"Hey B, what you got goin on over here?"

or any variation is a question I am constantly asked at work. And it frustrates me with no end in sight. It has gotten to the point where I have to whistle or make noises to cover up the annoyed grunt that have become increasingly involuntary.

I keep to myself, do what I have to do, get paid and leave. But somehow these people I work with have some sort of fixation with that and have to poke their noses into everything I do. What could I possibly be doing that piques your interests? Is it something so sinister that you have to look over my shoulder every time I check my email or text someone? Am I secretly plotting to blow up or shoot up the building? No, it'd be a waste of explosives and bullets.

I'm not hiding anything. You can see in plain sight what I am doing. Working, like you should be.

At least at my last job I only had to worry about the numerous cameras looking at me. Paranoia is much better in comparison to completely knowing you are being watched.

Does my tendency to not joke around and laugh out loud like the rest of you make me that much of an outlier? Am I considered strange because I don't fall in like the rest of you? That I don't have anything to add to your conversation?

How could so many nosy people be assembled to work in one office is a wonder. Everyone is deep in everybody else's bullshit. A bunch of gossiping hens - both the men and women there!

Thank goodness for fire escapes and stairwells as they have become my only refuge from the scrutinizing horror.

Hey, B what are you up to?

None of your fucking business.




Oh, it's been a while since I posted here I see...

Starting the New Year On the Right Foot.

After a successful NYE celebration, and the basement all to myself, I saw a bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale left over. I figured, why not? Just one more before I went to bed. There wasn't a bottle opener in my immediate area. And I did not want to crack it open on the desk.

But there was a spoon. I got the spoon, placed it under the edge of the bottle cap, and pulled as if I were whittling a piece of wood. A small whoosh sound came from the cap, letting me know that I was doing it right. The spoon slid out from under the cap.

Right then and there I knew I had done something wrong. I let out a sigh and looked at my finger which which now had begun to bleed profusely. If my nails were any shorter, a bigger chunk would have been taken out of my fingertip.

No band-aids to be found, so a piece of duct tape and toilet paper had to suffice.


I cut my finger while trying to open a bottle of beer with a spoon. It seemed like a good idea at the time...



Happy New Year!

A Year of Change

Not because of our new President, who brings with him hope and and optimism. But because of the optimism I feel within myself coming into the end of 2008. I have seen a lot of signs every day that things will change for me this coming year. I have opened myself up to new things, met more people and through them learned to express myself more and diversify. This may not make any sense, and as I read, it more than likely sounds like rambling in vagueness. However, 2009 will hopefully be my transition year. To what? I have no clue, but I'd rather let it unravel as things go along.














Dicks.

I feel dirty

I've been called creepy by a lot of people, much more than ever recently. I shrugged it off or downplayed it as some quirk. Some found it dorky and amusing, others found it slightly disturbing and not easy to settle with.

But just now, I have done something that made me realize that I am heading down a creepy road that I have never wanted to travel.

The internet is a wonderful thing that connects people with each other. You can go on websites like MySpace or Facebook, or whatever, with nothing but a first and last name of a person you are looking for and basically find them. Or just plop their name into an internet search engine, sometimes with a little more information such as where they are from, and bingo! you find something on them.

This is very dangerous. Especially if you are slightly obsessed and stalker-ish. I am guilty of doing such things.

There are a couple of people, women, who I have talked to in the past and lost contact with. Well it was more, they stopped popping up online, or mysteriously disappeared.

One example is a lady I met on an internet dating site. We talked and chatted via email, until she trusted me enough to give me her phone number. Things were going well until I said something that....well, creeped her out a bit. Looking back, maybe I was too quick to say what I said, too early for her to realize it was a joke. This happened right before I lost my phone. But I wanted to apologize. I tried sending her an email...invalid address. One would think "hey, might as well leave well enough alone, just move ahead", but sadly, not me. I figured out how to text someone via my email address, so I went into my phone records, looked up her number, and then went ahead and offered an apology. No response. Once again, "let it go" popped into my head, and I listened for a moment. But then saw her pop up on the site again under a new account. Of course, I took advantage of the fact that she did not make her profile private to members, and logged off my profile, so that I wouldn't show up under those who viewed her profile, and viewed the profile to confirm it was her.

Very creepy. Yes. But it does not end there.

Everyone has a facebook or myspace page. Any old Joe on the internet could just visit a site, type in a name and location, and pop up someone's profile. Before, myspace had it so that you needed to log into the site before you could look at a person's pictures, and of course, I knew a way to circumvent that, but recently, they made pictures on all public profiles viewable to everyone. I did not do the myspace thing with this person, but have done it with others. It makes me feel disgusted a bit.

Facebook, on the other hand, is not so lenient when it comes to viewing other folk's pictures, thankfully, to keep creepers like me away, but I am sure there is a way to circumvent that, I haven't found out yet (thankfully). So, although I had only a first name, and location, it wasn't enough to do an internet search on her. But, she made the mistake of sending me a photo of herself from facebook. This was before I had gotten one myself. When I did get a facebook account recently, I learned of a way to find someone's account just by finding that person's profile number in the url of the picture. I did this, and it directed me to a person with a different name.
Didn't look like the chick I was talking to. Maybe she is a friend. So I clicked on friends, sifted through a couple pages and found the person I was looking for.

First and last name. Add that in with where she is from, and Google will sing to me, giving a bit more information about her. I now know where she graduated high school, her whole first name, but stopped myself when I was going to do a background check on her. I would have to pay a couple bucks to do that, but I realized that it was a final boundary that kept me from doing something serious. Almost illegal, if not illegal.

I realized I had a problem. May be nothing serious, but still it could very well lead to something worse. It's absolutely not fair to the people I have done it to. I certainly pass it off under the guise of research.


So if there is anything to come from this in the early stages, I would say that it is not the best idea to put anything out there with a lot of personal information on it. That is why everything about myself on the Internet, which isn't much, is under an alternate name or handle. That is why I do not use my real name on Facebook or any other site. Because if it is easy for me to gather so much, who's to say that other people aren't doing it, and have no qualms about paying a little cash for your personal information. I am marginally better than those folks, but that does not exonerate me from what I have done. It's not creepy for the intent to be funny, it's just plain obsessive.


So, I guess I have a New Year's Resolution now.

Always Keep Clean

Because you never know when some hot chick is gonna roll up to you and be all like "Let's make out!"

If that were me I'd say, "Really? But you are so hot and I'm...I'm not even lukewarm or tepid".

And she'd be all like "Ooh, low self esteem gets me hot!"

And I'd say "Well, if that's the case... by the end of the night, we're gonna have to sandbag the area for that flash flood that'll come from between your legs."

Concerts 2008: A Year in Review

I was going to do this thing where I take a look back on what concerts I had seen this year. The only problem is that I can't recall off the top of my head which ones I actually saw.

I remembered the venues I went to see the bulk of my shows, but the only one with an extensive calendar of past shows is the Empty Bottle (Dating back all the way to 1996!). I looked through the calendar, and to my surprise I went to a lot less shows there than I figured. And also, I saw a lot of shows that I would have went to see, if I had heard of the acts that played at that time. I wish this time travel technology gets invented and perfected already so I could hit up on these shows.

I could look at the past shows I bought tickets for via ticket web, but that helps little.

But alas, I guess I will come up with something. Something like the best shows of the year, or the shows that stick out the furthest of the year.


Or maybe nothing at all, how bout that? I'm tired.





Oh, it's Christmas...Happy Holidays, folks!

Time flies when you're watching porn

A couple days ago, my 6 year old cousin visited my house. I used to help take care of him when his mom would go to work, and he was the sweetest kid ever, a little bit weird, as he had a habit of going over to chairs and sniffing the seats after people had gotten up, but still endearingly weird and smart. I remember running down the halls with him slapping him on his cheeks making "plop, plop, plop" sounds. It was fun. He was the quietest kid.

Zoom a couple years later to now, where I don't hang out with him as much I used to.

I go, "Hey Lemonhead!" I used to call him that because he looked like that face on the box of Lemonhead candies. "How's it goin'?"

"Okay."

He has the cutest smile. You couldn't help but smile with him.

"Well, that's good. I going to the bathroom, stay right there kiddo!"

Okay...fatty.

Now that last part did not come out until I was taking a couple steps away towards the restroom.

"What did you call me?" I thought it was funny.

"I said 'Okay fatty'"

"Why would you call me fat?" I was amused, slowly becoming confused.

"Because you are, fatso." There was that smile again.

"Aww, you're so cute!" I pinched his cheeks, and went to the bathroom.

As soon as I closed the door and went about my business, I hear little footsteps follow me.

"Fatty fat fat fat!" "Fat booty boy!"

I turned on the radio to drown him out. But then as I looked into the bathroom mirror, I was beginning to ask myself "Am I fat? No, no, no..." I sucked in my gut a bit and stood up straight. "I'm fine. What does he know anyways? He probably still eats paste. Can't blame him really, Elmer's paste smelled real delicious and minty. I'm not fat."

I walk out of the bathroom, and he's still there, waiting. "Hey, fat booty booty...fatty fatso."

I stopped and turned to him and said, "Hey, come here. J, what you are saying...your words hurt. They hurt me. Now that you have hurt me, I have to hurt you."

So I picked him up and locked him in our basement.



Not really, I just tickled him until he started drooling on himself.

Better Drink a Lotta Water Cuz There Are a Lotta Salty Crakers

Living life, you tend to encounter new things about yourself, or even things that have been hiding out in the bushes and are exposed. I have a recent example of such a situation.

I do not like being pat on the back.

In fact, every time someone does it, I grit my teeth and freeze up a bit.

I know, a pat on the back for something well done or as a way to show that you are being friendly are good and all, but I just can't stand being pat on the back, or the shoulder.

I thought it was maybe I don't liked being touched or maybe the majority of people who have patted me on the back I did not like much...but no there is not really a connection. I just don't like it.

I have also come to dislike being called "Buddy" or "Pal". Most of the times I have been called "Buddy" are by people who are not anywhere close to being my friend. For example, people I work with call me that. I don't see any of these people outside work, I have no affiliations with them at all outside of work, so therefore, "Buddy" is not a word that should be used to address me. That is unless it is my nickname, which it isn't.

I hope I don't end up liking the word so much that it leads to me disliking Tom Hanks by association. I loved Bosom Buddies.

Always keep clean

Because you never know when some hot chick is gonna roll up to you and be all like "Let's make out!"

If that were me I'd say, "Really? But you are so hot and I'm...I'm not even lukewarm or tepid".

And she'd be all like "Ooh, low self esteem gets me hot!"

And I'd say "Well, if that's the case... by the end of the night, we're gonna have to sandbag the area for that flash flood that'll come from between your legs."

Everything in this picture is just wrong

http://img.waffleimages.com/93717632a7acf203f1cc7f3d74646583e48a56f9/DungeonMaster_JJdotAM20.jpg

An anniversary

This Monday, at 11:47 pm, will be the anniversary of an event that transpired 24 years ago... An event that has threatened to change the world.

How will I be celebrating this? Firstly, by taking a long vacation from work. Secondly by finding things to do during this week. On tap is a show Monday night at the Subterranean and another on the 10 th. Possibly one more on either or both Wednesday or Thursday.

All events will probably involve moderate to heavy drinking. It'll give me a chance to try this stuff out:

http://www.thinkgeek.com/caffeine/candy/ab3f/?cpg=froogle


Making the bitterest beer even more awesome.


It looks to be an eventful week.

West Side Dump Story

Ahh, nothing like a good dump story, eh? I have plenty to share, but if I had to tell only one story...one story to serve as the flagship to all of my dump stories, it would be this one that I am about to tell right now.

It was a couple years ago. One morning I decided to walk an extra couple blocks to catch the train to get to school. The buses and I were running late, and I decided that walking to the train would save me time. About half way to the train station I felt a churning, a painful bubble pushing down my stomach. It was a feeling I knew all too well; nature was banging at my backdoor.

But this was something that I had never felt before. Usually, I would clench up and let the bubble pass, and ride out the pain that threatened to loosen the flood gates. It bought me time to find the nearest toilet. But it would not work that day. These gas surges brought a pain as if little gremlins were inside me, clawing my stomach walls with their jagged nails. The pressure came in waves that provided me short seconds of relief, but chipped away at the forces that kept my asshole shut.

Two blocks away from the train. Too far away from home. Too little time to waste.

I was duck-walking down the street, trying to think of thoughts that diverted attention away from what was happening downstairs. Sweat beaded on my brow. Tears rolled down my cheeks...and my cheeks. I tried to play it off, and not show pain to anyone nearby. My bottom lip was quivering. Thinking pleasant thoughts became dangerous as it threatened to relax me too much.

And I had on my favorite pants that day.

It was too much. I had to make a decision. I wasn't going to make it to the train cleanly, if I did who knew if I had to wait a long time or if it would be crowded? I couldn't go back home, it was too risky. The flood gates had to open.

There was a vacant lot nearby that had pretty good coverage by bushes and weeds. It still was out in the open, as it was less than 45 feet away from the heavy traffic zooming down the street.
I looked in all directions to see if anyone was near. Nobody around. Briskly, I walked into the lot, got behind the bushes and dropped trou. The adrenaline was pumping, and I almost lost control in anticipation. My body almost involuntarily lost control, but I had to hold the line...hold the line until my clothes were out of the line of fire.

I had no idea whatever was coming was partly liquid or wholly solid.

I squat, and leaned back on a wall and released. And a sweet release it was! It was almost orgasmic. But I couldn't enjoy it much, I was still in public. Anyone could walk by and see me. I pushed out as much as I could, to stave off any potential aftershocks.

I turned around to look at the pile I left. It was interesting to see a full movement of mine outside of its conventional water environment.

Then it hit me. I just took a heaping shit in public. And I did not have anything to wipe with.

"Oh shit!" would have been an applicable and punny response at that moment, as I searched the general area, with my pants still around my knees for something to wipe. It wasn't the best of options, but it was either that or go on with shitty pants. There was a dirty t-shirt a few feet in front of me. The image of me quickly wiping, with specks of dirt and whatever else sticking to my ass made walking with shitty pants a much more viable option. At least I would know that my pasty ass would be a result of something that came out of me.

But I remembered I carried a handkerchief in my bag. It was a nice black one I got from work. It was not the most absorbent, but it was the best choice and had to do. I made several strong wipes, folding the handkerchief but still being careful not to get anything on my hands. I then draped it across the pile, pulled up my pants, and casually walked away.

As soon as I got to a restroom at school, I gave myself the wiping I deserved.

I have since walked by that area numerous times, wondering if anyone was unlucky enough to come across what was left there. I was tempted to revisit, but never acted upon my curiosities.


Taking a shit in broad daylight changed things...forever.

I advocate the involvement of deli meats in sexual activity. Enjoy a salami sandwich while hiding it! Eat a gyro while eating out! Munch on some roast beef while...munching on some roast beef!

The possibilities are endless and fun!

There are only two times when a man doesn't have to worry, when is young, and when he is about to die.

Can a guy insert his balls

into a girl, excluding the mouth?

This question must be answered, in the name of Science!

I got style. I got grace. I got egg all over my face!

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My Pelvic Thrusts Are Venomous and Incendiary

Seriously, WTF?

We Give All the Time

We give all the time, whether we know it or not. When we are born, we are given life. When we have children, we give them our time, attention, and we love and nurture them. When we speak, we give life to new ideas; we voice our thoughts and affirm our unity. When we give, we show that we care.

Giving can be a simple physical act of taking something tangible and passing it along to someone else. It can be something less solid and it becomes an emotional exposure we reveal to someone else for our own purposes and/or theirs. Sometimes it's letting someone else take what they need and we become more passive and just let it happen. At times it's keeping what we have going on inside and let the other person have the room without our added weight.

Giving can grow from person to person in a forward motion, like a snowball rolling down a hill. Giving can be a one-way stop from point A to point B. It can be both selfish and unselfish. It can mean a small token, to a larger gesture that changes someone’s life.

Giving is one big thing that assures our humanity. It allows us to improve upon ourselves and others. It allows us to realize that there is hope for a better world. Giving empowers the giver and the recipient.

Everyone has something to give – whether you have everything or nothing – anyone has something to pass along and enlighten another.

DAMN YO! THAT SHIT IS DEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!

Even in my dreams, I can't get laid.

Hello friends.

I remember saying that shit was going to change after I got back from vacation. I was even going to do an epic recap of the vacation itself. But I was too lazy, however, a change may be in the works.

Since I got back from vacation, I have been furiously looking for a new job. When the manager makes it a habit to drunk dial work (who the hell drunk dials work on a Monday? In fact, who the hell drunk dials work two hours after clocking out?), it is seriously time to get out.

I have applied for job after job, applying for more than actual responses, which is a bit disheartening, seeing that I feel that most of the jobs I have applied for I am more than qualified. But I lack seriously in experience, which spending years in school has not afforded me. No one wants to take a chance on someone green (actually, the job I have now took me and I was inexperienced), which makes it hard to get experience.

To get a job, you need experience. Having a job yields experience. But if you don't have experience, you don't get the job. It's paradoxes like this that make me not want to work at all.

But I have to.


Luckily, I have an interview. For an investment company. I am going to be an insurance rep, if I get the job. Although I think that I am jumping into another job that will probably be worse than the one I have now, I still need that escape.

I have to dress professional for the interview, which is rare for me. But I have warmed up to the idea of buying shit, shirts and ties, to wear. My wardrobe is becoming more stylish and dressy, and I don't know what to account as the reason for the slow change from hoodie and baseball caps and jeans to dress shirt, old guy driving caps, and jeans.


I even though I probably won't be too heartbroken about not getting this job, I want to still give a good show, and research shit about the company. You know, apply some of the stuff I supposedly learned in college about how to prepare for job interviews. I am bringing a note pad with questions, just to flip the script and become the interviewer for the moment. It might not go well with the person interviewing me, but I have a distant thought that it might make me look impressive.

I brim full of confidence. Optimism makes a strange bedfellow, but I like the company.

I'm Sorrry

I love you.