Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Back In The Saddle

Sorry, been busy lately.

Emails with Yahoo Personals girl

Me: I don't suppose you're free tonight from 6:00 to 8:00? I'm sorry but I need to use you for sex, er, I mean dinner at a very high class restaurant like Fudruckers or something. Ok, Fudruckers isn't high class but I haven't been there for a while and a nice juicy burger that drips down your shirt is always good. Oh yeah, and please decline this offer so I don't have to worry about keeping a beautiful woman entertained tonight, otherwise my stomach will be in knots all day. Or accept, that would be ok, too. Goodness, I think I'm still loaded.

[If you haven’t noticed I have a special way with women, I’ll let you in on the secret later.]

Yahoo girl: Hey! I'm sorry but I'm not available. I have Samantha and we're watching/babysitting a dog. She's getting dropped off tonight. :( Otherwise you bet I would! Hey - you may want to lay off the sauce a bit! You're always loaded or hung over! LOL

[And my attempt to excuse myself for the utterly stupid email…]

Me: I was using the "loaded" thing to maybe excuse myself for a really weird email that went this way and that way when it could have been just "6:00 dinner at Fuds." I mean, the email even had "sex" in there and I'm not even sure what that is anymore, at least with another person. It is like riding a bike, right? And to think I was once a porn star (at least in my mind). I'll just shut up now, close my office door and take a nap. And no, I'm really not all that weird, just trying to make you laugh, even if you're just laughing at me and not with me. Have a very wonderful Thanksgiving (puke) if I don't hear from you. I will be cleaning out the gutters and enjoying the Thanksgiving dinner at Potowatomi with a group of people who are bigger losers than me, if that's possible. (I hear you laughing!)

Fudruckers some other time.

[Like that email was any better than the first one.]

Yahoo girl: I don't think that you would even qualify for "the biggest loser" show. You have nothing to worry about, I laugh at you all the time! Hahahehe

Two good deeds of the day:

Walking around downtown today I noticed a woman walking in front of me. Not hot, not at all, maybe 50 with gray hair.


She turns her head, looks up at me and starts veering away from me with this frightened look on her face. Yeah, that’s what happens when tall white guys say “mam” in downtown Milwaukee.

“I think your skirt is hooked on something.”

She feels around her backside and realizes that yes, her backside is quite exposed. I guess her skirt was tucked in her underwear or pantyhose or something, how would I know.

“You’re right, they are! Thank you very much! I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you to point it out.”

If only she really knew me and the crap I say.

And the second good deed? I left this for the Renter.

And that was the second one of the day.

And yes that is sticking out of the water.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Thanksgiving Sucks Ass

I received an email from the tall chic I met through Yahoo Personals this morning. It was something pretty lame mentioning “Happy Holidays!” and included some attachment which I of course did not open after reading “Happy Holidays!” My response back to her:

“Bah, humbug. I'm already ditching the family for Thanksgiving and the 2.5 hour car ride to Wisconsin Rapids to see my neanderthal cousins and watch my dad pretend to sleep on the couch when he's really awake and just doesn't want to talk to anyone.”

Her response back: “Eeks! Sorry to hear about that! I'm trying to decide just which side of the family I'm going to see and if I'm traveling. I LOVE the holidays!”

And my way-too-personal email back to her that I wished I hadn’t sent the moment “your message has been sent” popped up on my screen: “Women usually do like the holidays. So why is it for the past five years I have been single for the holiday season? Is it that I subconsciously will myself to be single that time of year or that I consciously ditch whatever hoochie is letting me stick my dick in her when the holiday season approaches?”

Now I’m thinking I should have re-worded that just a little bit as I haven’t gotten an email back from her since. Yes, I have MAD social skills, especially with members of the opposite sex.

The last girlfriend I had over the holidays was the psycho one who tried drinking my beer (that’s a no no) and threw insults at me for three hours while she got totally obliterated at MY corner bar. I just brushed off everything she said which pissed her off even more but anyway, back to the holidays.

You see, I don’t like the holidays. Not that the holidays are bad, but it’s the mandatory family gatherings that I am forced to attend that I hate with a passion. When I informed the family this week that I wouldn’t be joining them for Thanksgiving my mother told me, “Don’t turn your back on your family. You only get to see these people twice a year.” Uh, ya think there’s a reason I only see them twice a year? If they had any resemblance to normal people I’d be hanging out with them and going to Brewers games or something. But that is not the case, far, far from it. Let’s see here, two cousins who are twins, 26 years old, 6’5” and 250 lbs, who have never had girlfriends, let alone kissed a girl, who bought THEIR first car TOGETHER and split the payments, and shockingly, they still live at home with mom and pop (nimrods forced me to flip through their trading card collection last year). Then there’s the family with 6 or 7 kids (I lost track a while back), three of which are adopted, one whose wife up and left him with two kids while she moved back to Kentucky (and one of the kids was from HER previous marriage), one whose wife looks strikingly similar to him, one who is the overly ambitious type who’s trying to find a cure for cancer while she’s still in high school (you know my sister LOVES being compared to her), another that has issues so severe I can’t even write about them without feeling somewhat guilty (I’m guilt free up this point), and lastly, the hot Korean cousin who I wouldn’t mind getting freaky with (it’s ok, she’s adopted, that is ok, right?) (ok, maybe I feel a little guilty now). Not surprisingly these people are all on one side of the family, mom’s side. Dad’s side is fucking cool and a blast to hang out with even though they do the hunting/fishing thing to the extreme (but they do have some funny ass stories!).

Hanging out with the afore mentioned people is quite painful on Thanksgivings. First you have the mandatory small talk, the how are you, how’s your job, do you have a girlfriend (oh I love that one but I can’t reply “Fuck no” in front of the family), how’s the new house, have you managed to fill that five gallon pail with semen yet, you know, just the standard interrogation questions. Please, all I want to do is get in the door so I can sit in the corner and look at my watch every five minutes.

Then there’s the meal at which I’m supposed to talk with family members and try to seem interested in their lives when I’m really just checking out the hot Korean’s thong sticking out the back of her pants (it was purple last year). Not wanting to partake in any of the conversations about how XYZ is studying German, Russian, and Chinese or how ABC and DEF just got engaged (or avoiding beeing caught ogling the cousin’s ass), I always eat as quickly as possible and excuse myself by either saying, “Oh, I’m full.” or “Oh, I have to go masturbate while the image of my cousin’s thong is still fresh in my memory.”

Escaping early from the feasting has two advantages: the first being I get out of the conversations, the second being I then get the choice couch right in front of where a TV should be located. Yes my friends, “where the TV should be located” because there is no TV in the living room. The TV is in the basement. I don’t know too many people who would be comfortable going into someone’s house and sitting alone in their basement to watch the football games which inevitably will be blasted with world record snow storms. Not that it’s actually snowing in the cities holding the games (how often does it snow in Dallas?) but the TV reception is so bad and fuzzy it looks like the heavens opened up and said “fuck you” to Thanksgiving football. Technically it would be “fuck you and go talk to your anything-but-normal relatives and try to be pleasant and don’t leave any sperm deposits on their toothbrushes,” but you get the point.

After the meal everyone I am trying to avoid manage to wedge their asses in the couch I am sitting on in a manner which hip/shoulder/leg touching is unavoidable. Just because we aren’t on a city bus doesn’t mean it’s ok to sit that close to me. Of course this is ok if the hot Korean is sitting next to me but it’s not ok when everyone notices the erection in my pants. “Uh, excuse me, I have to go masturbate again.”

Then the “game of the year” (being the new and hot board game that everyone is talking about) is introduced and everyone gets excited and claps like the Energizer Bunny. Not me. I always have to politely decline offers to play the game as that would require more interaction the clan. It’s not exactly like city folk (me) getting along with country folk (them), but more like city folk (me) getting along with people from Angola who kill their pets for food and stay virgins till they get married (yeah, that would be them). And usually it takes these Angolans at least an hour to get the hang of the game and I certainly don’t have the patience for that.

Three hours later and I’ll try to talk to pops and he’ll ignore me to keep his cover of “sleeping” alive. That leaves me stuck talking to the twins because even though their foreheads protrude at an astonishing angle, there isn’t any extra brain matter to fill the space. I can’t even recall one meaningful conversation I’ve had with them besides the trading card incident. “Oh, that Hayward Workman card from 1997 might be worth something.” Oh yes, memorable conversation indeed.

So I get insanely bored, more bored than an inmate on death row (hey, at least they have weight rooms and stuff). But the boredom is not entirely based on the picture I have painted for you. No, it is also influenced by my own daydreaming, thinking about the things I could be doing if I was not there, and maybe more importantly, things I could be having. You see, nobody smokes (cigarettes) and nobody drinks. If you have read anything about me on any random post you will know that I like beer. A lot. I like cheap vodka and lemonade. I like shots of Southern Comfort. I like test tube shots of some fruity beverage stuck in between two perfectly rounded fake breasts and having my face engulfed in boobies. Sorry, I digressed a bit there. But sad to say, I crave beer just to get me through Thanksgiving. Alcohol might make the situation just a bit more bearable, depending on the level of consumption I deem appropriate, and then doubling that level just to make sure. I can hear the stories now, “Remember that time B got totally wasted and fucked the cat and had to be taken to the hospital because he was allergic to it?” or “Remember that time B got totally wasted and grabbed his adopted cousin’s boob and tried to make out with her?” or “Remember that time B got totally wasted and peed his pants and puked in the washer he was trying to wash his pants in?” But no, my family would not find this funny at all or tell jokes about it in the future. It would be more like, “We need to get B some serious help,” because that’s how they are.

I think you can get my point on why Thanksgiving is such a painful holiday for me. This year it’s supposed to be 60 degrees here so I’m going to mow the lawn and clean out the gutters, oh, and drink some beer. Everyone have a fun and safe Thanksgiving.

Monday, November 20, 2006

Threesome And The Runs (Sorry, Another Shit Story)

I did the right thing by turning down the threesome with the hot old girlfriend and some strange dude, right? I think so. I mean, I’ve done some stupid stuff in my life like allowing a friend to take pictures of me wearing women’s underwear and peeing in my pants more times this year than I did in kindergarten (come on, we were taking a test and the teacher said she didn’t want any interruptions!), but sex with another naked man in the room? I think that might have been a new high on the “What the FUCK Did I Do Last Night” scale or the “Who’s Hand Is That On My Ass” scale or the “Memorable Moments In My Sex Life For All the Wrong Reasons” scale, topping even the time I had the runs and crapped in some broad’s bed while I was on top and I think some of it might have run down her leg, too. Good thing she was either passed out (might have been the case) or passed out shortly after we finished doing it (more likely the first scenario) because I got my ass out of there pretty damn quickly and made a mental note to delete her number from my phone. If only this story wasn’t true…

And speaking of the runs… After a fun day of watching football and consuming large amounts of beer, the night bartender took over and offered to buy some food for the regulars. He threw out a couple options and finally decided on a shrimp dish that he spoke highly of. Might I add that the restaurant next door is not a place well known for seafood, but instead is a Mexican restaurant. He asked if we liked hot food and everyone agreed so he had the cooks add a little something special to make it spicy. When they brought out the plates everything looked absolutely wonderful. Plump shrimpies, green peppers, potatoes, and some other veggies, all covered in this red sauce that had a hint of spiciness to it. For those that know me, even a hint of spiciness is enough to make my head sweat, so you can picture me wiping my head down with napkins while I shoved this concoction in my mouth with reckless abandon. Not a bad meal, pretty tasty.

Fast forward to this morning. By 10:30 I had used the bathroom (i.e., bathroom stall) twice already. And when I say “used” the bathroom, I wasn’t just relieving my 8:30 coffee. No, no, my friends, I was in the stall gripping my ankles, praying for relief. Normally I’ll have one major “load” everyday just before leaving for the gym (wouldn’t want anything to accidentally happen there in front of the college girls). This major “load” will generally be a decent size and may or may not even stick out of the water. Once in the morning and my body is good for the rest of the day. Today I did that twice, within a two hour time span. Not just a little here and a little there but filling up the bowl each time, the second one being quite memorable as the guy in the stall next to me started making puking noises. For real. And of course I didn’t do the courtesy flush because I’m evil like that, ask the Renter.

This morning, while packing up the car with the gym bag and whatever else crap I had to take to work, I put the to-go box that contained the leftovers on the roof of my car. And I forgot about the to-go box that was on top of my car until I got to work and noticed my lunch was missing. Not like I was going to eat that stuff a second time anyway.

My asshole is currently sore and I’m contemplating using the Renter’s “puff” on it later in the shower to maybe ease the pain. Kidding.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Ok, I Fucked Up

Alright, so today I got somewhat fucked up. It's 3:30 in the morning as I write this so please bare with me (yes that means take your clothes off) and the spelling mistakes. I was supposed to work at the old folks show lounge tonight but instead got loaded watching the Buckeyes and slept till 11:00 (9:00 start time). I won a little money on the over which made up for not working, but... I still feel bad. So today...

I saw a Beamer that was dog tracking. Usually you only see old pickup trucks doing that, but it was nice to see some fuck in a Beamer doing it.

Back to tonight. When I woke up at 11:00 I called the Renter. I guess she was doing my job at the old folks place since I pulled a no-show. I thought about getting dressed and going in, but, that didn't happen. I saw the former roommate's car next to my house and called him. Yeah, he was at the bar and was all for finishing his beer and going somewhere else (since I couldn't rightly go up to MY BAR which is in the same building as the old folks lounge). We went to a bar down the road which we hadn't been to in a long time. We didn't know anyone there but there were a lot of hot women. And I mean a lot. We had a nice table right by the middle of the bar so everyone was walking right by us. One broad I recognized. I dated her five years ago. Angie, six feet tall, maybe 125 lbs, nice ass, no boobs, but hey.

Yes I'm drinking as I write this.

So Angie walks by and I grab her.

So how bad is this that I'm at another bar when I was supposed to be working?

Angie walks by. I grab her by the arm, not forcefully 'cause I'm not like that, but I get her attention. Turns out she's up for the weekend as she's living in St. Loius. She sat and talked with the old roommate and I for quite a while. Of course I was hitting on her but turns out she was there with a guy. She asked me a question and my response was, "Sure, why not?" A minute later, "What did I just agree to?" Yes, I was drinking, mighty well I must add, a goodly amount, if goodly is actually a word, it should be. You see, when she asked me the question, she went to her "man" and said something to him, which he gave a nod of approval to. I was invited for a threesome, but not the threessome every man dreams of.

Side note: pretty sure she broke up with me five years ago because I made out with her sister in the back of a cab. And her sister was at the bar tonight, should have asked if she wanted a one-some, much better than a guy-guy-girl threesome, ewu.

Oh yeah, Renter finally got a car, check out the rims.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Jumps Around Too Much For A Title

What is it with animosity? Why do 95% of people posting their thoughts, feelings, and daily activities on their internet diary choose to stay anonymous? We see “names” like Mahogany, Swandad, lawyergirl, The Doorman, and B to the… (aka shithead) listed as the “authors” (I use that term loosely based on the quality of some of the shit out there – not the afore mentioned names) on each individual’s weblog. Is it that we’re scared the real world will find out, that friends and family members might not exactly approve of what our fingers type and post on our sites? Is it that we’re afraid our places of employment might look at us in a different light, or, to an even greater extent, terminate our employment? (I really didn’t bang a stripper in Mexico, I was only kidding!) Or is it not a defense mechanism but a method to live out our fantasies and desires under the cover of some cleaver name? A method to let the alter ego out and vent whatever the fuck is trying to grinding our balls each day. Voicing the alter ego’s opinion to the world to see if by some chance another alter ego might share the same viewpoint and actually leave a note in the comment section. Or, in my case, hope some member of the opposite sex might find this crap somewhat funny and would like to show her appreciation by playing with my penis just a little bit. Really, I’ve played with it enough in my lifetime. Not that it’s getting old or anything, but… Yes, I am a pathetic individual.

But check this shit out.Let me tell you, works wonders in the shower if you know what I mean.

In other news…

I’m in the locker room today at the gym and I hear “Brian!” Of course I turn around and see the old lawyer, who by the way was naked with a towel hanging on his shoulder (cover up, please!), walking up to the sink where I was washing my hands.

"Yeah, what’s up?"

"That guy in the weight room with the crew top, kind big, do you know if his name is Mike?"

"Hmm, oh that guy. No, I’m pretty sure it’s Mitch."

I don’t know the guy’s name and I don’t even know which guy he was talking about. Why am I like this?

On the Renter’s first day taking the bus I decided to take some pictures of her standing by the bus stop. I kind of felt like a loving mother sending her kid off to her first day of school. But then again, I don’t think a loving mother would tell her kid to “Straddle the pole like you’re a stripper!” And no, the Renter wouldn’t do it. And yes, the next day some guy pulled up next to the stop, rolled down his window, asked “Do you want to have some fun,” and drove off. 8:00 in the morning. True story.
In other thoughts and musings, what is “third base”? You know, back in grade school everyone was like, “Dude, did you get to third base with her yet?” Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think the “bases” go like this:

First base: kissing

Second base: heavy petting

Third base: ?

Home plate: sex

So, what was third base? Sticking your hand down her pants and getting the fingers stinky? Having her stroke your schlong till some gooey shit came out? Back in those days B to the… wasn’t the playa that I am now (did I just refer to myself in the third person?) and wasn’t really “in” with the ladies. Ok fine, I’m still not “in” with the ladies, I lied. But I plan on stepping up my efforts shortly. My penis is threatening to go on strike, permanently, if I don’t do something soon.

Another question to ponder: Do these “bases” need to be updated to reflect the present day and generation? I mean, come on, everyone knows that kids are having sex at a younger age (don’t laugh, I think I was 19, and I “can’t remember” how old she was). So I’m going to propose an up to date version, let me know what you think.

First base: making out in a bar with a hand up the other person’s shirt or down their pants, not giving a shit who’s watching while you’re swapping spit.

Second base: engaging in drunken oral sex that leaves you gasping for air, finger in the butt optional.

Third base: fucking like porn starts for 45 minutes, in 45 different positions, falling off the bed only once.

Home plate: her best friend joins in for “anal night.”

I made my yearly doctor appointment this week. I made the appointment just so I could have a woman touch my balls. Ok, not really, but I do force myself to go once a year and speaking of balls, I need to make a note to shower beforehand and throw on some smelly stuff so while she’s down there she won’t be able to resist the thought of my cock in the back of her throat. Good lord, did I just write that? That was really gross, sorry. But, the reason I actually will take a shower is that my appointment is at 4:00 in the evening and after lifting weights and all even I don’t like to touch my balls. The other problem? I’m not supposed to eat for twelve hours before the visit. And I’ll be at work all day. Not eating for twelve hours isn’t a big deal if you have a 9:00 am appointment and stop eating at 9:00 pm the day before. Hell, you’re sleeping for eight of those hours. But twelve hours that span over breakfast and lunch? That’s going to be a little bit tougher. Wish me luck. Maybe I’ll just beat off all day to keep my mind off of food. Fuck! I’ll be at work, that won’t work. I’m screwed.

Couple pictures to share with you. First, some hot 20 yr old I found on Yahoo personals.Talk about some nice cleavage!!! Just wanted to share.

Second, check out how big this friggin' head is!!!Sorry, Renter, but I thought they were funny. Kind of like when you called me when the guy asked you if you wanted to have some fun, and I laughed my ass off. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!!!

Tuesday, November 14, 2006


I completely finished reading Clublife over the weekend. Quite an interesting read but if you get too engulfed in it you will have a severely tainted attitude afterwards, despising every moron that crosses your path. The Doorman used to post links to pictures of the “guidos” that would go to his club and cause trouble. So Saturday I was playing around and explored the website a little and found some very disturbing pictures. Not disturbing as in gross or inappropriate, but in more of a “where did our society go wrong” kind of way. Ok, are you ready? Please view this website… now.

Can you believe the photos? Why does every freaking one of them have waxed eyebrows and hair that flare/stands straight up? And what’s with the flexing and weird facial expressions? How about a little individuality? Or does that consist of a different colored headband? Anyone just a little concerned? Granted you might not be if you live in Jersey or someplace out east, but you don’t see this shit in Milwaukee, at least not at the places I hang out at or walking around downtown. Do the women really go for this? “Yeah, I’m going with by boy to get our eyebrows waxed, want to come?” I can’t see a Midwest girl saying that without getting a what-the-fuck look from her girlfriend. Who brainwashed these idiots to think they’re so fucking cool? And how many of these fools are out there that this site had 550,000 or so hits? Unbelievable.

Anyway, check out Clublife, I highly recommend it.

Oh, and sorry Milwaukee for the rain on Monday. I washed my car on Saturday so it’s all my fault.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

Contest And Crazy Women

A local radio station here in Milwaukee is running this contest, Squeal or No Squeal (a play off of Deal or No Deal and since the station is called the Hog…). The 29th caller has the option to take $100 or take “No Squeal” and get what’s in briefcase number 2. The prizes in the second briefcase range anywhere from $1 to $5,000. When it first started weeks ago I heard one woman take “Squeal” ($100) and they opened the second briefcase just to see what was in it. And wouldn’t you know it, $5,000. She lost out on $5,000 just to get the guaranteed $100. I don’t know about you but I’d be hurling chunks into my garbage can for the rest of the day. Last week Thursday a guy passed on the $100 and won $5,000. Talk about making your day. But this morning the DJs brought in a new twist. Like usual, they offered the caller $100 or take the second briefcase. The caller passed on it and wanted the other case. The morning DJs have been on the air for many years and have a lot of pull if you know what I mean. So they offered him $200 instead of the $100 and the caller still passed on it. $300, pass. $400, pass. $450 and a six pack of beer. Pass. Are you fucking kidding me? This guy passed on $450, which he didn’t have when he woke up this morning, and wanted the other case which may have had just a dollar in it. Of course it could have had $1,000 or $5,000 in it, but come on, $450 guaranteed is still $450 guaranteed (which calculates to roughly $450). Dumb ass took the other case and won $5. Schmuck. (Yeah, I call this guy a schmuck as I sit here with a decent amount of credit card debt (at 4%) not because I shop or live the lifestyle of a celebrity but because I was addicted to the blackjack tables in Vegas four years ago.)

Last night I walked in to the bar only to hear the bartender tell some woman, “That is B to the…” Apparently she had been reading the Rules of the Bar and asked who #7 was. I had talked with this woman before on a different occasion. She was nice but a little loony. One time G the hairdresser tried to get me to go home with her while he was going to take her mom (because we’re cool like that) but for some reason it didn’t pan out. So after the bartender points me out she said, “I know you. You work next door on Saturday nights. You’re nice in here but you’re an asshole when you’re working.” Sorry bitch, just doing my job. Over the next couple hours she called me an asshole numerous times. When she left for the bathroom I pointed out to the Renter that she had four lighters sitting by her purse. The Renter grabbed one and gave it to me but I told her to put it back because that is just wrong. When loony woman came back the Renter said something to her and she gave me three lighters. Huh? And not just old lighters on their last legs, these were completely full lighters. Again, huh? You just called me an asshole at least four times and now you’re handing over your lighters? I didn’t get it but of course I quickly pocketed them incase she was going to change her mind.

At one point in the evening an even more loony woman walked in the bar. I’m pretty sure she was on something and not just drunk. She walked in yelling on her phone, hung up, and walked right up to Loony #1. “I can trust you, can’t I?” Then she started putting all of her stuff in Loony #1’s purse. Loony #1 didn’t know what the hell to do but pick her shit out of her purse item by item. Crack woman then accused her of taking her money or something like that. Thankfully the bartender kicked her out otherwise I was going to have to take her home and let her blow me for $20. Kidding. I would have given her at least $25. Again, kidding.

And then tonight the Renter and I went shopping at Kohls for some clothes. I got a 20% off coupon in the mail and I needed some work clothes and the Renter needed a winter coat. But… when we were standing in line the Renter decided to switch lines since one appeared to be going faster than ours. Then I smiled at her and waived the 20% off coupon at her. Instead of switching back to my line (I had people behind me) she opted to stay in hers and pay an extra $48 for her shit. I will never understand.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Addicting Shit

Ok, so I stayed away for a day but this shit is addicting. So I'm back, for now...

Conversation with the Renter last night.

Renter: Who lives in Dunbar, Wisconsin?

B to the…: I had an ex-girlfriend who was from Dunbar. Why?

Renter: Someone from Dunbar posted a comment on my blog today.

B to the…: Really? That’s a tiny little hick town. I’m surprised someone up there owns a computer. I’m surprised they even offer internet access there.

Renter: Huh. He/she commented that I need to stop being a whiney bitch and just go pay for sex and get laid.

B to the…: Er, sorry, but that was my comment. I didn’t feel like logging in so I did the anonymous comment. So fork over the $100 and bend over.

This morning at work:

Boss Man: B to the…, why were you late today?

B to the…: Sorry Boss Man, I had a personal issue this morning, won’t happen again.

Boss Man: No, I want to hear this. What kind of a personal issue was it?

B to the…: I really don’t think you want to know.

Boss Man: If one of my employees comes in late I want to know the reason why. Now tell me.

B to the…: Well, my roommate has been leaving for work before me this week so it leaves me with a little personal time alone in the house. Well, I was feeling a little, er, frisky, if you will, this morning so I turned on my computer in hopes of spanking my monkey while viewing 16 year old virgins getting it up the ass. Only problem was my piece of shit computer crashed on me mid stroke so I had to put my only porn DVD on in the living room. For some reason I decided to go all out this morning and busted out the KY jelly to possibly quicken the process. Shortly after lubing up I encountered yet another problem: the calluses on my right hand that developed yesterday at the gym doing 200 lb back exercises did not produce the desired pleasurable feeling, actually caused me a little discomfort. But you know how it is, once you start you can’t stop so I dealt with the pain and continued beating off till the deed was done. Then I jumped in the shower and raced in to work at twice the speed limit in my effort to get here on time.

Boss Man: Oh my god, you are one sick pathetic individual. Go back to your cube. And wash your hands.

Ok, not all of that is completely true. I didn’t speed on the way to work as Jeep Wranglers are slower than fuck. I don’t have 16 year old virgins getting it up the ass on my computer (at least not that I know of, the roommate might have downloaded some, she’s like that). I think there’s one more thing that wasn’t true in there… Oh yeah, OF COURSE I DIDN’T REALLY HAVE THAT CONVERSATION WITH MY BOSS. But I thought it would sound better that way.

I have to start wearing gloves in the weight room if this is going to continue to happen. Or else stop lifting weights (see where my priorities are?).

How about a joke of the day?

A CORK radio station was running a competition – words that weren’t in the dectionalry yet could still be used in a sentence that would make logical sense. The prize was a trip to Bali.

DJ: 96FM here, what’s your name?

Caller: Hi, my name’s Dave.

DJ: Dave, what’s your word?

Caller: Goan. Spelled G-O-A-N, pronounced “go-an.”

DJ: Your are correct, Dave, “goan” is not in the dictionary. Now, for a trip to Bali: What sentence can you use that word in that would make sense?

Caller: Goan fuck yourself!

The DJ cut the caller short and took other calls, all unsuccessful until:

DJ: 96FM, what’s your name?

Caller: Hi, my name’s Jeff.

DJ: Jeff, what’s your word?

Caller: Smee. Spelled S-M-E-E, pronounced “smee.”

DJ: You are correct, Jeff, “smee” is not in the dictionary. Now, for a trip to Bali: What sentence can you use that word in that would make sense?

Caller: Smee again! Goan fuck yourself!

Monday, November 06, 2006

Last Post?

That last post was done on Sunday morning at 4:00 am and it was lame.

Friday night at the bar was a little different from the usual hang out and chat Fridays. Almost as soon as I walked in the door the old roommate and I were paired up to play pool against two other regulars, one being the weird/obnoxious/loud/annoying kid that lives across the street from me (I call him kid even though he’s as old as I am). Kid is not the most mature of individuals. Besides still living with his parents he might be considered a little slow, not due to any major defects but more so from his educational background or lack there of. Kid isn’t that well off financially, not that I’m putting him down for that as I don’t judge people in that way, but it comes into play in this weekend recap. Overall Kid is a decent guy with good intentions.

So the Old Roommate and I are playing pool on Friday night. Old Roommate is a decent shot whereas I suck ass since I rarely play. But for some reason we were able to hold our own after starting out slowly. A guy and his girlfriend showed up and we ended up playing them for a couple hours. The girlfriend was pretty hot and she had an awesome personality returning all of our barbs with one of her own. I made sure to check out the abundant cleavage when she was shooting, being careful to avoid detection by the boyfriend.

Around 11:00 the following took place at the bar while Old Roommate and I were still shooting.

Bartender: Hey Kid, I dare you to go over and kiss B to the…

Bar Reg #1: Hell, I’ll even give you $5.

Bar Reg #2: I’ve got $3 to put in the pot.

Bartender: Come Kid, I dare you. I’ll give you another $5.

Bar Reg #3: I’ll put in $3, that puts the pot at $16.

I’m back by the pool table sitting down drinking beer since we lost the table and some other people are playing. Then I feel a tap on my shoulder. Last time that happened it was the bitch who moved out on me while I was at work handing me $200 that she owed me. This tap on the shoulder did not turn out in the same fashion. As I turned my head I see Kid standing unusually close to me. Then I feel my arms being locked up behind my chair. Kid grabs my face and plants a wet stubbly five second kiss on me right there with the whole bar watching, laughing and howling. I tried to get free with all my strength but I was locked in pretty well. When he was finished he ran off leaving me wiping my lips with anything I could get my hands on. Is it really worth $16 to kiss another man? He later offered me $5 for it and I initially took it but later I gave it back to him as he needs it more than I. I did get a free pitcher of beer for it from the instigator but let me tell you, it certainly wasn’t worth it.

But wait, the story continues. Saturday I was sitting at the bar watching college football with the gang (Kid included). The bartender from Friday walks over and tells a recap of the story to the people who weren’t there to witness it. Everyone’s laughing at me and giving me shit when the bartender decides to take it one notch further.

Bartender: Hey Kid, how much would you need to give B to the… a blow job?

Kid: Shit, I’d want at least $100 for that!

The bar erupts in laughter and within 30 seconds the bartender has collected the required $100. Immediately thoughts of being held down with Kid doing the nasty to me flash through my head. Of course nothing happened, but what the hell? $16 to kiss another man and $100 to go down on him? My new name for him is Cash Whore.

Later that night working the door I fucked up on the register. The regular cashier girl must have been in the bathroom or something and I was manning her spot. For some reason I punched in the $3 key by mistake and, not knowing how to clear it out, rang it through. This was easily fixed by ringing up $5 on the next person who walked in to total the required $8 cover charge. But as the night went on I started to wonder if I had punched the $3 key or the $30 key which is right next to it (the registers must be from 1920 or something like that, they’re ancient). I couldn’t believe how much of a fuss the manager and cashier girl had over this mistake. At the end of the night all they’d have to do is look at the tape and see whatever number I actually did hit (since the cover charge was $8 it would be the only entry with a “3” in it) and make a note that it was a mistake. I mean, in the 100 times more complex world of accounting all you have to do is a journal entry to fix a mistake. In the end everything balanced out correctly.

Sunday morning I was up till 4:00am posting the previous post. As I re-read it today all I can think of is where the hell did all that shit come from? I don’t even remember writing about the kiss so I guess I wrote about it twice. Deal with it. And what’s all that crap about dating and how I think it might actually work out? Could that have been any more sappy? And who wants to hear about working the door of some small show lounge? Just freaking lame if you ask me.

11:00 Sunday morning I forced myself out of bed for the Packer game. The game sucked but everyone still had fun. I must have still been feeling the effects from Sunday morning because at 5:00 I was back home drunk texting Red. I remember one text came in something like “are you drunk?” to which I answered “not really.” Yeah right. I slept from 5:00 till 10:30, thought about getting up but just rolled over and went back to sleep. I woke up at 2:30 and thought fuck, now the bar is closed, rolled over and went back to sleep. 7:30 I woke up 15 minutes before my alarm was set to go off and had to count on my fingers the number of hours I had just slept. 14 and a half hours of pretty much continuous sleep. I usually go to bed pretty early on Sundays, not really by choice but more by necessity, and I generally sleep a good amount of time, but 14.5 hours waking up only twice just to roll over and fall back to sleep? I didn’t even think that was possible.

I battled with a chili dog today. I won with only minor casualties. Except I wasn’t aware of the fact that we were going to battle again three hours later. As you can guess, the chili dog lit my ass up, literally.

I think I’m going to stop posting crap to this for a while. It really hasn’t brought me that much pleasure lately and its kind of a pain in the butt to keep writing about my lame existence and making it sound somewhat interesting. Besides, how many people look this up on purpose and actually find it entertaining on some level or another? Feel free to voice your opinions/requests and I’ll take them into consideration in determining whether “The Gravitation To The Corner Bar” will continue on or die by the roadside.

Sunday, November 05, 2006


Ok, someone had "Red's" name down and I don't see that I posted that, so posting it might have been not exactly the right thing to do (we'll see if she cancels on me, hope not, really hope not, she has a special spot in my heart).

Friday night at the bar was a little interesting. The former roommate and I were partners playing pool and let me tell you, I don't play pool. I fucking suck. I think it might go back to the days in high school when the geometry teacher didn't want homework handed in if you got A's on every test (which I did, I was smart like that). Kinda like when I was taking the SATs and everyone busted out their calculators for the math section and dumbass me forgot mine, still got a 96 on it. The angles for pool just don't come to me. I have my moments, but... Anyway, I'm sitting by the pool table when I feel my arms get pinned behind me. Next thing I know I have Richie's lips on mine as he's planting a wet kiss on my lips. What the hell, I can't do anything to stop this and his fucking subbly lip is touching mine. Not good. Appearantly he was dared and paid $17 to kiss me so I don't blame him too much since he's a cash whore, but still. So I was kissed by a dude. Yuck.

Second issue of the day: why does working at the door of the old folks lounge turn me into a horn ball/asshole? Generally I talk to all the women, young or old, and I try to be nice, but the sex craved (deprived) B to the... comes out every once in a while. But what I don't understand is the asshole coming out. What the...? I'm not an asshole, but when people try to get in for free or bitch and moan about the cover charge, I get really fucking unhappy. Usually I'm a very happy-go-lucky guy, but when people are stupid and try to pull shit I'm not game. I think I've been reading "Club Life" too much. Granted we don't have shitheads starting shit and I've never had to kick anyone out, but still. The day that happens I will be a changed man. I can easily toss anyone out who walks in that bar but I'd rather not. I'd rather do it in a peaceful, quiet matter but if it comes to physically removing someone I will, and that will be the changing point. I've always been afraid of hitting someone as hard as I could, and I would not do that working the door. I'd much rather grab the individual, arms behind the back, and lead them out. But if shit's going down... The day I get phyasical with an individual will change me life, and trust me, I will come out on top.

Which is part of the reason why I've taken lifting weights to a new level. On the plane flights to and fro Cancun I was reading an issue of Flex magazine. Good shit, let me tell you. So when I got back I bought six chicken breasts, a dozen eggs, three cans of fruit, and two bags of salad. And I gained two pounds on this "diet" the first week back from vacation. Think that was all musclue? Is it wrong that for this $8 an hour job that I'm trying to improve my physique to be more imposing? $8 an hour isn't worth it, but if you figure the money that I'm saving by not being on the other side of the bar it works out. $8 an hour and I'm back doing bench presses (which fucked up my shoulder) just to be a bigger man. Not that I need to be a bigger man socially, everyone loves me. But those fucks who don't know me, who try to get in for free, who complain about not having a chair to sit in (happened tonight, and yeah, fuck, you, I don't care, until someone stole my chair), screw you and I'm not putting up with it. What are you getting for the $6-$8 cover charge? You're getting in the fucking door, you're getting past me, you're getting the opportunity ot have a beverage and listen to a good band, what the fuck else do you want? You ain't getting sex, that'll cost you $150 in Cancun. I think this night job has tainted me just a little bit. One of these days I wil grab some mother fucker by his collar and lead his ass out. When that day comes, B to the... will be a different man.

But then again, I just stepped outside for a cig and had some deep thoughts. Why do I whore myself out for $8 an hour? [changing subject] Would having a "real" girlfeind really be that bad? Could I handle having someone be my "partner" (female mind you) for more than two months? I think "Red" might be up for that, but can I? Or am I just going to fuck it up just like every other relationship that I've had? Which is why I'm hessitant with "Red", she's technically the one that got away (and came back), and we'd be perfect together. But with my dating history (not good), I'm afraid I'd fuck it all up like usual. Would it be better to keep her as a very good freind or to step out on the ledge (I'm not suicidal, serious) and see what might happen? I'm leaning towards going for it, I don't see any reasone why not to. She's very nice, maybe a little insecure, but she has a good heart and I know she isn't up to any shnanigans. She's honest (I'm getting her to shed the layers, I hope), and I trust her completely. I think it would take a lot of effot on both our parts to make it work, but hey, it might be worth it. I'm 100% sure it would if we both put the effort in, but...

Sucks getting burned in love, really sucks.

Friday, November 03, 2006


I’m going to do something today that I don’t usually do and it may or may not piss a certain individual off. But then again this individual doesn’t like to read the blog since she thinks I sound like an asshole or something to that nature. So here it goes: the email conversation.

Red: Are you online today? Talk to me, please, I’m so bored. You didn’t even comment on my pix? [I hate it when people abbreviate stuff like that and “u” and “ur” and all that shit, but oh well] Did you get them?

B to the…: Yeah I'm onlne. What's up? Do I have to comment on your pictures? Do you need to have someone tell you that you’re pretty and hot to make you feel better or something? You should know that you are both of those. And yes, I did like the red hair. Would look better spread out on my white sheets, but a guy can only dream… [actually my sheets are blue but that wouldn’t have the same effect]

Red: I have a love-hate response to your insistent honesty.

B to the…: Hey, it’s better than lying, playing games, and sugar coating things. It’s a lot easier, too. Maybe that’s why I’m always honest, I’m lazy.

Red: I like the honesty because I trust you and your opinions more than most people I know and that feels good. However there are times, when the calling out of the truth makes me feel embarrassed and exposed, which are not comfortable feelings, thus the hate. I never heard someone say that honesty was easier before. But I think you’re right, which is why my life always seems complicated. I’ve got a lot of layers between me and other people….more space for smoke and mirrors….its a lot of up-keep. So, is the blog you at your most exposed? Are you really about beer and poop and the next lay? You’re a puzzle to me for some reason.

B to the…: How can you feel embarrassed about who you are? I mean, that is the truth, isn’t that what you want people to know you for? For example, me, I’m a lazy accountant [not lazy at work of course] who has very little ambition to study and take the CPA test, partakes in a beverage or two or three on a regular basis (wink), pretty much set in my ways doing things that may or may not be wholesome but bring me a sense of contentment. How would you describe yourself deep down inside once the smoke clears? I’m not sure if I’m glad that I puzzle you (am I a man of intrigue? Cool.) but I’m really not that hard to figure out.

Red: Maybe I don’t like the person that I see when the smoke clears, and maybe I can never fully see through the smoke…it’s just become part of my reality. Maybe the tricks seem easier to me than changing what I don’t like about myself because that would involve the possibility of failure. I also put too much stock on what the people around me will think of the real heather. They might not like her and then leave her. You seem like you’re not that hard to figure out, but are you totally content? I don’t know. It’s probably just me looking into something that’s not there. Sometimes you seem like this interesting guy with a huge heart and sometimes you seem like a shallow asshole. Your eyes say one thing and your actions another. But I guess it’s the actions that count. And if you’re content, then who gives a crap(edit) what other people think. I’d give my left foot to be content. No joke.

My current situation: crazy in love with this guy who breaks my heart on a regular basis because he requires a certain level of honesty that I, in my present state of self-denial, cannot give him. So really it’s me breaking my own heart, and yet I continue to act the same way over and over.

B to the…: Who would this “crazy in love with” guy be?

I can see where you’re coming from I think. I used to try to be “cool” and maybe say or do things that weren’t who I actually was. But that sucked, wondering what people thought of you and if they liked you or not, you have enough stuff to worry about other than that. Ok here, another truth, I can honestly say that I don’t have a whole lot of friends. I have a lot of acquaintances at the bar and hang out with some of them on the outside (real life), but I’m not sure if I’d call them friends. Do I care what they think about me? When I let out a really raunchy fart at the bar do I wonder what’s going through their heads (besides vomiting)? No, not really, that’s who I am. They know I openly fart there (geez, no wonder why I’m single). Do they actually want me to sit next to them and chat or are they just putting up with me? Doesn’t matter, I’m going to sit there and talk no matter what. Are the bartenders just being nice to me because that’s their job and they want a good tip? As long as they give me beer and don’t spit in it I’m happy, doesn’t matter if they were actually laughing at my jokes or just laughing at me because I am who I am. Thing is I’m me and I’m not going to change that to make other people think more highly of me. I can be an asshole at times (usually not) but that doesn’t happen often. People can think of me anyway they want.

I would suggest (although taking advice from me is probably not a good idea) clearing the smoke just a little at a time, put the fan on low and see what happens. What’s there to lose? I think you’ll have more fun and satisfaction saying and doing things you want to say and do deep down inside, throwing caution out the window along with the smoke. Hey, you never know, maybe the “real” Red is totally fucking cool, maybe even cooler than “please tell me I’m pretty” Red, maybe even prettier and more confident (confidence is always sexy). So you tell me I’m fat and my stomach hangs over my belt when I’m sitting at work. Ok, fine, it does, want to see it [it flattens out when I stand up, I swear!]? Do you have any diet suggestions? So you tell me smoking is nasty and stinky. Yeah it is but what am I going to do, quit? Ha!

Are we still up for Monday? We can go to a place on Greenfield right down the road, I’ve never been there.

(Actually, looking back through the lines I only deleted one of hers. Hopefully she won’t get upset with me or anything. I just wanted to let you in behind the scenes of my world, maybe a little peak into the cavity where the brain should be located. Yeah, with my luck she will read this and cancel on me, which would be really sad because she is super cool. And super hot to boot. And she said she wants to make out with me and making out is always good. We did that once and it was a very special moment for me, passionate and long overdue.)

Thursday, November 02, 2006

My Gym Shoes

See these shoes?
These are what the Fab Five of Michigan wore when they won the national championship in college basketball in 1992 (Chris Webber, Jalen Rose, Juwan Howard, Jimmy King, and Ray Jackson – who I couldn’t remember and had to look up – anyway, they were all freshmen). No, these are not 14 years old, Nike brought them out of the closet and remade them two years ago. When I was a sophomore in high school I had them when they first came out only to blow the air pocket in one of them and have Nike send me a brand new pair of the newer model (which weren’t as cool as these). So even though I rolled my ankles numerous times with these shoes they were still the ones that “got away” since I couldn’t find them anywhere back then. In 2004 when they came out again I bought the red and white ones, the black and blue ones pictured here, and a second pair of the black ones that have never been worn (sitting in my closet along with these which have never been worn).
So yeah, I’m a bit of a shoe freak. Which was ok back when I played basketball every freaking day, but I haven’t touched a ball since this summer and that was just at the park five blocks from my house shooting by myself. Ok, so what brings up the shoe topic? Well, I’m wearing these to the gym today because I PEED ON/IN THE REGULAR GYM SHOES.

Roommate and I got home from the bar last night and a scuffle developed in the bathroom. I’m not exactly sure what the circumstances were, but she wouldn’t let me use the toilet, and let me tell you, I had to go. I don’t know if I panicked because I couldn’t use it or what but right then you know what started flowing. Next thing I know I’m standing in the shower fully dressed peeing in my fucking shorts. Why I didn’t unzip the fly and just let er go in the shower I don’t know, my decision making abilities might have been clouded by a little thing called alcohol (damn it, I thought you were my friend!). So I turned the shower on and soaked my shorts and shoes (second time in a week for the shoes) and left the clothes in the shower. Pretty fucking gross, eh? Not exactly one of my better moments.

But that wasn’t the only shower incident in the past 24 hours. This morning the roommate and I were in the bathroom together again. I was trying to put in my contacts and she was doing her hair or something else anal that women have to do before they leave the house. For some reason I called her a midget and she laid into me. Not expecting it at all I lost my balance and tumble into the shower taking down the shower curtain and curtain rod with me. Little busty bitch can pack a punch.

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Scary Halloween

After my last post I started to wonder about the legality of “paying for services” in Cancun. Obviously it’s allowed in the strip clubs as they have hotel rooms on the second floor just for this purpose. But getting the hook up from a street side vendor? I’m just going to guess that this isn’t legal and it’s probably a good thing I stayed away (duh).

Halloween. I’ve read that Halloween is supposed to be one of the greatest times of the year in which women let loose and dress in the skimpiest of costumes as it is the one day of the year where dressing like a slut is allowable if not a requirement. Hey, every man I know would agree with me that this totally fucking cool and the sluttier the better. But I learned one case in point where this is not the case.

Saturday night the “Show Lounge” I was working the door at had their annual Halloween party. As I have said before, the average age is probably 55. But that’s just the average, the range goes all the way from the 3 or 4 people who are 40 to the 30% of the crowd who are 65 and above. And take one guess as to which crowd chose to dress up for the Halloween party. Yes, I saw way too much 65 year old saggy skin Saturday night. Several of the costumes were outright disgusting. For example, the guy with the paper bag over his head. Want to know why he had a paper bag over his head? He was wearing jean overalls with the back cut out, bikini underwear in plain view with a string running up his ass holding the whole ensemble together. Even better? He had a band aide on his ass as he obviously tried shaving it and cut himself. Totally gross. Or the 70 yr old woman who dressed up as Wonder Woman. I never knew Wonder Woman had such wonderful breasts… down by her waist. And there was the 50 yr old guy with shag carpeting on his chest wearing a Tarzan outfit. That guy should have shaved before he showed up. Weird night I must say. Oh, and I had to carry a barrel up from the basement with another guy. I was told those things weigh 165 lbs. What the fuck did I go to college for that I'm hauling 165 lb barrels up stairs? My back is still a little sore, not worth the pennies they're giving me. But again, $40 in my pocket and $40 that I didn't spend that night adds up to $80 (I had to use a calculator for that) so I will continue on.

I caught myself checking out the signs in the front of Lane Bryant. Isn't that the big lady store?

Oh, and check this one out. The roommate sold her car without having another car lined up. Uh, how are you going to get to work? Sure, you could probably get away with this in New York, especially when you live above the bar you work at (isn't that like living with your mother?), but in Milwaukee? Yeah we have a bus system and everything but it isn't the greatest and the weather is turning here, I think it topped out at 43 degrees today. Brrrrrrr.

I went on craigslist for the first time today. I found a 29 yr old who wanted sex tonight. 5'4", 110 lbs, that would work. Hell, that would work very well. Anyone have any good/bad stories to share?