"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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Dearest Q...

And L... and K... and, oh hell, myself:

Just wanted to share a special moment, is all.


"Oh, it's true. It's damned true!"

If you need me, I'll be quietly weeping tears of joy and shame in the corner. The joy: for the obvious reason posted above. The shame: for citing anything attributable to Kurt Angle.


I can't even bring myself to post a picture of Ric Flair in my defense.

I know, I know. Leave me alone.

I'm going to go mumble something about gift horses and mouths under my breath now.

Love ya lots,
S.

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So, what do you do...

When you're inexplicably roaming a Wal-Mart near York, PA, it's two in the morning on a Thursday/Friday/Saturday, and you've already stocked up on all the clearance item winter clothing and DVDs of The Golden Child you can find?


You take pictures of stuffed animals in sexually suggestive positions, apparently.

The above is a result of too much time, too much caffeine, and Grant's obsessive love of the term "daisy chain." It was taken during my vacay last winter to lovely Vineland and EHT, NJ, and York, PA. After a blizzard, of course (whatever... the tickets cost me about a hundred bucks, and we had a fucking blast).

The sad thing is, I think I actually have video of us doing this very thing somewhere...

Go about your daily.

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We now interrupt the regularly scheduled lyrical blog title...

For the best... song... ever.
Enjoy!



And don't say I never gave you anything!

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"It keeps me walking when I'm falling down."

You guessed it: I'm going to keep doing this lyrics-as-blog-titles shit until you say "uncle." Or some other word that makes me stop doing it.

Never mind that I've got all kinds of weird word association going on in my head when I think of the term "uncle" in relation to a plea for mercy or relief. Probably best not to go down that road.

I've got a lot of random stuff going through the cranium today. So, it's like every other day, but you, gentle reader, have just been unfortunate enough to catch me in a blog mood.

The weather is getting cooler, which is nice. Madame Armsweat mentioned how the weather's changing in her neck of the woods, and I'm glad the cool might be coming down our way, too. I actually went so far as to drive home from work with the windows down, and didn't pass out from the heat (somewhere, Patterson is muttering under his breath about gas mileage and driving over 35 miles per hour with the windows down).

See, when it gets to be 75 degrees and not muggy, I start to look forward to clear nights at 65-70 degrees. When it gets to that, I may be so inclined to camp out in Stanny with Riley. Sure, I'll be sleeping in my car in the driveway, but it won't be as vagabond as you may think. I'll have a DVD player, or something. Ooh... Alias Marathon Camp Out! Something to think about.

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"I pushed you, 'cause I loved you guys."

Another day, another weekend of football past. I nearly passed out this weekend while watching that game. Well, call it a combination of passing out and getting into a bar fight, if you must.

I'll admit, it was a little touch and go for a bit. We were behind for so long! And officiating on both sides... don't get me started.

I especially got testy after this:

Listen to Gary, you choad. 'Cause you're not even doing the Chomp right!

But after the boys, to paraphrase Coach Meyer, "nutted up," all was right with the world.


Urban tells Chris to go make a sandwich, already.

Chris found Dallas for a touchdown to make it 17-14, Tennessee...

"Dallas Baker, sandwich touchdown maker," per Mick Hubert.

Then again, to tie the game up!

"This is... 20-20!"

Hetland then made the extra point to put UF up, 21-20. The palpitations slowed down, just a wee bit.

Through it all, the defense showed their strunth.

Again...


And again...


And again.


I'm sorry, but after his turdsackery (as shown above), pictures of this guy getting owned are never going to get old!


Siler is such a force of nature, he can fly about Neyland stadium like a friggin' condor and shit.


Condor? Brandon Siler? Both?

So, after three and a half hours of pub eats, pre-game Jeopardy! ("Marcasite??? Are you stoned???"), surprising game finales (WTF, Oklahoma, Auburn/LSU?) and a grand fit of the chuckles (**cough** FSU, Notre Dame, and Miami **cough**), I managed to have just a bit of my voice left (unlike the UF-UCF game the weekend before, where I lost my voice midway through the second quarter and sounded like Lindsay Lohan on a bender for two days), and boogied it home for the victory drive.

I was so stoked about the win, I couldn't get to sleep right away. This caught up with me the next morning, but whatever. We won!

And now, I am going to spend the rest of this week rubbing it in to the UT/LSU fan (why do that to yourself?) oh-so-subtly.

Because that's how I roll.

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"I didn't realize you weren't having fun."

Ah, yet another glorious Friday morning! I've already ingested a couple of cans of Code Red and logged onto MySpace, all from the comfort and convenience of my cubicle in the seventh layer of hell. Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta.

Yeah, MySpace. I got on there a couple of years ago because a friend of mine from the old job insisted that I check out his profile. I left it alone up until probably late last year, mostly because I didn't want to get sucked into maintaining another "space" on the Web.

Then, some friends from back in the day (didn't Mr. Cook say that was a Wednesday?) got on there, so it became a convenient way to contact them, as well as other people you may or may not want to hear from (kind of like your high school reunion, but without the harrowing awkwardness or booze, and unfortunately, less of a chance of running into JC).

So, yeah, I have a MySpace. And I don't bother posting on the blog there, since I have a difficult enough time posting to this one with any regularity.

Maybe I should incorporate more fiber into my diet for that, huh?

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Tail. And Gators.

So, after taking the day off on Friday to see a new opthalmologist (as the last one was Admiral Jackball,) I spent all day Saturday in the throes of Gator Football. It was hot as hell all day, and clouds rolled in and thunder rumbled right before kickoff, but luckily, we were spared both a deluge or the Polish Prince getting struck by lightning.

It was so hot when Danhole and I rolled into G-ville on Saturday morning! We got there early to set up a good tailgating spot (you're welcome, punkasses!), and even with all of Stanny's windows and doors open, I was sweating like a slave in Deebo's pigeon coop.

(And only my Mama could get me out!)

Anyway, after a day of basking in the sun, half-assed games of catch, much eating, and shopping, Lisa and I made our way to the stadium to meet back up with everyone. Upon entrance, we found out that yet again, we were sitting right next to the visiting team's fans, who all seemed very enthusiastic about their team, and whose coeds looked much classier and far less trampy than another school's. (This school shall remain nameless as to not give their "famous" trampy coed who has her own sports (!) column on the web any more publicity, as her fifteenth minute expired quite a while back, in my opinion.)

A young UCF fan made this simple request of us before kickoff:

Silly boy... what do you think this is, Fox River?


Hmm. Maybe the Swamp should be more like Fox River...


More of Deebo's Pigeon Coop!

But, wait: I wouldn't want to ruin the face that makes T-Bag call Michael "Pretty"! And yes, I did just cite a guy named "T-Bag." Leave me alone.


You know, I think Wentworth might be right.

Anything to add, Mr. Leak?

"Oh, yeah. You'd totally get cut."

I am clearly tired if I am making comparisons to PB and the football. I'm going to bed before this gets any more ridiculous.


Gah, too late.

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"Why is there a cock in the corner?"

The blog entry titles go all to hell after watching brand new Nip/Tuck. My apologies.

So, I've noticed I've been horrible at blogging lately. I was gone for a couple of weeks on vacay, and managed to get a couple of measly entries in, but the rest of my time was taken up swimmin' in young ones, getting nagged about when I was going to spawn, and, well, not working. It was terriff!

Long story short, I spent some quality time with extended fam, started writing a song with Leviathan ("What do you mean, lyrics?"), and managed not to lose my ass at the casinos. And alas, I did not get to buy those fabulous "New Jersey Girl" t-shirts that were going to sweep the blogverse. I think it's best we hold out for the ones that merely say "I lost my ass in Atlantic City" with the picture of a donkey on it.

Coming back from Philly, the plane was delayed almost two hours, and it rained. I figured the entire Northeast was mourning our departure. Nevertheless, we got back on Monday night, and had to go to work the next morning.

Luckily, the four days of work went by quickly, as I focused all my attention on the impending start of football.


Danny, you will always be adorable, thinning hair and all. But, OMG, Steve, how did you steal Danhole's gladiator shoes without him noticing? You sneaky Cockmaster!


See, this is what I want to see more of. Of course, I could go on this long diatribe about Chris not getting the respect he deserves, but no tears today, okay? Let's just bask in the glory of Gator Football.

I'm so tired. More later.

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Go, Gators, Go!

The season starts today. It's the 100th year of Gator Football. If you need me, I'm going to be in a college football coma until December.




I want a lot more of this throughout the season, fellas!


Urban keeping his pimp hand strong.

A pic of Riley in her #12 jersey? Possibly later this weekend.

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