Big Fat Hairy Living

It means I can keep walking in a straight line, and eventually anyone in my path will move out of my way. This is very useful at the No Frills, where tacky shoppers are always blocking the narrow aisles. It works best when I shop with a scowl, three days’ worth of stubble, greasy jeans, and muddy boots. I have also perfected the art of saying “Excuse me” in an gruff, icily polite tone. They have learned not to get in my way.

Everyone’s gotten personal ad replies written in really bad english. Posting those in one’s blog was the cool thing to do in 2001. Try this e-mail exchange instead, in fluent english:

Him: Hi Dave. You’re a real cutie.

Me: Hi there! You’re really cute too! What part of town do you live in? I’m downtown.

Him: I live in Mississauga.

Me: Do you ever get downtown at all? Are you on AOL Instant Messenger? I’m cub4bearTO on there. If you’re on, add me to your buddy list. Let’s chat some time.

Him: I get down town on occasion.Do you have a pic?

Me: Um…. yeah. In my bear411 profile.

Him: What’s your name?

Yeah. You’re really making me want to meet you.

Mark returned from Ottawa yesterday afternoon. We spent the night snuggling in front of the fireplace, making cooing noises at each other.

Mark has been away for four days. He’s returning from Ottawa tomorrow evening. I’m so lonely without him that I feel like I’m going to break down and cry any second. I never thought I’d come to depend emotionally on one person so much.

I had my mother and sister over for dinner today. Normally I’m not interested in people posting their meals on their blogs because they usually aren’t that great, but I’m particularly proud of my accomplishment. I roasted a big ham and served it with cranberry and grapefruit chutney, cheddar and sage biscuits, pan-fried green beans with shiitake mushrooms, a giant green salad, and a butternut squash crumble. Dessert was a gingerbread cake served with poached pears, wine syrup and cinnamon whipped cream. I did it all myself, except for a little help from my sister cutting the beans and from my mother near the end when I got too frazzled.

It was a thoroughly wonderful day. I’m so lucky to have all my friends and my mother and my sister. I just wish Mark were here. He’s in Ottawa visiting his parents.

From the Toronto Star:

[Joseph Nimylowycz, 18, of Cleveland, Ohio] who thought the `80′ on the speed limit sign meant miles per hour was convicted yesterday of dangerous driving … Ontario Provincial Police Const. Jody Bigger testified he spotted Nimylowycz’s car on a highway going 140 kilometres an hour - or about 85 miles per hour - and began to pursue it. Bigger also testified the car accelerated to between 160 and 170 km/h. Testifying in his own defence, Nimylowycz, who represented himself, said he believed he was driving the speed limit, adding that he didn’t realize the officer was pursuing him.

Honestly, did the fact that he was going twice as fast as everyone else and that a cop was chasing him not give him a clue? Or the fact that the speed limit signs say “km/h” on the bottom?

Update, October 2005: Believe it or not, I got an e-mail from Nimylowycz about this story, and he wrote an explanation of his side of the story. In it, he admitted that his testimony that he thought the limit was 80 miles per hour was a lie. Make of that what you will.

If you use AOL Instant Messenger and either aren’t allowed to install programs at work or can’t get through your corporate firewall, try webaim.net. It’s a web interface to AIM, all done in HTML. It’s great!

I’m really embarassed. A friend and fuck buddy of mine sent me some pictures of himself with his latest trick. I replied to tell him that I liked the picture that had his dick in it. He replied back, saying that wasn’t his dick!

Looking at pictures of his dick, he was right. His is much, much fatter (it’s one of the juiciest, fattest dicks I’ve ever sucked.) I can’t believe my cock memory failed me!

The guy who doesn’t know what mono is has a habit of always answering the phone, no matter what is going on. Frequently what happens is that he’ll call someone over to help him with something, and just as they arrive, the phone will ring. Despite the fact that they’re there to help him, he’ll make them wait for him to finish his personal conversation.

Just now, he called someone over to help, and the person he called over was helping him. As usual, the phone rings. He let it ring twice without answering, and I was convinced for a moment that he was actually going to let the call go to voicemail. I was wrong. He picked up the phone and started talking.

Given that this is the guy who was yakking on the phone through the two minutes’ silence on Remembrance Day, it was probably a little much to expect him not to pick up the phone.

I wish words were sufficient to express the contempt I feel for the people I work with.