Poo Eater

I love my little guy.

But he really needs to stop hunting for treats in the kitty-litter box.



He even looks guilty.

Strippers And Such

This morning whilst commuting to work, I mentioned to Leppy that strippers frighten me. I have this fear that I'm going to lose my eye. Could you imagine losing my eye from a greased up cock of a man I don't know who is gyrating in my face? What would I tell people? I suppose I could make up a story, but I don't like to lie. Male strippers creep me out. First and foremost, men don't look like that in real life. And I don't want them too!

I like a nice pair of arms just like every other set of hooters with a cooter, but I don't want a rippling mass all shined up doing one of those weird tummy rolls. Well, unless he has an accent. Then we might be able to talk. Sure there are benefits to all those gleaming, flexing muscles. Like, he can pick me up and toss me about.

Besides, I am under the impression most of those strippers are gay. Of course, that could be something I made up. Although, I am pretty sure I read that in a magazine somewhere. Or maybe I read Channing Tatum used to be a stripper and I always thought he was gay. Shit, this is how rumors get started. Regardless, back to strippers.

They always play the crappiest music and it makes me feel as though I am having a flashback to the early nineties. There is something unnerving about watching a man gyrate to I'm To Sexy by Right Said Fred. Actually, there is something very unsexy about it. And as they strip down, eventually they are left with a a stethoscope around his neck and a pair of ball huggers. *cringes* Of course, he could be the cop and have a pair of aviators and ball huggers. Or a fireman and a fire hat and ball huggers. Basically he is left with some sort of accessory and ball huggers. I don't like ball huggers. I like those boxer briefs the guys are wearing these days.

There are other things I don't like about the strippers to, the main one. The scary scary women. It's almost as though all sense of rationale and modesty is flung out the window. I'm sorry, but if I wanted to watch a fifty year old woman flash a young man her floppy tits and try to grind up against him, I would just head on down to the Wheelhouse Pub (local dive bar).

Granted, it is amusing seeing the fine ensembles the ladies pick out to watch the studs strip down. If you love a gal in sequins, hoop earrings, hot pants and far too much make-up, head on down to the peelers.

I've gone to the girl strippers many more times than the guys. It is a far calmer environment. I like amature night, I like to give the girls starting out support.

I'm sorry, but this just doesn't look like a good time to me:

(Please note the ball huggers, the woman's outfit and hair, leftover food, her fab earrings, the strippers burned skin, her creepy smile and the funked out move the stripper is doing.)
Cab Money to the strippers: 23 dollars
Dinner and a couple beers: 39 dollars
One flashy outfit from Zellers: 42 dollars
A picture of some old woman at the rippers shoving money down a college man's underwear -Priceless

Ireland

As Ireland approaches, I realize I am not organized, nor am I a good traveller. I don't like flying, being away from home, or flying. Did I say flying? Well, it is probably best for me to stress this fact. Regardless, I am going to Ireland, which I am super excited for. I work in an office. This will tie in, in a minute.
At work people like to count down the days until their vacations, weddings, ect. I don't. I hate the fact of counting down. It seems childish and, to be honest, ridiculous. I mean, I can keep an internal count. It isn't like I am going to miss it. I personally think people only do it so people ask them what they are counting down to. Regardless, I have a count down on my whiteboard now, curtosey of Leppy.
She drew this shoddy four-leaf-clover (which actually has five leaves) and is updating the number. Every day she does this, I snarl at her. It has been two days so far. It is the crappiest looking countdown I have ever seen.
No really, look:















I wouldn't put up with it, I would kick Leppy to the curb and search for a replacement, but she gives me things like this:







I mean, that's hands down the best gift anyone has ever recieved, ever, anywhere.








Who's that peeping in the window? Oh, it's my own reflection. I feel so unspecial now. Anyways, that's all I have for you.

I'm A Sucker For A Great Song

I will listen to it a hundred times in a row. Look up the lyrics. Dance like a fool.
A friend reminded me of this one a couple weeks ago and I find myself listening to it a million times a day. The people around me get to hear my amazing vocals and now they get to hear me sing, oh oh yah yah yah yaaaaaah. Serves them right, the bastards.

Little Notes

Every couple of days a new note shows up on my desk from Leppy.
She wanders over from her desk to chat me up and if I'm not present and accounted for she will leave me a little blurb on a yellow post-it.

Some of the classic notes I have received:

32 A Year? F*** That S***!
JEEZUS!
Nut up Or Shut up
Be De Be De Be De BREAKING NEWS! Christene Is Lurking On Your Autho Forum
4 in the Mornin' In the Mornin In the morning

And today's epic note?

Zool.














Yep. Zool.
It is something that just makes my day a little brighter.