Tales Told By An Idiot

And So It Begins......Again

2006-02-04T11:00:00.000-08:00

I honestly cannot believe I haven't posted anything since 9/28/05.

I also cannot believe George Bush is the President of the United States, that NASCAR is popular as it is, that anyone finds Kate Moss attractive, that no one seems to realize that Oprah Winfrey is the Anti-Christ, that anyone cares about Jessica Simpson/Paris Hilton/Donald Trump/Lindsay Lohan, that the Rolling Stones are still alive or that there are people that still watch television without TiVo.

Sorry about that. I inadvertently opened a can of pop-culture whoop-ass without even realizing it. Either that or I've been reading The Superficial way too much.

Anyway........I digress

I can actually believe I haven't posted anything for as long as I have. Life, as it seems, finds things to keep you away from other things. Whether it's planning a wedding, having a wedding, buying a car, getting a new job, going to Christmas parties, Christmas shopping, planning a New Year's party or having a New Year's party, it is truly amazing how quickly 9/28/05 becomes 02/04/05. It's one of the things I've become most cognizant of over the past couple of months, time (in all it's forms) literally flashes by. I suppose it is one of the inevitable consequences of growing older. You begin to realize how quickly your life speeds by. Even if it's only being amazed that you got up this morning at 8:00 and it's already frigging 11:00. How the heck can 3 hours have passed by already, I haven't done a damn thing?

Yikes......that was deep. Note to self, knock that crap off.

In any event, I offer a heartfelt apologize to all 2 or 3 people that ever read my little prattlefest. I'm resigned to getting back on the blogging horse. I really missed it. It's a truly cathartic way to get stuff out and off your chest. Plus, it makes for great reading days/weeks/months/years down the line when you have a little more distance from whatever it was that so infuriated/annoyed/saddened/shocked/disturbed you at the time. Trust me on this. It's good times. You may be embarrassed that your loving wife posted a video of you on the internet provocatively smacking the bulbous ass of a marble statue at the time, but you will howl with laughter about it later. If for no other reason than you realize your mother might stumble across it one day (while searching the internet for recipes, or herbal remedies or woodworking projects or new cross-stitch patterns or whatever it is that a mom does after she discovers the Internet) and start to have second thoughts about the son she used to love so much.

I'm sorry Internet. I hope you'll forgive me. In the coming months I'll fill you in on all the "stuff" that kept me away.

I just hope I can remember most of it.

.....um yeah, that might be a problem.

I've Got To Have Something To Show For In September

2005-09-28T23:00:00.000-07:00

I've had a lot to do lately. It's put quite a dent in my blog entry creation time. Not that I or anyone else has to blog. It's not like respiration or sex.

Yes people, like sex. Sex has to be had. HAS. TO. I've gone without for long stretches of time. I know what I am talking about here. Just trust me. DSB (Deadly Semen Buildup) can be a crippling and debilitating affliction.

........Mom, if you have in fact found my blog and are actively reading it, yes I have the sex. And no, I don't blame you if you disown me now or never let me come over for Thanksgiving dinner anymore.

Anyway......

Before I got on the random tangent train, I was trying to convey that I am going to work on getting back into the swing of bloggery. The long list o' stuff to do is getting closer to ending, so I need to get back to this world o' words.

But first a little private moment of jubilation;

THE FRIGGING INVITATIONS ARE DONE AND ARE IN THE MAIL!!!!!

If you've ever designed your own wedding invitations and then put all the designed pieces together by hand, you know what I am talking about. I haven't felt this relieved since Zoom and I finally went and got our taxes done last year.

But more importantly, it official people. We are really getting married.

Either that, or we spent thousands of dollars and invited a hundred or so people to a really fancy party just cuz'.

It's The Thought That Counts, Not The Back-Ass-Ward Way You Get To It

2005-08-30T21:00:00.000-07:00

I'm having sort of a conversation with Zoom whilst taking a shower.

I'm espousing my euphoria at how good the cool water feels on a warmish muggy night.

I yell out, "You can have the bed tonight, I'm camping out in here tonight". "In here" being the shower. I get my typical stinky faced response of "Yeah Yeah Yeah".

The pseudo-conversation continues as I tell her that if I could figure out a way to Hannibal Lecter strap myself to the shower wall, I'd let that frigging water run on me all night. I'd finally be the perfect temperature and I'd be out like a light in no time. Next month's water bill would put us into hock, but I'd sleep like a baby. I continue to say that if I could do what they do in the Space Shuttle (only in the shower), that'd be good sleeping times.

Zoom pipes up (in a very "Your mom sews license plates to your butt, how do you sit" kind of Real Genius moment) with "They strap them into the shower in the Space Shuttle!?" I say, "No, they strap them into bed, otherwise they'd float around all stinking night long". It'd be like sleep walking without the walking part.

Then "it" and the corresponding physics of "it" hit me. "It" being the thought I alluded to in the title of this little prattlefest.

Who cares if you float around all night? I mean, aside form the possible danger of floating into one of the turbo thruster buttons or the big red button they always have in spaceships that opens the door out to space. You know, in case Ellen Ripley is on your particular voyage and has to dramatically dispose of a rascally life form.

Here's my point, if you're in space and there's no gravity and your weightless, why not lock yourself in a harmless room and close your eyes? Let it happen man. Just turn off the lights, close your eyes and fall asleep. You wouldn't have to fumble around for a comfortable position, because without weight or gravity, they'd all be the same. You wouldn't have to worry about falling asleep on an arm or awkwardly on your back/side/stomach, because you are weightless and every position is the same. Every position is the most comfortable and least bodily stressful position. Inertia isn't even an issue. Assuming no one exerts a force on you mid-sleepy time.

Perhaps there's some deeply routed psychological barrier to allowing a human to sleep floating around? What do I know? I'm the guy that wants to sleep in the shower.

Talk amongst yourselves.

Zoom Colored Glasses

2005-08-24T21:00:00.000-07:00

Story #1

With no exposition.
With no segueway.
With no foreshadowing whatsoever.

My darling fiance' turns to me in the car and says as though it makes complete sense at that particular moment in time, "Cantaloupe makes me itchy".

Story #2

In the midst of prattling on about various people we work with.

Zoom: "Did you see that Talula isn't wearing a bra today?"
Me: "No, you know I don't how I could have missed that"
Zoom: "You should really check that out"
Me: "I'll see what I can do"
Zoom: "Her boobs are like smushed sand castles"

Story #3

On our way to one of our favorite LA supper places. Again with a complete lack of warning or hint of any kind.

Zoom: "LA makes me want to smoke"
Me: (As we were mired in inexplicable Saturday afternoon traffic!) "LA freeways make me want to drink"

Story #4

As we enter our building one morning and notice that the crotchedy and cantankerous useless security guard has a bandage the size of futon smothering his forehead.

Zoom: "Ten bucks says he fell down"

Yes, As A Matter Of Fact I Do Like Girls

2005-07-31T11:00:00.000-07:00

This entire post sponsored by the Reverend Brandy.

Particularly her post "The Spank Bank"

Her story reminded me of an old story I thought I'd share. But to do so requires some exposition about me. So here goes.

A lot of people (mostly guys) who meet me for the first time think I'm gay. I don't know if it's how anal retentive I am about dressing and color coordination or if it's that fact that I have so many friends that are women. I don't know if it's the fact that I enjoy some musical theater or the fact that I can pick out a good wine when asked. Most of them know that I am straight, but make jokes to the contrary all the time. Because my shoes and belt are the same color. Because I treat women like human beings. Because I've seen Phantom Of The Opera 10 plus times. Because I've been wine tasting numerous times without being forced. Because I like to shop and have more shoes than most women. Because I am not the frat boy-beer chugging-misogynistic-stereotype male. I must be gay, right?

Now couple that with my sincere love of people watching. I LOVE to go out and watch people at the mall or restaurants or whatever. People truly astound me. It's usually because of what they are wearing. It amazes me what so many people think is acceptable to leave the house in. There are so many people with simply ghastly personal hygiene. I always say that I am WAY more concerned about appearance and hygiene than most people, but there are some people that simply have to be stopped. It's just nasty.

Which leads me to my old story.

At the old firm where I used to work I had a lot of girl friends. We used to go out to lunch all the time. Now, when these lunches took place during the summer, the real fun would begin. You see, my girl friends from the old firm were very attractive. They were 3 different body types, but each was very attractive. When summer rolled around, they'd be dressed in mini-skirts and tank tops and sun dresses and halter tops and what not and that's when the sharks would really start to circle.

So what I would do is hang back from them as we went where ever it was we were going for lunch. I had some of the most fun I have ever had watching guys literally going into seizures as the 3 girlies would walk past them. They'd stop and gawk. They'd pat each other on the back and point. They'd wolf whistle. They'd turn the other way and pretend to bump into them to start a conversation. I'm telling you it was amazing the affect they had on guys. If there was two or more guys, it seemed like it was some sort of genetic predilection that they had to make some sort of scene over the girls.

Now, please do not misunderstand me. I adore women. There have been many times when I have been stopped in my track by a beautiful woman. But, there is a difference between that and launching into the idiot vaudeville routine I've seen so many other guys fall into when a head of blond hair and a set of boobs walks by. I guess I look at a beautiful woman like any other wonderful experience in life. It is meant to be savored, not slathered with drool and bravado. And if you feel uncontrollably compelled to tell a woman she is the most beautiful creature you have ever seen, you can do so without the smarm of a balding used car salesman.

Had I been in a graduate program for sociology, this could have been my master's thesis. "The Female Form's Affect On The Male Pack Mentality". That would have been good times.

The New Super 8 Camera

2005-07-24T12:00:00.000-07:00

It hit me today while I was watching some A&E crime program with Zoom that the blog is the new Super 8 Camera of the information/internet age.

You know how you always see those crusty and grainy home movies that Uncle Olaf shot of your 4th birthday party at the pool? Or the embarrassing pre-prom movies your parents always show you around the holidays? Just like it seemed that every baby boomer family was somehow how issued a Super 8 Camera to record ever bit of familial minutia, so too has the blog been issued to every person, family, grandparent, great aunt or battlefield corporal to record the same minutia in painstaking detail. We get to look in on every single person's life. Only without the painful grit or nauseatingly unsteady camera work from Uncle Olaf.

Case In Point.

Today's Entry. "El Loco".

Zoom and I are out test driving cars on a weekday night. Test driving surprisingly turns into car buying (more details later). The deal takes a little longer than expected (I'm usually pretty good with buying a new car - in and out in about an hour and half). Turns out the car I want needs a certain widget replaced as part of an aftermarket recall. Whatever. Fine, let's get the sale set up now and you can replace the framis or p-valve and I'll pick it up next week. That decided, it still takes almost 3 hours to set it all up.

It is now about 9:00-ish and we are starving. We head on over the El Pollo Loco to make with the eating. I order Zoom her customary BRC No C and I begin to order my usual 2 Chicken Breasts and flour tortillas, when the squawky box stops to tell me they have no chicken. Realizing it is late and actually being thankful the place is even open, I am still taken back by what the box just told me.

Confused, I repeat "You have no chicken?"
The box says, "Um yeah, we ran out of chicken today"
The gears in my brain seize as I say, "You have NO chicken, none at all?"
The box agrees with a "Yeah, we have no chicken. We just ran out of it today. Sorry."
It's funny now as I fire back with "You're El Pollo Loco, and you don't have any chicken. I guess you can just cancel the order then."

This stuck with me all the while Zoom and I were laughing and driving to the next El Pollo Loco. How can a place with the name of a foodstuff in it's name be out of the foodstuff in question? I could not get my mind around it. It'd be like going to Burger King and them telling you they were out of burgers. More to the point, why the hell are you frigging open if you have run out of the stuff your place is supposed to be all about selling? Do you get that many people coming to a place named and famous for their chicken ordering only french fries and pinto beans?

Maybe it's not as weird as I think it is. Maybe I was just really hungry and looking forward to my Chicken Breasts.

I still think they could have served the community better by blacking out the "Pollo" in their neon sign to let people know.

It's The Mechanics That Fascinate Me

2005-07-11T23:00:00.000-07:00

I got into a discussion with Zoom the other day about alternative lifestyles.

I know what you're thinking, but it's not exclusively that.

I am talking about all ways of living that differ from the "norm". Whatever the hell that is.

I'm talking about gay couples. I am talking about the couple where one works and the other stays home (not necessarily to care for a child, but because the other "worker" makes so much frigging money working, that the "loafer" doesn't need to work). I am talking about polygamy.

The constant tenant with them all is that I am fascinated with the mechanics of how they "work". I don't have anything against any of them. Be happy. Do your thing. Whatever works. But the budding sociologist in me, what's to know how they work.

If you have a sugar daddy/mommy, how do you get pocket money? I mean, I understand the whole paying your bills/rent/mortgage/insurance/medical thing, but how do you get pocket money? Is there a shared account that you can bleed whenever you want? Are you like a SUV, do you just pull into the cash pump every once in a while and fill er' up? Do you have to whine to your daddy/mommy for pocket lolly?

If you have more than one wife/husband, how do you know where to sleep at night? Is there a roulette wheel of love? Is there a set schedule of shagging?

If you're gay and single, how do you know who to approach and who not to? Is there a speical hand shake or facial gesture that tips you off? When you finally get to the moment before your first same sex kiss, are you nervous? Do you hink to yourself, "Alright, this is it, after this there is no turning back"?

I'm a simple man. These are the things that I wonder about. Talk amongst yourselves.

It's Picture Time Again

2005-07-11T22:00:00.000-07:00

I got engaged in Ireland. It was only the second time I'd been there, but I knew that after the first time I went, I had to bring the love of my life back there to ask her for her hand. I loved the place. Always will. Amazing scenery, beautiful people and surprising brilliant food.

.....and let's not forget the Beer and Scotch. Ah gidde' up.

That's about the best segueway I can think of as to why you are about to be inundated with pictures from Ireland. It's a truly remarkable place. If you haven't been. Go. Seriously. Don't wait until you're 30 like I did. You will love it.

If you do make it to Ireland, make sure you make it to the Cliffs Of Moher. They will blow you away.

You should also try to see the ancient monastic settlement of Clonmacnoise. The age and history of it or amazing. I don't know if you'll catch a glimpse of the reclusive/indigenous Irish stinkface, but you might get lucky.

This is Frodo. Zoom is in the picture because she's cute and for reference. Frodo is the cutest little dog I've ever seen. If you go to Roundwood house, look him up.

Ah, those wacky Irish. They start them in the fine art of international relations and hospitality at a very early age. Waterford was particularly warm and fuzzy. This made us laugh. A lot.

I told my Irish real estate broker that I was looking for a little out the way place, where I could enjoy some peace and solitude. I think she came through in fine form. I dropped a couple of quid on this beauty.

With all it's simple ways and beauty there are still a lot of the hassles of modern life and civilization in Ireland. The traffic is a real bitch. But don't worry, we didn't have a cow about it and were able to steer our way around it. Is that the manure that stinks or that pun?

Go to Roundstone. Go to the coast. It's worth the curves and driving. There's an old graveyard on the beach. Walk around and soak up the history. Then grab a pint and some garlic grilled oysters at O'Dowd's.

This is Sheridan the Magnificent. He LIVES to fetch. He's another resident of Roundwood House. He will fetch every stick you throw and carry them all in his mouth at once. This is his tough guy ready to fetch posture.

This is Kylemore Abbey. It's a nunnery/girls boarding school. It is a brilliant site. Beautiful and scenic grounds. But the best part is truly the Abbey gift shop/commissary. I had the best frigging turkey/gravey/stuffing sandwich I have ever eaten there. I purchased every one of the sandwiches they had they were so good.

I Had Me A Dream

2005-07-06T12:00:00.000-07:00

So I'm in a shopping mall running around doing this and that with Zoom. It's the shopping mall from my childhood. It still has all the old stores and the food places it used to have. We're having fun. Nothing is really happening, but we're having fun like we do now. Just enjoying each other's knucklehead company.

When all of a sudden I run into a girl. The girl is the younger sister of one of close childhood friends. It turns out that this girl is my fiance'. She's jibber jabbering about how she's missed me and she hasn't seen me in so long and that our rings are in. Apparently we are going to be married. And soon.

So I go pick up my ring and go over to mom's house and we look at it. It's a thick gold band. The weird part is, not only do I have this wedding band, I still have the real life wedding bands that I will putting on when I marry Zoom in the real world. I then start comparing the two bands and putting them next to each other. I try to figure out what possessed me to tell anyone I wanted anything that was gold. Gold is, after all, yacky.

This then leads to this whole introspection (within the context of the dream) about marriage and my life. I keep thinking, I don't want to marry this girl. I don't even know this girl. What the hell was I thinking? I want to be with Zoom. I like Zoom. I have fun with Zoom. But, then I come back to the real world within the dream (has anyone's head exploded yet?) that I can't just stop the wedding. It's too late now. All the plans have been made. All the invitations have been sent out. All the flowers/cake/tuxedos/minstrels have been ordered and paid for. So, I fall back onto a resolve that I will marry the girl I don't know. My dream logic is that everyone's marriage blows and ends up badly, so that's what I have to face. That's just the way it is. I'll just suck it up and power through this marriage. I don't to do it, but everyone doesn't want to do it. It's just what you do when you're an adult. You get married, even though you don't want to and would rather be with someone else.

....and then I woke up.

Now, I'm a big believer in the memory flush theory of dreaming. But, I don't have the slightest issue/fear/reservation about marrying Zoom. In fact, it's the opposite. I can't wait. I want it done NOW.

So the question goes to you, my beloved internet........

WHAT'S UP WITH THAT!?

Sweet Christ It's Late

2005-07-01T02:00:00.000-07:00

I can hear Golden Earring in my head even as we speak.

It's 2 am (it's 2 am) The fear is gone (the fear is gone) I'm sitting here waiting (sitting here waiting) The gun's still warm (the gun's still warm)

Sing it if you know it.

I just got in from the movies (we finally saw Mr. and Mrs. Smith - it's nothing more than a popcorn flick with intermittent flashes of Angelina Jolie unbelievable hotness) with Zoom and we don't have to work for the next 4 days. I had me a little 20 year old single malt scotch. I had me a little cigarette.

WOOOO-FRIGGING-HOOOO!!

Life is good.

I guess I am up contemplating that very fact. For all the moaning I do (and lately there's been a lot), I have a very very good life. Couple that good life with the next 4 days off and nothing scheduled to do during those 4 days and you see how easily I slip into philosophic jibber-jabber. I'm also up in an effort to embrace and enjoy more of this life. I want to stay up later and soak in my free time. I want to put my feet up and keep reminding myself how wonderful it is to not have to work for a while. I want to enjoy this time. I want to Jim Croce this time in a bottle I'll never lose.

I don't know about anyone else, but I hate to have plans. HATE IT! Nothing irks me more than knowing a weekend or time off is approaching and I have to do this or do that during that time. Whether it be a wedding or a bachelor party or a graduation or a tea party. Whatever. I long for the weekends when I have no plans or no duties or no obligations. The weekends where I can just sit on the couch and watch re-runs of Law & Order all weekend if I want. Sure I can pull weeds, or clean the pond, or reorganize the house, or fold laundry, or knit a sweater, but I don't HAVE TO do any of those things.

So raise your glasses to the real time off. Time to breathe in the really good life that sometimes gets forgotten. Time off to remember what matters.

I Don't Like Fridays

2005-06-21T21:00:00.000-07:00

Yup, that's right. You heard me.

Friday's blow.

They don't have a thing on their menu that's edible, unless you're falling down drunk. I only say this, because I've been there. Slobbering and wobbling drunk and eating whatever steaming vermin they serve there. It's just plain yacky.

Then there's the day itself. It blows too. Big time. If you work in I.T. you know why and what I am talking about. Everyone else is fluttering around and excited about their weekend picnic in the park plans. They're yammering on about how they're going on weekend getaway to the wine country. They're saying how "busy" they'll be at soccer games or swim meets or whatever other yuppie good Christian fellowship they can come up with.

What am I doing on Friday? Running around like a chicken with my head cut off because invariably every monkey waits until Friday morning to come up with whatever complex and completely random request they can't live with out over the weekend. They may have known that they were going to Guadalajara for a year, but it isn't until the Friday before they leave that they relay the need for a portable rocket launcher and laptop with a keyboard that will allow them to type in Aramaic. They may have known they would be going on safari in the Australian outback for 3 years, yet they still wait until the night before to demand that you enable their Blackberry and cell phone to be fully functional while they're on "walk-a-bout".

If I had a dime for every pony or laser beam someone requested at 5:56 p.m. on a Friday, you'd all have to start calling me the Crown Prince Of Cynicism. Or the Maharaja Of Rancor. Or the Sultan Of Bitterness. Or the Arch Duke Of Acrimony.

You get the picture. Nice to know that studying for the SAT finally paid off.

Oh, there is one Friday "related" thing that does not suck. If you've never tried "Fridays - Cheddar and Bacon Potato Skins", you really should. They're sold in a bag like chips. They're a little thicker than potato chips, but they're all kinds of yummy.

Sticking Feathers Up Your Butt Does Not Make You A Chicken

2005-06-21T16:00:00.000-07:00

* * * * DISCLAIMER * * * *

This post is liable to be all over the place. I know I have warned you about this before. It doesn't make it any less true this time. So everyone grab themselves a buddy and try and keep up.

It's no secret I love the movies. I always have. From Star Wars to Leon. From The Matrix to Pulp Fiction. From Amelie to Braveheart. From Payback to Lock Stock And Two Smoking Barrels. From Seven to Arthur. From Aliens to Better Off Dead. From Big Trouble In Little China to Chasing Amy.

You get the picture (no pun intended).

It's the escape-ism. I can go to the movies and turn my brain off for 2 or 3 hours. This does not mean I always go to mindless movies (Yes, I loves me the Dumb And Dumber and the latest Alien/Predator related anything), it just means that I can go and sever my brains connection to my life for 2 or 3 hours. This used to be a huge part of my life because my life was "unfulfilling". I lived at home. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. I had a crappy job. My love life was erratic. I was drowning in debt. I wasn't where I wanted to be. The movies made it all go away. I could be Batman for 2 hours. I could conquer Germania for 2 hours. I could fight off the British for 2 hours. I could mastermind the theft of 100 million dollars for 2 hours. I could be anything and anyone but me for 2 hours.

It's not that I had anywhere close to a horrible life. I had a wonderful family and a place to live. I had a job and a college degree. I had friends and loved ones. I just wasn't happy because it isn't where I thought I should be at that certain time in my life.

Then, about 2 years ago, my life took a turn for the better. I met a wonderful girl. I fell in love with a beautiful girl. I'm going to marry the perfect girl. She's the fulcrum that's completely turned my life around. I am now finally where I always wanted and thought I should be. All because of her. She fell into my life and my life changed forever.

That doesn't mean that the sappy introspective demons within me don't rear their heads from time to time.

Case in point.

I'm out for my afternoon walk and I've got the music playing like I always do. It's a nice time to relax and unwind after work. It is also the time when my mind starts to wander about this and that. So, I'm thinking about the future of home prices in my area, about things I still have to do for the wedding, about how I need to get a new job, about how I need to go back to school, about how I have to get certified in some facet of I.T. to some how validate my position in I.T. management , about how I need to lose weight, about how I need a vacation. BLAH BLAH BLAH WOO IS ME WOO IS ME.

Then God hits me with it. I come around a bend and see a guy reading at a park picnic bench. He's only got the clothes on his back, a small backpack, a bicycle, his book and a blanket of newspapers to sleep on.

Point taken God. Take a nice cleansing step backward and get over myself.

Another case in point.

I get some dinner. The guy gives me $10 too much in change. Without hesitating, I give him the $10 back and tell him he gave me too much. I do this like it's something I've done a thousand times before. He is stunned. I AM STUNNED! Who the hell is this new guy? I would have never EVER done that before. It was always just their dumb luck and I'd gleefully go along knowing I got away with extra money. Perhaps my ties and beliefs in Karma have concentrated a bit.

Another case in point.

I'm walking around the college continuing with my nightly exercise, when I come upon the night shift cleaning crew. It's an entire swarm of Mexican men and women on their way to custodial work for the college. I start to think how sad it is that they spend so much time at this prestiguous university only the sweep up after all the sniveling little unappreciative rats that actually attend the school. That shifts into an appreciation for them, because at least they're making a visible contribution. Their job does something. You can see the results of their work. Further, their job is selfless. They are probably paid horrible wages and you never know they're there. Yet, without them, the college becomes a mountain of filth. Unlike my job of supporting a bunch of paper pushing muckity mucks. Not anyone can do what I do, but that doesn't make me feel any better or fulfilled. I've always felt like it was blind luck I got to where I am today and that at any moment someone is going to "discover" me and it's all going to come tumbling down. I'll be revealed as the sham I've always considered myself to be.

Which brings me back full circle to the movies.

One of the movies (and books/authors for that matter - one of the rare instances when a movie is actually better than the book that inspired it - and if you've never read Chuck Palahniuk you really should ) that has had the greatest influence on me and my evolving lifelong personal ideology is "Fight Club". It really made me look at my life. It made me think about a lot of things in a different perspective. I am not someone who easily bends their philosophies or ideologies, but it really made me re-evaluate things and assess just what my life was about.

If you've seen the bar scene between Tyler and the Narrator, you can probably understand what I'm talking about.

"Things you own, end up owning you" "I say, never be complete. I say, let's evolve and let the chips fall where they may"

But more to the point here today, is the discussion Tyler and The Narrator have about comittment.

"Sticking Feathers Up Your Butt Does Not Make You A Chicken" Tyler says at one point. His point being that you can gab all you want about anything, but until you commit to it and really do, you're just kidding yourself.

So that's where I am right now. What do I do about all the things going on in my head about my job/career? I have the perfect woman. I have the perfect house. I have the perfect life, except I loathe my job. I am in the field I want to be in, but not doing what I want to be doing. I've become the whipping boy jack of all trades. This is not what I want to be.

Anyone have any advice for someone struggling with changing jobs/careers after they've spent almost 15 years doing the same thing?

I'd love to hear from you if you do.

I am Jack's Need For Career Counseling

Is It Just Me?

2005-06-13T12:00:00.000-07:00

Perhaps I am missing something here......

......but?

Why do certain kidnapping/abductions get the ridiculous media spotlight and some don't? Am I the only one who remembers seeing thousands of kids on the backs of milk cartons? Where the hell is all their air/camera/radio/Katie Couric time? Is it a money or affluence thing? Is it an exotic locale thing? Is it an accessibility to the concerned parties thing? Is it the exigent or tabloidesque circumstances of the disappearance/abduction?

The one thing I do know is that if I someone I loved went missing, and I didn't get the kind of coverage that Aruba girl is getting, I'd be getting some media attention of my own.

I'm not trying to be critical of the Aruba girl situation or belittle the pain her family is going through, I am only using it as a frame of reference. I could have used the Utah harp girl too. I could have used the runaway bride (whom I firmly believe they should have thrown the book at).

I am just saying that I do not understand why one person is more important when they vanish than another person. I am not trying to make some sort of sappy philanthropic appeal for equality here either, I am just honestly intrigued by the formula that must exist wherein some people get the news van and the peppy news anchor lead in and some get printed on milk cartons and are forgotten just as quickly.

Perhaps we've just reached a point in society where we're all so desensitized to everything that it takes an fiery asteroid hurtling to earth to make the evening news.

Zoom Colored Glasses

2005-06-10T12:00:00.000-07:00

Story #1

Every time we go to this one stooooopid shopping center, I always bemoan how crappily designed the parking lot is. All the lanes are 2 feet wide and the fast food places have drive through exits that are impossible to exit out of. Couple that with the constant influx of 1968 Lincoln Continental driving Matlock fans and screaming hordes of Cadillac/Range Rover/Suburban/Lincoln/ H.M.S. Titanic SUV driving clueless soccer moms, and you start to see why the grumble rears it's head.

During my last tirade, Zoom calmly turns to me and says with no segueway or introduction, "You know, the only perfectly designed parking lots are freeways".

Story #2

It was tough morning. Zoom does not like to get out of bed on any morning, but getting up for work is the worst. She'll squirm and fight. She'll throw things at me and move away as I come to wake her up. She comes up with a new aversion almost everyday.

Today she could not wake up. We both are not morning people and often can only let out grunts and single syllables before we totally wake up. Today was a banner day in Zoom's struggle to cope with the morning. She was grumbling and pouting and fighting the wake up. Her level of single syllables appexed as we drove into the parking structure at work.

Perhaps inspired by being so close to where the orchestra plays, I turn to her and say, "Wow Zoom, that's quite a symphony of grunts you're working out today".

The Cure For Anorexia

2005-06-09T16:00:00.000-07:00

I'm probably going to catch all kinds of heat for this. Both, because this is a topic charged with violent currents of political correctness and it paints me out to be all kinds of gay ("not that there's anything wrong with that" J. Seinfeld 1996).

But, in the interest of public service, I perservere. Here's to you, my beloved internet. This one's for you.

Now, before I begin, a disclaimer;

I am not a doctor. I have never been a doctor nor have I received medical training of any kind. I have never even played a doctor on TV.

Anorexia is a body consciousness issue. Those afflicted with it consistently believe that they are out of shape, fat, ugly, disproportionate etc. It does not matter how thin they get or how much they exercise, they always see themselves in a warped funhouse mirror. They cannot escape their own false conception of themselves.

Here's the simple solution.

Wait for it.

Join a gym. It's not for the reason you think. It has nothing to do with exercise or weight management. It's the elixir to all your confidence issues.

Wanna get over your poor self image? Wanna see yourself in a brand new healing light? Wanna see that no matter how much you let yourself go, YOU ARE STILL MORE ATTRACTIVE/COORDINATED/HYGIENIC THAN A SUBSTANTIAL PORTION OF THOSE AROUND YOU.

Maybe it's just me. Maybe my gym is just the Leper Colony of Orange County and I just didn't know it. It's just that I have seen things that have almost driven me into therapy. I've seen creatures that could carry a 3 picture horror movie franchise. I went to the gym because I started to dislike me. I wanted to look better naked (L. Burnham 2001). It took paying for and going to the gym to make me see that I really wasn't the sloth I thought I was. I still need to lose weight and get my butt/heart in shape, but the self image is in a much better place now. MUCH MUCH better place.

And finally, to the innumerable Yeti's I'm forced to share a shower with at said gym, could you seriously do something about your shag carpeting body hair? Seriously take a look in the mirror Chewbacca. There are treatments and places you can go. It's just not right. If I have to get into a shower one more time and it looks like Napoleon Dynamite is lodged in the shower drain, I may have to take a hostage.

Further, pubic hair needs to be attended to. It is not free range foliage that you just let go. Like that hair on your head, it grows and needs attention. Because again, if I get into the shower once more with a guy that looks like he's got a Pomeranian in a leg lock, you may read about it in the papers.

How An IHOP Saved My Life

2005-06-02T15:00:00.000-07:00

It didn't actually save my life. I mean, I would not have died if I had not come across the hallowed home of breakfasts. Let's just say that it saved me from dying in an embarrassment sense.

Anyhoo.....

So, Zoom and I have started to work out/exercise again. She joined the gym I go to (because I've been there forever and I get a ridiculously low rate). If we don't go to the gym, we'll walk to the park or the college or to the Fatburger. Unless there is something good on TV, or the fish are doing tricks, or the bunnies come out to play or it's hot. We're dedicated. You get the picture.

The problem with me is, I am an impulse exerciser. Especially if I haven't worked out for a while. The first time I go back or start again, I go crazy and exercise for 4 hours. My adrenaline gets going and I can't stop. It's even worse now with an iPod, because the music makes me even more stupid/crazy.

So, the other night I go out for a walk by myself. Zoom went to the gym and I went for a walk. Separating us. Bad idea. I make my way to the college (it's about a mile or so) and then stop and have some dinner. I then start walking home and as I am, I am scream singing along with the iPod music. If anyone in the Irvine/Woodbridge area had there window open and could have sworn that they heard a crazy person yoddling down the street, that'd be me. Call it American Idol with no prize or judges. I'm all hyper and singing and when I get the last intersection before the one to our house, I decide I'm going to go the long way home. I proceed to turn right and make my way home the long way. Needless to say, it was CONSIDERABLY longer than I anticipated. This would not have been an issue, had I not had sushi and coke for dinner.

I continue to truck along and am content in the fact that I am exercising that much more to get my fat butt back into better shape. But without warning, it hits me. My bladder and stomach decide to duke it out over who can get me to sprint to the nearest toilet as fast as possible. It is then that I realize how much farther it really is to get to where I thought I knew where I was headed. I start to do breathing exercises to control my bowels. I start to sing more to get my mind off the impending blowout. But, no matter what I did, my mind and body knew exactly how much distance there was to the next toilet. They aligned perfectly to create a rising level or panic and discomfort that would apex just as I was wrenching my pants down around my ankles. I am thinking of ways to squat in the bushes along the road. I am trying to figure out the best angle to hide my naked butt if I have to engage in and emergency trowel drop.

I decide I can make it. I'll keep clenching my bum and I'll keep trying to not think about my bladder exploding.

I make it to the IHOP I knew was there all along. It was just about twice the distance I figured on. I yammer something at the guy at the front of the restaurant and charge into the loo. I fling my iPod off and hang it on the stall door and literally tear my shorts to my ankles just as the passengers begin to unload. I look skyward and thank the heavens that I did not fill my pants. I probably thanked the sky 4 or 5 times. I made it after all.

But.......(no pun intended)

After the initial euphoria of my bowels releasing had worn off, I realized that in my haste, I'd forgotten about my wallet that I'd tucked into the back of my shorts. The shorts I wear to work out in have no pockets, so to take my wallet to buy dinner, I just tuck it in the back of my pants. This is fine, except when you are tearing them off and going butt first toward the toilet. I reach back to feel the shorts to see if the wallet is there. It isn't. Trainspotting thoughts now rush through my mind. I'd made quite a sizeable deposit, and the thought of my wallet/ATM card/money swimming together with this deposit was quite gruesome. I'd simply have to get a new wallet/ATM card/money. I did finally comfort myself in the fact that I made it to the bathroom. At least I hadn't soiled myself. At least I didn't have to move out of town because of embarrassment.

As I sat there convincing myself that I would be fine, I felt something move and shift at the base of my spine. It freaked my out until I realized it was my wallet and it was still stuck to the small of my back via sweat. I'd been sweating so profusely because of the near public dookie experience, that my wallet was literally fused to my skin. Almost fused as it turns out. As soon as I realized what it was it broke loose from me and tried to dive into the murky depths below. But I acted swiftly and shifted back toward the wall and pinched it between my right cheek and the wall.

I was so thrilled with myself, you'd think I just scored the winning goal in Game 7 of the Stanley Cup playoffs. It is amazing how good saving 12 dollars from a poopie demise can be.

On a side note (if only because I can't leave you with thoughts of dookie dancing round' your heads); As I was making my way home I came across a car in the throws of making a left turn. It had it's signal on and everything, but it was just sitting there. There was no traffic. There was nothing obstructing it from continuing on. I couldn't figure it out. I got closer and closer to it, only to realize there were two people hardcore making out in the car in the middle of street. The guy in the passenger seat had literally enveloped the girl driving the car in love. So, as I walked by the car and noticed that the windows were down a couple inches, I let out my best Joey Tribbiani in salute and appreciation. "YEAH YA' DO!!!" I yelped out.

Needless to say our young lovebirds were scared out of their minds. After restarting their hearts, they continued on with their left turn now unobstructed by love.

I Really Need Proper Supervision

2005-05-12T12:00:00.000-07:00

In my zeal to touch up the formatting of my blog via Front Page, I inadvertently torched the proper hyperlink coding for commenting.

I have since repaired it.

Comment away. I repeat, THE COMMENTS SECTION IS NOW FULLY FUNCTIONAL.

.....it'll actually work now.

.....well, at least until I want to change the slightest something again, and end up causing more damage.

Is This Rod Serling's Floor?

2005-05-10T23:00:00.000-07:00

So I get in the elevator to go downstairs for the 5:00 o'clock "almost time to go home/I need a break before I take a hostage" snack.

I hear sort of a muffled grumble before the doors open. Kind of like a bad walkie talkie connection.

The doors open and I dismiss what I thought I heard. I get in and the doors close.

"Hello! ize mahattam grundadad dare or spueaking?", says the elevator.

I step out of the puddle of urine I have just created and immediately downshift from terrified that I may have just dialed into God via an elevator, to normal everyday being courteous to someone who has called a wrong number.

"Um, you've called an elevator", I say as though that kind of thing happens all the time.

"Ohd, den dist noomber not real to de real number", squawks back the elevator speakerphone thingie that I didn't even knew existed.

"Uh, yeah sorry, I think you have the wrong number", I kinda repeat.

"Alright, thank you for your help", chirps back the elevator in suddenly perfect non-accented English.

"Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue", I think to myself as I make my way to the chocolate dispensary.

.....and you thought you were scared of elevators before

Welcome To The Swank New Hotel Geriatric Asshat

2005-05-10T22:00:00.000-07:00

So we got new neighbors on the lower floor of our office. We occupy the entire top floor above this particular floor and about 2/3 of the floor beneath.

So we have to share with whatever tenant wants whatever parcel of space that remains on this lower floor. This firm moved into a suite on the floor that took up the remaining part of this lower floor.

So, to recap, we occupy 2/3 of the floor, they occupy 1/3 of the floor. Everyone follow?

I don't know what business they conduct, but from the looks of the suits from the new suite, it has to have something to do with Geritol testing or "Murder She Wrote/Matlock" focus groups. The plebeian employees are all fairly young, but the muckity mucks are all fossils.

Anyway...

It takes them a week or so to move in to their newly remodeled gaudy Roman porn palace, but when they finally get settled in the fun starts.

The first thing they did was to put up a shiny new brass sign in front of the doors to our suite that says "Restrooms" with an arrow pointing down the hall.

Now here's my problems with this; First, no one said you could stake your shiny idiot marker in front of an office you do not own or occupy. Second, it's not like this floor is some sort of Herculean death maze. There is one main hallway that connects both suites and the bathroom. If your idiot employees or clients are too daft to know that our suite is not the bathroom, there is a good chance that a sign pointing down the hall is not going to get them to the can either. Your best bet is to put up a series of signal flares or electric theater floor lights to get these wizards to the john. Couple that with the fact that these simpletons you are trying to direct to the loo are more likely to stop and drool over the shine-o-city of your sign than to continue on to relieve themselves. Lastly, how unbelievably lazy are you to not be able to muster enough the four simple words "It's Down The Hall".

The second thing they did was to stock the shared bathroom on this floor up with all the smarmy crap you find in those uppity hotels and restaurant bathrooms. You know, hand lotion, hair spray, mouthwash, silver spoons etc..

Now here's my problem with this; This is not the Plaza. This is not Spago. This is not 1935 Hollywood. What men still wear/use hair spray!? What poor suck from their firm is given the job of making sure all the toiletry bric-a-brac is stocked up!? "Yes Tony, welcome aboard, you'll be in charge of opening the mail, making copies, sending out faxes and making sure there is an ample supply of breath mints and moist wipeys in the men's crapper".

Now, because these monkeys also occupy an entire floor higher in the building, I have myself a little Nancy Drew moment and go up there and see if they have the same arrangement of stupid there. Turns out they don't. They have a flat screen TV in their lobby, but no toilet gift baskets. Which means, the main floor spurned these tools and cast them down to the depths of our floor. Thanks a pantload for that.

And before I forget, don't even get me started on bathroom attendants. I cannot think of a more pointless and degrading job. "Thank God you were here Tito or I'd have had no clue how to turn the faucet on, let alone where to go for a towel to dry my hands." I don't even want to talk to my friends in a public bathroom let alone some random uniformed "there to help me with me post-potty needs" stranger.

If I ever get to work and there is a bathroom attendant here, you'll read about it in the papers.

The Genius Of Beck

2005-05-10T21:00:00.000-07:00

......loves me the Beck.

I got a beard that would disappear If I'm dressed in leather

Love machines on the sympathy crutches

Driving my pig while the bear's taking pictures

Community service and I'm still the mack

Talking trash to the garbage around you

Got a couple of couches sleep on the love seat

So i'm picking up the pieces, and i'm puttin' them up for sale

Matchsticks strike when I'm riding my bike to the depot

Zoom Colored Glasses

2005-05-08T20:00:00.000-07:00

I am going to be in the new car market this September. Ironically, it will be only 2 months before I get married (more on that as it develops).

One of the cars I am considering is the new Chrysler 300. I am sort of a car snob in a lot of ways. This is really only the first American car I've ever liked. I can't describe it, I just like the look of it. I have yet to test drive it, but I do like the way it looks.

I've been trying to sell Zoom on the various cars I am interested in with limited success. She has an opinion on the Chrysler 300 as all other car buying whims I run by her.

"I guess I'd like it more if it weren't for it's wide toothy grin".

Zoom Colored Glasses

2005-05-07T09:00:00.000-07:00

So we're driving to lunch the day after I got my new iPod shuffle.

FYI - If you're in the market for a flash MP3 player, I cannot recommend it enough. The sound quality is superb. It weighs nothing. It is a great solution for taking music with you to do anything active. Well worth the money.

So we're in the car and I am yammering on and on about how I can't get over how small the thing is and how it is so surreal to use it because it literally feels like music is coming from nothing. Having used Walkmans all my life or other disk drive based MP3 players, it is just weird to have something that plays such high quality music, has no moving or vibrating parts, weighs nothing, and doesn't need a case or a belt clip or a carrying case.

This is when Zoom dubs the Shuffle the "Musical Q-Tip" and goes on to say how frightened she is of the Q-Tip and that I should keep it away from her. She knows how much I loves the thing, and is nervous around it because she is convinced she'll swallow the thing. I thought the thing looked more like the little sugar dipping sticks form the old Lik-M-Aid Candy things, but likening the thing to an actual foodstuff does't help with the whole swallowing phobia thing.

"What's the next step for Apple, the Apple iPod Aspirin? Yeah that'll be great, you'll get one of those and then we'll be talking and then all of a sudden it'll be ooooops! I just swallowed 800 dollars of technology".

Five Five Five

2005-05-05T11:00:00.000-07:00

It's Cinco De Mayo kids. But not only is it Cinco De Mayo, it is the fifth day of the fifth month of the fifth year.

Or,

05.05.05

Kinda weird. You may be asking, why is it any different than other recent date alliterations like 01.01.01 or 02.02.02 etc.?

Here's how.

I am by no means a religious person. Though I attended church regularly (under my parent's regime) until I graduated from high school, went through 2 years of confirmation classes, went to Sunday School every Sunday, those days are behind me. I'll go to Christmas Eve service or Mother's Day service now and again for my mom's sake, but I soured on religion of any kind a long time ago. When the church I grew up in started handing out statements to all the members on how much they had put in the offering plate every week, I could feel the lightning bolt wrath of God was upon us. It gave me the money changers at the temple vibe. Remember how Jesus got his whoop ass on when that happened? How was this any different? Or as Bono (the aging pop star, not my duckie traveling companion) once so eloquently put it, "The God I believe in isn't short of cash mister!"

Which brings me to my point (sort of). I am not religious at all and those who push and peddle religion and wrap it around themselves like some sort of "justify anything/get out of jail free card" blanket make me ill quicker than any carnival ride that spins.

But, that is not to say that I do not believe in God or a God. I am not one of those monkeys with a "I'm Not Religious, I Just Love The Lord" bumper stickers. These are the self affirming and self congratulating morons I am talking about when I say how much I loathe organized religion of any flavor.

I believe in God because I have to. I have to believe that there is some greater power or control or judge over things. I have to believe that there is some great supernatural power that holds you accountable for your life after it's over. I simply could not go on if I didn't. If I thought for one minute that all the inconsiderate/pompous/blowhards of this world could act the ass for their entire life and treat everyone and everything in this world like their own personal toilet paper and get away with it, I'd go mad. I have to believe in a God because God is there to cash in all the Karma after these human pimples finally punch their ticket. Some power has to exist to bring them back as toilet brushes or to spend an eternity with fresh paper cuts and hemorrhoids.

I know this belief is fraught with questions and problems. What if the universe or all existence is simply not fair? What if God is nothing more than some sick Loki playing a lifetime of pranks on all of Earth's hairless monkeys? I don't have answers for all the angles and questions and problems with my beliefs. I just know that a certain number of truly good and amazing things and people have happened to me in my life that make me cheer and hope that the God is fair and good.

So I believe in God and that he uses his power for good.

Which brings me back to my point (sort of) again.

This year we get 05.05.05.

Next year we get 06.06.06., or 666. Because this year's 555 is only a year away from next year's 666, that is why I decided to bring up this year's cool date of 555. It's just because it is closer to a number that means something than the previous cool dates of 111 or 222 etc..

So here's my hot water time machine stream of consciousness diagram for today;

1. Heard on the radio that they were having a Cinco De Mayo party
2. That reminded me that it was 555
3. 555 means that next year is 666
4. 666 is the number of the beast
5. God doesn't like that number
6. But that's just what a religion says
7. I don't believe in religion
8. But I do believe in God
9. Begin tireless cycle of personal introspection and let those thoughts spill into a rambling post on the internet

Maybe I should start taking cold showers instead?

Pink Dot Piddle Peddler

2005-05-04T23:00:00.000-07:00

We got new life insurance at the job
We had to take a "test" before getting it
We made a phone call to the medical lab
We made an appointment for them to come to the house
We had them come on a week night
We had them come at 7:00
We made with the pee in a cup
We signed forms
We waved goodbye as the Pink Dot Piddle Peddler finally left

Here's my point.

I can't get the cable/gas/electric/water company to come to the house without promising them my right testicle and first born child.

Yet,

I can simply pick up the phone and call a place that will make an appointment for whenever I want, to come to me at my house to collect my urine. They COME TO ME TO GET MY PEE. This is the kind of Pink Dot service I did not know existed.

But it begs the question, why can't stuff I need or want by brought to me where I am whenever I want or need it? If some random woman can come to me and fill up two vials of my piss, I SHOULD BE ABLE TO GET A FATBURGER BACON EGG SANDWICH MESSENGERED TO MY DOORSTEP WHENEVER THE MOOD STRIKES ME!

I'm just saying. Someone needs to take this customer service epiphany and run with it.

On a side note, I will never EVER complain about my job again. Well, at least not as much as I do now. At the very least, I'm not going door to door to collect random strangers wee-wee.

Perhaps this is one of those karma whiplash/purgatory jobs we all fear. Right up there with jizz mopping at a sleazy porn theater or working at the DMV.

Zoom Colored Glasses

2005-05-02T22:00:00.000-07:00

It is another typical night in the life of Zoom and Supa C.

We find our heroes at the hardware store, buying windshield wiper fluid so the damn car will stop warning light screaming at us every time we turn the key. They happen upon the juice in question and pick out two gallon size versions of the stuff.

Cash Register Guy: That'll be $3.42, do you want a bag for these
Zoom (who, unless it involves making me squirm, is mortally terrified of strangers) without skipping a beat: No, that's alright, he wants to be able to show off his Jugs
Cash Register Guy: Um......er......um.......oh

Spinning The Wheel O' Pictures

2005-05-02T21:00:00.000-07:00

I gots' to keeps my internet peeps entertained. I may flail now and again. I may espouse this or that. But I'm a sucker for pretty color pictures too.

Every so often you just need to zip it with the talky-talk and make with the pictures YO!

My beloved internet, this batch of random pictures is for you.

This was taken in beautiful Yosemite valley. I'd seen a gagillion Ansel Adams El Capitan ripoffs and I wanted something different. I figured a spooky dead tree would make a good frame.

Skillit makes a certain grinny face when she's sass smiling. Here's me trying to imitate it. "Trying" being the key phrase here.

Even waterfalls should have sexual freedom. Don't you think? This one is certainly asserting it's independence.

It's normally too damn hot to go out to the land of really good U2 albums, but there are certain times you can get out there and make with the rock hop. It's really good times. It's a good way to launder your Karma or any other spiritual thing that's grown dingy over time.

Dead lone standing tree. Sentinel Dome. A rubber duck named Bono. Pure photographic magic.

This is as close as Bono and I got to Half Dome. Isn't it cool how rough and angular Half Dome is close up? Thanks to my stooooopid brand new Nike "hiking" boots, we were not able to make it to the top. The damn things would not grip the rock up the side of the dome. Mr. Nike President, DO YOU HEAR ME!?

Bono's bravado the day before we took the Half Dome trek. He was gushing to all his duckie chums about how he was going to destroy Half Dome. He was going to climb it as no duck had ever climbed it before. Yeah, not so much. You know what they say about the best laid plans of ducks and boys?

Zoom Colored Glasses

2005-04-30T00:00:00.000-07:00

We are starting a new regular segment here at T.T.B.A.I., it is called "Zoom Colored Glasses. It will feature a collection of all the precious private moments of funny/non-segueway/creative hearing/creative vision I get to share with Zoom.

......and now I'm sharing them with you. Enjoy.

Me: You know, what's her name is out next week
Zoom: Whatever happened to her dad after his motorcycle accident?
Me: Oh, he lost a leg, but he made a full recovery
Zoom: There was no paralization?
Me: You mean, paralysis?
Zoom: Hmmmpfh....Yeah whatever

A.D.D. Shout Out

2005-04-22T18:00:00.000-07:00

Text can be very tedious. You can have the funniest/scariest/wittiest bunch of words in front of you, but you have to invest something in them for them to mean or generate anything.

That is why I try to throw my beloved internet a bone now and again.

To all those who fall victim to the black magic of the blinkie box, day after day, this one's for you;

Here's a beautiful little something I stole from a blog written by a guy in Toronto. His whole blog is just pictures. He is my hero. If you listen really close you can hear The Fixx playing the background.

He continues to be my hero here. I am a sucker for winter photography. I loves me the cold. Rain. Cold. Good times. Why I live in California in the land of no weather is anyone's guess.

Oh yeah. This is one of the reasons I live in California. The Getty Museum. If you've never gone. Go. Seriously. It is truly amazing, both for it's architectural design and astounding collections. They have PB&J sandwiches there too. Which is nice.

Why It Is So Very Hard To Be Me

2005-04-22T17:00:00.000-07:00

I am a vigorous nose blower and sneezer. I always have been. My theory has always been that if you can't feel or hear it, you aren't really blowing your nose or sneezing. Besides, these are two of the rare times in your life when you're allowed to get totally out of control and it is completely socially acceptable. Orgasms and tax audits being two of the other times. I actually loathe people who sneeze like cute little cartoon bunny rabbits. And the worst are the people that go through this huge pre-hurricane inhalation, only to end up not letting any of the sneeze out. AH AH AH AH AH......nothing. I swear that one of these days my buddy K is going to blow his own head clean off his shoulders. Kind of like if Scanners had a Persian character.

Anyway, I digress.

So I'm making with the thundering nose blow today and as a consequence of said nose blow, there is oft' much tissue residue on my shirt. Yes, I have to blow the foghorn that hard to make sure all the sinus critters have left the building. Because of the kleenex shrapnel, I am forced to dust myself post sneeze-fest. I always do this. Well, today as I'm making with the hanky decontamination, I am dusting myself off so veraciously, I dust one of the buttons of my shirt clean off. It's a little disconcerting to actually hear the post-sneeze residue hit the floor. It was then that I realized what I had done.

Either I need to consider cutting down on the Frappucinos or I may need counseling for my inner desire to flash my co-workers.

I Actually Heard Someone Say This Today

2005-04-22T16:00:00.000-07:00

Where does the grrrr against people come from you ask?

I'll tell you. Plain and simply. It's all these self-absorbed monkeys walking around who have convinced themselves or fallen prey to the glad handing and back slapping of others that they are somehow "above" the petty duties/chores/worries of the "not above" masses

Monkey #1 - "I need a shipping slip"
Monkey #2 - "You can find them in the supply room"
Monkey #1 - "No, I need to send something out and my secretary is gone, so I need someone to get me a slip and fill it out for me"
Monkey #2 - "Oh, I see. I'll find someone for you"

FIND SOMEONE FOR YOU!? Yes I believe we have a one eyed armless tree sloth in the back that can handle this "chore" for you. Can you see or comprehend that in the time you worked up your whiny little soft shoe routine, you could have had the tedious task of filling out the form completed YOURSELF!

Sweet Christ people. If you get a degree, of any kind, remember this story. PH.D., D.R., J.D., coom bye ya, I don't care what it is or who you are. You still have eyes, ears, feet, hands and brains. Suck it up, take a gigantic step back, and get over yourself.

For The Gagillionth Time, WE ARE NOT HAVING KIDS!

2005-04-22T13:00:00.000-07:00

This is most likely going to be a rambling and bitter stream of consciousness prattlefest. More so than normal. Try to keep up.

Here's the thing people, I love kids. I really do. They do great tricks. They don't have to follow the rules. They're adorable when they're puppies. They have superhuman powers. They make great faces when you feed them dill pickles for the first time. They are great excuses to get out of doing stuff.

But here's the other thing people, I would never want any of my own. As the saying goes, "Kids are great place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there". They can't talk to tell you what they need or what is wrong. They always need something and something is always wrong. They don't require the sleep that normal human beings require. They do not share and do not understand "No". They cannot be unplugged or deactivated. They are always covered in some type of viscous goo.

So all you baby machines out there, make with the offspring. Have 3. Have 4. Have an entire brood. Procreate like bunnies for all I care. The more you have, the less pressure I get as to why Zoom and I are not having any.

But, despite my lack of caring, here is one thing I CARE VERY MUCH ABOUT.

Pregnancy is a choice. Pure and simple. It is not an incurable disease. It is not a genetic abnormality. YOU CHOSE TO DO THIS TO YOURSELF. As such you do not get, nor are you entitled to special treatment. No, you cannot take 6 months off to chase little Sienna or Throckmorton around the house. No, you cannot come back and work ridiculous part time hours and expect the same salary. No, you cannot leave every Monday Wednesday and Friday at 2:15 because little Cassius or Ezmerelda has violin practice. No, you cannot waste hour upon hour talking baby talk over the phone to someone who can't even speak yet during business hours.

We hired you to work full time during regular business hours. Just because you decided to get jiggy with it sans-condom, does not exempt you from the conditions under which you procured employment in the first place.

Like I said before, have a baby. Have a million babies. Have all the babies. But making that choice for yourself, does not have anything to do with me. You choose to get knocked up, you also choose the consequences that come with it.

And before you get all riled up internet, the "having a baby of your own will change your opinion" argument is malarky. The only way that changes my opinion is to reinforce what I already know from experiencing the children my friends and family already have. That is, nothing puts me more at peace than when I get to take the rugrats back to their parents. Don't try using the "someone has to continue to populate the world" argument on me either. I completely disagree and disregard you totally.

They're are too damn many people on this spinning dirt clod as it is.

Why It Is So Very Hard To Be Me

2005-04-18T23:00:00.000-07:00

So I'm hankering for a late day snack. Like I always am. My body is like a finely tuned watch. It needs food a very specific times, otherwise hostages start getting taken.

Anyway, I digress.

I'd forgotten my usual bring from home snack for this particular day, so I was forced to safari my way through the vending machine jungle. I gathered up $1 in change to make sure I could cover whatever bit of cleverly wrapped chocolate I might fancy. I started looking in the machine on our floor. Didn't feel moved by anything in it.

I went downstairs to the lobby to see what they had. They had Twix. Case closed. But now, a dilemma. If I had a Twix and it's corresponding chocolate, I'd have to have milk. Despite the lame commercials, it is true. If you have chocolate, you have to have milk. It's like guilt and communion.

So here's the problem, I have a buck, but a Twix is 55 cents and a milk is 60 cents. I needs more change, but I am too lazy to skulk back upstairs for the extra coinage. I check the change return thingies on all machines. Score! 10 extra centavos! I'm still short 5 cents. I then look around on the floor for any orphaned coins. No dice. I go outside to ask the kind guard for a Lincoln head, but before I can, a co-worker walks by and I ask him. He has no change, but offers me a dollar. Before I can take his loaner dollar the guard offers up the 5 cents. Score again! So I give back the dollar, give thanks to all and head back to the machine.

I start to load in all my change, but as I get to the last two frigging nickels, I drop two of them and one rolls underneath the machine. Lost forever in the same place all the socks from the dryer go. So, of course I am 5 cents short again.

So, I brave the possible case of tetanus and bend down to check for the lost coin. I don't find it, but I find a lost dime. I pop the dime in the machine and get the milk and have 5 new cents to pay the guard back with.

Ultimately, I waste about 30 minutes and break even. Well, I did come away with the Twix, the milk, dirty knees and a dirty hand. I guess that's not too bad.

The truly ironic thing is that I just got back from Vegas this weekend, yet had to wait until I got back to work to fight with money and a frigging machine to end up breaking even.

I should have stayed in bed.

How The United States Navy Almost Killed Me

2005-04-13T17:00:00.000-07:00

So I'm driving down the 5 freeway south heading to San Diego. It's mid-morning so the traffic is mild. It is a clear day and visibility is very good. I have just passed the giant concrete nuclear breasts of San Onofre when it happens.

Something that really scared me more than I think it probably should have. But is scared the crap out of me nonetheless.

If you've ever driven this particular stretch of sometimes-freeway (everything they say about Southern California freeways is true - they are congested with cause-less traffic ALL THE LIVELONG DAY - the only time you can really drive anywhere on a freeway and not be driven to tears is the early morning hours - I cannot tell you how many times I have flailed about how mentally retarded the early developers/planners of Southern California must have been - "Why don't we make the freeways to all the big cities like LA only two lanes. Because any city or area that is constantly 70 degrees, never has rain and is close to the beach, will never be popular enough to warrant anything wider?" - nice job dipsticks - but anyway, I digress) you know that after you pass the fission reactor boobies, the 5 freeway bends along the coast and you get a great and unobstructed look at the ocean. This is also where all the Camp Pendleton jarheads go to practice making with the shooting and warring and stuff. There's almost always helicopters or tanks or battleships moving around and preparing the next batch of teenagers on how to make with the fighting.

What there has never been, until this day, was a nuclear submarine surfacing right off shore.

So me and a group of about 15 to 20 cars are driving along and we come to the photo spot bend in the freeway and this huge frigging Hunt For Red October submarine just pops up out of the water. I wish you could have seen the collective marshmallow in your grandma's jello jiggle affect it had on all of us. We all wigged out at the same time in the same amount. Just enough so you'd notice. It's just not something you EVER see.

After the "Sweet Christ, Nessie has found her way to Southern California!" shock wore off, it became very very cool. I'd never seen that before in real life. It was amazing how it went from being completely invisible to right there in front of you. It was very cool to witness.

Well, at least until a shirtless 300 pound Jabba The Hut with a body-hair sweater pulled up next to me. Then I just needed a shower.

This Is The Kind Of Baggage, I'd Like To Lose

2005-04-11T22:00:00.000-07:00

We've all got it, but none of us will admit it. We are all living and breathing examples of what all the collective crap we have endured in our lives can and will do to a person. It's inescapable. We touch the iron and get burned, and we learn for a while. But the iron is just too enticing, and we put a finger on it once more.

At least that is the way it used to be. The way it was until Zoom happened.

My 20's were a complete disaster. I made a lot of really bad decisions and spent a lot of money I really never had. I almost drowned in a sea of credit cards. I had a myriad of self-esteem issues, most likely a product of being dumped by my first girlfriend. This was the girl that brought me out of my shell and taught me that girls would not kill you. She was my first love and my first time. I don't fault her at all for leaving me. I am thankful now for all the things she brought out of me and all the first times I got to experience with her. But hind sight does not change the loss and the hurt I felt when it finally ended. We were in love after all. How could you just walk away and forget love? That stung for a long long time. Bitterness and a lot of dark Depeche Mode songs followed.

This is how I staggered into my 20's. No self esteem and lonely. It seemed that any remotely pretty face that showed interest in me would be lambasted by my need to replace the love. I had a whole magazine stand full of issues and it only got worse as I went from girl to girl to girl. This is the period of my life where I developed a loathing of the name Jennifer. I had two bad Jennifer experiences. I will never have another Jennifer experience again as long as I live.

I am logical person. In fact, logic and reason are probably the closest things to religion I have. I believe that anything and everything has a cause and an explanation. It is with this mind-set that I sought to tackle love. What does it mean to be in love? What do you mean when you say you love someone? I remember sitting in the library for an entire 3 day weekend trying to reason my way around it.

What I finally cam up with is really simple. Love is thinking without thinking. It is driving home after a really horrible day and finding yourself stopping to get your love flowers. It is calling your love to tell them you're thinking of them at 10:12 in the morning. It is reading something or seeing something that reminds you of your love. It's your eye constantly being drawn to the things you know your love's eye would go to. Your love is always on your mind, but there's no effort to keep it there.

So I trudged along for 35 years and wallowed in relationship stupidity. I was close a couple of times, but ended up realizing how fortunate I was to side-step a landmine I thought was love. I knew I wanted someone to love, but their love had to be my love. That's where all the problems started and ended.

I had all these rules and conditions. Well, a man cannot live by dogma alone. I guess that is part of my new dogma. Subvert your dogma whenever you can. You'd be amazed at what can happen.

So I flailed for 35 years, but I finally found her. I know she's the one. I have never been more sure of anything in my life.

There's only one problem. I'm still carrying 35 years worth of baggage.

I am so terrified of losing her and so convinced I will, because of the past losses and mistakes. If she really knew what I would do for her and she in fact was evil, I'd have been in jail a long time ago. I try to tell her and show her I love her with every breath I take. I try not to smother her and listen when she tells me that everything is alright, but the baggage demons come calling. If I even sense that there is a problem, the logical and insecure side of me jumps at the chance to fix it. I am learning. It's been a lot harder than I ever imagined, but I am learning. I am trying to relax and enjoy this fantastic ride, instead of trying to anticipate when the car or how the car might go off the tracks.

The truth is she doesn't have anything that needs to be fixed. She doesn't have anything I need to tip toe around. She's good. She's good to me and for me.

I'm trying Zoom. I know it's hard dealing with me and my insecurities sometimes. Just know how I feel. Just know how much I care.

Maybe we need to go to Ireland again, and I'll finally lose the damn baggage there?

Can I Get An Amen?

2005-04-11T21:00:00.000-07:00

Anyone else out there living with or kissing on anyone over the age of 30 who eats Cheerios right out of the box as though she were a teething toddler?

Anyone sleeping with anyone who sleep talks in vivid stories with elaborate plots and carefully crafted characters?

Anyone eat dinner with anyone who know's they are ordering a dish that is rife with something they don't like, but they don't ask for the dish to be made without it, because they find it more enjoyable to eat navigate around the bad?

Anyone seen anyone fight so violently with their clothes in the course of selecting an outfit, they are almost forced to re-shower to rinse off the clothes fight perspiration?

Anyone sleep with a blanket burglar who every night silently and precisely steals all the covers to perfectly cover only their half of the bed?

Anyone know anyone who can get so angry/frustrated/flustered they make up their own language?

.....or is it just me?

It Is Really Late

2005-04-11T00:00:00.000-07:00

But I leave you with this, my beloved internet.

It is photographic proof that fairy tale love does exist. If a flailing frog like me can somehow end up with a beautiful princess like Zoom, there's hope for everyone.

Trip to the Aran Islands, engagement ring, digital camera, corny Notre Dame cap (what better item to wear in Ireland than a "Fighting Irish" cap, right?) and two weeks of beard growth sold separately.

The Madness And The Containers That Hold It

2005-04-10T23:00:00.000-07:00

The brain and the thinking never stop. I've been in bed innumerable times and my mind is racing about this, that and the other. I tell you this, not because of a bloated intellectual ego, but because it helps you understand what I mean when I refer to the "madness". The thoughts and pre-occupations are not always deep and profound. If they were, I'd jot them all down, put them in a book and torture freshman philosophy majors with them. It's things like, worrying about property taxes, or whether or not we'll have a honeymoon, or whether any of the material I've written down over the years would make good stand-up comedy, or what color scheme we should use for the master bathroom, or what the pattern to all the numbers on LOST is. The simple point is that they are there. ALL THE TIME. A swirling Charybdis between my ears.

One of the earliest life lessons I ever got was from my mother. She sat my hyper-worrying sixth grade butt down and told my frankly, "You can't control what other people do". This little tet-a-tet came about because I was trying to grapple with the fact that not everyone did what they were "supposed to do" in school and I couldn't figure out why. Why would you know you had to do this or that, and yet not do it? It drove me crazy. How could you know you had homework and not do it? How could you know you had to cover your textbooks and not cover them? How could you know you had to go to school and yet not go?

Despite this early lesson, the control freak in me rages on. I try to lock it down, but it always escapes.

There are so many aspects of life and living that I do not have answers for and it drives my logical brain crazy. Yet, in the same respect I can let certain seemingly related things just slide. That is probably the thing that makes me the most nuts. Why do I fixate so intently on "A" when there is "B" right over here that is just as important?

Here's the big quandary I'm fumbling through right now.

I am in the most unbelievably amazing relationship I have ever experienced. It is quite literally perfect in all respects. I do not haveto concede or compromise on anything. As corny as it sounds, it is movie love. Her funny makes me laugh harder than I ever have. The joy she brings me makes me good cry harder than I ever have. She is the perfect woman. The love of my life. There is no work. There is no down side. There is nothing missing or lacking.

Herein lies the problem.

For whatever reason I've been cursed with this bizarre need to act as missionary to the world of the loveless. I want to go to anyone and everyone I can find that seems to be stuck in a less than blissful relationship and cure them of it. Having spent a good portion of my life in crappy relationships, I now have sort of a sixth sense for detecting those is pain. I want to fix it. I want them to have what I have. I want everyone to have what I have. I want them to know that they don't have to settle. I want them to know that a true and perfect love is out there. I want them to know that all the things they want and deserve are out there. I want them to not give up on love.

But, the madness takes over.

What kind of egomaniac am I to think I have the guide and the answers to anyone else? When has giving anyone love advice ever turned out well? Why do I care about the lives of awful people who treat people horribly just because their life's blow. It is plain and simply because of her. Everyone deserves a Zoom in their life. Because she's the only thing I've ever found to make all the voices of the madness melt away.

Her being in my life (as she puts it), ensures that most of the things that are dancing around in my head, stay neatly secured in their little sealed containers until I am ready to deal with them.

Me And My Idiot Friends

2005-04-05T22:00:00.000-07:00

I always thought that any blog that had a good amount of pictures was way more interesting than your basic text blog.

Of course I find it impossible to function after the blinkie box comes on too.

A.D.D. monkeys of the world unite!

So, to that end, here you go internet. Here is the current crew aboard the ship of fools;

Supa C - The Idiot - Your host

Zoom - The Girl On My Arm

Skillit - The Other Girl On My Arm

The Lunatics Have Taken Over The Asylum

2005-04-05T17:00:00.000-07:00

Hello again my beloved internet. It's magic time again. Time to share my inner most personal thoughts. My deepest and darkest thoughts and feelings. All those things that are so personal and so private.

......and yet I somehow feel compelled to scribble them out and make them accessible to the entire planet.

Here endeth our lesson on Irony.

Anyway, back to the days rambling, ranting and prattling on.

In order for this blog thing to work, I should probably fill you all in on a couple of things. Think of this part as the explanatory index at the back of the Lord Of The Rings books. Except it's a lot shorter and if you actual read it, it'll make the rest of the story significantly easier to follow.

The following is a comprehensive list of any terms, verbiage or sayings I may exploit during the course of any series of ramblings, rantings or prattlefests;

Killing A Clown - Flatulence. Plain and simple. It is a joke that Zoom started in so much as when I pass gas (as I frequently do), it sounds as though I have squashed a clown. And if you squashed and killed a clown, the last thing you would hear is the honking of it's joke nose. See what she did there?

Driving - Whenever a couple sits side by side at a restaurant. This makes no sense to either Zoom or myself, because it makes having a conversation very difficult. We know you're in love people, but you don't have to be fused at the hip to make your point. Talking face to face is SO much easier. Plus, it means you can't have all areas of the viewable spectrum covered to witness whatever freak show or fashion disaster might saunter by. Which is VERY VERY important.

Driving The 88 - Spending quality time onto he couch. We have a very particular family room the requires "things" of very certain sizes. We knew we had a certain size space for a couch to live. That size was 88 inches. Our couch is 88 inches wide. We get on it together and, well you get the point.

Zoom - This is actually a verb and a noun. It is actually something E said at some point to describe the inexplicable time when KK's cat just decided to freak out. He'd run around the place without provocation. He therefore dubbed this time of kitty koo-koo, as having the zooms. This concept was then applied directly to my darling KK when she in turn,and usually as inexplicably, started spazzing out and had energy oozing from her for no reason. She became Zoom.

The Crazy Chicken - It's El Pollo Loco. We eat there frequently.

Chicken Good - It house special chicken from Pick Up Stix. We eat here frequently too. And if you ever had house special chicken, you know what I am talking about.

CAKE! - A tension breaking or Zoom appexing random exclamation. Others in this category include; Torque Spackey!, My Sqiddely Spooge! and Ice Ceam Sammich!.

The Big Short Dance - It started when my brother and I were skateboard punks and wore nothing but baggy shorts. It is something that you do in mocking celebration. When your team wins. When someone speeds by you on the freeway and then gets pulled over. When a co-worker you loathe gets fired for being the lazy and pointless piece of stinking dung you always knew they were.

Supa C - That's me. Zoom and Skillit started calling me this. Also known as Movie Rain Man. If I've seen a movie or TV show and liked it, it's burned onto my brain.

Zoom - That's my girl (ivegotzooms.blogpsot.com). Also known as Special K, KK and Hot Girl. I am going to pay for that.

Skillit - That's our bestest bestest friend in the whole entire world. She's actually the third member of this here wedding party. Also known as Magic M and simply M. Don't get her mad, otherwise her voice will change, and that would be bad for you.

My Brain - My PDA. If I don't have it, it really is that simple, I don't have it. I put as much stuff as I can into it, so I don't need to remember it. There's not much room left twixt the ears because it's all clogged up with movie and TV lines.

The Blinkie Box - The stooooopid TV. I'm not going to get all preachy and tell you how bad TV is, BUT TV IS EVIL! If that damn thing is on, I'm toast. It literally hypnotizes me. It doesn't matter if it's "Law and Order" or "Intervention" or a "Friends" episode I've already seen 10 million times and I own on DVD, it incapacitates me. It is evil and needs to be stopped.

The Invisible Snow Plow - Have you ever been on the freeway, and there is traffic all of a sudden? You don't see an accident. You don't see construction. Then you finally sloth your way up to where the traffic is only to realize some half wit is driving 52 miles per hour. It's almost as though he's pushing an invisible snow plow through his imaginary drifts of stupidity.

The Car Trap/Keepers Of The Speed - Have you ever come across a phalanx of ignorance which spreads across all lanes of freeway that you cannot get around? These morons are the unknowing and completely unrelated Keepers Of The Speed who will never drive faster than 60. Their weapon of choice is the infuriating Car Trap which keeps all sane motorists in check and locked in behind them.

The Coffee Whistle - Every morning Zoom gets her coffee transfusion. Every morning she blows through the little whole on the lid thingy to cool it off. It makes the Popeye "toot-toot" sound. After Zamfir determines that the coffee has left Just Out Of The Volcano status, she commences with the drinkage.

Just Out Of The Volcano - Whenever anything is too hot to deal with. Usually the temperature of any foodstuff whenever I am ravenously hungry.

The Hot Water Time Machine - This was almost the name of my blog. It is where I do all of my thinking. You get in the shower in the morning, and the hot water feels so amazing, the next thing you know, you're 65 years old. I could stay in the shower all day. Thank God the hot water eventually runs out, or that's exactly what I'd do.

This is a good place to start. We'll take it slow and see how you do my beloved internet.

Everyone make sure you have a partner, and try to keep up.

Alright Already!

2005-04-03T01:00:00.000-08:00

...........oh yeah

The internet commands that a blog divulge at least some little morsel of deeply personal information to the general reading public.

Alrighty then. To you, my beloved internet, I give you this.

The Fish I Loved. The Fish I Killed. The only kids me and the misses are ever going to have.

On a side note. To all of you with ponds out there. Never EVER replace all of your pond water at once. Even if your heart is in the right place and you want your fish to have clean and clear water. Trust me on this.

The only thing you're going to really clean is the life right out of your fish.

Fear Not The Tyranny Of The Blank Page

2005-04-02T12:00:00.000-08:00

At least that is what I constantly told myself during all those long, late nights in college.

It got me through 6 uneven years then, so maybe it'll serve me again now.

The truth is, I've been meaning to do "this", for a long time. This itch to blog is the product of my muses. Whether it be Dooce's irreverent and candid humor (www.dooce.com), or the acerbic wit and brutal honesty of Maddox (maddox.xmission.com).

So how does it all start? How do all good and memorable blogs begin? Does that even matter? Do I need a hook? Do I need a gimmick? Does it even matter if anyone reads any of this?

Probably not. As long as I get it all out.

That is my purpose here. There is too "much" crap rattling around twixt my ears. Perhaps, if I jot it down, I can let it go to make space for "stuff" that actually matters.

You know, like my home phone number.

They say that a journey of a thousand miles always begins with a single step. So here you go my beloved Internet. I boldly go where a million melodramatic housewives and loved starved teenagers have ventured before me.

I am blogger. Hear me ramble/prattle on/whine/pontificate/flail/whimper/roar.