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  • Long Overdue

    Well, since today is 24 months (i.e. 2 years; yay, me!) that I've been technically married to a woman I've spent 26 HOURS with, I thought I'd do me one of them post things.

    And so I have.


    Strange happenings on the workplace front. For some reason, I've been promoted again. With the possibility of another in the relatively near future.

    For those of y'all keeping score, since last May 7th, I've:

    - been promoted and, therefore, changed careers, 3 times

    - renewed my driving career after a 16 year hiatus

    - ceased, desisted and refrained from wearing my self-loathing like a badge of honor after having done so for, essentially, 34 years; you'd be surprised (I know I was and am, daily) how differently the womenfolks (hell, everyfuckingbody, but, since life ain't nothing but bitches and money...) are responding to l'il ol' me as of late

    - made me what I like to think of as 3 lifelong nemeses; the fella what got passed over for the gig I accepted (sans applying); the coworker what had to put off his long-planned Vacation to the U.S. because of my rapid ascension and us being left shorthanded; and good ol' Pudge, who I will now be able to put to work, so's she can actually earn her salary for a change and stop stealing from the company

    And yes, I totally sold them out with regard to how completely fucking worthless they are when some regional higher up-type folk were creeping around last week. Hey, they ASKED. And were told that I was leaving for 2 reasons: a) the opportunity for further advancement and 2) I'm tired of watching these 2 nitwits fuck the pooch all the day. I mean, come on, that poor canine has more than had ENOUGH. Anyway, now I'm up to 4 reasons. 3) the $7000/year raise, which will make my performance bonuses increase accordingly and d) the opportunity to ensure that, after carrying my coworkers lo these past 4 months, I'll (with the full support of management, I asked) be able to keep them busy and working a full day. And I fully intend to keep Pudge running around so much that she'll run off her freakishly outsized ass. Even if spending any fucking time with her at all kinda makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little. A lot.

    Because I'm a giver. A real humanitarian. A sage, even.


    Is it sad that I'm thrilled to no end by the stylish yet divinely (yes, more than confident enough in my masculinity to use the word divinely; again) comfortable leather captain's chairs my new boss has provided for the office? Don't care. I love them. But I don't, like, LOVE them. That would be wrong.

    And anatomically awkward, to boot.


    Monday night, I managed to open a shapely young adorable on our softball opposition of the evening. Yes, I took advantage of the fact that she'd just been drilled in the leg with a line drive (context is all; think beyond the tired pickup lines) and was knocking back wobbly pops (to drop some Don Cherry on y'all). Where the trouble comes into Paradise is that I failed to neg her on her braces, oncet I noticed them, although I did make like she was all bad ass when she claimed to be all grrrrr about being in pain and shit. Nope, didn't close. But if you don't learn, you don't grow. No failure, only feedback.

    Besides, I'm sure we'll play them again and I can take me a more effective run at young Ashley. Oh yes, I was more than excellent in her presence, despite the 2 first inning fielding errors (play the ball, don't let it play you; oh my yes, there's a bigger metaphor in there somewhere); going 5 for 5 at the plate with 2 home runs. Yeah, that's how I roll.


    On a happier note, last night at beach volleyball, yet another of them accursed K's was complaining about getting sand in her face. Yeah, like that's the first time you've ever taken a facial was, of course, my response. At which point she stared at me in open mouthed wonder and got hit with an errant pass because she wasn't paying attention. Good Times.

    Yes, she's a premium. Yes, she knew the old me, the one who never said anything to anybody. Yes, things are different now. With more to come.


    And yes, I'm out. Be good and be safe.

  • My Nameless Dread

    Now has a name. And it is Pudge. No, not Rodriguez or Fisk, although the catcher's gear does mildly unsettle me. No, rather, Pudge is the cute little petname I have for the 'female' member of my little team at work. It's fucking baffling to me how Kristen Bell and the likes of this doughy little fuck can even be considered the same species. And exactly how is it possible for one to have plumbers' crack going on whilst seated in a chair? And yet, she pulls it off. And yes, it's as repulsive as it sounds. Can't wait to hear more fascinating tales of the exploits of her spawn. On the positive tip, at least she always shows up late and leaves early.

    Yep, quite looking forward to coming back from my badly needed and well deserved week's Vacation. Could y'all tell?

    Song of the Day: Soul II Soul- Back to Life.


    Much love to the 2 drunken teenagers sitting at the table in front of us at the bar the other night. Taking photos with their breastesses pushed up against each other and doing some flashing. And there was I, having mistakenly drug sand to the beach. Sigh. And another valuable lesson was learned: my club Game still needs muy work. But work on it I shall, as my life desperately needs more premiums in it.

    And, I suspect, so does yours.


    Saw Spiderman 3. Liked Venom. Loved Parker's Saturday Night Fever-esque montage. Hated the breeder and it's spawn what sat beside us in the theater. This bitch's cellphone rang, and the spawn spent the duration wailing and kiyiing. Nope, NEVER having children.

    Unless they're cooked properly. Oh, wait. Can I say that? Yeah. I care.


    So, after much soul searching and many sleepless nights, I've decided to grow out my naturally curly locks. I don't believe I've had combable hair length this millenium, so this is a big step for I.


    Last week I went and got my driver's licence renewed. Good Times. Why, yes, my new photo does look kinda horrid. Dude, it's the DMV. It's SUPPOSED to look that way. It's one of the immutable laws of physics and shit.

    After doing some DVD shopping to enhance my calm, I stopped at my local Safeway for some comestibles. Therein, the cashier opened me up by asking what I'd bought. When I said Don Juan DeMarco (I also bought Season I of Martin), apparently womenfolks respond well to this film; we got into a convo about Johnny Depp. These things kinda happen to me a lot now. Nope, still not really prepared for it, but like it nonetheless. Merely enjoyed the encounter and ejected.

    Getting opened by hired guns, that is, not discussions on the ouevre of Mr. Depp.


    I went home for my parents' anniversary the other day. A complete cluster fuck. I hate driving. Period. I had to wait almost 2 hours for anyone to come home to let me in. Spent quality time with my grandma, who was goodly enough to relate an embarrassing childhood story (involving mixing all the shampoos in the house and wanting a brother instead of the sister I got) during dinner. Got hit up for change by a pockmarked and kinda insane transient who went into a longwinded and somewhat indecipherable spiel and then began screaming at me when I turned him down. Good Times.

    And then they wonder whyfore I never visit home. At least they didn't ask if I have a GF. Yeah, getting married at the end of a drunken one night stand in Vegas will do that. Try it and see.


    The other day I went for lunch with 2 female coworkers what kinda intimidate me. Yeah, it still happens. Nope, NO interest in fucking either, so I'm not sure why I fear them. However, after 2 hours (on worktime...yeah, that's how I roll; told my superiors about it, too; no big) of convo, I now understand them better and feel more comfortable around them. Maybe it was when I offered to spring for the lesbian to do body shots off'n our miniskirted premium waitress. Or when I asked her to guess what color thong this fine Nubian Queen was wearing. Who can tell with these things? And the other woman paid for lunch, I kinda dig her 'tude. Reminds me of, you know, ME. Plus, they know all the store gossip, and it's always good to have the hookup.

    Turns out that other folks have been noticing that I kinda carry my little team. Who knew? What? I ain't hiding my light under a bushel anymore. I'm a franchise player, sure, but even Barry Bonds has to play for a team.


    I'm off. Lemon cheesecake is calling. Gratuitous and messy festivities with my geophysicist later in the day. I've given her the gift of missing me since Monday, so she'll be kinda wild. Enjoy your weekend, y'all.