The Return Line

Ahh, the holidays. Family, friends, food, fun and of course fresents. (Ok, "fresents" isn't really a word. I just now invented it because the word "presents" wouldn't of flowed as well.) Bad gifts and the holidays seem to go hand-in-hand. I mean it just wouldn't be the holidays without fruitcake and socks right? Gift cards can be nice because you pick out exactly what you want, but on the other hand, they are impersonal. And who wants an impersonal gift? Of course who wants socks for Christmas either? Then again, I was in need of some new socks and Santa did bring me some, so I'll stop talking about socks in this post now. And don't worry, I won't utter another word about fruitcakes. After all, I never even tasted fruitcake and I have no intention of doing so in my lifetime. My digestive system goes into lockdown when I threaten it with something that weighs more than a 10 inch brick. So thank you, but no thank you on the fruitcake.

Over the years I've received some bad gifts. No let me emphasize. Bad, bad, very bad gifts. I seriously got gold pants one year. I kid you not. Oh yeah, I should mention it was 2004, more than a decade after MC Hammer sang "2 Legit To Quit". These weren't any gold pants. These where SHINY gold pants. The kind with those gold flakes in them that caught the light and burned the retina in your eye. Yeah, that kind of gold pants. Solid gold pants. Gold TRACK pants even. The kind with elastic on the ankles and the waist. Baggy and gold. 3X size. By the way, I wear 32x34 pants so they were just a tad roomy on me. I believe I fit my entire body in one pant leg and had room for an extra person to swim in there with me. Did I mention they were gold? Stop. Hammer Time.

Other than gold pants, there was also the year of the unicycle. Yes, you read that right - a freakin' unicycle. Again, this is no joke. If I remember correctly, I was about 15 when I was given a unicycle on Christmas morning. My exact thoughts where "What the f*ck?" Of course I didn't say that. Instead I was polite (and shocked and frightened) saying "Wow. Hey. Um. A unicycle? Can't say I would of guessed that Gram." I should mention my Grandma isn't senile, just very...well very original in her gift ideas? I mean who even makes unicycles? Where do you even buy a unicycle? Does anyone ride a unicycle? I know bears do, but I wasn't aware 15-year-old boys were junking their BMX bikes for a one-wheeled wrecking machine. Perhaps it was all the rage back then and I was just left out of the loop? Somehow I doubt that. Being the good grandson that I am, I put on a smile, grabbed a ball and rode the shit out of that unicycle for Grandma all Christmas Day. If that's not "taking one for the team", then I don't know what is. Any circus bear reading this, look out - I just may steal your job!

The gold pants were given to the Salvation Army and the unicycle was sold at a garage sale...I think sold to a clown, who I'm sure re-gifted it and gave it to a bear the following Christmas. So to the kid out there rockin' the 3X gold pants and the bear who's perfecting his juggling routine on my unicycle, more power to ya.

So I ask you this...what is the worst gift you ever received? No need to identify the gift giver. In this case, I believe in protecting the guilty - the guilty person of bad gift giving.

(FYI: No rapper or bear was hurt in the writing of this post.

Wii Have A Problem

Wii Have A Problem is a blog focused on bringing you the latest trend in gaming violence. Specifically, Nintendo Wii injuries. Yes, the Nintendo nerds are actually hurting themselves at an alarming rate. Injury cases range from bloody hands, dislocated fingers, black eyes, broken arms and blunt force trauma to the head. The weapon of choice - their very own Wii wireless controller. Some overly excited Wii users (cough, losers) are reporting that the controller flies out of their sweaty little palms during a "spirited video gaming moment". This results in a trip to the ER and/or replacement of a broken TV screen, shattered lamp, etc.

How big of a problem is it? Honestly? Well to date, several hundred Wii injury cases have been reported. Now how many of those injuries were do to misuse of the product is yet to be seen. However, so much bad press has come out surrounding Wii injuries that Nintendo is considering a recall on the controllers. A bigger, beefier, more stable strap will be introduced. With proper use, it should greatly cut down or even eliminate injuries. All I can say is thank God nobody lost their wee-wee yet! That would be the most horrific Wii injury of all! (That's my bad joke of the day. Forgive me.)

Check out the the above website for a slew of injury photos and stories relating to the Wii.

Honey Do List

It's the holidays and as usual, I'm more overwhelmed than enjoying that Christmas spirit. So today I take a moment for myself to write up my To-Do list, or as my Mom likes to call it the "Honey Do List". Honey, do this. Honey, do that. You know how that works. Of course that sappy honey pet-name did not make me want to do the chores any more willingly as a kid. But at least she asked nicely, right? Here is my "Honey Do List" written to myself as just another reminder of all the shit, I mean great joy, this time of year brings. I swear I'm not a Grinch. I will get into the Christmas spirit just as soon as I have a few of these nagging items crossed off my list. Other items I will do with a smile on my face and I may even breakout the Santa hat to wear.

• Task: send out Christmas cards
  Status: kinda, sorta but not really done
• Task: set up tree, wrestle outside lights, hang mistletoe
  Status: done, check
• Task: swear at insane shoppers and drivers
  Status: done, check and double check
• Task: make-out by the fireplace
  Status: done, very well
• Task: finish any last minute gift buying
  Status: it's only the 22nd, no man is done this early, so uncheck
• Task: watch "A Christmas Story" and "Christmas Vacation" for the 155th time
  Status: will do
• Task: donate a present to someone in need
  Staus: R/C model airplane already sent to 8-year-old Nathan
• Task: offer to drive Granny in for the holidays if weather turns bad
  Status: done, check...extra brownie points for me
• Task: bake/decorate Christmas cookies with 2-year-old niece
  Status: canceled due to her having a fever
• Task: make cabin reservations for New Year's eve
  Status: I'm getting to it
• Task: order tickets to the Nutcracker and surprise a certain someone
  Status: mission complete
• Task: turn ringer off my new Razr so work related calls can't bother me on my 5 days off
  Status: doing that now!
• Task: pick up sister at airport
  Status: OH SHIT!!!

The New Blogger Gets A "One Thumb Up" Rating

Blogger is officially out of beta this week, but the new version is only kinda sorta better, but not really bug-free. While I had no problem migrating my existing Blogger account to this new Blogger version, other users have reported some bugs. The only "bug" I notice thus far is that some people who have left a comment in the past on my blog are now appearing to be "anonymous" when they originally logged in with their account. Their username and profile pic are not showing up. An annoying glitch, but hopefully one that will be fixed shortly. I'm pretty sure it's nothing on my end. It's more than likely tied to a bug in the new Blogger version.

The upgrade includes integration with Google accounts, allowing users with existing accounts to log into the service. Also onboard is a new Layout feature, which utilizes Web 2.0 functionality for code-free updates to blog layouts. The new Labels tool allows users to tag and sort posts by keywords. Blogger has also added more template options to help people get started with their blog design. Dynamic Publishing allows users to see changes to their blog almost immediately after they're made, without the lengthy publishing process that marked previous versions. Private blog restrictions have also been added, allowing users to specify who can see their posts by entering the e-mail addresses of potential readers. New feed options are on board as well and the service now supports RSS 2.0 and Atom 1.0 standards.

If all of that tech jargon sounds like Charlie Brown's teacher talking to you (mmm waaa wa wa mmwa), then let me simplify - the upgrade is worth it. Especially for those that want to customize their blog, but aren't the most computer savvy person. If I had to rate this new Blogger version, I would give it one thumb up. Not worthy of two thumbs, but then it isn't all that shabby either.

I Can't Give You A Happy Period, But I Can Give You A Happy Heart

(Work in progress. I may save this post for a later date.)

The Calm After The Storm

Incoming IM, mid-day workday.

HER: what are you doing home today?
ME: working
ME: I had a few meetings I had to go to this morning, then thought I could get some of this other stuff done at home
HER: like make nice with me?
ME: ha
ME: you should make nice with me
HER: oh, I'LL make nice with you
ME: hmm
HER: I'll make really nice with you
ME: make nice with me a few times?
HER: definitely more than once
HER: make nice all night long
ME: Nice.
ME: or as Borat says...Nnnice

Have A Happy Period :)

Sometimes angry women scare me. Sometimes angry woman make me laugh. Sometimes angry woman scare me AND make me laugh. Such is the case with this girl, her rant will follow shortly. Needless to say, when a woman is on her period, look out! I fear anything that can bleed for nearly a week straight and still live! Can that even be human? Anyway, I'll admit it, I'm somewhat frightened of women around that time of the month. However, growing up with 3 women (Mom and 2 sisters), I learned how to deal with these types of things. I even have a tried and trued method on how to keep a "happy girlfriend" and survive her PMS rages. Although that is for another day, another post. For now, enjoy this piece below. Let me warn you that she has a potty mouth. Fowl language will ensue. She will spew the F bomb with a vengeance. If phrases like "motherfucker" offend you, then discontinue reading now. If you want to hear this woman roar, then read on. Unedited, uncensored and in it's entirety.

You can actually send a Happy Period e-card to a friend!
Are you kidding me? Most women would probably reply with
a nice big "Go Fuck Yourself Procter & Gamble".

Written by an Anonymous PMSer...

Ok so Always, the brand that makes pads, is on this whole "have a happy period" kick. Now they put it on their pads, ya know on the little piece of paper that covers the adhesive side, yup in some nice little feminine script it says "have a Happy Period." I see that shit and I'm like what the hell...it's bad enough that they actually say that crap in commercials like i'm really gonna stop and think and be like...wait...I never thought of that...all this time i've just decided to be bitchy, and bloated, and broken out, and crampy and in tears during my period, when all along i could've been having happy periods. On the beach in a bikini (maybe an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot one), or in a coffee shop with my girlfriends who also have their period, but you wouldn't know it cuz we're all just so fucking happy about it.

Forget the fact that I'm bleeding like a slaughtered pig, forget the fact that I now have to walk around wearing a fucking diaper hoping I don't bleed on everything, forget the fact that now I'm horny as fuck but can't get any and guys must know when a girl has her period and find us extra attractive cuz they always wanna try to touch your ass on those 5 fucking days a month that you've gotta wear this mini diaper and period panties, and when u ask them not to touch your ass they always gotta fucking ask why, CUZ I'M ON MY FUCKING PERIOD YOU MORON, forget the fact that I'm already bloated but craving french fries, potato chips, chocolate, cake...chocolate cake. Forget all that shit and have happy period. HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO HAVE A HAPPY PERIOD!!??

You can fucking suggest the shit, why don't you give some pointers. Maybe it involves a whole lot of valium, And you know normally I would think that some dimwitted dick came up with that slogan, but no I'm sure it was some high powered business woman in her navy blue skirt suit and stilletto pumps trying to show that she can make it in a mans world...I bet she doesn't have happy periods, i bet she takes fucking birth control year round so that she has no periods, so that instead of spending a week with premenstrual syndrome, a week on her period, another week with post menstrual syndrom and then another week dreding that in a week she's gonna be PMSing again she can have the time to come up with nifty slogans as if telling me to have a happy period is gonna make me buy your product more, like theres something extra special about your pad. Guess what bitch, you've got a product that people are gonna buy whether u advertise for it or not... it's like gasoline, or toothpaste, or condoms we're gonna buy it no matter what, we have to, we need it to survive . so FUCK YOU and fuck your happy period.

and for the record, I am NOT having a happy period.

(Side Note: If I'm not mistaken, it's 2006, almost 2007. Who still uses pads? I didn't know the pad was still competing since the invention of the tampon. I wasn't aware they sold pads, but then again I'm not really up on the feminine hygiene line of products. And just for the record, that girl...I think someone needs a hug. But I'm not touching her. She's super angry and scary sounding! Be afriad. Be very, very afraid.)

Mac Addicts Aren't Made, They're Born

Mac addicts are a peculiar bunch of people. Often they go to great lengths to further bond themselves with their machines. You've seen the Apple tattoos, but Apple birthmarks? The parents of this baby see the Apple logo on their son's back. What do you think?

Bueller, Bueller, Bueller, Anyone? Bueller...

Ok, so here's the deal. I know I haven't put up a new post in a week. I also know I have barely visited anyone else's blog in the last month or so...well, several months. I know I have been getting a little slow on replying to e-mails, answering IMs and even returning phone calls. Yes, shame on me. Which as I write this, it also reminds me to call my Mom back. Sorry, I swear I'll do it the very second I hit "publish" on this post. In short, I've been a bad blogger and a not so good correspondent. However, I have an excuse. Not a new excuse. It's actually an overused excused, but an excuse none the less. My excuse - I've been busy. I know it's not original and often not acceptable to say, but in life there are priorities and my priorities right now don't consist of blogging. I know, I know, please dry that tear that is streaming down your face. It will be ok, I promise. Despite the fact that I try to make time to write, I struggle to find inspiration in which to fuel my writing and therefore I continue to fall short. My forehead hits the desk.

It's a little bit of depression, a little bit of frustration. A little bit of anxiety, a little bit of stress. And a whole lot of overwhelming. My priorities lately consist of juggling my business, working on completing my masters, selling my house and of course trying not to be so indecisive in my selection with this new place I shall soon call home. On top of all of that, throw in the holidays. Then try to squeeze in dating, friends, family and a little "me time"...which there seems to be less and less of. It can be enough to make anyone feel overwhelmed and rightfully so. Now for the good news...

An entire makeover of my blog is currently in the works and nearing completion. A custom layout that is long overdue. I'll also be renaming my blog (once again) and doing some reorganizing of the archive and other aspects on the main page. It's on track to be implemented before January 1st. So stick around. I'll make it worth the wait. I think. I hope. I'll at least try my best. I shall do my utmost.

The City Bakery, In Search Of The BIG Brownie

If you know me, you know how much I love the show "Sex And The City"...and no I'm not gay. I always have to declare my heterosexuality anytime I declare my love for that show. Why? Well because how many straight men do you know that could give you the ins and outs of Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and of course Samantha's lives? Seriously, if Trivia Pursuit made a SATC edition, I would clean house! Some will find that fact pathetic. Others will find it adorable. I'm just going to own it because it is what it is and that is me - pathetic and adorable. If you are a true loyal SATC fan (yeah, real fans abbreviate and speak in code), then you remember The BIG Brownie episode. You know the one where Carrie runs into Adien's new girlfriend Nina Kats, the girl who works for SNL. Nina gives Carrie "the face". Carrie is devastated by "the face" and is reading into the multiple possible meanings behind "the face". Good girl pal Samantha reassures Carrie the best way she knows how, by buying her chocolate, it's consoling. But not just any chocolate. She takes Carrie out to lunch at The City Bakery and talks her into getting The BIG Brownie. Nothing puts a little happy on a girl's face like chocolate and nothing will wipe the image of the Nina Katz face away like chocolate. In the form of what else, The BIG Brownie. That Samantha...slutty AND smart!

Walking thru Manhattan you will find there is no shortage of great places to eat. From fine to casual dining and anything and everything in-between. As I'm walking down the street the other day, one place comes to mind. One food comes to mind. One Nina Katz face burned into my brain. I know what I need to do. I need to go in search of The BIG Brownie. I must stop in to eat at NY's infamous City Bakery. You'll find this little cafe between Fifth and Sixth Aves. 3 W 18th St to be exact. Among the street construction scaffolding, you'll see the big white banner screaming the name "The City Bakery" and quietly whispering my name. It calls out to me..."Psst, David, over here. Come get a brownie. Carrie likes it, so will you." I succumb to the pressure, turn the corner and find myself where Miss Bradshaw once stood. Although it didn't look like The City Bakery featured in the show, I believe it has been renovated since the taping. Still, it's the home of The BIG Brownie!

Sadly, there were no BIG Brownies to be had that day. Instead they had an assortment of other sinfully good sweet treats just waiting to be devoured by sugar hungry New Yorkers. Despite the fact that their Oatmeal Raisin Cookie was highly raved about and recommended to me, I opted to go for a Chocolate Chip Cookie. It's not your standard chocolate chip cookie. This one you could almost hear yourself getting fatter as you ate it! I think I paid $3.50 for that single cookie, but it was money well spent. You could taste the layers of butter and sugar, which would later lay in my stomach aching. The gooey chunks of chocolate in every bite, mmm. I think I tasted a little love baked right into it as well. When I finished eating, it was Nina who? Yeah chocolate will do that to a girl...and apparently a guy too.

The City Bakery may not be the best place to eat in NY, but it has it's pluses. If it's good enough for my SATC girls, then it's good enough for me. Besides, how can a girl (or guy) go wrong with one of the best selection of baked goods? I think NY Magazine summed it up nicely...

"In a city of insipid (if not downright dangerous) salad bars, City Bakery's is a thing apart: gorgeously eclectic, culinary inspired, effortlessly seasonal. When Mother Nature gives us juicy heirloom tomatoes, savory chef Ilene Rosen gives us delicious tomato sandwiches. She also gives us caramelized French toast and a mildly spiced Mexican tortilla soup, among too many other delectable things to mention. And once you've had your tofu-skin-and-edamame salad, you can reward yourself with a cup of Maury Rubin's signature chocolate, hot or cold. Like its pretzel croissant, the City Bakery is a true original."

Excuse #1365

Thanksgiving thru my eyes. Let me break it down for you...

Food = Good.
Lots of Food = Very Good.
Mom's Home Cooking = Very, Very Good.
Leftovers awarded to this cooking-challenged bachelor = Priceless.
Me not cooking = Something EVERYONE can be thankful for.

Hope your holiday was equally swell.

I had a similar drawing that said "Eat Me" on it,
but felt it probably wasn't the most appropriate art piece
to decorate one's cube with.

I'm too full to blog. So there will be no new posts until I digest some of this turkey and/or sweat out the gravy.

Side Note: (Are there still starving people in Africa? If so, someone send a turkey leg. I'm too selfish to share my bird remains. Sorry.)

If I Did It, This Is How I Would Of Done It, But I Didn't Do It

If there was a "Sick F*ck Of The Year Award", OJ Simpson would win it hands down, with black leather gloves on. Finally, sanity reigns. Decency gets CPR. Integrity staggers to its feet. And the power of the people is reasserted. Today, News Corp announced it would cancel its television interview and book with OJ Simpson. "If I Did It" was replaced with "It Isn't Worth It."

That only happened, of course, after an insurrection took place. A popular uprising in which angry citizens not only voiced their displeasure, but flexed their economic muscles. Viewers reportedly were organizing boycotts of the sponsors of the scheduled television interview, in which Simpson would discuss how he WOULD HAVE committed the murders of his ex-wife Nicole and her friend Ron Goldman IF he had done it. Granted, just about everyone involved believes he did it, so this was simply going to be an interview with someone who got away with murder and was gloating about it for profit. It was about as disgusting a spectacle as had ever been prepared for the public airwaves.

The TV interview was all set for November sweeps. After all, if you're going to try and capitalize on the brutal murders of two innocent people, what better time to do it than sweeps? Here's an idea for sweeps week...how about I field dress OJ and make a nice butterfly filet out of him? People would want to see that, right? It's just good wholesome family entertainment around the old boob-tube. Remember, a family that eats together, stays together. Anyone for steak? Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to actually filet him. But this is how I would do it, but I'm not going to do it. Yeah, we live in a sick world.

If You Want PS3, Then You Better Be Packin' Heat!

Be afraid of a nerd, be very afraid! Unlike normal people, you know the "cool kids", nerds don't fight if their girlfriend is in danger. Nerds don't fight for their girlfriend because nerds don't have girlfriends. Nerds don't date. Nerds are busy at home masterbaiting to Lara Craft. Nerds are camping out at their local Best Buy for 3 days straight to get their boney hands on the highly anticipated new PlayStation 3 gaming consol. By nature, nerds aren't fighters. The majority of nerds aren't hostile creatures. When shoved into a gym locker, they have the tendency not to come out swinging. They will stand there with a sweaty jockstrap on their face in silence. However, say the magic word...PS3...and the maylay begins! Nerd on nerd violence breaks out. Robberies. Shootings. Stabbings. Beatings. You name it. It's all done in the name of the PS3.

In Hartford, Connecticut two armed thugs tried to rob a line of people waiting for a new PS3 to go on sale early this morning - one man was shot when he refused to give up his money. In Sullivan, Indiana a man is in critical condition after being stabbed when he and a friend tried to rob gamers of consoles they waited 36 hours in line to buy. In Fresno, California gamers were arrested after a riot ensued when Wal-Mart opened their doors to PS3 customers. The huge crowd of people trying to rush into the store led to many being trampled in a parking lot. If you actually made it into a store and bought a PS3, you would hear stories like this...

A shopper was surrounded by 5 men and beaten for his new PS3 just minutes after he bought it. And if you made it to your car with your new PS3 in hand, teens would approach you carrying chains and tire irons, demanding your console as you were unloading the box in your trunk. Other incidents around the nation included people getting stabbed over the PS3, store employees being held hostage at gunpoint and drive-by shootings.

Nationwide, short supplies of the PS3 and strong demand led to long lines of buyers, some waiting for days outside stores. Only 100,000 units were available in Japan when the PS3 went on sale there about a week ago. In the States, just 400,000 units. Once the doors opened Friday, they pushed and shoved their way to the shelves to get at the limited supply. The new PS3 is such a hot item that many people bought one just to turn around and make a profit from it, selling it on eBay. The retail price of a PS3 is $600 and the going price for one on eBay is, get this...$9,000! Yes, the price of a Kia car.

If you didn't get a PS3, then congratulations because you are probably free of bodily harm this weekend. Sony says they will have another shipment out before Christmas. This Monday, Nintendo will release their new gaming console, the Wii. It's expected to retail for $250 and hopefully people won't be getting killed over it. Just to be safe, I suggest you strap on your 50 Cent bulletproof vest and slip your glock in your sock. Nerds - go hard or go home.

An Unhappy Home

Home isn't where my heart is. I hate being home. Not in my parent's house where I grew up, but in my house. My parent's house is what will always be known as "home" to me. No matter how far I go or how long passes before I visit, that is home to me, where I'm always welcomed. The house I bought a few years back as the "fixer-upper", that is my second home. It's where I reside as I write this. The house where I remodeled the kitchen, starting with the ceiling. The house where I remodeled the foyer, starting on my knees. Stripping hardwood floors and making them new again. Sanding, sealing, waxing and buffing. I was bringing the once vacant house back to life. The long days turned into nights and the muscles in my arms and shoulders eventually caved. Although I was growing weary and sore, I refused to cave. My reward - I could see my reflection beginning to appear between the knots in the wood. The knot in the wood led to a lump in my throat. I let out a heavy, happy, heartfelt sigh. Running my hand over each imperfection felt nothing short of exquisite to me. Gazing into that lustrous mirror-like shine was my first taste of the fruits of my labor. A sweet reward. The floors may of been finished, but I was not. Progression. I was truly seeing it. In my house. In my life. The days would turn into weeks and the weeks into months. An entire season had come and gone.

I was taught to measure twice and cut once. But at age 23, this first time home owner learned the hard way, thru trial and error. From one room to the next, I would tear down and build up. Even when I painted, each passing wall brought me a sense of accomplishment and a fresh outlook on my new budding life. It's remarkable what a coat of the right color paint will do for your attitude. It was hard work, but I wasn't going to stop. It had become my mission to own the perfect house. Correction, the perfect home. Warm and inviting. Modern and unique. It had it's own special charm and the hardwood floors would not only show the reflection of those that would walked upon them, but also show the reflection of the man who labored to create them. It would be the house that David built. Well maybe not "built", but redefined. It was a reflection of me. Who I was and where I wanted to be. If home is where the heart is, then my heart was radiating beyond every wall.

A mixture of paint, saw dust and sweat permutated the room when she entered. I had been working for nearly 12 hours that rainy Saturday when she stopped by. Lacquer on my hands, drywall bits scattered on my t-shirt, I didn't look my best. I hadn't shaved and was in need of a shower. It was second nature for me to great her at the door with a hug and kiss. But I was stinky and dirty. She was "prettied up", as always. She didn't have to try. She just was. Pretty. Naturally, by nature. It was one of the many things I loved about her. Before I could explain why I didn't want to give her a proper greeting, as if my pigpen appearance wasn't obvious, she dismissed the grit and grime by wrapping her arms tightly around me with an enthusiastic..."This looks amazing! I love you for doing all of this." She was pleased. And I was happy.

"My boots aren't going to nick or scuff the new floor, are they?" she nervously asked.

"No, you're fine. These floors are made for walking. (a dumb joke, the song - These Boots Are Made For Walking) Here, check this out..."

I went to the far end of room, kicked off my shoes and slid in my socks across the freshly polished floor. To her, my simple often child-like heart was one of my most endearing qualities. Although at 23, I knew what I wanted and I was achieving it. My goals were not just marks to shoot for, marks scribbled on some random piece of paper. My goals were plans set forth into action. I was living my dream and inviting her along for the journey. I had become a grown-up, but yet this little kid would pop out of me to play. To slide across the floor in his socks. Like a modern day "Risky Business" movie reenactment. After the 3rd time whooshing past her, she grabbed the front of my t-shirt. A firm handful. She held onto it tightly and pulled me in. "I love you." She said it serious. Like I didn't know. Like I was hearing it for the first time. She emphasized the "you". She wanted me to know that who I am is enough. Over the course of dating her, I had struggled in my head trying to figure out how I could maintain the lifestyle she was accustom to living. I wasn't able to give her all the fancy things she grewup on. She wanted to reinforce the fact that even though she loved the house, it was me she loved most. Just then my dog ran into the room, wiping out on the floor, of course. She quickly scooped up my little buddy and cuddled the furball. Her compassion, that was one of her most endearing qualities.

Today I could provide those fancy things, but it doesn't matter. It's just material possessions. I've learned real value can not be measured in dollars and cents. Real value you have a hard time replacing. Real value is sometimes invaluable and can't be replaced. My dog has since passed. My almost fiancée has since left. They are irreplaceable, but I keep trying. I miss the sound of 4 pattering paws and the click clock of her heals on my hardwood floors. I come home to a quiet house. Not even the hardwood floors squeak. The silence is deafening. It fucking sucks. I'm not bitter. Just awfully sad. I'm starting to despise these floors. I hate being home. And hate is a strong word. I hate being home.

(In case you were wondering, the hardwood floors will soon be for sale...they are going along with the house.)

I'm Writing, But Having Trouble Finishing Anyth

...blog to be continued.

Steeping Up On The Soapbox

Posting about Election Day a day late is like talking about what you are planning to do Saturday night on a Sunday afternoon. It would make you a day late and a dollar short...whatever that's suppose to mean. I just reused the phrase, I didn't write it. Actually I know what it means - it's too little too late. Of course if you are only carrying around a buck in your wallet on a Saturday night, then you have far bigger problems that I can help you tackle at the moment. Anyway, before I get caught up rambling, let me try and make a point here. They say every vote counts and even though the ballots continue to trickle in, I can give you the current standings. The results? A whopping 18 of you think I'm the shiznit! Or rather voted "What isn't to love? I love him!" So for that, I thank you. I feel the love. As I type this, I'm virtually shaking your hand and kissing your baby.

The "I Voted" sticker is free to all voters.
However, I'm sorry to say that reverse jazz hands
are not included with absentee ballots.

I know it's not politically correct to ask someone who they voted for. However, I'm going to offer this info out. Yesterday, I voted for Pedro. My Grandma's best friend Bess (God rest her soul) shouldn't of been allowed to vote. Don't get me wrong, I'm not racist towards old ladies with canes. Nor do I discriminate against anyone who can pull off the Easy Spirits orthopedic shoe look and can eat for half price with a senior discount, because frankly, I'm jealous of that. I say this based on the fact that in the 90s, she casted a vote for Clinton because she thought he was "good looking" and no other reason. I don't know, perhaps I'm a little hard on politicians, but I think they should possess other things besides good looks. Clinton = good looking? Seriously Bess, I know your glasses were thick, but good lord woman.

I also feel those who have no clue who is even running, should not be allowed to vote. If you don't know what a canadate stands for, then how can you stand behind him/her with your vote? Think about it. It's like the blind leading the blind and even a blind, deaf and dumb man can tell you that's no way to run a country. Of course if you want to cast a vote for a canadate because his puffy nose and pasty cheeks turn you on, then who am I to stand in the way of an old woman who carries a big stick?

The point is (and yes believe it or not I have one) that you shouldn't vote just for the sake of voting. Don't do it for the free "I Voted" sticker. Although highly coveted, trying to re-stick your badge of honor after removing it from your fall fleece pullover isn't suggested. Just trust me on that. You are far better off just slapping that puppy on your forehead. And what is with the "I Voted" sticker? Do you want a cookie? Big deal, you voted, so did a billion other people. In the words of Napoleon - "gosh!"

I'm just happy I won't have to see anymore smear campaign ads on TV. No more phone calls from Rudolph Giuliani, Hillary Clinton and Rick Santorum just to name a few. And most importantly, no more obscene text and e-mail messages from Mark Foley! Now if I would of saved my "I Voted" sticker, I would stick it over Foley's mouth so he stops licking his lips at me. Politics are dirty and now I must conclude my soapbox speech because I have that not so fresh feeling.

Voidance

I'm an avoider. I avoid. It's what I do. I avoid what I can't stomach. What I can't face. Who I don't want to stand face to face with. Somehow the vacancy and emptiness fills me up...or so I try to convince myself that it makes me whole and not weird. I'm not a coward, but I don't care for confrontation. I don't look to fight, but I'll stand to fight if need be. Conflict is not a friend of mine, but it's a part of life that I'm aware I must deal with. I deal with emotional voidance when it comes to my family. If I ignore it, it will go away, eventually. It's that mentality. If I pretend it doesn't exist, it will cease to exist. If I will it not to be, my will will be stronger than it's being. The ugly will disappear if I close my eyes and count to 10. In the dark it will die and in the light, I shall escape.

It's a terrible trait. Perhaps it's the worst part of me. I know I'm made-up of many pieces, but this is one piece of me I loathe. It's my demeanor. It's cold and bare. I'm not welcoming. It's much like the black suit. This is not me. I'm not that guy. But to my Mother, she fails to see anything but this right now. And it's not her fault, it's mine. I won't allow her to see more of me. And for that, I blame myself. Things of me I openly could share with a girlfriend or even a perfect stranger, but with my Mom, I clam up. Why is that? My emotions go into lockdown. I brush it all off. I'm brave and unscathed from anything thrown at me. Or so my hard outer shell likes to proclaim. It's strong and resilient to pain. It's that mask. The protective shield. And I wear it well.

I'm usually cuddly and warm. Open and honest. In touch with my softer side and willing to share. Open to listening. Desiring the closeness and the connection. I'm the guy who goes in for the hug. Not the guy who's spine stiffened and who's body became ridged when she laid her hand on my shoulder. I feel awkward and uncomfortable. Disconnected and distant. Even nauseas and angry. The space is becoming greater and I fear one day I'll be in that dark room where I'll count to 10, wishing things will fade away, and that my wish will actually come true. I'll be alone and it will be too late. This is what I'll be granted. I need to open my eyes now.

RunForRuby.wordpress.com

On November 19th, Jessica from SassySuspect.com will running the Philadelphia Marathon. Completing a full 26.2 mile marathon is a goal in itself, but it's not just about crossing the finish line. The goal here is raising money for a little girl nicknamed "Ruby" (Jessica's niece) thru the MAGIC Foundation. Ruby was born with a chronic, life-threatening disorder called panhypopituitarism. If you've never heard of panhypopituitarism, then you aren't alone. Since panhypopituitarism is rare, it is often a struggle to find information about it...and especially to find adequate, informed medical care. That is where the MAGIC Foundation steps in. The MAGIC Foundation has had a dramatic and life-saving impact on Ruby's life. Now, Jessica is asking for your help to continue the ongoing support and care for Ruby and other kids like her from the MAGIC Foundation. To learn more about Ruby, the RunForRuby, panhypopituitarism and of course the MAGIC Foundation, check out www.runforruby.wordpress.com And while you're there, be a love and donate to the cause. If I still haven't convinced you, then take this into consideration...

If a heart warming tale doesn't move you emotionally, then perhaps I can move you visually. Yes, Jess is easy on the eyes. So you can donate a lil cash to help a good cause and in the process watch a cute girl run a marathon! It's a win-win situation all the way around. So you can't lose and neither will Ruby, even if Jess doesn't win the marathon.

Best of luck to you in Philly Jess. May your kind heart fuel your ruby red slippers/running shoes and carry you thru the 26.2 miles. You're a better man than me. I say that because I've never run a marathon and I should be running with you or at least running in this weeks NYC marathon. One of these days I'll do it. Like I told my sister when she ran the LA marathon...just remember, pain is only temporary and there's nothing you can't overcome.

Miss Me...Or Pretend You Do To Make Me Feel Good

It's time for a little pre-birthday party and post-congratulatory celebration. With the recent resigning of one of my biggest work contracts with the government, a proper celebration is called for, and one that is nearly 2 weeks overdue. If they want to give me a ridiculous amount of money for just a few months work, who am I to argue that they may be overpaying me? Instead I will drink to it! Yes, I'm worth every single penny, or at least I am going to keep letting them believe that. I'm feeling more confidant this time around. It was just a year ago that I was wringing my hands worrying that I wasn't living up to their expectations. That the pressure I was under had me on the verge of cracking. Now, I look back and wonder why I was so unsure of myself. Sometimes I think I invent insecurities in my head, when there is no reason for one to exist, I imagine one and bring it to life. Perhaps I'm not alone in that. Maybe that is how everyone's insecurities are born?

In case you were wondering, that isn't my baby picture.
I was waaay cuter! I know, hard to image, but true.
My Mom will confirm that as fact.
Basically, when your Mom said YOU were the cutest baby ever...
she was lying. Just thought you should know.

And in just a few days I will be turning another year older. I guess it's not too bad, if I was hitting my 30s, then that would be bad. Isn't there some law that states once you hit the big 3-0 that you have to act all grown-up and shit? However, I don't have to worry about that. I can keep using phrases like "I know you are but what am I." I'm still enjoying the 20something life and will continue to do so.

One thing that I won't continue doing is blogging. Well at least for a week. I'm going to be traveling out of state and away from cyberspace as well. So that means no new posts until November. I just wanted to let my one loyal reader be aware of that. I think SiteMeter pads my stats to make me feel good. It says I get 70-80 visitors a day, although I feel more like I have an audience of one - me, myself and I. Oops, there I go again...inventing an insecurity. Note to self, stop doing that. Also stop biting your lower lip when you are deep in concentration. It's beginning to hurt and one day when you are old and 30, your face will freeze like that!

"C" Is For Chat Room, Crazy & Oh Crap (because Oh Shit doesn't start with C)

On the web, nobody can hear you scream, but they will surely hear you if you arrive at their house with pickaxe handle! After a heated exchange in a chat room, one internet user has been found guilty of what London police are calling the first ever "web-rage" attack. 47-year-old Paul Gibbons hunted down John Jones (age unknown) using details obtained online after the pair exchanged insults and threats in a Yahoo chat room called "Islam 10". Their exchanges soured after Gibbons accused Jones of spreading rumors about him. It was then that Gibbons snapped and traveled 70 miles to the man's home where the plan was to beat him up with a pickaxe handle.

Gibbons arrived at Jones' home armed and accompanied by another man carrying a machete! Mr. Jones, whose partner and 3 children were in the house, opened the door holding a knife for protection. A fight broke out during which Jones was disarmed and beaten with the pickaxe handle and cut with the knife. Gibbons fled after the victim's partner called for help. Gibbons, who has a violent past, admitted to unlawful wounding and will be sentenced on November 7th.

Where are the sane people in this world? Seriously.

Related Post of Interest

• 01/16/06 Be Annoying Online And You'll Be Arrested Offline

I'm No Modern Day Shakespeare

I'm not a poet. I don't pretend to be. I don't even try to be. I just say what I'm thinking. Today, I said this. It doesn't rhyme, but it has reason.

"...and never say never, today is a good day to begin "never" and it just may end with happily ever after."

You just never know.

The Real Beauty Campaign

They tell women not to read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly. Feeling beautiful has nothing to do with how you look externally. It has everything to do with how you feel internally. Unfortunately, we let the outside determine how we feel on the inside. It may not be right, but it's normal. And I don't just mean that we let our appearance affect how we feel about ourselves. I mean that we often let society determine how we feel about ourselves. Society tells us what is considered beautiful and what is not. Perhaps we should blame the fashion magazines with their airbrushed supermodels. To them, beauty is what is displayed on the cover of Vogue. They don't buy into the phrase "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" or that "beauty is only skin deep and that real, true beauty lies underneath the skin". Although they do buy into the mindset that even the smallest flaw can be perfected with a little magic. So don't always believe what you see in the mirror - that you aren't that beautiful. And don't always believe what you see in the pages of Vogue magazine - that they are that perfect. Here's proof...

Too many girls develop low self-esteem from hang-ups about looks, and consequently, fail to reach their full potential in later life. So, Dove created the "Self-Esteem Fund" as an agent of change to educate and inspire girls on a wider definition of beauty. On their website, they encourage you to share your self-esteem building story to inspire others with your success. The direction of the Fund is guided by a group of people who are passionate about raising women's body-related self-esteem by offering kind and insightful support. The Fund currently supports self-esteem related programs in countries around the globe.

Personally, I think it's a good thing. I meet countless women who do not see themselves the way they should. Some are really pretty, but yet they fail to see what I see. I think the world of modeling is partially to blame for this. Believe it or not, even some supermodels aren't exempt from having a poor body image. Take a girl off the street and girl out of a modeling agency and you would be surprised how similar they are in terms of what they dislike about their body. When you look at a behind the scenes model shoot like this, it's no wonder our perception of beauty is distorted. Part of the key to feeling beautiful is having a positive attitude. I think there is something to be said about that. I believe that is what Dove is trying to achieve with their "Self-Esteem Fun". A negative vibe radiates off a person, making them "ugly". Whereas a positive outlook, it has a special glow to it - warmth, friendliness, fun. Who wouldn't want to be around a beautiful woman like that? Remember, confidence is S-E-X-Y!

Side Note: To the "I need to lose 2 lbs first" girl...you are not as fat as you imagine. A size 4 isn't even fat in the world of professional modeling.

Dum Dum

She speaks of thoracotomy, endotracheal tubes, EKGs and stories of resuscitation. Medical jargon. They are common words in her world. In mine, it's like a foreign language. If it wasn't for Grey's Anatomy and Hollywood scripted movies, I would be lost when our worlds collide, when she tells me about her day. I consider myself a fairly intelligent guy, but sometimes I feel like a dum dum in her presence. I'm listening when she talks. I am interested and trying to learn, but I can't help it if from time to time my eyes glaze over. My head gets a little clouded and I feel like saying "whoa, dude". Of course I don't say that, but that's how I opt to articulate myself when I feel like a big dummy.

She's not showoffy (I just invented that word). She doesn't throw these terms at me trying to impress me with her brains or to test my brain. She's simply sharing her world with me and that's a good thing. I just wish sometimes that her world didn't make my head spin. I get lost among the rubber gloves and needles. It all becomes a blur. Still, I follow along. I ask questions. I nod. I smile politely. She has to know this is going over my head. She's no dummy. She surely sees that. It's then that she changes the subject..."Hey, you didn't tell me. How did your (long pause) thing go on Friday?" Hmm, it seems she gets a little lost in my world too. When she's out of her element, she replaces the unfamiliar jargon with the word "thing". Tech jargon isn't her thing.

It's become apparent. We speak 2 different languages. It's a lesson in linguistics. It's also a lesson in simple communication as she tells me she brought me a little surprise. Like a child, I am eager to see what awaits me in the pocket of her scrubs. It's a lollipop. "I remembered you had a sore throat and I wanted to cure you. I stole it from the hospital, but I figure they owe me after pulling a double shift." She's sweet...and a candy criminal. It's cherry - my favorite! It's also the exact same kind I use to get from my doctor when I was a kid. She knows me well. I glance at the wrapper. The brand, "Dum Dum Pops". Fitting.

True Or False

It's easier to be mad than sad?

The Circle Of Trust

It's commonly referred to as "The Circle Of Trust". That imaginary ring that binds those who have developed an open and honest relationship with you, to you. It's built over time until it reaches a level that permits you to feel comfortable enough to just say what you need to say and know that in saying it, that the words don't leave the room. A connection deep enough that allows you to freely share your inner most thoughts, feelings and secrets. Not all friendships can deliver this "Circle Of Trust", but shouldn't all families have this? Shouldn't there be there some unspoken law that states that you can confide with those that share your own flesh and blood? And in doing so, you can openly wear your heart of your sleeve in their presence, but to the outside world, you can choose to remain somewhat a mystery. Someone you can't always define, but yet others are given the opportunity to peer in from time to time. The amount of openness I share is based purely on the level of emotional safety I feel with a person.

I think in a good close family this unspoken law exists. I've always believed I belong to such a family. A good close family is something I take pride in and a good close family is something I look for in those I date. I feel that a girl who has a good relationship with her family, and in particular with her Father, has more often than not been given a solid foundation in which to build her male relationships with later in life. The same can be said about a Mother and a son. The old cliché "how a guy treats his mother is the same way he will treat you." I feel that is fairly accurate. If a girl has many "Daddy issues", chances are she will have many issues with you. And a guy that speaks poorly of his own Mother, is a guy that has little to no respect for women in general. You don't need to be a psychologist to figure this out, but you do need to have common sense. Building a solid foundation in which to grow from in life is important. And developing a level of trust in any relationship is crucial.

My one sister refers to me as "The Vault". Whatever she tells me, stays with me. And really, isn't that how it should be? I'm a vault when it comes to keeping a secret, but I'm not a vault when it comes to being secretive. My personality does contain an element of secrecy to it, but it's not as much about secrecy as it is about protecting my privacy. Discretion is a good thing. It's one of the many Scorpio traits that fit me. It also meshes well based on what I do for a living. It's a perfect match actually. However, when it comes to my personal relationships, I desire the complete opposite. I want to feel that level of emotional safety and experience the intimacy of complete openness on every level. There isn't a single aspect of me that I do not wish the right person to discover. I've never had a problem showing my emotions or expressing how I feel and if someone were to dispute that statement, then they simply do not know me at all. They have not reached a level of intimacy with me that allows me to be that "open book" that I can be...and often craving to be.

Like in the movies "Meet The Parents" and the squeal "Meet The Fockers", once a person is cast from the "Circle Of Trust", is there any way back in? A circle is an unbroken ring. It has no revolving door. There is no escape window that allows you to come and go from the circle as need be. You simply can't pass in and out of a circle. A circle can not easily be broken, but trust...trust can be. And what happens when trust has been broken within a family? What if the sever takes places between a Mother and son? If I wasn't close with my Mom, this probably wouldn't be that big of a deal for me. But I am close with my Mom, therefore it is a big deal to me. So much so that now I feel if I can't trust my own Mother with things, than who can I trust? I don't want to be that guy that has trust issues. I've been him before and I've worked very hard to move past that hurdle. I think I've come a long way and now out of nowhere, a new hurdle has popped up. I'm sure I'll climb over it too, but it would be nice if I shared that level of trust with someone to talk about it.

See the pattern? When trust is broken, it's trust that is the key ingredient needed in order to overcome a problem. But how do you do that? How do you confide in someone and tell them what's going on when the very problem you have is not being able to confide in someone? Round and round the circle goes.

The Adventures Of Super Happy Fun Guy

Beyond this wall there is a volcano just waiting to erupt. She's angry. Too angry for me. An angry I don't really understand. Angry that is caused by sources unknown to me. An angry that I dare not speak of. An angry that makes her co-workers avoid her. An angry I don't want to touch, but yet it's probably what she needs the most. At work, I'm usually emersed in what I am doing. I get into a zone. I'm focused and not easily distracted. Although today, somehow I felt "the angry". Literally. My cubicle wall could no longer absorb the anger. I could feel her erupting. She was typing/pounding on her keyboard so hard that it was actually causing my desk on the other side to shake with fear! The vibrations distracted me. It made me wonder, why so angry? It made me ask..."do you need a hug?"

I peered over the wall and asked the question. I offered some softness to replace her hard outer shell. She was startled. Super Happy Fun Guy meets Super Angry Chick. Normally people don't talk to her. They fear her. They are afraid of her anger. Perhaps she is misunderstood. Perhaps she just needs something warm in her life. Like a hug. So I asked. So I offered. It was a joke. I was seriously joking. She may of just wanted me to be serious? Next time I feel her erupting, I won't ask if she needs a hug. I will just do it. Like a joke. But nobody will be laughing.

"Why are you so happy?" She asks in a tone that is somewhat sarcastic, somewhat curious. "Because it's Friday", I reply. It's as simple as that. That's it. And that's all. Because it's Friday.

When the big things in life get you down, sometimes you need to let the little things put that smile on your face. A Friday helps. And a hug...a hug never hurts.

Amish Thug Life - Beyond Crazy!

What is the world coming to when people are shooting up the Amish? Are you kidding me - the Amish? Who hates the Amish? What did the Amish ever do to anyone? Ok, maybe they screwed the power company out of a few sales. But seriously, the Amish? They are harmless! How can you justify killing a bunch of Amish schoolgirls? Man, we live in a sick world! As morbid as it may sound and as morbid as it really is, I don't mean to make light of what happened the other day in Quarryville, PA. However, I have a few questions on my mind...

Since the Amish don't like being photographed, they feel it shows vanity and pride, I'm going to respect that. Although if I may make a small suggestion, the new Amish attire should include this shirt. It's still black, which is their color of choice, and it gives crazies fair warning. So as you see, it may be quite beneficial to Amish lifestyle these days...unless they are going to start packin' heat? Or this could be used in conjunction with your nine?

Who here is offended by bowl haircuts? A show of hands please. I'm raising mine. Not to be a hater, but having your hair styled in the form of my morning cereal bowl just isn't sexy. Perhaps there was a day in time, way back when, that it was viewed as "sexy". Although today, not even Justin Timberlake could bring sexy back in the form of a bowl haircut. That style should only be worn by the little boy who graces the outside label on a Dutch Boy paint can. Other than him, sorry but the bowl gotta go. Still, with that said...as much as I dislike the Dutch boy cut, I wouldn't go postal on an Amish schoolhouse!

So what is it that posses someone to unload all their hate and anger on the Amish? Do you not like churned butter? Is that what's bothering you so? I don't know if I've ever had churned butter myself, but I'm sure it can't be horrific tasting. I assume it's similar if not tastier than "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" spray? These are just my thoughts. And what about the home sewn outfits, clunky soled shoes, brimmed hats and free flowing beards...are those things rubbing people the wrong way too? I mean you won't see that look being shown during NY Fashion Week, but does it offend people so much that they need to be shot over it?

Hey, the Amish may be a little different (alright, ALOT different), but there are many good things to be said about the Amish. One being that you never saw a single Amish person featured on Dateline's "To Catch A Predator." Right? You don't see it because they aren't online. No cell phones. No computer. No PPV porn? Wow, life as an Amish man must suck! You won't see them cybersexing little boys while they are in congress...ahem, Mark Foley. Which reminds me, Mr. Foley, please stop asking me what color panties I'm wearing. They're pink ok. Happy now? You sick son of a...

The Booty Call Surprise

I'm not sure of the origin on "The Booty Call", but if I were to take a guess, it started in the 90s. And according to Wikipedia, the be all/end all accurate information resource via the Internet (obviously that is sarcasm), I would be correct in my guesstimate. Let me break it down for you, Wiki-Wiki-Wikipedia-style, for those of you not in the know. (FYI, I moonlight as a wiki-wiki-wack record scratchier. That was a taste of my flava. I know you're impressed.)

A booty call is a telephone call or visitation made with the sole intent of engaging in sex with the person being contacted. In most instances, a booty call is made when the prospect of a traditional romantic date is highly unlikely (example: late in the evening, after midnight or in the pre-dawn hours), thus making it obvious that the intent of the call is for the sole purpose of obtaining and engaging in sexual intercourse. It has been adapted into mainstream American society and is used to request sexual favors by calling an acquaintance that may or may not be romantically linked to the caller. Although traditionally the telephone is used for a booty call, the last ten years have seen the rise of IM, chat, e-mail, and text message booty calling.

It's Friday night and I'm out having a good time. My cell phone beeps. Incoming text message. I open it up and read "where r u?" I reply with "why". She responds back asking "wanna come over?" Despite the fact that I'm a little buzzed, I understand what she's asking, very clearly. It's after midnight and she wants me to come over. Taking into consideration I've never dated her nor slept with her, she has made her crush on me no secret for the last month or two. I'm also well aware of her feelings on the whole "fuck buddy" scenario and she's told me that she doesn't want me to play that role, but instead be open to perhaps playing a more significant role. One which would require the actual courtship...you know, that thing called dating that alot of people seem to skip right over these days. In very crass terms, they would call this booty without the bill.

So I'm either very sweet or very stupid for turning this booty call down. Knowing what I know about her, her feelings on the whole one-night stand situation, I couldn't justify the act. I'm sure it would have been fun, but I think she would have awoke the next morning with mixed emotions. I feel it wasn't really about the sex. I'm not sure that's exactly what she really wanted. I feel that she wanted someone there. Someone just to be.

Last night, she contacts me again in a similar fashion. This time she claims "something is up my chimney". She thinks it's a bat! She seems to be hinting around for me to come over and take care of it. Take care of the bat...or take care of her? Was this just a cheap ploy at disguising yet another booty call request? Half of me thinks it was, but the other half of me feels it was just another request for me to "just be".

Perhaps I missed my window of opportunity for a no strings attached lay. Maybe it flew out the window with the bat, which by the way, turned out to actually be just a mouse. Sometimes sexual connotations and innuendoes are not about sex at all. They are masked words asking someone to come over...just to be.

Kids, Try This At Home

Question...if you purchase a Dell laptop and it arrives wrapped in a plastic cover, are you that stupid that you need a reminder in the form of a chocking symbol to tell you that you could suffocate if you place the plastic bag ontop of your head and suck in heavily? If you are that dumb to huff a plastic bag, are you really capable of operating the laptop it arrived in? Seriously.

And if we have to put this frightening/funny symbol on a plastic bag, why don't we have a cartoon drawing of a man slicing his wrists with cardboard? After all, the laptop is shipped in a big brown cardboard box. So why not put a wrist slashing doodle on the outside of the Dell shipping box? And since we are going to do that, how about we also sketch something up that shows a man stuffing his body cavities (nose, ears and other unspeakable places) with bits of Styrofoam taken from the packaging inserts? I'm sure that could lead to a case of S.H.C. - Spontaneous Human Combustion.

I don't know, these are just some things I pondered as I was opening up my new Inspiron E1705 and had to share my thoughts. I hope you found it enlightening. Some things that make you go hmm.

Quality Not Quantity

Starting October 1st, I think I may be blogging less. I'm not finding enough time in the day to post on a regular basis, nor do I feel like I want to post as regular as I have been in the past. So if my blogging schedule is somewhat sporadic, you'll have to forgive and get use to it. I don't want my blog to feel like a chore. I want it to remain as something I enjoy doing. A creative outlet. My little voice on the net. There's plenty of things going on and I have much to say, but I just don't always feel like sharing it. It takes time to find words and if I rush what I write, then I think the blog will suffer and won't be worth reading. Sometimes less is more. Right now, I want it to be about quality and not quantity.

By the way, that's a photo of Blogger gurus Pete and Prashant. They are offensively happy and overly excited about their spankin' new Blogger hoodies that just arrived in big box of warm fuzziness. Nerdy? Yes, but they are cozy as we move into the Fall weather. So go ahead, hate on them while you shiver.

Blog on bitches.

Attempted Suicide By Terrell Owens

Any psychologist will tell you, the worst thing you can do to someone is publicly humiliate them. It's very cruel, especially to a child. On the news you often hear the story of a child who was picked on and bullied relentlessly in school. He comes home at 3 in the afternoon, pulls out the gun from his father's dresser drawer, places the cold steel barrel in his mouth and squeezes the trigger. Some even head into the classroom to take out their built-up anger, frustration and overwhelming pain. To release it on those responsible for making them feel the way they do about themselves. It's a final act. The "I'll show them" attitude. They'll shoot up the entire school before turning the gun on themselves. Depression is a horrible thing to live with. Left untreated it can cripple the mind, body and spirit. The weight can be so unbearable that the only way out, makes death feel like the answer.

I can't say I was surprised this morning when I turned on the news and learned of a suicide attempt by Dallas Cowboys wide receiver Terrell Owens. For months, even years now he has been the target of a ridiculous amount of public criticism. Perhaps some of it did have merit, but most of it was just plain harassment. Pure and simple. I know you are thinking because he is a celebrity, he needs to get use to the criticism. Really my feeling is that although criticism may come with the territory, his lavish lifestyle, that doesn't give anyone just cause to ridicule Ownes in the matter that he's been subject to. A person can only take so much (a child or an adult) and apparently Ownes had enough. He has been on prescription pain pills for a broken hand, but late Tuesday night he took over 40 of the pills in what police are calling an attempted suicide.

So please, everyone lighten the f*ck up on TO. It's a game for God sake. It's a form of entertainment. You may be a die hard fan, but what happens on the gridiron isn't a matter of life and death. To you, the super obsessed sports fan, perhaps it is. But to Terrell Ownes, it should NOT be about life and death. Let the guy have some fun. Let him live his life how he chooses to. He's talented despite whether or not the public thinks he's a good character. And when it comes down to it, how pathetic and ugly are the people that have nothing better to do than to constantly revolve their life around what TO is doing or saying? Who are they to cast judgment? They probably feel the need to bash someone else because they can't stand being in their own skin. How sad is that. They should be the ones that are the subject of ridicule...and a good starting point would be for them to look in the mirror.

Besides, nobody cares what you think, the nobody fan with the big "You Suck TO" painted on your fat belly in the stands. Just drink your beer, stuff your face with another hotdog and watch the game. And if anyone truly cares to hear your opinion on TO, then Sports Center will be at your front door asking for it. Until then, lay off the guy...unless of course you would like go to sleep at night with the fact that you contributed to a suicide on your conscience.

***UPDATE***
At this time Terrell Ownes is denying allegations that he attempted to commit suicide. Now whether or not TO really did try to kill himself is unknown, but if you think about it, many people who attempt suicide would never admit to it. They feel bad about themselves as it is, often feel like they can't do anything right - like failures. So do you really think they would confess that they even failed at ending their own life? Think about it. That's just another thing they have to live with now.

Daaamn!

I love me some Jennifer Lopez, but throw in Beyonce and not one, but TWO sweet ass sport bikes and I'm in heaven! Not to mention the knee high stiletto boots and leather. Ahh, yeah. That's some very, very good eye candy right there. There are so many beautiful lines and curves in this photo (the girls and the bikes) that I don't know where to drool first. This still shot comes from a Pepsi commercial that is currently being aired in Japan. Why they can't bring this hotness to the States, I have no clue. Life is so unfair. Thank God for the Internet or I would of missed out on this abundance of sexiness.

I'm sure the flipside is amazing too. Now if I could only talk to the photo and tell them to slowly turn around for me, that would be great!

Now That's NOT A Compliment

Boys Night Out, for the most part, is a blast! However, there are times when Boys Night Out turns a little...well...uncomfortable.

Anonymous Male Friend says...

"I'm so horny and so trashed right now that I'll f*ck any of them (referring to the female strippers). I'd even do you (referring to me)."

It's at that time when I have to turn to him, look him squarely in the eye and say...

"Dude. No."

Yeah he was cut off at that point. Friends don't let friends F other friends.

Now That's A Compliment

I'm withholding the source's name.

"You have a smile that makes me weak in the knees."

The Evolution Of Women

The phrase "barefoot and pregnant" may actually sound LESS offensive after reading this how-to guide below. On May 13, 1955 a home economics textbook titled "Housekeeping Monthly" published what is known as "The Good Wife's Guide". It was intended to teach high school girls how to prepare for married life. The advice is so ridiculous that it's almost impossible to believe that anyone ever thought this way. Although, I did find it very funny to read. I can't speak for all guys, but I know I like the modern day woman. The woman that is educated. Has a career. A life. Goals. Dreams. Passion. A mind of her own, one she isn't afraid to speak. She would spark my interest and hold my attention far more than the robot-like woman on the 1950s.

The Good Wife's Guide

• Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready, on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal (especially his favorite dish) is a part of the warm welcome needed. (I want to marry her!)
• Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people. (Or better yet, just greet me at the door wearing nothing but a smile.)
• Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it. (If it takes a little "gay" to "lift" you, then you probably don't want a woman.)
• Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives. (Greet him at the door in the manner I suggested and trust me, he won't notice the clutter.)
• Gather up schoolbooks, toys, paper etc and then run a dust cloth over the tables. (Again, greet him at the door in the manner I suggested and I can assure you that dust will be the furthest thing from his mind.)
• Over the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction. (Something tells me that these cavemen that believed women should act like this, probably also had no clue on how to provide "immense personal satisfaction" to their wife.)
• Prepare the children. Take a few minutes to wash the children's hands and faces (if they are small), comb their hair and, if necessary, change their clothes. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part. Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Try to encourage the children to be quiet. (This translates to offensive saying #2, children should be seen and not heard.)
• Be happy to see him. (Finally, a rule that should stand the test of time.)
• Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him. (See, greeting him at the door wearing nothing but a smile is coming into play now!)
• Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first - remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours. (Maybe I'm odd, but I would much rather hear about her than listen to myself. I already know me, but I can always learn more about her.)
• Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner, or other places of entertainment without you. Instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure and his very real need to be at home and relax. (Can you say "regular titty bar patron"?)
• Your goal: Try to make sure your home is a place of peace, order and tranquility where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit. (Renew himself in body and spirit - like masturbating?)
• Don't greet him with complaints and problems. (AMEN!)
• Don't complain if he's late home for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through that day. (In other words they are trying to say...if he's screwing the secretary, just turn the other cheek. Simple, right?)
• Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or have him lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him. (Beer & BJ)
• Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice. (Just from reading that, I'm feeling relaxed already. Or hypnotized?)
• Don't ask him questions about his actions of question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him. (WOW! I have nothing to say, but wow.)
• A good wife always knows her place. (And a smart man would never think so asinine.)

Sex Toy Or Baby Toy - Take The Quiz

Whenever I post anything about sex toys on my blog, I seem to get a crazy amount of hits. So either you are all perverts or...you are all perverts. With that fact aside, it's time for another sex toy post. So if you are at work reading this, you may want to make a note to yourself to visit my blog later when you are in a more private setting. However, if a photo of a large dildo popping on your computer screen isn't a concern of yours, then feel free to visit the link below from the comfort of your office cubicle.

I came across this quiz (NSFW) on the tech site Digg.com Obviously, the quiz has nothing to do with technology news, but who really cares, it's cool! They give you 15 photos of various objects which could either be looked at as a sex toy or as a baby toy. Your job is to guess which is which. That's the fun part, to see how clueless or how much of an sexpert you are. I scored 9/15 which was pretty good or maybe pretty scary depending how you look at it.

Of course the scariest thing is when I confidently selected "baby toy" for one of the objects. I was certain that it was the exact same teething ring my niece had when she was a baby. Although when my test score was calculated, I learned it was not a teething ring, but rather a cock ring! As long as I'm alive, she better NEVER have her mouth on one of those!

Women Trade-In Their Manola's For Razrs

Nearly ever girl I know is a borderline shopaholic. Women are obsessed with clothes, in particular, shoes. Women love shoes! Although diamonds are said to be a girl's best friend, I think shoes are a very close second. For some women, Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo shoes are more coveted than, say diamond stud earrings. So could it be possible that a girl with a shoe shopping fetish could be persuaded to give up her most prized pair of heals for say...an iPod? Apparently a new study done by the folks on the Oxygen TV network say yes.

The survey found that 3 out of 4 women said they'd choose an HD-TV over a diamond solitaire necklace. Women preferred a top-of-the-line cell phone to designer shoes by a similar margin. And a little white iPod narrowly trumped a little black dress. These are among the results of the "Girls Gone Wired" (clever title if I do say so myself) survey that polled 1,400 women and 700 men. Ages ranged from 15 to 49 years old and was done to compare tech attitudes among the sexes. The findings suggest advertisers need to address a broad audience and not talk down to women. Advertisers are best served communicating lifestyle benefits of tech products by showing what's useful about them, rather than focusing on specifications. They discovered that are only subtle differences between the sexes, at least when it comes to their attitudes toward technology. As far as men being from Mars and women being from Venus...that still exists.

Women are much more tech savvy than they give themselves credit for. Dare I go as far to say that men and women are equally competent in the technology arena? Yeah, I'll say it. I was rather surprised to see my date whip out her new sleek and stylish pink Razr phone and be all excited about it. Clearly it was a move on her part to showoff, knowing what a tech whore I am. This coming from a girl that barely uses e-mail, but yet has a hotter phone than me. What's up with that? I feel like I'm left in the stone ages. Now I need to buy a BETTER Razr so I'm one up on my tech competition. I just won't be getting it in pink though. It would clash with my shoes.

Score
------
Girl = 1
Boy = 0

Don't worry, I'll be back in the game in no time.

Dispirit

It's Monday night. My Steelers are the featured team on Monday Night Football. I have snacks on hand. Beer on ice. Friends will soon be surrounding me to watch the big game. I should feel psyched and ready to cheer, but I feel depressed and wanting to lay on my couch alone. I use to have a Monday Night Football tradition. I use to turn the game on, turn it up and look to my dog and enthusiastically say..."are you ready for some football?" In an instant she would leave her doggie bed in the corner and jump up on the couch to lay on my chest. It was our version of "date night". Now it's so quiet in my house. Too quiet. It doesn't feel like home anymore and I don't want to be there. So I go out, alot.

Tonight when I hear Hank Williams sing "are you ready for some football", I won't be cheering. I'm going to hate it. I'm not ready for some football.

It's no secret, I miss her, badly.

Postcards From Iraq

I received a postcard in the mail today. From the land I've nicknamed "Hell On Earth" - Iraqi fighting soil. A friend of mine was recently sent over and I've had little correspondence with him, but was excited to see his postcard stuffed between this month's electric bill and a Sharper Image catalog. He seems to be hanging in there. This was a much lighter side of him as compared to the last letter a few months ago. I'm not sure if he is just becoming immune to life there, numb to the surroundings, or if he has adopted a new way of looking at this war. His outlook...keeping his quirky sense of humor even in the most serious of times.

(not actual postcard, but looks very similar)

"I'm having a great time. Wish you were here. Happy you aren't! This looks nothing like the land I'm standing on. I'm in a world of shit. But don't worry bout me. I'll be home safe & praying soon. Give my girl a hug from me, not too tight now. Write me soon, laughs are always needed."

That's One Hot Child Molester!

Here's a teacher I wouldn't bring in an apple for. I would dig up and replant the whole damn tree! I would purposely flunk my quizzes so she would have to pull me aside and speak to me privately. I'll let you molest me. Touch me in my "naughty place". I can keep a secret, you don't even have to ask. Discretion I can do. Extra credit I can do. Staying late after class for math tutoring, doable. Go ahead and throw me in the corner. I'm all yours!

They're right. Life really isn't fair. Nobody molested me. My childhood wasn't sabotaged/decorated because there wasn't a teacher in my school that looked anywhere near as hot as her! Am I not molestation-worthy? I mean come-on. I'm a nice looking guy, right? You would think I could of had at least ONE pervert who fondled me. A little groping, something, anything? And I'm not referring to that old woman from the grocery store. I'm talking about a hot 23-year-old female teacher that I would of been more than ok with stealing my virginity at a pubescent age. A Debra Lafave. The closest I came to being molested was by a skanky English teacher and that wasn't until my senior year that she hit on me. I was almost of legal age by then - boo.

Even though I'm all grown-up, the offer is still on the table. Although I realize I'm probably not your type because you are attracted to 14-year-old boys with their greasy hair, oily skin and their crackling voices. I know that must sound soooo sexy to you. Plus, I know it's hard to pass up the deep satisfaction they must give you with their full 4 seconds of pleasure. I realize you have a tough decision on your hands so I'll let you ponder it a little while Debra, but just don't wait too long because I'm hot for the teacher (er, molester)! We could even play a game - stick the tip in, just to see how it feels. I mean I'm just throwing this out there...as a suggestion, that's all. Let me know. I'm good to go.

I Did Not Have Sexual Relations With That Woman

Paris Hilton says she is sick of boyfriends and is celibate. I know, I know. I don't believe it either. The 25-year-old gained international fame when former boyfriend, Rick Solomon, posted a videotape of the couple having sex on the Internet. (Which by the way was a snooze-fest to watch.) Paris denied leading a promiscuous lifestyle in an interview with GQ magazine where she stated "I'm not having sex for a year. I'll kiss, but nothing else." Hilton also told the magazine she has had sex with only 2 men during her lifetime...another statement I kinda sorta don't believe. The Hilton Hotels heir and uber-socialite told the magazine she is "very shy" and relates to the late Princess Diana who was hounded by photographers.

She's "very shy", really? Could of fooled me. And I really don't think Paris could hold off from sex for an entire year any more than I could. It's just not hormonally feasible. Although a good kissing make-out session can be enthralling. One that has me yearning for more, but at the same I'm captivated enough to be patient and wait until the moment is right for progression. Often well worth the wait. Now it's not that I really care about Paris Hilton's sex life or anyone else's sex life for that matter, but I am curious as to how she would answer this question...

If Paris is not having sexual relations, does that mean she's not having sex in terms of Bill Clinton's "not having sexual relations" definition? Or is she just not having sex period, in any form?

The "Men Suck Bouquet"

When you care enough to send the very best, send the "Men Suck Bouquet". It's everything a girl needs and nothing she doesn't. Everything meaning flowers. Nothing meaning a man. It's the perfect gift for my sister right now as she goes thru yet another "I hate men" phases. She will often turn to me in frustration and/or tears and ask me to help unravel her latest mistake. During an hour long phone conversation that reached from the west coast to the east cost, she asked me numerous "why, why, why do men do that" questions. I feel that I gave her many good, honest answers from a male point of view. Although probably the best reason I could give her was the one that I let my pen bleed onto a small 2x3 inch card. Affixed to a bright bouquet of sweet smelling girly pedals, it read...

The "Men Suck Bouquet"
...because men are pigs.
(your little brother not included)

Love,
An Understanding Ear

Cheer up Jen or I'll be forced to send you more ridiculously colorful flowers.

What A Difference A Day Makes (9-11 Five Years Later)

I've been thinking about whether or not I want to write today. I feel that today would be better spent with my pen down. I realized that although I am remembering 9-11, I don't want to relive it. I don't want to write about it and make others relive it. Too many people haven't stopped "living it" and today although we remember, in a way we would love to forget.

This morning, two soaring towers of light will defiantly pierce the sky from the wounded western stretch of lower Manhattan. These luminous ghosts are a tribute to remembering what hardly had been forgotten. That exactly 5 years ago today, on September 11th, a terrorist attack destroyed the World Trade Center, killed more than 2,800 innocent people and changed the lives of everyone across our nation.

September 11, 2001. What a difference a day makes.

Anger Bar Allows Patrons To K.O. The Staff

If you are an angry drunk, I have the bar for you! Do you feel like bitch slapping the waitress when she spills your beer? Would you like to dropkick the bartender when he forgets the olive in your dirty martini? Or maybe the DJ won't play your request and you just want to beat him like an ugly stepchild. If this is the case, then you may want to head to eastern China where you will find a bar that actually allows patrons to beat the staff there within an inch of their life! Apparently the bar is a big hit - literally and figuratively speaking. Unlike most bars where you can "get down", The Rising Sun Anger Release Bar allows you to "beat down". It is said to be a novel way of attracting customers.

Once inside, customers smash glasses, rant and even hit specially trained workers. The owner, Wu Gong, says he was inspired to open the bar by his experiences as a migrant worker. Which from my understanding, equals out to alot of built up hostility and aggression needing to be released. The bar employs 20 men who have been given protective gear and physical training to prepare them for the job. Clients can ask the men to dress as the character they wish to attack - boss, bitter ex-girlfriend, etc.

Naturally, people are divided on the idea of the bar. On one hand some say that pressure in today's society comes from just about everywhere and having a place to vent anger is a good thing. While others say that violence is not the answer. If people really feel that angry, they should adjust their lifestyles or seek psychological treatment. I tend to agree with the later statement. Although, the idea of beating someone decorated as the person you despise does seems attractive. I'm thinking this is a place were drunken sailors could unite.