I quit quitting for the moment. Just had a wonderful conversation with someone (an IM conversation). It destroyed my ability to say no to nicotine: the real kind, not the stuff that comes off a patch.

You ever known one of those people that you can spend 3 hours on the phone with?

Now, you ever known one of those people that you spend 3 hours on the phone with, but you don’t ever get to be a part of the conversation? You know – that person that can go on, redundantly, about this and that, and whenever you say anything they just turn the conversation around to something about them?

Anyway – thats the person I was IMing with … Thats the person that put my willpower in one corner and nicotine in the other; She and nicotine double-teamed willpower and willpower lost.

On that, I’m off to the pub to drown my sorrows, smoke a pack of these filthy cigarettes and try to figure out how I allowed myself to waste more than 2 years on this so-called friend.

Tomorrow, we’re back to square 1 … With one less stress-causer to kill my will.

Ok, so I own like a million domain names… But somehow, years ago, I managed to register them under a couple of different accounts … Since I get confused rather easily, and I have the attention span of a retarded gnat, I decided to call these guys up and consolidate all my registrations under one account…

I’ve been on hold for 10 20 minutes … The hold music is great good, but getting old.

It’s really (REALLY) not in my norm to give praise to a company for their customer service, but today – even after 20 minutes of hold time – I was in for a great shocking surprise. The young lady on the other end of the phone was A) Pleasant, B) Patient, and C) able to help me … And she did it all without so much as a hint of forign accent.

Thanks GoDaddy – You’ve made me decide to put my 9mm back in it’s security box and continue living without the deep desire to shoot the living shit out of my nearest calling center.

Ok, who the hell gave the mexicans in my neighborhood permission to use rollerblades at 5:27 in the mother lovin’ morning. For that matter, who the fuck gave the mexicans in my neighborhood the right to blade period? Listen, Juan, if you can’t say ‘ON YOUR LEFT’ in english, you sure as fuck don’t have permission to blow past me at 30Â miles per hour screaming something about being late for your next drywalling job.

Why am I an anti-blogger? Why would a self-proclaimed anti-blogger have a blog of their own?

It’s all simple really – I refuse to include myself in the seemingly endless trail of mindless, snob-following lemmings that call themselves bloggers.

I am not a blogger.