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Wednesday, December 7th, 2016
10:55 pm - Do I need new skin for this old skeleton of mine?
So, my place is finally being rebuilt. Pretty much everything outside of my room is a construction zone. It brings home, though, the fact that I'll have to start living like a real human being again sometime. This means furniture. I've decided on Purple for my walls. A lot of people will be skeptical, but google Purple Living Room sometime. I think I can make it work. Even if I can't the only people who ever come over are gaming nerds anyway and they're not gonna care. I've found some interesting pieces of furniture in my search.

Man, picking out a couch is hard. There's a lot of them out there that I can find pictures of that I'd love, but are actually basically impossible to find IRL.

All the hipsters these days want unique couches, so I guess I have that going too. Desafortunadamente (Thank you HS Spanish class!) you can't really just wait around until you find exactly what you want, because you also have to picking out everything else. Tile for the Kitchen, Refrigerators, Washer and Dryers, Dishwashers, Curtains, Countertops, Cabinets, Kitchen Sinks, Bathroom Sinks, Bathroom Mirrors, Toilets, Ceiling Fans, Light Fixtures, you name it. Just because you like something doesn't mean it's gonna fit, or go with your color scheme, or whatever.

current mood: discontent

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Tuesday, July 17th, 2012
11:55 pm - Modern Conveniences.
It's 4:00 on a Friday. My plane leaves in 30 mins and there's a line for the counter. I'm dragging a suitcase and laptop bag because the airline charges $25 each way for the audacity of checking luggage. I make my way to the bathroom, because it's slightly less hellish than the infested grotto that is the airplane bathroom. I make it to the mens room and am confronted with a dilemma. I could use a urinal, and just piss, or I could go full monty and have a marvelous abdominal spasm and get it all out at once. Due to the low groaning and moans that reach me through the tiled floor like a dungeon of the undead, I head for a urinal. So, I don't know if you have ever tried to balance luggage and a full fucking backpack full of crap while pissing, but it is rather less fun than it sounds like. If it doesn't sound like fun it at all, then it means it is less fun than that. As you're trying to line up with a bunch of other guys with their dicks out and avoid pissing all over your fucking self wile not looking at them, yourself, or anything at all in the entire fucking universe while balancing everything you own, you take the time to contemplate what a private hell-hole your life is. While you are doing that you manage to piss every-fucking-where. Your dick has spontaneously transformed into one of medusa's more troublesome braids and managed to fucking soak your shoes, your pants and pretty much everyfucking thing else in a 3-foot cube area. Great. After carefully avoiding sewing your most tender area to place a metal goddamn railroad track of death (Which some fucking dumb ass figured would be the perfect place for such a damn contraption, the same way we use fucking fire rings to seal over our buttholes; or we would if we were dumb as hell). So, you manage to avoid fucking castrating yourself (which you have to do EVERY FUCKING DAY) and...well, the fucker won't flush. Know why? It's 'advanced'. And by 'advanced' I mean it has a sensor that is supposed to flush when you walk away. Know when it does flush? Here's a clue: Flip a coin. Heads it'll flush in the middle of you pissing. Tails: It will never, ever, ever flush no matter what you do. Those are your two options. Deal.

So you make it to the sink, dragging with you approximately 80 lbs of laptops, suitcases, clothes, man-bags and whatever else gay ass crap you have. Yo wave your hand under the sink, because, you know, too advanced to have shit like fucking handles. A half-assed foam of soap dribbles out of the soap dispenser like Ron Jeremey's 80-year old cock, nowhere near your hand. As you move your hand towards the soap, the water shoots out for approximately .00001 seconds, just long enough to try and get some water, and fail miserably. Now you have the decaying remains of premature semen and a few drops of water in the sink where your hands wait like hungry predators, in a desperate attempt to wash themselves. As you fruitlessly wave your hands around and around the basin, nothing happens. Finally, you resort to smacking the fuck out of the faucet to try and make it produce water like an abused cow''s protienless udder. After a few (dozen) tries you get somewhat less moisture on your hand than you would have had if you'd just been spitting all over the place, and you 'wash' your hands. At this point, 20 mins have gone by and you've said 'fuck it'. The soap is a long lost cause well past worth even considering. It's a fucking miracle your hands have collected enough moisture to be considered 'damp', and that could be because of the sweat your newfound nervous tick has wrought. It is time to dry your hands and escape. There are no paper towels. You'd swear there never were except the 'bin' that could hold, at max capacity, about 3-4 used paper towels has been so overfilled you'd swear it was a fucking handwashing bukkake that had happened over the course of a few thousand years. Even approaching the ridiculously small hand-drying station would require a commitment from a full team of fucking sherpas and possibly a few dozen oxygen tanks. So: Fuck it, you move to the door, desperate to escape and hoping you make it on board your plane in time. Your hands are wet and piss-stained, and you have lost all sense of respect for yourself. Because some drooling damn moron thought it'd be a great fucking idea if we didn't have shit like fucking handles anymore.

current mood: aggravated

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Wednesday, May 30th, 2012
12:01 am - Salty Watermellon
"So, would you like to try a Salty Watermelon?" She purred, deep red lipstick only slightly smudged from a few moments before. I leaned over her as she fell back on the bed, her long, straight hair fanning behind and under her as she laid back, under me. I buried my face in her body, biting and kissing in the same movements as I languidly spoke, "What's that?" She smiled, ever so softly, "Oh, something from Japan. They're always trying new things, there." I really had no idea what was in store, but my blood was pumping through me, and I could have beaten a seal to death with my cock. "Sure, babe, I'm always up for something new." She pushes me back with a soft but forceful hand, and I laid back, accommodating her. "Close your eyes." She said, coyly, almost teasing. It irked me some; I do not enjoy being toyed with, but now I was curious. My eyelids shut and the world was now reduced to sensations. I could feel the soft bed under me, but I paid it no heed. All of my attention was on her much softer, smooth skin against my body as she moved against me, making the necessary adjustments. Her thumb pressed down on my jaw, and my mouth opened, willingly. The taste was something indescribable. Were they open, my eyes would have bulged, but she made soft, comforting sounds, and I swallowed. Our bodies fumbled against eachother, my fingers gripped her softness as I pulled her against me, the taste fresh and sharp in my mouth. As we kissed, our tongues danced, and we shared the experience. I have no idea how long it took us to finish it, but I knew it would not be our last Salty Watermelon.

current mood: weird

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Sunday, April 8th, 2012
10:23 pm - Orlando Trip
I woke up, and it was pitch black. I checked my phone, and it was after 5. My flight flies out at 5:30, and I panic. I somehow managed to sleep through all 4 of the alarms that I had set. A cartoonesque montage of throwing last minute crap in suitcases and running out the door leaves me rushing towards the airport. Ok, I know I'll miss my flight, but I might make the next one.

I kinda hate sleeping like I am dead.

I make it to the airport, talk to the woman at the check-in. "There's a 5050 chance you'll get out today.". "Like hell," I think, "I have all day to get out of here."

The final motherfucking four. It's basketball, so it's on my radar in the same way professional quilting championships are. I'd kind of heard of it in the same way I'd kind of heard superfluids. Well, the Final Four attendees hit me full in the face. Turns out the fuckers had filled all flights out of NOLA and had overflowed out of Baton Rouge. Which meant all flights were either full or overbooked. After a couple of flights to Houston, I was #1 on the standby list.

Turns out this is the Airline equivalent of being friendzoned. You would be the perfect passenger, but you will never be their passenger. They talk to you about the passengers they have and they complain about their passengers, but you will never actually be their passenger. After waiting literally over 12 hours, I am able (Though my travel agent) able to get a flight out of New Orleans at 6:30 AM. Which meant I'd need to be at the airport at 4:30 AM. Which meant, if I left from Baton rouge, I'd need to leave my house at around 3 AM. Which meant getting up at maybe 2:30 AM.

I ended up staying with Elena in NOLA, but we still needed to get to bed ASAP to get me out of her place by 4 AM. We did pretty good, but at around midnight, all hell broke loose. It sounded like God and Satan were gangbanging the world's largest tin roof right above our heads. I guess it could have been louder thunder, but it would have started requiring saving throws vs. Damage. I didn't sleep much, and took off in the rain. The plane was delayed by an hour, seeing as how the raindrops were flying sideways and everything. An hour, whcih, by the way, was how long I had as a layover for my Orlando flight.

So, sitting as I was in the very back of the plane, I managed to miss my flight by about 5 mins, which is how long the very, very slow people in front of me took. So, I got to wait, all day. Again. Till maybe 2 PM. Day two in the same clothes. I was feeling awesome. The plane is delayed, because the Airline Gods have said, at this point, 'Hey, you know that guy? Screw that guy. Right in the ass.'. After an hour of delays, it starts boarding. I'm near the end, because it's always fun to kick a guy while he is down. At this point I have developed a compulsive need to check my ticket every 2-3 mins or so. I know it is right. Every detail. I hand the woman my ticket, and she throws it under the scanner. *BRRRT* with a big red light. 'I'm sorry Sir this ticket has no value.'. WTF does that mean? 'Well, it means this is just a piece of paper, it's no good as a ticket.'. Cue a montage of me running around to customer service desks and old sassy black women bitching at people on phones and tapping away on keyboards. I get a replacement ticket and run back to the gate, just in time to interrupt what, apparently, is a big kerfuffle about a foreign family who is scheduled to be on an exit row, none of which apparently feel like they could possibly open a door if there was a damn fire on the plane. I volunteer to take over such heavy responsibilities, and they all thank me to an extent which I feel is far more than it deserves. Well, by all except the little girl held by her mother. She took a look at me and decided that not only had I pissed in her cheerie-o's, I had also shit in her cornflakes, vomited in her fruity pebbles, was the number 1 suspect in a 'farting in the Wheaties' incident and was wanted for questioning in a pop-tart queefing incident. Her ace screwed up into a rictus of hatred and horror, and she immediately broke into uncontrollable, inconsolable tears, burying her face into her mother and trying to hide from me. Great. I got on the plane and found my seat. 'Fuck that kid,' I tought, 'I'm going to Orlando.'

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Wednesday, March 21st, 2012
10:53 pm - Houston, Day 4
My second night, I crashed another private event. This time, at least it was with the convention I was with, but I wasn't supposed to be there. The food was nicer than the expo food, but they ran out fast. Again, free alcohol, and few people tipping. Amazing how much extra alcohol and better service $7 in tips will get you.

Last night was decent. Ate at a place called Pappas Bros, which, last time I checked was 'Uncle', but maybe the original proprietor wasn't quite that fancy. They couldn't make a drink to save their lives. Seriously, that was a crap bartender. Fortunately, it was on the company dime (Not sure why that's a phrase. I mean, a dime isn't much even in like 1920. Seriously, what would you get for a dime? Maybe a sandwich and coffee or something. Fucking companies. Give up a quarter at least.) So anyway, I talk the leader-type into ordering the cheese platter. It was fairly uninspired, just some standard gouda, mild cheddar, standard blue, and a pretty rich brie with those candied almonds they sell at whole foods and some pretty good thin toasted french bread. Oh, and a hunk of honeycomb, which was a nice touch. No one would touch it except me and another guy who likes good food.

The steaks were awesome. I had an 18oz Ribeye, medium rare, and it was *perfect*. Seriously, they know their steaks in Texas (At least, they do when you're paying $50 for it.). The mid-westerners sent theirs back for being 'underdone'. Because, you know, it still had some pink/flavor left to it. I think the cooks got the message because they brought back to the table a couple of hunks of grey shoe leather to make the MO people happy.

Today the conference was better. I was vindicated in a few ways and I plan on drilling the point home when I get back to the office.

The coworkers left right when we came back, so I finally felt free to do some exploring. There's a woodsy canal right by the hotel so I hopped the fence and went up and down it for a while. Not much life, saw coon prints, places where aramdillos dug and rabbit droppings. And a grey crane. No snakes or anything, but it was overcast. Managed to find my way to a parking garage and walked back to the hotel. Oh, and I also stopped and played with the Black Swans the place is named for. They had some babies out and I got close to them, and took their picture. See my facebook. Then the mama swan came up and I took her picture too, just before she pecked the shit out of my hand and I almost dropped my camera. Fucking swan.

I'd been hearing about this place called 'Galleria' where the front desk and bus drivers have been telling us to eat, said it was ritzy and had good places. I didn't realize it was a damn mall. I got there and started wandering around....and I saw the ice skating rink. And I remembered.

My Dad used to have a satellite sales office in Houston. We'd have to come here sometimes. He'd have me drive large chunks of the way when I was 14/15 years old. When we got here he'd leave me in the mall for 5-6 hours at a time. The Galleria. I hated it. Was always so very bored.

So, it's the same mall. Well, seems like it's bigger now. They have a 'Microsoft' store and an 'Apple' store. Kinda made me chuckle. Best thing though is they have a freaking Lego store! You can buy a 4' long Lego Super Star Destroyer for $400, and a Death Star for the same. I was gonna get an X-Wing Lego set for $60, then decided to check my bank account. Decided not to get the X-Wing :(

No strippers, either.

Went to The Oceanaire instead, a seafood place. Had a so-so old-fashioned, a good butterleaf lettuce salad with blue cheese and candied walnuts, and not-bad fish and chips.

I have pretty much decided if I ever needed to, I could survive by blending in with various conventions in a big city and eating their food and drinking their alcohol. Pretty sure I could get invited wherever. So, that's a life path I may pursue.

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Sunday, March 18th, 2012
10:13 pm - It's been a while.
So, yesterday was St. Patrick's Day.

Didn't do a whole lot, woke up, eventually wandered over to FQD. Drank water, hung out with the locals. One of the guys had some leftover Biscuit & Gravy from Frank's. Damn, that was some good white gravy. Time went by, people came and went, and Will started cooking. More people showed, more talking commenced, as did the drinking. Bushmills with Honey. Honey Vanilla Vodka. Car Bomb Cupcakes. And, of course, my Long Islands (a.k.a. Therapy).

I had a good time, went home, and packed.

Got up this morning, packed the car, started driving. Actually it was kinda nice. Southern Louisiana in the Spring is pretty. Listened to good music, a few podcasts, and bam, I was here. I don't know why ATL seems so much further away.

Anyway, did conference shit, sat in on lectures and discussions, blah blah.

Went to the Opening Reception, and this is when my bad mood started.

First off, it was at 'Minute Maid' stadium. Where the Houston Astros play. Now, I don't like baseball. It's like soccer without all the action and athleticism. The only major sport that is worse is Golf. Even Lacrosse is more exciting. They are usually somewhere cool, like a Museum or an Aquarium. So, boring venue. My work colleagues wanted to stand around and yabber about inconsequential crap. They decided to stand in a 2hr long line to go see a clubhouse or something. I don't know what it was, and I didn't care. I decided to hit up the food.

The pork Belly tacos were flavorless, dry and boring. As were the pork rib sliders. The ahi tuna sliders were so covered in some sort of mayo, even if there was tuna in there (I suspect there was not) it could have been canned for all I knew. I heard no less than a half dozen people wondering openly if we could go on the field. By the way there were a dozen cops actively keeping people off and the way there was no one else on the field, most people would have been able to deduce that little puzzle, but the Sherlock Homes types this convention gathers would not be swayed by such obvious evidence. It was obvious. TOO obvious.

The only drinks were coors light, bud light and woodbridge wine (And water and cokes). Fine, I don't expect much. There were a few caricature artists and air hockey and fake tattoos. Most of all there were doughy, middle-aged white guys (And a few women). Mostly what there was was bland. There were bland drinks and bland food for bland people with bland minds and bland interests. I try not to judge people, but I fail.

I got bored and left. Went back to the hotel. Wandering through the lobby, I heard loud music. I decided to check it out.

There was an open room, convention goers wandering in and out. Doughy men and women wandering in and out. I wandered in, and no one gave me a second glance. I'm guessing I am white and middle aged and doughy enough to pass for any convention. I had no idea what it really was, and there were only a couple of hundred people. I did notice how there were three bars and they were serving hard liquor. I covertly watched, but no one getting drinks needed badges, bracelets or tickets, which is usually the case. Could it be? An open bar?

Bacchus smiled upon me and dripped his cup upon my head, for it was so. Better yet, the bastards there weren't fucking tipping. Now, I may have not learned much in 35 years, but I know service industry people. Working an event with an open bar, everyone is rude and doesn't tip...I wandered up with money in hand, got a whiskey and coke. Tipped two bucks. Even if I should have had to have had a bracelet or a badge, the guy didn't give a crap, he was gonna give me whatever I wanted. And lots of it.

For the next hour or so I drank drinks that were more alcohol than ice and mixers combined, and made friendly like with the convention goers. It probably took me 10 mins to notice all the cop stuff and "correctional facilities" stuff. After I left, I checked the sign. "Probational Officers of Texas" or some shit. Had to leave because I started talking to people and they kept wanting to know what company/facility I was with. Hard to like cause there were only a couple hundred people, and any place I said surely had people there nearby.

Anyway, that cheered me up.

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Thursday, November 12th, 2009
12:44 pm - Atlanta
Saturday: Drove in all day long. Got here, went to a house party. Had a damn good time even though I was hoarse and tired as hell. Watched the Saints beat the Panthers. 8-0, baby! Had lunch at...ahh hell, some sort of 'Southern Home Cooking' kinda place. Food was pretty decent.

Sunday: Whippersnappers proto-munch at The Highlander, followed by play in the park. Acrobatic yoga, hula-hoops, an 8-Foot beach ball and a Parachute. Followed that by something that may or may not have been a lot of fun in private.

Monday: Slept a lot, trying to get over the damn illness. Went to the Cake Wrecks book signing. Ate cake. Dinner party afterward made by Johnny Vegas. Damn good food and company.

Tuesday: Slept in. Slept might not be the correct word. I'm kinda drawing a blank on what I did during the day. Lunch at the Vortex, again, good company. Clermont Lounge that night. Got excessively drunk. Watched strippers kick bottles at people.

Wednesday: Woke up, hung over. Went to eat at a Thai place called Nan. Very good food, pretty expensive. $90 is too much for lunch for 3 people, but damn it was good. Went to the Bodies Exhibit, and the Blind Experience. I think it was called 'Conversations in the Dark'. Can't be arsed to look it up. IKEA after that...now I see why everyone is so damn gaga over that store. Spent $70 I hadn't intended on. Battle and Brew for Geek Trivia after that. That place is so damn cool. $5/hr for pretty much any game you want, all-day passes for $10-15 bucks, all sorts of games, beer, pizza, cheese sticks. Cosplayers and geeks of all varieties.

Thursday: Woke up late. Notice a trend? It's nice being on vacation. Lunch at a place called 'Eats'. Dunno what I'll do today, it's almost 2:00, and I've basically been screwing off all day. Need to mount a TV for Sky. And Yeah, I mean it *like that*. Strip club tonight? We'll see.

current mood: happy

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Sunday, October 25th, 2009
2:17 pm - An Example.
An example reason why I love New Orleans/Louisiana.

You meet up with some friends at a Japanese place, and proceed to eat Sushi and Udon noodles bowl (Which had lots of crab in it btw). You hear a brass band outside so everyone runs out (including resturaunt staff) and watch the parade passing buy. You catch some candy, you watch pony girls in bustiers, fishnet stockings, tails and thigh high leather boots pulling a cart. You come back in, finish up, go and fix a BMW (Don't ask) and go to the Play Party, where the parade is coming around by it, too. Then you go in for the action and play, and end up at 5 AM eating breakfast.

Good times.

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Monday, October 12th, 2009
8:57 pm - Bah
Grumpy mood.

I'm in St. Louis. The couple I had plans with, canceled.

The flight in was late.

The rental car wasn't paid for and I couldn't use my personal card.

The cab ride cost $60. Cash.

The Hotel room wasn't paid for.

I'm stressed, and I don't see a way to unwind.

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Sunday, August 23rd, 2009
9:29 pm - MMm
I want to have Sarah Haskins' babies. Note: Watch the one on Doofy Husbands if you really need clarification.

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Monday, August 17th, 2009
8:34 pm - A challenge to all women.
Let's see if you can do this:

Practices will be held at my place, every night at 8:00 PM. Due to safety regulations shirts and bras will not be permitted.

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Sunday, August 16th, 2009
10:09 pm - I...I don't...Ummm...I...err...
A grizzled internet veteren, few things leave me speachless. This is one of those things.

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Tuesday, August 11th, 2009
8:28 pm - Canned Goodness.
Hungry? Don't have time for a meal, you say? The Hell You Don't, I say! Not with the great canned products that are available in these days and ages. For instance, they have Canned Hamburgers (Now available without a perscription). That's right. Now you, too, can enjoy a juicy, flame-broiled hamburger right from the can! It's just good old-fashioned home cooking, just like when mom used to cook an entire year's meals at once and just chucked them in cans and everyone got sick and died. Not in the mood for a Hamburger? Maybe you need a meal for the whole family? Well, you could try a whole chicken in a can. I mean, think of it, you cou....huh? No, I didn't make that up. It's a whole chicken, shoved in a can. They apparently coat it in vasoline. Or Jelly. Or Vasoline Jelly. Or something. In fact, it's probably just monkey spooge. The point is, monkeys jerk off on dead chickens then people shove them in cans and you buy it and eat it.

Don't believe me?

PicsCollapse )

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Thursday, July 30th, 2009
11:04 pm - 'Real Girls Have Curves'
You know what? Fuck that. I'm sick and tired of people fucking putting down others to make themselves feel better. 'Real Girls Have Curves' is supposed to mean 'Most women Are Fat or something, but what it really is is insulting, mean spirited bullshit. I've been seeing this crap in chicks profiles lately. Pretty much anyone who knows me knows I sure as hell don't mind girls with a bit of extra meat on their bones, but it doesn't mean it's OK to insult chicks who are skinny or have small tits. In the end I guess it's OK some chicks put that shit on their profiles. It lets me know what bigoted bitchy bitter bitches to avoid.

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Saturday, July 11th, 2009
1:54 am - Nothing left.
Nothing left to do but watch antiques roadshow and fall unconcious.

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Friday, July 3rd, 2009
6:05 pm - I've never understood why people were afraid of clowns.

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Thursday, July 2nd, 2009
12:00 am - Annnnnd....
I'm officially 34.

Suck it, Trebek.

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Wednesday, July 1st, 2009
9:56 pm - Psychotic Girl
There's been stress at work.

Tomorrow is my birthday, a couple of hours away. No solid plans for this weekend, other than the cookout Saturday. I just really don't feel much like celebrating.

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Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009
10:52 pm - A movie could improve your life
So, I went to go see the movie "Hangover". Holy fuck this was a funny movie. I'm sure it loses something if you have never woken up in a fucked up situation without being able to remember what the hell happened. I've had a few nights like that. Not that I have ever, you know, consumed to excess.

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Sunday, June 21st, 2009
10:34 pm - My matress is made of gypsy sluts...
...craftmatic charged me extra for that.

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