The Real Yankees Vs. Red Sox

In baseball there are the guys who wear the uniform "modern" - slightly wider legs, looser shirts. Usually they're the younger, Hispanic guys. Then there are the old schoolers who wear their uniform fitted and featuring the knee-high sock thingies - normally the young, in awe newbies just up from the minors, or the old codgers hobbling round the bases with their oxygen tanks.

This latter look doesn't work for everyone, especially a great big fathead like Roger Clemens. Roger, when you have a big, wide ass the diameter of Texas and you attempt this look, you look like a giant, retarded pussy. Either that man does not own a full-length mirror or it's a special mirror that lies to him (and if those exist I'd like one that will tell me I'm five ten, 110lbs and 19 again).

Also, the Red Sox catcher, Jason Varitek (for some reason I tend to call him Homotek although I'm ashamed because it's insulting to gay people to suggest he might be one of them, but it tickles me that if he knew about it, his big, swollen head would probably explode with indignance, a big macho guy like him) has the same big, wide ass and those same girly socks, only on him it's even worse because those socks are RED. Only a great, big, flaming fan of Liberace would wear those. Oh, duh! See what I did there? And they make him look like an enormous, out-of-proportion, bearded lady, which of course he is. (I don't like him, but I think I hide it well. Just don't get me started on David Ortiz, or as I like to call him "That Big Fuckin' Fuck")

Strike two against Varitek is on his uniform collar he has the name "TEK" embroidered. Any grown man, even a hairy girlie-man like Varitek, who not only shortens their name to sound like a "KEWL DUDE" but also has it embossed on his gear, deserves to be cock punched, but since he doesn't have one I'll settle for pummeling his great, fat head until he is dead. Plus, a team captain who blatantly needs to wear a giant "C" on their uniform to validate themselves doesn't deserve to live amongst decent people.

Unless of course, that "C" doesn't stand for "Captain". Then I concur, Jason.

The Way Things Aren't

I’m getting really pissed off with the way things are. Not at work or home in particular, just in life in general. Why do the all the best foods like cake and donuts and cookies and grilled cheese and French fries and…and…fudge and chocolate and roasted potatoes and mashed potatoes and mushrooms fried in garlic butter and pizza and nachos and crème brulee and lemon meringue pie…why can’t these foods have three calories, zero fat or carbs and come recommended by a doctor? I want someone to say, “Guv’ner, you could stand to lose a few pounds, I prescribe two entire layer cakes and a pecan pie, twice a day or else you will die!”

Why, just for one day in my life, can’t I wake up, mouth watering and think, “I can’t wait to get to work so I can nibble on a carrot.”?

A Short Aside

One of the ladies I work with just returned from a meeting with one of our creative guys, whose name is Richard Evans.

She just came back and loudly exclaimed to the whole corridor, "OMG I LOVE DICK!"

I am the only ten year old in this building, I swear.

Shattered Dreams

I actually posted this in my Live Journal but it's more fitting over here.

When I was a kid I always loved the Bacharach song “Do You Know the Way to San José?”. I still dig it, it's a lounge classic, baby.

Now, I was growing up in Scotland, where it was chilly and instead of palm trees we grew thistles and heather and men wore skirts. So I thought San José had to be about the most exotic place known to man, because that song just conjured up images of sunshine and beaches and riding around in convertibles wearing a headscarf, to my little, ideal self, even though it’s actually about going to L.A., working menial, mundane jobs while waiting to be discovered and resulting in broken dreams and a burning desire to return home, in this case, to San José. But its melody, the tempo, the Spanish name just seemed so special. So foreign and tropical and sunny and perfect.

You see, when I was a child, I assumed all of California was like a 1960s, Technicolor “Gidget” beach movie, full of ice cream parlors, bronzed surfer boys who said things like, “Golly gee Susie, you sure look like you need a milkshake!” and, “Silly, girls don’t surf, girls fetch Coca-cola and sit around on the sand and look pretty!” while girls with demi-perms, full-coverage swimwear a nun would approve of - that cinched in their waists like a corset and made their boobs pointy - indeed sat diligently around on the sand looking pretty and beaming Ultrabrite smiles, while Rock or Skip or Bud partook of some wave cruising in some fiendishly unflattering shorts.

Then one day, in the autumn of 1999, I actually did it. I ended up in San José, visiting friends who were living in nearby Mountain View.

And I wanted to stop the nearest pedestrian and ask, “Do you know the way to San Francisco, because San José sucks!”

OK, it didn’t suck per se. It was fine. It was just a regular concrete city. It just wasn’t tropical or exotic in any way and in fact, it looked more like what an ex-coworker of mine back in the UK used to call “San Joe-zay” because she didn’t know any better.

Or maybe she did…

The Hurricane Guy

You know what job I want? I want to be that guy who decides what this season's hurricanes will be called. The ones they choose now are just unacceptable, quite honestly. Take this year:

We had Barry. Barry? What's he going to do, bluster into your state and steal your girlfriend then hit 700 home runs?

Then there was Dean. Hurricane Dean? Sounds like he's more likely to blow into town and install new spark plugs in your Oldsmobile.

Hurricane Humberto is kind of sad. Your mama could totally kick Humberto's ass.

Then there's going to be a Jerry who will show up to appraise your jewelry and feed you matza before Lorenzo gusts in to shake his dynamic bon-bon and seduce your sister.

Olga however - now Olga sounds like a hurricane!!! A huge fucking hurricane. A hurricane with a 3000 mile eye. Olga's a ball breaker, although I'm sorry, you can't call a hurricane Sebastien. What's Sebastien going to do, blow into town and look for the nearest hair salon?

Also, excuse me for not being alarmed at the idea of Hurricane Tanya. She might hit you with her handbag or poke you with an eyeliner stick but really...You can't call an almighty force of nature "Tanya" and keep a straight face, surely.

Hurricanes should have names like "Thor" and "Gunter" and "Tempest". They shouldn't sound like they're coming to town to do your taxes.

Fuck You T-Mobile

Please try not to pass out and hit your head with astonishment at an update. The Guv'ner's very busy you know. Be darn lucky you got anything, ingrate.

My young man and I went to the T-Mobile store at lunchtime because his cell phone SIM card ceased working. This made me realize a couple of things: 1) SIM cards can break for no apparent reason without even leaving the phone, and 2) T-Mobile stores will rip off orphans to grease the corporate pocket.

They told us a new SIM would be $20. No tax if we paid cash (HUH????) We're like "Dude, you'll take credit and that money will go in the fucking register!" So then they give us a twenty dollar leather cell phone case, ring it up and charge the $20 plus give us the new SIM. Which isn't on the receipt because it is FREE.

So let's recap: Basically they want to get money out of you and a SIM is free so they tell you the SIM is $20, ring up an accessory for that price, give you the SIM AND the accessory so they can keep the books straight as a twenty dollar sale and you get conned to shit into buying something you didn't want in the first place.

The boy wanted a case anyway. he didn't like the one they gave us and asked to switch to one better suited to his needs. Which they agreed to. And it turned out to be cheaper (only fifteen bucks) so they refunded the extra five. Which means that SIM magically now costs only $15 (hmmmm....) further proving my point - the SIM is free and they don't "throw in" the accessory that's what you're paying the fucking money for.

This does not sit well with the Guv'ner who didn't have the wits about her on the spot to tell them to go fuck themselves sideways, but who will be shortly formulating a plan.

So the moral is: SIM cards are free. if a store tries to charge you by "throwing in" some other accessory tell them to stick the accessory where the sun don't shine and take the SIM card. They can't charge for that. Fuckers.