DESKTOP FRIDAY

Yep, that's just what I needed nice, calm, and content bunnies.




That’s just what I needed.

MY LIFE, LIVED WITH DIGNITY

I had to stay home yesterday because of a cold. When I’m at home in my sweat pants and with the dog laying half on top of me it always hits me, I never spend days at home.


When the weekend comes I always have somewhere to go, some sort of event or chore to tackle. Even during the week and there’s no one to hang out with, I’m out and downtown trying to find some sort of trouble. This is why yesterday, sitting in the bed watching a eight hour Ghost Hunters marathon / Golden Girls marathon with occasional breaks to watch the sleeping dog’s stomach raise and fall it hit me, I am not the sit at home kind of guy.

I found myself driving around our provincial village heading to buy…….. uh….. stamps, maybe. The cold medicine had its toll on me. I did end up in the Soviet Safeway’s parking lot, eating Oreos and a breakfast burrito, washing it down with a liter of Coke Zero. Just sitting there….. watching the unemployable go in and out of the local rundown Safeway. “Gawd, there so…. Belch” I said popping another Oreo into my mouth dropping crumbs on to the bright orange beach towel I wrapped around me so I wouldn’t get Oreo/burrito bits on the upholstery.

I believe I’m much better now.

...AT THE CAR WASH...

You know the lady that stands in the lanes of the carwash and when the attendant is done up selling you to a forty-dollar carwash she looks at your windscreen in hopes of sell you her chip repair services? And how she tries to hit on you?

No? Just me then.

I have very few obsessions. Other then, well a certain British Sci-fi show and Pumas and Apple products and the gym and…maybe… we should stop. The most unnecessary of my compulsive behavior would be my obsession of keeping my car clean. Really, really clean. This manifests in a car wash every four days. What? It’s dirty. Unclean.

This resulted in friends saying things like “you’re going to strip the wax if you wash that car too much.” Which led directly to me waxing my spoiled spoilered baby once a month. Thanks.

Mostly I can fight back and just go to the drive through bay and wash my silver saloon with the high-pressure wand. But, when it’s really dirty or I’ve had a bad day it goes to the fancy car wash. This is where I feel like a bad Dad If I just get the twelve dollar car wash, like the extra rinse and “clear coat” finish will stop evil from coming to the sports sedan. Oy vey iz mir, so I get the thirty-nine ninety nine dollar car wash so no one will judge me.

It was during one of these trips that I met my girlfriend, Dana. I complemented her on her Pumas; she sold me on rock-chip repair feeding into my obsession of keeping the Lotze perfect. I was a match made in heaven. Unfortunately, last Saturday she wanted to take our relationship to the physical level. Oy vey iz mir!

As I paid for my forty-dollar bath she approached me to see how the windscreen was holding up after her handy work. I said how it was great which was code for wanted to her to slowly work her hands over my bicep. This is when she offered more than her windshield services. Every fiber in my body stopped the physical reaction of retching upon her Rush Tee-shirt. But, then I stopped; she does have nice Pumas. I wonder if I’d get a discount at the car wash?

STEVIEB THE BEEFEATER

Did I tell you that I had dinner bought for me every night last week? It was easy, last weekend I went to the store a bought a container of tofu. That’s when the manipulation started.

Way back in the day when I was a hostile and judgmental vegetarian I made some good dishes using tofu and tempeh. I gave this up when I started my love affair with pork.  So, I guess being reminiscent for the 1990s or a 33-inch waist I started to crave my semi-famous grilled tofu and veggie scramble.  Yummo.

The free dinners started on Monday night, when I brought up my urge to connect to our vegetarian roots.

“You shouldn’t have to cook tonight. Let me take you to Famous Dave’s Barbeque for some ribs.” The carnivore of the house suggested with love and concern in his voice. 

Tuesday and Wednesday where the same. When I again expressed the urge to make the block of neglected soybean curd into a gourmet explosion I was met with a look of exhaustion and disgust.

“Really? Haven’t I suffered enough with compact florescent light bulbs in the dining room chandelier and making us go for bike rides all the time? Can’t we just go get Mexican?

It’s Sunday night, the carnivore is happily teaching a class tonight and I just settled down for…… Well, I made scrambled tofu and veggie stir-fry. It was awful. Horrible. So I tossed it and I’m now eating Taco bell. But, don’t tell the carnivore.  

DESKTOP FRIDAY

Find it here....
http://thedailywh.at/post/1352436830/transformers-fan-art-of-the-day-godzilla-vs-the

STEVIEB'S GHOST STORY

One of my first jobs during college was as a manager of a funky coffee house in an old Victorian on Colfax Avenue. The house was built on Denver’s grand boulevard in the late 1880s but, with the city changing and after the patriarch of the family shot the driver for knocking-up his daughter, the family soon moved out of the grand manor house. It changed hands only a couple of times, most of its life was a Denver’s premier Furrier at the corner of Colfax and Franklin Street.

That was a long time ago and by the time I was a manager of the gay coffee house the mansion had seen much better days. It took me around a month to understand that the huge fur storage vault door was swinging open not due to normal reasons. Or when I would turn off every light in the entire building, seeing the second floor bedrooms illuminated. Even after I removed the light bulbs. At two am I had friends join me one night to watch the windows flash on and off. Oooing and Awwwing like they were fireworks.

My last night closing I had my boyfriend at the time stay with me so I wouldn’t be alone. But soon I forgot about the “owner” of the house as my thoughts turned to my boyfriend’s carnal desires. This did not last long before I flew across the dining room.

I found a new job the next day.

After you get physically assaulted by someone you can’t see I could understand why you would get into the paranormal. I didn’t, just something to talk about. I saw it that I had it coming for being a bad guest.

On my birthday in 1998 I sat in my living room struggling to write. I was trying to get down into words that just six days earlier I had lost my best-friend, Randy Jorgensen. Taken away because of losing his hard fought battle with AIDS. How do you deliver a eulogy to a room full on his family, his relatives that don’t want to hear how he died? They didn’t want to hear how he loved men. They didn’t care about the love that we shared and definitely didn’t want anything to do with how and what took him from them.

I was writing for a hostile audience to say the least.

As I crumbled up draft after draft I kept getting annoyed at my dog because he wouldn’t stop whining. That’s when I finally looked up and realized that my house lights were going berserk. Blinking wildly, on and off blink, blink, blink. That’s when I got hit with the phrase, “Fuck them! Write about us!”

So I did.

THE LESBIAN GHOST HUNTER

January 28th 1998 was my twenty-sixth birthday. The afternoon found me on my living room writing a speech. Not just a speech, more like the most important thing I’ve written in my life. I was under a deadline and hard pressed to finish it quickly, this was made extremely difficult because of the subject matter also because Chester my Chesapeake Bay retriever would not settle down and the lights in the house kept blinking off and on. Blink, blink. Roooower, blink, blink. Bark–bark. Blink, blink. Blink.

Last Friday I went to a lecture on the paranormal. This was given by my good friend Ranoli and I went because I trusted her to give one amazing lecture on spirits to kick off the Halloween season.

Okay, so yes I’m fascinated by ghosts. I am not in a true believer, drink the Kool-aide kind of person my any means. I am very mixed about the whole subject. I’m very science minded yet believe some things are possible. When an intelligent person that I trust impeccably speaks to her experiences and thoughts on the subject, I’m going to listen and trust what I hear. That and the idea of lesbians that hunt ghosts is just fucking cool.

Ranoli, the lesbian ghost hunter / lecturer was the first person to help me become that man that I am today. When I was fresh out of high school and new to living on my own the only thing I knew about the gay committee was sex. This first couple of years was very tough. I was adrift in a new world away from the structure of the church and in a sea of nonchalant fucking, drugs and drinking. This is how I ended up terrified on the front steps of a church deciding to go in and join the new gay and lesbian choir forming in Denver. That night was when I met Ranoli, who saw the terror in my eyes, got me to calm down and walk into the rehearsal room. This made me realize for the first time that it isn’t just that we sleep with the same sex that makes up our community.

As she is one of my mentors in life I listened intently to her story of how she became involved in the paranormal. I always love how lesbians are nonjudgmental, and speak to their story and journey without spewing to the established dogma. The dogma here being the aggressive ghost hunting shows on TV or movies. Instead, she addressed the entities that may be hanging around and the compassion to help them move to a better place.

During her speech, I started to reexamine my own experiences in the paranormal….

DESKTOP FRIDAY

The happy wombat is happy....



THE STEVIEB SEAL OF APPROVAL

There’s two new blogs in town. In the ebb and flow that is blogging it’s nice to see new suckers guys getting into the habit of sharing their unique perspective on the world.


PAC’S PAD
This is my bud, Pac from Atlanta. After receiving countless essays via Scruff and Facebook I said that he needed to write in a way that tells his story. What better then a blog?

You tell ‘em Pac, you tell the world.



WHAT CAN YOU BE RANDY P?
Catchy title isn’t it? Randy lives in North Cali and is restarting his life with a house, a new job and newly single but with a great attitude. I’m going to watch where he goes from here.

Whether it’s cruising Folsom or working on the house, he’ll jump in with great gusto.



And since we’re talking about successful people on the internets let’s talk about my BFF Dalton and his online shoppe, CRANK INDUSTRIES. What Crank Industries shirt did I get?

Ruggers. Woof! Get your own at Crank Industries.

STEVE'S BIG DAY OFF

I had yesterday off so I thought I’d make a photo essay of StevieB’s big adventure.  Obviously we needed a theme (we do love a theme) so I chose the color white….

First off was laundry….

Then off to get some coffee…

Tunes….

A little late lunch…

Tried to watch a couple of movies, the best being LIKE IT IS, a boy meets boy, boy bare knuckle fights to near death to prove his manhood, kinda movie.

The Shar-pei did not approve... 

Before I knew it, it was time for bed...

Great day, now it’s back to work. Damn it.

SIGOURNEY WEAVER GAVE ME THE DAY OFF

An actual conversation from yesterday morning.  And by “actual conversation” I mean by text. My brilliantly elequted portion will be in blue.

I took tomorrow off to spend with you.

Uh, you what?

I took tomorrow off. I figured we could spend some time together. Cool hu?

Well I’d say thanks Steve but maybe I should thank Christopher Columbus. Since it’s his plundering and bloody apostatizing that brought measles and smallpox to decimate an entire population that gave you the day off. Not you.

Yeah, and how he suckered Sigourney Weaver into giving him all those ships in that movie. What a bastard. What was that movie called? 1491?

1492.

Yeah, 1492. What was it?

Aliens. So, because Segourney Weaver got scammed out of some gold and Columbus “Sailed the ocean blue” you get the day off. And you’re taking the credit for his day.

Yes, and I want to spend it with you.

Sorry I have to teach a class.

That’s cool, I wanted to go to the dealership and get my tires switched over to nitrogen anyway.

I’m sorry I’m going to miss that…fun. Being Italian I know that the proper way to celebrate is with auto maintenance. Thank you Sigourney. Er.... Mr. Columbus. 

No thank you obscure references.

   

DESKTOP FRIDAY

After the week I had, all I want to do is gaze off and think of happy bunnies.
Happy bunnies being hunted down by excel spreadsheets. Happy bunnies don't care if I messed up all the excel spreadsheet reports for the month at work.  No. No they don't.  Happy bunnies are just happy, and so am I that it's Friday.

STEVIEB LOSES IT!

I’ve made it through the scruffiness; somehow I made it throo-ooo-ooo.

I think I might actually be on the road to growing a real, descent beard. And after a week of wanting to scratch my face off, it’s beginning to not kill me. I am bordering on looking like a homeless dude, sans the aluminum hat. But, if I remember to shower everyday they should let me into the local gay coffee shop.

I’ve been using the IPhone application called Lose It. A calorie counter and food diary rolled into a cool phone app. I can look like I’m totally checking in on my BFF using Facebook, when in fact I’m checking to see how many calories there are in a Moon Pie. There’s three-hundred.

Using this program I’m officially down twenty-three pounds. I KNOW! That means I’m five pounds away from my Big Muscle Bear profile weight. Part of this program gives you a report to help you track your food consumption and their calories. I love this, I can be iPhone techy nerd and lose tonnage. I thought I’d share with you my top foods in order of consumption:


Vegetarian Meat, burger, Garden Veggie Patties  23 servings
Salad Dressing, Caesar,  22servings
Salad, Field Greens 21servings
Bagel Thins 13servings
Butter, salted 10servings
Thai Kitchen 7servings
Tortillas Carb Lite 7servings
Nuts, almonds, whole 7servings
Apples, fresh, med  7servings
Sour Cream, light 7servings
Chicken 6 servings
Cereal, Special K 6 servings
Milk, 2%, 6 servings
Bread, wheat 4 servings
Pretzels, hard, chocolate coated 4 servings
Salsa, Tomato 4 servings
Tortilla, Flour, Burrito 3 servings
Frozen Dessert, Mocha Chill 3 servings
Turkey Bacon 3 servings
Cheese 3 servings
Pizza, Pepperoni Lover's 2 servings
Chicken, Sesame 2 servings
Taco, Fresco, Soft 2 servings

In the last 4 weeks I’ve eaten 23 veggie burgers and 21 servings of salad.  Criminy! No wonder I’m always so light headed. Last of the list? Taco Bell.

STEVIEB IS SPECIAL....NEEDS

Why if you’re in a wheelchair and don’t have a head do you need special assigned parking? We’re getting so politically correct these days, now headless paraplegics’ get their own parking.

Then I want a spot marked with a little guy in cargo shorts, spikey hair, an iPhone in his hand, and with tiny biceps.

MY 650 BLOG POST

Today’s marks my 650th blog post. Wow, it boggles my mind to think that I’ve rambled on in a narcissistic self-severing tone for 650 posts. What I lack in creativity and grammar skills makes up in determination. Well, let’s start number 650 on my favorite topics: my iPhone and Pumas.

After getting my iPhone 4, I came to the realization that the drawer of electronics past was getting full. My past plan of shoving the old phone into the drawer with the Razor, Sony Handycam, parade of tiny Nokias, and maybe a pager or two wasn’t the best idea. Mostly because the iPhone 3G was worth money. Really? Wow. This realization was quickly followed by the dread of having to sell it on Craigslist, and speaking to the mere mortals that shop on Craigslist. I had scenarios flash into my head.

“Does this phone….like… make calls and stuff?”

“How would this phone compare to say… a toaster?”

“If I mailed you a check for 5K could you mail the phone to Damyang?”

So, last Saturday night I took some photos and made a posting. That’s when the new phone started to ring. And ring. And ring. For twenty minutes. “Huh? Guess I may have posted it for a lower price than I thought?” I sold it to the first guy to sound polite, in ten minutes flat. I met him yesterday, Bada Bing done.

And although I quickly found myself in the Puma store convinced that I should blow my wad on new Pumas (pun intended) I quickly used my “phone a friend” option and threw the cash into the bank towards the credit card. Wow, when did I become an adult?

DESKTOP FRIDAY

What's been on Steve's desk top this week? A new T-shirt design from Crank Industries.....

So you don't really see yourself as a Triceratops? That's okay, you're probably a Tricerabottom. Your horns are just as big... just used differently.  You need this shirt. buy it at Crank Industries.

Me? I'm more of a Tyrannosaurus rex.....



NO MAN KNOWS MY PASTRIES

Oh, October. The month were our house finally turns the air-conditioning off sixty-four degrees and  opens the windows in the bedroom at night. When I was a kid October meant a whole month of planning my woefully effeminate Halloween costume. This would be the girlie costume I would wear to our churches ward dinner and Halloween alternative Jesus fest.

Our fall church ward dinners were just an amazing showcase of orange streamers, family values, and Jell-O. I’d stand there in my witches or Ken doll costume and stare with amazement at the rainbow of Jell-O molds. A kaleidoscope of artificial sweeteners and canned fruit. Thank Jesus and the latter day saints that the church provided a Jell-O matrix so each family would know that Jell-o mold to bring…

No, not that matrix. This matrix.

This is from No Man Knows My Pastries,  Available on Amazon,  the definitive Mormon cook book. Now you too can be spared the embarrassment of bring the wrong gelatin dessert to that fabulous soirée. I’m a giver.

....TO A DISCO BEAT

I get to work long before the office fills up. Now that the year is waning, I sit in the dark until the sun comes up into my office window. I sit in the dark, drink my coffee and slowly wake up by blaring Gaydar Radio, London’s gay internet radio station.

This happy Steve time was interrupted this morning by the fire alarm with all its screeching alarms and flashy strobe lights. Well it’s predawn, I’m alone with thirty fire alarm strobe lights flashing and gay house music blaring. What would you? I grabbed my highlighters to use and glow sticks and ran to the hall way and danced to the upbeat disco. The strobes flashing to the bass beat.

It was fun. Dancing alone under the disco lights, having Alex Baker as my personal DJ. Until the fire inspector snuck up behind me.

“Uh, are you okay sir?”

“Christ! Sorry, yeah I’m okay.”

“Maybe you should head outside. It’s just a test but maybe some air would do you good.”

Six o’clock in the morning and I’ve already brought shame to myself and to our people.

THE 4

I finally broke down and bought an iPhone 4. About frickin time, right? It doesn’t seem that long ago that I was blogging about the long wait for my 3G. Weird, I guess time flies when you’re having fun.

I really bought it for Facetime, Apple's answer to The Jetsons video phone that you where promised as a kid. “When you grow up we’ll all have video phones.” Well it’s now the future and I can video call Dalton in Brooklyn. Dalton and I are like totally future fags now. Oh, snap.

My sexy new friend also has an amazingly great quality video camera. I smell trouble brewing……






Too late…..



BLINKY, BLINKY

What’s your earliest memory? The thoughts that motivate you, I’m not talking about morals or values, more just the little drives in your day to day life.

I spent the weekend installing red LED lights in my car. Because I’m an eighteen year old, and I wanted flashy lights when the music starts thumping. Actually they’re very subtle, tiny little lights installed in the cup holder and under the dash just to cast an awesome red glow.

Okay, I also bought the music interface that flashes a disco scene inside my car, but it has a controller switch to turn all of the disco magic off when I want to be a mature thirty-eighth year old man who drives a grey four door saloon. But, when the nineteen year boy comes out and he’s driving a silver sport sedan with a fin I can crank up the light show. It’s very diplomatic.



Happy waffle iron is happy

As I had my car’s interior disemboweled upon the garage floor, and Fuzzy was having a meltdown because I had my car disemboweled upon the garage floor I started to explain how I just love little flashy lights that come from anything techy. If it has a blinking light on it; I’m going to buy it. This is when I started to ponder why I have this drive for anything that glows.

Sitting at the kitchen table watching the waffle iron blink. Its little indicator flashing away letting me know it was soon going to be time for hot yummy waffles. “Huh, my drive to install accent lighting in my car is from the waffle maker I was obsessed with as a tiny girlie child.” Strange. Freudian. I wonder why I make guys call me Daddy during sex? No reason, probably. Now I want waffles.

DESKTOP FRIDAY

What's been on Steve's  computer desk top this week?

This week it has been robots.....

Found here.

Found here.

found here.

Found here.

 Boop...beep boop....beep. I do not understand this concept of love....boop

COMPLIMENTS

Well. Haven't we been serious this week.... Or so I've been told.

Here's a song about giving compliments...





I change clothes frequently in my car; it’s just part of living far from the city center. I guess it’s another good reason I have my windows tinted so incredibly dark. That and highway JO sessions, but that’s another story.

The other day I was changing out of work wear into a comfortable pair of jeans. I had parked in a parking garage and slipped in to something more comfortable. I then got out and started walking through the garage towards the mall, still tucking in my shirt. Just as I rounded my car a fortyish woman walked near me. Without blinking she said “If you’re looking for compliments, you'll get them with your pants open.”

Yep.  flapping around.

An unsolicited compliment I guess.

I'm Still Here

Last Friday I met the boys out at a British pub and finally found a great Shepard’s pie since the vegetarian restaurant where I was a gay waiter back in college. After watching some rugby and cleaning our plates at the British Bulldog, we walked next door to a bar that I had never been in and yet knew every inch of its dark layout.I turned twenty-one on January 28^th, 1993. On the day of this major event through the birthday breakfasts, the beers bought by family and friends there was only one thing on my mind. The Denver Triangle.

The Denver Triangle was Denver’s the tri-state region’s premiere... and well only men’s leather bar.  I had snuck into a lot of bars before turning twenty-one, knowing a whole routine to get into The Ripcord in Houston, Texas. But, this night I was going to walk in as a man. Not a boy having to promise sexual favors to anyone letting me step foot on its hollow ground.

I believe like a Bat Mitzvah or leaving for your first mission gay men have their own rights of passage. There’s realizing that they don’t have to be effeminate to be gay, learning how to give an amazing blow job and walking into their first gay bar with their head held high, proud of who and what they are.

My twenty-first birthday was that night.

To tell you the truth I was scared shitless, I don’t know why but I was. My friends quickly spread to the bar that I was fresh meat.  This actually helped me meet a lot of great guys that I remained friends with for years.  This also helped me not forget the passage into manhood by not being able to sit down for a week. [insert giggle here] 

The Denver Triangle is long gone.

Last Friday after dinner we walked next door to a bar that I’ve never been to and yet knew every inch of its dark layout.  I knew every inch of this hipster beat-box bar, I giggled to myself as I showed my ID to a twenty-five year old hip-cat door man.

As I walked to the back of the bar it was if I was  desending the staircase of the Titanic. the atmosphere was thick with rust. It was lost forever but I’m still here. 

RUN, STEVIE RUN!

I gave myself heatstroke on Sunday, because I am an idiot. Sunday in Denver started off cool so I went to Cheesman Park for a run. Since I’d been avoiding my early Sunday runs I thought I’d make up for the lost time. This meant pushing my tired yet pliable body further than it had been in a long time.


Although the morning was cool, it warmed up fast. I pushed through the whinny bits and made record time around the local gay park keeping up with the skinny shirtless guys that usually lap me several times over.

Ignoring the hunger pains and my screaming feet, when I achieved a true state of catharsis I headed down the street to Dazbog our local gay coffee house to sit down for some coffee. This is when a BFF called and talked me into hanging out with him in the sun. Meanwhile the cool day had turned into a hot June day of 97 degrees. By the time I then stopped by another friends house I had to decline a movie invite because my body started to rebel. Stopping off to eat seventeen dollars worth of Chipotle I drove home, but by then I was a goner.

I hit the bedroom and stripped. Chills started to shake my body and a cold sweat appeared as the room spun. Grabbing all the blankets and gallon water I climbed into bed. This was four, Sunday afternoon. I woke up again at nine with the Shar-pei standing over me cursing me in Chinese that he had just soiled the living room rug due to my intolerable actions. With what energy I had left, I laughed at what an idiot I was.

OUR FUTURE

New Years Eve 1997 found me in a private room at Saint Joseph’s Hospital sitting in a chair pulled up close to the bed of my partner, Randy Jorgensen.

I was flipping through the channels trying to find Dick Clarks’ Rocking New Years Eve on the television. Randy having been re-admitted for complications with pneumonia lay in the bed trying to find a comfortable spot. With the IV and feeding tubes he found it hard to see the screen. He’s family long since left for their comfortable homes in the ‘burbs it was just the two of us waiting for the ball to drop. In many aspects.

When Dick Clark showed a clip of London and how they brought in 1998 something in Randy and I just snapped. We both quickly started to make plans to travel to London in the new year. We decided to get an expensive hotel in the gay part of town, we would travel on day trips to see every castle and walk every museum and lay on a blanket in every park, forgetting that he could barley walk to the hospital room’s bathroom. 

We spent the next hour planning our vacation. Every once in awhile we would lock eyes and know that everything we were enthusiastically deciding upon would be complete fiction. We were lying to each other; Randy was close to the end of his hard fought battle with AIDS. But on that New Years Eve we pretended that we were in control of our future.

During my late teenage years I found myself sitting with my Father in his Bishops Office at our town’s Mormon temple. We were discussing my future mission around the world to bring Mormonism to people and cultures that desperately needed to be brought to Christ. After my mission and becoming a man, I would attend BYU in Utah. This would find me a degree and a wife.

We discussed my mission and coming back to our small town so that my wife and I could bring more children into our extended family, raising the population of smiling happy Mormons in the church. Every once in awhile we would lock eyes and know that everything we were enthusiastically deciding upon would be complete fiction. My life would quickly take me down a path far from him and the Mormon Church. We were lying to each other, but in that church office we pretended that we were in control of our future.

Soon the ball dropped and 1998 saw Randy living for only twenty-two days. On the twenty-second day I helped Randy slip his skin telling him that we would see London someday. Feeling somehow apologetic that we didn’t get to go. I felt the same overriding guilt was I did when my Father heard me say that he would not get grandchildren from me as my life was on another path.

It’s funny, this weekend I started to read a biography about a young man’s struggle with the church and homosexuality and suddenly I realized that I really want need to visit London.  

WANTA RIDE?

This has been a hard week, I haven’t been this glad to see a Friday since I had to share a cubical with the Pope. I’ve had a drawn out conference calls every day, yesterdays was held up for twenty minutes debating if the word “us” verses “we” could be approved by the legal department. I just started to jab a pen into my eye. But, no one noticed.

Big plans for the weekend? Anything? On my way to work I get an amazing view of the Colorado Rocky Mountains, all snow capped and…rocky and mountainy….. Today I thought about my new bike rack for the car and my tuned-up mountain bike just sitting in the garage begging to be taken out and used. Man I need to escape and go for a ride. Anyone want to ride with me?

DAYS UNTIL I GET PRESENTS

You know what? There are only 99 days until Christmas! Excited? I know me too! Wait, what was that? Oh, I just heard the collective moans of everyone that just read that first sentence. Sorry, it’s just my favorite time of year mostly because there are only 71 days until I get to staple up the Christmas light up around the front porch and hang the garland around the windows, much to Fuzz’s chagrin. Last year I used the old style “screw in” type of lights on the house to go with a retro feel. Well, let’s just say that the OCD in Fuzz flared up and the fear of the house burning down from the holiday decorations over-powered him. It was an obsessive Christmas. This year it’s a LED theme. Nice and safe, yep because LED light do not start fires. Nope.

I’m probably just happy because for the first time in my selfish little life we have started to buy presents now, instead of trying to rush around and buy everything last minute and on one credit card bill. Yes, I am finally an adult. Also what I really want for Christmas is a new high end mattress. God I’m not an adult I’m just old.

So, 99 days until Christmas. And if you’re Jewish you only have 77 days until Jewish Christmas.

THE AGE OF DIANA

It happened again on Saturday. I tuned into a lunchtime conversation about the impending date of December 2012, this time it was Fuzzy and our friend Michelle. Fuzzy was explaining the real science, the truth of 2012. Which I’m sure he picked up from the creepy ass History channel.

Can I just stop here and ask, what the fuck happened to the History Channel? I watched it for years to learn the history of Bauhaus’ impact on the thirties or about the glamour of the great families of Italy from the Renaissance. Now it’s all WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE! Cuz, Nostradamus, said so. Life after we’re all dead! Yippy. That and a lot of shows on the glamorous Nazi party. It’s scary. Someone over at the History channel needs to switch their meds or stop thinking that the Book of Revelation is a ficken textbook!

Anyway, so Fuzzy is explaining the science of the magnetic field around the earth and how when the planets align in 2012 the poles will shift. Coming from the guy who can’t get the remote to turn on the TV, cable, and surround sound.

So I’d like to introduce my own theory into the 2012 super consensus. Read carefully, you’ll need to speak with confidante at the next cocktail party.

The polar magnetic field has a history and tendency to fluctuate. There is recorded data to show that it builds to a climax and shifts every Millennium. We’re due for one of these magnetic climaxes in late 2012 due to the Earth’s orbit around the Sun and aliment of the magnetic pull of the other planets in the solar system. The magnetic fields run through strong lines from pole to pole. The strongest of these lines or “bands” runs straight through England. The apex of this magnetic field runs more specifically through Northampton shire. In the 1990s’ this field was disturbed causing havoc to the poles and the earth polarity. This polarity switch or “climax” will happen December 22nd 2010. The Earth’s static discharge will shoot through an island in Northampton shire on Oval Lake. Since the body of Princess Diana and her interment on the island was the original disruption to the magnetic field this will channel straight through her sarcophagus and body, reigniting her very life, her soul to be super human.

On the morning of December 23rd, 2010 Princess Diana will arise anew, but it she will not be as she appears. Soon she will enact revenge upon the populous of the earth, smiting anyone who dares defy her only the souls intelligent enough to align their allegiance to her will survive. This will mark the end of the old world order and mark a golden age for the planet. The Age of Diana.

So…. Start spreading that around at dinner parties.  Then follow that up with “That’s why we’ve decided to stock up on white gloves and Tierra’s.” Just to sound convincing.

I'M MAD AT THE DIRT

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SUPERGAY