Top three reasons I can't get any work finished lately.

1. Too much blogging and blog reading.
2. Preoccupied with sexual thoughts and fantasy.
3. I'm in love.

Death to the "fist-bump".

I'm not sure when guys began to do this fist-bump thing, but I'm not down with it. To me it's just another manly-man macho gesture that I don't feel comfortable doing.

So, from now on when someone offers up the fist-bump, I am going to reach out and grab the fist and give it a nice kiss right on the knuckles.

Go Ravens! (Or, guys should never wear thongs.)

Last night I was sitting in my favorite drinking establishment when someone mentioned that a bouncer next door lost a wager with another bouncer. The bet was that the Redskins would finish the season with a better record than the Ravens. Well, the Ravens sealed the deal last night, and the loser was required to walk the length of the block while wearing the opposing team's t-shirt, along with a thong. Good thing I had my camera.

The only thing scarier than this picture is the fact that I have significantly more hair on my ass than this dude.

"Loser Thanksgiving"

Tomorrow marks the Fourth Annual Baltimore Loser Thanksgiving. It's where me, and anyone else I know who does not have a place to go for Thanksgiving, get together to feast, drink, watch movies, drink, watch football, drink, hit the bars, and drink some more.

Oh, and tonight, Thanksgiving eve, may just be the single best party night of the year save Halloween. I need a nap already.

My stubborn retaliation.

When I am in a relationship, I only know one mode... 100%. I am not interested in casual dating anymore. I live such a full life already that it makes no sense to date someone without some promise of a long-term commitment.

Recently she requested that I "back off" a bit, to give her some space. She indicated that we have only known each other for two months and that everything is moving too fast. This makes some sense to me. Maybe she is freaked out that someone is so ready and available to love (um, that's me). Maybe she does not really know what she wants at this time in her life. Maybe she just needs more "evidence" of our love, that this is genuine.

Although it was not my preference I decided to back off. But I was not really sure how to do this. How do I keep my emotions at bay? The desire to see her, to share with her more than she is permitting?

Since I have met this woman, other females have shown an extreme amount of interest in me. Like, they are literally falling from the sky. Maybe it's my boosted confidence. Or perhaps it's that they slip in to a dream-like hypnosis when I tell tales of my adoration and love for this woman. (One woman I met even said "I have always wanted a man to feel that way about me" as she fell under the spell of my oratory. Another woman asked if I had a single brother she could date, since I was taken.).

Keep in mind that this is not a common theme in my life. Maybe I am oblivious towards it, or perhaps apathetic... but women just do not throw themselves at me like they have in the past two months.

So I decided to use this rare phenomena as a tool to create distance from the relationship. To convince myself that if she does not want me... all of me, then I need to make sure I am sharing myself, in one fashion or another, with the women around me that actually do.

Do I want to do it this way? Hell no. It feels so unnatural to be doing this. But it's the only thing that seems to work right now.

Let it flow.

Why is it that when entering a relationship there seems to be a certain amount of "game playing" involved? By game, I mean you can't just dive right in and profess your love for someone, trusting and sharing openly and honestly. You need to show that you have interest in the person, then pull back little... to provide that sense of mystery, a sense that they are missing out on something.

With this woman I left all my game at the door. I expressed myself openly and let the emotions (and sometimes tears) flow. And while I could tell it made her feel wonderful, it also was presented too quickly and too easily. I put her on a pedestal and she did not even have to work for it. I am starting to realize that I gave her too much, too soon, too readily. As real as my emotions are, I should have shown more restraint.

So I decided to retreat. Well, not emotionally as I cannot simply turn that off. But I imposed some restraint on how much I communicated with her, and how much I "gave" to advancing our relationship. Some of this was the result of the pressure she was getting from me to move the relationship forward. She basically said, in so many ways, that she needed more space and patience from me. Well, I gave it to her, and then some.

The result? She wants me more than ever now. Stupid games, I hate it.

I still don't know if I have what she needs or wants, although she claims that I do. Also, does she have what I want? The abilty to need, the strength to spill her emotions and let everything flow? Only time will tell.

If you walk away I'll walk away... first tell me which road you will take.

I don't want to risk our paths crossing some day. So you walk that way and I'll walk this way.

She's a Superstar.

I am with the most popular girl in the room, and she knows it. Everyone loves her. She is bright and beautiful. Guys want to date her and girls want to know her.

And then there's me... over in the corner. I wonder how long this will really last.

Life is not a rehearsal.

Last night I was driving to my gym. Yep, I actually do exercise sometimes. I was stopped at an intersection when I glanced to my left, noticing and elderly man (late 60's?) at the corner looking in my direction. He began to walk away, and in the next moment I saw him coming towards my driver's side door. I lowered my window partially, and he asked me if I could give him a ride. My initial thought was that he was probably homeless or crazy or drunk. I told him I did not have time. He said "OK" and began to walk away. At that moment, something just did not feel right to me. I pulled my vehicle to the side and the man came to my passenger side and attempted to enter the locked door. I told him to hang on, put my hazard light on, and got out to talk with him.

He said that he had been walking all day. He was not sure where he was coming from or where he was going, but he wanted to get home. He told me he lived with his wife and mother, but did not know the address. He could not tell me his age. I told him that I could not give him a ride, but maybe it would be a good idea for me to call the police for help. He also thought this was a good idea.

As I was in a hurry to go to the gym, I did not have my cell phone with me. But at that moment I looked over and saw a friend of mine in a car, so I flagged her down to use her cell phone. I called 911 and asked them to send someone to assist.

As I waited with the man, he would occasionally remove his glove to shake my hand, saying "You are very nice person to help me out and I thank you". He would say things like "I could kick my own ass for making you do this for me". I tried to assure him that it was not a problem, that everything would be OK. He informed me that we were both very lucky. He said I was a good person, and that "I looked like I would be able to help him". I told him I could use some luck in my life right about now. A whole bunch of it.

About 20 minutes passed when I finally saw a police cruiser coming our way. They did not look prepared to stop, so I walked in to the street and attempted to wave them down. The officer honked his horn and proceeded to pass me by. Another 20 minutes went by and another police cruiser passed without stopping. I decided that the next police car that came down the street was going to get a healthy dose of keys thrown at the windshield in an attempt to get their attention.

Finally, after about 45 minutes I decided I should just get this guy to my gym and call again from there. He waited in my car while I called 911 at the front desk. Knowing that help was not going to come any time soon I had him come in and sit on one of the couches in the lobby area. The staff at the gym were very helpful and even gave the guy a bottled water. He offered me a drink from his bottle several times. but I told him that I was not thirsty. The truth is, I don't like old-man spit.

Anyway, when an officer finally arrived I went outside to meet him. After I lectured him about the inefficiency of Baltimore's 911 system, which brought a chuckle, I handed him a paper with all of the information I could retrieve from the disoriented man. The officer came inside, and we continued to ask the old guy questions in an attempt to find out where he lived.

Finally, the officer made calls to the local precincts. It turns out that the guy had a "missing persons" report... his family had been looking for him for a couple of days.

I thanked the officer, the gym staff, and said goodbye to my temporary friend, Melvin Phelps. As I walked over to the exercise area I had a sense of calm peacefulness that I have not felt in a very long time.

Things She Said (and my internal, emotional reaction to it). PART FOUR

SHE SAID: "I'M GOING TO BE THE BEST FRIEND YOU EVER HAD, I JUST KNOW IT."
i thought: "jesus, i don't know if you have ever said anything so great. fuck. i fucking love you."

•••Ok, I did not just think it, I said it.

Things She Said (and my internal, emotional reaction to it). PART THREE

SHE SAID: "NO ONE HAS EVER LOOKED IN TO MY EYES THE WAY YOU DO"
i thought: "no one has ever loved you the way i do"

Verve.

Most of my life I have had trouble sleeping because I was so afraid of death that I did not want to part with any opportunity for consciousness.

Today I sleep well, and wake feeling more alive than ever.

Sleep on and dream of love... because it's the closest you will get to love.

Is it possible for one person to love another, and it not be mutual? Or, does love need to be requited to really exist?

I have told this woman how much I adore her, and how much love I feel for her. How could I know this so soon, so easily? I could tell you why. I could write it all down, all of the things that I respect and appreciate about her. But it is all inconsequential, because I just know it in my heart. Having her in my life makes me a healthier person, a happier person. I sleep so well, and my waking hours seem more lucid and vibrant. I feel more alive!

She shows me that she loves me, in so many ways, yet she does not say those words. I tell myself that it is her actions that matter. She DEMONSTRATES her love. But I still want to hear the words. Is it possible that she does not love me? Or that she wants to love me, but cannot? And of so, is this really love that I am feeling... the kind of love that I want and need in my life?

What do I do about this? I don't feel like I really have a choice. Do I proceed with what seems natural and follow the path of passionate adoration I have for her? Or do I follow what feels safe and withdraw, numbing my emotions until she, hopefully, finds love for me? How long can I wait? How long can I give without receiving what I need in return?

It really does not matter, because I am in love with her and I will follow this path to it's end. What is more important than the challenge of opening my heart to this person? The pursuit of something so rare and beautiful?

I definitely have something wrong with me (or, "Do you have to be so effin' happy all the time?).

Maybe I need too much, or perhaps I am just not very healthy. This woman has nothing but amazing qualities. She is always happy, always gets what she wants, and seems to have no real struggles in her life other than self-imposed challenges. This is great when I am also feeling good about life, but I don't always feel good about life. It is during these times that I find it difficult to be with her. She can't seem to grasp why every moment can't be filled with laughter and enjoyment. But for whatever reason my life has not worked that way. And the funny thing is, I almost don't want it to be that way. As strange as it sounds, I actually like to cry sometimes. I want to feel down and depressed at times. Maybe it's because I have never known another way so I rationalize it as being an essential part of living.

It is hard to see her during the times that we are so far apart emotionally. She has no interest in dark side of life, and this may prove to be the challenge that is too big for us to overcome.

I like her so much, I had to have sex with her.

First let me say that I appreciate everyone's comments from my last post. You forced me to consider my options from several perspectives. It's good to hear opinions of those without a vested interest.

I think it was Emma's final suggestion which resonated the most:

"Why do you even care if the first time is a mindless fuck? After that it might become meaningful, it might not. You have to just dive in and take whatever crap comes flying your way. You can intellectualize it to death but it won't help. You know it."

While I DO care about the first experience being somewhat meaningful, I also realize that I tend to over-intellectualize everything TO DEATH, and it has been my downfall in many situations throughout my life. "Dive in... and take whatever crap comes flying my way". Words to live by, as far as I'm concerned. So that's what I did.

The result? Well, it certainly was not mind-blowing sex, and I felt really awkward most of the time. But I wanted to be there, and I was not regretting the experience. Did I feel like we were "making love"? Not really. Did it have the hard-core raunchy raw excitement of no-strings sex? Nope. I would have preferred either of those extremes, but instead I was left in some sort of middle ground where it was "just alright". But I am cool with that, because any opportunity to share and experience life with this woman is truly amazing, and I feel fortunate. And I was left with the sense that things could only get better.

Oh, and it was very easy for me to proceed forward with the sexual intimacy after they day we spent together. Post pending...

Did you know?

I purchased an iPod shuffle today and this thing pretty much rocks. I may even be convinced to go to the gym and exercise one of these days.

I like her so much, I don't even want to have sex with her.

"I like you so much, I don't even want to have sex with you!" -ME

What did this mean when I said it to her? It meant that she has so many qualities that I adore, having sex was not even that high on the list of things I wanted to share with her. Oh sure, it's always up there. But I have been with women where the ONLY thing they had to offer was sex. Mind you, this can be fun too, but that is just not where my head is with this woman. With her, I want so much more... I want everything!

Here's the situation: She wanted to have sex with me the first evening I stayed at her house. I should find this flattering right? Well, I don't. Because she also mentioned that she likes to initiate sex early in a relationship... "to get that awkward first time out of the way"... and that this is the way she has always been with guys. What the fuck? Look, I am not living in a fantasyland where every sexual episode in my life needs to be an earth-shattering-emotion-fueled-love-making experience. But, "let's just get this first one out of the way"?

I told her I did not want to have sex until I was able to tell her I loved her. This CERTAINLY has not been my modus operandi in relationships with others. But fuck, I really want things to be right with her and I don't mind being patient with this.

Our next two encounters have been the same, with me basically repelling her sexual advances. Each time it just rings through my head... that to her this is nothing but a sexual experience. A "fuck" if you will. Not that it would be totally void of emotion or connection (is that even possible?) but it is certainly not the level of love and intimacy I want to feel with this woman.

She said that, to her, there is a difference between "making love" and "just sex". She has also stated that she has only had orgasms with people she loved. I am not sure what any of this means, but somehow felt the need to make it part of the story.

For the past week I have thoroughly considered how to proceed in this situation. No matter what I do or say, to her the fact is that our first time together will be more detached than I would prefer. I have made attempts recently to detach myself as well, so I can just dive in and do this... without love, without emotion. I hate this feeling and don't want it to be like this, but I see no other way at this point.

So this weekend, should the opportunity be presented, I will do everything in my power to just fuck. I will fuck and I will hate it and I will hate myself for it. Hate that I need more than just a fuck. Hate that I want this to be different. And hate that I feel like I had to do it this way.

There is no way I can do this sober. Wish me luck.

How will I die?

I was driving home from a blogger happy hour this evening. As I was driving, I thought of something that I consider quite often... that the car coming from the opposite lane is going to swerve in to me and hit my car head-on. And for some reason it is not a drunk driver or someone simply not paying attention... this person is suicidal and has decided to end life by swerving in to a car (my car) head-on.

The other way I think I may die is from natural causes, in my eighties.

Did you know?

I attended huge costume party this weekend and won first prize. I made the costume in one day. Seriously, people should not fuck with me!

Things She Said (and my internal, emotional reaction to it). PART TWO

SHE SAID: "YOU HAVE SUCH A GREAT ENTHUSIASM FOR LIFE"
i thought: "you are large part of the reason i feel this way... i am so inspired right now!"

SHE SAID: "I AM FALLING IN LOVE WITH YOU"
i thought: "wow"

Did you know?

I went to a party and won a pumpkin carving contest this past weekend. People should not fuck with me.

Things She Said (and my internal, emotional reaction to it). PART ONE

SHE SAID: "I AM THE MOST MENTALLY-HEALTHY PERSON I KNOW"
i thought: "wow, what a statement. i hope she does not mind that i normally do not feel like i am completely stable. i hope she still likes me when she notices this about me."

SHE SAID: "I AM SO LUCKY, IT'S LIKE I AM BLESSED OR SOMEONE IS WATCHING OUT FOR ME. EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE IS SO PERFECT"
i thought: "holy shit, i have only felt this way about my life during occasional, brief moments."

SHE SAID: "IT'S LIKE SOMEONE KNEW JUST WHAT I NEEDED AND PUT YOU IN MY LIFE".
i thought: "holy fuckin' shit... that may be the greatest thing anyone has ever said to me."

SHE SAID: "OOH, THAT'S A NICE CAR" (as a BMW passes by).
i thought: "how can a car be nice? it's just a piece of metal. it's not art or music. it's a tool. please please please don't be materialistic... i don't want to see this side of you! well, i do but i don't."

SHE SAID: "I'M GLAD MY LAST BOYFRIEND WAS SUCH AN IDIOT SO I HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO DATE YOU."
i thought: "woohoo!"

SHE SAID: "(ANOTHER EX-BOYFRIEND) IS THE SMARTEST GUY I KNOW AND THE CLOSEST THING TO A RENAISSANCE MAN THAT I HAVE EVER MET."
i thought: "fuck, am i at least funnier than him???"

This woman has no problem letting me know what's on her mind... and it is a refreshing change, even if it is not always what I WANT to hear. More to follow...

It's not easy being famous.

Last night at the bar a woman told me I looked like some actor called "Stephen Dorff". I was not familiar with him so I looked him up on the internet. It got me thinking about all of the different people I have been told I resemble over the years (It's amazing what alcohol can do to perception!) I got to work and compiled a list:

The guy in question, Stephen Dorff. I would do him.

Chad Smith from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I wish I was in his band.

Henry Rollins of Black Flag fame... as well as a childhood hero of mine.

Ethan Hawke. I liked him in "Training Day".

Robert Smith. I actually DID look like him during my gloomy early college days!

Will Farrell... I HATE when people say I look like him. It means I need to drop 10 pounds quick.

Steven Segal. A friend of my Mom once said I resembled the worst actor in the world other than Chuck Norris. This is just plain embarrassing.

Matt Leinart of the Arizona Cardinals. They suck.

Revelations.

For the majority of my life, romantic relationships have always begun by an instant and mutual attraction. The chemistry and passion were immediate (and usually alcohol-fueled) rather than gradual, and the relationship would proceed at a breakneck pace. When I finally realized I was not compatible with the person I loved, two years would have passed and I was left wondering how I had arrived in this situation.

With [GIRL], patience is mandatory because she demands it. Learning about her is different, more methodical, and less "spontaneous". I respect this, but at the same time I find a sort of aching urgency in my gut. Every time I look in to her eyes or hear her voice I am drawn to her in a way that ignores any reason or logical process. Even so-called "red-flags" or "incompatibilities" seem minor compared to past relationships... no doubt a combination of my belated-but-finally-arrived maturity and her overall awesome-ness.

We are very different people. During past relationships I would interpret this, incorrectly, as some sort of threat. As if being from different backgrounds and having different histories would somehow impose a barrier between me and a potential partner. I hope I am able to embrace this feeling rather than run from it like so many times before.

One afternoon over lunch she said to me: "I am so fortunate and blessed, my life is so great and I want to share it with someone..." She said this with a conviction and verve that really hit me deep. Although I consider myself happy with my life at the moment, I have never consistently felt like this about my life as a whole. Again, this feeling of alienation and distance came over me. A good friend of mine suggested I embrace it... to attach myself to it and learn how to feel the same way about my life.

I really want to do this. I don't want to be afraid of something so healthy and beautiful.

I drank a lot of beers to get where I am today.

There is a bar near my home where they know me. Errr, well they USED to know me. I would walk in, and before I could even reach the bar I would have a cold beer waiting for me. Heck, even if I was just running in to use the men's room they would not let me leave without downing at least one cold Natty Boh, frequently at no charge.

Well all that has changed. Despite all of the years of drinking the same beer at the same bar, it seems I am now a stranger in my own home. Bill and Jen, the bartenders who treated me with so much warmth and got me hammered so many times... are now gone. One was fired. One quit.

I am currently "training" the new barkeep to show some respect by providing me with the same recognition and service that I drank, um, worked so hard to achieve. I even did a practice run by exiting and then immediately returning, just to see if I would be presented with a frosty beer. She caught on quickly, but Nacho Mama's will never be the same.

Butterflies are laughing in my organs...

I have a sick feeling in my stomach. Just as I was prepared to move on, something crept in. This stirring curiosity, a desire to get to know this woman. I have known her for two weeks, yet I want to see her every day and talk to her every evening. This is a feeling I have not known in years. And she does not even fit the "profile" I have outlined within my disturbed mind. We are so different but at the same time I feel such a strong connection with her.

How much of love and attraction is based on tangible traits or characteristics? How much of it is impalpable... something that can't be explained without borrowing the words of a poet?

What do I need from a partner? This is easy... I need a best friend. I need an open, creative mind. I need someone who can give and nurture yet possesses an independent spirit and strong will. I need someone with whom I can laugh until I cry... or cry until I laugh.

I have known her for two weeks and I think this person has these qualities. How can I know this? How much credence do I give to "potential"? How can I trust my intuition? I don't think I have a choice.

How can one know so much from a kiss. Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss, but with this kiss there seemed to be a connection that has existed forever... and is only now being realized by the two of us.

Yet I do not even know if she is in the same place. My head tells me to hold back, to use patience. But the heart wants what the heart wants. It is a sick feeling, and it has been a long time coming.

THE DATE SHIRT.

This is the infamous date shirt. The keys elements of this shirt are as follows:

1. It fits me PERFECTLY.
2. The pattern and detail are dope.
3. The collar and cuffs are fat in an hip, 70's kind of way... without trying TOO hard.
4. I always receive compliments while wearing this shirt (unless I am on a date).

Enjoy!

Love used to be so easy (date follow-up post).

When I was young, love came so easily. Some girl would show interest in me, usually by making out with me and permitting any advances I may initiate. These days everything is different. I can only describe last weekend's date as a "practice date" for the lovely [GIRL]. She is just beginning to date after a 1.5 year relationship and is "not ready to rush in to anything".

TRANSLATION: "Thanks for taking me out and making me feel good about myself but I don't really see this going anywhere."

Look, I'm not trying to rush in to anything either, and there certainly are no guarantees in this self-imposed torture I call my dating life. But I can tell right away if I like someone and want to pursue something beyond just casual dating.

That being said, I suppose the evening went fine. Dinner was great and the conversation was fluid all night. [GIRL] seemed to be an awesome, quality person. And although she indicated that she would like to spend some time together my intuition tells me that she needs to enjoy her single-ness for a while. In the meantime I will get back to enjoying mine.

Oh, and the date shirt worked it's magic, except for the part when it was pointed out that the dry-cleaning tag was still on. Yeah, I'm smooth like that.

Breakin' out the date shirt again...

Ok, date shirt, this is your last chance. If you don't work for me this weekend you will be relegated to family gatherings so my Mom can tell me how handsome I am.

How did I get the date? A friend of mine, let's call her "[GIRL]" introduced me to some friends of hers one afternoon at the bar. After a few drinks the conversation was flowing and I sort of hit it off with a very attractive woman, let's call her "[GIRL]". We seemed to have a few things in common, such as running the same triathlon and fondly remembering the days when we did not have cable television hooked up and were stuck with whatever 3 stations we could pick up via antenna. We had some things not-in-common too, like she is an accountant and I'm a graphic designer. I like art and music and things of this sort, and she works with numbers and stuff, which always seems to give me a headache. But I could care less what people do for a job, as long as they enjoy it. Oh, and she is from New Jersey. I don't know what this means, but she does not have the NJ/NY accent so I suppose it's inconsequential.

Our conversation was flowing so well that she practically asked ME out, which is a good thing because I am so oblivious in these situations that I never think to actually make a date. So anyway, we are going out this Saturday. I picked something mundane... going out for dinner... so we can talk and get to know each other and all that good stuff. I hate that I get so excited about these things. I guess it's just that I rarely meet anyone that seems interesting or attractive to me, which is kind of ironic because I am not particularly interesting or attractive myself! Oh, and we are 10 years apart in age. I guess I should begin my drinking now.

The reason I hate people (Part 1 of an ongoing series)

Last night I went to pick up a can of Lysol Tub and Tile Cleaner from my local grocery store. It was approximately 10PM and the store only had two checkout lines operational. I found my item and picked the shortest of the two lines (both of which were pretty long). The couple in front of me (a professional-looking man and his pregnant wife) began placing their items on the conveyor. They had a full cart with approximately 30 items, yet did not have the courtesy to let me pass with my single item.

Apparently the guy had some issue during his shopping experience and requested to speak with the manager. The checkout lady called the manager, and the guy proceeded to walk with her away from the checkout area to another part of the store, leaving his wife and all of his items on the conveyor. The checkout lady had finished totaling and bagging the groceries and only then did the wife explain that her husband had the money and she would go to find him. Meanwhile, I could see him talking with the manager on the far end of the store. I could see the wife approach the man, and rather than handing her his wallet, he continued talking with the manager. After a couple of minutes of this he finally began his slow walk back to the checkout isle without any sense of urgency.

Mind you, there were about 10 other people in line at this point, and me standing next with my single item. I was furious, as this guy was making no effort to be expeditious or considerate to the other people waiting in line. He finally made it back and paid for the groceries... ignoring everyone, taking his time, and acting as if he was the only customer in the store. It took all the restraint in the world not to call him an a-hole right there. I think it was because I felt sorry for his wife, who was very pregnant and seemed nice enough.

As I was leaving the store the couple was directly in front of me. I could not take it any more and blurted out: "You obnoxious a-hole I know you think you are really important but you are just a balding, cell-phone-on-the-belt-wearing, slow-motion moving dumb fuck and I feel sorry for your child because he will have to rely on his lame-ass dad to teach him about life and your poor wife is taller than you and much better looking you f'in loser."

Well, that's what I wanted to say. What I really said was: "You know, that was extremely rude not to acknowledge all of the people in line behind you".

He apologized but they were the most insincere words I had heard in my life.

I had originally thought that my announcement to this person would bring a sense of relief, to "get it off my chest" so to speak. But the fact is it did nothing for me. I simply considered all of the other people in the world who only think of their own needs while being disrespectful towards others. The people who do not use turn signals when driving. The people who litter in front of my home. The people who put mufflers on their cars that actually make the car louder (um, how is this even legal?).

There really is no shortage of legitimate reasons to despise most people, and I am forced to live amongst them.

Banned!

I hate to shop. It's not so much the spending money part, rather it's the drive to the mall and be forced to interact with other members of society thing that I detest. I purchase almost everything I need over the internet. However there are the rare occasions that I require a new article of clothing and am required to actually try it on to ensure a proper fit. I typically plan my shopping adventures like a surgical military strike, get the fuck in and get the fuck out. (My lovemaking technique has been described in much the same way).

So this weekend I ventured to the nearby suburban mega mall in search of a new pair of shoes. Thanks to my internet preparation I found the shoes pretty quickly and without incident. But unfortunately I discovered more than just shoes.

Can someone please tell me where all of these teen supermodels came from? And is it now mandatory that all girls have their abdomen exposed, with jeans cut so low they barely cover the pubic region? Girls did not look like this when I was in high school. And if they had, I would have probably killed myself.

I left the mall stunned and confused. Head still spinning, I almost dialed 911 to report myself but instead decided that I would implement a self-imposed ban on any future mall shopping as to avoid any type of legal trouble.

The picture below is representative of the ugliest girl I witnessed during my outing.

F blind dates.

I will never go on another so-called "blind date". (Unlucky date-shirt picture pending.)

Blind Date Friday.

I have only been on one blind date in my life. I was 35 at the time and my date turned out to be 24. When I expressed concern over the differences in age, she said it was OK because she only dates guys over 30 anyway. According to her, guys under 30 are only interested in playing video games and getting drunk. We ended up getting pretty hammered that night, and she informed me that she really enjoyed anal sex.

Anyway, tonight I am going out with a "friend of a friend". We have talked on the phone twice, and she seems OK so far. I think she even used the word "predecessor" in a sentence, which is a good sign. She also lives in my neighborhood, which adds to the low-maintenance factor. In fact the only negative thing I can tell about her at this point is that she is originally from New Jersey.

This week I prepared for tonight's date by:

1) Going to the gym (once).
2) Laying by the pool one afternoon (someone at my office told me I needed some sun because I looked "green").
3) Refrained from eating fast-food.
4) Letting my beard grow which will allow for an ultra-close smooth shave this evening.
5) Telling a few friends my plans to ensure that I would not back out, which is my natural tendency.

As a bonus I am going to break out my seldom-worn "date shirt" tonight (pic pending). The ladies just can't seem to resist the style.

Although I hate dating, I do it from time to time just so I don't feel like a total loser, and it typically makes for a good story.

Safe sex (and gay bingo).

Even though I rarely engage in sexual activities (not by choice) I have a guideline that I follow. I always get myself tested for STD's in between partners/relationships. This allows me to dive in head-first, so to speak, with a clear knowledge of my STD status.

The last time I was tested I decided to go the community health services route because it was going to be a couple of weeks before I could visit my primary physician. In the Baltimore City Paper I noticed that the "Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender Community Center of Baltimore" (http://www.glccb.org/) offers free testing for all the biggies such as HIV, chlamydia, gonorrhea, and syphilis. Even better news was the fact that their testing is "needle free", and being that I am a p*ssy when it comes to needles this sounded like a good deal.

So I visited the center and, as I waited for my turn, took note of people arriving for various programs such as the Lesbian Support Group and Crystal Meth Anonymous. Just as I was wondering about the people who shuffled by, I am sure they were curious about me as well. Finally a guy stopped to talk with me. He asked me if I was here for the testing, which I confirmed, and then he invited me to "Gay Bingo" at the Hippo, a local gay club here in Baltimore.

I told him thanks for the invite, but I am not really into bingo.

"I Do!" (well, sort of...)

Not many people know about this story, but I was actually married for a while. In my 20's I met this girl I really liked and we decided to take a cross-country road trip to California. On our way out we stopped over in Vegas and thought it would be wild to go to one of those little wedding chapels and get married, you know, just for kicks.

Upon our return to the East coast the reality of what we had done set in. We thought that since we were married we may as well try living together (Because that's what married people do). Well 6 months later we discovered that living together was not a very good idea either, so we went for a divorce.

To this day my parents are unaware of our little adventure.

I've been on the shelf too long...

About once every two weeks I have an evening where my mind will not shut down and I can't get to sleep. I usually end up watching a movie, browsing the net, listening to music, or grabbing some food and making the best of it. During these all-nighters I usually think about life, and death. I contemplate how the knowledge of death as an impending and unstoppable event affects the way I choose to live each day (this probably contributes to the sleeplessness as well... not wanting the valuable minutes of my life to slip away while I lay unconscious).

I wonder why I have done the things I have chosen to do. The choices I have made, or have never made, or need to make. My fears, my friends. I try to focus on what really matters in life and try to remind myself to not get swept up in the rush of meaningless activities which can dominate your waking hours if you allow it. I attempt to recall some of the life lessons I once learned but have since forgotten or neglected. I try to invent a strategy to remember these lessons in the morning and to call on them regularly in the future.

One of the traps I set for myself is the idea that is "too late" to do something. As if there are certain times in a person's life that they are permitted to do particular things. We all learn this in our youth by observing the world around us. We learn there are certain windows in your life where you can live a bit recklessly and irresponsibly. There is a window where you are expected to have children, and so forth. While the chronology is not an exact science, we follow it pretty much by the routine that our parents (and the society around us) demonstrates.

This is a huge trap for me because I regularly beat myself up for not pursuing something that I enjoy, rationalizing that I am now "too old" or that "it's too late to start that now". To become truly passionate about something, truly dedicated and inspired is what, in my opinion, gives life meaning. For most people this passion turns out to be, by default, raising children. Nevermind that you may have lived a half-assed life where you were never truly driven towards passion... nevermind because if you conceive a child the whole world suddenly falls into place and in that split-second you are given meaning and direction. You are a valid, valuable person because of this awesome creation and now have a sense of real purpose and meaning in your life that did not exist previously.

Now, I am not downplaying the value and importance of child bearing. I am simply saying that, because of biological and psychological factors, for the majority of people this is their only means to find true passion towards something... true dedication and commitment to something in your life. The alternative ways of achieving this type of passion are either too difficult or too elusive.

But what about the person who writes music incessantly... practices every day... teaches music... discusses it with others,... performs... so much that it becomes ingrained in to their existence and becomes their identity? Where does THAT type of passion come from? Or the mathematician... or the writer... or the biologist... who devotes so much of their time and existence in to their endeavor that it becomes who they are. This type of passion or dedication is not driven by financial gain or social status... it is not a "job". These people are rare and it is with admiration, respect, and even envy that I witness their existence.

My life does not seem quite complete without this type of passionate endeavor. I want to raise children one day, and I do believe that bearing and raising a child will be a great accomplishment. Perhaps even my greatest accomplishment. Yet I still desire to feel equally accomplished and passionate about other experiences in my life, and my existence will not be "complete" without it.

No wonder I'm single. (Part 2 of an ongoing series)

Sometimes I meet a woman and she looks great and I am totally attracted to her. But this can all change in a matter of seconds if I hear her speak with a raspy voice. For some reason I just can't get over a woman with a raspy voice... they automatically become unattractive to me. Same goes with New York accents, but that may have to do with my hatred towards the Yankees more than anything else.

No wonder I'm single. (Part 1 of an ongoing series)

I have developed a couple of questions that I ask any woman who I potentially may be attracted to or have interest in getting to know. In most cases the answer to the questions allow me to easily recognize if I should put in the time to get to know her better.

One of the first questions that I always ask is: "What kind of music are you in to?". This is a great question because it will immediately tell me what role music plays in her life. If music is insignificant to the person, I can already assume that this is not a person I would want to know beyond a social/casual basis. I do not require that we have the same taste in music, but we must both appreciate it in the same way. By that I mean you must NEED it in your life. It enhances your life emotionally... makes you feel good, makes you think... or even cry. Music is not something that is simply on in the background, it is an integral part of each day.

When asked "What kind of music are you in to?" the most recent responses to my question were as follows:

• "Music... I mean, yeah I have listened to it."

• "I don't know... just whatever."

• "I don't care... anything really."

If you do not like music, we can still hang out and have fun and be friends. We just can't be together forever. Just like people who are "dog people" vs those who could care less... it just instantly tells me something about your personality.

Elusive love.

I tend to fall for the girl I cannot have. My current crush is little-known actress Kate Dollenmayer. Kate starred in a small indie film called "Funny Ha Ha" which was written by a friend/ roommate/ colleague of hers.

So I did a bit of research (I do my best internet stalking after 2AM) and found that Kate is really not an actress at all but an animator and aspiring filmmaker. This makes me love her even more because, had I not thrown a significant portion of my life in to the gutter trying to live up to the expectations of others, I could have seen myself working in film.

Why is it so difficult to find my indie-filmmaker-artist-creative-introspective-smart-funny-cute girl? Is it because she does not really exist?

The Invisible Man.

I am ignored constantly. Just today I was purchasing a pair of shorts, and as I approached the counter I noticed the cashier-girl was folding clothes. We made eye-contact, and in an attempt to be polite and patient I stood there, alone, and waited for her to finish folding. After about 2 minutes I decided to remain silent just to see how long she would continue to ignore me. I even leaned on the counter to imply that I was ready to be helped. Finally a second customer approached the register with a bag full of merchandise to return. The cashier-girl immediately stepped forward to assist her. This all took place with me standing right there if front of the register. After she was finished with the returns, she finally rang-up my shorts.

This is not a rare occurance. This type of thing happens to me regualrly in bars, whether it be crowded with partons or nearly empty. I have taken to using various signals to gain the attention of the barkeep. My first signal is to simply raise my hand, as if I was sitting in a 6th grade classroom needing to use the restroom. When this does not work I have become quite adept at balancing my empty beer bottle/glass on the top of my head until I garner the bartender's attention. One bartender actually became annoyed at me doing this. I explained that were it not for my theatrics I would never get a drink!

Supersize me.

Recently I was in my local market shopping for a few select items... bathroom tissue, paper towels, window cleaner, laundry detergent... when by chance I found myself facing the condom section. I believe I have a few dusty condoms laying around somewhere (in the event I meet the woman of my dreams and fall deeply in love) but one particular box catches my attention. It is labeled "TROJAN MAGNUM". The mad scientist in me figured it would make for an interesting experiment to see if my little guy could fill out one of these things. Let me add that the condoms I have used in the past have seemed a wee-bit on the snug side. So I picked up a box and threw it in my cart.

As I make my way to the next isle I hear someone call my name. I look up and see a good friend (and neighbor) of mine. I look at her, and then we simultaneously look into my basket which at this point contains just one item. We both let out an embarrasing chuckle. I was busted. I secretely thought to myself, heh, what she doesn't know won't hurt me. As we shopped together I made casual jokes about being a virgin and that I was buying these "just in case".

Anyway, on to the experiment. Later that evening I grabbed one of the condoms and proceeded to... well, you know... do those special things that you do when you are alone sometimes late at night. Being single at the moment I did not have anyone available to assist in the procedure. Now, I will admit that prior to this experiment I knew there was little chance of completely "fulfilling" my goal. And while my calculations revealed no surprises, I am confident that a qualified assistant would have been able to help augment the final results.

If anyone out there needs some extra-large condoms let me know. I have 11 that I will not be using.

I'm not gay or anything, but...

Guys are disgusting. A perfect example can be found by examining the men's and ladies restrooms at my workplace (or anywhere for that matter). The ladies room always has plenty of soap, tissue, and paper towels. The sink and floor are clean. At times it even emanates the subtle hint of fresh flowers. The men's room, on the other hand, rarely has paper towels or soap, the floor is usually littered with newspapers, the toilet seat is often wet with urine, and the place smells like... well... like someone just took a dump (sometimes supported with visual evidence).

I guess my confusion lies in why guys find it desirable to live in such a filthy state. I don't piss on the toilet seat, EVER, and if some splashing does occur, I make sure to wipe with a paper towel. I always use the "courtesy flush" technique as to not stink up the place. I wash my hands thoroughly and have a 100% success rate of making sure my used paper towel makes it into the waste can rather than the floor.

And trust me, I'm a guy. I am disheveled in my appearance and consider myself "dressed up" if the tee-shirt I am wearing is clean. I don't wash my hair on a daily basis. I scream at the television when watching my favorite sports teams. I play sports, go camping and fishing, I eat crappy food, and I think good sex is a great thing. I think I qualify! (I am not a fan of NASCAR however).

I have solved this dilemma here at work by using the ladies room on a regular basis.

Lookin' for hair in all the wrong places, lookin' for hair...

I will never forget the time I was getting a haircut and the stylist, without warning, ran the razor across my ear. I asked her what in the F she was doing and she said "Oh, I do that with most guys... you just have some hairs". What!?!? I immediately thought of those old men with hairy ears, and the idea that one day soon I may be one of those men was both shocking and sickening. "Don't worry, they were just light blond hairs" she assured me. But I know all-too-well that with a little nurturing and lack of sunlight, light blond hairs can become dark menacing fibers of death.

Since that time I have been extra particular about checking my body for stray hairs. And sure enough, they were there. An occasional stray hair on my shoulder, the infamous "neck-beard", and of course those nostril hairs that seem to come out of nowhere.

I would say that I am about a 6.5 on the hairy guy scale, with 0 being boy-band material and 10 being Sasquatch. I guess I always thought I was normal, you know, hair on my legs, on the chest, some on the stomach. I keep the neck-beard smooth and the nostrils trimmed. But somehow, it has always kind of stuck with me that I may be a little too hairy.

That was until this past weekend, when I went into a convenience store and the cashier, who was a lady, was sporting a full mustache. I mean, I have some guy friends who could not grow it out like this if they tried. I thought to myself that life was pretty good for me, hairy ears and all.

I enjoy music.

Here is a list of the bands I have seen live at least once. Keep in mind that I don't actually like every band listed, but you know... sometimes you just end up at shows. I will add to the list as I recall others.

THE DANDY WARHOLS
SPIRITUALIZED
THE VERVE
THE STONE ROSES
THE CHARLATANS UK
RIDE
GOMEZ
BLACK FLAG
THE ROLLINS BAND
SCREAM
G.B.H.
THE EXPLOITED
BLACK SABBATH (with Ozzy, Ronnie James Dio, and Ian Gillian)
JUDAS PRIEST
VAN HALEN (w/David Lee Roth)
OZZY OSBOURNE
FOO FIGHTERS
BILLY IDOL
COLDPLAY
FLOCK OF SEAGULLS
HOOTIE AND THE BLOWFISH (I was in a band, we opened for them at Max's in Fell's Point)
ECHO AND THE BUNNYMEN
BAUHAUS
A TRIBE CALLED QUEST
BEASTIE BOYS
RADIOHEAD
SMASHING PUMPKINS
G LOVE AND SPECIAL SAUCE
KC AND THE SUNSHINE BAND
JAMES BROWN
INSPIRAL CARPETS
SOUP DRAGONS
CRACKER
THE CARS
ACCEPT
SAMMY HAGAR
RONNIE JAMES DIO
ERIK B AND RAKIM
BECK
SOUL COUGHING
QUIET RIOT
BLACK REBEL MOTORCYCLE CLUB
KINGS OF LEON
THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS
VIOLENT FEMMES
MAZZY STAR
JACK JOHNSON
DEPECHE MODE
NEW ORDER
THE CURE
B52's
MIDNIGHT OIL
DEAD CAN DANCE
BRENDAN PERRY SOLO
LISA GERRARD SOLO
PETER MURPHY
NINE INCH NAILS
WEEZER
JESUS AND MARY CHAIN
SOUNDGARDEN
PEARL JAM
LUSH
NEW YORK DOLLS
GARBAGE
SOCIAL DISTORTION
LOVE AND ROCKETS
CIRLCLE JERKS
RUSH
SIOUXIE AND THE BANSHEES
THE PIXIES
SKINNY PUPPY
LUSCIOUS JACKSON
TWISTED SISTER
THE RAMONES
THE SMITHEREENS
PRIMAL SCREAM
THE SUGARCUBES
THE SISTERS OF MERCY
RADIOHEAD
MAN OR ASTROMAN?
BABE THE BLUE OX
RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS
COCTEAU TWINS
LOW
GODSPEED YOU BLACK EMPEROR
BLUR
BRIAN FERRY
THE DESCENDENTS
GONE
THE OCEAN BLUE
MINISTRY
STEEL PULSE
BLACK UHURU
ZIGGY MARLEY
DONOVAN FRANKENREITER
THE WHITE STRIPES

And the grandaddy of them all... my first concert ever (I was 10 years old)... KISS (w/ all original members in 1977) with AC/DC as the opening act (w/ Bon Scott on vocals!)

Subliminal Post #1

I met a really hot girl in Boston and I am going to visit her!

Fun Fact of the Day!

I planted a tree in front of my house today.

Everyone needs a Guardian Angel.

This is Bill from Nacho Mamas, always at the ready with a cold Natty Boh. Everything on the menu rocks, and if cheap beer is not your thing a Margarita hubcap should do the trick.

And now what?

Sometimes my friends ask why it is taking me so long to renovate my house. Well, one reason is that during the demo process you encounter things like this.

Charm City my ass.

Today I visited the Baltimore Housing Department for a construction permit. These are the permits you need when doing any kind of construction, renovation, or modification to your home in Baltimore City. I am ripping out an old bathroom this weekend so I figured I would do it by the book and go through the proper channels.

Knowing that I had to do this during my lunch hour so I could return to work, I downloaded the permit application online and had everything filled out prior to my arrival. It was a "take a number" type of system, and with only about 12 people in the place I figured this would be an in-and-out operation.

After waiting about an hour for my number to be called (and enjoying a short nap which included talking in my sleep in front of strangers) my number was finally called. I sat down at a cubicle station with a 300 pound city employee who was moving like she weighed 500 pounds. I did not attribute her lethargic manner to her weight as much as to the fact that she was employed by the Baltimore City Government, an agency which trains it's employees to execute every task in the most inefficient way possible.

I sat down, and this was the conversation:

ME: Good afternoon.

CITY EMPLOYEE: OK, I have your application, it says "Removal and disposal of bathroom".

ME: Yep.

CE: So you are replacing your bathroom?

ME: Nope, I'm just taking it out.

CE: So you are taking it out, and not replacing it?

ME: That's right, I'm rippin' it out just like is says there... I am "removing it and disposing of it".

CE: OK, you need to indicate the cost of the project (pointing to a space for cost estimate, which I had earlier filled in as "$0.00").

ME: I did indicate it right here, see... I put "$0.00".

CE: No you need to put a number.

ME: Well, I am doing the work myself, so it is not costing me anything.

CE: But you need to put a number.

ME: So I took my pen and wrote $1.00.

CE: That's not enough.

ME: But it's actually more than I'm paying, because I'm not paying anything at all. I am doing the work myself.

CE: I don't have time for this. (She says as she stands up and goes to get a supervisor. The supervisor arrives.)

SUPERVISOR: Sir, What are you doing, replacing your bathroom?

ME: Nope, just removing it. I am removing it, and them I am going to dispose of it. Like, you know, throw it away.

SUPERVISOR: You are not going to replace anything, you are just taking it out?

ME: That's correct.

SUPERVISOR: Well how much is this going to cost?

ME: It is not going to cost me anything, I am doing all of the work myself. 100% all me, nobody else.

SUPERVISOR: Well, if you were going to hire someone to do it, how much would you pay?

ME: With a job this small it would be ridiculous to hire someone.

SUPERVISOR: Well if you WERE to hire someone, what would you pay?

ME: Well, I guess I would pay whatever they charged me for the job, but this is my first time doing this kind of work, so why don't you tell me?

SUPERVISOR: Well it needs to be something between $0 and $5,000.

ME: Right! See right here I put $1.00.

SUPERVISOR: Well it needs to be more than that.

ME: OK, well how about 5,000?

SUPERVISOR: That's too much.

ME: OK, um, well... how 'bout 50.00?

SUPERVISOR: OK, 50.00 then.

I spend the next ten minutes watching the CE work in slow motion. She then hands me the approved permit and directs me towards the cashier. I hand my permit to the cashier and she says "That will be $78.00". I hand her my credit card, and she tells me that they only take cash or checks. I think to myself, do people still use, like, paper checks? So I have to leave the building and find an ATM.

Three hours later I am back in my office, blogging away.

From this point forward I will complete all of my work WITHOUT a permit. I understand that if I am found working on my house without the necessary permits the fine will be $1,000. After today's experience, it's a chance I am willing to take.

Will I ever date again?

Seems like everyone is blogging about their dating life these days, so I guess I will blog about mine. You see, I don't date much. One reason is that I am building a house and have no time for legitimate dating. Another reason is that I set a goal of finishing my house prior to becoming involved in a serious relationship. Yet another is that I do not want to date casually, I want my next relationship to be my last (I wanna make some kids 'n stuff). I'm also more selective than I have the right to be. I mean, is it too much to ask for a super-model with a PHD who is funny and athletic and creative???

Despite all of this, I will occasionally make some small effort to get to know new people. For example, a couple of weeks ago I was at a bar during St.Patty's Day weekend and I met a really sweet woman I will refer to as "Shannon". We talked for a few minutes, but since the crowd noise was so loud I suggested that we meet later in the week for a drink in a more quiet setting, you know... get to know one another without all the muckity-muck. (Despite my busy schedule, I still make time to drink). Well, she seemed pleased by my suggestion and offered up her phone number. I called her, twice, that week and only spoke with her answering machine. No call back. Hmmm, now I am no expert when it comes to love and life, but why does a woman willingly offer up her home number and then not respond? She could have easily blown me off by saying that she was already dating someone, or was too busy, or simply was not interested. Perhaps she had second thoughts because she met me at the bar. It seems people have some problem with meeting their "special someone" in such an environment. Heck, I would enjoy telling others that I met my lifetime lover in a bar. Will it be a better relationship if I meet her, let's say, while sailing in the harbor at sunset or walking my dog during the fresh Spring season which is upon us?

Perhaps it was that we had absolutely nothing in common (this seems to bother some people, but not me).

Anyway, if any of you PHD supermodels out there have any advice, hook a brother up!

Did you know?

Did you know that I will refuse to watch a movie which includes any of the following people?

1. Will Smith
2. Adam Sandler
3. Chris Farley

Fun Fact of the Day!

I do not own a microwave oven.

Am I twelve?

Today was kind of a rough day at work. It sucks when you completely enjoy what you do for a living, but have to do it with A-holes. After a gruelling day dealing with the snakes and ass-kissers and robots I decided a few drinks and some cinema were in order. I got it in my head that I was going to see the movie "First Descent".

So I headed to the store for a six pack and then proceeded to the local mega-theatre. I am quickly closing in on age 40, yet still get a kick over the fact that I can walk in to a liquor store and by beer. I get that same tingle in my panties as I did when I first turned 21.

I typically try to avoid the megaplex, but I figured that a 10PM showing of an unpopular movie on a Tuesday evening would not draw too much of a crowd. I was a bit early, so I grabbed some sushi and a few drinks at a nearby Japanese place. The Asian sushi dude had a pretty heavy accent, but everyone called him "Mr.Bob". Some woman at the bar with a heavy Baltimore accent seemed to know Mr.Bob pretty well, and promised to bring him some "deer bologna" and "deer jerky" when her husband returned from his hunting trip. I can just imagine what delicacy sushi-man Bob would whip up with those ingredients! Mr. Bob claimed to be a fan of "boar meat" as well. I guess if you can eat raw octopus brains, anything goes.

Anyway... I stuffed 6 cans of Natty-light into the North Face and headed in to the cinema. Sure enough there were only like 5 people in the whole place. I'm not sure if someone my age should be spending their evenings sneaking beer into a cinema to watch a snowboarding film, but it worked tonight.

Harmonious perfection.

You may think the title of this post refers to a particular lovemaking experience or a finely executed musical performance. I'm sorry but I am referring to that rare occasion that four vehicles approach a 4-way intersection, and EVERYONE FOLLOWS THE RULES OF RIGHT OF WAY!!!

I think I have seen this happen twice in the past 5 years, and it happened to me just last week. It gave me the biggest smile and I was downright giddy for the rest of my travels that day. I swear it was a thing of beauty, yet unfortunately an all too rare occurrence

For those of you out there that believe you are being courteous and good-natured by waving a fellow driver on, whether it be at an intersection or a merging area, you are simply WRONG. If you let another vehicle proceed into traffic when you actually have the right of way, you are inevitably making someone else wait and this totally screws up the flow of traffic! Why do you find this disruptive course of action acceptable? Is it up to you to decide who should wait, and who should be permitted to go? Are you simply unaware that when you are waving on driver A, you are simultaneously causing driver B to be delayed? Instead, why not just follow the rules of right away as outlined in the Maryland Driver's Handbook. You remember, that test you had to pass before getting a license to drive?

If everyone just followed the very simple rules of driving, all traffic would move along at a more efficient pace, there would be less accidents, less delays, and I would not be able to wipe the smile from my face. Please don't fuck it up. Please?

That was quite a month!

During the month of May 2003 the following took place::

• I sprained my ankle and broke a bone in my foot playing basketball, which put me in a cast and on crutches for 6 weeks.

• My girlfriend and I ended our relationship, and she moved out of my house.

• I was rear-ended by a driver who had fallen asleep at the wheel.

• My dog, Franklin, passed away suddenly from an unknown illness.

(It is important to note that I miss the dog more than the girl)

Pray for me.

When I first moved into my house I was greeted by my new neighbors on both sides. They are both elderly ladies, and attend a church located about a block away. Ms. Doris, the eldest of the two, is a very sweet lady who I would guess to be in her upper eighties. As part of her welcoming she invited me and my "wife" to walk to church with her for Sunday services. She had mistakenly assumed that my girlfriend was my wife, because in her mind why else would a young couple like us be living under the same roof? I thanked her for the offer, saying that I would probably not have time with all of the moving and house work ahead.

After moving in I would occasionally see Ms. Doris on her way to church, and for several months she always offered for me and my "wife" to join her. I inevitably would offer some kind of excuse, knowing that there was no way I was going to sacrifice sleeping off hangovers on Sunday morning in order to attend church. After a few months, she finally gave up asking after eventually discovering that my girlfriend had moved out and that we were never really married.

From that point forward whenever I would see Ms. Doris walking to church she would say to me: "I'm on my way to church, and I'm going to pray for you".

Scout's honor, or "Beam me to Hell, Mr.Scott"

I was a member of the Cub Scouts for 2 years when I was young. Well, almost two years. I ended up quitting the scouts after an incident at my house one Christmas.

My younger bother and I would always wake up very early on Christmas morning to see what gifts were under the tree. And each year we were instructed to wait until everyone was awake before opening any gifts. For my brother and I, wake-up time was usually right around 5AM. Obviously this was far too early for the adults, yet as kids we could not contain our excitement and would hurry downstairs to look at the unopened gifts. On this particular Christmas morning I thought it would be a good idea to open just one gift. I don't mean tear into the packaging with the usual reckless abandon, but gently and skillfully remove enough tape to be able to peak into the package and see what toy was waiting beneath the wrapping paper. I instructed my younger brother to open just one as well, and to be very careful so that we could seal the gifts without any visual evidence of our tampering.

I proceeded to open one of my gifts. The one I chose was exactly what I had hoped for... a Star Trek action figure. Yes! I was a huge Star Trek fan and there he was, Mr. Spock. I then knew that the larger box with my name on it was sure to be the bridge of the Starship Enterprise, complete with the captains chair and working transporter room.

As I gently sealed Mr. Spock and returned the packaging to it's original condition, I looked over to see that my brother had ripped open no less than three gifts. There were scraps of packaging everywhere, and I immediately knew we were doomed. What the hell was he thinking? So I grabbed some tape and tried my best to repackage the gifts. We then attempted to hide them behind the tree, deep within the pile of gifts in hopes of camouflaging our pre-emptive celebration.

Finally my mother and her boyfriend were awake. As they came down the stairs I did not feel the zeal and anticipation typical for a Christmas morning. I knew full well that we were going to be found out, and that severe punishment would follow. Sure enough, my brother's ravaged gifts were discovered. Because I had done an acceptable job of repackaging Mr. Spock, my brother ended up looking like the only guilty party. I acted naive, saying that I did not know anything about presents being opened. My brother tried to explain that we had both opened gifts, and that the original scheme was mine. But the evidence was in my favor.

Just to be sure, my mother's boyfriend took all of the Star Trek items from both me and my brother for the duration of one week. We were notified that the gifts would be returned once the truth about our gift opening fiasco was revealed. Not only were our gifts withheld, but we were told that we would be restricted from going out or seeing friends for the week as well.

That following Friday I was scheduled to attend a Cub Scout meeting. I typically went to these meetings with a buddy from the neighborhood and his father, as my parents were not interested in theses types of activities. Even though it was within my week of restricted activities, I asked if I could still go. My mother and her boyfriend said they would let me know that evening, just prior to the meeting. Later that day I put on my scouts uniform, hoping that they would concede and agree to let me go. Just before it was time for me to be picked up, my mother's boyfriend asked for me and my brother to go into our separate bedrooms. He said he was going to ask each one of us to tell the truth regarding the events of Christmas morning. He first went to my brother's room, and I could hear the quiet discussion of their muffled voices through the wall. He then came to my room, holding a brown leather belt. He looked me directly in the eye, and asked if I had opened any of my gifts on Christmas morning, or if it had been just my brother. I knew that if I told the truth not only would I miss my scout meeting, but I would also be getting the business end of that leather belt. I looked at him, straight in the eye, and said "It was just my brother". He stood up, told me to go to my meeting, and left the room.

I then heard him go into my brother's room and slam the door. I sat down on my bed and began to cry as my brother endured a beating of a lifetime. A beating that should have been shared by two brothers but was delivered to one because of my ability to be convincing in my plea of innocence. I sat there with my head in my hands, crying, while listening to the wails of my brother and the slapping of leather on skin.

I decided that night would be my last Cub Scout meeting.

Fun Fact of the Day!

I have never had a cup of coffee.

Crackheads and Cops.

I have a neighbor who does a great job of looking out for others on our block. If anything happens out of the ordinary, she is the first to know about it. Yesterday at around lunch time I received a call from her stating that someone was taking items (scaffolding equipment) from my back yard. She followed the person, and asked if he had my permission to take the items and where he was going with them. Not satisfied with his answer, she immediately called to notify me.

I arrived about ten minutes later and with my neighbor's assistance found my items one block away from my house as two guys were loading them into a pickup truck. I approached the two crackheads and asked who owned the scaffolding. One crackhead answered that he had found it... and I told him "Yeah, you found it in my yard!". Before they could explain further I was on my cell phone to 911, giving them a description of the truck, the tag number, the street, etc. I requested to have an offcer come out as I was in the midst of being robbed. While I was making this call, the larger of the two guys (and the owner of the truck) was trying to interrupt me while the smaller crackhead guy was quickly leaving the scene.

After my call, the remaining crackhead said that he did not know the other crackhead, and that he would be happy to drive my items back to my home. I refused, saying that I would rather have the cops sort it out. He then threatened me, saying that when the cops leave I was going to have to deal with him one-on-one.... a suggestion that I was in for a beat-down. He also said that he did not know it was my equipment. I said dude, you have stolen items in the back of your truck, and I have a witness saying that she saw your crackhead friend steal them. Let's see what the cops have to say about that.

So the crackhead took my stuff out of his truck and set it on the sidewalk. After 20 minutes and no sign of cops I started to think that it might be better if I don't have a crackhead trying to exact his revenge on me for filing a report against him. I finally said, "We're cool, I just wanted my stuff" and let him know that when the cops arrived I would not make a complaint. I was pissed, because frankly I did not even care about the stuff... I just wanted justice.

Well, the crackhead left and I waitied another 30 minutes for the police to arrive. After seeing no sign of the cops, I called 911 to report that it had been 45 minutes since I called 911. The operator told me that she did not see any indication of this in her system, but that all calls are recorded. I told her that I had obtained my stolen items, and that their was no reason to send an officer. This situation was not my first attempt to obtain assistance with Baltimore City Police, and the fact that an officer did not respond to my 911 request was certainly no surprise. Maybe some of you out there BELIEVE, but not me.

Kids say the darndest things.

When I was approximately 10 years old my father took me to visit some friends of his whom I had never met. When we arrived at their home I noticed that something was wrong with the hand of their teen-aged son. He was missing a couple of fingers, and I immediately thought of my uncle who had lost some fingers in a construction accident (his hand was crushed by a some type of heavy equipment). When I saw this kid's hand, I said... "Did your hand get run over by a bulldozer or something?" as it looked very familiar and I was curious if he had suffered the same type of accident as my uncle.

Well, as it turns out his hand was deformed at birth. I did not know what this meant, being only 9 or 10, but realized it was not something I should not have asked about as my father screamed for me to "Get back in the car and wait for me!".

For the next thirty minutes my father finished his visit while I waited nervously in the car. When he returned to the car he explained that I was in a lot of trouble and that he would deal with me when we arrived home. He sped us back to my grandmother's house where my family was visiting at the time. I could feel the tension on the drive home, and dreaded my impending punishment, all the while feeling very confused as to what I had done that was so terrible.

We finally arrived, and my father parked the car on a slightly inclined section of driveway. Still furious, he turned off the car and immediately got out. However in the midst of his anger and haste he had left the car in neutral and it began to slowly drift down the driveway... with me still in the passenger seat. My father noticed this and quickly ran towards the car, placing both hands on the driver's side, trying futilely with all his might to slow down the car which was quickly picking up speed as it continued down the driveway. As the car rolled on I could see the look of terror in his eyes. But rather than being concerned about the fate of the car, my father, or my own safety, I just watched the expression on his face. It was an expression of fear and defeat, guilt and helplessness.

The car continued down the driveway and ended up ramming into a second car parked there. I think I may have had a bit of a smile on my face knowing that my father was now the one in trouble, having to explain to everyone how he smashed two cars in the driveway. Somehow I knew that I was off the hook, and that my earlier comment was not going to be such a big deal after all. I suppose sometimes bad things happen for a good reason.

The path to success.

I am presently leading the glamourous life of a highly regarded graphic designer, but the path to success was not always smooth for this kid born from the gritty streets of DC. Here is a list of jobs that I have had, in somewhat chronological order, from age 15 through my college years:

Pizza Shop: Flipping pizzas with high school buddies. Friends at school would know if I worked the previous night because, even after two showers, I smelled like a pizza shop with extra onions.

Paint Factory: The hardest job in my entire life... one summer in a paint factory doing everything from loading pallets with 5 gallon buckets, to hammering lids on the assembly line, to climbing into huge vats to scrape paint from the inside. The place was 110 degrees every day and full of fumes. My two friends and I were the only white guys, the rest being non-english speaking Hispanics and black ex-convicts from the DC jail system. Highlights included putting paint scrapers, gloves, and rubber mallets into the paint cans on the assembly line prior to hammering on the lids. It was here that I learned to drink 40's with the brothers.

Mattress Delivery Shop: Delivering and setting up mattresses all over MD DC and VA. The original source of my aching back. On one occasion my delivery partner and I were removing an old mattress set from a woman's bedroom and underneath her bed was a cache of sex toys and pornography. I had the feeling she left it all there intentionally, knowing we would discover it when removing her old bed.

Hotel Front Desk Clerk: Checking people in as they came to the hotel. My buddy and co-worker Dave had sex in the hotel with a much older hotel manager. I had a huge crush on the friend of one of the car rental girls. I found out that she eventually began a career working as a prostitute in the hotel lounge.

Telemarketing: I made calls asking college-aged people if they would be willing to take a telephone survey. I often fantasized that the girls on the other end of the line found me charming and engaging.

UPS: Worked loading trucks while in college starting at 3:30AM. Lasted only three days. I quit on the morning I woke to the sound of running water and a flood of 10 inches of water on my floor. The manager said it was not a reasonable excuse to miss work.

Dominos Pizza Delivery: Great money in tips, but can you really put a price on having to deliver pizza to the campus dorms of the college you are attending... while wearing a Domino's uniform???

Ice Cream Scooper: Another college job, scooping ice cream. It totally sucked and I only did it for like a month. Yet another job that gave me exactly a 0% chance of meeting cute girls while in college.

Bingo: Summer in Ocean City collecting change as old ladies played bingo. Usually read books during my shift, and went skimboarding during my mid-afternoon break. An easy job to work while drunk.

Pizza Shop: Flipping pizzas on the boardwalk in Ocean City. Fantasized that the girl with the great smile across the boardwalk working at Dumser's Ice Cream wanted me. She ended up liking my friend Andy instead.

Music Shop: Shuffled and sold CD's at a retail music store. The only retail job I have ever had.

Event Staff: Worked university events such as football games and charity events. Made sure that unauthorized personnel would not go places unauthorized. I only attended 3 events before quitting.

Camp Director: Summer camp for kids during my final year of college. One of the most rewarding and difficult experiences of my life. Earned the respect of the inner-city campers with my abilty to rap most of "What's the Scenerio?" by Tribe Called Quest.

Graphic Designer: Worked my final three years of college in an on-campus design shop. This was a great job with great people, and where I first developed my interest in my current career. Ended up becoming the manager, and at one point hired an employee based soley on her looks.

Some would suggest that these experiences make me a more resourceful person, and helped to develop qualities such as "character" and "perseverance". I say that it creates a bad back, a drinking problem, and disdain for "the man".

"Mountain Man"

During the summer of my last year at college I worked as a Camp Director for the Department of Natural Resources. It was a summer-long camp where each Monday we would pick up a new group of about 25 kids and would have them until Friday. It was a mix of Baltimore City low-income kids along with children from middle and upper-income neighborhoods, ranging in age from 9-12. This made for an interesting new crop of kids each week.

The camp was located on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, and each week we followed a fairly standard schedule with the kids. One day we went horseback riding, another day was fishing and canoeing, and each week we paid a visit to Assateague Island to tour their nature center, hang out on the beach, and swim in the ocean. The day trip to Assateague was always a favorite with the kids. Heck, some of these city kids had never been on a beach or in the ocean their entire lives. You could tell because once they waded into the surf, good luck trying to get them to come out... they were splashing and laughing and having the greatest time.

On one particular trip to the beach at Assateague we were preparing to load up the vans to return to camp. I was hanging back with some of the kids at the public bathroom located there, where a few stragglers were finishing up their showers and rinsing off the salt and sand from their day on the beach. One kid in particular, Leroy, was the slowest of the bunch. He was a big black kid who struggled with his weight, but always had a smile and seemed to be having a great time at camp. All week he referred to me as a "Mountain Man"... I guess because I was white and unshaven, and seemed to know a thing or two about living in a tent. Every time I would launch a canoe or bait a fish hook for one of the kids, Leroy would always be there with a boisterous "See, Mr. Mike is a Mountain Man!"

So Leroy and I were bringing up the rear, making our way through the dunes. Looking ahead I could see that the other kids and counselors were already loaded into the vans and awaiting our return. Suddenly Leroy stops in his tracks, telling me that he had to really use the bathroom. At this point we were midway between the shower facilities and van, and we had no choice but to turn back. Leading the way I encouraged him as he slogged through the sand... "Come on man, you can make it!". Finally he stopped a second time and looked at me as if he was about to cry, saying "Mr. Mike, I'm not gonna make it" and I figured he was going to shit his pants right there. So, putting my hand on his shoulder I said to him: "Leroy, it's time for you to become a Mountain Man." I instructed him to hurry across to the other side of the dune and take care of business, and that I would act as lookout. He seemed shocked at this suggestion but we both knew it was the only option. A few minutes later Leroy appears over the dune, mission completed, with the biggest smile I had seen all summer.

As we began our return through the dunes Leroy proudly exclaimed: "Now I'm a Mountain Man just like you Mr. Mike!"

Danny.

The last meaningful thing I can recall doing with my father was when he taught me to ride a bike. I don't remember my age at the time, I am terrible when it comes to specific dates or chronology and struggle to remember the occasional "highlights" of childhood. Being raised by a single mother often meant looking towards other male adults for guidance. This could include a teacher, an uncle, one of my mom's boyfriends, older kids from the neighborhood, or family friends.

One of the "adults" I would occasionally do things with was named Danny, a friend of the family. He knew my mother and father since they were all teenagers, and stayed in touch with them over the years. He would visit us from time to time, and being a single guy with no children, sort of took me under his wing. He acted more like an older brother than a real adult, but would do things with me that you would think a father should be doing with his son. He took me on hikes, fishing, to Orioles games. He also taught me about music... James Brown, Miles Davis... music that the typical 12 year old kid may not know about.

The only catch was that Danny was really into drugs. He smoked pot regularly, I knew what that was because of my parents own drug use. But he also did other drugs and as a kid I was not quite sure what they were. My parents often referred to Danny as a guy who never wanted to grow up. I guess that's why he enjoyed taking me places and doing fun things. I suspected he was a little different when we were on a fishing trip and he took all of his clothes off and jumped into the river. He also let me drink beer, which he called "cereal in can".

Of all the times we spent together the thing I remember most was being in the back yard playing catch with the baseball. He would let me pitch, and he would kneel down like a catcher calling balls and strikes for me. He never lost his patience when one of my pitches ended up in the dirt and scurried past him, and he would always let out a hearty umpire-like "Steeeeeriiiike!" when I put one right down the middle. He would always tell me afterwards that I had a good arm and that I should ask my coach about letting me pitch. I played little league baseball at the time, and was not very confident when it came to sports. I played first base and batted last in the line-up. The idea of actually requesting an opportunity to pitch was simply terrifying to me as this position was typically reserved for the best athletes on the team. However, based on Danny's encouragement I eventually did gain the confidence to ask the coach for a chance at pitching. My coach readily dismissed this suggestion, but I had never done anything like that before, that is, voiced my opinion or asserted myself to an adult. It was a small incident, yet it was the very first building block in my life of what you may call confidence or courage.

As the years went by Danny seemed to come around less and less. He would occasionally visit our family but I was becoming more independent, eventually moving away to attend college. From time to time I would think of him and wonder what he was up to: If he still loved the Orioles... if he had ever married or had kids of his own. Then one day I spoke with my father and he gave me the news that Danny had killed himself. He used a shotgun to blow off his own head. My father told me that Danny was not able to handle the real world, that he was a kid at heart and did not have the ability to deal with the responsibilties of adulthood. He said that this disillusionment lead to a depression that he could not fight.

My entire life I have always tried to remind myself to not forget that little kid inside of me.

Fuckin' with the Boss.

The owner at my workplace is a real hosebag. The kind of guy who thinks he is smarter than everyone, and will never admit to being wrong about any issue. One of those guys who's business success can only be explained by the fact that he was born with a silver spoon in his ass.

I work in a small department in the company where me and my two partners avoid conversation with the Boss whenever possible. So one day he ventures in to our area to ask if we know anything about ipods. Apparently he wanted to purchase one for his daughter, and figured that since we are in the Graphics Department and have been using Macs since birth we may know something about this crazy new MP3 technology.

Of course we all had ipods the day they were released, in fact one of the designers was listening to one as he was working. We all replied with a "NO" when asked if we had any information about ipods, even though the Boss knows that we all have them and listen to them every day at work. He left, but immediately returned upon hearing our laughter, saying like a little kid: "You guys have them, don't you?" So the designer who was listening to his ipod at that moment said "Yeah, here's one right here"... and the Boss said "Why do you guys do that shit!?!" and he was pretty pissed. He's not the kind of guy who likes to be fucked with, but we feel it is our duty and responsibility.

Shopping advice.

I am in the process of renovating my house. I recently selected a new 36" Jacuzzi tub to install in my new bathroom, and needed assistance picking it up from the local home improvement store. I enlisted my buddy Frank to help me load it on to my truck and then to help me carry it in to my house.

Frank and I arrived at the store and I noticed that the 30" version of the same tub was on sale and could be had for 300.00 less than the 36" model I had previously selected. I got excited, thinking I could save 300.00 by purchasing the slightly smaller tub.

I informed Frank of this price difference and asked his opinion about the whole deal. He said "Dude, when you are in that Jacuzzi with a girl the last thing on your mind is going to be that extra 300 bucks... get the big one".

Sold.

Broken wing.

A little background first. My company has approximately 80 employees. I would say that about 10 employees have college or graduate degrees, while the remaining 70 or so barely suffered through high school. Without getting into specifics, these employees perform what may be termed "blue collar" work tasks.

Today at my office one of the "blue collar" employees, Paul, found a small wounded bird outside and brought it indoors with the hopes of nursing it back to health. I caught word of this, and went to investigate as I too have a soft-spot for animals. I went to the location in the building where the bird was being temporarily kept in a small cardboard box until it could be delivered to a local shelter for recovery. Another "blue collar" worker was nearby, and when he saw me looking into the box, he said:

"Paul thinks he's one of them conservationists, but he ain't nothin' but a damn nigga!" followed by "You white people wanna save the world but us Nigga's know there ain't no savin' shit".

Good luck, little birdie.

FETAL ALCOHOL SYNDROME

During a recent trip to West Virginia I noticed a sign in every bar I entered which read: "Drinking alcoholic beverages while pregnant may lead to birth defects". All drinking establishments in the state are required to post this warning.

It must be working because I did not see any noticeably pregnant women drinking at the bar.

IM chat with DLS

IM chat with DLS: 12/15/04, 3:33 PM (Names edited to protect the not-so-innocent)

DLS: well i just ordered items from victoriassecret.com
DLS: gotta get me excited for baby #2 project

SHAGGYFRESH: no way!
SHAGGYFRESH: i hope they were for (his wife)!

DLS: they were you idiot
DLS: >-@

SHAGGYFRESH: wah?

DLS: >-@ <-- it should be a picture of an angry face

SHAGGYFRESH: do you need to approve that purchase w/ (wife) first, or can you just get what YOU like?!?

DLS: i didn't get anything weird... but we had already talked about it she's into the girly stuff... even tho she doesn't know how to use her femininity!

SHAGGYFRESH: well, vic secret is pretty tame isn'y it? i have not seen that catalog in a long time.

DLS: it is SOOO tame
DLS: i was totally disappointed when i went there

SHAGGYFRESH: well, for you married folk i'm sure anything silkier than a tee shirt is probably pretty hot!

DLS: for me anyway.. but i bet people with girly wives like (another friend's wife) would wear some shit

SHAGGYFRESH: im not so sure... even tho she may score a little higher on the "girlie" scale, i still thin she is so busy being a mom that she does not care about that stuff. it seems to happen with most wives.

DLS: yeah like i was talkin to (another friend) the other day and he was sayin how disappointed he is if he goes down a girls pants and she isnt in a thong...and i'm thinkin... shit, thongs are not what i grew up with i dont understand that whole scene!

SHAGGYFRESH: i know, even my married friends WITHOUT kids are complaing about the sex. im sure with a kid its tenfold.

DLS: if it happens with most wives i hope to hell you are taking mental photographs of what you are doing out there these days... because it ends, my firend!

SHAGGYFRESH: you know how george costanza used to keep a sub in the nightstand, and a remote... shit you may need a laptop under the sheets so you can browse the teen sites!

DLS: why is it that online whenever i see a hot babe she is always czech or hungarian... i think i need to road trip to east europe!

SHAGGYFRESH: i think those girls are the hottest!
SHAGGYFRESH: for real. even when i check out internet girlies those eastern euro chiks are hot!

DLS: yeah why the hell is that? i have no idea

SHAGGYFRESH: dude i do not know.
SHAGGYFRESH: do thos chiks like americans? maybe i should get my ass over there!
SHAGGYFRESH: case in point...
SHAGGYFRESH: check your mail
SHAGGYFRESH: hungarian and a czeck, mate!

DLS: oh yeah... that sophie is a fave! yummers

SHAGGYFRESH: shes magical!

DLS: road trip to hungary!

SHAGGYFRESH: on a philosophical note... what makes a girl who is obviously so beautiful decide to lead a life of porn?
im always stunned when i see this.

DLS: i'm sure it starts out much like drugs... she's a model, not getting big time gigs, someone says, wear this lingerie for $$$ next thing you know you just do more and more and more... until...
DLS: but also, hungary might not have the power economy... like why russian beauties become mail order brides and shit
damn, road trip is right!
DLS: i'm still gonna try and get back over to euro for 2006 world cup... can't think of a better time to meet up with ST
might as well train hop over to prague!

SHAGGYFRESH: whos goin on that trip?

DLS: oh, it 2006... too far to tell.
DLS: but i would love to go.

SHAGGYFRESH: they still play pro soccer?
SHAGGYFRESH: hopefully the international climate will calm down by then!
SHAGGYFRESH: cuz i really wanna take a trip to the euros sometime.
SHAGGYFRESH: eastern european chiks sure make me Hungary!
SHAGGYFRESH: but im not Russian in to anything.
SHAGGYFRESH: i need to make sure i Czeck myself before falling head over heels in love!

DLS: well if you don't go... you 'll be stuck in baltimore Fudge Packin-Stan!
DLS: wear a rubber dude... i hear those euro chicks can be pretty Germany
DLS: I guess Iran away with the good jokes this time! I can hear you out there thinking!

SHAGGYFRESH: dammit!
SHAGGYFRESH: we'll see whos laughin' when IRAQ you in the balls!

DLS: The only chick that's gonna give you any love this week will be "Rwanda" in downtown Baltimore
DLS: But if you are in Africa, be sure not to sleep with any Ghana-reans!

SHAGGYFRESH: At one point someone said that Uraguay, but I replied "Are you Syrias?"

DLS: But when it comes to your lack of a good rap, not matter which country you are in it will always seem like Iceland

SHAGGYFRESH: dammit!
SHAGGYFRESH: At least I won't be hangin out in Pole-land!

DLS: YOu'll be lucky if you see even one girl's Nepal during your trip
DLS: nevermind her Netherlands!

SHAGGYFRESH: Kenya keep up with my puns? I don't think so!
SHAGGYFRESH: Your jokes are Loas-y!

DLS: Yours are pretty good... and I'm Syria!
DLS: It ai'nt cool bein no jive Turkey this close to xmas!
DLS: Uganda start pissin me off if you keep this up!

SHAGGYFRESH: When I asked if you liked boys you said "Yemen"!
SHAGGYFRESH: Then you asked for a "Paraguays"!

DLS: But at least I didn't Spain the sheets
DLS: I don't Bolivia a word of your horsehit

SHAGGYFRESH: I think I'm gonna Taiwan on tonight...

DLS: I think your jokes about me Armenia
DLS: Do I have more jokes? Norway, Jose!

SHAGGYFRESH: Kenya try?

DLS: I Haiti this whole chat session!

SHAGGYFRESH: Maybe if we could Sweden the pot we would try harder to be funny.

DLS: But I guess if you Kuwait a while I'll have a few more

SHAGGYFRESH: Have it Norway.
SHAGGYFRESH: I have gotten so many cold shoulders from women lately, I'm startin' to get Chile!

DLS: Oman, that's gotta hurt!
DLS: I wonder how many of these joke can possible Romania?

SHAGGYFRESH: I may have to go to the Liberia and do some research!

DLS: We've really opened Andorra's box here...

SHAGGYFRESH: I asked my mechanic for an electric-hybrid, but instead he Madagascar...

DLS: Good one!!!!
DLS: I Belize I've used up all my jokes and must work now

SHAGGYFRESH: Italy'd up all of our jokes and have decided there are no more to make.
SHAGGYFRESH: ok dude, have a good one!

DLS: Jamaica funny man, St.Clair!

SHAGGYFRESH: It's time for me Togo.
SHAGGYFRESH: later.

DLS: audi

Baltimore is NOT a "great sports town".

I am completely fed up with people saying that Baltimore is a "great sports town". This is a common statement made by local sports talk radio hosts as well as former Orioles and Colts players. Baltimore lost this designation when two events occurred: 1) The Colts left town for Indianapolis and 2) The Orioles moved from Memorial Stadium to Camden Yards.

These two events were pivotal because when the Colts left Baltimore, the tradition, the stats, the uniforms went with them. The fans of Baltimore, and the city of Baltimore should have petitioned the NFL to keep that legacy intact. A genuine sports town with a rich history and great fans would have never let this happen.

Even bigger than this, however, was the Orioles move to Camden Yards. Instead of baseball we now have a downtown tourist attraction. The fans at Camden Yards are largely uneducated when it comes to baseball. They arrive in the second inning and leave by the seventh. They need signs around the stadium to tell them when and how to cheer. And it is downright embarrassing when the Yankees or Red Sox come to town and Camden Yards becomes the de facto home field for those teams because our fans do not fill the seats!

If Baltimore was ever a great sports town, and I believe it was, it ended in the mid-eighties. New stadiums do not make a great sports town. A recent visit to Fenway for an O's-Sox game was an unpleasant but all-too-clear reminder of what it means to be in a real sports town. Anyone who ever joined in with Wild Bill Hagy's O-R-I-O-L-E-S chant on 33rd knows exactly what I'm talking about.

The birds and the bees.

I guess everyone learns about sexuality in different ways. Some learn in school, some from their peers, some from their parents. I imagine that in most cases it is a combination of the three. I learned about sex from my babysitter. My babysitter at the time was very cute, with very long straight brown hair and brown eyes. I really liked her because she was the new girl in the neighborhood and she did not take drugs like my other babysitters. She also let me stay up as late as I wanted. I can remember her telling me about this great show called "The Twilight Zone" which came on every night at midnight. Before long I was staying up late with her watching these old syndicated episodes. We would turn all the lights off, and I recall it being intense and almost scary to sit there watching the show with her.

One night while we were watching The Twilight Zone, she suggested that we lie down on the sofa. I laid behind her, and as we watched she took my hand and placed it on her waist. I immediately became nervous and excited, and eventually my sweaty hand settled on her bare stomach like it was drawn there by some invisible force. We laid there for what seemed like an eternity and I could not tell you if the television was on or off or if the kitchen was on fire. She then turned towards me and began to kiss me. This was only the second time I had ever kissed a girl, and the first time a kiss ever involved a tongue. But that was nothing compared to what came next. That same invisible force took my hand and moved it upwards, under her shirt and towards her breasts. I laid there, making out with my babysitter and feeling her breasts (over the bra).

This routine continued for several weeks. My mother would leave for work, my younger brother would go to bed, and my babysitter and I would stay up late making out and pretending to watch television. It was not long before she coaxed me to touch her bare breasts with my mouth and eventually my instincts led me to wedge my hand downward between her stomach and tight jeans, where she willingly unbuttoned herself and let me explore as much as I wished. I eagerly awaited her arrival each night, and would even sneak out to walk her home upon my mother's return. I was in heaven, and I was in love.

The end of Summer finally arrived and it was time for her to move back to her mother's house. We would occasionally send letters to one another, my own mother never knowing why I would correspond with a former babysitter. It was the first time I ever felt real heartbreak in my life.

Thank you, Amy McMurray.

Blueberry pie for dinner.

I was raised by my single mother from the time I was about 8 years old. As a single mom, she was required to work many hours in order to support me and my brother. She worked evenings as a waitress in a bar, working very late hours and typically sleeping during the day. This meant that I was usually with a babysitter during afternoons and evenings. In my neighborhood all the teenagers would love to babysit me and my brother because it was well known that they could invite all of their friends over and do drugs safely in our apartment. It was not unusual for me to come home and find several older kids doing bong hits in our kitchen or lines of cocaine from the coffee table. My mother would even leave her drug paraphernalia around the place which I suppose made it clear to my babysitter and her friends that it was OK to party there.

Because of this environment I stayed away, playing with my friends in the neighborhood and whatnot, as much as possible. On one particular evening I was told by my babysitter to be home by 6PM for dinner (our staple was hotdogs and french fries). Now, you can imagine that I was not the most disciplined child in the world, so I decided to stay out a bit later, coming home around 730PM. When I finally arrived I asked my babysitter if I could have something to eat. She told me that I was late, and therefore would not be getting anything for dinner. I begged, saying that I was very hungry and had not eaten since lunch. I then noticed a blueberry pie sitting on the kitchen countertop. I asked if I could have a piece of pie, to which my babysitter replied no. At that point I was begging for something, anything to eat. Finally my babysitter said... "OK, you can have the rest of that pie if you put your hands behind your back, let me smash it into your face, and then you eat it without using your hands". I was so hungry that this sounded like a fair enough compromise. So she smashed it into my face and I had blueberry pie for dinner that night.

I wish I were funnier...

So the other night I went out with some friends for a birthday party. We met at a bar in Fell's Point for many celebratory beers... and eventually ended up in Canton Square. Now, if you have ever been to a bar in Canton Square on a Friday or Saturday night you know that it is part fashion show, part frat house, and part desperate singles night. Anyway, we ended up going into one of the most crowded of bars. I already had plenty of beers in my belly, but immediately felt the need to drink more once I stepped inside (this always happens to me). While my friends waited in line for the bathroom, I stood like a dork in the middle of the crowd drinking my beer. Finally I noticed two girls looking in my direction and waving me over. I slide through the crowd to see if they are truly motioning for me.

"You look funny!" they say.
Do you mean I'm funny looking,.. or do you think I look like I may have a good sense of humor?
"You look funny!"
Ok, want to hear a joke? I just learned some pedophile jokes!
"Sure!"
What's the best thing about dating twenty nine year olds??? There's twenty of them!
(Laughter)
How 'bout a gay joke... Did you hear that 60% of all homosexuals are born that way... while the other 40% get sucked into it...?
(Laughter)

Then the shorter of the two girls made some joke about a gay whale running into a ferry. Then I tried to recall another pedophile joke... something about a clown suit and the kids hands being too small or something... but I was pretty drunk and my already poor memory was worsening with each drink. At this point I was loosing steam fast.

"So, how am I doing?" I said.
"Well, you started out well, but you aren't doing so well now" they replied as they walked away.

I wish I were funnier.


••••••••••••••••••••••• DISCLAIMER •••••••••••••••••••••••
I am not a homophobe, racist, or child molester. The jokes mentioned above are intended to be benign and not to offend any group or individual.

It's the thought that counts.

The woman who lives next door is around 65 I guess and she has lived in the neighborhood her entire life. Her mother, who is 90 and lives next door to her daughter (2nd house from mine), has lived there all her life as well (they tend to do that around here).

Well, my neighbor's Mom had not been doing very well health-wise for some time. And then Saturday evening I notice an ambulance outside of her house. While I don't see my neighbor, I do see her mother being put into the ambulance and she does not look very good. I inquire with the EMT and he said "She's done" which I took to mean, ummm, done with this world. So I knock on my neighbor's door (her daughter) to see if she needs anything, but she must not hear me.

So the next morning I wake up and go buy a card and flowers, well the flowers were so expensive so I just went for the sympathy card. In it I wrote "I am very sorry for the loss of your mother, if there is anything I can do please do not hesitate to call."

Well today I get a call from my neighbor, saying that she really appreciates the lovely card and sentiments, but that her mother is alive and well. It turn out she was sick, but not actually dead. Despite what the medic guy told me! So anyway, she is a very religious woman and said that she believes my card will bring her mother enough luck to live until 100.

I guess it's the thought that counts.

Let the blogging begin!

I'm going to blog. Not only will this be a means to avoid work and expound on things that are of little interest to the general public, it will also serve as sort of a written documentation of my life and a "process of sorting out". Maybe I just want to hear myself talk. Maybe I want someone to give me advice or ideas. Maybe I am simply trying to avoid work.

Be prepared for my candid observations (both sober and drunken) regarding love, sex, music, Baltimore, dating, graphic design, work, fun, sports, home renovation, religion, bars, children, marriage, movies, relationships, politics, and so much more.

A special shout-out goes to Jennetic (see links on the right) for getting me hooked.