It was somewhere past dark-thirty and I went back to the head

I haven’t had anything to say all week. Are you sad? Too bad.

I mean, a whole lot of nothing has been going on lately. Which is a good thing if you ask me. Plus, it rained all week. It was cold and rainy; essentially NJ all over again, but without the traffic. The rain, as all of us Wake County-ites know is MUCH NEEDED RAIN. Seems that we’re all about to dry up unless Jesus decides to drop like 17 feet of rain on us by tomorrow morning.

I don’t know.

I think I need some help. I need 3 signatures on my “How to be a Southerner” application. I’ve completed the tasks and have one signature from The lovely Eleanor. I figure I can get You and You to swing by and sign the paperwork. Can you 2 help me out?

See, we have a toilet in our living room. And, as I see it, that’s like gotta be the gold standard for Southern-ness. It was out on the deck all week until last night, but I needed it moved in side. Now, it’s in the living room. I’d take pictures and post them, but JewelrySlut is not home right now and I haven’t figured out how to pose on the can with my boxers around my ankles AND get the shot. It will have to wait.

Why do we have a toilet in the living room? Who cares? The important thing is that it’s there.

Really, we’re remodeling the bathroom on the 1st floor. I pulled out the sink and vanity one weekend when I was home and we painted last weekend. We put in a new floor the other night and I caulked in all the trim this morning. All that’s left is to put the toilet back, caulk it and put on the floor seam sealer and we’ll have us a right purty bathroom.

We’re doing this in time for next week’s visit.







Oh boy. To compound things, I fly out on Sunday night to go back to PA. I’ll be coming home on Thursday morning, mere hours before they arrive. Hopefully time enough to shine the house and make sure it’s presentable. Shmuppie’s 4th birthday is Friday and they’re coming to join in the festivities. Plus, my father has not been here yet and we guilted him into taking a day off from work to see his granddaughter. It’s been 11 months for God’s sake.

So, the bathroom will be done on time because, otherwise, my mother would want to do it next weekend. We’re going to try to avoid doing much work while they’re here. JewelrySlut, my father and I will be going to a Durham Bulls game no Saturday evening. That should be a hoot (Hit the Bull, win a steak). Otherwise, we have no plans…at least none that we know of.

Other than the jet-setting back and forth to PA, work remains annoying. We go live into production at the site on Monday so I expect all hell to break loose. On a good note, a Director in marketing called me to let me know about a position they’re going to be creating that he wants me to apply for. I’ll not assume they’re targeting me for it, but he did call me to all but ask me to post for it. That would get me out of this mess for the start of June. That would be nice. I would be able to do it from home which is doubly nice. RedVendor still is circling me, waiting for us to get going so we can talk about a job, but I’m not sure how I feel. It would be 100% travel. I don’t know how that appeals to me. But, I won’t say no to anything without learning more about it. But, the thought of working from home still and being able to keep all my vacation time and shit is appealing too.

This is scary: My 10-year college reunion is in like 3 weeks. I got something from Rutgers in the mail a few weeks back and emailed a few of the boys about it. We’re all a little taken aback by the whole thing. Was it 14 years already that we all met? 2 of them got to talking about taking their daughters to Dora on Ice or something. Jesus…we are old. One guy’s wife (also a college pal) got the thing in the mail and threw it away; refusing to admit that we were old enough for a reunion. Shit, man, I don’t feel old. Do I have to grow up? Because, I don’t want to. The thought that people see me as an adult makes me want to take my pants off and run around while wearing a silly hat just to prove that I’m not an adult. Is that wrong? I thought there would have been a chance that I’d be in PA that week and could fly JewelrySlut and Shmuppie in for the weekend, but it’s not going to work out. Alas, no chance to see the crew and do something stupid with them.

3 1/2 months until St John! I’m trying to come up with plans for the trip, knowing full well that they will all be thrown aside in favor of drinking rum by the pool. But, the ever-present Tour Director that I am, I’m still trying. I think the plan will be to get out of the house at 3:00 every day and hit a new beach for snorkeling. There are a half-dozen places I want to get to on this trip. I’ll settle for 3. I also have to plan our big day trip to somewhere. I think we’re going to Jost VanDyke one day, but I need to find a boat to take us there. Do we go on a larger boat or shoot the wad and charter something for just the 4 of us? Decisions…decisions.

Well, that’s it for me. I think I’ll go sand some spackle in the bathroom. Work is dead today and I have nothing better to do.

Just a hopeless situation

I wrote all of this last Friday while in the airport. Enjoy

Sitting here at PHL with nearly 2 hours to kill until I’m told that I didn’t get a seat on the 1:45 flight, I have nothing to do. So, why not open up Word and make catty observations about the assholes sitting around me? Sounds like fun.

I left RedVendor in plenty of time for the 11:15 and had a head filled with hope after seeing 7 empty seats on the flight. Somehow between 6:45 this morning and 10:00, the seats got taken. It turns out that WeSuckAir (Otherwise known as US Air) screwed a bunch of people from Vermont last night. They were supposed to have flown to Raleigh through PHL. Of course, they never left Vermont last night and were put on the 11:15. So, the 7 seats disappeared and I didn’t get on the flight.

The 1:45 is oversold by 3 people. I’m not getting on that flight. Not a chance of that unless I find 4 people and convince them not to fly at 1:45 but to wait until 3:50. Of course, the 3:50 is not leaving before 5:10 or so. It’s going to be a long day.

So, the flight leaves and I’m told by the quite-rude gate agent to go to the services desk. I trudge there and meet a wholly disinterested agent. I explain what happened and let her know I’d like to be on the list for the 1:45.

Have you paid the $25 fee?
Nope, I know it’s there, but no one upstairs asked me to pay it. Was it automatically applied against the card or something?
Did you pay the fee?
(Realizing the futility of the situation)No
But you need to pay the fee.
I understand.
Can I have your ticket?
I don’t have a ticket. I have this “boarding pass” and my confirmation sheet
You were given a ticket
No I was not. This is what I have (pushing it across the desk)
Where’s your ticket?
I told you, I don’t have one. This is what they gave me upstairs when I checked in.
The gate agent has it.
No, I gave the gate agent nothing. The people upstairs gave me nothing. The gate sent me to you for help
I have to call the gate. (Dials way more numbers than should be required to call Gate 22) Hello? This is LazyFuck at special services. I have Michael Stone here and he says he never gave you a ticket and now he’s trying to change his flight.
(Now I know not all of you know my name in real life, it’s not like my passport says NoGoodDaddy on it. Here’s a hint. It’s not Michael Stone)
Um…my name is not Michael Stone. It’s NoGoodDaddy. Could that be the problem?
(Hand over phone receiver) What yo name?
NoGoodDaddy. Not Michael Stone.
(Into phone) You gonna have to hold on.
What yo name?
NoGoodDaddy. Now can I get on the list for the 1:45?

Great. For kicks, I got to take a bus from Terminal C to F. A bus that rides along the tarmac for God’s sake. A bus with this guy on it:

Shit. I think I want to die.

Fortunately, I have 2 books, a Newsweek and a Sudoku book to play with. I could just go get hammered. That could be fun.

I wandered to my gate (I have no idea why. A flight to Detroit was boarding. Who lives in Detroit anyway?)

2 women were screaming at the gate agent. They apparently had standby seats and were not getting on the flight. That’s not totally abnormal except for the fact that they were screaming in some African Bushman language. (Not to sound racist or any more intolerant than normal…but) I was treated to a lot of that Oonagoogoo clicking of the tongue shit. In fact, it was amusing.

So, here I am back by the food court.

Oh well…just got some sniffs on my wireless card but HealthCareRelatedCompany and its damn restrictions won’t let me connect to it. Damn them all to hell.

I think I’ll rest now and put the computer to sleep because I don’t want to waste my battery on total nonsense…

I’m back. Miss me?

Why am I back? Yes, folks, another problem down below. I have to pee again. I got to my original gate at 10:30 and it’s now 12:40. I’ve peed 3 times so far and I need to pee again. Maybe I should lay off the coffee first thing in the morning. Or maybe I should start wearing diapers. But, we are trying to get the kid to stop the whole wetting herself thing, so maybe I should try not to regress.

Jesus, the shit that the people around me are eating smells like whale taint. That’s right, I just invented a smell. Whale Taint-smell. It may be Chinese food. It may be pizza. NO matter what it is, people are shoveling it into their gaping maws at an alarming rate. It’s always good to see that portion control is a wholly foreign concept to American food purveyors…or food consumers for that matter. .

This is going to be a long-ass day, isn’t it?

“Mr. Pot. You have a phone call from Mr. Kettle. A Mr. Black Kettle. Please pick up any red courtesy phone to take your call”

Hi again. It’s 2:20. I’ve been at PHL for 4 hours now.

Why the bad joke just up there? Oh, yea…portion control. Meet me and my 937 ounce fruit smoothie. Yes, it’s huge, but it’s go-ood. And it’s got both mangoes and passion fruit in it. Which ensures me what? A passionate bout of diarrhea? I feel entitled to an overly large smoothie at this point; seeing as I’m still here and I should “eat” something before I get home and drown myself in a pitcher of margaritas over at LTM.

After we last spoke, I headed to the gate for the 1:45. Knowing it was over sold, I had low hopes. I checked in to make sure I was on the list and even offered to look pathetic in an attempt to get someone to give up their seat(s). No luck. So, they board. There’s a clutch of us waiting there, hoping some poor souls suffered horribly in an accident out on the highway; hence causing them to not show up for the flight. The agent boards them all and closes the flight. It’s time to ding in all the passes and get the count. We wait…

“Folks, we have a couple of people who didn’t show up. Hold on a sec”


She opens the door to the jet way and heads down to the plane. She comes back and makes one last announcement…really loud-like



We all sit there, anxious as cheerleaders waiting to be picked to get sodomized by James VanderBeek-lookalike, Chad, the star of the local football team.

Finally, 3 morons behind me stand up and wander towards the counter.


Then, incredibly, 4 more come forward.


These 7 assholes had no idea, apparently, how to board a plane. The whole thing where all the other people got on the plane apparently was not indicator enough for them. They needed to be scolded into boarding.

Rule 87629465 of flying: If you can’t figure out how to get on the plane, you don’t get to ride on the plane.

Defeated, I headed back to the bus to Terminal B.

The ride was more fun this time for 2 reasons. One was the old man sitting next to me who instead on screaming at us all that the bus wasn’t taking the right route. The second thing was said route. We drove practically along the runway to go between terminals. At one point we cut off a Jazz plane. (No, that’s not a plane that’s all fabulous and does “jazz hands”; it’s the short-hop carrier owned by Air Canada). They deserved being cut off by a busload of morons. They’re Canadian after all.

So, now it’s 2:30, my smoothie is only half way done and sits next to me with a mocking tone on its face because both it and I know that my stomach lacks the capacity to consume that much smoothie-goodness without shitting all over Terminal B, the flight is already delayed, and I’m tired. Oh, and my back is sore. And my underpants are all bunched against my nutsack.

Oh..another story. On the way over here to Terminal B, after riding the bus, you have to either walk along a concourse or take one of those moving sidewalks. Even though I’m in no rush, I opt for the latter because I’m a type-a tool. I get on the sidewalk behind a bunch of stupid teenagers. I can’t pass them because they’re now sitting on the rails and yapping at each other about the artistic merits of some really horrid films. (Well, not horrid, but how does anyone find artistic merit in Road Trip?). Anyhoo, one of them comments that the ride is awful long (it is). The kid then mentions that you’re not really supposed to just ride the thing. You’re supposed to walk along it. At that moment, the only kid in the group who had parents who loved her and taught her how to behave in public looks my way.

“Did you want to get past?”

I gave her my best “Yes, I know at this moment that I am an adult and you and your friends think I am a tool because I’m standing here in a pair of Khakis and sneakers for God’s sake and I’m trying really hard not to be a dick about this” face and just nod ever so slowly.

Turning the shade of red that only embarrassed teenaged girls can turn, she turned to her friends and shooed them off the rails…just as the moving sidewalk ended.

As a wise sage said at Shea 2 weeks ago “Sit down, asshole, you’re not here alone!”

It’s not your world folks, we all have to share it.

I’m tired of that same ol same

I think I’m having a mid-life crisis.

This is bad for a few reasons.

1: It implies that this is mid-life. At age almost-32, I’d have hoped for more than 64 years.

B: It doesn’t feel like I thought it would. Sure, it’s liberating as hell. I have freedom that I never thought imaginable and it’s just wonderful. But, at the same time, I’m finding it restrictive, constricting and a few other flavors of “strict” things. That was not at all expected. It’s not what I had hoped for and certainly not what I bargained for. It’s making me reconsider my decision. I just hope I can either just live with it or find a way to make up with those who I have hurt.

What did I do, you ask?

I changed from tidy whities to boxers.

Shit…what did you think?

Yup, folks…it’s another episode of “Let’s talk about NoGoodDaddy and his crotch”

So, the rash-thing is cleared up. There’s a little residual redness (and yes, I just whipped my dick out to check… (Fuckall, I’m in a hotel in North Wales, PA for Chrissake)) But it seems to be fading. The itching is thankfully gone.

So, last weekend, in an attempt to lessen the discomfort, I threw on a pair of silk boxers that JewelrySlut had bought for me a while back in an attempt to distract her from my heinous appearance as I put on my courting ritual. (Mostly, it includes dry-humping the bed and leering suggestively at her while saying things like “You know you want some of this”). See, I didn’t want Mr. Happy all held in place-like while he was itchy and creamed up. The boxers were good. My coakandballs were permitted to flop about freely. So, we went out and bought me a 6-pack of cheap-ass Hanes boxers.

I’m not entirely pleased. Sure, the freedom of having everything hanging out in the wide open is liberating, but I’m having leg issues.

Ever since my little knee incident, I’ve been exercising 5 days a week. Biking and weights have really strengthened my legs. While I don’t purport to have legs like a Dutch speed skater, I no longer have 2 columns of Jell-O supporting my frame. In a nutshell, my thighs are too big for the boxers. They’re too tight and tend to start bunching up towards my nuts. This is not at all comfortable. I guess I expected more of a loose drape from the shorts. Maybe I just need to buy the next size up. But, I wear 34-inch waistline pants and these things are 34-36-inch. But, they seem to be sewn with someone with chicken legs in mind. Maybe I need to buy the 36-38′s, but then they’ll fall off of my petite waist.

So, I’m soliciting advice from any boxers wearers out there in readerland. What should I do? Bigger size? Ditch the Hanes and go with another brand? I’m not sure I want to go back to the TW’s. I’d been having issues of late with them anyways. It was time for a change.

Now that you’re all blind…

I get to go home tomorrow. I’m booked on a 4:00 flight that I am giving a minimum 1-hour late guarantee. I’m hoping to get on an 11:15 but I’ll need to try to get on the standby list. As of now, there are 7 un-purchased seats on the flight. I like my chances of getting on the flight. Of course, the fucknuts at US Air want to charge me $25 to get on the standby list. Assholes. Still, it’s worth it to get home at 12:30 instead of God knows when.

We’re still not live in production here (the whole inspiration for this trip). The lawyers still can’t get a contract signed. And…time has a way of marching ahead, despite what the lawyers do. The next few 2 1/2 months should be a blast.

But, the week was not a total loss. I got to add another stadium to my list. I’m at 7 and counting, having added Citizen’s Bank Ballpark here in Philadelphia. Between my father and me, we’re at 9. We have a ways to go to hit them all. The game was a lot of fun. As I’ve mentioned, my cohort from RedVendor has a nephew on the Washington Nationals. We went to see him play 2 weeks ago against the Mets, and as luck would have it, the Nats were in town this week also. This time, he got us tickets in the family section. Sweet seats. Just to the 3rd base side of home plate in the section right behind the high-rollers in the club seats. It was also fun to play “Whose family is that?” as we looked at the people around us. I also dropped a foul ball. A ball was hit straight up the chute, right in our direction. Naturally, I misjudged it (harkening back to Little League) and I got turned around (back to the field). By the time I realized that the ball was not going to hit behind me and bounce my way, it was rocketing towards my head. I turned around too late and it hit the walkway right in front of us. The ushers who had been guarding the club seats all looked at me. “We got out of your way…what happened?” they asked. “If you knew me when I was 12, you’d have expected that” was my reply. Would have been cool to get a ball. I already have one from a Yankees game in 1989, but another would have been sweet.

I’d love to babble on about some damn thing or another, but I’ve done enough harm.

Scratch my back with a lightning bolt

That title up there’s not quite right, but he don’t sing this kind of song.

Folks, there’s no easy way to say this.

Since I look at some of you as family, others as friends and most with a watchful eye, it’s hard for me to type these words.

But they need to be typed.
I think I have poison ivy on my cock.

Sorry. Did you puke?

Here’s the story. Remember my eye from yesterday’s entry? Go look…

Well, I also have some sort of rash on my left ring finger…right where the band sits. I’m currently ring-less because the shit is seeping out the underside of the ring. I guess whatever got in my eye got on my hands. And, when I pulled the Raleigh White Snake out to pee, or whack off, or expose myself to the neighbors, I got a little allergen on it.


Red, itchy weenie.

Now, you’re thinking “NoGoodDaddy, that’s what you get for messing around with hookers”. To that I say “Don’t talk about JewelrySlut like that. She’s a high priced call girl, thank you”


Anyway…my dick itches a lot.

Anyone wanna come (hehhehheh…come) over and help scratch it for me?

Well, enjoy the visual and certainly enjoy scraping puke off your computer.

He used to play in the bars, he could sound like the stars

Yesterday was interesting. It started like this:

It ended like this:

In the middle of all that, I had fun and was reminded again how awesome everything has been since we moved down here.

So, Wednesday evening, Shmuppie and I went out back to play a little golf. JewelrySlut was out at the store trying to find something appropriate to wear to the Buble show. We hacked around a bit and then came inside for dinner. That’s when the itching started. It was not fun. By 10:00, my left eye was swelling. I took a ride to the ER, seeing as it was night time and all and my normal doc was at home. After 45 minutes, they told me there was a “considerable wait”. That said, I went home and went to bed. In the morning, I went to my normal doctor and he diagnosed me with a case of the “Who the fuck knows” Something is causing my eye to swell shut. Obviously it’s an allergen of some sort, but we don’t know what. I have pills, drops and a cream now. Yippie.

As I mentioned, JewelrySlut had been clothes shopping. I should really say “JewelrySlut was NOT clothes shopping”. Woman’s got nothing to wear when “stepping out” is required. She dumped a bunch of dressy-ish clothes before we moved because nothing fit anymore because her tits are too huge. (there are worse reasons if you ask me). She spent like 2-3 hours going from store to store and found nothing. She was very unhappy. But, so it goes for a 35 year old woman who doesn’t want to dress like a teenager or a grandmother…

So, on to the concert last night. Miss Ann was going to watch Shmuppie for the evening, hence freeing us to go. I only got my hands on the tickets at 5:00 because our mail man is a douche. I had to go to the scary postal depot place to pick them up.

We went to a bar before the show and had a few drinks ands appetizers to get in the mood for our big night. On the way to the theater, we noticed that I need to do some clothes shopping. Apparently, without one of these I can not be the hip style cat that I so yearn to be. Alas…

We had great seats in the front of what can best be described as a rear mezzanine. Considering that we paid $65 for 2 $79 tickets, we did well.

A comedian opened for Buble.


He was dreadful.

He, like Buble, is a filthy Canadian, so he did the requisite jokes about not knowing French (despite being Canadian). He then went into a predictable rant about how hard it is to learn English.

You know:

“You say House and you say Houses. You say mouse and you say mice. Clear as crystal, right?” (Raucus laughter form the crowd)

(Since I know exactly where this is going at this point (and for that matter, so does Pimp) I told JewelrySlut to be ready for what I was about to do)

“So, following that, you say moose and you say …”

(From the rear mezzanine) MOOSEN!

“Right…it’s like you had that all prepared or something, didn’t you, sir?”

That’s right, sucka. You bring that weak ass shit into my city and I’m sending it back like cold soup.

Finally, Buble took the stage and rocked. Well…as much as one who sings swing/jazz/standards can rock. Nevertheless, it was a fun show.

He made a funny at one point:

“Thanks to all the men in the audience are here and have no idea who I am. You’ve all been dragged here by your wives. Well, ladies, I’m not here for you. I’m here for the men. You see, as I see it, I’m just here to put some air in the bicycle tire. Gentlemen, it’s your job to ride that thing home all night long”

Boy, was he ever right.

When it came time to sing “Save the Last Dance for Me”, women all over the place flood the stage to sing along and dance. Us? Well, I grabbed JewelrySlut and we rented a tile on the steps leading to our seat and danced to the song out there in front of God and everyone. And, considering that I dance like an elephant with a spastic tic, it must have been a site to behold. Fuckall, it was fun.

It was an excellent show and we had an excellent time. I’d go so far as to say that I would plan a weekend in Vegas around one of his shows. We really had a great time.

Not much else happening. Off to PA on Monday for a fun filled week of I don’t know what. Since we still don’t have a signed agreement twixt us and RedVendor, there’s no production next week. I think the main reason I’ll be there is to go to the Phillies/Nats game. And…to learn about a possible job with RedVendor