What Have I DONE?
...but blow a thousand bucks on a SA-WEET laptop! On an impulse during my lunch break today, no less. Why, dumbass, WHY?
I've got 14 days to come to my senses and return this, and only suffer a 15% re-stocking fee.
It's cool. You'd have wanted it, too. But, get your own, damn it. This one is MINE!
I'll explain more another time. Right now, I'm too busy licking the screen.
Hey, at least I won't be sniffing this in public!
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Sad But True
When I was younger, I had a horrible ability to lose any and all things in my possession. I'm sure this had everything to do with the fact that I was, more or less, perpetually stoned from the ages of 18 to about 35.
"Braincells? I don't need any stinking braincells! Hey, where the fuck are my car keys? Have you seen my fucking car keys? Shit!"
Pretty much.
Point is, I spent a LOT of time replacing personal stuff that I had lost. Said car keys, drivers licences, sunglasses, underwear, cassette tapes, wallets, you name it. Wallets...
I went through so many wallets back in the day, that I stopped buying them. Instead, I would use the little cheap, plastic, checkbook covers that you get for free when you order new checks at the bank. I carried credit cards and my ID around in these pieces of shit for years. Years. They were bigger than a conventional wallet, so I could feel it better when I had it stashed in my back pocket. It seemed to help. I stopped losing my "wallet" so much.
When The X and I got together, he noticed what I was carrying around, and bought me a nice checkbook cover as a Christmas gift our first Christmas together. I loved it. It was a black Harley-Davidson embossed monster that I THOUGHT was leather. Now, I don't think so. That was, gee, 7 years ago? It finally fell apart last year cuz I can wear out a muthafuckin' wallet, ya know? It died shortly after our relationship died, The X and me, so I pitched the bitch. It also reminded me of him. Who wants THAT?
And, in keeping with Jim being Jim, I promptly went back to the cheapass, plastic freebie checkbook covers from the bank.
Well, two and a half years after the brutal breakup from The X, I am dating again. Weird science, people! Anyway, the guy I am now seeing has commented several times (actually EVERY time I pull it out) that my checkbook cover is hilarious. He can't believe I tote that shit around. Gay men are killer bitches, ya know? It has started to make me feel very self-conscious and started me thinking. Why DON'T I carry a real wallet now? It's been years since I've gotten stoned and lost anything (cuz it's been years since I've gotten stoned). Well, there was one incident last year but, c'mon, that was a fluke! He has even threatened to buy me a new, REAL, wallet.
That's all it took. I decided to go get myself one.
I went last week to Target (cuz this bear doesn't do Walmart!), and dropped a whopping 10 bucks on a simple black leather wallet. Amazingly easy to accomplish. I loaded it with all my shit, stashed it into my back pocket, and got on with Life.
Well folks, let me tell you, I have now found a completely NEW way of embarrassing myself in public.
See, this thing is genuine leather. And when real leather has been riding around in my fatass pants all day long, it
gets, and stays...warm. And when new leather gets warm, it gets fragrant. You know, that "leather smell". Well, I love that smell. Always have. And it's not something sexual, you dirty pervs. I can remember being a kid, living out in the country, where we had horses. The smell of the saddles and the stuff in the tack room was all around me. So, now every friggin' time I have reached into my pocket to pull out my wallet in the past week, I have gotten a whiff of that awesome, wonderful, rugged, nostalgic smell. And, retard that I surely am, I canNOT help but raise the wallet to my nose and SNIFF IT!
Yes, I stand in front of whatever cashier is in front of me, waiting patiently to be paid, and I am smelling my wallet, eyes rolling back in my head, gurgling some kinda groan, totally spacing out on where I am and what I am doing. I can't help myself. I've tried all week to not do this and yet it happens every time!
I snap out of it within a very few seconds, but I assure you it's long enough to attract the attention of anyone anywhere near me. The looks I have gotten. Trust. This is unbelievably pathetic. It looks like I'm huffing my butt or something!
I was supposed to go out with my new friend this weekend, but have avoided calling him. He can't see this. I told myself to leave the wallet at home, just load the old checkbook up and go out. I can't do it. I LOVE my new wallet. I have to have it on me. I WANT to sniff it! Oh. My. GOD! I'm a freak!
I'm going to call him in just a minute and make up a lie about why we aren't getting together tonight. I'll figure out how to handle this, and see him later in the week. Wish me luck.
When I was younger, I had a horrible ability to lose any and all things in my possession. I'm sure this had everything to do with the fact that I was, more or less, perpetually stoned from the ages of 18 to about 35.
"Braincells? I don't need any stinking braincells! Hey, where the fuck are my car keys? Have you seen my fucking car keys? Shit!"
Pretty much.
Point is, I spent a LOT of time replacing personal stuff that I had lost. Said car keys, drivers licences, sunglasses, underwear, cassette tapes, wallets, you name it. Wallets...
I went through so many wallets back in the day, that I stopped buying them. Instead, I would use the little cheap, plastic, checkbook covers that you get for free when you order new checks at the bank. I carried credit cards and my ID around in these pieces of shit for years. Years. They were bigger than a conventional wallet, so I could feel it better when I had it stashed in my back pocket. It seemed to help. I stopped losing my "wallet" so much.
When The X and I got together, he noticed what I was carrying around, and bought me a nice checkbook cover as a Christmas gift our first Christmas together. I loved it. It was a black Harley-Davidson embossed monster that I THOUGHT was leather. Now, I don't think so. That was, gee, 7 years ago? It finally fell apart last year cuz I can wear out a muthafuckin' wallet, ya know? It died shortly after our relationship died, The X and me, so I pitched the bitch. It also reminded me of him. Who wants THAT?
And, in keeping with Jim being Jim, I promptly went back to the cheapass, plastic freebie checkbook covers from the bank.
Well, two and a half years after the brutal breakup from The X, I am dating again. Weird science, people! Anyway, the guy I am now seeing has commented several times (actually EVERY time I pull it out) that my checkbook cover is hilarious. He can't believe I tote that shit around. Gay men are killer bitches, ya know? It has started to make me feel very self-conscious and started me thinking. Why DON'T I carry a real wallet now? It's been years since I've gotten stoned and lost anything (cuz it's been years since I've gotten stoned). Well, there was one incident last year but, c'mon, that was a fluke! He has even threatened to buy me a new, REAL, wallet.
That's all it took. I decided to go get myself one.
I went last week to Target (cuz this bear doesn't do Walmart!), and dropped a whopping 10 bucks on a simple black leather wallet. Amazingly easy to accomplish. I loaded it with all my shit, stashed it into my back pocket, and got on with Life.
Well folks, let me tell you, I have now found a completely NEW way of embarrassing myself in public.
See, this thing is genuine leather. And when real leather has been riding around in my fatass pants all day long, it
gets, and stays...warm. And when new leather gets warm, it gets fragrant. You know, that "leather smell". Well, I love that smell. Always have. And it's not something sexual, you dirty pervs. I can remember being a kid, living out in the country, where we had horses. The smell of the saddles and the stuff in the tack room was all around me. So, now every friggin' time I have reached into my pocket to pull out my wallet in the past week, I have gotten a whiff of that awesome, wonderful, rugged, nostalgic smell. And, retard that I surely am, I canNOT help but raise the wallet to my nose and SNIFF IT!Yes, I stand in front of whatever cashier is in front of me, waiting patiently to be paid, and I am smelling my wallet, eyes rolling back in my head, gurgling some kinda groan, totally spacing out on where I am and what I am doing. I can't help myself. I've tried all week to not do this and yet it happens every time!
I snap out of it within a very few seconds, but I assure you it's long enough to attract the attention of anyone anywhere near me. The looks I have gotten. Trust. This is unbelievably pathetic. It looks like I'm huffing my butt or something!
I was supposed to go out with my new friend this weekend, but have avoided calling him. He can't see this. I told myself to leave the wallet at home, just load the old checkbook up and go out. I can't do it. I LOVE my new wallet. I have to have it on me. I WANT to sniff it! Oh. My. GOD! I'm a freak!
I'm going to call him in just a minute and make up a lie about why we aren't getting together tonight. I'll figure out how to handle this, and see him later in the week. Wish me luck.
Friday, August 24, 2007
A "Dick Anonymous" Meeting
Hello, my name is Jim, and I'm a Dickoholic.
Hello, my name is Jim, and I'm a Dickoholic.
Considering my age, I have not known Dick for very long. A relationship with Dick is an acquired taste. It can be difficult, confusing, and frustrating. But it can also be rewarding and very satisfying. I have learned to love Dick.
When I don't see Dick for days at a time, I become aggitated, nervous, apprehensive. It's like I crave Dick. I start seeing Dick everywhere. Like magazine covers at the supermarket. I have seen Dick in people's faces. I have seen Dick going into Jaws. I have seen Dick just hanging out.
I'm obsessed with Dick, and it's beginning to worry me.
I hope that God will hear my prayers about Dick.
And, by the way, I don't care who knows about it. When asked I will tell people, point blank, that when it comes to all the Dicks I know, I prefer Dick Small!
Thank you for letting me share.
"God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
the courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference."
AMEN!
Thursday, August 23, 2007
I Live In A Suitcase
Since I've begun working out, I have found the need to lug my gym bag around with me, most anywhere I go. This is a major pain in the ass, yet absolutely essential. It holds all my crap. It's like hauling carry-on luggage with me where ever I go. The whole world has become one big-ass airport terminal, and I am merely the weary traveler, waiting for my next flight. Or something.
I used to laugh at dudes with fannypacks, computer cases, and manpurses. Everything I ever needed, I could stuff into a pants pocket (or, in the case of a bag of pot: my sock). Back when I was underage, all I ever toted around was a wallet containing no money, fake ID, real ID, and a never used condom.
Now? Let's take a look inside my bag, shall we?:
*fresh gym shorts
*extra pair of cargo shorts
*fresh gym shirt
*fresh socks
*fresh grundersnorts
*"jimsize"gym towel
*iPod w/headphones
*shampoo
*bodywash
*powders
*minoxydil (shut up)
*anti-perspirant
*hairbrush
*toothbrush
*toothpaste
*floss
*Blistex
*diabetes meds
also included:
*thumbdrive for my pc
*bills that still need paid
*notepad
*pen
*gym ID
*plastic bag for the wet & dirty
cameo appearances by:
*my regular glasses
*my sunglasses
*the damned blackberry
shocked to discover:
*cheeseburger wrapper
*receipt from porn store
*tokens (see above)
*never used condom
So. What's in YOUR wallet?
Since I've begun working out, I have found the need to lug my gym bag around with me, most anywhere I go. This is a major pain in the ass, yet absolutely essential. It holds all my crap. It's like hauling carry-on luggage with me where ever I go. The whole world has become one big-ass airport terminal, and I am merely the weary traveler, waiting for my next flight. Or something.
I used to laugh at dudes with fannypacks, computer cases, and manpurses. Everything I ever needed, I could stuff into a pants pocket (or, in the case of a bag of pot: my sock). Back when I was underage, all I ever toted around was a wallet containing no money, fake ID, real ID, and a never used condom.
Now? Let's take a look inside my bag, shall we?:
*fresh gym shorts
*extra pair of cargo shorts
*fresh gym shirt
*fresh socks
*fresh grundersnorts
*"jimsize"gym towel
*iPod w/headphones
*shampoo
*bodywash
*powders
*minoxydil (shut up)
*anti-perspirant
*hairbrush
*toothbrush
*toothpaste
*floss
*Blistex
*diabetes meds
also included:
*thumbdrive for my pc
*bills that still need paid
*notepad
*pen
*gym ID
*plastic bag for the wet & dirty
cameo appearances by:
*my regular glasses
*my sunglasses
*the damned blackberry
shocked to discover:
*cheeseburger wrapper
*receipt from porn store
*tokens (see above)
*never used condom
So. What's in YOUR wallet?
Monday, August 20, 2007
I'm McLovin It...
Really cute little movie. Tiny movie. To talk too much about it would be to take away some of its charm. Its foul-mouthed, immature charm. All I want to say is that it's worth the admission price alone to witness Seth's "little secret".
Flawed, juvenile, and sweet.
And, for the record, Seth Rogan (acted in "40 Year Old Virgin", was the lead in "Knocked Up", and now the director/co-writer/actor in this) is my new celebrity crush. He plays a bumbling cop in this, complete with a Village People moustache. I want to have his babies.
Friday, August 17, 2007
SIOOMA
Oh, yes! I will be adding this acronym to my vocab list pronto (yes, if you want to know what it means, you'll have to work for it) !
See-ew-ma.
Or is it See-oh-ma?
damnit!
I'll figure it out, then I'll be tossing it around like a hipster.
Perfect.
[Late Addition Edition: It's official - "see-Uma". I was right the first time. It's catching on now and is even an entry in the Urban Dictionary. Righteous!]
Oh, yes! I will be adding this acronym to my vocab list pronto (yes, if you want to know what it means, you'll have to work for it) !
See-ew-ma.
Or is it See-oh-ma?
damnit!
I'll figure it out, then I'll be tossing it around like a hipster.
Perfect.
[Late Addition Edition: It's official - "see-Uma". I was right the first time. It's catching on now and is even an entry in the Urban Dictionary. Righteous!]
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
"I Wanna Run Through The Halls Of My High School
I Wanna Scream At The Top Of My Lungs..."
My thirty year high school reunion was the first weekend in August. I had told myself for the last full year that this was the year I would attend. I have told myself this every five years since the 15 year reunion. I can never seem to bring myself to actually going.
It's not like I don't know why. See, my high school years were golden for me. I fell in with the cool kids my junior year and found myself writing for the school paper, getting parts in all the school plays and musicals, was asked to join the vocal ensemble that toured local charity events and recorded an album, and was a part of the competitive acting and speaking team. Won some awards for my performance of "Long Day's Journey Into Night" at a state competition. Scholastically, I did well. National Honor Society. I was popular with the drama kids, the stoner kids, and the jocks. Well, not 'Prom King' popular, but I was well-liked, and fairly well-known.
I guess I'm saying that I peaked at 18.
Since that time, I struggled in the real world. I got fat, I got lazy. I got lost.
Then, I got gay.
Did I really want to go back and face my shining past? I have always have wanted to, but I have never been able to muster the courage.
Well, an old school mate who did attend has just sent me pictures from the event. So, for the first time since graduating, I got to look in on who and what I have been missing. And here is what I saw:
Picture after picture of people who look like my parents. Like my Dad's golfing buddies or something. They are wrinkled, balding, fat, middle-aged men and women who are old enough now to have GRANDkids! My peers, my friends, forever burned into my braincells as young and vital and adventurous, crazy, Hell-raisers are, in fact, getting ready to retire. I looked deeply into their eyes, trying to find The Teenager. Who were these people?
Seriously, it spooked me.
I jumped up from my computer and found the nearest mirror and studied my face. I still see The Teenager in me! I swear, I don't look all that drastically different in my face than when I was a kid. Sure, there is wear and tear. Of course. But I do NOT see Grandpa Jim. Could my brain simply refuse to see what I really look like? What in the hell do I really LOOK like?
I have no idea anymore.
I Wanna Scream At The Top Of My Lungs..."
My thirty year high school reunion was the first weekend in August. I had told myself for the last full year that this was the year I would attend. I have told myself this every five years since the 15 year reunion. I can never seem to bring myself to actually going.
It's not like I don't know why. See, my high school years were golden for me. I fell in with the cool kids my junior year and found myself writing for the school paper, getting parts in all the school plays and musicals, was asked to join the vocal ensemble that toured local charity events and recorded an album, and was a part of the competitive acting and speaking team. Won some awards for my performance of "Long Day's Journey Into Night" at a state competition. Scholastically, I did well. National Honor Society. I was popular with the drama kids, the stoner kids, and the jocks. Well, not 'Prom King' popular, but I was well-liked, and fairly well-known.
I guess I'm saying that I peaked at 18.
Since that time, I struggled in the real world. I got fat, I got lazy. I got lost.
Then, I got gay.
Did I really want to go back and face my shining past? I have always have wanted to, but I have never been able to muster the courage.
Well, an old school mate who did attend has just sent me pictures from the event. So, for the first time since graduating, I got to look in on who and what I have been missing. And here is what I saw:
Picture after picture of people who look like my parents. Like my Dad's golfing buddies or something. They are wrinkled, balding, fat, middle-aged men and women who are old enough now to have GRANDkids! My peers, my friends, forever burned into my braincells as young and vital and adventurous, crazy, Hell-raisers are, in fact, getting ready to retire. I looked deeply into their eyes, trying to find The Teenager. Who were these people?
Seriously, it spooked me.
I jumped up from my computer and found the nearest mirror and studied my face. I still see The Teenager in me! I swear, I don't look all that drastically different in my face than when I was a kid. Sure, there is wear and tear. Of course. But I do NOT see Grandpa Jim. Could my brain simply refuse to see what I really look like? What in the hell do I really LOOK like?
I have no idea anymore.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
(sing it with me...)
Ah, a fresh start to a new week! The first day in three that I've felt like a human being. Damn, whatever happened to me on Friday lingered throughout the whole weekend. I was worthless on Saturday and Sunday. Headache from Hell. But, it's Monday now, and I feel fine. Good, in fact. Pretty dang terrific, if push comes to shove.
And, what has happened in the world while I was bunched up into the fetal position in my bed? Well, Merv is dead, Karl Rove announced he is quitting being Bush's brain, 5 people died falling from a Ferris Wheel in South Korea, and Dick Small had trouble connecting to the internet.
All in all, I got off easy.
Monday, Monday
blah, blah, blahblah, blahblah...
Ah, a fresh start to a new week! The first day in three that I've felt like a human being. Damn, whatever happened to me on Friday lingered throughout the whole weekend. I was worthless on Saturday and Sunday. Headache from Hell. But, it's Monday now, and I feel fine. Good, in fact. Pretty dang terrific, if push comes to shove.
And, what has happened in the world while I was bunched up into the fetal position in my bed? Well, Merv is dead, Karl Rove announced he is quitting being Bush's brain, 5 people died falling from a Ferris Wheel in South Korea, and Dick Small had trouble connecting to the internet.
All in all, I got off easy.
PostSecret
This is another of my All Time favorite sites. Every Sunday a new batch of post cards with amazing secrets and accompanying artwork is posted and it never fails to catch me in the throat.
Well, this week Frank has posted a little video about this project, and has asked that fans share it. I am more than happy to do so. It doesn't hurt that the soundtrack to the piece is the amazing song "Breathe Me" by Sia. Little bit of jimmycity trivia here: I have worked up a cover of this song that I play when I play. My cover isn't nearly as dynamic as the original, but I love the idea of a big burly guy like me singing the words "I am small...and needy."
Anyway, those of you who CAN give this a listen should. Sorry, Dick.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Woozy
I'm here at work, hours after my steroid injection, and I'm feeling fairly weird. Kinda nauseous, kinda headachey, kinda sore. I felt the needle a whole bunch more this time, so they upped the sedation on me.
I'll probably go home tonight and crawl into bed early.
It's the weekend. Are you gonna do anything fun? Tell me your plans. Then, tuck me in and kiss my forehead. I'll tell you that I love you as you turn out the light.
I'm here at work, hours after my steroid injection, and I'm feeling fairly weird. Kinda nauseous, kinda headachey, kinda sore. I felt the needle a whole bunch more this time, so they upped the sedation on me.
I'll probably go home tonight and crawl into bed early.
It's the weekend. Are you gonna do anything fun? Tell me your plans. Then, tuck me in and kiss my forehead. I'll tell you that I love you as you turn out the light.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
HAPPY (belated) BIRTHDAY
"Indexed"!
I know I just mentioned her a week or so ago, but Jessica's BRILLIANT blog celebrated its 1st birthday yesterday. This woman is cooler and smarter that anyone I know, yet by following her for the past year, I kinda feel like I DO know her.
I know I just mentioned her a week or so ago, but Jessica's BRILLIANT blog celebrated its 1st birthday yesterday. This woman is cooler and smarter that anyone I know, yet by following her for the past year, I kinda feel like I DO know her.Blogs can be silly. Blogs can be boring. Blogs can be brutal. But some blogs are beautiful.
And this one is.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
So Far, So Good
The evaluation for Physical Therapy on my neck/shoulder/clavicle/blahblahblah went okay yesterday. Twice a week for 8 weeks I'll be going to stretch and turn and swear (most likely).
Went to the dentist today. My tooffers are beautiful. They got cleaned with a pick axe and a belt sander. Dental hygiene is a BIG deal to me. Kiss me. C'mon.
Friday, I get the milkshake straw into the jugular again. No fear this time. Last time was a breeze.
Meanwhile, my "massive project" at work is worrying me. I'm doing all I can do on MY end, but the equipment needed to deploy the content involved is not cooperating. If we aren't firing on all cylinders by Friday morning, I will be commiting seppuku (or, is it hara-kiri?) all over the offending machinery. I'm certain I can get a co-worker to be my "second". They're good like that.
No big deal.
The evaluation for Physical Therapy on my neck/shoulder/clavicle/blahblahblah went okay yesterday. Twice a week for 8 weeks I'll be going to stretch and turn and swear (most likely).
Went to the dentist today. My tooffers are beautiful. They got cleaned with a pick axe and a belt sander. Dental hygiene is a BIG deal to me. Kiss me. C'mon.
Friday, I get the milkshake straw into the jugular again. No fear this time. Last time was a breeze.
Meanwhile, my "massive project" at work is worrying me. I'm doing all I can do on MY end, but the equipment needed to deploy the content involved is not cooperating. If we aren't firing on all cylinders by Friday morning, I will be commiting seppuku (or, is it hara-kiri?) all over the offending machinery. I'm certain I can get a co-worker to be my "second". They're good like that.
No big deal.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Bitch Of A Week Ahead Of Me
I don't want to project a bunch of negative energy out into the Universe, but this week is shaping up to be difficult.
To begin with, my department is still in the throes of being moved and it's not pretty. Once it's over, it is gonna ROCK, but right now it's tough. Equipment is failing left and right and my boss, generally a "Little Ray Of Sunshine" is, rightfully, an exhausted grump. Before all is said and done, there may be personnel adjustments within the facility. Not something that management likes to have to do.
Beyond that, I have a major project that MUST be up on it's feet by Tuesday, a week from tomorrow. A project that requires a fully operational facility, which does not exist at the moment.
And then, to add to that the fact that I have three doctor's appointments this week, the last being another injection into my neck on Friday. I won't be able to take the whole day off, like last time, because of the massive project.
So, wanna see a handsome naked guy? Me, too!
His name is Renzo Lewis, Jr. and he's an actor.
Huh! Go figure.
I just needed a diversion.
click pic for a WEE bit more!
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Serves Me Right For Bragging
It's Saturday, and I am still in Austin, haven't made it to San Antonio for the Big Sex Rodeo I was sure I was going to have.
Friday night I couldn't go because work kept me really late and then I couldn't find my damned eye glasses to drive in the dark. I need those puppies at night now. Yes, I have hairy palms, and I am going blind, for all the usual reasons, if you get my drift (and I'm sure you do).
Found the bitches at around 11pm. Planned on driving down the next morning...
Today, Saturday, things got even more complicated at work. We are moving our facility from one side of the company's building to another. I supervise a switching center, of sorts. LOTS of electronics and computers and video and audio cables and a router like the old-
timey telphone operator tower. Remember Lilly Tomlin as "Ernestine"? Plugging cables into a board to connect calls? Well, our router is a similar device, where we can move video and audio signals around on the cable channels. We've been planning for a year to move and we actually started last week.
timey telphone operator tower. Remember Lilly Tomlin as "Ernestine"? Plugging cables into a board to connect calls? Well, our router is a similar device, where we can move video and audio signals around on the cable channels. We've been planning for a year to move and we actually started last week. I thought they wouldn't need me this weekend. I'm not a technician, I'm an administrative, supervisory-type of pain in the ass. Turns out, all hell broke loose late Friday night and it was "all hands on deck". When you have a piece of electronics this massive that has been "on" for over a solid decade, and then you turn it off to MOVE it, well, when you turn it back on, shit can start to pop, fizzle, and fry.
So, I worked late Friday night, and then I came in this morning and I've been here ever since. We are "operational" again, for the most part. So, I'm heading out of town tomorrow.
DO YOU HEAR ME, GOD?!? TOMORROW!!! ME AND SOME SEX!!! TOMORROW!
Friday, August 03, 2007
Checking In Before Checking Out
Friday, people! Thank God It's Fucking Friday! I am going to San Antonio to visit a friend tonight. I intend to return to town tomorrow evening, exhausted and bow-legged and drained. DRAINED, I tell ya!
...me and my expectations... (eyeroll)
or is it a ridiculous sense of entitlement?
So, there will be no workout tonight or tomorrow.
Do I care? Well, sure, but screw it, I need to participate in sexual activity (in a safe way) with another adult who is interested in participating in sexual activity (in a safe way) with me. Over and over again. I need to be DRAINED!!! And, I need to feel the power and satisfaction of DRAINING SOMEONE ELSE!!!
Friday, people! Thank God It's Fucking Friday! I am going to San Antonio to visit a friend tonight. I intend to return to town tomorrow evening, exhausted and bow-legged and drained. DRAINED, I tell ya!
...me and my expectations... (eyeroll)
or is it a ridiculous sense of entitlement?
So, there will be no workout tonight or tomorrow.
Do I care? Well, sure, but screw it, I need to participate in sexual activity (in a safe way) with another adult who is interested in participating in sexual activity (in a safe way) with me. Over and over again. I need to be DRAINED!!! And, I need to feel the power and satisfaction of DRAINING SOMEONE ELSE!!!
(cue: maniacal laughter)
Fasting blood sugar this morning : 87
In between the sex sessions, I wouldn't mind seeing "The Simpson's Movie".
And kissing. I'm hopeful for a bunch of lip-locking this weekend. I like to snog. Kiss me right, and I'm yours. No hickies. I fucking mean it.
The Dollar Store a few doors down from the YMCA had a huge-ass fire yesterday. The fire trucks had the whole shopping strip blocked off as they battled the blaze. The Y was closed. I'm giving everyone until Sunday to get their shit together.
Did I mention that I got my hair cut REALLY close a week ago or so? Yeah. Me, the guy with the biggest freaking mullet in Texas in 1983 now has his hair clipped (#3 on the back and sides, #5 on top) and I am DIGGIN' it. I rub my head more than my ballbag now. Which is sayin' something!
Shut up, it feels good.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Too Close For Comfort
Look, I love my iPod. I admit it. I've told stories here about how, when working out with it at the gym, with headphones strapped to my head, I get all excited and move around on the exercise bike. I've told you this stuff, right?
Well, now I've run across this fake ad...it is actually making fun of Microsoft's Zune mp3 player, Microsoft in general, and slow, old white guys. And I'll be DAMNED if I don't see my fat ass in it, as the dorky white guy who obviously can't dance yet who is desperately trying. When I think I'm rockin' out, I probably am just bobbing my head and walking around. It takes ENERGY to throw my arms in the air and hoot. Exhausting!
Look, I love my iPod. I admit it. I've told stories here about how, when working out with it at the gym, with headphones strapped to my head, I get all excited and move around on the exercise bike. I've told you this stuff, right?
Well, now I've run across this fake ad...it is actually making fun of Microsoft's Zune mp3 player, Microsoft in general, and slow, old white guys. And I'll be DAMNED if I don't see my fat ass in it, as the dorky white guy who obviously can't dance yet who is desperately trying. When I think I'm rockin' out, I probably am just bobbing my head and walking around. It takes ENERGY to throw my arms in the air and hoot. Exhausting!
The guy in the video is Steve Balmer, the CEO of Microsoft. The image of him is taken from a Microsoft presentation (I think when Zune was announced), and his little over-the-top tirade was labeled as the "Monkeyboy Dance". Turning that footage into a commercial making fun of Zune is pretty damned funny. People who hate Microsoft are probably very familiar with this.
By the way, if you are one in the legion who hates Microsoft (like the guy on my crew who tells me everyDAY what he thinks of the company and its products), do you read "The Secret Diary Of Steve Jobs"? It's a blog that is so densely packed with inside jokes and business-geek humor, that much of it is over my head. But, whoever FakeSteve is, the man is surely a gifted writer and hardcore smartass.
[Please note the extra giggle of the video ending on the Blue Screen Of Death with the audio glitch. Dee-lish!]
Rumor has it that the guy who made this video actually worked for Microsoft, until someone found out about it and fired him.
None of that is the point. The point is : I am one of the "So-So". I see this, and I see me. Umm...without all the money.
And that sucks.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Do You Read "Indexed"?
well, my babies, you SHOULD!
It Ain't Pretty
This woman is a total hero of mine. I have no idea what she looks like, but I swear I would switch teams to be with her. If she ran for President in '08, she would have my vote. Please visit her blog and see how the human condition, current events, and the mysteries of the Universe can be expressed in mathematical equations, charts, and graphs - all on 5x7 index cards!
well, my babies, you SHOULD!
It Ain't Pretty
This woman is a total hero of mine. I have no idea what she looks like, but I swear I would switch teams to be with her. If she ran for President in '08, she would have my vote. Please visit her blog and see how the human condition, current events, and the mysteries of the Universe can be expressed in mathematical equations, charts, and graphs - all on 5x7 index cards!
For All My Critics Out There
Hi. Jim here.
It has been brought to my attention, quite frequently lately, by people who apparently feel the need to point things like this out, that I have slipped in my vow to keep this blog about my health and medical issues. I promised, I am being reminded, that I would not veer away from this format, and I would drop blogging about silly shit like current events and the wonders of being a big, hairy, fat fagman in a world of slender, effeminate twinks and braindead homophobes.
I have tried, I really have. But how many posts can I write where I tell you how it feels to have the stationary bikeseat wedged up my ass, and what I ate for dinner, and what my blood sugar reading was (100 this morning, btw), before my eyes roll back in my head and I slip into a coma? Surely that shit put you to sleep as well, huh?
Look, I have a personality that likes to clown and be a goofball. It is who I am. If I can't post the occasional retarded YouTube clip here, what's the point? And, sometimes, I just need to be REALLY gay here. It's like Tourette's or something.
So. In order to maintain an interest in keeping this blog alive, I am reverting back to writing about whatever the hell I feel like on any given day. My "Quest For Health" will still be covered here, because it's a major component of my life right now.
Sorry if that disappoints you. Deal with it, or go away. Please stop with the critical emails now, okay?
Sincerely,
jim
Hi. Jim here.
It has been brought to my attention, quite frequently lately, by people who apparently feel the need to point things like this out, that I have slipped in my vow to keep this blog about my health and medical issues. I promised, I am being reminded, that I would not veer away from this format, and I would drop blogging about silly shit like current events and the wonders of being a big, hairy, fat fagman in a world of slender, effeminate twinks and braindead homophobes.
I have tried, I really have. But how many posts can I write where I tell you how it feels to have the stationary bikeseat wedged up my ass, and what I ate for dinner, and what my blood sugar reading was (100 this morning, btw), before my eyes roll back in my head and I slip into a coma? Surely that shit put you to sleep as well, huh?
Look, I have a personality that likes to clown and be a goofball. It is who I am. If I can't post the occasional retarded YouTube clip here, what's the point? And, sometimes, I just need to be REALLY gay here. It's like Tourette's or something.
So. In order to maintain an interest in keeping this blog alive, I am reverting back to writing about whatever the hell I feel like on any given day. My "Quest For Health" will still be covered here, because it's a major component of my life right now.
Sorry if that disappoints you. Deal with it, or go away. Please stop with the critical emails now, okay?
Sincerely,
jim
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