I just got back from my trip to Arizona, and during my travelling, I came to a revelation that I guess I've picked up on in the past, but never really put much to it. You see, often times, I'll take trips by myself, mostly to visit old friends, like this trip and my numerous trips to see my old college buddies (heading down to Charlotte in a month for Homecoming, in fact).
The overall feeling that I get when I take these trips, aside from the obvious enjoyment of seeing people I haven't seen in a while, is that everything I do on these trips is more or less inconsequencial to my normal life. It's literally like taking a timeout from my real life and living in a surreal tangential existence. I've probably confused you. Here's where I'm going with this...bear with me. (If you've seen Fight Club, you may be able to more easily follow as well...think 'one serving friends')
I left on Friday afternoon and drove up to Baltimore to catch my plane. After arriving at the airport and going through the whole process, I boarded my plane and of course I've got a woman sitting next to me that wants to talk. I don't know what it is...do I look like a person who wants to talk to people? This shit happens to me all the time. Everybody else on the plane seems to be quietly sleeping or reading, but I always have the talker right next to me. I guess I could be rude and end the conversation quickly...but that's not really my style.
Anyway, I find out that she's a grandmother of two who lives in Alabama, works for Choice Hotels, loves to people watch, and is extremely close with her grandson and almost seems to act like his mother, based on the NUMEROUS stories I heard. Despite all this information, I didn't catch her name. Why should I? I'm not planning to go to Alabama anytime soon (or ever) and even if by some miracle I did, would I have any inclination to meet this woman while I was there. Nope. And yet, here we are, sitting there, talking about our lives (I tried to say as little as possible in hopes of ending the conversation...not much luck with that) and I will never see this person again. Aside from this story, she is gone from my life.
As is the guy who sat next to me on my second flight out of Memphis. He was an ASU transfer student from New Jersey, who was a Yankees and Jets fan. We talked about Yankee baseball and discussed fantasy sports; he mentioned how he hates the heat in Arizona, and spends most of his time indoors, playing Socom on XBox and that he works part time at Olive Garden in Flagstaff. All important information that I have absolutely no use for...as I am never going to see this guy again. Again, I did not catch his name. Nor the man in front of us who heard me mention that I went to Davidson, where his daughter, a basketball player, just graduated from. Apparently, I am a talker...who knew?
Anyway, this trend continues as I reach my destination and the weekend is filled with Amy and I visiting random places, including a different restaurant for every meal. We had Chinese-style food at a PF Changs-type of place, Mexican food at a New Mexico style restaurant, Pizza from a place that seasons their crust, and sushi at a place called Shogun, that serves the biggest portions of sushi I've ever had. I would certainly go there again...but when? Probably never. Amy is the only person I know that lives in Tucson and I hadn't seen her in two years. And it's not like it's around the corner.
All of these things I saw, and people I talked to, and food I ate were all a part of that moment. And that moment has now passed. One serving moments. Just like throwing up on the street in Charlotte at 10 PM. Or eating the best garlic shrimp I've ever had in St. Kitts. Or getting mugged in New York trying to help Stroker get a fake ID, like an idiot. Or performing my smoothest pickup line ever, which I performed in a bar in Boston:
(With Suggs' brother, wearing his glasses, as we approach two girls)
Suggs' brother: Do you think I look good in these glasses?
Girl #1: They're OK.
(I grab his glasses and put them on)
Me: Do you think I look good in these glasses?
Girl #2: Yeah.
(I take the glasses off)
Me: Do you think I look good without these glasses?
Girl #2: Yeah.
(Sometimes I amaze myself with the shit that pours out of my mouth)
And that's what I realized. I may never see these people or these places again. But they are now a part of me. They have changed the way I am, the way I view things (I don't follow random black guys into a pizza joint that claim to make fake IDs, that's for sure), and most of all, they allow me to bring you this blog.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Fuck it...let's do it.
As I mentioned in my "Passion" post a couple weeks back, I've decided it's time I got myself out of the rut of simply working, going home, eating dinner, and repeat; along with Friday night football (which I've now quit) and Saturday drinking (well, don't want to change everything). While I usually fail when trying to change and do new stuff (See: the guitar sitting in my closet), this time I'm returning to stuff I loved to do before. Not really adding something, just taking away the blockers. So, hopefully, this will be a habit I don't quickly get out of.
I would have to say that although Lisa and I didn't work out, she did remind me how much I like doing excursions and other activities...something I've gotten out of doing for some time. And I think that's why I cared for her so much. I used to go to the DC Improv at least 5-6 times each year. (Without this, I would never have seen my favorite comedian Mitch Hedberg before he died) I used to go to O's and Nats games whenever the spirit struck me. (Remember the O's-Red Sox game when I pretended to be a Sox fan and then turned on you all when the O's took the lead...Go Yankees). I used to go to concerts with my friends that included great stupidity (I'm reminiscent of Shamrock Fest in Arlington, with a 10 AM start at Langley's place where funneling was required).
That's when I was happiest. That's when enjoying myself took president over worrying about the fact that I got yelled at for 30 minutes or more each day for three weeks straight. I put up with that shit, so I can enjoy this shit. Seems like a good shit trade. Without the trade, it's just shitty. (That seemed more profound when I was writing it??)
Needless to say, the August Duldroms at work have given me an ample opportunity to do this, as work is relatively slow and the weather is still nice (unlike December when I'll be doing nothing but won't want to go outside because it's cold). As you've read about, I've had a barbeque at my place, gone to yet another concert, and tonight I'm heading down the street to the big screen showing of "Evan Almighty" for a picnic, where I'm making a greek feast. (I'll let you know how the menu turns out...I do watch alot of Top Chef). They do this every Summer and I've even driven by it on my way home from work many times...yet this will be the first time I've gone. Why did I wait so long? Fuck it...let's do it.
Add to that a random trip to the Nats game last Sunday followed by a trip to ESPN Zone, where I was discussing the Maroon 5 concert and had this exchange:
Me: Man, I had a great time at that show. I wish there were more concerts coming up.
D: There is. Heart and Journey are coming next week.
Me: What??!! Seriously??!! Do you like them?
D: Well, yeah.
Me: Then, let's go.
D: Sure.
No thought of the fact that the show is on Wednesday night and that work might conflict in someway or the logistics of getting down there. I want to go. I can make it happen. I'm doing it. It's like Jack Sparrow in "Pirates of the Caribbean" describing how having a ship is freedom. It's quite freeing.
And then that leads me to my greatest "fuck it, let's do it." I'm talking with Amy online a couple weeks ago, ranting on about the monatony and how miserable this year has been at work (I'll mention it again, getting yelled at for something you aren't directly doing is not fun. It really stings after a while. Literally just got back from a 15 minute tirade in Potomac...just shoot me). Anyway, she's like, if you need to get away, you're always welcome to come out here for a weekend. I think she was just being nice. I haven't seen her in over 2 years. I haven't actually spoken to her in just as long. But, hell, why not? I booked a flight and I'm heading there this weekend.
Will I run out of money living this way?...yeah, I imagine one could. Though not everything I do is going to cost money...hell, tonight is free, except for the dinner I'm making. And I can't expect there to be so many things all on top of each other. Though a trip to Six Flags in a few weeks is definitely inevitable...who else is with me?? Nonetheless, it's a change from the rut and the freedom I needed to get me through a bad patch. And I would recommend it to everyone.
Go online...you're already there if you're reading this. See if there is anything you want to do, see, visit. Is it fun? Would you enjoy doing it? Then, do it. You won't regret it.
"You shouldn't regret anything, because at some point in the past, it was what you really wanted."
-Heard this or something similar to it, but can't remember where
I would have to say that although Lisa and I didn't work out, she did remind me how much I like doing excursions and other activities...something I've gotten out of doing for some time. And I think that's why I cared for her so much. I used to go to the DC Improv at least 5-6 times each year. (Without this, I would never have seen my favorite comedian Mitch Hedberg before he died) I used to go to O's and Nats games whenever the spirit struck me. (Remember the O's-Red Sox game when I pretended to be a Sox fan and then turned on you all when the O's took the lead...Go Yankees). I used to go to concerts with my friends that included great stupidity (I'm reminiscent of Shamrock Fest in Arlington, with a 10 AM start at Langley's place where funneling was required).
That's when I was happiest. That's when enjoying myself took president over worrying about the fact that I got yelled at for 30 minutes or more each day for three weeks straight. I put up with that shit, so I can enjoy this shit. Seems like a good shit trade. Without the trade, it's just shitty. (That seemed more profound when I was writing it??)
Needless to say, the August Duldroms at work have given me an ample opportunity to do this, as work is relatively slow and the weather is still nice (unlike December when I'll be doing nothing but won't want to go outside because it's cold). As you've read about, I've had a barbeque at my place, gone to yet another concert, and tonight I'm heading down the street to the big screen showing of "Evan Almighty" for a picnic, where I'm making a greek feast. (I'll let you know how the menu turns out...I do watch alot of Top Chef). They do this every Summer and I've even driven by it on my way home from work many times...yet this will be the first time I've gone. Why did I wait so long? Fuck it...let's do it.
Add to that a random trip to the Nats game last Sunday followed by a trip to ESPN Zone, where I was discussing the Maroon 5 concert and had this exchange:
Me: Man, I had a great time at that show. I wish there were more concerts coming up.
D: There is. Heart and Journey are coming next week.
Me: What??!! Seriously??!! Do you like them?
D: Well, yeah.
Me: Then, let's go.
D: Sure.
No thought of the fact that the show is on Wednesday night and that work might conflict in someway or the logistics of getting down there. I want to go. I can make it happen. I'm doing it. It's like Jack Sparrow in "Pirates of the Caribbean" describing how having a ship is freedom. It's quite freeing.
And then that leads me to my greatest "fuck it, let's do it." I'm talking with Amy online a couple weeks ago, ranting on about the monatony and how miserable this year has been at work (I'll mention it again, getting yelled at for something you aren't directly doing is not fun. It really stings after a while. Literally just got back from a 15 minute tirade in Potomac...just shoot me). Anyway, she's like, if you need to get away, you're always welcome to come out here for a weekend. I think she was just being nice. I haven't seen her in over 2 years. I haven't actually spoken to her in just as long. But, hell, why not? I booked a flight and I'm heading there this weekend.
Will I run out of money living this way?...yeah, I imagine one could. Though not everything I do is going to cost money...hell, tonight is free, except for the dinner I'm making. And I can't expect there to be so many things all on top of each other. Though a trip to Six Flags in a few weeks is definitely inevitable...who else is with me?? Nonetheless, it's a change from the rut and the freedom I needed to get me through a bad patch. And I would recommend it to everyone.
Go online...you're already there if you're reading this. See if there is anything you want to do, see, visit. Is it fun? Would you enjoy doing it? Then, do it. You won't regret it.
"You shouldn't regret anything, because at some point in the past, it was what you really wanted."
-Heard this or something similar to it, but can't remember where
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Concerts, Concerts, Concerts
As I mentioned in the Brain Farts, this past Saturday, a group of us headed to the Maroon 5 and Counting Crows concert. (Sara Bareilles was there too, but I'm not a fan...in fact, that song irritates me since they played it so much on Hot 99.5) This will be my 6th concert of the year, which is definitely a new high for me. Anyway, after the success of the party bus for the DMB show, Eric took it upon himself to organize another party bus for this show. Three of us were from the original DMB crew (Eric, Tim and myself), so we had a bunch of new people enjoying the greatness of not having to worry about drinking and driving.
Things are looking good early, as the bus pulls into the Grosvenor Metro parking area, and out pops a driver who looks like Jim Gaffigan. He's one of my favorite comedians, and this guy is now my favorite driver, as the first words out of his mouth are, "I know you guys used us before but things are gonna be a bit different this time. I'm the owner of the company and this time, you can drink all you want in the bus!"
What he didn't know is that we did that last time anyway, but I'm still pretty psyched as this guy is cracking jokes and overall adding to the great experience. He even kept score of our flip cup games later, kept a watch out for the cops in the parking lot, and allowed me to guest DJ along with Hot 99.5 on the way back, using his PA. (Yes, I know I'm retarded...but I did do some sweet call-response bits).
So now that I just gave you a preview of what was to come, here's some details. We pull into the parking lot at 4:05 PM (thankfully, Eric did not forget his ticket or need to piss this time) and since the lot opened only 5 minutes before, the whole premier lot is ours for the taking. We pull into the same corner we stayed the last time, as the "bathroom" is right there and it's got a great hill for lounging on. And of course, out pops the bean bag game and beer pong table.
It's only a matter of time before the security and the police come by and put an end to our games (apparently that's illegal and they're enforcing at this show), but I start grilling up some burgers and dogs. Eric whips out some pasta salad and we've got ourselves a nice little barbeque.
We decide, after eating, that flip cup is our safest bet for a new game to help pass the time and kill the 160 beers we brought, so we split the teams by gender, only to find out that the guys that we have with us suck (or maybe the girls were just good). In any case, we regroup and team "Hot Pickle" (it's an inside joke from Dewey, so many of you may not get it) is formed. Jim Gaffigan is cheering us on to victory, the cops come by one last time and end up putting an end to all shenanigans, including taking our neighbors' beer bong and throwing it away. Who does that?! Did I mention that our neighbors were like 7 ridiculously hot chicks and only 3 dudes? And did I also mention that this was a trend for the show and an obvious reason that I am now a Maroon 5 fan.
And it's off to the concert. We missed Sara Bareilles (as anticipated) and I'm thinknig that I'm remarkably sober as I grab myself a 22 oz of Bud Light and we head to a spot on the lawn to lay out our blankets. Maroon 5 comes out, things are chill, and nobody is dancing about as it's still a bit light out.
A rapid chug of my beer and Liz tugging me to my feet for "This Love" later, and dancing J-Man is in full effect. Soon the whole group is up and dancing and most of the area surrounding us is forced to dance as well. But no one brings the stupid like yours truly.
The rest of Maroon 5 and the performance of Counting Crows is a hodge podge of remarkably recognizable songs (CC started with "Rain King" and even did "Hangin' Around" and "Long December" much to my surprise) and me whipping out some of the finest in spins, hops, and an odd grinding style of dance with Susie that I'm not really sure looked as cool as I thought it did at the time. Nor did my puppet string dance, which had Courtney shaking her head at. (trust me, it's best I leave dance descriptions obscure for you to imagine...ask for a demonstration next time you see me and you'll know why) I'm all class.
The concert soon comes to an end, we clean up our blankets and return to the bus for more stupidity. Like I mentioned, Jim Gaffigan cranked 99.5 which is playing the late night dance music and I'm chiming in with some impromptu impressions of DJ Kool. Eric loses his shirt at some point, Dre leaps across the bus to tackle someone, and soon the party has ended. Another successful trip to Nissan...my second in a month.
And I'm heading right back on Wednesday with Danielle to see Journey and Heart. I think I should get a frequent listener discount...though I am getting a free iTunes song for each ticket purchased. Don't stop believing!
Things are looking good early, as the bus pulls into the Grosvenor Metro parking area, and out pops a driver who looks like Jim Gaffigan. He's one of my favorite comedians, and this guy is now my favorite driver, as the first words out of his mouth are, "I know you guys used us before but things are gonna be a bit different this time. I'm the owner of the company and this time, you can drink all you want in the bus!"
What he didn't know is that we did that last time anyway, but I'm still pretty psyched as this guy is cracking jokes and overall adding to the great experience. He even kept score of our flip cup games later, kept a watch out for the cops in the parking lot, and allowed me to guest DJ along with Hot 99.5 on the way back, using his PA. (Yes, I know I'm retarded...but I did do some sweet call-response bits).
So now that I just gave you a preview of what was to come, here's some details. We pull into the parking lot at 4:05 PM (thankfully, Eric did not forget his ticket or need to piss this time) and since the lot opened only 5 minutes before, the whole premier lot is ours for the taking. We pull into the same corner we stayed the last time, as the "bathroom" is right there and it's got a great hill for lounging on. And of course, out pops the bean bag game and beer pong table.
It's only a matter of time before the security and the police come by and put an end to our games (apparently that's illegal and they're enforcing at this show), but I start grilling up some burgers and dogs. Eric whips out some pasta salad and we've got ourselves a nice little barbeque.
We decide, after eating, that flip cup is our safest bet for a new game to help pass the time and kill the 160 beers we brought, so we split the teams by gender, only to find out that the guys that we have with us suck (or maybe the girls were just good). In any case, we regroup and team "Hot Pickle" (it's an inside joke from Dewey, so many of you may not get it) is formed. Jim Gaffigan is cheering us on to victory, the cops come by one last time and end up putting an end to all shenanigans, including taking our neighbors' beer bong and throwing it away. Who does that?! Did I mention that our neighbors were like 7 ridiculously hot chicks and only 3 dudes? And did I also mention that this was a trend for the show and an obvious reason that I am now a Maroon 5 fan.
And it's off to the concert. We missed Sara Bareilles (as anticipated) and I'm thinknig that I'm remarkably sober as I grab myself a 22 oz of Bud Light and we head to a spot on the lawn to lay out our blankets. Maroon 5 comes out, things are chill, and nobody is dancing about as it's still a bit light out.
A rapid chug of my beer and Liz tugging me to my feet for "This Love" later, and dancing J-Man is in full effect. Soon the whole group is up and dancing and most of the area surrounding us is forced to dance as well. But no one brings the stupid like yours truly.
The rest of Maroon 5 and the performance of Counting Crows is a hodge podge of remarkably recognizable songs (CC started with "Rain King" and even did "Hangin' Around" and "Long December" much to my surprise) and me whipping out some of the finest in spins, hops, and an odd grinding style of dance with Susie that I'm not really sure looked as cool as I thought it did at the time. Nor did my puppet string dance, which had Courtney shaking her head at. (trust me, it's best I leave dance descriptions obscure for you to imagine...ask for a demonstration next time you see me and you'll know why) I'm all class.
The concert soon comes to an end, we clean up our blankets and return to the bus for more stupidity. Like I mentioned, Jim Gaffigan cranked 99.5 which is playing the late night dance music and I'm chiming in with some impromptu impressions of DJ Kool. Eric loses his shirt at some point, Dre leaps across the bus to tackle someone, and soon the party has ended. Another successful trip to Nissan...my second in a month.
And I'm heading right back on Wednesday with Danielle to see Journey and Heart. I think I should get a frequent listener discount...though I am getting a free iTunes song for each ticket purchased. Don't stop believing!
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Brain Farts 10
Well, you got a full post earlier, but there's a bunch of stuff that I've gotta throw a few comments out there about and I'm pretty sure I'll be too busy to put up any posts the next two days. So, here's a hearty helping of Brain Farts...not quite the full shit, but still humorous.
- What is it about women athletes that just enthralls me? I don't know if any of you guys is watching the women's gymnastics, but good lord! Alicia Sacramone and Nastia Liukin! I don't even like gymnastics, but here it is 11:30 PM and I'm watching it like it's a Redskins game.
- On the other end of the spectrum, watching gymnastics the other night allowed me to see the Chinese team. Holy shit! One of the girls that did the uneven bars looked like an alien. I'm not shitting you. I know you're sitting there knowing exactly which one I'm talking about too. Don't try and judge me.
- I have now eliminated one of my "top jobs I want to do" from my list. Last night, I met a girl who used to work at Disney World, and while it is one of my favorite places to go, (my little brother is actually going there on Sunday) she informed me that it is a job where you work 365 days a year. I guess I should have figured that, but when I was dreaming of how cool it would be to be at the park every day, I didn't think they meant Saturdays and Sundays too? At least "Playboy Photographer" gets to enjoy his weekends.
- I learned a terrible lesson in cleanliness just a few hours ago. After finishing my dinner, I filled my glass with some lemonade and brought it up to my room to watch some TV. I've done this in the past, and as a result there are presently 4 glasses on my nightstands. Unfortunately, one of the old ones still had lemonade in it...and I didn't realize it was the wrong glass until it was too late. And then when I spit the syrupy liquid back into the glass, I saw the mold floating in it. So, if you don't hear from me tomorrow...that's my cause of death.
- This Saturday I'm heading to the Maroon 5 and Counting Crows concert, and we once again rallied enough people to get a party bus (I'm such a trend setter). This time around, I've set the following goals for myself: Don't gouge your leg with barbed wire; Don't get into a dance-off...with anyone; Don't smoke random drugs with complete strangers; and lastly, try to remember the concert.
So, that's it for now. I'm sure I'll have some fun stories about not accomplishing my goals for the concert, or some other random shit will pop up. Have a good weekend.
Movie-Going
As some of you are probably aware, I tend to go to the movies by myself relatively often. The reason for this is that for one, watching a movie is not really a social activity. I'm watching something on a screen in the dark; aside from getting a handjob (hasn't happened yet, but I can dream), there's not much interacting that would be worthwhile. The second is that I tend to decide that I want to see a movie at random times and that usually means I can't get people organized to go see it, so I just go.
However, earlier this week, I veered away from my usual movie-going procedure and decided to go with some friends to see Pineapple Express. We made an evening out of it, starting off by going to Austin's Grille in Rockville. This seemed like a good idea, as we got some drinks before the movie as well, but what I didn't plan for was the effect alcohol would have on my friend Amber.
Before I go on, let me just say that Amber is actually one of my closest female friends, and the craziness that she gets into on a regular basis rivals even some of my best stories...which is one reason why I like hanging out with her. And here's a taste:
Amber is about 5'1" and weighs about 85 lbs. She also hasn't drank alcohol in almost 9 months, after she developed a liver problem or something like that. I had been to the movies with Amber once before, when she, Jon, Jaclyn and I saw 300. It was crowded that day, so we actually sat in two separate rows. We also didn't have drinks beforehand and it was not a comedy...a comedy that Amber had already seen.
And this is where I learned the tragic flaw of going to the movies with Amber. While I'm trying to watch the movie (which is hilarious BTW...Rosie Perez gets punched with a flying uppercut...need I say more), Amber is randomly talking about other stuff that we all should do, she informs me when "a really funny part" is coming up, she places her bottle cap (she smuggled in beer in a juice bottle) on my head and calls it a kippot (in response to John Franco referring to his grandma as Bubbi, and my being jewish) and yells at me when I take it off my head. Then she places it on my crotch and calls it a "pee pee kippot." Oh, yes, she did.
On the positive side, I would imagine over half of the people in the theater are high, so they're not disturbed by all her talking, but Eric is sitting at the end of the row, trying to distance himself as much as possible while I endure the play-by-play. I swear it was like being at a theater in Landover.
Thankfully, Amber gets up at one point (and by one point, I mean three times) and when she comes back, she decides to sit next to Eric's co-worker instead.
When the movie is finally over and we all exit the theater, she suggests we sneak into another theater to watch something else. Thankfully, everyone else is opposed to this, so we head out. However, Amber doesn't want to walk to the car...she wants a piggy back ride!? Yeah, you can't make this stuff up.
Despite the great humor that this story provided, I think I'll stick to going to the movies by myself.
Monday, August 11, 2008
More Dr. Smooth
You knew it was coming. I was single again and that would mean visiting bars and having more retarded conversations with women, leading to hilarious stories and my exiting alone. I already gave you a taste in a previous blog, but another weekend has now passed. You see, in 9 years of going to bars, I don't believe I have ever actually picked a woman up, with the exception of the Charlotte Cougar, who picked me up...literally. Sure, I've gotten a phone number here or there, but nothing has ever really come from these excursions. Except for classic tales of Dr. Smooth, like this one to follow:
So, it's Saturday night, we've been drinking and partying at my house for my younger brother's birthday. There's about 16 or so of us and we proceed to kill close to 120 beers playing beer pong and flip cup, and of course there's the gratuitous shots being prepared by Kevin's girlfriend. In simple terms, it's a giant shit show and everyone is loaded by 8 PM. We stay there til 11 PM, however, and while most normal people would call it a night, five of us, including yours truly decide to trek down to Bethesda.
We arrive at Blackfinn, I miraculously shove my way to the bar with little trouble (or maybe I shoved 10 people and didn't even notice). I order up a few drinks (like we needed it) and I notice that two relatively good looking girls are sitting alone at the bar right next to me. Typically, I'm somewhat shy in starting up conversations (I know, no one believes me) but I've had enough alcohol to blind a mule, so let's give this a try. I turn to my buddy, and inform him that it's his birthday, not my brother's. He's obviously confused by the glazed look in his eyes (the beer and vomiting might have done that too), but nonetheless, I turn to the ladies, pull out my camera, and request they take a picture of us, since it's my friend's birthday. And we're in...remarkably somewhat smooth, I must say.
We're talking for a bit, I buy a round of drinks and they buy a round of lemon drop shots for the four of us (the other three headed to Union Jacks once they saw this obvious train wreck coming) and things seem to be going well. To be honest, I only remember pieces, but I think they were going well. The truth comes out that it's not my friend's birthday, but I save it with the brutally honest, "I know it's not his birthday, but you have to admit it was a pretty good line to come talk to you." The one girl agreed and is my streak about to end!?
Nope. This is where I make my tragic flaw. The blond that I'm talking to decides to ask me which one of them I used the line to talk to. Wait, I have to make a choice? This is too much to ask after all the drinking and then those damned lemon drop shots. I make the wrong choice. I look at both of them, and say, "I saw two hot girls...I wanted to talk to them both." This didn't seem like a bad thing to say, but that was in my mind. I notice her dislike of this line, and even my "...but I'm partial to blondes" attempt just digs the hole deeper. There's a definite shift in the mood, and then the closer comes in.
I had mentioned earlier to the brunette, who recently broke up with her boyfriend, that I too had recently broken up with my girlfriend. Ironically, this was a bonding point as we were both the dumpees in these relationships. The downside, however, is that my ex-girlfriend just happened to be at the same bar as us, and the friend I was talking to these girls with was her brother (who works with me and was at my brother's barbeque), and right about this time is when she and her roommate are leaving the bar and decide to come by to say goodbye. And this is when the girls decide that they too are leaving. Can't draw it up better than that. Oh well.
But we're not done.
We decide to go to Union Jacks to meet up with the others, and while this portion of the evening is extremely blurry, there are a few things I know for sure. At some point, we strike up conversation with two other girls, and someone makes the suggestion that we dance. As you've read in past blogs, I dance pretty well (for a white guy) and I think I'm dancing pretty well. Then again, it could have been like the scene in Beer Fest and god knows what the hell I was doing. However, we do end up going into your standard booty dancing moment, where she's grinding her ass up into me and we start doing a side to side motion, and then she starts getting low, low, low, low...and my thighs are burning.
As an aside, I just played two football games the night before, and I have been standing and drinking for the past 9 hours at this point. What would you do?
Here's what I did. I turned to the girl and said, I'm too drunk and tired for this, and I pointed at a guy dancing by himself and said, you should dance with him. And I walked away.
And that, my friends, is the Return of Dr. Smooth.
So, it's Saturday night, we've been drinking and partying at my house for my younger brother's birthday. There's about 16 or so of us and we proceed to kill close to 120 beers playing beer pong and flip cup, and of course there's the gratuitous shots being prepared by Kevin's girlfriend. In simple terms, it's a giant shit show and everyone is loaded by 8 PM. We stay there til 11 PM, however, and while most normal people would call it a night, five of us, including yours truly decide to trek down to Bethesda.
We arrive at Blackfinn, I miraculously shove my way to the bar with little trouble (or maybe I shoved 10 people and didn't even notice). I order up a few drinks (like we needed it) and I notice that two relatively good looking girls are sitting alone at the bar right next to me. Typically, I'm somewhat shy in starting up conversations (I know, no one believes me) but I've had enough alcohol to blind a mule, so let's give this a try. I turn to my buddy, and inform him that it's his birthday, not my brother's. He's obviously confused by the glazed look in his eyes (the beer and vomiting might have done that too), but nonetheless, I turn to the ladies, pull out my camera, and request they take a picture of us, since it's my friend's birthday. And we're in...remarkably somewhat smooth, I must say.
We're talking for a bit, I buy a round of drinks and they buy a round of lemon drop shots for the four of us (the other three headed to Union Jacks once they saw this obvious train wreck coming) and things seem to be going well. To be honest, I only remember pieces, but I think they were going well. The truth comes out that it's not my friend's birthday, but I save it with the brutally honest, "I know it's not his birthday, but you have to admit it was a pretty good line to come talk to you." The one girl agreed and is my streak about to end!?
Nope. This is where I make my tragic flaw. The blond that I'm talking to decides to ask me which one of them I used the line to talk to. Wait, I have to make a choice? This is too much to ask after all the drinking and then those damned lemon drop shots. I make the wrong choice. I look at both of them, and say, "I saw two hot girls...I wanted to talk to them both." This didn't seem like a bad thing to say, but that was in my mind. I notice her dislike of this line, and even my "...but I'm partial to blondes" attempt just digs the hole deeper. There's a definite shift in the mood, and then the closer comes in.
I had mentioned earlier to the brunette, who recently broke up with her boyfriend, that I too had recently broken up with my girlfriend. Ironically, this was a bonding point as we were both the dumpees in these relationships. The downside, however, is that my ex-girlfriend just happened to be at the same bar as us, and the friend I was talking to these girls with was her brother (who works with me and was at my brother's barbeque), and right about this time is when she and her roommate are leaving the bar and decide to come by to say goodbye. And this is when the girls decide that they too are leaving. Can't draw it up better than that. Oh well.
But we're not done.
We decide to go to Union Jacks to meet up with the others, and while this portion of the evening is extremely blurry, there are a few things I know for sure. At some point, we strike up conversation with two other girls, and someone makes the suggestion that we dance. As you've read in past blogs, I dance pretty well (for a white guy) and I think I'm dancing pretty well. Then again, it could have been like the scene in Beer Fest and god knows what the hell I was doing. However, we do end up going into your standard booty dancing moment, where she's grinding her ass up into me and we start doing a side to side motion, and then she starts getting low, low, low, low...and my thighs are burning.
As an aside, I just played two football games the night before, and I have been standing and drinking for the past 9 hours at this point. What would you do?
Here's what I did. I turned to the girl and said, I'm too drunk and tired for this, and I pointed at a guy dancing by himself and said, you should dance with him. And I walked away.
And that, my friends, is the Return of Dr. Smooth.
Saturday, August 09, 2008
The End of an Era, Concluded?
If you read the first End of an Era blog, you know that last night was the start of my indoor football playoffs. It was also possibly my last night playing in that league, unless we won both our games and were to compete in the final next Friday.
Things weren't looking good early last night, as our normal quarterback Johnny was unable to make it. We put our fate in the hands of our quarterback from a couple sessions ago, Dan, who played at Shepherds and had a strong arm, but never looked that comfortable in the past. We're fortunate to be matched up with the Young Guns, a team we already beat twice this session, and they are also without their quarterback.
We trounce them and are up 24-0 late in the game, basically just rest the last 4 minutes, allowing them to score on a BS bobbling catch, and we're moving on, 24-8. I tallied a sack and a couple of flag grabs during the game while playing safety, along with a couple catches at WR, so I'm feeling pretty good about my performance.
Next up is Individually Twisted. This is my old team, the team my brother plays (though he's hurt) for, and a team full of guys I obviously know pretty well. It's a fierce battle, as all of our matchups have been in the past, with both sides scoring on their first possession and then tightening up and going scoreless the rest of the way into the half.
They start off the second half with the ball and a busted coverage leaves one of their receivers wide open for an easy touchdown, putting them up 16-8. A couple of turnovers for both sides and we have the ball with 4 minutes left, still trailing. It's my rotation sitting at WR, so I watch from the side lines as we drive down inside their zone, and score on a RB option pass to our QB. Our excitement is stiffled as one of our linemen is laying on the ground and as he tries to rise, blood pours from his eye. Another injury, and another reason, this is justifiably my last game...or is it?
We line up for the extra kick to tie the game. Astor has been money all night, hitting 2 field goals in the first game and all of his extra points. The tying kick is up...
and it's wide to the left.
I walk onto the field for my final defensive possession, and a few kneels and a full length chuck of the ball later, and it's over. I guess if I had to lose to anyone in my final game, I'm glad it was these guys. I wish I could have gone out like John Elway or Michael Strahan...but maybe I'll go out like Brett Favre????
Nothing is ever set in stone, but for now, I'm retired.
Things weren't looking good early last night, as our normal quarterback Johnny was unable to make it. We put our fate in the hands of our quarterback from a couple sessions ago, Dan, who played at Shepherds and had a strong arm, but never looked that comfortable in the past. We're fortunate to be matched up with the Young Guns, a team we already beat twice this session, and they are also without their quarterback.
We trounce them and are up 24-0 late in the game, basically just rest the last 4 minutes, allowing them to score on a BS bobbling catch, and we're moving on, 24-8. I tallied a sack and a couple of flag grabs during the game while playing safety, along with a couple catches at WR, so I'm feeling pretty good about my performance.
Next up is Individually Twisted. This is my old team, the team my brother plays (though he's hurt) for, and a team full of guys I obviously know pretty well. It's a fierce battle, as all of our matchups have been in the past, with both sides scoring on their first possession and then tightening up and going scoreless the rest of the way into the half.
They start off the second half with the ball and a busted coverage leaves one of their receivers wide open for an easy touchdown, putting them up 16-8. A couple of turnovers for both sides and we have the ball with 4 minutes left, still trailing. It's my rotation sitting at WR, so I watch from the side lines as we drive down inside their zone, and score on a RB option pass to our QB. Our excitement is stiffled as one of our linemen is laying on the ground and as he tries to rise, blood pours from his eye. Another injury, and another reason, this is justifiably my last game...or is it?
We line up for the extra kick to tie the game. Astor has been money all night, hitting 2 field goals in the first game and all of his extra points. The tying kick is up...
and it's wide to the left.
I walk onto the field for my final defensive possession, and a few kneels and a full length chuck of the ball later, and it's over. I guess if I had to lose to anyone in my final game, I'm glad it was these guys. I wish I could have gone out like John Elway or Michael Strahan...but maybe I'll go out like Brett Favre????
Nothing is ever set in stone, but for now, I'm retired.
Go Big or Go (to my) Home
Tomorrow is my younger brother's (and my dog's) birthday, so some sort of partying is in order. He and Jaclyn threw me the best 29th birthday two years ago, and he was a part of putting together my 30th birthday at Oya along with getting me a PS3 last year...I owe him. Given that he can only limp around and if anyone bumps his knee, it hurts, we decided that taking him to a bar would be a bad idea. He's never been that big of a fan of bars anyway, so the obvious option staring us in the face was to throw a barbeque.
For most of you that know me, you know I love a good barbeque and when it comes to barbequing, I go all out. I've always had the philosophy that if you're gonna do something, do it to the extreme, and since the days of dancing in a thong while ladies smeared finger paints on my butt (still the greatest ladies night act ever) to gathering 23 people together on a bus to party and drink at a DMB concert (I've set up an institution as we're doing it again next weekend for Counting Crows and Maroon 5...still need 3 more for the bus, who's in?), I've applied that philosophy to all group activities.
So here we are, it's Saturday afternoon, and I've overdone it again. Aside from the standard burgers (I get ground beef and make my own) and hot dogs, I've made my standard pasta salad (one of Kevin's favorites). Kevin's girlfriend Jen was in charge of drinks, and we have about 15 bottles of random mixers to go along with 3 handles of liquor. That's not including the beer I'm gonna go get in an hour...and I'm thinking someone may die tonight.
I've cleared my deck and moved my beer pong/flip cup table out there for a more social atmophere, and I went and got a shit load of new ping pong balls assuming we're gonna throw a bunch over the edge (who wants to walk down and get one?).
And then I went that extra mile. I swung by Balducci's to grab myself a Santa Fe Chicken Sandwich (my favorite, get it if you haven't before) and I'm walking around the place when I notice the seafood section. I'm a big fan of tuna steaks and the New York Strip I got from here last week was ridiculous. So I went ahead and bit the bullet. I picked up 3 Yellowfin Tuna Steaks...added cost: $45! Add to this the fact that Eric is bringing bacon wrapped shrimp, which were amazing in Dewey, and aside from someone dying tonight, someone may explode tonight.
Did I mention the Balducci's layered fruit birthday cake Jen picked up?? Apparently, she also believes you gotta go big or go home.
For most of you that know me, you know I love a good barbeque and when it comes to barbequing, I go all out. I've always had the philosophy that if you're gonna do something, do it to the extreme, and since the days of dancing in a thong while ladies smeared finger paints on my butt (still the greatest ladies night act ever) to gathering 23 people together on a bus to party and drink at a DMB concert (I've set up an institution as we're doing it again next weekend for Counting Crows and Maroon 5...still need 3 more for the bus, who's in?), I've applied that philosophy to all group activities.
So here we are, it's Saturday afternoon, and I've overdone it again. Aside from the standard burgers (I get ground beef and make my own) and hot dogs, I've made my standard pasta salad (one of Kevin's favorites). Kevin's girlfriend Jen was in charge of drinks, and we have about 15 bottles of random mixers to go along with 3 handles of liquor. That's not including the beer I'm gonna go get in an hour...and I'm thinking someone may die tonight.
I've cleared my deck and moved my beer pong/flip cup table out there for a more social atmophere, and I went and got a shit load of new ping pong balls assuming we're gonna throw a bunch over the edge (who wants to walk down and get one?).
And then I went that extra mile. I swung by Balducci's to grab myself a Santa Fe Chicken Sandwich (my favorite, get it if you haven't before) and I'm walking around the place when I notice the seafood section. I'm a big fan of tuna steaks and the New York Strip I got from here last week was ridiculous. So I went ahead and bit the bullet. I picked up 3 Yellowfin Tuna Steaks...added cost: $45! Add to this the fact that Eric is bringing bacon wrapped shrimp, which were amazing in Dewey, and aside from someone dying tonight, someone may explode tonight.
Did I mention the Balducci's layered fruit birthday cake Jen picked up?? Apparently, she also believes you gotta go big or go home.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
The End of An Era
Well, a bunch of you have been telling me for a while, but the time has finally come. After 6 years, several ankle sprains, a partially torn MCL, broken big toe, broken jaw, bruised ribs, two chipped teeth, a separated shoulder, and numerous turf burns, my mind and my body are telling me it's time to give up playing in my indoor football league.
The craziness surrounding my last game two weeks ago, and Kevin's ensuing injury last Friday causing him to not be able walk right now, are a shocking reminder that I am not invincible and I am fortunate to have made it through the beatings I've put myself through every week for these past 6 years. My older brother put it best when lecturing Kevin (and me) after this latest injury.
"What if you had been hit as you were falling and instead of hitting your knee, you hit your head into the screws, leaving you brain dead or killing you? You were lucky. Both of you."
He speaks from the heart as he is presently up in Boston, with his wife sitting by the bed of her brother, who was hit by a car while walking on the street when he was 12, has been a vegetable since, and now at 36, has lost brain activity and awaits death this week.
Injuries can obviously happen anywhere, and this was the rationale that I have used in the past, and is how I justified to all of you why I am back out there despite the fear that a newly broken jaw would require a bone graft from my hip. However, there is no denying that the odds of injury are higher when I step onto that field.
I haven't been the same player since I came back from my broken jaw, and perhaps it's best that I quit while I'm ahead. I still can't close my mouth properly, and presently I can't lay on my right side for an extended period of time without my shoulder hurting. This can't continue.
Plus, I think I wanna have my Friday nights back again. And I wanna take a few more vacations this Winter, as I've had a stressful year thusfar.
But I'm not trying to go out without a final performance. The playoffs start this Friday, and two victories would put us in the finals...a place I've been before, but never have I won. I want to do that. And I have pushed myself to be able to put up my best.
I've dropped 12 pounds since my last game (don't worry...I was depressed, but I'm bouncing back OK), I've been to the gym or worked out at home almost every day for the past two weeks, and I feel like I'm in the best shape I've been in since I was twenty two. So, now all I have to do is give it my all, hold nothing back, and play like it's the last games I'll be playing...
Because it is.
Wish me luck...and of course, no injuries. See you at the bars on Fridays in two weeks.
The craziness surrounding my last game two weeks ago, and Kevin's ensuing injury last Friday causing him to not be able walk right now, are a shocking reminder that I am not invincible and I am fortunate to have made it through the beatings I've put myself through every week for these past 6 years. My older brother put it best when lecturing Kevin (and me) after this latest injury.
"What if you had been hit as you were falling and instead of hitting your knee, you hit your head into the screws, leaving you brain dead or killing you? You were lucky. Both of you."
He speaks from the heart as he is presently up in Boston, with his wife sitting by the bed of her brother, who was hit by a car while walking on the street when he was 12, has been a vegetable since, and now at 36, has lost brain activity and awaits death this week.
Injuries can obviously happen anywhere, and this was the rationale that I have used in the past, and is how I justified to all of you why I am back out there despite the fear that a newly broken jaw would require a bone graft from my hip. However, there is no denying that the odds of injury are higher when I step onto that field.
I haven't been the same player since I came back from my broken jaw, and perhaps it's best that I quit while I'm ahead. I still can't close my mouth properly, and presently I can't lay on my right side for an extended period of time without my shoulder hurting. This can't continue.
Plus, I think I wanna have my Friday nights back again. And I wanna take a few more vacations this Winter, as I've had a stressful year thusfar.
But I'm not trying to go out without a final performance. The playoffs start this Friday, and two victories would put us in the finals...a place I've been before, but never have I won. I want to do that. And I have pushed myself to be able to put up my best.
I've dropped 12 pounds since my last game (don't worry...I was depressed, but I'm bouncing back OK), I've been to the gym or worked out at home almost every day for the past two weeks, and I feel like I'm in the best shape I've been in since I was twenty two. So, now all I have to do is give it my all, hold nothing back, and play like it's the last games I'll be playing...
Because it is.
Wish me luck...and of course, no injuries. See you at the bars on Fridays in two weeks.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Filling time
Well, I've reached that point of the year when work lets up and things sort of go into cruise control...in the past, a time I refer to as the August Duldrums. Typically, this would be a good thing, but right now, having little to do can get depressing. (thus all the blogging to pass the time) So, yesterday, no work was necessary and I've got a whole Saturday to fill. My luck, I've anticipated this and I've filled the day with activities. Sure enough, the doorbell rings at 9:30 AM, waking me up for a UPS delivery of car keys for my brother (he flew back from Boston without his car keys, so his wife overnighted them to me) and we're off.
I had volunteered to take him up to BWI to grab his car, which has been sitting there, since he didn't have a spare. It's around lunch time by the time we get up there, so my brother, having attended college and lived in Baltimore, decides to take me to one of his secret spots for food. We roll through the Inner Harbor area, through Fells Point and into Canton, where we visit a cool little place called Nacho Mama's...where they have all kinds of dips and quesadillas. (Yep, they stole my idea...there's all sorts of varieties of quesadillas...but no PB & J or Rolo, so I still got that going for me)
Ironically, the night before, I had mentioned to Cobie's friend, Jill, who lives in Canton, that I had never been there before. Looks like I remedied that in short order...pretty cool place, though I'm not sure I'd drive the 40 minutes just for quesadillas again.
So, we head over to BWI, I drop him off at his car, and it's on to my next activity. I make a quick stop in at home, take Chloe for a walk, and then it's off to the Carderock pool (yes, the Carderock pool...old school) to hang out and barbeque. As I pull into the Carderock parking lot, it's ironic that I'm listening to my old school hip-hop and rap mix, because as "First of the Month" plays, I start to wonder if this song was a hit when I was last at this pool. Well, I really never went to the pool all that much, most of my time here was spent either playing pickup basketball or sitting in the parking lot doing "shady" stuff.
We hang out for a couple hours, dodging passing rain clouds, quoting SNL skits, and ogling the lifeguard (maybe it was just me), who everyone else insisted was at best 16 years old (I still say she was 19 and thus don't feel like the dirty old man...well, as much). Well, actually the last time I was at this pool, she was likely 3 years old, so I guess that is creepy. Oh well.
I had intended to head to the Nationals game next, but given the threat of rain, I called my brother and decided to cancel that. But I've got a backup plan, as Adam and Kalyn had texted me to say they were heading out. I head home, shower, change into my going out clothes, and it's off to the metro.
This is where I made a tragic error. I should have assumed there would be issues with the metro after the 20 minute delay the previous night, but there I stand, alone, at the Grosvenor metro, for almost 25 minutes before a train arrives. It was so bad, they didn't even bother having a time listed next to the train name on the big board. But we're not done. Apparently, they're planning to stop for 3-5 minutes at every stop...and I'm heading to Dupont...8 stops down!!
I arrive at Dupont some time later, and realizing that I could have gone to Annapolis in the same amount of time, I'm bitter as shit. I roll into Gazuza (another place I haven't been to in like forever) and find Adam and a crew of people chilling around a table, smoking out of three hookas. I've never understood the attraction of the hookas, and really have never been with a group that was smoking them, but I had also never been to Canton before, so let's make this a day of trying new things to go with all these old school places.
Most of these people I don't know, so why not share a straw with them all, right? Hell, I played beer pong in the parking lot at Nissan Pavilion and "cleaned" a ping pong ball that landed in the gravel underneath the bus in a Solo cup full of ice melt from a cooler. Gotta love all these social activities.
I shoot the shit for a while, grab a couple drinks, realize that "flavors" of hooka are just as arbitrary as Gatorade flavors (do cherries really taste like this?) and decide I'm gonna head out. I've done enough old school things, that I feel it only appropriate that I finish my night with the oldest school of them all...Julia's Empanadas. It's actually a bit of a walk, but I make my way down to Julia's, grab myself a Saltenas empanada and it's off to the metro again.
So, on the day, I feel I accomplished a good bit: Visited a new place, swam in the old neighborhood, tried a new bar activity, spent the equivalent of a trip to OC in the metro, and likely gave myself diarrhea.
And that's why it's 11 AM and I'm still in bed. I think I'll just lay around and watch movies today.
I had volunteered to take him up to BWI to grab his car, which has been sitting there, since he didn't have a spare. It's around lunch time by the time we get up there, so my brother, having attended college and lived in Baltimore, decides to take me to one of his secret spots for food. We roll through the Inner Harbor area, through Fells Point and into Canton, where we visit a cool little place called Nacho Mama's...where they have all kinds of dips and quesadillas. (Yep, they stole my idea...there's all sorts of varieties of quesadillas...but no PB & J or Rolo, so I still got that going for me)
Ironically, the night before, I had mentioned to Cobie's friend, Jill, who lives in Canton, that I had never been there before. Looks like I remedied that in short order...pretty cool place, though I'm not sure I'd drive the 40 minutes just for quesadillas again.
So, we head over to BWI, I drop him off at his car, and it's on to my next activity. I make a quick stop in at home, take Chloe for a walk, and then it's off to the Carderock pool (yes, the Carderock pool...old school) to hang out and barbeque. As I pull into the Carderock parking lot, it's ironic that I'm listening to my old school hip-hop and rap mix, because as "First of the Month" plays, I start to wonder if this song was a hit when I was last at this pool. Well, I really never went to the pool all that much, most of my time here was spent either playing pickup basketball or sitting in the parking lot doing "shady" stuff.
We hang out for a couple hours, dodging passing rain clouds, quoting SNL skits, and ogling the lifeguard (maybe it was just me), who everyone else insisted was at best 16 years old (I still say she was 19 and thus don't feel like the dirty old man...well, as much). Well, actually the last time I was at this pool, she was likely 3 years old, so I guess that is creepy. Oh well.
I had intended to head to the Nationals game next, but given the threat of rain, I called my brother and decided to cancel that. But I've got a backup plan, as Adam and Kalyn had texted me to say they were heading out. I head home, shower, change into my going out clothes, and it's off to the metro.
This is where I made a tragic error. I should have assumed there would be issues with the metro after the 20 minute delay the previous night, but there I stand, alone, at the Grosvenor metro, for almost 25 minutes before a train arrives. It was so bad, they didn't even bother having a time listed next to the train name on the big board. But we're not done. Apparently, they're planning to stop for 3-5 minutes at every stop...and I'm heading to Dupont...8 stops down!!
I arrive at Dupont some time later, and realizing that I could have gone to Annapolis in the same amount of time, I'm bitter as shit. I roll into Gazuza (another place I haven't been to in like forever) and find Adam and a crew of people chilling around a table, smoking out of three hookas. I've never understood the attraction of the hookas, and really have never been with a group that was smoking them, but I had also never been to Canton before, so let's make this a day of trying new things to go with all these old school places.
Most of these people I don't know, so why not share a straw with them all, right? Hell, I played beer pong in the parking lot at Nissan Pavilion and "cleaned" a ping pong ball that landed in the gravel underneath the bus in a Solo cup full of ice melt from a cooler. Gotta love all these social activities.
I shoot the shit for a while, grab a couple drinks, realize that "flavors" of hooka are just as arbitrary as Gatorade flavors (do cherries really taste like this?) and decide I'm gonna head out. I've done enough old school things, that I feel it only appropriate that I finish my night with the oldest school of them all...Julia's Empanadas. It's actually a bit of a walk, but I make my way down to Julia's, grab myself a Saltenas empanada and it's off to the metro again.
So, on the day, I feel I accomplished a good bit: Visited a new place, swam in the old neighborhood, tried a new bar activity, spent the equivalent of a trip to OC in the metro, and likely gave myself diarrhea.
And that's why it's 11 AM and I'm still in bed. I think I'll just lay around and watch movies today.
Saturday, August 02, 2008
This ain't football!!
So, no real shenanigans to speak of from last night. Mostly just running up a $100 bar tab while losing at darts to Dave and shuffleboard to Edwin. I did see a guy playing the greatest round of Ms. Pac Man ever, mesmerizing all those around (he was like a savant or some shit), and of course we made a mockery of the metro as Laurie contemplated peeing in a cup because the train stopped for like 20 minutes in Cleveland Park. I have no idea why but I did make this profound statement while we sat there (at least it seemed profound last night)
"You know what I like about trains? The fact that I am sitting and yet moving. It's sort of an oxymoron. But right now, I'm sitting and not moving. So, it's like I'm just in a chair. I'm not really as big a fan of chairs as I am of trains." (I think you had to be there)
In any case, the most shocking story of the night came right before I even headed out. I get a call as I'm getting dressed and it's from my brother. As I mentioned in my previous post, his football team is playing the thugs I played last week that threatened to "light this place up with my 9" (I heard that little added quote later this past week). Several emails were sent from members of our team and others asking that this team, notorious for dirty play, be removed. Needless to say, the league banned the guy who threw a punch from playing, but the remainder of the thugs, including Skeeza, the guy who punched me in the jaw, were still allowed to play.
Kevin informed me that Skeeza was back to his antics right from the get go, slamming my brother into the boards (what did my family do to this guy?) and receiving a flag for unnecessary roughness. You tell em ref. That'll stop him. Jackasses. So the game continues, Kevin is running along the side lines and rather than pull his flag, Skeeza once again slams him into the boards. This time, no flag is thrown. And this time, Kevin is hurt. I don't know the full details having not been there, and Kevin played it down a bit. But while I was at Rocket Bar, Kevin was at the hospital, having been taken away in an ambulance with two large puncture wounds above his knee where the impact forces the door screws into him.
My mom was freaking out and said you could see the bone in one of the cuts, which is just f-ing horrible, but thankfully, I believe that the injury is purely of the cut variety, no ligament or muscle damage. He was getting stitches last I heard from my mom, and I'll probably go have a look for myself this afternoon.
The game continued, the Fuel Rods lost once again. But my brother is the one who really lost, as this is likely going to affect his abililty to work this week, if not longer, and it could have been much worse. Injuries are a part of sports...but this one could have been prevented. Fucking unbelievable. This ain't football.
"You know what I like about trains? The fact that I am sitting and yet moving. It's sort of an oxymoron. But right now, I'm sitting and not moving. So, it's like I'm just in a chair. I'm not really as big a fan of chairs as I am of trains." (I think you had to be there)
In any case, the most shocking story of the night came right before I even headed out. I get a call as I'm getting dressed and it's from my brother. As I mentioned in my previous post, his football team is playing the thugs I played last week that threatened to "light this place up with my 9" (I heard that little added quote later this past week). Several emails were sent from members of our team and others asking that this team, notorious for dirty play, be removed. Needless to say, the league banned the guy who threw a punch from playing, but the remainder of the thugs, including Skeeza, the guy who punched me in the jaw, were still allowed to play.
Kevin informed me that Skeeza was back to his antics right from the get go, slamming my brother into the boards (what did my family do to this guy?) and receiving a flag for unnecessary roughness. You tell em ref. That'll stop him. Jackasses. So the game continues, Kevin is running along the side lines and rather than pull his flag, Skeeza once again slams him into the boards. This time, no flag is thrown. And this time, Kevin is hurt. I don't know the full details having not been there, and Kevin played it down a bit. But while I was at Rocket Bar, Kevin was at the hospital, having been taken away in an ambulance with two large puncture wounds above his knee where the impact forces the door screws into him.
My mom was freaking out and said you could see the bone in one of the cuts, which is just f-ing horrible, but thankfully, I believe that the injury is purely of the cut variety, no ligament or muscle damage. He was getting stitches last I heard from my mom, and I'll probably go have a look for myself this afternoon.
The game continued, the Fuel Rods lost once again. But my brother is the one who really lost, as this is likely going to affect his abililty to work this week, if not longer, and it could have been much worse. Injuries are a part of sports...but this one could have been prevented. Fucking unbelievable. This ain't football.
Friday, August 01, 2008
Return of the Mack
I can only assume that you guys are sick of hearing about me being down and feeling sorry for myself. Most of you have known me for long enough that you're sitting there going, "f-ing J-Man. Hot chicks flock to you for some reason. You'll be going out on dates with girls I'd give my left nut for within a week." (thanks E). He's still bitter that I never brought the "porn star" around...but that's a different story.
Anywho, I hope he's right. But in any case, I should be bringing you the stories you want to hear. The stories of random stupidity, the stories of me exchanging terrible banter while at a bar, the stories of me watching internet porn with bikini models in my bed (yeah, I wish too). So here's a quick little excerpt from last Saturday to get me in the mood for some more shenanigans down at Rocket Bar tonight. Like it or not...I'm back out there...hide your daughters (seriously, hide the ugly ones).
So, last Saturday, I head over to my buddy's place and there's four of us there, hanging out, doing some pre-drinking, and watching this really gay Japanese pro wrestling shit on youtube (trust me, you don't want to find it...it's funny for like a minute, then it's just uncomfortable). After a couple drinks, we head for the metro with roadie in hand (gotta get hella drunk right after a breakup...standard practice). We head out to Bethesda and after making a quick stop at Blackfinn and taking a double Patron shot (told you), we decide to head to Union Jacks. I had been there the night before and whipped out some of my old school dance moves with Laurie, but tonight it was just four dudes.
Well, we just watched the gayest Japanese wrestling ever, why not go that extra mile and have four dudes hit the dance floor. Did I forget to mention that we did a jagerbomb shot and had a couple drinks first? Yes, jagerbomb. Protein MILK! Fucking Skanks! (If you got that, props to you). Anywho, I'm breakin it down like I always do...a combination of Will Smith and Will He Stop stupid spins and shoulder bouncing. There's not enough room for the extra stupid running man or Roger Rabbit or I would have likely done them too.
Needless to say, women are actually coming up and dancing with me, and while I can't remember most of them or even talking to any of them, there is one that sticks out...a relatively hot brunette with some cleavage showing and a fat friend (always notice the fat friend...gotta watch out when I get drunk like this). In any case, I'm pretty sure she said I dance pretty good for a white guy and I think she was grinding on me for a bit. First rule of a dance floor, or anywhere for that matter: when a white girl ends her sentence with "for a white guy," she's probably been with a brutha (or more) and seeing as I'm not bringing it like Sean Michaels, I think I'll avoid attempting to disprove the age old myth. :o)
In any case, I turn the dry humping to moderate dance floor conversation and this is when I get these added tidbits flashing into my drunken brain...
"oh, you have a kid?"
"sorry...two kids??!!"
"and the eldest is 12!!" (how old is this chick???!!!)
"oh, you're 32" (drunken math says baby at 20)
At this point, I'm thinking I need to truly do the running man. But I've got to see the end of this train wreck...so, I ask the hard hitting questions:
Me: So, where are these kids if you're here?
Her: blah blah blah (I can't remember what she said, but it wasn't with their dad)
Me: If they're there, where's their dad?
Her: Wow, these ARE hard hitting questions! (I think I forgot to mention that I actually said that I was about to ask the hard hitting questions...I'm all class)
Her: He's in jail.
Me (in my head): I already knew the answer.
Me: YIKES!
J-Man think he the mack...macaroni!
Anywho, I hope he's right. But in any case, I should be bringing you the stories you want to hear. The stories of random stupidity, the stories of me exchanging terrible banter while at a bar, the stories of me watching internet porn with bikini models in my bed (yeah, I wish too). So here's a quick little excerpt from last Saturday to get me in the mood for some more shenanigans down at Rocket Bar tonight. Like it or not...I'm back out there...hide your daughters (seriously, hide the ugly ones).
So, last Saturday, I head over to my buddy's place and there's four of us there, hanging out, doing some pre-drinking, and watching this really gay Japanese pro wrestling shit on youtube (trust me, you don't want to find it...it's funny for like a minute, then it's just uncomfortable). After a couple drinks, we head for the metro with roadie in hand (gotta get hella drunk right after a breakup...standard practice). We head out to Bethesda and after making a quick stop at Blackfinn and taking a double Patron shot (told you), we decide to head to Union Jacks. I had been there the night before and whipped out some of my old school dance moves with Laurie, but tonight it was just four dudes.
Well, we just watched the gayest Japanese wrestling ever, why not go that extra mile and have four dudes hit the dance floor. Did I forget to mention that we did a jagerbomb shot and had a couple drinks first? Yes, jagerbomb. Protein MILK! Fucking Skanks! (If you got that, props to you). Anywho, I'm breakin it down like I always do...a combination of Will Smith and Will He Stop stupid spins and shoulder bouncing. There's not enough room for the extra stupid running man or Roger Rabbit or I would have likely done them too.
Needless to say, women are actually coming up and dancing with me, and while I can't remember most of them or even talking to any of them, there is one that sticks out...a relatively hot brunette with some cleavage showing and a fat friend (always notice the fat friend...gotta watch out when I get drunk like this). In any case, I'm pretty sure she said I dance pretty good for a white guy and I think she was grinding on me for a bit. First rule of a dance floor, or anywhere for that matter: when a white girl ends her sentence with "for a white guy," she's probably been with a brutha (or more) and seeing as I'm not bringing it like Sean Michaels, I think I'll avoid attempting to disprove the age old myth. :o)
In any case, I turn the dry humping to moderate dance floor conversation and this is when I get these added tidbits flashing into my drunken brain...
"oh, you have a kid?"
"sorry...two kids??!!"
"and the eldest is 12!!" (how old is this chick???!!!)
"oh, you're 32" (drunken math says baby at 20)
At this point, I'm thinking I need to truly do the running man. But I've got to see the end of this train wreck...so, I ask the hard hitting questions:
Me: So, where are these kids if you're here?
Her: blah blah blah (I can't remember what she said, but it wasn't with their dad)
Me: If they're there, where's their dad?
Her: Wow, these ARE hard hitting questions! (I think I forgot to mention that I actually said that I was about to ask the hard hitting questions...I'm all class)
Her: He's in jail.
Me (in my head): I already knew the answer.
Me: YIKES!
J-Man think he the mack...macaroni!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Meathead Moments
Do you remember the first time you saw Revenge of the Nerds? Remember the opening scene where the Alpha Betas are running around like idiots in their fraternity house, partying on the roof, lighting grain alcohol on fire as they shoot it out of their mouth, and stair diving? I remember seeing it and thinking how awful and ridiculous these guys were. A charicature of what the "bad guys" in college are...and then during the Summer break before my senior year in college, my buddy Ian and I were watching the movie again, and we both turn to each other with this epiphany...we had become the Alpha Betas.
During our years in school, we manhandled a couch onto our roof so we could drink up there and heckle anyone that walked by. We accidentally lit the American flag on fire during a party when one of our fraternity brothers lit his spit like a jackass, while we would also routinely light our couches on fire for absolutely no reason. And I was the moron who twice annually would fall down the library stairs with a stack of valuable library books to the cheers of around 40 of my friends congregated in the library lobby beneath. Hell, we even played book tag (you figure it out) in the quiet part of the library basement. I've told you before, I'm not proud of some of the things I've done.
So, here I am, 10 years later (yep, reunion is coming up this year). I've grown up a lot and obviously learned from the errors of my old ways. And this afternoon, I'm driving with my brother, ironically on our way to the gym. We get to the light to turn left off Rockville Pike and as we turn the corner, a rather dorky looking young man in a short sleeved button up shirt and tie, and thick glasses tries to cross the street in front of us, forcing us to slow down and nearly get hit in the back of my brother's car.
And what do we do?
Roll down the window and yell, "NEEERRRRDDDDD!!!!"
Some things never seem to change.
During our years in school, we manhandled a couch onto our roof so we could drink up there and heckle anyone that walked by. We accidentally lit the American flag on fire during a party when one of our fraternity brothers lit his spit like a jackass, while we would also routinely light our couches on fire for absolutely no reason. And I was the moron who twice annually would fall down the library stairs with a stack of valuable library books to the cheers of around 40 of my friends congregated in the library lobby beneath. Hell, we even played book tag (you figure it out) in the quiet part of the library basement. I've told you before, I'm not proud of some of the things I've done.
So, here I am, 10 years later (yep, reunion is coming up this year). I've grown up a lot and obviously learned from the errors of my old ways. And this afternoon, I'm driving with my brother, ironically on our way to the gym. We get to the light to turn left off Rockville Pike and as we turn the corner, a rather dorky looking young man in a short sleeved button up shirt and tie, and thick glasses tries to cross the street in front of us, forcing us to slow down and nearly get hit in the back of my brother's car.
And what do we do?
Roll down the window and yell, "NEEERRRRDDDDD!!!!"
Some things never seem to change.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Passion
I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point in my life, I turned my life on autopilot. You can look back at these blogs and I'll even mention it. I get carried from one experience to the next, stuck in a long series of routines that basically control what I do. I never really realized it, or perhaps I just assumed it was normal. I wake up, I go to work, I make it through the day, hitting the speed bumps that come along with it, I go home, and until recently, I call Lisa, I eat dinner, I watch TV, and I go to bed.
Yes, there are a few select adventures that throw themselves in there, but for the most part it's the same. I've always chalked it up to the pressure and hours that I endure at work, shutting down and acting like a robot to deal with the stress. But here it is 6 AM, I've probably only slept about 4 hours off and on all night, and I finally realized it. I've lost my passion.
I watch movies like Click and Serendipity. I read books like A Perfect Day and The Choice. I hear songs by Tim McGraw. The lessons are staring me in the face, and yet I have continued to follow the routines. Maybe you have too. It's safe. It's predictable. It's logical. I am my father's son. The engineer mind, the planner...and I'm miserable.
A change is needed. I want to do what feels right, not what makes sense. I want to put myself out there, not safely hide my feelings for fear of getting hurt. I want to wake up each day, excited for new possibility it holds, not sleepwalking through the normal routines. I want to love again.
Some times you need to hit a low to make these observations. And it's that part of the story when the main character starts taking actions to change. You've read this story for over 3 years, let's see how it turns out.
I may fall flat on my face. I may hurt worse than I have before. But at least I'll have lived and I won't regret what might have been. Carpe diem...right?
Yes, there are a few select adventures that throw themselves in there, but for the most part it's the same. I've always chalked it up to the pressure and hours that I endure at work, shutting down and acting like a robot to deal with the stress. But here it is 6 AM, I've probably only slept about 4 hours off and on all night, and I finally realized it. I've lost my passion.
I watch movies like Click and Serendipity. I read books like A Perfect Day and The Choice. I hear songs by Tim McGraw. The lessons are staring me in the face, and yet I have continued to follow the routines. Maybe you have too. It's safe. It's predictable. It's logical. I am my father's son. The engineer mind, the planner...and I'm miserable.
A change is needed. I want to do what feels right, not what makes sense. I want to put myself out there, not safely hide my feelings for fear of getting hurt. I want to wake up each day, excited for new possibility it holds, not sleepwalking through the normal routines. I want to love again.
Some times you need to hit a low to make these observations. And it's that part of the story when the main character starts taking actions to change. You've read this story for over 3 years, let's see how it turns out.
I may fall flat on my face. I may hurt worse than I have before. But at least I'll have lived and I won't regret what might have been. Carpe diem...right?
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Is This Football??
So, Friday night rolled around and we were set to play the Fuel Rods in my indoor football league. They've been in and out of the league for the past couple years and they are most notorious for playing dirty and talking ALOT of shit. We already had played them once earlier in the season and I was matched up against a guy they call Skeeza who wears a jersey that says "Presidential" on the back Needless to say, I left that game having been shouldered, elbowed, and verbally abused and we lost by about 20 points.
Fast forward to this past Friday and things are looking to be headed down the same path as members of the Fuel Rods are talking shit in the parking lot before the game even starts. It's only a matter of plays before I receive my first dirty shot from Skeeza, a forearm to my jaw...right where it's cracked and I still have the bump from the repaired bone. A few plays later and he slammed me into the wall after the play was over. I returned the favor by kicking him in the thigh while on the ground and I'm sure my, "Fuck you, you dirty piece of shit" fell on deaf ears as the violence continued as he punched my teammate Shane in the back several times after an interception.
The refs are trying to control the escalating violence with calm words, but bad things are in store. And sure enough, we're up 8-0 late in the first half and they decide to throw our QB to the ground (did I mention this is a flag league). One of our WRs doesn't take too kindly to this and steps towards their lineman with some kind words. I told you these guys played dirty, but this ghetto punk takes it to a new level as he throws a right hook and connects with my teammate's face. A minor skirmish ensues, shit talking is running wild, and we're bordering on a riot. Their guy is ejected, breaks the gate to the field on his exit (which included some colorful words and the stereotypical removal of his jersey) and shit is only gonna get worse from here.
The rest of the game plays out with personal fouls flying left and right (I don't know why they didn't call the game earlier) and the jackass they ejected is hanging by the stands, brooding and seeking revenge. He refuses a hand shake to try and resolve the issue and as we celebrate our win (yep, they were undefeated and we handed them their first loss) it is apparent the violence hasn't ended with the final whistle.
The looks we're getting while we put on our normal shoes and clothes put everyone on guard that it's best we not leave any stragglers behind as we depart. Unfortunately, Shane didn't get the memo. We walk out the door, only to have my brother (who stayed to watch the game with my parents after his game) run out and tell us that Shane has been surrounded by their team inside.
I'm trying to distance myself from the whole fiasco, as I'm not looking to break my jaw again by someone's sucker punch, and it's already hurting after the "legal" sucker punch I received in the game, but both teams shuffle outside and the shit talking hasn't ended.
I get in my car but keep an eye on what's going down. Most of my team has left but Shane and Tio were still around and as Tio is walking to his car, I see the same now-jerseyless thug go running his way.
I'm not sure what's gonna happen so I swing my car around to the area, with the incoherent intent of hitting this punk with my car if need be. Thankfully, nothing has happened yet (probably wouldn't have turned out well if I had done that) but the two are squared up with their hands up, apparently intent on throwing down right there.
I turn on my brights and slam on my horn, hoping to disrupt whatever is being said, and this brings a large group over to the area. Thankfully Tio pulls away and gets into his truck, as Shane is informed by one of the calmer Fuel Rods, that we should probably get out of there since some of them carry guns and he doesn't know what they might do at this point. What the fuck!!??
Everything dies down at this point, I drive home and I realize that Kevin is scheduled to play these guys next week. Didn't I sign up to play football??
Fast forward to this past Friday and things are looking to be headed down the same path as members of the Fuel Rods are talking shit in the parking lot before the game even starts. It's only a matter of plays before I receive my first dirty shot from Skeeza, a forearm to my jaw...right where it's cracked and I still have the bump from the repaired bone. A few plays later and he slammed me into the wall after the play was over. I returned the favor by kicking him in the thigh while on the ground and I'm sure my, "Fuck you, you dirty piece of shit" fell on deaf ears as the violence continued as he punched my teammate Shane in the back several times after an interception.
The refs are trying to control the escalating violence with calm words, but bad things are in store. And sure enough, we're up 8-0 late in the first half and they decide to throw our QB to the ground (did I mention this is a flag league). One of our WRs doesn't take too kindly to this and steps towards their lineman with some kind words. I told you these guys played dirty, but this ghetto punk takes it to a new level as he throws a right hook and connects with my teammate's face. A minor skirmish ensues, shit talking is running wild, and we're bordering on a riot. Their guy is ejected, breaks the gate to the field on his exit (which included some colorful words and the stereotypical removal of his jersey) and shit is only gonna get worse from here.
The rest of the game plays out with personal fouls flying left and right (I don't know why they didn't call the game earlier) and the jackass they ejected is hanging by the stands, brooding and seeking revenge. He refuses a hand shake to try and resolve the issue and as we celebrate our win (yep, they were undefeated and we handed them their first loss) it is apparent the violence hasn't ended with the final whistle.
The looks we're getting while we put on our normal shoes and clothes put everyone on guard that it's best we not leave any stragglers behind as we depart. Unfortunately, Shane didn't get the memo. We walk out the door, only to have my brother (who stayed to watch the game with my parents after his game) run out and tell us that Shane has been surrounded by their team inside.
I'm trying to distance myself from the whole fiasco, as I'm not looking to break my jaw again by someone's sucker punch, and it's already hurting after the "legal" sucker punch I received in the game, but both teams shuffle outside and the shit talking hasn't ended.
I get in my car but keep an eye on what's going down. Most of my team has left but Shane and Tio were still around and as Tio is walking to his car, I see the same now-jerseyless thug go running his way.
I'm not sure what's gonna happen so I swing my car around to the area, with the incoherent intent of hitting this punk with my car if need be. Thankfully, nothing has happened yet (probably wouldn't have turned out well if I had done that) but the two are squared up with their hands up, apparently intent on throwing down right there.
I turn on my brights and slam on my horn, hoping to disrupt whatever is being said, and this brings a large group over to the area. Thankfully Tio pulls away and gets into his truck, as Shane is informed by one of the calmer Fuel Rods, that we should probably get out of there since some of them carry guns and he doesn't know what they might do at this point. What the fuck!!??
Everything dies down at this point, I drive home and I realize that Kevin is scheduled to play these guys next week. Didn't I sign up to play football??
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Top 10: Best Action Movies
So, I've been getting a ton of hits and comments on my top Pump Up Songs list, so I figured it's been a while since I did a legitimate (as opposed to comedic) list. So, having just seen Dark Knight on Monday and seeing as this is my 300th post (I know...ridiculous), I bring to you:
Top 10 Best Action Movies
10) Robocop - There's something about revenge that makes a good action flick, and after the early scene of the guys shooting the cop to pieces, I just love it when Robocop starts plucking off the bad guys. Classic action moment: When the truck hits the guy who fell in the toxic waste and he explodes...brutal
9) Terminator 2 - I'm pretty sure this movie broke tons of records at the time it was made with regard to all the carnage involved in it. You can't have an action list without Arnold in it as well. Classic action moment: The semi and the pickup truck chase ending in giant explosions and the semi sliding for like 1/4 mile...awesome.
8) The Bourne Trilogy - I really couldn't pick just one of these flicks, because they're all equally solid in the level of action and ass kicking. It's like a Bond movie without all the gay British people. Classic action moment: I'm partial to the scene in the last movie when Bourne calls the head dude, asks him where he is, and when he says he's in his office, Bourne is like "then we'd be talking face to face"...money lines, necessary to all action.
7) Aliens - Are you kidding me?? This movie just never ends. Action upon action upon action. The scene when the whole army gets anhiliated and all the screens go out...ridiculous. Classic action moment: Sigourney's chillin, everything seems calm, and then, BAM, robot guy's split in half and here comes more action...ups and downs, keeps you guessing.
6) Dark Knight - This movie is exhausting there's so much action. I won't ruin it for any of you that haven't seen it yet...but man, it's a new classic.
5) Matrix - This was another record breaker, this time with the special effects. You can't overlook the impact the bullet angles have had on future action movies. Classic action moment: Where do you start? Gotta say it's the scene when they come to save Morpheus and walk through the security station before blowing the shit out of the place...silly.
4) Die Hard - With this trilogy, there was no problem picking a best...and it's the first. Another action must...one man versus a bunch of bad foreigners. Overcoming adversity, and taking names. Classic action moment: Yippee ki yay, mother fucker!!
3) Braveheart - Revenge and overcoming adversity...in one movie...sounds like a recipe for solid action. Add to that Mel Gibson's desire to show brutality to the utmost, and it's one of the best. Classic action moment: I kind of like the scene where he's on the horse, surrendering, and then swings his mace and smashes the guard's face before kicking some serious ass...that's straight primal!
2) Gladiator - It's like the writers saw Braveheart, took it to Rome, and added some extra ass-kicking scenes and a bigger douche of a bad guy. Works for me. On my signal...unleash hell. Classic action moment: The speech Maximus gives when he is face to face with Commodus again..."I will have my revenge, in this life or the next."...gives me chills every time.
1) 300 - Did you expect anything else? This is my 300th post! 300! Yep, that's a lot of writing. Oh, and this is the greatest action movie ever. I want to fight people after watching it every time. They make a wall out of dead people! Classic action moment: You apparently should not insult a Spartan is his home. When he kicks that messenger in the chest, I wanna stand up and break some shit...THIS IS SPARTA!!!
Go see Dark Knight, and enjoy my 300th post.
Top 10 Best Action Movies
10) Robocop - There's something about revenge that makes a good action flick, and after the early scene of the guys shooting the cop to pieces, I just love it when Robocop starts plucking off the bad guys. Classic action moment: When the truck hits the guy who fell in the toxic waste and he explodes...brutal
9) Terminator 2 - I'm pretty sure this movie broke tons of records at the time it was made with regard to all the carnage involved in it. You can't have an action list without Arnold in it as well. Classic action moment: The semi and the pickup truck chase ending in giant explosions and the semi sliding for like 1/4 mile...awesome.
8) The Bourne Trilogy - I really couldn't pick just one of these flicks, because they're all equally solid in the level of action and ass kicking. It's like a Bond movie without all the gay British people. Classic action moment: I'm partial to the scene in the last movie when Bourne calls the head dude, asks him where he is, and when he says he's in his office, Bourne is like "then we'd be talking face to face"...money lines, necessary to all action.
7) Aliens - Are you kidding me?? This movie just never ends. Action upon action upon action. The scene when the whole army gets anhiliated and all the screens go out...ridiculous. Classic action moment: Sigourney's chillin, everything seems calm, and then, BAM, robot guy's split in half and here comes more action...ups and downs, keeps you guessing.
6) Dark Knight - This movie is exhausting there's so much action. I won't ruin it for any of you that haven't seen it yet...but man, it's a new classic.
5) Matrix - This was another record breaker, this time with the special effects. You can't overlook the impact the bullet angles have had on future action movies. Classic action moment: Where do you start? Gotta say it's the scene when they come to save Morpheus and walk through the security station before blowing the shit out of the place...silly.
4) Die Hard - With this trilogy, there was no problem picking a best...and it's the first. Another action must...one man versus a bunch of bad foreigners. Overcoming adversity, and taking names. Classic action moment: Yippee ki yay, mother fucker!!
3) Braveheart - Revenge and overcoming adversity...in one movie...sounds like a recipe for solid action. Add to that Mel Gibson's desire to show brutality to the utmost, and it's one of the best. Classic action moment: I kind of like the scene where he's on the horse, surrendering, and then swings his mace and smashes the guard's face before kicking some serious ass...that's straight primal!
2) Gladiator - It's like the writers saw Braveheart, took it to Rome, and added some extra ass-kicking scenes and a bigger douche of a bad guy. Works for me. On my signal...unleash hell. Classic action moment: The speech Maximus gives when he is face to face with Commodus again..."I will have my revenge, in this life or the next."...gives me chills every time.
1) 300 - Did you expect anything else? This is my 300th post! 300! Yep, that's a lot of writing. Oh, and this is the greatest action movie ever. I want to fight people after watching it every time. They make a wall out of dead people! Classic action moment: You apparently should not insult a Spartan is his home. When he kicks that messenger in the chest, I wanna stand up and break some shit...THIS IS SPARTA!!!
Go see Dark Knight, and enjoy my 300th post.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
J-Man: Professional Dumpee
So, for those of you that haven't heard, I am once again single. And in my typical fashion, I will choose to deal with the loss in the manner I most often fall back on...humor. You see with this most current breakup, I have now raised my number of times being dumped in a year up to a whopping three for 2008. This has greatly surpassed my previous annual high of one from 1999, and I would assume that this would likely put me at the professional level of being dumped...or shall I say, I am now a professional dumpee.
Some people aren't even lucky enough to have attained three girlfriends (I'm talking at least 10+ dates and intimate knowledge here) in a year, while I have not only achieved this feat, I have been discarded by each of them, and we're just past the Major League All-Star Break. You had to expect it was gonna be a bad year when I got dumped on New Years Day.
Perhaps, now that I've reach 30 years old, I no longer follow along with my past theory that women prefer to date a man that they can change. You see, when you're younger, you're still a work in progress, there's hope you can be molded (right, Amy...I know you still read this ;o) ) but perhaps at 30, I am viewed as a finished piece. And I would imagine I'm a bit more like a Dali than a Rembrandt at this point, and thus all the dumping.
Ha, ha, ha. Funny stuff...but actually, it sucks.
So as your internet blog guru, I feel it only my civic duty as a comedic writer of what passes my mind, to enlighten each of you to some of the warning signs that you're about to get dumped:
Change in the Status Quo
This one is a relatively easy one to pick up, and is usually the first sign indicator. Let's say, you and your girlfriend instant message each other each night, since she moved away and you're trying a long distance relationship. (This is purely hypothetical, of course) Then all of a sudden, you notice she's not online as often. While these facts may be completely innocent in their presence, the underlying problem is starting to bloom. You leave a message on the phone and don't hear back the same day like you used to. Saturday was always date night, but suddenly, other things pop up.
You're probably sitting there at your computer, and you're like...oh crap, J-Man, I too have seen these changes occurring. What shall I do?
And the answer is simple: Start doing weird shit. The status quo is a sense of routine, it's frightening to the other person, they are falling into a duldrom and are lulled into a sense of uneasiness as a result...so here's a few suggestions. Call them on a random night, when they answer, say hello, then say...woops, gotta go take a dump. Hang up and don't call them back. Or, while you're out at dinner, finish your meal very quickly and when you're done, grab their plate and throw it on the floor, stomp on it, and declare yourself the winner while dancing and calling them names. Or lastly, go onto their myspace or facebook (everyone's got this stuff now) and post comments like, "I am gonna chew your ankles tonight" or "Don't forget the mustard."
You see, the confusion and spontaneity of these actions will keep them guessing, the status quo will disappear, and without a pattern to break, the relationship will continue.
The Big Event
It goes without saying, that if a big event is coming up: New Years, Valentine's Day, a big party, night at the theater, you better be on guard. There's something about a large planned event that brings on the breakup bug. Having used this technique myself, it's sort of like, I don't want to ruin this event for them, so I won't say anything about the relationship beforehand. Then, once it's over...it's over. Tale as old as time. It seems, while Hallmark is cashing in on making all these extra worthless holidays, they should really hone in on that last market, the day after holiday sympathy cards for the newly single.
You're probably sitting there at your computer, and you're like...oh crap, J-Man, I got dumped the day after Labor Day. And my sister got dumped right after Martin Luther King Day. What the F? How can we stop this madness?
And the answer is simple: Make up your own Holidays. Everyone needs a Holiday. It's a way to relax and give yourself a break from your normal life...but why should I follow the Holidays set up by Hallmark, or Jesus, or George Washington? Make up your own Holidays. And don't tell your girlfriend/boyfriend when they're coming up. Just wake up one morning and be like...hey Honey, it's Skinned My Knee Day...I honor it to remember one of the days I skinned my knee as a kid (gotta encompass a bunch of days). We need to eat only bacon today and ride a bike everywhere. YEEEAAAHHH!!! If she tries to pull it again the following year, tell her it's only celebrated every other year, years ending in 8, etc. and shake your head in disgust for her not understanding the true meaning of Skinned My Knee Day.
But wait, J-Man, what about the most hallowed of all days...the anniversary? Aren't women always saying they should be treated like every day is their anniversary. Well, turn that shit around on them. Celebrate your anniversary on random days...not only does it eliminate this problem, it'll probably get you laid. Which leads me to the worst of all tell-tale signs you're gonna get dumped.
Kinky Sex
This one I just read about or something...not speaking from experience. But if you just had some crazy, kinky sex...I'm talking massages, bowtied lingerie, body oil, weird vibrating instruments, spanking, anal, or for the prudes...missionary...with the lights ON, you better enjoy it while you can, because you might be playing in the one man orchestra for a while...and you're sitting first chair on the pipe organ.
Perhaps it's a guilt thing, where a woman wants to do something special to hide the fact that they're about to end the relationship, or perhaps they'll do the crazy stuff because they know they'll never see you again. Or maybe they realize they're ending the relationship and won't be getting any for a while, so they act like a squirrel, storing away nuts (pun completely intended) for the long Winter. In either case, it's the most vicious of all backslaps. The calm before the storm. The hot bath before the cold shower. The eye before the tiger.
You're probably sitting there at your computer, and you're like...oh crap, J-Man, I too got dumped after a night of sex so hard, it hurt to pee. What can I do to stop this from happening?
And the answer is simple...stop it??? Are you on crack? Did you just read what I wrote...massages...bow-tied lingerie...body oil...weird vibrating shit...paddling...back door shenanigans...mormons with the lights on!!! Sometimes, you can't stop the inevitable. If she wants to go and she's gonna give you a parting gift of cash and prizes...you take that loot. Yeah, you didn't get to spin the big wheel and compete on the showcase showdown, but you got to come on...down.
Wow...this was probably one of my most offensive blogs to date...no wonder I don't have a girlfriend.
Some people aren't even lucky enough to have attained three girlfriends (I'm talking at least 10+ dates and intimate knowledge here) in a year, while I have not only achieved this feat, I have been discarded by each of them, and we're just past the Major League All-Star Break. You had to expect it was gonna be a bad year when I got dumped on New Years Day.
Perhaps, now that I've reach 30 years old, I no longer follow along with my past theory that women prefer to date a man that they can change. You see, when you're younger, you're still a work in progress, there's hope you can be molded (right, Amy...I know you still read this ;o) ) but perhaps at 30, I am viewed as a finished piece. And I would imagine I'm a bit more like a Dali than a Rembrandt at this point, and thus all the dumping.
Ha, ha, ha. Funny stuff...but actually, it sucks.
So as your internet blog guru, I feel it only my civic duty as a comedic writer of what passes my mind, to enlighten each of you to some of the warning signs that you're about to get dumped:
Change in the Status Quo
This one is a relatively easy one to pick up, and is usually the first sign indicator. Let's say, you and your girlfriend instant message each other each night, since she moved away and you're trying a long distance relationship. (This is purely hypothetical, of course) Then all of a sudden, you notice she's not online as often. While these facts may be completely innocent in their presence, the underlying problem is starting to bloom. You leave a message on the phone and don't hear back the same day like you used to. Saturday was always date night, but suddenly, other things pop up.
You're probably sitting there at your computer, and you're like...oh crap, J-Man, I too have seen these changes occurring. What shall I do?
And the answer is simple: Start doing weird shit. The status quo is a sense of routine, it's frightening to the other person, they are falling into a duldrom and are lulled into a sense of uneasiness as a result...so here's a few suggestions. Call them on a random night, when they answer, say hello, then say...woops, gotta go take a dump. Hang up and don't call them back. Or, while you're out at dinner, finish your meal very quickly and when you're done, grab their plate and throw it on the floor, stomp on it, and declare yourself the winner while dancing and calling them names. Or lastly, go onto their myspace or facebook (everyone's got this stuff now) and post comments like, "I am gonna chew your ankles tonight" or "Don't forget the mustard."
You see, the confusion and spontaneity of these actions will keep them guessing, the status quo will disappear, and without a pattern to break, the relationship will continue.
The Big Event
It goes without saying, that if a big event is coming up: New Years, Valentine's Day, a big party, night at the theater, you better be on guard. There's something about a large planned event that brings on the breakup bug. Having used this technique myself, it's sort of like, I don't want to ruin this event for them, so I won't say anything about the relationship beforehand. Then, once it's over...it's over. Tale as old as time. It seems, while Hallmark is cashing in on making all these extra worthless holidays, they should really hone in on that last market, the day after holiday sympathy cards for the newly single.
You're probably sitting there at your computer, and you're like...oh crap, J-Man, I got dumped the day after Labor Day. And my sister got dumped right after Martin Luther King Day. What the F? How can we stop this madness?
And the answer is simple: Make up your own Holidays. Everyone needs a Holiday. It's a way to relax and give yourself a break from your normal life...but why should I follow the Holidays set up by Hallmark, or Jesus, or George Washington? Make up your own Holidays. And don't tell your girlfriend/boyfriend when they're coming up. Just wake up one morning and be like...hey Honey, it's Skinned My Knee Day...I honor it to remember one of the days I skinned my knee as a kid (gotta encompass a bunch of days). We need to eat only bacon today and ride a bike everywhere. YEEEAAAHHH!!! If she tries to pull it again the following year, tell her it's only celebrated every other year, years ending in 8, etc. and shake your head in disgust for her not understanding the true meaning of Skinned My Knee Day.
But wait, J-Man, what about the most hallowed of all days...the anniversary? Aren't women always saying they should be treated like every day is their anniversary. Well, turn that shit around on them. Celebrate your anniversary on random days...not only does it eliminate this problem, it'll probably get you laid. Which leads me to the worst of all tell-tale signs you're gonna get dumped.
Kinky Sex
This one I just read about or something...not speaking from experience. But if you just had some crazy, kinky sex...I'm talking massages, bowtied lingerie, body oil, weird vibrating instruments, spanking, anal, or for the prudes...missionary...with the lights ON, you better enjoy it while you can, because you might be playing in the one man orchestra for a while...and you're sitting first chair on the pipe organ.
Perhaps it's a guilt thing, where a woman wants to do something special to hide the fact that they're about to end the relationship, or perhaps they'll do the crazy stuff because they know they'll never see you again. Or maybe they realize they're ending the relationship and won't be getting any for a while, so they act like a squirrel, storing away nuts (pun completely intended) for the long Winter. In either case, it's the most vicious of all backslaps. The calm before the storm. The hot bath before the cold shower. The eye before the tiger.
You're probably sitting there at your computer, and you're like...oh crap, J-Man, I too got dumped after a night of sex so hard, it hurt to pee. What can I do to stop this from happening?
And the answer is simple...stop it??? Are you on crack? Did you just read what I wrote...massages...bow-tied lingerie...body oil...weird vibrating shit...paddling...back door shenanigans...mormons with the lights on!!! Sometimes, you can't stop the inevitable. If she wants to go and she's gonna give you a parting gift of cash and prizes...you take that loot. Yeah, you didn't get to spin the big wheel and compete on the showcase showdown, but you got to come on...down.
Wow...this was probably one of my most offensive blogs to date...no wonder I don't have a girlfriend.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
J-Man gets a maid
It was bound to happen. I had put off the enevitable long enough. Yesterday, for the first time ever, a maid visited my house. You see, after living alone (well, Chloe's here, but she pretty much adds to the mess with all her shedding) for over two years, things had gotten a bit out of hand in the cleanliness department. My stairs were lined with dust balls that resembled small rodents. There's so much mildew in my shower that even the caulking has turned black. And there was probably some burned dried food on the burners in the kitchen that was made back in 2007.
And so, something needed to be done. My friends and family had commented on the untidyness, and my brother took action. He has a maid clean his condo, and since he lives just across the street, he brought her by a couple weeks ago to look at my place to evaluate it for cleaning.
She quoted me $85 to clean the whole house every other week, and without ever speaking or meeting her, a deal was struck and she was scheduled to come by yesterday.
So, of course, at 7 in the morning I'm frantically running around grabbing all my dirty clothes from my bedroom floor and throwing them in the closet, I'm grabbing all the empty beer cans (I know, it's been established...I have a problem) from my basement, and I took the lotion off my nightstand and put it back in the bathroom (errr, my hands get dry with all the chemicals at work). And then I headed off to work.
My brother called me around noon to say that the maid had finished his place and was heading over to start on my house. At 1 PM, my mom stopped by my house to let my dog out, and she was still there. At 5:30 PM, my brother stopped by my house for some reason, but I was still at work...and so was the maid. And then I arrived home at 6:30 PM, and she was still working.
Apparently she underestimated the amount of mess a 30-year old man and a dog can make over the course of two years. When I arrived home, however, the place smelled different. Instead of smelling like food and mildew (not sure how that happened), it smelled like lemons and pine.
The dust film under my living room furniture was gone. So was the food caked into the burners. As were the dust rodents on the stairs heading up to my second floor. And that's where I found Dinora...passed out on the floor. She was dead.
Nah, just kidding. She looked like hell though. Her hair was going in all directions, she was somewhat sweaty, and toting the vacuum out of the spare bedroom. I asked her how it was going, and she explained that she hadn't even gotten to the basement yet. Yep, 6 hours of cleaning and she had still only covered 2/3rds of my house. This confirms it, I definitely needed a maid.
I couldn't bear to have her work any longer, as I felt guilty for keeping her here this long. I gave her a little extra money, as she apparently is not so good on the estimating of time required. And I even thought I had picked up the place a bit. I didn't even pull the old "eat some Oreos before going to the dentist" routine, just to make her earn her keep.
Needless to say, I sit here now with dustfree (and lotion free) night stands. Mirrors in my bathroom I can actually see clearly into. And a refridgerator where I realized that the shelves are actually clear as opposed to translucent. Who knew?
I've sold out, I know. But apparently it was needed. I've got a maid now...just call me Mr. Drummond. (applause)
Now the world don't move, to the beat of just one drum. What might be right for you, may not be right for some. A man is born, he's a man of means. Then along come two, they've got nothing but their jeans. But they've got Diff'rent Strokes. It takes Diff'rent Strokes. It takes Diff'rent Strokes to move the world.
Where's that lotion?
And so, something needed to be done. My friends and family had commented on the untidyness, and my brother took action. He has a maid clean his condo, and since he lives just across the street, he brought her by a couple weeks ago to look at my place to evaluate it for cleaning.
She quoted me $85 to clean the whole house every other week, and without ever speaking or meeting her, a deal was struck and she was scheduled to come by yesterday.
So, of course, at 7 in the morning I'm frantically running around grabbing all my dirty clothes from my bedroom floor and throwing them in the closet, I'm grabbing all the empty beer cans (I know, it's been established...I have a problem) from my basement, and I took the lotion off my nightstand and put it back in the bathroom (errr, my hands get dry with all the chemicals at work). And then I headed off to work.
My brother called me around noon to say that the maid had finished his place and was heading over to start on my house. At 1 PM, my mom stopped by my house to let my dog out, and she was still there. At 5:30 PM, my brother stopped by my house for some reason, but I was still at work...and so was the maid. And then I arrived home at 6:30 PM, and she was still working.
Apparently she underestimated the amount of mess a 30-year old man and a dog can make over the course of two years. When I arrived home, however, the place smelled different. Instead of smelling like food and mildew (not sure how that happened), it smelled like lemons and pine.
The dust film under my living room furniture was gone. So was the food caked into the burners. As were the dust rodents on the stairs heading up to my second floor. And that's where I found Dinora...passed out on the floor. She was dead.
Nah, just kidding. She looked like hell though. Her hair was going in all directions, she was somewhat sweaty, and toting the vacuum out of the spare bedroom. I asked her how it was going, and she explained that she hadn't even gotten to the basement yet. Yep, 6 hours of cleaning and she had still only covered 2/3rds of my house. This confirms it, I definitely needed a maid.
I couldn't bear to have her work any longer, as I felt guilty for keeping her here this long. I gave her a little extra money, as she apparently is not so good on the estimating of time required. And I even thought I had picked up the place a bit. I didn't even pull the old "eat some Oreos before going to the dentist" routine, just to make her earn her keep.
Needless to say, I sit here now with dustfree (and lotion free) night stands. Mirrors in my bathroom I can actually see clearly into. And a refridgerator where I realized that the shelves are actually clear as opposed to translucent. Who knew?
I've sold out, I know. But apparently it was needed. I've got a maid now...just call me Mr. Drummond. (applause)
Now the world don't move, to the beat of just one drum. What might be right for you, may not be right for some. A man is born, he's a man of means. Then along come two, they've got nothing but their jeans. But they've got Diff'rent Strokes. It takes Diff'rent Strokes. It takes Diff'rent Strokes to move the world.
Where's that lotion?
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Favre from done
This isn't a story about me, as I haven't really been doing anything all that exciting (well, I have, but I don't feel like writing about it). Instead it's just my opinions about one of my favorite things, football.
For those of you that follow sports, the big story over the past 24 hours has been Green Bay Packers' quarterback Brett Favre's announcement that he wants to now come out of retirement to continue playing football.
The issue surrounding this exchange is that the Packers had, in essence, planned to move on and looked to put the team in the hands of new quarterback Aaron Rodgers, and here comes ol' Brett at the 11th hour trying to step back in. So here's the dilemma. Let Favre come back, alienate Rodgers once again (the last few years have had the same questions about retirement lingering) and risk that he'll leave the next chance he gets, thus possibly screwing up the future of the Packers. Or not bring Favre back, risk that all the fans of Green Bay will revolt, especially if Favre does well somewhere else and Rodgers falls on his face.
Definitely a sticky situation for the Packers front office, but here's my opinion. Let Brett Favre go. Yes, Brett Favre is an icon in the Packers organization and yes, he had a great year last year, showing he's still got something left. But the Packers didn't go to the Super Bowl last year. They went to the NFC Championship game. And they played it at home. And they were the favorite to win the game. And they LOST. You couldn't have a better scenario set up for you and yet no championship or even a trip to the Super Bowl. It's time to go a different direction.
Drew Bledsoe was considered one of the better NFL quarterbacks back in the 90s. He took New England to the Super Bowl and always put up good numbers. And then the organization decided that it needed to go a different direction and handed the ball to a guy named Tom Brady. Now, I'm not saying that Aaron Rodgers is gonna be the next Tom Brady, but sometimes letting an aging superstar move on, despite history being on his side, isn't a bad idea.
Last year was Brett Favre's last great chance to be a champion with the Green Bay Packers. The stars will not align so well again, so why not give the Packers and Brett Favre the chance to do something else. Perhaps one of them will be better without the other. Only time will tell.
For those of you that follow sports, the big story over the past 24 hours has been Green Bay Packers' quarterback Brett Favre's announcement that he wants to now come out of retirement to continue playing football.
The issue surrounding this exchange is that the Packers had, in essence, planned to move on and looked to put the team in the hands of new quarterback Aaron Rodgers, and here comes ol' Brett at the 11th hour trying to step back in. So here's the dilemma. Let Favre come back, alienate Rodgers once again (the last few years have had the same questions about retirement lingering) and risk that he'll leave the next chance he gets, thus possibly screwing up the future of the Packers. Or not bring Favre back, risk that all the fans of Green Bay will revolt, especially if Favre does well somewhere else and Rodgers falls on his face.
Definitely a sticky situation for the Packers front office, but here's my opinion. Let Brett Favre go. Yes, Brett Favre is an icon in the Packers organization and yes, he had a great year last year, showing he's still got something left. But the Packers didn't go to the Super Bowl last year. They went to the NFC Championship game. And they played it at home. And they were the favorite to win the game. And they LOST. You couldn't have a better scenario set up for you and yet no championship or even a trip to the Super Bowl. It's time to go a different direction.
Drew Bledsoe was considered one of the better NFL quarterbacks back in the 90s. He took New England to the Super Bowl and always put up good numbers. And then the organization decided that it needed to go a different direction and handed the ball to a guy named Tom Brady. Now, I'm not saying that Aaron Rodgers is gonna be the next Tom Brady, but sometimes letting an aging superstar move on, despite history being on his side, isn't a bad idea.
Last year was Brett Favre's last great chance to be a champion with the Green Bay Packers. The stars will not align so well again, so why not give the Packers and Brett Favre the chance to do something else. Perhaps one of them will be better without the other. Only time will tell.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Fuzzy Memories: Drinking Piss
I was reminded of these Fuzzy Memories just last weekend during a barbeque at my house. Lisa had mentioned that her dog Lucky was sniffing around her roommate's dog's business when all of a sudden the other dog started to pee. Humorous in its own right, Lucky was sent reeling back and Lisa said his facial expressions likened that of the cop in Dumb and Dumber.
There's something about someone drinking pee that is both disgusting and extremely humorous. And I was reminded by this story of having had the pleasure of witnessing it in person on two occassions in my life....and here they are:
40 ounces of pee
My senior year in college, we all lived in apartments on campus that were bunched together in one area, appropriately called the "senior apartments." All of the apartments had three levels and one of them had elevators to all the floors, for handicapped accessibility. Our senior year, my buddy Joyce lived in an apartment in this building and we would often have parties there, when not at our own place.
Joyce was a big fan of forties (who isn't on a college budget) and usually our nights of partying included drinking forties to help in getting shit-faced. What our nights also included when hanging around Joyce's place on occassion, was "Beat Down Craps."
Beat Down Craps was a game created by the guys in our fraternity the year above us, wherein a bunch of guys would pile into the elevator at this apartment and go up and down the elevator while shooting craps. The rules were simple, your first throw of the dice set the point, just like real craps. If you were able to throw it again before you threw a 7 or 11, your turn was over and you passed the dice. If you threw the 7 or 11 before your point, then you got beat down until the elevator doors opened next. Simple rules...we're not the smartest bunch.
On this particular night, a bunch of us jump into the elevator and are about to begin playing, when we notice a stank 40 oz. bottle sitting on the floor in the elevator, almost half full. It wasn't any of ours and we didn't want to spill it while beating the crap out of each other, so we put it outside the elevator on the landing in front of the party.
What we didn't know was that the liquid in the bottle was piss. And what we also didn't know was that Joyce was going to see us put the bottle down, assume it was one of ours and steal it to take a swig. And what a swig he took. With a "yoink", he had grabbed it and laughed as he threw it back. And then the laughing ended. And then he spit the piss out all over, followed by throwing the bottle on the ground in disgust. My roommate Boland got glass and piss all over his sandals and feet, and the rest of us are dying of laughter. Disgusting...but so damned funny.
Le Gusta El Pisso
After college, I moved into a house with my friends Zack and Scott, as well as two other acquaintances, Josh and Justin. We would often frequent house parties where someone vaguely knew the person throwing it, but for the most part we were strangers showing up at these people's houses. Not knowing the people throwing the party, and being complete jackasses to begin with (I'm not proud of some of the things I've done), we would often do childish things while at these parties to keep ourselves entertained.
On one particular night, we headed out of DC to a party in Bethesda, where they not only had a normal party going, but they had baby pools, a moon bounce (yeah, for adults...I swear I didn't hallucenate this fact), and a frozen margarita machine.
We are psyched to see the margarita machine, but unfortunately we arrived late and the machine was already drained completely. We stuck with beer, and mingled about for a while, when the idea somehow came to fruition. It's still uncertain as to why he did it, as we were debating this at the barbeque last weekend, but to the great humor of all of us, Zack took his empty beer cup, filled it with his own piss and poured it into the margarita machine.
This is again humorous in his own right, but we're not done. Sure enough, two guys roll in later to the party and see the margarita machine in all its glory. Having visited it ourselves earlier in the night, I can tell you nothing came out when you pulled the handle. But not anymore. Oh yes. This guy just poured himself a glass of pee margarita. And to my recollection, he didn't even notice. Again, disgusting...but arguably one of the funniest things I have ever seen.
You really can't make this shit up.
There's something about someone drinking pee that is both disgusting and extremely humorous. And I was reminded by this story of having had the pleasure of witnessing it in person on two occassions in my life....and here they are:
40 ounces of pee
My senior year in college, we all lived in apartments on campus that were bunched together in one area, appropriately called the "senior apartments." All of the apartments had three levels and one of them had elevators to all the floors, for handicapped accessibility. Our senior year, my buddy Joyce lived in an apartment in this building and we would often have parties there, when not at our own place.
Joyce was a big fan of forties (who isn't on a college budget) and usually our nights of partying included drinking forties to help in getting shit-faced. What our nights also included when hanging around Joyce's place on occassion, was "Beat Down Craps."
Beat Down Craps was a game created by the guys in our fraternity the year above us, wherein a bunch of guys would pile into the elevator at this apartment and go up and down the elevator while shooting craps. The rules were simple, your first throw of the dice set the point, just like real craps. If you were able to throw it again before you threw a 7 or 11, your turn was over and you passed the dice. If you threw the 7 or 11 before your point, then you got beat down until the elevator doors opened next. Simple rules...we're not the smartest bunch.
On this particular night, a bunch of us jump into the elevator and are about to begin playing, when we notice a stank 40 oz. bottle sitting on the floor in the elevator, almost half full. It wasn't any of ours and we didn't want to spill it while beating the crap out of each other, so we put it outside the elevator on the landing in front of the party.
What we didn't know was that the liquid in the bottle was piss. And what we also didn't know was that Joyce was going to see us put the bottle down, assume it was one of ours and steal it to take a swig. And what a swig he took. With a "yoink", he had grabbed it and laughed as he threw it back. And then the laughing ended. And then he spit the piss out all over, followed by throwing the bottle on the ground in disgust. My roommate Boland got glass and piss all over his sandals and feet, and the rest of us are dying of laughter. Disgusting...but so damned funny.
Le Gusta El Pisso
After college, I moved into a house with my friends Zack and Scott, as well as two other acquaintances, Josh and Justin. We would often frequent house parties where someone vaguely knew the person throwing it, but for the most part we were strangers showing up at these people's houses. Not knowing the people throwing the party, and being complete jackasses to begin with (I'm not proud of some of the things I've done), we would often do childish things while at these parties to keep ourselves entertained.
On one particular night, we headed out of DC to a party in Bethesda, where they not only had a normal party going, but they had baby pools, a moon bounce (yeah, for adults...I swear I didn't hallucenate this fact), and a frozen margarita machine.
We are psyched to see the margarita machine, but unfortunately we arrived late and the machine was already drained completely. We stuck with beer, and mingled about for a while, when the idea somehow came to fruition. It's still uncertain as to why he did it, as we were debating this at the barbeque last weekend, but to the great humor of all of us, Zack took his empty beer cup, filled it with his own piss and poured it into the margarita machine.
This is again humorous in his own right, but we're not done. Sure enough, two guys roll in later to the party and see the margarita machine in all its glory. Having visited it ourselves earlier in the night, I can tell you nothing came out when you pulled the handle. But not anymore. Oh yes. This guy just poured himself a glass of pee margarita. And to my recollection, he didn't even notice. Again, disgusting...but arguably one of the funniest things I have ever seen.
You really can't make this shit up.
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