And here I thought I was having a bad week!

Life sucks, I know that. But when you genuinely believe that the world revolves around you and that your soul is the epicenter of the universe, it's difficult to comprehend that other people also have it bad from time to time.

Take for example the always-glamorous Amy Winehouse. My week may have sucked. But it looks like her YEAR is in a dizzying downward spiral. Even with a $15 million fortune behind her, this poor thing has skipped from super star success, to gutter-scraping trash. Shame.

When feeling all forlorn, stop and remember that your life does not suck as much as some other peoples' lives do.

Thank God for that!

No, I will NOT be your facebook friend!

First, let me profusely thank the many hundreds of complete strangers who constantly send me friend requests on Facebook. I'm flattered and honored, and just a little worried about stalkerish tendencies. I wish I knew just who the hell all of you were.

Know this: I am reluctant to accept your friend request because then my Facebook news feed, and many other completely useless Facebook pages, would be even more clogged with meaningless trivia by and about people I don't know. I've already mostly given up using Facebook because the news about the folks I do know is usually buried in mountains of details about the folks I don't know. I don't care that Sarah James is eating meatballs with jello. Or that Calvin Irvin has downloaded the Nose Picker application.

I'm happy that all the latter folks are busy being friends with each other and using Facebook apps and buying stuff and saying stuff, but I'm afraid all that news has made it so I no longer have any idea what my actual friends are doing, or saying.

I most certainly don't want to be 'that guy' by refusing your friend request, though! There's nothing like the feeling of telling someone that you'd really like to be their friend only to be snuffed in return, and there's already enough to be depressed about in the world.

I've occasionally thought about trying to solve this problem by "unfriending" everyone who isn't actually my friend, but that's too horrible to contemplate. I don't know how I'd get through the day if Facebook kept sending me emails about how people I didn't even know were "unfriending" me.

I was then reminded about that Burger King/Defriended facebook fiasco that unravelled a few weeks back.

So what often happens, I'm afraid, is that your friend request gets left in purgatory, unanswered, in the hope that someday I might actually meet you and become your friend. And that sucks! And, truth be told, I'm actually using Facebook less than I would if I didn't have to be filled with guilt about ignoring people who are kind enough to want to be my friend every time I log in.

So here's what I'm going to do: I'm going to deny ALL future friend requests! As of this day forward, anyone who wants to be my Facebook friend can stand on the outside of the fishbowl that is my life, and look in. No more accepting friend requests from weird people I don't even know. In countries I have never even heard of, and trust me, I'm pretty well traveled.

Now I'm sorry if this makes me sound like a complete douchenozzle, but seriously people, enough!

Once upon a time

Once upon a time, in a land not so far from this one, there lived a young boy. He was a creative young boy. Oft folks would call him "special" or "different". And so it was, as the years passed, that the creative boy followed a career in advertising while his college friends went on to law school, and med school, or became investment bankers.

Then the recession set in and the creative boy, who had now grown into a man and needed to pay rent and gas and water bills thought to himself, "Shit!"

The creative boy started wondering if he should go back to college. And maybe get a teaching qualification. Not because he couldn't cut it being creative. But because teaching pays the rent.

The End? Or just the beginning of a new chapter?

It's going to be a rough week

Ever wake up one Thursday morning and think to yourself, "I have a feeling next week is going to suck."? And then it did?

That's what happened to me.

And so far the week has been fake smiles and butt kisses. Because sometimes you're the pigeon. And other times, you're the statue. This week, I'm the statue.

A Prozac or eight might help things along smoothly.

Oh yum, it's Yukka!

D&C have kindly invited me to their home tonight where they shall be cooking for me, and feeding me, and all wonderful things like that.

On the menu? Something Cuban with something that looks like a pig's unshaved leg - Yukka root. I have never tried this thing called Yukka root before. They assure me it's tasty. I just hope it's tastier than the fried green banana they fed me last time. It tasted like mashed potato and my mind was playing tricks on me.

Mind: : It's a green banana.

Me: No, it's plantain

Mind: No, it's a green banana!

Me: Impossible. It tastes like mashed potato.

Mind: That's what green banana tastes like.

Yukka root. If any of you have eaten this odd-looking vegetable (???) before, please let me know your thoughts.

There's a new sheriff in town

And this one ain't no gun-slinging, dip-chewing, cow-wranglin' Texan hick.

In just a few hours, the free world will have a new leader - a young, black guy from Chicago. Poor guy has inherited a lot of problems from the Texan hick. Let's see how well he fares.

First order of business, the disgusting economy. Or is the first order of business bringing a final end to that wretched, useless war in Iraq? Me personally, my first order of business would be to pump money into public education so that kids who are graduating can actually read!

Good luck, B.O. And good riddance, G.B.

The ongoing search for the perfect apartment is ongoing

Apartment shower: Hi. You're late.

Me: I know. Sorry. Show me around your abode so that I may see if I too want to call it home.

Apartment shower: Here's the living room. It's big, yes? Here is the kitchen ...

Me: Eeewww

Apartment shower: But look at all this space. AND it leads out onto a roof-top deck - it's all yours, share it with no one.

Me: Oooooh

Apartment shower: Here's the bedroom. Lots of room. See? And this is a tiny room. You could use it as a study. Or something.

Me: You have an accent. Are you from that ex-prison colony known as Australia?

Apartment shower: Yes. And this is the bathroom. Look, even more room. You like?

Me: Meh. What's with the paint peeling off the ceiling there?

Apartment shower: It's not damp, don't worry. Feel how warm it is in here? There are beeeeeg radiators.

Me: Yes, but what about that huge thing on the ceiling?

Apartment shower: My husband is a Paleontologist.

Me: Interesting. Is the apartment connect for wireless and cable.

Apartment shower: Oooh yes, lots ot ethernet cables and things. Internet. Fast. Quick.

Me: Great. So what type of deposit would the landlord be looking for?

Apartment shower: It's a million dollar deposit. American. No cheques. And you have to sign over your firstborn child.

Me: But I have no children. And I don't have million dollars.

Apartment shower: Pfffff. Here's the landlord's details. Contact him. Do you keep felines?

Me: I do. Two. They're beautif...

Apartment shower: He will charge you $100 a month more then.

Me: Great! Do my pockets look like money wells? This place looks old.

Apartment shower: YOU look old!

-13 degrees is not nice

Nope, not one bit.

These silly Americans use Fahrenheit, not Celsius. So just for them, let me sort this out. It's 8 degrees Fahrenheit. It's -13 degrees Celsius.

Either way you look at it, it's not nice. It's cold. Your face burns when the wind blows. And your nose runs. Your fingers turn purple - which can't be good - and you wobble around, rather than walk.

Yeah, I'm done with winter now. The snow was pretty. The ice, not so much. But enough now.

Those creatures who disappear for the winter with that hibernating thing are onto a good idea.

My Bad Luck with Buses

I wanted to cry.

Yes, big crocodile tears, and I don't care if grown men are not supposed to cry. But I wanted to. Really.

It all started when I decided to go and see an apartment in the east side of town. A nice short bus ride away. And since I get a wonderfully-convenient monthly bus pass, nothing could be more perfect.

But as luck would have it, things at the saltmine (as my friend, WRM, calls it) bust out from a jog into a full throttle sprint right at about the time I was to leave. So in a maddening rush, I grabbed my coat (for it is awfully cold out), told my bosses that I was off to see a possible new abode but would be back right after, and then dashed out the door, down the elevator, down the escalator, through the spinning doors, along the sidewalk (almost seeing my skinny ass without a mirror in the process because it's been snowing and the roads are slippery) and I just make the bus.

Off we go, adventure begins. Now something you should know about the Pittsburgh Port Authority. They let you on the bus downtown and then you pay when you get off. So, we get halfway on the journey to possible home-ness and I reach into my pocket to check the address and make sure I know where to get off. No wallet. So I check the other pocket. No wallet.

Oh thuckering thuckertash!

What now? I had no money on me, no bus pass. And the driver was sure to demand payment when I eventually wanted to alight from the payment vehicle of public transportation. So I casually went up and asked the woman, "Miss, excuse me, hello, excu ... EXCUSE ME! Does this bus go back downtown when it gets to the Zoo?"

"No," came the reply. "Harmarville."

Oh my, now I was royally screwed, for verily I didn't even know this place, Harmarville.

On chugged the bus. People slowly getting off. We hit Fox Chapel. Drive through Waterworks. Hit a place I didn't know. And then I got scared. It was dark and it was cold. So I eventually swallowed the lump in my throat, walked up to the rude lady and told her meekly, "Miss, excuse me, hello, excu ... EXCUSE ME! Yes, hi, listen, I left my wallet at the office, that's why I asked if you went back downtown. I swear I don't do this normally, but I really left it on my desk. You see, I was in a rush to ..."

"It's fine. Get out."

"What? Excuse me?"

And she stopped at the next bus stop, turned to me and repeated, "It's fine. Go."

So off I got. And then I told her, "But I don't even know where I am."

"Blawnox," she muttered, and then fled off.

There I was, left standing on the side of the street, in a not-so-nice part of town. Not dangerous not-so-nice, but more like where white trash peasants and rubes live kind of not-so-nice. Fortunately, I called my good friends, the AA (also known as D&C) who cancelled dinner plans to come and fetch me. How kind. Thanks guyses.

Then it started to snow. Heavily, and I needed to pee. Badly. So I did, behind a rock. But anyway, I digress. I eventually got back home after a harrowing experience. All through this, I at least called the apartment owner and told him what was going on. He said he understood and we would meet on Wednesday night at 6:30pm. Good, another chance.

Wednesday rolls around. Glunk. I grab everything - including my damned wallet - and head out, eager not to make the same mistake as the night before. I get on the right bus. Wallet? Check. My directions? Check. My map? Check. And the apartment owner's cell phone number. Check. Off we go. Or so I thought.

It's been snowing buckets out here. So of course people in cars drive like little old ladies on a Sunday afternoon drive. I could have WALKED faster than the bus was going. In an hour, we had not even left the downtown area. Fuming mad, I was livid. I called the apartment owner.

"Hello? Hi, yes, um, I might be a little late, traffic is cra...oh, ok, sure."

Nice man, said he understood. It had taken him three hours to get home. At 7:30pm we were outside my current apartment which during normal hours and circumstances is a 10-minute bus ride from work. There was no way Jose that I was going to stay on that bus for another hour. Sorry. Uh-uh. Not gonna happen.

I called up the guy again. "Um, hello? Yes, it's me. I don't think I'll be able to come and see the place tonight. It's late and it's taking ages. Sure. Okay. Friday. Sure. See you then."

Grrrrrrr. Maybe next time I'll take the boat!

Afghanistan, perhaps?

I've decided I need a vacation (a "holiday" for those of you down in Africa's economic powerhouse).

Never having been one to follow the beaten path, I am exploring my options. Perhaps something with a STAN at the end. That could be quite exotic. It could also be quite dangerous, but then again, I need a little danger in my life. For that reason, the Gaza Strip may even be an option.


So, at the top of my 'possibles' list is Afghanistan - a country recovering from oppression, a non-existent economy fueled only by the sale of opiates, tyranny, and a lack of fashion sense. Note to self: If Afghanistan becomes the country of choice for my vacation, be sure to wear the same t-shirt every day - on this t-shirt will be written, "I am South African, NOT American! Do not shoot me and do not take me hostage. I am worthless to you." Of course this will be written in Afghani. A national past time here in this gem of idyllic paradise is a game of Hide & Seek in the mountains.



Next on my list would Uzbekistan if for the sole reason that it just sounds cool to say. Go on, try it. Say it out loud. OOZE-BEK-EEEE-STAN. Sounds cool, doesn't it? I don't know if they have much to see there, like say lions or orangoutangs like they have in Africa, or chocolate and clocks like they have in Switzerland. Either way, it just sounds cool. I can see myself showing friends back here photos of my trip: "This is me with my new Uzbek friends, Firdavs and Boltavoy."


Of course, no consideration would be complete unless Tajikstan was included. What a glorious country, somewhere on some continent. Tajikstan. The name rumbles up images of big ugly Russian winter hats. But I imagine they wear those even in the summer - much like those Dutch milkmaids wear their little uniforms throughout the year to promote the oft-mistaken perception that the Dutch in fact do not wear clogs.


Bosnia and Herzegovina could be a possibility, if you don't mind walking around mortar shell craters in the streets and dodging bits of falling building.


I'm leaning toward Iran. I've always had a passion for all things Persian. Interesting language, amazing history, awesome culture, and great food. If I steal a cat from the streets there, would it be fair to say it was Persian even if it was not fluffy and looked more like burqa-clad New York City sewer rat? I want one. Again, if I went here, I would wear my I AM NOT AN AMERICAN t-shirt. Although that said, I doubt I'd have to - Americans are not allowed to travel to Iran. And best I go before the U.S. turns this beaut of a country into a strip mall. And of course no trip to Iran would be complete without going and seeing a public hanging which I've heard always draws a big crowd - I imagine much like the gladiators in ancient Rome drew big crowds in the Colosseum. Good times!



Next on my list of possibilities, North Korea. Oh, wait.

The House of Ones

For some unexplainable reason, I decided to come into the office today. Yes, on a Sunday. God Guy is going to knock off points for doing this, I'm sure. But in any event, I stood on the street corner by my abode and waited for a bus while it snowed. Eventually the bus arrived.

Now it is just a short bus ride to downtown from where I live for verily my abode is in the squalor and hell pit of the city, on the outskirts of downtown. I live amongst riff raff and hypodermic needles and 'ladies of the night'.

On this bus were three young college guys. One - as is almost always the case - was louder than the rest. He was obviously the self-anointed speaker of the clan. In a tone loud enough for the rest of the bus-ferrying passengers to hear, he proudly announced that him and his eight room mates were going to be holding a party. The theme for said party? "The House of Ones" - because this young testosterone tot was evidently in a fraternity and was referring to their fraternity house.

One of the lower toned spoke up and asked, "What is a House of Ones?"

This, in turn, gave our fog horn more reason to bellow out that the scale used by guys to rate girls from a 0 to a 10 was in fact incorrect.

"Okay (pause for effect), now when you rate a girl, she is either a zero. Or a one. Hot. Or not. No in between."

Thank you for that clarification pimpled one.

Expressions on the faces of the bus travelers ranged from confusion to disgust. One elderly gent actually laughed out loud.

A House of Ones indeed. In that case, it appears the girls who have managed to garner the enviable rating of "1" appear to be going to a party of "Hosts of Zeros".

Sorry girls. Better luck next time.

The Year of the Fear Conquerer

BANG! BANG!

This year, I have decided, will be the unofficial year of conquering one's fears. Not all of them, mind you. That would just be a very tedious and time-consuming task. So we'll focus on just the important ones - like my irrational fear of being laid off. Shit, if it's going to happen, it's going to happen. There's no one's boots I can lick to stop that from happening. And of course my fear of snakes. That's a big one.

They are curiously odd creatures, snakes. I cannot fathom how one would learn to trust a creature that can move/attack/jump without the use of any limbs. Sure, the Dodo had wings but couldn't fly. But snakes, these creepy ground slitherers are able to meander through deserts, swim in water, and leap out of bushes to zap you on the leg. Then recoil and disappear - leaving you wounded, faint, and very close to death. Not a nice thing to happen. But yes, I shall try to learn to conquer my very rational fear of the slithery one.

Another fear I need to work on is the apocalypse (also known as the end of the world as we know it, to those uneducated peasants out there). I have a fear of being the only person left standing on the face of this rapidly eroding planet. Just me. No one else. No pet cats. No New York sewage rats. No snakes. Okay, maybe the last one won't be so bad, but if I learn to overcome my fear of the slithery one, then I shall miss the slithery one come the apocalypse.

Imagine for a moment, if you will, being the sole survivor of a devastating end-of-the-world phenomenon.

No one to talk to. No one to call and shout at for switching off your electricity. No cable TV because there is no one else left to keep it switched on and running. What would you do all by yourself? This is a very rational and real fear and while I shall try my utmost to overcome it this year, I may have to seek the help of a person who tells you to lie on a long sofa before he/she asks you, "And how does that make you feel?"

I learned that no matter how much you love sleeping in during the holidays, getting up for work on Monday is never, ever easy.

I learned that when you look outside and see the sun shining, that does not mean it's not cold outside.

I learned that taking two sleeping tablets will lead to almost certain difficulty in getting up on time in the morning.

I learned that washing down two sleeping tablets with a mug of coffee will probably offset your sleep.

I learned that there is never, ever truth in advertising.

I learned that skin rash, swollen tissue, shivering, difficulty swallowing, sleep disorders, convulsions, hallucinations, sexual dysfunction, hair loss, swollen eyelids, gastrointestinal hemorrhages and nausea are all possible side effects of Prozac.

I learned how to make my office chair recline. And swivel.

I learned that honey is used as a center for golf balls.

I learned that the three wise men were named Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar.

I learned that the thumbnail grows the slowest. The middle nail grows the fastest.

I also learned that the space between your eyebrows is called the glabella.

Tomorrow I plan to learn what people with a uni-brow call that space between their eyebrow(s). Oh, and also do some work.

2009 starts off by being colder than a polar bear's bum

Not wanting to stick around here for New Year's eve, D and C and myself huddled into the Lancer and headed for DC to celebrate Capitol style.

On the way, we ran into a snow storm - of course - and because it's not very easy to drive in snow storms, we took a rest stop. The cold should have been indicative of what we were in store for in DC.

We eventually got there and C was very proud haven driven through a strange city. We checked into a hotel that looked like a suite on the website but in reality was a hotel room. Just a hotel room. We showered, changed and headed out. Then it hit us.

BAM! The cold that was colder than a polar bear's bum. It was so cold that C even offered a policeman sex if he would drive us to the club we were going to.

We ended up catching a cab and I noticed C didn't offer our Ethiopian driver sex. Hmmmm.

Anyway, good time had by all but not a cold I'd like to experience again any time soon. I was walking like a skeleton because the cold made my jeans so cold.

Brrrrrr.