Boy, the things you find out about your neighbors...

It never ceases to amaze me how just truly surreal this world can be.

My next door neighbor was having a tag sale yesterday - picture an older, tall, somewhat lanky guy with grey streaks in his overly long hair, keeps to himself; we've lived here for two years and all we've gotten from his is a mere wave while he was picking up the remnants of leaves from the past autumn. He sort of reminds me of my father, in that when it comes to talking to people in person, he has the personality of a brick. No, wait, I take that back: I'm insulting the brick.

We were over there to peruse his goods and see if there were any bargains; we were quick to find that that would soon be an impossibility as he had a set price in his head and would not move. The wife was interested in a brushed nickle soap dispenser and asked how much - $5.00. She tried to dicker. Absolutely no go. "I paid $17.99 for that," he stated irritably, "and I want $5 for it. That's all I will accept." ...And this explains why, a full day later, almost nothing has moved from his driveway...

Yeah, it'd be wonderful when we have our tag sale that we'd be able to get exactly our asking price for every item we plan on selling. Ha! That's a joke. The Q-Tips will swoop down from their resting homes and from their brand new 2004 Winnebago Limited Edition RVs to nickle and dime us to death for the privilege of buying an obviously used antique toilet brush or an armor-plated glow in the dark neon purple inflatable wonderbra. And we will swoon and falter in their midst...

The real reason we went over is because there's a couple of trees of uncertain ownership that're hanging over our garage (Are they his? Are they ours? Both? Hmm.), and some of them look like they're on their last legs (er, roots?). Frankly, I'd rather not have the "300 year old oak tree" tip over and smoosh the house as flat as Kate Moss's chest.
That would be, in a word, BAD. Massive woodesque things looming above ominously: Big woogum, bad mojo, yupyupyup. So of course, we want to take them down. ASAP.

Mr. "I Have the Personality of Toe Cheese" Neighbor balked and got all snooty, said no way since that tree, dammit, keeps his house much cooler. What it also does, you fuckwit, is drop acorns galore and a zillion leaves everywhere. I don't give a parking cone sized rusty steel buttplug that you rake up 250 bags of leaves a season! I can't even figure out why you're so damned proud of such a feat!

It must be because he always has such wonderful help assisting him. Hell, I would be unconcerned too if I had a constant stream of helpers coming and going. My wife, being the gossiphound that she is, bless her heart, heard a rumor that he sells bondage gear over the Internet. Well...certainly, I've heard more bizarre statements in my equally strange existence, but... she did a little Googling - and horrors upon horrors, we have a whipper! Er, winner. Er. Yeah. That's the ticket.

I don't think I really absolutely positively needed that confirmation. Sure, it's interesting in its own fucked up way, and I'm sure some of my friends will be enthralled and wondering if they can get discounts on leather B&D products. Now, every time I see him, I'll have to bite my tongue to not offer to redo/update his cheesy website. Well, at least it explains why he never goes outside and why he's just so damned pasty white. Maybe ghosts sell better bondage and domination gear?

Now that I ponder it, why not take the damned oak tree down? Just think how many paddles and crop handles you can make. Mmmm, oak. I suppose I could always buy a slingshot and fire acorns at all the tag sale items. God knows I have enough damned ammunition!

*whoosh...twang...tink!* Oh crapola! Completely missed the leaning tower of old computer parts, and...ahhhh...got him in the crotch! Eeep! Denied! Minus thirty points for bonking off the male chastity belt. The crowd goes home in disappointment. But wait, there's more! Lemme try again!
*whoosh....plink!* 2 points for taking out the soap dispenser! **hollow-sounding ploink!** Oooh, fifty points because it ricochets and thwaps his forehead! SCORE! The crowd goes wild!

Why oh why?

Can someone please point out which idiot decided to dump the ultra-sticky molasses into today's clock?

I've been at work for 2 1/2 hours and already it seems like I've been here all week. Okay granted, it's Friday, I *have* been here all week, but today feels like another week entirely. Gah. Two weeks for the price of one. This is not an advertised special I want to cash in on!

Boy oh boy, only 6 more hours to go. And my sanity's slowly leaking out...or at least whatever's left.

Doors. Doors. I am a. Ding-dong. Sometimes. Mmm. Doors.

House of Doors. Cheshire. Oh yeah. I completely forgot this morning whilst I was writing that.

Silly me.

And to think, Candace, I went and bought a Dremel. My next couple of projects include sharpening the lawn mower blade and the chainsaw. Yes, I have a chainsaw. And my limbs are still mostly intact; still counting ten fingers and seven toes. Amazing, huh?
Er, wait a second...*tapetapetape* TEN toes.

One of my first projects with the Dremel was to create an extension cord bucket. The theory behind it is to take one 5-gallon bucket (like those ugly orange ones from Home Depot) and cut a circular hole in the bottom to feed the male end of the cord through; then loop the expanse of cabling within the bucket for a cheap, lightweight, and easy to carry alternative. In theory, anyway. I grabbed the idea from a blurb in one of the Home Remodelling magazines we picked up for the kitchen revamping. The circle I made was more, er, wobbly eggshaped, and I have a few ideas that may cause the destruction of the world as we know it in order to make it work better, but it IS easy to carry. So there. Pblt. Oh Dremel, where art thou more Dremel tools? Ah. eBay. Hee hee.

It was pointed out to me that the ceiling fan endeavor was a group project. It was. Indeedy. There was f-bomb droppings by the TWO of us. There was constant swearing and grumbling about the multiple trips to Home Depot by the TWO of us. I may have tossed that damned Hunter fan out the window if it weren't for my wife helping (and in some cases taking over...like the wiring. GRR!). As it stands, I am never buying a Hunter-made ceiling fan ever again - those manuals don't show enough of the parts lists to make it worth a darned, and just how many times did they want me to use those three #6-32 3/8th inch screws that were provided? Oh...right. 3 times.

In other news... my friend Mark finally told me what convention he's going to. Oh yes. The same convention that he was grumbling about having to go to. The boring one. The extremely dull one. The one I would have sold my wife on eBay to go to. Yep, that's right, the 2004 Electronic Entertainment Expo. You know, the one that shows the newest games and technology coming out. The Big Bang of Gaming conventions. The weeniehead. Pbblt. But he said he'd try to get me a ticket for next year. =P "California, here I come..."

A brand spankin' new dryer...

...and no freakin' power cord to use it with. Oif. The things you take for granted, like dryers bought off of eBay from that Sears Regional Outlet Stores seller - we got a brand spankin' new dryer with no obviously visible dings for $279, and of course, no power cord. The guy delivering it said that the current cord on the old dryer was too old (and frayed) for use. So now I get to trek back to Sears and pick up an $8 cord. Oif. Well, at least we won't have to listen to the raunchy noises of the old dryer power-humping itself loudly across the floor. All we would have needed is seven AIDS-infected porn stars adding to the cacophony to make it a real treat for all listeners.

Installed a ceiling fan in the master bedroom yesterday. Sure, it was the same damned ceiling fan that sat on its laurels in the garage for the last two years waiting to be loved and used, but it's finally in. It only took five or so hours of potent f-bombs and multiple trips to Home Depot to buy extra screws and a ceiling medallion (take your pick: flimsy plastic plate for $25 or somewhat thicker styrofoam for $35! What bargains!)to hide the fact that the darned popcorn ceiling is threatening to come down upon our heads. We can't, we shouldn't patch it, oh no, let's... let's COVER IT UP AND HIDE THE DAMAGE! YAY!

We also went and shopped for a door (it's a door, dammit, it shouldn't cost $1200!!) at Home Depot and Lowe's. Are there any quality door selling places in Connecticut? Anyone? Yowch. Of course, we also spent more money. Almost but not quite ready to paint the master bedroom - we have the paint, we have the TSP to clean the walls - we didn't have the will to actually DO it. Oh well.

We're also in the process of trying to get a refi and possibly a home equity loan (or some such nonsense) in order to redo the kitchen [new cabinets, fridge, oven, floor, etc]. Found out that my debt-to-income ratio is wickedly low and that now that I'm out of debt [save for the truck and the house, of course], my credit score is skyrocketing upward. Hey, it only took me 7+ years to fix my credit. Whee!

By the way, Providian and Capital One - oh ye of fuckin' high interest rates (29%!! What the hell are these people smoking?!), horrendous customer service, hideous fees and screwy finance charges -- I'm kicking you useless bastards emphatically to the curb. No, better yet, I'm sticking you where you belong - up the immense backside of a constantly diarrhetic African elephant so you bastards can suck shit for eternity.

I feel better now. Off I go to work. Or take a shower. Or both. Okay, the dog just came in here, smelled me, and passed out. Definitely, a shower is needed.

And *NO*, Janet, I did not just fart. That was earlier. Much earlier. The smell...er, the odor, just lingered. Yeah. Maybe we need a ceiling fan in the computer room too. Heh.

Whacking those balls to death...and lovin' it!

Just a quick post before I go off to beat the everlivin' crap out of some poor defenseless golfballs at the driving range for the 2nd straight week in a row. Hopefully I'll manage to get more yardage out even as I smack 'em straight (I give myself massively wicked kudos for managing to get the golfballs to fly mostly straight off the "tee" without any training whatsoever - okay, Jeff, oh God of Biscuits, your impromptu lessons do count, I'll admit...) into the wild blue (er, green?!) yonder.

Yesterday I was feeling the pain, oh the pain, of getting 2 hours sleep after staying up too late playing "Project Gotham Racing 2" on the ol' Xbox. So I stayed up til 4:30am, who's counting? I was dragging my ass most of the time at work when I decided to go and splurge on a triple-espresso enhanced caffe latte at our own internal Starbucks kiosk in the building. Wandering off to lunch...er, dinner....linner? Dunch? Anyhoo, I grab my coffee...and promptly juggle it as the lid explodes from the top of the cup - onto me, the desk, and mostly on the floor. *SOB!!!* For four hours thereafter, I had to inhale the blisteringly delightful odor of it as the remnants soaked into the floor at my feet. Torture. Absolute horrid torture, I tell you. A tear still etches down my cheek at the sorrow of that moment.

All I can say now is, good thing we have a cleaning crew in that office, else that milk would stink up a storm come Monday. Not that it matters, I don't come in until noon. Heh.

Toodles until later...I can hear the balls whimpering in anguish as I meander towards the driving range. Buh bye.

Yeep.

Gotta edit that image on comments. It wasn't supposed to stretch like that. Poor Opus.

Greetings and slobbertations...er, salutations. Something like that, yeah.

It's a wondrously gorgeous day outside, finally, here in Central Connecticut - and as luck would have it, I'm chained to my desk in a sub-sub-basement at work. Par for the course, sure, it being work and all, but the lack of windows definitely has a tendency to make one grumpy.

Ah, smell that fresh, recycled dusty air and the lingering body odors of the unwashed heathens! Okay, okay, perhaps I took a bit of poetic license with that last comment, but whatever it takes to help brighten up this sad exista....ow! Okay, desk lamp with way too high wattaged bulb - NOT the answer. I just love those bright circles each time I blink. It's like polka dots for my brain.

Now that you've been sucked into my little blogspace on the 'Net (mmm, vacuums!), let me introduce myself:

I am a 30-year old technical support specialist. What does this mean? Well, in short, I'm a geek. Yes, I like computers. Probably too much. I fix them. I break them. I break them some more, and then I put them back together only to change something five minutes later and go on a f-bomb rampage when I realize that I just fried the operating system. Again. But this is how you learn. This is why I now have the patience to explain to someone that loading SmileyCentral on their PC was, in fact, a really really bad idea... ("But, but...look at all the smiley faces! They're so cuuuuuuuuuuuuute! They are they are they are, so there, pbbblt!") ...as their PC turns rather quickly into a very bright display of pop-ups and eventually crashes. Mmm, nothing like a $2500 doorstop.

So....yes, I relate rather well to those Dilbert comics, realizing that yes, people really can be *that* moronic - yet, here I sit, walking them through the most mundane of tasks with comments like - "No, ma'am, when I say, 'Right click on the screen, I did NOT mean use your pen to write upon it. Yes, ma'am, you'll need to scrub the ink off now.'" *sigh* and "Yes, sir, it very much does help when you have the ethernet cable plugged into the laptop... (but you should have realized this TWO HOURS ago when I asked the first 3 times! GRR!)".

And I work second shift, so my life is slightly out of phase with the rest of reality. My family would probably respond with, "Only slightly?" but it makes for a rather quiet existence otherwise. Mondays are REALLY REALLY sweet - no parking hassles, no traffic hell to contend with, but Fridays? Eeech, everyone's half in the bag by the time I get home. Planning things to do can be a chore. But I like meeting people, tend to be addicting to chatting, even if I'm a slightly (ha!) sarcastic, completely silly, old fogey with a mind that tends to troll in the gutter. This is somewhat corny, but my response to that kind of comment?
"Honey, with my mind in the gutter, it's that much easier to look up your skirt." Ahem. Anyway...

I'm married. For nearly five years now. Yowzers. Yes indeedy. Hey, when I said I was a geek, this does not mean I'm 30 years old, living in my mother's basement and existing solely off of 2 liter bottles of Mountain Dew and stale Cheetos. First of all, I grew up in Phoenix - I didn't know what a basement really was until I was 13. As for Mountain Dew? Lovely liquid green radioactive substance that it is, I'd go into serious sugarshock from the first 3 sips. W00t. The life of a diabetic - pass the damned Twinkies already, it's no wonder I'm grumpy, darn it. Boy, I miss those Cheetos and the satanic orange smears they left on my fingers, the keyboard, my forehead, etc. And yes, my wife is a very sweet person who might earn herself a medal for putting up with the constant barrage of lunacy that I torment her with. Well...she would, if she weren't already half as loony as I am. Heh.

I have a dog. Nice medium-sized reddish-brown pure-breed golden retriever named Bailey. Very loveable, friendly, mild-mannered, and I've known beach balls with more brilliance. Oh, he's intelligent in the "Hee hee, they pet me, they feed me, and do my bidding and all I need to do is pant and stick my tongue out...and pee on the carpet with glee while I plan on dominating the world!" sort of way, but Mensa genius he is not. That's fine, since most Mensa geniuses got the brains but not the common sense to go with it. Then again, neither does Bailey. Oh dear. But I still love that little slobberfiend of a fuzzbucket. Even after he pees on the carpet.

Oh heck, there's a ton more to write, but no time right now to write it. Sucks, huh?

So, er, shouts out and frantic mad waves to those people I already know who are reading this, and even to you newbies - you're in for a wild, slightly erratic ride into the twisted confines of my skull. Strap in and take that dramamine, you're gonna need it!