Hitting a 7-10 Douche

Sorry for not writing lately, but I had a bit of a relapse in the depression area and was wrapped up in a cover for almost a week. Yesterday, Sara forced me out of the cover and took myself, Alan, and Seymour to the bowling alley.

We get our shoes (which I tried to steal, to no avail) and get to bowling. As I'm not much of a sports enthusiast, my bowling skills are lacking to say the least. Alan kept telling me about the many 300 games he bowled while he hits a constant stream of gutters. Poor Seymour at least hit the pins...and the people next to us, the snack bar, and I think one ball landed in the men's room.

But I have to admit, I was having a good time until I sent Seymour to get Alan and I a couple of beers (and ice cream for him). He comes back covered in a concoction of Miller Lite and vanilla ice cream...not a lovely smell...and in tears. I ask him what happened and he tells me that some dickhead did it to him because he accidentally bumped into him.

I go to get a towel when this douchebag comes up to me and asks if I'm Miles Gordon. Part of my therapy is to control my anger, so despite wanting to choke him out with my smelly shoelaces, I state that I am. He doesn't seem to grasp that Seymour is with me, so he starts talking about how his girlfriend is a huge fan of "All Write Now" (poor girl) and wanted to meet me. I was about to decline when he asks if I would act like he was an old friend of mine.

That's when I went for revenge.

We go back to this guy's lane and his girlfriend is all excited. I sign an autograph and when she asks if I know Bobby (this winner's name), I respond as such:

"Why sure I do. Bobby and I used to hit the clubs together, isn't that right?"

"Uh..yeah"

"In fact. I remember that one time you had me distract that girl....couldn't have been more than 17, so you could slip a roofie in her drink and take her home. You were getting laid that night one way or another, am I right or am I right?"

At this point, she has a horrified look on her face. His isn't much better. So I decided to leave, but not before giving Bobby a bit of advice.

"Have to go man, but it was nice seeing you again man. Keep in touch about that rape case though man. Just remember....her word against yours and you'll get off scot free."

I walked away, handed Seymour a towel and a new ice cream cone, and enjoyed the chaos.

Don't fuck with my friends.

Watching Paint Dry IS Boring as Hell

So I haven't written in a couple days. I could hem and haw and can claim to be too busy, but seeing as I don't have to work, that would be a lie. The truth is too horrible...too mind numbing to properly put into words...

But I'll do it anyway.

Saturday night, Sara, her friend April, and myself went out to drink. Seeing as I don't really have many friends, I thought I'd make the effort to become a bit more social. I was thinking of buying a few pitchers of beers, shoot the breeze, and maybe have a threesome.

I was kidding about the threesome...well mostly.

So we go over to April's house, and we all head out. Since I haven't had any beer in a few months (due to events I won't get into), I was ready to get my drink on, as the kids now say.

And then they tricked me.

Sara and April decided to get their nails done. Since I was now trapped, I decided to wait it out. It couldn't be that bad right? I mean, how long could it take...15 minutes...a half hour?

It was a goddamn eternity.

I would have preferred to spend the day hanging out with the lovely people at the DMV than to be subjected to this. My brain turned to mush reading about how some Dawson's Hill actor and how many actresses drool over him. The only moment of enjoyment was a woman yelling out to the car to her friend about "getting their toes did". Her words, not mine.

It was so bad I longed to watch grass grow...to measure the ear hair of old men...to watch a Michael Bay film. It was an hour and a half, but I know I must have aged three times that amount of time. If I was a dog, I would have dropped dead that's how long it felt.

Finally it was over, and we went out and enjoyed some beers. But the memory of that day will haunt me. A warning to those men who go out with their old ladies...make sure you're doing the driving.

Life a Beach, and then you Dry

I was woken from a peaceful slumber cause by the consumption of many beers by Sara this morning, who informed me that we would be going to the beach. As I'm not really one that enjoys being around large groups of people herding around in skimpy clothing (hence you not finding me at nightclubs or Applebees), I did everything to get out of it. From whining like a bitch to the Miles Gordon patented "puppy dog of sadness" face, I could not overcome the wily charms of my better half.

Once we got to the beach, Sara got into her beach clothing (showing off her awesome rack by the way) I decided to wade through the dregs of humanity to find any nuggets of humor...or shark's teeth.

What I found:

- A skinny white man with snoop dogg braided hair that apparently his fat friend/prison bitch made for him. I watched as these two lover boys tried their charms on any women that came their way...including two women apparently mentally retarded. They may have developmental problems, but even these women could see that Snoop and the Fatman would make bad choices for mates. Good for you girls.

- Kids who think that's it perfectly OK to splash water on me for no reason. They apparently have a problem though if I grab a bucket, fill it with mother nature's sink, and splash the diseased little bastards with her own backwash.

- Women wearing swimsuits that tell you that the material holding them in is working overtime. Look out.

- Men watching these women. I'll write about that soon.

- The only pair of boobs I got to see belonged to some 300 pound guy. They were impressive though.

As we finally left (and my skin burned to a toasty crisp), I noticed two more things. One, was the van in front of us with two 12 packs of the worst beer ever (Milwaukee's best) strapped on the back. Why no put it IN the van and not let us know you have terrible taste in beer?

Oh the other thing? A fat Jesse Duke on one of those motorized carts heading to the beach.

"It looks like Ol' Uncle Jesse is in for a heap of diabetes and sunburn".

Velveeta gets a bad (W)rap

I've always been curious as to why Velveeta gets such a bad reputation. I mean, it sure tastes better than that fancy schmancy goat cheese that all the SoHo kids are on and on about. And don't get me started on the false advertisement that is called bleu cheese.

The main argument against the rectangular block of beauty is that it's not "real cheese" and go so far as to call it plastic.

The nerve! As if trying something new is a bad thing. I mean, I vividly remember eating play-doh as a child/adult and I feel fine. It's a Velveeta vendetta and I won't stand for it...mainly because my legs would get tired. I'd go the John Lennon route and do a lay-in, but Sara says she wouldn't know the difference from what I do now. I think that was an insult....hmm.

Gotta go, it's dinner time and Sara just broke out the spaghetti factory.