Dignity Lost

Part Irish

2008-05-09T11:30:00.005-04:00

(I just checked my Sitemeter numbers for the last week and it looks something like 0-0-0-0-0-7-30...and it's still early in the day, I figured I would temporarily return from retirement just so y'all could get my version of how I met Irish.)

The world is small. Seriously.

Last summer I read blogs ferociously, constantly hitting refresh buttons to get my fix from boredom and a window into the lives of others as I worked from home. One blog I stumbled upon entertained me quite a bit, written by, well, an Irish and a Jew. They clearly enjoy the sauce as much as I do, and most of Irish's blog posts are about her getting drunk, much like many of my blog posts.

But that was it. It was blog world. Not real life. They were mythical stories from mythical people from a far away land. While I always wondered who was behind the keyboard -- as I do with most bloggers -- I figured I would never meet them.

Until....

Gold Cup, for those of you who don't know, is a horse race that takes place twice a year about an hour outside of DC. As you can imagine, it is filled with secret-handshake motherfuckers and douches doused in seersucker. However, The Counselor told me he had these tickets that guaranteed an open bar all day, plentiful women in sundresses and .... well, that was really all the manipulation necessary. What can I say? I'm easy like Sunday morning, bitches.

Our day starts off at the bar where we were supposed to catch the bus out to the middle of nowhere. The first thing I do is go to the bathroom where I hear some guy puking his lungs out. Yes, it's going to be one of those days.

The Counselor and I sit down about 9:30. It was exactly then I texted my sister and told her I was drinking my first beverage of the day. About 20 minutes later, I was on my fifth drink.

The Counselor tells me to slow down. I tell him I am a fucking professional at all-day drinking fests and that he should focus more on drinking his vodka than on being my alcohol governor.

I am already feeling quite buzzed, and it's not even 10 a.m. The Counselor informs me that he is pretty sure I will pass out in a plateful of potato salad sometime early afternoon.

The bar sold these bottles -- growlers. They were 64 oz. filled with any beer you wanted. I, naturally, grab one and fill it up for the bus ride. Some couple on the bus seems to have all the answers to every question, and I tell them that while they may know everything, I know the meaning of life. They ask. I hold up my big-ass barrel of beer and guarantee that the answer is at the bottom, and take a huge swig.

The Counselor and I step off the bus, wander over to the tents set up, and start the drinking. We are determined to consume enough alcohol to offset the cost of our tickets.

Yea, so, we won that battle.

Fast forward about four hours and countless beers and bourbons later. I go out wandering, stumble back to the tent and am immediately grabbed by three women. One of them has red hair.

RedHead: "So, I hear your dad works in New York?!"
Me: [blank stare] Trying to wrap my head around what is going on...."Uh, yea...how the hell did you know that?"
RedHead: "Your buddy told us."
Me: "Oh."

So, yea. They tell me where they went to school. I tell them I have a friend who went to this other school in upstate New York, a name of which I can barely pronounce but they seem to know. RedHead tells me about some project form her school. I told her my dad probably built it. She asks me to call my dad. I oblige. He did, in fact, build it. Laughter, courtesy talk....blah blah blah. We part ways.

No big deal. The Counselor and I go on to enjoy the rest of the evening and I pass out by midnight. (I will refrain from telling you about how I grew to be slightly obnoxious: I told one woman to put her tits back in her dress because they were gross, I told another woman -- who The Counselor knows -- that she is fucking obnoxious and rude, and I .... well, enough. BUT, I didn't pass out in the potato salad.)

Then, randomly, I am scrolling through my blog roll earlier this week and start reading Irish and Jew. Sure enough, Irish was at Gold Cup this weekend and....yea. I ask her if we met? She asks if she made me call my dad.....yea. She's the RedHead.

ISN'T THAT FUCKING CRAZY?

I mean....seriously?

After I figured it out yesterday, I was hanging out at The Counselor's house and I asked him:

Me: "Dude, do you remember telling these women where my father works?"
The Counselor: "Ummmm....yea. Why? What did I do wrong?"
Me: "Nothing....kinda of a funny story, actually...."

Yea. Crazy.

So, now I know what Irish looks like. I'll say this: She ain't fucking lying. She looks Irish. Like, very.

And, if she ever runs into me again and asks me to call my dad, I'll buy her a Car Bomb.

Small fucking world.

It's about that time...

2008-01-28T17:06:00.000-05:00

During the past few months you have allowed me to share some of my stories with you about some of the odd and sometimes hilarious events in my life. While readership didn't exactly soar, I appreciate and delighted in every one of your comments, and I can't thank you enough for taking time from you day to stop in, to read, to take interest and to come back for more.

But it's about that time to shutter the windows, lock the doors, and close it all down.

Honestly, when I started this blog in early August I had no idea how long it would last. Maybe a few posts, maybe one a day, maybe just one. I surprised myself often, particularly in November, with what I was able to conjure up from my past and my present to share with you.

During the past weeks and months, there has been a brief but full evaluation of where I am, who I am and where I want to go. And while sharing stories of drunken antics, random life events and occasional instances of incontinence is always fun in the moment, it clearly doesn't define me as a person, and I started to worry that my blog was defining me, rather then the way it should be.

Also, these posts -- haphazard at best, illegible at worst -- take their toll on my writing, which is a skill I often take pride in. In reviewing some of my earlier work and even some of my later posts, I decided that my talents were indeed slipping, simply for the same reason any athlete sees an erosion of his talent: I wasn't challenged.

So, that's all. Maybe not forever, but maybe.

Thanks to you all.

All my best.

-Scott

Oh, uhh, hey there

2008-01-13T21:51:00.000-05:00

I didn't quite realize it had been almost two full weeks since the last time I posted. I was actually considering doing that whole Blog 365 thing where I post every day. Good thing I didn't do that.

I just back from Atlantic City.

Wow. I am fucking destroyed.

There is no way I can continue drinking like I only have a few months to live, or I'll only have a few more months to live. Going to bed at 6:30 in the morning after dropping hundreds at the Blackjack table with a beer-pickled liver may sound fun in only a few cultures, and God bless us all for living in one.

Also. Strip Clubs. I like them.

So what's going on with you guys?

I am happy. I love life.

2008-01-01T18:07:00.000-05:00

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

BLUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Hellz yes, bitches.

I love it.

I love it.

I love it.

I love it.

Suck my fat balls, SEC fans. All of you. ALL of you.

Be it resolved...

2007-12-31T10:19:00.001-05:00

Someone asked me last night what my New Year's resolutions would be.

The quick answer: none.

I don't know why but I have never grafted on to the whole "change" thing.

Sure, I could resolve to quit smoking like I'm on death row, to quit drinking to the point of blacking out -- particularly around family members -- to quit associating myself with vapid women of loose morals, to focus more on the happiness of others, to dedicate myself to a better cause, a righteous path, to concentrate on making others around me happy and offering them the best qualities I was born with, to become more selfless and less selfish, to stop blowing money on vice and invest in my future, to rededicate myself to treating my body like a temple and start exercising regularly, to remove trans fat from my diet, to stop swearing like a dockworker with Turretts syndrome, to floss everyday and make it twice to the dentist for my six-month checkup, and to spend my free nights reading great works of literature and compelling biographies about key historical figures.

......Nope. I'm good.

Happy New Year, Bitches!

It's Friday, Bitches -- Open Thread 12/28

2007-12-28T23:42:00.001-05:00

Yea.

Drunk.

Help me.

What are you doing RIGHT NOW?

ARE YOU DRUNK?

TELL ME, BITCHES.

Miss ytou.

C'mon you fucking lurkers, I know who you are. Leave me some love.

DO IT.

Love you.....

S

It's Friday, Bitches -- Open Thread 12/21

2007-12-21T00:45:00.000-05:00

Yes, let me apologize for the lackluster performance with posts this week. I really only started feeling better on Wednesday night. And I can't seem to write when I am sick...or healthy, for that matter.

Tomorrow I am leaving for Florida for a week, which means Dignity Lost will be on hiatus for a little while so I can spend time with my beloved extended family in a warm climate. Beer, sand and Santa Claus. God Bless America.

(Just as a point of reference, the last time the extended family -- mom's side -- got together for Christmas my sister snapped that picture of me on my blog. I'll tell that story another time, but basically I am passed out at a restaurant. What you don't see in that picture, because I cropped it, is my arm draped around my mother, who is smiling. How proud she was of me that night I'm sure.)

Let's look past Christmas though, since I may not have the chance to post next week. What are you planning for New Year's Eve?

Not gonna lie, it's never been one of my favorite holidays. Although last year was probably the best, seeing as how it involved a prostitute disguised as a stripper, an inflatable doll, a birthday and more booze than you could ever hope of dream of. Always a recipe for fun. (And no, I didn't, you dirty fucks. I get my women the old fashioned way, I earn them.)

OK, so tell me what your plans are for New Year's.

And, if I don't have a chance to tell you before next week, Happy Kwanzaa, bitches!

Yuck

2007-12-17T17:13:00.000-05:00

I'm fucking sick, curled up in bed doing work from there.

I've spent about $70 on all varieties of cold medicine, immune system boosters, cough lozenges, nasal decongestants, nighttime sleeping liquids*, daytime cough liquids** and whatever else I could find at the drug store.

I fucking hate being sick.

Oh well, five days until Florida.

* I must be pretty out of it, because I tried to spell liquids "luiquids," and it looked right to me.
** Twice.

It's Friday, Bitches -- Open Thread 12/14

2007-12-14T07:54:00.000-05:00

I can't even describe to you how much pain I am in right now.

I could lie to you -- in a sad attempt to justify the pain -- and tell you I drank a lot last night. But it wouldn't be true. It was just a regular Thursday night at the bar. Beers and vodka drinks.

But damn. My head is throbbing. The light from my computer screen is blinding. The faucet in the kitchen is dripping and it sounds like a fucking...whatever, I can't think right now.

These hangovers are getting worse as I get older.

Anyways. Enough about me and my pain.

Let's open it up today.

Let's see.

Oh.

(Seriously, I was staring at that "Oh" for five minutes trying to think of something to ask.)

(Eight minutes.)

(Twelve minutes. I am definitely an embarrassment to my IQ.)

Here we go. What do you want for Christmas? One thing. Just one. Tell me.

OKGO.

Truth in Advertising

2007-12-13T07:26:00.000-05:00

There is a personal ad from the List on Craig's making its way around the internets in viral fashion that you may or may not have seen already.

A few women have asked me lately why I am still single. Well, because this parody post is almost 100 percent true. No, not for ALL women, but what fun is a blog if you can't make massive generalizations? Right?

Well, here it is fellas. Enjoy. Oh, and the title? "It's me! Every girl ever."

http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/phi/471580402.html
best of craigslist > philadelphia > It's me! Every girl ever.
Originally Posted: Wed, 7 Nov 10:38 EST
It's me! Every girl ever.
Date: 2007-11-07, 10:38AM EST

Knock knock

Oh hi, how's it going? It's me! Every girl ever.

I'm really looking forward to this date. I'm not nearly as attractive as you remember me being because when we met the bar was dark and you were drunk. Come on in.

Let's start off with the unavoidable tour of my incredibly typical post-college-girl apartment.
You'll notice that I went ahead and purchased everything that Ikea and Pier 1 have ever produced. There's my decorative birdcage over there even though I don't have a bird, and there's my gay wicker basket with bamboo poles in it. I don't know what the hell that's thing's all about, but I bought it.

Hey check it out, I have more candles in here than a Roman Catholic Church. Doesn't it smell like Hazelnut!? If I were to light all of my candles at once you could see my apartment from space! I fucking love candles!

Come on into the living room.

Oh, I see you met my cat there. That's "Freddy Paws Jr." Why don't you pet him and act like you like cats even though you hate cats? There you go. Oh, he took a little swing at your eye there huh? Yeah, he'll do that. Hey, let's check out the kitchen.

Hey look at my refrigerator. There are pictures all over it! Look at all these pictures of me and my equally vacuous friends from college! We were so crazy! You can tell we're really good friends because our faces are all pressed up against each other like that.

And check it out, we're holding up alcoholic beverages to the camera in every single picture. That's to prove that we were partying. College was so fun! But of course I don't talk to any of these girls anymore because now they're all bitches.

Let's go back into the hallway!

Hey, before we leave I'm going to go in the bathroom for ten minutes for some mysterious reason. Why don't you sit awkwardly in my big, stupid, round papizan chair over there while you wait for me. It's like you're sitting in a hug! Be right back...

Sorry that took a half an hour, I don't know what the hell I was doing in there. Let's go!
Wow! Thanks for opening my car door for me! I'm totally going to blow that meaningless gesture out of proportion and delude myself into thinking that you're a really good guy because that's what I want to believe.

Well, here we are at the restaurant. No thanks waiter, I don't need to see a menu, just bring me some expensive things. Hey I know, while we wait, I'll tell you all about my unspeakably boring job. I hate my boss. He's a jerk! I might get another job. Maybe something in pharmaceutical sales.

Now let's talk about my family. I love my family. I want you to love my family. I want my family to love you. I want you to make love to my family! I want you to go golfing with my semi-retarded brother Travis. That would be so God damned cute!

Wow! I can't believe I ordered all this food! I have no intention of eating any of it. No thanks waiter, we don't need a box. Just throw it out.

Hey, I've got an idea, let's go to a bar and have an after dinner drink! It'll be great, it will be just like how we're drinking here, only it will be louder and we'll have to stand up. Come on!

See, isn't this better? Oh hey, what a coincidence. Look over there! It's a group of my friends that I knew was going to be here. Let's go over there so that they can judge you!

Hey, I have to go to the bathroom for a half an hour again for some reason. You can stay here and talk to my unbelievably hideous friend Christine! Christine's so ugly she scares kids! Talk to her! She has a job and a family that she wants to talk to you about too. Be right back.

I'm back! Sorry I was gone for three hours, there was a line. I want to go home now.

Well here we are at my door again. This was really fun for me and not you. You should pretend like we're going to do it again sometime! Maybe I'll see you at Target a few months from now and we can avoid eye contact because you never called me. Here, have this awkward goodnight kiss that's as empty as my soul. Good night!

So, to my men readers, what did you think?

Who the fuck is Allison?

2007-12-12T07:17:00.000-05:00

I was scrolling through my contact list on my phone the other day, deleting numbers that shouldn't -- and didn't need to be -- in my phone anymore.

The delete button was punched often when I rolled across a contact whose last name was "Bar," since that's how I enter the name of anyone I meet, well, in a bar. I deleted a few ex-girlfriends, a few women I dated for short periods of time, and a few people I just don't talk to anymore and therefore do not want to subject to my blitzkrieg of drunken text messaging, for which I am becoming famous.

Near the top however was the name "Allison."

What the fuck? Who the hell is that? I thought. I don't even know anybody named Allison.

Rather than let this gnaw at my brain and my weakening memory, I sent out a text. "Hello?"

No response.

Then, while drunk a few nights later, I decided it was time to go all in. I sent another text.

"Who the hell are you and WHY ARE YOU IN MY PHONE?"

Again, no response.

I know. Shocker.

And here a few days later I honestly still have no fucking clue who Allison is. I don't think I met her at a bar, since there was no last name. I don't remember meeting her anywhere else, because if I did I would probably remember.

It's a local DC number, so it must have been entered in there sometime in the past eight months. Though I guess if she were worth remembering I would remember her.

So anyways. Allison, if you read this, please let me know how I met you and why your number is in my phone. Seriously, I'm dying to know.

Oh, and call me. [wink]

Monster

2007-12-10T07:50:00.000-05:00

So I just got off the phone with my boss and colleagues as part of our weekly conference call.

Things with the company: Not so good. The president was let go over the weekend, making him the fourth full-time employee to leave the company in the past three months. This is not a large company. I am not effectively doing the work of three and a half people while retaining the salary of one. If things continue, I may need to find a new job.

Fuck.

I can't even describe to you how much I hate trying to find a new job. Like, I fucking hate it. I would rather have a constant case of kidney stones and a small bladder than look for a new job. I would rather duct tape my testicles to the muffler of a raging motorcycle and get dragged down the street than look for a new job. I would rather....well, you get it.

All the interviews, the cover letters, the resumes. Plus, the job I've held since April really hasn't given me much experience in anything, except how to bullshit, which, let's face it, I was already pretty good at before.

Also, this isn't the most opportune time to look for a job, with all kinds of businesses going on hibernation over the holidays.

Why can't the good jobs just come to me? Shit, I met my boss at a bar. Now that's a great place for an interview.

Maybe I should just hang out at bars more, no?

Piss.

It's Friday, Bitches -- Open Thread

2007-12-07T07:49:00.000-05:00

This is my excuse for posting on a Friday. I'm turning it over to you, dear readers. Every Friday I'll post a question and we can kick it around in the comments. Since, honestly, you know you aren't doing any work today anyway. Right?

So, since I seem to attract all the alcoholics (I wonder why?) let me ask you this:

What's the most drunk you have ever been? And, what were the consequences of that night?

OKgo.

I'd Like To Thank My Sponsors....

2007-12-06T17:30:00.000-05:00

Through the past 100+ posts I have neglected to take some time to thank all my sponsors.

Sure, I don't receive a dime from them. Actually, I continually pay for them. But I use every single one, proudly.

This blog would not be possible without them.

And, kids, if you want to be like me, you'll do the same.

[Takes huge glug of Coca-Cola. Looks at Camera. Smiles.] Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

This blog is brought to you in part by:

Sugar Free Red Bull: I consume so many ounces of this on a daily basis I am immune to its brain-altering powers. At this point it's really a psychological placebo that teases me into believing I am "more alert" than before. But yet I continue to guzzle it by the case, every morning, every evening, every night. If your poured it into a bowl I would probably get down on all fours and lap it up. This is the single best substance mankind ever created.

Miller Lite: Not gonna lie. After numerous episodes of blacking out -- mainly in the past six months where I have been drinking vodka, heavy microbrews and assorted combinations of both -- it's time I recognize my first love, even if she is slightly cheap and easy. Yes, it's watered-down moose piss. Yes, it's inexpensive. Yes I can drink it for hours and hours at a time and still be capable of remembering things the next day. And I hope it never changes.

McDonald's: I can't even begin to describe how wonderful the value menu has been to me. Numerous hangovers have been spent pouring my ass into my car and driving the .7 miles down the road to pick up a breakfast sandwich and a fountain Coke. It has saved me. I couldn't do it without them.

Rose's Sweet Lime Juice: Call me a pussy if you want but I've never been much of a fan of hard liquor. A spray of Lime Juice in the Vodka Clubs makes it that much easier to drink. Then again, I am developing quite the taste for vodka. So, it's only a matter or time before I am ordering them straight up. (If you see this, run, don't walk, away from me.)

Parliament Lights: Those cruel, sweet sticks of chemically altered tobacco. I know they will overtake me eventually, and yet I continue to suck them down with abandon. Also, though, they have been the gateway for meeting scores of people. So, up on the sponsorship wall they go. Plus, it's nearly impossible for me to drink without them by my side.

Becky: Quite possibly the greatest bartender in history. She works at the neighborhood bar and possesses an insanely innate ability to look me in the eyes and decipher what stage of drunkenness I am at. She will then fix my drink accordingly, which sometimes will consist of water. Sadly, at that stage, I can't even taste the difference.

Alka-Seltzer Morning Relief: What? You didn't listen to me? Are you out of your fucking mind?* These wonderful pills of effervescent happiness and joy take hangovers and make them their bitch. It's instant. It works. It's amazing. At this point you can only buy them online. Do it. As I write this there are five boxes steaming toward our house. Sweet relief is on its way. I am going to pass these out as Christmas presents and delight as I hear the accolades the lucky recipients heap upon me.

Verizon: The unlimited texting plan makes it possible for me to, you know, text all 378 people in my phone -- sorry, boss -- when I get bored and need entertainment.

Whiskey Dick: I know it's unusual to claim a sponsorship from a theory but it really deserves mention. I'm not entirely sure what the logo would look like. Maybe a big flaccid penis? A penis drinking a bottle of Jack Daniels? A circle-slash Viagra logo? Either way, it deserves special mention for preventing me from sleeping with a whole host of women with questionable morals and looks. Thanks, Dick!

Depends: Yea. I don't wear them. They would have come in handy on a few occasions though. Like, you know, here.

Let it Snow

2007-12-05T16:57:00.000-05:00

[Update -- 7:06 p.m. -- OK, LOTS of snow. The big chunky-flake kind. For my ~~asshole~~ loyal readers in California, snowflakes come in numerous varieties, one being a very large and particularly wet brand. It sticks. And it accumulates.]

When I moved to DC one of my first questions was "What are the winters like?" since the benefit of moving a few degrees in latitude south was, I assumed, a warmer clime during the rough months.

Cheese told me they were much better here. But he also told me to prepare for something quite unbelievable. He assured me that the Metro DC area pretty much suffocates under even the thinnest blanket of snow, that men, women and children bundle up and race to the store to procure the last grains of bread and the quick-disappearing bottles of milk.

I called him a liar. I said he was nuts. I accused him of being on multiple illicit substances.

Then today arrived.

As the first few flakes of the season started descending on the area this morning I get a message from Cheese, who said his organization was already considering an early release. Now, mind you, there's definitely a time and place for it. You know, like when there's an expected blizzard.

The forecast for precipitation: ......wait for it......one to two inches.

What?

It's not sticking to the streets. The roads are fine. We can see many miles without torrents of squalls in our faces.

Back in Michigan we laughed in the face of Mother Nature when she futilely teased us with such wimpish amounts of white. Shit, it's Michigan, there's three inches of new powder on the ground in July.

Not here.

As I was out getting lunch, enjoying the December snowfall, I heard a radio report that talked about the school closings.

It lasted 10 minutes.

We're not in Michigan anymore.

(Oh, and no comments allowed from my California and Florida readers. You do not earn the right to speak here.)

Dirty Dialogue v1

2007-12-04T00:01:00.000-05:00

This will be an ongoing series. I'll update it from time to time with new dialogues in bold.

Just to keep everyone safe, I am redacting ALL names. No nicknames here. And if you're easily offended....well, I have no idea why you keep coming back here. PostSecret is down the hall. Waaaaay down the hall.

***

Male Friend: "OK....take a look at this one."
Me: "Wow, nice, yea, she's definitely hot."
Friend: "And, hold on......here, look at this one."
Me: "Yea. She's pretty cute too."
[pause]
Me: "You have a lot of pictures of hot girls you've fucked."
Friend: "Yea, well, Scotty, there's a whole lot of ugly chicks I banged that I don't have pictures of now, right?"

***

Female Friend: "So, yea, he was big and stocky so my hopes were really high."
Me: "OK."
Friend: "And then he took his pants off and I was like, oh no. Wah waaaaah. Tiny tiny tiny."
Me: [laughter]
Friend: "But I'll say this, the anal was awesome."
Me: [almost spitting out my drink]
Friend: "That's how you turn that frown upside down."

***

Male Friend: "Yea, so, I know what Luke Perry's penis looks like now."
Me: "Oz?"
Friend: "Yea. You see everyone's cock in that show."
Me: "That's too bad. They should have a cock countdown. Like, 'Cock in 3...2...1' ... so you can avert your eyes."
Friend: "Yea well, it's not that bad. You know, I was in a frat house. We had communal showers. It's just the way it is."
Me: "Yea, I guess cock is part of life."
Friend: "I watch porn don't I?"
Me: "Yea, true. ... Although, you know, cock is usually in the woman."
Friend: "True."
Me: [thinking] "Wait, what kind of gay prison porn are you watching?"

***

[Massive gust of wind bursts down the street]
Male Friend: "Wow, took that one right in the face."
Me: "Yea, like a cheap pornstar."
Friend: [laughter]
Friend: "Shit, any kind of porn star that takes that kind of blast in the face has got to be well paid."
Me: [laughter] "True."
Friend: "If a Bukkake star is getting $100 a film then she needs a new agent. And I would gladly take that job."

***

Female Friend: "Then he gave her an eyesee."
Me: "A what?"
Friend: "You know, an eyesee. Where the guy shoots it all over the girl's face and it gets in her eye."
Me: [laughter] "I've never heard it called that before."
Friend: "Yea. An eyesee."
Me: "That's awesome."
Friend: "One time I had a guy do that to me. It was like a moon pie all over my face. And some of it got in my eye."
Me: [while laughing hysterically] "No.....fucking....way....."
Friend: "That shit hurt like a sonuvabitch. I woke up the next morning and it was all swollen and red and gross......I had to call in sick to work."
Me: [Falling off barstool from laughing so hard]

***

Double Duty

2007-12-03T07:51:00.000-05:00

I'm over here today, as well.

That's how I roll.

Brass Ovaries

2007-12-03T00:01:00.000-05:00

The summer after she graduated from college my mom found herself living in a studio apartment in Chicago, not far from where she grew up. Although she had already met my father, she was taking a break from him because of some his alleged antics earlier that year during Spring Break. It was her second full summer out of college. She had a good job, good friends and was living life in the city. And it was the summer she was almost murdered.

***

Before my mom met my dad she dated Danny.

He was the one she was trying to save.

Danny was a Vietnam War veteran who had pretty much walked out of the shit in Southeast Asia and into my mother's life.

She saw in him something that few did, dated him and after time found that he wasn't the man she thought he was. Then she went back to college, met my father and started dating him. After things went south with my father she decided to give Danny another try.

It didn't work out. He had deep psychological issues, most likely related to his experiences in the jungle. He was paranoid and slept with a gun under his pillow. He exhibited episodes of irrational behavior. So, she ended it with him.

Danny didn't like that.

He called constantly.

He promised to love her.

He promised to change.

Failing that, he decided to take it upon himself to see her when she refused.

So, one one occasion, he took a key he somehow obtained to let himself into my mom's apartment in the middle of the night, sit on her bed and watch her sleep, only to leave before she woke up.

Danny was not healthy.

***

One day in July my mother got home from work and was putting some groceries away when the phone rang. It was her sister, Shrink, who was living right down the hall with her boyfriend, Cool. Shrink needed to borrow some laundry detergent. My mother walked to the door and left it open a few inches.

A few minutes later the door opened. My mom glanced up, expecting to see her older sister.

Instead she saw Danny.

Mom: "What are you doing here?"
Danny: "I just want to talk."
Mom: "No. Absolutely not. I told you we're through."
Danny: "Please, please. I just want to talk."
Mom: "Danny, I told you we're done. I don't want to talk to you. We're done."

At that point Danny's eyes darted to the bed in my mom's studio apartment. He saw that my mother had laid out an outfit for the next day, as she had a date for a Cub's game with a guy she met down the hall.

Danny: "What's with the outfit?
Mom: "It's none of your business."
Danny: "Are you going on a date?"
Mom: "Danny, it's NONE of your business."

Then things went downhill.

From his camouflage jacket Danny pulled out a Saturday Night Special revolver and leveled it at my mom's heart.

Danny: "It's my business now."

***

As she tells the story now my mom still can't believe the words that come out of her mouth. I've never had a gun pointed at me. I can't imagine what I would do if that happened, but I am almost certainly convinced it wouldn't be the same as what my mother did.

She stood up.

She looked him dead in the eyes.

And with a loaded revolver pointed at her, my mother said what I am sure most people would say in similar cicumstances.

Mom: "What are you doing you idiot?"

Danny didn't answer.

Mom: "Oh, FUCK you, Danny. FUCK you. You're a little, little man, and you're not going to shoot me."
Danny: "I just want to talk."
Mom: "You want to talk? FINE. Sit down."

Danny sat down in a chair across from my mom. The conversation didn't last long. The door swung open and Shrink and Cool stroll in to the apartment. As he sees them Danny tucks the revolver into the chair, his hand still on it.

Shrink immediately sees Danny and is slightly confused. She shoots my mom an inquisitive , what the fuck?, kind of looks.

Mom: "Oh, yea. Danny just wants to talk."

At that moment Danny pulled the gun from its hiding spot and pointed it at Shrink and Cool.

Danny: "I just want to talk to her."

At this point Cool took over.

Cool: [in a smooth, low-key voice] "Danny, what's wrong? I'm confused, I thought we were friends. And friends don't point guns at each other."

Danny doesn't answer and kind of stares off into space.

Cool: "C'mon Danny, put down the gun. We're all friends here. Of course she'll talk to you, but you shouldn't point a gun at all of us. Put down the gun. We're all friends."

Danny looks at him. Then he starts bawling.

Danny: [weeping] "I.....just...want...to....talk...to...her."

He surrenders the pistol and Cool quickly snatches it up. Cool then flips open the barrel of the gun and empties six bullets into his hand. My mom thought it was unloaded.

Without the imminent presence – and threatened use -- of a firearm, my mom agrees to talk to Danny alone.

Shrink: "Um..are you sure?"
Mom: "Yes, it'll be fine."

Shrink and Cool leave. So it's just Psycho Danny and my mom, sitting there talking. It goes on for a few minutes. He wants to get back together, she wants nothing to do with him. And on and on.

She continued rebuffing his attempts to negotiate a settlement and a return to a relationship. Finally, when he finally realized it wasn't going to happen, he looked at my mom.

For the first time she felt fear. She saw a look in his eyes -- a look that, up to that point, was not there. The soul drained from his face. And she quickly became frightened. For good reason.

Danny grabbed a fistful of her hair and said the words no one wants to hear: "If I can't have you no one can."

Not good.

My mom starts to scream. Danny pulls her onto the floor. My mom screams again. Danny, absent of a weapon, starts to drag her though the apartment. Mom keeps screaming. Danny is pulling her toward the kitchen. My mom screams for help again. Danny is trying to get a knife.

More screams.

He's going to kill her.

My mom is sure she is going to die.

By some way my mom was able to kind of stand up and gained some type of leverage. She stomped on Danny's foot as hard as a fight-or-flight rush of adrenaline permitted and he lost his grip. Mom scampered down the hall and let out another scream.

Smooth Uncle Cool rushed out of his apartment. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her back into his place. My mom is bawling. Cool stays in the apartment and tries to calm down my mother.

Shrink -- who was studying to be a psychologist – figures that all Danny needs someone to talk to, and declares she is walking down the hall to help him.

But he was gone.

***

A few weeks pass.

My mom is pretty much frightened to death every time she opens the door or walks down the street. She is thinking about moving because of what happened.

And then the phone rings.

It's Danny.

Danny: "Hi. Um…it's me…I'm at the airport and I'm just about to leave. I'm moving down to Florida….But um….I just wanted to know if I could get my gun back."

(long pause)

Mom: "………Fuck you."

And she hung up.

The Christmas 10

2007-12-02T10:49:00.000-05:00

[singing] Feliz Navidad...doo doo doo do.....Feliz Navidad.....doo doo doo do

Oh, hi there. How's it going? Yea? Good.

So, something you should know. I dig on Christmas. Dig it. All of it. It's my favorite holiday, and despite the corportization of everything green and red I still manage to scythe through the bullshit and find my piece of holiday merriment.

And I am an out and out fan of Christmas music. Sure, come February it starts getting dusty sitting in the basement of my iTunes library. But come the day after Thanksgiving I take out the songs, blow off the dust and throw them on the record player. For 25 days I enjoy the tunes. Then, promptly on the day after Christmas, the songs are once again retired for another 11 months.

Through the years I have acquired a taste for my favorites. These are the songs that bring about the season for me. So here I am, sharing them with you.

1.) Blue Christmas, Elvis Presley -- I don't know, I just dig it. Of course, if it strikes you, go out there and find the Porky Pig version of this song. It may be the funniest thing you hear all week. Especially when P. Pig is like, "Oh b-b-b-baby I'll miss you."

2.) Christmas Canon, Trans-Siberian Orchestra -- This is kind of a late-comer to the party, but I heard this for the first time last year and I really enjoyed it. I am already a fan of Pachabel's Canon, and mixing it with Christmas lyrics makes it even better.

3.) Christmas All Over Again, Tom Petty -- Love it. Usually I'm not so much a fan of contemporary Christmas music, but this makes the cut because thinking of Tom Petty wrecked out of his mind from the gravity-bong hits he was sucking up all day and recording this song makes me smile. And he rocks.

4.) Jingle Bells, Frank Sinatra -- That's right. I love those J-I-N-Geee-L-E Bells. Ohh. I love those J-I-N-Geee-L-E Bells. Ohh. Those happy J-I-N-G-L-Eeee-B-E double L-S, I love those J-I-N-Geee-L-E Bells." Hearing him sing this song is pretty fucking cool. Give it a try.

5.) Ave Maria, Lesley Garrett -- This isn't a Christmas song, per se, but it usually plays on my iTunes about this time of year. This version is stunningly beautiful, to the point where I sometimes get goosebumps when she hits the high notes. Amazing.

6.) Hark! The Herald Angels Sing, Mormon Tabernacle Choir -- This is my favorite Christmas song. At the Christmas Eve service at my hometown church they sometimes skimp on the third verse. That's notsogood. This is an excellent rendition and I always love hearing it.

7.) We Three Kings, The Camillis String Quartet -- I recently found this version and I immediately became a fan. Very well done.

8.) All I want for Christmas is You, Mariah Carey -- Moving on now.

9.) O Holy Night, Mormon Tabernacle Choir -- This is another one of my favorite Christmas songs and, once again, this is a truly remarkable version of it. I tend to shrug away carols performed by individual artists because many of them can't nail it. This is a wonderful rendition that, if you are invested in the mood, could give you shivers.

10.) Mary's Boy Child, Kathleen Battle and Winston Marsalis -- I imagine you've never heard this particular version. It's not available on iTunes but on a CD that came out in the early 1990's titled "A Christmas at Carnegie Hall." This song is wonderful, it takes on a Caribbean flare that, typically, would not envelop you in the Christmas spirit, but it's so good it really does.

OK, there are mine. Any more to add up in the mix?

PWNED

2007-11-30T00:01:00.000-05:00

Done.

I actually made a promise and I fucking kept it. That in and of itself is nothing short of spectacular. Thanks for all the perusing, thanks for all the comments, thanks for all the feedback. I appreciate it.

Now leave me a little love.

(I may take, you know, just a few days off.)

Memememememememe

2007-11-29T17:22:00.001-05:00

I have been tagged by this woman. (Check out that eye. Hot, no?)

That's cool, I'll join your little Reindeer games. Bring it.

The Rules:
1) Put your iTunes/ music player on Shuffle
2) For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3) YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER WHAT(this is in capital letters, so it is very serious. No hiding your showtunes, folks!)

After you’ve answered all of the questions, tag 5 other people and then let them know they’ve been tagged to do the meme themselves!

(Confession: Yea, so, I KIND of stuck to the rules. I basically hit it until I moved past the songs that, really, wouldn't be funny. Sorry, I don't think "O Mio Babbino Caro" about my parents. So, yea, this is pretty close to the spirit of the thing, just not the law. I'm fine with it.)

1) IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY” YOU SAY? Afternoon Delight - Starland Vocal Band (....my motto's always been when it's right it's right, bitches....)

2) WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY? You Wreck Me - Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers (Hmm. I wreck myself a lot, too.)

3) WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL? She Couldn't Change Me - Montgomery Gentry

4) HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY? Fun, Fun, Fun - The Beach Boys (Just TRY and take my T-bird away, MF.)

5) WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE? Slow Ride - Foghat

6) WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO? Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off - Joe Nichols (And it serves me well. HA!)

7) WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU? Joy to the World - Three Dog Night (This, not so much with the true.)

8) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS? Stiff Upper Lip - AC/DC

9) WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN? Do Ya - Electric Light Orchestra

10) WHAT IS 2+2? Open Arms, Journey

11) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND? Sweet Child O' Mine - Guns N Roses (My best friend is a second-grader. Is that weird?)

12) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE? California Love - Tupac/Dr. Dre. (Well then. The shuffle.)

13) WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY? Roadhouse Blues - The Doors

14) WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP? Runnin' Down a Dream - Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers (Still am.)

15) WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE? Thunderstruck - AC/DC

16) WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU? Wonderwall - Oasis (But not so much.)

17) WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING? I'd Love You To Want Me - Lobo (I'll take Signs You Shouldn't Marry That Woman Based On The Song Playing At Your Wedding for $1,000, Alex.)

18) WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL? Nothin' But a Good Time - Poison (Yea, kind of fitting, seeing as this is kind of a theme song. Shit, I was born to be a fucking rock star.)

19) WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST? One for My Baby (And One More For The Road) - Tony Bennett (Oh hell yes, baby.)

20) WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET? The Flame - Cheap Trick (HAHAHAHAHAHAHA....SHUTUP)

21) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS? Hard to Handle - Toots and the Maytals (Although more likely this is what they think of me. But the shuffle has spoken.)

Here we go. I'm tagging: Harry, BadGirl, OnTheVirg, The Smarter Princess and La Ebria.

Bring it.

My Body. It's Changing.

2007-11-29T07:56:00.000-05:00

I can't pinpoint the exact date I started noticing it because, in all honesty, I think it's been a gentle change. Maybe when I was 23. Maybe last summer. I don't know. All I do know is that I can tell I'm getting older, because my body is starting to retreat.

Remember when we were younger and could ride bikes for three hours, play an impromptu game of kickball and go swimming for the rest of the day? Me neither, since, you know, I didn't grow up in 1950's Brooklyn, but you know what I mean. Back then we were impervious to the affects of any extra physical exertion. Our bodies were like erasers, you could bend them and they'd just bounce right back.

Now, on occasion, I find myself gingerly hobbling down the stairs some mornings only to think to myself, "Why the fuck am I so sore?" Then it hits me. "Oh, right, I ran up the escalator to catch my train."

Time also is taking its toll on my appearance. There are many mornings where bags form under my eyes. I notice a few hairs on my back that weren't there before -- not tons, just a few stragglers. The hairline is starting to recede. The beer belly is a little more prevalent.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. It's just a simple fact that getting older means some change. It's kind of like anti-puberty. And it wouldn't be appropriate for me to complain either, since I don't exactly subscribe to the theory of treating my body like a temple. (Yea, good work liver. Proudofyou.)

Not only am I not complaining, but I am actually starting to enjoy it. My face no longer looks like a chubby newborn's, My gait is a little slower and a little more defined. My face looks like it has experience, like it can handle the big promotion, deliver the big project, accept the big raise. I look a little more distinguished, if you can believe that, as in, I wouldn't look rediculous if I clutched a tumbler of scotch -- not that I would.

I just don't look like a kid anymore.

So, while getting older may kind of suck, looking older is not so bad.

Then again, talk to me in 10 years, while I am in the midst of a full-blown mid-life crisis -- like "Dating 19-year-old strippers and buying convertibles" crisis. Then we'll really see.

(Oh, and by the way, this is my 100th blog post. Not too bad. Thanks to the three of you who have really stuck with me through the past, you know, four months. I promise to keep drinking and acting like an idiot if you promise to keep reading. Deal? Good.)

Things I've said when I was drunk, v1.2

2007-11-28T17:03:00.000-05:00

(Ed: This is a rolling list that, when the occasion calls for it, will be updated. New items will go on top, in bold. I'm not much for tagging, but I would encourage every blogger who reads this to start their own list. If you do, let me know and I'll link it at the bottom. This could get funny.)

* Holly, right...not Kelly. My fault.
* Where am I? At your mom's. You?
* Quit bringing all this negativity to the table, I'm trying to win, motherfucker.
* Where's the vodka? You hid it? Mom, that's not cool.
* Follow you into the ladie's room? Uhh, OK.
* No, you're not tall enough to be a model.
* Get off your fat asses and CHEER GODDAMMIT!
* Governor, do you smoke? Good, let's step outside and I'll tell you how to handle the homeless population.
* Huh...I uh...no....hold on, let me blow in that beathalyzer again. That can't be right.
* Jesus, you're such a fucking tragedy.
* That's OK, this is going to make a great story tomorrow.
* Hi, I'm Chris
* Why is your dog chewing my fucking glasses?
* Just one more drink.
* Here's what you should do: Go home, put on every sweater you own, go into the bathroom, turn off the lights, sit in the bathtub and cry. Because, clearly, you're life is a mess.
* You're gonna puke? Yea? Want some scrambled eggs?
* Absolutely, that shot of tequila is a great idea.
* Get a picture of me and this doe.
* I'm sorry I peed on your couch.
* I'm sorry I peed on you.
* Go fuck yourself.
* Clearly you're not Irish. You drink like a fuckin' Brit.
* You can't be drunk. You only had two beers. NOW GET UP OFF THE FUCKING GROUND!
* This water tastes like ass.
* I'll drive!
* You're fucking kidding me, you're cutting us OFF?!
* How fun are you on a scale of 1 to 10? A 10 being you show your tits.
* Hi, I'm John.
* Of course this is a good idea.
* Don't hate!
* I'm so ashamed. (Said before passing out.)
* Of course I'll call you.
* No way, I'll pay the tab.
* Hi, I'm Jason.
* I'm a doctor. Now what you wanna do is ice it for 15 minutes and take off the ice for 15 minutes. No, I don't think it's sprained.
* Boss, I'm pretty sure it's about time for a raise.
* Here, take my lighter, I'm gonna go hit on that girl in the sundress.
* Of course this won't hurt.
* I'm a tobacco farmer.
* I'm a horse trainer.
* I'm a pilot.
* I'm a garbage man.
* I'm a professional rodeo clown.
* Yes, I'll have another.

(As always, friends are encouraged to comment or e-mail and inform me of other things I've said. I am sure I am missing tons.)

Other drunkards who speak their minds: HabitatforInhumanity

The New Math

2007-11-28T07:53:00.000-05:00

Waking up at 6 a.m.

+

My last night in Michigan

+

A quick dinner with mom and brother

+

"Wow, this is a strong drink."

+

"Yes, I'll have another."

+

45 minutes until my flight boards

+

A tall Bud Light

+

"Oh, really, $3 shots?......Um, sure, Tequila, please."

+

The nastiest shot of Cuervo 1800 of my life

+

"15 minutes until my flight boards? Yes, plenty of time for another beer."

+

"5 minutes until my flight boards? Yes, plenty of time for another beer."

+

"Oh shit I gotta catch my plane."

+

"Ladies and Gentleman, we'll be turning off the lights while we taxi and for the duration of the flight."

+

"Hmm, this fuselage looks like a nice place to rest ma head."

+

[Blink blink.....blink blink] "Why is that flight attendant collecting trash already, we just took off?"

+

Realization that we are beginning our descent into DC

+

Realization that I have slept through the entire flight

+

To the person sitting next to me: "Oh, shit. Was I snoring?"

+

"Yes"

=

Me

My Mitten

2007-11-27T15:21:00.001-05:00

In a few hours I will will shove my suitcases into the car, ride along 94 East toward Detroit Metro, sit in the airport bar and have a few beers, hop on a plane and fly back to DC, my new home.

This will be my last trip to Michigan this year, and the last in I'm not sure how long. But upon my next return I pray that this state, the state of my home, will at least find some direction and climb itself out of the massive hole it finds itself in now.

See, for those of you unfamiliar, Michigan is struggling. Michigan is on life-support. Michigan needs help.

The downturn in the auto-industry has shuttered the once-resilient manufacturing base. The economic collapse here has forced companies to abandon the state in search of more viable land south. The job losses have precipitated banks foreclosing on people's houses.

People are starting to shake their heads, and people are starting to lose hope.

That's sad enough in the abstract, but today the concrete displayed itself when, while standing in line at a gas station, an aging man in his mid 50s handed a wrinkled $10 bill to the cashier, announcing he wanted $5 back, since it was all he could afford.

Living out of state, it's nice to run into people from Michigan. We exchange our home towns and talk about any time we may have spent there and any stories we have about out life living in the state. There is a certain pride that comes from the Michigan-born. And I have that pride.

That's why it's so tragic to see what my state has become.

This is where I was born. This is where I was raised. This is where I was educated, and where I educated. This is where I'm from. This is where I rode my first bike, kissed my first girl, drove my first car, met my first girlfriend and wore my first graduation cap. This is my state. And it's one of the saddest things to see my home state's political leaders leading it further into an abysmal abyss that, seemingly, has no end.

Right now we are the mockery of late-night talk show hosts and headlines in satirical newspapers. This shattered economy is showing no signs of a pulse and the slide will apparently continue.

A friend of my mom's was in New York for a business conference when the speaker asked if anyone was from Michigan. My mom's friend put her hand in the air. The speaker then went on to tell her she should leave. She said Michigan would take 30 years to recover from this fractured economic bone.

That better not be true. Something must be done. This state is worth more than a cavalier brush off.

I won't lie to you and tell you I have any answers. I don't. But somebody pretty damn smart better come up with some answers pretty damn quick. Michiganders as a whole are tough, resilient, kind, caring, thoughtful and hardworking. And the elected representatives of this state owe those people more than political discord and bickering. While Michigan continues to bleed out, Republicans and Democrats haggle over the size of the Band Aid to apply to the gunshot wound. Enough.

It's time to figure it the fuck out.

I love this state.