Ahrgh, it’s been days since I photoshopped anything substantial other than icons that say “clear shopping cart” and “update”. I feel like I’m going through creative withdrawl. Shakes and everything.
Tonight I just had to strap on the headphones and freak out a little bit with photoshop (actually Paint Shop Pro, it’s better). I had to exorcise the demons outta me. This is what happened.
I feel so much better now. Ahhhh.
Now I can relaaaahx.
Last night I worked late late late. Partially out of new-guy-in-the-office enthusiasm, and partially out of guilt at being the picky fucker who made the other two people I was working with stay late also.
I kinda like working late into the evening, it’s like being valiant and also getting paid for it (well, not really in this case since I’m salaried), plus the boss offered to buy us any dinner of our choice and he would pay for it (to which I yelled “YAHOO, WE’RE HAVING CAVIAR TONIGHT BITCHES!” and he laughed, but I was being serious - I’ve never had caviar before).
When you stay late at work and it’s your first week of employment, that probably looks pretty good on your employee scorecard. I like to think that I could probably get away with peeing on the bathroom floor a couple of times today, what is anyone going to say? “Hey man - so what if my aim is all off? I stayed here till 9:30 last night and as a result missed the second last episode of Canada’s Worst Driver on TV. I’ll pee where I want today. By the way, you LEFT at 5pm. Guess what *I* was doing at 5pm? Yeah, getting my 2nd wind, biyotch.”
In the past, when I was in less-than stellar relationships at home and also earning time-and-a-half on an hourly wage, I would work at least a couple hours of overtime each day. I loved it. Everyone would be gone and I’d be able to get a lot of shit done, plus I would avoid the cranky female entity during her usually-worst hours of the day (when she apparently had her period each day around 6pm-7pm). Overtime was awesome back then. Now that I’m earning a salary and in a relationship that I happen to enjoy, it doesn’t seem quite as much fun staying late and grinding the 9pm oil though.
Ahh, I look back on my younger years and think of all the stupid jobs I’ve done for a pittance of money. For four years of my life I was on call 24 hours a day when I was 18-22. I felt like a superstar doctor during that period, getting up at 2am and going in to work for a couple of hours, returning home for a couple hours, sleeping for a couple hours, then going back into work. I’d be operating heavy equipment, cranes in fact, lifting tons of shit over people’s heads with puffed-shut eyes and thinking to myself “Yeeeehaw suckas, guess which guy you trust your life with that only had three hour’s sleep in three days? THIS guy.” (And I’d stop mid-thought each time to point my two thumbs back at myself.)
Anyways, where was I going with this? Oh, nowhere. Well, I’m off to do it again today.
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Also, I apologize to not getting to people’s wonderful comments much as of late. I know that your life revolves around me and I haven’t been reciprocating the love as much. Can I make it up to you with a picture?
Look, the Virgin Mary in a CAT scan telling you readers that I love you! It doesn’t get any better than that!
Sometimes I get adventurous and try alternate routes to get from point A to point B. It’s not that I’m looking for a more pleasant journey, it’s usually because I have to poo or some sort of food is waiting for me at the other end. Or both. But not both as in “I eat poo” because although I’m German, I’m not THAT German.
Since my new job takes me to a new part of the city, I’m still working on finding the most efficient way to work so that I can arrive way early and sit in my car, look stupid, and smoke. Trouble is, the place I work is right next to what must be an elementary school judging by all the little kids walking by in the morning. So someday my obsession with earliness + smoking in my car is going to get me some sort of pedophile tag from the cops or something.
Rocket science. And the actual road sign that you only get to see for about 1/4 second before the junction.
Getting back to the travel thing again, I’m trying out different routes to get to and fro my new place of work. But Winnipeg is such a fucking horrible city to drive in. You know what I mean? Some cities are awesome and smooth flowing and well laid out and have nice intersections. Winnipeg is not one of those cities. For such a featureless city (there aren’t any hills to plan around, that’s for fucking sure) it’s a nightmare to drive through. Roads with three lanes often have sections where people can park, so sometimes there are three lanes, sometimes two, busses stopping everywhere, and medians to get across quickly before someone t-bones you. I can’t explain it all now, but it’s just not a nice city to cruise around in, unless your idea of ‘nice’ is being angry.
Fast forward to last night, I was attempting a new route home, and maybe 5 minutes away from home there’s an intersection called ‘Confusion Corner’. I’ve been through it a million times, but last night was the first time attempting it from one of its many obscure directions. Let me show you a little map:
Also notice that the above road sign bears no resemblance to the actual layout of the junction.
Located at Confusion Corner.
As you can see, the aptly named junction called “Confusion Corner” lives up to it’s name. And it seems no matter where you are in the city, if you drive long enough you end up at this intersection - I’m not even kidding!
If you look closely, if you’re heading up Osbourne Street, there is no easy way to get on…..know what? I give up, I can’t even explain it. But isn’t that a nice picture of me being angry looking in my car?
Anyways, I missed whatever the hell turn I was supposed to make to get home and ended up a mile north downtown because there was no place to turn around because this place was designed by drunken Frenchmen who knew they were going to be dead before cars became popular, so they had their own little pre-mortem joke on all of us in the modern age. Fuckers.
A non-rush hour photo of Confusion Corner.
I arrived home a half hour later than I should have, and by that time I’d already pooed my pants. (Just kidding, it was only about 20 minutes later than I should have.) (Oh, and I didn’t poop my pants either. Just bingo dabber farts.)
Gah, I hate Confuscious Corner.
Wait, did I just say Confuscious Corner? Freudian slip or WHAT! Damn those Chinese philosophers, they make me irate TOO!
This is the Great Red Spot. Some of you more familiar with extraterrestrial bodies (the ones that don’t involve insertion of proctological doodads) will automatically associate this image with the planet Jupiter. That is good, I like an audience that’s more intelligent than I am, pity is a powerful motivator.
The Great Red Spot is an atmospheric storm that exceeds the size of Earth by two or three times. For those of you that have a hard time grasping how large this is, it’s larger than Snoop Dog’s marijuana stash by at least 50% and Ashton Kutcher’s ego by as much as 15%. Winds in this region can reach as much as 430 km/hr, which translates roughly into 12 mph if my math is correct, making it one of the most tempestuous regions in the entire solar system aside from Paris Hilton’s genital region.
New technology has exceeded scientist’s expectations; with Spectral Happyfun Infrared Imaging Technology (S.H.I.I.T.) originally pioneered in Japan to see through schoolgirls’ outer clothing, we can now see through the storm and spy what lies behind it. The following image was taken last week by NASA, mere moments before they turned the equipment at the ladies bathroom walls (and thus forging ahead in the upskirt frontier).
(Don’t be mad, it was either that or increase funding to keep the astrogeek portion of NASA’s employee base happy. NASA, and in turn you the taxpayer, just saved millions.)
Did you expect little green men?
Sorry for breaking the news to you, these fuckheads appear to be everywhere.
Once again, if you didn’t read the previous posts, this won’t make a lot of sense, but I’ll refresh everyone’s memory anyways.
Dr. Zibbs held a contest, and the winner would become his new best friend and receive 5 emails from him recounting the adventures they’d have together. I was blessed by Jesus and won the competition!
So now I’m receiving emails from Dr. Zibbs that recount our adventures, and fortunately for him, I had the digital camera to back up his stories!
If you recall, his last email placed us in Las Vegas, surrounded by people like Carrot Top and Criss Angel and other lesser-known celebrities who aren’t talented enough to make it outside of Vegas. The story continues.
..To hell with the Elvis impersonators! Let’s just go into the Bellagio…. What the hell? I can’t believe they put up that huge sign in my honor. Wasn’t that great?
Oh yeah, that was really cool of them to roll out the red carpet for you. Remember this picture? Remember when they wrote your name in the fountain and you got really excited and ran through the water and kept breaking the fountain streams with your hands until they hauled you away? Hahaha, that was funny, but bailing you out of jail was NOT funny. Remember what jail in Vegas was like? Yeah, hookers and drunk conventioneers everywhere. Did I tell you that I saw Henry Winkler in another cell when I was coming to get you? He didn't look impressed.
And how great was it when we went inside and saw some of the That Blue Yak hotties? Catering to our every need. Damn I’ve got some good looking readers. Hey I’m not complaining.
Okay BFF, I'm looking through the memory card here and I can't see any pictures of hot women in Vegas. I have this picture though, I remember these three guys being pretty stoked to meet you. They couldn't contain their enthusiasm! I'm still kinda peeved that you left with them for so long. You didn't even tell me you were going anywhere, I just turned around from my slot machine and all you guys were gone. You guys must have went and caught a show, because you were gone for hours. It's okay, I'll get over it, but BFF's DON'T leave their BFF's hanging, you know? We need to practice that part.
And we went up to that Night Club, “The Bank”? But how weird was it that we saw some of the guys that read That Blue Yak? Dressed as security guards. As if we didn’t know it was them. I swear they were trying to hone in on your BFF week. You won the contest - not them! Stupid Ingrates!
I don't know what was going on in this picture, but it's the only one I have from "The Bank". I must have been too busy to take any more photos. Whoops. But this is pretty cool, that old security guard just kinda made himself at home on your lap and ate his donuts. Haha, you were squirming and uncomfortable - he must have been heavy! And he didn't even share! He even gave you ten dollars after he was done. What was THAT all about?
As you can see, we were having a blast … I hope Zibbs goes on to tell us about our adventures in Los Angeles after this!! Man, that town was bizarre!
If you’re not up on the story, please read the previous post. This is a continuation, so if you haven’t read the last one this will be like watching an episode of Seinfeld after 3.6 minutes have passed.
This is the second email from Dr. Zibbs, who recounts our journey from St. Louis to Las Vegas. Once again, I’ve added the pictures and some captions to tell my side of our adventures.
.. I can’t believe we had to parachute out of the plane. And who thought we’d be directly over St Loius?
BFF's won't mention how their BFF spells St. Louis. If I recall, you liked that parachute jump a little more than would seem normal. But what do I know, this was my first time!
Since we were there, I’m glad we decided to go see Gwen. I can’t believe she was serious about taking a dump in the sink at work like she said in your comments.
Well, technically it was ON the sink, not in it. And it's convenient that she works at a stainless steel bathroom fixture manufacturing plant, so it wasn't even like a big feat or anything. But I have to admit, making the heart shape is probably a challenge. WTG Gwennie!
Well, good thing Saint Louis has a crappy zoo which means crappy security which means we got ourselves some free crappy transportation. Camels. Remember I named mine crappy? Anyway, that was a great ride through the Rocky’s and finally into Vegas.
BFF's like me are awesomely patient. I remember waiting a whole 15 minutes outside this place for you to return. Also, BFF's like me are awesome because we're good with lending money - after this part of the trip you were broke and I had to pay for everything!
I can’t believe that Carrot Top and Chris Angel had the gaul to try and talk to me. I can’t stand D list celebrities. Now onto to track down a few Elvis impersonators and hot chicks to party with. Yeee HAwww!
BFF's like me have no problem setting the record straight. For the record, you seemed to be rather enthused to meet them, then the next morning you had TWO wedding rings on your finger and you were walking a little funny. But you know what? BFF's like me KNOW that what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. We didn't ever find the impersonators and hot chicks did we, BFF! Hahah, funny how plans get all messed up like that!
Part of the prize of becoming Zibb’s BFF was that he promised to send me 5 emails, recounting our adventures together. I took the liberty of putting the photos from our shenanigans up here on my blog. I didn’t ask his permission, but BFF’s don’t need permission.
…”Well do you believe I actually took a dump in your sink? Well guess what? I didn’t. That was a look-a-like. Do you think I would risk exposing my perfectly round ass in public. It would be on the news in seconds.
He's right!!! That was MICHAEL DOUGLAS on my toilet! Damnit! BFF's always play pranks on each other.
Anyways, I wanted to tell you that it was pretty cool this morning when we rented that monster truck and rode into the city to the airport. Crushing everything in our path.
My new BFF tends to exaggerate. But BFF's roll with the story, no matter how enlarged it may be.
And I’m also glad we prepared by dressing up as pilots so we could fly the plane to Vegas. Oh yeah. This is gonna be great. And all of the Swedish Stewardess on board?…Oh yeah!
Easy, he didn't sleep with any of them. He's not like that. Okay okay, just the girl on the right. (BFF's lie for each other, right?)
And I can’t believe we’re actually BBQing on the plane! Let me just roll the window down to get rid of some of the smoke..AHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHH! AAHHHH!!!!
I forgot to bring the buns. Fortunately BFF's FORGIVE each other when things go wrong. We got over it and had a great time until he opened the window. We lost 15 people that flight, but you know what? I FORGAVE HIM, because that's what BFF's do. No biggie, right?
I don’t know if you get this in your area or not, but here in Western Canada, everywhere you look there is a bench with a realtor’s name all over it. In fact, every stationary object in public usually has some form of advertising featuring a real estate agent’s smug grin on it.
Realtors take themselves way too seriously. They love sticking their faces up everywhere they can - it’s bizarre and ridiculous. I don’t know who started the obnoxious trend of selling homes by sticking their own faces in advertising instead of say, a picture of the houses they’re trying to sell, but it’s gotta stop.
Back when I lived in Calgary, there was a guy who advertised himself nonstop in the classifieds. Here he is:
Yep, this is for real. I don’t know about you, but this is how things play out in my mind due to that hat of his:
“Whatcha want? I’ve got your deal right here, baby. Right behind my jacket here. Come on, touch it. Oooh, you’s lookin for something without an attached garage, aint’cha. I can tell.”
Gad, everywhere you look there is a realtor’s face, smiling away and usually looking like either some sort of pedophile you wouldn’t trust around your kids, or else some sort of new age mystic palm reader that works for Remax during the daylight hours.
They might as well do this:
And of course, I direct your attention once again to the ever-famous Rod Peeler here in Winnipeg:
Undoubtedly one of the finest lounge singers slash real estate agents in the city. Of course there’s nothing wrong with Mr. Peeler, I just laugh every time I see his face plastered across a bench. I always think, “Either women love to plant their assess on that bench or they don’t, but either way, it’s unforgettable.” Oh, and “leopard skin underwear.”
Have a good weekend!
