First I should point out that none of what I assume about this couple can be proven without talking to them, and I'm far happier making assumptions than getting to the truth.
Second, we do in fact refer to them as the "bathroom fuckers." And, keeping point one in mind, this might be totally inaccurate.
There is a couple that visits the place I work. They came in regularly for a while before taking a break, but we've been seeing them again. They always ordered the same sandwich that they want ready at a certain time. They meet in the very back dining area, the one that's essentially in the kitchen, at the farthest table from the front.
My guess is that they are cheating on their spouses with each other. I can't prove it, but there's a certain something about them that gives them that air. Do I suspect cheating because I've developed a sense, an ability to recognize it? Or am I just an ass that likes to assume the worst.
After several months in which we didn't see them we nearly forgot about them. Sure, occasionally someone would remember or mention them. Perhaps they'd be the butt of some joke or the topic of a "remember when" sort of conversation. Restaurants change rapidly on the inside, and something that you've grown so used to that you completely take it for granted can disappear and be forgotten in a moment.
This couple, while ordering and sharing the same sandwich each visit, doesn't want it split and put on separate plates. According a to one server the separate plate thing was tried, but the bathroom fuckers put the sandwich back onto one plate and disregarded the attempted good deed.
And now they're back. He dresses sort of normally, but she dresses a bit nicer than you'd expect for an office drone. Yesterday her tight top and fairly short skirt seemed to beg for attention. They sat with their heads together, and then, when no one was looking, the couple was gone.
They weren't too far gone, as they'd left stuff on the table, so we knew where they were. They were in the bathroom again.
We discussed in low whispers what we could do to learn about them. I suggested someone try the old ear to the glass to the wall trick to see if we could hear anything, but no one really wanted to be that guy.
Eventually she exited the bathroom and retrieved her stuff. She pulled on a jacket and left wearing a look that was difficult to read. Had she just been penetrated in our bathroom? Had she performed for him? We waited until he made his exit a few minutes after her. He had a whole other look about him, and he walked away with what I'd describe as a forced nonchalance.
I can't say for certain that they fuck in our bathroom. I sent a server in as soon as the man left, ordering the server to do smell check "for spunk." Yeah, I know that's nasty, but it made me laugh both then and now, so I'm sticking with it.
Apparently there was no spunk odor, and we still can't prove anything, but we'll still call them the "bathroom fuckers."
Showing posts with label HaHa. Show all posts
Showing posts with label HaHa. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
busted ass
Yesterday, while completing the last task before being done with work, I did in fact bust my ass. It wasn't technically my ass as much as it was both shins, a knee, an elbow, my hands and, as it turns out, a hip.
Tuesday in many restaurants is a truck day. At some point, usually never at the best, most opportune moment, the day's deliveries begin to arrive. This means that the truck driver for your distributor of choice will show up with stacks of boxes that he will leave sitting in your walkway. You get to spend some amount of your day clearing this out.
Clearing the mess involves breaking the stacks into other stacks based on where things go. Cold and frozen items move immediately to their new, respective homes as the last thing you need is for your food to thaw or come to anywhere near room temperature. Next you'll put up your dry and canned goods followed by chemicals/cleaning products and disposables such as to go containers.
A large part of the job involves taking things out of boxes which tends to leave you with a stack or pile of empty boxes. I've gotten really good over the years at reducing a mess of boxes into a neatish stack of broken down and flattened cardboard.
Sometimes these broken down and flattened boxes will sit somewhere out of the way until someone has time to discard them. We discard ours by carrying them to the opposite side of the square, about a block a way, and a short way down an alley to a room where all the businesses close enough take their cardboard for recycling.
Throughout the square there are a number of benches and tables, the tables each surrounded by four small benches. They are great for people to sit and eat or to use their laptops or to sit and sway drunkenly while waiting for friends. Apparently they are also perfect for busting one's ass.
My last task yesterday was to take the cardboard, and we had quite a stack. I tried to position the boxes in a way that they would be somewhat easy to carry and would leave me able to see where I was going. The second part of that was not carried out as well as possible.
I exited the restaurant backward, using my back to push the door open. A customer was leaving at the same moment, and I was even able to hold the door for him with my foot after swinging the boxes out of his way. I then left our patio while attempting to manage the boxes and move them to a more reasonable hand hold. I did not succeed soon enough and was unaware of the ass busting so soon in my future.
I'm not sure which leg hit first. One of the tables with four small benches sits about ten to fifteen feet from our front door, and I tripped over one of the benches. I think what happened is that my right leg hit first as that bruise is placed at the right height for the bench. As I began to fall my left shin slammed even more abruptly into the bench causing me to fall harder. I cleared the bench rather spectacularly I assume as I seem to remember some feeling of flight as the boxes flew out of my hands. I'm pretty sure I came down on my knee and elbow at this point while slapping my hands onto the ground as I tried to catch myself.
No one saw this happen, but a couple a short distance away gave a most disapproving look to my voluble shout of FUCK! as I hit the ground.
I retrieved my boxes, and, in some amount of agony, continued on my way. The shins hurt just to walk and at the moment the next most painful thing were the heels of my hands. I finally reached the recycling room, tossed my boxes onto the pile and was finally able to visually asses the damage.
I have a nice cut/bruise combo on my elbow and a tiny blue bruise on my knee. Both shins are bruised blue and yellow with a minor abrasion to match. The hip shows no visible sign of damage but hurts nonetheless. The heels of my hands hurt a small amount but also show no visible signs of damage
Had anyone else seen my flight it would have at least had that humorous edge that doing something spectacularly stupid earns. As it is, the disapproving glance was all I got from anyone else, and the couple who provided that seemed less concerned with a hurt fellow human than with having heard a swear.
The moral of the story is to to watch where you're going. Don't start your box carrying journey till you know you can see the obstacles. And if you're going to hang out and work at Market Square for the number of years I have, for fuck sake learn where the benches and the table/bench combos are. They're bolted to the ground for fuck sake and don't change position.
Tuesday in many restaurants is a truck day. At some point, usually never at the best, most opportune moment, the day's deliveries begin to arrive. This means that the truck driver for your distributor of choice will show up with stacks of boxes that he will leave sitting in your walkway. You get to spend some amount of your day clearing this out.
Clearing the mess involves breaking the stacks into other stacks based on where things go. Cold and frozen items move immediately to their new, respective homes as the last thing you need is for your food to thaw or come to anywhere near room temperature. Next you'll put up your dry and canned goods followed by chemicals/cleaning products and disposables such as to go containers.
A large part of the job involves taking things out of boxes which tends to leave you with a stack or pile of empty boxes. I've gotten really good over the years at reducing a mess of boxes into a neatish stack of broken down and flattened cardboard.
Sometimes these broken down and flattened boxes will sit somewhere out of the way until someone has time to discard them. We discard ours by carrying them to the opposite side of the square, about a block a way, and a short way down an alley to a room where all the businesses close enough take their cardboard for recycling.
Throughout the square there are a number of benches and tables, the tables each surrounded by four small benches. They are great for people to sit and eat or to use their laptops or to sit and sway drunkenly while waiting for friends. Apparently they are also perfect for busting one's ass.
My last task yesterday was to take the cardboard, and we had quite a stack. I tried to position the boxes in a way that they would be somewhat easy to carry and would leave me able to see where I was going. The second part of that was not carried out as well as possible.
I exited the restaurant backward, using my back to push the door open. A customer was leaving at the same moment, and I was even able to hold the door for him with my foot after swinging the boxes out of his way. I then left our patio while attempting to manage the boxes and move them to a more reasonable hand hold. I did not succeed soon enough and was unaware of the ass busting so soon in my future.
I'm not sure which leg hit first. One of the tables with four small benches sits about ten to fifteen feet from our front door, and I tripped over one of the benches. I think what happened is that my right leg hit first as that bruise is placed at the right height for the bench. As I began to fall my left shin slammed even more abruptly into the bench causing me to fall harder. I cleared the bench rather spectacularly I assume as I seem to remember some feeling of flight as the boxes flew out of my hands. I'm pretty sure I came down on my knee and elbow at this point while slapping my hands onto the ground as I tried to catch myself.
No one saw this happen, but a couple a short distance away gave a most disapproving look to my voluble shout of FUCK! as I hit the ground.
I retrieved my boxes, and, in some amount of agony, continued on my way. The shins hurt just to walk and at the moment the next most painful thing were the heels of my hands. I finally reached the recycling room, tossed my boxes onto the pile and was finally able to visually asses the damage.
I have a nice cut/bruise combo on my elbow and a tiny blue bruise on my knee. Both shins are bruised blue and yellow with a minor abrasion to match. The hip shows no visible sign of damage but hurts nonetheless. The heels of my hands hurt a small amount but also show no visible signs of damage
Had anyone else seen my flight it would have at least had that humorous edge that doing something spectacularly stupid earns. As it is, the disapproving glance was all I got from anyone else, and the couple who provided that seemed less concerned with a hurt fellow human than with having heard a swear.
The moral of the story is to to watch where you're going. Don't start your box carrying journey till you know you can see the obstacles. And if you're going to hang out and work at Market Square for the number of years I have, for fuck sake learn where the benches and the table/bench combos are. They're bolted to the ground for fuck sake and don't change position.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
hadn't seen that one yet
The culprit: our fairly small long hair chihuahua
The others: a full grown husky and other dog of uncertain breed (to me at least) of equal size to husky
The two dogs listed under other were being walked on the street in front of my house, both on leash, both really sweet and friendly dogs that I and the boys have met and petted.
Our dog was outside, not on leash as he doesn't tend to run too far even when he does leave the yard. I was finishing a smoke and getting the dog inside when he noticed the others and felt the need to run, barking, to within at least fifty feet at which point he turned, ran a couple steps toward me, then turned back to bark again.
He was feeling it, seriously, and as proof the line of hair down his neck and spine to his tail was all standing up in his tiny dog rage. I hadn't seen him pull that one before, that rough and ready to fight hair, that angry little mohawk of aggression.
Our dog really is a little sweety mostly. Of course there are also those times when he jumps on the sofa and finds my lower abdomen to be the perfect pivot point as he charges toward me then jumps onto my abdomen with enough force that I suddenly have to pee, only to leap back off on his way past. It's like someone bounced about five pounds of adorable little claws off me.
And of course as soon as those other dogs did notice his little ass he turned and ran right back to cower under me where I was squatting in the yard waiting for his machismo to run out. He's such a little badass.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
it's called a joke
I hope that a thousand years from now mankind is still so stupid and deluded that when they stumble across my blog they suddenly have a new reason to kill each other over vague attempts to decipher just what the fuck I was saying in that archaic twenty first century brogue that I spoke way back then.
It would fucking well serve us right with our damn thumbs and chairs and art.
It would fucking well serve us right with our damn thumbs and chairs and art.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
omg five things that somethinged
Of the cars I've driven more than a few times, or semi regularly, over the years I'd have to say I probably owned as many as not. One of these cars was a certain green thing that certain friends or family might well remember.
Of the people I think of as friends there is really only one person I knew from this time with whom I'm still friends. I'm still related to most of the people I was related to then, but there are a shit ton more than then, but that isn't the point. I'm as friends with my relatives as I am, and the less said about that this moment the better, in a good way, seriously.
That one friend will remember this car, and there's a good chance that we were in it the first time I told someone that I thought I was gay. He was cool then, and he's cool today. Another guy I knew very briefly who gave me my first beginning to end, all the way blow job, the kind with no expectation at the moment of reciprocation, might also remember the car. So began my love of the blow job, but again, that's so not the point.
The point is the car, this particular thing that was in my family for a number of years. The last car my grandmother owned, the car I took over when she passed it on when she could no longer drive, the car that my oldest sister in law learned as a young adult to drive to work in, was a singular car in my mind. It boasted all the electrical amenities available in the very late seventies, was large and American made. There was an extra pillowy layer of cushion on top of the seat cushions that made it extra soft.
I hadn't thought of the dirty story from above for a number of years, but the damn Facebook did me in. Anyone there has seen the five cars quiz going around. If you know me there you may well have wasted some small amount of time looking at tiny pictures that fail to accurately represent what these cars truly represent for me. One could even imagine them as little time capsules of memories of times. This car certainly represents a certain time for me.
As mentioned a couple of fairly gay moments came to me in this car. What's gayer than coming out and sucking dick? And again, I hadn't really considered this car in a number of years till that damn Facebook quiz. I saw a friend had done it, and it looked cool. I've come close enough to owning the cars or had some share of ownership in them.
And then one of my brothers did the same quiz, and there among his five cars he's owned is the same car. The car in the picture is so far from the same color, but just seeing that shape and imaging that car, the nonsense and fun of being young, I was taken back in time to a moment so long ago. Such young, carefree days as only happen when we are too young to know better.
And years later, remembering this car, the trickle of ownership it saw for such a long time. Grandchildren rode in this car to eat at the cafeteria, then young gay man explores sexuality in a strip mall parking lot, while years later a young wife and mother goes about her day, all the above in style and luxury.
Don't get me started on the sofa in the garage that was left by a different grandparent in the house in which I currently reside. It was only recently that the sofa reached the garage, replaced by another sofa from my mother in law. Don't get me started on that sofa either.
Of the people I think of as friends there is really only one person I knew from this time with whom I'm still friends. I'm still related to most of the people I was related to then, but there are a shit ton more than then, but that isn't the point. I'm as friends with my relatives as I am, and the less said about that this moment the better, in a good way, seriously.
That one friend will remember this car, and there's a good chance that we were in it the first time I told someone that I thought I was gay. He was cool then, and he's cool today. Another guy I knew very briefly who gave me my first beginning to end, all the way blow job, the kind with no expectation at the moment of reciprocation, might also remember the car. So began my love of the blow job, but again, that's so not the point.
The point is the car, this particular thing that was in my family for a number of years. The last car my grandmother owned, the car I took over when she passed it on when she could no longer drive, the car that my oldest sister in law learned as a young adult to drive to work in, was a singular car in my mind. It boasted all the electrical amenities available in the very late seventies, was large and American made. There was an extra pillowy layer of cushion on top of the seat cushions that made it extra soft.
I hadn't thought of the dirty story from above for a number of years, but the damn Facebook did me in. Anyone there has seen the five cars quiz going around. If you know me there you may well have wasted some small amount of time looking at tiny pictures that fail to accurately represent what these cars truly represent for me. One could even imagine them as little time capsules of memories of times. This car certainly represents a certain time for me.
As mentioned a couple of fairly gay moments came to me in this car. What's gayer than coming out and sucking dick? And again, I hadn't really considered this car in a number of years till that damn Facebook quiz. I saw a friend had done it, and it looked cool. I've come close enough to owning the cars or had some share of ownership in them.
And then one of my brothers did the same quiz, and there among his five cars he's owned is the same car. The car in the picture is so far from the same color, but just seeing that shape and imaging that car, the nonsense and fun of being young, I was taken back in time to a moment so long ago. Such young, carefree days as only happen when we are too young to know better.
And years later, remembering this car, the trickle of ownership it saw for such a long time. Grandchildren rode in this car to eat at the cafeteria, then young gay man explores sexuality in a strip mall parking lot, while years later a young wife and mother goes about her day, all the above in style and luxury.
Don't get me started on the sofa in the garage that was left by a different grandparent in the house in which I currently reside. It was only recently that the sofa reached the garage, replaced by another sofa from my mother in law. Don't get me started on that sofa either.
Friday, January 09, 2009
run for the hills
The day approaches ever more quickly, the day I've warned you about in this very blog, the day when the gays marry legally and the nazi tyranosaurs with laser eye and the killing everyone and total annihilation and stuff.
The following video, and a tip of the hat to Good As You, will help us defeat us pesky gays and our marriage craving ways.
Okay, I don't plan on marrying anyone any time soon, for what it's worth. I've got bigger cats to fry and fish to skin, but the video is great, worth a couple minutes and a couple laughs.
The following video, and a tip of the hat to Good As You, will help us defeat us pesky gays and our marriage craving ways.
Okay, I don't plan on marrying anyone any time soon, for what it's worth. I've got bigger cats to fry and fish to skin, but the video is great, worth a couple minutes and a couple laughs.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
ramen and saltines
Lately my moods have swung more wildly than a . . . okay, the swing is more like a . . . at least try to read through the whine to the good part, and try to accept that, by the end, I'm attempting to laugh at myself.
On one side of the pendulum swing is absolute bleah, anxiety, feelings of worthlessness and seeing the universe as one giant asshole constantly shitting on me and laughing maniacally the entire time. I don't know what is on the other extreme of the swing, because the pendulum never seems to swing all the way to the other side. It hits some midpoint of meh and comes back to the shitting on me part.
I know that this isn't the truth of the matter. I know that I'm just in a bad place right now, but nothing really seems to help. All around me it seems like everyone is partying and laughing and having a great time, and it's hard to remember that I'm not the only one with issues. Hell, it's hard to remember that my issues aren't even that seriously serious in the larger scheme of things.
But that's sort of the kind of person I am. I'm not a glass half empty kind of guy, though it would seem I am. I'm more of a "who the fuck has been drinking out of my glass?" kind of guy. I can find the negative in anything. If I won the lottery I'd likely find something to bitch about. That's the sort of person I am.
I do have an interview in a couple of days for a job I'm already assuming I will hate, but I refuse to see it that way. At least I refuse to act as though I see it that way. I'll walk in in nice clothes and a smile. It's not cooking, and that will be a huge step for me, not necessarily up or down so much as just a step.
So, having bitched quite enough, I should think of things that are good. My feet are cold, but my house is warm enough and dry enough and has food in it. I can wash my clothes even if I do wear them for three days straight because it just doesn't seem worth the effort to shower if all I'm going to do is sit on my ass until the next available day to search for a job I probably won't get. Momma keeps buying me beer, and honestly, if you knew me, you'd probably buy my silence with a twelve pack too, though it is of the High Life variety and not the micro brews I so richly deserve. The tobacco I've been buying is apparently not supposed to be as cheap as I've been paying, so I'm back to having to die slowly because of a slightly less enjoyable brand, so the fact that I got to smoke a higher quality for the wrong and lower price should be good for something. Momma gave me a pair of her underwear, and honestly they weren't very flattering on her at all, but they don't look bad on me, and they aren't as girly as you probably imagine, and add to this the gay thing, and I do look good in them. That and three quarters will turn the air compressor on at the gas station for what it's worth.
So I do have things that are good in my life. The kids are terrors, as kids are want to be, but I love them, and I'm working toward being cool with them. With any luck the beer I just spilled on the keyboard won't fuck it up any more than it already is, and since it doesn't seem to be already fucked up one can assume it isn't, but I think we all know how bad situations wait till we aren't looking, so I'm sure it's about to short circuit and send electricity coursing through my body.
Oh, and I went to the weekly gay men's meeting finally. It's a weekly thing at the local UU church, and I was one of the youngest people there. It was a nicely bland evening of not being the only gay person in the room. I plan to return the next time it happens, perhaps even becoming a regular if it seems to meet a need, though I'd rather meet my gay people in a less boring environment. Of course the gay bar sees me drunk and nervous, so I should probably just be cool with bland for now.
I think that may in fact be all I can come up with for tonight. I was worried that the poor ol' blog was suffering withdrawals because I haven't sent any bitch filled missives onto the internets lately. I wanted to post but had nothing to say, so I said it anyway, and now you've read it. I hope it didn't bring you down, and I hope you return for more. Better yet I hope I return for more and have something to say next time.
On one side of the pendulum swing is absolute bleah, anxiety, feelings of worthlessness and seeing the universe as one giant asshole constantly shitting on me and laughing maniacally the entire time. I don't know what is on the other extreme of the swing, because the pendulum never seems to swing all the way to the other side. It hits some midpoint of meh and comes back to the shitting on me part.
I know that this isn't the truth of the matter. I know that I'm just in a bad place right now, but nothing really seems to help. All around me it seems like everyone is partying and laughing and having a great time, and it's hard to remember that I'm not the only one with issues. Hell, it's hard to remember that my issues aren't even that seriously serious in the larger scheme of things.
But that's sort of the kind of person I am. I'm not a glass half empty kind of guy, though it would seem I am. I'm more of a "who the fuck has been drinking out of my glass?" kind of guy. I can find the negative in anything. If I won the lottery I'd likely find something to bitch about. That's the sort of person I am.
I do have an interview in a couple of days for a job I'm already assuming I will hate, but I refuse to see it that way. At least I refuse to act as though I see it that way. I'll walk in in nice clothes and a smile. It's not cooking, and that will be a huge step for me, not necessarily up or down so much as just a step.
So, having bitched quite enough, I should think of things that are good. My feet are cold, but my house is warm enough and dry enough and has food in it. I can wash my clothes even if I do wear them for three days straight because it just doesn't seem worth the effort to shower if all I'm going to do is sit on my ass until the next available day to search for a job I probably won't get. Momma keeps buying me beer, and honestly, if you knew me, you'd probably buy my silence with a twelve pack too, though it is of the High Life variety and not the micro brews I so richly deserve. The tobacco I've been buying is apparently not supposed to be as cheap as I've been paying, so I'm back to having to die slowly because of a slightly less enjoyable brand, so the fact that I got to smoke a higher quality for the wrong and lower price should be good for something. Momma gave me a pair of her underwear, and honestly they weren't very flattering on her at all, but they don't look bad on me, and they aren't as girly as you probably imagine, and add to this the gay thing, and I do look good in them. That and three quarters will turn the air compressor on at the gas station for what it's worth.
So I do have things that are good in my life. The kids are terrors, as kids are want to be, but I love them, and I'm working toward being cool with them. With any luck the beer I just spilled on the keyboard won't fuck it up any more than it already is, and since it doesn't seem to be already fucked up one can assume it isn't, but I think we all know how bad situations wait till we aren't looking, so I'm sure it's about to short circuit and send electricity coursing through my body.
Oh, and I went to the weekly gay men's meeting finally. It's a weekly thing at the local UU church, and I was one of the youngest people there. It was a nicely bland evening of not being the only gay person in the room. I plan to return the next time it happens, perhaps even becoming a regular if it seems to meet a need, though I'd rather meet my gay people in a less boring environment. Of course the gay bar sees me drunk and nervous, so I should probably just be cool with bland for now.
I think that may in fact be all I can come up with for tonight. I was worried that the poor ol' blog was suffering withdrawals because I haven't sent any bitch filled missives onto the internets lately. I wanted to post but had nothing to say, so I said it anyway, and now you've read it. I hope it didn't bring you down, and I hope you return for more. Better yet I hope I return for more and have something to say next time.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
marryin' gays
Over the years, whenever I've discussed marriage equality, I've been more than willing to admit what I'm sure will happen once we are finally given that right. Perhaps you've read what I've written and seen my predictions come true.
If gay people are legally allowed to marry then Nazi tyrannosaurs will erupt out of the earth, and they will go an a rampage and destroy the earth and kill everyone with their deadly laser eyes.
Blogger Sean Braisted apparently disagrees. Go visit his blog, Nashville 21 to find out what he thinks will happen, then feel free to comment back here and tell me whose vision you find more likely.
hat tip to R. Neal at Knox Views for the intro to Mr. Braisted and his sadly mistaken
If gay people are legally allowed to marry then Nazi tyrannosaurs will erupt out of the earth, and they will go an a rampage and destroy the earth and kill everyone with their deadly laser eyes.
Blogger Sean Braisted apparently disagrees. Go visit his blog, Nashville 21 to find out what he thinks will happen, then feel free to comment back here and tell me whose vision you find more likely.
hat tip to R. Neal at Knox Views for the intro to Mr. Braisted and his sadly mistaken
Thursday, October 30, 2008
don't be a douche
Apparently today is blog-what-other-people-blog-day at the ol' desk full. Yet another of my fave blogs has posted something worth sharing, this time a video. If you live under a rock or outside of the U.S. (is this another theme du jour?) then you may not know what California's Proposition 8 is all about. If this is true then very quickly, judges in CA decided that the state constitution makes it illegal to deny gay people the right to marry. Now a bunch of degenerates want to amend the constitution to deny us that right. Prop 8 is their attempt, and the following video explains what this is all about much more eloquently (another theme?) than I. Hat tip to Todd of Iced Tea and Sarcasm.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
aaahhh Paris
Isn't it amazing how the least little thing can elevate one's opinion of another? Take the pointlessly famous Paris Hilton for example. Only in the US can someone so seemingly vapid actually find that she has a chance at the White House. Okay, not really, but when John McCain decided to use her in an ad, she fought back with her own ad, presented below. I might have to vote for her instead.
See more Paris Hilton videos at Funny or Die
Monday, June 30, 2008
if it was . . .
Sometimes I catch myself almost saying things to the kids that I would have no problem saying to any of my grown up friends but that are fairly inappropriate to say to children.
An example:
"I'm trying to find that Spiderman book that Momma used to decorate that cake," Big Brother said.
And the thing I would have said to a grown up friend but caught myself in time not to say to him:
"If it was up your butt you'd know."
An example:
"I'm trying to find that Spiderman book that Momma used to decorate that cake," Big Brother said.
And the thing I would have said to a grown up friend but caught myself in time not to say to him:
"If it was up your butt you'd know."
Friday, June 27, 2008
is it secret? is it safe?
The scene, Big Brother and The Boy are playing The Lord of the Rings. I'm not sure which characters either are pretending to be, but what I do know is that there, on The Boy's finger rests the One Ring. You know, . . . one ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them. Yeah, that ring.
I don't question, and I don't nose around any more than is healthy. You'd have to have been living under a rock not to know of this ring and the power it has, not to know the true owner is ever watching for his ring. We won't mention that other fellow searching for his precious.
No, tonight is no night for worrying with that ring. I've got a chicken in the oven and a timer set. Fifteen minutes at 450 and up to an hour more at 350. I've got vegetables to cut and toss in halfway through. I've got sitting on my ass on the sofa to do.
I have a cigarette to smoke as soon as the chicken is in the oven, and The Boy is right there, light saber . . . err, I mean battle sword in hand.
"Do you still have the ring of power?" I ask, settling back in the plastic chair.
"No, I ate it," he answers.
Whew! It really was just a pretzel.
I don't question, and I don't nose around any more than is healthy. You'd have to have been living under a rock not to know of this ring and the power it has, not to know the true owner is ever watching for his ring. We won't mention that other fellow searching for his precious.
No, tonight is no night for worrying with that ring. I've got a chicken in the oven and a timer set. Fifteen minutes at 450 and up to an hour more at 350. I've got vegetables to cut and toss in halfway through. I've got sitting on my ass on the sofa to do.
I have a cigarette to smoke as soon as the chicken is in the oven, and The Boy is right there, light saber . . . err, I mean battle sword in hand.
"Do you still have the ring of power?" I ask, settling back in the plastic chair.
"No, I ate it," he answers.
Whew! It really was just a pretzel.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
mouth meet soap
Be warned now that at some point while reading this there is some fair amount of chance that you will read something that you can never unread. I'm not saying, you know, I'm just saying.
I really just want right now to share with you the the horrible thing I said today. It isn't the most horrible thing that I said today, a day filled, it seems, with me saying horrible things. The most horrible thing was an extremely horrid yet funny joke involving a minor shaking hands with a good friend for a long time. It finds less notoriety than the other horrible thing I said solely because of the volume at which each were said relative to time and place. The horrible joke was only told to a few people, and if you want to know, ask in the comments and I might share. The other horrible thing had more audience than I intended.
One of the servers who worked lunch today actually approached the window within a couple minutes of the horrible thing I said and pointed out that perhaps my voice carries farther than I realize. Sadly, my voice does in fact carry, and I've know this since getting in trouble during church youth groups type activities when I never failed to get caught saying whatever horrible thing I said.
As a bit of a side note, I decided to learn how to say, "Hago las cosas que hacen que grita el bebé Jesús," a thing that some may consider horrible, after a Mexican coworker asked me if I went to church. I'm sure the news has gotten to her, though I can't be certain, concerning my interest in the fairer(as far as I'm concerned) sex and that was my immediate response, but I only know the English, having waited till just now to go to Babel Fish and get it translated. I add this only as a blatant attempt to raise my horrible-things-said score.
As we re-approach the main story I have to introduce you to Gruff. He's typical kitchen if not a little more punk than most. Our families have a little something in common though a different parent turned out to be the gay in their situation, and their outcome was somewhat different. I love working the line with him because he's great to talk shit to. He's a regular kitchen type, perhaps a little more punk than most. We say some crazy/stupid shit to each other.
Basically I told Gruff that I was going to rip his head off and douche my ass with the blood that gushed out of his neck.
And we were both on the line directly in front of the window looking out onto the dining room.
And my voice carries farther than I sometimes remember. Or maybe I'm just not bright enough to figure it out.
I really just want right now to share with you the the horrible thing I said today. It isn't the most horrible thing that I said today, a day filled, it seems, with me saying horrible things. The most horrible thing was an extremely horrid yet funny joke involving a minor shaking hands with a good friend for a long time. It finds less notoriety than the other horrible thing I said solely because of the volume at which each were said relative to time and place. The horrible joke was only told to a few people, and if you want to know, ask in the comments and I might share. The other horrible thing had more audience than I intended.
One of the servers who worked lunch today actually approached the window within a couple minutes of the horrible thing I said and pointed out that perhaps my voice carries farther than I realize. Sadly, my voice does in fact carry, and I've know this since getting in trouble during church youth groups type activities when I never failed to get caught saying whatever horrible thing I said.
As a bit of a side note, I decided to learn how to say, "Hago las cosas que hacen que grita el bebé Jesús," a thing that some may consider horrible, after a Mexican coworker asked me if I went to church. I'm sure the news has gotten to her, though I can't be certain, concerning my interest in the fairer(as far as I'm concerned) sex and that was my immediate response, but I only know the English, having waited till just now to go to Babel Fish and get it translated. I add this only as a blatant attempt to raise my horrible-things-said score.
As we re-approach the main story I have to introduce you to Gruff. He's typical kitchen if not a little more punk than most. Our families have a little something in common though a different parent turned out to be the gay in their situation, and their outcome was somewhat different. I love working the line with him because he's great to talk shit to. He's a regular kitchen type, perhaps a little more punk than most. We say some crazy/stupid shit to each other.
Basically I told Gruff that I was going to rip his head off and douche my ass with the blood that gushed out of his neck.
And we were both on the line directly in front of the window looking out onto the dining room.
And my voice carries farther than I sometimes remember. Or maybe I'm just not bright enough to figure it out.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
pissing people off . . . again
As seems to happen often enough, I pissed off at least three different people last night, though to their credit, two of them apologized for what was clearly their problem and not my own.
I'm not getting into too many specifics, but last night saw me behind the microphone once again announcing what was one hell of a roller derby bout. Though unable to gain the lead our much loved Hard Knox Roller Girls played amazingly.
So on to the pissing people off.
Apparently plenty of people seem to think I do a good job as announcer. I, in my typical pessimistic and cynical and self deprecating sort of way assume that they mean to say I do a good enough job or that I'm okay till they find someone at least as competent as me. It's this sort of thing I do where I have trouble having nice thoughts about myself and my abilities, but that's been covered often enough throughout the recent postings.
I've long had a problem with the reffing in roller derby bouts. I don't want to be the sour grapes guy and suggest anything other than that too many refs just don't seem to quite get the rules, and in any sport, if you give the athletes too much space, there will always be some that jump at the chance to take any advantage they can.
Many penalties were missed last night, and many attempts at rule breaking were missed. If you see someone attempt a trip but not succeed do you still punish the attempt? Is a baseball slide into someone's ankles as bad as trying but failing to baseball slide into someone's ankles?
Over the time I've been announcing for HKRG I've gotten more comfortable with what I'm doing, and sometimes I see things that the refs apparently missed, like the cheap shot into the back while the skater getting hit was already out of bounds. Yeah, the ref completely missed two fouls at once, but I didn't, and I told our fans about it.
Part of announcing for me is to inform the fans as much as possible about roller derby. It is new to so many of them, and if you are not familiar with the sport you may well see it as a huge nearly free for all of speed and skates and cute girls and hits. But it's my job to set you straight, to let you know that it is a sport, that there are rules, that regardless of what the refs do we can inform ourselves of the rules and demand better.
Two different refs and one of the opposing skaters, at different times, demanded that I stop calling penalties. I informed the refs that I was just doing my job of announcing and went so far as to tell one of the refs that if they weren't going to call the fouls then not to get mad at me when I did. I'm personally sick of seeing derby being degraded by teams/skaters flaunting the rules and making it unfair and unsafe.
The third person to demand I halt my calls was the skater from the other team. The irony of this is that she was in the penalty box when she shouted at me. My answer was quite simple. I told her that if she wanted me to stop calling fouls then maybe she should stop committing them. She was one of the three to apologize after the bout was finally over. We hugged and commiserated and had some laughs together at the after party. She's an amazing skater and one of her team's best, so it really sucks that she can't manage to stay within twenty feet of the pack.
And that's my story. I roll through life in a pissing-people-off sort of way. Or so it seems. Maybe that's part of me coming off as an asshole. Maybe I'll look into that one day.
or not
I'm not getting into too many specifics, but last night saw me behind the microphone once again announcing what was one hell of a roller derby bout. Though unable to gain the lead our much loved Hard Knox Roller Girls played amazingly.
So on to the pissing people off.
Apparently plenty of people seem to think I do a good job as announcer. I, in my typical pessimistic and cynical and self deprecating sort of way assume that they mean to say I do a good enough job or that I'm okay till they find someone at least as competent as me. It's this sort of thing I do where I have trouble having nice thoughts about myself and my abilities, but that's been covered often enough throughout the recent postings.
I've long had a problem with the reffing in roller derby bouts. I don't want to be the sour grapes guy and suggest anything other than that too many refs just don't seem to quite get the rules, and in any sport, if you give the athletes too much space, there will always be some that jump at the chance to take any advantage they can.
Many penalties were missed last night, and many attempts at rule breaking were missed. If you see someone attempt a trip but not succeed do you still punish the attempt? Is a baseball slide into someone's ankles as bad as trying but failing to baseball slide into someone's ankles?
Over the time I've been announcing for HKRG I've gotten more comfortable with what I'm doing, and sometimes I see things that the refs apparently missed, like the cheap shot into the back while the skater getting hit was already out of bounds. Yeah, the ref completely missed two fouls at once, but I didn't, and I told our fans about it.
Part of announcing for me is to inform the fans as much as possible about roller derby. It is new to so many of them, and if you are not familiar with the sport you may well see it as a huge nearly free for all of speed and skates and cute girls and hits. But it's my job to set you straight, to let you know that it is a sport, that there are rules, that regardless of what the refs do we can inform ourselves of the rules and demand better.
Two different refs and one of the opposing skaters, at different times, demanded that I stop calling penalties. I informed the refs that I was just doing my job of announcing and went so far as to tell one of the refs that if they weren't going to call the fouls then not to get mad at me when I did. I'm personally sick of seeing derby being degraded by teams/skaters flaunting the rules and making it unfair and unsafe.
The third person to demand I halt my calls was the skater from the other team. The irony of this is that she was in the penalty box when she shouted at me. My answer was quite simple. I told her that if she wanted me to stop calling fouls then maybe she should stop committing them. She was one of the three to apologize after the bout was finally over. We hugged and commiserated and had some laughs together at the after party. She's an amazing skater and one of her team's best, so it really sucks that she can't manage to stay within twenty feet of the pack.
And that's my story. I roll through life in a pissing-people-off sort of way. Or so it seems. Maybe that's part of me coming off as an asshole. Maybe I'll look into that one day.
or not
Thursday, April 10, 2008
it's true
I don't pay a lot of attention to my statcounter, but I do look at it every couple of days. It's nice to see the number of visitors, and sometimes it's fun to see the different ways people get to me.
I am more than a little gratified to find that I come up first in a particular search, and a good number of visits I get are because of this search.
I am the number one hit when people google Robin Williams sucks, and it feels good.
I am more than a little gratified to find that I come up first in a particular search, and a good number of visits I get are because of this search.
I am the number one hit when people google Robin Williams sucks, and it feels good.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
mmmmmmmmm vital fluids
Regardless of how much I eat lately, it seems I'm never quite satisfied. I think I may finally have come across the solution to this problem. Thanks go to Joel Derfner whose blog I recently staggered across. He's perfect for me to have a crush on as he's hot and completely unavailable, but it does help that it's not another straight guy.
Anyway, to learn more about my new diet click HERE.
Anyway, to learn more about my new diet click HERE.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
the more you ask
I'm posting this unamusing anecdote for one simple reason.
A friend of ours has a daughter between the ages of our own kids. She's a sweet kid, and when the friend asked us to watch her for the night, Momma was happy to oblige.
So how does that work out to a blog post? Nothing exciting happened last night or today, and she hasn't really provided any blog fodder, not really.
I'm pretty much done on the computer for the moment. I've checked Google reader, Myspace and my email. I've done almost everything I could want to do and certainly everything I want to do at this point in the day.
Next to the computer chair is a small child size rocking chair. The entire time I've been online today this lovely young lady has sat next to me in that same chair asking every couple of minutes if she could get online or if I'm done yet.
I tried to warn her that each time she asks only makes me stay on longer. It's not that I don't want her on the computer, but I really want to be able to finish in peace. I actually tried to find a way to compare her repeated questioning with the idea that expressing disbelief in faeries kills one, but that seemed a little too cold even for me, so I didn't say the thinky part aloud for once.
Instead of dashing any hopes of faeries she may have I've chosen to find a way to insist on taking longer. I could easily be done now. I could happily have found something else to do and given her a turn. But she wouldn't stop asking.
I'm not sure what finally did it, but she's wandered away to join the boys in some cartoons. It's been at least five minutes since I was hit with the question, but I'm still not willing to give up the computer. Like everything else I do, I'm sure it makes me a bad person, like I care.
A friend of ours has a daughter between the ages of our own kids. She's a sweet kid, and when the friend asked us to watch her for the night, Momma was happy to oblige.
So how does that work out to a blog post? Nothing exciting happened last night or today, and she hasn't really provided any blog fodder, not really.
I'm pretty much done on the computer for the moment. I've checked Google reader, Myspace and my email. I've done almost everything I could want to do and certainly everything I want to do at this point in the day.
Next to the computer chair is a small child size rocking chair. The entire time I've been online today this lovely young lady has sat next to me in that same chair asking every couple of minutes if she could get online or if I'm done yet.
I tried to warn her that each time she asks only makes me stay on longer. It's not that I don't want her on the computer, but I really want to be able to finish in peace. I actually tried to find a way to compare her repeated questioning with the idea that expressing disbelief in faeries kills one, but that seemed a little too cold even for me, so I didn't say the thinky part aloud for once.
Instead of dashing any hopes of faeries she may have I've chosen to find a way to insist on taking longer. I could easily be done now. I could happily have found something else to do and given her a turn. But she wouldn't stop asking.
I'm not sure what finally did it, but she's wandered away to join the boys in some cartoons. It's been at least five minutes since I was hit with the question, but I'm still not willing to give up the computer. Like everything else I do, I'm sure it makes me a bad person, like I care.
Friday, February 15, 2008
that one guy
I have a friend, not really someone I'm close to, but he's a guy I've known most of the time I've lived in this town. One thing that is really noticeable, sort of a feature that stands out, is his voice, a deep and gravelly sort of thing that you almost imagine singing some low down blues. And then he talks and dispels that myth.
I hadn't seen him in a couple of years the last time I saw him. I was out having a couple of drinks, mostly fucking off. I mentioned his voice earlier because that's how I discovered he was also out that night.
I went into the bathroom to take a much needed piss, the beers having begun to back up in the bottleneck of my increasingly less patient bladder. As I stood at the urinal I heard someone enter the bathroom behind me but thought nothing of it.
I was quite enjoying my pee, having put it off quite long enough. Along with the pee I felt a build up of gaseous material, the sort one often rightly chooses to expel in the bathroom when out in public, and this I did.
Upon the release of my fart I heard a laugh from the next stall, and I knew at that very moment that I was in the presence of only one possible person. There are no voices like that but his.
I hadn't seen him in a couple of years the last time I saw him. I was out having a couple of drinks, mostly fucking off. I mentioned his voice earlier because that's how I discovered he was also out that night.
I went into the bathroom to take a much needed piss, the beers having begun to back up in the bottleneck of my increasingly less patient bladder. As I stood at the urinal I heard someone enter the bathroom behind me but thought nothing of it.
I was quite enjoying my pee, having put it off quite long enough. Along with the pee I felt a build up of gaseous material, the sort one often rightly chooses to expel in the bathroom when out in public, and this I did.
Upon the release of my fart I heard a laugh from the next stall, and I knew at that very moment that I was in the presence of only one possible person. There are no voices like that but his.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
back that tilt up
I swiped this from Lynn, but she swiped it from someone else. With all the swiping going on one might forget the real reason for the season, and no, it isn't really about babies and stars and wise men. It isn't about magic insemination of virgins by interstellar entities, though feel free to enjoy it however you please.
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