(I am back and we have some things to discuss. Can't... control.... anger!"

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

holy shit!

I don't mean like the exclamation when something bad happens - I mean like the most sacred poo ever. Last week I was waiting to use the bathroom on my floor at work. The cleaning lady was in there (she is always in there right after I get to work and right after lunch - the 2 times I have the highest probability of needed the bathroom.... I digress). Anyway she walks out and heads through a door that I have never used. I have been sitting at the same desk on the same floor for 8 years - but I had never used that door. (It used to lead to a set of secure offices where they decided who to fire - I think). Anyway, a lightbulb goes off, "Why does the cleaning lady need to go back there?? It couldn't be... Could it be...? Is that possible... no that isn't poss... or is it? Is there a secret bathroom back there??????"

I had to wait for the coast to clear - but this morning I snuck back there. And holy shit there it was in all its glory. I almost ran back to our desks. But I ran into my team on the way back. I started speaking rapidly (and unintelligibly) to John, WH and my Intern (that's right - I have an intern because I am awesome). We are on the elevator with some other guy and I am spouting about this secret bathroom - but I just did a quick fly-by and had very few details. The team starts asking lots of questions (we have a combined 20 years in this building and no one has ever seen this bathroom). The other guy on the elevator asks if we are crazy [so I cut him - I guess that answered his question].

On the way back from StarBuck's John, Derek, Danielle and I head into the hidden lair. The hall that the bathroom is in has about 10 doors - and I can't remember which it is. Then Danielle here's the Paper Towel dispenser. We all realize simultaneously that means someone is about to emerge!! The door starts to swing open and we all make a mad dash in different directions. Derek runs into John, spilling coffee down Derek's shirt. We looked like kids who almost got caught egging someone's house.

Anyway - the guy coming out just laughed at us. We doubled back and checked out the bathroom. HOLY SHIT!! It has an ante room with 2 chairs. Then the interior actual bathroom. The lock is on the outer room! So you could, as John said, "strip naked out in this room and then head in for a naked shit." God dammit - it is fucking amazing!

I realize that I am spouting off about this to the whole Internet and that means I will probably have to get in a line when I christen the tabernacle - but man it will be worth it.

[From this point your wait for the tabernacle is 45 minutes]

Monday, June 27, 2005

There is a Cleveland Connection

There are 3 staples of the news

(1) If you live in a medium sized city they will constantly attempt to make some connection to a national or international story. "Coming up we've got the Cleveland connection to the Uraguay fire....... That fire in Uraguay took 17 lives. Our I-team is live with the Jones family who once had a cousin that did a term paper on Uraguay - lets got talk to them." It is so desperate and pathetic. When Lindy England was being brought up on charges for her involvment in Abu Grahab prison thing - I kept expecting them to interview a couple who had been to England - so we could get the "Cleveland Connection". (I lived in Dayton, Buffalo and Rochester - same deal in each place).

(2) If a crime happens the news will find the dumbest mother fucker, that is still able to breath, and interview them. "Yeah, deez guys come flewing in 'der air-o-plane and they done buzzed Bubba's out building. Then they up and crashed into the Piggly-Wiggly." I swear crimes and tornado seek these people out and just miss them so they live to tell me the tale in all of their fucking in-bred glory.

(3) If you are abducted/killed and you are ugly no one gives a shit. It's true - but if you are hot then you will get more air time than a video of President Bush giving Cheney a BJ in the Oval Office. I feel bad for the family of the girl in Aruba - but c'mon if she was one of the 10,000 missing or exploited (fat and ugly) people in the US per year - you wouldn't have heard about it at all. (Same with Lori Hacking [hot], Lacy Peterson [hot], ...)

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Zealots - keep your fucking hands off my kids.

Lots of things piss me off. Organized religions recruiting new disciples tops the list. If you want to practice your religion - whatever it is - go for it. But don't tell me that I am "going to hell" or "a sinner" or "blastphemor" or "going to die in hell fire" etc if I don't want to join your club. You know what? I think if God can make the world in seven days - he could handle his own recruiting - but that's just me.

It gets worse when zealots make a play for kids. One day Sarah and I were at the mall and we saw "The Passion of the Christ for Kids" (not the exact title). For real? Kids need to see Jesus tortured and killed (albeit in cartoony pastels I am sure). If Mohammad or Jesus or Buddha are the way - then their light should be bright enough to attract my kids. Don't try to snatch my kids into your religion (I have a story I am working around to).

On Sunday we went to "The 2nd Anual Duct Tape Festival". We saw lots of rednecks and ate lots of carnival food. It was pretty awesome. I ate funnel cake with powdered sugar AND carmel (I love America forever!!). As we were eating, with some friends, my wife sees a booth that is making "sand art". My wife is obsessed with "sand art" (they take different colors of sand and put them into something in a stack of colors - it's pretty - I guess). Anyway, she is all excited to take the boy over and let him try his hand at sand art. She is gone for about 5 minutes and comes back - she is dazed.

Here is what I see. The boy is happy and has a sand filled bracelet. My wife is dazed and is fighting to find English words to describe what just happened. She hands me a card and mutters, "read this..." (I didn't keep the card because I don't recognize blogger gold when I see it). Here is the rough outline of what is on the card
black sand - the black represents the sin that is in all of us
yellow sand - the yellow represents the gold that lines the streets in heaven
red sand - the red represents the blood of christ
blue sand - something else crazy... you get the idea

So that isn't the bad part. The bad part is that the lady making the bracelet is talking to my (not even 3 year old) son while she makes it. "Here is the black sand. It represents sin - like when we don't put away our toys." WHAT? I skimmed the commandments - but I don't rememeber anything like that! Did you just tell my fucking kid that leaving his toys out is a sin?? Holy shit - if it was me I would have grabbed the boy and walked away saying, "Go sell crazy someplace else - we're all stocked up here!" Holy F'ing shit I can't believe this lady. My wife said she had an equally touching (and child inappropriate) description for the blood of christ (the last my wife heard before she blacked out).

Okay - the good news is my son was condemned way before this encounter (for leaving his tricycle out in the rain). God HATES that shit. Oh, the other good thing is that he is blissfully unaware of crazy when he encounters it - so he ignored Crazy McZealot. But for real - I hope this lady doesn't have a Day Care or anything. "Well Tommy I know somebody who isn't getting a snack.... oh and who will spend eternity in hell fire."

Monday, June 20, 2005

My Father's Day gift!

The following has been rated PG-13. It contains descriptions of brief nudity (of me).

My wife and I aren't big gift givers. For birthdays, anniversaries, holidays etc we generally don't do much for each other. Then, when we actually do give a gift, it is meaningful and not a duty. This year my wife had no idea what to get me for Father's Day. On Saturday morning she tipped her hand when she said, "I have no idea what to get you for Father's Day. Any suggestions?" Generally I'd say I don't need anything and that would be it until Xmas. But not this year, this year I had a request. "Here's what I'd like. I want to put the kids to bed early, rent a movie, snuggle and then have sex... you know... like normal people." (If you've been a regular reader you know that I have a 12 pack of condoms that I would term "a lifetime supply". Between, PTA, volleyball, work, babysitting, general fatigue, finishing a basement, kids that go to sleep at 11pm - there isn't tons of time for "romance") Living with all of those commitments and 2 kids is like a NASCAR race, but our "romance" time is under a yellow flag. So there are cars - they are going around the track - but nothing really exciting is happening.

So that was my request. My wife decided to attempt to deliver on Saturday - that way if we had to abort the launch we still had Sunday. Things were going well - my oldest kid didn't take a nap. That meant he would go to sleep by 8pm. The other kid is just a baby - I figured we can make him do our bidding. By about 7pm I was giddy like it was prom night. (I started talking smack to the condoms, "OH you bitches are in trouble tonight... yeah that's right, as many as one of you is going to get used!") At 7pm the baby woke up, WTF? What does that mean? When will he go to bed? What about my movie and the snuggling etc?? My wife assured me he'd ge to sleep by 10pm. The other kid fell asleep half way through a bite of his hamburger. "Mommy I can... sleepy...." (he just leaned over and fell asleep on his mom). [I look menacingly at the baby - I give him the "why can't you be more like your brother?" look]

At a little before 10pm my wife takes the baby up to go to bed. I figure it is time to prep the house. I grab a fist full of condoms and start putting them in strategic places. I figure the spark could ignite anywhere and I need one nearby, "one by the washing machine, one by the couch, here in the shower, one over here..." I was like some Safe-Sex Easter Bunny. Then the fireworks start (before you get grossed out : keep reading) I mean literal fireworks. The "2nd Annual Duct Tape Festival" happened 1 mile from my house (I shit you not). And these red-necks had fireworks. My wife calls to me. [whispers], "I told the boy he could watch the fireworks - but he fell asleep - can you camcord them for him?" [Houston, we have a problem - we may have just gotten the abort code].

I dutifully head outside and record the longest Goddamn fireworks show ever!! I head back inside after the ending (I don't know how to spell Grand finally... finale?) My wife is still feeding the baby. It is past 10:30 - so the movie and snuggling are out, but I figure the other part (you know which one) may still have legs. Okay, a few minutes to ready. I grab a lighter and a few candles from the "candle drawer". I dash up into the bathroom. I put a few candles on the sink and then place a few in the shower. Hmmm... that looks about right - sets the right mood - perfect. I go to the baby's room and peak in to see what the deal is. He is out cold, my wife is glued to the movie "The Bone Colllector" - Goddammit!!! She makes some gesture that means the baby has only been asleep for 1 nanosecond (yeah right).

I head back to the Master Bedroom and she is right behind me. She says, "You left the light on in the bathroom." (she can see the light through the cracked door). She opens it and sees the candles. She smiles (so okay - I've still got it). I propose a team shower - to which she agrees (nice). Because we have kids and a hectic schedule - we actually have to do the functional part of the showering (neither of us had taken a shower during the day). So we get all clean and then I figure it is time to get dirty!! We just start to kiss when I hear a pitter-patter sound. WTF? I peak out of the shower curtain, on one end as my wife peaks out the other end. "Hi mommy... hi daddy!" My kid is ridiculously cute - so I can't help but laugh. He has *never* gotten up at this time before. let alone seek us out in the shower. Well that breaks up the match. A rain delay is called and my wife gets the boy some milk and takes him off to bed. While she was gone - I thought about sitting and blogging about the event so I could avoid details about what happened after the boy fell asleep. But I didn't. So I am blogging now - but this is all of the details you get.

Thursday, June 16, 2005


I got up this morning and was pleased to see that our QTip canister was full again!!! (We don't use the package - we ditch that and put them in a plastic canister). I figure since it's been a few days a little fore-play is in order - but I can't wait and I just thrust the QTip into my ear. It is 1 nanosecond before I realize things are horribly wrong. There isn't enough cotton and the stick bends a little bit. I search the garbage frantically for the package... no luck.

I get to work and my wife calls to give me the morning update on the boys. "They are so cute, they both..." [I cut her off].
me - "You bought generic QTips - didn't you?!"
her - "what?"
me - "The QTips you got - they are not QTip brand (tm) are they?"
her - "Wha..? How the hell can you even tell"
me - "Oh, I can tell - let me read you my blog from this morning" (I read her the blog)
her - "You're an idiot"

So we are going to get divorced. I am taking applications for women that want to get up on this sexiness.
1 owner, low milage...

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Personal high-gene

Am I the only one that practically has an orgasm when using QTips? Why does it feel so damn good? I am like one of those rats with the button that gives them a jolt of "pleasure" and they keep hitting it and eventually starve. That could be me - they might find me dead on the floor with a QTip in my hand. Man I love them - unfortunately we ran out this week and we need more.

I am generally not a snob - I drive a pretty unpretentious car etc. So generic does't bother - except in 2 cases.
(1) Cereal - generic cereal can suck my ass (and in fact it does)
(2) QTips - only the actual QTip (tm) brand will do. The other fake brands are shitty and the cotton falls off and you jab your eardrum with the bendy stick that is left.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

Buy one - get one

In July of 2002 I had my first kid. I think something changed inside me on that day. No not the sense of awesome responsibility to raise a good person into the world. No my responsibility was to keep my kid from collecting up every germ on earth and shoving them into his mouth.

Seriously - what's the deal?

[baby thought] "Look a rusty nail - I'll pick that up and lick it and maybe jab it into my ... Daddy!!! Give that back!! WAH!!"

Yesterday we had to go to the Doctor's. In my pre-kid days this was an event not even worth blogging about But now when I am at the Dr. it is like the walls are alive. I can feel the germs crawling *everywhere* they are trying to get my kids. I am like the guy that has a bad LSD trip and thinks bugs are crawling on him - or snakes, snakes!

When I was young (before I had kids) I never had fears like this. I never thought about germs. I'd drop a piece of pizza on the floor, scoop it up and start eating it again. I'd hang out with people who were sick without any fear at all. I'd bang hookers without protection - I'd shoot-up with unclean needles. Basically I was not a germaphobic, youth-stealing freak. But now I am.

So I am in the waiting room with my kid (with a possible ear infection). That's right - the comletely benign and non-communicable ear infection. But I am eyeing the other kids like they have the plague. [inner monologue] "Okay, buddy stay away from that kid... and THAT one. Look at the river of snot coming out of that little fucker. Hey lady! Kleenex - you've heard of those - right? Buddy, don't pick that up! don't pick.... shit! How many kids have touched that. [my body shudders involuntarily]. " The toy box in the waiting room should have that biohazard symbol on it. I look at the community toys like they are dipped in fucking Ebola. But my kid just grabs them and licks his arm. So I am sure by this time tomorrow my kid will have about 6 other ailments like, chicken pox, a cold, scurvy - shit I have no idea what was on those toys...

Monday, June 13, 2005

Two things

(1) Jesus H. Christ it fucking smells SO f'ing bad at the end of my floor. I am not attempting to overstate this smell, literally the only way I can think to replicate it would be to get diarhea in a frying pan. Then cooking it on high heat until it starts burning. I know you think I am exagerating - but that is EXACTLY what it smells like. I feel like I have to puke every time I walk by there.

(2) If you know me - you know other than shots my biggest fear is eating alone. I have some weird phobia about it. I think everyone is staring at me and feeling sympathy. STOP LOOKING AT ME!! Anyway, that is why it is so nice to have such a great group of lunch buddies; Erik, Sarah, John and Wayne.... who are all out of the office today???!!?!?!@ Seriously, what the fuck people!?! I will break this fucking Shift key off my computer with !!!??!?!!??'s. Dammit. I know I am just going to sit at my desk and eat... alone... like a total loser. Way to fuck me guys.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

Diagonal Parkers

I can't believe that I have been blogging for 5 months and this hasn't come up. Diagonal Parkers - you know who I am talking about - right? You go the grocery store and the cars are all as close as possible to the front door of the store - all of them but one. It's a 2001 Honda Civic that is as far from the door as possible. It is a $14,000 car with $13,000 worth of shit strapped to it. Tinted windows, fart pipes (sound it sounds like a lawn mower passing you), spoiler, ground effects, "CIVIC" written across the whole back window (as if this is some fucking badge of honor), some fucking ugly windshield wipers, etc. Oh and it is parked so that it takes up 4 parking spaces. So help me I will fucking destroy your 19-year-old ass. So you've doubled the cost of your car - but it is still slower than my parents mini-van. Nice work dick.

If I am ever terminally ill and "Make a Wish" Foundation asks me what I want ... like a lapdance from Kathy Ireland or something. I'll say no. I want a Armored Personnel Carrier with a battle ram. Then I am going to go from grocery store to shitty grocery store destroying every pimped-out Neon, Cavalier and Accord I can find. Man that would be awesome!!! (I mean not being terminally ill - but the wrecking shop on diagonally parking a-rods).

Monday, June 06, 2005

Holy effing hot

I retract my doubts about the whole "Global Warming" thing. It is mother fucking hot outside right now. I almost died yesterday. Here's the deal. I used to be on the swim team, in high school. I was 180lbs and 6'4" (that is pretty thin). I could swim like an M'Fer and was in great aerobic shape. I have since gained 60lbs (I weigh 240 for the math challenged). So 240 and 6'4" - if you look at the "Am I going to have a heart attack today?" chart I am in the yellow section. So not great but decent (you know for an American Gen. x'er).

Well when I take off my white T-shirt the most note worthy thing isn't my slight paunch that hangs over my belt - its the fact that it still looks like I have a white T-shirt on. I have a farmer's tan from way back. I rarely take my shirt off where I can be seen (you know - in view of the sun). This has to do with some weird body image things that only girls should have.

Anynugget it was about 4,000 dergrees at Chez-Scott yesterday and I was working in the sun. So I had to make a big decision. Sweat my nuts off or lose my shirt. I told Sarah that in my head there is a complex matrix/cost benefit analysis that tells me when it is socially acceptable to take my shirt off. I tried to draw this out for you - but Stephen Hawking and I are the only ones on earth that can comprehend this 4 dimentional theoretical mathematical matrix. So I am giving you the dumbed down version. (To Shamus : I will try to build one that uses Celsius so you can understand too).

Friday, June 03, 2005

Smokers.... you stink

Listen - there are 2 things I know to be true.
(1) If you have a cat your house smells. I had a cat over a year ago and my house still smells
(2) If you smoke - you stink

Most of the general public will kind of let it slide, instead of recoiling and gagging like we want to when we have to ride the elevator with you. Chewing a stick of Freedent doesn't make your clothes not smell like shit. Being stuck in a car or in an elevator is the worst. I wish smells were visible so I could see the big cloud of nasty and just take another elevator.

I saw Star Wars Episode 3 (awesome) and the guy in front of me had to leave to smoke - twice!! Are you fucking kidding me? You can't make it 2 hours? Each time he'd be gone for 10 minutes and come back smelling like mechanic's break room.

I love to watch the smokers twitch and squirm after the plane lands and then sits on the runway. That's right you fuckers - you have to wait a little longer for that sweet nicotine. "Removal or destrucion of the lavatory fire detector is a violation of Federal law." What? Are you serious - we need a federal law to prevent people from vandalizing fucking planes - THAT is how bad they need a cigarette?

The other gem of the smoking world is the "smoking rooms" at hotels. Jesus H. it smells like burning nutsack in those rooms. It is f'ing awesome - wait no it isn't. It sucks it bad and makes me want to suicide myself.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

Left-over guilt

Something is wrong with me (not something that prevents me from blogging - that's just plain laziness). I have some weird issue that prevents me from opening some kind of food if something else is already open.... ah christ this makes no fucking sense. If there is a box of cereal open - I can't bring myself to open a new one until I have completely finished the first box. The first box could be shitty generic bullshit-O's and I will choke them down until they are gone before I but out the Cocoa-Puffs.

Here's the other weird thing - since I was a toddler I have always loved adult cereals. Special K was my favorite all throughout grades school when other kids were trying to steal sugar cereal from a hapless fucking leprachaun (I have no interest what-so-ever in looking up how to spell that).

Okay - its been like 3 weeks and I don't want to over do it - I'm done.