The musings of a madman...

       I am habitually on time… No, seriously.   As a character trait, I am completely obsessed with punctuality and become visibly annoyed with people who are not.   Even before “work” was right here in my front room, I was 100% never that dude barreling across the parking lot at 7:56am trying to look like I was where I was supposed to be. My will to be where I need to be when the hell I am supposed to be will usually override the natural human “hit the snooze” reflex. Usually.      Well for the last month and a half, I have been back on my gym bullshit.   That means that three days a week, my day begins at 5am and involves burning several hundred calories in the span of the 75 minutes gyms are allotting people due to local Rona ordinances.   With the coincidence of the spring solstice and Daylight Savings coinciding, I get two more hours of daylight with which to kill one of by burning a few hundred more calories in local parks or designated trail spaces. I say all that to sa

       I will be 42 in about 3½ months… I look back to things I did twenty years ago and shake my head so hard that my neck hurts.   It was legitimately NOTHING to get off work at 11 (or 1am), bolt home and wash the day off my ass and head back out until 4am, then reemerge at 7:30 in time for class to turn and do it all again.   Day of the week bedamned.   If it was a “thong contest” ( ß yes, those were a thing in REGULAR clubs) on a Tuesday, me and the squad were there.   Party promoter needed someone he knew would get the place moving on a random-ass Thursday?   He would call one of us. Needless to say, EVERY day between Tuesday and Saturday could easily become a party night until people started shooting INSIDE of clubs around 2003/04.      The only thing I miss about those days is the stamina it took to go to class from 8a-1:20p, work from 2-11 (or 4-1, or 2-3:30 and THEN 4-1 when overtime was cracking) and THEN hit the skreets. Oh, and the money I blew buying alcohol at club

       I really do need an adult most of the time… As of last Friday, I’m informed that my work-from-home situation goes from “indefinite” to permanent effective next week. When I came home to work one year minus two weeks ago today, I had to make my PC space into my bill-paying work space.   It took me thirteen and a half years with the company to finally get a window seat.   Kind of unfortunate that I am the one paying for the window.   Whatever, the dogs and I get to spend my working hours watching and barking at the world go by the front of the house.      That arrangement is cool when I am sitting at the work computer doing work things.   Sometimes, though, I need to Google things for True Story©, or use language that is not safe for work during my internet journey and need to do so.   Don’t worry about that right now though, it will be back later.      Wife person, being a teacher and all, has been vaccinated and dispatched back to the schoolhouse to continue to educate yo

       I don’t know if y’all know this but unless I have somewhere to be or something to do directly after work, I watch Maury Povich twice a day every weekday.   Everyone who has watched even one episode knows that Maury’s #1 draw is the paternity tests, complete with the “you are/NOT the father!” declarations.   Witnessing the embarrassment of others live on television is something I find entertaining, for better or worse.   We’ve discussed that before.      Of late – like, say, the last year or two – Maury’s show has been used as a natural “in” to sell up those ancestry DNA testing kits as well.   It is kind of a cruel sick joke that a show that has made their nut on embarrassing the shit out of people to be shilling “legitimate” DNA testing as well, but that is none of my business. So one day last fall, Wife Person sees the ancestry DNA testing segment and says “we should order a kit!”   Without having the brainpower to ask why or even remember how horrible an idea this might

       I’m good at things… As vague as that may sound, I say it like that to say that no matter how good I may so happen to be at a bunch of things out in the real world, I hate – HATE – for my horn to be publicly tooted over it.   That goes for work, home, anywhere really.   That may seem counterproductive come review time at work, but my manager is well aware of this about me and we have a few aliases I jokingly use when I get to work and kill shit. That’s professionally; as in the shit that pays the bills.   Not having people going around talking about me in a manner that would have onlookers look for a chance to pile more of their shit on me is the name of the game.   Personally, it is totally different but basically the same.   When I clock out and come back across this living room, the last thing I want is for someone to make assumptions with my time because some third party informed me I was capable.   There is a space of comfort in being able to remain nondescript.   Being

       I tend to make notoriously horrible financial decisions… It is a small miracle that I have been in this house for almost 12 years without my mortgage company coming to kick my door in as just rewards for my own stupidity.      As y’all may recall, I famously sank all of our liquid cash into a risky crypto bet just a couple of weeks ago.   As it stands, I have still made some money on that, but not enough to quit my job like some nerds on the internet said I would be able to.   I am pretty sure my wife hasn’t checked the joint account balance recently, but I sweat profusely every time she pulls her phone out and I cannot see her screen.      I need to make a comeup real soon… With some luck, I had sank money I (we) already had into to the Meme Crypto market, and my stimmy check HAPPENED to show up a couple of days later so I was not exactly “broke.”   Not yet at least. When, despite the egging along of the likes of Elon Musk, Snoop Doge and even a mention from Mark Cub

       Life is funny… Everyone – including my own wife – knows I could give a dry fuck about Valentine’s Day.   Not even to bore you to tears with the norm of ultra-wokeness about pagan holidays, not needing one day out the year to show love or whatever else people sell themselves as “reasons” to not be into it.   I mean, I don’t mind going out to dinner or to whatever level of the world outside of my house that is open during these cold cold Rona days.   I just don’t like the concept of having to deal with crowds and people to do so, and that has been the case since long before Rona made it cool to assault people for getting too fucking close to you.      After my previous attempt to offer dating advice, then documenting it , I would think that no one would contact me for shit on the subject ever again. I mean that would make for a reasonable populace, no?   Well if anything about the past 11 months and especially the last three have taught us, it is that there is no such a damn

       Nothing is original anymore… Let someone you know or follow on social media hit the lotto for a noticeable amount and half their friends list will run out and attempt to do the same. Let someone you know make a noticeable couple of bucks doing something THEY are decent at and some of their acquaintances will be on their heads to try it. I read a story once about where Avaya hired a guy and he decided not to take the job, but they continued to pay him as if he was there for quite a while [ link ] to the tune of over $450k.   At the time I worked across the parking lot from an Avaya facility and would spend almost the entire nine months I worked there applying to work at Avaya.  I am glad I failed in this, because he wound up in court over it.      So of course, we have all watched the news since last Wednesday where some folks over at Reddit decided to pool in and beat some hedge funds at their own game, right?    I will not explain how or why it worked here if you can go Go

       I don’t bother anybody. I drive a 2013 Subaru and live in a 1300 square foot house. I don’t have any flashy items and don’t spend money I don’t have on extraneous bullshit.      Why, then, was I--… WAIT      This all starts back in late September/early October.   Wife person had taken a shine to USING the thousands of dollars (I see the shipments, woman!) of essential oils that she had been collecting like Infinity Stones on aromatherapy products.   Bracelets, diffuser blends, etc…   Nothing terribly out of sorts, and she was clearing her money spent so I had nothing to worry with.   She was back in her office and quiet.      If anyone knows the “Phlip’s wife has a new hobby” dynamic, they know that once her obsession grows, Phlip doesn’t get to sit down.   Like ever . So now it is October 17 th , a Saturday.   I cooked chicken wings and got drunk, she raided the kitchen cabinets and went to her office to create.   I wake up Sunday morning.   I should have known so