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Monday, March 13, 2006
 
Now is the Time. And This isn't the Place. Anymore.
If you want to keep reading Kamikaze Lunchbreak (or, y'know, START), click here.

Take turns. Don't everyone click at once.

And please update your links as appropriate.


Friday, March 10, 2006
 
This is the Last Time I Will Ever Post . . . Here.

Okay, the Second-to-Last Time.


I’ve bored you all long enough. Don't deny it.

I apologize for not visiting all of you more often. I have my fingers crossed that Comcast coming to replace our rented modem (which was listed as being at “END OF LIFE”) will make our access to the Internet more like usable and less like endless frustration.

Hey, what was the blog that had the tagline: “Come here every day and you will be told what to do?” Anyway, if you come here on Monday, you will be told what to do. Then. Until that time, I’ll be elsewhere.


Monday, March 06, 2006
 
I’m Not Ashamed to Admit That We Watched the Entire Oscar Ceremony Last Night. Except for When I was Washing Dishes. But Still Listening.
I only had a passing interest in watching it, and that was mostly because Patricia’s husband-to-be was gonna be the host. I’d go with a live-blogging-esque blow by blow, but I was distracting myself by trying to get Michelle to play that decisive third Scrabble match. And we don’t have a laptop and/or a WiFi connection to the Internets . . . both of which we (I) hope to remedy soon.

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As you might have read some place else, we were destined fated to go to the circus Saturday. Which we did. And, lemme, tell ya . . . it sucked. Even Mia was, all, “Is it done?” Yeah, some of it was mildly entertaining. But then we have the $9 snow cone in a plastic elephant cup. And the $6 “small” cotton candy. And the $16 star/wand thing Mia had to have. (It’s good thing Mia has her own money.)

Oh, and kudos to the cop who came into men’s room, while I was helping Mia wash her hands, just to tell me that I didn’t need to have a little girl in the men’s room. Thanks, Officer Douchebag! I wish I’d been quick enough to think to tell him that my wife had been tragically killed in an incident involving meddlesome Civic Center rent-a-cops, making me a single father, but I suspect that he probably had seen Mia with Michelle earlier. And he would’ve beat my ass a little bit.

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I gotta tell ya, the new paper towels my office has switched to are really . . . stiff. Like thin, folded-up sheet rock.

How absorbent is gypsum, anyway?

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Our access to the Internets from home has been fairly non-existent, so I haven’t had a chance to do a lot of things I’ve been meaning to do. Like purchasing Internet-related stuff and e-mailing people birthday wishes. Or posting a link to that spiffy writing contest that starts in two days.

How’s my entry coming, you ask? Er, don’t. But you should TOTALLY write something.


Wednesday, March 01, 2006
 
All the Things You Need to Know*. In a Bulleted List.

-- There’s a crack slowly zig-zagging its way across my windshield. It started, a couple weeks ago, as a relatively small crack at the bottom, just under the wiper. At first, I thought there was some silvery wire caught under the wiper blade, but I felt and there was nothing. Anyway, it grew from 6 inches to 8, and then made a sharp left turn. It’s continuing to grow upward and onward to the passenger side. I worry that, eventually, the glass is just going to fall in half (while I’m driving), so I’ll soon be taking advantage of the Florida law requiring insurance companies to replace windshields at no cost to drivers.

-- The first site I visit every weekday morning is Questionable Content, which is an indie webcomic about a confused guy named Marten and his harem of hot, coffee-schlepping ladyfriends. Leo got me hooked on it a few hundred pages/issues ago. Anyway, after the longest buildup in the history of boy-meets-girl storytelling, Marten finally crossed over the beyond-platonic threshold with a chick. But it wasn’t Faye, the fucked-up object of his wandering affection, but rather Dora (the fucked-up bisexual, reformed goth chick). Which is who Marten should be with anyway.

-- I stuck to my promise to stop watching “Grey’s Anatomy,” I’ll have you know, The Internets. I saw it on my DVR menu Monday night. “Oh, ‘Grey’s Anatomy!’ Wait, I’m not watching that show anymore. Fuck that.” And I deleted it. Screw you, Meredith Grey. Eat shit, Mercy Grace Hospital.

-- I’m going to stop posting here. Sometime in the next couple weeks.

-- Because my comments are not working, you won’t be able to shower me with (unnecessary) concern. Sorry. I’d contact Leo about the comment issue, but I haven’t been in contact with him since . . . I dunno, when he sent me the link to QC. Anyway, it’s about to be a non-issue, right?


* There’s a little bit more to the story.