Tonight there was salsa. The dancing kind, not the kind with habaneros. I mean I suppose some people might think you were dancing if you stuck habaneros up your eyes or something. But don't do that. Cause it hurts a lot.
Unrelated story: One time, at Pizza Hut, the pastor's son got one of those red pepper packets in his eye and he spent the night in the bathroom. Later it looked like he'd had his eyeball sucked from it's socket. Cause it hurt a lot.
It started in the car. We were all driving home together flipping through stations when along comes that really annoying "Tell me baby gurl cause I need to know song" by Marky Antonio Iglesias. Or whichever one he is, I always get them mixed up. We dwelled on it only for a moment and Monkey No. 1 says "Hey! I like that song!" Yesh, of course you do. So we put it back for him, but needless to say we showed him how much more fun it is to sing along with it like an opera singer would. I think we were a bit too loud as the people driving next to us thought we were dying and may have almost caused an accident...
A few years ago, my wife took a latin dancing class at the gym. It surprised the heck outta me how fast she got it down and how much she enjoyed it. But then...um, I'm not sure how to say it so that I don't sound like a jerk. She's got back. Booty. There's really no other other word for it. But it's not unpleasant, disproportionate booty. On a side note, the local straight black male population seems to be attracted to the booty like flies to honey. True, it happened more when we were working at the Scamalot music store together so perhaps there was some trend among the MTV hip hop crown that dug it at that time. Maybe, voluptuous? Rubenesque? Those are good things. Really. As in, "You're not chunky your just like timeless art!" I am going down in flames in this paragraph so I'll stop now...
Where was I? Anyway, I was trying to say she's got the knack for latin dancing and a beautiful set of curves to go with it.
Along with some salsa, there was mambo, there was merengue, there was there was something she was yelling that sounded like "frittata" but I know that can't be it. The merengue was invented by a midget king with one leg that was too short, or so I'm told, and thus you end up looking like Quasimodo learning to jig like a baby duck. (I kinda like that story and I'm not going to bother looking it up to see if it's true.) At least that's the way I look when I do it. Of my few talents, telling my joints how to move my body is definitely not in the arsenal.
This is only one of the many obvious reasons why the monkeys and I love mommy. She's got what we call the "hips of doom". J-Lo doesn't have a thing on those curves and how to use 'em. I also got her a free belly dancing workout video one time (with twin instructors Vena and Nena!) and she picked it up and had her way with it. Don't get in her way or she'll make you do it too. :P
Since it was also bath time, there was wild monkey naked dancing for a bit and flinging pajamas. I discovered that Monkey No. 1 has no sense of how to properly flail about to this kind of beat. But somehow he picked right up on doing some robot arms to the 80's dance music. Monkey No. 2 is out right insane but amazingly has much more coordination and actually followed the general direction of steps mommy was so deftly demonstrating for us.
As for me, I had a brush with the ceiling fan as all I can really do well is hop up and down and kick one leg at a time.
Peace,
Simon
PS. If she ever reads this I'm as good as toast. Eck, what am I going to call her when we finally AREN'T married. I could refer to her as "the Ex" but thats always sounded like sharp objects are involved.
PPS. Just read the comments on yesterdays post. Note to self: When yur sistah is trying to amuse you like only she can make sure you aren't drinking your evening protein shake...cause it's hard clean it out the projectile spittle now stuck between all those keys on the laptop. Great, now how do I explain what the milky white substance in between the "a" and "s" keys are..."p" isn't lookin' too pretty either. I think it frizzled and blipped for a moment too... I hope you are proud of yourself. :)
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Never A Typical Tuesday
I shoulda been a weatherman. I don't even have to look outside. Yesterday's slow fog in my mind seems to have extended to the weather today, since it was the worst overcast day in quite some time. I didn't even step foot into the daylight, or lack thereof, until around noon, but I didn't have to since I could just tell by my inability to do anything at work with any kind of efficiency. Whenever it's overcast, all the little particles of the atmosphere conspire to use psychic vibrations all pointed at my skull.The only thing worse is when it's overcast AND muggy.
My office also happens to be the hottest office in the building. (Not just because yours truly is working in there, silly.) This is probably a point of debate since the office next to mine used to hold the record. I'll just say I work with a few large lads that when put together in tiny rooms are capable of raising the temperature a few degrees. Now that El Scooby works with me, I'm pretty sure ours gets the toastiest.
The heat has never bothered me before. In fact given the choice I will usually sleep with just a fan in the summertime. Partially because I am a cheapskate and refuse to pay an electric bill in the triple digits, but mainly because I am a summer boy and do in fact prefer the heat. That being said, my bedroom is just like me; a land of extremes that changes with the wind. And it's currently set to broil in my bedroom. The kind of hot where I'm wearing a wool sweater and sandwiched between two llamas while someone is slathering my forehead with bacon grease. Yet strangely, I'm only in my undies.
And when it's not hot it's extremely frigid. Since I had to get up at 6 this morning I actually put the AC on to see if that might let me get through the night and stifle these freaky dreams that cause me to turn the alarm clock off in my sleep. Well, there were in fact no freaky dreams, only because I woke up every hour on the hour trying to configure the right combination of comforter, sheet and pillow to effectively get to sleep again. So I woke up around 4:30 and just went to work. I'm a little tired.
What a wretched, wasted work day. The kind where every five minutes I have to use a diversionary tactic to tell myself I'll get back to work right after this short commercial break. More than likely it's a very loud song through my headphones or a trip to the fridge where I realize there's nothing I should be eating in there.
They've come to fix the air vent to our office more times than I can count but it never has worked. I think my affliction has developed in my mind now that I have an officemate who reminds me every day about how hot it is. I don't really feel like getting involved in the war of the thermostat at work, one person turns it up the other turns it down, the boss gets all pissy and I just watch it all happen from my hotbox since the thing is right outside my door. I have enough observations at work now that I certainly will be writing a comic strip about it someday, I swear.
OK, I'm trying to think of one positive thing that happened today to balance all this bitchiness out. Hmmm...hold on it's coming...umm. I don't live in Iraq? Does that work?
On top of not making it to the gym, I had fast food not once but twice today. Somehow I ended up at Burger King with a friend (he offered to pay and I'm poor) and got a chicken salad. The chicken came in what was labeled "Hot Meat In A Pouch". Excuse me for a moment while I go poo somethin' fierce.
I'd say that since it is Tuesday, my usual night out with the monkeys and that should be my pick-me-up, but dear god, can I have a little cheese with that whine. I'd say it must be something they fed them today but I packed their lunches last night so that would be own fault.
Since the weather effectively short circuited my brain and sucked the life force out of me today, I didn't go to the gym. Which is especially bad because I didn't make it yesterday either. And I always go on Tuesday with the boys. They usually look forward to it. Instead I picked them up from daycare, came home and took all my willpower not to pass out on the couch, lest I awaken to a yet again trashed house. For old times sake. (Although it's STILL not cleaned up so I don't know what I was worried about.)
I knew I was in for it when they took off in opposite directions and neither would listen to get into the car. Then Monkey No.1 proceeded to think that every time I said "no" it meant "ok" and he would do it anyway. No you cant play video games, no you can't jump off the couch, no you can't push the big red button, etc.
My worst moment today was having to raise my voice to Monkey No. 1 for doing the usual things that five year olds do. I don't remember what it was for. I do remember he even said please. And that he was a little shaken. And that I felt terrible. I'm obviously not in the right frame of mind for this and I should just take them home but...I stopped and reminded myself. Tonight is my wife's night without the boys so she can have some alone time. It's the least I can do for her.
So we went to find some grub. Everywhere I suggested was a negative and all Monkey No. 1 wanted was McDonald's, KFC, Pizza Hut and Taco Bell. I was so hungry and unwilling to battle anymore that I broke down and went to Checkers. Cheeseburgers and fries. The sustenance of couch potato warriors and exhausted parents. I could just donkey punch myself for that.
Bathtime was alright, and I let them soak a bit longer than usual until they were reenacting King Kong vs. Godzilla* and causing tidalwaves to come crashing into my crossword puzzle so that was the end of that.
My wife scratched my back for a while sensing that I was really tired and for a moment it felt like I should just sleep here tonight. After all, when you know someone intimately for so long, you do figure out all their weak spots. Then I got soap flung up my nose and snapped back to reality as it was soooo time for bed for all you, naked, hurling monkeys.
My wife has a few guests stop by so I take the boys to their room, read a story, sing a song, and turn out the lights. After all the harsh reactions tonight Monkey No. 1 wants me to sleep in their room. He doesn't want me to go away. So instead of going home, I lie down between their beds resting my head on a fuzzy red chair, like a soldier on guard duty for two princes. I stare up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. I feel a bristly mop of hair against my tummy. Both of them are trying to sneak out of their beds and onto me as though I am a more comfy mattress. Monkey No.1 always goes to sleep quick enough, but Monkey No.2 must have night in his veins. It's been a major problem trying to get him to go to sleep before 10 or later even though he is always down at 8:30. Somehow my being there at least keeps him in his bed. In truth, I'd do this every night if I could.
I drift off until my wife awakens me. Monkey No. 2 is still awake but hopefully calm enough now. I even missed the last American Idol performances and I don't even care.
I decide to pack their lunches again before I go. In each of their lunchboxes I draw on their napkin, one a sun with crown, one a moon with a curl, each with a wink and smile and a note reminding them that "Love you, Dad." I doesn't matter that they can't read yet.
I notice my crossword puzzle has dried and all at once every answer flows out like I wasn't even reading the clues before. Here's hoping that there is such a bike as a TANDEM.
It is still strange to say good bye to my wife every night and go to an empty house.
As I go to bed now, my mind is clear again. I've gotten it all out and hopefully I will rest. Tomorrow, another rotation, another chance.
Peace,
Simon
* On a totally unrelated piece of geekery my asian cinema guru enlightened me that the actual title is King Kong vs. Godzilla, which is a big deal since every other movie is Godzilla vs. (Insert Monster of the Month Here). I suspect it must be because the crazy monkey probably pitched a diva fit to his agent for first billing whereas Godzilla would never think to be so crass.
My office also happens to be the hottest office in the building. (Not just because yours truly is working in there, silly.) This is probably a point of debate since the office next to mine used to hold the record. I'll just say I work with a few large lads that when put together in tiny rooms are capable of raising the temperature a few degrees. Now that El Scooby works with me, I'm pretty sure ours gets the toastiest.
The heat has never bothered me before. In fact given the choice I will usually sleep with just a fan in the summertime. Partially because I am a cheapskate and refuse to pay an electric bill in the triple digits, but mainly because I am a summer boy and do in fact prefer the heat. That being said, my bedroom is just like me; a land of extremes that changes with the wind. And it's currently set to broil in my bedroom. The kind of hot where I'm wearing a wool sweater and sandwiched between two llamas while someone is slathering my forehead with bacon grease. Yet strangely, I'm only in my undies.
And when it's not hot it's extremely frigid. Since I had to get up at 6 this morning I actually put the AC on to see if that might let me get through the night and stifle these freaky dreams that cause me to turn the alarm clock off in my sleep. Well, there were in fact no freaky dreams, only because I woke up every hour on the hour trying to configure the right combination of comforter, sheet and pillow to effectively get to sleep again. So I woke up around 4:30 and just went to work. I'm a little tired.
What a wretched, wasted work day. The kind where every five minutes I have to use a diversionary tactic to tell myself I'll get back to work right after this short commercial break. More than likely it's a very loud song through my headphones or a trip to the fridge where I realize there's nothing I should be eating in there.
They've come to fix the air vent to our office more times than I can count but it never has worked. I think my affliction has developed in my mind now that I have an officemate who reminds me every day about how hot it is. I don't really feel like getting involved in the war of the thermostat at work, one person turns it up the other turns it down, the boss gets all pissy and I just watch it all happen from my hotbox since the thing is right outside my door. I have enough observations at work now that I certainly will be writing a comic strip about it someday, I swear.
OK, I'm trying to think of one positive thing that happened today to balance all this bitchiness out. Hmmm...hold on it's coming...umm. I don't live in Iraq? Does that work?
On top of not making it to the gym, I had fast food not once but twice today. Somehow I ended up at Burger King with a friend (he offered to pay and I'm poor) and got a chicken salad. The chicken came in what was labeled "Hot Meat In A Pouch". Excuse me for a moment while I go poo somethin' fierce.
I'd say that since it is Tuesday, my usual night out with the monkeys and that should be my pick-me-up, but dear god, can I have a little cheese with that whine. I'd say it must be something they fed them today but I packed their lunches last night so that would be own fault.
Since the weather effectively short circuited my brain and sucked the life force out of me today, I didn't go to the gym. Which is especially bad because I didn't make it yesterday either. And I always go on Tuesday with the boys. They usually look forward to it. Instead I picked them up from daycare, came home and took all my willpower not to pass out on the couch, lest I awaken to a yet again trashed house. For old times sake. (Although it's STILL not cleaned up so I don't know what I was worried about.)
I knew I was in for it when they took off in opposite directions and neither would listen to get into the car. Then Monkey No.1 proceeded to think that every time I said "no" it meant "ok" and he would do it anyway. No you cant play video games, no you can't jump off the couch, no you can't push the big red button, etc.
My worst moment today was having to raise my voice to Monkey No. 1 for doing the usual things that five year olds do. I don't remember what it was for. I do remember he even said please. And that he was a little shaken. And that I felt terrible. I'm obviously not in the right frame of mind for this and I should just take them home but...I stopped and reminded myself. Tonight is my wife's night without the boys so she can have some alone time. It's the least I can do for her.
So we went to find some grub. Everywhere I suggested was a negative and all Monkey No. 1 wanted was McDonald's, KFC, Pizza Hut and Taco Bell. I was so hungry and unwilling to battle anymore that I broke down and went to Checkers. Cheeseburgers and fries. The sustenance of couch potato warriors and exhausted parents. I could just donkey punch myself for that.
Bathtime was alright, and I let them soak a bit longer than usual until they were reenacting King Kong vs. Godzilla* and causing tidalwaves to come crashing into my crossword puzzle so that was the end of that.
My wife scratched my back for a while sensing that I was really tired and for a moment it felt like I should just sleep here tonight. After all, when you know someone intimately for so long, you do figure out all their weak spots. Then I got soap flung up my nose and snapped back to reality as it was soooo time for bed for all you, naked, hurling monkeys.
My wife has a few guests stop by so I take the boys to their room, read a story, sing a song, and turn out the lights. After all the harsh reactions tonight Monkey No. 1 wants me to sleep in their room. He doesn't want me to go away. So instead of going home, I lie down between their beds resting my head on a fuzzy red chair, like a soldier on guard duty for two princes. I stare up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. I feel a bristly mop of hair against my tummy. Both of them are trying to sneak out of their beds and onto me as though I am a more comfy mattress. Monkey No.1 always goes to sleep quick enough, but Monkey No.2 must have night in his veins. It's been a major problem trying to get him to go to sleep before 10 or later even though he is always down at 8:30. Somehow my being there at least keeps him in his bed. In truth, I'd do this every night if I could.
I drift off until my wife awakens me. Monkey No. 2 is still awake but hopefully calm enough now. I even missed the last American Idol performances and I don't even care.
I decide to pack their lunches again before I go. In each of their lunchboxes I draw on their napkin, one a sun with crown, one a moon with a curl, each with a wink and smile and a note reminding them that "Love you, Dad." I doesn't matter that they can't read yet.
I notice my crossword puzzle has dried and all at once every answer flows out like I wasn't even reading the clues before. Here's hoping that there is such a bike as a TANDEM.
It is still strange to say good bye to my wife every night and go to an empty house.
As I go to bed now, my mind is clear again. I've gotten it all out and hopefully I will rest. Tomorrow, another rotation, another chance.
Peace,
Simon
* On a totally unrelated piece of geekery my asian cinema guru enlightened me that the actual title is King Kong vs. Godzilla, which is a big deal since every other movie is Godzilla vs. (Insert Monster of the Month Here). I suspect it must be because the crazy monkey probably pitched a diva fit to his agent for first billing whereas Godzilla would never think to be so crass.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Say My Name
After reading through recent discussions at See Kyle Draw, I want to do something earth-shattering. Yes, I do want to draw comics someday, but that's not what I'm talking about. I want to use my real name. Do away with the Simon moniker and all it's baggage. But. I can't.
If you don't feel like reading through it all, the above discussions were sparked by a big combination of things that are certainly large parts of my life. The role of comic books, superheroes, sexual identity, the ideals of heroism, the boundaries of geek culture...the list goes on... and made me want to open my yap and spew forth, talking about kids and popular media from the perspective of a gay dad of two young boys who are starting to embrace and imitate all that they see and hear. Which I'd love to comment on, but not sure how right now.
Somehow, the thing that hit me hardest, were a few comments about using your real name to represent yourself.
I started to write. And it went on and on. I had it all ready to go and it came to sign my name. I wanted to use my actual name I use in everyday life. Of course I didn't have to, but I felt a need to. But I still couldn't bring myself to do it. So I just scrapped all my thoughts and tried to forget about it. Enough was probably said about it anyway, no need to clutter up another comments section with my additional undecisive babble.
Some people that read this do know the name behind Simon. The guy that sits at his desk and works too much and worries too much. The one who is bold one minute and scared the next. The one who is often slow as molasses. But speedy when the right switch is flipped. They have become good souls to talk to. So obviously, I'm not adverse to using my real name in conjunction with my sexual orientation. Call me a fag or slap a pink triangle on me. Bring it on, I say. You won't get much retaliation, though, so you probably shouldn't waste your time. I'm awful at fighting back...
My biggest fear? That someone will come hunt down those that are important to me. When they find out that I do have kids. To go on a self-imposed mission to separate me from my monkeys and even my wife. Or even worse take out their hatred of me on them. Is the fear unwarranted? I truly don't know anyone who would do this. But it terrifies me.
Then it makes me think, perhaps the desire I have for "helping" people is as delusional as the blind crusader who I fear. It seems the definition of help contains a matter of perception and always involves an intrusion, whether it be wanted or not. Perhaps this is why I have problems being social and offering opinions. We all affect each other and I don't want to be the source of the ripples in a negative way. So most of the time I don't say anything at all, other than an off handed forgettable agreement..
I can't control the universe and all it's intricacies, the things we call "right" and "wrong". Hell, I can't even control my own mind sometimes. I can't bring myself to do this one little thing. In the end it's really not even a big deal. So what is my real name? The one I think it is or the one that was given to me?
A Bit Rattled,
Simon
PS. Case in point. I hope I never get into a real conversation like this. I'd get ripped to shreds. Things like this make me want to curl up in the fetal position. Or go mate with a hermaphroditic frog out of spite.
If you don't feel like reading through it all, the above discussions were sparked by a big combination of things that are certainly large parts of my life. The role of comic books, superheroes, sexual identity, the ideals of heroism, the boundaries of geek culture...the list goes on... and made me want to open my yap and spew forth, talking about kids and popular media from the perspective of a gay dad of two young boys who are starting to embrace and imitate all that they see and hear. Which I'd love to comment on, but not sure how right now.
Somehow, the thing that hit me hardest, were a few comments about using your real name to represent yourself.
I started to write. And it went on and on. I had it all ready to go and it came to sign my name. I wanted to use my actual name I use in everyday life. Of course I didn't have to, but I felt a need to. But I still couldn't bring myself to do it. So I just scrapped all my thoughts and tried to forget about it. Enough was probably said about it anyway, no need to clutter up another comments section with my additional undecisive babble.
Some people that read this do know the name behind Simon. The guy that sits at his desk and works too much and worries too much. The one who is bold one minute and scared the next. The one who is often slow as molasses. But speedy when the right switch is flipped. They have become good souls to talk to. So obviously, I'm not adverse to using my real name in conjunction with my sexual orientation. Call me a fag or slap a pink triangle on me. Bring it on, I say. You won't get much retaliation, though, so you probably shouldn't waste your time. I'm awful at fighting back...
My biggest fear? That someone will come hunt down those that are important to me. When they find out that I do have kids. To go on a self-imposed mission to separate me from my monkeys and even my wife. Or even worse take out their hatred of me on them. Is the fear unwarranted? I truly don't know anyone who would do this. But it terrifies me.
Then it makes me think, perhaps the desire I have for "helping" people is as delusional as the blind crusader who I fear. It seems the definition of help contains a matter of perception and always involves an intrusion, whether it be wanted or not. Perhaps this is why I have problems being social and offering opinions. We all affect each other and I don't want to be the source of the ripples in a negative way. So most of the time I don't say anything at all, other than an off handed forgettable agreement..
I can't control the universe and all it's intricacies, the things we call "right" and "wrong". Hell, I can't even control my own mind sometimes. I can't bring myself to do this one little thing. In the end it's really not even a big deal. So what is my real name? The one I think it is or the one that was given to me?
A Bit Rattled,
Simon
PS. Case in point. I hope I never get into a real conversation like this. I'd get ripped to shreds. Things like this make me want to curl up in the fetal position. Or go mate with a hermaphroditic frog out of spite.
All is Quiet
Congratulations to whoever slipped in through the shadows last night and decided to stick me with a tranquilizer. I wake up way too late for work and have been traveling at tortoise-on-valium velocity all day.
May have also been last nights dream. Something about a big cruise boat...that never gets off the ground...and there are shops and rain and a hostess that looks like an old highschool friend but with Betty Page style. Everywhere she walks turns the color and atmosphere into a technicolor 1950's "I'm In Paradise And Your Not" postcard. Outside on the cliffs we've come up against, there are giant waves. But in the place of sea-foam, tired looking people in sundresses and tattered shirts are being washed in and out to sea with the same steady stream as the crashing tides. In the end we take a tour through the ship that goes from rooms of glitter and purple glam to rooms in some deranged child's homemade haunted house. The ghosts and skeletons were real though. And as they close the door behind us to the pitch black inferno that we've entered, I wake up...
The night before last was a little less visual and far scarier...to me at least. I decided to go back to my wife's church. As the pastor I had never met walked down the aisle to shake everyone's hand, I held out mine with a smile and he simply glared at me. His face became extremely long and stern, the light on his silhouette reflected as though his now extremely large jaw and hands were made of stone and steel, ready to pelt me with the blue, black and orange book in his hands. The rest of the congregation gasped, slowly shrunk, and faded away through the walls.
Peace,
Simon
May have also been last nights dream. Something about a big cruise boat...that never gets off the ground...and there are shops and rain and a hostess that looks like an old highschool friend but with Betty Page style. Everywhere she walks turns the color and atmosphere into a technicolor 1950's "I'm In Paradise And Your Not" postcard. Outside on the cliffs we've come up against, there are giant waves. But in the place of sea-foam, tired looking people in sundresses and tattered shirts are being washed in and out to sea with the same steady stream as the crashing tides. In the end we take a tour through the ship that goes from rooms of glitter and purple glam to rooms in some deranged child's homemade haunted house. The ghosts and skeletons were real though. And as they close the door behind us to the pitch black inferno that we've entered, I wake up...
The night before last was a little less visual and far scarier...to me at least. I decided to go back to my wife's church. As the pastor I had never met walked down the aisle to shake everyone's hand, I held out mine with a smile and he simply glared at me. His face became extremely long and stern, the light on his silhouette reflected as though his now extremely large jaw and hands were made of stone and steel, ready to pelt me with the blue, black and orange book in his hands. The rest of the congregation gasped, slowly shrunk, and faded away through the walls.
Peace,
Simon
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Your like...24 right?
And now a public service announcement for a cool lady:
(Click to make Bigger!)
There was cake, but of course you can't trust a monkey with cake, so now there is none. Hope your birthday is a good one. :P
Peace,
Simon
(Click to make Bigger!)
There was cake, but of course you can't trust a monkey with cake, so now there is none. Hope your birthday is a good one. :P
Peace,
Simon
Life in the Stream
Today is an experiment in "real time" blogging. I'm trying to incorporate taking a short 1 minute break every half hour or so at work to force myself out of my seat, stretch and write a sentence about what's going on. Not only as an alternative to workaholics anonymous, it made me think about it because my left shoulder gets a stabbing pain in it when under stress to finish a project. It's been far better since I started the gym but still hurts like hell. Like the one I got one yesterday that was incapacitating for a moment.
So just bare with me as I try and break this fugly pain in the neck.
6:45 Every Wednesday, without fail, the day I'm supposed to be at work at seven precisely, I turn off my alarm in my sleep. I rush out the door and forget something. However. Cell, keys, laptop, wallet, shoes, breakfast..all accounted for. Cool.
7:01 Aha! I knew there had to be something. My shirt is on backwards. :P
7:39 As much as Stevie Ray Vaughan wants to make me belt and growl along, it's not a good idea to try while eating oatmeal.
8:01 Potty break!
8:07 There must be a law of nature that must state, when you have to go poo RIGHT NOW, the toilet seat will be covered in pee.
8:54 When your boss walks by head banging and making rock out gestures to the way-beyond-loud music blaring from your offfice, you then know there is potential to have a good day. True, he was probably mocking me but that's standard protocol around here. :)
9:38 Did somebody just call me Fatboy Slim? That's cool. Current minor distraction: Google Content Blocker
10:12 Correction it was "Fart Blossom" not "Fatboy Slim". But I don't think she was calling me a fart blossom. She just says these things. Alrighty then.
11:11 Tummy grumbling. Time for a banana and some vine swinging.
11:51 Oh how I wish I could talk about all the nifty things that I work on. But then I'd have to kill you...
12:37 Lunch. Since all my funds have gone to monkeys this week, I think the only thing left is a microwave burrito. Joy.
1:37 I gotta stop working through lunch. The good thing is that I forgot that I had stockpiled organic burritos. So they don't taste like crap. And I found salsa. Yipee!
3:11 In response to the comment below about which burrito it's Amy's brand. Actually anything Amy's is scrumptious. It's also the only kind of frozen pizza I get for my monkeys.
3:17 The Super Spam All-Star™ name for the day, provided by a friend, is...Nicaraguan R. Cantaloupes! Shazam!
5:05 Hmm seems these got less frequent as the day went on. Wonder why that is. Poor El Scooby (my officemate). He had Wendys today and now his poo is green and his ass really hurts alot, so he went home early. This is why I try not to eat fast food. Either that he wanted a head start on waiting in line for that movie. Which he'll being seeing again tomorrow. And then his life shall be complete. Whatever makes you happy I suppose. I just hope given how he's feeling that he doesn't some kind of "Eruption in the Force" while he's watching it.
6:15 Here's the thing about leaving work. If I don't leave by 4 it becomes virtually impossible to get home in a timely manner until the traffic subsides again, around 6. But I guess I have no excuse NOW, so I should kick myself out.
7:47 Yes, I'm still here at work. I always stay late when I'm the verge of a breakthrough. On another note I've almost just now choked on a glass of water that went down the wrong way.
11:01 One more thing to do before I shuffle off to dreamland regarding a certain birthday girl...
Peace,
Simon
So just bare with me as I try and break this fugly pain in the neck.
6:45 Every Wednesday, without fail, the day I'm supposed to be at work at seven precisely, I turn off my alarm in my sleep. I rush out the door and forget something. However. Cell, keys, laptop, wallet, shoes, breakfast..all accounted for. Cool.
7:01 Aha! I knew there had to be something. My shirt is on backwards. :P
7:39 As much as Stevie Ray Vaughan wants to make me belt and growl along, it's not a good idea to try while eating oatmeal.
8:01 Potty break!
8:07 There must be a law of nature that must state, when you have to go poo RIGHT NOW, the toilet seat will be covered in pee.
8:54 When your boss walks by head banging and making rock out gestures to the way-beyond-loud music blaring from your offfice, you then know there is potential to have a good day. True, he was probably mocking me but that's standard protocol around here. :)
9:38 Did somebody just call me Fatboy Slim? That's cool. Current minor distraction: Google Content Blocker
10:12 Correction it was "Fart Blossom" not "Fatboy Slim". But I don't think she was calling me a fart blossom. She just says these things. Alrighty then.
11:11 Tummy grumbling. Time for a banana and some vine swinging.
11:51 Oh how I wish I could talk about all the nifty things that I work on. But then I'd have to kill you...
12:37 Lunch. Since all my funds have gone to monkeys this week, I think the only thing left is a microwave burrito. Joy.
1:37 I gotta stop working through lunch. The good thing is that I forgot that I had stockpiled organic burritos. So they don't taste like crap. And I found salsa. Yipee!
3:11 In response to the comment below about which burrito it's Amy's brand. Actually anything Amy's is scrumptious. It's also the only kind of frozen pizza I get for my monkeys.
3:17 The Super Spam All-Star™ name for the day, provided by a friend, is...Nicaraguan R. Cantaloupes! Shazam!
5:05 Hmm seems these got less frequent as the day went on. Wonder why that is. Poor El Scooby (my officemate). He had Wendys today and now his poo is green and his ass really hurts alot, so he went home early. This is why I try not to eat fast food. Either that he wanted a head start on waiting in line for that movie. Which he'll being seeing again tomorrow. And then his life shall be complete. Whatever makes you happy I suppose. I just hope given how he's feeling that he doesn't some kind of "Eruption in the Force" while he's watching it.
6:15 Here's the thing about leaving work. If I don't leave by 4 it becomes virtually impossible to get home in a timely manner until the traffic subsides again, around 6. But I guess I have no excuse NOW, so I should kick myself out.
7:47 Yes, I'm still here at work. I always stay late when I'm the verge of a breakthrough. On another note I've almost just now choked on a glass of water that went down the wrong way.
11:01 One more thing to do before I shuffle off to dreamland regarding a certain birthday girl...
Peace,
Simon
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Philosophical Transgressions
I went to the psychiatrist today. He says he could tell just by looking at me that I seem brighter these days. And I've told the monkeys to stop sticking glowsticks up my nose in my sleep but they just won't listen. Besides an upgraded mood and energy level, I've also been having bizarre dreams and now a dull headache seems to be recurring. It's not a painful ache but it seems to muddle the outside world once in a while. Hard to describe. Or it may be that my shoes are just too tight.
In the preceding few weeks, I've been on a creative kick that I haven't had in years, if even then. Writing and writing about fantastic images, mundane stories, ideologies that question what's going on and then another immediately following that will wander off in the exact opposite path. Snippets of time and good fortune that are turning into tangible ideas. You won't find me in my travels now without a pen and papers of varying scrap sizes.
Problem is, whenever there is a slight break in thought, I'm either too tired or busy to expand on anything I've written down. Or record in the now gargantuan ongoing text file on the laptop. Which I should just have surgically implanted for ease of use. So at any moment I could just flip up the screen in my chest or open up the keyboard on my arm. Sometimes my scribbles are so vague I can't remember what the hell I was talking about. The shorthand becomes phrases that are meant to encompass future vast epics, blog posts, or master plans. Things like: Platonic Sweet Corn, Fun with Hats, Giant Plastic Scissors, or my favorite, Hot Rubber Ducky Death Metal.
Apparently, however, I've been mistaking my newfound creative abundance for symptoms of ADD. So Doc prescribed some stuff that's bound to change my current state of being. Considering how constant my previously malignant state of thinking was, I almost asked him "Are you sure? Can you try it for me first so I can see what happens?" If this is delusion then I'll gladly stay here. But I suppose he's got the piece of paper to prove it so...anyone else want to practice poking my brain for a bit?
I still despise taking drugs that I'm not sure I need.
.....................
Idol Thoughts
Since bad hobits are hard to break:
Allow me to be British for a moment. It was rather a sordid affair and I was rather kind of glad to see it end. Rather. That wasn't very British.
I've surprised myself, thinking that Carrie may well not make it to next week. Possibly. Bo seems safe. Maybe. Vonzell will get pity votes, although she redeemed herself in the second half. Probably. But I've been wrong every week so far so let's watch in pain as Anthony somehow sweeps the whole thing. Indubitably.
(Hmmm, bad hobbits are also probably hard to break.)
Peace,
Simon
In the preceding few weeks, I've been on a creative kick that I haven't had in years, if even then. Writing and writing about fantastic images, mundane stories, ideologies that question what's going on and then another immediately following that will wander off in the exact opposite path. Snippets of time and good fortune that are turning into tangible ideas. You won't find me in my travels now without a pen and papers of varying scrap sizes.
Problem is, whenever there is a slight break in thought, I'm either too tired or busy to expand on anything I've written down. Or record in the now gargantuan ongoing text file on the laptop. Which I should just have surgically implanted for ease of use. So at any moment I could just flip up the screen in my chest or open up the keyboard on my arm. Sometimes my scribbles are so vague I can't remember what the hell I was talking about. The shorthand becomes phrases that are meant to encompass future vast epics, blog posts, or master plans. Things like: Platonic Sweet Corn, Fun with Hats, Giant Plastic Scissors, or my favorite, Hot Rubber Ducky Death Metal.
Apparently, however, I've been mistaking my newfound creative abundance for symptoms of ADD. So Doc prescribed some stuff that's bound to change my current state of being. Considering how constant my previously malignant state of thinking was, I almost asked him "Are you sure? Can you try it for me first so I can see what happens?" If this is delusion then I'll gladly stay here. But I suppose he's got the piece of paper to prove it so...anyone else want to practice poking my brain for a bit?
I still despise taking drugs that I'm not sure I need.
.....................
Idol Thoughts
Since bad hobits are hard to break:
Allow me to be British for a moment. It was rather a sordid affair and I was rather kind of glad to see it end. Rather. That wasn't very British.
I've surprised myself, thinking that Carrie may well not make it to next week. Possibly. Bo seems safe. Maybe. Vonzell will get pity votes, although she redeemed herself in the second half. Probably. But I've been wrong every week so far so let's watch in pain as Anthony somehow sweeps the whole thing. Indubitably.
(Hmmm, bad hobbits are also probably hard to break.)
Peace,
Simon
Monday, May 09, 2005
My Lunchbox is About 3/4 of a Tank Low
Opening Music: Sophie B. Hawkins : Damn I Wish I was Your Lover.
Hopefully, this isn't some kind of premonition. And somehow I always get confused and think this is Say What You Want by Texas (The band not the state). But anyway.
I filled up my gas tank on Friday night and it's already about gone. Mother's Day was really a pleasant and enjoyable few days. And then at the last minute, it wasn't. I don't wanna talk about it right now.
Therefore
Crappy Sunday Night
begets
Sluggish Monday Morning
begets
Muddled Thoughts
begets
Brain Cramps
begets
Laziness
begets
Modern Convenience
begets
Complete Disillusionment.
Meaning: After wandering around the grocery store trying to be thrifty, getting distracted by the frenzy of muscle mags encouraging me to buy my new body for only $5.95, and generally failing at motivation to eat a so-called-healthy lunch, I end up getting an egg salad sub that I know has been processed, packaged and preserved in huge proportions. With Salt & Vinegar Chips. And a flask of Barques Root Beer that's far too big.
I've figured it out. You know that Ice Cream thing that some do when they are depressed..I do that with fast food when I get lost and confused. If I'm depressed I just don't eat so at least I know that's not the case. Give me a combo meal and it won't show me the way to enlightenment, but secretly I'm probably hoping it will shorten my overall life span.
In my wanderings though, a deck of Incredibles Playing Cards caught my eye and I heard a monkey in my brain say "Wowie Zowie!". Maybe I'm brain washed or maybe I'm immature. Or both. But these days The Incredibles now always remind me of my playful monkeys and my troubles disintegrate for a few moments. I recall that I must pick up my super suit at the dry cleaners.
So, I am feeling a little better now. Maybe I just needed to get out of the office for a bit. It's sunny and warm outside. I must be part plant life after being vegetarian so long. Did you ever read that book when you were in elementary school about the kid who drank all that green juice to turn his hemoglobin into chloryphyll and therefore became a living..um..vegetable. Anyone? If you know the name of the book you can join me for some photosynthesis by the pool later.
I've decided I need a lunchbox. Not want, NEED. The whole concept of lunchboxes rock. Surely there must be an Incredibles lunchbox floating around out there... and why does my text editor keep telling me lunchbox is not one word. Of course it is. :P
Closing Music: Gavin DeGraw : Chariot.
It made me sing out loud which isn't something I thought I'd do today.
Peace and Lunch,
Simon
Hopefully, this isn't some kind of premonition. And somehow I always get confused and think this is Say What You Want by Texas (The band not the state). But anyway.
I filled up my gas tank on Friday night and it's already about gone. Mother's Day was really a pleasant and enjoyable few days. And then at the last minute, it wasn't. I don't wanna talk about it right now.
Therefore
Crappy Sunday Night
begets
Sluggish Monday Morning
begets
Muddled Thoughts
begets
Brain Cramps
begets
Laziness
begets
Modern Convenience
begets
Complete Disillusionment.
Meaning: After wandering around the grocery store trying to be thrifty, getting distracted by the frenzy of muscle mags encouraging me to buy my new body for only $5.95, and generally failing at motivation to eat a so-called-healthy lunch, I end up getting an egg salad sub that I know has been processed, packaged and preserved in huge proportions. With Salt & Vinegar Chips. And a flask of Barques Root Beer that's far too big.
I've figured it out. You know that Ice Cream thing that some do when they are depressed..I do that with fast food when I get lost and confused. If I'm depressed I just don't eat so at least I know that's not the case. Give me a combo meal and it won't show me the way to enlightenment, but secretly I'm probably hoping it will shorten my overall life span.
In my wanderings though, a deck of Incredibles Playing Cards caught my eye and I heard a monkey in my brain say "Wowie Zowie!". Maybe I'm brain washed or maybe I'm immature. Or both. But these days The Incredibles now always remind me of my playful monkeys and my troubles disintegrate for a few moments. I recall that I must pick up my super suit at the dry cleaners.
So, I am feeling a little better now. Maybe I just needed to get out of the office for a bit. It's sunny and warm outside. I must be part plant life after being vegetarian so long. Did you ever read that book when you were in elementary school about the kid who drank all that green juice to turn his hemoglobin into chloryphyll and therefore became a living..um..vegetable. Anyone? If you know the name of the book you can join me for some photosynthesis by the pool later.
I've decided I need a lunchbox. Not want, NEED. The whole concept of lunchboxes rock. Surely there must be an Incredibles lunchbox floating around out there... and why does my text editor keep telling me lunchbox is not one word. Of course it is. :P
Closing Music: Gavin DeGraw : Chariot.
It made me sing out loud which isn't something I thought I'd do today.
Peace and Lunch,
Simon
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Following the Metronome
No time to blog, but this doesn't require much brain power so:
First
Bo - Bang! Bang! Bring it, Boyo!
then
Carrie - Boom! Belt it Blondie!
and
Vonzell - Blam! But then Blue. On the brink, Baby.
but
Scott - Blink... but Boring. A Bit Bent.
although
Anthony - Blargh. Blech. Bu-bye Buddy.
This is what you get when I start having too much energy and possibly starting go off the deep end.
For the geek in me. And anyone who grew up on video games in the 80's: Nintendo Acappella
Peace,
Simon
First
Bo - Bang! Bang! Bring it, Boyo!
then
Carrie - Boom! Belt it Blondie!
and
Vonzell - Blam! But then Blue. On the brink, Baby.
but
Scott - Blink... but Boring. A Bit Bent.
although
Anthony - Blargh. Blech. Bu-bye Buddy.
This is what you get when I start having too much energy and possibly starting go off the deep end.
For the geek in me. And anyone who grew up on video games in the 80's: Nintendo Acappella
Peace,
Simon
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Mental Deforestation
Did you ever work on a post for three days and it just keeps going and going going going.
No, it didn't take me three days to write that last sentence. Somtimes, there is so much to say and when you try to spill all the words out you can't figure out which ones go where because of the sheer volume.
I've been experimenting with a chronological kind of journaling through the past few days writing down things as they happen, and it's a daunting task to just look at it all. More later when I can collect my thoughts.
In the meantime have a happy Tuesday. :)
No, it didn't take me three days to write that last sentence. Somtimes, there is so much to say and when you try to spill all the words out you can't figure out which ones go where because of the sheer volume.
I've been experimenting with a chronological kind of journaling through the past few days writing down things as they happen, and it's a daunting task to just look at it all. More later when I can collect my thoughts.
In the meantime have a happy Tuesday. :)
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