Friday, July 29, 2005
* * *
What the bunny is wrong with people? Why in the bunny, would you not want to go on vacation to the bunny beach? I can understand if you are low on cash, or if you cannot get the time off of work, to spend a week down in paradise. I get that...I really do. What I do not get, is people who actually come up with excuses as to why they can't get off their bunny butts and have some fun. Bunny those people, in their stupid bunnies.
I have been planning this beach trip, since last year. Every year, we go down to Oak Island, NC for a week of sun, fun, bunny, sand, group bunny, and relaxation. I always have so much fun down there, that I talk about the bunny trip for months afterwards. And every year, somebody else tells me that they too, would like to enjoy the wonderful world that is Oak Island...and I say Sure! Come with us! Bring a friend! We'll get a bigger house! No bunny problem! Then, those same people come back and say something lame like "I can't go to the beach...I forgot I'm watching TV that week because my dog died last year and his favorite show was Miami Vice and there is a marathon on the same week you're going to the beach and I think I should stay home and take care of my cat because he's still upset about the dog dying, and everything. But DUDE I am totally there, next year!"
Then, there are the people who can't seem to make up their bunny minds about anything. They go back and forth, back and forth on the fence, like some bunny idiot politician trying to get re-elected. "Oh, I'd love to go! I'm there! Count me in!" then the next day: "Oh, man I can't go because blah blah bliddy blah. Sorry." Then a few days later: "Oh, I worked it all out! I can come with you now! Count me in, as a sure thing. I am going for sure." and then I get an email "Oh, man I can't go because my boss is a bunny."
Bunny you, in your bunny face with a bunny bunny!!
At this point, my vacation to the beach is only lacking, in the amount of people that are coming. We still have a group...so it will still be fun. I'm not worried about that, reallly. I just wish all of the people who said they were going to go, would actually go! I'm strange like that...promises broken bunny me off.
Ok I'm done ranting, now. Thanks for your bunny time.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
- I miss The Tick. Did anybody watch that cartoon? Hilarious.
- My new shirt from Express is a little stiff, and uncomfortable...but dammit I think it looks good.
- I’m trying to plan my summer vacation trip to the beach and it’s causing me stress.
- Having breakfast food for dinner is wacky good fun.
- I was watching Dead Like Me last night, and I saw a chick put her peanut butter in the fridge. Is this strange to anybody else?
- My stupid toe injury is getting much better.
- Final Fantasy X is the best FF game, ever.
- Why is it, that most One-Way plane tickets are more expensive than Round-Trip tickets? What sense does THAT make?
- For whatever reason, having sex on vacation is 50% better than normal sex.
- My current job bores me so much, sometimes I wonder if I should just start waiting tables again, like I did in college. At least it would be something different.
- Reality TV still pisses me off like nothing has ever pissed me off before.
- I can’t decide if I’d rather be immortal but ugly…or beautiful for a short life.
- I wonder if the Olson twins will ever do porn?
- I wish more people I knew, used Yahoo IM. It’s the best free chat software around, and corporate firewalls don’t block it, like AOL or MSN.
- Does anybody program using Visual Basic anymore? When did that stop being cool?
- I want my new tattoo to be both tribal and Celtic, at the same time…but I don’t think I can make that work.
- The girl in the cube across from me is banging her mouse on the desk, and saying “I think this thing is broken” over and over again. I think she’s on pills.
- This wine site is “Forbidden by the Rating Check” at my office. Why?
- I didn’t get all the closure I was searching for, after watching Revenge of the Sith.
- I don’t think they are ever going to find Natalie Holloway.
- For some reason, my DVR doesn’t record any new South Park episodes.
- I think silver is better than gold.
- Ending lists on a random odd number is lame.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
At first, we found this to be slightly funny. I mean, all BM jokes aside…not being able to complete the transaction to the porcelain bank is a wee bit humorous, in certain situations. As the days passed on however, and Veronica was still unable to export her used goods, we began to worry. She kept eating and drinking like the rest of us…but nothing would ever come back out. It was like her stomach was a bottomless pit; a black hole from which no food could escape. This began to cause some alarm.
One day, Frank* came to the rescue, with his little purple pill. No, not the FUN kind of purple pill…the other one. The one that causes things to…um…evacuate themselves from your body? Yeah, one of THOSE pills. Anyway, Frank gave said pill to Veronica, in the hopes that it would help cure her of her recent discomfort.
That same day, the rest of the crew decided to go down to the beach and do some surfing, sun, and fun. Frank and myself stayed behind at the house to wait for the repairman who was due to come fix our stupid fridge, which had decided to stop working. As the group headed down do the sand, Frank and I attempted to find ways to amuse ourselves. We even tried Bowling…using a stack of plastic ashtrays, and a Nerf football. This turned out to be a bad idea, since a stray bounce caused the Nerf to fly into a nearby lamp, and destroy it. No amount of glue or love would bring that lamp back to us.
When the repairman finally showed up to fix our busted refrigerator, and Frank and I had laid the lamp to rest, we heard feet pounding on the stairs outside, and looked towards the door in time to see Veronica charging through the living room like a wild bull, on a mission. She was holding onto her rear and yelling “OUT OF MY WAY! MOOOOOOVE!” as she shoved past us, and into the bathroom. It seemed as though Frank’s little purple pill had done its duty. (pun intended)
We sat in the living room, discussing ways in which to hide the fact that we had killed a lamp from the reality company, when we began to notice noises coming from the bathroom…noises closely akin to a dying cow. We stepped closer to the door, and heard the most awful noises of pain and suffering that would make even Dante himself cringe. We called through the doorway, “Veronica? Are you ok?” and we heard a high-pitched reply come from within, “Noooooooooooooooooooo!”.
The pitiful nature of her squeal, along with the look on the face of the repairman, was enough to cause Frank and myself to fall into a fit of laughter that did not cease for almost 10 minutes. In the bathroom, the noises and grunts continued and the repairman was intent on his work, despite his desire to burst into laughter along with Frank and myself.
Finally, Veronica emerged from the bathroom looking like she had just wrestled with a tiger. Her hair was disheveled and chaotic; her skin was pale, and numerous beads of sweat covered her face and arms. She held onto the door frame with one hand, to steady herself. Her legs wobbled a bit, and she looked up at us with pleading eyes and said “I’ve never had that much stuff come out of me, so quickly.”
This caused Frank and myself to burst into yet another fit of hysterical laughter, as Veronica hobbled her way to the bedroom to lie down and rest from her ordeal. The repairman left, no doubt to go to his truck and die from humor…and Frank and I stayed behind a bit to chuckle about poor Veronica’s fight with her bowels, knowing that this would be a story we would never forget.
*Names have been changed, to protect the innocent
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Sorry for not posting for a few days, but I have been out of the office. I don't post here at home (since I don't have a computer) and I wasn't in the office yesterday. Why was I not in the office, you may ask? Well, I'll tell you. After a great weekend at the lake, I was settled in for my 4 hour drive home and back to reality. On the way, I kicked up under the front seat to make more room for myself, and I caught my toe on a rather sharp piece of metal. It didn't like being kicked, and so it ripped my toe open, and took some of the nail with it. Piece of metal: 1 Eric: 0
I have never bled so much, or been in such acute pain before, in my life. I thought I was going to die, sitting in the back seat, clutching my left foot like a crazy person. Jen and Erin turned to see why I was screaming like a little girl...saw my foot...and proceeded to freak out. Erin actually turned her head away and put her hand over her mouth, and fought the urge to vomit. John pulled the car over as fast as he could, while he and Jen took turns panicking and yelling over my anguished screams of pain and misery.
What should we do? What should we do? They kept saying to themselves, as they rushed to grab towels and soak up the steady flow of crimson liquid erupting from Mt. Saint BigToe. They may have been at a loss, but I knew what I was going to do: scream my fucking head off, until the pain subsided, and I could once again form coherent thoughts.
During John and Jen's panic attack, I tried my best to slow my breathing. Calm down. Breathe. Try to relax. I kept telling myself these things, over and over again. It wasn't fucking working, though because the pain only seemed to be getting worse! Eventually, the pain went down and I was able to start talking and thinking again, like a real boy.
We found a first aid station, and got me some bandages and anti-infection gel, and patched me up. We couldn't get a hold of any medical tape, so we were forced to use...duct tape. Yes, I said duct tape. I was so WT, it was scary. Luckily, I fit in with all of the other people vacationing at the Ozarks, so it was all good.
Anyway, we managed to get back home safely, and without further incident. I didn't come into work yesterday, because I was limping around high on pain killers and just not in the mood to sit at a desk for 8 hours. So that is my story, and that is why I have not posted a new blog entry for awhile.
I know this post sucked, but I don't care. I just wanted to inform those of you who care, about my injury. As I sit here, with my foot bandaged up like a mummy...I write for YOU.
Send me waves of sympathy and support, because this is going to be the longest day at work, I've ever had.
Friday, July 22, 2005
That got me to thinking. I realize that there are people out there, who like to know the surprise ending to the book, before they read it. I know that these same people probably like to know what they are getting for Christmas, before they rip off the wrapping paper. I know some people enjoy knowing the plot, characters, and ending before they even step foot into the theatre to watch the movie they already know everthing about.
I know these people are out there. I just don't understand them. I don't get it...I really, really don't. What fun is it, to read a book when you already know the ending? Why go see a movie, if you know the entire plot and ending before it starts (movies like Titanic don't count)? Why bother to wrap Christmas presents...or have a ceremony at all, if you already went through your mom's closet and found out what she bought for you? What's the point?
It's the same thing with video games. I do not see the point, in using cheat codes. What's the point of playing a game, when you have unlimited health and unlimited ammo? Where's the challege? Why even bother playing the damn thing? Stick with Chutes and Ladders, if you're too afraid of a challenge.
I just don't get it. I liked to be surprised, to be shocked. I like to watch movies and read books, and have no idea what's going to happen. When I buy a new book, I just start reading it. I don't even like to read the summary book jacket, because it might give away a plot point, that would be more fun for me to discover, on my own.
Maybe I'm the strange one...maybe most people like to know things ahead of time. Maybe they don't like surprises or suspense. Well, that's not for me. I want to shocked and amazed, and I do not want to know what I'm getting for my birthday, until I unwrap her.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
- Orange Gatorade is my favorite thing to drink, when I'm sick. So sometimes I wonder: if I drink it when I am not sick, will I start to FEEL sick?
- Without Stewie, Family Guy would suffer and die.
- Over the years, I have completly forgotten the differences between Operant and Classical conditioning.
- My bring-to-work lunch today features homemade chicken enchiladas, which I'm pretty sure will kill me, if I eat them while hungover.
- I spent 30 minutes this morning teaching myself how to score bowling. I am now a pro.
- Anal sex is fun!
- Today's terror attacks in London piss me off. Fuck those stupid terrorists in their stupid asses, with their own stupid feet.
- QuickTrip shouldn't call its coffee "Select Blend" like it's some sort of secret recipe, Seattle-worthy, awesome drink. It's fucking gas station coffee, pure and simple. Just because they put it in a cute little cup, and give it cute little names like "Irish Cream Chocolate Swiss Hazlenut Blend", doesn't make it better. It's still gas station coffee.
- Many of the people I work with are idiots, and listening to them talk among themselves makes me want to punch my own head.
- I have no idea what this sentance means: Eschew all conglomerations of flatulent garrulity, jejune babblement, and asinine affectations.
- The TI-82 calculator was the coolest calculater I ever owned, and I wish I knew what I did with it.
- I'm currently reading The Count of Monte Cristo.
- I no longer have the urge to vomit...but if I move my head too quickly in any direction, I get so dizzy, I think I might pass out.
- I like to go to Hooters for the chicken wings. Seriously. The boobies are just a bonus.
- Every time somebody walks by my desk, I feel the need to turn and see who it is. Then the sicky, dizzy feeling comes back.
- If OJ killed 2 people, why do we still drink it?
- I started typing this 17 minutes ago.
- Group sex and threesomes are the most fun you'll ever have with your friends.
- Is there really a difference between hot cocoa and hot chocolate? I mean, really?
- KFC has the best biscuits on earth. Period.
- I still remember the Alamo.
- Why do some people wear black arm bands, during mourning periods? Why can't they just wear a black shirt?
- I don't know why people make fun of Sylvester Stallone movies...some of them are quite entertaining.
- Cotton Candy makes my teeth itch.
- I see nothing wrong, whatsoever, with breast implants.
- Aphrodite is a cooler name, than Venus.
- Are pickles really just cuccumbers soaked in vinegar for a long time? That's fucking nasty, if you ask me. Who took the time to think THAT would be a good idea?
- Ketchup or Catsup?
- I love my Doc Martin shoes, but I hate the fact that the laces always untie themselves.
- I wish I could take a nap at my desk, without anybody else knowing.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
So, a friend sent this link to me today, and I about pissed myself laughing at these cartoons. This little grey squirrel goes on the best rants, ever. From Starbucks, to the Atkin's Diet...it's all there, for your pleasure and amusement.
If you don't find any of these cartoons funny...there is something wrong with you. Either that, or you're one of "them" and part of the system. That means you shouldn't be reading this blog, because it's not PC and it's not user-friendly.
So check this out and prepare to laugh.
I consider myself to be a good, moral person. I pay my taxes, I break for pedestrians, and I don't push down old people to make myself laugh. I am attentive to other people's feelings, I am not a fan of racist jokes, and the only game I cheat at, is strip poker. So, even though I consider myself to be a good person, I find myself constantly leaning towards the dark side as I drive to work, every morning.
“Hey! What the hell? I can’t believe you just forced your way into my lane! Thanks for the signal, you asshole!”
Usually, I obey Judeo-Christian ethics, including the 6th Commandment…but when I’m driving to work in that morning rush-hour traffic, with these idiots who normally aren’t qualified to open a shoe box...I tend to lean towards the nasty. I envision them hitting the curb, rolling their cars over like dice, erupting in flames, and blowing parts of themselves all over the street. I wonder what would really happen, if I had a loaded gun in the car with me, at all times? I curse and yell, and feel the wrath grow within me; threatening to take over my senses until the darkness prevails.
“Oh, sure! SLOW DOWN, NOW THAT I’M BEHIND YOU! That’s fucking wonderful. Why are you going so slow, anyway? Ah…you’re talking on your phone. Fan-freaking-tastic. I hope it’s an important call, you sonofabitch!”
Most of the time, I try to keep myself calm during rush hour. I try to remind myself, that it’s just traffic…and that everybody else is in the same hurry to get to work, that I am. They are most likely good people, as I am. They have just been placed into a stressful situation, and are reacting accordingly. Then, as I’m thinking this, some jackass almost hits my front end because he’s being a stupid middle-class “I’m 45, so I don’t have to yield because I’ve been driving for 27 years” piece of crap, and suddenly I feel the urge to rip out his lungs, and slap his wife to death with them. I don’t even know if that goomba* has a wife; but if he does, she deserves to die for having sex with such an idiot.
“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU BASTARD! YEAH, I’M TALKING TO YOU! OMG I WILL PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE! GET BACK HERE! DON’T YOU DRIVE AWAY FROM ME! ARRRRRGHH!”
My favorite morning drivers to hate, are the Sunday-drivers. You know…the people who drive to work, as if they were on the way to church? Not a care in the world, taking all the time they need…no rush. You can almost see the little blue cartoon birdies circling around their head, as they whistle to themselves. You know those people. I hate them, most of all. Sometimes I think about how great it would be, to grab one of those people and duct-tape them to my front seat. Then, I would drive around REALLY fast and dangerous, and scare their soul, right out of them. Then of course, I would take them home and cook their lifeless body over the grill and feed them to their family at Christmas.
“I’M HONKING MY HORN AT YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE A FUCKING MORON! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU! YEAH, YOU! YOU WANNA PULL OVER? I’LL KNOCK YOUR GODDAMM TEETH OUT, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! WATCH THE ROAD!”
I really, really hate driving to work in the mornings…and driving home from work, now that I think about it. I guess I just hate rush hour driving, it all its forms. I hate how stupid people can become, once they get behind the wheel. I think of that old guy who drove over all of those people and killed them, and then basically gets a “be more careful next time” from the judge. WTF? When did it become ok to kill mass amounts of people? I could have sworn…yes, I’m sure I read this somewhere…that killing people was BAD. These kind of people get into their car everyday, and put other drivers around them in mortal danger because of their lack of reflexes and their inability to break/accelerate at the opportune moment. Either that, or they're just assholes who don't give a crap about anybody around them, which is just as bad. Wankers.
Pisses me off. I’m glad I’m at work, where I’m safe…safe from going to jail for killing one of these friggin’ idiots.
*It has come to my attention, that the word “goomba” can also refer to a derogatory term for an Italian-American. This was NOT the usage I was implying; I was going for the small, mushroom villains from the Super Mario Bros. video game.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Recently, I've noticed that I'm starting to become addicted to pretzels. I'm not sure why, but for some reason, whenever I start to eat the little twisty bastards, I can't stop myself from shoving them unceremoniously into my mouth. I have them as snacks while I am at work, or munch on them at home, before dinner. Of course, they are 97% fat free, so as far as munchie addicts go, I’m pretty tame…and not in danger of being mistaken as a land whale.
The interesting part is, I don’t even LIKE pretzels, all that much. They are bland, too crunchy, and covered in some sort of salt-substance that makes my tongue pucker at the mere thought of tasting. They don’t taste good to me, and they don’t seem to have any nutritional value…so why in the name of Dionysus do I find myself eating them all of the time? (3 points for random Greek god reference)
If I was a paranoid person, I might begin to wonder if the so-called “salt” on these pretzels was in fact, 100% pure heroin. That might explain my inability to put down the bag…and the fact that my left shoulder now has a strange tick. I’ve also heard theories about food manufacturers like KFC, who put an addictive chemical in their chicken to make you crave it nightly. Hmm…is it possible, that the pretzel people have stolen this technology? Or maybe I have some sort of pseudo-psychological need to much on something at all times; whether it be pretzels, my pen cap, or nipples?
Whatever the reason, it is obvious to me that I am becoming a pretzel-head, and I know that at this point, it’s all psychological. I could go through the pills and therapy to get rid of my new habit, but I don’t want to. I can quit, whenever I want to! Don’t take my bag away, I’ll fucking kill you!
As I wrote this, I ate all of my lunch pretzels.
Monday, July 18, 2005
This past weekend, I spent much of time as many other people around the world spent their time: allowing my inner geek to manifest itself, so I could read the new Harry Potter novel. Yes, I admit it: I’m a Harry fan….the books, the movies…the blow up sex dolls: they all do it for me in that special way that makes your tummy warm, and your nipples hard.
I actually found myself not only anticipating the arrival of said book, but I actually stood at the window from time to time, looking out for delivery trucks bearing names like UPS or Fed-Ex. I bounced on the heels of my feet, and pressed my nose against the glass, hoping that any minute now, the truck would appear on the horizon, and I would have my new book. Even while I was at my neighborhood pool, I kept a constant eye out for any large trucks or post office delivery vehicles that might drive by. Luckily, I had my running shoes safely nearby, should the need for a quick run home arise. It was like Christmas, all morning long.
When I finally received my copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince , I was happy to the point of jubilation. I spent the rest of the weekend reading, and occasionally doing other things like eating and sleeping to pass the time, during my reading breaks. I’m not going to go all “book report” on you, but I think this is one of the best HP books yet, except for Goblet of Fire.
Anyway, that was my exciting Harry Potter weekend.
Friday, July 15, 2005
I couldn’t sleep last night. I’m not sure why, but I think it might have had something to do with that nap I accidentally took after dinner…or possibly it was all of the smack I was doing. Whatever the reason, when I went to bed, I found myself doing the dance of the sleepless; tossing, turning, a few arm lifts, and the occasional piruet. Sleep wouldn’t come, and I began to let my mind wander, as it often does, to thoughts that normally elude me, or thoughts that I normally ignore. Thoughts like, “Amazing. How could Cary Grant have never won an Oscar? Everybody loved the guy!” and “I wonder if black holes have black light?” would swim through my mind like fish. Most of these thoughts were random, fun, and slightly idiotic. Then, “the thought” entered my head, and I knew that I would not be able to stop thinking about it, until I went to sleep. “The thought” has plagued my thoughts for years now, surfacing only on occasions of extreme boredom and restless nights. I tried to think about other things, but “the thought” crept along my brain and started me down the tunnel of philosophical despair; a tunnel so dark and endless, it causes even the brightest souls to become dim and full of sadness.
Ok, maybe that’s a tad dramatic.
The truth is, sometimes when I can’t sleep, and I’m lying in bed naked with only my gigantic member to keep me company…I begin to think about the most random, deep, unnerving thoughts…things that make it even harder for me to fall asleep. “The thought” as I’ve come to call it, is the most prevalent. It basically revolves around my fear of infinity. No, I’m not saying that algebra or calculus scares me…well, calculus scares me. (Divergent, convergent…who cares? When do we subtract, already?) I’m saying that the concept of a human soul, being energy that cannot be destroyed, must therefore exist forever in one form, or another. The idea that I will never cease to be, frightens me.
We are beings who are used to absolutes. We live in a world of rules, with beginnings and ends. The alpha has its omega. The yin has the yang. We accept and live by the these certainties, and they help to make our lives bearable. For instance, we have created the concept of a weekend…a time that signifies the end of the week. This concept allows us to get through the work-week; to know that no matter how bad our day is on Monday…at least Friday is soon in coming. Most of us LIVE for Friday, after all. Imagine if there was no Friday…if that work week never ended?
We read books because we want to know how the story ends…we wouldn’t want to read a book that never ended. What would be the point of that? We’d get bored, at some point. There has to be an end. We NEED to have ends, in our lives. It helps to separate the differences. Summer ends, and winter begins. School starts…but it will end next year. We sleep, yet we wake up. This is how we live; this is what we are used to. This is how we exist. So, the thought that once I die, I may very well be faced with the concept of infinity…of never ending…of losing my certainty of things, fills me with dread. The thought of Heaven and Hell doesn’t even enter into it, to be honest. Sure, I’d rather be in Heaven….duh….but even being in Heaven FOREVER scares me. What if one day, I just want to stop existing? I want to stop being infinite? What if I want to have something end, but am unable to do so? What if nothing ever ends?
Then I fall asleep, afraid and small….except for my huge member…and then I wake up the next day, and life goes on. The dread of impending doom for my infinite afterlife no longer haunts my thoughts, and I am able to get on with the day.
After all, today is the end of the work week, and the beginning of the weekend.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
This blog template is once again pissing me off royally. First, it was the strange phenomena of my links disappearing from the page…only to mysteriously show up after you moved the mouse cursor over them. Goddamn blog graphic punk.
NOW my blog does this strange thing, where it says “2 Comments” on the page, but when you open up the comments to read them, you see that there are in fact 5 comments.
Has this happened to anybody else? Or, am I just being peed on by the gods of the blogger-verse?
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Such decisions are very important, and should not be taken lightly.
I weighed the pros and cons of each, taking into account the Q&A round, but trying to ignore the swimsuit competition. You have to look past the sexy exterior, and go for what is inside...or so I have been told.
I finally decided on the Tropicana Strawberry Melon juice drink, for no other reason, than that it was $0.35 cheaper, than the Dole Apple Juice. I deposited my money, and snatched up my newly acquired hangover cure with a smile on my face.
As I read the label, I noticed something interesting. It said: "Made with REAL fruit juice. Non-carbonated. No caffeine." And I thought...well, that's just swanky! Good to know, I made the right choice. So I unscrewed the top, and the very familiar psssssssssssssssssssssssssssst sound escaped from the bottle!
WTF?! The label on the shit-kicking bottle said non carbonated...that means NO carbonation, am I right? So why on God's green earth, when I open said bottle, did I hear the same noise that a bottle of Pepsi makes? I pondered this, on the way back to my desk, and decided to give this "real juice" a test. I put the cap back on, and shook the hell out of it, like I was it's dad.
The fucking thing began to fizz and bubble like some sort of science experiment. This so-called "non-carbonated" beverage fizzed and foamed right before my eyes, and I sat perplexed for a good 2 minutes, before I realized that I really didn't care, all that much.
I drank the drink, and it tasted ok. It helped my fuzzy head, and allowed me to continue with my day.
But beware, faithful but few readers! Tropicana juices will lie to you!
Wanna hear an example? I thought so. Ok, so last night, Jen and I decided to have a drink. I considered the idea of doing more testing on the Gatorade/Rum theory, but decided that was a weekend experiment only. So I settled for the normal type of mixer; in this particular case, I went with rum and Sprite. We settled down to watch a movie, and sipped our drinks in an attempt to relax the night away. The movie in question was Phantoms by Dean Koontz, and I only include this information on the basis that it is pertinent to the remainder of the story. If you haven’t seen the movie…save yourself the time and annoyance. The book was far superior, and a lot less cheesy. Anyway, at one point in the movie, they mention the “flatworm theory” when trying to describe how an organism can absorb the memories and intelligence from another organism through ingestion. The flatworm theory (also called contamination) describes scientific tests using flatworms and a Y intersection “maze”. The food would be on one side of the intersection, and the other intersection held only an electric shock. The experimenters waited until the first flatworm learned the correct direction to go to reach the food, and would then kill the worm, dice it up, and feed it to the new worms, who had never before been in the maze. Their results showed that the new worms appeared to learn the maze much faster than the original flatworms; almost as if they already knew the correct direction to go in the Y intersection. They theorized that the new worms had gained the knowledge from the previous flatworm, from ingestion and absorption of its RNA.
Creepy, huh? Sorry for that pseudo-scientific break, there…but it had to be done. Now that you have been saturated with the flatworm theory, we can move on.
After the flatworm theory was discussed in the movie, Jen and I went outside for a smoke break. During this time, we began to discuss the theory in ridiculously deep and mind-numbing ways...the kind of ways that only alcohol or certain herbal refreshments can induce. Eventually, we began to discuss the intricacies of certain aspects of the theory, which inevitably led to new and equally deep aspects of new ideas and theories:
RNA absorption, inherent knowledge, osmosis, instinct, ESP, past lives, the concept of a soul, genetics, Gatorade rum, the expanding universe theory, black holes, infinite realities, fate, destiny, the G-spot, time travel, God, religion, the Catholic Church, Skittles, the nature vs. nurture debate, evil, and procreation.
Looking at the list, it appears as if the two of us were geniuses on the verge of breaking the code of the universe, and answering the age-old question “why are we here?”…but we weren’t. It was just a very well disguised, drunken ramble of crap induced by alcohol. Of course, I’m sure many of the ideas and concepts we discussed were relevant, coherent, and applicable to modern scientific and philosophic principles. On the other hand, I’m sure that most of what we discussed was on the same level as the “Coke vs. Pepsi” debate, and I am equally positive, that we would argue the soda issue with as much passion and determination as we did the flatworm theory.
So, even though there is validity in the ancient Latin cliché in vino veritas, I think we should also have a phrase like in vino bullshititas to describe that “in wine, there is bullshit”.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
I had a college moment this weekend. Not in an academic sense, mind you…anybody who knows me, knows that my college stories do NOT start with “This one time, while I was taking my Sociology final…” They start with phrases like “So there I was, hanging from the ceiling in bubble wrap, while the freshman dance squad chanted and circled below me, spraying whip cream and doing shots off of each other’s breasts…” (reflective moment)
Anyway…I had a college moment this weekend. We were having the usual Capitan Morgan drinkapalooza weekend evening when suddenly, and without warning, we found ourselves completely out of anything closely resembling an adequate mixer. The Coke was empty, and the Sprite had about a swallow left in it. Crap. So, being the inventive and creative soul that I am, I began the process of searching through the refrigerator for a suitable mixer substitute. My choices were as follows: water, apple juice, Gatorade, or pickle juice. Since pickle juice didn’t seem like a viable option, I chose to go with the Riptide Rush flavored Gatorade as my official mixer of the evening. Are you ready for a shocker? It was actually….good.
I couldn’t believe it, myself. I’m not sure how it worked, or what chemical process was involved, but the Gatorade actually blended out the taste of the rum, almost completely. You could still smell the alcohol, so you knew it was in there…but you couldn’t taste it. Needless to say, this discovery induced warm fuzzy feelings within me, and a need to shout “EUREKA!” to the heavens. While drinking my new Gator-rum, I wondered if I had stumbled across a way to help curb hangovers? I mean, Gatorade is the best drink to have while you have a hangover, since it helps to replace lost electrolytes…so it would seem logical, that if you drank Gatorade WHILE you drank alcohol, you could even yourself out, and balance within your body would be restored. Right?
It’s worth experimenting with, again. I shall keep you informed on future developments.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Sounds like a good theory. It might explain the blonde gal who works with me, 4 rows down, to the left. Ever since the first time we crossed each other’s paths, she has had a problem with me. More specifically, every time I see her, she shoots me an evil stare. The kind of stare that says “Oh, you vile bastard! I hate you so much, it makes my hair hurt!”
The gravy of this whole “evil stare” thing, is that I’ve never had dealings with this girl, in any way. I’ve never spoken to her, written her an email, or ridden on the elevator with her. To my knowledge, I’ve never slept with her, her sister, or any of her almost-certainly psycho friends. If she had a dog or cat, I can say with 99% accuracy, that I did not run them over in my car. I did not steal her job, promotion, or coffee mug.
…this rather short and pudgy girl seems to hate me with a passion that seems to spring up from within her very soul. If auras were visible to the human eye, I’m pretty sure hers would be a bright red neon glow of DANGER to all who approached her. There would be chaos, buzzing, and flashing lights reminiscent of a 1955 submarine disaster movie to announce her presence and approach. She appears to me, to be the embodiment of hatred.
Whenever I pass her in the hallway, or happen to make eye contact with her on the way to my desk, she gives me that hate look. It makes me want to walk up to her and shout “STOP LOOKING AT ME YOU CRAZY BITCH! WHAT THE HELL DID I EVER DO TO YOU? STOP STARING AT ME, IT MAKES MY BUTT ITCH!”
Alas, I have not yet had the nerve to do such a thing. Lately, my strategy has involved looking at my shoes and walking fast. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not afraid of this little blonde gnome of anger…if it came down to it, I’m pretty sure I could kick her ass. It’s the fact that she seems to have such hostile feelings towards me that have no rational basis, whatsoever. Perhaps she was reading her horoscope one day, and it said something like: Scorpio is in the ninth house; beware the new traveler. He will deceive, cajole, and frighten the unaware. Make haste to confront him with evil, for only evil can destroy evil. Do not let one day pass, where your stare of disgust is not known, for he is the spawn of hell! Also be sure, brave Scorpio, to put toner in the printer at station 5.
That might explain it.
In any event, I’m not sure if I’ll ever know why small, pudgy, angry, blonde girl has such bad feelings for me. Perhaps I did something horrible to her, in a past life? Perhaps she remembers said horrible event, and is silently judging me? Who knows. All I know is, if you don't hear from me for awhile, please call the police and tell them to read this entry for clues. She has long blonde hair, and looks like she's made out of Nerf, or something.
"I think that adios means hello and goodbye in Spanish."
(re: 4th of July) "I hope everybody has a wonderful holiday season."
"That guy who almost looked like…the fella who was like…the guy who looked like the guy who was with…oh, you know who I mean!"
"This is the funnest part of the job."
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
My morning routine consists of the following:
1. Log on to my computer, send an email to my boss, boot up all software and programs and spreadsheets needed to work
2. Open Internet Explorer
3. Check email
4. Read CNN
5. Check out my online chess games
6. Read CNN again
7. Watch videos
8. Take a water break
9. Check/update my blog
10. Read my friend’s blog’s
11. Chat with friends on Yahoo IM
12. Listen to music
13. Take a bathroom break
14. Repeat (in no particular order) steps 3-13 at least 2 more times
15. Yawn, stretch, and look around my cube
16. Start working
Normally, I try to use this time in the mornings, to remind myself that things are not always as bad as they seem; and even though I HATE HATE HATE working in this corporate life crap hole, I take time to enjoy my day, and have fun.
If you want a laugh, be sure to check out today’s awesome “keep me going through the day” site. The video that made me spit out my water was “Splinter Cell Co-Op Theatre”. It’s a video game, that they added voices and dialogue to…and it’s friggin hilarious.
That’s all that I’m posting today. My creative juices are not quite flowing, and so the best I could come up with, was this. Sorry. If you are even remotely curious about my weekend (since I usually do the “what I did over the weekend” post, I will simply say that I had a good time…I got to rest, party, light fireworks, party, eat, rest, and enjoy myself. I hope you were able to do the same.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I think it's about time for me to start doing some work...before I go to lunch...which is in about an hour.
Friday, July 01, 2005
What is your favorite feature, on a member of the opposite sex? Recently, a few friends of mine have gotten me curious, as to what specific feature most people find attractive. For example, many of my guy friends are “butt men”. They prefer da’ booty, over da rest of da body. Me, myself? I am a boob man, all the way. I like the boobies. Some of my girlfriends have told me that their favorite feature on a guy is the butt, as well. But then again, many girls say things like “eyes” or even “hands”. Hands…what’s THAT about?
So anyway, all of this got me to thinking (something I try not to do, too often): what is the most prevalent feature on a guy/gal that most people find attractive? Do most women prefer guys to have a nice butt? Do most guys prefer a girl with nice breasts? Or is there a universal answer…does a nice butt work for both sexes? What feature is the favorite? Who will win the “best feature” contest?
Let me know in comments. I will update the post with the new results, as I get them. So far, the results are as follows:
Guys’ Favorite Feature:
Girls’ Favorite Feature:
updated: 7/5/05 7:57am
I’m sure that since this is such a data-controlled survey, that the results will be 100% accurate, and soon we will have the answers we seek. Or rather, the answers that I seek…but whatever. Oh, and for those of you who are like “this is a lame post” you can bite me! I have a hangover and I am tired and I do not want to be at the office today, and since this is a 3-day holiday weekend, I thought it would be nice to get a new post out there, before I disappear for awhile…so back off.
Hugs and kisses.