Redecorating

Since I’m going to be here for a while, I thought it was time to do a little redecorating. My friend CP came over two weeks ago and helped me figure out some things to do. Thought I’d share the progress.

These are pictures of the old living room setup:

And here is the old “dining room”:

New dining room: Turned the table, moved bookshelf from living room, and moved golf clubs. I’m going to have a friend paint me a Leroy Neiman-like painting of “The Greatest Bike That’s Never Ridden” to hang on the back wall.

Here’s the new living room. I’ll be adding pictures of family, both current and old, in the future, plus a print of some type over the couch.

Oh…and in case you’re wondering, this is “The Greatest Bike That’s Never Ridden”:

More pictures to come as I start getting things organized.

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Rambling

You know something? I don’t think I’m going to be good at this relationship stuff. I wasn’t good at it way back when and I find myself not being good at it now.

I fine myself attracted to people I can’t have either because of distance, or past experience, or being out of their league, or just being friends for a long time. I make bad choices when it comes to this stuff and sometimes try and force the issue, which only leads to me feeling empty and alone. I develop the crush, and then envision the romance, the need, the want, but I don’t take time to envision the obstacles. I figure you can overcome anything if you want to, but I know that it’s just not practical sometimes. You can’t sustain a relationship on email, phone calls, and occasional visits. I had someone very wise tell me that, and even though I didn’t really want to believe it, I knew it was true.

Another reason I won’t be good at this is, well…I don’t like the person who looks back at me in the mirror. He’s too fat, his face is too round, he’s too hairy, and yet he has no motivation to change any of it. Sure, he’ll get ready to change, but he just never follows through. And no, this is not new, but it’s gotten worse lately. There is a lot of planning, and buying, and wishing for change, but he just can’t find the proper change agent. High blood pressure, high cholesterol, several months of visits to chiropractors, and none of it seems to be a motivating factor. The face in the mirror swears he’s not going to end up like his Mother; alone, overweight, and depressed, but he’s sure not doing anything to change it. Until he learns to like himself, he can’t and doesn’t expect any else to like him.

I know this is not the kind of stuff you’ve come to expect at 3leggeddog, but this is the only place I can get it off my chest. This is my support system. I can say the things that are rolling around in my head, keeping me up at night. Sometimes feeling sorry for yourself feels really, really good. It’s when you start to like the feeling that things can get out of hand. Don’t worry, Dear Reader, I’m not going off the deep end any time soon. I’ve just had a tough week, caused someone I care about some pain, and now I’m handling it the way that I’ve come to enjoy. Writing it out. It’s cathartic and that’s just what I need. It’s gotten too damn expensive to drive around for hours listening to music so instead I fire up the browser and put words down for others to read. I’m not going to proofread this like I normally do. It’s become a stream of consciousness thing with Maroon 5 playing in the background and proofreading just seems wrong.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take my “feeling sorry for myself” cd, pop it into the truck’s cd player, and burn a tank of gas. Yeah, it’s been one of those weeks and writing alone ain’t gonna cut it.

The Coconut

I’ve written about 6 different entries for The Coconut and they all sucked. Let’s just say that the Coconut is that one person in your office that everyone hates, but Management won’t do anything about. She’s the causer of problems, the stirrer of shit, the finger pointer, blame layer, and all-around pain in the ass. We call her the Coconut because she’s got short, brown, thin hair that looks like the husk on a Coconut. Yeah, it’s cruel, but who gives a crap?

She’s always one step removed from the trouble that she starts. She puts her nose into everyone’s business, but gets pissy if you say something bad about her group. She does shit half-assed then blames others when it doesn’t work. If something goes wrong, the first thing she does is look to assign blame rather than to actually solve the problem. She is one of only two people in this world that I wouldn’t piss on if she was on fire.

She’s had more people quit than anyone in the company, yet they keep her around. We had one guy quit who didn’t even have another job. He just quit. When I complained about something she did to our department Vice President, his response was, “Well, I know what she’ll say. She’ll tell me it was a misunderstanding. She always says it’s a misunderstanding.” Huh?!? You mean people have complained enough that you know what her response will be? Geez, man, that’s some stellar management skills you have. FIRE! HER!

I cannot tell you how much I dread this trip to Chicago. Just the sound of her voice is enough to make me sick. It’s one of those syrupy-sweet, high-pitched voices that makes you want to shove red-hot pokers in your ears so you don’t have to listen anymore. Maybe I can get sick or something between now and then so I won’t have to go. Ugh. This is going to suck big, hairy donkey balls.

And, uh, oh yeah. I hired her.

Big Excitement

“Hello?”
“Dude, they’re zapping the fish.”
“Uh…what?”
“They. Are. Zapping. The. Fish.”
“Huh…OH! OH!…I’ll be right down.”

They’re draining the lake we have in front of our office so they can widen the roads. The company was nice enough to let us catch many of the fish before they drained it, but we couldn’t get all of them. In comes an organization that specialized in pond management who’s slogan is, “We take care of your liquid assets.” Corny, but good.

In order to catch the remaining fish, a guy gets out into the lake/pond, drops some electrodes into the water and applies a mild electric shock to the fish. When they float to the top, he scoops them up in a net and transports them to their new home. Well, all except the catfish. He’s going to get a nice egg and milk bath, then be lovingly covered with corn meal. Then take a nice, hot bath.

It’s amazing the things that fascinate us, isn’t it?

The Emperor’s New Clothes

Well, I figured it would happen, but was really hoping it wouldn’t. They hemmed the sleeves of my jacket incorrectly. The right is noticably higher than the left…and I’m not really sure which one is incorrect. And no, I didn’t try it on in the store. Like a dumbass, I waited till I got home. Strangely enough, this is not the first time this has happened.

Since this seems to be turning into Shitty Day, Part Deux, could whomever is pissing in my Cheerios to please stop. I’m starting to get crabby. Please don’t make me crabby. You wouldn’t like me when I’m crabby.

Work Tip #7

It is important to note that when working on the laptop of a Vice President you should not follow the phrase “Trust me” with “Oh, that wasn’t good, but I can recover it. I think.”

A steam roller?!?

Of all the dumbass, moronic, idiotic, lame-brained, dick-headed, brain-dead, dumb motherfucking things to do, this has got to be one of the top 3.

Some lameass, shit-for-brains, donkey-fucking idiot of a road worker decided that it would be a good day to drive his steam roller to work. On a two-lane road. In the middle of fucking rush hour. A steam roller. A fucking STEAM ROLLER! The damn thing maybe did 5 mph the whole time for 2 1/2 fucking miles. Did I mention that the limp-dicked, pox-infested, cock-gobbler was driving a fucking steam roller? On a two-fucking-lane road? In the middle of the fucking RUSH HOUR!

Oh man, I was so mad. It was all I could do to not pull over, run up to that moron, and throw him under the wheels of his steam roller. I may not be the fastest man on the planet, but I sure as shit could have caught this assmunch because he was going 5 fucking miles per hour. On. His. Fuck. Ing. Steam. Roller.