Some dude here in the office is wearing his sunglasses...indoors.

I'm finding it hard to resist the urge to choke him.

In fairness, it looks as though there is a medical explaination for this slice of ridiculousness; I saw some swelling and discoloration peeking out from around the edges of his Gucci shades.

But let's be serious -- indoors? It's a pretty mild environment here indoors, what with the climate control, carpet, and soft fluorescent lighting.

I know what you're thinking: "Dude, chill out, it's not that big of a deal", etc.

Fine, but you don't have to look at this all damn day while you're trying to do insurancey type things in a semi-professional environment:

Weezin' the juice, Bud-dy

Can anyone tell me why I, a 31 year old married man who has a real, adult job and does not partake in any illegal substances of any kind, am laughing out loud while watching Encino Man?

And before you ask: no, I have not been drinking.

When the movie came out, I was 12, so maybe it reminds me of a simpler time, when I had no cares and thought high school would be the time of my life. The story is about high schoolers, so maybe it reminds me that high school was the time of my life. Or maybe cavemen are just funny.

Either way, when compared to the special-effects-laden piles of cinematic dooky that are being over-hyped and force-fed to the almighty 18-24 market of today (read: Transformers, Avatar, etc.), it seems especially silly that "caveman goes to high school" is really all it takes to keep people entertained.

You can't say that...ever: Vol. 5

Co-worker, after receiving another pointless, buzz word-filled, corporate wide e-mail about a topic that barely relates in any meaningful way to the work we do all day: "Damn Outlook foiled my plan. I tried to add [Our CEO] to my 'blocked senders' list, and it won't let me."

Rick Perry:

Stop talking about "Fighting Washington" when your state is facing a $25 BILLION budget shortfall, you ignorant, self-righteous, asshole.

Shut the fuck up and do your job.

Thanks.

Ho. Ly. Shit.

Miss me?

Sorry I haven't been available lately.  As you may or not know, it is playoff time in the world of baseball.  That doesn't often mean much to a person from Dallas, but this year is different:  the Texas Rangers have made it to the World Series. 

I'm pretty sure this is going to prove to be a once in a lifetime occurrence, so I will be indisposed for the remainder of the season. 

I will miss you all.  But please be strong, and our time apart will be over before you know it.

You Can't Say That...Ever: Vol 4

Wife:  You do that at work?!

Me:  Hell yeah!  I don't get paid to shit at home.

Daydreamin'

As I stood in the parking lot at work this morning during a fire drill, I caught myself thinking about how I would feel if the building were actually on fire. 

And even though it was not an actual emergency, and I'm safely back in my dreary cube mindlessly working ad nauseam, I still have a smile on my face.

Dear Katy Perry,

You suck.

That is all.

Fleas Follow the Dirty

Over the weekend, C and I took a trip to see my little sister.  She lives in Austin where C and I went to school, met, and began the life-long struggle for dominance that continues to be the centerpiece of our relationship. 

We decided to rent a condo from a stranger on the internet for our stay there.  I know it sounds like a bad idea, but there are a few really good websites out there that allow owners of rental properties to post and book their places for themselves.  The end result is a nice, unique place to stay while on vacation at a very affordable price.  C and I have had a lot of luck with places like this in our travels to Mexico, Europe, Argentina, and all around the US.

Except this time, there were fleas.  LOTS of fleas.  Everywhere.  It was disturbing.  From the second we walked in the door to the time we realized what was happening and said, "Holy shit, there are fleas EVERYWHERE!  Run for your life!" and left, we each sustained about sixteen dozen flea bites.

Consequently, I probably have the plague.  So, for the foreseeable future, I will be blogging to you from quarantine. 

The CDC insists it's better this way.

To assassinate or not assassinate...that is the question

C asked, upon hearing of Preacher Glenn Beck's "Restoring Honor" non-political, let's all follow one God (or else) rally, "Why doesn't someone shoot that guy?"  The obvious answer, of course, is that Conservatives leaders, especially the most vocal and repulsive (I'm looking at you, Beck) are like the mythical Hydra: for every one you dispose of, two grow back in its place.

The conversation got me thinking, though, about the historical figures who have, and those who have not, fallen victim to the time honored tradition of assassination.  What follows is a brief summary:

Have:
- Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.
- JFK
- RFK
- Pope John Paul II (attempted)
- Abraham Lincoln
- Julius Caesar
- Gandhi
- John Lennon
- Malcolm X

Have not:
- Hitler
- Osama bin Laden
- Henry VIII
- Paris Hilton
- Ronald Reagan (attempted)
- Fidel Castro
- Napoleon
- The Black Eyed Peas

So there you have it, Glen.  I think history has been very clear: only people who are worth a shit get assassinated.  That means you can continue to do the stupid things you do without fear of violent retaliation. 

If only the people who promote tolerance and peace could have that luxury...

Baseball is cool.

C got baseball tickets from work.  They were pretty good seats: 6th row behind home plate (see visual aid).  The game was great and the home team won on a walk off homerun in the 11th, against the Red Sox.  And then there were fireworks after the game.  And the new owner of the team lowered concession prices in the stadium.  And we had a parking pass that allowed us to park so close to the stadium that I was afraid a foul ball would land on my windshield. 

I know it sounds like I'm telling you all of this to brag, but that is just because I am.

I'm Old: Vol. 2

It has been 110 degrees outside for over a week. 

I can feel myself cooking every time I leave the comfortable confines of air conditioning.  I get to about medium rare just walking from the building to my car after work. 

It's ridiculous.  I'm going to lock myself in the refrigerator

And for those of you keeping score at home, I have now complained about the heat in the summer time; thus putting me one step closer to oldness. 

Seriously, Facebook?  You suggested I become a fan of Facebook ON FACEBOOK?!


Seriously, me? You actually did it?!

I'm Old

My back is killing me. 

Good-bye, youth.  Hello inevitable decline into crippled and invalid senility.

"Free" Speech

While I am not one to advocate the trampling of anyone's First Amendment Rights, I do expect people to understand that some topics are not to be discussed in polite and professional situations. That's why when I saw what had been set as the wallpaper on the computer next to mine at work, I knew something had to be done.

Imagine my shock and dismay when I saw this staring at me only 3 feet away from the spot where I spend the largest portion of my waking hours:

For 8 hours a day, I am in one place diligently (that may be a slight overstatement) working (again, overstatement) and in return I have to look at that offensive piece of numbskull propaganda?!

I printed a copy of the following article from Harper's Magazine and carefully placed it on the desk just below the offending image. Please feel free to read the entire article here, but I will hit the highlights for you.

“It would be difficult to identify a President who, facing major international and domestic crises, has failed in both as clearly as President Bush,” concluded one respondent. “His domestic policies,” another noted, “have had the cumulative effect of shoring up a semi-permanent aristocracy of capital that dwarfs the aristocracy of land against which the founding fathers rebelled; of encouraging a mindless retreat from science and rationalism; and of crippling the nation’s economic base.”

“No individual president can compare to the second Bush,” wrote one. “Glib, contemptuous, ignorant, incurious, a dupe of anyone who humors his deluded belief in his heroic self, he has bankrupted the country with his disastrous war and his tax breaks for the rich, trampled on the Bill of Rights, appointed foxes in every henhouse, compounded the terrorist threat, turned a blind eye to torture and corruption and a looming ecological disaster, and squandered the rest of the world’s goodwill. In short, no other president’s faults have had so deleterious an effect on not only the country but the world at large.”

So, no, we don't miss you. Not now, not ever. At least, those of us with any sense don't. As for Guy-in-the-Cube-Next-to-Me, he doesn't even have enough sense to keep his misguided and ignorant beliefs to himself, so he probably misses you. At least he thinks he does. But I would contend that his brain is functioning so poorly that he wouldn't even notice if I replaced his current desktop settings with this:

You can't say that...ever: Vol. 3

Girl Who Sits Next to Me at Work: "And THAT'S why I don't go to the dentist."

Douch. Device. Of. The. Century.

My favorite part is the nerdy uproar of joy in response to "rotation around gravity". Seriously, guys? That's what you get excited about? You dudes have GOT to get out more. And annual visits to "SuperGeek's Electronic Expo and SciFi Convention" do not count.

Can you imagine if "Lord iTard" had put a picture of boobs on that screen? The entire audience would have immediately started blogging about how they had just lost their virginity.

Making my point...at highway speeds

On my way to work this morning I got stuck behind a dude in a BMW driving significantly under the speed limit.  Frustrated, I passed him and literally yelled, "You're an embarrassment to German engineering!" as I drove by at break-neck speed. 

And I meant it.

Wedding Planning Brain Teaser

This quiz will be one question, multiple choice.  There is only one correct answer.

1. If Fiance A convinces Fiance B to close his personal bank account and redistribute all funds and redirect all direct deposits to the new, joint bank account, which of the following is the most likely outcome:

A. Fiance B does exactly as he is told, with ease, and they live happily ever after.

B. Fiance B refuses to do as he is told, citing a "need to be me", and leaves all financial arrangements just as they are.  Divorce eventually ensues.

C. Fiance B attempts to do as he's told, however he also tries to quietly divert a small amount of each paycheck into an account that only he can access because sometimes there are things that need to be bought without Fiance A's knowledge.  While the changes are being made to the direct deposit settings, the computer system at work first advises that only one account can have the amount set to 'balance' and then advises at least one account has to have the amount set to 'balance'.  Accounts can only be edited one at a time, so at no point can the new account be set to 'balance' without both or neither account being set to 'balance' temporarily.  In frustration, Fiance B deletes both accounts in an effort to start from scratch, and is then advised by the computer system, "You are not allowed to add any direct deposit entries today.  Try again tomorrow."

That sucks

I saw this on my way to work the other day.  And even though it really sucked for the people on both sides of the highway who were way late for work because they were stuck in traffic forever, and especially sucked for the dude whose car was ablaze--

it. was. AWESOME!

You can't say that...ever: Vol. 2

Recently, my buddies and I went to one of those places where the food is average, the prices are outrageously high and waitresses are wearing little more than a napkin. I'm not proud of it, but I went.

As if 'I'm not proud of it' wasn't enough to show my age, I had a real 'I'm getting old' moment when the waitress introduced herself as, "Farrah. Not the one with the ass cancer."

(Insert shocked expression here)

What?

Now, look, I know this girl is not old enough to be a Charlie's Angels fan. Also, I am acutely aware of the qualities this girl must have exhibited to be hired for this particular job; and intelligence and the ability to form complete English sentences are both very low on that list.

But come on. You can't have that kind of filterless, brain-to-mouth direct connection when:
A) Your brain is so clearly malfunctioning; and
B) You work in a place where the entirety of your job function is talking to strangers.

Or maybe you can. Maybe I'm just getting old. I guess my fear is that there are not enough normal, intelligent people out there to balance out all the damage the Farrah-not-the-one-with-the-ass-cancers in the world are unwittingly doing on a daily basis.

What part, exactly, of the Patient Protection and Affordable Care act are people so upset about?

That's like launching a campaigning against the "World Peace and a Cure for Cancer Act" or throwing a brick through someone's window because they voted for the "Baby Seal Anti-Clubbing and Food for the Hungry Act."

And I know what your little conservative brain is thinking, "Who is going to pay for all of that World Peace?!"

We'll have a bake sale, maybe.

Or we can make being a Republican a misdemeanor and charge a fine to anyone who uses the terms "State's Rights", "Freedom Fries" or "Compassionate Conservatism".

And you thought I was cry baby. . .

There is a screaming child in my office today. Not just in the building, but on my floor. Not just on my floor, but the in cube next to me. Screaming. Child. In. The. Office. What. The. Fuck.

You have got to be kidding me.

There are places a screaming child doesn't bother me. In some places you expect to hear the shrill, piercing sound of miniature vocal cords with a disproportionately large amount of lung capacity:
1. Outdoors. Especially near a playground.
2. In a restaurant. I'm not sure why, but they hate restaurants. But most parents are so horrified by the little jerk's ill-behavior that they have the good sense to get out quickly and never show their faces at that Applebee's ever again.
3. At a daycare facility. Duh.

Notice how I did not list "In the office" or "Six inches from my eardrum"?

I. HATE. POOR. PEOPLE.

Now That's Old

So, I'm pretty sure I need a knee replacement. C doesn't believe me, of course, but that's because she doesn't take me seriously on a wide variety of subjects up to and including my own health.

But the knee is gonna have to go. And I'm not just saying that because I spend the majority of my waking hours reading other people's medical records (professionally, of course, not for fun). It's just a function of age. As parts wear out, they must be repaired or replaced. Like on cars. Luckily we now have the ability to replace the parts with synthetic substitutes that are effective and discreet. All you pirates out there remember hook hands and peg legs, don't you? No good.

So as we age, the clock is ticking on our original parts. But how do we know when the timer is about to go off? I'm pretty sure I found out this morning.

When I found a 3 inch long, grey hair growing out of my ear.

Dear guy who sits in the cubicle across from me:

It's not the fact that you are playing loud music via your douche-device-of-the-century iPhone throughout the work day that bothers me. Well, it bothers me. But not nearly as much as your insufferable taste in music. The f*cking Black Eyed Peas?!?! Seriously? Lady Gag Me? At 10:00 in the f*cking morning?! KYLIE MINOGUE?!?!?!?

Stop! Please, stop! I'll give you whatever you want, my wallet, the keys to my car, anything! Just please. . . STOP making my ears bleed before I even get to finish my first cup of coffee.

Sincerely,

The guy who has been humming Rihanna songs all morning.

Dear CIA:

Kill this guy.

Anwar al-Awlaki


Thank you.

Wedding Planning 201

"I can't do this, I don't have time," she said.

"It's not like it matters, anyway, just pick something," she said.

"I don't care, just handle it," she said.

"Why are our wedding invitations neon colored with Star Wars characters on them!?" she said.

"Any society that would give up a little liberty to gain a little security will deserve neither and lose both."

-- Benjamin Franklin

Think about that, TSA. Now, can I put my shoes back on?

Wedding Planning 101

I'm blogging to you from the office today. Specifically, the floor under my desk at the office. Why? Because I crawled here. Why? Because in an effort to get in shape for our upcoming beach nuptials, I allowed my beautiful fiance to talk me into going to a class at the gym called 'Body Sculpting'. I have to believe that actually sculpting my body (with a chisel) would have been less painful.

So here I am, sprawled out on the floor, trying not to alarm anyone, but desperately needing help getting into my chair.

Worries, bro. Worries

So, if you work in an office and there is only one restroom, eventuality the stars will align just so and the very second you reach for the door handle to leave, someone else will be pushing the door open. It's an awkward moment in the life of a human, for sure, but you say something to the effect of, "excuse me," step to the side and life goes on. Here's what you don't do when the other dude says, "excuse me". You don't say, "no worries, bro."

That is NEVER the appropriate response to anything. Ever. Except, maybe, "dude, sorry I skipped you on that last bong hit".

"no worries, bro. I'll just catch it on the flip side."

No. Wrong.

Look, I'm not a huge fan of soul crushing, life stealing corporate America, but I do like not having to hear,"no worries, bro" ever.

Until today.