I Would Like To Extend To You An Invitation To The Pants Party

This weekend was really something special, as jack and shit lovingly embraced me from both sides in a glorious orgy of inactivity and general laziness. I didn't watch my anticipated 6 movies featuring frequent explosions, but I did catch the equivalent amount of fiery wreckage in the second half of The Specialist, a movie so mindless and awesome that I once read that they produced the entire thing without a script. Sly, you blow shit up, and James Woods, you just be an unbelievable badass...and, action! I also caught Anchorman, a movie I thought I'd seen before, but apparently had only seen the first half of--I must have dozed off or something the first time, because I'm pretty sure I'd remember Steve Carell stabbing someone with a trident.

Wait, I guess I wasn't entirely lazy, I totally "cleaned" the upstairs, by which I mean I windexed every available surface until the fumes put me under, or maybe it was that nice man hiding in my closet with that funny smelling rag. In any event, when I woke up I was chained to a radiator in Goshen wearing nothing but superman underoos. Oh, and Hacienda is my new favorite place. Individual salsa dishes, baby! Individual salsa dishes.

Nostalgia To Make You Jump

Now...the formalities of this and that / Is that Kris Kross ain't comin' off whack / And for all y'all suckas that don't know / Check it oooouuuut! Also don't miss their other timeless classics, the inspired Warm It Up and the heart-wrenching lyrical flow of I Missed the Bus.

This is by far the coolest thing ever. What? I'm a huge nerd? I think you meant to say...that is the coolest thing EVER. Ever.

Tainted

Ahhh! Bush is in town, speaking for the Count Chocula campaign! I knew my asshat sense was tingling...thanks for making me wait in traffic, ye blouse wearin' poodle walker! You've just made an enemy for life!

Michael Huff Is My Hero

Big house? Fast cars? No thank you my good man, I believe I'll take an IHOP. Mr. Huff, you've just earned yourself a fan for life.

My uncle from Florida was randomly in town Monday, so he and his work cronies took me and Kel out to Tippecanoe--I know it's supposed to be the greatest place ever, but I regret to say I've been there twice now and both experiences have been sub-jismatastic. I did have some delicious wine there though--for years I've been under the apparently incorrect impression that I don't like wine, but it's now becoming clear that what I really don't like is crappy wine, which up until maybe six months ago is all I'd tasted. So I'm turning over a new leaf! I'm going to become a wine connoisseur the likes of which you have never seen, and when I'm sufficiently educated I will start wearing suits all the time and talking with one of those fake british accents college professors sometimes employ when they want everyone to know they've studied in Europe, and I will look down on the rest of you as if you were maggot-ridden trash floating by in the sewer. HAHAHAHAHA!

Gwen turns 1 a month from yesterday! Oh man, it seems like 10 minutes ago she was so little I was scared to hold her, and now she's crawling around and raising hell in the style of her mother. Apparently she is deeply in love with our dog Oscar, a love affair which my sister tried to discourage because Oscar has claws and outweighs her by at least 110 pounds and licks his own butt--but you can't stop true love, Jenny, a lesson I once learned to my sorrow when I found myself standing between Oscar and a small pile of Thanksgiving leftovers. Anyway, Gwen's not walking just yet, but I guess she's pulling herself up, and no doubt will soon be running around searching for ways to injure herself in classic baby style! Jenny and Todd, I hope you enjoyed sitting--that time in your life is now over.

The Crawl That Wasn't

Pub Crawl? More like Pub Stall! HOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! It took me 45 minutes to write that joke, I hope you enjoyed it. So it wasn't much of a crawl, thanks in part to the frostbite-inducing frigidity, and in larger part to a healthy dose of laziness combined with a complete lack of advance planning. Limo? Nope. Itinerary? Ha! We decided to walk to Legends to save anyone from having to leave their car there overnight, and it pretty much broke my spirit. And my body. I'm 99% sure that I am now sterile, having literally frozen my nads off. It was the kind of cold that pisses you off, makes you wish Mother Nature was a real person so you could beat her with a sack of doorknobs. GOD it was cold. And I still didn't button my jacket, ha!

So we really only hit 3 bars, Legends, Oyster, and Oscar's. There was talk of finishing up at the Backer, but I put a quick stop to that by punching anyone who mentioned the idea in the throat--so instead of finishing out the night screaming the lyrics to "Living on a Prayer" at the top of our lungs, we went back and played a round of Euchre before bed, talking in low voices to avoid disturbing the other people who had already retired for the night, which I think pretty much sums up my current level of glorious, mind-bending awesomeness. BOW BEFORE ME!

Good to see everyone, as usual. Hit the bars, played some Bond, lost $15 playing poker, and caught up on the latest hijinx. I think this may bring to a close my month of ca-raaaaazyness however, as I think my body and wallet are starting to rebel against all this rabble-rousing and shiznittery. Next weekend I anticipate frozen pizza, pajama pants, and at least 8 movies, 6 of which will feature frequent explosions.

Booya

I have now coined the term 'whorestaurant' and no one can take it away from me! NO ONE! Also e-bagging, which Stitch invented, but I am forever claiming as my own. Hahaha, mine is an evil laugh!

You Know The Flintstones Is Only Partly Based On Fact?

So Lizett introduced me to the Ricky Gervais podcasts this weekend, and brother, they blew my mind, massaged my soul, and crammed my gullet full of joy and laughter until I choked. Karl Pilkington is my new stalkee, and you can probably count on plenty of bizarre, contextless quotes in my away messages for days to come. The podcasts could, in fact, probably be more accurately referred to as the Karl Pilkington Show featuring the incredulous, hyena-like laughter of Ricky Gervais--man, Karl is either an idiot or a genius, I think genius, and I now consider him my best friend.

Finally: Suit up! If NPH has taught me anything, it's that women are objects. And the other thing is that it's awesome to go out to bars in suits. I myself do not currently own a suit that I could squeeze into without an elaborate pulley system, but don't let that discourage you from what could be the single greatest action you will ever take! I will, at least, be wearing a tie of the sweet-ass-sweet variety, and perhaps some sort of leggings to cover my shame.

Sexy Metal Pants

Jism and I just came up with the best idea ever. And when I say Jism and I, I mean we actually both came up with it at the exact same time, and quite independently of one another. Simultaneous genius. How is it possible, being several states and hundreds of miles away? Well, once you've rubbed bellies with someone, brother, it forms a special bond. A smooth belly bond.

Pre. Crawl. Tailgate. Best idea ever. What's it going to be, like 17 degrees out? Glorious! I can picture it now! It looks a lot like me standing outside in the cold, alone, gnawing on a half frozen bratwurst, listening to the sounds of laughter and revelry coming from my warm, cozy condo, where everyone else is. And I'll be loving it you son of a bitch. Maybe it would be better to wait for Pub Crawl II in June, but what I should do and what I do do have never been particularly well acquainted. Party on!

A parting conundrum: What is worse, the final episode of AD, the Diet Pepsi commercial with Jackie Chan, or famine? Consider your mind blown.

Oosetin, TX

So waiting in SBN for a quick connection to Atlanta, I hear an announcement that due to some mechanical difficulties, our flight will be delayed. Okay, no biggie--hey wait, there's fire trucks on the runway. Huh. And police! And here come the ambulances. And now the plane is being towed off the tarmac. Excellent.

So I called Lizett telling her I didn't think I'd be in on time--and hey wait, they're boarding the towed plane. My plane. Outstanding. So...that was a little scary. My previous crippling fear of flying has been pretty much reduced to a vague feeling of discomfort during takeoff and landing, the kind you get when you think of the last time you got kicked in the nads, but I confess I was not feeling particularly good about getting on that particular flight. Of course it went by without incident, and the hilarious flight attendant managed to put us all at ease by requesting that we put our seats in their fully uncomfortable positions instead of their fully upright positions--WHHHOOOOOAAAAA!

My flight to Austin turned out to be the real trial. It was a late flight, so I was napping comfortably when suddenly the dude behind me breaks into this full-volume play-by-play of last week's The Office. At midnight. On an otherwise silent plane. Who are you even talking to, you crazy bearded bastard? I woke up thinking--I'm in hell. The plane has crashed, we've all died, and this is hell. I thought it would be hotter--nope, just a well-intentioned but uncommonly boring man droning on about a situational comedy for all of eternity. I started to put in my earbuds and then BAM! Please turn off all electronic devices for our ridiculously long approach into Austin. OH GOD, this is hell.

Austin itself was awesome, and can be summed up almost entirely by the phrase "delicious food and drink." We hit lots of restaurants, a few bars, and saw the sights in San Antonio. Or should I say San Anbronio? No? The highlight of the trip for me was being followed up the stairs in a parking garage off of fourth street by a group of excited gentlemen shouting "Get crunk! We killas! We killas, baby, get CRUNK!" Get crunk? Are you serious? There's a group of raving killers chasing me up a parking garage stairwell! Is there a word for when your gonads recede in alarm? I'm pretty sure it's not crunk. I'm pretty sure it's...I hate you.

I Like-a To Blog

No time to blog. I'm too busy. I'm a big important man, and I like a biiiiiiig cereal. Like last night, I watched several hours of TV. And the night before, I went to bed at 8. And I was still late to work the next morning, so suck on that you punctual son of a bitch.

I'm not a total waste of life though, this weekend I visited LB and Katie in NYC, so that was a good time. I flew out at 6am Saturday morning, and wisely decided to prepare the night before by downing a bunch of beers at Oscar's, so that flight was a grand old time. Katie was going to show me the city during the day, but then it started raining so we just bought a couple cases and watched Curb Your Enthusiasm all afternoon. We met LB at Grand Central around dinner time--I was impressed. Years of action movies have conditioned me to believe that the subway is dingy, poorly lit, and dangerous, but it was like some sort of glorious mall in there. Anyway, we headed to some Chinese place near Times Square where LB slathered cold germs all over Katie's food with a contaminated chopstick. It was...just incredible, and it brought me to climax. From there we headed to O'IrishMcPub's where there was some crazy ass Irish Ska band playing--they were pretty sweet. We skipped out of there after a while and headed to another Irish Pub where we promptly realized none of us had any cash left. Victory. Fortunately for us, we were somewhat within walking distance of Katie's place. Being a small quivering girl in a frilly dress, I was mildy concerned about aimlessly walking the city streets at 2am, but Katie assured me it was a nice safe area, outside of the man-rapist. Comforting. Anyway, we made it back without event, and I promptly passed out in my clothes. What? I had gotten up at 4. I was tired.

Sunday was less eventful, and involved a lot of laying around. No TV, no conversation, just laying around. It was grand, except for my brain trying to explode out of my head. I caught a train out to White Plains a little later to watch the game with LB and his bro's fiance--good stuff. TV and darts, just like old times. And...that'll do it for NYC.

Tomorrow I continue my non-waste-of-life weekend trend by flying out to Austin for some bull riding and pickup truck driving, and perhaps some Lizett punching if there's time. And then next weekend of course it's pimps up hos down with the triumphant return of: Various Alumni. Pimps up hos down, what was that, some sort of HBO special? Pimps up, hos down. Pimps up...hos down.