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  • A Vote for Kang is a Vote For...

    Well, for Kang, I reckon. Nope, NO idea who this individual is or what he's running for. Or if I can, in fact, cast my ballot his way whenever whatever election he's running in takes place. Or if he is, in fact, a he. Come to think of it, a chick named Kang would kinda rock, would she not? Long story somewhat less so, I see his campaign poster, no pic, just a name; no recollection regarding given name, on my way to the den of sorrows in which I toil my 60 (yes, that's right..60!!!!!) hour workweek. And it's obviously stuck with me. Which is odd, having only 3 fully functioning brain cells the way I do. Which means that I'm likely not wearing any pants....Nope. Which means I'll make me some new friends. Yay, me!


    Until I decided to draft me up one of them resume things, I had no earthly idea of how empty my CV truly is. However, most job listings are goodly enough to provide all sorts of adjectives by which one can pad one's resume just a little bit. Now I just have to figure out how to hook up my (oh, let's say 4 years old) printer which still remains in the box in which the 'rents brung it.

    Needless to say, all of the friends I've lost touch with lo the past 7+ months I've wasted my life and health and relationships at my job can expect to hear from me very soon, do you know anyone that's hiring?-wise. Poor bastards.

    Hey, maybe YOU know somebody?

    And I'm still quite tempted to lie on my resume and say that I've simply been incarcerated the past 17 years, hoping that someone will take a chance on an ex-con with a Calvinist work ethic and a Liberal Arts degree. Especially since the Magic 8-Ball told me last night that my prospects of getting a sideways transfer within the company (so's not to surrender my salary, benefits and Vacation time) are not especially sunny.

    And no, that's not just the negative attitude I always seem to be accused of talking. It's funny how constantly beating one's head against the wall to the point where one physically dreads going to work (I'm throwing up again whilst getting ready to leave for work) kinda tends to dampen one's enthusiasm toward one's gig. Or maybe it's just me. I mean, everyfuckingbody throws up before they go to work. And only before they go to work. Do they not?


    I'm not sure if the soon-to-be-ex GF wants someone else, someone better, or simply thinks I am or am not something I, in fact, am or am not. Or maybe she's no longer quite of accepting of my faux marriage as she once was. Chicks.

    My boy Jay has suggested I look into a divorce or annulment or some such. Or conversely, seeing if I can use being married to a U.S. citizen to score me a green card. You know, the way my monster-in-law always though I intended. What with the oppressive regime ruling here in Canada and all.


    I know why you left. I can't blame you myself. Must be hard living with ghost in such an empty shell. I tried to warn you, been a mess since you've known me. I can't promise forever, but I'm working on it.

    It's just been too long since I've quoted me some Kelly Clarkson.


    I was pleasantly surprised to discover that We Are Marshall, which I've been meaning to check, was on Movie Central this a.m. Not so pleasantly surprised to find myself weeping like a little bitch during said program. I do believe we have us another Brian's Song or Han Solo's death scene on our hands here, gentlemen.

    Nope, not ashamed to admit I have me the occasional emotion. What can I say? The last couple of weeks have been fairly trying. I also had me the usual I'm wasting my life here-type Epiphany. Which means I'm likely well past on the verge of doing something stupid (may the bridges I burn light the way, n'est pas?) and irreversible. Stay tuned, kiddies, it's pins and needles time again.


    Happy to report that I narrowly avoided making a trade for Yao Ming in one of my basketball pools in the wee smalls of this a.m., before the news broke of his shutting things down for the duration. Big ups to my prospective trading partner for not checking his e-mails. Whew. Close one. How long do you think it'll be afore Tracy McGrady calls it a season, too?

    I did, however, trade for Marian Hossa a spell back. Can't wait until Mr. Crosby returns to feed him passes. At least during the regular season. After that, they can both fall of the face of the earth, I'm a New Jersey Devils fan.


    I've had (Song of the Day:) Taylor Swift's Teardrops On My Guitar going through my pretty little head of late. Ever since I first heard it on the Muzak at work. I know, I'm such a chick. What can I say? It's catchy. Especially since I had no idea of the song or artist until, again, the wee smalls of this a.m. I've since added Ms. Swift to the ILike portion of my Facebook page and added the video itself. At least temporarily. Until I decide to return 4Ever by the Veronicas to its rightful place once again. Hell, upon discovering that Ms. Swift (ain't there a porn star with the same handle? see what I mean? too much time at work, too little time for the important things) is coming to my neck of the woods on tour next month, I even looked up the prospects of procuring me a ducat for said show.

    Sadly, disappointment reigned on all fronts as she's touring with Rascal fucking Flatts (um, Life is a Highway sucked in the 90's; why re-subject tout le monde to such horrors? write your own shit...more on that later). The best seat I could find (single ticket means I can go to more shows, or could if I had any free time) was not exactly what one might call a good seat. Conversely, even the cheapest seats are $69.50. So, I won't be going. I did, however, download her CD to console myself. I do miss the days when you could sit in the nosebleed section of a concert for like 10 bucks. The way I did when Michael Bolton came to town. Celine Dion was supposed to open but, thankfully, didn't. Although that would've been a great story to tell all the saps what shelled $200+ USD to see Ms. Dion in Las Vegas, would it not? Y'all fucking KNOW that's the way I roll. I may, however, catch Cher's gig in the Dion Colosseum (or whatever it's called) at Caesar's Palace Someday. Again, NO concern about what others might think of my taste in music. If it has a catchy hook and a chorus I can do horrible in-car karaoke too, I'm sold.

    And yes, I fully, FIRMLY realize that Taylor Swift is nowhere near legal. Again, it's more than okay to look at such things. But never, EVER, touch.


    Community soap.



    Well, I'm off to do me the ever-popular something I can't undo. Enjoy your NHL Trading Deadline Day, y'all. I may be back tomorrow, to mull the implications and ramifications of faking my own Death. Or not. Whatever.

    Regardless, there's a more current pic of me that I posted yesterday on My Humble Photoblog. Link along the side somewhere. Nope, I had NO idea how much weight I've actually lost and how poorly my clothes really fit me.

  • My Latest Trip to Las Vegas

    Happy President's Day long weekend, y'all. Or Family Day, if that's where you're at. I'm tentatively scheduled to return to work tonight; although, since the very thought has me on the verge of spewing this a.m., we'll see.

    Happy belated 36th to the first (when she was 20) virgin I ever broke, Dana. And yes, I didn't know what I had until it was Gone. And no, I didn't get over her for like 10 years. I have looked her up on Facebook, in case any of y'all were wondering; and I think I've found her, but it's hard to tell. Plus, it looks like she has a spawn (or several) now. Hmmm. MILF.

    Happy belated Valentine's Day. I hope all of you were able to pick off lonely and desperate single women, film them, and start your own websites. Bored housewives, too. Yep, that goes for the chicks out there in the ether, too. Sadly, I again found myself unable to do so, being on Vacation with the GF and all. We went to see the Bodies exhibition at the Tropicana. Nothing says Valentine's Day like perusing an actual human heart (and other various organs) with the one you love. Or whatever. What can I say? I tend to stray towards the offbeat, rather than the traditional. Sadly, I was unable to figure out a way to break into the big plastic case wherefore folks discarded their cigarettes after seeing the diseased lung display. Fucking lightweights.


    Is it worse to listen to a squalling brat (flight to L.V.), crying and making with the ''are we there yet?'' or 3 cackling idiots (flight back) with loud, nasal voices? I truly hope this remains a rhetorical for y'all.


    The chick on the Brand Power commercials has her a nice ample rack. Her hairstyle, however, not so much.


    Whatever happened to Kaitlyn Ashley? Always loved her work. Especially her enthusiastic blowjobs. Again, what can I say? I'm a film buff. Love me some of the classic starlets. Fucking sue me.


    Not terribly impressed with the fact that Bionic Woman is being cancelled. Hell, the ORIGINAL should've never been cancelled. Why can't they cancel, like, Survivor or Deal Or No Deal or something else that sucks dead dogs instead?


    Travelling with the GF resulted in no casualties. AND, should she ever get around to e-mailing it, there's a picture of your humble narrator soon(ish) to be posted on My Humble Photoblog. Watch for it. Or not. Whatever.

    Nope, didn't get divorced this trip. Let alone married again. Sorry.


    I totally back Amy Winehouse. And you should, too.

    Because I know where each of you lives. God (or whoever) bless Map Quest.


    Our room at the Tropicana: mirrors, mirrors, everyfuckingwhere mirrors. AND an in-room safe. Good Times. Oh yeah, the buffet sucked, selection-wise. It was, however, edible.


    Much love to fine Tanya from Toronto, in L.V. for some sort of fashion convention, who made my V-Day damn near tolerable. Simply by turning an innocuous 5 minute encounter (she needed a light) into both validation and inspiration for this simple country boy. Validation because she opened ME and, when she asked what I did for a living (as HB's kinda tend to do), I ignored the male instinct to blather on about my 'career' and used my book learning to go for mystery by saying ''just a job.'' Yes, she mentioned her husband. Yes, she saw me with the GF. Yes, she made with the Indicators Of Interest. Yes, we flirted casually. Because I didn't overthink things. Inspiration because I know that if I continue on my path, I can only get better. And better womenfolks, too. I only need me some more free time to devote to both field and homework.

    She imposed the time constraint, having only 30 minutes until her flight (I had 3.5 hours, before our flight was delayed for an hour). I, on the other paw, completely forgot it was V-Day.


    Here's hoping that Florida Panthers' Forward Richard Zednik has him a rapid and full recovery from having his carotid artery slashed with a teammate's skate Sunday night.


    Finally visited the Hooters Casino. Pulled out some profit there, too. Enjoyed the breakfast buffet at Dan Marino's. Elena, our waitress, was shapely and fine. Bet she does well working drunken frat boys for tips. Hope so, because her service was weak. And her perky little rack kinda made me a little (Song of the Day: SWV-) Weak, too.


    Who else wants to see Jason Kidd return to Dallas? Especially now that that whole ugly episode involving Jimmy Jackson, Jamal Mashburn, shot distribution and Toni Braxton is a thing of the past.


    Still love me some Target. Luckily, the GF did, too. We did us lots of shopping this past week. AND, as an added bonus, she didn't turn into restaurant-whore along the way. My baby even bought me a hip flask for V-Day. And snacks for the plane.

    And she was a damn good sport about the fact that I sweated through the sheets every night of our stay. And again last night, my first night in my own bed. I'm starting to think that something (other than the obvious, naturellement) is seriously wrong with me.


    I've a sneaking suspicion that, if given a choice between watching paint dry and catching (recent Grammy winner) Love at the Mirage, I'd be scoping (and, possibly sniffing) said paint. Likely eggshell. Or taupe.


    Also made my first visit to the Palazzo. Nice. No luck at the slots.


    And Margaritaville. Had the Licence to Chill, kinda like a Blue Monday, but with tequila. No luck with the sluts. Next time, I'll try me the Conch fritters. Sadly, didn't get to hear Jimmy Buffett's title track once during our visit. Always loved that song. His books are worth the read, too.


    Loved me some IHOP again. Especially being there on the day they were doling out free pancakes.


    Finally found that Shawn Marion UNLV jersey I've been seeking. Sadly, I should've checked the UNLV website, not just Ticketmaster, as it turns out the Rebels were in town this past week. Against Air Force, but still. As we discovered about 20 minutes before the game, during rest and relaxation time. Which might be why the GF said she would've been on board, had we known earlier.


    Lois & Clark totally kicks Smallville's ass. However, Kristin Kreuk's kinda fly.


    Nope, can't wait to go back to my home away from home. Yep, totally accepting applications to be my sidekick on my next trip. I'm off to watch last night's NBA Rookie/Sophomore game on tape. Namaste.