I am back. After the last posting, I am thinking that you do not want me back. Of course, that is too bad for you. This is my fucking site, so I will keep coming back. I am not sure if y'all will (did not know that I was from the Southern US, did you?). Be that as it may, I am back.
I was on the road again today. I noticed a sign in one of the upper floors of a building that houses the Starbucks at Wilson and Bathurst (the Starbucks used to be a Royal Bank branch, by the way. This is a bit of a history lesson for those who care). The sign said "RMT" blah blah blah "Chinese Herbal Medicine" "Chinese Accupuncture" "Chinese Opthamology" "Chinese Gynecology".
Okay, not to go off on a racist rant but.....Chinese Gynecology???????? What the nether regions of Chinese women is different from that of the rest of the female world? Is it some strange genetics? The wrath of Khan (Genghis)??? I was just struck by that at 8:15 this morning. Then again, to be struck by some Chinese hootchie would not necessarily be a bad thing, especially in a fucking Impala at 8:15 am. I just do not understand, or maybe I do.
The place is above a restaurant (Szechuan) I used to frequent. Of course, I have not gone since last November and Eddie has since closed the restaurant (I had known him since 1988 and been at his place since he opened in 1989 or 90) and moved to Hong Kong (or so I am told). I did enjoy our last meal there, though. It is now a Turkish or middle Eastern restaurant. So I am wondering if Eddie had a more lucrative side business with Chinese gynecology. What the fuck is Chinese Gynecology???
Does this place only adjust slanty slits? (I have to be as graphic as possible. To be real, I would not use that term to the best of your knowledge. I do recall a young Jordan refer to his then girlfriend as his slit, to us, not to her, at least not that I know of. It seemed a rather crude term to use, but then again, it was approrpriate for the age). I am vexed by this now.
The Chinese Opthamology, I can understand. If you have ever been on the road here in Toronto with Chinese drivers, you will know what I am talking about here. It is rarely pretty and I am not saying all are bad drivers, but it seems that a whole lot are. That is not to say there are not poor Caucasian drivers (my father in law was but one). That one I can comprehend.
I cannot figure out this Chinese Gynecology thing though. If you do this Chinese Gynecology thing, do have to do it again in an hour? Is it like eating Chinese? I always enjoy that. Please help me shed light on this malady or need for Chinese Gynecology. Drop me a line.
I am done for today, anyway. Ciao!
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Not much going on here
I am back. I wish I had something to rant and rave about. I could rave about "Neon Bible", the new album (are they still called that?) from The Arcade Fire. It is fucking excellent. Then again, you need to have my taste in music to enjoy it (not really) so I am not so sure how great an endorsement, I am.
That is all for me right now. I hope to have something to say eventually. I do have family shit to look forward to (is it really looking "forward" to?) as there are holidays afoot. That means time with the extended Outlaw family. I am looking forward to withdrawing from the banal conversation. I am looking forward to seeing the Wife's aunts, just not listening to them as they monopolize the sound in the room. I am looking forward to watching that vexed look on my father in law's face as he tries to comprehend how the bowl of ice is now a bowl of water after he put the ice out, in Hades central, at 6 in the morning. I will report all that to you later.
Ciao!
That is all for me right now. I hope to have something to say eventually. I do have family shit to look forward to (is it really looking "forward" to?) as there are holidays afoot. That means time with the extended Outlaw family. I am looking forward to withdrawing from the banal conversation. I am looking forward to seeing the Wife's aunts, just not listening to them as they monopolize the sound in the room. I am looking forward to watching that vexed look on my father in law's face as he tries to comprehend how the bowl of ice is now a bowl of water after he put the ice out, in Hades central, at 6 in the morning. I will report all that to you later.
Ciao!
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Odds and Sods and Ends
I am back. It is an odd Sunday post, but I had the time and the inclination. The weekend has been uneventful. I saw something today that made me think. It was the news highlight, "Biologists seek ivory-billed woodpecker in Texas". It got me thinking.
That would make a GREAT name for a dildo. "Ivory-billed Wood Pecker", kind of rolls off the tongue, doesn't it? That is another winner of an idea for me. I am constantly bombarded by these things. I must have ADD.
Going to run. Ciao!
That would make a GREAT name for a dildo. "Ivory-billed Wood Pecker", kind of rolls off the tongue, doesn't it? That is another winner of an idea for me. I am constantly bombarded by these things. I must have ADD.
Going to run. Ciao!
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Indulge my memory, please
I am back. I have a memory to share with you all. Then again, in my solopsistic little mind, none of you exist but for me. I have created you to share my memories with you. Then, I must ask are the memories "real"? That is the existential question I leave you all with today. Then again, if I am the only one that exists (solopsism in action), then you cannot begin to answer an existential question, since you do not actually exist.
Enough circularity! On with the show! I am recalling another Thursday March 22. It was 1990. I went to see The Grateful Dead at Copps Coliseum in Hamilton. It was a great little freak show. I went with Wife, who was then the Girlfriend. I was articling at the time and she "urged" me take the Friday off. One of the lawyers, who I was doing some work for (condominium purchases) got wind of why I was taking the day off and was none too pleased. Then again, he wore the same tie for over thirty days (I kept track of that on a whiteboard). He was a weired guy. He had articled with one of the partners, yet he was still an associate at the firm. He could not seem to get his secretaries a computer either. What was up with that?
Anyway, I was told that we were going to stay overnight. Like I wanted to stay in fucking Hamilton or Burlington! What was the point of that? Sex, I guess, so that was okay. The show was good but it was rainy and dirty out in Hamilton. It always is. I think that every time I have gone to Hamilton since 1989, it has rained there. Given how that rathole looks, the rain and grey makes it look much nicer.
At the concert, the freaks were in full force. The best were the young lovelies dancing around. There was one, sitting behind the Wife, who had been dancing barefoot. She put her blackened tootsies up on the back of the seat. I thought the Wife was going to puke. It was a funny scene, er scent.
We did make it to the lovely Admiral Inn in time for me to catch the end of the UConn game. It was the second week of the NCAA tournament (like it is right now). That was fun and then there was fucking to be done. We got up the next morning, had breakfast and then I had a free day. What a novel concept back then.
That is my memory, I hope you enjoyed it. Cia0!
Enough circularity! On with the show! I am recalling another Thursday March 22. It was 1990. I went to see The Grateful Dead at Copps Coliseum in Hamilton. It was a great little freak show. I went with Wife, who was then the Girlfriend. I was articling at the time and she "urged" me take the Friday off. One of the lawyers, who I was doing some work for (condominium purchases) got wind of why I was taking the day off and was none too pleased. Then again, he wore the same tie for over thirty days (I kept track of that on a whiteboard). He was a weired guy. He had articled with one of the partners, yet he was still an associate at the firm. He could not seem to get his secretaries a computer either. What was up with that?
Anyway, I was told that we were going to stay overnight. Like I wanted to stay in fucking Hamilton or Burlington! What was the point of that? Sex, I guess, so that was okay. The show was good but it was rainy and dirty out in Hamilton. It always is. I think that every time I have gone to Hamilton since 1989, it has rained there. Given how that rathole looks, the rain and grey makes it look much nicer.
At the concert, the freaks were in full force. The best were the young lovelies dancing around. There was one, sitting behind the Wife, who had been dancing barefoot. She put her blackened tootsies up on the back of the seat. I thought the Wife was going to puke. It was a funny scene, er scent.
We did make it to the lovely Admiral Inn in time for me to catch the end of the UConn game. It was the second week of the NCAA tournament (like it is right now). That was fun and then there was fucking to be done. We got up the next morning, had breakfast and then I had a free day. What a novel concept back then.
That is my memory, I hope you enjoyed it. Cia0!
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
A Story of Gout
I am back. We did not do dinner with the Outlaws on Friday. My father in law has a touch of gout. He gets it often enough, but the meds knock the shit out of him. Now, for those who do not know about gout, it is a disease where uric acid crystallizes in the blood causing great pain, usually in the big toe.
Diet is the best way to control gout. Red meat, cured (deli) meats and organ meats are notorious for bringing on attacks of gout. Now, here is the fun part of the story. The man is susceptible to gout. He and my mother in law go out for dinner and she tells him to order chicken. He, in his inability to recall the past, orders the liver. Can you connect the dots? He cannot.
The best part is that as the Wife questions her mother, my mother in law claims she does not "control what he eats". The funny thing is that who does the shopping? Who prepares the/his meals? It is not him. It is her and she is definitely in control. Yet, she neither accepts control nor takes the responsibility that goes with it. Therefore, we have a man with diminished (read, NO) capacity to understand the cause and effect relationship that exists being left to his own desires. We have a woman, who is supposed to be in control, for two now, shirking the responsibility as if the outcome is inevitable. I just do not get it. Then again, I probably would have suffocated him with a pillow in his sleep by now.
That is me. I guess I could do to him what I did to the mouse. I wonder how he would react to being hit with the broom, then brick?
Anyway, they did not come over on Friday for that reason. I shake my head, until it happens again. The Outlaws, the Wife, too, just do not seem to get it. If you want something, you have to ACT not hope, use telepathy and hope that somebody provides it, as they want it. Great lessons for the Lad to learn and great behavior for him to model. They would all be great in a doomsday cult, because when the prophesy does not come to pass, they would still believe.
I have one word for it...INSANITY. With my father in law, it is understood, with the others, it is just fucking sad. Ciao!
Diet is the best way to control gout. Red meat, cured (deli) meats and organ meats are notorious for bringing on attacks of gout. Now, here is the fun part of the story. The man is susceptible to gout. He and my mother in law go out for dinner and she tells him to order chicken. He, in his inability to recall the past, orders the liver. Can you connect the dots? He cannot.
The best part is that as the Wife questions her mother, my mother in law claims she does not "control what he eats". The funny thing is that who does the shopping? Who prepares the/his meals? It is not him. It is her and she is definitely in control. Yet, she neither accepts control nor takes the responsibility that goes with it. Therefore, we have a man with diminished (read, NO) capacity to understand the cause and effect relationship that exists being left to his own desires. We have a woman, who is supposed to be in control, for two now, shirking the responsibility as if the outcome is inevitable. I just do not get it. Then again, I probably would have suffocated him with a pillow in his sleep by now.
That is me. I guess I could do to him what I did to the mouse. I wonder how he would react to being hit with the broom, then brick?
Anyway, they did not come over on Friday for that reason. I shake my head, until it happens again. The Outlaws, the Wife, too, just do not seem to get it. If you want something, you have to ACT not hope, use telepathy and hope that somebody provides it, as they want it. Great lessons for the Lad to learn and great behavior for him to model. They would all be great in a doomsday cult, because when the prophesy does not come to pass, they would still believe.
I have one word for it...INSANITY. With my father in law, it is understood, with the others, it is just fucking sad. Ciao!
Monday, March 19, 2007
First rats, then hamsters and now we can add a mouse to my list of rodents killed by me
I am back. Please note this posting is not for the squeamish or those who value animal life over human life (tree hugging, animal loving, vegan moral morons). I do have tales of the Outlaws to tell (don't I always) though this one will be different. I have a better tale to tell today though (my world without commas). I take the Lad skating yesterday. It is the final public skate at the "local" indoor rink, though it is not so local and a rather convoluted drive to get there and back. Anyway, it had been too long since I was last on skates and even longer since I had my fucking skates sharpened. It was a good time had by the both of us. (Willie, I did run into your brother and his boys, which was funny. He had bought new skates so we both knew there was going to be pain. This was confirmed but he was carrying an additional 40 pounds as he was carrying the younger of his two boys. That could not have lessened the pain any).
We get home at about three. The Wife is at the door and in tears. I am thinking that something is wrong with one of the Outlaws. I get closer and she tells me she saw a mouse while she was on the computer upstairs. Now, I am thinking she is talking about the computer mouse. (haha) The Lad hears this, goes into hysterics and tries to get back into the locked car (like I would let that happen). Okay, now I have to go rodent hunting, since I am not sure if she is talking mouse or rat (either way, I am non too pleased). She tells me she saw it run into her closet, in the home office and then she ran to get the broom.
I start taking all the boot and shoe boxes out of the bottom of the closet but see nothing. It is not there. I then get to the old change table, whereupon I see a small, tailed brown thing scoot out of the room and under the door to the Lad's room. Now, the fun begins. I sit guard at the door and the Wife and Lad go to get some mouse traps. Nothing happens while they are gone. I clean up the bottom of a bookcase in the room and lay the traps. I figure that the fucker may come out while we are at my mother's for dinner. As it gets closer to five, I have a rethink. I do not want to come home to a dead mouse, worse yet, what if the traps have not been sprung?
The Wife gets smart and blocks the bottom of the door, so the thing cannot get out as it got in. I go to move the bed. I can find nothing under the bed and scratch my head. I had pulled the bed from the exterior wall, moved some of the crap under the bed and shined a flashlight but saw nothing. I am willing to let it get hungry, but try something new.
I go, with broom in hand, to move the bed away from the wall that separates the Lad's bedroom from ours. No sooner do I push the bed then I see something try to dart and dart over my foot. It was my friend, the mouse. He, or she, I did not try to determine the sex, tried to get under the door but was blocked. The, the thing tried to run along side the edge of the book case. Dumb creature, set off the trap and got its forepaws caught. It starts to squeak/squeal, presumably in pain. I then crack it with the broom a few times. It is hard to say. The Fog of War set in and I am screaming "Die! You Fuck!". I actually see wood from the trap cracking away and the little fucker was twitching.
It stopped but I was not sure if it were stunned or dead. Apparently, in my bed, the Lad was muttering "Kill the Fucker!" in earshot of the Wife. I was now unsure of how to get the thing out. I did not want to touch it for fear it was playing possum and was waiting for an opportunity to bite me. I then scooped it up with the dust pan and put it in a plastic bag, trap and all. I was going to drown it to makes sure it was dead. The Wife, pragmatic (of course, her buddhist leanings were not being compromised by killing a creature, so she had the luxury of these things) said to hit it with a brick. Why dirty up something else was her thought. She was cold, of course, it is easy to be when somebody else is doing the dirty work. Anyway, I dropped a brick on it a few times and then rained blow upon blow upon it. It was squished, so I figure it was dead.
Do dead rodents go into the garbage or the green bin? That is something that is not addressed in those city pamphlets. I figure it is bio-degradable so should go in with the compostable crap. That is how I see things.
So, February is dead hamster month and March, dead mouse. Last year, it was March as dead rat month. Kill the rodents! That is my motto and how I, apparently, live my life. I am not sure if that is good for my karma, but what do I know?
Enjoy the evening and ciao!
We get home at about three. The Wife is at the door and in tears. I am thinking that something is wrong with one of the Outlaws. I get closer and she tells me she saw a mouse while she was on the computer upstairs. Now, I am thinking she is talking about the computer mouse. (haha) The Lad hears this, goes into hysterics and tries to get back into the locked car (like I would let that happen). Okay, now I have to go rodent hunting, since I am not sure if she is talking mouse or rat (either way, I am non too pleased). She tells me she saw it run into her closet, in the home office and then she ran to get the broom.
I start taking all the boot and shoe boxes out of the bottom of the closet but see nothing. It is not there. I then get to the old change table, whereupon I see a small, tailed brown thing scoot out of the room and under the door to the Lad's room. Now, the fun begins. I sit guard at the door and the Wife and Lad go to get some mouse traps. Nothing happens while they are gone. I clean up the bottom of a bookcase in the room and lay the traps. I figure that the fucker may come out while we are at my mother's for dinner. As it gets closer to five, I have a rethink. I do not want to come home to a dead mouse, worse yet, what if the traps have not been sprung?
The Wife gets smart and blocks the bottom of the door, so the thing cannot get out as it got in. I go to move the bed. I can find nothing under the bed and scratch my head. I had pulled the bed from the exterior wall, moved some of the crap under the bed and shined a flashlight but saw nothing. I am willing to let it get hungry, but try something new.
I go, with broom in hand, to move the bed away from the wall that separates the Lad's bedroom from ours. No sooner do I push the bed then I see something try to dart and dart over my foot. It was my friend, the mouse. He, or she, I did not try to determine the sex, tried to get under the door but was blocked. The, the thing tried to run along side the edge of the book case. Dumb creature, set off the trap and got its forepaws caught. It starts to squeak/squeal, presumably in pain. I then crack it with the broom a few times. It is hard to say. The Fog of War set in and I am screaming "Die! You Fuck!". I actually see wood from the trap cracking away and the little fucker was twitching.
It stopped but I was not sure if it were stunned or dead. Apparently, in my bed, the Lad was muttering "Kill the Fucker!" in earshot of the Wife. I was now unsure of how to get the thing out. I did not want to touch it for fear it was playing possum and was waiting for an opportunity to bite me. I then scooped it up with the dust pan and put it in a plastic bag, trap and all. I was going to drown it to makes sure it was dead. The Wife, pragmatic (of course, her buddhist leanings were not being compromised by killing a creature, so she had the luxury of these things) said to hit it with a brick. Why dirty up something else was her thought. She was cold, of course, it is easy to be when somebody else is doing the dirty work. Anyway, I dropped a brick on it a few times and then rained blow upon blow upon it. It was squished, so I figure it was dead.
Do dead rodents go into the garbage or the green bin? That is something that is not addressed in those city pamphlets. I figure it is bio-degradable so should go in with the compostable crap. That is how I see things.
So, February is dead hamster month and March, dead mouse. Last year, it was March as dead rat month. Kill the rodents! That is my motto and how I, apparently, live my life. I am not sure if that is good for my karma, but what do I know?
Enjoy the evening and ciao!
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Dancing With The Stars? That title's a stretch.
I am back. I was struck by something, and no it was not Heather Mills's prosthetic leg as she "dances with the stars". Speaking of which, I was struck by the notion of her leg falling off while dancing. Apparently, there are bets being made and odds laid as to whether that will occur. Again, I am not sure she has a leg to stand on in that competition.
Now, given the name of the series, and I do not watch it, "Dancing with the Stars", how the fuck does Heather Mills fit in? What has she starred in? I have heard some people are born great and others have greatness thrust upon them. I have never heard of anybody who has greatness thrust IN them. What the fuck did she ever do, other than take some of Sir Paul's spunk train. I do not know if he regularly shot in her (it seems like it would have happened at least once, they do have a daughter) or on her, or on himself for all I know.
I still do not know what makes her a "star". They are really scraping the barrel of stardom when she qualifies. Fuck, why not have Charo? At least she could do her fucking coochie, coochie bullshit. Besides, she has those big ass lips to protect her like an airbag should she fall.
That is all for today. Just wanted to check in.
Now, given the name of the series, and I do not watch it, "Dancing with the Stars", how the fuck does Heather Mills fit in? What has she starred in? I have heard some people are born great and others have greatness thrust upon them. I have never heard of anybody who has greatness thrust IN them. What the fuck did she ever do, other than take some of Sir Paul's spunk train. I do not know if he regularly shot in her (it seems like it would have happened at least once, they do have a daughter) or on her, or on himself for all I know.
I still do not know what makes her a "star". They are really scraping the barrel of stardom when she qualifies. Fuck, why not have Charo? At least she could do her fucking coochie, coochie bullshit. Besides, she has those big ass lips to protect her like an airbag should she fall.
That is all for today. Just wanted to check in.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Bad Food, boring conversation
I am back. Again, trouble on Friday made it impossible to post. Nothing major, mind you, but more of life's little annoyances. Then again, without them, I would be dead. Not sure if that is a good thing or bad thing, but I am sticking with the devil that I know. That is life. For all I know, death is one big party in paradise. The cost of testing that one is too high. It is kind of like being on "Deal Or No Deal", with one case left and $0.01 and $1,000,000 still on the board. It is an "all or nothing" type of scenario.
Can you see me betting on the death in paradise scenario and being wrong? Where would I be then? Dead, for one. Unable to post, for two. Then where would you be? Not having the pleasure of reading my rants and covering the boring minutae of my existence. How sad for all of you then.
I survived another meal at the Outlaws on Friday. Survived the mind numbing talk that passes for conversation. Survived the cooking of my mother in law that is passed off as food. It may be food, but it sure is not edible (by man nor beast, though my father in law and brother in law seem to enjoy it so what does that say). I think it says, good for those who do not know any better or for those with a scorching dose of the crazies and those genetically predisposed to those same crazies. I did enjoy some after dinner basketball with the lad.
I had to avenge my loss to him, four weeks earlier, at HORSE. The saddest part is that for the earlier game, where he beat me, he had banged his knee earlier. He was limping around that game, shooting with one good leg, and the little fucker beat me. It was embarrassing. At least, nobody was around to see and the Lad did not rub salt in that wound. Anyway, I beat him in three games of HORSE. Then, the running around must have jiggled the shit that was passed off as food in my gut and I was done.
She made these beef ribs. I know they are easy for her to make. It is right up her alley. Cook the shit out of food, no matter what it is. Beef, veal, chicken, vegetables, pasta all done the same. Mushy and without a hint of flavor. It all tastes like cardboard and has the mouth feel of mashed potatoes. Sadly, her mashed potatoes SUCK! They are dry and lumpy. Obviously, there is no salt, pepper, butter or milk in those potatoes. What the fuck is wrong with that woman? Who has allowed to cook that crap and not tell her it worse than Soylent Green (I am assuming that eventhough Soylent Green was made from people, it had some flavor). How come nobody has been kind enough to give her some feedback.
The best part is this same shit occurs week after week (and my father in law has the crazies????). She still says to the Wife that "I made your favorite." If she had opened her eyes and actually observed what the Wife, her daughter, actually ate perhaps she would have some clue. But no, not these folks, observation and analysis may arouse them from their delusional reality. That is one where there are no negative consequences and everything goes the way you HOPE. Notice, there is no action to bring about what you want, just hope (followed closely by disappointment when the hope, left unstated, is not met. This, of course, is followed by blaming the dashed expectations on others, though they were NEVER made aware of the expectation). It is a grand game of read my mind when it is convenient for me, but do not analyze me.
That is my life in a nut shell. I am expected to read minds, but not point out the futility of that course of inaction. I am not supposed to provide the wisdom of what I observe because that means somebody might have to change the way they think and accept that it does not work. Which means somebody else is going to have to work or put forth some effort to get what he or she claims to want.
All I want is a fucking good meal. It does not have to be big, but I know and accept that I will not be getting it there on a Friday, unless they have ordered in. In that case, it is only Pickle Barrel. They are some of the most unimaginative people you will find. Then again, she does not flavor her fucking food, so how can I expect her to try something new, let alone the man with the crazies?
He was vexed by a screw that he saw holding up the shelf on the wall unit in their den on Friday. He is sitting beside the fucking thing and the black (against the white unit) catches his hey. He says, "What the hell is that?" but does not get off his ass to investigate (not that he ever would, but it reminds me of the Wife in that she will "hear" something but sends me to investigate, what the fuck is up with that?). The Wife takes a look, tells him it is a screw and that seems to placate him. Until the next time he is sitting there and glances over, in which case that scene will repeat itself.
Ahhhhhh!!!!!! My life in reruns. Ciao!
Can you see me betting on the death in paradise scenario and being wrong? Where would I be then? Dead, for one. Unable to post, for two. Then where would you be? Not having the pleasure of reading my rants and covering the boring minutae of my existence. How sad for all of you then.
I survived another meal at the Outlaws on Friday. Survived the mind numbing talk that passes for conversation. Survived the cooking of my mother in law that is passed off as food. It may be food, but it sure is not edible (by man nor beast, though my father in law and brother in law seem to enjoy it so what does that say). I think it says, good for those who do not know any better or for those with a scorching dose of the crazies and those genetically predisposed to those same crazies. I did enjoy some after dinner basketball with the lad.
I had to avenge my loss to him, four weeks earlier, at HORSE. The saddest part is that for the earlier game, where he beat me, he had banged his knee earlier. He was limping around that game, shooting with one good leg, and the little fucker beat me. It was embarrassing. At least, nobody was around to see and the Lad did not rub salt in that wound. Anyway, I beat him in three games of HORSE. Then, the running around must have jiggled the shit that was passed off as food in my gut and I was done.
She made these beef ribs. I know they are easy for her to make. It is right up her alley. Cook the shit out of food, no matter what it is. Beef, veal, chicken, vegetables, pasta all done the same. Mushy and without a hint of flavor. It all tastes like cardboard and has the mouth feel of mashed potatoes. Sadly, her mashed potatoes SUCK! They are dry and lumpy. Obviously, there is no salt, pepper, butter or milk in those potatoes. What the fuck is wrong with that woman? Who has allowed to cook that crap and not tell her it worse than Soylent Green (I am assuming that eventhough Soylent Green was made from people, it had some flavor). How come nobody has been kind enough to give her some feedback.
The best part is this same shit occurs week after week (and my father in law has the crazies????). She still says to the Wife that "I made your favorite." If she had opened her eyes and actually observed what the Wife, her daughter, actually ate perhaps she would have some clue. But no, not these folks, observation and analysis may arouse them from their delusional reality. That is one where there are no negative consequences and everything goes the way you HOPE. Notice, there is no action to bring about what you want, just hope (followed closely by disappointment when the hope, left unstated, is not met. This, of course, is followed by blaming the dashed expectations on others, though they were NEVER made aware of the expectation). It is a grand game of read my mind when it is convenient for me, but do not analyze me.
That is my life in a nut shell. I am expected to read minds, but not point out the futility of that course of inaction. I am not supposed to provide the wisdom of what I observe because that means somebody might have to change the way they think and accept that it does not work. Which means somebody else is going to have to work or put forth some effort to get what he or she claims to want.
All I want is a fucking good meal. It does not have to be big, but I know and accept that I will not be getting it there on a Friday, unless they have ordered in. In that case, it is only Pickle Barrel. They are some of the most unimaginative people you will find. Then again, she does not flavor her fucking food, so how can I expect her to try something new, let alone the man with the crazies?
He was vexed by a screw that he saw holding up the shelf on the wall unit in their den on Friday. He is sitting beside the fucking thing and the black (against the white unit) catches his hey. He says, "What the hell is that?" but does not get off his ass to investigate (not that he ever would, but it reminds me of the Wife in that she will "hear" something but sends me to investigate, what the fuck is up with that?). The Wife takes a look, tells him it is a screw and that seems to placate him. Until the next time he is sitting there and glances over, in which case that scene will repeat itself.
Ahhhhhh!!!!!! My life in reruns. Ciao!
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Gizzards and my past keeps coming back
I am back. It may be short and sweet. It is part of my last weekend. I think I did not mention that I went to Mayfair a couple of Sundays ago. I had a couple of hours to kill, so I went. It was a good workout. Anyway, by about one thirty I was finished my cardio and heading upstairs when who should I see, er smell? That is right, Stinky Guy. Timing is indeed everything in this life.
Anyway, I am back at Mayfair on Saturday when who should I see next to me...Gizzard. It is like a blast from the past. I keep seeing and hearing about people that I have not seen or heard from in years. Gizzard is one of those. He is a dude that has the face of a Muppet. He has that thick eyebrow (I am not sure if it is two or a unibrow) with a hook to his nose. He looks like a cross between Bert and Gonzo, it always struck me. I knew, cannot say I ever said a word to him, the guy in law school. When a couple of friends were getting shit for "copying", which was really working together on their Legal Research and Writing assignments (because they antagonized the instructor), Gizzard sat as a student rep on the disciplinary panel. He told my friends that there was nothing to worry about and then lo and behold they both got their wrists slapped. The two girls, whose work was even "closer" got off free and clear (they had hired a lawyer to argure their case)(There is the lesson for you, hire a lawyer or you get screwed). After that my friend, called him Gizzard and it stuck in our circle.
The best part was going to my mother's house one day only to find Gizzard mowing the lawn next door. He was living next to my mother with his Gizzard wife and Gizzard children. He has since moved and I had not seen him. Then all of a sudden, there he is beside me. Instead of me muttering about the smell (Stinky Guy), I am muttering "Gizzard" and laughing.
The other hauntings are courtesy of the Wife. Apparently, her friend who is divorced has the hots for a dude who went to her high school, though he is older, but he is freshly divorced and it was none too pleasant. It was Woody. I liked the dude but I had not seen him in at least ten years. He used to play basketball with me and I went to university with him. Then she mentions another marital split. I knew the guy but I had dated the girl. I was shocked.
That relationship did not end well. It was my fault, at some level. I should never have gotten involved with her. I just did not care for her but I was horny and she was there. I did however break up with her on her birthday. Happy 20th birthday and I do not think we should see each other anymore. It was just a shitty holiday Sunday for me, then I transferred that to her. I have not seen her in close to 20 years.
Ahhhhh, let the hauntings of the past continue. Does it mean something? I am thinking that someting cool and great this way comes. Got to view it as a positive is my motto.
Ciao! and Gizzard!
Anyway, I am back at Mayfair on Saturday when who should I see next to me...Gizzard. It is like a blast from the past. I keep seeing and hearing about people that I have not seen or heard from in years. Gizzard is one of those. He is a dude that has the face of a Muppet. He has that thick eyebrow (I am not sure if it is two or a unibrow) with a hook to his nose. He looks like a cross between Bert and Gonzo, it always struck me. I knew, cannot say I ever said a word to him, the guy in law school. When a couple of friends were getting shit for "copying", which was really working together on their Legal Research and Writing assignments (because they antagonized the instructor), Gizzard sat as a student rep on the disciplinary panel. He told my friends that there was nothing to worry about and then lo and behold they both got their wrists slapped. The two girls, whose work was even "closer" got off free and clear (they had hired a lawyer to argure their case)(There is the lesson for you, hire a lawyer or you get screwed). After that my friend, called him Gizzard and it stuck in our circle.
The best part was going to my mother's house one day only to find Gizzard mowing the lawn next door. He was living next to my mother with his Gizzard wife and Gizzard children. He has since moved and I had not seen him. Then all of a sudden, there he is beside me. Instead of me muttering about the smell (Stinky Guy), I am muttering "Gizzard" and laughing.
The other hauntings are courtesy of the Wife. Apparently, her friend who is divorced has the hots for a dude who went to her high school, though he is older, but he is freshly divorced and it was none too pleasant. It was Woody. I liked the dude but I had not seen him in at least ten years. He used to play basketball with me and I went to university with him. Then she mentions another marital split. I knew the guy but I had dated the girl. I was shocked.
That relationship did not end well. It was my fault, at some level. I should never have gotten involved with her. I just did not care for her but I was horny and she was there. I did however break up with her on her birthday. Happy 20th birthday and I do not think we should see each other anymore. It was just a shitty holiday Sunday for me, then I transferred that to her. I have not seen her in close to 20 years.
Ahhhhh, let the hauntings of the past continue. Does it mean something? I am thinking that someting cool and great this way comes. Got to view it as a positive is my motto.
Ciao! and Gizzard!
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
A lesson in history or when in doubt invade Liechtenstein
I am back. I will be brief. I did not get a chance to post on Friday as I mentioned and as is obvious. That damn winter weather. We are back into a short trip to the "deep freeze". I love the sound a car makes when you turn it over on a cold morning (I mean real cold, like Winnipeg or Portage La Prairie cold, which at -22 Celsius this morning it is), the engine kind of sounds like it is groaning (or at least deciding whether or not to start). The car started no problem, but the Wife asked how it was outside (she would soon find out for herself). The only response, other than motherfucking cold, was crispy. I could hear and feel the ice crunch beneath my feet. That is the deep cold for you, crispy. Everything is crispy. It is on its way to what happens when you dip a rose in liquid nitrogen....the petals just shatter and crumble to the touch.
That was not what I thought was funny. Apparently, last week, the Swiss were running some war games (with their Swiss Army knives no doubt) and accidentally "invaded" Liechtenstein. So it seems that if you are in Switzerland and politically you have to blame another nation or principality then the proper thing to do is blame Liechtenstein. Live and learn. Besides, though Switezerland is officially neutral, they have set up fortifications in the mountains that cover all the mountain passes, so that if anybody invades, they will be cut down. You never wondered why the Germans never invaded Switzerland during Hitler's reign. That is why. To have done so, would have been to court a massacre of your own troops. The men would sacrifice their women and children to save the country. A little history for you.
Ciao!
That was not what I thought was funny. Apparently, last week, the Swiss were running some war games (with their Swiss Army knives no doubt) and accidentally "invaded" Liechtenstein. So it seems that if you are in Switzerland and politically you have to blame another nation or principality then the proper thing to do is blame Liechtenstein. Live and learn. Besides, though Switezerland is officially neutral, they have set up fortifications in the mountains that cover all the mountain passes, so that if anybody invades, they will be cut down. You never wondered why the Germans never invaded Switzerland during Hitler's reign. That is why. To have done so, would have been to court a massacre of your own troops. The men would sacrifice their women and children to save the country. A little history for you.
Ciao!
Monday, March 05, 2007
I have returned with more to come
I am back. I apologize for the lack of posting, again. I had some things to say, and I will get to them during the week, but we had a beautiful snow, sleet, ice, freezing rain, rainstorm here over the course of Thursday and Friday. Of course, that left us without power, and subsequently heat, from 3 am Friday morning (I woke to see a flash of light, no street light shining in our bedroom window and then darkness without a clock) until about 10:20 pm Friday night. I was up around seven and tried to call Hydro to see where they stood but the phone was out. I did not put two and two together.
Anyway, I decided to go out on Friday morning. Good thing. I got in the beast and found the Oil Pressure Low light on. I immediately went for an oil change and was told that I was leaking oil from the oil filter. That got fixed and I wondered how long that problem was occurring. I did call the Wife to find out that there was oil all over the driveway. She had gone out Thursday night (it took me close to two hours that night to get from from a twenty five minute drive normally) in the "Beast", so putting two and two together, she must have scraped the undercarriage of the "Beast" on a snowy speedbump on her way home. Oh well, that got cleared up.
It was when we had power restored (we heard the Hydro dudes scream "Woo Hoo!" just before the lights went back on) that I realized that the phone line was out. We had no phone, and Internet, until about 4:30 pm yesterday. It all works again.
I had things to say but I figure I am going to give a Happy Birthday shout out to my aunt, Rhoda, whose birthday is today. She is now the matriarch of our family, though she did not want the title (she got it when my other aunt, her sister, died last year).
I wanted to go back in time. I wanted to go back 23 years to 1984. The date was March 1st and it was a Thursday. I had a psychology midterm on the 2nd (Friday) and had just written a biology midterm on the Wednesday. I only had one class, biology at 9 am on Thursday, and knew I had time to study. I ended up going to the library at York University with a friend. I could have gone home but the cleaning lady was there. At the time, I would joke about going home early on the Thursday so that I could diddle the cleaning lady. The joke was if you had seen our cleaning lady at the time it would have scared you (I know she scared me). She was not the most attractive of women (she was well down the list, near Hatchet Face from John Waters's "Cry Baby". In fact, I have seen prettier crossdressers.) I was also afraid that I could only diddle her using those Playtex rubber gloves, I had a fear I would never get that scent off of my fingers and hands. So, given the possible disturbances of the vacuum and the cleaning lady herself, we headed to York.
We got some good work done, and then we were evacuated. Apparently, there was a bomb threat or something. We did see the police leading some people, in gas masks, down the tank ramp. The tank ramp was an actually ramp that could hold a tank. Apparently, York U. built in the early 70s, took their plans from a proposed California college back in the late 60s. Given the boomer/student "unrest" of the times, a tank ramp was deemed necessary in Cali and the US, but Canada?? It was an anachronism then and was until that sad day when they removed it to make way for the new York University frontage. Unfortunately, the Student Centre with all of its fast food outlets and shops make me pine for the simplicity and damn ugliness of the concrete tank ramp. You know it is bad, when you miss an ugly and useless piece like a tank ramp because it was replaced by, essentially, a mall. The mall may have more use, but the tank ramp had history and gave that ugly, concrete palace something unique to love. Now, there is nothing to love about the place. Oh well, that is progress.
That is it for now. Go forth and diddle the cleaning lady and please remember the tank ramp! Ciao!
Anyway, I decided to go out on Friday morning. Good thing. I got in the beast and found the Oil Pressure Low light on. I immediately went for an oil change and was told that I was leaking oil from the oil filter. That got fixed and I wondered how long that problem was occurring. I did call the Wife to find out that there was oil all over the driveway. She had gone out Thursday night (it took me close to two hours that night to get from from a twenty five minute drive normally) in the "Beast", so putting two and two together, she must have scraped the undercarriage of the "Beast" on a snowy speedbump on her way home. Oh well, that got cleared up.
It was when we had power restored (we heard the Hydro dudes scream "Woo Hoo!" just before the lights went back on) that I realized that the phone line was out. We had no phone, and Internet, until about 4:30 pm yesterday. It all works again.
I had things to say but I figure I am going to give a Happy Birthday shout out to my aunt, Rhoda, whose birthday is today. She is now the matriarch of our family, though she did not want the title (she got it when my other aunt, her sister, died last year).
I wanted to go back in time. I wanted to go back 23 years to 1984. The date was March 1st and it was a Thursday. I had a psychology midterm on the 2nd (Friday) and had just written a biology midterm on the Wednesday. I only had one class, biology at 9 am on Thursday, and knew I had time to study. I ended up going to the library at York University with a friend. I could have gone home but the cleaning lady was there. At the time, I would joke about going home early on the Thursday so that I could diddle the cleaning lady. The joke was if you had seen our cleaning lady at the time it would have scared you (I know she scared me). She was not the most attractive of women (she was well down the list, near Hatchet Face from John Waters's "Cry Baby". In fact, I have seen prettier crossdressers.) I was also afraid that I could only diddle her using those Playtex rubber gloves, I had a fear I would never get that scent off of my fingers and hands. So, given the possible disturbances of the vacuum and the cleaning lady herself, we headed to York.
We got some good work done, and then we were evacuated. Apparently, there was a bomb threat or something. We did see the police leading some people, in gas masks, down the tank ramp. The tank ramp was an actually ramp that could hold a tank. Apparently, York U. built in the early 70s, took their plans from a proposed California college back in the late 60s. Given the boomer/student "unrest" of the times, a tank ramp was deemed necessary in Cali and the US, but Canada?? It was an anachronism then and was until that sad day when they removed it to make way for the new York University frontage. Unfortunately, the Student Centre with all of its fast food outlets and shops make me pine for the simplicity and damn ugliness of the concrete tank ramp. You know it is bad, when you miss an ugly and useless piece like a tank ramp because it was replaced by, essentially, a mall. The mall may have more use, but the tank ramp had history and gave that ugly, concrete palace something unique to love. Now, there is nothing to love about the place. Oh well, that is progress.
That is it for now. Go forth and diddle the cleaning lady and please remember the tank ramp! Ciao!
Thursday, March 01, 2007
March 1 and Christmas lights, Being invisible in cars and cool coats
I am back. I have some random sort of thoughts/issues today. The first is that I was walking down my street yesterday, at twilight, and I must send out a message to two of my "neighbors", though they live well down the street from me. TAKE DOWN YOUR FUCKING CHRISTMAS LIGHTS!! It is fucking March already. Put up the St. Patrick's Day decorations, by all means, but take down you fucking Christmas lights and that damn lit candy cane. I am thinking that both those houses are in for some green puke on a certain Saturday if they do not smarten up. I do not think they are Chinese so the Chinese New Year thing just does not wash here.
I am in the car, at a light, in the right lane. I look to my left and see a dude in a Lexus. He looks like he is talking to himself but he could be on a cell phone with hands free bluetooth earpiece. I cannot see his left ear but the sight is funny. Then, I see his left hand working his left nostril. I am thinking from my angle, it looks like a "pick" but it may not be. Then he removes all doubt, as I see nostril penetration, the looking at the index finger for nasal residue and the rolling of said residue into a flickable mass. Dude, you are NOT invisible. I can see you, do you really want to be seen in that manner? Remind me to think twice if I consider buying a used Lexus. I do not want to have to search for, or find, somebody else's booger residue.
Then, I drive a bit further and see another dude crossing the street. He is in a full length leather coat. I am thinking he was in the SS before or working to get some people over the Berlin Wall. It is all very cloak and dagger in appearance. The best part is that he appears at the door where I am. He is meeting a guy here and is known. I thought that was funny.
Now, I got to get me one of those coats. With the sunglasses and the sawed off shotgun in the inside pocket, I could have quite the Neo look (The Matrix reference only I added the shotgun). Cool! Ciao!
I am in the car, at a light, in the right lane. I look to my left and see a dude in a Lexus. He looks like he is talking to himself but he could be on a cell phone with hands free bluetooth earpiece. I cannot see his left ear but the sight is funny. Then, I see his left hand working his left nostril. I am thinking from my angle, it looks like a "pick" but it may not be. Then he removes all doubt, as I see nostril penetration, the looking at the index finger for nasal residue and the rolling of said residue into a flickable mass. Dude, you are NOT invisible. I can see you, do you really want to be seen in that manner? Remind me to think twice if I consider buying a used Lexus. I do not want to have to search for, or find, somebody else's booger residue.
Then, I drive a bit further and see another dude crossing the street. He is in a full length leather coat. I am thinking he was in the SS before or working to get some people over the Berlin Wall. It is all very cloak and dagger in appearance. The best part is that he appears at the door where I am. He is meeting a guy here and is known. I thought that was funny.
Now, I got to get me one of those coats. With the sunglasses and the sawed off shotgun in the inside pocket, I could have quite the Neo look (The Matrix reference only I added the shotgun). Cool! Ciao!
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