Jen's sitting outside giving candy to the throngs of kids that come up to our door. Man, are they cute. I'm not talking about the 15 year-old in a t-shirt, jeans, and a horrific mask - but the cute little kids dressed like princesses, Pokemon characters and ghosts. We quickly ran out of candy and scoured the house for other things to give out. We settled on quarters (we're actually down to dimes now... LOTS of kids in our neighborhood) but not after some serious searching. Kaya: "Can we give out cups of sugar?" Jen: Nope. Kaya: "How about butter... when I was kid all we got was sticks of butter. We'd stay up late eating our butter, and when we woke up we'd run downstairs to make sure our butter was still there. We called it our 'Halloween Butter' and we'd cherish it like it was from the Fairy Butter Mother herself." Jen: Nope.
Kids today have it made, with there fancy costumes and shiny quarters.
If weekends weren't so much fun, I'd enjoy my job more. Maybe I should spend my weekends in the office so that during the week my life would seem more fun and lively. Okay, I'm ready to go home now.
Since I'm such a lagger about posting, I thought I'd mention someone who has a daily entry. My friend/co-worker Jon works on RoguePinoy.com and each day there is a new photograph and his comments. I know he works as hard as I do, but he still finds time to update. Don't get me started about Ollie of DigitalPunk.net (also a co-worker) who manages to post every 8 minutes. The entire staff at CNN.com doesn't update as often as he does. He's like the Neo of blogging - here to save us all. Okay, enough fawning - back to making fun of people who are different than me.
Some guy got shot (by an undercover policeman, apparently) outside our building today. I can see blood on the pavement outside. What the hell is going on?
At my gym (earlier referred to as the "gay gym") I have befriended Bruce - "King of the Gays". He is a great guy, mid 40's and is always in the gym. He's got a mustache, he lives above a campy 50's style restaurant across the street and his name is Bruce. There's no doubt he's the king. Anyhow, today he pointed out that I was looking good and "cut". When I told my girlfriend, she jokingly asked if she should see him as a threat. Hey, all I know is that Bruce is working out everyday - and she can take that for what it's worth.
Kidding, of course. ;)
Today, the lovely Jen and I have been together for one year. What began as a dessert date turned into the most amazing, love-filled year of my life. (Note to self: Raspberry sorbet = love and happiness) I am a lucky man in love.
Jen, thanks for a wonderful year.
From last nite:
"I'll have some more dinner...after all, I *am* eating for two." -Jen joking "I hope you're talking about a tapeworm." -Jim not joking
I work out at a gym in a gay part of San Diego. It's the closest gym to where I live and everyone is friendly - and only occasionally too friendly. I rarely get too much attention when I'm showering although today was amusing. Unbeknownst to me, I have a small but defined bruise on my butt. This is the kind of marking that probably gets more attention at this gym than some of the others in town. The silence of drying off was broken by, "Dare I ask where you got that bruise?" On one hand I knew there was no story - I didn't even know I had a bruise, on the other hand, I always welcome an open opportunity to tell (or make up) a story. As my mind raced for a butt bruise story that would identify my heterosexuality, so as to avoid any awkward propositions, (I was in a rodeo, I was playing football, etc.) everything I thought of made me sound more gay. I sheepishly joked around and got dressed. I should have just said my girlfriend kicked my ass...
A lot of my friends are DJ's. They spin records, mix CD's, and get parties into a frenzy with thumping beats. I, on the other hand, am a volume DJ. I have no patience to learn how to actually DJ so I make up for it by turning the volume up and down to the beat of the music. One car ride with me and you'll be hooked on my "style" (aka "the musical stylings of DJ Kaya"). Imagine 5 minutes of "HEY mr. dj put a RECord on I want TO DANCE with my BAby."
I marvel at spam e-mail subject lines. They get craftier and more clever. But my new all-time favorite is, "GIVE ME YOUR PENIS".
It sounds more like getting a physical exam than getting physical (in the Olivia Newton John way). I love it when porn stars use proper English. Also, it sounds like a call to arms. "Friends, Romans, Countrymen... give me your penis."
The Simpsons season doesn't begin until Nov. 4th. I think it's postponed to have time to show the Major League Baseball playoffs and World Series. It's like my childhood interests are fighting with my adult interests. Can't they all just get along?
I saw the movie Akira on the big screen on Sunday night. I promptly had nightmares about cities blowing up and evil, powerful men. It was an amazing bit of animation and I'm glad I saw it, but it definitely got stuck in the creases of my brain.