...the last person I want representing me is Mark Geragos.

I'm sure he's a nice guy and all, but I've been following the Scott Peterson trial all along and quite frankly, I think I could have done a better job myself.

Let me preface this tidbit of opinion by stating that I don't know if he did it or not, and I am not questioning the verdict.

First of all (and perhaps this was covered and we just didn't hear it on CourtTV), Scott Peterson never meant to carry on a meaningful, lasting relationship with Amber Frey. He didn't off Laci so that Amber could take Laci's place.

A man who plans on making a life with a woman doesn't tell lies to her that will come back to bite him later.

He may have longed for the single life, but he was not longing to be Amber's husband.

He may have been nice to her kid, but it wasn't because he was going to be "daddy".

Say that Scott actually made his relationship with Amber public following a suitable period of time following Laci's disappearance. How would he keep Amber from bringing up those fictional trips to Kennebunkport that he bragged about? The trip to Paris? She may mention those trips at dinner at the Peterson home, and everyone would say, "Huh?!?" What about his buddies Francois and Pasqual? Why don't they ever call? So the only real way for Scott to maintain a relationship with Amber would be to confess to being a complete liar.

I remember back in 7th grade, I fibbed to a schoolmate about our family having a swimming pool. I had no idea that she would become my best friend of many years. Before she came over the first time, I had to confess to her that I had lied about the pool. Otherwise, she'd be asking what the heck I was talking about.

If I were dating a guy who was flitting about the globe and spending holidays in Kennebunkport, I would be resentful when all the subsequent holidays were spent in Modesto or Fresno, or other farming towns in California's central valley.

If it were me, I'd be ticked, and I would start a big fight about it.

And that is how Amber Frey cannot be the motive for Scott killing Laci.

Black Forest ham doesn't taste anything at all like Black Forest cake.

So just what is the connection?

This morning I had a chiropracter appointment with a massage following.

Michael is my massage therapist of choice, because he is not gentle by any means. Michael doesn't do cissy massages (unless maybe you ask for that, but I wouldn't know first hand).

When I get a massage, I want my muscles to shape up or ship out. I want all those nasty toxins to be expelled mercilessly. I want to notice a difference.

Have you noticed commercials for vacation destinations, where they show some woman on a beach getting a massage, and some guy is gently rubbing her shoulder using not much more than his thumb and forefinger? Almost like he is tweaking her shoulder.

That isn't even remotely related to what I get.

First of all, I request that the entire hour be spent working on my back muscles. The rest of me usually feels great, no need to waste time on perfectly good muscles. (As I am typing tonight, every time I type "muscles", I am thinking "muskles". I'm just saying...)

Anyway, today I went for my massage, and either I must be getting wimpy or Michael must be learning some new muscle torture techniques, because I thought I was going to cry.

He was sticking his elbow into my scapula and back like never before. He was bending my arm in weird angles. Maybe he was mad at someone and taking it out on me! I think I may have bruises from this or maybe even a broken bone or two. Just when I thought the bad part was over, he would do something else that would bring me to the brink of tears. But I didn't cry. No sirree. I am no cissy.

It was the longest hour of my life and I felt like roadkill. That actually crossed my mind. I felt like a flattened animal. I imagined myself being run over by a steamroller.

Damn, I can't wait until January's appointment!

If you see this dumpy red minivan, be prepared.

The lady thinks nothing of cutting in front of you in the carpool line and blocking an intersection for thirteen minutes... all with her kid in the car with her. Now there is a lovely example of good driving!

Lest you think she wasn't aware, I knocked on her window to point out her infractions, but you may have guessed that she wasn't very grateful.

Last week, the big one took the lid off of our world to deliver some popcorn.

The intermittent ringing noise started, and the big one left abruptly without replacing the lid.

We ate the popcorn first (of course) and then promptly launched ourselves over the edge of the world into outer space.

Goodbye, spinning metal wheel! Goodbye, water bottle and food dish covered up with shavings in order to keep our millet and sunflower seeds safe from roving rival gerbils!

A feeling of wildness came over us. I, being the bravest, ventured down the hall into the larger part of outer space, leaving a trail of excited gerbil turds as I traveled. Maybe we would run into some hot chick gerbils. I was feeling optimistic.

As I rounded a corner, the shorter big one saw me! We made eye contact. I knew we were toast. I turned and ran back the way I'd come.

There was a lot of noise, and then the big one and the short big one came in. I hate the team effort thing.

I decided that rather than waiting for them to get us, we should get them. I snuck up on the short big one and bit its toe, but it did not fall as I thought it would. So, I tried again but again, it didn't work.

The short big one caught Ben by the tail and put him back in our world. Then, they both came after me. It took them a while but they caught me and put me back too.

Someday, we are going to make it out of this joint for good.

I've lost my sense of humor.  I don't know where to find it.  And it is costing me relatedness to my wife, my daughter, and my coworkers.  It hasn't hit my friendships yet because I don't have very many friendships to maintain - you'll see why later.

I have to get it back.

I have been in several conversations over the last few weeks and I've noticed that I am taking everything people say way too literally.  If it is terribly obvious they are being silly or funny, I might get it.  However, if they are subtle, I'm not likely to get it and I respond as if they have suddenly become complete gits.

For example, yesterday I get a call at my desk from a coworker.  The call is coming from a conference room.  I know this because I am one of the fortunate few to have a display phone where I work.

Me: "This is David."
Coworker: "Heheh - sucker!"
Me: "Wha?"
Coworker: "...we're calling from a conference room."
Me: "Oh.  I see.  I should know better than to answer a call from a conference room. That makes me a sucker." Not only do I state the extremely obvious, I don't even laugh.  This was said with perfect deadpan delivery.
Coworker (realizing only partially that I've lost my sense of humor): "Yea.  Well, we've got a question. Do you remember when so-and-so wrote the maintenance screens?"
... a couple sentences later...
Coworker: "So what do you think about working for Carlos?"
Me (Getting tired of the pleasantries and wanting to get to business for some stupid reason):  "We don't need to get into that now."
Coworker (realizing my impaired condition a little more fully): "I'm just kidding.  Carlos is sitting right here with us."

Later in this conversation, I become a complete asshole and insult the guy who called me.  I don't mean to hurl insults.  I'm just one of those people that try to make my insults sound funny, but they are too close to the truth to really be funny.  Even to everyone else.  The room just goes silent while everyone thinks, "How rude! What an asshole.  I wonder what he thinks of me?" (Well that last part is a bit self-serving.  I don't know if people care what I think of them.)  You'd think I would learn to not cut so close to the bone someday...but alas, no... This is a problem that has plagued me since I was a teenager.

Several years ago at a bar, before I knew Amanda, I was being my usual socially inept self.  My girlfriend at the time was one of those social butterflies with a bunch of friends that went out to bars on a regular basis.  I was talking to a male friend of hers who was complaining about a female friend of hers because she apparently didn't like him very much.  My ability to insult while trying to be funny once again rears it's ugly head:

Girlfriend's Friend: "I don't know what her big deal is.  Why wouldn't she want to go out with me?"
Me: "Maybe it's because you won't stop talking about yourself."
GF's F: "..." This was the first time I had ever heard this person shut up.
Me: "..." I leave the area - time to wreak havoc with someone else's ego. 

So, this is why I don't have many friends.  I come across as a pompous know-it-all jerk.  The friends I do have are the ones who don't take me or themselves seriously enough to get upset when I inadvertently point out a blatant truth.  Every know and then I get in touch with the ugly side of me and I take responsibility for it for a while.  Sometimes things get better.  Sounds like it is time to do that again.

Now, if I could just find my sense of humor...

Today I euthanized a pet.

I made it almost all the way through my fortieth year before doing so.

Euthanasia 20 lbs - less            Qty 1                 Total $20.00

Even when you're old and you know it is the right thing, it is a hard thing to do.

Bye bye, Chim Chim the gerbil. You were with us a long time.

It was kind of a funny story.

We lived in a small apartment right after we were married. David is allergic to everything, and I like gerbils, guinea pigs, all the underdog pets.

We got Spritle, the large brown gerbil, first. He was pining for a companion, so we drove all over North Dallas to find him a male buddy. We couldn't find another male gerbil except the incredibly agressive Chim Chim from the same pet store where we bought Spritle.

Chim Chim was the dominant one, not the "pet" as we thought he would be. Spritle wasn't happy to see Chim Chim.

Chim Chim lasted about 3.75 years, a long time for a gerbil.

He was a brave little guy.

Rest in Peace, Chim Chim.

You know how there is always one family on the block with all the nicest stuff?

Well, this time it's us, the Brenners.

Call us stuck up, but we are quite proud of our brand new 2004 gas meter.

It may even be a 2005 model year. I can't quite tell.

It is much nicer than the other gas meters in the neighborhood, especially since it doesn't smell stinky like our old gas meter.

Also, it probably won't blow up if a smoker walks by.

Thank you, TXU, for coming out at night with our new, non-stinky, non-hissing, gas meter.

I don't know what SBC stands for, but I suspect something along the lines of Sonofa Bitch Corporation.

We still don't have our DSL up, and it looks like it might be a week from Friday if we are lucky and the planets are aligned properly.

Every time I have had to deal with DSL service, even when I was a Sales Engineer for an ISP, people act like DSL service is some sort of magic instead of a simple, predictable service.

One of my favorite things about dealing with DSL service (and this is not limited to Sonofa Bitch Corporation), is getting to tell my story over and over again to many people who cannot do anything for me other than transfer me elsewhere.

On Monday morning, I spoke with Melinda. She seemed knowledgeable and helpful, and assured me that she had made copious notes in the system, that anyone could help me, and she would follow up with me on my cell phone by Tuesday afternoon. Then, she fell into a black hole or joined the witness protection program or something because I never heard back.

Tuesday, I called back to try to find Melinda. No such luck.

I did get Antoine, however, whose job it is to make me tell my whole story and then transfer me to another department.

After 13 minutes, I got to speak with Janie. I told my whole story again, and Janie transfered me to "a specialist".

After 25 minutes, I got to speak with Kelly. Kelly seemed to know what I was talking about but couldn't tell me anything more than what I already knew.

I decided to give it another day and check back to see if my order had been placed.

So today I called the number suggested by Kelly.

Did I mention already that Sonofa Bitch Corporation has the most irritating voice recognition menu ever? It has a woman's voice, and it pretends that it is not a voice recognition system. It makes "Hmmmmm..." statements and other annoying life-like comments. Then, when it does get what you are saying (about 35% of the time), it says, "Ah! Orders! (or whatever), Let me transfer you to Orders!!!"

When it recognizes your command, it acts as thrilled as Melissa Gilbert in that Helen Keller movie when Helen finally catches on to the concept of language.

So when I called today, I repeatedly went through the voice recognition system, each time experiencing the emotional highs and lows of the system, only to get a recording stating, "We are experiencing high call volume right now and cannot take your call. Please call back later. We hope this is not an inconvenience." Oh my gosh! How did the person recording that (and it was a real person's voice) not break out into laughter?

Like a rude teenager, there wasn't even an option to leave a message.

High call volume? Well I'll just redial. I have plenty of time, since I cannot surf the internet on this stinky dial up!

After eight minutes on hold, I got Beth. I told my whole story. After 17 minutes, Beth told me that a manager was working on it and that she would send that manager an email to call me. That call was 21 minutes.

Time passed and no call, so I called back again, got the rude teenager message, and redialed.

After eight minutes on hold, I got someone, who asked for my whole story.

After 17 minutes holding in complete silence, hold music comes on! Wha...? Why then?

At 31 minutes, another Beth comes on the line. She knows what she is talking about. Turns out that our order was put in on Monday for yet another wrong phone number. That call was over an hour long!

Someday, we hope to have broadband again, and I am confident that we will. I would like to point out that, to date, in spite of incredible frustration with the situation and service, I still haven't yelled at anyone yet, but I am thinking of kicking people, crying, or maybe being mean to puppies.

Napping room, pinball
Beer Fridays, climb the rock wall
Bye, Internet jobs