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Frequently confuses 'Venti' with 'Grande'
Forgot to write under Additional Skills: "I'm a people-person"
He's overqualified
Didn't wear his lucky "You Dumb Cunt" T-shirt
Well, we definitely punched our tickets to Hell last night. Nerdy Squirrel and I were lying in bed reading and having one of our typical, end-of-the-day conversations. Conversation is the wrong word. It is actually a series of fragmented comments completely lacking in context. It’s like we are casually brainstorming for a discussion topic and when one of us finally responds to the other, we’ve found it. An example of this would be:
NS: If Max and George (our cats) were writers, Max would be Hemingway and George would be would be Fitzgerald.
CBC: I think I’ve figured out a way to murder my boss and get away with it.
NS: Maybe grape leaves would be a good dish to bring.
CBC: I know you’ve been moving my Netflix selections to the bottom of the queue and I want you to stop it.
NS: I’m not sure my flax seed is working.
CBC: Come to think of it, I don’t remember eating any corn in the last couple of days.
NS: I feel so bloated.
CBC: Do you need to “make a movie”?
NS: A blockbuster.
The point being, we are completely comfortable and just saying things stream-of-consciousness without any context. So it was last night when I began a discussion:CBC: I saw a young guy at the airport yesterday with no arms and no legs.
NS: Oh, that’s awful.
CBC: Yeah. I wondered if he was a veteran.
NS: Probably. What was he doing?
CBC: Well, (pause) not much.
We break into fits of the uncontrollable, we-are-going-to-burn-in-hell kind of forbidden laughter. After a few minutes we settle down into silence.
CBC: He blinked a few times.
More WAGTBIH laughing. Silence.NS: We must never speak of this.
CBC: Agreed.
Thank God for literal translations.
Just got back from vacation. Depressed. Very depressed.
Damn you, cold, frothy beer in mass quantities. Damn you, four days of sunshine. Damn you, boogie board on tasty waves. And most of all, damn you, Dairy Queen within walking distance of our beach house. Damn you to hell.
One coherent thought: Contrary to the old adage, the road of excess actually leads to the palace of porcelain.
Finally. please enjoy the following humorous link:
http://mcsweeneys.net/2006/6/21dyckman.html
Shore Excursions on Pat Robertson's Celibate Cruise Lines Inaugural Alaskan Cruise on the Trinity
PORT OF CALL: Glacier Bay
On the stern advice of Nerdy Squirrel, ESQ - she hates when I use the esquire abbreviation, but I paid for it so I'll be damned if I'm not going to use it - I have agreed to no longer write about specific problems with my job. The reason is that some of my co-workers know about this blog and she does not want me to get shit-canned before she passes the bar exam and starts working. Now that I think about it, she probably doesn't want me to get shit-canned after that time, either. Fucking lawyers.
Anyway, that said, here's a hypothetical situation: Suppose you are put in charge of running a chapter of a non-profit organization and really put your heart and soul into it for four years. Imagine you then leave that job for another one in the same organization that will provide consultation and support for your old position. Let's pretend that you give plenty of notice and work it out so there is a nice, smooth transition for the new person coming into your old job.
Now, suppose that this new person then proceeds to systematically trash you and the job you did at this hypothetical organization. Let's say that this person is a know-it-all, micromanaging, un-fucking-believably unpleasant shitwad. You know, the kind of person that needs to constantly tear down other people to prop himself/HERSELF up. Let's just say.
And suppose a couple years later that this person decides to leave the organization. Now, imagine that this person gives only two weeks notice when four are required then proceeds to take two weeks of vacation. For arguments sake, let's also say that this person is leaving the organization in a very precarious position. For example, oh, I don't know, let's say that 60% of the staff supervised by this individual have quit and haven't been replaced. To make it interesting, imagine that this person is leaving two months before that organization's single largest fundraising event (50% of total annual revenue). For shits and giggles, suppose that this person has been searching for a job for six months and never thought to tell anyone and when resigning said that this opportunity just "popped up from out of nowhere." Finally, let's say that it is your responsibility to go in and clean up this mess, even though this person adamantly insists that everything is fine and your help is not needed.
My question is this - how badly do you want to bury this person up to their neck, pee on his/HER head, and then kick the shit out of a nearby fire ant hill? You know, hypothetically?
P.S. For the entomologically curious, the pee does not attract the ants. It just seems like a fun thing to do before all the screaming starts.
I am not usually impressed or suseptible to promotional gimmicks. I don't buy shit I don't need simply because I'm offered an extra 20% more of free shit I don't need.
But the planets have aligned, my friends, and all is good with the world. Finally, finally, a promotion made just for me.
Continental Airlines recently announced that they are awarding customers 5 free iTune downloads with each ticket purchase. Considering that I fly at least once a week on Continental, I will soon be up to my deteriorating ear drums in free music. Oh baby, that's the spot.
A word to my new found friends at Continental Airlines and iTunes - Me so horny. Me gonna love you long time.
By the way, Columbia House, it's over between us. Pack up your 13 crappy CDs and get the fuck out.
If Nerdy Squirrel and I have a conventional religious belief, it is that pancakes are yummy. Accordingly, we rise early every Sunday morning to attend services at our church, the International House of Pancakes.
Like any religious ceremony, there are rituals that we perform. We partake the blood of the sacred bean, read passages from a common text, recite mantra ("More coffee, please" and "Excuse me, can we get some more coffee here"), dress our ordained deliverers of service in colorful garb and enjoy hymns. N.S. and I also have our own personal dogma which consists of trying to identify the divorced dads "enjoying" their visitation rights and calculating the percentage of fat people in attendance (quietly, as we are always outnumbered).
Being devout practioners, we never waver our orders. Mine consists of a garden omelet with jalapenos and salsa, gladly offering up the extra $1.99 for Harvest Grain & Nut (tm) pancakes on the side. Nerdy Squirrel has the plain pancake platter with sausage. We consistently tithe 20%.
Ours is not a religion that imposes its ideas or values upon others. If you wish to join us, we will welcome you with a smile and a pot of coffee. If not, there are no hard feelings.
That's not to say that we don't have rules. We do. However, ours are not delivered with fire and brimstone. In fact, they are often more like guidance. Take, for example, the IHOP rule against bringing handguns into the service.
I wholeheartedly agree with the elders at IHOP. You should not allow loaded guns in a place that offers unlimited access to caffeine, let alone instantaneously diabetic menu items such as stuffed French toast with strawberry topping and whipped cream.
However, instead of hitting you over the head with our regulations, we just post a little sign at the bottom corner of the outer door. This way, if you happen to be loading your gun on the way in and drop a bullet, you will likely notice this applicable bit of canon as you bend down. Otherwise, you need not be concerned.
Finally, some may argue that with a religion like ours, we will never see heaven. I say, I visit heaven once a week, in all its warm, syrupy goodness.
Baghdad ER
As always, I'm a couple of weeks late on current topics. I finally caught this documentary on HBO when they replayed it on Memorial Day. It was brutal and hard to watch, which is why I think it was so important. It forced me to examine up close the human cost of this war, piece by amputated piece.
Some people have said that they disagree with showing graphic content like this. Bullshit. Forget flying flags and putting stupid little yellow ribbon magnets on your car. You want to empathize with the troops, have the courage to take a brief glimpse of their everyday lives. From the safety of your couch, I might add.
Others might say that this is liberal propaganda, but the conservative Weekly Standard wrote a glowing review of the show (despite their completely ludicrous comparison to the Civil War.)
I'm not smart enough to say whether or not this war is good or bad. But I do know that I do not believe that it is worth the life (or limbs) of my father, brothers, nephews or friends. If I'm not willing to sacrifice myself or my family, then I'm the worst kind of person - one who believes that believes others (and only others) should suffer for my ideology.
I guess all I'm saying is how many lives is it worth? How many amputated arms and legs is too high a cost for attempting to bring some form of democracy to Iraq? I'm not arguing that 2,500 dead, 20,000 wounded is too high, but what number is? Is it 10,000? 100,000? Shouldn't we at least have a sense of this? And if we are going to keep telling 20 year-old kids to get blown up for us, shouldn't we at least have the decency to watch?
While it seemed like a good idea at the time, buying underwear in bulk from Discount Drug Mart was a mistake. An ugly mistake. Sure, it was convenient (the contents of my basket: Earl Grey tea, duct tape, beef jerky, sympathy card, army-size package of boxers) and cheap. But these things have traveled so far up the crack of my ass that I'm going to need a team of Sherpas to find them.
After checking the label, I realized these things were made in Pakistan. No wonder men in the Middle East seem so pissed off all the time.
Quote Of The Week:
"The More Hummers we have on the road in America, the more military Humvees we will need in the Middle East." - Thomas Friedman
My organ donor card
The Kama Sutra - the newly updated edition with contemporary graphics
My disturbingly large supply of expired prescription drugs
Poison concert T-shirt
Golf clubs (I would pay someone to destroy these for me right now)
Several Trojan - Ribbed For Her Pleasure condoms (that's how I rolled) leftover from the 1990s
My Fender Telecaster guitar, because fuck you
"How To Dance The Salsa" video