Making love in the
With Cecilia up
in my bedroom.
I got up to wash
And when I came
back to bed,
Okay, let's just analyze
the lyrics to this song for a moment:
Making love in the
afternoon. (Obviously they're not married.)
With Cecelia up in
my bedroom. (My is the operative word here. Not our,
or the, but my--again, not married--which implies that there
are other bedrooms in the house. The poncy git probably still lives at
home with his mother. And let's not forget the word up. He doesn't
even have the stones to take over the basement and turn it into a little
bachelor pad. He's probably still in his old room with the Transformer
bed sheets and his Spiderman jammies.)
I got up to wash
my face, (Bah, he can't even just roll over and go to sleep like a
real man. And what kind of freaky sex are they having that he has to wash
his face afterwards?)
And when I came back
to bed (Again, not married. I mean twice in one day?)
Someone's taken my
place (What kind of tramp is this guy seeing? He's gone to the bathroom
for two minutes and already she's in bed with someone else.)
Nothing in this song
makes any sense, unless….yeah, that's it. They're both lesbians.
Stupid oldies station.
Damn cold. Silly drugs.
P P Y B I R T H D A Y M O M!!!
I don't know if mom
saw her shadow today or not. I'll aske her when I call her.
And for those of you
who requested the rest of the Michael Jackson song:
The amazing entertainer,
Has a lawyer on
He's not quite black,
he's not quite white,
His nose is disappearing.
Did he molest those
Guess we'll find
out at the hearing...
So, I've been at home, sick these last few days, and I've had basically
nothing to do. Doing nothing is harder than it sounds. I mean, there were
a few times where I actually got up and attempted to do something, but
caught myself at the last moment. Sleeping 15-16 hours a day helps, but
the waking moments are a bitch. Hell, I think I even dreamed about accomplishing
something. I mean, how sick is that?
So I really didn't
do much of anything, other than chase down the strange thoughts that keep
flitting through my head, like:
There may be more than one way to skin a cat, but I'll guarantee you the
cat isn't overly fond of any of them.
That doesn't count as productive, does it? Good, I didn't think so.
I've updated the MS Word Count for Darkside: Waking the Dead, at the top
of the page for those of you who like to keep score. I'm not sure what
that is in real word count, but I know it's more--a lot more. Still, this
tally will keep me honest, or at least motivated, to keep adding to it.
I'm hoping for at least 500 words a day, five days a week, minimum.
Of course, I'm also hoping to win the lottery, get a publishing contract,
make Sgt, buy a waterfront house and a couple of new cars….Trust me, Darkside
isn't the only fantasy I'm working on.
As some of you may have noticed, I couldn't upload my website for the last
couple of days. (Those of you who didn't notice, you're late. Do you have
a note?) Apparently I exceeded my 5 MB limit with Sympatico. A warning
would have been nice, but hey, they're a big, faceless corporation, so
what can you expect? (Actually, I made a face for them once with a Mr.
Potato Head--one with big floppy ears and that doofus looking mustache,
but it didn't really make me feel any better when I yelled at it.)
Anyway, I had to delete some photos to make more room, so for those of
you who suddenly find their likeness missing from my site, it's not that
I don't love you any more, it's just that adding to these words of wisdom
are more important. Although you'd never know it from this recent entry.
Or, the last one, or the one before that….
Hmmm….maybe I should put the pictures back.
So I was having an argument with the instructor of the course I'm presently
taking. (I seem to be arguing a lot, with varied peoples lately, which
means it's probably time for me to suck back, reload, and shut up.) Anyway,
she was trying to tell me that their was no difference between educating
and instructing, to which I replied: "Which class would you prefer
your 13 year old daughter took in school--Sex Education, or Sex Instruction?"
That's what I thought.
So the military pay raise was finally announced, and oddly enough it's
actually a pretty darn good raise for a change. As a matter of fact it
pretty much brings me back to the level I was at before I took a pay cut
when I was posted back to Ontario. Although the fact that I'm happy about
getting a raise so that now I make as much money as I did two years ago
is kind of sad.
Great, now I'm depressed.
Anyway, not much writing done this week. I've been on a Design and Development
Course for the past two weeks, which is nice, since I've been assigned
to the Design and Development Team. (Wow, that's two rights in a row for
the military. They must be slipping.) I think I've mentioned that the team
will be responsible for totally re-engineering the training that Avionics
Systems Technicians in the CF will undergo in the future, so it's a pretty
I'd feel a lot better about it, though, if the criteria for choosing the
team members had been a little more stringent. More like:
"MCpl Perry was chosen because of his extensive background in all facets
of the AVS Trade, years of teaching experience in a wide variety of subject
material, and his excellent communication skills,"
"Hey, Steve's not doing anything right now…"
And let's not talk about the fact that I was on Duty last night, even though
we're not supposed to be assigned duties when we're on course, because
it takes time away from the classroom, and we end up working 32 hours straight,
Oh yeah, Pen lost her
voice for Valentine's Day. Is that thoughtful, or what?
They say that all of human experience is simply a learning process for
the cosmic beings we truly are. Sort of like school for the soul. Problem
is, I never really liked school, and this one in particular, bites. The
teachers suck, the other kids make fun of me, and I keep being sent to
the corner with the fat, flatulent kid that eats paste.
Of course, the people that keep pushing this theory on me are usually stoned-out
losers that still live in their mom's basement and can quote Star Trek
schematics verbatim, and in Klingon. Are they at the head of the class,
or the bottom? Personally I'll settle for being graded on the bell curve.
Just give me my diploma and I'm out of here.
Sure maybe I haven't learned everything I'm supposed to yet, but I figure
half of it is like advanced calculus--you'll never use it anyway. And,
oh yeah, here is a test to find out if your mission on Earth is finished.
If you're alive, it isn't.
Graduating can be a bummer
People who claim that television is a detriment to society obviously aren't
watching the right programs. I mean, sometimes the only thing that keeps
you from offing your boss is that episode of CSI you saw the other night.
We saw Constantine
today, and we liked it --a lot. So there. :-p
The class I'm currently teaching is scheduled for nine days, and is supposed
to end on 7 March. Apparently one of the kids (I can call them kids, even
though some of them are in their 30's, cause I'm older, and more mature,
so there. Thppppttt) is on the Base Borden Volleyball Team, and the Regionals
are on 4 March. So, I've been order to cut two days from the course so
that they can attend, while still including all of the material, don't
ya know. I figured, what the heck. I mean. I'm a sports minded kind of
guy, so why not?
But then they gave my students yesterday afternoon off, for administration
purposes, which they need because they're all making arrangements to move
on to their first posting after they finish my class, but really….
As if that's not bad enough, someone scheduled the Annual Flight Safety
meeting for this Friday morning and everyone will attend; that's
another half a day shot, so now I'm down to six days. I was just told today
that, hey, the C.O. has decided he wants to have a parade next Wednesday
afternoon, so at the moment my nine day course will be taught in 5 1/2
days. I feel like I'm trapped in some macabre twist on a game of Name
"Hey, Bill, I can train that Pte in seven days."
"Well, I can train him in six."
"Five and a half."
"All right, Steve, go ahead. Train That Private."
But hey, there's no pressure. Maybe I'll just cut out the extraneous material,
like the lectures on safety. After all, how dangerous can a jet engine
intake or a whirling Hercules propeller be? They're Privates, after all,
Heck, I can train another one in 5 1/2 days.
So my horoscope told me this would be a great day for gardening. Guess
I better get the snow shovel and see if I can find the lawn. And lets not
forget that gardening is Pen's thing, not mine, and even she loses interest
when the garden's buried under three feet of snow. Well, that and the fact
that the Bambi's tend to eat all her plants hours after she's planted them.
Of course, if she thought for a minute I'd actually go out there and shovel
the lawn down to the garden….
We saw the movie (and why isn't it spelled "movy"?) Cursed yesterday.
It was better than I thought it would be, with a kind of Lost Boys--Fright
Night sensibility. All in all not a bad way to waste an afternoon.
I also saw a psychic yesterday, because a) she's close; b) she's cheap;
and c) I heard she was pretty good. She said all sorts of wonderful things
about me, and my bright shiny future. Of course every psychic I've ever
been to has been about 100% wrong in any prediction they've made about
me. I sometimes wonder if maybe they're not channeling the successful dead
guy beside me.
I have faith in this one, because I'm all about the power of positive thinking
and all that, and...um....she seemed nice. Of course, that's the
same thing they said about Jeffery Dalmer.