Thursday, January 31, 2008

I used to do a little but a little wouldn't do and so a little got more and more

Without going into all the details about the situation, someone in my family recently got in trouble for using drugs. My mom told me about a conversation she had with my grandma about it, and I relayed that to one of my friends because I thought it was funny.

Me: My Grandma asked my mom what the signs of meth use were, so my mom told her. My grandma said, "Oh, my teeth are rotting and my house is a mess and I have sores all over me....what if someone thinks I am on meth?" She was serious. My mom said, "I don't think you have to worry about it." (My grandma is a little 91 year old lady.)

Friend: Or maybe she's on meth...

Me: I doubt she'd have lived this long if that were the case

Friend: Dammit grandma, put down the pipe!!

Maybe it's time for an intervention.

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Snortin' blue collared gak from a black hooker's ass, the mirror ball's startin' to rock

A friend of mine stated that he was "hoovering some Bolivian marching powder" the other day, prompting the following email exchange about the economy.

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: [Native Minnow]
Date: Jan 29, 2008 12:57 AM

What exactly is Bolivian marching powder?

And what does hoovering mean?

I'm dumb

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: [Rural Murder]
Date: Jan 29, 2008 8:08 AM

hoovering = sucking up like a Hoover vacuum = snorting
Bolivian Marching Powder = C-C-C-C-C-Cocaine

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: [Native Minnow]
Date: Jan 29, 2008 11:00 AM

Well, that's what I thought, but I wasn't exactly sure. Put down the mirror, the razor blade and the rolled up $100 bill. That's only going to result in a dead hooker. And no-one wants that. Especially the hooker.

----------------- Original Message -----------------
From: [Rural Murder]
Date: Jan 29, 2008 2:47 PM

I was actually snorting it out of the ass crack of a dead hooker. And you can't use US currency anymore, only euros.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

I was trying to keep the door locked, now realize that's a mistake

I'm going against the line of reasoning that says anything posted after 2 a.m. is probably best left unsaid, but I can't sleep because of what's on my mind so here we go. I have a confession to make. For the last few months I've been dating someone. Or I should say, I had been dating someone. During that time, this girl and I became more than friends, but not quite a couple. That is until a couple weeks ago when she and I decided that we'd be better off if we were just friends.

The other night I went out with a friend and she asked me if I was still seeing this girl. I explained the whole situation to her, including the part about how we'd decided to call it off. When I'd finished talking she asked me a simple question: Are you afraid of commitment?

Right there my friend summed it up in three little words. Afraid of commitment. As cliché as it sounds, that's exactly what the problem was. It wasn't the lack of chemistry, or any of the other things the girl and I had discussed when we decided to end things. It was that I was afraid to commit to her, to come right out and ask her to be my girlfriend. I still don't know why I couldn't do that. It's not that I didn't think about it, because I did. She would have made a great one, but I just couldn't make myself say the words.

Well, last night I saw the girl for the first time since she and I called things off. I had a few things I was getting rid of that she could use, so I invited her over for dinner so she could pick them up. It was nice to see her, don't get me wrong, but it affected me more than I thought it would. A lot more. I kept wanting to touch her, put my arms around her, and when she left I wanted to kiss her goodnight, but I couldn't. That's when it occurred to me. I'd messed up something good.

I'm fairly certain that it's too late to change anything. I have reason to suspect that she's interested in someone else already. Even if that's not the case, she obviously wasn't happy with the way things were and where they were going. My head still tells me that we did the right thing. I just wonder how long it's going to take for my heart to agree. I really do miss her.

Monday, January 28, 2008

This is how we multiply, pity that it's not my wife

Me: Today's a sad, sad day.

Friend: Why's that?

Me: I found out that [Girl* I Used To Have A Crush On] got married. She sent me an email and told me they eloped.

Friend: I don't know who that is.

Me: She's the one that works as a cocktail waitress at the Hard Rock.

Friend: Oh yeah. Wow. She moves fast. But if she's married, it doesn't sound like you had much of a chance with her anyway. Besides, the last thing you need is someone who wants to get married.

Me: I know, but I did miss out on that chance to be her rebound guy.

Friend: You did? When?

Me: Didn't I tell you about that? She called me up one night out of the blue and started talking about how much fun we used to have together and that she wanted to hang out. I just didn't think she wanted anything right then because she'd just broken up with a guy. Of course, then she started seeing this guy like a week later.

Friend: You did miss out on a chance to be her rebound guy! Of course, you only had a one week window. Plus, those were the days when you used to say that you had to be in love with someone in order to have sex with them.

Me: I know, what was I thinking?

*One of the hottest girls I've met since moving to Vegas(and that says a lot)

Well I can't cope, but I'm no dope

I've been tagged by Delirious to tell six quirky things about me. I'll play along, but I'm not tagging anyone else. What can I say? The Shallows is where Memes come to die.

1. I've had insomnia after every break up. The time period for which I experience it is proportional to the length of time I was in the relationship (i.e., I couldn't sleep well for several months after my divorce, but only for a week or so when I broke up with my last girlfriend).

2. I tend to be an impulse buyer. That said, I've wanted an ipod for years, but have never been able to justify spending the money to get one, even though I've spent as much (if not more) money on more ridiculous things over that time span.

3. My bladder is such that I rarely have to get up in the middle of the night to take a piss.

4. I every new type of candy bar that I see, so that I can try it at least once. My latest favorite is the Reese's Crunch Bar.

5. My feet have to be covered in order for me to be able to fall asleep, even if they're the only part of my body that is.

6. I don't consider myself to be sexist, but I find misogynistic songs to be hilarious (but only when the band is doing it to be funny*, unlike many rap songs).

*For example: Ween - Piss Up A Rope; Cracker - Ain't Gonna Suck Itself; Ben Folds - Bitches Ain't Shit

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Teenage girls read magazines

Me: I don't really like it either, but whatev.

Friend: Wait, did you just say "whatev"?

Me: I did.

Friend: That's it. You're officially thirteen years old.

Me: Whatev.

Friday, January 25, 2008

Cocaine and sushi on the lower east side

In case you're wondering what graduate students do all day, here's a small taste of what goes on in academia.

Our department has an email listserv that sends emails out to everyone simultaneously when someone posts to it. Usually these emails consist of boring stuff, like announcements for the next snoozefest seminar, but it was put to good use yesterday. Two nights ago a storm passed through, so yesterday the air was very crisp and clear (unusual for this city). One of the professors went to the top of the parking garage and photographed the surrounding view. He sent them out for anyone who wanted to use them(I doubt he meant for my blog, but whatever). Here are some of the pictures he took:

His initial email started a flurry of other emails, talking about whether or not we could use these pictures for the department's web page. Without going into all the details of those, the result was two brilliantly photoshopped pictures put together by two different graduate students (at the suggestion of another professor). Here are those pictures:

As far as I'm concerned, you can never have too many pictures of oversized, fire-breathing rodents attacking Las Vegas casinos.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

Let's not get carried away

I had to recruit two friends to help me pick up the load of furniture I purchased from that British woman the other day, since I'm not really up to moving furniture around these days. One of my friends drives a sport utility vehicle, and said that he could fit some of the stuff in there, but I also had to borrow a truck from another friend. I was a little bit concerned that even with both vehicles we'd run out of space and have to make another trip. Luckily it didn't come to that, but apparently I wasn't the only one who'd thought that.

British Woman (after everything was loaded): When I saw you pull up with those two vehicles, I didn't think there was any way you were going to be able to fit everything. I guess I was wrong.

Friend: I wasn't worried at all. I'm used to fitting big things into tight spaces.

To my friend's credit, he followed that up with, "I've moved a few times" but only after pausing for effect.

Regardless, my other friend and I had to try our hardest not to laugh.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

I can feel it burning up inside me

As I mentioned previously, I finally received an injection for my back. It feels a lot better, but it's still not perfect. The doctor said it can take up to a full week for the steroids to take full effect, but I'm already walking better than I've been able to for the past two months.

As they were preparing me for the procedure, the nurse asked if I had any questions about anything. I said that I did have one strange request. I wanted a picture of the needle in my back. She said that she thought they could give me one. They did.

The black line in the lower left corner is the needle. Awesome.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Where does the good go?

Recently I have benefited from the rotten side of humanity. I'm glad I did, but there's a part of me that feels guilty about it. Allow me to explain.

Sunday I was watching football with a friend of mine. During the game we started joking around about how I could get a lot more action if I put my picture up on CraigsList.

Friend: I know that people put personal ads on there, but can they upload pictures as well?

Me: I think so. Here, let's see.

Then I grabbed my laptop and took a look around. Sure enough there were plenty of people with their pictures up. Scary people for the most part. (Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I'm pretty sure that I'd be the cream of the crop of the CraigsList personal ads. Which is exactly why I could never put an ad out.)

After we'd had our fill of looking around at scary women (trust me, it didn't take long), I told my friend that I really ought to look around for furniture since I've been wanting to replace bed and love seat. You see, I have a confession to make. Ever since my ex-wife and I separated in 2001, I've slept on a twin bed. Sure, you might say that no adult should sleep on a twin bed, but it was free, and I've been able to manage just fine with it, but still, I figure it's way past time to upgrade. So, I looked through some of the Craigslist ads for furniture. Honestly, I wasn't expecting to see anything I liked, but the first ad I clicked on had a whole bunch of stuff that the person was trying to get rid of. There were no pictures posted with the ad, but most of the furniture listed was from Ikea, so I was able to use a Google image search to see what it looked like. Some of it looked pretty nice, so I decided I'd call and inquire (with a little prodding from my friend).

A nice sounding British woman answered the phone and told me I could come right out to have a look. I told her I couldn't make it right away (after all, I still had a football game to finish), but that I could be there in a couple of hours. I took down her address and drove across town, stopping at an ATM along the way to take out enough cash to buy the bed (which was listed at $250 for the bed frame, a queen sized pillow top mattress and box spring), and possibly one of the other items she had listed (she had dressers, a set of bedside cabinets, book shelves and two love seats). (Do I use enough parenthetical statements when I write? I don't think so. I'll have to make a conscious effort to use more.)

When I got to her apartment, she took me upstairs to show me the bed. (Before I left, my friend joked that if she was hot I should tell her that I needed to really test the mattress out before deciding to buy, but alas she was not, so no porno type situations broke out.) I liked the bed, and then told her I'd possibly be interested in the dresser. She told me that if I bought the one dresser, she'd throw the second one in for free, because it had a broken drawer that she didn't have time to try and fix. I also saw the bedside cabinets, and liked them, but couldn't decide which I'd rather buy with the little bit of extra cash that I had on hand. I also couldn't remember what her asking price was, and here's where the rotten side of humanity comes into play.

As I mentioned earlier, the woman was British, meaning that she is not a U.S. citizen. She was married, and they had two children together, but they got divorced about three years ago. She's been able to live in the country since then, but her ex had maliciously done something to block her green card application so she couldn't work. She's been living on his alimony and child support payments since then. According to her, she could count the number of times this guy has seen his two kids (who were adorable, by the way: Eleven and ten years old) over the past three years on two hands. He hasn't even bothered to see them on holidays like Christmas and Thanksgiving, or birthdays. The reason this comes into play is that he quit paying alimony and child support so she's being evicted from her apartment. Unfortunately for her and her kids, the fact that she never got a green card came into play, and she's basically being deported, having to leave the country by the end of January.

Unfortunately for her. Fortunately for me. When I told her that I was possibly interested in the dresser and bedside cabinets, she said she'd sell me all of it for $250, and offered to throw in two lamps. Since I'd planned on spending that much on just the bed, I jumped on the offer. Then decided I'd take a look at the bookshelf as well. I offered her $320 (all the cash I had in my wallet) to let me take everything I'd been interested in. She accepted. Most likely because she was desperate for money, and worried about having to throw the stuff away if she didn't sell it. So, to recap, I bought a new bed, box spring, mattress, two dressers, two bedside cabinets, two lamps and a bookshelf for less than the price of a new queen sized bed, all because some dirt bag was successful in getting his kids and ex-wife shipped off to another continent. Granted, it's all Ikea, which is synonymous with cheap, but I feel as though I've upgraded significantly. Now if I can just figure out where to put everything.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Back in the summer of '75 when it felt so good just to be alive

HIghlights from a phone conversation I just had with an old friend from high school:

Him: How the hell did you guys let that happen to you?
Me: Let what happen?
Him: Kids!
Me: Well, let me explain something to you. A guy has something called a penis. A woman has something called a vagina. Sometimes, when those two things come into contact, a baby gets made.
Him: I'm not talking about that part. I'm talking about being careful. You have to be careful. I've always been careful. I have a baloney sandwich in my refrigerator. A baloney sandwich!!! I can't even take care of myself, let alone a kid.

Me: I go in for my steroid shot tomorrow morning.
Him: Is that going to make your balls shrink?
Me: I hope not.
Him: It is. It's going to make your balls shrink.
Me: Well, then I'll have to do something else to make sure they stay big.
Him: No you don't. You don't need big balls anymore. You've already got three kids.

Him: What are your plans for the day?
Me: Well, first I have to get out of bed. Then I have to clean a little because the friends I'm house-sitting before are coming home today.
Him: Clean? It's not even your house. What do you have to clean?
Me: I don't have to do much. Just change the cats' litter box, do the dishes, stuff like that.
Him: Do the dishes? What are you, gay?

Him: I kind of get tired about the lack of culture around here.
Me: Yeah?
Him: Yeah. Around here people think culture is eating Mexican food from Taco Bell.

Him: It kills me that you all got married. I'm the only one that never got a degree. Never got married. Never had kids.
Me: Ah, but that just means you've been able to sleep with more women. How many are you up to now?
Him: Wait, do hookers count?
Me: Sure.
Him: Ok. Seventy.

Friday, January 18, 2008

The party's crashing us now

Things that people have suggested that I do while staying in my friends' house:

- Eat all their candy.
- Sit on their couch naked.
- Shart on their pillows after eating beef stew.
- Kill the cat that meows all the time.
- Rub stay hard cream* in every pair of my friend's underwear.
- Give stay hard cream to the cats** in lieu of their hairball medication.

So far I've only been working on the first one. It looks as though I'm up for a busy weekend.

*Not meant to imply that he has (or needs) any stay hard cream. I was told to pick some up because that would be funny. If I thought it would actually work, I'd be a lot more tempted to do it.

**Too bad only one of them is male, and he doesn't need hairball medication.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

But that's not why I'm here, I came down here to tell you it rains in heaven all day long

My ex-wife's birthday was yesterday. I called her when I left work to let her know that I hoped she was having a good one. However, I didn't recognize the voice of the person who answered the phone when I called.

Me: Hello?
Them: Hello.
Me: Who is this?
Them: It's [11 year old son]*.
Me: Oh, ok. Why do you sound weird?
Him (see how I just switched that? Mind blowing, I know!): I don't know.
Me: Maybe it's just because you are weird.
Him: That's something we ought to look into.
Me: I don't think there's any need. I think the evidence is pretty conclusive.
Him: (laughing)
Me: It's sort of like global warming. You still might get some idiots who say the jury's still out, but the data's in, and it's a fact.

I'm such a great father.

*I really ought to come up with some code names for my kids so that I can just use those instead of these ugly brackets.

Heretoforeafter I will refer to my children as follows:
13 year old daughter = Tortellini**
11 year old son = Togers***
5 year old son = Bill****

I hope you can all remember these.

**This is a nickname that I called her from the time she was one until she was in second or third grade. It died off a little as she got older, but I still use it from time to time.

***Comes from a conversation I had with him when he was four and I called his name.
Him: That's not my name.
Me: Oh yeah? What's your name then?
Him: My name's Togers.
Me: Ok. If you say so.

****In a move that is eerily similar to what I said above about my other son, a few months ago my five year old informed his mother that she was to call him Bill from then on. It didn't stick, but it works for my purposes.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

It's so cold in this house, open mouth swallowing us

As I mentioned before, I'm house-sitting this week. My friends told me to use anything I needed while I was here. My head nearly exploded when I found a huge bag of candy.

So I sent a text message:

Me: Uh oh. I just saw that candy stash. I don't know if I have enough self control for there to be any left when you get home.

Him: Dig in. [Wife]'s butt will be grateful.

Her: Thanks for saving my ass. I don't need to be eating it, but I can't bring myself to throw it out. Could you throw that much candy away?

Me: There's no way I could do that!

Her: I know! So eat it. That way I know it's not being wasted.

I don't need to be eating it either. Especially since I weigh more than I ever have before, but I'm not going to let that stop me.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Happy hours, golden showers, on a cruise to freak you out

I'm house-sitting for a couple that I'm friends with this week while they're playing in the snow at Lake Tahoe. I'm jealous. They told me I should come up for a few days, and I'd like to, but I can't travel that far anyway. Before they left they had me come over so they could show me where everything was, how to change the cats' litter box, etc. As they were showing me around, we had the following conversation:

Her: [One of Three Cats] likes to go with you when you go to the bathroom. He likes to watch. But he doesn't like golden showers, so don't even think about it.

Me: Gross. I wouldn't. Even if it was a really hot girl who wanted me to, I wouldn't do that.

Her: Not even for a million dollars?

Me: Oh, for a million dollars I would. I'd do anything for a million dollars.

Her: What if it was for a jellyfish sting?

Me: Then I probably would, but that's different.

Him: What does that mean?

Me: What? A jellyfish sting?

Him: Yeah. I don't know what that means.

Me: We're talking about an actual jellyfish sting. It's not a euphemism for anything.

I'm guessing that means I throw out euphemisms a little too often since he automatically assumes that's what I'm talking about. However, with the jellyfish sting, I'm thinking it could work as one. Just give me a little time to think about it.

Monday, January 14, 2008

If the best is for the best then the best can be damned

Rural Murder and I saw a bumper sticker that read GOD ROCKS when he was in town. Nothing screams 'religion trying desperately to appeal to today's youth' louder than a bumper sticker that reads GOD ROCKS. I'm not saying this to be anti-religion. I'm saying this to be anti-stupid bumper sticker. I don't really get the appeal of bumper stickers anyway, but if you must deface your vehicle with something, go with something cool, not something lame.

Of course, then I got thinking, and if there are people who are willing to put these stupid bumper stickers on their vehicles, then people might be willing to put my stupid bumper stickers on their vehicles. All I have to do is come up with some stupid sayings, put them on a colored background, and voila, another get rich quick scheme.

Rural Murder's suggestion for the first one was:

Sticking with the religious theme, I thought of another one. That one would have read "Jesus Shaves" and would have had a picture of Christ shaving his beard, but that wasn't as original as I thought. I saw that exact idea both on bumper stickers and t-shirts when I googled it. So, I came up with this one instead:

Sure it's lame, but someone's bound to want to put it on their car.

Of course, there are a lot of people in this world who aren't religious, but like to mock religion. For those of you who fit this category and also read this blog, I've got just the bumper sticker for you:

But it doesn't even stop there. No, I've got two more for those who are just tired of looking at some of the stickers that other people put on their cars, and want to make a mockery of that.

Sure I haven't figured out the logistics of sales and marketing, or even how to make a bumper sticker for that matter, but this is bound to make me rich.

What's that you say? Bumper stickers only sell for a dollar or two apiece?
Oh. Nevermind.

Saturday, January 12, 2008

Said you're a wolf boy, get out of this town

Remember when I said I was a hey-everybody-listen-to-this-awesome-music-and-like-it type of guy? Well, here's your proof. In lieu of posting about scary women and disgusting conversations I've had with friends, I'm unveiling a new section to the old blog. Notice that I've added a music section to my sidebar. I'm not sure how often I'll update it, but I'll shoot for about once a week or so.

Friday, January 11, 2008

So don't waste your time filling up my words, don't tell me why I assume the worst

A phone call I made yesterday morning:

Me: Does [Sister-in-Law] send you all these text messages too, or does she only send them to me?

Epitome of Sweetness: I get them sometimes. Why? Did she just send one?

Me: Yeah.

Epitome of Sweetness: Then no, I didn't get it.

Me: Well, I figured I'd call you to find out since I was complaining about it the other day.

Epitome of Sweetness: What did it say?

Me: Hold on. I'll read it to you.

"U will get kissed on friday by a person who thinks ur cute &tomorrow will b da best day of yr life. if u send to ten people =)"

Epitome of Sweetness: That just means CSI Girl is coming down to see you. You WILL be kissed by someone.

For those who don't know the story about CSI Girl, you can read about it here, here and here.

Go on and read those. I'll wait.

Ok, now that you're back, I'm terribly sorry that I took the pictures she sent down. I searched all over my hard drive for them to repost too, but then I remembered that I deleted them because in the event that someone else looked through my hard drive I didn't want them thinking that was the kind of girl I was into. That's when you know it's bad.

(But if you absolutely must have a mental image, just picture this in your head: A girl with stringy, greasy brown hair kneeling on a messed up bed wearing a CSI baseball cap [crooked], black stretch pants, a pleather jacket unzipped with no shirt, just a red bra underneath. Also, know that she had pasty white skin, love handles, and the overall look of a meth addict.)


You're all in luck! Or maybe not, but my sister saved the pics last time I posted them, so here they are again for your viewing pleasure (or horror, I'm not sure which - actually, I am sure. It's the latter).

Thursday, January 10, 2008

You can't touch me 'cause I'm electric and if you touch me you'll get shocked

I belong to a fantasy football league. We've been doing it for four years now, and it's usually the same people who sign up for teams. It's fun to have competitions like that among friends, especially as a way of keeping in touch with those who've moved away. It also makes watching the NFL a lot more fun since every game has implications for the people who are playing (I don't know why I'm explaining this. Those who play fantasy football already get it. Those who don't think those who do are dorks). I have yet to win a championship (in this league, I did win the first year I played in a different one), but most years I've at least had a competitive team. Until this year that is. This year my team sucked, and one of my other friends won the title.

The trophy ceremony was two nights ago at a bar near campus. My friend who won asked me if I wanted to ride over with him. I did. When we got to the bar, I went to open the door of his truck, and broke the handle right off. I guess I'd forgotten my own strength. This isn't the first time something like that has happened. Here are a few other instances* where I've forgotten my own strength.

I once . . .

. . . leaned against a tower in Pisa, Italy. You already know the result of that little incident.

. . . beat Chuck Norris in an arm wrestling match without even realizing we were arm wrestling.

. . . sneezed and blew a freight train off the tracks.

. . . administered CPR to a guy and accidentally pushed all the way through his chest and into the pavement below. It was ok though because he turned out to be the spawn of Satan, so I did the world a favor.

. . . flattened a mountain when I fell down on it.

. . . snarled at a wolf and gave it a heart attack.

. . . flicked a booger while driving and shattered the windshield of the car behind me, which wasn't even a car, but an army tank.

. . . killed a man when a toenail clipping got away from me and penetrated his skull.

*These may or may not have actually happened.

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

Ego tripping at the gates of Hell

It's TA evaluation time again. Actually, it was TA evaluation time about a month ago, but I just got mine back, and you know what that means: I'm sharing my favorites with you. But don't get your hopes up too high, all in all, it was a pretty boring bunch. Sure, there were plenty of people who said they liked me, that I was nice, funny, yada yada yada, but there are really only two that are worthy of sharing. The first because it's hilarious. The second because it boosted my ego.

Evaluation 1: (just the hilarious response)
What was your favorite exercise? Why?
Pig Dissection - More hand job* (I could actually see organs).

Evaluation 2: (minus the questions that were left blank)
What was your favorite lab exercise? Why?
I liked the dissections.

Which lab experience was most informative and educational for you?
Cutting things up.

What was your least favorite lab exercise? Why?
I liked all labs cuz I could come see my lab TA.

What is the major weakness of the [biology] lab?
The quizzes & my lab TA he was HOT** and made me buckle @ my knees.

What is the major strength of the [biology] lab?

In general, how would you rate your lab instructor as a teacher?
I love you [Minnow]!!

What were his/her strong points?
Everything about [Minnow] was great!!

How could he/she improve?
He was wonderful.

*I'm pretty sure they didn't really mean to write what they did. I assure you there are no hand jobs given or received in any of my labs.

**For a limited time only*** I'm giving in to peer pressure and am posting a few pics of myself. This way you can judge for yourself (but mostly I just want to see if the waitress will continue stroking my ego).

***Sorry, time's up.

Monday, January 07, 2008

Babe we both had dry spells, hard times in bad lands, I'm a good man for ya', I'm a good man

Las Vegas has an event called First Friday where artists display their work to the public on the first Friday of every month. Last week I was invited to go with some friends, but declined because I didn't think I'd be up to walking around in a crowd. One of the people that did go was telling me a little about last week's experience. He really liked it (it was his first time going) and even bought some prints. He mentioned that he saw a lot of original paintings that were several hundred dollars apiece.

Somehow, we got talking about our trip to Sedona, and I brought up the price of a bronze statue we had seen there. It was really cool. It also cost somewhere in the neighborhood of $45,000.

Me: Well, it was cool and all, but I wouldn't buy something like that. Especially for that price. Even if I had the money. I'm not exactly a statue-in-the-yard type of guy.

Friend: What type of guy are you, exactly?

I gave him some answers, some of which are repeated below along with some others I came up with for you to read. You know, In case you're wondering the same thing.


I'm a bites-his-fingernails-when-they-get-too-long-or-uneven-or-when-he's-nervous type of guy.

I'm a hey-everybody-listen-to-this-awesome-music-and-like-it type of guy.

I'm a misses-living-in-an-area-where-it-snows-until-he-hears-stories-about-his-parents-driving-through-storms-and-passing-thirty-plus-accidents-on-the-icy-roads type of guy.

I'm a too-chicken-to-make-the-first-move-on-a-girl-unless-there-is-good-indication-that-such-a-move-would-not-be-rejected type of guy.

I'm a hurry-up-and-open-a-manuscript-draft-when-he-hears-his-advisor-coming-down-the-hall-so-that-it-looks-like-he's-been-working-instead-of-blogging-IMing-or-wasting-time-on-myspace-in-case-his-advisor-pokes-his-head-in-to-see-how-things-are-going type of guy.

I'm a washes-hands-immediately-after-touching-an-animal type of guy.

I'm a trims-his-nails-with-the-scissors-on-his-Swiss-army-knife type of guy.

I'm a turn-his-cell-phone-off-at-night-in-order-to-save-the-battery-and-not-be-woken-up-by-a-call-in-the-middle-of-the-night type of guy.

I'm a willing-to-drop-an-F-bomb-in-order-to-make-a-joke-funnier type of guy.

I'm an eats-Hershey's-kisses-when-he-takes-percocet type of guy.

I'm a likes-to-take-pictures-but-never-prints-them-up-and-frames-them type of guy.

I'm a would-rather-drive-eight-hours-to-Lake-Tahoe-to-play-in-the-snow-than-drive-an-hour-to-Mt.-Charleston-to-do-the-same-thing type of guy.

I'm a could-be-a-great-cook-if-he-wanted-to-but-instead-only-uses-his-kitchen-skills-to-make-desserts type of guy.

I'm a not-afraid-of-heights-but-is-scared-of-snakes type of guy.

I'm an I-don't-drink-but-will-hang-out-with-and-act-just-as-drunk-as-you-while-you're-drinking-short-of-vomiting*-or-sleeping-with-an-ugly-chick type of guy.

I'm a recycle-every-scrap-of-paper-yet-enjoys-shooting-glass-ornaments-in-the-desert-with-his-dad's-rifle type of guy.

I'm a when-simultaneously-hit-with-a-case-of-diarrhea-and-vomit-will-always-choose-to-crap-in-the-toilet-and-puke-on-the-floor-rather-than-puke-in-the-toilet-and-crap-on-the-floor-because-vomit-is-more-appealing-to-clean-up-than-crap** type of guy***.

I'm a thinks-he's-funny-even-if-nobody-else-seems-to-agree type of guy.

*Unless, of course, we are playing a drinking game and I have to eat a bite of chocolate every time I would normally have to take a drink, in which case all bets are off, and I will vomit multiple times throughout the night. I still won't sleep with an ugly chick though.

**No matter how runny it is.

***Unlike some people I know.

And it's the winter windows that ends become beginnings

A pictorial review of 2007:

Saturday, January 05, 2008

Highway to the danger zone

As part of my ongoing medical treatment for my back injury, I had to get another MRI done this week. This time the doctor wanted it done with contrast. That's where they take images before and after injecting a contrasting agent so they can look at scar tissue too. It should give the doctor a better idea of what we're dealing with here.

The best part about getting an MRI with contrast done? Being able to go around for the rest of the day saying, "I've got gadolinium running through my veins."

Tell me that doesn't make a guy sound tough.

Friday, January 04, 2008

If I press my breasts together and arch my back just so, I can ask for pretty things and they will not say no

A few nights ago I went to hang out with a few friends. One of them brought along a girl who I'd never met before. Luckily, she turned out to be cool as demonstrated by the following conversation:

Friend: You've got some glitter on your face.
Girl: I do? How did that happen?
Friend: I don't know. Have you been hanging out with any strippers lately?
Me: I think she got it from motorboating a stripper.
Girl: I don't think strippers have glitter between their breasts.
Me: Are you kidding? I'm pretty sure that strippers have glitter everywhere.
Friend: It's true! Everyone knows that! There's even glitter in a stripper's duodenum.

(You know you're in a room full of biology geeks when that joke has everyone falling out of their chairs.)

I've got to say, when it comes to glitter, it looks as though Demetri Martin was right (watch until the end):

Thursday, January 03, 2008

They don't knock upon your door, they don't ring the bell

Yesterday I received a few emails from my sister. Each one contained a picture of the first place my ex-wife and I lived when we got married. (My sister figured that I might like to see them since I'd blogged about it a couple weeks ago.)

She also sent me a follow up email to make sure I got them:

Her: I sent you some pictures of your first 'home' when I went to Cedar Springs Marina. They are cell phone pictures, so check your spam or whatever so you can get them . . . It was pretty up there, but cold.

Me: Yeah, I got those. I'll probably post them on my blog in another few days if you don't mind. Unless you think that makes for an incredibly boring post. Maybe I should anyway. Then I wouldn't get people like [names withheld] all telling me that my blog is too dirty.

Her: Then the NEXT day you could post a picture of a penis.
Just to even stuff out.

So, there you have it. Here's a picture of the trailer my ex and I lived in (it's the one on the left - the next closest house [other than the marina owner's summer residence on the right] was about five miles away):

And here are a couple pictures of the view:

I used to have to drive* up and down the long driveway after a snow storm in order to smash down the snow so it my ex-wife could make it up the hill in our car. We had to do that because it was a private road and the snow plow didn't come that far off the main highway. Luckily, my dad let us borrow his truck (with 4WD and chains) for the worst storms. Occasionally we'd see mountain lion tracks on our front porch the morning after a snow storm. That's a pretty good indication that you live in a remote place. Sometimes I miss that.

*The driving could get pretty boring, so sometimes I'd intentionally start fishtailing my car on the way up. That used to be so much fun.

Wednesday, January 02, 2008

You think things are straight, but they're not what they seem

Friend 1: Don't make me hurt you. It wouldn't be hard. I've seen you cry.

Friend 2: Really?

Me: Yeah, the other day at a Christmas party I was in enough pain that I had tears running down my cheeks.

Friend 2: Why?

Me: Well, I coughed after I choked on a piece of a chip . . .

Friend 1 (interrupting): Except it wasn't a chip, it was a penis.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

Are you ready?

Happy New Year everyone! I hope you had a wonderful celebration last night, but I hope you're not too hung over because I'm giving you a pop quiz today. As always, there are correct answers. I will post the key at a later time. Good Luck!

1. Which of the following choices is the best option for breakfast on any ordinary day?




2. Which of the options in question 1 is the best choice to be one's first meal of 2008?

3. What is wrong with the following picture?

A) There is nothing wrong with the picture.

B) The Mountain Dew bottle is way too small for Silent Kid's face.