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  • My New Year's Resolutions

    Season's Greetings and all the rest of that Yuletide rigamarole, y'all. I know it's been a spell since I've been around, what with being back on nights and Reinventing the Wheel to Run Myself Over (Song of the Day- Fall Out Boy) and all; however, on the better late than pregnant front: my annual tribute to mindless tradition.

    But first, a tip of the hat to an ugly and usually forgotten side of your humble narrator: I have to admit that I'm quite jealous of my lovely neighbor (you know, the one I once wasted like 2 years pining away for) at this very moment in time (nope, not even watching the timeless classic Teen Wolf on AMC can cure this, sigh), as she is spending this week in fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada. Which reminds me, I need to begin planning out mine own next retreat to my beloved home away from home.

    Of course, I also need to pressure wash my current home. But that'll keep. Or, perhaps an insurance fire.


    And no, I'm not terribly thrilled about having to work on New Year's Eve. Again. And when I say work, I mean 2200-900 or so.




    1) to better suffer the stupidity of others, especially the cocksuckers I always tend to encounter in traffic and/or in parking lots; and y'all know who you are (yes, I vow this every year and usually end up relinquishing the ghost around January 3rd ish)


    2) to fulfill my duties and obligations as Miss America to the best of my abilities (oops, sorry, wrong speech)


    3) to be the best new President of Pakistan that I can possibly be (there, that's more like it)


    4) peace on earth, goodwill towards men (nope, can't even TYPE that with a straight face)


    5) Las Vegas on a weekend (now that I can afford it and all, may as well enjoy the better looking crowds therein)


    6) premiums, premiums, everywhere premiums (especially taken ones; it is, after all, easier to borrow someone else's GF than to find and keep one of your own)


    7) to learn something new every day (which entails reading the 600+ e-mails that I've accrued in my inbox the past 6 months that I've been a soulless corporate drone)


    8) perfect that palmistry routine (this is your lifeline....this is your blowjob line....this line indicates that you'll soon meet a tall handsome man that'll captivate you completely; oh wait, that ship has sailed, hasn't it? I'm C)


    9) at least one Women of the Day list per month


    10) more ink, I've been at 12 for too long


    11) stop drafting Ron Artest


    12) draft Paul Pierce in at least 1 league


    13) my shapely coworker before she leaves for a trip to India


    14) wash my car for the first time ever (what? I've only had it a year and a half, and still haven't reached 15000 km; however many miles that might be)


    15) master the intricacies of the coffeemaker that my GF gave me for xmas


    16) conquer the many e-books I've downloaded the past year


    17) more frequent contributions hereabouts, so's I can make me some Google AdSense moneys (feel free to aid me in this one)


    18) continue my improvement from the AFC I used to be and never shall be again


    19) kino. early. often. escalated.


    Enjoy your Amateur Night (or, if y'all prefer, Monday), everybody. Be good and be safe. Especially since I'll be out in traffic with you drunkards this evening, making my somewhat less than merry way to work.


  • Finding My Niche

    So's I can live me a more fulfilling and/or inviting life.

    Wait for it...

    Good luck with that, pal.

    Or is it ace? Sport? Chief? Dude?



    A groin injury is a very sensitive injury, Chuck.


    R.I.P. Sean Taylor and Evel Knievel.

    And yet that fucking Dr. Phil continues to perpetrate his crimes against all MANkind. Hardly seems fair.


    My baby got me some kickass Joseph Abboud p.j.'s for an early xmas present. This kinda blows my whole 'get her socks and a lump of coal' theory of gift-giving out the H2O. That makes me a little sadlike.

    And not just because I've NO fucking clue what to get her, either. Although that's a major factor.


    The other day my MILF boss gave me her blessing and/or encouragement to date our new HR chick. Naturally, I told her that I'd bang said HR folk, but I only date black women. But that's just me. Still won't transfer me to another store though, and I ask repeatedly. Daily.

    My contractual demands now that my backup supervisor has gotten the axe:

    - 60K/annum (since I likely can't have buddy's salary added to mine own). The boss lady has already guaranteed me a raise of some TBD amount, having recommended me for same. Yes, kiddies, flirting with the boss works a lot better than sucking up. And no, I've no moral qualms whatsoever about sleeping my merry way to the top.

    - 1 extra week of Vacation (up to 5 per)

    - 5 minutes alone with the bitchass supervisor of my choice and a lead pipe

    - my own parking space

    - a date with the boss' 20 year old, model-type, daughter

    - an immediate transfer

    I'll let y'all know how it goes.


    Spent an hour and a half on the phone with an old friend from the old days yesterday. She's in the process of getting her a divorce. Read into that whatever you'd like. Me? I've been in the LJBF zone with her for years. Eons, even. Sigh. Hopefully she's got fine friends. I doth love me some fine friends. Networking fucking rocks.

    And I discovered that someone I've a complicated history with is moving back to Calgary early in 08. Yep. Needed me some more drama.


    Just got back from fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada (pictures sometime wheneverish on My Humble Little Photoblog, link somewhere below). It's been WAY too fucking long.

    Yes, Toni Braxton's still F.I.N.E. fine. Yes, I was in Gynecology Row for her concert. Yes, she wore her some miniskirts. Yes, I saw me a little bit of Heaven. No, I wasn't among the Lucky few what got invited on stage to dance and/or karaoke with her. Although I'd have sworn my regional vice president did.

    LV's a quite different spot on the weekends than during the week. The Luxor (nope, will likely never stay there again; kept getting lost...did, however, pull me some coin out the slot machines therein) went from discount to high rent overnight. Suddenly, there were hoochies shaking they asses on top the craps tables and attractive young folk from Cali rolled in to the spot. Yes, at that point, LV felt even MORE like home than usual.

    No, I simply can't believe McCarren International Airport no longer has a smoking room. And yet, Vancouver does. Fucking Calgary, you can't even smoke outside the entrance. Non-smoking fascist cocksuckers, they'll be the death of me yet.

    Despite the $125 I dropped to see the divine Ms. Braxton and the near 5 bills (fuck yeah I lied on my customs form) I spent buying me shiny pretty things, my Vacation cost me about $145 USD. Sadly, I took chaperones (no, I didn't get divorced and then marry some other one night stand, but Someday) this trip. On the plus side, as it was a family Vacation, the 'rents paid for the trip. Yay, 'rents! Even if the family unit did kinda drive me a smidge nutso. To drop some Psych 101 on y'all.

    No, no love on the applying for political asylum front. Sigh.

    Looking into buying me a $100000 luxury condo just off Las Vegas Boulevard. For mine own Vacations and to rent out to other folks when they make the trip. Always thinking, me. Especially since the same condo hereabouts would likely be in the $300000 neighborhood.

    Yes, the O.J. Simpson dealio was taking place the week I was there. No, couldn't get anywhere near the courthouse to play rubbernecker. Story of my life.

    Nope, didn't make it to the Palms this trip. Next time.

    Big shout out to my lovely coworker Amarit (or, as I like to call her, Hammer), the first East Indian chick I've ever felt even the slightest attraction to, let alone (as I do) wanted to treat like a receptacle; for the heads-up about Paris, Las Vegas. Didn't think much of the resort itself (other than Mon Ami Gabi, which I will eat at sometime), but catching the free 3 girl burlesque-type floorshow of a Wednesday afternoon was well worth the price of admission.

    Yes, I asked the diminutive whore of the sky (read stewardess folk) what had to stand on the edge of my seat to reach the overhead compartment if she was tall enough to ride this ride. That's just how I roll.

    Love love LOVE me some Target. Even if I was unable to score season 2 of Veronica Mars (R.I.P.) at $14.88 therein. Sold out. Sigh. Again, story of my life.

    If y'all ain't never been there, I highly recommend staying at Sunset Station casino. Kickass buffet. Bowling alley. Movie theatres. Free money just to sign up for their Player's Club. Sadly, 80's supergroup Great White (Song of the Day: The Angel Song) was playing therein the night AFTER I left (and don't even get me started on the fact that Fall Out Boy was at the Hard Rock the night after that, as I'll Cry and it won't be pretty), but still. Across the street from a Best Buy and a mall featuring Macy's and J.C. Penney. Just down the way from one of my beloved Targets (pronounced Tar-zheh). Good Times.

    Y'all wouldn't believe the shocked reactions one gets from service folk when one treats them with simple common decency. Stunned disbelief, even. Try it and see.

    Still can't believe my inability to locate a retro Shawn Marion UNLV Runnin' Rebels jersey in the home of said institution of higher learning. Note to self: watch Higher Learning again. love me some angry Ice Cube.

    That there is what I like to refer to as a tangent. Expect more of them in the future.


    I'm off to increase the knowledge and enjoy me a rare Sunday off. Namaste.