Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Mind Nuggets 3
In my experience, at least regarding my own life, the recommended dosage of most things is not sufficient to complete a task. Too much is just right. But then "all things in moderation" has never been a motto that has applied to me. I use more shampoo and soap than needed. I speed on most roads. I eat large portions. When I was working at a Burger King in Indianapolis and had to mop I used to mix as many cleaning agents as I could handle in the mop bucket before adding water. I'd put in the little single use soap packet then add different cleaners, bleach, ammonia, etc. until the fumes were so strong I felt faint. The logic was that if just the vapors singed my nasal cavity, the actual liquid would strip any impurities off that floor.
I am so tired of hearing women say (and it is always women who say it) that they have ten times the threshold for pain that men have. They always cite birthing as the prime example. Well I'd love to put that one to a clinical trial. Unfortunately, men don't have a vagina to squeeze a kid out of and I don't see it being logistically possible to poop a whole, undigested cantaloupe out, so that example doesn't work. Let's put this to a real test. The average healthy woman is capable of applying about 100 Newtons of force in a solid punch. So what you do is you record a man's reaction to the pain he experiences from that 100 Newton punch applied to his right arm. Then you take that same woman and hit her on her right arm with 1000 Newtons of force, or about the same as a professional baseball player's homerun bat swing. By the 10 to 1 ratio theory her reaction to that pain should be identical to the man's. Anyone up for the challenge?
Nina and I were watching video on VH1 this morning. The video for "Fall to Pieces" by Velvet Revolver came on and I had a revelation. I need to go on a heroin binge for about six months. I've never tried it before, and I hear it's terribly addictive. But just look at how skinny Scott Weiland is! I don't want to look as emaciated as he does, but I bet I could get a high high and lose a good 40 or 50 pounds in the process. And it would probably be cheaper than signing up with Weight Watchers or Jenny Craig. Hell, I wouldn't even have to exercise. Now all I have to do is find a way to beat that lifelong addiction thing.
After saying our "I love you"s over MSN IM, Nina and I tend to throw out one of those heart or kissy smilies. It always makes us feel good, like "if I was there I'd kiss you". Warm fuzzies across the board. I wonder if they make an engagement ring smiley. Supposing they did have one, and a woman received one over IM with "will you marry me" typed next to it would she think that was a legitimate marriage proposal? What if she was really pressuring him to marry or was just plain desperate to become a wife? Would she say yes? If so, would she make up a new story to tell her family and friends? This seems like a stupid thing to try, but I can't help but think that it would be a great tool to confuse the woman. She'd probably get upset at the lame proposal, but then feel guilty and realize she had just gotten angry at the man she loves for proposing to her, albeit in a pretty lame way. It would certainly buy him a day or two to get his thoughts together and, at the same time, stress her out about all kinds of shit.
I think that I've just received my first ever orgy invite. I got an E-vite yesterday afternoon from a girl in my work building and her two male roommates. The invite was for a house party next month with the title "Slutty Santa and Sexy Elves". The description included the phrases "heavy drinking theme" and "bring your own sleeping bag and pillow". I mean what the hell else could it be? Even if it isn't intended to be an orgy, with that kind of environment some bone dancing is bound to take place, probably in one of the bedrooms, then spilling out into the hall. Where it goes from there is anyone's guess. I haven't actually responded to the invite yet. I'm a married man, so I won't go. But I'm not even sure how declining the invite will affect my social standing. It's like if I say no I'm going to be labeled as a lame-ass. I don't want to be the only boy who didn't orgy. I'm flummoxed!
"Every woman needs a good raping." This is a direct quote from a woman friend of mine when discussing the acceptability of a man ravaging his girlfriend or wife without verbal permission or prior notice. Every once in a while I get this frisky little notion that I would love to come home from work and just take my wife. No kissing, no words, no nothing. Just hardcore, lustful sexual assault...but in a loving and playful sort of way. I know it sounds like rape, but I wouldn't do it without her at least unspoken consent. And since it was a woman who balls out said that women need "a good raping" I have to assume that not only is it natural for a man to have a desire to ravage his woman in such a way, so also is it natural for a woman to desire to BE ravaged by her man in such a way. It's perplexing, to say the least. That "no means yes" thing gets some women into trouble, but it seems to also carry some truth in the chase.
I am hearing people using the word "sharted" way too much. Look I get it. A shart is when you try to fart but accidentally shit a little bit. It's clever. Not quite funny, but clever. What boggles me is why people feel the need to adopt into their vocabulary every new word Hollywood generates. The constant recitation of phrases from Austin Powers got annoying pretty fast, but it was at least a funny movie. Along Came Polly was just retarded. Quoting from that movie is like saying "not only do I have bad taste in movies, but I let even the stupid ones affect my personal lexicon." If you're going to quote films, at least let those quotes come from a movie better than one that might as well have been called Along Came Meet the Something About Marypolly.
I both like and dislike opening the door for women. Last year when I visited my mother in Indiana, she chastised me for failing to open the car door or hold the restaurant door open for her. She said that a man should always hold the door open for a lady. I understand that. Part of me feels good to respect the fairer sex by clearing their passage to wherever they're going. But part of me says that this is a man's world partly because women still see themselves as these delicate little flowers of mankind who should be cherished and assisted with every mundane facet of life just for their possession of a vagina. I hate that. But then there's that part of me that says as long as women expect us to treat them special for no reason, we'll continue to run the show. How can we evolve as a species if we treat each other like this? Well, I'm not going to make this some attempt at societal reconstruction. I just think that it shouldn't be an issue. I'll hold the door for a guy too if I'm the first one to the handle. I can't think about this right now.
Making friends is hard. Over the years, Nina and I have had many conversations on how difficult it is to meet people with similar interests who share our basic views and way of life. Even those people don't always pan out as lifelong friends. And what a disappointment it is when you've invested yourself for several months, maybe years, into the development of a meaningful platonic relationship only to have it all fall to shit because of some unforeseen and irreconcilable difference. I've decided to streamline the process by implementing another quiz. That way, I may be able to avoid wasting many hours of my precious time trying to make pals with someone who isn't compatible. See how efficient I am?
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I am so tired of hearing women say (and it is always women who say it) that they have ten times the threshold for pain that men have. They always cite birthing as the prime example. Well I'd love to put that one to a clinical trial. Unfortunately, men don't have a vagina to squeeze a kid out of and I don't see it being logistically possible to poop a whole, undigested cantaloupe out, so that example doesn't work. Let's put this to a real test. The average healthy woman is capable of applying about 100 Newtons of force in a solid punch. So what you do is you record a man's reaction to the pain he experiences from that 100 Newton punch applied to his right arm. Then you take that same woman and hit her on her right arm with 1000 Newtons of force, or about the same as a professional baseball player's homerun bat swing. By the 10 to 1 ratio theory her reaction to that pain should be identical to the man's. Anyone up for the challenge?
Nina and I were watching video on VH1 this morning. The video for "Fall to Pieces" by Velvet Revolver came on and I had a revelation. I need to go on a heroin binge for about six months. I've never tried it before, and I hear it's terribly addictive. But just look at how skinny Scott Weiland is! I don't want to look as emaciated as he does, but I bet I could get a high high and lose a good 40 or 50 pounds in the process. And it would probably be cheaper than signing up with Weight Watchers or Jenny Craig. Hell, I wouldn't even have to exercise. Now all I have to do is find a way to beat that lifelong addiction thing.
After saying our "I love you"s over MSN IM, Nina and I tend to throw out one of those heart or kissy smilies. It always makes us feel good, like "if I was there I'd kiss you". Warm fuzzies across the board. I wonder if they make an engagement ring smiley. Supposing they did have one, and a woman received one over IM with "will you marry me" typed next to it would she think that was a legitimate marriage proposal? What if she was really pressuring him to marry or was just plain desperate to become a wife? Would she say yes? If so, would she make up a new story to tell her family and friends? This seems like a stupid thing to try, but I can't help but think that it would be a great tool to confuse the woman. She'd probably get upset at the lame proposal, but then feel guilty and realize she had just gotten angry at the man she loves for proposing to her, albeit in a pretty lame way. It would certainly buy him a day or two to get his thoughts together and, at the same time, stress her out about all kinds of shit.
I think that I've just received my first ever orgy invite. I got an E-vite yesterday afternoon from a girl in my work building and her two male roommates. The invite was for a house party next month with the title "Slutty Santa and Sexy Elves". The description included the phrases "heavy drinking theme" and "bring your own sleeping bag and pillow". I mean what the hell else could it be? Even if it isn't intended to be an orgy, with that kind of environment some bone dancing is bound to take place, probably in one of the bedrooms, then spilling out into the hall. Where it goes from there is anyone's guess. I haven't actually responded to the invite yet. I'm a married man, so I won't go. But I'm not even sure how declining the invite will affect my social standing. It's like if I say no I'm going to be labeled as a lame-ass. I don't want to be the only boy who didn't orgy. I'm flummoxed!
"Every woman needs a good raping." This is a direct quote from a woman friend of mine when discussing the acceptability of a man ravaging his girlfriend or wife without verbal permission or prior notice. Every once in a while I get this frisky little notion that I would love to come home from work and just take my wife. No kissing, no words, no nothing. Just hardcore, lustful sexual assault...but in a loving and playful sort of way. I know it sounds like rape, but I wouldn't do it without her at least unspoken consent. And since it was a woman who balls out said that women need "a good raping" I have to assume that not only is it natural for a man to have a desire to ravage his woman in such a way, so also is it natural for a woman to desire to BE ravaged by her man in such a way. It's perplexing, to say the least. That "no means yes" thing gets some women into trouble, but it seems to also carry some truth in the chase.
I am hearing people using the word "sharted" way too much. Look I get it. A shart is when you try to fart but accidentally shit a little bit. It's clever. Not quite funny, but clever. What boggles me is why people feel the need to adopt into their vocabulary every new word Hollywood generates. The constant recitation of phrases from Austin Powers got annoying pretty fast, but it was at least a funny movie. Along Came Polly was just retarded. Quoting from that movie is like saying "not only do I have bad taste in movies, but I let even the stupid ones affect my personal lexicon." If you're going to quote films, at least let those quotes come from a movie better than one that might as well have been called Along Came Meet the Something About Marypolly.
I both like and dislike opening the door for women. Last year when I visited my mother in Indiana, she chastised me for failing to open the car door or hold the restaurant door open for her. She said that a man should always hold the door open for a lady. I understand that. Part of me feels good to respect the fairer sex by clearing their passage to wherever they're going. But part of me says that this is a man's world partly because women still see themselves as these delicate little flowers of mankind who should be cherished and assisted with every mundane facet of life just for their possession of a vagina. I hate that. But then there's that part of me that says as long as women expect us to treat them special for no reason, we'll continue to run the show. How can we evolve as a species if we treat each other like this? Well, I'm not going to make this some attempt at societal reconstruction. I just think that it shouldn't be an issue. I'll hold the door for a guy too if I'm the first one to the handle. I can't think about this right now.
Making friends is hard. Over the years, Nina and I have had many conversations on how difficult it is to meet people with similar interests who share our basic views and way of life. Even those people don't always pan out as lifelong friends. And what a disappointment it is when you've invested yourself for several months, maybe years, into the development of a meaningful platonic relationship only to have it all fall to shit because of some unforeseen and irreconcilable difference. I've decided to streamline the process by implementing another quiz. That way, I may be able to avoid wasting many hours of my precious time trying to make pals with someone who isn't compatible. See how efficient I am?
Monday, November 29, 2004
Thanksgiving by the numbers
I suppose I could spend this morning droning on and on about how nice it is to get together with family and friends over a plate of turkey on Thanksgiving. And, in fact, it was a very nice, family centered holiday this year. But I'm sure that I can read all about the great reminiscing of other bloggers across the blogiverse. Instead I thought I might break down the cold hard numbers that made up my Thanksgiving weekend.
Wednesday morning, way before the dawn, Nina and I embarked on a trek across the country to visit my mother, her fiance, my brother, his family, my sister, and my grandmother. Oh, and I was supposed to spend a few hours visiting with my dad and his father too at some point. Here are the stats:
0 - arguments with siblings over politics or religion
0 - number of times I got to nail Nina on the living room floor like after our first date
1 - broken airplane
2 - gate we used to finally fly out of the Detroit airport (see 75)
3 - turkeys consumed
3 - nieces who didn't recognize their uncle Mike
4 - average number of bags most women brought on board the planes
4 - games of Skip-Bo played during 3:30 layover in Detroit
5 - number of airplanes boarded over the weekend
5 - hour in the A.M. we got up for the day after Thanksgiving sales
6 - children of 1st cousins I didn't know existed
7 - hours spent shopping the day after Thanksgiving
8 - dumps taken over the course of the trip
9 - beers consumed with future step-father, Gordon, within three hours of arrival
10 - people crammed into my mother's 3 bedroom house
11 - total hours of REM sleep achieved in my old full-sized bed
12 - crying fits by my 3 year old niece
13 - pounds gained collectively through the house
14 - times I had to stop myself before letting a cuss word come out in front of my mother
15 - times a guy on the phone in the airport bathroom stuttered like Foghorn Leghorn
23 - Christmas presents brought by us for our various family members
47 -minutes spent in line for checkout at Kohl's
74 - percent of those presents already opened
75 - gate at Detroit airport we initially boarded before the plane broke
92 - minutes late we were arriving abck in Phoenix
Wow, this was a really eventful weekend! I'll leave the details to your imagination and Nina's expounding. All told, I had a really nice time. I got to see my family, an experience that is becoming increasingly more pleasant with age. I got to play with my nieces, confirm that my brother is a scared shitless conservative over-devout putz (but a good father and pleasant man), hug my mom several times, and catch up with cousins I hadn't seen in many years. I hope all of you had a very nice and refreshing Thanksgiving weekend.
Now back to your regularly scheduled angst.
Has there been an outbreak of some horrid pestilence at the baggage claims across America? Is that why travelers are doing whatever they can to avoid having to check a bag? Is that why I have to watch these over-indulged, self-important women (and yes, they are mostly women) try to get onto airplanes with a suitcase they can't lift, their twenty pound makeup bag, a sack of whatnot, and a duffle bag they insist is a purse? I think that if you want to use the overhead bin above somebody else's seat you should be forced to give oral sex to that person during take-off and again on the landing. Otherwise, check your fucking luggage and board the aircraft by the rules like everyone else, you arrogant cunt! In the coming weeks I will be circulating my "Head for Overhead" petition.
Yes, I did in fact brave the pre-dawn day-after-Thanksgiving sales. In fact, it was my idea. And I have to say that it was everything I was hoping it would be: a deluge of overfed Indiana mothers and grandmothers filing into general stores, bumping into each other, fighting for that last squishy pillow at 50% off, and showing the true nature of the spirit of Christmas. How could I possible enjoy this? Simply put, I'm a man, and most women think twice about getting combative with a man. When they bump into me they apologize. They ask for my "male perspective" on certain gifts. And they hold my place in line if I want to step out for any reason. Some ho got curt with Nina in the shoe section. If I had been there, that would never have happened. That's why it's fun.
Mom bugged me about having kids again. This time she threw out "you'll never know that love you feel when you hold your own child for the first time". Thanks, mom. In point of fact, I'm counting on that. Just because I won't know what it's like to snuggle my own child doesn't mean I won't know love. What about my wife? What about the rest of my family? And what's the big fucking deal about feeling intense love of child anyway? Thanks, but I'll do without. Not that she'll ever leave me alone about it, so I need to hunker down and come up with some good long-term defenses against this nag. I mean nearly every one of those bitches at the stores on Friday had kids, and the whole lot of them were fucking miserable wretches. Is that the love you were speaking of?
Case in point. When we gave our presents to our nieces, the oldest got upset because she only got one gift. Even though it was a kick ass make-up set (her 1st make up kit period) that Nina originally got for herself she was still disappointed. How do you tell a little kid to kiss your ass and then take the present back? That's why I don't want one of these little fuckers for myself. It puts you in a position where you have to tolerate people acting like shitheads with a smile just because they're young (and/or not your kid to beat in the first place). But I still love my nieces. They're really good kids, and that's the whole point.
Happy fucking holidays.
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Wednesday morning, way before the dawn, Nina and I embarked on a trek across the country to visit my mother, her fiance, my brother, his family, my sister, and my grandmother. Oh, and I was supposed to spend a few hours visiting with my dad and his father too at some point. Here are the stats:
0 - arguments with siblings over politics or religion
0 - number of times I got to nail Nina on the living room floor like after our first date
1 - broken airplane
2 - gate we used to finally fly out of the Detroit airport (see 75)
3 - turkeys consumed
3 - nieces who didn't recognize their uncle Mike
4 - average number of bags most women brought on board the planes
4 - games of Skip-Bo played during 3:30 layover in Detroit
5 - number of airplanes boarded over the weekend
5 - hour in the A.M. we got up for the day after Thanksgiving sales
6 - children of 1st cousins I didn't know existed
7 - hours spent shopping the day after Thanksgiving
8 - dumps taken over the course of the trip
9 - beers consumed with future step-father, Gordon, within three hours of arrival
10 - people crammed into my mother's 3 bedroom house
11 - total hours of REM sleep achieved in my old full-sized bed
12 - crying fits by my 3 year old niece
13 - pounds gained collectively through the house
14 - times I had to stop myself before letting a cuss word come out in front of my mother
15 - times a guy on the phone in the airport bathroom stuttered like Foghorn Leghorn
23 - Christmas presents brought by us for our various family members
47 -minutes spent in line for checkout at Kohl's
74 - percent of those presents already opened
75 - gate at Detroit airport we initially boarded before the plane broke
92 - minutes late we were arriving abck in Phoenix
Wow, this was a really eventful weekend! I'll leave the details to your imagination and Nina's expounding. All told, I had a really nice time. I got to see my family, an experience that is becoming increasingly more pleasant with age. I got to play with my nieces, confirm that my brother is a scared shitless conservative over-devout putz (but a good father and pleasant man), hug my mom several times, and catch up with cousins I hadn't seen in many years. I hope all of you had a very nice and refreshing Thanksgiving weekend.
Now back to your regularly scheduled angst.
Has there been an outbreak of some horrid pestilence at the baggage claims across America? Is that why travelers are doing whatever they can to avoid having to check a bag? Is that why I have to watch these over-indulged, self-important women (and yes, they are mostly women) try to get onto airplanes with a suitcase they can't lift, their twenty pound makeup bag, a sack of whatnot, and a duffle bag they insist is a purse? I think that if you want to use the overhead bin above somebody else's seat you should be forced to give oral sex to that person during take-off and again on the landing. Otherwise, check your fucking luggage and board the aircraft by the rules like everyone else, you arrogant cunt! In the coming weeks I will be circulating my "Head for Overhead" petition.
Yes, I did in fact brave the pre-dawn day-after-Thanksgiving sales. In fact, it was my idea. And I have to say that it was everything I was hoping it would be: a deluge of overfed Indiana mothers and grandmothers filing into general stores, bumping into each other, fighting for that last squishy pillow at 50% off, and showing the true nature of the spirit of Christmas. How could I possible enjoy this? Simply put, I'm a man, and most women think twice about getting combative with a man. When they bump into me they apologize. They ask for my "male perspective" on certain gifts. And they hold my place in line if I want to step out for any reason. Some ho got curt with Nina in the shoe section. If I had been there, that would never have happened. That's why it's fun.
Mom bugged me about having kids again. This time she threw out "you'll never know that love you feel when you hold your own child for the first time". Thanks, mom. In point of fact, I'm counting on that. Just because I won't know what it's like to snuggle my own child doesn't mean I won't know love. What about my wife? What about the rest of my family? And what's the big fucking deal about feeling intense love of child anyway? Thanks, but I'll do without. Not that she'll ever leave me alone about it, so I need to hunker down and come up with some good long-term defenses against this nag. I mean nearly every one of those bitches at the stores on Friday had kids, and the whole lot of them were fucking miserable wretches. Is that the love you were speaking of?
Case in point. When we gave our presents to our nieces, the oldest got upset because she only got one gift. Even though it was a kick ass make-up set (her 1st make up kit period) that Nina originally got for herself she was still disappointed. How do you tell a little kid to kiss your ass and then take the present back? That's why I don't want one of these little fuckers for myself. It puts you in a position where you have to tolerate people acting like shitheads with a smile just because they're young (and/or not your kid to beat in the first place). But I still love my nieces. They're really good kids, and that's the whole point.
Happy fucking holidays.
Monday, November 22, 2004
Depressing keyword searches
I started using Statcounter about two months ago because I wanted to see how some people find their way to my blog. I'd gotten an email from a random person saying that they found it in a search for "Kryon". I thought that was supremely cool that I was now popping up on search engines and that people who were looking up info on topics similar to those I post on might come across my blog. Since I'm closing in quickly on 100,000 words in this journal I decided to keep track of what key phrases people were searching for to find me.
Now that I have this code in my template I'm a little afraid of what I'm finding. I figured there would be people who found me through searches on phrases like "fuck shit asshole cocksucker dickface prick" and "the perfect man". Even "hairy balls" would have been ok. Much to my dismay and horror I have logged the following keyword searches people have used and found my blog in the results:
Another thing that bothers me is that with this wonderful searching technology at our fingertips why are so many people looking up ways to see pictures of kids in puberty and grown men beating off and blowing their loads? I know there are some sick bastards out there, but this is a bit unnerving. I try to tell myself that these are young boys and girls who are looking for pictures of pubescent kids to see if their bodies are normal. I comfort myself with the thought of teenage boys looking for other guys who have had the unfortunate experience of being caught masturbating to pornography by a loved one. But in the end, I damn well know that I'm tapping into that mid-fifties, bald, fat, lonely, naked at the computer, gay pedophile demographic who are just looking for kiddy porn to whack off to. As a side note, do people who have cyber sex use acronyms and abbreviations like LOL and BRB?
IFYWOOF: I'm fucking you doggy style
SMYT: Show me your tits
TOMF: Try one more finger
DIJCAOMKA: Damn, I just came all over my keyboard again
Another thing is that these don't even seem to be the kind of searches that would yield a lot of results. Not that I'd know (cough) but I'd bet that if I wanted to find pics of sixty year old topless women I'd be better off searching for something like "grandma titties", not "show me boobies of old lady hooker". Damn it! Now I just feel dirty and it's virtually impossible to take a shower at work.
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Now that I have this code in my template I'm a little afraid of what I'm finding. I figured there would be people who found me through searches on phrases like "fuck shit asshole cocksucker dickface prick" and "the perfect man". Even "hairy balls" would have been ok. Much to my dismay and horror I have logged the following keyword searches people have used and found my blog in the results:
- kryon bullshit
- vibrators obsolescence men
- song from the newest nextel commercial
- stoners jacking off
- popcorning gay sex
- armystics designs
- caught jacking off
- monica bellucci estrogen
- stupid new age crap kryon
- jerk off in bed photo
- moneyshot
- fuckhole indiana
- girls try lesbianism for attention
- puberty progression pics
- 2005 dreambook of 50 years old father
- drum beats for nirvana smells like teen spirit
- how can we stimulate the cells of the limbic portion of the brain to eliminate
- kroc freak and fetish ball
- dirty k9 girl's
- i work front desk lady class phone headphones breath blog
- 2005 dreambook of my sick mother
- narcissisist
- best quizilla
- quizilla suicide
- psychology preferred methods orgasming
- the story of us fuck me
- hummingbird simulator dual action vibrator
- watch men jerk off
- weird puberty
- off jerking stories
- years old first orgasm puberty
- international delight french vanilla
- airborne scrotum
- the female naked body at puberty
- puberty boners
- preteen site:.blogspot.com
- chris pontius jerking off
- grandma caught me jacking off porn
Another thing that bothers me is that with this wonderful searching technology at our fingertips why are so many people looking up ways to see pictures of kids in puberty and grown men beating off and blowing their loads? I know there are some sick bastards out there, but this is a bit unnerving. I try to tell myself that these are young boys and girls who are looking for pictures of pubescent kids to see if their bodies are normal. I comfort myself with the thought of teenage boys looking for other guys who have had the unfortunate experience of being caught masturbating to pornography by a loved one. But in the end, I damn well know that I'm tapping into that mid-fifties, bald, fat, lonely, naked at the computer, gay pedophile demographic who are just looking for kiddy porn to whack off to. As a side note, do people who have cyber sex use acronyms and abbreviations like LOL and BRB?
IFYWOOF: I'm fucking you doggy style
SMYT: Show me your tits
TOMF: Try one more finger
DIJCAOMKA: Damn, I just came all over my keyboard again
Another thing is that these don't even seem to be the kind of searches that would yield a lot of results. Not that I'd know (cough) but I'd bet that if I wanted to find pics of sixty year old topless women I'd be better off searching for something like "grandma titties", not "show me boobies of old lady hooker". Damn it! Now I just feel dirty and it's virtually impossible to take a shower at work.
A conscientious objector to turkey and stuffing
It's been a hectic couple of weeks. And the next month doesn't show any signs of slowing. This Wednesday, Nina and I will be flying back to Bumblefuck Indiana to visit my family for Thanksgiving on Wednesday. I'll try to keep posting, but the last thing I need is for a family member to find this URL. Thanksgiving in my household is a very Norman Rockwell experience. We all go to grandma's house, who has been working on the turkey and all the trimmings for days, and eat and talk, and just have a good time catching up. And being the outsider, black sheep, prodigal son who got out of Indiana, whenever we go home for the holiday, it's even more like a homecoming.
The reason that I celebrate Thanksgiving with my family and not Nina's is because Nina's mom "doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving". You see that's the day that we celebrate the genocide of all the Indian tribes throughout the nation. And since my lily-white mother-in-law is so very culturally aware (or out of things to rage against) she has opted to spend the holiday in silent introspection of her own guilt by associate with the evil white man. Fine, more turkey and Miracle Whip sandwiches on Wonder Bread for me.
Being the kind of guy who rarely misses an opportunity to point out the hypocrisies in others I thought now would be a good time to point out that, if you look closely enough, most of our national holidays have roots in either disinformation or outright evil acts.
CHRISTMAS - Certainly both my wife and her mothers' favorite holiday. It's when we all realize how well we are loved because of our new material possessions. But that's a different post. The holiday Christmas was established to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, the one true son of God Himself. However, when it was established most people already celebrated a sort of pagan harvest holiday in late December. Since Christ wasn't actually born until May 23rd (4 B.C.), a relatively benign date with no contradicting religious feasts, Christianity decided to declare the pagan Roman holiday a sacrilege and consequently mandate that the birth of Christ took place on December 25th, 0 A.D.. The materialism that has become the holiday X-mas is more than my morning stomach can handle. I'll move on.
HALLOWEEN - Pagan celebration all the way, too. You see, throughout all mankind's history, we've needed a reason to celebrate certain events, to celebrate our very humanity. And Hallmark hasn't always been there to tell us why we're so thankful. So in the millennia before the Industrial Revolution, it was the agricultural year that set the stage for holidays. Certain harvest and periods of change were marked for celebration. The time when people would celebrate the end of the harvest and mark the beginning of the death cycle in their crops was known as Samhain. It has been diluted and perverted over the recent centuries to reflect some celebration of ghosts and satanic worship. And now we throw candy at little brats dressed like the Hulk.
INDEPENDENCE DAY - God bless America, and I mean that. We've come a long long way from our beginnings. About 240 years ago, a group of slave-owning, land holding, British educated, middle aged, upper class white males got together to decide that they needed freedom from their oppressive king. After a failed attempt with the Continental Congress, they regrouped to draft up a new constitution. The rest is history. But if you research the era you'll realize that no matter how noble their intentions may have seemed, it was only themselves and their race, sex, tax bracket, and political similars who stood to benefit initially. Oh, and I forgot, they were the only ones allowed to vote. The fact that the hearts and minds of good men and women have been applied for the betterment of America doesn't change the fact that freedom from an oppressive king could be translated as "we all want to be kings too".
EASTER - Not a lot of non-Christians know that this is considered the holiest day of the year, blowing Christmas out of the water. This is the day that Jesus Christ fulfilled his prophecies by resurrecting from the dead, escaping his tomb, endowing his apostles with the Holy Spirit, and was accepted into Heaven at the right hand of God. I mean what a story, you should read it. You've got a trial, torture, betrayal, weeping parents, crucifixion, death, forgiveness, suicide, reanimation, super strength, water walking, bolts of flames filled with super powers, supreme transubstantiation, and the proof of every single fucking thing Christianity needed to claim truth was on their side. Christianity has sense sought to better humanity through the teaching of these lessons...and the occasional genocide, mass murder, torturing, false accusation, crusade, and assimilation and plagiarizing of every other religion's better parts. Somehow, we all eat dyed eggs and chocolate bunnies now. If it's between Christian doctrine and the Easter Bunny, I choose the rabbit.
I could go on and on, but it's Monday morning and I'm surprised that I've managed to form coherent sentences to this point. The point it that most any holiday we celebrate in this country can just as easily be seen as a celebration of wickedness and religious power struggling as tradition and accomplishment. Thanksgiving is a day when we all get together with our friends and family to honor each other and all of our blessings. I'm thankful for my wife. I'm thankful for my job and home, my electronic toys like my computer, stereo, PS2 and Game Cube, and everything else that I've been fortunate to have. And I'm thankful for all of you, my blogger buddies and readers who have found some entertainment and interest in my blog. I've been very fortunate, and I'm looking forward to sharing my blessings and my time with those people who have supported me. On Thursday I'll raise a glass and a drumstick to you. Happy turkey day.
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The reason that I celebrate Thanksgiving with my family and not Nina's is because Nina's mom "doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving". You see that's the day that we celebrate the genocide of all the Indian tribes throughout the nation. And since my lily-white mother-in-law is so very culturally aware (or out of things to rage against) she has opted to spend the holiday in silent introspection of her own guilt by associate with the evil white man. Fine, more turkey and Miracle Whip sandwiches on Wonder Bread for me.
Being the kind of guy who rarely misses an opportunity to point out the hypocrisies in others I thought now would be a good time to point out that, if you look closely enough, most of our national holidays have roots in either disinformation or outright evil acts.
CHRISTMAS - Certainly both my wife and her mothers' favorite holiday. It's when we all realize how well we are loved because of our new material possessions. But that's a different post. The holiday Christmas was established to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, the one true son of God Himself. However, when it was established most people already celebrated a sort of pagan harvest holiday in late December. Since Christ wasn't actually born until May 23rd (4 B.C.), a relatively benign date with no contradicting religious feasts, Christianity decided to declare the pagan Roman holiday a sacrilege and consequently mandate that the birth of Christ took place on December 25th, 0 A.D.. The materialism that has become the holiday X-mas is more than my morning stomach can handle. I'll move on.
HALLOWEEN - Pagan celebration all the way, too. You see, throughout all mankind's history, we've needed a reason to celebrate certain events, to celebrate our very humanity. And Hallmark hasn't always been there to tell us why we're so thankful. So in the millennia before the Industrial Revolution, it was the agricultural year that set the stage for holidays. Certain harvest and periods of change were marked for celebration. The time when people would celebrate the end of the harvest and mark the beginning of the death cycle in their crops was known as Samhain. It has been diluted and perverted over the recent centuries to reflect some celebration of ghosts and satanic worship. And now we throw candy at little brats dressed like the Hulk.
INDEPENDENCE DAY - God bless America, and I mean that. We've come a long long way from our beginnings. About 240 years ago, a group of slave-owning, land holding, British educated, middle aged, upper class white males got together to decide that they needed freedom from their oppressive king. After a failed attempt with the Continental Congress, they regrouped to draft up a new constitution. The rest is history. But if you research the era you'll realize that no matter how noble their intentions may have seemed, it was only themselves and their race, sex, tax bracket, and political similars who stood to benefit initially. Oh, and I forgot, they were the only ones allowed to vote. The fact that the hearts and minds of good men and women have been applied for the betterment of America doesn't change the fact that freedom from an oppressive king could be translated as "we all want to be kings too".
EASTER - Not a lot of non-Christians know that this is considered the holiest day of the year, blowing Christmas out of the water. This is the day that Jesus Christ fulfilled his prophecies by resurrecting from the dead, escaping his tomb, endowing his apostles with the Holy Spirit, and was accepted into Heaven at the right hand of God. I mean what a story, you should read it. You've got a trial, torture, betrayal, weeping parents, crucifixion, death, forgiveness, suicide, reanimation, super strength, water walking, bolts of flames filled with super powers, supreme transubstantiation, and the proof of every single fucking thing Christianity needed to claim truth was on their side. Christianity has sense sought to better humanity through the teaching of these lessons...and the occasional genocide, mass murder, torturing, false accusation, crusade, and assimilation and plagiarizing of every other religion's better parts. Somehow, we all eat dyed eggs and chocolate bunnies now. If it's between Christian doctrine and the Easter Bunny, I choose the rabbit.
I could go on and on, but it's Monday morning and I'm surprised that I've managed to form coherent sentences to this point. The point it that most any holiday we celebrate in this country can just as easily be seen as a celebration of wickedness and religious power struggling as tradition and accomplishment. Thanksgiving is a day when we all get together with our friends and family to honor each other and all of our blessings. I'm thankful for my wife. I'm thankful for my job and home, my electronic toys like my computer, stereo, PS2 and Game Cube, and everything else that I've been fortunate to have. And I'm thankful for all of you, my blogger buddies and readers who have found some entertainment and interest in my blog. I've been very fortunate, and I'm looking forward to sharing my blessings and my time with those people who have supported me. On Thursday I'll raise a glass and a drumstick to you. Happy turkey day.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
National G.A.G.O. Day
I feel great this morning. No I didn't get laid, despite my numerous attempts. But I got the next best thing...sleep, and lots of it. After work I stopped by a local used video game store and picked up Pikmin 2 for Nina. She had a great time with it at Grace's. I brought it home and dinner was literally already on the table. Sweet! Thanks honey! After dinner Nina started playing and I crashed out on the couch until 11:30 PM. I woke up feeling better but it was still late and I hadn't gotten that much sleep, so after about an hour of trying to help Nina with a part she was stuck in I went to bed. Nina came to bed at about 2:30 AM with Pikmin on the brain. She was still jittery. I told her that she was either going to have to put out or let me sleep. She chose the latter.
Now this morning I feel rested and ready for anything. And even though everyone at work seems hell bent on making this a miserable day, they can't break my shield of sunshiny glee. As I was driving to work this morning I was listening to the radio and heard some DJ trying to talk this hot chick into getting busy with another girl before he'd give an extra ticket to some show to her goofy ass lanky best guy friend. She wouldn't do it! Some pal, huh? I would think that a little hot girl-on-girl action would be its own reward. Hot girls are just plain mean. And then it occurred to me. How much of my own self esteem in those awkward teens and early twenties were derived from all of the quality pussy I could land? Probably a majority. Hell, I have to give Nina's ass all the credit for me getting this job in the first place.
With the continuing pussification of American men in full effect, I feel that there is some degree of damage being caused by the modern woman. I truly believe in equality between men and women, or at least as much equality as our gender differences will allow. As women have gotten progressively more liberties and freedoms in this country men have had to suck it up and allow them into our ranks, our clubs, and our higher regards. Unfortunately, many men do not seek out a partner who is his perfect equal. And, to be fair, most women want a man who is somewhat more mature, established, intelligent, funny, and in control than she is. There's the equality problem. I believe it's the main reason women date older men and men date younger women. And since the better men get all the best women, most boys grow up with a preconceived notion that women will not find them attractive, thereby developing low self-esteem and self perpetuating their own loserhood.
All that aside, it has come to my attention that women haven't really given back any level of their newfound selves and self-respect to us. If a man are going to have to work well with women, yet retain dignity and desirability, he is going to have to gain that self respect in those formative years. And since that esteem is forged best through the bedding of beautiful women I am proposing a new holiday in America. From this day on, the third Thursday in November will be National Get-A-Geek-Off Day, or G.A.G.O.. It's a day where women in their twenties and thirties, maybe the better looking forty-somethings seek out a potentially great, but currently unfortunate boy between the ages of sixteen and twenty for the purpose of esteem development. And by esteem development I mean at least two hours of sucking, fucking, and fondling.
Ladies, here's what you do. During your lunch hour today, leave the office and visit any of the following establishments: a comic book store, a video game store, a Denny's, the shitty mall, or just look around your office building or neighborhood. Approach a pock-faced, disproportioned kid as seductively as you can, extra points for lip-licking, and ask him at least three of these questions:
You have to understand the logic behind this new holiday. Once you have implanted such an ego boosting memory into the mind and heart of a young man, he'll be much more likely to have the nerve to ask that classmate to prom. He'll be surer of himself when asking for a raise or interviewing for colleges. He'll become more socially active and take more of an active interest in getting into a woman's mind as well as her pants. In essence, you will be planting the seed of a strong, confident, respectable man. And in the end, it is the women who will have a greater percentage of loving partners to choose from. It's a win-win situation. This power is going all but unused right now, and that's just a sin.
So women of America, your duty is clear. If you shirk your responsibilities to the greasy, timid male youth of this nation, you have only yourself to blame for the continued oppression of your gender. And I don't want to hear any excuses: I'm married, I'm too busy, I'm not that kind of girl, that's statutory rape. How many times have you consented to sex solely because you were tired of hearing your boyfriend whine about it? You haven't a leg to stand on, but you have two to point heavenward. I leave it, quite literally, in your hands.
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Now this morning I feel rested and ready for anything. And even though everyone at work seems hell bent on making this a miserable day, they can't break my shield of sunshiny glee. As I was driving to work this morning I was listening to the radio and heard some DJ trying to talk this hot chick into getting busy with another girl before he'd give an extra ticket to some show to her goofy ass lanky best guy friend. She wouldn't do it! Some pal, huh? I would think that a little hot girl-on-girl action would be its own reward. Hot girls are just plain mean. And then it occurred to me. How much of my own self esteem in those awkward teens and early twenties were derived from all of the quality pussy I could land? Probably a majority. Hell, I have to give Nina's ass all the credit for me getting this job in the first place.
With the continuing pussification of American men in full effect, I feel that there is some degree of damage being caused by the modern woman. I truly believe in equality between men and women, or at least as much equality as our gender differences will allow. As women have gotten progressively more liberties and freedoms in this country men have had to suck it up and allow them into our ranks, our clubs, and our higher regards. Unfortunately, many men do not seek out a partner who is his perfect equal. And, to be fair, most women want a man who is somewhat more mature, established, intelligent, funny, and in control than she is. There's the equality problem. I believe it's the main reason women date older men and men date younger women. And since the better men get all the best women, most boys grow up with a preconceived notion that women will not find them attractive, thereby developing low self-esteem and self perpetuating their own loserhood.
All that aside, it has come to my attention that women haven't really given back any level of their newfound selves and self-respect to us. If a man are going to have to work well with women, yet retain dignity and desirability, he is going to have to gain that self respect in those formative years. And since that esteem is forged best through the bedding of beautiful women I am proposing a new holiday in America. From this day on, the third Thursday in November will be National Get-A-Geek-Off Day, or G.A.G.O.. It's a day where women in their twenties and thirties, maybe the better looking forty-somethings seek out a potentially great, but currently unfortunate boy between the ages of sixteen and twenty for the purpose of esteem development. And by esteem development I mean at least two hours of sucking, fucking, and fondling.
Ladies, here's what you do. During your lunch hour today, leave the office and visit any of the following establishments: a comic book store, a video game store, a Denny's, the shitty mall, or just look around your office building or neighborhood. Approach a pock-faced, disproportioned kid as seductively as you can, extra points for lip-licking, and ask him at least three of these questions:
- When the sidekick Robin split away from Batman and became an independent superhero what did he change his name to? A: Nightwing
- What are the call letters for the starship enterprise in ST:TNG? A: NCC-1701-D
- Who is going to be on TRL today? A: I don't know (if they do know they are instantly disqualified)
- Which of these is not an acne medication: Benzoyl Peroxide, Miconazole Nitrate, Salicylic Acid, Erythromycin. A: Miconazole Nitrate
- What are Pamela Anderson's measurements? A: 36-22-34
You have to understand the logic behind this new holiday. Once you have implanted such an ego boosting memory into the mind and heart of a young man, he'll be much more likely to have the nerve to ask that classmate to prom. He'll be surer of himself when asking for a raise or interviewing for colleges. He'll become more socially active and take more of an active interest in getting into a woman's mind as well as her pants. In essence, you will be planting the seed of a strong, confident, respectable man. And in the end, it is the women who will have a greater percentage of loving partners to choose from. It's a win-win situation. This power is going all but unused right now, and that's just a sin.
So women of America, your duty is clear. If you shirk your responsibilities to the greasy, timid male youth of this nation, you have only yourself to blame for the continued oppression of your gender. And I don't want to hear any excuses: I'm married, I'm too busy, I'm not that kind of girl, that's statutory rape. How many times have you consented to sex solely because you were tired of hearing your boyfriend whine about it? You haven't a leg to stand on, but you have two to point heavenward. I leave it, quite literally, in your hands.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
You're my boy, Schlomo!
I received Schindler's List from Netflix the other day. As I was watching it occurred to me that the Jews seemed to be getting a pretty raw deal. I don't know if you've seen the movie before, but apparently God's Chosen weren't so well liked. I mean if you take the horrible things I wish I could do to most people I meet who piss me off, you'd know what happened to these folks. Don't get me wrong. I could never support the actions of Nazi Germany. But I am, in fact, a German American.
Ok, now I'm done pretending that I'd never heard of the Holocaust. But I must say that going to a Catholic school, I never really got the education on the Jews that I should have. In fact, it was Senior year, second semester when we finally got to learn about other world religions in Theology. Of course most of us had already done a bit of personal study on Buddhism, Islam, Judaism and the like. But in class, the Deacon spent as much time teaching us about Jews as he did warning us of the Moonies. One thing that I knew for sure though was that I was Roman Catholic and that was the only thing I could be. To try out anything else would be a blasphemy of such proportions as to warrant social exile.
So I thought I'd take a look at all the reasons that Jews are hated in this world to see if I should hate them too. There are a lot of Jews in this world. If there's a new group of people for me to hate, I'm all for it. So let's go with the six heavy hitters:
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Ok, now I'm done pretending that I'd never heard of the Holocaust. But I must say that going to a Catholic school, I never really got the education on the Jews that I should have. In fact, it was Senior year, second semester when we finally got to learn about other world religions in Theology. Of course most of us had already done a bit of personal study on Buddhism, Islam, Judaism and the like. But in class, the Deacon spent as much time teaching us about Jews as he did warning us of the Moonies. One thing that I knew for sure though was that I was Roman Catholic and that was the only thing I could be. To try out anything else would be a blasphemy of such proportions as to warrant social exile.
So I thought I'd take a look at all the reasons that Jews are hated in this world to see if I should hate them too. There are a lot of Jews in this world. If there's a new group of people for me to hate, I'm all for it. So let's go with the six heavy hitters:
- Jew possess too much wealth and power - Hey man, don't hate! If every single one of the stereotypes is true about Jews having money, being accountants and jewelers (Hey, how about that...jew...jeweler) that's no reason to hate on them. I mean if I had that kind of scratch I'd protect it and make sure that my kids grew up to protect it after I died. Just because you're a broke ass piece of Muslim or Aryan white trash doesn't mean that Jews are responsible for you being broke. If you can't add or negotiate a profitable barter, then you don't deserve wealth in a Capitalistic environment. Also, if the Jews have all the money, then it stands to reason they have a great deal of power and influence as well. Do I really want to side against that? Not if I hope to ever take some of that for myself.
- Jews arrogantly claim that they are the chosen people - See, now this is why hate groups get all paranoid about shit. It's human nature to hold yourself or your group in higher esteem than others. For instance, when a woman looks at her husband and then sees a more attractive man walk by, she's going to remind herself of all the reasons she loves the man she's with, and rightly so. Every religion claims to be the chosen one. Here's one for you: "We believe in one holy, Catholic, and apostolic church". What does that tell you? And how do we know that God didn't choose the Jews? Hell he gave Jews he commandments and freed them from the Romans, right. I'd say that have as much of a claim on the chosen status as any other group.
- Jews are a convenient group to single out and blame for our troubles - OK, now I have no argument for this one. I try to be a fairly reasonable man, but when logic fails I'll let the finger do the pointing as quickly as the next man. I mean look at them with their noses and their wool! There are dozens of subgroups of Jews, and some of those stand out in a crowd. When all else fails, blame the weird guy. Score one for the hatemongers.
- Jews killed Jesus - Really? Shit I thought it was a couple Roman soldiers smacking in those nails. Maybe their yahmak...yamach...fucking Jew hats were hidden under their helmets. Romans sought him. Romans caught him. Romans tried and convicted him. And it was fucking Romans who tortured and hilled him. And let's not forget that Jesus (love ya buddy) was gonna get his ass handed to him in fine fatal fashion at some point. I mean it was a couple thousand years ago. Think of how stupid people were in the year 1800. Now multiply that by ten. And then throw in a whore kissing, leper touching, lecture giving, Jewish born guy who walks around and tells everyone that he is God incarnate. You've got yourself a recipe for fuckin' murder. Jesus might as well have been walking around downtown Bronx with a bullhorn chanting "Go Sox!"
- Jews are different than us - Right back to the difference thing again huh? Have you looked in a mirror lately? About 95% of the world thinks you are one different looking mother fucker. Just because you've surrounded yourself with inbred clones of yourself doesn't mean that you belong to some majority of superiority. 'Nuff said on that. But let me take a moment to say this quick one. Why join a hate group at all? Are you such a weak, insignificant, ineffectual twerp that you can't survive under a bit of prejudice? So what if the Jews are stacking the odds against you. So what if the blacks are outnumbering you on your block. So what if your math class is filled with Indians. Hunker down and do your own thing. You can't go running for cover and safety in numbers every time you stand alone. Pussy.
- Jews are an inferior race - I don't give a rats ass if Jews are a pestilence of the land. Look at what they've done. They have moved to new lands, usually because they were forced out of the old one, adapted, and prospered. They have naturally formed functioning and self-sufficient villages, towns, cities, and entire nations. They have taken every job and added new chapters to the texts. They have shown patience under a constant veil of hate and distrust. If that's inferior, then these uneducated hate group members must liken themselves to gods of some kind. Isn't that a sin?
Weekend Gone Wild - The Real Story
After just arriving to work this morning I was able to read all of the posts written by Grace, Nina, Mel, and even a post left on my blog regarding this weekend. And while it's true that a good time was had by all, I feel that it is my e-duty to inform everyone that the truth of this weekend was far more incredible than the fiction. Here's how it all went down.
Nina and I arrived in Orange County Saturday morning only to discover that O.C. and Los Angeles are two different places. Disappointed, Nina and I decided to go to Las Vegas instead. Just before take-off I received a phone call from a woman who I thought had to be a drunken, swearing Connie Chung. After telling her that all three of her last news shows were boring and berating her for claiming sexism on part of the CBS execs I was assured that I was merely speaking with Grace. Since I was already in the area, they had bought beer, and I was promised that the kim chee wouldn't make it I decided to drop by. We ordered the captain to stop taxiing and return us to the terminal. He did us one better by dropping us off at baggage claim.
After a modest ten minute wait, Grace arrived to pick us up in what appeared to be an F-22 cockpit with wheels. Nina sat in the front. I held onto the roof. Three miles and seventeen lane changes later we got to Grace and Steve's beautiful home. Prior to our arrival Grace had been commenting on how small their condo was. Grace had been lying. This 3,200 square foot palace sat just a stone's throw from the beach and sported five bedrooms, three baths, two kitchens, a full bar, two game rooms, a spa, and a wrestling ring. After leading us down the hallway to the sixth door on the left, Nina and I were able to drop off our duffels on the oversized, pillowtop, king bed they had made up for us with silk sheets and a floor-length down comforter.
As we were unpacking, Grace was standing just outside our room giving us the rules of the house:
After doing the obligatory brunch and beach walk, we went to an arcade where Grace and Nina played Area 51 while Steve and I braided each others' hair. Grace is a good shot. She was even kind enough to kill all of the aliens on Nina's side of the screen while my wife went into seizures from all the flashing lights. After spending about twenty dollars on mindless fun we took our tickets to the counter and got some Pixie Sticks, bouncy balls, and a Chinese finger trap. I tell you, those Chinamen really know how to torture a guy. I still can't get the damn thing off, which might account for my poor level of play at Halo 2.
Later we went to a liquor store where they had a wine tasting bar. For $0.75 per taste you could pour your own wine and sample to your liver's content. The honor's system is something I've never really been comfortable with. So I helped myself to several tastings at a time. I guess you could call them glasses instead of tastes if you wanted to be picky. But I paid $0.75 for each, so the staff must have agreed with me...or weren't paying attention. Nina made a fabulous discovery: single serving vodka shots...you know, for the road. Stocking stuffer fo sho!
The rest of the night and the Halo 2 party went pretty much like you read below, except for Grace kicking all the guys' asses. That never happened.
The next morning Grace and I went out for breakfast while Steve went to church and Nina stayed behind asking herself that eternal post-party question: why does my head weigh fifty pounds? After a few more hours of me rocking out on Halo 2 we met up at a downtown LBC bar with Jason, an Air Force buddy, and his confusingly devoted wife, Maria. A few six dollar pints later I was carrying Nina over my shoulder back to Grace's microvan and it occurred to us that we should meet up with Mel since she lives in Long Beach anyway. So we went to the Rock Bottom Brewery and waited for Mel to show up while laughing as a three foot cockroach tossed Grace up and down the street.
Mel showed up while Grace and I were on the street corner "working". Mel is a very attractive little lady. If Mel were a man she'd look like this man. And he's fucking HOT! She hugged Grace and asked who the hefty guy standing next to her was. I tried to give her a hug, but she peppered me down and left me for dead. After regaining my composure I rejoined the group where Nina was asleep and Steve and Grace did the Macarena on the table while Mel was shoving dollar bills in their pants. After a long conversation about how creepy it is actually meeting blogger buddies in person Grace loudly told Mel she could relate to her "Incestuous Amplification" title because she likes having sex with all of her uncles. The uncle-aged men at the next table seemed pleased by this.
After saying goodbye to Mel we drove back to the estate where the four of us passed out on top of each other in the foyer like a pile of Twister casualties. Steve woke up first, got pimped up for work and dragged Grace by to work by the hair. Nina and I used the opportunity to christen every room on the house. Having felt bad about all of the stains, Nina suggested we go buy some flowers and a card for them, hoping to divert their attention long enough to get the fuck out of dodge. It worked like a charm. Grace placed her flowers in her best crystal vase and introduced Nina to some of her Nintendo Game Cube games. By the time we got home that night I became the owner of a new Game Cube. We didn't need that second car anyway. Steve finally got home in time to drive us to the airport, but not before pounding back a sixer of Guinness and falling down the stairs. It's ok, Nina broke his fall.
Three miles and 46 seconds later they dropped us off at the airport. Nina and Grace burst into tears as Steve and I shook hands awkwardly wondering if I should just give Grace my plane ticket and cut to the happily ever after. But then Grace remembered that it was her anniversary and she hadn't had a chance to do that doggy style/cop thing again with Steve yet. So Nina and I hopped onto our cramped puddle jumper and made our way back home.
All in all a great time was had by all. I would say that I'd never forget the trip, but most of it I can't remember anyway. So there's the true O.C. story of our trip. Forget the watered down versions you've read on other blogs. This is the real deal beyotch!
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Nina and I arrived in Orange County Saturday morning only to discover that O.C. and Los Angeles are two different places. Disappointed, Nina and I decided to go to Las Vegas instead. Just before take-off I received a phone call from a woman who I thought had to be a drunken, swearing Connie Chung. After telling her that all three of her last news shows were boring and berating her for claiming sexism on part of the CBS execs I was assured that I was merely speaking with Grace. Since I was already in the area, they had bought beer, and I was promised that the kim chee wouldn't make it I decided to drop by. We ordered the captain to stop taxiing and return us to the terminal. He did us one better by dropping us off at baggage claim.
After a modest ten minute wait, Grace arrived to pick us up in what appeared to be an F-22 cockpit with wheels. Nina sat in the front. I held onto the roof. Three miles and seventeen lane changes later we got to Grace and Steve's beautiful home. Prior to our arrival Grace had been commenting on how small their condo was. Grace had been lying. This 3,200 square foot palace sat just a stone's throw from the beach and sported five bedrooms, three baths, two kitchens, a full bar, two game rooms, a spa, and a wrestling ring. After leading us down the hallway to the sixth door on the left, Nina and I were able to drop off our duffels on the oversized, pillowtop, king bed they had made up for us with silk sheets and a floor-length down comforter.
As we were unpacking, Grace was standing just outside our room giving us the rules of the house:
- No discussing politics
- No discussing religion
- No discussing Quantum Physics
- No clothes
After doing the obligatory brunch and beach walk, we went to an arcade where Grace and Nina played Area 51 while Steve and I braided each others' hair. Grace is a good shot. She was even kind enough to kill all of the aliens on Nina's side of the screen while my wife went into seizures from all the flashing lights. After spending about twenty dollars on mindless fun we took our tickets to the counter and got some Pixie Sticks, bouncy balls, and a Chinese finger trap. I tell you, those Chinamen really know how to torture a guy. I still can't get the damn thing off, which might account for my poor level of play at Halo 2.
Later we went to a liquor store where they had a wine tasting bar. For $0.75 per taste you could pour your own wine and sample to your liver's content. The honor's system is something I've never really been comfortable with. So I helped myself to several tastings at a time. I guess you could call them glasses instead of tastes if you wanted to be picky. But I paid $0.75 for each, so the staff must have agreed with me...or weren't paying attention. Nina made a fabulous discovery: single serving vodka shots...you know, for the road. Stocking stuffer fo sho!
The rest of the night and the Halo 2 party went pretty much like you read below, except for Grace kicking all the guys' asses. That never happened.
The next morning Grace and I went out for breakfast while Steve went to church and Nina stayed behind asking herself that eternal post-party question: why does my head weigh fifty pounds? After a few more hours of me rocking out on Halo 2 we met up at a downtown LBC bar with Jason, an Air Force buddy, and his confusingly devoted wife, Maria. A few six dollar pints later I was carrying Nina over my shoulder back to Grace's microvan and it occurred to us that we should meet up with Mel since she lives in Long Beach anyway. So we went to the Rock Bottom Brewery and waited for Mel to show up while laughing as a three foot cockroach tossed Grace up and down the street.
Mel showed up while Grace and I were on the street corner "working". Mel is a very attractive little lady. If Mel were a man she'd look like this man. And he's fucking HOT! She hugged Grace and asked who the hefty guy standing next to her was. I tried to give her a hug, but she peppered me down and left me for dead. After regaining my composure I rejoined the group where Nina was asleep and Steve and Grace did the Macarena on the table while Mel was shoving dollar bills in their pants. After a long conversation about how creepy it is actually meeting blogger buddies in person Grace loudly told Mel she could relate to her "Incestuous Amplification" title because she likes having sex with all of her uncles. The uncle-aged men at the next table seemed pleased by this.
After saying goodbye to Mel we drove back to the estate where the four of us passed out on top of each other in the foyer like a pile of Twister casualties. Steve woke up first, got pimped up for work and dragged Grace by to work by the hair. Nina and I used the opportunity to christen every room on the house. Having felt bad about all of the stains, Nina suggested we go buy some flowers and a card for them, hoping to divert their attention long enough to get the fuck out of dodge. It worked like a charm. Grace placed her flowers in her best crystal vase and introduced Nina to some of her Nintendo Game Cube games. By the time we got home that night I became the owner of a new Game Cube. We didn't need that second car anyway. Steve finally got home in time to drive us to the airport, but not before pounding back a sixer of Guinness and falling down the stairs. It's ok, Nina broke his fall.
Three miles and 46 seconds later they dropped us off at the airport. Nina and Grace burst into tears as Steve and I shook hands awkwardly wondering if I should just give Grace my plane ticket and cut to the happily ever after. But then Grace remembered that it was her anniversary and she hadn't had a chance to do that doggy style/cop thing again with Steve yet. So Nina and I hopped onto our cramped puddle jumper and made our way back home.
All in all a great time was had by all. I would say that I'd never forget the trip, but most of it I can't remember anyway. So there's the true O.C. story of our trip. Forget the watered down versions you've read on other blogs. This is the real deal beyotch!
Saturday, November 13, 2004
Halo 2 Night at Grace's
Hi everyone. It's about 3:30 PM in the big bad O.C. right now. Nina and I are hangin' with Grace and Steve and the Halo 2 party will be commencing in a few hours. From this point on I am turning over the computer as community property.
(g) i'm getting shit on at my own home. fucker. (the fucker comment was about mike, in case anyone was asking.) anyway, i love nina. mike's playing karaoke revolution right now. he's singing "wind beneath my wings" right now. bwhahahahahaha. it's even funnier because i'm already buzzed. fuck!
(s) mike is the best bette midler impersonater i've ever heard...i'm in love right now, he really needs to just go glam and go for his in a vegas lounge act or something. wind beneath my wings indeed!
(g) now it's just pure karaoke fun! nina and steve won't play. boooooo!
(m) Ok, I onc`e thought thast I had some slkills as a singer. A PS2 kareoke game has proven men utterly wrong. My sincerest apologies to all my former audiences.
(g) nina's making mike sing all sorts of bitch songs. it's comedy. he's totally getting into it. it's awesome. by the way, mike doesn't suck. so.... here i am... trying to sing... and fucking mike is humping my leg because he's a stage hog. miss piggy, anyone? :P also, mike has a ghetto booty. i'm still drunk. the sun hasn't even gone down yet.
(n) Steve makes kick ass cocktails. I have had two and I'm contemplating singing. Grace and Michael are like long lost brother and sister. I think we are a couple of songs away from a fist fight between them. It's entertaining.:)
(g) i'm really drunk. i'm sorry nina and michael had to see me drunk. i'm so embarrassed. okay. i'm not. mike's a freak. he's dancing to billie jean right now. it's comedy.
(n) i'm deaf and buzzed. michael is screaming the owws in Billy Jean. I had to do a hail mary. Not pretty. i am tingling. not good, no guests have arrived. at this rate Michael, Grace, and I are going to be passed out before we even turn on the x-box.
(g) there are no guests here. it's only 4:45. i am DRUNK. very, very D R U N K. i can barely type. i like to make mike sing songs that make him sound like a girl. it's funny. and i enjoy it. mike is singing "broken wings." it's great! by great, i mean funny. :P why is steve the only sober one here???? fuck! he has a hollow leg. i know it.
(N) Steve had an extra cocktail... I couldn't let it go to waste. Typing all the sudden seems hard.
(s) it's fun being bartender. oh, and it's also fun being videographer when grace and mike are singing the duet from "grease" including dance moves.
(g) i'm sorry. i just fucked up a song. big time. i'm very drunk. hey, mike's coming out.
(s) yes, mike says "i'm coming out" right now...and we honestly believe it.
(g) no, seriously. mike is coming out. it's fucking awesome. did i mention that i'm drunk? steve makes some strong ass drinks. it's really hard to type. oooh. yeah, baby. now mike's singing "like a virgin." which is funny. because i heard he's a manwhore.
(M) Grace just went into the bathroom after I took a dum just to get rifd of the smell. Luckily sh'e shitfaced, so th eshit dioesn't hurt her.
(g) i just went into the bathroom to light a match. apparently, it stinks. bad. i don't know, though. because. i. am. drunk. no, really. i'm really drunk. did i say that already? mike keeps on sticking his feet in my face. i hate feet. no, seriously. i hate feet. they're fucking nasty. nasty. whoa. it got bright in here. steve turned on the light. my eyes hurt. mostly because mike wants to do the pony dance. please, turn the light back off. please. when i drink, i get some raunchy smelling piss. nina says her piss stinks, too. and it took forever to come out. this is a problem, methinks. oh, nina says she's talented, though. because she had to pee in the dark and she could still navigate our bathroom. quick note: our bathroom is tiny. tiny as fuck. dude, i don't trust mike. i'm really drunk. and mike's shady.
(g) this is grace. obviously. i'm going to dictate (huh huh, dick) what nina says. because i'll bet it's going to be funny. here we go.
i have nothing funny to say. have i ever told you my interrupting cow joke? knock, knock. interrupting cow. interrupting cow... MOOOO! do you wanna hear my un-PC joke? it's really bad. why did the boy fall off the swing? because he didn't have any arms. i'm wrong for telling you that. i'm sorry. what are we going to do when everyone gets here?
okay, this is grace again. i can't fucking type all this shit. i'm shit-faced. and they're talking to fucking fast for me. so, fuck it.l
n" nobodgt lidtens to me. I csn't tyopw U gaee mIdchel. he's man and mean;. fuvker. llIcnd't tpye / I suck. sorry/
(g) nina's fucked up. this is fucking great. i'm so glad they came. they're funny as HELL. no, seriously. i'm so glad they came. i ADORE them.... maybe i'm just drunk... nah....
(n) no, we're cool. we love you too.. i am hot inside. ithink that means I'm drunk.
wshit no one's here yet and I'm already plastered. fuck.shit mother fucker. what am i going to do now? i think i'll ask fir a nirbwer
gracw says micheal's making out with raw meat. i hopem not. dsmn this tsakes some effort. Nina out....
n+ U ccab;t tt0we. No bosdt
(g) what in the FUCK did nina just type????
(M) OK I'm back again. I was pretty drunk for a minute there, but now I'm ok. Steve's out grilling up some meat. It looks like carne asada but I'm assured that it's Korean. I walked over a mile just to get some cigarettes. Fine I'm addicted. But at least the walk sobered me up a bit. I need a few more beers. Grace is seriously in love with Nina. that's what I count one. I'm a basically unlikable person so I'm told, but Nina makes aal the friends with everyone. She's telling a story about getting hit on at new Years Eve. Grace says "w2e're gonna havef fun times tonight. They're gonna have sex tonight" I'm hopeful.
(g) i'm still fucked up and it's been 2 hours since my last drink. it's still hard to type. btw, i'm feeling amorous towards steve right now. *meeeeeeow!*
i like steve's cocktails...i think he could make agood living asd a bar tender,. grace and steve are3 the shit. i love them. this is nina typing onew handed. i love cal8i, az is boring. i can't wait to see what happens tomorrow. i'm dancing while i typ;e. t6his is nina by the way...
Okay, Big Bri is here - the party can now begin. Who is ready for an ass-kickin?
Anna is signing in... I tried Halo last night and have decided to spend the night drinking with Nina and Grace.... Pong is the only game I can play... But I will have fun watching and laughing at the show.... Nina is now smashed... She is picking rice out of her hair.
(g) nina is trying to explain to us the process in making chocolate liqueur truffles. i have no fucking idea what she's talking about. actually... i think she's just making shit up right now. i'm still drunk. and i ate LOTS of food. i did. i ate hot, hot beef. mmm... hot meat. HUH HUH. also, nina's truffles are so fucking good, i need to change my panties right now. mmmmm..... oh, and korean food makes your breath smell like A S S.
Mr. Nice Guy has arrived and is ready to inflict much pain. Does anyone else smell A S S?
(g) mr. nice guy is harold. he's not so nice. i don't get it. it's like an oxymoron. speaking of morons... :P hey... it's cooking hour with nina. i'm sure i should be paying more attention. but i can't concentrate right now. this is a problem. i know i'm going to end up calling her xmas day in a panic because my turkey is all deformed and talking to me... i'm sorry i'm hogging the blog. but, i just wanted to say that steve won the first round. he SCHOOLED them. mother fuckers! wooty woot! my hubby fucking KICKS ASS! hahaha.... mmm. licorice. it's so good.
(g) guess what, mother fuckers????? i just played me against 6 players. and mother fuckers. i won. not just won. i spanked them. i got 50 mother fucking kills. they had 8. muwahahaha. in all fairness, there were some negative scores. ... but, they weren't mine. 50 - 8. me against all of them. i'm the mother fucking master chief. they ain't got SHIT on me.
n: can't type too fucked upmtoo even play halo. had to comit sucide so grasce couyld win think I will sit out next round. figured out how to operate controler after the end of the round. betrayed my teammates for her. dead under susipision freom my temmeates. njot good. thinkibng i'm going to be paralled with bendict arnold antday now. must hide, request for sgots...sghit..damnsteve abd his tastey cock tails shit, can't spell. fordshit fuck. bye for now. damn cocktails...
(g) just in my defense, though... nina was really getting the hang of it at the end. also, even though i asked her to, she didn't always do it on purpose :P muwahahaha. no, really. if she wasn't so shitfaced, she could probably do some fucking damage. anyway, i'm drunk, but i can still type. it's kind of amazing. i can type, but it's not making any sense. i'm backspacing a lot. at least i can recognize when i'm typing fucked up. they're trying to make me play again. but i don't want to. my thumbs and trigger fingers hurt. god! but i love double-wielding weapons. you can do some serious shit to someone. it's... strangely comforting. :P hehehe.
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(g) i'm getting shit on at my own home. fucker. (the fucker comment was about mike, in case anyone was asking.) anyway, i love nina. mike's playing karaoke revolution right now. he's singing "wind beneath my wings" right now. bwhahahahahaha. it's even funnier because i'm already buzzed. fuck!
(s) mike is the best bette midler impersonater i've ever heard...i'm in love right now, he really needs to just go glam and go for his in a vegas lounge act or something. wind beneath my wings indeed!
(g) now it's just pure karaoke fun! nina and steve won't play. boooooo!
(m) Ok, I onc`e thought thast I had some slkills as a singer. A PS2 kareoke game has proven men utterly wrong. My sincerest apologies to all my former audiences.
(g) nina's making mike sing all sorts of bitch songs. it's comedy. he's totally getting into it. it's awesome. by the way, mike doesn't suck. so.... here i am... trying to sing... and fucking mike is humping my leg because he's a stage hog. miss piggy, anyone? :P also, mike has a ghetto booty. i'm still drunk. the sun hasn't even gone down yet.
(n) Steve makes kick ass cocktails. I have had two and I'm contemplating singing. Grace and Michael are like long lost brother and sister. I think we are a couple of songs away from a fist fight between them. It's entertaining.:)
(g) i'm really drunk. i'm sorry nina and michael had to see me drunk. i'm so embarrassed. okay. i'm not. mike's a freak. he's dancing to billie jean right now. it's comedy.
(n) i'm deaf and buzzed. michael is screaming the owws in Billy Jean. I had to do a hail mary. Not pretty. i am tingling. not good, no guests have arrived. at this rate Michael, Grace, and I are going to be passed out before we even turn on the x-box.
(g) there are no guests here. it's only 4:45. i am DRUNK. very, very D R U N K. i can barely type. i like to make mike sing songs that make him sound like a girl. it's funny. and i enjoy it. mike is singing "broken wings." it's great! by great, i mean funny. :P why is steve the only sober one here???? fuck! he has a hollow leg. i know it.
(N) Steve had an extra cocktail... I couldn't let it go to waste. Typing all the sudden seems hard.
(s) it's fun being bartender. oh, and it's also fun being videographer when grace and mike are singing the duet from "grease" including dance moves.
(g) i'm sorry. i just fucked up a song. big time. i'm very drunk. hey, mike's coming out.
(s) yes, mike says "i'm coming out" right now...and we honestly believe it.
(g) no, seriously. mike is coming out. it's fucking awesome. did i mention that i'm drunk? steve makes some strong ass drinks. it's really hard to type. oooh. yeah, baby. now mike's singing "like a virgin." which is funny. because i heard he's a manwhore.
(M) Grace just went into the bathroom after I took a dum just to get rifd of the smell. Luckily sh'e shitfaced, so th eshit dioesn't hurt her.
(g) i just went into the bathroom to light a match. apparently, it stinks. bad. i don't know, though. because. i. am. drunk. no, really. i'm really drunk. did i say that already? mike keeps on sticking his feet in my face. i hate feet. no, seriously. i hate feet. they're fucking nasty. nasty. whoa. it got bright in here. steve turned on the light. my eyes hurt. mostly because mike wants to do the pony dance. please, turn the light back off. please. when i drink, i get some raunchy smelling piss. nina says her piss stinks, too. and it took forever to come out. this is a problem, methinks. oh, nina says she's talented, though. because she had to pee in the dark and she could still navigate our bathroom. quick note: our bathroom is tiny. tiny as fuck. dude, i don't trust mike. i'm really drunk. and mike's shady.
(g) this is grace. obviously. i'm going to dictate (huh huh, dick) what nina says. because i'll bet it's going to be funny. here we go.
i have nothing funny to say. have i ever told you my interrupting cow joke? knock, knock. interrupting cow. interrupting cow... MOOOO! do you wanna hear my un-PC joke? it's really bad. why did the boy fall off the swing? because he didn't have any arms. i'm wrong for telling you that. i'm sorry. what are we going to do when everyone gets here?
okay, this is grace again. i can't fucking type all this shit. i'm shit-faced. and they're talking to fucking fast for me. so, fuck it.l
n" nobodgt lidtens to me. I csn't tyopw U gaee mIdchel. he's man and mean;. fuvker. llIcnd't tpye / I suck. sorry/
(g) nina's fucked up. this is fucking great. i'm so glad they came. they're funny as HELL. no, seriously. i'm so glad they came. i ADORE them.... maybe i'm just drunk... nah....
(n) no, we're cool. we love you too.. i am hot inside. ithink that means I'm drunk.
wshit no one's here yet and I'm already plastered. fuck.shit mother fucker. what am i going to do now? i think i'll ask fir a nirbwer
gracw says micheal's making out with raw meat. i hopem not. dsmn this tsakes some effort. Nina out....
n+ U ccab;t tt0we. No bosdt
(g) what in the FUCK did nina just type????
(M) OK I'm back again. I was pretty drunk for a minute there, but now I'm ok. Steve's out grilling up some meat. It looks like carne asada but I'm assured that it's Korean. I walked over a mile just to get some cigarettes. Fine I'm addicted. But at least the walk sobered me up a bit. I need a few more beers. Grace is seriously in love with Nina. that's what I count one. I'm a basically unlikable person so I'm told, but Nina makes aal the friends with everyone. She's telling a story about getting hit on at new Years Eve. Grace says "w2e're gonna havef fun times tonight. They're gonna have sex tonight" I'm hopeful.
(g) i'm still fucked up and it's been 2 hours since my last drink. it's still hard to type. btw, i'm feeling amorous towards steve right now. *meeeeeeow!*
i like steve's cocktails...i think he could make agood living asd a bar tender,. grace and steve are3 the shit. i love them. this is nina typing onew handed. i love cal8i, az is boring. i can't wait to see what happens tomorrow. i'm dancing while i typ;e. t6his is nina by the way...
Okay, Big Bri is here - the party can now begin. Who is ready for an ass-kickin?
Anna is signing in... I tried Halo last night and have decided to spend the night drinking with Nina and Grace.... Pong is the only game I can play... But I will have fun watching and laughing at the show.... Nina is now smashed... She is picking rice out of her hair.
(g) nina is trying to explain to us the process in making chocolate liqueur truffles. i have no fucking idea what she's talking about. actually... i think she's just making shit up right now. i'm still drunk. and i ate LOTS of food. i did. i ate hot, hot beef. mmm... hot meat. HUH HUH. also, nina's truffles are so fucking good, i need to change my panties right now. mmmmm..... oh, and korean food makes your breath smell like A S S.
Mr. Nice Guy has arrived and is ready to inflict much pain. Does anyone else smell A S S?
(g) mr. nice guy is harold. he's not so nice. i don't get it. it's like an oxymoron. speaking of morons... :P hey... it's cooking hour with nina. i'm sure i should be paying more attention. but i can't concentrate right now. this is a problem. i know i'm going to end up calling her xmas day in a panic because my turkey is all deformed and talking to me... i'm sorry i'm hogging the blog. but, i just wanted to say that steve won the first round. he SCHOOLED them. mother fuckers! wooty woot! my hubby fucking KICKS ASS! hahaha.... mmm. licorice. it's so good.
(g) guess what, mother fuckers????? i just played me against 6 players. and mother fuckers. i won. not just won. i spanked them. i got 50 mother fucking kills. they had 8. muwahahaha. in all fairness, there were some negative scores. ... but, they weren't mine. 50 - 8. me against all of them. i'm the mother fucking master chief. they ain't got SHIT on me.
n: can't type too fucked upmtoo even play halo. had to comit sucide so grasce couyld win think I will sit out next round. figured out how to operate controler after the end of the round. betrayed my teammates for her. dead under susipision freom my temmeates. njot good. thinkibng i'm going to be paralled with bendict arnold antday now. must hide, request for sgots...sghit..damnsteve abd his tastey cock tails shit, can't spell. fordshit fuck. bye for now. damn cocktails...
(g) just in my defense, though... nina was really getting the hang of it at the end. also, even though i asked her to, she didn't always do it on purpose :P muwahahaha. no, really. if she wasn't so shitfaced, she could probably do some fucking damage. anyway, i'm drunk, but i can still type. it's kind of amazing. i can type, but it's not making any sense. i'm backspacing a lot. at least i can recognize when i'm typing fucked up. they're trying to make me play again. but i don't want to. my thumbs and trigger fingers hurt. god! but i love double-wielding weapons. you can do some serious shit to someone. it's... strangely comforting. :P hehehe.
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Embarrassing moments
When I was in the Air Force I had to work out quite a lot to meet minimum physical standards. At my most unfit I was going to the gym twice every day, once in the morning before work, then again for lunch. My machine of preference has always been the crosstrainer. What a great workout you can get on that thing. My least favorite has always been the stationary bikes. They make me sticky, and stickiness is for girls. But just to keep some spice of variety in my routines I would occasionally do some treadmill jogging.
Whatever cardio I was doing I was always listening to music. The gym on base was pretty nice. They had a wall of televisions, radio stations, and CD players that we could use. I usually like to play Rage Against the Machine's Battle of Los Angeles. There's just something about hearing "More for Gore or the son of a drug lord" when exercising in a government facility that just gets me pumped. The music is transmitted by remote throughout the room and can be tuned in on any cardio machine using the radio receiver attached. You have to bring your own headphones.
The receivers on the treadmill are at the bottom of the digital display, right in the front center of the machine. One morning I was chugging along when one of the televisions caught my eye off to the left. I can't remember what it was, but I think it was a cartoon or some stupid shit like that. Since my head was turned, my body started to run at a slight angle as well. Here's what happened next:
06:25:21 - My left foot lands on the siderail propelling me forward
06:25:28 - My right knee, still trying to run, smashes into the treadmill
06:25:92 - Blinded by surprise and pain I place my right foot back down...on the moving tread
06:26:20 - The tread throw my right foot back causing me to lose my footing
06:26:88 - My face smashes against the instrument controls
06:27:41 - I regain my footing on the tread, still not on the sidebar, and let my body roll to the back of the treadmill where I will step off
06:28:59 - I realize I'm still wearing my headphones when my feet and body are force off the tread
06:29:06 - I land my knees hard on the still moving tread and attempt to pop myself back onto my feet while planting them on the side rails
06:31:04 - I am successfully on the siderails, but have overshot my leap resulting in too much backward motion
06:33:25 - After unsuccessfully flapping my arms around to regain balance I fall backwards off of the treadmill, landing on my ass. I am safely off the treadmill
06:39:12 - I shake off the shock of what just happened and start to feel the pain in my right shin, both knees, nose, and ass
06:41:16 - I realize I am in a gym room with about 25 other people, all witness to my mishap
I had no choice but to get up off of my ass and start heading for the exit. As I was about to leave I decided to finally press the emergency stop button on the treadmill. Chuckles were beginning to escape like gas. I got my towel and headed out of the room. Full volume, mass laughter ensued. I was alright, just a little banged up, and filled with a level of mortification not known since the seventh grade P.E. hard on incident. But this wasn't the most recent time I did something stupid that taught me a lesson in humility and saw me scurrying for the nearest exit.
About a year ago I was enjoying a nice after lunch dump. It was about 1:00 PM so all of the stalls were full and there was a pretty good crowd at the urinals as well. I was in one of the middle stalls with people on both sides. For the women reading this I'll explain some of the physics involved in what happened. When a man sits down to shit, he'll most likely take a couple pisses too. In order to accomplish this the man must ensure that the penis is over the bowl and pointed at a downward angle so that the piss strikes the bowl at least below the rim. Some guys are endowed enough to not have to check this positioning. I can attest that the average sized man doesn't have this conveniece. Plus it's cold in there.
As I was sitting there I looked up and noticed that there was a toothpick sticking out of the ceiling as if fired up there through a straw. This was not a very interesting discovery, but a bathroom stall isn't exactly chock full of entertainment. So I look up to above my head and saw the toothpicks directly above my head. After a couple seconds I lost interest again and returned my view to the newspaper stuck to the door. As I was looking back down I heard a very very faint sound like water trickling. I looked down to see that when I had looked up my dick had moved out of the safe zone and I was pissing on the top of the rim spreading piss all over the floor. I had been at this for several seconds by the pooling.
After quickly repositioning yself I look in horror as I noticed that the grouting of the small floor tiles was beginning to act as a series of drainage ditches. The piss was on the move toward the shoes of my poo poo partners. My first thought was to use my shoes as dams to the flow. This worked only a little bit. The pee was now force to focus itself between my shoe and the grout. And it just kept creeping. It was now at the urinal walls. There was no way that either of the men next to me wouldn't see it. I could only pray they weren't looking down. I had to get out of there.
But I hadn't even wiped my ass yet. And so it was a race against the clock. Could I clean myself off, pull up my pants, tuck in my shirt, buckle my belt, flush, and bolt before the piss reached their shoes. I decided that speed was more important then hygiene so I gave myself only one pull on the toilet paper to get the job done. I yanked up my pants, stuffed my shirt down, put my belt in the loop, flushed, and hauled ass. I couldn't risk letting anyone know it was me. I'm a contractor. I threw my hands under hot water and ran out the door, leaving urine footprints in my wake. After a trip to my car I was able to locate another pair of shoes. I was free at last. Nobody saw me exit the stall and my shoes were not unidentifiable.
I can assure you that my life is frought with things like this. I walk into open cabinet doors. I walk into screen doors. I trip on my own feet. I bang my funny bone on everything. I am an absolute klutz. Luckily, I have developed a tolerance to the pain I cause myself on such a regular basis. But it's only a matter of time before I light up a cigarette and spontaneously explode into flames.
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Whatever cardio I was doing I was always listening to music. The gym on base was pretty nice. They had a wall of televisions, radio stations, and CD players that we could use. I usually like to play Rage Against the Machine's Battle of Los Angeles. There's just something about hearing "More for Gore or the son of a drug lord" when exercising in a government facility that just gets me pumped. The music is transmitted by remote throughout the room and can be tuned in on any cardio machine using the radio receiver attached. You have to bring your own headphones.
The receivers on the treadmill are at the bottom of the digital display, right in the front center of the machine. One morning I was chugging along when one of the televisions caught my eye off to the left. I can't remember what it was, but I think it was a cartoon or some stupid shit like that. Since my head was turned, my body started to run at a slight angle as well. Here's what happened next:
06:25:21 - My left foot lands on the siderail propelling me forward
06:25:28 - My right knee, still trying to run, smashes into the treadmill
06:25:92 - Blinded by surprise and pain I place my right foot back down...on the moving tread
06:26:20 - The tread throw my right foot back causing me to lose my footing
06:26:88 - My face smashes against the instrument controls
06:27:41 - I regain my footing on the tread, still not on the sidebar, and let my body roll to the back of the treadmill where I will step off
06:28:59 - I realize I'm still wearing my headphones when my feet and body are force off the tread
06:29:06 - I land my knees hard on the still moving tread and attempt to pop myself back onto my feet while planting them on the side rails
06:31:04 - I am successfully on the siderails, but have overshot my leap resulting in too much backward motion
06:33:25 - After unsuccessfully flapping my arms around to regain balance I fall backwards off of the treadmill, landing on my ass. I am safely off the treadmill
06:39:12 - I shake off the shock of what just happened and start to feel the pain in my right shin, both knees, nose, and ass
06:41:16 - I realize I am in a gym room with about 25 other people, all witness to my mishap
I had no choice but to get up off of my ass and start heading for the exit. As I was about to leave I decided to finally press the emergency stop button on the treadmill. Chuckles were beginning to escape like gas. I got my towel and headed out of the room. Full volume, mass laughter ensued. I was alright, just a little banged up, and filled with a level of mortification not known since the seventh grade P.E. hard on incident. But this wasn't the most recent time I did something stupid that taught me a lesson in humility and saw me scurrying for the nearest exit.
About a year ago I was enjoying a nice after lunch dump. It was about 1:00 PM so all of the stalls were full and there was a pretty good crowd at the urinals as well. I was in one of the middle stalls with people on both sides. For the women reading this I'll explain some of the physics involved in what happened. When a man sits down to shit, he'll most likely take a couple pisses too. In order to accomplish this the man must ensure that the penis is over the bowl and pointed at a downward angle so that the piss strikes the bowl at least below the rim. Some guys are endowed enough to not have to check this positioning. I can attest that the average sized man doesn't have this conveniece. Plus it's cold in there.
As I was sitting there I looked up and noticed that there was a toothpick sticking out of the ceiling as if fired up there through a straw. This was not a very interesting discovery, but a bathroom stall isn't exactly chock full of entertainment. So I look up to above my head and saw the toothpicks directly above my head. After a couple seconds I lost interest again and returned my view to the newspaper stuck to the door. As I was looking back down I heard a very very faint sound like water trickling. I looked down to see that when I had looked up my dick had moved out of the safe zone and I was pissing on the top of the rim spreading piss all over the floor. I had been at this for several seconds by the pooling.
After quickly repositioning yself I look in horror as I noticed that the grouting of the small floor tiles was beginning to act as a series of drainage ditches. The piss was on the move toward the shoes of my poo poo partners. My first thought was to use my shoes as dams to the flow. This worked only a little bit. The pee was now force to focus itself between my shoe and the grout. And it just kept creeping. It was now at the urinal walls. There was no way that either of the men next to me wouldn't see it. I could only pray they weren't looking down. I had to get out of there.
But I hadn't even wiped my ass yet. And so it was a race against the clock. Could I clean myself off, pull up my pants, tuck in my shirt, buckle my belt, flush, and bolt before the piss reached their shoes. I decided that speed was more important then hygiene so I gave myself only one pull on the toilet paper to get the job done. I yanked up my pants, stuffed my shirt down, put my belt in the loop, flushed, and hauled ass. I couldn't risk letting anyone know it was me. I'm a contractor. I threw my hands under hot water and ran out the door, leaving urine footprints in my wake. After a trip to my car I was able to locate another pair of shoes. I was free at last. Nobody saw me exit the stall and my shoes were not unidentifiable.
I can assure you that my life is frought with things like this. I walk into open cabinet doors. I walk into screen doors. I trip on my own feet. I bang my funny bone on everything. I am an absolute klutz. Luckily, I have developed a tolerance to the pain I cause myself on such a regular basis. But it's only a matter of time before I light up a cigarette and spontaneously explode into flames.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Look at all the beautiful babies. You're money!
As I'm sure you all know, Nina has pretty much covered our trip to Vegas as far as the basic details of our success and drunkenness. So I thought I'd just put out some observations about my trip.
First off, I had one hellagood time, even though we got our asses handed to us. I drank myself stupid within the first hour of table play on our first night. Nina didn't start drinking until I was already half gone so I never knew how hammered she was until we got back to the hotel room and she was acting as goofy as I was. I remember ordering my first Heineken, and then my next three. Then all of the sudden, it just hit me like a wave. Bam, I'm drunk. But I can still play good blackjack and that brings me one step closer to my lifelong goal of being Val Kilmer's Doc Holiday in Tombstone.
The Hilton is a pretty cool hotel. It's off the strip, getting just a little bit old but still pulling four stars. The tables are usually $10 minimums, which sucks because when I'm losing my shirt I like to drop down to five bucks per hand, just to stretch my money enough to get shitfaced on free drinks. The cocktail waitresses were always pretty good about bringing us our drinks, but their uniforms aren't as cute as I would like. Better than the girls at Mandalay Bay. Imagine that costume Cher wore in her "Turn Back Time" video, but made out of your grandmother's curtains. The girls at the Imperial Palace have the cutest little outfits by far. Stardust, Luxor, Excaliber are nice too. Oh, and the adorable little cocktails at the MGM Grand are really nice too. Not so much at the Sahara or Caesar's Palace. The girls at the Bellagio and Venetian just didn't do it for me. And the lovely ladies of New York, New York and Paris Las Vegas were just plain hotties. I haven't been to the Rio and I can't remember the girls from the Stratosphere. I'll keep you posted.
Damn, where did all that come from? Sorry, honey. Don't be mad. You're still the hottest piece of ass I've ever seen. Beautiful, sure. Always lovely and impossible cute. But most of all, smoldering "going to break that ass in half" fucking hot!
So one of the biggest surprises about this trip was that Nina and I put her two little sisters to shame. For weeks before we left Nina was talking about how they were going to want to go clubbing and stay out drinking all night. Nina and I are just about the gambling and the free drinks. But that first night Meagan went to bed early and Rachel just stood there watching us play and drink. They were both dead to the world when we got back to the room that night. Luckily Nina had the forethought to pack a bunch of salami sandwiches, because I was drunk and hungry. I sat on the bathroom floor eating my sandwich while Nina took a piss. You know we're drunk now. And for the record, salami sandwiches keep better than any other lunchmeat I've found.
Over the next couple days we went all over the strip playing and drinking. Nina and I always try to make friends with our dealer. Everyone at the table is Nina's friend. It's annoying, really. And for some reason, every dealer just automatically assumes that I'm fair game for fucking with. What is it about me that screams "tease me, I love it"? I know I have some odd behavior and mannerisms sometimes, but lay off dicks. Deal the fucking cards. Anyway, every day Nina and I were the first ones up and the last ones to crash. We drank more, played more, and cut loose more than either of them. So much for the vigor of youth. One funny moment was when we got back to the room at 4:30 AM and were supposed to get up at 6:30. Once the lights were out Nina, in true Nina form, asked "so what do you guys want to do tomorrow, to which Meagan replied "go to sleep". HA!!! Thank you, Meagan! You see Nina? You are NOT normal. Bedtime is bedtime. Fuck or sleep, pick one. Conversation is not an option. TA-DOW!
I'd tell you a whole lot more, but as they say: what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
|
First off, I had one hellagood time, even though we got our asses handed to us. I drank myself stupid within the first hour of table play on our first night. Nina didn't start drinking until I was already half gone so I never knew how hammered she was until we got back to the hotel room and she was acting as goofy as I was. I remember ordering my first Heineken, and then my next three. Then all of the sudden, it just hit me like a wave. Bam, I'm drunk. But I can still play good blackjack and that brings me one step closer to my lifelong goal of being Val Kilmer's Doc Holiday in Tombstone.
The Hilton is a pretty cool hotel. It's off the strip, getting just a little bit old but still pulling four stars. The tables are usually $10 minimums, which sucks because when I'm losing my shirt I like to drop down to five bucks per hand, just to stretch my money enough to get shitfaced on free drinks. The cocktail waitresses were always pretty good about bringing us our drinks, but their uniforms aren't as cute as I would like. Better than the girls at Mandalay Bay. Imagine that costume Cher wore in her "Turn Back Time" video, but made out of your grandmother's curtains. The girls at the Imperial Palace have the cutest little outfits by far. Stardust, Luxor, Excaliber are nice too. Oh, and the adorable little cocktails at the MGM Grand are really nice too. Not so much at the Sahara or Caesar's Palace. The girls at the Bellagio and Venetian just didn't do it for me. And the lovely ladies of New York, New York and Paris Las Vegas were just plain hotties. I haven't been to the Rio and I can't remember the girls from the Stratosphere. I'll keep you posted.
Damn, where did all that come from? Sorry, honey. Don't be mad. You're still the hottest piece of ass I've ever seen. Beautiful, sure. Always lovely and impossible cute. But most of all, smoldering "going to break that ass in half" fucking hot!
So one of the biggest surprises about this trip was that Nina and I put her two little sisters to shame. For weeks before we left Nina was talking about how they were going to want to go clubbing and stay out drinking all night. Nina and I are just about the gambling and the free drinks. But that first night Meagan went to bed early and Rachel just stood there watching us play and drink. They were both dead to the world when we got back to the room that night. Luckily Nina had the forethought to pack a bunch of salami sandwiches, because I was drunk and hungry. I sat on the bathroom floor eating my sandwich while Nina took a piss. You know we're drunk now. And for the record, salami sandwiches keep better than any other lunchmeat I've found.
Over the next couple days we went all over the strip playing and drinking. Nina and I always try to make friends with our dealer. Everyone at the table is Nina's friend. It's annoying, really. And for some reason, every dealer just automatically assumes that I'm fair game for fucking with. What is it about me that screams "tease me, I love it"? I know I have some odd behavior and mannerisms sometimes, but lay off dicks. Deal the fucking cards. Anyway, every day Nina and I were the first ones up and the last ones to crash. We drank more, played more, and cut loose more than either of them. So much for the vigor of youth. One funny moment was when we got back to the room at 4:30 AM and were supposed to get up at 6:30. Once the lights were out Nina, in true Nina form, asked "so what do you guys want to do tomorrow, to which Meagan replied "go to sleep". HA!!! Thank you, Meagan! You see Nina? You are NOT normal. Bedtime is bedtime. Fuck or sleep, pick one. Conversation is not an option. TA-DOW!
I'd tell you a whole lot more, but as they say: what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
My opinion counts more than yours
Kessler Consulting Services is now open for business! For a variable and modest fee I will tell you my opinion on anything ranging from music, television, movies, and anything else ya got. My credentials include experience with paid surveys and just generally being right about everything, especially when it's a matter of opinion. Want to know if your boyfriend is cute enough for you? Interested in finding out if you should admit in public that you loved Troy? Perhaps you are unsure what pop music you should be listening to. Just throw me a few Hamiltons and I'll take away all of your confusions.
A few months ago I was cold called by Arbitron Ratings, the company that provides ratings to radio stations. They asked me to keep a log of my listening habits for a week. I was originally going to do it just for the hell of it. But then when the log came in the mail it came complete with two crisp and fresh one dollar bills. I was officially a compensated participant. I filled out the log and had fun doing it. I wrote down the radio stations I listened to and during what times. I made sure to include the hours that Howard Stern is on. On the back side of the log there was a section for me to fill in some notes. I used every line commenting on the length of commercial breaks, the habit of DJs to cut off the intros and endings of songs with their meaningless banter, and how annoying one other morning show DJs laugh is. I haven't heard that repulsive, high-pitched whine of a laugh since. That's right bitch, do my bidding! At the end of the survey I sent it in and went on with my life. A week later I got a letter of appreciation from Arbitron with, you guessed, two more brand new dollar bills. SCORE!
So I felt pretty good about doing my part to improve the quality of the radio programming I listen to. Knowing that my voice represented thousands of other listeners was pretty cool too. Then last Thursday as I got in the door I got a call from some other company asking me to participate in their survey. This one was a survey of my opinion on specific songs. It was going to be two and a half hours long on Tuesday night in downtown Phoenix. I might have done it for nothing, but then they told me that I would be compensated to the tune of sixty bucks. Sixty fucking clams? I'm in. And it was a really cool survey too.
It was me and about fifty other white men in their twenties in a Hilton board room. They gave each of these little radio transmitters about the size of an Ipod with a keypad, digital LED display and a 3/4 turn know on the side. They had us enter 1 through 9 on some questions to identify ourselves. Then came the music. They played the "hooks" for a shitload of songs, three to five seconds each, fifty at a time. We had to turn the knob to make the display read 0 to 100 based on how wee liked each song. In total, we heard samples of about 650 songs, mostly hard rock to metal with some classic rock thrown in for good measure. I cranked it up to 100 whenever I heard Rage or NIN. But what felt really great was turning it down to 1 whenever I heard shit that I just can't stand anymore like 411, most ACDC, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers (sorry Nina...they suck). They had us cramped in pretty tight so we were all surreptitiously monitoring our neighbors' scores. The guy on my left loves contentless, poppy garbage. Based on my observations, the guy on my right just hates music altogether. I mean, who gives Slaughter the same score as Linkin Park? At the end they had a DJ from Sirius radio stand up and thank us for helping them out. Then they gave us our checks and home we went.
Now this morning I come in to find an email from Nielsen Media Research. Yes that's right, Nielsen...the big boys who decide what television shows stay on and which ones fall off the face of the Earth. They are asking me to keep a log for a week of what TV shows I watch, and they're going to pay me with a twenty dollar gift card to Amazon. I filled out a practice log in which I listed the only show I watched yesterday as Gilmore Girls (you're welcome, Nina). They'll email me the official log by this Friday. I wonder if they're at all interested in how much time in that week I spend playing Halo 2.
However, a small problem does exist. You see, I don't really watch too much television at all. In fact, I pretty much hate television shows. I don't watch Lost. I detest Friends. I hate the O.C. and One Tree Hill. I have never seen a single episode of Angel. I don't even know what shows are out there. The only shows I even try to watch are Gilmore Girls and Next Top Model. Don't say a word. But it seems a tremendous waste for me to just toss away this opportunity to give that shot in the arm to shows that might need it. So for one week and one week only I am offering my services to you, the general television viewing public. For a modest donation of five dollars I will add your favorite show to my list of viewed programs. Hell, I may even watch it just to see if it's any good. Email me for PayPal information. I can understand that this might be just a tad dishonest, maybe even deceptive. My counter argument? Fuck it, pay me.
Once this is over I wonder what will be next. It seems that my opinion's star is on the rise. I stand here as a representative of thousands and thousands of pop culture addicted drones. The power! The absolute power!
|
A few months ago I was cold called by Arbitron Ratings, the company that provides ratings to radio stations. They asked me to keep a log of my listening habits for a week. I was originally going to do it just for the hell of it. But then when the log came in the mail it came complete with two crisp and fresh one dollar bills. I was officially a compensated participant. I filled out the log and had fun doing it. I wrote down the radio stations I listened to and during what times. I made sure to include the hours that Howard Stern is on. On the back side of the log there was a section for me to fill in some notes. I used every line commenting on the length of commercial breaks, the habit of DJs to cut off the intros and endings of songs with their meaningless banter, and how annoying one other morning show DJs laugh is. I haven't heard that repulsive, high-pitched whine of a laugh since. That's right bitch, do my bidding! At the end of the survey I sent it in and went on with my life. A week later I got a letter of appreciation from Arbitron with, you guessed, two more brand new dollar bills. SCORE!
So I felt pretty good about doing my part to improve the quality of the radio programming I listen to. Knowing that my voice represented thousands of other listeners was pretty cool too. Then last Thursday as I got in the door I got a call from some other company asking me to participate in their survey. This one was a survey of my opinion on specific songs. It was going to be two and a half hours long on Tuesday night in downtown Phoenix. I might have done it for nothing, but then they told me that I would be compensated to the tune of sixty bucks. Sixty fucking clams? I'm in. And it was a really cool survey too.
It was me and about fifty other white men in their twenties in a Hilton board room. They gave each of these little radio transmitters about the size of an Ipod with a keypad, digital LED display and a 3/4 turn know on the side. They had us enter 1 through 9 on some questions to identify ourselves. Then came the music. They played the "hooks" for a shitload of songs, three to five seconds each, fifty at a time. We had to turn the knob to make the display read 0 to 100 based on how wee liked each song. In total, we heard samples of about 650 songs, mostly hard rock to metal with some classic rock thrown in for good measure. I cranked it up to 100 whenever I heard Rage or NIN. But what felt really great was turning it down to 1 whenever I heard shit that I just can't stand anymore like 411, most ACDC, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers (sorry Nina...they suck). They had us cramped in pretty tight so we were all surreptitiously monitoring our neighbors' scores. The guy on my left loves contentless, poppy garbage. Based on my observations, the guy on my right just hates music altogether. I mean, who gives Slaughter the same score as Linkin Park? At the end they had a DJ from Sirius radio stand up and thank us for helping them out. Then they gave us our checks and home we went.
Now this morning I come in to find an email from Nielsen Media Research. Yes that's right, Nielsen...the big boys who decide what television shows stay on and which ones fall off the face of the Earth. They are asking me to keep a log for a week of what TV shows I watch, and they're going to pay me with a twenty dollar gift card to Amazon. I filled out a practice log in which I listed the only show I watched yesterday as Gilmore Girls (you're welcome, Nina). They'll email me the official log by this Friday. I wonder if they're at all interested in how much time in that week I spend playing Halo 2.
However, a small problem does exist. You see, I don't really watch too much television at all. In fact, I pretty much hate television shows. I don't watch Lost. I detest Friends. I hate the O.C. and One Tree Hill. I have never seen a single episode of Angel. I don't even know what shows are out there. The only shows I even try to watch are Gilmore Girls and Next Top Model. Don't say a word. But it seems a tremendous waste for me to just toss away this opportunity to give that shot in the arm to shows that might need it. So for one week and one week only I am offering my services to you, the general television viewing public. For a modest donation of five dollars I will add your favorite show to my list of viewed programs. Hell, I may even watch it just to see if it's any good. Email me for PayPal information. I can understand that this might be just a tad dishonest, maybe even deceptive. My counter argument? Fuck it, pay me.
SenD $5 tO my acCount
oR you"ll NevEr see CsI NY agaiN!
oR you"ll NevEr see CsI NY agaiN!
Once this is over I wonder what will be next. It seems that my opinion's star is on the rise. I stand here as a representative of thousands and thousands of pop culture addicted drones. The power! The absolute power!
Friday, November 05, 2004
Cutters
Somehow, when Nina and I were flipping channels the other day looking for something that didn't suck ass, we came upon the opening monologue on Dr. Phil. I don't know how we managed to let this asshole on my television for more than three seconds. She was probably picking something up and I was looking at her ass. Anyway, in his signature Oklahoma drawl he started talking about the evening's big topic: cutters. Tonight he would be saving young girls who cut their bodies deliberately and habitually. I've known that young girls can turn into cutters because of their inability or unwillingness to express their anger outward and everything for a while. Being a girl who associated with any and all, Nina knew a few in her girlhood.
I had actually never known anyone who cuts. Nina says it's a surprisingly common practice. I first saw it in the movie Thirteen, which is the best "don't ever reproduce" movie I've seen in a long time. So apparently when some girls get angry or upset about something, but don't have the ability to express it outwardly they choose to take a sharp instrument (knife, scissors, razor, pin) and cut their own flesh. And from what I'm told, doing so provides the cutter with an instant release and puts them at calm once again. I imagine it's kind of like the feeling a guy gets when he loses his temper and puts his fist through a wall.
At first I thought of this as a bunch of bullshit, female, angst driven, attention seeking crap. And perhaps it is just that. And if a girl told me she was a cutter I'd probably ask, "what the fuck is wrong with you? Grow up!" But I guess we can't so easily just cast aside the practice of self mutilation. I know that there are some deep issues that have to be going on for a girl to come up with the idea that slicing her arms or legs up is better than just letting it out. Is being a girl really so restricting that you can't even scream, punch or release your anger any other way besides tearing your own flesh? I know that you have more restrictions than boys, but can't a great deal of this be placed on the emotional nature of women instead of the oppressive social structure (that is, by the way, perpetuated by women as much as men)?
Once I told Nina that cutting doesn't concern me at all she told me that it should because I know one. Apparently a mutual friend of ours was a cutter, maybe still is. You can just imagine the soap opera like scene:
ME - You know what? I don't really care about cutters. It doesn't concern me.
NINA - Well you should.......you know one!
*Cue dramatic three-tone chord*
*Fade to commercial*
Let me just say that I'm all for people with emotional problems seeking out ways to resolve them themselves. Obviously self mutilation may not be the best way to handle the situation, but at least it's not bottling up all your emotions so that they can build up to a future breakdown or suicide. And if someone needs some psychological treatment for their problems then I support going to find it. But this friend of ours is a grown woman. And not just a grown woman but a grown, bleeding heart, "laws off my body" liberal woman. As such, if she wants to slice herself up as a way of dealing with her own issues, then I wish her success in this venture. Slice your face off and mail it to your parents in two parts if it makes you happy. I would hope that she doesn't but we can't go around all the time begging people not to hurt themselves all their life.
It occurs to me that cutting must be a predominantly female problem. I'm sure there are boys and men out there who do this, but it seems that they are behaving in a very female way. When a boy is mad at his mother, but can't get that anger out at her he's far more likely to start beating up on other kids then himself. Boys break things, throw tantrums, have raging tirades, and such. Whatever it is, it's usually outward directed. With girls, the usual revenge is to inflict some harm on herself. Such is the case with girls who become sluts, alcoholics or academic failures to get even with their mommies and daddies. And so I think it is with cutting. Also, it's a secret, having that wound under her sleeve. "If you only knew" is a form of empowerment for a lot of girls.
I guess the point of this post is that I recognize cutting as a way of dealing with uncontrollable emotion. I understand that it would probably be a very effective way of temporarily patching oneself when a meltdown is about to occur. And for children, I believe that it should be dealt with immediately, openly and without shaming or isolating the cutter. Kids with problems seek other kids with problems. They usually grow out of it, but it helps to know you're not alone. If you're worried that you might know a cutter, check the groups they associate with, not just at school, but online. You'd be surprised how many Internet groups there are dedicated to cutters. But once you've grown up and decided to move out and take care of yourself, I say you're on your own. If you have chosen to accept cutting as a way of life for yourself after declaring independence, have at it. I hope you get well and find a better way, but don't let me get in your way.
I can't believe I've dedicated this much time to a Dr. Phil topic. I need a knife.
|
I had actually never known anyone who cuts. Nina says it's a surprisingly common practice. I first saw it in the movie Thirteen, which is the best "don't ever reproduce" movie I've seen in a long time. So apparently when some girls get angry or upset about something, but don't have the ability to express it outwardly they choose to take a sharp instrument (knife, scissors, razor, pin) and cut their own flesh. And from what I'm told, doing so provides the cutter with an instant release and puts them at calm once again. I imagine it's kind of like the feeling a guy gets when he loses his temper and puts his fist through a wall.
At first I thought of this as a bunch of bullshit, female, angst driven, attention seeking crap. And perhaps it is just that. And if a girl told me she was a cutter I'd probably ask, "what the fuck is wrong with you? Grow up!" But I guess we can't so easily just cast aside the practice of self mutilation. I know that there are some deep issues that have to be going on for a girl to come up with the idea that slicing her arms or legs up is better than just letting it out. Is being a girl really so restricting that you can't even scream, punch or release your anger any other way besides tearing your own flesh? I know that you have more restrictions than boys, but can't a great deal of this be placed on the emotional nature of women instead of the oppressive social structure (that is, by the way, perpetuated by women as much as men)?
Once I told Nina that cutting doesn't concern me at all she told me that it should because I know one. Apparently a mutual friend of ours was a cutter, maybe still is. You can just imagine the soap opera like scene:
ME - You know what? I don't really care about cutters. It doesn't concern me.
NINA - Well you should.......you know one!
*Cue dramatic three-tone chord*
*Fade to commercial*
Let me just say that I'm all for people with emotional problems seeking out ways to resolve them themselves. Obviously self mutilation may not be the best way to handle the situation, but at least it's not bottling up all your emotions so that they can build up to a future breakdown or suicide. And if someone needs some psychological treatment for their problems then I support going to find it. But this friend of ours is a grown woman. And not just a grown woman but a grown, bleeding heart, "laws off my body" liberal woman. As such, if she wants to slice herself up as a way of dealing with her own issues, then I wish her success in this venture. Slice your face off and mail it to your parents in two parts if it makes you happy. I would hope that she doesn't but we can't go around all the time begging people not to hurt themselves all their life.
It occurs to me that cutting must be a predominantly female problem. I'm sure there are boys and men out there who do this, but it seems that they are behaving in a very female way. When a boy is mad at his mother, but can't get that anger out at her he's far more likely to start beating up on other kids then himself. Boys break things, throw tantrums, have raging tirades, and such. Whatever it is, it's usually outward directed. With girls, the usual revenge is to inflict some harm on herself. Such is the case with girls who become sluts, alcoholics or academic failures to get even with their mommies and daddies. And so I think it is with cutting. Also, it's a secret, having that wound under her sleeve. "If you only knew" is a form of empowerment for a lot of girls.
I guess the point of this post is that I recognize cutting as a way of dealing with uncontrollable emotion. I understand that it would probably be a very effective way of temporarily patching oneself when a meltdown is about to occur. And for children, I believe that it should be dealt with immediately, openly and without shaming or isolating the cutter. Kids with problems seek other kids with problems. They usually grow out of it, but it helps to know you're not alone. If you're worried that you might know a cutter, check the groups they associate with, not just at school, but online. You'd be surprised how many Internet groups there are dedicated to cutters. But once you've grown up and decided to move out and take care of yourself, I say you're on your own. If you have chosen to accept cutting as a way of life for yourself after declaring independence, have at it. I hope you get well and find a better way, but don't let me get in your way.
I can't believe I've dedicated this much time to a Dr. Phil topic. I need a knife.
Psychic Healing 101
Last night I was on break at school so I stepped outside for a smoke. As I walked out of the building I noticed a rather strange transaction going on. The smoking area is a large paved spot outside the building with curvy, stucco, backless benches forming a peanut shape around the entire smoking area. One the bench closest to the building there was a woman in her mid to late forties sitting and coughing. She obviously was suffering from some mild lung sickness, like bronchitis. It's the season, and I've had it several times. Her coughs were echoed by the bass-like growl of a lung trying to expel fluid.
Standing next to her was a woman who must have been in her sixties. She was about 5'6" tall with a slovenly appearance and drooping features. She wore a blue, floral full length house dress that did absolutely nothing for her. She stood next to the ailing woman, facing her right side. Her right hand was placed squarely on the sick woman's chest, right between her tits. Her left hand was placed at the same point on her back with her fingers slightly curled. Every couple of seconds she would pull her left hand away from the woman's back and return it in a wafting motion. After a few pulls she stepped away from the woman and begin shaking her body and arms like you do after washing your hands. She then made jazz hands touching the tips of her thumbs and index fingers, placed her hands over the woman's head, and began to run her hands down the woman's body as if massaging her aura, supposing the aura exists.
I stopped dead in my tracks and stared, quite rudely, at the pair. I just couldn't believe that I was standing outside my university, a place of higher learning, watching some goddamned new age faith healing. The old bitch had her eyes shut and was spouting bullshit phrases like "I can sense the sickness in your red chakra". I was sensing something too, like the woman might have fucking tuberculosis and needs to see a medical doctor. But I can't blame the older lady entirely, no matter how much I would like to. The coughing woman was sitting there hacking her lungs up, in the smoking area, and kept telling the high priestess that she "really believed in this stuff". After about another three minutes of this, with me staring, biting back the laughter the entire time, the witch healer stepped away and said how exhausted she was. That really took a lot out of her. The lunger said that she actually felt a lot better and began to thank her profusely, just before another coughing fit.
What the hell is wrong with you people? Look, let's get this settled once and for all. You can NOT heal a person with your thoughts. You are unable to sense illnesses. There is no such thing as ESP, psychic healing, telekinesis, magic (or magick to the bigger idiots), chakras, or auras. And even if there were any of these things, why is it only uneducated women who have the ability to control these things. What deficiency exists in womankind that makes them believe they have psychic powers? Don't you realize that ridiculous behavior like this is the main reason why we don't take any of you seriously? So long as I hear women say silly shit like "I feel very attuned to the spiritual world" there will be men who add your name to the glass ceiling list.
What boggles me most about this sort of thing is that people who believe in this shit are so critical of logic and reason. The very idea that mysterious occurences can be explained by physics, psychology, and the law of averages is offensive to these spiritual beings is amuses me most. If the natural settling of an aging house frame causes a subsidence to fill, resulting in a loud crack, the answer must be that the ghost is angry...or happy...or whatever makes the idiot believer feel most empowered.
The bottom line is that if you want to believe in the paranormal, go ahead. You might want to look up the theory of spontaneous generation as the basis for all scientific method while you're at it. I know that grounding yourself and transferring your energies makes you feel connected and knowledgeable. But just because you believe it don't make it true. And the more you root your belief structure in something that is unprovable the more difficult it will be for you to be taken seriously by the community at large. Will Rogers once said "if you find yourself in a hole, stop digging". That applies to you too.
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Standing next to her was a woman who must have been in her sixties. She was about 5'6" tall with a slovenly appearance and drooping features. She wore a blue, floral full length house dress that did absolutely nothing for her. She stood next to the ailing woman, facing her right side. Her right hand was placed squarely on the sick woman's chest, right between her tits. Her left hand was placed at the same point on her back with her fingers slightly curled. Every couple of seconds she would pull her left hand away from the woman's back and return it in a wafting motion. After a few pulls she stepped away from the woman and begin shaking her body and arms like you do after washing your hands. She then made jazz hands touching the tips of her thumbs and index fingers, placed her hands over the woman's head, and began to run her hands down the woman's body as if massaging her aura, supposing the aura exists.
I stopped dead in my tracks and stared, quite rudely, at the pair. I just couldn't believe that I was standing outside my university, a place of higher learning, watching some goddamned new age faith healing. The old bitch had her eyes shut and was spouting bullshit phrases like "I can sense the sickness in your red chakra". I was sensing something too, like the woman might have fucking tuberculosis and needs to see a medical doctor. But I can't blame the older lady entirely, no matter how much I would like to. The coughing woman was sitting there hacking her lungs up, in the smoking area, and kept telling the high priestess that she "really believed in this stuff". After about another three minutes of this, with me staring, biting back the laughter the entire time, the witch healer stepped away and said how exhausted she was. That really took a lot out of her. The lunger said that she actually felt a lot better and began to thank her profusely, just before another coughing fit.
What the hell is wrong with you people? Look, let's get this settled once and for all. You can NOT heal a person with your thoughts. You are unable to sense illnesses. There is no such thing as ESP, psychic healing, telekinesis, magic (or magick to the bigger idiots), chakras, or auras. And even if there were any of these things, why is it only uneducated women who have the ability to control these things. What deficiency exists in womankind that makes them believe they have psychic powers? Don't you realize that ridiculous behavior like this is the main reason why we don't take any of you seriously? So long as I hear women say silly shit like "I feel very attuned to the spiritual world" there will be men who add your name to the glass ceiling list.
What boggles me most about this sort of thing is that people who believe in this shit are so critical of logic and reason. The very idea that mysterious occurences can be explained by physics, psychology, and the law of averages is offensive to these spiritual beings is amuses me most. If the natural settling of an aging house frame causes a subsidence to fill, resulting in a loud crack, the answer must be that the ghost is angry...or happy...or whatever makes the idiot believer feel most empowered.
The bottom line is that if you want to believe in the paranormal, go ahead. You might want to look up the theory of spontaneous generation as the basis for all scientific method while you're at it. I know that grounding yourself and transferring your energies makes you feel connected and knowledgeable. But just because you believe it don't make it true. And the more you root your belief structure in something that is unprovable the more difficult it will be for you to be taken seriously by the community at large. Will Rogers once said "if you find yourself in a hole, stop digging". That applies to you too.
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Starbucks is yuppie crack
Over the past three years my job has moved me to several different corporations all across the country. Most of these places are pretty similar. They all have labs. They all have admin sections. They all have onsite businesses like a bank or coffee shop. However, the one that I work at right now is different in that inside the cafeteria, they offer not just house coffee, but they also serve Starbucks coffee. For those of you haven't been on this planet since 1989, Starbucks is a company that has somehow managed to convince the entire nation that they actually like, nay can't live without, their 24 ounce, espresso strength, boiling point coffee.
I love coffee. I've been in love with coffee since about age sixteen. Just like any good aficionado, there was a time when I started turning my nose up to the major label coffees and only drank freshly ground and brewed, imported coffee. I was a bit like that annoying guy at a party who walks around choking down Stone Brewery's Arrogant Bastard Ale while accosting every person in the room who can tolerate Bud Light. But after a short while I found myself in a few situations where I needed my morning fix, but was nowhere around a privately owned coffee house. I was forced to suck back the Folgers, Sanka, and Yuban. Now, Yuban is my favorite brand. Just add some International Delight French Vanilla creamer and a few Equal and I'm good to go.
Last month I stopped by our cafeteria to buy a 20 ounce house blend. It was the first Friday of the month, and they were giving away free small coffees, including Starbucks. I had drunk from the Coffee Bean and other places, but I couldn't specifically drinking a regular coffee from Starbucks. So I gave it a try. It was too strong, almost offensively so. It was way too hot. It took almost twice as much doctoring as my usual cup o' jo. But Hannibal Lecter tells me that it's important to try new things, so I sipped it down. What a jolt this stuff packs. How the fuck do American's need this level of a caffeine rush. And I love, like psychotically love, my morning caffeine. But this shit had me ready to go ten rounds with Holyfield.
The next morning something strange happened. When I wake up normally the first thoughts in my head are:
Is it the intense caffeine, or has Starbucks found some way to harvest mildly narcotic and addictive coffee beans? Is it beyond a corporation of this size to attempt something like this? You may not remember this, because we all had other thoughts on our minds, but when 9/11 happened the authorities started placing people in nearby stores to rest and recuperate. When Starbucks was filled with victims, they had the audacity to force these people to buy the bottled water. They weren't "authorized" to give anything away. What does that tell you. Of course Starbucks HQ quelled the situation by publicly apologizing and putting up a million dollars into the 9/11 fund. But doesn't this speak on what kind of company this is, that they have this kind of militant control over its employees?
All I know is that after one cup, I couldn't get it out of my head. I needed my Starbucks, and not just a cup of coffee. I needed Starbucks brand coffee. So look around wherever you are. If you see someone sipping away at their overpriced green and white recycled cup, you're looking at an addict. Give them the one week challenge. If they can go one full week without a drop of Starbucks coffee, they should be adequately detoxed. They'll thank you and you will have done your part to help your fellow man and crush the institutions that seek to control us. Viva la resistance!
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I love coffee. I've been in love with coffee since about age sixteen. Just like any good aficionado, there was a time when I started turning my nose up to the major label coffees and only drank freshly ground and brewed, imported coffee. I was a bit like that annoying guy at a party who walks around choking down Stone Brewery's Arrogant Bastard Ale while accosting every person in the room who can tolerate Bud Light. But after a short while I found myself in a few situations where I needed my morning fix, but was nowhere around a privately owned coffee house. I was forced to suck back the Folgers, Sanka, and Yuban. Now, Yuban is my favorite brand. Just add some International Delight French Vanilla creamer and a few Equal and I'm good to go.
Last month I stopped by our cafeteria to buy a 20 ounce house blend. It was the first Friday of the month, and they were giving away free small coffees, including Starbucks. I had drunk from the Coffee Bean and other places, but I couldn't specifically drinking a regular coffee from Starbucks. So I gave it a try. It was too strong, almost offensively so. It was way too hot. It took almost twice as much doctoring as my usual cup o' jo. But Hannibal Lecter tells me that it's important to try new things, so I sipped it down. What a jolt this stuff packs. How the fuck do American's need this level of a caffeine rush. And I love, like psychotically love, my morning caffeine. But this shit had me ready to go ten rounds with Holyfield.
The next morning something strange happened. When I wake up normally the first thoughts in my head are:
- Good morning, penis! How can I serve you today?
- Shit I have to go to work. Is there anything going on that's so important that I can't call in sick?
- Whoa, I need to piss.
- I need my Starbuck's coffee!
Is it the intense caffeine, or has Starbucks found some way to harvest mildly narcotic and addictive coffee beans? Is it beyond a corporation of this size to attempt something like this? You may not remember this, because we all had other thoughts on our minds, but when 9/11 happened the authorities started placing people in nearby stores to rest and recuperate. When Starbucks was filled with victims, they had the audacity to force these people to buy the bottled water. They weren't "authorized" to give anything away. What does that tell you. Of course Starbucks HQ quelled the situation by publicly apologizing and putting up a million dollars into the 9/11 fund. But doesn't this speak on what kind of company this is, that they have this kind of militant control over its employees?
All I know is that after one cup, I couldn't get it out of my head. I needed my Starbucks, and not just a cup of coffee. I needed Starbucks brand coffee. So look around wherever you are. If you see someone sipping away at their overpriced green and white recycled cup, you're looking at an addict. Give them the one week challenge. If they can go one full week without a drop of Starbucks coffee, they should be adequately detoxed. They'll thank you and you will have done your part to help your fellow man and crush the institutions that seek to control us. Viva la resistance!
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
I forget. Is red the color of love or of blind ignorance and intolerance?
On my way in to work today I was thinking about how I was going to put up with the fucktards I work with who would no doubt be in my face over the Bush victory. While I do enjoy a hearty debate and I have proven on several occasions to concede when bested I simply can't picture myself not shoving a floor lamp down somebody's throat if confronted. Of course my coworkers are the types who will be all over me all day sending me emails, calling, and pointing and laughing. Somebody will be hurt today.
But few would deny that when faced with humility, the man worth his salt will stand, shoulders squared, and admit his defeat. He will shake the hands of his opponents and praise them for their efforts. He will accept that this is an opportunity for personal growth and acknowledgement that while his opinions are valuable, they do not hold popular sway. He is a strong and proud man who accepts defeat with grace and humility. I am not such a man.
Why has America decided that it wants four more years of Bush and his warmongering, fundamentalism, favoritism, and personal vendettas? The answer is space. Think about it. Look at the map, and you'll notice that all of the states that went to Bush are states that have more acreage per person. It is human nature and one of our base instincts to protect and defend that which is ours. We don't want unknown people in our houses or our cars. We will defend ourselves against a thief who might be taking something fully covered by insurance. We put up fences and are upset when our land is tread upon. In America, a land of capitalism, this instinct is encouraged by the success it yields and the fear instilled by the media.
Now in places like Chicago, Philly, NYC, LA, and Seattle, there is very little personal space for everyone. Even those of us lucky enough to own a home in the suburbs have less than a quarter acre of our own. We can hear and see our neighbors from our windows. And a great many more are divided by walls in apartments and condos. We work in cubicles and cram onto freeways. Many people who don't have to live in this environment would think that we would feel very cramped and invaded by everyday life. What they don't realize is that it has taught us how to live with one another. We may dislike each other. In fact we may despise one another, but we learn to cope and respect what little space each of us is afforded. And we don't consider a minor encroachment into our space to be a call to arms.
Now move out of the cities. Cast your mind onto a plot of land some fifty acres wide. You have a small home, a long fence, and a lot of space between you and the next non-relative. In fact every neighbor you have may or may not be related to you in some way. Your way of life is very different here. You have a strong bond to your family because of your reliance on them for your survival. You may have grown up on this land and it is precious to you. Chances are, you have never left your hometown for more than a few days. You probably own several guns, some for hunting, some just for having. You know enough to survive and maybe even thrive in your little segment of the world. You are probably not college educated. You were likely raised with strict religion. And all of your upbringing revolved around a single standpoint when related to your things: protect what is yours, protect what is your kin's.
And so this is what it comes to. Those who have been forced to cope with humanity shoulder to shoulder have learned that freedom and success come through understanding and compromise. Those who know have been raised to defend their perimeters understand that freedom and success come from force and a hard line. These people have every reason to believe they're right. Most people would suggest that both patterns of thought are justifiable and valid. I say these people are retarded and just plain fucking hateful. They are the America that the rest of the world hates and fears, though they see themselves as the heart of the nation. They are reactionary. And worst of all, they have won.
I could go on and on about the idiotic college kids rebelling against their Democrat parents. I would love to rip into all of the mindless, blank canvas wives who vote their husbands' wills. I could spend hours talking about the media whores I know who get all of their political opinions directly from Bush sound bites. But Instead I want to point out where all of this ignorance, hate and fear originate. I do this because it makes me feel big and smart. And that helps me feel superior to the pigs that reelected Bush. And as long as I'm superior, I can stave off the fear and anguish I feel for the next four years.
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But few would deny that when faced with humility, the man worth his salt will stand, shoulders squared, and admit his defeat. He will shake the hands of his opponents and praise them for their efforts. He will accept that this is an opportunity for personal growth and acknowledgement that while his opinions are valuable, they do not hold popular sway. He is a strong and proud man who accepts defeat with grace and humility. I am not such a man.
Why has America decided that it wants four more years of Bush and his warmongering, fundamentalism, favoritism, and personal vendettas? The answer is space. Think about it. Look at the map, and you'll notice that all of the states that went to Bush are states that have more acreage per person. It is human nature and one of our base instincts to protect and defend that which is ours. We don't want unknown people in our houses or our cars. We will defend ourselves against a thief who might be taking something fully covered by insurance. We put up fences and are upset when our land is tread upon. In America, a land of capitalism, this instinct is encouraged by the success it yields and the fear instilled by the media.
Now in places like Chicago, Philly, NYC, LA, and Seattle, there is very little personal space for everyone. Even those of us lucky enough to own a home in the suburbs have less than a quarter acre of our own. We can hear and see our neighbors from our windows. And a great many more are divided by walls in apartments and condos. We work in cubicles and cram onto freeways. Many people who don't have to live in this environment would think that we would feel very cramped and invaded by everyday life. What they don't realize is that it has taught us how to live with one another. We may dislike each other. In fact we may despise one another, but we learn to cope and respect what little space each of us is afforded. And we don't consider a minor encroachment into our space to be a call to arms.
Now move out of the cities. Cast your mind onto a plot of land some fifty acres wide. You have a small home, a long fence, and a lot of space between you and the next non-relative. In fact every neighbor you have may or may not be related to you in some way. Your way of life is very different here. You have a strong bond to your family because of your reliance on them for your survival. You may have grown up on this land and it is precious to you. Chances are, you have never left your hometown for more than a few days. You probably own several guns, some for hunting, some just for having. You know enough to survive and maybe even thrive in your little segment of the world. You are probably not college educated. You were likely raised with strict religion. And all of your upbringing revolved around a single standpoint when related to your things: protect what is yours, protect what is your kin's.
And so this is what it comes to. Those who have been forced to cope with humanity shoulder to shoulder have learned that freedom and success come through understanding and compromise. Those who know have been raised to defend their perimeters understand that freedom and success come from force and a hard line. These people have every reason to believe they're right. Most people would suggest that both patterns of thought are justifiable and valid. I say these people are retarded and just plain fucking hateful. They are the America that the rest of the world hates and fears, though they see themselves as the heart of the nation. They are reactionary. And worst of all, they have won.
I could go on and on about the idiotic college kids rebelling against their Democrat parents. I would love to rip into all of the mindless, blank canvas wives who vote their husbands' wills. I could spend hours talking about the media whores I know who get all of their political opinions directly from Bush sound bites. But Instead I want to point out where all of this ignorance, hate and fear originate. I do this because it makes me feel big and smart. And that helps me feel superior to the pigs that reelected Bush. And as long as I'm superior, I can stave off the fear and anguish I feel for the next four years.
Monday, November 01, 2004
An American's worst investment
Last night Nina and I saw some of the cutest little kids ever. We had only planned on handing out candy to the kids at the door, but Nina's love for holiday celebration got the best of her. Halloween used to be my very favorite holiday. What other holiday is celebrated mostly at night and involves the acceptance of all unhallowed thoughts and actions for one night only. The candy is pretty cool too. Nina never liked Halloween. She has a brief but sad tale about how she was told that she's too old to go trick or treating. She was actually just a very tall kid. She cried. Halloween has since been off limits for celebration, which sucks because it was my favorite. I think yesterday may have changed her mind a bit.
Nina got home from her last night of working for the psychotic on Saturday. I was at a concert and didn't see until I got home that night that she had brought home a pumpkin. Apparently Nina is starting to take on the habits of her hubby and helped herself to a little souvenir from the farm. She wanted us to carve it together and put it outside for the kids to see. I agreed, drew up some faces, decided what to carve, and went to work. It was actually quite a lot of fun. It looked scary and cool. I convinced Nina to use a candle with a fragrance that is the girliest in the house.
Only about 75 percent of the candy purchase (not including the total annihilation of the 1st batch) made to the candy bowl. Nina and I kept a few delectables for ourselves of course. Later, Nina decided that when the kids start to show up that she'd like some scary music to be playing in the background. So we spent a couple hours downloading and burning scary sounds and horror movie themes. And then there was nothing to do but wait for the kids. I put on a wig and played the cd. The kids didn't start showing up until dusk. Some were cute, some were stupid looking. There were about five or six boys that didn't bother to dress up at all. And what the fuck kind of parent lets their kid go trick or treating with a goddamned plastic grocery bag? That's just ghetto.
While we were in bed last night, right before smoking that ass, Nina commented on how all of this trick or treat kid stuff would probably just make a friend of our want to have kids more. We have a few friends who want kids, or at least just go along with the fact that they're supposed to want kids, and don't yet have one. I personally don't see the draw about reproduction. I know I've heard a mob of parents tell me that they wouldn't trade their children for anything and that it is the most fulfilling thing they've ever done. Whatever. Good for you. Now quit trying to convince me to join your club. So for those of you who are on the fence, here are some reasons to stick to childlessness.
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Nina got home from her last night of working for the psychotic on Saturday. I was at a concert and didn't see until I got home that night that she had brought home a pumpkin. Apparently Nina is starting to take on the habits of her hubby and helped herself to a little souvenir from the farm. She wanted us to carve it together and put it outside for the kids to see. I agreed, drew up some faces, decided what to carve, and went to work. It was actually quite a lot of fun. It looked scary and cool. I convinced Nina to use a candle with a fragrance that is the girliest in the house.
Only about 75 percent of the candy purchase (not including the total annihilation of the 1st batch) made to the candy bowl. Nina and I kept a few delectables for ourselves of course. Later, Nina decided that when the kids start to show up that she'd like some scary music to be playing in the background. So we spent a couple hours downloading and burning scary sounds and horror movie themes. And then there was nothing to do but wait for the kids. I put on a wig and played the cd. The kids didn't start showing up until dusk. Some were cute, some were stupid looking. There were about five or six boys that didn't bother to dress up at all. And what the fuck kind of parent lets their kid go trick or treating with a goddamned plastic grocery bag? That's just ghetto.
While we were in bed last night, right before smoking that ass, Nina commented on how all of this trick or treat kid stuff would probably just make a friend of our want to have kids more. We have a few friends who want kids, or at least just go along with the fact that they're supposed to want kids, and don't yet have one. I personally don't see the draw about reproduction. I know I've heard a mob of parents tell me that they wouldn't trade their children for anything and that it is the most fulfilling thing they've ever done. Whatever. Good for you. Now quit trying to convince me to join your club. So for those of you who are on the fence, here are some reasons to stick to childlessness.
- CHILDREN ARE EXPENSIVE - It will cost you about $500,000.00 dollars to raise a child born in 2005. That's if both parents are around, the child grows up lower-middle class to middle class and attends a public college. If your honors student meets his potential and attends a real university you'll be spending about $700,000.00 per rugrat. And this is just for one. Do the math and take the pill.
- CHILDREN CHANGE RELATIONSHIPS - I know several couples who have seen their once tender, respectful, loving relationships go straight to shit once the focus was shifted away from being happy to making baby happy. But for the nonbelievers, I'll ignore them and go straight to the ones who are still happily married after raising kids. Good for you! But can you agree that having children did put significant strain on your romance and definitely altered the nature of your relationship. Raising kids is a business. You and your spouse are partners in that business. Is that relationship the one you want more than unadulterated, one-for-the-other, passionate love?
- YOU'LL BECOME AN ASSHOLE - Parents are annoying, even parents know this. You will take pictures and videos of every mundane facet of your kid's life. You will associate yourself with the groups and teams your kid joins. You will place an unnatural amount of importance and basis of self-worth on your kid's accomplishments. You will bore and annoy all those non-parents around you. You will become a boring, child-fetished shell of your former self. Your child's success will be the only justification for your behavior, which brings me to...
- YOUR KID WON'T ADD UP TO DRY SHIT - Do you know how many presidents of the United States there are? With a 35 year window between eligibility and senility your kid has only nine chances, and that's supposing there are no second terms. Your kid will not cure cancer, fly the space shuttle, win the Superbowl, or achieve any number of things that you think he or she is capable. You know what kids are? They're you...little versions of you and the emotionally fucked person who donated their egg or sperm. Look at your life. That's going to be theirs.
- YOUR CHILD WILL DESPISE YOU - If you've ever thought "I'll raise my kids different than I was raised" you are probably going to do as much damage as was done to you. Chances are that your parents didn't routinely beat you or extinguish cigars on your forehead. Whatever angst you have about your rearing is because you are a selfish, unevolved prick. Your kid will be a selfish, unevolved prick too. No matter what you do, your kid will resent it and demand more. And when they grow up and have kids of their own, they'll get to go through the same misery you inflicted on your parents. Fun!
- THERE IS NOTHING SPECIAL ABOUT YOUR FAMILY NAME - Are you a Ford? A Kennedy? How about a Vanderbilt? Not even a Hilton? No, well then I guess your family hasn't accomplished anything other than the purchasing of a prefab house in the 'burbs where they retreat after a week of dronelike and meaningless servitude. If you want to have a kid to carry on your family name, just realize that neither you nor any of your ancestors have ever amounted to anything. Even if they did, they'd probably be really disappointed in you. Let it go. Just let it go.
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