I wish D would get off his llllaaaaazzzzzyyyyy butt and make me laugh already. Since (as he makes very clear) I am not as funny as he is.
But you know what is funny? Turning away from the video chat for less than a minute and finding D jerking off when I come back.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Monday, December 8, 2008
Happy 21rst
disclaimer: Some of the details in this particular tale had to be filled in by others because my memory failed me. I will denote the parts that were told to me in italics.
Twenty One. It's a big one. My close friend Stinky offers to get everyone together to celebrate this milestone and also plan an evening for the ages. You wouldn't think of Stinky as being someone you'd want to plan a night out, but damn if he didn't come through.
Pregame: Of course we drank before we ever left, but I'm talking about the real pregame. Stink did his research. Literally. He researched books, websites, elders in the community; all in an effort to find the most obnoxious shot you can think of. To this day the smell of artificial cinnamon makes me nauseous. Now understand what S was up to here. He was looking for #1 shots that were actually 3 or more shots (example: 454 Big Block; 4 different shots of whiskey back to back) and #2 shit that no one had ever heard of. It doesn't stop here though, he combines 21 (theme of the evening) of the foulest shots you don't want to hear about onto a list. Done? Not Stinky. He prints list onto iron on paper and makes a t-shirt for me to wear on my special night. I guess in looking at the shirt he's realizing all that he already has invested and sets his mind to finding a way to offset the price of the evening. In true Stink fashion, he prints raffle tickets. There was no explanation on the previously mentioned shirt, just a fictitious website and $1,000 written huge across the top. Simple idea: Buy a shot for the birthday boy, buy a chance at a thousand buckaroos.
Game Time: I feel like an asshole wearing this t-shirt. I'm certain that someone will see right through Stinky's scam. (Mind you this could never be pulled off again. Fucking Blackberries!) I quickly overcome my nerves with booze. T-shirt on, 6-pack in, entourage of interchangeable assholes assembled; Let's do it.
First Quarter: Local tittie bar. Seems a likely place to start being that in the interchangeable assholes there are exactly zero women. Stink claims they will hold us back. Pay $5 cover for shithole where the girls wear stickers over there nipples (not kidding). I think we had been there for precisely two beers. Stink starts grabbing at my arm like a needy toddler and pointing at the stage like I'm missing something.
Stinky: You know who that is don't you?
Me: Some whore. Who cares? You like her? Go talk to her.
S: Dude, look closely. It's Genie from band.
(Public Service Announcement: If you're going to get hooked on drugs and work in a dive bikini bar, have some respect and go for one further than 10 miles from the high school you went to. I'm just saying.)
Me: This is too good.
Whole entourage of assholes charges the stage with $5 bills in hand. Sticker clad whore grabs Stink's $5 bill which he refuses to relinquish until she looks at his face. Blood rushes from whore's face as she looks at all of ours and realizes what has become of her life.
Entourage in Unison: Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha...................(this goes on for a while)
Whore leaves stage in tears.
Entourage is asked to leave. This may have proved to be the most expensive quarter. Given the five dollar cover charge it came out to more than a dollar a minute. Fuck that hole anyway. Nobody's going to buy me shots with naked women around anyway.
Second Quarter: Head to favorite country bar. Actually converted warehouse. For country bar, very cool. Dj booth is riddled with hanging bras. This is my kind of place. Even though it was a band girl she WAS naked and it reminds me that there are no women here. This is not the most approachable crew of assholes you've ever seen either. Thinking on my feet I call an audible, and one of my favorite whores, Stormy. Stormy has some of the most beautiful natural tits you've ever seen in your life and knows it. Not in a bad way though. She knows what she has on her hands and can't wait to share it with the world.
Now the shots are coming in at a pace that would kill even the most seasoned drinker. I danced with some women. The problem: The women weren't interested in dancing. Turns out they were only waiting in the beer line. Not sitting well with boyfriends. I'm relocated to the other side of the bar, it was a warehouse after all. Great! This side has a mechanical bull. Stormy and I ride the bull, together. I rode bitch. (I saw the pictures. Riding behind a girl with phenomenal tits. What did they expect me to hold on to?) Asked to leave. Apparently its okay to throw bra to Dj, but then you're supposed to put your shirt back on. Dammit Stormy. Whatever. At this point Stink was getting nervous that someone may have used an office computer to check drink lottery website.
I'm back. It was a good half an hour to get downtown (I took a sobering power nap).
Third Quarter: Downtown.
Stinky to Entourage: We can park in this garage and the casino right here will validate our parking just for coming in. (underlying theme of evening: Stinky is cheap & not above exploiting people with good intentions.)
Unfortunately I was not able to hold it together well enough to get past the door security. I went to shake hands with security only to realize that he in fact wasn't friendly, but had his hand extended in an effort to accept my id. Don't get me wrong. He was friendly. He could've just let me fall down. He caught me though.
I sit third quarter out. Assembly of assholes proceeds to go inside and enjoy my birthday. It's okay, I was probably due for another break.
Fourth Quarter: Assholes come back, parking and themselves validated and we continue to what would be the final bar. Just some shit hole, but it's in a college town and someone knows a bouncer. There are no shots left on the checklist so stink lets me do whatever people will buy (there are still more raffle tickets). It doesn't take long before a scene is made. The pack had been growing and shrinking as the night wore on, but all of the sudden it dawned on me that Stormy was no longer with us. Now this was a huge disappointment. I was all but guaranteed birthday sex. This doesn't sit well with me. Scene ensues. Known bouncer offers to take me outside to smoke a cigarette. It wasn't a store bought cigarette. This guy apparently likes to roll his own. Memory break ensues.
Bouncer to Stinky- We smoked a cigarette (wink wink) and D took off like a shot across a gravel parking lot.
It's unclear how much time had passed since the cigarette. What is clear is that someone is kicking my foot. This gentleman with a Bob Marley hairdo wants some money. This seems like a reasonable request, but I know that I only started the evening with a twenty dollar bill and I'm sure if I even still have it. What can I do? I ran. Again. He may or may not have been chasing me (entourage found this part hard to believe), but since I was the only one there.....I'm going with BM haircut chased me yelling: Give me $20.
I was able to lose guy and find a parking garage. The liquor is starting to wear off. I discover that in the wee hours of this March morning my only covering is a t-shirt with shots checked off and signatures. I'm cold. Like I said though, I located a parking garage. Certainly there's only one parking garage in a downtown and I will find Stink, right? No such luck. I did however find a radiator to curl up next to for another power nap. Again, unclear for how long. I decide being homeless isn't for me and that I would be more comfortable in a bed.
I venture out of the garage (after I was certain there was no other life around) and find a hotel. I try the door unsuccessfully, twice. This angers me. I decide the only way to go here is through the glass doors. Security guard (police officer earning over time) is not happy with this at all. Informs me that I in fact cannot stay in the hotel for the twenty bucks I have in my pocket. So this snobby bastard offers to make a single phone call on my behalf. My options were for that phone call to be to a taxi or to his buddies with the paddy wagon. The cab will be approximately 20 minutes. He allows me to wait inside on the promise that I do not pee on anything. My pants were evidence that I was no longer concerning myself with finding the proper facilities.
Cabbie wants cash upfront. I make the decision that the girl I'm seeing is the nearest safehouse that I can get to. The atm fee actually overdraws my account. I give the cabbie both twenties that I had and prayed that I could get to my destination.
The ride home: Again the entourage questions my memory of the next series of events, but I was there, so fuck'em.
Cabbie: Drinking will destroy your organs. Crack is much safer. (All the while driving 40 on a freeway posted for 65. Due to construction there are a total of two lanes and I'm certain I will not survive the ride home.)
D: I will keep that in mind next time, but I already gave you all the cash I have.
Crackhead: These fucking assholes drive too fast!
silence. another power nap? NO. CH is feeling chatty.
CH: Where's your coat? It's cold out here. (this is asked facing me)
D: I really don't want to die.
I'll be damned if some how I didn't survive this evening despite all odds. Cab fair came out to $39.70. Though I'm not religious, I'm certain someone was looking out for me this evening.
Post Game: Girlfriend (later to be named Mrs. & the Ex D) not impressed. Doesn't say (pause) anything. Just strips me, showers me, and puts me to bed. Just happy to have a bed I don't even try for sex.
Myself and assholes were all sworn, by Mrs. Ex D never to speak of this evening EVER! I'm not going to say it was comfortable immediately, but she got over it. Later the assholes and I did enjoy reliving the story, but never even in earshot of Mrs. Ex D.
Twenty One. It's a big one. My close friend Stinky offers to get everyone together to celebrate this milestone and also plan an evening for the ages. You wouldn't think of Stinky as being someone you'd want to plan a night out, but damn if he didn't come through.
Pregame: Of course we drank before we ever left, but I'm talking about the real pregame. Stink did his research. Literally. He researched books, websites, elders in the community; all in an effort to find the most obnoxious shot you can think of. To this day the smell of artificial cinnamon makes me nauseous. Now understand what S was up to here. He was looking for #1 shots that were actually 3 or more shots (example: 454 Big Block; 4 different shots of whiskey back to back) and #2 shit that no one had ever heard of. It doesn't stop here though, he combines 21 (theme of the evening) of the foulest shots you don't want to hear about onto a list. Done? Not Stinky. He prints list onto iron on paper and makes a t-shirt for me to wear on my special night. I guess in looking at the shirt he's realizing all that he already has invested and sets his mind to finding a way to offset the price of the evening. In true Stink fashion, he prints raffle tickets. There was no explanation on the previously mentioned shirt, just a fictitious website and $1,000 written huge across the top. Simple idea: Buy a shot for the birthday boy, buy a chance at a thousand buckaroos.
Game Time: I feel like an asshole wearing this t-shirt. I'm certain that someone will see right through Stinky's scam. (Mind you this could never be pulled off again. Fucking Blackberries!) I quickly overcome my nerves with booze. T-shirt on, 6-pack in, entourage of interchangeable assholes assembled; Let's do it.
First Quarter: Local tittie bar. Seems a likely place to start being that in the interchangeable assholes there are exactly zero women. Stink claims they will hold us back. Pay $5 cover for shithole where the girls wear stickers over there nipples (not kidding). I think we had been there for precisely two beers. Stink starts grabbing at my arm like a needy toddler and pointing at the stage like I'm missing something.
Stinky: You know who that is don't you?
Me: Some whore. Who cares? You like her? Go talk to her.
S: Dude, look closely. It's Genie from band.
(Public Service Announcement: If you're going to get hooked on drugs and work in a dive bikini bar, have some respect and go for one further than 10 miles from the high school you went to. I'm just saying.)
Me: This is too good.
Whole entourage of assholes charges the stage with $5 bills in hand. Sticker clad whore grabs Stink's $5 bill which he refuses to relinquish until she looks at his face. Blood rushes from whore's face as she looks at all of ours and realizes what has become of her life.
Entourage in Unison: Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha...................(this goes on for a while)
Whore leaves stage in tears.
Entourage is asked to leave. This may have proved to be the most expensive quarter. Given the five dollar cover charge it came out to more than a dollar a minute. Fuck that hole anyway. Nobody's going to buy me shots with naked women around anyway.
Second Quarter: Head to favorite country bar. Actually converted warehouse. For country bar, very cool. Dj booth is riddled with hanging bras. This is my kind of place. Even though it was a band girl she WAS naked and it reminds me that there are no women here. This is not the most approachable crew of assholes you've ever seen either. Thinking on my feet I call an audible, and one of my favorite whores, Stormy. Stormy has some of the most beautiful natural tits you've ever seen in your life and knows it. Not in a bad way though. She knows what she has on her hands and can't wait to share it with the world.
Now the shots are coming in at a pace that would kill even the most seasoned drinker. I danced with some women. The problem: The women weren't interested in dancing. Turns out they were only waiting in the beer line. Not sitting well with boyfriends. I'm relocated to the other side of the bar, it was a warehouse after all. Great! This side has a mechanical bull. Stormy and I ride the bull, together. I rode bitch. (I saw the pictures. Riding behind a girl with phenomenal tits. What did they expect me to hold on to?) Asked to leave. Apparently its okay to throw bra to Dj, but then you're supposed to put your shirt back on. Dammit Stormy. Whatever. At this point Stink was getting nervous that someone may have used an office computer to check drink lottery website.
I'm back. It was a good half an hour to get downtown (I took a sobering power nap).
Third Quarter: Downtown.
Stinky to Entourage: We can park in this garage and the casino right here will validate our parking just for coming in. (underlying theme of evening: Stinky is cheap & not above exploiting people with good intentions.)
Unfortunately I was not able to hold it together well enough to get past the door security. I went to shake hands with security only to realize that he in fact wasn't friendly, but had his hand extended in an effort to accept my id. Don't get me wrong. He was friendly. He could've just let me fall down. He caught me though.
I sit third quarter out. Assembly of assholes proceeds to go inside and enjoy my birthday. It's okay, I was probably due for another break.
Fourth Quarter: Assholes come back, parking and themselves validated and we continue to what would be the final bar. Just some shit hole, but it's in a college town and someone knows a bouncer. There are no shots left on the checklist so stink lets me do whatever people will buy (there are still more raffle tickets). It doesn't take long before a scene is made. The pack had been growing and shrinking as the night wore on, but all of the sudden it dawned on me that Stormy was no longer with us. Now this was a huge disappointment. I was all but guaranteed birthday sex. This doesn't sit well with me. Scene ensues. Known bouncer offers to take me outside to smoke a cigarette. It wasn't a store bought cigarette. This guy apparently likes to roll his own. Memory break ensues.
Bouncer to Stinky- We smoked a cigarette (wink wink) and D took off like a shot across a gravel parking lot.
It's unclear how much time had passed since the cigarette. What is clear is that someone is kicking my foot. This gentleman with a Bob Marley hairdo wants some money. This seems like a reasonable request, but I know that I only started the evening with a twenty dollar bill and I'm sure if I even still have it. What can I do? I ran. Again. He may or may not have been chasing me (entourage found this part hard to believe), but since I was the only one there.....I'm going with BM haircut chased me yelling: Give me $20.
I was able to lose guy and find a parking garage. The liquor is starting to wear off. I discover that in the wee hours of this March morning my only covering is a t-shirt with shots checked off and signatures. I'm cold. Like I said though, I located a parking garage. Certainly there's only one parking garage in a downtown and I will find Stink, right? No such luck. I did however find a radiator to curl up next to for another power nap. Again, unclear for how long. I decide being homeless isn't for me and that I would be more comfortable in a bed.
I venture out of the garage (after I was certain there was no other life around) and find a hotel. I try the door unsuccessfully, twice. This angers me. I decide the only way to go here is through the glass doors. Security guard (police officer earning over time) is not happy with this at all. Informs me that I in fact cannot stay in the hotel for the twenty bucks I have in my pocket. So this snobby bastard offers to make a single phone call on my behalf. My options were for that phone call to be to a taxi or to his buddies with the paddy wagon. The cab will be approximately 20 minutes. He allows me to wait inside on the promise that I do not pee on anything. My pants were evidence that I was no longer concerning myself with finding the proper facilities.
Cabbie wants cash upfront. I make the decision that the girl I'm seeing is the nearest safehouse that I can get to. The atm fee actually overdraws my account. I give the cabbie both twenties that I had and prayed that I could get to my destination.
The ride home: Again the entourage questions my memory of the next series of events, but I was there, so fuck'em.
Cabbie: Drinking will destroy your organs. Crack is much safer. (All the while driving 40 on a freeway posted for 65. Due to construction there are a total of two lanes and I'm certain I will not survive the ride home.)
D: I will keep that in mind next time, but I already gave you all the cash I have.
Crackhead: These fucking assholes drive too fast!
silence. another power nap? NO. CH is feeling chatty.
CH: Where's your coat? It's cold out here. (this is asked facing me)
D: I really don't want to die.
I'll be damned if some how I didn't survive this evening despite all odds. Cab fair came out to $39.70. Though I'm not religious, I'm certain someone was looking out for me this evening.
Post Game: Girlfriend (later to be named Mrs. & the Ex D) not impressed. Doesn't say (pause) anything. Just strips me, showers me, and puts me to bed. Just happy to have a bed I don't even try for sex.
Myself and assholes were all sworn, by Mrs. Ex D never to speak of this evening EVER! I'm not going to say it was comfortable immediately, but she got over it. Later the assholes and I did enjoy reliving the story, but never even in earshot of Mrs. Ex D.
Friday Afternoon
Woo (yeah I said it)! It's Friday and to make it even better it's a warm summer afternoon (100+ degrees) and the Jeep is stripped down (no windows, doors, or top). If ever there was a custom made day for chasing pussy this was it.
2:45 Inspiration hits me like a ton of bricks. Instead of wishing everyone a happy safe weekend I tell everyone to fuck off and don't even think about calling me for anything less than free beer, IT'S PUSSY GET'N TIME!
2:46 click click click Goddam Jeep won't start. click click click FUCK!!!
2:47 What's the odds any of the people I just told to fuck off will give me a jump start? Eh, fuck those assholes, I'll call a tow truck.
Fast forward three and half hours, I'm at the dealer (where else are you going to go on a Friday night).
By this time I'm of course irate for a laundry list of reasons.
2:45 Inspiration hits me like a ton of bricks. Instead of wishing everyone a happy safe weekend I tell everyone to fuck off and don't even think about calling me for anything less than free beer, IT'S PUSSY GET'N TIME!
2:46 click click click Goddam Jeep won't start. click click click FUCK!!!
2:47 What's the odds any of the people I just told to fuck off will give me a jump start? Eh, fuck those assholes, I'll call a tow truck.
Fast forward three and half hours, I'm at the dealer (where else are you going to go on a Friday night).
By this time I'm of course irate for a laundry list of reasons.
- It's past 6 on a beautiful Friday and I have neither the sweet taste of beer or pussy on my lips.
- Really? #1 seems like reason enough to be irate at this point.
The rednecks at the dealer take their sweet ass time coming to get my keys from me. When they finally get around to coming to get my keys I'm in no kind of mood for human contact. Now it's just a matter of getting home as quickly as possible and drinking till I forget.
This next decision was the first of a few poor decisions on that afternoon. I decide that I'm in fact not patient enough to wait for the courtesy shuttle. After all, it's only 105 degrees or so with the sun still high in the sky. I start hiking. I should mention that being the trusting soul I am that I took everything of any value out of the Jeep and am now carrying it like a hobo, on my journey. I only have about 3 miles to cover.
2nd poor decision for the afternoon: Maybe an eighth of a mile into my excursion I see one of my favorite bars. It's an oasis. There it sits all brightly colored, big giant patio, favorite tailgate games, misters, fans, and most importantly WHORES. For anyone who doesn't know, Friday is one the best nights for whores, especially Happy Hour Whores. I'm telling you from experience that casual Friday applies to not only dress, but morals. This fact is only intensified by drinking in the sun. To this day, I can't for the life of me tell you why I kept walking. My best guess is that I was that pissed off about everything leading up to this point.
Travel a bit further. Regret not stopping in heaven for just ONE drink. Start thinking if there's any chance of salvaging this night that I better call some stand by and line it up so that she'll be there after I get home and grab a quick shower. Well in true women fashion she won't just except my order and get off the phone, she wants to chat. Honestly I didn't mind. I wouldn't say that I was happy to have the company, but I would say that I was glad to have someone to pull me out of my own neurotic thoughts until I could wipe them away with alcohol.
3rd poor decision: Still on the phone crossing the freeway overpass I almost don't see the homeless person holding a piece of cardboard with Cliff's Notes version of his biography. Of course being the kind person I am, I promptly avoided eye contact and talked loud enough for him to hear that I was on the phone and did not wish to be disturbed. The reason for this poor decision I will blame on the phone call. Not 3 blocks from Mr. Panhandler and it dawns on me that I missed a golden opportunity to ask a homeless person a question that has bothered me since I could read: Where do homeless people get markers? Seriously. I get the cardboard. I'm fairly certain that I myself could put my hands on some pretty nice cardboard, but a MARKER. Do they get together at night and share a single marker? If so, where do they get together, they're homeless!
4th poor decision: I'm now half way between beggar and home. I stop and seriously ponder going back to ask my question. I didn't. Again, it was just one of those afternoons. Let me tell you though, this was even a tougher decision than walking past the bar. Really, this is the equivalent to learning the meaning of life in my mind.
The heat stroke may be setting in at this point. I can't think of any good reason that I would've made such a series of crappy decisions. No point in beating myself up though, I'm almost there.
5th & Final poor decision: The human body is a weird fucker. Here I am wedging myself between the security gates (designed for cars so there's no pedestrian gate) and the only reason I'm able to slide through is because I'm sweating like a whore in church. All of this sweating and the gate pushes on my bladder just right giving me an awesome urge to pee. Pee what? I've sweat out every ounce of water I've had that day, and I haven't cracked so much as A beer. Well I'm home, not out of the woods yet though. Still there's a matter of about 150 yards to my door. Do I go behind some bushes? NO. Those of you following me know that I have a healthy respect for not being labeled 'sex offender' for urinating in public (really, it happens). Not going behind the bushes proved to be the worst mistake of all. My best non medical school training leads me to believe that years of binge drinking has all but destroyed my bladder because the cramp in my stomach decides at my door (I'm fumbling with my keys) that I'm close enough. Ah the wonder that is the human body.
Finally I'm home. Wet from sweat and piss, but dammit I'm home! That was one of the most delicious beers I've ever tasted in my life.
Why are you still reading? Were you looking for a moral to this tale? Read some the others, you'll get over it.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Guest Author
Let me tell you about the time D. told me a story that made me throw up.
Literally. And even to this day when I reminded D. about this story that he forgot he told me, I openly dry heaved while driving my car and trying to remind him of story while trying to NOT tell the story because I was already dry heaving THINKING about telling the story. Do you see where this is going?
D. was out with his mother and D. is not someone who will curb his behavior in front of his mother. If anything, I think he thinks the opposite. Why should he censor himself in front of his mother? She's been here the whole time. She should know what to expect when she goes out with him.
So he is out with his mother and they are at a fast food restaurant and they sit down at the table. His mother notices a small curly hair in her food (which is gross enough) and she makes the comment that no one working there has hair like this. At which point D. said to his mother, "Well, where do you have short and curly hairs?" To which his mother then BARFS all over the table. And I hang up the phone and barf as well.
I don't know if words can capture how delightfully gleeful D. was recounting this story to me; his ability to make his mother projectile vomit with a single comment. Or really for that matter, how happy that he was able to make ME vomit just by telling a story.
Literally. And even to this day when I reminded D. about this story that he forgot he told me, I openly dry heaved while driving my car and trying to remind him of story while trying to NOT tell the story because I was already dry heaving THINKING about telling the story. Do you see where this is going?
D. was out with his mother and D. is not someone who will curb his behavior in front of his mother. If anything, I think he thinks the opposite. Why should he censor himself in front of his mother? She's been here the whole time. She should know what to expect when she goes out with him.
So he is out with his mother and they are at a fast food restaurant and they sit down at the table. His mother notices a small curly hair in her food (which is gross enough) and she makes the comment that no one working there has hair like this. At which point D. said to his mother, "Well, where do you have short and curly hairs?" To which his mother then BARFS all over the table. And I hang up the phone and barf as well.
I don't know if words can capture how delightfully gleeful D. was recounting this story to me; his ability to make his mother projectile vomit with a single comment. Or really for that matter, how happy that he was able to make ME vomit just by telling a story.
My First Horse
16yrs old, hot summer day, 3 friends (1 guy, 2 girls) and no school. What were 4 young kids to do? Well go to the park of course.
Lucky for us Toothpick had a car. Toothpick had a thing for one of the two girls, Pony. Needless to say Toothpick was little guy, all of 100 lbs soaking wet and 5' 10''. Pony was a pretty girl, but a little on the chunky side. (Side bar: These two went on to get married after high school and have 4 or 5 children) Now, the other girl; Breezy. I didn't have any particular interest in Breezy other than she was a girl and most probably had a vagina. This was enough interest for a summer afternoon. Breezy was a little bitty girl and to see the four of us walking nobody would've paired us up the way we did.
Fast forward a couple of hours and we're hanging out by the river. In an effort to get both girls naked and possibly pregnant I suggest swimming. Toothpick picks up on what I'm up to and is immediately stripping down. The girls aren't sure that they're in on this idea so I get the best idea of the year. If I were to do the canon ball of a lifetime and get them both wet then they'll want to swim because they're already wet. Great idea, right?
Unfortunately even the best ideas have variables that you can't plan for. I charge at the river like a horny bull, launch myself from a 6ft embankment, tuck my feet far as they'll go under my ass, and soar majestically through the air. I am on my way to making the best cannon ball ever and then possibly some babies.
Enter the variable.
I enter the first inch of water. Feet don't even realize how cold the water is. Enter the 2nd inch, huge mischievous grin on my face. Enter the 3rd inch of water. STOPPED cold by an unseen rock. I never made it any deeper than 3 inches (in the water or Breezy). This is the most excruciating pain of my young life. The kind of pain that makes you hyperventilate and probably sounds like laughing to assholes. I call them assholes because they were all laughing hysterically.
I may have laughed if I saw it happen to someone else, but for me I was busy. Someone had to be responsible enough to try to figure out if I had just broken my foot or if I had also shattered my sphincter. Dragging myself out 3 inches of water on to the beach with laughing friends it took a good 5 minutes for me to convince them that I was genuinely hurt. Once everyone calmed down we had the daunting challenge of getting my crippled ass back to the car.
Of course the first choice is for Toothpick to give me a piggy back. That lasted for about 7 or 8 steps and he realized that in his emaciated state that carrying his own body weight was going to take all of his energy. Choice 2: Piggy Front on Breezy. You know, where I would ride facing her on her shoulders and at least take a shot at some throat babies. That idea didn't go over very well. This leaves Pony.
God bless this girl, because she just looked at me and said: Hop on. Hop on I did. I'm not joking about the fact that I was seriously close to passing out from the pain. The problem is that we're a good 2 miles from the car. I'm no doctor but I know this will be quite a trek for Pony. I take it on myself to keep the mood light and her mind off the 160lb growth that she's recently acquired on her back.
The conversation was dying down a bit. Truly I believe that the severity of the situation was beginning to set in for all of us. Now without even thinking I decide to break the silence with well placed joke.
Dave: Pony, I'm going to name my first horse after you. (Accompanied by a well placed swat on the ass)
Pony: Ha Ha Ha!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (laughing so hard that she dropped me on the questionable foot)
I would love to tell you that after everyone stopped laughing and pony picked me back up that I didn't repeat the exact same joke again. I would love to tell you that because if it had gone down that way maybe I could run in a straight line today. Unfortunately it's just not in my nature to let a good joke go to waste. To this day I will risk bodily injury for a good laugh.
It was later confirmed by the doctors in the ER that in fact I had broken every bone in my foot. My young shame wouldn't allow me to tell them that I had a shooting pain in my ass, literally. All these years later though my ass seems to be fine. This is my favorite memory of summer love.
Lucky for us Toothpick had a car. Toothpick had a thing for one of the two girls, Pony. Needless to say Toothpick was little guy, all of 100 lbs soaking wet and 5' 10''. Pony was a pretty girl, but a little on the chunky side. (Side bar: These two went on to get married after high school and have 4 or 5 children) Now, the other girl; Breezy. I didn't have any particular interest in Breezy other than she was a girl and most probably had a vagina. This was enough interest for a summer afternoon. Breezy was a little bitty girl and to see the four of us walking nobody would've paired us up the way we did.
Fast forward a couple of hours and we're hanging out by the river. In an effort to get both girls naked and possibly pregnant I suggest swimming. Toothpick picks up on what I'm up to and is immediately stripping down. The girls aren't sure that they're in on this idea so I get the best idea of the year. If I were to do the canon ball of a lifetime and get them both wet then they'll want to swim because they're already wet. Great idea, right?
Unfortunately even the best ideas have variables that you can't plan for. I charge at the river like a horny bull, launch myself from a 6ft embankment, tuck my feet far as they'll go under my ass, and soar majestically through the air. I am on my way to making the best cannon ball ever and then possibly some babies.
Enter the variable.
I enter the first inch of water. Feet don't even realize how cold the water is. Enter the 2nd inch, huge mischievous grin on my face. Enter the 3rd inch of water. STOPPED cold by an unseen rock. I never made it any deeper than 3 inches (in the water or Breezy). This is the most excruciating pain of my young life. The kind of pain that makes you hyperventilate and probably sounds like laughing to assholes. I call them assholes because they were all laughing hysterically.
I may have laughed if I saw it happen to someone else, but for me I was busy. Someone had to be responsible enough to try to figure out if I had just broken my foot or if I had also shattered my sphincter. Dragging myself out 3 inches of water on to the beach with laughing friends it took a good 5 minutes for me to convince them that I was genuinely hurt. Once everyone calmed down we had the daunting challenge of getting my crippled ass back to the car.
Of course the first choice is for Toothpick to give me a piggy back. That lasted for about 7 or 8 steps and he realized that in his emaciated state that carrying his own body weight was going to take all of his energy. Choice 2: Piggy Front on Breezy. You know, where I would ride facing her on her shoulders and at least take a shot at some throat babies. That idea didn't go over very well. This leaves Pony.
God bless this girl, because she just looked at me and said: Hop on. Hop on I did. I'm not joking about the fact that I was seriously close to passing out from the pain. The problem is that we're a good 2 miles from the car. I'm no doctor but I know this will be quite a trek for Pony. I take it on myself to keep the mood light and her mind off the 160lb growth that she's recently acquired on her back.
The conversation was dying down a bit. Truly I believe that the severity of the situation was beginning to set in for all of us. Now without even thinking I decide to break the silence with well placed joke.
Dave: Pony, I'm going to name my first horse after you. (Accompanied by a well placed swat on the ass)
Pony: Ha Ha Ha!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (laughing so hard that she dropped me on the questionable foot)
I would love to tell you that after everyone stopped laughing and pony picked me back up that I didn't repeat the exact same joke again. I would love to tell you that because if it had gone down that way maybe I could run in a straight line today. Unfortunately it's just not in my nature to let a good joke go to waste. To this day I will risk bodily injury for a good laugh.
It was later confirmed by the doctors in the ER that in fact I had broken every bone in my foot. My young shame wouldn't allow me to tell them that I had a shooting pain in my ass, literally. All these years later though my ass seems to be fine. This is my favorite memory of summer love.
Homeless Dave
Recently it I was invited out for a friend's birthday. Actually a friend of a friend which is important. We all started the evening by meeting at a central location (in order to arrive at the same place at the same time & ensure that we would already be on our way to buzz town by the time we got there). So in true birthday fashion we started with shots. Eventually everyone had arrived and or was accounted for. Time to begin the evening.
In an effort to be socially responsible I caught a ride to the first bar of choice. As with most great bars there's a gigantic patio (America is only free for non smokers) for our enjoyment. For you now smoking Nazis out there, you are seriously missing out. There is no more social group than smokers. At any rate our group of 15 or so arrived and quickly migrated to the patio. Once outside I ran into my buddy Tear.
Tear is a special case. He has this amazing ability to find and befriend gorgeous women. Unfortunate for him he is incapable of closing the deal. I'm not one to miss an opportunity so after a few introductions and shots we merged groups. This turned out to be amazingly beneficial for me later, because one of the whores from the original crew decided to strike me in the face. No worries, I was able to continue my evening with Tear and my newly made friends. It was time to go anyway.
I was able to manage a ride to the next bar. We had just about shut down #2 and someone had the great idea that if we were going to continue living hard and fast after closing that we better leave now in order to commandeer more supplies before the dreaded 2am cut off. Again I was able to secure another ride. Quick stop by the liquor store, where I was able to procure a case of Budweiser on the way to Tear's parent's house. (Yes he's 30 yrs old & back at mom & dad's place) This was particularly convenient for me because said house is only about 4 blocks from my gated apartment community.
At Tear's parents' the drinking continued. I realized at some point that I had been awake for something close to 24 hrs and drinking for about 12 of those. I don't know if my adrenaline was wearing thin or it was this realization, but either way my eyelids starting getting heavier. Resting my eyes for a minute or two seemed like a good idea at the time. Even in my semiconscious state there are certain words that anyone would pick up on. One of those words was quietly uttered just before I left: Sharpie! Lets be honest, this was why I left. I didn't want to wake up to a penis drawn on the side of my face.
Here's the rub. I had managed to finagle no less than half a dozen rides this particular evening. Well I guess my ride luck ran out with my adrenaline. In hind site it's understandable. Fun loving drunk Dave everyone wants to be around (& give rides). On the verge of passing out and or pissing on himself Dave just isn't such a good time. So in true 5 yr old fashion I said: Fine, fuck all of you, I'm taking my beer and going home.
'The journey of a thousand steps starts with one' right? Let me tell you, 1 step is probably better than mass amounts of Budweiser and Jagermeister. At any rate, given my limited options I started walking. Within the first 5 minutes of my walk I came to the realization that 20 bottles of beer really isn't much lighter than 24. At this point it occurs to me to switch arms that I'm using to carry the load. This was almost as good as my idea to spread the load out by carrying a single beer in my left hand. The single was getting progressively lighter with every drink.
So now I'm walking down the road, drunk and getting drunker contemplating the ultimate sin: leaving the beer behind. Then like manna from heaven right there in front of me appears a red shopping cart from a place who's logo looks a lot like a target. I'm telling you, never before or since have I had my prayers answered so quickly. Now with a renewed vigor I'm back to my journey home. Pushing my shopping cart full of precious cargo like some sort of homeless person.
Eventually (the time frame is unclear) I make it to the back entrance of my apartment complex. Here I am. I can save myself easily a half a block if I can only negotiate this gate. I size up my foe, look at the only weapon that I have (previously mentioned cart) and decide to try it. I manage to muster enough strength to get the cart about halfway into the gates. It wasn't going any further though, for all of my effort. It was then that I realized I had created at least enough of a gap for a grown, I'll be it drunk man to get through, and I simply climbed in one side of the cart and out the other into the promised land.
We're not of the woods yet though. As I'm staring down the long 50 yards of asphalt driveway separating me from my calling bed it dawns on me that I have to pee with the urgency of a 90 yr old man. Drunk or not, I'm no animal. I'm not going to piss outside! Honestly this is more the fear that even though I had managed to avoid the law to this point that I would be spotted by an officer of the law and be labeled a sex offender for the rest of my life for relieving myself on some innocent bushes. I decide to go for it. Even though having left my on beer transportation vehicle in the gate put me back to carrying my precious cargo. Don't underestimate the added pressure that 17 bottles of beer puts on your bladder (yes, I was still lightening the load one at a time even though my four wheeled savior was there). Somehow I made it all the way to the steps of my apartment before wetting myself in yet another 5 yr old move.
Alls well that ends well I suppose. I made it home, Tear no longer lives with his folks, and most important of all Johny law has no record of this evening.
Michelle's Note: It must also be said that after D. abandoned said savior cart in the gate, D. went to the gated community's office the next morning and said "Why the fuck is there a shopping cart jammed into the gate? I can't get my car out."
In an effort to be socially responsible I caught a ride to the first bar of choice. As with most great bars there's a gigantic patio (America is only free for non smokers) for our enjoyment. For you now smoking Nazis out there, you are seriously missing out. There is no more social group than smokers. At any rate our group of 15 or so arrived and quickly migrated to the patio. Once outside I ran into my buddy Tear.
Tear is a special case. He has this amazing ability to find and befriend gorgeous women. Unfortunate for him he is incapable of closing the deal. I'm not one to miss an opportunity so after a few introductions and shots we merged groups. This turned out to be amazingly beneficial for me later, because one of the whores from the original crew decided to strike me in the face. No worries, I was able to continue my evening with Tear and my newly made friends. It was time to go anyway.
I was able to manage a ride to the next bar. We had just about shut down #2 and someone had the great idea that if we were going to continue living hard and fast after closing that we better leave now in order to commandeer more supplies before the dreaded 2am cut off. Again I was able to secure another ride. Quick stop by the liquor store, where I was able to procure a case of Budweiser on the way to Tear's parent's house. (Yes he's 30 yrs old & back at mom & dad's place) This was particularly convenient for me because said house is only about 4 blocks from my gated apartment community.
At Tear's parents' the drinking continued. I realized at some point that I had been awake for something close to 24 hrs and drinking for about 12 of those. I don't know if my adrenaline was wearing thin or it was this realization, but either way my eyelids starting getting heavier. Resting my eyes for a minute or two seemed like a good idea at the time. Even in my semiconscious state there are certain words that anyone would pick up on. One of those words was quietly uttered just before I left: Sharpie! Lets be honest, this was why I left. I didn't want to wake up to a penis drawn on the side of my face.
Here's the rub. I had managed to finagle no less than half a dozen rides this particular evening. Well I guess my ride luck ran out with my adrenaline. In hind site it's understandable. Fun loving drunk Dave everyone wants to be around (& give rides). On the verge of passing out and or pissing on himself Dave just isn't such a good time. So in true 5 yr old fashion I said: Fine, fuck all of you, I'm taking my beer and going home.
'The journey of a thousand steps starts with one' right? Let me tell you, 1 step is probably better than mass amounts of Budweiser and Jagermeister. At any rate, given my limited options I started walking. Within the first 5 minutes of my walk I came to the realization that 20 bottles of beer really isn't much lighter than 24. At this point it occurs to me to switch arms that I'm using to carry the load. This was almost as good as my idea to spread the load out by carrying a single beer in my left hand. The single was getting progressively lighter with every drink.
So now I'm walking down the road, drunk and getting drunker contemplating the ultimate sin: leaving the beer behind. Then like manna from heaven right there in front of me appears a red shopping cart from a place who's logo looks a lot like a target. I'm telling you, never before or since have I had my prayers answered so quickly. Now with a renewed vigor I'm back to my journey home. Pushing my shopping cart full of precious cargo like some sort of homeless person.
Eventually (the time frame is unclear) I make it to the back entrance of my apartment complex. Here I am. I can save myself easily a half a block if I can only negotiate this gate. I size up my foe, look at the only weapon that I have (previously mentioned cart) and decide to try it. I manage to muster enough strength to get the cart about halfway into the gates. It wasn't going any further though, for all of my effort. It was then that I realized I had created at least enough of a gap for a grown, I'll be it drunk man to get through, and I simply climbed in one side of the cart and out the other into the promised land.
We're not of the woods yet though. As I'm staring down the long 50 yards of asphalt driveway separating me from my calling bed it dawns on me that I have to pee with the urgency of a 90 yr old man. Drunk or not, I'm no animal. I'm not going to piss outside! Honestly this is more the fear that even though I had managed to avoid the law to this point that I would be spotted by an officer of the law and be labeled a sex offender for the rest of my life for relieving myself on some innocent bushes. I decide to go for it. Even though having left my on beer transportation vehicle in the gate put me back to carrying my precious cargo. Don't underestimate the added pressure that 17 bottles of beer puts on your bladder (yes, I was still lightening the load one at a time even though my four wheeled savior was there). Somehow I made it all the way to the steps of my apartment before wetting myself in yet another 5 yr old move.
Alls well that ends well I suppose. I made it home, Tear no longer lives with his folks, and most important of all Johny law has no record of this evening.
Michelle's Note: It must also be said that after D. abandoned said savior cart in the gate, D. went to the gated community's office the next morning and said "Why the fuck is there a shopping cart jammed into the gate? I can't get my car out."
Worst Thing I've Ever Done
Really? M says this is the worst thing I've ever done. I can't imagine that I'm the only person to ever throw a dead cat.
Background. On this fateful midwest spring afternoon we were coming to the end of a long painful winter and an even longer more painful relationship. Hard to say what the tipping point was, but now I'm me & she joined a convent. Probably just wasn't meant to be.
I was parked on the street gathering a few belongings and packing my car. Crazy Bitch was helping me to remove my shit from the domicile via the 2nd floor window. Where I appreciated her saving me the stairs with my television and radio, the cat seemed a little overkill.
Before we get to the cat though I should mention that electronic devices and small animals weren't the only things being hurled that afternoon. The insults were flying and apparently drawing lots of attention. This would've been helpful to consider before what happened next. Concerned neighbor (possibly the one that wanted to fuck Crazy Bitch in the worst kind of way and later went on to become professional wrestler) called the local police department.
Back to the story at hand. Expensive crap and insults being flung carelessly through the air. Who could've predicted what would happen next? He comes Elwood, a beautiful orange cat, through the air in only a way that a cat can, completely spread eagle. I'm not sure what went through Elwood's head first, but I can tell you what went through it last; the side walk.
Enter Local Law Enforcement
D: What am I going to do with a dead cat?!?! (I did the only logical thing I could at this point: give back the cat. I'm no baseball player, but in the heat of battle you can shock yourself with your strength and accuracy for hurling 12 lbs of dead animal, because I sure caught Crazy Bitch right in the face as she was readying herself to throw something else of mine out the open window.
CB: (Seeing the look on before mentioned cop's face) RAPE! He's going to kill me.
I'll give you that I was pissed, but that doesn't change the fact that I can't leap into 2nd floor windows from street level. I never talked to CB again after this day, but I'm speculating that at this point her objective was to earn me a Rodney King style beating. At this point though, having seen me hurl a dead cat Mr. Patrolman wasn't taking any chances. This was the 2nd time in my life that I had a gun pointed at me.
Conclusion: I was given what the judge considered to be fitting community service. I was to help out at the local animal shelter for 40 hrs. By help out I mean cleaning up dog shit by the pound under the baking sun. I only ever saw CB one time after that (another blog if there's sufficient interest) and am not sure whatever happened to her. I'm ok with that. As for the police officer, I don't think he was ever the same after having seen that side of human nature.
Background. On this fateful midwest spring afternoon we were coming to the end of a long painful winter and an even longer more painful relationship. Hard to say what the tipping point was, but now I'm me & she joined a convent. Probably just wasn't meant to be.
I was parked on the street gathering a few belongings and packing my car. Crazy Bitch was helping me to remove my shit from the domicile via the 2nd floor window. Where I appreciated her saving me the stairs with my television and radio, the cat seemed a little overkill.
Before we get to the cat though I should mention that electronic devices and small animals weren't the only things being hurled that afternoon. The insults were flying and apparently drawing lots of attention. This would've been helpful to consider before what happened next. Concerned neighbor (possibly the one that wanted to fuck Crazy Bitch in the worst kind of way and later went on to become professional wrestler) called the local police department.
Back to the story at hand. Expensive crap and insults being flung carelessly through the air. Who could've predicted what would happen next? He comes Elwood, a beautiful orange cat, through the air in only a way that a cat can, completely spread eagle. I'm not sure what went through Elwood's head first, but I can tell you what went through it last; the side walk.
Enter Local Law Enforcement
D: What am I going to do with a dead cat?!?! (I did the only logical thing I could at this point: give back the cat. I'm no baseball player, but in the heat of battle you can shock yourself with your strength and accuracy for hurling 12 lbs of dead animal, because I sure caught Crazy Bitch right in the face as she was readying herself to throw something else of mine out the open window.
CB: (Seeing the look on before mentioned cop's face) RAPE! He's going to kill me.
I'll give you that I was pissed, but that doesn't change the fact that I can't leap into 2nd floor windows from street level. I never talked to CB again after this day, but I'm speculating that at this point her objective was to earn me a Rodney King style beating. At this point though, having seen me hurl a dead cat Mr. Patrolman wasn't taking any chances. This was the 2nd time in my life that I had a gun pointed at me.
Conclusion: I was given what the judge considered to be fitting community service. I was to help out at the local animal shelter for 40 hrs. By help out I mean cleaning up dog shit by the pound under the baking sun. I only ever saw CB one time after that (another blog if there's sufficient interest) and am not sure whatever happened to her. I'm ok with that. As for the police officer, I don't think he was ever the same after having seen that side of human nature.
Rude?
I was at a community holiday gathering last night. It was no where near as good as last years. At any rate after about an hour I was bored of it and decided it was time to leave. I thought I was being polite by waiting for a break in the conversation to excuse myself. As soon as I said I was leaving you wouldn't believe the amount of shit that I took.
So I guess the polite thing t do would've been to wait for the conversation to be over as opposed to just breaking. At any rate, once I started getting shit I couldn't figure out why I was trying to be polite. I told everyone that they were retarded monkeys and that I don't care that they have 3 computers and to fuck off. Everyone laughed and I left on high note. If only they new.......I mean it!
So I guess the polite thing t do would've been to wait for the conversation to be over as opposed to just breaking. At any rate, once I started getting shit I couldn't figure out why I was trying to be polite. I told everyone that they were retarded monkeys and that I don't care that they have 3 computers and to fuck off. Everyone laughed and I left on high note. If only they new.......I mean it!
Friday, December 5, 2008
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