Useless as tits on a boar.
Colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra.
The engine's runnin' but ain't nobody driving. (Not overly-intelligent.)
Big hat, no cattle. (All talk and no action)
This ain't my first rodeo. (I've done been around awhile.)
He thinks the sun come up just to hear him crow. (He has a pretty high opinion of himself.)
They ate supper before they said grace. (Living in sin.)
You can put your boots in the oven, but that don't make 'em biscuits. (You can say whatever you want about something, but that doesn't change what it is.)
Busier than a three-dicked billy goat.
Busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest.
I'm sweating like a whore in church on Sunday
It's hotter than two rats fuckin' in a wool sock in here!
Hot as a whore in a cucumber patch
You can't polish a turd.
That payment is higher'n a giraffe's nuts
He doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground.
Fartin' in tall cotton - You're talking, but no one's listening.
Some days the sun even shines on a dog's ass - When an idiot stumbles into something good.
Does a one-legged duck swim in a circle?
or
Does a bear shit in the woods?
That boys a couple beers short of a 6 pack.
He's queerer than a three dollar bill
Rip its horns off and wipe its ass and serve it up = Rare steak
He could stuff coal up his ass and shit diamonds in two weeks = Thrifty
That (person) is uglier than a bag of smashed assholes.
She's like the town bike, everybody gets a ride.
I gotta piss like a racehorse.
I wouldn't fuck her with your dick and him pushing.
I'm on it like a fat kid on a cupcake.
Runs like a scalded dog.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Toys? Whats the point??
I buy my daughter all kinds of fancy toys with all the bells and whistles. Most cost 50 dollars and up. She blatantly ignores them all. Instead, she'd rather play with crap like plastic bags or network patch cables.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Reading This Boy's Life
Lately, I've had my nose stuck in this book. It's probably the most honest and heart-wrenching piece of writing I've read in awhile. It's as if Wolff has the rare ability to reach deep into his soul, bypassing the filters of conscience, and just let loose:
We listened without objection to the stories of usurped nobility that grew in preposterous intricacy with every telling. But we did not feel as if anything we said was a lie. We both believed that the real lie was told by our present unworthy circumstances.
or
I wrote without heat or hyperbole, in the words my teachers would have used if they had known me as I knew myself. These were their letters. And on the boy who lived in their letters, the splendid phantom who carried all my hopes, it seemed to me I saw, at last, my own face.
or
When we are green, still half-created, we believe that our dreams are rights, that the world is disposed to act in our best interests, and that falling and dying are for quitters. We live on the innocent and monstrous assurance that we alone, of all the people ever born, have a special arrangment whereby we will be allowed to stay green forever.
We listened without objection to the stories of usurped nobility that grew in preposterous intricacy with every telling. But we did not feel as if anything we said was a lie. We both believed that the real lie was told by our present unworthy circumstances.
or
I wrote without heat or hyperbole, in the words my teachers would have used if they had known me as I knew myself. These were their letters. And on the boy who lived in their letters, the splendid phantom who carried all my hopes, it seemed to me I saw, at last, my own face.
or
When we are green, still half-created, we believe that our dreams are rights, that the world is disposed to act in our best interests, and that falling and dying are for quitters. We live on the innocent and monstrous assurance that we alone, of all the people ever born, have a special arrangment whereby we will be allowed to stay green forever.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Just Plain Weird
Ok so I posted earlier about the odd encounter at Boudin's this morning.
It seems that was only the beginning...
At the office today I had two instances in which women, although not smokin' like the one at Boudin's, were strangely flirting with me and staring at me like a fatass would stare at a juicy pork chop. I figured it was just my overactive imagination fucking with me.
Same thing on the BART ride home. I felt as if I was magnetic. Bitches just could not take their eyes off me. Seriously, what the fuck?
When I got home, while I was biting into some salmon, my wife stares at me ia similar manner. She even seductively whispers something about what's going to happen after we put the baby to bed. I just shrug off the comment figuring she just wants some action since I didn't give her any last night.
Then she said it: "You know, you look really good in that shirt".
Ahh.. it all makes sense now. It's the fucking new shirt. I've been transformed into Magic Don Juan because of the shirt.
What's even weirder is question of why? The shirt is a very nondescript Izod flannel. Not Izod Lacoste with the aligator but just plain ol' Izod. It does not in any way accentuate my chiseled physique nor is it even designed to. I bought it at Macy's a couple weeks ago because I saw it on sale for around $20 and I felt I needed a nondescript comfortable flannel shirt.
Like i said... Weird.
It seems that was only the beginning...
At the office today I had two instances in which women, although not smokin' like the one at Boudin's, were strangely flirting with me and staring at me like a fatass would stare at a juicy pork chop. I figured it was just my overactive imagination fucking with me.
Same thing on the BART ride home. I felt as if I was magnetic. Bitches just could not take their eyes off me. Seriously, what the fuck?
When I got home, while I was biting into some salmon, my wife stares at me ia similar manner. She even seductively whispers something about what's going to happen after we put the baby to bed. I just shrug off the comment figuring she just wants some action since I didn't give her any last night.
Then she said it: "You know, you look really good in that shirt".
Ahh.. it all makes sense now. It's the fucking new shirt. I've been transformed into Magic Don Juan because of the shirt.
What's even weirder is question of why? The shirt is a very nondescript Izod flannel. Not Izod Lacoste with the aligator but just plain ol' Izod. It does not in any way accentuate my chiseled physique nor is it even designed to. I bought it at Macy's a couple weeks ago because I saw it on sale for around $20 and I felt I needed a nondescript comfortable flannel shirt.
Like i said... Weird.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Macked On
It's funny how drastically things have changed.
During my years in high school and for some time in college I possessed no game at all with the ladies. No game was my game. As long as I maintained my looks and kept myself within the circle of cool people getting laid never took much effort. I never approached women--they approached me. Altough I was born an alpha male, these factors tamed my alpha-like tendencies (until I got her into the bedroom of course).
Then things changed. As I got older fewer and fewer woman played the role of aggressor, popular social circles I was a part of dispersed after college, and honestly, I think that as women age their desire for more alpha males increases as well.
That's when I naturally began to pick up what I possess this day: top shelf mutha fuckin' game.
What's funny though is my game still is vulnerable. And what's funnier is that it's now vulnerable to something that it used to be totally comfortable with: agreessive women.
Case in point...
Today, on my way to work I stopped at Boudin's to grab a sandwich. I walk in and immediately see two women at their own registers staring at me. One is a new young hottie I've been involuntarily gawking at my past few visits. The other, well.. the other one doesn't matter. I'm sort of in a rush as I need to be on a conference call with the big boss in 20 minutes and I needed to figure out what to order quickly. I was clearly focused only on accomplishing these two goals.
The cutie, with a flirtatious twinkle in her eye, blurts out what she thinks my name is (they usually ask for it when you place an order) and she's right. Her friend, who has taken my order a countless number of times, luckily backs off.
I walk up to her register and start ordering blah blah blah. The chick is cracking some lame jokes and bombarding me with questions about where I work and complimenting me on my hair. And then it dawns on me--this chick is trying to spit game at me. The game is weak and reveals her adolescence but it affects me by effectively reducing my game to zero. I stand there trying to flirt back but I can't. I'm frozen. I somehow manage to get her name and finally say bye. As I walk off I sense her embarrassment.
What the fuck??
Granted I was mentally preoccupied and pretty SF women just don't usually try to pick up guys at 10am in sandwich shops but damn, I there is no excuse for freezing like that. If she had tried to spit game like that at a bar or club I would've kiss or fuck closed her within an hour or two.
During my years in high school and for some time in college I possessed no game at all with the ladies. No game was my game. As long as I maintained my looks and kept myself within the circle of cool people getting laid never took much effort. I never approached women--they approached me. Altough I was born an alpha male, these factors tamed my alpha-like tendencies (until I got her into the bedroom of course).
Then things changed. As I got older fewer and fewer woman played the role of aggressor, popular social circles I was a part of dispersed after college, and honestly, I think that as women age their desire for more alpha males increases as well.
That's when I naturally began to pick up what I possess this day: top shelf mutha fuckin' game.
What's funny though is my game still is vulnerable. And what's funnier is that it's now vulnerable to something that it used to be totally comfortable with: agreessive women.
Case in point...
Today, on my way to work I stopped at Boudin's to grab a sandwich. I walk in and immediately see two women at their own registers staring at me. One is a new young hottie I've been involuntarily gawking at my past few visits. The other, well.. the other one doesn't matter. I'm sort of in a rush as I need to be on a conference call with the big boss in 20 minutes and I needed to figure out what to order quickly. I was clearly focused only on accomplishing these two goals.
The cutie, with a flirtatious twinkle in her eye, blurts out what she thinks my name is (they usually ask for it when you place an order) and she's right. Her friend, who has taken my order a countless number of times, luckily backs off.
I walk up to her register and start ordering blah blah blah. The chick is cracking some lame jokes and bombarding me with questions about where I work and complimenting me on my hair. And then it dawns on me--this chick is trying to spit game at me. The game is weak and reveals her adolescence but it affects me by effectively reducing my game to zero. I stand there trying to flirt back but I can't. I'm frozen. I somehow manage to get her name and finally say bye. As I walk off I sense her embarrassment.
What the fuck??
Granted I was mentally preoccupied and pretty SF women just don't usually try to pick up guys at 10am in sandwich shops but damn, I there is no excuse for freezing like that. If she had tried to spit game like that at a bar or club I would've kiss or fuck closed her within an hour or two.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Thursday, December 08, 2005
The Prescient 8-Ball
Management has filtered down some info that we may be reorg'd again come January and that we should in effect, brace ourselves. I guess it's typical for company of this monstrosity. After all, we received the same warning two years ago. At least last time they flew us to Tempe and got us drunk first.
Because I am a complete xenophobe when it comes to my future I consulted my trusty all-knowing 8ball.
Me: "Am I getting laid off?"
8ball: "It is certain."
Me: (Shocked) "Are you sure?"
8ball: "Without a doubt."
Me: "Man, fuck you. How about best out of 5"
8ball: "As I see it, yes."
Oh well. There you have it. If it does happen I'm 100% sure its for the best this time. A year's worth of severance won't hurt either. Or maybe Mr. 8ball is just busting my balls.
Who knows.
But one thing's for sure, this time around, I'm going to do my best to not give a shit.
Because I am a complete xenophobe when it comes to my future I consulted my trusty all-knowing 8ball.
Me: "Am I getting laid off?"
8ball: "It is certain."
Me: (Shocked) "Are you sure?"
8ball: "Without a doubt."
Me: "Man, fuck you. How about best out of 5"
8ball: "As I see it, yes."
Oh well. There you have it. If it does happen I'm 100% sure its for the best this time. A year's worth of severance won't hurt either. Or maybe Mr. 8ball is just busting my balls.
Who knows.
But one thing's for sure, this time around, I'm going to do my best to not give a shit.
Books I've Been Reading
Even with a tenacious little rugrat tearing up shit and an overwhelming work schedule I've somehow found a lot of time to read. Here's a list of what I've consumed lately:
(in no particular order)
The Red Queen - Matt Ridley
Ugly Americans - Ben Mezrich
Liar's Poker - Michael Lewis
Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk
The Art of Deception - Kevin Mitnick
The Hound of the Baskervilles - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs - Chuck Klosterman
The Game - Neil Strauss
The Autobiography of Malcolm X - Alex Haley
Next in the queue:
Old School - Tobias Wolff
This Boy's Life - Tobias Wolff
The Rum Diary - Hunter S. Thompson
Knowledge and Decisions - Thomas Sowell
Zero-Day Exploit - Rob Shein
Against the Gods - Peter L. Bernstein
(in no particular order)
The Red Queen - Matt Ridley
Ugly Americans - Ben Mezrich
Liar's Poker - Michael Lewis
Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk
The Art of Deception - Kevin Mitnick
The Hound of the Baskervilles - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs - Chuck Klosterman
The Game - Neil Strauss
The Autobiography of Malcolm X - Alex Haley
Next in the queue:
Old School - Tobias Wolff
This Boy's Life - Tobias Wolff
The Rum Diary - Hunter S. Thompson
Knowledge and Decisions - Thomas Sowell
Zero-Day Exploit - Rob Shein
Against the Gods - Peter L. Bernstein
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Confidence Notes
You know that zone people like Michael Jordan and Anthony Robbins preach about? That elusive zone, that when you are in it you can do no wrong?
Yeah that zone.
Some believe techniques such as hypnosis or NLP can help you enter that zone and/or extend your periods of staying in that zone. But I'm just not concerned with it. At least not right now.
I'm interested in the main component necessary to get in and stay in that zone: Confidence.
Now don't get me wrong, If you have hung out with me you would know I don't suffer from lack of confidence at all. But I believe if I could take my confidence to another level the results could be immeasurably off-the-fuckin-charts professionally as well as socially. That's why it's become and interest of mine and it's why I want to deconstruct it.
Like Tucker Max has mentioned in his advice board, confidence poses a chicken and egg dilemma: Confidence comes from achievement but achievment comes from confidence. The key is getting into this progressive loop.
How can you be confident? That's like asking how you can be creative. There is no definitive answer. Confidence comes from within, comes from an understanding and acceptance of who you are and a belief in yourself and your abilities. If you have nothing good about yourself to believe in, then find something or do something that can give you that belief. Seriously--develop a skill or talent that you are proud of. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING flows from your inner self. It is the foundation that all game is built upon.
He really nails it here. People who just go about reverse engineering tactics of overly confident people completely miss the point and many times it comes back to bite them when they run out of material to emulate. This is clearly evident in the book The Game by Neil Strauss. The self-proclaimed pickup artists and wannabe alphas crashed and burned when there wasn't anything left in their tanks. I believe this 100%. Confidence truly comes from within.
Neil Strauss himself touches on this himself when discussing two of the "biggest mistakes" one can make in terms of seduction (altough I think it can be applied outside that field as well). These two mistakes are
Just be yourself
and
Be confident
In some dood named Thundercat's words:
He explained that you shouldn’t just “be yourself,” you should be your best self. He elaborated that who we are is often a poor representation of who we really are or who we want to be.
He also said that just “being confident” is impossible without success. Success breeds confidence, and he wants to teach how to have success so his students can gain REAL confidence.
Yeah that zone.
Some believe techniques such as hypnosis or NLP can help you enter that zone and/or extend your periods of staying in that zone. But I'm just not concerned with it. At least not right now.
I'm interested in the main component necessary to get in and stay in that zone: Confidence.
Now don't get me wrong, If you have hung out with me you would know I don't suffer from lack of confidence at all. But I believe if I could take my confidence to another level the results could be immeasurably off-the-fuckin-charts professionally as well as socially. That's why it's become and interest of mine and it's why I want to deconstruct it.
Like Tucker Max has mentioned in his advice board, confidence poses a chicken and egg dilemma: Confidence comes from achievement but achievment comes from confidence. The key is getting into this progressive loop.
How can you be confident? That's like asking how you can be creative. There is no definitive answer. Confidence comes from within, comes from an understanding and acceptance of who you are and a belief in yourself and your abilities. If you have nothing good about yourself to believe in, then find something or do something that can give you that belief. Seriously--develop a skill or talent that you are proud of. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING flows from your inner self. It is the foundation that all game is built upon.
He really nails it here. People who just go about reverse engineering tactics of overly confident people completely miss the point and many times it comes back to bite them when they run out of material to emulate. This is clearly evident in the book The Game by Neil Strauss. The self-proclaimed pickup artists and wannabe alphas crashed and burned when there wasn't anything left in their tanks. I believe this 100%. Confidence truly comes from within.
Neil Strauss himself touches on this himself when discussing two of the "biggest mistakes" one can make in terms of seduction (altough I think it can be applied outside that field as well). These two mistakes are
Just be yourself
and
Be confident
In some dood named Thundercat's words:
He explained that you shouldn’t just “be yourself,” you should be your best self. He elaborated that who we are is often a poor representation of who we really are or who we want to be.
He also said that just “being confident” is impossible without success. Success breeds confidence, and he wants to teach how to have success so his students can gain REAL confidence.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Revolutionary Idea
Yes, I read Tucker Max's material. And yes, that's an understatement.
Today I read post by him that I find absolutely intriguing and completely falls into what I've been wanting to achieve my whole life (although I've never been able to communicate it).
On Social Movements:
It's not my drinking and my fornicating and my writing that is what is ultimately so compelling about me--it is that I refuse to accept other peoples limitations on my life and I actively pursue my own personal satisfaction. This is a revolutionary idea and approach to life, if you really stop to think about it.
--Tucker Max
Imagine being able to recreate the world around you by simplying doing whatever it is you want to do, while somehow being a positive influence in that world.
Today I read post by him that I find absolutely intriguing and completely falls into what I've been wanting to achieve my whole life (although I've never been able to communicate it).
On Social Movements:
It's not my drinking and my fornicating and my writing that is what is ultimately so compelling about me--it is that I refuse to accept other peoples limitations on my life and I actively pursue my own personal satisfaction. This is a revolutionary idea and approach to life, if you really stop to think about it.
--Tucker Max
Imagine being able to recreate the world around you by simplying doing whatever it is you want to do, while somehow being a positive influence in that world.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Starting to Work Out Again
I haven't been working out much within the past month. within the past couple days I've started up again and I've come to this realization: You ever notice after a couple days of working out after a long hiatus you body feels tight? It feels as if the skin covering you suddenly hugs you more firmly? You look the same in the mirror as you did when you were laying out on the couch 5-6 hours a night but you just feel a whole lot fitter.
That's a kewl ass feeling.
That's a kewl ass feeling.
No Title
I miss posting.
And as much as I miss it there's nothing I can do about it. Time just doesn't allow.
That said have a couple minutes to spare right now... I have trader joe's enchiladas nuking. I'm tore up from arrogant bastard ale and liberty ale. I'm bumpin Depeche Mode's newest album (no i ain't not fuckin metroesexual... it's just tight). I've been arguing why TO is the best WR to ever play the game. I've been reading Tucker Max's analysis of The Game by Neil Strauss. Wondering why Esquire named Jessica Biel as the sexiest woman alive. Yup, I didn't have to work tonight. I feel prety fuckin good.
And as much as I miss it there's nothing I can do about it. Time just doesn't allow.
That said have a couple minutes to spare right now... I have trader joe's enchiladas nuking. I'm tore up from arrogant bastard ale and liberty ale. I'm bumpin Depeche Mode's newest album (no i ain't not fuckin metroesexual... it's just tight). I've been arguing why TO is the best WR to ever play the game. I've been reading Tucker Max's analysis of The Game by Neil Strauss. Wondering why Esquire named Jessica Biel as the sexiest woman alive. Yup, I didn't have to work tonight. I feel prety fuckin good.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
I'm pissed
Yeah, I'm pissed. Pissed about the Astros leaving an unheard of number of baserunners stranded and thus get swept in their first ever World Series appearance. Ensberg: how the fuck are we supposed to win a game when you left your balls in St. Louis? I'm pissed that asshole free agent bandwagon fans love to talk shit to me for the sole purpose of pissing me off. I'm pissed that SBC can't get something so simple like automated password reset right.
While the first incident spawned the two subsequent incidents let me tell you: Fuck SBC and fuck these buttmunches doing contract work for them in India.
First of all, SBC's simple automated password reset system doesn't work at all. How hard can it be to design something so ubiquitous in today's technological world that actually works properly? Fuck you SBC... you are cutting too many corners. And when another near-monopoly comes and blankets SF with free wifi (hint: Google), thus effectively diminishing your profit margins I hope all your VPs die and their Pac Heights burn to the fucking ground. Fuck you cunts.
Next, I want to strangle everyone of these Indian low rent tech support reps I get on the phone whenever I have to reset a goddamn password. My problem is not the fact that you get to buy fancy Hondas and Nissans and show off to Sari wearing females because you landed a relatively high paying job. I don't have a problem with your ethnicity nor your desire to improve your financial status. Everyone is entitled to that right. I have a problem with the coyness you display on the phone with me as well as your blatant disregard for making your "customers" comfortable. Fuck you too.
While the first incident spawned the two subsequent incidents let me tell you: Fuck SBC and fuck these buttmunches doing contract work for them in India.
First of all, SBC's simple automated password reset system doesn't work at all. How hard can it be to design something so ubiquitous in today's technological world that actually works properly? Fuck you SBC... you are cutting too many corners. And when another near-monopoly comes and blankets SF with free wifi (hint: Google), thus effectively diminishing your profit margins I hope all your VPs die and their Pac Heights burn to the fucking ground. Fuck you cunts.
Next, I want to strangle everyone of these Indian low rent tech support reps I get on the phone whenever I have to reset a goddamn password. My problem is not the fact that you get to buy fancy Hondas and Nissans and show off to Sari wearing females because you landed a relatively high paying job. I don't have a problem with your ethnicity nor your desire to improve your financial status. Everyone is entitled to that right. I have a problem with the coyness you display on the phone with me as well as your blatant disregard for making your "customers" comfortable. Fuck you too.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Rita Approaches
In the past 12 hours I've learned more about hurricanes than I'd like to admit. I've learned that hot air fuels these storms of doom, that when they hit land they sometimes split into several deadly tornadoes, and most shockingly, Rita, is the third most powerful storm ever recorded in the Atlantic Ocean.
Houston, stands in Hurricane Rita's patch of destruction. The country hasn't seen a hurricane hit land as a category 5 since Andrew in 1992. At at wind speeds of 175mph, Rita appears more dangerous than anything the Texas or Louisiana coast has ever seen --even more potent than Galveston's storm in 1900 (155 mph) or NOLA's heartbreaker (Katrina, which was only a cat 4 at landfall) from merely three weeks ago.
I'm scared shitless.
My parents, residing in my boyhood home, have stubbornly, yet confidently decided they're going to stay put (for now at least). My dad has assured me that he'll make the most prudent decisions about their safety --a statement which I have complete faith in. And it looks as if they'll be following city recommendations on what to do. I'm just horrified that if that recommendation comes too late, it might be too late to leave.
The decision to leave is a tough one anyways. I mean, where would they go anyways? They can't board a plane to come here since I'm pretty sure all flights are booked. They don't really have anyone to stay with in Dallas, Austin, or San Antonio. And, even if they did who's to say that those cities aren't along Rita's path also? It's just too early to tell.
Also, all hotels in most of the state appear to be booked up. Friends have informed me that traffic is moving at a rate of 3.3 miles per hour. What if they run out of gas? It's not like you can pull over and fill up --gas stations are tapped out.
I can't even call them as I keep getting "All circuits are busy messages". I have to leave text msgs for them to call me back.
And worst of all I can't do anything about it as I'm in fucking California.
All I can do is pray for their safety...
Houston, stands in Hurricane Rita's patch of destruction. The country hasn't seen a hurricane hit land as a category 5 since Andrew in 1992. At at wind speeds of 175mph, Rita appears more dangerous than anything the Texas or Louisiana coast has ever seen --even more potent than Galveston's storm in 1900 (155 mph) or NOLA's heartbreaker (Katrina, which was only a cat 4 at landfall) from merely three weeks ago.
I'm scared shitless.
My parents, residing in my boyhood home, have stubbornly, yet confidently decided they're going to stay put (for now at least). My dad has assured me that he'll make the most prudent decisions about their safety --a statement which I have complete faith in. And it looks as if they'll be following city recommendations on what to do. I'm just horrified that if that recommendation comes too late, it might be too late to leave.
The decision to leave is a tough one anyways. I mean, where would they go anyways? They can't board a plane to come here since I'm pretty sure all flights are booked. They don't really have anyone to stay with in Dallas, Austin, or San Antonio. And, even if they did who's to say that those cities aren't along Rita's path also? It's just too early to tell.
Also, all hotels in most of the state appear to be booked up. Friends have informed me that traffic is moving at a rate of 3.3 miles per hour. What if they run out of gas? It's not like you can pull over and fill up --gas stations are tapped out.
I can't even call them as I keep getting "All circuits are busy messages". I have to leave text msgs for them to call me back.
And worst of all I can't do anything about it as I'm in fucking California.
All I can do is pray for their safety...
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Stupid Drunk Games
Yesterday afternoon I hurredly fired off some bullshit emails to give my collegues the impression that I was still toiling away at some bullshit task.
I threw on some rags, kissed my daughter on the cheek, and jumped in the ride.
Detination: the city
Agenda: Watch the Monday Night Football doubleheader and get absolutely blitzed.
It didn't matter where or with who. As long as the games are shown and drinks keep coming, I'll be happy. Since I don't get out much any more I have to make the most each precious opportunity --to keep sane.
I get ahold of G and my new drinking buddy S. Although S whines about being broke and having to save up for an upcoming bachelor party, he agrees to "have a drink or two". G is always down. Don't these fuckers understand Monday night in a bar watching football while throwing down Jamesons and spitting game at hoes represents the last vestige of youth and irresponsibility for me??
We begin the evening at the Chieftain, our safe home bar I guess. We order pitchers of their special, Pilsner Urquell (with a free order of wings) and get down to business. Eating, drinking, watching football, whispering sweet nothings about nasty sex acts to the any half-decent woman who wants to listen... The place is filled with squares from the OracleWorld conference so our increasingly rambunctious behavior induces non-approving glances from many patrons. We decide we need to go somewhere a little edgier.
Boo yah... we end up at Rich's 93 hanging amongst a plethora of San Francisco's shadiest hustlers and twenty dollar whores. Now that's more like it --not a single OracleWorld tote bag in sight. While G plays in his weekly pool league in the rear of the bar, S and I try to go pint for pint. Newcastle's the poison tonight. I curse as I realize I just lost a few c-notes due to Joe Horn's idiot play near the end zone (while stretch to get the ball over the plane of the goal line he fumbles the ball which results in a touch back) --in effect keeping the total under 43.5 (I had the over). Fuck betting on NFL.
I notice I'm always about half a pint ahead of S. This is due mainly to the fact he can't stop recounting stories about his deprived childhood in upstate New York. All those summers spent in Canadian hockey camps must of taught him to drink like a pussy too. I call him out. He obliges and downs his beer grudgingly. After a few pints and a few more tales of youthful disobedience the fucker decides to call me out.
"You think you're a tough guy?", he challenges. Not being accustomed to hanging with slow drinking white boys, I answer back. "Hellz jeah, whats up??", I accept his challenge. He pushes his forearm again mine and in between he places a lit cigarette. Damn.. these crackers are crazy. I'm lit from the drink and feel as if I could beat the shit out of anyone.. plus my body is almost numb from it. I feel a warm sensation burning the hairs on my arm.. no biggie. The damn thing burns down to the filter. We both laugh and agree that wasn't shit.. just a stupid drunk game.
The night comes to a close, I stumble towards to BART station and some how get home in one piece. I drink half a gallon of gatorade and pass out on the couch.
This morning I'm staring at my arm in disbelief. It looks as if someone bit a off quarter-sized chunk of my forearm. Disgusting. It even obvious that it came from a fucking stogie. Looks like I'll be wearing long sleeves the next month or so. Never again.
I threw on some rags, kissed my daughter on the cheek, and jumped in the ride.
Detination: the city
Agenda: Watch the Monday Night Football doubleheader and get absolutely blitzed.
It didn't matter where or with who. As long as the games are shown and drinks keep coming, I'll be happy. Since I don't get out much any more I have to make the most each precious opportunity --to keep sane.
I get ahold of G and my new drinking buddy S. Although S whines about being broke and having to save up for an upcoming bachelor party, he agrees to "have a drink or two". G is always down. Don't these fuckers understand Monday night in a bar watching football while throwing down Jamesons and spitting game at hoes represents the last vestige of youth and irresponsibility for me??
We begin the evening at the Chieftain, our safe home bar I guess. We order pitchers of their special, Pilsner Urquell (with a free order of wings) and get down to business. Eating, drinking, watching football, whispering sweet nothings about nasty sex acts to the any half-decent woman who wants to listen... The place is filled with squares from the OracleWorld conference so our increasingly rambunctious behavior induces non-approving glances from many patrons. We decide we need to go somewhere a little edgier.
Boo yah... we end up at Rich's 93 hanging amongst a plethora of San Francisco's shadiest hustlers and twenty dollar whores. Now that's more like it --not a single OracleWorld tote bag in sight. While G plays in his weekly pool league in the rear of the bar, S and I try to go pint for pint. Newcastle's the poison tonight. I curse as I realize I just lost a few c-notes due to Joe Horn's idiot play near the end zone (while stretch to get the ball over the plane of the goal line he fumbles the ball which results in a touch back) --in effect keeping the total under 43.5 (I had the over). Fuck betting on NFL.
I notice I'm always about half a pint ahead of S. This is due mainly to the fact he can't stop recounting stories about his deprived childhood in upstate New York. All those summers spent in Canadian hockey camps must of taught him to drink like a pussy too. I call him out. He obliges and downs his beer grudgingly. After a few pints and a few more tales of youthful disobedience the fucker decides to call me out.
"You think you're a tough guy?", he challenges. Not being accustomed to hanging with slow drinking white boys, I answer back. "Hellz jeah, whats up??", I accept his challenge. He pushes his forearm again mine and in between he places a lit cigarette. Damn.. these crackers are crazy. I'm lit from the drink and feel as if I could beat the shit out of anyone.. plus my body is almost numb from it. I feel a warm sensation burning the hairs on my arm.. no biggie. The damn thing burns down to the filter. We both laugh and agree that wasn't shit.. just a stupid drunk game.
The night comes to a close, I stumble towards to BART station and some how get home in one piece. I drink half a gallon of gatorade and pass out on the couch.
This morning I'm staring at my arm in disbelief. It looks as if someone bit a off quarter-sized chunk of my forearm. Disgusting. It even obvious that it came from a fucking stogie. Looks like I'll be wearing long sleeves the next month or so. Never again.
It's Been A Long Time...
I shouldn't have left you without a dope rhyme to step to...
Yeah, I know, that was lame.
Due to my utterly hectic lifestyle I no longer have time to transcribe my precious thoughts in this here weblog. By no means am I joyous about that. But here's some kewl-ass links (credit to tmmb):
Get a human every time
Ashton Kutcher's phone hacked
How about the recipe for the Chik-fil-a chicken sandwich:
CHICKEN SANDWICH LIKE CHICK-FIL-A
1 egg
1 cup milk
2 skinless, boneless chicken breasts, halved
1 cup flour
2 1/2 teaspoons powdered sugar
2 tablespoons salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
3 cups peanut oil
4 plain hamburger buns
2 tablespoons melted butter
8 dill pickle slices
Mix together the egg and milk. Place the chicken in this mixture, and let sit for at least an hour.
While the breasts are sitting, mix together the flour, sugar, salt, and pepper.
Once the sitting is done, dredge in the flour. (For ourselves and our favorite customers, after the first dredging, we would put them back in the milk bath for a few seconds, and re-dredge! This is not company policy, however!)
Place the Peanut oil in a deep fat fryer, and bring up to a high heat.
Once up to 375 F., gently drop chicken into the oil, and let cook until golden brown. (This is for those of us who do not have a pressure cooker. If you do, follow the note below!)
Lightly butter the buns, and grill until heated through. Place two pickles on each bun, and place a hot breast on each!
Note: Chick-Fil-A actually uses a Pressure Fryer (not a pressure cooker) to cook the Filets in. If you have one, use the peanut oil according to the instructions for frying in it. Desired heat is 400 F. Once steam starts shooting through, cook for about 4 minutes.
Servings: 4
Home Cookin, Chick-Fil-A (Posted By Former Employee)
Yeah, I know, that was lame.
Due to my utterly hectic lifestyle I no longer have time to transcribe my precious thoughts in this here weblog. By no means am I joyous about that. But here's some kewl-ass links (credit to tmmb):
Get a human every time
Ashton Kutcher's phone hacked
How about the recipe for the Chik-fil-a chicken sandwich:
CHICKEN SANDWICH LIKE CHICK-FIL-A
1 egg
1 cup milk
2 skinless, boneless chicken breasts, halved
1 cup flour
2 1/2 teaspoons powdered sugar
2 tablespoons salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
3 cups peanut oil
4 plain hamburger buns
2 tablespoons melted butter
8 dill pickle slices
Mix together the egg and milk. Place the chicken in this mixture, and let sit for at least an hour.
While the breasts are sitting, mix together the flour, sugar, salt, and pepper.
Once the sitting is done, dredge in the flour. (For ourselves and our favorite customers, after the first dredging, we would put them back in the milk bath for a few seconds, and re-dredge! This is not company policy, however!)
Place the Peanut oil in a deep fat fryer, and bring up to a high heat.
Once up to 375 F., gently drop chicken into the oil, and let cook until golden brown. (This is for those of us who do not have a pressure cooker. If you do, follow the note below!)
Lightly butter the buns, and grill until heated through. Place two pickles on each bun, and place a hot breast on each!
Note: Chick-Fil-A actually uses a Pressure Fryer (not a pressure cooker) to cook the Filets in. If you have one, use the peanut oil according to the instructions for frying in it. Desired heat is 400 F. Once steam starts shooting through, cook for about 4 minutes.
Servings: 4
Home Cookin, Chick-Fil-A (Posted By Former Employee)
Friday, May 20, 2005
A Funny thing Happened
Yesterday, after our weekly staff meeting I was relieved to discover I had received no emails for about two hours. A little weird, but sweet considering I've been bombarded as of late. A collegue suddenly pops his head above the cubicle wall and says that a bunch of his emails to me were getting returned as "undeliverable". Shocked as hell, I take a look in the GAL and find that my name is missing. I call a friend who has access to view Active Directory objects and he confirms my fears.
My email address has been deleted off the corporate mail servers.
WTF??? So I'm sitting at my desk absolutely horrified. I'm busted. I'm about to get fired. But for what? Pr0n, warez, talking dirty to chicks online? Maybe they caught my hand in the cookie jar viewing classified data. I'm screwed. I start deleting "evidence" on my PC, 0-day exploits, NSFW pics of Jessica Alba, chatlogs, etc. I walk around and try to see through the expressions of my teammates. Nothing. I call the help desk and demand an explanation and insist they re-enable my account. Nogo, they can't do anything until the next business day. Fuck.
Then I think back to the meeting and that Panda Garden chinese food I ate in there. It came with a fortune cookie. The cookie said something to the effect of something strange will happen. Don't be paranoid about it.
What are the chances? I don't believe in the fortunes and whutnot but this has got to be a sign from up above. Without delay, I'm relieved.
Besides, I don't have any pr0n on my office system. The company can care less about warez, in fact they've provided many warez to us. 0-day exploits and hax0r tools are supposed to be on my PC. I'm a security engineer for chrissakes. And as far as trying to fuck hoes online, uhmm... no comment.
And just as I thought. It was nothing. Most likely some lackey windows monkey accidental fat fingering some buttons resulting in deletion of my account. :-)
My email address has been deleted off the corporate mail servers.
WTF??? So I'm sitting at my desk absolutely horrified. I'm busted. I'm about to get fired. But for what? Pr0n, warez, talking dirty to chicks online? Maybe they caught my hand in the cookie jar viewing classified data. I'm screwed. I start deleting "evidence" on my PC, 0-day exploits, NSFW pics of Jessica Alba, chatlogs, etc. I walk around and try to see through the expressions of my teammates. Nothing. I call the help desk and demand an explanation and insist they re-enable my account. Nogo, they can't do anything until the next business day. Fuck.
Then I think back to the meeting and that Panda Garden chinese food I ate in there. It came with a fortune cookie. The cookie said something to the effect of something strange will happen. Don't be paranoid about it.
What are the chances? I don't believe in the fortunes and whutnot but this has got to be a sign from up above. Without delay, I'm relieved.
Besides, I don't have any pr0n on my office system. The company can care less about warez, in fact they've provided many warez to us. 0-day exploits and hax0r tools are supposed to be on my PC. I'm a security engineer for chrissakes. And as far as trying to fuck hoes online, uhmm... no comment.
And just as I thought. It was nothing. Most likely some lackey windows monkey accidental fat fingering some buttons resulting in deletion of my account. :-)
Saturday, May 14, 2005
The Joys of Shopping (part 2)
Today I hit Macy's in search a new dress shirt and tie for a wedding we're attending this weekend. I like to dress nice but I don't wear ties or dress shirts too often so the semi-formal shit in my closet looks pimp albeit circa '98 pimp. I had planned on copping a new Zegna or Armani suit for the wedding but ran of time to shop around. So it looks like I'll be wearing my generic '98 cut suit. To compensate, I figured I'd treat myself to a slick Zegna or Armani shirt and tie instead.
I roamed around aimlessly on that annoying 1st floor of Macy's. I was getting hit up by every salesman around the Club Room and Alfani sections while getting blantantly ignored by every salesman in the vicinity of anything that said Hugo Boss and Versace. How distracting. I'm offended that these lamers who probably make less than 16-yr olds who work at In-and-Out burger would actually try to judge me. I pull out the ipod and throw my headphones on, figuring that would that would tell everyone to fuck the hell off. That new Geto Boys blared into my eardrums.
Anyways, I settle on this player $135 Zegna tie (figured I'd wear an old dress shirt in my closet). It screams powerful ex-cassanova, a witty sense of style, and a maxed out credit card. The low-rent Elton John scans it and peers into his screen with a look of skepticism. He sizes me up for a second then repeats the process. Finally, he asks me "Where did you find this?". I point in some arbitrary direction and hint to the butt-pirate that I'm in a hurry. I got bidness to take care of, ya know? He goes off about how beautiful the tie is blah blah blah and says there must be some mistake. He excuses himself and walks around trying to find an identical one.
I'm thinking, fuck... some scammer probably switched the price tag or something. These assmunches will probably try to accuse me of the act. I suddenly feel uncomfortable.
The dood returns with a manager, a low-rent Ellen Degeneres, and shows her how much the tie is ringing up for. They both stare in disbelief. Finally, Ellen helplessly nods and walks away shaking her head. I'm thinking kewl.. i saved 25% or some shit. Thats significant for a baller on a budget.
Elton finally states that I just lucked out and the register displays the damage: $10.85.
BWHAHAHA. You gotta be kidding me right? I asked the dood if I can't get several more in different styles and he shakes his head apparently pissed off that he didn't find this tie for himself. I realize I better bounce before someone catches the price tagging error so I hand the him 11 bux, grab my change, and get out to Stockton street as quickly as possible.
I roamed around aimlessly on that annoying 1st floor of Macy's. I was getting hit up by every salesman around the Club Room and Alfani sections while getting blantantly ignored by every salesman in the vicinity of anything that said Hugo Boss and Versace. How distracting. I'm offended that these lamers who probably make less than 16-yr olds who work at In-and-Out burger would actually try to judge me. I pull out the ipod and throw my headphones on, figuring that would that would tell everyone to fuck the hell off. That new Geto Boys blared into my eardrums.
Anyways, I settle on this player $135 Zegna tie (figured I'd wear an old dress shirt in my closet). It screams powerful ex-cassanova, a witty sense of style, and a maxed out credit card. The low-rent Elton John scans it and peers into his screen with a look of skepticism. He sizes me up for a second then repeats the process. Finally, he asks me "Where did you find this?". I point in some arbitrary direction and hint to the butt-pirate that I'm in a hurry. I got bidness to take care of, ya know? He goes off about how beautiful the tie is blah blah blah and says there must be some mistake. He excuses himself and walks around trying to find an identical one.
I'm thinking, fuck... some scammer probably switched the price tag or something. These assmunches will probably try to accuse me of the act. I suddenly feel uncomfortable.
The dood returns with a manager, a low-rent Ellen Degeneres, and shows her how much the tie is ringing up for. They both stare in disbelief. Finally, Ellen helplessly nods and walks away shaking her head. I'm thinking kewl.. i saved 25% or some shit. Thats significant for a baller on a budget.
Elton finally states that I just lucked out and the register displays the damage: $10.85.
BWHAHAHA. You gotta be kidding me right? I asked the dood if I can't get several more in different styles and he shakes his head apparently pissed off that he didn't find this tie for himself. I realize I better bounce before someone catches the price tagging error so I hand the him 11 bux, grab my change, and get out to Stockton street as quickly as possible.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
The Joys of Shopping (part 1)
Thursday afternoon I crept out of the office immediately after our weekly conference calls and met up with G for few drinks and wings at 4th Street Bar and Grill. Same shit. Order whiskey and beer pairs. Repeat several times. Discuss sports, bitches, and meaningful current events.
I have a dinner planned with some peeps in town for the wedding so I stop at around four or five rounds. G and I part ways and I'm killing time trying to walk off my buzz on Market Street while waiting for K to call me with the name and location of the restaurant.
I notice a Gymboree and immediately think of my daughter. Man, I love my little girl. She's turning three months this weekend and she's outgrown alot of her newborn sleep-n-play suits. In a drunken haze I decide I must get more...
As I walk in Gymboree I notice the thin yet shapely young fly Pinay folding and hanging clothes. She notices me too. I'm strikingly handsome and exude an aura of confidence. Plus, I'm happily drunk. Girl's got no shame. I swear she's undressing me with her eyes as she coyly and flirtatiously utters "hi". She catches me a bit off guard but I shoot an understanding smile back at her.
Back to the mission at hand. I browse the store in search of sleep-n-plays. I find them at the back. Aww How cute. My lil' munchkin will love this stuff. One's pink with ornate lions and the other is green displaying giraffes. All the while I notice this chick's gaze has not wavered. I grab my angel's size in each and stagger to the register.
Her body language suggests she's still into me. Her gaze into my eyes. Her flipping of her hair. She's sexy. She knows I'm attracted but can't figure out why I'm not trying to number close her real quick. I guess she doesn't notice the ring. She asks me a few questions about if I'll be needing a gift box, etc and I say no. Ahhh. I notice the disapointment in her face. Sorry babydoll. I fight off the knee-jerk reaction of trying to let her know I'm still down despite the circumstances. But naw.. remind myself of my whereabouts. I'm in friggin Gymboree and this little hottie has no idea. Morality gets the best of me.
Luckily she still gives me a 25% discount.
I have a dinner planned with some peeps in town for the wedding so I stop at around four or five rounds. G and I part ways and I'm killing time trying to walk off my buzz on Market Street while waiting for K to call me with the name and location of the restaurant.
I notice a Gymboree and immediately think of my daughter. Man, I love my little girl. She's turning three months this weekend and she's outgrown alot of her newborn sleep-n-play suits. In a drunken haze I decide I must get more...
As I walk in Gymboree I notice the thin yet shapely young fly Pinay folding and hanging clothes. She notices me too. I'm strikingly handsome and exude an aura of confidence. Plus, I'm happily drunk. Girl's got no shame. I swear she's undressing me with her eyes as she coyly and flirtatiously utters "hi". She catches me a bit off guard but I shoot an understanding smile back at her.
Back to the mission at hand. I browse the store in search of sleep-n-plays. I find them at the back. Aww How cute. My lil' munchkin will love this stuff. One's pink with ornate lions and the other is green displaying giraffes. All the while I notice this chick's gaze has not wavered. I grab my angel's size in each and stagger to the register.
Her body language suggests she's still into me. Her gaze into my eyes. Her flipping of her hair. She's sexy. She knows I'm attracted but can't figure out why I'm not trying to number close her real quick. I guess she doesn't notice the ring. She asks me a few questions about if I'll be needing a gift box, etc and I say no. Ahhh. I notice the disapointment in her face. Sorry babydoll. I fight off the knee-jerk reaction of trying to let her know I'm still down despite the circumstances. But naw.. remind myself of my whereabouts. I'm in friggin Gymboree and this little hottie has no idea. Morality gets the best of me.
Luckily she still gives me a 25% discount.
Saturday, May 07, 2005
Heartbreak in Houston
The Rockets lay down and lose by 40 to our I-45 counterparts. Both Yao and TMac finish up with strong games statistically but we get absolutely no help from anyone else.
The loss goes down as one of the most disappointing losses in Houston professional sports history as we took an early and commanding 2-0 in Dallas to start off the series. After game two we were considered by many analysts as the team to beat.
We all got ahead of ourselves.
Even my dumbass was screaming idiotic shit like "Bring out the brooms" and "Bring on Detroit".
Lemme tell you it stings really bad.
I do want to give it up to Jason Terry and Josh Howard of the Mavs. These guys played ballz out. Did you hear Terry's interview at halftime? The dude is a fuckin' soldier. Props.
It's time to go fishing for the Rox. I can stop agonizing over each game and bet other games with a clear head.
This offseason the Rockets have the burden of working through JVG's referee debacle and bringing in some new personnel. How about bringing in more youth to the power forward and point guard positions. Can I suggest a Sean May and a Deron Williams?
Yeah, I'm dreaming... besides JVG hates rookies.
The loss goes down as one of the most disappointing losses in Houston professional sports history as we took an early and commanding 2-0 in Dallas to start off the series. After game two we were considered by many analysts as the team to beat.
We all got ahead of ourselves.
Even my dumbass was screaming idiotic shit like "Bring out the brooms" and "Bring on Detroit".
Lemme tell you it stings really bad.
I do want to give it up to Jason Terry and Josh Howard of the Mavs. These guys played ballz out. Did you hear Terry's interview at halftime? The dude is a fuckin' soldier. Props.
It's time to go fishing for the Rox. I can stop agonizing over each game and bet other games with a clear head.
This offseason the Rockets have the burden of working through JVG's referee debacle and bringing in some new personnel. How about bringing in more youth to the power forward and point guard positions. Can I suggest a Sean May and a Deron Williams?
Yeah, I'm dreaming... besides JVG hates rookies.
Cinco De Mayo
Thursday night, my Sucka Free homies G, M, and E met up for a much needed mini-reunion to let loose and act like college-aged keg mongers. I needed it to clear my head. I had been caring for the lil' one by myself for the past week.
Unfortunately I don't remember much since things got way out of hand.
Here are scenes I do remember:
- Rockets baby, Rockets winning by 18 or so.
- Talking hella shit to a group of older black dudes (Mav's fans) every time the Rockets scored.
- Smokin' latina at Jillians that was looked as if her ass and thighs were poured into tight jeans.
- 2 Jamesons, 4 Patron shots, 4 Coronas, and 1 Pale Ale in my body by halftime.
- Eluding the $40 cover and getting in free at Mitchell Bros
- Grabbing a handful of the first chick's ass I saw in there and trying to talk her into hooking me up for free.
- Immediately walking out after I realized I was out of cash and refused to get funny money from the ATM machine.
- Cutting in front of some fat bitch to place some pool at O.S.B.
- Then getting run out on by some Tenderloin pool shark, probably the fat bitch's boyfriend.
- Bumpin' Sam Quinn and Nickatina at full blast in E's Audi while doing 80 on the 280.
- Killing M at Madden with the Cleveland Browns (two hail mary's, two touchdowns) before he turned off the game.
- Waking up with a nasty hangover and a Cinco De Mayo necklace on.
- Picking up my cell phone that I left at M's this morning.
- Laughing because M was still wearing clothes from last night and still had the Cinco De Mayo necklace on.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Rox Wax Dat Azz
I'm not going to say much for fear of jinxing Houston in Game 7 but this pic should tell the story.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Rockets: Blueprint For Winning Game 6
This is it. Win or go home.
Down 3-2, the Rox on the edge of life after shocking the world with a 2-0 start in the series. Can we put the officiating snafus on the backburner until a NBA Championship trophy is in our clutches? Let your nutz hang or it's back to the drawing board for another year. Can my Rockets come through and emerge victorious tonight?
Yes.
And here's how:
1) Double the dosage of TMac. The man has flat-out done it all this series, scoring, dishing, picking pockets. We wouldn't be here without him. But we need more. We need a Jordanesque performance. We know TMac can hit the jumper as well as the best of them but we cannot rely on it any more. He must take it to the rim. They can't stop him when he does and drives will result in uncontested layups or trips to the line. See how Josh Howard is taking it to the rim every other play? TMac needs to do the same.
2) Pick and Roll them.. to death. It's our bread and butter play. And it is nearly impossible to defend. No duo since Stockton and Malone can do it better than TMac and Yao.
3) Back off Josh Howard. The dood will not shoot unless its a short range turnaround or point blank layup. Quit falling for those pump fakes.
4) Quit flashing that damn "3" signal after you knock one down. This goes for Barry, Sura and sometimes TMac. I was enraged when I saw this. For chrissakes, we were down 6 and they were throwing it up. It's just not something seasoned veterans do. Stay humble, stay hungry, keep attacking.
Down 3-2, the Rox on the edge of life after shocking the world with a 2-0 start in the series. Can we put the officiating snafus on the backburner until a NBA Championship trophy is in our clutches? Let your nutz hang or it's back to the drawing board for another year. Can my Rockets come through and emerge victorious tonight?
Yes.
And here's how:
1) Double the dosage of TMac. The man has flat-out done it all this series, scoring, dishing, picking pockets. We wouldn't be here without him. But we need more. We need a Jordanesque performance. We know TMac can hit the jumper as well as the best of them but we cannot rely on it any more. He must take it to the rim. They can't stop him when he does and drives will result in uncontested layups or trips to the line. See how Josh Howard is taking it to the rim every other play? TMac needs to do the same.
2) Pick and Roll them.. to death. It's our bread and butter play. And it is nearly impossible to defend. No duo since Stockton and Malone can do it better than TMac and Yao.
3) Back off Josh Howard. The dood will not shoot unless its a short range turnaround or point blank layup. Quit falling for those pump fakes.
4) Quit flashing that damn "3" signal after you knock one down. This goes for Barry, Sura and sometimes TMac. I was enraged when I saw this. For chrissakes, we were down 6 and they were throwing it up. It's just not something seasoned veterans do. Stay humble, stay hungry, keep attacking.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Benny Salvatore, Watch Your Back
Rockets did not lose Game 5. They did not get outplayed. They lost because Stern and NBA refs wanted us to lose. They lost because Salvatore is on Cuban's payroll (and probably Vegas' payroll too). You fuckin' little turd; you'll get yours.
It saddens me the most that if the zebras didn't target Yao and refereed an honest game we would've closed this series out yesterday. Now we have to sweat a do or die game Thursday.
Monday, May 02, 2005
Art Of Getting A Baby To Sleep
I think I've figured out how to get my daughter to sleep without much fuss. I'm sure this post will be augumented as I learn further techniques.
First of all you have to prepare properly.
Feed her well and immediately burp her afterwards.
Turn off all the lights except the night light. Play soothing music at a very low volume. No classical, metal, or gangsta rap. It's important not to over stimulate her. I use catchy stuff like Norah Jones, Stevie Wonder, or Dido.
Give her a bath or at least a light sponge bath. This signals her that its bed time and it relaxes her. Afterwards change her diaper and put her in sleeping gear.
Lay her down in the middle of the bed underneath her blanket and lay down next to her. Have a pacifier ready. At first she will fight it as she wants to stay up and play some more.
She'll cry then cry some more. Use the pacifier if necessary. Lay next to her, close your eyes and try to get some sleep yourself. Eventually she will emulate you and doze off...
First of all you have to prepare properly.
Feed her well and immediately burp her afterwards.
Turn off all the lights except the night light. Play soothing music at a very low volume. No classical, metal, or gangsta rap. It's important not to over stimulate her. I use catchy stuff like Norah Jones, Stevie Wonder, or Dido.
Give her a bath or at least a light sponge bath. This signals her that its bed time and it relaxes her. Afterwards change her diaper and put her in sleeping gear.
Lay her down in the middle of the bed underneath her blanket and lay down next to her. Have a pacifier ready. At first she will fight it as she wants to stay up and play some more.
She'll cry then cry some more. Use the pacifier if necessary. Lay next to her, close your eyes and try to get some sleep yourself. Eventually she will emulate you and doze off...
Hayes Valley Cool
Amidst the typical pandemonium of my daily life, wifey, the defiant one, mj, and I squeezed in a short foray into the city. It was my wife's brilliant idea, as she was fiending for one of those tasty panini sandwiches at Arlequin. Destination: Hayes Valley... I'm always down for that.
As most of locals know, SF is really made up of many distinct neighborhoods, each characterized by their unique quirks. It's what gives the city that small town feel. And, it's why it's hard to get sick of SF since there are really so many SF's. You've got the Mission, where working class hispanics mesh with young bohemian types. You've got the Marina, home of young priviledged Bush-worshipping whites. You've got the Tenderloin, the coolest melting pot of crackheads and dirty whores in the country.
I enjoy all the hoods of SF. They each serve their purpose. It's what keeps me so dexterously well-rounded. I get to pick and choose highly specific adventures and forms of entertainment. Today, I got to go to one of my favorite SF neighborhoods, Hayes Valley.
Hayes Valley is the epitome of cool. You have chill restaurants like Absinthe and Arlequin and my all-time favorite SF bar: Place Pigalle. I've only hung out in there a couple times and I could still say that. Both times I drank well-poured pints, played challenging games of pool with some really oddball characters. Chicks are friendly, highly-intelligent and sexy in their own SF-kind-of-way (and they are confident enough to approach you). It sure beats kicking it a Jillians with the same old boring corporate drones and spitting game at fob japanese chicks here for some dental assistant convention.
You have rad shops like the Sake store (forgot the name), where they have the largest sake inventory in the country and HUF, where peeps in the know get the hottest kicks on the city. The clothing stores rock too, albeit they're on the pricey side, but that's only because local designers sell their shit in there. And that's all that comes to mind right now.
Coolest part about it though is the locals. They're a cut above the rest in every way. It's peculiarly stylish: You can't tell if peeps are wearing the latest fashions or hand me downs from their pimp uncles and aunts. Nonetheless, I don't think they consciously care.
They exude high levels of confidence but almost seem excessively friendly in a non-intrusive manner in conversation. Class and racial segregations truly appear nonexistant. You don't have the stuck up Pac Heights trust fund assholes nor do you have the Leftist tree hugger type homos of the Castro. They appear aloof to all that. You see free thinkers who don't feel the need to tout themselves as free thinkers.
I think a lot of trends start here accidentally.
It's difficult to express to someone if you haven't been there and haven't lived in SF for three or more years. But, walk around and hang out here for a few hours on a sunny afternoon. You will understand. This hood is cool.
As most of locals know, SF is really made up of many distinct neighborhoods, each characterized by their unique quirks. It's what gives the city that small town feel. And, it's why it's hard to get sick of SF since there are really so many SF's. You've got the Mission, where working class hispanics mesh with young bohemian types. You've got the Marina, home of young priviledged Bush-worshipping whites. You've got the Tenderloin, the coolest melting pot of crackheads and dirty whores in the country.
I enjoy all the hoods of SF. They each serve their purpose. It's what keeps me so dexterously well-rounded. I get to pick and choose highly specific adventures and forms of entertainment. Today, I got to go to one of my favorite SF neighborhoods, Hayes Valley.
Hayes Valley is the epitome of cool. You have chill restaurants like Absinthe and Arlequin and my all-time favorite SF bar: Place Pigalle. I've only hung out in there a couple times and I could still say that. Both times I drank well-poured pints, played challenging games of pool with some really oddball characters. Chicks are friendly, highly-intelligent and sexy in their own SF-kind-of-way (and they are confident enough to approach you). It sure beats kicking it a Jillians with the same old boring corporate drones and spitting game at fob japanese chicks here for some dental assistant convention.
You have rad shops like the Sake store (forgot the name), where they have the largest sake inventory in the country and HUF, where peeps in the know get the hottest kicks on the city. The clothing stores rock too, albeit they're on the pricey side, but that's only because local designers sell their shit in there. And that's all that comes to mind right now.
Coolest part about it though is the locals. They're a cut above the rest in every way. It's peculiarly stylish: You can't tell if peeps are wearing the latest fashions or hand me downs from their pimp uncles and aunts. Nonetheless, I don't think they consciously care.
They exude high levels of confidence but almost seem excessively friendly in a non-intrusive manner in conversation. Class and racial segregations truly appear nonexistant. You don't have the stuck up Pac Heights trust fund assholes nor do you have the Leftist tree hugger type homos of the Castro. They appear aloof to all that. You see free thinkers who don't feel the need to tout themselves as free thinkers.
I think a lot of trends start here accidentally.
It's difficult to express to someone if you haven't been there and haven't lived in SF for three or more years. But, walk around and hang out here for a few hours on a sunny afternoon. You will understand. This hood is cool.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Monday, April 25, 2005
Case of the Mondays
Woke up at 1PM PST today and jumped on a conference call in which I was accused of failing to perform certain specified tasks. As a result these said specified tasks will be "put on the back burner" until we get another FTE. Fuck you punk ass project manager. If these said specified tasks were clearly stated and requested properly through the proper buearacratic channels they would've been completed. Eat a dick you faggity ass loser.
Didn't leave this 700 ft (but 350k-valued) condo. Not once. Fuck the Bay Area real estate market.
Got my balls busted for one wrong prediction I made (see previous post). Jeah, so I'm wrong once in my life. Jordan missed more shots in his best game than I've been wrong this year. When you get some nuts and quit following popular opinion because it makes you right 50% of the time you can say something, you fuckin' tool.
Wifey bitched about unwashed dishes in the sink after she got home. *smirk*. Woman, you try entertaining the defiant one while sweating the Rockets game and trying to decrypt ssl passwords for loser dba's.
To the defiant one: I love you. You're such a darling angel. I take all this shit for you. Any day. Fuck the rest.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Favre's Successor
It would've been impossible to avoid reading about this week's hot sports topic: The dismal decline of Aaron Rodgers' draft position. Here was a guy who was projected as the Niners number one guy a couple weeks ago. Fittingly so too as the kid grew up a 49'ers fan in nearby Chico and even donned a Montana jersey underneath his Cal jersey.
Then something happened.
His value dropped like a whore's panties. Critics busted his balls. He has poor mechanics. He holds the ball too high. He'll be another one of Tedford's busts. He's a system QB. He can't make the deep throw. He's less intelligent than Alex Smith.
I just find it strange that analysts and scouts who were absolutely enamored with the guy can suddenly turn on him so quickly. What happened down there at the Santa Clara workout?
I can't help but feel for the guy though. It's gotta be extremely dishearting. One week you're the next Montana or Young and the next week you're Boller or Leaf. Everything happens for a reason however and I think it worked out for the best. He's a Green Bay Packer, he gets to develop under the tutelage of Brett Favre, and most importantly, he's got a bone to pick.
Then something happened.
His value dropped like a whore's panties. Critics busted his balls. He has poor mechanics. He holds the ball too high. He'll be another one of Tedford's busts. He's a system QB. He can't make the deep throw. He's less intelligent than Alex Smith.
I just find it strange that analysts and scouts who were absolutely enamored with the guy can suddenly turn on him so quickly. What happened down there at the Santa Clara workout?
I can't help but feel for the guy though. It's gotta be extremely dishearting. One week you're the next Montana or Young and the next week you're Boller or Leaf. Everything happens for a reason however and I think it worked out for the best. He's a Green Bay Packer, he gets to develop under the tutelage of Brett Favre, and most importantly, he's got a bone to pick.
Ayo Fo Yayo
Man I retired from blow, honestly. That chet don't do nuthin for me no more. I have nothing against it tho. If you can keep it in check that is...
But that playa sun iz still who he his. I understand peeps. Especially the brilliant but unheard...
And that unheard prodigy is my boy Andre Nickatina... cmon man. Is he not the baddest nuga in hiphop? And, yes, I call it hiphop. That's right, that homie formerly known as Dre Dog who's been revered for over a decade by intelligent hoodlums (and for some reason skaters and snowboarders) in the know. I'm talkin' about a gangsta that coulda been up ther wit the best of them, Pac, Biggie, Nas, Scarface, etc but for his own reasons he decided to keep it real as fuck.
i should buy a cemetery and get much bigger
and make money off you dead ass niggas
but fool you don't hear me, niggas fear me
but they wanna get near me
the six five devil's son, I said the devil's son
can you find a more wicked one?
that can creep through the night like a wicked witch
smokin thai stick, on a broomstick
or my favorite line:
...bumpin c-bo on the way to way to tahoe
And on the reaaaal, this cat never got his video on BET or MTV cuz he spits game about one taboo subject: cocaine. Come on biatch... But i digress. What if he spat soley about gun clappin and platinum grills like these insipid rappers on TV? What if he he was from LA or NY instead of da Frisco City? What if 50 and Eminem fans didn't have a problem digesting the unique sound and unorthodox technique? He'd be up there with the best of them. Take a listen and tell me when's the last time you heard someone spit like this.
But that playa sun iz still who he his. I understand peeps. Especially the brilliant but unheard...
And that unheard prodigy is my boy Andre Nickatina... cmon man. Is he not the baddest nuga in hiphop? And, yes, I call it hiphop. That's right, that homie formerly known as Dre Dog who's been revered for over a decade by intelligent hoodlums (and for some reason skaters and snowboarders) in the know. I'm talkin' about a gangsta that coulda been up ther wit the best of them, Pac, Biggie, Nas, Scarface, etc but for his own reasons he decided to keep it real as fuck.
i should buy a cemetery and get much bigger
and make money off you dead ass niggas
but fool you don't hear me, niggas fear me
but they wanna get near me
the six five devil's son, I said the devil's son
can you find a more wicked one?
that can creep through the night like a wicked witch
smokin thai stick, on a broomstick
or my favorite line:
...bumpin c-bo on the way to way to tahoe
And on the reaaaal, this cat never got his video on BET or MTV cuz he spits game about one taboo subject: cocaine. Come on biatch... But i digress. What if he spat soley about gun clappin and platinum grills like these insipid rappers on TV? What if he he was from LA or NY instead of da Frisco City? What if 50 and Eminem fans didn't have a problem digesting the unique sound and unorthodox technique? He'd be up there with the best of them. Take a listen and tell me when's the last time you heard someone spit like this.
Munchkin Pacified
Today marks the first day wifey went to work (for over 8 hours) and left me at home with the defiant one. And guess what... yours truly emerged unscathed, victorious.
I'll admit, however, that my MVP performance required hours of preparation. I set up her Baby Genius, checked the fuel supply, queued up the right songs, pumped some iron, and showered. I got off to a strong start as she slept through the first hour and a half. When she awoke I bumped some Spoon, Aretha Franklin, and my ace in the hole: Marvin Gaye. That kept her soothed and more importantly, groovin. Fed her three ounces until she passed out (after several loud trucker sounding burbs) then I dropped her into the Einstein. The Einstein crapped out and started looping the same song over and over. Piece of chet. Yup she was livid and raised some hell, but daddy, unpreturbed picked her up and danced to Linkin Park's "Faint". Man I was on. She absolutely loved that song. She was in such a playful and amicable mood I decided it was time for a photo op.
After snapping about twenty or so adorable pictures she wanted to ZZZZZ. And ZZZZZ she did, long enough to allow daddy to call the man who hates daddy, daddy's bookie. After the man reluctantly accepted my POD's I had time to spare. Birds were conveniently online to get gamed ;-).
After she rose, I decided since I was up (in more ways than one) I might as well take some chances and do some research. Would I call it research if I knew what I was doing? I discovered a new chill technique: the lil' angel didn't necessarily need you to hold her all the time. You could actually put her in the vibrating chair and pretend to hold her. To add effect I got hella animated. I did jumping jacks, push ups and pimp-azz Tony-Montana-dance-moves. She ate it up and her "waaaaas" slowly turned into "daaaaaym... my dad is gangstas". She was way beyond stoked, she was absolutely awestruck. It's like she was thinkin' wow, daddy has wack early nineties dance moves.. but he doesn't give a shit. He truly loves me...
After all that, it was all gravy. I could do no wrong. We chilled. With thirty minutes left to spare til her mama returned she sat on my lap and helped me critique new pimp-tight songs from the download queue... She and I both agreed, Elvis Costello's "Tart" is probably one of the most underrated song in the past few decades.
Til manana...
I'll admit, however, that my MVP performance required hours of preparation. I set up her Baby Genius, checked the fuel supply, queued up the right songs, pumped some iron, and showered. I got off to a strong start as she slept through the first hour and a half. When she awoke I bumped some Spoon, Aretha Franklin, and my ace in the hole: Marvin Gaye. That kept her soothed and more importantly, groovin. Fed her three ounces until she passed out (after several loud trucker sounding burbs) then I dropped her into the Einstein. The Einstein crapped out and started looping the same song over and over. Piece of chet. Yup she was livid and raised some hell, but daddy, unpreturbed picked her up and danced to Linkin Park's "Faint". Man I was on. She absolutely loved that song. She was in such a playful and amicable mood I decided it was time for a photo op.
After snapping about twenty or so adorable pictures she wanted to ZZZZZ. And ZZZZZ she did, long enough to allow daddy to call the man who hates daddy, daddy's bookie. After the man reluctantly accepted my POD's I had time to spare. Birds were conveniently online to get gamed ;-).
After she rose, I decided since I was up (in more ways than one) I might as well take some chances and do some research. Would I call it research if I knew what I was doing? I discovered a new chill technique: the lil' angel didn't necessarily need you to hold her all the time. You could actually put her in the vibrating chair and pretend to hold her. To add effect I got hella animated. I did jumping jacks, push ups and pimp-azz Tony-Montana-dance-moves. She ate it up and her "waaaaas" slowly turned into "daaaaaym... my dad is gangstas". She was way beyond stoked, she was absolutely awestruck. It's like she was thinkin' wow, daddy has wack early nineties dance moves.. but he doesn't give a shit. He truly loves me...
After all that, it was all gravy. I could do no wrong. We chilled. With thirty minutes left to spare til her mama returned she sat on my lap and helped me critique new pimp-tight songs from the download queue... She and I both agreed, Elvis Costello's "Tart" is probably one of the most underrated song in the past few decades.
Til manana...
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Today Was A Good Day
Today was one of those rare days I got to do a little of everything. Wifey had a doctor appointment in the morning so I was left to take care of the little hellraiser (from heaven). After changing and feeding her I queued up some New Order and Andre Nickatina and danced around with her for an hour or so. There's nothing better than to start your day off with some good ol' new wave and vintage gangsta rap. Besides, I figure it's good to change things up a bit. She already gets a heavy dosage of Chopin and Mozart in the evening hours.
K's running late and I'm getting sweaty from my workout so I put the munchkin in her little Baby Enstein. She's diggin it... staring at the flashing lights and prehistoric birds hanging from the rings. I'm diggin it since I finally get to cool off and eat some cereal. As I grub I watch my little bundle of joy become enlightened by the funny contraption. I also get to do some email and return various phone calls.
Finally K gets home and I bart into the city around 2:45. Swweeet!! A couple of my coworkers are in. They don't really notice I arrive. They don't really care as they probably just arrived themselves. We all hang out and shoot the shit while working on various low pressure tasks. Around 5:45, I'm bored. I got a ton of shit done. And since it's all about results and not visibility I'm out the door.
I meet up with G for a quick dinner and a couple of beers (ok- two beers and three jamesons). I don't get out much often any more so I guess I've learned to make the most of these elusive opportunities. I'm ordering drinks effiecently (two at a time). I'm striking up quick coversations with women here for a company function (none worth blogging about). And, I eat fast while watching five different games on the big screens. G's got a 7:30 pool tourney so we're out of there around 7:15 buzzed and happily content. I hop on bart and by the time I arrive at my stop the alcohol has worn off yet I feel surprisingly refreshed. Ready for whatever the munchkin wants to do...
K's running late and I'm getting sweaty from my workout so I put the munchkin in her little Baby Enstein. She's diggin it... staring at the flashing lights and prehistoric birds hanging from the rings. I'm diggin it since I finally get to cool off and eat some cereal. As I grub I watch my little bundle of joy become enlightened by the funny contraption. I also get to do some email and return various phone calls.
Finally K gets home and I bart into the city around 2:45. Swweeet!! A couple of my coworkers are in. They don't really notice I arrive. They don't really care as they probably just arrived themselves. We all hang out and shoot the shit while working on various low pressure tasks. Around 5:45, I'm bored. I got a ton of shit done. And since it's all about results and not visibility I'm out the door.
I meet up with G for a quick dinner and a couple of beers (ok- two beers and three jamesons). I don't get out much often any more so I guess I've learned to make the most of these elusive opportunities. I'm ordering drinks effiecently (two at a time). I'm striking up quick coversations with women here for a company function (none worth blogging about). And, I eat fast while watching five different games on the big screens. G's got a 7:30 pool tourney so we're out of there around 7:15 buzzed and happily content. I hop on bart and by the time I arrive at my stop the alcohol has worn off yet I feel surprisingly refreshed. Ready for whatever the munchkin wants to do...
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
I can dream right
These days are the happiest of my young life. I've found energy and tunnel vision I've never knew existed. Problem is it just feels sooo different. I'm used to a routine. And I'm used to deviating from it whenever I fuckin feel like it as well.
Unfortunately, I don't have either luxury. I've got hella shit to process but no time to devote to the tasks. And since I'm backed up like Oprah's fat ass I can't afford to hesitate much less blink. Ever.
I'm surrounded by chaos. A chaos that knows no bounds and even worse, there's no time to develop a system of caging up new information to parse and collate. I can't process results of the neverending logs and debug output. There's just no time. Not enough man power. Sometimes you think you have time to spare to straighten it up but its all an illusion.
But what's ironic is... I truly enjoy it more than anything. It's far from mundane. It keeps me on my toes. Regardless of the fact that I really work around twenty hours a week, and I haven't had thiry minutes to catch an entire broadcast of Sportcenter, and the fact that I haven't had spare time to shoot a relaxing game of 9-ball, it's completely and utterly worth it. Her smile can attest to that.
Unfortunately, I don't have either luxury. I've got hella shit to process but no time to devote to the tasks. And since I'm backed up like Oprah's fat ass I can't afford to hesitate much less blink. Ever.
I'm surrounded by chaos. A chaos that knows no bounds and even worse, there's no time to develop a system of caging up new information to parse and collate. I can't process results of the neverending logs and debug output. There's just no time. Not enough man power. Sometimes you think you have time to spare to straighten it up but its all an illusion.
But what's ironic is... I truly enjoy it more than anything. It's far from mundane. It keeps me on my toes. Regardless of the fact that I really work around twenty hours a week, and I haven't had thiry minutes to catch an entire broadcast of Sportcenter, and the fact that I haven't had spare time to shoot a relaxing game of 9-ball, it's completely and utterly worth it. Her smile can attest to that.
Truest of the True
Yeah i don't have much since insomnia's got me buggin
got drank that a i cant drank
smoke i cant smoke
bitches on my jock that i cant poke
but jeah i gotta keep it real and keep my hand on the steel
and let yall mutha fuckas know the deal...
another day.
got drank that a i cant drank
smoke i cant smoke
bitches on my jock that i cant poke
but jeah i gotta keep it real and keep my hand on the steel
and let yall mutha fuckas know the deal...
another day.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Wired News: U.S. Military's Elite Hacker Crew
Just imagine the 0-day toolz at the disposal of these guys:Wired News: U.S. Military's Elite Hacker Crew
Back In Action
Thats right... I'm back. After a two month hiatus to help care for and bond with my beautiful baby daughter, the original man, or should I say the father, of leisure returns. To celebrate my return and monumental change in my life I've decided to change the template to something geekier, less gruesome. After all, i gotta start acting my age and transform into a more bidness-like disciplinarian father. Yikes.
But don't fret playa cuz I'mma keep it gully for you and yours. No matter how incoherent and ebonic-laden these first few entries may appear (I need time to warm up and get used to writing again) I'mma flow since I'm much more relaxed than I was a couple months ago before the little hellraiser from heaven was born.
Yeah... I'll be busier than a one-legged-man in an ass kicking contest but I will post gosh darnit.
Looks like this blog's gotten beaurecratic as heck too as this is the second post about posting. It reminds me of how we have meetings about having meetings at work.
Check out what I've been listening to here.
But don't fret playa cuz I'mma keep it gully for you and yours. No matter how incoherent and ebonic-laden these first few entries may appear (I need time to warm up and get used to writing again) I'mma flow since I'm much more relaxed than I was a couple months ago before the little hellraiser from heaven was born.
Yeah... I'll be busier than a one-legged-man in an ass kicking contest but I will post gosh darnit.
Looks like this blog's gotten beaurecratic as heck too as this is the second post about posting. It reminds me of how we have meetings about having meetings at work.
Check out what I've been listening to here.
Sunday, April 10, 2005
I plan on posting again in the very near future. As I sail through uncharted waters with freshly discovered energy and enthusiasm I expect it all to be reflected in forthcoming posts. Until that day I leave you with this valuable quote:
"An idiot repeats his mistakes. A smart man learns from his mistakes. A genius learns from the mistake of others. The more you read, the more you learn and the more you can figure out how life works and what to do and not do without having to fuck up first." --TuckerMax
suntzu
"An idiot repeats his mistakes. A smart man learns from his mistakes. A genius learns from the mistake of others. The more you read, the more you learn and the more you can figure out how life works and what to do and not do without having to fuck up first." --TuckerMax
suntzu
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Yes, I Was Wrong
Yes, I was gravely wrong about TMac and his heart.
Even Schwab from Stump the Schwab is wrong once in a while.
However, all that other smack was talking was right on the money. We've got a complete team now, something we lacked going into the season.
That said, let's hope I don't jinx them...
GO ROX!!!
Sunday, February 20, 2005
The Most Beautiful Day
Today at 2:18PM PST in San Francisco, CA, my angelic baby daughter was born. Man, she's precious...
Precious enough to actually change me. At least for awhile. I knew this as soon as she threw up on me right after I turned my head to check out a cute nurse's ass. She'll need my undivided attention and she will make sure she gets it. Who am I to deprive her or even complain about it?
With that said, I'm going on a much-needed hiatus. I could come back tomorrow, in a month, or maybe never. Who knows.
Friday, February 18, 2005
Late, Just Like Daddy
It appears that my daughter will be arriving later that her predicted due date. Are those predictions ever right? I've never witnessed an accurate one. Also, I wonder if its really true that first time mothers are usually late a week?
So just I'm just sitting around playing the waiting game. I'm already off on PTO from work. I'm stuck at home. Wifey and her mother sit around and watch tv all day. I hit the gym. I read the Naked Ape and some book by Cialdini. I'm bored out of my fuckin mind. I'd love to be out in the city parlaying but I have a duty to perform. I am mr. birth coach.
Cmon baby.. come out already. We want to spend as much time with you while we're off from work.
IPod Top 10
One of the raddest features of the IPod and ITunes is its ability to keep track of what I'm listening to most and the iterations of these listens. By no means do these top 10 songs I play most respresent my all-time favorites. However, I do find it fascinating to discover that each track holds some special meaning for me and my current lifestyle. Crude analysis follows.
01) Fleetwood Mac - Dreams
I guess the line "Players only love you when their playing" serves as a hint.
02) Jet - Cold Hard Bitch
Yeah woman.. you know who you are.
03) Third Eye Blind - Can't Get Away
Epitomizes my obsessive-compulsive side
04) Spoon - Lines in the Suit
This song just rules.
05) Johannes Brahms - Sonata No. 1 For Cello and Piano in E Minor
My daughter's favorite jam.
06) Third Eye Blind - Blinded
About a chick that my third eye just can't cease chasing.
07) The Killers - Mr. Brightside
I have no idea how this is on the list.
08) Linkin Park - Faint
While I plot my revenge.
09) The Roots - The Seed (2.0)
Black Thought: egotistical and transcendent... just like me.
10) The Game - Westside Story
Read the previous post.
Honorable Mentions in the top 25 (Explanations unnecessary):
Tom Waits - Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis
Lit - My Own Worst Enemy
Beck - Debra
D'Angelo - Alright
Eminem - Never Enough
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Bump the Game, Get Motivated
Who says what music you listen to doesn't affect your actions? Yesterday, during a short 2 mile run through the hills in my neighborhood I became convinced that it does. At least to some extent. Drowning out sounds of birds chirping and noisy mufflers were lyrics from The Game's Westside Story.
If you take a look in my eyes,
You see i'll be a gangsta till I die,
That California chronic got me so high,
Game tell them where your from,
Nigga westside!
I was wrapping things up, entering my final 200 yards or so, thoroughly pumped up from new age gangsta rap, endorphins, and excessive testosterone I'm chugging along on the damp sidewalk. I notice two UPS monkeys talking on the sidewalk next to their truck. One jumps into the truck while the 2nd, clearly a dumbass, stands in the middle of the sidewalk--the sidewalk on which I am running. Usually, I wouldn't care and just run on the grass. But this time I couldn't. Certain barriers I won't mention were in my way (The dood was a fatass and there was mud on the left side of the sidwalk). I purposely shorten and put more weight into my strides so the asshole in the turd colored uniform would hear me coming and move over some. He doesn't. He's fucking deaf. He doesn't even flinch. I have no choice. I'm hella pissed. I'm ready to beat him and his friend's ass. I yell "Get the fuck out of the way or I'll knock you on your ass bitch". The fat turd, shocked like he just witnessed a FedEx dood fucking his wife, quickly moves towards the truck shields himself from a possible blow from me. Him and his buster ass associate mutter some crap under their breaths while I keep on running to the finish line.
Man, this Game album is the shit.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Monday, February 14, 2005
Player's Holiday
Ahhh Valentine's Day 2005, by far my favorite holiday. It's the only day I have to take out the missus for a bank account-crippling dinner at some snotty french restaurant like fucking Fleur de Lys. On top of that, you have to cop a wallet-flattening ring or watch etched with words like "Cartier" or "Rolex". Do all that shit you might get some action.
Or... I can be that casanova who descends upon all the best bars in the city to exploit vulnerabilities hot single women share on this special day. Let's face it, on this evening all single pretty women without a V-Day mate are either at home layered in thick sweats scarfing down Godivas cholocate they bought for themselves or at their favorite watering hole wearing skimpy clothing and no panties. In their pretty little heads they envision mr. right showing up and sweeping them off their feet to fill that romantic void. Instead they will settle for a dude like me with a little wit, persistance, and no cash to fill the void tonight... between their legs.
As for me, I'm doing neither of the above. Instead, I'm stuck on conference calls with lifeless bores called project managers while I fill out my damn time report while I pretend I'm not looking at pr0n and downloading mp3's. I'm dreading the fact that in a few short days both our moms will be here to support us through the delivery. I'm dreading the fact that I will have to be on my best behavior and not drink, smoke, curse too much. Scary.
Happy Valentines Day!!!
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Night Out with the Old Crew
Last night my old school drinking buddies got together for dinner at one of SF's finest steakhouses, Alfred's. The dinner was supposed to happen around xmas time but conflicts kept arising for everyone. We had planned to bring in a bottle of Patron and pay the $15 corkerage fee but R forgot the Patron. That didn't hinder us from going all out like we usually do. We sipped and guzzled sierras, petite syrahs, grappas, expensive cognac between bites of escargot, oysters, lobster, porterhouse steaks. After a decadent dinner we had to keep the night going and hunt down some pretty young ladies ;-)
We started at some little lounge in Chinatown. Red everything. Out of touch dj. A few nice 8+'s. Way too many dudes. We knock back a few drinks. My boy S is gaming one at a few average chicks. The locals seem to be protective over their women. Lame. Fuck this bar.
We end up at our favorite hotel bar. There works the cutest little pinay waitress in SF. Yummy. Not your prototypical long legged shappely gorgeous woman but hot nonetheless, in her own unique way. I have no idea what it is but she's got something that gave us all that feeling... Maybe it's the girl next door style, the nonchalant attitude. Who the hell knows. But it works. She's got us all entranced. I'm flirting. She flirts back a little. I go to far and she's suddenly shittesting me and my homies are laughing. I need to be a little more sober talking to this one. I blew it this time. But i know i can have it with a little ingenuity, persistence, and less drank.
We end up fucked up and decide to call it quits at a reasonable time. Some of us have to be up at 6am. I get left behind at the bart station as I had to fill up my card. As I walk down the escalator I notice S is locked in a heated coversation with some guy. To the left, on the stairs is a very pretty young lady walking alone. She smiles, she stares. And if a chick is going to do that that leaves me with no choice but to holler at her. I blurt out some stuff about her joining us for some more drinks right now or some shit. Suddenly the dude that S is talking to shoots me a dirtly glance and I realize he's either her bf or a wannabe bf. Apparently S approached her first and the bf got pissed. I walk up and do the same thing. The dude should be happy he's got a woman hot enough for two guys to spit game at within a few minutes apart. Sweat your gal for jockin not me.. daym.
Fun night. Probably my last night to go out for awhile.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Minivan Pimpin... NOT!
Recently, K's cousin let me borrow his Honda Odyssey Minivan. I had heard a lot about them: the roominess, the cool side doors, the DVD player. I always knew they weren't for me, even as a father. They are just too unsexy.
But hey, its me right... I can get chix to jock me a Ford Pinto.
Driving around El Camino to run errands reaffirmed my original belief. I couldn't get one young tender in the streets to look twice at me.
I'm more of a Audi A4 Avant kind of dad.. ya know?
Saturday, February 05, 2005
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Much Ado About Nothing
There's this new Ben and Jerry's ice cream flavor. I have no idea what it's called but the magical concoction contains strawberry cheesecake ice cream with graham crackers. Although I've tried it and have to agree that it's pretty good, K is absolutely addicted to it. So much that we spent a couple hours driving to four different Safeways searching for it... No luck.
A friend of mine recently mentioned she had a publicist on her payroll for her thriving new business. She pays her a few grand a month to get the business' name out to the public. I told her I have several publicists and I don't pay them a dime. They're all these big mouth h0ez that can't keep my name out of they're mouths. Biatches.
Not much else is up...
I've been spending a lot of time doing absolutely nothing except for downloading/listening to music and reading. I've been procrastinating about readying the house. I figured I needed some peace and quiet before chaos breaks loose.
Friday, January 28, 2005
Turbulent Times
Despite the desperate tone in my previous post, coolness has prevailed. Sometimes I forget how strong mentally and emotionally I've become. All is good with me.
I just wish I could say the same for my wife. We have a month left and she has completely lost her composure. The tiniest and most insignificant issues have her steaming. She is interpreting everything incorrectly. The attitude she conveys is the worst I've ever seen from her.
I've recently made it a point to change my ways. I give her constant pep talks. I try to be that coach. I've become a 'yes mam' kind of husband. I can't get through to her. As, I'm just now discovering, she just isn't built that way. She cannot deal with pain the way I can. She's just not into trying to improve her psychological mindset.
I swear I would leave her right now if she wasn't carrying my child...
Yup.. it's that harsh. And I've tried everything. But what can I do? Shit. I can't do shit except keep trying...
Thursday, January 27, 2005
The Dilemna
I've been fucking up as of late. Not in my eyes but in the eyes of everyone else. In the past, I've rarely cared about what the fuck anyone thought about me and/or my actions. I've always thought of myself as a fairly amoral person. My primary philosophy is that life is just a game.
But now things are changing. I'm dealing with real life issues that truly affect others not just myself. My philosophy is at odds with those in my life that I love. Is it possible for my ideals to peacefully mesh with the ideals of loved ones? Why is it so difficult for me to change?
And ultimately... was I meant to live this live alone?
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Phone lost then Found
I thought I lost my phone for good this time. After spending most of my afternoon retracing my steps from the previous evening in my head and calling different bars I gave up. Hopelessness set in and I started trying to recoup my lost digits via yahoo messenger and email. Back your shit up next time.
Update: I found my phone at M's house. Apparently, when I picked up my snowboard the other night I dropped it in his garage.
Saturday, January 15, 2005
Stoned, Stoked, SugarBowl
Atop Mt. Lincoln, 8,300 or so feet closer to the heavens, I find myself staring down a nasty black diamond run. Paranoid off Cali's finest government grade greenery. Metallica's And Justice For All blaring into my eardrums.
This will be my last run of the day.
Quite possibly my last run for years.
Fear fades as ignorant courageous adrenaline starts pumping through my veins. I confidently echo to myself "Let's make this one count. Energy is limitless".
Strength and honor!!!
Front foot pushes down on the board and I'm gone. See ya when I see ya...
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Goodbye Gamblers Anonymous
My friends and I figuratively refer to the act of ceasing to gamble as checking into GA, or Gamblers Anonymous. Such a group actually exists. We have no real affiliation to the real non-profit group for degenerate gamblers. Besides, joining the real GA is for pussies... Real gamblers just take time off then come back sharp as fuck.
This is exactly what I did this past weekend. After a month and a half hiatus I laid down some small time wagers. Let me tell you what a thrill it is to call the man and place a bet after time off. It's like that first line of coke for the night or penetrating a hot bitch you've been chasing for months for the first time. Just kidding. Maybe I'm not.
Anyways, I took STL, NYJ, and MIN. I would've taken IND too but I didn't wake up early enough on Saturday. That's 3-0 for weekend. Although I made was some small change I feel ecstatic. This weekend I continue my onslaught of the man..
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
The Day Draws Near
In a month or so from now I'll be in the midst of some chaotic stressful times. And soon after, a new addition to my life will be arriving. Wow.. Nine months is nothing.
On top of that my boss is scheduling me for projects and right around the time my wife is expecting. Did she forget my impending fatherhood date? Is it because I don't act like I'm fixin to be a dad? Cmon boss.. cut me some slack.
Let's see what else...
Beltran has opted to sign with the Mets. So you know what that means: we just lost two of our biggest impact players in recent years (Beltran and Clemens). According to Beltran what swayed his decision was the failure of the Astros to offer him a no trade clause. As a slugger in his prime stabilty is supposedly critical to him. Whether it was BS or not I have no idea but at least he was gracious by thanking HTown for the overwhelming support then subsequently apologizing. Good luck man.. I ain't hatin.
I have once again steered clear of the gym for the past couple weeks. Ever since I started painting and fixing up the house I just haven't had any time. And no, working on the house does not get you cut up... You just get high off paint fumes and make you wish you bought something new. Nothing can substitute for a good session of lifting and/or a good ole 3 mile run.
We held playoff draft for our fantasy league yesterday. This particular league actually plays through the playoffs and super bowl. Basically the top four seeds hang on to all the players still alive for the nfl divisional playoff games. All other players still alive in the nfl playoffs on eliminated teams get thrown back into the free agent pool. We draft from this pool. It's a bitch to explain... But, since I'm drafting this year I finally made the playoffs (2nd seed in fact). Here's my probable starting squad this week:
QB Marc Bulger
RB Corey Dillon
RB Marshall Faulk
WR Randy Moss
WR Deion Branch
WR Hines Ward
K Jeff Wilkins
D Falcons
Too bad for me I have to face Peyton Manning and Reggie Wayne... Good luck to myself.
Friday, January 07, 2005
slicker than the average...
Yeah thats me. And it's not exactly a positive characteristic since it implies I'm possibly conniving and manipulative. It's something I've tried to supress but I can't help it if I'm slick even when I try not to be.
It's Friday. The rain won't let up. My mind feels dumb from all the Sierras and sticky icky from last night. M and I had a few drinks at our favorite Glen Park bar (oh wait, there is only one bar in Glen Park). Same ole drunk conversations... Our jobs suck, i wanna fuck that bitch, etc... I'll refrain from writing up a long post...
Beltran, please fly to Houston and sign on the dotted line.
Good luck Rox with the Lakers tonight...
I'm audi5000.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Trouble in Camelot
Our honorable mayor of SF, Gavin Newsome and his stunningly hot lawyer wife have decided to get a divorce.
WTF? How's he gonna run for President single? How does he leave a nice piece of ass like that?
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Best Lapdance Ever
After work yesterday G and I hit 4th Street Bar to catch the college game of the decade, the Orange Bowl, between USC and OU. At least that's what the game was billed. What a fuckin' joke. OU, what happened did yall get too drunk the night before?? This was not the team I watched earlier in the season. After the botched punt return and being down 21-7... they just laid down and the game was already decided.
After wolfin' down wings and chicken fingers and washing it down with about 5-6 pints of Stella I was feeling pretty good. So I'm thinkin'... I'm in the city, I'm lit, the game is no longer entertaining, and my VIP card to my favorite SF strip club will soon be expiring... I suggest we go see some tiddies for an hour or so. G agrees wholeheartedly. It's on once again...
We're up in there near the bar, enjoying the scenery. It's prime time and the top shelf talent is just starting to file in. Admittedly, guilt does set in a little. I really didn't belong up in there considering how long I've stayed away and other circumstances. I thought I finally kicked the strip club habit for good.
Like an ex-smoker rewarding himself for quitting by lighting up for old times sake I end up with a couple really smokin dancers on each side of me. Guilt fades. I deserve a reward for my valiant efforts too.
On one side, between G and I, we have a very curvy (in all the right places) latina with a gorgeous face. She's clearly the one everyone in the club is after. On my other side we have a thin curly haired brunette.. lovely as well. Not your typical hoochie mama like the latina but I don't know there's just something about her. I would've gone after the first one but G seems to have taken a liking to her and since he paid for dinner, I let him have first pick.
Anyways, the thinner chick is really coming on to me hard. Compliments were being thrown at me all too frequently. My first impression was she's a serious hustler and I'm initially turned off. But as I check out more of her I realize she's actually more my type: body of a model, nice round ass, and small perky breasts. I decide to run some game on her as if I was at the club. I put my arm around her and feel her waist and ass but devote most of my attention to the latina and her perfect cleavage. I'm sharp tonight. I'm spitting some serious game to one woman while ignoring the one caressing my chest. I guess she's shocked. To recapture my attention and prove her value she states that my face and hands are cold so she grabs my hands and places them on her neck and down to the top of her breasts to "warm them up". Then she positions herself between my legs (she's standing up and I'm sitting in a bar style tall chair) and starts rubbing herself all over me. We're stuck in a deep embrace with her warm body pressing against my crotch. We stay in this position for two songs. Her slight wiggle movements have me aroused. She can tell. Unable to control myself any longer I ask her for a dance.
This pre-dance foreplay led to the most sensuous lapdance I've ever experienced. I still can't think about anything else. Mind you, I've had a lot of lapdances in my time and have done some wild things inside strip clubs but this was ironically the wildest. During the dance she's grinding seductively on my lap and several times she whispers in my ear how horny she is and that I have sexy lips. The woman had a look in her eyes like she worshipped me. Suddenly, she brings her lips to mine and kisses me. Instinctively, I kiss her back and soon our tongues are engaged in a battle. This went on for about half a song. All the while I'm massaging her ass underneath and she's moving her satin covered cunt up and down against my woody. For that minute and a half I was gone... lost in sheer and utter bliss. Suddenly I realized where I was and what I was doing. Strippers don't kiss you. Sometimes they'll suck you off or let you fuck them.. but one thing they don't do is kiss.
I somehow break away and tell her I better quit before I get kicked out and she whispers that she'll probably get kicked out too if someone saw that. I'm still blown away. I'm convinced the woman is in love with me. Either that, or she's the best actress in the world.
I get another dance.. a more typical one (although she still manages to bite my wood gently through my pants and let me massage her moistness with my hand through her g-string). Then it ends... I blurt out that I have to rejoin my friend. We stop. She hangs out on my lap for another song. It seems we can't let go of each other. Like an old girlfriend forever addicted to me she won't leave. Finally, I hand her 40 bux and tell her to come find me again in a little while.
I go back and join G and the latina and pound a couple patron shots. I overhear G and the latina are discussing her voyeuristic fantasies but I still couldn't think about anything else outside of what just happened. I can't believe I "made out" with a dancer.
I tell G its time to get ghost. We were only supposed to stay for an hour. As we make our exit out the club, I run into my gal. She grabs my arm and tries to pull me into a chair while reminding me how much fun we just had. I decline reluctantly knowing I had to get out of there now before I try to take her to somewhere else. She knows she's in my head. I get her digits and tell her I'll be back very soon...
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Happy New Year!!!
The celebration is over and I have no more time to recollect trials and tribulations of 2004. It's back to the grind for me...
As I look back upon my past I've found that every stressful period in my life only resulted in strengthening my inner self and overall character. That's understood.
No matter how tough the situation I've always risen to the occaison. For example back in early 2001 when I got laid off from my dotcom. I was severely in the red. My woman at the time was in school and didn't make much at her part time job. The assholes at the dotcom provided us with a paltry 2 weeks of severance. I didn't know how I was going to come up with rent, 2 car payments, etc. I had no savings and I was heavily in debt.
What did I do? I just took it to another level. I submitted about 100-200 resumes per day for any openings I felt remotely qualified for. I quit spending. I went to the gym every night and even went snowboarding. I ate ham and cheese sand "wishes". I studied like a mutha. And best of all... I had a four interviews and received four offer letters in less than a week. I signed in less than 7 days after receiving my pink slip. Mind you, also, this all happened during dotcom bust times.
Yeah I learned alot. I will always step up to the plate and knock the shit out of any challenges thrown at me.
But at what cost?
I know for sure that my ability to take things to that other level and consistently come through under extreme pressure is difficult. I can't think of anyone else that would be willing to make the sacrifices I make to get what I want during these times. What I accomplish is in one word: supernatural. And trust me, I am not tooting my own horn...
My concern is the price I pay for this ability to change the outcome of things and my ability to slow my eventual demise. Look at all the new ailments I've become inflicted with in the past few years... The back problems, the eye disease, the allergies, the grey hair, and hair thinning. All must be a direct result of energy spent in conquering certain problems. In fact, these problems probably manifest themselves from one another. It's like a fuckin' game of wack-a-mole in which I'm winning but as I win I keep advancing to levels with more and more moles to deal with.
Although I'm continue on my devastating winning streak, the game is taking a toll on me... I must find a way to cheat. I'm just not good at video games any more.
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