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right, so some time between 9 pm last night at 8 am this morning, natty and i crossed over in to our 15 year of, um, companionship (i dunno i should say dating, but i just don’t wanna).  14 years down 3 to go. (just kidding, just kidding).

since this is a non anniversary, i won’t wax poetic, but it does feel like we’ve been together for a looooong time. no but in a good way. oddly enough, i spent last night sober, which is in stark contrast to that night in 1994.  maybe i am growing up? (no i’m not i was just recovering from saturday night).

well anyway, happy fake anniversary natty.

i love you.

hi, miss me? oh i’m sure you did. you don’t have to admit it, no i would never use it against you . anyway, guess what, i wrote a post:

right, so i’m pretty much hyper conscious of where people look when i’m speaking to them, especially in meetings. well when i’m not looking down, i have this, potentially unflattering habit of pausing to collect my thoughts and glancing down or up or away when i’m doing it. i blame philosophy, but i dunno.

but i really do try to maintain eye contact otherwise. and it can freak some people out i think. i try to do my best to maintain EYE contact, rather than hair contact, or heaven forbid, eye to cleavage contact.

thus i’m usually tracking where my opponent, err conversation mate is looking. seems there is a pattern to where people look. for example one member of the ‘team’ always looks at my hair, above my left eye. is where my gel mishaps, usually happen.

today in one of my 4 meetings today, a woman kept glancing at my right shoulder. i couldn’t really see if i had a dog hair (very common) booger, 2nd head there or what, but man she was pretty taken in by my shoulder. i don’t think it was dandruff or anything, weird.

a previous co-worker would always look at my left arm, dunno what that was about.

it’s fun to notice but it can, and has thrown off my train of thought, but i’m getting better at yammering while i look around.

there’s nothing more strange than when you realize you’ve been talking and you look around and everyone. is . listening. to . you. i suppose i should be flattered but their paying attention, but it’s weird when they’re actually listening. i typically end up cracking some sort of joke or something. it’s funny how people react. 90% always laugh, 10% give this “we shoudl be more serious about this ” look. bastards.

to day i said “it would be interesting to do a short quiz, with ranges of points, that would indicate issues or problems. like a cosmo quiz, or something” big laughs from the admin and project coordinator on that one. not so much from the lead of the group, oh well.

my officemate while very nice, is a almost loud talker, she isn’t an official loud talker, but she talks as if you’re in a busy room, even though you’re right next to her, that and she talks more than she needs to, she just takes a long time and a lot of words to say something.

yes i’m standing in front of my glass house lobbing stones as i say that, but fuck it, at least i’ll drop a reference to a dirty quiz in a t&a fashion magazine while i’m yammering.

big news, i walked from the office to the train station today. it’s a mile, i think that’s 2.2 km for you non us people, maybe 1.7, i think 2.2 pounds to a kilo. i know there’s 4.3 liters to a gallon from the top of urinals. well look it up on google, it’ll tell you. i’m too lazy to. especially after walking a mile. i’m expecting the pounds to melt away b/c of this new level of activity. yeah well i can hope, can’t i?

right, so hi, it’s been a while. thanks for rss-ing by.

the weekend was a hodgepodge of different things, natty saw a movie, i went to a double bock beer tasting at the local booze store. (turns out i’m not much of a fan). i did 4 loads of laundry, and i still haven’t dented the monster pile in the bedroom. exciting shit, huh?

well heres something:

Context setting: well so get this. sunday, i fished out our glider chair, (if you’re a parent you know what i’m talking about, if you’re not, consider yourself lucky) from the blair witch basement b/c we’re letting friends borrow it. so i’m 99% sure i closed up the entrance to hell all safe and sound. but i’m not 100%.

so yesterday i get my morning check in call from natty, and she has a weird tone in her voice. so she proceeds to tell me, that she and the capt were up, doing their morning thing, henry was out back in the back yard, and all was right with the world. then they heard a huge BANG! (all i can picture is the way bang is written on those guns that dont’ shoot anything but roll out a little flag…anyone? anyone?)

so i guess the bang was so loud that she couldn’t tell if it came from in the house, or next to the house or what. she then noticed that henry was all worked up over the ’storm door’ (i use that term very lightly) to the blair witch cellar. so she looked in the little mouse poop infested vestibule down to the cellar p roper. and our little red door that’s there was shut, but she got a bad feeling.

so she went in to the house, called the 911 and asked if they’d send someone out to see if there was a methhead in our basement or whatnot. so i dunno the duration, but apparently very very quickly there was a cop there, and get this the bawlmer city police chopper circling overhead. she can provide more details, but here’s what i took away:

• henry, apparently is not one of those dogs that hates people in uniforms, in fact he seems to respect the authorita of a cop, this being evidenced by henry listenting to the cop.
• natty not making the connection between the land based fuzz and the chopper, asked the cop if there was something else going on in the area–no there wasn’t, the sent the chopper to our house. (!!)
• they sent another cruiser after the first, and that guy apparenlty just waltzed in to the house, no knocking or anything. weird.

naturally all of this was pretty rad to a 2.5 yr old. well not naturally i guess, he could have been freaked, but apparently he loved it. take aways from the fuzz are that i should be locking the blair witch cellar up, and that my meth lab down there is not as good as ones out in western md, were “they really know how to cook up some shit”. i shall redouble my efforts.

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ok, now i don’t shit about the financial sector, well i suppose i might know more than some (i do listen to marketplace after all) but really i don’t get a lot of the mechanics of high finance. nevertheless, i put forth this theory: the traders on stock market trading floors play up to the camera when there is a ‘crash’ or ‘crisis’.

the papers are plastered with pics of all these middle aged men in colorful schmocks (is that spell it?) with their faces wracked in pain, head in hands, crumpled under the weight of the impending doom of recession.

jeebus, doesn’t this happen every fucking week? don’t these chumps make money on volume, not on the stock prices? (i’m making alot of this up….., no, really)

what do these guys do anyway, i thought all the exchanges were run by ebay now, or something–right?

freaks.