Suck It Bernake

This is why people need to vote for Ron Paul. Do you think any of the empty suits (McCain, Clinton, Obama) could lift Dr. Ron Paul's intellectual jockstrap? I didn't think so.

As a homeowner who has a great deal of my net worth tied up in a house whose value could decline as the result of idiotic actions by Bernake and his predecessor, the moron who shall remain Greenspan, I'm glad that someone like Ron Paul is talking sense and that (young) people are listening and voting for him.



And here is some good stuff on the War. Give em hell, Ron!

I'm going to nominate him for Honorary Ninjahood.

Future Ninja?

The kid's got skillz, yo!

On Target?

I am hungover today, but I received some good news today (and no, it's not that Hillary Clinton has Syphilis).


When I first bought the impenetrable ninja fortress, "they" said that a Target store was under construction and would be open "soon". Well...it's been three years and finally I can go get some slightly-better-than-walmart stuff without having to drive to Virginia for it. Oh yes, now high-ish thread count sheets and faux leather ottomans will be within walking distance of me. It will feel like I died and went to hausfrau heaven. Plus, I have some halogen bulbs that I bought at the Virginia Target 2 years ago that I need to return that I have been too laz, errr, busy to take to the other Target. It's like the planets are coming into alignment. The store is set to open in less than 2 weeks. I have seen then advertising job openings, and I thought about going in and pretending to fill out an application so that I could find out when they were opening, but luckilly, the internets saved me the trouble. March 9...sweeeeeet.



I figure that once the Target, Best Buy, and other retailers in that development by the metro are complete, it will make my ghetto more desirable, which will help me sell my sh1thole...err, fortress, to some yuppies for enough money to keep me in drugs and whores for a good long time. If I have any money left over after that, I'll even get a new car...or more drugs and whores.



When I first moved into my ghetto, the only place where you could buy stuff where the cashier wasn't behind bulletproof glass, was the Giant supermarket. Then a bar opened up...a yuppie food place...even a Ruby Tuesdays. Now the yuppie circle is complete.

I remember once hearing a hipster lament that soon my ghetto would look like Bethesda if someone didn't stop these greedy develepors. Rather than punch that soap-dodging hippie in his face, I just smiled and thought about what my house would be worth it it was in Bethesda.





One meeelyun dollars!















Anyway, in other news, I'm filling out an application for a home equity line of credit so that I can get central air conditioning installed. Selling a house to yuppies in DC without central air, is like trying to sell a car with no wheels to a Nigerian. I have no idea what that means, but you get the point.

Also...my dog peed on my rug today because I was too hung over to walk him last night. I heard him crying and scratching at the front door last night, and I yelled at him to "shut the fvck up and go already!" I was hoping that he would come upstairs and use the toilet, but whatevs.

At least it's not syphillis

Sometimes when someone says something, you hear something completely different. I'm not talking about some kind of Freudian thing where you misheard something, like if a cute girl says "wait a sec" and you hear "wait for sex", but the other kind of thing where you hear the words, but the message is something different, like if a cute girl says "hi" and you hear "I want to marry you and have all your babies...take me now".

The other day I was talking to someone who occassionally reads my blog. I think everyone should read my blog all the time, but I don't blame people if they only occassionally come to their senses and need to read fine literature on the internet. I mean, if people read my site everyday, what would the NY Times do for money?

Anyway, I was at an art show where a friend of mine was painting while a grunge band played bad music in the background. It's not really as weird as it sounds (well, maybe it is, but let's pretend for a second that it's not). This guy bought a house and has had even worse luck than me (no really). Termites...wood rot...famine...plagues...locusts. Whenever you hear stories like that or the stuff on this site, it makes me feel a little better because I think that things could be worse and luckily they aren't. Like if you fall and break your leg and you think your life sux, and while you are waiting in the emergency room, the ambulance brings in a guy with a broken leg...and syphillis. And you think "wow...at least it's not syphillis. I can handle a broken leg, but not a broken leg and syphillis". And that's sort of how I feel about the house. I can handle the bad plaster, leaky pipes (hey, I'm getting better at plumbing, so get off my back) but at least there are no termites. Things are stressfull, but at least it's not stress from something that I really can't handle.

Anyway, we were talking about my new countertops that were going to be installed in a few days. He mentioned that as long as the cabinets underneath were really, really level, that there's probably nothing to worry about. Rather than finding that comforting, I found it terrifying. You see...I leveled the cabinets myself. And even though he said "if the cabinets are level, there's nothing to worry about", the implied message I heard was "if the countertops are messed up, it's all your fault."

The countertops went in without a hitch. This weekend I connected the diswasher and tried to connect the plumbing underneath the sink (More pics to come). It's a double bowl sink and after several trips to home depot for parts, I managed to get everything connected underneath. One side is working perfectly, but the other side is leaking...a lot. Oh well...at least it's not syphillis.

Obligatory Valentine's Post

I am still sick, so I don't feel like doing a real post, so I have used my ninja time machine to bring you a love letter that I will write to my future wife at some time in the future.

______________________________

Dearest Future Wife who agreed to marry me without a pre-nup even though you have way more money than me:

Hundreds, maybe even thousands, of years ago, my love, on February 14th St. Valentine was beaten to death with clubs and beheaded. To commemorate the occasion I have purchased for you a pair of red crotchless under-bloomers that I would like you to wear in the spirit of this event. I have also purchased for you a dozen of the reddest roses I could find. Yes, I know my love, there is no need for words. I care for you so much that, at my behest, I have had ordered a living plant-creature to be killed for you and I offer you its severed genitals as a token of my love. Although counter-intuitive, the severed genitals are not a veiled threat to ensure your fidelity, but rather a declaration of affection. I can think of no greater way to show you my love, dearest, except to offer you severed plant-creature genitals and then to do passionate sex to you involving sundry positions. Because it's a special occasion, we can even do that subversive woman-on-top position that you like.

Oh my darling, I have traced every inch of you with my hands, my fingers, my palms. I could sculpt you from memory, my love. Every inch of you. I know what you are thinking right now, beloved. You are thinking that watching Rock of Love 2 is futile since Brett Michaels can never fall in love with anyone since he is already in love with himself. But also you are thinking that if you died tomorrow in some kind of freakish accident--of the type that sometimes befalls people who are too much in love--that being able to sculpt an anatomically correct replica of you would be a useful skill to have.

But know this, my darling, I would not do sex to the lump of clay. Even though sometimes you lay there like a lump of clay, my love, the lump of clay is not you and it would therefore be like cheating, or at the very least be squicky, even though it is you--sort of.

No lump of clay, blow-up doll, or even an almost-high-priced call girl could ever replace you, dearest. When I put my mouth on your sex and move my tongue in a left-right-up-down-squiggle-squiggle fashion and variations of such a combination, I know that no other could possibly fake a climax like you do, oh sweetest.

Therefore, I hope that you will enjoy this Valentines day that I have planned for you and that we will remain together forever, or at least until such time as I can appear on my own fox reality TV show involving many attractive desperate women who will shamelessly compete for my affections and air time. After such brief hiatus I will return to loving you devotedly and exclusively.

Happy Valentines Day, Darling!!!

The Zen of Nyquill and the Art of Ukemi

I fell twice yesterday. Twice. I know the weatherman (or woman) warned me about icy rain, but I still needed to get out of the house for frivolities like food. The first fall was on the steps of the ninja fortress. The wrought iron steps were covered in an invisible (and deadly) sheet of ice. I didn't see it until it was too late. Mad skillz, mother nature! Mad skillz, yo! I wish I could say that my cat-like reflexes allowed me to recover in time, but that (like the justification for invading Iraq) would be a lie.




When I first learned judo a long time ago from this guy, I was told that the secret to not getting injured when you hit the ground really hard is to keep your body relaxed. Don't worry about hitting the ground, just focus on the sensation of falling. Live in the moment. Toddlers fall all the time and don't get hurt, and the reason (supposedly) is that they are relaxed and supple and therefore don't get injured (it could also be that they are only a foot off the ground, but whatevs). Maybe that's why I didn't break anything either time that i fell. I was calm and relaxed. It wasn't a zen thing, it's just that I was so high on Nyquill that I didn't even know what day it was, and I didn't even realize I had fallen until it was too late. My arm, shoulder, back and butt hurts today, but at least nothing is broken except my spirit. Nothing is wounded except my inner child.


So maybe that's a metaphor for life also...that the best way to live it is in a calm, relaxed state that is focussed on being in the moment and unattached from the outcome...and high on Nyquill.

sicko...

Still really, really sick. I took off from work today to wallow in self pity and get high on Nyquill. Even though I'm still stick, I can't sit home and watch TV all day like some housewife who married up, then quit trying to impress her husband.

This dog still needs to be walked otherwise he will poop on my floors. And even though I don't want to be bothered right now, it still wants to be up in my grill and demands to be petted and receive constant affection. It's like some really needy co-dependent girlfriend, except that there is no sex, so maybe it's more like a wife?

Anyway, I think yesterday I was the sickest that I've ever been...ever. If you would've come by the fortress and offered to put a bullet in me to put me out of my misery, I probably would've considered it. Of course, ultimately, my dog would've attacked you when you least expected it (his ninja training is progressing nicely) and decapitated you and laid your head at my feet as gratitude for my helping his escape certain death from a high-kill rural shelter.

Now, when I was a kid, I loved X-men comic books (who didn't, right), and my favorite character was Wolverine. Everyone wanted to be Wolverine because of his claws and adamantium skeleton. Wolverine, however, also had mutant healing powers. And when you're a kid, you think "so what?...in terms of superpowers, having claws and a metal skeleton is way cooler than healing powers." Well, if you thought that, then you never had the flu that I got.







I didn't have a thermometer, but based on my pain threshold, I think it was around 200 degrees celsius. Plus, I had sore throat, achy bones, and all kinds of phlegm that were colors that I didn't even recognize. If I had a canvas in the house I would've made you people a Jackson Pollock.


Anyway, my "point" , which I just realized I had, is that sometimes you underestimate a good, but not flashy mutant power, in favor of some other mutant power (like flying), but when you really need it, you learn to appreciate something like mutant healing.


Actually, I lied...I'm still feverish and I don't think I really had a point, but what mutant power would you like to have that doesn't seem so cool at first glance?

Ron Paul Girl and Obama Girl

I don't feel like being witty today because I am sick. Not sick as in "mentally off balance" which goes without saying, but sick sick. I don't usually get sick, so the fact that I have a slight temparature probably means that it's some type of super virus like the ebola or something. Not to worry, my superhuman immune system has contained the virus and will destroy it shortly, thus saving the world again. You owe me a beer, internets.

In the meantime, enjoy this youtubey goodness. GO RON PAUL!!!

The End of the MacGuyver Kitchen

I don't want to drag this post out anymore. If I teased this post anymore, I'd be able to get a job doing 80s hair in Brooklyn (or 2008 hair in Texas). I finally uploaded some pics of the kitchen that I finally installed the countertops in. BEHOLD BITCHEZ!


This is part of the wall that I opened up to make the kitchen more open. I added these brackets to turn it into a bar area (as if I needed more encouragement to drink). I don't know why everyone wants bars in their kitchens, but as long as some yuppie is willing to pay for it, I'll build it and laugh about it when I sell my place and spend that breakfast bar money on drugs and whores...errr, I mean on like, giving it away to like charities for like for blind kids or lepers or something.

Now this little knee wall was kinda wobbly, so....






When I added supports on the wall for where the countertop would go over the dishwasher, I added some extra bracing across it to keep the wall from moving.

On this part I got to use my new framing nailer a bit, which was really cool. I haven't used it since the first week I got it when I injured myself during a scientific experiment to see what kind of cool things I could shoot nails into. (Don't give me a powertool with safety glasses if you don't want me to do dangerous things with it...jus' sayin').



Here is the kitchen in progress. Yes, I know the picture is sideways...get off my back, chief!













So this is what it looks like with the doors on it, plus I cut the side pieces to match the doors in the front, which was harder than it looks because I had to buy a special blade for my table saw (fine tooth) and call in a favor from a friend to help me install it for free. It's not hard to install those side pieces, but it is a two person job if you want it to be straight and level.







Here is the side of the kitchen that is opposite from the sink.
















View from the breakfast bar












view from the kitchen sink before the holes for the faucet were cut, or the sink was installed.














Here you can see the hole on the bottom of the cabinet for the hoses from the dishwasher.












This is the finished look. That faucet and sink don't have plumbing hooked up yet, but it looks like it does, which is all that matters. Perception is reality.









And since you asked for it, here is a pic of Benny my foster dog doing what he does most of the day: sitting on the couch and staring at me while silently passing judgment on me.

By the way, that painting above the sofa was recently featured in the Style section of the Washington Post. Does that make me an art collector?

The Fried Chicken Eating Nomads

I'm learning a lot about human behavior from walking my foster dog. Like, for instance, there are people who walk around my neighborhood eating fried chicken and throwing the bones along the sidewalk. I have never actually seen these people, but I know they exist because I have seen the bones everywhere.

Eating chicken bones is very bad for dogs, so either there are lots of these people walking around everywhere in my neighborhood eating chicken and throwing bones everywhere, or there are people who hate dogs, hiding fried chicken bones in the grass in order to harm dogs. Since people who hate dogs are worse then Hitler, I don't know what to make of it. Luckily my dog is not "food aggressive" like other dogs. Some dogs growl and bite when you go near their food bowl, but my dog allows me to open his mouth and take the chicken bones out of his mouth without biting me. He just gives me the "oh no you didn't" look.

Now, what I find more disturbing than someone who is worse than Hitler, is the fact that my dog may not respect me as pack leader. As part of my responsibilities in being a good foster parent, I sat and watched several episodes of the Dog Whisperer with my new dog. I want him to understand the concept of the pack leader/alpha dog (me) and the pack follower/bitch (him). What I learned from the show is that the pack leader eats first, then the other dogs can eat when the pack leader says so. This is why when a dog kills a squirrel or a rhinocerous, he will bring it to you and lay it at your feet. As pack leader, you are supposed to eat first and give him what's left over. It's a sign of respect. You are Don Corleone, and he is Fredo. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't want to eat old chicken bones that have been sitting in the gutter, but as the pack leader, he should at least offer me some first, then try to eat. I took his eating of the chicken bones as a a sign of defiance of my authority as pack leader. Like when Tattaglia tried to kill Don Corleone, in Godfather I.

If I'm on a first date, I always pay for dinner, but I expect the girl to at least pretend to reach for her purse so that I can say "I got it" and she can pretend like she was willing to pay and that I am a gentleman. So the dog should pretend to offer me some old chicken bones before digging in (because I am pack leader) and I can so "no...the pack leader doesn't want chicken bones from the gutter, but you may have some because you have been a good pack follower/loyal bitch."

I have tried other things to assert alpha dog/pack leadership over him, like (1) keeping him on a short leash so that he doesn't walk ahead of me; (2) doing the occasional alpha roll; (3) humping the dog's leg so that he knows he's my bitch. The last one gets me funny looks from people at the dog park, but I don't really care what they think because they are not my pack members. There are only two members in my pack, and if I'm the one paying the mortgage and buying the dog food, then excuuuuuuuuse me for wanting to be in charge for a while.

I think the reason that he doesn't respect me as pack leader is because of the poop thing. Just when I think he is starting to RESPECT MA' AUTHOR-I-TAY he poops, and then watches me while I pick up the poop using nothing but a poop bag and my bare hands. I wouldn't respect a person who stood there and picked up my poop with his hands while I silently judged him and mocked him in my head. (Yes, I know it's judging me and secretly mocking me...if it could talk, I'm sure if it would make fun of me to its doggy friends).

Now, a friend of mine thinks I am taking the whole pack leader thing too far. She thinks that you can train a dog using love and positive reinforcement instead of using calm assertive leadership and humping its leg. I think dogs are like bowels and they view people like sphincters, and if you show weakness, they will sh1t all over you. And I am not one to be sh1t upon. I'll give her the benefit of the doubt and assume that it is possible to train a dog using positive reinforcement and love, but if it's all the same to you, I'll keep humping its leg.

It's raining Cats...and a Dog

I hate this weather more than a college socialist hates a bar of soap. Although the heat seems to be working fine at the ninja fortress, I am always not-so secretly worried that it will start leaking all over the place, I will be stuck without heat and they will find my lifeless frozen body wrapped in the infamous sweater, that while toe-ing the line between european metrosexuality and gayness, is remarkably warm. Then the coronors will come and while i'm in a body bag they will go through my p0rn collection and steal the good stuff. I don't care about most of it, but I would like to be buried with the Brianna Banks one, so although it's not in my will, if any of you are at my funeral, make sure no one takes it out of my coffin when they are pretending to mourn my passing. Anyway, part of the reason...well, actually most or the reason I worry about the heating system is that I did the plumbing work on them. I think I'm okay at soldering pipes now, but I definitely learned by trial and error (and error and error) and I worry that some of those early experiments will come back to haunt me like Frankenstein's monster.



The weather is really getting on my nerves because I started fostering a rescue dog and part of that means getting up every morning at 5:30 am to walk him. This is not fun under the best circumstances, but it reaaaaaaally sux when it's 15 degrees out, like last week, or when it's raining like today. And when dogs get wet they shake themselves dry, but they usually wait until they get inside to do it....nice. On my hardwood floors. Mutherflower!!!


He's a good dog and if I take him for a short run in the moring (I can't do a long run unless it's in a dream sequence involving zombies) he naps for several hours, but if I don't take him for a long run, he's got a lot of pent up energy and I've got nice stuff that I don't want him taking his frustrations out on, so jogging it is.


I'm still adjusting to this giant rat that I saved from certain death, but I'll post more about that soon. Right now, I'm drinking tea (no, I'm not British) because the girl in our office who makes coffee is out sick today so it's either walk a half block to Starbux or drink this urine colored grass water. I don't know how sick she is, but she better have a broken leg or a failed kidney because I need my coffee and tea is for old ladies. That's right, lady, I don't care about your "flu" because it's all about me, me, me!!! And my dog...