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Archive for December 2008

End Of Vacation, End of My Happiness

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I’ve always lived in cold houses. Mainly because they’ve been old or drafty, but more recently it’s because of high ceilings and high prices of heating it. I’ve always hated huddling around space heaters because they just make me colder. As the part facing the heater warms, the part that is being ignored feels colder than it would have if no space heater was being used.


I only bring this up because my week and a half vacation is over tonight and its back to work tomorrow bright and early. It makes me wish that I never took vacation because I don’t realize how much I hate my job until I’m away from it for an extended amount of time. Three day weekends aren’t long enough to forget about the misery, but anything over five consecutive days makes the return almost impossible.


It’s not only the fact that I hate my job, but it’s that I can’t stand it. I know, I’m babbling and being repetitious. I can’t help it. This is the first time I’ve ever been able to save all of my vacation time till the end of the year to use all at once. It’s been incredible. I don’t even feel bad for wasting a majority of my time doing nothing. I didn’t know that going back would be so hard. I think I feel a tickle in the back of my throat. I might be coming down with something, (cough, cough).


Don’t try to give me the lecture that I need to find a different job, because I’m one of those morons that landed a job, stuck it out through the hard times, the desperate times and fought off the temptation to quit. What did I get in return? The ability to make myself valuable and slowly earned a pretty good salary, especially given the lack of my educational background. The flipside of course is the fact that all of this wonderful training has made me tailor made and trained for my current company, not their competitors. So believe me when I tell you, I’ve looked for other jobs, no one is dumb enough to give me what I’m getting from where I work now. Such is life…


OK, so why am I whining like a little baby to you? I just thought maybe you were on vacation too and it was about to end, then you’d be returning to your own private hell.


I just wanted to let you know you’re not alone.


Egg On!

Ramblin’ Rooster


Written by Ramblin' Rooster

December 31, 2008 at 4:29 am

CSI Shows Are Bad?

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I’m not a big fan of the crime-murder-investigation-48hour-who-done-it-mystery shows, but I can tell who is. My wife! She never gets tired of these things. She can watch them all day long every single day and never seem to tire of them, regardless if the same narrator is doing the next show. It’s like an eight hour show sometimes. She prefers the real life case shows compared to the fake, Hollywood ones, but if she can’t find a “real” one, then she settles for a “fake” one.


What have I taken away from all of this? Three things really…


ONE: These shows have made me completely paranoid. It doesn’t matter that I’m innocent of anything and everything, but the constant playing of these shows makes me think like a crime scene investigator. Every time I use my credit card somewhere in the furthest part of the back of my mind the thought comes, “This is totally traceable”. The paper trail on me would be like 5000 miles long. Every time I vacuum, I think of hair and fiber samples, every cigarette I smoke I think of DNA samples, fingerprints on my can of soda, suspicious vehicles sitting in the neighborhood too long, it just never stops.


TWO: Why aren’t more criminals watching these shows? It’s like all the cheats one could ever need to commit heinous crimes. Of course they always throw out the disclaimer that, “no one is smart enough to commit the PERFECT crime”. Well, they’re certainly doing all they can to make someone try it. It’s just hard to believe that criminals are still leaving their wallets on the scene, of a shirt with their name written on the back label or bragging about their “fresh kill” at a local bar. You’d think that these shows would raise the caliber of criminal marginally at the very least. Don’t get me wrong though, I’m glad that crime doesn’t pay.


THREE: Luminol would make an awesome band name, (if it’s not already). I love the name so much, and if it’s not already taken, I want someone out there to use it for their band. I don’t even care about credit or sharing thunder I just want to have a band in this world called Luminol.


I knew it, it’s already a band. Damn it! You just can’t do anything in this world that hasn’t already been done.


Egg On!

Ramblin’ Rooster

Written by Ramblin' Rooster

December 30, 2008 at 5:57 am

Garbage Is Not Trash

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One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, a wonderful cliché.


The town I live in doesn’t provide polycarts, (just in case you don’t know – those plastic bins that people put trash in, maybe you’ve seen them used as recycling carts). You just place your bags at the curb. Pick up is twice a week, which is nice, (especially in the summer). Every night I walk my dogs through the neighborhood and on trash days I get to see what everyone is throwing away. It’s very depressing to see what some people just throw away. Sometimes I think I could fill an Olympic sized swimming pool with all the things that I hate seeing, “go to waste”. I’d probably bring more of it home, if it didn’t make my wife angry and I didn’t have a garage full of junk already.


I once came across a group of guys, five of them, who all lived in a house together and were all sanitation engineers. OK fine, they’re trash men, (or garbage men if you rather). Anyway, their house was full of treasures. Every room was full, piles up the ceiling with things you wouldn’t believe. I’m not talking about hub caps or old boots either, but real stuff that a lot of people would want. Items like: saxophones, guitars, lamps, furniture, appliances, electronics and so much more. No, this isn’t an info-mmercial. I’ll stop now.

I only wanted to say and make a point that people throw away a lot of good stuff. People by nature are very wasteful.


Many years ago I worked in the furniture business. Whenever I’d go out on delivery with new furniture, we’d always take away the people’s old furniture, (so they wouldn’t have to deal with trying to get rid of it on there own). On more than one occasion, the stuff that the customers would be getting rid of would be almost like new.


I’m not really a conservationist, by action, and I wouldn’t describe myself as being “green”, but I do hate to see waste and wastefulness. So maybe I don’t have a right to even say this, not being pro-active and all, but it makes me sad that this world doesn’t have a better method of recycling/trash disposal. I suppose it’s because there’s no money in it. Although every time I see those piles of trash, I can see dollar signs.


Whoops, I just broke my soap box. Guess I should throw it out.


Egg On!

Ramblin’ Rooster

Written by Ramblin' Rooster

December 29, 2008 at 6:25 am


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So if you read last night’s post, this is almost like a continuation. We ordered pizza and I ate too many pieces, but it didn’t stop me from eating the incredibly greasy, yet incredibly delicious cinnamon breadsticks. Something about deep fried, sweetened grease just makes me smile. Then, awhile later I ate some of my Christmas candy. Yes, I am a grown man that still gets Christmas candy. I’m not afraid or too macho to admit it. I like candy, big deal. Apparently fruit flavored taffy and greasy meat with bread makes for a deadly combination in the stomach.


What’s most interesting to me is the crippling power of nausea. There’s nothing that shuts me down quite like or as fast as stomach upset. Now there’s many levels of nausea, but the one I’m talking about it is the, “Oh God, I think I’m going to throw up” kind.


When you get to the point of being vomitous, the world becomes a much different place. Suddenly things don’t mean what they use to and surfaces no longer hold meaning or history.


What am I talking about? When I get physically sick I really don’t care about anything. You could ask to fill my new car with shaving cream and I’d say I don’t care. I can lay my head on the toilet seat without giving it a second thought. I can curl up on the floor, beside the toilet and sleep the night never having cooties cross my mind. Filthy things are immaterial. The way I look is the furthest thing from my mind. Cleanliness and sanitation are words that have no meaning when I’m bobbing up and down in sour-tum-tum-land.


On several occasions, alcohol driven puking sessions have kept me “paralyzed” in extremely cold weather. The kind of weather that’s inadvisable to be out in for an extended amount of time. I can understand now why “winos” die in the park during the winter. Some of those experiences I was so sick that the thought crossed my mind that I might perish if I don’t force myself to get inside.


Finally, nausea makes me want to be alone. I don’t want to be taken care of or tended to, I just want to be all alone and very, very STILL. Similar to how dogs like to go off to die, I just want the universe to ignore my existence until such a time that the curse has past. I understand that someone might be concerned and want to ask me, “How are you doing?” but it just makes me wish they were dead. I know they are just being nice, but I don’t want to talk, I just want to heal.


I’d like to keep going, but I’m afraid I need to lie down on some broken glass in a truck stop bathroom and try to calm my angry tummy.


Egg On!

Ramblin’ Rooster

Written by Ramblin' Rooster

December 28, 2008 at 6:05 am

Posted in Humor

Overeating Is Overly Easy

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You might say that overeating can be blamed on American culture or society as a whole. You might say overeating is the fault of your parents or their parents or their parent’s parents. You might say it’s your own damn fault. Regardless of whom you want to blame, if you even want to blame someone, you can’t deny that overeating is a very simple thing to do.

If you’re dinning out at a restaurant that you order a specified plate, the portion they bring is always to much, but yet most of us find a way to put in our stomach. If you dine at a buffet, obviously the problem is too many trips through the line(s). Maybe it’s because you think you want your moneys worth or you can’t help the feeling of “get all you can”. If you’re at home, then it’s probably just poor judgment.

In all of these cases, for me, I seem to overeat because I usually wait too long in between meals. By the time I get around to eating, I’m so hungry that it feels like I’m eating for three to sustain life through the winter.

Although it’s trite, the holidays add an abundance of food that is easily assessable. Those of us that fall victim to eating out of boredom are particularly vulnerable. Everywhere you go there seems to be a plate, dish or tray sitting out just begging for your attention.

All of this aside, it’s amazing to me how stupid the human really is. No matter how many times I stuff my face, bloat my belly or give birth to ninety pound, dead bacteria babies I can seem to stop myself from making the same mistake. Over and over again I eat way too much and then complain that I overate, as if by some coincidence four adult size portions of pie will make me sick not only last week, but today as well. Is my body actually trying to communicate with me?

All I can say is that loosening my belt helps and it’s sad to be a living stereotype.

Egg On!

Ramblin’ Rooster

Written by Ramblin' Rooster

December 27, 2008 at 5:33 am

I Christen The Christmas

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Just like last year, and always as I remember, Christmas has come and gone as though it never happened. As a child it seemed like you’d wait all year and when the glorious day finally came it was over in a matter of seconds. Now that I’m on the other side it seems like nanoseconds.

As a child the hardest part of Christmas is waiting, but as an adult all the effort to shop, buy, hide gifts, get hints, and spending all your time wondering if you labeled the gifts right far outweigh the troubles a child endures. Once all that hard work comes to pass, the moment is almost instantaneous. The paper flies off, the box is ripped open, a quick comment is made and then it’s on to the next one.

Sure the one that receives the gift may “light up” their face with a smile, but it almost doesn’t seem worth all the effort once all is said and done. Does that make me an Ebenezer Scrooge? What doesn’t anyone name their baby Ebenezer? I guess because of the negative connotation.

It just seems like a lot of waste, too many returns and too many lies. “Of course I love it, it’s a pink poodle sweater!” Then again, the alternative turns out to be so cold, the gift of money or gift card, (you know how your mother reacts) “That’s so impersonal, wouldn’t they like a brain-teaser puzzle?”

I haven’t even gotten to the part that Christmas, for some of us, feels like the only vacation we ever get from work, but instead of sleeping in and taking it easy, we’re putting up and taking down decorations, shopping and getting up at the crack of dawn to swim through wrapping paper to find the phone to get a call from an elderly relative who wants to talk for hours. Gosh, I sound like a real selfish, hateful person. Bah-humbug doesn’t even cover it.

It’s not that my heart is black, it’s that I don’t understand holidays. If you want to give a gift to someone why does it have to be on a certain day? Can’t I give you something whenever I want? Do you think it’s any less special on any other day? Add to that that the rest of the country is out doing the same thing at the same time. You’d think that would kind of ruin the moment for anyone.

I wonder if America took all the wrapping paper, after Christmas was over, and laid it end to end, in a 6″ wide strip how many times it would circle the earth?

Egg On!

Ramblin’ Rooster

Written by Ramblin' Rooster

December 26, 2008 at 5:15 am

Christmas Grieve

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by Clement Clarke Moore or Henry Livingston (we don’t know?)

(smart alec comments by Ramblin’ Rooster)

‘Twas the night before Christmas, (that’s Christmas Eve to you and me)

when all through the house not a creature was stirring, (except parents waiting for the kids to fall asleep so they can do their thing and get a four hour nap)

not even a mouse, (you have mice in your house?! Why not set some traps?)

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, (as apposed to haphazardly hanging them up? I’m sure OSHA will be happy to know that.)

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there, (that’s Santa Claus to you and me)

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, (total lie, never happens)

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads, (perhaps LSD is not a good choice for a bedtime snack)

And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap, (what couple goes to bed naked with only hats on?)

Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap, (if four hours is long)

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, (call the cops)

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. (to call the cops)

Away to the window I flew like a flash, (scared someone was going to jack with your lawn ornaments?)

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. (you’d think it’ be sash then shutters)

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow (a little plug for White Christmas?)

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below, (so he was worried about his lawn ornamants)

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, (I thought he was focused on his lawn ornaments)

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, (I’ve never heard reference to reindeer being tiny, then I guess the one I hit a while back must have been a mutant, ’cause it was huge!)

With a little old driver, so lively and quick, (lively and quick? Sitting in a sleigh?)

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. (that’s Santa Claus to you and me)

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, (Coursers? I thought they were tiny reindeer?)

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name, (awful loud for trying to be low profile)

“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen! (Santa is a very creative name giver, guess this was before Rudolph)

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! (coming in awful low!)

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!” (I thought they were just arriving?)

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, (so this is happening in Florida?)

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, (again there’s that horse reference)

With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too. (don’t forget the tiny horses, or reindeer)

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof (can you imagine the damage a sleigh would do to a shingled roof?)

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. (those damn coursers are tearing up the roof, I knew it!)

As I drew in my hand, and was turning around, (was he flippin’ the bird or goin’ for his pistol?)

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. (this couple sleeps in the living room?)

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, (I can’t believe that PETA hasn’t attacked poor Santa for all that fur)

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot, (not to mention histoplasmosis)

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, (why doesn’t he just take the ones that he needs, or does every house get a bag full?)

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. (so Santa’s a bum, huh?!?)

His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! (he’s a bum, but appealing?)

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! (so Santa’s organic?)

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, (Santa was gagged?)

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow, (a minute ago he was covered in soot, how’d his beard make it out clean?)

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, (Santa smokes? He gets less and less politically correct by the minute)

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath, (Santa smokes in your house? How rude)

He had a broad face and a little round belly, (Santa is pregnant?)

That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly. (Santa’s just laughing to himself? What’s in that stump of a pipe?)

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, (holy smokes, Santa’s an elf?!?!?)

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself, (that’s worse than looking a gift horse in the mouth)

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread, (was he afraid of Santa?)

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, (Santa is all business)

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose, (Santa is a coke head?)

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose, (Santa can defy gravity?)

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. (is this before missiles, ’cause that would have been better than a plant)

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, (again with the yelling)

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.” (you broke into the house, woke up the guy who was scared, then take off and he’s suppose to have a good night?)

Egg On!

Ramblin’ Rooster

Written by Ramblin' Rooster

December 25, 2008 at 5:04 am