Hey folks, got some serious lag-time on the ol server today, but I wanted to send out an extended hello. Leaving comments, has once again proven difficult. Rest assured I am reading and enjoying...just not commenting. Sigh! One of these days.
Updates:
It's Hallowe'en, and yes, I dressed up at work. Not really dressed up. All in black with cat ears and tail. It's enough to stand out here. I stand out on a regular basis anyways, as I'm one of the few not dressed in green relish uniforms, even more rare is that I'm female.
Taking the kid out trick-or-treating tonight. She's going as a brain donor. With hospital scrubs and a housecoat, I'll wrap her head up with a bandage, put fake blood on it, and hang a jar around her neck with cauliflour in water inside.
Hot sexy new guy is still hot sexy new guy...he's absolutely wonderful, and probably why I'm not posting so much. I find my mind wandering to sweet sentimental thoughts more so than the little idiotic life-moments that send me off into non-sensical tangents.
I wispered into the ears of several of my superiors (of which I have many for some reason, can't have too many bosses eh? ha!) that I would like the position of civilian Image Technition, in our wee section here on the base. How cool would that be? No more programming, no more banging my head against my head in frustration cuz I can't remember the fucking syntax for a fucking for-loop that needs to somehow be put into a function or work WITH a function and big-ass fucking Array (that's giant) that translates the entire fucking animation/asset/what-have-you, at the click of a button. (kinda like I'm doing right fucking now) But I digress, I might be the next civi image tech in the shop and that means I'd be taking photos, and manipulation photos, and making posters and all that funky stuff...no more programming. I don't know how this happened. I've never had any training in programming, but here I am, fucking programming. I'm an artistic person ya fuckers, this is like asking a mathmatician to describe the mood and inner meaning of the Mona Lisa. It's just not going to happen. He'd/she'd most likely give you an exact dollar amount of what it's worth based on economic factors, that would be calculated using some sort of mathematical formula.
Phew! Your at the end, you can get ready to move onto the next blog and move past my ridiculous ranting. Hope your having a fantabulous Hallowe'en. Don't give up on, I'll be by your blog soon to leave happy little notes just for you. I promise!
Bird Flu
I'm just sitting around here, supposed to be doing some work. I have a freelance job working on a website, and well really, I should be working on it right now, but
a: I'm tired and my ass hurts from running/lunges etc..
b: I think I might be coming down with something, I'm feverish grrr (wich I can't believe, cuz I haven't been sick all year even with all the sickies that come into work cuz they think they have to prove something but only end up infecting half the building...fuckers, I better not have bird-flu or Norwok (sp?) cuz I don't want to turn into a bird and I don't feel like spending the weekend with my ass and my head fighting for the toilet, and if I do, there'll be hell to pay on monday to whomever the bastard is that brought illness into my place of work!) Norwok seems to be running rampant at the univerity in town here, I DON'T WANT IT !
c: my mind is totally wandering around a whole lot of stuff, not necessarily in this order, like:
1. moving
2. lovely new guy
3. daughter and moving
4. sexy new guy
5. skiing
6. daughter going away at christmas
7. skiing with hot new guy over christmas holidays but how can I afford to go away let alone have christmas with moving right before christmas and daughter going away.
See, it all kinda melds together into one big meddly of stuff to think about. :) I keep saying to myself "Self, smarten the fuck up and think about the weekend ahead and don't worry about the rest" but then my self argues with myself and says "Self, you really SHOULD think about what's coming up or you wont be prepared, and that's how things fail to happen because you didn't prepare and plan ahead" and then my self and my other self get into an argument and one wicked internal mental fist fight ensues (like that word), and I'm just not feeling well enough to deal with the drama that's going on in my head so why don't I have some melt-your-face-off chili, freeze my butt off outside with the dog and get my sorry ass into bed because, I have to get up at a reasonable hour and it's the annual turkey shoot tomorrow afternoon, and I have to be mentally functional in order to shoot a C7 automatic assault rifle (albeit, without live rounds) to standards good enough to beat my co-workers and win the grand prize of a turkey which I probably wont even eat, but whatever, I can give it to someone who will and I'll be a super-hero for making someone's day, who otherwise couldn't afford to buy a turkey for Christmas. (sharp intake of breath after seriously long run on sentence)
Sooo, I started looking around for places to ski. Quebec is rife with ski trails. The laurentians look beautiful, and Gatineau hills. I have no idea about accomodations. I have to call my mom and ask about that fantastic place we went to a wedding at in the woods that was perfect log cabin-esque. All the coziness of a log cabin with the luxeries of a hotel. ie...hot tub / meals / fireplace etc
Did I mention I'm moving? I'm moving closer to work which means I'll be exactly 4 minutes from door to door..that's crazy! but the kid is very unhappy about switching school, and quite frankly I don't blame her cuz she just started at junior high and made that hurdle into a new school, and now here I am moving her to another one part way through the school year. Terrible parent..I am, I am!
And for the love of GOD, I have soo much work to do, I never even get to read blogs anymore. PISSED OFF!!! What's going on here? It's just not right!!!
McB a.k.a "the Sicko-nator"
a: I'm tired and my ass hurts from running/lunges etc..
b: I think I might be coming down with something, I'm feverish grrr (wich I can't believe, cuz I haven't been sick all year even with all the sickies that come into work cuz they think they have to prove something but only end up infecting half the building...fuckers, I better not have bird-flu or Norwok (sp?) cuz I don't want to turn into a bird and I don't feel like spending the weekend with my ass and my head fighting for the toilet, and if I do, there'll be hell to pay on monday to whomever the bastard is that brought illness into my place of work!) Norwok seems to be running rampant at the univerity in town here, I DON'T WANT IT !
c: my mind is totally wandering around a whole lot of stuff, not necessarily in this order, like:
1. moving
2. lovely new guy
3. daughter and moving
4. sexy new guy
5. skiing
6. daughter going away at christmas
7. skiing with hot new guy over christmas holidays but how can I afford to go away let alone have christmas with moving right before christmas and daughter going away.
See, it all kinda melds together into one big meddly of stuff to think about. :) I keep saying to myself "Self, smarten the fuck up and think about the weekend ahead and don't worry about the rest" but then my self argues with myself and says "Self, you really SHOULD think about what's coming up or you wont be prepared, and that's how things fail to happen because you didn't prepare and plan ahead" and then my self and my other self get into an argument and one wicked internal mental fist fight ensues (like that word), and I'm just not feeling well enough to deal with the drama that's going on in my head so why don't I have some melt-your-face-off chili, freeze my butt off outside with the dog and get my sorry ass into bed because, I have to get up at a reasonable hour and it's the annual turkey shoot tomorrow afternoon, and I have to be mentally functional in order to shoot a C7 automatic assault rifle (albeit, without live rounds) to standards good enough to beat my co-workers and win the grand prize of a turkey which I probably wont even eat, but whatever, I can give it to someone who will and I'll be a super-hero for making someone's day, who otherwise couldn't afford to buy a turkey for Christmas. (sharp intake of breath after seriously long run on sentence)
Sooo, I started looking around for places to ski. Quebec is rife with ski trails. The laurentians look beautiful, and Gatineau hills. I have no idea about accomodations. I have to call my mom and ask about that fantastic place we went to a wedding at in the woods that was perfect log cabin-esque. All the coziness of a log cabin with the luxeries of a hotel. ie...hot tub / meals / fireplace etc
Did I mention I'm moving? I'm moving closer to work which means I'll be exactly 4 minutes from door to door..that's crazy! but the kid is very unhappy about switching school, and quite frankly I don't blame her cuz she just started at junior high and made that hurdle into a new school, and now here I am moving her to another one part way through the school year. Terrible parent..I am, I am!
And for the love of GOD, I have soo much work to do, I never even get to read blogs anymore. PISSED OFF!!! What's going on here? It's just not right!!!
McB a.k.a "the Sicko-nator"
And the dog came back
Yes folks, the dog is back. In case I totally forgot to mention, the dog was at the parents house for the last 2 weeks. I was having a doggy-break, and the dog was having a doggy-vacation. Actually, the dog was at my parents, because my parents had the brilliant plan to breed the dog.
Apparently, they know someone with a male version of my dog and they figure the puppies would be cute. This is true, but..not..at..my..house.. I don't want puppies in my house. They are messy, smelly, noisy pains in the asses, but theey are cute, they are lovable, and I cry when I have to give them away. I don't feel like crying soo, no puppies at MY house.
So, the dog was supposed to go into heat. She had a hot date with another Springer up the road all set up, and nothing. No heat. Not saying their was no chemistry between the two canines, just that my particularily fridget one, was not interested. Snob, I say. Yeesh, what does she want? Champaigne and strawberries?
Well, la chien came home yesterday, and guess what? She's humping everything she can wrap her paws around. My poor virginal and innocent eleven year old had her leg humped this evening by a rather randy, furry beast. How can I relate that into the 'sex talk' I am soo not ready to give. Bad enough I already had to have the 'puberty' talk with her last year. Yikes! She's grounded till she's 30. End of story. No if's, and's or but's.
So, Monday so far, I have a purvy dog, an embarrassed 11 year old, and yes, the bunker gnomes did it again and cut off my internet connection at work again. I was so frustrated with that, I packed up my laptop and went home today.
Definition of a Bunker Gnome
Oh Hurray hurray HOOORRRAAAYYY it’s Friday. I just want to send out a sweet hello and have-a-great-weekend to all of you.
I have been without internet at work for most of the week. So, basically, my half-assed surfing abilities were temporarily zero-assed surfing abilities. Occasionally though, I was able to squire some time away to write a few words and post them from someone else’s computer while they left to use the washroom or something. I’d just wait a second after they left, and in my best super-hero, sneaky and sly way, I would tip toe carefully and stealthily over to the vacant desk while humming the Mission Impossible theme song under my breath and upload my blog entry. I am WAY cooler than Tom Cruise. I’d make a much better international super spy.
The reason for my lack of internet (and get this, it’s retarded) is that there are a bunch of folks ( I like to call them bunker gnomes, for reason I will outline after) are in charge of all the internet drops. Or, because this is the army, we must use an anagram, a DVO. Who the hell even knows what that means. It’s also referred to at times, depending on who your talking to, a DWAN connection. Spoken as: Dee-Wan. What the fuck? Call it the internet ya fuckers so the rest of us layman civilians will understand. Unless they want to start publishing a book of all the anagrams for a quick reference guide, they really should use the correct wording.
Anyways, some lame-ass, fucked up, retarded bunker gnome disconnected my DVO for no reason whatsoever. I dare say, it was an egregious error on their part. I called tech support (bunker gnomes) on Monday morning when I realized what had happened. After much fiddling with Ethernet cables, moving my PC monitor around and plugging it into other peoples DVO spots to test if it’s working, oh and then stealing other people’s cables to see if it’s the DVO or the cable, the bunker gnomes came to the startling conclusion that they fucked up. No shit! I already knew that. I coulda told them that right from the very start and saved us all a bunch of time, and me not have to crawl around on the dirty floor all morning in my professional attire. Bunch of Fuck-wits.
So, I dare to ask,
Me: “when can you have that up and running again?”
Bunker gnomes: “first, you must submit a work order.”
Me: “who do I submit this work order to?”
Bunker gnomes: “to your MWO (more anagrams) and he’ll submit it to us”
Me: “but your on the phone with me right now, you know what the problem is, and it’s YOUR fault, why can’t you just flip the switch back on?”
Bunker gnomes: Not allowed to do that ma’am, (fucker, he called me ma’am) a work order needs to be submitted and approved before we can complete your request”
Me: “Can you give me an estimate time for completion on this?”
Bunker gnomes: “we’re kinda busy right now, we’ll put it in the cue, I’d say 2 to 3 days at the most”
Me: “but I work off that network, I can’t do anything for 3 days”
Bunker gnomes: “sorry ma’am (Fuck, AGAIN?), that’s the best we can do.
So, now that I’m back up and running here, I can finally take sometime and catch up on what’s going on with the rest of you. Yes, yeesss, YEESSS, YEEEESSSSSS…I can’t wait. I feel so out of touch. I could also take that time and read the newspaper and catch up on world events but I’d rather catch up on what you guys are up to. Your way more interesting. You know? It’s like having a peep-hole into the lives of interesting people all over the world. I get to learn about the differences between my own lifestyle and the that of others, and find out what’s the same about them. Not to mention, that most of you are frikken hilarious.
Definition of a Bunker Gnome: The crew of men and/or women that work somewhere on this base and monitor all incoming and outgoing email and internet activity. They also are in charge what gets filtered through and what doesn’t, who gets internet connectivity and email, and who doesn’t, and when they will or will not receive it. They are without a doubt, THE most unpopular people on the planet, right up there with other controlling and narcissistic tyrants such as Saddam Hussein and my 7th grade spelling teacher.
The reason for the name “Bunker Gnome” would be that no one (that I am aware of) has ever seen where they work. Occasionally, one or two might venture out of their hiding space to trouble shoot if the person they are helping is unable to follow phone led instructions, such as “How do I turn on my monitor, cuz the power’s out and I can’t see to find the on button?” I believe that if they are smart (and it’s highly debatable) the Bunker Gnomes actually reside in a bunker somewhere deep beneath the base, in order to protect themselves from the hoards of angry employees struggling to do their jobs with what could be the dumbest firewall on earth
I have been without internet at work for most of the week. So, basically, my half-assed surfing abilities were temporarily zero-assed surfing abilities. Occasionally though, I was able to squire some time away to write a few words and post them from someone else’s computer while they left to use the washroom or something. I’d just wait a second after they left, and in my best super-hero, sneaky and sly way, I would tip toe carefully and stealthily over to the vacant desk while humming the Mission Impossible theme song under my breath and upload my blog entry. I am WAY cooler than Tom Cruise. I’d make a much better international super spy.
The reason for my lack of internet (and get this, it’s retarded) is that there are a bunch of folks ( I like to call them bunker gnomes, for reason I will outline after) are in charge of all the internet drops. Or, because this is the army, we must use an anagram, a DVO. Who the hell even knows what that means. It’s also referred to at times, depending on who your talking to, a DWAN connection. Spoken as: Dee-Wan. What the fuck? Call it the internet ya fuckers so the rest of us layman civilians will understand. Unless they want to start publishing a book of all the anagrams for a quick reference guide, they really should use the correct wording.
Anyways, some lame-ass, fucked up, retarded bunker gnome disconnected my DVO for no reason whatsoever. I dare say, it was an egregious error on their part. I called tech support (bunker gnomes) on Monday morning when I realized what had happened. After much fiddling with Ethernet cables, moving my PC monitor around and plugging it into other peoples DVO spots to test if it’s working, oh and then stealing other people’s cables to see if it’s the DVO or the cable, the bunker gnomes came to the startling conclusion that they fucked up. No shit! I already knew that. I coulda told them that right from the very start and saved us all a bunch of time, and me not have to crawl around on the dirty floor all morning in my professional attire. Bunch of Fuck-wits.
So, I dare to ask,
Me: “when can you have that up and running again?”
Bunker gnomes: “first, you must submit a work order.”
Me: “who do I submit this work order to?”
Bunker gnomes: “to your MWO (more anagrams) and he’ll submit it to us”
Me: “but your on the phone with me right now, you know what the problem is, and it’s YOUR fault, why can’t you just flip the switch back on?”
Bunker gnomes: Not allowed to do that ma’am, (fucker, he called me ma’am) a work order needs to be submitted and approved before we can complete your request”
Me: “Can you give me an estimate time for completion on this?”
Bunker gnomes: “we’re kinda busy right now, we’ll put it in the cue, I’d say 2 to 3 days at the most”
Me: “but I work off that network, I can’t do anything for 3 days”
Bunker gnomes: “sorry ma’am (Fuck, AGAIN?), that’s the best we can do.
So, now that I’m back up and running here, I can finally take sometime and catch up on what’s going on with the rest of you. Yes, yeesss, YEESSS, YEEEESSSSSS…I can’t wait. I feel so out of touch. I could also take that time and read the newspaper and catch up on world events but I’d rather catch up on what you guys are up to. Your way more interesting. You know? It’s like having a peep-hole into the lives of interesting people all over the world. I get to learn about the differences between my own lifestyle and the that of others, and find out what’s the same about them. Not to mention, that most of you are frikken hilarious.
Definition of a Bunker Gnome: The crew of men and/or women that work somewhere on this base and monitor all incoming and outgoing email and internet activity. They also are in charge what gets filtered through and what doesn’t, who gets internet connectivity and email, and who doesn’t, and when they will or will not receive it. They are without a doubt, THE most unpopular people on the planet, right up there with other controlling and narcissistic tyrants such as Saddam Hussein and my 7th grade spelling teacher.
The reason for the name “Bunker Gnome” would be that no one (that I am aware of) has ever seen where they work. Occasionally, one or two might venture out of their hiding space to trouble shoot if the person they are helping is unable to follow phone led instructions, such as “How do I turn on my monitor, cuz the power’s out and I can’t see to find the on button?” I believe that if they are smart (and it’s highly debatable) the Bunker Gnomes actually reside in a bunker somewhere deep beneath the base, in order to protect themselves from the hoards of angry employees struggling to do their jobs with what could be the dumbest firewall on earth
to sleep per chance to dream
How long does it take to recover from a sleepless night? I’m currently trying to develop a theory of just how long this is, so that in the future, I can plan accordingly. I strongly suspect it has something to do with one’s age, and not, as I’d hoped, one’s health and fitness level.
At 17, I could be “running the roads” for 2 days straight, and still function on Monday at school. I was healthy, but not overly athletic at that time.
At 27, I could stay up for one whole night, shower and go to work. It would take one additional good night sleep to recoup. I was healthy, and somewhat athletic at that time. I was also a single mother and busy at school. Finding time for a gym was tough. I had to get creative!
At 32, I can stay up for most of one night, and it will take two days to recover. I’m very active now. Plenty of opportunities for the gym. I can do things I couldn’t do at 16, and actually enjoy bringing my body to a near breaking point, despite the whining, complaining and bitching. I know, sadistic.
Seems as though I’ve taken a 180 degree turn from:
2 days up = one night sleep, to
1 day up = 2 days sleep.
Having said that, if things continue to progress at this rate, I’ll have reverted to infancy in about ten to twenty years. I’ll sleep most of the time, waking only to eat, and poop. In twenty to thirty years, I’ll be basically comatose, and have to be fed by intravenous while I lay curled up in the fetal position wrapped in warm blankets to simulate a mothers womb.
This, of course, goes against everything I understand about aging. I keep hearing that as you age, you sleep less. In a sense this is true. Once upon a time, I could have easily slept an entire day away. In fact, I can still hear my mothers voice, reverberating in the back of my head with all the joy of nails on a blackboard, saying “Get up, you’ve wasted the best part of the day, and there’ll be nothing left of it to enjoy” Of course, at 16, I completely disagreed. The best part of the day at 16 starts at about 9pm at your friends house, in the basement getting ready to sneak out to a big party…with boys. Although, I must add here, I was really shy and innocent for ALL of my teen years, aside from the rebellious stage I went through, bound and determined to send my mother to the loony-bin. I'd never give her satisfaction of knowing that as I was sneaking around getting into trouble, I really wasn't doing anything really bad at all. As a mother, I’m sure I’ll get my comeuppance.
Now, I can’t seem to stay in bed past 8 am. I’ll even wake up before then and force myself to stay in bed till then but I usually end up either A: bored, or B: hungry, and find myself “up and at ‘em” anyways. My mother, at 65, sleeps an average of 4 to 6 hours a night at most. Of course, she’s also cranky most of the time. There is no evidence to prove that lack of sleep is the cause of this crankiness. She could just be cranky when she’s talking to me. Honestly, it’s not me, she’s just wound up tighter than a homophobes butt in the boondocks.
One last thought. Why is it that on the weekends I'll wake up at 7 or 7:30 am and have to force myself to sleep in, despite staying up much later than normal the day before, but on a weekeday, having gone to bed at a reasonable hour, I can barely drag my sorry ass out of bed just a half hour earlier than that to go to work?
At 17, I could be “running the roads” for 2 days straight, and still function on Monday at school. I was healthy, but not overly athletic at that time.
At 27, I could stay up for one whole night, shower and go to work. It would take one additional good night sleep to recoup. I was healthy, and somewhat athletic at that time. I was also a single mother and busy at school. Finding time for a gym was tough. I had to get creative!
At 32, I can stay up for most of one night, and it will take two days to recover. I’m very active now. Plenty of opportunities for the gym. I can do things I couldn’t do at 16, and actually enjoy bringing my body to a near breaking point, despite the whining, complaining and bitching. I know, sadistic.
Seems as though I’ve taken a 180 degree turn from:
2 days up = one night sleep, to
1 day up = 2 days sleep.
Having said that, if things continue to progress at this rate, I’ll have reverted to infancy in about ten to twenty years. I’ll sleep most of the time, waking only to eat, and poop. In twenty to thirty years, I’ll be basically comatose, and have to be fed by intravenous while I lay curled up in the fetal position wrapped in warm blankets to simulate a mothers womb.
This, of course, goes against everything I understand about aging. I keep hearing that as you age, you sleep less. In a sense this is true. Once upon a time, I could have easily slept an entire day away. In fact, I can still hear my mothers voice, reverberating in the back of my head with all the joy of nails on a blackboard, saying “Get up, you’ve wasted the best part of the day, and there’ll be nothing left of it to enjoy” Of course, at 16, I completely disagreed. The best part of the day at 16 starts at about 9pm at your friends house, in the basement getting ready to sneak out to a big party…with boys. Although, I must add here, I was really shy and innocent for ALL of my teen years, aside from the rebellious stage I went through, bound and determined to send my mother to the loony-bin. I'd never give her satisfaction of knowing that as I was sneaking around getting into trouble, I really wasn't doing anything really bad at all. As a mother, I’m sure I’ll get my comeuppance.
Now, I can’t seem to stay in bed past 8 am. I’ll even wake up before then and force myself to stay in bed till then but I usually end up either A: bored, or B: hungry, and find myself “up and at ‘em” anyways. My mother, at 65, sleeps an average of 4 to 6 hours a night at most. Of course, she’s also cranky most of the time. There is no evidence to prove that lack of sleep is the cause of this crankiness. She could just be cranky when she’s talking to me. Honestly, it’s not me, she’s just wound up tighter than a homophobes butt in the boondocks.
One last thought. Why is it that on the weekends I'll wake up at 7 or 7:30 am and have to force myself to sleep in, despite staying up much later than normal the day before, but on a weekeday, having gone to bed at a reasonable hour, I can barely drag my sorry ass out of bed just a half hour earlier than that to go to work?
Dirty Thoughts
Sweet Fuck I'm tired! Actually, cold and tired, and a wee bit sick.
hours of sleep last night...4
temperature in the office... - 500 Celsius
girl guide cookies consumed for breakfast...5,000
calories accumulated as a result of cookies...5,000,000
amount of little red lines in my eyeballs...too many to count
Right, so er, we have a very special work out at the gym today, and I'm sooo not prepared to handle it at ALL. So...not...prepared...will...probably...die!
Our work outs with the gym-natzi that I love to hate so much, is basically cross training on crack. Super pumped up, and based on the Crossfit system. The creator of the Crossfit system is here, in Gagetown, today, to help create some video footage of some of the soldiers working out using his system, so that we (courseware/mutlimedia developers) can make it into a training manual offered on CD/DVD for all army professionals engaged in a PT program. Sooo, this feller is gonna take us through a work out as a favour to our little group that has been meeting for the last few months several times a week to work out. This otta be interestin. I'm soo going to collapse into some sort of coma or drown in a pool of my own sweat after puking up the 5000 chocolate mint girl guide cookies onto the gleaming hardwood floors of the old gym. SO.GROSS.YUCK!
In other news, Super-Guy, as in the loverly feller that I met on the weekend, drove all the way from Sussex last night to come and see me. Apparently, he’s quite smitten with me, or so he says. I’m on the fence. I’ve gone from wondering how he feels to knowing perhaps way too much. This guy is soo open, and wanting to discuss things like feelings, and unbelievably gung-ho to make it work with me, I’m wondering if he’s for real, cuz he’s also a riot to hang out with, slightly goofy, which is perfect for me, very sweet, and as fars I’m concerned, really cute. He might be for real, but he might also be an escapee from a lunatic asylum.
He seems to be everything I want a guy to be, but now that I seem to actually have it, it kinda freaks me out. The whole sensitive new age thing kinda freaks me out too. I’ve always maintained that I want a guy to be sensitive enough to be understanding and caring, have the ability to feel empathy towards others, but at the same time it’s nice knowing there’s someone in your life that’s not overly sensitive and can keep you grounded at times when your feel as though your emotions might cause your head to spontaneously combust. Not that that would ever happen to me, nor would I ever feel that way.
I think I need to come up with a name for super-guy, and not Super-guy. His name starts with a B, so maybe B-licious. He really is D-licious. He’s tall with rugged good looks. Some scruff at the end of the day, curly dark hair, hazel eyes, strong jaw, clef chin, and a smile that lights up his whole face. His eyes crinkle a little and his cheeks puff right out. Sweet ass. Oh how he has a sweet ass. Looks great in a pair of cords. Mmm damnit, I’m not going to get a lick of work done today now. Dirty dirty dirty thoughts. My mind should be washed out with soap.
hours of sleep last night...4
temperature in the office... - 500 Celsius
girl guide cookies consumed for breakfast...5,000
calories accumulated as a result of cookies...5,000,000
amount of little red lines in my eyeballs...too many to count
Right, so er, we have a very special work out at the gym today, and I'm sooo not prepared to handle it at ALL. So...not...prepared...will...probably...die!
Our work outs with the gym-natzi that I love to hate so much, is basically cross training on crack. Super pumped up, and based on the Crossfit system. The creator of the Crossfit system is here, in Gagetown, today, to help create some video footage of some of the soldiers working out using his system, so that we (courseware/mutlimedia developers) can make it into a training manual offered on CD/DVD for all army professionals engaged in a PT program. Sooo, this feller is gonna take us through a work out as a favour to our little group that has been meeting for the last few months several times a week to work out. This otta be interestin. I'm soo going to collapse into some sort of coma or drown in a pool of my own sweat after puking up the 5000 chocolate mint girl guide cookies onto the gleaming hardwood floors of the old gym. SO.GROSS.YUCK!
In other news, Super-Guy, as in the loverly feller that I met on the weekend, drove all the way from Sussex last night to come and see me. Apparently, he’s quite smitten with me, or so he says. I’m on the fence. I’ve gone from wondering how he feels to knowing perhaps way too much. This guy is soo open, and wanting to discuss things like feelings, and unbelievably gung-ho to make it work with me, I’m wondering if he’s for real, cuz he’s also a riot to hang out with, slightly goofy, which is perfect for me, very sweet, and as fars I’m concerned, really cute. He might be for real, but he might also be an escapee from a lunatic asylum.
He seems to be everything I want a guy to be, but now that I seem to actually have it, it kinda freaks me out. The whole sensitive new age thing kinda freaks me out too. I’ve always maintained that I want a guy to be sensitive enough to be understanding and caring, have the ability to feel empathy towards others, but at the same time it’s nice knowing there’s someone in your life that’s not overly sensitive and can keep you grounded at times when your feel as though your emotions might cause your head to spontaneously combust. Not that that would ever happen to me, nor would I ever feel that way.
I think I need to come up with a name for super-guy, and not Super-guy. His name starts with a B, so maybe B-licious. He really is D-licious. He’s tall with rugged good looks. Some scruff at the end of the day, curly dark hair, hazel eyes, strong jaw, clef chin, and a smile that lights up his whole face. His eyes crinkle a little and his cheeks puff right out. Sweet ass. Oh how he has a sweet ass. Looks great in a pair of cords. Mmm damnit, I’m not going to get a lick of work done today now. Dirty dirty dirty thoughts. My mind should be washed out with soap.
Once upon a time...
Be prepared, you might want to go pee and get yourself something to snack on before reading, it’s a long story today, but first:
“Uh oh, looks like someone has a case of the Monday’s”
- Office Space (1999)
Bitch slap upside the head. I think that’d be an appropriate response to that statement.
For the love of Pete, I sure hope daylight savings time kicks in. I think we fall back, spring forward right? Which means, hopefully soon, we’ll get an extra hour for one day, and hopefully it won’t be so freaking dark in the morning. I can’t stand this. I’ve had such a hard time getting up in the morning. Doesn’t matter how early I go to bed, I just can’t get up when it’s dark out. Even worse is getting dressed by the dim glow of my lamp on the night stand. “Where the fuck is my underwear. Fuck, I just stubbed my toe. Is that sock blue or black?, Ah fuck it, who cares, I’m going mismatched and commando today”
And now: The fairy tale.
Once upon a time there was a girl. No wait, woman on the edge. Yes, yes that’s better. This woman was a bit jaded and bitter. Well, jaded and bitter on the surface. Somewhere deep down in the cockles of her broken heart, which was deep inside her body, there was some small glimmer of hope that she too, could find happiness with another.
One day, said woman who had been single for some time and ready to give up after several failed attempts at dating, decided to respond to one last email she received from an online dating site before she deleted her profile in frustration and boredom. Seriously folks, dating is hard work, and who has that kind of time and energy when they’re single parents working full time?
So, after responding to this person, with no expectations of anything coming of it, she was sure it’d be just another dead end, but wouldn’t want to be rude by not responding. He wrote back again, and turns out, he’s kinda funny and interesting. He seemed to have many of the same interests. Now this was exciting, cuz the woman had a variety of odd interests that she had been unable to match up with anyone else. There was free-style or skate skiing, hiking, camping, guitar, road cycling, traveling, photography. Several others had said they liked those things, but didn’t actually do them. Ahem, doesn’t count, and I hate to break it to the world at large, but 4 wheeling and snowmobiling, while probably entertaining, does not constitute active living or being sports oriented. It’s just a fun hobby and does nothing for the beer gut that inevitably goes with it.
Er sorry, I digress. Back to the woman. Eventually the emails started getting longer and longer, so long in fact, that it became tiresome to have to write them anymore. Light bulb! The phone!! She sent him her number. Said, “call anytime, it’s much easier this way” It’s far too easy to misinterpret someone’s personality when all you have is text on a screen to go by, thus ending in disappointment when you go to meet said person, and they have some weird tick, talk in monotone, and a serious lisp that causes them to spit all over you when they talk. Not that I have encountered that, nor would I hold that against someone if they did, as it would be something beyond their control perhaps, but again, I’m totally getting away from the story, and I’m probably just shallow as all hell anyways. It’s a good one, I promise.
The two people talk on the phone a couple times….for ages. Her phone went dead, twice! They decide to meet, maybe go for a bike ride together. Great idea, except for the damn spandex shorts with bum-padding ya have to wear! And trust me, you HAVE to wear them. It’s really painful in the “downstairs” otherwise. Not your butt, but the “downstairs” Think about THE most sensitive part of your body girls, and then think what it would feel like riding over small bumps, rocks, or any other inconsistencies on these terrible New Brunswick roads, on a bike with absolutely no suspension and ¾ inch tires with 120 lbs of pressure. You feel everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. That layer of padding on those really unattractive shorts means the difference between slight discomfort, and a doughnut seat for a week and crying every time you have to pee.
The two see each other face to face for the first time in front of a gas station, and all the girl can think is, “Sweet Fuck, he’s gorgeous, what the hell is he doing on a dating site?” 6’1” tall, dark curly hair with a slight smattering of salt and pepper on the side, hazel eyes, and a great body to boot, with a fantastic smile. The two proceed to spend 9 hours together that day. This fella was so sweet to her. They hiked up the side of a ski mountain to watch some extreme downhill mountain biking and enjoy the beautiful fall view of the area. They went for a short drive around the city to look around, then he took her back to his place to get ready for the bike ride. They never went. He ended up making her dinner. Dinner consisted of homemade pesto sauce (made by him, using spices he grew) on top of rotini noodles and fresh peppers on top. They sipped red wine together (It was really good), as he rubbed her feet. They spent the entire afternoon talking, he played his guitar for her, (he’s an amazing blues guitar player), showed her around his house that he is renovating himself with wood he cut in the woods and planed himself. Is this guy for real? Common, I mean really, is he? Did I also mention he’s a biologist with two degrees and a masters? Uber intelligent and environmentally conscious. He challenges her on an intellectual level while making her laugh herself silly. They sat on the deck he built and watched the sun set over the countryside.
Before the woman got in her car to go home, he confessed to her that he thought she was beautiful from the first moment he saw her, and would really love to see her again. He really likes her a lot. Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow, oh wow…Is this for real? Can’t be. A guy like that doesn’t really exist, something must be wrong with him.
For now, the woman is just going to enjoy any time she gets to spend with him, hope that it’s not all a good show, and be thankful that she didn’t delete her profile without first responding to her very own prince charming. Here's hoping it's real!
“Uh oh, looks like someone has a case of the Monday’s”
- Office Space (1999)
Bitch slap upside the head. I think that’d be an appropriate response to that statement.
For the love of Pete, I sure hope daylight savings time kicks in. I think we fall back, spring forward right? Which means, hopefully soon, we’ll get an extra hour for one day, and hopefully it won’t be so freaking dark in the morning. I can’t stand this. I’ve had such a hard time getting up in the morning. Doesn’t matter how early I go to bed, I just can’t get up when it’s dark out. Even worse is getting dressed by the dim glow of my lamp on the night stand. “Where the fuck is my underwear. Fuck, I just stubbed my toe. Is that sock blue or black?, Ah fuck it, who cares, I’m going mismatched and commando today”
And now: The fairy tale.
Once upon a time there was a girl. No wait, woman on the edge. Yes, yes that’s better. This woman was a bit jaded and bitter. Well, jaded and bitter on the surface. Somewhere deep down in the cockles of her broken heart, which was deep inside her body, there was some small glimmer of hope that she too, could find happiness with another.
One day, said woman who had been single for some time and ready to give up after several failed attempts at dating, decided to respond to one last email she received from an online dating site before she deleted her profile in frustration and boredom. Seriously folks, dating is hard work, and who has that kind of time and energy when they’re single parents working full time?
So, after responding to this person, with no expectations of anything coming of it, she was sure it’d be just another dead end, but wouldn’t want to be rude by not responding. He wrote back again, and turns out, he’s kinda funny and interesting. He seemed to have many of the same interests. Now this was exciting, cuz the woman had a variety of odd interests that she had been unable to match up with anyone else. There was free-style or skate skiing, hiking, camping, guitar, road cycling, traveling, photography. Several others had said they liked those things, but didn’t actually do them. Ahem, doesn’t count, and I hate to break it to the world at large, but 4 wheeling and snowmobiling, while probably entertaining, does not constitute active living or being sports oriented. It’s just a fun hobby and does nothing for the beer gut that inevitably goes with it.
Er sorry, I digress. Back to the woman. Eventually the emails started getting longer and longer, so long in fact, that it became tiresome to have to write them anymore. Light bulb! The phone!! She sent him her number. Said, “call anytime, it’s much easier this way” It’s far too easy to misinterpret someone’s personality when all you have is text on a screen to go by, thus ending in disappointment when you go to meet said person, and they have some weird tick, talk in monotone, and a serious lisp that causes them to spit all over you when they talk. Not that I have encountered that, nor would I hold that against someone if they did, as it would be something beyond their control perhaps, but again, I’m totally getting away from the story, and I’m probably just shallow as all hell anyways. It’s a good one, I promise.
The two people talk on the phone a couple times….for ages. Her phone went dead, twice! They decide to meet, maybe go for a bike ride together. Great idea, except for the damn spandex shorts with bum-padding ya have to wear! And trust me, you HAVE to wear them. It’s really painful in the “downstairs” otherwise. Not your butt, but the “downstairs” Think about THE most sensitive part of your body girls, and then think what it would feel like riding over small bumps, rocks, or any other inconsistencies on these terrible New Brunswick roads, on a bike with absolutely no suspension and ¾ inch tires with 120 lbs of pressure. You feel everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. That layer of padding on those really unattractive shorts means the difference between slight discomfort, and a doughnut seat for a week and crying every time you have to pee.
The two see each other face to face for the first time in front of a gas station, and all the girl can think is, “Sweet Fuck, he’s gorgeous, what the hell is he doing on a dating site?” 6’1” tall, dark curly hair with a slight smattering of salt and pepper on the side, hazel eyes, and a great body to boot, with a fantastic smile. The two proceed to spend 9 hours together that day. This fella was so sweet to her. They hiked up the side of a ski mountain to watch some extreme downhill mountain biking and enjoy the beautiful fall view of the area. They went for a short drive around the city to look around, then he took her back to his place to get ready for the bike ride. They never went. He ended up making her dinner. Dinner consisted of homemade pesto sauce (made by him, using spices he grew) on top of rotini noodles and fresh peppers on top. They sipped red wine together (It was really good), as he rubbed her feet. They spent the entire afternoon talking, he played his guitar for her, (he’s an amazing blues guitar player), showed her around his house that he is renovating himself with wood he cut in the woods and planed himself. Is this guy for real? Common, I mean really, is he? Did I also mention he’s a biologist with two degrees and a masters? Uber intelligent and environmentally conscious. He challenges her on an intellectual level while making her laugh herself silly. They sat on the deck he built and watched the sun set over the countryside.
Before the woman got in her car to go home, he confessed to her that he thought she was beautiful from the first moment he saw her, and would really love to see her again. He really likes her a lot. Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow, oh wow…Is this for real? Can’t be. A guy like that doesn’t really exist, something must be wrong with him.
For now, the woman is just going to enjoy any time she gets to spend with him, hope that it’s not all a good show, and be thankful that she didn’t delete her profile without first responding to her very own prince charming. Here's hoping it's real!
Mentally ill Thursdays
Due to a sever lack of inspiration, McB will be calling in mentally ill to blogger today. This is not an invitation to phone or write to me with any issues that require my assistance. I simply do not care. However, I am going to just keep writing and see what comes outta me.
Mentally ill is such a broad term. Everyone from the Autistic to the PMSy, could technically be considered mentally ill. If this is the case, everyone could be considered mentally in some form or another.
Having said that, I think one of my co-workers has Aspergers Syndrome. Pronounced: ass-burgers. Isn’t that hilarious? I’m picturing a whole whack of burgers shaped like asses.
Just to clarify, AS consists of poor communication skills, obsessive or repetitive routines, and physical clumsiness, and is also characterized by deficiencies in social and communication skills. It is considered to be part of the autistic spectrum and is differentiated from other PDDs in that a person with AS also has normal to above normal intelligence, and standard language development compared with classical autism. He drives me absolutely crazy. Talking to him is about as rewarding as bashing your head against a wall repeatedly. After three years, I am still shaking my head in disbelief that he managed to not only get, but maintain a position within the federal government.
Hey, this Friday just happens to be Friday the Thirteenth? Anyone superstitious? I’m not, unless you count my wishing on stars as superstitious. I prefer to think of it as wishful thinking. Oh, and I forgot about my karma issue. Oh, and it’s raining today because yesterday I killed a spider. Okay, so maybe I’m a little superstitious. But, I highly doubt I am the only person on the face of the planet that killed a spider yesterday.
Some might argue that killing the spider is unnecessary. I tend to disagree. Said spider was crawling along my living room floor, completely uninvited. At no point in time did I give it permission to do that. This is MY home, and this spider was not welcome. I was merely defending my abode. As far as I know, that constitutes as self defence. If it’s any comfort to any of you spider loving, tree hugging, free loving, save the earth and all it’s creatures type of people, I had a hard time disposing of said spider.
First, I inspected the spider (from a comfortable distance) to ensure that it was not a family spider. If it was, I was going to follow it and kill all it’s kin too. My living room is not a nursery for arachnids.
Second, I threw a phone book on top of it while it crawled along, completely oblivious to the falling phone book. (How arrogant eh?)
Third, I jumped on the phone book. It squirmed out, so I repeated steps on and two again.
Got it!
Me, being the chicken that I am, couldn’t bring myself to lift the phone book, so I left it there in the middle of the living room floor until I had worked up the courage to kick the phone book away and check to see if the spider had stuck the phone book or the floor.
I was in luck, it was on the floor. So, I vacuumed the sucker up. No more spider. Course, now it’s raining!
Mentally ill is such a broad term. Everyone from the Autistic to the PMSy, could technically be considered mentally ill. If this is the case, everyone could be considered mentally in some form or another.
Having said that, I think one of my co-workers has Aspergers Syndrome. Pronounced: ass-burgers. Isn’t that hilarious? I’m picturing a whole whack of burgers shaped like asses.
Just to clarify, AS consists of poor communication skills, obsessive or repetitive routines, and physical clumsiness, and is also characterized by deficiencies in social and communication skills. It is considered to be part of the autistic spectrum and is differentiated from other PDDs in that a person with AS also has normal to above normal intelligence, and standard language development compared with classical autism. He drives me absolutely crazy. Talking to him is about as rewarding as bashing your head against a wall repeatedly. After three years, I am still shaking my head in disbelief that he managed to not only get, but maintain a position within the federal government.
Hey, this Friday just happens to be Friday the Thirteenth? Anyone superstitious? I’m not, unless you count my wishing on stars as superstitious. I prefer to think of it as wishful thinking. Oh, and I forgot about my karma issue. Oh, and it’s raining today because yesterday I killed a spider. Okay, so maybe I’m a little superstitious. But, I highly doubt I am the only person on the face of the planet that killed a spider yesterday.
Some might argue that killing the spider is unnecessary. I tend to disagree. Said spider was crawling along my living room floor, completely uninvited. At no point in time did I give it permission to do that. This is MY home, and this spider was not welcome. I was merely defending my abode. As far as I know, that constitutes as self defence. If it’s any comfort to any of you spider loving, tree hugging, free loving, save the earth and all it’s creatures type of people, I had a hard time disposing of said spider.
First, I inspected the spider (from a comfortable distance) to ensure that it was not a family spider. If it was, I was going to follow it and kill all it’s kin too. My living room is not a nursery for arachnids.
Second, I threw a phone book on top of it while it crawled along, completely oblivious to the falling phone book. (How arrogant eh?)
Third, I jumped on the phone book. It squirmed out, so I repeated steps on and two again.
Got it!
Me, being the chicken that I am, couldn’t bring myself to lift the phone book, so I left it there in the middle of the living room floor until I had worked up the courage to kick the phone book away and check to see if the spider had stuck the phone book or the floor.
I was in luck, it was on the floor. So, I vacuumed the sucker up. No more spider. Course, now it’s raining!
Office Space
Anyone see that movie Office Space? A brilliant piece of cinematic genius. Taking daily life for so many and simplifying it to 89 minutes, and yet so profoundly moving. I watched that movie a long time ago. Loved it so much, I ended up procuring a copy of it. (I wont specify how I procured this) Friday evening I watched it again. It had been a while since. After I outline my Friday, you’ll understand what prompted this.
After Thursday’s painfully slow progression, if you could call it progression, cuz in order for it to progress, it actually has to move forward, and Thursday did anything but, I decided to call in sick on Friday. My head hurt, I was worn out, I had no get-up-and-go to haul my sorry ass to work. I needed a day to unwind without anything bugging me. A day on my sofa with a hot cup of coffee and a bunch of movies, with no kid, no work, no worries. This was not to be…
Let me elaborate. I got up at 7 am (later than usual, but I had no intentions of going to work, so yay) I helped the kid get ready for school, and shipped her off on her merry-way. I called the office, spoke to the secretary, gave her the news that I would not be joining the crowd of cubicle dwellers this jolly Friday. Made a cup of coffee, was delicious. Put on a movie. Sat down on the sofa. The phone rings. Who the FUCK is calling me at 8:15 am ?? Thinking it might be the kid in need of assistance or something, I stupidly answer the phone. It WONT happen again…EVER! It’s my supervisor. FUCKER’s calling me at home while I’m sick. He wants the files I was working on all week, and where can he find them. “well” I think, “You can find them up my big ass, you fucker” and then I snap back to reality and inform him that they are on my laptop, which is at home with me. (Big toothy grin) I tell him, I’ll email them in. So, I put my coffee down thinking I’ll get this done so fast, the coffee won’t even have a chance to get even slightly chilly. Nope, not gonna happen. File is too big. Proceed to spend the entire morning, and I mean the ENTIRE FUCKING MORNING, and where the FUCK is my coffee, it’s got ice crystals on it, it’s so FUCKING cold, and FUCK, I can’t send it, even after I rework the original file, download winzip (stupid FUCKING program, by the way, shrunk the whole file by 4k. “HELLOOOO??????? ZIP THIS…, Microsoft", as I point to my big fat ass) In the end, after many phone calls from me to the Admin guy, and many calls from my supervisor inquiring as to my progress (stop calling me FUCKER, and let me work) I have to burn the damn file onto a CD and drive it in to work. 25 minutes EACH FUCKING WAY !!! I get home at 12. I find out that everyone went home shortly there-after.
It gets worse. I get to work this morning, and first thing, my supervisor has a leave-pass for me to fill out for missing Friday at work. I have to claim a sick day, even though I worked on my sick day. I lose one sick day for not even getting to have my sick day.
How does this relate to Office Space? My supervisor, bares an uncanny resemblance (in personality only) to the office manager in the movie. “umm…I’m gonna need you to just go ahead and work on your sick day…uhh yaaaa, that’d be greeeaaatt, and ooohhh uuuuhhh don’t forget to uuuhhh fill out a leave pass for, you know…the day you took off sick….yaaa, uhhhh yaaa, thanks buddy” I figured it’d be funny to watch the movie on the weekend, in an attempt to make light of the whole situation. Didn’t work. I found myself watching amidst gritted teeth and clenched fists.
This whole situation led me to forget that I was going to blog about Thanksgiving. I think I gained about 8 lbs this weekend by consuming 5,000,000 calories and grams of fat. That’s the equivalent to swallowing a bowling ball, or an entire turkey, or a healthy new born child, or one of those wussy rubber-coated hand weights the aerobics-freaks use. FUCK! Lots and lots of celery for me this week.
How was all of your guys’ weekends? Love to hear about it. If not a thanksgiving for you, then what did you do with yourself over the last 4 days I was absent from blogworld?
Later gaters
Hump Day Continued...
3:50 pm...Will this day EVER EEENNNNDD ?????
Enya and her Orinoco Flow can go fuck herself, it's not...fucking...working... I swear it took 3 fucking days for the clock to advance 2 fucking hours. And I can't stop saying FUCK. FUUUUCK, I said it again...ACK!
The only definition for Orinoco I could find thanks to Wikipedia:
The Orinoco is one of the longest rivers in South America at 2,410 km, (1,497.5 miles). Its drainage basin, sometimes called the Orinoquia, covers 880,000 km², 23.7% in Colombia with the rest in Venezuela. The Orinoco and tributaries was, and still is, the major transportation system for eastern and interior Venezuela and the llanos of Columbia.
Whatever, I guess I can see why it would flow, what with it being water and all. I've only managed to waste 9 minutes researching this useless piece of information. F.U.C.K.
Enya and her Orinoco Flow can go fuck herself, it's not...fucking...working... I swear it took 3 fucking days for the clock to advance 2 fucking hours. And I can't stop saying FUCK. FUUUUCK, I said it again...ACK!
The only definition for Orinoco I could find thanks to Wikipedia:
The Orinoco is one of the longest rivers in South America at 2,410 km, (1,497.5 miles). Its drainage basin, sometimes called the Orinoquia, covers 880,000 km², 23.7% in Colombia with the rest in Venezuela. The Orinoco and tributaries was, and still is, the major transportation system for eastern and interior Venezuela and the llanos of Columbia.
Whatever, I guess I can see why it would flow, what with it being water and all. I've only managed to waste 9 minutes researching this useless piece of information. F.U.C.K.
Hump Day
Happy Hump Day! Too cheerful for a Wednesday morning? Perhaps. I can't believe how slow this week is going. I'm chagrinned. It's only wednedsay morning, why is time moving so slowely? I think the second hand on the clock just ticked once backwards. In fact, time is moving slower than molasses going uphill in January. Furthermore (just like saying "furthermore") I think it's moving soo slow, that it's actually moving backwards. I'm going to go to bed tonight, and when I get up, it'll be yesterday.
In an effort to make my day go faster, I've lost interest in actual work (total brain malfunction, as a result of heavy concentration this morning, was far too efficient and wore myself out. Must pace self better in the future) Anyways, total digression here, I'm trying to not clock watch. I've got Enya playing in the headphones, and making pathetic attempt at soothing self with Orinico Flow and letting mind wander off to pleasant thoughts. NOw officially too consumed with the definition of Orinoco and why does it flow? Could look it up I suppose but I'd have to sit up straight in my chair in order to read content on the screen. Right now, I'm just hoping my spelling isn't too far off, as I'm slumped so low in my chair I'm almost under my desk, and cannot see what I'm typing. I've moved the trackball mouse to my stomache to avoid having to reach to the desk area to operate it.
FUCK! I want this week to be over. I want to be at my family's house eating Thanksgiving Turkey. I want to be riding my bike through the country side, admiring the pretty fall leaves, and enjoying the fresh fall air and beautiful sunshine we've been promised for the upcoming weekend. I want to be sitting on the sofa with S watching bad movies and eating junk, and/or whining in misery over how much our stomaches hurt from too much Turkey dinner, and why oh why did we have that last shortbread cookie/slice of pie/extra helping of potatoes/cherry ball/ice cream, and covering my face because S stinks up the room, cuz she can fart like no one I've ever encountered before after she eats a big meal.
Just because it's been a while since I posted a photo. Here is one of my dog. Okay, so I concede, she IS kinda cute. BUT, I hold onto my initial statement made much earlier in blog history that she IS STILL a colossal pain in the ass. She needs a labotomy. Does anyone know a vet that would do that to a dog? Come to think of it, I know a few people that could also use a labotomy. Maybe a cross-species medical professional that can do both dogs and people, and can give me a discount for multiple procedures.
And finally, in honor of my PMS and unbelievable pathetic attitude: (sent to me today from a caring friend who just seems to know) Although, none of this could possibly apply to me, what with my being single for the rest of eternity, (I know, poor me, bla bla bla), it's still pretty damn funny. Enjoy!
The Hormone Hostage: The Hormone Hostage knows that there are days in the month when all a man has to do is open his mouth and he takes his life in his own hands! This is a handy guide that should be as common as a driver's license in the wallet of every husband, boyfriend, or significant other!
DANGEROUS:
SAFER:
SAFEST:
ULTRA SAFE:
What's for dinner?
Can I help you with dinner?
Where would you like to go for dinner?
Here, have some chocolate.
Are you wearing that?
Wow, you sure look good in brown!
WOW! Look at you!
Here, have some chocolate
What are you so worked up about?
Could we be overreacting?
Here's my paycheck.
Here, have some chocolate.
Should you be eating that?
You know, there are a lot of apples left.
Can I get you a glass of wine with that?
Here, have some chocolate.
What did you DO all day?
I hope you didn't over-do it today.
I've always loved you in that robe!
Here, have some more chocolate.
In an effort to make my day go faster, I've lost interest in actual work (total brain malfunction, as a result of heavy concentration this morning, was far too efficient and wore myself out. Must pace self better in the future) Anyways, total digression here, I'm trying to not clock watch. I've got Enya playing in the headphones, and making pathetic attempt at soothing self with Orinico Flow and letting mind wander off to pleasant thoughts. NOw officially too consumed with the definition of Orinoco and why does it flow? Could look it up I suppose but I'd have to sit up straight in my chair in order to read content on the screen. Right now, I'm just hoping my spelling isn't too far off, as I'm slumped so low in my chair I'm almost under my desk, and cannot see what I'm typing. I've moved the trackball mouse to my stomache to avoid having to reach to the desk area to operate it.
FUCK! I want this week to be over. I want to be at my family's house eating Thanksgiving Turkey. I want to be riding my bike through the country side, admiring the pretty fall leaves, and enjoying the fresh fall air and beautiful sunshine we've been promised for the upcoming weekend. I want to be sitting on the sofa with S watching bad movies and eating junk, and/or whining in misery over how much our stomaches hurt from too much Turkey dinner, and why oh why did we have that last shortbread cookie/slice of pie/extra helping of potatoes/cherry ball/ice cream, and covering my face because S stinks up the room, cuz she can fart like no one I've ever encountered before after she eats a big meal.
Just because it's been a while since I posted a photo. Here is one of my dog. Okay, so I concede, she IS kinda cute. BUT, I hold onto my initial statement made much earlier in blog history that she IS STILL a colossal pain in the ass. She needs a labotomy. Does anyone know a vet that would do that to a dog? Come to think of it, I know a few people that could also use a labotomy. Maybe a cross-species medical professional that can do both dogs and people, and can give me a discount for multiple procedures.
And finally, in honor of my PMS and unbelievable pathetic attitude: (sent to me today from a caring friend who just seems to know) Although, none of this could possibly apply to me, what with my being single for the rest of eternity, (I know, poor me, bla bla bla), it's still pretty damn funny. Enjoy!
The Hormone Hostage: The Hormone Hostage knows that there are days in the month when all a man has to do is open his mouth and he takes his life in his own hands! This is a handy guide that should be as common as a driver's license in the wallet of every husband, boyfriend, or significant other!
DANGEROUS:
SAFER:
SAFEST:
ULTRA SAFE:
What's for dinner?
Can I help you with dinner?
Where would you like to go for dinner?
Here, have some chocolate.
Are you wearing that?
Wow, you sure look good in brown!
WOW! Look at you!
Here, have some chocolate
What are you so worked up about?
Could we be overreacting?
Here's my paycheck.
Here, have some chocolate.
Should you be eating that?
You know, there are a lot of apples left.
Can I get you a glass of wine with that?
Here, have some chocolate.
What did you DO all day?
I hope you didn't over-do it today.
I've always loved you in that robe!
Here, have some more chocolate.
FLOCCINAUCINIHILIPILIFICATION
floc‧ci‧nau‧ci‧ni‧hil‧i‧pil‧i‧fi‧ca‧tion
Pronunciation Key - [flok-suh-naw-suh-nahy-hil-uh-pil-uh-fi-key-shuhn]
–noun Rare. the estimation of something as useless(encountered mainly as an example of one of the longest words in the English language).
Honest to fuck, it's a real word. Meaning something that's valued as useless. You know what comes to my mind? This word is just a superfluous use of vocabulary and ergo is in itself, useless.
Revision: One simply MUST click the link. Really, and hold a small moment of silence for the loss.
What a waste...
Pronunciation Key - [flok-suh-naw-suh-nahy-hil-uh-pil-uh-fi-key-shuhn]
–noun Rare. the estimation of something as useless(encountered mainly as an example of one of the longest words in the English language).
Honest to fuck, it's a real word. Meaning something that's valued as useless. You know what comes to my mind? This word is just a superfluous use of vocabulary and ergo is in itself, useless.
Revision: One simply MUST click the link. Really, and hold a small moment of silence for the loss.
What a waste...
Warning
People suck! Oh, er did I type that out loud? OMG, I can’t believe I’m in such a bad mood. The problem with my being in a bad mood is that other ppl find it entertaining. Perhaps it’s the way I express my displeasure with the world at large that is so funny, but it really doesn’t do much to ease my distemperment.
This morning, I expressed my dislike of people.
Me (said to Network Admin guy): “Wow, you sound really ill”
NAG: “Ya, no one seems to care enough to let me take the day off and go home. I can’t believe you noticed”
Me: “OH, I noticed, and I don’t even like people”
I need a t-shirt that says, “Does not play well with others”
***********
I bashed my head on a bathroom stall door in my haste to get ready for the gym today. Figured I’d combine peeing with changing simultaneously. Turns out, I lack coordination when I’m sitting on a toilet. I have a bump on my head. No one asked if I was okay when I let out this huge yelp. I could have knocked myself unconscious, only to be found an hour later, dazed and confused with my pants around my ankles and a serious concussion.
***********
As an unwitting superhero, I am able to destroy watches, microwaves, toasters, coffee makers, and now…..drum roll please…..laptops. Yes folks, the $5000 laptop the Department of National Defence has so graciously provided for me in which to perform my duties as courseware developer and all around pretty face in a see of little green men, I affectionately refer to as “Trooploops”, is broken. Nothing I can see wrong with it, just that it has simply ceased to function. No warning. The on-button turns blue to indicate that the power button has been pressed and that it is now running, but alas the screen remains black. This functionality, or rather, lack there-of, is too coincidentally similar to the way the other electronic devices I have managed to destroy is.
Coffee maker – light comes on, alarm and auto function all operate, does not percolate. This has happened twice in the past year, what are the chances?
Watches – simply stop working. Watch repair people put new batteries, refurbish them, and in the off chance they get them working again, they stop working once again in exactly the same fashion. Watch repair people are baffled.
Microwaves – Mostly just the fuses blow with a glorious PFFFSSTT. My latest microwave is actually pretty tough, so I actually blow the breaker that the microwave works on.
Laptop – described above. Simply no explanation. I have had 2 laptops, and 2 desktops fail on me in the 3 years I’ve been here. So far, I’m leading the group in broken equipment repairs.
***********
Did I mention I hate everything right now? PMS…it’s gotta be. Let that be a warning to all that venture to my blog area for the next week. It wont be pretty.
This morning, I expressed my dislike of people.
Me (said to Network Admin guy): “Wow, you sound really ill”
NAG: “Ya, no one seems to care enough to let me take the day off and go home. I can’t believe you noticed”
Me: “OH, I noticed, and I don’t even like people”
I need a t-shirt that says, “Does not play well with others”
***********
I bashed my head on a bathroom stall door in my haste to get ready for the gym today. Figured I’d combine peeing with changing simultaneously. Turns out, I lack coordination when I’m sitting on a toilet. I have a bump on my head. No one asked if I was okay when I let out this huge yelp. I could have knocked myself unconscious, only to be found an hour later, dazed and confused with my pants around my ankles and a serious concussion.
***********
As an unwitting superhero, I am able to destroy watches, microwaves, toasters, coffee makers, and now…..drum roll please…..laptops. Yes folks, the $5000 laptop the Department of National Defence has so graciously provided for me in which to perform my duties as courseware developer and all around pretty face in a see of little green men, I affectionately refer to as “Trooploops”, is broken. Nothing I can see wrong with it, just that it has simply ceased to function. No warning. The on-button turns blue to indicate that the power button has been pressed and that it is now running, but alas the screen remains black. This functionality, or rather, lack there-of, is too coincidentally similar to the way the other electronic devices I have managed to destroy is.
Coffee maker – light comes on, alarm and auto function all operate, does not percolate. This has happened twice in the past year, what are the chances?
Watches – simply stop working. Watch repair people put new batteries, refurbish them, and in the off chance they get them working again, they stop working once again in exactly the same fashion. Watch repair people are baffled.
Microwaves – Mostly just the fuses blow with a glorious PFFFSSTT. My latest microwave is actually pretty tough, so I actually blow the breaker that the microwave works on.
Laptop – described above. Simply no explanation. I have had 2 laptops, and 2 desktops fail on me in the 3 years I’ve been here. So far, I’m leading the group in broken equipment repairs.
***********
Did I mention I hate everything right now? PMS…it’s gotta be. Let that be a warning to all that venture to my blog area for the next week. It wont be pretty.
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