Oh how I dread the drive home from work each night. There's just too many idiots on the road. Last night was particularly nasty, because I ran across somebody in the ditch who apparently thought that his 4-wheel drive made him immune to sliding on ice. I stopped to make sure everything was okay, only to find out he had already called somebody with a winch to pull his truck out. "Heh heh... watch out, it's slippery out there" he says.
Uhhhh, yeah. That's what happens when water gets cold.
But before I drove home from work, I put on my gloves and wondered for the millionth time why glove manufacturers are so frickin' stupid that they consistently make the thumb and little finger too long. Every pair of gloves I've ever owned has had an extra inch of fabric flapping around on my "hang loose" digits. Very annoying. I mean, seriously, just LOOK at this lunacy (thanks to the "X-Ray" attachment on my Epson scanner)...
GAH! Dumbass glove manufacturers!! Surely I'm not the only one who notices this stuff?
Unless...
HOLY CRAP! It's me, isn't it? I'M A MUTANT!! Somehow my mutant super-power is to have a thumb and little finger shorter than everybody else! THAT'S why gloves never fit me...
Or maybe it's my middle fingers that are longer. Who knows. I wonder if this is a good enough mutant super-power to get me into the X-Men? Probably not, but it might get me into a cheap horror movie...
Of course, Lil' Dave only has four fingers.
Not because he's a mutant, but because he's a cartoon.
Oh well. I try not to feel too badly for him... he can still flip-off people who irritate him. That's all that really matters, isn't it?
Why is it that every time I really want my camera, I've left it at home?
Since I haven't been out of the country for over a year, I didn't realize that my passport had expired until I looked at it this morning. This really sucks ass, because even if you pay the "expedited handling fee" it will still take up to two weeks to get your renewal. Since I am leaving in three weeks, I had to FedEx it out TODAY in case something gets screwed up along the way. This meant a trip to Wenatchee so I could have new photos taken at the AAA.
Because of the recent heavy snowfall, all the snow from Wenatchee's streets is piled up three feet high in the center turn lane. This is kind of a pain in the ass, because any time you want to make a left turn, you have to keep going until you find a plowed intersection, then do a U-turn and backtrack to where you needed to turn. This has been going on for the 20+ years I've been driving, and everybody just deals with it the best they can.
Except one crazy bitch who thought her little Nissan Sentra could break through a wall of snow three feet tall and make that left turn. Needless to say, this wasn't going to happen. Not only did she screw up her front bumper, but she high-centered herself on the snow. Since she was blocking the lane, two guys from a truck ahead of me decided to get out and see if they could push her off. The entire time she was screaming her head off and, when I rolled down my window to listen, this is part of what I heard...
Of course, being the stupid f#@%ing dumbass that she is, she naturally decides to blame everybody except herself. I find clueless morons like this highly entertaining, and I was cursing myself for not having my camera with me because I would have totally posted a photo of the hilarity that was ensuing.
But, after a minute or so, the two guys managed to push her off the snowbank and she sped off... still screaming at nobody in particular, but mad at everybody except herself.
Typical.
Anyway... my new passport photo sucks ass, as usual. I look even more like a terrorist than last time, which is bound to make for some exciting new memories to treasure as I pass through Customs for the next ten years. Of course, like anybody who travels extensively, I'm sure that I've already got a lovely profile on record with Homeland Security. Hopefully it only says nice things about me, because I always try to be nice to everybody when I enter or leave the country.
Of course, if I ever DO get detained, I now know exactly how I should act...
Yes. From what I see on a daily basis, raving like a complete idiot seems to be the American Way now. I can totally do that. US Customs agents would be disappointed if I didn't act like a fool... after all, I'm sure they find clueless morons highly entertaining as well.
Doesn't everybody?
Except clueless morons, of course. They just don't know any better.
I've just turned on the television. The Sound of Music is playing and Julie Andrews is singing about how once a woman is married she becomes her husband's property. This movie must have been filmed back in the good old days when you could own a woman outright. Given most of the women I know today, this is a pretty funny concept.
A foot of snow was unexpectedly dumped on us overnight. I only realized it when I heard a snowplow scraping by at the utterly ridiculous hour of 7:00am. But, by the time I left at 10:00, the sun was shining through a brilliant blue sky...
Sure, the snow makes driving a total disaster, but it sure looks pretty.
I do not discuss religion on my blog when at all possible, because I just don't want the headache of dealing with closed-minded individuals who refuse to understand that people are allowed to have beliefs different from their own. The beauty of all humanity is the diversity of the people who comprise it and, in my many travels around the world, I have learned to love this inevitability of the human condition. This is reflected in my personal beliefs, which are colored by the many religions and peoples I've encountered over the years.
The foundation of my own faith is built on the Buddhist precepts of cherishing all life and doing no harm to any living thing. And though I do not consider myself to be a "true" Buddhist, it is the religion with which I most closely identify, and has been since I first studied it in Thailand a dozen years ago. But I've also studied Taoism, Christianity, Islam, Sikhism, Judaism, Hinduism, Mormonism, Shinto, Confucianism, Bahá'í, Scientology, Wicca, and dozens of other belief systems like Native American spirituality, Aboriginal world-view, and even voodoo. My attempts at understanding the people who inhabit this planet inevitably lead to investigating their faith, and it is a passion that does not easily leave you.
Studying religion is no easy task. You have to be willing to immerse yourself enough to truly appreciate it, yet be detached enough to see how it works. But there is beauty everywhere, and the joy of getting lost in The Holy Qur'an or The Bhagavad-Gita or The Holy Bible or The Tao-Te-Ching or any text of profound belief is intoxicating. There's always the desire to keep going deeper and deeper... trying to find new levels of understanding in that which others have devoted their lives to studying, yet admit to never fully understand themselves.
And now, in a time where religion is doing such a marvelous job of dividing us, there is one thing which I still believe is true: as a species, we will forever be more alike than we are different... all beliefs considered. Whether this is enough to save us from ourselves remains uncertain.
But sure I hope so.
Because it's about the only thing that keeps me from choking the ever-loving shit out of all the dumbasses running amok during the holiday shopping season.
Usually one has to drink copious amounts of alcohol to have a day like this...
I have no idea what I ate that is causing me such misery, but I think I might die any minute now.
And how was your day?
So there I am minding my own business while walking back from the mini-mart... when an underage whore asks me for directions.
When I say "underage" I will fully admit to guessing here, because it wasn't like I got to see her ID or was presented with a birth certificate. And, truth be told, I'm also guessing as to her being a whore, because it's not like she offered me sexual favors in exchange for money or anything like that (she just wanted to know where Pioneer Avenue was).
No, the reason I call her a whore is sheer speculation based on her method of dress and demeanor, all of which was saying "make me an offer." I mean, come on... stiletto-heeled boots and a low-cut blouse with a push-up bra? IN THE MIDDLE OF WINTER? Ergo... a whore.
Of course it's so hard to tell, really. Especially when I look at the dolls that girls have now-a-days...
They're called "Bratz" but they might as well be called "Whorez" from what I can see. Sure Barbie may have always been a little bit of a slut, but the worst you can say about her is that she's a classy tease with way too much money on her hands. The Bratz dolls look like strung-out street-walkers by comparison...
Hmmm... Now that I think about it, there was a lot of room for scary misinterpretation here on behalf of the police (had any actually been present). I could have inadvertently been arrested for soliciting sex from an underage whore just for talking to the girl!
Sadly, today's kids don't really have much of a chance. Especially little girls when they have role models like Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan (not to mention dolls like Bratz) to learn from.
Yesterday it finally decided to get serious and snow here. It was a wet, heavy snow that was coming down so fast and so hard that by the time I got the last half of my car cleaned off, the first half was covered again. Driving was a nightmare, because the streets would fill up just as soon as they were plowed.
By the time I got home, it was so nasty out that I was fully prepared to spend the next eight weeks locked in my home with 60 boxes of Pop Tarts and twelve dozen cans of Coke with Lime until the snow subsided...
But when I woke up this morning, my Mac's "Weather Widget" said it was raining. All the snow that had fallen on my car last night had melted away. The roads were clearing up and by 10:00 the sun was shining. But there was still a sloppy mess left behind, with piles of snow heaped everywhere. This sometimes makes parking scarce because all that snow cleared off a parking lot has to go somewhere.
So when I was in Wenatchee picking up some crap at the store, I felt really lucky that I found a relatively close spot. At least I did until this woman (who looked like Ms. Crabtree from South Park) came rolling up and shook her first fist at me then drove off...
"Well that was odd" I said to myself "I wonder what that was all about?"
Fortunately (or unfortunately, as it turns out) I didn't have long to wait. As I was entering the store the woman (who parked across the lot) screams as me "I WAS WAITING FOR THAT SPOT?" Which, of course, was ridiculous. She wasn't even in the lot when I pulled into the spot. But, rather than screaming back to her "YOU'RE FULL OF SHIT!" I just pretended I didn't hear her and went about my business.
People are dumbasses. Snow or no snow, I'm seriously considering locking myself in for eight weeks anyway.
This has not been my week.
And just when I think that I'm back on track, something happens to let me know that this simply is not true... usually first thing in the morning. Yesterday I wandered into the shower and absent-mindedly ripped into my freshly-electrocuted face with Apricot Exfoliating Scrub. You'd think that this is about the worst thing that could happen to you in the shower... but you would be wrong.
This morning I was washing my hair with Philosophy Strawberry Milkshake Shampoo when I decided that my head wasn't bubbly enough, and reached for that big 10-pound bottle to squeeze out some more.
This was a mistake.
I must have still been half-asleep or something, because when I grabbed the bottle it somehow slipped and ended up cracking me right in the balls.
Hard.
The incident ended up looking something like this...
This woke me up very, very quickly.
And now, even though it's almost five hours later, the pain still lingers.
Those of you who have balls know exactly what I mean. Those of you who don't should kick a guy in the nuts sometime and have him explain it to you (but please do not mention my name... the last thing I need is to be chased down the street by a mob of guys with aching balls).
I am beginning to think that this kind of crap happens to me because I have a blog.
Subconsciously, I must be setting myself up for horribly embarrassing tales of woe so that I have something to blog about. No other guys I know have ever mentioned accidentally smacking their own balls* with a big bottle of pink shampoo. Though, now that I think about it, what guy would ever admit to something so stupid like that?
Oh.
Would it help to say that after this incident I shot a grizzly bear, drank a six-pack of beer, then skydived into the Playboy Mansion where I had a three-way with playmates of the year Tiffany Fallon and Kara Monaco?
I have got to find a new hobby.
* Note that I have plenty of stories of guys smacking some OTHER guy's balls with a big bottle of pink shampoo... those post-game locker room celebrations are "c-r-a-z-y" crazy.
This morning started with my slipping in the parking lot and busting my ass, which was pretty much indicative of how the rest of my day would go.
Because it's not every day you get stabbed in the face.
I've got some small bumps on my face, which are probably a residual effect of the massive doses of Accutane I was on when I was a kid. They are barely noticeable and don't bother me, so I've just let them be. But a few of them get torn off from time to time when I put on a T-shirt or my motorcycle helmet or whatever, so I finally decided to ask a dermatologist about it...
DOCTOR: Oh, they're not dangerous or anything... I can take care of them in just a few minutes.
DAVE: Uhhh... okay.
DOCTOR: First I'll just stab you in the face a couple times with this giant needle...
DAVE: GAAAH!
DOCTOR: Now I'll fry your face with electricity to burn them off...
DAVE: GAAAH!
DOCTOR: You're going to smell burning flesh and see some smoke now...
DAVE: GAAAH!
DOCTOR: Done! Don't be alarmed when you see the open wounds on your face...
DAVE: GAAAH!
DOCTOR: Or the huge white blotches...
DAVE: GAAAH!
DOCTOR: The blotches will fade in an hour, and everything will be healed up in a couple days. You'll never know they were there.
DAVE: GAAAH! Errr... I mean... really?
And that was that.
I'm feeling pretty good now, considering I lived through one of my worst nightmares during my lunch hour.
Tomorrow at lunch I'm thinking of climbing in a tub filled with live spiders.
But right now I've got two suitcases of laundry to wash, which is almost as scary.
Uhhh... yeah... helpful hint to all would-be-adulterers out there... if you are going to have a sexually explicit instant-messaging session with your mistress on a public computer, you might want to remember to logout and close out the web browser window after you're done. This is especially applicable if you refer to your wife as "that f#@%ing bitch" and go into intimate details as to your next planned sexual encounter with your whore.
On the other hand, it did make for some exciting reading before I got down to the drudgery of printing FedEx labels and checking in for my flight tomorrow morning.
Even if the guy does refer to his penis as "the throbber."
If I were any more despicable than I already am, I would have tracked down the idiot by his screen-name and mailed a transcript of his rather titillating IM session to his wife. I'm sure it would be much-appreciated as she initiated her divorce proceedings.
Hmmm. You know, I don't think I've ever had the opportunity to use the word "titillating" before.
And now for the three funniest things I saw at the Milwaukee Museum of Art yesterday!
A bunny statue made entirely from bottle-caps...
Baby Jesus about to give Mary a wet willy...
This stoner dog statue...
Now that I think about it, I really do need to come up with a nickname for my penis.
Unfortunately, "the throbber" appears to be taken.
I'd call him "the titillater" but I don't think you're allowed to use that word more than once a year...
GAH! The roads here are beyond nasty. My car handles fairly well in the winter months, but when you have ice on top of ice on top of ice, it's pretty harsh for driving. Even if your tires grip on the top layer, you slide on the layer beneath. Winter blows.
• Funniest moment of my day...
I decided to watch Law & Order: Criminal Intent off my TiVo when I got home from work. It featured guest appearances by Bob Saget and Catherine Bell as husband and wife. Eventually Bob's character finds out that his wife is having an affair. There's this dramatic pause and then he cries "HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!??
I started laughing uncontrollably.
Suddenly I couldn't see these two actors as their characters.
All I wanted to hear her say was "Because I'm CATHERINE F#@%ING BELL and you're just BOB SAGET! That's how!"
I mean seriously...
The episode also featured Bernadette Peters with her Kewpie Doll lips as a tough-talking defense attorney, which was almost as funny. Don't get me wrong, I like Bernadette Peters okay, but she was horribly miscast in this role. If she's going to do television, can't her agent find her something that will play on her strengths?
• Second funniest moment of my day...
I received a spam email with the subject line "A man with a small penis is like a butterfly without wings." This moment of poetic zen was so beautiful that I was very nearly brought to tears. Laughing. I suppose this means a man with NO penis is like a cockroach without a... uhhhh... I dunno. I hate roaches anyway.
• Third and final funniest moment of the day...
After my "Tom Waits Sucks Ass" rant yesterday, a kind reader gifted me his first album "Closing Time" which I thought was some kind of torturous revenge or something. Gritting my teeth I pressed play...
...and my head didn't explode as expected. The album is not really my cup of tea, but it ain't that bad either. It's wholly listenable, and even enjoyable in parts. I have no idea what in the heck happened between this album and his appearance on The Daily Show last night, but I'm guessing it involves being declared legally dead and being brought back to life by a voodoo ritual gone horribly wrong. I find the thought of it funny for some reason.
Yeah, I guess it wasn't a very humorous day after all.
Shortly after managing to get to sleep last night, I was awakened by a noise so loud that my teeth were rattled. I was all groggy, so at first I didn't know what had happened. I thought maybe there had been an accident in the parking lot or something. But just as I was going to get out of bed to see if anybody was in trouble, I heard the sound again and realized that it was a neighbor slamming their apartment door.
It would be easy to assume that they didn't realize throwing their front door closed like that at 1:30am would wake everybody in the entire apartment complex... but I think it's more likely they are just so f#@%ing stupid that they don't know how to properly close a door.
Time to write a new book.
I had no idea such a basic skill required a manual, but I'm here to help.
Thanks to this idiot, I barely managed to get three hours of sleep. This made for a very long day at work and now I'm pretty much dead. It's probably a good thing too, because it means I might actually get some rest tonight.
At least I had better.
If there's another door-slamming incident, somebody is going to get my foot up their ass.
I don't like to shop. My dislike for shopping only increases as the crowds get bigger, so going to the mall on Black Friday would be the equivalent of torture. Thankfully I had to work today. Because when people call and say "could you pick up something for me while you're out" I'd much rather be able to say "I'm sorry, I'm working today" instead of saying "FRAK OFF AND DIE BECAUSE THERE'S NO F#@%ING WAY I'M PICKING UP ANYTHING FOR YOU ON BLACK FRIDAY WEEKEND!" I dunno. I guess it just sounds nicer.
All that being said, I'd rather be in Bali laying on Kuta Beach...
I'd write about how the occasion arose today where I used the word "frolic" in a totally justifiable context, but it's 11:15pm and and I have to be to work in five hours and forty-five minutes.
Two hours of that will be spent trying to fall asleep.
Years ago I was with my mother at the check-out lane of our local market, and heard the bag-boy say those classic words for the very first time: "paper or plastic?" It was memorable to me because my mother had thought they were asking if she was paying with cash (paper) or credit card (plastic). Once they explained that they were actually asking whether she wanted a paper or plastic BAG, my mother ended up sticking with the paper sack because it was all she knew. It didn't help that the plastic bags were so thin and flimsy that they looked as if they would fall apart on the way to the car.
And she was not alone.
Nobody wanted the plastic bags.
Every time I went to the store I heard "paper or plastic" again and again, but noticed that the paper sack was always chosen. This must have been depressing to the store, because the plastic sacks were so much cheaper, yet they sat there unused. But one day we went back to the market and there was a display at the checkout counter. They had a plastic bag filled with the heaviest of groceries being suspended from a hook. It was made even more impressive by the fact that they had slashed holes in the bag with groceries poking out everywhere... but it still did not break. So, even though they looked a more fragile than the paper option, the plastic was actually quite a bit tougher.
After that, everybody started asking for the miraculous plastic bags that could effortlessly hold lots of crap (and had convenient handles built-in). Sure there were people who still didn't want the "new-fangled bags" but they were in the minority, because everywhere you looked shoppers were walking around with plastic. The future of shopping had arrived.
Besides, they're fantastically useful. I'll bet there are a million things you can do with plastic shopping bags!
Paper bag manufacturers tried to compete by adding handles, water-proof coating, and other stuff... but it was too late. Plastic had won the war, and there was no going back. Soon it was increasingly rare to see any paper bags at a grocery store. Why bother when everybody is going to want plastic anyway?
It was then that paper bag fans (and manufacturers, I'd imagine) started getting upset. "PLASTIC BAGS ARE BAD FOR THE ENVIRONMENT!" they would scream. At least they did until studies were released that said plastic bags had a slightly less damaging effect on the environment (surprise!)... but it didn't matter much because BOTH paper and plastic were ultimately a bad thing (environmentally speaking). The best solution is to re-use a cloth bag over and over again (no surprise there). Sadly, hardly anybody bothers to do this. After all, what would they put their garbage in if they didn't get their plastic grocery bags? In Ireland you have to pay a fee every time you use a plastic bag... maybe if that happened here, people would come up with a more eco-friendly solution. Oh well.
Flash-forward to today and paper bags are making a kind of comeback. Upscale markets are using them again not because they are cheaper or better for the environment... but because they're "cool." I suppose the "perceived ecological friendliness" of paper must be a factor as well, which I find kind of funny.
Especially today when I was in line behind some Birkenstock-wearing hippy bitch at the grocery check-out.
"DON'T YOU HAVE PAPER BAGS?!? PLASTIC IS BAD FOR THE ENVIRONMENT!! she bellowed. The cashier apologized but, alas, he had no paper bags. "WELL THAT'S JUST GREAT!" she yells... her face scrunched into an eternal scowl. She then collected her shopping (which included a gallon of milk in a plastic jug, and various other environmentally-hostile containers) and went stomping out the door...
... WHERE SHE PROCEEDED TO HOP INTO HER OLD BEAT-UP CADILLAC ESCALADE, WHICH PROBABLY ONLY GETS 12 MILES PER GALLON, AND DROVE OFF INTO THE SUNSET!
I guess in this case "hippy" stands for "hypocritical?"
Sigh. Maybe it's the rain, but I really want to bitch-slap just about everybody today.
This has been one weird-ass day. It started out with my PowerBook totally dying and my visual identity stolen, then ended up with me running out of butter and nearly strangling a bitch at the market.
Throw in a bottle of Jack Daniels and you've got Christmas.
My PowerBook doesn't want to acknowledge that a power adapter is plugged in, nor does it want to charge the battery. I have to say, compared to my previous PowerBook (the amazing titanium model I love more than life itself) this aluminum PowerBook has been a total piece of crap from day one. Shitty stiff & "chirpy" keyboard, mooshy trackpad button, blotchy screen, aluminum finish improperly anodized and flaking off, a dented case courtesy of The Apple Store Genius Bar, and now a power problem. In my twenty years as a Certified Apple Whore who has owned dozens of Macs, it is the single worst purchase I've made. Hopefully Apple's usually spiffy repair service will fix things up for me, because this sucks ass.
So I drag my sweet titanium PowerBook out of moth-balls so I can check my email and get some work done... only to find out my visual identity had been stolen. It would seem that some dumbass took my photograph and slapped his name on it in a forum of some kind. A girl grabbed the photo, saw that the name of the file was "davehair.jpg" not "Kevin" as she was expecting, so she Googled it and found... me.
Yeah, this time it's really Dave!
So there goes an hour of my life while I get that mess sorted out. Yet it does raise the question... how desperate do you have to be to use MY picture? Sad.
Then, after several productive hours spent working, I decide to make dinner... only to find out I am out of butter. And since you can't make much of anything without sweet, creamy butter, it's off to the market I go. Within two minutes, I've got my butter and am heading to the "12 Items Or Less" lane so I can get home and eat.
Except there was some bitch complaining that she didn't get the right price on items she bought the previous day. This meant that the checkout guy had to run to the back of the store and bring back the sign showing that the "two for one" sale was for the SMALL tub... not the LARGE tub of ricotta cheese she purchased. He tried to explain it to her, but the rude whore was talking on her mobile phone which delayed things even more. To top it all off, she couldn't find her wallet and had to use a credit card for a $3.23 purchase... but had to place yet ANOTHER call to talk to somebody about it. Meanwhile, a line of pissed off people are having to wait on her stupid ass. Something that should have taken two minutes has now stretched out into ten.
And that's the thing about rude bitches... the world revolves around them, no matter how idiotic they may be.
Meh. I should have stopped off on the way home and bought that bottle of Jack Daniels.
As I've said many times, I am not a Democrat or a Republican or a Libertarian or whatever else is out there. I research each candidate or issue and place my vote independently of which party is attached. I've done this for at least a decade, and have probably voted for an equal number of Republicans and Democrats over the years which, in retrospect, is simply a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils. In truth, I think both parties are more interested in advancing their agendas than serving the people they represent. I don't know whether that makes me a pessimist or a realist, but it's how I feel so I don't really care.
This election was a little different for me because I am just so frakkin' tired of the continuous stream of shit that's been flowing from politicians lately. Democrat or Republican, it makes no difference... I'm just disgusted to the point of insanity over the mess this country has become. With that in mind, my vote this year was intended to do nothing more than send a message of my complete and total dissatisfaction with how things are being run. Apparently a lot of people felt the same way...
Hopefully he'll get the message eventually.
In the end, I try not to get political on my blog because, well, I don't really have any politics. But I feel it is unfair to be critical of something without offering an opinion as to why. So, if that kind of thing interests you, I've commented on some hot-button issues in an extended entry.
→ Click here to continue reading "Politik"...
Uhhh... yeah. Could not get to an Apple Store to have them check out my PowerBook yet, so last night became a blur of horribly unacceptable behavior that I will be paying for all day today. And probably part of tomorrow.
One does not drink eleven shots of Jagermeister, three beers, and smoke cigarettes for the first time in over a decade and not have something go terribly wrong the next day.
Oh yeah... along the way I lost $150 gambling at the Tulalip Casino, got to see The Retros tear it up with 80's hits, and ate French fries at McDonalds.
It sucks to be me this morning. Or is it afternoon? I don't really know.
I've never had a day go so wrong so quickly.
Things started off well enough this morning... as I was getting ready to leave the apartment, I noticed a little spider on my shoe. "Hello little spider," I said. Then I carefully hopped to the door on one foot, then down the stairs, and shook him off into a nice bush where he could live out his days undisturbed. Killing living creatures is far easier than the alternative, so I always feel happy about little things like this. As I pulled out of my driveway, I was actually in a good mood despite it being a Monday...
Until two minutes later when I got to the three-way stop on the way to work.
As I pulled up, there was a car just leaving to my right. I waited for him to exit the intersection and then pulled out because it was my turn to go.
Except some f#@%ing bitch behind him heard a train whistle and decided that she didn't want to get stuck at the train crossing. Oh no, she's too important for that. She decides she doesn't give a crap that it's MY F#@%ING TURN TO GO, and floors it into the intersection. This means I have to slam on my brakes which, in retrospect, pisses me off. I should have just plowed into her dumb-bitch ass and took the insurance claim. I clearly had the right-of-way, so she'd have to pay for it. Unless I killed her impatient ass, which would have been okay by me... I saved a spider this morning, so that's just balancing my karma.
But instead I rev up on her bumper and lay on my horn. I loathe the "c-word" but I was screaming it at the top of my lungs because the rage had totally blinded me at this point.
F#@%ING BITCH!!
Things just went downhill from there.
One of these days I am going to totally snap. Some asshole is going to pull something like this and I'm just going to go off the deep end. I'll follow them to wherever they're going, wait for them to get out of their car, and then run them down.
THEN BACK UP AND RUN THEM DOWN AGAIN JUST TO BE SURE THEY'RE DEAD!!! TOTALLY D-E-A-D, DEAD!!
It's going to take an entire week of meditation to get this out of my system and restore my wa...
Whereas by "wa" I am referring to that most Japanese of words meaning peace, harmony, balance, and calm.
I am NOT referring to the fact that I wa-wa-wanted to f#@%ing kill that bitch*.
*I want that on the record in case I "accidentally" happen to "run into" her tomorrow morning.
This morning a piece of spam somehow managed to get past both my spam service and my local spam filter. This happens every once in a while, but usually not when it has a subject line that reads "Make your penis the happiest penis in the world with Penis Adam & Eve Penis Pump!" I guess that the overuse of the word "penis" must have crashed the system or something.
I don't know which is worse... that spam is intruding on my inbox, or that my penis may be unhappy because I haven't purchased him a penis pump. And since my penis and I stopped speaking months ago, I don't really know how to inquire about that...
But I can't think about my penis just now, because I just retrieved a very disturbing voicemail from my parole officer today.
Apparently, I have 24 hours of community service left to turn in or else I won't be released from probation, and she's going to recommend that my term be extended six months to a year! This upsets me quite a lot because I've been so busy lately, and haven't had time to put in any community service hours. She then goes on to tell me "you need to call me TOMORROW, Jose, or else we won't have time to resolve this before your court date."
Huh? Jose?
My name isn't Jose. It's Dave.
And then I remember that I don't have a parole officer, nor am I under a community service order. I've never been caught for any of my crimes.
I guess I should call Jose's parole officer tomorrow and tell her that she left a message at the wrong number or else Jose is going to be in trouble... errr... going to be in more trouble.
In better news today (not involving my penis or a parole officer) my copy of Depeche Mode's Touring the Angel: Live in Milan arrived. I managed to snag the digipack version which includes a DVD of the concert, CD of selected tracks, and a bonus DVD for $8.79 at Half.com, a total bargain! I then did what I always do when I get a new Depeche Mode DVD... I watched ALL of my DM concert videos in sequence so I can listen to how their performance changes over the years. Touring the Angel is pretty darn good (I went and saw it live in Chicago with Kapgar last year), but not quite as good as 101 and Devotional which are tied for my all-time favorite.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to sit down and have a talk with my penis before retiring for the evening.
About the only thing I want more than for Jeremy Piven's Cupid to be released on DVD is Nintendo's new Wii gaming console. As more and more footage of gameplay with the Wii controller is released, I just get more and more anxious to have one. The only problem being that I will never have time to play it. Case in point: as excited as I was for Lego StarWars 2 to be released a month ago, I've only had the chance to play it once.
Yet, as sad as this is, my enthusiasm is not diminished...
I think that if they were to come out with "Lego Star Wars Light Saber Duel" for Wii, I would probably have to stop working, sell all my possessions, then move into a studio apartment that had nothing more than a couch, a television, TiVo, a DVD player, and Wii.
I guess if you had to say goodbye to your life, that's not a half-bad way of doing it.
Though, to truly make the experience complete, they'd have to come out with "Wii Virtual Hooker." If I had that and Pizza Hut delivery, I'd never have to leave the house again.
Bleh. I need a nap...
Back before I was in High School, my favorite show on television was WKRP in Cincinnati. Mostly because Loni Anderson's magnificent breasts were a star attraction (though, oddly enough, I was always much more attracted to the dorky Bailey Quarters who I thought was much cuter). The primary premise of the show was that each character was an oddball who would never fit in at another radio station, but seemed right at home with the WKRP family. The main radio DJ on the show was "Dr. Johnny Fever" who was fired from his previous job because he had said "booger" on the air.
Now-a-days, of course, "booger" is so inoffensive that children's books use it in their titles but, back in 1978 when WKRP hit the air, I suppose saying it was a plausible offense for getting fired.
The point here (if you can actually call it that) is this... today, after having Adobe Illustrator crash a record 22 times (I'm keeping count) from Apple's latest 10.4.8 Mac OS upgrade patch, I was about to scream "F#@%!" at the top of my lungs... but realized I was in an office full of people, so I bit my tongue and screamed "BOOGER!" instead.
I have no idea why it was that particular word which popped into my head to scream.
I can only guess that I was having some kind of Loni Anderson breasts-induced flashback or something.
And now I get to pack up and go home, praying to the internet gods that Verizon is through dicking around with my DSL. I need to catch up on the hundreds of emails and thousands of blog entries that have undoubtedly piled up since I lost my connection Sunday afternoon. I swear, my DSL goes down more often than Monica Lewinsky in the White House.
Booger.
Lastly... color me shocked.
Not.
I read a lot of blogs... according to my feed reader, there's 326 of them. You'd think in all those blogs I'd run into other people who have to deal with the freaky crap I seem to get on a regular basis. You'd be wrong.
Take this morning for instance. The first thing I do each day is grab my laptop and check my email. Much to my surprise, there were around thirty messages from people with subject lines like "TMX Elmo HELP PLS!!" and "want to buy TMX" and "NEED 2 ELMO NOW!"—a further check of my spam filter turned up another dozen or so. "WTF?" I said to myself.
Silly me, I had no idea that there is a ten-year anniversary release of that annoying "Tickle Me Elmo" doll from a decade ago. Apparently, just like the first time, these things are in short supply, and people are going ape-shit trying to find one to buy...
After reading through a few messages, I figured out that somebody had accidentally used an email address from one of my unused domains to try and sell a batch of Elmos. Not knowing what else to do, I wrote a script to automatically reply to any mail I got saying that the guy made a mistake with the address and I don't have any Elmos. Then the message is deleted and I'm not bothered.
Fast forward to this afternoon and I get an email from the guy who placed the ad. He tracked me down by doing a WHOIS domain search, apologizes for the mistake, then asks me to please forward any emails I had received. I write back and explain that the emails are automatically deleted, and I'm sorry I can't do anything to help.
So what does the guy do? He places another ad blaming me for deleting emails that were his "personal property," tells everybody they have to send another email, and then posts my actual email address so people can send complaints!
AND THEY DO!!
Not many people, but enough to piss me off.
WTF?!?
How is any of this my fault? At least I was nice enough to tell people about the mistake. I could have just deleted the emails and said nothing! It takes all my will-power not to write back to these morons and tell them to kiss my ass. If I DID have a stupid Elmo TMX doll, I'd put a video of me tearing into it with a chain-saw on YouTube and send them the URL...
Bitter much? Yes. Yes I am. Any time some dumbass decides to post my email address and then invite people to send me complaints, I get a little upset. I'd return the favor, but he did remove it after I asked him to, so I'd rather just let it go.
I should come up with a "Tickle Me Lil' Dave" that pisses on you when you try to tickle him. I'd sell millions.
Being sick has given me an overwhelming desire to help others. At first I thought about starting up a medical practice, but I'm too afraid of blood to be a doctor (and, apparently, you need some kind of license to practice medicine). So then I thought about becoming a mental health consultant... that stupid bitch Dr. Laura doesn't have a doctorate in psychology or psychiatry or anything, and she gets away with it just fine. But then you have to listen to people bitch about their problems and who wants to do that?
So I've decided to create my own line of personal care products, but hesitate to do so without getting endorsements from big-name celebrities. In order to entice these famous people to do my bidding, I've decided to create prototype products so that they can see the quality packaging their image will proudly endorse. Here are just a few samples...
Mark Foley says "stay fresh with the biggest douchebag of them all!"
When you think of an itchy, burning crotch... think David Caruso!
Fight fire with fire... when there's a pain in your ass, reach for Ann Coulter!
I'm still trying to decide if Jared the Subway Sandwich Whore should endorse my "Davepound W" wart remover or my "Davmodium" treatment for diarrhea plus gas. Hmmmm... when you think of Jared, do you think of warts... or diarrhea & gas? These executive decisions are totally harsh...
In addition to migraines, vision problems, and the inability to sleep... I've also come down with some kind of cold/flu hybrid that has necessitated that I take a sick day. Usually I go to work when I am sick because I've always got so much going on. I even went to work with kidney stones because I had a project due (it's amazing what you can accomplish in-between screams). But today I feel so terrible that I simply could not get out the door.
I've always romanticized sick days, thinking that it's a great way to get paid while watching television and playing video games. But the only television I even attempted was trying to find the current episode of Martha because Tracy told me my Elizabeth Hurley was going to be on (which is about the ONLY way I would ever watch Martha Stewart in anything). Unfortunately, the show was already over by the time I managed to get out of bed. I was going to try a game of Lego Star Wars, but I ached so bad that all I could mange was to crawl back into bed with the hopes of getting some sleep.
It was a good plan for about fifteen minutes, but then my downstairs neighbor decided to make fifty trips between his car and apartment... slamming the door so hard each time that my teeth came loose. So here I am checking my email, writing in my blog, and praying for death's sweet embrace to take me from my misery...
... but not before I watch VERONICA MARS tonight on the CW Network at 9:00pm (8:00pm central)!!
All bow before the best show on television!!
Fortunately, I have a dual-tuner TiVo so I can watch Veronica Mars while recording The Unit which I became addicted to while watching the first season on DVD. I don't normally go for war movies and combat TV, but The Unit is astoundingly good television, and you should check it out if you have a chance.
And, on that note, my neighbor just drove off (squealing brakes and all) so I am going to make one final attempt at sleep before dragging my disease-infested corpse into work so I can at least grab some work to bring back home with me.
Bah... I can't even do a sick day right. Who else but me would want to work on a sick day??
WARNING: CRANKY PANTS ALERT!! CRANKY PANTS ALERT!!
In an attempt to figure out why I've been plagued with headaches for the past few weeks, I went to the eye doctor today. My vision has been freaky lately, and I'm not sure if it's because of my headaches or if it's the CAUSE of my headaches.
In any event, it involved my eyes getting dilated, so I spent the afternoon like this...
The only thing worse than having your eyes dilated on a sunny day is having to drive home with your eyes dilated on a sunny day. And the only thing worse than that is having to put up with DUMBASS BITCHES while you're driving with dilated eyes on a sunny day.
As you exit the great city of Wenatchee, there is one final stoplight. Just before this stoplight is a Starbucks Drive-Thru. It's the stupidest place in the universe for a drive-thru because you can't get out easily. When the light is green, traffic is flowing heavy with people leaving town and you can't get out. When the light is red, traffic is backed up in front of the Starbucks exit and you can't get out then either. Basically, you can check-in to Starbucks, but you can never leave.
So today I am stopped at this light just before the Starbucks exit. The light turns green and I slowly start to move forward. This causes some bitch who JUST GOT TO THE STARBUCK'S EXIT to lay on the horn (honest, she hadn't even STOPPED yet!). I instantly become enraged because I have a headache, my eyes are dilated, and I don't need some whore WHO WASN'T EVEN WAITING TO EXIT honking at me. If she was in such a big hurry, she shouldn't have stopped for coffee. This is what I scream at her...
I HAVE A GREEN LIGHT AND AM NOT GOING TO BLOCK FIFTY CARS TO LET YOUR COFFEE-DRINKING SHIT OUT, SO WHY DON'T YOU TAKE THAT GRANDE LATTE AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR F#@%ING ASS YOU STUPID BITCH!!!
There's no chance she can hear me. Even with my window down, hers are rolled up AND I'm driving past her as I yell. I know this, but I don't care and decide to yell anyway. It will make me feel better.
But I forgot about the cars in the lane next to me. With their windows down, they can hear me just fine. So when a bunch of people start cheering and honking their horns and waving at me with a "thumbs up" I realize that I am destined to rule the earth. There is no denying that my inspirational words appeal to the masses, and it's only a matter of time before I climb my way to the top... one dumbass coffee-drinking whore at a time.
And because I'm in even a worse mood now that I've had to remember all this crap, it must be time for a meme in an extended entry!
→ Click here to continue reading "Dilated"...
Blargh!
I don't know if it's because I've been in pain and have had an overwhelming work load or what... but lately I've been wanting to destroy quite a lot of people. It seems that just about everybody I meet is in desperate need of dying and I have no idea what to do about it.
Except kill them, of course.
But, in addition to laws that frown upon such activities, I also try to live my life according to Buddhist principles which are opposed to killing for any reason. Even if the person is incredibly stupid and deserves it. Stewie on The Family Guy always makes death and destruction look like so much fun, so perhaps I should give up my beliefs and get into politics?
Something has to be done.
Because this morning I woke up very early, worked for a while, then decided to take a nap before going into the office. It was a great plan which, unfortunately, was foiled by the dumbass geriatric husband & wife neighbors who like to scream at each other. Usually I can ignore them, but this time they woke me up up and I was furious. I tore open the window and screamed "SHUT THE F#@% UP!" in their direction, hoping that they would at least have the decency to go inside and tear into each other like normal people.
Little did I know that some of my elderly neighbors were observing the mayhem directly under my window.
All of a sudden I was the new topic of conversation, which hasn't happen since my car alarm went off eight months ago. This opens a new can of worms that I really don't want, so I decide to give up on sleeping and hop in the shower before one of them decides to come knocking.
When I leave, the old couple has found something new to yell about, and one of the neighbors is waiting. "Was that you with all the screaming this morning?" she asks. "No ma'am" I reply, "I think you have me confused with our neighbors." This is not the answer she wanted because, of course, she knows it was me but, short of calling me a liar, all she can say is "Well, some people around here need to be watching their mouth!"
Yeah, she needed to die quite badly too.
Lately I've been addicted to the line of 3-in-1 body wash/shampoos from Philosophy. I was given a set when a friend moved away and recently rediscovered them... I then bought a couple of new bottles that arrived this week.
Nothing perks up your morning faster than washing up with yummy flavors like "Hot Chocolate" or "Cinnamon Buns" or "Frozen Lemon Custard". It's also kind of nifty that my first decision of the day gets to be something as entertaining as "do I want to smell like a Key Lime Pie or a Waffle Cone this morning?"
But today, for some strange reason, I couldn't decide on a flavor. Rather than stress about it, I mix-n-matched to create my own. Here's the "Dave Chocolate-Strawberry Ice Cream Cone" I came up with...
It's one part "Strawberry Milkshake" with one part "Hot Chocolate" and two parts "Waffle Cone". Pretty sweet! The smell washes away fairly quickly after the suds disappear, so I don't have to smell like this all day.
This is probably a good thing, because tomorrow I'm going to try out "Dave Fruit Loops" with equal parts "Strawberry Milkshake," "Key Lime Pie," "Frozen Lemon Custard," and "Mimosa".
Sure four flavors are a tricky maneuver to manage while in the shower, but I'll be even more delicious than I usually am!
My back got thrown out yesterday, and I'll be darned if I know how.
There I was just walking down the street when all of a sudden my back seizes up and I am in unbearable pain, hobbling along the sidewalk like I'm 90 years old.
It kind of pisses me off. I mean, if my back had been thrown out while I was pushing a car... or climbing Mount Everest... or doing something even remotely interesting... I would be okay with it. But WALKING?!?
So now I am doped up on muscle relaxers and pain killers and don't feel much like blogging.
Instead, I feel like...
SINGING!
A pity that I don't have a podcast, because I am doing an awesome rendition of Madonna's "Holiday" at the top of my lungs right now.
Probably because the song is playing on my television's 80's music channel and I've dropped the remote just out of reach. Maybe it's the painkillers talking, but this song totally rocks.
How is it that people can live as if they will never grow old?
I'm walking over to the bakery and end up crossing the street opposite an elderly lady who is having a bit of a tough time walking. But, to her credit, she's slowly making her way across the street with a smile on her face. I cannot help but admire her fortitude in bypassing a scooter cart in favor of walking when it's obviously difficult for her (though, given the criminal state of healthcare for the elderly, maybe she can't afford a scooter and has no choice but to walk).
Sadly, not everybody feels the same way.
There at the crosswalk inside a giant redneck pick-up truck is some ass-wipe revving his engine at her.
If it weren't so sad, it might be funny. I mean, she can barely walk... the only way she could possibly move any faster would be if the dumbass were to hop out of his truck and carry her across. But there he is, revving that engine up as if the old lady will suddenly start running to get out of his way.
Out of respect for the woman, I didn't scream obscenities at the f#@%er, toss a garbage can through his front windshield, then slash his tires... but I sure wanted to. A pity I didn't have a knife on me or I definitely would have thought twice about ruining his shit.
And because of all this, I've decided to embrace my Scottish Heritage and start wearing a kilt...
As a descendant from Clan Munro of the Scottish Highlands, I've got my own tartan pattern and even a bad-ass Clan Badge...
Look at that golden eagle... doesn't he look like he's about to kick some ass? And what about that motto... "Dread God"... that's pretty serious (meaning "Fear God"). Clan Munro has some hefty balls to be flashing that around!
But, back to the point, the reason I want to start wearing a kilt is that part of the ceremonial kilt dressing is what's called a "Sgian Dubh" which is Gaelic for "Black Knife." It's a totally sweet pointy dagger with a bitchin' black handle that you tuck in your sock. If I were to start packing that around, I'd always have something handy for slashing the tires of inconsiderate rednecks who rev their engines at old ladies.
As a side-benefit, you also get to have a "Sporran" hanging from your belt to put stuff in. Yeah, it's pretty much just a man-purse... but I figure if you're already wearing a skirt, what have you got to lose? It looks big enough to hold my Nintendo DS and a pack of smokes* along with my wallet!
* Okay, I don't smoke, but anybody who goes around slashing tires of rude bastards should probably at least act like they do. Being a bad-ass tire-slasher looks so much cooler when you have a cigarette hanging from your mouth.
AAAAAAAAAAAAARRGHHHHHH!!
Apparently there are people out there who were issued a driver's license without being educated as to proper procedures and laws of the road.
An example... do you know what to do when you approach an intersection and see a flashing yellow light like this?
If not, here's a f#@%ing clue for you...
FLASHING YELLOW MEANS SLOW DOWN AND PROCEED WITH CAUTION!
IT DOES NOT MEAN F#@%ING STOP!!
So when I come up behind your idiotic ass and you've stopped at a caution light because you're too f#@%ing stupid to know the difference between red and yellow... well, I'm probably going to lay on my horn until you get the hell moving.
SO DON'T STICK YOUR HEAD OUT OF THE WINDOW AND FLASH ME A DIRTY LOOK WHEN YOU'RE THE F#@%ING DUMBASS. I swear, one of these days I'm going to buy that f#@%ing gun...
I have accepted the fact that I am totally blameless for my road rage, and promise not to feel bad when I f#@% up your shit.
Surely there's a temporary insanity defense for these situations?
When I went home to pick up my forgotten wallet, I was greeted by a small white butterfly. She was randomly flapping around like she was on crack, and I spent the better part of the afternoon trying to imagine what that stupid butterfly was up to. Did she accidentally fly into a window and get mentally damaged? Or was she just in a happy mood and needed to dance around like a fool? I couldn't decide whether I should laugh or feel sorry for her...
I feel the same way when I happen upon really, really, really stupid people stumbling through life like they're on crack. Do I laugh because their ridiculous exploits are mildly entertaining? Or do I feel sorry for them because their lack of smarts is so severe that they're unaware of just how stupid they are?
First it was the idiot who tried to race me to the McDonalds drive-through that I wasn't even going to.
Then is was the moron who let his kid continuously blow a whistle in the middle of a store.
Then it was the nutbag who insisted I send him a photo of myself dressed as Wonder Woman.
Then it was the dickhead screaming into his bluetooth headset at the post office.
And then today I get an email from some daft bitch telling me that my Ask Dave Widget is akin to divination, which is an occultist tool of the devil. Oddly enough, this is not the same woman who told me I was "stealing glory from God" by wanting to build a monument to my greatness.
I think all I can do is laugh.
Today was not a good day.
My car has recently fallen out of its extended warranty so, naturally, everything has decided to go wrong. But not really. The problems were there BEFORE the warranty expired, but Saturn refused to acknowledge them. I complained about shuddering when I came to a stop. Saturn blamed the tires I bought at Les Schwab... when I went to Les Schwab, they said Saturn was insane because everything was perfectly balanced. Other problems I raised were poo-pooed away like I was a chronic complainer.
So now that I am having to foot the bill, I refuse to give Saturn another dime and took my car to the only shop I trust... Midas. They do exemplary work at reasonable prices, and I feel I can trust my local franchise. It turns out I am not a chronic complainer, my concerns were all real. I guess Saturn just wanted me to wait until my warranty expired so they could charge me for the work.
F#@%ers.
My car has UNDER 50,000 miles on it and is falling apart. Guess I won't be buying another Saturn.
Anyway, Midas does a bunch of work on my front brakes and suddenly my shuddering problem is gone. There's $500 I had to spend that should have been covered by Saturn. Even worse? Midas replaced my air filter because it was horrendously filthy. Never mind that I just had my oil changed a month ago at Saturn, they apparently don't bother to check the simple things like other lube & oil places do.
F#@%ers.
And on Friday I get to take my car back to Midas so they can fix an exhaust problem that I ALSO complained about back when my car was in warranty. There goes another $400 that should have been covered.
F#@%ers.
Oh well. At least Midas offers a lifetime guarantee to their work so I won't have to worry about this crap again. I guess that's more that you can say about the overpriced service at Saturn.
F#@%ers.
The replacement for my dead Mac Pro arrived today and works flawlessly. This means that my day has been spent setting up the machine, installing software, and not much else.
Oh... except I killed a man.
Sadly, his death wasn't permanent. It was imaginary. The good news is that I am not going to prison for murder, the bad news is that the rude bastard is still alive. I do, however, maintain that anybody who cuts in line at the bakery deserves to die, and I was perfectly within my right to bludgeon him with a baguette until he was dead, DEAD, DEAD!!
Except that there wasn't a baguette at hand, and so I stood there silently trying to burn a hole in the back of his head with my secret mental powers.
And isn't that always the case? There's never seems to be a baguette around when you need one.
I did nothing but work today.
I got up in the morning and worked. I took a shower, got dressed, drove to work, and worked. I came home, sat in front of the television, and worked. It's just now 11:00pm and I have at least an hour left to work. In-between all that, nothing even remotely interesting or noteworthy happened. Usually a day like today makes me regret my decision to post an entry at Blogography every single day. Because when nothing really happens, there's nothing really to write about. It's at this point I usually start surfing for some kind of meme or quiz to post, but I just don't have the time.
So instead I'm just going to recite a quick 10-minute story that came to mind this morning...
Nearly a decade ago, I was doing design-for-hire contract work for an agency out of Seattle. It was a fascinating job, because I was always guaranteed a wide variety of assignments. I could be designing a catalog for clothing one day, an advertisement for a shopping mall the next, and a business report for a bank the next. It was a never-ending parade of nifty jobs that I enjoyed very much because it was always something different.
One day I got a call from the head office back on the East Coast. They were having problems assigning a project that nobody wanted, and had to start calling Seattle designers to see if they could find somebody for the job. Immediately intrigued, I said I was interested and asked to know more about it.
Turns out that it was for packaging design WITH matching instruction booklet for some kind of specialty home colonics kit.
I was surprised at first but, never one to back away from a challenge, I took the assignment.
Two days later I received the complete colonics apparatus along with a page of typewritten instructions and the company's current packaging (which, by the way, was a plain brown box with the product name hand-stamped on it). Anxious to get started, I borrowed an anatomy book from the library and set out to sketch some ideas.
Thanks to the miracle of fax machines, my sketches were sent the very next morning along with my notes.
Overall, the client was happy with my ideas and loved the economical approach I took for the new packaging structure, but needed me to adjust the line drawings in the instruction book because they were drawn at too severe an angle. They wanted more of a side-view because they felt the customer would have an easier time understanding how to use it properly. To assist me in understanding the process, they gave me the phone number for their "customer support line" and told me to call for guidance...
CUSTOMER SUPPORT LADY: Hello and thanks for calling! How may I help you?
DAVE: Hello, I am a designer working with your product and need some advice on what kind of angle I should be using in the instructions.
CUSTOMER SUPPORT LADY: Ah. I can see where you might think the angle is a problem, but usually the real problem is that the tip hasn't been lubricated properly... are you using plenty of lubrication?
DAVE: (attempting to be humerous) Uhhh... if I lubricate the tip, I worry that my pencil might slip out of my fingers.
CUSTOMER SUPPORT LADY: Excuse me sir, but where exactly are you inserting the unit?!?
And, because of that, I laughed my ass off this morning when I was reading the Q-Tip box and saw this warning: DO NOT INSERT INTO EAR CANAL. The perfect wise-ass response... just nine years too late.
I fully admit to being a smart-ass bastard.
It's almost impossible for me to be anything but a smart-ass bastard considering how totally brilliant I am. In fact, I'm so smart that I can't even pretend to be a dumbass. I'm just not that good of an actor. Coming to terms with the fact that even my ass is smarter than 95% of the general population has saved me from a lot of heartache and grief. If I didn't have such realization about my talents, I would probably break down and cry every time some idiot decides to berate me for my pointing out their intellectual inadequacies.
Like today.
I was at the mini-mart picking up my Coke with Lime this morning (on sale: Two for Two Dollars!) when some stupid bitch pulls up next to me... IN THE HANDICAP PARKING SPACE!! She doesn't have a handicap parking permit, and obviously doesn't have a physical handicap...
DAVE: It must be mental.
STUPID BITCH: Sorry?
DAVE: Your handicap... it must be mental.
STUPID BITCH: I'm just buying a pack of cigarettes and'll only be a minute so why don't you mind your f#@%ing business! Are you the f#@%ing retard parking police? Who the f#@% are you?
DAVE: Oh good, so you you do realize you're parking in the wrong spot then.
Yeah. And knowing that she has the mental capabilities of a piece of navel lint, here is my reaction to her rantings...
Seriously, how else could I possibly react? Like I give a crap about anything this white trash dipshit has to say?
I know people who have to use handicap parking since it's very difficult for them to walk even short distances. When some lazy whore takes the only handicap parking spot because she doesn't feel like walking an extra twenty yards, that means she could be causing physical harm to somebody who needs it more than her lamer ass.
I think it's only right that she be made aware that she's an ill-manered bitch.
Being a smart-ass is such a thankless job.
Today was "International Crap on Dave Day" and nobody bothered to tell me in advance.
Instead, everybody just started piling the crap on me until my lovely day was all covered in poo.
Ordinarily, this wouldn't bother me. It seems that "International Crap on Dave Day" comes along at least once a month, so I'm used to it. But today's figurative crap was supplemented with actual crap, which is why I was not okay with it. And I still have no idea what I did or ate that gave me such a bowel-draining case of diarrhea in the first place. All I do know is that it took two hours and a half a box of Imodium before I was able to leave the toilet for more than two minutes at a time. Sure it wasn't the best way to spend my morning, but the up-side is that I beat my high score on Mario Cart DS.
Anyway...
The smoke filled skies that plagued my trip back home yesterday seem to have followed me. This morning things were looking a bit hazy and, by the time I left work tonight, things had gotten much worse. I suspect that when I wake up tomorrow, I'll look out my window and see flames.
Though as long as it's a poo-free day, I'm strangely okay with that...
I'm minty fresh!
One of my most favorite internet phenomena would have to be Where The Hell Is Matt... a guy who got famous for traveling around the world, dancing in exotic locations, and filming it so he could turn his trips into an amazing video. It ended up being such a big hit that the people at Stride Gum decided to sponsor a second world tour so Matt could dance in all new places. This resulted in yet another sweet video, and gave me a scorching desire to support Stride Gum because they were so cool to do this.
So I bought a pack of Peppermint Stride. It's pretty tasty gum and, just like it advertises, the flavor lasts a really long time.
But it reeks.
This tiny pack of gum has a massive stench that infects everything which comes in contact with it.
Yesterday I put it in my backpack which has now been permanently infused with essence of peppermint. It smells like a tube of toothpaste exploded inside. I thought it might be the confined space, so I tossed the gum on my night-stand. Turns out that the minty odor is so strong that it woke me up in the middle of the night! Now my nostrils are burning and my entire apartment smells like somebody farted a pack of breath-mints while drinking mojitos and then tried to cover it up by smashing candy canes into the carpet. It's like a frickin' mint julep jungle in here...
I've since got the gum DOUBLE-SEALED in a plastic baggie. From now on, whene
