"Bring me some fresh jam!"

So, this entry logging the sordid details of my banal life was originally a draft from the 23rd. And I was going to post all this random shit. But for some reason, all the random shit I listed wouldn't "auto-save" or whatever in Blogger, so whenever I'd log in to finish and finally post that entry from the 23rd, I'd always be shown nothing but the entry title. I took this, after the third time it happened, to mean that I was not meant to post an entry about random shit, and called it a week. I threw some clothes in a bag and headed to Jacksonville for the World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party (F them, I don't care if they don't want to call it that; it's what that weekend is, and what it will always be).

Now, when I say "I threw some clothes in a bag," you must realize that for a three day trip (really two and a half days), I managed to put together four complete, separate outfits, plus a pair of pajamas. Yes, I am the boss.

The point of all that build-up? Well, the point is that I'm incredibly tired from my four-day mini-vacay, and I thought I had it in me to post, but now I realize that I don't. So there. You just made me feel guilty about luring you in to reading this when there was really no point. Are you happy now?

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Sorry...

But it had to be done.

You are officially "On Notice":

Don't make the Colbert angry...

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The downward spiral.

It was another craptacular day at work. Even more calls today from irate people who will blame anyone who will listen for all that ails them. The main issue I found today was that most of the jackballs I spoke to today had problems answering simple and direct questions.

Me: Are you having problems with your system, sir?
He: The patient's number is 123-45-6789Y.
Me: Sir, did you try to use your system to check this information? You do have to try to access the system for the information you're looking for, since you need to print out your results. Were you able to log on to the system?
He: The patient's name is ... Date of birth ... gender...
Me: Sir? Do you have access to the system at all?
He: He says he has HMO.

This is the part where my head explodes.

It wouldn't be so bad if I only got characters like that some of the time. But, as it stands, every third call is someone trying to dodge the question of whether or not they are following the rules by avoiding the question, pretending they didn't hear me, getting indignant with me ("Well, we've been doing this for twenty years, and we've NEVER been told we had to do THAT!"), and just plain lying.

She: I'm calling to check eligibility for this client.
Me: I can help you with that. Are you having problems using the system to pull up that information?
She: Yeah. We had a lot of rain here this afternoon/Our system is down/Someone stole our computers (the list goes and goes and goes)...

My personal fave happened a couple of weeks ago. I answered my phone and was about to un-mute myself and give my greeting when I heard the person calling tell their co-worker, "Oh, I know we're supposed to use the system to check this. But when I call, I just lie to them and tell them our system is down." After a second or two of shock, I happily un-muted, gave the cheeriest greeting ever, then sat with three seconds of silence as the scoundrel, realizing I had heard everything she had just said, suddenly sucked in her breath, then slammed down the phone. Since the call came through on the Caller ID, I had half a notion to call her back and let her have it. I did jot down her number, and scrawled "Friggin' Idiot" on the Post-It. I think it gives me some comfort.

Whoever you are, liar/hanger-upper, I hope you are hanging your head down in shame for lying because you were too damned lazy to do your own work. I will not hesitate to point you out and laugh obnoxiously should I run into you in public and witness the deli worker give the very last stuffed potato balls you'd been thinking about all day to the person directly ahead of you in line. I will laugh even harder should that person in line right ahead of you be someone you were going to spend time with immediately after going to the store, and that person proceeds to eat those very stuffed potato balls right in front of your fucking face without offering you a bite.

See? This is what happens when I don't get enough rest. I get sidetracked and start talkin' potato balls.

Yikes, and it's only Tuesday.

Downward spiral, here I come!

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Terrible thoughts.

I thank the stars that I managed to make it through today at work. The workload has gotten crazier and crazier in the past few weeks, and I'm doing my best to look for opportunities in my chosen field again. This, of course, is unsurprisingly difficult (after all, why would something happen easily for me?), but, I do it nonetheless.

I guess the good thing about being busy at work is that I have time to do little else. I log in first thing in the morning, get up a few times during the day to take breaks and lunch, then watch the clock crawl forward whilst listening to some random chucklehead regale me with tales of their fuckedupedness. This kind of sucks, because I can't really always respond in the manner I'd prefer. At least as a therapist, I could interact in a number of different ways with those clients, and I didn't have as much of a chance of being fired for doing so.


How I felt after both the game on Saturday night and work today. That's right, my frustrations were "Cena strong." Leave me be.

Gah. Mark down another one in the "chosen profession" column.

So, with the exception of some good chocolate chip cookies on the Community Grazing Table in our department, today sucked. It made me miss my weekend, which, even with the horrid events of Saturday evening's ESPN Full Circle game, was wonderful, comparatively speaking.

Actually, other than the game (grr), my weekend was pretty darned good. I got to hang with some of my boys, learned something about myself (don't eat your teriyaki chicken wings and fried mushrooms too fast during a football game, especially if you haven't eaten all day, and if you feel sickly afterwards, you certainly should not celebrate feeling better with a strawberry cheesecake milkshake, you friggin' idiot!), and got to see Tasha and her family before they headed back up to the big D (I've offered to pay her a dollar if she pumped her fist in the air and yelled "Duluth, Represent!" on more than one occasion) today.

And the latter allowed me to eat at Cody's for the first time, since... well, since Tasha moved back to the D, which was almost four years ago. Sooo, steak and sweet potato and salad and bread with that crack-sprinkled cinnamon butter abounded.

Don't worry; I prepared myself earlier in the day for this bovine onslaught by actually eating something for breakfast, and by referring to my trusty beef-meeting guide, pictured above. I just love how they've chosen to put the spotlight on certain types of cows by giving them exclamation points. Oh, and those "chosen ones" are even allowed quasi-yearbook quotes! Lucky!

I think I'll try to survive the rest of this week by amusing myself by singing the "Taco Flavored Kisses" song (no idea why that's suddenly hilarious to me again) , watching all the AD I can in a single sitting (definitely), and "accidentally" hanging up on people that annoy me.

Yes, let's see how well that works.

Simmental, bitches!

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"I've got this pain in my heart, that's all."

So, football-wise, this weekend sucked for me. BIG TIME. But, we perservere, and hopefully, in two weeks, I will be posting about a resounding victory at The World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party(TM before they tried to wuss it down to sound less, well... alcoholic. But you get the idea).

For now, I am going to attempt to cheer myself with happier thoughts, as well as post the following, courtesy of Ben Folds Five. Just try to listen to this song without thinking of a bunch of muppets gleefully, spastically dancing around. Go ahead. I'll wait.



Oh, no, wait. I won't.

Now if you'll excuse me, I think I slept on my arm funny last night, so I'm going to remedy the soreness by sleeping on the other arm funny in order to even it out. Math is hard.

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A dedication.

Armsweat and Lengli, this is just for the two of you:

EDSBS Mustache Wednesday: Yet another reason to love college football.

Sorry, I just had to. Kisses!

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As strong as Cena.

So, there was this conversation the other day regarding the strength or intensity of... well, something. And the other participant in this conversation described something as "Cena strong," as in John Cena, the professional wrestler.

I know. Lots of wrasslin' in this blog as of late. Although, I have always preferred to refer to it as "homoerotic grappling," or "Danhole's soaps."

This got me to thinking: exactly how strong is "Cena strong?" Barring any further viewing of actual wrasslin' matches, I procured the following:



If the preceeding is any indication of the intensity of anything, I think I shall conclude that Cena strong, is indeed, pretty strong. And slightly comical. And worthy of carrying around a spinner-riffic championship belt. Perhaps I should rethink this.

Please excuse this entire post, as apparently, I have been sampling too many perfumes at once.

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"R-tards" and getting "pwned."

I hadn't watched an episode of South Park in quite a while, but yesterday, after watching the fine football stylings of the Gators beating LSU, Danhole played this week's "Make Love, Not Warcraft" episode for us. Yes, there were plenty of other football games to be had. But, in all fairness, one can only watch South Carolina play Kentucky for so long without wanting to stab themselves. Repeatedly.


See, even The Steve can barely handle it. And his team's playing!

Anyway, don't be an r-tard, and watch the link listed above.

So, another Sunday evening, another weekend gone by too fast. I honestly have no idea where the time goes. One moment, I'm watching quality football with the boys, and the next, I'm dreading the next morning, where the shit-ass work cycle begins all over again. I mean, I barely have enough time to ogle the eye-candy!


No, it's not one of the hottest pictures of Chris, but all the "Leak for Heisman" love is certainly a turn-on. All appropriate parties, take note!

Okay. I am going to take some Tylenol now in anticipation of the headache that awaits me tomorrow. I'll let you know if it works.

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It's been so long...

Since I've posted a picture of Michael. How I have missed him!


Slightly maniacal grin; but somewhere, Benjamin Harrison is daubing his forehead.

Okay, now I feel slightly better.

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Mid-week bitchery.

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Little Asian dudes.

Today is my dear friend Timothy's birthday. It is also my little man Ryan's birthday. Tim, I think you are about twenty years older than Ryan. Does that make you feel exceptionally old?


Yes, that Ryan of "removable fingertip trick" fame!

Ah, probably not. I'll bet Tim is sitting somewhere in China, working and not giving a shit.

Anyway, I just wanted to show both birthday boys some love on their day. Not that I expect that Tim even bothers reading this anymore, nor do I expect Ryan to read this, because frankly, I'd kick his ass if I found him on the computer looking at this drivel. Shouldn't he be out in the pool, training to become a Navy SEAL? After all, isn't that what he said he wanted to be when he grew up? Of course, he said this three years ago, but who keeps track, really? I need to talk to his mother about this.


"Oooh...Navy SEALs!"

Sorry. But you knew I wouldn't be able to help myself!

Next up: Danhole explains to everyone what the hell he means when he talks about "sexlifting," and maybe, if you're all really lucky, I'll tell you about my awesome weekend.

Well, at least I can tell you it consisted of the following: football, stuff, and things.

Chris, showing off his "jazz hands" whilst being pursued by some dude who plays for a team named after a nickname for menstruation (I know, the pic just begs to be Photoshopped).

Good Lord, there is such a charge of estrogen in this part of the post!

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