Last Minute Vacation

First things first.  Somnambulist Steve, who I knew was jonesing for more duckpin action since our bowl-off last fall, came down Friday to bowl (as a substitute) in the league.  Our team lost a bowler a few weeks ago, and Steve filled in the open slot.  He kicked ass!  Something like 332 to my 262 (my second worst night of the entire season).  Fortunately, we weren’t competing against each other.  Steve bested two of my teammates, too, including Captain Bill.  In fact, he was doing so well that by the third game our bruised egos may or may not have resulted in a few sarcastic, “Aw, too bad” remarks following the occasional near miss on Steve’s part.  To make matters worse, Bill pointed out that not only was The New Guy kicking my ass, but I was letting him use my balls to do it.  Check out Steve’s entry for his perspective.  All kidding aside, a good time was had by all.  Yeah, we won all three games, too.

Oh, and as we were leaving, I saw Lala coming in.  What’s up with that?  Weird, I tell ya, weird.

Now, I’m headed out on vacation for the remainder of the week.  I just learned this yesterday.  My godparents have a beachfront timeshare on the Cape, but due to some work project, my godfather cannot go, so godmother Mary Jane invited Mom and me.  We head out tomorrow morning and return on Friday.  Considering that at this time last year Mom was on a ventilator in ICU, it seems fitting to go away for a few days.  Not exactly a Caribbean cruise, I know, but I’ll take it just the same.  Too bad it’s not beach season, huh?

Not one to spend my days sitting around, I’ve already done some activities research.  There is a franchise of my gym nearby and a top-notch ice rink with daytime public skating hours in the area.  So while the “older set” is doing their thing, I’ll be getting my move on.  Also, there’s an indoor pool at the timeshare, as well as a hot tub.  Mmmmm.

It’s funny how people view vacations differently.  I’m packing ice skates and a bathing suit (not to be worn at the same time, you sick, silly fools), and Mom’s bringing Scrabble and teabags.  For my down time, I’m bringing a couple of books, maybe some scrapbooking to work on, and a yoga DVD.  (Nothing against Scrabble or tea.  I’m sure I will be partaking in both.)

Yippee yahoo!

Still hearting March…

Comments:

I Heart March

The month of March is setting up to be a fine one indeed.  Each day, there are a precious few more minutes of daylight.  No longer is it pitch black when I leave work.  Yippee!  I always feel more motivated to be productive during daylight hours, and productive me equals happy me.  Certainly much more so than the dark days of December and January when it feels like it’s already time for bed when I come home from work.  Blech.  Can you say Seasonal Affective Disorder?

And then there is the money.  Money, money, money!  All those extra checks coming my way – state and federal tax refunds, the always delayed year-end bonus, insurance reimbursement for my gym membership, and, and – can you stand it? – an extra paycheck?  Yes, this March is one of the two months in 2006 when we every-other-weekers receive THREE PAYCHECKS IN ONE MONTH.  Three paychecks to go towards those monthly bills, not the usual two.  Whoopee!

How much?

Well, thanks to some “creative accounting,” a technique I learned from former roommate (and friend of Tim’s) Brian, and a general attitude of “the IRS doesn’t need to know every little thing about my personal life,” I’ll be getting back just over $2,300 of my (occasionally) hard-earned salary.  Yes, I know that a tax refund basically amounts to an interest-free loan given to the government for the prior year.  But, with interest rates as measly as they are, I’d rather take the lump and lose the pittance in interest it would have earned throughout the year had I claimed 0 rather than 1.

Next comes the so-called year-end bonus.  Funny, in the Devil’s world, each year seems to end a few weeks later than the previous year.  Soon, all the Devil’s minions will have to endure a State of the Firm videoconference, where everyone tries to act equally as interested in all the blah-blah stuff as they are in the bonus stuff, which is usually the penultimate subject on the agenda.  Oh, yeah, they serve us wine and cheese and crackers, too.  Good times.  How about, “Give me the fucking money and let me out of here so I can down margaritas and Jell-o shots without the company of attorneys, who, by the way, can shove their crackers and cheese and wine up their overpaid asses!  PAR-TAY!”  Wait.  I mean, “Thank you.”

How dare I sound so unappreciative towards anyone handing me some free money.

It’s just the manner in which it’s done.  After the bonus amounts are announced, the obnoxious attorneys start crowing and go around looking for thanks foot-kissing for their generosity.  “Wow! Two thousand this year!”  Like my life is changed or something.  Okay, not to sound like an ingrate – I know they don’t have to give us a dime, really I do – but they all know damned well that the Devil applies the gift tax to bonuses.  Yes, the 45% GIFT TAX.  So we get a little over HALF.  Two thousand, my ass.  Every other place I’ve worked (even other law firms) applies payroll taxes to bonuses, not gift taxes.  I know I’m sounding pretty greedy right about now, and I know they are many, many people out there who never receive a bonus, but – I’m just saying.  (And, yes, I realize how very fortunate I am that one or two thousand dollars does not change my life.)

Moving on, there’s the $150 reimbursement from the health insurance company.  It’s supposed to be a partial reimbursement for gym membership fees.  Of course, a more snide person could view it as reimbursement for out-of-pocket premiums which she didn’t have to pay with the Devil’s previous insurer.

Last, it’s a three-paycheck month.  Sweet.  Not mentioning any amounts here.  Suffice it to say that I’ll be a grand total of something more than $3,500 richer by month’s end.

Big plans?

Well, there’s the termites’ aftermath.  After spending over $1,000 to get rid of the little fuckers (as I so lovingly call them), I need a new bathroom floor.  That’s FLOOR, as in subflooring, not merely new floor covering, which, of course, I also will need.  It’s my own fault, I admit, for procrastinating as long as I did.  Tim’s friend, Paul, who replaced my fence last year, will be doing the work.  He checked out the bathroom when he was working on the fence and mentioned something about hoping the cabinets were okay.  Damn, I hadn’t even thought of that.  Well, as far as I’m concerned, they’re okay.  See?  I never learn.

As usual, I’ll plop some down on the mortgage principal and into my IRA.  Damn, I know how to have fun, huh?

But wait, there will be some fun.  California fun.  After spending a year back in the hills of Massachusetts, Olivia and Dave are again relocating to northern California, where they spent several months after the Hawaii stint.  Dave is looking forward to the move; Olivia isn’t.  They will be there for two years, at the least.  I’m not sure when I’ll be visiting – either this fall or next spring, probably.  I’ve never been to Cally, so I’m looking forward to visiting Napa Valley, San Francisco, and anywhere else we end up.

And there goes all my March cheddar and then some.

Conclusion:  MONEY IS EVIL.

Happy Weekend!

Comments:

The Cult of Me

It seems that I’m always the last one on board with these things:

You scored as Cultural Creative. Cultural Creatives are probably the newest group to enter this realm. You are a modern thinker who tends to shy away from organized religion but still feels as if there is something greater than ourselves. You are very spiritual, even if you are not religious. Life has a meaning outside of the rational. Cultural Creative 94% Existentialist 56% Materialist 50% Romanticist 50% Idealist 44% Postmodernist 44% Modernist 38% Fundamentalist 38% What is Your World View? (updated) created with QuizFarm.com

Allow me to elaborate.

Both of my parents were raised as Catholics.  By the time I was a pre-teen, I could tell that Mom had unofficially left the church.  Dad, while still considering himself Catholic, didn’t care whether we attended mass or not.  As for me, there was two (or was it three?) years of catechism and a smattering of church exposure, and I never really “got” it.  When some of my friends were preparing to make Confirmation, I asked Mom why I no longer had to go to Sunday school.  She replied that I didn’t seem interested and she didn’t want to force it on me beyond simply exposing me to Catholicism.  That was fine by me, and I let it go at that.

For years, I would never admit it to anyone, but I always doubted the existence of God – at least in the sense that it was presented to me at church and Sunday school.  With so many religions and everyone believing his/her own religion was the “right” one, who could be sure if any were right?  I thought it very well could be an outdated belief system, much like Greek and Roman mythology.  In those times, it certainly wasn’t referred to as mythology.  The Greeks and the Romans believed in the existence of their gods and goddesses and that they existed among them.  Now, we study mythology in English class like it’s The Canterbury Tales.  Thousands of years from now, will the Bible and the Torah be studied similarly?  Surely, you can see why I was reluctant to voice my questions and opinions.

And despite all that questioning, I still believe there is something, some force, greater than us, greater than life.

In my teens, I questioned Mom about her increasingly vocal disapproval of the Catholic church.  She, like so many, finds the church’s views to be outdated.  She expressed a disapproval of organized religion in general – too many wars fought over religion.  Hardly the foundations of peace and Christianity and all that good stuff, right?  But, she said, she believed in some sort of creator.  Why?

Flowers.

Mom said that when she looked at all the beauty and variety and amazing colors of flowers, she thought it couldn’t just happen on its own accord.  There had to be something more.

Since that time, whenever I’ve felt a bit agnostic, I think of flowers, and I agree with Mom.  But I have put a spin on it and I question further:  Is it the flowers themselves, for their beauty and color, or is it us, for our ability to see that beauty?

Anyway, flowers.

Comments:

Grrrrrr

ATTENTION:
ANYONE WHO RECORDED THE WESTMINSTER KENNEL CLUB DOG SHOW (CHOOSING INSTEAD TO WATCH THE OLYMPICS) AND WHO HAS NOT YET VIEWED THE DOG SHOW TAPE AND DOES NOT WANT TO KNOW THE OUTCOME SHOULD NOT READ THE FOLLOWING.

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Curse the scoundrel of a coworker who asked me what I thought of Rufus, the colored bull terrier who won Best in Show at Westminster last night, curse you!

Yes, I recorded the Westminster Kennel Club dog show (choosing instead to watch the Olympics) and have not yet viewed the dog show tape and did not want to know the outcome.

What an annoying way to start the day.  On a more positive note, Valentine’s candy is half price today.  Save some of the good stuff for me.

Good boy!

Duck Duck Goose

“Oh, sorry. I thought you were a quail.”

Doesn’t really work, does it?

I’ve said it here before:  Chick Deney is frightening, dangerously so.  But trust me, I wasn’t thinking of anything like this.  Maybe I’m just uber-clever or something, but I can tell the difference between my friend and a fucking quail (at least when my friend is accessorized in bright orange hunting gear).

Or did he forget they were on a hunting trip and instead think they were playing paintball?  Man, I don’t need friends who are that kind of forgetful.

What if…

GB2 had gone along on Chick’s hunting trip and likewise had been mistaken for a small game bird and did not survive?

Would Chick ascend to the presidency, or would he be tried as a presidential assassin?  Or both?

Sports Page Editorial

Michelle Kwan has decided to withdraw from the Olympics, and it’s being regarded as a huge tragedy.  I’m not unsympathetic, but I’m not crying about it.

The poor thing will just have to settle for the two medals (bronze and silver) she already has.  That’s two more Olympic medals than — what? — 99.999 percent of the population?

Sure, it sucks whenever an athlete spends years training and then suffers an injury at or shortly prior to The Big Game.  I’m not completely unfeeling, you know.  But let’s remember that in any given event, there is ONE gold medal awarded every four years.  That means a lot of top athletes go without.  Kurt Browning, a four-time world champion and the first to land a triple Axel, competed in three Olympic Games and won NO medals.  Sometimes it happens that way.

I loathe this whole mentality about finishing second or third and viewing it as “losing the gold.”  How about “winning the silver/bronze?”  I’m sure the fourth (or fortieth) place finisher would be happy to be able to say that.  How about feeling fortunate to compete in the Olympics?  How about doing your best and being satisfied with that?

No one can lose the gold medal.  It is not awarded in advance and therefore cannot be lost.  Right?

Michelle wasn’t even a gold medal favorite this time around.  And that was before her pre-Nationals groin injury.  She hasn’t competed all season.  The new scoring system probably isn’t to her favor, and she has little experience skating under it (a fourth place finish in last year’s Worlds).  Not winning an Olympic gold medal doesn’t mean she isn’t a good skater.  It just means she didn’t win an Olympic gold medal.

Lastly, I read something about the Michelle Kwan/ Hughes sisters irony.  The irony is supposed to be that had Michelle won gold in Salt Lake City in 2002, and not Emily’s sister, Sarah, Michelle likely would not have vied for a 2006 Olympic berth, and Emily’s third place Nationals finish would have put her on the 2006 team as a competitor (as opposed to alternate).  So, Sarah’s victory indirectly cost little sis an Olympic berth.  Not so, I say.  The logic is flawed.

Let’s say Michelle won gold in 2002, and then 16-year-old Sarah won silver, bronze, or no medal.  It would be likely, then, that the 2006 team would be Sasha Cohen, Kimmie Meisner, and SARAH Hughes.  Get it? (I truly doubt that a 16-year-old would retire from competitive skating — unless she’s already won the ultimate competition.)  So stop saying that Sarah’s 2002 gold medal indirectly kept sister Emily off the 2006 team.

Michelle, I’m sorry for your ill-timed injury, but you’re still a great skater who medaled in two Olymic Games.

That’s not so tragic, is it?

Comments:

Bowling with Bimbos

A while back, I wrote about the trashy transformation of bowling league member Melinda.  It’s all here – the overly bleached hair, the gaudy fake nails, the fake orangey tan, the rhinestone nose stud, and, of course, the boob job.

I concluded that Melinda must be readying herself to break into the world of sleaze and disease that is the adult film industry.  Witty, however, made a good point about Melinda feeling insecure about her age and her looks and her ability to keep her husband interested in her.

Well, the Pamelazation continues.  Did you notice something glaringly missing from the list of Trashy Broad Accessories above?  Yup, that’s right – a tattoo.  In particular, one of them there lower back scrolly design tattoos.

Ass antlers.

That’s what I’m talking about.  When I arrived at the bowling alley last Friday, one of the first things I got to see was Melinda bent over, showing off the latest in her trashformation to none other than dear, sweet, 70-something-year old Everett.

You know, I think Everett would have enjoyed the peep show down into the pants of a much younger woman a whole lot more if the tattoo hadn’t been there.  I’m just guessing that guys Everett’s age, unless they’re bikers, don’t find tattoos on women to be very appealing.  And, really, Melinda is not an unattractive woman, if she would leave well enough alone.  She is tallish, slender, and has long legs.  If anything, she should consider a nose job – she does have a bit of a beak.  But no, instead she gets it pierced, drawing more attention to it.  Go figure.

As for the tattoo, I thought the design looked kind of shaky.  Of course, I’m no expert.  Maybe they all start out looking that way (though I doubt it).  Maybe it was my own eyesight trying to protect me from the whole tacky scene.  Also, the placement looked kind of high, but perhaps that’s because Melinda was wearing ultra, ultra low rise jeans.  (Always appropriate for bowling, by the way.)

So, in Melinda’s dishonor, I have swiped a Dead Milkmen song, changed its political incorrectness, and made it more relevant hereto.  (Camper Van Beethoven’s “Take the Skinheads Bowling,” though a more obvious choice, wasn’t quite as amusing.)

“Takin’ Bimbos to the Lanes”

It’s a boring day – I’ve got nothing to gain
Except to get a load of bimbos and drive ‘em to the lanes Oh, oh, oh, takin’ bimbos to the lanes [x2]

Load ‘em on a bus just for laughs
Down a winding road, stepping on the gas
Down a winding road, just daydreaming
Down a winding road with the bimbos screaming

Oh, oh, oh, takin’ bimbos to the lanes [x2]

One of them blowing a big spit bubble
Slam on the brakes at the first sign of trouble
Head-on collision, bodies everywhere
Head-on collision, bimbos beware

Oh, oh, oh, takin’ bimbos to the lanes [x2]

Yes, I do agree with Witty’s assessment, and I’m more certain than ever that Melinda has a pair of clear acrylic platform sandals at home, by the bed.  It’s only a matter of time until she shows up at the alley wearing them.

Comments:

Get the Limes and Pass the Salt

I received an email today from friend and Super Bowl party hostess Suzanne.  It’s not a particularly outstanding email, just the usual fare, yet it seemed somewhat fitting for a Friday post.  As for the Super Bowl, I don’t care who wins.  I don’t think I can name a single player on either team.  Lala is a hardcore Steelers fan (as are his brothers and as was their father), so good for him, I guess.  Suzanne and Billy are having a party simply because the Super Bowl is well timed with the completion of their den bump-out and renovation.  I’m going for the sake of going to a party and enjoying some good company.  We will collectively ridicule everyone and everything that is televised.  Oh, yeah, Suzanne and Billy have a big ass television, too.

Begin email message:

Subject: Natural way to feel better and more confident about yourself

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Do you suffer from shyness?
Do you sometimes wish you were more assertive?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, ask your doctor or pharmacist about Tequila®.

Tequila® is the safe, natural way to feel better and more confident about yourself and your actions.

Tequila® can help ease you out of your shyness and let you tell the world that you’re ready and willing to do just about anything.

You will notice the benefits of Tequila® almost immediately, and with a regimen of regular doses you can overcome any obstacles that prevent you from living the life you want to live.

Shyness and awkwardness will be a thing of the past, and you will discover many talents you never knew you had.

Stop hiding and start living, with Tequila®.

Tequila® may not be right for everyone.
Women who are pregnant or nursing should not use Tequila®.  However, women who wouldn’t mind nursing or becoming pregnant are encouraged to try it.

*Side effects may include:  dizziness; nausea; vomiting; incarceration; erotic lustfulness; loss of motor control; loss of clothing; loss of money; loss of virginity; delusions of grandeur; table dancing; headache; dehydration; dry mouth; a desire to sing Karaoke and/or playing all-night rounds of Strip Poker and Truth Or Dare.

End email message.

Lastly,
Bumper Sticker of the Week:  I LEAVE BITE MARKS

HAPPY WEEKEND!

Comments:

Happy Gh.D.

 

God, I can’t believe they made us come in today.  Grumble, grumble.

I mean, they could have at least had cake this afternoon, those non-celebratory bastards.