Wmcmanus

Same shit as above.

http://beeks.eu/swf/timeline.swf http://beeks.eu/swf/handclock.swf

I suspect that I have well over 100 pairs of boxers, although a bunch of them are in the motorhome. Got tired of taking clothes back and forth so I bought about 40-50 pairs one day at JC Penneys when they had a sale. Must have 200 casual shirts and 50 dress shirts as well, and that's just in any given size (3XL at the moment). I've got portfolio boxes stacked from the floor to the ceiling three rows deep in one of my closets with old but seldom worn clothes that don't fit me at the moment. The boxes are marked as, "38-42 casual shorts" or "Dress shirts 17-18" neck" or "2XL polo shirts." So when I lose 20-30 pounds, I head to the closet to pull out the relevant boxes, and then fill them back up with the larger stuff that is getting too baggy. When I gain the weight back, I reverse the process. I've got every size covered from 190 pounds straight through to 310. I've gained and lost 100+ pounds three times in my life so far, and have had several more 50 pound swings. Oh, and every year without fail, I buy 10 new big fluffy towels and 10 hand towels as well, and then give the old ones away. They're still almost like new when I give them away, so I've always got requests from people to be next in line. My towels are like American flags. They never touch the ground, and always get hung up immediately to air dry, then reused one more time, then off to the laundry pile. I have this thing about underwear and towels. They've got to be fresh. It's not such a big investment when you're only buying for one person.

Ok, so I didn't actually tell him that his wife it ugly, but all of the rest of it is true. I'm not that bad of a Santa.

Got kicked out of a laundry mat today. Walked in with about 15 loads since my washing machine isn't working (won't drain for some reason... and after 14 years of good service, it's no wonder... it's probably just tired). So my clothes have been piling up for about 6 weeks. Piles and piles. So I walk in, assess the machines and they look, well, like washers and dryers, so yup, this is the right place. Off I go to the car, then again and again. Kept going back to the car to bring in more piles. Stacked them all up on this folding table, ignoring the signs posted all over the place (like rows of signs all right next to each other that all say the same thing, ala "No parking" signs stationed immediately above each and every parking spot that you're not supposed to park in, so there can be no mistake about "the law" and who is in charge). Signs all say that the folding table is for clean clothes only. I blissfully ignore the signs. Guy who owns the place walks over to the table, all upset, pointing at the signs, and his wife gets equally huffy about following rules. I ask them where else I can put the dirty clothes to sort them. They have no answer and no other table to offer. Supposed to sort them at home before I come, they tell me. Supposed to bring everything in a big laundry bag like everyone else does, then place the bag on the floor in front of whatever washer I choose and then place the dirty (but pre-sorted) clothes into selected washing machine. Their customer profile is undoubtedly biased with a high concentration of people who don't have their own washers and dryers at home, apparently, and thus have previously discovered the need for said laundry bags, know where to buy them and probably have color and texture preferences, as well as first hand knowledge of how to put them to optimal use as receptacles of pre-sorted dirty laundry. I'm learning quickly now, but feel somewhat ill equipped, being that I'm concurrently bagless and having an unusually strong need for table space, which is completely non existent save the aforementioned "off limits" and heavily policed "clean clothes only" table. Not another customer in the joint. Nowhere to be found. Just the "clean clothes only" Nazi's and me. So I point out the obvious, that I'm the only customer in the place; that it will just take me a matter of minutes to get everything stuffed into the machines; that it's at least $50 worth of washing and drying and probably more; that they should have tables for such purposes, since after all it is a laundry mat so it shouldn't be beyond the realm of expectation that people may bring in dirty laundry; that in the alternative, I'd be happy to take my business elsewhere if they continue to insist that I follow their silly rules; that even if I did, their table will by now have been every bit as soiled as it's going to get; that it's not as though my clothes are oozing puss. They disagree, and become increasingly indignant, telling me how I'm coming into "their country" so I need to follow "their rules", etc. Eventually I tell him that this is why he's never gotten anywhere in life and is sweating in this dinky laundry mat at 7pm on a Sunday evening as a 60 year-old man who still doesn't have two nickels to rub together. I tell him further that I'll be happy to take my business elsewhere (I may have repeated that one a time or two actually) and that his wife is as ugly as he is stupid. They don't like me... Found another place, much smaller and much nearer to my house, and the two ladies (mother and daughter, and little granddaughter) were just locking up as I arrived. They asked me how much laundry I had to do, and I figured that meant if it was just a couple of loads, there would be time, but otherwise I was out of luck. But I told them the truth, and suddenly their eyes lit up! When they saw it all, they couldn't believe their eyes. So they reopened just for me, and then proceeded to do all of the sorting for me. Then loaded all of the big triple load machines, and even stuffed the quarters into them on my behalf. We became fast friends. Two hours later, they had done 90% of the work while I watched and gave them several well placed, "Oh, I didn't know that's"... that the whites should all be washed together, and the like. When we were finally done, I had each of them dip a hand into my massive bag of quarters, so they probably got $30 each as a tip. Doesn't matter. They were so nice and so opposite of, get this, their Uncle/Granduncle and his useless wife! I'd say things like, "Maybe I'm not being fair..." and they would say, "Oh, trust me, he's a complete asshole, and she's even worse." After I got home, I ran into my dedicated Santa closet and pulled out a bunch of goodies for them. Stuffed animals for the little girl, several $1 million bills from the North Pole, a "believer bell" and assorted other giveaway items. Put them all in a small gift bag and headed right back to the friendliest laundry mat in the Cayman Islands. Dropped the care package in the mail slot, and will have made someone's day when she arrives at 5:30am. Seems like a tough life, the laundry business. It must have been 105 degrees in that place tonight. I doubt they've ever been tipped before, at least not in that particular neighborhood. But they'll get there, one happy customer at a time.

"I never saw a fucking ball go out of a fucking ballpark so fucking fast in my fucking life." - Leo Durocher, referring to a homerun hit by Willie Mays (1951)

Glad you're Ok. Just make sure you give yourself plenty of time before signing off on anything, insurance-wise, as it relates to your injuries.

Oh, thanks for that.

Gee, I'd be very concerned if I found out that this was not a legitimate site. Just how demoralizing would that be?

Al, I'm just amazed at her spirit for life. So incredible that she managed to muster those smiles, and only because she knew you would all treasure the pictures. What a lovely, gracious lady. Incidentally, I'm glad that you identified yourself as the guy without the gown. You're as spitting image of your older brother in the foreground.

So did this! Mmmmm.... yummy. Speak French to me!!!

I can actually see a resemblance between Morticia and Queen Vicki...

You're not fat, Vicki. Morticia was just skinny! I'm assuming you're referring to Carolyn Jones (I was surprised to learn that she had been married to Aaron Spelling)... as opposed to the much less attractive (IMO) Angelica Huston who also played Morticia in the 1991 movie.

Yup. An attempted use of sarcasm.

My condolences as well. What an amazing mom she must have been.

It's comforting to know that I'm not the ONLY one!!!

I can really identify with the air hockey thing. It was most popular right about the time I was in 7th and 8th grade when you really didn't have an extra 50 cents to spare!

ITALIAN GRANDMOTHER An Italian grandmother is giving directions to her grown grandson who is coming to visit with his wife. "You comma to de front door of the apartmenta. I am inna apartmenta 301 There issa bigga panel at the front door. With you elbow , pusha button 301. I will buzza you in. Come inside, the elevator is on the right. Get in, and with you elbow, pusha 3. When you get out, I'ma on the left. With you elbow, hita my doorbell." "Grandma, that sounds easy, but why am I hitting all these buttons with my elbow? "What ? --You comin'a empty handed?" ITALIAN GRANDFATHER Why Italian Fathers and Grandfathers pass their handguns down through the family? An old Italian man is dying. He calls his grandson to his bedside, Guido, I wan' you lissina me. I wan' you to take-a my chrome plated .38 revolver so you will always remember me." "But grandpa, I really don't like guns. How about you leave me your Rolex watch instead?" "You lissina me, boy. Somma day you gonna be runna da business, you gonna have a beautiful wife, lotsa money, a big-a home and maybe a whola lot of bambinos." "Somma day you gonna come-a home and maybe finda you wife inna bed with another man. "Whatta you gonna do then? Pointa to you watch and say, 'times up' "?

Man, I love that fuckin' 24-hour Subway. I call it my kitchen. When I walk in, they'll make me anything I want. Doesn't matter. All the girls that work there love Santa and want to be elves this year. Footlong meatball with 16 meatballs? Sure, why not? Don't want the bread, just put it in a bowl? No problem. You want meatball sauce on your pizza and you want extra cheese? We're not supposed to do those things... but for Santa, why not? And yes, the only reason that I left the house the other day (which was a Sunday, also known as my day of "Don't bother to get out of bed" rest) was to go to the kitchen. Must have been almost 5pm before I even saw the light of day... and all of the water.

^ Nice. Just sent that via email to the select few cat lovers whom I still tolerate.

Wife’s Diary: Tonight, I thought my husband was acting weird. We had made plans to meet at a nice restaurant for dinner. I was shopping with my friends all day long, so I thought he was upset at the fact that I was a bit late, but he made no comment on it. Conversation wasn't flowing, so I suggested that we go somewhere quiet so we could talk. He agreed, but he didn't say much. I asked him what was wrong; He said, 'Nothing.' I asked him if it was my fault that he was upset. He said he wasn't upset, that it had nothing to do with me, and not to worry about it. On the way home, I told him that I loved him. He smiled slightly, and kept driving. I can't explain his behavior I don't know why he didn't say, 'I love you, too.' When we got home, I felt as if I had lost him completely, as if he wanted nothing to do with me anymore. He just sat there quietly, and watched TV. He continued to seem distant and absent. Finally, with silence all around us, I decided to go to bed. About 15 minutes later, he came to bed. But I still felt that he was distracted, and his thoughts were somewhere else. He fell asleep - I cried. I don't know what to do. I'm almost sure that his thoughts are with someone else. My life is a disaster. Husband's Diary: The boat wouldn't start, can't figure it out.

Reported a little problem to the water company today. Seems there was a break in their "main" right at the junction where it goes into the meter box for my house. Thankfully, it was on the road side of the meter box, or it would have been my responsibility. They must have lost thousands of gallons of water. The way it was bubbling up reminded me of the opening sequence of the Beverly Hillbillies, only it was water and not crude.