Miss me?

Yeah yeah. I know, I started work and my blogs disappeared. Not exactly, I just like to have time to myself doing things like watching pornography and playing video games and constantly, constantly eating. Then there's the gym and that stupid waste of time called sleep and add on the new work schedule- I'm lucky I have time for porno.
Anyway, figured I'd take us back in time. Back to Friday night, a fateful night that included a house party with some people we know, and a ton we don't know... at all. Lots of booze equals a ton of slutty shit going down, we all know that. But it's way more fun to bright it all into the light.

So the night starts with some pregaming at our apartment. Pregaming means about five beers or so, and I had to take two shots of Jager to wash it down. So we were all feeling good, and ready to rock out with our cocks in. So we show up, and the party looks pretty good. People outside with a keg, beirut going on inside, and scantily clad women scattered about, some spoken for, some begging to be spoken to. Of course, we all crowded ourselves together in a little circle to start and talked about whom we were already dreaming about having intercourse with, followed by giggles and the sad realization none of that was going to come true. We split up and moved about, I found myself in the beirut room when the Hypnotiq came out. Now it's not that strong, nothing special, but it tastes pretty good. And apparently the women loved it, because they cashed that damn bottle in about three minutes. And I had some poured at least near my mouth, didn't help me stay sober. And lo and behold, another bottle followed quickly. And by followed I mean was tossed around and sucked on like a hose in the desert (I'll keep it clean) Then it was someone's genius idea (she was female) to start trying to pour Peppermint Patty shots again, after everyone was heavily sauced. This caused most of the chocolate syrup to go anywhere it wanted but in the mouth, at least I avoided that.

The biggest problem of the night was that there was only one bathroom and I heart peeing. Oh and Mr. Brown showed up. Many of you do not know Sasanka, hopefully at least a few of you are scared and will never deal with him. Trust me, he's a great kid... when sober. But look out when he gets drunk, or at least don't answer your phone. It's like the Ring, if you answer the phone, you're pretty much going to die. Not only does he call anyone and everyone he knows, he gets obnoxious, says stupid shit he pretends not to remember, and likes to be an ass. Seriously, way worse than a female drunk dialing her ex boyfriends to tell them about their tiny penii long after the fact. Answering his drunken phone calls is like setting off a tornado wherever you are. So he shows up to the party, and somehow is still composed. But he is accompanied by a friend of ours who wears out his Yankees hat everywhere he goes. I commend him for the pride, but we live in Boston. Not really a big hit, especially around a bunch of random drunk guys, already angry that we have now come to take over their hopeful hookups. Anyway, onward.

I'm blurry with some of the details so bear with me. All I know is the kitchen was suddenly Chock Full o' Cock, and some sloppy female walked in. I don't know if I smelled like bacon or what, but she came right over to me. And in the background, Jimmy my roomate starts giving me the "haha fat bitch wants you" look. You would know the look a mile away. I'm grinning but giving him the "fuck you, HELP ME" eyes. No such luck, he instead decides to get everyone to go outside. This is where it gets fun.
I don't even know the girl's name, I don't want to know. She comes up uncomfortably close to me. Realizing the kitchen is now empty, and I'm cornered.. I try to scare her away.
"So, how about we go fuck?" I say, hoping she will slap me and run away. No such luck.
"Sure, there are four bedrooms here" Says chunky, dreaming of me as different cuts of meat. So I go a little farther
"Nah, someone will walk in, let's go outside in the bushes"- Mind you, it's raining. This will have to work. No self respecting girl, within five minutes of meeting me, will hump me in some bush in the rain.
"Okay, where?"
Fuck...

Alert, alert, alert. Luckily, I had a way out. Seeing the chocolate syrup, I assume she is going to swallow it whole. Instead, she pours it all over her breast. I mean all over, if I wanted to eat that it would have been a three course meal.
"Oh no, how am I going to clean this up?" She asks in her innocent but still rather unattractive way.
Think Dane, think. I look to my right, nothing there but a fridge blocking me in. I look out in the hallway hoping someone will come see this. Did she really pour chocolate sauce all over her titty in public, hoping I would give a suck? Christ, this is weird. I'm almost turned on, then I open my eyes again and realize it isn't Charlize Theron.


Bingo. To my left is a stack of paper towels that were acting as bibs for the shots. You don't have to believe me, but I have no reason to lie about this. I tore one off and handed it to her. Apparently she still thought I was into her, because she then pulls her breast out into the open air to wipe it off. I vomit a little, but so little I can choke it back down. Luckily someone comes in and I run away laughing and puking and hoping she isn't giving chase. Some other slob got her leftover horniness and was trying to get with her in bedrooms later on, what a schmoe.

Rest of the night involved breaking up an almost fight with the Yankee cap versus five-six Sox fans; followed by him making out with a random girl that lived there. Only problem with that was, she didn't want it, and her boyfriend was three feet away. I broke up fight numero dos and we left. But we didn't go home. Nope.

We went to my friend's house that had left early to go to sleep and tried waking him up. He never locks his door, which makes it easy. Anyway, we storm in there like a fucking SWAT team, thinking we are the coolest dudes ever. We might have been, who knows. We find an open 30 pack, time to drink more. I run up and bang on his door, but he is too busy telling me to leave to answer the door. That's fine, we stole a few more things and went back to our kingdom where the night ended as the sun almost peeked out.


Good times.

Questions Questions Questions

Don't get me wrong, I am the one who preaches ignorance is stupidity- which breeds the theory that being inquisitive is the only way to live life. But being on Myspace and talking to random people a lot because of it does lead to one thing: tons of fucking questions. Some questions and good, interesting, easy, and spark conversation. Others are not. Others are annoying and unnecessary, and I will actually feel myself getting aggrivated as I type out the answer. Haha, yes, this does go completely against my patience preaching, but shutup I hate you.

Of course, the only way to get to know someone, be it a friend or lover, is by asking questions. Not everyone opens up easily- apparently I like to lay a lot of things out on the table and see what you pick at. Some people you really have to probe to get into his/her head, and find out what drives him/her (note: I am sticking to him the rest of this blog because that gets damn annoying to read and you know I am not a chauvinist. Oink oink baby)

Point is, some people ask a lot of questions. Too many questions even. And the way to start off knowing someone, finding out more about them, shouldn't be a barrage of questions, almost making me sweat. I shouldn't feel like I am hiding something that you are digging for, that just gets weird. Normal conversation should flow, mixed in with questions here and there to clarify and make a better point. But no, not everyone follows those rules. Sometimes I have to wonder, does this person even give a shit what the answer is? Small things, like you just start talking to me, and ask if I have any brothers or sisters. Okay... WHY? Why do you give a shit? Unless you are a guy, and you want to be a smartass and ask if I have a hot sister, what's the point? Do you think you have the only child stereotype pegged- to a T? C'mon now. Yes I have three half sisters, no I don't know them well and no I never lived with them. Want me to explain the dynamic of the parents and why they are half sisters and who belongs to whom?

My job is random and complicated to explain, and I'm going to guess 93% of people who ask about it, know nothing about the insurance industry, don't know a damn thing about their own car insurance, or even most things about car insurance in general, and will have no further enlightenment after I waste my time explaining. My close friends, I can understand them taking an interest. But someone who randomly IMs me because I seem funny on Myspace, and asks all about my job, what the fuck do they care? Seriously.

All I'm saying is, questions are fine, but pick and choose what and how you ask. Someone just asked me if there was a reason why I typed what I did for my profile on Myspace. HOW THE HELL DO YOU ANSWER THAT? I am more confused as to how that question went from her senses, mostly the eyes, to her brain, was formed into a hmmmm and able to travel into her fingers to type that out and hit enter. It's not even a dumb question, it just doesn't make any sense. Yes I was inspired by watching Rocky IV the other night. So inspired I labored for days to make sure my profile didn't suck as much as that movie.

CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT! And our chances at a conversation.

An adventure in Taco Bell

As my friend calls it, a magical land that is a melting pot of society

Some shit like that. Taco Bell is amazing. Not so much for the food, but definitely the atmosphere. You always know what you are getting into- normally a sloppy mess with fire sauce all over the place and creepy people to stare at when they aren't staring at you. But it seemed like a good idea for the hangover, so I went along. First there was a little sign that said no credit or debit cards. Only one of us had cash, we had to make it cheap. The woman taking our order was named Mangina, or something close enough that you could call her that and she would answer. She gave us an EIGHT cent discount as well, she must have wanted to sleep with my friend. While Adam and I are waiting to get our food, Bob already has his, and goes and finds a seat. This was a completely empty Taco Bell, so every seat was open. He sits in the corner by the window. He had one of those crunch wrap supremes. It wasn't crunchy, didn't look like it was good to go. I was not impressed. Some creepy old woman, who only ordered a soda, proceeds to go and sit at the table directly next to us.

And so it begins. The whole place was EMPTY, and she didn't even order any food. Maybe she wanted to bang, maybe she wanted to strangle us- who knows. They didn't have any wild Mountain Dew product, I had to get Cherry Pepsi. Some Fire sauce and off we went to the wonderful land of indigestion. So we're eating and a hot mom walks in with her thirteen children. Ya know what that means! Besides needing a new transmission, that is. We had to look, she was covered in spandex. Nothing weird about that, just us being boys. Then we started talking loudly about lastnight and how drunk we were. Creepy bag woman stared now and then but didn't interject in our conversation- and if we didn't scare her away with what we were saying, she must have been through a lot in life. Probably an old cranky woman with nine cats and no television.

There is a legend at that Taco Bell. Weird old guy that apparently always sits in the same spot and stares people down. He wasn't there... yet. We're talking and people watching and playing the game "How many would it take?" which, by the way, is a fantastic game. We're also giggling to ourselves because of this creepy woman and our half remembered night of boozing. Just then, weird old man comes in. Adam is excited and looks like he is about to start a standing ovation, but instead he and his roomate just laugh and high five eachother because he finally showed up. Then I hear a weird cackle coming from a different table, a close table. Schizo lady decided us laughing was funny, I'm not sure why or how, and she begins to laugh. That only makes us laugh harder, but the laugh where you try to hold it in and look to the side but it hurts so you just have to burst, completely obvious we are, in turn, laughing at her laughing at us. No words from her, I wouldn't dare turn because she was either going to stab me in the neck or show me her four teeth in a dirty smile. Adam literally shoves the rest of his last taco in his mouth and we get out of there faster than the tacos are about to get out of us.

But of course, we had to refill the sodas first.

Ah, Taco Bell. You are the haven of the ugliest, weirdest, hungriest people alive. Without you, I'm not sure where I would be today. Entertaining? You better believe it. Creepy? That's half the allure. Satisfying? Until you get home and fight over the toilet.

ALWAYS AN ADVENTURE.

Rules of... attraction?

I swear I'm not just stealing the title from some movie because I am bored. In fact, I never saw the movie, for all I know it could be about the Catholic Church, and have slow motion replays of altar boys.

That's right people, all this talk of ugly people with glasses, the trends and whatnot; it fueled something else here: attraction. Anyone loyal enough to have read this blog the past couple months also read about what I look for in a woman. It read a little something like this:

Cooks, Cleans, Big Breasts, Tiny Waistline, Doesn't Complain, Watches Football, and is a Mute

I'M KIDDING. Actually none of those were on there, but I'm sure every guy is secretly after that model female right there (minus me, we've talked about the boobs before) But think back to the last time someone tried to set you up, or the last time you even looked at someone twice and thought -I would love to date him/her. Unfortunately, it was probably based purely on looks to start. Isn't that pretty terrible to think about? For way more than one reason.

First off, think of how many attractive people are complete flakes. I'm talking stupid, self absorbed, pricks/bitches, sometimes getting whatever they want because of their square cheekbones or sizeable chest and loving every second of it. How many people can honestly date that type? Well, except for people that are mostly that type- and luckily the couples will often end up that way and other people will be spared. That of course does not apply to the smart golddiggers who rope in some sucker that loves her because she is beautiful and does not care about anything else because he pays for his happiness. But before we begin to stray, back on topic.

What about the first humans to roam this Earth? If you believe at all in evolution, then you believe they were some ugly fucking creatures. And I can't imagine they had distinct, complex personalities to go along with those foreheads and coneheads. Where was the attraction there? Purely animal. Weird random fact you might not know- the reason we have armpit hair and pubic hair is to catch the pheremones our bodies secrete and trap them there. This way a potential suitor would smell our natural chemical deliciousness and cause some fornication. If I had only known years ago the women were into sweaty smelly crotch and pits..... Why do you think perfume was originally invented? But honestly, they were attracted based on instincts and the idea of dominance- which still exists in many other kingdoms- Lions, for example. To be dominant today, and try to impress a woman will leave you labeled a meathead and/or a domestic abuse threat. Sorry buddy, the days of clubbing a bitch and dragging her back to your bachelor cave for some hot sex are long gone.

It is obvious that attraction starts a relationship- but what keeps it going? Besides great sex, it takes good conversation, the ability to work together on things, similar tastes or at least an interest in what the other enjoys- compatability beyond the square peg fitting in the round hole. But it seems like no one really thinks about that- and by no one I mean men never think about that. Women are a little smarter in these cases and can somehow figure out by the size of his hand if he will be a good father or not. Do not question the formulas, just roll with them. And buy their magazines so you can figure out the tricks. Maxim just tries to help you get a threesome with two Swedish women.

My question is- who ever established these "leagues" that we all fit into? And who are we to decide who is in and who is not in our league? Must be tough to get stuck in Pee Wee Baseball your whole life- you are looking at dating your already half inbred cousin with that status. But again, the original thought behind this is based solely on appearance. Then how do these ugly schmucks get these hot babes? Besides money.... must be personality. They say a woman likes a funny guy, why am I still single? (Joking..) Same goes for good looking guys and some scary beast that wouldn't even look good with vodka goggles.

It's sad but true- most of us will not even attempt to look past the initial appearance, and make all sorts of judgements based solely on that. The way the person dresses helps associate them with a group of people, be it rich or poor, ghetto or clean cut, classy or trashy. The car that someone drives also apparently says a lot of them and helps us to form an assumed lifestyle about this person within the first minute you meet him or her. And if that person does not bat in the same league, likely nothing will ever come of it. Maybe you two turn out to be great friends and he or she goes on and starts seeing someone once you realize just how amazing he or she is, and then you're forced to stomp on your own heart- JACKASS. Maybe the world would be a better place if we all were blind or just had really blurry vision- that way the things that make a happy couple, would be the things we still look for in a person.

The rules of attraction are funny, and simple. If you're attractive, you probably get a second chance. If you aren't in the same, purely aesthetic league as our past boy/girlfriends... you are lucky to get a shot at being a good friend. Sad, but true.

Here's a random trend

The friggin sunglasses. Ladies, don't get me wrong, they can look great on you- but HOW deceptive. Sunglasses these days are covering up 3/4 of your face. You might as well wear a mask. Not just does it look tacky a lot, but walking around with your huge sunglasses is intimidating. Yep, I'm scared to see what's under there. Because if you are hiding it, there must be something to hide.

Today for example- we went out to a restaurant by Harvard to eat. Good Mexican food, and a couple margaritas. Walking in, my roomate nudges me and points out the bleached blonde girl walking across the street. She was pretty tall, long legs, looked attractive. Big ass sunglasses though, of course- you just have to keep up with the trends to be cool. Anyway, we went in, had a few drinks and ate, and I looked over and saw they were a few tables away. I was wondering where the attractive girl was that had walked in, it looked like her ugly twin sister had eaten her and changed into her clothing. Then I realized- ah yes, she took off her sunglasses. And underneath was a quasi-Albino, rather unattractive face. Tiny eyes and almost white eyebrows/eyelashes/mustache (wait... mustache?) My original disposition had completely changed in a matter of the two seconds it would take to remove the sunglasses- so uncool.

I have had this theory in the past, you can try it out also. Find an ugly person and tell them to wear sunglasses. I'm kidding. Am I? Seriously I think they can hide a lot. Think about it- the eyes will make or break a person's facial structure. Of course, there are things like warts on a nose or the aforementioned mustache that can already deem a face null and void of any aesthetic pleasure, but let's assume there are no big deformities. Normal size nose, nice smile, good cheekbones, whatever. But the eyes are covered up... hmmm. What could be under there? Bug eyes, crossed eyes, uneven eyes even? These sunglasses hide crazy eyebrows, or no eyebrows, eyes that are too far apart, too big for the face, too small for the face, too close together- I mean c'mon. I'm not being shallow here, just honest. Too honest? Likely- but tell me you haven't all thought the exact damn thing.


MORAL OF THE STORY:
Wear huge sunglasses if you are hot, trendy, popular, whatever. Just warn others if you are hiding something under there, it's only fair. But I guess makeup does the same trick.... oh boy

Patience is a virtue

Whatever happened to patience? I remember back in the day when I had none either, then I realized it's like a constant ball of stress waiting to explode. I still notice it now and then when I am driving, and it probably will get me killed someday. But that's okay, because I am an angry wonderful aggressive defensive driver. If you have driven with me, that last sentence might make a little more sense. Point is, seems everyone these days is incredibly impatient. And not just when driving, constantly. At the grocery store, in the bank, at the gas station, anything that involves a wait longer than ten seconds will leave someone fuming. I saw an older woman today at the bus stop pacing and pacing and probably nearly having a stroke with the amount of anxiety I could see coursing through the veins in her neck. Guess what, the bus is coming- chilllllllllll.

Maybe it's just because I used to be a pot head, that may have knocked down my nerves a bit that I am more tolerant at a lot of things. But I have noticed lately a complete lack of tolerance. And not to call you out, ladies, but it seems to be more with women than men.

Men are impatient about the simple things. Getting sex, getting drunk, getting food, the simple pleasures. A man will get angry if a girl makes him wait to take off her panties, if he has to wait in line for a beer, or if their roomates can't fucking decide already where to eat and he feels his stomach starting to devour some surrounding muscles- that is what he will get impatient regarding.

With women, it's anybody's guess. Being unemployed the past week, I obviously spent a little too much time on the computer. But I don't just sit and chat- I write, as you all hopefully understand, I invest, I harass, I research, whatever. Just because my computer is on doesn't mean I am there to chat. So, that being said, sometimes I am... distracted. Hell I might be watching porn. You can tell if my typing speed is greatly reduced- one hand can do that. Point is, I'm not always enthralled in the basic conversation, which normally is nothing but chit chat anyway. I have noticed that if I do not completely immerse myself in even the most petty conversation, or God forbid I get up to make a sandwich or answer nature when she beckons- I come back to screaming and shouting and disgust. By screaming and shouting I of course mean bold, italic, or most times just capital letters with some !!!!!!!!!@$!$(!# after. Whoa, my bad.

That's not the only thing women have seemed to be incredibly impatient about. Phone calls. Boy oh boy. Guys, if there is any advice I can give you about women and phones, never, never never never ever make an "appointment" to call her at a certain time. Because if you mention you will call after this or that (eg after the gym) she will expect a call around exactly the time you normally get out. And often times will make sure she is available and probably will put on makeup and do her hair for the conversation. So, whatever you do, keep your seemingly minor committments as GENERAL and BROAD as possible. Otherwise, good luck. If only men and women could sign a contract about terminology, and understanding, when it comes to the telephone- world peace would be possible.

Anyway, I don't know, I lost track. Anger is boring, and a waste of time and energy. Anger is a terrible consequence of being impatient. Impatience caused us to invade Iraq, and will probably cause us to bomb Iran or North Korea in the next few years. Did you know the price of gas a gallon in Iraq last month was EIGHTY SIX CENTS? Hey, if our war can't solve the whole "freedom with democracy" bullshit our fearless leader is being told to pledge, ya think we could at least forcefully steal some black gold. But hey, what do I know?

what is TRENDY, anyway?

That whole popped collar tough guy at Fenway has had me thinking- my fucking God being trendy is lame. Especially when the collar poppage was cool like two years ago- now if you remember, I am the one who said I hop onto these fading trends, or better yet.. dead trends, but only because I think it's way cooler after the fact. Popped collars never were cool, never will be cool, and should be reserved for boys and girls taking glamour shots, period. So while we're here, let's check out a few more trends and wonder..... what the hell are we thinking?

#1- Pink shirts for boys.
This one pretty much took off and soon every guy was either buying a pink shirt or his girlfriend was buying it for him. What the fuck kinda trend is this? Ya know what, while we're at it, let's make gay sex trendy. Yep, that's the new hottest thing. So fellas, go out and suck some cock because it makes you look like more of a man. Hey, if you are comfortable wearing pink shirts, you might as well hop into the booty shorts with writing on the back as well. It's a natural progression. And while you're at it, throw on some lip gloss (sparkly I hope) and start wearing a bra. Don't want those marvelous man titties to wind up sagging at an early age. And guess what buddy, you CAN get away with it- because you are just so so comfortable with your sexuality, that pink, just doesn't stink. And lastly, why not just find a way to ovulate? Seriously brah, getting your period would make you the S H I T! Boys who wear pink wear their collars popped, obviously.

#2- Fucking blowouts!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thank you, you stupid fucking Gotti boys. Thank you for being the dumbest sacks of shit I have probably ever heard speak, born into a lucky lucky family. Take away their fame and fortune and you have some jackass wanna-bes from Jersey. But no, instead, they have to be famous, and girls have to look past the fact they are braindead and scumbags and want to sleep with them- all- at once. Good thing you have three holes. And now, everyone wants their hair. Their disgusting, bottle of gel infested crazy spike fest. And everyone needs to get it. It's not just an Italian thing my friends. I'm sure you've seen the link for douchebaggery- it definitely involves a group of kids who are completely void of anything unique and appear to line up one by one at the local barber to get their hot haircut- guess what guys- you aren't rich or fucking famous, in fact you're ugly. And the wild hair will only draw more attention to your ugly mug, now you don't want that? Imagine how that shit looks in the morning, nevermind the fact that you stick to your pillow. Girls who think guys with blowouts are hot, are also into bukakke and will trade you herpes for syphillis. Fair enough I guess.

#3- Back to the ass phrases
I miss the days when all women would tie sweatshirts around their waists. Yep, I like them to leave it as a huge surprise whether the ass is fantastic or fucking huge. Because as we all know, women with huge asses are always great golfers. Though you don't see it as much, now that it is summer, except a huge resurgence of the ass ads. You think I wouldn't have a huge problem with it, because I love a nice butt- but hear me out. First, it draws way, way too much attention to your rump. Don't get me wrong, some women work really really hard on perfecting their body and should have a reason to show it off. But then again, those same women should realize it is going to get recognized- drawing that attention to it will only bring more negative attention. And the other problem is that there are a lot of not so nice asses, that should be tying the sweatshirts around to hide the jiggle, but no. Since it is cool to go buy a 50 dollar pair of shorts that says JUICY on it, you will. Why? Because you obviously love attention. But there's a problem. I can't help but read what you have on your ass. Like a t-shirt, I need to know if you are a fucking moron, or have some style and bought something witty that no one else has. So I am compelled to look at your rear. And if it is terrible, I promise you, I will not scream out the car window that you have a nice butt. So c'mon ladies, if you want us to know you're a dirty little slut, there's a better way than wearing that phrase across your ass. I'm not exactly sure what, but I will think of something. You hold tight.

#4- related, and still annoying. Lame t-shirts
It all started with a few funny phrases that left everyone dying. Since then, every company in the entire world has tried to jump on the bandwagon. The thing is, there are a few that still keep it real, still make fresh t-shirts that I will giggle at. The unfortunate thing is that they are few and far between, and there is a time and place for such things. For example, my friend used to wear to the gym a shirt that said "I heart Hot Moms". Okay, well, we all do. But my gym did not have hot moms. No, no, especially not the hours I would go. It had old wrinkly women or jailbait or fatties. Plain and simple. No hot moms. And suppose he was trying to be slick and pick up a hottie at the gym. What a great conversations starter-
"hey, you're hot. read my shirt"
"oh, how cute, when was your 13th birthday?"
Let's get serious.
Other terrible examples include anything that involves the phrase "Boy Crazy" or anything like it. "I'm single" also tops the charts, who fucking cares. If some guy was too intimidated to come talk to you, but will because your shirt advertises you are searching for penis, he probably is QUITE the keeper, let me tell you. One shirt I saw, I know I have discussed, I need to bring it back. "Tanning is better than boys" WOW. I love it. First off, why would said girl go tanning so much? That's right, to look more aesthetically pleasing in her mind which would in turn attract more of the potential suitors she is looking for- am I right? So the fact that one is due mostly in part to wanting the other makes it all just a fucking dumb shirt that advertises wrinkles at age 25. I'm going to make a shirt that says "Smoking Cigarettes is better than breathing" and "Anal sex is better than walking straight". I bet they will sell like Johnnycakes.

I am going to stop here, there will be a part two later. I know some of you have attention deficit disorders and can only read for like fifteen minutes at a time before going nuts and tearing out some hair. Plus I know some of you are going to bring up some great fucking trends for me to attack.

My day at Fenway

Yesterday was a long long day. I'll start from the beginning and give you an idea of what it would have been like to live in my shoes for a baseball day.
Friday night wasn't an early night either. House party down the road and free beer means I had at least two or three during the course of the night
HA
I was awoken at 10AM by my roomate holding a Coors Light. For about six seconds my tired brain tried to form a sentence or excuse or way to say no. It didn't work, I gave up and enjoyed the frosty coldness and realized it was time to get down to business. We showered and left by eleven-ish, but not before a couple more beers each and two shots. Jimmy was late, typical, so he had to down two shots at once. What a trooper.

McDonalds came next, we can skip that part because it is disgusting. But I did explain to Lui how anytime you want to take someone's french fry or other food object, you must say "Yoink" as you do so. He caught on pretty quickly, I was impressed by his eagerness to learn.

Then came the bar before the ballpark. We literally opened the place, at least it wasn't hard to get a beer. I would say I had a pretty good buzz going, and my roomates were a little closer to drunk because they wanted a car bomb and another beer also.

Finding the seats was fine, just needed to grab two beers each before we got there. Beautiful day too, barely partly cloudy, sun wasn't beating down too hard, just good to get some color and enjoy some damn baseball. Then the booze started to kick in. Gilby is just an enthusiastic fan, I wouldn't say he was TOO out of line. But there was some lame family in front of us, that bought seats in the rowdy bleachers, and just wanted to enjoy the game. Who was worse in this situation? It might be a tie. My face started to hurt from laughter, and I'm not normally embarassed; normally I am the one making others feel that way. But some comments like "take off your tank top!" might have gotten to them. And once you make one comment, as did this guy with a little settle down request; you are just asking for trouble. That fuels the drunk Gilby. Every time something happened my good ol roomate had to say something. If Boston got a hit, he was telling everyone to shutup because the guy in front of us didn't want any cheering. Basically the five people in front of the four of us each turned around to tell Gilby and eventually Jimmy what assholes they were and how we should find our real seats, which were in the same row only a few down. He then goes and talks to security, my sign to exit. I grabbed my beers, not wanting to get kicked out in the SECOND inning, and headed to find those real seats with my other, less rowdy, and newly skilled in the art of Yoinking- Lui. We walked around and wound up in the wrong section and we were spilling our beer and it was a mess. So we went down to get food or more beer or something and see if my roomates got kicked out.

Somehow, they didn't, and found us better seats where they could be rowdy. Quick note, one of the guys sitting in front of us did have his collar popped, on purpose. It might as well have been a pink shirt, I think he was wearing a wristband to the baseball game. Hey buddy, I'm pretty sure neither team is going to call you in to pinch hit, you probably could have left the eye black at home. He deserved some douchebaggery just for being a cool kid. Onto our other seats.
Being four rows back in centerfield in the bleachers was a good time. I didn't watch most of the game, we all got way too drunk, and eventually with two outs, bottom of the ninth, down two runs with two men on, David Ortiz hit a walkoff homerun; one of baseball's treasures right there. Not often will fans get to witness that, so it was quite a moment. And boy did that place erupt. On another side note, Fenway is pretty damn good at keeping a wave going around at least one full revolution, impressive.

Leaving was sloppy. By then we had each baked in the sun, drank four or more beers at the game, and were friggin starving. Two of my roomates wound up with mustard all over themselves, and talked about it the rest of the way home. I feel bad for cab drivers that pick us up when we are drunk, I feel worse for the attractive women on the streets that have to feel our wrath. One group of girls, innocently enough, looked at us and said "full car huh?" to which Gilby replied "yeah, take off your shirt!" I can see how those are related. I felt bad so I apologized to her. "Sorry, he really meant take off your pants". Sincere, no?

The rest of the day was boring and included us passing out a lot, and way more drinking. I was margarita man and kept the glasses full when they weren't spilling from someone falling asleep. When I passed out, they threw books and a dog at me. When they passed out, I wound up and hit them with pillows as hard as I could. Pillows made from cement, bastards. I think I had my last drink somewhere around midnight, and everyone else had gone to bed. No I wasn't drinking alone, just the only survivor from a long, beautiful, baseball morning that turned into a sloppy typical mess. Ooh there was pizza too!

Toll Booth Willy

So since I am a sucker, and new to the area, I take the good ol Pike into and out of the city. Yep, I pay $1 each way, because I am too lame to use the other roads that don't have tolls on them. Anyway, when you roll up and hand them the dollar, they say "thank you". Very polite, same thing happens every now and then at delis or the like. I have caught myself a few times saying "thank you" right back. Now in some cases, like if you made me a delicious sandwich or caught me a delicious bass, it makes perfect sense. But when I say it to Toll Booth Willy, there might be some confusion. What should I thank him for? Taking my money and giggling because he knows I could just go around the toll a bagillion ways? Am I thanking him for not punching me in the face because I forgot to shut off my wipers? Am I thanking him for brightening my day? I guess the real question is, what do you say in return? Nothing?
That was brought up yesterday when going to get lunch. I said thank you, and there was no response. My friend thought it was terribly rude, I was thinking- well... not really. Why should they have to thank me back? They can't say you're welcome in all situations, it won't always make sense- maybe they were caught in a similar stalemate that I am now. There's always the generic "have a good one", I tend to overuse that. But I'm sure someone collecting dollars doesn't want to hear that, then I might get that sock in the chin. I have also found if I hear "have a nice day", I will often respond with "you too", which is fine. The problem comes when the same people use a different form of goodbye, and sometimes change it back to "thank you". In that case, I am already preprogrammed to say "you too", so it just comes out. And that makes absolutely no sense and both of us realize how dumb it was to say, but there is also an understanding of the intent. I think each place needs to have a set greeting and exit. "Hello" and "thank you" are pretty standard, or at least "have a nice day" if I am not getting anything in return from you that benefits me.

I bet this all works way smoother in California, they are slow there; that gives time to think.

What's the big deal?

Boobs. What is the obsession? Don't get me wrong, I can appreciate a nice set of breasts. But why is the fine ass so often overlooked? Let's examine.

It came back to life with Baywatch. Women in little tops jogging in slow motion with their jubblies bouncing back and forth, to and fro- ever think what kind of black eyes you would wind up with if she were to actually swing those in your face? My God you could lose an eye!
Everyone seems so obsessed with having a huge set of knockers these days. I don't like big boobs, not gonna lie. Big boobs have a way higher chance of being ass ugly. The bigger they are, the better chance for the whole saucer nipple phenomenon. There is also a MUCH much much higher chance that those puppies, unfurled, will sag and look weird from the side, from behind, upside down- whatever. A nice small breast is very unlikely to sag, will probably have a good nipple to breast ratio, bounce well in any given situation, and never lead you on. Much like women who are diving into a man's pants, hoping the thing is at least 6 (7?) inches, you just never know what you are going to get with a woman that appears to have a great huge set of bazoongas. Take for example the women that are so insecure they actually purchase these things called "water bras". I'm sorry, I had an ex who decided she needed to wear them. I think the first time I took it off, it nearly took my arm off. I started borrowing it from her to do bicep curls when I couldn't make it to the gym. The thing was the answer to global warming- fill up these bras with the melted polar caps- genius! But seriously, back to the subject.
You take that off, and wow, where did the boob go? Again, I am the one looking for a smaller chest, but let's talk about deception here. That's like if I were to stuff my pants with tube socks and brag about how I have to unwrap it from around my ankle before I take a piss (leave a piss?) It sets the complete wrong expectations. And all because everyone is obsessed with the large, often deformed, potentially more hairy and creepily preportioned areola breastasis. Ladies, show your itty bitty titties with pride, people still enjoy them. Just worry if you have chicken breasts because those are fucking weird and no guy is turned on by your huge sternum. SERIOUSLY!

Now let's talk about what is often overlooked and needs more attention- a wonderful behind. There is nothing to me more sexy on a woman than a great set of legs that leads up to a butt you can just bounce a fucking quarter off and into outer space. Cause no matter how hard a woman works at the gym, she isn't going to make a big difference in her milk bladders. But the ass, oh, she can be sculpted. And boy, is it ever a sign of hard work if a woman carries around a terrific pair of cheeks behind her. It takes a lot of attention, your body has to be at least a mini temple to get that thing to the level of protection. And think about it, what is really more fun in an intimate situation? The breasts are most likely ignored after the guy realizes he can get to and then past second base. Maybe a little tongue tease but c'mon. COME ON! How many times are you going to get to slap that ass? Spank the shit out of it, hopefully you aren't doing that with anything on her front side. Grab it when she is on top, marvel at how wonderful it is (plus the area is extremely sensitive and it will make her happy, lesson #123591939135 brought to you by Dane) If I could choose between never seeing a huge set of boobs again or never seeing a wonderful fine ass again, the choice appears to be simple. Bigguns are just asking for trouble.