot of funny moments in my Act II. I'll admit that.

I picked up the phone and my mom said "Are you home alone?" and I replied "Of course." She then says I moved out of the house and your step-dad and I are separated. My chest cinched up like a knot and I could almost physically feel the couch ripped from beneath me followed by the carpet, by the foundation of my apartment, by the dirt beneath it, all the way down to the immensely heated liquid core of the earth. The first urge was to throw my phone into the wall and find some satisfaction at the pieces flying all over my living room, but stuck it out because that would be selfish.

The back story, at this point, is that I've been through this before when I was 5 and had recently put it to bed with my dad. Like in the last six months. That was a cool silver lining of The Girl. She gave me some good perspective and great energy to go visit him and let all the bad stuff go because I was pretty much belligerently beside myself with happiness. Euphoria is dangerous. Pro tip. So, to go through this at 32 makes you feel like an asshole. Life is supposed to be like this: High School, College, Meet someone, Get married, Have babies, Grow old together. It's not for me. The last three years have felt like I'm walking through a stumbling block factory during an earthquake in a rain storm while wearing roller skates and sponge pants. My dysfunctional family was the last thing holding it together. There was always some solace when I was around them in almost any situation. They were my rock.

So, I paused the movie and did the phone call. Breaking down a couple of times. There is nothing masculine about a 32 year old man breaking down, but you know what, people do it. It's real life. Halfway through the phone call I was severely disappointed that I didn't have a cigarette and self-medicating was out of the question as I had cleared my apartment of any type of booze this last weekend. That's the point where you realize there is nothing you can do and every mental direction that you turn in your head has a locked door in front of it. In fact, on the locked door is a picture of you in a precarious position to just add a little guilt to the situation. It's so you can turn it around on yourself and kick your ass while you're at it.

She said that it's nothing permanent and they had talked about it for a while now and she was just unhappy. I feel horrible for both of them and just want them to be happy, but it's a situation that is so incredibly out of your control that it's a little ridiculous. On top of that, how the fuck can you help someone else when you are having a hard time helping yourself?

We finished the phone call after about an hour and I hung up the phone and just kind of stared at the wall for a while hoping that my Saturn would somehow rise before everything became too much. I think that's astrological or at least lifted from Tool lyrics. I wanted really bad to talk to someone about it and realized that I had no one. It was as alone as I have felt in a long time. I texted the oldest friend that I have and he stepped up and called me to talk about it, which was very nice. The coolest thing through the whole situation is that my kill switch engaged. No bar. No booze. No running from the problem at hand. It was just a mental list of bulletpoints of the reasons that were causing me to think that a drink might make things better. It doesn't. Then, going beyond the bulletpoints and realizing the real reasons and fears that were buried underneath them.

At this point, however, I just want to let it all go. I never want to go home again. No Thanksgiving. No birthdays. No Christmas. No anything. I don't want to go there anymore. I want to withdraw into my own deal and just not deal with chasing the ideals that are absolutely impossible for me to attain. Nothing is "normal" and there are others that have it much worse than I. That doesn't make it better, but it rains on my pity parade. The world waits for no one and I've already been sandbagging for long enough now.

Had to get that off my chest. I apologize completely and everything is what it is. That's all it can ever be. May have to browse some therapists today. It all just feels very overwhelming. That's a big deal. I hate therapy. Duh!

You Can't Ever Go Home.

Friday, I went to the East Bay to visit Pappy. It's approximately 40 miles and it took me an hour and forty minutes to get there from the Peninsula. By the time I got to his house, I was ready to kill something. I really cannot understand how people can do that everyday. It's, perhaps, the number one reason that I'm never going to move back to the city again.

So, we go to San Ramon to The Hopyard and meet a friend from LA. It was actually really good to see her. It had been a while. She drank root beer while Pappy and I drank a pitcher of bad ideas. She bailed and Pappy and I decided to go visit Pleasanton again. That's the bad idea part. It's true that you can't ever go home. It felt like Fresno. We went to a bar in a strip mall where I guess people hang out now. After forcing down the worst Ketel & Soda that I've ever drank in my life and listening to some song that went like "Save a horse. Ride a cowboy..." we left and went to another bar in Pleasanton. It actually worked out because the bartender that Pappy had an attitude crush on was pregnant. At the second bar, we were actually there for even less time. We didn't even order a drink.

We decided to head back to Livermore to get closer to Pappy's place. We also called my little sister and asked her if she wanted to get a drink or two. She met us at the ghettoest bar ever where I tried to teach the bartender to make a lemon drop. They were horrible. He didn't understand the sugar concept of it. So, when life gives you lemons, sometimes you are just stuck with them, apparently.

We got out of there and went to AM/PM where Pappy and Ashleigh bought $40 worth of candy. Got home and slept.

I woke up the next morning and was still a little dizzy from the night before because I hadn't eaten in a while. I grabbed my sister and got coffee and took her home. Hit a gang of traffic on a Saturday trying to get home and still wasn't feeling right, but thought if I laid down that I would feel better. After an hour nap, I still felt weird, but went and got my hair did in Los Gatos.

This is where stuff gets weird. After my haircut, I went and visited my ex-in laws. Why? I have no idea. It wasn't so bad, though. I haven't seen them in a little over two years and I really liked them, so it felt all right. One of their dogs had gone blind and I found it immensely entertaining. So, I got to visit with my ex-in laws and their pets for a bit. It was nice, but I still wasn't feeling right.

From there I ran home and fell asleep during a baseball game for an hour and went to a work party at my former boss' house. It was for Oktoberfest and all of the guest's had gardeners that made more money than I do. I think some people owned their own planes. Whatever, though, there was free beer and good food. This is where it got real weird.

My boss' sister was kind of talking me up a bit and I thought it was just to get smokes from me. She's a single mom and my boss had kind of warned me about her. Plus, this lawyer was all over her. As the families started to disappear and the party started to get a little more adult, she ends up in a bikini trying to get me to go hot tubbing with her. I think she was implying suit optional, too. I let her know that that wasn't a real good idea.

An hour goes by and she returns from the hot tub and incites some other women to douse my shirt with white wine. That got my shirt off and I realized it was a full on cougar attack. I grabbed my pullover and put that on while my shirt dried. The crowd was severely thinning out at that point and I was just trying to get my stuff dry so I could get out of there in one piece when I got referred to as a "Hot, Young Stud" for the first time in my life. It was crazy and so cliched that it was ridiculous.

Anyway, I'm appealing to a new market now. I guess it's always good to broaden your demographic. Now, if I could just get the one I want to work out to work out, that would be truly awesome. For now, I guess I've got this.

Pro Tip #480

Married girls should not send e-mails like this:

You seemed busy and I am not one to bother.
So I think your hot and besides that you are interesting, and interesting is good.

Enjoy your Tuesday. Email me when you get a chance.


However, hot and interesting? I'll take that. One day it will come from a single person. The "your hot" typo is kind of a turn off, though. It's not recent, but I just found it in my inbox when I was looking for an e-mail address. Needed the ego boost today. She also signed her name very cutely.

Living Las Vegas

It should be stopped before it spreads. They should build a fucking wall around Las Vegas and fill it with water. It would be painless to all the jaded fucks that inhabit its boundaries. There would be minimal losses, but we would all be saved from the virus of gaud that threatens to spread from its horrible horrible bowels. The popped collars, Friday night shirts and stunna shades that would float to the top of the Vegas ruins cesspool would be somehow satisfying. Oh, and all of those fucking giant, whalebone drink containers would all float to the top, too. I'd take them and tie them all together and make a giant raft to do tours for young children so that they could learn from our mistakes.

So, went to Vegas last weekend. Didn't really want to, but went for my sister's 21st. Any excuse for a family trainwreck and I'm pretty much in. Went past the Super 8 that I was staying at during my last major life changing event and the 7-11 where I had a taco roll of some sort right before it happened and was cool with it. I've recovered from all that finally, but have managed to find a host of new problems to deal with. It keeps one busy, I guess. Without problems life would be a conglomeration of Entertainment Tonight, Extra! and Wheel of Fortune with an occasional wordsearch on Sundays. New problems make it possible to look at your bed and fear it because you aren't going to get any sleep and will feel your chest tighten immediately when you lay down and close your eyes and your mind spins off into a loop about all of life's problems. You hear of the footloose and Fancy Feast set (intentional cat joke), but I find it hard to believe that they are truly evolved to the point that there isn't something dragging them down late at night in a dark room.

So, flew in Friday around 4:00 PM and went straight to a blackjack table and lit up a smoke. After an hour and $100 I was reprimanded for dropping too many F bombs on grounds of creating a hostile work environment for the dealer. I acknowledged the problem and recommended going to community college and getting out of working in a casino as a good idea to dehostilize the dealer's work environment. I was lucky to not get cattle prodded, but I was kinda punchy and uncomfortable in my surroundings.

So dudes next to me are straight from the OC and none of them look like Seth or Ryan at all. They looked more like the dudes in the episode where Ryan goes back to Chino and starts stealing cars, but that's revealing a little too much about my TV viewing habits, doesn't it? So, OC dudes are smoking Newports and talk me into putting Binaca on the filter of a Newport and smoking it. When was the last time any motherfucker even saw Binaca?

So, we're playing and having a nice time and the dude right next to me looks at me and goes "Shit, dude. My friend just came out today." The way the sentence was accented on the "today" made it sound like his friend had just arrived in Vegas. No. That was not the case. His friend had just come out of the closet. This was fine, but I didn't know which friend it was until a little later when I said "Sorry, your friend ended up gay, dude, but don't be bothered by it. He's still your friend." Then he replied "Shut up, dude. It's the guy right behind me." I looked at the guy behind him and just said "Duh. That dude's gay."

So, after that I met my family for drinks in the bar and we started getting wasted. I told some waitress that she had shelf titties. That was kind of mean, but she was pushing up these A or B cups and creating no cleavage and her boobs just turned into something that was reminiscent of flan.

We then went to the dueling piano bar thing at New York New York so that my family could spend $400 to stop anyone who requested the Eagles. It's become a tradition. I even got to sing some Van Halen Jump when they played it. Killed it, by the way. Holy shit, I just remembered that I sang Time of My Life from Dirty Dancing with some chick at karaoke last night. Nice.

After the piano thing, the rest of the night was spent herding cats as my sister's started to fall apart. One of them even called The Girl and told her it would be smart if she stopped texting me for her protection because I was going to get real wasted. I've got to shake The Girl, by the way. I don't care if it takes blunt cranial trauma. I want this to end. I've managed to stop myself from calling her for the last three nights and I've wanted to call her real bad, but I don't even know what I'd say. I used to be so much cooler than this until she got in and scrambled my eggs. Whatevs. She's just not that into Ol' Jauge and that's fine. what was I talking about? Oh, So I spend the rest of the night until 6:30 AM the next morning at a blackjack table. Basically, this is what happened between Midnight and 6:30. I spilled a drink on the table about every 20 minutes, was reprimanded for dropping F bombs and zatted Blackjacks like nobody's business. Zatting is when you've drank enough Red Bull and vodkas to kill a young cow and can see through the cards. When a face card is dealt and the unseen card comes around, you point at it and yell "Zat!" as it hits the table. When this completes a blackjack, you have zatted correctly. I even zatted a drink into a dude's lap and he thanked me for it because I zatted him a blackjack. Only in Vegas.

More later. I'm going to go solve the world's pressing problems now.