Monday, October 30, 2006

Cancun Recap

The trip to Cancun was pretty decent, a little boring but part of that was my fault being as lazy as a homeless person. I didn’t really feel like hopping on a bus or paying $10 for a cab to take me to some loud obnoxious club or quiet bar where 25% of the people spoke English. So I stayed mostly at the resort, swimming in the pool or just sitting on the beach. And there were always really nice (but old) people to talk to so I wasn’t really bored.

Quick (or not so quick) recap of the trip. Saturday I had to work at the old folks show lounge till 1:00am and I topped that off with three pitchers at the sports bar. Got home around 2:30, took a shower, finished packing and had to leave for the airport at 3:30. Way too fucking early for a 6:15 flight. I sat around watching a replay of a college football game for an hour and a half sucking down Starbucks coffee to keep me up since I hadn’t gone to bed yet. Once I got on the plane I was pleasantly surprised to find I was in seat 1 A (lots of leg room!) and I was right next to the flight attendant’s seat. I should have taken her picture; she was the first flight attendant I have ever seen that was hot. And I mean smoking hot. Most flight attendants I see are 40 yr old women who look like 40 yr old hookers that are worn out and weathered from giving blow jobs to get their fix on. Their faces are wrinkly and their asses are wide and they don’t give a shit if they wake you from a deep sleep by bumping your elbow with their right butt cheek (or was it a hip bone, I couldn’t tell, my eyes were closed, fucking hit and runs). But this girl was cute, thin, and quite friendly. Or at least I thought she was, I don’t know, every time I exhaled I could smell tequila from Saturday night’s “Sending B off to Cancun” party. Ok, nobody really likes me that much to throw me a party, but the bartender gave me two shots of tequila, I think that’s the biggest party anyone has ever thrown for me. Anyway, I decided to stop talking to her and try to keep the tequila smell to a minimum and took a nap. I never sleep on planes but I slept like a baby in the state I was in. I’ll have to remember that for the next flight.

I landed in Dallas or Houston, one of the two, doesn’t make a difference, I was in Texas somewhere looking for my next flight. I needed gate D17 and all I could see were signs pointing to D18-36. Uh, what happened to D17? Being slightly intoxicated and short on time I asked a woman where the gate was and a black guy next to her tells me to come with him. He puts me on one of those electric carts you always see old people being driven around on. Now I feel like a total retard as I’m only 29 and have legs capable of jogging two miles let alone walk 300 yards in an airport. But at least I know I’m going in the right direction. On the way some other people ask him for directions too. I noticed he was always looking at their travel documents with his left hand. As we continued on I saw that his right hand was a very well detailed but yet fake hand. Usually those things are all shiny and obvious but his matched his skin color and even had wrinkles painted on it to make it look real. When we finally got to gate D17 I thanked him very much for his help. You should have seen the smile on his face when I stuck out my left hand for a hand shake. You have to wonder how often people either notice it or are actually thankful enough to offer him a handshake. Anyway, I hope I made his day as his smile certainly made mine.

On the second flight I encountered one of the worst seating partners you can ever have on an airplane. Everyone knows the ultimate worst is the fat lady who smells like pee and needs the seatbelt extension to go around her size 600 waist and who’s arms and shoulders overflow into your designated area. But if you have to sit next to these people you will know what I’m talking about: young married couples. After 20 minutes of sitting in the plane I knew it was going to be a shitty flight. All the kissing and hand holding and giggling and laughing almost made me puke. “Honey, do you want do this? Honey, should we go see this? Oh honey look, you can see the ground!” I did my best to ignore it. Just give it 15 years kiddies, I’m sure you won’t even want to touch your spouse anymore. Or even worse, sending your ex-spouse that monthly payment and addressing the envelope with your old address, the house which she got in the settlement. (I can be a little negative at times, ya think?)

I got to Cancun and picked the slowest line going through immigration. Not a big deal as I know how long it takes for them to get your bag on to the luggage conveyer. I waited at the luggage carousel for what seemed like an hour, hoping and praying that my red suitcase with pink scarf tied around it (only thing the roommate had) would be the next bag out of the shoot. But no, the carousel stopped and my bag was not there. I walked over to a guy standing at a desk nearby and told him my bag didn’t come through. He asked me my name and checked a list he had printed out. Thank goodness, my name was on it. Apparently my bag didn’t have a one-handed black guy help it in Dallas or Houston as it changed planes. My bag was on the next flight and would be arriving in two hours. While the guy was talking I checked my watch wondering if I was going to have to sit around the airport for another two hours. But he asked me for the name of my hotel and said he would send it over when it came in. Whew, what a relief. He even gave me his name and phone number and said I should call if the bag didn’t arrive by 6:00. I’m guessing most travelers get upset or irritated when their luggage doesn’t come in (like the young couple that rudely interrupted our conversation) because this guy almost looked shocked when I thanked him and shook his hand. He gave me a big smile and told me to have a good trip. Thanks buddy, I’ll do my best.

6:00 came and went and the tshirt I had been wearing and sweating out alcohol in was starting to smell like mold. I almost couldn’t stand it myself. When I went down to the hotel lobby to inquire about my bag again I stood a couple feet back from the desk, hoping the lingering Pig Pen smell wouldn’t waft over to the cute girl helping me. 6:30 came and went and I started downing rum without abandon. Usually I’m cool and calm, nothing really bothers me too much, but for some reason I started to panic a little bit. I don’t know if it was the fact that I didn’t have my luggage or the fact that I was pretty much stuck wearing this horrible smelling tshirt for an indefinite amount of time. 7:00 the phone rings, 7:05 there’s a knock on the door and some short Mexican guy holding my bag. This huge weight was lifted off my shoulders and in my state of jubilation I gave him $5 for his services. I must have been panicking more than I realized as I would never give someone $5 just for bringing my bag to my room. Cheap ass.

After showering and eating I went over to the sports betting establishment. Almost like Vegas, they have big screen TVs and odds listed on the walls for pretty much every game or horse race you can think of. Since I missed all the Sunday football action I caught up on the scores (Packers won!) and looked at the line for the Monday night game (Giants vs. Cowboys). I didn’t know which way the game was going to go, but I thought it would be a high scoring game and the over/under was at 45. I mulled this over for a while, capping off my wild day of travel with six or so Coronas. I paid the bill and staggered up to the betting window. I have never had so much trouble pulling $66 out from my pocket. The guy at the desk must have thought I was a complete moron as it took me a good minute to get the money out and drunkenly count out $66. He took the money, printed out the ticket for $66 to win $60 on the over and wished me luck. As I was leaving I found out why it took me so long to get the money out of my pocket. I was fucking drunk. Not just fucking drunk, but fucked up drunk. I had trouble going up the steps to get to the front door. I tried to say goodnight to the doorman but mumbled something unintelligible instead. I almost ran in to another guy who was entering the building. I tried to avoid the pools of water that had collected during a downpour but somehow managed to step in every one. I had to concentrate when walking past people on the sidewalk so I wouldn’t run into them. Not exactly your ideal situation, drunk American obviously stumbling down the street with $800 on him. When I got to the hotel I again mumbled something to the door man and stumbled in the door. My shoes were soaked and made spungy noises as I went down the walkways bouncing off every wall that would support me. I made it to the room, said something to the people I went with and went to bed. So here it is, the first day of my vacation and my only real shoes (besides sandals) are soaked because some asshole got drunk and walked through pools of water that were six inches deep. Thanks asshole.

(Shit, that’s a lot of writing and that was just the first day. This might go on for a while.)

Monday through Thursday pretty much blended in together. During the day I’d sit on the beach, swim in the pool, and disregard that stupid rule that says you can’t drink till after noon. Monday night I went back to the sports betting place but I either couldn’t stay up or got too drunk to watch the end of the game. Tuesday morning I woke up with this quarter sized spot on my foot that didn’t have any skin on it. The sandals I was forced to wear since my shoes were still soaked rubbed the shit out of my foot and left me with an open wound. Great, so make that two shoes I can’t wear anymore on this trip. I was down to my Adidas sandals which thankfully didn’t rub the sore spot.

Tuesday night I went back yet again to collect on my winning ticket. I didn’t stay too long as they had the baseball game on but they were playing it in Spanish and the only words I could understand were the players names. Baseball can be boring at times but let me tell you, it’s really boring if you can’t understand what the hell the announcers are saying.

Wednesday I decided I needed to get out and visit some of the local hangouts I had been to in the past. I hopped on the bus and made the 15/20 minute trip downtown. Then disaster struck. I guess I got off the bus too early because some hot chic was getting off and I wanted to walk behind her for a bit (geez that sounds really bad). I followed her for a bit as she was walking in the direction I wanted to go. Looking around I recognized the stores and sights and thought I was going the right way. One vendor asked me where I was going (for beer) and he lured me in to his shop with a Corona. All he had in his shop was jewelry so I really wasn’t interested in anything but the fake Rolex watches. I turn down the watches and he asks me if I want some smoke. He opens up this cigar box and shows me a bag the size of my fist filled with weed. I jump back holding up my hands, “Woa, hey, no thanks man, put that away.” Then he asked if I want a woman. If you read the last entry I made on here you will know that I have paid for sex in Cancun before (I was lonely!). The idea of having sex with some hot little Mexican woman sparked my interest. “Yeah man, I can make a phone call and have her come down to the store. If you don’t like her you don’t have to pay, you can just walk away or I’ll make another phone call for another woman. You take her back with you and kick her out in the morning. If she’s good you can tip her. What do you think?” If you would have x-rayed my skull you would have seen the gerbil running in his wheel at a tremendous speed, almost the speed of light. They only wanted $150 and since I had just won $300 at the casino less than a week ago the price sounded awfully attractive. But there was one problem, actually a couple. I was staying with an ex-coworker, her 8 yr old daughter, and her 70 yr old mom. How the hell was I going to take some woman home and bang her on the couch without waking everyone up and being officially uninvited to Cancun ever again? That wasn’t going to fly. Second problem was I was already on the verge of getting loaded and while I can certainly get Mr. Winky to stand at full mast while loaded I can’t finish the deal if you know what I mean. So while the offer sounded good it just wasn’t going to work out (why didn’t I meet these guys when I was staying by myself!? I’ll have to stay in my own room and take more money with me next time). I told them I was going to walk around the block and think about it and get back to them. Instead I just got the fuck out of there as quickly as I could.

Why does the thought of paying for sex and not having to put up with having a girlfriend sound like such a good idea to me? Come on, no arguments, no stupid Valentine’s Day gifts, no having sex with the same dead fish every time? Just a little cash for having porn star sex with some slut you’ll kick out the door in about an hour. I think I’m getting hard.

Back to Wednesday. I stumbled around downtown Cancun for about an hour and I couldn’t find any of the bars I have stopped in before. I even asked directions for one of them and couldn’t find it. Everything looked familiar as I’ve walked the streets many times before, but I just couldn’t quite locate the area I was looking for. So I eventually gave up, plopped my tired ass in a chair on the patio of a small bar, had some Coronas, and watched people walk by for thirty minutes. After that I was getting a little loaded so I hopped in a cab and made sure I got home safely.

Thursday was interesting in that I talked to a woman for three hours and don’t remember more than two things that were said. Wednesday K told me I had to finish up the beer so I did my best and with two to go I was past out snoring on the beach. Thursday K told me I had to finish up the rum as we had just over a liter left. Again, I put in a good effort and by 10:30 in the morning I was seen stumbling around the hotel looking for trouble. 11:00 I found a woman sitting by the pool reading something. I took one step toward her, thought better and turned around, took a sip of rum, turned back around and walked up to her. “I hope what you’re reading isn’t business related.” She looks up and smiles at me. Later I find out it’s a crossword puzzle book, yeah, that’s business related, only you B. 11:00 and I’m loaded to the point where I can’t read, great. Heather was from Detroit. She was a full time student in the nursing field. That’s it. That’s all I can remember from talking with her for three hours. I did find it weird that when her mom and step dad came over she introduced me for 30 seconds telling them my name, where I was from, what I did for a living, and how long I was staying. Geez, could have just said, “Mom, Dad, this is B, we just met two hours ago.” I wasn’t exactly sure what that was all about but oh well. She did ask me if I wanted a drink and she got me a Corona on her step dad’s bill. And when her parents came by later he got me another one. I thanked him and said, “Sir, your daughter’s ass is a little fat but you don’t have to get me drunk for me to screw her. I’d screw her sober no problem.” I guess he didn’t find this funny as he took my beer and dumped it on me. Ok, I didn’t really say that but… Around 3:00 or so I told her I had to go do something, can’t remember what. Want to know why I can’t remember? Because I had almost finished a liter of rum. I stumbled on the beach, found a chair by the room, and passed out only to be woken an hour later by K because it was raining. Then I slept on the patio chair for another hour. I’m starting to wonder if I was ever actually sober on this trip.

Friday I woke up, thought about finishing the last four shots of rum that were left and almost threw up. I just moped about dreading leaving the warm weather and beach. 11:30 came and I was in a cab heading to the airport. At the ticket counter the woman asked me if I wanted to sit in the emergency exit row so there’d be more leg room. I had an aisle seat and she said this one was a window seat. I always like sitting on the aisle so I can hang over a bit and not get too close to the person next to me. In a window seat you can’t do that, you’re just stuck next to the window. So I turned down the leg room for shoulder room on the aisle. Later I found out that the row she was going to put me in only had two seats instead of three and I would have had a shit load of room. Never turn down an exit row seat. After I checked my bag I stepped outside for one last cigarette, threw away my lighter, and headed for the security checkpoint. While I hate leaving Cancun, the Cancun airport is one of the best places for spotting hot women. Most of the women wear short shorts or skirts, tight tops, and have a nice tan from playing in the sun. One girl I saw had her swimming suit bottoms on with a short see through wrap just barely covering her ass. I saw a lot of half shirts and exposed tan stomachs. Very nice. I was starting to get hungry so I decided to pick up a sub. $7 was a rip off for the hard piece of shit I got but what are you going to do. While I was eating it a man walked by and with a southern drawl said, “I had one of dem. Dem’s pretty rough.” Thanks man, I hadn’t noticed.

My first flight (again sitting next to a young married couple) was delayed by an hour, my second flight was delayed two hours, all because of some shitty weather somewhere in the central states. Ended up getting home at midnight on Friday and was instantly reacquainted with Wisconsin stepping off the plane feeling the 40 degree weather go up my shorts and shrink my testicles. Don’t worry, they are back to normal now and have gotten used to the cold temps, but still. 90 degree weather to 40 degree weather in a twelve hour span is not pleasant. Luckily I found a guy smoking outside to give me a light and I smoked three straight cigarettes waiting for the red bag with the pink scarf to make its way on to the conveyer. I spotted it through the window, carefully set my cigarette down, raced in, grabbed the bag, raced back out and continued puffing away in the 40 degree weather wearing my shorts and tshirt (the things that smokers will do…). The roommate pulled up five minutes later and I was sitting at the bar 15 minutes later with roughly two and a half hours to get fucked up in. And that I did. The last food I had eaten was well digested by then so I was going on an empty stomach. Three pitchers later and I was done. Perfect way to cap off a week long vacation.

Side note on Friday at the bar. The woman who packed up her shit while I was at work and moved in with some rich guy was at the bar. She was there with some scruffy looking elf man. I of course avoided eye contact with her but its hard when she’s 10 feet away from you and her head is right below the TV you’re watching. At one point in the night I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and there she is standing right next to me. She says something like hey, how’s it going, blah, blah, blah, I don’t remember. Then she holds up two one hundred dollar bills. She says, “I heard you’ve been talking about me at the bar.” Uh, no, I can’t stand you, why would I want to talk about you? I cringe every time I see you. “I owe you this money. Everyone, I need a witness, I’m paying B the two hundred dollars I owe him.” Actually its $224 you owe me but I’ll take the $200. Back when she was living with me (October 2005?) I paid her health insurance bill since she didn’t have a job and certainly didn’t have $224. That was a year ago. Me, being an accountant, knows a thing or two about allowances for bad debts and writing off bad debts. I had written this one off a long time ago. So it was quite a surprise (more of a shock) to have this woman hand me two hundred dollars out of the blue. Thank you very much, but I still don’t like you and never will. But it was nice getting the money since I had just returned from vacation two hours prior and my hotel food/alcohol bill was $195. Replenishing the cash flow is always a good thing, especially when you’re a playa like myself.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

Vacation Notes

Ok, last post for a week, sorry. But when I’m on vacation I ain’t posting shit, eat it. Leaving for Cancun at 6:15, be at the airport at 4:00, painful. AM. Fuck that. But I’ll be in 90 degree weather six hours later, so all’s good. Ok, slightly loaded as I post this. Yahoo girl sent me a text on Thursday, asking if I was out. But of course she didn’t swing by, I don’t get it. My place was on her way home. I know she stated she just wanted to have a new friend, but on the way home? What does she want with me? 15 emails every day, is that all? Am I her email hoar? I guess we’re going bowling on Tuesday when I get back, but we’ll wait and see. In other news, I was checking out hotels in NYC close to Third and Long, $220 a night? Are you fucking kidding me? With airfare and hotel I could go to Cancun for less than a three night stay in NYC. So the roommate (Renter, she’s been upgraded for her driving last night to the casino, $300 in 7 minutes and left, thank you!) has a pad pretty much guaranteed (Swanny), but me being a tall white guy would be stuck underneath some bridge burning cardboard for warmth. What the fuck is it with women and getting their way? I had the roommate get me beer at a downtown bar last night since she had tits and got the beer in no time. Tits mean swift service? I need to do more pushups, or go to a gay bar since I’d get served my beer in cable internet speed time. So when I get back I’m going to post my picture and hopefully Swandaddy can find some decent woman (not Madame X!) to house me for Dec 17, 18, and 19th. If not the trip to NY is looking pretty slim. I’ll even put out if need be, or I can be the silent sleeper on the couch (don’t mind the snoring). I mean, Roth IRA time is coming up in April and I can’t blow $700 on a trip to NYC just to have a little fun, B to the… is a little more responsible than that. Ok, I lie, B to the… is responsible but, after winning $300 at the casino, the second (not the first) thing that went through my head was the strippers in Cancun do IT for $300, and I mean do IT. Don’t put me down, I was there once by myself for one week and I had friends coming down the second week, I got lonely, and she had this ass and rack, I couldn’t resist. Yes, even though I’m a semi attractive guy (so I’ve been told), I paid for sex, and it really wasn’t all that good. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t try it again. I mean shit, big boobs, nice ass, $300? Bring it on! I’m an ass. Only problem is I rarely orgasm off of sex, especially with the concrete condoms they give you, lord help me, I’m going down fast. And being loaded didn’t help either, could go two hours without shooting the side of a barn when loaded, any women turned on yet? 6’4, 215 lb white guy with a penis that needs briefs to keep it in check? Oh, and I should still be tan in December, don’t know if that helps at all. I’m sure the roommate will send photos to the Swann (the Swann, sounds important), so we’ll see. Please help a cheap tall white boy, he’ll be kind and courteous, he’ll even pay for $1 taps of Bud Light. I really am a nice guy, but I’ll be sitting on the beach for the next week so I hope you all are jealous. Love much.
B to the…

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Pounds Add Up

Day One, noon: 214 lbs

Day One, evening: dinner, watch TV, no beer.

Day Two, noon: 213 lbs

Day Two, evening: dinner, four pitchers of beer, one frozen pizza at midnight.

Day Three, noon: 216 lbs

It just isn't fair.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

No Elevation

As you may or may not know I have a Cancun trip coming up shortly. I’ve been using a certain airline for the last five years and have built up enough miles to get a free ticket (almost free, $61 in taxes and fees). My trips to Cancun are usually quiet and low key, sitting on the beach and dipping in the pool through out the day light hours and either staying in at night or going out to a non-touristy club till midnight or so. Most small bars have two-for-ones all night long and it keeps the cost down while I enjoy hanging out with people who I may or may not understand. I’ve done the big clubs where you pay $30 to get in and have to scream in the ear of the person next to you to get them to hear you, and that’s not for me. I have found some really hot Mexican women at a couple of the local bars which I will definitely be hitting on this trip. And they’re always interested in talking to the cute tall white guy whos head sticks out 12” higher than any other at the bar (thank goodness). Last time a group of ladies taught me how to play dominos and shared some funky ass food with me. That was the night I got to make out with the hottest one of the bunch but unfortunately she didn’t know too much English so that was about it.

I was at the gym today talking to the manager telling him about my trip.

Me: “Next week I’ll be in Cancun for a little time off.”

Manager: “Oh yeah, where abouts are you staying?”

Me: “On the Northeastern part, unfortunately they don’t have big waves there. But that’s not the bad part. The bad part is I like to sit on the beach and play volleyball every day and I can’t remember the last time both my feet left the floor at the same time (besides going to bed and falling on my ass stumbling home). Is that a sign that I’m getting old that I can’t remember the last time I actually jumped off the ground?”

I’m not saying I’m not athletic; I went jogging twice a week for most of the summer. But even then at least one foot is on the ground at all times. Are my 29 year old knees going to allow me to generate enough force to actually get off the ground? And if they do manage to do that without tearing some major tendon/ligament, are they going to be able to sustain the impact and strain as gravity pulls my 213lbs back to earth? (Notice the 213lb, funny how if you don’t drink one night you lose a pound. That said, does 2,000 calories of beer = one pound?) My one knee still hurts from falling out of bed while having sex over a month ago (how do you explain that one to the doctor?).

So tonight I’m going to try jumping as high as I can in my basement and I'll smash my head on an I-beam and knock myself unconscious.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Nothing On The Agenda

I got nothing for you, certainly nothing funny or even slightly entertaining.

Working at the old folks club is starting to drag on me. Five hours of sitting on a chair and walking around every once in a while watching people my parent’s age drink and dance is not fun. But then I think about the $84 I was paid on Saturday and how nice it feels in my pocket and it makes it less painful. This Saturday they actually let me out at 2:00 and I got to play pool (I suck) with the sports bar bartender so that was ok. And I had to break up a fight in the sports bar that night (even though I was already punched out, what a nice guy). Well, I don’t know if you can call it breaking up a fight, but I made sure nothing else was going to happen between them. What do you think is going to happen when you grab the guy sitting next to you by the nose? Stupid idiot.

Sunday dad and I almost finished up the deck. It was nice weather for working outside compared to the 100 degree days we had when we first started the project. Almost done, I’ll see if I can take some pictures once it’s completed.

I took this picture of the Renter sleeping on Sunday morning. I thought it was funny, all you can see are her hands. But I guess she didn’t see it that way and I am no longer allowed to take pictures of her while she’s sleeping (well, if she doesn’t know that’s ok, right?).G the hairdresser used to have the title of “Mr. Sunday Night” as he was very good at picking the Sunday night football games correctly. But I think I might have a small claim to this title. After winning $250 last Sunday I won another $200 this past Sunday. I think it’s funny how a fun game of $2 Ship Captain Crew turns into a make or break $5 game with $80 pots shifting from one side to the other (mostly coming my way). Thank you all for playing, please come again.
Oh, and there’s a conflicting story about Friday night and whether I fell on my own or the Renter tripped/pushed me down. I guess I was on the grass for a little while trying to get up.

For eight hours today I listened to Nickelback’s “I Wanna Be A Rock Stare.” After eight hours of jamming out to it I actually do think I am a rock star.

And I looked up airfare to NY for a possible trip just to go visit a bar (Third and Long). While you might think it’s silly to pay that much just to visit a bar, there will be some sight seeing if I actually do get there. Sight seeing during the day, overpriced beers at night, sounds like a good plan to me. Even funnier are the days this trip will be planned for. On Mondays and Tuesdays they have $1 taps of Bud Light. Anyone who knows me will not find this funny as they know I’m a cheap ass, but by doing this I can cut the bar bill down to $20 plus tip instead of $60 plus tip (and 20 beers each day is a conservative figure). I’m even thinking of taking my own pitcher with me as they don’t have pitchers and their bartenders are going to get pretty sick of serving me every 20 minutes.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Gym Whores

I wish I knew more about setting up this stupid site because I’d like to set up one of those poll things (why doesn’t Microsoft make a version, Office products are a breeze to use. So why do employers always ask if you know how to use them?).

My poll would simply be: why do women wear skin tight revealing clothes that may or may not cover their stomachs/legs/ass cheeks in the gym? Does it make them feel sexy? Is it easier to work out in (I guess I always wear tank tops, so…)? Do they want men to check them out as they are pumping their asses on the stairmaster? Should I feel wrong and dirty when I sneak a peek (or stand and drool like usual)? Now don’t get me wrong, I am in no way complaining. Shit, once school started this fall (not that I’m in school) I completely switched around my workouts so I can spend as much time in the cardio/machine room instead of the actual weight room. Funny how they always put the machines and dumbbells on one end and have the cardio equipment in the middle facing the other wall where the TVs are.

Yeah, I’m not checking out your ass, I’m sitting back here watching a TV that’s 100 feet away showing some day time soap opera. Ok fine, I’m checking out your ass, do you mind? I figured you wouldn’t since you are wearing those really short shorts and you have the waistband rolled down so they’re even shorter. Oh, is that a thong sticking out there? Am I supposed to put dollars in there somewhere? Like right over there? Ouch, don’t slap me, I didn’t mean to call you a whore or anything, just a really hot gym stripper. Ah, stop hitting me, I meant it as a compliment, really.

I don’t know if any women read this crap I put on this lamer-than-my-sex-life site (ok, it’s closer to a toss up), I think all the pictures of turds that I’ve posted might have driven them away (although I did like the name “Mad Shitter”). Oh, and I haven’t had a solid shit since I took that picture, I think I’m cursed (just a little too much information?). Speaking of cursed, someone gave me 24 condoms three weeks ago, do you think I’ve had a chance to use any of them? I mean with a woman. So I think the condoms are cursed, maybe I actually have to pay for some to bang a broad. Pay for the condoms that is, not pay for the sex, but now that I think about it, if the price is right…

Anyway, funny how that got off topic in a hurry. Please lend me your thoughts on the workout clothes subject. I just want to know if I can stop feeling dirty and look at college girls asses without remorse. Oh, and can I do this in 11 years when I’m 40? 50?

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Gym Class

How come I got stuck with the fat kid when we paired up for badmitten in highschool? And why was my grade dependant on how much ass we kicked or, closer to the truth, how much time my partner spent lying on the floor as he tripped over his feet and may or may not have actually bounced off the floor?

How come I got stuck with the fat broad when we paired up for square dancing class in highschool? And why was my grade dependant on how well we moved or, closer to the truth, how many times the fat bitch stepped on my feet and left me lying on the floor doing the stop drop and roll incase she was coming down too?

Life ain't fair and then some knob posts a couple turds on the internet. But I'm sure you didn't notice the secret blogger add-on scratch and sniff feature. If not, go back and try it. Compliments to the chef.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

The Greatest Internet Treasure Hunt

Today we’re going on a great adventure, a treasure hunt if you will (why do all of those reality stars use “journey” all the time?). Now bear with me, it might be a little hard to follow along as the scrolling button on your mouse is a complicated animal (fucker bit me once), but please try your best and remember to roll it back towards yourself.

Monday I thought of a little game to play with the Renter (yes, I guess since I downgraded her to renter I should at least capitalize it). The hunt starts in my dining room. Please notice the lack of a kitchen table as I have never owned one and I rarely eat at home. I figure if I had one sitting there it would just get cluttered up with junk paperwork and become a big eye sore. I was trying to think of something cool to put in its place but I’ve come up with nothing. I guess the only thing to put in a dining room is a dining room table.

The hunt took a twist (or a turn) into the living room. Please notice the beautiful wood floors that I spent 20 hours sanding and coating before I moved in. Well, they were beautiful until the FA brought his wifey over and she scratched the shit out of them with her high heels, but you can’t see that in this picture.

The plot thickens as she takes another turn and passes through the living room. At this point she still doesn’t know what’s going on and is getting a little curious. I tell her “Follow the light” and she gingerly proceeds forward. On the right you can see the speaker cabinets my dad and I built ten years ago.

Giving me this suspicious look she takes baby steps forward, not sure what the game is or what’s waiting for her at the end. And of course I have most of the lights turned off to provide a dark/scary setting.Going further she sees the light is coming from the bathroom. “It’s ok, go on in.” I tell her, nudging her forward with a cool and calm voice. I’m not 100% sure what happened next as I ran into my room and tried to lock the door only to find that my door doesn’t have a lock. Trying to hold in my laughter I grab a pillow and cover my mouth. And then I hear it.


I barely hear the sink running over my laughter as I couldn’t hold it in any longer. The suspicious Renter now reverts back to a name of old and the Angry Asian is flying into my room with surprising speed. It’s all I can do to protect myself from her flailing arms and legs, holding a pillow over my head and curled in the fetus position. “What, are you trying to make me puke?! You know I can’t handle shit like that. You are the worst roommate ever!”

I don’t know, I thought it was pretty funny. As I write this I think I should have closed the bathroom door behind her and held it but I think she would have lost all her cookies then (no exhaust fan). That would have been mean. The sucker stunk, even I had troubles taking pictures of it. The Mad Shitter strikes again!

Monday, October 09, 2006

Weekend Roundup

Oh my goodness, just because I take a couple days off and don’t post for three days (I’m too loaded over the weekends) I’m getting death threats? What the hell is that about? Fuck you all! And if you’re a hot woman please leave your phone number. Wait, even if you’re just kind of hot please leave your number too. Fuck it, just leave your number.

So Friday I had off of work, a much needed day of relaxation. I woke up and went to G the hairdresser’s shop to get a tan cause I am really just a tall white boy. That being said, why were women asking me to dance this weekend? Can’t they see that I am a tall white boy? Don’t they know tall white guys can’t dance and when they do they stand out like hell because 1) they’re tall and 2) they’re doing some movements that looks like a cross between having a convulsion and actually having a convulsion (Renter said I can’t even do the “Shoulder Lean” correctly). I got my tan and sat and chatted for 45 minutes. G keeps a bottle of vod in his shop so we had Vault and vod. By 3:00 I was loaded and needed to go home to take a five hour nap. Woke up around 8:00 and went back up to the bar but I don’t think I made it past 12:00. Saturday I was in recovery mode for most of the day. I had to work at the old folks lounge at night so I needed to take it easy. Around 6:00 I headed up and chatted with the bartender for two hours before I had to go home and shower. The old folks lounge was packed with people, and not all of them had to go back to the nursing home after the show. So what does B do? B hits on older women. I had one woman coming over to talk every 30 minutes and a different one swinging by every hour. B the doorman leaves all the old women wet with his youth and sexual vigor. W (40ish black woman with the softest lips) was leaving at 1:30 and I stopped her telling her I still had an hour left of work and she had to wait. She said she was going down to the casino since she had won $700 the night before. You should have seen the look on her face when I told her I’d call her when I was done with work. I’ve never seen someone jump so fast to look for a pen in her purse. She even gave me both her home and cell phone numbers. So I’m thinking cool, I should be getting some tonight. But no, that’s not the case as I couldn’t get a hold of her. The renter told me I was crabby. No fucking shit. I shouldn’t have just told you all that, I have this great internet image to keep up and I don’t think it includes not getting laid by 40 yr old women.

Sunday was the typical football Sunday with beer and free food a plenty. They had some very good beef, mashed potatoes, and some veggies. After chowing down all I could and trying to empty the barrel by myself my brain shut off. The remaining hours involved a fairly big dice game at which I started with $20 and woke up this morning with $170 plus $100 in $1s. Sweet.

I have a cruel joke/treasure hunt to share with you tomorrow. I’m really proud of it.

Friday, October 06, 2006

Asian Seductress

I promised the weekend vacation from hell but it’s in the works. It was that bad that I have to make sure it’s in the proper form. On a side note, I woke up the other day to the renter telling me to get my underwear out of her room. What? Why were my underwear in her room? I think she put something in my beer and lured me back to her room to service her or something (is this what I went to college for?). I seriously did not remember having sex with the renter, I hope I left $2 for a tip, not sure though. Fucking Asian seductress. You can’t trust those stanty eyed biotches. Kidding. By the way, who’s Bryan Murphy?

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Working Out X 2

A couple weeks ago I saw something on TV about celebrities and their diets/workout plans. I guess numerous celebrities have worked out five or six times a day in order to get in shape for a movie or TV show. Five or six times a day? Isn’t that a bit much? I could see five or six times a week, shit, even I’ve been known to do that on occasion (usually just four though). So I started thinking, I have a Cancun trip coming up, and since I’m not getting any younger and have never actually had visible abs (funny how the beer and double cheeseburgers covers any stomach muscles I might have, and I have been doing the situps), I’m going to up the ante in the weight room and go during lunch and after work. Besides, all the hot chicks workout at night and provide nice scenery. I started this on Tuesday and to be honest with you I don’t know if I can keep it up and it’s only Wednesday. My chest and back are sore from the Tuesday lunch and evening workouts, and now my arms feel like they’re going to fall off after the shoulder and arm workouts today. I still have to ride the stationary bike after I post this and then start the whole cycle over on Thursday. The problem is on Thursday my chest and back will still be sore from Tuesday and my arms and shoulders from Wednesday. Please pray for me as I might be on my death bed by Friday. Either that or I’ll be typing away at my keyboard with my nose (I don’t think my neighbors would like it if I used a different appendage while typing on the deck. Besides, I’d be striking multiple keys with every stroke!).

Ok, strike that, two hours later and I’m ready to crash. I’ve even been told that I don’t look good. All I did was lift weights twice as often as usual for two days and I’m a wreck who can’t even keep his eyes open. I’m even wearing my sweatpants. I haven’t worn sweatpants in a year. There was no way I was going to hop on the stupid stationary bike. Probably would have woken up with a handle bar stuck in my nose. I don’t even have the energy to whack off (ok fine, ya got me on that one). You have to wonder if it’s all worth it (prob not, that’s the worst part). I think I’m just going to sit back and watch the Yankees kick ass tonight. Tomorrow I’ll post the weekend getaway from hell at the old mill.

Oh, and sorry for the sob story yesterday, I know one person cried at their desk, but that episode of the Gilmore Girls really got to me. Shit, same thing tonight watching Friday Night Lights when they huddled around center field and said a prayer (both teams) for the kid who got hauled off on a strecher. I'm a fucking pussy.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Weekend And Why I Don't Date

You know, after the weekend I just had, me writing anything about it will not do it justice, but I will try my darnest. Basically I consumed a lot of beer. Now you might think that’s nothing new for me but I have to clarify, I consumed a LOT of beer. Two days consisted of drinking, passing out/taking a nap, and more drinking after the break in the action. It was truly great.

I saw the movie Jackass 2 on Saturday and I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard in a movie theatre. I actually felt bad for the people sitting two rows in front of us I was that loud. But there were two bad experiences with the trip to the movies. One, I went to two liquor stores and could not find a bottle of any of my favorites in a size that would fit in my pocket. What the hell? It was probably a good thing I couldn’t find any as I was pretty lit already and still had to work that night at the old folks lounge. The second thing was paying $8 for a movie ticket at 4:30 in the afternoon. Didn’t they used to have cheaper tickets before 5:00 or 6:00 or whatever? Shit, when I worked at a movie theatre in high school it was $1.50 before 5:00 and $3.00 after 5:00 and that was only 10 years ago. Am I just being my usual cheap ass self or did Bam Margara just fuck me in the ass? Wee Man?

Screw the rest of the weekend, don’t remember shit other than kissing the 21 yr old college student. Oh wait, I guess I bought the renter lunch on Sunday for her birthday. I went all out too, chicken wings and mozzarella sticks. Hey, I heard that, who said I was a cheap bastard?!

Tuesday night I went to the parents for dinner. Nothing great, beef stew, but any meal is good for a guy who can’t cook except for on the grill (come on, I’m not a girly man). Everything was good until the sister got home from swimming and wanted to watch the Gilmore Girls. Hey, fine with me, they rented every season so I think I’ve seen every episode. But no, not today, I guess on Tuesdays they have the new episodes on TV. So, cool I guess, new show but I have to watch the commercials, no big deal (except when they have commercials every 7 minutes). They showed the recap from the previous show. Last season she had proposed to him and he accepted. The recap ended with some conversation about how he was ready to move in and she said she wasn’t ready and that she had slept with her kid’s dad a couple of days earlier after they had had an argument. Obviously Luke is hurt as hell and storms off to punch the other guy when he answers the door at his apartment. But the whole show goes on with them trying to cope with the situation, how each tries to keep busy and not let it bother them when you know it’s killing them inside. The show ends with Lauraline crying on the couch by herself and Rori (don’t know how to spell that one for the life of me) comes in the door and gives her a hug.

Ok, honestly, my eyes are watering right now just writing this. They were watering the whole drive home from the parents house, too. Why? Because this is why I don’t date. This situation scares the hell out of me. And it has happened to me twice before. One time this girl and I had dated for three years and one day she said she wanted to break up. A month later I found out she had already slept with four guys. I of course was still in love with her and even took her back for two months knowing full well that it wasn’t a good idea. The other time happened exactly a year ago. I met this woman while she was on vacation visiting her parents. Saw her at the bar one day, sat next to her in the only empty seat the next day, and really hit it off for a week and a half till she had to go back home. This might sound a little weird, but we both cried the day that she had to leave. Granted it had only been 10 days, but it was painful seeing her go. Two weeks of talking on the phone and she decided to come back to Milwaukee. She quit her job, packed up all her possessions and moved in with her parents. Her parents didn’t have much room, she was sleeping on the couch, so I offered to have her move in with my roommate at the time and me. Everything was peachy and we never had a bad day. G the hairdresser said we were perfect together (but he’s been divorced twice so why did I listen to him?). We went on a weekend vacation with G and had a blast even though it turned out to be a disaster. So one night I told her I didn’t want to stick around for karaoke and was going home. I stayed up till 2:00 watching a movie I wanted to finish and went to bed. 3:00 I woke up and she wasn’t back yet. Same with 4:00 and 5:00. I tried calling a couple times but didn’t get a response. When I got home from work the next day I found my apartment rather clean and spacious. She had cleaned out all of her stuff while I was at work. Apparently she had run into a guy she knew and went to the downtown bars with him till bar close and went back to his house afterwards. He offered to have her move in with him and since he made $500,000 a year and she hadn’t found a job yet she took the offer. That is one thing I cannot comprehend even though I know it happens in the real world. While I would not take her shopping for winter clothes (get a job), he certainly did and she bragged about it to her friends. And to make matters worse they would frequent the corner bar together even after what took place.

After that last one I was screwed up for months. Two months later when I was sick of looking at my apartment walls I bought the house by the bar. Neighbor B offered up a congratulatory cheers on the purchase and of course she was sitting right there and toasted. At one point that night she asked if I was still her buddy. I looked her straight in the eyes and said no, I’m not your buddy and walked away.

This is why I don’t date. I don’t want to fall into another situation like that. I’m not saying that that will happen with every person I date, but there’s always a possibility and I’d rather keep the odds at 0% than even 5%. And when I have dated in the past, I find myself keeping the odds at 0% by not letting my emotions get involved which isn’t fair for the person on the other end. I don’t want to be a weeping basket case and I don’t want some innocent woman to end up the same way. I don’t even know why I got the 21 yr old’s phone number on Friday night. What’s going to come of that? Absolutely nothing, so why did I even ask for it? I could have just saved myself the embarrassment of trying to type “Vanessa” in my phone when I could barely read the numbers let alone the little tiny letters on each key. Why do I keep exchanging emails with the 5’10” yahoo woman? I can always hope for a fun night in the sack but usually women would take that as some form of affection (but damn she was hot). So there you have it, B is afraid of two things: spiders and getting involve in a relationship. I guess I’m more afraid of the relationship as I won’t go near that at all. I just need a 75% full roll of paper towels to take care of the spider.

Oh, and I got one comment about not posting and one phone call asking if I was still alive. Ya’ll need to chill.