Tuesday, September 30, 2008

In Which I Give More Advice

As I am fond of doing, I checked my Google Analytics account this afternoon to see what the most recent search strings were. I was all set to compile some of the funniest ones into a post, when I came upon this wonderful gem:

"do you have you have good looks to be a badass?"

No, my friend. You don't have to have good looks to be a badass, but it would probably help. I mean, I'm not the most handsome guy out there, but I seem to pull it off.

The turning point for me was when I finally donated my Steve Urkel-based wardrobe to Goodwill.

P.S. Employee No 3699 has done it. Heather's doing it. I'm going to do it, too. What am I giving away? Stay tuned to find out.

Monday, September 29, 2008

In Which I Get A Proposal

I received an e-mail Saturday morning, from a company looking to host advertisements on my blog. The e-mail contained a total of two sentences, and was worded very simply...

"Hi,

We are interested to place our ads on your site. If interested, please
email me.

We, WuTravel.com, is a start up travel site in Singapore.

Regards, Stella"


I at first thought this message was spam, but I typed up a quick response...

"Hello,

A couple of return questions for you.

1) Why my blog?

2) What are dimensions of the advertisements?

3) Will I receive any compensation?

Thank you."

... and clicked Send. I didn't get a response until early Sunday morning, when I received this in my inbox:

"Hi,

Here are our company current marketing packages.

1) For sites PR >= 4, and Alexa in top 100,000, and site is travel topic related, we are willing to buy ads space from SGD 100 /month, and invite them to join our affiliate program

2) For other sites, we can only offer them to join our affiliate program.

You have one good site, but your site traffic is really low.

Here is our offer, we are willing to invite you join our affiliate program, and send you USD 50.00 as signup reward. Here are main features of our affiliate program.

1) Earn 70% of recurring commission, averagely every hotel partner's ads click you will earn USD 0.30 - 0.50

2) Earn passive commission FOREVER. Every visitors, you brought to our site,
generate any revenue in the future, you will ALWAYS earn 70% of them.

3) 2 Level Referral Program. Affiliates are encouraged to invite other sites
to join our affiliate program, and affiliates will get 10% commission generated by other affiliates.

4) Payment sent out every month through PayPal, with minimum USD 100.

Let's say that you refer 2 visitors to our site a day, and both of them click once on our hotel partners ads. Within 1 year, you will make USD 292 (one click USD 0.40, 0.40 * 2 * 365 = 292). But wait. For those visitors from your site, they come to our site and generate revenue in the future (1 year, 5 years, 10 years ...), you will still earn commission, even though your site maybe not exist any more. :)

If you can redirect more visitors to our site, you can calculate how much $$$ you will earn!!!!! You can view our affiliate program details from http://www.wutravel.com/affiliate.html

If you are willing to accept our offer, I can open an affiliate account for you, then you can place our banner, and start earning commissions.

Regards, Stella"

Although this sounds too good to pass up, I think I'm going to decline. I don't really think that I'm going to get a whole lot of people who want to book vacations in Singapore that just happen to read my blog, or vice versa. Also, I don't like having to sift through ads to get to actual content on sites, so I'm going to resist as long as I can with not putting ads here.

The question I keep coming around to is, Why this blog? I'm thinking that I was probably just part of a mass e-mail that went out to hundreds of people with the same offer. I hardly doubt that anyone in advertising would intentionally seek out this blog to advertise anything at all, other than anti-flea treatments or non-transparent bathing suits.

Saturday, September 27, 2008

In Which I Shouldn't Be Around Myself

Most people enjoy Friday, as it signifies the end of the work week and the start of the weekend. The popular phrase heard 'round many a workplace is "TGIF", or "Thank God It's Friday".

Unfortunately, Friday wasn't the best of days for me. As the day came to an end, I found myself saying "TGISF", or "Thank God I Survived Friday".

It was one of those days that right from the start, right from the moment your feet hit the floor coming out of bed, you know the day is going to have problems. It wasn't a "wrong side of the bed" type of day. It wasn't a "forced to wear khaki's on casual Friday" type of day. It was a cosmically, karmically, and otherwise universally BAD DAY.

Allow me to explain.

I woke up later than I wanted to, thus not allowing for a leisurely morning before logging on for work. I poured myself a bowl of Fruit Loops (Healthy? No, but they were on sale), and turned on the television to catch the weather report for the day. Standing there in the kitchen, in rapt attention to the buxom meteorologist as she explained to me the forecast, I inadvertently scooped a larger-than-necessary spoonful of cereal. With my eyes only on the TV, I shoved the spoon into my mouth, and realized all too late that I had indeed bitten off more than I could chew.

I worked my jaw up and down, struggling to fully masticate the circular fruit-flavored cereal before swallowing. A few moments later I attempted a pre-swallow, in an attempt to make more room in my mouth to finish the job. Unknown to me, a rogue section of Loop had escaped unchewed and was on its way out of my mouth with its less fortunate comrades. With it's grip of steel, the jagged-edged Loop held firm on the back on my throat while the rest of the pre-swallow went down the hatch without a fight. Realizing the startling turn of events, I executed a series of additional pre-swallows, but the Loop remained stuck firmly in my throat. I started to choke a little bit, spewing multi-colored Loop chunks onto the counter. Grabbing a glass from the counter, I hurriedly filled it with water from the tap and gulped it down. The Loop's grip weakened and finally released, leaving a sore spot behind as it made its way to my stomach.

Having now just a few minutes until work is supposed to begin, I hurriedly finish my cereal, making sure each bite is fully chewed before swallowing. Once finished, I set the bowl in the sink and headed to the bathroom one last time before sitting down to work. Leaving the bathroom light off as my eyes hadn't fully adjusted to being awake yet, I lifted both parts of the toilet seat and began to urinate. Everything was going well (I thought) until I felt a warm pool of liquid encircle my bare feet. My aim in the dark apparently wasn't as good as I had thought it was, causing me to dispense just about the full contents of my bladder on the floor, and thus, my feet.

Cleaning up the mess I created made me late to work, and after the events so far in the day I was glad to have a relatively easy and idiot-free day during the first half of my shift. I had my annual review mid-way through my shift, and when it came to the part of the review where my raise was discussed, the day took a sudden sharp turn for the worst. After calling my performance over the last year "average at best" (which is complete bullshit and a slap in the face), my boss gave me a whopping $0.37-per-hour raise. After two years with this company, I'm still not making a dollar more per-hour than when I started. (I know I shouldn't complain, and that I should be happy I got a raise at all, but if you understood the crap I go through every day with this job, you'd understand my frustration.) After my review, I spent a couple hours looking for a new job online.

Due to the fact I woke up late, nearly choked to death and accidentally pissed on myself, I didn't have time for a shower before beginning work. I was busy during my lunch break making a phone call to a student loan lender, and it was mid-afternoon by the time I was able to jump in the shower. I was still upset about my review, and wasn't really paying attention as I showered. In my haste, I accidentally used my bodywash as my shampoo, and my shampoo as my bodywash. As result, my hair smells like Active Sport, and I'm proud to say that my pubic hair has much more volume and has a non-greasy shine.

After all that, the rest of the day passed without much trouble. I didn't do much after my work day ended, mostly because I was scared of what else could happen but also because I was exhausted from keeping up with the events of the day. I know better than to tempt Fate.

Let's recap:

Nearly being choked to death by Toucan Sam... check. Victim of accidental self-urination... check. Unfair evaluation of performance at work... check. Forgetting the proper methods of showering... check.

Here's to a better day today, and a good weekend overall.

I hope you all have a safe weekend!

Friday, September 26, 2008

In Which I Am Magnetic

Have you ever seen those magnetic word kits sold at bookstores? The ones where you can form sentences on your fridge using random words and letters?

No?

Well, there is an online version of it, called Magnetic Poetry. I dabbled around on it this morning, and using their "Pickup Lines" word kit, came up with this:




If you have some time today, go to the Magnetic Poetry website and create your own blurb. It's fun and creative, and maybe slightly obscene.

Happy Friday!

Thursday, September 25, 2008

In Which I Work

Today marks the second year that I've been working for my employer.

Since I am a geek and like to think of things a little bit differently than most, here is the breakdown of my work history with this company, by the numbers:

  • 730 days of consecutive employment
  • 416 individual shifts
  • 832 bathroom breaks
  • 12,480 minutes spent on lunch break
  • 237,120 minutes spent sitting at my desk
  • 8 system-prompted password changes
  • 4,160 hours of work
  • 114,400 individual calls received
  • 96 individual audits and/or performance reviews
  • $1.6 million in revenue earned for the company
  • $43,680 in gross wages

It is interesting to see the incredibly large difference between the amount of revenue I've earned for my company, to the incredibly small amount of wages they've paid me. I'm not being ungrateful here, I'm glad I have this job and that it pays me more than minimum wage. I am apparently still the low man on the totem pole, even after two years. My company should be glad to have me, though. After all, I've earned them 36.4 times more than they've paid me.

I better get a raise this year.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

In Which I Enjoy Some Freedom

Due to the way our work schedules line up, there is pretty much one day each week that I have off while The Boss goes to work. Despite how much I truly love and enjoy the time I spend with The Boss (which is a lot, people. We are a clingy couple), it is nice to have a day off to myself.

Anyone who has been with someone for a while knows what I mean.

Let me elaborate a little bit on some of the things I enjoy:
  • I can putter around the apartment and do the errands and chores I need to do at my own pace.
  • I can listen to music or watch movies that I like, at volumes that I think are appropriate.
  • I can take a nap.
  • I can make fun of the hosts of various late afternoon talk shows without being told to shut up.
  • I can belch and fart with reckless abandon, and not say "Excuse Me" afterwards.
  • I can drink milk right out of the carton.
  • I can eat an entire box of macaroni and cheese for lunch if I want to.
  • I can pick my nose anywhere in the house.
  • I can watch porn online without the sound muted.
  • I can tease the cat and not get punched in the arm.

I don't want to make it out to seem like The Boss is a wet blanket. These are just some of the simple pleasures I enjoy when I have a day to myself. It reminds me of how I felt as a kid growing up, when my parents started leaving me home by myself, and I keep the same mentality now as I did then: Never do anything that you can get in trouble for later.

What are some of the things you enjoy doing when your spouse/significant other are away for the day?

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

In Which I Hear More Than I Wanted

***DISCLAIMER: If you find talk about sex and other bedroom-related topics offensive, skip this post.***

I spent a good portion of the day yesterday away from home. The Boss and I had to drop her car off at the garage for some repairs in the morning, and I hung out in town to avoid wasting gas driving home, only to drive back to pick her up. To help stave off the boredom, I brought a book, my iPod, and my laptop.

I settled into a corner booth in a coffee shop nearby where The Boss works. I setup my laptop, hopped on the free wi-fi, and got caught up on all the new posts and comments that I missed during my birthday weekend. I strategically chose where I sat so no one could see my laptop screen, and so I could people-watch if I so desired. Throughout the day there were varying amounts of people in the shop, but most of them didn't stray too far into the seating area to be near where I was, and I was able to do my work (read: browse Craigslist) in relative peace and quiet. Until THEY came.

THEY were a pair of attractive women, presumably in their late-twenties or early-thirties. Slim figured, fashionably dressed in their cleavage-enhancing blouses, pinstriped work slacks, and ankle-breakingly-high heels. They walked in talking loudly, ordered their obscenely large cups of coffee, and took a seat in the booth that adjoined with mine.

I was, at first, put out. At the time I was trying to concentrate on the new blog post I was working on, and didn't want to be distracted. No problem, I thought. They'll drink their coffee, have their Girl Talk, and be gone before too long. I'll just try my hardest to ignore them.

Not being able to see them over the high back of the booth, I figured it wouldn't be too hard to block them out. However, with their loud voices they proved to be very hard to ignore. After a while, the conversation became hilarious (to me, at least), so I stopped trying to ignore it so I could document it here. It's not eavesdropping if the conversation is loud enough for anyone to hear, right? Let me detail, almost verbatim, an excerpt of their conversation:

---

Girl One: So, how are things going with the boyfriend?
Girl Two: Things are going well. He's been really fucking horny lately. (slurp of coffee) We had a quickie this morning, and it made me late for work. Wasn't even that great.
Girl One: Is he good other times, at least?
Girl Two: Sometimes. He doesn't have much to work with, if you know what I mean, but he sure tries. But seriously? It's like he has ADHD sometimes. He's doin' one thing for a little while, and then he'll switch to something else, and then it's back to the first thing.
Girl One: Oh, mine does that, too. I'll be almost there, and he'll stop to change positions for just long enough for me to lose it. (slurp of coffee) But he's huge, so when he starts back up, I'll come in no time.
Girl Two: I wish mine was huge. I tell him it's a good size, but my ex's was much bigger. I think he knows that, but at least he's good at oral. He can't get enough of that, and you won't hear me complain.
Girl One: Oh, god. Mine is horrible at oral. Fucking terrible. It's like he's licking a fucking ice cream cone. I don't know where he learned, but damn. I've tried giving him pointers, but he seems to think his way is better.
Girl Two: *laughs* Jeff wanted me to try deep-throating the other night. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I can't deep throat something that's only four inches long.
Girl One: Four inches? That is small.
Girl Two: I know, right?
Girl One: I tried deep-throating once. Nearly threw up on him. It wasn't very sexy.
Girl Two: I don't see what guys find appealing in that gagging sound.
Girl One: Me, neither. Has yours asked you for anal yet?
Girl Two: No. And he ain't gettin' it, either. Nothing is ever going in there. EXIT ONLY.
Girl One: *laughs* I know, right? Paul asked for it once a few weeks ago. I'd be willing to try it once, if he weren't so huge. I'm scared that I'd get stretched out and not be able to hold my shit in.
Girl Two: Wouldn't have that problem with mine.
Girl One: (slurps coffee)
Girl Two: (slurps coffee)
Girl One: That sucks.
Girl Two: Yeah. It kinda does.
Girl One: Do you think you'll be with him for a while?
Girl Two: I dunno. He's sweet and all, but goddamn, I need a good fuck. There is this guy at work that I've heard is amazing from one of my co-workers. I might try him out.
Girl One: "Try him out"? You mustn't like Jeff that much to be so willing to cheat on him.
Girl Two: Yeah, I know. I feel kinda bad about it, but if you hadn't orgasmed from anything but oral in three months, you'd probably feel the same way.
Girl One: (chokes on coffee) Three months? Damn, girl! You need to get laid!

At this point in the conversation, I can't stifle my laughter any longer. I choke on a laugh that is threatening to escape, and cough loudly a few times. Their conversation stops.

Girl One: (whispering) Did you know there was anyone else back here?
Girl Two: (whispering) No!

They loudly gather up their purses and keys, and get up from the booth. As they turn to leave, one of them looks at me, her face a dark shade of embarrassed red. Their heels click loudly on the tile as they leave quickly.

---

I couldn't believe that these women were talking freely about this stuff in public! I knew that Girl Talk included some secret stuff, but damn! If all Girl Talk sessions have sex-talk on the agenda, I hope The Boss has only given glowing reviews of my "performances" to her friends.

And all I can think of, even now, is poor Jeff.

Poor, poor Jeff.

Saturday, September 20, 2008

In Which I Am Twenty-Three

As I selfishly declared yesterday, today is my 23rd birthday.

My employer would not let me off work, so I am chained to my desk until later this afternoon. I wasn't going to blog today, it being a national holiday and all, but I figured since I am both here and bored out of my skull, why the hell not? It's my birthday and I can blog if I want to. Blog if I want to. Blog if I want to. You would blog too if it happened to you (for those who don't get the reference, click here).

Sorry. I couldn't resist. I've had too much caffeine today, and I think it is reacting adversely to the muscle relaxers and pain killers I just took for the muscle spasm in my neck.

Anyone who has been following this blog for any reasonable amount of time should know that I am a fan of making lists. There are plenty of posts in the archives that have lists about one thing or another, but the most popular one (I think) is my "50th post" list. In honor of this tradition, and because its my birthday, I'm going to make yet another list.

THINGS I HAVE ACCOMPLISHED:
A Chronicle of Life Events
  1. Successfully escaping my mothers womb by way of cesarean section.
  2. Eating food without smearing it all over my face and clothing.
  3. Having my bow-leggedness fixed by orthopedic braces.
  4. Proving my unwillingness to buck tradition by sucking my thumb.
  5. Finally becoming toilet trained.
  6. Starting 1st grade early, thus always being the youngest in class.
  7. Discovering vandalism with permanent markers is fun.
  8. Finds out that yelling "FUCK YOU" at sisters is a bad thing.
  9. Finds out that flipping the bus driver the middle finger is also a bad thing.
  10. Proves that my future will not be decided by my athletic ability.
  11. Notices that girls are attractive creatures.
  12. Develops first crush on 7th grade Language Arts teacher.
  13. Transposes first piece of sheet music, solidifying my band-geek status.
  14. Realizes that high school is a scary place for freshmen.
  15. Surprises entire world by getting a girlfriend.
  16. Finally allowed to date without supervision, but lacks a girlfriend.
  17. Realizes that high school is a scary place, even as a senior.
  18. Suffers from culture shock during first semester of College.
  19. Finds out that yelling "FUCK YOU" at parents is a VERY bad thing.
  20. Moves into his first apartment with steady girlfriend.
  21. Surprises entire world by getting married to said girlfriend.
  22. Proves my lack of foresight by agreeing to purchase a V8 truck.
  23. Has a quasi-successful blog with some kick-ass readers.

I've done a lot of things over the years, some smart and some dumb. I've made my share of mistakes, and I'll keep making them so I can keep learning how to do it better the next time. I consider it an accomplishment to have made it thus far, alive and intact, with my credit card debt under the national average. I have an undiagnosed neurological problem and a cat that I am convinced is out to kill me, but most importantly... I have a great family, a spectacular circle of friends.

By the time I'll be done writing this post, I will have just a couple hours left of work. Once 4:30pm (EST) arrives, I'll be out the door like a bat outta hell to meet up with my family for my birthday party. I fully intend on overeating (hamburgers, hot dogs, chips, chili) and overdrinking (soda and beer), and tomorrow I plan on oversleeping to recover from it all. The highlight of the evening will definitely be the homemade ice cream cake my mother promised me.

I don't care if it is in bad taste or selfish... Happy Birthday to ME.

Friday, September 19, 2008

In Which You Say It's Your Birthday

Well, it's my birthday, too. Tomorrow, I mean. Today is my birthday-eve.

In honor of the fact that I'm turning another year older tomorrow, I thought it might be fun to wax nostalgic and talk about the best and worst birthday celebrations I've had in my life. I have many, many stories to share along that vein, but I'll narrow it down to just two.

THE WORST:
1998. Before the Y2K scare, before Windows XP, and just a few short years before Dubya was in office. I was turning 13, which was a monumental day for me. I was finally becoming a teenager! I'm not sure what I was so excited about, because achieving teenage status didn't grant me any special privileges. My grandparents gave me a remote control boat that year, and at the time it was the Holy Grail of birthday presents. It wasn't until the next morning that my parents took me to a place where I could try it out. My mother was watching her friend's two kids for the day, and when we packed things up to go home from the pond, one of the kids busted off the antenna of the controller, rendering it useless. I hadn't had it for a full day yet, and it was broken! I was crushed. I fixed it eventually, but I held a grudge against the kid who ruined it for a couple of years.

THE BEST:
2005. I was passing the two-decade mark of 20 years old. The Girlfriend Soon To Be Known As The Boss and I had moved in together just a couple of days before. We didn't have most of our furniture yet, and so we spent a couple of nights with our mattress on the floor. We had spent the day together, unpacking and arranging things in the apartment. That night, we were fooling around on the bed, and things were getting hot and heavy. She whispered in my ear, "Are you ready for your birthday present?" I won't go into much more detail than that, but that I night I received my first blowjob. There hasn't been a better birthday present since.

---

There isn't much planned for my birthday this year. I wasn't able to get the day off from work, so after I get out The Boss and I are heading over to my parents house for a barbecue. My two sisters should be there, which I am excited for because I haven't seen them in a while. If the weather cooperates, The Boss and I will be taking a day trip on Sunday to a couple of hiking trails in North Conway, NH. Needless to say, I won't be present in the Blogging world until the first part of next week.

I hope everyone enjoys their weekend!

P.S. If anyone is wondering where to send my birthday presents (hint, hint, hint), just shoot me an e-mail.

P.P.S. Just joking.

P.P.P.S. But if you want to send me something, I'll totally give you my address.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

In Which I Make A Mistake

I have been fortunate enough in my life, despite being exceedingly clumsy, to avoid major injuries to myself or others during moments of non-coordination. There has been several close calls, but I have made it through the past 22 (almost 23!) years relatively unscathed.

Just about every injury that I have sustained truthfully couldn't be avoided. Like the time I tore the ACL in my left knee after stepping in a pothole while marching off the field during a marching band competition. Or the time I sprained my right wrist when lifting a 36" television off of a chest-high shelf. Or the time my finger got caught in the crashbar of a door while holding it open for someone, nearly ripping it clean out of its socket. All of these things just happened, and there was nothing I could do to avoid them. There is really only one event that could have been avoided, and I blame the fact that it did happen purely on user error. Unfortunately, the results of this event have remained permanent, and is the sole reason why I now wear glasses.

It was the tail end of summer back in 2002. I was at my grandparents house, cleaning their large in-ground pool. It had been a dry summer, and the water level in the pool was very low. Their only water source was a well that had a tendency to dry up, so they didn't want to fill it, and cleaning the pool had been very difficult. On this particular day, the chemical and PH levels were completely off balance, and needed to be fixed.

After brushing and vacuuming the pool and putting all the hoses and poles away, I grabbed the assortment of chemicals needed to restore the proper balance in the pool water. I made a few trips from the storage closet to the pump house, carrying a bottle of Algaecide, chlorine tablets, and granulated chlorine. Due to the water being so low, I couldn't put the chemicals in the skimmer basket, as was the normal practice. I shut off the pump, and unscrewed the lid to the main pump filter.

As the water drained out from the pump, I dropped in two chlorine tablets. Next came a bag of granulated (and highly concentrated "shock") chlorine. I took my sunglasses off, and began to pour the algaecide. Before I knew what was happening, one of the chlorine tablets exploded, causing a cloud of toxic dust and liquid to rise up into my face as I stood over the pump filter. My eyes began to sting, and I felt a surge of pain as the chemicals began to burn the skin on my face. I dropped the bottle of algaecide and stumbled back, protecting my eyes with my hands. The second chlorine tablet ruptured, sending up another burst of chemicals into the air. I got on my knees and tried rubbing the chemicals out of my eyes, and soon found I could barely see.

So there I was, outside by myself, almost blind and grabbing at my eyes, crawling on my hands and knees, inches away from the edge of the pool. Sounds like fun, doesn't it?

Luckily, my grandmother had heard the explosions and looked out the window to see what had happened. She saw me crawling towards the house, and rushed outside to help me. I explained what had happened, and for a half hour we tried rinsing my eyes out with water. I even took a shower, but the burning in my eyes wouldn't stop.

I eventually ended up in the waiting room of a local optometrist. Despite explaining to them the urgency of the situation, I sat in the waiting room for over thirty minutes holding a wet rag over my eyes. I was able to see a little bit, but there was a lot of grey/black fuzziness around the edges. After mentioning that I was slowly losing my vision, they pulled me into an exam room.

Diagnosis? Scratched corneas.

They finished rinsing out the chemicals, gave me some medicated eye drops, and told me I would be fine in a couple of days. One month later, I was wearing glasses. Gone forever was my perfect 20/20 vision. Every year since then my vision has gotten worse, and I have resigned to the fact that I am destined to wear glasses for the rest of my life. Due to my experience, I won't consider wearing contacts because I have a fear of putting things in my eyes.

From what I've been able to find out, the reason why the chemicals reacted the way they did was due to the absence of water. I theorize that the water dilutes the chemicals just enough so they don't react as they do without water. I haven't tested my theory, and I have no desire to. It was plain stupidity and lack of foresight that lead to the incident, and I have no one to blame but myself.

The only comfort that I can find about this is knowing that there has got to be others out there that have caused themselves pain and suffering due to a moment of mental obscurity. Anyone care to share?

P.S. This is my 100th post. Exciting!

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

In Which I Am Observant, Part Three

Have you ever noticed that the only time you ever seem to drop your keys in the driveway is at night when both of your hands are full of groceries?

Have you ever noticed that your most embarrassing pair of underwear always falls out onto the floor when taking your laundry out of the dryer at the laundromat?

Have you ever noticed that the mayonnaise you cooked part of dinner with was expired after you finished eating?

Have you ever noticed that your printer will run out of paper just before printing the last page of a multiple-page document?

Have you ever noticed that as far as days of the week go, Wednesdays seem to last the longest?

No?

Well, I have. What have you noticed this week?

Monday, September 15, 2008

In Which I Make A Statement

I'm not entirely convinced that I managed to get my point across with my last entry. I'm not going to attempt to explain myself any more than I already have, mostly because my explanation probably wouldn't make much sense, either.

However, after some thought and consideration, I've decided to make a series of short statements voicing my opinions on some of what I said I felt I "couldn't talk about". After that, I'll be done with the goddamn thing and move on.
  • I plan on voting for John McCain this fall. I feel he is more suited to be the leader of this country, with his political and life experience's being his greatest assets.
  • I believe in a higher power, God or otherwise. There is too much complexity in this world that couldn't "just happen" by means of evolution.
  • I think whoever wins this Presidential election needs to pull our troops out of Iraq. We have spent enough money and lost enough lives already, and there are areas of our country that could greatly benefit from those resources and support.

That is all I have to say, and short of discussions on these statements in the comment section of this entry only, these subjects are closed. I'm probably not going to discuss these subjects in any future entry, because I simply don't want to open this space up for debate.

Whether you agree or disagree with me, that is fine.

That is the beauty of this country, where we can have our own opinions and are allowed to voice them freely.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

In Which I Haiku

I've had these thoughts roaming around my head for a couple of weeks now. For some reason, putting these thoughts into the right words has been exceedingly difficult, and this has been the only way that I can get them on paper. Regardless, they are begging for escape through my fingertips, and today I grant them their freedom.

---

My head in my hands,
I cannot write. Nothing safe
is coming to mind.

I refuse to write
about politics, and I
won't write about God.

I won't write of the
economy, though my own
wallet is worn thin.

I won't write about
the war, I won't write of such
things as abortion.

I won't write about
family problems that keep me
from sleeping at night.

I can lay out my
own struggles in words; I don't
mind sharing that. But...

I can't divulge the
personal devils that rest
heavy on my back.

Strange, that in this world
of free speech and opinions,
I feel limited.

Strange, that in this space
where I control all content,
I restrict myself.

I hold back, for fear
of losing a reader, fear
of causing offense.

I avoid the all the
touchy subjects because I
hate controversy.

I don't use this space
to talk about the things I've
mentioned here, but they...

They, to me, are still
important. I just choose not
to voice my thoughts here.

I'm not ignoring
the issues that plague us. This
is just not the place.

Friday, September 12, 2008

In Which I Expose Myself

Out of decency, you'd tell a friend when they have food stuck in their teeth, right?

You'd tell your co-worker if her slip was showing or if his fly was unzipped, right?

You do these things to help out our fellow man (or woman) because you'd want them to do the same for you in that situation. It's a version of the Golden Rule, and it's the basic foundation of all human interaction.

With all that said, I ask you why... Why did no one in my family tell me that my newly purchased bathing suit became transparent when wet?

I remember the exact moment. I was with my sisters and my mother at my grandparents house, cooling off in their huge in-ground pool. I was waiting to jump off the diving board when a light breeze came up. I crossed my arms in front of my chest and looked down at my feet. I then noticed that my grey bathing suit had a slightly darker area in the crotch region. I bent over slightly for further examination, and realized in horror that the darker region was my pubic hair. My pubic hair and Michael Jr, hanging out for all to see behind a very thin, very transparent sheet of grey nylon fabric.

I quickly lowered my arms to cover myself with my hands, and ran inside to change. When I came back outside, I was obviously upset.

I was not upset at the fact that no one told me about it at first.

I was upset at the fact that no one told me that I was flashing everyone for four years.

FOUR YEARS, people.

That is dozens upon dozens of times of getting in and out of the pool, giving everyone around a glance at the Family Jewels each time. Numerous conversations with family members and friends where I wondered why their eyes were strangely averted upwards. And yes, a few occasions where I had strutted My Stuff through the lobby and hallways of various hotels while on vacation.

I'm not sure why my family didn't tell me about it. It is not like they didn't notice. They HAD to have noticed it. I know I would have said something about it had it happened to someone else. Seeing the genitals of my family members is Number One on my "Things I Will Stab My Eyes Out For If I Ever Unwillingly See" list*.

Unfortunately, and for reasons unknown to me, my family decided not to tell me about it. Whenever the subject comes up and I ask why they never told me, all they do is laugh and avoid the question. Perhaps it is partially my fault, as it was probably a bad decision to select a bathing suit from a clearance rack where there are dozens of pairs just like it. That might indicate a problem with the product. Being a cheap bastard, though, I'm a sucker for clearance items. I should know better by now.

I'm trying not to hold a grudge against my family for this. Embarrassing as it was, I've learned to laugh about it now. I'm no longer upset about it, but I have warned them that when the right time comes, payback is a bitch.

*A few of the other items on the list are "Beautician and The Beast", any image of even a partially naked Sarah Jessica Parker, and gay porn. I wonder what kind of perverted search hits I'm going to get now.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

In Which Things Never Get Old

The Boss and I watched an old favorite movie the other night. We've seen it probably a hundred times, so much that we can practically quote the entire thing. I started laughing uncontrollably at one part that always cracks me up, and The Boss looked at me like I was crazy.

"That part never gets old, does it?" she asked me.

"No, it never does," I replied, wiping tears from my eyes.

That got me thinking about other things that I get a kick out of that never seem to get old or tiresome. Here are just a few that I came up with...

THINGS THAT WILL NEVER GET OLD:
  • Watching people make fools of themselves on reality television challenges.
  • Telling people that I'm five feet, twelve inches tall to see if they catch on.
  • Seeing the blank look on a child's face when you crack a joke that they don't understand.
  • Seeing the blank look on The Boss' face when I crack a joke that she doesn't understand.
  • Saying "Oh, it must be free, then." when the cashier has trouble scanning an item at the grocery store, because I knew how much I hated hearing that over and over again when I was a cashier.
  • Any and all of the widely varying sounds a fart can make, especially when made underwater, in an empty aisle in large department stores, or in bed just before falling asleep.
  • Burping loudly after chugging a large amount of soda.
  • Telling a waiter/waitress that I want a fresh glass of water without lemon.
  • Making overly sarcastic statements in a non-sarcastic voice simply to cause confusion.
  • Leaving a tip totaling $0.02 after getting poor service at a restaurant, and hoping the incompetent waiter/waitress notices my passive agressive message.

Basically, I enjoy being a dick sometimes. Everyone complains about all the asshole's they have to deal with on a daily basis, but there are times where I feel it is okay to be The Asshole in the situation.

Am I the only one that feels this way?

P.S. I have not been outwardly patriotic in my writing in this blog, but today is different. Today is September 11th, the anniversary of the terrorist attacks and the massive loss of lives that happened in 2001. Whether you knew anyone that died because of those events or not, please take a moment to remember them.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

In Which I... Zzz...

The hotel room was mostly dark. The main source of light in the room is from a crack in the thick curtains drawn over the window, which cuts a path across the patterned easy chair and along the foot of the queen-sized bed. Next to the left side of the bed, a pair of electronic devices casts off an erie glow from their various buttons and green backlight displays. A small fan, humming quietly on the night stand on the right side, is the only noise to be heard in the room.

A thick tangle of wires attached to the two machines trace underneath the covers to a lone figure lying still in the middle of the bed. The wires then spread out like an intricate root system to various locations on the man's body. Over a dozen of the wires, with gold-plated leads on the end, form a pattern on the man's skull and face, held in place by conductive paste and adhesive gauze. Six more wires run underneath his clothes, two each attached to both the left and right calf leg on the calf, and the remaining leads to each side of his abdomen. Four more wires lead to two elastic bands, wrapped around his upper chest and lower abdomen.

Two small sensors rest just inside each nostril, held in place by a drawstring cord wrapped around his ears and under his chin. Wires leading from those sensors, along with a wire each for a lead attached to his upper chest, a microphone held in place with tape under his throat, and an oxygen sensor on his right forefinger, complete the setup.

The door to the hotel room opens, and a tall woman in nursing scrubs enters the room. She leaves the door open behind her, using the light from the hallway to see in the otherwise dark room. Making her way silently to the left side of the bed, she pushes a few buttons on the devices, writes something down on the clipboard she is holding, and turns to face the figure lying on the bed.

"Are you all set to go to sleep, Michael?" the nurse asks softly, and reaches up with one hand to brush hair out of her face.

"I suppose so," Michael responds, trying to hide his obvious discomfort.

"Alright then. I'll see you in the morning." The nurse places her clipboard under her arm and walks toward the door.

"Sleep well!" she calls, and the door closes behind her.

Alone once again, Michael remains still under the scratchy white sheets and light blanket.

This is going to be a long night, he thinks to himself with heavy resolution.

And a long night it was.

---

It feels good to be back in the swing of things after my vacation this past week, and I hope you all enjoyed the guest entries as much as I did. I won't give you the play-by-play of what The Boss and I did with our free time, because we honestly didn't do too much. It was good to spend the time together, and we made good use of every day that we had.

Before I elaborate on what I wrote in the first part of this post, I want to say Thank You to the six writers who filled this space with their funny stories while I was gone. I greatly appreciate the effort put forth by all of you, and I (platonically) love you.

Now, back to what I started with. On Sunday I went down to Boston with The Boss and my mother for a sleep study, in hopes to learn more about what is going on. The study was held in a renovated wing of the Holiday Inn next to the hospital. As I described, I had about 30 different wires attached to me, and was expected to be able to sleep. I was not able to move around or get comfortable at all, I slept for minutes at a time for most of the night. At one point I was able to sleep for about thirty minutes, and achieved REM cycle sleep during that period. For the uninformed, getting to a REM cycle in only thirty minutes of sleeping is quite fast. I estimate that I slept for about an hour total during the entire night.

The main idea to getting the sleep study done was to get visual proof to back up the EEG information of what happens when I am sleeping. If the EEG shows a spike in brain activity while having a leg or arm movement, that would probably push the diagnosis towards epilepsy. If there is no brain activity at the time of an episode, and if movements occur during REM sleep (one's body is supposed to be essentially paralyzed during the REM cycle), that would further support the diagnosis that I am seeking of myoclonus. I won't get the full results from the test for a couple of weeks, so I'll be waiting impatiently for that.

I was picked up at 6:00am the morning after the study. I slept for another hour where The Boss and my mother were staying, and after getting some breakfast we made the trip home. The rest of the day was pretty uneventful, which was fine with me. I'm not capable of doing much with only two hours of sleep. We all went to bed early that night.

With The Boss at work all day, I spent Tuesday doing some errands around town, and then was finally able to sit down and get caught up on all the blogs I had missed reading while I was gone (94 new entries!). I am still exhausted, but glad to be back to my regular schedule this week.

In more ways than one, it feels good to be home.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

In Which I'm Feeling Uninspired, Think I'll Start A Fire

There are many reasons why I saved this one for last, but I'll let you figure out why on your own. Read on to find out for yourself why this post from Lola pleasantly surprised me.

---

My "Assignment" seemed pretty simple at first blush, piece-o-cake, easy peasy for someone like me who is never at a loss for words. When I opened that top secret e-mail from my bestest blog buddy, Badass, asking if I would compose a witty little guest post for him while he's away becoming one with The Boss, I hit reply and was screaming YES, OF COURSE I WILL faster than the skeletons started flying out of Sarah Palin's conservative closet. (Sorry. Couldn't resist.)

All he wanted was a "funny first" story, and being a middle-aged hussy -- I mean housewife and mother -- that will try just about anything, let's just say that my cup runneth over with tantalizing topics to choose from. Badass, being the ever-so-polite soul that he is, also gave me an extended deadline, plenty of time to come up with something genius to make the sweet geek proud.

So, my mind set about coming up with just the right subject. Would it be my first crush on an older man, the first time getting caught having sex, my first car, my first crack at a blowjob, my first arrest, the first time I jumped a horse across the brook and stayed on after dozens of attempts, the first time I smoked pot, the first time I couldn't stand my husband for an extended period of time, the first time I actually felt like a mother, the first time I tried to ride a Harley, the first time I saw my son playing with his little penis and had to whip my own head around so he wouldn't see me cracking up when he announced that "Peeps is up," the first time I decided to try skiing after 22 years of being scared shitless of strapping those popsicle sticks on my feet again and going down a slippery mountain, the first time I thought I was losing my mind, the first time I played drums in a concert, the first time I beat the crap out of a guy in karate, the first time I "met" Badass?

I could go on for days with "funny first" topics, but I could never get past the first couple sentences. I couldn't understand why I was having so much trouble with this seemingly easy task, and then it hit me. Putting your thoughts and feelings on someone else's blog is way harder than putting them on your own.

Let's just say that my style of writing is a lot different than Badass'. I've been there, done that, have a foul mouth, a very dark sense of humor, and I have almost no boundaries on my blog. I don't ever really try to hold myself back, except when it comes to hurting the people I care about. So, things flow pretty easily for me when I write. I have strong opinions, and I'm not afraid to put them out there. I don't write with other people in mind. My theory is if you don't like my ramblings, then don't let the big X hit you in the ass.

I LOVE my readers, and I would hate to lose them because I offended them, but I would feel so much worse if I offended the readers who love Badass as much as I do. I know some of his readers are also my loyal readers, so I knew they'd be fine if I wrote about sex, drugs or politics, but what about the rest of you? All of these thoughts spinning around my head messed with my blog chi, and I was stuck.

With my deadline fast approaching, I had to suck it up and get the creative juices flowing somehow. I couldn't let the big guy down. The words of the great, tortured Scott Weiland, "Feeling uninspired..." kept popping into my head because, well, I was uninspired. So, I grabbed a pen and paper (YIKES) instead of my laptop, walked out into my beautiful back yard, lit a fire, lit some candles, hit the couch with no sounds other than the crackling fire, the water flowing in the fountain and the not-so-serene sounds of my dogs wrestling, of course. I was ready to be inspired...

This is what I came up with. It was already written really, once I decided to stop trying to pick the perfect subject. I guess it should be called "The first time I had writer's block." I hope it is funny, and I hope Badass Nation finds it worthy of his blog.

Thanks for the honor, the stress, the sleepless nights, Badass. I love you, man!

Monday, September 8, 2008

In Which I Would Do Anything For Love, But I Just Won’t Do That

Lil Sass has the honor of being today's guest writer. There is not much that I can say about her that would do her any justice, so if you haven't been by her blog, I'd highly recommend it.

---

Although the thrill of moving to San Francisco meant I would be living alone for the first time and would get to experience all The City has to offer, I was also a newly-single girl in a city that we know … well … doesn’t have the most prolific dating pool for someone of my persuasion.

Like a girl living in this generation, I did what any eager chick would do; I went to my friend the world wide web. I didn’t do what all the other cats were doin’ – none of that match.com and yahoo shit for me. This lady was gonna troll the personals on Craigslist. Yeah, you read that right. Although I spent hours on the good ‘ol “CL” during work hours reading the best of (um, you think YOUR life is fucked up? … spend 20 minutes on CL and you’ll be relieved you’re not that guy), I thought this would be a fun experiment. I mean, how bad could it be, right? I could just look through all these ads, find one that seemed interesting and reply. Easy enough!

My desire to passively respond to ads, as opposed to posting my own was because I knew damn well that those W4M ads lead to 3,276 jpegs of c*ck in your inbox (not that there’s anything wrong with cock in your box). Ahem … now, I love a pic of a dick like the next lady, but c’mon … that leaves NOTHING for the imagination.

Eventually, I came upon an interesting ad. He was funny, seemed interesting, charming - I’d give it a shot. We traded emails back and forth and at some point he called and we talked for 5 hours on the phone. Oh yeah, things were off to a great start! ..

I was working full-time, taking nursing pre-reqs and studying for the GRE but every lady has time for a damn lunch date, right? After months of prep classes and cramming completely useless shit into my brain, I scheduled my GRE that Saturday afternoon. I figured, man if this goes right, a little post-test stress relief is gonna be perfect! All of the stress about my test and this date gave me the worst headache ever but I powered through.

Considering my mind-blowing headache, I seriously thought about calling the whole thing off, maybe postponing until another day. But I really needed a drink and hell, I may as well do it with someone else, right? So after my test, he gets out of the cab and I shit you not, the man looks like Meatloaf. Yeah, that Meatloaf. Instantly I am singing, I Would Do Anything For Love … But I Just Wooon’t Doooo That!! I was so shocked and jarred by this (YES, he send me a picture before. How friggin' insane and desperate so you think I am? …. Well, yeah, that picture was about 5 years ago, 30 lbs. ago and taken with an awful web cam or some shit).

I politely said hello and we made our way to lunch in North Beach. Here I was surrounded by beautiful Italian men singing from the steps of pizzerias, offering me cups of espresso and I was on a damn date with Meatloaf. How.could.this.be.happening?

I ordered a double vodka tonic and scurried to the bathroom to call my girlfriend. “Dre, HE LOOKS LIKE MEATLOAF!! WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO??” She is DYING with laughter and says, “Tell ‘em you have a headache.” I couldn’t do it, I simply couldn’t - it’s bad dating karma or something. This was like a horrible made-for-tv-movie and I was about to crush this man (even if he does look like Meatloaf). We finished our lunch and somehow (jesus what was the matter with me?) I got coerced into walking to beautiful Washington Square. On this gorgeous fall day there were people everywhere … eating gelato, laying about, sipping espresso and I? … I am with Meatloaf.

He asks if I minded if he smoked and shook my head “no”. What’s that? A homemade cigarette? Oh no, it’s a fucking joint. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE G*D DAMN DAY! On the busiest day North Beach has seen in months, this may lights up a damn pinner on the friggin’ sidewalk. Moms are pushing strollers. Guidos are talking about their moms and marinara and whatnot and I am with joint smoking Meatloaf.


And no, he didn’t offer me ANY!

Sunday, September 7, 2008

In Which I Suck at First Dates

The guest writer for today's post is the only male reader that I know I have, as of recently anyways. Aaron at Daddy Files is very expressive, and is unafraid to talk about how much he loves his wife and son, and has a penchant for MILF's.

---

When it comes to talking to women and making solid first impressions, I’m about as successful as Sarah Palin teaching abstinence to her daughter.

It started back in high school shortly after I earned my driver’s license. I was kind of shy back then and girls liked me, but only as a friend. And since all of my friends were captains of the football, baseball, soccer and basketball teams, they got all the women and I actually had to find a date at another high school where no one knew me.

I lucked out and got a date through a friend with a cute redhead named Terri. So there I am, 16 years old, sitting with my blind date at Friendly’s and finding it really hard to say or do anything cool. Then I watched in frozen horror as some older guy checked out my date, walked right over to the table and gave her his phone number telling her to call him when she “ditched the loser she was with.” I should’ve at least told the guy off, but I was a big wuss at the time and did nothing.

But despite that, she was still interested. So off we go to the car and I ask her what she wants to do next since it’s getting kind of late. She tells me we can “just sit in the car together for awhile.” To a guy with any kind of game, that would’ve caused alarm bells to ring but for me…nothing. Totally clueless as I sit there not even trying to kiss her.

Sensing my complete lack of common sense, she decides to make it abundantly clear that she wants to make out with me. She asks me if I want to see the hill she trains on for track. I find this to be a little odd, but I go along with it. As we pull into a completely empty parking lot with no lights at all, Terri says “Oooops, I forgot it’s nighttime and you can’t see the hill” as she leans toward me.

Now you’re probably thinking to yourself “even he can’t screw this one up right?” Well my friends, you’d be wrong. I turned to her and said “Oh well that’s OK, we can see it some other time. Where do you want to go now?”

If you think that’s bad, you should’ve seen me the next day relaying all of this to my friends who nearly killed me for being so dumb.

I’d like to say it got better as I got older but that’s just not true.

I remember the first date I went on after I had my heart broken by my girlfriend in college. She had broken up with me just before she went to live in New York City for the summer to pursue her acting career. We didn’t talk much during that time, and if we did I probably would’ve been a little more prepared for what happened one summer day in 2001.

I’m sitting at work when my phone rings and one of my friends is breathless with excitement telling me to turn on MTV “RIGHT NOW!” So I turn it on and that show “Wannabe” is on. Do you remember it? Where three contestants try to talk, dance and sing like a famous artist? Well wouldn’t you know it, there’s my ex-girlfriend on TV trying to become the next Kylie Minogue. Barely dressed, she’s strutting around stage like a glorified stripper and she actually won! And let me tell you something…there’s hell, there’s burning hell and then there’s seeing your ex on MTV half naked for the world to see.

So anyways, I went on a date with a girl shortly after that in an effort to get her out of my system. During our dinner, we start talking about our likes, dislikes, musical tastes and what we watch on TV. She casually mentions she’s a huge MTV fan and before I could even think about keeping my stupid mouth shut, I say “MTV? I fucking hate MTV!”

Needless to say it caught her by surprise so I had to explain everything. And as you all know, there’s nothing like talking about your recent ex on a first date.

But there’s no better first date story than the one I went on in 2004 with this cute girl. Things were actually going really well and for once I was on my game. No talk of ex girlfriends, no missing obvious signs…I was in the zone.

I even got her back to her place where we were getting closer and closer on the couch. As it turned out, we had some common acquaintances and we both shared a vehement hatred of a girl named Kelly. And since things were going so well and I was sure we could bond over our mutual dislike for the girl, I began to tell her a story.

I told her all about how Kelly was drunk at a party one time and we had her on videotape talking about what a huge whore she is. Kelly was drunk and talking about her ex-boyfriend’s huge member and how she liked it when she “did him up the ass.”

Well at that point my date’s face turns completely white. Fearing I’ve overstepped my boundaries, I backpedal furiously and ask if I’ve offended her with that kind of language. She shakes her head no, but still looks upset. I desperately ask her to tell me what I’ve done wrong so I can fix it. Then she turned to me and said:

“Kelly used to date my brother. She was talking about him.”

I feverishly thought of something I could say to remedy the situation, but came up very, very empty. So I just sat back and said “Sorry, but I just need a little status check here. We’re on our first date, things were going well and then I just inadvertently brought up your brother’s huge dick in conversation?”

This stuff only happens to me, I tell ya. But maybe it wasn’t all bad, because my date that night is my wife now and her well endowed sibling is now my brother-in-law. We all have a good laugh about it now but I consider myself very lucky that I have no more first dates in my future!

Saturday, September 6, 2008

In Which I Ponder Random ‘Firsts’

Today's guest post goes to Moonpun. She is someone I greatly respect and hold high regard for. As I've mentioned before, her writing is very honest and very human. Check out what she has to say...

---

First, I’d be remiss in not mentioning how honored I am to be a guest blogger on Badass’ blog. He rocks my blogging world in good and poignant ways and his blog is a staple in my life. I was surprised, excited and nearly speechless when I got the e-mail asking me to write a little something.

Given the loose theme of ‘firsts’ I was given by Badass, my brain was ticking in all kinds of directions about firsts and instead of coming up with a good story from my own life, I kept making a random list in my head. Things I’ve been wondering about.

If you haven’t wondered secretly about them yourself, here’s a chance to join my random thoughts. If you have, well… Come out of the corner and join me!

I wonder:
  • Who first walked by a cow and looked at the swollen udders and thought “Hey, I bet whatever is inside those tastes good, let me see if she minds if I pull on those?”
  • And later, who first decided to store milk inside an animal stomach (they makes great bags you know) and when they opened it up to find cheese thought they should taste it?
  • Who first looked at a male cow, with those big honkin’ horns and thought it might be a good idea to ride it? After all, they couldn’t be that sharp, could they?!
  • Who first looked at a glob of animal fat and thought ‘hey if we mixed this with other stuff I bet I could make a bar to clean my kid’s grubby face off?”
  • Who first looked at a coconut with its incredibly hard shell and brown hair and thought cracking it might produce a good drink?
  • How many people (men, probably) were hanging around with a bunch of bungee cords when someone first said “Hey if we get a really long one of these we can jump from bridges and maybe not die!”
  • Way back when, what exactly prompted the idea for the first dildo?
  • What exactly prompted the first pouring together of vinegar and cucumbers to make pickles?
  • Who tells the first joke? You know the one, it’s about whatever the latest trend is, political issues or whatnot? Is there a joke factory they come out of, a secret one whose job it is to come up with the joke first?
  • What was going through the mind of the first person who thought about lawnmower racing? (yes, it’s a real thing where I live in Vermont) How big was the yard they were mowing on their riding mower when they thought “Hey if I got a couple friends over and we got a track, we could have some real fun now!”
  • What exactly happened to prompt the first thought and invention of those tea-cups at amusement parks? Why sit in a tea cup, of all things, and spin until you get dizzy or puke?

Clearly my list could go on and on (and she told two friends and she told two friends) and even if I found the ‘answers’ well they might be hard to understand. After all, we really don’t know what goes on in other people’s minds. And when you think about it, that’s what makes the world so darn interesting and so incredibly complicated.

Just wondering….am I the first to wonder?

Friday, September 5, 2008

In Which I Smoke Two Joints

Aunt Becky is making the trip over here from her blog to be the guest writer today. I have spent a fair amount of time speaking with this woman, and she is pretty kickass. See for yourself...

---

When both of your parents are hippies, there isn't a whole hell of a lot of things that you can do to rebel. I mean, any parents who protested the Vietnam War and marched at the Democratic National Convention (the rioting one), and admitted to smoking the ganja often and with gusto aren't exactly the sort that might ground you for being 3 minutes past curfew.

Hell, I didn't even HAVE a curfew.

Nor did I have any real ground rules to follow other than to be kind to all living things. And not vote Republican.

Between the admitted lack of boundaries and my incredible sense of Not Wanting To Get Busted, it was with many hooting and hollering friends that I called my mother to get permission to smoke The Weed for the first time.

I was 14, I'd just gotten my tonsils taken out (no small surgery for someone past the age of 6) and I wanted to make sure that nothing weird was going to happen. Like I specifically didn't want to suddenly think that jumping off the roof was a great way to finally fllllyyyyyy, like always happened in the DARE movies.

She was taken aback, my poor mother, when I called her and asked her if I could toke up with my friends. To her credit, she didn't laugh hysterically or anything, but she did sound pretty surprised even as she agreed to it. Providing, of course, that I drink a lot of water.

Drinking lots of water and going out in the sunshine are two of my mother's favorite pieces of advice. I could probably be bleeding to death in the woods from a gunshot wound, and if I were to see her she would likely tell me to drink some water and lay out in the sunshine.

My first choice of Smoking Implement was a 3 foot purple glass bong I'd named Stinky, and as my friend Josh lit the herb at the bottom of the tube, I sucked in as hard as I could, my finger covering the rush hole. The smoke in the chamber reached a thick consistency we called "mayonnaise," and after I held in my first toke and blew it out, I put my mouth back at the rim, unplugged the rush hole and sucked in.

In that moment, I suddenly earned the respect of each and every seasoned pot smoker I knew as I cleared the chamber. Apparently this was no small feat.

After I was done with my hit, I popped off the bed and bopped into the other room, squeaking out a "Thanks, guys!" as the room burst into rounds of applause for Wonder Girl, Pot Smoker Extraordinaire.

I didn't get high that first time, despite the massive influx of Mary Jay into my system, I felt nothing. Perhaps I was a smidgen gigglier (no huge feat for an admittedly giggly 14 year old girl), perhaps it was just the atmosphere in that house that night.

Perhaps it was all just one toke over the line (Sweet Jesus).

Thursday, September 4, 2008

In Which I Reach Second Base

The guest writer kicking things off during my vacation week is Sus, from Joy Is Everywhere. She is awesomely vulgar, a great photographer, and a kickass mother-to-be. If you haven't checked out her blog yet, do it after you read this. Seriously. She's awesome.

---

Your's truly has been selected among six other lucky bloggers to guest post for Badass Geek while he and The Boss are on vacation. I have often been to other blogs where guest posts have occurred, but didn't ever think I would have this honor bestowed upon myself. Well, lo and behold, the day has arrived!! So sit back and relax while I tell you a little story about my first encounter with making out.

It was in the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred and ninety five. You math whizzes have probably already figured out that I was the youthful age of 18. Yes I know this seems a little late in the world of "first make-out sessions," but I was shy and insecure and had been raised in a religion that frowned upon these sort of pre-marital interactions. So needless to say, I was a little...how do I put this?....socially retarded when it came to this stepping stone in life. I had been on dates before; I wasn't a complete loser, but I always managed to duck into the house before the awkward kiss on the porch happened. I don't know what I was so nervous about, but for some reason I couldn't get myself to just enjoy the moment. Anyways, I digress...

So there we were; me and this guy. We were in my parents' unfinished basement laying on an extra mattress that had been left down there from the last time guests were staying at their house. Before I knew what was happening, this guy rolled halfway onto my body and started to kiss me.

Now as a side note, I guess I had some fucked up idea of how this moment in life would go. You could say I probably watched one too many episodes of North and South as a child, because I envisioned something more along the lines of an "antebellum-Patrick Swayze-loves-Lesley Anne Down-roll in the hay." Yeah. Not exactly how it went.

This guy moved from kissing me, or jamming his nasty ass tongue down my throat...however you want to put it...to attempting to giving me a hickey on my neck. At least I guess that was his plan. Not sure. He just laid his open mouth against the side of my neck and that was about it. No sucking, no licking...just sick hot breath. (Is this turning you on yet? Is it? Huh huh?! Just wait. It gets better.)

Suddenly I felt this strange weight on my chest! Was it guilt? No. It was his hand...holding my left boob. Again, that was it. No squeeze, no tweak...just there. Nice. (It's funny how people talk about getting to "second base" or whatever base that is, but I guess I never realized that the excitement was all about the journey. No one ever really talks about what happens once you have actually arrived.) Well just when you thought the moment had reached its pinnacle...da da da daaaaaaa...he starts to dry hump my leg like a fucking dog!

So there I am with this guy, holding onto my boob for dear life, drooling like the king of the short-bus, giving me some serious Levi-Lovin'. And all I can think as I am laying there, staring at the ceiling, is, "You've GOT to be fucking kidding me. THIS is what I have been waiting for?!"

Total disappointment.

On a positive note, however, I was given a story that will be passed down through generations. I am sure my grandchildren will love it when they ask me to tell them a tale about the "old days" and I bust out with this gem! Rock on, sonny, rock on.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

In Which I Unveil The Surprise

Today's post is going to be very short. I have five days of posts and comments to catch up on, and with today being my last day of work before my six-day vacation starts, I'm not going to have much time. That being said, I suppose that I should tell you all about the surprise I've been keeping secret for about a week now.

Starting tomorrow, and once per day for every day that I'm going to be gone, I'll be posting a series of guest entries written by a few of my good friends. I'm not going to tell you who will be making appearances here, because I still want there to be an element of surprise. I've given them a central theme of funny "first time" events to write about, and I assure you that there are some laughs in store for you this week.

As I mentioned last week, I'm going to plan on not being at my desk for the next week. If I have some downtime I might check in, but otherwise I'm going to leave my blog in the capable hands of my six guest writers.

I hope you all enjoy what is in store for you this week, and I'll be back next Wednesday!

P.S. If you'd like to contact me while I'm gone, you can send me short messages (160 characters or less) by e-mailing me at badassgeek(at)vtext(dot)com.

Monday, September 1, 2008

In Which I Explain

Today is Labor Day.

Wikipedia says it was created to be a "day off for the working citizens" of America.

Like many things, it is a good idea in theory. but I don't find it surprising that on a holiday called "Labor Day" that there is still a large amount of work involved.

Today, The Boss and I are heading off to her parents house for a barbecue. That means we have to pack up the cooler, throw the cooler and some chairs into the car, and make the two-hour trek to their house. I know that doesn't sound like a lot of work, but the true labor comes once we pull into their driveway. Once there, I'll spend the rest of the day working to remain patient and not run out of their house, screaming and pulling out my hair, into oncoming traffic.

Don't get me wrong, I love my in-laws. They are great people. But today? I'd much rather be sitting on my back porch with my feet up and drinking a beer. But I digress.

Happy Labor Day, everyone. Don't work too hard.