Six Shooter Ranch

...For You Are the Fairest Of This Land and I Will Fight For Your Honor...With Your Permission Of Course

2006-01-20T15:33:00.000-08:00

Miss Kitty and i were watching the movie Wimbledon the other day (not so high on Kirsten Dunst, but i find Paul Bettany hilarious; thought the movie held its own for a romantic comedy). At one point in the movie, KD is approached by a guy she dated previously while she is with PB. The guy makes a couple of embarrassing comments at KD's expense, prompting PB to belt him across the chin. The couple then makes their escape from the party, yada, yada, yada...
Miss Kitty, who has a habit of asking babyish questions when fishing for romantic comments, turns to me and asks, "Would you fight to defend my honor?"
"Uh..." My mind wanders back about, oh, a month and a half - early December.

Kitty and i were in Boston for company's holiday party. We arrived on Thursday night (put up in the Ritz, if you can believe that) and shortly found our way to dinner and drinks with a few of her coworkers. We all leave fairly drunk and i wind up walking back to the hotel with Kity and one of her female coworkers. We make it to the elevator and, as we're waiting for the doors to close, a group of three extremely loud guys stumbled into the lobby. Granted, you could instantly tell that these three were the kind of ego-inflated losers that i would do anything short of gnawing off a limb to get away from but Miss Kitty and her friend were still a little too obvious hurling themselves at the Door Close button while yelling "hurry up and close" when they spotted the guys making a break for our elevator.
I think most people know that the little Door Close button is a sham. Very few elevators have functional ones; they're basically there to give impatient people something to do while they wait for the elevator to close the doors by its own schedule.
As such, it was a rather awkward, though reasonably predictable, moment when the guys made it aboard prior to the doors closing.
"Whatever the fuck that was all about," one of them said immediately. The girls were silent, i hoped that would be the end of it.
One of them requested the 7th floor, then the door closed. Immediately they began to argue with one another about which floor they were actually on. A second or two after arriving at the 7th floor, they came to the consensus that they were actually staying on the 14th floor...some kind of long division error one can only assume.
Kitty's coworker punched the 14 key and i suppose something about the way she did it really pissed off one of the guys.
"Don't get all bent of shape over it, it's one fucking floor."
Not fully understanding the way he probably meant that, she fired back, "Actually it's 7 more floors."
"No need to throw a little fit over there, ok?." The doors opened for our floor. "Damn these Bostonians are fucking stupid."
And here's where i made my mistake. Though the girls had really been the antagonists here, i felt compulsed to reply as we stepped off the elevator. Maybe it was the alcohol, which has been known to increase a guys willingness to throw fists, or maybe it was just the need to voice my ever strengthening assurity that these guys were nothing but clowns. Whatever it was, and no matter how innocuous a comment i chose to reply with, the fact remains that i probably should have just let the doors close, walked to the room and forgotten about it.
"If we were from Boston, why would we be staying here, dumbass?" Not a particularly witty, nor aggressive comment, not to mention i suppose there could be plenty of reasons someone from Boston would stay at the Ritz...as i said, i should have just kept my mouth shut.
Despite my less than stellar comment, Kitty and i were several paes formt he elevator door by the time he was able to craft his response. "Why don't you keep your mouth closed and just walk that whore back to the room?"
Now, a little perspective on me real quick. Though i have been in a few fights, i doubt you could find more than one or two of my current friends and acquaintences that have ever seen me in one. That is to say it's certainly not something that happens with any kind of regularity.
The flip side of that is a personality trait that i wrote about for that idiosyncracy meme a while back. I am admittedly over protective of friends and loved ones. And someone calling Kitty a whore right in front of me, right or wrong, well, that just doesn't sit with me.
Long story short, i charged on back to the elevator and picked a fight with 3 guys over it.
Then i spent the next three days with an earful of Kitty telling me how mad she was at me. Now, there definitely were things to be mad about, but what rubbed me the wrong way was that she and her friend had really created the situation and, right or wrong, i had done what i had done solely in defense of her and she was furious about it.

I admit that i made some poor choices there and i also admit that i can fully understand someone coming from the point of view that this is actually 100% my fault. I may or may not be convinced to agree whole-heartedly but i can already see where you'd be coming from.

What i can't understand is why (after reaming me for 3 days over this incident) Paul Bettany pulling the same thing can draw a doey eyed look from her and a comment like, "Would you fight to defend my honor?"
"Uh...no."
"No!?"
"I tried that, you didn't like it very much."
"Well, he wasn't fighting three guys. I was worried about you."

So, let me see if i get this... If one guy calls Kitty a whore, slug him. If three guys call Kitty a whore, ignore them.

Lesson learned: Honor is only worth fighting for when you know you can win.

As It Turns Out...

2006-01-20T10:06:00.000-08:00

Turtles DO have gigantic wangers that they whip out when they're ready for some lovin'. However, that isn't nearly the whole story. See, turtles tend to become aggressive prior to mating. The male struggles to mount the female from behind by interlocking their back legs and biting the female on the head and front legs. But get this, the reason he struggles in doing this is that the female becomes equally aggressive trying to fend off the male so that she can actually mount him in a similar fashion (sheee's freee-kay!). Assuming the male succeeds in pinning the female down, he then drops trow and exposes his stinky, green hog and inserts it into the female (i can't find pictures of this so i still can't really imagine where it's coming from or where its going too). With insertion achieved, the male then flips himself onto his back (an activity usually deadly for our shell-dwelling friends) and remains that way for the duration of the act. During this time, the female will sometimes drag the males around until he dislodges himself.

Now, why did i tell you all this? Well, for one, i know we have all been curious about turtle sex since my insomnia incident a few days ago, but i also did it for a little perspective. Yes, perspective. Because, as is so often the case when we observe the rituals of the animal kingdom, reading about turtle sex has made me very happy to be a human.

Sure, i complain about women. Sure, they can make it tougher on us guys than it really needs to be to times. But if having sex with one of them meant that i had to forcibly mount a chick of equal strength knowing that if i failed to do so quickly, she'd be mounting me (ok, you can use the strap-on but at least take it out of the box first!), and that even if i succeed, i'm going to have to teeter in a precariously suicidal position while she drags me around the bedroom by the penis...well, i might consider the priesthood.

Ok, so now that we're all edified regarding turtle-sex, i feel i should touch on something else. But what? I mean, doesn't it all just pale in comparison with what i just wrote?

Let's see, Lulu and i went to the movies last night. We saw Munich. It was good, but a little disjointed to me. Just seemed like one of those movies that i would have enjoyed much more if i could have known a little more about the history surrounding the events. Well, the problem there is that there is no real history surrounding the movie. I mean, we all know what happened at the Olympics, but as far as the hunt for those responsible, no one really knows what happened, who was involved or whether or not they even killed all the right guys. The movie didn't help itself in this regard when the protagonists elect not to go after the surviving terrorists from the actual Olympic attack in lieu of a list of men they aren't even sure are all involved. It seemed like a bunch haphazard killing to beget more killing. Not that i have a better answer, and i'm sure that Spielberg was going for kind of a 'hopeless' feeling with the film, but when the credits rolled i felt no sense of progress, no prospect for improvement. I felt like i had just sat through 2 hours and 45 minutes boiling down to a message that everyone already knows. Jews and Arabs don't get along, they haven't since forever, and the rest of the world may not ever truly understand why.

Psst...Is the Coast Clear?

2006-01-18T02:20:00.000-08:00

Shucks. The ranch sure don't look like it used to, Pa.

Insomnia's a bitch. And i don't mean a Catherine Zeta-Jones type of bitch...you know, the kind of bitch you hate but would still sell a family member into slavery in order to sleep with. No, no, i could lay awake with that kind of bitch all night long. I'm thinking bitch more along the line of, oh say...um...geez, i didn't really think this little analogy through...ok, say like Catherine Zeta-Jones' slightly bitchier, frighteningly ugly older sister...with really bad PMS. Oooooh!

Whatever, it sucks. And i mean sucking less like having your penis stuck inside Jenna Jameson and more like having your penis stuck in a Hoover vacuum. Ok, that one worked a little better. ...if only a little bit.

The worst thing about insomnia (uh, other than the not sleeping and feeling like ass the next day) is how much your mind wanders while you're staring at the shadows on the ceiling between joyous fits of masturbation. It really - Hang on a sec...

Oh, ok, so i looked it up and, as it turns out, excessive masturbation is not a symptom of insomnia. That must just be me. Um..so, this is awkward... But, as i was saying, the truly bothersome thing about not being able to sleep is that my mind wanders worse than Stuart Scott's left eye (boo-yah!!). Now i suppose that thinking, in and of itself, is a good thing (despite some people who seem to get dumber the more they do of it) but it can become a problem when you can't shut it off, especially when your trying to catch some shut eye. Let my mind get bogged down on something, anything really, no matter how trivial, and i'll be pondering it til sunrise. How is it, exactly, that turtles have sex? No really, hear me out Matty, it sounds silly, but what's the answer? I mean if someone handed you a turtle and said, 'here, fuck this', would you know how? No, i realize that wouldn't ever be something you'd be into, i'm just saying, um, like if you life depended on it..if someone put a gun to your head (cause weighing any important question always boils down to what you would choose if a violently curious individual placed a gun to your head) and told you that you had to have sex with the turtle or he'd kill you. I mean, you'd be dead, right? ...even if it was a reasonably attractive turtle that you somehow mustered the will to have sex with, you'd still be dead cause you wouldn't know how to do it. It'd be like being a virgin all over again...only more embarrassing because if there was a guy pointing a gun at your head, then there is likely a crowd as well and they're probably all, like, ducking behind news stands and park benches to avoid the gun wielding psycho, but they're also watching you try every possible way to stick your dick in a reptile. I know the first girl you slept with was no real prize, but at least you guys had things in common, like, um, your species. But forget all that, i mean not totally, just the part where you are trying to fuck a turtle, because to be honest i'm not really all that curious about how a human has sex with a turtle - we don't even know if that's possble. We have seen baby turtles however, so we know there's some hard-back lovin' goin on at some time. Turtles don't lay eggs, do they? Oh god, then you get into the whole question of where the eggs come from and i only have so much time here. For simplicities sake, I vote that turtles just have gigantic wangers hidden under their shells and they whip 'em out when need be. At that point i get up to check my hypothesis on the internet and wind up searching for online porn all night. And no, not turtle porn.

Well, tonight i was lying awake and i started thinking about my blog. My poor, neglected blog whom i up and left for my new job and to whom i have dropped barely a single word over the past few months. I missed my blog. But, despite the history of our passionate affair of words, i had doubts that my blog would take me back.

So this is what it has come to. Like a mentally ill ex-lover i sneak back into the picture in the middle of the night with the hope that my blog will awake, find my post here and just assume everything's back to normal. That's what i hope for, a reprieve from explaining my absence, despite the obligation that i feel to do so. I swear, there were no other blogs; you are the only one for me. I will never again let work come between us. You complete me. You had me at 'Sign In.'

Sooooo, I just read back over this and i think i must be out of practice. I mean, i blogged about more interesting things than this before, didn't i? Didn't i?

I think i'll go lay down and ponder that question for a bit. I've got about 4 hours left til i have to be up for work, let's see what i come up with. Whatever i come up with it will certainly be better than the closing to this post. My mind refuses to produce a clever ending, so...

And They All Lived Happily Ever After

..Except the Turtle, He Got Fucked.

Title

2005-09-08T22:03:00.000-07:00

I am ok.

Thank you for your concern.

Or at least the concern that Lulu says you have shown.

I promise to post regularly again sometime soon at which point I will explain my absence.

Not that the story is particularly exciting, but I'd feel bad coming back empty handed.

I will see you all soon.

I'd like to thank Lulu for typing this post for me, though I wish she had been a little more helpful in arranging a better title for you.

(FUCK YOU ASSHOLE, my title would be Feel My Tits.)

Please send $50.

The Friday Preparty

2005-08-19T12:01:00.000-07:00

In attempting to devise some sort of regular weekly entry for this page, i had to consider which topics i knew a lot about and would consistently enjoy as a topic. But movie reviews have been done, no one wants to read sports commentary on here and i talk quite enough about sex and porn already. So that leaves alcohol. I know very little about wine and i'm not exactly an expert on beer; though i've had more than my share of it over the last 10 years, my tastes tend to run a little on the cheap side. That is to say that i couldn't think of any beer on earth that i'd rather have than a Corona. No, i'm more of a hard liquor guy and thus, when it comes to alcohol, cocktails and shots are my specialty.

So here i am, i do a lot of drinking, my liver is practically an olympic athlete, but how do i put this sort of talent to use? How can anyone else benefit from all my nights spent face down in a strange bathroom?

Well, here's the idea: Every Friday, i will post a new cocktail up here, complete with the proper mixing recipe (though it usually won't require anything special; i'll keep it simple) and a review split in to two parts; what i think of it, and what i perceive the general feeling on a drink to be (as i like some things that are not so popular, and viceversa). I will try to make the drink something new that i have tried in the week leading up to the post, but as this will not always be possible, i will post old favorites when needed.

I imagine that i'll post some pretty strange things up here at times, but if it looks like something you could stomach and you actually decide to try it, it'd be fun to get some reviews.

So, let's get it started. Since this is the the first week and i just came up with this idea, i obviously didn't know to try something new during the last week. So, i gotta go with an oldie, but i want to do something fun...hmm...

THE STOP LIGHT

The Drink: For this drink, you will need three shot glasses that can be stacked one on top of the other while still holding a shot (think of the real thick shot glasses they often have at nice bars, nearly the size of rocks glasses). Fill one SG with midori. Half fill the 2nd SG with vodka, then top it with bar mix (margarita mix or sour, whatever they call it at your local watering hole). If no bar mix is available, you can substitute orange juice. Half fill the 3rd SG with vodka and top it with cranberry juice.
Now stack the three shot glasses, green, yellow, red, giving the appearance of a (duh) stop light (ok, traffic light technically, but the drink isn't called a traffic light, smartypants). When ready, you throw the three shots back in a row, as quickly as you can. Seems to work best in a group, holding races to determine who buys the next round. NOTE: This drink is only to be ordered while in a group. Entering a bar by yourself, stacking three shot glasses and downing them can not be explained as anything but the actions of an alcoholic.

The Bar Scene: This isn't one you see much out in the bars and it definitely isn't happening in any clubs. Chances are, ordering it will require fully explaining it to the bartender. I'd imagine some places wouldn't even allow it, due to the potential for broken shot glasses. However i have seen it done in some places, usually by a group of guys either trying it for the novelty or racing each other to shit-faced city. Bottom Line: This drink is largely an unknown. If you find a bar that encourages this type of behavior, stick to it.

My Thoughts: Kind of a fun bar activity, as well as an easily set up addition to your home drinking arsenal...until you get to the third shot. Two half shots of vodka will always go down easily enough, but topping it off with a shot of straight midori is just stomach turning. Without bar mix, midori has a thick, gooish consistency and isn't shot back easily at all; think a slightly sweeter NyQuil formula. And, as with NyQuil, ridding your mouth of the taste can prove to be difficult as well. The Verdict: Once again, a fun bar activity, especially when placing bets on the outcomes of races...between other people - that's the key part. Due to the unique nature of the set-up, it's fairly easy to talk someone into it...but take my advice and simply speak of it as though you are a veteran; resist the urge to join in. Let others gulp the green molassas, you'll thank me later.

That Reminds Me...

2005-08-18T15:18:00.000-07:00

Speaking of all that change that i keep in my car, i was recently reminded of a story which illustrates yet another use for it. Well, maybe not a common use, but one which i saw fit...at least once upon a time.

So, i was driving through San Francisco after seeing Miss Kitty one morning. Now, a little background here, in my world driving in San Francisco is agony on its highest level. I won't go into all the reason that cause me to feel that way right now, just take my word on it. I hate it the way a fetus hates a coat hanger.

Anyway, i was driving home and found myself in the far left lane of a four lane road behind a car driving excessively slow. So, i put my blinker on and, just as i was about to slide over a lane, the dude on the motorcycle behind me, skids to the right and floors it, charging at all costs to get around me before i got over. What an asshole, right? Well, whatever, that's par for the course here. So now i'm behind the dude on the bike, which i now notice is also carrying his girlfriend (wife? does it matter?). Well, after nearly side-swiping me to get by, Senior Awesome Driver decides that he should now drive slow. Have i mentioned that i hate it when people break their necks to get in front of you, then forget where the gas is? Ok, no biggie though, i'll just slide one more lane over, right? As i do, he does the same, despite the fact that there was no one in front of him...is he trying to piss me off? He couldn't have cut me off any more accurately if he had tried. Ok, chill Matty, we'll just pass him on the final remaining lane. As sson as i make my move, he attempts to beat me to the lane again. This time i'm ready, i downshift and blow by him, forcing him back into his lane. As you can imagine, this drew a reaction from him.

Suddenly, he is right on my ass, waving his hand at me as he narrowly avoids colliding with my rear bumper a few times. I'm actually pretty chill. If he hits my car, i will calmly get out of my car, pull him off his bike and break his face right in front of his woman. No problem, right?

Well, that was before he shot me the bird, i shot it back and...then she busted it out as well. To this point, i had been ok, but something about there suddenly being a pair of assholes on the bike, rather than just the one, temporarily cost me my sanity. I rolled down the drivers side window, signalled for him to get alongside me and then slowed down until he was forced to go around. I accelerated to keep speed with him. Then, as we barrelled down a city street at about 40, i gathered a fist full of change from my console and hurled it at them!

I can still remember the sound of 1000 different different clinks and clanks as the money rained across their helmets and absolutely every part of the bike. They sped away, very quickly.

It took me the rest of the trip to realize how psycho i had just gone.

Idio-what?

2005-08-17T11:50:00.000-07:00

Lulu was nice enough to pass a meme this way so i think it's time to get it taken care of...

I am supposed to write about five of my idiosyncrasies (which i can only spell with the aid of spell check), so here goes...

1.) I talk to myself...out loud...a lot. I know everyone is given to the occassional mumble that is intended for no ears but their own, but i go far beyond that. I have full conversations with myself. I used to try to play it off as singing to myself when i would get caught (because singing to yourslef is soooo much cooler than talking to yourself), but now i get caught so often that it's not really even embarrassing anymore.

2.) I am fiercely protective of my loved ones. On the surface that sounds like a good thing, and i suppose in true danger situations it is, but i fear that i tend to take it a bit too far at times. The instant that i perceive that somone has even begun to cheat, disrespect or intimidate someone close to me, i feel a complusion to step in that is usually too strong to resist. I'm sure that they can handle it themsleves, i just can't help myself.

3.) I refuse to admit that every single woman does not have the same exact list of problems. With some things that i have been through, well what can i say, i've developed certain hypersensitivities...i don't want to go through them twice, i don't even want to deal with the thought that they may possibly be on the horizon. As such, i tend to jump to conclusions, shut down or over-generalize, rather than explain myself when i a female demostrates any behavior that could even possibly be leading to a situation like one i have previously had a problem with. This one really sucks, but i'm working on it.

Ok, after three i was stuck. Not that i don't have more idiosygfhdyhejdk's than you can shake a stick at, but self-identifying them is kind of tough. So i asked Lulu for help on the final two, since i provided the same service for her. This is what she came back with:

4.) "You keep massive amounts of change in your car's ashtray, far more than you will ever need to feed a meter for even a week. And you don't even insist that the coins contain themselves to your ashtray, instead you let them spill into your entire center console."
I swear, there is a method to my madness. I never spend my change, ever. Then once or twice a year i cash it all in, usually just prior to a vacation. It sounds silly, but i usually net a few hundred dollars. That said, i can not deny Lulu's description. While i house the change in several different locations, i am anything but organized about it, and my car is probably the worst scene of the bunch. It's gotten so bad at times, that change for a dollar was only one sharp turn of the wheel away at any moment.

5.) "You wear tight and flattering apparel to enhance your muscles at the gym and then wear baggy shirts to work where you don't even care to rescue a certain female employee from the landscape of unattractive men and shriveled women."
Now, by literal translation of webster's dictionary, i do not believe that this is actually an idiosyncracy. But i'm gonna leave it here because she said muscles.

Ok, that's all. I'm a freak. With muscles.

I am curious about all of your idiosyncruigdfiu's too though...so, if you're reading this, you are offically tagged. Now go give this meme a whirl and let me know when you do!

How I Learned To Give Up Weed and Lap Dances In Order To Continue Sleeping With a Succubus (AKA: Ten Things 8/15/05)

2005-08-15T20:13:00.000-07:00

Succubus (from the Latin succubare, "to lie under") : A female demon which comes to men in their dreams to seduce them and have sexual intercourse, drawing energy from the men to sustain themselves, until the point of the host's exhaustion or death.

The appearance of succubi varies greatly; there is no single definitive depiction. However, they are almost universally depicted as alluring women with unearthly beauty, often with demonic batlike wings; occasionally, they'll be given other demonic features (horns, a tail with a spaded tip, snakelike eyes and/or a Nordstrom's charge card). Though even more deceptive and cunning than a mortal woman, succubi are not immune to the vigilant feminine practice of ignoring anything resembling logic or forethought in order to impart true misery to any man attempting to achieve even relative understanding of the demon's thoughts and/or actions.

Hello all. I'm back. And as you may have guessed by now, i fear that i may have become entangled with a succubus. Now although i know very little about demons, demi-goddesses or any other mythological feminine powers prone to causing mass-destruction upon PMSing, i do suspect that recognizing the problem is the first step to solving it.

What am i talking about? Well, let's see if i can recap everything that happened over the last 2 weeks in 10 simple entries...

1.) I think I'll start with Thursday, August 4th. For those of you able to remember a time when i used to post every day of the week, you might recall that eleven days ago was my birthday. I was simply giddy. As i explained in my ambiguously-gay post that day, nearly every one of my friends and/or coworkers did something thoughtful or nice for me...aaaaand i got a new job. Yep, everything was going my way, everyone clearly understanding that it was my day! Well everyone, that is, except Miss Kitty. No, she didn't forget my b-day, she just forgot that it was supposed to be an enjoyable occasion. Despite the fact that i despise my job more than a sheep's ass hates a drunken farmboy and escaping said daily corporate ass-raping has been my top priority for the past 11 months or so, Miss Kitty couldn't find it in herself to be happy for me.
See, Miss Kitty and i live about 45 minutes apart. My current job is only about 20 minutes from her place, while my new job will be much closer to my place. Mistakenly thinking that the girl who is (as she says) in love with me would be pleased at the prospect of someone close to her heart suddenly being able to avoid an extra hour of traffic every day, i expressed excitement over my new prospects. 26 years on this earth should have taught me better. If the woman ain't happy, ain't nobody gonna be happy. But, as anyone who has previously read anything on this site will attest, my mental processes involve an unhealthy blend of slow learning and ferociously misguided optimism.
So i show up at Kitty's house beaming, excited about three things, 1. Starting my kick ass new job, 2. Seeing my wonderful girlfriend, and 3. Receiving my birthday lay. However, the instant that i arrive, i can tell something is wrong. "No, i'm just exhausted," she claims through a certainly tired-looking expression. Generally this response means that there actually is something wrong, however it also means that the problem is not large enough to produce a full-scale freak out...meaning that you may have a chance to avoid all out confrontation if you probe no deeper, avoid alcohol and make it an early evening...that way you can fight about it in the morning instead. Being that i was slated for an early morning departure, i decided to attempt the 'ignoring it' tact - hopefully she'd wind up taking her frustrations out on a coworker or a girlfriend instead.
So we go to dinner. I'm doing such a masterful job of ignoring that pouty look on her face that i've almost convinced myself that's she's just being quiet because she's bored. Perhaps this was how i allowed myself to slip up. We ordered drinks. Now, my liver already being in the initial stages of toxic shock, i have a rather stiff upper lip when it comes to alcohol. It is not uncommon for me to drink more than whomever i find in my company and still put on a far more sober appearance. Miss Kitty is the exact opposite. She turns from the most maddeningly non-confrontational person i have ever met ("he didn't mean to grab my ass honey, just calm down") into Mike Tyson without his meds in about 1.75 glasses of wine. The fact that she already makes little or no sense to me when she's sober does not help in the slightest. Another thing that doesn't help: once she gets fired up, i start reaching for round after round to quell the rugby game that has suddenly kicked up between my ears while she tries to match me. Any relief our next round brings me will be outdone tenfold by the added anger it brings her. So we get nice and intoxicated, still avoiding the all-out open fight as she stews just under the surface with her growing unseen frustration.
Finally, three sheets to the wind and apparently recalling how much i love to fight with her, i decide to ask what's wrong, again. And again. And again. Why do women do this? Why do they force you to ask 17 times before they say anything? Just tell me what the problem is or get the fuck over it!!! Even when they finally do start to spill details, they come forth as truncated statements, cryptic allusions and half-hearted hints that would do little to help even a telepathic. "You know what's wrong." "Yeah, but i enjoy asking anyway. You just get so eloquently inarticulate when you're mad, besides i miss seeing that little vein on your forehead." "I shouldn't have to tell you what's wrong." "And i shouldn't have to tell you to stop leaving the remote on top of the television, as that kind of defeats the purpose of having a remote to begin with, but life isn't tailored to our every desire, sometimes we must communicate." "You just don't understand things from my point of view." "That's because you speak in riddles, woman!!!"
If there is anything worse than fighting with your girlfriend on your birthday, it is not understanding why you are fighting with your girlfriend on your birthday. And if there is anything worse than that, it's pretending not to fight with your girlfriend over a fight that you still don't understand, in order to continue on with your plan for the evening. And if there is anything worse than that, it's not knowing what your girlfriend has planned and how those plans might affect the current oddness between you, especially when she has continually alluded to the upcoming activity as new, fun and unexpected.
When she walked me from the restaurant to the sex shop, i should have been happy. I should have been running wild under a blueberry-flavored condom sky, dancing joyously among all the happy little butt-plugs and penis pumps, as they whirred, wizzed and vibrated their immense pleasure to see me finally arrive at the promise land with Kitty in tow. I should have been in the preview booth, watching a Lanni Barbie porn, hanging from a sex swing with a blow-up doll and a dildo helmet. But no...i was wondering why my girlfriend was mad at me. While i must say that arguments are more enjoyable when you are surrounded by porn, the experience as a whole was still less than enjoyable.
Well, she bought me a couple of porns (and they were the super dirty kind that i don't normally watch with her), so the trip wasn't a total loss, but still... Long story a little less long, i wind up in her bed, with her bawling her eyes out over the fact that my new job will not allow us to see each other enough and we will inevitably break up as a result...all the while feeling just happy enough over the porn purchase to prevent getting too upset at her and at the same time too angry over the fact that she was mad about something good happening to me on my birthday to avoid being properly supportive. I couldn't help but think back to the three things that had, just hours earlier, wailed me with excitement and anticipation...but, alas, this was how i celebrated my kick ass new job with my wonderful girlfriend...by listening to her cry herself to sleep...and by not getting laid.

2.) I think i deal with stress and disappointment in my own way. Miss Kitty had to work the next morning, i did not. If there was any vestige of joy left in the shambles that had been my birthday, she obliterated it when she woke me up, thus ending my final big day wish of sleeping in. Ok, ok, i was grumpy, but i had a right to be. At least she woke me up to explain how sorry she was for "ruining" my birthday. She promised to make it up to me, vowing that the rest of my weekend would be unforgettable. She talked just long enough for me to be unable to fall back asleep when she left. So i opened one of the porns she had bought me, relieved some stress, showered and left.

3.) I think my father shows his happiness for me in his own way. No one wanted me to find a new job more than my dad. Yet somehow he managed come off sounding concerned, if not disappointed, by my choice despite the fact that it's a wonderful opportunity for me that will also enable me to escape a brutal commute. He seems to think that he can avoid anything he says being ill-received so long as he begins the statement with "I'm happy for you but..."

4.) I think it was simply idiotic to drink like i did on Friday knowing what was in store for me the following evening. Kitty and i went to the Giant's game that Friday and had a lot of fun. Afterward we picked up some of her friends that were visiting from out of town to give them a lift back to her place, where we were all staying. I thought it was bedtime...but that was before i realized that one of her friends was apparently visiting in lieu of attending his AA meetings. He scavenged through a cabinet of half empty liquor bottles and mixers, producing some god-awful creations which were promptly poured into shot glasses. It's tough to continue drinking the day after you make yourself nauseous over just about every alcohol in the book.

5.) I think i was 'sotally tober' Saturday night. The thing i was most excited about as far as my b-day weekend went was the anticipation of Saturday night. See, due to all the traveling that i do on a day-to-day basis, i have many different groups of friends around the bay area, most of whom had never met one another. At first i was thrilled to see so many friendly faces, before i realized something...when you hang out with one big group on your b-day, everyone takes turns buying you drinks, when you hang out with several segmented groups, persistently weaving your way between them and making sure to drop a hello on everyone, no one takes turns...each group buys you a shot as you walk by, which quickly leaves you with more drinks than hands (and twice as many party guests as you are quickly seeing double...this is why i think i am so popular when i drink). So i was wasted. And by wasted, of course i mean waaaaaaasted. At one point i was climbing the two or three steps to the bar, when my legs decided they were going to take a quick break. Yes, i fell. Yes, it was right in front of everyone. And yes, it was embarrassing. But i got up quickly and everyone applauded. I quickly forgot that i had done anything to be sheepish about and raised my hands to stir them on.
My favorite story from Saturday night actually took place a couple days later. I ran into a friend of mine who had promised to attend but had never turned up. "Oh, some friend you are," i chided her, "You don't even show up, just let all your friends haze the crap out of me and i don't even get so much as a happy b-day from you!" She scowled at me. "What are you talking about? I was there! I bought you a shot, we talked for at least 10 minutes!" Uh...

6.) I think i have now had 2 utterly unenjoyable lap dances in my life. Four score and about 4 weeks ago, several of my guy friends approached me with their intentions to take me to a strip club on my birthday. Ever the considerate boyfriend, i told them that i would definitely be with Kitty that evening, so i'd either have to ensure that she was comfortable with it or we'd have to do it some other time. So, three f'n weeks ahead of time, i broach the subject with her. To my amazement, she is totally cool with it (she has never much cared about me going to strip clubs, as i only do it about twice a year, if that, but she had previously informed me that although she has been to clubs before, she would be too uncomfortable to go with me). I think, "Wow, what a girl i have. What a lucky guy i am. This will be so much fun!" Aaaa-wrong!!!
About a week later (approximately 2 days after i send out an evite to everyone, of course mentioning the strip club as part of the plan for the evening), Kitty starts acting strange. So i ask her what's wrong (several times, see item #1) and finally she comes forth with this: "I just don't understand why you need to go to strip clubs when you have me. It didn't occur to me previously that other women may be touching you while you are there and i'm just not comfortable with that." This kind of thing makes my head spin. Not that it was an unfair request, maybe conservative by my mind, but not unfair and certainly not something i would fail to respect, especially since Kitty seems to see attending strip clubs as a sexual, rather than social, event. My issue was the timing. Why did she wait a week to address her concerns, especially when i tried to provide as open of a forum as i could for her to voice them? Additionally, what is this crap about it not occurring to her that women may touch me? She has friends that are strippers, she's been to more of the clubs in the city than i have for christ's sake! How can she claim ignorance?
So, I made it clear that i would respect her wishes, but i was disappointed by the way her request came about. I would now be in an awkward position when the boys and girls started hollering for us to leave the bar for the strip club and i'd have to explain why i wasn't going after including it on the invite. But fine, whatever, deal.
Miss Kitty then uses the remaining week and a half to capitalize on any situation where strippers may be brought into the conversation. Not to bash on them, mind you, but to talk about how fun Saturday is going to be. Um, did i miss something? Didn't we agree not to go? Well, apparently she had another change of heart and suddenly felt guilty for putting me in an awkward position. "We can still go. I can be comfortable in a big group. You can't be having girls all over you though, i won't like that." "Nope, no way. After all the flip-flopping you've done these past couple of weeks, there is no way i am taking you to a strip club." "Why not? I told you i'd be cool with it." "Because, regardless of what you say, it's obvious that you aren't 100% comfortable with it. And it'll be my birthday and we'll be drunk, who knows what my friends may try to pull. As excited as i was with the prospect of this to begin with, the way you've acted recently just doesn't give me the confidence i would need to take that leap with you."
But, her incessant innuendos, combined with a all the drinking i mentioned previously, finally broke me down. When the moment of truth came, she insisted that we go and, since i was far too drunk to realize that she was already uncomfortable, i relented. About 10 of us cruised into the club and found seating together. For a good while, i honestly couldn't have told you that we were at a strip club. We were talking (drinking? i don't remember...) and had sat nowhere near the stage - i hardly recall seeing a stripper for much of the time we were there. Then comes a patch of time where i don't remember much. Apparently, one of my guests attempted to purchase me a lap dance. I refused to participate in anything unless Kitty was involved, this being my sharpest drunken attempt to avoid the discomfort that she was, unbeknownst to me, already neck-deep in. The next thing i remember was sitting down in a chair, Miss Kitty sliding into my lap, and some chick started dancing a pretty standard, if not a vanilla, lap dance. Miss Kitty stayed on my lap the entire time, there was no Cowboy to stripper contact. Everything seemed ok...
That is, until we left and Miss Kitty threw a shit fit. She said she felt disgusting for being put through that and was angry at me for being "turned on" by another girl. Even after i had slipped us away from the rest of the group, the situation somehow still managed to get worse. She plops herself down on the curb (in the middle of the red light district), throws her head into her hands and refuses to walk anywhere or speak to me. Now you all may be siding with her right now, but i feel that i had been pretty accommodating to this point - at least in regards to the things that i could have possibly known about, but enough was enough. I flagged down a cab and opened the door. "I'm getting in this cab," I told her. "And if you don't get up right now, i'm going to leave you, drunk and crying on the curb in the middle of pasty-central!!!" To her credit, she did get up and get in the car. She didn't talk much, other than to babble something awful about me from time to time. I carried her up to her apartment and laid her out on her bathroom floor, too angry to babysit.

7.) I think Miss Kitty may have missed high school graduation. At some point in the course of the maturation process we all go through, we learn how to best deal with disagreements with those that we care about. We learn that our friends and family will still be there tomorrow when the anger is not. Fail to realize that and eventually you will find yourself accountable for things you said in anger but now regret, especially when what you said was particularly harsh or just flatly untrue. I'm not an aggressive or loud arguer by nature, but i can remember the last time that i truly flew off the handle in anger at a girlfriend and said some stuff that i shouldn't have. I can vividly recall exactly how that felt the next day and perhaps that's why i learned that lesson...in high school, 10 years ago! Miss Kitty is apparently not as far along in the maturation process as i would have hoped... A few minutes after leaving her on her bathroom floor and excusing myself to the living room to chat with her friends, she burst from her bedroom door, charging into the living room and flinging herself on the couch, all the while screaming this: "I hate you, Matty, i never want to see you again! You were turned on by other girls tonight and i know that you are cheating on me! I hate you and i never want to see you again! Get out!" I calmly requested that we continue the conversation in private. She refused. So i left.

8.) I think i'm lucky i'm not dead. Then i drove over to a buddy's house to spend the night. Yes, i said drove. No i am not proud, no, i do not know what i was thinking and, no, it isn't a regular habit of mine. Kitty had me waaaaay off-kilter at this point, i guess.

9.) I think women can smell blood. So that just about covers the three day debacle that was my birthday celebration. You would think that the two of us had gotten all the fighting out of our system. You would be wrong. We kept it up throughout the balance of the following week, with my one and only request being that she just warn me before the eruption point when stuff is bothering her. This seems to be more difficult than it sounds, but perhaps the problem is common sense. As proof, consider this nugget from last weekend and then understand why it is difficult at times to keep from drowning myself in the toilet when i attempt to understand her.
Miss Kitty broke up with her last boyfriend because he was a major pothead and she got tired of him being stoned 100% of the time. Now, i know what you are thinking, but i have only been stoned in front of Kitty 2 or 3 times. She knows that i smoke, but i agreed not to do it in front of her at her request early on in our relationship. Recently, she has relented a bit, agreeing that since nearly all of her friends and all of my friends do it at some point or another and i always turn it down on account of her, that it would probably be ok for me to do it in her company from time to time. (after the stripper story, can you guess how often i have tested her on this declaration? not often) However, she has always held the strong line that even if she could cope with me being high, she would never smoke again herself - she just had too many issues with it in the past.
Fast forward to this past Saturday night. We're at the Dave Matthews concert and literally every person around us is puffing on a joint. She suddenly turns to me and asks, "Do you have any weed?" Now, i am aware that i have put some of you under the impression that i am perma-stoned, but i am honestly not in the habit of carrying it on me, not to mention it was just a strange question coming from her. "Uh, no." "Do you have any at home?" "Why are you asking me this?" "I think we should smoke together." I'm always excited when it appears that she has shaken off another hang-up, but i have also learned to be cautious as she tends to be a poor judge of when the hang-up is actually gone in its entirety. "Um..what?" "I think we should smoke together." "Ok, but with the crap you have put me through in regards to weed during this relationship, i should let you know that i will never suggest that. If you want to smoke with me, you're going to have to bring it up." "Ok, let's do it next weekend," she said, referring to our upcoming outing to Shoreline for the Coldplay concert. I let the notion sink in as she kept talking. Some of it i heard, some of it i didn't, you know, typical masculine listening, that is until suddenly i heard something that hit pretty hard. "Yada yada, blah blah blah...and the last time i smoked was in Boston..." "Wait, Boston? You mean when you went out there three weeks ago?" "Yeah." "Are you kidding me?" "What?" "Do you know how much shit you have given me about weed? Do you know how many times you have sworn to me that you would never do it again? Do you realize that just last weekend, you were bawling your eyes out over the differences between us, one key one mentioned being the fact that i smoke and you never will? And do you have any idea how strange it is that not only do you suddenly change field, but you fail to mention it for an entire month, and then you bring it up as casually as if we were discussing the weather!"
Say whatever you want about pot, but does her logic make sense to anyone here? As far as the evening went, we welcomed back our good friends odd feelings and protracted silence. Oh, and i guess she has some sort of ongoing problem with fun b-day celebrations...the tickets to the concert we were at had been a b-day present to her from me.

10.) I think i'm tired of talking about Miss Kitty. So how about an update on Smokey and the famed big-busted brit with her freedom-loving chest. Well, i almost had a great story for you but, sadly, i must instead report that Smokey is actually a closet homosexual. Not that there is anything wrong with that, it just comes as a bit of a shock. Here's the situation: aforementioned busty single mom calls Smokey on Thursday and tells him that her ex will have her daughter on Saturday and she'd like him to come over and have dinner. Now, i dunno about you other heterosexuals out there, but when i have previously explained that i am not interested in a relationship to a thirty-something single mom whose breasts i have already seen, then she calls me up anyway, tells me she ditched the kid and wants me to come over, i hear one thing: She needs some dick. Well, i thought Smokey had heard the same thing when he told me that he planned on going. However, when Frodo showed up unexpectedly, Smokey cancelled on the boobies in favor of hanging with the boys. Hmm...free pussy when you haven't been laid in months (if not years) vs. hanging with the same dudes you chill with every weekend? ...i dunno, maybe he's not gay, maybe i have just provided far too much porn to that house for him to have adequate motivation. Ok, it's a stretch, but damn...

No, I Am Not Dead

2005-08-12T13:46:00.000-07:00

The funny thing about having a blog, unlike a car, walkman, Snickers bar or most other earthly objects is that you can't just leave it be. I don't feel guilty if i go a day without driving my car. I don't loose sleep if the milk goes bad before i finish it. Hell, i don't really even get bent of shape when i forget to feed Gonzo (it's just one day and he only has a seven second memory...he'll get over it). But none of this applies to blogging.

On the morning that the aliens land, seize control of the world, touch off a nuclear holocaust that chars the entire surface of the earth and force the remaining enslaved humans into the black market of intergalactic porn, all i will be able to think about is, "Damn it, i didn't post anything today."

Why is it that even when my life seems to change so fast that it blurs my notion of who i really am, the only true worry on my mind is letting down the four or five people that actually read what i write? A normal person sets better priorities.

At the moment i am changing jobs and changing anti-depressants (weeeeeee!!!), a combination that already had my head spinning. Now it appears that the Miss Kitty era may be coming to an end as well. Point is, i haven't forgotten my place here, i have just had too much on my plate...and after a few days i become so wack-o over this blogging business that i'm frightened to come up for air and post due to the possibility of flying rotten fruit.

Anyway, this post is kind of a plea to that little voice in my head to leave me alone about this site until next week. I'll be back, i promise. And i have lots to tell.

*listens for the voice*

Hmm...maybe that worked.

PS - KELS!!! Thanks for the e-mail, you are too sweet. I promise that there is a return in the works, a lot has changed regarding that situation and every time i try to write about it, something changes. For now, thanks for the kind words and know that you'll be hearing from me soon.

...And It Just Keeps Getting Better!

2005-08-04T13:15:00.000-07:00

How is this for a b-day e-mail?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

Wanna see my boobs?

I love Lulu. I really do.

Why It Feels Good To Be Me Right Now

2005-08-04T12:11:00.000-07:00

Having a birthday in August sucked a fat one when i was a little kid. Remember when you used to take cupcakes to school for your whole class and all your friends would kiss up to try and get an extra one? Well, being that my b-day was during summer vacation, i never got that special type of ill-begotten attention. Though my parents always made an effort to make my b-day special, it was tough to have much of a party as many of my friends travelled during the summer. I used to be bitter about all that.

But not anymore - today has already made up for every sub-par b-day i have ever had.

I woke up this morning and rushed out to San Ramon for a follow up interview with a company that i am very interested in. And low and behold, they hired me on the spot! Now, anyone who has ever read anything on this page surely knows full well that i place my current working experience just about the width of a pubic hair below shoving an ice pick under each of my toenails...so this is great (great, great, great) news!

But it doesn't end there. As i got back into my car, beeming over the prospect of giving my two-week notice, i found that i had voicemails from 7 different people wishing me a happy b-day, some from friends i had not heard from in awhile...some of them even singing! Then i get to work, only to be treated by one of my female coworkers to a b-day cake and a plate full of sweets.

You like me! You really like me!!!

I am giddy with happiness at the moment...the kind of happy that i will be embarrassed about later cause i am acting silly and 99% of it born solely of my relief to finally be leaving this place, but damn, it feels nice right now.

It's About That Time Of Year

2005-08-04T11:31:00.000-07:00

It's August people. And beyond my birthday and lots of warm weather, there is something else to be excited about right about now...It's almost football season!

Teams are in camp, the hype has begun and, being the huge football fan that i am, sitting still is getting tougher by the day. Now, it should come as no surprise to anyone that Cowboy Matty is a Dallas Cowboys fan...no, check that i am the Dallas Cowboys fan!

So here i am, calling it here first: The Cowboys will be back in the playoffs this year! (well, ok, .1% of me that is non-biased really believes that they will be in the race for a wildcard down to the end and blow it in week 16 or 17; they're still a year away...but don't say that too loud.)

LET'S GO BOYS!!!

Happy Birthday To Me

2005-08-04T00:06:00.000-07:00

As of right now i am officially 26. Born at 6 minutes past midnight (an after hours type from the get-go) to a salesman and his secretary wife. Though i was unplanned, i was never unloved.

I May Have Finally Found a New Job

2005-08-03T22:55:00.000-07:00

For any of you who doubted that I would actually donate sperm to make money (as i suggested in the previous post), have a look at the e-mail I just got:

Congratulations!

Your online donor application for The Sperm Bank of California has been accepted. In order to make your first appointment we need to complete the interview process on the telephone, which will take about 10-15 minutes. I'll call you during the times you indicated, or you can just call me when you have time. Phone interviews can be conducted anytime during office hours, Mon-Fri, 9 a.m.- 5 p.m. Make sure to include your full name if you leave me a message.

No matter the circumstance, it always feels good to be accepted. Although, to be honest, the prospect of this phone interview kind of worries me. What kind of questions are you asked during an interview for your sperm? Is it like a regular job interview?

“Would you describe your sperm as motivated? We’re looking for driven self-starters here at TSBC, do you consider your sperm to be a hard worker? What previous experience, relative to this job, does your sperm have?”

Do they ask for prior references?

Wow. I hope not. Wish me luck.

Ten Things (8/1/05) ...late again, if i were a female, i'd officially be worried.

2005-08-03T22:41:00.000-07:00

Yes, yes..i'm slow, but there's a lot going on right now. I'll get to all of it in the next few posts, but for now i only have my Ten Things to share. This week, Ten Things is divided into two five-part sections, one dealing with randomness as usual, the other covering the oddness that was my attempted wedding last week. We'll start with the matrimony business...

1.) I think Lulu hates me because she thinks I missed our wedding last Friday. Actually, this is more a statement of fact than a belief. But I can explain…

2.) I think my bachelor party was at the root of the entire problem. See, Lulu had men and women lining up to do everything from baking a cake to ironing her undies for her on the big day. Me? Not so much. Aside from a few death threats, I was left mostly to fend for myself (save for good ole’ CBK of course, who dutifully volunteered to be my best man…even if it was likely an offer born of pity). I can’t say that I was terribly surprised by this except for one thing…the bachelor party. Come on guys, I’d plan a bachelor party for my worst enemy if he asked…titties and beer anyone? Besides everyone knows, the groom gets too drunk to hump the stripper at these things and one of his good buddies usually takes the prize in his stead…so I’m told. So where the fuck were you guys? CBK was nice enough to drop off a stack of Barely Legal magazines, but once he saw that the ‘party’ consisted only of me, a half-finished six-pack and a bag of Doritos, he did what most honorable men would do. He double checked for strippers, found none, and left. Of all the bachelor parties I have ever been to, this was the only one with crying.

3.) I think I need more friends. After I stopped weeping at my own pathetic nature, I decided that I needed to take control of my life. It was the eve of my wedding and I wasn’t having any fun. So I jumped in the car and rolled over to Chuck E. Cheese’s. At first, the light atmosphere helped my mood but after a couple pitchers of root beer and a few games of skee-ball, I felt my embarrassment over my lack of friends begin to creep up on me again. The last straw was when they kicked me off the kiddie merry-go-round because I wouldn’t “wait my turn” or some bullshit like that. I got another pitcher of beer and retreated to what I thought was the bathroom to drink away my sorrow. Just as I was putting back the final few gulps, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Being that I thought I was in the bathroom, this caused me quite a start. I jumped to my feet and turned wildly, only to see…a six foot mouse. Turns out, I had wandered into Chuck’s dressing room by mistake but fortunately he is a kind and gracious rodent who actually inquired as to my troubles rather than kicking me out. Our chat really helped. Turns out Chuck has had some problems of his own. After hearing about his birth in a sewer, losing part of his tail in a mousetrap, his childhood as a lab rat, his violent allergic reactions to eating cheese and career as a grossly underpaid stage performer idolized by minions of children that he can not stand, it really put my own problems into perspective. We sat there drinking and talking all night long, with other members of the band stopping by to chat from time to time, it was truly a great time. But somewhere between finishing my last brew and arriving at the realization that I was pouring my heart out to a table full of freakishly big off color animals and some big blue thing with no mouth that plays the bass, I remembered that I had a wedding to get to. I bid my new friends a fond farewell and emerged from Chuck E’s to find that the sun had already risen on my wedding day. I’d have to haul ass not to be late.

4.) I think I wasn’t the one who actually missed the wedding. So I finally show up to my wedding only to find an empty chapel and no bride on hand. I checked the date, that was ok. I checked the time, a little late, but not too bad. I checked the address…I was in the right place. Well, where the fuck was everyone then? It was only after I crawled home (I didn’t want to risk driving with all the tears in my eyes) and logged on that I discovered what had happened. Lulu had become a little over-zealous in making her bathroom appointments and our entire guest list (family included) were all crowded around the bathroom, hoping to get a turn. When you fail to show up at the altar because you are having a giant orgy with all of our guests - I don’t think the failed wedding is my fault.

5.) I think it would be a shame to waste a damn good marriage vow, so I’m going to put it up here.

In the name of God, I, Cowboy Matty, take you, Lulu, to be my wife,
to read and support one another’s blogs from this day forward,
for better or worse, for richer or poorer,
sober or hung-over,in sickness and in health,
to love and to cherish,
until we are parted by death…or you fall victim to some disfiguring accident.
Although I enter this union well aware of your mildly slutty ways,
I am easily able ignore your promiscuous past as well as your current philandering,
Simply because my feelings for you are so true…
And I hear you give excellent head.
I promise to fulfill your every sexual desire,
so long as it does not involve live animals or power tools.
I will do my best not to pick my nose in public when we are together
and I will always leave the toilet seat down for you.
This is my solemn vow.

And now for a brief glimpse into the rest of my life...

1.) I think I’m about to fall right into one of those cliché stereotypes I always laugh about. When was it declared that every single greeting between males must involve a complex handshake, consisting of at least 3 parts? I’m sick of always being unprepared, never finding my rhythm, leaving the other guy hanging and, finally, gritting through that moment of awkwardness where we both silently acknowledge, “Yes, I am white, so white that I can’t even pull off the shake, twist, grab and slam with any kind of consistency.” But it has little or nothing to do with my lack of rhythm or a low “coolness quotient”; most of my problem seems to be that I am usually unprepared for the full-shake. Take this guy I work with, for instance. I see him each and every business day and every single morning he greets me with a palm slap, twist at the thumb, re-grip, pull tight for a shoulder bump, finger-snap withdrawal with a finishing knuckle slam for good measure. I’m not saying that this type of greeting is always uncalled for, but he certainly seems to be using it in excess…as do many guys these days. See, to me there are exactly three situations where that level of hand slapping is advised: 1.) When seeing an old friend again after a really long time; 2.) When expressing extreme satisfaction or agreement with something recently said or done; 3.) When filming a hip hop video. I would like to request that everyone else adopts this same criteria in order to reduce the forced hand-shake awkwardness for confused white boys like myself.

2.) I think my Saturday went a little different than planned. I had one, and only one, thing planned for my Saturday - find a new god damned job. Well, I can be motivationally challenged at times, especially when my roommates are involved. Here’s how my application process actually went:

12:03 pm - wake up.
12:04 pm - try to go back to sleep.
12:18 pm - realize I am not falling back asleep.
12:19 pm - first crotch scratch of the day.
12:23 pm - get up.
12:24 pm - get back in bed.
12:37 pm - get up again, but only cause I have to piss like nobody’s business.
12:38 pm - get back in bed.
12:39 pm - flip on the porno that I didn’t finish the night before.
12:47 pm - hurriedly flip off the porno and scramble to look otherwise occupied when Smokey knocks at the door.
12:50 pm - Smokey reveals his plan for the day, mainly revolving around severe inebriation.
12:55 pm - I decide to forgo showering in lieu of taking a pair of vicodin that Smokey provides me.
1:06 pm - I pour my first Red Bull and Vodka.
1:26 pm - Smokey hands me a lit blunt.
1:30 pm - I start eating potato skins.
1:39 pm - I pour my second Red Bull and Vodka.
2:00 pm - the room begins to spin…and by “the” room, I mean “every” room.
2:04 pm - my friend from North Carolina who I haven’t spoken to in months calls - inexplicably, I answer.
2:12 pm - knowing something is wrong, I head to the bathroom. On the way, I hang up on my friend mid-sentence and drop the phone.
2:30 pm - after a few moments of sheer agony, I begin to vomit. All I can taste is potato skins and Kettle One. This makes me vomit more.
3:00(ish) pm - I pass out on the toilet.
3:15(ish) pm - I wake up and puke some more.
4:00 pm - I manage to make it to my feet and stumble to my bed, passing out once again.
6:30 pm - I wake up. I look at the clock and double take.
6:31 pm - I brush my teeth.
6:33 pm - I finally flush the toilet from about 2 hours earlier.
6:35 pm - I wander into the living room and Smokey starts laughing.
6:45 pm - I’m smoking a bowl.
7:00 pm - I’m drinking a beer.
8:00 pm - I’m trashed again.
9:00 pm - Smokey passes out and I get online to start applying for jobs.
9:30 pm - I’m looking at online porn.
10:00 pm - I’m asleep.

3.) I think I am excited for this weekend! For those of you who are unaware, there is a very important day coming up this week, my birthday! I will be turning the big 2-6 on Thursday and will be celebrating as follows: Thursday is Miss Kitty’s night. I’m going to her place after work, she’s taking me out to dinner and then has what she has termed “a special surprise” for me. Oh la la. Any guesses? Friday I am spending the day with my folks and the sis, probably having lunch at The Cheesecake Factory (a family fave) and seeing a movie. Then Miss Kitty and I are headed into the city to go to the Giants game. Afterwards we are meeting some friends from out of town for drinks. On Saturday I have an evening of dinner, drinks and strip clubs planned for myself and about 25 of my friends. Then, to round out the weekend, I am taking Monday and Tuesday off work just for shits and giggles. Happy Birthday to me, I wish you could all come and party too!

4.) I think I’ll never find a new job. Well, I will, just not anything I’d admit to doing…at least not to anyone I might meet face to face. So far I have applied to be a nude model for an art class (this position is unpaid) as well as to be a test subject in a series of fertility experiments in Berkeley that require sperm donations. They pay $65 per squirt, but there are a couple of problems, 1.) I have to go once per week every week for a year and, 2.) I’m worried that the amount of pot smoking I do will render my sample unusable. Nothing ruins a perfectly good job prospect (along with your self confidence) faster than hearing someone say, “I’m sorry sir, but your swimmers just don’t swim any more.”

5.) I think I know why it’s been so difficult for me to write lately. I have been hesitant to go into any detail about this on here because I hate it when people whine about stuff like this. However, as much as I’d like to avoid subjecting any of you to it, I must acknowledge that the true reason I write on here in the first place is for myself…and when something is weighing this heavily on me I think it helps for me to spill a little of it out, even if I sound a little whiney. So, I have casually mentioned before that I take the anti-depressant Effexor XR (mainly in the course of bashing Tom Cruise). I believe in the benefits of anti-depressants and I know for a fact that the drug I am on has helped me through some times that would have been difficult, if not impossible, otherwise. How do I back my claim that the drug has, in fact, helped me? Well, it’s tough to explain to an audience that may not have dealt firsthand with clinical depression, but to start, put as bluntly as I can, I am the veteran of a failed suicide attempt. It is difficult to fully conceive of the kind of hopelessness and self-loathing one must be deeply mired in before the thought of suicide even faintly resembles an option. Remain frozen in this frame of mind for a long enough period of time and the feeling begins to feed on itself; such fierce loneliness and despair that you soon become too far gone to attempt any repair - you just want it to stop. That was where I was. When i take the anti-depressants, they help to alleviate some of that irrational fear (the explanation on a chemical level is obviously more complex, but this is what I consciously experience) and soon I become clear-headed enough to distinguish my thoughts of depression versus legitimate concerns. That recognition is the key to preventing myself from falling back into hopelessness. Remember the movie Beautiful Mind, how Russell Crowe is unsure which people he meets are real and which are not, but eventually he learns to distinguish the two from one another, thus keeping himself out of trouble? That is the closest analogy I can think of. Anyway, here’s my current problem: I think the Effexor is failing. I dunno if it’s possible for your body to adjust to this type of medication, but whatever the reason, I am having feelings of depression to an extreme that I have never experienced while on any of the meds I have tried throughout my life. It makes even the smallest task (including writing on this blog) seem incredibly overwhelming. It make dims my view of the future and kills all but the very strongest feelings of motivation or optimism. Right now, it worries me.

Ok, since I don’t want to leave you on that uber up-lifting note, how about one more…

11.) I think God is mad at the Boy Scouts of America. Did you see that another bolt of lightning struck a Boy Scout group in Utah? This is like the third time that has happened in the last month and there have been several fatalities. Now, why exactly God suddenly hates young men with a penchant for marshmallow roasting and campfire stories, I have no idea, but I do know this much… The most recent kid to be killed was 15 years old. 15 years old!? Ok, memo to you over-users of Vaseline out there - they are the Boy Scouts, not the Teen Scouts. Once you hit high school, it is time to wave goodbye to kiddie campouts and badge wearing. I blame the parents. Had the father stressed the importance of alcohol or getting your dick wet to this young man, he wouldn’t have been on that mountain in the first place and he certainly would not have died as a virgin dressed in a yellow hankie.

Ten Things... (7/25/2005) ...a little late.

2005-07-29T10:56:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I am slow…reeeeally slow. But it is not solely my fault that this week’s Ten Things is getting put up on Thursday instead of in it’s normal Monday slot - it’s at least 50% Lulu’s fault. See, I didn’t blog on Monday cause I was too busy at work. On Tuesday she complained to me about it so I told her that I would not blog again until she responded to my b-day evite (because I am desperate to have at least one person say yes). Well, it seemed like a good threat, but I caved. She still has not responded but I can wait no longer. I have too much to say and I hope that an extra (extra, extra) long list this week will soothe any bitterness the one or two people who actually visit this site might harbor toward me for being a non-poster for a few days. So, with the hope that Lulu doesn’t wander over here until after she consents to partying with me next weekend, here we go!

1.) I think I had a rather unpleasant experience in the bathroom of another sort on Monday. After applying a thick blanket of toilet paper and those flimsy seat cover things to the toilet seat (as I always do in the unfortunate emergency situation that I have to use a public bathroom in this capacity), I inspected my job to make absolutely certain that no part of me would come into any kind of contact with porcelain. Satisfied, I prepared for the seating ritual - in which I attempt to lower myself onto the seat as slowly as possible in an effort to avoid causing my makeshift barrier any slippage. Strong quads are essential for this. Also handy are those rails for handicapped people – a perfect ledge for a sleeved elbow to aid with your slow descent while still avoiding any skin to bathroom contact. Thankfully we have these at work because using a toilet paper dispenser in the same regard can lead to trouble when they don’t support your weight…you wind up with massive ass-to-seat contact and a toilet-dunked penis – no fun. Another challenging aspect of the descent is the fact that I am never quite ready to commit to my paper covering of the seat. Consequently, I have a tendency to peek over my shoulder and between my legs as I sit. I desperately try to ensure that no seat is showing through my work, despite the fact I’ve used roughly enough paper to operate our office copy machine for a couple of weeks. Finally, I make contact and can bring my weight to rest. However I do not truly settle in until I’ve had one last look over either shoulder to ensure there is no contact. The toilet paper dispensers in this same office bathroom have some type of what appears to be a primitively designed shield that hangs over the top half of the roll. Essentially the shield causes one of two things: It either… 1.) Prevents the roll from turning at all, so your continued pinching and pulling results only in tiny shreds of paper that no sanitary human being would actually wipe with. …or… 2.) The roll turns too freely and the shield prevents you from performing the one-handed tear (that I know at least I’m used to) so you wind up with a strip of paper seven feet long. I suppose the second outcome wouldn’t be so bad except that with that much paper, it falls into an arc and some of it has probably touched the ground – a perpetually damp surface that should not, under any circumstances, come into contact with your nether regions. (As far as tearing the long strip in half, well I dunno about you, but in my world if any part of it has touched the floor it’s just back to the drawing board with that entire paper pull.) Until today I thought the purpose of this shield was simply there to increase the difficulty of tearing the toilet paper. I was wrong. Now I know that it is actually a razor sharp tool of corporate punishment, placed there to lop off the hands of compulsive seat-checkers who, as they twist around on the seat to get a clear view of their own ass, accidentally run an arm into it…or a leg…or god knows what other appendage. Now, I know what you are all asking right now and, no, I did not severe my left hand completely from my arm. However, there is extensive redness and a mark of at least a half-inch where the skin was broken. Though my massive wound did not bleed or…well penetrate honestly, it does look as though there may be some bruising tomorrow. Ok, ok, it’s a freaking scratch, but damn, I hurt myself on the toilet!!!

2.) I think we’re getting’ the band back together, man! Well, technically, we’re not getting BACK together because we were never in a band to begin with – but that opening line sounded better. Anyhow, for the last few months Smokey, Smokey’s brother, Spoon, (as in Jake Spoon*), and myself had been laying the groundwork to get a band together. With Smokey on bass, Spoon playing lead and me on the drums, we had a good foundation, but we knew we needed more members. Recently, we attempted to recruit Cotton to the band. He showed little interest at all, begging off due to supposed "lack of knowledge or skill on a particular instrument." We told him to show some heart, sack up and learn. Then we told him that being in the band would get us chicks. He then quickly agreed and after a short conversation it was decided that he would play the triangle. So basically, we’re still searching. Our other buddy, Frodo**, entered our minds for a time. He couldn’t sing but we thought maybe he could spin for us; we could have a DJ, go that direction…then we remembered that Frodo is the same guy who drove 50 miles from his house to buy a TV from Smokey, got here, paid for it, hung out for about a half hour, then got in his car and drove all the way home before he realized he had forgotten the TV and his cell phone at our place. Better have two triangles in this band. Maybe we could trust him with a cowbell for certain songs. Well, while I’m being brutally honest, I should probably mention that none of us know how to play (or even own) instruments. We just all kind of thought Much Hornier Than We Look was a great band name and went from there. Anyway, after discussing the band members, Smokey and I talked about ways to get around what some might refer to as our lack of skill; how should we play to maximize our success? "What’s our sound?" he asked. "Whatever comes out," I replied without a thought. "Ah," he said, tilting his head back with a refreshing look. "Sounds of the handicapped…"

* Hey, if I am going to stick with the Western-oriented nicknames, there are going to have to be some obscure ones. Kudos to anyone who knows who Jake Spoon is.
** Ok, it’s not a western name but it’s hilarious because he wears his wedding ring on a chain around his neck! Am I the only one laughing here? Well, what is the Western equivalent to Frodo Baggins then?

3.) I think I picked the right instrument. In regards to the previous entry, I basically had first pick as far as what I wanted to play (in a band that will only ever exist in our imaginations) and I chose drums. I mean, c’mon, it’s perfect for me. They hand you two sticks and say, "Here, beat the crap out of these things." I can do that. Plus, drummers have that kind of mysterious allure thing going on for them…all alone on the back of the stage. It’s sexy if you ask me. I look forward to being sexy.

4.) I think I was a whore this weekend. Boy are you going to be disappointed with this story after that heading! I traded for Donovan McNabb in my fantasy football league over the weekend. The trade was a no-brainer, my team is pretty unbelievable now. The problem: I am a die-hard Cowboys fan and while I don’t hate McNabb in particular, I do hate the Eagles with a deep passion and, as such, obviously root for them to lose each week. So basically I whored myself out to do well in my league.

5.) I think I don’t know what to think about Million Dollar Baby. Finally saw it this weekend. Was really into it to start but, without giving anything away, it turns out quite differently than I expected. So much so that I honestly can’t fully say what my opinion was on it. Sometimes that happens to me when a movie is drastically different than I expect.

6.) I think I’m not sure if I fully understood Constantine. Hard to say whether or not I liked the other movie I saw this weekend as well. I was a little stoned going in and I think I missed some of the dialogue at points, but it had some decent elements and I may give it another look one of these days.

7.) I think this is the ultimate car mechanic quote: “Well, we can’t seem to figure out what’s wrong. To be honest we haven’t run into any problems since the car has been here, your engine control module (sounds so sci-fi, doesn’t it?) appears to be functioning as it should so it may not even be causing the problem you were having. But since we have no idea what else could be causing the loss of power, my recommendation would be to replace it with a new ECM, just so we can rule that part out as the cause of the problem.” Ok, sure, let’s drop $1500 just to rule something out…sounds like a great plan!

8.) I think I might have another project. Do any of you enjoy strange news stories? I ask because I find weird and obscure news items from around the world to be endlessly entertaining. I was thinking of starting a second site, a very simple one that would simply have a daily compilation of strange or outrageous news stories. Actually, now that I type that out it doesn’t sound like such a great idea - I’m entertained by some odd shit.

9.) I think next weekend is going to be fun. It’s my b-day on Thursday the 4th. Miss Kitty is taking me out…or maybe we’ll just stay in. On Friday I am taking the day off work to go see my folks and then Kitty and I are going to the Giants game that evening. Then the real fun begins! I’m having an early dinner on Saturday (something very greasy and filling will be an absolute necessity) then heading out to a bar in San Fran to meet up with a bunch of friends for a little fiesta. The best part - Miss Kitty has agreed to get me drunk and take me to strip clubs…and I think anyone who has ever even glanced at this site knows that I take a fair piece of enjoyment from viewing naked women (my last strip club experience notwithstanding). I requested Monday off of work too, just cause I have a feeling that I may be hung over for a couple of days. I can’t wait!

10.) Speaking of parties, I think we’re over trying to get people to make the trek out to our house in groups larger than two. In discussing our July 3rd party (which was only attended by a few railroad workers, and even they had a terrible time) the following exchange took place between Smokey and I: “I don’t think I’ll risk doing my b-day thing out here, not after that fiasco.” “Yeah, I don’t even think we could get the people who actually showed up last time to come back.” “Shit, if I didn’t live here and I came to that party, I wouldn’t ever come back either.”

Ok, and since I was soooo late getting this up, how about I throw in one more?

11.) I think porn diva Extreme Holly had the truest quote I’ve heard in a long time. While giving pointers to a young girl who wanted to learn how to give her boyfriend better head, she came out with this line, “See, once you learn to deep throat, you have no boyfriend worries anymore. If you're doing that to him regularly, and you’re doing it right, he won’t ever cheat, he won’t ever leave you and he’ll be willing to do anything for you sexually.” True? Hell if I know, but you just gotta love that attitude!

Title (how's that for original?)

2005-07-21T16:29:00.000-07:00

Ok peeps, i've gotten a lot of e-mail in regards to my kickball chronicles. Seems that a few more people than i had anticipated actually think that getting drunk and playing childrens games is fun. That being the case, let me help y'all out: As silly as it may seem, our kickball league is merely the Northern California branch of the World Adult Kickball Association. That's right, WAKA is no rumor! But seriously, here is the website for those interested in looking up leagues in your area. I couldn't recommend it more highly!

Now, on to what i have to say on a Thursday at 4 o'clock...

- For those of you looking for an update on Smokey and his bra-busting, brit beauty, here ya go... He met her for lunch yesterday and here's what he found out: 1.) She is, in fact, attractive in the sunlight as well. 2.) She is 34 (he is 28...but he knew that before he went to lunch). 3.) Her boobs tumbling out of her top is (sadly) not actually an everyday event. 4.) She has a kid. 5.) She's looking for more of a relationship/baby daddy (as one would expect from a 34 year old with a kid) than a simple roll in the hay (Smokey can't spell 'commitment', 'relationship', or 'dad').

He was very upfront about what he was looking for though and i think it scored him some points because she thanked him for his honesty, acknowledged that they may be looking for different things, then told him that she'd be calling him anyway. I'm trying to get him to bring her out for my birthday fiesta in a couple weeks. I need as many women with freedom-starved breasts around me as possible.

- My father runs a company out of India. This obviously requires that he travel over there from time to time and, when he does, he stays for about a month. It is a long trip, one that requires stop-overs in New York and London in both directions. Now, there really is nothing here of any interest except for this slightly creepy tidbit...He left for India about two weeks ago and shortly after landing in London, the terror attacks on their mass transit system occured. Currently on his way back, he landed in London early this morning and what should happen? More terror attacks.

So...i have to ask, what is the possibility that my dad is a terrorist?

- Lastly, i just have to comment on this article. The gist of it is that the Professional Association of Teachers in London have decided that the word "fail" should no longer be used in British classrooms. So, what term do they suggest we should substitute then? According to them, using the term "defered success" rather than "fail" will help children develop the proper attitude toward learning as they may otherwise be discouraged by repeated fruitless efforts and the negative feelings that go along with them.

Ok, i have the same thing to tell these people that i that said about the parents who wanted to do away with keeping score at Little League games so that there wouldn't be any "losers". You people are nothing but a waste of breathable air.

I've got an idea. Instead of doing everything in our power to shield our children from any of the real world situations they will face everyday for the rest of their lives simply because we don't want them to deal with any type of demoralization, let's actually try and teach them how to appropriately handle those issues. Wow, novel concept! It's called parenting! Even if you do manage to keep little Eric from ever having to face a situation in his youth where there is a possiblity of a negative outcome, what have you accomplished? As soon as you let him off the leash he's going to run face-first into everything you kept him from and he's not going to have the first clue how to deal with it. Imagine if you had never lost at anything until you turned, say, 16. How do you think you would react to that first loss after 16 years of perfection? Better or worse than a six year old who loses a teeball game 12-4 while playing on a 6-6 team? I'm thinking the six year old has a 10 year head start on life there...

Three Tales of Penetration

2005-07-20T17:55:00.000-07:00

So a certain SOMEONE mentioned on her blog yesterday something about a funny "fisting" story. Being that i told that very same SOMEONE a fisting story yesterday (at her request, believe it or not), i can only assume that the funny story that she was referring to was mine. So i decided to share it with everyone.

But then i started thinking. I told another funny penetration story recently...why not combine the 2 and make my post twice as funny!? Great idea!

Then, in flipping through Yahoo News, came across yet another story involving penetration. So now i am going to, you guessed it, share all of them and expose you all to triple-penetration!!!

(sorry, a little porno humor)

1.) There was this girl my freshman year of college (for this post we will refer to her as The Freaky Whore) who lived down the hallway from me. We were friendly and after a few months and eventually started sleeping together. We weren't a couple, we'd just jump in bed together if we both wound up at the dorm alone at the end of a night...a great relationship, if you ask me. Now, although we were pretty good friends, the attraction was purely physical so we didn't really have to worry about how the other person's 'feelings' would change if you were overly freaky in bed. This led to some amazing sex...for a time.
Then came a night that began much like any other that we had spent together; both of us stumbling drunk, falling into bed for a sloppy make-out session and some 'heavy petting'. Soon after losing our clothing, my hands started to slide south and i began my usual warm up routine. But this time TFW stopped me.
"I want you to use two fingers," she whispered. Fair enough. Two fingers it is. After a moment of this though, she apparently still found herself shy of satisfaction.
"Use three," she moaned. Ok, just like bowling...oops, wrong hole...ah yes, there we go, the old 'three-finga!'
"More," she said. Taking this to mean deeper and faster (hey, i was a college freshman, for all i knew pussies had teeth) i threw my right arm into a brief workout before she stopped me again. This time she took control, reaching down and maneuvering my pinkie inside of her as well (which, truth be told, was feeling a little cold and lonely out there by itself).
At this point i found myself borderline weirded out, could that really feel good? The girls in high school were all one and two-finger chicks... Was this the big leagues? Were the females back home just immature sexual neophytes? Did the number of pleasurable fingers double once you graduated high school?
Useful questions, to be sure, but I instantly forgot them all the moment i heard her again call for, "More." What? I can't compete if this chick previously had a six fingered boyfriend, can i? Wait, she couldn't possibly mean the thumb...could she? But where do i...? Does this thing come with a instruction manual?
I did the best that i could but, to be honest, the shape my hand had taken was beginning to give me a cramp and i couldn't get my thumb in any further than the nail. I was about to give up and chalk the awkward moment up to one too many Budweisers when she reached down, twisted my hand at an angle and started to pull.
At this point i am merely a tool of twisted masturbation, watching in awe as she did her best to dislocate my wrist. Then, after a long, straining grunt, it popped in. And i mean it popped, there was no sliding involved, nothing sensual, nothing sexy - it was like punching her in the cervix. I nearly screamed, and it wouldn't have been just any little, timid squeak, i was ready to yelp like a virgin on prom night, but quickly swallowed it as the fear of never getting my hand back suddenly consumed me.
Meanwhile she was tossing and turning like never before...not that i know why (unless it was pain-driven) because lord knows my hand didn't have enough room up there to be doing anything productive.
As she continued to vocalize her pleasure, the notion of being able to control her moans like a puppet suddenly occurred to me and my fear was washed away with a (luckily) inaudible giggle. She did something that kind of resembled an orgasm (doubtful), then popped me back out. I made some excuse about not feeling well from drinking too much and slipped away for the evening.
I'd like to say that i was so grossed out by that that i never slept with her again. I'd like to, but that would be a lie.

2.) Now for a completely different type of penetration, albeit still one involving a large object entering a small opening that it wasn't intended for. One day in preschool (oh that sounds so wrong! no, this story has nothing to do with Michael Jackson) my class was working on an art project that involved pasting kernels of dried corn onto construction paper. At some point during the process, i got a little board with the glue, and decided to go with a little performance art instead. I promptly stuck a piece of corn in one of my little four year old nostrils. It took a very short amount of time for me to realize that i could not get it back out. I started to cry and my teacher came over to see what the problem was.
"I got corn thuck in by dothe," was how it must have sounded. After enduring a short, disbelieving stare, my art teacher decided to go after the kernel herself. Sadly, neither she, nor her aide could dislodge it. She took an attempt at cheering me up by making some ill-advised joke about a cornfield sprouting in my nose. I cried harder.
Finally it was decided that we needed a longer instrument to reach the corn. I was carried to a first grade classroom (because starch in your nose and tears in your eyes affects your ability to walk worse than you would imagine). The teacher of this particular class, had the longest nails of anyone on the staff, and i only wish i could remember the look on her face when she was asked if she would jab one of them up my nose to retrieve a misguided vegetable. Fortunately for me, she was up to the task and the kernel was retrieved.
It wasn't until afterward that it dawned on me that this entire exchange had taken place in front of a room full of students.
Luckily we moved 2 years later.

3.) This week Kelly Preston and Catherine Bell came out in public support of Tom Cruise's sudden battle with complete insanity. Most notably bothersome to me was the continued flow of misinformation regarding anti-depressants. I won't get back into cause i'm tired of writing about it and you're tired of reading about it, but look, all you celebrities out there, if you want to join a cult, feel free. I won't judge. That is, i won't judge you until you begin to use the ignorant views of that cult as a jumping off point to discourage people from seeking help that could drastically improve, if not save, their lives. I hope you all wind up doing infomercials for acne medications!
What does this have to do with penetration, you ask? Well, until i read that article, i had an extremely strong desire to penetrate those women...but now i'm going to have to stop returning their phone calls.

So, triple penetration...was it good for you?

Help me!!!

2005-07-20T15:50:00.000-07:00

I just bought a bright red betta for my office desk. They say that spending time with animals lowers your blood pressure, so i figure it may just save me from cinching my tie around my head, Rambo-style, and crawling from office to office, stabbing my co-workers to death with cleverly bent paper clips. I know, i know, that kind of stress-reduction seems like an awfully tall order for such a little fish, but i think he's up to the task. It took me over three hours to get free enough to get his little bowl set up and squared away, but did he die? No! That already makes him more capable than some of our clients (one of which died while waiting on us last week, in case you missed that post).

So why am i asking for help? Well, i think the little guy needs a name but, since being at work puts me in a bad mood and i don't want to wind up calling him "Shithead", "Asswipe" or "Stubborn Bitch-Made Punk With Big Lips", i thought maybe you guys could help me out.

So...

Ten Things... (7/18/05)

2005-07-18T15:58:00.000-07:00

Ok, ok, i'm a little slow again, but it has been an eventful few days. So, without further ado...

1.) I think i had a fucking blast on Saturday. I'm not sure if i've mentioned this on here before, but i play in a kickball league. Yes, kickball, the quasi-baseball game with the big red ball that most of you haven't played since you were 10. I am well aware of how that sounds; i was less than enthusiastic myself when Miss Kitty signed us up. But that was before i showed up for the first game and found hundreds of drunken twenty-somethings cheering each other on as they stumbled around the bases. Basically each week we go out, get a little liquored, play a game and then head over to a nearby bar where the league picks up the tab on 5 kegs and we play flip-cup until it's all gone. It is ridiculously fun. Anyway, the playoffs took place this past Saturday and they were truly the highlight of the entire season. We showed up at the field at about 10:30, found out our game wasn't until 1, drank waaaaay too much, then promptly went out and lost our first game (did i mention that we aren't very good?). But, being that we were all trashed and hanging out already, we decided not to go home. A couple of guys went to pick up a grill and our team stayed out at the field, talking trash to other teams, barbecuing and just generally being jackasses until about 5 o'clock or so. There was supposed to be an after party, but none of us made it. I've decided to include a few pictures of the scene so that you'll be able to get some kind of idea what kind of day it was for our team. Pic 1 Pic 2 Pic 3 Pic 4

2.) I think that there is no way this should have worked. Had dinner with Miss Kitty's mother and step-dad on Friday night. Now, it would be unfair to say that i don't get along with Miss K's mother because there really aren't any negative feelings between us, but we're really different people so it also wouldn't be fair to say that we get along famously. In any case, i was tired of the awkwardness and just decided that i didn't give a fuck anymore. After a couple of GNTs, i had loosened up substantially and started telling some jokes, humorous stories, tales of sexual conquest, etc. As we stood up to leave, i realized that i was maybe a little too drunk to be out with my girlfriend's parents. I stressed about it that night, only to have Miss K's mother phone her the next day to rant about how funny i was at dinner and they so enjoyed how comfortable i seem to have become with them. Ooooo-kaaaaay. Should've tried the alcohol tactic earlier.

3.) I think this is really gross. I know it's for art and all, but i hate being in huge crowds of clothed people, let alone a few thousand hairy naked ones. Don't you wish everyone used Dial?

4.) I think this is the best kickball story from Saturday that does not involve alcohol. So, as i told you, most of us use this whole kickball experience to let off a little steam, chill out, maybe meet some new people and/or claim that we are getting some legitimate excercise. However, as with any type of competition, there are a few players that take the game a little too seriously. Case in point : In our first (and only) game, i was up in the first inning and knocked that oversized clown nose deep into the outfield; a sure double. As i neared the base however (with the ball no where remotely near us) the chick playing first was still standing on the bag. "Look out," I called, preparing to round the base toward second. When she didn't budge, i tried to slow down in a hurry and slipped on the wet grass, knocking her legs out from under her. Despite the fact that the collision was her fault and she cost me an extra base, i was apologizing profusely before she even hit the ground. She refused to look at me while making a huge show out of taking off her shoe and rubbing her ankle. I continued to apologize, but when the umpire told her, "You need to get out of the way next time," she lost it. She started hollering about how the ump needed to shut up cause she was using all of her restraint not to stand up and kick my ass for being so out of control...it was around this point that she hoped up, sans limp, and seemed to completely forget about her "injury". Um, ok, at this point i was done apologizing, but at least she'd had her tantrum and it was all behind us, right? Wrong. Next at bat - same thing. I smash the ball to the outfield and bolt toward first, once again intent on turning two. This time the wench had given me room to turn on the bag. That is, until i got there. Right as i reached the bag, she threw a leg out and tripped me, sending me head over heels down the foul line. I can say now that i was embarrassed, but only because none of you saw how little this girl was.

5.) I think Wedding Crashers was a disappointment. ...and this is coming from a big Vince Vaughn/Owen Wilson fan. It was just too slow. All the good jokes from the first 1/3 of the movie are in the preview, the second 1/3 of the movie is the best part, the final 1/3 nearly put me to sleep repeatedly. That said, there were some wonderfully fine ta-ta's in that movie and i will probably purchase the DVD if they release an unrated version.

6.) I think Smokey has more going for him at work than i do. So, here's a story that every guy out there will love with empassioned envy. My roomie, the notorious Smokey, is a driver for UPS. (Insert your "what can brown do for you?" joke here) He very regularly comes into contact with some unique people and situations which frequently make good stories, but i think this one is my favorite of all time. So he's delivering to a small printing business and when he reaches the office, he is buzzed in by the owner. She's in her early 30's with blonde hair and a thick british accent. Good, he thinks. As he gets closer he realizes that she also has a very nice body, sporting a pair of extremely large breasts. Even better, he thinks. As he comes to a stop beside her, he observes her dress, a button-up that looks like it's holding on for dear life against the strain of her massive chest. This is officially a good day, he thinks. They chat for a second while she looks over the packages. Then as she rises from a half squat, the top two buttons on her dress pop open and what should come tumbling out but (as he put it) "two magnificently large, fake tits." And get this, she didn't even realise what had happened at first, just left them there, bare to the world. There is a god! ...and i gotta start getting my ass to church!!! Being a better man than i would have been, Smokey alerted her to the problem with a mumbled, "Uh...ma'am?" ...that is, after a few seconds of staring, i'm sure. She gasped, pulled her dress closed and quickly skirted away from him. When she reemerged, she was red-faced and breathless. "I'm so embarrassed," she said with a shaky smile. "You've seen me naked and i didn't even get anything in return." "Well, i can think of better places to get naked," Smokey replied, anxious to put the odd moment behind them. She finished inspecting the packages without incident and finally took the board to sign for them. She bid Smokey good-bye and he left with a smile...which grew twice as large when he saw that she had left him her number just below her signature. Wow. Hey ladies, looking to get a guy's attention...i guarantee you this will work!

7.) I think my skin is still bright red from Saturday. ...all because i was too drunk to hear my skin sizzling.

8.) I think Miss Kitty knows just how to make me happy. For my birthday this year, she is paying for a trip to Vegas!!! Vegas, baby!!! For those of you who don't know it already, Vegas is my favorite place on the planet. But it gets even better! Lulu might be coming too! Oh it will be so fun to be there with a big group friends - i just hope i can wait another month.

9.) I think this story reveals the most about the intoxication level on Saturday. Around 3 o'clock, Miss Kitty and i decide to journey to the little public bathroom near the kickball field. As we get there, Miss Kitty walks right into the men's room (strike one) says "hi" to the guy exiting the stall she plans to use (strike two) then starts talking about how much cleaner the mens room is than the womens (uh...doubtful...steeee-rike three - yoooooou'reeee intoxicated!!!) Little did she realize that she had taken the stall next to the urinal i was using. She probably also had no idea that i would suddenly think it was a good plan to begin peeing under the divider between us.

10.) I think, despite number 9, that this shows the true measure of how drunk we really were. Rather than freaking out in any way as my pee splashed off the filthy public bathroom floor and all over her left leg, Miss Kitty sat there quietly, finished her duty and emerged from the stall, laughing her ass off, barely able to mouth the words, "You peed on me..." Aren't we just the cutest little couple?

Ok, Ok, I Can't Leave Quite Yet...

2005-07-15T16:30:00.000-07:00

...at least not until i share this little nugget with you. but i must warn you, it's more than a little macabre that i find this story to be so funny that i had to excuse myself from the office for about 10 minutes.

So, as some of you may know, i work in mortgage. My boss has a unique talent for pissing off her clients and once she gets them good and riled, she likes to hand them off to me. She actually says things to me like, "Oh, this guy is really mad at me. I'm afraid to call him, will you?"

Obviously, i get rather tired of having to deal with people who are angry at her (rightfully so most times) and have no option but to take it out on me.

At the end of last week, a little old lady who we were refinancing called in. I wouldn't have called her a particularly nice woman, but she was tolerable...well, at least she had been until that day. She had been trying to contact my boss for over 2 weeks with no word back. We had started her loan nearly 2 months before but, due to my boss' organizational problems, still weren't even close to closing it. Simply put, the little old lady was flaming pissed.

"This is just horrible treatment of a customer, why won't she ever call me back? Why don't i know what's going on with my loan? Is she avoiding me because the loan isn't getting done? I mean, it's been 6 weeks since we started this process, we're coming up on a two month close! If you guys move any slower i won't live to see my signing! Honestly, this is just atrocious, i want the name of whoever runs the show over there. Give me the number of whoever i can lodge a complaint with!"

After she was done soiling her depends, i calmly hung up the phone and counted to ten as i focused every fiber of energy within me on squelching my desire to place my head in my desk drawer and slam it a half dozen times or so. I do a lot of counting at work.

Fast forward to today; a week later and my boss still has not phoned this woman. We get a phone call from her personal banker, the guy who refered her to us originally. I am assuming that he is calling to tell us that she has taken her business elsewhere because of our lethargic pace.

Nope.

Turns out that the old lady died Wednesday night.

Really.

We took so long to close her loan that she died of natural causes before we could finish...just as she predicted.

I wonder if we'll at least refund her application fee...

Ack! Meme'd!!!

2005-07-15T15:30:00.000-07:00

...and this one comes with specific instructions:

Remove the blog at #1 from the following list and bump every one up one place. Add your blog's name in the #5 spot. Link to each of the other blogs for the desired cross-pollenation effect.

1.) Who the What the Huh
2.) Escape Key
3.) The Girl In Camouflage
4.) Salt Licks and Beatniks
5.) Six Shooter Ranch

Here's the question: What 5 things do you miss about your childhood?

1.) Home cooked meals. My mother did not work when i was young due to my father's success. This was good for me in many ways, but i think i enjoyed her cooking the most. With so many duel income households these days, i feel very fortunate to have grown up in a situation where my mother had plenty of time for me.

2.) The excuses. "I didn't know that." "He told me to do it." "I'm just a kiiiiiiid." Not that they always worked, but being young certainly came with lower expectations; being a child was a built in excuse. It wasn't a get-out-of-jail-free card, by any means, but youth typically provides leeway.

3.) Saturday morning cartoons. Oh yeah baby. I have very fond memories of Saturdays before i was old enough to know what a hangover was... getting up early, creeping down into the family room and watching a couple hours of 'toons before my parents were up and about. I was so considerate about letting them sleep that once, after my sister had been born, i took her out of her crib, gave her a bottle and sat her out next to me to watch TV one morning. Of course, the bottle was filled with stale baby formula, but she sucked it down none the less and my parents still thought it was adorable.

4.) The neighborhood. Luckily for me, every place that i lived growing up was also home to many other kids my age. In Texas we had a huge front yard where all my friends would stop by to play sports, in New Hampshire we lived near a small forrest that provided years of entertainment for this little boy's imagination and in California we made big use of the pool whenever we could. I miss having so many close friends within walking distance.

5.) The potential. No one ever told me that i couldn't do anything. It has taken years of decision-making over grown up isssues, but i finally realize what bliss the potential of youth really was. Your life was so fresh, so unformed, and your potential was limited only by the scope of your imagination. Sad in a way, remembering all of those dreams, how close i held them for so long, and how most of them finally slipped away.

Ok, now to pass this along to five people...i choose...

Pops Kid
Megan
Kels
AllBilly
...and Porsche

Have fun, and everybody have a great weekend! I'll be back with 10 Things on Monday.

Here and There...

2005-07-14T17:05:00.000-07:00

Just a few things floating through my mind at 5:00 on a Thursday...

A.) I had been saying that Tom Cruise was making Scientologists look like Branch-Davidians but apparently all he's doing is vocalizing the average insanity of the rest of the members, rather than marking himself as a black sheep. Check out this article from Time magazine that details the history of the Church of Scientology. Um, this just in, these people are fucking wackos who worship the teachings of a schitzophrenic liar.

I suppose anyone who saw Battlefield Earth should have already known this though...the driving force behind the creation of that movie couldn't possibly be anything but the purest of evil.

B.) My family has a history of clinical depression. It goes back a ways on my mother's side and i have struggled with it myself since about the onset of puberty (which was last tuesday for those of you keeping track - finally, pubes!). While i have tried to use the condition to help better understand myself in an attempt to deal with it on my own terms, there have been times in my life where it has gotten the better of me; times when the mere prospect of getting up in the morning seemed about as daunting as running a marathon with splintered 2 x 4 up my ass. It's not something i can fully explain to someone who hasn't experienced it but try to imagine a causeless melancholy that adds a somber touch to everything you encounter, a loss of energy so severe that you feel you could nod off at any time and feelings of anxiety or self-doubt that rise suddenly and inexpliciply, like phantoms from the dark corners of your mind. There have been periods thoughout my life where i have felt overwhelmed by this and have turned to meds to help me cope. I did a couple years of Prozac and am currently doing my second go-round with Effexor. I have always been curious, however, about the ways in which any substance that i introduce to my body is actually affecting me and, as such, have done a fair amount of research about the way any medication that i take works, in the hopes of being able to better recognize the true benefits or adverse effects.

Here is the problem :

This is Effexor XR's homepage. The answers to three specific questions in the FAQ section caught my eye :

1.) What is Effexor?
2.) What are Effexor's possible side effects?
3.) What happens when i stop using Effexor?

1.) Well, Effexor is a drug used to treat depression. How do you know if you are clinically depressed? The site lists these symptoms:

- A sad feeling that will not go away
- Restlessness or slowed movements
- Changes in appetite or weight
- Changes in sleeping patterns
- A lack of interest in activities that usually provide pleasure
- Fatigue or lack of energy
- Feeling worthless, or feeling guilty for no reason
- Trouble concentrating or making decisions
- Repeated thoughts of death or suicide

2.) Like any anti-depressant, Effexor comes with possible side effects. The site lists :

- Nausea
- Dizziness
- Sleepiness
- Abnormal ejaculation
- Sweating
- Dry mouth
- Gas
- Abnormal vision
- Nervousness
- Insomnia
- Loss of appetite
- Constipation
- Confusion/agitation
- Tremor
- Yawning
- Palpitation

3.) Also like any other anti-depressant, it is not recommended that you stop taking Effexor cold turkey. Failing to properly ween yourself off of it, according to the website, can result in these symptoms :

- Agitation
- Anxiety
- Confusion
- Diarrhea
- Dizziness or vertigo
- Dry mouth
- Fasciculation (muscle twitching)
- Headaches
- Hypomania
- Impaired coordination
- Insomnia (trouble sleeping)
- Loss of appetite
- Nausea
- Nervousness
- Nightmares
- Seizures
- Sensory disturbances (including electric shock sensations)
- Somnolence (sleepiness)
- Sweating
- Tinnitus
- Tiredness
- Tremor
- Unpleasant mood
- Vomiting

Does anyone see the problem here? First of all, every single one of the symptoms that it recommends prescribing Effexor for are also side effects of taking the drug or discontinuing it's use. Secondly, there seem to be more negative symptoms associated with taking the drug than being depressed - and further more side effects when you decide to quit.

I know the drug helps my depression and i know it has some side effects, but in weighing the costs versus benefits when it comes to my decision on whether or not to continuing taking it for the long haul, this website is absolutely no help.

C.) Lastly, i really need to thank everyone who has voiced such aggressive support for my July 29th wedding with Lulu. While most of the support has been funneled through her private e-mail and she has not provided the names, i have gotten reports on some of the highlights and i just wanted to send my warmest gratitude to those of you who took time out of your busy days to either proclaim your hatred for me or make threats on my life. I especially need to thank the one individual who graciously offered to castrate me for the event. I will regretfully be declining the offer, but i am no less moved by the goodwill behind it.

...oh and to the Lulu-lover who offered to sodomize me with a garden hose, you have quite an imagination and i dare say that using it to devise sexually deviant torture for use on another male is really putting it to waste.

The Stupidest Thing I've Heard In the Office Today

2005-07-14T14:08:00.000-07:00

Me : What's wrong?

Boss : Oh, I've been doing a few calculations. We've spent so much time on this loan that when you factor in our commission and look at it by the hour we are actually losing money.

* I promise to remove this post as well as retract my assertion of stupidity if anyone can explain to me how one positive number (amount of commission made) divided by another positive number (hours we worked) can possibly equal a negative number?

Life Philosophy...Team America Style

2005-07-13T11:13:00.000-07:00

Watched it for the 2nd time last night and cracked up all over again...i think this is my favorite part:

"See, there's three kinds of people: dicks, pussies, and assholes. Pussies think everyone can get along, and dicks just want to fuck all the time without thinking it through. But then you got your assholes, Chuck. And all the assholes want is to shit all over everything! ... Now, pussies don't like dicks, because pussies get fucked by dicks. But dicks also fuck assholes: assholes that just want to shit on everything. Pussies may think they can deal with assholes their way. But the only thing that can fuck an asshole is a dick, with some balls. The problem with dicks is: they fuck too much or fuck when it isn't appropriate - and it takes a pussy to show them that. But sometimes, pussies can be so full of shit that they become assholes themselves... because pussies are an inch and half away from assholes. I don't know much about this crazy, crazy world, but I do know this: If you don't let us fuck this asshole, we're going to have our dicks and pussies all covered in shit!"

If that's not a solid justification for killing a terrorist, i don't know what is...and now i'll leave you all with that wonderful mental image...

The Funniest Thing I've Heard In the Office Today

2005-07-12T15:32:00.000-07:00

Associate 1 (he is a bit of a kiss ass) : Hey man, when are we going to catch up and get dinner some time, huh?

Associate 2 (recently got a divorce, not particularly easy on the eyes and a bit of a sleeze ball) : As soon as i'm not so booked.

Ass 1 : Wow, you're awfully popular in a hurry.

Ass 2 : (sighs) The internet is an amazing place.

The Big Announcement

2005-07-12T12:12:00.000-07:00

To All of My Wonderful Friends (as well as the people who linked here accidentally and those that just come here for porn),

Lulu and I would like to take this opportunity to announce our wedding plans for later this month. After more than a year of non-stop sexual innuendo, we have finally decided to take the plunge and accept each other for what we really are; two horny individuals who seem to believe that our online union will somehow provide us some relief from the endless sexual tension.

We have set July 29th as the date for the ceremony and we would like all of our friends to attend. Apologies for the short notice, but it’s not as though you need to make travel arrangements or anything. Please RSVP below. Guests who do not RSVP will still be admitted, but only if appropriately intoxicated. We will have a live band, Match Made In Hell, whose hit, “God Only Knows What I See In You”, Lulu and I have chosen for our first dance. Poles and dollar bills will be available to the guests in order to coax you all onto the dance floor with us.

Should you feel the desire to be of assistance during this wonderful event, we will need a few volunteers. Though we have a reverend lined up to wed us, we are still short bridesmaids and groomsmen as well as a bartender, caterer, DJ, ushers, flower girls, etc. Also, if any of you are so inclined, I’m sure that neither of us would object to someone planning bachelor/bachelorette parties.

Oh, and if there aren’t many posts up at the Ranch for the next few days, it’s because I’m is fending off calls of “Remember the Alamo!” as I attempt to explain to my ardently Texan family that I has fallen in love with a Mexican.

See you there!

Cowboy Matty

OUCH!!!

2005-07-12T10:22:00.000-07:00

Talk about the wrong orifice by which to be lifted 3 feet off the ground...

...and One!!!

2005-07-11T16:54:00.000-07:00

Ok, so Lulu feels a little gyped (yes, i know that term is not PC, but if there are any gypsies out there reading this blog i will be very surprised) with my list of ten things this week. Seems that she feels that wishing Happy B-day to the Slurpee was a cop out. Well, for those of you Icee-haters out there, here is your new #10: (any of you that liked wishing the Slurpee happy b-day can consider this a bonus...)

10.) ... or, 11.) I think Smokey's Cherokee is going to smell like a heaping pile of ass for a good long time. The back of the jeep was full because we had been helping his parents move earlier, so we lifted the keg (yes the same keg...motherfucker) into the backseat. It was still sitting in the red tub that BevMo had provided...soaking in a nasty mix of melted ice and week-old beer and, in hindsight, that was a bad idea. As we made a hard left to get on the freeway, you guessed it, the keg tipped over and dumped the contents of the rancid smelling tub all over the backseat. Despite a strong effort in the clean up department, the poor guy is still driving around with his windows open to avoid gagging at the stench. Oh, i bet he can't wait to get in his car and drive home from work today...after it's been closed up and sitting in the hot sun all day. Yech.

Ten Things... (7/11/05)

2005-07-11T16:03:00.000-07:00

1.) I think sympathy for certain things is tough to come by. I'm limping today, pretty badly actually, and everyone at the office wants to know why. When i tell them it is because i dropped a half-full keg on my toe as i was returning it this weekend, all they can say is, "Why were you returning a half-full keg?" At this point i must turn and limp away...it's less pathetic than telling them that the keg was half-full cause i have no friends and throw lame parties.

2.) I think there is something wrong with Smokey. I mean, other than the obvious. See, he told me this weekend that he can't taste the difference in flavors of Gatorade. Now, i have long been a foe of those who insist that they can taste a difference between red and yellow M&M's, as well as you out there that drink 1% milk religiously and swear up and down that they could spot the scent of any additional fat from 100 paces (uh, hello you dumb asses, the difference between 1% and 2% is, surprise, 1%!!! One freaking percentage point! In a single glass, that amounts to no more than few drops! Your milk could be 1% urine and i bet you still couldn't taste the difference). However, i consider Gatorade to be different. The Lemonade flavor tastes nothing like Fruit Punch, and no, i am not utilizing the same phantom taste buds that i was just railing against! It's different damn it!!! A little help...

3.) I think i was invited to my first 'lock and key' party on Saturday afternoon. For those of you who have no idea what a lock and key party is (see: me 48 hours ago), let me edify: It's a social gathering where the male guests receive keys and the female guest receive locks. Each key fits one and only one lock. Once you find the person who fits your key/lock, you are supposed to hang with that person for a bit and get to know them...the key/lock is simply used as an ice breaker. I guess these parties are a hit with old people. What's the big deal? Well, because i was invited to a lock and key party with a twist. I guess certain circles in San Francisco have these type of parties with some regularity...only when you find your partner, the two of you retreat to a bedroom and the male sees if he has any other useful utensils that might fit the female perfectly.

4.) I think i am a better boyfriend than i previously gave myself credit for. Why? Because the girl who invited me to the key party was one of the better looking girls that i have laid eyes on in the past few months and i turned her down cold. I love Miss Kitty, I don't cheat, but i kind of always thought that if a beautiful stranger offered me no-strings sex (as if women actually believe in such a thing) that i would do it. But i guess not. As i said, yay me. I guess. I can't decide if that decision makes me more or less of a man.

5.) Speaking of keys, i think that last item reminded me of my other favorite key story. One evening, oh about a year ago, Calamity Jane and i were drinking heavily when she decided that she would like to learn how to drive a manual transmission. So we went out and got in my car (please refruian from the AA speeches about the dangers of drunk driving; we were in an enclosed area behind my old place with no other people or cars, never went faster than about 5 miles per hour and yes, i realize it was still a bad idea). She grinds my gears a few times, lurches forward, stalls the car, does some more grinding...and, for the love of god, she screams every fucking time the car moves!!! Finally, we decide that it is not to be. As we try to reenter my apartment, i realize that she still has the keys. "Jane," i call, holding up my hand in a 'hey-toss-them-here' kind of manner. Now i'm not a little guy, i stand about six feet tall with broad shoulders, but i bare very, very little resemblance to Shaquille O'Neal. Despite this, Jane tosses the keys so high that they briefly show up on LAX' radar of incoming flights. They sail over my head and into the small, closed off area housing our air-conditioning unit. I open the small, wooden door to look inside, no doubt hurling verbal barbs at Jane as i went, to reveal the unit, elevated over an area of leaves that looked like it hadn't been raked out since the Reagan administration. Did i mention that is was dark? Well, once i saw that the key had not landed on the unit, but rather in the mess of leaves below, that was about it, i started scoping out the most comfortable place to sleep on my porch. Jane however, fueled by too many cocktails and a healthy sense of guilt (as well as athletic inability), did not give in. She got down on hands and knees, using her cell phone as a flash light, and actually managed to find my keys. This was good for me because i got to sleep inside. This was good for Jane because it would suck to lose a friend in pile of leaves.

6.) I think i'm going to gag. A 63 year old prostitute? I may not know much about prostitution, but i would think that a 63 year old who still manages to turn 4 tricks a day has either sold her soul to the devil in exchange for some kick-ass talents in the hanky-panky department or she's really learned how to use that whole 'dentures' thing to her advantage. Ok, now i'm definitely going to gag.

7.) I think i ran out of deodorant in my travel bag and had to wear Miss K's Secret today. Yeah, that's not very manly of me...then again, neither is admitting that i kind of like the flowery smell that wafts from my armpits every time i reach for something. ...but i am still a tough, brute, virile male if anyone asks, ok?

8.) I think that i am still clueless about my relationship with Miss Kitty. I have tried and tried not to bring this up on here because it's so freaking girly, but the problem is that it's on my mind too much to ignore. I swear i'll wake up one morning knowing that this is the girl i was meant to be with, then wake the next wondering if we'll make it through the day. I'm battling my preconceived notion of what a healthy, functioning relationship is truly like and wondering how much of that notion is worth holding out for and how much is pure fantasy. Ok, i'm done and i'll stay off it as long as i can.

9.) I think i owe Lulu a HUUUUUUUGE apology for calling her out over the whole fire engine thing. While i have never seen an engine like that before (and remain quite certain that the one we saw was not being driven in any capacity from the back as it was about 1/4 the size of a 'tiller' truck) and have verified that the seat in the back is used for controlling aerial ladders (per the link i posted)...the sad fact remains, that that was not my argument at the time. I was convinced that no such thing existed. So, sorry to Lulu and thank you to all those that never take the time to read what i have here when it is factually sound, but swirl like vultures when i wrong their beloved Lulu...you have put me back in my place - so high on shame that i'll need a tiller truck with an aerial ladder just to reach me. Fuck, i used to think fire trucks were cool....now they are just a big red reminder of my own fallibility.

10.) And finally, i think i will use my final item to wish a very happy birthday to...The Slurpee! That's right, the slurpee turns 40 today! Yes, this is true and no, i don't get out much.

You DON'T Know Who Guy MacArthur Is??!!

2005-07-08T16:07:00.000-07:00

Calamity Jane likes attention. Even she would admit that. She likes people to be envious of her; to desire both her and what she has to offer. As such, when she stumbles across something that she knows you, as her friend, will be interested in, she likes to brag. Even if she is on the verge of being uniquely generous, she still loves the thrill of a good episode of teasing beforehand. The problem for her is that she can, at times, get a little over-anxious on the bragging.

I am a football fan. A huge football fan...as in i refuse to make any plans (even work related) on Sundays during the fall and i tell everyone that it is because of 'religious obligations'. Calamity Jane has been well aware of my obsession ever since a severe miscalculation on her part led to me missing half of a Dallas Cowboys playoff game (a game that i am still positive they lost due to the lack of proper 'mojo' stemming from me failing to watch from my normal vantage point on the couch at home). The error nearly led to the end of our friendship, narrowly saved by what remains the first and only time that Jane has apologized to me for anything without first explaining how it was really my fault.

So i get a call from Jane the other night and i can tell by her tone that she's excited about something. After a brief preface, saying that she had been home over the weekend to see her family and some friends, it doesn't take long for her to start in...

"Guess who i met this weekend?"

"Who?"

Oozing excitement. "Guy MacArthur!!!"

"Who?"

"Oh, my god, i can't believe you don't know who he is! He used to play with the 49ers, he knows my dad and he's totally hooking me up with tickets for the '9ers this year, get this, on the field!!!"

"Guy MacArthur..."

"And guess who the '9ers play this year!"

Already seeing where this is going; letting her have her fun, "The Cowboys, don't tell me..."

"And guess how many tickets he's getting me!"

"More than one..."

"Two! And guess who i'm going to take with me?"

Briefly losing my mind and ruining her moment, "Wait, Guy MacArthur?"

Annoyed with my loss of focus, "Yes..."

"Was he a real big guy?"

"He's a football player."

"I know, but big even for a football player?"

"Yeah, i guess." I lose myself in thought for a moment. "He's totally famous, i'm really surprised you don't know him..."

It hits me - "Wait a tick, your new best friend...Guy McIntyre?"

Silence.

"Soooo, do i still get to come to the game?

Tersely, "Yes."

"Oh good, I can help you make sure that you call him the right name..."

"Goodbye."

"THAAAANK YOOOUU!!!"

Dumb and Dumberer

2005-07-08T13:33:00.000-07:00

I love these two girls, but i gotta pick on them right now...

Riding through the city a couple weeks back, i had to suddenly pull over to make way for fire truck. As it blazed past us with its sirens wailing, Miss Kitty grew one the kiddish smiles that frequent her face when something catches her eye.

"I used to want to be a fireman when i was little," she says. I hold back laughter at the thought of Kitty rescuing anybody from anything at any time.

"Oh yeah, would you be the 'kitten-in-the-tree' specialist?"

"No, i just wanted to be the little person who sits in the back," she pointed toward the rear of another passing fire engine, to the seat at the base of the ladder. "I always thought that would be so fun," she continued. "Driving the truck from the back like that."

"What?" I was previously unaware of the combination laugh/cough that seems to choke itself out of me whenever she Miss K says something that confounds me, but now i do it nearly every day.

"The guy at the back...who drives the truck."

Yep, i heard it right. I giggle, then take a parental tone, "That isn't the driver, that's the guy that controls the big ladder."

She squints at me, "Are you sure?"

"Well, i'm not a fireman, but if the guy at the back of the truck is driving, what the heck are the guys in the cab at the front of the truck doing?"

She sits for a minute while this thought sinks in. Suddenly she laughs at herself, "I am 23. I have thought that for 23 years."

Fast forward about a week. In talking with Lulu, the previously described conversation came up. I expected at least a giggle from her but as the i drew the story to a close, she hadn't even smiled. Instead she met me with a flustered look, her face reddening a bit.

"What? Oh, i get it, i'm an asshole for teasing my girlfriend, whatever..."

"No, it's just that i had that same conversation with someone recently."

"About the backseat driver in a fire truck?"

"Yep. And i was the one that thought he was driving...only it's worse, i thought he only controlled the rear wheels...you know, cause fire trucks are so long..." Now she was bright red and starting to smile. "The really sad part is, i convinced the people i was arguing with that i was correct."

We laughed for five minutes. Then i called her an idiot, she agreed and we went back to work.

* Here is a PDF concerning the history and operation of aerial ladders for anyone else out there who believes that driving from the rear is the most logical way to pilot a fire truck.

I Wonder What He Wants For Christmas...

2005-07-08T10:23:00.000-07:00

Wow, i'm floored by this one. I'll link the article here, but the basic gist of it is that a married couple was recently arrested and sentenced to 2 years probation for 'contributing to the delinquency of a minor'. Their crime? Hiring a stripper for their son's 16th birthday party.

When questioned, the boy's mother replied that they just wanted to do something special for him on his birthday. "We even had Grandpa there," she said.

You'll obviously make up your own minds as to how tolerable of a crime that is, but regardless of how much you loathe 'child delinquency' or enjoy strippers, i think we can all agree that hanging out with grandpa, your mom and a stripper is just strange. Might as well schedule Thanksgiving dinner at The Eager Beaver this year...i'll book your reservations on Jerry Springer, you guys can thank me later.

Childbirth Is Dangerous For Dads Too

2005-07-07T17:01:00.000-07:00

This article is either one of the saddest things that i have ever read, or kind of funny in a twisted sorta way.

I don't guess you can be embarrassed after you're dead, but if your buddies can still give you shit in heaven, this guy is catching an earful right now...

Dumb and Dumber

2005-07-07T15:55:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite things (read: biggest annoyances) about the best (read: most overrated) city on earth is the fact that, at any given moment, there are never more than 4 open parking spots in all of San Francisco. I guess those who live there adjust to the endless circling of city blocks and the fact that you can not drive anywhere after 8 pm or else you'll be looking for parking til sun up, but i can't stand it.

Per our usual routine, Miss Kitty and I circled for parking for about 15 minutes before we decided to park in the 2 hour zone on Tuesday night. While there are usually spots available in 2 hour, you have to have your car moved by 8 the following morning and, with how long it takes to find parking elsewhere, that is a tall order. To compound matters, Miss Kitty has to get up earlier than i do to catch the bus to work, so when her car needs to be moved in the morning, the responsibility falls on me. Despite this, there are few things i hate more than driving around looking for parking after a long day, so i usually consent to parking in 2 hour pretty quickly. And so it went.

Wednesday morning i woke up late. I rushed to get ready, cursing under my breath at the improbability of finding a parking spot in any kind of expedient manner. The streets are littered with limited time parking zones and certain streets prohibit parking on particular days to allow for street cleaning. Add that to the already sparse amount of general parking space and you begin to understand the annoyance to small degree; it's like a bunch of cars playing the world's biggest game of musical chairs.

"Just make sure you don't move it into another 2 hour zone, ok?" I rolled my eyes when she had said that; as if i could be that stupid.

So, i hopped in her car, circled a few streets, then nearly shouted with glee as i spotted a place for her car less than two blocks from her house. I called Miss Kitty immediately and left her a voicemail with exact directions on where she would find her car, then scooted off to work and didn't think a thing more about it.

Fast forward 12 hours or so. I get out of the shower after a long workout to find three frantic voicemails from Miss Kitty that all went a little something like, "Call me back as soon as you get this, i can't find the car! We've looked everywhere (apparently she had gotten her roomie in on the search). It's not here. I really need to talk to you! Call me right back!"

Uh-oh, i think, that can't be good. I wonder if i gave her the wrong street name? Did i get it towed somehow? Or, even worse, what her car had been stolen? What if i left it unlocked and this was all my fault???

She answers her phone and the meat of the conversation goes something like this:

"You can't find your car?"

"No, it's not where you said."

"I swear it's just a block up from your house, then a quarter block down McAllister."

"Nope, not there."

"Hmm, i guess i could have gotten the street name wrong, did you go up a block to make sure?"

"No, i mean we looked down the block but didn't see anything." Um, ok, you leave me three frantic messages, but you are unable to walk an extra block to look on your own...oh well, don't be a dick, this is still probably my fault somehow.

"Well, even if i spaced on the street name, i know it's in that area."

"Ok, I'll walk down and check again."

We get off the phone and i await the outcome. An hour passes and i still have not heard back. To me, this is good news. See, if the car was missing, i would have heard about it right away. If, however, she found the car where i said it was, so thorough would be her desire to avoid looking foolish over her freak out that i would be unlikely to hear from her ever again. So i did what any compassionate boyfriend would have done - i called to gloat.

"Hello?"

"So, Magellan, you find your car?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah? Is that all you got for me? Where was it?"

"A quarter block down McAllister."

"Right where i said?"

"Right where you said. We just couldn't see it from where we were standing before."

"Huh?"

"At the end of the block."

"Wait. You never actually walked down to where i told you the car was the first time?"

"No."

"You just stood at the end of the block, took a quick peek and then gave up?"

"It was hard to see."

"Of course it was, you have a dark blue car and it was nighttime."

"No, but it was between 2 parked cars."

"Well, it was on the street. People do tend to park there, us included, oddly enough."

"Yeah but when we..." Her voice drifts off and i find myself alone in that quiet place where i go when Miss K's use of logic eradicates any intelligent human thought. If you need to find something, wouldn't you ask someone who knew how to find it? And if you ask that person where that thing is and they supply you with directions, why would you avoid following them? And if you don't follow them, can you really go back to that person and claim that they gave you bad directions? Well, i looked in that general direction and didn't see it so i just figured it wasn't there. Jesus Christ, that's like somebody phoning me to say that they are sitting on their couch in LA...if i walk out on my porch, look south and fail to see them, do i have the right to call them back and tell them that they are either mistaken or lying? Ridiculous. "...but once i walked down a little further i could see it."

"So, for the record, your car was where?" Now i'm being an ass on purpose, i've got her here.

"A quarter block down McAllister, just where you said it would be." She lets me smile for a second before she flips it on me. "Oh and, for the record, McAllister has street cleaning on Wednesdays so thanks for the parking ticket...Magellan."

And now i just feel like an ass.

So...It's a Bad Thing?

2005-07-06T16:31:00.000-07:00

Just took a Life Expectancy Test and i'm pretty sure that this website just attempted an intervention... Apparently i will live to be 84.7 years old, which would be a complete success in my book, but the designers of this test think otherwise. There were two questions related to drinking: 'how often do you drink?' and 'how much do you drink when you do?'. I thought i was actually being semi-conservative when i checked '1-2 times per week' and '3+ drinks', respectively, but this is the response i earned:

Alcohol, consumed in the amount that you have indicated, is toxic to your liver and your nervous system. You are at significant risk of developing liver disease and eventually liver failure. Consumption in the amounts you have indicated likely indicated you are addicted to alcohol. Ask yourself the following 4 questions, known as the CAGE questions:

1. Have you tried to CUT down on your drinking? Why would i do that?
2. Are you ANNOYED with criticisms about drinking? Yes, unless you're just calling out the bartender for moving too slowly...
3. Do you sometimes feel GUILTY about drinking? Only when i'm baby-sitting or at church.
4. Do you sometimes drink alcohol in the morning or as an "EYE-OPENER"? What do you think? Like i'm gonna go to work sober...

If you answered "yes" to at least 2 of these questions, there is a 75% chance that you are addicted to alcohol. On the other hand, if you answer yes to just one question or to none of them, there is a 96% chance that you are not. Having a problem with alcohol will shorten your health span and will certainly decrease your quality of life. Seeking assistance and treatment is critical.

I answered 'yes' to 3 of the questions...if two yes' (yeses? yesi?) carry a 75% likelihood of alcoholism, then 3 yes' must, according to my superior skills of arithmetic, carry a likelihood of exactly 142.36%!!! Oh my god! It's official!

Guess i need to go find myself a meeting...but how about somebody buys a round to celebrate first, huh?

Ten Things... (7/4/05)

2005-07-05T21:44:00.000-07:00

1.) I think i used the 4th to redefine the word 'pig'. I joined Miss Kitty and 3 of her friends at the Giants game yesterday, but nobody did much baseball watching. I mostly just ate everything in site and they mostly just laughed at me. I had nachos, a hot dog, chicken strips (with fries of course), fried dough with strawberries and whipped cream, orange chicken over steamed rice, half dozen margaritas, some cotton candy and a churro. I was proud to likely be the only person in the stadium who could eat that much and still fit in a single seat. Of course, after pigging out like no other and drinking all day in the sun, i was passed out by 5 pm and that was pretty much all she wrote as far as my 4th of July went.

2.) I think i'm a little unpatriotic for not enjoying fireworks more than i do. I'm not saying i don't like them, i do. But if you've seen one fireworks display, you seen about 99% of them...it is very infrequent that i see something these days that makes me go, "Whoa." I saw fireworks on both Saturday and Sunday night and found myself a bit bored each time. It's just gotten a little stale to me, i find my mind frequently wandering during the display....wondering how much traffic there's going to be on the way home, whether or not shaving your chest as a male is metro or not, and just how far could i get my index finger up my nose if i really tried? See? I think i am missing the point. Am i not festive? Am i Unamerican? Or am i just getting old?

3.) I think i legitimately feared for my life on an amusement park ride for the first time this weekend. In general, i am a bit wary of the super big carnival rides due to their constant disassembling and reassembling. I mean it only takes one mistake to send one of those carts flying off the track, straight into carnival lore. And, to make matters worse, the people charged with ensuring your safety don't typically look like PhD candidates, to put it mildly. As Miss Kitty and i climbed on to our second ride of the day (a ride a bit like the old swinging pirate ships, where people are harnessed into a carriage and then swung upside down a number of times) the attendant spent a good three minutes banging on the clasp of our shoulder harnesses with a wrench before he declared us safe to ride. I hate it when they fuck with the safety restraints right before you're about to start a ride, as if i'm going to be able to think about anything other than being flung to my death for the next 2 minutes. Oh it was horrible, i've never been on a machine that made so many cracking and grinding noises. We flipped over again and again, my safety restraint giving just enough (as my body repeatedly smashed against it) to make me nearly shit myself each time. I don't get scared on rides, heights and speed are part of the fun as far as i'm concerned, but there was something about the feeling this one gave me...i just couldn't get off quick enough. I dunno, maybe it was the nachos i ate right before i got on.

4.) I think my penis feels a little smaller after my carni-game failures. It was inevitable. I knew the second that i agreed to go the fair that Miss Kitty would be all over me about winning her some kind of stuffed animal. It's kind of a cliche carnival activity and Miss K is traditional that way. This is all fine and good, but my dad is the carni-game expert, not me. Not to mention, after you've paid a $50 admission fee at, say, Six Flags, it is quite a bit more feasible that they would let you walk off with a prize than it is after walking into a $10 carnival and dropping $2 on a game...i whole-heartedly stand by the notion that they are all rigged. That said, i was determined. I cased every game, taking into account the type of prize, the approximate difficulty and the cost. Finally i found one where they had set up approximately 40 beer bottles on a wall about 30 feet from the gamers. $2 bought you a pair of baseballs to throw and you had to smash two bottles to win a prize. Miss Kitty egged me on with this statement, "Wow, that looks hard." When she saw that it looked as if i might try, she offered up this nugget, "Oh you are going to get really, really laid tonight if you hit on of those bottles." So i bought myself 6 balls and proceeded to hit nothing. I still got laid, but I feel like a smaller man today.

5.) I think i'm unsure why Jessica Biel was even in the movie Cellular. I'm all for Jessica being in every single movie from now until forever, but if you do sign her to a film (you directors and producers of the world), please (please, please, please) include her in the film for more than 2 minutes. Even if you just have to put a small picture of her in the upper right corner of the screen when her character isn't on screen, trust me, it'll make your film much better.

6.) I think the party gods crapped all over us on Sunday. Between asking every person that we know and Smokey even going so far as to hand out fliers, i thought we'd have a decent turn out last weekend. Uh, not so much. We threw pretty much the lamest party of all time...the only girls there were married and i was the only person brave (see: drunk) enough to try out the slip n' slide. Yes, we had a slip n' slide....and two kiddie pools. What? There was a keg too...

7.) I think our new roomie will fit in just fine. Joe Cottonmouth, who will henceforth be known only as Cotton, somehow managed to pass out (at his own party) before anyone even showed up.

8.) I think Smokey does a wonderful Tom Hanks impression. Not sure what i was thinking when i agreed to his suggestion that we get a dozen tiki torches for our party. Fire and alcohol, now there's a winning combo! I could use this space to tell almost a dozen stories about Smokey nearly burning the house down on Sunday, including when he thought it would be a good idea to move four of the torches to my room (while they were lit) but really i think a single one pretty much sums it all up. Just after nightfall we decided to start BBQing again. One of our few friends that actually showed up had just stacked up the charcoal and doused it with lighter fluid when Smokey emerges from the house, strips off his shirt, snatches up the first tiki torch he sees and begins running around the backyard with it held high over his head like a samurai sword, quickly scattering the half-dozen guests we had. After a few minutes of running around aimlessly, he rushed to the grill and flung the flaming end of the tiki torch into the charcoal. It burst into a spectacular flame, drawing sounds of worried astonishment from the onlookers. Then, topless, under a moonlit sky before the rising flames, he threw his arms in the air and cried out, ala Castaway, "I have made fire!" I'm sure the humor of it is sold quite short as i describe it here, but i damn near wet myself laughing at the time.

9.) I think Vladimir Putin is a thieving son of a bitch! Well, ok, maybe not, but talk about your awkward misunderstandings... For those of you who did not hear, Mr. Putin was a guest of Bob Kraft's (the owner of the Super Bowl Champion New England Patriots) recently during the Russian President's visit to the states. While conducting a press conference related to the visit, Mr. Kraft made a very public show of handing a 2004 New England Patriots Super Bowl Ring, encrusted with 124 diamonds and valued at approximately $20,000. Putin admired the ring, tried it on, slipped it back off and then...palmed it, right there in front of the press and everyone. The awkwardness of the moment appeared suffocating; Kraft waiting for the ring back, visibly weighing his options...do i play this off or do i lean over and stomp this little Rooski-made bitch? He just stole a freaking Super Bowl ring! This is the symbol of victory in our country's most celebrated athletic event! G. W. has gone to war for less! ...but no, Kraft just kept silent about it until press reports questioned whether the ring was intended as a gift. Then he came up with something like, "I presented the ring to Mr. Putin because of my respect for how he quarterbacks the Russian country." Laaaaaame. Wouldn't this have made for such a better story if he had just snatched the ring back from Putin, put it on and smacked him up-side the head? That's what Al Davis would have done...

10.) I think i want a lama. There was a petting zoo at the fair. I saw a cow. I saw a sheep. I saw the hugest horses ass of all time. I saw a pig race. And then i saw a lama. At which point i had to yell at the top of my lungs, "TINA, YOU FAT LARD, COME GET SOME HAM!!!" Then, for embellishment, "EAT THE FOOD!!!" The lama actually stood up and walked over to me. It was love at first sight. Unfortunately i didn't really have any ham and i like to think that is why the lama's interest in me was so short lived. Next time i'll be prepared.

Ok, I'll Do It...But Only Because PK Told Me it Feels Good...

2005-07-01T13:30:00.000-07:00

- Copy this entire list into your blog/journal.
- BOLD everything about you that is TRUE.
- Leave plain anything that is FALSE about you.
- Put an asterisk at the end of false statements you would LIKE to be true.

I have had sex while wearing a blindfold. (Hell, with some of the girls i've been with, it was a necessity)
I have blindfolded someone else during sex.
I have had sex while watching porn.
I have had sex while surfing porn on the Internet. (The wrong kind of pop-ups, you know?)
I sleep better after sex.
There are some nights I cannot sleep without sex or masturbating. (But only on days ending in "Y")
The bed is NOT my most favorite place to have sex.
I am turned on knowing someone is watching me masturbate.
I have masturbated for someone over a web cam.
I have had sex over a web cam. (Can someone explain the logistics of this to me?)
I will have sex with someone I just met if they turn me on. (Yeah, last i checked i was still a guy)
I have been tied up during sex.
I have had sex with someone who was tied up.
I have dripped wax onto a lover's body.
I have had a lover drip wax onto my body.
I have a foot fetish.
I have a leather fetish.
I have a tickle fetish.
I like being choked during sex.
I have had sex in a burning building. (I love a roll in the hay as much as the next guy, but when our passion actually ignites the bed, my libido takes a back seat to avoid burns in sensitive areas)
I have erotic art on display somewhere in my residence. (I'm counting the Pam Anderson poster in my garage)
I enjoy nudie magazines. (There are people who don't?)
Erotic toys are a regular part of my budget. (I'll count porn as an erotic toy for myself. Sadly, females have the market cornered when it comes to actual sex toys...but in my envy i keep Miss Kitty well supplied)
I think PLAYBOY is tame, maybe even boring. (Never going to call it boring, but tame? Sure. Kinda needs to be though; they have to convince all those actresses with down-sliding careers that it is actually classy to take your clothes off for money)
I have clicked on porn links in my email.
I know the difference between girl/girl and lesbian sex in porn. * (I declare shenanigans on this one. I fancy myself somewhat of a porn expert and i don't know the difference)
I have watched more than one gay/lesbian porn video. (I am totally comfortable with gay porn...as long as both chicks are hot)
Much of what I know about sex comes from porn. (boys, you're in big trouble if this is true, you could put a chick in the hospital using porn as a how-to video)
Interracial sex turns me on. (not cause it's interracial...because it's sex, i like sex)
I think we should do more to understand the cultures of sex. (Orgy anyone? oh, c'mon, it's research...)
I would participate in sex research given the opportunity. (I suppose that depends on what type of research...not anything that involves the words "probing", "heavy chaffing" or "strong current of electricity")
My current lover does not sufficiently meet my sexual needs. (Quite the contrary!)
I currently have a "crush" on someone of the same sex.
I have had sex at my place of employment.
I have had sex with my boss (current or past).
I am often disappointed in my sexual relationships.
Some people might describe me as a nymphomaniac.
I am difficult to live with if I'm not having sex on a regular basis.
I sleep better with someone snuggled up next to me.
I have had sex under water. (...as in we were in a pool, not completely submerged, that sounds dangerous...especially if you're fooling around with someone heavy...)
I have had sex in the snow. (Yikes! Frostbite!)
I am in a polyamorous relationship. *
I just had to look up the word 'polyamorous'.
I have to have music playing while having sex.
I have had more than ten orgasms in one night. * (In a 24 hour period, yes, but not in a single night)
I have flashed strangers. (Those poor little, old ladies.)
I have given sex as a gift. (...and you thought it hurt when your girlfriend returned the scarf you got her...)
I have set-up a three-way for my lover. *
I have had a threeway set up for me by a lover. * (!!!)
I stopped during this list to have sex. *

List passed this way by PK. Give it a whirl and let me know when you do, i love to know just how naughty everyone likes to get!

Kind Of Unlike Me But...

2005-07-01T13:26:00.000-07:00

I am never the type to turn freakish on a birthday. You know the females that turn 39 for 12 years in a row? The dudes who spend their 25th looking for grey hairs? Nope. Not me. There is way more to age than just a number. Some people act much younger than they are, some people much older...as such, worrying about a number has always seemed silly to me.

However this is not to say that the passing of time fails to awe me at points. Not that it ever makes me sad, just kind of gives me pause. Time seems to pass faster and faster.

A prime example:
As of today, July 1st, i am officially closer in years and months to thirty than to my college graduation. Wow. Yes, i realize 25 (26 in a month) is still young (though it used to seem a lot older), but it's not about that, i'm not saying i feel old, i don't.

It just gives me pause is all.

...and you smell like one too!

2005-06-30T17:45:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday Lulu!!!

I got you the perfect gift!

From your friend at The Ranch

Grand Theft Meme!

2005-06-30T15:15:00.000-07:00

Ok, i wasn't really tagged with this one, but Lulu said that i should just tell everyone that she made me do it anyway. So, i'm kind of stealing this meme...with permission. Which of course leads to the question, 'If get permission to steal prior to the theft, is it still stealing?' I'm sure you'd love to know the answer but, unfortunately for you, that question is not on the list, better luck next time.

10 years ago... I was halfway through high school and less than a month from getting my license.

5 years ago... I was moving in with my girlfriend at the time. I got some advice for those of you planning on moving in with your significant other any time soon. Rent month to month, do not, i repeat, do not sign a full-year lease.

1 year ago... I was sitting in this exact same cubical, in front of this exact same computer, doing the exact same job...only hating it a little less. I'm going to go cry now.

Yesterday... I played a game of Kickball. Yes, ladies and gents, i am in a kickball league. Well, it's more a drinking league with a little kickball on the side, but it's fun no matter what you call it and, surprisingly enough, there are good many hot chicks in the bay area that seem to enjoy kickball as well. Babes and beer? Hell i'll play Chutes and Ladders in a diaper if good looking girls and free booze are included.

Today... I am counting the minutes until i can go home. This will be my last evening at home before the big fiesta on July 3rd so i need to help the roomies get all of our shit together.

Tomorrow... I will again put off the things that i was supposed to do today.

5 snacks I enjoy... Honey Nut Chex Mix, Peanut Butter M&M's, cake batter ice cream from Coldstone, McNuggets and, uh, hard boiled eggs.

5 songs I know all the words to... You only want five? Ok, the first five that come to mind are... "Cowboy" Kid Rock, "You Can't Always Get What You Want" Rolling Stones, "Chicks Dig It" Chris Cagle, "Two Steps" Lynyrd Skynyrd, "Bust a Move" Young MC (yeah, yeah, laugh it up...i also remember the lyrics to a couple Tone Loc songs as well as some MC Hammer and Kool Moe Dee tunes...ah, the good old days when hip hop was still called rap).

5 things I would do with $100,000,000... Well let's see, the first three things that i would do would be 1.) quit my job, 2.) quit my job, and 3.) quit my motherfucking rancid shit-pile of a job. Hell, i might even quit a 4th time just to be sure that i never, ever, ever wind up in this cubicle again. But let's call it three. Next i would buy myself the mother of all mansions and invite all of my closest friends to live in the guest wing, free of rent. And, lastly, i would start a publishing company that catered to writers just getting started, helping them to publish their first few novels.

5 locations I would love to run away to... 1.) The moon. Ok, i realize that i can't run there, but wouldn't it be the coolest thing ever to be one of the handful of people who has seen Earth from space? 2.) Austrailia. Can we lump New Zealand in there too? I know they are different countries, but damn, that's a long flight to just see one of them. 3.) Amsterdam. A prostitute in every window, a joint in every vending machine...sign me up! 4.) Brazil. Home of Carnivale and the best soccer team on the planet. 5.) Italy. It'd be fun to scoot around Europe, comparing the females in every country...from what i hear, this would be a good place to start.

5 things I like doing... 1.) Writing. 2.) Playing just about any sport, i love competition. 3.) Watching porn. 4.) Smoking a joint with the boys. 5.) Haaaaaaaaavin' sex!

5 things I would never wear... 1.) A scarf. 2.) Bells, of any kind. 3.) Make-up. 4.) Anything in my hair. 5.) Liederhosen.

5 recently seen movies I like... 1.) Batman Begins - kiiiiiick ass! 2.) Team America: World Police - not for the easliy offended. 3.) The Longest Yard - Adam Sandler and Chris Rock will always be a winning combination in my book. 4.) Star Wars: Episode III - I was weened on Star Wars so i'd probably have enjoyed it no matter what, but this latest one was definitely the best fo the prequels. 5.) Lost In Translation - actually, i was only luke-warm on this movie (i'm pretty sure that i wasn't the target audience), but all the other flicks that i have seen recently were terrible.

5 famous people I'd like to meet... Shit, now you'll all see how shallow i really am. 1.) Angelina Jolie 2.) Jessica Biel 3.) Kid Rock (and Jesse Jane can tag along) 4.) Brett Favre 5.) Pam Anderson's left breast.

5 biggest joys of the moment... 1.) E-mailing Lulu. 2.) My boss being out of town. 3.) Blogging at work. 4.) The thought that now that Smokey and I have someone to live in the 3rd bedroom, our potions of the mortgage payments will be much smaller. 5.) Lulu naming her newest vibrator after me - a true honor.

5 favorite toys... 1.) My Ipod - i truly wish i could be more original, but there is a reason everybody loves their Ipod, they rock! 2.) My DVD burner - boredom at Miss Kitty's no more! I just throw a few episodes of Deadwood and The Simpsons on DVD, maybe get a little Jenna Jameson in the mix and, bam, Kitty's snooze of a habitat becomes much more bearable for us insomniacs. 3.) Homer - homer is Smokeys bong, my surrogate child, named as such because hitting it will make you talk like Homer Simpson. 4.) My Bar Set - a must have for any aspiring alcoholic. 5.) My big screen TV baby! We're talking 46-inch, HD-ready, digital projection widesceen, complete with surround sound...did i mention that i love movies?

5 people to tag... I'm pretty sure that i'm not allowed to tag anyone since i stole this meme. How about i just clean it up a bit and take it back to Lulu...maybe she can sell it on ebay or something.

Ten Things... (6/27/05)

2005-06-27T12:08:00.000-07:00

Ok, i know i am a little behind with my usual Monday column, but i took a few days off of work this week and blogging became suddenly less important than such life-altering events as getting really stoned, watching porn and napping.

That said, i had a rather eventful weekend leading up to my 2-day laziness binge so this week's edition of "Ten Things" should be quite entertaining...or at the very least, really, really long.

1.) I think i saw a lot of freaking movies while i was away. So, jumping right in, i have to start with Batman Begins, which Miss Kitty and I took in on IMAX and both thoroughly enjoyed. There is a darkness to the movie that gives it a very grown-up feel for a 'super-hero' flick and it manages to avoid the dumbed-down plot and juvenille dialogue that cripples many films aiming to appeal to wide range of movie-goers. I love me a good summer action flick and this was certainly no exception - easily the best comic book movie that i have ever seen and it won't surprise me in the least if this film winds up being this summer's most memorable.

2.) I think Miss Kitty had a wonderful anniversary. Wedged somewhere between four movies, a gaggle of transvestites, a keef-laced blunt, some overly-aggressive strippers and a gay pride parade (yes, i'll get to all of it), Miss Kitty and I found time to celebrate our one year anniversary. Now, normally, the nausea-inducing day-to-day cutie news regarding my relationship is not proper material for this site. In fact, i come here to escape it. However, some things simply must cross over and this is one of them...the story is too rich in oddball characters and fresh emotions for me to simply skip it. Consider yourself warned. And now...to tell it properly i have to start by saying that Miss Kitty and I have frequent discussions about our sexual fantasies. Through these conversations, i had come to understand that 'sex with a stranger' was her only true fantasy that i really had no way of fulfilling. So that got me thinking... Fast forward to Friday; Miss Kitty thinking that she is going out with a couple of friends and meeting me the following day. They take her to a bar downtown at the mildly posh Pan Pacific Hotel, get the group a table, then excuse themselves to the restroom, leaving Miss K all by her lonesome and just as Kitty receives a drink courtesy of a "stranger" across the bar, her friends are sneaking out of the back door. Ever the dutiful girlfriend, she attempt to refuse the drink but finds the waitress to be rather insistant. After what had to be a moment of unintended discomfort, i emerged from the end of the bar, introduced myself to her under a different name and offered to get her another drink if the one i had ordered previously was not satisfactory. I joined her at the table, explaining my situation as a travelling salesman from back east, in the city for a one day conference. Of course "i'm not the type to normally approach a woman out of the blue like this but, to be honest, i'm not sure i really allowed myself a choice this time." I didn't break character once and, although it took her some time to wipe the knowing smile off of her face, once we settled in things flowed very nicely...i actually felt a bit nervous at points as if we truly were strangers...of course this probably had more to do with the gin n' tonics i was throwing back, one after another, but let's be romantic for a moment. After the gig had been sufficiently played out, i picked up the tab, dropped a room key on the table and departed with, "I hope i'll be seeing you in a few minutes." (my, it's so much easier to be smooth when you've already slept with the girl) I had gotten us a suite for the evening, complete with a bottle of champagne, 3 long stem roses and a dozen chocolate dipped strawberries. Miss Kitty saw all of this and then, very calmly, attempted to brutalize me beyond recognition with a relentless barrage of amazing sex. I hate it when that happens. Ok, so it wasn't sex with a real stranger, but it was as close as she's going to come any time soon (i hope...) and it also earned me a much higher spending limit on my Poontang Card (redeemable only at the Bank of Miss Kitty). Oh, i'm not quite done with this story (just the gushy parts) but i thought i would break it up a bit for you...you know, not wallop you with the lesbians, transvestites and tragicly mistaken drink orders all at once.

3.) I think Hostage was a pretty crappy movie. There, i said it. But then what do you expect from an action yarn that comes out during the winter? I guess it started out ok, but (listen up Hollywood) i am sick and fucking tired of the little kids saving the day. Most little kids are helpless, little bitch-made brats that would fall over and crap themselves in the panic-inducing situations frequently portrayed in movies. Yet in the context of these films, they are brave, defiant and often more clever than their adult counterparts. Please stop selling me this shit, ok? If i didn't believe that little Anakin Skywalker could fly a spaceship in The Phantom Menace, i certainly don't believe that Little Boy Booger is really going to have much success escaping his kidnappers, phoning the authorities, locating a key piece of evidence and saving his sister, all while brandishing a handgun. I mean c'mon, Anakin Skywalker is Darth Fucking Vader and i wasn't even buying his shenanigans - what chance does this little Elijah Wood-wannabe have? ...Darth Fucking Vader...jeez!

4.) I think we had to go to an alternate IMAX showing on Sunday for the lamest reason of all time...a gay pride parade. Ok, a certain part of me, just like every other sane-minded individual on earth, fully understands the need for a day-long celebration of naked men (and naked women who look like men) frolicking through a maze of closed-down city streets to assert their love of all things gay. However, the other 99.9% of my conscious being (otherwise known as the portion that has the aggrivating habit of utilizing logic in day-to-day activities) has some questions. First, what is a march for pride? I mean, i understand a march for equality, i understand a march for justice, hell i even understand a march for better fitting bras, but what is a Pride March? I don't understand marching for pride. It seems to me that a Pride March is a bit of an oxymoron. Sure, pride is a good thing, but one who makes an overt show of their pride (as marching might suggest) is generally thought of as arrogant. Ok, i realize i am being overly-literal...but i still need an explanation. I suppose some might attempt to rationalize a march for pride as a bid for understanding or some type of symbolic combination among the other types of marches that i have mentioned (save for the bra-fitting, of course). Two points here: One, if the march is for some type of tolerance, why are they marching in the one place in the country (if not the world) where they already find the highest degree of acceptance? Couldn't we do with a little more sexual tolerance in Birmingham, for instance? Secondly, if you are attempting to gain equality, expanded rights or acceptance in any form, is the proper course of action to hold an event that flaunts the very things that the greater world is struggling to accept? Do you teach a homophobe tolerance by showing him/her a couple of leather-clad boys groping all over one another? I certainly don't believe so, i think that such displays would serve to strengthen bigoted thinking, not reform it. However, i don't think that promotion of acceptance or awareness is really the spirit of the SF gay pride parade. I think it's more of a day when a certain sub-group of our society finds themselves able to join together in a search for the type of camraderie that is supposedly easy to find for those of us that appear to fit social norms and painfully evasive for those who don't. Fine, i can accept that, i can even see it as a good thing, if equal consideration is given to other groups that may wish to obtain this same feeling of inclusion...but it isn't. That's my real issue here, half-hearted, homo-semantic arguments aside. My issue is that i have to trek an hour out of my way on a Sunday afternoon to accomodate an activity that would not be provided for any other group in the area. I realize that as a white male, these type of comments are considered inapproriate, but i am past caring. This is not a hetero vs. homo thing, this complaint is directed at all sub-groups as well as the way that the majority deals with them. I am sick of how all of these groups clamor for equality on the one hand, while going to every possible length to illustrate and flaunt their differences from those from whom they demand acceptance...frequently proliferating equally unfair characterizations of their supposed oppressors at the same time. And then the majority (or power that be), in their quest to appear fair, create exceptions and alter rules aimed at making up for past injustices, however they are frequently doing nothing more than laying the groundwork for future confrontations as others wonder why such exceptions are made for some and not all. In their quest to create equality they create further inequality. Then what? Who's right? Who's wrong? My point is, you can't have it both ways, either conform or realize that people will notice you for not conforming and find peace with that. My god, i believe they call that a tangent... Obviously this issue has to do with a lot more than the parade i encountered this weekend, maybe i'll rant more about it some other time.

5.) I think Josh Hartnett needs a new agent. I mean seriously, why can’t this guy get himself a decent role? I saw Wicker Park this weekend. In a word, pointless, and that is to politely avoid other possibly more appropriate words, such as boring and terrible. The worst part is, it’s one of those movies that I had no business watching in the first place…I mean, c’mon, what did I expect, right? I hate that. I hate it when i know better and i still manage to find disappointment.
6.) I think I met a bunch of transvestites on Friday. Back to the whole anniversary thing...so while i am at the bar, waiting for Miss Kitty's friends to drop her off, the manager of the hotel's club begins chatting me up. He's a nice guy and the conversation is a welcome break from the cocktails that, at this point, are more than endangering my ability to speak proper English. Turns out that the club he manages is hosting a show for this chick/dude (?) who is huge in the gay and lesbian community. Cool, i say. That's it, cool. I know that the word 'cool' in this situation falls far short of the clever one-liners you have all become so accustomed to over here at the ranch (who could forget "yo mama"? ...classic), but what was i to do? I was four or five drinks deep with one eye on the elevator, trying to remember that i was supposed to be acting like someone else...and now the gay community is somehow involved? Cool. Well apparently the word 'cool' is night-club speak for "Gay community? Hey, i'm half gay myself! I'd love to meet as many of them as possible!" Hence, i was introduced to a steady stream people who had paid to see a 6'4" tranvestite in a red ballroom gown (who was incredibly polite, by the way) sing about America. It was actually rather charming. I have noticed that when a lesbian of more than about 40 enters into a conversation with me, i have no choice but to play the part of the long lost grandchild. That is to say that they are constantly patting me on the head and telling me how cute i am. Is it wrong to say that i rather enjoy the attention? One such lady lavished me with attention for a long enough period of time that i began to wonder if maybe she "swings from both sides of the plate" so to speak. As visions of a Happy Anniversay threesome danced in my head, she offered me what she claimed was her business card. What she presented did, in fact, have her picture and a phone number to reach her at...right below the only word on the entire card - LESBIAN. Perhaps she sensed my imagination treading a bit too far... In any case, i made the mistake of explaining what i was doing there to a few of the ladies and gentlemen that i met. Of course they all thought it was adorable, but they were all long gone by the time Miss Kitty showed up...which made for a difficult explanation as to why (at the close of the show) a steady stream of cross-dressed gays and lesbians made their way past our table, admonishing us with heart-fluttering sighs and friendly declarations of our cuteness together.

7.) I think I will never get tired of Trey Parker and Matt Stone’s humor. Watched Team America: World Police and the creators of South Park had me rolling again. Admittedly, it took me about an hour just to stop laughing at the way the marionettes moved, but there were some classic lines in there too...along with the best sex scene i've seen in quite some time. See it, then go kill some terrorists...Team America - FUCK YEAH!!! ...i can pretty much guarantee that you will find that much funnier after you see the movie.

8.) I think my liver really hates me now. So, in staying with the whole "i'm not really me" theme on Friday, i decided that i should follow the fantasy all the way through and try to be as different as i could manage. I decided that this included ditching my bar-standard gin n' tonic, since Kitty has seen me drink enough of those that she'd probably list GNT as my initials. So, once she showed up, i ditched my Tanguray 10 and ordered the first thing that came to mind. For some reason that happened to be Grey Goose on the rocks. Now, other than margaritas, i don't think i've ever ordered anything on the rocks so i really don't know where that notion came from, but once it was out there was no turning back. So, i threw it back, glad to be done and ready to move on to something better when the waitress asked if i would like another round. I do my "talk-without-thinking" thing and soon there is another vodka-rocks in my way. I ain't gonna lie, i drank too much and, unfortunately for my internal organs, i think i have a new favorite drink.

9.) I think, for once, i had an experience with a stripper that was not 100% positive. So, after catching up with all of my gay buddies on Friday night, i decided to pay a visit to the other end of the spectrum on Saturday by joining a buddy on a strip club excursion. We went to a club called New Century. Normally i wouldn't give the name, but i was more than a little put off by what happened after we got there. Now, a little background on myself and strippers, i ain't the "gonna get laid by spending" type and i sure ain't the "getting off on this a little too much" type, as such i like sweet girls. I know, i know, i might as well be asking for a vegan in a leather coat, right? Not so fast. See, there are two types of strippers in my experience. There are those that will do or say anything to get your money...for about 30 seconds, then they make some type of rude remark when you again refuse to give them the money you had told them they weren't getting from the start. These are the ones that i hope all die painful, back-alley abortion deaths. The other type of strippers are the ones that hang out for a bit and actually offer up something resembling a personality (god forbid a stripper have something to say other than "that's not enough" and "i'm calling security"). I suppose i dig the attention, but really i think it has more to do with the fact that strippers fascinate me. You take your clothes off for a living? How did it come to that? How does this affect the rest fo your life? Also, these are the types that tend to offer me their number...i do very well with girls who are unfamiliar with the concept of self-esteem. But back to Saturday, my buddy and i walk in and are instantly swarmed by the poontang brigade. Any strip club veteran knows that the most perilous time for your pocket book is the inital walk from the door to your seat; the ladies smell fresh meat and a recent trip to the ATM so they blitz you from all angles. To make matters worse, you just got there, the sight of a titty will not be as exciting as this for the rest of the night. Now, i'm typically pretty good in this situation but, like any red-blooded male, if you smack me upside the face with a naked woman enough times, my wallet may leak a little. So, being the paramount marvel of self-restraint that i am, i find myself in a private room with a pair of girls about, oh say, 30 seconds after we walk into the club. I got the usual jive at first, "C'mon baby, what do you want us to do, we'll give you a deal, blah blah blah." But things got a bit more personal in a hurry. "A threesome will only cost you $300, don't you want to makle your penis squirt?" My penis squirt? Oh, you make me desparately horny when you talk like that! Um, call me naive, but i go to a strip club to see some titties, maybe get a lapper or two (which, in my world, consists of a nude woman gyrating on you for a few minutes...nothing more). I do not go there to be propositioned by a dancer who probably still has penis-breath from her last customer. "I don't pay for sex ladies." I love saying that to strippers; reestablishes the balance of power between us in my warped, little mind. Oh, and the fact that it's true helps as well. So, i argue with these broads for a few minutes, attempting to make it clear that i will not be paying for any sexual activities, despite the liberal massage the girl to my right continues to apply to my crotch. Finally one of them decides to try a different route to my bank account. "You like to party? I bet you like to party?" (god help me, all i can think about is Party Boy from Jackass...and, no matter the situation, i'm definitely not paying for sex with a naked Chris Pontius dancing in my head) She reaches for a small handbag (why do strippers always have little purses? Don't you ditch the purse before the pants?) and removes a tiny baggie. I discover in short order that the baggie is full of coke (oooooohhhh, that's why they have purses). Now, as liberal of a pot smoker as i am, that's about as far as i go; i'm definitely not into coke. I don't mind the fact that i know quite a few people who do it, no judgement, it's just not my bag; seems a little too extreme for me. "C'mon," she says. "Do a line with us." "Uh, no, sorry." "C'mon, it'll loosen you up a little." "I've never done the stuff and, no offense, but i ain't thrilled at the prospect snorting my first line in a backroom of a strip club." They laugh. Then they keep trying. "C'mon, it'll be fun, c'mon, just do a little off of my nail here. How about this, wanna do a line off of my tit? Wanna see me do a line off of her tit?" D.A.R.E. be damned, i was more than willing to watch her snort up some nose candy if nipples were involved! I'm not sure why that seemed appealing to me at the time (or why it still kind of does), but it's neither here nor there cause that certainly isn't what happened. As i turned my head toward the stripper on my right, wondering who would be the snorter and who would be the snortee, the stripper to my left reached upward and stuck her pinkie in my mouth. Before i realized what was happening, she had smeared a fingernails worth of coke on my gums. Well, that was just about it. I stood up and left the room. I had just been fondled by a couple of average looking strippers. They had offered me sex for money. They had offered me coke. One had actually forced a bit of it on me, bringing me in contact with a substance that i hadn't previously had any part in my life. I had lost my buddy, my gums were going numb and i couldn't stop spitting when i spoke. Yet the funny thing is, all i was really worried about was the fact that and on-duty stripper had just stuck her skanky-ass finger in my mouth...the same finger that she probably would have been sliding up some dude's ass if he paid her enough. ...i went to the bathroom to check for open sores.

10.) And, finally, this from the "make-me-gag-til-i-can't-stop-smiling" section...I think that i, at long last, understand the meaning of the word 'sentimental'. As part of her anniversary gift to me, Miss Kitty gave me a small flipbook. She had filled the inside exclusively with things related to our first year with each other. She had kept concert tickets from every show that we've seen togther, old e-mails and letters we had written one another, just about every picture we had ever taken together, etc...gathered all of this stuff for an entire year before pulling the book together for me. I don't have sentimental possesions, i typically think that sentimentality is a feeling bred from ignorance over misplaced or falsely created emotions, but every so often it does find its place. I'll have that book forever.

My Mighty Musical Meme

2005-06-24T12:03:00.000-07:00

I've been tagged by Lulu. I'm new to this, but apparently what that means is that i have to answer a series of questions and then tag some other bloggers... Here goes:

1. What is the total volume of music you own? I have somewhere between 500-600 cds. Unfortunately, about half of these are from the late nineties when i worked at a record store and don't get much rotation anymore.

2. What's the last CD you bought? "Encore" by Eminem. Yes i realize i am a little slow on picking this one up but, as you already know, it is definitely worth the purchase; solid album.

3. What song is playing right now? "My 1st Single" By Eminem. (hey i just bought the CD, ok? let me enjoy it for a bit)

4. What 5 songs do I listen to a lot?
"Cowboy" Kid Rock (of course)
"Jumpin Jack Flash" Rolling Stones (if only Mick could live forever)
"Rodeo Clown" G. Love with Jack Johnson (a great party tune)
"Are You Gonna Go My Way" Lenny Kravitz (this was my intro song when i used to box, still jacks me up)
"Gonna Be My Girl" Jet (can't hear this one without serenading the imaginary girl in my passenger seat)

5. What 5 people will I pose these questions to? Well, i only know one person on here that has not already been tagged. So, first i will tag her five times, Porsche, Porsche, Porsche, Porsche, Porsche, and now i will go make some more friends.

Ta for now.

To Flush Or Not To Flush...

2005-06-24T10:27:00.000-07:00

Yesterday at the gym i saw something that got my mind going on one of it's little tangents. In the bathroom at my gym, they have posted signs above each of the men's toilets urging the club-goers to remember to flush when they use the facilities. The word flush is italisized and double underlined, so i can only assume that people leaving unsupervised Cosby kids at the pool has become a pretty bad problem for them. Now, like many public bathrooms, i'm sure the reason that people aren't flushing is because of cleanliness issues. Mainly, it's filthy in here, i ain't touching shit (i'm unsure whether or not that pun was intended).

Personally, and we're about to get extra-friendly now, i flush the regular toilets, but not the urinals. The reason for this is simple. I can reach the handles of regular toilets with my feet, thus following my public bathroom credo of never touching anything with my hands, but doing so at a urinal (where the flush handles are located just below shoulder level, for you ladies out there) would require the type of flexibility and balance that i typically reserve for the bedroom. My approach may or may not strike you as wrong but, personally, i think i can live in a world where no one flushes the urinals, as long as everyone agrees to flush the regular toilets with every single use.

The foot method is effective and well-known, as i have seen it employed by a great many people and always with favorable results. However a problem is still created by those who don't even show the courtesy to flush with their feet. There is little as off-putting as busting through the stall door with a full bladder only to find the rancid mess someone has left behind. Why do people do this? Can they not use their feet as i do? Maybe not...perhaps there is a legion of fowl-assed, one-legged, non-flushing toilet bombers that prey on public restrooms.

Whatever the case, here is my long-awaited point (or at least as close as i will get a point here). Do you know how they tried to fix this problem? They put motion sensors on toilets. Maybe it seemed like a good idea (if mr. stinky-britches just walks away, the toilet flushes automatically, right?) but there are a few problems. One, sometimes they flush while you are still sitting there. Hey, i like a good enema every now and again, just not from a public toilet. Two, sometimes they don't flush at all which puts us right back at square one (actually we're even worse off as there is no regular handle on these toilets, so those of us who desire to flush must do the 'toilet two-step'; jumping around in front of the sensor until it actually flushes). Third, and this is what really gets me, aren't they over-steering here? I mean, if no one is flushing cause they don't want to touch a handle that has been repeatedly pissed on throughout the day, yet people are willing to flush provided they can kick the handle, what's the logical solution? A pedal, you dolts! Not a motion sensor! A pedal would function as well as a handle, yet also keep your hands from coming in contact with any miscellaneous butt-funk. What about the aformentioned one-legged people, you ask? Well, supposing they can't jump on the pedal, our primo toilet could also have a handle and probably still be cheaper than one with a motion sensor.

Man, i'm clever. Toilets with pedals, i'm gonna be rich, bitch.

Just a Reminder Kids...

2005-06-23T15:44:00.000-07:00

...Michael Jackson is still a free man!

It's not April 1st, is it?

2005-06-23T15:28:00.000-07:00

I swear the news gets weirder and weirder by the day. A giant popsicle melts and floods New York... After this, I assume that the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters can't be too far behind.

I'm not sure how i feel about that.

Did You Want Fries With That?

2005-06-22T15:39:00.000-07:00

I feel like i should have some sort of clever intro for this story, but i don't. It took me a while to figure out why that was, but now i know. See, the story i have for you today is not the type of story you learn anything from. It isn't the type of story that whallops you over the head with a boffo-inducing punchline at it's conclusion. And no, the experience did not enrich my character. Simply put, sometimes whacked out shit happens and you just kind of have to take it in. So if it seems like i'm just jumping right into the middle of something here, it's because that's exactly how it felt when it happened.

It's Tuesday night and Smokey wants dinner. I have just gotten home from work and participated in a little game Smokey likes to call, "Grab Cowboy Matty the second he walks in the door and get him so stoned that he's farting smoke for a week." Not to say that i am anything other than a willing participant in his game, but he has the tendency to get me higher than Mount McKinley and then say the word "McDonalds", which quickly causes me to go crazier than Mike Tyson without his meds. At this point i generally proceed to eat something like 68 McNuggets and a Quarter-Pounder.

So we drive to McDonald's. Now, a little background on the stoner within me. When i am super high, i do not like to converse with people who are not equally as baked as i am. I get nervous, feel like i'm acting stupid, i stutter, i stammer, my palms sweat...it isn't a pretty sight. Smokey deals with people a little better than i do in this state (hey, he's got the experience), so he's pretty much my spokesperson when i start to freak out. Unfortunately, he likes to take advantage of this at times, knowing that in a moment of extreme stoner-panic, i can be convinced to do just about anything if i believe it will relieve an uncomfortable situation. But this was all miles from my mind as we pulled up to the squawk-box to order; i had nothing but McFlurries and Happy Meals on my mind.

We order. Well, more accurately, Smokey orders after i whisper to him what i want...i can't talk to the order box when i'm high either. As the line of cars moves forward, we proceed to the pay window. Now, at this particular McDonalds, the pay window is not in the actual restaurant, it is a little one-man shack, half way between the order box and window where you pick up your food, leaving the person manning the pay window pretty much isolated from the rest of his gang of minimum wagers. Just as we are pulling to the pay station, we notice a group of about five homeless guys, clearly under the influence of some type of drug(s?), hanging around in the parking lot. They are running around the cars and carrying on rather loudly; stumbling about to such an extent that Smokey and i begin to laugh and crack a few jokes.

The kid in the pay station is your cliche McDonalds employee: about 17 or so, freckles, overweight, adverse to eye-contact, his purple hat trying its best to contain his redish afro. I immediately feel sorry for the kid, he just looks so miserable. As Smokey and i continue to laugh about the bums, i begin to wonder if maybe the kid thought we were making fun of him.

"A lot of action out here today," i say, trying to clear up any confusion by pointing to the bum who appeared to be the ring leader. He's a fithly looking dude (as opposed to the pristine, royal-looking bums that you may be used to seeing), with long blonde hair and distant eyes. As i point, he takes notice of me and begin beating his chest, releasing a long tarzan-like howl.

Thinking our exchange was at its end, i'm surprised when the young man says, "Yeah, he's causing a lot of problems, people have been complaining but there's nothing i can really do." He pauses. Then, in a hopeful sounding voice, he asks: "You think you guys could take care of it?" I look up, waiting for the punchline but instead finding him wearing a look of sincere worry.

Oh my god, is he serious? He wants us to get out of the car and chase this bum off? I feel my stoner-nervousness creeping up on me. I look quickly away from the boy, hoping that if i ignore the question he might forget that he asked it.

"I'm kind of creeped out in here," the kid says.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," replies Smokey with a laugh. About this time the bum seems to realize that we were talking about him. He starts jumping up and down before launching into some song that is far too slurred to be understood. As he sings, he points at Smokey and i repeatedly. I hide my face in my hands, why isn't the fucking line of cars moving? It feels as if we've been stuck here for 20 minutes.

After a minute or so of his singing, Smokey decides he had had about enough. He turns the stereo on the car up high enough to drown out the bum's cries. Once blondie sees that he can no longer be heard, he pipes down and begins immitating the McNugget-starved stoner covering his face in the Jeep Cherokee...otherwise known as me.

When I finally regrasp the the nerve to peer through my fingers, he gets terribly excited and tries to entice me into a game of peek-a-boo. I roll up my window.

Finally the cars in front of us move.

As we pull around, i keep my face burried in my hands, praying that we won't incite him any further. I came here to consume some grease, not to pick a fist-fight with a strung-out homeless dude.

"What did that kid expect us to do?" Smokey asks. "Buy the dude a milkshake and ask him to move on?" I am silent. Something about this situation suddenly bothers me much worse than my crippling paranoia.

"Crazy ass bum, i hate it when homeless people act like that."

"Yeah," Smokey says with a grin, probably already aware of where this was going. "Maybe we should have done something after all."

A wry smile suddenly grows across my face and as soon as Smokey sees it he knows, he knows he has given me just the little nudge i needed to do something dumb.

The girl working the window hands us our food and Smokey puts the car in gear.

"Wait," i say, digging into our food. I then roll down the window and crawl half-way out, Dukes of Hazard style. Smokey is already cracking up.

"Hey, Madonna!" I call to the homeless crooner. As he looks up, i hurl a barrage of McNuggets at him, at least two of them smacking him square in the face.

All i can say is that this made perfect sense at the time.

Smokey gets a little over-zealous in his role as the getaway driver and damn near spills me onto the pavement as we speed away. We laugh uncontrolably the entire way home.

So...a drive-by McNuggeting on a homeless guy because he wanted to play peek-a-boo. Sometimes I wonder about myself.

Is She Flirting?

2005-06-21T17:34:00.000-07:00

In my never-ending quest to ensure that as many guys as possible are getting laid as often as possible, i have decided to post a recent top ten list that i stumbled across. AskMen.com has a short article on their site outlining the top ten ways to tell whether or not a female is flirting with you. In reviewing the list, i found myself a bit disappointed with the advice they offered but i have decided to post it anyway.

Why? Well, one, because if you are one of the mental flat-liners that wouldn't normally recognize the things on this list as flirting, you need all the help you can get and, two, because i have some comments of my own about the list (which should come as a surprise to no one).

So, fasten your seatbelt and get ready for AskMen.com's Flirting 101:

10.) She keeps glancing over - You will shortly discover a pattern here. Goes something like, 'read item #10, say "no shit", read item #9, say "no shit", read item #8, say "no shit", etc.' Does it surprise anyone here that a woman whom you catch repeatedly staring in your direction might be interested? Hell, staring makes up 95% of a male's flirting repertoire, how could we possibly miss that one?

9.) She smiles at you - Ok, so she's looking over and when you catch her, she smiles...oh the mystery! Look, us males are expected to do more than our share of the heavy lifting when it comes to flirting and it isn't always fair, but if you can't take a stare and a smile as an invitation to say hello, the likelihood that you have ever had sex without paying for it has got to be extremely low.

8.) She goes out of her way to get you to notice her - Grrr! This one is so bad it makes me grit my teeth. Imagine one of your friends comes up to you with this, "Hey man, there's this girl i'm into but i just can't get a read as to what she's feeling." "Well, how does she act around you." "Oh, i dunno, she's always going out of her way to get me to notice her." "Hmm...that's a tough one. Well, aside from the fact that the whole i'll-do-this-right-in-front-of-you-in-the-hopes-of-you-noticing-me went the way of the dinosaur in about 4th grade, she sounds like a winner. As for you, i recommend that you stop probing quite so deeply with your q-tips because you seem to have recently dislodged a little bit of grey matter." This is probably the most obvious one on the list; if a girl is repeatedly trying to gain your attention you don't need to be worrying about whether or not she likes you, you need to be scoping the joint for a place to give her that "special attention" she is looking for. Either that or you can just call her an attention whore. I guess the distinction there depends on how attractive she is...or how drunk you are.

7.) She plays with her hair - Did a little experiment on this one. Had conversations with several women, from the various arenas of my life, noting any particular attention they paid to their hair as we conversed. According to this list, my boss, the short teller at the bank, the FedEx lady and, nauseatingly enough, my sister are all extremely attracted to me. While many of the items on this list are far too narrow in scope, i'm afraid this one is quite a bit too broad. I certainly wish that every woman who had playfully twirled their hair in front of me was volunteering for the Bonedown Boogie (except for the relatives, of course, i'm not that Southern), but I am not Hugh Hefner and that has, sadly, not been my life experience.

6.) She initiates the conversation - Tread lightly here. Women initiate conversation for all sorts of reasons and, frequently, for no reason at all. A woman (and by that i mean, each and every woman on the face of the planet) wants nothing more than to be noticed; to be heard and acknowledged. Unfortunately a great many of them believe the best way to do this is to get those gums flapping. Pedicures, family, that bitch at work, the weather, a shoe sale, their pet cat, Brad Pitt and, of course, Sex and the City (we won't even touch on the dreaded topics related to her 'feelings')...it goes on and on, topic after topic flung toward the first pair of open ears; how can women say so much and still leave us clueless? It's the great mystery of our species. So, back to the item at hand, is a female more likely to take time to speak to a male she is interested in? Theoretically, yes, but how are we to distinguish the 'i'm-interested-in-you' topics from the rest of the general babbling females do?

5.) She laughs at your jokes - ...or maybe you're just a funny guy. Hell, i've seen women laugh at Louie Anderson and i'd bet very few of them were actually attracted to him. Ok, so that may not be the best example (i'm not actually sure anyone has ever laughed at Louie Anderson), but the point is, some people are just funny, they have that comedic talent and shining personality that makes them a constant hit in social situations...but that doesn't mean that every giggling woman is begging for the hot beef injection. Even as broad as this rule of thumb is, however, there are still cases where it can be legit. Take this joke, for instance: What's brown and sticky? A stick. If you laughed at that you are almost certainly desperate enough to sleep with me.

4.) She asks if you like certain activities - I suppose this means something along the lines of this: You and the potential flirt are talking about the ocean, say, and she says, "Oh, i just love to sail, do you ever go sailing?" If you are interested in her then it's nothing short of a felony if you fail to reply, "Yeah, we should go some time," or "No, but i'd love to learn, do you go out often?" Who cares if she's interested, she just gave you a get out of jail free card; essentially you have permission to ask her out without officially asking her out. You didn't have to come out of the blue with your request and this approach leaves her ample room to decline without being rude if she happens not to be interested. If any of that comes as news to you, i'm guessing you were hanging at home with the folks the night of your senior prom.

3.) She pays you a compliment - I suppose it depends on what the compliment is, doesn't it? "Wow, the surgery to repair your harelip went remarkably well!" does not count. Nor does: "The flowers you sent me were the most beautiful that i have ever seen." This is a thank you, not a compliment. Another misleading one, "Oh, i love your haircut!" This is polite acknowledgement of change, often made due to a feeling of obligation. No, we're looking for something more along the lines of: "I've never noticed the color of your eyes before, wow, must be the shirt you're wearing," or "Holy shit, those shorts fit you like a dream, you must be hung like a horse!"

2.) She makes sexual comments - If this seems nauseatingly obvious to you, go ahead and skip to the next item. If not, please follow these directions: Find yourself three or four tree branches that are just a little thicker than you can wrap your hand around. Cut them to about a foot in length. Place one in your car, one in a desk drawer at work and one at your bedside (as well as any other place you happen to spend a good amount of time). Whenever you find yourself recalling a situation when a female made a direct sexual comment to you and you failed to take it as a come on, grab the closest of your sticks, wind up like Tiger Woods and smash yourself right between the eyes. If this doesn't teach you your lesson, nothing will.

1.) She touches you - Ok, this one is actually not so bad, though i would make a minor clarification. My list would say, "She touches you unnecessarily." Think about it. Does she frequently make physical contact during conversation? Is she the type that doles out hugs for every minor tribulation you face? Does she turn her back toward you as you pass in close quarters, or does she give you the famed 'boobie-brush'? Did she ask to borrow your stapler and then 'accidentally' grab your crotch before busting into a lap dance? These are all very good indicators that she wouldn't be adverse to the two of you fogging up her Volkswagen's windows on your lunch break.

You know, save for the last item, that list has been so relentlessly torn apart that now i feel almost guilty. If any of you came here looking for some type of sage advice, you have surely been left wanting...and i never want that. So, how 'bout i throw you a bone? While i will surely never live up to the bliss-like understanding and rapport that the author of the above list (see: socially-inept, dating neophyte) has clearly established with the fairer sex, i do know a few tricks of the dating trade that have proven valuable when it comes to finding the right female with whom to play doctor.

1.) Have a lookout - This one is simple and effective, but heavily under-used. Have a buddy post up at the end of the bar after you've been there long enough to have a look around. You walk through the bar and your buddy takes note of any girls checking you out as you go. Then the two of you compare notes. This method probably isn't going to net that one big catch you've been jerking it to since puberty, but hey, if she checked you out, you gotta assume your odds of scoring with somebody are improving at least.

2.) See how she reacts to others - So you've got the girl you want to talk to in sight but just can't work up the nerve to approach her. Hang for a sec. See if anyone else approaches and, if so, take note of her reaction. If she dispatches them quickly or laughs with her friends once he steps away, proceed with caution, some girls love the opportunity to shoot us boys down. On the other hand, if she seems to receive other chatty bar-goers with a smile, that may be all the added confidence you need to make your move. Of course, this technique is not fool-proof. Waiting for other dudes to hit on the girl you want leaves open the possibility that one of them will be taking her home first, which is obviously not a good thing. This method can also be employed with girls who are already acquaintances. Same idea applies, see how she reacts to other people that she know roughly as well as she knows you (if you work with her, see how she responds to other coworkers as opposed to how she responds to you). If she appears less entertained than the audience at Paris Hilton's dissertation on "Properly Irrigating 3rd World Countries" whenever others approach her, yet she lights up like a Christmas tree when talking to you (preferably combined with some of the winning advice from above, hair twirling and whatnot), you're in.

3.) Be honest - I know it sounds cheesey, but there are just too many guys out there trying to be something they aren't. Now, i'm talking about honesty within reason, you don't want to march up to her and declare, "I'm here to buy you a few drinks with the hope that i'll be smearing peanut butter on the small of your back later tonight." That is too much. Try, "Hi, do you mind me asking what someone looking like you is doing here by yourself?" If she responds well, offer to get her a drink. Or, if you don't feel suave enough to pull that one off, "Hi, i'm not really a pick-up line kind of guy, so i apologize for coming across like this, but i knew i'd be kicking myself later if i didn't at least try to talk to you." Why do lines like these fair better than the painfully-cliche pick-up lines? Because you are being honest; you are being human and everyone can relate to that. You are owning up to your nervousness over approaching her, but you are still showing her some confidence by actually doing it. You also don't come across as one of those guys that says something like this to every girl you see, even if you do. If you seem confident and open, as opposed to arrogant and indifferent, you will come across as far more genuine. Hey, we can't all be The Fonz, but we can all be ourselves.

And lastly, a little trick that i learned in a psychology class that works surprisingly well:

If you don't have a spotter handy and aren't sure if a girl is checking you out, maneuver yourself into a position where the two of you can see one another, but refrain from looking at her directly. Every so often, make some sort of small but deliberate movement, such as checking your watch, taking a drink or running a hand quickly through your hair. Watch her from the corner of your eye and, if she's checking you out, you're likely to see something a bit surprising.
See, people in general have a tendency to create subtle body movements that reveal what they are thinking, even subconsciously; evidence of this has been shown in many different environments and social circumstances. That's all fine and dandy, but i'm sure you're asking what good that does do you at a bar? Well, (and it is simply startling how often this works) try this routine next time your out. If you catch her mimicking one of your minor actions (she takes a drink right after you do, adjusts her hair as you do, etc.) more than once (to make sure it wasn't a coincidence), it's time to move, she's checking you out. Yes, i realize that sounds ridiculous, but put it to the test, i assure you it works.

Ten Things... (6/20/05)

2005-06-20T00:59:00.000-07:00

1.) I think Miss Kitty needs to strengthen her neck muscles (and no, this isn't a sex story). The poor girl didn't have much to eat before attending Calamity Jane's house-warming party on Friday night (it wasn't really her fault...i assured her there would be food at the party in an attempt to get her ready faster; when we arrived we found a wedge of cheese and some crackers). To compound matters, Miss Kitty had never met anyone at the party before, so i think she was a little nervous. Anywho, around midnight i realize that she hasn't had a drink or said a word in about a half hour. "You ready to go?" She nods. "Should we stop and get you some food on the way home?" She nods again. We get to the car and start home. The instant her belt is secured around her, she's out. With little to choose from so late at night, i head for Taco Bell. Every time i make a turn or slow down, Miss Kitty's head rolls to the side or comes falling forward, then slowly rolls back again as i accelerate. "Babe, lean forward," i say, reaching across her. "Lean forward so i can recline your seat." "No," is all she can muster. Ok, have it your way. I enjoyed a midnight double decker taco on the ride home...while she perfected her bobblehead impression.

2.) I think i am going to quit dipping. No real elaboration here, it's just gross and a month of doing has more than satisfied my desire.

3.) I think i stumbled across an incredibly funny website that details the history of Michael Jackson's face. Of course, if you're the overly-gushy nostalgic type, the old photos of Mike might just make you cry.

4.) I think being sober makes me clumsy. In the course of making a cocktail at Jane's aforementioned house-warming party, i shattered a wine glass and sprayed down most of the kitchen with a pair of 1 liter soda bottles that had, apparently, been treated rather roughly before finding themselves in my possession. Nothing like the house-warming guest who shows up breaking stuff and leaves the kitchen floor cracking with stickiness before he even has his first drink.

5.) I think Smokey has started passing out fliers to our July 3rd party. Um, are we in college again? Fliers? Aren't we past cleaning up the vomit of people we don't even know? Should be interesting to see the crowd we wind up with.

6.) I think i liked The Longest Yard. Adam Sandler and Chris Rock are funny dudes. The movie wasn't great, but it was definitely entertaining and a good Father's Day activity. (...or mother's day or birthday or Christmas Eve...see, for some reason my family believes that we've fallen short of a true holiday celebration if we don't do lunch and a movie).

7.) I think I had too much to drink on Saturday. You'd think i would have learned from Miss Kitty the night before but, then again, any lessons on over-drinking that i have yet to learn are likely forever beyond my power to grasp. Smokey got me to start drinking around noon. Nothing bad to start, a couple margaritas, some mexican beer, just enjoying a beautiful Saturday afternoon. By the time noon had become early evening, however, an entire handle of vodka had also fallen victim to my alcoholic wrath. I assume it was the length of time that my binge took (nearly 7 full hours), along with repeatedly gorging myself on barbecue chicken, that saved me from regurgitating a major organ. Pops loved how hung over i was for Father's Day.

8.) I think a 4th lesbian just moved in next door. Haven't seen her yet, so i can't be sure if they have finally ended their long quest to find someone that will play "the woman" in that game of house they got going on over there. Maybe not, but the upshot is, if she looks like the others, they'll now have a defensive line to rival the Baltimore Ravens. We should get a neighborhood league going.

9.) On second thought, that might not work out. The neighbor on the other side is a hippie named Bruce who doesn't look like he's seen a whole lot of success in the realm of athletics. With my luck he'd wind up being my quarterback, sending me over the middle for weak tosses that flutter to my feet, causing me to extend myself just far enough for one of the lesbo linemen to throw all her weight into hammering me the hetero out of me. Hey, that's quite an alliteration... Lurching for the loose-wristed languid lob, i leaned into the licking of a lifetime; latently laid out by the low lurking lesbian linebacker. ...i've taken this thought too far, haven't i?

10.) I think that i didn't blog nearly enough last week and i plan to make up for that over the next 10 days or so.

Without Further Ado...

2005-06-15T14:41:00.000-07:00

After responding to the annual ranking of porn stars by Genesis magazine a couple of weeks back, i vowed to create my own list in order rectify all the mistakes they made. So, after going through some careful consideration and lots of vasoline, here is the definitive list; COWBOY MATTY'S TOP 25 PORN STARS...

1.) Jill Kelly
2.) Sunrise Adams
3.) Tera Patrick
4.) Chasey Lain
5.) JR Carrington
6.) Sky
7.) Lanny Barbie
8.) Taylor Hayes
9.) Lauren Phoenix
10.) Carmen Luvana
11.) Jesse Jayne
12.) Jenna Jameson
13.) Sydnee Steele
14.) Taylor St. Claire
15.) Monica Sweetheart
16.) Devon
17.) Asia Carrera
18.) Mercedez
19.) Krystal Steal
20.) Tawny Roberts
21.) Racquel Darrian
22.) Alexis Amore
23.) Dayton Rains
24.) Brittney Skye
25.) Alisha Klass

Did I Miss Something?

2005-06-15T10:08:00.000-07:00

Not guilty?

Not guilty? Ok, i wasn't at the trial, i don't know every little detail, maybe he didn't fully molest the kid, but they do know that he gave him alcohol, showed him pornography and has taken nude showers with children in the past...can anyone help me out here? I thought we had laws against those things too. Man, fuck this.

FREAK!!!

A Question For the Guys...

2005-06-14T14:05:00.000-07:00

Alright fellas, it's time to discuss an immensely important question that i'm sure has crossed most of your minds more than once. C'mon, you know where i'm going with this...if you were offered a job starring in porn tomorrow, would you take it? Ok, maybe that wasn't the exact question you had in mind, but it's a fun topic none the less, so play along.

Most guys probably have a ready-made answer for this question, one way or the other, but for arguments sake let's take a careful minute to examine the pluses and minuses here. Afterall, if things go well over the next few minutes, i could be on the verge of a career change.

I'll start with the advantages:

HOW YOU EARN YOUR MONEY - Dude, not only do you get paid to screw chicks all day, you don't even have to call them afterward.

YOUR COWORKERS - Currently I work with a 98 pound woman with emphazema, an Asian dude who makes machine gun noises when he flips through files and a talkative temp with bad breath. I have to say that people like Jenna Jameson, Sylvia Saint and Monica Sweetheart would compare rather favorably.

YOU GET TO DO IT ALL - Everyone's got that one perversity; that one thing that gets you off and you don't even know why. Hell, i've got dozens of them. Problem is that it's tough to know, in everyday life, when the proper time is to reveal these desires to a woman versus the times when that kind of revealing will get you labeled as a freak and thrown out of the bedroom faster than you can say, "double penetration." This is not a problem in porn. You got a fetish, they got a name for it...and a dozen girls who have perfected it.

So let's sum this up to this point. Basically, you get to have tons of adventerous sex with lots of hot women and you get paid to do so. What could possibly be wrong with that? Shall we look at some of the negatives?

YOU HAVE A FAMILY - Not that having one is a bad thing, but i'd just as soon murder my sister, both parents and all three of our dogs in cold blood as i would let them in on the fact that i had been starring in porns. But maybe you weren't raised by the kind of family that couldn't find a tree and a rope fast enough if you were to make that sort of a career choice. Yeah, ok, and maybe you were brought up sucking moonshine from a baby bottle, molesting sheep and eating mayonaise sandwitches. No judgement here.

YOU HAVE FRIENDS - And don't kid yourself, although you may have some solid friendships now, you would still inevitibly become "that guy who's in porn" to any new acquaintences from the point you made your first movie on. Not that that has to be a bad thing, but if you can't handle it, you're going to miserable and lonely.

NOT ALL THE GIRLS ARE HOT - Anyone who has ever seen a pornographic movie understands that not every female that appears in the film will be as easy on the eyes as the chick on the packaging. Some of these ladies aren't, shall we say, the pick of the litter. As a male star, you're unlikely to have much say over who you perform with, especially when you're just starting out. For every Briana Banks you stick it to, you'll likely have to cream over a dozen girls sporting a lazy eye and five o'clock shadow. So what, you say, I've gotten it on with some pretty skeezy-looking chicks in my day, we all have, i can handle it. Well, yes, we've all made our mistakes...but you're officially volunteering to make the same one over and over again...in front of a camera. Just sayin'.

YOU HAVE TO BE A PERFORMANCE GOD - Mega-star Jenna Jameson says she is constantly approached by guys claiming that they could be stars in the industry. Her response? "Get hard right now. You got five minutes." To those who succeed, "Ok, now come, you got two more minutes." While I, just like many other confident males out there, like my chances of getting a hard on in under five minutes with Jenna standing right there, the reality of the situation is quite different. Very few guys have the ability to get it up at a moments notice while a couple dozen strangers look on, grumbling impatiently as everyone in the room waits...on you. Then you hold your squirt (no premature E for you younguns' out there) until right when the director says, "now!" If you can't come, the scene must be reshot, everyone works longer hours and you get cussed out for costing the studio money. If you can't get it up once, they replace you in the scene and you don't get paid. If you can't get it up a second time, you'll likely never work again. ...oh but you shouldn't ever have that problem, right? Being such a rough, brute, veril man...

THE PAY - Yes, there are some starlets who have made it big as porn has become more mainstream, but it's a very different scenario for males. First off, many familiar female stars are what's called "contract girls", meaning they work exclusively with one studio in exchange for a regular paycheck. They wind up doing fewer films than girls that freelance, but get paid a considerably higher average wage per scene. Males do not have this choice. In addition to being excluded from contracts, males can expect to make only about one-third as much money per scene as their female freelancing partners. At about $100-$300 per scene, you better hope that you are popular enough to pull enough scenes every month to support yourself.

THE BREAK-IN - So you've got the skills and you don't mind living on Cup O' Noodles for a little while...let's get to shooting right? Wrong. See, even if you can handle your pork sword better than Obi Wan wields a lightsaber, the director still needs a reason to give some new guy a chance. Why take a risk with an unproven performer when he has already worked successfully with others who have proven themselves many times over? The solution to this problem isn't too complicated. Most guys break into porn by finding a girl that wants to get into the industry as well. The girl agrees that she will star in a particular studio's film, but only with you. Obviously, this is your opening. If you perform adequately, you'll likely find your name in the director's roledex after just a couple of shoots. Of course, the girl you offer in this deal has to be something decently special for them to put up with her special arrangement, which begs the question, if you already have a super hot chick willing to have committment-free, porno-style sex with you, why do you need to get into adult films anyway? Whatever the answer, it apparently happens all the time.

OH, AND THERE'S THAT - Most males that make a good living in porn supplement their income by staring in homosexual features as well. Ahem, allow me to repeat that, most males that make a good living in porn supplement their income by staring in homosexual features as well.

Well, that last one just about cinches it for me, but what did you guys come up with? If you actually managed to trick your mind into believing that the positives outweigh the negatives as i have outlined everything above, i guess the only thing left to do is move to Southern California and think of a suggestive name. If you decide to make a go at it, drop me a line, i could really use a friend in the industry...and of course by "friend", i mean "that guy i know who's in porn."

Good Luck!

Ten Things...(6/13/2005)

2005-06-13T09:51:00.000-07:00

1.) I think Miss Kitty's sister, Kay, is a walking, talking, jaw-droppingly-bratty mess of a human being; a constant personification of a whole lot of things that just piss me off. She's one of those people who has grown so accustomed to whining (and having their whiny requests pandered to) that she can no longer speak in anything even resembling the tone of an adult, instead producing each of her mindless observations and meaningless antecdotes in the tone of a small child who has just been denied a trip to the toy store..."buuuuuuutttt whhhhhyyyyy???" It was less than five minutes after i had greeted Kay this weekend that i was already longing for a hug goodbye. At least she was able to use her "connections" to get us into this bar with a really "hip scene".

2.) I think i may be getting old, but apparently "hip scene" means that you pay $12 for drinks. Oh, and on a related note, truly "hip" bartenders don't fill their drinks more than halfway full and "hip" waitresses allow you a good 90 minutes to finish your kiddie sized cocktails before they return.

3.) I think all the annoyance surrounding Kay's visit somehow found vindication in my mind after we got home that night. As i climbed into Miss Kitty's bed, Kay stopped in to say goodnight. She stood there for a good five minutes, rapping about how good it was to see me and what fun it had been. It should have been bothersome, in fact it surely would have been...had her left tit not been hanging out of her tanktop the entire time! Haha, bitch! You're so dumb that you actually thought i cared what you had to say...nice job flashing your sister's boyfriend, by the way.

4.) I think i must haved been crazy for ever thinking Lindsay Lohan was hot. Ugh. Did you see her at the MTV Movie Awards? She looked like a Q-tip in a wig. Please don't tell my parole officer how much better looking i thought she was before she became legal.

5.) I think this years NBA finals are the most boring of all time. Memo to the big boys: SCORE SOME FUCKING POINTS!!! And what in the H-E-double-hockeystick is up with Rasheed Wallace? Where's that shit-talking lunatic that used to be so fun to watch? Pick a fight with that lame-ass Spurs mascot, throw a chair or something...c'mon man, at least give us an f-bomb or two in your post-game interview! Zzzz...sorry, what?

6.) I think any of you who look forward to my porn-related posts will love the new girl i've found. Lainey Barbie. Yes, the name sucks, but have a look and i think you'll forgive her.

7.) I think that i am directionally challenged. Well, actually i've always known that to be true, but i had an experience this weekend that reminded me just how easy it is to get myself turned around. I decided to go for a run around 2 o'clock on Saturday. But once i reached the end of my normal route, i didn't feel like stopping, so I decided to go a little farther. After a few absent-minded turns, i realized that i had absolutely no idea where i was. I don't know the area that i live in very well, but i figured it wouldn't take me too long to see something i recognized. Wrong. Quite a bit of time passed, my legs weakened, my Ipod died and i still had no clue where i was. Dying in heat that reached the high 90s, i soon gave up on running except in short spurts. Even when i was running, it was hard to stay motivated knowing that there was a 50/50 chance i was actually getting farther from home. To make a long story a little less long, i finally found my way back after what became a 2 hour challenge of endurance and boredom. Even as i write this, i am sunburned and my legs are still sore, but at least i survived, right?

8.) I think Tom Cruise has lost his god damn mind. Regardless of whether or not there are any sound principles behind Scientology, Cruise is making them all look like a bunch of Branch-Davidians at the moment. I know everyone saw that Oprah clip of him bouncing around like a limp dick on a trampolene, but have you heard some of the things he's said recently? He has basically dismissed all psychology as Nazi-science. When asked if he supported medication or therapy for those suffering with mental annomalies, he replied, "I'm not in support of people being electro-shocked. People are dying." What? Does this not just reik of ignorance? It seems that Mr. Cruise believes that all manner of psycho-therapy (including anti-depressants) consists of shocking people to death when they get sad. Hey Tom, let me learn you something real quick. There is no faster way to draw the ire of anyone than to call them a liar regarding something that they are passionate about. Take, for instance, your claims regarding anti-depressants, which you freely admit that you have never tried (even before coming to your current beliefs) since you have never had the symptoms of clinical depression. So, you have no first-hand experience with either depression or the drugs used to treat it, yet you feel that you still have the qualifications to dismiss all such treatments as a fraud and all reported benefits of these drugs as propoganda. Well, listen up asshole, when you say stuff like that to someone who has gone from attempting to take his own life to no longer being able to imagine such an action or the thought process behind it (and attributes a lot of that transformation to medication that helps solve my body's refusal to adequately produce a naturally occuring nuerotransmitter), you're calling me a liar. You're saying, "I know that you feel better, i know that years of coping with this disease make you a far better judge of the merits of possible treatments than i could possibly be and i know that the benefits from further understanding of psychoanalysis along with developments in mental health medications have been shown in millions of people the world over...but fuck all that, if Ronnie says it's bad, then it's bad." Think about it, you fucking retard. If you drink a coffee pot of piss and then tell me that your stomach hurts, i can't turn to you and say, "No it doesn't." How typical of your nausea-inducing arrogance for you to be so ignorantly dismissive of myself and countless others like me. Anyone wanting to see what depths Cruise has fallen to should check out the current issue of Entertainment Weekly. Cruise makes a remedial attempt to justify some of his recent lunacy, as well as his beliefs in Scientology. It's actually rather humorous as nearly every point he attempts to make is based on a historical event, which sounds like a good plan until he gets all of his facts wrong (the interviewer is forced to correct his glaring inaccuracies nearly every time, right there in the text). And if all this weren't enough, now he's going to ruin Katie Holmes. Welcome to MindHead. Welcome to MindHead. Welcome to MindHead...

9.) I think this new chick who just started working in my office is hot. Long blonde hair, very tan and the sexiest voice of all time. I will savor the time between now and when i discover the thing that will make her unattractive to me...you know, like nose picking, or a hidden penis, something along those lines.

10.) I think i'm about to make my first serious comment on this blog and say that i feel absolutely horrible for the family of that girl missing in Aruba.

Holy Smith, It's a Beautiful Day!

2005-06-10T12:00:00.000-07:00

That's right folks, it certainly is a beautiful day when a new Angelina movie graces the the big screen. Unfortunately this one is rated PG-13 and, therefore, offers no real hope of substantial nudity but there is always the auxiliary thrill of knowing that this was the performance that broke Jennifer Aniston's heart. Oh, ok, you're right, that was mean. But, really, what was she thinking letting him do this movie with her? Memo to Hollywood wives: don't let your men work with Angelina, if she wants him, she will take him. Wait, what was i talking about? Oh, the movie, right. Well, here's a poster to acquaint your eyes with:

No, wait...

There we go. You're welcome. Go forth with a smile on your face.

The Jabber-Matty

2005-06-10T08:07:00.000-07:00

While i have already become accustomed to using this blog as a sounding board for my annoyances and goofy observations on life, that isn't all that i write. I promise not to subject anyone visiting the Ranch to too much of this, but i will occasionally have enough fun with a piece that i'll feel like posting it here.

This is one i wrote a little while ago but frequestly return to in order to make changes. Different kind of concept for me, i guess it's kind of a fairy tale.

...and it rhymes...oooohhhh, aaaahhhh, it rhymes...

Once there was a woman who filled my life with light,
Whose substance purely came from the dreams I see at night.
Then on kindest twist of fate she became my lover,
And each of us were quite content simply living for each other.
In this way I could have stayed passing all my days,
But the gods did not see fit and my love then passed away.
Alone, a bitter, lonely man was all that I could be,
So without a choice I journeyed out to return my love to me.
Atop the highest mountain, hidden among the thickest mist,
Sat the gods, and those who came before them would be granted of a wish.
I stood there facing up, mounting courage for a time,
Then with thought of her with me i began to climb.
My saddened soul was set to offer all it had to give,
But many men had come this way and none of them had lived.
I crossed hillsides thick with monsters and rivers flowing flames,
Serpents, beasts and forms of evil which I could never name.
But determined on my quest, I fought right through their wrath,
With the skeletons of those before me always in my path.
And as I foughted on through the mist, my clothes all drenched in red,
Before the gods I finally stood, upon the mountain’s head.
They ask me who I am and ask me why I’m here.
How I became so driven and never wayward steer.
"What kind of man faces death and doesn’t turn to run?"
"I’m a man of love and peace, the girl is why I’ve have come."
To this they cry and gasp as if I’ve broken rules.
"Son," they say as one. "Do you take us all for fools?"
"You stand out here before us so strong and full of pride,
Having passed the fire trials where the others have all died.
And you expect us to believe the reason true and just;
You have made this mission with a heart completely free of lust?
No will to cheat or to deceive and no quest for gold?
Such a tale we’ve never heard and we are very old."
But despite their laughing doubts it still remained a fact,
My love had given me the strength the others had all lacked.
I sighed at thought of useless try to ever make them see,
It was evident no other man had ever loved so deep as me.
"Tell us more," they asked and beckoned me to say,
"Tell us how any woman could have brought you all this way."
At this I had to smile, for although my trip was long,
She had been my guiding light and her vision was still strong.
"She’s more precious than the finest silk and far more rare than gold,
Tales tall enough to know her beauty never has been told.
She’s the early morning sunlight, in singing golden rays,
Before anything impure has had a chance to touch the day.
She’s the initial taste of water upon your thirsty tongue,
And the first resting moment when a hard job is done.
With golden locks of shining hair, your heart she soon does fill,
And there exists no truer want than to have her closer still.
You know no time with her could ever be too much,
When her skin against yours feels as kisses with every single touch.
If you know this feeling, nothing more should you ask,
And if you don’t, well I’ve found it, and you should let me pass."
To this they looked confused, and as their grumbles rose,
I saw they had another question, which finally they did pose.
"How would one ever find, if he were to seek,
Such a thing as wond'rous as the one of which you speak?"
"Heaven I suppose, or at least that’d be a start,
But I’m unsure, she may have flowed directly from my heart."
Only shortly were they quiet, then once again cried out,
Surely not believing still as they expressed their doubt.
"If this thing of yours exists, such a lovely muse,
High standards had, it seems to be that you she’d never choose.
Such a woman would always get whatever she might ask,
And surely wouldn’t want a man with such a checkered past."
"I am prepared for this objection, for I’ve thought of it myself,
I’ve imagined such a worthy girl would put me on a shelf.
But the best part of my tale, put as I have such,
Is that she’s felt my heart and passion and loves me just as much."
After much debate and discussion a decision they did reach,
Then they leaned far out before me so their gospel they could preach.
"Never have we been inclined to grant a man’s request,
And surely not for one who deals so much in fibbing jests.
The words you’ve voiced and the truth can not be the same,
So take your lies out with you and go back from where you came."
At this I felt a fire light, my ego had been shoved,
My first instinct to raise my fists and fight for what I loved.
But against these odds that had to be a last resort today,
At least for now I must stay calm to find another way.
"My apology is yours," They heard me humbly say.
"Just hand her over to me and I’ll be on my way."
"Silence," they quickly called and the ground beneath me shook,
At this my blood had finally boiled and I gave them one last look.
"No’s our final answer, you shall not have your mate,
Now be gone from before us, lest you share her fate."
"So be it," I said quietly as I stood before my lord,
With one deep breath I shook my head and drew upon my sword.
"Given choice of life without her or not another breath,
I say in all good conscience, I certainly choose death."
Then I leapt upon them, blade singing through the air,
And we broke into a battle to which no other could compare.
Though I was fiercely wounded, pain I knew nothing of,
For close behind every blow was her phantom love.
I gave everything I could as I raged against the beast,
And hours turned to days before the battle finally ceased.
And as they made their final throws with barely just a sound,
Her crumpled figure appeared before me, laid out on the ground.
I stumbled to her so her lovely face I once again could see,
And took her in my arms, though she soon was holding me.
She embraced me for a time but we exchanged no words,
And then my movement fully ceased as I gave my soul for hers.
Once I laid there cold, my life gone far away,
She placed a final kiss upon my lips and rose to meet the day.
Such passion that had been mine, in her already shown,
And then my love went up the mountain, on a journey of her own.

For I Have Been To the Mountaintop...And It Is Glorious!

2005-06-08T13:42:00.000-07:00

Every once in a very long while, something unforeseen will happen to me that just seems to make all the bullshit worth it, if only for a few minutes. Ever had that feeling? Like your own ray of sunshine in a downpour or the first taste of cool water across a dry palate following a hard job done...no, no, i'm not doing it justice. Imagine a moment of painful disappointment or sheer terror suddenly morphed into unexpected elation. Like falling down an entire flight of stairs...onto a pile of naked swimsuit models. Understand where i'm coming from?

I had just such an experience last night.

You see, Miss Kitty and i had gotten a little frisky with one another, and that friskiness had lead to some nudity and lots of heavy petting, as the kids are calling it these days. As i have previously explained, however, Miss Kitty is currently suffering through the medical ravages of a urinary infection...which basically translates to anti-biotics and less sex. Normally, Miss Kitty and i have quite a bit of sex and, being that she is on the pill and we have both been tested, we are comfortable doing it unprotected and have been for quite a while, however the anti-biotics mess with the way her pill works. Now, i dunno about you, but the second i feel the possibility of me becoming a parent rising, even slightly, i start wearing a rubber 24 hours a day.

So we're having sex with a condom and it's good; she's definitely enjoying it after the seemingly interminable 4 day layoff we had just been through. But i was having a problem. See, offering any type of sex to a guy who isn't getting laid regularly, even if you have to use a condom 2 inches thick, is like dangling a honey-glazed pork chop before a starving Rosie O'Donnell...in both cases you know it's going to involve a rabid desire, a pair of quick and grabby hands, lots of sweat and, if you're lucky, some swallowing. But when you are so fortunate a guy, as i currently am, that you have a horizontal mambo partner always ready and willing, things change a bit. The desire is still there, but without the desperateness...in other words, a girl simply saying the word "suck" no longer gets you hard enough to use your penis as a crow bar.

Same sort of concept applies to the use of condoms. Now, don't get me wrong, condoms are great (kids, wear your raincoats, you don't want genitalia that resembles rotten fruit, do you?), but there is definitely quite a difference in sensation as compared with raw-dogging it. This was my problem. We had been having sex for about a half hour, she had done her thing (three times actually, go me!) and was now working me pretty hard, trying to get me to do my thing. Though i had enjoyed the sex, the sensation was just nowhere near what i'm used to and it wasn't looking to me like i was going to get there. I thought another change of position might help, so i rolled her over into doggie style, rallying myself for one last charge at an orgasm. As we rolled over, however, my manhood came free of her feminine fold sans condom. Shit. My dick was only about half-hard, so things already weren't looking good, but few things can destroy any hope of continued intercourse faster than the phrase, "Um, i think i left the condom inside of you."

Now, Miss Kitty and i are very comfortable with each other, sickeningly so at times, so there wasn't really any oddness, just disappointment. I had been sex-starved for days, then attempted to readjust to sex with a rubber, and had finally been reduced to sweaty heap of unfulfilled desire, contemplating how long it would be before Miss Kitty would want to have sex again, post-digging a semi-used prophylactic from the depths of her na-na.

She emerged from the bathroom and made for the bed. I assumed that time had come for the obligatory cuddling. I actually have no problem with cuddling, but i've found that it is not nearly as satisfying when it is not preceded by an orgasm...like most things, i suppose. Without an orgasm, post-coitus cuddling is simply passing time til the onset of blue-balls.

But then it happened.

She stopped short of the bed, bending forward until her lips were at my ear. "I know something we can do that we won't need a condom for," she whispered as she slid one of my hands toward her ass...at which point so much blood rushed into my nether regions that my hard on actually clipped my chin.

So I joined her in the shower, smiling like Michael Jackson in an unsupervised room full of pre-teens.

And when we were done, we cuddled proper.

A Brand New Annoyance...Again

2005-06-07T15:27:00.000-07:00

I have a new pet peeve. Actually, this particular thing has always annoyed me, it just took me til now to properly categorize it as a pet peeve. I hate (hate, hate, hate, hate, hate) it when people offer you food and then chastise you for declining. This whack-job who works in the cube behind me offered me a tamale today.

"No thank you," i said as politely as possible.

"You don't like tamales?" she gasped, as if i'd just admitted to running a group of old ladies down with my Volkswagen.

"I like tamales, i'm just not really hungry right now." At this point i look back at my work; the cue for most people to stop wasting my time and make like an endangered species.

"Why not?" she asks, indignantly, still holding the tamale inches from my face as though a supremely close-up look will tempt me into artificial hunger.

"What?" my brain sputters trying to find the point to her question.

"Did you already eat or something?" she sounds more like a prosecutor addressing the defendant (and at which point did you begin to stab your wife?) than a mortgage associate with a coworker.

"Yeah," i say slowly, nodding, for some reason fearing for my safety.

"Well, what did you eat?" Huh? Does she need to determine if what i ate was adequate enough to declare myself full?

"I had a sandwitch."

"A sandwitch!? (And then you stabbed your wife 137 times! Didn't you!?) You'd rather have a sandwitch than a homemade tamale!?" We have now entered the Twilight Zone.

"Well, at the time i was eating the sandwitch (you blithering idiot), i had no idea that i would be offered a tamale an hour later." Though the tamale remained an unsafe distance from my face, a look came a cross her that gave me a momentary thrill; i thought i had reached her.

Wrong.

"So you don't want the tamale?" How does this woman remember to breathe consistently?

"No."

"Are you sure? It's really good."

"No."

"If you are full, you can just throw it in the fridge and eat it later." What is this refidgeration you speak of? You mean to tell me that there is some type of new-fangled device that allows us to store food in a cool environment, keeping it fresh for later consumption? Egad! What a marvelous age we live in!

"No, really, it's ok."

"I have a couple more in the fridge already, you can take them home if you like." It's times like these when i really wish i could kick myself in the forehead. How effective of a conversation stopper would that be? *thump* ...then stumble past their confused look (and outstretched tamale). But seriously, if i didn't want one tamale, why the hell would i accept a half dozen of them?

"No thanks."

"Are you sure? They're really good." Has this tactic ever worked? Have you ever offered something to someone, had them refuse, then reoffered, adding the phrase, 'but it's really good' and had them reconsider? How does that go? Well, i just assumed that you were offering me a baked donkey turd, but now that you tell me you're offering something that's actually good, rather than pawning off the remains of your garbage disposal cleaning on me, hell, why not? What's up with trying to sell people on your leftovers anyway? And why can't people take 'no' for an answer when it comes to food? Can you imagine the type of strange looks you'd get if you practiced this behavior across the board? Do you want a giant penis tattooed across your forehead? Are you sure? It feels really good when they put it on. It'll look reeeeally cool. Are you sure?

"Yes, i am sure."

Finally she leaves. I practice kicking myself in the forehead for 20 minutes before i can get back to work. I finally make connection and knock myself out of the Twilight Zone and back into my cube.

I have a friend in a pretty high place down at the city courthouse. The next person that pulls this shit with me is getting put on our county's Registered Sex Offenders list.

I Am Already Having a Shitty Day...

2005-06-07T09:17:00.000-07:00

But whenever the people and events in my life start to get me down, i just remember that i have a really big dick and i feel much better.

Ten Things... (6/6/2005)

2005-06-06T12:00:00.000-07:00

1.) I think it is a pathetic state of affairs when i actually get happy about paying only $2.34 per gallon of gas.

2.) I think Britney Spears is not even kind of hot anymore (i know i'm a little late on this one...i'm just sayin').

3.) I think Deadwood is the best show on television. They are reairing the 2nd season right now and i am mesmerized all over again. Yes, yes, it's a show based in the old west, so a cowboy like me may be biased, but honestly, the show is amazing, there is depth to it that you just don't usually find on television. If you're going to try and get into it though, you need to start from the beginning - rent season 1. *cease shameless and uncompensated plug here*

4.) I think i am sick and tired of Miss Kitty getting urinary infections. Now don't get me wrong, i'm not upset with her about it, i'm just sick of it happening, as i'm sure she probably is as well. I'm sick of her being in pain, I'm sick of her not being able to sleep, i'm sick of having sex with condoms again. So please, oh God O' Urinary Discomfort, please spare my poor woman her affliction in the future...cause right now you are being a serious cock-block.

5.) I think Cupid was even drunker than i was this weekend. On Saturday, i went to the Union Street Fair in San Francisco with a bunch of friends. For the uninitiated, the Union Street Fair is basically a farmers market in the streets that spans about 6 or 7 city blocks. It gets unimaginably crowded and by midday, there are enough sunburned, intoxicated 20-somethings to fill a cruise ship. Needless to say, you see some interesting things. One such thing occurred as Miss Kitty and i were ordering another round at one of the outdoor bars that had been erected. Taking a sip of my beer, i see a young woman bolt past me, moving way too quickly in a group of that many people. Now, she wasn't a huge girl, but she wasn't small either...that is, she wasn't so big that i would jump to the assumption that she was hauling ass toward a buffet line...but then again, she probably wasn't running from an ice cream sundae either. Just then, i notice a bespectacled young man in her path. He freezes, too drunk to sidestep the approaching single-cow stampede. Just when it looked as though she would plow him flatter than Paris Hilton, the scene grew worse...she went airborne. At this point i saw something that i previously would have called impossible. Our ample-thighed lush, flying through the air at the speed of a charging hippo, dropped right into poindexter's arms and, though they teetered for a precocious moment, he held her. She bent quickly forward and placed a mommothed sized smacker on his still-gaping mouth. Then they smiled broadly at each other, his legs trembling with the weight, her wrapped happily around his midsection, posed in the shape of the world's most unappealing candy apple. Wow buddy, i think, you and your girlfriend have really got that "i hope you aren't too drunk to catch me" routine down pat. Truthfully, enough had already occurred to make this scene memorable but as it turned out the best was yet to come. After what was either a longing gaze or a brief, blank-faced brain-break brought on by alcohol, she leaned forward and loudly asked him, "What's your name!?"

6.) I think that i thoroughly enjoyed a compilation DVD of Sydnee Steele's best scenes on Sunday. I think she's had some work done. I mean recently. She's always had one of the best bodies in the industry, but she used to be kind of a butter face. I dunno what she did (in addition to the nose job, that is) but it worked. Smokin' hot.

7.) I think Leo DiCaprio may be 50 before he hits puberty (honestly ladies, i swear you're all pedophiles...how do you know if he's even really a man when he has none of the following: fat, muscle or body hair), but he's still a pretty solid actor. Catch The Aviator some time if you doubt me.

8.) I think Smokey and I should have never fed our neighbor's cat. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Of course, at the time, the cat was too shy to come near us. After a little tuna, the cat began gently rubbing against our legs and rolling around playfully as we began to pet it. I should have known better. I should have learned by now that once Cowboy Matty gives a pussy what it needs, the pussy tends to get attached. Long story short, the cat is no longer shy. She quickly figured out how to open the screen door and now prances around our house as though she were the Queen. Yesterday i was napping when the cat jumped on my head. This startled me somewhat and when i jumped the cat clawed me in defense of what was apparently an open audition for a role as my hair piece. I've always been a dog person, this cat is just helping me remember why that is.

9.) Speaking of my neighbors, i suppose it's about time that i broke this one off on you...i live next door to 3 lesbians. Now a person's sexual orientation, much like their preference of soda, is not something i lose a lot of sleep over. Hey, just pick a side and play ball. If you can't make up your mind, that's fine too, play for both teams. Point is, do what you feel, we're all freaks anyway, which hole you decide to worship isn't going to change that. While i find no issue with people living their lives however they choose to, i do still find humor in stereotypes that these chosen behaviors sometimes aid in creating, especially when one of these stereotypes is born out, in all it's unpolitically correct glory, right before my eyes. I once saw an old Asian lady cause a 6 car accident. Do i think this means all Asians are bad drivers? Of course not, but being that the prior stereotype does exist, i do find it funny to see (after an hour beating my steering wheel in rubber-necking traffic) a confused Asian driver standing before an auto pile-up and a group of irate drivers. Kind of like, oh, i see, there's the punchline. ...take the white guy at the club, busting a move that could get him diagnosed with Parkinson's disease, or the young Jewish woman haggling over a $2 service fee on a $300 bill. The true danger in stereotypes is that they create generalizations; i find them funny because i'm coming at them from the opposite direction. When someone undertakes an action that places them in the scope of a particular stereotype, i see it as a cliche of a cliche; my own private satire. I explain it like this only with the hope that appreciating my point of view will make the following story seem a little more humorous. You see, living next door to 3 lesbians allows me to see and hear some things that i wouldn't normally. For instance, leaving for work this morning, i saw one of my neighbors in her driveway directing some yard workers. Dressed in a Def Leppard tee and a pair of red and white striped shorts, the stocky woman would bark a few directions, then stand back and watch the workers tend to their duties. I suppose that is normal enough, except that every time she issued an order, she would peel back one of her sleeves and flex for a few seconds, as if to emphasize the point. I suppose she got it across, she's built like a bowling ball with hairy armpits. I bet those poor yard guys worked an excruciating shift today. Another lesbianic (to coin a word, i would say lesbionic, but that sounds like a feminist cyborg...rush limbaugh's worst nightmare) experience took place on Saturday. Laying in my bed with the window open, i hear one of the neighbors arrive home from somewhere while her girlfriend (uhm...?) welcomed her home from their porch. The following exchange took place: Well what took you so long? I been waitin' to go to the store! What do you need to go to the store for? We need tampons and batteries. Alright then, but hang on a sec, i gotta go in and take a shit first, i almost crapped myself on the way home. Remember that movie Bound where Gina Gershon and Jennifer Tilly get it on in a couple of super hot lesbian scenes? I'm willing to wager a testicle that it is nowhere near as hot as that when my neighbors go at it.

10.) I think i woke up in the middle of the night on Saturday and ate a whole bunch of yogurt. My only reason for believing this is the fact that i awoke to 5 empty containers of yogurt lined up on my desk, next to a half burned joint. So either i awoke in a drunken stupor with a 12 inch hard-on for strawberry yogurt or the neighbor's cat has started smoking our weed and raiding our fridge.

Strange...But Somehow Not Aggrivating

2005-06-05T12:54:00.000-07:00

I have a bit of a tendency to to make Miss Kitty sound like some kind of ditzy monster-girlfriend in my writings. I assure you that she is actually a beautiful, sweet young woman with many charming and adorable traits. That said, i'm about to make her look a little silly again.

I'm writing in regards to something that i just don't understand. Miss Kitty never seems to see movies that she doesn't like. Now i will readily admit that i am a bit of a harsh critic, but i certainly don't expect everyone to be just as i am. Still though, it seems strange to me that anyone could have such amazing luck as to never misjudge a preview or watch a local-cable-hung-over-on-a-Sunday flick that unexpectedly eats up two hours of your life that you will sadly never regain. Damn, i want that kind of luck. I'd say i've seen almost as many bad movies as good ones. And some of the bad ones were so awful that they really should count as two or three...like Battlefield Earth. *shiver*

Then again, there's always the possibility that she does experience the same thing the rest of us do when we suffer through a stale trip to the cinema, she just defines the words in her vocabulary a little differently. I know that may sound like a bit of a stretch at first, but consider this story:

We rented Lemony Snickett the other night (i know, i'm gay, childish, whipped, etc...pick your demeaning adjective...either that or i'm just old enough to remember when Jim Carrey was funny). Anyway, after about 15 minutes of it, i untucked my penis and came to my senses, at which point i grabbed a book and assumed a position on the bed facing away from the television. Miss Kitty, as easily thrilled by children and children's entertainment as she is, gave it the good fight and hung in for another hour and change. There is definitely nothing new in me failing to understand what entertains her, but i shortly found a new level of confusion. She skips the DVD forward a chapter, watches a few minutes, skips forward again, watches a few minutes, skips forward again... She repeats this five or six times, then turns the movie off, still short of the ending.

"Didn't like that one either?" i ask. By the word 'either' I am referring, of course, to my lack of satisfaction with the film, obviously not to the supposed existence of another film on the face of the planet that she had previously disliked. Nearly smiling at the prospect of us finding common ground in entertainment, she confounds me with this answer:

"No, i liked it. It was just a little boring and i turned it off before it was over."

Now, if your mind works the way mine does (or, rather, the way it used to before it became infected by the view of a pair of pretty blue eyes and that whole "L" word thing), then you are probably shouting words of logic at your monitor right now, or perhaps just doing a quiet mental stutter as your brain tries to wrap itself around what passes for a reasonable movie review in a place that can only be described as Kittyland. You were bored and then you turned it off? Isn't that the definition of not liking a movie!?

But not me. Not anymore. I learned long ago that logic plays no role in my relationship with Miss K.

At this point it's just cute to me. Why fight it?

I know, it makes me nauseous too.

Talk About Right Up My Alley

2005-06-03T14:14:00.000-07:00

Last month Genesis magazine released their annual list of the Top 100 Porn Starlets...you know i've got to have something to say about that...

The Top Ten

1.) Tera Patrick - No surprise here. She is very beautiful, no doubt, and not in the kind of over-inflated, straight-from-the-surgeon bimbo-blonde way that dominates porn. She even pulled off the natural look for quite a while. Yes, she did eventually go the boob-job route, but she actually got a good one and slimed down in the process...believe it or not, she's is even hotter now.

2.) Jenna Jameson - Another predictable selection. Chances are, even if you don't know of a single other adult performer, you've heard of Jenna. She has been credited with bringing a new breed of woman into porn (remember those big-haired, trailer-park-looking beast-women with chia pets growing between their thighs from the porn of old? Miss them? Me neither) as well as forging a road to more main-stream acceptance through her self-marketing efforts and assisting many female stars gain more independence within the industry. Currently with her own production studio, she now gets to decide on her own whether she spits or swallows. How empowering. Whatever, i just like her cause she's really hot and has sex on camera.

3.) Cytherea - In the porn industry, i would think that it is generally not a good idea to have a stage name that sounds like an STD. However, judging by Cytherea coming in 3rd on this list, i am apparently mistaken in that assumption (this blazes a path for future stars like Candy Chlamydia and Gigi Gonhorrea). To be honest, and this is fairly shocking, i don't think i've ever seen a porn with her in it. She doesn't seem all that cute compared to the company she keeps on this list so she must have some filthy talents that i am unaware of. Of course i will keep you all posted, should something come to light on the topic.

4.) Carmen Luvana - Carmen Luvana is 25 different kinds of hot every second of the day. A newcomer to the scene that has already developed an amazingly large following, it's tough not to be impressed with her. I fully support her being in the top five. In fact, i would fully support her any way she wanted me to.

5.) Gia Paloma - Um...what? I linked to the best looking picture of her i could find, no joke. How in the hell did she wind up so high on this list? There are two possibilities here, either the market for buck-toothed porn stars is much larger than i ever could have imagined, or people are just reeeeeally impressed by her submissive performances in titles such as "Cum Swappers #3" and "Anal Expedition." In looking for pictures of her i did stumble across an excerpt from an interview she did. I suppose she gets brownie points for actually saying this: What is your height and weight? 5'1" and i think i'm down to 115. I've lost like 42 pounds. Drugs, diet, or what? Diet! You start doing anal everyday and see how fast you drop the pounds!

6.) Ashley Blue - Ok, so this chick is not exactly a stunner either, but i can certify her talent. She is a deep throat queen, and not the type that gets it all the way down once and then quits. She keeps going back for more. In my book, that scores you points. She wouldn't be 6th on my list (or even in the top 20, for that matter), but she has some respectable skills and certainly makes more sense this high on the list than Gia.

7.) Taylor Rain - If you're a fan of the waif look, this might be your girl. Personally, i prefer my women with a little more meat on 'em. That said, this girl knows the ABC's of porn backwards and forwards as is evidenced by the range of movies she has appeared in. Since her body resembles a 12 year old boy, she does well in the barely legal lines, but she certainly doesn't limit herself to the good girl stuff. She's done a number of titles for Red Light District (which is usually some pretty raunchy stuff) and appears on the cover of the aptly titled, "Fuck Me Hard and Cum On My Face." Gotta love a girl that knows what she wants.

8.) Savanna Samson - Hubba hubba. This Vivid girl has got quite the package on her, at least from afar. Truth be told, she's a bit of a Monet. Up close you'll find that her face is average and her boob job looks much better before the bra comes off. That said, she is still one of the most attractive women in porn that is willing to do anal. That'll get my attention every time.

9.) Lauren Phoenix - We've had beauty so far and we've also had talent, but Ms. Phoenix is the first one on the list to embody both. A former model, Lauren got into porn on her looks and has stayed busy by trying just about everything. She'd give Ashley Blue a run for her money in a deep throat contest and she's always down for a little back door action, maybe a threesome, foursome, hell, i bet she will. Check out her eye-popping performance in Hellcats 2.

10.) Katsumi - Ok, now this list is just pissing me off. Even if you had the Asian fetish of all time i still don't think this chick makes the top ten. Ok, so she does every dirty deed you can imagine...so what!? She's nasty! I thought the whole point of porn was to look at attractive people having sex. If i had this woman spilled out on the bed before me, i'd be forced to pull the bend and tuck, pray she mistook me for a chick, and high-tail it to the door. This list blows.

Other notables...

12.) Jesse Jane - My man Kid Rock's current fling (how does the guy keep doing it?). Simply put, Jesse is fucking fine. The fact that she missed the top ten behind some of the girls who made it is baffling to me. I suppose she is a relative newcomer and that might have stalled her climb a bit...but c'mon. You can plainly tell from this picture that, in addition to her amazing looks, she couldn't possibly have anything less than the greatest personality of all time? She looks kind, giving, compassionate and intelligent....angelic, really. Well, for a porn star.

20.) Sunrise Adams - Currently, the best looking woman in porn to my eyes. Girl next door type of face, great body and it certainly doesn't hurt that she's from Texas...yes, i do love me a southern accent on hot blonde. Her slightly limited repertoire is the only thing keeping her from the number one starlet in my universe.

27.) Devon - Another true beauty limited only by her unnecessary (in my eyes) self-imposed decency restriction. Great pair of add-ons and you gotta dig the blue eyes and little, baby nips. And yes, i just called them little, baby nips. Have you ever seen smaller ones?

39.) Jill Kelly - Still my reigning favorite. Not a huge surprise that she falls this low on the list, she has been in the industry for over a decade, so she's not exactly the new kid on the block. But, to my mind, there is no one even approaching Jill's beauty that is willing to do as much in front of the camera as she is.

68.) Briana Banks - The postergirl for the cliche over-scalpeled blonde beauties that began popping up all over porn in the wake of Jenna's success. Though occasionally stunning, Banks seems to me to be the prime example of what plastic surgery and a lot of make up can do for an marginally attractive person. Pictures of Briana before all of her work are not flattering. And ,to be totally honest, i almost never say this but i think she made her chest a little too massive for her tiny figure. However, most women in porn revise the list of sexual acts that they are willing to perform once they are surgically enhanced up a tax bracket or two; Ms. Banks did not. So she still earns big ups in my book for maintaining a number of filthy on-screen habits, despite her extreme transformation.

88.) Asia Carerra - Like Tera Patrick, Asia went with the natural look for quite a while, and she looked amazing (save for the big 80s hair she sported in a few flicks). Also like Patrick, she chose to get her boobs done once her fitness routine trimmed her curves past her desire. The verdict on her new look is very good, but don't mistake this little hussy for any of the vacant-headed bimbos she often plays in her films, she's a certified member of Mensa with an IQ over 150. Now that's hot!

Wow. Somewhere in the midst of reviewing their list, i believe i've been inspired to create my own. They've simply made too many errors! Hmm...this is going to take some careful thought and a little - ahem - research. I'll be back.

A Word On Vanity Plates...

2005-06-02T09:18:00.000-07:00

So, i'm driving to work this morning and see an SUV with a license plate that reads, RDRGUN. Radar gun, right? I think to myself, what a stupid thing to put on your license plate, that person was so desparate to seem individual that they just had to have a vanity plate, even if it wasn't particularly clever. But, then again, maybe it's an inside joke that if i were prevy to, i would think was very funny indeed.

That got me thinking about when my mom got a vanity plate a few years back. My parents have 3 shi-tzus and she was constantly having to tote them around in her station wagon. Thinking it funny (one can only assume), she got a vanity plate that said, DOGSRUS...oh the things my family began to get away with after i left for college.

About two years after that, my only sibling got her license and inherited the station wagon. My sister, having an early birthday and being the tall, popular blonde that she is, began carting her girlfriends around immediately...you know, to all those important places that groups of 15 and 16 year old girls have to go.

But here's the funny part. Whether it's funny on it's own or only because it took me years to realize is for you to decide. My sister then spent the remaining 2 years of high school driving around a volvo full of chicks with a vanity plate that said "Dogs Are Us."

Hahahahahahaha...ahem...

In case you get bored...

2005-06-01T16:44:00.000-07:00

You know what i hate most about my job? It's not the work - i have no problem with working hard. It isn't the coworkers - i have gotten used to the fact that i am at least two decades younger than everyone else here. It isn't the fact that the office manager is tiny, bent twig of an old woman who insists that the thermostat be set just a shade below A-Bomb: Ground Zero. It isn't the lady in the cube behind me who has 'pop goes the weasel' set as her ring tone (did you know that after hearing it a few times, the tune to 'pop goes the weasel' sounds exactly the same as the tune to 'i'm going to shove that phone so far up your ass, you'll be dialing with your toothbrush'? I figured that out after the 20th time she let it ring through to voicemail without silencing it). It isn't the fact that no one in my office has a cumulative IQ high enough to fax something without sending the machine into fits of vibrating, thumping and beeping. It isn't the fact that since i am the only male in the building who doesn't appear to go out in some type of drag on the weekends, i must automatically know how to fix the copy machine and, in fact, would love to do so for you, again, rather than finish the work i am actually getting paid to do. It isn't the fact that every person i have ever been assigned to train would still have a tough time understanding and acclimating to their duties, even if they worked somewhere with their name on their shirt. It isn't the fact that i haven't had so much as a faint whiff of an attractive coworker in months. It isn't the fact that my boss constantly forgets to tell me things...then forgets that she forgot and holds me accountable for things she never actually communicated to me (in english anyway). It's not the fact that i never had any legitimate training so i was forced to learn pretty much everything on my own. It isn't the fact that my computer crashes every other time i hit the enter key. It isn't the fact that one of the sales guys is always bringing his dog into the office and the damn mut pisses in the potted plant nearest me every single time. It isn't the fact that someone is always microwaving tuna (yech!). It isn't the fact that my boss waits until i tell her goodnight for the evening to unveil all five critical projects that must be completed before i leave. It's not that when my boss tells me something is a big, big rush, she hovers over me and asks me how it's going every 10 minutes. It's not the fact that when i have no experience at a new task, usually to be performed for the first time at some critical moment, the best she can do to instruct me is to yell over her shoulder, as she high-tails it out the door, "You're a smart guy, you'll figure it out."

No, no, no. All of that i can deal with. But perhaps it is dealing with all of those things that makes one particular thing unbearable.

I have a cubicle about two or three feet from my boss' office. While she does bring in a lot of business, she spends an unbelievable amount of time out of the office. This means that it falls on me to pick up the slack in her absence. This is part of my job, i don't mind it. I have things i have to deal with, as anyone in any job does, but i do the best i can with what i've got and, more often than not, the results are better than what was expected. This being the case, you can imagine how i might feel when my boss finally shows up to the office (often after i have been working for hours), breezes past the stacks of files and paperwork on my desk, turns on her computer, curses her own workload and then calls out to me, "If you get bored, let me know, i have stuff for you to do."

What the FUCK??!!

Has my ability to ignore the circus of half-baked morons in an effort to do my under-rewarding job gone unnoticed? Does she not realize that, as fun as it may be for her to be on constant vacation, someone does actually have to do the work? And if she does realize this, does she not see that it might be embarrassing and unfair to that person if you then announce to the entire office that they are basically doing nothing.

"Hey, let me know if you get bored..."

Uh, yeah...hey, let me know if me quitting this job has a crippling effect on what you do with your free time...or you know, if you get fired once someone realizes that you lean on me like a one legged fat girl on the counter at McDonald's.

Filling In the Blanks (5/31/05)

2005-05-31T12:45:00.000-07:00

I don't do much blogging on the weekends, you know what with the prostitutes and whatnot, but lord knows that i wouldn't want you to miss out on any of my non-sense as a result. So, early each week, i will post ten things that caught my interest over the weekend and my reaction to them. Now without further ado, i bring to you 10 Things I Think I Think...

1.) I think that chick who came in 4th in the Indy 500 over the weekend, Danica Patrick, is pretty cute. Actually, she's damn fine considering that she knows more about cars than most guys out there.

2.) I think that i am a complete pussy compared to the guy over at GorillaMask.net. It was on his blog that i was first introduced to the '999 challenge' (go back a few entries, it's there). The 999 is simply 9 beers and 9 hot dogs in 9 innings of baseball. Somehow, that sounded doable to me. Fun, in a make-me-vomit kind of way. My roommate, Smokey, and I decided to try it out during the Red Sox-Yankees game on Sunday. After reading the entry over at Gorillamask, i understand that there are some people willing to complete the challenge at all costs. I am not one of these people. After just 3 dogs and 2 beers, Smokey quit. "I ain't eating that dog," he declared, eyeing the 4th tube of mystery-meat on his plate. The look on his face was such that i didn't argue. After just 3 dogs, i found my mouth coated with a layer of saliva-thickening hog grease that not even a barrel of beer could have cut through. I did not have the resolve to go on alone. Yes, for those of you keeping score, i am blaming this failure on Smokey.

3.) I think Paris Hilton's engagement will lead to a long-lasting and joyous marriage. Oh, that Paris Hilton? Oh hell no, six months, tops.

4.) I think i love the fact that Miss Kitty suggested that we watch some porn together on Sunday morning. Talk about some great sex. Then, when we were done, we just kind of laid there and watched a few more scenes. Then we laughed together when some greaseball's money shot hit that broad in the eye and made her flinch. This relationship has really come a long way.

5.) I think i have a new bad habit. Since i had spent my entire life until about 2 weeks ago thinking that it was a nauseatingly vile habit, i am ashamed to admit that i have tried chewing tobacco a few times now and bought my first tin yesterday. Ok, i still acknowledge that it is gross, but it's not like i'm breaking out a dip in front of Miss Kitty. It's, you know, more like the type thing you do when it's just the guys and you're, um, working in the yard or something. Help me out here. Besides, i'm a cowboy, right?

6.) I think there was a car wreck of a blind date on Friday night, and i witnessed the moment of impact. Miss Kitty and i stopped by a bar for a few drinks after dinner and wound up sitting close to a couple whose nervously pleasant conversation and general body language lead me to believe that they were on a blind date (or at least a first date). When Kitty got up to use the ladies room, it gave me a chance to properly eavesdrop (what?) . They were on the subject of pet peeves (not a bad getting-to-know-you date topic) and she had just finished declaring her annoyance with people who answer their cell phones in movie theatres. Fair enough. I can agree with her there, can't you? Well, he returns fire with this little nugget, "The one thing that i really just can't stand at all is when a restaurant serves their take out food in styrofoam containers." He closes his eyes and shivers to emphasize the point. "Because of the environment?" she asks, aiming to justify his odd admission. "No," he replies. "I just hate it. If a place serves some take out in styrofoam then i just won't order those dishes. If they serve everything in styrofoam, then forget it, i won't eat there. It's just so classless, like eating at troughs with the rest of the homeless minions." I was almost blown from my barstool in a sudden gust of wind as the balloon that had been their decent evening exploded in a violent homage to take-out hang-ups.

7.) I think i have a new favorite starlet in the Adult Industry. Equipped with a new boob job, Sunrise Adams is quite a sight to behold. I got a little more familiar with some of her work over the weekend and she is currently threatening Jill Kelly atop my porn star rankings. I'll keep you all posted.

8.) I think i would feel better with Michael Jackson behind bars...whether he raped this particular kid or not.

9.) I think Kellen Winslow shouldn't have even bothered with his apology to fans. He could save a busload of drowning babies at this point and i'd still think he was scum.

10.) I think i generally prefer my women with a little more shape, but Miss Canada is still very hot and i know most American males will sleep better at night knowing that the reigning Miss Universe is so close to home.

How Do I Start This Thing?

2005-05-25T15:34:00.000-07:00

So, i'm here. Ready and willing, open for business, you might say. Of course putting it that way makes this place sound like a cathouse...no, no, The Lonely Gem is down the street. This here is just a place for me to empty out the over-abundance of haphazard, random non-sense that has a way of becoming lodged just beneath my forehead. Hopefully i can now spend some time confounding people other than myself with the thoughts i have.

But how to begin? The notion of just jumping right into it seems somehow pathetically unceremonial to me, as if i need some kind of entry just to say, "Ok, my future audience, i'm ready to post now." But then a post declaring a post is like those silly freeway signs that say "65 Zone Ahead." Well, am i now in the 65 zone then? Or is that sign some kind of promise, a hopeful tease that somewhere, among the vast miles of Amercian freeway ahead of me, there is in fact, a place where one may drive 65 miles per hour without fear of being ticketed for speeding?

See, who needs to create this kind of confusion? Is this a post? Is this an introduction? And do we even really care? Probably not. Which means i should get beyond this quasi-post/psuedo-introduction and into the good stuff ASAP...but first...

In any flirtation i have with trying to explain why i am writing right here, right now, (as i have tried to avoid for this entire post...and have failed miserably) i would be greatly remiss if i did not give it up to my girl, Lulu. See, dark secrets be known, i used to have another blog (ok, so my dark secrets are not all that exciting) that i neglected quite mercilessly until it finally shrivelled up and fell off... Lulu, quite fond of my old blog in its pre-shrivelled days, has been at me for a while to pick it up again and, seeing how breath-takingly fantastic she has made her blog, I have finally consented...oh and she promised to flash me her right boob too. That was pretty much the deal closer. In exchange for a quick peek at a single glorious titty, i offer views on the six pilars of my life: People, Money, Movies, Sports, Porn and Angelina Jolie.

Quite a value, if you ask me...You are all so lucky.

So, for better or for worse, here i am, Cowboy Matty, The Drunken Desparado, The Guttermouther Gunslinger, The Raunchy Roughrider, The Sickening Saddlesore...er- you get the picture. Yee-haw!!!