Sunday, November 14, 2010

Working for a living

Well, I am working overtime 6 days a week untill after Christmas. All new vacation requestsat my plant have been suspended, so I can't have a day off. On the one day a week I DO have off, I get to do all the housework that I slacked off on ealier. So, what I'm saying is......I'm probably not going to be posting for a while. Sorry.


Unless, of course, Lemur Queen picks up the slack. Much love.


Fat Rock.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Running VICTORY!

That's right. despite my previously reported slowness, I am now a prize winning runner! And not just a finisher's medal, or a door prize. Oh no. An honest to goodness 1st in my age group winner.
But first, a story.
The local runners community is small, and you tend to see the same people over and over. One of these runners is someone Fat Rock and I call "the Poser." She is skinny, and blond, and FAST. She typically runs in those tiny little buns, and a padded sports bra. Her hair is pulled back in a roll, with a plastic flower. Now, you may be thinking "geez Lemur Queen, stalker, much?" Well, she's hard to miss. First, she's FAST. And the fast runners are easy to spot, even before the race. Tanned bodies, buns of steel, very little clothing, fancy shoes, sprinting around as a warm up. Second, and more importantly, she POSES. Thus her name. Due to my aforementioned slowness, I have had limited opportunities to enjoy her posing, but Fat Rock says that once she finishes a race, the Poser selects a high visibility area and, well, poses. Typically with padded sports bra in full display.
At this last race, Fat Rock was standing near the finish with the pup. Apparently, this was the best posing space at this race, and Fat Rock was in the way. After several dirty looks, the Poser found another spot to stand, and began suggestively eating a banana. Let me say that again. Suggestively. Eating. A. Banana. And I missed it. It makes me wish I was faster. Unfortunately, she was gone by the time I dragged my slightly less firm bottom across the finish.
But, on to my VICTORY! This weekend's race was a small one, maybe 75 people? So from the start I liked my odds. But given my track record of mediocrity at races, I tried not to get my hopes up. It was a trail run, which actually worked in my favor. I'm not fast, but I'm steady and tenacious. That's why I like longer races. Still, I was SHOCKED when I checked the finish times, and saw that 1 next to my name. AND I got a prize. Reusable wine bag, Mary Kay "satin hands" and a bottle of Apricot juice. Maybe not impressive to you, but I shall now purchase my wine with PRIDE using my victory bag. And winning made it easier to get on my bike that afternoon for my second workout.
I've got a standing to uphold
Lemur Queen

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Freak Night at Wal-Mart

Well, we ran out of bread and milk last night. So, I get sent out to get said items, AND candy for Lemur Queen. She was having a crap week at work, and needed candy. So, Wal-Mart seems to have "theme" nights some nights. Last night was "Douchebag and Alternative Family" Night. Place was stacked to the rafters with Jersey Shore wannabees, walking around looking completely pissed off. AND trying to flex at the same time. Nice.

Also the alternatives were there. Mostly loving gay couples with some sort of child there. Note I said "some sort". There was one couple that was getting on my nerves, as they were blocking my way to the particular type of candy my wife wanted. One guy was over 400lbs if he was an ounce. And he was carrying a large purse. And he was getting his buttocks STROKED by the 250lb man directly behind him. And I mean STROKING his ass. Literally, like you would rub a dog or something. They had a giant bag of kitten chow in their cart, and were completely blocking my way to the Hershey Display. No pun intended. So after waiting a bit for them to move, and patiently waiting, I might add, I was treated to the strokefst while the fat gay guy was whining about the lack of potato chip selection and why did they shop at Harris Teeter? The thinner gay guy was very sorry honey, but the prices there are just too high. So, I walked over, and said "excuse me, guys, I need to grab something off the shelf behind you". I was met with the blank, open-mouthed stare. Then they stood stock still. Would not move. A second "Excuse me" didn't get any movement either. So, I did the asshole thing, and reached right by then, grabbing what I wanted off the shelf. The I heard it. A mewing. I kitten mewing. FROM THE FAT GUY'S PURSE. The guy gasped, opened his purse, and stuffed a fat hand in the bag to calm an orange tabby kitten. Those queens had smuggled in a kitten to Wal-Mart, so they could have their "family" all together while they assembled more tools for their own hyper-obsesity and butt stroking. Unbelievable.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

The Goblins are going BACK!

This is in part a happy post, and partly a sad post. This is happy because it's back to school time, and parents are getting a break. This is also a happy time because the college students are going back to school, and the quality of strippers at the local clubs will be improving drastically. Please note: I was told this by Rod "the Bod" at work, whose encyclopedic knowledge of the proffession of stripping, pornogarphy, and adult entertainers is legendary. I don't know this personally. I'm originally from Fayetteville, where the strippers are the same all year around. Seriously, Lemur Queen would tear off my twig and berries if I came home from a strip club.

But it's also a sad post because the traffic situation in our town is about to get a lot more screwed up. Yep! School Busses! And of course the parents who can't let their Precious Little Darlings (PLDs) ride the big nasty bus and must drive them to school personally. If you go to a private school and have no bus service, you are excluded from that comment. The bus drivers in my town are good. They don't abuse the power of the stop sign, and try to move a decent speeds. They will, by and large, allow people to pass them. My problem is with the traffic cops. One traffic cop. The Midget Deputy. The Midget Deputy works the traffic beat at the local elementary school that is on a busy 4 lane road with a grassy median. This 4 lane road is an artery for people who have to work downtown (me), and in the mornings the north-bound lanes are packed with workers and soccer moms transporting their PLDs in massive ass SUVs (Lady, you have one freaking kid, WHY do you need to have an Expedition Extended Edition Widebody? Crap, that thing is a tank.......and keep it in one lane, PLEASE!) The Sounthbound lane is clear and open, but has a left turn lane into the Elementary School. Enter the Midget Deputy. He can't see over his car, but he directs traffic like wee tiny iron fist. He constantly stops traffic on the northbound lane for almost no reason. One car in the turn lane? STOP ALL NORTHBOUND TRAFFIC! Turn lane empty but you see a bus coming half a mile away that might need to turn into the school? STOP ALL NORTHBOUND TRAFFIC! This little Napoleon will have traffic backed up for 3 miles. It seems he has it out for anyone wanting to drive into town. Like some woman who drove north on this road broke his heart once and now he has sworn vengeance on all northbound traffic. So, if you see a tiny man shaking his fist randomly at north moving traffic, it's him. Throw fruit. He likes it.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

At ye olde unemployment office.

Don't worry, I didn't lose my job. I just got a hint about a better job at a place in town. It's manufacturing, and the STARTING wage is $2.50/hour more than I make now. So, I can't help but try. More money, more benefits, and being in a company that isn't threatening layoffs is huge for me right now. But I have to be sneaky about it. If word gets out where I work that I'm trying to go somewhere else, the idiot redneck that's my boss now will give me the shittiest jobs he can to "make me rethunk it" as to whether or not I want to leave. Yes, rethunk. He did it to the last guy who got a promotion to another department. There are a grand total of 3 guys in our group that have college degrees. The redneck calls us all "them college boys" and treats us all like shit. So I'm trying to get away.


Which brings me to the unemployment office. The company I'm trying to get into is doing all it's recruiting via the unemployment office. To turn in my application, I had to wait in line there. it was an eye-opener. Ever seen Star Wars? Remember the Mos Eisley Cantina? Well, that was pretty much the ESC (Employment Security Commission). I had Bubba Joe Jim Bob standing there jabbering at one window, looking for a "hog job. ANY hog job". He was standing next to Anferny, who was decked to the nines in Fubu, trying to get the lady at the next window to believe him when he said Taco Bell wasn't hiring. And how do unemployed people/welfare people afford full on Fubu/SeanJean outfits and/or have a constant supply of Marlboro unfiltereds? I know for a fact that "fly gear" is expensive as hell, and Cowboy Killers are over $4 a pack now. So where is that money coming from?


Anyways, so I was called back into the ESC to take a basic math and literacy test. My test time was 0930. I showed up 5 minutes early, was given a blank sheet of paper, a pencil, and told to sit down and wait for a computer. There were about 40 computers in the room, and every seat had an ass in it. All these folks were there for the 0900 test times. The test was 52 questions of basic (high school) math and reading comprehension. I figured it wouldn't be a long wait. I was wrong. 40 minutes later, someone got up from the chair and finished. I sat down and started. I finished the test in roughly 40 minutes. And I checked all the answers to every question before I submitted it. So, it actually took me about 30 mins to complete. The majority of the people who were on the computers when I came in at 0925........WERE STILL THERE. Right as I was leaving I had a very bad movie clip come to mind. Remember 2001 Space Oddessy? Remember the monkeys and the giant slab thingy? Yeah, those monkeys.

That's what it was like. Except instead of grunting and hooting there was the occasionally moan of "oh heeeeellllll no" and "hey, yew! May number from figurin' ain't on them answer buttons, yer test is wrong!" Yep. The people who were there when I left had been there for well over 1 hour and 40 minutes. Working on the same test I took. I hope I score better than they do.

Also, the monkey thing doesn't mean I think I'm better than them, it just means I touched the obelisk first.



Fat Rock.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Goth Re-post. Or a Gothic Riposte. Whichever.

Greetings all! It's been a while since I wrote this post, and just as long since I looked in my comment section. I was going to close comments, as all I seem to be getting are random adds for porn in Chinese. But today I looked and saw there were comments, REAL comments, about Goths and my post. Now, before I begin my commentary on her comments, I will say this: I stand by my first post. It might not be well written, but it was what I was observing at the time. I may have tweaked it a little bit if I were to write it now, but I will not edit it and I'll let it stand. People want to tell me they're offended or that I and my wife suck for our little rants, fine. If you can't take the heat for what you say, maybe you shouldn't say it. So, I stand by the original post.

So, a commenter writes:

"I'm a southern goth and actually find this offensive. You are either too young to be part of the true goth culture or you are not goth at all."

Ding! She's right! I wasn't a Goth. I'm a Gamer, a specialized subtype of Nerd. I am also a big fan of the SCA, enjoy metal/punk music, and comic books. All three of those can be a draw for Goths. While I was in my prime, I had a grand total of four close Goth friends. I was still a Gamer, I just hung out with some goths. And I assure you I am old enough to have been a part of "true" Goth culture, as I am old enough to own a copy of Vanilla Ice's To The Extreme, and may have purchased it when it first came out. Not that I am admitting owning or purchasing said album.

Speaking of Age, this brings me to my next point:

"Large pants are more popular with ravers, not real goths."

If you remember back in the day, lose fitting pants WERE popular with Goths. When I'm out and about I still often observe those of a more gothic bent wearing loose/large pants. Yes, I know they may not be Goths, but that's what I observe. "Tightish" pants are often more associated with Emos or Hipsters in my area, though they may be popular amongst the Goth crowd in other places.

Hmm, other places, ah next point!

"I am in Richmond, Virginia which has the only full time goth club (open 6 nights a week) in America."

and also

"You also seem to only think of the goth culture as suited for teenagers, which would explain your lack of being able to recognize an adult goth. We just tend to dress nicer regardless of location."

First off, you are in Richmond. Nice city, I've been there on business and pleasure. Richmond and the surrounding areas have a population of over 1.2 million people. That's more than 10 times the amount of where I am. With less population comes a smaller sample size to observe. Also, you point to having a Gothic Club (the only one in the U.S., too!), which would serve to attract more Goths than say.....an agrarian community with few amenities and fewer non-industrial or non-farm jobs. I bet that club attracts Goths like deer to a salt lick. And what guy (or girl) would go out to a club and not dress up a bit? I wouldn't.

But people are like animals in one certain respect: no habitat, no wildlife. There's not many goths here because there's no habitat. That first post was made because I saw TWO Goths at a time when I thought they were long gone in this area. I don't know what the temperature is right now in Richmond, but it's 98 here, with a heat index of 107. This is NOT a good time to wear black. Now is NOT a good time to wear dark colors, period. Now is not a good time to wear heavy makeup. So no, there's not a lot of Goths here. Hence the post about the disappearance of the Southern Goth.

So that's what the post was about. I tried to give it an Audubon Society spin to it, because that's funny to me. I look forward to your comments and as always, will stand behind my words. Thank you.

Fat Rock.

Saturday, August 21, 2010

Country Adventures

Fat Rock and I enjoy adventures. This includes large adventures (Disney World!) and small adventures (Farmers' Market!) Most weekends, we try to have an adventure of some sort. This Saturday, it was Fat Rock's turn to choose.

And he chose..........a flea market.

Yep.

Now, I am not a flea-marketing kind of gal. Antique stores, sure, as long as they aren't too dusty. Yard sales, meah. All told, this was probably my third trip to a flea market.

And what a trip it was! First we rode out into the country. This was actually pretty nice. Open fields, quaint houses, old farm equipmant at the side of the road. We idlly talked about moving out into the country and living the simple life. Step 1: win the lottery.

And then we entered town. What's that? In the distance? A PIGGLY WIGGLY!! My favorite supermarket. For no other reason than that its mascot is an adorable pig. I may have taken pictures. My greatest regret is that I didn't buy a Piggly Wiggly tee-shirt on my last vacation to Kiawah Island. The dichotomy makes me smile. Swank beach resort, country supermarket, with spokes-pig.

anyway.

Time for the flea market. A large field filled with tables. There was a large crowd, buying.......... huh. A strange mixture of stuff. There was the farm stand/tube sock table. The Suny (almost like SONY!) electronics. The stripper clothing. The packages of clothing with DEFINITELY did NOT fall off a truck, so don't even think that. The XXX movie table (they seemed to be doing a brisk business, apparently flea marketers don't know that you can get that stuff on the Internet.) And the air was filled with the smell of the barnyard.

I was hoping for chickens. I was greatly disappointed when we walked past the restrooms and found the "barnyard scent" was, in fact "human sent." Ew.

BUT! On the way out, I saw two goats, just chillin' in the back of a pick up truck.

It was a good day.

Lemur Queen

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Tax Free Weekend.

Well, the Rock family will be sticking close by the Fortress this weekend. Why? Because in North Carolina there is a Tax Free Weekend right before school starts. I mean, it's not a bad thing, if you think about it. Most everybody needs to try to save some money, right? Especially with the economy in the crapper, taking off that 7% sales tax is a great for people trying to pinch pennies. Which is a lot of us. Including me. Especially since the pay cut at work (thanks jerks! those free t-shirt with the company logo on them DO NOT make up for cutting my pay 12%!).




But fortunately, I don't need to rush out to Wal-Mart to get anything. I'm not going back to school. I don't need new clothes. I work in a blue collar job where an old t-shirt and pants are what you need to do the job, as "nice" clothes will get crap all over them. And it's a good thing we don't need to go to Wally World, because it looks like this:




Yep. Pretty close. Except this pic was taken some time around November, and it's hot as hell out there now, so I guess it'd be a sweaty stinky mass of people instead of a cold mass of people.


Well, we do need food. Groceries. Crap. Well, I don't want to wade into THAT melee. So I have three choices:


1. Tell my wife it's her week to go shopping alone, and send a 5' tall, 100 pound woman into that writhing heap of humanity unarmed to bring my fat ass some food.

2. *I* go in there alone, sparing my wife and taking the brunt of the punishment on myself. I like this option better, as I am 240 pounds and have taken martial arts for 6 years I think I'd have a better chance.

3. We do like my priest did in my old parish. He was so popular in town (seriously, people LOVED him. Folks who weren't Catholic would come up and say hi. He actually started wearing disguises to restaurants so people would leave him be to enjoy his crappy Chinese food.) that he couldn't shop for his groceries like normal people did. He hated it. So, he'd go to Wal-Mart at 3 in the morning. Seriously. No one's at Wal-Mart at 3-4 am. Except drunks, and lazy ass college students(me!). So I'd be looking at the dollar frozen pizzas and see Father moving happily and whistling as he was picking out carrots and getting Pilsbury Grands Rolls.


Anyways, we'll probably go out late tonight. Like, after midnight. And buy groceries. Catholic Priest style.


Fat Rock

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Pitbulls

This is going to be short. I have a Pitbull mix. He's a sweetheart. I've had dogs before. Black lab, and a Siberian Husky. Decent dogs. The husky was a bit dumb, but otherwise good dogs. Then my wife and I were looking for a dog. I wanted one she could run with. One that had some size on it, and would have some protective instinct. We also wanted a dog that had a reputation of being good with kids. I did some research (http://www.dogbreedinfo.com/) and narrowed the field. Then we started hitting the local dog rescues to see what was available. Please understand I have nothing against purebred, "papered" dogs. But we have so many in shelters and pounds here, it seems crazy to go anywere else. So I looked on Craigslist, and on Petfinder and eventually ran across Beefy and his littermates. The adoption group that had him were running his add as being an American Bulldog, but a volunteer with the group (a friend) told me he was over half Pitt, but they couldn't run the add as such for two reasons:

1. Dog fighters are still looking for Pittbulls and sometimes try to get them from rescues.
2. People are afraid of Pitts, and will shy away from adopting them.

I'm not afraid of Pittbulls. Beefy has proven to be a wonderful companion and exercise partner. He loves children, and will put up with anything, so long as the kid rubs him. He was slapped across the face last week by a little girl who wanted to play rough. Dog's reaction? Fall over and roll belly up to try to entice a belly-rub. He has not been aggressive with any other dogs, but has tried to play with dogs who weren't interested. This resulted in him being growled at, so he ran behind me and hid.

What kills me is how many people are afraid of Pitts. And I mean, run in terror, jerk kids away fear. I made the mistake of telling a woman that Beefy was a Pitt while she was petting him on a walk, and she jerked her hand away and stepped back about 10 feet, saying something about "maneater". Yeah, the dog that was happily licking your hand 5 seconds ago is going to go insane an rip off a boob now that you know it's a Pittbull. So now I have to introduce him as a mutt. Or to other Pitt owners as an "Amstaff Mix", which they immediately understand. I know the media doesn't like Pitts. But please, give the breed a chance.

Sunday, August 1, 2010

OOOOoooohh! Dogo!

So, last night Lemur Queen and I went out to world market to buy some overpriced and pretentious goods. You know, the kind that say "we're well travelled and oh so worldly yet don't actually travel because we have no money". Yep, those kinds of goods. So, as we were walking into the store, we walked by a truck, and there was a dog in the truck. It was evening, and nice and cool, so the dog wasn't in danger. And both the windows were rolled all the way down. The dog was sitting behind the driver's wheel, and I noticed him because he FILLED THE ENTIRE WINDOW. He looked like a Pitbull on steroids. It was a Dogo Argentino.

I mean, look at it. That dog is epic. I actually sat outside the damn store so I could talk to the owner when she came out. She was a bit apprehensive when I asker her what kind of dog it was ("Well, we got him in Buenos Ares....") but when I blurted DOGO! She knew she had a friend. Seems she had been given some flak from PETA people about the dog in the past. She was from Georgia, and her and her husband had a farm there. In Georgia, there's a lot of wild pigs. Boars. They root up crops, attack livestock and people. Fierce. Mean. With big ass tusks. Farmers want these bad boys gone. But hunting them is extremely dangerous. High caliber weapons must be used. Even then, the thick hide, slabbed muscle, and really really bad attitude of the wild boar makes it tough to kill. Regular hunting dogs, like a Coonhound, Foxhound, or Beagle would get ripped to confetti by a boar.
Enter the Dogo Argentino. It was selectively bred for hunting Pumas and other large jungle cats. They combined the now extinct Fighting Dog of Cordoba, Boxer, Mastiff, German Wirehair Pointer, Great Pyranees and old Bull Terrier stock. That gave it a good nose (to track), size and stregnth, and a great personality (this is actually a decent family dog) so it could work well with a pack to bring down large game. You know, because it was bred to, you know, freaking kill pumas.


Yep. So this lady had the dog in the truck. He sat there, patiently, waiting for his master to return, ignoring everyone who walked by, tried to pet him, or took pictures (that would be me, I'll post them later, maybe.). I waited for that lady for 20 mins, hoping she would show up. That dog was just too awesome not to check out. Oh, and yeah, even though the dog is bred to kill large wild animals, it's nature is to be loving and gentle with people and kids. Hence the Boxer mix-in. What an awesome dog. If Lemur Queen would let me, I would totally get one of those.



Saturday, July 10, 2010

Moving Days........

I always hated to move. I would stay in an apartment long after I should have left simply because I hate moving. And when I DID move to different apartments, I always tried to get a ground floor apartment. Why? I didn't have to move heavy things up stairs and it seems that when I walk I sound like "I'm trying to stomp a mime to death" (ex-neighbors words). But as I got older, I got better at moving. All my furniture can be broken down to man portable loads. I know exactly what size boxes I need and how many I need to move. I have packaging for ALL my fragile stuff. One of my buddies from school was the king though. Even after he graduated, everything he owned could fit into his Country Squire LTD station wagon. Everything. ALL his crap. He was like a Bedouin, able to pick up and move within 2 hours. I love helping guys like that move.

You know who I hate to help move? Chicks. (Not you, my loving wife, you are the great exception!) Especially single ones. Why? Because often times they've never had to move themselves. Their daddy moved them, or their brother, or boyfriend, or SOME GULLIBLE GUY who they roped into doing this. Also, because women have heavy stuff. Not just sofas and dressers, but RANDOM things like a 60 lb ironing board or something. Or a microwave made out of granite. Also, women LOVE to live on the upper floors of apartment buildings. The first floor? The easy floor to move stuff to? Pfft. Please. Since she's not the one dragging that 500 pound bureau up 3 flights of stairs what do she care?

And I know I sound angry here. I guess I kinda am. Waaaaaaay back in the day, YEARS before I even started dating Lemur Queen, I was a hot single guy. Well, hot in my mind at least. But I was always on the prowl for the ladies. So, when a girl would ask me to "come over" for a while on a Saturday, after coyly asking if I was free, I would say yes. Because hey, a girl just asked me over! But then I find out that she's moving, and then never talks to me after I help her move. I had friends who enlisted my help to move their girlfriends, only to have those girls BREAK UP with them hours to days after she was moved. Turns out she had wanted to leave him for a while, but didn't want to do the labor of moving by herself, so she stayed with my buddy until the move was done. Crazy thing, is this has happened three times, to two separate friends. I knew one girl (who was really, really hot. But also insane. As in "Daddy Never Loved Me" type stuff. Also, would only wear all white clothing on certain days of the week. But I digress.) who would actually go out on a ton of dates with as many men as she could wrangle so she would have a large pool of willing and able men to help her move. Of course, once this backfired on her. She dated about 5 guys (telling me the whole time WHY she was doing this) for about a month, and then the week before she was to move, she asked them all for help. Well, the guys found out what she was doing, somehow. The day before she was going to move all of them called her, broke off the relationship, and told her she was on her own for her move in day. If my back hadn't been the one to suffer for that, I would have laughed my ass off to hear those phone conversations.





Also, when I was in college, we had this group that helped move in Freshmen. The New Friends, or some crap. After my freshman year I volunteered every time this came up. Why? Two reasons: 1) get to move in one day before EVERYONE into the dorms, thus avoiding clutter and chaos and 2) scope out hot freshman women before the rest of campus. After the first year of doing this, I realized that (2) as a waste of time. I was not George Clooney. I can't pick up girls like that. Only Assholes, Douchebags, and George Clooney can do that. And I, my friends, am no George Clooney. So I made dang skippy my room was all set up, then I'd go see what/who was coming in this year. Every year there were hot girls. Every year. And you know what? They ALWAYS had a ton of crap with them. And they never lived on the first floor. Well, lucky for us....they brought they're Father with them to move said heavy crap! Oh, wait, he has a "bad back" and can't move stuff (how'd he get it into the trailer?). But that's ok, Freshman Barbie has a brother with her. Oh wait.....that's either a really handsy brother.....or.....it's the Boyfriend from Back Home. Boyfriend ain't TOUCHING the heavy crap. He's too busy groping the girl who's going to dump him in a few weeks for a Theatre, English or Religion major. So, I just gave up and started helping the guys move. Why? I'd see the girls in the cafeteria for the meet and greet. And, I'd see what freshman guy had the coolest stuff, so I'd know where I could hang out and play some Playstation. Rock on!

Friday, July 2, 2010

Like Rats on a Ship.

I've heard about rats leaving a doomed ship, but what about when that ship is stocked with cheese and milk and no cats? The rats swarm. Thus it is now in our little coastal town. Memorial day was on us recently, and more long holiday weekends will follow. So a town that typically has about 70k people swells to around 100k on the weekends. You think I'm kidding? Try finding a place to eat out in the summer. Everywhere is packed. Even Wal-Mart. ESPECIALLY Wal-Mart, who am I kidding? And they're filled with this:



I guess what really kills me is the traffic. It gets pretty congested during regular weekdays here. Our roads suck. So throw in thousands of extra vehicles, and it gets BAD. And the majority of those are not from here, so are not used to the streets and traffic patterns, and thus slow things down even more. I know you and "the family" are going to have a nice, relaxing vacation pal, but how about snapping out of your Jimmy Buffet fantasy long enough to find the damn gas pedal and USE IT. I need to get to work.

Sunday, June 27, 2010

Behold the AWESOME!!!!

So, for anyone who ISN'T a comic book person, or married to me, DC comics has been having this "Blackest Night" event in their story lines for a while now. Blackest Night deals with the Green Lantern facing off against what MIGHT me the apocalypse of the DC comic universe! Unless all the heroes can band together to defeat it! (spoilers: they do). But as part of the ad campaign for the story DC release plastic fun rings for each of the power ring corps shown in the book. I have been collecting them for a few months now, and my collection is complete. This is a picture of that awesome:

Sunday, June 20, 2010

You are FIRED! But you need to give us some overtime first.......

Ugh, wish I was kidding! Fat Rock here, with fun news. Seems Chubby Industries has had a rough patch of business, and as such has had to cut the hours of the production and manufacturing staff by 20%. Yes, twenty percent pay cut. But here's the kicker: On the weeks we are NOT on reduced hours, we have to work overtime to keep the schedule from getting behind. Yes, you heard me right. Furlough time.................but with overtime.

Damn.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Eve Online

Now, this is the stuff. Better then World of Warcraft. Better than Everquest. WAAAAAyYYYYYY better than that steamy pile that is City of Heroes. Eve Online is more complicated than all 3 of those games combined, and has a wider variety of roles and abilities. Like a big-ass diamond, the facets of Eve are limitless. The learning curve is steeper., but the fun is limitless.


Essentially, you're in space. The empty void of space. But the void is what you make it. There are hundreds of thousands of players, all working in this void, trying to make something. Individual players join corporations, groups of like minded players who use teamwork to accomplish their goals. Corporations can join alliances, which can consist of up to thousands of players. Alliances can band together into coalitions, informal treatieas and the like. The economic and diplomatic tools used in this game would even give Kissinger and Greenspan a run for their money. But don't take my word for it. try it out.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Azalea Festival.

(Note to Self: Insert Gay Joke HERE)


Yeah, so I went to the Azalea Festival Garden Tour recently. I was not forced to go, but wanted to go as I get ideas and inspiration for my home garden when I see what others have done. I went last year, and because of that I was able to go out and sunburn myself so badly I couldn't go to work for two days because I was tilling, moving earth, laying brick (not to self: insert poop joke here) and preparing a new garden for my wife's enjoyment. Well, the garden kinda flopped the first year. We're doing a lot better this year, and I have the added bonus of not being referred to as "Lobster Boy" at work.




So to get fresh Ideas, we went to the Garden Tour. The Azalea Festival Garden Tour is put on by the Wilmington Garden Club, who are kind of like the Illuminati, Skull and Bones, Freemasons, The Emipre from Star Wars, and Opus Dei all rolled into one. Seriously, they're like a shadowy secret society that wears sundresses and ridiculous hats. They have a set member count (354), they are all women, they have a waiting list of several years to even be considered to join, and there's like a generational hierarchy to it. It's creepy. Like that men's club from Stepford. But they put on a darn good garden tour.


So we went for the second year straight. Every year we go we get to see a part of Wilmington that we never knew about. Last year we discovered Forest Hills South. This year we got to cruise the gated community of Landfall and gawk at houses we will never be able to afford. But we also got to see a number of lovely gardens. My favorites we're the old gardens. The ones that were made over YEARS of work. Like ours is turning out to be. There were several homes that were around 80 years old, and the gardens were from decades of toil. They took out breath away. Then there's the noobs. Yes, I used the World of Warcraft term Noob (new or inexperienced person, from the words New and bOOB) to describe a garden. Bite Me. The noobs hired someone to make them a garden. And make it fast. The result is a garden that looks " just fine" but has a sterile look to it. Last year almost half the tour was like that. This year only a few gardens were noobs. And now a few photos from our favorite, a garden that was designed by a housewife (she was also a botanist) and made entirely by her and he husband. It was designed to have something blooming every month of the year.

They made that garden themselves. And it was awesome.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

Mutually Assured Destruction



Many of you may have been Cold War Children like I and Lemur Queen were. We knew "Duck and Cover" and all that. We knew of the Evil Empire, the Iron Curtain, and the USSR(CCCP). But most of you kids have never heard of that crap, as schools no longer teach actual history, but feel good crap about things that don't matter. So, this post is about the modern application of the timeless doctrine of Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD). Basically it goes like this: one nation won't do something stupid (launch nukes), because it knows that if it does another nation will launch nukes enough to kill them both.

A lot of times marriage is like that. But different. With us it's about hair. Lemur Queen has gorgeous hair. Jet black, a little past her shoulders. It's like a waterfall of midnight. It's great and I love it. Way back in the day, before we started dating she tried one of those "styling" bobs and cut her hair short. She said it looked bad on her, and she let it grow back out.
Now it's summertime. It's hot. Long hair is hot. Beautiful, but hot. Lemur Queen was thinking about getting a "Pixie Cut" for the summer, as she seems to have forgotten what happened last time. She was looking at this:

But when she says stuff like this all I can see is this:

So to counter this I've had to grow my own "nuclear option", so to speak. I have grown out my goatee. I haven't trimmed or cut it for 4 months. It's getting long, and starting to develop ear lock type curls. But it keeps growing. Lemur Queen noticed it's length last week when I just got out of the shower (I usually style it so the length doesn't show, I didn't have the opportunity at that time) and asked when I was going to trim it. I asked if she had decided not to cut her hair.

Then she realized it was a mexican standoff with hair. If SHE went nuclear and got a pixie cut, I would go nuclear and go full Pai Mei on her. "Who's Pai Mei?" you ask? He's a famous Shaolin monk, immortalized in film and saga. Also, he kinda looks like this:

Wait, that's a bad pic. This is more like it:




Yeah, that is EPIC. And that's what's gonna happen if she cuts her hair. And she knows it. So it's a waiting game until the first cold snap, then I'm clear. She won't cut off all that insulating hair once fall hits. But until then I need to be strong, and threaten the woman I promised to cherish forever of the possibility of my trying to make myself look like a catfish is she trims her locks.












Saturday, May 8, 2010

Do I LOOK like a stoner?



So, the other day I was in Wal-Mart buying pots, seeds, potting soil and dirt. Specifically, I was buying Sweet Basil seeds. As I was trying to check out in the garden section, a hipster doofus got in behind me with two of those Sobe "Enlighten And Train Your Chi Because It's Not Like Cha'an Buddhists Spend 20 Friggin' Years Trying To Do This, You Can Do It By Drinking Our Overpriced Crappy Water, You Dumb White Yuppies" Flavor or it could have been "Mango Raspberry". Whatever. So this guy was behind me. He was wearing a rasta hat, and holding a Bob Marley Book bag. You know, because Rastafarians are all about materialism.

Yeah.
So I'm chatting with the very bored cashier about how my herbs aren't growing well this season, and how I'm trying to re pot and reseed to see if that helps. RastaDoofus perks up with the mention of "pot" and "herb", and says "Hey Man, I'm totally having trouble with my herb too!"
"What are you growing?"
Fat Rock: "Basil, Marjoram, Oregano, Thai Basil, Parsley, Lemon Thyme and Lavender."
RastaDoofus:"Dude, Man. I am totally trying to grow some oregano. I have a ton, but I'm trying to get more." Really there Half Baked? Oregano? Really?
At this point my purchase is completed and I beat feet to the car. Rastadoofus catches up to me and starts bombarding me with questions about my "Oregano", such as how green it is, how many plants I have, and what I'm doing for indoor lighting. At this point I have to stop Mister Herbal-life from incriminating himself. He gets pretty deflated when he finds out I'm really growing JUST HERBS. And shuffles off with his Chi Water.
Stupid Hipster Doofus.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

What's Irony?

Irony is having a safety meeting that covers extensively the topic of "how working too many hours/working while fatigued can cause more injuries and errors". What did management announce right after this presentation?

That we were doing overtime again. For the fifth week straight. Five. Weeks. Overtime. Fatigue. Injuries.

One guy actually raised his hand as asked the managers if they knew what irony was, the managers said yes, but it totally didn'y apply to this situation.

The mind boggles.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Averages

Sorry, been really busy lately. Been doing overtime for a good 3 weeks now. Wife's been working a lot. Sure, money's coming in, but I am getting run ragged. Makes me feel exhaused, and wonder how I'm doing in life. Every now and again I try to take stock of myself, and try to compare myself to others. I do this on many levels: work ethic, looks, weight, intelligence, wealth. I try to be good, or at least above average in a lot of stuff, I really do care put out a lot of effort.

Then today after work I was still in a philosophical mood, when it hit me: average.

Literally:

Average: (n) a quantity, rating, or the like that represents or approximates an arithmetic mean: Her golf average is in the 90s. My average in science has gone from B to C this semester.

We, humanity are a great pool of possible metrics to be determined. There's a ton of us, all with different gifts and potential. I won't be the best at everything. Hell, I won't be in the top 20% in most things. The best I can do is try hard and stay off the bottom rung.

Sorry, just needed to let that out after 3 weeks of overtime, with a manager running after me waving his arms like he's shooing chickens.

Ok, back to work.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Yo-Ho, plunder the Wal-Mart!

So Anyways, I love Wal-Mart. No where else makes me feel so thin, handsome, and normal. Point in case: today as my wife and I were checking out, this guy walked by. Beard. flannel shirt. Blue jeans. Normal stuff, at first! But as I was looking down at the card-scanner, about to enter my pin, I see the guy's feet. Well, first, I see that his jeans are the insane-o tight 1980's wranglers. And then I see his feet.





Pirate Boots. Honest to Heck freaking shiver me timbers pirate boots.





Yeah, those. And he was just skee-daddlin' his way through Wal-Mart, as though not a thing in the world was up, or strange, or odd as hell.

Makes me feel so normal.

Friday, January 8, 2010

Biggest Looser Season 9- Now even Loosier!

Yep. Lemur Queen here.

I am the reason that Fat Rock was eating dinner while watching the biggest biggest loosers ever workout and vomit. I've been addicted to the show since the first season, and last season, I drug my husband along with me. The first few seasons were pretty inspirational, but now, we are getting dangerously close to circus side show territory.

500+pound contestants! 400+ pound TWINS! A guy with Sideshow Bob hair! By the way, that was the dude complaining that he has never known love. I don't think it's the weight. I'd look into Supercuts.

Now, the reason we eat dinner while watching this show is because I have aerobics on Tuesday nights. I have just enough time to get home, shower, and grab my dinner before the fun starts. So I have just spent an hour sweating with the best of them. I feel this adds to my compassion, or at least gives me an excuse to disparage the weaker contestants. The group this season....yeesh. The venous stasis ulcers, the abdominal pannus (panni?) the complete inability to do a freaking PUSH UP. The VOMITING. It totally ruined my appetite for my Twix bar. No lie. Hey, don't look at me like that. I just finished working out. And I RUN. And I rarely cry while working out.

One more thought on the female contestants, and this comes from the heart. Where the HELL do they find those sports bras. They make every woman have a uniboob. All of them. Some of them have under boobage. Now I have seen these women (in earlier seasons) and some of them have pretty nice racks. They make attractive sports bras. Producers, they are already bearing their souls, and abdomens. Can you find them a nice sports bra? Please? And then give some to the men?

love you, mean it.

Lemur Queen

Thursday, January 7, 2010

Biggest Loser Season Nine: Festively Plump and then some.

Yeah, New Years Resolutions to you all! So me and the Mrs were watchin' TV tonight, and the season premire of Biggest Loser 9 was on. You all know Biggest Loser, the show where the fat people come on, get yelled at by annoying skinny people, cry a LOT and try to loose some tonnage? Yeah, last season was supposedly "The Biggest Group Ever!". Well, they broke the cattle car this time. They had a guy on there that was 500+ pounds. That is TWO of me. Two Fat Rocks. Dizzam! And of course, there was much screaming and crying. I hate it when the fatties cry. When I started exercizing, I was around 275. I had people who screamed at me, and when they did, I just shut down. You know got the most out of me? People who offered quiet encouragement.

But Bob and Jillian can't get good rating unless they have fat people crying, so it's SCREAM TIME!

In all seriousness, have you seen some of the crybabies they have on this year? Good grief. I could hardy stand the blubbering and crying about how weight was the only factor in defining happiness in their lives. Some guy came up and said "oh, I've never had a girlfriend/never been kissed" and all I wanted to do was buy him a hooker or something. I mean hell, when I was heavier I was still happy. Some girl said "oh, I've never had a boyfriend, and I'm 30!" So what? Are you an utter and complete failure because you haven't had a man? Have you tried lowering your standards some, or maybe put out? Perhaps not screaming "BRING ME SOLO AND THE WOOKIE" during dates might make men/women (for the fat guys) want to stick around.

And what's with the epic sounding music when you're walking to the weigh-in? What is so daunting about that scale that you require epic Braveheart/Gladiator/Platoon-esque music to go with it. You aren't exactly Band of Brothers, marching into Bastone. Neither are you Spartans at Thermopylae, nor even the Charge of the Light Brigade. You are fat people, waddling up to a scale. Crap on a stick.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

My wife is home!

Huzzah!





So, Lemur Queen spent a few extra days with her parents past Christmas. I went home, worked, and took care of the house while she was gone. Well, I tried to. Dog was underfed at the Kennel while we were gone, and he was wild. We left the house in quite a mess because of our Christmas prep, oh and my mother invited herself to my house for a day and a half. No biggie. But it takes away from my ability to clean the house. And I got sick. Not helpfull to clean when I have boogers flying out of my nose at odd intervals. And my wife came home a few hours earlier than I thought she was. So her and he in-laws I was trying to impress came home to a scene like this:





Yeah, something like that. The dog was wild, laundry everywhere (because I was in the middle of doing it all), and bits of Christmas everywhere. I had never seen my father-in-law move that fast. Wife unloaded and he just about spun tires to get away. 20 mins later everything was pulled together, wife and dog were calm, and house was order. Oh well, next time they come I'll have the place clean.

Friday, January 1, 2010

The Holidays Are OVER!!!!

It's time for YOU and your screaming badly behaved children to go the hell home. Or, it's time for my ass to GO HOME. OR to a bar. Either way. Can you tell what kind of Christmas me and Lemur Queen had? I know I love hearing stories about 50 times of what happens when you feed donkeys raisins on the farm during WWII (hint: they FART!). Also, it's nice the know that my grandmother love the delinquent in the family who lived at home untill he's 28 and never got a full time job and mooches constantly more than me. You know, the one who went to college, got a job, and got married. "You should be more like CHAD!" Chad? Chad who just asked me for $20 so he could get groceries Chad? Yeah, that's what I want.