I've seen this on a couple other blogs and I figured I'd give it a try...especially since this will be my 99th post. I'll probably give up before I reach 99, but here's to trying.
1. I am 27 years old
2. I run a pool service company that my father began 20 years ago
3. I am left handed
4. I swing a baseball bat and golf club right handed though
5. I could eat Chinese food every day and did so for 10 days once
6. I have a beagle named Chloe
7. I have a cat (not my choice) named Kiki (not my choice either)
8. I have a tattoo of a monkey on my left hip
9. I always grab a new glass whenever I want a drink, even if I know I have another one I just used in the other room. This is not because I'm OCD, I'm just too lazy to go get the other one.
10. I drive an Infiniti G35 which has puke remnants on the right side now
11. I live with my girlfriend of 5+ years
12. I am color blind
13. Because I am color blind, I accidentally put red mulch in my front yard garden.
14. I only use Irish Spring soap
15. I don't pee in the shower. I have in the past, but I don't make it a habit any longer.
16. I sleep on the right side of the bed, even when my girlfriend isn't in it.
17. I sleep with two pillows. One for my head and one under my right shoulder.
18. I don't smoke cigarettes
19. I drink alcohol...regularly.
20. My favorite drink is Capt. & Coke
21. My favorite beer is Michelob Light
22. I gamble on sports, especially the NFL. But I'm not picky.
23. I like to play sports, especially football. But I'm not picky.
24. I'm a decent cook, though I've made some suspect dishes in the past. (Cheetoh Chicken Parmesian)
25. I took 4 semesters of cooking classes in high school. Why not?
26. I used to make dough balls in these classes and throw them out the window at cars
27. I also used to use ketchup containers that I would get from Roy Rogers as little grenades to throw at cars.
28. I was somewhat destructive in high school.
29. I got a guitar for Christmas but only learned to play three chords.
30. I started writing a book (which had a really good concept) 6 years ago and I'm still not near finished.
31. I make these mix CDs
32. Don't mind him, he's Oriental.
33. I belong to Blockbuster Online and Netflix, and copy every movie I get for my own personal library. (which is like 300+ by now)
34. I read other people's blogs even though I don't know them...except Catheter Man, I know him.
35. I haven't done anything productive here at work today outside of answering the phone
36. I am wearing my knee brace today, though I haven't worn it in three days.
37. I should have worn my knee brace the last three days, because now my knee is killing me and kept me from getting a good night's sleep last night
38. I only read books when I'm going on a trip that involves a plane flight
39. I think I've read more about the NFL and MLB in the last three years than I've read about anything else in the world my entire life.
40. I don't have any show that I watch regularly on TV.
41. I have never seen one episode of any of the HBO shows or The OC
42. I enjoy getting a woman's phone number even though I have no intention of ever calling her.
43. I enjoy mocking other people and the weird things they do for my own enjoyment
44. I prefer getting a table at a bar over standing
45. I like my eggs scrambled or as an omlette only
46. I hate snakes though I've only been bitten by one once in my life and it was tiny
47. I hate the sound of small children singing
48. I hate driving around in parking lots
49. I can not be wearing shoes in a messy room or I go absolutely ape shit
50. I just had Chinese food for dinner
51. I used to steal porno magazines from Walden Books when I was too young to buy them
52. I still think I would steal porno magazines from Walden Books because who wants to be the perv buying porno magazines from Walden Books anyway
53. When I grow a goatee, it is red even though my hair is brown
54. I don't wear my glasses when I go out to the bars because no one will talk to the dork wearing glasses
55. Since I don't wear my glasses, I usually end up talking to ugly chicks
56. OK, I can't blame it on my glasses
57. I go by many nicknames including my last name, Slacker, Jupac, and Slappy
58. I have never been referred to as the J-man...which is funny since that is the alias I chose for this site
59. I am not using my real name or my company's name in this site because who would want to be associated with this garbage anyway
60. I busted up my nose when I was a junior in college when I passed out midway through throwing a beer bottle at a "sorority" and landed head first onto the edge of a wall
61. I still have a hole in the inside of my nose from this event
62. I was born on December 28, which means no one is ever around for my birthday and I get hosed with the Christmas/Birthday combo gifts
63. I was raised as a Jew so this shouldn't have even been possible
64. I never had a Bar Mitzvah
65. My mother is not Jewish
66. I went to Hebrew School for only 3 years because my family moved a couple times when I was young and we never got around to it
67. I refused to go to Hebrew School on Saturdays and would sit in the congregation bathroom and play Tetris on my Gameboy for the whole two hours
68. I am probably going to hell
69. Yeah, 69! Woo hoo.
70. I just did 69. Yeah, 69! Woo hoo.
71. I used to work at a late night restaurant place where you would call numbers for people's orders, and I used to scream like an idiot every time we would call for 69.
72. I figured out that I am the maturity equivalent of a 13 year old thanks to meeting one and discovering our similarities in humor
73. I think Mitch Hedberg was one of the best comedians I have ever seen in person...may he rest in peace.
74. I never floss
75. I work approximately 80 hours a week from April through June
76. I work approximately 25 hours a week from January through February
77. I pee sitting down when I wake up in the middle of the night and have to go, so that I don't have to turn on the light or even open my eyes
78. I have woken up on the toilet after doing this and forgetting to open my eyes and go back to bed
79. I have never eaten snails or frogs legs
80. I have eaten venison and alligator
81. I have never lived by myself...ever.
82. I am part Australian, Scottish, and Polish
83. I have never been to Australia, Scotland or Poland
84. Outside the US, I've only been to England, Canada and Mexico, plus some Caribbean islands
85. I've lived in Maryland, DC, North Carolina, and California
86. I voted for Bush
87. I picked the Kentucky Derby winner correct 4 out of the past 5 years.
88. I know nothing about horse racing
89. I have been to New Orleans during Mardi Gras...and it smelled like a dumpster
90. I always snooze once when the alarm goes off in the morning
91. I wake up to Mix 107.3 because I already hate everyone on their morning show
92. I listen to pump up music before I play sports, but I'm still never really pumped up when the game starts
93. If I can't remember the name of a song, I will not stop searching until I remember it.
94. I quote movies so much that I am often asked, "What's that from?" even when I make up my own joke
95. I have only been punched in the face once, and that was by my friend, Joe
96. I have only punched someone in the face once, and that was my brother, Glen
97. I'm almost done
98. I usually never finish things
99. I must be getting over that stage
And that's the news on the J-man. Stay classy, San Diego.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Monday, August 29, 2005
Fiesta? Not for me.
On Saturday, Amy's company was having a party at the owner of the company's house in Kent Island. The party was supposed to have a Mexican theme, full of mexican food, margaritas, and dancing. Amy went one step further and prepared (on the company's dime) table settings or gift bags or some shit like that, which was a small bag with a shooter bottle of Jose Cuervo, a plastic cactus shot glass, and Hot Tamales. It seemed like it could be a good time, plus these parties usually have some sort of train wreck occur, so I didn't complain that I was missing a night of excessive drinking with my own friends.
The night starts with the same two gay guys (the one Amy works with and his friend that I mentioned in the Cruise blog entry) coming over to our house so that we can drive them both to the party with us. They're pretty flaming, so I can't even begin to describe some of the ridiculous shit I had to hear on the 1-hour ride to Kent Island. Thankfully, I cracked a few beers at my house beforehand to take the edge off, and Amy had agreed to be the designated driver, though we were in my car, so I could drink the ensuing awkwardness away.
We get to her boss's place, which is a freakin' amazing place right on the water, with a dock for his boats. (yeah, plural) I'm taking in the sights as I order my first margarita and new friend for the evening, the bartender. (I don't know why, but she kept talking to me the whole night...I guess she could tell I was bored) So, all is going well, I've had three margaritas and I'm working on my second beer...and we've only been here for an hour. I know, I have a problem. Some of the people I know have shown up, though I'm informed that the Hawaiian Tropic fake boobs girl will not be making an appearance, which sucks, but I'm enjoying myself. Then we get the food and the down turn begins.
The food is horrible, overcooked, and the tortillas are hard. I suffer through it so I have some food in my stomach, as I plan on drinking much more. Then it happens. Amy brings out the "party bags" she made...and within seconds she's taken three shots of tequila. What the fuck?!! And so has the 110 lb. gay dude we have to drive home. FUCK!! It is at this moment that I look at my friend Miller Lite, and bid him a good evening. Within an hour, everyone in the place is shit canned, including the old-but-thinks-she's-young manager (who is doing an ass shaking dance with the gay guys while the black guy is doing his best Usher impersonation) and Amy is stumbling about trying to get other people to take shots.
A little while later, someone announces that it's time for a game and the winner will win a Margarita set. Everyone heads into the backyard, where they've set up an obstacle course type thing where you need to race through it while holding a hot tamale on a spoon. By this point, I'm relatively sober and somewhat bitter, and my competition probably can't even see straight let alone hold a hot tamale on a spoon. One girl keeps sticking the spoon on her nose, while another guy says he's just gonna eat the hot tamale instead. Obviously, I win the Margarita Set, which is still sitting in my trunk, as no one even understood the instructions let alone finished the race. I've never seen the Special Olympics before, but I believe I just got a taste of what it's all about.
I put my prize in my car, and when I return to the party, Amy is now dancing by herself, and the gay guy is in the bathroom puking. I sit by myself at a table, enjoying my Caffeine Free Pepsi (they don't even have the real stuff) and praying that this evening will end soon. But that's too much to ask.
Dude finishes puking but is now refusing to come out of the bathroom, because he's crying and embarassed. Crying?? I've puked on the metro into a bowl that I sculpted out of newspaper, and this guy's crying over puking in the toilet?? People are going there taking turns trying to console him and the old folks are now starting to waver as well. One lady, I swear, asked me the same question three times. Now I know how the sober people feel when they go out with me and my friends. Amy's giving me a hard time because I'm pissed that I have to drive now...though she insists she'll be OK to drive. (More on that in second). Finally, it's close to 1 AM and most everyone has left the party. Dude is finally coming out of the bathroom, but I want some barf bags for the road, since I was forced to take my car.
Everyone piles into my car and we put all the windows down for the hour long drive. Dude has his barfbag ready and drive heaves into it within 5 minutes of the drive. FUCK!!! Ten minutes later and we're at the Bay Bridge. There's no way I can stop on the bridge, so I hope nothing catestrophic happens. Did I mention that I didn't have my real glasses (which I need to drive) and instead am wearing my sunglasses? We're about 100 yards from the end of the bridge when I see what I think is Amy jumping out the window. Then I hear it. "BLUAGH" (best puking sound I could write) OH, FUCK!!!
Amy just puked out the window at the end of the bridge. I'm sure the people driving around are loving this. The real unfortunate part is that I am going about 70 MPH and that tends to send the puke back at the car...and all the windows are open...and now there's puke on my backseat and on the passed out gay dude in the back. FUCK!! I stop at the next gas station I see and Amy cleans up the mess, which was basically the entire right side of the car. (and she thought she was OK to drive??)
We make it back to our neighborhood 45 minutes later, but Amy doesn't quite make it home as she leans out again about 200 feet from our driveway and leaves behind two more piles o' puke. When we finally get home, I go right for my garden hose as Amy tends to the guys as the one carries the other to his car. Nothing like hosing down your car at 2 in the morning while your drunk, puke-covered girlfriend helps one gay guy carry another gay guy to his car.
Fiesta? Oh, I don't think so.
The night starts with the same two gay guys (the one Amy works with and his friend that I mentioned in the Cruise blog entry) coming over to our house so that we can drive them both to the party with us. They're pretty flaming, so I can't even begin to describe some of the ridiculous shit I had to hear on the 1-hour ride to Kent Island. Thankfully, I cracked a few beers at my house beforehand to take the edge off, and Amy had agreed to be the designated driver, though we were in my car, so I could drink the ensuing awkwardness away.
We get to her boss's place, which is a freakin' amazing place right on the water, with a dock for his boats. (yeah, plural) I'm taking in the sights as I order my first margarita and new friend for the evening, the bartender. (I don't know why, but she kept talking to me the whole night...I guess she could tell I was bored) So, all is going well, I've had three margaritas and I'm working on my second beer...and we've only been here for an hour. I know, I have a problem. Some of the people I know have shown up, though I'm informed that the Hawaiian Tropic fake boobs girl will not be making an appearance, which sucks, but I'm enjoying myself. Then we get the food and the down turn begins.
The food is horrible, overcooked, and the tortillas are hard. I suffer through it so I have some food in my stomach, as I plan on drinking much more. Then it happens. Amy brings out the "party bags" she made...and within seconds she's taken three shots of tequila. What the fuck?!! And so has the 110 lb. gay dude we have to drive home. FUCK!! It is at this moment that I look at my friend Miller Lite, and bid him a good evening. Within an hour, everyone in the place is shit canned, including the old-but-thinks-she's-young manager (who is doing an ass shaking dance with the gay guys while the black guy is doing his best Usher impersonation) and Amy is stumbling about trying to get other people to take shots.
A little while later, someone announces that it's time for a game and the winner will win a Margarita set. Everyone heads into the backyard, where they've set up an obstacle course type thing where you need to race through it while holding a hot tamale on a spoon. By this point, I'm relatively sober and somewhat bitter, and my competition probably can't even see straight let alone hold a hot tamale on a spoon. One girl keeps sticking the spoon on her nose, while another guy says he's just gonna eat the hot tamale instead. Obviously, I win the Margarita Set, which is still sitting in my trunk, as no one even understood the instructions let alone finished the race. I've never seen the Special Olympics before, but I believe I just got a taste of what it's all about.
I put my prize in my car, and when I return to the party, Amy is now dancing by herself, and the gay guy is in the bathroom puking. I sit by myself at a table, enjoying my Caffeine Free Pepsi (they don't even have the real stuff) and praying that this evening will end soon. But that's too much to ask.
Dude finishes puking but is now refusing to come out of the bathroom, because he's crying and embarassed. Crying?? I've puked on the metro into a bowl that I sculpted out of newspaper, and this guy's crying over puking in the toilet?? People are going there taking turns trying to console him and the old folks are now starting to waver as well. One lady, I swear, asked me the same question three times. Now I know how the sober people feel when they go out with me and my friends. Amy's giving me a hard time because I'm pissed that I have to drive now...though she insists she'll be OK to drive. (More on that in second). Finally, it's close to 1 AM and most everyone has left the party. Dude is finally coming out of the bathroom, but I want some barf bags for the road, since I was forced to take my car.
Everyone piles into my car and we put all the windows down for the hour long drive. Dude has his barfbag ready and drive heaves into it within 5 minutes of the drive. FUCK!!! Ten minutes later and we're at the Bay Bridge. There's no way I can stop on the bridge, so I hope nothing catestrophic happens. Did I mention that I didn't have my real glasses (which I need to drive) and instead am wearing my sunglasses? We're about 100 yards from the end of the bridge when I see what I think is Amy jumping out the window. Then I hear it. "BLUAGH" (best puking sound I could write) OH, FUCK!!!
Amy just puked out the window at the end of the bridge. I'm sure the people driving around are loving this. The real unfortunate part is that I am going about 70 MPH and that tends to send the puke back at the car...and all the windows are open...and now there's puke on my backseat and on the passed out gay dude in the back. FUCK!! I stop at the next gas station I see and Amy cleans up the mess, which was basically the entire right side of the car. (and she thought she was OK to drive??)
We make it back to our neighborhood 45 minutes later, but Amy doesn't quite make it home as she leans out again about 200 feet from our driveway and leaves behind two more piles o' puke. When we finally get home, I go right for my garden hose as Amy tends to the guys as the one carries the other to his car. Nothing like hosing down your car at 2 in the morning while your drunk, puke-covered girlfriend helps one gay guy carry another gay guy to his car.
Fiesta? Oh, I don't think so.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Aging
Last night, I had a big decision to make. Perhaps not that big in the grand scheme of things, but to me it was somewhat significant. As I mentioned, I got the news and the brace from the doctor...but I also asked him if I would be risking some serious damage if I played in another game on Friday night. It's the playoffs, and I played all season to get to this point, I really would rather not miss it. In typical doctor fashion, he neither gave me the green light or the red light, simply falling back on the, "Well, if you hit it again, you could cause more damage" defense.
Isn't that always the case?
Nonetheless, a decision needed to be made. Do I risk hurting my knee further by playing on it (which I would physically be able to do...if not at 100%) or do I suck it up and sit it out.
In thinking it through, I came up with this thought, that I consider to be a bit profound (someone else probably thought it up before):
"Time only counts forward, so I'm the youngest I'm going to be."
So, I played in the game. We lost.
Isn't that always the case?
Nonetheless, a decision needed to be made. Do I risk hurting my knee further by playing on it (which I would physically be able to do...if not at 100%) or do I suck it up and sit it out.
In thinking it through, I came up with this thought, that I consider to be a bit profound (someone else probably thought it up before):
"Time only counts forward, so I'm the youngest I'm going to be."
So, I played in the game. We lost.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Quick comments
-The verdict is in following my visit to an orthopedic physician this afternoon to look at my knee...Sprained MCL, fluid in my knee, and bruising to the exterior portion of the knee. Did you notice that no where in there do you see the word, "torn." Thankfully, all will repair itself in time and all I must do is wear this Stone Cold Steve Austin hinged knee brace for 4-6 weeks (obviously, I will wear it for less).
-As I have mentioned on a couple blogs, we now have a kitten here in the house. Sadly, it is another female (to go with Chloe and Amy), making it three females and me. I have always said that I never want to have daughters...for several reasons...and now my dog is giving one more reason. Apparently, hanging out with me and watching sports on TV and acting like a slob has rubbed off on my dog, as she is a raging lesbian. She will only interact with the cat for two reasons.
1) To eat the cat's food or poop, whichever is around
2) To provide the cat with oral pleasure
I try to stop her, but who am I to fight nature. My dog is a dyke and I guess I'm just gonna have to accept it. I should've let Amy get her the pink collar like she wanted.
-As I have mentioned on a couple blogs, we now have a kitten here in the house. Sadly, it is another female (to go with Chloe and Amy), making it three females and me. I have always said that I never want to have daughters...for several reasons...and now my dog is giving one more reason. Apparently, hanging out with me and watching sports on TV and acting like a slob has rubbed off on my dog, as she is a raging lesbian. She will only interact with the cat for two reasons.
1) To eat the cat's food or poop, whichever is around
2) To provide the cat with oral pleasure
I try to stop her, but who am I to fight nature. My dog is a dyke and I guess I'm just gonna have to accept it. I should've let Amy get her the pink collar like she wanted.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Bad Idea Jeans
Here's the blog I started on Sunday morning before the kitten debacle, that I have more or less completed tonight, though not with the same flair I began with. But who cares, you won't make it to the bottom anyway. Enjoy:
I'm a little hungover (possibly still drunk) as I write this, so bear with me. I believe I have just completed the most monumentally stupid 48 hours I've had in quite some time. Let's start with Friday night (so technically I still have about 12 hours when I can add on to the stupidity) at my football game.
It's the first round of playoffs and we are the 3rd ranked team. Since the top two have byes, we get to play the lowest ranked team in what should be a beat down. Unfortunately, these guys have only won one game and that happened to be against us, 34-6. The game starts off pretty solid. We are kicking off and as the ball caromes off the back wall, their player miss judges it and it dribbles through his hands. By this point, I've sprinted down there and see this present rolling around on the field. I make a guerilla roll and snag the pill, recovering the opening kickoff for our team at around the 5 yard line. One quick running play and we're up 6-0 (we missed the kick...actually the ball hit one of their linemen squaw in the nuts).
Next possession, we've got the ball and on our second play I run a post and get behind their defense. I'm probably open by about 10 yards before my brother (the QB) finally sees me and puts the ball up. It's got a lot of air under it and the defender is able to make his way back to me, missing the ball on his dive by about 4 inches. The ball lands perfectly in my hands but the blur of this guy's body flying at me distracts me enough that I drop the ball. I wish that was the end of this horrible play, but we have a man in flight here.
I'm in the back of the end zone, with the wall on my left side and this guy lands on my right side at about knee height. His shoulder goes into my knee bending it down and knocking me over. Unfortunately, I can't fall to the left since there is a wall there, so I collide with the wall and my knee makes the rest of the trip, bending inward until it hits the wall. This is not good. After sitting on the ground for about 3 minutes I stand up and get some ice. My knee really hurts and I probably should be out of the game, but after sitting for two series, I re-enter the game and play the rest until we eventually win, 9-6. Probably not the best idea. (Bad Idea Jeans)
Enter Saturday morning. I stay home Friday night icing my knee and throwing down Aleve, but I was supposed to play golf Saturday morning with my buddies Dave, Mike and Brian. Yeah, I've only played golf twice in my life and I can't even walk up and down the stairs in my house, but I have to make this tee time. Probably not the best idea. (Bad Idea Jeans)
I play the whole round of golf wearing a knee brace and bending the knee as little as possible. I knew I sucked, so my pitiful score was no surprise, and the brace probably didn't hurt my final score any since a score of "I don't give a fuck" is probably not much worse than "Fuck this stupid game." On a high note, I was not the highest score on one hole, where my buddy Mike outdid my shittiness by hitting a 7 to my 6 on a par 3 (after throwing out a miserable Jewish joke) Definitely some smiting going on there.
Of course, I did not wear any suntan lotion and my face and neck are red as shit, and despite all my efforts, my knee definitely got some undo strain by wandering around looking for lost balls all day. Probably not the best idea. (Bad Idea Jeans)
Saturday night rolls around and I've promised my buddies I'd go out for some drinking. My knee brace is pretty ripe and it's been cutting off my circulation all day, so I decide not to wear it since I really shouldn't need to walk to much. So I drive over to the metro and walk to the terminal. Unfortunately, I am confronted by a policeman who informs me that the metro is closed or some shit and I will have to take a bus.
The good thing is that I only have to take the bus one stop to Medical Center. The bad news is, I have to take the bus and then walk about 1/4 mile from where they dropped us off to the metro. Of course, the metro is a mad house because they are apparently shuttling everyone from Strathmore north down to this stop. Thankfully, I find a seat next to a smelly deaf kid...I know he is deaf because he is signing to his friend, who looks just like Napolean Dynamite, as we go.
We get to the Dupont Metro stop and amidst all the commotion of all these people, I end up heading to the wrong exit. Instead of standing 100 feet from Buffalo Billiards, I'm about 4 blocks away and need to walk...without my knee brace. Fuck.
The rest of this I am adding today just to highlight some of the worst parts that ensue
After one normal Capt. & Coke, the entire group decides that ordering doubles is much more cost effective.
A girl comes over and asks me for some information about my buddy Carter, who she is checking out for her friend. I, of course, give her the most vital piece of information, "He's not a child molester"
After sinking the eight ball and the final two balls for our opponents, respectively, in back to back games, I demand we play the next game for $20. (I win though...don't mess with a Jew and money)
We have all finished about 5 doubles and it is 1:30, but we decide to go to a different bar.
We get to the different bar, Sign of the Whale, and decide to order tequila shots followed by Irish Car Bombs (and something in the car bombs had curdled)
This one's a little blurry, but I think we bumped into the wife of a friend of some of the guys and after I discover that she demands that her husband gets Season Ticket, I tackfully inform her that I used to think that she was stuck-up and perhaps bitchy, but now my opinion has drastically change. (I'm sure in my head, it was intended to be a compliment)
I somehow make it home after taking a cab to Van Ness, the metro to Medical Center, a bus to Grosvenor, and my car to my driveway....and all I remember of the journey is getting into the cab.
You'd figure I was definitely wearing Bad Idea Jeans, but in fact, I was wearing khakis. Yep, khakis. You got a problem with that Carter?
I'm a little hungover (possibly still drunk) as I write this, so bear with me. I believe I have just completed the most monumentally stupid 48 hours I've had in quite some time. Let's start with Friday night (so technically I still have about 12 hours when I can add on to the stupidity) at my football game.
It's the first round of playoffs and we are the 3rd ranked team. Since the top two have byes, we get to play the lowest ranked team in what should be a beat down. Unfortunately, these guys have only won one game and that happened to be against us, 34-6. The game starts off pretty solid. We are kicking off and as the ball caromes off the back wall, their player miss judges it and it dribbles through his hands. By this point, I've sprinted down there and see this present rolling around on the field. I make a guerilla roll and snag the pill, recovering the opening kickoff for our team at around the 5 yard line. One quick running play and we're up 6-0 (we missed the kick...actually the ball hit one of their linemen squaw in the nuts).
Next possession, we've got the ball and on our second play I run a post and get behind their defense. I'm probably open by about 10 yards before my brother (the QB) finally sees me and puts the ball up. It's got a lot of air under it and the defender is able to make his way back to me, missing the ball on his dive by about 4 inches. The ball lands perfectly in my hands but the blur of this guy's body flying at me distracts me enough that I drop the ball. I wish that was the end of this horrible play, but we have a man in flight here.
I'm in the back of the end zone, with the wall on my left side and this guy lands on my right side at about knee height. His shoulder goes into my knee bending it down and knocking me over. Unfortunately, I can't fall to the left since there is a wall there, so I collide with the wall and my knee makes the rest of the trip, bending inward until it hits the wall. This is not good. After sitting on the ground for about 3 minutes I stand up and get some ice. My knee really hurts and I probably should be out of the game, but after sitting for two series, I re-enter the game and play the rest until we eventually win, 9-6. Probably not the best idea. (Bad Idea Jeans)
Enter Saturday morning. I stay home Friday night icing my knee and throwing down Aleve, but I was supposed to play golf Saturday morning with my buddies Dave, Mike and Brian. Yeah, I've only played golf twice in my life and I can't even walk up and down the stairs in my house, but I have to make this tee time. Probably not the best idea. (Bad Idea Jeans)
I play the whole round of golf wearing a knee brace and bending the knee as little as possible. I knew I sucked, so my pitiful score was no surprise, and the brace probably didn't hurt my final score any since a score of "I don't give a fuck" is probably not much worse than "Fuck this stupid game." On a high note, I was not the highest score on one hole, where my buddy Mike outdid my shittiness by hitting a 7 to my 6 on a par 3 (after throwing out a miserable Jewish joke) Definitely some smiting going on there.
Of course, I did not wear any suntan lotion and my face and neck are red as shit, and despite all my efforts, my knee definitely got some undo strain by wandering around looking for lost balls all day. Probably not the best idea. (Bad Idea Jeans)
Saturday night rolls around and I've promised my buddies I'd go out for some drinking. My knee brace is pretty ripe and it's been cutting off my circulation all day, so I decide not to wear it since I really shouldn't need to walk to much. So I drive over to the metro and walk to the terminal. Unfortunately, I am confronted by a policeman who informs me that the metro is closed or some shit and I will have to take a bus.
The good thing is that I only have to take the bus one stop to Medical Center. The bad news is, I have to take the bus and then walk about 1/4 mile from where they dropped us off to the metro. Of course, the metro is a mad house because they are apparently shuttling everyone from Strathmore north down to this stop. Thankfully, I find a seat next to a smelly deaf kid...I know he is deaf because he is signing to his friend, who looks just like Napolean Dynamite, as we go.
We get to the Dupont Metro stop and amidst all the commotion of all these people, I end up heading to the wrong exit. Instead of standing 100 feet from Buffalo Billiards, I'm about 4 blocks away and need to walk...without my knee brace. Fuck.
The rest of this I am adding today just to highlight some of the worst parts that ensue
After one normal Capt. & Coke, the entire group decides that ordering doubles is much more cost effective.
A girl comes over and asks me for some information about my buddy Carter, who she is checking out for her friend. I, of course, give her the most vital piece of information, "He's not a child molester"
After sinking the eight ball and the final two balls for our opponents, respectively, in back to back games, I demand we play the next game for $20. (I win though...don't mess with a Jew and money)
We have all finished about 5 doubles and it is 1:30, but we decide to go to a different bar.
We get to the different bar, Sign of the Whale, and decide to order tequila shots followed by Irish Car Bombs (and something in the car bombs had curdled)
This one's a little blurry, but I think we bumped into the wife of a friend of some of the guys and after I discover that she demands that her husband gets Season Ticket, I tackfully inform her that I used to think that she was stuck-up and perhaps bitchy, but now my opinion has drastically change. (I'm sure in my head, it was intended to be a compliment)
I somehow make it home after taking a cab to Van Ness, the metro to Medical Center, a bus to Grosvenor, and my car to my driveway....and all I remember of the journey is getting into the cab.
You'd figure I was definitely wearing Bad Idea Jeans, but in fact, I was wearing khakis. Yep, khakis. You got a problem with that Carter?
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Seriously Messed Up
I was going to write a blog about the ridiculousness that occurred last night, where there was far too much drinking and a bizarre situation with the metro. However, I am way too disturbed by something far more upsetting that occurred today and have to write about it.
This morning, Amy and I took our new kitten (who's growing on me, though I'm still not a cat person) to a vet to have it spade. When we adopted the kitten from Metro Ferals, they instructed us that we needed to get the kitten spade and they made the arrangements for us to have it spade by Nave Dhillon at the Turkey Foot Veterinary Clinic on Turkey Foot Road in North Potomac. My regular vet is much closer, but this place is the one Metro Ferals uses for all their work, so we went with them and made the 30 minute drive.
When we get to the place, which is actually just someone's house with an office at one side, they seem confused by our arrival, but eventually find the paperwork on the cat under its original name. Amy had a bad feeling something bad would happen as we were driving away, but we leave the kitten there and Amy planned to go back in two hours to pick her up once the procedure is completed.
I'm hungover, so I head back to sleep when we get home. I'm awoken when the house phone rings and I hear Amy yelling for me to pick up on the answering machine. (my cell. was on vibrate so I missed her call to that) I busted up my knee at football on Friday night, so I couldn't run down to answer it, so I call her back on my cell. And that's when I get the news.
When Amy arrived back at the vet, the first words out of the receptionist's mouth was, "we've had a little mishap with your kitten." After discussing with Amy that most of the cats that they get are feral cats that are set back into the wild, and that they mark them so that it is known that they have had their shots and fixing, she informs Amy that they ACCIDENTALLY clipped off the tip of our kitten's ear.
ACCIDENTALLY!!!! Are you fucking kidding me? This is not like knocking over a glass of water here, this is an irreversible disfiguring of a poor small creature. You don't just accidentally pull out a scalpel or scissors or whatever they fucking use and cut through flesh.
"The doctor didn't read the sheet and I guess he didn't realize that this cat was adopted."
Didn't realize? This is supposed to be a professional who went to extensive schooling to become a veterinarian. And you expect us to accept the fact that the kitten is now missing 1/3 of its ear because this shithead doesn't even take the time to read his writeup before hacking at our kitten.
I am really heated at this point and the thought of the whole thing makes me sick to my stomach. Amy is in far worse shape since she specifically picked out this kitten based on its appearance, passing up a far more playful one. Then the vet starts giving Amy a hard time for being so upset and crying over the situation.
I offered to meet Amy at the vet since she was obviously very rattled by the whole thing, but she was fine enough to get the kitten and drive home by herself. Thankfully, the kitten is still alive (which is probably not always a guarantee with this butcher), though she does not look like she did only a few hours before. And she never will look that way again....and that is seriously messed up.
This morning, Amy and I took our new kitten (who's growing on me, though I'm still not a cat person) to a vet to have it spade. When we adopted the kitten from Metro Ferals, they instructed us that we needed to get the kitten spade and they made the arrangements for us to have it spade by Nave Dhillon at the Turkey Foot Veterinary Clinic on Turkey Foot Road in North Potomac. My regular vet is much closer, but this place is the one Metro Ferals uses for all their work, so we went with them and made the 30 minute drive.
When we get to the place, which is actually just someone's house with an office at one side, they seem confused by our arrival, but eventually find the paperwork on the cat under its original name. Amy had a bad feeling something bad would happen as we were driving away, but we leave the kitten there and Amy planned to go back in two hours to pick her up once the procedure is completed.
I'm hungover, so I head back to sleep when we get home. I'm awoken when the house phone rings and I hear Amy yelling for me to pick up on the answering machine. (my cell. was on vibrate so I missed her call to that) I busted up my knee at football on Friday night, so I couldn't run down to answer it, so I call her back on my cell. And that's when I get the news.
When Amy arrived back at the vet, the first words out of the receptionist's mouth was, "we've had a little mishap with your kitten." After discussing with Amy that most of the cats that they get are feral cats that are set back into the wild, and that they mark them so that it is known that they have had their shots and fixing, she informs Amy that they ACCIDENTALLY clipped off the tip of our kitten's ear.
ACCIDENTALLY!!!! Are you fucking kidding me? This is not like knocking over a glass of water here, this is an irreversible disfiguring of a poor small creature. You don't just accidentally pull out a scalpel or scissors or whatever they fucking use and cut through flesh.
"The doctor didn't read the sheet and I guess he didn't realize that this cat was adopted."
Didn't realize? This is supposed to be a professional who went to extensive schooling to become a veterinarian. And you expect us to accept the fact that the kitten is now missing 1/3 of its ear because this shithead doesn't even take the time to read his writeup before hacking at our kitten.
I am really heated at this point and the thought of the whole thing makes me sick to my stomach. Amy is in far worse shape since she specifically picked out this kitten based on its appearance, passing up a far more playful one. Then the vet starts giving Amy a hard time for being so upset and crying over the situation.
I offered to meet Amy at the vet since she was obviously very rattled by the whole thing, but she was fine enough to get the kitten and drive home by herself. Thankfully, the kitten is still alive (which is probably not always a guarantee with this butcher), though she does not look like she did only a few hours before. And she never will look that way again....and that is seriously messed up.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
J-man: Super Geek
Thanks to my buddy, Catheter Man, I have now been able to add cool shit to my site like the Linkin Park/Jay-Z video for all of your enjoyment.
I have also just added a link to another blog put up by someone who actually reads my incoherent babble, Decomposed.
I believe by making two programming additions in one day, that automatically makes me eligible to be a Junior member of the Star Trek fan club. Shweeet.
In any case, thank you to everyone who visits my site, and I hope you enjoy the new, super nerdy addition. Perhaps, more are on the way.
I have also just added a link to another blog put up by someone who actually reads my incoherent babble, Decomposed.
I believe by making two programming additions in one day, that automatically makes me eligible to be a Junior member of the Star Trek fan club. Shweeet.
In any case, thank you to everyone who visits my site, and I hope you enjoy the new, super nerdy addition. Perhaps, more are on the way.
Dentist
Yesterday, my brother had to go to the dentist for his regular 6-month teeth cleaning. He left in the middle of work to take care of this and when he returned, he brought me news that the dentist was wondering where I went.
You see, 3 years ago I made an appointment with the dentist for my ritual 6-month cleaning. Unfortunately, on the day that I was supposed to go, I got called out to an important job or something and wasn't able to make it. This is incredibly frowned upon by the dentist and I believe it is grounds for a small fee since I didn't call to cancel it.
I called them back a few days later and told them my situation and asked to reschedule. Apparently, being the Nazis they are, they pulled this "oh, I don't know if we can fit you in now. Our schedule is awfully busy...that's why we schedule you 6-months in advance" bullshit. So, they told me they'd put me on the waitlist and would call me when there was an opening.
Here's the thing. I don't want to go to the dentist. I'm not gonna hastle them repeatedly checking in to see if there's an opening for a glorious 1-hour scratch and poke session. (I know, insert your own joke here) So, when they pulled this crap, and then decided not to call, I said, "fuck it. I didn't like you much anyway."
So, here we are 3 years later and they come a calling, wondering where I've gone off to. I feel a bit guilty since this obviously means I haven't had my teeth flossed in 3 years either, so I make the call. Now, all of a sudden, I have hand in this relationship, as they have an opening for the next day (today) at 2 PM. Apparently, dentists are like women. Ignore them enough and they'll come a callin'. My pimp hand is strong.
You'd figure after 3 years of no dentist, there might be some issues that would require additional cost or maybe the occassional cavity or something. So, I roll in there expecting the worst. What I get is the standard cleaning (accompanied by a surfing video...a nice new addition to the dentist room) and the 2 minute meet and greet with the real dentist.
So now, I'm asking myself, "Do I go back in 6-months or do I wait another 3 years?" Perhaps this dentistry thing is just as much of a crock as the emissions test. Soon I'm gonna find out you never need an oil change and going to your doctor for a monthly hernia test is overkill. Well, maybe not that last one, she's kinda hot.
You see, 3 years ago I made an appointment with the dentist for my ritual 6-month cleaning. Unfortunately, on the day that I was supposed to go, I got called out to an important job or something and wasn't able to make it. This is incredibly frowned upon by the dentist and I believe it is grounds for a small fee since I didn't call to cancel it.
I called them back a few days later and told them my situation and asked to reschedule. Apparently, being the Nazis they are, they pulled this "oh, I don't know if we can fit you in now. Our schedule is awfully busy...that's why we schedule you 6-months in advance" bullshit. So, they told me they'd put me on the waitlist and would call me when there was an opening.
Here's the thing. I don't want to go to the dentist. I'm not gonna hastle them repeatedly checking in to see if there's an opening for a glorious 1-hour scratch and poke session. (I know, insert your own joke here) So, when they pulled this crap, and then decided not to call, I said, "fuck it. I didn't like you much anyway."
So, here we are 3 years later and they come a calling, wondering where I've gone off to. I feel a bit guilty since this obviously means I haven't had my teeth flossed in 3 years either, so I make the call. Now, all of a sudden, I have hand in this relationship, as they have an opening for the next day (today) at 2 PM. Apparently, dentists are like women. Ignore them enough and they'll come a callin'. My pimp hand is strong.
You'd figure after 3 years of no dentist, there might be some issues that would require additional cost or maybe the occassional cavity or something. So, I roll in there expecting the worst. What I get is the standard cleaning (accompanied by a surfing video...a nice new addition to the dentist room) and the 2 minute meet and greet with the real dentist.
So now, I'm asking myself, "Do I go back in 6-months or do I wait another 3 years?" Perhaps this dentistry thing is just as much of a crock as the emissions test. Soon I'm gonna find out you never need an oil change and going to your doctor for a monthly hernia test is overkill. Well, maybe not that last one, she's kinda hot.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Pool Women?
In the pool industry, you really don't see too many females doing the actual service work. Most of the time the Pool Women are either lifeguards or work behind a desk answering the phone or entering stuff in the computer. Don't call me a sexist jackass (well, you can), that's just the way the industry is.
So, you can imagine my shear joy (trust me, there's a lot of sarcasm in that line) when I was in need of some vital information today and ended up speaking to a woman "technician."
Anyway, we've been having some difficulty determining what is wrong with a particular pool's remote system and its interaction with the pool's heater. This particular remote system has long been discontinued, so I really don't see them that often to get any OJT on how to fix them. So when this situation arose, and I failed to figure it out with simple logic and knowledge of the more current remotes, I was forced to make a call to the manufacturer to get answers from an "expert."
What I got was a woman named Jill.
I pretty much knew I was screwed from the get go. I've made plenty of calls to manufacturers over the years looking for technical support, and when you don't get a guy named Bill or Gus or even Steve answering with voice so scratchy you'd swear he's been smoking since 8 years old, you're probably not talking to an expert.
And sure enough, within minutes, Jill has proven that I have just wasted 15 minutes of my life waiting on hold and things are only going to degenerate further with each of my questions. Enjoy:
Me: Hi, we've got a client who has a Jandy Ji4000 remote (the remote her company made) that is failing to control their heater. All of the wiring is correct, but the remote will not shut off the heater when it reaches the correct temperature.
Jill: What type of heater is it?
Me: It's a Raypak RP2100 Digital
Jill: Oh, you've called the wrong company. This is Jandy.
Me: (What the fuck?!) No, the heater is fine. It's the remote that is the problem.
Jill: Oh, sorry. What type of remote is it?
Me: (Are you kidding me?) A Jandy Ji4000
Jill: Oh, that is one of ours.
Me: (Where is Gus??????) Yes, and I can't get it to control the heater.
Jill: Well, that remote isn't made any more.
Me: (I swear I pushed "2" for technical support) I know that, I was hoping that you might have some troubleshooting guides that might help me to determine what is exactly wrong with the remote.
Jill: Oh, I don't have any here. Let me see if someone else does.
Me: (Please god, tell me I will live an extra 15 minutes so that I can get this time back somehow)
----5 minutes later-----
Jill: Sir. OK, I've gotten a booklet. What is wrong with the remote?
Me: (May a car strike you as you drive home this evening) It is not controlling the heater.
Jill: (flipping through the manual outloud) OK, I found something.
Me: (Not wanting to try to have a technical dialogue with Mrs. Einstein about this) Can you FAX it to me?
Jill: Yes.
It is 9:25 PM and I am at home now. I still am waiting for my FAX'ed troubleshooting guide.
So, you can imagine my shear joy (trust me, there's a lot of sarcasm in that line) when I was in need of some vital information today and ended up speaking to a woman "technician."
Anyway, we've been having some difficulty determining what is wrong with a particular pool's remote system and its interaction with the pool's heater. This particular remote system has long been discontinued, so I really don't see them that often to get any OJT on how to fix them. So when this situation arose, and I failed to figure it out with simple logic and knowledge of the more current remotes, I was forced to make a call to the manufacturer to get answers from an "expert."
What I got was a woman named Jill.
I pretty much knew I was screwed from the get go. I've made plenty of calls to manufacturers over the years looking for technical support, and when you don't get a guy named Bill or Gus or even Steve answering with voice so scratchy you'd swear he's been smoking since 8 years old, you're probably not talking to an expert.
And sure enough, within minutes, Jill has proven that I have just wasted 15 minutes of my life waiting on hold and things are only going to degenerate further with each of my questions. Enjoy:
Me: Hi, we've got a client who has a Jandy Ji4000 remote (the remote her company made) that is failing to control their heater. All of the wiring is correct, but the remote will not shut off the heater when it reaches the correct temperature.
Jill: What type of heater is it?
Me: It's a Raypak RP2100 Digital
Jill: Oh, you've called the wrong company. This is Jandy.
Me: (What the fuck?!) No, the heater is fine. It's the remote that is the problem.
Jill: Oh, sorry. What type of remote is it?
Me: (Are you kidding me?) A Jandy Ji4000
Jill: Oh, that is one of ours.
Me: (Where is Gus??????) Yes, and I can't get it to control the heater.
Jill: Well, that remote isn't made any more.
Me: (I swear I pushed "2" for technical support) I know that, I was hoping that you might have some troubleshooting guides that might help me to determine what is exactly wrong with the remote.
Jill: Oh, I don't have any here. Let me see if someone else does.
Me: (Please god, tell me I will live an extra 15 minutes so that I can get this time back somehow)
----5 minutes later-----
Jill: Sir. OK, I've gotten a booklet. What is wrong with the remote?
Me: (May a car strike you as you drive home this evening) It is not controlling the heater.
Jill: (flipping through the manual outloud) OK, I found something.
Me: (Not wanting to try to have a technical dialogue with Mrs. Einstein about this) Can you FAX it to me?
Jill: Yes.
It is 9:25 PM and I am at home now. I still am waiting for my FAX'ed troubleshooting guide.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Whose Ass Was It?
None other than star (loose term) of American Pie, and new host of E!'s Wild On, Tara Reid.
It seems as if she is wild on McDonald's, Jack Daniels, and not exercising.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Fucking Heat
This whole week at work we've been short-handed since my one employee who's in the reserves (the inspiration for my 'Drunken Tales' blog in June) and another employee who had a week-long family reunion gathering are out. So that's forced me to take it to the streets, which is nice because I could use the physical activity now that basketball has ended.
Unfortunately, today we had another guy out and I (and two other guys) were forced to work solo on a full-day route. This wouldn't normally be an issue except for the fact that it is once again 105 degrees outside and it seemed that every pool I went to had absolutely no shade around it at all. Combine this with the fact that I skipped grabbing breakfast and a gatorade this morning, and by 1 PM, I'm delirious and very irritable.
Enter all the jackasses that call Silver Spring home.
I'm driving down Randolph Road and my turn is coming up. I'm in the center lane, so I put on my right hand turn signal even though there's plenty of room and no car within 30 feet of the backend of my van, whose been there for a while.
Apparently, that jackass misinterpretted my right hand turn signal as an indication to speed up, because all of a sudden he's doing Mach 5 coming up on my blind side. Luckily, I'm used to this phenomenon having driven these trucks for 6 years now, so the accident is avoided. However, I haven't eaten or drank anything, so I give him a friendly single digit wave as he drives by.
This is when things get hilarious. I am now behind him and he decides that my wave deserves a retaliation salute and a decelleration to about 20 MPH. Now I'm heated! Fuck my turn, I'm following this asshole to the next light. Mind you, I'm not a violent person and road rage isn't my norm. Well...maybe a little bit.
So, we get to the intersection of New Hampshire and Randolph and the light is red. I'm still behind this asshole, and I haven't stopped jawing at him for the last mile as I tailgate him. It is at this point that I decide to exit my vehicle. Probably not a good call given the number of stabbings and shootings that can happen, though I do have a flat head screwdriver in my pocket in case things get crazy.
So I walk up to his back left window, and give him a piece of my mind. I don't remember exactly what I said, but it was basically this. Mind you, I was delirious at this point.
"What the fuck were you doing back there! You could have gotten us both killed. I put my fucking signal on and you had been back there for more than a mile. Then you gotta come up like that. Bullshit. Don't fucking do that shit again."
Thankfully, he and his young daughter (who I just noticed in the backseat...what a great rolemodel this jackass is) stayed in the car, perhaps frightened I was the one who'd be doing the shooting. I hope he pissed his pants so he'd have to explain that to his wife. He won't pull that stunt again. I returned to my truck and made the right down New Hampshire...and thankfully the office received no calls from anyone on site or the police. So I'm feeling pretty good about that. Trust me, I was sweating that from pretty much the moment I got back into the truck. I didn't do anything illegal though...I think?
I blame this fucking heat.
Unfortunately, today we had another guy out and I (and two other guys) were forced to work solo on a full-day route. This wouldn't normally be an issue except for the fact that it is once again 105 degrees outside and it seemed that every pool I went to had absolutely no shade around it at all. Combine this with the fact that I skipped grabbing breakfast and a gatorade this morning, and by 1 PM, I'm delirious and very irritable.
Enter all the jackasses that call Silver Spring home.
I'm driving down Randolph Road and my turn is coming up. I'm in the center lane, so I put on my right hand turn signal even though there's plenty of room and no car within 30 feet of the backend of my van, whose been there for a while.
Apparently, that jackass misinterpretted my right hand turn signal as an indication to speed up, because all of a sudden he's doing Mach 5 coming up on my blind side. Luckily, I'm used to this phenomenon having driven these trucks for 6 years now, so the accident is avoided. However, I haven't eaten or drank anything, so I give him a friendly single digit wave as he drives by.
This is when things get hilarious. I am now behind him and he decides that my wave deserves a retaliation salute and a decelleration to about 20 MPH. Now I'm heated! Fuck my turn, I'm following this asshole to the next light. Mind you, I'm not a violent person and road rage isn't my norm. Well...maybe a little bit.
So, we get to the intersection of New Hampshire and Randolph and the light is red. I'm still behind this asshole, and I haven't stopped jawing at him for the last mile as I tailgate him. It is at this point that I decide to exit my vehicle. Probably not a good call given the number of stabbings and shootings that can happen, though I do have a flat head screwdriver in my pocket in case things get crazy.
So I walk up to his back left window, and give him a piece of my mind. I don't remember exactly what I said, but it was basically this. Mind you, I was delirious at this point.
"What the fuck were you doing back there! You could have gotten us both killed. I put my fucking signal on and you had been back there for more than a mile. Then you gotta come up like that. Bullshit. Don't fucking do that shit again."
Thankfully, he and his young daughter (who I just noticed in the backseat...what a great rolemodel this jackass is) stayed in the car, perhaps frightened I was the one who'd be doing the shooting. I hope he pissed his pants so he'd have to explain that to his wife. He won't pull that stunt again. I returned to my truck and made the right down New Hampshire...and thankfully the office received no calls from anyone on site or the police. So I'm feeling pretty good about that. Trust me, I was sweating that from pretty much the moment I got back into the truck. I didn't do anything illegal though...I think?
I blame this fucking heat.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Raffy Versus Rose
Yesterday, my lucky streak in poker came to an end...well, sort of. I finished second in the first tournament of the night, winning me $20, which I then proceeded to lose on the next tournament, by ending out of the money after a careless All-In move against pocket kings. Oh well, luck has to end sometime. I'll rebound for next week.
But speaking of gambling and running out of luck...Rafael Palmeiro has just completed his 10-game suspension and hopes to play for the Orioles starting tomorrow night. I'm sure they'll allow him back since past teams allowed the likes of Darryl Strawberry and Steve Howe to make numerous comebacks after drug use, though a different type of stimulant was involved there. The Orioles could use the help.
And as long as I'm comparing Raffy to those winners, it wouldn't seem right not to bring back the biggest black eye in Major League Baseball until Canseco's tell-all book, Pete Rose. Let's pit these two monsters at it, and see who's the bigger disgrace:
TAIL OF THE TAPE
Career Stats
Pete Rose - 4256 Hits, 2165 Runs, 160 HR, 1314 RBI, .303
Rafael Palmeiro - 3018 Hits, 1662 Runs, 569 HR, 1834 RBI, .288
Pete Rose was definitely a solid hitter, but Raffy does put more runs on the board. I'll call it a wash. They both have a lot to lose. Rose - 1; Raffy - 1
Career Highlights
Pete Rose - MLB Records for Most Hits, Games Played, At Bats, and singles
Rafael Palmeiro - Only 4th player to ever have 3000 Hits and 500 HRs (Banks, Aaron, Murray)
Pete has four impressive records all to himself. Raffy is sharing his with three others. I give the edge to Rose here. Rose - 2; Raffy - 1
Miscellaneous Highlights
Pete Rose - Received both a Stink Face from Rikishi and a Chokeslam from Kane at WWF Wrestlemania in 2000
Rafael Palmeiro - Spokesman for Viagra
Wow. Nothing to be too proud about here. Truly role models for the kids. I'll give 'em both a point for not being Jose Canseco, though. Rose - 3; Raffy - 2
Career Lowlights
Pete Rose - Gambled on baseball, including games he managed in.
Rafael Palmeiro - Used steroids, thus shrinking his balls requiring him to become the spokesman for Viagra. Oh yeah, and he perjured himself in front of a grand jury.
Raffy went and double-dipped on this one. Yeah, Pete directly affected a game he was managing, but he didn't do anything illegal in the real world. Raffy not only broke baseball rules, he broke laws. That's worth 2 points. Rose - 3; Raffy - 4
Vowels in Their Name
Pete Rose - 4
Rafael Palmeiro - 7
Never a good sign. With 7 vowels in his name, Raffy almost qualifies as a Muslim Terrorist. Here's your point, but I'm watching you now. Rose - 3; Raffy -5
Celebrity They Most Remind Me Of
Pete Rose - Howard Dean
Rafael Palmeiro - Keith Hernandez
Howard Dean is already a jackass, where Keith Hernandez had an outstanding role in Seinfeld, so I'm gonna have to give the nod to the porn-star-mustache-wearing latino. You have disgraced a good man, Raffy...shameful.
And we've got our final: Rose - 3; Raffy - 6
And in a shocking upset, it appears that Rafael Palmeiro is a bigger disgrace than Pete Rose. I feel his real keys to this victory were breaking the law twice and looking like a well loved Seinfeld character. Enjoy the final months of your career Raffy, because you certainly won't be coming back for an encore in Cooperstown. Plus, you've shrunken your sack. What more do you have man??!!!
But speaking of gambling and running out of luck...Rafael Palmeiro has just completed his 10-game suspension and hopes to play for the Orioles starting tomorrow night. I'm sure they'll allow him back since past teams allowed the likes of Darryl Strawberry and Steve Howe to make numerous comebacks after drug use, though a different type of stimulant was involved there. The Orioles could use the help.
And as long as I'm comparing Raffy to those winners, it wouldn't seem right not to bring back the biggest black eye in Major League Baseball until Canseco's tell-all book, Pete Rose. Let's pit these two monsters at it, and see who's the bigger disgrace:
TAIL OF THE TAPE
Career Stats
Pete Rose - 4256 Hits, 2165 Runs, 160 HR, 1314 RBI, .303
Rafael Palmeiro - 3018 Hits, 1662 Runs, 569 HR, 1834 RBI, .288
Pete Rose was definitely a solid hitter, but Raffy does put more runs on the board. I'll call it a wash. They both have a lot to lose. Rose - 1; Raffy - 1
Career Highlights
Pete Rose - MLB Records for Most Hits, Games Played, At Bats, and singles
Rafael Palmeiro - Only 4th player to ever have 3000 Hits and 500 HRs (Banks, Aaron, Murray)
Pete has four impressive records all to himself. Raffy is sharing his with three others. I give the edge to Rose here. Rose - 2; Raffy - 1
Miscellaneous Highlights
Pete Rose - Received both a Stink Face from Rikishi and a Chokeslam from Kane at WWF Wrestlemania in 2000
Rafael Palmeiro - Spokesman for Viagra
Wow. Nothing to be too proud about here. Truly role models for the kids. I'll give 'em both a point for not being Jose Canseco, though. Rose - 3; Raffy - 2
Career Lowlights
Pete Rose - Gambled on baseball, including games he managed in.
Rafael Palmeiro - Used steroids, thus shrinking his balls requiring him to become the spokesman for Viagra. Oh yeah, and he perjured himself in front of a grand jury.
Raffy went and double-dipped on this one. Yeah, Pete directly affected a game he was managing, but he didn't do anything illegal in the real world. Raffy not only broke baseball rules, he broke laws. That's worth 2 points. Rose - 3; Raffy - 4
Vowels in Their Name
Pete Rose - 4
Rafael Palmeiro - 7
Never a good sign. With 7 vowels in his name, Raffy almost qualifies as a Muslim Terrorist. Here's your point, but I'm watching you now. Rose - 3; Raffy -5
Celebrity They Most Remind Me Of
Pete Rose - Howard Dean
Rafael Palmeiro - Keith Hernandez
Howard Dean is already a jackass, where Keith Hernandez had an outstanding role in Seinfeld, so I'm gonna have to give the nod to the porn-star-mustache-wearing latino. You have disgraced a good man, Raffy...shameful.
And we've got our final: Rose - 3; Raffy - 6
And in a shocking upset, it appears that Rafael Palmeiro is a bigger disgrace than Pete Rose. I feel his real keys to this victory were breaking the law twice and looking like a well loved Seinfeld character. Enjoy the final months of your career Raffy, because you certainly won't be coming back for an encore in Cooperstown. Plus, you've shrunken your sack. What more do you have man??!!!
Monday, August 08, 2005
Whose Ass Is It Anyway?
Sadly, I wrote a great little blog, including pictures of 10 famous butts as a guessing game, but when I went to post it, blogger fucked up (apparently you can't have more than like 2 pictures of blogspot shuts down). So unfortunately, you will just have to deal with guessing whose disgusting ass this is...and enjoying the provided link.
I'll give you the answer later in the week. Please make any guesses you like in the meantime.
And in the meantime, this link will provide you with hours of fun...or five minutes since there's only 5 butts:
http://www.funny-games.biz/whoose-ass2.html
I'll give you the answer later in the week. Please make any guesses you like in the meantime.
And in the meantime, this link will provide you with hours of fun...or five minutes since there's only 5 butts:
http://www.funny-games.biz/whoose-ass2.html
Emissions
I just got back from the Emissions Testing Facility where I needed to take my car for its routine testing. Is there any greater rip-off than this scam? I just paid $14 and I don't think they did anything. The car in front of me had its gas tank cap taken off and they attached some tube to it, then they put it on what can only be referred to as a car-treadmill while another thing was put over the exhaust pipe.
My car got driven over to a computer where the guy typed some stuff in and printed me out a sheet of paper. That's it. No gas cap. No treadmill. Nothing. The sheet said I passed but there were absolutely no "readings" on it.
Why didn't they just tell me to mail in the $14 and save myself the 1/2 hour of waiting in line?
My car got driven over to a computer where the guy typed some stuff in and printed me out a sheet of paper. That's it. No gas cap. No treadmill. Nothing. The sheet said I passed but there were absolutely no "readings" on it.
Why didn't they just tell me to mail in the $14 and save myself the 1/2 hour of waiting in line?
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Friday, August 05, 2005
Crotch Rot
Today I wore boxer shorts with shorts and ended up having to work out on the road, tending to some pools in this 90+ degree weather. Add to that the fact that I got my clothes soaked mid-way through my day when I needed to lean into a pool and you're heading down a bad path in the crotch department.
So, I come home, I've dried up a bit, but I don't want to take a shower since I have a football game at 9 PM and why shower twice (who am I to argue with the European way?) After finishing the football game, my left nut is burning like I dipped it in tabasco but I've still got drive home.
Finally, I'm home and I jump into the shower and clean things up. Still a bit raw, so I figure I'll put on some powder and call it a night. Unfortunately, I'm out of powder and all I've got is athletes foot powder spray (supposed to work with jock itch, so what harm can it do?)
Have you ever lit your balls on fire with a Zippo lighter? Me neither, but I'm sure I now know what it would feel like.
So, I come home, I've dried up a bit, but I don't want to take a shower since I have a football game at 9 PM and why shower twice (who am I to argue with the European way?) After finishing the football game, my left nut is burning like I dipped it in tabasco but I've still got drive home.
Finally, I'm home and I jump into the shower and clean things up. Still a bit raw, so I figure I'll put on some powder and call it a night. Unfortunately, I'm out of powder and all I've got is athletes foot powder spray (supposed to work with jock itch, so what harm can it do?)
Have you ever lit your balls on fire with a Zippo lighter? Me neither, but I'm sure I now know what it would feel like.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Fuzzy Memories: Germaniac
Right after I graduated from college, I moved into a house with four other friends of mine (think I've mentioned this before, but just to help any new readers) in DC. The house was pretty big, and had a pretty decent sized attic, equipped with AC vents and overhead lighting. More on that in a little bit.
As you can imagine, a house with five guys living in it, all fresh out of college, rapidly becomes a shit hole. My one roommate, Josh, was notorious for filling large mixing bowls with Chinese Food and rice or pasta dishes, eating most of the food and leaving the bowls scattered about the house. We needed help.
That's when a brilliant (loosely) plan was concocted. We had phat place in the city with a spare room (attic, same difference) and we had a cleanliness issue. It seemed only logical that we would combine our positive and our negative to create our perfect solution.
Rent the room out to a chick and have her clean, in leiu of paying standard rent.
You would immediately think we're all assholes for coming up with such a sexist solution, and would probably assume that no woman would ever lower herself to such a degrading level as to serve as a live-in maid for five men who had stacks of porn lying around and shared 2 bathrooms...but the email requests came flowing in. Some had photos...always a nice touch.
My roommate Justin handled the arrangements and secured us a new roommate within a matter of one month. And then she arrived.
Her name was Johanna and she was German (plenty of hilarious build-up stories for this, but you'll have to wait for those fuzzy memories). She was probably about 6 feet tall, with blond hair and a pretty tight body. However, her hair always looked like she never washed it, which was kind of filthy. But who am I to judge the European way?
Anyway, it was only a matter of time before we realized that Johanna was a shitty housekeeper and a shitty cook (we figured we'd add that one in since there was high demand...sorry I left you in the dark). She couldn't even make Tacos. Tacos??!!! So there was only one thing left to do.
As the only single male in the house at the time, I should probably hook up with her. Yes, I know. The sexism just keeps on flowing. Perhaps god will punish me for being so much of a jerk.
Oh, and he did.
So, of course, I'm successful in my endeavor...I'm the J-man, bitches! We're in my room after a night of drinking (and my buddy making some ridiculous German stereotype jokes) and we start going at it. But something doesn't feel right.
Something actually hurts.
Alot.
She's scratching my back.
Scratching me like I stole her wallet.
And I think she's drawing blood.
This is not normal.
OWWWWWW.
She just bit me!
She bit me on my shoulder.
It's dark but I definitely see teeth marks.
What the fuck?
OWWWWW, she just bit my lip.
And she definitely drew blood, I can taste it.
What is wrong with this girl?!!
Safety forced me to conclude with doggie style, and I rapidly passed out before she had time to pull out some brass knuckles or an ice pick. For the next month or so that she lived there, I tended to my wounds and avoided contact as much as possible. I had dug my own grave with my sexist ways, and I was forced to lie in it. Obviously, I have now learned my lesson...don't have sex with German women with unwashed hair.
Come on seriously, did you expect something else?
As you can imagine, a house with five guys living in it, all fresh out of college, rapidly becomes a shit hole. My one roommate, Josh, was notorious for filling large mixing bowls with Chinese Food and rice or pasta dishes, eating most of the food and leaving the bowls scattered about the house. We needed help.
That's when a brilliant (loosely) plan was concocted. We had phat place in the city with a spare room (attic, same difference) and we had a cleanliness issue. It seemed only logical that we would combine our positive and our negative to create our perfect solution.
Rent the room out to a chick and have her clean, in leiu of paying standard rent.
You would immediately think we're all assholes for coming up with such a sexist solution, and would probably assume that no woman would ever lower herself to such a degrading level as to serve as a live-in maid for five men who had stacks of porn lying around and shared 2 bathrooms...but the email requests came flowing in. Some had photos...always a nice touch.
My roommate Justin handled the arrangements and secured us a new roommate within a matter of one month. And then she arrived.
Her name was Johanna and she was German (plenty of hilarious build-up stories for this, but you'll have to wait for those fuzzy memories). She was probably about 6 feet tall, with blond hair and a pretty tight body. However, her hair always looked like she never washed it, which was kind of filthy. But who am I to judge the European way?
Anyway, it was only a matter of time before we realized that Johanna was a shitty housekeeper and a shitty cook (we figured we'd add that one in since there was high demand...sorry I left you in the dark). She couldn't even make Tacos. Tacos??!!! So there was only one thing left to do.
As the only single male in the house at the time, I should probably hook up with her. Yes, I know. The sexism just keeps on flowing. Perhaps god will punish me for being so much of a jerk.
Oh, and he did.
So, of course, I'm successful in my endeavor...I'm the J-man, bitches! We're in my room after a night of drinking (and my buddy making some ridiculous German stereotype jokes) and we start going at it. But something doesn't feel right.
Something actually hurts.
Alot.
She's scratching my back.
Scratching me like I stole her wallet.
And I think she's drawing blood.
This is not normal.
OWWWWWW.
She just bit me!
She bit me on my shoulder.
It's dark but I definitely see teeth marks.
What the fuck?
OWWWWW, she just bit my lip.
And she definitely drew blood, I can taste it.
What is wrong with this girl?!!
Safety forced me to conclude with doggie style, and I rapidly passed out before she had time to pull out some brass knuckles or an ice pick. For the next month or so that she lived there, I tended to my wounds and avoided contact as much as possible. I had dug my own grave with my sexist ways, and I was forced to lie in it. Obviously, I have now learned my lesson...don't have sex with German women with unwashed hair.
Come on seriously, did you expect something else?
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
August Dulldrums
Well, it's been a while since I wrote about the pool business...quite frankly, it's because not much that exciting is going on now. We're at the point in our season that is characterized by monotony and simplicity. You see, by August, most pools are open and operational, and have been for some time now. Usually, if something is going to break, it either does it when we try to turn everything on in the Spring or soon after that...and that time period has already passed.
So what that leaves us with is a lot of beautiful clean pools that simply need routine cleaning and chemical additions. Nothing too exciting, but also nothing too stressful. Which is nice. Even the Grand Dragon of Bitchiness (see my "Bitch Sport" blog entry), has resolved her issue, paid in full, and is pleasantly awaiting a move to her new house.
So, how can I keep myself amused and engaged during this down time? I ritually burn my employees with the acetylene torch we use for sweating copper, of course.
I know you didn't see that one coming.
So what that leaves us with is a lot of beautiful clean pools that simply need routine cleaning and chemical additions. Nothing too exciting, but also nothing too stressful. Which is nice. Even the Grand Dragon of Bitchiness (see my "Bitch Sport" blog entry), has resolved her issue, paid in full, and is pleasantly awaiting a move to her new house.
So, how can I keep myself amused and engaged during this down time? I ritually burn my employees with the acetylene torch we use for sweating copper, of course.
I know you didn't see that one coming.
Monday, August 01, 2005
Need some song titles
Since I wrote that last blog entry, I've been trying to put together a mix CD of some remakes/remixes of popular songs. I've got 14 tracks now, and a long list of old school rock covered songs that I found on the internet though I don't want most of them, but I need a few more. I'm actually hoping to find more in the R&B/Rap/Hip-Hop group, but I'm drawing a blank. Any help would be appreciated. Here's what I've got right now. And don't comment on the choices...I'm not judging you, asshole.
REMAKES
Bo Bice - Vehicle (screw you, it's good)
UB40 - Can't Help Falling in Love With You
Black Eyed Peas - True
Sixpence None the Richer - Don't Dream it's Over
Metallica - Tuesday's Gone
Aerosmith - Come Together
Boyz II Men - Yesterday
Alien Ant Farm - Smooth Criminal (the song that started me thinking about this)
Counting Crows - Big Yellow Taxi (may have to nix this one...heard it too much)
Dixie Chicks - Landslide
Uncle Kracker - Drift Away
REMIXES
Boyz II Men - Human II
Wyclef - Stayin Alive
2Pac - Changes
REMAKES
Bo Bice - Vehicle (screw you, it's good)
UB40 - Can't Help Falling in Love With You
Black Eyed Peas - True
Sixpence None the Richer - Don't Dream it's Over
Metallica - Tuesday's Gone
Aerosmith - Come Together
Boyz II Men - Yesterday
Alien Ant Farm - Smooth Criminal (the song that started me thinking about this)
Counting Crows - Big Yellow Taxi (may have to nix this one...heard it too much)
Dixie Chicks - Landslide
Uncle Kracker - Drift Away
REMIXES
Boyz II Men - Human II
Wyclef - Stayin Alive
2Pac - Changes
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