It has come to my attention that my earlier post may have raised concerns with my pals. No worries. I am not going anywhere, just no longer willing to pay for the game. The retirement thing was just my attempt to be clever. Dont worry Dusty and Dayna- the goon is still in house. :)
Project Aquarius News Update:
This morning, in a small ceremony held at PA headquarters, the staff said goodbye to Agent Pisces, who announced his retirement late last night. Pisces served as the project's Chief of Security from April 2001 to the present. When asked what his plans were, the beleaguered agent just smiled and said, "it wouldn't be much of a vacation if I told you where I was going, now would it?" It is widely rumored that Pisces will be retained on staff at PA, and we will likely see his name pop up from time to time. Please feel free to take turns roasting the prodigal goon in the "your turn" section below.
If I was a tree, what kind of tree would I be? What the fuck kind of question is that for a post? ;)
I would be a birch tree I think. Tall, nice leaves, chalky bark you can turn into paper, and if I fell over people could hollow me out and use me as a canoe.
My horoscope has been telling me to work harder, for the fruits of my labor will indeed be sweet. Work harder?! Just goes to show you that horoscopes are based on a best-case scenario. :)
Nobody do anything stupid today... I dont have the energy to deal with that. I've been on 24 hour call for over a month, and this goon is getting a little shell shocked. :)
The Spark has a feature called Bone Easy, which generates pick up lines and then ranks their potential effectiveness. These are some of my more favorites:
"Who were you expecting, commander? Captain james t. Mound? He is safe on planet. Far from this opium den. Let's go now, our ship is waiting.." 7 stars (out of 10)
"If you'll caress me, I'll let you bomb Algiers." 5 stars
"Call me a doofus, but never in my sickest dreams did I think I'd have a chance to make hot babies with a fucked up man-eater like you." 5 stars
"Stand back baby, I'm totally about to get my jiggy on." 6 stars
Add 'em to the books... they're all keepers.
The stalwart parking and traffic crew had a unit meeting yesterday, in which my boss informed us of the new emergency proceedures policy for the University. To the point: my "essential personnel" status now means a whole hell of a lot more than just being the poor bastard that gets called at 2 am to come in on a snow day. I'll be recieving an NBC mopp suit (and I dont mean one of those fly newscaster sportcoats) and containment training, a new badge, and a seat on the last helicopter off campus and out of town. Wouldn't my mother be relieved?
On the radio this morning for the commute: Run Around ~ Blues Traveller.
Today: high 70's
Thursday: mid 70's
Friday: high in the mid 50's
Just another reason to like Friday!
Ah, theres not much that can compare to a warm breeze in the morning.... except that its nearly the end of October for cripes sake! What the hell happened to the cold weather? When I left Colorado to come to school out east, I was pretty damn excited to experience the changing seasons again. In Colorado, you basically have summer and winter. The temperature remains in the 70's and 80's through August, but come mid September, the armies under General Winter execute a multi-pronged blitzkrieg for two weeks, plunging you directly into the blizzard season, which lasts until the spring time resistance gains momentum in late April. For the last couple years that I was there, we were sledding by Halloween. So when I got to DC, I was stoked to see a long winded autumn, full of hayrides, spiced cider, and harvest moons. I guess nobody told summer that he was supposed to bug out around the beginning of the month. Now were forced to live with a season that, like an aging rockstar toting leopard print hot pants and throaty power ballads, cant seem to understand when enough is enough. Oh well, maybe next week.
Thank God it's Friday.
I dont know how much more I can take before I bitch slap someone. For example, today I'm out doing my neighborhood patrol. Let me give you a quick run down on this fun little assignment: I drive around the streets adjacent to campus and make sure that no students are parking there. The administration will tell you this is to ensure that the neighbors have ample space to park, but I can assure you the real reason is much less noble. A parking permit for campus costs $520 per school year, and thats the least expensive. I'm not patroling to promote some righteous "good neighbor" policy, I'm doning the black cap and playing Sheriff of Notingham. But I digress. So I'm walking down a row of cars parked near campus, and I see this idiot in a volvo stationwagon roll up and hop out of his car. Boldly, like he was catching some criminal in the act of vandalizing a church, he demands of me, "what exactly do you think you're doing, son?" The "son" part I especially liked. Removing the cigarette from my lips, I half-assed a smile and replied, "I'm doing a neighborhood patrol for the university. Were trying to ensure that students and staff arent violating DC parking codes, and subjecting themselves to possible ticketing by the Metro Police. Do you have a Zone 3 permit sir?" Aghast that I would be so bold as to question the legality of his horrible parking job, this schmuck looks at me and says, "I need a zone 3 permit to park here?" Fighting the urge to pound his yuppie head into the curb, I nod politely. "Well, I dont need one of your little warning notices, champ. I wont be here for very long" he quips, apparently believing that by treating me like an over-privileaged boy scout with facial hair, I would simply cower into the shadows and disappear like the devil version of yourself when you listen to the angel version of yourself and dont steal the candybar. "Sure thing sir" I reply, watching him walk away, leaving his dog in the car. As soon as he was out of sight, I flagged down the Metro cop posted down the street at the Korean ambassadors house. After some brief banter as to the status of his most current divorce, I pointed out that the guy had expired tags, no zone 3 permit, and a dog locked in a hot car. Needless to say, Mr. I'm-so-fucking-special is taking a cab home. I think its time for a beer.
With the help of the lovely and talented Dayna, I think I may have fixed the turnpike. Traffic may now flow freely.
I posted a little treat at the clubhouse. For those of you "in the know" (aka- the same group of odd balls and head cases that frequent the ring of fire), check it out and let me know what you think.
This one is for Brian- may he easily skip over my lengthy ramblings and entangle himself while playing with string.
Now Playing (I dont know the cute little code bs that you leets speak fluently): Fast As You Can ~ Fiona Apple. Damn fine tune.
I've found that there is no time that I am more dedicated to my goals, more prepared to make the necessary sacrifices, or more comfortable with change than just before I fall asleep. Is this because I need to make peace with myself before I can let the day end? Is it a sort of "I know, I know... I fucked up... but I know what I have to do to make it right again" pep talk directed to the fates in order to buy me 6 hours of peaceful slumber, uninterrupted by fits of apprehension and self doubt? Is my life really that off course that I need to do this little ritual every night? More importantly, what is the status of a mind so easily comforted?
OK, enough philosophy for Monday morning. Time to rant a little about my roommate.
The number of stories that I could tell about this person (we'll call him Bob, just to boggle his wittle mind if he happens on this page) are endless. In a nutshell- he's a spoiled rich kid with no common sense and not a single courteous bone in his cro-magnon, Vigo the Carpathian lookin' skull. Was that too descriptive? ;) He knows, somewhere inside that momo rock on his shoulders, that every sunday night at 9 the rest of us watch "Band of Brothers" on HBO. It's 8:45, and we're all gathering downstairs in front of the TV. Popcorn is being made, pillows situated for maximum comfort, sound tuned to auditory perfection.... all things that Holmes and Watson would easily determine as prelude actions to some sort of viewing. Well, the entire time, he's filling up the resevoir of a steam carpet cleaner. We all sat wondering "what the hell does this tulip think he's doing"? Sure enough, just as the opening credits are rolling across the screen, he turns on the fucking steam cleaner. I sat for a good 5 minutes stunned into silence, incapable of composing anything to say, and feeling a lump of whoop ass rising inside me. I think he noticed my welling anger, and suggested that I press pause on the Tivo, and watch when he finished. That was more than I could bear, and, pressing pause, I exited stage left to prevent an unfortunate situation. Time passes, and with some extra nicotene in my system I decide to reenter the house. Walking up the now soaking wet stairs and accross the soaking wet fucking living room carpet, I sit down and commence to watch the show. Midway through, Princess comes back downstairs and stands there, apparently waiting for someone to acknowledge what a good fucking job he did on the fucking carpet. The term "shun" doesn't accurately describe our response. No doubt feeling the temper tantrum rise through his bobby socks, and angry that no one would discuss our "feelings of anger" with him, he huffed off to his room to pout. I dont think I'll be able to avoid the conversation much longer, and he'll probably end up sending an email today wanting to set up a time to have a house meeting. What a momo. I'll keep you all updated.
Dusty sent me the html for the ring of fire stuff, but when I tried to post it, all hell broke loose. Lets see if I can get things back on track. Yeah, right. If I didnt have fingers I wouldn't be any more inept. And yet, somehow, I manage to make this work. Now I just have to learn to spell correctly, and I'm golden.
Ok Dayna... here's your reblogger. Like IM isnt enough of a medium for pointing out and commenting on my insanity. I guess I just couldn't hold out Brian. I tried- honest I did....
I've noticed an odd side effect in my personal life resulting from all the excitement at work lately. For those of you that dont know, I work for a University Police unit in Washington DC, and since the 11th, things have been just a little hairy around here. Given my seeming inability to keep my stupid mouth shut when they ask for volunteers, I've responded to a good majority of the situations that have arisen. Because of this, I have also become one of the better trained and capable people to conduct these "sensitive" operations in the department. We were never trained to handle situations of this magnitude, so the person with the most "on the job" time quickly becomes the go-to guy. I dont have any problem with this, per say, but I have noticed that people are generally paranoid when I am around now. For example, on Wednesday night, I was conscripted into a security detail for Benazir Bhoutto, the former Prime Minister of Pakistan, who was speaking on campus. Because of my newly found "expertise", I was assigned the primary position. Again, for those who dont know, the role of the primary (at least the way we do it) is to remain no more than 3 feet from the principle (the VIP) at all times, except during speeches, at which time you cover the evacuation route. Well, she went up to speak to a class in our main academic building, and I remained outside the door. This can be tedious, and you cant help but fidget a little. So while I'm rocking back and forth on my heels, I happen to look into the door window of the classroom across the hall, and notice a friend of mine from when I was a student (very nice girl, unfortunately engaged now). She hadnt seen me yet, so my normal instinct would have been to run to the window and make obscene sexual gestures with my tongue. But given that I was on official business, I refrained and continued with my guarding. Well, about a minute or so later, I happened to look into the window again. This time, however, she was staring straight at me; her face pale white and her eyes as big as saucers. I knew she was worried about something, but couldnt quite place it. Then I contemplated the situation. Over the last month, the only times that I've seen her have been when I'm clad in kevlar and evacuating people out of buildings. I had to attempt to reassure her that everything was just fine.
So I made sexual gestures with my tongue.
I dont have a whole lot to say this morning, either, and I'm in a foul mood. I was at work until 11 pm last night, and when I arrived this morning at 8:10, I found that no one had shown up yet to open the fucking office. I dont know why I expected someone here- its only his job. It's official, I complain entirely too much.
I didnt think that I would have anything to write about this morning, and then Dayna sent me a link.
The truth must be revealed. Dayna is an Avs fan!
I'm just the posting fool this morning, arent I? This little tidbit was in an email message from my friend Jason this morning, and I thought it well worth my weblog.
"And Nick considered his options, then the smoting began. And many of
the momo's were smot that day, and there was weeping and gnashing of teeth.
The targets of Nick's wrath realized that their beer fundage was wrecked,
and there would be no happiness for them this evening. But The Man was
happy, for he will drink rum this very day."
Between Dayna and Hose, its damn near recorded in scripture and whispered on the winds of fate that I fire someone today. Oh well- I tried to be a nice guy. But sometimes you just cant fight the feelin'. Prepare thyselves, children, for one of your number today will appease the ravenous hunger of the axe of administrative justice!
Some weasel bogarted my stapler! While I soundly slept, dreaming of... stuff, some evil n'erdowell crept into my office and obsconded with my fastening device. But I am an investigator, after all, so I have narrowed down the list of possible suspects to the following 2 people (their names have been changed to avoid liability):
1. Steve aka "The Red Squirrel of New Carrolton" - like the Jedi master gone to the dark side, Spiros trained me to write parking tickets when I was a student officer (stories about him will follow) and then fell from grace. Now he works as a security tech here in the department. He speaks 5 different languages, and has at least two masters degrees.... something is not right that he's still in this shitty job with me.
2. Isa aka "Isa Sticky Fingers" or "Shandara, Queen of the Flaming Vaccuum" - this person has access to every office, a cart onto which she could easily place my damn stapler, and all the essential cleaning supplies to eliminate all trace evidence of her being there. And she kind of has these shifty eyes, and wears a black hat all the time.
In either case, they would have moved my stapler to another location, somewhere secure, from which they could hold it hostage until I capitulated to the ransom demands. Not this Transpo Coordo! The time for negotiation had passed. Now it was time for action. So I decided to do a little recon mission downstairs, figuring the most secure and least likely to be searched place would be somewhere in this building. So I took a very non-assuming posture, and strolled down to the second floor to give a once over to the "executive offices". Damned if I didnt find 7 staplers, all identical replicas of my own. It was a trap. They were luring me in. But I have advanced combat training, and was readily able to recognize this fact. Without hesitation, I isolated a stray stapler that had wandered away from the stapler herd and was roaming free. Two can play at this game, I thought to myself. Now it was time for negotiation. So I scooped that lonely stapler up, and made tracks back to my office. You see, I understand that two wrongs dont make a right- but now its no longer a hostage situation, its an exchange of prisoners, and from a simple negotiation stance this is a better position to be in. And I'm all about position.
Why I'm at work at 7 pm is beyond me. But seeing as how I'm here, I should post something of substance.
I think a woodchuck would chuck a shitload of wood. Granted the aforementioned woodchuck could chuck wood.
And now I must go back into my cage.
OK, so I didnt end up firing anyone. Dayna says I'm being a wussy. Despite my rugged exterior, this very well may be true. But the fact remains that my pool of applicants is'nt exactly a hearty mix of stock grains and vegetables. It's better described as those couple of crushed navy beans that stick to the bottom of a can of Bean 'n Bacon soup. Unfortunately, this rag tag bunch of momo's is the backbone of my multi-million dollar ticket enforcement and collection unit. Only in dark city could something so undeniably backwords seem commonplace. If you think I'm kidding, take a look at the staffers running around our federal buildings carrying out the essential tasks that keep the government ticking. It's not Ivy League grads (who I doubt would do much better anyway) or veteran State-ies, it's the 5 thousand some power hungry, shockingly naive college students that infiltrate this swamp every September. Trust me, I was one of them. You come to DC from your own sheltered burg, believing that you have what it takes to make a change. Be it a "connection" with the poor and impoverished, or a "knack" for diplomacy and political process, the skills that you think you have are but a single hair on the matted coat of this bohemouth that we call the American intelligentsia. By the time they're a year in, the system has broken them down. And its not the government that breaks them, or the media, or our enemies abroad. What beats them down is the biproducts of our gleaming society. For every huge advance we make, our propensity for doing evil increases. We all see the repercussions, but none moreso than the menial workers, down in the trenches, making sure the cogs spin.
But still they come. Struggling every day to make a difference. Working themselves into the ground for a chance to prove their worth, and the worth of the country. And more and more come every year. If that doesn't fill your heart with faith in the American spirit, and pride in the youth of today, then you have missed the mark. Those crushed beans are the best thing you could ask for.
I'm starting to wonder why I hired on employees in the first place. In my mind, when I said "getting a paycheck implies that you show up to work", it was quite clear. However, studies have recently shown that when I said that, they must have heard, "blah blah blah PAYCHECK blah blah blah blah." Their lack of motivation became readily apparent yesterday. You see, today the admissions office is having some kind of shindig. It's a half-assed attempt to sucker more rich kids off of Long Island, which in turn will stimulate sales of skin tight black pants and have the long term effect of boosting alcohol sales to minors and keep me in a job for a while. Back to the story- I needed people to work various traffic details for this event. But trying to track down my employees was like chasing chickens. And apparently I'm not "greasy fast" enough (I'm sorry Mick'... I guess I'm just a bum). They thought if they turned their radios off, I couldnt find them. They must have overlooked the fact that I'm not 5 years old and confined to my office. I found them milling about like a passle of slack-jawed yokels in the farthest corner of the commuter parking lot. I dont know if it was the lights or the sirens from the cruiser that initially made them all scatter, but the result was still the same. Have you ever seen college children try and run through a crowded parking lot? You ever break the balls really forcefully while shooting 9-Ball? Its a lot like that. I would say that its like roaches scattering after you flick on the light, but that would be less than accurate. Roaches, though vermin, have a purpose. When that light comes on, little mister roach is motivating poste-haste to the nearest dark spot. These kids were bouncing off of cars, changing directions, spinning around, and some even fell over. I controlled my laughter, rounded them all up, and asked who wanted to come in early in the morning and work a "special assignment". Well, as you all have guessed, this request was not recieved with a great measure of enthusiasm, and so I am here this morning, alone, once again. I'll post again after they all arrive, and I wield the mighty axe of administrative justice.
So, I'm sitting in my office, drinking my Cool Nestea Rasbrrrrry Cooler (they're like crack, I tell you), and I get a phone call from a woman with the surname Stewart. Well, this would not be an interesting story, except that she had the slightest scottish brogue. Automatically, thoughts of Mike Meyer's from "So I Married an Axe Murderer" start running uncontrollably through my head. Dont get me wrong, I'm quite used to that accent. My family is scottish in decent, and I have the occassion to hear that dialect often. But for some reason, I couldnt seem to shake the Bay City Rollers out of my head. Before I knew it, I was also speaking with an accent, and I have reason to believe that she noticed this, and was none-too-appreciative. Not the most reassuring thing when you're attempting to file a police report, and the jag off on the other end of the line is being cheeky. But why worry? I'm already on the chief's "naughty list", so what can she do? Take away my magic kevlar? Pffft.
S, A, TUR, DAY, Night! Head, go and get the paper!
The salty wind that blew across southern Carowyn made the land at the same time smooth and jagged. Among these contradictions stood the castle of Akrymoor. Situated on a bluff with three sides of natural defense, the fortified city was the expression of power on the Orcish border for the human King Erwyatt. And to ensure that this castle stood, the King has sent an entourage including a Knight in his service named Aidan of Aryalis. Aidan, with his wife Lysette, and their infant son, Alyn, had traveled for many days across this brutally scenic countryside. Thoughts were to the task at hand, and hearts were aching for the sight of loved ones waiting at their destination.
They never saw them coming.
The Orcs were swift and overwhelming in numbers. Before there was a chance to form a defensive posture, they were already among the caravan. Knowing the Orcs would never take something that couldn't be sold, Aidan placed his child inside an old platemail breastplate, and lept from the carriage to defend his family. When the tumult had subsided, all were dead, including Aidan and Lysette.
A patrol from the castle caught sight of the carnage, and a full compliment of soldiers was dispatched to investigate. Among these was General Guildier, the commander of the Army garrisoned at Akrymoor. Searching through the destruction, the General came across a baby sleeping inside a breastplate. He took the child back with him, and decided to raise him as his own.
As the years went on, Alyn grew to embrace the life of a soldier. His adopted father taught him well, and he was soon assigned to the guard at Akrymoor, where his martial prowess was without doubt. But just as quickly as he embraced military matters, so did he grow to love the General's daughter, Rianne. As time passed, the General was permanently assigned to the castle guard, and the expedition duties were assigned to a younger commander. When the order came for an assault on the Orcish encampment, Alyn jumped at the opportunity to go. Rianne pleaded with him to stay, but his burning desire for revenge after so many years was more than he could bear, and he rode off without a word.
While he was gone, the weakened castle defenses were overrun, the General killed, and the city burned to the ground. When he returned, bleeding and broken from combat, he found his home destroyed. Rushing through the blackened city streets, he found her sitting on the south wall holding her fallen father. He rushed to hold her, but she brandished a dagger and slashed at him. "I no longer know you" was all she replied, resenting the fact that he wasn't there when she needed him most.
Alyn spent the rest of the day burying friends and attempting to erect a basic defense of the city. When he finally slept, it was wrought with terrible nightmares. He woke to find the salty mist stinging his open wounds. He couldn't resist trying to reason with Rianne once more, and went to find her at her quarters. But she was not there. He searched everywhere with no luck. After many hours, he was startled from his determined search by a sentry with a report. "She left this morning from the north gate. She said she was going to kill that Orcish bastard." Without hesitation, he climbed atop the nearest horse and rode off toward the north.
So, I'm sitting here, enjoying my coffee and a morning chat with the clubhouse, and BD just wont quit pestering me about actually writing in my log. Given that there is no mind link that will just transcribe my stream of thought onto this blog, I guess I'll have to appease them all with some actual content.
But not today.
Today, I'm going to tell a dirty joke. Kiddies- cover your precious ears and eyes, cause momma dun wancha to see this one.
A bus load of nuns die on the way to a convent retreat and are in line to gain entry into heaven. The first sister walks up to St. Peter and waits for her judgement. "Sister Mary Josephine, we have on record that you have seen a man's penis. Go to the fount and wash your eyes, and you may enter." The second nun approaches, and St. Peter says, "Sister Mary Elizabeth, we have on record that you have touched a man's penis. Go to the fount and wash your hands, and you may enter." She does, and walks through the gates. Suddenly, theres a commotion, and Sister Mary Katherine comes running up to the front of the line. Surprised at this, St. Peter asks her why she is cutting in line. Calming herself, the nun looks up at him and says, "Look- if I have to gargle that water, I want to do it before Mary Ambrosia puts her ass in it."
Have a lovely day. :)