We Own A House... Now What?

Twenty days in and this is only my first post for the new year. Good thing I didn't go and make a resolution about blogging more consistently for 2015... heh... heh... (*scratches "blog more consistently" off New Year's resolution list*). In my defense, it's mostly because we don't have internet set up at the new place yet. That and we're now so far away from civilization even our data coverage is close to non-existent most of the day.

So, yes, as you may have picked up, we have moved and have now officially joined the ranks of "homeowners". Now we just have to clear off that mortgage over the next thirty years or so and it's all ours. Just in time for the kids to kick us out into a retirement home and start fighting over it.

Can't wait.

As cool as it is to finally become a homeowner, in the end you still have to go through the whole process of moving and that's always fun. Isn't it? (NOTE: By "fun" I actually mean a huge barrel of suck... You probably already knew that.) You have your packing, heavy lifting, unpacking, exhaustion, aches, pains and stuff that gets broken. Yeah... fuuuuunn! (See earlier note.) We did that over the Christmas weekend which means we were too busy doing all that stuff I mentioned earlier and too broke to really celebrate Christmas (alcohol was consumed, though).

When the dust settled and we finally got some sleep (about a week after we moved in), we then had time to sit and take it all in.

Homeowners...

Us!

The novelty wears off soon enough though. Right around the time when you realize the last ounce of dependency you had on others is gone. Before, if you lived with your parents or, as in our case, you were a renter, you knew there would be certain things beyond your control. Leaky roof? call the landlord! Faulty plumbing? Get that landlord on the phone! Pest infestation? Better get the landlord to call in an exterminator.

Now we're on our own, when it comes to taking care of our house and all of its needs. If you stop to think about it too long it can be a little daunting. Needless to say, I'm trying not to think about it too much (seems like a viable strategy...)

Speaking of which, that leaking (READ AS: "gushing") shower faucet issue I mentioned the last time, yeah, we're trying to sort that out. Surprisingly, the agency responsible for the houses is actually saying they'll arrange to have the contractors come in and sort it out. Now we just have to see how long that takes to happen.

In other news: Kawaii's adjusting well after the move. She did get really sick the first night and we were more than a little worried but she eventually pulled through and, a few days later, she was back to her old self (cue the obligatory cute puppy pic). 

"I know you trimmed around my eyes like half an hour ago but... it grew back."

Unlike at the old place, where she spent all her time indoors due to our former neighbors', not-so-friendly (or clean) dogs that already occupied the yard, here she gets to go out every day (on a leash until we put a fence up). I've even started taking her for walks around the block (I feel so suburban now you would not believe), which she loves.

She's also taken an interest in the of local wildlife (READ AS: "bugs") which our new area has in copious amounts. And, since they often find their way inside the house, she has plenty of opportunities to examine them... after she chases them down, swats them to death with her paws and - of they're big enough - tears to shreds with her teeth.

Wait! Is that a cricket?

She's a curious girl.

Speaking of wildlife, we also have birds in the area. Lots of birds. Birds that are mostly quiet in the day but then there are these others that let out loud, eerie "squawks" throughout the night. We don't go outside much at night. As luck would have it, among the various species we also have my arch nemeses, Grackles.

Look at 'em! Just strutting around my backyard like they own the place... Send help.

At some point I really started to wonder if someone was just f*cking with me.

Anyway, their mating season is still a few months away so they don't have a reason to start attacking people yet. So there's that.

On the plus side, at the outer end the street leading into the community there are horses.

Those are cool.

One of the biggest adjustments, though, is that this an entirely new community. We were among the first two hundred plus people to get keys and everyone's new here and only moved in weeks apart from each other. That means none of us got treated to one of those scenes you see in the movies where the local community group forms a welcoming committee to bring you baked goods to mask their real objective of scoping out your stuff.

I want a blueberry muffin, dammit!

Instead, we all just get to watch silently as we observe another moving truck roll up the street and hope the whoever-it-is isn't planning on starting a meth lab in his/her kitchen or blasting Jamaican Dancehall music every night until 3AM (it's popular here).

The adventure begins.

Word Vomit.

I've been trying to figure out why I've been avoiding writing lately. It isn't that I don't have anything to say, or that I've lost interest, or anything like that. I still want to write and I have tons of stuff going on. There’s the new house, the new puppy, stuff at work, etc. Tons of stuff! It’s just, every time I think about dropping a few lines (HOLLA!!!) I just... can't. I've started composing posts in my head more than a few times and, as soon as I sit down to write... nothing.

Like I said, I got stuff going on.. and thangs... s-stuff 'n thangs.

Why is it that, as bloggers who basically chronicle even the smallest and most inane (okay, maybe I'm just referring to myself with that one) aspects of our lives, the things that should provide us with excellent material for our posts end up actually keeping us from posting. I'm talking about all the really big things. We always talk about life getting in the way.

At the end of the day, though, these big things aren't as blog-worthy as you'd think. Take my stuff... and things... for example:

NEW HOME:  You'd think becoming a homeowner for the first time would be a big enough of a deal that you'd get tons of blog fodder from the experience. Right? But, after you say, “Hey, guys, I'm buying a house,” there really isn't much more you can add to the story and still keep it interesting:

- got approved for house.

- went and saw the house.

- signed all the legal documents.

- frantically trying to scrape up the down payment because they called us earlier than expected to do the closing.

That's it. Sure, it's mostly good news but  BOR-ING!

MARRIAGE: All good! Mrs C and I had our eleventh wedding anniversary on Sunday. We didn't make a big deal about it (we had pizza and wine as our celebratory meal - 'cause that's how we roll) so there isn't really much to tell there.

WORK: I started my new contract three weeks ago and will be gainfully employed for another two years (YAY!)...

They left me at the same desk they put me on while I was on loan to help with the - now stalled -White Paper project. Essentially, no one bothered to think about moving be back to my old desk or to anywhere else where I could be more productive so I'm just sitting around most days trying to keep myself busy (BOO!) It seems like a big deal on the surface but what else is there for me to say about that situation that would be worth mentioning (and not just end up becoming a swear-laden rant)?

SCHOOL: At the end of this semester, I'll have my Associate's degree and be at the halfway point to earning my Bachelor's degree. Sure it's more like two-thirds the way since it took me twice as long as it should have to get this far when I changed majors. But I made it. It's great... huge, actually, but I'm particularly inclined to do a practice valedictorian speech (I'm not giving any at school either, thankfully) about it.

PUPPY: Still there, still cute, eats her poop, thinks shoes are chew toys. Nothing new to report.

"I think my cuteness deserves a little more mentioning than that."

The more I think about it, the more I realize it really is the little things that matter. I think I've been stressing so much about writing about each of these big things and giving them their proper place of importance with grand, well worded posts, filled with humor and excitement that I forgot that inane is what I do best. Maybe now that I've listed all these and got them out of the way I'll be able to get back to business as usual.

We'll see.

So... It Turns Out I Might Be A Masochist.

I suppose, if you've been hanging around here long enough, eventually seeing a post with a title like the one above won't really come as a shock. In fact, a few of you may think my admission of something like this is long overdue. Unfortunately, you're going to have to wait a little longer for me to admit to my twisted sexual tastes. I guess you'll just have to use your imaginations. Actually, don't. Forget I said that. I've hung around some of your places a while too and I'd rather not be a part of some of your own twisted imaginations.

Well... maybe a few of you...

My confession is nowhere as interesting as the post would lead you believe (no shocker there). Truth is, I'm hoping by the time you got to this part and realized this post contains no stories of whips, ball-gags and leather unitards, you'll decide to continue reading just out of the sheer principle of finishing something you've already started.

Which would probably make some of you the real masochists here.

Anyway, I digress (no shocker there either). One of the updates I neglected to pass on is that I restarted the gym a few months back.

I know, right?! How could I leave something like that out?

But not just any gym, mind you. The gym. The place where I first started learning Thai boxing back in secondary school.

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The place I've tried to make time to rejoin but made every excuse not to could never get the timing right to get back into it. This is the gym where I was so pushed to my limits, physically, I likened the instructor's training technique to sadomasochism.

And now the title makes sense.

Of course, there have been some changes to the old place, over the years. New students, new equipment, bigger training area and all that. But, at it's core, it's still the same old place where you train hard and develop an unnatural affection for pain... and the guy in charge likes to occasionally sneak up behind you, flip you and send you flying through the air, just for the heck of it. I'm already getting back to my old form and keeping up with guys more than half my age... realizing there are now students there more than half my age training there now... feeling a little bummed by this fact...

Still, I am keeping up with them so I guess that counts for something. Plus, one time, one of the guys saw me practicing my kicks on the bag and insisted he be allowed to wear extra padding when he was told to spar with me. I've always wondered what it's like to be feared.

I like it.

This bag is actually the oldest one there. He keeps it far in the back where I have plenty of "alone time" with it.
I swear it looked like that before I got there. Honest!

All that being said. I have been reintroduced to the pain I had long forgotten. The first few weeks especially were rough and I spent a lot of time trying not to move very much. But... I kept going back... I keep going back! It's almost as if I enjoy this violent abuse being inflicted upon my body. I-I'm allowing people to hit me and they let me hit them back.

And I like it...

Maybe the title of this post is more appropriate than I thought. Come to think of it, I do get this special feeling of power when I strap on my leather training gloves.

By the way, if you're worrying about me regaling you with constant gym pics and posts, don't expect much more than this post. I did wait five months to actually let you all know I was back there to begin with so I think you don't need to worry.

Tech Support.

You guys are so in luck! I have, not one, but two posts for you today. I have one here and I have one over at Sprocket Ink. So the real question you need to be asking yourselves is: Which post do you want to read? Hmm... Decisions, decisions...

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Now that that's settled, let's get this party started, shall we?

I mentioned the other day that I helped a coworker, one of the crew supervisors, create his Facebook account. I'm normally here alone, but he and his crew were forced to work out of the office for most of last month, while the company van they drove was being repaired.

Technology is such a alien concept to him that he didn't even have an email address, which I also had to create for him as part of the process (Believe me, I'm as shocked by this as you are). As I said before, his first order of business after I signed him up was to stalk the women from his past. More specifically, he  kept asking me to do the stalking for him, since he hadn't quite joined the computer age just yet.

But he's learning. I made sure of it. Having to stop in the middle of my blogging tweeting Facebook stalking of my own work to help him was an inconvenience, to say the least. That's why, in an effort to free myself up to go back to doing my own thing, I took time out of one of my days this week to show him how to surf the web himself.

You see, I believe in the old saying that if you cyberstalk on a man's behalf, he can only ogle women's photos once, but if you teach a man to cyberstalk, he can satisfy his ogling desires whenever wants.

What can I say? I'm a giver.

Of course, teaching him to surf the web, much less properly use a computer is time consuming too. That's why I stuck to showing him how to find his way to and around the old book o' face, which was all he was really interested in anyway. Seemed like a simple enough endeavor, right? I thought so too... Until he had to use the mouse, that is.

This is my mouse. There are many others like it, but this one is mine!

I know what you're thinking. What's easier than using than a mouse, right? I didn't think there was anything to it, myself, until I actually had to show him how to use one. This was basically how my little training session with Mr. Supervisor-stalker (or "Superstakler") went:

Superstalker: Hey! I think I know her. How did she know I was on Facebook?

Me: She probably doesn't. Those people are your suggested friends. Facebook finds them for you.

Superstalker: Wow! Really? Okay. I want to see if it's the same person, though.

Me: Alright. Just mouse over (my first mistake was using "technical" terms during my lesson) the person's name and-

Superstalker: Do what? (See?)

Me: Just make the pointer-I mean-the little arrow thingy (I've always been a quick learner) move across the screen until it reaches her name.

Superstalker: ...um...

Me: Just move the mouse in your hand in the direction you want- That's it! Oops! You went too far. Just go back a little and- There you go! Good job, buddy!

Superstalker: *smiles gleefully*

Me: Alright, move the arrow over to her name there and- No, too far. Go back to her name again. Right. Now carry the pointer across slowly until you reach her name... Uh... Not that slowly. (Life's too short to wait for him to get there at the speed he was going). Okay, now just click the mouse with your finger while it's over her name... No, get it right over her name. No! Not "above" over her name. "Over" over her name (I can't believe I actually had to say that). On it! ON. THE. NAME. It'll turn into a little hand when you get it right.

Superstalker: Wow! It did change!

Me: Yeah. Technology's amazing, isn't it? Anyway, try to keep the mouse still when you click. No, click with the other finger.

Superstalker: What other finger?

Me: Your index finger. The one on the left. No, right hand, left finger. Just push the button under that finger.

Superstalker: I don't see any button.

Me: Trust me on this. It's there. Keep the mouse still when you click it! There you go!

Superstalker: Well, I'll be damned.

Me: I know, right? So, is this the person you're looking for?

Superstalker: Yeah. We went to school together. So, how do I send her a request?

Me: Just click on that green box that says, "Add Friend".

Superstalker: What green box?

Me: To the top of the screen. The only thing that's green on the entire screen. It has the words "add" and "friend" in it.

Superstalker: ...um...

Me: Just carry the pointer up... Up some more... Just a little bit more... Ri-No! Go back! Right there. Now click on that box. SIGH! Try to keep the mouse from moving. Try it again. Alright! Done.

Superstalker: Can I see her pictures yet?

Me: (No surprise there) It doesn't look like she has them blocked. I guess you can.

A few clicks later...

Superstalker: Who's this?

Me: One of her friends, I guess.

Superstalker: Can I send her a friend request too?

Me: Do you know her?

Superstalker: No, but she is HOT.

Me: Well, I guess. But she may not accept if she doesn't know you.

Superstalker: What about if I send her a message and tell her how pretty she looks?

Me: SIGH! Sure. Why the hell not? You go right ahead, buddy.

And don't get me started on the eight chat windows and six tabs he accidentally opened. TOGETHER!

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Now, for my next trick, I'll magically transport to my other post over at Sprocket Ink. Just click on the link.  (There was a link, but the site is gone now.) No! Click on the word "link". No, the first one! Hold the mouse still over the word. Not "above" over the word. Hold it "over" over it! Good. Now click. Oh, for the love of- Use your index finger!!!

Am I The Only One...

Who sees this...

And thinks THIS?

Tell me it's not just me!

The Fifth Pillow.

Dear Mrs. C:

I am writing this letter to once again draw your attention to an ongoing cause of irritation and discomfort which I still feel has not been adequately addressed. This cause of concern is, of course the fifth pillow on our bed.

While you may recall me making verbal mention of this point of contention in the past, I feel that my grievances have fallen on deaf ears as I am still, to this date, being negatively affected by the presence of this obstruction.

As I am sure you are well aware, at the commencement of our lifelong contractual partnership I was happy and satisfied with having but one pillow, while you yourself possessed three. While I did not understand the need for such lavish excess, I accepted this as your personal preference and left it at that. Following the merging of our lives, we soon worked our a satisfactory arrangement where your oldest (and presumably least comfortable) of the three pillows would take residence our newly purchased wicker chair. That allowed for a new pillow family of three to coexist in relative harmony on our bed.

You will also recall, that in the years since, I was forced to discard my pillow which I had owned since childhood and had outlived its viability and as such a replacement was subsequently sourced. You, around the same time, also decided to relinquish ownership of the oldest of your two oldest pillows - the one on the chair and and one of the two on the bed - leaving us on a level playing field with one each. However, not wanting to abandon your lifestyle of extravagance, chose to obtain a replacement as well. Thus, our pillow count remained at three.

Sadly, approximately four years ago, it became necessary to replace the aforementioned bed (a result of the combined efforts clumsy movers and persistent strain due to various other "activities"). We then opted for a more durable and comfortable memory foam model, which has served us well to date. To my chagrin, however, the manufacturers saw fit to include memory foam pillows as part of the purchase and our pillow count was increased to a whopping FIVE. Added to this, the wicker chair that had aided us in the past was no longer a viable option as we had donated said item to a relative. This left no place for the excess pillowage other than our new bed. This meant that you were back to three pillows while I, in turn, was forced to adapt to the use of two.

Arising out of this is the point of concern which I now wish to highlight at this time. Your insistence on having three pillows for yourself has proven to not only be excessive and selfish (I say this in consideration of all those out there currently without even one pillow to call their own), it is also very impractical. The fact is, you cannot and do not use all three pillows under your head as they were intended. This, I imagine, would be uncomfortable and bad for your neck. Instead, you opt to have the third pillow at your side.

The only purpose it then serves is in providing you with the convenience of having a pillow readily available when your frequent bouts of tossing and turning eventually angle you perpendicularly from your original starting position. Added to this, as most husbands and male companions who share a bed with their significant other will attest, there is already an unequal distribution of bed-space that all men must endure.

Over time, men have grown to accept this reality, and that in itself is not something with which I will bother taking issue. My mentioning of of this is only in relation to how this already unbalanced arrangement is further exacerbated by this interloping fifth pillow which permanently occupies space on the side of the bed (As outlined below):

As you can see, I am being made to pay the brunt of this cost.

All this leads me to call to your attention the repeated acts of displacement I must undergo when I am regularly forced out of bed during the twilight hours as you further encroach upon what little territory I am allowed to maintain. The most recent of these events has forced me to spend half the night on the couch in the living room, which, I might add, was a completely unsuccessful venture.

As I have stated earlier, this  is not the first time I have tried to draw this situation to your attention, however, your lack of action and overall dismissive nature in handling my grievance have forced me to elevate this matter to the next level, hence my preparation of this official notice. It is my hope that this action will prompt you in joining me on working toward an amicable solution, benefiting all parties.

I look forward to your response.

Thank you.

Vinny C

Husband

Me Vs. Nature: Part III - The Bugman Cometh.

Remember a while back when I mentioned a little bug problem we've been having from time to time? Well, since then we haven't really been having as much of a problem. Only some minor incursions. I take full credit for this since I've been making healthy use of our bug spray and doing some preemptive spraying every other night.

However, the next door neighbors have apparently not been so lucky, and voiced their concerns to the landlady. Plus, they have two small children so they understandably don't want cockroaches running around. The landlady, in turn, called in a pest control guy, who came over to do an inspection last week. Is it just me, or do people in general feel the overwhelming urge to make sure their homes are spotless when they know someone's coming by to do any kind of inspection? Especially if that inspection is to determine how welcome they're making the household pests feel.

Anyway, I digress. The exterminator visited and did his walkthrough. He asked how bad our roach problem was and a series of other routine questions. I answered and things went mostly uneventful. The only surprise was the one I sprung on them.

Me: Oh yeah. And that's where I saw the mouse.

Bug Guy: Mouse?
Landlady: Mouse?

Did I mention the mice? Yeah. Coincidentally, we started seeing them just a few days before Bug Guy's visit. It seems that not only did the construction going on next door bring us roaches, now mice are coming across looking for greener pastures. Outstanding! Bug Guy agreed that was the most likely scenario. He added that to his notes and left soon after that.

Two weeks later (today in fact) he was back. He sprayed what I could only assume some kind invisible roach repellent while I took the opportunity to showcase my social ineptitude by making awkward attempts at small-talk. Is it still considered proper exterminator/repair guy etiquette to follow them around as they do whatever it is they came to do and pretend you find it interesting, while making sure they don't steal anything? We don't get visitors often.

Anyhoo, after that he brought in a box of these little 'mouse motels' (that's what I'm calling them because I don't know what they're really called) and set them up in the different rooms where the vermin were sighted.

With that he said was done with the inside of the house and, as he was leaving, he told me we were not to move the mouse motels UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. He made a point of saying it twice.

Then, about two seconds after he left, I accidentally kicked one. Only a little. It barely even moved. Honest!

The final phase of the process involved him going under the house (the cockroach base of operations) to deliver a massive payload of insecticide. What he didn't mention is that when he did this, hordes of panicked cockroaches would be fleeing for safety. In fact, they'd be so freaked out, they'd most likely totally ignore the repellent he just put down and come scampering inside. I guess I probably could have figured out that last part myself.

In the end I had to spend the next hour and a half dealing with them (about eight of the little buggers in total). I was practically typing this post with my left hand while holding a can of bug spray with my right.

At least I finally learned I could multitask.

The Last Assignment.

My photographer grunted in frustration as he forced the lever into second gear, "This old car fallin' apart! Ah tell them it can't make these kinda drives!"

To me, he always seemed apologetic about the condition of his old Nissan. At least, that's how he came across to me. The car was old - I'll give him that - but I didn't see the need for him to offer any explanations. This was the same car that got us to and from assignments in the Diego Martin hills and around the hairpin turns of the North Coast Road leading to Maracas. Now, we were weaving our way through the hills of Belmont on our way to a murder scene.

"Hmph..." was all I replied to his complaint. This was... IS my usual response to any statement I didn't feel warranted me actually thinking of something to say. Instead I focused my attention on the view outside my window. I had never been this far inside Belmont before and I wanted to take it in.

In most places, on either side of the road, the land sloped gently upward. There were few areas that were more built-up than others, but other than that, it was your typical hillside community with houses nestled against the sloping landscape, surrounded by trees and tall grass. It was still the dry season then and the sun was making it's presence felt, but since the season wasn't as harsh this year, there was still a lot of green everywhere. Many of the properties were unfenced, which I assume was mostly because they were squatter homes that had been regularized by some government or the other. Others either saw no need or didn't have the funds to put up fences.

Eventually, we managed to find our assignment, despite the crude directions the officer at the Belmont police station gave me. Of course, the row of police vehicles and the yellow tape cordoning the street where the shooting took place helped.

The entire street was taped off. About halfway in - I estimate about 20 feet - forensics officers were standing over something in the tall grass on the side of the road. That was our body. It was hard to make out, even through the zoomed-in view of my photographer's camera.

There were other reporters already on the scene and I asked one of them, Cee, a reporter I knew from previous assignments, what they found out. She nodded and shrugged and she pulled another cigarette from her bag. I wasn't actually expecting her to share any juicy info she might have picked up. I was new to the reporting gig but I wasn't an idiot. Fortunately, I knew one of the officers on the scene, so I waited until his superiors had moved off a bit and approached him.

"I already told Cee everything we know," he said.

"Yeah, okay, but just give me the short version. In case she "forgets" to tell me something. I prefer to get my info first hand anyway."

He looked at me for a few seconds and I, in turn, raised my eyebrows expectantly and put my pen to my notebook. He sighed...

The victim's identity wasn't verified but it look as if it was a gang-style execution. That, he assured me, was all they knew at that time. After I thanked him, I went over to my photographer to see what luck he was having in getting a good photo. He told me that unless they were done and ready to move the body he wasn't going to get a decent shot from our distance. So all we could do was wait.

Not good news. The day was hot and we had to rely on the what little shade an overhanging tree could provide us.

It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

It wasn't long before Cee and most of the others decided they'd had enough and it was time to leave. It didn't look like they planned on moving the body anytime soon so we left as well.

Not long after we pulled off, my photographer began groaning in frustration again as he struggled with his old Nissan's manual transmission and we talked about the problems he was having with the finance company to get a loan for his new car. Maybe it was because I was so new to journalism, but I found that even these morbid and seemingly wasted trips were still a little exhilarating.

Too bad they were already planning on firing me the next day...

Deflated.

The only time I get to leave the house these days are for my morning sessions at the gym. Early mornings there aren't very crowded. I usually see the same five guys there most mornings. There are a few women regulars too, but they spend most of their time on the aerobics floor.

We all basically do our own thing, unless someone needs help and sometimes we talk about the news, or the weather or some other meaningless crap... Just your basic guy stuff I guess. Everyone gets along and normally we all have a pretty good workout.

When it comes to the free weights, there are some guys there who lift more than I do, but it's not by much. It gives me a goal to chase. I can tell myself that, with a little more work I can work up to that level. Then there are one or two who aren't lifting as much weight as I am. So I can safely say I'm somewhere in the middle. But, all-in-all though, everyone's pretty average - no superheroes - and, by the end of our individual workouts, you could say we all leave pretty confident in our progress:

Great workout! Catch ya later, Eddie.
source

Thus, peace and harmony reigned in the land and all was good... Well... it was good... Before the day he walked in...

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No one knows his name, or where he came from. I think we're all too afraid to talk to him. And with good reason, seeing as he's about three times my size - height and width. Yeah... he's big. His first day there he walked up to the rack of free weights...

From this rack he selected the three heaviest pairs. Those are the 95, 85 and 75 pound dumbbells. Nobody ever used those before! I always thought they were for display. I tried to lift one of the 95lb ones once, but it never budged, so, I just assumed they were welded down or something (logical conclusion, right?). I normally go with something lighter, anyway.

See that little 20 pounder over there in the middle? That one's mine. Isn't she cute?!

Anyway, the big guy takes the dumbbells over to a free bench and lines them up on the floor like he's spreading out a meal. Then he sits down and emasculates us curls each set of weights, rests like 5 seconds and does it all over again... THREE TIMES... by himself (not that any one of us could have helped him if he did need it). 

The rest of us continued our own workout while trying not to stare (we failed miserably, by the way). Eventually, he finished his set and walked over to the machines. As he did so, he looked over at us, smiled and said, "S'up, fellas?"

I don't know I he was genuinely being friendly or just a smug asshole, but what I do know is by the end of that morning, we weren't quite as confident in our progress as we normally were.

source: YouTube

The Obligatory "Writer's Block" Post.

I know! I know! I've been gone almost two weeks without a word. I think that's actually a new record for me. I blame it on that damn blinking cursor that greets me when I open up my 'Compose' screen. Pretentious little sonofabitch, huh? I just got tired of staring at that thing. I mean it just sits there, mocking me... blinking. Daring me and jeering me. It says, "Go ahead! Write something. Bet you can't. Bet you just sit there and do nothing."

I hate that cursor.

As you're well aware, it's an unofficial rule when you have a blog is that you should write on said blog from time to time. It's kind of expected, to be honest. Darn rules! I wish I could say it's because I've been sooo damn busy that I've barely had time to breath, let along write, but the truth of the matter is I've hardly been doing much of anything.

Besides staring at a blinking cursor, that is.

Actually, that's kind of the problem. It's hard to relay my new adventures when I haven't been having any. Sitting at home all day doesn't exactly provide much in the way of blog fodder.

I know what you're going to say, "But, Vinny, what about Sprocket Ink? You've still been writing over at Sprocket Ink."

Yes, I have. So, technically, I guess I don't really have writer's block... Wait! You guys have been checking out my posts over at Sprocket, have you?

Well?

I... I don't believe this. How..? Why..? Don't make me use my signature "Scowl of Disapproval".

GRRR!

There's still chance to redeem yourselves. I put in an extra post today (Sorry. Site's gone now). It's up right now and don't forget tomorrow's post too. Don't make me give you the other half of that scowl.

Anyway, I figure if I could waste your time with the last few paragraphs just writing about my inability to write then I'm full of it I can snap out of it. Expect me back... soon.

Vinny Unplugged.

For those of you who have been wondering why things have been so quite around here the past few days, I've was forcibly removed from the Matrix again. That's right! Our internet was down... AGAIN! This time, it was completely gone for FIVE WHOLE DAYS!!! Don't ask me how I survived. I don't know either. At first, I did take it the same way I always do...

Eventually, though, I snapped out of it. I decided to busy myself with other things. I'm a trooper like that.

Hey! Did you guys know there are other uses for a computer besides surfing the web? I know it sounds crazy, but stay with me on this. Among other things, I actually played games and music on it. It's like a giant cellphone!

I even went outside a few times. And not because I had to. It was just for the heck of it. I know! Crazy, right? I like to take chances every now and then. By the way, has anyone else noticed there's this giant ball of fire in the sky?

Between you and me, I don't think it comes in peace.

But my internet returned and I'm back! And I'm making up for lost time with a brand spankin' new post over at Sprocket Ink. Today, we're talking about one of my favorite topics: Coffee!

Awesome mug courtesy of Nubian. Being put to good use, as you can see.

The results on a new study on how the magic bean can help protect us from the fiery overlord looming overhead have been released and I couldn't wait to share the good news. So, as always, just click here and enjoy. In fact, go make a cup of coffee to sip while you read. You'll thank me later.

Just Another Random Weekend Wrap-Up.

It has been some time since I did one of these wrap-up posts, but there were a few loose ends I wanted to tie up. Plus a few random updates:

- First let me take a moment to say a special thank you to those of you who have clicked on that follow button in the past few weeks. I feel awesome and you all are awesome for making me feel awesome.

Awesome!

- By the way, in case you were wondering, I'm still unemployed. While I tried not to let getting fired from the paper draw get to me, the fact that working there sucked so hard did make me (briefly) doubt my resolve towards journalism. But only briefly. I've been sending out applications like crazy, but so far, crickets.

- I visited the parents on Friday. I have to admit I don't go see them as much as I should. As a result, Momma C has resorted to some shrewd tactics to lure me over.

Momma C: So when am I seeing you?
Me: I dunno. I'll let you know.
Momma C: Uh-huh. I've heard that before. Well, you better not take too long. The mango tree in the front yard - you know, the Julie-mango tree - is just so full this season. "Julies" are your favorite, aren't they? (she knows they are.)
Me: Yeah.
Momma C: Thought so. Anyway, The neighbours have been helping themselves to the ones hanging over into the street, but I picked some and set them aside for you.
Me: Thanks.
Momma C: But you know your nephew and nieces will finish them off if you don't get here soon. Diva (aka Mrs. C) loves "Julies" too, doesn't she?

As you can see, I didn't really have a chance. So, like I said, on Friday I went over... and I came back with these:

I know! Those are a whole lot of mangoes.

With all these mangoes, Mrs. C decided to take the opportunity to get creative. She got out her trusty blender and tossed a few in along with some watermelon and paw paw (some of you may know it as papaya) and voilà!

Mmmmmm... Fruity goodness!

What can I say? She loves juicing stuff. We still have enough left over to last us a while but if we aren't tired of mangoes by the the time they're done, the folks have the hook-up.

Some of what I didn't take that day.

Just the excuse Momma C needs to get me to visit more often. At least until mango season passes.

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While we're here, Let's go over the stuff I posted during the week. Shall we? First, let's start with some posts I did right here:

- It all began on Monday. Once again, I used the World of Warcraft to illustrate the issue of my diminutive stature. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration. But I am short, and so is Mrs. C. Only she doesn't like to talk about it  (FYI - She did eventually find the post).

- On Thursday, there was a pseudo-post to lead you to another post to talk about pseudo-porn on a pseudo-porn site. Believe me, it's not as confusing as it sounds.

- Finally, on Friday, I drew a simple cartoon to illustrate some my struggle a particular form of exercise.

Now it's on to Sprocket Ink:

As always, I have my Tuesday and Thursday slots of new-meets-snarky goodness.

- Tuesday's post looked into the ill-conceived idea of Japanese group to use a cartoon depicting a wife's level of anger as a representation of dangerous nuclear radiation levels.

- Then on Thursday I explored PETA's new .xxx adult website. There I made the disappointing discovery that this X-rated site actually had nothing X-rated on it. Not even a single nipple! Well... if you look really hard you can kinda see Ron Jeremy's but I ain't gonna. I also introduce the phrase "PETA Pocket Porn" which I may copyright if I'm not too lazy.

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And that's what what I've been up to. I'll go have me a mango now.