Life is finally settling down, and I can think again. With thinking comes reflection. And with reflection, blogging.

As I’ve already blogged, work has been kicking my tail lately. But just when I thought I couldn’t take any more pressure, Bureaucracy rode up on his big red horse, Red Tape, and roped the Bucking Bronco of Progress. Now everything’s moving at a comfortable crawl again. Yee Haw.

This morning, I find that I’m suddenly aware of the passage of time. It’s all around me. People who were young and beautiful when I started working here now look tired and old. Boobs, butts and stomachs have sagged. Hairlines have receeded. Dogs who participated in “Bring Your Puppy To Work Day” have died of old age.

Most of my friends have had children. SpoonFighter Jr. is in the oven. (Please don’t tell Mrs. SpoonFighter that I just referred to her as a kitchen appliance.) I look in the mirror and see lines and bags around my eyes. My laptop battery only lasts two hours, now. Damn you, Time!

Speaking of Time, I bought a watch. I haven’t owned a watch since the Soviet Tank Crew watch that ran for two glorious, revolutionary years in college, before rusting right off my wrist. (I thought it was waterproof, so I wore it while swimming at the beach, once. When I got home I discovered a very small fish swimming inside the watch glass.)

I bought this Invicta, from Woot. If it sucks, please don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. My life is made meaningful by new toys, even if the new toy is a watch. I am eagerly counting the minutes until it arrives. When it does, I will strap it to my wrist violently and continue counting the minutes until the thrill of thrill of “new toy” wears off. Then I will buy something else. That is the cycle. That is Life. Ommmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Mmm. What else….

1) New Music: I recommend Mick Sterling’s power-Soul/Blues/R&B. A coworker turned me on to him today.

2) Pool Halls: I recommend Table Steaks, at 20th & Sheridan, in Denver. IMNSHO*, pool halls should be nasty, dirty and thick with cigarette smoke. Hell, I want to feel like I’ve second-hand-smoked a whole pack of cigarettes when I’m done. The men should be looking for a fight and the women should be skanks. Table Steaks does not disappoint. Beside the fact an hour here will give you lung cancer, this place is Skank-O-Rama. All of the women here are FFCs*, women just barely hanging on to the edge of non-obesity long enough to land a man, get pregnant, and balloon to 300 lbs. They wear low-rise jeans and belly-exposing tank-tops so you can get a good look at their “muffin tops” and both sets of cleavage. Oh baby. Get itchy jes’ lookin’ at ‘em. Yep. If you’re looking for a Pool Hall, this is the one.

* IMNSHO: In My Not-So-Humble Opinion; FFC: Future Fat Chick