Don't Panic

No, I haven't been eaten by zombies. I've been very, very wrapped up here at work. Ames - drop me an email.

And yes, there seems to be screaming, but this is Manhattan - what else is new?

By the way, I would know if there were a zombie uprising, because I'm pretty sure I'd get overtime for dealing with that.

Beaten to the Punch

Okay, so where have I been?

1.) At work. I actually do go there, you know. Also, when I fall asleep on the breakroom couch and nobody wakes me up, I have to stay later. Then, when my ex-partner, my current partner, and my annoying friend IM me to ask if I'm getting my work done - I can't get my work done!

2.) Out. I have a social life which I keep far, far away from work. This is a good thing, trust me. After the first and last time - and tempers are still cooling between me and Eames - no dating other detectives. Bad, bad, bad idea.

3.) Home. I may have subscribed to a trial version of the deluxe cable package and gotten a month free with not one but two video rental services. I've been glued to the set pretty firmly. Don't beleive me? I have very strong opinions on Nanny McPhee and The Perfect Man. No straight man watches those unless it's 5 am and they're FREE.

and finally:

4.) A combo of all. That jerk Munch called me "an illiterate ape" so after I took a swing at him, he bet me 50 bucks I couldn't read Das Kaptial. Have you ever tried to read Karl Marx? I had to buy a lot of beer to slog through that. So I was in, reading, then out, buying beer, and at work, keeping him updated.
I won the 50 bucks, and then found out he'd posted my name on an online list of known communists.
Remind me why I talk to him?

Where Have I Been?

Don't get me started.

Let me say this:

1) I hate change.
People who decide to spruce your place up by rearranging things for you are not helping you. I put things where I put them because that is where they go. If they are not where they go, things happen - like slamming your foot into the leg of your table.

2) I am FINE.
Even when I am holding my toes and whimpering. Except two weeks later when I've been yelling "Dammit" everytime I step on that foot, and finally I fall over while running for the elevator and I make the final jump. People who laugh at you when you hit the wall and curse are freckle-faced jerks.

3) I HATE DOCTORS.
No, this one I really mean. I can't stand them, and I've never liked them. I swear, the next time I get hurt, I'm going to go find Munch's friend with the boy scout manual and the leeches, or the one with the chemistry set, the subscription to Web MD Pro, and a serious addiction to House, M.D.. They couldn't possibly do worse. I swear, doctors these days spend six to eight years learning nothing except how to flounce. Infected tendon? Possible arthroid attack? I KICKED A TABLE. I need an X-RAY! She wanted to give me Vicodin and some sleeping pills. I asked "Uh, do those really mix?" She looked again and said "Oops." I don't like that word in a medical setting or in any other setting when my pants aren't on.
I demanded a second opinion - I can read the damn chart myself, but they need a center employee. Luckily the cleaning guy was on his break. I grabbed the stuff, handed it to him, he wiki'd it, and we both agreed that Dr. Buffy was full of crap. Sleep and a splint. My granny coulda diagnosed that.
No. More. Doctors. Even Rodgers is on notice - unless she uses Freckles for a practice dummy again.

Too Much All At Once

I need Blogger to stop pestering me about switching. I am having a serious crisis of hideous proportions, and the last thing I need is to get nagged by electronics.
Leave me alone!

Edit
John Munch here. Thought you should know that the big baby is sulking because he lost his last paycheck betting on the Oscars. He's planning on whining later, but right now he's kicking chairs and swearing he'll never watch another english-language film other than The Maltese Falcon again.
Over and out,
JM

It's Early For You, Late For Me

This is really pushing my theory that it's not tomorrow until you go to sleep. It's 5:25 am, and I have to go to work, but Sunday's not over yet.
Can you believe I was up almost all weekend arguing with someone about a Dukes of Stratosphear album? Un-frickin'-beleivable. I mean, it devolved into personal insults and fisticuffs soon enough, and yes, there may have been some booze involved, but how you can blow off any respectable effort by members of XTC, I will never know.
Surprisingly, it was not Munch, it was a pal of his whose name I didn't catch. I'd tell you what I did call him, but the freckly one has actually put a curse jar in the office, and you won't beleive this, but it does not mean that whoever curses the most wins the pot.
Anyhow, about an hour ago, Munch came out of his bedroom in only his black boxers and told us both to shut the hell up and go the hell home. My eyes are still burning.
I called the girlfriend to tell her what was up, and after she stopped asking what time it was, it happened. Look, I don't expect her to know off the bat who The Dukes of Stratosphear are, but not XTC? How does that happen? She said she didn't keep track of groups who peaked before she was born. OW. Way to start the week!

Tech Help (?)

Okay, once again, a delay. You know, if a certain freckle-faced partner thinks that she's being helpful by putting a porn-blocker on here, she's just wrong. I can't even get to my hompage if one of those things is on!
I swear, you can't tell me that [inappropriate link blocked] is bad. LOOK -

That, my friends, is where law enforcement and art meet. Rowr!

I Hate Kids and Cats

Well, actually, I don't hate all cats, but I'm wasn't too happy that Munch let one loose in my apartment. Yes, he finally figured out that I put the first rabbit in his, and he wants me to re-home it. Anybody want a bunny with an attitude problem?

The cat is worse - I got in late, and the bastard is sitting on my commode. You heard me. Yes, I mean the cat, not Munch. It's looking at me like I'm the trespasser, and it glared so hard I backed off. He didn't flush, either, which I don't know about you, but I find that nasty.

I called Munch, because who else would do it? He said that was a great idea - he was inspired by the sign he puts up every Valentine's day: it actually says "I Hate Kids and Cats." He took it one better, too. Seems he called my girlfriend and talked about how lonely I get, and how I really should get a pet, so she was the one who picked out the damn thing, and he just let it loose on my stuff. Apparently, that's my valentine's day surprise and I either have to keep it or figure out how to squirm out of it. John Munch is made of pure evil.

Also, I'm worried this is a segueway to the kid conversation.
I'm okay with other people's kids, but let's not make the leap that I want any. As far as I'm concerned, they're more high-maintenance pets than skunks, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't want me to tell her to check my vasectomy scar.

I told her anyone who doesn't come up to my knees doesn't come into my house, and she just laughed. I think I'm gonna wear the "I love Porn" t-shirt Carolyn bought me just to prove my point if she makes me go to that family dinner she keeps threatening me with.

On the other hand, maybe she'll stop trying to get me to vist her nieces and nephews after she sees that I let the cat have beer. (He's a selfish critter, too - bogarted my last Guiness.)

And I still have no good plans for Valentines. Well, I still have a few hours.