There’s a chick who works here who almost never shuts up. Throughout my time here I’ve noticed this, but it just hasn’t registered deeply enough in my consciousness to bother me in the way that some of the other people who never shut up annoy me.
That is until Scott pointed out how annoying she is and how she never shuts up. Now I can’t help but notice. In fact, I have difficulty thinking about anything else.
I really appreciate him pointing it out, because as we all know, there aren’t nearly enough things in life that annoy the living shit out of me.
It doesn’t help matters any that yesterday someone else who never shuts up finally broke the Annoyance Barrier.
This is the barrier that I put up between myself and the world, a sort of force field that shuts things out. Once something breaks through, though, the Barrier serves to trap it inside, where I can’t help but notice it, and, in fact my senses will actually seek it out in much the same fashion that one pokes and prods at a sore tooth with his or her tongue.
What helped this particular person finally force his way through wasn’t just the fact that he talks incessantly and seems to be a self-proclaimed expert on everything, it’s the fact that he frequently pauses and lets out a loud and lengthy “Ummmmm....” as he collects his thoughts in order to begin another assault on my consciousness.
What makes it more annoying is that it isn’t really an “Um” sound; it’s this deep, frog-like “Ohm” sound.
It actually kind of reminds me of Nicole Sullivan’s character on Mad TV when she and Debra Wilson would play those Hispanic girls.
Anyway, that was what pushed him through, and now his voice has been added to the cacophony of endless inane chatter that hangs in the air like white noise, only instead of being soothing, it drives me up the fucking wall.
*Sigh*
New Useless Ability Department:
The walls in the various hallways here at work are usually adorned with movie posters which periodically get replaced with more current posters as time passes.
Yesterday I mentioned to someone that it was about time they put up some new posters, as most of them were for movies from last summer.
Sometime later I was heading to the bathroom and saw some people taking down the old posters and putting up new ones.
So the question that came to mind was, is this a demonstration of some new lame ability to predict the future, like my ability to predict which episode of The Simpsons will be on (Usually my oracular abilities in this regard manifest in me reciting a line from the show and then finding that that the next time I watch The Simpsons the episode the line came from is on. It’s rather uncanny, if less than useful.), a new ability to actually influence the future (Like my apparently lost ability to make my car’s “Check Engine” light come on just by thinking about how it isn’t on..), or is it, you know, just a coincidence?
Nah, it couldn’t be a coincidence. I mean, if it is some sort of supernatural ability, it would be just lame enough to be one that I would possess, and I will take a supernatural explanation over the more likely coincidence explanation if said supernatural explanation tends to add to my overall lameness.
I attempted to see if this newfound ability to either predict or influence the future could be put to non-lame use by saying to myself, “It’s about time that I go home to find Jessica Simpson waiting for me wearing nothing but a whipped cream bikini,” before I left work.
Sadly, the ability only seems to extend to the posters, confirming my lameness.
This new shift is going to take some getting used to. I’m having difficulty, for example, accepting that today is Friday rather than Saturday.
Last night I woke up with a heavy feeling in my stomach that I managed to convince myself was merely hunger pains, thereby managing to get back to sleep. However, after I got up and had eaten something, the feeling hadn’t gone away and recognized it for what it was (I knew all along, but didn’t want to admit it, hence the “hunger pains” lie I told myself.): anxiety.
Anxiety about what, you ask? I have no idea, which is why it bothers me that I’m feeling it. If I knew what was bothering me I could deal with it (or ignore it, as the case may be), but when it’s just a vague feeling of impending doom, the anxiety actually worsens, as I begin to feel anxiety about feeling anxiety.
My best guess is that I’m just worried about what a pain in the ass next week is going to be, with having to get up early every day and deal with traffic, trying to learn stuff, and then, inevitably, failing the test.
Here’s hoping that’s all it is and that I’m not developing some non-lame ability to predict a future catastrophe…
Friday, July 07, 2006
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Ah, The Power And The Beauty Of the Maternal Instinct
From The Onion:
I Hope My Baby Doesn't Come Out All Fucked-Up And Shit
Though this is, of course, a parody news story, it actually reminded me of something in high school.
During my Junior year one of my classmates, a fairly nice girl, got pregnant.
Another classmate, who was not so nice (read: total bitch) was constantly running her down behind her back for being stupid and a slut, and whatnot.
At the start of our Senior year, providing a strong argument for the existence of karma, it was revealed that the not-so nice girl was pregnant herself.
In any case, during some class or other there was some discussion about infant mortality rates and birth defects, and I just remember the not-so nice girl turning and whispering to one of her friends in a heartwarming display of maternal concern, "I hope that shit don't happen to my kid."
By demonstrating that it has its finger on the pulse of the country, The Onion once again earns its title as "America's Finest News Source."
I Hope My Baby Doesn't Come Out All Fucked-Up And Shit
Though this is, of course, a parody news story, it actually reminded me of something in high school.
During my Junior year one of my classmates, a fairly nice girl, got pregnant.
Another classmate, who was not so nice (read: total bitch) was constantly running her down behind her back for being stupid and a slut, and whatnot.
At the start of our Senior year, providing a strong argument for the existence of karma, it was revealed that the not-so nice girl was pregnant herself.
In any case, during some class or other there was some discussion about infant mortality rates and birth defects, and I just remember the not-so nice girl turning and whispering to one of her friends in a heartwarming display of maternal concern, "I hope that shit don't happen to my kid."
By demonstrating that it has its finger on the pulse of the country, The Onion once again earns its title as "America's Finest News Source."
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
New Nagelesque Picture
It's been a while since I last did a "Nagelesque" picture, so I thought it was about time, and this Nagelesque picture of Jessica Alba is the end result of that thinking.
I'll probably mess around with some effects on this image, so there's a good chance that you might end up seeing some variations on this picture.
I'll probably mess around with some effects on this image, so there's a good chance that you might end up seeing some variations on this picture.
Wakefullness Encounters Violent Opposition
I can’t recall a time in which I’ve ever been as violently opposed to the very idea of getting out of bed as I was this morning.
I did not want to get up, and it was only through extreme effort that I managed to do so.
Why? Couldn’t tell you.
I had been having some very odd dreams but I don’t think that they were what was motivating me to want to keep on sleeping, since they were largely frustrating and embarrassing.
At least I think they were. I don’t really remember them very clearly beyond one in which I had looked away for a split second and missed an opportunity to see this hot chick I used to know topless.
That covers the frustrating part. Not sure where the embarrassment comes into play, though I seem to recall that there was some involved in my dreams.
But whatever.
I think the main reason that I didn’t want to get up is that I didn’t want to have to face the next week or so.
Once again I’ll be sans Scott at work this weekend, though I won’t actually be on my own, as some people are coming in to fill in.
I think I’d rather work it alone, honestly. One of the people coming in is okay, but one of the others really annoys me, and the third is someone I’ve never met before, and we all know how high meeting new people ranks on my list of favorite things to do.
After that I get one day off and then I’m in Red Hat training all week.
After that I get a two day break and then I’m winging my way to Michigan for a week, which is fine, but I’m not looking forward to all of the various hassles of traveling.
The irritating thing is that the cheapest flight I could find required not flying out from Dulles until after 5 pm, so I won’t arrive in Michigan until around midnight, and my flight back leaves at 7:30 in the morning.
*Sigh*
The other day when I was at Wal-Mart I was picking up some shaving cream, which brought me into close proximity to the hair care products, and with Kathleen’s words in mind (as well as “Zalfiro’s,” as he agreed with her) I stood in front of the Just For Men products for some time before finally setting the notion aside and moving on.
Once I did get up and get motivated today I headed to Ashburn to fill up my gas tank. While I was at it I stopped at Wendy’s for an early lunch.
And that’s pretty much been the extent of the excitement today and I don’t foresee that changing, so I think I’ll just end this post on that note.
I did not want to get up, and it was only through extreme effort that I managed to do so.
Why? Couldn’t tell you.
I had been having some very odd dreams but I don’t think that they were what was motivating me to want to keep on sleeping, since they were largely frustrating and embarrassing.
At least I think they were. I don’t really remember them very clearly beyond one in which I had looked away for a split second and missed an opportunity to see this hot chick I used to know topless.
That covers the frustrating part. Not sure where the embarrassment comes into play, though I seem to recall that there was some involved in my dreams.
But whatever.
I think the main reason that I didn’t want to get up is that I didn’t want to have to face the next week or so.
Once again I’ll be sans Scott at work this weekend, though I won’t actually be on my own, as some people are coming in to fill in.
I think I’d rather work it alone, honestly. One of the people coming in is okay, but one of the others really annoys me, and the third is someone I’ve never met before, and we all know how high meeting new people ranks on my list of favorite things to do.
After that I get one day off and then I’m in Red Hat training all week.
After that I get a two day break and then I’m winging my way to Michigan for a week, which is fine, but I’m not looking forward to all of the various hassles of traveling.
The irritating thing is that the cheapest flight I could find required not flying out from Dulles until after 5 pm, so I won’t arrive in Michigan until around midnight, and my flight back leaves at 7:30 in the morning.
*Sigh*
The other day when I was at Wal-Mart I was picking up some shaving cream, which brought me into close proximity to the hair care products, and with Kathleen’s words in mind (as well as “Zalfiro’s,” as he agreed with her) I stood in front of the Just For Men products for some time before finally setting the notion aside and moving on.
Once I did get up and get motivated today I headed to Ashburn to fill up my gas tank. While I was at it I stopped at Wendy’s for an early lunch.
And that’s pretty much been the extent of the excitement today and I don’t foresee that changing, so I think I’ll just end this post on that note.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Too Many Stacys To Keep Them All Straight
Sometime around 1 I decided that I’d brave the heat and humidity and take a walk downtown to check things out.
Putting on my lightest, loosest clothes (more on that later), I began my trek and found that it wasn’t quite so bad as I thought it would be.
In fact, there was a very strong breeze that made things almost pleasant.
One of the reasons that I was considering going out in the first place was because I didn’t really have anything at home that I could easily turn into a meal, so I figured I’d head over and see what kind of food options were available to me.
After about a mile of walking, though, I spotted a Subway and decided I’d stop there to get something to eat before continuing on.
Once I was done eating, I really didn’t feel like walking the rest of the way over to the area in which most of the events are taking place, so I headed home, deciding that maybe later in the afternoon or early evening I’d venture out again.
At this point that seems unlikely, based on the cloud cover and the rumbling of thunder.
Since I still needed to feed myself, I made a quick trip over to Super Target.
As I arrived in the area I found that I had apparently just missed some rainfall given that the road and parking lot were wet (though the water was already rising up as steam to add to the overall swampiness).
When I got back home I found that the rain had headed this way and that once again I had just missed it, though now it seems that a bigger storm will be rolling in soon.
Even though I was wearing the lightest clothing possible when I headed out, I was still wearing pants, not shorts.
I wear shorts around the house, and when I go for walks on the trails (I only recently started doing that), but other than that I always wear pants.
Why? Well, in part because I’m of the opinion that men should always wear pants because, after all, nobody wants to see their hairy, pasty legs. If I were in charge of this country it would be like a reverse Islamic situation with men covered from head to toe, while women could wear whatever they wanted (and ideally, in some cases – though clearly not all – as little as possible).
The main reason I don’t wear shorts, though, is because my ethnic background is Finnish, British, and German.
For those of you who are of a mathematical bent, this particular ethnic combination can be expressed as White+White+White=Really Fucking White.
That I spend most of my time inside only adds to the vampiric aspects of my skin.
Is it a matter of being ashamed of my bone-white skin? Not really, it’s more a matter of my skin all but combusting when it comes into contact with direct sunlight.
(Sun block of even the highest SPF provides only minimal protection and is hardly worth taking the time to apply.)
20+ years ago there was a day on which I had occasion to be outside pretty much from the early morning hours until past sunset (which comes pretty late back home in the summer). I was wearing shorts. It was a very sunny, cloudless day.
I got burned so badly on the backs of my legs that bending to sit was one of the most painful maneuvers I’ve ever had to perform and remained so for days afterwards.
It was then that I vowed, “Never again.”
I suppose that it’s basically become something of a phobia, as the odds are that I wouldn’t get burned like that again if I wore shorts to work (Though the fact that the A/C keeps the place freezing is sort of a deterrent to wearing shorts for me.) or to the store, or whatever, but I just don’t feel comfortable being outside in shorts unless I’m swimming (which I hardly ever do these days).
When I walk on the trails, my legs don’t get that much direct sunlight, so burning isn’t really a problem. I still feel uncomfortable wearing them, but sweats are just too much of a hassle when it’s hot out.
When I moved to Tucson I developed an entirely new ability: I could tan.
Prior to that I only came in two colors, Albino White and Lobster Red.
Never once did I get sun burnt the whole time I lived in Tucson, despite the fact that even someone as reclusive as I am can’t really avoid the sun there.
It must have been an environmental thing, though, because once I moved to Virginia I totally lost that ability.
On the topic of tanning and people and of people who should wear shorts, while I was in Subway eating my sandwich and reading an e-book on my PDA, a pair of tanned and toned legs caught my eye, and I looked up to see a hand adjusting some extremely short shorts that were clinging quite nicely to a very shapely behind.
I tried to avoid staring too openly as the woman moved to get in line, but as she began to turn towards me I started to look up slowly to take the rest of her in. She appeared to be a very petite but well-proportioned young woman, and I was definitely liking what I was seeing…until I got to her face.
The problem isn’t that she had an unattractive face, the problem was that once I saw her face it became clear, in a way that it decidedly was not judging simply by her body, that, at best she was 14 years old.
This sort of thing happens way too often.
Girls that young should not be that well-developed.
Naturally I felt guilty and creepy once I saw how young she was, even though I realized that I couldn’t be faulted for looking when I had no idea just how young she was.
If I’d kept looking at her after I’d realized, that would be a different story, but I didn’t, so honestly I have no reason to feel guilty and creepy.
But I still do.
As I was writing this my cell phone rang to let me know that I had a voice mail (why it didn’t ring when I was actually getting the call rather then sending it to voice mail is beyond me).
It was “Scott’s wife Stacy” That’s actually how she put it, as if I would be wondering which Stacy it was calling me, since, you know, there are so many women calling me all of the time it’s hard to keep them straight.
Anyway, she and Scott and the kids were at Jamie and Casey’s house here in Leesburg and were inviting me over for a barbecue.
So I went over and had brats and hot dogs and eventually a sundae, as we went out to get ice cream to wait for it to get dark enough to set off the fireworks they had.
While they were setting off the fireworks we could mostly see the actual Leesburg fireworks over the trees.
We never did get any more rain beyond the downpours that I managed to avoid.
Once they finished their fireworks I hit the road so as to (mostly) avoid the rush of post-fireworks traffic, and so now here I am writing this.
And now I’m posting this.
Putting on my lightest, loosest clothes (more on that later), I began my trek and found that it wasn’t quite so bad as I thought it would be.
In fact, there was a very strong breeze that made things almost pleasant.
One of the reasons that I was considering going out in the first place was because I didn’t really have anything at home that I could easily turn into a meal, so I figured I’d head over and see what kind of food options were available to me.
After about a mile of walking, though, I spotted a Subway and decided I’d stop there to get something to eat before continuing on.
Once I was done eating, I really didn’t feel like walking the rest of the way over to the area in which most of the events are taking place, so I headed home, deciding that maybe later in the afternoon or early evening I’d venture out again.
At this point that seems unlikely, based on the cloud cover and the rumbling of thunder.
Since I still needed to feed myself, I made a quick trip over to Super Target.
As I arrived in the area I found that I had apparently just missed some rainfall given that the road and parking lot were wet (though the water was already rising up as steam to add to the overall swampiness).
When I got back home I found that the rain had headed this way and that once again I had just missed it, though now it seems that a bigger storm will be rolling in soon.
Even though I was wearing the lightest clothing possible when I headed out, I was still wearing pants, not shorts.
I wear shorts around the house, and when I go for walks on the trails (I only recently started doing that), but other than that I always wear pants.
Why? Well, in part because I’m of the opinion that men should always wear pants because, after all, nobody wants to see their hairy, pasty legs. If I were in charge of this country it would be like a reverse Islamic situation with men covered from head to toe, while women could wear whatever they wanted (and ideally, in some cases – though clearly not all – as little as possible).
The main reason I don’t wear shorts, though, is because my ethnic background is Finnish, British, and German.
For those of you who are of a mathematical bent, this particular ethnic combination can be expressed as White+White+White=Really Fucking White.
That I spend most of my time inside only adds to the vampiric aspects of my skin.
Is it a matter of being ashamed of my bone-white skin? Not really, it’s more a matter of my skin all but combusting when it comes into contact with direct sunlight.
(Sun block of even the highest SPF provides only minimal protection and is hardly worth taking the time to apply.)
20+ years ago there was a day on which I had occasion to be outside pretty much from the early morning hours until past sunset (which comes pretty late back home in the summer). I was wearing shorts. It was a very sunny, cloudless day.
I got burned so badly on the backs of my legs that bending to sit was one of the most painful maneuvers I’ve ever had to perform and remained so for days afterwards.
It was then that I vowed, “Never again.”
I suppose that it’s basically become something of a phobia, as the odds are that I wouldn’t get burned like that again if I wore shorts to work (Though the fact that the A/C keeps the place freezing is sort of a deterrent to wearing shorts for me.) or to the store, or whatever, but I just don’t feel comfortable being outside in shorts unless I’m swimming (which I hardly ever do these days).
When I walk on the trails, my legs don’t get that much direct sunlight, so burning isn’t really a problem. I still feel uncomfortable wearing them, but sweats are just too much of a hassle when it’s hot out.
When I moved to Tucson I developed an entirely new ability: I could tan.
Prior to that I only came in two colors, Albino White and Lobster Red.
Never once did I get sun burnt the whole time I lived in Tucson, despite the fact that even someone as reclusive as I am can’t really avoid the sun there.
It must have been an environmental thing, though, because once I moved to Virginia I totally lost that ability.
On the topic of tanning and people and of people who should wear shorts, while I was in Subway eating my sandwich and reading an e-book on my PDA, a pair of tanned and toned legs caught my eye, and I looked up to see a hand adjusting some extremely short shorts that were clinging quite nicely to a very shapely behind.
I tried to avoid staring too openly as the woman moved to get in line, but as she began to turn towards me I started to look up slowly to take the rest of her in. She appeared to be a very petite but well-proportioned young woman, and I was definitely liking what I was seeing…until I got to her face.
The problem isn’t that she had an unattractive face, the problem was that once I saw her face it became clear, in a way that it decidedly was not judging simply by her body, that, at best she was 14 years old.
This sort of thing happens way too often.
Girls that young should not be that well-developed.
Naturally I felt guilty and creepy once I saw how young she was, even though I realized that I couldn’t be faulted for looking when I had no idea just how young she was.
If I’d kept looking at her after I’d realized, that would be a different story, but I didn’t, so honestly I have no reason to feel guilty and creepy.
But I still do.
As I was writing this my cell phone rang to let me know that I had a voice mail (why it didn’t ring when I was actually getting the call rather then sending it to voice mail is beyond me).
It was “Scott’s wife Stacy” That’s actually how she put it, as if I would be wondering which Stacy it was calling me, since, you know, there are so many women calling me all of the time it’s hard to keep them straight.
Anyway, she and Scott and the kids were at Jamie and Casey’s house here in Leesburg and were inviting me over for a barbecue.
So I went over and had brats and hot dogs and eventually a sundae, as we went out to get ice cream to wait for it to get dark enough to set off the fireworks they had.
While they were setting off the fireworks we could mostly see the actual Leesburg fireworks over the trees.
We never did get any more rain beyond the downpours that I managed to avoid.
Once they finished their fireworks I hit the road so as to (mostly) avoid the rush of post-fireworks traffic, and so now here I am writing this.
And now I’m posting this.
Warning: Gross Metaphors Ahead
The other day at work I was putting my lunch in the refrigerator in the break room when for whatever reason I took note of the First Aid poster on the wall.
Specifically, I noticed the section on Heart Attack Symptoms.
The main thing I took note of was the fact that in addition to being a river in Egypt, denial is a symptom of having a heart attack.
"Are you having a heart attack?"
"Nope, I feel fine."
"Oh my god, call a doctor! He's having a heart attack!"
"No, I said I'm not having a heart attack."
"Didn't you hear him? He just said he's not having a heart attack, so for god's sake get a doctor to deal with the heart attack he's obviously having!"
I wonder, does the denial have to be specifically related to having a heart attack, or is a general denial equally symptomatic?
"I'm not going bald. See, I've got hair."
"Oh my god, he thinks his combover covers up his bald spot! He's having a heart attack!
Anyway, the other thing I noticed was the graphic below the symptoms:
Is it just me, or does the guy having the heart attack look like Mike Farrell back when he first started on M*A*S*H as B.J. before he grew the mustache?
Just a thought.
I haven't made up my mind as to whether I'm going to head out to see what sort of 4th of July doings are transpiring.
I don't want to have to drive over and contend with traffic and parking, and while the place where most of the doings are set to transpire is within easy walking distance, it's hot and humid as hell out there. How hot and humid is it? It's like the crotch of a jogging fat guy.
We're talking swampy.
Beyond that, there is the looming threat of thunderstorms. Bad enough to be drenched in sweat from walking through the crotch-rotting heat (okay, I'm going to drop the really gross analogy now), but even worse to get drowned by the rain, pelted with hail, or struck by lightning.
So I remain undecided on the whole thing.
In any case, I hope all of you are having fun, festive Independence Day celebrations.
Of course, if you are then you aren't reading this, so my hopes for you are all wasted, aren't they? Fine; to hell with you then.
Specifically, I noticed the section on Heart Attack Symptoms.
The main thing I took note of was the fact that in addition to being a river in Egypt, denial is a symptom of having a heart attack.
"Are you having a heart attack?"
"Nope, I feel fine."
"Oh my god, call a doctor! He's having a heart attack!"
"No, I said I'm not having a heart attack."
"Didn't you hear him? He just said he's not having a heart attack, so for god's sake get a doctor to deal with the heart attack he's obviously having!"
I wonder, does the denial have to be specifically related to having a heart attack, or is a general denial equally symptomatic?
"I'm not going bald. See, I've got hair."
"Oh my god, he thinks his combover covers up his bald spot! He's having a heart attack!
Anyway, the other thing I noticed was the graphic below the symptoms:
Is it just me, or does the guy having the heart attack look like Mike Farrell back when he first started on M*A*S*H as B.J. before he grew the mustache?
Just a thought.
I haven't made up my mind as to whether I'm going to head out to see what sort of 4th of July doings are transpiring.
I don't want to have to drive over and contend with traffic and parking, and while the place where most of the doings are set to transpire is within easy walking distance, it's hot and humid as hell out there. How hot and humid is it? It's like the crotch of a jogging fat guy.
We're talking swampy.
Beyond that, there is the looming threat of thunderstorms. Bad enough to be drenched in sweat from walking through the crotch-rotting heat (okay, I'm going to drop the really gross analogy now), but even worse to get drowned by the rain, pelted with hail, or struck by lightning.
So I remain undecided on the whole thing.
In any case, I hope all of you are having fun, festive Independence Day celebrations.
Of course, if you are then you aren't reading this, so my hopes for you are all wasted, aren't they? Fine; to hell with you then.
A Very Special Day
I think we all know what today is, but I think it needs to be said: Happy Filipino-American Friendship Day!
Monday, July 03, 2006
See?
I slapped together a quick picture of Kim Director as Wonder Woman (wearing a sort of cloak thingie) to illustrate (literally) my point about her being a good candidate for the role.
See what I mean?
See what I mean?
Sunday, July 02, 2006
So Excruciatingly, Titty-Twistingly, Nads-Stompingly Funny
Once again it’s nearly time for The Venture Bros.
Once again I’m not able to watch it.
It seems that all of the channels that I hadn’t been able to get last weekend because of the rain are no longer saying that they’re attempting to acquire a satellite signal.
The rain is over, the problem is resolved.
On every channel except Cartoon Network, that is.
Actually, I take that back. Cartoon Network isn’t saying that it’s attempting to acquire a signal, and it’s displaying sound and picture.
It’s just not displaying the sound and picture for the motherfucking Cartoon fucking Network.
*Ahem*
Excuse me. What I mean to say is that instead of finding Cartoon Network programming when I switch to channel 47 I’m greeted with the general information channel for Dish Network, which tells me all about using my Dish Network receiver and remote and how to order Dish Network programming.
I seriously need to find out if I can sign up with a real cable company.
(In the meantime, “Zalfiro” informed me that the episode is already out on a torrent, so I’m currently downloading it)
I opted to order a pizza for dinner, and while I was eating it I figured I’d throw in a DVD, deciding on The 40 Year Old Virgin.
The movie remains hilarious, but I found myself laughing especially loudly at one particular line:
“I love women, okay? I respect women. I respect them so much that I completely stay away from them.”
Great line, and so familiar. So agonizingly, blindingly painfully familiar.
But funny.
Longtime Threshold readers may recall that when I originally saw the movie there was a scene that featured a porn actress which prompted me to say to Brian, “Hey, I know her! That’s Stormy!”
I immediately went from being proud for knowing the name of the porn actress making a cameo to being ashamed for knowing the name of a porn actress making a cameo.
But what can I say, Stormy is a personal favorite.
Not so much of a favorite that I would shell out $80 to buy the rubber cast of her…parts that she sells on her Web site, though.
I’m not kidding. You can seriously buy a rubber replica of her naughty bits online.
How bizarre is that? I mean, I should think it would be odd enough to know that there are guys out there pleasuring themselves while watching you have sex, but then to kick up the creepiness factor exponentially by thinking that some of them might be doing so with a cast of your…it beggars (buggers?) the imagination.
Still, she clearly has a sense of humor about it all, as is demonstrated by one of the DVD’s special features called “My Dinner With Stormy,” which features one of the movie’s co-stars and co-producers meeting with Stormy. He’s clearly unaware that they arranged for her to flirt with him as outrageously as only a porn star can (that she had a fake tattoo of his face on her breast was an especially nice touch), and it was fun to watch him squirm as he tried to figure out how to approach the situation.
Totally changing gears, there’s something that I’ve been debating about whether or not I should mention here.
I’ve decided that I will.
On Wednesday night my former mother-in-law was in a very serious car accident. The other driver was killed, and she was very seriously injured. Basically, her car’s engine ended up on her lap.
Apparently her chances for survival aren’t especially high, and given the severity of her injuries I can’t imagine how well she could possibly recover if she does survive.
Despite how things turned out between me and her daughter, she was always good to me and was basically the only one of my in-laws with whom I didn’t have a problem.
So even though I’m not a believer in the power of prayer, I wouldn’t say no if any of you wanted to say a prayer for her.
Okay, that’s the end of the serious part of our program.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled smart-ass, irreverent, pointless Threshold, already in progress.
…and he said “Recutm? Damn near killed ‘em!”
Once again I’m not able to watch it.
It seems that all of the channels that I hadn’t been able to get last weekend because of the rain are no longer saying that they’re attempting to acquire a satellite signal.
The rain is over, the problem is resolved.
On every channel except Cartoon Network, that is.
Actually, I take that back. Cartoon Network isn’t saying that it’s attempting to acquire a signal, and it’s displaying sound and picture.
It’s just not displaying the sound and picture for the motherfucking Cartoon fucking Network.
*Ahem*
Excuse me. What I mean to say is that instead of finding Cartoon Network programming when I switch to channel 47 I’m greeted with the general information channel for Dish Network, which tells me all about using my Dish Network receiver and remote and how to order Dish Network programming.
I seriously need to find out if I can sign up with a real cable company.
(In the meantime, “Zalfiro” informed me that the episode is already out on a torrent, so I’m currently downloading it)
I opted to order a pizza for dinner, and while I was eating it I figured I’d throw in a DVD, deciding on The 40 Year Old Virgin.
The movie remains hilarious, but I found myself laughing especially loudly at one particular line:
“I love women, okay? I respect women. I respect them so much that I completely stay away from them.”
Great line, and so familiar. So agonizingly, blindingly painfully familiar.
But funny.
Longtime Threshold readers may recall that when I originally saw the movie there was a scene that featured a porn actress which prompted me to say to Brian, “Hey, I know her! That’s Stormy!”
I immediately went from being proud for knowing the name of the porn actress making a cameo to being ashamed for knowing the name of a porn actress making a cameo.
But what can I say, Stormy is a personal favorite.
Not so much of a favorite that I would shell out $80 to buy the rubber cast of her…parts that she sells on her Web site, though.
I’m not kidding. You can seriously buy a rubber replica of her naughty bits online.
How bizarre is that? I mean, I should think it would be odd enough to know that there are guys out there pleasuring themselves while watching you have sex, but then to kick up the creepiness factor exponentially by thinking that some of them might be doing so with a cast of your…it beggars (buggers?) the imagination.
Still, she clearly has a sense of humor about it all, as is demonstrated by one of the DVD’s special features called “My Dinner With Stormy,” which features one of the movie’s co-stars and co-producers meeting with Stormy. He’s clearly unaware that they arranged for her to flirt with him as outrageously as only a porn star can (that she had a fake tattoo of his face on her breast was an especially nice touch), and it was fun to watch him squirm as he tried to figure out how to approach the situation.
Totally changing gears, there’s something that I’ve been debating about whether or not I should mention here.
I’ve decided that I will.
On Wednesday night my former mother-in-law was in a very serious car accident. The other driver was killed, and she was very seriously injured. Basically, her car’s engine ended up on her lap.
Apparently her chances for survival aren’t especially high, and given the severity of her injuries I can’t imagine how well she could possibly recover if she does survive.
Despite how things turned out between me and her daughter, she was always good to me and was basically the only one of my in-laws with whom I didn’t have a problem.
So even though I’m not a believer in the power of prayer, I wouldn’t say no if any of you wanted to say a prayer for her.
Okay, that’s the end of the serious part of our program.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled smart-ass, irreverent, pointless Threshold, already in progress.
…and he said “Recutm? Damn near killed ‘em!”
Boring Vices
As I was just beginning to doze I heard my cell phone ringing. I saw that it was Kathleen, answered it, and was greeted with “Are you dressed?”
If I hadn’t known any better I might have taken this to be some sort of awkward attempt at initiating a naughty phone call.
After all, in such a situation I could see Kathleen in her typically blunt and brusque manner blurting out “Are you dressed?” rather than the more traditional “What are you wearing?”
However, I did know better and realized that she was probably asking because she and Brian were in the neighborhood and wanted to see if I was interested in joining them for lunch.
This turned out to be the case, and though I’d already eaten and was not, in fact, dressed (I had been napping after all), I opted to join them.
I threw on some clothes and put my contacts in and went outside to find them waiting for me.
We headed to Ruby Tuesday where we ended up waiting in the entrance for quite some time, though for less than the projected 35 minutes.
Apparently they weren’t seating people because their computers were down, which I assume had more to do with not being able to ring up orders or process credit card payments than actually seating people, but in any case there was quite a line of people waiting, and there were even more people who opted not to wait.
Among the people we saw who were turned away was someone who was a dead ringer for Stephen Root as Milton in Office Space and this old bald guy with glasses whom I was certain was about to start dancing and load us all onto a bus to the nearest Six Flags.
Of course, he wasn’t wearing the suit or the bow tie, so maybe it’s day off.
In any case, it did get that irritating music from the commercials stuck in my head (Kathleen’s as well).
The wait, as mentioned, wasn’t as long as projected, though we did end up getting led around the restaurant a few times in search of the table that was supposedly available for our use.
Given that I’d just eaten not to much earlier, I opted for an appetizer (Southwestern Spring Rolls) which I couldn’t actually finish anyway.
I also had two root beers, which I mentioned to them (and am mentioning here) has become my latest vice.
The amount of root beer I go through isn’t anywhere at the levels of my consumption of Mountain Dew or actual beer back in the days when I didn’t avoid caffeine and alcohol (it’s an incredible understatement to say that I “didn’t avoid caffeine and alcohol” then, but you get the idea), but I have been drinking it pretty regularly lately.
Ordinarily I only drink water, with the occasional Sprite when I go to a restaurant or a movie, but I’ve actually been buying root beer, specifically Dominion Root Beer, to have at home.
I said to Brian and Kathleen that it’s my new vice because I “can’t have any of the fun vices.”
As far as vices go it’s pretty lame.
Brian mentioned that I’ve still got porn, but Kathleen pointed out that you can’t really order that in restaurants.
In any case, I’ve found having the glass bottles of root beer a bit odd, as they remind me a little too much (uncomfortably so) of having a different kind of bottles around, so I think that when I finish my one remaining bottle I’ll call it quits on this new vice.
(When I hear the bottles clink together the sound transports me mentally back to Minnesota in early 2000 and I find myself hauling my green plastic recycling bin filled to overflowing with empty Killian’s Irish Red bottles out to the curb. At least I was an environmentally responsible drunk.)
So apparently I can’t even have lame vices.
*Sigh*
Yes, there is still porn, but as I’ve mentioned before, in my case porn isn’t so much a vice as a necessity.
As I was writing this it occurred to me that being off on Sunday puts me in some amount of sync with my friend “Zalfiro,” so I decided to give him a call. I don’t think I’ve actually talked to him since the last time I was off on a Sunday (probably even longer than that), so it ended up being a pretty lengthy conversation.
And now it’s time to start thinking about dinner, as the fullness from my two lunches has worn off…
If I hadn’t known any better I might have taken this to be some sort of awkward attempt at initiating a naughty phone call.
After all, in such a situation I could see Kathleen in her typically blunt and brusque manner blurting out “Are you dressed?” rather than the more traditional “What are you wearing?”
However, I did know better and realized that she was probably asking because she and Brian were in the neighborhood and wanted to see if I was interested in joining them for lunch.
This turned out to be the case, and though I’d already eaten and was not, in fact, dressed (I had been napping after all), I opted to join them.
I threw on some clothes and put my contacts in and went outside to find them waiting for me.
We headed to Ruby Tuesday where we ended up waiting in the entrance for quite some time, though for less than the projected 35 minutes.
Apparently they weren’t seating people because their computers were down, which I assume had more to do with not being able to ring up orders or process credit card payments than actually seating people, but in any case there was quite a line of people waiting, and there were even more people who opted not to wait.
Among the people we saw who were turned away was someone who was a dead ringer for Stephen Root as Milton in Office Space and this old bald guy with glasses whom I was certain was about to start dancing and load us all onto a bus to the nearest Six Flags.
Of course, he wasn’t wearing the suit or the bow tie, so maybe it’s day off.
In any case, it did get that irritating music from the commercials stuck in my head (Kathleen’s as well).
The wait, as mentioned, wasn’t as long as projected, though we did end up getting led around the restaurant a few times in search of the table that was supposedly available for our use.
Given that I’d just eaten not to much earlier, I opted for an appetizer (Southwestern Spring Rolls) which I couldn’t actually finish anyway.
I also had two root beers, which I mentioned to them (and am mentioning here) has become my latest vice.
The amount of root beer I go through isn’t anywhere at the levels of my consumption of Mountain Dew or actual beer back in the days when I didn’t avoid caffeine and alcohol (it’s an incredible understatement to say that I “didn’t avoid caffeine and alcohol” then, but you get the idea), but I have been drinking it pretty regularly lately.
Ordinarily I only drink water, with the occasional Sprite when I go to a restaurant or a movie, but I’ve actually been buying root beer, specifically Dominion Root Beer, to have at home.
I said to Brian and Kathleen that it’s my new vice because I “can’t have any of the fun vices.”
As far as vices go it’s pretty lame.
Brian mentioned that I’ve still got porn, but Kathleen pointed out that you can’t really order that in restaurants.
In any case, I’ve found having the glass bottles of root beer a bit odd, as they remind me a little too much (uncomfortably so) of having a different kind of bottles around, so I think that when I finish my one remaining bottle I’ll call it quits on this new vice.
(When I hear the bottles clink together the sound transports me mentally back to Minnesota in early 2000 and I find myself hauling my green plastic recycling bin filled to overflowing with empty Killian’s Irish Red bottles out to the curb. At least I was an environmentally responsible drunk.)
So apparently I can’t even have lame vices.
*Sigh*
Yes, there is still porn, but as I’ve mentioned before, in my case porn isn’t so much a vice as a necessity.
As I was writing this it occurred to me that being off on Sunday puts me in some amount of sync with my friend “Zalfiro,” so I decided to give him a call. I don’t think I’ve actually talked to him since the last time I was off on a Sunday (probably even longer than that), so it ended up being a pretty lengthy conversation.
And now it’s time to start thinking about dinner, as the fullness from my two lunches has worn off…
Sunday, Boring Sunday
So it’s Sunday.
Though one day is much like any other to me, it does feel different somehow.
Mostly it feels like I’m getting an extra day off, particularly since I only worked for two days (I could easily get used to a two day work week, by the way), though intellectually I realize that’s not actually the case, and it will seem strange to go in to work on Thursday.
Apart from vacation time, I haven’t had a Sunday off in over three and a half years.
So what am I going to do with my Sunday?
Well, I went out to Arby’s and got lunch.
That’s probably going to be the extent of what I do.
Being off on a weekend day makes me feel even less inclined to go out into the world, since it’s bound to be filled to overflowing with people who are just dying to get in my way, like the tow truck in front of me on my way to Arby’s.
When the arrow turned green there should have been time enough for him and me to make the turn. However, before making the turn the driver spontaneously forgot how to shift and sat there trying in vain to get moving, finally doing so just as the arrow turned red.
Once he got past the turn he took off like a rocket. Why shouldn’t he? He’d clearly served his purpose by forcing me to sit through another cycle of the lights so there was no reason to keep moving slowly.
Whenever I eat at Arby’s, by the way, I can’t help but think of The Simpsons, which has thrown out a few random Arby’s digs.
In one example a girl says, “I’m so hungry I could eat at Arby’s!” This is met with shock and profound appreciation for just how hungry she must be. In another instance Marge says, “People do all kinds of crazy things in commercials. Like eat at Arby’s.”
Personally, though I think those digs are pretty funny, I like Arby’s. Even though their roast beef doesn’t have a flavor that even closely approximates that of beef, it still tastes okay.
In any case, I suppose I should take some time to figure out what I’m going to do with myself on this, my first Sunday.
I’m thinking a nap might be in order.
Though one day is much like any other to me, it does feel different somehow.
Mostly it feels like I’m getting an extra day off, particularly since I only worked for two days (I could easily get used to a two day work week, by the way), though intellectually I realize that’s not actually the case, and it will seem strange to go in to work on Thursday.
Apart from vacation time, I haven’t had a Sunday off in over three and a half years.
So what am I going to do with my Sunday?
Well, I went out to Arby’s and got lunch.
That’s probably going to be the extent of what I do.
Being off on a weekend day makes me feel even less inclined to go out into the world, since it’s bound to be filled to overflowing with people who are just dying to get in my way, like the tow truck in front of me on my way to Arby’s.
When the arrow turned green there should have been time enough for him and me to make the turn. However, before making the turn the driver spontaneously forgot how to shift and sat there trying in vain to get moving, finally doing so just as the arrow turned red.
Once he got past the turn he took off like a rocket. Why shouldn’t he? He’d clearly served his purpose by forcing me to sit through another cycle of the lights so there was no reason to keep moving slowly.
Whenever I eat at Arby’s, by the way, I can’t help but think of The Simpsons, which has thrown out a few random Arby’s digs.
In one example a girl says, “I’m so hungry I could eat at Arby’s!” This is met with shock and profound appreciation for just how hungry she must be. In another instance Marge says, “People do all kinds of crazy things in commercials. Like eat at Arby’s.”
Personally, though I think those digs are pretty funny, I like Arby’s. Even though their roast beef doesn’t have a flavor that even closely approximates that of beef, it still tastes okay.
In any case, I suppose I should take some time to figure out what I’m going to do with myself on this, my first Sunday.
I’m thinking a nap might be in order.
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