Archive for September, 2006

The roommate and I were talking via email today about her pinning down a date for when she moves out.

She wrote:

You want a date so you can mark them off on the wall like they do in prison?

I replied with:

no.

I want to plan it so when every day i come home, i’ll walk around with one less piece of clothing. so by your last day, i’ll just be wearing boxers.

when you see me just wearing boxers, you’ll know what I have planned for the next day.

you have been put on alert.

Which she said:

Hell, why not make the last item of clothing your nipple clamps. Scare me out of the house that night.

(how she knows I own those, I have no idea).

I replied:

I’ll just walk around like Jame Gumb.

“IT PUTS THE LOTION ON ITS SKIN OR IT GETS THE HOSE AGAIN!”

She ended it with:

Oh God.

I’ll move now. I don’t want to see your ‘gina. I don’t care how pretty you pose.

For the record, I pose very pretty. 😡

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Today was the official start of football season.

Yes, I realize we are the third week in, but today was the first game of the season that my dad and I watched at the bar, the Redskins first win, so, for me, the official start of the season.

My dad shows up to my house around 12ish, and we left for the bar not long after.  I love the bar we go to because it's one of the few bars up my way that supports the Redskins.  While it plays every game, the big screen is always reserved for the 'Skins, and it always gets a good crowd.

Which leads me to the point I'm writing this:

Is it too much to ask for women to stay home on game day?

There is no reason for a woman, who's not a football fan, to go to a sports bar on game day

Listen, ladies, if you are going to the bar because you think your boyfriend wants you there, you're wrong.  He doesn't.  And, if he does, he has problems.

If you are going to the bar because you can't let your boyfriend/husband out of your site for more than 5 minutes, you have problems.

And if you're going to meet men, well, you'll be better off until waiting until the game's over.  I've met one or two women at bars while The Game is on, but, honestly, I didn't spend too much time talking to them.  Priorities.

If you are going to watch The Game, by all means, go!  Because it's women like you who don't irritate the piss out of me.  You'll understand, relate to and even join in the excitement that happens while watching The Game.

See, when I watch football, I get loud.  I yell at the TV, I hoot, I hollar, I high five.  I really get into the game.  The last two women I lived with would actually leave the house on game day if I didn't go to a bar.  God bless them.

But, for some reason, women who go to a sports bar on game day don't like it when someone, God forbid, gets loud when their team does well.  Or not-so-well.  Or plays football.

Today, as I was enjoying the game, there was a woman standing behind me who appeared to be waiting for someone.  Well, scratch that.  I realized there was a woman behind me waiting for someone when  that someone came in the door and she waved him over to where she was standing.  I probably would have never even noticed that if her hand hadn't moved in my peripheral vision.

Anyway, he walks over and they chit-chat a bit when I hear her say, "I don't know if we want to stand here.  He's loud and cheers a lot.  Plus he jumps up a lot."  Okay, in her defense, she wasn't snotty about it.  She was simply making a suggestion.  But, in my defense, by "jumps up a lot", I'm fairly certain she meant "slides out of his chair and cheers his team."  Plus, I'm at a sports bar on game day.  That's what guys do.

But she didn't piss me off.  She just slightly irritated me.  I'm fairly certain my eyes involuntarily rolled.  But, like I said, she wasn't snotty.  Not like the last time it happened.

Last season, my dad and I were at the same bar and I was showing the same exuberance.  A woman in the table in front of us turned around at one particularly joyous occasion (be it a touchdown or interception) and said, "Would you mind keeping it down, some?  You're really loud."

What the fuck?  I'm in a SPORTS BAR on GAME DAY.  Did she expect a fucking tea party?

I stared at her for a beat, determining what to say.  I looked at her boyfriend, determining what to say.   What he said surprised me.

"I'm really, really sorry."   He said to me.  

Then he looked at her.

"You are so embarassing.  Lets go.  Now."

He got up and headed for the door.  She gave me a dirty look, as if it were my fault she was an idiot, and followed him.

I have to hand it to the dude.  He balled up.  No doubt he got cut off for that little maneuever, for numerous, nonsensical reasons.  But he did the right thing and took one for the team.

So, ladies, on game day, unless you are a football fan, do all sports fans a favor and stay out of the sports bars. 

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Wow, I've been busy as hell, and I have yet to knock out this Cali trip.  Blame Ace.  I got the idea from him when he went to Hawaii.

Saturday, my second to last day in California, Steve and I checked out of the hotel about 9:30 or so, and hit the beach before we rolled out.

Unfortunately, it wasn't a very populated beach, but we were hanging out with a couple of our friends from other offices, so it was still a fun time.

We grabbed some grub and hit the 101 about 11:00 for our journey to L.A.  Actually, we were heading to just south of L.A., but that's irrelevant.

Driving the 101/Pacific Coast Highway was something that has been on my "list" forever, and it did not let down.  The entire drive took about 6 hours (stopping at about every exit to grab some photos), and it seemed to fly.  I'm not only glad I did it, if given the chance, I would do it again in a heartbeat.  There's something insanely amazing by seeing mountains on both sides one minute, then the Pacific ocean exploding into view, right beside you, the next.  An awesome, awesome road trip.

Steve wanted to go to a particular phone store before we hit the hotel (and before the phone store closed) because they had some stellar deals on cellphones, and I was completely cool with that.  I'd seen, and done, everything I had accomplished to, and if he needed to get some stuff done, who was I to stop him.

While we were outside the phone store,  Steve mentioned that there was a bikini coffee shop somewhere around the area, but he didn't know where it was.  I went inside and asked.  Steve laughed at the fact that I had no shame asking where it was.  I said I had priorities.   It so happened that the place we were looking for was in the same shopping plaza as where we were going to eat, so that worked out perfectly.

Oh, did I mention I was in an area called "Little Saigon?"  According to Steve, Little Saigon has a higher population of Vietnamese than the Vietnames population in Maryland, DC and Virginia.  Combined.  Little Saigon my ass.  With all those Asian women I was seeing, I dubbed it Big Heaven.

We decided to hit the coffee shop first.  

Oh.  My.  God.

"Bikini Coffee Shop" is a misnomer.  It should be called "Sexy Lingerie Coffee Shop."  

We went in.  We sat down.  And we were served.  By Asian women in lingerie.  Dear Lord.  By the time we left, my eyes were hurting.  Sure, coffee was $4 a cup.  But well worth it, if you ask me.  A bargain, even.   I don't go to strip clubs, but if there were one of these coffee shops around my way, I do believe I'd have a new favorite place for java.

Unfortunately, there was a "no picture" policy at that place.

Dammit.

After we left the coffee shop, we ate, then hit the hotel where it was a pleasent surprise to find that the room had two beds.

I checked some email, checked the site, and went to bed.  Woke up at 9, hit the airport, got on my flight, told the girl who asked that, no, I don't care how hot you are, I'm not swapping seats with your boyfriend because there's no way in hell I am sitting in a middle seat for five hours, got home and went to bed.

beach2.jpg

Still at Pismo Beach.

reststop.jpg

Even the rest stop was scenic!

beach.jpg

Some picture turnoff exit thingy.

lookcliffs.jpg

Those there are cliffs.  Or something.  Yes, I'm a tourist when it comes to pictures.  No shame.

imturningjapanese.jpg

Some other turnoff picture taking thingy.  I think my eyes still hurt from the coffee shop. 

And that was my trip to California.

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So, last Friday was the wedding.

What I forgot to mention in the last post is when we got to the hotel in Pismo, it was another king size bed to share.  This one I can't complain too much, as we made our reservations way late, and Pismo Beach is a touristy town, after all.

Oh, and being on the road for six hours, you will get a sunburn if you hang your arm out the window.  So, after evening out, I arrived at the show with my right arm all red and my left arm all tan.  Thank God I wore a suit.  I made sure to tell Steve I was driving to LA on Saturday. 

The wedding was cool.  It was easily the most scenic wedding I've ever been too.  It was an outside wedding, right on the cliffs, and I gotta admit, that would be a stellar place to get married.  Mike (the groom) and his wife picked a perfect spot.

The reception was awesome.  Two words.  Open.  Bar.  Okay, so the liquor was a cash bar (which I COMPLETELY understand.  Fuck paying for food AND mixed drinks for a buncha freeloaders), but the beer they had, Firestone, was awesome.  I first tried Firestone a year or two ago and Denver, and found it quite yummy.  I haven't been able to find it on the East Coast, so having unlimited access to it was a pleasent surprise.  One in which I took advantage of.  A lot.

After many beers, I got pulled out to the dance floor, where I proceeded to get my groove on.  I do like to cut a rug now and then, but I'm really particular about the music that has to be playing when I'm dancing.  Unless I'm drunk.  I was pretty lit.

Too soon, the reception was getting shut down, and Steve and I headed to our co-workers hotel for a couple more drinks.  Steve didn't want to go, but they had already bought beer for us, and I told him two more (which I kept my word on).  I figured two more would put me right at that edge where I would immediately fall asleep once I hit the bed, and with Steve's loud ass snores, I'd need it.

After the beers, we headed back to the room, where my plan worked perfectly.  I slept like a baby.

The next day, we checked out at about 9:30ish, hit the beach, then hit the road.  The 101.  To LA.  Oh.  Yeah.

wedding2.jpgSteve and I.  I'm surprised I wasn't at the bar.

Socrates says Contemplating life's mysteries.

wedding5.jpg I'm a romantic at heart.  That white stuff is bird shit.

wedding4.jpg A bird.  Possibly one that helped make those rocks white.

wedding6.jpg Sunset.

wedding7.jpg Same sunset, different postition. 

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