In Which I Consider It

As with just about every time we've moved over the years (about half a dozen times in the past five years), our moving out experience yesterday did not go nearly as smoothly as we had hoped. I won't complain about how much it sucked (it couldn't have sucked more if it were a Dyson), and I won't moan about how sore I am (although I'm more sore than a Craigslist Erotic Services worker on Two-For Tuesdays), but let's just say that I am not anxious to move again any time soon.

On the way home from our last trip to the storage unit, while trying to loosen up a muscle cramp in my calf, we passed a sign in front of this day spa and salon. They had a sign out front that was advertising massages for $25.00. I've never had a massage before, and even though I'm not cool with strangers touching me, with all my aches and pains and sore muscles, a massage sounded pretty appealing. I ultimately ruled it out, but not after giving it some thought.

If I were to ever get a massage, I think that laying down some ground rules would be important.

First off, let's acknowledge the white elephant in the room. You know, the whole erection thing. Sure, it's only natural that when a man is in a relaxed state and a woman is massaging deeply his abused and weary muscles, his body is going to interpret things a certain way. Even if the masseuse is a four-hundred pound woman with excruciatingly severe body odor and a mustache thicker than Burt Reynolds and you are the furthest away you've ever been to being turned on, your body is still likely going to do what it wants.

You can say all you want that it's a normal human function, but still. What's a guy to do with it, if the particular place one happens to be at doesn't offer the Happy Ending on their menu? Most of us guys have seen too many cheesy pornos or had too many hormone-enduced pubescent fantasies to really know what the proper protocol is in that situation. In my opinion, there are a few options to consider:

1. Pretend that it's normal to have a raging hard-on in the middle of the day and ignore it completely,
2. Sheepishly hide it under your towel and tuck it away as quickly as you can,
3. Lay face down until the masseuse leaves the room, find some tissues and do what you do best,
4. Stumble through an awkward apology for your protuberance and tip generously as you leave,
5. Roll over onto your back and assume that she'll finish you off.

Secondly... well, wait a minute. No. There's only the erection thing.

There's way too much pride and embarrassment at stake, not to mention the potential for a criminal record for indecent exposure and propositioning, for me to even consider walking into a place and asking for a massage. I'll just have The Boss work me down, and maybe she'll throw in the Happy Ending in exchange for some reciprocation.

I think I'd be cool with that.

Happy Monday, folks.

In Which It's Every Man For Himself

Today is a hard day to be a geek.

Being Black Friday, there are so many killer deals on gadgets and electronics that it just about makes me sick. Even if I wasn't working all day, and even if I had the money to spend on shit like that, I wouldn't be outside the store at 3 AM waiting to be the first one in, but still. Lots of things are going to be dirt cheap today, and I wish I could get myself a piece of the action. Alas, there is no rest for the wicked.

Sure, if I had the financial means and the time off from work, I'd probably try to sneak into Walmart to get a sweet deal on a flat-screen TV. I'd probably push people out of my way to snag a PS3 on sale, or to get some DVDs for cheap. Then I'd have to cruise over to Best Buy to check out their cameras, and then the laptops. Then I'd have to see what accessories I could get for my smartphone, as can never have too much Bluetooth. And then, and then, and then...

Yeah. A gadget-happy geek should not go shopping on Black Friday. I would incur vast amounts of debt faster than the government did trying to bail out the economy.

If you are out braving the stores today, be safe and spend smartly. 

Have a good weekend, everyone.

In Which I Am Thankful

I am thankful for many things. 

I'm thankful that I have a beautiful wife, and for the child that we have on the way. I'm thankful that we have a roof over our heads, and jobs that give us the means to pay for it. I'm thankful that my wife and I are in good health. I'm thankful that I have a supportive and caring family, and the best group of blog followers any geek could ever ask for. But perhaps most of all, I'm thankful for the ability to goof off once and a while and create something awesome. 

Something awesome, like Darth Turkey.

May the Force (and a good pair of stretch-waist pants) be with you.

Have a safe and happy Thanksgiving!

In Which I Don't Think She Gets It

And the stranger e-mail saga continues... For the record, I did not receive any response to the e-mail I had sent back to her. There was a few days of silence, and then I received the one below, and it was just too good not to reply.

Update: I removed the image after some wise suggestions in the comments. For those who didn't see it, you'll get the gist of it when you read the post below.

---

From: Sandy****@aol.com
To: badassgeek@gmail.com
Date: Saturday, November 20th, 2010 at 11:14 AM
Subject: No Subject

[Image Removed]

---

From: badassgeek@gmail.com

To: Sandy****@aol.com

Date: Saturday, November 20th, 2010 at 12:01 PM

Subject: RE: No Subject

Whoa, whoa, WHOA. What the fuck is this?

You'll have to excuse me for a minute, but you've got to be high out of your damn mind to tell me this is why I haven't heard from you, much less seen you, in so long. I was trying to find a logical reason why, after weeks of the hot and heavy, and Christ, all that crystal and blow, you all of a sudden dropped off the map. I can't remember if I wore a bag the last time we were together, but I guess I assumed you were on the pill or something. Jesus. 

I mean, seriously.

Now that I think back, it's been roughly ten months since I last saw you. I got that text from you the day after we had that last romp at the hotel saying to give you some space, that Carlos might be onto us, so I backed off. When I didn't hear from you, I just figured you were done. Then I got your call last week, and now this. I am understandably a bit caught off guard and a little pissed off. Why didn't you let me know about this before? I could have helped, I could have been there. 

If you thought that by springing this on me now that I'd give you some money, you better think again. I'm not giving you a dime until there is a paternity test. You know the feelings I have for you, and we've been through a hell of a lot, but this hurts, Susan. 

I think we need to meet up. Talk about things, sort some shit out. After pulling this little stunt, I think you owe me at least that much. Let me know where and when, and I'll be there.

P.S. What is her name? Is it Audrey, like the subject of the last e-mail you sent?

---

Happy Monday, folks.

In Which I Do A Double-Take

I've written about something this in the past, but this is too good not to share.

On my drive into work last week, I drove past this house that is having some work done to it. An addition or remodel, something like that. I honestly haven't paid enough attention to the house itself to notice. What caught my attention was the sign that the contractor doing the work on the house placed on the lawn near the road, advertising for his business.

I don't know how many times I had driven past it, but something on it caught my eye the last time I drove past it where I reminded myself to pay attention to it this time. I let up on the gas a bit so I could read it. Here is my (poorly rendered) mock-up of what it looked like:

Pretty innocuous, right? Yeah. The thing is that I thought it said something different. Here is what I thought it said originally:

VAG construction, eh? I mean, I guess I always knew that there were contractors who serviced vaginas, especially in the comfort of your own home, but I didn't think we had gotten to a point where they could advertise for them. We're a progressive country at times, sure, but not that progressive.

Have a good weekend, everyone.

In Which I Play Along

Editor's Note: The following is verbatim an e-mail I received yesterday, and the response I sent to it.

The woman who sent this to me is a complete stranger.

---

From: Sandy****@aol.com

To: badassgeek@gmail.com

Date: Tuesday, November 16th, 2010 at 3:36 PM

Subject: Audrey

Sorry we got cut off. We are up so high in the mountains, there is no reception, except for the pc, which Carlos stays on. I was saying we cant get out of here until tomorrow morning. I hope that is ok for you. Please hold those for me. I will be in asap or there the next morning cash in hand. Please confirm this is ok. I worry if I dont have things down. I miss you guys. Please write me back.

I love you.

Susan

---

From: badassgeek@aol.com

To: Sandy****@gmail.com

Date: Tuesday, November 16th, 2010 at 4:14 PM

Subject: RE: Audrey

Susan,

I was wondering what happened when the call dropped. Hopefully the weather will clear up so you can get back down tomorrow. I'm not crazy about you being on this trip with Carlos, especially after all we've been through. I don't much care for being "the other guy", but that's a conversation for another time when he's less likely to be looking over your shoulder. Just make sure the prick wears a rubber if he decides to get randy with you.

I've got the drugs you wanted. There's a lot of demand for glass this pure around here, but I know you're good for it. I do know how you worry, so put your mind at ease. I've got your back, just make sure you have all the cash up front this time, plus the cash you owe me from last time. My dealer and I, we miss you, too, but  if you were to hear it from him, he misses your money more. I'm sorry if I'm being harsh but my dealer has been bringing the heat down on me lately because of the slack I've given you. In this game, money talks and money makes friends. Without it, well... it's just gonna be you and flaccid Carlos until death do you part. 

Travel safe tomorrow, and no driving when you're high, either. That shit'll get yourself killed.

I love you, too.

---

That'll teach her to double-check the e-mail address before clicking Send next time.

Hopefully.

In Which I Am Inappropriate

Sometimes, words manage to sneak out of my mouth before I have a chance to think about what I'm saying. This is something I know we all do, but I seem to be doing this a lot. It must be my lack of sleep or perhaps too much caffeine, but the brain-to-mouth highway has sure been slippery as of late.

I asked this guy I know who, after having his ears gauged later decided to take them out and let his ears heal, if his ear lobes ever whistled when he walked into a stiff breeze.

I asked a co-worker if they caught the guy who killed her couch when she came in wearing a sweater that even Bill Cosby would have refused to wear. 

Thinking I was alone, I loudly remarked shortly after entering the break room at work and smelling something awful that it smelled like sour vagina and swamp. The guy sitting in the corner that I didn't see piped up and said, "Thanks. That's my lunch you're smelling."

It's no wonder I sit alone. 

Happy Monday, folks.

In Which I Take A Deep Breath

It's been one hell of a week, my friends. 

From two emergency room visits in one day to finding my favorite author's signature in a book, it's been a roller coaster that I can only hope is close to being over. I wish I had a funny anecdote to share today, but I don't. A combination of work sucking the soul out of me and being off my anxiety medication for a few days has really thrown me for a loop. That said, I really hate re-posting things, so in lieu of that, I've decided to share another segment of the story I was working on during my vacation in August.

Russell let himself into Simon's room after his conversation with Judas earlier that afternoon. Simon lay motionless on his bed, the only sign that he was even still alive was the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The tranquilizer he had given Simon was a powerful one, capable of knocking out even the most unruly of patients. 

As he walked over to the bed, he pulled from his loose uniform pants a hypodermic needle. He pulled the plastic cap off with his teeth and jabbed the needle into Simon's upper arm. He took the cap from his mouth with his free hand pushed down the plunger of the needle. The hypo contained a dose of naltrexone, a drug commonly used to reverse the effects of a tranquilizer. Russell stood silently over Simon and waited for it to go into effect. When Simon stirred and his eyelids fluttered open, Russell pounced.

“Don't even think about screaming,” he whispered harshly from behind his teeth, and gripped Simon's neck with his strong hands. “One sound from you and I'll break your neck.”

Simon swallowed hard and blinked. Russell could feel Simon's pulse racing through the jugular vein in his neck. He gave his neck a squeeze to show he was serious.

“Can I let go of your neck so I can put away this needle?” Russell asked quietly. He held the hypo up so Simon could see it.

Simon nodded quickly, and took in a deep breath when Russell's heavy hand lifted from his throat. He looked on in fear as Russell calmly recapped the needle and placed it back in his pocket. The tranquilizer, while weakened by the naltrexone, still made his limbs feel heavy and non-responsive. Simon was awake, but he couldn't move.

“I don't much appreciate you spreading your lies around to other patients, Simon,” Russell said at last. His voice had an eerily calm quality to it. “That kind of behavior will get you into trouble around here.”

Russell picked up from the bed the thin cover sheet that lay in a tangled bundle at Simon's feet. He searched for a weak area in the fabric, and tore it lengthwise. The cloth purred quietly and split easily, but Simon noticed a bead of sweat appear on Russell's forehead.

“I especially don't appreciate you trying to get sympathy from the other patients," he went on. "There are a lot of sick people in here, Simon, but you're special. Not everyone murders their wife and blames the demons they claim to see. Talk about a weak story, man. Not even your shrink believes you.”

Simon struggled to move, but his arms and legs felt disconnected and heavy, as if they were strapped down with lead weights. His eyes never left Russell's big hands, watching them tear his bed sheet neatly into two halves. The fear that drove his beating heart switched to horror when Russell tied the two halves together and began to fashion a noose.

“Good and honest Simon Crause, the poor grieving husband who gets to skip out on going to jail for the rest of his life because he's a crazy person,” Russell said mockingly. He laughed, the sound of it sending chills down Simon's spine. “I don't buy that,” he said, his face becoming suddenly deadly blank. “I don't buy that for one minute.”

Having finished with the noose, Russel tied the other end of the bed sheet into a loop. He tested his knots for strength, and added a few more just to be safe. After all, when you kill for recreational purposes, it never hurts to be safe.

He bent over Simon now and slid his hands underneath him. The sedatives were starting to fade even more now, but Simon still couldn't move. His limbs were just now starting to hum with feeling, and they flopped loosely like a rag doll as Russell picked him up off the bed and dragged him over to the wall.

About eight feet up from the floor, a thick pipe stuck out from the wall. A sprinkler head was attached to it at an angle, obviously an after-sight to the construction of the room. The sprinkler system had been added to be in compliance with state fire regulations a number of years before. Russell figured that the stout pipe encircled with concrete would work just fine.

Taking careful aim, Russell threw the looped end of the torn bed sheet up and tried to get it to catch around the sprinkler head and onto the pipe. After a couple of attempts, it slipped cleanly over the sprinkler and rested on the pipe. He tugged heartily on it to test it for it's strength. It barely moved.

Good, Russell thought.

The noose hung down from the sprinkler against the wall by about two feet. Russell picked up Simon, grunting at his weight. He held the noose open with one hand, and slipped it around Simon's head.

With the noose supporting a portion of his weight now, Russell held Simon up against the wall. His pulse was racing in anticipation of the kill, but part of him was disappointed that there was not going to be any blood. The noose dug into Simon's throat, cutting off most of his air. His head pounded, and he tried to summon the strength in his arms and legs to return. They continued to buzz and hum like they were waking up from being asleep, but there was no other response.

“You and your lies,” Russell said, breathing hard. “First to the police, then to the court, and then to the patients here. No one is going to be sad that you're gone, Simon. It'll just mean that the world is lighter by one less murderer.”

“Fuh... fuh-” Simon managed to say. He whistled in a short breath.

“What was that?” Russell asked. He picked Simon up briefly to lessen the weight on the noose. He always cherished the final words of his victims.

“I... forgive you,” Simon mumbled. His eyes rolled glassily in their sockets.

“You what? You forgive me?” Russell said incredulously, almost forgetting to keep his voice down. He laughed haughtily. “Fuck you.”

At that, he dropped Simon. The noose snapped tightly against his throat, crushing his larynx and collapsing his airway. His head wrenched to one side from the downward force, and his neck broke easily with a sound like a stout tree branch snapping under the weight of heavy snow. His legs splayed out in front of him, and twitched from the last firing synapses in his brain.

Russell stayed until Simon's legs stopped moving. Simon expelled one last burst of air, sending a spray of saliva out through his mouth. His eyes were open wide, the whites of them filled with blood from broken veins. Russell checked for a pulse. Finding none, he wiped his hands together and left the room.

---

And if that wasn't morbid enough for you, I've got a post going up later today over at Fiction Five Hundred.

Have a good weekend, everyone.

In Which I Get Signed

As many of you know (or at least should know by now), I am a pretty big Stephen King fan. I'm actually nearing the end of my King Quest, which is to read everything he's published back to back. I've been working on this for almost two years, but when I learned a few months back that he was putting out a new book, I was pretty stoked.

The new book, "Full Dark, No Stars", came out yesterday, and I had it all planned out. I was going to get a copy at a local bookstore with a coupon that I had for 40% off to save a few bucks. His books, while a good read for sure, don't come cheap. The Boss was going to order it for me as a late birthday present from our favorite bookstore in the town we used to live in, but with my coupon being for a chain store, she cancelled.

Now, as luck would have it, The Boss and I happened to be in the neck of the woods where our favorite bookstore is yesterday. The Boss asked if I wanted to go in, and truth be told, I didn't. It was getting late and we were supposed to meet my parents for dinner, but we did have ten minutes to kill, so I said sure. We went in, and my eyes were drawn to the New Release shelves where I knew I'd find some copies of King's new book. 

There was one copy left.

I picked it up nonchalantly, knowing that I wouldn't be buying it. I flipped a few pages, and then I saw something that caught my eye. I turned back a few pages, and confirmed what my heart had been hoping for.

His autograph.

Yes, my friends. Stephen King signed this book. 

He had been in the store earlier in the morning to pick up some books he had on order. He has a summer home the next town over, so this in itself isn't much of a surprise to me. As he has been rumored to do, he signs random copies of his books and leave them on the shelves for his readers to find. So yesterday, on the day the book was released, he signed this one copy and stuck it in the back of the stack. 

The owner of the store went on to tell me that he had received only a fraction of the copies he had ordered. He said that he only had six or seven copies to put out today, and he didn't know how many of them King had signed. It was just complete chance that I happened to walk in and pick up not only the last copy, but one that had been signed by him.

Once I started breathing again, I clutched the book to my chest. It was like winning the lottery.

Needless to say, I am beyond stoked. I'm almost afraid to read it, for fear of damaging it in some way. I think I'm going to get some gloves to wear while reading it. I'm totally serious about that, too.

In Which I Get By With A Little Help

To say the least, this past weekend was a bit rough.

The Boss woke me up at 2:15 AM on Saturday saying that I needed to bring her to the hospital. She was having severe pain in her back near her kidneys, and knowing her long history with kidney stones, she assumed that it was a particularly bad episode of them. After waking me up she ran to the bathroom and vomited multiple times. I tell you, if your normal cup of Folger's doesn't wake you up, the sound of your loved one retching into the toilet sure will. We made a call to her OB/GYN's office to make sure that going to the ER would be the right thing to do. We weren't sure what they'd be able to give her for the pain, what with her being knocked up and all. The doctor said to go, and so we went. 

We checked in at 3:15 AM, and were triaged and in an exam room by 3:45. The Boss very clearly stated her pain level as a nine on the zero-to-ten scale, but 45 minutes would pass before the doctor came in, and another 15 minutes from there before any sort of medication arrived. No ibuprofen, no acetaminophen, nothing, for an entire hour. I went out to the nurses station after watching my wife writhe around in pain on the gurney for twenty minutes, and told them that she was feeling like she was going to pass out from the pain. Their response? "Oh, okay."

The doctor finally came in and said they'd get her something for the pain, and that they'd want to run some tests. Fine, okay, good. Then, the doctor asked if there was any chance she might be pregnant. 

You've got to be kidding me. The doctor, who we were told hadn't come yet because he "hadn't reviewed her chart", didn't even know that she was pregnant. You should have heard the surprise in his voice when The Boss said that yes, she was pregnant, about 17 weeks along. The doctor chuckled to himself and said, "Well, that changes things a little bit." I have to wonder how he would have started her treatment if he hadn't asked her if she was pregnant. As a patient, you shouldn't have to remind your physician of such a thing, even if he his just an ER doctor. What could have happened if he hadn't asked, and we didn't tell him, trusting that he had read the chart and that he was recommending the best treatment accordingly?

After the doctor left, a technician came in and scanned for the baby's heartbeat. Everything sounded good to them, and it eased our minds a little. Another tech came in and (very poorly) placed an IV line. They gave her some medication for nausea and then something for the pain. The nausea medication worked, but the pain medication did not. After some time had passed, they tried a different drug. That seemed to work alright, and The Boss was able to get some sleep. 

The doctor came back in after a little while and mumbled some things about her urine and blood tests checking out okay. He said that they wanted an ultrasound of her kidneys, but we'd have to wait until 8:30 until the ultrasound techs came in. At this point it was 5:00 or so. We agreed, and except for a few times when a nurse came in to make sure her IV was still in place, they left us alone in the room. The Boss slept for most of the time, and I tried to sleep, but didn't find the stool I was sitting on nor the sink I was leaning against very conducive to it. 

The ultrasound finally came and went, and we learned that her kidneys looked fine and not blocked at all. They wheeled The Boss back to the exam room, and a different doctor came in to give us our discharge instructions. He said that it didn't look like kidney stones at all, but colic. He gave her an RX for pain, and said to come back if it didn't get any better. After being there for six hours, they all but shoved us out the door. 

We were home for maybe six hours before we decided to go back to the Emergency Room, but not the one we had gone to in the morning. We drove a little bit further to a completely different hospital. Here's a quick run-down of why we didn't go back:

• We were there for SIX HOURS.
• The doctor didn't even know she was pregnant, despite her chart.
• During our time there, The Boss only went through 1/2 of a liter of fluids via IV. ONE HALF. I don't have a medical degree, but it's common sense to me that if you're in the hospital for a condition that indicates you're dehydrated to begin with, PLUS you've been vomiting all morning, you need more than half an IV bag. I don't know if the drip was set too low or if the line wasn't placed right, but still. Unacceptable.
• The doctor that discharged us refused to prescribe anything for nausea, stating that it was just the pain that was making her throw up. Well, yes, you're right. However, if you can't keep anything down because of the nausea, how can you expect to reduce pain if you are swallowing the pain medication?

Our experience at the other hospital was a world different. We were in an exam room within five minutes of checking in, and she had an IV bag hanging within ten. More blood was drawn for lab work, and she was given medicine for nausea and for pain, all within the first half-hour. All of the staff there were attentive, caring, and very concerned at how poorly she had been treated earlier in the morning. (And yes, before you ask, we are most definitely switching hospitals.)

To give you an idea of how badly dehydrated The Boss was, she only managed a trickle of urine after taking in three entire liters of saline via IV. Three liters over two hours, and she could only pee a little. Insane.

Since we got home around 9:30 Saturday night, she's been doing alright. Trying to stay on top of the pain, and the subsequent nausea, is the hardest thing. She's staying hydrated, and she's sleeping a lot. The official diagnosis was kidney stones, and until they pass she'd going to be in pain. I hope that happens soon.

Before I end this already massive post, I wanted to give a shout out to all the people on Twitter who offered up their well wishes, thoughts, and prayers during this ordeal on Saturday. Your support was very much needed and even more appreciated. The Boss was moved to tears when I told her how many people were rooting for her. So, thank you again to:

• @DidacticPirate
• @_GeorgeLee
• @Melissacop
• @ThatFiestyVegan
• @EmilyHerself
• @AmyDeclouet
• @MarvelousMrsE
• @JavaJiving
• @NomNomnivore
• @JStoutie
• @Koalamamaof3
• @ChibiJeebs
• @FloatingPrncess
• @ShaunaGlenn
• @BugginWord
• @RandomsRambling
• @Lunchbuckets
• @Wowiee
• @Puggermom
• @BeautifulWreck2
• @JuggernautMedia
• @RealmeMD
• @LShepSmith

Every single one of you are awesome and great people, and I feel honored to know you. Thank you again.

Happy Monday, folks.

In Which It's Been A Long Time Coming

I originally posted about this way back in April this year, but my old high school classmate who was brought up on federal charges of child molestation and possessing child pornography was found guilty and sentenced recently. Prior to this he served 60 days in prison on state charges of unlawful sexual touching, but once released he was arrested for his federal offenses. His sentencing brings to an end the grief and mental suffering the affected families have had to endure, and while I'm glad for that, I don't think that I'm alone when I say that the sentence he received of 12 years is not nearly harsh enough.

The official word on his charges were two counts of transporting a minor across state lines with intent to engage in criminal sexual activity. He took this little girl and her sister out of the state on what I've heard were honorable purposes (a school field trip), but had his own ulterior motives that thankfully he didn't get very far with acting out. What he did wasn't as bad as what could have been done had he had the gall to go through with it, but when it's something like this, anything is bad.

He forever ruined a little girl, potentially traumatized her sister, and put her entire family through the painful and drawn-out experience of pursuing him through our country's legal system. In the end it doesn't matter what he actually did, but what he intended to do that he was charged and sentenced for. And in my mind, a person who didn't know those affected by this, twelve years in federal prison is not sufficient.

As I wrote back in April about this, I'm trying my best to understand how I feel about all of this. Of course I'm glad that it's all over, for the sake of the little girl's family. Of course I'm glad to hear he got jail time. I suppose I'm still struggling to accept the fact that this isn't just another story on the news. I know this guy personally, and in some ways I guess I feel a little betrayed by him.

Whatever. I'm glad he's going to jail, and while I don't usually wish ill of people (Brett Favre excepted), I hope this guy gets what is coming to him in jail. Twelve years is a long time, and he faces supervision for the rest of his life when he gets out, and he more than deserves every minute of it.

Sorry to be such a downer at the end of the week. I just had to get this off my chest.

Have a good weekend, everyone.

In Which It Comes A Bit Early*

Originally, I was going to wait until this Friday to announce the winner of my Fall Season Give Away. That has since changed because for one reason or another, participation was pretty low. I'm a bit puzzled by that fact, but I'm going to chalk it up to busy lives and general lack of time to be able to participate. So, without any further ado, let me announce the winner (and the sole participant):

Join me in congratulating Megan! Here's what she had to say about why she chose this particular picture to best summarize her opinion of the Fall season. I have to say that while I don't necessarily agree with her choice of team, I agree with her reasoning:

Fall = football season. At least in my house. And no matter what team you cheer for, you have to admit that Heinz Field has a hell of a view.

Nothing says Fall like sleeping in on a lazy Sunday, only to roll out of bed, slip on your favorite jersey, and prepare to fight off all those who would challenge your rights to the buffalo wing dip. And chili. And hot wings. And beer. And, well, fall is really when you fatten up in preparation for the long winter ahead (or an excuse to stuff your facehole full of yummy tasting food).

Amen to that.

So, congrats again to Megan! Megan, to claim your prize of $55.00 to any of the CSNStores websites, just shoot me an e-mail. I'll have my contact send you the gift certificate electronically.

As for the rest of you with good intentions, well, there's always next year.

---

I don't talk often about sports here, but I was at the Patriots game this past weekend against the Vikings. It was a great game, with lots of freaks and geeks dressed up for Halloween. It was great to see the Vikings lose, to see Randy Moss only get a single catch, and to see Brett Favre get carted off the field bleeding from his face. I'm not normally so mean towards people, but I've held a grudge against Favre ever since 1996. 

The most memorable part of the game? Having the old woman sitting behind me punching me in the back to get me to sit down. I was on my feet to watch a play developing near the end zone, and she couldn't see... yet clearly she missed the giant HD display over at the other end zone. She must have punched me in the kidneys a half dozen times before I turned around and told her to quit it. Well, to be honest, I told her to "fucking stop punching me in the kidneys" and to "stand up or watch the fucking Jumbotron" if she wanted to see what was happening.

Usually I respect my elders, but when they start throwing kidney shots, all that goes out the window.

* All together now: That's what she said.

In Which It's Been 16 Weeks

Hello, Baby Badass,

How are you doing in there, kiddo? Just checking in to say hello. You're about sixteen weeks old now, although it hardly seems possible that it's been that long since your Mom and I first found out about you. If time is passing by this quickly now, I'll have to brace myself for the whirlwind that'll begin when you make your entrance in a few months. It's alright if time moves quickly, though. In truth, I'm hoping it does a little. I don't let on much to your mother, but I'm pretty stoked about you coming.

Your Mom has been keeping me updated about your growth progress over the past couple of weeks. It's amazing how quickly you're growing, and I know that isn't going to stop anytime soon. How crazy is it that you have fingerprints and toenails now, and that your heart is pumping over six gallons of blood a day. Six gallons! It's incredible how something so small can be so intricate. I know I'm echoing the sentiments of many before me, but I am speechless about how amazing you are even now, and there is so much more to come.

We talk about you a lot, you know. I'm sure you've heard some of it (sorry for the language at times). We talk about how we're going to decorate your nursery, about what kind of parents we hope to be, and how we're not going to let you be a spoiled brat like the whiny kids we see at the stores. We've decided upon a name if you're a boy, but there is still a heated debate over what your name will be if you're a girl. This is something we've been talking about for years it seems, long before you ever came to be, but I promise you that if you do wind up being of the fairer sex, you'll have a name before we leave the hospital with you. Or at least on the car ride home.

Your mother said that she's felt you move a few times this past week. I can't wait until I get a chance to experience that for myself. Stay safe and healthy in there, kiddo, and about what I said earlier... You know, about hoping time moves quickly until you arrive. I am excited, but take your time getting here. You've still got plenty of growing to do, and quite honestly, I think I do, too.

With love,

Dad / Badass

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Don't forget about the contest! Deadline is midnight tonight!

Happy Monday, folks.