It has been a long time since I have daylogged here so I thought I would give up an update on what is going on in my life.

I have been married now for a little more then a month and just wanted to say how great married life is. I enjoy the time my wife and I spend together. One of things we have found is nice is to be in the same room as each other. For example, she might be working on something on the computer while I am working on my next campaign for DnD. Just together time like that is nice. Of course not having to drop her off at her place at the end of the day is the greatest thing.

Do married people go to bed earlier then non-married people? For example, when my wife and were dating we would be up late at night, past midnight talking, laughing, just spending time together. Now it seems like we head to bed a lot earlier, and its not just for sex or things like that. I have chosen not to watch a lot of the World Series because we have gone to bed tired from the day.

Another note, I passed my last test become a MCSA, or Microsoft Certified System Administrator. So now I need to figure out what my next step will be. I have given thought of either a Security certification or people something to do with Exchange as we use it hear with work and something that I am lacking in.

Well that's enough from what is going on with me.

I bought a huge pink guitar today. OK, so it’s not huge, but it is fucking big. And pink. A Samick 4-string, not sure what model. I picked it up for approx. 45 quid, give or take a few, it was a deal not to be passed up. It is really pink. I didn’t realize that something can be pink to such an intense degree; it is luminescent in its pinkness.

It plays OK, but it is so pink. The only way I can keep it is if I get a big Sex Pistols sticker to paste on the back of it.

I can’ let it sit next to my Rickenbacker; that would be sacrilege. If I can’t paint it, I’ll only use it to play AerosmithPink’ and Electric 6Gay Bar’.

Why pink?

Why me?

This stinks.

.. "When it's put up to you and put up to you good I hope you'll be able to perform like you said you would kevin " , she was angry, " I hope you don't fuck up like you did last time", she was mean, "I hope you don't embarrass mum and dad like you usually do ", what a bitch. I kept on walking with the phone held away from my ear. When the noises at the other end sounded like they had said there penny's worth I said good bye and hung up quick not giving her a chance to go off on another rant and add further insult to injury, neurotic bitch that she was. I had spent my day in an office doing some of this and not much of that, I was tired and not particularly happy with the way my life was going or rather the way it was being forced. On one hand I could quit the job (I fucking hated it) and tell my father and his friend (my boss) I couldn't take it any more and that they would just have to find some one to replace m.... But that wouldn't be good enough for you now would it ? Life's got you stuck in that little rut and everyone else is just carving up your time. Stuffing it in your pretty little mouth, pushing your jaws up and down, you don't have time to chew, spit or swallow, you just got to take it. The victim thats what you are! All danced on and shoulder charged into shape, a yellow face in the rain who ate to much coleslaw before bedtime. A mini ranting Henry Rollins all hyped on dance dance revolution and styled up to give off another noxious diatribe: "You are just waiting for another piece of writing to stare at and find little self reflections in. Something you can empathize with, embrace or feel sorry for. A bite sized chunk of fruity human emotion all wrapped up like candy in a sachet of neat precise words. A specimen for you to prod and poke, something thats put down to put you right up their with the ... ". His head puffs up like bubble gum as if he were a caricature from ren and stimpy, a constipated balloon all pissed off with no where to go expel his hot gas save in your face.

Another bad day at the office, another heartbreaking tale from a dysfunctional relationship, another soap opera soup to sip on before bed time, the seasons change and now everyone's depressed. So what are you digging at ? What do you want ? A kiss ? A hug ? A ham sandwich ? It's your life man, you sort it out, I got problems of my own and when I don't.. Well, I'm all right jack, thats what I'l say right up until the point when it all falls apart again and I come crawling back and moderator becomes moderated. When some one dies, leaves me or bumps their head and goes into a coma. Then everybody can say: Yeah tell me about it , It's a cold world out their, sometimes I think I'm getting a little frosty myself.

Call me crazy or a slut or begging for attention, but it's just odd to walk around in a dress with no underwear on. Let me explain further.

I go to school in the mornings and my office job right after. I can't wear a dress to school. It upsets the herd to see one of its own dressed nicely when they are in pajama pants so I would rather wear PJ's than a dress and heels. So, I don't wear underwear with pants. I just don't. I don't see the point.

This morning, I packed my pink bag with a dress, some shoes (no panty hose. I hate them and it's too hot for that here) and I kept telling myself, "Don't forget to pack undies." I forgot obviously.

Now I am forced to "free ball it" if you will, in a dress. It's weird. It's like I'm walking sex or something. I am all of a sudden very aware of my genitals. I feel dirty. Naughty. Wrong. It's like the people here know. They KNOW! It's like I'm wearing a big sign that says, "I'M NOT WEARING UNDERPANTS!" I think it going to my head, in a bad way. These thoughts keep going through my head like, "Hey. You could reach down and touch yourself right now! It's right there! I'm losing my mind over this. It's taking over my life. I guess I have learned my lesson:

Keep a spare thong in the glove box.

the terrorists win

I have a habit these days. It's a very strange habit that some people find funny and some don't. When somebody tells me to do something or uses the phrase "have to" in a sentence, I respond by saying, "'Cause If we don't (insert the "have to" here), the terrorists win."

What drives me to do this? (Especially since I'm a right-winger.) Well first off, it's freakin hilarious when timed right and second, I'm driven to make a mockery of the capitalist abuse of a national tradgedy. G.W. doesn't make it any better by getting on TV, looking straight into the camera with his eyebrows giving a most sympathetic twitch and saying, "Go buy stuff people. It's the American way." or "If we don't buy stuff the terrorists win." (paraphrased) OK, sure our economy sucks right now, but the terrorists have nothing to do with it.

On a serious note, my little phrase can hold great meaning too. "If I don't go out and serve at the local soup kitchen, the terrorists win." or "If I don't help out at my local inner-city community center, the terrorists win." If we don't make the world a better place the terrorists do win.

Why do they win? Because being a selfish, lazy American who doesn't contribute much to society is exactly how most terrorists see us. They percieve us as fat Americans who hoarde everything and honestly, there is a grain of truth to that. There are some of us who only perpetuate the misconceptions most countries have to us and some of us who don't.

To sum it up, the best way to beat terrorism is to stop being a cancerous tumor on America's side and serve thy neighbor

Ashley is taller now with thick shining brown hair that hangs all the way down her back. I was having a good day anyway, an easy day at work so I wasn't driven to terse bitchiness, but when I see this kid I just soften. Can't help it. I think of her being knocked across the room by electricity last year and I think of her hand and I think of how it all worked out just right. Like magic. She lives with her dad now, everything's better for her. She's less afraid to keep a grin on. It radiates in waves you can feel.

I said Ashley, just look at this stuff. You're Rapunzel.

She said, I know. I'm going to give it to the cancer kids. Only two inches to go. She kept smiling.

I held it together long enough. It was the end of the day, I could go to my car. A year ago we were so afraid, for days. She didn't lose any pieces of herself after all. And here she is, eager, happy. Does she know she's paying a debt?


Yesterday, the other one. I like to sit next to her when she's drawing because she's quiet and interesting and hugs me and tells me about her day and likes to touch my face and tell me I'm pretty like a princess. Be jealous.

All of this is of course deepened by gratitude at how well everything turned out. It's different than what her parents must feel, because they never saw that face covered in blood. I held her in my lap and rocked her until she stopped whimpering and I was so fucking afraid and now she draws me bunnies and beams at me and all that terror has been shrunk down to the tiniest, most beautiful scar right between her eyes.

I was dorking it up to make her laugh and she was enjoying it but also looking at me like I was the weirdest ever. I said, I know, I know, what's the matter with me.

She looked at me very carefully, thought about it, then said, I think it's just that you want to be goofy, all day long.


A six-year-old knows the score on me and I'm in love and I'm moving to a place that feels good and my teeth work again and it's scarf weather and words work again and I'm in love and it's a-ok to be here. Hi.

Please tolerate my rant.

I live in the Eastern time zone of the United States (GMT –5). Working for a global company, I frequently have to deal with people in varying time zones. However, mostly I deal with other folks in this country. And, the most annoying, by far, are those in the Pacific time zone (GMT -8).

I get to work at the start of normal business hours in the US—8 AM. Though I don’t shy away from staying late with cause, I do like to be out the door at 5:00 or 5:30. In general, this isn’t a problem.

Unless, of course, I have to do business in California. 2 PM is a common meeting time—a sweet spot for the afternoon. Its far enough after the noon hour that everyone has had lunch and taken care of the after-lunch e-mail and phone calls, but far enough from the end of the day that action items can be addressed and people are constantly checking their watches.

Of course, if someone in California wants to call this meeting, it really is 5 PM for me. Doing it earlier usually means that first our lunch then theirs gets in the way. Before 11 my time, and the West Coast folks are just getting in to the office (never a good time to have a meeting).

The Californians don’t seem to think anything of it. In part, I suspect that staying late is seen as part of the job; coming in early is a hardship. This is why my proposing a 10 AM (my time) meeting is usually rejected—that means they have to come in early.

As noted above, I don’t inherently object to working late. However, the pain should be shared—let’s have that 10 AM EST meeting!

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