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Stuff. Not good. Not bad. Just...stuff.


Cristobal

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How much were you planning on eating? I mean, there aren't many calories in one Wine Gum, but when you eat the whole bag, that's something else.

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Pretty much wasted a day today waiting for the plumber.  Called the landlord about a clogged sink at 8am.  Got a call from Roto-Rooter at 10:30 saying they were on their way and just showed up about 15 minutes ago.  At least I've been able to catch up on all the TV I'm behind on.

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  • 2 weeks later...

I guess I cling to my wrestling fandom because it's representative of a time in my life when things were simpler.  When my biggest concern in life WAS who won or lost...I'll say "pre-determined" wrestling matches. I wish life could still be that way.  It's been ten years since my mom passed away. Don't think she ever "got" the whole wrestling thing, but she humored me.  I still lived with her...so I "lived the gimmick", so to speak. Nowadays I have bigger concerns than wrestling, but I still hang onto it.  Not sure if I have a point, but people ask why I still watch when it's not as fun to me as it once was...I guess that's the best I can say.

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You know what I love about Pancake Day*? All the people who don't know how to make pancakes. They come into the shop,they ask if we've got any Pancake mix. I say flour. They say "No, I need proper Pancake mix". I say "You know pancakes are just flour, eggs and milk, right?"

 

They say "Oh, that's a bit technical for me, I can only use the pre-mixed stuff."

 

On the bottles of 'pre-mixed' pancake mix, it says "Instructions: Add half a cup of milk and one egg, shake well." You're trying to pay £1.29 for 10p's worth of flour, and you won't let me tell you it's easy. My son could make pancake mix perfectly when he was eight years old, and here I've got a fifty year old man who insists it's impossible.

 

* Shrove Tuesday. Second tuesday in February. Day before Lent starts. Today, this year. You eat pancakes on pancake day, it's a national pastime in England. If you're in Scarborough, North Yorkshire (where I used to live when I was little) you also go skipping** along the beach front for some local tradition reason.

 

** Jumping Rope, you ignorant yanks.

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You know what I love about Pancake Day*? All the people who don't know how to make pancakes. They come into the shop,they ask if we've got any Pancake mix. I say flour. They say "No, I need proper Pancake mix". I say "You know pancakes are just flour, eggs and milk, right?"

 

They say "Oh, that's a bit technical for me, I can only use the pre-mixed stuff."

 

On the bottles of 'pre-mixed' pancake mix, it says "Instructions: Add half a cup of milk and one egg, shake well." You're trying to pay £1.29 for 10p's worth of flour, and you won't let me tell you it's easy. My son could make pancake mix perfectly when he was eight years old, and here I've got a fifty year old man who insists it's impossible.

 

* Shrove Tuesday. Second tuesday in February. Day before Lent starts. Today, this year. You eat pancakes on pancake day, it's a national pastime in England. If you're in Scarborough, North Yorkshire (where I used to live when I was little) you also go skipping** along the beach front for some local tradition reason.

 

** Jumping Rope, you ignorant yanks.

 

Glad you explained that. Over here when we see a grown man skipping along the beach in the middle of winter we call the police.

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They say "Oh, that's a bit technical for me, I can only use the pre-mixed stuff."

 

On the bottles of 'pre-mixed' pancake mix, it says "Instructions: Add half a cup of milk and one egg, shake well." You're trying to pay £1.29 for 10p's worth of flour, and you won't let me tell you it's easy. My son could make pancake mix perfectly when he was eight years old, and here I've got a fifty year old man who insists it's impossible.

 

 

Maybe by "the pre mixed stuff," they mean something like this:

 

51CRf6AH5OL._AC_UL320_SR192,320_.jpg

 

You just add water.  Because seriously, I just want some fucking pancakes and don't feel like whisking a goddamn thing.

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No, on the British ones it specifically says to add water and an egg. European Union rules about food are much stricter than American ones. It's why you can't get American Beef over here (American cattle are fed steroids, which is illegal under European law, so all American Beef products are illegal).

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Saw an interesting sight today.  Going to dinner with my family- wife in the passenger seat and my two kids in the back seat 4 and 2yrs old.  Pulled up to an intersection and was the first car at a red light.  Across the intersection from me were three cars in the straight lane at their red light.  The second car was a newer model Camaro and the third was a lifted newer model F150.  The guy in the F150 leans out of his window and screams something at the Camaro guy angrily and the Camaro driver replies with a flip of the bird.  Big truck guy slings his door open and storms out towards the Camaro.  This guy is quite large.  If I had to guess I'd say somewhere around 6'3"-6'5" and 275-300lbs.  Camaro guy was already rolling his window up and Big truck guy tries to open his door while screaming at the guy and then hauls off and punches the hell out of the window.  Somehow the window doesn't break- probably lucky that it wasn't rolled all the way up- and when it doesn't break he grabs the top of the window with his hands and starts yanking the window out back and forth trying to break it off like a damn gorilla pulling on a cage door.  He tries again to open the door at the handle and steps back for a split second and two guys come up from behind and try to pull him back and the Camaro guy opens the door at this point.  At about that time I got a green arrow to turn so I start turning and honking my horn at the guy.  I keep turning and on the side street to the left happened to be two cop cars.  My honking apparently got their attention and they put on the lights and went over there.  The restaurant I was going to was pretty much right there on the left and I had to circle around a bit to find a parking spot and saw they had the guy on the ground.  

 

So what did I learn? Those fucking Camaro's have some sick ass side windows! 

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You know what I love about Pancake Day*? All the people who don't know how to make pancakes. They come into the shop,they ask if we've got any Pancake mix. I say flour. They say "No, I need proper Pancake mix". I say "You know pancakes are just flour, eggs and milk, right?"

 

They say "Oh, that's a bit technical for me, I can only use the pre-mixed stuff."

 

On the bottles of 'pre-mixed' pancake mix, it says "Instructions: Add half a cup of milk and one egg, shake well." You're trying to pay £1.29 for 10p's worth of flour, and you won't let me tell you it's easy. My son could make pancake mix perfectly when he was eight years old, and here I've got a fifty year old man who insists it's impossible.

 

* Shrove Tuesday. Second tuesday in February. Day before Lent starts. Today, this year. You eat pancakes on pancake day, it's a national pastime in England. If you're in Scarborough, North Yorkshire (where I used to live when I was little) you also go skipping** along the beach front for some local tradition reason.

 

** Jumping Rope, you ignorant yanks.

 

I was talking to a friend of mine about Pancake Day last week, as I'd never heard of it. She said British pancakes > American pancakes. I wonder why?

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I took a trip to Portland yesterday for a one-day Puppet workshop (it's a server automation tool).  I left after an hour and a half when it became obvious it was nothing more than a sales pitch for their Enterprise product.

 

And thanks to the unwashed masses in that small space, I ended up with an upper respiratory infection that sidelined me from work today.

 

On the bright side, I found some new Funkos and I now have hydrocodone cough syrup, so I'm sorted.

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Doing a complete kitchen/dining room remodel in our home, DIY. Fuck this noise. The wife says we'll feel so accomplished when it's all done because we did it ourselves. I would've been more than happy to have gone away for a weekend and come home to a new kitchen. I have scratches and brusies and cuts all over my hands. The old house we live in was built in the 30's is not standard anything. Just finding studs in the walls is a chore, even WITH a stud finder. One shitty big part that is left is trying to find help moving some of these old, out of date, electrical wires around so we can reposition the stove and refirgerator without having to shell out a ton for an electricion to do the work, and then also tell us they can't do it because the wiring is so old and all needs to be updated to code.

 

However, on the flip side, we're about 85% complete with the whole thing and it looks so much better than before. I just can't wait for it all to be finished so I can come home after a day of work and just relax in my home instead of having to put in 3-4 more hours of work.

 

Ain't home ownership a joy?

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I turned 35 on Friday. Seems like a significant birthday to me, for some reason, and has made me consider my situation.

 

On the up side, I have a wife I love, a great dog, and a PhD.

 

On the down side, I have very little in the way of job prospects--the academic job market is foul, and most non-academic employers are going to see a 35-year-old without any "real" job experience--and no desire to "start again" at this age (such as starting a new degree). The type of contract academic work I've been getting for the last couple of years is really poorly paid: financially, I'd be better off flipping burgers. So really, I have no idea how I'm going to earn a living for the rest of my life, which is pretty scary.

 

So 35 is a mixed bag, but I'm trying to be optimistic.

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This girl in her early 20s used to come into the shop and be excessively friendly, in a flirtatious type of way. I happened to mention I had an 11 year old son. She asked if I was 16 when he was born.

 

I'm 41 years old. She thought I was 27.

 

It's great when you're straight (edge) yeah.

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