Death by PowerPoint

So… I had to go to a training meeting.

A six-hour meeting,
that tested the limits of my patience,
and took me beyond the outer perimeters of my sanity.

Where the speakers were clearly getting paid by the word,
and they read every word of their PowerPoint presentation to me
right off the screen that I could clearly see for myself,
on the wall right in front of me
or on the hand-out they provided to me.

And I, the round-headed blue Bloggus
could not find a strong cell signal in the entire godforsaken room.
My MotoQ was rendered impotent
and I was completely without entertainment
until I realized the gift I had been given.
The gift of time and weird people.

I was left with no choice
but to look around the room
and notice things I should never have seen.
Like the fact that the woman next to me hasn’t shaved her legs in a week,
and the man with the perfect hair,
if it’s 1970.

And when I ran out of people to silently make fun of
I turned to the voices in my head
because that’s always fun, too.
Don’t try to hear them,
they only speak to me.

The worst thing about the meeting?
They didn’t even have Diet Pepsi.
Effers.

WHO Made This Mess?

This is my top desk drawer at work and I get mad every time I open it because I can never find a single thing. I have no idea why that is, but it IS.

And so I’ve been working on cleaning out this drawer.

It looks like an ‘I Spy’ puzzle, doesn’t it? And it is NOT getting any better because I NEED all of these things.

I need my smiley face bubble necklace, and the crayons, and the pliers. I can’t live without the easy button, the flash drives, or the princess pencil topper. I would die without the mascara, the colored post-its, and the glitter ball that lights up when you bounce it. I’d be forever covered in dog hair without the lint brush, I’d look like the undead without the mascara, and I’d smell like it without the toothbrush.

I JUST CAN’T DO THIS JOB WITHOUT MY TOYS!!!

Because Blognuts Do NOT Complain... Really

Dear Hotel People,

Specifically, the hotel people where Mr. Blognut and I stayed this past weekend,

I am not one to complain. SHUT UP! I AM NOT! However, there are a couple of things, (maybe, like, four things), that I need to bring to your attention.

1) When your website asks if I want a room with a pool view, or a room with a wooded view, and I check wooded view, I do not mean that I want you to throw a stick or two on my patio. I was actually thinking I would look out and see trees, you know? And I wouldn’t even care except you asked me what I wanted, and I told you.

2) So, yeah, you can assume that my not-really-a-complaint #2 will be that I had to listen to all the screaming hooligans in the pool because I had a pool view room (with two sticks on the patio).

3) And let’s talk about that patio for a moment, shall we? You know, the one where I open my backdoor and have to turn sideways and suck in my gut in order to actually hang around out there? You should not call that a patio, you should refer to it as an outdoor closet. I’ve seen bigger port-a-potties.

4) The bugs. I like them better outside than inside, just for future reference. The ladybug infestation was one thing, but when those weird not-quite-flying, not-quite-leaping, cricket-y, water-buggy, satanic cootie-carriers started showing up, I was kinda grossed out ‘cause, you know, blognuts do not like bugs, and this was a little like the Amityville Horror, only not flies, you know? Next time, leave me a can of Raid, 'k? I will be sure to note that in my reservation if I ever come back.

So, like I said, not being one to complain and all, I’m not complaining. I’m just letting you know how it is so you can make a note of it. It was still worth it to get away without the blognutians, and to see Chris Daughtry in concert, because he is man-candy and I would totally like him whether he could sing or not, and we really did have a nice weekend. Although, now that I mention it, Mr. Blognut and I would manage to have a nice weekend without the kids even if we had to sleep in the car, (not that we don't like our kids, 'cause we do), so there's that. And now that I think about it, there are no bugs in my car. Huh... maybe next time.

Regards,
blognut

At Least He's Clear About What He Wants

THIS is why you shouldn't leave the grocery list on the counter where The Boy can find it.

However, I would like to point out that that The Boy is clearly brilliant and also kinda frightening. He thinks that by adding healthy delicious snacks to the list, we won't notice that he has asked for Cheez-Its, Pop-tarts, and two boxes of hot fudge sundaes.

And if you're thinking that this kid is never going to win a spelling bee, I think you're probably right. He probably won't win any penmanship awards either. I can live with that. Because that apple? Didn't fall far from the tree.

WTF Wednesday – Is Nothing Sacred?

A friend of mine mentioned to me this morning that she heard Cookie Monster is being replaced by Veggie Monster on Sesame Street. Naturally, I, the furry blue Blognut, went ballistic and got all “WTF?!” on her.

"Noooooooo!” I screamed. “Do not fuck with my Muppets! That shit is not funny!” It’s a good thing we were talking by phone, and that She lives in LA, ‘cause I might otherwise have accidentally killed her for being the bearer of bad news. No offense, She. I totally love you and all, but I take that kind of shit really badly, so you only want to be saying it while I’m wearing a straight-jacket, and you probably should make sure I’ve been up a few hours and had a couple gallons of coffee, too. And even then, you have to distract me with something shiny right away so I’ll forget I was feeling violent for a second there. Just sayin’, you know? It’s all good now. I was never mad at you, just those dumb muppet-fuckers who were trying to make Cookie Monster eat brussel sprouts.

The theory is that if Cookie Monster didn’t eat so many cookies, American children wouldn’t grow up with obesity issues. What kind of shit is this? They expect us to teach kids to exercise and eat right? This is America!

Are you friggin’ kidding me?!

Cookies have been raising American children for centuries. Who was there the first time you scraped your knee and needed a band-aid? Did your mama give you a stinkin’ zucchini, or did she give you a cookie? You’re damn right, she gave you a cookie, ‘cause your whiney ass would’ve started crying harder if she’d given you zuchini. You and that cookie forgot all about that bleed-y knee thing and went back outside to play, didn’t you? Oh yes you did! And a couple of days later, you picked the scab off your knee, made it bleed again, and scored yourself another cookie, didn't you?

And what about when you were a teenager and you got your first nasty pimple? Did your sister tell you to go out and run around the block, and then come back and eat some okra? No she did not! She told you to go pop the shit out of that goozer and come get a cookie. And you felt better, didn’t you?

How ‘bout when your first real boyfriend broke up with you? Did your best friend hand you a cucumber and tell you to get over it? Well, she might have, and that’s beside the point. But she didn’t say that until AFTER she gave you about twelve chocolate chip cookies, some fudge, and a bottle of vodka. And? YOU FELT BETTER!!!

Anyway, after my rant, I went and did some research on this whole thing and, according to Snopes, there is no evil plot to overthrow Cookie Monster and replace him with Veggie Monster. I feel so much better now. But let this be a warning to you, if any of you start plotting against him again, or any of his other Muppet friends, you are going to have to deal with Blognut. And that? Will not go well for you my friends.

How Do We Fix This?

Sometimes the world we live in is so screwed up that I’m almost ashamed to say I’m a member here. And then I realize that if I think it’s screwed up, there are likely to be a few people who agree with me, and maybe if we work together, we can fix some of the problems.

And then my head explodes and bits of blue matter and fuzz spray all around the room.

What am I talking about, now? You’re wondering, aren’t you?

Yesterday afternoon I was checking on some sports scores on TV and I saw something that captured my attention, so I went to the internet to do further research.

You’re thinking, “Blognut, you don’t watch TV!” Mostly, you are correct. However, I do kind of pay attention to the football scores. I like a little football here and there, and I try to stay on top of it because Mr. Blognut has this whole pretend world of fantasy football thing going on throughout the entire season. If I want to be able to have any conversation with him at all from September to January, I need to be able to open it with some insane football fact in order to get his attention. Alas, perhaps this is a blog post in and off itself.

Anyway, I digress.

What I found out yesterday when I was checking scores, was that there was a player on one of the teams who was penalized for a late hit against a player on the other team. (Yes, it would be easier if I told you the names of the players, but I am loathe to have all those google hits land here today, so bear with me.)

So the team was given a penalty, the player was ejected from the game because it was a pretty nasty hit and it was after the other team signaled for a fair-catch. He’ll probably get a huge fine and maybe even be suspended for a few games. And judging from what I saw in the replay, he has it coming, but it’s all part of football. After all, it is football and not a tea party, so it’s reasonable for any player on the field to assume he will be hit on a given Sunday.

The bigger issue? One player was African-American, and the other was White. Humph. Imagine that. It didn’t occur to me that this should be an issue as there are players of multiple races on every NFL team, but there you have it. The sports blogs were alive with racist comments and all manner of stupidity around this game. I was there moments after the penalty occurred, and there were already 735 comments. The depth of hatred I saw was incredible. Why? Why does it have to be about race? Why can’t it be about a safety and a punt returner from two opposing teams? One of whom may or may not have missed the signal for a fair catch, and may or may not have hit the player from the opposing team anyway. Is it likely that the safety had time to think about the punt returner’s race? Did he pull up a chair on the 50-yard line and assume The Thinker’s pose, carefully weighing his options on the play and factoring in the question of race? Or, is it reasonable to think that he was caught up in the play and just did what football players do?

I can’t help but think that people who leap automatically to the issue of race have a hatred that has practically been bred into them. And then I wonder if we can’t all try to see around race and even commit to teaching our kids a little appreciation for diversity, rather than teaching them to fear it. Maybe, just maybe, if we work really hard on this together, we can make some changes.

There's Something I Have to Tell You

I have a confession to make. Not one of those confessions where I tell you all about something horrible I did, and then I beg for your forgiveness. It’s something entirely different.

Clowns just scare me, man. They’re freakish and unnatural. Even the sad looking clowns creep me out a little bit and make me all, “WTF?! How can this clown be so sad, he’s a friggin’ clown. He must be lying. He’s trying to reel me in with his sad face and his painted on tears, but he’s really going to eat me.”

Do clowns eat blognuts?!

Crap! I never really considered this question, but I think we should talk about it now because I have a clown in my house.

He’s right the hell here, keeping an eye on things, living way up high in the corner of my kitchen. I think he hopes that I will forget he is there and then he will eat me.

See!

By the way, can I ask you a question about this particularly creepy beef-eating clown?

HOW CAN HE PROMOTE THE CONSUMPTION OF BEEF AND FRENCH FRIES?

Is it not true that some of his closest friends include Mayor McCheese and the Fry Guys?

Does this not prove to you that clowns are trying to reel you in so they can eat you?

When is the last time you saw the Fry Guys? And don’t be blaming the fat guy, ‘cause Grimace didn’t eat those fries! I’m tellin’ ya’ it was the friggin’ clown!

And what kind of clown lets a guy named Hamburglar run around stealing all his hamburger friends? I’ll tell you what kind of clown. The same kind of clown who would probably let a guy named Dogburglar walk his dog. Just sayin’.

What's next?

I think we have to protect our children from this sinister clown! And I? Might have to get this thing the hell out of my kitchen!

Dude, Do Your Own Job!

Dear Lazy Ass,

I’ve been holding my tongue for a while now, (which is mildly unpleasant because I have a lot of hand lotion on today and it leaves an undesirable aftertaste), but it’s high time we had ourselves a little chat.

You are a customer-facing employee in this organization. Your job is to sell the customers on the idea that they can’t live without us, and to provide first-line support and service to them. Now this is just a little tip from me to you, but you might want to consider getting familiar with our services. Just sayin’, ‘cause it might make you a bit more successful in your efforts to gather commercial deposits. Not that your success is that important to me, but I do care when you leave a customer bobbing around like a cork at sea and that is the ONLY reason why I continue to rescue your incompetent ass.

Also? Since my job is not to do your job, but to do several of my own jobs, I would totally appreciate NOT having to do your job. ‘Cause I don’t like your job. Not that I always like mine either, but it’s mine and not yours. If I liked your job, I could get that job. Notice that I do not have your job and that is because, as I stated a moment ago, I do not like your job. I also do not like you. Sorry, I tried, but it was not meant to be.

And so, since we’ve got all of this out in the open now, you should be aware that the next time one of YOUR customers calls me directly on MY CELL PHONE, on MY DAY OFF, asking for help with something because you failed to explain it to them and then GAVE them my FRIGGIN’ number, you will have to remove my cell phone from your rectal orifice and then use it to call 911 to come and get you. I promise.

Have a nice day,
Blognut

WTF Wednesday - Some Advice

Because I am this person drowning in work...


I've been having a hard time getting around to the blogs lately and I'm missing a lot of my bloggy buddies. To make it up to you, and to remind you that I truly do look out for you, I'm giving you a WTF Wednesday public service announcement. You know... some advice you can take and apply to your daily living.


NEVER ASSUME it's going to be a dry fart. Just hold it 'til you get home.

Effing Monday

I couldn't decide whether to say MONDAY SUCKS, or MONDAY BLOWS.

Either is fine with me, but let's put it to a vote.

Is This Really Happening?

Unless you’re living in a bubble these days, you’ve been hearing all kinds of stuff on TV, the radio, and around the ‘net about Roman Polanski. If you’ve done your homework, you know that he admitted to raping a 13-year-old girl; that he took a plea on a lesser charge; that he then fled the country the night before his sentencing hearing; and that he has gone on about his business for the last 32 years or so. He’s continued to live his life, make films, and win awards for his art.

But what about that girl he admits to having raped?

No matter; it was just a kid, someone else’s kid. And kids are resilient; they can get over anything. Forgive and forget, right?

Does that sound as ridiculous to you as it does to me? Forgive? I don’t know about that. Forget? ABSOLUTELY NOT. These things have a way of coming at us when we least expect it. It is NEVER gone.

Sure, his victim is 45 now, and she wants all of this media attention to go away. She wants the courts to let it go, too. How ‘bout we get out of her face for a minute? Let’s give her the privacy she deserves. Is it any wonder that she wants all of this to go away? Maybe she really has gotten past it, and maybe she really has forgiven him. For her sake, I hope that is true. But don’t think for a minute that she has forgotten, or that she doesn’t have days when her memories threaten to eat her alive.

But obviously, according to the actors who are embracing him, what happened to her is not such a big thing, and this guy, Roman, he’s had a really hard life, maybe even suffered enough already. Oh.

Ask Woody Allen, Peter Fonda, Whoopi Goldberg, Penelope Cruz, and scores of others who are signing petitions to free Roman Polanski. They’re outraged that he was arrested. They’re panicking at the very thought that one of their own might be held accountable for a crime. Really guys? Is it too much to ask that you live by the same rules as the rest of us?

And honestly, Roman, do you want Woody Allen to be the guy charging up the hill for you? I believe he married his step-daughter. He’s probably not the right guy to have on your team at the moment.

If you ask Otto Weisser, the fact that Roman is brilliant should outweigh the little mistake he made 32 years ago. Is it a little mistake because it wasn’t your daughter, Otto?

Ask Peter Fonda and you’ll hear that he believes authorities have bigger fish to fry than Roman Polanski. Maybe so, Peter, but they finally caught this one and they really shouldn’t throw him back. It sends the wrong message to rapists and their victims, doesn’t it?

And according to Whoopi, it wasn’t really a rape rape. I do wonder, Whoopi, what the hell does this mean?

"I know it wasn't rape-rape. It was something else but I don't believe it was rape-rape. He went to jail and and when they let him out he was like "You know what? This guy's going to give me a hundred years in jail. I'm not staying," so that's why he left.

Rape rape, Whoopi? As opposed to what? Do we do this in ½ steps now? We have not-really rape, sorta-kinda rape, rape, and rape rape? Which of these do you choose for yourself, Whoopi? Which of these aren’t a big deal, and hardly worth the bother of punishment?

Roman Polanski is not above punishment for his crimes just because he is famous. If anything, I think he should be held to an even higher standard. And running for 32 years didn’t make it go away or lessen the fact that he drugged, raped, and sodomized a 13-year-old. Time may heal the wounds of his victim, but it does not undo the horrible things he did to her. And let’s not forget that the man admitted it.