new weight-loss plan

Ok, this is really simple. The new plan is for it to be 85 degrees F (about 30 deg. C, for my Canadian peeps) throughout the night. I sweat profusely for about 6 hours and then I get up, having to take a shower, despite showering the night before immediately prior to bed.

Further possible enhancements:

Wrapping myself in garbage bags (preferably sans garbage).

Eating chicken wings whilst sleeping (still trying to iron out the kinks on this one).

Sleeping in the tub to ease next morning clean-up.

Actually lighting myself on fire (might be other considerations here).

Anyway, feel free to appropriate this weight-loss plan for yourself. It's yours for the taking.

Dear downstairs neighbor lady (sans festering sores - AFAIK),

I'm sure leaving open cans of tuna on our porch for "under-porch" kitty will reserve for you a special place in cat-lover heaven. However, while UPK is a very nice kitty indeed, it is unlikely that mangy-angry kitty or smelly-worm-infested kitty or rabid-mouth-foaming-bitey kitty will respect UPK's exclusive rights to said tuna. In fact, it is quite likely that a psychopathic transient is, right now, feasting on your hard-earned foodstuffs (or the remains of UPK).

With all this in mind and with a desire to avoid 80 to 100 cats panhandling in front of our home, please desist leaving food out on the porch. If you want to take UPK into your home, so be it. You can even name him Uppky. But please - for the love of Sheba - don't leave your eats on the porch.

Sincerely,
Me

Dear Festering Sore Hobo . . .

When panhandling with a pussy, open wound, use it to your advantage . . .

"Hello sir. As you can see, maggots may attempt to feast on my face due to lack of proper nutrition."

Or, the threatening, "Sir. I have the ebola virus. I will rub my festering sore on an open wound of my making on your person."

Or, "Sir, I need a bottle of strawberry mad dog to sterilize this wound. You don't want it to become infected do you?"

You're really selling yourself short by shakin' the cup and saying, "Sir. Little help sir!"

note to self - note the punchline

My last post I wrote a long time ago. I'm not sure when, but the idea was to save it for a rainy day (blogging-wise) and post it here to make it seem like the font of my blogging is an overflowing river of ha-has and guffaws. So I open up the saved post and I think, "So far, so good."

The problem was, the post consisted of this:
Is it appropriate to send an email with the subject "friendly reminder"? Isn't it left to the reader/a majority of the readership to determine whether or not an email reminder was in fact, "friendly"? I think it's bad form. And that's how I responded in the subject of the reply.
There is one slight problem with this - I didn't write the punchline. That's why you were left with "dissenting rejoinder," which, come to think of it, should at least be "smartass rejoinder."

Let this serve as warning to all you other bloggers out there - remember the good parts. You can write the garbage filler any time.

informative blogpost

Is it appropriate to send an email with the subject "friendly reminder"? Isn't it left to the reader/a majority of the readership to determine whether or not an email reminder was in fact, "friendly"? I think it's bad form. And that's how I responded in the subject of the reply - "RE: dissenting rejoinder smartass rejoinder."

feelin' old?

Then B-I-N-G-O!

theMonica and I took my aunt to BINGO! last night.

A few observations:

• Nothing can make you feel younger than going to bingo. For serious. Unless you are the absolute oldest person there/alive, you are sure to find someone 30 years your senior. I saw a 90-year-old woman telling a 120-year-old guy that he was old enough to be her grandfather (they're used to younger reproduction) and WAY TOO OLD to date.


• I am the bionic woman of Bingo night. It's true. Because in this setting I have ultra-sensitive hearing. Old people mutter under their breath a lot louder than what you normally encountered. The bingo pimp in front of me (older gentleman, track suit, shark tooth necklace, bling all over) was guilty of this. Every once in a while I'd hear him . . . "Son of a bitch," "Awwww go to hell!" along with a couple of god damns thrown in for good measure.


• Even on the cankle, I'm pretty sure I could outrun every person there.


• This ain't your mother's bingo. Well, actually it probably is. The vast majority of games required DOUBLE bingo. Which is one bingo, plus another - at the same time. There are also other, previously unknown to me, ways to make bingo - such as postage stamps (only one per double bingo), four corners, etc.


• No corn kernels anywhere in sight to eat. (This joke exclusively for RS2 and any other Moss Creek readers I might have.)


• You can have wild balls (huh-huh) and shit. Old people be blowin' up with the bingo games. There were games where you make an "X" or "U" or complete the inside frame. I made a smiley face, but apparently that doesn't count as bingo.


• Even when you cheat you can't win. The wild ball game takes the ending digit of the first ball and makes it wild - meaning, you can mark any number on your cards which ends in the wild. So, 14 makes ending 4 wild = 4, 14, 24, 34, 44, 54, 64, 74. I was confused and thought it was ALL fours (so, x4 numbers and 4x numbers). Despite this considerable head start, I still didn't win. And I'm really glad I didn't. I would gotten all Night of the Living Dead on me. That's when I started considering my running speed vis-a-vis the rest of the bingo population.


• 98% of all people there were joyless. I thought bingo was supposed to be a social activity, but it seemed more like a library. My aunt was even commenting on how generally nasty bingo people were. Case in point, we were reprimanded for sitting 3 at a table. 3 at a table that was NEXT to a table where a woman was going to be sitting. Since I don't weigh 1500 pounds, it turned out not to be a problem.

So whenever you feel the boney hand of the grim reaper tapping on your shoulder, sing those magical 5 letters . . .

I'd rather be fat than be confused

I have cankles. Well, more specifically, I have one cankle. A grotesque basketball injury has left my lankle a purpley, sausagey mass. It has joined my foot and calf together in perfect harmony. Purpley and Sausagy, live together in perfect harmony. Side by side on my body, keyboard solo - why don't we?

At any rate, I was almost completely immobile on Wednesday and missed work. But these past couple of days, I toughed it out. Toughed it out, despite the fact that I'm lacking in some essential necessities for this type of injury (cue list) . . .

A farmboy to fetch me things - printouts, drinks, lunch, etc. But no, not to ultimately bed.

A chamberpot.

A chair that rides the rails (handrails) like in Gremlins. (But then doesn't subsequently skyrocket me off said handrails to my fiery death due to Gremlin tomfoolery).

Crutches? Perhaps, but the pain of using them probably outweighs the pain of the cankle.

Blinkers - so I can turn on my flashers and people can pass me while I'm walking around slowly. It hurts to hurry.

I don't need a footstool. I found one and propped Gimpy up on it in an attempt to keep some of the fluid from draining down there. I think that's what it does, besides making me look like a total jackass. Stay tuned for possible cankle glamour shots!

top 7 days of the work week to go out

7. Monday: You're already through a fifth of the work week, but the remaining four-fifths looms much, much larger, like 17/20ths.

6. Sunday: Psychologically an easier night to go out on than Monday, provided you leave the house before upcoming-work-week depression sets in.

5. Wednesday: The week is more than half over. Knock back a few.

4. Tuesday: I've always liked going out on Tuesdays. Probably stemming from quarter-draft nights back at UD. Not that I remember them so well. I do remember James' Laid twice in a row. GO FLYERS!

3. Thursday: The work week is effectively over. Time to have some fun (although, the older I get the less it feels like the week is effectively over).

2. Saturday: Duh.

1. Friday: Friday takes my top spot because, well, you have the protection of 2 days to recover from a hangover plus the euphoria of the freshly ended work week. I can sometimes get a little loopy from lack of sleep during the week, but in my mind that only makes things all the more entertaining (for everyone else).

able to leap strunk and white in a single bound

I try not to be a super-grammar Johnny. I almost never correct flubbed phrases, whether written or spoken. Firstly, it's not my place to be policing everyone's sentence structure. That's a LOT of work and I am exceedingly lazy. Secondly, I butcher the language often enough. And once you police and then start butchering, all the people you so correctly corrected will come crawling out of the woodwork to rub your face in your use of "our" for "are" (or "are" for "our" - I do these all the time for some reason). Thricely, should I be so presumptuous so as to want to correct someone, the nature of the English language dissuades me. You see, there are 1.5 billion grammatical rules in English. I do take interest in the language and various rules out of general curiosity, but my knowledge is FARRRRR from comprehensive. But for argument's sake, let's say I know most of these grammatical rules. Knowing those rules is all well and good, but that's only half the battle. Do I know the 1.75 billion EXCEPTIONS to those rules - the other half of said battle? Not so much. So you see, as soon as one tries to sound authoritative on the subject, here comes an exception to smack them right across the face.

There is only one thing that I notice consistently and that's the "you/I, you/and" construction. I don't particularly notice, nor care, if someone says, "You and me should go to the store." Sure, it's supposed to be "You and I," but I understand and I'm not super-grammar Johnny, so I won't even blink nor vaporize the speaker with my x-ray vision. I understand that it is the nature of language that that which is used becomes the rule. If no one ever says "whom" for objective "who" then "whom" will cease to exist. Trying to prevent this is like complaining about the weather - soothing but fruitless. Maybe I correct your subjective "me" on the very day society decides that subjective me is acceptable. Who looks stupid then?

Regardless, one "English thing" that does grate me is when a wannabe SGJ uses the subjective case (you and I) when the compound phrase should be taking the objective case. For instance, WSGJ might say, "The car hit you and I." Technically, this should be "you and me," the phrase being acted on by the subject "car" via the "hit" verb. (The easy way to figure it is to remove the "you" and then think of the sentence. "The car hit me," not, "The car hit I.") When I hear this, WSGJ always seems to really put a huge emphasis on the "I" when speaking. "The car hit you and **I**." The implication is, "I'M A SGJ. I KNOW HOW TO SPEAK GOOD ENGLISH. NOTICE HOW I SAID I. I AWESOME!!!!!" It's usually only this type of ignorant ostentation that bothers me. Until today . . . .

Today the cafeteria was selling salmon patties. This is the usual Wednesday breakfast item. I ordered a "sam-men" patty. The woman behind me ordered a "saul-men" patty. It was like a kick in the head. I had heard it before in the same line, but my patience had been steady. Not today. Today, I really wanted to turn and correct her. I wanted to fly high as SGJ and save the language universe. But I did not. Instead I went back to my desk and enjoyed my delicious . . . fishy patty.

Woe is me.

happy new year!

New Year's is this weekend, you know, so here are some helpful tips (probably mostly revolving around drinking), bulleted for your visual pleasure:

• Eat folks. Get a good base of like a large pizza or McDonald’s extra value meal, super-sized with a large coke, maybe work a Wendy’s frosty in there somewhere. You want to give yourself a good 45 minutes between finishing your meal and arriving at the party/your first drink (these are nearly simultaneous events). You want super-absorbent food in your tummy for when the booze comes sliding down, but you don’t want to eat too late or the bloats come. That’s no fun for anyone.



• Make out with somebody random. I want like half of you to be reminiscing with your friends a few weeks from now and you say, “Yah, who WAS that guy?” I will be especially proud if you’re saying this as a guy who’s straight.



• Between you and me, you probably don’t need to bring champagne. Most parties average like 1.5 bottles per attendee. I have an empty bottle with a super-glued cork that I take around from place to place every year. Works like a charm. Then if you really want champagne just stand next to someone who’s opening their bottle. After they take that first swig and have that look on their face like, “Why did I just drink half a bottle of champagne?” you swoop in, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” and polish off that bad boy.



• It’s fun to get a little dressed-up for New Year’s, but remember the chafing. And is it just me or have you bought all your “nice” clothes when you were at your current height, but your absolute skinniest? And then every time you wear your nice clothes, all you can think about is what a fat@ss you are? And maybe it occurs to you that, “Wow, I must have been smokin’ hot when this waist band wasn’t cutting off the circulation to my legs. Hey, my toes are purple!” Why does skinny Roger love to buys clothes so much anyway? Fat Roger has had enough. He’s buying a silk moo moo immediately.



• Right about now I’m really glad I didn’t use a numbered list because 4 items doesn’t really do it for anyone.



• Crash. Really, passed out sleeping is pretty undesirable, regardless of locale. No need to compound your problems by driving home drunk. A discreet pillow/blanket travel pack comes in handy. And if you wear contacts, bring a contact case already filled with solution. If you really want to make things happen, pass out at like 9:30 and you’re sure to get a bed. Otherwise, don’t sleep in front of the bathroom. If you’re that sick, sleep IN the bathroom, maybe with your face on the seat, depending.



• Confetti is a friend to no man. You will be picking it out of things weeks from now.



• Finally, and most importantly, have fun. It should go without saying, but inevitably there’s some kind of conflict with somebody’s schedule or who you’re going to hang out with. Go with the flow, take another swig of champagne and always remember the chafing.

All right, hope this helps. Have a great end of ’06 and a bitchin’ ’07.

Sarah - Netflix is SUPER-DOUBLE-PLUS-AWESOME!

I thought I had made myself perfectly clear, but I guess I need to be more explicit.