Time Is On My Side (eh, not so much)...

   Every year, my company gives its salaried employees (of which I am one) a paid holiday break around Christmas time. My last day of work for this year was Wednesday the 21st, and I'm off until January 3. As my last day of work approached, I made big plans for being productive during my time off, and getting caught up on some things I had neglected. I wanted to get some work done around the house, work on some music and try to learn the ins and outs of my new keyboard, get back into a workout routine, break out this yoga DVD I ordered months ago but never watched, and go out a time or two to get some bowling practice, and of course write at least one blog entry a day. The first few days would be filled with last minute shopping, choir rehearsals, and a Christmas Eve concert; then after Christmas dinner, I'd spend a day relaxing with my three girlfriends (that would be my laptop, my cell phone and my remote control) on Monday, and then get to work  on all of my plans for the rest of the week.

   So how's that worked out for me? Well, the Monday after Christmas went about as expected, as I spent the day in bed with the three aforementioned girlfriends watching television and movies, getting up only to eat, go to the bathroom, or put another DVD in the player. Then came Tuesday...and Wednesday...and Thursday -- and now Friday -- and it was like "Groundhog Day", just replaying the same inactivity from Monday all over again. Well, now wait, that's not entirely true: I played around on the keyboard for about 15-20 minutes on Tuesday, took a shower and went out to buy a few groceries on Wednesday, did some pushups and crunches yesterday morning and this morning (I even looked for the yoga DVD yesterday, but gave up after 10 minutes and got back in bed). Aside from that, however, it's been a week spent in bed, lollygagging with my three electronic girlfriends.

   I'm still off until Tuesday, so I have a few days yet to try to accomplish something. In the meantime, I've got my Friday night bowling league, so that will mark my second time leaving the house this week. I guess I should take another shower before I go...

Angry Nerd Family Christmas Dinners

   Christmas dinner in the Angry Nerd family is, like with many families, a time-honored tradition. Growing up, we used to have dinner at Grandma's, with plenty of down-home meals, music, and occasionally a lively spat as entertainment. After I got married and had kids, my new family would rotate where we ate Christmas dinners; the plan was always to eat dinner with one family, and then just stop by to see the other. The invariable annual consequence to this plan, however, was tension over how much time we spent at each place. At some point, we solved this problem by hosting both sides of our family at our house for dinner - which freed us up to have other things to argue about...

   Nowadays, Christmas dinner is much more harmonious. For the last several years we have gathered at my sister and brother-in-law's place, and without my babymama's combative, slightly crazy family dynamic in the mix, things go much more smoothly (not that we don't have some of our elements of craziness and combativeness in our midst, but, for those folks in was an in-bred thing, kind of like with Native Americans and the alcoholism gene).

   Actually, for us, Christmas begins at Thanksgiving. Several years ago, we decided that the adults in the family would do a Secret Santa-thingy so that we would only need buy a gift for one other adult in the family. My mother is in charge of this whole operation, and with her, it is a matter a national importance that those names get drawn out of the hat post-Thanksgiving meal. Remember Rev. Harold Camping, the nut that predicted not one, but two incorrect dates for the end of the world this year? Well, I knew he had it wrong all along; the end of the world will come the day after someone in the family leaves Thanksgiving dinner without picking a name for Secret Santa...now that doesn't mean that we won't try to leave without picking a name - or at least pretend to, mainly since getting my mother annoyed and flustered is a favorite pasttime for my siblings and I (and to be honest, it's kind of a cheap thrill, since she's so easy to fluster and so prone to falling for the same stuff no matter how many times we try it).

   Back to Christmas dinner - it's always a fun affair when the Angry Nerd clan gets together, especially at Christmas time. Plenty of laughter, teasing, eating, drinking (mostly non-alcoholic stuff), sports watching (with plenty of debates and trash-talking about the action), and the like. My brother, the camera buff, takes plenty of pictures - the more embarassing the better. At some point after dinner, someone will let out a rip-roaring, mouth-uncovered belch. Half of the other people will be grossed out by this; the other half will express their admiration, and hand out grades for the belch, prompting both indignation from the grossed-out crew, and attempts (on the sly) from the admiring crew to try to work up their own monster belches in an effort to beat the original monster belch (note: this activity does NOT apply to farting. You gotta fart, take it to the bathroom or an unoccupied room - or in the case of my brother - all the way outside the house).
  
   Video games are a must, especially now that there are the dance games are popular. They're a particularly effective tool for working up a sweat and for making fools of oneself! Then there's also the annual "Battle of the Sexes" game of spades featuring my sister-in-law and cousin versus my nephew and myself. Most years it works out pretty much according to script: a lot of woofing initiated by my nephew, responded to with some caterwauling from the ladies (I, of course, maintain a modicum of restraint and good sportsmanship). Then, once the game begins, the ladies employ their tortoise and hare strategy, where they place safe, wussy bids throughout, while the two of us knuckleheads inevitably do ourselves in with a series of testosterone-induced overbidding, leading to such spectacular self-destruction that the ladies barely have to break a sweat...sigh...getting trash-talked by a couple of persistent women is a hurtful thing...

   But spades humiliation aside, there's nothing quite like the Angry Nerd family Christmas dinners. They are truly what makes Christmas for me. Well, time to go; I hear my nephew woofing about spades. Hope you all are having a great Christmas!



Two Days Before Christmas

'Twas two days before Christmas and all through the house

Not a creature was stirring (well...maybe a mouse)

The 23rd of December, and I hadn't done a thing,

Had put up no tree, had done no shop-ping. 

The Christmas decor was still packed out of sight;

The wreath and the tinsel, every bulb, every light.

The garlands, the ornaments, the Santa Claus clock;

The fake tree was still all apart in a box.

I just didn't feel like unpacking that mess;
Putting that stuff up was just extra stress.
What did it matter? There's no one but me.
And I couldn't care less about watching some tree.

(For my grandson the tree would be a nice surprise;

When he came for a visit, it would light up his eyes.

No doubt, the decorations would warm his little heart;

But no doubt, his little hands would take them apart.)

That morning I dragged myself out of bed,

Tried to summon up courage for that thing that I dread:

The malls at the holiday season, I hate.

But I had to go, dammit, it was almost too late!

I thought that Christmas time was about joy, peace, and love,

But the malls are about where push comes to shove.

Rudeness and selfishness replace peace and joy,

The warmth comes from snatching a coveted toy.

Rampant consumerism is the order of the day,

Crass materialism is what really holds sway.

There are gift lists to tend to, there’s stuff to be bought,

Someone grabs what you want, then there’s a fight to be fought.

So go spend, spend, spend, spend; gotta have only the best stuff.

It’s Christmastime; too much is never enough.

And you better be careful in the parking lot;

‘Cause you just never know if your ass might get shot.

I wandered around in this chaos, this display of pure lust.

I felt a mixture of sadness, depression, and disgust.

(While the ladies in tight outfits were a welcome distraction,

Even the booties and boobies could not bring satisfaction.)

So back home I went, with not that much stuff.

My Christmas funk deepened; had I really done enough?

Christmas seemed to have lost some meaning for me;

There’s got to be more than some presents and a tree.

But then I thought, Christmas is in two days.

Tomorrow I will be in church to sing and to praise

To direct my choirs as we sing of Christ’s birth,

Of how he came down from heaven to save mankind on earth.

Then on Christmas my family will all come together,

A tradition I wouldn’t miss, no matter what the weather.

I’ll live, laugh, love, eat, maybe get slightly drunk;

And by then there’s no doubt, I’ll be rid of this funk.

For in the end, God and Family are what make Christmas Day;

All the material gifts, well, they’re only for play.

But the love of Jesus, and of family, will make your minds and heart light,

So Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

You Might Be an Asshole...1st Edition

• If you are ordering a sub at a very busy Subway, and the sandwich maker has to say everything to you 2 or 3 times because you refuse to take out your earbuds or turn down your iPod -- you might be an asshole...
• If you're standing at crowded bus stop bitching loudly to anyone within earshot about how long the bus is taking, then when it comes you rush and push your way to the head of the line to board first, and only when you board does it occur to you to start scrounging around in your purse to come up with $3.50 worth of change for a day pass while everyone else wanting to board the bus stands there waiting for you -- you might be an asshole...
• If you're in Wal-Mart paying for an $800 television by counting from a stack of 5 and 10 dollar bills -- you might be an asshole...
• If you're a grown ass, able-bodied man sitting in your car at a gas station while your girl is pumping the gas -- you might be an asshole...
• If you are a grown ass woman with a toddler, and you are fast-walking down the street and leaving the poor kid behind, then every so often stopping to backtrack to where the child is so you can yell and cuss at her for not keeping up -- you might be an asshole...

TO BE CONTINUED...

Some People, episode 2

To read episode 1, click here

   So I'm standing on a corner at a busy intersection in downtown Baltimore, and I see a panhandler staggering up the street making his rounds. Oh boy, here we go...

He comes up to me and asks if I have any change. I reach in my pockets, jungle the change around, say, "Yup", and re-focus my attention towards trying to get across the street.

After several seconds, he says, "Well?"
  "Well what?"

"I thought you were going to spare me some change?"

"You asked me if I had any change," I replied. "You didn't say anything about giving you any..."

"Well, can I get some?"
"Nope," I replied as the light changed and I started across the street.

And he had the nerve to call me a dirty name. I tell you, some people...

Diva? Please...

A diva (English pronunciation: /ˈdiːvə/, Italian: [ˈdiːva]) is a celebrated female singer. The term is used to describe a woman of outstanding talent in the world of opera, and, by extension, in theatre, cinema and popular music. The meaning of diva is closely related to that of "prima donna".

There seems to be a lot of women running around these days wanting to call themselves divas. Really? Why?
Divas, by definition, possess some outstanding, widely recognized, talents and performance capabilities - almost always oversized personalities to go with that talent - and have large, popular followings and critical acclaim.

The Queen of Soul

Whitney

"Lady Day"

Lena

Patti

Leontyne Price

Mariah

Chaka

Celine Dion

Madonna

Now THOSE are some examples of divas.

As much as so many of you want to proclaim yourselves as divas, the truth is, not everyone can be one. If every woman were a diva, then no one would be.  There'd be no distinctions, and divas, quite frankly, are those that been recognized and acclaimed as artists at the top of their professions. Those pictures above are all of ladies that are true divas. They all have three things in common: one, they are all immensely talented, have huge followings, and know how to treat their fans to a show. Two, they have strong, demanding, difficult personalities befitting their status and fame. And three, I'm pretty sure none of them ever had to label themselves as divas; their talent, popularity, cultural significance, and personalities led others to identify them as such. If you have to go around calling yourself a diva...then, really, you aren't one...

And if all you have to show for being a so-called diva is a pain-in-the-ass personna, or as the Urban Dictionary defines it, "a bitchy woman that must have her way exactly, or no way at all. often rude and belittles people, believes that everyone is beneath her and thinks that she is so much more loved than what she really is. selfish, spoiled, and overly dramatic.", then there are other terms which might suit just as well...

You Know You're Getting Older When...

Episode 2: "What Did I Come Here to Buy?"

(To read episode 1, click here )

  So I'm wandering around the neighborhood CVS trying to remember what I came to get, just a few minutes after coming to the store specifically to get one thing. During the course of my wandering (in hopes that something would rouse my short-term memory), I pick up some laundry detergent, dishwashing liquid, deodorant, lotion, milk (my grandson was coming over later), ice cream (my grandson was coming over later; I'll guess I'll let him have a little of it), a couple 2-Liter bottles of Diet Pepsi that were on sale (you know, to go along with the ice cream), and a few other odds and ends that brought the bill up to around 25 bucks or so.
   A few hours later I'm in the bathroom, doing my business, and then when I'm done, I reach for the...

aaaaargh, I was supposed to be buying TOILET PAPER!!!



Workplace Drama - "Mind your emails!"

   Some of you probably know I have spent my career working in the chemical industry. Currently I work in R&D (Research & Development) for a Mining / Metallurgical / Chemical Manufacturing company that has a facility here in Baltimore. One of the more important areas of any company of this type is its Quality Assurance (QA) / Analytical Department. QA is responsible for testing everything from raw materials to production samples to finished goods samples, as well as samples from R&D people like myself. As you might imagine, doing fast and accurate work, and communicating the results of that work ASAP are critical for the success of the QA department, and the plant as a whole.
  
   The way that most QA Departments (ours included) report their test results to those who need to know them is through some form of Laboratory Information Managment System (LIMS) database. After people drop their samples off to them, and they finish analyzing them, someone from QA will post the result in LIMS, and then whoever needs to see those results can go into the database and see them. Nothing to it. There is one catch, though: QA techs can't enter new results into LIMS if someone else in the plant has LIMS open. When that happens, the solution is easy enough: the tech who needs to enter data will send out an email (or occasionally announce over the intercom system) requesting that whoever is using LIMS log out so that new test results can be posted. Considerate techs will also send out a second email when they are done, so that interested parties can log back in, continue what they were doing, and check out any new results. For the most part, everyone is cooperative and the whole process works out just fine. For the most part.

   For the last year or so, we've had a QA tech here for who cooperation seems to be a foreign concept. Although she is very good at what she does, she also is very much a pain in the ass to deal with.

(at this point, I should make a Public Service Announcement: I'm sure many of you like watching TV shows that involve pretty, witty people doing laboratory work. Let me tell you, what you see on those shows is far from reality. In 25 years of doing lab work, I have yet to encounter any woman that looks remotely as good as the actors portraying lab techs or chemists on television. What's more, although many are genuinely nice and helpful people, just as many of the female techs I've worked with are cranky, bitchy pains in the ass. Perhaps that's because they are a minority in a male-dominated profession, perhaps it's a function of their physical unattractiveness, maybe it's because they know they can get away with it: see, in addition to us chemistry dudes never being mistaken as candidates for People magazine's "Sexiest Man of the Year" award, we also tend to bend over backwards these days to accomodate and be non-confrontational towards our bitchy female co-workers. I think they can smell the fear...)

The whole concept of giving a friendly notice to people that she needs to have access to LIMS is especially troubling for her. From the outset, she seemed to be pissed off that the rest of us didn't have some form of  ESP that allowed us to know when she was about to add data to LIMS, and her emails to ask people to allow her access typically had what always seemed to be an annoyed tone, as if it was an insult to have to do so. But although there some grumbling among the rest of us about her mails (and her refusal to let people know when she was finished), the grumbling never led to any action, which seemed to have to effect of empowering her and making her emails (and any interaction with her) increasingly unpleasant.

   Then finally, she crossed a line.  "Get out of LIMS now if you want your data", she wrote an sent out on a plant-wide email. Even from her, this was pretty ballsy, but as usual, there was grumbling but no action (that I knew of). Then the next day, she sent out the exact same message again. This time, I decided to do something. I had just gotten into LIMS to check for some results I needed, but I logged out, then went back to the offending email and hit "Reply All":

"I've asked this before, and I'll ask it again: can you do us the common courtesy of letting us know when you're done? Other people besides you need to use LIMS." Then I went to go check on a couple of things in the lab.

   When I came back to the office, my office mate asked me, "Did you mean to "Reply All" on that email?"
"I sure did", I responded. "I've gone to her nicely about this, and she's blown me off. And now emailing people to 'get out of LIMS'? I think she's forgetting that the people who rely of LIMS are essentially her customers. She's not putting data in there for her own use."

   The other tech nodded in agreement, as a couple other people passed by the office and offers congrats for my response. Just about then, a heard the tone on my computer indicating I had a new email. I opened it up, and it was a response from Ms. Congeniality:

"I shall no longer send the emails to request "whomever" is in LIMS to vacate so data can be entered.

If LIMS is tied up, NO data will be entered. The plant and R&D data will come to a stand still."

UH OH...you just did a "Reply All" on a Plant-wide email that you are not going to do your job, or at least the part of the job that a lot of people higher up than you on the plant's food chain care about the most...hmmm, let me know how that works out for ya...I have a feeling it won't be the way you think it will...I predict there will be someone coming to have a little "chat" with you. 

Less than a half hour later, as I was doing some work in the lab, I looked up to see Ms. Congeniality's boss and an HR rep walking through our lab on the way back to the QA lab.

Awww right awww right awww right! You gon' learn today!

Shortly thereafter, Ms. Congeniality was embarking on an (unpaid) 3-day vacation...

So what have we learned today, boys and girls?

1. Everyone has some particular aspect of their jobs that they don't like doing

2. If your dislike for said task(s) is that strong, then maybe you think about another line of work

3. Under no circumstances do you send an email (especially not a "Reply All" and / or a company-wide one) proclaiming your refusal to do said task(s); otherwise, you may well be on your way to the company's getting the ball rolling towards you seeking another line of work...

"The Dating Game", episode 4 - "Minnie the Moocher" (continued)

To read the first part of episode 4, click here

   A few months after the birthday fiasco, I get a call...it's Minnie the Moocher. Damn, she got a nerve calling me! She must want something. I let the phone ring without answering, only to have her redial me twice more. Finally, against my better judgment, but also out of some curiosity, I answered.
 
   The Moocher had called to apologize for how things went down. She admitted to be selfish, spoiled and high-maintenance, and tried to explain it away by saying that couldn't help it because everyone from her parents to friends to past boyfriends to lusty male co-workers had always done practically everything for her, so it had become rather routine to be pampered and waited on hand and foot, to the point that she didn't know any other way (or appreciate it). People did stuff for her; she didn't do stuff for people. But now, she said, she really missed me, and wanted a chance to make things up to me and show that she was trying to change. I told I wasn't sure, but I'd think about it and let her know...

   The next day,  I got a text from her asking if I'd thought about it.
"A little," I said, "But things have been busy and I hadn't really thought about it a whole lot yet."
"Well, I've got a surprise for you: I ordered some dinner, and I'm about to go and pick it up and come see you, so we can talk about it."
"You're paying for dinner and coming to see me? Well I guess I can't turn that down."
"Come one, don't be like that, I'm trying to make it up to you. I'll see you in a little bit."

  A half an hour later, there she was, at my door. She looked as good as ever, dressed as provocatively as one can imagine someone dressing to come and visit someone to eat and watch TV, our normal date. She was also carrying a bag with something smelling very good in it, so she had followed through on picking up dinner. Clearly, she had baited the hook; the question was whether I was going to bite.

   "Can we eat in the living room," she asked. "I want to get cozy."
   "Sure, why not?" I replied. She headed for the sofa, I went to grab the TV trays to put the food on, and then joined her in the living room, only to see her remove one dinner from the bag.
   "You bought one dinner? How is that making things up to me?"
   "Well, you didn't have to cook for me."
   "If I didn't have to cook for you, then that means I also didn't cook for me. And since you didn't bring me anything to eat, that means...you know what, never mind, it doesn't even matter. This" - I said, closing my eyes so as not to look down again at the big brown eyes and pouty lips (formed into a sad expression for effect), and the overflowing cleavage (squeezed together and rising and falling with deep breaths, also for effect) - "is not going to work."

   So off she - and her dinner - went to go eat somewhere else...don't go away mad, I thought, looking away from that bootylicious stride as she headed back to her car,  just go away...



Some Angry Nerd Rules

1. Being right about something does not carry a requirement to behave like an asshole about it...
2. Having knowledge about a subject does not carry a requirement to constantly shoot your mouth off about it...
3. Being passionate about something doesn't automatically make you an expert on it. And if somehow by chance you are both passionate and an expert on a particular subject, well then, refer to rule #2...
4. If you don't want to know the answer, don't ask the question...
5. If you're bragging about helping other people, or throwing the fact that you helped someone in his/her face, then whatever you did for them was likely more for your own benefit than for theirs; the benefits those people received from your actions was secondary to whatever you got out of it...

That is all for now...

"The Dating Game", episode 4 - "Minnie the Moocher"

To read episode 3, click here

   So a few years back, I decided to give the local phone chat lines a try, and I stared talking to this early 30s woman, very pleasant, employed (something you definitely have to ask on those lines), intelligent-sounding, and with whom I developed a mutual interest. After a few conversations, we decided to meet at a nearby restaurant (we lived failry close to each other) for dinner.
   When we met, I thought I had hit the jackpot! She was gorgeous, with flawless dark skin, and a petite, but very curvy build. She certainly looked like she could have been one of the models in the commercial for the phone dating service, as opposed to a couple of others I had brief encounters with that far, far, far from model material. And she was every bit as pleasant in person as on the phone. She was also particularly excited about getting to eat, as she couldn't have stressed any more than she did just how hungry she was.

   So we ordered our food: three appetizers (one for me, and two for her), and two very sizeable entrees. It was at this point that I became even more in awe of her than I already had been. When she said she was hungry, she wasn't kidding; this chick could EAT! After the appetizers, breadsticks, salad, and about half the entree, I was pretty much done. She, on the other hand, threw down on the appetizers and her entree, and when she saw I was slowing down, started picking at mine. Holy shit, I thought; how does that little body hold all that food? Did she starve herself to get ready for this date? Is she going to go into the bathroom and puke it all up when we're done?

 We finished eating, I paid the bill, and we started to leave. On the way out, I asked what she wanted to do next. "I could really go for some dessert!" she said. Dessert? You gotta be fucking kidding me! I'm ready for an alka seltzer and a nap, and you want dessert? So I followed her to the nearest Coldstone Creamery (which I had never been to), and we got ourselves some ridiculous orders of ice cream. She followed me back to my place, and wolfed down all of her ice cream (and some of mine) while we watched a couple of movies before she went home.

   A few days later, I make spaghetti, and as is often the case, I made way too much for me to eat without getting sick of it after having it 3 or 4 days in a row, so I give the fair lady a call to invite her to dinner.
"Ooooh, spaghetti",  she said "I love spaghetti. I'll be right over! I hope you can cook!"
20 minutes later, she was at my door, appetite in tow. She made sure I was not going to have to worry about 3 days of spaghetti for leftovers, that's for sure. And what's more, she topped it off by finishing the last of my Coldstone Creamery Ice Cream from our date a couple days before hand. As always, she was pleasant, charming, and beautiful, so I didn't mind her appetite one bit. However, I didn't realize at the time that I was setting a bad precedent.
  
   You know how they say you shouldn't feed a stray animal, because you won't be able to get rid of it? Well, the same applied to this chick. She was over a couple times a week, and occasionally all weekend, eating me out of house and home. Now on the one hand, I didn't mind. I like to cook, and eating alone isn't always that much fun;  besides, she was great company, and I certainly enjoyed every moment around her. On the other hand, she was beginning to blow my food budget to smithereens, while not contributing a thing to our dinner dates. I mean, you'd think she would bring some dessert or a bottle of wine or something, but nope, she managed to show up every time empty handed and empty stomached, eat like it was her last meal, while making some vague promises about cooking for me or taking me out, promises that never came to fruition.,.

   So one day when she was supposed to come over, I called and told her I was out of ice cream, and asked her to stop and pick up some. When she arrived, she had a bag in hand, and went to put it in the kitchen. As usual, we had our dinner, and headed to the living room to watch a couple of our favorite shows. At some point I excused myself to go to the bathroom, and she announced that she was going to get some ice cream. When I got back from the bathroom, she was back in the living room, with a pint of ice cream - and one spoon...
   "So where's mine?" I asked.
   "Oh, did you want some?"
   "Well, you've been coming over here all these times eating my food and ice cream, you mean you couldn't bring ice cream for BOTH of us the one time I asked?"
So she reluctantly shared her ice cream with me, and from then on always stopped to get enough for us both. No meals from her still, but the ice cream was a start, I guess...

   After several more weeks of this, my birthday was approaching. Normally I don't make much of a deal about my birthday, but with this woman, I made it a point to stress that my birthday was coming up, because I wanted to see what this hussy would do about it, if anything. She suggested going out to dinner, since we hadn't gone out much once I started feeding her home cooked meals. So on my birthday, she came and picked me up, we went to dinner, had a great time, and ate well- and a lot- as was always the case with her. Then came the waiter with the bill, and I gave her a look that said, "hey it's my birthday, what you gonna do?" and she looked at me like "Negro, please, I know you don't think I'm paying!" So guess who paid?

   So fine, I paid (I was prepared for that likelihood anyway). We drove back to my place with me having a bit of an attitude, but I figured I'm gonna make up for this later...then we get home, she changes into something more comfortable, which took my mind off of paying for dinner real fast...but then:
"I have to ask you something."
"Okay"
"Can I borrow $100?"
"Say what? You trying to borrow money from me, on my BIRTHDAY???"
"Come on, baby, there's this dress I want to buy."
"You want money from me on my birthday to buy something for yourself?"
"Well, it would be for you too. It's a sexy dress, it's tight and low cut, and it shows off my boobs. You know how much you love the twins..." she shook them at me in her slinky negligee as she said this.
Yes, I certainly DO love those beautiful dark brown globes of perfection...I wonder how they would look in - no no no, snap out of it!
"Let me see if I got this straight," I finally said as I came to my senses. "You've been coming over here a  few days a week for a couple of month, eating me out of house and home for free, promising to take me out or cook for me sometimes but never keeping that promise, then on my birthday, we go out, and you don't offer to pay for dinner, don't give me so much as a damn card, and THEN ask me for money? You done lost your damn mind!"

Well, let's just say that ended up being much less than the best birthday I've ever had...

(TO BE CONTINUED)

  

  

You Know You're Getting Older When...

Episode 1:   "Where are my glasses?"
On this day after Thanksgiving, I am thankful for being alive on this earth for as long as I have (49 and a half years and counting), but sometimes that advancing age can lead to interesting predicaments. For instance, this morning, I took a shower, walked back to my bedroom, then remembered that I hadn't put on any lotion (a must for my dry ass skin), plodded back down to the bathroom, lotioned up, came back the bedroom, then started a ritual that happens to me from time to time: trying to figure out where I left my glasses...

Did I have them on when I went to the bathroom? I walked back to the bathroom; nope, not there...

Well, hell, they must be in the bedroom; I haven't gone downstairs yet (wait, have I? Hmmm, no I'm sure I haven't been downstairs yet). So I go back to the bedroom, and proceed to walk around in a crouched over position (walk softly in case the damned things are on the floor!) with eyes squinted so as to try to improve my bad vision enough to make this game of Where's Waldo a short one. I tell you what, trying to find your glasses is a motherfucker when you don't have your glasses on to help you...

And then, lightbulb time: hey, idiot, you DO have another pair of glasses. How's about we put THOSE on so we can find the missing ones...you at least know where THEY are...

The second pair was on my dresser in its case. Put them on, and voila, in no time, I found my missing pair sitting right on the bed where I left them. I guess since the glasses are close in color to my comforter, they blended in enough so that my old eyes couldn't see them.

I'm just glad the lotion was in the bathroom instead of the bedroom; I might have sat down on the bed to lotion myself and "found" those glasses in a much less pleasant way...

Life's "Special" Moments, episode 1

Like everyone else, I have had my share of interesting/embarassing moments and occurences. In "Life's 'Special' Moments", I will relive a few of these...

Episode 1: "Gettin' It In"

  It's the summer of 1982, and I'm home from college. My future babymama is over the house hanging out, when my moms and brother and sister head out to go shopping...hmmmm, house all to ourselves...well, you can imagine what happens next...
  I shared a bedroom with my brother. We had some old-school wooden bunkbeds, and I slept in the top one. So as not to leave any potential evidence of what we were about to do in my brother's bunk, we climbed up into my top one. Things proceeded from intimate to heated to, shall we say, rather vigorous in fairly short order...
   Well, at some point during the proceedings I thought I heard a cracking sound, but since I was otherwise occupied I didn't pay it any attention...well, I probably should have, because shortly thereafter, a couple of much louder cracks were heard as the slats underneath my bunk gave way under our weight and...umm...activities...
   Next thing you know, the two of us and my mattress gave way to the laws of gravity and came crashing down on my brother's bunk, with enough force to also break the slats on his bed and well...
   We picked ourselves up off the floor and determined that we were both okay...the beds, however, were another matter...then of course, was the bigger issue: how in the HELL to explain this to my mother...

"The Dating Game", episode 3 - "Are They Your Pets?"

To read episode 2, click here.
To read episode 1, click here

   So I got invited to a female acquaintance's home to hang out and catch a Ravens game, just the two of us.When I came through the door, I could smell the aroma of a good meal wafting from the kitchen, and there were drinks and munchies on the living room table. "This is going to be good", I thought...
   I settled in, grabbed a drink and some chips and got myself nice and comfy. The living room was nice and neat; outdated furniture, but everything was well-kept. The dining room, however, at least from what I could see, was a junkyard. Boxes, toys, a couple of bicycles, broken chairs, two or three TVs on the floor...just junk all over the place. I shook my head and kind of shrugged it off at first glance...but now as we were chilling and watching the game, a sight from that junky dining room caught my eye: a mouse running around and jumping in and out of boxes. Now I'm not afraid of mice, but like most everyone else, I hate them pesky little motherfuckers with a passion, and the sight of this particular little motherfucker cavorting around this woman's dining room like it was his personal playground was distracting the hell out of me. I briefly thought about saying something, but then thought the  better of it, and instead just repositioned myself on the sofa to try to get the dining room out of my peripheral vision and to focus on the game.
   Apparently I became a litte too focused a little on the game and not enough on my hostess, because at some point she got off the sofa, walked in front of the television, and started to do what I could only assume was intended to be a seductive dance, except that it was so bad that it was far more funny than sexy. As I sat there watching her - partly pissed because she was  blocking my view of the game, and partly amused by this woman's spectactularly bad dancing - I was suddenly startled by a mouse zipping out of nowhere, zooming under the coffee table that was between the sofa where I was sitting and the TV in front of which the woman was standing.
   I jumped in surprise, which in turn startled the woman, who apparently didn't notice the mouse. When I explained what happened, she laughed at my being scared of a "lil ol' field mouse". Before I could protest, she came back to the sofa and said, "give me a massage." Sheeeshh, can I just watch the game?
   So she stretched out on the sofa, and  I straddled her and began to massage her neck and back, while keeping an eye on the game. But even with my attention divided between the game and the massage, something didn't feel quite right; I had a feeling like someone or something was watching me. But I kept massaging and watching the game. Then when there was a timeout, I took my eyes of the TV and looked straight ahead...and there it was: another mouse, sitting up on the arm rest of the sofa, looking dead at me...
   I jumped and yelled, the woman jumped and yelled in response, and mouse jumped and took off - where I don't know...
"What happened?" the woman asked.
"You didn't see that mouse up on the sofa with us?" I responded, as I was putting on my shoes.
"No, I didn't. What are you doing? Where are you going?"
"I got to get the hell out of here!"
"Awww come on, I can't believe a grown ass man is scared of some field mice."
"Shit, I ain't scared of them, but what the fuck? What are they, your pets?" I asked as I reached for my coat.
"Come on, don't leave," she pleaded "We haven't even eaten yet."
Those were the last words I heard as I walked out the front door...

Kenneth Cole

   So I have a couple pairs of Kenneth Cole slacks that I recently bought, and they are some very nice slacks indeed. I love the cut and fit, the material, everything - except for one thing: what in the hell is up with these short-ass zippers??? Taking a leak shouldn't have to be a friggin' adventure,  but I swear, when I'm wearing these pants, it's like a damned fishing expedition. The shortness of the zipper makes reaching my hand inside a chore, and the fact that it ends at too high a location on the crotch means that the Angry Nerd's happier, cooler partner has to go through some unnecessary contortions just to make it to daylight. I wanna know what kind of teeny weenies was Mr. Cole designing these pants for? You better not have to pee real bad in these things, there might be some unhappy consequences...
   I had never thought about zippers much (or at all) when I purchased pants before, but you can rest assured I will be testing zipper length out from now on. The slightest bit of excessive maneuvering to reach in and free my partner means the pants go back on the rack (give us FREE!). In the meantime, I'm going to keep wearing my Kenneth Coles with pride; short zippers notwithstanding, they're nice slacks. I'll just be sure to limit my fluid intake on those days...
  

"The Dating Game", episode 2 - "Nasty Girl"

To read episode 1, click here

    I was driving on my way home from work during a heavy downpour, and I saw a mid-to-late-20s lady standing out on a bus stop trying in vain to protect herself and her child from the wind and rain. So, good guy that I am, I pulled over and offered them a ride, which she gladly accepted. The two of us had a very nice conversation as I drove her home; it turned out that she lived in an apartment complex a couple of blocks from me. When I pulled up in front of her building, it was still raining pretty hard, so we sat and talked some more until it let up.
   Before getting out of the car, she asked me what I was doing later that night; when I said I had no plans, she said she had planned on going out, but her babysitting arrangement fell through, so she invited me to come and chill with her, maybe have a few drinks and watch some movies. Since I wasn't doing anything anyway, and we seemed to have a little chemistry between us, it was a no-brainer to accept the invitation.
   So later that night I showed up at her place, after having stopped to pick us up something to eat and drink. She opened the door to her apartment, and it was DARK inside. I mean, can't see a damned thing dark. The only light at all was coming from the TV. She invited me in and took the stuff I bought to the kitchen while I staggered like a blind man towards the direction she told me the sofa was located. I figured she was trying to create some romantic vibe, but instead, it came off as kind of spooky or creepy, for some reason.
   I found the sofa, and sat down, and she came in shortly after with our food and drinks and scooted next to me. We started watching whatever movie that was already in progress on cable, and settled in and ate and drank and enjoyed each other's company. When the movie ended, she excused herself to go and check on her son, and invited me to change the channel and find us something else to watch. I fumbled and groped around in the dark for the remote, then finally I said, "screw it", managed to find the switch to the table lamp, and turned on the lights...and then:

"Awwwww, SHIT! What the fuck???"

   There were roaches...EVERYWHERE! Not just an isolated one here and there, but these lil' bastards were scurrying all around the room! I thought I was going to puke right then and there.
   She comes rushing out to the living room to find me doing some contorted, twitching, spastic dance as I tried to figure out if anything was crawling on me. "Are you all right?" she asked.
   "Uh, you got yourself a roach problem."
   "Oh yeah, I know. I just had somebody come in and spray."

(Somebody already sprayed??? THEY ALREADY SPRAYED? Well, what the hell did it look like in here BEFORE the spraying? What are these, BEBE's roaches? -- "They don't die, they MULTIPLY!")

   Needless to say, I was out the door in very short order. I got back to my place, stripped down, threw the clothes in the washing machine, took a loooong shower, and tried to forget the image of that creepy, crawly living room scene...

Tune in again for another episode of "The Dating Game" on ANTV (Angry Nerd Television)...

Conversations I've Overheard, 2nd Edition

Two high school boys are having a loud gripe session about life in general, and their mothers specifically:

Boy #1: "I can't stand my mother. She get on my fuckin' nerves, always up in my business, and tryna make me do a bunch of dumb shit."

Boy #2: "I know, right? My mother the same way. I can't stand her ass sometimes."

After the two of them recited a laundry list of the usual teenaged complaints, boy #1 said, "That bitch made me so mad today, I cussed her ass the fuck out!"

Boy #2: "Damn, what she say?"

Boy #1: "She started cussing and fussing, but I just walked the fuck out, 'cause she make me wanna hit her ass sometimes! Why she think she can be telling me how to run my life?"

Boy #2: "So what you gonna do?"

Boy #1: "Ionna, I'm 'bout ta go back up in there now...I wish my father wasn't in jail, because if he was out, I wouldn't need my mother for shit!"

Boy#2: "Word..."

Why did I get the feeling he and his father were going to be reunited soon - in one way or the other?

Baltimorons

Ah, Baltimore, my hometown: the history, the harbor, the neighborhoods, the RAVENS (and, ahem, the Orioles), the harbor, and...the CHARACTERS!

My hometown characters are a continual source of amusement. Some of my recent favorites:

1. The older gentleman in a wheelchair parked outside of Lexington Market directing drug traffic as he took user's money and directed them to the yo-boy around the corner. Meanwhile, folks are milling in and out of the market, and no one's paying any of this a  bit of mind (then again, at Lexington Market, so much other stuff is going on, it's hard to pick just one thing to be surprised, appalled, or amused by;
2. The crackhead-ish gentleman scurrying down Belair Road on a rainy afternoon using a giant umbrella from a patio furniture set to keep him dry. Now maybe it actually was his umbrella, but I'm suspecting some family was pissed that they were going to have to go and by another one;
3. The pretty young mother standing on a downtown corner on a beautiful late summer day, who had the top of her sun dress flipped down, with her infant snacking on one breast, while she covered the other with her hand (receiving blankets aren't that expensive, are they?), all the while carrying on a conversation like everything was everything;
4. The independent cigarette merchants on practically every corner selling "loose ones". Can you make a living off this?
5. The Patapsco Avenue hookers, with more teeth missing than present and accounted for. I'm guessing some of them have more crabs in them than in Curtis Bay. And not any amount of Old Bay would do anything for those crabs...

Just of few of my favorites; I'm sure I'll have  more to report later...

LMKIAs

"LMKIA" is my acronym for Loud Mouth Know It All. Everybody knows their (un)fair share of them. There are three types of LMKIAs:

1. Those who stick to pontification on selected subject(s) that they are very knowledgeable and/or passionate (and won't shut up) about;
2. Those whose intellectual curiosity has led them to acquire varying degrees of knowledge on an array of topics, and who will attempt to speak about any or all of them (regardless of actual level of knowledge) as if he/she was an expert (and who may also jump into discussions on topics about which they know nothing, yet try to speak as if they know everything); and...
3. Blithering idiots who don't realize it (or who DO realize it and try to compensate for it), and just have to be heard. About everything...

No matter the type of  LMKIA, they tend to exhibit many of the same behaviors:

• The LMKIA states his/her opinion(s) to any and everyone within earshot, in the manner of someone who is the ultimate authority on the subject (even if that subject is something he knows little to nothing about)
• The LMKIA tries to recruit people to his/her point of view, to be able to make the case that all those people can't be wrong (and an LMKIA with a particularly magnetic personality may already have a stable of friends ready to back his/her opinion on practically anything)...
• However, if the LMKIA can't recruit people to his side of a debate, then none of those people know what they are talking about... 
• The LMKIA loves to brag - after the fact - about having "predicted" or "called" certain events in the world of news, entertainment, or (especially) sports (regardless of whether anyone actually heard him/her do so)...
• The LMKIA loves to use terms that speak in absolutes (e.g., "real" or "true"or "best"). The only "real" or "true"or "best" entity that exists in an argument is the one which the LMKIA says is "real" or "true" or "best".
• Those who agree with the LMKIA "get it", and are good, intelligent people who are "being honest" with their thoughts. Those who don't: not so much...the idea that  decent, intelligent people can disagree agreeably is a foreign concept to the LMKIA. If you aren't on his/her side, then there is clearly something wrong with or about you... 
• The LMKIA deals with any dissenting opinion by becoming even louder, apparently with the belief that volume of voice = validity of opinions/comments...
• The LMKIA rarely lets little things like facts get in the way of sticking to a line of argument, if it is a topic about which he/she is especially passionate...
• The LMKIA is quick to fall back on abusive and/or circumstantial ad Hominem arguments, and perhaps even to straight out personal attacks, in the face of any invalid points being exposed...
• When proven to be right (and they often are), the LMKIA tends to be completely ungracious towards anyone who dared not go along with him/her right from the beginning...
• The LMKIA will not hesitate to offer unsolicited advice, even if the subject matter about which he/she is advising is a matter about which the LMKIA's own personal history and/or circumstances are more screwed up than the person's on the receiving end of the advice...

As I said, we all know our share of LMKIAs. How you choose to deal with them is up to you. If you choose to tangle with one who knows his/her stuff, just make sure you do too, because few things are more annoying than an LMKIA who is proven right in a debate. And if you are tempted to argue with an LMKIA who doesn't know what the heck he/she is talking about (and who is likely not to pay you any mind even if you do), then you have to decide whether you're wasting your time. Either way, keep the following quote in mind:

 "I learned a long time ago, never wrestle with a pig; you get dirty, and besides, the pig likes it." - George Bernard Shaw.

The question then is how much you feel like getting dirty at any particular time and place...

"The Dating Game", Episode 1 - "Lock Down"

   So I've been on my own for the last 10 years or so after over a decade and a half of "marital bliss" (I could take the time to calculate the percentage of blissful years versus the various stages of less-than-blissful, but I'm in a good mood today, so I don't feel like it). One thing I came to find out very early on was that the dating game these days is...whew, I don't even know what to call it...

So instead of trying to give it a name, I thought I'd occasionally pick one of my more "interesting" dating experiences and tell you about it...

Episode 1: "What had happened was..."

   So I connected with this woman through an online personal ad. After the preliminary phone chats and picture exchanges, we decided we would get together. I threw out a few ideas for places to go for a first date, but she insisted on just meeting me at her apartment and hanging out there.
  We met, talked, ate, listened to music, and had a great time, and over the next couple of weeks I came back several times to visit her and hang out. We never actually went out anywhere; we just spent time at her place, getting to know each other, and becoming more and more comfortable and cozy together.
   Then one evening, things progressed beyond cozy to hot and heavy, and soon she was leading me by the hand to the bedroom. There she did a slow striptease; off with her t-shirt, followed by her bra. My eyes then moved downward as  she slowly slid out of her pants, and then...wait - "what the hell is that???"
   "That" was a ankle monitor on her left ankle (and for those of you who thought the surprise was higher up on her body, I can only say that if that were the case, I would not be telling this story - EVER)...
   "Well, see what had happened was..." she started, and proceeded to tell a story of how her boyfriend was arrested for dealing drugs, and that because he had been using her car while doing some of his dirt, the car was seized and she was placed under house arrest.
   "Well at least now I know why you never wanted to go out," I said.
   "I know, I'm so sorry I didn't say anything before. Are you mad at me?"
   Well, let's see: I have a naked woman standing in front of me who wants me to join her. Plus, she's a cheap date, because she can't go out anywhere...
   "No, it's all right, I'm not mad."

   So for the next few months I made regular "visits" to go see my house arrest girl. Then one day she called me and uttered these fateful words: "My boyfriend is coming home from jail." Well now...
   Look, I'm not afraid of too many things, and I love a challenge, and I was certainly having fun with this woman, but did I like her enough to want to tangle with a newly released convict? Er...negative...Besides which, she referred to him as her "boyfriend", not an ex- or former boyfriend. and thinking back, she also called him "boyfriend" when she told me the whole story of how she ended up under house arrest. So basically I had just been um, filling in for him...

So we saw each other one last time, said our goodbyes, and off I rode into the sunset...

Tune in again for another episode of "The Dating Game" on ANTV (Angry Nerd Television)...
  

Angry Nerd's 7 Fashion Tips

1. If you have to keep adjusting your clothing, then you aren't wearing the right size...

2. Just because they make it in your size, doesn't mean you should go buy it...

3. Take an honest assessment of your body. Observe others with the same body type. If they look ridiculous wearing an outfit, it's almost certain you will too...

4. Remember your age...

5. It's called underwear for a reason...

6. Buying a "look" based on what a celebrity or TV/movie character is wearing? What are you, in high school?

7. Find yourself someone who won't be afraid to tell you when you're about to embarass  yourself by wearing something that makes you look like a damned fool...

Angry Nerd Theories, 1st Edition

1. The people who make the most fuss in demand of something (love, respect, communication, etc.) are almost invariably people who are incapable of / unwilling to give that thing to anyone else.

2. One's ability, enjoyment, or desire to talk a lot is in no way related to that person's ability to communicate. The volume and frequency of verbiage exiting one's mouth is not indicative of  any particular  skill in communication.

3. Some of the most mean-spirited, petty, close-minded, hateful, underhanded, cliquish, snobby people on the face of the planet sit on church pews every Sunday
Corollary 1: There will be church folk fitting this theory, who upon reading it, will immediately start thinking of a bunch of other folk they think it applies to.
Corollary 2: There are plenty of non-believers/non-church goers who will happily back this theory, yet who aren't any damned better people themselves.

4. The strongest forces of human nature are self-interest, love, bigotry, and hypocrisy.

5. My not-quite 2 year old grandson's idea of going to sleep is to torment Pop Pop until suddenly passing out as if hit by sniper fire.
Corollary: This period of torment will always begin at the precise moment something is coming on TV that Pop Pop really wants to watch.

Some people

    I'm as much a gentleman as anyone. I still believe in chivalry. My mother trained very well to have some manners (and knocked me upside the head when I forgot, LOL). But sometimes...
I was riding on my way home from downtown after a hard day at work. The bus, as always, was crowded, but I managed to find a seat near the back of the bus, and there was an open seat beside me. A few stops later, a woman boarded the bus and made her way towards the rear. The only remaining open seat was the one next to me, and as the woman got closer, I saw she had some size to her, so I scrunched myself up a little in anticpation of being squeezed a bit when she sat down next to me...
Only she didn't sit down. Instead, she stopped directly in front of me and stared - and not in a friendly manner, either. While I was trying to figure out what the woman's problem was, she muttered under her breath (but loud enough for me to hear), "Hmmmph, I guess there ain't no more gentlemen today..."
"Excuse me?" I thought, but I let it slide.
A few minutes later, she repeated the comment, but much louder.
"Ma'am, there's an empty seat right next to me."
"I don't want to be all squished up next to you."
"So you saying I should get up and let you have both seats?"
"If you was any kind of man you would. You see I ain't no small chick, but you just going to sit there. A real man would've got up already, instead of thinking I was supposed to be trying to squeeze next to you."
Wooooo...it took all I had to keep from going off on this heffalump, but instead, I calmly looked her up and down, said, "You know, you're right, that is a seat and a half-sized ass, here you go", as I got up and walked away...
And you know, she still had the nerve to be pissed off...you just can't please some people...

Conversations I've Overheard, 1st Edition

So I'm on the subway, when two 20-something Black women who are apparently old firends ran into each other. During the course of hugs and laughter and reminiscing, I overheard the following exchange:

"So how about you little sister, Shaniqua? How's she doing?"
"Girl, you should see her, you wouldn't believe how grown up she is!"
"Oh yeah? I guess it really has been a long time."
"Yeah, girl, she all grown up now; she just had her first abortion."
"Oh, okay, I guess she grown for real!"

Now, I'm for women having the right to choose, but just...damn...

Smart Ass

Those of you who know me, know that I am capable of being a smart-ass (I know, I know, not exactly a major revelation, right?). My babymama told me once or twice (or maybe seventy times seven times; I lost count) that being a sarcastic smart ass was my greatest talent (now, mind you, she was being a sarcastic smart ass whenever she would say it, but according to her, this was my fault, due to the apparent Svengalian hold I had over her that made her become a smart ass against her will), a "compliment" which I accepted with great humility and honor...
Those of you who know me also probably are aware of my tendency to (over)analyze things. What can I say, I just a need to break things down, pick them apart and try to garner some explanation (even when none is necessary) or meaning (even when none exists, except on the most trivial scale).
And now that I have reminded you of two of my more prominent proclivities, allow me to indulge myself for a moment and put said proclivities to work for a moment by introducing my terminology of what it means to be a smartass:

Smartassedness The condition of being a smart ass. Smartassedness is something that comes naturally to us smartasses. It is not forced or done for effect, and it is not done with any intent to hurt anyone (though occasionally another can be hurt by it). Being a smartass for the purpose of intentionally hurting someone isn't smartassedness, it's mean-spiritedness (or if you prefer, jackassedness or maybe assholishness). Trying to come up with smartassed comments for effect or to create a persona for oneself isn't smartassedness, either; it's fakeassedness...

Smartassery A smart-assed comment or action. The best smartassery is something that is created in the mind of a smartass without much effort or any contrivance. It either rolls off the tongue (or the fingers) reflexively, or comes to mind while waiting to speak one's turn. It does not require any planning on how or when to strike; it just happens.
Smartassery doesn't have to be just words either. The late comedian George Carlin, in one of his standup routines, told the story of how he was sitting on a park bench, and there was a section of newspaper sitting on the bench underneath him. Another man came and sat next to him and asked if Carlin was reading the paper. Now Carlin could have been a jerk and called the guy all kinds of stupid for asking whether he was reading a newspaper he was sitting on. Instead, he simply said, "Why yes, I am", stood up, turned a page on the newspaper, and sat back down on it. Classic smartassery.
See, smartassery is often a more tactful way of addressing or responding to someone who has asked, said or done something you consider objectionable or silly, without hammering them with the psychological blunt force trauma of a direct, angry, tactless, mean-spirited comment. A good piece of smartassery will hopefully cause amusement or thought, rather than anger or hurt feelings (although if you're dealing with someone who is overly sensitive or in a bad mood, or who just doesn't like you to begin with, then all bets are off). But let's be clear, we smartasses aren't saints; when dealing with someone he/she doesn't like, it is certainly not out of the question for a smartass to impulsively unleash a bit of smartassery that serves no purpose except to stick it to the recipient.
One final word about smartassery: like most things in life, it is best enjoyed and most effective in moderation. As much as I enjoy a good piece of smartassery (even when i am on the receiving end of it) someone who overdoes it will have me and everyone else wishing he/she would just STFU. Thus there will be times when a smartass will need to let an opportunity to use some smartassery go by the wayside; after all there is a time and place (and smartassery target) for everything, so you gotta know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em. Besides, unused smartassery tends to get stored in the recesses of a smartass' mind, to reappear later when needed. Good smartassery never truly goes to waste.

Smartassitude A state of mind where one's smartassedness is heightened, and in which a smartass will be especially prone to unleash smartassery on others. When in a smartassitude, the smartass must be especially carerful not to go overboard with his/her smartassery, as the impulse will be strong to overdo it, both in frequency and intensity. What brings on a smartassitude will vary from smartass to smartass; perhaps the smartass is going through some hard times, or maybe someone pissed him/her off, or maybe it's just a matter of being in the presence of someone the smartass can't stand. Whatever the case may be, the smartass has to keep the smartassery in check, lest he or she veer out of control and work him/herself into a state bordering mean-spiritedness.

So there you have it, my guide to being a smartass. Hopefully, you have a little better understanding of smartassedness, and can accept our smartasseries for what they are: just good, clean, (hopefully) thought-provoking and smile-inducing fun. Don't take us smartasses too seriously, or our smartasseries too personally. And if you happen to catch me in a smartassitude and I go a little over the top with my resulting smartassery, I give you my sincerest apology. And if none of that is good enough for you, well I don't know what else to tell ya...a smartass has gotta be a smartass...