2005-04-13
Entryus Tediumus
Some scattered observations and rants, none of them particularly interesting or funny.
Automatic Air Fresheners in Bathrooms
We have one of these in all of MyCompany's bathrooms. They are programmed to go off if they detect a strong odor (ahem).
Fine.
What I'd like to know is why that ratbastard goes off every time I go into the bathroom. Every. Single. Time. I walk in and, "FFFFFFFFFFfffffffffffft!" Before I even get to the stall. Should I infer something from this? Do I walk around smelling like a gigundous poopy and no one has the cajones to tell me? Sometimes it even goes off as I'm walking under it. Then my hair is greasy. And it smells like Lavender-Apricot-Car Exhaust-Liquorish Infusion.
Speaking of public bathrooms...
Why is it that when I go into a bathroom in which somone has clearly voided their bowels -- within the past nanosecond -- after eating one of the new Burger King Omlet Breakfast Bombs -- that I manage to beeline right to the stall in which the invasion took place? Why?
Diaryland
"Click here to go to the thread you just signed."
Or, you know, not. The only comments system which appears to be working is Pete's -- other Haloscans are not always consistent. Go visit Pete and leave him a comment. Now .
I still say Andrew rules, and to prove it I just renewed my GOLD! membership. But please. The comments. Please to fix.
Speaking of comments
A big shout out to Bill , who is, as far as I can tell, the only person who checks in on me regularly -- or at least the only one who comments. I love ya, Bill! I suppose I have to actually write something, and something amusing or interesting to boot, in order to increase my daily hits to something more than 7, (5 of which are me checking my own page, 1 is bill, and 1 is Midge). Callouts to Midge, too, you skinny bitch. And Pete and Andy, too. I know you guys stop by now and then. AND lest (not LUST, you horny monkeys) I forget that dangerous curvy one, Hot Chick (go check HER out fellas!), who is also a loyal reader. Who luvz ya DJ? ME!
Workout Fashion
I started working out this week -- after about 30 years. I joined the PowerHouse(tm) gym, and I'm amazed they allowed me in because I don't drive a Ford F-150. That place is a testosterone petrie dish. However, there are a few chicks there, who actually follow "fashion", and I see that even the low-rider look has found it's way into the gym. Low rider workout gear. Mmmmmmmmmm-kay. That's attractive. And so practical. Actually, I'm not clear that the cute little workout pants (oh and also, with flared bottoms) are low riders as much as they are rolled down several times so that they ride just above the lowest part of the hip bone. Color me fashion challenged, but I prefer my Big Girl Biker Shorts under a size X-L t-shirt which covers all manners of physical sins.
Speaking of my Gym
I joined it because (1) it was deeply cheap (as in $229 for a YEAR -- I'm sure they are drawing up the Chapter 13 paperwork as I write this), and (2) they have elliptical trainers. Due to a knee injury many years ago I can no longer run *coughjogcough*, so these provide a nice alternative. However, the elliptical trainers don't have the bendy arms thing which allow you to grip something other than the little handicap railings and actually work out your arms at the same time. I should probably mention I joined this gym over the phone, sight-unseen, because the super duper special deal was about to expire. I'm thrifty like that. And stupid.
My Workout
I workout in increments of beer. I have the reader on whatever machine I'm dripping sweat onto set to "calories burned" and as soon as I hit 3 beers I consider myself done. I am SO about getting healthy.
Smoking (or not, as the case may be)
Including today I have 20 days left to smoke. I'm quitting on the 2nd after another Gay Frat Party Weekend in Chicago with Tschahn (he stops by, too, and also, Tschehn -- who read every. single. one. of my entries -- I love Tschehn!)
Tschahn and I each smoke about 75 cigarettes a day while I'm there and by the time I leave my mouth tastes like I licked a car ashtray clean, so I figured this would be a good time to quit. The last time I quit -- for 3 years -- I used this method after a weekend in America's Playground. The morning I quit I had 10 cigarettes left and I couldn't even bear the thought of smoking one -- I threw them away without a second thought. The problem is that this negative feeling dissipates in about a day or two, or whenever you have your next beer, which in Vegas is at breakfast.
Commercials
Two commercials actually make me have a panic attack -- Bob, the talking baby on Quiznos, and that King thing on the BK commercials. What. The. Fuck. Both are abominations of nature if you ask me. Bob needs a nice bottle with some Ambien in it and the King needs to lay off the Botox. And acid. If I woke up one morning and that thing was staring at me outside my window holding a 10 pound 1800 calorie breakfast sandwhich I would get out Pa's shot gun and loosen up his creepy face once and for all.
On the opposite spectrum, Target commercials make me want to go back to school and get a marketing degree. And then work for Target. Because they would surely hire me. They also make me want to buy a "tunic", whatever that is. If BK were to hire Target's marketing department I'd be eating one of them 1800 calorie artery-caulking-bastards every single morning.
American Idol
Yes, I watch it. Religiously. (Except tonight, because "Lost" is on.) (My life is all about working out and TV right now.) (ShutUP.) I change the channel when Anthony or Constantine sing. They give me the willies. Constantine with his googly "come hither and run your fingers through my greasy damaged hair" look makes me want to curl up into the Dead Spider Position. And Scott? God. Shut the fuck up, okay? You should know better than to sing a Haul and Oats song. On the other hand, props to Anwar for attempting -- and doing pretty damn well at -- a Dionne Warwick tune. The Karaoke Rule of Thumb is not to sing anything someone with a 5 octave range originally sang. Just a thought.
And that, my friends, is the news from Lake Snowbegone.
Now dammit. Leave me a comment. Before I get bitter.
(Hi, Bill!)
(Ah... Bill. You are on my list, bud. And not my Christmas list....)
xquzme at sometime today