Nothing new going on really. A few funny things have happened recently. Not haha funny. More like yikes funny.
One day last week the blind woman that makes the same Metro commute I do got on the train right as the doors were about to shut. I had long since sat down, and someone sat next to me in the aisle seat. This woman (who I once saw trip another young girl with her cane/stick/poker thing at the L'Enfant station- awesome) makes it onto the train and tries to fumble for a seat. Nobody gives her one. How classy is that? So she has to try to find her way down the aisle with her poker and she ends up just fucking ringing her head on the center pole. I mean, it sounded like a fucking church bell. I couldn't help it, I laughed. But come on, it was pretty funny. Of course I know I'm going to hell, but no way I can be as bad as the people who couldn't be bothered to let her have their seats. But wait, I did immediately wonder if maybe she hit her head so hard that she could see again. Okay, maybe I'm just as bad as the rest of them.
The other day at work I (and everyone else in the company, inappropriately) received an email advertising a pair of tickets to see the Indigo Girls at Wolf Trap. I was on the phone with Baby at the time, so I asked her in my always inappropriately loud voice if she wanted them. Baby likes one female singer. Joan Jett. That's it, that's the list. Indigo Girls is not exactly her thing, but we had a laugh because neither of us knew the Indigo Girls were even still alive. The following day the girl that sits directly across from me was telling a friend who dropped by how much she loved the Indigo Girls show last night and, like, oh my god thank you so much for the tickets!
I had extra tickets to the Nats game on Sunday and nobody to go with. So I screwed up my courage and went by myself. I have never been to anything like that (including movies) by myself before, so this was quite an accomplishment for me. I celebrated by selling my three extra tickets for beer money and drinking by myself in beloved Section 470. Not long after I sat down the people who ended up buying my tickets from a scalper showed up. We shared a laugh, and the woman with them swore she knew me from somewhere. After a lot of guessing it turns out she's seen me at the Black Cat before. No shock there. I spend most of the afternoon talking to her fiance, but a good deal of the time speaking with her as well. They've both very nice. As the game ends we're all pretty drunk, and we shake hands and exchange nice to meet yous. She then kisses me on the cheek. Awkward! This woman isn't European, and we're at a baseball game and sweating, not in some hipster hang out. I had no idea what to do, I was literally paralyzed. And from the look on the fiance's face, he wasn't stoked either. What the fuck was that all about?
At the same game I stumbled to the bathroom and somehow ran into the latch that they must apparently sometimes use to lock the entire bathroom. I use this bathroom 20 times a week, and I'd never noticed it before. It's on the outside door that leads into the concourse, and it's jagged and rusty. It took a chunk out of my arm. I am, without a doubt, dying of hepatitis and lord knows what else. Seriously, every time I think about it I want to pass out.
News reports came out yesterday warning that the drug I take to treat my leukemia causes congestive heart failure in a small number of people who take the drug. Because hypochondriacs with leukemia got nothing else to worry about. Concerned friends sent me the news articles all day. Luckily for my hypochondria, the symptoms of congestive heart failure include really distinct things like being tired and sometimes coughing. Each time a new email came in I climbed a little further out on the ledge. But then my dad called me to tell me he'd heard that my drug might cause congestion, so I should be careful. Thanks pops, good looking out.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Friday, July 14, 2006
Midget Porn, While Awesome, Is Not For Me. Thanks Though.
Baby made a very astute observation the other day. "All your friends are assholes" she says. Short, direct, and absolutely true.
At some point, many years ago, some still-unknown friend put my name and address on some porn mailing list as a joke. And not good porn, either. We're talking low budget, weird stuff. Midgets, old ladies, pregnant ladies, she-males- you name it. If it people whack off to it, they sell it. Awesome. Mind you, we used to do that stuff all the time. Wait, not whack off! Ok yeah, I guess we did ('did,' who am I kidding?) do that all the time. But no, about the mailing lists. I can't even imagine the postage on the metric tons of filth I had delivered to the fathers of all the girls that ever dumped me. But the statute of limitations has passed on that (almost), and anyway that's probably untraceable.
Back to the story.
So periodically I get these gnarly fliers and print catalogs that have pictures of the covers of all these movies. They come in a thin, paper envelope that I'm sure is deliberately just see-through enough for you to be able to tell there is dirty shit going inside. Even better, there is a customer number right above my name and address on the mailing label. This gives the appearance that I've purchased something from them in the past. Nice touch, but everyone knows that only amateurs actually buy porn. Why do you think God invented the interweb?
Anyway, these catalogs have found me everywhere I've moved. Because they're in the envelopes I guess they get the forwarding orders. It's honestly been like 8 years by now. If I don't have hepatitis just from handling the fucking things it's going to be a miracle. You'd think they'd give up as I never buy anything. But nope, I guess they're waiting for that one particularly hot cover shot of Pregnant Bitches to spur an impulse buy. Thankfully I've held out so far.
They were a nuisance enough when I lived alone. But now that Baby goes through the mail I've decided I need to get rid of these once and for all. I made that decision when Baby opened one and spent the next twenty minutes critiquing the pictures. I decided that if Baby can't make midget porn hot, nobody can. Plus if she gets hooked on this stuff that just can't end well.
So I called up the phone number that's on the front of the envelope, but it went right to voicemail. And by voicemail, I mean some dude's answering machine. No chance I'm leaving a message. So I went to their internets. Lo and behold they have all kinds of good porn on the website. These girls are cute. And not pregnant. Why the hell don't I get catalogs full of this stuff?! What kind of fucked up mailing list did someone sign me up for? "No, no, bryc3 doesn't like hot chicks. He likes fatties." God damn it.
I find a "Comments" form and send them an email. "Dear So and So, please remove bryc3 from your mailing list because he's dead. Thanks. But PS, his surviving relatives wouldn't mind getting the hot chick porn catalog. And does he get some kind of long-time member discount?" Just kidding about that last part. Except not really.
I never got a reply to that email, but I haven't received any new catalogs, either. Baby did call a locksmith and had a special doorknob placed a few feet below the one on our front door. I wonder what that's all about.
At some point, many years ago, some still-unknown friend put my name and address on some porn mailing list as a joke. And not good porn, either. We're talking low budget, weird stuff. Midgets, old ladies, pregnant ladies, she-males- you name it. If it people whack off to it, they sell it. Awesome. Mind you, we used to do that stuff all the time. Wait, not whack off! Ok yeah, I guess we did ('did,' who am I kidding?) do that all the time. But no, about the mailing lists. I can't even imagine the postage on the metric tons of filth I had delivered to the fathers of all the girls that ever dumped me. But the statute of limitations has passed on that (almost), and anyway that's probably untraceable.
Back to the story.
So periodically I get these gnarly fliers and print catalogs that have pictures of the covers of all these movies. They come in a thin, paper envelope that I'm sure is deliberately just see-through enough for you to be able to tell there is dirty shit going inside. Even better, there is a customer number right above my name and address on the mailing label. This gives the appearance that I've purchased something from them in the past. Nice touch, but everyone knows that only amateurs actually buy porn. Why do you think God invented the interweb?
Anyway, these catalogs have found me everywhere I've moved. Because they're in the envelopes I guess they get the forwarding orders. It's honestly been like 8 years by now. If I don't have hepatitis just from handling the fucking things it's going to be a miracle. You'd think they'd give up as I never buy anything. But nope, I guess they're waiting for that one particularly hot cover shot of Pregnant Bitches to spur an impulse buy. Thankfully I've held out so far.
They were a nuisance enough when I lived alone. But now that Baby goes through the mail I've decided I need to get rid of these once and for all. I made that decision when Baby opened one and spent the next twenty minutes critiquing the pictures. I decided that if Baby can't make midget porn hot, nobody can. Plus if she gets hooked on this stuff that just can't end well.
So I called up the phone number that's on the front of the envelope, but it went right to voicemail. And by voicemail, I mean some dude's answering machine. No chance I'm leaving a message. So I went to their internets. Lo and behold they have all kinds of good porn on the website. These girls are cute. And not pregnant. Why the hell don't I get catalogs full of this stuff?! What kind of fucked up mailing list did someone sign me up for? "No, no, bryc3 doesn't like hot chicks. He likes fatties." God damn it.
I find a "Comments" form and send them an email. "Dear So and So, please remove bryc3 from your mailing list because he's dead. Thanks. But PS, his surviving relatives wouldn't mind getting the hot chick porn catalog. And does he get some kind of long-time member discount?" Just kidding about that last part. Except not really.
I never got a reply to that email, but I haven't received any new catalogs, either. Baby did call a locksmith and had a special doorknob placed a few feet below the one on our front door. I wonder what that's all about.
Monday, July 10, 2006
What Do You Mean I Grab Your Butt Too Much? I LOVE You!
Maybe I'm weird. Maybe I'm a jerk and a pervert and disrespectful. Maybe I have problems. Or maybe I'm normal. I honestly don't know.
Doesn't everyone else grab their girlfriend every chance they get?
Not in public. Not in front of her parents or our friends. Not in her nono parts. But definitely in our apartment, often about her curves, and always when I haven't seen her in a while. I simply cannot keep my hands off of her.
It doesn't bother her. She teases me about it. She thinks I'm weird and she laughs and tells me to keep my hands to myself. But she doesn't get mad, or push my hands away. I think she secretly likes the attention, and like I said it's not overly sexual or suggestive.
Yet the other day I playfully suggested I would write in my blog to ask if this was normal behavior. She was all for it. Am I weird? Do you do this with your girlfriend? Does your boyfriend do that with you? Is it good? Bad? Do I need therapy? Am I some kind of sex pervert?
Is this the kind of thing she's going to tolerate while we're happy, and fucking hate when we're not? One of those idiosynchrasies you think are cute when you're in love, but make you want to cut yourself when the relationship goes south? Or will I, as she suggests, get tired of the grabbing? Do you ever reach the point where you think, meh, my girlfriend's boobs are ok, I guess...? Will I be seventy years old, puttering around the house waiting for her to bend over so I can pat her on the butt?
Well?
Doesn't everyone else grab their girlfriend every chance they get?
Not in public. Not in front of her parents or our friends. Not in her nono parts. But definitely in our apartment, often about her curves, and always when I haven't seen her in a while. I simply cannot keep my hands off of her.
It doesn't bother her. She teases me about it. She thinks I'm weird and she laughs and tells me to keep my hands to myself. But she doesn't get mad, or push my hands away. I think she secretly likes the attention, and like I said it's not overly sexual or suggestive.
Yet the other day I playfully suggested I would write in my blog to ask if this was normal behavior. She was all for it. Am I weird? Do you do this with your girlfriend? Does your boyfriend do that with you? Is it good? Bad? Do I need therapy? Am I some kind of sex pervert?
Is this the kind of thing she's going to tolerate while we're happy, and fucking hate when we're not? One of those idiosynchrasies you think are cute when you're in love, but make you want to cut yourself when the relationship goes south? Or will I, as she suggests, get tired of the grabbing? Do you ever reach the point where you think, meh, my girlfriend's boobs are ok, I guess...? Will I be seventy years old, puttering around the house waiting for her to bend over so I can pat her on the butt?
Well?
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