Wednesday, April 27, 2011

I have a bike, but I probably shouldn’t have a bike – Part Three

[If you’re reading this, make sure you read “Part One” and “Part Two” first – context it almost necessary… they’re the backstory, and this is the final chapter.]

OK. Flash forward many years. Many, many, many years later from where we last left off, to today.

I recently bought my first bike since the fancy new (read: cursed) bike I last rode many, many years ago. You know, the bike I rode only twice and had horrible experiences both of those times? The bike upon which I was infested head-to-toe with baby ticks the first time out, and then attacked by the ocean the second time out? Yeah… that was the last bike I owned until now.

So, I took the new bike out for its first run. Other than the wind being a little chilly, resulting in gigantic pain in my ears, things went as planned, and I looked forward to the next ride.

As planned, I took the new bike out for a second ride a few days later.

And wouldn’t you know…

Flat tire.

I shrugged it off, but was immediately curious as to what really was going on in the universe.

So then I took the new bike on its third ride.

And… flat tire. Again.

As expected, by this point in time I’m beginning to think that I wasn’t meant to own or ride a bike.



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Monday, April 25, 2011

Turns out, the walrus left!

[TheGreatCon, aka Con Lee, wrote a guest post the other day (Is there a walrus in my room?). This is his follow-up. Read here for the backstory.]

In a strange turn of events, while watching the Bulls & Hawks win last night, I was joined at Manny’s (a local bar with great wings I might add) by my boss and fellow coworker. With each sip of his Budweiser, I know my night was going to get worse and worse. “Hey, you know what we don’t have a lot of at the apartment? I ask. “Apples! We need more apples and fruits in our apartment. What a great snack!” “With a look of ‘WTF’ are you talking about on his face, I quietly went back to drinking my Delirium while singing along to Cee Lo Green’s, ‘Fuck You’. Ironic?

Anywho, out of nowhere, he looks at me and says, “I’m moving out.” I think to myself, did he read the posting I wrote?! Oh man, how funny and awkward if he really did! “The apartment is too small and I am waking you up every time I use the ‘John’” Strangle, I found myself thinking, ‘Did I do something wrong? Why is he leaving? He is leaving to go to another apartment where there is already two other people. Is someone else moving in?’

Nope! I have the place to myself!

Well, I found myself waking up in the middle of the night wondering if the disturbing images will ever leave my mind. After vomiting, I realized no, likely not.

Thanks to all the viewers and thanks to JRM at Workspace Writings for letting me post.


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Friday, April 22, 2011

Earth Day, Year 3096, and Cold Elbows

[Originally written: 4/22/2010]

Today, apparently, is Earth Day. The day the Earth was made? Probably not, but there’s a chance. Why not, though? It’s not like Christmas is the day that Jesus was born, so why can’t Earth Day be celebrated as the day the Earth was made? I think the world would celebrate a little more, and give a little more respect to the occasion and our home if we gave the Earth a birthday.

I spoke with a friend today and somehow the year 3096 came up. I don’t remember what the context was, but I had to pause and think about it: will humanity be around over a thousand years from now? Will we still be solely on this planet? Will we have colonized parts of space by then? Will the world be so overpopulated that only the rich and powerful live in space as the poor and weak suffer in the “slums” of Earth?

3096 is a long way off by our measure, but it’s really only just around the corner in the reality of the Universe.

Last weekend I went to a concert and was standing next to a guy whom I, obviously, didn’t know. The show goes on as these things tend to do, and people dance and groove in their space as desired. I don’t usually get bothered when people have a good time – I like to have a good time and let my hair down as well – but all of a sudden, this guy just seemed entirely too close and was definitely invading my space. I didn’t really notice until his elbow touched me. The only thing I noticed at that point, and which started my dislike for the guy, was that his elbow was extremely cold… unnaturally cold. I almost felt disgusted.

Needless to say, I promptly adjusted my space, made a comment to a friend, quickly added the mental note into my BlackBerry so that I could write about it at a later date, and went on with my evening. Hair down and all.

What do the top three anecdotes have to do with each other? Not much, except… that Earth Day should be a real celebration of our home, not just a date on a calendar which gives people a reminder to say “happy Earth Day,” “plant a tree,” and “take care of the Earth.” If we don’t give more respect to our home, my anecdote of what the year 3096 may be like could very well become a reality sometime in the future. Respect Earth every day, and everything should turn out just fine. As for the last anecdote: keep your elbows to yourself.

Thank you.


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Thursday, April 21, 2011

Is there a walrus in my room?

[On my drive to work this morning, I was informed that I would be having a guest post today from TheGreatCon, aka Con Lee. Show him some love. Here is his story.]

My job requires that I travel a lot. Typically, I will be on the road three to four weeks of the month. Needless to say, I am familiar with the process which accompanies traveling (i.e. TSA requirements, hotels, car rentals, local food hot spots, etc.). In fact, there is something to be said about going into a hotel and having them treat you pretty well because you have earned their respect… or rather, you have spent thousands with their company. Regardless, at the end of a long day, I can go back to my private room and relax, unwind, catch up on emails and talk to my wife and friends.

Recently, my job relocated to New York City (Upper East Side to be exact) for the entire month of April. Each year, I enjoy this particular case because it gives me a chance to visit NYC and enjoy all it has to offer, and my wife will even travel out over the weekends when she can. Plus, it’s an opportunity to make a good deal of money as well.

Now, because the cost of living is so high in NYC, we are forced asked to share tiny one-bedroom apartments with our coworkers. Fine, I understand that. It makes sense to save money that way.

Here is the problem: I was paired up with my boss who loves to stay out drinking all night. As you can imagine, when he gets back to the apartment, he is a little gassy AND being 65 years old, has somewhat of a bladder issue. Still, both issues are what you can expect from drinking all night.

However, the bathroom is located in my bedroom and to get in there he has to slide the door open, which happens to also be off its track (I have already tried to fix it, it’s just old, like my boss) and walk right past my head.

No kidding – if you are using the toilet in my bedroom, you are no less than 10 feet from my bed. So, of course, I wake up several times throughout the night to the door sliding open and my boss wearing only an undershirt and his tighty whities walking past me to the bog.

Except the past two night have been cause for alarm. I am starting to hear the sound of a person who doesn’t have a high fiber intake and is still VERY gassy. For several minutes, I lay in bed, sickened and forced to listen to what I can only assume is the slaying of a walrus.

Oh, and someone never closes the bathroom door either! “Hey Guy!!! Are you serious?! Close the effin door!” I yell to him. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were awake” he replied. “I don’t care, ALWAYS close the door. What is wrong with you?”

Let that soak in for a minute…

Finally, I made it back to bed and got up at 6am to head out to work. I have a nice note apologizing. Thanks!

So the moral of the story? As long as you write an apology note, anything you do is forgivable.

That said, payback is a bitch.

Follow @TheGreatCon on Twitter!


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Wednesday, April 20, 2011

I have a bike, but I probably shouldn’t have a bike – Part Two

Read “Part One”. The following will make more sense if you do.

So the second time I took my fancy new bike for a ride after my nightmarish first go-round, I opted to ride along the boardwalk early in the day. I had taken this ride hundreds of times growing up, so knew there shouldn’t be any drama this time around.

When I got to the boardwalk, the ocean was calm, bright sunny sky, birds flying above – it made perfect sense to bring the bike along the water and ride along the compacted, water-soaked sand.

After giving it a try, I quickly found I couldn’t build up the speed necessary to continue on. So I stood to watch the ocean.

I squared up with the sea and held the bike with one hand by the center of its handlebar as it stood next to me.

I saw a wave begin to build as it neared the shoreline. I took a step back.

It grew larger than I first anticipated. I took another step back.

The wave crashed and rushed to my feet.

I freakedthefuckout and forgot I was holding a bike.

I turned toward the bike to run. But the bike was in my way.

I tripped over it. The water rushed over me and the bike as I laid there, unable to get up as my legs were on top of the bike.

I rode home soaking wet. Barely able to ride because of all the sand in the gears.

And the bike was then covered and full of corrosive salt water.

And I never rode the bike again.


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Monday, April 18, 2011

I have a bike, but I probably shouldn’t have a bike – Part One

I’ve had trouble with bikes. I mean literally, I’ve physically had trouble with them. It hasn’t been that I’m too tall, too short, too heavy, or have balance problems – I have had bad luck with bikes in the sense that it has resulted in physical trouble to me. Let me explain.

Sometime during my teens, my parents bought me a mountain bike. I was pretty excited about a fancy new mountain bike, so I took it out for a ride, which turned out to be no normal ride at all.

I was in the woodsy-hillsy part of town on a summer’s day, minding my own business whilst riding my fancy new bike.

I stopped for a rest and to take in nature. I looked down and saw specs of dirt on my white socks. I looked closer, and they were moving.

I focused the best I could – and found the specs were red and had legs, many legs actually, and they were all over my shoes, legs, and shorts.

And then I saw them on my arms and shirt.

And then I realized they were baby ticks.

And that’s when I freakedthefuckout.


Which resulted in my parents hosing me down, in the backyard, wearing nothing but underwear, after driving home nearly naked since I tied my clothes to the bike rack on the back of the car so not to bring any more ticks inside than were already on my skin.

Needless to say, I didn’t ride my fancy new bike for quite some time after that.

But when I did? Nope – didn’t go well that time either.


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Thursday, April 14, 2011

Dear, Cheechmosk: Go away.

Someone left a thoughtful (probably not) comment on one of my posts. Let’s dissect:
ceheomsk ( has left a new comment on your post "Face threading – wtf.":

Sorry for my bad english. Thank you so much for your good post. Your post helped me in my college assignment, If you can provide me more details please email me.

cheap clomid (<--this was a link to some other realm)

First off, “ceheomsk” makes no sense whatsoever. It neither elicits a name, meaning, or any other type of identification. It does, however, give off the impression that you’re a douche, and I shall refer to you as ‘Cheechmosk’.

Next, my post on face threading in no way helped with any college assignment anywhere on Earth. Have you read that post? (Clearly not.) It has no value to any college assignment whatsoever, anywhere, ever. Ok?

Thirdly, what additional detail do you think I can provide on the subject? Haven’t I said enough about face threading already? If you actually read the post, you’d know that I have nothing to offer on the subject, but thank you for considering me to be a thought leader on the topic. (You’re clearly disassociated from reality. That, or dumb. Take your pick.)

Finally, what the fuck is “cheap clomid.” I did some research, and this is what I found from Google: “Clomiphene (clomid) is used to induce ovulation (egg production) in women who do not produce ova (eggs) but wish to become pregnant (infertility).”

…At what point, dear Cheechmosk, did you think I A) was a woman, B) do not produce ova, or C) wish to become pregnant?

Cheechmosk? Maybe go back to school. Maybe learn “good” English while you’re there. Then maybe, just maybe, you’ll understand what you’re doing is irrelevant, and that I’m not your target audience, and also no thank you.

Good day, sir. (Cheechmosk is masculine, right?)


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Wednesday, April 13, 2011

A random note from drunkenness

I went to enter a note into my phone and found this:

“I don't know how to put this, but, a small person came briskly walking by, tripped, recovered, and a following individual exclaimed to me: safety first!”

“I slowly turned around to write this.”

…I can only assume that by ‘small person’ I meant ‘midget’, and by ‘tripped’ I meant ‘fell the fuck down’.

...I can also only assume that by ‘slowly turned around to write this’ I meant ‘I couldn’t help myself from laughing and had to make a note of the hilarity I’ve just witnessed because I’m alone and have no one else to verbally express myself to’, and, ‘I’m also probably drunk at the moment’.


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Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Eff you, shirt collar!

I think I might be allergic to shirt collars, and I think it’s getting worse each day.

Some days all I want is to rip off my shirt, throw it in the air, kick it down, pick it up, throw it down, stomp on it, rip it, tear it, and move on with my life, happy that I no longer have a shirt collar around my neck.

Some days I think of how this must be some sort of sign that I’m meant to wear other clothing with less restrictive collars and be in a profession where it is suitable to have other options for shirt collars.

I bet you never thought you’d read a blog post about shirt collars – or maybe you have – or maybe you’ve even written your own – or thought the same… either way.

Just thought you should know.

Welcome to my life.


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Monday, April 11, 2011

Annoying 21st century communication

So I’m thinking about trying to stop using “haha” in typed conversation because it’s starting to annoy me. We need to come up with a more better way to express a laugh which does not include the dreaded LOL. (Yes, I said more better. Move on.)

I type “haha” like the rest of you when I laugh at something or find it mildly amusing. The problem is that when I read someone else’s “haha” I actually read it “Ha. Ha.”, meaning, it doesn’t read like a laugh actually sounds. And drawing out a “haha” into “hahahahahahaha” just seems misguided and annoying.

Since all this bothers me, maybe I’ll start a movement onto something better.

How about… “H”… or… {laughing}… or… hmm… you know what? No. No, this isn’t going to work. At all. Fuck.

Way to save the world from annoying parts of 21st century communication, me. Good job.


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Friday, April 8, 2011

Thanks in advance for the Russian Banyas

Dear, Russia –

I hear you have some Banyas. I would like to purchase two (2) of your Banyas for good time at home. Please deliver and install.

Or… please provide Banyas on days 1, 3, 4, 7, and 10 of my trip to your land if and when you provide me with said trip.

Let me know if you need dimensions of my available space.

Thanks in advance,

PS – Still waiting to hear back from you about the open letter I wrote weeks ago. I sure hope you’re not ignoring me on purpose because that’s not cool.


Thursday, April 7, 2011

Will somebody stop the boredom? Please?

Lately it seems I spend my days mostly trying not to stab myself in the eye. Not because of my work environment, annoying coworkers, stupid people, or too much work; no, that would make too much sense.

It’s mostly due to my growing boredom with life. Work’s boring, after-work’s boring, hell… even sleep is boring since I don’t dream very much (that I can remember at least).

Running off to Africa, Europe, or Australia (or all three) seems to be the only option for excitement these days.

Or maybe I should become a carpenter…

Or join a circus…

Or buy a horse and ride across America. Alongside the interstates. With dog trotting beside.

Whatever it is, it better make haste because I’m growing impatient.


Wednesday, April 6, 2011

1 Year! (aka: How in the…)

It’s been 1 year to the day that I started Workspace Writings. I’ve had other blogs in the past that never kept up as the days went by, and plenty of other things that have come and gone in shorter periods of time – turning out to be mere whims of the moment. I’m impressed with myself for sticking with this, and I don’t see an end in sight.

Over the past year I have ranted and raved, I wrote poetry and prose, and made many attempts at some form of humor (most of which probably fell flat after publishing). I posted a couple “highlights” in March to build up to this day, so read back for good measure and reminisce the past: The non-painting hairs kind of highlights, and, The tunes.

So this day calls for a big THANK YOU to everyone old and new! THANK YOU to everyone out there who has stuck around! And THANK YOU to everyone who’s new to WW (I’ll do my best to not let you down (...hopefully)).

To be honest, I like that you like my writings (some of the time at least) enough to keep on reading for yet another day. I seriously do appreciate it, and you should know that your continued interest keeps me engaged and interested in writing more. Thank you for that.

Now what kind of party would this be without a couple more links for you to check out? As is good form, here are the posts that started it all, 1 year ago today. Enjoy!

The preface: Writings from a workspace

The beginning: Motion-sensing faucets

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Fruit on the bottom? NO ON THE BOTTOM!

I don’t see the appeal of fruit on the bottom. I just don’t get it. Why would fruit on the bottom yogurt be better than pre-mixed yogurt?

If you ask me, pre-mixed is better. Why? Because you can open and begin eating right away. Which means no fussing with stirring 37 times to get an even consistency.

What? You don’t stir 37 times like I do?



If it were pre-mixed, the only fuss you have is getting the lid off, which, I admit, I’ve had many-a-trouble with in my time, but I’d rather deal with that alone than adding a 20-second stirring session into the mix (no pun intended) before being able to consume said yogurt.

…I think I’ve said enough about yogurt for one day.


Monday, April 4, 2011

Detox and the Grid: The Revisiting

I might as well start a new mini-series here around the whole detox thing. If you missed Detox Night 1, here you go. Now, on with the show.

Actually, I’m not sure what to say about Detox Night 2. I spent it sleeping, on the couch, all night actually. So… probably not a lot to say.

Except I ate half a pizza. Though, that wasn’t the reason I slept all night on the couch.

Sometimes I like sleeping on the couch. Changing it up once in a while is good, plus, my couch is comfy.

Ok, so here’s night 3: Slept on couch again because my dog asked nicely. Sleep sucked. Overslept.

Detox Night 4? Fell off the wagon.

Detox Night 5? TV after a night out to dinner. And Night 6 onward? Totally off the wagon. In fact, I can’t even see the wagon.

Clearly this hasn’t worked for me the way I had expected. However, my mind is still working out the details for going off the grid.

More to come about the grid ...someday.

So much for the new series.

Friday, April 1, 2011

Wtfisthat. Andwhyisitthere.

There’s something strange wrapped in a paper towel hanging out in the basket that holds the paper coffee cups at work.

Upon first look I thought it was an English muffin or a breakfast sandwich wrapped in a paper towel and placed there to keep warm. Then I thought how odd it was for a breakfast sandwich to be wedged between a stack of cups and the side of a basket.

Then I thought how putting a breakfast sandwich there wouldn’t keep it warm and totally makes no sense at all.

And then I poked it and realized it was not a breakfast sandwich but couldn’t determine exactly what it was and then continued with my coffee pouring because I wanted nothing to do with it after that. I promptly left and went back to my desk. And then returned to take a picture for you.

Here. Here’s the picture.

Whatthefuckisthat. Andwhyisitthere.