if i could spell, i'd be dangerous

I'm FA-reeeE.zing.

I would be wearing my winter coat if I had use of my arms whilst in it. Unfortunately, I look like the kid from A Christmas Story sitting behind a cube wall flailing around in my chair. Every time I pick up my pencil or reach for the keyboard I spill a cup of coffee.

So - I have wrapped my scarf around my shoulders, layed my gloves across my thighs, and accumulated hours of "break" time making sure my coffee never reaches room temperature.

I'm STILL cold!

It is 40 degrees outside. It is cold outside. I am INSIDE. A shelter.

Webster:

shel.ter:

1 a: something that covers or affords protection b: an establishment providing food and shelter (as to the homeless) c: an establishment that houses and feeds stray animals

2: a position or the state of being covered and protected

I am not homeless, nor am I a stray, but I do see the word protection listed twice. Apparently, this office building does not consider itself a "shelter" and does not promise protection from frost bite, pneumonia, chipped teeth, muscle lock down, 2nd degree esophageal burns from chugging hot liquids, or sexual harassment due to nipple explosion.

I've even tried wearing my gloves. But my keyboard froze 6 times and I was even accidently spelling a word correctly here and there.

I don't know what to do. I'm at the end of my frozen extremities. It's either thermals or permanent brain damage.

Thou Dost Protest Too Much

In my chair

If you have read my other blogs you know I spend twelve hours a day for three days in a chair. So I have decided to push the limits of my confines and record how many things I can do in my chair as opposed to grumping on about what I can't do. If you read something you feel stretches the physical realms of chairdome, shut your trap. It's my chair. And I'll do what I want.

1. Balance on my butt.

2. Day dream about being out of my chair.

3. Facebook stalk. (could be you)

4. Stew about how Ann Curry made it down from Mt. Kilimanjaro.

5. Leg lifts.

6. Breathe burnt popcorn. No one ever gets it right. Ever.

7. Plot about destroying microwave with stapler, so no more burnt popcorn.

8. Apply lip chap repeatedly.

9. Freeze.

10. Starve.

11. Count how many times Sergio walks to the break room. To burn popcorn.

12. Sergio is my "code" name for him. And he's on trip #7. He's been here 2 hours.

13. He's actually wearing a path into the carpet between his cube-o-cot and the vending machine.

14. Forget what I can do in my chair. Who cares. Sergio is up again.

15. His cell phone just went off and he's not there to answer it, mute it, or catch it before it vibrates onto the floor.

16. His disgruntled neighbor is now yelling out for him, b/c she's taking all the calls. She can see him flirting with a frontline tech across the room. He's been cube stalking her all morning and now has her barricaded. His arm motions tell me he's giving her tales of his anaconda.

17. Anaconda is NOT code.

18. He's back in his no work zone. But I think he's eating. Burnt popcorn.

19. He can see me watching him, but I don't care. I think it's fascinating. Like Animal Planet.

20. Oh. Up again. Coming my way... Gotta g*!^&*%&^$%@

Aubrey's Blog Club ~

Relevant or Ridiculous? (long post warning)
Posted by Rich on November 28, 2008
As with many areas in my life these days, High School Musical seems to be the nexus of my latest rant/pet peeve/consternation.

No, I’m not going to complain about the HSM franchise and its ubiquitous appeal to children all the world over. The issue isn’t even the fact that the related soundtracks somehow made their way onto my iPod—for the kids’sake only. I’m actually going to give the kids from East High a pass on this one.

My gripe is actually directed towards Christians. Can’t understand the connection? Let me explain.

A couple nights ago, my wife rented some movies for my children since they will be out of school for Thanksgiving break. One of these movies was titled “Sunday School Musical”. As she told me what she had rented, I wondered if it was just coincidence that the title so closely mirrored “High School Musical”. When she got home with the movies and I looked at the DVD cover, I realized there was no coincidence. The cover art was designed to look just like the Disney product…only with a slightly different color scheme. And of course, they changed the word “High” to “Sunday”. Obviously this would make ALL the difference in the world. The fact that the tag line for the movie was “They put the ‘Hip’ in Worship” only lessened my expectations further. Not wanting my own jaded opinion to affect my children’s review of the movie, I kept my mouth shut.

After I came home from work the next day, I asked my daughter if she had watched “Sunday School Musical”. She had, and she liked it. When I inquire about her favorite part, she told me that it was a song called “You’re not the boss of me”.

Fantastic. What a wonderful life lesson for my daughter to take from a musical about Sunday school. Candy-coated anarchy. (Ok, maybe that’s a stretch. Maybe.)

Thankfully, I think she gave the movie about as much consideration as she gives me when I tell her that spending her birthday money on another Barbie is just wasting it—since she has 37 of them already and they all look exactly the same. Naked with irrevocably damaged hair. But it did get me thinking.

Why do Christians feel that by tweaking something that was successful as secular entertainment, they can somehow make it acceptable for Christian audiences but also relevant to society in general? “Sunday School Musical” is but one example. In the local Christian bookstore, I saw a display for Guitar Praise—a video game obviously mimicking the hugely successful Guitar Hero game series. The look & game play are exactly the same as Guitar Hero, but instead of playing famous rock standards, you play Christian worship songs. It’s the same—but different.

Now before you think that I’m going all “Holier than Thou” on this subject, let me tell you that I own Guitar Hero. I’m actually fairly good too. So as a Christian, should I automatically want to play Guitar Praise instead of Guitar Hero? I hope not. Because I don’t.

In the spirit of brevity (strategically placed after the 514th word of the post), I’ll cite just one more example. Church signs.

Seemingly all the rage in Christianity today is the drive to have the most clever, pithy saying possible on one’s church sign. I’m sure this started with original sign messages like the good ol’:

C-H-C-H . What’s missing from church? U-R

Haha! Clever. Funny. Makes me smile. But from there it’s gone downhill.

Rather than think of original sayings, churches just began taking various marketing campaigns for consumer products and changing a couple words to make them applicable to the church. Or so they thought.

Topping the list of my personal most hated church signs is:

For all you do, this blood’s for you

Is that seriously supposed to make a non-believer want to visit that church? Are they supposed to think “Gee, those Christians sure do have their finger on the pulse of society. There’s something different about them, and I just HAVE to find out what it is!”

I think not.

Sadly, if there are Christians like myself that feel these attempts to simply take something the world produced, change a few words, and re-market it as “Christian” come across as lame & ineffective; is it any wonder that many non-Christians claim that the Christian faith requires you to check your brain at the doors of the church?

The way I see it, Jesus came to this earth and brought a message that was different. His message was strange, yet attractive to unbelievers and it drove the religious leaders batty. He came to a religious establishment (church) that was consumed with following The Law for their salvation, and he basically told them that The Law was now useless for that purpose. He didn’t tweak their rules a little and claim to have a “New Way”. He turned everything they knew completely upside down. He then called us to follow Him—to be the Light in the Darkness.

He didn’t call us to be the “Fun mirror to the world”. You know, the kind you hold up to something so it can see its reflection…only it’s a reflection that is slightly altered by the funky shape of the mirror.

Fun mirrors don’t change anything. They just make people laugh before they walk away.

This is how I feel on Sunday.

No Alibi.

The future is something which everyone reaches at the rate of sixty minutes an hour, whatever he does, whoever he is. ~C.S. Lewis

Time has been on my mind a lot lately.

I suppose it is because I feel there is so little I get to control. I realize how much time I’ve wasted over the years. How much time I had to do whatever I wanted and chose nothing.

All those moments of nothing could have added up to something.

There are whole years for which I hope I'll never be cross-examined, for I could not give an alibi. ~Mignon McLaughlin

I am working two jobs. To pay my bills, I work three to four days a week, 12 hours a day. This has to be on the weekend because week days are devoted to my other job. During these twelve hour days I sit, and sit. My back usually hurts from the two positions I am able to achieve and still be physically capable of doing my job. The coffee is a mockery. I am yelled at and demeaned by co-workers, all the while missing the weekend activities of friends and family.

This is what I do 36 hours a week. I’ve been doing it for almost a year. I hate it. It not only makes me an emotional zombie, but a physical one as well. It’s not healthy and I am unhappy.

Time is the most indefinable yet paradoxical of things; the past is gone, the future is not come, and the present becomes the past even while we attempt to define it, and, like the flash of lightning, at once exists and expires. ~Charles Caleb Colton

Wait.

This is not my truth. I am happy. And my needs are being met. I am complaining about a job that pays my bills. About the 36 hours a week that provide a work schedule conducive to building a new business.

My time is mine to choose. And I’ve chosen.

No I will not make out with you. Did you hear that? This girl wants to make out with me in the middle of class. You got Chlorophyll Man up there talking about God knows what and all she can talk about is making out with me. I'm here to learn, everybody, not to make out with you. Go on with the chlorophyll. ~ Billy Madison

All I can think about is a chicken biscuit.

~It Wasn't Ours To Pin~

It was between women's studies and philosophy
that I could see the whites of his eyes.

-when you interrupted he was right there.

You couldn't have timed my wait with that precision without help.

And I feel like blaming it on the moon.
It has always been a playa' in the discord of my chi.

So I spoke of life as though you were no longer part of it.
And in some awkward string of syllables you said you were sorry.
But I knew you weren't. Not really.

And like it always was -if your timing had been better, we may have made good of it.
But we didn't.

We danced around with formality.
Never pinning down the moment.

November 13, 2008

....but really i have. like today. and yesterday.

Wink, wink.

Pink Jello
You spin circumstance and sugar to grope my thoughts.
Your words raise me sweet and low.

I swear.

You fade by sundrops but drip through my day
Like heavy cream.
Beating into my night-
pink jello.

I swear again.

Bittersweet

Hours alone thinking about the walls and what if they were blue. Painting myself apart of something bigger.
Hours alone thinking about the walls and what if they were you. Painting myself apart of something new.
Nights spent drawing open boxes with no tops and no bottoms. Full and full again. Full of something blue. Blue and something you.
Never quite what I see. Less than what I want. Blue and bright. New and light. Love and lust. Dreams and dust.
Hours alone thinking about the walls and what if they were blue. Painting myself apart of something dark.
Darker than the blue of you. Nothing of the blue you are. Darker than you could ever be. Blue as if you drowned with me.
Hours alone floating on the walls. The walls of blue. The walls of you. Painting myself apart of something new.
I've imagined memorizing the scent of your hair.
October 30, 2008

Jesus love.

When I am worshipping, I am chin to Heaven bleeding appreciation and awe of my Creator. My experience is my own. The welling up and setting free. All me. Bedlam ceases. Virtual cathedrals, highways, and skies. Sanctuary is the space I touch. Imperfect perfection tugs at my soul. I might whisper my words, but mostly I am mute. My throat no longer obeys my mind. Energy consumes my body and when I am ready I go in new peace. I step out into new day. Brighter than the moment before. Smiling in the afterglow of praise. Transcendence and wholeness cover me. And I know I’ll be here again.

Ferocious Beast

I can see my eyelashes reflecting off the inside of my glasses.
They move when I blink.
I want to push them apart like thick fronds in a rainforest and step through them.

Tiger like.

Any half-awake materialist well knows - that which you hold holds you.

Three Thumbs Up.

I'm taking a breather and reading some friends' blogs when I get my 63rd call of the day. Call goes like this:

Me: (dead and monotoned with a hint of 'i care') "Repair, how can I help you?"

Gennie Williams: "Huh? Hell-ow? Uh, yeh. I uh need someone to help me. Uh. Hell-ow?"

Me: (small smirk appearing at corner of mouth) "I'm listening. How can I help you?"

Gennie Williams: "Uh, yeh. Thayw's this co-ward outside mye howas and it's poling on a bowad."

Me: (absolute silence)

Gennie Williams: "Uh, yeh. hell-ow? Uh yeh, so it's poling on a bowad on the side of my howas and I need someone to come owat and fix this fo me."

Me: "Ok."

Gennie Williams: "Nowa I have a doctor's ahpontment on Monday, so whahen do you thank someone will be owat to fix that?"

Me: ................dialtone.

Beauty Queen for a Day

If tiny brown infected mice were being chased through the sewer by technology and corporate sludge they would spill from a tub faucet into my brain as beeps. The beeps come. Over and over. Beating against my white porcelain head trying to scratch and chew their way through my brain to freedom on the other side, leaving stains of rust and disgust. With every nibble another curse spills into my brain.
Gray matter is forced through the chewed screen and chased across the scuffed floor hardly scathed by the screeches and falling brooms. And if I stay still, I might see Poison in the corner of my eye. Hitching a ride on that same apathetic mouse. Waving at admiring fans and choking on fumes, but hell bent on making her reign inside my brain. It's no wonder the funk wins out in the end. The beauty queen may lose respect, but she never really loses.

Its not atrophy until someone loses a limb!

My thighs feel like they're filled with the makings of an omelette. Nothing's going on. Thick mud moves through my veins with no intentions of nourishing the poor African village on my knee caps. If the mice were to make it through the layers of petrified cells into my blood stream they would choke and sputter, backing up behind the fat kid on the slide. Beep.
Fat kid gets stuck.
I can sense the sun is setting. Confirmation only comes when a stream of light pierces my retina and wakens the page boy sleeping quietly in the corner. Jab, nudge, poke. Darkness will soon follow. Darkness to match my mood. Black like mouse poop. Like a starving African village. Like the beauty queen's soul. Black like dead brain matter. Beep.

IN THE EVENT OF AN EMERGENCY:

A few days ago corporate sent out an 'Evacuation Plan' email. It consisted of 9 pages. I read every single one of them. Not because I'm so concerned with my safety in the event of a terrorist hit on a communications building in Greenville, SC., but because it was like reading about a train wreck before it happened.

The procedures were detailed and precise. No page unturned. Unless you consider the 'get out as fast as you can' page.

Evacuation Plan A :

1. In the event of an emergency, remain calm.

2. You will be informed by your manager if evacuation procedures are necessary.

3. Upon evacuation, politely complete your call in under one minute. If it becomes apparent your call cannot be completed politely in under one minute, inform your caller you are under mandatory emergency evacuation, obtain a call back number, assure them their call will be returned, and disconnect.

4. Place your phone in ' meeting' aux status, take your computer out of licensed mode, burn any important documents that may possibly endure current disaster, gather any personal items you can carry comfortably - down 42 flights of stairs (and possibly back up again), empty office refrigerators of any perishable foods, stay clear of windows, sharp objects, electricity, and/or flammable office supplies.

5. Listen for the announcement that your group is ready to be evacuated.

Evacuation Order:

CEO

CFO

Sales Managers

Sales Team

Tech Managers

Tech IIIs

Tech IIs

Tech Is

Frontline Techs

Office Assistants

Contracted Temps

Janitors

Scum of the Earth

6. Calmly, courteously, and carefully make your way to the stairwells located in the SNE, ENW, WNS, EWS and NEW corners of the building.

7. Exit the building to your left.

8. Look both ways before crossing the street.

9. Find your manager. If your manager is not present, follow corporate hierarchy until you meet up with your team.

10. State "present" when your name is called.

11. Under NO circumstances are you to re-enter the building. Unless, you left your computer in license mode.

Steps 12 thru 32 may compromise corporate competition clauses.

* I can assure you, I was one of few that read and absorbed this evacuation mandate. My prediction for any future emergencies involves, chaos, trampling, computers tossed through windows, and employees dangling from phone cords. Thumbs up corporate, but you're dealing with the general public, and generally that means your plan is going up with the building.

Whether it's a bright yellow Dollar General or a $5000 Birkin, everyone's got a bag!

Look around. Bags of groceries, doggy bags, bags under your eyes, diaper bags, beach bags, gym bags, barf bags, plastic bags, paper bags, hemp bags....

Bags of flaming poo, sandbags, bagpipes, colostomy bags, ZipLock bags, baggy pants, bag ladies, storage bags, bodybags, carpet bags, tea bags, bags of cash, bags of evidence, Joey Bag of Donuts, Bag O' Bones, bag of tricks, vacuum bags, Saggy Baggy Elephant, bags of candy, old bag, trash bags, ....

Whew. I'm bagged.

Dedicated to Hawt Soup ;)

"This sentence is made of lead (and a sentence of lead gives a reader an entirely different sensation from one made of magnesium). This sentence is made of yak wool. This sentence is made of sunlight and plums. This sentence is made of ice. This sentence is made from the blood of the poet. This sentence was made in Japan. This sentence glows in the dark. This sentence was born with a caul. This sentence has a crush on Norman Mailer. This sentence is a wino and doesn't care who knows it. Like many italic sentences, this one has Mafia connections. This sentence is a double Cancer with a Pisces rising. This sentence lost its mind searching for the perfect paragraph. This sentence refuses to be diagrammed. This sentence ran off with an adverb clause. This sentence is 100 percent organic: it will not retain a facsimile of freshness like thoses sentences of Homer, Shakespeare, Goethe et al., which are loaded with preservatives. This sentence leaks. This sentence doesn't look Jewish... This sentence has accepted Jesus Christ as its personal savior. This sentence once spit in a book reviewer's eye. This sentence can do the funky chicken. This sentence has seen too much and forgotten too little. This sentence is called "Speedoo" but its real name is Mr. Earl. This sentence may be pregnant. This sentence suffered a split infinitive - and survivied. If this sentence has been a snake you'd have bitten it. This sentence went to jail with Clifford Irving. This sentence went to Woodstock. And this little sentence went wee wee wee all the way home. " — Tom Robbins

It's been 2.5 years since I last posted. Hard to wrap your brain around, I know.

Here is an update on La Feroce Bete:

* I'm no longer cube dwelling 40 hours a week. Nope, dropped it to 36! This all takes place in three days. The other four days are reserved for my newest endeavor, Cake Squared Inc.

* I'm still a Scorpio. My mother refused to change my birth date. Hater.

* Gas now costs more than a beer. For a while there it was, "Guinness, or a half gallon of gas?" But it's getting better. Domestic beer's taking the hit now.

*W. is sliding home.

* Marie Osmond didn't win Dancing With the Stars. In fact, she didn't win anything. So, actually, bad example. Nothing's changed there.

* While we're on the 'nothing's changed' let me add - my milkshake still brings all the boys to the yard.

*Boris Yeltsin, George Carlin, Isaac Hayes, and Heath Ledger all went to the sweet by and by in the sky.

* Britney Spears is sober. So is Sara.

*Ann Curry is still bludgeoning the news for the American public via The Today Show. While off the air, reports say, she chews her face.

Obviously, lots of things have changed since I stopped blogging. But I'm back and time can once again stand still!