Clipping of 2007

So I ran into Flirt Girl this morning as I came in to work.

FG: Hey!

(yeah, I don’t think she knows my name. but we’re very close emotionally, physically, and spiritually.)

Me: Hi! I haven’t seen you in a while.

FG: Yeah, I quit smoking.

Me: Ah, you’re one of those people, a quitter.

FG: It’s been three whole weeks now.

Me: You know, I heard that if you substitute sexual activity for smoking there’s a much better chance of you staying off the cigarettes.

FG, batting her eyelashes: Is that so?

Me: Yup. So, if you like need some help with that I could make myself available at various points throughout the day.

FG: I’ll have to think about that one.

And no, the conversation didn’t exactly go like that because someone is stupid and slow and just plain lethargic on Monday mornings. Fuck!

But you know what? It doesn’t really matter. You see, I wasn’t really looking my best this morning. Hell, even I wouldn’t have wanted to have sex with myself. On Saturday the Renter decided it would be a good idea to get drunk and cut my hair. Well, I got drunk, she cut my hair, but whatever. What used to look all stylish and handsome…


now is too short to comb, too short to style, too short to do anything but stand straight up. Yeah, it’s pretty fucking hot. I wore a baseball hat all weekend. The baseball hat was a little loose due to the reduction in hair. Can you say last free haircut ever?

Today at work I had to put up with various comments on the fuzz on my head. “Hey, are you joining the Army?” “That reminds me of a fuzzy baby chicken.” “Do you want to borrow my hat?” “You look like a little boy!” “Wow, you must have really pissed off the Renter.” “They really got you in the back, uh, never mind.” It’s called a part people, not a bald spot. Fuckers.

But the weekend wasn’t completely ruined by the Clipping of 2007. I managed to knock out a post early on Saturday about my love for the current Miss Teen USA (which, by the way, prompted an email from her lawyers). I bought four new chairs for the deck. At 3:00 three neighbors stopped over for beer and brats. They stayed for a couple hours and chatted, Mr. Elmer both got his hair cut and got chewed out by his girlfriend, and we had generally a good time. The details of what happened after they left are a little foggy. I know I got butchered by the Renter. I think I made it up to the bar for the start of the Brewer’s game. I talked with lawyer girl’s boyfriend for quite a while about lifting weights (of which I have practically no recollection). Then, well, I don’t know. The Brewer’s game ended, I was pretty much drunk, the crowd in the bar was a little weird, so the Renter agreed to take me to the casino.

The trip to the casino didn’t start off well. As we were at the ATM I somehow managed to flick an ash on the Renter’s seat as she was leaning out the window and burned a hole in her seat and her shirt. Not cool. Pretty soon I’m going to have to buy her a whole new car. For the record that was burn hole #2 and the fact that I have to start labeling them is not good. So no more smoking in the Renter’s car.

I sat at a $25 black jack table and started playing with just $25’s. I hit a rough streak in the beginning but since I was only doing $25’s I was still ok. Ten minutes later I was up $300 (not that I would have realized this in my condition but thankfully the Renter pinched me and kept me abreast of the situation). At this point every hand was a $50. I won one and decided I’d keep playing till I lost another hand. Six hands later I was still playing when the dealer pulled out a five card 21 to kill everyone at the table. I pushed my chips out in front of me, $1,000 in total, and did my best to not fall over as I got out of my seat and headed for the cashier’s box. Not a bad night at all.

On the way to breakfast we decided to stop in to G the hairdresser’s new hangout. He wasn’t there but we still stayed. I had four SoCo’s and Coke (like I needed any more) and chatted with the bartender. “Hey, do you know a guy named G who comes in here?” “You mean G the hairdresser.” “Yup, that’s him.” “He used to hang out at M’s, right?” “That would be him.” Who the fuck gets to be well known around town as G the hairdresser? Which got me thinking, what would my name be? B the drunk? B the shit head? I personally like B the playa but I don’t have any grounds to base that one off of.

I had a hard time sitting at work today. Sunday is usually TV day in the house and this Sunday proved to be just that. The Renter busted out The Band of Brothers DVD’s and we got through two discs before the Sunday Pool Crew arrived. Those two discs had to have lasted a good five hours. That’s five hours that I had my hand down my pants playing with my junk. Yes, you know it, it was heaven. But then today at work my junk, well, got kind of lonely. They went from being cuddled for five hours (and maybe even more time while I slept) to not being cuddled at all (funny how they frown on that in the office environment). As soon as I got home I rushed downstairs to my sex (0%)/masturbation (100%) couch and went to work. God I love that couch.