Working late on Monday and Tuesday this week. That will put me around 29 hours at work by the end of the night Tuesday and I'm not bummed out by that at all. Wanna know why? I decided to self-medicate my thyroid again ever since I found out that my blood levels were screwed up. That means I have double dosed every other day since I got the blood tests back and I will continue to do so until I feel better again.
Stupid? most would agree with that.
Dangerous? probably a little
Do I feel better the last 48 hours than I have in three months? without a doubt.
Two days in a row I've been able to get up around 5 a.m. and actually get some work done both around the house and for my job. Up until then, I've been struggling to roll my carcass out of the sack by 6:30 no matter how early I went to bed the night before.
So, I'll wait until the heart palpitations start, the shaking begins, the inability to sit still gets too obvious and then I'll cut back on my meds and let things level out again.
I mean, if I felt like crud for three months and gained 25 lbs in that time isn't it fair that I get to feel good for at least a couple weeks before I have to return to baseline?
Makes sense to me.
I'm finally back to the point where my eyes aren't so dried up that I can actually put my contact lenses in again. Caffeine works on me again. I'm not having trouble keeping my eyes open on the drive home from work. Some nagging injuries have suddenly decided to start healing after being...well nagging for a long time. Hell, I'm feeling so good, I might even have enough energy to get on top during sex again soon. That will be a good day let me tell ya!
I'm enjoying this for a few days. So shoot me.
http://www.drugs.com/pro/levothyroxine.html
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
My Inner Crowd is Going Wild
Any of you who know me personally know that around last Christmas I engaged in many events of self-torture and happenstances of self-deprivation in a valiant...okay...more like "desperate" effort to lose the extra pounds that I had gained through years of alcohol abuse and overindulgence in all that is bacon. I was fairly successful and lost 50 lbs. Just to help with the imagery, before the diet I looked like Peter Griffin. After the diet I looked more like a young Carol O'Conner. How's that for cross generational mixed mental imagery?
I managed to stay right at my goal weight for about four months. I packed a few pounds on at the end of August due to ten or eleven days of camping food and the excessive hammock time involved in my camping outings. I wasn't too worried at the time, but the intervening three months since then saw me pack on twenty more pounds. So now I have gained back over half of what I lost and I appear to be picking up speed on my way to the Aretha Franklin neighborhood of fatulence.
It finally dawned on me two weeks ago or more that my thyroid may have told me to fuck off again and I need my thyroid medication adjusted so my body can again be convinced to burn calories. Combine that with my apparent desire to poach my liver in vodka once or twice a week and the results aren't pretty. Anyone who has ever admitted to themselves that their alcohol intake could stand to be trimmed down a little, knows that alcohol is the Navy Seal of addictive substances. You can consciously monitor it for long periods of time, but as soon as you let your guard down, BAM...you're lying on the floor trying to remember where you are and how it all happened.
And when the medication bonks...it's a sneaky bastard, too. Usually by the time I catch it, the medication level has been twisted for a month or more. It's not like I can wake up on Tuesday...look back at Monday and recognize my medication isn't right. I usually have to say... wake up at the end of November and look back at the previous two months and realize that my naps grew progressively longer, I grew increasingly less efficient at work in tiny increments, and if it gets really bad, I have trouble completing a thought. At it's worst, a few years back, I couldn't complete a sentence because the brain fog was too um...foggy. Yeah...that's why I write. Cuz I'm good with words like that.
I was reared to believe that I am in charge of me. I am in control of my fate and I am to blame for everything that goes wrong and if I want things to change I have to change them. So when the weight starts coming on, I tend to think it is my failure and mine alone. Then when I take measures to get rid of the weight and it doesn't go away, then the depression sets in which makes my judgment even worse.
Now here's the icing on the cake. When my medication levels go south on me, I sleep. A lot. When I'm not sleeping, I should be sleeping. I get nothing done and keeping my eyes open is a near impossible task at times. Wanna guess the one substance I can take that wakes me up? Not coffee. Not soda. Liquor. I don't care about the science behind it. Liquor wakes me up when my underactive thyroid makes me want to sleep 23 hours a day. Seeing as how I been known to have a hmm...lessee...an aficionado's interest in that liquor stuff...yeah...not good. It's sorta like giving an angry, short tempered, gorilla a large club and telling him old people are filled with bananas and then dropping him off at the old folks' home. Next thing you know everyone is dead and there's a pissed off hungry ape staring at you cuz he still wants his bananas. Okay, that metaphor broke down a little by the end there, but you get my point...it can get messy.
Let's recap...thyroid condition...sneaky. Alcohol...sneaky. One tends to give at least the illusion of making the other better. Both tend to make depression worse. Are you starting to figure out the level of awesomeness my battle with this stuff has been for the last decade?
It has taken me years to realize how this condition has affected my body, my mind, and my confidence.
What brings all this up? The doc called me this a.m. and affirmed to me that my medication needs to be upped. Why does that make me happy? Because now I know the last few months haven't been all my fault. I know it wasn't all me and my laziness that made me gain so much weight back. It wasn't 100% me that didn't read to my daughter because I needed a 45 minute nap instead. It wasn't entirely my fault that I've been intending to build my mutt a dog house for two months and still haven't done it. And that's all I need. I need that crack of daylight to be reminded once in a while that I'm not a complete pile of shit so I can get my chin up in the air again and forge ahead.
I start the new dosage of meds when I get home today. Bummer part is, I usually have to take it for a month before I can fully realize the change, but when it does kick in, the weight tends to fall off again. I tend to feel like exercising more. My urge to drink every Friday and Saturday night decreases drastically, too. I get ten days off for Christmas break and if my meds are helping by then, I can hit the gym 6 or 7 of those days and do a good bit of setting myself to rights again before the New Year.
Cheers!
I managed to stay right at my goal weight for about four months. I packed a few pounds on at the end of August due to ten or eleven days of camping food and the excessive hammock time involved in my camping outings. I wasn't too worried at the time, but the intervening three months since then saw me pack on twenty more pounds. So now I have gained back over half of what I lost and I appear to be picking up speed on my way to the Aretha Franklin neighborhood of fatulence.
It finally dawned on me two weeks ago or more that my thyroid may have told me to fuck off again and I need my thyroid medication adjusted so my body can again be convinced to burn calories. Combine that with my apparent desire to poach my liver in vodka once or twice a week and the results aren't pretty. Anyone who has ever admitted to themselves that their alcohol intake could stand to be trimmed down a little, knows that alcohol is the Navy Seal of addictive substances. You can consciously monitor it for long periods of time, but as soon as you let your guard down, BAM...you're lying on the floor trying to remember where you are and how it all happened.
And when the medication bonks...it's a sneaky bastard, too. Usually by the time I catch it, the medication level has been twisted for a month or more. It's not like I can wake up on Tuesday...look back at Monday and recognize my medication isn't right. I usually have to say... wake up at the end of November and look back at the previous two months and realize that my naps grew progressively longer, I grew increasingly less efficient at work in tiny increments, and if it gets really bad, I have trouble completing a thought. At it's worst, a few years back, I couldn't complete a sentence because the brain fog was too um...foggy. Yeah...that's why I write. Cuz I'm good with words like that.
I was reared to believe that I am in charge of me. I am in control of my fate and I am to blame for everything that goes wrong and if I want things to change I have to change them. So when the weight starts coming on, I tend to think it is my failure and mine alone. Then when I take measures to get rid of the weight and it doesn't go away, then the depression sets in which makes my judgment even worse.
Now here's the icing on the cake. When my medication levels go south on me, I sleep. A lot. When I'm not sleeping, I should be sleeping. I get nothing done and keeping my eyes open is a near impossible task at times. Wanna guess the one substance I can take that wakes me up? Not coffee. Not soda. Liquor. I don't care about the science behind it. Liquor wakes me up when my underactive thyroid makes me want to sleep 23 hours a day. Seeing as how I been known to have a hmm...lessee...an aficionado's interest in that liquor stuff...yeah...not good. It's sorta like giving an angry, short tempered, gorilla a large club and telling him old people are filled with bananas and then dropping him off at the old folks' home. Next thing you know everyone is dead and there's a pissed off hungry ape staring at you cuz he still wants his bananas. Okay, that metaphor broke down a little by the end there, but you get my point...it can get messy.
Let's recap...thyroid condition...sneaky. Alcohol...sneaky. One tends to give at least the illusion of making the other better. Both tend to make depression worse. Are you starting to figure out the level of awesomeness my battle with this stuff has been for the last decade?
It has taken me years to realize how this condition has affected my body, my mind, and my confidence.
What brings all this up? The doc called me this a.m. and affirmed to me that my medication needs to be upped. Why does that make me happy? Because now I know the last few months haven't been all my fault. I know it wasn't all me and my laziness that made me gain so much weight back. It wasn't 100% me that didn't read to my daughter because I needed a 45 minute nap instead. It wasn't entirely my fault that I've been intending to build my mutt a dog house for two months and still haven't done it. And that's all I need. I need that crack of daylight to be reminded once in a while that I'm not a complete pile of shit so I can get my chin up in the air again and forge ahead.
I start the new dosage of meds when I get home today. Bummer part is, I usually have to take it for a month before I can fully realize the change, but when it does kick in, the weight tends to fall off again. I tend to feel like exercising more. My urge to drink every Friday and Saturday night decreases drastically, too. I get ten days off for Christmas break and if my meds are helping by then, I can hit the gym 6 or 7 of those days and do a good bit of setting myself to rights again before the New Year.
Cheers!
Monday, November 22, 2010
Beware this Blog post.
What I am about to show you is dangerous. It's frightening and sortta depressing all at the same time. It's a sight so not-rare-enough that at times it's all I can do to keep myself from climbing the nearest clock tower and spreading some high caliber love amongst the dumbasses that walk amongst us masquerading as useful members of society.
Steel yourselves to witness proof that our gene puddle is getting more and more muddled with dreck.
I took these pics outside Elmer's grocery store in Escanaba this summer. Exhibit #1 shows the classic maneuver used by someone who purposefully takes up two spots to make sure no one will park next to him and accidentally ding the door. Two problems. 1) If you do this and don't take two spots that are on the outlying periphery of the lot, then you are a dickhead. 2) You took up two spots one in front of the other which doesn't make sense. I do the "pull through" all the time so I don't have to back out of spots, but that still only involves taking one spot. This genius takes up two spots one in front of the other. Not enough energy to pull all the way through to the facing spot? Too stupid to realize he overshot the first spot? Maybe he just kept driving until his phone call ended and that just happens to be where the operator at 1-800-Bukkake-Me finally hung up on him.
In Exhibit #2 posted below, we see that the almost-pull-through guy, broke not one, but two of three imaginary planes of the typical angle parking space. How sucky a driver do you have to be in order to do that? We now have to assume he was not simply in a hurry, not simply just distracted, but simply the victim of some of the worst fetal alcohol poisoning that didn't result in complete fetusplosion whilst he was in the womb. I'm not sure how he made it out of his mother's vagina alive, much less how he ever managed to get a license to drive. Nevertheless, I want to assure him that no matter how well he takes care of his little Nissan Roadster, it's moves like this that will always make him a cancre on the ass of humanity.
Here is where it gets scary. Notice the Dodge to the left of FAS boy? He has done the same damn thing. He has forcibly penetrated two thirds of the imaginary walls of angle parking that were created by sweet baby Jesus himself to keep our grocery store parking lots from becoming pure Mad Max style chaos. The amount of such stupidity all gathered into one place is staggering. Those of you afraid of the possible effect of the atom smashing Hadron Collider need to relax. It's the gathering of anti-intelligence such as documented in these pictures, that has a much greater chance of effectively ending life as we know it. At some point the dumbass factor will hit critical mass and rip some sort of hole in the time space continuum by creating a super nova of stupid.
Now if you haven't already noticed the silver Toyota in the background of Exhibit #2, I will point out that he also has broken one of the parking planes and he has left a good two+ feet of the ass end of his truck in the road. For those of you counting, that's parking lines 4, Imbecilic Anarchy 5. I wanted to forgive Toyota-boy for leaving the tail end of his truck hanging out at first because it was pretty obvious that he got there last and was partially inhibited by the Dodge half-hearted-pull-through guy. Then I saw that he was also completely cockeyed in his spot and all my good will vanished like heroin off Lindsay Lohan's coffee table.
Singularly, none of these sad excuses for parking are unusual as I am sure both of my faithful readers know. But to do this in triplicate? All of them in spots that are diagonally connected? This is surely a sign of the apocalypse. I couldn't be more sure than if the convertible had a 666 license plate, the Dodge sported a 2012 decal in the back window, and I had personally witnessed Dick Cheney driving the Toyota into that spot. This is it my friends. It's over. I'm surprised I wasn't sucked into some sort of hellish nether dimension ala Poltergeist just from getting close enough take these cell phone pics.
My good fortune in surviving this encounter, allows me to warn all of you. The end is nigh. Make peace with your maker. Hug your wife one last time. Call everyone you love...demand they give you the money they owe you and then use the money so you can go snort blow off the ass of that transgender hooker you've had your eye on because this little Uno game of life is just about done.
Steel yourselves to witness proof that our gene puddle is getting more and more muddled with dreck.
I took these pics outside Elmer's grocery store in Escanaba this summer. Exhibit #1 shows the classic maneuver used by someone who purposefully takes up two spots to make sure no one will park next to him and accidentally ding the door. Two problems. 1) If you do this and don't take two spots that are on the outlying periphery of the lot, then you are a dickhead. 2) You took up two spots one in front of the other which doesn't make sense. I do the "pull through" all the time so I don't have to back out of spots, but that still only involves taking one spot. This genius takes up two spots one in front of the other. Not enough energy to pull all the way through to the facing spot? Too stupid to realize he overshot the first spot? Maybe he just kept driving until his phone call ended and that just happens to be where the operator at 1-800-Bukkake-Me finally hung up on him.
 |
| Exhibit #1: I can't wait to see what happens to me when I hit my mid-life crisis. Will I be the convertible guy or will I be the guy who has candy dishes filled with Viagra in every room of the house? |
 |
| Exhibit #2: Either neither one of these people can park or I have found evidence to support my theory. My theory is that stupidity has it's own gravitational pull which gradually drew these vehicles closer. This would also explain the large crowds at monster truck rallies. |
Here is where it gets scary. Notice the Dodge to the left of FAS boy? He has done the same damn thing. He has forcibly penetrated two thirds of the imaginary walls of angle parking that were created by sweet baby Jesus himself to keep our grocery store parking lots from becoming pure Mad Max style chaos. The amount of such stupidity all gathered into one place is staggering. Those of you afraid of the possible effect of the atom smashing Hadron Collider need to relax. It's the gathering of anti-intelligence such as documented in these pictures, that has a much greater chance of effectively ending life as we know it. At some point the dumbass factor will hit critical mass and rip some sort of hole in the time space continuum by creating a super nova of stupid.
Now if you haven't already noticed the silver Toyota in the background of Exhibit #2, I will point out that he also has broken one of the parking planes and he has left a good two+ feet of the ass end of his truck in the road. For those of you counting, that's parking lines 4, Imbecilic Anarchy 5. I wanted to forgive Toyota-boy for leaving the tail end of his truck hanging out at first because it was pretty obvious that he got there last and was partially inhibited by the Dodge half-hearted-pull-through guy. Then I saw that he was also completely cockeyed in his spot and all my good will vanished like heroin off Lindsay Lohan's coffee table.
 | |
| Exhibit #3: Mr. Silver Toyota...ninety-seven other open spots, and you choose to park right between Chippy the magical retard and Funderburke "Ponies make me happy!" Pyle. I hope they both smashed your quarter panels. |
Singularly, none of these sad excuses for parking are unusual as I am sure both of my faithful readers know. But to do this in triplicate? All of them in spots that are diagonally connected? This is surely a sign of the apocalypse. I couldn't be more sure than if the convertible had a 666 license plate, the Dodge sported a 2012 decal in the back window, and I had personally witnessed Dick Cheney driving the Toyota into that spot. This is it my friends. It's over. I'm surprised I wasn't sucked into some sort of hellish nether dimension ala Poltergeist just from getting close enough take these cell phone pics.
My good fortune in surviving this encounter, allows me to warn all of you. The end is nigh. Make peace with your maker. Hug your wife one last time. Call everyone you love...demand they give you the money they owe you and then use the money so you can go snort blow off the ass of that transgender hooker you've had your eye on because this little Uno game of life is just about done.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Christmas Stories that Never Really Caught On.
Christmas time is a wonderful time of year for a lot of reasons. Candy, Christmas songs, presents, brotherhood and the wonderful juxtaposition of girls in Santa themed bikinis not the least of those reasons.
Plus, there is the wonderful Christmas literature. The stories told and re-told over the generations that just seem to get better and better with the passage of time. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Frosty the Snowman, Twas the Night Before Christmas, A Christmas Carol....legends, classics all. Not everything written about Christmas has made it to legendary status however and some of the classics have received updates and sequels that just never quite matched up with the pantheon of Christmas tales we all know and love.
Here is a short list of a few Christmas stories that never caught on:
Santa Grows a Lesion -
Is it a small wonder if he finally caught something after kissing all those married women under the mistletoe all these years? Does penicillin work on merry old elves? I'm kinda surprised Mrs. Claus hasn't Bobbited him years ago.
A Charlie Brown Abortion -
You knew that love/hate thing Charlie and Lucy always displayed was all just foreplay. Foreplay does usually eventually lead to something. Turns out that Charlie couldn't repay Lucy for all those 5¢ psychiatry sessions. Lucy arranged for another way for Charlie to pay her back after Charlie got in over his head (it's me...of course the pun was intended. Don't ask silly questions.)
Antonio Banderas stars in a powerful, heartfelt voiceover portrayal of Charlie Brown's father. In a touching scene between he and Charlie, Banderas quite poignantly says, "Waahwahwah, wah wah wah...wah wah." Tears flowed in the test audiences, but this Peanuts installment never caught on.
Rudolph Takes a Beatdown -
The don't ask, don't tell policy of all the other reindeer only worked for so long before it all devolved into a tragic and horrific tale of prejudice and cruelty that results in Rudolph being forced out of the reindeer corps when his true relationship with Hermey, the elf, is discovered. Parental Guidance is suggested due to scenes of explicit beastiality and violence. It's too bad because I believe there is a real lesson for the kids about the evil of intolerance in this one.
 | |
| I look forward to this every year. |
(http://www.isoldelingerie.com/candystripebikiniset-p-151.html)
Plus, there is the wonderful Christmas literature. The stories told and re-told over the generations that just seem to get better and better with the passage of time. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Frosty the Snowman, Twas the Night Before Christmas, A Christmas Carol....legends, classics all. Not everything written about Christmas has made it to legendary status however and some of the classics have received updates and sequels that just never quite matched up with the pantheon of Christmas tales we all know and love.
Here is a short list of a few Christmas stories that never caught on:
Santa Grows a Lesion -
Is it a small wonder if he finally caught something after kissing all those married women under the mistletoe all these years? Does penicillin work on merry old elves? I'm kinda surprised Mrs. Claus hasn't Bobbited him years ago.
 |
| Santa's Mommy kissing abilities are so legendary they wrote a song about it for crying out loud! (http://www.ferristech.net/users/matt/archives/2003_11.html) |
You knew that love/hate thing Charlie and Lucy always displayed was all just foreplay. Foreplay does usually eventually lead to something. Turns out that Charlie couldn't repay Lucy for all those 5¢ psychiatry sessions. Lucy arranged for another way for Charlie to pay her back after Charlie got in over his head (it's me...of course the pun was intended. Don't ask silly questions.)
Antonio Banderas stars in a powerful, heartfelt voiceover portrayal of Charlie Brown's father. In a touching scene between he and Charlie, Banderas quite poignantly says, "Waahwahwah, wah wah wah...wah wah." Tears flowed in the test audiences, but this Peanuts installment never caught on.
 |
| Look at that lustful leer! (http://collectpeanuts.com/wp/figurines/danbury-mint/) |
Rudolph Takes a Beatdown -
The don't ask, don't tell policy of all the other reindeer only worked for so long before it all devolved into a tragic and horrific tale of prejudice and cruelty that results in Rudolph being forced out of the reindeer corps when his true relationship with Hermey, the elf, is discovered. Parental Guidance is suggested due to scenes of explicit beastiality and violence. It's too bad because I believe there is a real lesson for the kids about the evil of intolerance in this one.
Okay, but next time I get to be on top!
(http://msmindy.com/rudolph/char_hermey.shtml)
Frosty Runs a Racket -
Frosty goes all Tony Soprano when he discovers there is more than one kind of snow he is an expert in. However his penchant for snorting coke as well as dealing it eventually gets him into trouble. His paranoia that everyone is out to get his hat rivals that of the Lucky Charms leprechaun freaking out about his fucking marshmallows. Of course it was his best friend the rabbit that got Frosty hooked. We should have guessed from the get-go that bunny was wired on something.
 | ||
| A tweaked Frosty shortly before the hallucinations take over. |
(http://www.conservativeblogwatch.com/2009/12/02/cbs-sexes-up-frosty-the-snowman/)
Friday, November 12, 2010
I think randomly.
I haven't written anything I feel comfortable posting publicly lately. That's right. I even do writing I choose to keep to myself. Unlike Alanis Morissette, there are thoughts and events that occur in my life that I do not have to turn into song.
Speaking of which, how would you like to be one of Alanis Morissette's ex-boyfriends? Would you be relieved that she hasn't publicly ridiculed you in song yet or would you be insulted that she hasn't gotten to you yet?
*****
My Pimp Car, ( http://wedgesnotebook.blogspot.com/2010/11/my-pimp-car-is-strong.html ) broke down after only a week. The water pump went kerblooie. I knew I should have gotten that 200 miles or 8 days warranty. I will give the name of the dealership because they did right by us. Halbinsel in Escanaba sold us the car. A water pump is one of those things that can appear to be working fine one minute and go all Hiroshima on your engine's ass the next minute so there is no way they could have known that was going to happen. They covered us for 100% of the repairs. It has been so long since any retail establishment gave me a fair shake I was totally expecting to get hosed on this deal, too.
So anyways, I want to thank Halbinsel in Escanaba for apparently running an honest shop. Times are tough for the Harrises right now and the amount of stress they saved us by doing the right thing was greatly appreciated. I don't want to ruin the surprise, but there may be a gift of the single malt variety headed your way at some point.
That being said, I wont' fall all over myself because it also was the correct long range business decision to make as well. I will be buying many more vehicles in the years to come and now, by default, they get first shot at making me a deal. So, I guess extra credit goes to Halbinsel for not being as shortsighted as the boys down at Riverside in Escanaba. BTW, Riverside...if you are listening...I have purchased five more vehicles since you fucked me on my warranty on my truck and you didn't have a hope in hell of selling me a single one. Keep up the good customer relations boys.
*****
I started my Christmas shopping at the end of October. Thank you, ebay. You have saved countless lives by keeping me from having to deal with the smelly unwashed hordes in the shopping malls. Every year it seemed I was always just one more dumbass cashier, one more whiny kid, one more rude adult, one more price check away from hiding in the food court ball pit with a sniper rifle. Merry Christmas to me.
*****
Thanks to my cohorts at work who talked me down from the ledge a couple times this week. You are good, patient folks.
*****
Of course, thanks to all the veterans this week and every week.
*****
Thanks to you, Diet Mountain Dew. Without you, none of this would be possible.
Speaking of which, how would you like to be one of Alanis Morissette's ex-boyfriends? Would you be relieved that she hasn't publicly ridiculed you in song yet or would you be insulted that she hasn't gotten to you yet?
*****
My Pimp Car, ( http://wedgesnotebook.blogspot.com/2010/11/my-pimp-car-is-strong.html ) broke down after only a week. The water pump went kerblooie. I knew I should have gotten that 200 miles or 8 days warranty. I will give the name of the dealership because they did right by us. Halbinsel in Escanaba sold us the car. A water pump is one of those things that can appear to be working fine one minute and go all Hiroshima on your engine's ass the next minute so there is no way they could have known that was going to happen. They covered us for 100% of the repairs. It has been so long since any retail establishment gave me a fair shake I was totally expecting to get hosed on this deal, too.
So anyways, I want to thank Halbinsel in Escanaba for apparently running an honest shop. Times are tough for the Harrises right now and the amount of stress they saved us by doing the right thing was greatly appreciated. I don't want to ruin the surprise, but there may be a gift of the single malt variety headed your way at some point.
That being said, I wont' fall all over myself because it also was the correct long range business decision to make as well. I will be buying many more vehicles in the years to come and now, by default, they get first shot at making me a deal. So, I guess extra credit goes to Halbinsel for not being as shortsighted as the boys down at Riverside in Escanaba. BTW, Riverside...if you are listening...I have purchased five more vehicles since you fucked me on my warranty on my truck and you didn't have a hope in hell of selling me a single one. Keep up the good customer relations boys.
*****
I started my Christmas shopping at the end of October. Thank you, ebay. You have saved countless lives by keeping me from having to deal with the smelly unwashed hordes in the shopping malls. Every year it seemed I was always just one more dumbass cashier, one more whiny kid, one more rude adult, one more price check away from hiding in the food court ball pit with a sniper rifle. Merry Christmas to me.
*****
Thanks to my cohorts at work who talked me down from the ledge a couple times this week. You are good, patient folks.
*****
Of course, thanks to all the veterans this week and every week.
*****
Thanks to you, Diet Mountain Dew. Without you, none of this would be possible.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
My pimp car is strong.
After three weeks of playing phone tag with banks, lien holders, insurance companies, and lawyers (Oh my?)...we finally seem to own a car. It is an ultra-sexy, ultra-hot car with a cool factor rating that makes Einstein's IQ look like a shoe size.
Here you go.
It's a 2003 Buick LeSabre Limited. It has bells and whistles that I thought only existed on devices in Willy Wonka movies. For example the mirrors automatically adjust when you put it in reverse so you can "better see obstacles in the rear," according to the manual. Plus it has seat heaters, an LCD compass, auto darkening rear view mirror...jacuzzi, porta-potty, and it comes with a full time soda jerk replete with one of those funny paper hats.
Check out these photos of the dash if the dazzling sexiness of the exterior already hasn't blinded you to all other awesomeness.
I'm trying to trick you. Only one of the two pics above is actually from my car. Can you guess which? That's right. It's the much cooler bottom one. The top one would have looked almost as good as the Buick dash if it had come with some awesome plasticky looking faux wood grain like the dash on the LeSabrator.
But wait...what's that? You want to know is that really a cassette tape deck in the middle of that dash?
Fucking ay right it is.
Why do I have a cassette tape deck, you ask?
Cause I couldn't find a LeSabre that would play eight track tapes, bitches.
We started out looking for something that was fuel efficient and cute like the little Focus was. We looked for a Pontiac Vibe, a Toyota Matrix, a Dodge Caliber, a Malibu Maxx, and a P.T. Cruiser. What do all those have in common aside from the fact that they all sound like names you would find in the credits of a gay porn film? They all have shitty reliability ratings, four cylinder engines, don't get that great a gas mileage despite having an engine with barely enough power to juice a squirrel, and it is near impossible to find one with a manual transmission.
I've had quite enough of the shitty reliability thing thanks to the old Ford Focus which is why we drowned it in the first place. I can handle the four cylinder engine thing...IF it is a stick shift. Those teeny cars we initially looked at are also so light that winter driving requires great care and when you make it worse by taking away the engine braking capacity of a stick shift and put an automatic tranny in it...then I think they are downright dangerous.
So we had to change tactics during the great car hunt. We decided to spend about 33% less money and buy a car we knew would be a little better in the winter. So, in walks the big bad Buick beauty. Every inch of it screams, "Drive me! (carefully). Every line of it screams, "Exxxcitement!" (If you would consider a refrigerator box exciting.) It handles like a dream! (If you have ever dreamed of driving a refrigerator box.) Everything from the seating position to to the sorta-leather seats screams SEX ON ME! (Copyright pending on the term "sorta-leather.")
It will fit an entire fraternity party in the trunk, and the soda fountain in the back will seat the population of your average Honduran family. The car is big, American, strong, and everything I always wanted in a vehicle minus the disco ball. I'm thinking of putting a pair of truck nutz on it, too because...I mean, why wouldn't I?
Actually, the Buick was in our price range, has some of the most outstanding safety and reliability ratings of anything I researched, is the color of oatmeal and just about as spicy, too. It does get as good or better mileage than some of those little four cylinder toy cars I mentioned before. Side curtain air bags are a plus, but still not really the first thing the opposite sex notices about one's ride typically. Plus it's so big and overblown it should be heavy enough for winter driving.
The sorta-leather seats are also easy for the soda jerk to clean up when he spills.
Here you go.
 |
| Is it a car or an aphrodisiac? |
 |
| Actual view of LeSabre's back seat. |
But wait...what's that? You want to know is that really a cassette tape deck in the middle of that dash?
Fucking ay right it is.
Why do I have a cassette tape deck, you ask?
Cause I couldn't find a LeSabre that would play eight track tapes, bitches.
We started out looking for something that was fuel efficient and cute like the little Focus was. We looked for a Pontiac Vibe, a Toyota Matrix, a Dodge Caliber, a Malibu Maxx, and a P.T. Cruiser. What do all those have in common aside from the fact that they all sound like names you would find in the credits of a gay porn film? They all have shitty reliability ratings, four cylinder engines, don't get that great a gas mileage despite having an engine with barely enough power to juice a squirrel, and it is near impossible to find one with a manual transmission.
I've had quite enough of the shitty reliability thing thanks to the old Ford Focus which is why we drowned it in the first place. I can handle the four cylinder engine thing...IF it is a stick shift. Those teeny cars we initially looked at are also so light that winter driving requires great care and when you make it worse by taking away the engine braking capacity of a stick shift and put an automatic tranny in it...then I think they are downright dangerous.
So we had to change tactics during the great car hunt. We decided to spend about 33% less money and buy a car we knew would be a little better in the winter. So, in walks the big bad Buick beauty. Every inch of it screams, "Drive me! (carefully). Every line of it screams, "Exxxcitement!" (If you would consider a refrigerator box exciting.) It handles like a dream! (If you have ever dreamed of driving a refrigerator box.) Everything from the seating position to to the sorta-leather seats screams SEX ON ME! (Copyright pending on the term "sorta-leather.")
 |
| These seats ...are an orgy launching pad just waiting for clearance from Phallus Central. |
 |
| Truck nutz...Bush/Cheney bumper sticker. Somehow that doesn't seem like a coincidence to me. |
Actually, the Buick was in our price range, has some of the most outstanding safety and reliability ratings of anything I researched, is the color of oatmeal and just about as spicy, too. It does get as good or better mileage than some of those little four cylinder toy cars I mentioned before. Side curtain air bags are a plus, but still not really the first thing the opposite sex notices about one's ride typically. Plus it's so big and overblown it should be heavy enough for winter driving.
The sorta-leather seats are also easy for the soda jerk to clean up when he spills.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Mickey Redmond Drinking Game
I believe this came from the “Abel to Yzerman” blog from KuklasKorner.com a year or two ago. Everyone sorta chipped in with ideas on the Mickey Redmond Drinking game. I am reposting a version of it here.
Next Red Wing game, take a drink every time you hear Mickey Redmond use one of these phrases. I know one of them isn’t a Redmond-ism, but I think you’ll figure it out.
“Happy” Hudler |
Wait ‘til you see this replay! |
Holy Jumpin’ |
Hey Gang! |
Holy Mackerel! |
That was a bang-bang play |
Hold it right there, gang! |
That’s the way it’s done boys and girls! |
You be the judge. |
Katie, bar the door |
Datsyukian |
There it is! |
Lookout! |
Oooohh, geez!” |
Oh-my-goodness |
Taking liberties |
Well that’s the new NHL for ya. |
He barely touched'em! |
In the old days... |
He never had a chance on that play. |
Bingo Bango |
Every time you hear Mick chuckle |
Larry Murphy starts a sentence and fails to finish it coherently |
Oh Boy |
Mick says anything about composite sticks |
You could’ve thrown a blanket over ‘em! |
Chintzy |
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