Miscellaneous Debris

I thought that it'd be fun to walk down to the Belagio and put a few bucks on the tables tonight. Boy, was I ever wrong. After walking the 17,000 miles through gauntlets of pimps and ho-flyer-hander-outers, I managed to double my money and then lose my winnings. When-o-when will I ever learn to just walk away when I get ahead. Two whole beers later, I get to begin the return 17,000 miles fighting through the same pimps and ho-flyer-hander-outers and here I am with absolutely no story to tell.

Except that while I was tossing the dice, I got distracted by a chick obviously not wearing any underwear under her skin tight clothes and won 80 bucks. That's when I doubled my money. I should have picked up my chips and tried to follow her. Now I'm three down (because I kept three one dollar chips as souveniers).

Anyway, I guess I'll have to get back to drinking. I only drank one more beer before I left so I still have four more. Ugh. I don't think I even care enough to bother. I guess we'll see whether my better judgement or alcoholism win out. Taking bets now!


One final thought before I go for now. I heard this on the TV earlier and it really made me wonder just how far down the tube our society has gotten. "He was a peaceful, law abiding prisoner." Uhh . . . I think my brains going to explode. Wouldn't it be true that if he was a)peaceful or at least b) law abiding he wouldn't be a prisoner? I mean theoretically, he didn't abide by the law to become a prisoner. Perhaps we as a society are just that willing to forget the rights he took from his victim after a couple of years of soft time with his homeys. Don't get me wrong, prison's not a good place, I know, but that's only if you don't have peeps there. I wouldn't have had such a horrible time if I knew somebody other than "Mr. Special" or "Debo". I just can't understand how being "good" in prison (where your every move is watched and you have to get permission to take a piss) for a couple of years some how negates taking another person's life.

I've got a lot of work ahead of me. In my brillance, I decided yesterday it would be better to walk down to the liquor store here and buy a twelver of Miller Light instead of paying the hotel prices. Unfortunately, I failed to do the math and I now have five more beers to drink in the next couple of hours (this is in addittion to the four I've already drank) since I'm leaving tomorrow morning. Now, I'm no lightweight, just ask anyone who knows me, but my alcholism is out of practice. Also, for the same reason, I decided to buy a twelver of coke. I have seven of those to drink in a few hours. I'm going to feel like week old crap buy the time I've chugged these drinks.

Marci and I used to work at a hotel when we were in college together and I remember that people leaving beer behind made the maids day (no homynim intended). Unfortunately, I can't let go of beer that easily, I'm just going to have to get drunk tonight, maybe I won't wander in a drunken stupor down the street to the casino and lose more money. So, I guess I can leave the cokes behind. It's not beer, but that's less stuff they have to use their food stamps for.

On the other hand, that's a form of a tip and I don't think they deserve it. My room only gets cleaned every other day. Usually, I'm not that picky, it's just that it's not like I trash the place every night. All I need is some clean towels and a dry bathmat. Is that so much to ask? Maybe I'm being too harsh, but . . . you know, I don't even know where the hell I'm going with this. I like stories.

Now, I'm going to go drink myself into oblivion all alone in a hotel room in Sin City because I'm too cheap broke to gamble.


Mmmmm . . . beer.

Japanese-lady down-graded herself to a simple chokehold today. She managed to get those cogs turning and add something worthwhile to the discussion today. She was also able to listen to what I was telling her and not ask the instructor to repeat what I said. Good girl!

Now, for those of you who don't know me, I share the following: my deductions and educated guesses are right 99 times out of 100. That's not ego, it's just the way it is because I'm fucking brilliant. Shut up Marci, I can here you snickering from here. At least I'm not faking my intelligence (Oh Dang!). You know it's true. Anyway, why nobody listens to me is beyond even my comprhension. Reason leads me to believe if I say something and it turns out to be true several times in a row, a person might take my advice at least once or twice even if I wasn't so damn smart. Knowing this, I ask you, why can I not even get my wife to put our kid to sleep like I tell her too. I works for me, but will she try? Nope.

It's not like you have to punch him that hard in the back of the head. HAHAHAHA. I kid, I kid. We actually put vodka in his bottle.

Minesweeper did not eat my brain. Craps just did. I just spent four hours and fifty bucks on craps. Untold number of beers later, I'm broke. Go figure. All in all, I don't think I did too bad. Fifty bucks for ?? beers and four hours of fun. I feel pretty good about it. I just hope I can convince the wife to feel the same way.

Okay, so my previous post was during our lunch break. Japanese Lady earned a chokeslam from hell for her actions after lunch. We were doing a mindless calculator exercise on UFRs (un-funded requirements) and she kept insisting that we needed to put a requirement for rent increases in it. Now, everybody knows that you will budget for a rent increase and you won't have to put it un the UFR unless somebody slashes your rent budget because you will know if your landlord is going to up your rent. The excercise did not call for a lowering of rent funds, so, if we got the money we needed for rent, would it be unfunded? Noooo. Makes sense, right? Evidently me telling her that unfunded requirements meant unfunded requirements and if it was funded, it wasn't unfunded. She preceded to call the instructor over and ask him about it and he tells her the same thing in almost the exact same words. Her reply to him was, "Ooooooohhhhh, okay, I see." WHAT THE FUCK! Ugh, I'm going to scracth her eyes out of her head by the end of the week if she doesn't straighten up and fly right.

Haloscan is giving me coniptions with my comments. something is going whacko on me. Magically at some point last night, my comments disappeared from my blog. now, they're back double. Argh.

A brainbuster from the top rope goes to the japanese lady in my group. Her sole purpose in life is to derail our group when they're trucking along ahead of schedule with inane, unrealated information. Every time I look at her, I want to throw and elbow right between her eyes.

I feel that I should offer the following two thoughts. The first is a update to my post earlier in the month, the second is something I absolutely must get off my chest before I do something rash.

Numero Uno - To further highlite my "problem following through" thing, I left the book at the hotel in Orlando . . . and didn't care. 25 bucks, that's big money for me, and I didn't give a shit in a bucket. Might be the first book I didn't finish.

Ni - I am one more day away from giving my group mates a tombstone powerbomb a la "The Undertaker" if they don't shut the fuck up and do the goddamn work for the briefing. Announcement for group members: IT'S NOT THAT BIG A FUCKING DEAL! WE ARE ONLY DOING THIS TO LEARN THE PROCESS, THE NUMBERS AND OTHER MINUTIA DON'T MATTER A FLYING FUCK! MAKE SOMETHING UP TO GET DONE, NO BODY WILL CARE! Thank you.

two more blogs that I have come across that I have developed an interest in and thought I'd pass them along for you three loyal readers.

1) Rusty's blog
2) BlogHeckler

Let's hope I don't show up on that last one for any reason other than the fact that I've linked him here now. I just don't think my fragile ego could take it.

I keep having these recurring flights of fancy that I'm back in Huntsville or LaGrange.

One of my day dreams envolves Brandon and I working on our cars and I actually find my self longing for the days when I would have to fix no less than two things on my car each time: the thing that was actually wrong and whatever else I caused to go wrong while fixing the first.

I also wish to be back at the bowling alley pissing away my paycheck on beer and "Soul Calibur II". Maybe I'm a geek but I enjoyed those days so much. On the weekends, we'd go and spend all night plunking quarters into the machine and beating the ever loving shit out of each other's chosen character.

Another favorite of mine is our (Marci, Chris, various other college pals, etc.) Waffle House days. Hour after hour, shoehorning ten people into a WaHo booth built for four and usually only paying for a cup of coffee. We'd do homework, play cards, chess (actually, I don't think any one but Marci played chess there), talk about the important things, help our theather friends write their plays or screenplays and so on.

In response to Marci's post, I feel obliged to also lament the gone days of the closet apartment she lived in. Even though Chris and I had a better place (take that!) I seem to remember always making an excuse to go to Marci's (or maybe she made excuses not to come to our place, hmmm). There was always something fun going on, even when that thing was nothing. Alas, those days are gone, and I'll let you read Marci's story on that.

My one question: Why do all my day dreams have me driving a souped up '69 Lemans?

In an effort to ease Marci's fears of being the only geek in the crowd, I offer the following embarrassing (much like my spelling) tidbit that I'm I know I'm going to want to scrub from your memories like a money shot from your little sister's teddy bear.

I was up until 3:30am this morning playing that stupid windows game minesweeper. That's it, just playing minesweeper for four hours straight. I can't even use my enhanced powers of imagination to come up with a way to explain it without looking like a total dweeb.

So there you go Marci, I'm the geek around here and don't you go trying to strong arm your way onto my turf again, dammit.

Man. I have got to start looking at my stats here a little more often. I really do have only two readers. All this time I thought I was joking. It's time to bring out the big guns: pandering to the lowest denomenator. I'll have plenty of time to figure out just how to do that while I'm in Vegas next week.

That's right bitches, I'm going back. I just can't get enough of recycled smoke masquerading as air and bleach blonde fifty year old white trash sluts. On the other hand, only a month away before I go bother Marci some more. I wonder just how much I can screw up her routine this time.

Last time I managed to hold her back from doing school work to, instead, go out to lunch and drive me to the airport. Which, by the way, Marci, I was wrong. I had four hours of waiting, not three. Also, I found out I have no soul. Or, at least, the sliding doors to the smoking lounge don't like me. They open for everyone else, even the guy that was loudly cursing Delta (and we all know that's a hell worthy sin in the Atlanta Airport), but did they open for me? Noooo . . . . I had to pry those fuckers apart like in some bad horror movie when the power goes out in a futuristic military base and you're trying to get away from the psychotic carnivorous flower/snake that's chasing you and you happen to be the token black guy that everybody knows is going to get it eventually.

Oh, and I am a P.I.M.P.
I spent last week in Orlando and met a couple cuties from, uh, somewhere. They totally wanted me. Even though I had that same redhead from Atlanta attached to my hip. Ces't la vie.

Apu Nahasapeemapetilon:"Mmmm . . . that's good adultery!"

Later

Kirk Van Houten (Millhouse's dad):"If you don't like loosing at cribbage, stay out of my place!"
Apu Nahasapeemapetilon:"Okay."
Kirk Van Houten:"No, no! I'll let you in!"

The Simpsons rock my face off.

Melanie - I'm sorry you're having such a rough time. I haven't been ignoring you. Sorry.

I plan on writting a story. I will post it later. Maybe. You never know do you?

Watching Bush II give his speech tonight, I finally realized why he wasn't elected president. He cannot think on his feet. When posed with a simple question regarding anything he thought of as a mistake during his presidency, he humed and hawed and instead of simply saying that he was not in any position to second guess himself, he launched into a faintly related story. Then, as he continued to answer scripted questions, he demolished the seperation of church and state by saying, "the almighty" gives us freedom. Then when challenged, finally, by the reporter from NPR who asked if Bush II felt as though he failed in anyway, since all of his speeches vary very little, he dragged the answer out to a political answer (i.e. the voters will decide, I won't tell) and refused to answer any further questions.

As I watched I went through complete support for him, and complete contempt for him. As he spoke, I would follow along and say, "Hell yes, you go girl!" Then, I would switch, as his answers did, to, "What the fu____? Hell no!"

I guess what I'm trying to say here is that I don't know where I stand. I'm torn between complete support for my president, and contempt for an asinine invasion of a soveirgn nation. I can't tell if I'm too political or have no damn idea of what is going on and am completely at the mercy of the propaganda machine.

unrelated addendum to previous post: My sinuses haven't stopped bleeding for about a month. I have cancer and am dying. Marci gets my my share of raging alcoholism. No, wait. She's all stocked up there. She get's some of my wine glasses, cause she needs 'em.

I was just watching a campaign commercial for Bush II and it got my noggin' working. If America really wants campaign reform and more honesty in its politicians, I've got the perfect plan: require complete disclosure in mudslinging ads.

You see, this way, instead of an add like the following:

Bush Supporter: Kerry hates America, we have proof. He voted against lower taxes 675,000 times.

we'd have something like this:

Bush Supporter: Kerry hates America, we have proof. He voted against lower taxes 675,000 times. Also forced on those bills he voted down were laws legallizing rape, murder, theft, environmental destruction and the addition of numerous pork projects like studying to odor of worm farts.

See? We get the full story, not just the part that the richy riches want us to hear.

The more I think about it, the more pissed I am that every single elected official runs these adds and that means that every single person we put in charge of our safety and tax money is a liar or at least dishonest and untrustworthy.

First: In hindsight, I may have read too much into what was going on to require the past couple of posts. It might be possible that I have an enlarged . . . ego.

Second: I have a friend that I absolutely must have a face to face conversation with. The more I think about it, the more aggrevated by his my way or the highway ultra-conservative attitude I get. We (he and I) need to have a serious talk.

Third: Sorry, Marci, but I don't really look foward to coming back to Atlanta. It's not you, it's the prospect of being required to see everyone I ever went to school with that happens to be in Atlanta or the surrounding areas. You, the Chrises, and Steven top the charts of people I am willing to fly the roughly 4 gazillion miles to see. Every one else sorta makes me want to stay away. Not because of them, necessarily, but because I "have" to hang out with them. Marci understands.

Fourth: I have a problem with following through. I have begun reading Al Franken's "Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them" (Dutton, 2003) and I have begun to lose interest. In many things. First, his book made me want to read "Slander" by Anne Coulter. Now, not so much. Second, it made me want to do some investigating into claims made by the politicians to discredit other politicians. Now, not so much. Or maybe I'm just tired.

Fifth: This travel is winning. I don't know where I am, where I'm going, what time it is where I'm at, or where I need to be at any given time of any given day. Furthermore, I'm getting sick and fucking tired of abandoning my kid. I'm also just plain getting sick.

Sixth: Because of number five, I'm in a perpetual state of horniness. I don't ever get to see my wife. Guys, believe it or not, porn does get old. That is if you don't allow yourself to be sucked into darker, questionably legal areas of the business. Softcore, not pot, is the gateway drug.

All of the above (and more that I'm too lazy to add here at the moment) contribute to any bias, slant, or opinion contained in these pages. Just thought I would clear the air a bit.

More to follow.

No problemo. I'm over it. Marci and I are still friends. I didn't screw up, and I didn't do it for the right reasons. I feel pretty good.

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGG!!!!!!!! Where were my friends tonight when I needed them?! Marci?! Chris?! Shit!!! I tried to call Marci, but did she answer her phone? Nooooo. Chris was supposed to hang out with me, did he? Noooooo. Was I just in a bad place? You bet your sweet, sweet ass. If either of them had talked to me (Marci) or hung out with me (Chris) then this wouldn't have happened. Damn you both.


Actually, that's not entirely true. Had Marci answered her phone, the big problem and I might have wound up at buckhead and then lord knows how things would have turned out when we returned to the hotels.

I had another wacky dream the other night. Evidently, I owned a sea plane, a la "TaleSpin", and was at some sort of island resort. After diving across approximately 60 feet of water into an area of the bay (I guess that's what it was) to retrieve my plane's keys from the neck of an older hispanic lady, I gathered my child and other miscellaneous debris and boarded my plane. After take off, I discovered a stow-away. This particular stow-away was somebody that I knew, but I can't seem to think of who it was at the moment. He eventually informed me that he had been quasi-stalking my kid. Then, after various threats of bodily harm and death he let slip that he had also waited for my wife to get really drunk one night and sneak into the dorm room (?) and give her a bath. Somehow, this didn't piss me off as much as it probably should have, but I still continued with my threats, even escalating to the point of throwing him out of the plane. I didn't actually throw him out, I threatened to. Then I called my wife and told her what he said and she flew off into a rage. I woke just before his body left the plane.

Moral of the story: Is this the body the Rachel and I dump? If so, why does George take the blame? Hmm . . . my future seems to be taking a turn for the extremely wierd and convoluted. I'm not even going to try to figure out how I'm going to be able to jump 60 feet horizontal, especially from a stand still.

Marci's in shrink school, maybe she'll be able to help me. Whadda ya say, Marc? I help you with your revolution and you help me figure out why in the world George off's the guy that's stalking me and Rachel helps dispose of the evidence?