It came in with a lurk

My home has one door in the front and two in the back. We're not sure why there are two in the back. The basement may have been only accessible from the outside in the beginning hard to say. We've fitted one passage with a doggy door and cheap fence to stop my dogs from running away when they used it. The dogs are free to come and go as they please. So far as they stay in the fence, which is metal and around five feet tall. They can't jump over it or break through it. I'd like to think that I've made their lives so enjoyable in my home that they're not interested in digging under it, but it's just something that hasn't happened yet.

I'd been waiting for my Gevalia Kaffe Coffee Maker to arrive for some time. At one point we came home and there was a box on the front steps that was large enough to hold a human torso of average build. It was so large that putting a coffee maker inside of it would be a little silly. This I realize might only be an observation I would make as I work in a warehouse that repackages material in the most efficient way possible to save on shipping as per our corporate offices have suggested strongly that we do. Keely had however told me that there wasn't any way my coffee maker was in that box, so my view may not have been that unique.

That box on that day held the Ionic Pro Air Purifiers.

[okay - sanity break - I've been listening to the "FUCK Buttons" - and I can't take anymore. They started out clean techno or at least electronica and then went to overlaying weird ass machine generated noises over everything. I could have done with out that. They had a promising name and polished sound but then they shit on it, probably for the sake of being different. (I've always wondered if bands like that really ever listened to their music after they make it.) At this point I'm gonna say that I hate the Fuck Buttons.]

[I've now put on "Metro Area" - let's get back to this...]

Sunday afternoon, Easter, we've just came back from Keely's parent's house where Keely's mother had made us an excellent home cooked meal. We let the dogs out. This is a process we chalk up to habit, ritual, Pavlov and the mentality of animals or the lack of intelligence there of. They have a doggy door, they can come and go as they please. When we get home we need to walk them to the back door so they can go out.

While I'm back there I look out to watch there process and on the steps in the back, inside the dog kennel is a maroon box from Gevalia. It's wet and a little covered in snow. Shocked an amazed, I had no way to actually determine when it arrived. How long had it been here? None of that mattered now. I unboxed everything and it was all there just as it was promised. Insulated carafe, travel mug, coffee, coffee filters and maker.

Like a drug dealer handing out the wares for free Gevalia gave me everything I needed. I don't actually think the dealers give you anything to take their drugs that's all on your end. That's why coffee is better than crack.

My only complaint is that my ghetto house with it's hand made 1920's kitchen cabinets don't give enough clearance for my coffee pot. I have to sit it on my convertible dishwasher which is waiting for a kitchen remodel so that I can properly convert it.

[Metro - I am not in the mood for this either. Hangovers may not be very excepting of house.]

[Just put on the Kills, um we'll see.]

So I set it up to automatically start at 4:25am five minutes before my alarm goes off. This meant that there were five minutes of coffee brewing before I got out of bed and Max started going berserk in the kitchen. He'd never heard a coffee pot before. He's my big protector of the mundane. I wonder how many mornings will proceed like this until he learns that it's okay, the Coffee pot is welcome in my home and not going to hurt anyone?

I've made my first pot. It's been so long since I made coffee like this in my home that I didn't know how much to use. I bought the Columbian grounds and read the manual which told me that for strong European style I should use 12 scoops for every pot. I used 10 scoops and it seems a little strong to me. I'm used to the prepackaged bags of Columbian at work which make roughly 96 ounces if I'm doing my math right. It makes the coffee directly into a insulated thermos. If was watching my stuff correctly this morning I think my insulated carafe might hold almost as much.

And so the substance abuse begins again.

Those Bastards!

This is basically my emotional distress of everyone I learn about via the internet. They came up with it in a way that lead them to completion of something I had already thought about doing and they did it in such a way as to make a profit from it.

How very Ferengi.

What did they do, they created a collection of fun facts and recipes for Ramen, and they wrote it all down in a Mother Franking book about it. They wrote a book. They killed two of my birds with their one freaking stone. Damn it!

As far as I know no one is doing a Television show about cooking with Ramen. Maybe I'll get there first. It'll no doubt be youtube based and air shortly after TLC airs their fully funded sponsored version hosted by an attractive chef. Screwed!

Time well spent?

Max woke me up about 50 minutes before my alarm was going to go off. I didn't know that until after I had decided that his actions were a sign that I should be awake. I turned off my alarm and left the bed room which had been just last night adorned with an Ionic Pro ionic air purifier.

Ionic Pro which is at the lower end of the cost spectrum for this type of device is supposed to be just as good as the more expensive ones, or so they boast. I don't have any imput on that yet, it's been one night. The device does emit an odor which the manual refers to as OZONE. The manual also states that having the device on the low setting is the most cost-effective. If they hadn't brought it up I would never have assumed that a air cleaning machine with not moving parts would suck the grid dry, but now I have to wonder. What is going to happen if I leave it on HIGH? You know I'm going to leave it on high, I didn't buy a machine to scrub nasties out of my living breathing air to let it work half ass-edly.

I easily get off topic.

I spent over an hour, modifying a font in photoshop. I was making a picture for my last.fm page. When I shrunk it down when I was all done I'm not really sure how the hard work translated. It's a picture of my screaming head over a drafting picture I scanned a million years ago with the word "Boosh" blinged out at the bottom.

Boosh is a catch phrase from one of my favorite Adult Swim shows Frisky Dingo. Apart from that reference I don't know anything more about the word. Does sound an aweful lot like Douche and it means "So there!" or "Burn!" (as in the reference from That 70's Show).

Yep time to shower.

They keep pulling me back in

When I was 16, I learned the love of coffee. It was part of my "now we're going to get our acquired tastes acquired" phase. I was already over six feet tall and wasn't really worried about it stunting my growth. Now however I wonder if it didn't somehow effect my brain. After high school the coffee drinking slowed way down. Alcohol took it's place on the weekend. Seems I am always in the abuse of some substance (always legal*)

So in high school they hooked me. Coffee delivered right to my house and complete with it's own maker?!?!? Gevalia you were for a while the only reason I had a job. My room was more like an apartment with a partial kitchen. I kept the maker in my room and made a thermos everyday. I'd take it to school and share it with Tony. Life was good.

I quit the club when my freezer was full of coffee beans and I was tired of all the clean up. There really shouldn't have been too much clean up in the art of coffee making, but I was entering my "Hey I know let's give up and quit" phase. I've been through a lot of phases...

So now with the overbearing stress of a job I no longer really want to perform anymore on a schedule that has basically ruined me as a person. I don't know about the normalcy of time frames regarding work. I know my place of business opens at 3am. Shifts start as late as 8am. When I started I was on the 6am shift and if I needed to get something extra done I would come in as early as 3am. Now I'm on 8am shift, I've been there for almost 2 years. I can no longer come in early to accomplish anything. It's horrible even the thought of getting there at 6am disgusts me. And so the coffee drinking began. It is the comforting warm sensation in my throat and stomach, the lingering flavor in my mouth and the racing dizzy feeling when I am near that OD point when I'm pretty sure coffee should be illegal. Getting to that level has varied over the years. Sometimes it come quick and sometimes it doesn't. It's kind of worrying me because as of late it doesn't more than 24-48 ounces of coffee to make feel kind of woozy. I would have thought like alcohol and illegal drugs the body would build up an immunity. It's not like I want an immunity, it was just something I thought about.

Now I am in limbo. I've placed my order. The offer came via email. They'd been baiting me with a free travel mug or a coffee pot but then one day they said "Have a free Coffee pot, Travel mug and insulated pitcher." This was an offer I could not refuse. I backed down off the hard core track and chose "ground" instead of "bean. I don't have a grinder anymore. I'm not to the point that I need to make coffee making as difficult as possible to enjoy it's supreme divine-ness . One day I may crush my beans with a muddler and use a coffee press over a stove burner but right now the simplicity of pods in my Panasonic Senseo have been very good to me. I just seem to run out too quickly and not have the freedom to drink as much as I would like in the morning and have enough for the commute. I have to ration it out. It may be the same way with the Gevalia, I just remember it being bountiful. Like an ever flowing wave of coffee into my home.

So in finding a link for Senseo I think I just stumbled upon (I keep using that phrase without using the service) a similar club, nope I need to learn more about reading instead of skimming.

*Apart from the underage drinking 10 years ago.

The Nyquil

Last night I cleaned up th dog kennel, all that feces really had me gagging. I couldn't stop coughing all last night. My favorite cure all is Nyquil. I took a dose and was almost instantly cured. I went to sleep shortly after.

I feel like I've had this dream before, but it's most vivid right now. It was more like a video sequence than a dream.

Somehow I'd gotten high (probably the Nyquil). I was sitting in a technocolor 70's room with matching furniture and heavenly sunlight poring in through the windows, warming patches of fire red shag carpet to an inviting degree. Then a blue box appears on the table next the aqua marine couch I was sitting on. It's hard to tell if it was always there or if it materialized.

The couch had the slick bumpy texture that is never as soft as it is smooth even though it's made of all these beads of embroidered thread. The box was reflective foil. The blues clashed like the changing color of the ocean as the waves roll in towards the beach while your standing in them.

I couldn't resist any longer. A heart warming catchy lounge hit was playing. The type of song you could hear in the hot balmy summer night or bright sun shining day and it wouldn't seem too out of place but always would make you feel happy inside. It was coming from an unseen source like music in movie. I broughgt the package over to my lap. It was not a shipping parcel so there wasn't any packaging tape it was just a lid with folding flaps on top.

The flaps met in the middle of the equidistance of the box. I opened the flaps and the black interior slowly revealed itself to me. The music had stepped up a notch and I could see that there was a female breast in the box. It was not bloody or attached to a woman. The breast just sat there. This didn't seem too odd to me in the dream. I simply picked it up to look more closely.

As I lifted the bulk out of the box I could hear it dragging across the thin card board flaps. When I looked to see what I was dragging it's clear that the back side of the breast has tentacles like a squid. I turned it upside down in my hands and it revealed it's mouth to me. Just as I think to myself that this thing, with all the allure of a bosom, now has all the appeal of an ALIEN face hugger; it creates a vacuum. There had to be a sound for this noise it's making but all I can hear is the music that is calming and near deafening at this point. My face is drawn into the mouth of the squid. Everything turned black.

The music continued as the black lightened slightly to reveal stars. The stars came back into focus and I was then in a sea of breast squids. A black sea. I was underwater swimming in a sea of breasts with tentacles and they didn't care one bit about me. The music has lowered slightly and became an enjoyable pitch when I broke the surface of the water.

I was in shallow waist high water standing on a rock that was submerged with a mermaid. She may not have been a mermaid but it was the thought that had crossed my mind seeing how she was topless. All mermaids are topless, seashell bras are a Walt Disney creation to appease the censors. We danced in the sun with the view of the beach and I begged for sex. It's evidently what I do. She told me when we get back to our room we would.

I felt like I had this dream before because I wasn't thinking "oh God not a face hugger." I was thinking "Oh again?" It is the most unpleasant part of the dream but it's a task that has to be done to dance with my topless wife on the beach. Which without saying is the best part of the dream.

This dream was followed by a visit to a new playground that was also a haunted house theme or actually possessed. Keely and I went with Shelly and her children. It was disturbing, unsettling and gross. I don't have a lot of details on this but there were corpses and slimy green demon babies. There were areas that Keely refused to go and Shelly's children seemed oblivious to the terror and had a real good time on the play ground.

I'm sure there are a lot of important themes to be analyzed here, but I'm not really in the mood this morning to guess, since I haven't done much reading in the interpretation of dreams. Besides when the experts don't know don't they always blame it on outside forces like drugs anyway?

Conspiracy

My company has an intellectual property agreement. I am scared as hell that having that means if I write a book while I work there they will be entitled to the profits. I was hoping that it only meant if the work was inspired by my job or things I learned while working there they would benefit from it but I'm sure that with the lawyers they can afford, anything can be made to fit that description.

I'm also afraid that if I search the Internet to see if a book title already exists, someone will use that title before I can because everything that is typed into a search engine is saved and queried to such an extent that asking the internet if something exists will only result in the internet creating that thing just to wait to present it to the next person that looks for it.

Of course all of this is completely unfounded because I have been so very far away from productive. I've been raking dog shit. That's only the reason why I haven't been writing today. Each day there is a new reason. Such as over the weekend I was cleaning my house and during the week I was just to tired to do anything but watch tv and mindlessly surf the internet.

I am thankful though that over the last few days I've been having brain storms. One of which I'm afraid to even mention here. It might get stolen. However it is such a vague concept that I haven't really worked out how to play it. I don't where the idea came from, it was a dream I had but prior to that I don't know where I got it.

The idea doesn't have character names yet, but in the dream it was about Tony and I. He (as in real life) had been telling people that he worked for the rail yard. For some reason I was down on my luck more so than usual. Taking pity on me he informed me of a lucrative opportunity that he was avidly participating in. He was a courier. This is where it doesn't make any sense. He took boxes and or envelopes where ever he was told. He was never to inquire what was inside these transactions, time wasn't a huge concern and he was paid handsomely. It doesn't make sense to me because it couldn't be that difficult for these people to just make the drops themselves, not so hard that they would rather pay someone else to do it.

And so my mind started ticking away. It didn't get very far, I had to go to work and that is where all thinking normally stops. Which is why they don't deserve any of my book money if I ever become able to crank one out.