that time i had a fancy office (a throwback)

so, my company is moving out of downtown and out to west austin. way west. DAMN west. like, parts of our office are in the pacific time zone kinda west austin. as in the sun actually sets EAST of my boss’s boss’s boss’s chair (the most westerly part of our palatial office suite, with stunning view of downtown and the river) lemme break it down for you like this…if you’re going down i35 (or mopac) in the central austin area at night, and you look off to the west to where that cluster of really fucking tall radio towers are? the one’s that look huge enough to beam a signal to arizona, and there’s like eight of the sons of bitches out there? those are slightly south and EAST of us. damn. and every time i go out there to test jacks or pull cable or look at what will soon be my semi-private office which is currently floor to ceiling in computer shrapnel i get sniffly, my throat starts to hurt, and my cough gets worse. it’s almost like i’m allergic. and i think i figured out why…we’re moving to where my commute is 12.8 miles FURTHER than it’s current 30. and guess what?

we’re still north of the river. mother fucker.

i thought we were south. i REALLY did. i kept telling kramer, “hell, the commute might be longer, but at least we’re south of the river.” i mean we ARE on it’s bank, but we’re on it’s NORTH bank. that’s like being on cesar chavez downtown. if you think that’s south austin JUST ’cause you’re still on the hike and bike trail with your three wheeled stroller, think again. that’s cheater south austin. north of the river is NORTH of the fucking river. think there’s not a difference? ask those federal guys who drive the green SUVs i saw down in the valley. they know the fucking difference…

and speaking of the three-wheeled stroller, i saw THE most ignorant form of tot-toting i think i’ve ever seen the other day. it was this pouch like thing, padded with a whopping 1/2 inch of padding, that slings around the parents neck (in this case the dad, but he looked about 6 months along himself – beer, the breakfast of champions) and carries the kiddo “womb-style” in front of the parent. (note: womb-style is not a form of kung-fu practiced by pregnant asian women. that’s womb-tang style)

so, here’s my my complaint (shocking i have one about something, huh?) number one, if the child was supposed to stay in that position that close to you, or wanted to for than matter, he (or she) never would have come out, right? take the hint.

numero dos? (did i just throw down a computer language as the misspelled version of “two” en espanol?) i don’t see how the federal government would approve a method of carrying your kid that requires a spotter. i only say this ’cause ‘santa dad’ (sorry, that IS what he looked like) almost TOTALLY ate it going off a curb because a 46″ waist line combined with another foot-o-kid makes it to where you can’t see your own feet, let alone anything about 24″ in front of them. he needed someone walking a few feet in front of him, warning him of obstacles that HE couldn’t see (dude, curb. dude, fire hydrant. etc..) quick math of the impending situation…

full-sized parent dropping to earth + front mounted toddler + cobblestone austin intersection – 1/2″ of padding = newbie waffles.

not pretty. NOT the breakfast of champions. it’s your kid. not a human shield. cuddle them all you want, but don’t use them as a “fanny-pack” replacement. and for crying out loud, don’t put them on those god damned leashes, either. that’s for your dog. or cat. or lizard. or that goth chick you picked up at fetish night who’s into that kinda thing. but perhaps i’ve said too much…

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where do I get a “chick on a leash”? I want one of those! brings new meaning to doggie style.