Wednesday, April 30, 2008

What to wear?

I've been a little bit busy lately and haven't had much time to do laundry. Busy is a synonym for lazy, isn't it.?
My life has been too much "rush rush rush" and not enough "wash wash wash". So, needless to say I am running out of clean clothes.
Today, I officially ran out of comfortable underwear selections leaving only the sexy variety. I'm not going on a date, I'm going to work but it still beats going commando. Alright, alright, nothing beats going commando.
I do have the next best thing to commando. I call them my Tarzans. They began life as a pair of Tidy Whiteys but have worn down to a mere T-Back. With the many dangling strings, they beg to be called Butt-Floss.
I can't throw them away or I would have nothing to wear underneath the paper gown at the Doctors office.
I want him to feel sorry for me so he charges less and I make sure the Nurses can see everything.
The sexy underwear have a tendency to migrate to the valley so now I am doomed to be playing cheek shepherd and getting my wool to greener pastures.

Now, which pants do I wear? Out of the few I have left, most of them have some pretty considerable holes in them. Sure, they offer some nice ventilation but I am feeling a little revealed in the Final Layer Of Protection and I may have mosquito issues.
That narrows my choice down to thin pants that would show pantie lines or loose pants that would show my whale tail. It's not so much of a whale tail but it would be after the migration to the valley. I don't plan on doing any plumbing work so the crack shot may be uncalled for.
The tight pants can be a little rough on the giblets and may boil the egg bag a bit in the summer.

Shorts would be good but I don't want any snakes crawling in or falling out. Especially if a snake crawls up my leg thinking he found a lizard in a bush or something.
I guess I'll wear the pants with the whole in the pocket. Sure, I might be feeling a little cocky today but I'll wash my hands often.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

Friends of canned meat

Bambi wants to be my friend on Myspace, funny how her grainy picture looks just like the one that came in the frame I bought from kmart. I do believe this woman is actually a salty little piece of meat. Of course that is a spam reference. I hope.

Before I even put any pictures up on myspace I had friends requests from women that said, "I think your hot and you should meet me and my bi-curious roommates. I can't figure out this Myspace thing so take a look at my other website".

Oh sure, Bimbo.. Or I mean Bambi can't figure out how to use myspace but click on her link and suddenly she's flippin Bill Gates. Oh she has a website with all the latest high tech bling and credit card processing capabilities.
Hang on a second, she thinks I'm hot? My picture is a little gray cartoon silhouette.

And this stuff works, Bambi has over 400 friends, mostly men and teenage boys just bursting with desperate hormones. Either these people are so desperate for friends that they don't even care that Bambi's real name is Carl or they actually believe that this woman thinks they are hot.

I was talking to a guy that said he should call Jessica Simpson now that she is divorced because they both like tuna. I wish I was joking, this guy was serious. Of course I couldn't leave this alone, I had to screw with him:

"Dude, true story", I began.
"I actually know one of her advisors", Oh man, he actually believes me. This is gonna be fun.
"Yeah, she said that Jess was just telling her that she wishes she could find a guy with no job, poor hygiene and smells like a taco but likes tuna. I think she is looking for you.", I said, trying hard to sound serious.

Anyway, the point is that there are stupid people out there that would fall for this. I was in the drive through of the bank and the guy in front of me was yelling at the teller, "I want a double cheeseburger!"
"This is a bank", she replies.
"No, I don't want bacon, are you stupid?", he asks.
So, Yep, these people are out there, making friends with canned meat on Myspace. Although, judging by the picture, I 'll bet Bambi smells more like tuna than Spam.

Ladies Night

Ahhh, "Ladies Night" that magical marketing idea that bar owners across the nation employ to bring in the men with the promise of a bar full of women. I'm ashamed to admit that it worked on me. I actually set out with the idea that there would be a bar full of ladies waiting for me.

I won't admit that publicly, so keep it between you and me. Don't worry, no one ever reads the internet.

The first thing I have to ask is, why do they call it "Ladies Night"?
#1. on "Ladies Night" there seems to be a much higher ratio of men in the bars than women. Seriously, I haven't seen this much sausage since Oktoberfest.

B.) There are really no ladies, just married women with their husbands just trying to get free drinks.
"Ladies Night" has been a traditional disappointment for me. Although there was one night that I went out and 12 women hit on me. Yep, I was hot. I was on a roll.

Alright so it wasn't 12 women, it was only one but she was the size of 12.
And she didn't hit "On" me, she just plain hit me.

To be honest with you, I just go to bars to meet women in hopes that they will introduce me to their friends that stayed home that night. I don't imagine that I will meet my soul mate in a bar. I'm not much of a bar person myself.

The whole concept of "Ladies night" has to be a joke. Every guy in the bar kept watching the door. When someone walked in, they all looked at the door as if to ask, "Are those the ladies". Yep, it's like watching synchronized rubber necking. They sit up straight, suck in the bellies and smile real nice. Then they realize it's just another dude and the spare tire flops back out.

Except for that one really creepy guy at the end of the bar. I think he would have gone home with a bar stool if it showed interest.

Hey fellas, if you want to see the ladies, go to the male strip clubs. Ok, maybe not "Ladies" so much as inebriated, horny housewives that can't make change for a twenty and have husbands at home that think they're at a book club.

As for me, I'm gonna stick with wet T-shirt contests. That's where you know you will see all women. Except for that one dude that tries to win with his man boobs. Nice try but the only one that wants to see this guy in a wet t-shirt is sitting at the end of the bar on ladies night buying a drink for the bar stool.

Monday, April 21, 2008

Am I childish

The other day someone called me "Childish". Is that even an insult? Personally, I was flattered.
Childish - like a child.
My 3 favorite people in the world are my children. So, wouldn't it be a compliment to be like them?
My children are amazing and fun to be around. Childish doesn't sound so bad.

And I'll admit, I may be a little immature at times. I'm not an adult prude with a stick up my butt. I still try not to giggle when someone talks about the "Penal System" (We really need a better name for that) or mentions a man with Angina (Men don't have anginas, Hehe).
I still enjoy the kids rides:

Well, maybe not this particular ride (it makes me wonder things about the designer).
But I Still enjoy the funny pictures and I like to make up captions for them:

And I even enjoy playing the same games that I did when I was a child (Maybe a little different)

So, I almost had this woman convinced that I am not childish (or at least that it is not a bad thing) and I simply enjoy having fun with my kids. I explained to her that it is acceptable for me to crawl through the tubes on McDonalds playplace with my kids, it's part of being a parent. Just as she is beginning to agree with me, she tells me that her husband can't do that because it bothers his angina.
Yep, my laughter was not very convincing.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Favorite Faux pas

I am a big fan of movies and I get a little chuckle out of finding an obvious mistake. My favorite example of this is with "Tarzan". Now, you might be wondering, "Which Tarzan Movie"? It doesn't matter, they all have the same mistake. Tarzan is a story of a man that was raised by wolves in the jungle, right? Then, why did he turn out to be a metrosexual?

Look at this picture. That's not what I think of when I hear, "Raised by wolves in the jungle". This looks more like an advertisement for Supercuts. The miracle of Hollywood is that, with only a knife made from stone, this man managed to give himself a perfectly crafted pompadour.

Even more modern portrayals of Tarzan seem a bit unrealistic. Granted "George of the jungle" had less perfect hair but still had a clean shave. Now, Come on. Out in the jungle the only clothes he could manage to find was an animal carcass but Barbasol shave cream and Schick razors are easy to come by.
I find it hard to believe that Tarzan can barely form a sentence but is able to shave his armpits and wax his chest. There seems to be some priorities out of place when you put grooming before education.

Even in the cartoons Tarzan doesn't look like he was raised by wolves. "Zoiks Scoob!!", Shaggy would have made a better Tarzan. At least he had some facial hair. Who does the casting for these cartoons anyway?
By this philosophy, dare I say that we could slap a loin cloth on Ryan Seacrest and have ourselves the next Tarzan?

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Unforgetable trip to the toy store.

It seemed like such a good idea at the time, taking my daughter to the toy store to let her pick something out. I just wasn't aware of the horrors I was about to face. Sometimes you can set out with the best intentions and find yourself trapped in the alternate universe of a 4 year old mind.

I'm not sure if I am being a good Dad or maybe I am just being lazy. My thought was that she would know what she wants better than anyone else. I had completely underestimate the obsessiveness of this mini-me when it comes to picking out the perfect gift for her favorite person...herself. We went through every isle very thoroughly over and over again. This gift had to be spectacular and magnificent. No ordinary present would do.

Toys become evil to adults that are held hostage by the hypnotizing effects they impose on our children. Oh this was no longer my daughter, this was the Queen of the toy store and we were on a mission to find her a new court jester.

I'm working on my sales skills with every toy I pick up, "Oh look at this one". Oh I swear I touched every toy from monster trucks to pink princess dress-up sets. At this point I am convinced that the toys are causing a sensory overload on us both.

Finally, she accepts a doll as her chosen new apprentice and my life can return to normal. After spending hours searching for the perfect toy I now find myself looking at another hour of waiting in line before I can reach the golden gates under the exit sign and free myself of this twilight zone. In the time it took to go from 35th to 2nd in line, I swear I grew a beard. My feet are sore, my back hurts and I can almost taste sweet freedom.

She had held that new doll so tightly to her chest the entire time that she really had not even taken a good look at it. Realizing this, she pulls the baby down and rests it on her lap. Personally, I think the dolls with the eyes that close when you lay them down are pretty cool. However, my daughter took this to be a sign that the baby was possessed by Satan himself. She lets out a horrendously loud scream and hurls the demon spawn into the air. Realizing that the laws of physics still apply to the exorcist doll, she scrambles to get out of the way as it plummets back to earth.
Now any parent knows that when a child screams with enough force, there is a moment of silence as the lungs reach empty and prepare to refill for another blast. It was at this very moment that I notice the entire store had come to a complete halt and all eyes were on us. They stood there with jaws dropped, gazing at the fear frozen child and the demon doll hovering above.

With cat like reflexes, I jump up to save my child from the descending icon of sin only to land into a face full of hot screaming. The timing could not have been better. And now I am faced with a long line behind me, no one in front of me and a captivated audience of very curious shoppers and employees. I now have precious seconds to diffuse this situation and convince my little girl that this is merely a toy and not the anti-christ from Mattel.
As tempting as it was I did not pretend that the doll was biting my jugular as I held it. Instead, I assured her that the baby was very cool because it closed it's eyes to go night night. Of course I had to do this at a safe distance as she was convinced that the baby would start turning it's head completely around while vomiting on her. She did accept the new toy despite the demonic activity that it showed. At least until the first time she took a bath with it and water gushed from its eye sockets.