Mainstream Blogging Sample, and Some Things That Amuse Me

I’m going to try and become a more mainstream blogger. I want to be nationally recognized and linked from every major website and become a part of the local, regional, and national news media. In my first effort to do this, I’m going to write the next paragraph to represent exactly what you found all weekend on all the major news networks, the local radio and TV, the national media from ESPN to CNN, and so on. It was as if nothing else was going on in the entire world. Here is my first attempt to become part of the mainstream media:

Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. President of Poland dies in plane crash. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods.

That should do it. Watch as my page-views soar and I will be awaiting the contractual offer from some major news syndicate shortly.

I mean, good God guys, I’m a sports fan. And I’m a Tiger Woods fan (former?), if we’re speaking for his golf abilities ONLY. But good God make it stop. He didn’t even win the tournament. He tied for 4th. Which is amazing after his 4+ month hiatus from a game that takes so much concentration and focus and repeatability. But, but, but – he is not the center of the entire fucking universe.

Moving on, Things That Amuse Me:

*The First Couple Steps in Mapquest Directions*
I love how when you get directions from Mapquest or any other map/directions site, the first couple steps are so stupidly basic. Yes, I know how to leave my own neighborhood! They might as well start with:
- Stand up from your computer chair. 0ft.
- Grab directions from printer. 4ft.
- Get drink from fridge. 60ft.
- Get in vehicle. 40ft.
- Pull out of driveway. 15ft.

And then pick up on the real beginning of directions. I mean, to leave my subdivision is two turns. Two, to be on one of the area’s decently major roads. But use Mapquest for anything leaving there and those two turns are broken down into four steps. Four. Maybe Mapquest should just add a button to click when you click, “Get Directions”. Click “Get Directions”, or click “Get Directions Starting On The First Main Road Leaving My Starting Point Because I’m Not Fucking Retarded”.


I have three stories from this past weekend to put under the same back story, so to type that once:
This past weekend, I decided to take the boy to his first big league ballgame. Well, Triple A, but close enough! We have the Baltimore Orioles Triple A affiliate here locally in Hampton Roads, and there’s a couple major leaguers on the team and their opponents usually. So it’s cool to see some up-and-coming players sometimes. Well, he’s almost three and it was time! We drove over and picked up his “papa”, my dad, and had a three-generational-father-son-son night of it at the ballpark.

*Kids Say the Darndest Things*
So, we’re driving over to pick up my dad to head to the ball park. It’s about a half-hour drive, all interstate. Actually, to get anywhere around here between our 7 cities, it’s all interstate. So we’re heading there when along side of us on our drive, there’s two crotch-rocket sport bikes fooling around and speeding around through traffic. I used to have a 1000cc rocket myself and know what it’s like to have that kind of power in your hands, which is hellafied exhilarating, but I never messed around in traffic on the interstate. These guys were zooming all around, speeding, then slowing to make room so they could fly again. I put my son’s window down and tried, remaining NOT-reckless myself, to keep them on my right side so my son could watch them. He was loving it. He was going crazy, probably thinking that these two bikes were putting on a show for him. At one point, one of them did a wheelie for essentially about a half-mile in the lane to my right, in interstate traffic, maybe they did see lil HokieJayBee and they were putting on a show for him.

He was eating it up, going ballistic with excitement and laughter. And the way he says, “motorcycle” sounds more like “MURDERcycle”, so fitting watching these two idiots dance around the interstate at high speeds, in traffic.

*It’s Not What It’s Worth, It’s What People Will Pay For*
On the same drive over to pick up my dad, I saw the new business model for modern ingenuity. It’s spring here, people’s allergies are acting up, and people’s cars are generally a tone of some sort of yellow.

We drove by a gas station on the way. There was a guy out front with a hose and a sign, “$3 Pollen Spray Off After You Fill Up”.

He had a line.

*Hey Wait, That Sounds Like a Brand of Cookies*
So, with all the background about our drive over to the ballpark, I guess I could actually end with a story AT the ballpark. When we were waiting in line to buy our tickets, there were two, very young, very attractive, very YOUNG women in front of us. Probably from one of the local colleges. They were flirting up a storm with lil HokieJayBee. He is a cutie! And he went into shy-mode-1.0. Like, he’s not shy, ever. Until now.

I mean, literally in the same ticket line, he was hamming it up with the couple in line behind us. A little older than me, nothing special or un-special about them, but just a husband/wife there to enjoy the game. And lil HokieJayBee put on his usual non-shy show for them. Not 2 minutes later when the attention from the young ladies started, did he shut right down and literally hide between my legs, actually blushing.

Later, when we got to our seats, I commented to papa HokieJayBee how funny it was, that even at this early of an age, boys seem to have a gene that makes them clam up in the presence or attention of attractive young females. And I jokingly told lil HokieJayBee that this won’t be the last time he clams up like that around cute girls. He had no idea what I was talking about and just wanted more Sprite.

So I have no idea, nor am I able to transpose for you how the conversation wandered as it did. I shouldn’t even begin to try and list the progression of the ideas in the conversation, but it went something like this:

- lil HokieJayBee shy in line in front of girls.
- I remark about how even at that young age, boys are like that.
- I wonder what they’re doing here at the ballpark alone.
- They probably go to one of the local colleges.
- Meeting dudes at a ballpark seems like a logical idea.
- They must be freshman.
- They haven’t put on the freshman 15 yet.
- Clearly not in the Navy (my dad is a retired Navy pilot).
- Or if they are, they have office jobs, because girls like that don’t get sent underway.
- Or if they are stationed on a ship, they haven’t been long.
- Because they haven’t yet put on the Navy’s freshman 15 yet.

“Hips Ahoy!”

Yeah. Papa HokieJayBee shoots and scores with that one. And it’s officially added to my repertoire.

Another Unfortunate Overheard, and Some Hope.

Overheard on Sportscenter the Other Night.
I had Sportscenter on the other night, for a little background noise. I was in the kitchen crafting the boy a peanut butter and jelly masterpiece, with a cup of peaches and some mini-carrots too. My son was playing in the sunroom. He was bouncing back and forth between riding his three-wheeler-scooter-bigwheel-bike-contraption in a circle around the room, and shooting hoops with his mini-indoor-basketball hoop. I would saunter from the kitchen area to steal a quick peek now and then to make sure he hasn’t removed any limbs or donated too much blood to the hard wood floor out there.

So anyways, like I said, Sportscenter was on for some background noise. And it was the hockey segment. There was some Canadian mullet up there talking about the Washington Capital / Pittsburgh Penguin rivalry. (I’m not being rude here, Barry Melrose really has a full on business-on-top-party-in-the-back mullet). He was going on and on about how Pittsburgh is (7-1) against Washington in their last 8 playoff games, but Washington is (3-0) against them this regular season, Pittsburgh has Crosby, Washington has Ovechkin, etc. etc. etc.

Then, mid peanut butter spread (with a KNIFE dammit), he said it. Discussing how good Pittsburgh’s defense is, when all players are healthy.
“Oh man, when everyone is back on the ice, their back end is so good, and it’s so deep.”

Dude, my nearly-three-year-old son is listening. Have some class.


I think I Actually Have Hope for America.
Unfortunately, racial tension still exists in America. And, unfortunately, it exists where I live. I live in a very diverse area. There are some bad parts of town. You can read that how you want, “bad part” can just as much mean the uppity white mansion neighborhood as much as it means a predominantly black downtown government housing area, it depends on the point of view.

There aren’t a lot of blatant racial issues or physical fights, and not a lot of racially toned issues on the news – but it’s there. It’s there in traffic, it’s there in the grocery store, it’s there at the bank, it’s there at the restaurants, it’s there at work. It’s unfortunate, but you can still feel it and sense it sometimes. As a white dude, I have “oh shit” moments all the time and feel bad that someone might even feel made fun of by me and my whiteness, even if I didn’t say anything wrong. It really sucks to be a white dude sometimes.

Rarely would it be, oh man I hope that black/Mexican/Asian/Green/Purple guy didn’t hear what I said – like I don’t have stupid moments of racial-bigotry-emission. But I do have the feeling inside sometimes like, oh man I hope they don’t think we’re talking about them or oh man I wish they knew the context of what we’re talking about. Because when I said, “I chased that motherfucker out of my garage before he could steal that shit”, I meant the neighbor’s cat that I’ve caught in there going at my dog food or biscuits, not some neighborhood [insert race here] kid stealing my bike. Because if I were on my cell at the store and said that quote near a group of [insert race here] kids, I would just KNOW they think I’m talking about them and being all white and racist and shit.

So anyways, about my hope for America. I was out at a restaurant and bar the other night with a friend. We’re both in our 30’s, white, educated, stereotypical business white-guy-shit. We were both in our suit pants from work, with a starched collar dress shirt and all, out for a beer and a couple games of Golden Tee. [if you’ve never played, keep it that way, trust me, it’s like heroin. Not that I know what heroin is like.] We were in the back room of said restaurant, where the Golden Tee machine is, nestled in with the dart boards and pool tables. On the pool table closest to our machine, there was a group of 3 young black guys and 2 young black girls.

They were not dressed in dress pants and starched collars. There were some dreadlocks, some tattoos, some gold teeth, some saggy jeans, some really high leather boots. They literally looked like they just left a video shoot from a BET production.

Which me and my boy E were totally cool with. But there was that tension, right?

I’m an outgoing dude. I broke the ice. I chatted with them between shots. I made fun of the one girl’s jukebox choices. I made fun of the one dude’s straight shot that he missed. They made fun of us, the second we walked in we were destined for the golf game and not pool, they knew by our clothes. We talked some playful trash. Challenged them and kicked the shit out of them in 3 games of pool. Played some more golf. Had a beer with them. Suggested shooters they’d like for the one girl’s birthday they were there celebrating. It was quite an enjoyable ~hour or two at the restaurant. The 7 of us who didn’t belong together, if you were just going on the looks of the group from the outside, if you buy into that tension crap.

When their group went to leave, one guy went to the restroom before leaving. On his way back out, meaning he is now last of his group still back there, he came by to say bye one last time. He walked up, called us by name, and shook our hands. He said thanks. He said thanks for the great birthday we helped give his friend’s girlfriend. He said it turned out way different than he feared when the two white business men walked into the back game room at the restaurant and took up shop on the golf machine next to their pool table. He said it was a refreshing surprise, and he had hope for America. I do too Charles, I do too.

PS - I mean it, I really don’t know what heroin is like.

3 Blurbs

Overheard In The Office The Other Day:
Near my office at work in one of the hallways, there’s some wall damage. It’s a hole that was cut by the IT guys or the electricians to pull wires. I don’t know enough about that kind of installation work to claim there’s a better way to do it or they could have done it with tools or wall snakes to avoid damaging the wall – and I’m not going to suggest that maybe after cutting the hole to get the wires pulled through where they needed, that maybe they could have patched the hole.

Side note: I’m using the term “cut the hole” loosely. Well, at least the word “cut”. It seems more of a punched or some sort of other blunt force trauma created hole. So it’s not even a professional-looking-hole-in-the-wall-in-your-office-hallway-for-electrical-installation, it’s more of a drunken-frat-party-punched-hole, if that makes sense.

I mean, maybe the IT/electricians were told not to worry about the damage, that a more mechanically inclined contractor would follow and do repair type work to the structure itself. Maybe the plan was to repaint anyways, so don’t worry about the damage, we’ll fix it when we repaint.

Side note again: we moved into this building in January 2009. I’m thinking the repainting or second mechanical contractor idea isn’t going to happen anytime soon.

But, not to worry, someone had a fix for the situation. It unfortunately became a null and void fix on January 1, 2010. When the 2009 calendar hung over the hole ended. No one has replaced with a 2010 version yet. Whoever removed the calendar made the choice that visible wall damage in the office hallway was a better look than a pretty landscape picture calendar from last year.

So, near my office at work in one of the hallways, there’s some wall damage.

There’s a gentleman in my office, who is quiet, straight-laced, never treads the line of improper or crass, and doesn’t dance the socially unacceptable line or play on innuendos. Ever. He had his hand in the hole in the wall the other day, “trying to figure out what wiring or electrical work they were doing that needed the hole.”

Overheard:
Co-worker 2 – “Hey careful, that was cut by the electricians to pull some wiring through here and they never put in a junction box, I wouldn’t go poking around in there.”
Hand-in-hole-guy – “Yeah, you’re right, I was just curious. My wife says I’m always poking my fingers around in holes I shouldn’t be.”

Really? Hand, hole, electrical wiring, finger, forbidden holes,………..must……not……….make……….shocker………….joke…………..must…………….remain…….quiet………in………..office


High In Iron:
This past weekend I spent Saturday out of town at one of my college buddy’s house. Myself and three of my best friends of all time had a boys day in, watching March Madness, grilling out for two meals, and generally finding the bottom of a-couple-too-many Miller Lites. I had green poopy a couple times on Sunday.


So That’s Everyone?
A good friend of mine and I play in a local flag football league together. He was asked to play by some friends of his from high school and then extended the invite to me when they still needed one more guy. His group of friends are all deputies in one nearby town’s sheriff’s department. Besides me and my friend, the team is actually just the department team from the sheriff’s office. Like, we’re on “the cop team”.

Needless to say, any time we get a close call in the game from the refs, there’s no shortage of conspiracy theories or claims of favoritism for the local deputies from the opposing team’s whines. Or when one guy on the other team was being a real jerk about something, one of the deputies replied with, “careful son, or we’ll see you on Friday”. That kind of stuff is funny. Or when one ref made like 7 calls in a row against us, we asked him if he was making up for a string of parking tickets or something.

I’ll add a side note here that a lot of these guys are in phenomenal shape, and work out a lot. And they are obviously very well trained in law enforcement tactics. This, unfortunately, does not project directly into football ability. But I digress.

The reason I’m writing to you here today about my sheriff football team though, is the chuckle I had at the game last week. The “nearby town” I speak of for this story isn’t a big town. And we’re on the flag football team with about 12 deputies. Last week, we were in the offensive huddle forming our play when two patrol cars went screaming by the field, lights and sirens a blazing.

“Heh, there goes Wilson and Stecker.”
“You could see the decals on the car and know which two cars that was?”
“No. They’re the only two on duty. We’re all here.”

Priorities

There are two very important people in my life that I owe some time and attention. To many people or reader(s) out there, this might not mean a lot. But to the two most important people in my life, I made a couple of pictures for you. I love you.

Rip Van Winkle. And Some Subtle Hints in the Bathroom.

Check this out people. Two days in a row with a post. Three business days in a row if you count Friday’s post and my standard of not posting on the weekends. Wow. Don’t know what I owe this honor to, but at least I’m getting some thoughts down.

It’s kind of therapeutic. Writing. In general. It doesn’t even have to be good. It doesn’t even have to really be about what’s really on my mind. I just find myself gaining clarity and feeling better about the constant battle in my head between sane thoughts and idle demonic chatter, when I’m writing. Maybe the whole idea of clearing out the nonsense through a simple blog like this, allows me to truly think about what’s important more easily when I do propose to sit and reflect.

Now that I’ve walked you in a complete circle of what-the-hell-is-he-talking-about…..

*Rip Van Winkle.*
He slept for what, 20 years in the original story? Fable? Folk tale? Or a 100 years. Who cares, the point is that Mrs. HokieJayBee and I got rid of one Rip Van Winkle aspect of our lives last night. I don’t know why we were hiding under that rock for so long, but we were. So we woke up from our extended slumber and wandered back into town, just like Rip. And you should too, if you haven’t.

Go see Avatar. Now. If you haven’t, go see it now. Leave work. Get a sitter. Skip your meeting. Skip dinner. Go see it. Now.

It is absolutely the most ridiculously well done movie I’ve seen in a LONG time. The story is predictable to a point, but aren’t 99.9% of movies anyways? When a movie like Sixth Sense or Seven or the original Saw comes out, isn’t it the abnormal movie to have a surprise rather than the norm? So Avatar’s predictability didn’t bother me at all. I was too lost in the world James Cameron built. The scenery, the storyline working into said scenery (literally), and the action scenes are just – I hate to repeat a word – RIDICULOUS. It is an amazing movie.

Go see it now*. Seriously, you’ll thank me.

*This is also based on the assumption that the rumors that Mrs. HokieJayBee and I were the only warm blooded Americans over the age of 12 that had not seen it yet, are not true. There’s bound to be a couple other people pulling a Rip Van Winkle. Right? If you are one of those few remaining people, go see it.

*Subtle Hints in the Bathroom.*
Mrs. HokieJayBee and I have been together for almost 12 years, and married for almost 8. All couples get to that point, you know, where you, uh, um, have no shame.

There’s even Man Laws about it. One of which states that, as a man, you cannot flatulate in front of a woman until you’ve gotten her to climax. And, that if you do flatulate in front of her, she is now officially your girlfriend. And, continued, if you do so while at the same time trapping her under any sort of sheets or blanket, you are either already married to her, or you inherently just proposed to her through actions. And she is allowed to take it as such.

This is serious stuff people. I mean, you know that point where you shower in front of each other, not intimately. Or even shower together, purely for speed and efficiency, with zero intimacy. Yeah, that sucks. Then of course there’s the whole peeing in front of each other, and closing the door when you do so becomes optional. Or heaven forbid, even dropping the deuce in front of your spouse. Or even being in the shower for work in the morning, and your spouse comes in to drop said deuce, while you’re in the shower, and then hits you with the scalding-hot-water-after-toilet-flush-shower? And the stinky-humid-shower-bathroom air? Love is such a vile beast.

So, you see where I’m going. As a couple, certain boundaries and walls of privacy become non-existent. That’s fine. It’s a natural progression of comfort with your mate I guess.

In our relationship, there’s also the subtle, or sometimes not so subtle, hints that happen in the bathroom too. Mrs. HokieJayBee uses the corner of our bathroom counter, near my sink, to remind me of things, or give those hints. She’ll leave items for me on the corner that I need to use, whether I knew it or not. She doesn’t put maintenance items here. I’m not so incapable of self-sufficiency that I need her to put my toothbrush or my deodorant there. This special reminder spot is more for non-normal needs.

[1] Nail Clippers – pretty self explanatory. I bite my nails too often, so this won’t usually be because I need a trim there. It usually follows a time where maybe I complained about a certain cuticle or maybe I scraped her legs to the bone at night in my sleep with a razor sharp toe nail. When I find the nail clippers in the reminder spot, I simply check all 20 appendages for sharp edges, make any trimmings necessary, and put the clippers back in the cabinet.

[2] Hair Gel – exiting shower, hmmmm, hair gel in the reminder spot. We must be going out to something nice. I should gel my hair a little. And probably put on a collared shirt. Oh yeah, we’re going to get lil HokieJayBee’s pictures done, and we’ll take a family shot too. Thank you Honey!

[3] Steel Wool or a Sponge of some sort – my turn to clean the shower. Roger.

[4] Medicine – see previous post(s). I don’t take medicine. Unless of course there’s some in my reminder spot on the bathroom counter. Whining too much about my back and legs after a flag football weekend? Advil on the counter. 8 days into a 10 day run of antibiotics, where your attention is waning and you’re not following the perfect every 8 hour dosage because you’re not sick anymore and why am I still putting these chemicals in my body? She knows better. And you need to finish out the recommended dosage. Either way, medicine in the reminder spot gets taken.

[5] Q-Tips – see, I said that the reminder spot isn’t for maintenance items. I guess maybe she saw a need and left me a subtle hint? Sorry honey. Maybe I just have some dry skin in there. Yeah. That’s it. Just a patch of dry skin. Nothing else to read into suggested Q-Tipping.

[6] Mouthwash – ouch. I’ll get right on that.

And finally,

[7] Tweezers – ummmmmmm. I’m still lost on this one. I usually do a cursory check of the shoulders and upper arms for a freak hair that might need a yanking. Maybe check between the eyebrows to make sure I haven’t gone too far Cro-Magnon. And calmly put the tweezers away. Maybe she was using them and accidentally just left them there. Yeah. Probably nothing to look into when your wife leaves tweezers for you on the reminder spot. Nothing weird at all. At least I hope I haven’t missed anything that tweezers would be used for.


NOTE TO ALL NORMAL READER(S) OF THE BLOG:
Please ignore the following “paragraph”. I read an article online and I just wanted to test a couple theories it posed.

Megan Fox nude. Kobe Bryant. Twilight. Harry Potter. Lebron James. Hurt Locker. Dances with the Stars. Huge Tits.

Please Disregard the Security Alarm, Enjoy Your $20 Burger

So, this past Saturday night, Mrs. HokieJayBee and I took lil HokieJayBee out for dinner with another couple and their young daughter. We talked before hand and wanted to find a spot that would be good for all parties (mainly the 2.5 year old and the 2 month old).

We obviously wanted a “family” place, i.e. not a bar type chain that happens to have some restaurant seating around. We didn’t want a quiet place, obviously as we’re bringing in a boy in the rarest form of terrible two’s lately – and a 2 month old. Lil HokieJayBee could burst out at any time with rant of some form, and of course a near-new born could chime in at any time as well if she were cold or hungry. But we also didn’t want too hectic of a place, i.e. Chuck E Cheese’s or something off the wall like that.

We chose a Red Robin burger place. It was family oriented, and just about the right amount of loud. It accepted lil HJB’s behavior pretty fine. We started out waiting right outside, letting lil HJB play with one of his Hotwheels on a nearby bench. We could see through the windows into the waiting area, and pounced when we saw some inside seating open up.

Once inside, bonuses include the fact that the hostesses give out balloons to youngins. This granted us roughly 4 minutes of sanity in the waiting area. Also filed under Bonuses, there’s a flat screen TV and speakers IN THE FLOOR of the waiting area, covered by Plexiglas that the kids can stand/jump on. +10 genius points to whoever thought that up. With the Nickelodeon or Wonderpets or whatever was on, we were granted another 7 minutes of sanity in the waiting area.

These bonuses, mathematicians can see, granted us approximately 11 minutes of sanity in the waiting area. Unfortunately, our wait was about 20 minutes. Of the other 9 minutes remaining, Mrs. HJB and I were able to successfully distract and parent lil HJB for another 8 minutes. Leaving 1 minute at risk while in the waiting area.

Shouldn’t be a problem. What can a 2.5 year old get into on some benches between the front door and hostess stand of a restaurant. We successfully kept him from the taller stool seating, no fall damage. We successfully kept him from the potted plants, no dirt on his clothes or on the floor. We secluded him to one side of one cushioned bench away from other patrons, no accidental touchy feely on the nice ladies’ boobs nearby. OOOOH BEWBS! No brain, I mean the lady looked like a nice enough older lady, not that the lady had nice breasts. Dammit.

Only problem with the corner we chose to seclude him to of the front area, on said bench. While standing on the bench seat itself, one 2.5 year old boy at full reach is exactly tall enough to reach the Security System Panel for the restaurant. Yeah. I’ll let you move ahead of me here in the story to know what’s coming next.

My son, Alarm Panel Security System Hacker that he already is, at 2.5 years old. Somehow armed the panel and set it into an instant alarm. LOUD. Not a little loud. A lotta loud. Like, deafening for the whole place. The whole place shut down. The cooks ran out. It was ridiculous.

One of the manager’s ran over and tried to disarm it (her code is 2218 if you live near Hampton Roads VA and want to rob the Red Robin restaurant), but in the state of the current alarm, whatever instant-alarm-of-death-and-bad-things that my son put it in, the screen actually told her she didn’t have the authority to override. I’m not shitting you here, I think it said, in three successive screen flashes, “Override Failed”, “No Authority”, “Need Lock Code”. Or in other words, you ain’t the General Manager and I’m going to continue to beep ridiculously loud with my horn sirens and all.

It was at this point, witnessing one of the manager’s fail at turning this thing off, that I started to really think we could be in for a closed restaurant, and maybe even a trip up for the police to find out who set this damn thing off. And Murphy’s Law would come too, and I’d be liable for some negligent parenting thing allowing him to do so, and I’d be liable for the restaurant’s lost wages for the remainder of the Saturday night or something. It was actually beginning to be a sucky story in my head.

Then a different manager ran over to the other panel behind the hostess stand and punched in a bunch of crap and the alarm stopped. Wow, talk about relief. Everyone cheered and everybody went about their merry way. Including my son who thought it was the funniest thing in the world. And we had to restrain him from trying to return to the panel above our bench.

It’s also hard to reprimand your son when you’re a little embarrassed at everyone staring at you, and when you’re trying your hardest to not laugh hysterically yourself.

Then dinner sucked. Don’t get me wrong, the burgers were “fine”. But for two burgers, two beers, and a kid’s meal, I’m not thinking $58 is a nice family dinner place. But, I guess you have to pay for the TV in the floor up front, and the cool alarm panel toy they have for your kids to set off.



((By the way, I’m kidding about the manager’s alarm code. I wouldn’t put it here if I did remember it and I wouldn’t suggest robbery anyways. ))

((By the way part II, WTF with the alarm panel being in reach of the customers (kids) in the waiting area and not having some physical keypad cover, or electronic keypad lock, to keep this from happening. I can’t help but think my son isn’t the first 2.5 year old aspiring hacker that got that thing to go off.))

This Week’s Sign of the Apocalypse, and Other Useless Ramblings, Back Again

Guess who’s back.
Back again.
Jaybee’s back.
Tell a friend.

I guess following up a post bragging about my own adulthood and *not* lying to a hotel, by singing along to an Eminem song, kind of negates any semblance of adulthood? Bah, I’m cool with it.

Speaking of growing up:

*This Week’s Sign of the Apocalypse – I Take Medicine.*
First off, I’m not being funny here or alluding to illicit drug use. I mean, medicine, like from the doctor. I’ve never trusted doctors, medication, or the whole health industry as a whole. I think there’s a lot of waste and recklessness in the industry. And I think there’s a lot of fake medicinal needs created by the industry. And subsequent medical dependencies, and then inherently substance abuse. And I think doctors are obviously in on the take from the whole industry and just get prescription happy with some all too powerful drugs. Mrs. HokieJayBee sprained her ankle one time at volleyball. Standard stuff. She went to the doctor to get an air cast. He prescribed her 10 days of Vicodin. 10 days of a knock-your-ass-out-painkiller for a twisted ankle.

I’m the kind of guy that doesn’t even take Advil for headaches or hangovers. I just don’t trust it all.

/step off soapbox

Then I grew up? Quick back story. Like I said in a previous post, Mrs. HokieJayBee is a public school teacher and lil HokieJayBee goes to daycare. So I live all winter every winter, near-sick. Not sick-sick, just kinda-near-sick. Constant congestion.

Well this last week, all hell broke loose in my sinuses. Like, severe clog. Pain. Throbbing. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t sleep. The right side of my head/face were broken.

I…………….went…………….to………………….the……………………..doctor. Gasp. I don’t go to the doctor. And I sure as hell don’t take meds.

Until this sinus thing. I’ve been on Mucinex, “super” Sudafed, and Prednisone steroids. Yeah. I done grown up I guess.

Side note: “super” Sudafed. I had to sign for it at the drug store. Penalty of a $250,000 fine if I get caught making Meth with it. Yeah, that’s where we are as a nation. And you wonder why I don’t trust doctors and medicines?

*Wrong Song Choice.*
I don’t know what you all watch on TV. I pretty much only watch sports. I catch the occasional sitcom or drama show with the Mrs., but in general I pretty much only watch sports. So, my standard run of commercials that I see on repeat could be different than the run of commercials you’re used to.

But bear with me. There’s this Blackberry commercial that has a Beatles song on it. And the setting of the commercial is this young rock band getting turned down at the studio, then they’re practicing like in their garage, and suddenly something clicks and they’re all great and happy and get a gig at a club.

Ok, I get it. Band works, can’t catch on, works more, something clicks, they don’t suck anymore, get noticed, get a gig, get chicks. All is good.
First, what the hell does Blackberry have to do with the price of rice and cow shit? These kids are like the young near-emo band of poor kids struggling to make it. They don’t have Blackberries.

Secondly, what the eff with the song choice? This commercial is all sad and then it’s will-they-make-it-happy story. The Beatles song is all down, and like, “you can never do what can’t be done.” Or “you can never sing what can’t be sung.” Not exactly pep talky music. But hey, maybe that’s why I’m not in marketing at Blackberry.

*Foreign Cities are Funny.*
So my company has a project we’re working in Vietnam, good stuff. International work, good money. And an immediate regression from that whole thing with me maturing and adulthood.
Overheard from down the hall at the office. The city where we’re building our project. (phonetically) “Dumb Kwat”. Yeah, say it out loud. That’s funny. Shut up. Yes it is. It sounds so dirty. Funny stuff, even though the city name probably means “green forest” or something like that.

I can haz adulthood?

You know those moments you have where it begins to dawn on you that you're growing up? I don't mean the literal birthdays, like where you get cards that say "Happy 30th Birthday" so it's abundantly obvious that you're a year older or hit a milestone birthday. I mean the more subtle moments in life where you have realizations that you're maturing. Well fine, aging.

I mean, I do still eat Ramen noodles and EasyMac for snacks at work and play video games - so I'm just like an early-30-something college kid.....with my own kid. Who for some reason totally started calling us "mom" and "dad" and not "mommy" and "daddy" already. Yeah, he's not 3 yet. Kind of a weird feeling. I want to be "daddy" for a few more years.

But I digress. Oh yeah, moments in life where you realize you're growing up. There's the more blatant of even the subtle moments. Buying your first house. Filing Married2 on your taxes for the first time. Spending more on a vacuum than you did on a TV (don't laugh at this one, when you have two Siberian Huskies, you get the nice Dyson).

And then there's the other more subtle moments that take a little while to click.

This past weekend, Mrs. HokieJayBee and I traveled for her grandmother's funeral. Obviously a sad weekend, but it was good to see her entire family. Mrs. HokieJayBee's dad is one of 8 kids, so there's a lot of family spread throughout the world. So, albeit the reasoning was a sad one, getting everyone together was very nice and we had a good weekend of visits.

And our all-grown-up moment. We totally made a hotel reservation, and made it for three people and didn't lie and say it was for one person. Yeah. Don't scoff. You've done it too.

Hotel employees have to laugh at customers. I know I've been on bachelor party trips to hotels with the reservation made for one dude and for some reason this one dude reserves a 2 double bed room and needs 2 roll away beds.

This Week’s Sign of the Apocalypse, and Other Useless Ramblings, Again and Again Again

I’ll start this week’s jumble post with an update from last week’s. It turns out differently than you might think. Upon arrival at work in the morning one day recently, there was most definitely a Pepsi truck outside. A HA! I will now totally go in the kitchen and spy on this evil evil person and try and thwart their plan to make me buy Diet Caffeine Free Strawberry Clear Horrible Pepsi, when I want a Mt. Dew.

So I put my crap down on my desk and head to the kitchen to heat up my pop tart. Of course I normally don’t heat them up. They are definitely best served cold straight from the foil to your mouth. Frosted anything is win, cold. But my box of pop tarts was all I had even close to resembling a reason to head to the kitchen at 8:30something in the morning. There he is! Loading the machine as we speak, that evil evil man. So, first, I was right last week, I do hate my Pepsi *guy*. He didn’t look too menacing. Looked like a pretty normal guy. We had the generic-two-guys-who-don’t-know-each-other-head-bob-“what’s up”-moment. I went to the microwave and turned to watch him complete his evil soda machine loading deeds.

And I totally saw him do it with diet Slice/Sierra Mist (whatever Pepsi Sprite is) mixed in with the Dr. Pepper!!!

Me, being of nice, polite, and totally always able to keep quiet and not be outwardly not-bashful or shy about aggressively approaching someone……maybe I did say, “Sweet! More Diet Caffeine Free Flavored Pepsi stuff when I want a Mt. Dew.” Maybe I did say it.

And here’s the shocker. His reply, “Yeah…..sorry about that. That’s what they tell us to do at the distribution center to get rid of the crap that don’t sell. Otherwise it’s just trash and we can’t sell it past a certain date.”

I didn’t reply along the lines of, “well it’s trash either way, before that certain date.”, but I wanted to. But seriously, read that. The local Pepsi bottling/distribution plant teaches their drivers to load the popular soda racks with the stuff that doesn’t sell??? Wow. I mean I guess it makes sense that they might vaguely make suggestions to their drivers on how to move some of the slow moving product. But for it to come off almost like a policy? That’s a little disturbing to me.

I think Jeremy (well at least that’s what the Pepsi patch on his shirt said) saw how taken aback and surprised I was at hearing this. He reached into his crates and handed me a 20oz. Mt. Dew and said, “sorry about that last week.”

What I said, “ah no big deal man, thanks.”
What I was thinking, “HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP. Free soda! Free soda! This dude is cool in my book. Fill that machine maliciously to your heart’s content! Free soda! Free soda! Did you ever know that you’re my hero!!! The wind beneath my wings!!!! Free drink! Free drink!”

Sometime later that morning I returned to the kitchen to heat up some Ramen. Wait, what? You don’t still eat Ramen and pop tarts? I don’t care that I’m not in college anymore. Ramen is phenomenal. Worth every penny of the $0.06 price. I’m not kidding. Anyways, in the kitchen, on one of the tables, were about 6 sodas with a note to help oneself. The diet caffeine free craptastic ones. Wow, this guy not only gave me a free Mt. Dew, he stopped his evil maniacal ways and is giving out the lesser sodas too.

NOPE! Those must have just been the sodas so old he couldn’t even do the loading/selling trick. They must’ve been so old he couldn’t sell them. Because, even after my apology, my free soda, and the other free ones on the table – there was still crap soda blocking the good stuff in the machine. He totally bought my silence! My angst at the Pepsi delivery company can be silenced; I am a soda machine etiquette whore. I’m a damn soda popstitute.

*This Week’s Sign of the Apocalypse – My Estrogen Levels are High*
It’s not really this week’s sign, since the events in question happened a couple weeks ago, I’m just getting around to writing about it now. But apparently my Estrogen levels spiked recently. My wife is a teacher. She had some free tickets to a local aquarium for us to use. Basically the aquarium was to be kept open late on a Friday night for local teachers and their families to go for free, outside of normal business hours. She had a flyer for the event. She sent me the flyer on e-mail. We reviewed it, determined we wanted to go. My parents and brother live pretty locally to us. We asked them if they wanted to go too, to see the aquarium with lil HokieJayBee. My mom couldn’t, but my dad and brother wanted to go with us.

We checked into the availability for us to bring additional family members to the special after-hours teacher’s family aquarium event. We had the flyer, we had the aquarium’s website, and we had the recording on the aquarium’s information line. All three differed on the topic. From teacher and immediate family only can come, to teacher plus family all free within reason, to teacher immediate family free with extended family available to attend after-hours but pay normal aquarium entry rates. We had invited my dad and brother, and they were going to come with us – now it was a matter of their entry fee.

Mrs. HokieJayBee and I had made the calls and searched the websites and read the flyer and we were hitting that near-fight a couple hits in frustration at something else. Just frustrated at the whole thing and the incongruence between the aquarium’s information sources, we’re both trying to just get a straight answer. We basically hit the point that we’re bringing my dad and brother, and they’ll probably have to pay their own way in. We decide she’s going to send me the flyer on e-mail and I’ll print it and we’ll bring it so that we’ll at least have one form of proof as to what the aquarium rules were for that night.

And when she sent it to me on e-mail, it was attached, and her note in the e-mail said: “Here it is…”

Note the three .’s.

What she meant by the … “I am so done talking about this, I’m frustrated we can’t get a straight answer from the aquarium, so here’s the flyer, print it for us tonight, we’ll take your dad and brother, see you soon, love you.”

What I read in the … “Hey fucktard, here’s the flyer. See how it says immediate family free and others can come but have to pay. Why are we still talking about this? Why are you fighting me on this? Why do you hate me? Why are you such a jerk? I hate you. You’re a stupid idiotic fool and I regret ever meeting you. I’d rather poke myself in the eye with someone else’s trimmed toe nails than go to the aquarium tonight with you. Die in a fire.”

So I commenced to then start a real fight back at her on e-mail over the … and what she meant by it and why is she so mean and why does she hate me and do I look fat in these pants.

High estrogen levels.

*Got Me. Again.*
We have a decently fancy phone system where I work. I mean, I’m techno enough to be ok on computers and like with the home theatre system. But I don’t know anything about telecommunications. We’ve got these decently fancy Nortel Networks phones at work, and they’re hooked in through the computers and such. Never had a problem with them. Except, the clock displayed on the big screen on the phone is off. It’s been off for a long time. And it’s not off like an even amount like there’s a daylight-savings-time thing.

They’re off by an hour and 17 minutes. Yeah. All day every day, they’re off by an hour…….. and 17 minutes. WTF? I say, “Got me. Again.” because the phone clock gets me like 5 times a day, every day.

“Sweet! Lunchtime!”……”Damn, nevermind, only 10:45.”

“Sweet! Time to head out!”….”Damn, nevermind, only 3:30.”

*Speaking of Clocks Being Off.*
Am I behind the times? Or really far ahead? Someone catch me up. Am I really really really behind the times? Or am I so far ahead of the times I never caught up to fall behind? Am I so late to the scene to make fun that I’ll seem late for still even talking about it, even if it’s negatively?

What the hell is the fascination and how the hell is “The Jersey Shore” popular? Seriously people.

Ok. So the reason I even bring it up is I got an e-mail from a friend I really respect. (i.e. wouldn’t expect them to send me a “Jersey Shore” related e-mail) I googled the application that is becoming popular as the “Jersey Shore Nickname Generator”. Yes I did.

Put in my name. If I were a steroid filled, fake tanned, hair gelled idiot on MTV right now, I’d be “Juice Box”. I put in my middle name the second time, since I technically go by my middle name, and I’d like to introduce you to “Juice Springsteen”. Hell yeah.

*Catch and Release, or Keeper.*
In last week’s cornucopia post I alluded to things being hectic at work lately, with more to come. I’ve decided to limit the novel to a few simple lines. I worked for Company DDD. Company DDD was owned by Company BBB. For reasons they haven’t even totally told us, there were some super secret squirrel meetings and Company DDD had to go away – quick fast and in a hurry. So Company BBB sold Company DDD to Company AAA. Company AAA is also under Company BBB. So now I work for Company AAA, still under Company BBB. Same desk, same job, same clients. Different letterhead. Get it? Neither do I.

Anyways, in the weeks leading up to all this, needless to say, it’s been quite stressful around here. There were some layoffs. There were some people leaving. No one had a guaranteed seat at Company AAA. And frankly, if the lawyers and all the super secret squirrel stuff didn’t go down straight, all of us were out of a job. It was a very stressful time.
Two days before the acquisition, my Manager came up to me and needed me to come by his office, he needed to talk to me. Crap, really? Called to the principal’s office? I’m not going to be retained? Dammit all to hell.

So I stroll down to his office. He shuts the door. He proceeds to ask me which new logo I like best for our new Company AAA.
“I’m a KEEPER!!!!!” I got to voice my input on the new logo!!!!!1one11oneone1!!shiftone!11!!1111!

I think I moonwalked back to my office.

This Week’s Sign of the Apocalypse, and Other Useless Ramblings, Again

I guess I’ll open with the standard blogger bit, “sorry I haven’t been posting as much lately, I’ve been busy, I’m tired, I’m sick, I’m sick and tired, I’ve been traveling, a ferret broke my computer, zombies came from Montana to Virginia and ate my brains, etc.” The truth of the matter is twofold, regarding my lack of posting. First, I admit, I do a lot of my post-writing, or at least rough drafts of posts, at work. Shhhhhh. No really, I take breaks occasionally and spew thoughts down onto (virtual) paper when I can. Well, heaven forbid, a little secret, I’ve been busy at work lately. And it’s been hectic here at work recently on a few other levels – more on that in a near future post. Needless to say, my normal creative time has been spurned by actually having to work, at work. Jeez.

Secondary to that, with creative time limited to where I can’t even work out outlines and drafts, let alone full posts when they come to me, is that I’m my own biggest critic. I’ve tossed away about 50 rough drafts lately of stuff I deemed unworthy of posting. You know, since so many literature critics and publisher editors read my blog…… But what I mean is that, not only has my time available for the verbal diarrhea that I call BorderlineTMI been limited, I’ve been harsh on the work and scrapping it before posting. I don’t know which is the chicken or the egg here.

Low time to post = work I’m not satisfied with so I don’t post it?

I’m overly critical of my own work = so I don’t *really* get into the writing unless I’m pretty sure it’s going to be bombtastic = so I don’t finish it properly, or I just slough off a writing opportunity because I’m worried that the low time to post will result in a work I’m not satisfied with so it won’t be posted?

All of which defeats the purpose of a blog that is admittedly about nothing, other than clearing my head of the demons disguised as useless ramblings of thoughts. Or simply mental weight loss. The more I write this stuff out to you (all), the lighter my head is because I don’t have to think about it anymore. And I can spend more time thinking about important things like bacon, bacon on sandwiches, and why can’t I remember Ben Affleck’s character’s name in Dazed and Confused. Man he was a dick. Wait, he played a dick character in Mall Rats too. Mr. Jennifer Garner totally got his start in movies playing assholes!

/channeling my inner-Asian-drive-thru-worker-from-Dude-Where’s-My-Car/

And then…..

And then….. I totally also remembered it’s been approved by blog admin for me to do cornucopia smorgasbord posts. Instead of writing at length on one useless subject in my own twisted ways, I can write on a British metric shit ton of subjects in my own twisted ways. Or like 10 things. British metric shit tons are a lot. 10 is probably more like it. Maybe I’ll do like 5 things, in shorter bursts, once or twice a week, and try and be better about larger topic posts. Yeah, we’ll try that.

Without further ado……another smorgasbord post. (Look I used that properly! Without further adieu. Without further, a doo. Temerity Jane would be proud.)

Ok, I don’t know if you could tell, but there was like a 5 minute pause between when I typed the last sentence to when I’m typing this now. I had to go for a walk. I totally had one of those OMGWTFBBQ moments and just needed to let my brain take it all in and not freak out. Weird shit happens sometimes, and it frankly weirds me out. And now I’m pissed for today that I didn’t use up my weird cosmic psychic points on a lottery ticket – but rather on this post. See, in the previous line, I linked to a Temerity Jane post where she basically lists all her language and verbiage pet peeves – one of which I remembered as “without further ado”. (if you’re not reading her blog, you should be, at least for her monthly cliff-notes version of Cosmo.) (I just lost man-points didn’t I?)

So I went to her blog to search for the subject post, so I could link to it here. And she’s got some ads on her site. No biggie. And freak-out time….one of today’s ads features one Mrs. Ben Affleck. Yeah, Jennifer Garner. Yeah. So earlier I blabber about bacon and Ben Affleck above? I mean, like why did my brain choose him today as my outlet for randomness? Then I try and be funny and call him “Mr. Jennifer Garner”. Then seconds later I link to Temerity Jane’s page to find Jennifer staring at me? This was all just too much to handle. So I took a walk.
And now I’m back. So really, without further ado.

*This Week’s Sign of the Apocalypse*
I’m sure most of you know, from real life or just reading on here, that recently Mrs. HokieJayBee and I got a brand new 50” plasma. It’s nice. Real nice. And we totally shouldn’t have purchased it. Because less than 7 days after installing it. Our second zone AC/heat unit went out at the house. A new $4500 unit later, it’s less lunches out with the work crew to try and save some pennies. Which means more lunches brought from home. Which means more leftovers and more microwaveable crap. So I recently brought some Hot Pockets. Blech, I know. And I totally stole them from Mrs. HokieJayBee’s stash, so they were Lean Pockets. Double blech. And all I have to say about them, is, yeah, they were FRIGGIN AMAZING. They were Lean Pockets Garlic Chicken White Pizza. And they were two breaded lunch pockets of pure win. Yeah, I said it.

*Life’s Little Victories*
Same day last week when I brought the Lean Pockets of Euphoric Bliss, it was totally a double whammy good lunch. You know that feeling when you’re finishing a meal, and you’re like, “man, I wish I had one more little thing. Like, not another entire side dish. But, just one more little tasty morsel of something.” And you’ve eaten your double pack of Lean Pockets, and you’ve eaten your yogurt, and your granola bar? And you’re just craving one more bite of something to finish it all off? And you stand up to go to the vending machine to get one more little snack? And you’re cleaning off your desk from the lunch trash you just made? And you feel a lump of something solid still in your lunch bag when you go to move it? And you reach in and totally find a single brownie in a zip-loc bag? And you do the, man-I-thought-my-lunch-was-gone-and-I-was-going-to-get-a-snack-from-the-vending-machine-but-found-a-brownie-DANCE?

I just realized as I scan my sticky-notes-of-blog-ideas that I have a good amount of food/lunch based ones. Authorized title change: This Week’s Sign of the Apocalypse, and Other Useless Ramblings – The Work Lunch Edition

*When Did They Change Bananas?*
Yeah, I mean when did the fruit and vegetable scientists change bananas? I had a banana with my lunch the other day, and it tasted normal, it was a fine banana. But it was totally different. One reason I never really took to bananas growing up, was the fact that I’m a texture/consistency guy. And those godforsaken stringy lines that you have to peel off the banana, after already peeling the peel off the banana – just flat gross me out. So, I shied away from bananas for pretty much my whole life. The look and feel of those stringy things on bananas just makes me vomititious. And this lunch banana I had the other day, didn’t have ANY of the weirdo vein strings. NONE. When did they change bananas? And why wasn’t I notified so that I could start enjoying such a lovely fruit again, earlier in my life?

*Wait, They’re Called What?*
So the other day in my office’s kitchen, someone left out snack food on the sharing table. You know, the one table in your office that everyone leaves fair game food? Whether it be something they just brought too much of, or on purpose to put on the sharing table, like chips and salsa. Well, the other day, this free-for-all snack was a Brittish/Scottish cracker/cookie packet of “Digestives”. Yeah, digestives? I totally had to google it to find out they’re not some sort of old-people-fiber-Ensure-fake-dessert-keep-your-shit-firm-kind of thing. Apparently they’re just the British equivalent of a coffee/tea dunking cookie/cracker, or even a simple graham cracker to us hillbilly ‘mericans. I’m thinking someone lost a job over the naming of the cookies when they noticed horrible horrible horrible sales here in the states.

Boss: “Winston, ol’ chap, get in here.”
Winston: “Right O.”
Boss: “Why are our North American sales so bloody low this quarter?”
Winston: “I haven’t the foggiest. We can’t seem to sell our Stomach Assimilation Cookies or our Intestinal Track Swiffers.”

*I Hate the Pepsi Guy*
I guess we’ll stay with the work kitchen thing we’ve got going today. So, as I’m sure you’ve gathered, there’s vending machines in our work kitchen. One food, one drink. Our drink machine is a Pepsi product based machine. No biggie. I’m not some whacked out Coke head that I won’t drink Pepsi products. Actually, come to think of it, other than the main product Coke>Pepsi itself, I prefer Pepsi products over their Coke counterparts (Mt. Dew, Dr. Pepper, etc.). Anyways, the reason I’m talking about this here is because our Pepsi machine delivery guy is a total dickjob. You see, he doesn’t do inventory control by buying and stocking less of his lower sellers (i.e Diet Caffiene Free Pepsi), and subsequently buying and stocking more of his higher sellers (i.e. Mt. Dew or regular Pepsi). He does inventory control by putting the low sellers at the front of lines of the popular rows. Want a Mt. Dew? Have to wait for someone to buy that Diet Caffeine Free Strawberry Pepsi first, which has been strategically placed in front of the Mt. Dew rows. Or buy it yourself and pour it down the drain, and then buy your Mt. Dew.

This is level one dickheadedness. Total level two asshattery happened to me the other day. I head to the machine to grab a soda. “Hey! Nothing is blocking the Mt. Dew row! Sweet!” So I buy the soda. Get the bottle from the machine. Head back to my desk. Crack it for the first drink. Spit the goat urine out all over my office floor. Upon inspection, totally got had with a Diet Mt. Dew. Dammit! It should be noted that a diet Mt. Dew, in the same green bottle, turned around facing away from you in a vending machine, looks *exactly* like a real Mt. Dew. I didn’t realize vending machine-ism was such a maniacal malicious game. Does this mean I can pay him with slightly less valuable coinage that looks just like real money? Like Canadian quarters instead?

Things That Might Only Amuse Me – Other People’s Bad Luck

So this past weekend, me and Mrs. HokieJayBee had some bad luck of our own. We learned that our second AC/heating zone at the back of the house downstairs had lost its ability to supply the house with comfortable air. Yeah, the combo AC/gas heat unit crapped out. The house was built in 1990, we bought it in 2004, but according to the manufacture date on the broken heat pump, it was installed in ~1993. So ~17 years of use out of a mechanical piece of equipment with electricity and natural gas running through it, that sits outside in the elements, I guess I can’t complain.

$4500 later, we have a new heat pump for our house’s second AC/heating zone. Now that’s bad luck? The sinking feeling you have inside when you realize something that’s very expensive that you own needs to be replaced. But it’s not bad luck in the manner of, getting ~17 years out of a piece of household equipment that’s designed to work for 12-25 years, depending on who you ask. Like, any day after ~12 years is a blessing right? So we had 5 years of good luck before the inevitable happened.

We didn’t have bad luck that it broke; it’s a necessity for the house. Bad luck would be if the new unit breaks 731 days from now. That’s 2 years + 1 day for those keeping score at home. I’m not even going to offer you a prize for guessing how long the full warranty is on the new unit. Not only is it not bad luck that this unit had to be replaced, it’s definitely not funny bad luck. Like the kind where something funny happens to someone you know, and they have bad luck that it happened and you point and laugh at them and their bad luck. No one I know is pointing at me for my bad AC/heat luck.

An example of funny bad luck? Like the guy from my old office who got shit on by a seagull, TWICE in two days on a group camping/beach weekend. If by some stroke of pure randomness it was the same bird, now we’re talking super-mega-mondo-funny. I can only assume it was a different bird, but either way, we pointed, we laughed.

An example of not funny bad luck? Same trip, different guy, lost his keys at the beach. No pointing, no laughing. Dude couldn’t drive home.

Anyone else I’ve recently laughed at their bad luck? Well, see, I’m a Washington Redskin fan. My Redskins suck. We couldn’t sniff the playoffs this year, or any others recently. But it hasn’t been all bad, because our bitter rival, the Dallas Cowboys haven’t had any playoff luck in the last 13 years either. In fact, until this year, they hadn’t even won a game in December or later for like 5 years. Even without division titles during that 13 year span, the Redskins at least managed to win a playoff game or two.

So, my Redskins have sucked hind tit for a while, but we had company in our misery, in the form of our bitter rival equally sucking late in the season(s).

Then this year happened. The #$@@#$&ing Cowboys won a December game. They beat the previously undefeated world beater New Orleans Saints. Then they won another December game. Then another. Then they won the NFC East Division. Then they got to host a home playoff game. Then they won that game.

Crap, America’s Team was back. They were hot. Their fans were up in arms. The media was getting on the train. The Cowboys were going to win it all! They’re the greatest thing since sliced bread!

On two separate trips by two different Cowboy fans in my office (note I work in VA), they attended the new Cowboy stadium in Dallas for games. They relished in the success of the Cowboys and the awesomeness of the new stadium.

This past weekend, the Cowboys had to travel to Minnesota to play the Vikings to advance in the playoffs. Although the bookmakers in Vegas had the Vikings as a slight favorite, most of America, to include all the major football media figures, had chosen the Cowboys to stay hot and win at Minnesota.

Then (thank God!), Brett Favre and the Vikings stomped a mudhole in the Cowgirls. Good, having to endure another week of hearing the media and Cowboy fans jibber jabber would have driven me to drink (more). The Vikings stomped them, 34-3, and even got a late touchdown passing when they could have simply run out the clock. Some of the Cowboys cried and complained that the big meanie Vikings were big meanies and didn’t have to score anymore. (I’m cackling as I type this, seriously crying in the NFL? If you don’t want them to score on you anymore Mr. Brooking, you and your 10 defensive teammates should have stopped them from scoring any of the 34 points you gave up. But I digress.)

As you can see, this story has turned into a good story to be a Redskin fan.

Then, we all come into work Monday morning. It rained where I live this past weekend. This is the post-rain-collapsed-ceiling above one of my co-worker’s desk. Guess what her favorite NFL team is?


Literal humor, raining on someone’s parade?
Is it wrong that this amuses me?

This Week’s Sign of the Apocalypse, and Other Useless Ramblings

I realize I had a couple-month spat there where I was pretty much only posting the NFL newsletter (or link thereof) and the occasional post. It wasn’t a matter of nothing to write about, but more of a time issue. Having to work, at work? Gasp! Shut up Brain. I meant a time issue in multiple dimensions. Like a double entendre? Yeah, but with two meanings. You’re dumb. Yep.

I wasn’t only not posting because I didn’t have time to write any novellas. It went the other direction too. You see, I was only trying to post when I had some big huge ginormo idea. I didn’t want to post little posts or waste any of the reader(s) time. I would only post when I had something I felt was big enough in both content, and length, to post. So I was trapped to not write short entries because there wouldn’t be as good as long entries, which I didn’t have time to write.

Which is stupid. It’s my little meaningless blog. Who cares if I post a one-liner on a theme-less little itty bitty nitty gritty titty committee blog like this? You see, there’s a constant nature to the crap running through my head. It’s a testament to my memory at all that I can get anything on paper to post to you reader(s). Did you tell them about the Post-It Notes on your desk? You just did. Yeah, I have random little “this could be a blog post one day” yellow stickies all over the damn place.

I’ve got all this crap to write about, none of which deserving of an entire post…….So, in a pallet cleansing effort, how about a smorgasbord post? Enjoy.

*This Week’s Sign of the Apocalypse*
The family and I hit up our local grocery last night. And I saw it. The epitome of American laziness. Because having to pour the milk, then squeeze the chocolate syrup, and *then* stir it too? Too much. When you can let some AA batteries do the work for you. Seriously, they have these near the dessert stuff at my neighborhood’s grocery. Yeah, because stirring chocolate milk is for losers.

*This Week’s Sign of the Apocalypse, Part Deux*
So I go to ye ol’ Google site to try and search for an image to use above for the auto-choco-stirrer. And I find this site, http://www.chow.com/stories/10184, and someone has written an entire article on other totally useless food-related-kitchen items. Holy crap. What is wrong with you people? I know some of you just ordered the mini-bagel-gloves. I’m ashamed. I also have to admit I never thought I’d be typing the words, mini-bagel-gloves together.

*Life’s Little Victories, FIRST!*
The sad sad state of a life I live? Heading to the work potty mid-morning, to find the light off, and everything still smelling fresh of the cleaning from the night before. Yes! I am the first ass to sit on this seat today! It’s still clean from last night! Totally don’t even have to wipe off the seat! I can just undo the 17 things at the top of my dress pants and sit! Victory. It doesn’t take long to lose this little feeling of victory as the first sitter though, my work’s toilets are filled with cold, deep water.

*Ok, I’m Lazy, But Not Won’t-Stir-My-Own-Chocolate-Milk-Lazy.*
I realized recently, typing an e-mail for work, that I haven’t hit Shift-I in probably 10 years. Damn you Bill Gates! Damn you to hell with your auto-correct. You have ruined me with your functions that automatically capitalize all my I’s when they need to be! You know you had to hit Shift-I to type this…..Shut Up! They get my point.

*Did He Just Say……*
The VP at my office that I report to is a good guy. He’s a smart guy, a good worker, and generally knows his shit. He’s not my direct manager (don’t really have one in my company’s structure), but oversees many projects here, including mine. I don’t really care to know where he went to school, or how many degrees he has, or anything quantitative like that – but I can safely say he’s an educated man and is a good VP. But he says some stupid shit sometimes. He’s got some sayings he uses at meetings, all the time:
- Vendor proposal, sent in. Reviewed by me or my engineers. Sent back to vendor. Vendor has questions or a new submittal, or even clarifications on the original submittal. “I need you guys to re-review it.” Re-review? Huh?
- Possible new job site information coming in. Maybe haven’t gotten any new information from the prospective client recently. “Any new news from ClientXX?” New news? What?
- Discussing an engineering firm we farm work out to, they are good at two-dimensional CAD work, but not at three-dimensional modeling. “We’re not going to use FirmXX for the isometrics. What they do do well is the P&ID’s.” They do do well? Gross.

*Products You Might Have Forgotten About*
Recently at the grocery store, it was soda-for-work buying time. And I’ll be damned if the Pepsi products weren’t $5.69 for a 12-pack (I’m a Mt. Dew guy). Ouch. So when that happens, I’ll settle for the Coke products (I can handle Mr. Pibb). Crap, they’re $5.69 too. What the hell is going on? I’ve never been a coffee drinker, and my office doesn’t have any fancy flavored stuff, can’t start now. I guess I’ll put up with the grocery store generic this time. You know, the “Mountain Lion!” or the “Dr. Perky!” stuff. Wait, what, $5.69 too?!?!? What the hell is going on?

Oh there’s one, $3.79. I’ll get a 12-pack of that. Cool. Royal Crown Cola. Yeah, RC Cola. Didn’t even know they still made it. I’ll gladly be the first to tell you there’s a reason it was cheaper than the generic, and why perhaps I had thought (hoped?) they stopped manufacturing it. Goat piss. Perhaps they *did* stop bottling it and my local grocery store put out some 12-packs they found laying around in the back. Goat piss.

*Movies You Might Have Forgotten About*
So lil HokieJayBee got a Wii for Christmas, and subsequently Daddy HokieJayBee got a new 50” plasma to plug lil HokieJayBee’s Wii into. You’re treading a line of innuendo there, Jay. Shhhh, not that Wii. So anyways, in purchasing the new 50” TV, we chose to sell our old 34” Flat Screen Tube TV on Craig’sList rather than carry it upstairs to be our bedroom TV. It’s 177 pounds and I just wanted it out of the house. Yeah, 177 pounds of TV. I hooked it up to a old DVD player in the front room so that I could demonstrate that the TV is fine to the potential customers that came to take a look at it. I grabbed the top DVD off one of the shelves in the tower to demonstrate the TV. What did I grab? The Matrix. Matrix 1, not that sequel 2 or 3 crap they put out. I hooked it up and started it up to make sure it worked so that I could demonstrate the TV when customers arrived. 45 minutes later Mrs. HokieJayBee wanted to know what was taking me so long to set up the TV………….

Really? You think about stuff like that?

Borderline TMI would like to take the next couple minutes of your day, and possibly gross you out. I know that I could probably go on a Googling binge and figure this out myself. Wait, Googling? I’ll take made-up-words for a thousand, Tribeck. But that wouldn’t be any fun. Not when I can post it here for you reader(s) and maybe gross you out, or maybe make you say, “oh that’s gross, I can’t believe you think about stuff like……..hey wait, where does it go?”

Or even for the simple pleasure of letting you all see more into exactly what is going on up here. You didn’t actually point at your head when you typed that, did you? Mayyyyyybe.

So, anyways…….a quick back story. Mrs. HokieJayBee is a teacher, at a public elementary school. Lil HokieJayBee, our 2 and half year old bundle of energy, attends a sitter’s house with four other children. These two variables add up to one simple constant situation. I’m always sick. Like, not sick-sick, not strep or bronchitis or anything serious, but just a constant daily life that includes congestion and full sinuses and a runny nose. More of an annoyance than a sickness. But from the months of October to February every year, I’m just near-kind-of-almost-congested sick. Neither of them get sick, or even hover around the near-kind-of-almost-congested sick like I do. I call them carriers. They have built up immunities to this constant congestion stuff and are just drone sponges that bring it home to me for the winter. Yeah science!

Side note: my biological father, my grandfather, and one of my uncles on that side have all had sinus re-opening, cleaning, widening surgery. Perhaps I could find a parallel here between that and the elementary school/daycare germs that I live with, and a lessened immune system for the winter months……but that’s not the point of this piece.

The point of the piece is that I live with a constant state of congestion all winter. Every winter. I’m used to it I guess. Now, without any Googling, I want to know where it goes.

I mean, I have a little constant sniffle and lately a lot of phlegm build up in my throat. At work all day, or even at home, one doesn’t realistically blow one’s nose on a constant basis, or cough and hack up the phlegm for a good loogie out the back door. It’s just not feasible for a person who lives in a constant state of kind-of-almost-nearly-congested sick, like I do. So, inevitably, one swallows it.

Wow, Jay. Deep stuff there. I guess problem solved? Shut up brain, you know what I mean; you help (hinder?) me with these kinds of thoughts all day.

What I mean is, where does it go?
Does the body digest it? Is it processed as pure waste to excrement?
Does the body process it? Like for re-use? It is after all a bodily product already. So some of it might be able to be used again. For the same function?
Maybe the body pulls the waste/anti-bodies out of the base mucus product and sends that to waste and processes the mucus for re-use?

I know it’s gross, but really, what happens to it?

Wait. What? (My bank is retarded edition)

I didn’t want to make a formal “Things That Bug Me” post on today’s topic, because in general I am very very very pleased. But after an episode this morning, I have to at least post something.

So, I’d like to talk about my bank. Doesn’t matter what the name of my bank is, I’m sure you’ve all dealt with a situation of your bank being challenged, regardless of where you handle your finances. The reason I’m not putting my bank on the list of things that bug me, is because they generally don’t. Today’s occurrences were either the work of one idiot person, or one idiot policy [which I guess is from one idiot person who ok’d it]. But either way, hilarity.

Background story: Ok, Mrs. HokieJayBee and I have a son. He’s 2 and a half now. We managed to do something right for a change, something mature and proper, and we started him an ESA when he was like 6 months old. [Education Savings Account] We put a monthly stipend into the account for him and hopefully it will grow to help us pay for his college in 16 years. It’s not a lot, but with 18 years to work with the interest compiling, we hope we’ll be ok. We ask relatives to chip in when they can, like on his birthday and Christmas. It’s all turning out to be a pretty boring story thus far.

The current story started this weekend, where I got a letter from our bank. It seems to be a standard form print letter, not written just for our case – but it’s still pretty threatening and ridiculously harsh. The basis is this. The ESA we have for lil’ HokieJayBee is essentially, at least to the banking world and the IRS, a modified IRA account. Which has special tax laws, or lack of taxes due, on the earned dividends in a formal ESA account. The letter is essentially stating that we are in default of an IRA account and owe 28% taxes and a possible $5,000 fine if we don’t properly file the account holder’s Social Security Number and/or Tax ID to the IRS and claim these dividends properly. Do what?

First sign for me that someone is not doing their due diligence to research what the hell they’re talking about in these threatening letters, it opened with:

“Dear [my son’s name]; [BANK NAME X] has made several attempts to contact you, the account holder, in regards to a missing Social Security Number/Tax Identification Number (SSN/TIN) associated with your IRA/ESA account #XXXXXXXXXX. Without this information…..”. So, first, I ask. Please define “several attempts to contact the account holder”.

He’s……………2. Did you try and call him? Did you call his cell phone or his work phone? I know he sometimes turns his cell off at the sitter’s as to not disturb the other children during nap time. And if you left him a voice mail, he is horrible at checking those. I’m always emptying his voice mail box for him. And after he ran up a large bill recently, we cut off his texting privileges, so if you tried to reach him that way, it might not have gone through. ……….Several attempts to contact the account holder……..my 2 year old son.

So, even if you want to defend the letter, and they meant me, the parent as the account holder, I can say that no they haven’t tried once to contact us regarding the IRA/ESA account, or his SSN. And, and, and…..we started this account at the end of 2007. And there would have already been two tax year events (January 1, 2008 and January 1, 2009) which would have required his “missing” SSN. So last year and back into 2007 and 2008, everything was fine with the account and the SSN and the IRS. Only now, the third year we’re hitting a tax year event (January 1, 2010) is there a problem?

Now normally I guess I’d just call the bank and try and politely decipher the problem with them. But this letter was all but rude. It’s very threatening and negative, and frankly I wasn’t in the mood to be spoken to in this manner or threatened over an issue at which I am not at fault. Especially the part about the fine being for a FELONY for perjury for avoiding/lying/misleading the IRS in regards to withholdings of dividends for my son’s account.

How am I so sure I am not at fault? Other than the vault of a near-photographic memory I am lucky enough to possess?

Because when he was about 6 months old, near the end of 2007…………is when I had to go get his SSN set up and get his SSN card,…………….SO THAT WE COULD OPEN THIS ACCOUNT. Because you can’t open the kind of IRA/ESA we did,………………WITHOUT A SSN OR TIN. Yeah. That’s why I was a little put off by the tone of this letter. Humor notes aside about them making several attempts to contact my 2 year old son.

So. To open this account, we had to get his SSN and card, or we couldn’t open the account. We filled out all forms and paperwork in a branch, in person. We survived two tax year events already without incident. And now suddenly there’s an issue with his SSN, his account, the withholdings, the IRS, and now threats of fines and felonies?

Ok, let’s duel. Standard letter mailing or not – you don’t just mail crap like this to your members without researching the problem.

So I call the bank this morning. Surprisingly only on hold for like 3 minutes after navigating the fancy menu, and I even got straight to the correct department. Hooray me, pressing 1 for English!

I get a very polite young lady, entirely too chipper for a Monday morning, and politely apologize in advance for my tone and demeanor, but I’m unimpressed with the handling of the issue thus far and frankly a little angry at the tone and threats in the letter. You all can imagine the next 5 minutes of the call as I explain to her everything I did for you above, about them ‘trying to contact’ my 2 year old, about how we already successfully navigated two January 1's without issue, about how I couldn’t start the account without the SSN, etc.

After some wrangling, she put me on hold to discuss the situation with her supervisor and came back with some lame excuse about department A not talking to department B within the bank and department B reports to the IRS and needed to get the information from department A and they must not have it from me and I need to go into a branch with my son (they need to visually confirm his existence?!?!?!?!?!) and fill out the paperwork to start an IRA/ESA, and then department A will forward it to department B and department B will forward to the IRS and I “shouldn’t” (her words) have a problem or be fined, and all future dividend earnings will not be withheld like the previous ones were being withheld.

Wait. What? Back up ma’am.
[1] Your two internal departments can’t talk properly, so that’s why I got a threatening letter and such?
[2] I have to go to a branch and bring my son to prove I have a minor so that I can open an account like this?
[3] I have to fill out the paperwork AGAIN to "start" an IRA/ESA?
[4] I “SHOULDN’T” have a problem or be fined????
[5] And all FUTURE dividend earnings will not be withheld like the previous ones were? You’ve been withholding my son’s account’s dividend earnings?

“Well yes sir, since your son’s account did not have proper SSN/TIN identification to be qualified for the tax-free IRA/ESA rules.”

“Yes it did.”

“No it didn’t, or you wouldn’t have gotten this letter.”

“Ma’am. Please define for me the process with which was required for me to start this account for my son.”

“Well, as I described for you now, you would have had to go to a branch in person, with your son, and present his SSN/TID card, and make an initial deposit.”

“So I couldn’t have started this account for my son had I not completed that task?”

[long pause]
[like, I didn’t talk. I was letting it settle in.]
[at this point I think I literally saw the lightbulb come on through the phone.]

“One second sir, let me speak with my supervisor again.”

[3 minutes]

“Please destroy the letter sir. We will notify the IRS of the situation and correctly file your son’s SSN with them for 2009 and all future year’s dividends. We will rectify any previously withheld taxes on the dividends earned and you will not be subjected to any future withholdings. You are also not at risk for any fines or felony charges. I do apologize for any inconvenience. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

[click]

One Step Further

Welcome back me. Long break over Christmas for me, lazy no bloggy time. But I'm back.

So I’ve already detailed for you in a previous post, the guy we’ve all worked with, the talk-in-a-circle-in-work-speak-phrases-guy. The guy who doesn’t do anything, or produce anything of actual value for your company – but sure can talk a huge nice game, and it sounds like he’s busy at something.

Today I wanted to detail for you another guy that I work with, and maybe you can relate.

I like to call this guy the one-step-too-far-guy. He can take any situation – work related, personal related, no matter who is in the conversation – and essentially ruin it. He takes jokes too far, he takes criticism too far, and basically just creates a multitude of awkward situations for everyone involved. I admit that I find it funny a lot of the time, just watching people react to him, and the looks he gets when he exits, if for the sake of justice or the oh-my-God-there-is-a-God-he-finally-left faces people make behind his back.

This kind of individual is similar to a one-upper-guy. I know you all know a one-upper-guy. He has something to interject into any story anyone is telling. He’s done it better, longer, harder, stronger, faster – than you. Or he knows someone who has. He basically has a one-up, or more knowledge about any subject, than you. And he’s not afraid to tell you about it.

Example of a common One-Upper-Guy:
(for those scoring at home, this is a made up example)

Me: “Me and the family headed to [CITY X] for Christmas this year. Traffic wasn’t bad at all, we made it in like 4 hours. Which was good with the pups and our 2-year-old.”
One-Upper-Guy: “Pfft, I’ve made that drive in 3 hours.”
Me: [long awkward pause] “grats?”

So, the one-step-too-far-guy is similar to the one-upper-guy, only a lot of times his one-upping is just…….one……..step………too……….far. Sometimes he says things in situations that we we're all thinking, but due to the situation or people involved, would never dream of saying. Sometimes he just flat out says some whack ass shit.

Examples:
(all accounts are paraphrased for brevity and the names have been changed to protect the innocent.)
(yes, these are all accounts I’ve witnessed or been a part of the conversation, none of this is made up.)
(I swear.)

---“Keep Your Day Job.”---
Setting: Big Conference Room, many big important people.
Big Boss Man X: [during a work speech tries to break the ice with a joke, a not funny joke]
Employees: [laugh, forced]
Big Boss Man Y: [who has the authority and company standing, as well as personal friendship, to say this to Big Boss Man X] “Ha, better keep your day job [Big Boss Man X].”
One-Step-Too-Far-Guy: “Yeah, because that wasn’t funny. You’re not funny. You should never be a stand-up comedian.”

So, you see now what I mean with the creature I describe as the one-step-too-far-guy. Good.

---“You look tired.”---
Setting: Employee D’s office, random work morning.
D: “Man, I am beat.”
Me: “No sleep last night?”
D: “Yeah, I was up way too late night watching [TV SHOW X/SPORTING EVENT Q].”
One-Step-Too-Far-Guy: “Yeah, when you’re tired, you look old too. You look like crap today. No offense.”

---“I’d hit it.”---
Setting: Employee G’s office, random work day. Employee G is female.
G: “I cannot stand my hair. I need another cut but I need the bangs to grow out first. Uggh, I hate it.”
Other female employee in conversation: “Awww, it looks fine. It looks really good when you straighten it and wear it layered rather than pulled back.”
One-Step-Too-Far-Guy: [walking by the office, like not even really in the conversation] “Pssssssh, you’re still hot. I’d hit it.”

---“You know she’s 16 right?”---
Setting: Group conversation, office kitchen. Attractive young [young!] girl walks by.
D: “Whoa, who was that?”
Me: “Watch yourself, I think that’s [Employee L]’s daughter.”
D: “Whoops, I think you’re right. She’s like 16 isn’t she?”
Employee L enters the room, now in conversation.
D: “Hey L, your daughter here?”
L: “Yeah, brought me my lunch, she just got her license.”
One-Step-Too-Far-Guy: “Driving? Alright, so she *is* 16. Only two more years and I can make my move, she’s so hot.”

And my personal favorite….

---“It’s pronounced Muh soose.”---
Setting: Group conversation, office kitchen. Males and females in conversation. Employee A rubbing his neck, grimacing.
D: “Morning A, what’s wrong?”
A: “Hurt my neck playing basketball last night.”
D: “Like pulled a muscle, or need a doctor? Or just need to get a professional massage?”
Me: “I’ve gotten one before. Worth it.”
A: “Nah, too expensive. I’ll just rest it a week.”
One-Step-Too-Far-Guy: “Too expensive? I love getting professional massages. Only I call ‘em Rub and Tugs!”

[awkward pause, whole group]

One-Step-Too-Far-Guy: “What, who doesn’t want a happy ending?”



One.
Step.
Too.
Far.