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  • Dimness at the end of the tunnel

    Sorry, best I could do, title-wise. Tough week at the office. On the plus tip, it does at least have it a smidge of relevance.


    I'm pretty damn excited about these new 'racy' pictures of Britney Spears in a church confessional. Nope, not for the obvious, seen it before. Simply because it allows me to coin me a new term: Madonna-be (Songs of the Day: Spice Girls- Wannabe; Madonna- Like A Prayer (Extended Dance Remix). Didn't Madonna do this shit, like, twenty years ago? And better?

    Like the platinum one says, Hey Britney, I'd rather see you bare your...Well, she goes with soul on this one. Me, not so much. What can I say, I'm a hopeless romantic.


    So, watching last night's kinda gripping installment of Reaper, a question arose: hey, hotshot (to drop some Speed on y'all), the Devil invites you out for a night on the town, with talk of a limo. What do you do?

    To briefly, you know, summarize: I'm down with god, but the Devil's got better drugs. And don't even get me started on the bitches.


    I'm entirely convinced that Lila, Dexter's Narcotics Anonymous sponsor on the awesome show of the same name, has already and will continue to provide the motivation for numerous folks to join said program. Me, I'm damn near at the point wherefore I'm ready to become me an addict, just so's I can join NA in the hopes of getting such a fine and interesting sponsor.

    But that's just me.


    A new Tila Tequila (=traffic) reality show? Where she selects from prospective male AND female suitors? Where do I sign up? Nope, even then, even if I were ON a fucking reality show, I still wouldn't watch one.


    I'm still in heavy turmoil over Paris Hilton's charity mission to Africa being postponed. I truly, madly, deeply, with all my heart (the one in my chest, not the one inked on my arm) believe that Saint Paris of Simple can make a real difference therein. She is, after all, renowned world wide for her humanitarian efforts. Oh, no, wait, my bad. I believe she had some sort of art film a while back.

    I can just see it now (but still won't watch it): The Simple Life XXX (or whatever number they're up to now; I happen to like this one, plus the Roman numerals give it that added touch of dignity it so richly deserves, n'est pas?)- Paris in Africa.

    You know, just when one starts to feel the world a desolate place, something like this comes along and renews your Faith in mankind. Why, yes, I'm still developing my sarcasm, thanks for noticing.


    Be the first on your block to get the new limited edition Dale Earnhardt Sharpie!

    The fuck do felt pens have to do with auto racing? It really IS true that them NASCAR following, reality show watching, hood wearing inbred yokels really WILL buy anyfucking thing associated with their beloved NASCAR. Note to self: buy NASCAR stock.

    Although, I'll be the first to admit that I do enjoy me the smooth writing capabilities of a Sharpie in my day to day. However, I also enjoy throwing me some rocks, glass crib and all.

    Nope, don't watch NASCAR, either.

    I would, however, watch me some NASCARGOT. There's just something so very RIGHT about snail racing. Mint juleps. Hot girls-next-door in pretty summer frocks with big hats. And no panties. The roar of the crowd. The thrill of the chase. Gunfire. Screams.

    Oops, I Did it Again. Wrong story. Besides, my storytelling skills need some work. But I'll do it. I am, after all, getting back to basics. Rediscovering the fundamentals and my love of the Game.


    I realized the other night that I rarely waste time pining away for my fair neighbor, Kendra, anymore. Even after I got ''do you think we're becoming too predictable?'' from someone special. Any womenfolks out there in the ether will know what this, along with the ever popular ''are you happy?'' truly signifies. Maybe I really am growing. Either that or I'm simply too beat down and fucked up by my career mistake.

    I do, however, have it in writing (or at least an e-mail) from some corporate bigwig that I now allegedly only have to work 40 hours a week. Instead of the 60+ I've been devoting to beating my head against the writing on the wall, burning the candle at both ends and working my merry way into an early grave. Yay, me! This meant that, when my new boss (whom I dreamed of last night; nope, not that kind, I only dream that way about YOU...and your moms) asked me yesterday whyfore I'd skipped an important (to likely all but, you know, ME) meeting the day before; I was able to tell her ''because I'd already been here 12 hours.'' No explanation. No supplication. No nothing. That's simply the way it is, deal. Or not. Whatever. And she told me she could respect that.

    Of course, I always say that if they don't think I'm pulling my weight; what with the 60 hour weeks and the fact that my department does $600000+ in sales each week, they're more than free to sign the papers and let me transfer to another department. Or store. My bags are packed and I KNOW I could get me another, less wasting my life-type gig, before day's end.

    So we have many many way too fucking MANY newbies on my night crew. And, of late, I've been saddled with training some. Me. Mr. Patience, Tolerance, The Milk of Human Kindness and all that good shit. Needless to say, it hasn't been going well. Even with the ones that can actually speak AND read English, few and far between though they are.

    And then, there's my man Jordan. Upon first contact, he seemed a decent, perhaps even (gasp!) competent minion. However, with hindsight being 20/20 and all, I now realize I was VERY (think the U.S. going into Vietnam or Russia in Afghanistan) wrong in this assessment. However, on the positive tip, I wasn't the one who deemed him worthy of being responsible for our most important, highest sales volume, and easiest to fuck up irreparably section, the Dairy; so at least I have that (and my beloved anger) to keep me warm nights. I personally spent roughly 12 hours trainging him in how I wanted things done, but none of it took and I've completely given up (despite being the patron Saint of lost causes and all) on the little pudwhapper. The ONLY time he displays any hustle or effort is on his frequent (say, every 20 minutes or so) runs to the little girls' room. He can, however, take him a mean break.

    Anyway, enough backstory. Yesterday, this fucking nitwit, who's worked for me since maybe May (every day's simply a blur of pain misery and suffering and I lose track easily) and has, in fact, worked the involved section a time or 6; not to mention passed it by at least 2X/night, 5 nights/week during said time, asked me, in all seriousness, where the frozen pizzas are located. Moron.

    Naturally, being the compassionate sort, I asked him if he knew where the FREEZERS are.

    Fuck but I hate that place and the Mensa folk I tend to have to interact with.


    Maybe I'll go out and enjoy me some Halloween. I do hope some shapely young adorables come around Stately Deranged Manor this eve, offering me tricks. Oh, what a treat that would be. Be good and be safe tonight. Because I do, in fact, care. About who or what, I've NO idea, but care I do nevertheless.

  • As I Drove Home...

    ...at 3 this chilly a.m., through the season's first snowfall, I realized exactly how beautiful it can truly be to be one of the few hardy souls out driving the darkened city streets. The sky was purpleish. The night was brisk, but totally in a good way, and I was at peace. With myself and, to drop some Depeche Mode on y'all, with life in general. And so, I thought I'd perpetrate yet another in a seemingly endless and completely random posts upon tout le monde. Or at least the 3 good folks what actually stop by occasionally and peruse this mess o'mine.


    Yesterday, I attempted to use the geophysicist's computer to do my Yahoo Fantasy NBA drafts. Naturally, I gaffed on the start time of the first and missed the first 4 rounds. Because it is I, her Internet connection got itself perished before I could participate in the remaining 2 drafts I had yesterday.

    However, I managed to land my beloved (in a totally hetero way) Shawn Marion in 2 of 3 and finally, after several years of playing, managed to secure me the services of one Allen Iverson. Yay, me!

    But, how did I manage to land Shaquille O'Neal in round 9 (of 13) of 1 draft and round 11 (!!!!!) of another? Sure, he misses some games, floats through others, and can't make a free throw to save his children's lives; but still. The center pool isn't that deep and you gots to dress 2.


    I was totally convinced that CSI:New York sucked dead dogs. Until last night's cinematic classic episode involving video games.

    Yes, my version of sarcasm is still being debugged. Thanks for noticing.


    I love the ads for new Chili Cheese Lime Doritos.

    And yes, I'm totally the inappropriate T-shirt guy.


    The fight choreography on the Bionic Woman remake doesn't suck.

    But I like to think that SHE does. Mmmm bionic loving good. Just picture YOUR chick with the added bonus of a bionic jaw and/or throat. Feel me now?


    I should like Pushing Daisies, because it's twisted and it's from the creator of (Gone but never forgotten) Dead Like Me, but I just can't get into it.


    So, is Kristen Bell going to be a regular on Heroes or is it going to continue to not be worth watching?


    A Harry Potter character is gay. And yet, somehow the world still continues to turn.

    How can this be? Oh wait, don't care.


    I do, however, care about this:

    Whilst picking up a few things at an unfamiliar and competing grocery chain yesterday p.m. (and being thrilled to find somewhere I can purchase me some strawberry soda, which I hadn't had since my last trip to fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada), I found myself being accosted in the parking lot by a shapely young adorable what was peddling coupons for paintball and/or golf excursions.

    I was dismayed to discover that, between and betwixt my life-sucking 'career' and all the time I spend with the geophysicist and, despite the fact that I have an excellent paintball story involving an extremely close range shooting of a close friend and teammate when he ran out of ammo whilst we were pinned down by the enemy; I drew a complete fucking blank as to what to say, picking up this skinny, no ass whatsoever (why, yes, I AM rationalizing my failures; fucking DEAL with it) chick-wise.

    Even though she approached me and, due to the nature of the encounter, was more inclined towards being friendly and receptive to me than she might otherwise be.

    Even though I totally stood out from the rest of the surrounding people, being tall, inked-up and, you know, devastatingly handsome and all.

    Even though I've been studying and learning from the masters of daygame and pickup the past year and a half.

    Even though I have a fallback girl and a decent lifestyle.

    So I'm totally donning the all-too-familiar and yet, long forgotten hairshirt this morning. And then hitting the books some more before I head off to do some banking and then return home for my final fantasy draft, prior to my noonish Sleepytime in preparation for returning to work this evening.


    My somewhat attractive (decent rack, anyway) and all-too-new in town new boss (divorced, I believe, although it don't much matter) has bet me dinner over a work related matter. I've a sneaking suspicion that I'll ply her with drinks, also. Fuck, no, I ain't too proud to sleep my merry way out of that store.

    Besides, upon hearing of my 3 moods (sleepy...grumpy...sleepy AND grumpy), she's informed me that I need to be more positive (um, sorry, honey, that ship has sailed; I WAS all positive thinking guy, but my workplace environment has totally sucked that shit out of me), so...when I suddenly shift into upbeat mode, I doth believe I can catch her off guard and pull her. How's that for positive?


    So, I'm off to work on my magic tricks and palmistry. Enjoy your Thursday, y'all. Be good and be safe.



  • Today Was A Good Day

    To drop some Ice Cube on y'all.


    Upon the occasion of my 2nd ever trip into the tumult that is the downtown core (I work way out in the hood) during midweek a.m. Rush Hour, dropping off a friend at her place of business on my way home from her crib this morning, I was actually able to find the elusive Holy Grail...an available and functioning parking space, complete with parking meter. Naturally, I wasn't in actual need of said parking space, which is likely whyfore it materialized; but I was sorely tempted just to plug many shiny moneys into the meter and abandon my ride there just on principle, knowing that I would be back downtown later in the day to pick it up. And yes, this would've set the scales of Karma into balance.

    But I didn't. Too busy trying not to get my goofy ass got by the morons what tend to come out the woodwork when it comes to the traffic. Yeah, I know. I'm kinda a pussy that way. Fucking sue me.


    I'm thinking that I may just decide to go to Disneyland for my forthcoming vacation, rather than fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada. 2 reasons. A) I've never been, and, if I'm going to always be reliving the past anyway...I may as well go the whole 9 and right a previous wrong, n'est pas? Besides, at a Cool $279 for 7 nights accomodation PLUS airfare, I pretty much gots to go, now don't I?

    Yes, I despise mascots and such, but I'm going to totally be the biggest mark for Mickey Mouse et al in the history of EVER when I finally make my merry way to the happiest place on earth. I may even finally get me that tattoo of Minnie giving Mickey head I've had my jaded eye on. Just to, you know, commemorate the occasion and shit. What can I say? I'm just sentimental like that.

    Memories. Misty watercolored memories. And all the rest of it.


    I went for lunch with my boy Jay. Since I've decided to pursue my 'career', I simply haven't had, like, ANY time to hang with my friends lo these past 4 months. Hell, probably even the 4 before that. God but I miss the 40 hour work week and having me some actual, you know, free time. To, like, post hereabouts and shit. Crack open the books, perhaps. Learn. Grow. Sleep. Good Times.

    Good thing I'm in the running to be the new coach of the Atlanta Thrashers, then, ain't it?


    Kristen Bell is joining the cast of Heroes. I may even have to start watching the program now. I've heard good things. And yes, I'm still bitter about the cancellation of Veronica Mars:

    Dear Ms. Bell,

    If y'all need some consoling about the loss of income incurred by the cancellation of your wonderful television program, I'm always available.

    Love and Kisses,

    Christian Manson


    I've been getting decent results with the ''if you were in a room with a dozen women who looked exactly like you, what would set you apart?'' query of late. Feel free to borrow it and give it it's day in court.

    Let me know how it works out for you.


    As someone who strongly believes in Karma and is more than willing to accept the possiblity of reincarnation, I've been wondering of late whether it's the same group of people that keeps appearing in your various lives or just that one certain special someone. Your soulmate, if you will.

    Okay, it's the current storyline on my beloved 90210 reruns, but it's still a valid question.


    The Boston Red Sox just ain't been the same since Johnny Damon left. Love love LOVE me some Johnny Damon.


    Oh yeah, and I finally secured that passport I've been droning on and on and fucking ON about these past few years. Yay, me! Why yes, soon I'll be coming to YOUR town. Keep an eye out.


    Continue about your business.