Friday, August 20, 2010

Vegas Baby, uh, Vegas….

I just returned from an anticipated trite Las Vegas Bachelor Party. It ended up a little better than I expected, the cabana at the Hard Rock Pool was nice, the VIP access to the clubs was fine, but the expense of the inserting myself into douche bag central, was still not my first choice for a weekend trip. You see I used to live on the West Coast when I was in my 20s and we would go to Vegas from time to time, that rolled in with work trips puts my total trips to Vegas some where north of 30. If I never went there again I would be fine. When I was single and in my 20s it was tolerable in a large group of friends, but it was never my first choice on any list of places to go. In light of my most return from Sin City, here is one of my best memories. And remember, like of one my friends said to me, what happens in Vegas, STAYS BURNED IN YOUR PSYCHE FOREVER.

This particular memory of Vegas was in fact when we were leaving. There was a group of 6 of us flying back to San Francisco on Southwest. The Las Vegas airport is one of the worst laid out, slowest moving airports in the world. It is common knowledge that you have to get to the airport much earlier than at other places because the security line resembles the trail of a 1,000 tears and after the weekends most of these people had, they would have probably switched with the Indians at that point. Anyway, knowing this we decide not to risk it and get there a few hours in advance of the flight. In the first lucky break of that weekend, we breeze through security and now have hours to kill, so we head to the bar. After our umpteenth pitcher of Miller Lite, we stumble over to the gate. True to form the Southwest flight was late, so we started making runs to get more beer. At some point, let’s call this kid Mark (mainly because that was his name), lays down and finally succumbs to the sweet relief of sleep. 10 minutes into his beauty rest the plane pulls up. We decide not to wake him up and get on the plane, much to the amusement of our fellow passengers. Once boarded and a small amount of guilt is starting to set in, our hero gets on the plane to a hearty round of applause. After the appropriate amount of fuck you’s thrown our way, we settle in for the one-hour flight. For those that don’t know Southwest heards people on planes like cattle and once inside it is a free-for-all. Two of us get separated from our group and find a row with two attractive girls sitting in it. We snuggle in next to them, a nice little pairing of boy-girl and boy-girl across the aisle from each other. Right after take off my friend informs me quietly across the aisle that he can take the fastest shit known to man and he asks me to time him. So when one of the girls asks me what we were talking about, I hesitate and finally say, this kid brags about how fast he can jerk off on a plane and he asked me to time him, something about the cabin air makes him really horny. I tell her she should do it and she agrees. A few minutes later my buddy walks out and right on queue she announces “4:37 seconds”. My buddy, pissed off says, “you told her?” I said, not exactly. When the girl asked him why he would brag about doing “that” so fast, it lead to this little exchange:

“That is really only meant for guys to know”
“That is a little gay don’t you think”
“How is that gay? I bet you can’t do it that fast”
“One, I would never do that on a plane and two why would I want to see how fast I could do it”
“Why are girls so up tight about doing it public, if I have the urge, I will do it any where”
“You are total pervert”
“Pervert what the Hell are you talking about”
“This conversation is over”
“Wait, I said it was never meant for you to hear”
“FYI, your friend doesn’t want to know how fast you can jerk off either”
“JERK OFF, what the fu…. DYER!!!!”

Having already crossed the Rubicon at this point, my friend gave up. I ended going out on a few dates with the girl and eventually told her the whole story, good times.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Red Water = Exodus?

The day I got my home appraisal back and the purchase of my first home is all but complete I went to the sink to get a glass of water, when I turned the faucet on the water came out blood red. Was it the lovely Georgia Red Clay working its magic or the first sign of a modern exodus? I will let you know if frogs start falling from the sky.

Best Sports Town for Boobies

Best sports town nicknames to describe boobies: Denver. Nuggets for those less endowed; Rockies, for those who were blessed and Avalanche for when Father Time finally wins. I am really bored today.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

This American Life

When I lived in Chicago I went to the This American Life live event and it was, for lack of a better adjective, the coolest live show I have ever been to. Chicago had quite a few amazing shows that were limited to Chicago or only a few cities. I went to Family Guy Live (incredible, although it made me sound like more of a fan of the show than I really am. When I tell people I went they instantly starting quotes lines from their favorite episodes like it is Shakespeare and they are waiting for me to give them the next line….which never happens). I saw Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me live three separate times (insert NPR nerd joke here). I have lived in seven major US cities including LA, where I went to the Playboy mansion for a brunch and a webcast lingere show at a swanky LA bar in my pjs at the end of the catwalk, San Francisco where I saw Robin Williams in a covert, day of performance ,under an assumed name, been to the Filmore and The Warfield, cool blues clubs in Memphis, etc. and nothing, I mean nothing compares to how much I enjoyed This American Life live. The show itself was great, but it was the audience that was another thing that made the night special. It was like finding a thousand people in a city of six million that had the same addiction, albeit a health one, as you. You didn’t have to explain what it is you are listening to, or what NPR is, you can quote episodes the way normal people quote Seinfeld. It felt like a modern day love-in or some other hippie-like explanation of an experience that always ends with “you had to be there to understand it”. That sort of exclusive arrogance that always bothered me about those stories I now instantly relate to.

I live in Atlanta now and spread the gospel that is TAL to all within earshot. I travel 2-3 weeks a month and the podcasts are completely responsible for my sanity on airplanes and giving Phil Collins another chance (my favorite episode where he was so nice to that girl who writes a love song to get over a broken heart). If I ever win the lotto I want to work for TAL for free and of course donate (sans the tote bag gift for doing so) so everyone who wants to get can TAL on their local radio.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Home Office Attire

So I started a new job in January with a manufacturer based out of Milwaukee. One of the requirements of the job is to travel 2-3 weeks of every month throughout the Southeastern portion of the United States. I love this job and in fact, it is the best job I have ever had. I like the travel, the people are great, but the best thing about my job is the home office week. I wake up at 7:58 a.m. everyday, stumble to my computer, log into IM (our company’s virtual way of punching the clock) and start my day.

Now as I got more and more comfortable in this routine I realized that I could spend all day in what I slept in the night before which usually consisted of a pair of boxers and a comfortable t-shirt. As the days rolled on during my home office weeks I realized a few tweaks needed to be made. As an example, if someone came to the door, (UPS man, semi-working stoner from the floor beneath, Publisher’s Clearinghouse, whoever) I didn’t want to answer the door in my boxers with my hair completely disheveled. I came to this conclusion the first time someone knocked on my door and I had to scramble around like the apartment looking for my clothes like that time in high school when my girlfriend’s father came home two hours earlier than expected. Except this time I didn’t have to jump out of a window half naked and jog to a buddy’s house.

Wanting to avoid future mad dashes I always pulled out a pair of short and left my Cubs hat on my desk so if someone did come I was 15 seconds away from being as proper as I felt I needed to be.

Now this plan seemed perfect until this morning. I am dutifully typing away at my computer this morning and I hear a knock at the door. I quickly pull on a pair of shorts, flip on my cap and go to the door to see who it is. The UPS man, (who happened to be a woman), greeted me, gave me a small box (something I had ordered from work) and the clipboard looking thingy to sign. As I extended both of my arms to grab the small box and the clipboard from the future I realized that I had put both of my arms through the two huge holes on the sides of the shirt that developed over 18 years and not the sleeves of my favorite t-shirt. Realizing I was too old to look like an extra from Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome a decision needed to be made.

My favorite t-shirt was given to me as a 10th grade birthday present from my mom. When I unwrapped the box and laid my eyes on it the first time I was underwhelmed to say the least. It was plain white t-shirt that had an oversized Nike swoosh symbol on it with the words S O C C E R underneath it. Now I hadn’t played soccer since my AYSO days when my career highlight as a 6 year old was playing goalie I accidently bicycle kicked a goal in on myself and we lost 1-0 (true story). So seeing a soccer t-shirt wasn’t real high on birthday wish list, which I spent 6 months on and had 37 items forced rank on it. When I asked my mom about returning it, she said it was on sale for a few bucks but we could try to get something else for it if I wanted. Realizing that I wasn’t going to get anything else worthwhile with the money I kept it.

I couldn’t tell you how or when it exactly happened but over the years through high school, college, my many moves all over the country the Nike soccer shirt just felt right when I wore it. You know the feeling, not to tight around the neck, plenty of room in the shoulders, it was the most comfortable shirt I owned. So after 18 years of heavy rotation it was pretty beat up. To the point where it had been regulated to a sleeping shirt, not one I was allowed to where in public. Through the years many a girlfriend tried to get throw the shirt out, one went as far as to throw it out, but I quickly retrieved it and dumped her soon after (unrelated, maybe).

After the incident with the UPS Lady though, I knew it was time. I didn’t want to be like those pet owners that keep their loved ones on life support for 4 years after Spot should have been put down. Throwing it in the trash just seemed wrong, so instead I put it in it’s own plastic bag walked it to the dumpster, said a few words and tossed it inside. I admit I got a few looks when I played Taps on my iPhone and gently wept, but I didn’t care. Me and my favorite shirt had some real history together and you don’t just throw that away.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Jello Shots!

About a month ago I was at a married couple's house and drinking (outside the perimeter for non-Atlanta folks) and birthdays came up. My friend was turning 36 in August and in our slighted buzzed state drew up elaborate plans to paint the Big Peach a lovely shade of red the Saturday after her big day.

Fast forward to this month and the big day was approaching. I wrote my friend (who calls anymore?) and asked from what rooftop would the festivities commence?

His reply was they would be having a little get together at their place instead. It was the "adult and responsible thing to do". Now in today's economic climate and the fact they have a darling one year old at home, this seemed perfectly logical.

They bought their own little house in the burbs, had a child and a few car payments... in other words they had left NeverNever Land a long time ago. When they come and visit me in the city they are polite when they describe my apartment as a little too "post-college" for my age, but it is in a great location if you still like to go out as much as I must do. In other words, I'm Peter Pan if he joined a Fraternity. Now were are all within 2 years of each other, so this difference in lifestyles could potentially create some tension.

Back to our e-mail. After reading my buddy's e-mail I replied back that it would be great to drive up there and do something low key. I asked what I could I bring? His response:"Do you know how to make jello shots?"

Now if that isn't adult and responsible I don't know what is. I can hold off re-thinking my life and the race with the Jones's for another year.

In honor of his request, here are three of my favorite jello shot receipes:

Margarita Jello Shots
6 ounces Lime Jell-o
16 ounces Water (boiling)
6 ounces Tequila
2 ounces Triple Sec
1 ounce Lime Juice
1 ounce Water (cold)

Lemon Drop Jello Shots
6 ounces lemon jello
16 ounces boiling Water
8 ounces cold Water
8 ounces Vodka

Rum and Coke Jello Shots
6 ounces Cherry Jello
16 ounces Cherry Coca-dCola
8 ounces White Rum

Enjoy!

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

sham WOW!

Found in Billy Mays' System: Cocaine, Hydrocodone, Oxycodone, Tramadol, Alprazolam, Diazepam and Alcohol -

I called upon my crack staff (the Google Oracle) to do a little research to see what Billy Mays was trying to accomplish by ingesting a CVS while "riding that train".

Hydrocodone and acetaminophen is used to relieve moderate to severe pain.

Oxycodone is used to treat moderate to severe pain.

Tramadol (Ultram) is narcotic-like pain reliever used to treat moderate to severe pain.

Alprazolam is used to treat anxiety disorders, panic disorders, and anxiety and is used as an adjunctive treatment for anxiety associated with moderate depression.

Diazepam (Valium) is used to treat anxiety disorders, alcohol withdrawal symptoms, or muscle spasms.

Cocaine is a powerfully addictive stimulant that directly affects the brain and helps numb the pain for selling your soul to hock shit people don't need.


I feel better about those 4 Miller Lites I had at Turner Field tonight.