Outside The Marinara Zone

Food Stamps work at gas stations now?

2011-07-08T17:31:00.000-07:00

So, the other day I was going to work and had to stop for gas. The pumps at this gas station are messed up, so you have to go inside to prepay no matter what. So, I'm in line, with two people ahead of me. First guy goes through, no problem. Pays for his stuff and leaves quickly. Next was a lady, with an armfull of potato chips, honey buns, assorted other junk food, and two 20 ounce Mountain Dews. She drops it all on the counter and proudly says "Imma gunna pay wit mah EBT kard" and waves the thing around like its a flag. For those out of the loop, EBT cards are what they use in North Carolina instead of actually handing out food stamps to people. Supposedly it "lessens the shame" of being on food stamps, since now they just swipe a card like they would a credit card.

The clerk at the gas station was somewhat dubious when the lady handed him the card saying "Are you sure that EBT will pay for sodas and things?", to which the lady replied "Dey do now!" So the guy ran the card, and sure enough it went through. Now, the point of this is not to browbeat people on foodstamps. I think if you need the help, I'm happy the help is there. I'm even happy that they now give out EBT cards instead of paper food stamps, as this will keep people from breaking big food stamps and getting the change back in real money and using that to buy booze and smokes. But why do food stamps now pay for junk food? I thought the whole point of the program was to keep nutritious food available for those in need! How is a Little Debbie Cake and a Mountain Dew a balanced breakfast? Crap people, use some sense. Make staples only available through food stamps, no crappy junk food.

Fat Rock.

Watching the Oscars....

2011-03-02T17:30:00.000-08:00

Yeah, it's amazing what I'll do to keep my wife happy. Not that I have a problem with this, as I get to eat and watch TV. Lemur Queen loves fashion. Or rather, she loves laughing at bad fashion. I do enjoy her snark, so I watch too. I know it sounds gay that I'm watching the Oscar red carpet show for fashion. I know it does. How Gay, exactly?

This Gay

But if you dig a little deeper, perhaps it's not so gay. I mean, what exactly am I doing? One, making points with m wife, which I will then cash in, for well, booty. Second, I'm sitting on a sofa, eating, and basically ogling women in gowns. Getting to say "nice rack" when I mean it, and laughing my ass off when they fail and dressing themselves (e.g. Helena Bonham Carter). So, how gay is it really?

About this gay. So stuff it.

Red Lobster News Flash

2011-02-28T17:04:00.000-08:00

I already knew this, but my in-laws found out this past week when they visited a local Red Lobster:

African-Americans Love Red Lobster!

That is all. I just though their surprise was worth mentioning.

Working for a living

2010-11-14T18:55:00.000-08:00

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.

Running VICTORY!

2010-09-29T12:00:00.000-07:00

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

Freak Night at Wal-Mart

2010-09-25T17:45:00.000-07:00

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.

The Goblins are going BACK!

2010-09-15T15:16:00.000-07:00

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.

At ye olde unemployment office.

2010-09-12T20:04:00.000-07:00

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.

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

2010-08-30T09:31:00.000-07:00

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.

Country Adventures

2010-08-21T06:29:00.000-07:00

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

Tax Free Weekend.

2010-08-08T14:11:00.000-07:00

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

Pitbulls

2010-08-07T04:42:00.000-07:00

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.

OOOOoooohh! Dogo!

2010-08-01T03:58:00.000-07:00

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.

Moving Days........

2010-07-10T21:35:00.000-07:00

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!

Like Rats on a Ship.

2010-07-02T19:17:00.000-07:00

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.

Behold the AWESOME!!!!

2010-06-27T22:14:00.000-07:00

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:

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

2010-06-20T22:05:00.000-07:00

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.

Eve Online

2010-06-03T18:27:00.000-07:00

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.

Azalea Festival.

2010-05-27T17:40:00.000-07:00

(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.

Mutually Assured Destruction

2010-05-16T17:08:00.000-07:00

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.

Do I LOOK like a stoner?

2010-05-08T16:51:00.000-07:00

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.

What's Irony?

2010-03-07T05:29:00.000-08:00

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.

Averages

2010-03-04T18:08:00.000-08:00

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.

Yo-Ho, plunder the Wal-Mart!

2010-02-14T12:42:00.000-08:00

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.

Biggest Looser Season 9- Now even Loosier!

2010-01-08T18:47:00.000-08:00

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

Biggest Loser Season Nine: Festively Plump and then some.

2010-01-07T18:20:00.000-08:00

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.

My wife is home!

2010-01-05T06:51:00.000-08:00

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.

The Holidays Are OVER!!!!

2010-01-01T18:43:00.000-08:00

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.

Effective Birth Control

2009-12-21T20:24:00.000-08:00

Fat Rock, still sober. 3 Days! Woot! So, anyways, I'm a member of a kind of social club. We meet up a couple times a week, exercise, and go home. Every once in a while, maybe twice a year, we try to get the whole group together, have a potluck, and "mingle" because we're "like a family". Yeah, so a ton of people have Kids. Lemur Queen and I do not. We want some, and recently LQ has been jonesing for some rugrats pretty bad. Untill tonight. Tonight she was stuck in a place where she knew no one, had to make small talk, and had to dodge about 25 kids ages 2-12. Screaming kids. Crying Kids. Hyper Kids. Kids who had too much sugar. And she looks at them all, with the adults desperately trying to quiet them and says, "Eh, I can wait a little while before THAT hits us".

Weekend Before Christmas at the Post Office.

2009-12-19T19:56:00.001-08:00

Fat Rock, back for a second before I have a two month lapse in posting. Today I enjoyed the usual "Oh Crap That Has To Be Mailed to Grandma!" moment that almost all Americans do, unless you happen to be my father. Major Rock has a mind like a steel trap rimmed with barbed fish hooks. Never forgets anything. Never Procrastinates. Never Rushes, because he has everything all planned out. So my wife and I got our Christmas Present from the Major, and realize we have less than a week to get something mailed to Florida for the Rock Christmas.

So we box up the stuff, and hit the post office. Along with about half the rest of the city. But we beat them into the Post Office, by 5 minutes. So we waited in line, talked about why boys never join ballet troupes (DUH!?!?!) and the Nutcracker Suite. And watched the idiots behind us in line try to be sly and jockey ahead of each other. Seriously, don't walk in with an armload of packages and try to move ahead of everybody else to "just set them on the counter untill it's your turn" We all know what you're doing. Similarly, old people: stop trying to act like you can't hear people tell you there's a line. Stop acting like you can't SEE the line of 20 people and shuffle past it. You are old. You are retired. Your only activity during the day is to dodge a coffin. You can wait in line like the rest of us.

But This post isn't to rant about idiots. Well, maybe a little. Like the Mighty Tanya of yore, an unknown USPS employee actually CALLED THE BREAK ROOM, and yelled at the people there to "get out and help someone". I couldn't believe it! A few minutes later a very grumpy woman cmae up and opened another clerk station, but we were SHOCKED! A responsive USPS! Amazing!

Fat Rock.

More to Love: So Far, I'm Right.

2009-08-11T14:40:00.000-07:00

Fat Rock here.

Well, the first two episodes of More To Love are out on Hulu or network TV if you've got the time. Seems I'm right so far. Bunch of plus sized girls. One moderately attractive guy (so says my wife. I think he looks like someone I work with, who I don't like. So I think he looks like a jackass.) that they all get catty over. They all get introduced, we all meet them, and all they talk about is fat fat fat fat fat fat. I mean, I know it's a show for "average" people to find love, but come on, you have NOTHING else to discuss other than your weight? Also, telling said bachelor that you've "never been loved" may seem a bit needy. But from what I can tell,a LOT of these women have borderline personality disorders (or, typical reality show contestants) that have nothing to do with their weight.

One thing that did piss me off. One girl was eliminated for being too smart. She was a Rocket Engineer. Smart girl, probably makes good on the dough front. (insert "doesn't look like she's missed a meal" joke here) Why be intimidated by a smart woman? I'm not. My wife has an advanced degree, I don't. I'm proud of her, not threatened by her big delicious brain. But the smart girl got dumped quick. I guess only vapid fat chicks need be on these shows.

*sigh* Well, at least 2 of the girls both of us liked made it. Bonnie and Tali have made it through so far. Good luck girls! You seen nice and normal!

Fat Rock.

Sunrise

2009-08-09T05:57:00.000-07:00

Hello!

Long time no see! We are officially moved, and the proud owners of a digital camera. A moving post will hopefully be coming soon, but until that time, here are some pretty pictures from this morning.

Very early this morning.

Fat Rock and I ventured to the beach to enjoy the sunrise. This was actually Fat Rock's idea. Before we were married, he lived in an ocean-front off-season rental, and frequently got to enjoy the sunrise while getting ready for work. As he is both a morning person and a romantic, he decided to share this experience with me.

We woke up early. 5:45 early, on a Sunday. We were able to get dressed and into the car by 6AM. WITHOUT coffee.

Dunkin' Doughnuts was still closed.

But traffic is non-existent at 6AM on a Sunday. We made it to the beach in 10 minutes, versus the 20 or so it usually takes. We also found out that parking is free until 8AM. HOORAY!

We spread out our blanket and sat down.

We watched birds.

We also watched the other people on the beach. Yep, we weren't the only ones there. Amazing. It looked like most of them were tourists, with the possible exception of that drunk guy sleeping on a bench, complete with open bottle.

We watched the sky brighten up.

Then we watched the sunrise.

Beautiful.

Watched some more birds

Then it was time to head back to the car. Over the past year, the town has updated the boardwalk, trying to make it more "family friendly." It looks nice, but still smells like beer.

On the way home, we stopped at the now-open Dunkin Doughnuts. Hooray!

We had a great time. I only wish sunrise wasn't so early!

Lemur Queen

"More to Love": Judgement Before I've Seen It.

2009-06-28T17:30:00.000-07:00

Ok, let's get this off my chest first and foremost: I'm called Fat Rock for a reason. I am a heavy guy. I weigh over 250 lbs, and it's not muscle. That aside, I don't think I'm looking forward to "More to Love", coming out this week on Fox. The premise of the show is that the "Real Women of America" are not skinny and thin and models like most reality show women, and they need love too.

Normal people, needing love? What a novel idea! They already tried that, didn't they? Average Joe was supposed to be a show featuring average guys all competing for the hand of some beauty queen. Yeah, they touted that the whole purpose of the show was that TRUE beauty was more than just skin deep and that the bevy of guys they lined up were desirable men. That worked great until halfway through the show, when they brought out a bunch of vapid himbos (Himbbo: Male Bimbo) to try out for the lady. Guess who the lady chose? The hot guy. So, they aired a second season, taped during the same time as the first so as not to skew the results. Guess what happened with that one? Yep, hot guy won. Average guy lost. Only on season 3, when the girl involved already knew what the show was about, did the average guy "win".

So what's going to happen here? A gaggle of plus-sized women who have been told they're going to find their dream man are going to show up. Then they compete for the guy. But during the show there's going to be a makeover portion. So, even on a show where they are supposedly celebrating the average woman, Fox is going to tell them they aren't pretty enough or thin enough and so we're going to make you better. Who knows, maybe halfway through the competition a bunch of models will come in and compete for the guy. If that happens, I'd put money down that the "average" girl's gonna lose. Why? Because in real life, real beauty counts, but on reality TV, it's all about looks. And they're full of crap if they say otherwise.

I'm not happy, as it seems that a mixed message is being sent out regarding body image and type. And they're being patronizing as hell while they're doing it.

I know I'm no George Clooney. Part of the reason why I can do all the crap I can, is because I learned it to increase my attractiveness. And I couldn't afford plastic surgery and lipo. Know what? It worked. "Inner Beauty" won out and I am married to a great woman. She even thinks I'm cute. I'm sure that opinion has been helped by the fact that I can cook, clean, sew, do minor home and automotive repairs, paint, decorate, can dress and am good with animals and children.

Also, my study of martial arts has enabled me to give bitchin' massages.

Ok, I've worked off enough steam. I feel better.

Fat Rock.

A belated thanks

2009-06-14T18:26:00.000-07:00

This weekend was the 16th Annual Dilli Dash, set up as a benefit to the crew of the USCG Diligence. A bunch of really fit people show up and run and the proceeds benefit the officers and crew of the ship. Not entirely sure HOW it benefits them, but we're a pro-military family here, so we go anyways.

In our town, there is a farmer's market which starts at around 8. The Dilli Dash also starts at around 8. So, traffic is blocked off and the farmers can't get to their stalls because of the race. Most of the sellers are cool with it. Some are hippies and don't like the armed forces, but they're also usually pacifists and won't do anything about it. Then there's the Tarheel Beef guy.

Asshole.

Last year at the Dilli Dash the slow runners were being plagued by this guy. When a race starts, the slow people line up in the back so they won't hold up the fast folks. It's common courtesy. So when the race starts, the walkers, the stroller pushers, and the fatties are always in the back and not moving too fast. Last year as soon as the race started the barricades where lifted and the cars were allowed to follow the racers up to their stalls. The Tarheel Beef Guy was in front of the line, and RIDING THE ASSES of the fatties. He was also leaning out his truck window and yelling. Also, honking the horn. Jackass. It's not like the fat guys don't know they're slow. They're doing the best they can. The Beef Guy is a fattie too, so he should understand. But he didn't. So he followed the slow people, honked, yelled, and tailgated them all the way to his assigned stall.

The Coast Guardsmen noticed this. Kinda hard not to. Fast forward to the next race, about 2 weeks after the '08 Dilli Dash. The racers are all lined up. The farmers market vendors are lined up all behind them. Fatties are in the back. Tarheel Beef Jackass is in the front of the vendor convoy. About 5 mins before the race starts a bunch of Coasties start forming up at the rear of the race. They form up, about 4 men wide and 6 deep. Not a large formation.

Then the race starts. The fast people take off. The pack of average runners ambles off. The Coasties don't move. The Fatties, Walkers, and Stroller Pushers move out, making a slow exit from the starting area. The Coasties start a very slow walk. Very Slow. Behind everyone. The barricades lift, and the vendors vehicles start towards their stalls. In the very front once again is the Tarheel Beef Jackass. As soon as the barricades are lifted he moves quickly to get right up the butt of the slow runners.

But this time something different happens. There are 20 or so very fit men moving oh-so-slowly up the street. In formation. Blocking his path. The Tarheel Beef Jackass rolls down his window and starts fussing loudly the the Coast Guardsmen. The Coasties, still moving slowly up the street, turn and give the stink eye to the Tarheel Beef guy. The Tarheel Beef Jackass, winces, reconsiders being an asshole for the day, and promptly rolls up his window and shuts the hell up.

So, this problem didn't happen this year, but I wanted to make sure that the Coasties got some recognition for last year. Even though I'm not a runner, I appreciate you guys protecting the slow ones from bullies.

Thank you.

Fat Rock.

Bored on a Friday Night

2009-05-31T15:32:00.000-07:00

Hail All.

Fat Rock is back. Not that you cared. We've been working on our new house for a while, and now we're nearing completion and an actual move in day. Of course, once we move in I'll drop this again so I can unpack all my crap. More on that later.

But my wife and I are big fans of Netflix. Since we hate wandering around the Blockbuster paying $5 per movie, we just get the $9 a month deal with as many movies as we can watch, one movie at a time. Best thing about Netfilx though, is the Queue. We put all the movies we want to see on there, and they ship them in order that we put them on the list. The Queue gets pretty long, so sometimes the movies we put on there we forget about untill they show up at our door. Lemur Queen is particularly bad about updating and ordering the movies, which has enabled me to get such gems as KING BOXER and FIVE DEADLY VENOMS delivered to our door. The Queen is going to give me my commupence though, as I'm sure there's at least 3 seasons of Jon and Kate Plus 8 coming at some point. *shudder*

Anyways, just wanted to give you all a head's up.

Home Sweet Home

2009-05-03T06:07:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the lack of posts. It's not because nothing has been going on in the Fat Rock/ Lemur Queen household. Au Contraire. We've been busy. With what? Why buying and improving on our house, of course!!

Yep. In less than a month, we will be leaving the fortress, and moving into our own home. 1400 square feet of FREEDOM!! Two car garage, nice big yard, and most importantly, no drunken upstairs neighbors.

For the last 3 weeks, we have been improving on the new place. New appliances, new kitchen floors, tearing down wallpaper, and making the garden a thing of beauty. It really is. You should see it. Once our pictures are developed, you WILL see it. Yeah, we don't own a digital camera, we're lame like that.

So far, home ownership is pretty cool, if a little expensive. We are now part of the crowd hanging out at Lowes on Saturday morning, debating the relative merits of flat vs. eggshell vs. semi-gloss paint. It's GREAT. Now I know why my parents dragged us kids to home improvement stores. It's like the grown up version of Toys R' Us.

Anyway, that's what's up in the Rock/Queen household. Still running, still working, now with wall paper removal powers! More to come! Promise!

Lemur Queen

Stripping for Success?

2009-03-08T15:34:00.000-07:00

Ok, so it's Sunday afternoon. My wife is cooking dinner, and I'm in another room playing World of Warcraft. Lemur Queen runs in and says "Rock, I think I'm missing out on the good life. I should have been a stripper." It seems there was an upcoming special called "Mommy's a Stripper!" coming up on the local news on wednesday. I assure you, the Fat Rock household will be tuning in for that riveting broadcast. According to my lovely wife they had a preview of the segment where a "dancer" was showing her whole face and saying "I ain't shamed none. I work tree days uh week and make moar then mai husband". Come to think of it, there was supposedly a girl at my college who worked weekends at the local strip club and supposedly "paid her way through school". Sidebar: The girl was also supposedly a marketing major.

Anyhoo, Lemur Queen tells me they according to this segment, strippers make a ton of cash. So I looked it up online. My findings? This: Boobies+Men=$$$$

It seems there's a whole "mental game" behind stripping that I wasn't aware of. I though the entirety of the stripping business model was:

1. Take of clothes and shake chest
2. ........
3. PROFIT!

Seems there's a lot more to it. I'll let you know how the segment goes.

Am I Goofy?

2009-02-08T10:12:00.000-08:00

We are back from our vacation. A complete Disney roundup is on the way, but this will have to hold you until then.

Disney World was wonderful. Perfect weather, not too crowded, etc. etc. It was also the weekend of the Disney Marathon. 45,000 people running through the parks. Half marathon on Saturday, full marathon on Sunday. Half marathon finishers received a Donald Duck medal, full marathoners the Mickey Mouse.

Since it IS Disney World, the races were well organized, fun and friendly. Runners started at 4:50 AM (!) with a firework start. They ran throughout the parks, with a beautiful finish areas in the EPCOT parking lot. Again, since it is Disney World, the runners seemed more along the lines of "family looking for an excuse to vacation and keep working out" as opposed to "Chicken breasted sternum guy, who would only have fun on his cross training day."

All of this combined to encouraged Fat Rock and I to attempt Disney Racing in 2010! Fat Rock is going for the half, and I'm going for the full!! It will be Fat Rock's first half, and my first full marathon! What better place for 13.1 (or 26.2) than Disney World?

But wait? What's that THIRD medal? Is it GOOFY!?!?!? How did those runners get that? Why, the Goofy Challenge, of course. They ran the half on Saturday, and the full on Sunday. Get it? Two races, one weekend! Goofy! HAHAHAHAHA

OK, as you all know, I'm a little competitive (stop laughing) Once I found out about this Goofy Challenge, I HAD to have in. Who cares that I've never ran a marathon before?? I'm 5 feet of pure energy! AND extra bling. It would also give me a chance to hang out and support Fat Rock during the half. He's probably going to run the race at a slower pace than my usual half, so it shouldn't be TOO taxing, right?

So what do you think? Am I goofy?

Lemur Queen

Thanksgiving with the Rock Clan.....

2008-12-28T03:56:00.000-08:00

(Fat Rock note: Yes, I know this is late. Bite me)

Ah, the holidays. Time to pause and give thanks for the bounty that God has bestowed upon us. Time to reflect on our lives and be gratefull. Time to spend an entire extended weekend with people you would normally do anything to avoid. Not that all my family is odd. There's lots of cool people in there. It's just that....only the wierdos show up consistently to holiday gatherings. The cousin that's a PR exec that's funny and is happily married to a super guy? Yeah, I haven't seen her in years. The Uncle who is rarely employed, been married four times and is so poor he won't fix one of his broken teeth fixed and instead opts never to smile? Yeah, he's there every time I'm there. Insane aunt who's in her 60s and recently got a tatoo of her favorite NFL team ON HER ASS and wants to show it off to the family? She's there all the time. Aunt who is really nice, has two cats and two wonderfull kids and the friendly and earnest husband, hardly ever there. See what I'm getting at? Well, this is what I brought my wife into for Thanksgiving. Her family is pretty small, with very few extended relatives. I have 13 cousins, numerous aunts and uncles, and about 6 2nd cousins. Add to that several ex-husbands, illegitamate children, and "new" Signifiacnt Others and you have quite a stew.

My wife spent the entire time saying "..uh.....WHO are you again?...." and trying to make small talk all week. For those of you who don't know the Lemur Queen, she hates small talk. Oh, and one of the cousins had a baby. This would make my grandmother a great-great-grandmother. Now, due to the size of the family, I am certainly NOT the first grandson to get married, but in the family I am the only son/child of my father, so I am exepected to reproduce. So the question was posed to my wife many times......when are you two going to have a baby?

Lemur Queen does not like that line of questioning. We have discussed children. We will be having them. But we were married less than a year ago and live in a small apartment. We need to get a house. THEN baby. But before we get a baby, we're going to get a parrot. Probably an African Red-Belly Parrot. They are not as loud as other parrots, and can talk and play. Also, they should live around 25 years. I figure they'd be great training for a kid. I'd have to spend time with it, train it, and not cuss around it or it will learn the bad words. Just like kids right? And if I can't kill a parrot, I won't kill a baby. This line of logic is Lemur Queen approved.

Fat Rock.

I hate everyone

2008-12-23T14:44:00.000-08:00

Yes everyone. Even you. Everyone except for Fat Rock. He cooks for me and gives me back rubs.

Yeah, so work's been crazy the last two weeks. Everyone is trying to get in before the new year, AKA when their decuctable starts anew. These same people are also in the "doughnut hole" of Medicare part D, and are paying for their medications out of pocket. This makes them RABID for free samples.

Fun

But not as fun as today's patient. Let me set the scene: a young female, Jabba-huge. I've seen her before, and she is definately......slow. This makes obtaining a decent history a long and painful process. Throughout the interview process I found out:

1) She haden't taken her insulin in a week, for no partcular reason.

This was extra bad because of

2) she had been taking Prednisone because "it made her legs feel better" She doesn't know the dose. She got it from, someone, I'm not sure who. It may not have actually BEEN Prednisone. It may have been magic beans she got in exchange for her insulin. Of course it's an A #1 BAD IDEA to take other people's medications, but espically Prednisone. You can't just stop it all at once, unless Adrenal Crisis sounds like fun. (Note: It's not fun.) Oh, it jacks up your blood sugar too.

*Fat Rock note: Prednisone is a corticosteroid used to treat a variety of inflamatory conditions. It is usually dosed in a taper, as in big doses leading to smaller doses leading to none. Just taking a handfull is an extremely bad idea. I love my wife*

which brings us to:

3) checked sugar in the office. 375 (normal is 70-120) Give patient 10 units of insulin. One hour later sugar is 425. THE HELL!?!? 15 MORE units of insulin, ANOTHER hour later, blood sugar 330. Good enough. Whils't waiting for the insulin to do its magic:

4) she had an accident.

It's days like these I wonder why I ever left the lab. Sure it was soul crushing work, with terrible hours. But I was never peed on. Well, almost never. The mice do get nervous.

Merry Freaking Christmas

Lemur Queen

An Ode of Praise.

2008-12-18T14:11:00.000-08:00

As I was in Food Kitty yesterday, I happened on a near miracle. "But what was it, Fat Rock?" you ask. An act of unselfishness? A story of bravery? A really really fat guy with a hot chick? (Well, besides me and Lemur Queen)

NO! None of the above. What I heard first was actually a loud burst of yelling. "I don't believe this! This is BULL!" Then I heard a low mumble that sounded like "Sorry, I'm not doing that", and then I saw a woman with a big ass cart FULL of groceries wheel angrily out of a checkout lane. As I walked by with my purchase (candy bar and a diet coke. Yes, a diet coke, although I don't know why I even bother. I mean, I'm buying a freaking candy bar, and it's not like they cancel each other out.......) I saw that the same lane was open, with a SMILING cashier staffing it. I walk up, and set my items on the belt. It's at that second I realize that I'm in an express lane, with the cutesy and often ignored "12 items or fewer" signs. Well, this cashier COUNTS! And if you have more than 12, you are kicked out of the line! A-FREAKING-MAZING!!

Tanya was her name. And upholding the sacred trust of Food Lion was her game. I was astounded. I had never seen anything like it in my life. Haven't you been behind those jerks at Wal-Mart who stand there in the express lane with a full cart and then squable with the cashier and hold up the line. Also, I hate the mexicans that pretend not to know english and push two full carts down your lane when you work at K-mart and are yelling "hey you! you can't use this line!". But this cashier actually followed that rules! I was so impressed. It's a miracle!

Fat Rock.

Christmas Whimseys....

2008-12-11T11:29:00.000-08:00

Hello all. Fat Rock, back again. I was pretty pleased when I snagged my wife, the Lemur Queen. She's a gem. One of the many reasons I love her is that she doesn't take for freaking ever to pick out a Christmas Tree. When I was growing up, my mother Barbie would spend HOURS dragging my father and I from lot to lot to look at frickin' trees. It got to the point where the tree sellers at the local farmer's market would recognize my dad and point out all the new tress they had brought in for the day. But buying the tree was ony half the pain. THEN we had to get it home, and my mother would come out with a tape measure and delineate exactly how many inches we were allowed to cut the lower branches off. Then we would cut exactly 1and 1/4" off the bottom to allow the tree to suck up the special water my mother had prepared.

THEN we would take the tree inside, and prop up the tree and move it around the room to the spot my mother wanted. Once we had the spot picked out, we would rotate the tree in the base(not tightened, of course) untill the "least bald" side was facing out. Then we would tighten the screws, and begin to maneuver the tree to the appropriate angle. And then we would often repeat the process as mom changed her mind several times. All this took several hours. And we haven't even started decorating the tree.

Oh, and a word on my mom's secret tree formula:

6 cups of unfiltered water

3/4 cups sugar

10 grains (650mg) of aspirin.

1 teaspoon sea salt

Optional: 1 to 2 pellets of Miracle Grow (use only after tree has been in house for a week)

And she would make this up OFTEN and pour it into the tree base.

So last year, I was working at a hospital, and didn't have time to get a Christmas Tree with the Lemur Queen so I sent my beloved father, Major Rock, to assist her. We were expecting a death march like what my mom does, but boy were we surprised! She took 10 minutes to find a tree. Lemur Queen had basically three requirements for a Christmas Tree:

1. Green

2. Tree Shaped

3. Not too tall for the apartment.

And Boom, Major and Queen had a tree. Then they brought it home. "How much to cut off?" says Dad. "Whatever you think is appropriate", she says. Dad has the tree up in less than 10 minutes. My future wife compliments the job dad did, and talks about how nice the tree looks.

Fast forward one year.

Lemur Queen and I are standing in the tree lot that a buddy from work has a stake in. What kind of tree do you want honey? Her reply:

1. Green

2. Tree Shaped

3. Not too tall for the apartment

4. Doesn't cost too much.

We have a tree in 5 minutes. We get the tree home. I trim the bottom branches off and the bottom of the tree is cut whatever way I jolly well chosse, because she doesn't have an opinion on it. At this point I'm falling in love all over again. Then we move the tree into position. Fine, tighten the screws on the base. Fine. Straighten the tree. Fine. "Tree looks good honey" From the way she was standing, it did look good.:

She was happy. I was happy. I went into the kitchen to make holiday Rum and Cokes. Then I saw the tree from the side:

Yowsa. We're going to need a LOT of Rum and Cokes before that starts looking straight. Well, my wife has a solution. She digs down into the big delicious brain of hers and remembers something from our preparation for marriage
Yep. We shoved our "Dummies" book under there. I mean, WE wouldn't use it. Right? Who's crazy enough to have a SECOND freaking wedding? I mean, the first one was frazzling enough, but could you imagine getting all those relatives together again? *shudder* So anyways, Lemur Queen held the tree, and I shoved it under the base. We really liked the result:

By the way, this holiday is being made bearable by Gosling's Rum

Fat Rock Holidays

2008-12-06T07:39:00.001-08:00

Ok, Lemur Queen's turn.

Thanksgiving with the Fat Rock clan. I come from a small family. Most holidays are just Frank, Marie, Robert, and myself. We may be loud, we may be annoying, but it's safe, predictable, and calm. Well, as calm as the Queen Family gets. No cousins, no aged grandparents, no long car trips.

Then I married Fat Rock.

I should have known it was coming. At our wedding, we had 50 guests. 25+ were Fat Rock family members, 5 of my guests were family members. They are kind, welcoming people, but there are SO MANY of them. Uncles, cousins, grandparents, and various hangers on. And they are POLITE. What's their angle? I can interact with people on a professional level, which is a little cold for family, or I can interact as we do in the Queen household. At volume 11, speaking in insults and rude jokes. I have a feeling that this is equally inappropriate.

Back to Thanksgiving. Fat Rock's family lives in northern Florida, in a small resort town. We would be sleeping at the grandparents. So far, so good. I'm quiet and polite, and think that I can keep it up for another 3 days. Thanksgiving dawns, and we head out to the Turkey Trot. Yep, a Holiday is no reason to miss out on a 5k. One of the numerous cousins is also running the race, and I am pleased to announce I kicked her ass. Than it was off to find coffee.

You see, Fat Rock's grandparents are older (of course), and not in the best of health. This makes entertaining difficult, but as they are fine southern folk, they want to be good hosts. So for us, this means crappy coffee. I NEED coffee, it is part of my DNA, my rason d'etre, my only means of waking in the morning. We couldn't bring coffee in the house, as we may hurt grandparent feelings. So there we were 9:00 Thanksgiving morning, driving through a mostly-deserted beach town, desperately looking for a Starbucks.

"Don't they have coffee in this God-forsaken town?" Apparently not. I guess vacationers just drink all day, and sleep off the caffeine headaches on the beach. Finally we find a Starbucks, and pound down that lovely nectar. Thus re-energized, it's back to the house to prepare for the BIG event.

Thanksgiving dinner. With 20 people. And they watch football. And don't drink. Holy crap. I am doomed. I spy cousin and cousin's wife, and their new baby. Relief, that will take the pressure off. Oh no, now everyone is asking ME when we'll have a child. Briefly, I toy with the idea of saying "actually....." and patting my stomach, but decide that is a class A BAD IDEA.

Time for dinner. On the menu: Turkey, Ham (yuck), Shrimp (double yuck), Okra (ugh), Mashed Potatoes (yay!) Corn (yum, carbs!) Salad (good) Gravy (ok, or so I thought) Stuffing (ok #2 or so I thought) A little different than the Lemur Queen house, but I'll manage.

Turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy, veggies and salad. Hmm the dressing is thicker and chunkier than I'm used to. Oh well, I guess not everyone uses the canned Peppridge Farms gravy.

Then I find out the truth. GIBLETS. Freaking GIBLETS. Turkey parts. I won't even even eat chicken with bones. AND it had an egg. With the yolk and everything. shiver. Thank goodness I didn't find out about this atrocity until after dinner. And luckily, I didn't have any of the stuffing. Which contained sweetbreads. Which have have on good authority, are COW parts.

So we survived. One holiday down, one million to go. Christmas will be at the Queen household, so be on the lookout for Fat Rock's interpretation of the festivities.

Lemur Queen

My Addiction

2008-11-27T17:21:00.000-08:00

I'm on SMACK! Just kidding. I play a game called World of Warcraft. For those who've been living under a rock or in a cave for the last 3 years or so, World of Warcraft is an online multi-player game where people play as characters and complete quests, raid dungeons, and interact with other players all while trying to build their character/avatar into the bad-assest on the block. I know, "why play the game, when you can interact with REAL people in REAL LIFE". Well, I can't rightly shoot a fireball out of my fingers and roast people who annoy me. Now can I?

In reality, I'm a fat guy. Not really tough. Not really strong. In World of Warcraft (WoW), you know what I am? A big-ass cow. A big-ass shapeshifting cow. A big-ass shapeshifting spell-slinging cow that can put the smack down on any and all! A big-ass shapeshifting spell-slinging cow that can put the smack down on any and all AND rides a GIANT GOAT! A big-ass shape.........well, you get the idea.

It's an escape, and a chance to play with friends no matter how distant they are. Most nights I play with Robert and MC. We run around and yell at each other just like we were in the same room, even though we're hundreds of miles apart. I even play with friends form work, and we bitch about work and what-not. It's an escape, because at my work I have a new supervisor who used to be at my level, and has now been granted the mantle of authority. He used to be a fun guy. Now, he stalks around the plant, punished people he doesn't like by screwing with their work schedule and giving them bad jobs; and a few weeks ago took me aside and told me that I needed to start talking to him with "mo' respek't". We had a disagreement in th way I answered him when he asked me a question. I have been told that "that dog won't hunt, boy". Now, I could cuss at the guy. I could bottle it up and yell at Lemur Queen when I come home. Or I can be polite at work and pleasant at home, and play Warcraft for a bit and let it all out.

I'm sure this won't be the last post on this, as there is an expansion coming out in less than a week, and Lord knows, I can't give up my WoW.

Fat Rock.

Half-Marathon: 13.1 miles, 2 hours, 30 songs

2008-11-20T17:34:00.000-08:00

So today was the day. Half marathon day, my fist one in Coastal NC. It went pretty well. Let me walk you through the adventure via my custom made itunes play list, cleverly named "1/2 marathon."

Mile 0-The start
Whoa, that's a lot of people. They really weren't kidding when they said it was the biggest in the state. National Anthem, cheers, and we are off! I hit play. U2's "Beautiful Day" starts playing. And you know? It WAS a beautiful day. Perfect Carolina blue sky, cheering crowds, surround by thousands of runners. All ages, all sizes, all speeds. And we were all running together. Yeah, I almost teared up.

Mile 1-Wait, the crowd hasn't thinned out?
The excitement of thousands of people rapidly wanes as I continue to Army shuffle over the first bridge. I signed up to RUN! Smashmouth's "All Star" pumps up my energy, and I start ducking and weaving through the crowd. They will probably pass me later, but for now, I need to stretch my legs.

Mile 2- Downtown, watch out for the cobblestones!
Yay! The pack is thinning, and more cheering spectators are on the sidelines. Including my husband!! Hi Fat Rock!! My legs are feeling good, it's early enough in the race that the cobblestones don't trip me up. Gwen Steffani and Moby serenade me with "South Side." It seems appropriate for our trek through downtown. Even if it is a peaceful, quaint downtown, with you know, cobblestones.

Miles 3-5 Water stop #1, and heading to the park
This section is pretty boring. First water stop is dodged. I've got my dorky water bottle pack, and I've only been running 20 minutes or so. Just heading down a side street in an industrial area of town. I attempt to entertain my fellow runners with my singing skills. Jimmy Buffett time! Sadly, "Why Don't We Get Drunk and Screw" came on near the waterstop. I think I may have inadvertently caused an uncomfortable conversation between a waterstop volunteer and her young son.

Mile 6 Into the Park!
We hit the park. It is BEAUTIFUL! Big lake with cypress trees, Spanish moss hanging from branches, herons and other interesting birds silently watch our progress from the shore. It seems really appropriate that Harry Connick Jr.'s "With Imagination (I'll Get There)" is playing. It's a scene right out of the Deep South.

Mile 7-8 Still in the park?!?
The park is becoming less beautiful. How long is this freaking trail? That's right Billy Joel, "I'm Moving Out." Oh, wait, the park is ending. And what's that? In the distance? Could it be?

Mile 9 Work?
We are running disturbingly close to my workplace. I like to imagine that work ceases to exist on the weekend. Stop screwing with my magical thinking! Ahh, Barenaked Ladies. Now THAT'S good weekend music. "You can be my Yoko Ono" and "Alcohol" carry me through, back to downtown. Hmm, two songs about alcohol. Three if you count "Piano Man." A scary trend or a suggestion on how to cool down after the race?

Mile 10-12 Into the last 5K
Back through downtown, past the abandoned housing project. These are always the toughest miles. Still several miles from the finish, no cheering spectators. You just want to be DONE. The Dave Matthews Band helps me re-center. First with "The Best of What's Around" and then "Ants Marching" helps me pick up the pace. We're crossing the third bridge! Won't be long now.

Mile 13-The finish is in sight
Just a mile to go! Anyone can run a mile. I start trying to pass people, and hope they can't hear my music. It's The Gourds "Gin and Juice," alcohol song #4 and the least family friendly of the lot. The in love with the world feeling that surrounded me at the start has been supplanted by my primal desire to be done running.

13.1 2:20
Two hours and twenty minutes. Not my fastest time, but the chip time should be about 2 minutes faster, thanks to the crowd at the start. I proudly receive my finishers medal from the Marine, in his snazzy dress blues at the finish line.

I'm sore, I'm tired, and as usual, am slightly unhappy with my time. I CAN'T WAIT for the next 1/2 marathon. Hope to see you there!

Lemur Queen

Forget Iron Man.......watch for back for Iron Heidi!

2008-11-15T19:53:00.000-08:00

So, my lovely wife and I were at another race the other day. Last weekend, to be exact. Last weekend and 0730, during my usual sleepy-time. And my wife was actually in the race, I was there to grunt a lot and of course do some freak-watching. This particular race was an 8K race, or about 5 miles. The Lemur Queen is doing several such races as she is building up to run her Half-Marathon shortly. She's been training for a couple months, and she thinks she's almost ready. I think she needs to sit on the sofa with me and have some nachos. 'Cause running for 13.1 miles is just crazy. The farthest I've ever ran was 20 yards, and that was from my seat to the General Tso's Chicken pan at the local chinese buffet. Gotta get it while it's FRESH, people!

So, my wife runs the race. She makes a great time, actually beating her projection by about 6 minutes. I'm very proud of her. Of course, she wanted to have made a better time, but she's satisfied with what she's got. Then we look around. And notice someone who finished about 15 minutes before my wife. I hadn't paid attention previously, as I was looking for the white shirt/red shorts combo that would mean "start hooting for your wife". However, standing about 10 feet away from us was Iron Heidi and her family. She was about 5'8", had blonde hair in two braided pigtails and these stretched the the middle of ther back. She was clad in spandex, as was her husband (also blond hair, didn't get close enough to see their eyes to check for blue). The had a son, about 10, WHO RAN IN THE RACE AT HIS PARENT'S PACE, and a sister who was about 6 and riding her bike along with the family on their run. What really got my attention was the stroller this woman had pushed for 5 miles. It was a two seater (with 2 small blonde children inside it), and it wasn't a side-by-side stroller, it was linear. Also, the wheels......had those plastic covers on them like competitive byciclists have on their wheels. Holy crap. Hence the name: Iron Heidi. You may think I'm joking, but I have pics to back it up.

Fat Rock.

Creepy Work Update

2008-11-03T19:39:00.000-08:00

Me and the Lemur Queen love gossip. We both do. It's horrible. When I'm at work, I naturally gossip worse than an old woman at church. Well, today I found out something interesting.

Seems that one of the *guys* I work with is out to make a little money. Working for about $200 an hour. As a male escort. A boy-toy. A man-whore.

Guess where he advertised? Our city's Craigslist. Guess who found it? A female member of our staff.

Scandal Shock Intrigue!

Just thought you oughta know.

And I thought I had bad luck......

2008-10-27T12:40:00.000-07:00

Well, this month is Lemur Queen and I's 5 month anniversary. Yes, we're been in wedded bliss for all of almost half a year. Time flies when you're having a blast. Anyways, we went out to a Middle Eastern Restaurant, Chez Car Bomb. No, sorry, my bad. *slaps hand* *bad Fat Rock!* It was Cafe Mediterrania. It was actually really nice, and in the non-scary part of downtown. We had appetizers, wine, and a quiet dinner. Lemur Queen has the Corfu Chicken and it was great. I had Honey Glazed Lamb in Couscous, and was underwhelmed. Usually, when I order a dish with "lamb" predominantly in the title, I expect there to be more than 2 oz of lamb in the dish. And the lamb in the dish should not be 50% fat. So, I didn't really like my food. But I digress. We had a waitress. She was nice. Not very attentive, but nice. She took forever to get our orders, bring out our apps, bring out our meals, and she never refilled my water. I usually have a thirst like a dying man in the desert. I need water. I never got a refill. Lemur Queen says that what was going on was a leasurely, relaxed dinner; and I that I needed to calm down. When I disagreed with her, she reminded me that all my recent dining experiences had all be in restaurants whose names ended in -ardees. But still, the no water thing means BAD TIP. We were mulling over whether to get desert when a large group enters the establishment. A large group of old people. We're seated very close to the door, so we can see and hear the entire conversation between them and the hostess and waitress:

Perky Hostess in Tiny Vest: "Hi, Welcome to the Cafe, how many for this evening?"

Old Woman #1: "Oooooh Heellooooooo!" (Think Jerry Seinfeld making that noise at George)
Old Woman #2: "Heelloooooooo!"
Old Man #1: "EH!?!?"

At this point my wife and I are thinking these people are drunk, or insane.

PHiTV: "Uh, so there's (counts) seven of you for this evening?"

Old Man #2: "Heelloooooo! We would like to dine here!"
Old Woman #1: "We want to sit THERE!" Points to tables right by the window, which need to be bused, and oh yeah, are RIGHT behind me. Oh, and the tables are a 4-top and two 2-tops. Not a large table for a large group.
PHiTV: "Uh, those aren't clean, yet. But we have some other tables over....."
Old Woman #1: "Noooooooooo, we want there! *points with granduer at dirty tables*"
The oldsters immediately being shuffling at the dirty tables while the PHiTV is trying to corral them somewhere else.
Old Woman #3: "We have wet jackets. WE would like you to take them and put them somewhere."
PHiTV: "Uh, why not keep them with you.....
Old Woman #3: "WE do not keep our jackets. WE want to give them.....to you."
Old Man #1: "Eh? Jackets!"

At this point our waitress comes over to the dirty tables, which the oldsters have now seated themselves at. While she is clearing off the plates, taking her tip off the table, etc, the Oldsters all thrust their wet dripping coats into her arms.

Waitress: "Uh, so, uh, is this going to be all on one check?" The menu clearly states a 16% automatic gratuity on tables of 6 or more, so she is just making it.

Old Woman #1 :"Oh no, we're all separate. We don't want to spend any more money than we absolutely have to."
Old Woman #3: "Noooooo! WE do NOT! Fetch us a Menu!"

As our defeated waitress is walking past us, she asks if we want dessert. We immediately ask for our check. No way in hell we're eating next to Monty Python's Flying Cheapskate Circus. Because we knew that girl was going to have her butt run off and was NOT going to see a penny from those geezers, we left her over 20%. She didn't deserve it, but damn. we felt so sorry for her.

Not another running post!

2008-10-25T08:07:00.000-07:00

Oh yes, another running post.

I just finished my third 8k. I had never heard of this race distance until I moved to coastal NC. For you non-metric folks this works out to 5 miles.

Today's race had every opportunity to be a total disaster. The tee shirts were AWFUL. Inmate orange with pumpkins that looked like beach balls. Last night, it rained and rained. Usually not a big deal, but this race featured an "off road" portion. Off road + rain = mud. Costumes were encouraged. It's the weekend before a 1/2 iron man distance traiathon, so all the seroius runners stayed home, slept in, and ate pasta. Possibly all at once. The total race pack was definately under 100. And there was some question about the race start time.

Despite all these hardships, the race was AWESOME. The rain held off until the race was completed, the course was well marked, so even with the small crowd, I didn't get lost. The mud was REALLY fun, and it gives me an excuse to get another pair of running shoes. (Sale at Omega, 50% off! Yippee) Also, the mud provided excellent perperation for the Marine Corps Mud Run . My aerobics class is planning on competing next year. Oh, and did I mention that I KICKED ASS? Cut 2 minutes off my last 8k time!! In less than a month! Yeah, I rock.

And did I meantion the Worlds Strongest Man (TM) was there? He totally was. FYI: Worlds Strongest Man (TM) does not appear to equal world's strongest knees.

Lemur Queen

Weight loss = Cult?

2008-10-22T07:33:00.000-07:00

Call me crazy, but that seems the be the case over at Medical Practice That Shall Not Be Named, As Lemur Queen Still Owes 80G On Her Student Loans. *Deep Breath*

Anyway

I work at a subspeciality medical practice, and our patient population tends towards "fluffy." This fluffiness does not bode well for their medical condition. Weight loss will minimize their medication usage, improve their overall well being, and keep that heart ticking. Unfortunately, for my patients, as for most of the nation, they are having limited success with this on their own.

So the office is now in the midst of picking out a medically supervised weight management program. Think somewhere between Nutrisystem and the Duke Diet and Fitness Center.

It actually looks like a pretty good program. Patients use packaged meals + fruits and veggies, with weekly medical supervision and meetings. The meetings are where the program takes a sharp right into crazy-town. The paperwork we were given STRONGLY encouraged us to use the official scripts and "key phrases" when talking to clients, as they have "proven success." See, I did it right now. "Clients", not patients, not customers, I guess that's to make them feel warm and fuzzy. And we are on the hunt for a program administrator. This person will lead the non-medical, office type aspects of the program.

They have suggestions for this person. Note that they are suggestions, as I belive making these requirements would, in fact, be illegal. The administrator (who also has a fancy name that I can't remember) should be:

Non-smoker
At or near ideal body weight
Willing to use *diet company name* products
Energetic (possibly code for young)
Perky (possibly code for babe-a-licious)
Supportive of *diet company name* ideals and goals (definitely code for drink the low calorie Kool-Aide)

Scary stuff. Our patients need to loose weight, no doubt. They are not doing it on their own, and bariatric surgery seems like a mighty dramatic step. But loosing weight by selling your soul to *diet company name*? This may be too much

Lemur Queen

Food Fight

2008-10-16T16:55:00.000-07:00

In many ways, Fat Rock and I are ying and yang. There's gender, of course, and religious upbringing, and relative volumes of our households (Fat Rock 4, Lemur Queen 10), but the largest difference may be diet. This has afforded us the opportunity to expand our culinary horizons. It has also brought to light that what you think is perfictly normal, delicious food, is, in fact, crap.

First, an admission. Fat Rock does >90% of our household cooking. This is a wonderful declaration of love, and a way to ensure that Fat Rock does not begin gnawing on my shoulder "Alive" style. It's not that I CAN'T cook, it's just that my cooking fits into 3 major categories.

1) Slow food: sauces from scratch, lasagna, homemade bread. Yummy, but time consuming. Not practical for daily food needs.

2) Microwaved food: popcorn, Lean Cuisine, frozen veggies. Fast, delicious, and a one way ticket to protein starvation, according to my husband.

3) Salad and a Bagel: my main source of sustenance while in college. For more details, ask Magnolia Belle.

So Fat Rock cooks. and he cooks the HELL out of most foods. BBQ chicken pizza, Asian chicken salad, potato soup. The man doesn't even need a recipe. He has already introduced me to several new food groups. Such as:

maple cured bacon
pork chops
spam
pork "cracklins"
any pork product in general. Who knew the Lemur Queen household kept Kosher?
sauteed beef
liver pudding
boiled peanuts
Goo Goo Clusters
drop biscuits

I have introduced:
pita
hummus
perogi
stuffed grape leaves
chicken paprikash
curry
tastee cakes
the entire line of Morningstar Farms "meat" products (they are, in fact, textured soy product)

Now, CLEARLY my list is superior. Pita and Hummus and Perogis are now our go-to Tuesday/Thursday post workout meals. And yes, I have discovered that pork chops with rosemary are delicious. But seriously? BOILED peanuts? I have never eaten a food and thought, "it's good, but I wish it was more slimy." And liver pudding? UGHHH, don't let ANYONE trick you. It's NOT pudding.

To be fair, Fat Rock has taken one for the team. He gamely tried my Morningstar Farms "sausage" and didn't even gag (mostly). He even lets me eat microwave popcorn for dinner. This is HUGE, it was one of my fears about marriage. "I'll never be able to eat popcorn or cereal for dinner again!" Yeah, I'm a special kind of stupid. I know.

So we are learning, and growing. We keep trying new foods, and with the help of supportive friends and family, I will learn to prepare a meal in more than 3 minutes, and less than 3 hours. Tonight's attempt; chicken pot pie, with biscuits on top. Didn't realize until the first bite that it was a *shiver* casserole. Where's the hummus?

Lemur Queen

Pharmaceutical Sales Representatives

2008-10-10T12:06:00.000-07:00

Ok. I may be getting into LaLa Land here, and may leave a few people behind. Before I worked in the manufacturing/development side of the pharmaceutical industry, I worked in pharmacy. I actually started school with the intention of being a pharmacist, but succumbed to the dark call of industrial pharmacy. Anyways, I worked in pharmacies for 10 years, went to conferences, went to "drug dinners", and met a lot of drug reps. I thought I'd weigh in on them. Not that you asked or wish my opinion at all. Lemur Queen will probably have something to say about this, since she works in health care as well.

Drugs reps are major pains in a pharmacist's ass. We can always tell when they've been though the local doctor's office, because suddenly people are coming in with perscriptions (scripts) for expensive, brand name drugs that aren't really the best therapy for whatever illness the patient has. Want an example? Prozac was the brand name for a drug called Fluoxetine, used to treat various and sundry mental problems. Anyways, the brand name drugs costs about $3 dollars a pill. The generic costs about $0.45 per pill. There is NO difference between the generic and brand drugs, aside from the price. We know a rep for Prozac has been through when patients start coming in with orders for "Prozac 40mg, one capsule once a day. Dispense #30, 6 refills, NO substitutions".

Son of a Bitch.

There's no reason for it. But the drug rep got him. Hence why I don't really like them all that much. Also, sometimes the reps play hardball with the statistics for the trials of the drugs they represent. Huh? Ok, example: "Plomox" is a drug that treats high blood pressure. It works the same way, same mechanism of action as another drug "Cheapo" that comes in generic and costs a fourth of the brand name. "Cheapo" is also a gold standard for treatment of hypertension. So, trials are done on "Plomox" and data is gathered. Well, the data doesn't show that "Plomox" is better than "Cheapo"; so instead of saying that Plomox is not superior to Cheapo (and thus worth the price), they say it's "non-inferior". Or they try to dig through the results to say some minor aspect of "Plomox" was superior to "Cheapo", like patients had 3% less flatulence or something.

But yet, pharmacy people can never seem to bring themselves to throw out the drug reps. We like them, even though we hate them, Why is this so? Because drug reps are H*O*T. Seriously. If you work in a pharmacy, doctor's office whatever; what you're mostly going to see are sick people. And sick people are not pretty people. Sick people are icky. The daytime TV drama where the beautiful girl is in a coma and wakes up with nothing wrong? Yeah, total fairy tale. I mean, what do you look like when you're nauseated? Like a pinup model right? Yeah, I'm a regular Chippendale's Beefcake when I have the flu, let me tell you. Well, that's prettymuch all we see in the pharmacy are uggos. I mean, we get the occasional pretty girl coming in for her birth controll, but ususally it's nasties and old people wanting to talk to me about their bowel movements (note to readers: old people ALWAYS want to talk about their bowel movements. It's like the latest episode of Desperate Housewives to them.). Then all of a sudden a supermodel comes in and wants a few minutes of your time. Those are drug reps. That's why doctors like seeing drug reps. Well, besides the hotness they always bring food to doctor's offices. And in case you think I'm joking about the hot part, here's a few pics trolled off google. Try searching for "drug reps", you'll get something like this:

And seriously, this is what they look like. Well, maybe not so much skin, but prettymuch this was it. When you spent your morning staring at some morbidly obese woman's bunions, it's a change right?

I mean, seriously, they look like barbie clones, right? The last time a woman who looked like this came into the pharmacy and she wasn't a drug rep, she offered to sleep with me in exchange for her prescription. Let's just say she was a professional, but not the good kind, ok?

Well, enjoy your Plomox!

Fat Rock.

Bong Hits for Shopping Fantasia

2008-10-02T12:00:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I found some stuff at the antique store that I didn't quite get. I took some shots of it, and maybe you can help me. I just......I just don't understand how anyone could want this stuff....
First thing we found were the creepy ceramic penguins:

We decided to name them Beelzebub and Janet. It just seemed fitting. They were probably normal penguins, just going on a road trip and got in a big fight because Beelzebub wouldn't stop for directions and "knew where the hell he was going" and right at that second the artist who sculpted this magnificent pair captured the moment in cheap ceramic. I'm sure the artist later killed himself, as to look into the penguin's eyes is have your life essence pulled into a black hope of despair as the cold washes over you and all joy leaves. GAZE upon the penguins:

Moving on I spotted a pervert monkey. He just seems a little too happy clinging to that mango there, if you know what I'm saying. *wink*wink*Nudge*nudge* My boy Cheeta needs to take a cold shower, or at least put some pants on. Then I made a discovery that I actually tried to purchase. I was intercepted by the Lemur Queen midway to the cash register and had to put it back; but I did get a photo:

I just KNOW that our house would be enriched by having a lovable ceramic die cast of a lovable transient hobo with possible ringworm/foot ulcers with a lovable dog and is moving to/from London and probably smells like some lovable cabbage and cheap booze. Wouldn't you want it? That's what I said. My wife is nuts.

Next up is something that we found together. Lemur Queen and I were wandering around saying "our apartment's nice, but would really make it pop would be some giant ass oil paintings of parrots". We rounded the corner and ZING! there we were:

"But Fat Rock," you say, "Those are actually big ass oil paintings of Macaws, which are technically different from parrots, how can THEY make your apartment awesome?" Well, I know they're Macaws, but I just said "parrot" because that's most most people think of for the imagery. Our reader pool is more popular in the "lay-person parrot" category. So shut it.
We did find another awesome "parrot" (well, actually, this IS probably a parrot. Looks like a Yellow Shouldered Amazon) lamp fixture. Unfortunately, all this crap/treasures were out of our budget, or we'd have an EPIC apartment.
PURE AWESOME There was one item that utterly defied description: The Orbs of Mystery.
At first I thought that they were just weird glass grapes. But upon closer inspection I found they were so much more, they were Orbs of Mystery. Who knows what mighty powers these mystical objects might imbue? A side view of the ORBS: Perhaps these orbs are more than they appear. Perhaps, in my mind, I can use the Orbs of Mystery to summon any object or person. You know, kind like they do in Advanced Dungeons and Dragons(you know, since we can't tell reality and fantasy apart). Hmmmm...... Well, you know, I've always loved "The Fifth Element" starring Bruce Willis and Milla Jovovich.......maybe if I concentrate really hard.......

Oooh. That didn't work too well. Wow, if you look at the picture closely, you get the feeling that she hungers for your very soul.

Reverse, REVERSE!!! Maybe if I just put my hands back on the Orbs of Mystery, I can conjure up something in it's place!

Well, let's try it again. You know, I always thought Lindsay Lohan was cute. Maybe if I think of Lindsay.........

Wow, even in my imagination I can't get crap to work right.......

Now I know why those things are in the "Discount" bin.

Fat Rock.

Creepy Local Update Post

2008-09-29T12:00:00.000-07:00

Well, as some of you know, I live in the south. There are certain stereotypes about people who live here, and most of them are not flaterring. Well, those stereotypes exist for a reason. Here's an example:

Me (walking out of a Little Ceaser's, holding my $5 pizza): "Do do do do I love cheese do de doo do..."

Middle Aged Dude in Overalls: "'Sceuse me buddy, have yew gots some nail clippers by chance?"

Me: *looks at my nails* Uh, no sir.

M*A*D*O: "Yew ain't got no nails?"

Me: "Well Sir, I've got nails, I just don't use a clipper. I bite my nails. Bad habit I guess."

M*A*D*O: "Hell, that won't werk fer me. I ain't got no teef!"

At this point he opens his mouth to smile, and I see his fully toothless and caverness maw for the first time. Yowsa.

The South Shall Rise Again! As soon as we can get some dentists!

Fat Rock.

Shopping Fantasia!

2008-09-23T12:00:00.000-07:00

So, we went shopping the other day. Shopping for furniture. As a newly married man, I had no idea I was missing out of the some of the utter necessities of life until my wife told me. WE NEED A CHINA CABINET was rattling in my brain at high volume from my lovely lady Lemur booming it at me with the same force of a physician saying YOU NEED A TETANUS SHOT the last time I was in an ER. I guess it's one of those things you didn't know you needed until *poof* you really need it, and now. So we looked around. A few notes on the places:

Rooms to GO: Evidently the newest haunt of Cindy Crawford. While I can understand that anyone would just leap at the opportunity to design your own crappy living room set to foist on people, c'mon Cindy, you can do so much better. I did enjoy walking into the store and being totally ignored by the salespeople, who were arguing over who's turn it was to go to break. But they're stuff was overpriced, and not exactly what normal people would need. Unless you course you needed to drop $300 on anatomically correct metal greyhounds.

Haverty's: If King Tut were alive now and looking to decorate his new "crib", he'd be shopping at Haverty's. Mind you, my wife bought a very nice bookshelf from there that was quite tasteful, but that line was discontinued because "shoppers thought it was too plain". I guess by "too plain" they mean "not enough gargoyles on it" or "not something a Neuvo Riche tasteless dweeb would want to decorate his overpriced south Florida mansion that he just bought and now wants to decorate in true Tony Montana style"

*Note to Wife's Friends: The above was a Scarface reference*

*Additional Note: Wife has just informed me that the Haverty's furniture reminded her of how "Guidos" would decorate, if they came into some sudden money. More on "Guidos" later*

Ethan Allen: Wow, are THEY ever proud of their furniture! I'll admit it's nice stuff, but it's three times the price of other furniture stores! It was nice however to be able to wander about the store unmolested by over-eager salespeople. I guess we smelled like poor people to them or something. What do poor people really smell like? Cabbage and cheap booze I guess, or at least that what the sales lady told us.

Ivy Cottage Antiques: Nice place, smack in the middle of the ghetto. Seriously. We were right across the street from "Dr. Stylz Urban Threadz" and the parking lot had big signs up pleading with us not to leave valuables in the car. Aside form that, the place was great. Good prices, helpful sales staff, and a lot of really quite stuff. A few close runners up, taken using the old cell phone cam.

Those were nice, but this is the piece we bought. It was not too expensive, delivery fee was very small, and delivery people were very nice. But this is it:

I like it. Tune in next time for what else I found while we were out, and how my rampant case of the giggles almost got us thrown out of the furniture store.

Fat Rock.

Ballet Flamboyance?

2008-09-17T12:00:00.000-07:00

As my darling wife said earlier, we went to the ballet the other day. This was the same day as the "Neighbor Domestic Violence" episode, so I've had other things on my mind. But I need to let a male point of view be heard for this event. A bit of background: I used to be the head administrative TA of the theatre dept where I went to college. I was a science major, trapped with a bunch of "artists" who thought they could dance, sing and act. It made me appreciate artists, their processes and what they have to go through to be heard. Also, I got to torment arts majors by using cold calculating logic and reason to destroy whatever argument they presented for extra points or a higher grade. BUT I digress.

So Lemur Queen and I have been to ballet before: Carmen. It was good. Very good. I actually have a favorite male dancer in the troupe, and he was the bullfighter. Good mechanics, good emotion, good synchro, good dancer. Good times:
http://www.carolinaballet.com/Bio-Bongar.html

It was at that time I found a had a dancer that I didn't like so much, namely because the entire time he was dancing, he looked like he was straining on a toilet or recovering from a particularly potent kick to the groin. I prefer my dancers non-weepy, thank you very much:
http://www.carolinaballet.com/Bio-Bourtasenkov.html

Anyways, the ballet we went to had three parts. Something classical with 4 pairs and a big finale. The second part was supposed to be a "representation of human rights abuses in the world", and the third was a new piece of work made up by the resident choreographer/Adrian Monk Impersonator. Oh yeah, he totally looked like that Monk guy, and I was just waiting for him to start touching the microphone repeatedly as an OCD guy is wanton to do.

The first part was "eh". My favorite dancer wasn't on there, but this guy was:
http://www.carolinaballet.com/Bio-Barnes.html
I enjoyed his work, he moved well and had emotional expression that built as the piece went on. But they didn't give him enough to do. The girl he was partnered with had this "I just took 20 hits of E" look on her face, and pretty much used him as a coat rack. Oh, and there was an amazon there. She was in the last pair, but she was huge. She had to be 6'. At least. She was good, but big.http://www.carolinaballet.com/Bio-Osetek.html

The second piece was UNBELIEVABLE. The primary dancers (the male ones) were the "prisoners" and they portrayed suffering, fear, strength, despair, and hope all in sequence and all in amazing realism. There was also an asian girl in the red dress who was a primary, who was an incredible representation of both hope, freedom, and rescue. It was great!

The third piece was not so good. Adrian Monk failed us all. The only cool part was a scene with two dancers moving as a heart. The rest was...well........it was a stereotypical modern ballet where everything was laden with metaphysical meaning and depth but ended up being a bunch of very fit people writhing on stage.

Anyways, all in all we enjoyed it. I like the arts, and will probably continue to go to shows and put some money in the tin when it's passed. I also love to people watch. There's a lot of interesting people at the ballet. You have elderly wealthy socialites, trying to show it all off. You've got college girls wearing the latest in unflattering Maxi dresses with authentic 1980's style hooker earrings. There's the obliging parents bringing their daughter out to see the pretty ballerinas (the cutest is when the little girls are actually wearing the point shoes from their class and try to walk out on their toes at the end of the performance). You've also got the date couples there. You can always tell them apart. The girl is usually really enjoying the show, and the guy is freaked out about the guys in tight costumes and whether or not anybody is seeing him do this. The average guy I guess is afraid of "looking gay" by being seen at the ballet. I don't have that fear. Everyone my work knew that I was going to the ballet, and I was looking forward to it. Also, I worked in a freaking theatre for two years and I have seen some pretty gay stuff. You don't want to hear the stories. But I can tell you, going to the ballet never made anyone gay. Go see the show.

http://echosphere.net/star_trek_insp/star_trek_insp.html

A night at the ballet

2008-09-08T12:00:00.000-07:00

As you already know I have the greatest husband on earth. Handsome, strong, willing to protect me from bugs, etc. etc. etc.

Well, get ready to be TOTALLY jealous ladies; he goes to the ballet. Back in the day (aka, the ‘90’s) I was a ballerina. Well, more like, I took many classes in ballet, and did something that to the untrained eye, resembled ballet. Not quite as bad as “hippos in Fantasia” but not “opening night of Swan Lake at Lincoln Center” either.

Although my dancing days are done, I still enjoy the ballet more than you average almost-30-something. This is not a trait shared by most straight men. So imagine my surprise and joy when Fat Rock took me to the ballet, back when we were dating. And this was no amateur night. This was front row, center seats to the opening night of Carmen. And if that wasn’t enough, he LIKED it. Nay, he LOVED it. He had favorite dancers for heavens sake!

This was no simple attempt to prove his love to his lady lemur. Oh no. And to prove it, we again attended the ballet. And this one was a true litmus test. THREE world premiere ballets, all created at summer workshop. Those of you not in the ballet know, this is the dance equivalent of avant-garde one artist show at the gallery. Could be great, could be elephant poop on the Virgin Mary.

We head out. Excellent seats in a small college auditorium. We get there early so there is plenty of time for people watching.

There are old people of both the arty and non arty persuasion. You can tell them apart by their attire. The arty are wearing clunky beaded necklaces with their simple dresses. Non-arty? Sunday best with pearls. Oddly enough, this describes the attire of the women AND the men. I kid, I kid! But the men are out numbered 10 to 1.

There are young women of both the young and not so young variety. Apparently the maxi dress is back. This is a dress, strapless or not, that most closely resemble a giant bedsheet. Yes, the 70’s are back and they are angry. Strange hairdos and feathery earrings complete the ensemble. I w as slightly distracted by the girl in the purple strapless dress who appeared to adjust her Junk at every intermission. I never knew girls had Junk to adjust. Live and learn.

Time for the ballet! First an introduction by the artistic director, who bared more than a passing resemblance to “Monk.” Dance #1. 4 pas de deux’s to some Tchaikovsky. Very pretty, very traditional. Only slightly distracted by the GIANT Amazon female in the fourth dance. Seriously, I think if anyone dared to criticize her dancing, she would have jumped off the stage and beat you to death with her pointe shoe.
Dance #2. “Code of Silence.” As stated in the program “Code of Silence is inspired by the tireless efforts of Amnesty International to document human rights abuses around the globe and here in our own country.” Arty, no? It was FREAKING AWESOME. I was on the edge of my seat. I was exhausted by the end of the dance. Brought the house down. Standing ovations for all. Seriously, I’m not sure if it will be added to their usual ballet repertoire, but if you get the chance, SEE it.
Dance #3 “Time Gallery.” Based on time. Choreographed by Mr. Monk himself. This could go either way. Yeah, it went the crappy way. Kind of uncomfortable for us, because the artistic director/choreographer/Monk was sitting right in front of us, taking notes. The costumes were………interesting. Dance #1 had super tight leotards on the girls and boys, every muscle stood out. Hmm. Dancer muscles. Dance #2, Unitards with clocks printed on them. Looked like bubbles were coming out of their……..bottoms. Not the finest moment in ballet attire. Dance #3 red unitards. ‘Nuff said.

A review. 2/3s of the dances were AWESOME. People in coastal NC have interesting interpretations of what is appropriate ballet attire. The artistic director of the Carolina Ballet may, in fact, moonlight as a detective. Amazon ballerina will haunt my dreams.

I love art.

Lemur Queen

Our Impending DOOM!!! (echo: Doom.....Doom......Doom.....)

2008-09-04T19:47:00.000-07:00

Gentle Readers and Assorted Ne'er Do Wells!!

The Fortress is once again under assault! And this time it's Mother Nature that's doing the pounding! Seriously, Tropical Storm Hannah is about to hit the Carolina Coast and we may have to vamoose. Of course, the factory I work at will not be closing or even letting us off early. Why do that when they can screw us? Sigh.

But still, it seems that Hannah will not be hitting hurricane strength again, so we should be cool. As of right now I'm of a mind to stay. I sat through Fran, Floyd, Bertha, Dennis, Hugo, and Bob. Mind you, none of that was at the coast, but still I should get some Man Points. Lemur Queen is upset, not because of the storm itself, mind you, but because the storm is MESSING UP all our plans for her parents to come down and visit.

And we were gonna serve blintzes! *sniff* Oh well, more for me!

We'll let you know how this all pans out.

Fat Rock.

Neighbor Update

2008-08-29T21:01:00.000-07:00

Ok, so, you know about our neighbors. Well, last Saturday night I was playing World of Warcraft on the computer and Lemur Queen was asleep. It's about midnight, and she stumbles into the room, half asleep

FR: "What's wrong honey, can't sleep?"
LQ: "No, too much screaming."
FR: "Huh?" I had been playing WoW with my headphones on, and heard nothing.

So, I did what any new husband would do: tell his wife to go back to bed, and he'd take care of it.
I opened the door and walked outside. The noise was coming from Thor and Modi's apartment, directly above us. Of course. So I go back inside, and move out to the balcony. Evidently, I came in on the tail end of a "drunk talk"; wherein the participants are wasted and therefore are not arguing their points with the greatest mental stregnth.

Modi (female): ."......all I'm sayin' is that he can't say he love me no matter whut, 'cause he don't know. He don'! If he says 'I love yew no matter whut' he's lyin' and he can't say that........He caint!"
Thor (guy): "Uh huh"
Modi: "but yew know I caint say nothin' neither. But he cain't say he love me no matter whut...."
*I intervene from the porch below them*
FR: "Good Evening, ladies and gentlemen."
Modi: "Whut the fuck was that?"
Thor: "Uh, uh...."
FR: "It's the guy who lives below you...."
Thor (interupting excitedly): "Hey man! Please don't call the cops because I did not hit her! I didn't!"
Modi : "Yes, that's right, I was there, he didn't hit me, please don't call the cops...."

Evidently my gentle neighbors have a history of domestic violence. How.....interesting........
I have often been called a "Walking Anachronism" by some. I believe in Chivalry, Discipline, Faith, and other values of a by-gone era. I also look down on men who hit women. Unless that woman is attacking you and you are in danger; a man should NOT hit a girl. And it seems that Thor has not learned this lesson.

Thor: "Yeah, man, I didn't hit her...."
FR: "Easy there man. I was just going to ask if you could keep it down. It's midnight, and you woke up my wife."
Thor: "Uh, ok man. Ok ok ok..."
Modi: "Hey, whut Arby's do yew work at?"

What the hell? Arby's? Wow, drunk speak has returned I see.

Thor: "He didn't say he worked at Arby's, idiot. He said be quiet."
Modi: "Oh, I'm sorry, we'll be quiet.. He didn't hit me."
FR: "I don't work for Arby's. I'm a machinist, and I do shiftwork. I just need some sleep. I appreciate the quiet"
Thor: "Yeah man, if the cops get called again, I gotta pay a $250 ticket......"
FR: "Well, I'm not going to call anybody. Please just keep it down. You all have a nice evening.....(I go back inside)"
Thor: "Ok man....."

Wow. Thor definately has a history with the local Five-O. Nice. And these people live above us. Lemur Queen was already looking at house adds, I bet she'll redouble the efforts now.......

I am however, looking for a tactical shotgun to keep the garbage at bay. 16 gauge or larger should do the trick.........

Fat Rock.

We're Nerds.

2008-08-22T12:00:00.000-07:00

Those of you who know us, know that we are both nerds. We grew up nerds, and remained nerdy throughout our high school, college, and now adult lives. Part of what makes the Lemur Queen and I such a good match is the fact that we are nerds. Mind you, we're different types of nerds but those differences are not important. You see, Lemur Queen is an archetypal "Nerd", a mainline nerd. She's great at science and math. She got great grades in high school, sholarships in college, and has a graduate degree from a prestigious university. The Mainline Nerds are the ones who were glorified in "Revenge of the Nerds". Eventually, they will take over everything, kinda like Bill Gates is doing now. Yes, he's one of us.

I am a Gamer. I am a subclass of nerd that is sometimes shunned by other nerds. The mainlines (or common) nerds were smarter than us, and the drama nerds were wierder than us, the Trekies/Jedi Knights were more belittled. But no one, not anybody, was creepier or more obtuse than the Gamers. I mean, we still have the majority of the characteristics of other Nerd branches: we're smart, can use technology, and have a slight difficulty in inter-personal relationships. But we also have one extra thing.........Gamers....well......we like games. All kinds of games. Computer games, role playing games, trivia games, card games, prettymuch anything that has complex rules. When you go into a electronics store, and some guy is drooling over the next computer game and desperately trying to pre-order it: that's probably a Gamer. If you're shopping in a bookstore and see some guy with his nose burried in a Dungeons and Dragons rule book: that's a Gamer. On saturdays, when the Books-A-Million has their weekly Yu-Gi-Oh and Magic: The Gathering tourneys; the guys you see crouching over the tables are Gamers. Starting to build a mental profile? Good! Time to test it. Pop Quiz time! In this photo, find the Gamer in the group of nerds!

If your quess was the guy in the Legend of Zelda t-shirt, you are 100% right! Gamers have an almost debilitating fascination with games. I had a buddy who was a police dispatcher and was written up for reading a 200 page rules manual on the job. He tried to explain that he had a big game coming up on Saturday and needed to recall some rules; but his boss wasn't a gamer, so he wasn't as understanding as he could have been. Gamer's also have another thing to struggle against. Even though we're smart and a lot of us have good-paying jobs, and we're really nice, and usually funny........we can't get women. Well, I did, but what I'm saying is that gamers usually can't get no love from the ladies. It seems that we are too esoteric and reclusive(this is all Nerds, not just Gamers here). Also, there is a persistant rumor running around that Gamers(Nerds in general, actually) don't bathe as often as they should. Well, it's a LIE! Most of us bathe daily, and use deoderant. Nerds, particularly Gamers, are desperate to attract and keep women. As such, we'll try a heck of a lot harder than your regular Preppy, Jock or even an Emo Boy. Ladies, do you want romance? Why not date a Nerd and watch the sparks fly? Like being pampered? Do you want to be appreciated and listened to and treated well? Try dating a nerd. Sure, we don't look good on the beach, but we'll be able to troubleshoot your computer and you will never lose on trivia night at the bar with a Nerd on your arm! Just ask my wife: Once you go Nerd, you don't go back.

Possibly the funniest thing ever.

2008-08-16T12:00:00.000-07:00

Lemur Queen found this excellent blog about tragic tragic cakes.

http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/

We hope you enjoy it as much as we did. Lemur Queen would normally be making this post, but she snorted granola up her nose when she saw the "Happy Birthday Dickhead" cake.

I guess I know what I'm getting next year.

Fat Rock.

Lions and tigers and bears- oh my!

2008-08-15T12:00:00.000-07:00

It recently came to my attention that Fat Rock and I are collectors. How did this happen? We are young, fairly attractive, and perhaps marginally hip. I blame the tea.

Fat Rock and I are both tea drinkers. I grew up in a tea drinking house, with Frank only drinking coffee on the job. Fat Rock grew up with coffee, but converted in college. Sounding a lot like the religion post, isn’t it? In any case, we have a large selection of tea cups, tea pots, and a snazzy new tea kettle.

Our favorite tea is Red Rose. http://www.redrosetea.com/ It’s just your basic issue black tea. Not chi-infused whatever. But it comes with the bonus of a collectible figurine. They are tiny little ceramic figurines, mostly animals. Just the right size for a child’s shelf. Growing up, we had a large box of these stored under the TV. There was discussion of using them for favors at the wedding, but we are selfish and didn’t want to share.

So, I guess we started out as hoarders. Just recently, we found out that Fat Rock had a co-worker who also drank Red Rose tea. She wanted to start a swap system. First one, the Labrador for the Budgie. Done. Now, instead of two Labradors (lame!) we have one Labrador and one Budgie. Today, we received the pony. Holy crap, a PONY. Every little girl’s dream. Who care’s that I’m almost 30. Santa finally answered my letter. I’ll name her Clip-Clop and brush her tail every day.

Em, sorry.

So, a pony. Coworker wants the duck in exchange. No way lady, only have one of those. How about a manatee? Those are out of production. And, you know, endangered. They need a good home. Or maybe a rooster?

It’s about this time that I realize that we are one step away from trolling flea markets and Ebay for these tiny figurines. As though our house isn’t already too cluttered with the accumulated detritus of two pack rats.

Ah well, at least the tea is good.

Lemur Queen

My turn- Lemur Queen

2008-08-10T12:00:00.000-07:00

A. Attached or Single? Attached

B. Best Friend? Magnolia Belle, Whimisical Tulips, and Fat Rock

C. Cake or pie? Cake

D. Day of choice? Friday

E. Essential item? Running Shoes

F. Favorite color? Purple

G. Gummy bears or worms? Gummy Bears, but gummy candy hurts my tummy

H. Home town? Milltown NJ

I. Favorite indulgence? Chocolate, or being lazy

J. January or July? July

K. Kids? Only my husband

L. Life isn’t complete without? Friends

M. Marriage date? April 26, 2008

N. Number of brothers and sisters? one brother

O. Oranges or Apples? oranges

P. Phobias? Hights, but I always forget

Q. Quotes? "I have a goal to see beyond my vision" Harry Connick Jr. But it's from a song, I'm pretty sure he's not the profound. I mean-really, SUNCOM commericals? Oh, Harry.

R. Reasons to smile? Family, friends, pet birds, everything, I guess.

S. Season of choice? Summer

T. Tag 5 people: See, this is why I don't do these surveys, by the time they get to me, everyone has already done it. Even Fat Rock beat me to it.

U. Unknown fact about me? I am on a 4 year fainting schedule. 1997: observing a hip replacement. 2001: minor auto accident 2005: observing a knee aspiration. You may want to follow behind me with a pillow during 2009

V. Vegetable? Tomatoes

W. Worst habit? I bite my nails

X. X-ray or Ultrasound? ultrasound

Y. Your favorite food? Pizza

Z. Zodiac sign? Cancer

Z. Which zoo animal is your favorite? Monkeys, Monkeys, MONKEYS!! Oh, and lemurs.

Lemur Queen

Stupid Tag Tricks-Fat Rock

2008-08-09T12:00:00.000-07:00

A. Attached or Single? Married

B. Best Friend? I have two. Robert and MC

C. Cake or pie? Pie.

D. Day of choice? Saturday, although friday is good too.

E. Essential item? Food. Or a computer with the internets

F. Favorite color? Crimson, Black and Silver

G. Gummy bears or worms? Worms.

H. Home town? Wiesbanden, West Germany

I. Favorite indulgence? Internets, Happy Gummi Sodas

J. January or July? January, heat sucks.

K. Kids? not yet

L. Life isn’t complete without? Purpose

M. Marriage date? April 26th, 2008

N. Number of brothers and sisters? Only Child.

O. Oranges or Apples? Granny Smith Apples.

P. Phobias? Hights, Zombies, Death by Fire.

Q. Quotes? "That's a negative Ghost Rider, pattern is full"- Top Gun

"This is the lesson: never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never—in nothing, great or small, large or petty—never give in except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy." Winston Churchill

"You ask what is our aim? I can answer in one word: Victory. Victory at all costs. Victory in spite of all terror. Victory however long and hard the road may be. For without victory there is no survival." Winston Churchill

R. Reasons to smile? My wife, my blessings, and of course...Victory.

S. Season of choice? Winter.

T. Tag 5 people: NO!! This ends with me! No longer will this be passed on like a plague! I am Fat Rock! Deleter of Chain Letter E-mails! And Terminator of link-posts. However, I couldn't think of an update this week, so I used this.

U. Unknown fact about me? I actually failed out of grad school. I managed to make it out of college, but it took a loooooong time. But I never gave up. Oh, and my alma matter is never going to get a cent from me....ever.

V. Vegetable? I like spinach,

W. Worst habit? Lack of Self-discipline

X. X-ray or Ultrasound? ultrasound

Y. Your favorite food? Rice.

Z. Zodiac sign? Pisces.

Z. Which zoo animal is your favorite? I like big cats. Mostly Pumas, Cougars, and Bobcats.

I'll get you next time....HOOTIE!!!

2008-08-03T12:00:00.000-07:00

BAH, WE HAVE BEEN FOILED AGAIN!!!! Those of you who know Fat Rock and I well, KNOW that we have an Arch-Nemesis in the town. Well, F.R. has several, or rather many, well maybe he's just not well liked by a lot of people. Anyhoodle, "WE" have one Arch-Nemesis in town, the infamous DJ Hootie. Who is this mysterious villian, you ask? We don't know. We've never seen him. We only GUESS it's a him due to the fact that the name is DJ Hootie and the trailer that is pulled behind that features an owl sitting on a branch........wait for it..........with a big pair of boobs. Yes, a Hooter with hooters. We're not sure who this masked demon is, but we know this: he is a poor driver and he's fond of birds and boobies. The poor driving angered my road-rage prone husband, I was underwhelmed by the boobs. We *were* going to eliminate this threat, but he escaped through a Hardee's drive thru.

We'll get you next time Hootie! NEXT TIME!!!!

Heresy! Intrigue! Ecumenical Discord! (Holy Wars II)

2008-07-31T12:00:00.000-07:00

Yeah, so.......we're looking for a church. My lovely lady Lemur dropped some of the background, though. I was in fact raised Charismatic. That's like Pentecostals, except they're turned up another notch. Church growing up was pretty wild. When I was in high school I branched out some, and started going to a Baptist youth group. Not for any spititual reasons, but because they had GIRLS. The Charismatics did not. So, yeah, I converted to Catholicism in college. Went 180, and went old school Latin Rite. The parish I went to had a priest who was a convert, and a staunch believer in the old ways. So, our church held mass daily, and had a mass in latin on the first sunday of the month. We also had 24 hour adoration of the Eucharist on the first friday of the month. Seriously, that parish was hardcore. Those of us who were students kinda had to be hardcore, as we went to a Baptist university and we were in the serious minority. There was a Catholic Student Group, and all 6 of us met very quietly. Usually out of sight. If the Campus Crusade people found one of us out, we were hounded to come to "real" church.

Not that I'm bitter or anything. BUT......we are looking for a church.

The first place we tried was Tiny Moravian. I like the Moravians, they're a handshakin' bunch of folks. And if you show up at Christmas, they'll give you a candle, some coffee, and a hamburger bun. But don't call it a hamburger bun or they get snippy. But Like Lemur Queen said, they couldn't get our names right, and we just didn't feel at home.

My wife forgot this, but we also tried Big Barn Methodist. Nice building, right by an Arby's, so if I'm jonesing for beef during the sermon I can duck out without being spotted. But our fellow worshipers were...........uh........farted dust. The pastor tried to have a special "children's message" with the ONE child that was in the congregation. We were the youngest people there by 30 years. When the "spry young greeter" starts the conversation with "hey, my grandchildren are about your age, litle older though.....", you might not fit in.

The we tried the local Catholic church. Our Lady of Perpetual Guilt. I didn't like it. It was a very modern, and very liberal place. And there was one more thing. The priest. A long time ago I worked in an Army hospital for a few weeks. I used to have to run up to Code Blues and whatnot and saw one or two people die. That priest was the priest on duty at the hospital. He's cool as a cucumber when somebody's bitin' the big one, but I remebered him. And he kinda freaked me out, becuase the voice he used to deliver the sermon was exactly the same pace, tone and loudness that he delivered Last Rights to the dying. Kinda spooky.

THEN we tried Baptist Church #1. Nice folks, good sermon, nice range of people there(NOT all oldies, like some have said, Love you honey!). Then they did the follow-up call. It was pretty quick. The gentlemen was very polite, except when he asked from what church we would be moving our "letters of membership" to. I've never had one of those, as neither Catholics or Charismatics write letters for stuff like that (if there's a clergyman reader, explain please?). So, I just told him what churches we were coming from. Papists must not be welcome, as the call ended 5 seconds after he found us out.

Then we tried Baptist Church #2. Everything Lemur Queen said was dead on accurate. This was a very contemporary church. Big band, lots of singers. I did notice that only one or two singers seemed to have their mics on, though they all had mics with them. BIG jumbotrons with the song words on them, complete with inspiring backgrounds that looked like something from a Christian version of Powerpoint. But again, a good group of people. Then the pastor got up. Wow. Sexual abuse sermon. Wow. Slightly uncomfortable. Wanna know what's more uncomfortable? The sunday that sermon was given.....was Mother's Day. The tabernacle was packed with families. Not good times. What finally did it for us, however, was when Lemur Queen was ambushed by a little girl who evidently thought my wife was her momma. Then she looked up, saw my wife, screamed, and ran away. *I* am an ugly bugger, and I have frightened so many children that it doesn't register with me anymore. Lemur Queen, however, is a very pretty girl and she did not appreciate being yelled at.

The we tried St. Random's Prespyterian. They're like the Anglicans. Catholic Lite, half the saints, all the guilt! I can't really comment about the service, as I was knocked unconscious by the overwhelming stale perfume that was radiating like a stinky halo from the woman in the large hat in front of us. Lemur Queen was ok, as she was off to the side, but I was directly behind her, got a nosefull, and passed out. So, we may have to go back and sit somewhere else so I can remember the service.

The last church we tried was Our Lady of The Scary Part of Town. It's in an appropriate place for the name, and is a very old brick dome chruch. OLD SCHOOL. Hoorah! Old priest, old style servie, and old style building. They even got candle shrines. Of the churches we've been to so far, I like it the best. But my better half wasn't thrilled. So, the search continues.

Before I go, I need to ask two questions of the audience:

1. Why do protestant churches have those little "friendship" books that everyone has to sign? I don't remember Jesus ever doing a parable about the "The Frequent Attender And His Friendship Book" What's the deal?

2. Why are there no Second Baptist Churches anywhere? Or Second Methodist Chruches? The Lutherans, Prespyterians, Anglicans, and Catholics are all named after somebody or something, by why to Methodists and Baptists have numbers? And why only first? What's the Deal?

Fat Rock.

Holy Wars

2008-07-30T12:00:00.000-07:00

Let's get one thing straight. Fat Rock and I are Christians. Proud of it. Born, baptized, confirmed, married in the church. We've done our time at VBS, sat through, and participated in many a youth Sunday, and price marked nick-knacks for the church bazaar.

But, as usual, Fat Rock and I are contrary. Me, I'm Moravian. For those NC natives out there, you know this denomination . Old Salem, sugar cakes, all that good stuff. For those of you not lucky enough to call NC home, I think the motto says it all; "In essentials, unity. In non-essentials, liberty. In all things, love." Basically, your boring old mainstream Protestant church, with the added benefit of eating during church.

Fat Rock started out as a Charismatic Christian. So, let's just say, a slightly more exuberant service. In a church with fairly strong feelings on such things as Harry Potter, Halloween, and booze. Once he entered college, he rebelled. He rebelled BAD. Oh yes, he converted. To Latin Rite Roman Catholic. He's a wild man, my husband.

So now we are married, in a new city, and are on the hunt for a new church. It has been an adventure, and we may go pastafarian just to be done with the church shopping.

First stop, the one and only Moravian church in town. Comfortable, friendly, median age of parishioners, about 70. Congregation size, about 70. Also, they kept getting our names wrong. We are NOT Big Boulder and Merkeet Madam. We are Fat Rock and Lemur Queen. You only have 72 names to remember, get it straight. After only 3 Sundays, we came home to a message on our machine, offering us membership. Still didn't get our names right. Hmm, maybe we should have stuck around. Another month, and we'd be RUNNING the place.

Next, off to the Catholic Church. Our Lady of Perpetual Guilt. Held in a cafagymatoriam. Larger congregation, more varied ages, but kind of impersonal, without many opportunities to get involved. The folding chairs were a nice change from pews, I'll give them that.

Ok, we're in the south, let's give the Baptists a try.
#1 Nice big church, lots of ministry opportunities. Excellent service. But once we let slip that there was a PAPIST in their midst, we were given the cold shoulder. Better not tell them about my dance lessons.
#2 Recommended by a co-worker. We braved a near-Biblical flood to attend this service. This service was a bit modern. HUGE praise band with at least 2 drummers, 4 guitarists and 6 bass players. Screens a-plenty, with praise songs and the minister's head, blown up to Macy's Parade Balloon size. Okayy, let's give them a chance. Sermon starts. The main theme? Sexual abuse. Of the minister. By family members. Um, I think I hear my mother calling, dinner's burning, gotta go!

Last week, we hit the Lutherans. By accident, actually. Looking for another co-worker reccomened church, but the Lord works in mysterious ways, right? Maybe this is the one. Don't think I've ever been in a Lutheran church. Looks like Catholic Church, lite. Average age, Moses. With stale perfume. At least the sermon featured super heroes (really). He had a cardboard cutout of the HULK, with angel wings. Awesome.

But we will not give up, we will not be dissuaded. We live in the SOUTH. There are churches on every corner. We will find our place, and pass the peace.

Pray for us

Lemur Queen

When in a Crowd.......

2008-07-25T00:00:00.000-07:00

JUST A FEW FRICKIN' TIPS:

1. Do not walk more than 2 abreast. When you walk in long chains or four or five people across, others can't get around you. Walk in single file, or if you must, want 2 abreast. That way you tend to walk faster and other can get around you. Also, if your family tends to walk in the "modified beehive" pattern, go die. Seriously. The "modified beehive" consists of a core of adults with a protective meshwork of children and adolescents. They're too spread out to go around, and too thick to penetrate. I have tried both, and collided with a worker bee and got a dirty look from a core member. Not that the core members could do anything about it. "Modified Beehives" are usually instigated by old people with hovering family, or foreigners and their kids. Evidently I must give off a "I will punch out an old person and I will call ICE on your family" vibe, because after the initial glare, the cores always leave me alone.

2. Don't get drunk. Mind you, I like to drink. Lemur Queen could tell you of an event last week there I drank 72 ounces of alcoholic beverage in less than 2 hours. But you know what I did after that? I left, and WALKED home. Quietly, without bothering anybody. When you're in a crowd, you need all your faculties of balance, speach, and situational awareness. You don't need to be tottering about and almost stomping on toddlers. Also, if you're a female and drunk, please don't dance. You're going to fall and hurt yourself, and the fat guy standing next to you who just wanted to see the public fireworks.

3. Don't pick a fight. Yes, you may be the second coming of Bruce Lee, but trust me, fighting in crowds is a bad idea. That one annoying guy that made a snooty comment about your woman probably isn't alone. I had a buddy who once THOUGHT he was just going to teach *A* soldier "some manners" and wound up taking on 3 squads (that's 18 guys!). Also, I happen to know that often, that short little guy who's mouthing off to you, may be a master of martial arts, or he's packing heat. Either way is bad, so don't fight. Let the fact that a guy stepped on your shoe slide, and just go home.

4. BATHE REGULARLY. Holy cow. I shouldn't have to say this, but some of you smell like you rolled though a manure and onion factory, put on your "lucky" pants (that you haven't washed since the Carter Administration), and went to town! You shouldn't need to be told this! Soap and deoderant is a good thing! Use it!

Four rules! That's all I ask! Four! BAH!!

Ok, I fell better now.

Fat Rock.

Mongols at the Gates of The Fortress

2008-07-21T00:00:00.000-07:00

We live in an apartment. It's our Fortress. We like it here, we have a view of a pond with ducks, turtles, and big-ass blue herrons. It's a 2-bedroom, and we're just getting it all comfy like we want it. Lemur Queen and I are newlyweds, and we're slowly but surely sifting through all our crap and deciding where we should put things....on walls.....on shelves.....in dumpsters.......

But, since we have an apartment, we also have neighbors. First, we have the people next to us. They are the ultimate in good neighbors. They have a dog, but you wouldn't know it unless you saw the lady walking it. It's silent. They make no noise, and are ALWAYS nice to us.

Then we have the people across the hall. That apartment has been trouble for us in the past. First it was empty, then the college girls moved in. Tall, blonde, and evidently popular with the boys. They had a bunch of parties, loud parties, and I actually had to go out into the hall and ask some drunk and belligerant gentlmen to please put their pants back on. Now a nice family lives there.......a nice family with the Baddest Weiner Dog EVER. At least, that's what the dog thinks. He's so vicious, he could rip a sock right off your foot!

Below us we have The Tiny Woman (an incredably thin, and freaking tiny asian lady), and her spawn, Drama Girl. Drama Girl has the worst life ever. I've heard her say it, when she's sitting on the bottom of the stairs talking into her $200 cell phone. Yep. Or when she's walking back from her Expedition, which she just drove to the mall. I weep for her. The biggest drama surrounding Drama Girl is her choice in men. From what I can tell, she's in high school. And at all hours she has "very serious" conversations with various and sundry guys. By very serious, I mean, low toned talks about her feelings and all the drama in her life. These talks MUST occur at times when normal people either want to eat dinner, or want to sleep. And they must occur at the bottom step of either the first or second story stairs. That way the entire half of the building can be treated to her theatrics.

Above us, the Norse gods Thor and Modi live. For those of you not in the know, Thor was the god of lightning and thunder, and Modi was his son and the god of battle lust and madness. Basically, they run and boom and jump at night. Usually during prime time TV. Also, they drop things. I'm not sure what they are, but I'm guessing the anvils they practice juggling must be really slippery. The best thing about Thor and Modi is their love of animals. Well, maybe not LOVE. They have a dog. A yappy dog. A yappy dog that is about the size of a husky. I think it's an Akita. They love to keep this dog in its travel crate, which is too small for the dog. They also like to keep this travel crate on their porch, which is in direct sunlight. The dog does not like this, and he lets them, us, and everyone know it. Also, one day Thor and Modi left the dog in the crate, on the porch, in a thunderstorm. The Dog was loosing its mind, but did they care? Nope.

Still they aren't the worst neighbors I ever had. When I was in college, I live with my two buddies Howler Monkey and I.M. (independantly mysterious). We had a second floor apartment (university assigned housing) over 3 black guys. The black guys were cool. No noise (except during World Series and March Madness, but that's perfectly acceptable. I mean, we're all men, and sometimes we need to cuss at the TV. It's genetic), no parties, no wierd smells. Well, two out of the 3 black guys graduates. The last black guy gets two new roomies, 2 japanese guys. Now, the school I went to has a sizable asian population. And evidently these guys were really socialites. There were never less than 20 japanese people in that damn apartment. The last black guy was hiding in his room most of the time. I asked him once how he like living there now, and his reply was "Godzilla madness, yo." Well, the last black guy graduated (he was finishing his MBA), and yet another japanese guy went in. So now, there were usually 30 japanese people living underneath us. One time they had a party and IM and Howler Monkey had a super early ROTC march the next day, so IM went down to ask for a volume reduction. He came back up, and said "they were all surrounding a hibachi grill with an onion on a stick and laughing hysterically. They wouldn't even talk to me, just kept laughing. And there's like 40 of 'em down there." What finally took the cake was one late night, I was lying in bed, trying to drift off the sleep, when IT started.

"BOOM Boom.

Boom Boom BOOM.

THIS IS A STORY ABOUT A GIRL NAMED LUCKY......."

Yep, the japanese had started up Britney Spear's hit "Lucky" and were playing it at high volume.

Then I was surprised again, in a bad way:

"She so rucky, she a star, but CLY CLY CLY with her BLOCKEN HEART........."

Japanese Karaoke......Doing Britney Spears......and it's a guy singing. Oh my sweet lord. That was just a beginning of the night. I was treated to other such excellent songs as "Hit Me Baby One More Time" and "Some Thrice-Damned Japanese TV Show Jingle That All 30 of Those Bastards Must Have Loved Because I Swear I Heard About 10 of The Tone-Deaf Weasels Try To Sing It".

But at least they didn't have a dog............

Fat Rock.

Story about 30 japaneese people that lived underneath us in collge.

A Fatty's Take on Races

2008-07-16T12:02:00.000-07:00

Fat Rock here. As you know, my wife is a runner. I have been to several of her races as a spectator, and once as a competitor. I have a tremendous amount of respect for my wife for doing the "running thing". I cannot. I am not a runner. This was made plain when I ran in the "Dook U. Run for the Lemurs 5k", which was a charity run for the Dook Primate Center. "You'll have a great time," said my fit, in-shape runner girlfriend(at the time), "this is totally a low pressure run, and you'll do great!" Since I was love-struck and stupid, I went for it. It was hot, and there was like 100% humidity and then there were plagues of locusts, and lightening and an earthquake because I had upset the balance of the universe by attempting to jiggle my happy ass for 5 kilometers in under 30 minutes. (Note: 30 mins was the time Lemur Queen said I should shoot for, since it was a "slow easy pace for a beginner") I may have a prejudiced viewpoint, but I digress. I was out of breath by the first hill. Lemur Queen wanted to RUN the whole time, while I could only run when I was going downhill. Long story short, I finished 4th from last. I beat out a massive MASSIVE obese black guy, and a pregnant woman in her third trimester. Oh, and I beat the Lemur Queen, because she was behind me......pushing me forward.

So I never competed in a race again. The only time I run now if to and from the buffet.

Anyways, I do go and support/cheer/hoot like an idiot when my wife races. Why? I enjoy supporting her and her interests. I mean, crap, she has actually agreed to go to DragonCON with me this year. And that's like Nerdapalooza. But at least she'll get an opportunity to freak watch, just like I do at her races. I love me some people watching. When we lived in the Capital City, there was this creepy guy that wore 70's shorty shorts with a mountain scene painted on them. To every race. And he never wore a shirt. To every race. And he was hairy like the love child of Robin Williams and Chewbacca. To every race.

But the races down here are still fun to watch. You have your SERIOUS runners, the ones in all matchy running outfits who are either crazy thin or really muscular, vigorously checking their pulses on their necks while bobbing in place. Then you have runners. Lemur Queen falls in this category. She has running clothes, is in good shape, and runs regularly. Not all matchy-matchy, but clothes that are dedicated to running. Then you have the "runners". You know the ones. My kind of peoples. Team Fatty. Jiggles McBee and his dancing Juggernauts. You know. I don't condemn these people, I applaud them. They're doing their best to improve themselves. They are, however, wearing ripped up sweats and a T-shirt from something completely inappropriate (Big D's Bar-B-Q, for example) or they're wearing a running outfit. Ruining outfits have spandex in them. These are the people you don't want to see in spandex.

There is a fourth category of racer: the oddments. These are the high-school athletes there to try to tear out their knees before they hit 18. There's the guy wearing the USMC Force Recon t-shirt with the baby jogger (the guy finished 3rd overall, by the way. And he started at the back of the pack). And then there's the HOLY CRAP IS THAT LADY RUNNING IN HER BRA AND PANTIES?!?!? Oh wait, those are her running clothes. Not underwear. Oh, and there's the really skinny Asian lady that is like normal width from side to side and then from front to back she's about the length of a pencil. A used pencil. Creepy.

But I see all these people show up, pin numbers on themselves, and do some sort of preening before the race. And I get to see said weirdos soon. This weekend actually. So, if your out at any footraces, looking for a fat guy hooting like an idiot and eating a rack of lamb. That'll be me.

Bring Napkins.

Fat Rock.

Fat Rock Recipies

2008-07-12T12:00:00.000-07:00

Hi there. Are you a fat guy? Like to eat? Having trouble with the ladies due to a lack of social skill because your favorite hobbies include painting 28mm models, playing World of Warcraft, and screaming at Kung Fu movies? Well, take heart, and impress that woman (or wife) who's way out of your league by cooking for her!

Fat Rock's Chicken-Bake-Pasta-Thing (menu approved by the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster http://www.venganza.org/):

You need: 3 Skinless Boneless Chicken Breat Filets, 6 slices provolone cheese, 1 jar spaghetti sauce (any sauce will do), Fatty's Secret Spice Recipie(rosemary, thyme, garlic salt, ?????, methamphetamines), 2/3 cup pitted black olives, 1/2 cup feta cheese, 1 package of fettucini noodles.

1. Preheat oven to 450 F while thawing chicken. Make sure the chicken is thawed.

2. In a glass/pyrex pan, place chicken breasts in and cover with provolone cheese.

3. Cover chicken/cheese with spaghetti sauce, using the whole jar. Drizzle Secret Spice Recipie over sauce. Place pan in oven (set to 450 F) and cook for 45 minutes.

4. While Chicken is cooking, boil water and cook Fettucini noodles. You should know how to cook noodles. If you don't, your mother didn't love you.

5. While all that's cooking, chop half your olives, and fine dice the rest. Make sure the olive bits are drained, then mix with feta cheese on the cutting board. Set that aside.

6. Ding! Noodles done! Drain noodles and set as a base on the plate. Like a bed for your chicken. DING! Chicken's done! Scoop out chicken onto bed of noodles. The cheese will have melted and ran into the sauce, don't worry about it.

7. Once the chicken's on there good, scoop out the sauce and cover the chicken evenly. Now grab your olive/feta mix and put a dollop of that on top of the chicken.

8. Ding! Your done! Serve and impress the ladies!

Good luck!

Fat Rock.

P.S. This recipie is Lemur Queen tested, Lemur Queen approved.

Tourists and Other hazards to our Sanity

2008-07-05T13:00:00.000-07:00

Hi there. You may not know me. I'm a "local". I live, work, shop, and worship in the city you come to for vacation. Yes, I know that this is your "special place" and you're on "leisure time", but I'm not. I live here at the beach, and I have to get to work. Nothing "magical" about this place to me, except that from March to October we get swamped with incompetant morons who left their common sence and driving skills at home, but made sure to pack an extra sense of entitlement. For those of you coming to the beach this summer, I have a few tips:

1. Read a map before you come. Have a general idea of the layout of the city you're going to before you come. I do it every time I go on vacation. It keeps me from getting lost as often, and from driving down the road in the fast lane going 15 miles under the speed limit trying to read all the roadsigns. Seriously people, if you suddenly see the road you're supposed to turn off of 2 lanes over......don't slam on brakes, jerk the car accross multiple lanes of trafic and come to a complete stop before you turn. Just pass it, make a U-turn when you can, and try again. The entire town isn't on vacation. A big reason the traffic here is bad is because of you lot of fools.

2. Stop asking locals "what's good here?". When you're in line at a restaurant and don't know what you want, don't hold up everybody else while you stand there life a freshly caught bass, mouth agape and eyes wide staring at a menu. Get out of the way. Stand off to the side. You've been in line 10 minutes, you should have looked at the menu on the wall before now.

3. Don't ask us where to eat. When you ask a local "what's good to eat around here", the locals (at least me and the Lemur Queen) are going to lie our asses off. Why? We don't want you in our restaurants. That's where WE eat. Where local's go, and we don't want you to mess it up. There's a little italian place that we both LOVE that's a hole in the wall but has melt-in-your-mouth dishes and an increadable waitstaff (that we tip 20%+ every time), there's a authentic german place with rockin' wursts and great beer, and there's a local funky burrito restaurant where all the cool alternative kids work where you can get a giant burrito called the "double bypass". All those places are for locals. If you find them it's purely by accident, because when you ask us "what's good", we're going to say "Big Daddy's Crap Shack! It's right by the beach and it's great and prices aren't bad!". Why are we doing this? Because you are foisting yourself on us and as punishment we're going to try to make you eat only with other tourists at the nastiest, overcrowded, overpriced place we can. Why? Because we hate you.

4. Wear some freaking clothes. I mean seriously, people. The whole town isn't a beach. If you're not at the beach, don't just wear shorts and a bathing suit top. Wear a shirt. Change out of your bathing suit. Wear real clothes. Would you like some random fat guy or hefty chick to come wobbling into the Chik-fil-A with their flubber hanging out in YOUR town? Do you know what it's like to sit in a booth after the guy with the soggy swim trunks sat there? EW!

5. While we're on the clothes topic, let's talk about body types and appropriateness. Lemur Queen is pretty, fit and slim. She can do 150 pushups at a whack, and has six pack abs. She can wear a two piece. YOU are 5'1" and over 200 lbs. YOU do not need to wear a two piece. YOU sure as hell don't need to be wearing a bikini. Guys, a word for a minute. Those european speedos you're wearing? They suck. And those board shorts that you're sagging to the point of almost showing your Kibbles'n'bits? They suck. Pull up your pants and wear something substantial enough to NOT be swallowed by a fat roll. I'm a fat guy. I know what it like to go to a beach and have Greenpeace try to roll me back into the surf every time I come out of the water for a drink. My name is Fat Rock for a reason. I can wear clothes that cover. So can you.

So, to all you tourists out there, please read my rules and live by them. And if you can't do that.....please get out of my town.

Fat Rock.

Southern Goths in the Summer: An Ode to Dedication

2008-07-01T12:00:00.000-07:00

It's summer time on the Carolina Coast. No rain, high heat, freakish baking sunshine, and a town that subsists on outside activities make being a Goth hard. I mean if you think about it, there's not a good mall to hang out in, there's no parks with a lot of hardwoods (it's a "Dark Forest", for those of you NOT in the know), there's not really a store that sells AD&D (Advanced Dungeons and Dragons) or any of the things that traditionally Goths like and hang around at. Goths here are like spotted owls in the northwest. Their habitat is either non-existant, or even worse, been destroyed by the bublegum pop teenie boppers. *shudder* Unlike the Spotted Owl, those tree-hugging morons at Greenpeace aren't stepping in to try to save them. Because of their rarity, when you spot a Southern Goth, it's really an event. I have a lot of respect for them. They have perseverance out the ying-yang. Kinda like watching a fat guy jogging in bad weather. The goth has an almost noble quality, like a salmon swimming upstream.

But the other day I spotted TWO goths. Both were Southern Goths. How did I know they were Southern Goths, as opposed to their Northern Cousins? Why, a difference in plumage, of course!! Northern Goths benefit from a generally cooler climate, including longer winters, which enable them to have more showy costumes with more layers and ornamentation. Also, with cooler weather comes the ability to have layered white face-paint, and the all inportant black eye liner. Northern Goths are also more numerous, due to a higher general population density and to an abundance of industrial backdrops and shopping malls to lurk around and act depressed at.

Southern Goths, by contrast, are built for survival. Ornate plumage and display only come after september, when the temperatures drop, and high school goes back into session. Due to high heat, scarcity in habitat, and fewer numbers; Southern Goths have had to rely on camoflage and adaptation. The plumage of a Southern Goth is less flamboyant(as goths go), with usually only a blak pair of massive pants, a black T-shirt, and either a trench coat or bookbag. Note, both the coat and bookbag are used as carrying devices for various gothic odds-n-ends, and usually only one is chosen. All male Southern Goths will assuredly wear very loose fitting clothing, as opposed to the tailored/layered look of their Nothern male cousins. Female Southern Goths usually wear a black tank top and huge pants or waifish black dress.

Paradoxically, while alabaster white skin is prized amougnst the Southern Gothic Community, sunscrean usage is generally restricted to females, as males do not generally have enough sense to put it on.

Anyways, I saw two Goths the other day. The first sighting was at the local Books-a-Million on a saturday. Saturdays are usually when Goths, Nerds and Gamers gather to play Magic the Gathering. This particular Goth exemplified the drive for adaptation and survival. Dressed in ill-fitting black jeans and a black shirt, the male could be observed desperately trying to blend in with the others in the group. Watching him was like watching a sea gull victim from the Exxon Valdez spill. He was flopping and alone, desperate to survive. I was starting to give up on our Southern Goths, untill I had my second sighting in a week. The other sighting was at Wal-Mart, which has become a makeshift meeting site for their kind; since proper shopping malls with food courts are unavailable. Dressed in the huge pants/black top/massive trench coat regalia, he was resplendant as he was pushing the cart with his mother going grocery shopping. Awed by his dedication to his kind, I basked in the dark glory that issued forth from the scragly young man. Truly, he was a Goth after a Goth's own heart.

By the way, if you add 150 pounds to the guy in the picture, this COULD be me and Lemur Queen. Enjoy:

By the way, the male is a Northern Goth. I can't quite determine the breeding of the female.

Fat Rock out.

Note from Lemur Queen: No, not us at all.

In the Slow Lane

2008-06-26T00:00:00.000-07:00

I am a runner. I have the tiny shorts, the cool-max tank tops, the fancy socks, and my wonderful Saucony’s. My tee shirt collection is heavily skewed towards old road-race shirts. I even have finishers’ medals.

However

I am a SLOW runner. Not tragically slow, not last racer to finish slow, just first ½ of the middle of the pack slow. 5K’s clock in at about 27 minutes, 10K’s at about an hour, my best half-marathon just at two hours. So fast enough that there is still Gatorade left for me.

However #2

I am COMPETITIVE. I want to DOMINATE. Dammit, I’ve got my snazzy red shorts and my matching sports bra. There is NO reason mister knee-brace should beat me. Eat my dust lady with the baby jogger. Outta my way mister shaved head with the, um Navy SEAL tattoo……….. actually, I’ll just get out of your way. Sorry sir, don’t hurt me.

This causes me to be BITTER at the end of the race. “Good job” Don’t patronize me Mr. Race Volunteer. I am average, I am ok with that. There is no need to rub it in my face. My loving husband, Fat Rock, LOVES to go to races. He is a wonderful partner and friend, and he really seems to enjoy coming out to see me race. At the finish line, he is ready and waiting with a cool bottle of water. Which I reject.

Why? Because at the finish line, I am again reminded that I am slow. The giant timer cannot be denied. I am slow. I don’t DESERVE water. I don’t DESERVE congratulations. So I wallow in self-pity for a few minutes, which isn’t very nice to my sweet husband. That means I am now self-pitying and guilty. After a few minutes I shake it off, accept the water, and am again happy.

There are lots of reasons that I am destined to only be a middle of the pack runner.
1) Size: 5 feet nothing on a good day. With short legs. I’m just not built for speed. I can go for days, just not quickly. I’m a plodder
2) Dedication. I’ve got more going on than running. I’ve got aerobics, a new husband, a full time job, and a deep and abiding love of chocolate. To bring it to the next level, I would really have to knuckle down and join a running group, improve my diet, and ditch the aerobics. Not gonna happen.
3) Lack of a good running partner. My fastest running times were about 2 years ago, when I was in grad school. My running partners were a 5 foot 7 blond gazelle from Colorado, and a 6 foot broad shouldered former special-forces medic. They would run, long legs effortlessly gliding up hills. I would tag behind, gamely yelling “don’t wait for me (puff, puff); I’ll see you at the end! (Gasp)” The idea of being slow was so foreign to them, that Miss Long Legs Colorado thought I had a heart condition. Yeah, it’s called my heart is out of condition.

I have two races coming up, a 5k and a 10k. I’m nervous and excited, and hopefully, this time, will be able to accept that water bottle at the finish.

Lemur Queen

Saturday Lost due to weather.......

2008-06-21T18:30:00.000-07:00

[ Scene fade in to focus on an old Frenchman in a black toboggan]

Old Frenchman: 'Ello......I am Jacques Cousteau, and today ve vill be exploring zee downtown area for zee creature known as zee Beech Hobos [Beach Hobos].

[Camera pulls out to show Jacques in a khaki safari getup, complete with knee high socks. With him are two identically dressed weedy-looking assistants]

Jacques: Ah'm sure you all know my assistants........Raoul.......and from my previous expeditions.........zee faithful Felipe.

[Camera moves slowly down a tree lined cobblestone street to a riverfront wharf, while Jacques' voice whispers in the background]

Jacques [off camera]: Oh hoo hoo! Zis prey, she is a tricky one! Zee Beech Hobo population has been in decline over zee last decades......weeth ze loss of prime feeding grounds along zee public beeches [beaches] mostly to blame. We have been een zis area for weeks, tracking what could be zee last known refuges of zis majestic creature.

[Camera pans to Jacques, crouched behind a trash can; while Raoul and Felipe hold a large map over their faces with holes cut out so they can see.]

Jacques: Oh Ho ho! Zere zey are! Ze majestic Beech Hobos! A sight like zis is very rare indeed! [excitedly points to a small group of homeless men, huddled under a picnic shelter trying to get out of the weather]

[Jacques sneaks closer to the picnic shelter, holding up a small branch in a ridiculous attempt to conceal themselves. Raoul and Felipe walk sideways toward the homeless, their faces clearly visible through the cut outs in the map. The homeless men are all looking at the Frenchmen as they move to withing 6 feet from the picnic shelter.]

Jacques: Oh ho! Even though zey have spotted us, they vill not run. Zey have become accustomed to zee presence of people. Over the years, these Majestic Creatures have now been reduced to being fed by man.......

[Jacques raises his arm in a "ready" signal]

Jacques:........Felipe.....

[Behind him, Felipe readies a bucket he seemed to have pulled from thin air. Inside appears to be fish parts surrounded by gristle and red jello]

Jacques:.......Ze Chum........ [Jacques' arm falls in a "go" sign]

[Felipe hurls the bucket of Chum at the homeless men in the shelter. Being hit by the nasty mess, they react loudly]

Hobo #1: What the hell?!?!?......What IS this......

Hobo #2: Can I have a dollar?

Hobo #1:.....I am a MAN dammit, and I deserve to be treated with more respect than this......

Hobo #3: The devil's in my pancakes?!?!

Jacques:.....Ah, see how they wallow in ze chum. They are not satisfied and still zey cry out for more......Felipe.....ease their hunger..........

[Felipe seems to magically have pulled yet another bucket of Chum from thin air. With a grunt, he hurls it at the group in the shelter, hitting Hobo #1 squarely in the chest]

Hobo #3: More pancakes please!

Hobo#1: That's it!! I'm calling the cops!!! [grabs bundle of belongings, runs from the shelter]

Hobo #2: I said I wanted a dollar!

Jacques: Zat is all zee time ve have for today. Come back next time as ve hunt for zee Southern Goth.

[Music fade out, Jacques does a crazy Frenchman jig with Felipe. Raoul stands there, holding map over face still]

_______________________________________________________________

Ah, the weekend. Nothing says "I love you" like going downtown in a thunderstorm to go to the farmer's market (that was closed because of the weather) with your wife.

But the day wasn't a total loss. We found a new place to eat called The Dixie Grill. It seemed to have been an old southern Diner that had been restored to an alternative breakfast restaurant. It seemed to attract tourist, privileged idiots who felt like not obeying the "please wait to be seated" sign and waiting 20 minutes for a table and instead seated themselves, and us. After a better-than-expected breakfast, we tried to do a little shopping by huddling under our too small umbrella and walking in the downtown. Well, most of the businesses there were bars...and closed. Also, people don't seem to understand how to walk around someone holding an umbrella. Most passerby insisted on using the "run straight at the guy and see if he moves" approach. Given that said "guy" is about 6', weighs 260 lbs, has studied martial arts(we call it "dancing" in the family), and is called Fat Rock; I don't think he moved. As we were walking, we found the hobos. Hence the above story.

Fat Rock.

Robert!

2008-06-18T08:00:00.000-07:00

As established in the first post, my parents are now known as Frank and Marie, from "Everybody Loves Raymond" The similarities go far deeper than a love of marinara.

First, my parents. Frank, big loud, slightly crass, but mostly sweet. Marie, well, she's Marie, with less hairspray and more Talbots twinsets. Fat Rock is Raymond, even though he married into the family. Much loved, funny, at times the "favored son" (in law). I'm Debra. A little tightly wound, desperately trying to keep the squabbling to a minimum. And oh yes, there is squabbling. Loud outbursts, bickering and force feeding of pasta are not uncommon in the Barone household. Like I said, the similarities run deep.

Last, but not least, is Robert. Dear, sweet, tall, deep voiced, officer Robert. My baby brother. God help him, the description fits him to a tee. The tallest Barone, out sized only by Fat Rock. He is also a police officer, and is moving up the ranks quickly. Until recently, and I mean VERY recently, Robert still lived with Frank and Marie, in his childhood bedroom, dinosaur wallpaper and all. Although this did save him lots of money, both in rent and not unsubstantial food bills, this did lead to one shortage.

Women.

As can be expected, this weighed heavily on Robert. Not so heavy that he, you know, MOVED OUT or anything, but heavy. Oddly, the ladies weren't knocking down the door to spend long romantic evenings under the Superman sheets. But it's not like he didn't try. Before Fat Rock and I were married, he and Robert decided to start eharmony pages. Fat Rock got 50+ matches (sorry ladies!) but Robert, after the 2 week trial, wound up with zero. The odds improved when Fat Rock "improved" (i.e. fabricated) Robert's page.

The ladies were now interested in meeting a man who "liked reading" (comic books), was "into physical fitness" (riding his bike at work, inside) and "loved classic movies" (mostly early Jack Black). A mention of his obsession with video games was conspicuously absent. With the women biting, Robert decided the time was right for his own love shack.

And what a shack it is! A lovely apartment on a golf course, right in the middle of the marinara zone. He even bought new sheets. The only negatives are that the sheets no longer seem to clean themselves, and the magic noodle pot no longer fills itself with spaghetti. Since the big move about 1 year ago, his dating life has taken off. Robert is currently back on the market, so if you are a single woman 24-30 who likes cartoons, beer, and video games, have I got the man for you!

Lemur Queen

Ah...... Surpise Kung Fu Porn.......

2008-06-14T16:40:00.000-07:00

Ever get caught doing something that you weren't really doing. Like pulling out of a parking lot that services two buildings, a great pizza parlor and a strip club? Well, one of my wife's friends saw me doing that, and I got reported. What I was doing was just breaking my diet, but I was turned in for allegedly staring down another woman's sweater meat. What saved me was it was 1:30 pm on a Tuesday, and it turns out that Bigun's Gentleman's Club didn't open until 4 that day. There's was no way I could have been gazing into the eyes of a strange woman's nipple. So I was off the hook, and I got my double cheese/double bacon pizza with no punishment.

But I had a similar circumstance happen to me recently. I was new in town, and looking for a good video rental place. Not like Blockbuster, but a real movie place. Basically, I wanted crappy Kung Fu movies. I crave Kung Fu movies like a fat kid wants chocolate. I own tons of them:

Street Fighter,

Return of the Street Fighter,

Sister Street Fighter,

Fists of Fury,

Kung Fu Hustle,

Born Invincible,

Drunken Master,

36 Chambers of Shaolin

Return to the 36 Chambers of Shaolin, etc, etc.

But you get the point. If it's dubbed and horrible, and has punching, I'll love it. But a problem has arisen. I had just moved, and all my movies were in boxes. So I asked a co-worker, T.A.D., where I could find cheezy movies. "Oh, you need to go to Kung Fu Classics," says T.A.D, "they've been open for years, and I've never been there, but they've got to have what you need." I am on cloud nine the rest of the morning. On my lunch break, I tear out and find the place. Kung Fu Classics. And just my luck, it's open. So I walk in, and am greeted by a wall of crappy awesomeness. They have everything, even the obscure stuff like "Master of the Flying Guillotine" and the wildly redubbed Wu Tang Clan movies. But then I noticed something. All the movies are on video tape. No DVDs. There's even a few Betamax tapes tucked into the action-packed gems on the shelves. And......the movies are covered in dust. Odd. It's about that time I notice the plywood door in the back on the display area. I figured the DVDs were in the back, they had to be. With a name like Kung Fu Classics........there has to be Kung Fu DVDs around here somewhere. So I throw open the door and march into the back room.

Holy Crap.

porn.

And not just porn......but PORN. The back room is at least 3 times the size of the front room, and is filled with a cornucopia of naughtiness. I was unpleasantly surprised. I mean, I'm not gay or anything, but I was there for one thing and one thing only: to buy badly dubbed slugfests with names like "Sliver Fox versus Eagle" or "Blood of the Dragon". I was certainly not there for "Babes Behind Bars 15: Pudding Doom" or whatever. There's no one else in the place, except a 900 year old black guy wearing a black beanie. The man was so old he probably farted dust. And he was definately wearing a beanie cap. I looked dead at it from 3 feet away. It looked like the beanie hat Goober wore on the Andy Griffith Show. Undaunted, I asked where the Kung Fu was. Goober was stumped for few seconds, but it dawned on him I was looking for non-dirty movies, and he immediately shooed me out.

Seems I wasn't the type of customer they wanted...............

Fat Rock.

First Mumble

2008-06-14T15:48:00.001-07:00

Greetings all. This actually isn't my idea. My wife (Lemur Queen) has several friends who have blogs, and she thinks that "we" should do something. By "we" she means me. And by "do something" she means start up ourselves. Well, here it is. We're newlyweds, and so far we haven't gotten sick of each other yet, and we live outside the Marinara Zone. More on that later.

Or now. Ever see that episode of "Everybody Loves Raymond" where Ray and Deb are trying to decide how close they want to live to Ray's parents? Ray showed Deb a map and told her that anyplace within 30 minutes of his parents was a bad idea, as they could pop in unannounced with his mother's food still hot from her stove. This is called the Marinara Zone.

Anyplace more than 30 minutes away to 2 hours away is the Safe Zone. A parent can't just "pop over for a bit" but if they come, they won't spend the night. However, if you live more than 2 hours away, you are in the Overnight Zone. Overnight Zone is bad, because while parent's might not come over as often, they will definitely spend the night. And we don't want that.

It's not because we don't like parents, it's because *I* (the husband, aka Fat Rock) weigh over 260 lbs and sleep with no shirt. Also, I wander the apartment in the morning with no shirt, and have frightened away small children with my bulk. Also to be taken into account is both sets of parents ability to guilt. They wield it like both a scalpel and a bazooka. Over the years I have grown far too callous for guilt to work on me. Lemur Queen, however, is exquisitely susceptible.

From guilt from both sides of the family. This is also bad. Why is this bad? Because we live in a small apartment (The Fortress) that has one bed. It also has a pull-out couch. Fat guys and pull-outs don't go well together. But if Frank and Marie(her parents) or Major Rock and Barbie (my folks) come over, guess who's on the sofa? Or rather, guess who's fat ass is straining the supports of the sofa bed and making the supports bend? Me. My wife is a runner and ballerina. She's wafer thin. I'm freaking Hardee's Monster Burger with Jumbo Fries. But still, we'll be in the sleeper sofa when they come.

And they seem to threaten to come by often. You see, we live near the coast. Actually, we're 5 minutes from a beach. The town we live in is a major tourist destination. Friends and relatives are always wanting to "drop in and say hey". Funny, they never wanted to come see us when we were renting a room from two hippie brothers who reeked of patchouli and lived nowhere near the beach, but I digress. But you get the point: moochers come at us like sharks on a whale carcass.

But at least we're not close enough form random visits. We're Out of the Marinara Zone, and we're happy. Enjoy.

Fat Rock out.