the milk

2008-08-08T11:18:00.000-07:00

I like-a the way I feel all skinny in the morning after I drop a massive deuce. Today was one of those days, but then I also realized that hunger pangs are extremely deceptive. My digestive tract storms a thunderous ruckus, like it's rearranging furniture in my belly. Almost instantly, I feel deprived. It is in that moment where I can make good choices or bad ones for the day. The manboobs staring back at me in the mirror certainly aren't lying anymore. Portion control is my weakness and it's obvious I've made many bad food decisions in my lifetime. On the other hand, it's always a good morning when the sight of my own titties is disturbingly arousing - just kidding, I'm not that weird. But, I am really making a conscious effort to pay more attention to my expanding waistline. I don't suppose preventive measures would allow two sausage egg mcmuffins right now.

2008-07-23T12:47:00.000-07:00

There's a fine line between ninja and creepy perv. Just ask my peripheral vision. I like to think I'm pretty slick about treating myself to eye candy - hot girls, that is. Not that I needed to clarify that or anything. I'm just saying, I never think of dudes as candy; or dudes as something pleasurable, for that matter. Anyway, I've realized that cleavage is my weakness. I know, pretty groundbreaking. My peripheral ninja skills crumble at the mere sight of partially exposed lady lumps and I'm instantly demoted to white belt, at best. I reckon it must have something to do with our innate animalistic desire to mate that possesses us so. Or maybe boobs emit a magnetic field I didn't know about and my eyeballs of steel are purely victims to the laws of physics. In any case, women wear them like a trendy fashion accessory and my clumsy pupils always seem to notice.

Seasonally speaking, I've witnessed underboob cleave, sideboob cleave, breastfeeding cleave, wonderbra cleave, and silicone cleave, to name a few. Sadly, it doesn't even have to be good cleavage for me to sneak a peek. I don't discriminate. But please don't feel too special either because my brain usually requires a brief second to reboot in order for me to process the fugly connected to them. Other times, it's the cleavage that you're not supposed to notice that gets you into trouble. I'm talking about friend cleavage. I hate it when that happens because it's always a little tricky. Well crap, I just outed myself on that one. In my defense, it was an amnesic blur, highly unenjoyable, and it made me want to bury my face - in shame, of course. Accidental or not, getting caught with your eyes on friend cleavage is no laughing matter and unspoken rules need apply (i.e. deny, deny, deny). Dare imagine it belonging to someone related to you and you'll want to stab your own eye out. I could not scream awkward any louder.

Forgive my corrupted brain and it's digression into bizarro land.

Boobs are the ultimate visual pheromone and great power resides within them. Lucky for us, with great power comes great irresponsibility. Sometimes they mesmerize. Sometimes they make you stutter. Sometimes they call your name. Sometimes you're allowed to peek. Sometimes it's not okay to stare. Sometimes they stare at you. Sometimes they want your money. Sometimes a combination of cleavage and nipple protrusion will render you completely defenseless. But most of the time, perverted thoughts are inevitable.

Fellas, please tread carefully for El Cleavo will tease you and test your resilience. You mustn't falter too noticeably, maintaining a stoic poker face; wherefore them breastesses shall hypnotically consume you and her every wish will be your command.

2008-07-17T11:38:00.000-07:00

It's never a good sign when I can stop wearing a belt with my jeans. Essentially, it's a little red flag that I may need Richard Simmons to pay me a visit. The fear of a sassy greasy glittery lubed old man in candy-stripe shorts would surely motivate me to sweat to the oldies. I didn't wear my belt this morning because I have reached capacity in these jeans. The pathetic part is that lately when I wear my belt, a reverse 'S' from my Superman buckle becomes imprinted on my belly because my gut fatly hangs over while sitting. Today, I can only breathe properly with the top button undone. I need to release one of those ten pound Domo-Kun-like dumps again. I kind of just did already, but I need like two of them in a row to shave off the discomfort in my waistline. Even though I'm just a cheeseburger away, I absolutely refuse to buy bigger pants.

2008-07-10T10:52:00.000-07:00

I hate it when my ball sack annoyingly sticks to my inner thigh. The summer weather this week isn't helping my situation either, nor is the Double Quarter Pounder with cheese I ate for lunch. I'm almost certain a contributing factor is the cluster of fat cells I've accumulated in the area over the years, but maybe it also has something to do with the laws of gravity with respect to my aging left testicle. I swear it only happens on my left ball, which coincidentally hangs lower than the right. Whatever the case, I cannot seem to find a lasting solution to this problem. Applying baby powder provided a temporary fix. Underwear quality seems to be irrelevant as I've tried them all with the same slimy escaping, testicle-adhering result. I suspect that my scrotum has some kind of desire to be Spidey, too.

I've repeatedly had to peel my lefty from my inner leg today, which never looks cute at work. It's especially embarrassing when your coworker catches you in the copy room lifting your leg outward with your hand on your crotch. I usually implore the hand-in-pocket maneuver, but I'm so fed up with it today. Even worse, my jeans are hugging my fat much tighter than usual. On days like this, I'd normally retreat to the file room to do a set of push-ups to feel better about myself, but the last thing I need right now is even sweatier balls.

I've learned that this phenomenon going on down there is called batwing. Which also reminds me, I'm pretty excited about The Dark Knight movie coming out next week.

2008-07-09T11:03:00.000-07:00

Work still sucks. Inertia is my enemy. "Initiative" is still not a part of my vocabulary. The cost of gas has reached triple digits to fill up my Nissan Titan. That just about sums up life since my last entry. Oh yeah, and the glass is always half empty. I'm not exactly saying that life sucks and then you die, but my mind has wandered into dark places. I have abstained from blogging for nearly two years, but even back in 2006, I had already faded into obscurity. Recently, I got this itch to rediscover my voice again. I once assessed that my motivation to blog was impaired by a "kryptonite rock." However true that may have been or not, my blogging powers appear to be returning - at least for now. From what I can gather from my own psychoanalytic investigation, my urge to blog seems to be fueled by frustration, horny thoughts, and boredom; all of which are pretty related. The one thing I can conclude is that there is a therapeutic value in blogging.

Guess it's about time I dust out the cobwebs, get my mind right, and blog away! The Milk 2.0 is long overdue.

Captivity.

2006-07-27T14:26:00.000-07:00

Today is Day 4 since my office buddy abandoned me. She managed to hop the fence in search of greener pastures while I still remain in captivity here at Sun. This is an event of monumental proportion seeing that it has forced me out of blogging retirement. My work days feel like eternity and my empty cubicle's gotten a few degrees colder since she left. I never thought I'd actually miss the heater fan she blasted 24/7. But, I'm happy she's moved on to bigger and better things. One of us was bound to get it together first. Now, I just have to follow her example. And I don't mean going through an accelerated nursing program in the middle of the desert. I just want OUT of here. Speaking of out, congratulations to Lance Bass!

I knew that parting ways with mel-dork was going be difficult, but I never imagined how miserable I'd feel again at work. Five plus years as a contractor with no benefits and a one dollar raise that happened over three years ago. On top of all that, hot tax girl quit back in February AND got hitched last month. But, she's spilled milk as far as I care since she managed to get un-hot in recent months. I guess everything I hated about being here is finally resurfacing and I just have to acknowledge it and figure out how to pull myself out of this rut. I always knew that my job sucked, but having it suck with a friend made it slightly bearable. But then again, maybe it's not the job that sucks so much. Perhaps, I'm more disappointed with myself for sticking around for so long. I complain and bitch about how crappy things are, but the reality is that I'm the one who sucks. I'm capable of so much more and I want more for myself. The real challenge is doing what it takes to get there.

2005-05-24T15:30:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, I misplaced the humongous bulge in my pants. I never realized how frightening it could be to lose a simple wallet until it happened to me. I swear I damn near had a braineurism just thinking about my entire identity being out there for anyone to snatch. I lost my license, five credit cards, a pasta pomodoro coupon, $80 cash, and a school id conveniently displaying my social security number. Luckily, I was able to remember most everything I carry and immediately begin the "lost my wallet" process: 1) Contact and alert the three major national credit companies: Equifax, TransUnion, and Experian; 2) Cancel and report all lost credit cards; 3) Shell out another $20 for a replacement license, etc. But even after doing all that, my conscience could not rest. As long as the pocket of my right upper thigh where my wallet usually resides was empty, it was a reminder that my identity was still at risk.

Funny how I used to complain so much about feeling tied down by my bulky wallet and how it was such a burden to carry around, especially in my snug David Hasselhoff jeans. Simply walking was an uncomfortable task with the subsequent sweat that developed from my body heat in this area. Now, I could only long for the day to be reunited with the BIG secret in my pants. I used to be such a magnet for grinding on the dance floor. Since the loss of my bulky, bulging wallet, not so much luck. We used to make quite an impression on the ladies. Sadly, I keep it Filipino yo.

Fortunately, to my pleasant surprise, my wallet came home on May 11, 2005. I've never felt such a huge sigh of relief when I discovered that everything was in one piece but the missing cash. I suppose the culprit who stumbled upon it must've pocketed the $80 and dropped the wallet in a mailbox. It was mailed to me by the post office after being found loose in the mail bag. I'm so lucky this time. I've read so many horror stories about identity theft that going thru this experience has forced me to take extra precautions. I reach down in my pocket every now and then just to make sure it's there. If no one's looking, I also play a little pool while I'm at it. Home, sweet home, dear wallet.

my royal flush

2005-04-26T12:06:00.000-07:00

It thrills me to inform you that I have discovered Wet Ones Flushables at Wal-Mart. I don't think you can begin to grasp how groundbreaking this actually is. As a child, I always dreamed of a day when we'd have pre-moistened toilet paper. I mean, let's face it, without the proper facilities, dumptaking can be quite a messy ordeal. Trust me, I've had my share of sharting incidents, especially in grade school.

My hesitation to use the public restroom at school for number two is a clear reflection of how extremely shy I was as a child. Consequently, I did most of my business in my underwear and prayed that no one noticed. The funny thing is I don't remember the cleaning up part. I do remember the car rides home because I had to stand in the backseat with my legs straddled. I'm guessing mommy and daddy probably took care of the rest.

I never really did get over my fear of taking a dump at school, but I did get really good at clenching my ass cheeks together to momentarily subside the turtles from peeking. It's weird how we somehow come full circle as adults because I have absolutely no problem squeezing out number two at work. In fact, in some ways, I actually prefer it. The toilets here are so monstrously powerful, I rarely ever clog them.

I think my obsession with dumptaking led to my obsession with dumptaking cleanliness. I credit my dad with passing on the idea to finish off my toilet blessings with a Wet Ones Antibacterial Moist Towelette. I feel totally refreshed after using them and those pesty dingleberries and hershey underwear streaks are no longer an issue. These Wet Ones allow you the freedom to take that post-shower dump. It's awesome.

The only problem with these original Wet Ones is that they aren't really designed to pass thru our sewage pipes. I've been using them for over three years now and I suppose I've done some irreversable damage to our local sewage system. But now I need not fret because an unplanned visit to Wal-Mart brought Wet Ones Flushables into my life. There are some cheap imitations out there, i.e. Target, but nothing cleans up the stink like a Wet Ones Flushable wipe. Cottonelles work too, but I'm a loyal Wet Ones brand customer. My ass has never felt more like a King.

2005-04-04T16:21:00.000-07:00

I've been resorting to extreme measures of meditation, desperately trying to pinpoint the source of my involuntary blogging hiatus. In the last couple of months, I've been posting fewer and fewer entries. Sadly, they've also been very uninteresting and stale as a bag of old Doritos. I thought I was just having blogger's block, but I'm starting to suspect that there may be something much more serious going on. The super ego that is the milk appears to have been tamed; my blogging powers rendered useless. I think I may have stumbled upon my kryptonite. It's as if all the energy I used to put into this blog has been unconsciously redirected to this little green meteor rock, aka the girlfriend. I'm not saying it's necessarily a bad thing, but it probably explains a lot.

The embarrassing part is how it's sorta revealing in how I was probably craving attention and wanting to feed my own ego when I started this site a little over a year ago. I am truly ashamed - I've been blogging for all the wrong reasons. But, I guess I'll be back when I need to fill that void again.

Until then, milk over and out.

2005-03-22T11:52:00.000-08:00

I am happy to announce that I am now the proud owner of a ginormous Nissan Titan Crew Cab LE 4x4 Black Truck. I had my mind set on the Jeep Grand Cherokee HEMI, but when I thought about what I really wanted, I realized my heart belonged to the Titan. The Titan is a fucking animal on wheels and the V8 engine roars like one too - exactly what I've been wanting since last year around this time. It's a world of difference driving this high off the road compared to my Nissan 300ZX.

Friends, I am in love.

2005-03-16T16:36:00.000-08:00

Dude, I know I don't blog very much anymore, but I just got back from the restroom totally inspired. I took my late afternoon dump and it was one of those light-weight kinds where gravity is the enemy. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I squeezed out girly pellets again and they failed to penetrate thru the toilet seat sanitary sheet. The last time this happened to me, the smelly logs lightly grazed the bottom side of my penis. Wait a minute -- I take it back. That unfortunate incident was actually due to the defective toilet seat sanitary sheets being poorly perforated in production. Anyway, I was able to saturate the sanitary sheet with enough urine to break it, thereby submerging the stinky kids (note the plural). The stinkers almost looked alive the way in which they slowly inched their way into the toilet water. I don't think they wanted to go, which made me kinda sad for two seconds.

2005-03-04T14:23:00.000-08:00

I've been experiencing a major case of acid reflux ever since I treated myself to this super burrito on Wednesday night. These super burritos ain't no joke either because I could swear they probably weigh close to two pounds. It never fails to hit the spot, but it also never fails to make me feel like such a fat ass. I paid for the effects that night, busting ass at every sleepless tussle. My undies survived the night without any hershey mishaps, but as soon as I stood up and walked around, I could feel the digestive juices emanating from my burrito's temporary residence in my stomach just wanting to come back up. I drank a gallon of water to pacify the annoying heartburn.

It seemed to hold me over until lunchtime when I indulged myself at Joe's Chinese Fast Food. I should've known by the name of the place itself that Joe was so not gonna go easy on me. It looked pleasantly appetizing behind the glass case, but boy was I wrong. I tasted a hint of Indian spice -- a huge red flag to do my stomach a favor and toss it. But, I'm such a stubborn eater that I couldn't let $5.79 go to waste.

Needless to say, massive acid reflux consumed me yet again. It was so bad I started to empathize with Ashlee Simpson for having to lip sync on SNL because of it. I mean, it really took a toll on my vocal chords and I could barely hold a note while singing alone in my car yesterday. I didn't have dinner last night and I was almost tempted to skip lunch today. Fortunately, my digestive system appears to be good as new again. I had a turkey/roast beef sandwich and currently, I am stuffing my face with tortilla chips and guacamole dip. So far, so good.

2005-03-04T11:03:00.000-08:00

Today is Day 6 without hot water in our home. The damn water heater broke last Saturday and there has been a slight delay in having that thing fixed. Since then, the rest of my family has been using the facilities at my sister's house two minutes away. Me being the soldier that I am, I've been numbing my balls by toughing it out in freezing cold showers. Well, I did take that hot shower on Monday and Tuesday, but other than that, you'd think I was half penguin.

I've learned that life without a water heater is completely doable. I typically take 15-20 minute hot showers and am partly responsible for racking up the water bill. Lately, I haven't lasted for more than two cold minutes in there. I feel like I'm totally giving back to the community by conserving water. If you think about it, this broken water heater is sorta like a blessing in disguise because now I realize what a careless and wasteful citizen I've been. I mean, what the hell was I doing in there for 20 minutes? I've always believed that for showers beyond the 20-minute mark, we can assume one is just playing in there. But, that's so not I said the fly. I'm just extremely thorough when it comes to personal hygiene, sometimes.

I have to tell you that these cold showers have done wonders for my sack. I truly believe something different is going on down there. Not during the shrivelling cold shower, of course, because then we're just talking raisins. But, I'm talking about shortly after when my body temperature returns to normal. I think my testicles have actually gotten larger. Which makes perfect sense because I've heard that spraying cold water in this area can actually stimulate and increase your sperm count. So I'ma have to make a mental note of that for future reference. I totally want bragging rights to owning super sperm. But until then, I really hope we have that water heater fixed this weekend. I might literally reach grapefruit status if I go another week like this.

2005-03-01T16:27:00.000-08:00

So I've decided to go with a black Jeep Grand Cherokee Limited with the 5.7-liter HEMI V8. I was looking for a vehicle with horsepower comparable to my Nissan 300ZX Twin Turbo, but one that is also passenger-friendly and capable of plowing thru a snow storm. The Titan seemed like the logical choice. But unfortunately, finding a place to park that sumbitch would be such a pain in the ass. The Acura MDX and The Pilot just don't do it for me in terms of vehicles with gi-normous testicles. Hence, the Jeep HEMI.

However, I've also decided to take my time before making such a grand purchase. A couple of days ago, I was so ready to throw my money at the Jeep dealer. Then I did something I was trying so hard to avoid. I started to think. I thought about how HUGE a dent this new Jeep would be leaving on my bank account and how I'd be a slave for my car for the next five plus years. And then I thought... my job isn't completely stable, I should be investing my money in a house, my current vehicle still works, my expensive taste is unnecessary, I like my expensive taste, I'm not thinking about my future enough, I HATE my conscience.

Ultimately, I just don't NEED a new car right now... although I still WANT it. I usually have a habit of needing what I want, so we'll see what happens.

Decisions, decisions...

2005-02-22T21:02:00.000-08:00

2005 Nissan Titan Crew Cab

2005 Acura MDX

2005 Jeep Grand Cherokee Limited

2005 Honda Pilot

2005-02-14T15:54:00.000-08:00

Happy Valentine's Day. An overrated holiday, I couldn't agree more. The commercialized nature of our society has turned Valentine's Day into a corporate scam. And those yearning for love and happiness usually succumb to the dark side of this "special" day in February. I know because I happen to be a victim. Every time Cupid makes his annual round, I've been so resilient and careful not to acknowledge his presence. But this year, I misplaced my balls for just one second and it consumed me. I'm so ashamed.

2005-02-10T08:15:00.000-08:00

It's been exactly one week since my surgery. Which means for one week I've been sitting at home doing absolutely nothing. I suppose that's no different than me being at work, just without the getting paid part. Not that I consider myself a lazy fuck, I just don't think I utilize my time to my full potential. But, then again, that is the definition of a lazy fuck, isn't it? I complain and complain about my miserable job and yet I do nothing to improve my situation. I tried to make use of my free time this week by browsing job postings and updating my resume. In doing so, however, I've realized that I still don't know what I want to do with myself career-wise and that I don't have much to show for with all my years wasted in the crappy tax department. Hence, being productive got exhausting and I opted to read comics and watch dvds instead. So much for that damn computer science degree.

Recovering from surgery has been a really frustrating experience, especially the first couple of days. It sorta gave me glimpse into what it must be like to grow old and weak; feeling like a burden to your loved ones, but knowing you need to depend on them. I don't know if it's pride or stupidity, but it wasn't very long before I started hopping around writhing in pain to do things on my own. I probably stretched a few stitches in the process trying to do too much too soon, but I only grimaced in private. As a challenge to myself, I refused to take my prescribed pain medication, just to see what would happen. But, it actually wasn't that bad which leads me to believe that my ankle will be brand spanking new in no time. I have my post-surgery appointment this morning. Hopefully, everything goes as expected and the biopsy comes back negative. I can't wait to get rid of this unintentional pimp walk.

2005-01-31T13:48:00.000-08:00

Guess what?!? Jello Pudding Pops are on sale at Safeway two for five bucks with your club card!!! I carefully re-read the sale sign ten times as if I were matching winning lotto numbers before I immediately began somersaulting thru the ice cream isle with euphoric glee. I might as well have pitched a tent in my pants with how excited I was in that moment. But then I opened the freezer door to grab me some and there were no more boxes of Jello Pudding Pops to be found. I was so extremely disappointed that I was tempted to take my rage out on the other popsicles. I imagined the best way to sabotage the popsicle section was to relocate a number of crappy popsicle boxes to the pets isle behind the dog biscuits. Then I remembered I'm a mature 27-year-old adult and that kind of behavior would've been fine two years ago, but not now. So I decided to accidentally rearrange the hallmark cards section instead.

2005-01-26T11:34:00.000-08:00

I feel as if I've been violently yanked back into reality because I'm starting to notice significant flaws in my image of perfection that is hot tax girl. I've always emphasized that work eye candy is on a level slightly below regular eye candy, but somewhere between giving her so much blogging time and dying of boredom at work, I managed to put her on a grand pedestal. Sadly, I think the wool over my own eyes must be transparent now because the walls of her temple are crumbling before me.

I seriously believe her spell over me is wearing thin because I don't even get nervously sweaty like I usually do anymore. She requested my assistance in retrieving a few boxes from storage and I agreed to help her without hesitation. Now, normally I'd be doing cartwheels at the chance to have any kind of interaction with her, but for some reason she had absolutely no affect on me. I mean, it's not like she wasn't radiating her usual beam of hotness either. Maybe not in the sense that would typically yield a woody, but she was still quite attractive.

It was in that pivotal moment that I started to dissect her under a much clearer microscope. I noticed a grayish strand of hair stemming from her scalp. A few seconds later, three more strands surfaced! And another!!! Needless to say, I was completely in shock. Hot tax girl appears to be aging at a rapid rate. I tried to dismiss it and reasoned that stress must be the culprit.

However, when I saw her in the hallway, I began dissecting her with even closer attention to detail. Hot tax girl has saggy, drooping breasts that resemble the form of re-refrigerated melted butter. They're also quite sharp in the nipple department. I only know this because she didn't appear to be wearing a bra. I've never been an advocate of breast implants, but I think she could totally benefit from the procedure. It's just sad because the rest of her body, at least to my present knowledge, is still hot like fire! She has so much going on for her from that provocatively sexy walk to those awesomely shaped buttcheeks. I mean, when I walk behind her, I still get an urge to beat my meat like it owes me money. It's just such a shame that she has below average breasteses. I dare not say hot tax girl, no more. But rather, hot tax girl, new boobies please!

2005-01-24T16:13:00.000-08:00

I'm scheduled to undergo surgery on Thursday, February 3 to remove that painfully annoying schwannoma in my right ankle. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I have to say that I'm growing a little more nervous the closer that day approaches. Not so much about getting my ankle cut open, but about that minute possibility that something might go wrong. I'm probably just being a pussy because it's not like we're dealing with any broken bones here. But still, I can't help but imagine that performing surgery is sorta like driving an automobile. When you get into your car, you can never guarantee that you'll get from Point A to Point B safely. You can be the best driver in the world and take extreme precautions, but you cannot predict the numerous factors that are simply out of your control.

What if my body responds negatively to the anesthesia? What if they find out the tumor is cancerous? What if the nerves connected to this tumor result in numbness or loss of feeling in some part of my body? Perhaps, an adverse effect on the franks and beans? The pain does shoot up into my leg. What if the nurses are hot and decide to take advantage of me on the surgery table? What if my doctor comes into work totally wasted? What if they don't know the difference between my right ankle and the ankle on their right? I so think paranoia is getting the best of me right now.

Part of me is also really concerned with how inconvenient the next few weeks will be. I hope I won't have to depend on others too much. But, I wonder if I could convince someone to wipe my ass for me. The doctor said I could return to work within a matter of a few days as long as I can sit at my desk with my leg elevated. I was more worried about not being able to get to the cool, handicapped shitter on the third floor fast enough. I'm usually as slick as a navy seal about my dumptaking habits, so this is going to be a real challenge.

Dude, I really wish I made more time for snowboarding before this surgery. By the time I heal up, all that good snow will be long, long gone. Surgery is such a kill joy.

2005-01-11T14:39:00.000-08:00

Dude, I think I'm seriously not getting adequate sleep because my reaction time is getting slower. Hot tax girl keeps asking me for empty storage boxes and I keep telling her I have none. I really don't. We have plenty in the file room upstairs on the third floor. Well, today was the second time she's walked away with a disappointed, rejected blank stare after my response. Boy, does it make me feel like a jackass. It never occurred to me until now that she was simply hinting at me to accompany her to the isolated, private confines of our tax file room. I knew I should've been reading between the lines when she asked for six to nine boxes. I wonder if it's not too late to assist her with this matter.

2005-01-11T13:24:00.000-08:00

I think I'm starting to realize how much my web browser has spoiled me at work. Yesterday was probably the single longest work day of my life. Our internet connection was down the entire day, thus forcing me to really refine my skills at this pretend work stuff. It was a grueling task and I found myself randomly nodding off throughout the day. Luckily, the sound of my own snoring kept me from falling asleep too deeply. It's quite pathetic, but I think I'd seriously have no problem quitting my job if we weren't allowed to surf the web anymore. Being in front of a computer all day without my precious internet connection is like having a boner at a strip club with an empty wallet and no hands.

Happy 2005!

2005-01-06T15:32:00.000-08:00

Big Pimpin' New Year's Eve Party pics

2005-01-05T14:19:00.000-08:00

Back in the day when I was younger, we ain't had much to eat. As a matter of fact, my moms and my daddy was so poor we ate sleep for dinner seven days a week. But sometimes on sunday morning when errbody be off in church, we go ocean's eleven on our neigbors for they toothpaste. Dem toothpaste sanmiches we be havin' on a good day was off da hook. One day I axed my moms if I could have seconds and she beat me so hard with daddy's belt you think I be owin' her some money.

2005-01-04T15:36:00.000-08:00

I think I failed to mention this, but some time last month back in 2004, hot tax girl got a haircut. At first, I didn't think she'd look as hot anymore with short hair, but it actually enhanced her hotness. It's not super short like a fade or anything, but it's just a tad longer than chin-length. I'm almost tempted to say the new hairdo looks cute on her, but I refuse to sound gay. But, it really does something for the rest of her body because she has these awesomely shaped shoulders and back that I would really like to investigate under closer inspection. Not that I was thinking about sexual intercourse or anything. It's just that if I wasn't such a dork munching on these spongebob squarepants cheez-its, I might've actually had the chance to hold an intelligent conversation when she came by my cube today. hehe..I said came. But seriously, hot tax girl 2005, I'd buy the calendar.

2005-01-04T02:54:00.000-08:00

I think I'm having blogger's block. I read my last entry and said to myself, "What a cOcKy son of bitch?" But, I guess my ego was getting a little hungry and I needed to feed it by tooting my own horn. The truth is I don't know why blogging feels like such as task nowadays. I used to do it strictly to entertain myself at work. With 2004 coming to an end, I felt compelled to post one last entry. I just didn't have anything really important to say. I thought about highlighting the past year and setting new goals for 2005, but for some reason I think it sorta depresses me to think about that stuff. So I won't.

They say the best way to overcome blogger's block, writer's block, or whatever is to just keep writing. So here I am at work listening to the sound of my brain cells crackle and pop because I'm practically dying of boredom. Just kidding. It's actually the sound of me eating a mouthful of SpongeBob Squarepants-shaped Cheez-its. They're quite delicious and believe it or not, I think they might even taste differently than regular square-shaped Cheez-its. I eat when I'm bored -- a little factoid I stumbled upon just now because I'm halfway thru the entire box and it's not like I didn't already have McDonald's for breakfast AND lunch. It's a new year and I'm still being such a fatty. I bought a box of jello pudding pops today, too. This is so not cool.

2004-12-31T11:02:00.000-08:00

I could swear I made blogging cool for like a minute. In fact, I used to pride myself on the belief that I could offer something different than other blogging geeks out there. I mean, I don't call myself the milk for nothin'. Whenever readers pay me a visit, I know I'm doing their bodies good. It's a given. But, now I'm not so sure. I'm guessing my less frequent updates and recent entries are a reflection of how stale I may have gotten. It's just that everything interesting I could blog about nowadays just doesn't have enough edge. Like, I need more bitterness and boredom to fuel my creativity. Otherwise, I'ma start coming off like a sappy girlie man and we all know the milk don't play that. So does that mean that things are going too well for me and that I might actually be happy these days? For blogging sakes, I guess that would suck. But, no worries. I plan to bring the pain next year!

Good-bye 2004, welcome 2005!

2004-12-20T10:43:00.000-08:00

Work on Monday absolutely, positively, 100% SUCKS! Not that it doesn't suck everyday. It's just that Monday work days are on a whole nother level of suckness. Especially, after a weekend of Tahoe boarding, great company, and white elephant christmas partying. I so do not want to be here right now, but my rapidly depleting bank account funds tell me it's necessary. Besides, I think I can manage one more week of pretend-work before the holidays. I just need to be a little sneakier and slick walking around the office; careful to avoid the lurking big bossman or any other coworker looking to recruit my services this week.

Speaking of lurking, that stalker guy has walked by my office five times in the last ten minutes, "hands-in-pockets." I know exactly what he wants. He's got an itch for Miss Melanie and he wants to scratch it. Sucky for Mr. Sun Microstalker, but she's not in the office today. I'm starting to feel a little annoyed by stalker guy's perverted beady eyes probing into our office space. I mean, homeboy, just ask me if she's coming in and I'll gladly tell you that blue balls is on the menu for you today you sick FRRREAK!!!

2004-12-10T16:27:00.000-08:00

I don't think it would be a stretch to assume that the sun microstalker is on the loose once again. Miss Melanie just can't seem to escape the clutches of his twisted, obsessive fixation. We so foolishly thought everything was straight after she name-dropped the boyfriend a couple of months ago. Unfortunately, the flame in this sun microstalker's pants is still burning strong.

Since the last time I blogged about this guy, he's become a casual acquaintance of sort -- someone you'd "fake hi" or have a brief weather conversation with in the hallway. He doesn't seem like a bad guy, but there's just something freakishly odd about him that I have yet to figure out. He loves his ipod. He's loves it so much that he volunteers it to Melanie almost everyday. I don't know if she even realizes this, but I think he totally uses that ipod as a pathetic excuse to foster any kind of minute connection to her. That's fine and dandy, but he could afford to be a little more smooth and discreet about it. He leaves it on her desk early in the morning with a signed post-it. I mean, dude, is that creepy mr. nice guy routine supposed to impress somebody? Homeboy always comes off like that little weird kid who didn't have any friends until he owned something cool everyone wanted. So sad. The freaky part is that when I passed by his office, he had doodled Melanie's name on his white board. YIKES!!!

Well, today he must've rented a set of balls because he asked Melanie out to lunch. However, in an effort to minimize his likely chances of rejection, he extended the invite to me as well. He only chats with Melanie in my absence and it's not like I don't see him pass by our office like fifty times a day. I'm not stupid. I can almost hear that voice in his head screaming COCK-BLOCKER when we cross paths in the hallway. He just doesn't have a clue. Cock-blocker or none, stalker boy never had a snowball chance in hell. But since I wasn't up to an awkward luncheon with stalker boy anyway, Melanie dealt the "I'm swamped with work" card to avoid an uncomfortable one-on-one. According to her, conversations with him are painfully torturous and she'd rather cut off both her ears, marinate them in soy sauce, and cook them under the George Foreman grill for dinner than have to listen to stalker boy yap away.

So we succeeded in declining a lunch a date with sun microstalker, but I suspect that he may have had the last laugh. We got back from University Chicken and discovered a curly strand of pubic hair resting on Melanie's keyboard. She's positive that it wasn't there before we left for lunch and we're almost certain it's neither of ours. My gut feeling leads me to believe that this is the work of the sun microstalker. I ziplocked the pube as future evidence.

2004-12-08T10:08:00.000-08:00

Have I ever mentioned that there's nothing more refreshing than taking a HUGE dump? I just got back from the toilet and I swear I feel as if I could run a marathon right now. I've got so much more spring in my step that I'm practically airborne walking around the office today. Morning dumps are especially my favorite because I'm at my leanest and lightest. It's a known fact that you actually lose a pound overnight from simply sleeping. Even if it is only a temporary pound of water, it sounds cool to be shedding pounds while asleep.

But then you pass by a McDonald's on the way to work and the mere thought of a sausage egg mcmuffin is just way too powerful to resist. I think those things subliminally call out your name if you happen to be within a 100-mile radius.

2004-12-02T17:05:00.000-08:00

I bought a box of jello pudding pops yesterday morning at safeway. I was elated to discover that they're back after all these years, thanks to cici. They look a little different than I remember back in the day when I used to scarf down half a box in one sitting as a short, husky boy. I think I actually have a home video of myself eating like ten of these. But, I think the new look is due to them being picked up by the popsicle brand. No complaints here because they taste just the same. They still come in three super delicious flavors: chocolate, vanilla, and chocolate/vanilla swirl. I especially like the icy-crusty coating that develops over a perfectly chilled jello pudding pop.

As soon as I got to work, I ate three of them within five minutes. It totally brought back flashes of my chunky childhood days. I hid the rest in two layers of plastic bag and threw them in the back of the breakroom freezer. However, since I do not trust these sun micro fatties, I've almost finished all twelve pudding pops already. I need to have them three at a time. But, I don't feel too bad since they are kinda small. Now, they just need to bring back those jello pudding pop commercials with Bill Cosby. I think I'm gonna go eat another one right now for the road.

2004-12-01T16:26:00.000-08:00

You know what's really sad? Checking email every minute of the work day and getting extremely excited when your inbox actually has email. Especially those email notifications about a myspace/friendster message. I do cartwheels when I get those. But it doesn't even have to be good email when you're as bored as I am at work. When I'm really desperate for email, I'll actually open up a spam message about penis enlargement or breast enhancement pills. There's just something about an unempty inbox that feels a lot like christmas. I open every gift with equal anticipation during the holidays, so why not do the same for daily email. Disappointment is inevitable, but I'm still thankful for the thought that counts.

A blog about email... now, that's sad.

2004-11-30T16:56:00.000-08:00

So I had my podiatry follow-up appointment today and my MRI results revealed that I have a benign tumor of nerve tissue in my right ankle, better known as a schwannoma. And because I'm no expert with medical terminology, the sound of these fancy words almost made me shit my pants. But apparently it's not that big a deal. I'll be needing surgery in January to have it removed and I should be good as new in three weeks. The only thing that might suck is that they won't really know how serious the tumor is until they take it out and dissect it. I can't believe I've managed to ignore this problem for almost seven years. It's not like I've been very kind to it either with all my hiking activities, biking, rock climbing, occasional races, snowboarding, and hours at the copy machine. Now, the pain has finally caught up with me and stubbornness is no longer an option. I just hope my ankle gets a pretty scar.

Blogging: Year One

2004-11-24T10:57:00.000-08:00

Exactly one year ago tomorrow, I wrote my first blog entry. I never intended to keep up with it for this long. But, that doesn't mean I didn't have my moments when I thought it was time to hang up my blogging cap. I'm always looking for new ways to entertain myself at work and I guess with blogging, it's done just that for me. I really hate writing, but I think it's actually been a great exercise for articulating my thoughts and keeping my mind sharp. I don't consider my blog a personal diary since that would be gay. I think of it as a tool for networking with others about life, no matter how ridiculous or idiotic the topic. If I've managed to incite a smile or small chuckle out of any of my readers, then I feel like you've shared in my dorkiness.

At this very moment, I'm effectively utilizing blogging to look busy pretend-working. It's not like I don't have real work to do, I just don't want to do it. I mean, it's thanksgiving tomorrow. How can I concentrate on work when my mind is preoccupied with stuffing my face beyond my stummy's limit with turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, tri-tip, corn, and everything else that happens to be on a thanksgiving dinner table? The only problem is that Big Bossman keeps coming into my cube to sneak a handful of treats from the candy dish. I'm getting so paranoid about hiding my screen when he walks by that I'm fumbling to hit the minimize button and end up closing my browser instead. I hate when that happens when I haven't yet posted and I have to recreate the entire entry from memory. I was so tempted to throw the entire candy dish in his office just so he'd stop bothering me. Can't you see I'm trying to blog here yo? LEAVE ME THE FREAK ALONE!$#%!&!

I'm hungry.

27 Years of Rey

2004-11-23T10:29:00.000-08:00

I'm still feeling the affects of my birthday weekend. Who would have thunk my 27th birthday would be like the 21st birthday I never had. Seriously, alcohol never touched my lips until I was 23. Now, every time an abundance of alcohol enters my system, I become a walking sin city. Well, maybe not that bad, but I hardly know the person I become when I'm drunk. It's like how Bruce Banner feels like when he becomes The Incredible Hulk. Bruce is completely unaware of his actions or anything to do with his Hulk alter ego. I don't remember lifting girls all night. Maybe that's why I'm extremely sore right now as if I had spent hours in the gym hitting the weights. I also have a bruised bite mark on my right shoulder that occasionally itches. I don't know who that came from. I tried putting my own mouth to where the faintly visible teeth marks reside and came to the immediate conclusion that it couldn't have been me. But, I guess I must've enjoyed my birthday night. The pictures tell it all!

27 Years of Rey Birthday pics

2004-11-19T17:23:00.000-08:00

I hate when my sweat glands start working overtime for no good reason. We just had a november birthdays office celebration here at work with cake and ice cream. And holy freaking coincidence batman, hot tax girl's birthday happens to fall within the month of november, too. I don't know why, but midway into my "conversation" with hot tax girl, an uncomfortable heat sensation consumed my entire body and I began sweating profusely. It's funny because I was just at University Chicken earlier for lunch experiencing the same sweaty situation while eating my nuclear spicy hot wings. At least when I was eating the spicy chicken wings, I had a reason to sweat. But, while talking to hot tax girl? I'm supposed to be a mature adult capable of holding an intelligent conversation. But, I totally felt like I reverted back to my pathetic high school ways when simply talking to a pretty girl resulted in massive blushing and dripping perspiration. And it wasn't very long before ALL my attention was diverted away from anything hot tax girl was saying. I saw her lips moving, but the volume was on mute because I was so preoccupied with how embarrassing my sweaty ass must've looked standing right in front of her face. I only hoped that she didn't notice. But how the hell could she not. A few sweat droplets from my forehead dribbled onto to my cake, though I continued to eat it mercilessly.

What kind of power does she have over me? I talk to other girls and this never happens. Maybe it's because all day leading up to this interaction with hot tax girl, I was indulging in guilty pleasure by undressing her with my mind. And somehow, my conscience was acting out by emitting sweat from my skin pores. Or perhaps, it was the way she seductively licked the cake icing off of her own luscious lips with her tongue. She's totally living up to the moniker of hot tax girl because she definitely gets my temperature rising, among other things. I'm so embarrassed.

2004-11-19T13:34:00.000-08:00

I can't believe I'm turning TWENTY-SEVEN on Monday. That's like SUPER old now. But, I like to think it's all relative to what you've accomplished in life and how you live it up each day. I remember writing an essay in middle school about where we saw ourselves at twenty-five. Well, I'm two years past that age and I still don't own a house, I don't have a career job, I'm not married, and I don't have two kids. The timeline I used to follow no longer exists, nor was it very realistic. The harsh reality is that this month also marks the four year anniversary of my time spent at this crummy job. But, aside from the job part, I'd have to say that I'm pretty content with my life thus far. I have the best friends EVER and I've met so many wonderful people who have enriched my life plentifold. I'm not the same timidly shy homebody I was five years ago before I decided to have a life. No regrets, no worries. It's fucking awesome. TWENTY-SEVEN is starting to sound good and I'm so ready to embrace it!

I'd better stop with the sappy cheeziness. The Milk's got a reputation to protect. The one thing that does suck is when I was looking in the mirror yesterday, I could swear I saw a hint of old man muscles developing.

Sensitive men do exist

2004-11-16T14:47:00.000-08:00

A woman meets a gorgeous man in a bar. They talk, they connect, they end up leaving together. They get back to his apartment and she notices that his bedroom is completely packed with sweet cuddly teddy bears.

Hundreds of cute small bears on a shelf all the way along the floor, cuddly medium-sized ones on a shelf a little higher, and huge enormous bears on the top shelf along the wall.

The woman is surprised that this guy would have a collection of teddy bears, especially one that's so extensive, but she decides not to mention this to him, and actually is quite impressed by his sensitive side.

She turns to him... they kiss... and then they rip each other's clothes off and make hot steamy love. After an intense night of passion with this sensitive guy, they are lying there together in the afterglow, the woman rolls over and asks, smiling, "Well, how was it?"

The guy says:

"Help yourself to any prize from the bottom shelf!"

2004-11-12T17:08:00.000-08:00

Hot finance girl might be voluptuously curvier, but I still think that hot tax girl is on a whole nother level of natural hotness. I think it's that cherry lollipop she adventurously presses against her wet lips. But, it may also have something to do with finance girl's dirty blondish hair clashing with her fair Asian complexion. I mean it's cool and all, but she could definitely benefit from spending a week or two in the sun or avoiding blonde hair dye altogether. For an Asian person, I could see maybe blonde highlights, but not straight up Jessica Simpson-ish blonde hair. It's just not right.

That's negative points for hot finance girl, bonus points for hot tax girl.

2004-11-10T16:56:00.000-08:00

Today I had an MRI (magnetic resonance imaging) scan performed on my bad ankle. It's sorta like an x-ray, but an MRI doesn't use radiation. What happens instead is they put you on a table and slide you into a large tube-like scanner contraption where a magnetic field is generated. The magnetic field causes your body's cells to vibrate, thereby giving off electrical signals which are interpreted by a computer to create detailed images of your insides.

After the procedure this morning, I am thoroughly convinced that I now have super powers! My destiny has finally been revealed, friends. Now, I'ma be way too busy to blog because I'll be out saving the world. Just kidding. But I was so hoping for some freak accident to happen during the MRI that would result in me acquiring super strength and other unexplainable powers. That would've been so dope. Unfortunately, I'm still just another average human with a sucky plebeian job.

2004-11-09T14:44:00.000-08:00

I can't wait to go home so I can get out of this annoying tighty whitey underwear. Unfortunately, I'll need to throw this one out now because I was a little clumsy when I put them on this morning. I stepped into them one leg at a time how I'd normally do so, left leg first, but I kinda lost my balance while getting my right leg in. My big toe got caught up somehow and I brought my right foot down quite forcibly to avoid falling on my face. Consequently, I stretched the right leg elastic and now I'm having to deal with this uncomfortable friction sensation between my right thigh and my nutsack when I walk. Every stride I take feels like someone is removing bandaids from my balls. It's a sticky situation.

2004-11-09T10:54:00.000-08:00

I don't know what I was thinking when I was comparing the smell of belly button gunk to sweat head odor. There's absolutely no contest if we were to compare the stink that was accumulating in my navel for the last few weeks. I was reminded that I needed some thorough belly button cleaning after referring to it in my blog yesterday. This morning I used a Q-tip lightly coated with lotion to complete this task. Sometimes, when I'm lazy, I just dig in with my index finger. It never fails to amaze me what kind of crusty funk comes out of there. I indulged myself out of curiosity and put my nose to the clumpy, darkish gunk at the tip of my cotton swab to much repulsion. What the hell is that stuff? I'm no scientist, but I'd hypothesize that it's probably dried-up old sweat, soap scum, maybe traces of clothing lint? It is not pleasant.

I would also hypothesize that the bigger your belly, the more potent the belly button funk. When my dad was at his heaviest, I remember how he could fit an entire Q-tip in his belly button. It totally looked like his belly swallowed a little white bunny. Nasty.

2004-11-08T21:10:00.000-08:00

I'm just now realizing why I own so many hats. Strangely, I've noticed that they start to smell funky after a couple of uses. It sucks because I like to think that I maintain excellent personal hygiene. I wash my hair most of the time and I remove my hat when I get sweaty. Still, I somehow manage to funk them up. As a result, I've been buying a new hat just about every three months or so. I figure once my hat starts reeking, it's pretty much a lost cause. Throwing it in the washer does permanent damage and a splash of cologne only temporarily masks the odor. It's so sad. I can't regulate my stale head anymore. Needless to say, I'm due for a new hat.

You don't need to wear a hat to know what your scalp smells like either. If you lean your head forward and jerk it back fast enough, you can actually catch a whiff of what's marinating upstairs. I suppose you could also just scratch your head and smell your fingernails. Sometimes, that surprising stench is as disturbingly foul as the smell of dirty belly button. Ok, maybe not that bad.

2004-11-08T17:01:00.000-08:00

I think I may have been a bit premature in my decision to completely abstain from blogging for good. the milk, no more. I swear, sometimes I can be just as fickle and overdramatic as a teenage girl sulking in semi-trendy high school boy-problems. I was so over this blogging stuff for what, one weekend? Maybe I really was only searching for inspiration.

Speaking of inspiration, there's this one girl here at work in the finance department who's lost an exorbitant amount of weight in the last few months. I think she's totally giving hot tax girl a run for her money. I've caught myself checking out the goods at least twice today. Not that I'ma perv or anything, I'm just extremely fascinated by how shedding a few pounds can alter your perception of someone. She's been here for the last 2-3 years and I rarely used to ever take a second look. Now, every time she walks by my cube, my eyeballs feel as if they've fallen out trying to get a closer look.

She got hot.

I mean, it's never been such a pleasure to follow behind her in the hallway these days. If we were talking roller coasters, hot tax girl would only be a scooby-doo ride by comparison. She's got some major curves going on, but she's not excessively curvy either. I think she's a surefire candidate for the title of hot finance girl.

hot tax girl AND hot finance girl. Boy, now that's food for impure thought.

the milk, no more.

2004-11-05T10:51:00.000-08:00

The one year anniversary of the milk is rapidly approaching at the end of this month. The only problem is that I think I may have totally lost my passion for blogging altogether. I can't explain why, but it just isn't for me anymore. Perhaps, I've exhausted all the meaningless crap that there is to talk about and now it's time to be a little more intimate and personal?

But, since that would be extremely gay, I simply won't blog anymore.

Halloween Costume Party 2004

2004-11-02T17:41:00.000-08:00

Halloween 2004 pics

when you're bored at work...

2004-10-26T17:32:00.000-07:00

1. WHAT COLOR ARE YOUR KITCHEN PLATES?
They're white and made of paper.

2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
Books are for GEEKS! Wait, but are comics considered books?

3. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
The mouse, my right hand, and sometimes my left.

4. FAVORITE BOARD GAME?
Board game? Does PS2 count?

5. FAVORITE MAGAZINE?
I currently subscribe to Maxim and Playboy, though I do NOT read them very much.

6. FAVORITE SMELL?
Freshly cut grass or gasoline.

7. LEAST FAVORITE SMELL?
The smell of another person's sneeze, especially when you can feel the "sneeze mist" kiss your cheeks.

8. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF IN THE MORNING WHEN YOU WAKE UP?
hmmm... I'm usually pretty distracted by my own dragon breath or morning woody to remember what I think of, but probably WORK SUCKS!

9. FAVORITE COLOR?
Navy blue.

10. LEAST FAVORITE COLOR?
Hot pink - it feels like needles are piercing my eyeballs. Plus, hot pink annoyingly clashes with my red lipstick.

11. HOW MANY RINGS BEFORE YOU ANSWER THE PHONE?
It depends on who's calling.

12. FUTURE CHILDREN'S NAMES?
For my son, it's a toss-up between Wolverine and Hellboy. Not yet sure about my daughter's name.

13. WHAT IS MOST IMPORTANT IN LIFE?
The three F's: family, friends, and food.

14. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA?
This is a tough one since I love neopolitan. But, I guess I'd prefer vanilla if I had to choose one.

15. DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE FAST?
I don't, but my foot has a mind of it's own, just like my hands.

16. DO YOU FALL ASLEEP WITH THE TV ON?
Yes. I think I've actually woken up a few notches smarter when I leave it on the discovery channel.

17. WHAT TYPE WAS YOUR FIRST CAR?
The curvy, fast, high maintenance type.

18. FAVORITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK?
Oh, I wouldn't know since my lips rarely touch it. I'm very allergic.

19. WHAT IS YOUR SIGN AND BIRTHDAY?
Sagittarius - 11.22.77

20. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI?
Only when I'm eating broccoli beef.

21. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
A WWE wrestler or superhero.

22. IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY COLOR HAIR, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
I like the black hair on my head, but it'd be way cool if I had blue hair everywhere else, sorta like cookie monster.

23. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE?
Yes, I've been in love with me for nearly 27 years now. I'm wonderful.

24. FAVORITE MOVIE?
Spider-man 2

25. DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS?
I used to only type with my right index finger. Then, I took a class. Now, I'm able to type with my tongue.

26. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED?
Toys, remotes, lotion, toilet paper, magazines, etc.

27. FAVORITE NUMBERS?
There's just so many I can't decide, but 7 always sounds good.

28. FAVORITE SPORT?
Is rock climbing considered a sport? If not, then professional wrestling.

29. WHAT'S YOUR BIGGEST FEAR?
Growing old unfulfilled in life with one too many regrets. That and hemorrhoids.

33. FAVORITE CD?
50 First Dates Soundtrack or New Kids On The Block - Greatest Hits

34. FAVORITE TV SHOW?
Smallville. I wish I had x-ray vision.

35. KETCHUP OR MUSTARD?
I like them both equally. Although, ketchup ruined the Jumbo Jack.

36. HAMBURGERS OR HOT DOGS?
Hamburgers.

37. FAVORITE SOFT DRINK?
I don't like soda, but I'll drink it, so root beer.

38. BEST PLACE YOU HAVE EVER BEEN?
Hot tax girl's pants. Just joshin', but looks like a nice place to be today.

39. WHAT SCREEN SAVER DO YOU HAVE ON YOU COMPUTER RIGHT NOW?
got milk? spinning in 3D.

40. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
I wanna be The Rock when I grow up.

42. CAR YOU DRIVE NOW?
Nissan 300ZX Twin Turbo

43. WHAT CAR DO YOU WISH YOU HAD?
Nissan Titan

44. SAY ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU.
Technically, she didn't send this to me, but if she had, I'd call her my most favorite stalker EVER.

2004-10-21T15:12:00.000-07:00

So I was leaning towards the medal-wearing high school wrestler costume until last night when I actually put the singlet on in front of a large mirror. I put on the headgear, the frosh-soph tourney medals, trophies in-hand, my jockstrap. I was so ready to sport this at the Halloween party until seeing my own reflection in the mirror struck me with a dose of harsh reality. Let's just say I'ma have to abort the spandex idea entirely.

Halloween is quickly approaching and I seriously need a Plan B. It is simply way too late to start hitting the gym. Speaking of B, that sounds like my current bra size now that I've grown titties. It's ridiculously sad because this damned wrestling singlet leaves very little to the imagination. I mean it just totally accents every curve on my body quite poorly. Which isn't necessarily bad, but men aren't supposed to have curves. And then it's sad enough I'm growing hair on my back, but I also still have a scar on my right areola from the in-grown I removed a couple of weeks ago. I can't believe I used to wrestle around with other dudes in this getup.

I NEED a Halloween costume!!!

2004-10-21T10:28:00.000-07:00

I've been sitting here at work for the past few days with my arms crossed, resting my hands in the area directly beneath my pits. It's quite tender and sore as if I've been jabbed a couple of times with a blunt knife. That, or extremely sharp fingers. Well, I went to the restroom for further inspection and noticed a slightly discolored hint of a bruise.

Halloween Costume Extravaganza

2004-10-19T13:25:00.000-07:00

2004-10-14T15:43:00.000-07:00

I still don't know what I wanna be for halloween. I think the medal-wearing high school wrestler would be fucking hilarious. I found my old wrestling singlet and wrestling headgear from high school. I have them in both blue and red. The only problem with this halloween costume idea is that I just don't have the nerve, nor the physique to pull it off. Granted it's halloween, I just don't see myself parading around my man-boobs, my love handles, and my third leg. I suppose I could wear a warm-up suit with the button-type pants that rip off at a moment's notice. That would look seriously cool before getting onto the dance floor at the halloween party. I might also have to take extra precaution when I get the sudden urge to grind on the dance floor. There's just absolutely no room for excitement if I start "rising to the occasion" in this spandex material. Anyway, it's still just an idea. The masturbating bear sounds like fun, too.

2004-10-07T10:18:00.000-07:00

I have to shake my own hand and give myself a HUGE pat on the back for utilizing my spider senses during the morning commute today. A green toyota camry stubbornly insisted upon riding my bumper. I immediately switched over to a slower, more congested lane to avoid a possible collision. I was initially distraught and upset that I had actually conceded to an aggressive tailgater. But, naturally, my instincts were proven uncanny because just as soon as I moved out of that lane, homeboy rear-ended a black bimmer. I'm so darn smart. I gave that sumbitch the middle finger salute when I passed him by.

2004-10-06T10:12:00.000-07:00

While in the restroom today, I contemplated what might happen if I decided to pull my pants all the way down to my ankles at the urinal and pee kiddy style, standing bare ass exposed and all. I could only imagine what kind of reaction a stunt like this would incite. I mean, would my fellow coworkers laugh in my face or would they choose to ignore me as if it were common practice for a grown man to pee in this fashion. I may just have to try this one out. I'll keep you posted.

2004-10-05T16:46:00.000-07:00

The human digestive system never ceases to amaze me. My dump was an unusual shade of lime green today. However, I was actually anticipating some hint of green in my stool based on what I had eaten last night. I had two scoops of this ube-flavored Filipino ice cream my dad bought. It was brought to my attention that ube passing thru the digestive system frequently yields a greenish dump.

So, in my attempt to determine what might be going on here, I researched the various outcomes of color mixing using the primary colors: red, yellow, and blue.

red + blue = purple
blue + yellow = green
red + green = brown

I hypothesize that I'm expelling green logs because when I consumed the purple yam, ube, it passed thru my digestive system and divided into something red and blue. The blue must've merged with something yellow in my digestive tract, thus exiting my butthole green. Since my dumps are typically supposed to be brown, I suspect that some other active ingredient in purple ube may be causing the red part to get left behind.

Anyway, I think I've succeeded in totally confusing myself even more.

Sake Bomb!

2004-10-04T10:06:00.000-07:00

Miyake's Get-together Dinner

2004-09-30T13:45:00.000-07:00

I'm scratching my back right now and I just ran my fingers thru some long ass pieces of hair. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I seem to be growing hair in really odd places the older I get. I remember back in the day when shaving wasn't such a task. It's probably because I didn't start growing facial hair until shortly after my 18th birthday. So now I have small traces of hair on my nipples AND my back. I think I'm slowly maturing into some kind of beast boy. It's gonna be really embarrassing if I start actually growing hair on the palm of my hands. Boy, the jig would so be up when that happens. By the way, at what age are pubes supposed to kick in? I'm still waiting for that.

2004-09-29T16:57:00.000-07:00

Occasionally, I like to look at my referrers page under my bravenet counter stats. It's cool because I can sorta guess by the IP address who's actually reading my ridiculous posts and how they arrive at my site, whether via a link or a direct hit. I can totally keep tabs on all my stalkers....I mean readers. I still get random people who find me in search engines, but it used to be a lot worse. Before I added that line of code to limit my blog from appearing in searches, I'd frequently get random visitors hitting my site. They'd somehow find me with searches like the following:

~ man squeezing boobs
~ I peed my underwear
~ when milk comes from women
~ breast leaking milk sensual
~ Sun Microsystems RIF

The overexposure scared me for a second and I contemplated deleting my blog when my site turned up under "Sun Microsystems RIF". I thought for sure someone at work had discovered me. Fortunately, the code is magic because I'm still here blogging away under their noses. But even if I had been found out, I don't think I've been that bad. Well, with the exception of hot tax girl, that is. She might not appreciate my lustful comments. I think "hot tax girl" still populates my blog in google. That one's classic.

2004-09-28T17:22:00.000-07:00

You know what sucks is when some girls think they're hot when they're really not. This one chick on our floor always looks pretty fashion trendy and stylish, but there's something odd about her that never fails to make me cringe. She's the kind of gal you'd mistake as hot from a distance when her back is turned. Then when you get close enough and finally catch a glimpse of her face, a sudden urge to blow chunks consumes you and flaccidness ensues. I think she'd make a really good candidate for the second season of The Swan.

The reason I say she thinks she's hot is because sometimes she'll wear her hoochie clubbing attire to work, strutting around the office in her 5-inch platforms. I'm not sure who she's trying to impress, but her natural fobbiness isn't fooling me. Her choice in wardrobe occasionally borders on inappropriate, but I think she could totally pull it off if only she was half cute. Unfortunately, she is not. When we cross paths in the hallway and I do my casual fake hi, she won't reciprocate. She just stands there looking at me with a creepy stare that makes me feel like Frodo holding the precious ring.

I realize there's something morally wrong about me making such cruel remarks, but I had to get it out of my system.

2004-09-27T16:13:00.000-07:00

Today is one of those days when it would be cool to get trapped in an elevator with hot tax girl due to a long ass power outage. And it would also be cool if there was no back-up generator; thus, resulting in poor air circulation and unbearable heat. I would cleverly come up with the brilliant idea to strip off all of our clothes to stay cool. As I continue to exhaust myself looking for a way out, I finally realize we're truly stuck. Then, I notice hot tax girl, visibly frustrated at our situation, is biting her own fingernails. I move in simply to comfort her when she all of a sudden grabs me, coyly whispering in my ear that she often bites her nails to suppress and keep her sexual urges under wrap. I commend her on how well she's controlling her hormones thus far and she immediately proceeds to rape me against the walls of the elevator.

I'm thinking it has something to do with the new haircut because she looking way hotter today, especially with the way her pants are hugging her butt.

2004-09-24T17:26:00.000-07:00

dude, my stomach is farting now. i know it can't be growling because i'm still full.

2004-09-24T16:41:00.000-07:00

I decided to indulge my weekly geekiness and made my way to the comic store on my lunch break today. When I arrived, I jumped out of my car and quickly made my way to the entrance only to discover a yellow post-it on the door that read "Be back in 15 minutes." What the frick good is a sign like that when they fail to specify a time left? This is so bad business I'm thinking, but I figure my worse case scenario is only fifteen minutes. I go back and sit in my car for a few seconds before I realize why black leather seats and the hot sun don't mix very well. I swear I looked like Reuben Studdard swimming in a pool of my own sweat.

So I look around desperately trying to escape the heat when a restaurant across the street called HUNGRY HOUND catches my eye. I bolt across the busy intersection to check it out and I am immediately captivated by the window menu: HAMBURGERS, STEAK SANDWICHES, HOT DOGS, GYROS. It was like heaven to my already deprived appetite. I've been trying to watch what I eat lately to compensate for my lack of exercise. But, my stomach simply could not walk away this time. I had no mercy on my body and attempted to eat like Reuben, too. I ordered a 3/4 lb cheeseburger with a basket of fries. I can usually judge a restaurant by how well they make a burger and boy did they pass with flying colors. The food is inexpensive and portions are generous. I feel like such a fat ass, but I'm so coming back to try the entire menu. I wanna try the pastrami sandwich, the philly cheesesteak, hawaiian burger, steak sandwich, chili cheese hot dog, gyro, onion rings. I know there's more, but I wonder how many visits that'll take?

I think the food comatose is finally setting in because I can barely stay awake right now. I nearly banged my head into my screen just a few minutes ago. I was so full halfway thru that 3/4 lb burger, but I had to finish since to-go boxes are for girls. I wobbled across the street back to the comic store and personally thanked the owner who left the away post-it by busting ass all over his shop.

Don't blame me, HUNGRY HOUND did this.

2004-09-24T11:15:00.000-07:00

I hate when I speak too soon about work. While I was posting that last entry yesterday, I was almost instantly interrupted by my boss coming to delegate new FUN work! She totally put a damper on my party.

a let me see you do tha A town star
a do the A town star
and do the muscle
and do the muscle
and do the muscle
and do the muscle
a thunderr clap hey
a thunderr clap hey
a thunderr clap hey
a thunderr clap hey
and rock away
rock away
rock away
rock away
and turn!!

My unproductive, yet relaxing, work week was almost perfect, too.

2004-09-23T15:39:00.000-07:00

Last week, I was gasping for air because I was practically drowning in work. Now, it's almost Friday and I've managed to avoid working altogether. As a matter of fact, I have done absolutely nothing this entire week but sit here and pretend to look busy. So much for self-motivation and thriving on opportunities to learn and assume responsibility. I need to update my resume, btw. But pretending isn't easy either when you still have half a conscience. I don't like being lazy, but I figure it all sorta evens out somehow at the end of the pay period.

I am sooo bored right now that I've actually started doing the muscle dance to the sound of hot tax girl blowing her nose. She had a cool Usher beat going for a second.

2004-09-23T10:37:00.000-07:00

I've had this extremely annoying in-grown hair on my right areola since Monday. Last night, I had to do a double take when I saw the resulting bump because I swear it's just getting larger. Now, it looks like a very unattractive second nipple on the same areola. So I'm in the shower and I decide to dig the sucker out. I start squeezing away at it with my two index fingernails and a white mushy substance slowly oozes out. Although faintly visible, I am having absolutely no success in forcing out the in-grown. However, being the resourceful guy I am, I jump out of the shower and find a tiny dress shirt pin and proceed to further mutilate my right areola. I wish I could watch myself doing this because at this point, my nipple is just gushing with nonstop blood. But a few stabs later, I'm finally able to free the in-grown and pluck it out with my trusty tweezers. The sumbitch was about a half inch long.

Boy, now this band-aid is getting super uncomfortable.

2004-09-22T15:51:00.000-07:00

Fig Newtons are by far the nastiest tasting cookies EVER. I can usually eat just about anything and complain about it later, but not these fig newtons. I remember eating these in elementary school, but there is something strangely different about them now. Since when did nabisco start trying to pass off shit as a fruit chewy flavor? I'm not saying that I've actually tasted shit before, but if I had to guess, I'd say a fig newton would come pretty damn close. The thought of it in my mouth is making me nauseous.

2004-09-22T11:28:00.000-07:00

I took a pepto dump this morning and swear I must've used up half the roll of toilet paper. It still amazes me that consuming a pink liquid can produce such mysteriously dark bowel movements. I think my right arm actually got quite a rigorous workout with all the swiping. That might also explain why my right arm is stronger than my left. I wish I was ambidextrous.

2004-09-22T10:08:00.000-07:00

Guess who's retarded? That's right, me. You know how when someone points out an insecurity, you're typically supposed to try and make them feel better about it. Well, not I said the fly. I'm not sure where I misplace my brain when it happens, but I find myself frequently talking out of my ass. And the funny thing is that I can hear the crap coming out of my mouth, but I am unable to stop it. I'm not necessarily meaning what I say when it happens most of the time. It's just that one idiotic remark can take you on a downward spiral and everything you say after is like throwing on all the firewood and burning the entire house down. Or sometimes you actually do have a good save, but something happens to disrupt communication and you never have that chance to explain yourself. Because there is a certain time frame you should follow in such matters. Otherwise, you're forced to stay a jackass and make do. oh well.

2004-09-21T10:45:00.000-07:00

I think I've finally found good underwear. They're called boxer briefs. I don't recall why I never considered these before, but they're probably the smartest idea second to TiVO. It's a hybrid between tighty whitey briefs and loosey goosey boxer shorts.

I always liked the idea of boxers, but they always allowed me way more freedom than necessary. I suppose it's my fault for attempting to run in them. The embarrassing slapping noise becomes incredibly annoying after a few short strides. Plus, sometimes after a routine leak when you fail to shake off all the drippage and put it away too soon, traces of urine trickle down your thigh. Needless to say, I nixed boxer shorts a long time ago.

I've always had a special place in my heart for regular briefs, but it's so frustrating trying to find a decent brand. I think I've actually blogged about this before. I usually buy a pack of kirkland briefs from costco and they always seem fine until about the third pair. Out of that six-pack, I'll probably find about two good ones and reuse the hell out of them. For the others, minute inconsistencies in the overall underwear design become quickly apparent when I find myself "crawling" out of them or when my sack starts sticking to my inner thigh. It's sooo uncomfortable, especially in hot weather.

Well, I was feeling a little saucy the other day and decided to give boxer briefs a try. I was initially disappointed with them because they were a tad big and felt like regular ol' boxers. But then after the second wash, they're fucking cool. I found it favoring my right leg this time but then I was immediately reassured by the added security of these lengthy boxer briefs. I have the support/stability of a brief and the illusion of a boxer short. It's like the best of both worlds.

2004-09-17T13:20:00.000-07:00

The week is almost over and my ridiculous workload has denied me one breath of air to blog about conquering Half Dome last weekend, much less about anything else. This is weird because since when did work start taking precedence over blogging? I definitely need to get my priorities in check. They've been keeping me so busy since Monday that I'm occasionally forgetting to take my dumps. The thing that sucks is when I let these logs accumulate and marinate in my system, cleaning becomes such a bitch when I finally do go. The brown suckers expel with such force and velocity that the damn toilet water splashes back at me. I mean talk about cannon balls. I refuse to be held accountable for the flooded crappers this week, too.

Anyway, Team Half Dome succeeded in completing its mission to defeat that immense pile of granite. And for me to be sitting here saying we conquered Half Dome is a huge understatement. The illustrious Team Half Dome comprised of myself, Kate "Princess of the Squirrels" Chan, Vicky "Precyous" Tran, Vinny "Full Moon" Vasquez, Ranier "Big Guns" Balingcos, and Lori "WB-geek" Pisco hiked to the top of that rock with inevitable purpose. It was destiny, my friend. With blisters, sweat, and tears, we gave Half Dome the proverbial beating of its life and Half Dome fought back.

....

ok I started to write this on Thursday and got bombarded yet again with damn projects. Now, last weekend feels so ancient that I hardly feel like writing about Half Dome anymore. But I'ma try to keep it brief and maybe the pictures can speak for themselves. We officially began our journey to Half Dome @ 6:30am with a little under 3.5 hours of sleep. It's a good thing all six of us are half-crazy because embarking on an intense hike of this magnitude with inadequate rest is so not smart. Nonetheless, us badassess were so determined to conquer Half Dome that we absolutely would not be satisfied until we did so. We endured several grueling hours of uphill hiking before finally making it to the cables leading to the promise land. Half Dome ain't no joke, but it is completely doable. And I'm not saying I wasn't challenged, but I think I probably built it up so much in my mind that it failed to live up to my expectations.

As a result, Team Half Dome took it upon ourselves to spice things up a bit and "purposely" take our time hiking back down, awaiting the challenge that nightfall could provide. We should ideally have been done in nine hours, but it'd be a shame to spread the 17-mile hike so thin. I suppose we also all figured that hiking in the dark on a rocky trail with loose gravel down two-foot granite steps was just way too much fun to pass up. We emptied our camelbacks on some pretty trees for the sheer pleasure of experiencing thirst and dehydration. Night hikes in Yosemite are the best. There's the inherent danger of possibly missing a step and breaking something or the grave likelihood of stumbling upon a hungry bear. You learn real fast that you must expect the unexpected in Yosemite. Whatever adventure was going to be thrown our way, we were ready to embrace it and Half Dome wasn't going to let us forget.

But, never could we have anticipated finding ourselves lost balls-deep on the Half Dome trail with a group of bizarre New Zealand folk. Somewhere between sin and sun, we must've fallen into some kind of warp zone and arrived in an alternate universe or some reality show nightmare. It is by far the single most surreal experience of my life. I wouldn't doubt that these three New Zealand chicks weren't the official Half Dome cheerleaders because they were way too jolly about being lost. Or I think one of them was from New Zealand, another from the UK, and the other from Jupiter.

The other group of lost hikers with us were the complete opposite of our New Zealand spirit finger buddies. But fortunately, they served a purpose. Out of the 14 lost heads that decided to stick together, a dude from this group was the only one with cel phone reception. It just sucks that he had to be so damn pessimistic. I mean the last thing I wanna hear is a conversation with your buddy about how you're gonna die in Yosemite or how the bears are gonna force sexual intercourse on you. That's just negative energy, homeboy. Anyway, when we finally contacted the ranger station, I immediately took comfort at the news that a search and rescue team was coming to save us. Half Dome wasn't going to win after all.

I still can't shake the voice of that obnoxiously positive New Zealand chick. I think she stood out so much because she was the voluntary ring leader of our shabooya roll calls, ranger sound-offs, and other random mating-call-like noises.

RANGER RANGER *clap 2X* HELP HELP *clap 3X* RANGER RANGER!!!

It's hilariously funny now, but at the time we were all shitting bricks and following suit like a bunch of kindergarteners on a field trip. In the end, we were out on the trail for a total of about 18 hours before finally returning to our campsite unharmed. It was definitely a memorable hike.

I need a forty.

Half Dome 2004 pics

2004-09-10T13:22:00.000-07:00

Hey, did I mention that I have TiVO now? Well, I must say that it is one of the smartest buys I've made in a while. I can't believe I've been so behind and MIA with such fascinating technology. It's truly amazing how much more tv I am now able to watch than ever before. The cool part is that it sorta gives me the illusion that I have special powers like that Evie girl from that 80s show Out of This World. She'd put her two index fingers together to pause and un-pause time, remember? Ya dude, like that but with a remote control! Because I can pause live tv and then resume whenever it's convenient for me. Well, at least for up to 30 minutes I think. And TiVO is smart, too. Over time, it develops an idea of what you like to watch and it'll record it for you without even having to program it. I came home yesterday and it recorded three episodes of Seinfeld for me. Apparently, TiVO knows me better than me because I absolutely love Seinfeld now. Then, at the click of a mouse, I can even program my TiVO via the internet. Never will I ever have to experience the misfortune of missing an episode of Smallville. Thank you, TiVO. You're the greatest!

2004-09-09T15:33:00.000-07:00

Ever since that darned Melanie namedropped the bf on Tuesday, the Sun MicroStalker seems to have moved on. At least we know he can take a hint. But, I saw him at his desk today with a boba drink. I stood at his door for a brief second tempted to ask him where mine was this time.

...

Mel, this is all your fault.

2004-09-09T10:41:00.000-07:00

The journey to Half Dome begins in a little under 48 hours and I've never been more physically unprepared to conquer a hike of this monstrosity. The huge pile of granite stands at an elevation of 8,842 feet and the trail to the top is by no means an easy walk in the park. I think the only cardio training I've done to prepare for this trip is lifting a cheeseburger to my mouth every day. However, I'm confident that I've bestowed enough motivational bullshit upon Team Half Dome to help me accomplish such a grueling task. And I think they actually bought the phony inspirational email I wrote to compensate for my lack of testicular fortitude.

"In just a few short days, we'll be in Yosemite face-to-face with the ultimate question of whether we're going to conquer Half Dome or if Half Dome is going to conquer us. I know a few of you have expressed doubt about whether you're ready for such a challenge. Well, turn those pencils upside down and erase those silly self-doubts because you're coming to the top of that rock with me whether you like it or not. I don't care if I have to fold you up and put you in my backpack. We ARE going to CONQUER Half Dome! Now, repeat that sentence ten times before you go to bed every night. Ready is just a state of mind, team. Lack of physical training and preparation aside, we CAN do this.

...

Humans only use 10% of their potential, so please be prepared to dig deep down inside and just BRING IT!"

I'm so full of crap. I think it'll be painfully obvious how unready I am when I start huffing and puffing after the first ten minutes. However, I have gone to extreme lengths to ensure I'm taken care of hygiene-wise. I trimmed my pit hairs. I read in Maxim magazine that the source of most underarm b.o. is the sweat that clings to your pit hairs. So without a nest of underarm hair, your t-shirt absorbs the sweat first where it can be more easily wicked away along with the odor. I've actually tried this before and I still managed to smell funky. But hopefully, the REI shirt I bought made of sweat-wicking material will aid in this process. If not, I still enjoy the sensation and look of my hairless pits. I feel so free.

I'm also bringing a tub supply of Wet Ones Antibacterial Moist Towelettes. They come in really handy during camping when running water and soap aren't as readily available. They're also a great way to finish off a messy dump without having to take a shower. I can't live without them anymore.

Half Dome ain't ready for this jelly.

2004-09-07T17:20:00.000-07:00

I hate when number two sneaks up on you so abruptly that you forget to make time to lay the sanitary sheet and end up carelessly sitting on someone else's ass hair remnants lingering on the toilet seat.

2004-09-03T11:59:00.000-07:00

Hot tax girl's stock is rising again. Whether she has "the gift that keeps on giving" or not, it doesn't matter to me anymore. I feel terrible about maliciously injuring the good name of hot tax girl. The truth is that her amazing curves still got me raising all three arms like I'm at Magic Mountain. And on top of all that, she's a genuinely sweet person. Today, she brought in some freshly baked Vietnamese buns and I absolutely love them. There's nothing like the milky, custard filling oozing out of her Vietnamese buns. I couldn't resist a second mouthful.

2004-09-02T15:15:00.000-07:00

There's a sadly pathetic homeboy here at work who has absolutely no game. I'd normally feel sorry for someone like this, but he's quickly earning himself a reputation as the creepy Sun MicroStalker. And no, I'm not talking about myself, foolio. This dude is hopelessly clueless. I mean it's so not cool when you've managed to incite "ewww" goosebumps out of every woman you approach; in the workplace, no less. Watching these female coworkers squirm is the most hilariously entertaining sight. You can totally just tell by the look on their faces that things would be sooo much easier at a club/bar. Because at work, brushing homeboy off becomes quite a task when you're struggling to be cordial and maintain professionalism. Stalker dude isn't necessarily doing anything to warrant a sexual harassment claim. He just radiates a creepy vibe about himself in the things he does that spell loser.

First of all, the fact that he chooses to reserve a flexible office directly adjacent to the women's restroom and his overall appearance aren't helping him any. He's sorta short, slightly husky with a rugged, rough-looking face you could probably light a match on. And his piercing stare even frightened me for a hot minute. But then I heard stories from some of the twenty-something girls on our floor about stalker dude and how he'd start random conversations totally out of the blue. No lead-in hello, no warning. He'd just sneak up on them in their office completely unannounced and proceed to "spit game." That's just fine and dandy, but you gotta take a hint when the girl is visibly busy, irritated, and damn near shutting the door in your face while still maintaining work etiquette. Make like a tree and leave yo.

Well, I've had the pleasure of witnessing stalker dude in all his glory more recently since he's taken a liking to my buddy Melanie who shares an office space with me. I hadn't known too much about stalker dude until now. But I recall watching this guy peek into our cube several times a day for no apparent reason. It didn't occur to me that I was cock-blocking homeboy all this time. Because just as soon as I stepped away from my desk, he'd insert himself and briefly "spit game" at Melanie. And it's not like his conversational skills were anything near coherent.

One day, he got a little creative and decided to buy the both of us boba drinks. I suppose he figured that befriending me while showing Melanie his boyfriend-esque qualities might somehow score him some points. I agree it was a nice gesture, but it was honestly just plain weird. I'm thinking that it probably sounded like a cool idea when he was at the boba store. He just overlooked the part where he's still the creepy stranger. Not once during all his frequent walk-by's and attempts at "spitting game" did he ever just say what's up or hey. I mean seriously, it's kinda weird to treat us to boba of all things, especially when we're not exactly coworkers, friends, much less even acquaintances.

I know I shouldn't be so hard on the guy. But, perhaps he'd be better off letting his penis speak for him. Today was classic.

sun microstalker: TKL%$L KE#@RFE*HJ LA&!@DFDJ#LKA!!! [brisk walk-by, random comment]
melanie: [visibly startled wtf look on her face w/ both arms thrown into the air] what?
me: the fuck? [speaking under my breath while biting my lip trying to suppress my urge to burst into laughter]
sun microstalker: [backslides into our cube to repeat himself] that wwwaas aaaa cute hhhaat yyyooou wwwere wwwearing yyyyesterdddday. [visibly nervous]
melanie: tha..... where'd he go?
me: hahahah!!! you put a love spell on stalker dude!

lost my bitch...

2004-08-31T14:00:00.000-07:00

I lost my dog. Sunday, August 28, 2004 was the last sighting of our Pomeranian-mix pet dog, Twinkle aka Stinkle. Her disappearance is a mystery and I'm still in denial that she's actually missing. We've turned the entire house and neighborhood upside down searching for her without a single clue. And I've tried to recall the events leading to her vanishing that fateful Sunday night over and over again. Still, no known explanation.

It is just so unlike her to run away for such a long period of time. I mean if she was an unhappy dog, then at least have the common courtesy to leave a note or something. But, I highly doubt that she wasn't happy with us; Twinkle's anger management issues aside. If you wanted to pet her, you'd only be allowed to do so on her time. Otherwise, she'll snap a chunk of your finger while making that little hocking loogie growl. She's definitely one of a kind, that Stinkle. I miss that bitch.

2004-08-27T15:22:00.000-07:00

It's amazing how loosely my pants are fitting this afternoon. When I put them on this morning, they were pretty snug so I chose not to wear a belt. But after that fourth dump today, I'm having to pull them up every so often because they're practically hanging off my ass. I had cereal for lunch by the way. Milk always sets off these damn trumpet farts. But it doesn't stink for some reason, honestly.

2004-08-27T12:03:00.000-07:00

Dude, I have the fattest headache ever and it just occurred to me why. I've taken three dumps already this morning and I'm talking full loads per trip. I think I gave myself a braineurism again trying to squeeze out all the logs in one visit. I knew I was gonna regret eating that country-fried steak from Chilis last night. That'd normally be an average meal for me, but since I've been trying to watch my figure, my stomach has shrunken somewhat. Therefore, I'm unable to fit as much food. But my meal was just so good last night I had to indulge. So I've succeeded in stretching my belly again. Corn chunks add such character to a dump.

2004-08-27T10:12:00.000-07:00

You know what's unattractive right now? Hot tax girl blowing her nose. The loud, fart-like, queafish nose-blowing sounds like she's forcing out traces of her brain thru her nostrils. But that's not the worst of it. She was in my cube today and I noticed a blistering red bump sitting right under her lower lip. For her sake, I hope it's just a regular ol' cold sore, but I suspect it may be an occasional herpes simplex flare-up. Nasty. She totally came tumbling off the pedestal if it's true. Hot tax girl, no more.

2004-08-26T10:12:00.000-07:00

I think I sense the second coming of Mr. Rainbow. However, this isn't the same dude I blogged about from the copy room a while back. It's Mr. Rainbow #2. I didn't ask for this. I mean I cannot control, nor take responsibility for the animalistic attraction I naturally exude. I'm cursed.

Mr. Rainbow #2 is the prissy boy I initially mistook for a metrosexual in May. He has a Ricky Martin-ish swagger about him with the way his hips sway from side-to-side in super exaggerated fashion as he walks. And both arms sorta finesse the air at a 45 degree angle. Remember that guy? Well, there was no question in my mind which team he played for when I saw him prancing in the hallway. I still hold my breath when I pass him by. It's just not cool when a dude can smell almost as good as a girl.

Yesterday when I got into work, I think he was trying to make eye contact with me. I normally wouldn't think much of it with anyone else, but I could swear I caught a glimpse of a perverted smirk on his face. Sorta like he was undressing me with x-ray vision. I felt so violated, I immediately reacted by covering my package with the manila folder in my hand. I later dismissed it as a figment of my phobic imagination. But then this morning I got a sneaking suspicion I was being dissected yet again. He's walked by my office about five times this morning. I can see him just salivating with desire in the corner of my eye as I'm typing this. I think he might be trying to cast a spell on me by the way he's slyly peeking into my cube. I have never been more disgusted in my life. I'm totally immune to these phony female pheromones he's giving off. Rey just don't swing that way yo.

I think since the first Mr. Rainbow incident, I've wised up and learned to anticipate such awkward moments before I let them happen. My abundance of testosterone must've scared him off because he finally disappeared. I guess this makes me hot tax boy.

2004-08-23T16:10:00.000-07:00

Back when I wrestled in high school, I remember feeling extremely intimidated when I had to compete against swol mutherfuckers with tattoos. It often felt like a life or death situation and the odds were already stacked against me. I don't know where that intimidation factor developed from, but I suppose it had something to do with stereotypes about people who wore tattoos. I always used to think it was a ghetto thing or some kinda indication that the person had come from a hard knock life. The fact that we were all typically around the same age and that they were able to endure pricking needles spoke volumes about their mental toughness. To me, they were the toughest SOBs walking the mat. It didn't help that these false assumptions were sensationalized by my own teammates.

teammate: who you got dude?
me: I got that guy over there! [pointing at tattoo freak]
teammate: oh shit, the one with the tats? sorry man.
me: yeah. [shitting bricks]
teammate: good luck! [sarcastic tone]
me: fucker.

Well, I think I conquered that fear factor when I pinned tattoo roidzilla. He wasn't no joke either because he was handing my ass to me with authority. I don't think I had any offense whatsoever during the entire match. Then, destiny supplied me with super powers and I managed to put his shoulders to the mat. Shortly after the pinfall, I ripped off his tattoo with my bare hands and told him he no longer deserved to wear it.

And the moral of my story is that I'm full of shit. Truthfully, I've been thinking about getting a tattoo. I just wanna get something meaningful and creative. I thought about getting a big ass spider on my chest, but then it dawned on me that I still need to workout.

I really wanna join the tattoo club. I hear the grass is much greener.

2004-08-22T11:20:00.000-07:00

Chili Bar Run River Rafting pics

2004-08-18T15:02:00.000-07:00

My nipples keep pointing outward. Ever since I stopped working out about nine months ago, I seem to have developed a layer of fat surrounding my areolas. I swear it looks like my nipples are running away from each other on the surface of my chest. I need to start benching again or doing push-ups because this is extremely unattractive. Although I expected this slow deterioration of my chest, I never anticipated that a bra would actually do me some good. Friggin man-boobs suck!

2004-08-17T11:56:00.000-07:00

It occurred to me recently that women often perpetuate their own insecurities. I'm not denying that society's portrayal of beauty isn't the source of many of these insecurities, but is it not true that women are better at criticizing each other? This kind of behavior is a form of ego gratification in which you point out another person's flaws in order to make yourself feel better. And this isn't necessarily something women do on purpose because it seems to be a subconscious tendency.

The thing that sucks is that when women criticize one another in the presence of a male, he can often develop similar tendencies when critiquing a woman. Before you know it, dude is an expert at ripping apart any girl whether she happens to be quite homely or extremely attractive. You'd be surprised by how well a guy could get at pointing out imperfections simply hanging around a few self-conscious girlfriends. You start to notice every minute detail from toe symmetry to back fat caused by a tight bra. Or how about that upper arm fat that jiggles when you wave or the unattractive flat ass that merges with the back of the thigh like someone ran an iron across it? Cellulite? Breast size? Camel toe? Hairy arms? Cankles? Buck teeth? Stank head or breath? Oily face? Complexion? The upper lip that disappears when she smiles? The double chin that magically appears at certain angles? I feel horrible already just repeating such nonsense.

Of course, the smart guys reserve these evaluative conversations for guy talk. We'd be foolish to reveal the depth of our shallowness to the opposite sex. But then again, there is no such thing as a smart guy. We put are foot in our mouths plenty. (i.e. you're not that fat) And although some guys can come up with an infinite list of flaws and imperfections, the bottom line, million dollar question that many women overlook still remains---would he still bang her? More often than not, the answer to this question is an emphatic hell yes.

2004-08-16T20:27:00.000-07:00

American River Camping 2004 pics

courtesy of mr. unbreakable

2004-08-16T14:42:00.000-07:00

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. I've been thinking about what hot tax girl looks like in a thong bikini. The first time she walked by today, I imagined her completely nekid. Then for every subsequent walk-by, I thought it would be fun to imagine her in vicky secrets lingerie, a catwoman suit, hot oil, hot syrup, whipped cream, a smurfette costume and then a bikini. But then I thought about our river rafting trip this past weekend and the plethora of bikini clad chicas. Sometimes clothes can be deceiving and misleading as a pack of melted m&m's. On the outside wrapper, everything looks perfectly swell. Then you open up the bag and BOOM---it's all sticking together, lacks firmness, rough texture, smeared shades of color, and deformity ensues. Well, sometimes you can open up a bag of potential eye candy with the same shocking disappointment. You just gotta maintain low expectations when dealing with such matters.

However, she's walked by my office about 20 times today and I reckon that she'd still look pretty fucking awesome.

2004-08-13T13:29:00.000-07:00

I might have to retract my statement about these spenco insoles. I guess I hadn't actually walked in them all that much yet. But, I feel like I'm leaning forward because the heel of my foot is slightly elevated at a slope. Then, my ankle feels all jiggly when I walk. It feels like I'm wearing high heels.

ummmm... not that I actually know what it feels like to walk in high heels.

2004-08-13T11:05:00.000-07:00

I took my "half-hour" lunch yesterday at the Great Mall and treated myself to new pairs of kicks. Footlocker had that 2 for 89 deal and I caved into temptation. It's not like I needed new shoes either, but how could I pass up a bargain. Plus, I was feeling crappy about my job and figured spending would make me feel so much better. And it did.

I purchased a pair of adidas and new balance shoes. I really only wanted the adidas, but I had to find a second pair to seal the deal. While I'm trying these shoes on, the salesperson tried to interest me in these spenco replacement insoles. Whatever I'm thinking, they're just trying to squeeze another dollar outta my wallet. I know exactly what I want---2 for 89 baby and that's it!

So I go along with her little spiel about how if you're the kinda person who does a lot of walking or if you're on your feet a lot, then these spenco insoles are for you. Supposedly, they offer better arch support and have more cushion than the standard insole. For the low price of $19.99, they're also replaceable every year with the warranty included with purchase.

She had me at on your feet a lot. And she wasn't even hot.

I swear it was divine intervention. It was as if she totally knew me and all the suffering I've been enduring this past week with hours at the damned copy machine. I've been going home completely fatigued everyday since monday because I've been standing ALL day at work. My bad ankle has even been reaggravated since because of it. Then, fate brought an angel in referee attire to save me.

These spenco insoles really are super comfortable. I feel as if I could stand forever now. But the one thing that I really love about these insoles is the fact that they've actually added another inch to my height, too. It's awesome.

2004-08-09T15:53:00.000-07:00

I hate cheap toilet paper. If you're not careful to grab enough squares per swipe, the damn thing will occasionally rip upon contact with your ass. Then while blogging, you realize that you need to wash your hands again, but more thoroughly this time because you overlooked the area under your fingernails. I thought I smelled cabbage.

2004-08-06T16:22:00.000-07:00

Have you ever heard someone's voice without ever having seen that person yet and just imagined what they might look like? I overheard this lady talking outside my cube and she sounded fat. I'm not sure that there's such a thing as a fat person's voice, but I could swear I heard it. I took a peek and what do you know....she was, in fact, a chunkster.

2004-08-06T16:14:00.000-07:00

My office name plate is broken and keeps falling down. I've had to fix the damn thing twice already. I think this is symbolic or some kind of sign. I need a new job. This current one is hopeless like my name plate.

2004-08-05T13:18:00.000-07:00

I think my lungs are contaminated. They really should make it mandatory for some Sun employees to carry an air freshener spray. Dude in the crapper is gonna kill someone with his brand! I mean I never thought a simple trip to the restroom could be such a near death experience. I attempted to hold my breath, but I conceded to my natural instinct to gasp for air when I started to feel woozy. I must've inhaled a full log with all the shit particles floating in the air. And on top of all that, I didn't even have a chance to enjoy my peegasm.

I took a mental note of dude's shoes. It is so on now, foolio!

2004-08-03T13:03:00.000-07:00

Just had a random prepubescent memory...

My parents were pretty lenient about the kind of material they subjected us to whether it be abundant in gratuitous violence, boobies, or just about anything that warranted an R-rating. But I think it was my dad, more specifically, who didn't believe in sugarcoating harsh reality or telling white lies. I suppose that's why he never fabricated the existence of Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, or the Tooth Fairy. He reasoned that he wouldn't have been a completely honest father had he given them all the credit.

I recall watching movies like Screwballs, Toxic Avenger, and Bachelor Party during elementary school. Talk about corrupting a child. I mean I enjoyed myself plenty, but in retrospect, I can't believe they let me watch such filth. These movies were often saturated with crude humor, innuendo, and shameless nudity. However, the bulk of it went right over my head and I didn't know what I was laughing at half the time. Although, I did know boobs. I remember trying super hard not to appear too excited when a nude scene came on, especially when mom was present. But on the inside, I was totally jumping for joy and doing cartwheels. Hell, I still do that now. I sometimes judge a movie based on the amount of nudity. Screwballs was awesome!

Rash Boy

2004-08-02T14:47:00.000-07:00

I just had a random memory about my battle with skin rash as a kid. I think I was about ten when I developed really bad hives of rash on my lower legs. I don't recall it being triggered by the sun like now, but I think it was due to an extremely dry skin irritation. I hadn't yet discovered the beauty of lotion....hehe. I tended to give in to the itchiness and scratch my skin raw. Then, I'd spray my legs with scalding hot water for a temporary relief fix. So, ultimately, one tiny itch multiplied into many as a result of my lack of self-control and stubbornness. I also often indulged in picking my scabs to a nasty bloodfest; totally left scars still faintly visible today. I think I could've been one of those geeks with a scab collection if I only thought to store them in a jar.

After many weeks of suffering, my mom finally decided to take me to a dermatologist. The doctor scolded me for causing my own discomfort and prescribed me some kind of cortisone. Then, he suggested that I wrap my legs in saran wrap overnight after applying the medicine. Supposedly, the saran wrap would more effectively allow my skin to absorb the cortisone. I went thru this daily routine for a year or so walking around like newly packaged meat. I remember the saran wrap turning yellowish the following morning. Sometimes when I got lazy, I wore it the next day and I'd sweat it off 'til it dangled at my ankles. I may have looked ridiculously silly in shorts, but boy did I have the nicest, most caressingly soft legs ever afterwards.

2004-07-30T15:49:00.000-07:00

Now they've changed the toilet paper on us. And it's not like we had the nicest toilet paper to begin with. I typically can't tell the difference until about the fifth swipe, but at least the one we had before was perforated. I swear Sun is working super hard to cut costs.

2004-07-30T14:54:00.000-07:00

Not sure what's going on here, but I've been bustin ass all morning. I had to inspect myself for hershey marks in the men's room because I could've sworn I sharted my undies. Fortunately, we're still in the clear, over and out.

2004-07-30T11:29:00.000-07:00

You know I think I've finally acquired a taste for beer. I mean it's nothing new to my buds, but I feel like I actually enjoy it now. Before, I would just drink a beer because it looked like a manly thing to do. Last night when I got home from work, I had myself a Rolling Rock and cornuts. It totally hit the spot. I'm having a forty tonight.

2004-07-29T14:08:00.000-07:00

My dad and I were having a conversation about suped-upish, pimp-my-ride style cars. He didn't particularly care for the one's that only get cosmetic upgrades to look like fast cars (i.e. huge ass spoilers, lowered body, nice rims, etc.) I thought he came up with a hilarious analogy.

"It'd be like if I were to dress up in The Flash costume and go jogging around... I'm still a slow, old man with a big ol' belly!" --Dad

we be goin' under...

2004-07-29T11:03:00.000-07:00

I remember a time when I was totally oblivious to the economic state of Sun. They spoiled us with donuts, bagels, muffins, and fruits every Wednesday morning when I started here as a student intern in August 1995. We even had a company shuttle service that lifted the burden of our commutes while simultaneously doing the environment a favor. Now, since the economy slump and hiring freeze, it's been nothing but downhill. It became undeniably clear that Sun was not doing too hot from then on. Prior to the eventual RIFs, I recall them desperately trying all sorts of things to cut costs.

I like to say it all started with the donuts. I think they purposely bought cheaper, nasty donuts so that we wouldn't remember what we were missing. Still, I personally felt that we could've laid off a few dispensable heads before taking away the free Wednesday donuts. That was the ultimate heartbreak. Then, they threatened to take away the convenience of our shuttle service until a handful of Sun employees raised hell. So it's still around, but they've inconveniently switched up the time schedules to discourage riders because of the rising gas prices. It's just a matter of time before they nix that one too. I've managed to survive three waves of layoffs and things don't seem to be picking up just yet.

More recently, they've permanently set the thermostat at 78 degrees. That's eight friggin notches hotter than our usual air conditioned office temperature. As a result, I'm constantly sweating like Ruben Studdard in a leather sleeping bag after raising a single finger. I need to buy myself a personal a/c or fan because this is absolutely ridiculous. Then because I've been perspiring so profusely as of late, I've spent more time in the restroom washing my goddamn face. I grab a stash of paper towels, dry up and realize they've changed these too. No big deal I'm thinking since it's cool they're still supplying us with something. I go about my business, sweat my ass off again and go thru the same routine an hour later. This time I look in the mirror and notice I have small traces of paper towel remnants on my face....BASTARDS! I've been walking around like a buffoon with specs of toilet paper wad on my cheeks because cheap ass Sun is buying cheap ass paper towels now. Sun is a sinking ship. I can almost smell it.

Comic-Con Nerdfest 2004

2004-07-27T11:42:00.000-07:00

I've got a case of the mondays and it's supposed to be tuesday. Dorky Office Space reference, though appropriate after a weekend of geekiness. I'm still wishing the San Diego Comic-Con International wasn't yet over. It passed by in such a flash, my breath is still trying to catch up. I was completely overwhelmed like a fat kid at a buffet. There was just so much going on at one time that I didn't know where to begin. I met a couple of celebrities, got a few autographs, observed other comic book geeks, and depleted my funds. I didn't exactly come home with an empty wallet (thanks to a desperate ATM run) but I was so ready to spend my entire bank account at one point during the convention. Thank goodness for my sense of self-control and ability to count.

Part of me is a little embarrassed about how much fun I had because it truly was a nerdfest of freaks and geeks. People were dressed like Halloween, emulating their favorite superheroes and whatnot. It's all good and fun, but I cannot begin to fathom what in blue hell drives an "adult" to dress up in heavyass knight's armor or wear a friggin mask on a hot ass San Diego day. I can understand if you're working at comic-con, but just to? Maybe I'm being a killjoy, but it just looks extremely silly when I can see these dorks visibly uncomfortable with beads of sweat running down their foreheads or with sweaty pits and a sweaty ass crack in a spidey costume. This totally puts my new comic book hobby into perspective--I wonder what I'd look like in spidey tights?

The funny thing is that my brain's just now registering how wacky people were dressed reflecting back upon the weekend. It's the only place they'd ever get away with wearing these bizarre costumes on a day other than October 31. I stood in an elevator at our hotel with Hellboy, Jack Sparrow, and Nightcrawler. Didn't seem weird at the time, but now it's like, the fuck? It's sorta like the morning after a night at the strip club. You know how you can sometimes totally take for granted that dozens of hot chicks are dancing around naked that eventually, it gets stale and passe. Well, it's the same with freaks at the comic-con. I suddenly have an urge to go back in time and make a conscious point to really live in the moment. It was pretty cool and I wish I took more pictures. Oh, but can we take pics at a strip club? Nevermind.

Although comic-con is open to all shapes and ages, I'd hate to imagine myself balls deep into this stuff when I'm fifty years old. At least to the extent of some of the comic book fatty slobs I saw. Walking around the convention is probably the only time of year they actually burn any calories. I swear I got more tired and fatigued myself spending a day at comic-con than I do during any strenuous hike I've done. Anyway, I was watching this old dude talk about toys. I'd normally refer to them as action figures, but I wanted to exploit how ridiculously pathetic he sounded. He was schooling his old jabroni buddies on the toy he bought and what a great deal it was because it was a variant and so on. While I was listening to him, it occurred to me that that's exactly what I sound like now. Is that where I'm gonna be in 25 years? This sucks. Dude, I so better not be single in 25 years if this happens. Even worse, what if this hobby keeps me single?

But it can't be too bad if we got hotties like Jessica Alba at comic-con. I'd trade my meet-and-greet with Keanu Reeves, Sarah Michelle Gellar, the Smallville cast and my left testicle any day to get within two feet of X5-452. Well, I wouldn't really give up my left nut because we might need it--maybe a kidney, those are useless. I always knew she was hot, but I didn't know how hot until thousands of horny comic book geeks swarmed the vicinity of where she was scheduled to sign to promote Sin City. Security threatened to cancel her appearance if geeks continued to block hallways and cause a potential fire hazard. I've never seen so many digital cameras in my life flashing when she finally arrived. Unfortunately, there were way too many tall people at comic-con for me to snap a pic. I only caught a tiny glimpse of her newly blonde hair while peeking thru a tall dude's video camera. I guess it just wasn't meant to be.

Despite the geekiness that ensues at comic-con, I'm pretty damn sure I'll be back next year, in my spider-man costume.

Comic-Con 2004 pics