In Which I Am Mysterious

Tomorrow, I am packing up my truck and going on a trip.

I'll be driving about 168 miles to get there, and about as many to get back.

On my trip I'll drive through three different states, crossing various state lines a total four times.

I'll have about $10.00 set aside for tolls.

Before I leave, I'll make sure that I have everything that I will need for my trip. My packing list includes, but is not limited to, the following items:

• Winter Jacket
• Gloves
• Hand/Foot Warmers
• Barbecue Grill
• Hamburgers
• Sausages
• Beverages (beer, soda, water)
• Chips
• Dessert

I'm planning on arriving at my destination at 12:00pm, but the actual event that I'm going to be there for doesn't start until 4:15pm. There will be over 60,000 people in attendance.

There will be more men present than women, and most of the men will be drunk before 6:00pm despite the outrageous price of alcohol at this particular venue. Despite the frigid temperatures, there will be a number of young women at this event, scantily clad in attire not fit for the late-November-in-New-England climate. These women will hold the attention of the aforementioned drunk men for a majority of the evening.

Have you guessed where I am going yet?

My destination tomorrow is Gillette Stadium, home of the New England Patriots. I'll be rooting for the Patriots as they play (read: kick the asses of) the Pittsburgh Steelers. I'm going down with my Dad, who has been a season ticket holder for a number of years. Before you get all jealous, take a look at the seating chart:

See that red circle with the star inside of it? Right next to section number 324? Yeah. That's where I'll be sitting. If there was ever a nosebleed section, this is it. Without much exaggeration, the walk up the ramps from the ground level of the stadium to get to these seats is probably about a quarter mile. I'll be bringing my camera along, because no amount of descriptions will ever accurately portray exactly how high up these seats are. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about the seats. I would take any seat to just be there, regardless of where I sat or stood.

Unfortunately, I'll probably be the one driving home, so I won't be drinking too much. It's probably for the best, because it is NOT fun standing in line to take a piss with 600 other guys. We were going to crash at a hotel after the game but decided against it when there was nothing affordable that was close to the stadium. Instead, we'll be loading up on caffeine and sugar for the three-hour drive home. We're leaving around 7:00am, and are estimating that we'll get home around 1:00am or so.

Between the long time spent in the car, the alcohol, the mostly-naked women, the tailgating, the burping and crude jokes, the Porta-Potties, and having our extremities frozen, it will make for one fucking awesome day.

Jealous?

P.S. Go Patriots!

In Which I Am Thankful

I know, I know.

I said I wasn't going to post today. So I lied. Whatever.

With today being Thanksgiving and all, I thought I should probably say a few words about the things I am thankful for. Enjoy:

THINGS I AM THANKFUL FOR
A Photographic Slideshow



Happy Thanksgiving!

In Which I Expose Myself, Again

I walked into the men’s public bathroom,
to relieve an urge I could not abate.
I strode urgently towards a urinal,
unzipping, to urinate.

The faint smell of cleaner was in the air,
Crumpled paper towels lay on the floor.
An unfortunate sniff indicated the odor
coming from the man in the stall next-door.

With my zipper undone and my fly wide open
I released my bladder’s tight grip.
Another crisis avoided, I thought to myself
as I felt my pants begin to slip.

My favorite jeans, loose and comfy,
quickly fell to a pile on the floor.
I hurriedly tried to finish my business,
while keeping an eye on the door.

The flow from my bladder was endless it seemed,
and although it seems needless to say,
I was eternally grateful that I had decided
to not go commando that day.

The stream had finally stopped
after a few moments that felt eternal.
I quickly tucked myself back in
and stepped away from the urinal.

I hurriedly picked up my pants,
pulling them up to my waist.
I grabbed my belt and cinched it tight,
Almost forgetting to zip up in my haste.

I was zipped and buckled and buttoned up,
my bottom half was exposed no more.
I began to wash up at the sink
when another patron opened the door.

I nodded a brief “hello” to him
as he headed towards a stall,
and with a heavy sigh of relief, thought
Damn, that was a close call.

---

I won't be posting tomorrow, due to the fact that it is Thanksgiving and all. I'm setting out to not over-eat this year, but I'm pretty sure that the moment I smell all the glorious, wonderful food cooking, I'll throw that resolution out the window.

I hope everyone has a happy and safe holiday!

In Which I Burn, Baby, Burn

There was a percussive rush of air as the blue-orange flames suddenly burst alive. I stood in front of the fire, holding the spent match as flames raced across the floor like a flood. The ancient carpet and curtains might just as well have been soaked in gasoline, so I took a step back onto the polished hardwood. The air was getting thin in the room, with the blaze demanding more oxygen than the small room held, and the temperature was rising fast. After one last look at the shimmering inferno, I dropped the used match on the floor and turned to leave.

The knob on the door was almost too hot to touch, so I grabbed a handkerchief from my back pocket and placed it over the knob. I turned the handle, but it spun in my hands. Gripping it harder I tried again, but the knob stayed still. The fire roared behind me, and I turned around to see that it had spread from the carpet to the hardwood floor, just a few feet away from where I stood. I turned my focus back to the door, finding new motivation to work the stubborn knob from the approaching blaze.

With flames lapping at my heels now, I began to slam my shoulder forcefully into the door. I could hear the wood splintering, but it was getting hard to breathe. Each breath burned as it entered my lungs. I hadn’t expected the room to burn so quickly, just as I hadn’t expected the door to close behind me. I was getting weak from the lack of oxygen, but forced myself to try the door one last time. The skin on my hand melted as I gripped the knob, and I somehow turned it to one side.

The fire exploded into hallway on the other side of the door, igniting and finding even more strength the oxygen-rich air. With a force I could not have imagined before, I was picked up and thrown forward into the hallway, my clothes and hair smoldering. I hit the floor hard, gasping for air. I rolled on the floor away from the fire, and…

THUMP!

My shoulder ached from landing hard on the cool carpeted floor. Out of breath, I rolled to my back, confused. Where am I?

I sat up on my bedroom floor, trying to adjust my eyes to the dark.

“Are you okay?” The Boss croaks sleepily from under the covers.

“Yeah,” I reply, clearing my throat. “Bad dream, apparently.”

“I know. You were thrashing around, so I kicked you. You rolled away, and fell off the bed.” My bedside fan whirred quietly. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I guess,” I said as I got up off the floor. “Remind me to not eat chocolate before going to bed again. It gives me really fucked up dreams.”

“Whatever. Just get back in bed so I can warm my feet on you. They’re freezing, and you’re on fire.”

“Tell me about it.”

---

I’ve had many, many strange dreams, and I've blogged about a few of them, but this dream about my short-lived career as an arsonist definitely takes the cake.

No more eating before bed for me.

In Which I Lie

For some time now, I've been trying to think of another story to write about for the "First Time" series. The last time I wrote something for it was over four months ago, about my first car. Since then, I've been tossing out idea after idea for a new First Time post. Nothing I was thinking of was worth writing about. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of things I could write about, but who would want to read a lengthy post about the first time I ate canned green beans?

I was all set to announce the retirement of the series today when the light bulb finally came on. So, like an old friend that suddenly reappears out of the blue, here is another installment to the First Time series, about the first time I talked my way out of a speeding ticket...

---

If you are the type of lead-foot driver that views speed limit signs as mere guidelines instead of rules, then you would hate to be stuck behind me on a one-lane road. I almost always drive the speed limit, if not slower, due to my fear of increased car insurance premiums if I ever got a ticket. With great effort, patience, and tolerance for being flipped off by pissed off, impatient drivers, I had made it four years without ever getting pulled over. Until late October 2007.

In late October 2007, The Boss and I were in the process of moving to a rented house about 2 hours away from where we currently lived. I was almost home from unloading another truck bed-full, and I decided to take a shortcut to save on time. Shortly after I turned off of the main road, I noticed a police cruiser turn onto the road behind me. I noted that the officer belonged to the town I was driving through, but didn't pay much attention to him after that.

I was cruising along at just under the posted speed, and soon passed a large sign stating "Thank You for Visiting Buxton", and then another sign that said "Welcome to Saco". The officer from Buxton Police was still following me, following about three car-lengths behind. As we passed over the crest of a large hill, I eased off the accelerator a little too late and coasted down the hill about 8 MPH over the speed limit. My eyes moved quickly from my speedometer to my rear view mirror, just in time to see the squad car behind me turn on it's lights and siren. I applied the brakes more liberally, and pulled over.

The younger-looking police officer, obviously pleased with himself, strutted over to my window with a deliberately slow gait, adjusting his tactical belt as he walked. He placed one hand on the rail of my truck bed, and leaned down.

"Good afternoon, sir. D'ya know why I pulled you over?" he asked. He emphasised the word noon as if it had some form of importance.

"Hello, Officer. I'm guessing you've pulled me over for speeding down that hill back there," I replied.

"Yeah, I clocked you doin' about ten over the limit, son. Can I see your license, registration, and insurance, please?" The officer scribbled on a small notebook as he spoke.

"Sure thing, Officer." I reached over to the glove compartment. "No disrespect by any means, but aren't you from Buxton police? I'm pretty sure we're in Saco, now. "

The officer stopped writing and looked at me. "Do what now?"

"The Buxton/Saco town line was about a mile back that way," I said, gesturing behind me with my thumb. "Wasn't it?"

Confused now, the officer took a step back and looked around. He absentmindedly clicked his pen open and closed a few times.

"Sit tight, sir. I'll be right back."

I watched intently as the officer returned to his squad car and checked his GPS. After a few moments he stepped out of the squad car again, this time without his notebook and pen.

"You're right, sir. It seems I am out of my jurisdiction," the officer said, and then coughed nervously. "Consider this a freebie, and remember to watch your speed."

"Will do, Officer," I said, smiling on the inside. "Have a good afternoon."

As I started my truck up, I watched smugly as the officer got into his squad car. I put the folder with my registration and insurance back in the glove box, and buckled my seat belt. Executing a quick three-point turn, the officer drove away in the opposite direction. I drove away in silence, feeling a little shaky from adrenaline. It wasn't my intention to try to talk my way out of a ticket, but I wasn't about to question what had just happened, either.

---

The whole ordeal, from pulling over to pulling away, took less than five minutes. I've never heard of this happening to anyone else. Feel free to share your stories, if you have any, of the funniest or worst experience with getting pulled over.

Happy Monday!

In Which I Recycle

Another busy weekend is in store for me this week. In preparation for it, I don't have much time to devote to a new entry for today. Instead, I'm going to re-post an old entry, an old favorite of mine...

---

There was quite an interesting phenomenon occurring at the Badass Geek household over the past couple of days. What started with a few dirty dishes in a neat pile in the sink, progressed quickly into an impressive, mountainous pile of them, occupying every square inch of open counter space. The rate at which these dishes reproduced was stunning, quicker than a horny Catholic couple with a genetic history of twins. Armed with a suppressed gag reflex and a notepad, I went in for a closer look.

Upon examination, I noticed there was a large degree of variation within these creatures. The population consisted mostly of round, flat objects, seemingly paired with a number of thin, elongated metal structures with sharp tines or blades affixed on the end. Strewn among them was a series of shallow, container-like devices, most of them host to different colored liquids. Standing near the edge of the counter was a handful of tall, clear, octagonal shaped creatures, most with a crusty, milk-colored residue at the bottom. I assumed that these elegant creations at one time held liquid. Lastly, I made note of the largest of the species; two massive beings, made of thick, heavy metal. They seemed similar in formation to the container-like creatures, but in lieu of liquid was a large amount of a black, char-like substance on the bottom inside surface.

A rancid smell became apparent during my investigation. I quickly ascertained that there were varying levels of cleanliness among this species. Some of them, presumably after eating their meal, had been properly rinsed. Most still had remnants of their prior meal, indicating either laziness, impatience, or both. The thin metal structures seemed to have played a vital role in the slaying of their food, as most of them were still covered in the blood of their last kill.

Not wanting my entire household to be overrun by this rampant species, I quickly searched online for suggestions on how to get rid of the vermin. The most obvious suggestion was a device called a "dishwasher". Although it seemed fairly easy to use, not requiring certification or a license prior to use of it, I did not have the disposable income for such an elaborate tool. I pressed on to find a manual method, and I was discouraged until I found this article. In step-by-step form, it explained how to methodically clean and rinse all of the unwanted inhabitants with a special soap and a sponge. Apparently the dishes would not simply clean themselves.

Other articles I found online said to use "old fashioned elbow grease" if any of the dishes proved harder to clean than others. After searching in vain for it at all the local hardware stores, I began to think it was not a real product. My suspicions were confirmed when I asked for assistance in finding it. The store associate laughed, and when he realized I was serious about my inquiry, advised that the product does not exist. I was angry at being misled, and made a mental note to fire off a complaint e-mail once my dish problem was resolved.

Back at home, I followed the dish washing instructions as closely as I could. Sure enough, before long the pile of dirty dishes gradually became smaller. Other instructions I found online recommended that after washing the dishes, to let them dry and store them carefully in cupboards or on shelves. Confused by this suggestion, I read on to find that it is best to retain the dishes for future use. Being an avid supporter of recycling, I complied. Fortunately I had a few empty cupboards available, and placed the dishes inside, organized by type, size, and shape.

I did notice one side effect from the cleansing process. Once the last dish was cleaned, I noticed that the skin on my fingertips and hands had become wrinkled and prune-like in appearance. I could not determine if there is any danger associated with this, although I am assuming there is none. The symptom disappeared within 30 minutes, and no other side effects have presented themselves thus far.

From start to finish, the entire ordeal took just over two hours. I suppose if I had spent less time analysing the problem, I would have been done with the project much sooner. I learned that daily cleansing of the dishes will prevent them from multiplying and spreading into other areas of the kitchen. Apparently, only if left un-attended will the population expand uncontrollably. The experience as a whole was both exhausting and informative. I have implemented a daily dish-washing program to prevent a future outbreak.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to see if I can find an Elbow Grease vendor somewhere online.

---

(You can view the original entry and comments here.)

I hope everyone enjoys their weekend!

In Which I Am A Hypocrite

Does anyone remember this post, the one I wrote for Lola while she was gone on vacation this past week? Yeah? Okay, well read on to find out why, exactly, I am a hypocrite...

---

I was feeling a little bit sappy and emotionally needy recently, so I composed the following txt message to send to The Boss...

Out-going TXT Message:
To: 207-XXX-XXXX (The Boss)
From: 207-XXX-XXXX (Me)

I just wanted to tell you how much I love you. I am so lucky to have you in my life. You are the best part of every day, and I miss you terribly right now. @}~

After a quick proof-read, I hit SEND.

A couple of minutes later, my cellphone beeped, announcing an incoming txt message...

In-coming TXT Message:
From: 207-XXX-XXXX
To: 207-XXX-XXXX (Me)

That is quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, but I don't think you meant to send it to me. Wrong number, buddy.

---

I couldn't believe it. I'm not normally so mushy and sentimental via txt message, but the one time that I am, I send it to the wrong number! All I could think of afterwards was, Thank GOD I didn't write anything dirty in the message. That would have been much worse.

I felt like such a tool.

In Which I Run And Hide

After a couple days of guest posting and a couple of filler posts, I'm back today with something of substance... Enjoy!

It was just a couple of days after moving into our new apartment when The Boss came home from work with the news: She was throwing a housewarming party in two weeks. After I reaffixed my jaw from it’s descent to the floor, I pointed wordlessly at the stacks of boxes and storage bins and the mountains of plastic bags laying haphazardly in various corners.

“Two weeks?” I asked, incredulous. “Do you have any idea how much work is going to be involved in getting this place ready for company in just two weeks?”

“I do,” she said. “I think we can do it. Besides, I’ve already invited everyone at work.”

I sighed heavily, and with a large amount of disbelief. “Alright, if you think so.”

Sensing my doubt in the success of this mission, she continued. “I have the day off the Saturday before it, so even if we don’t get much done before then, I’ll have all day Saturday to work on it.”
“Okay, if you really want to do this,” I said.

“I really do,” she said.

Fast-forward to this past weekend.

The two weeks in-between the announcement of the party and the weekend of had been very busy, with my parent’s wedding anniversary party and my younger sister’s surprise wedding the weekend before. We had only spent one day working to unpack, clean and organize the apartment, but there was still a large amount of work to be done. On top of that, I learned that before the housewarming party, The Boss was hosting a jewelry party (a la Tupperware-style), giving even less time to get things in shape. I come home from work Saturday evening, the day that The Boss had off to finish getting the place ready, and…

The apartment was exactly the same as it was when I left for work earlier in the morning.

Apparently, she got lonely and a little nervous being home alone all day, and had spent most of the day at a local craft store owned by a friend of hers. I can definitely understand being lonely, being that we live pretty far out in the country now. However, with not one but two parties to host the next day? Forgo a little bit of loneliness and just get the shit done, already.

We stayed up until well past midnight making salsa, sweet-and-sour meatballs, and a special fruit punch. We were up early the next morning, setting up tables and chairs, putting out the plates and napkins, making sure that the catbox was clean… Oh, and not to mention that I had to move and re-stack about a dozen storage bins, take a truck-bed full of trash to the dump, go to the grocery store for a couple of last minute items, and find suitable places along our road and driveway to place signs so people would know how to find the place.

After all of my (ahem, our) hard work, everything looked nice and some of The Boss’ lady-friends were just starting to show up for the jewelry party.

“Oh, okay, they’re here. Now go upstairs until they leave.”

Not wanting to be part of the estrogen-fest that was soon to start, I willingly retreated upstairs with a plate of snacks and a drink. After all, I may be an idiot for not making her take her share of the work in getting this weekend off the ground, but I’m not stupid.

In Which I Guest Post, Again

I'm guest posting over at Kat's blog today... Go check it out!

In Which I Am Observant, Part Four

Have you ever noticed that the one time you don't check your order before leaving the fast food drive-thru lane is when they screw everything up?

Have you ever noticed that your bladder will demand to be emptied the minute you return to work after a break?

Have you ever figured out the reason why your sandwich tastes funny after you took a large bite of peanut butter and jelly on moldy bread?

Have you ever spent $60 filling your gas tank at $2.55 a gallon, to find out afterwards that the gas station a half mile away is selling it for $2.29?

Have you ever made a rude joke after smelling something rancid in public, and later realized the origin on the smell was something you stepped in?

No?

Well, I have. I've experience all of these things.

What things have you noticed?

(Part One, Part Two, Part Three)

In Which I Am Strange

The intriguing, sometimes erotic, yet always orally fixated Cape Cod Gal has selected me for a meme of sorts. It stems from a pair of awards given to her by Heather, who she suspects has an illicit Internet-crush on her. I might have been suspect of the same thing, what with the "come hither" look I get everyday from the sketch on her blog's homepage, but I'm working to keep myself in check... At least enough to get through this "Random Things" meme. Here goes...

• I was the first person in my kindergarten class to know how to tie his own shoes.
• The only detention I earned in school was because I tweaked out on a classmate for cheating while playing ping-pong in gym class. I threw my paddle at the wall, swore and talked back to the teacher, and refused to leave the room. I guess I woke up on the wrong side of the bed that day.
• I write music in my spare time, and have had my music used on the soundtrack for two local TV programs. I have some recordings available if anyone is interested in hearing them.
• My hair and finger/toenails grow unnaturally fast. I have to clip my nails once every 7-10 days, and my hair once a month. Otherwise I look like a homeless werewolf.
• The last two girls I dated before The Boss both became lesbians after we broke up. I'm choosing not to think about what that says about me, because both of them were "curious" about women while I was dating them.
• I am left-handed by nature, but I had numerous teachers in early grade school that tried to "convert" me to being right-handed.
• I can type at 85-90 words per minute, and I'm pretty damn accurate. It comes from having to keep up with motor-mouth callers on the telephone at work.
• I am horrible at math, so I sometimes still count on my fingers. I've also developed a way that I can count with my toes, so it's more secretive.
• I know that California has area codes like 650, 510, and 310, Massachusetts has 617 and 415, Connecticut has 203 and 860, and that Indiana has 317 and 765, yet I don't know anyone who lives in those states, much less their phone numbers.
• I have a very small wallet, and I keep only the essentials in it. I would prefer a money clip, if only I could tolerate my front pockets being host to more than my keys and chapstick.
• I have carried a pocket knife with me everywhere I have gone, every day, for the past six years. I don't often use it for anything, but there have been times where it has come to good use.
• Ever since one jumped out of a dumpster and nearly killed me from fright, I have harbored a pure hatred for raccoons. They are all evil, no matter how cute they look.

That is about as random as I can get. My brain is shot for the efforts of making this list, so I'm off to watch the clock as time slowly passes until the end of my shift today. Enjoy the weekend, everyone!

In Which I Return The Favor

I'm guest posting over at Lola's blog today, as she is leaving today, on a jetplane, for sunny and warm Florida. She makes me seem cool for a change, so go check it out!

Feel free to leave me comment love over there, or here, or both.

Happy Friday, people!

In Which I Begin

Early this morning I had an idea to start something new here on my blog. Once a month, or about as often as I can, I'm going to write and post a new short story. It will always be a work of fiction, and I will limit myself to 500 words or less. By doing this, I hope to fill out some ideas that I have floating around my head, and it gives me a chance to get some feedback and constructive criticism from my toughest critics: my ever-faithful readers.

So, without delaying any further, here is the first installment of many (hopefully) to the Short Story Thursday series...

---

Both the north and southbound lanes of the darkened highway were essentially vacant, as they are likely to be in the hours after midnight but still before dawn. The asphalt plays out like a wide, grey river, winding itself around large rocks and outcroppings of trees, lined with metal guardrail shores. In the southbound lane, the headlights from a single car cut into the semi-darkness as it pulls around a corner, illuminating the ever-changing road ahead.

The car, a classic 1970 Mustang, travels in the center lane, the miles falling fast behind it. The roar of its powerful engine and the rhythmic thrumming of its tires on the pavement disturb the otherwise silent surroundings. A whispering trail of exhaust hangs in the cool early morning air, the only evidence of it ever being there.

The driver, who at one point earlier in the evening had been seen sitting tense with both hands on the wheel, now sits with only one hand holding it steady, the other adjusting the radio.

---

Static.

Nothing but shitty pop music and static.

With a quick movement with his right hand, the driver of the Mustang switches off the radio in frustration. He had hoped for a distraction from his erratic thoughts, but couldn’t find a station that suited his mood. Settling back in his seat, he let his right hand drop to his lap, and pushed just a little more on the accelerator.

A green mile marker on the right side of the road approached slowly and then flicked by, its number visible for just a moment before it became lost in the darkness behind him.

Mile number 27.

With a heavy sigh, the driver eases the accelerator down even further, the needle on the speedometer flirting with the higher end of eighty miles-per-hour now. I’ve got to hit the state line by daybreak, he thought. The sun was not quite visible on the horizon, but soon would be. I’ve got to get out before the sun comes, before the story hits the morning news. Before he knows I’m gone. Or else I…

Shuddering, the driver doesn’t let himself complete the thought.

“One thing at a time,” he says aloud. His voice sounds strange and hollow in the quiet interior of the car. A quick glance at the dashboard shows he’ll be out of gas soon.

Once I’m out of the state, he thinks to himself, I’ve got to ditch this car.

This gas mileage on this thing sucks.

In Which I Confess

I have a confession to make.

I have a crush on someone. Three people actually.

It's a harmless crush, really. I'll never act on it because I'll never meet the people I'm smitten with face to face. You see, the women in question work for a local news station, and I'm in love with their broadcasts.

I tell The Boss that I watch this one channel over the others in the area because they have the most attractive newscasters, and she thinks it's an awfully funny joke. Don't tell her this, but there is more truth in that statement than I let on.

Take a look for yourself:

Oh, Kiley Bennett. How you make my knees weak with that smile, and how you distract my eyes with those low-cut blouses. You recently came back to the news desk after being out on maternity leave. How I missed you! It seems that you change your hairstyle every month, but I don't care. I'll still watch in rapt attention as you tell me about the car accident on the highway, or about the latest state legislature scandal.

When it comes to viewers, I'm your number one fan, Sarah Long. I'm not sure what exactly it was, but the second I first saw you when you stepped in front of that weather map... All I can say is that you had me at "Here's your extended weekend forecast". Of course, part of the attraction lies with your fair skin, those beautiful eyes (are they green? blue?), and an amazing rack that is almost too big for television.

Don't think I had forgotten about you, Diana Ichton. You are one of the newer members to the station, but you quickly grabbed my attention. I'm a sucker for brunettes with long hair, and that dazzling smile proved to be the knockout punch. Sure, there are times when you look like you just finished smoking a bowl in the news van, and I've seen you mess up during a live report more times than President Bush has mispronounced the word "nuclear", but that doesn't matter to me. I'll still gladly watch.

---

Call me a pig for objectifying these women if you must, but is it wrong to appreciate an attractive woman? Before anyone gets all huffy, I'm also appreciative of what they do, and the hard work it must have taken for these talented women to get to where they are today.

And for the record, I don't watch their channel only because these hot ladies give me the news and weather. I watch it because I prefer their style and means of presenting the news over the other stations and newscasters in the area.

Getting to stare shamelessly at them while doing so is just an added benefit.

In Which I Am At The End Of My Rope

This past weekend was very long.

Due to the fact that my weekend was very trying on my patience, I don't have the mental stamina to write much of anything today. Instead, I'll post a picture that I took while waiting for things get started at my sister's wedding yesterday.




I'll be back with something more entertaining on Wednesday, I promise.

In Which I Am Puzzled

While picking up a few things at the grocery store last night, I walked by this interesting advertisement:

Color me perverted, but when I first saw this in the grocery store, I did a double-take... I didn't just see a sign for a new product called 'Fuckables', did I? I just had to go back to check and make sure I was wrong.

I know that they're probably trying to play off of the popular "Lunchables" brand, but seriously? What off-their-rocker advertising exec came up with this brilliant name?

"Forkables"? Really?

---

This weekend will prove to be a busy one. My sisters and I are throwing a party for my parents 25th wedding anniversary on Saturday, and my younger sister is getting married on Sunday. Because of these two events I'll be spending more time than I'd like to in dress pants and a button-down shirt, but at least I'll look nice for a change. Hopefully both events will go off without a hitch, because I frankly don't possess the patience to deal with anything else otherwise, even if it does provide me with good blogging material.

Happy Friday, and enjoy your weekend, everyone!

In Which I Go Shopping

"How many do you have?" the fitting room clerk asked without looking up. A tattered issue of Cosmo, turned to an article titled "How To Please Your Man Even If You Don't Have All Your Teeth Or Fingers", was clearly far too interesting for her to bother to be polite.

"Uh... Three," I reply, holding out the articles of clothing I had with me. It was not my intention to try on clothes during this shopping expedition, but I was perhaps more than gently coerced into doing so by my wife. There was a slight chance that she was right by insisting that I don't know what size I am, since I hadn't gone shopping for clothes in quite a while.

Standing at the rack of Levi's, I had quickly picked out a pair of jeans that were the same size as the last ones I bought, confident that my size hadn't changed at all. My wife, sighing heavily, selected two other pairs in two different sizes and tossed them at me.

"Go try these on."

"I don't need to try them on. I know what size I am," I said, holding out the first pair for her to see.

"How long has it been since you bought jeans? Two years?" she asked, her eyes glowing. I was beginning to sense that I had no choice in the matter. "Go try them on."

I remained still for a moment, considering defiance.

"Go. NOW," my wife said, her tone effectively punctuating the end of the conversation.

The clerk placed a placard with a large black "3" on the handle to one of the rooms, and waved me over. I stepped inside the closet-sized room, closed the door tightly behind me, and took off my shoes. Could they make these rooms any smaller? I marveled to myself. I've seen shoe boxes bigger than this. Confident that the pair of jeans I picked out would fit just fine, I selected them to try on first. I took off my pants.

Left leg first, then the right. The paper tag stapled on the back of the jeans scraped against my calves as I pulled them up. Everything was pointing towards a good fit, and a smug grin began to creep across my face. I was even beginning to plan out what I'd say in victory to my wife when I suddenly realized I couldn't pull the jeans up past mid-thigh.

I pulled up again, harder. They wouldn't budge.

Shit.

She was right. I was a different size than I thought I was. To make matters worse, both pair that she picked out fit me perfectly. The smile disappeared quickly from my face. I solemnly changed back into my pants, and put on my shoes. Out of the three pairs of jeans, I picked the one that fit the best, and left the fitting room.

Immediately outside the fitting room area stood my wife, waiting patiently.

"How'd they fit?" she asked, the edges of her lips turned up in a slight knowing smile.

"They fit alright. I think this pair will do." I dropped the rejected pairs of jeans on the counter, the gust of air causing the pages of the clerk's magazine to flutter. The clerk sighed in annoyance and rolled her eyes.

"Which one is that?" she asked, feigning innocence. "Oh. One of the pair that I picked out. Good."

"Yeah," I stuttered. "The pair that I picked out didn't look right. They were kinda bunchy in the crotch."

"Mmm-hmm. Okay."

She flashed a smile at me again, took the jeans and placed them in the cart.

"Come on. We've got other shopping to do."

It occurred to me then, as I followed my wife around the store. Despite the fact that I tried them on and that they fit me fairly well, I am clearly not the one who wears the pants in my relationship with my wife.

In Which I Reflect

While he may not be the person that I voted for yesterday, I still feel that he is capable of making some of the changes that this country needs. Like I mentioned in a previous post, it's not about winning or losing an election. It's about selecting the best person possible to run this country for the next four years. If the greater majority of the people in this country feel Barack Obama is the one they want, then I sincerely hope they are right.

Congratulations, Mr Obama.

We've done our part. It's time for you to do yours.

In Which I Suffer

I think there is something wrong with me.

My finger's are twitching in quick, erratic motions.

My eyes are moving from side to side, all on their own.

My right index finger, after a period of rest from twitching, pulses rapidly in sets of two, often making a flicking motion in between.

I think I'm suffering from withdrawal symptoms from not having the Internet at home. We're so far out in the sticks, I can't even get the Internet on my cellphone.

I crave the Internet. I need the Internet.

I need to know that I can check my e-mail 37 times an hour if I want to. I need to know that I can check for new feeds to read, browse Craigslist, and look at porn if I so desire. I need to know that I can post new entries whenever I'd like and respond to comments the moment I get them. I need to just have it, even if I'm not using it.

More than anything, I need to find a dealer in these parts.

I need my Internet fix, and I don't care how I get it.

DSL, dial-up, satellite... Just give me a connection so I can feel human again.

Who would have thought that I'd become a junkie? I wonder if there is an Internet Addicts Anonymous support group around here.

Will anyone be my sponsor? I need help.

P.S. If you're of age and a US citizen, go vote today!

In Which I Prepare

Tomorrow is the Big Day; A day that most of us have been waiting a long time for.

It only comes around once every four years, and what will happen on this day will shape and forever change the direction of this country more so than this day ever has before.

Tomorrow, we as Americans will vote to elect our next President.

Being just 23 years old, this is the second Presidential election that I will have been able to vote for. I have prepared this day much like I prepared for a major exam in school.

I've done my research, and weighed out the pro's and con's. I've watched the debates, listened to the pundits, and put up with all the slandering commercials from each candidate. I've tried my best to ignore the all hype and the various "controversies" that come up in the news each week, and tried to focus on what really matters: Who I feel is better suited to be the leader of this country. Even after all this thought and consideration of both sides, there is still no clear or obvious choice for me.

If there are only two real options for leadership for the next four years, I have to go with the one I hope will do a better job than the other, regardless of experience, race, age, or his vice presidential selection. I do not agree 100% with either candidate; I doubt that there are many among us that honestly do. Thus, the vote I will be casting tomorrow is for the candidate that fits the most with what I believe, although by voting for him I am making some concessions.

If my candidate doesn't win the election, I'm not going to be upset. I'm not going to threaten to move to Canada, and I'm not going to complain about the election being unfair. Either way, this country needs a new direction and someone strong-willed enough to make sure we get there. If my candidate ends up with fewer votes after the last ballot has been counted, then I sincerely hope that the promises made by the other party will be upheld.

Never has the phrase "Let the best man win" been more fitting.

In Which I Go To The Mattresses

As you may or may not have noticed, a couple of aesthetic changes have been made to this blog recently. A new masthead with matching menu links, some font changes, a little bit of sprucing up to the sidebar... I thought that my blog was looking a little drab, and while the changes I made aren't major by any means, I enjoy the way it looks a little more now.

For those who don't get the blatant reference, the masthead is a ripoff of the logo from "The Godfather" series.

I hope to finally get a chance to rest this weekend. With every spare moment this week having been spent on moving into the new apartment, there has been little to no time for me to take a moment to catch my breath. I'm going to take Sunday off from everything and just chill out. I'm not even going to think about lifting a box or unpacking anything... 95% of everything The Boss and I own was moved by me alone this week, and I'm fucking exhausted.

As is probably clear by the pictures I posted of the new apartment, we're out in the country a ways. So far out, in fact, that high-speed Internet and cable service isn't available, and we barely get cellphone reception. Because of this I won't have much of a chance to check in on the goings-on as often as I'd like. I'm looking into getting a phone line with dial-up service just so I can jump on and check things out, but that will probably be a few weeks down the line.

I hope everyone had a good and safe Halloween. I look forward to hearing stories about it, as my Halloween was less than ghoulish. Enjoy your weekend, everyone!