Friday, April 28, 2006

How do you get bits of kid out of your shoes--I think I just stepped on one

Oh, its that time of the year again. Derby Day? Cinco de Mayo? May Day? No, it's bring your (or in some cases someone elses') kid to work day. I like kids, but there is something about a mob of kids running around, pushing all the elevator buttons, and giving me those OMG he's a tall mofo--he better not eat me looks. I never got to go to work with my dad. It would have been cool, and I might even know what he did for a living. I kinda wish I knew, but then again, I can pretend it was real cool. I did go to work with my mom, but that wasn't so much of a special event, and it was put your kid to work day. Whenever I go home, it's still an ongoing event. I think there should be a put your kid to work day, and with the relatively nice weather, they could have cleaned my car.

In the spirit of letting kids know what mommy and daddy do for a living, my employer (rhymes with Haitian pride) has decided to shuttle kids from meaningless meeting to meeting, unloading useless trinkets (does a kid really need a coffee cup?) and imparting wisdom like stay in school (gee, you can be a cube monkey like me!). Oh, who's the genius who decided the kids need candy. What, was the PCP already used up after the last Christmas party--er winter celebration. Again, it's a noble idea, and I'm sure these kids will chose the path of corporate mediocrity rather than sell their bodies for crack (we corporate sellouts tend to sell our soul for bad free coffee instead).

Now, I really think I need to get Peta onboard with bring your pet to work day. I'm not so sure bringing one of my kitties to work is a great idea, or even a good one, but maybe one of my guinea pigs would like the opportunity. I'm not sure how it would work with other pets, but it's worth a try. Maybe a bring your gimp to work day could spice things up too. Gimps don't get out too much, and well there's not much involving a gimp that isn't fun.

Writing a lot lately--interesting combination of being bored at work yet happy with life.

Don't hate me because you ain't me!

Over the years I've tried many things. Sometimes I pulled them off and looked like the superstar I am, and other times I fell flat on my face. Here lately, I've been spending quite a bit of time on Myspace (cause that's what cool people like me do), and it has presented many challenges and will soon give me many rewards. Now I know you've all seen those ads on Myspace, the ones where you are offered an enticing gift like an iPod, a RAZR phone, or even a ring tone for successfully completing a challenging game of skill. I bet you're wondering who's talented enough to not only try to throw the football through the tire (or ring of fire--dunno how those skillz differ) or fry the ants but also do it successfully, well that person is me. I am the shit! I can not only do those things, but also fed the koala (puppies too--quite a few hungry critters on Myspace), catch the cow, catch fireflies, and help George outlift Arnie.

You might think it's tacky gloating and all, but bite me. Don't hate me because you ain't me! I might not let you have one of those iPods I have coming to me. Heck, I already put in my two weeks notice, as I'm gonna start a new career just doing these challenging games. I'll try not to forget the 'little people' who knew me before I made it big time, but if I do--whatever. I'm the shit--get used to it.

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

The Day I Wished I Didn't Believe in Santa

Word to the wise, when a museum claims to have the most shocking art in America, it might not be kidding.

A few years back, while I was still cruising the US with my nerd posse (the University of Florida academic team), we made a journey to New York (well Upper Montclair, New Jersey, but no good stories involve Upper Montclair). We had won the Southeast region for like the fifth year in a row or something, further asserting our dominance over the Florida, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, South Carolina region. We basically were assuming victory, so it was good that we won, otherwise Hari Kari would be in order, as it was New York or bust (well New York or our advisor who was counting on a trip to see her friend there would kill us).

All-in-all the journey was relatively uneventful. We only spent one day in Manhattan, going to the Met, the Empire State Building, Grand Central Station, and the New York Public Library. As the day started to close, the haves and have nots split. I'm always looking for good cheap fun, even if I have the cash, so I went with the have nots (Jeckle and Hyde at $100 a pop just didn't do it for me). We had a decent dinner at some hole in the wall in the Greenwich Village and were gonna go to the Whitney Museum, which was free on Thursday nights (I guess someone didn't believe in "Must See TV"). The exhibit of the moment was the most shocking art in America. I can't recall what all was there because the one thing I do remember scarred neighboring synapses beyond repair.

Now for those of you who don't quite know me yet, nothing really is shocking to me. It's not that I don't enjoy seeing new things, but I guess I'm prepared for just about anything. That was until I walked into a room with a large set, surrounded by way too many TVs showing a video that was filmed on that set. I guess it was an odd sort of performance art, well odd if you view Santa getting ass-raped by people in reindeer costumes as odd. If that isn't odd, watching people roll around in shit might push you over the edge, and if watching folks defecate in one-anothers mouth may doesn't the trick, then you are the odd one. The TVs managed to show the whole affair from different angles over and over. It made watching Caligula feel like the Teletubbies. My teammate Alex, he himself hard to shock had to go outside and smoke a cigarette.

Now when I leave cookies and milk out for Santa and carrots out for his reindeer, I leave behind condoms, wet wipes, and some Oust for the smell.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

I guess I'm not Psychic, or I Would Have Known

This weekend presented an opportunity to meet new people and attend the Gift of Light psychic fair. In the end I learned two things: ..1 the psychic fair was pretty lame and ..2 there really still are cool, interesting, and fun people to meet on myspace who aren't totally crazy. After the previous nights shenanigans, involving leaving my car in the wrong place (and having it towed by the bastard mother fuckers of Shamrock towing) and my tab open (and my debit card locked away at a closed Skullys), thus leaving me stranded twice over, having someone I just met drive me to get that shit taken care of was really cool. After that, it was off to the psychic fair. We get there, and well there isn't much to say. It was relatively small in size, and many of the vendors (I dunno what else to call them) were quite apathetic. I dunno if they 'sensed' my skepicism or just weren't trying too hard. Some people had products for sale, which ranged from potions, crystals, and aura photos to magic juices that cure just about anything. I guess the most interesting item I encountered was this magic substance to clean my feet. I can't imagine why I was singled out, but the salesman offered to cleanse my feet with the stuff. I explained I recently showered and that I was in fact a clean person, but he retorted with a claim that his special brew would clean my feet from the inside out. I passed.

One of my friends (once you help rescue my car you no longer are an acquaintance, you've earned friend status) wanted a reading, and she picked one of the few who seemed interested in doing their job. She had a tarot reading, which I probably could have done at Barnes and Nobles using a Tarot for Dummies kit. I suppose the tablecloth with guidelines on how to do the reading should have been a tipoff, but the real kicker was the utter confusion the reader had with every card she talked about. I can be a bit of skeptic, but really all I ask is that you seem like you believe in what you practice. I didn't quite get that impression, but we did get a laugh. Otherwise, it was really lame. Now if one of the psychics could explain what that smell coming from the cafeteria was, I'd be impressed.

Anyway, I still had a good time thanks to the crew I rolled with.

Monday, April 24, 2006

Good grief--hard work this friendship thing is

Once upon a time, in a city far far away, I was chillin at my crib with a good friend of mine. We were watching a movie, and she was also doing some work. After watching the film, she asked if I could go to the store to pick up a few things. Since she was still working on stuff for work, it seemed like a logical request. She needed some cigarettes and something she was reluctant to mention. I figured she needed some girly products, but it was odd she just didn't come out and say it. I just grabbed my shoes and keys, and before I left I needed to know what exactly she needed. She still was reluctant to say what she wanted, but she came out and said she was worried after watching Saved.

Well if you've seen the movie we were watching, you'd know that one of the key plotlines involves an unintended pregnancy, and well my friend had been a naughty little girl and was a bit worried. She finally came out and said it, and after a bit of teasing I asked what kind of pregnancy test she wanted (I'm not exactly an expert on these things). She said to get the cheapest one they had. I kinda snickered at her and went to the store.

I grabbed the smokes and some stuff I needed/wanted (wine and energy drinks), and then I proceeded to look for the test. I wandered down the girly aisle, past pads, tampons, douches, and other niceties, but no pregnancy tests. I then headed to the pharmacy, where there was a decent sized mob waiting for pillz and shit. I waited my turn, and I couldn't quite see the tests, but there were quite a few. When asked what I needed, I said I needed a pregnancy test. She pointed at the selection of tests, and I said I wanted the cheapest one they had. One of the ladies waiting in the area said, "way to go dad you're off to a good start". I suppose the basket full of baby mutating items combined with my frugality concerning the test made a bad impression. I tried explaining that it wasn't my baby, and then everyone, including the pharmacist started laughing, and this old lady heckled out "that's what they all say". I never laid a hand on the girl, so there was no chance anything that was or was not brewing inside her had anything to do with me.

I just took the test and left knowing I'd have a story to tell. The test was negative, but the packaging left behind in my bathroom trashcan raised a few eyebrows.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Hell is the New Heaven

Next month the annual Hell City Tattoo Festival will be headed to lovely C-bus, which apparently must be hell on earth. I dunno how we beat out other cities for the distinction of being hell city. Columbus really is missing the boat by not promoting the distinction of being hell city. Anyway, a few years back one of my homeboys wanted to get some work done, and he wanted to get some ideas. I always being eager to go new places, see new things, and encounter different people jumped at the opportunity. It's at the lovely convention center, and we find a space in a nearby garage. The whole fucking garage is filled with minivans laden with all sorts of shit written on them. Upon further inspection the writing seems to be talking trash about cheerleading. I was afraid we were at the wrong place; my buddy is a great guy, fun, knows everyone, and usually leads me to interesting situations, but it wouldn't be out of the question for us to be at the wrong place. It certainly was more likely that we were lost than there being a tattoo festival and cheerleading competition at the same place. That would be lunacy!!!

I LOVE lunacy! Hell City is like the new heaven. I wish I could meet the genius who booked both a tattoo festival and cheerleading contest at the same time at the same place, because it was brilliant. Additionally, the two events were in halls right next to each other--the doors were about twenty feet apart. Picture moms, grandmas, and their precious little cheerleaders waiting in line to file into the cheerleading competition while gazing to their left to see bikers, punks, goths, white trash, and various other folks there to see the tattoo festival and its accompaning freak show. The disconcerting looks, hasty attempts to clutch onto the kids, and other reactions of the cheerleading posse with classic. I was convinced that there had to be some rebellious girl who just had a fight with mom and grandma or a girl out to impress their fellow cheerleaders making out or worse with one of the dudes from the tattoo fest.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Misc Weirdness

Last week I went to go see She Wants Revenge, which was a very cool show. I went with one of my cool new friends, who had an extra ticket to unload. Given that she was sick and I'm just an all around nice guy, I volunteered to sell the ticket while she went in to either snag a place to sit or grab a beer (she did the latter, but that can help you forget that you're sick). Anyway, while I was outside trying to unload the ticket, I met a business savvy bum (yeah there likely is some PC term for him, but I'm old school and I like to use the term bum, and it's my blog anyway). He had tickets for sale himself, and he knew how to work the system. Fortunately for me, I kinda looked the part of someone who actually is going to the show, and he looked like, well a bum. Through the course of trying to find a buyer, I ran into this guy who looked like he'd gone way too long without a shower. He had a ghetto blaster, which he was blaring Skid Row (the irony is classic) on it. I can't think of the last time I saw a ghetto blaster in use. He stopped to talk to me, but had no interest in buying the ticket (my hunch is that he blew whatever cash he had on batteries so he can hear Sebastian Back do his thing). He kept talking to me, and well his weirdness was cramping my style. Before long he was singing along, falling over, and interacting with people who just weren't there. Oh and he was convinced that he knew me and the other people who were there (I dunno which is scarier). I managed to distance myself enough to sell the ticket, and that was that for my interaction with him. I'm no drug expert, but he seemed way more fucked up that the usual druggie types I encounter, and I really thought he may have been schizophrenic.

Speaking of schizophrenic, a few Friday's ago I was at Victorians Midnight Caf/O Bar for drinks and chillin' with my peeps. Most of my friends smoke (not the kind of stuff that might explain what happens below), so we were out on the back patio area. We were just talking amongst ourselves, and this dude comes out and stands right next to us. He was relatively well dressed, clean, and displayed no signs of drug use. The patio is nearly empty, and there are plenty of places to stand, but he stands right next to me and my friend. If that wasn't odd enough, he was silent and striking a pose. After a couple of minutes of awkward silence, he departed to do the same thing with another group at the opposite end of the patio. We exchange exasperated glances and comments, and we assume that was all behind us. Later on the dude comes back out with a roll of paper towels. He proceeds to use them to dry the damp tables (including the table we're at) and chairs with unusual ferocity. Then he does the same thing all over again. He uses up a whole role of paper towels, and when he's done he disappears again. While he's drying things he tells my friend to quit talking dirty, which is kinda odd considering that my friend hardly was saying anything, and nothing of the sort he was claiming. I seriously thought the dude was hearing voices, and he obviously has a multitude of other issues. At this point we're all rather uncomfortable. Upon returning to the patio for another smoking session, we stand at the opposite end of the patio. Things seem fine, until homeboy comes back out and just starts to creep closer, so much so he nearly knocks over a one a wood burning stove trying to get closer to us. While he's creeping in, he talks about how he knows us. I had other plans, so it was soon time for me to depart, so I head out. A friend of a friend needed a ride back to her car, which was on my way, so she left with me. On our way out, our buddy was there to almost corner us. He tried to tell us that he needed to talk to us, and then he says that the friend of a friend was there a few days back talking about being sexually assaulted and stuff. I manage to run interference, so she can escape. I follow and the madness was over.

More than anything, it's all just sad. I'm kinda sure the first dude had schizophrenia or similar form of psychosis and I'm convinced the second guy had it. There's not a whole lot medicine can do to bring sufferers to normalcy, and there's always a chance that folks might snap. I wish these guys were just some messed up druggies, as then I could just look down upon them and their actions, but the sad reality is that life is unfair, and some people have serious problems.


Lately I've spent more than a little time in the vicinity of THE Ohio State University, and I've come to find one particular thing baffling. Spending more than a little time in a college town, Gainesville, I come to expect certain things. I expect to find dudes sitting in yards drinking beer, even the cheap nasty shit they do here, and I'm not shocked to see a fancy-ass hookah on a porch either. The chicks lounging on the dilapidated roof of the porch of the "Luxury" apartments isn't so odd. What's mind boggling is this lame ass game everyone around here seems fixated with--corn hole. For the life of me I cannot imagine why someone would want to stand around with a bunch of dudes and throw a bean bag in a hole. Even if I consumed the aforementioned nasty beer or smoked out of the hookah, I couldn't fathom the interest in corn hole. What's even more odd is these dudes who are obsessed with aiming a bean bag in a hole are the same guys who cause me to have to watch my step around urinals with piss moats. Can someone explain what I'm missing?

Sunday, April 09, 2006

My Failings as a Father

Everyday I seem to read or hear something bad about Myspace, and more and more it seems related to the ongoing menace of sexual predators. Sadly it seems parents are either oblivious or overprotective. I keep telling myself that there is no need for me to be either one, but it seems that I have overestimated my parenting skills.

I live at home with my two kids as a single dad. I work full time, and I can't always be there for them. I don't send them to some sitter, as I was a latch key kid myself, and it seemed to have worked out for me. Now my naivety has revealed itself. My little girl has been online, and she has a Myspace profile. I try to be aware of things, and when I found out about her Myspace account, it piqued my interest. Like most teenagers, it seems benign--until you see the naked pictures, older men, lewd comments, and porn stars. When I snooped to look at the messages she gets from older married men with kids--it disgusted me. The whole mess is filthy.

What kind of sicko wants to look at a naked girl--my naked girl? What kind of dirtbag hits on her? What kind of dad lets this happen? I will wrap this up and return to lowering my head in shame. I am a failure.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Drinking Contest & Friends Threatening to Rape Friends

Once again, we're gonna reach into the archives for something to amuse folks and perhaps help them get to know me better:

In case you didn't figure it out, I'm not a former three-time midget tossing champ at the Clay County fair, nor was I really the runner up in the Fleming Island breakdancing competition (Caucasian division), and lastly I don't have, nor have I ever had, six fingers on each hand. I honestly have had dinner with a transvestite, and foreign authorities have accurately identified me as an international pimp extraordinaire. What follows is from a slightly earlier period in my life, my wild college days.

At the University of Florida, there is a tradition of excellence in the intercollegiate trivia circuit (there are actually three overlapping circuits with different formats and different factions supporting it), and being the nerd superstar I am, I needed to challenge myself for my place among the giants. Anyway, I tried out, and fortunately among the three formats (only two existed at the time), they were playing the mindless speed oriented shit, so I came correct and quickly got the props I deserved from the veterans and was accepted onto the team (technically student can show up, but some people are so annoying we use alternative means to let them know to never come back). Once on the team, I was able to partake in the real purpose of it all, to travel, drink, and be wild nerds on the loose. Here's once of those stories (I just realized I've introduced this blog three times, I'm impressed anyone is still following on):

So we're going on this trip to Nashville for a tournament at Vanderbilt University. Things started oddly, as my hyper dependant ex (who literally had issues being away from me for more than a couple hours-I'm not shitting you, it was fucked up) made a scene at the Student Union, as she didn't want me to leave. She was banging on the car, offering me a weekend full of endless sex if I stayed (and a life of hell from never breaking her of her dependency). Bros before hoes-plus, there was no shortage of sex, otherwise I couldn't put up with her at all. Actually I still can't figure out how even that was worth it, but anyway she made a scene, homeboys on the team were impressed I had a girlfriend, let alone a sex fiend (I was the only team member with a girlfriend).

The trip there was normal, well normal for a car full of oddly adjusted nerds with an absolutely insane amount of useless knowledge. There were actually a couple cars but who's counting. After a while we get there, and it's not too late. We won't be playing that night, which means we'll be partying. Fortunately we opted for something other than the usual Olive Garden and went to a Mexican place.

We get there, and it's rather crowded, but we do get a couple tables nearby each other. I was at the kiddy table with all the younger folks (I was in my 2nd or 3rd year of school at this point), which is cool because I was their hero. I was the anti-establishment alpha-nerd (boy I just remembered that story, it'll come before too long). I saw that Alex, the nerdiest of them all ordered a margarita, a big ass mo-fo margarita-my favorite. I can't let him show me up, "I'll have what he's having" I shouted. Before long the waitress comes over with two gigantic strong margaritas, one for Alex one for me (all the kids at my table were 17-19, so they were all bright eyed and jealous). Well not more than a second later, another waiter runs our five glasses for the other table. They were using the big margarita as a pitcher to scoop out of and into the glasses-pansies! Well somehow body English conveyed the notion that we were racing. I wasn't gonna lose to them, even if it was 5 on 1! Well, they weren't so smart, and they were still using straws. I just grabbed the big ole glass with both hands and chugged (it was a frozen margarita, so it hurt like you fucking could never ever imagine). Needless to say I won (barely as they adopted my "Olaf Technique" to finish things up). Upon my triumphant victory, I placed the glass down (well I may have been a little rough) and it shattered and cut the dickens out of my wrist (we concluded that freezing glass is really brittle). We kinda wore out our welcome, left a decent tip for their trouble (and the glass) and left.

Well from there, we went to a convenience store to get some 40s (not for sale in Florida, such bullshit). We all go in, make our choices, and go to the counter where this odd white trash lady was working (she looked worse than the worst substitute school bus driver I ever seen, like the one on South Park). Somehow the topic of men was brought up, and she wanted to share her sage wisdom: "Men! Ha, you don't need any of that bullshit. A woman needs two things-two things: a vibrator and a dog." Most of us left, but Alex remained to peak his curiosity (this may be a one in a million chance for an anthropology major like him to study white trash in the wild). We sat in the parking lot, chugged our 40s, and eventually we all left for the hotel.

The hotel was your normal Holiday Inn affair, but it had added the perk of a jacuzzi tub. Kevin immediately took over that, and the rest of us were locked out of the bathroom. Little Dan showed his ingenuity by using the sink as a makeshift urinal (I've never done that or saw it done), and Mark and I became restless. He and I went down to the hotel bar which happened to be redneck themed. Well, I don't know exactly what happened, but we drank a lot and we sang karaoke. After that we staggered back to the hotel room without a key. Allegedly I kicked the door down-can't recall that, and I had a bed all to myself (Little Dan slept on the floor). Kevin and Mark shared a bed, which seemed innocent enough. It wasn't.

After laying in bed a bit, I started to hear Mark talking real loud about how Kevin better watch his back, as he (Mark) was gonna get him some if Kevin doesn't watch out. It kept escalating (and poor little Kevin just curled into a ball), as Mark would be like, "I'm gonna make you and honest woman tonight" and "Mmmm, hmmm uhhh huhhh gonna get me some". What's scary is that Dan and Kevin were convinced this was no act, rather the subconscious rantings of a delusional drunk (Mark claims to remember nothing of it-Kevin is still wandering Europe from his scars).

The next day we played hungover and did well as usual. I can't recall if we won it all that week or not.

Monday, April 03, 2006

My Life as a Pimp & Dinner with a Tranny

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.