Monday Morning News Blues

I have a number of things that just piss me off. Yeah, I know, you're surprised because I'm always just so damned mellow. All my RW friends just fell off their chairs. Give them a moment to get back up.

I usually start my morning watching Fox infotainment. It almost gives me the latest news, or at least it hints at the highlights. I know, if the world ends, they will mention it in between stories about puppies and Miley Cyrus, Jamie Lynn Spears, or whoever is the Bubblehead of the day.

That was rude of me. I'm sure Ms. Spears and Ms. Cyrus are absolutely charming and brilliant. I fully expect them to simultaneously discover a cure for cancer or some other disease in between tour dates.



You know what grinds my gears? (I was long overdue for Family Guy reference) I may be the only one, but I read the news scrolling along the bottom, and everything else on the screen.
I'm reasonably sure no one else does, because whoever types all that crap out can't spell. No, I'm not talking about the people who type the feed for the closed captioning as the announcers are talking. That's easy to get wrong. By the way, sometimes those mistakes are hilarious. They just get words so wrong. I totally understand that. It's a hard job, and impossible to make corrections because the live feed just doesn't stop.

No, I refer to the text that either accompanies stories, or scrolls along the bottom, updating as appropriate. On ESPN or another sports channel, it gives constant scores, which is pretty useful because I hate waiting for the baseball scores through stories about the new professional Frolf (it's a real sorta sport) league action or whatever nonsense they use to fill up the time when not reporting about baseball or football.

Today, accompanying a story in which someone apologized, the story spelled the word apologies. Oh yeah, it said, "Country apologies for" followed by whatever it was.

A few days ago, the weather scrolled across the screen. Rain was predicted, but we could expect the son to come out later that day. Either that was a very religious person predicting the end of the world, and the appearance of the Son



or is it someone who should not have that job?

Even more upsetting to me is that the regular person typing out the sports scores on my NY affiliate of Fox, spells my favorite team the Yankes. Oy vay.

Ok, and I just saw it scroll across my screen that the price of milk will go up. This will affect, and I'm not making this up, "milk-related products like cheese."

WTF? Who writes this stuff? What dunderhead proofreads this? Does anyone ever look at it after it hits the screen? Is cheese related to milk? What is it, the ugly cousin who has a nice personality, and needs a date?

Lastly, another person was shot. I'm sure the guy was very nice, an upstanding citizen, and an all around good person. But, I noticed that every single time tragedy strikes, it is only to that type of person.

Ok, the news station is not going to risk lawsuits over anything. But holy cow, last year some guy was killed who had an arrest record a mile long. It was spread over 10 years and included more than 40 convictions. You guessed it, he was a nice guy, hard working, a neighborhood guy with a smile for everyone. Plenty ask why do bad things happen to good people. I just want to know why they never happen to bad people.

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Another Pleasant Valley Sunday

I'm all over the place this morning. I decided to do a Larry King type post. If anyone hasn't read anything from Larry King, it's basically stream of consciousness writing. Whatever pops into his head, he writes. And he gets paid. I can only assume he gets paid pretty well for this because Larry King is rich. I only know Larry King is rich because he's had a couple dozen really beautiful wives and, well, no one's personality is that good.




Yeah, I know, I shouldn't judge him based on his looks, but oy vay.

And he has married some incredibly beautiful women. Ok, lightning striking once, sure, but seven times? And his last one was just after his 103rd birthday.

He has to be the luckiest guy on the face of the earth.

back to my stream posting:

Stop telling me kids today are smarter than ever. They are getting dumber, but thanks to self-esteem building exercises, they feel better about being dumbasses...Damn, I love strawberry Greek yogurt. If it wasn't a couple bucks for a tiny cup, I'd have it every day instead of the industrial strength store brand crap I usually buy...I watched the Solomon Brothers movie on Starz last night. Some movies would have been better off as 20 minute shorts...Stop telling your kids anyone (even him or her) can grow up to be President. Unless you are filthy rich, it ain't gonna be one of your spawn...I have to make up my mind about Richard Simmons. Does he annoy me so much that I'll never mention his name again, or does he fascinate me so much that I can't stop mentioning him? Though he is the most famous person I ever met...I could never lead a sing-a-long. The only songs I know are The Night Chicago Died, Rocky Racoon, and the Viva Viagra jingle.


Bet you thought this was going to be a picture having to do with Viagra

...Why can't someone make broccoli taste like chocolate donuts...Anyone else remember when a million dollars was a lot of money...I've seen a new service called Twitter. Lets your friends keep up with you. I'll save everyone the trouble in my case. 1. Get up, go to bathroom. 2. Sit on couch. 3. Go to sleep...
Another big timesaver. I get those list things in email every day. Questions lists.

I'll save you the trouble as they all have these same 5 questions, and my answers are always the same.
1. My favorite color is pinstripes.
2. My favorite number is 5.
3. Yes
4. New Jersey.
5. I'm not wearing pants
...I always hear about overpaid sports figures. No one is worth that much money. I just read that Madonna is getting divorced, and celebrity gossip persons are wondering how her $600,000,000 will be divvied up. Maybe the trampy star can sing, but she can't hit a slider worth a damn...I need to talk to a psych doctor to find out why I have so many unresolved Richard Simmons issues...Type to you tomorrow, in the meantime, have a swell day.





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A Saturday Morning Post

On Father’s day, I included a short clip of a video from 1999 as Kevin Rowland covered a song from the 1960’s. The song was covered, but much of Rowland wasn’t.

Freddie from www.Nedthetoothpick.com has been searching for the entire video for months. He finally found it on youtube.

Dr Rob at Rob’s Megaphone www.robertstevenson.wordpress.com recently posted about the strange music of 1973.

Ha: wait until he sees this entire video.

Warning: The following video is offensive, suggestive, and should not be viewed by anyone.







Ok, that's better.

I just feel I have to make that up to you somehow.

I'll let my good pal Richard Simmons handle it:



Disclaimer: Management claims no responsibility for mental anguish caused by this post, but does apologize in advance.

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Malevolent Monkeys of Miami

This is another entry in my continuing series Mother Nature, Murderess, and the final one in my violent post week.

Again, you have been warned, this post is not for the feint of heart.

Sure, monkeys look cute and act funny. They act almost human at times.


It’s all part of the master plan. But they can’t be trusted. Did you ever drive through the Monkey section at Six Flags? Oh, yeah, they are all over the car, pooping, trying to break off body parts, and generally inducing mayhem, simian style.



I usually avoid the drive through by the monkeys. They have a bypass road for a reason. Monkeys are among the most evil creatures in all nature.



Many years ago, I had an encounter with a monkey that scarred me for life and helped sour me on nature.

This was before I became Crotchety. I was young, and full of hope for the future. I had dreams, dammit. They were all dashed in minutes in one of the most frightening places on earth--Monkey Jungle in Miami, Florida.

Back then, I was fearless. I even attempted to bridge the human-savage beast gap by offering monkey chow, or whatever it was that was sold in the little vending machine.

I carefully handed one of the peanuts to the monkey, and he grabbed my finger and attempted to bite me. The depraved critter was attempting to eat me.

Sure, I was 30 times his size, but in nature, size doesn’t matter.

I managed to escape, but the tale doesn‘t end there. The fiendish demon then stalked me, sort of. He was in a cage, as all nature should be, and I was able to walk away. But, he was at a crossroads in the park. I had to pass him several times over the course of the afternoon, and each time, he attempted to treat me like a schnauzer treats a fire hydrant.

Oh yeah, and I had to dash past him each time or receive a “shower.” I was so fortunate that the monkey was obviously male, and his aim was like most men‘s.

Disclaimer: No feces were tossed during the witing of this post



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Pass the Stuffing and Gravy--and Beware

Violence week continues on the blog. Tuesday had criminal fighting tips, Wednesday was reptilian monster day, and today is Close Encounters of the Avian Kind. This is part of the continuing series, Mother Nature, Murderess.

Everybody thinks of the turkey as a docile bird, and a tasty Thanksgiving Day meal. Rumor has it that turkeys are so dumb, they can drown during a rain storm.

But don’t be fooled by these diversionary tactics. Turkeys are among the craftiest, most cunning, and the most ferocious beings on the North American continent. They are the direct descendants of the T-Rex, and if I know my Godzilla movies, they were some bad dudes.



As recently as June 1st of this year, it was reported that a turkey flew into a living room in Livingston NJ, broke a window and terrorized the homeowners. The turkey fled the scene before police arrived, but had left a path of shattered dreams and glass in its wake.

A few years ago, the turkeys ran wild in Union County, NJ. The rampaging birds attacked the US Army.

OK, it wasn’t the Army, but it was a man in uniform. A letter carrier was attacked by a herd, gaggle, bunch, flock gang (I looked it up, that’s what you call them) of wild turkeys, and he was forced to kill the leader in self-defense.



Typical turkey gang activity--approach with caution

One day, while I was driving to work, traffic was delayed because a turkey stood defiantly in the middle of the road. These birds are getting more brazen. And I beseech you, do not believe the pro-turkeyists who claim the turkey is more afraid of you than you are of it.


Stalking human prey


Please be careful when approaching nature, for a turkey could be lurking right around that bend. And everyone knows the only time you are truly safe from a turkey is when the cranberry sauce is served.




Please note: Turkey jokes are not a substitution for chicken jokes. Why did the chicken cross the road jokes are still hilarious.


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Attack of the Ninja Turtle

Attack of the Ninja Turtles

I may have mentioned this before, but I’m not a “nature” person. I went camping once in my life. I was in a camper so it wasn’t exactly roughing it, but it was way more rustic than I wanted.



I lasted about 4 hours before I went out and found a hotel.

It was a crappy hotel but at least it was reasonably far from nature.

Don’t get the wrong idea. I can watch nature on TV, and I like to look at it when I’m driving by in my car.

You can clearly see nature in the background.


Back to the topic at hand, the Ninja Turtle of Death.

I live about 100 yards from a heavily traveled major highway. I’m in a development that is mostly asphalt. I am perfectly shielded from nature. Or so I thought. I was lulled into a complete sense of complacency when one day, and sitting right in my yard



Sorry, that is Sophie the diabetic cat. She can be mean, but she’s not part of nature.

Ok, here it is, the vicious wild animal that was lurking in my yard.


Notice the menacing glare

I ran inside and told the Crotchety Old Lady that we were under attack. Nature was at the doorstep. I feared for my life. No one is safe from turtle attacks.

I did some turtle attack research on the web, and found a lot of information on these bloodthirsty reptiles. Family pets can turn into a snack.

In December of 2007, in China, one particularly ferocious turtle dove from an 8 story building onto a car. I’m sure it’s intent was to cause mayhem and destruction in its bloodlust driven rage. Fortunately, no one was injured--that time.

It’s now the height of turtle season.

Be careful out there.

Coming soon: The murderous turkeys of Union County, NJ

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Damned Gubmint

I'm overdue for a political rant.

High gas prices?

Who is to blame? It's pretty obvious. While we are quick to point to the government, last time I checked, we have a (potentially) complete turnover of the House every 2 years, a new President every 4, and a new Senate every 6. We elect the government, and have been doing a rather piss poor job of it.
The policies that have put us in this situation began in the 1970's. Back then, we, the people, saw that our 'nads were in the hands of the OPEC'ers. Our response? Everyone got green for 15 minutes as gas went from .29 per gallon to $1.00 after sitting in a long line.
The crisis passed, lines went away.
Rather than continue on a path that would result in lower demand, cleaner air, and every other benefit of a lesser footprint, we went out and bought freakin SUVs.



The bigger, the better. Escalades, Expeditions, and Hummers--oh my! Because, after all, most of us have need for an all-wheel drive assault vehicle.
And we continue to vote in representatives that represent us no more than the CEO of any major corporation does. We continue to act as if spending 15 minutes to vote every 2 years is a chore of immense proportion, the equivalent of climbing Mt. Everest without sherpas.
We get what we set ourselves up to get, an unresponsive political structure, a trade deficit that is killing the dollar while putting people out of work, expensive gas, a failing economy. Point the finger at Bush, the Democrats, or whoever you wish. Just remember, you will have 3 pointing back at you.

This last bit of news is New Jersey-centric, but in a nutshell it describes the problem with government. Our DMV is open one late night per week. To save money, the offices will now be closed at 5:00 every night. Only government could come up with a solution like that. Every business I have ever worked in, if nights were necessary (and yes, nights are helpful for working people who need to go to the DMV) they adjusted the hours to provide better service to the customers. But because the government provides a mandatory service, and has no competition, they simply shut the office down.

Here's some novel idea for Governor Corzine, who apparently has his head firmly up his posterior. One day per week, say Wednesday, open 3 hours later in the morning, and stay open 3 hours later. No extra cost, no problem for anyone.


Corzine was a businessman, and many thought he would be a great leader because of his background. It turns out he is as much an elitist as any career politician ever elected. It wasn't too long ago that he was in an accident and was seriously injured. Why? Because the vehicle he was being driven in was speeding excessively (over 90 in a 65 MPH zone) and he wasn't wearing a seat belt. By the way, in NJ, not wearing a seat belt is a ticketable offense. But he didn't think he had to follow our laws. So, he did a couple PSA's and all is well.

This is just one more reason we need to throw these rascals out after two terms.

For those keeping track at home, Corzine spent 63 million dollars of his own money to buy win the Senate seat in 2000. He spent about half that in 2005 to become Governor.

Yeah, they are just like regular people.



I'm the Governor of New Jersey, dammit.


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WTH News of the Day

I was all set with today's post. I thought about it, and even had a title for it. Then, during my morning routine, I accidentally listened to the news on the radio. Make sure you are strapped into your chair before you read the following:
Taylor Hicks will be playing on Broadway.



So far, so good. Here's where it attains WTH status:

Taylor Hicks, former American Idol winner, a guy in his 30's who looks like he's in his 40's or 50's will be playing high school senior Danny Zucco in Grease. Hicks, the harmonica playing Alabama born and raised winner of season 5 will be playing an 18 year old street-wise California kid.

I realize that Travolta was about the same age, but he could pass for someone much younger.

Plus, as for me, I was more interested in looking at Olivia Newton-John.



But, they were passable in the movie, partly because they didn't look so old going in.



Hicks is going to need a lot of greasepaint and hair dye.

I wonder who will be in the roles of Sandy and the Pink Ladies?

I do have a suggestion.



Disclaimer: No AARP members were interviewed for this posting.


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Beware of the Killer Tomatoes

Warning: This post has been rated PG-13 for the suggestion of possible violent content. There is no violence, but it is suspenseful, and brimming with violence potential. But nothing happens. You've been sufficiently warned.

A few years ago, my phone rang. It was the Crotchety Dad. He wanted to know if I had stopped by during the day while he was out.
It seems the house was messed up, doors were smashed, and generally things didn't look right. I told him it sounded like the house was robbed. So he asked if I could come right over. Being a good son (ok, an adequate son--fine, his only son) I went to help out. It took me about 20 minutes to get there.

In the meantime, apparently, he just sat in the living room and stared at his TV. It didn't work because the wires were cut, and the VCR (I told you this was while ago) was missing. He still wasn't sure what had happened.

I looked around and confirmed that he was robbed. I called the police and then decided it would be a good idea to do a walk through and make sure no one was hiding in the basement or anything like that.
That's when I did one of the dumbest things I've ever done.

I realized that the robbers, if they were still around, may be armed. After all, they had smashed and broken open the gun safe. So, I could walk right into the business end of a .357 magnum.

Not wanting to be at such a disadvantage, I grabbed a weapon to protect myself.

I armed myself with



Don't snicker. This is serious. Tomatoes can be very dangerous, especially in the 28 oz. can like I had chosen.

In fact, in Spain, every year an event called the Tomatina takes place in a small town in which tens of thousands of people die.

Oh, the humanity!!!



I just checked my sources.

It seems no one died from tomatoes being tossed at them. But it is possible that they could be allergic and get a really nasty rash, or a serious bruise.

I have heard of rogue tomatoes and their inherent vicious character, so I'm keeping an eye on them.



Disclaimer: No tomatoes, fresh or canned, were tossed during the writing of this post.

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My name is Crotchety, and I'm an alco--ooops, I just had a flashback. Sorry. I have a lot of those. Sometimes, I flash back to things that never happened. And before anyone ever suggests that that I'm just reliving an event from a past life, I doubt it because even in another life I know I never went jet skiing with Martha Stewart.

In case anyone didn't know, I have a "thing" for Martha Stewart.



It has nothing to do with her bad girl image. I have lusted in my heart after Martha long before she went up the river.

I have no idea why, either. She is a darned attractive lady, that's for sure. But it must be something about the combination cookie baker/doily maker/beauty queen that just makes me quiver.

Did you see that? Right there? I have never used the word quiver before in describing an emotional response with me. But Martha just does that for me.

Which reminds me, I tend to have some weird quirks. Stop snickering. Now. I'm serious, Kevin.

Kevin is a RW friend who has pointed out that I tend to be rather regimented in my behavior. Just because I ate the same thing for lunch (PB&J) and dressed in the same color clothes for 2 straight years doesn't mean I'm regimented.

By the way, my clothing, or outfits, as my metrosexual friends called them, were rather Monk-like



No, not those guys (though I do like the robes and the structure)

more like this guy



Every day, I wore a light blue cotton oxford button down shirt, blue pants, and white socks. I owned 6 of these shirts and 6 pairs of blue pants. On the seventh day, I rested. I mean, I wore something different, like khaki pants with a dark blue shirt. I'm crazy that way.

It was just easier. I have trouble with colors, not that I'm color blind, I'm more color stupid. The Crotchety Old Lady never lets me pick out my own clothes when we go out in public. About the only thing she lets me choose is which pair of white socks to wear, because white socks go with everything.




Warning: This post was published while the author was pantsless. Do not look down.


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Test post

This post is only a test. If this had been a real post, you would be laughing. Or smiling. Or at least wondering what the hell is wrong with the author of his blog.

I get a lot of that.

Thanks. Make sure you read the real Saturday post just below this one.

Thanks.

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Best Commercial Ever

This is a real product.

I swear.

Amazon sells it.

Business Meetings 101

I used to work for a social services agency (I have mentioned my supervisor, the Succubus, recently) and it was the most meeting happy organization in the known world. I have never heard of any place with more, or larger meetings. And by the way, the topics were hysterically funny. I thought I'd share a few of the better ones here. It's good to know, that these charitable organizations, all of which are desperately in need of funds, piss away money like they had a printshop on premises. Bear in mind, just about every meeting took place at a different facility, which meant the agency laid out cash for mileage and lost productive time while employees traveled to these various meetings.

It's so hard to pick a favorite. But one of the best was this one. I was on the committee to publish the company newsletter. Part of our job was to ceremoniously empty the suggestion box and then to carefully discuss and debate the issues raised by our fellow employees. My favorite suggestion was sent in by an anonymous employee (guess who) and suggested that since the company elevator was out of service for the last 2 months or so, it might be a good idea to install a firehouse type sliding pole to allow faster and easier egress from the second floor.



After about 15 minutes of solid debate, including who would train employees to use the pole properly, it was decided that, perhaps, the writer really didn't want a pole but was trying to make the point that the elevator needed to be functioning.

That would qualify as a sensible meeting by agency standards.

On to some of the wacky ones:

We provided services for adults with developmental disabilities. People who could be described basically as having limited intellect and very limited funds. The county had a new program for providing inexpensive or free transportation to county residents who were financially qualified. We wanted the county to make a presentation to our agency. No problem.
Now, part of the ageny's mentality was that we were the biggest agency around, and we wanted everyone to know. So, while this presentation could have been done for maybe the half-dozen of my co-workers who it actually affected, the powers that be decided every hot, sweaty, overworked body that could fit in the room should be present. The county explained the program, and then opened up the floor for questions.

Mistake number 1. Anyone who ever runs a meeting with social service workers, take note: Never ask for questions at a meeting unless it is absolutely necessary. Management and middle level employees at a social service agency have little else to do but to find stupid things to waste time, including thinking up really dumb, nearly unaswerable questions. How else can we justify our jobs? We never did much that was useful. Being one of the biggest agencies, and loaded with plenty of admin types, we came up with all sorts of incredibly stupid questions.

And then, in an effort befitting of the biggest, and therefore the most useless, overpaid, and desperate to justify her position person, an admin asked the dumbest question of all: what about those clients who need a ride to the airport? Could this in-county, free service, provide airport limo service? This stumped the county folks, because, to be honest, it was the single stupidest question they ever heard. I guess they never expected a bunch of poor, developmentally disabled people to be jet-setters. Bear in mind, that, at most, a couple clients in the entire agency had ever flown, but suddenly, this was a pressing issue. It led to a solid 20 minutes of discussion.

And then, of course, was the great milk and cookies debate of 2004. It was suggested (I had nothing to do with this one) that the agency provide a snack at our slave labor camps. OOOPS, I meant work centers. Just a cup of milk and a cookie or two at the 10 in the morning break period.




Take a wild guess how long that debate went on.

An hour? Two hours?

Not even close.

Days. It started at one meeting, and lasted about 2 hours. It then had a meeting of its own that lasted about 4 hours. It then was brought back to the general monthly meeting for another couple hours of debate, and tabled. More research, and finally, after another couple hour debate, it was decided that it was a good idea, but nothing ever came of it.

Because we always had state mandated IHP meetings and behavior team meetings, we occasionally decided to have pre-meetings in the hope that it would shorten the regular meetings. You could imagine how that went.

But, here is the worst meeting I ever attended.

Two of the developmentally disabled young men in a work program had a "love connection" in the men's room. In our entire agency, I was the only one with a penis who was around that day. They had me have an emergency meeting with the two men to discuss the inappropriate behavior at work. This is normally not in my job description. The Succubus was off for the day, so the Incubus gave me the news that I had to do this.

I found the complete transcript of this meeting:

Crotchety Old Man: Hummina, hummina, hummina, hummina. Work is for Work.
2 Retarded guys: OK
Crotchety Old Man: Sign an X here.

As a follow up, I spent a couple hours in various meetings explaining to the staff what went on in my meeting with the guys, and of course, had to file a complete report, in seventuplicate. (Is there a word for 7 copies?)

A follow up meeting did take place to set up a plan for future such behaviors.

I miss all those meetings sometimes.



Disclaimer
No meeting scribes were injured during the making of this post

Close Encounters of the Richard Simmons Kind

In the United States, we have a few quirky rules. Don't wear white after Labor Day for instance. One of the most unusual concerns our health program. No, I'm not talking about health care again. This is much more than that. The rule is that once one stretches to a certain girth, that person must either go on the Oprah Show, or meet Richard Simmons.

If one chooses the Richard route, we do have some addendums to this rule. It's not as simple as saying "Yo, Richard Simmons, what's up?"

It's much more involved than that. Once uber fatness is attained, one must sweat with Richard, and then hug him, and then cry--not necessarily in that order.

I achieved the weight limit, and so, a few years ago, I had to meet Richard Simmons. Quiet down. I don't make up the rules, I just follow them.

So off to some hotel in New Jersey I trudged, knowing I had to face the inevitable. The gallows seemed a more pleasant thought.



I did what was required-- yeah, I sweated to the oldies with Richard. This isn't really that much of an accomplishment because I can work up a good sweat opening a jar of pickles.

As bad as working out with a few hundred fellow corpulent rogues was, I then had to meet Richard, one on one.

I'm not big on hugging guys, but I can assure you, hugging a sweaty Richard Simmons wearing his 1970's style glitter-enhanced NBA short shorts was awkward and uncomfortable to say the very least.

And then I had to tell him my story. Richard began to cry and sweat on me.

Then Richard made what I thought was an extremely nice gesture. Maybe my day would be ok after all. He gave me a card with a phone number on it. He said to call, it was his personal number, and when I was ready to make a change in my life, to just give him a call. I was overwhelmed with emotion. I had lost my father shortly before this, and this kindness was just enough to put me over the emotional edge.



I thought about that day for weeks. Maybe Richard Simmons wasn't such a tool. Perhaps he wasn't a slimy, money grubbing shill.

I hemmed and hawed. Finally, I mustered up the courage to call.

I nervously pushed the buttons on the phone. The phone rang. The anticipation was palpable as I wondered who would answer.

His assistant? Some answering service who would page Richard so I could talk to him?

Richard himself?





No, it was the sales office for



I should have known better.

My home gym

Bosses from Hell

I was reading about some bad bosses yesterday, and I started thinking about some that I had. I've had quite a few. My train of thought was probably tied in to the Willie Randolph firing. Even Jon Stewart thought it was beyond crazy how they fired him.

On to my bosses from hell.

I worked for a Fortune 100 company, and my boss would bring me in her office for a 2 hour review/dressing down. Then, a half hour later, would review my work accomplished so far, and get angry that I hardly accomplished anything despite having been there for a few hours. Once, she asked to go to the men's room and get another employee who was taking too long. She was in a hurry and wanted to fire him before she took her break. It was in the collection department, and she had all of us making phone calls on delinquent accounts on Christmas Eve. What a sweetheart.

Two, in particular were so awful, I have never heard of anyone as bad as them.
I worked in an auto parts store about 20 years ago. My boss was a nut who constantly complained about how messy my parts books were that I kept under the counter.

I wouldn't clean it up because the books were fine, I knew where everything was.

His solution?



Yup, he set fire to the counter where the books were.

I left, and never went back.

But, believe it or not, he wasn't the worst boss I ever had.

The worst boss I ever had was at a social service agency.

The bitch, not very affectionately known behind her back as the Succubus, was one for the ages. I used to get written up and sent to HR every few weeks. It wasn't bad enough that she made things up; she wasn't even good at it.

I'm disabled, and walk with crutches, or use a wheelchair. She wrote me up one time because I didn't volunteer to carry 6 feet long tables across a grassy lot. Bear in mind, it wasn't part of my job, it was an extra, totally volunteer assignment. I went in to HR, he said what the complaint was, I just looked at my crutches leaning against the wall. He said I could go back to my desk. LOL.

In my last few months at the agency, she wrote me up and requested I be terminated every payday, which was every other week. So, like clockwork, I would go in to the head of HR, and answer the lies she made up. Because the company was so screwed up, it was fine for the Succubus to lie about me every other week. Go figure.

Added to that, she was one of the most racist people alive. She was black, and referred to white people as "Massa" and "Crackers." The Succubus was the worst boss I ever had. I don't know if I have read or heard of any more horrible than her.




Who is the worst boss you ever had?

Disclaimer:
No bosses were harmed in the making of this post, but some should have been.

My Weird Dream

Did you ever wake up from a dream and wonder what the hell was that all about? Last night I had a doozy. That's a word I don't use lightly. That's a word I don't believe I've ever written before, now that I think about it. Now this is absolutely true. I'm not creative enough to make this up. If I were a creative person, I would have taken the one great idea I had, and turned it into a book/movie. Because I'll never do it, I'll even give you my great idea. I live near a home that is built on the remnants of an old Quaker burial ground from around 1700. The house should be haunted by really nice ghosts who look like the Quaker Oats guy.



That explains why I'm not a screenwriter.

Back to my dream from last night. I was out shopping with the Crotchety Old Lady, and we ran into Hillary Clinton. I don't know what we were shopping for, but it was probably Metamucil or generic Vick's Vapo-Rub. We buy the generic, because we go through an inordinate amount of it. I'm not sure what the national average is, but I'm sure we exceed it. Most people buy one jar, and that's a lifetime supply. We go through a jar a month.

Anyway, I was talking to Mrs. Clinton. We had a nice, polite conversation. I told her how disappointed I was about the primary, yadda, yadda, yadda, and then the dream got weird, as if me dreaming about Mrs. Clinton and shopping wasn't strange enough. She excused herself to go and be with her husband, Bill, who was over on the side playing ski ball.



And, to add just a touch more oddity to my already bizarre dream, he had a large supply of extra balls available.

Maybe it was ensure that he would win some tchotchke?

I have no idea.

So, before anyone starts tryng to decipher the inner workings of my mind, here's what has been happening. I read a lot of blogs, and a week or so ago, one blogger wrote about ski ball.

Before I went to sleep, I saw a commercial for Home Depot. Home Depot is connected to the store (Two Guys) that had an arcade section with mini bowling, which is kind of like Ski ball.

I have been really coveting Chinese finger cuffs, and the only place I know to get them is a ski ball arcade.

Now, I would like to have someone interpret this dream. Thank you in advance.

But I Want To Be Elitist

I want to be considered better than everyone else. One relative who researched our family geneology said that we were descended from royalty back in the old country, and I'm going with that. Personally, I've never heard of King Crotchety I, but they didn't keep the best records back then. And he also mentioned that we were run out of the country and went into hiding. While I patiently await my ascendecy back to the throne of whatever city state I am destined to rule, I'll continue to blog about whatever happens to amuse/annoy me that particular day.

That is the background of what has me in such a dither this morning. And believe me, I am so highly dithered. I was watching TV, and noted the BMW commercial for used BMWs was very annoying. Doesn't matter which used BMW commercial, they are all annoying. I guess it's an attempt at humor, but I must be missing the joke. In the meanwhile, I see Kia and Hyundai commercials, and I crack up. I so totally get them.

So, now, I'm in a quandry. BMWs, even used ones are damned expensive. I scanned some ebay listings, and even a used 5 year-old BMW will cost as much or more than a new Hyundai.

So what does all this mean?

They target ads to their audience. A used BMW ad is geared to someone who will likely buy a used BMW. The buyer of a used car, generally, is someone who would buy it new, if they had the cash. Donald Trump doesn't search the want ads for a used Maybach with low mileage. For those "regular people" who are reading this, a Maybach is an uber Mercedes. They cost around a half million bucks. They don't advertise them during Spongebob or the Simpsons. Heck, they don't advertise them on TV at all. People who can afford them, don't spend a lot of time watching TV.

So how does this all tie in? Simple. Because I don't "get" BMW ads, that means they are targeting them to others. I love Hyundai ads. Hyundais are relatively inexpensive, so they are marketed to the masses.

I don't want to be one of the masses. I want to be an elitist, dammit.




None of the plebian masses were hurt during the making of this post. However, in a jealous rage, I may have "keyed" a Bentley.

Happy Father's Day

to me.

I'm taking the day off. Full day of watching sports, hanging with my spawn and just generally reveling in one of the few things I ever did almost right.

My adult kid is happy and healthy, and to the best of my knowledge not dancing around a pole for a living, so "MISSION ACCOMPLISHED."

But because I'm committed, or at least should be (even when I take a day off, I deliver the clever and witty wordplay that has made me a legend in my own mind) I'll leave you with a few recommendations.

Again, since I am still clueless about links, you'll have to click over on the side, but at least I'm not lazy. I'll give you direction.

Shadow Crystal is always a good read. I steal stuff from her like my music list. She also has a cool mini cyber piano on her site that I wanted to steal, but, I'd wind up spending too much time messing around with it to get anything else done. I consider her my unofficial guru of the cool new stuff.

Jane Q Citizen is a thought provoking blog. Often it is political, but always a good read.

Savvy Witness is written by a RW friend of mine. Never know what you'll find there. He blogs about baseball (WARNING: He's a Red Sox fan, so he doesn't know a lot about baseball, but he likes to write anyway) and is heavily into politics, movies and comic books.

Enjoy these blogs. They are well-written and fun reads, even if the subjects may be heavy at times.

I'll leave you with this musical interlude before you go on to read those other great blogs.




No Fathers were harmed in the making of this post.

Looking for Love

Did you ever do something goofy for no apparent good reason?

Before I start, let me enlighten everyone about my day. I get up about 6 a.m. Sometime between then and 9 a.m. I go to the bathroom to wash up and do normal morning stuff. I go to bed around 1 a.m.

That's pretty much my day. So, I have a lot of time to fill. I have some ambulatory problems, so, for all intents and purposes, I sit on my couch 23 hours a day.

I try to do productive things like write a few blogs, and I read a lot of blogs. This is pretty helpful, for two reasons, first, I learn valuable things that I usually forget 2 minutes after I read them, and second. Heck, I forgot the other thing. I'm sure I'll remember around midnight.

Back to the topic at hand.

To fill my time, I like to occasionally click on ads on blogs if I see something I may be interested in. Those clicks that you never expected, they were from me. You're welcome. Consider the 11 cents a gift from me to you.

Last week, I saw one for a dating site. Now, remember, I am in a wonderful relationship with the Crotchety Old Lady. She takes good care of me,

and puts up with all my daily nonsense. So, I'm not looking, but I am curious as to how these things work. I know eharmony and those places must be legit, because they have been around forever, advertise on TV, and all that. But I question "Meet singles in your area" ones.

So I decided to almost sign up. I was going to go as far as possible without giving any personal info or money. That way I knew nothing was going to actually happen.

I put in the following information:

Me: 90, ugly, in poor health, very low income, not willing to travel more than 10 miles
Seeking: Beautiful, 18-35, college educated, $100,000 per year, never married, not interested in kids, red hair, Asian, or Caucasian (I had to be flexible.)

How many woman do you think the site claims it has that meets my criteria?

5? 3? None?

Nope. Not even close. They claim to have 737 women in their data base that meet my ridiculously crazy "standards."

What I described



But why do I think I'd wind up with



Disclaimer: No women were harmed in the making of this blog post.

Cocktails for two

Here's a blurb directly from a website:

The Shore Grille & Deli at the Terrace Cafe offers a variety of breakfast, lunch and dinner selections. The Shore Grille & Deli is open Monday through Friday, 7:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m.; Saturday and Sunday, 8:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m.

It sure sounds good, doesn't it? The Shore Grill. Sounds like a nice place to take a date on a Friday evening for some fine dining, overlooking some peaceful waterway, while dining al fresco on a terrace with a warm zephyr blowing wisps of your significant other's hair gently across his or her face. The perfect start to a romantic evening.

Or, perhaps the family deserves a night out, away from the typical fare of hot dogs and beans, while tickling their palate beyond a place that asks, "Do you want fries with that?"

Before you load the younguns into the monster truck with visions of lobster or king crab, you should know a few things.

The establishment described is about 10 miles from the shore, not exactly a shore town.

That, and it's in a hospital.

I've spent considerable time in that hospital, and I wouldn't say one couldn't pay me enough to go there for dinner,

because everyone knows I can be bought, or at the very least rented; however, it would cost a lot. They don't serve cocktails, but if I could get a couple shot of morphine with my dinner, that may help persuade me.

I have had near legendary battles with hospital food people, especially the dieticians. Once, I caused the head dietician so much distress, that she wouldn't allow any of the associate dieticians to go in my room. One brave young associate dietician did poke his head in the room, and asked me what the hell I had done. He said in all his years at the hospital, he never saw a note posted with a patient's name and room number with a note saying that no one except the head of dietary was allowed to go near him.

I had become an untouchable, the bane of the head dietician.

What I did was really pretty funny. I refused to place my order for food. The head dietician kept sending someone in to get my food order, and I kept sending them back. Eventually, the head dietician came in and tried to reason with me. You can imagine how that went. Finally, in desperation, she left the food thing with me to fill out. When she came back to pick it up, she asked if I had filled it out. I told her I did. She left with it.

She came back later when she saw what I wrote. I put, "Bring whatever the F you want. You're going to do that anyway"

She went ballistic.

By the next time I was in the hospital, she was gone. I'd like to think I helped.
The next dietician was a cute young thing, just so full of enthusiasm I wanted to barf. But I couldn't be mean to her. So, I acted like I never heard of anything she had described.

"Diet? What is this diet you speak of?"

I've never seen anyone so happy. Or so dumb.

My last time, I decided on a new tactic. I went all Ghandi on the staff. I refused to eat because the food was so bad. Truthfully, it is. Everything is covered with either brown, red, or yellow sauce.

Nothing is funnier than nurses arguing with dietary because the fat guy in the room won't eat, and keeps slipping into near diabetic comas. I'm serious, my sugar dropped to 37. You can look it up, that's flirting with disaster. But it was so funny when the nurses with their squeaky shoes ran up and down the hall trying to find crap to make me eat. I admit I have a strange sense of humor.

I have to go. I need to reserve a table for two at the Shore Grill. Maybe I can get a table with a view of the ER.



While the idea for this blog germinated from a post by www.offendedblogger.com, don't blame her. I take full responsibility for all the idiocy.

Stinky Feet

I worked for a number of years with developmentally disabled adults. Everyone knows this can be an intersting job. At times it can be quite taxing, yet it is highly rewarding on a personal basis. I had the chance to meet and interact with plenty of interesting characters, people who were kind of "off the wall" and not exactly like the average person you would run into on the street. And then, I got to work with some of the clients.

This is about one of the clients, Stinky Feet. That was not his Christian name.

I'm using past tense, but I'm sure Stinky Feet is still around and doing well, so not to worry about some evil surprise ending.

Stinky Feet's nickname came about because he absolutely went crazy over the phrase "Stinky Feet." It was his universal word. It was exactly like some folks use the eff bomb.

If he was angry at someone, they had stinky feet. If he was really happy, he would run around the room, and singing stinky feet while giggling hysterically. Occasionally he would get in a "debate" about who in the program had stinky feet. He liked to laugh a lot, and his laughter was infectious.

But the only difficult time I ever would have with him was when we went out in the van. He was fine under most circumstances, but heaven forbid if he ever saw a woman. He would invariably hang out of the car, and yell out something innappropriate. Nothing too terrible, but it was always something like "Hey Baby, or Whoa Momma"



but the worst was when he would say, "Hey Crotchety, check her out," as if I were in some way complicit in this. At this point, I should point out when he said things, it was loud, loud enough that everyone in the immediate area and then some heard him. It wasn't too bad if the lady who was the object of his misplaced affections was driving because that meant she would just flip me off and drive on.

But if they were walking, and we were stuck in traffic--oy vey. You can only imagine the embarassment.

The absolute worst of the worst was that he did not possess the ability to understand that as bad (but, in retrospect, funny) as it was to yell at women, it was beyond inappropriate to yell stuff like that at girls. I was always shocked when I was able to make it back to the center without getting arrested, or at the very least attacked by roaming bands of angry women with torches and pitchforks.

Do I really yell at cars?

Yes, yes, I do.

My favorite car yelling story:

A few years ago, I lived in a development near a new car dealer. My street was pretty curvy, had a "S" curve right in the middle, in fact. Well, the moron salesmen used to cut through my street, and drive really fast to get the full effect of the road curves.


I can only guess it made them feel like they were running a European race course. This would be fine except for the kids, pets, and old people they terrorized by this behavior.

I had a lot of free time, so I often spent it outside yelling at the morons to slow down. Believe me, on a Saturday, it was as busy as most main streets with these idiots racing down through my development. My neighbors suggested I should do something besides yell at the cars.

The next Saturday, a car went zipping by, and I yelled. He flipped me the bird.

This did not sit well with me at all.

I then got in my truck, and drove across the highway to pay a visit to the showroom.

As I walked in I spotted the a-hole. He was sitting with his equally stupid co-workers and laughing. I asked for a manager. They continued laughing. When the manager came over, I explained the situation. I told him I wasn't sure which jerk it was, but if I saw another one of his new Hondas on my street driving fast, I would mark the car for him with a large rock so we would be able to know which salesjerk it was. He apologized, and said it wasn't going to happen again.

A few weeks later, a neighbor came by and said to me, "Not sure what you did, but I haven't seen a Honda around here for a few weeks."

Women are clueless about...

thermostats. I have no idea why, but I have yet to meet the woman who understands the intricacies of the home thermostat. Whether it is used to regulate heat in winter, or control the air conditioner in summer, they remain totally unable to comprehend it.

I do not mean the inner workings of one. No, many people don't understand bimetals (no, not a sexual preference for metals) used on older models, nor the electronics of the newer models. I'm talking about the simple idea that the temperature is regulated absolutely independently of the outside weather conditions.

Today, during part 489 of our ongoing discussion called "please stop adjusting the friggin' thermostat," I asked the Crotchety Old Lady to please turn down the thermostat on the air conditioner as it is too cold at night. Her womanly response? "It's going to be 100 today."

AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

This makes every bit as much sense as when she turns off the furnace in spring because it will be 70 during the day. Naturally, we wake up to the home being a crisp 57 F. For my metric reading friends, that's quite a bit on the chilly side.

OK, here's my lesson for any ladies reading this:

Set the temperature where you would like the room to be heated or cooled to. Turning it higher or lower does not warm or cool the room faster or slower. You want it 70? Set it at 70. It matters not whether the temperature outside is 12 or 112. The thermostat doesn't care. It just does its job.

I wonder where this gender bewilderment about such a simple thing as a thermostat comes from?

Perhaps it is coded in their DNA, passed down from generations of women.



A thermostat is a simple thing to control. Think of it as a man. Simple, with only a few buttons that shouldn't be pushed.

I just want some pizza, dammit.

Last night, I tried to order a pizza to be delivered. The internet has really screwed up our pizza procurement technology.

Here’s how our pizza ordering process has changed over the last few years.

Timeline

1950:

Walk to Luigi’s Pizza. Tell Luigi “I’d like a pizza with thin crust.”

Luigi says, “Ok, Mr. Crotchety.” He makes me a pizza with thin crust, 15 minutes later, I take it home. All is well.

1980:

Luigi is dead. Luigi Jr. is running the place. The pizza tastes like crap. So I call this new place, Domino’s. I ask what kind of pizza they have. Some guy named Leon takes 10 minutes to give me the “specials,” since they have about 2,096 variations including pineapple. I order the pepperoni with thin crust. The pizza tasted like crap, but I got it in 30 minutes.

2008

I saw commercials for Papa John’s new hand-tossed whole wheat pizza. Mrs. Crotchety has decided I need more fiber. She believes this will help with my crotchetiness. So, I decide she’s possibly right, since she is almost always possibly right.
Before calling Papa John’s, I decided to check out the menu online. To do this, I had to enter my name, date of birth, first pet’s name, and my blood type.
I can’t deal with this as I can feel my blood sugar dropping as I type. So, I call and get someone named Apu on the phone.

“I’d like a whole wheat pizza with thin crust.”

Apu lets me know I can have a whole wheat pizza, or a thin crust pizza. Can’t have both.

“But they are hand-tossed.”

Apu assured me they are, but I still can’t get thin crust and whole wheat.

I’ve slung pizza in my day, so I know Apu is full of shit.

So, what to do?
Of course, I tell him never mind, but I’m pretty damned annoyed.

I just want a thin crust whole wheat pizza delivered in under an hour. Why is this so difficult to achieve? If we can put a man on the moon (or in Arizona, depending on your level of skepticism,) where's my pizza?

I hear lots of bitching about jobs being outsourced. I also hear it’s all about the money. I’m about to call bullshit. If I can’t get a damned thin crust whole wheat pizza delivered in under an hour, why would I ever trust these same dopey workers to make my car, answer the telephone, or make anything else for that matter?

Is it crappy management, or crappy workers?

What do you think?

She's Moist

It's 100 degrees here and although the air conditioners are running full tilt, I'm still warm. New Jersey is supposed to have temperate Springs. It looks like Spring is over.

And the Crotchety Old Lady is moist. Believe me, that's not as pleasant as it sounds.

The weather outside really doesn't affect me too much. I spend the majority of my time sitting on my couch visiting chatboards, and then either blogging or reading blogs.

Just for a change of pace, and with it being a slow Sunday, I thought I'd chat about some of the blogs I read.

The ones I have listed on my favorites are just a tiny portion of the ones I read.
Most of them are blogs of RW friends and family, while a few are some I just enjoy. If you want to see something different, take the time to check out some of them.

I'd like to highlight a couple, in no particular order.

Keep in mind, I suck at computer stuff, so I still can't do clickable links. But the links are on the side of my blog.

Life as I know It is written by a RL friend. She's been blogging for a few years, and writes mostly about celebrities, and the goofy things they do.

It is very witty, with the perfect amount of snarkiness.

Celeb Obsessed is written by a family member who is, well, obsessed with celebrities. It's pretty straight forward, and keeps everyone up to date on celeb hijinks.

Last for today is Of Cabbages and Kings. This is one of the best humor blogs on the 'net. It is well-crafted by a lady who is originally from NJ, so right off, you know it's going to be good. One of her influences was Jean Shepherd, and her style invokes the great man.

I grew up a huge Shep fan, listening to him at night on WOR radio, and of course, reading his 2 great books, In God We Trust, and Wanda Hickey's Night of Golden Memories. I met him when I was in high school, and had him autograph my book. Sadly, it has been lost through a series of moves.

Gawd, I love the internet

To:
Fellow bloggers and my two semi-devoted readers

Did you ever really get into a post, and then suddenly read what you have written, and say WTF?

I just did. I deleted one of the longest, dumbest rants I ever wrote, and you are better people for it.

No need to thank me. Your continued patronage is thanks enough.

To make it up to you, I was going to post a really nice picture I took.

But I suck as a photographer.

So I took a cue from the old Ed Sullivan Show. Anyone who is old enough to remember Ed, knows when the show slowed down, it was time for either plate spinners, or Chinese acrobats.

Going one better than Ed, here are some Chinese plate spinning acrobats.



Why isn't the comments button showing up?

I should add a line.

Just catching up on political stuff

When watching TV, it seems former NJ governor McGreevey is nearly always listed as former gay Governor of NJ. That's kind of silly. It's like my state had 2 governors. The fact that he was gay had nothing to do with his actions as governor, nor did it have anything to do with his resignation. It had nothing to do with his public life, and was entirely a personal matter. I wonder if Spitzer, former NY governor, will henceforth always be referred to as Whore Monger former Governor Spitzer.

And WTH is up with Hillary Clinton? On Monday, she stated a big announcement will be forthcoming tomorrow. Then she changed it to Friday. Now, it's Saturday. And all this is following her secret meeting with Barack Obama. Oh, the intrigue. I truly had gained a lot of resopect for her during the primary. More than once I stated she was getting the fuzzy end of the lollipop. But now, I am puzzled by her actions. They make no sense, and just seems like she is acting wacky. We'll all find out tomorrow. Maybe.

Here in NJ, Senator Lautenberg will be running again. The guy is 84 years old, and running for a 6 year term. Isn't it time for someone that age to move on to other things? Do some fishing, spend time helping others, playing canasta? I don't know. But being in the Senate is either way too easy a job, or he's the most vigorous octagenarian alive.

I'm still waiting for my tax stimulus money. I should have had it made out directly to Trump's Taj Mahal. That's where it's going to be deposited. Scheduled my big July getaway. Fireworks at the Jersey shore. Sweeeeet.

Health Care System is Out of Control

I just read an article in AARP magazine.

Yeah, I'm old.

Stop snickering.

Anyway, some interesting facts were presented. According to the Congressional Budget Office, health care spending has increased 2% faster than the rest of the economy over the last 30 years. We have 47 million Americans with no health care.

Yet, the same rhetoric "best care in the world" is repeated over and over.

But is it?

Our life expectancy is lower than Canada, Japan, and most of Western Europe. We rank 43rd in infant mortality, behind Cuba and the Czech Republic.

What are some of the causes for such great expense while receiving less than the best?

One third of our healthcare dollars goes to administrative costs-- paper pushers. This is double what Canada spends. It is estimated that using the same system (single-payer) we could save $360 billion per year.

And the study concluded that perhaps the single biggest cost is unnecessary treatment. We, as a people, demand medication for everything. Just watch TV for a couple hours, and you will see advertisements for many, many prescriptions. Why? Does anyone believe these ads are targeted towards doctors?

Of course they are not. They are to have consumers pester the doctor for medications. It is better to take a pill than to change a behavior, according to the commercials. Take a pill and live better.

Doctors now practice what is called "defensive medicine." Lots of tests, most unnecessary, because they are terrified that if they miss something, they will get sued.

Just in the last year, I have been taken off 2 medicines that had been given for "defensive purposes." No evidence had been shown to indicate that the medication would really do anything, but it was given "just in case."

Oy. Can you imagine how much others have been given? What procedures are done with no real logical reason?

Almost Wordless Wednesday

Pepper

A Heart Warming Story

In 1986, Peter Davies was on holiday in Kenya after graduating from Northwestern University.

On a hike through the bush, he came across a young bull elephant standing with one leg raised in the air. The elephant seemed distressed, so Peter approached it very carefully.

He got down on one knee and inspected the elephant's foot and found a large piece of wood deeply embedded in it. As carefully and as gently as he could, Peter worked the wood out with his hunting knife, after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot. The elephant turned to face the man, and with a rather curious look on its face, stared at him for several tense moments. Peter stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled. Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned, and walked away. Peter never forgot that elephant or the events of that day.

Twenty years later, Peter was walking through the Chicago Zoo with his teenaged son. As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Peter and his son Cameron were standing. The large bull elephant stared at Peter, lifted its front foot off the ground, then put it down. The elephant did that several times then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man.

Remembering the encounter in 1986, Peter couldn't help wondering if this was the same elephant. Peter summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder. The elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of Peter legs and slammed his stupid ass against the railing, killing him instantly.

Probably wasn't the same elephant.

This is for all of my friends who send me those heart-warming stories.

Bonus post

I read a lot of blogs every day.

I guess somewhere between 80 and 100 or so. One I never miss is Shadow Crystal's.

http://internettreasuretrove.blogspot.com (eventually I'll learn how to imbed links)

Anyway, a few days ago, she had this incredibly fun thing on her blog, and because I'm so lame and technologically retarded-- I was amazed by it, and then stole it from her. I'm sure she won't mind. I hope youse all enjoy it as much as I do. (I'm so unoriginal, I even used the same color scheme--I so desperately want to be one of the cool kids)

< ------ It's over there. I can't figure out how to put it on the blog part.

I'm such a dork.

I could use a hand

Yesterday, my nephew suggested I get a dog or cat to keep me company during the day. Also, I'm sure I've read they help lower blood pressure, which would make me healthier, plus I would be inclined to walk it or play, and that would be good exercise.

I got to thinking about it, and I had a better idea. Dogs and cats are good companions, but to be honest a lot of work. They poop and eat, and don't do much more. Some make good guard dogs, but I'd want a Pappillon, and they don't exactly inspire fear in burglers and other no goodniks.



"Back off, Dude. I'm a badass"

So, I decided after much thought......

I want a helper monkey.



It would be great. She could help me dust, keep the house clean, and generally be helpful.

With my luck, though, I'm sure this is what would happen

I got a new haircut today

The Crotchety Old Lady has cut my hair the last few times. It's just easier than dealing with going out to get it done.

Her skills with the hair cutting equipment has improved, so I thought maybe I could have a new style. I currently have the same 'do I've had since second grade, so it's time.

I wanted a fauxhawk





so I'd be one happening old dude.

Sadly, nature and my Wahl combination shaver/haircutter/weedwhacker/blender produced something more like this:



Getting old sucks, but I guess it beats the alternative.