I Suspect She's Trying To Kill Me

Is the trip-and-fall-slash-strangulation arrangement currently blocking my ingress evidence that the new girl at work doesn't know me very well? Or ...is it that she knows me all too well?

Happy You Year

The first 3 people to respond to this post will get something made by me. It will be about or tailored to those 3 lucky individuals.

But wait! This offer does have some restrictions and limitations:

- I make no guarantees that you will like what I make! I however, will like it or it won't be sent out in the first place!
- what I create will be just for you.
- it'll be done this year~ish. sometime.
- you have no clue what it's going to be. because i have no clue what it's going to be.
- I reserve the right to do something extremely strange.

The catch is that you have to make the same offer in your blog/journal as well.

This idea brought to you by TBFKAS (the-breeder-formerly-known-as-Sherman).

A Friendly Reminder to Follow Your Dreams; There Are No Dumb Ideas, Only Dumb Consumers

Did you guys spend a little too much time testing the capacity of your cheeks over the cookie tray this holiday season? Or maybe you've been trying to coax yourself back into the gym ever since your fourth vienerschnitzel on Independence day? Well, forget all that. I hereby alleviate you of all gut-related guilt. For now -- it is time that men learned what every American woman and girl alike has always known; pantyhose really suck.

Behold! From the makers of Mandex, I bring you.... Mantyhose!:



Not just for superheros and other assorted crossdressers anymore, Mantyhose are (apparently) already quite popular in Europe amongst ball carriers from all walks of life. For all you metro American men on the bleeding cusp of fashion (and if you are wearing lemon body butter or hair gel right now -- then yes, you are one), you'll want to click here for a how-to guide (complete with "now-you-tell-me" tips such as "trim your fingernails" before applying) or pick up a copy of "27 Ways of Wearing Pantyhose as a Man" found here. Seriously. That's an actual book that someone actually published.

Follow your dreams! You, too, can accomplish your goals! Just ask this dude here on the left, who is attempting to look pleased with himself even though everyone with breasts can clearly discern his particular breed of discomfort.

And If your goals include maintaining the appearance of someone who spends his evenings on the rubber instead of in the batter, you're going to want to pick up a Mirdle, too.

Zom-Bee

Somewhere in the midst of my 34 hour Sickening, I made the mistake of deviating from my zombie-like bed-to-bathroom-back-to-bed-back-to-bathroom path in order to check my work email. Nothing like a little red exclamation point from one's boss to really put in perspective just how shitty you thought you felt before. Turns out I messed up my billing and that I was charging un-condoned overtime. On a contract that already had serious burn issues. Greeeaaaat.

I zombied on back to bed. Laid there with eyes wide open. Stupid dayQuil messed up my billing sheet and stupider nyQuil not nearly effective enough.

So pretty much the only reason I forced myself to rally this morning, not only brush my teeth but take a shower AND wash my hair (take THAT, Sickness!!), was because I knew I wasn't going to be able to return to the proper and necessary zombification until the billing error had somehow been rectified. For all the SlickDealery and coupon clipping, I wasn't so much concerned with the mistake costing me cash as I was that it might cost professional reputation points. As you can imagine, I have few of those to spare. And no decent rebates.

Arrived at work, put my happy face on in the elevator (which was particularly complicated because it seriously did not want to go on, stupid straps and elastic bands), and said my hello's, good morning's, happy new year'sesses. The bosses boss, just back from a 2 week vacation, greeted me and gave me a folder. Attempts to respond orally caused him to abruptly back up, wave his palms at me and flee. Guess I sound about as good as I feel.

Dropped the folder at my desk and logged in to check my email. Another little red exclamation point from my manager stating that he miscounted, he rendered an apology, and that my billing statement was fine.

Whew.

Zombification to reconvene in five... four... three....

And That's When I Knew I Was Sick

It's ten am on new years' day. Upon waking to a brick sensation where my face sensation used to be, I make my weary way to my dad's sorry excuse for a bathroom, seeking a shower. Oh, the indescribable joy of knowing you are soon to be embark in a hot, hot shower after weeks of deprivation! It is a feeling akin to that of Christmas morning on your birthday at the onset of a paid 2 year hiatus (you're welcome for the shout out, Chrysler!). Ack, there's no shower cap around! Ok, I run to the kitchen and make do, creating a plastic shopping bag hat on my return to dad's sorry bathroom. With my hair snugly encased in protective Shop Rite plastic, I jump in to the shower stall in one graceful swoop and stand with my eager face posed beneath the flowing stream of hot, hot water. The bliss of full steam encapsulisation now mere moments away -- it occurs to me that something... is not right. Something ....is obstructing ...my vision. If I were a cartoon or a comic, a large "!?" (or possibly a "!?!") would be appearing in a bubble over the Shop Rite emblem on my head. It took five. Full. Seconds. for me to register that I had left my glasses on.

And that's when I knew I was sick.