To Blog or not to Blog...ahh what the heck?

After a few of the comments I received related to the fecal fairy tales I've posted (only 2 really, and 1 that questioned the lack of handwashing afterwards), I've started to wonder why I write blogs and really, what is the point?

I think I write my blog for fun and to have a moment or two of creative realease in an otherwise busy-yet-boring workaday week we call life. I generally only ever write blogs while I'm at work, stealing five to ten mintues to usually write about something that has just happenned or an idea/phrase that struck me as funny just a few moments before. It breaks up the uninterrupted spreadsheets spooled in front of my eyes from 9 to 5 and I usually get back to work feeling happier and little more productive for the rest of the day. Most people who've read my writings seem to get a good chuckle or two (some have had much better, some much worse) but overall it seems to be a win-win-win situation for all invovled.

Taking a little step back I think that the blogs haven't been (at least for the most part) about the obvious subjects they're centered around (bathroom visits, avoiding work, installing a washingmachine, or faking things) but rather an examination of the strange and often funny behvior surrounding those events. The things people do when they don't really think anyone is paying attention or even when they know people are paying attention (myself included). I wouldn't go so far as to collectively call them a treatise on human behavior since that would be offending anyone who's actually ever written a treatise and affords too much importance on the trivial little paragraphs I've amateurishly strung together mostly for my own, sometimes for other peoples', amusement. They are an honest examination, as much as I can muster, of what I've seen and the way things have made me think on a day-to-day basis.

In the end I think a blog acts as a diary of sorts mainly because while they do convey some tidbits of information or 'facts', they are for the most part opinion-based and opinion-biased no matter how neutral anyone truly claims to be. That is the best we can hope to expect from blogs and most everything else in the world these days. There are much better blogs our there than mine and much worse for sure, but collectively, if you could include a large enough sampling of them, I think they act as one of the only really true snapshots of the human condition (of the affluent, computer-connected world at any rate).

That's my two cents, at least, and that's my blog.

"Poogasm" or "Another Kick at the Can"

Sorry to return to another detestable diatribe on defecation, but some things I just can't comprehend.

I understand fully the pleasurable pinnacle a person can obtain when the push-and-pinch provides a plethora of piquante relief hormones pulsating through a person's pipeline (pick a peck of pickled peppers 5 times fast).

I also understand how during that same superpowered sensation someone could squeak a sigh of satisfaction when surfing solo in the salle de bain (sick a seck of sickled seppers 5 times fast?).

What I fail to comprehend is what the people who exhale these exhortations think they're accomplishing, if anything, when they do it in the presence of proper persons in public?

The multi-orgasmic moans and musings emanating from their mouths following happy clappy flappy flatulence in their seemingly less than soundproof stall is digusting to the point that they may as well be copulating with a corpulant corpse for all I could care.

The juxtaposition of a joyous moan or grunt immediately proceeding presumptuous plumbing plugging poo pumping is just perplexing. Odd enough to make one want to garrulously giggle but, not wanting to be apprehended at all by the poo pusher, one has to use extraordinary sound stifling personal powers lest, Heaven help us, you be harrowingly had.

What's worse? Being lavishly loud while tooting to the tune of number two, or noticing someone else's excremental excitement?

I just don't know and there is the ridiculous rub of it all.

Today's blog is brought to you by the letters A, D, P, S, E, F, M, C, G, H, L, T, and R with minor sponsorship from the rest of the alphabet too.

LifeChat

LifeChatTM

What to Say to Get What You Want

Personal Interactions Edition

ISBN: 0385468555

(Also available: Business Interactions Edition, Kids Edition, Dealing With The Elderly Edition)

Synopsis: LifeChatTM is more than just a book or instructional manual, it is the path to professional success and personal freedom!

Modeled after the Choose Your Own Adventure style of book we all loved as children, follow our unique, easy-to-learn, highly effective system and YOU TOO can achieve the success you only ever dreamed of but never thought possible.

We've included an excerpt below to whet your appetite.

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Excerpt: Page 14 - Husband to Wife Communication: Butter Her Up

Sample starter script: "Honey, you are a strong, intelligent, independent, and beautiful woman. I am a million times blessed to know someone like you. Thank-you for being you. It would be an absolute honour if you would...(turn to Page 69 for action options)."

Excerpt: Page 69 - Interraction Action Options

Sample action script 23: "...provide oral pleasure to my male member."

Sample action script 36: "...toss my salad."

Sample action script 23: "spank me like a schoolboy. A naughty, naughty schoolboy."

(see Page 126 for Counter Objection Responses)

Excerpt: Page 126 - Counter Objection Responses

Sample counter scipt 325: "Yes, of course I will freshen up first."

(see Glossary for deinition of bolded terms)

Excerpt: Page B-23 - Glossary - Section F

Sample Glossary Term: "Freshen Up: To cleanse via bathing, showering, or washcloth generally with specific focus on malodorous regions including armpits, neck, feet, and genital region(s). In the case of washcloth use this activity is sometimes also referred to as 'Prostitute's Penance' or 'Hooker Wash'.

Hand Washing, Attentiveness, and Intelligence - Things People Fake

Ever wondered why people pretend the things they pretend? In some cases it makes sense (i.e., politicians - that should be self-explanatory), but most of the time it just kinda makes you scratch your head and wonder 'why?'.

Faking Attentiveness

This is probably the most understandable of the list of things people fake. It wouldn't do you much good if you decided to nod off for a nice nuzzly nap in the middle of an "important" staff meeting where your boss/supervisor/CEO is going to reassure everyone that they have absolutely no intention of laying off anymore employees or plans to close any offices in the immediate future.

As a word-to-the-wise everyone should realize that no one every really needs to make "plans" to close an office or layoff workers. They just show up at a "high level" meeting one day where someone asks aloud 'anyone got any ideas on how we can save a million or so in payroll?". Someone always invariably answers, 'well, we could close the Scranton office', they all mumble and nod, and that's that. The 'high level' meeting participants then proceed to pat each other on the back and give each other bonuses that total a little more than a million for their stellar work and ability to 'think out of the box', 'rightsize their operations', 'generate investor capital', yadda, yadda, yadda.

Other areas where faking attentiveness is somewhat understandable and/or necessary since not paying attention would cause disastrous distress levels in the people you're interacting with include:

a) childrens' school plays right up until and immediately after the 3 seconds your kid actually gets to walk around the stage pretending to be toothpaste or give the Virgin Mary a gift of Frankinsence that looks a lot like the empty box of RitzBits you put in the trash last week with a few cotton balls and paint slapped on as a disguise. The rest of the time you just gotta grin, say "oh yes, s/he's wonderful", and pretend to care as the other parents surrounding you extol the virtues of the existensial exuberance inherent in their son/daughter's protrayal of a tree, rock, or other such obtuse object.

b) while listening to your husband/wife/significant other babble on about some work-related crisis that really isn't more important to you than the Happy Days or Laverne and Shirley rerun you're trying to watch (The Fonz on a surfboard and still wearing his leather jacket...Go Fonzie! Go! Look out for that shark! Ahhh, Carmine, you singing fool, where are you now? Rags to riches and back to rags again, I presume.)

c) during sex when you might be thinking of the list of groceries you need to pick up on the way home from work tomorrow or trying to delay orgasm by thinking of baseball or your grandma's dentures that she accidentally left on the edge of the sink right before you had to go in for your morning visit that's gonna take at least 10 minutes (I still have the emotional scars from that one). You probably should at least appear to be interested in whichever of your partner's body part(s) are in contact with you at that moment. You may also want to try and make eye contact, but that depends entirely on your physical orientation and whether or not you've removed the gimp mask/blindfold/duct tape yet.

Faking Intelligence

This one is a bit of a grimy grey area to say the least. On the one hand people have successfully faked knowing something about something to the point where they make CEO. In that scenario, even if you royally screw up they'll still give you a multimillion dollar golden handshake on your way out the door so, really, who's the smarter one then?

Unless of course you get caught while you righteously rip off the masses and get sent to spend some time at the local penitentiary where everyone enters by the 'back door'...wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Mind you, depending on your personal procilivities, you might view it as an extended stay at Club Med or Hedonism - Prison Edition. You might get lucky and end up in the cell next to Martha's. She could let you know exactly what ointment you should use for that chafing that turned into a funny looking rash and how to make it from rhubarb and toothpaste...'it's a good thing'.

On the other hand, most people who fake intelligence don't have a hope in hell of making CEO or a clue where to begin so much so that they try to make themselves seem smart by using as many 'big words' as they can think of. For most however, the biggest words they can come up with are 'marmalade', 'authorized', or 'unaccepatable'. They particularly like that last word as anyone who's worked in any service capacity would know the phrase, "well that's just unacceptable" and recognize it as the last refuge of the terminally 'tarded twits who like to argue and complain about everything under the sun. I think one of the true measures of someone's lack of intelligence or just plain stupidity is to record how long they'll argue over a penny in the price of whatever it is they're buying. Once they break the one minute mark they should be allowed to put a handicap sign in their car, they need as much help as we can give them.

Faking Hand Washing

Now this is the one that causes me the greatest amount of conceptual constipation I've ever had the misfortune of experiencing.

Why? Why? Why?

I have witnessed, first hand, people using the restroom (usually while at work during my quarterly meeting with the Department of Wastewater Management - see previous blog for details) and only after they realize that someone else is in the restroom with them, they decide it necessary to give the impression that they are sanitary souls and fake washing their hands.

You, I, and anyone else would know they're faking because in the microsecond that they turn the tap water on/off there is no possible way that they could even get their hands off the tap and under the water to even accidentally dislodge a miniscule microspec of the microorganic mites dining on their digits.

Again

Why? Why? Why?

If you're going to take the time to turn the water on, why not get your hands wet, add some soap, give a little rub, rinse 'em clean, and dry 'em up? Would they rather walk around the rest of the day with the festering fecality of their brief restroom repose? Does it add spice to their dull leftover lunch? Did they pick out a particular peanut they wanted to give a second chew to? Lastly, who exactly are they trying to kid? I mean, come on, Ebola didn't spread on its own, you know.

My head is spurriously spinning due to the lack of logic so I'm going to shut my brain down for a while and get back to work. I have things that I pretend too, you know.

Poop Chute Toot Toot

Its a little disconcerting when you walk into your office restroom facilities (most lovingly referred to in our place of work as 'The House the Poo Fairy Built') and all is quiet. You get a little relaxed, maybe make a little more noise than usual, maybe slam the stall door a bit harder than you intended, and let out that exhilarant exhilation of, "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." as you sit your bare buttocks on your throne-of-choise's cold plastic seat.

Sidenote for the squeamish: for brevity's sake I've left out the details of the paper-spreading ritual and the whistling of 'Old Susanna' that usually acts as soundtrack.

The source of my disconcersion (that's probably not a word, maybe it should be consternation?) comes when after all this excessive noise making and possibly a little flatulence just prior to your intial push-and-pinch (or push-and-plop for those of you with looser sphincters than I), you hear in the stall adjacent a muffled, 'sniffle, sniffle, cough, cough'.

'Egad!', you think to yourself, 'there's bears in them there woods!'

Once busted you do what every normal, relatively young, selfrespecting person does and mentally switch your ass to stealth mode and try to quietly sloop and ploop the rest of your delivery into its watery resting place all the while hoping to the heavens the chili you ate for lunch doesn't make a rumbling return anytime soon.

Sidenote #2: I mentioned "relatively young" in the paragraph above only because I've had the pleasure of passing my thoroughly digested munchables, along with some thoroughly undigested peanuts and corn, on to the treatment plant while the stall next to me was being occupied by a gentleman that was neither young nor apparently selfrespecting 'cause he let the shit fly like he was late for his own funeral. His advanced age and relaxed muscular structure also caused some unnecessary and quite clappy flappiness that was just uncalled for and more than a little embarassing.

At the end of it all, what made things that much more disconcerting and odd was the fact that after completing my quarterly review with the Department of Wastewater Management, washing (with soap) and drying both hands and all my fingers, and walking out of the Poo Fairy's abode, the coughing sniffler (who was there before I entered) was still sitting (I hope) in his stall coughing and sniffling with no end in sight.

There's gotta be some kind of fetish in there somewhere. I just hope he wasn't offended by the hints of rapini and asparagus I left behind. After all, I wouldn't want to be rude.

The downward spiral

I am currently in allergy hell and allergy season has just begun.

I'm allergic to grass pollen, you see, so there's virtually nowhere I can go to escape 'cause eventhough we've done a pretty good job of raping and pillaging ole Mother Earth, there's still a bunch of the green stuff all over the place. It's the one natural thing that we all seem to like and like to complain about so it gives us something to do.

It's not even so much that my nose has a constant mucousy slow leak happenin' that really bothers me or that you have to eat and drink everything in small doses so you don't suffocate or drown. The thing that drives me absolutely insane is that my upper nasal passageway/sinuses are swollen completely shut (think opposite of Paris Hilton) and no amount of antihistamine, nasal sprays, or cold compresses can help. All nasal sprays (in case you were wondering) smell and taste like ammonia. You'd think they'd at least make a nice fresh lemon scent available, maybe apple pie or something. After awhile even the faint aroma of dirty beaver would be a welcome change, although that also carries a slight vinegary tang to it once in awhile.

Sidenote: I made the mistake once of trying to spray Otrivin up my nose while lying down on the couch. Sprays were made to be used in the upright position was the "take home message" from that experience. I quickly learned that lesson after what was supposed to be a fine misty spray actually came out in a high-powered stream-of-doom that went directly through my sinuses and down the back of my throat burning a trail all along the way. Nasal sprays are strong, but Otrivin is the freakin' Hercules/Superman/Incredible Hulk/John Holmes of nasal sprays. I tasted ammonia for at least 10 days after that. Bad, bad idea.

Not only that, but I took an allergy pill this morning (allegra-D to be exact), and my whole body is getting pretty rubbery right now. I don't know why but I can drink like a fish all night with the hardest liquer you can find and not feel a thing that night or the morning after, but I take one teensy tiny little "Non-Drowsy" allergy pill or other non-Advil medication and it is good night big 250lbs Tony. I'm not even sure if I can feel my toes right now.

Add that to the brain-numbing effect being at work usually has on me and I just might try to eat my lunch with my ass pretty soon. I hope someone has the courage to stop me, they usually just let me sit with broccoli in my teeth so I'm not too hopeful.

I am positive that there are people in the world suffering 1-million times greater suffering than anything that I will ever have to go through in my lifetime, but right now, I just want to breathe again.

Pity me, really, 'cause I'm pitiful.

What to do, to do, to do...?

What do you do when you don't know what to do? What do you do when you come in to work and have all of your work done in the first 90 minutes of your shift? Blog? Facebook? Other random web searching?

When you've spent a little while with not a lot going on, how do you get motivated to do something when it finally comes across your desk 2 hours after you finished the last thing?

I wasn't overly worried until another random Google Quest into the void produced this little tidbit,

“Boredom causes raised blood pressure, narrowing of the arteries and raised cholesterol,” says Dr. Sandi Mann, author of Hiding What We Feel, Faking What We Don’t.

Boredom doesn’t just show up in the daily lives of customer service reps who might have to mouth the same words fifty times a day. Workers with not enough to do or doing a job that’s not challenging may also find themselves twiddling their thumbs. Or because you’re highly skilled, you can be vulnerable to boredom since you can do your job with little effort once you’ve perfected your skills, says Dyer-Smith.

from http://andreakay.com/personal/art_5046.htm

So now what? I'm overweight from sitting on my cubicle-bound buttocks all day with my only exercise coming from walking to the printer and/or cafeteria, I'm bored 'cause I've been doing this job so long I'm showing people with 10+ years seniority how to do the job, and now I'm stressed/worried that being bored is going to kill me....ARRRGGGGHHHH!!!

Time for a mindless distraction so I can regain some composure:

http://www.kingfeatures.com/features/comics/comics.htm

Ahhhh...much better. Back to non-work now.

Hope I don't cack before 3pm.

Friday afternoon quickie.

Finally got my sorry butt on to Facebook and I must admit that while I was not that impressed with the site itself, it is extremely addictive and an excellent way to destroy even more brain cells while at work.

Here are some random observations I made while surfing through the various pages and people I used to go to highschool with (or so they say, I can't remember anymore):

1. While people might speak with a Jamaican or other Carribean accent in person I am really confused by why those same people feel the need to TYPE with a Jamaican or other Carribean accent, for example:

"I kno of a certain young male teach (who shall remain nameless) dat was sleepin wid students. I kno of a gyrl who actually had a xtra curikular relationship wid him. She doesnt tink I kno butt..... I KNO WUT HAPPENED DURIN MASS WID YU N HIM! Comin bak fixin yur hair, n wipin yur mouth yu should've told him ta fix hiz zippa! Hope ya passed hiz class tha 2nd time aroun"

...I just don't get it.

2. If you are an attractive female and someone asks to be your "Friend", they really want to "Super Poke" you. If you are an attractive male and someone asks to be your friend...they really don't want anything at all. They're just annoying. Or your cousin.

3. Why do people who are obviously not gangsters take pictures of themselves to try and make themselves look like gangsters? See: http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=499530&id=603810720

4. Why do girls/women who claim to not be looking to get laid post cleavage-closeup photos? I don't have any specific links...there's plenty of 'em on there.

I changed my mind on #4, here's a link:

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=33136&id=500698123


That's it for now. I'm off to install a dishwasher, take my son to his soccer team photos, and maybe find a theatre that's still playing Hot Fuzz.

Gotta go!

What do you do when..?

What do you do when....

... your boss asks you for something he/she asked you to do 2 days ago?

... a customer asks you for something he/she asked you for 2 weeks ago?

... your son asks you for another Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle to add to his 12 other Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles eventhough there are only 4 freakin' Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?

... your neighbour wants to borrow your power tools for 'a little project'?

... your wife/husband/significant other asks you to do something you can't possibly do after the 8 beers and 7 shots you just had?

Answer to all of the above:

Just fake it as best you can and move on.

P.S. Question - if you (a) believe in a god/deity of some sort and (b) think that by not recycling something you are damaging the Earth, does that mean that not recycling is a sin? and, by extension, does that mean that every single time you don't recycle (even if it is because it is extremely inconvenient) you are committing a sin?

That is of course only relevant if you believe in a god/deity.

See http://richarddawkins.net/godDelusion

Not saying that I agree with Mr. D. (there are some serious flaws in his arguments) but it's interesting nonetheless. Maybe if I'm already almost comatose one day I might take the time to read it...or I might just watch 'The Facts of Life - Season 3 DVD' I borrowed from the library. Gotta love Blair, Natalie, Tootie and Jo - even with the ridiculous episode where Jo decides to start a pizza business in the boarding school kitchen. 1980's racially motivated stereotypical hillarity at its best. See also 'Perfect Strangers' - Balky, Balky, Balky, where are you now?

Ahh Mrs. Garrett, who loves ya baby?

Gotta turn my brain off now and get back to work.

Eat your veggies. Your mother loves you.

Some days...

Finally have moved into my new house with my lovely wife and kids and all went well. Moved everything in one trip on a big truck on a Saturday morning, had lots of help, and I'm tired as heck...but happy...and then came Sunday!

Woke up early Sunday morning and got breakfast ready for the kids...no problem.

Started working in the garage to get boxes unpacked, boxes and packaging cut up for garbage/recycling, etc. Tiring, but...no problem.

Then my lovely wife asked me to hook up the washing machine and the dark clouds began to move in over the horizon. In the distance I could hear the war drums beating as the battle was about to begin.

I'll be brief:

- I couldn't level the washing machine because one of the screwed on feet is rusted/corroded and no amount of WD-40, gentle twisting, or vigorous hammer-bashing would get it to move.
- I decided to refer to that particular piece of the machine as the 'damned foot'. Not damned like 'damnit, why don't you move!', more like in the biblical, fire and brimstone, eternally suffering type of damned.
- While spraying the aforementioned WD-40 in my admittedly exhausted state with the spray nozzle pointed directly at my face while lying on the ground trying to reach in behind the damned foot, a healthy dose of high pressure spray made it directly into not one, but both my eyes, to wit I exclaimed, "Ahh fucking shit!". I proceeded to shout my wife's name repeatedly while I jumped up and shoved as much freezing cold water from the laundry sink tap into my eyes as possible.
- After listening to my lovely wife read the poison warning information on the back of the WD-40 bottle I kindly asked her to, "Please get me some soap." so I could wash the oily product off my face and prevent any more of it getting into my eyes. My lovely wife took one step away to tease me into thinking that she was actually going to get me some soap, stopped, retracted her step, and proceeded to try and start a debate with me (while still flushing my face/eyes with the coldest water I've felt in a lifetime and gasping for air in between) about whether I should be putting soap into my eyes. To this I replied, not so kindly, "SOOOOOAP!".
- I gave up on the damned foot and tried to level the machine by lying on the ground, lifting/tilting/balancing the machine on the not-damned foot with one hand, while reaching to the back feet with my other hand and trying to shove some wooden shims under them.

Tired yet? Don't worry, I'm almost done.

- Finally completed that task, and to keep the rest of the story as short as possible, I left to drive to Home Depot to buy some parts to connect the Clothes Dryer to the Dryer Vent and along my way spilled my lovely wife's leftover coffee on my hand/center console/gearshift, tried to lick as much sticky coffee (my lovely wife likes 3 sugars) off my hand 'cause there aren't any Kleenex around, discovered that my windshield wiper blade was broken and was scraping my actual windshield, and hit at least one (if not two) birds that swooped down in front of my car as I was driving 80KPH on my way to the store.

I felt bad about the birds, I really did. I looked into my rearview mirror and saw the one flailing about on the ground while the other stood there, looking at his fallen friend saying, 'Hey, you OK?". At least that's what he was saying in my head.

When I drove back home, neither one of them was OK. Not even close.

Some days...

Lukewarm Monday Morning

I get up on Monday's and I'm usually pretty energetic, peppy one might even say, but by the time I get ready for work and actually spend an hour commuting to the office I end up spending the rest of the day stretching and trying more deperately than someone seeking Susan to keep my eyelids up. No amount of caffeinated goodnes (warm or cold) seems to help. Maybe my thyroid is pooched...never know.

I just got a shiver. I think my supervisor is contemplating giving me more work to do since (deity-of-your-choice forbid) she actually saw me standing around for 30 seconds not typing this morning and probably figured my day just isn't full enough. Oh well. Sometimes its better if you don't clench, its easier to heal afterwards. Plus, if its a supervisor, they can usually expense the lube.

Too graphic for a Monday morning? Probably, but consider this: you're not the one who's going to have a hard time sitting comfortably from now until sometime Wednesday afternoon.

Stay tuned for future editions as I valiantly try to find some "Cubicle Farm" comic strips I created and get them scanned for the working world to love or loath at their discretion.

Type U Later.

My New Space

Hello World!

Did that pep you up? If not, just try remembering the last time you heard someone actually say "pep" with a straight face.

Here are a few reasons why having access to the internet makes work bareable:

http://movies.about.com/library/weekly/blheadinthecloudspicso.htm

http://happycatholic.blogspot.com/2006/01/if-jack-bauer-was-gay-his-name-would.html

http://www.comicbookresources.com/

http://www.morguefile.com/

http://www.workopolis.com