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Phew! I was able to type my butt off to get that rather long post out by the deadline. I don't like to be called tardy, I like to be called fashionably late. You can now resume your normal Nicole-related programming.
Okay, I have been AWOL all day and I am just trying to catch up with what all the lovely ladies have had to say today. And boy have they been busy. I had every intention of logging in earlier today and dashing off a quick entry at work. Obviously that didn't happen and now I sit here at the 11th hour trying to come up with a summer-y post to fulfill Nicole's request. It would be a damn shame if I had the honor and privilege of posting on this site and didn't get around to it. But I have a rrreeeeaaaaalllll good reason for my tardiness: GOLF.
Yes, I tore out of work early today and was able to get in 18 holes before the sun went down. Well almost, I putted the last hole by twilight. I know that you don't see sports-related stuff here at the go fish very often, especially golf in particular. This is proved by the fact that there has been nary an utterance of the word golf in this blog.
Summer really means one thing to me and that is to get in as much golf in before the blustery Autumn chases me off the course until the following Spring. Usually I spend the Spring getting my swing back together and by this time of the year I spend all my free time hacking my way around area courses. Unfortunately, this year there was no Spring. Philadelphia experienced what I have affectionately termed "monsoon season" (it just ain't for the South Pacific anymore). But thanks to a break in the weather (i.e., it didn't pour this weekend) I was able to get out on to the links both Saturday and Sunday. Today was just too perfect of a day and there was nothing pressing at work so I had to make it three days in a row.
While all this may sound like I am pretty exuberant about golf... I think that "exuberance" actually understates the truth of the matter. I am completely and utterly addicted to golf! When I am not playing, I think about my game constantly and given an opportunity to play I am there. My readiness to grab the sticks and to head out to the course earned me the definitely-deserved nickname "Golf Whore" amongst my friends. Even when I play an absolute horrid round, all I can think about is getting out again and working on some of the kinks in my swing. To many outsiders, it can seem like a very, very sad existence... to have your life controlled by a little white ball that you chase around a field all day. As Mark Twain said "Golf is a good walk spoiled". But to the many of those like myself, it is a grand lifestyle. I sometimes wonder if I can sustain a stable relationship because of my desires to spend my weekends walking through the fairways, blasting my way out of bunkers and hearing that most lovely sound of a perfect putt dropping into the bottom of the cup. That sound doesn't happen all that often, but when you hear it you forget about everything awful that has transpired on the course that day and you start thinking about trying to squeeze in 36 holes. But I do go one, don't I?
For those of you that have stuck around reading this far, I have a treat for you. One of the funniest golf-related recollections you will ever read. I guarantee it! If you don't find the extended entry below humorous, you are welcome to ask Nicole for your money back. Seriously click the expanded link below!
One in a million shot
When I was in high school, I played golf but not in any manner resembling the way that I play today. I was god-awful. My dad likes to tell stories that when I played in high school, it wasn't a matter of getting in 18 holes; I played until I ran out of balls. This is not far from the truth. I had the most wicked slice in the world but that didn't prevent me from spending an inordinate amount of time on the course. My buddy Brian and I would skip school to play all of the time.
Now this one time while Brian and I were spending an afternoon on the links and not in the classroom, I hit a shot that very, very few people can claim to have ever done. Actually, I don't think that anyone else I have known or played with can say they successfully completed what I did at the ripe old age of 16. Now I know what you are thinking and let me just set you straight. No! It was not a hole-in-one. No way! This is much rarer. I nailed myself in the face with my own golf ball. Yes! And it hurt!
How did it happen? I flubbed a tee shot off to the right by some houses on this muni we used to play. I went over to take out all my aggression on this ball that refused to go in the direction that I wanted. I swung as hard as I could with a 3-wood and toed the ball so it flew off almost perpendicular to my swing path. The ball screamed away and hit a metal pole that held up netting to protect the houses from people like me. As I looked up to see how bad my shot was, to my surprise, the ball was coming right back at me. Whack! Right smack in my left check!! I went down! I didn't pass out but it felt like someone had punched me really, really hard in the face.
Brian, who was on the other side of the fairway rummaging for his ball, said that he heard the following sequence of events (he did not see what happened, only heard - my explanation are in parenthesis): Whack! (my trying to knock the cover off the ball), Fuck! (my anger over having duffed yet another shot), Ping! (the ball bouncing off the metal pole), Shit! (my reaction to the fact that ball was rocketing right at my face), Whack! (the ball bouncing off my face), and Thump! (me hitting the ground). As I laid there, I watched the lady behind me tee off. She came over to check on my after that but was much more interested in getting in front of these two teenage buffoons.
Like I said a one-in-a-million shot!
It looks like all we did was complain about summer today huh? Sheesh what a bunch of guest bloggers we turned out to be huh? *hanging head in shame* *sniffles* We have let Nicole down.
.
.
.
.
Bah She'll get over it. That is what she gets for letting us have control for a day *snort* =)
Well summer is definitely here in South Texas. Meaning it's hot. Forecast for June-Hot. Forecast for July-Hotter with a heat index of hotter then hell. Forecast for August-Screw it just admit you are going to melt. =) The boys and I went grocery shopping this afternoon with the intent of getting root beer and ice cream to make root beer floats. Well I am here to tell you that we forgot the suds and the ice cream. *sheesh* I blame it on the boys distracting me and they of course blame me. Go figure.
Well thus ends my guest-blogginess here at Go Fish. I thank my hostest with the mostest Nicole for letting me rant about the heat over here. =) I am off in search of cool drinks and watermelon. TTFN
If one needs any proof that Philly has been cursed by god, one really doesn't have too look any further than the weather for the past few weeks, as it has been both chilly and humid as hell at the same time.
I'm a California baby, where we have dry heat, as god intended. I really can't handle humidity at the best of times. It confuses me. I'm like, "Why am I so sweaty and gross? Oh, god it's humid, isn't it!"
Usually I just deal with it by wearing as little as posisble. But I really extra special can't dress for this kind of weather. Less clothes don't help. More clothes don't help. I hate all my clothing anyway. I've just given up on wearing clothes while in my house. (I'm wearing underwear and a t-shirt right now. Sexy!) Getting dressed is a serious trial. If only I could wear tube tops to work.
Well, I think this is my last post for the Summer theme... Thanks so much to Nicole for this opportunity. Hope we didn't let you down!
Now I am off for some ice cream. I have had this major thing for it this year since it has been getting warm. Not that it's good for my figure or anything, but when it's this hot, who gives a shit anymore?!?!
Hope you all had fun reading our posts today... Come and visit me anytime! Fo Shizzle ma Bizzle!
I did mention earlier that it was going to get to 98 today here in South Texasssssssss right?? *grumbles* Well now my a/c decides it doesn't want to play anymore and is going to shut off. WTF???? Now it has done this crap to me before, right at the beginning of the *HOT* season ::geez is there any other kind here in Tex?:: and I figured it was because it hadn't been on. So, I shut the damn thing off, cursing the whole while, opening windows, bitching, opening doors, frigging mosquitos better not even think about it. And there we sit, JJ complaining, "Mooooooooooom it's hot." No really? Gosh and I thought I was just taking a shower in my own sweat for fun. *NOT* I keep it off for about an hour and then decide, "Screw this, am turning it back on, if it does it again we are going to 1. Call the landlord and pitch a bitch fit, and 2. go walk the mall, and I freaking despise the mall!!!" So I turned it back on, nice cool air starts flowing out of the vents, ::Falls to knees and thanks the a/c gods for being benevolent::. So now I have Zach sitting on one vent, Alex on another, JJ one yet another, and the cat? Oh yeah her furry butt is sitting on one too. Hot here in Texas? Naaaaaaaah it's barely warm [/sarcasm]
During the summer I usually get a chance to explore some snack foods that I don't get during the rest of the year. (I'm a college student... finding new snacks is not a top priority with everything else that's going on during the year.) Some of my most favorite summer snacks are:
- Graham crackers and milk
- Ants on a log (we're talking a whole celery stalk with lots of peanut butter and tons of raisins)
- Nestle Turtles (they're heavenly)
- Sliced Peaches in Milk
- Cantelope with Vanilla Ice Cream
What are your favorite summer snacks?
I went up to New York this weekend, and I must warn you, beware of Sephora. First you think it would be fun to get a free make-over, then they're telling you how great your cheekbones are, and the next thing you know you're purchasing a $40 jar of foundation like it's the most rational thing in the world . . .
EVIL.
Although, I must say, I think the pink mascara makes it all worth it.
If my son runs in and out of the house once more to fill up his blasted squirt gun~I'm gonna go ballistic.....
Why can't summer school be manditory?
Ok, this time I will be more positive...
Why I Love Summer
1. The Pool - I love swimming and hanging out by the pool. Of course I hate those bitches that sit out there with their suit up their ass and all giggly (sorry, had to add that...)
2. Big Brother - I am a reality TV whore, and this is one of my favorite shows!
3. Horse racing - I grew up in upstate NY (near Saratoga), so I love the races. I try to make it home every August so I can go and gamble some money away
So, see, I am not THAT much of a pessimist when it comes to summer...
Yesterday I was eagerly awaiting guest posting for Nicole. I tried to share the excitement with my boyfriend, but I think he doesn't quite understand me and my own blog, let alone me posting on someone else's blog. Do you understand my excitement? If not, let me explain it in a way that might help. It's like writing something for a magazine that you always read... you read it and enjoy it, so when something you write is included you feel happy and even more a part of it. Or at least that's my take on it.
It's officially been summer for 2 days now, yet the weather in San Diego hasn't taken notice. I'm not sure if anyone who isn't from San Diego knows about it, but here we deal with June gloom every year. And I'm not talking just part of June... this summer it's looking to be all of June.
As much as I wanted the sun to come out this weekend, the overcast weather made for a wonderful trip to the Wild Animal Park. For any of you who don't know about the San Diego Wild Animal Park, it's sort of like a zoo, except that they have several large (we're talking huge) exhibits where multiple species live together. It's really a great place and they've had a lot of success breeding animals that were on the verge of extinction... sometimes even returning a group of the animals to their natural habitat. To top off all the great exhibits (including an enclosure where you can walk in a butterfly habitat) they have great programs... over the summer you can sign up to stay overnight at the park! Talk about a fun summer idea! Of course, with all the animal noises I'd probably never get to sleep...
One word-HOT
Two words-DAMN HOT
Welp there is my post on summer *grins* No no I kid I kid!!
I had this whole summer post thing written up and damn I decided I didn't want to do it. I have to admit that my favorite seasons are spring and fall. Spring because it isn't too hot just yet and fall because I just love fall ok!?!?! =)
The boys on the other hand LOOOOOOOOOOOVVVVVVVVVE summer. There is swimming, no school ::well for JJ anyhow lol::, over nighters with friends, SplashTown, etc. I remember being in school and counting the days until summer vacation. Living each day to it's fullest. Man I used to love it. But now, eh just another day sometimes.
Perhaps there is something to be learned from our children and their "live life for today" mentality. Maybe we should all make a conscious effort to do it. Instead of letting the everday crap get us down, bills, rent, car troubles, money, etc, we should try and find one thing everyday that makes us smile or makes us forget just for a little bit what it is like to shoulder all the responsibility of being an adult. Yeah that sounds like a good plan. Maybe we shoud strive to find a way everyday to be a kid again, if even only for a few minutes?? Whatcha think? Oh hell I think it's a good idea. So if you excuse me, I am going to go get a bowl of cereal, eat it on the floor in the living room with the boys and watch Dexter's Laboratory. Then we will go to the park and I do believe I am going to swing on the swings!! =)
I was thinking along the same lines as Adele this morning. Summer, with all it's highlights, does come complete with its annoyances. The older, ..er more mature I become, the more these pet peeves make me want to commit painful, bloody murder bother me.
~Why is it that beginning the first week of July, the stores are stocking the shelves with school supplies, heavy winter sweaters and boots and tons of Halloween candy? For Christ sakes, school just let out 2 friggin weeks ago! Not to mention by August, we can go see Christmas decorations. Aren't we just rushing things a bit? I don't want to see Santa wrapping paper when the heat index is in the triple digits and everyone is running around in flip~flops.
~Stupid tourists. Sometimes I wonder how some of these people found themselves at the end of their own driveways without a map, let alone loose on the streets of my hometown. (Niagara Falls) I get tired of lunatics asking for directions, asking me to take their picture, or wanting a recommendation of things to do around here~I usually tell them to listen for the rushing water and go take a leap. I'm no travel agent, and unless you're prepared to pay me commission~don't expect me to act like one.
~People who feel compeled to mow their lawns at the ridiculous hours of 7AM or 10:30PM. I don't want to hear your damn racket. These are the same people who also compulsively mow a minimum of 3 times a week because they think they're scoring brownie points by having "the best~looking lawn on the block". Let me clue you in~no one gives a crap how green your lawn looks...
~the Ice Cream Truck....hate it, hate it, hate it. Why do you always park in front of my house and play your stupid song over and over to the point where I'm tempted to run outside, grab you from your truck and beat you to a bloody pulp and drown you in soft~serve? One day I WILL pelt you with rocks, I swear....
~People who say, "Is it hot enough for ya?" No~it's not. I love when I take a shower and sweat is pouring down my back while I'm trying to dry off, my make~up instantly turns to grease and slides off my face moments after application and I develop 2nd degree blistering sunburn after slathering on 50+SPF products and spend 5 minutes sitting in the shade. I don't think it's hot enough until the humidity is inducing an asthma attack, the asphalt is melting in the streets and my air conditioner is whining like a squeeling pig from overuse. (just a little sarcasm there...it's Monday, you know...)
And finally~a few random things I dislike: mosquitos, kids saying, "I'm bored~there's nothing to do", kids who pee in public swimming pools, dirty, stinky feet, fat men in denial walking around with no shirt on, people who wear socks with sandals, 50 year old women with leather~looking tanned lizard skin who go out in public wearing only bikini tops covering their saggy boobs, and men who pour an entire can of lighter fluid on the grill and produce enough fumes to smoke out the entire neighborhood because they don't understand the proper usage of a BBQ.
If I forgot anything....let me know
Yes, we are all going to miss Nicole today... But hope we can interest everyone today with our topic of summer.
So I was thinking... "What the heck do I write about summer?" So here we go:
Why I Hate Summer
1. Allergies - Ever since I moved to Dallas, I wake up every morning with a sore throat and a runny nose (aren't you glad you know that now...)
2. Men with shorts and socks up to their knees - I know they are poor little old men, but will someone please teach them?!?! They must have someone in the family with some fashion sense!
3. Women who do not have pedicures - I am scared of most feet, esp. these. Please, please, please... Just go spend the $40 (or sometimes cheaper) and get your damn feet done!
4. HEAT! I believe I was spared last summer, my first full summer in Dallas, but with it already hitting 100 degrees in May, I think I am screwed for my 2nd summer. My air conditioning could not even keep up this weekend.
Anyone have anything else to add?
My anxiety kicked in during my freshman year of high school. I attended Bishop Sullivan High in Baton Rouge Louisiana, a co-ed Catholic school. The school was only ten years old and seemed to have little clue how it would eventually fit into the neighboring community. The extracurricular sports programs at Bishop were top of the line with girl’s soccer, football, wresting, basketball, track, tennis and even swimming yet the school had no pool. On the other hand, the Art department was lousy. Drama, art history, wood shop, band, and show choir were all lumped into two vague classes: Art I and Art II.
This didn’t bode well for a gay teen that needed an extracurricular activity that didn’t involve physicality. Its not that I hated sports or was without desire to play, but rather I hated the phony comradery that went along with it. I wasn’t excited about a sport like touch football because I found it too arousing. It made me nervous.
Freshman Physical Education was at 5th period everyday. My class met in the school’s Cafertorium just after lunch. The Cafetorium was half cafeteria/half gymnasium and even holy ground for weekly Mass. This area was not only cold and damp but it also smelled of beans and rotten milk.
My P.E. teacher was Coach Fernandez; a short, beady-eyed man with curly hair and a whistle and clipboard permanently attached to his side. He wore grotesquely short polyester sweats that no man over 35 years of age should ever be seen in. He seemed the perfect caricature of a high school Physical Ed coach.
None of the other boys had developed into a hairy puberty like I had. This made me feel miserable. I began to admire the other boys’ smooth legs and wished that the hair on mine would magically disappear. Shaving them would only garner more attention. So it was rare that I wore shorts and I became terrified of my family’s yearly beach excursions because it meant I would be seen in swim trunks. I hated my body.
Puberty and I had hit head on. Hair was sprouting out from under my arms, my chest, my legs, and even my face. These were not soft baby hairs, but rather thick dark manly hairs that were only further pronounced by my incredibly pale skin. I didn’t want to stick out during P.E. I vividly remember cloudy winter mornings on the school’s football field where I felt stark naked in tiny gray shorts. Gray was not a color that lessoned the whiteness of my pale skin. I remained frozen the entire period and tried hard not to move around too much. Such a thing might draw more attention. I pleaded with the coach to let me sit on the sidelines during each game. When this didn’t work I forged a doctor’s notice saying that my Ritalin would be keeping me from strenuous activity the remainder of the school year. I was hardly the religious type but prayed god speed for that month-long period when my P.E. class would be confined indoors learning to give CPR to plastic heads.
All of the other students at Bishop loved sports. Everyone else seemed to crave touch football. My schoolmates slammed into one another proudly and gave each other high five’s for the best plays. Luckily, the school’s curriculum required learning badminton. This was a game where long slender racquets were used to slam a ‘birdie’ (a shuttlecock with a floral-patterned wing) across a narrow synthetic net. It became my favorite sport. I also joined the cross-country team because it was a sport that allowed me to run away from everyone else… something I became very good at.
After high school my body image changed. Instead of seeing my hairiness as a bad thing, I began to relish in my difference. If anything the hair on my legs made me seem more masculine than the other boys. I also gained somewhat of a leg fetish. Maybe not so much a fetish like fantasizing about stockings and tube socks, but a fascination with a part of the body that can easy be sexualized.
man oh man. oh man. oh man! i think this is cool, we'll see if it flies, and if not, you can't say i didn't try and i'll have egg on my face.
as i mentioned in my first post here, i am a DJ (7-midnight, EDT). thursday night is when it's the "request show", and that's where you come in. i'd like you to listen (there's plenty of streams to choose from!) and make requests, by leaving a comment. it's that simple, gang. thanks, or something in advance!
a little background:
my station has been around for 20 years as a modern rock station, and we tend to avoid the nu-metal bands like korn and the biscuit, but we do spike in rage/marilyn manson/audioslave/deftones/ministry from time to time at night. in other words: we like to rock, as long as it doesn't suck. plus, a ton of indie-label stuff is on the playlist.
Well, it appears that although Nicole trusts us boys to post to her site she (wisely) does not trust us enough to upload pictures. Ahh, but I think I may have figured out a way to fool her. Wanna see some boobies, boys. Here you go...
(oYo)
Sorry guys, it's the best I could do
OK, it's confession time.
So, everybody's got music that they love, and they sing along to...
But.
Do you have any song that you absolutely hate, but you can't seem to change the radio station? And then you find yourself singing along? And then it's stuck in your head?
Mr. Big's "To Be With You" comes to mind. So does Color Me Badd's "I Wanna Sex You Up". And Backstreet Boys' "I Want it That Way".
You are.... my fire
The one... desire
Believe... when I say
I want it that way.
But we... are two worlds, apart
Can't reach to your heart
When you say
That, I want it that way
(Tell me why) Ain't nothin' but a heartache,
(Tell me why) Ain't nothin' but a mistake,
(Tell me why) I never wanna hear you say,
I want it that way.
Augh. Shoot me now.
Apropos of nothing, I finally tracked down the entire CD of Band of Brothers in MP3 format; this has been one of my holy grails for a while now.
If you've not seen this miniseries, I can't recommend it enough. It puts the human face on war, following Easy Company, part of the 101st Airborne Division, from their formation as a unit in Georgia through the end of the war in the Austrian Alps. My wife, who prefers to watch other things, watched this one and was sucked in on the emotional rollercoaster, caring about the stories of the men.
It's a stunning piece of work, bringing alive history in a way rarely achieved in any other medium. If you ever get to see it, do so. There's a companion episode of the real soldiers portrayed in the series, and it tells of what happened to them after the war.
There's a lot of testosterone in this one, and the kicker is, it's real -- not that artificial crap that passes for entertainment these days. This is a true story, showing the good, the bad, and the ugly (ah-ah-ah-ah-ah, wa-wa-wa) of war.
I'm just your average, everyday guy, so things like this don't usually happen to me...
But, the other day...
Yeah, right. I haven't been laid in forever. But I had ya going for a sec, didn't I?
How's that for a title? Hehe. That oughtta get at least a few Google hits, eh?
Ok, so my cable (therefore internet access) went out for a couple of hours today. Once I got through the panic phase of this occurance, I was able to calm my butt down and I got everything working again. And by "I", I obviously mean my wife. Thanks hon. Anyway, I get back online and jump over here to check out Mikeys pics of naked or near naked women. Do I find any? NO! What's up with that? Yo Mikey, where are ya buddy? How long are we supposed to wait over here? I mean, where are we, the Ukraine? (Apologies to those actually living in the Ukraine.)
As we will see here today, a litte testosterone can be a good thing. But mix too much testosterone with mental illness and throw in a whole bunch of asshole and this is what you get:
In a television interview scheduled for broadcast Thursday, Tyson again denied he raped Desiree Washington in 1991 in an Indianapolis hotel room. But he said the burden of being labeled a convicted rapist makes him want to do it now.
"I just hate her guts. She put me in that state, where I don't know," Tyson said. "I really wish I did now. But now I really do want to rape her."
Tyson made the comments during a recent interview in Miami Beach with Greta Van Susteren, who was taking a look back at the circumstances of Tyson's 1992 trial that ended with him convicted of rape and sentenced to six years in prison.
He served three years of the sentence before being released on parole.
A call for comment to Tyson's adviser, Shelly Finkel, was not immediately returned.
The interview will be shown Thursday night (9 p.m. EDT) on "The Pulse" on the Fox network.
By The Associated Press
Well, that didn't take long, did it? I wouldn't be me if I wasn't posting something about the lies used to drive the U.S. into the Iraq war.
No Bunker where U.S. Bombs Targeted Saddam-CBS
WASHINGTON (Reuters) - The Baghdad bunker which the United States said it bombed on the opening night of the Iraq war in a bid to kill Saddam Hussein never existed, CBS Evening News reported Wednesday. The network quoted a U.S. Army colonel in charge of inspecting key sites in Baghdad as saying no trace of a bunker or of bodies had been found at the site on the southern outskirts of the Iraqi capital, known as Dora Farms."When we came out here, the primary thing they were looking for was an underground facility, or bodies, forensics, and basically, what they saw was giant holes created. No underground facilities, no bodies," Col. Tim Madere said.
CBS, saying it was the first news organization to visit the site, reported that the CIA had searched it once and Col. Madere had searched it twice as part of efforts to find traces of DNA that could indicate if Saddam or his sons had been killed or wounded.
The network said the main palace in the compound remained standing despite the surrounding destruction. It quoted Madere as saying anyone who had been in the building could have survived the raid.
Shortly after the attack, Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld told reporters: "There's no question but that the strike on that leadership headquarters was successful. We have photographs of what took place. The question is, what was in there?""
Obviously, nothing, Rummy.
It seems to me that lately there's been a slowly building momentum in some news organizations to reveal the lies used to propel us into the war. If we see more of this over the coming weeks, it means that the media (Fox News excepted, of course) has grown tired of being the administration's conduit for information dissemination.
Fall asleep.
No, seriously, don't fall asleep when coming into work. Why? Well, if you do, you end up missing your stop. I did this last week, and nearly did it again this morning.
I was fortunate last week in that I only missed Grand Central (I live in NYC, in case you hadn't figured that out) by one stop, waking up at 33rd Street. This was a pain in the ass, though, as I then had to schlepp ten blocks back uptown and over four avenues.
Argh!
Fortunately today, I woke up a stop ahead of Grand Central. You'd think the older woman who sits next to me most days would have woken me up last week, too...
In the eight years I've ridden the subway into work, last week was the first time I've fallen asleep on the way into work. Going home is a different story, since my stop is the last one on the #6 -- no chance of missing it!
Anyway, enough blathering about me. Or not. We'll see. I haven't had my coffee yet, so I'll be back like MacArthur and a division of infantry coming ashore in the Phillipines.
Good morning everyone! Buzz here, doin' a little guest posting while our luscious host Nicole is off doing some work thing. Just wanted to...**sniff, sniff**. What the hell is that smell? **Sniff** You know what, it still smells a little girly around here. This is supposed to be Testosterone Day around here so I say lets get rid of this incense , trash these throw pillows, remove those "lovely window treatments" and butch things up a bit. There we go. Now, how about a table facing the big screen TV so that me and the boys can watch a little hockey while we play some poker and puff on some nice, fat stogies! And put on some flannel, for pete's sake! Yeah that's better. *sniff sniff* Ahhh, that's much better. Smells like sweat and beer. Perfect. I'll be back later but for now, sit back, relax, bathe in the manliness of this place today. There's other stud-muffins coming along (along with the promise of some nudie pics from Mikey) so enjoy the ride.
** lets one rip **
Hehe.
greetings and salutations! since it's now past midnight on the right coast-area, i'll do my duty as guest blogger. i am indeed the hardest working man in show business. what do i do, you ask? i'm the assistant program director/7-Midnight DJ at WOXY in cincinnati. if you've seen rain man, that's my station raymond keeps repeating over and over and over. pretty keen stuff, that.
now here's the fun stuff: an excusive, one-day only MP3 for you to digest. ben folds had a side project called fear of pop, and they released one album called 'volume 1'. the tune you're getting features the vocal stylings of one william shatner. it's a hoot, so give it a listen right now and let me know what you think!
that's it for right now. your next destination? my blog. just a suggestion, natch.
I'm helping to hold down the fort over at Annessa's while she's working on a new design. Want to read my no doubt illuminating thoughts on the new movie Willard? Check it out.
What is it about weddings that turn nice, normal, sane people into insane spawns of Satan? I'm getting married May 31 and I never imagined planning this blessed event would turn into such freak show.
I've never been interested in weddings, so it's hard for me to understand what the big deal is. Yes, I want a nice wedding, but I don't care if it is very traditional and I don't want to spend every single cent in our savings account to have a super fluffy fairy tale day. I honestly never thought I would get married, so I never planned and dreamed about my future wedding. I grew up around a bunch of alcoholic men, so I never saw much point in having a man of my own. It seemed they were only good for one thing--a pay check--and since I was planning on being an independent woman I didn't need a man at all. My biggest wedding plans were made at the age of 7, when I decided I would have my bridesmaids dressed as blue fairies and I would wear glass slippers. Can you tell I loved Disney?
When I was in college I met a crazy girl who had her wedding all planned out, right down to the day of the big event. She had the material and patterns for her dress and the bridesmaids dress purchased and stored away. She had a cake topper, guest book, napkins printed with the date, and tons of other stuff. It was frightening. Even scarier was that her mother had bought into this fantasy world and strongly encouraged her to find a man in time for the ceremony. She was supposed to get married the summer we graduated from college, so her whole senior year she was totally depressed because she didn't have a boyfriend. It was insane. Totally insane.
Now I'm planning my own wedding and finding out just how insane my mother is. She's always been fun to hang around with--very cool, very low maintenance. Just a lot of fun. I figured she would be totally ok with a slightly non-traditional wedding, but much to my surprise she has totally freaked out. When I told her we were having a chocolate cake her head started spinning, sparks flew out of her eyes and a demon informed me that "YOU WILL HAVE WHITE CAKE!!!". It was frightening. If I'm going to pay $200-$300 for a cake, it is darned well going to be chocolate!
Then we have the crazy random strangers who want to criticize every aspect of the wedding. One of our friends has been ordained by the Internet church (as seen on Friends) and will be performing the ceremony. Friends and total strangers have told both her and us that she isn't holy enough to marry us. Holy? What does that even mean, really? The latest fiasco has been a woman getting bent out of shape because we aren't having children at the ceremony. Apparently weddings are community events where children learn proper behavior. That's all well and good, but we simply don't know any children. If we had nieces and nephews and other assorted children in our lives we'd invite them, but we simply don't. Craziness!
So someone tell me, what is it about weddings that makes people utterly and completely lose their minds?
So our time here at Go Fish as guest posters is nearing an end. And I must say, I will definitely miss it. It was kind of exciting to know that I could go into another person's journal and post my thoughts. I almost felt like a thief or an intruder to be honest with you.
Today was an interesting day in my world. I wish I had exciting things to talk about like Laura does, but I don't, so instead I will regale you (briefly) with a story about my mother.
Tonight we took my mom out to a very expensive French restaurant for her birthday dinner (and by we I mean two of my mother's friends and moi). My mother is possible the cheapest drunk in the world, and thus, she never drinks. Well tonight, she decided to have two glasses of Glenfiddich, a single malt Scotch. And I think everyone who attended this evening's festivities understood why my mother never drinks. She is the most annoying drunk in the world. She becomes quite loud and giggly and comments on everybody. And she does so in a very annoying manner. All her actions become overexaggerated to a frightening extent. Now, although this is funny to the outside observer, it is highly embarrassing for those of us who are related to her.
So I end this brief tirade with a piece of advice. To all those parents out there: if you are ever out with your adult children and you are not a good drinker, please limit your alcohol consumption. Otherwise your children may be paying good money for therapy for the next few years.
hi, it's laura again ... your guest-resident happy adjunct professor of English as a second language ... and tonight begins Mardi Gras for countless gay men in the central FL area. of course, i'll be there with beads on.
actually, i've been appointed a drunken balcony bead bitch by the head drag queen at the parliament house, orlando's largest gay resort. basically, i show up, get my face and body painted, and throw beads out to hot, built men who flash me. or, at least, that's how it's SUPPOSED to work. it's my first year, so we'll see. but weird things always happen to me when i go to the parliament house.
i'm usually one of the only women there when i go, and because i'm 5'9" and wear at least 3" heels, i'm sometimes mistaken for a transsexual and hit on (i am NEVER hit on when i'm sitting down - go figure). ??? the parliament house sometimes hires male strippers to dance around on tall boxes in thongs, pouring hot candle wax over their cut chests. last gay days in june, i had both strippers following me all over the complex, buying me drinks and asking me to go home to tampa with them. of course, that sent the men into a tizzy, and my best friend matthew overheard death threats while he was in the women's bathroom. i saw the play 'hedwig and the angry inch,' during which i tried to sneak out to go potty. i was grabbed by hedwig himself, flung backward into my chair, and my 'teeny bladder' was poked fun at for the remainder of the play by every single cast member that had a speaking part. then, the hunky czechoslovakian server that everyone lusts over - AND whom we all thought was completely homosexual - came out of nowhere, grabbed my breasts and said in a jaw-dropping slavic accent, "i wahnt toh leek your [insert name of female nether region here]." more death threats followed after that one.
so, tonight i'm supposed to be standing on a rain-soaked balcony with my friend, rose, throwing beads out to deserving hot bodies, and i discover that i need to find a low-cut/strapless top so that my chest can get painted. i head to frederick's of hollywood after my last grammar class was over, and hear a VERY strange succession of noises coming from the front of the store. chalking it up to a squeaky clothes rack, i continue browsing. as i near the front, i realise it's someone AT the front desk. ??? then, after the head saleschick asks to help me, i realise it's HER. yes, the woman had tourette's syndrome. god bless her, but it totally freaked me out until i figured out what she was doing. her head was twitching back, and i thought maybe she was clearing her throat. then, her arm would go up over her mouth, and i thought maybe she was popping tic-tacs or something. then, she barked at me, and i knew exactly what was going on. woah. i've never encountered a salesperson with tourette's before, much less at a lingerie store. she was really cool, of course, with a kick-ass personality. it was just kinda weird to have someone lace up your corset baa-ing like a sheep behind you. the corset rocks, btw.
i have a feeling that maybe i should just stay home this weekend...
Like everyone else, I'm totally jealous that Nicole gets to go to Paris for a week. When I first moved to Sweden I thought fun and exciting European destinations would be on my vacation agenda for the next few years.
Wrong!
For some reason my family expects me to spend my vacation time with them. After all, it's not like I can drive home for a long weekend. So instead of spending a week in the south of France, or a few days exploring Rome, I get to head for a special little place known as Hickville Central (also known as southern Oregon).
The ironic thing is, people pay big bucks to come up to Kiruna, my current home. It technically is an exotic locale. Of course, it's not my kind of exotic. I want white sandy beaches and drinks with little umbrellas. Instead, I've got white snow drifts eight months of the year and the opportunity to drink vodka out of glasses fashioned of ice (scroll down to see the pic). Crazy Americans, Germans and Japanese pay upwards of $300/night to sleep in a hotel made of ice. They can warm up by taking a nice sauna with the locals, clothing optional. Then they head to their beds of ice, covered with reindeer fur. We're talking romance central, people!
It's not really that bad. Not many people can say they've seen reindeer races in the middle of town, or claim that they've seen Hamlet performed in a theatre made entirely of ice. I just wish I was a tourist instead of a resident.
I can't complain too much. I have seen lots of exciting places since moving here. We spent a week in Munich and I really loved it. It was a business trip for my boyfriend, so he didn't get to see much of Germany. He got to eat lots of McDonald's and Burger King since they were generally the only places that were serving food by the time his meetings ended for the day. Authentic German cuisine! I got to see lots of drunk men in leiderhosen (we were there the week after Oktoberfest), which always makes for a good time. It's just a good thing drunk men are slow moving. I had one old geezer walk up to me with his hands outstretched at boobie level, ready to cop a feel. A quick side-step was all it took to avoid him. Seriously, though, I did have a lot of fun. I went on several different tours and did lots of exploring. It's almost impossible to describe the awe and wonder I felt when I was inside some of the old buildings or even walking down the streets. We just don't have anything that old in the US. (Yes, I know that Native Americans were in the US for a long time, but it's just not the same. They didn't build the way the Europeans did. Nothing against them or anything, it's just a totally different feel.).
Since I am writing for another journal besides my own I feel the need to say something of some important. Nicole is always writing about things that are socially relevant and important and since she has left us in charge here (which may not have been the best idea!) I felt the need to emulate her. Now granted, I am not as good a writer nor as socially conscious as our illustrious web mistress, however I hope I can muddle through somehow.
In Toronto in the past few months there has been an increasing amount of attention paid to the link between race and crime. Specifically, there are lawsuits pending regarding racial profiling and whether our law enforcement officials are using profiling or should be allowed to use it. People are of very different minds when it comes to an issue such as this, and the debate continues to rage in this cold snowy city.
Anyone who has ever studied Sociology knows full well that racial profiling is employed at all levels of law enforcement. There is no way around this since society itself embeds many racial concepts into people at a very young age. The difference between the average joe and those of us who consider ourselves enlightened (at least in my humble opinion) is that those who are enlightened realize this and make a conscious effort to form their own opinions outside of the concepts. Ideally these conscious efforts will eventually become ingrained and thus the original concepts will be moot.
The question is, is it right to employ racial profiling? Everyone knows it is done, and most of middle-class white America/Canada can see nothing wrong with it since it usually saves their butts. But ask any black man who is driving a nice car how it feels to be pulled over and suspected of stealing your own car. Because after all, he was DWB. Or ask anyone with a middle-eastern background how they have felt since September 11th. Most of them have probably felt pretty uncomfortable and a large number of them have probably dealt with racism and cruelty since that day, because hey, they are all terrorists. I can't help but see inherent problems in this system.
Government agents and officials have power. They are given that power by the people with the trust that they will use it carefully. Is this really how we expect them to wield the massive amounts of power we hand over?
I wish I could offer a solution to this, or suggest an alternative, but I can't. Racial profiling is wrong and unfair, but to whom does one direct their anger? What can be done instead to ensure our safety? The law enforcement officials can't really be faulted since they are using everything they can to best accomplish their job. Society has taught them certain things, education has probably furthered many of those ideas, and now, they employ these ideas in order to catch criminals, solve crimes etc. Until people start looking past skin tone, there is no solution. People of all colours and creeds need to open their minds, because it doesn't matter what you are, it matters who you are.
After reading Carrie's brave confession of her fear of fish, I immediately sympathized. While I don't have any phobia about the slimy creatures in general (although now that I think about it, I'm not all that fond of the idea of a fish brushing up against me in a river, either), I do have one really stupid fear.
Birds.
Well, it's not just only birds... it's pretty much any flying creature. I'm not sure where this whole thing comes from, or when exactly it set in. I remember the first time I took notice of it though... I was with a couple friends who were visiting me (back when I was living in Berkeley), and we were doing the touristy Fisherman's Wharf walk. Suddenly we came to this point where we had to walk by a bunch of evil seagulls, who were just huddling up on the sidewalk like they owned the freakin' joint. We walked, and I felt this horrendous amount of dread that all the birds were going to take off in flight in every possible direction the moment we walked by.
Miraculously, they didn't, but it took awhile before my heart slowed back down again. I started to feel this dread with just about any bird... a flock of pigeons in the road would make me wish more than anything to change direction. Even hummingbirds in a garden... while I loved to look at them, if one came flying towards me, I freaked... you know how fast those little things are?
I realized I had hit rock bottom when in a butterfly garden in Vancouver, I jumped any time one of the lovely creatures would take flight from whatever leaf they had settled on earlier. I managed to stick it out for a couple minutes and a couple photos... then I headed back into the aquarium area (Carrie would've certainly done the exact opposite heh).
Granted I have some other dumb fears as well (like when driving by semi-trucks, I'm always scared they will kick up a rock that will hit me in the face), but none are as strong as those of our fine, feathered friends.
What're you afraid of?
Yo, Yvonne here. I'm Nicole's favorite ghetto ho, even though I'm not from the ghetto, nor am I a ho. Well, actually that's not true, I'm kind of a famous ho. Notice I didn't say a RICH and famous ho? That's right, cause I'm keepin it real, I'm broke as a mo fo. Anyway... I feel honored Nicole trusted me enough to let me hang out here while she's gone, I hope I don't make her regret it!
Of course, she'd have to go on the ONE WEEK OF MY LIFE that I don't have anything to say!!! Well, I guess I could tell you how friggin embarrassed I was tonight when I found out that pickles were really CUCUMBERS! What the hell? Why didn't someone tell me this sooner? I'm still not sure if I believe it... I mean, pickles are just pickles, right? I'm still in a bit of shock. Kind of like when I found out The old lady from that show "mama's family" wasn't really an old lady at all. It was Vicky Lawrence and I was completely shocked! I was upset that I had been lied to. I never could laugh at that show again because it was a farce. Why not just get a funny old lady to play the part? Why dress some young lady up to play an old lady and mess with my head like that?? Ok, I forgot what this has to do with pickles... Oh well, I guess my point was I'm not so sure about this new revelation about pickles supposedly being cucumbers. I might need some concrete proof, people.
Oh, I bet Nicoles regretting giving me a password right about now. ;)
Movable Type just freaked out on me and sent my post four times. Oops. I deleted them, but I can't rebuild the site, so I'm posting this, which will rebuild the page and delete all those extra posts. So you get an extra bit of random goodness from me, rather than four bits of the same randomness. Aren't you lucky? I feel like an idoit now. LOL
Hi! I'm Jennifer, another guest poster. I've been reading everyone else's posts, and wondering what I should say. This is the first time I've ever posted on someone else's blog, and I'm a little nervous.
When I logged in, I noticed one interesting little tidbit: Nicole has 691 entries on this blog, and 702 comments. More comments than entries. Isn't that interesting? My blog's certainly not that way -- I have oodles of entries, and not as many comments. Of course, Nicole's different. She's interesting, and that's why we all flock here. :)
I always wanted to go to Europe. I never really wanted to go to France, though I hope Nicole's loving it there. No, I wanted to hit the British Isles. Ireland, especially. Or Scotland. I didn't even want to be a tourist. I wanted to do a work abroad program -- sort of like a "student exchange," but you go to work, not study. Now, I'm too old for the program, and planning a wedding, so that particular dream will never happen. I'll find a different way. Someday. Maybe.
Ahh yes, in keeping with the current Europe theme I will grace you dear readers of Nicole's blog, with another tale of European travel. As I discussed yesterday, during our trip to Rome we encountered many unusual things. Which is to be expected when visiting a foreign country. The money is weird to you, the language is unfamiliar and even the most traditional things to them, are not even a thought in our little american brains.
It seems that on Sundays, everything is closed. Restaurants, bars, stores, ...everything, after about 5:00. After a long and scary ride on the wrong bus to god-knows-where we were....we made it back to the neighborhood where our hotel was situated. Only to discover that all was dark and closed up for the night. And we were starving.
We walked for blocks for any indication of an open cafe only to find darkness in every shop window. He hung our heads in defeat and walked back to the hotel with a glimmer of hope that there was something unspoiled in our hotelroom refridgerator. In the hotel we stayed at, the key was also the thing that turned on the power to the room. When you leave...power goes off. That includes the fridge. Seems Romans don't reallly like anything cold. Didn't see a spec of ice in 10 days.
We went down to the hotel "bar" to see what we could dredge up. We were in luck. The only food source available in Rome. The hotel was pretty modern as far as amenitites. But the decor.....was awful. The bar was clad with 60's style furniture and everything was covered in black laquer and red velvet. Even the bartender looked like he was stuck in a time warp.
We managed a BLT out of him somehow and it could be the best BLT I ever ate. Took him 1 1/2 hours to make it....but we got it. Moral of the story? There is none. It just amused me that we were in this big beautiful city in Italy and the only place we could go to dinner, was at the hotel bar with the 70's bartender.
I guess it's time for me to gather up my courage and write my first Go Fish guest post. For some reason I feel like an impostor. I'm the high school geek who's somehow managed to worm my way into a seat at the cool people's table. I'm probably just paranoid.
At any rate, I'm Carrie. Once upon a time I was an American high school English teacher. These days I'm just an unemployed foreigner trying to speak Swedish to the natives. I moved to Sweden because I met a guy online and fell in love. It sounds so cheesy, doesn't it? And unlikely. And just plain weird. It works for us though. We're getting married on May 31st and I fully expect it to last forever (knock on wood).
Enough about me. Let's talk about the ironies of The Go Fish being one of my top three blog picks.
I discovered Nicole before the fishies were on the layout. If I would have clicked her diary and seen the fishes I would have hit back and made a point to never, ever come back. Yes, I'm a freak. I have an extreme fear of fish, so luckily I became addicted to Nicole's wit before she had the fish on the page. I've come up with a coping mechanism. Before I open her blog, I make sure all the windows are positioned in such a way that I can't see the fish when I open the blog. I think I need psychiatric help.
I haven't always been this way. I don't know what made me this way. When I was a kid we had pet fish. I didn't ever touch them (my sister killed them by petting them) but I didn't turn away in terror either. Up until I was about fourteen years old I would even go swimming in lakes and rivers and have no thoughts about fish swimming near me. These days the very thought of one of my teeny-tiny toes touching a drop of natural water is almost enough to send me to the ER with seriously elevated blood pressure.
I think the problem started in high school. I paid way too much attention in my classes (I'm a nerd-girl) and totally absorbed every thing the bio teacher said about strange creatures living in the ocean. I didn't want to be stung by a jelly fish or attacked by a shark or poisoned by other strange sea-life. That was the start.
Also, at some point my aunt told me a story about her tropical fish. She was really into raising the slimy little buggers, but told me that she had a problem with some of them. Apparently they would jump out of the tank and land on the sofa. Sometimes they would land on people. Sometimes they would dry out over-night and leave a nice husk for Auntie to clean up. The thought of a fish jumping out of a tank and landing on my neck made me ill. The fear took root and eventually grew into an out of control entity.
These days I don't even like to look at pictures of fish, much less see a real fish. I won't eat at the one Chinese restaurant in town because they have a huge fish tank right by the register. I get images of the Chinese owner reaching into the tank with a pair of chopsticks and flipping a round bodied orange slimy thing on me. Or worse yet, I get images of the fish being flipped into the skillet and fried up with my curry chicken. My over-active imagination has banned the place from my list of "safe places to eat". Good thing I don't really like Chinese food.
Like I said, I'm in dire need of psychological help.
Now, let's see if I can figure out the intricacies of this professional looking blogger type thingee. I'm just a lowly d-x user, so here's to hoping I don't screw anything up.
as i have yet to post an entry on my blog yet I have a swirl or random thoughts swirling around my head at the moment...
* Did anyone see Simon Cowell on Oprah today? Wow, that man has got some really erect nipples...
* If you have a big butt does it take longer for it to go numb than a skinny butt?
* Does that one guy on Survivor look EXACTLY like David Byrne or is it just me? Me & my husband now have to watch shows & fit in Talking Heads lyrics like...
"You may ask yourself- how did i get here?!"
* ooooh, Joe Millionaire on tonight. I don't think him and Zora will last. She's a little spacey and he's just dumb as a rock. Well, hmm, now that i say that maybe they will be a great couple...
And now i am laughing out loud since my posts are always totally different than the rest of the guestposters... just call me tool of the bunch. *queen wave* (elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist)...
Today seems to be the day for writing about Europe. I had this plan to write about a special I saw on tv last night about how to protect yourself in a crowd situation, however, I think I will be saving that for tomorrow. And yes, for those keeping track, I watched that special instead of the Grammy's. I was at a friends place and she was very anti-Grammy so I missed out on all the fun. However, I did hear that Nelly took of his face band-aid for the first time. I can't believe I missed that.
And on to Europe and all that it entails....
My parents were the first generation to come here to the Crap White North known otherwise as Canada. But their family all stayed in Europe. All over Europe really, but centralized in France, Italy, Switzerland, Austria, England and Wales. Although come to think of it, that isn't really all that centralized, is it?
Anyways, because we had no relatives here, we used to spend almost every summer travelling and visiting family and friends. We would start in Paris, then go to Switzerland, then finally Italy. On occasion we would also go to Austria and Germany, however since we had travelled across the ocean to be there most people came to see us.
I remember having way too much fun when I was there. I had cousins, and family and they showed us around and treated us like gold. And for anyone who has ever visited <>my site<> you will know that I am all about being the centre of attention: hence the career goal of acting.
It was funny, because when I was a kid (and really, even now) I felt more at home in Europe. I never felt like I fit in here, I always felt like something was wrong with me, but when I was in Europe with the family, I was fine. I know I had a very different upbringing than most kids because my parents were very European in their ways. Manners were so important it is frightening. We also ate at different times, used different language (and often spoke a different one..French if you were curious), had different discussions and different rules. It may have been these things that enhanced how different I felt.
The point of all the rambling? Let me get to it as my dinner is awaiting me! I went back for two months two summers ago. I hadn't been since I was fourteen, so eight years I guess. And you know what? The same thing happened. I felt immediately at home. It didn't matter whether I was trekking through the "rain" (read: monsoon) in Scotland, or hanging at the largest gay bar in London (gay men listen to the best music, I swear), or eating baguette and jambon in Paris (I'm sorry...what diet?), or sweating buckets in Venice (honestly...the most humid city ever), or shopping in Florence (heaven...need I say more?) or sight-seeing in Rome (because seriously everything happened in Rome): I was home.
And the best part? Even though my family hadn't seen me in eight years, it was exactly the same. There was no weirdness or anything. They were accepting and wonderful and it felt great!
You know what...this is totally not the way I had planned for this entry to go. I am going to leave it here, so that all European background is provided, but I promise, tomorrow's entry will have a point. I PROMISE.
It's time I got my feet wet here at Go Fish. Since Nicole is away in Paris enjoying the food, the culture, the museums and drinking a few glasses of french wine I will keep the subject matter to foreign travel. Thinking of her over there reminded me of my own time spent in Europe.
I never dreamed I would have the chance to travel overseas. When I met my husband, and we started dating he told me he would take me to Rome one day and we would sit on the Spanish Steps with a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread, and watch the people go by. It was a romanitc thought and I entertained the idea. But didn't think we would some day do it.
Steve and I got married in 1999 and for our honeymoon, we went to Rome. Ten days walking the streets of Rome, visiting the ruins, the Colosuem, eating lunch in Piazza De Navona...where some of the best people watching takes place.
One night we decided to live out our little fantasy of sitting on the Spanish Steps. We got our wine and two little cups, some bread and walked there with stars in 
our eyes. During the day we had seen the Steps...its a fairly big tourist spot. At night however, the Steps turn into the biggest teenager hangout/pick-up joint in the whole city. There were kids everywhere. We managed a spot near the top of the Steps and started with the wine drinking. There is no open bottle laws in Rome, nor is there a drinking age (i think). Kids where everywhere guzzling from bottles of vodka...guys picking up girls that didn't even speak the same language. The best part of it all was the vendors. All over Rome there are these men that walk around in piazza's and hangouts and tourist spots trying to sell cheap trinkets.
They had laminated Bart Simpson posters with the caption "Don't Have a Cow Man" on them. Gold lighters in the shape of naked women... and men, and when lit, the fire would come out or their breasts or other genitalia. heh.
Not exactly the most romantic night as we had envisioned for so long. But we got there and we did what we came for. We only stayed for an hour or so and moved on to get some real italian gelato. That made up for it.
Stay tuned for more stories from the "Kathy In Europe" series.
I'm sort of jealous at the moment. Nicole's certainly off doing all sorts of fun, exciting touristy things, and while my first steps on French soil were now over two years ago... I've never done most of those things.
When I first came here, we did do a few of the obligatory tourist things. We did the Eiffel Tower, although the top floor was closed for renovations at the time, so we had to settle for the second floor. We even took the stairs, as the wait for the elevator was like 80-bazillion hours and some change. I resisted the urge to buy one of the smiling Eiffel Tower stuffed animals in one of the gift shops (while cheesy, I am always drawn to such things), but instead bought a bubble pen and blew bubbles from the second floor.
We've also been to the Château de Versailles, which is where all those French noble types were living for a couple hundred years. It's extremely impressive, with ornately-painted ceilings, huge kingly beds, a large collection of artwork, etc. However, we sort of missed out on the gardens, which are huge and supposedly gorgeous when in bloom. We were there in January, which meant no flowers, covered statues (as to not be weakened by the frost), and being slightly chilly.
There's been a few other little things as well... we've driven down the Champs-Elysées (although it was just to go to the Virgin Megastore, heh), we've been through the same square in Montmartre that Amélie goes running through (even before the film came out, bonus points for me!), and we've done Père Lachaise, which is the coolest graveyard in paris, with many famous um... residents (the most commonly searched out being Jim Morrison). But there's so much to be done as well. I still haven't see the Arc De Triomphe, nor gone to the Louvre. Notre Dame is nothing more than a Disney cartoon in my experience.
However, just this weekend we spent the day on the seaside basking in the sun, with beer and guitars, followed by crêpes and delicious cider. And while it may not be the hustle and bustle of Paris, I guess I can settle for that.
I was updating I Wish, You Wish when I noticed that today is Nicole's birthday! What could be better than wishing her happy birthday on her own blog?
Happy birthday, Nicole! I hope you're having a wonderful time in Paris!
whew! i finally broke into this joint! for some reason all yesterday it would just give me the login 12 million cazillion times...
hello people! i'm Tenika from butterfly wings. how ya doin?
Do you think it's possible that the people over at Picture Yourself hate me?? Moi, you say? I'm not even kidding. Since January I have probably submitted 4 times and I've never once gotten to be (i guess) one of the priveledged people. The happy people. The cool people. Maybe I'm just not angry enough looking in the picture.. i've seen a few of those.. maybe that is what they are looking for...
oh well. *sniff* I'll be okay... I'm just getting major junior high flashbacks right now...grrr..
okay sidenote to myself who's obviously not hip to MT..what the hell is this excerpt section?! URL's to Ping? WTH?? Okay Tenika, just press publish.
hi, everyone ... i hope that you're all having a nifty weekend thus far, and that your weather is cooperating. i'm laura, part of operation guestpost, and i live in orlando, florida (yes, the location that brings you those really sickening boy bands). i'm a professor of english at seminole community college near orlando, and teach english as a second language to adults. we've had a few wonderful storms today, and it's actually gotten muggy enough that we need to turn on our air conditioners. don't hate me because i've never driven in snow.
today, i was driving to take my eldest to see 'chicago' (hey, we've got to see at least ONE movie this year that's been nominated for an oscar) i pulled up behind a FL license tag that read 'GODSGIF.' not 'GODSGIFT,' but 'GIF.' ???
i was tempted to get out of my vehicle and ask the person if they really thought they were THAT hot, and were simply a victim of florida's limitation of the license plate characters. or, perhaps, they were a christian graphics designer? then, i got to thinking, "if god had a .gif, what would it look like?"
so, what do YOU think god's .gif would look like? don't be shy! tell us what you think.
Movable Type looks so cool.
So, here I am. I should clarify that the bio-ette provided by Nicole for me is not entirely accurate. I was a student at Vassar; however, due to various medical mishaps and some ridiculous red tape, I am somewhat between colleges now. It's a long and bitter epic already well chronicled in my diary, so I will not clutter up Nicole's blog with a rehash.
Instead I will talk about hot, hot sexin'.
Wheeee... that entry extension link is good for creating cliffhangers.
I picked up the paper this morning (the Rochester Democrat & Chronicle of Rochester, New York, for those of you who wish to locate precisely how far away the person writing this is from you) and skimmed through nightclub catastrophes and local trials when something in the Living section caught my eye. It was a little column-filler about the website Torrid Romance. It's a California-based company that churns out "personalized romance novels": you pick one of four themes (western, medeival, modern-day Cinderella, Paris), answer a survey about yourself and your partner of choice (eye color, hair color, boxers or briefs, etc) and send in $34.99, and several weeks later you receive your personalized book, featuring such memorable quotes as, "... a red dress sends a definite message. It's like, well, I do have a smoking body, thank you very much ..."
Needless to say, I was amused. Romance novels are cheesy enough as it is, and I should know: they were essentially my sex education. I remember sneaking my mother's Danielle Steele novels off the shelf around age 10 and breathlessly reading of Alexa-Rose and her stablehand Marcus, carefully marking the 'good parts' for later. I'm not sure how much this introduction has screwed with my perceptions of love and sex (I should think not much, I'm highly cynical about the two), but my take on literature has certainly evolved beyond that, thank God. You can only read variants of, "Her bosom trembled and her dewy lips parted as he pressed forward, pushing them both down onto the satiny scarlet sheets" for so long before you realize something is essentially wrong with the genre.
And I do believe it's very wrong. It gives people unrealistic ideas about the relationship between the sexes. Women are not passive, dreamy creatures made suddenly multi-orgasmic by their one true love, who will care for them always, and men are not sensitive lone wolves without needs of their own, who can make everything all better in the end. These personalized books are just further proof that romance novels are cheap therapy for housewives who wish that they were able to live upon a pedestal, completely dependent and totally adored. "Historical" romances are of course ridiculously inaccurate, and on the whole the stories are churned out by hack writers looking to make a quick buck.
(I'm sorry if I've offended any romance novel fans out there. But c'mon!)
What drew me to the website though, and what made me write this post, is my enduring fascination with the genre simply for cheesiness' sake. It's like people who watch reality shows to see how gruesome they'll turn out. Even just the synonyms for penis are hilarious ("proud manhood," "pillar of love," "staff of desire"). My composition professor last year challenged us to write two short stories about love. He said to use the most original and interesting imagery and language we could think of for the first one, and the absolute cheesiest and most cliched for the second. I got just as much pleasure out of writing the second one as I did the first, simply because I couldn't stop laughing. My heroine Sierra was of course a breathless 18-year-old virgin orphan, complete with heaving bosom and full, pouty lips, who dreamed of being a movie star. On her way to Hollywood, one mishap after another crushing her delicate flower-like spirit until Her Twoo Wuv comes along and saves the day. I'm far prouder of the first story I wrote, but I keep the other around for laughs.
Hell, I could work for Torrid Romance. I can euphemize names for the genitals with the best of them! Just need to pick out a pen name, which isn't too hard. I'll follow that company's lead and use a gender-nonspecific first name with a famous author's last name: Madison Shakespeare, say. Or perhaps Madison Lawrence, in honor of a REAL author who wrote incredibly, incredibly sexy books. Just tell me the theme and I'm good to go!
Interestingly enough, one of the four themes offered is one set on a vacation to Paris. I wonder what our lovebirds' vacation would be like were it a highly cheesed romance novel...?
He lay back slowly on the luxurious bed, gazing longingly at the beautiful woman standing before him. "Darling, you look ravishing in that," he murmured, admiring the way her negligee fit her supple body.
She smiled, lying down next to him. "Thank you," she purred tenderly, close to his ear, "I knit it myself."
Anyway. I'll leave now, hoping I haven't crossed any lines with that last bit. *yawns* 'Night, all.
Hi, I'm Annessa, and I'm a guest poster on Nicole's site while she's gone. You can find out more about me here, but first, I have a problem.
Yeah, there's something sooo wrong with the way I woke up today. Nicole promised me she'd stick me in her suitcase and take me with her, but alas, I wake up still in the States.
Traveling abroad has always been a dream for me. I've wanted to have a Griswald experience forever it seems. But I've never gone. My younger brother? Three times. My mom and dad? At least a dozen or so each. Yeah, they've gone to Europe together (all three of them, with my grandfather), without me (at least they pretended it wasn't on purpose). And now the cool bloggers I know think it's okay to just jump in a plane and travel around the world and leave me behind. As if!
But one year, when my brother and mother were in France, my dad said he was going to take me to Europe too. Yeah, he took me to Epcot.
That's the kind of family I come from, just a little twisted.
I just swung by the fabulous go fish website that Nicole has blessed us with and I noticed I am unable to pull it up. Apparently the website is malfunctioning or being over-accessed or my computer is too slow to open the page right now. OR, and this is a big OR because it would be so damn awful if it was true, one of the guestposters has broken it. I am not sure exactly how one would break a website, but if it was one of the guest posters, I am so glad it was not me. It is totally something I would do and not even realize that I did it. So if someone did break the website, I feel your pain. And if it is just malfunctioning on its own, damn website!
As Nicole mentioned in her intro of the guest posters, I am Canadian. I actually live in Toronto where we have had a gross and cold winter with much snow (typical winter around here!). However, today and yesterday have been wonderful and warm. It went up to +1 Celsius today (sorry guys, I have no idea how to convert that to fahrenheit). This is a huge improvement...however, since it is going down to -14 on Monday, I also feel it is a huge tease.
I don't understand how anyone is supposed to become accustomed to these weather patterns. My skin is as dry as the Sahara Desert and it just keeps getting worse as the weather fluctuates. I have been getting these killer headaches (but not quite migraines) as the pressure changes. Nicole was talking about the snow fun that was happening in Philadelphia, and I long for those days.
So what is all the complaining about, you ask. It is really quite simple: I would like to put in an official request. Mr. Frost or Ms. Nature, can one of you please make up your mind? Thanks a whole bunch.
I thought I'd start my first Operation GuestPost entry off with something good and noble so that when I get drunk and wacky, at least my first impression was good. ;-)
Several years ago I found a site called United Devices. They ask you to volunteer your PC to help process molecular research being conducted by the Department of Chemistry at the University of Oxford in England and the National Foundation for Cancer Research. To participate, you simply download a very small, no cost, non-invasive software program that works like a screensaver: it runs when your computer isn't being used, and processes research until you need your machine. Your computer never leaves your desk, and the project never interrupts your usual PC use.
There is no cost to participate and no impact on your computer use. The project software cannot detect or transfer anything on your machine but project-specific information. It just allows your computer to screen molecules that may be developed into drugs to fight cancer. Each individual computer analyzes a few molecules and then sends the results back over the Internet for further research. This project is anticipated to be the largest computational chemistry project ever undertaken and represents a genuine hope to find a better way to fight cancer.
You can download the agent here and read the FAQ here.
If you do decide to join, I have created a team called Blogging For a Cure. Please sign up for the team after you join. If you dedcide to become a team member e-mail me your username at UD (so I can tell who you are) and site info and I'll add you to the blogroll.
This is an easy, free way to help fight cancer, so please add your computer's resources to the project.
I figured that in honor of Nicole's funfilled day of air travel, I would review with you how these long distance flights go. After all, I've done the same US to Paris overnight dealy quite a few times (and even done the United arriving at 7am Paris time deal), and I've got the whole routine down-pat.
Approx. 12:30pm: Arrive at airport for leg one of the flight. Sure, you're quite a bit early, but with all those ten bazillion security points, you never know how long it'll take. You check in your bags (and wave goodbye to your luggage), and then you're off to face round after round of questioning.
12:45pm: You've been scanned, x-rayed, and urine checked in record time, and are now faced with two hours of airport fun. Granted, Newton's Law of Travel states that had you shown up one hour before your flight time, you would have spent every last second in that damn line, but there's only so much you can do in an airport. You buy a coffee, and mix in the perfect amount of sugar and cream very slowly. You glance at your watch... only 78 seconds have passed. Argh.
12:50pm: You settle into one of those hard, ratty chairs and sigh. You're not even on the plane yet, and you're bored already.
2:25pm: You get called for boarding, and more likely than not are pulled aside for a random bag check. You glance away while the male security agent is digging through the pocket which contains both your birth control and your supply of tampons. You're cleared for boarding.
4:15pm - 5:15pm: You've finished the short leg of your flight. You buy a book of crossword puzzles, drink yet another coffee, make a final bathroom run, and then it's off for international boarding. Hooray!
6:00pm: You scope out the perks on this flight. If you're lucky, you've got a personal tv screen with 8 channels of movies and television programming to choose from. Less lucky? One big movie screen at the center of each section of the plane. Even less lucky? You're in the furthest back corner seat (which naturally, does not recline).
7:30pm: The crew has announced the menu choices for dinner. Naturally, they're out of your choice when they get to your seat. You settle for a salad with only one salad dressing option (if you're lucky, it's italian, if not... it's french), a mysterious blob of the main dish, and a slice of "cheesecake" that seems to be neither cheese, nor cake. Hmmph.
7:45pm: You realize you shouldn't have drank that coffee before boarding, and you need to pee NOW. However, you've a tray of picked-over food in front of you (and if you're not in the aisle seat, other people's trays as well), rendering that impossible. You hold out until a few minutes later, when the crew comes and collects the trays, only to discover that everyone else was waiting for that too. You sigh as you walk over to stand in the ever-growing queue.
8:30pm: At this point, most people are sleeping and the cabin lights have been dimmed. If you even think about turning on that overhead light, you're the bitch that's ruining everyone's slumber. You spend the next few hours feigning sleep.
6:15am (GMT+1): The cabin crew wakes everyone up for breakfast, distributing trays of much-needed nourishment. You find yourself with a cold, mysterious muffin of some sort, a bit of butter, and a bowl of slimy fruit (of which you only like the strawberries, so all the melon goes to waste). You, once again, settle for coffee.
7:15am: You finally manage to get off the plane, and follow the crowds on the moving sidewalks (which you'd like to rwalk on, but some family is blocking your path), and make your way towards French customs. You practice your high school french softly to yourself, thinking it's finally going to be put to good use.
7:35am: After a good 15 minutes of being in line, the customs guard simply looks at your passport, looks at you, gives it back, and you're off. Not even a hello (or a bonjour, for that matter). You take the escalator to the baggage claim.
7:50am: When your baggage isn't the first one on the conveyor belt, you start to panic. Your luggage must be lost! How does one say "where the fluffin'-ay is my luggage, nerd?!" in french?! Thankfully, the worry comes to a close as you see your bags coming around the bend. What is that smell, you wonder to yourself. You glance around and find the source, a group of 30-somethings talking on their cell phones and lighting up their cigarettes directly under the 'no smoking' sign. You sigh happily to yourself... this is Paris.
Testing, Testing...1...2...3...is this thing on?
Well, it has certainly been a bad week for party-goers. Piling on to the tragedy in Chicago last weekend, we all woke up this morning to hear about an inferno at a Rhode Island night club killing dozens.
And once again laws were probably broken. CNN Headline News reported this morning that neither the band nor the club had permits to use pyrotechnics (the cause of the fire).
Nothing like a happy, upbeat first guestpost at go fish, eh?
It is safe to say (did I say safe?) that being in my (shuddering to admit this) mid-thirties and saddled with work and home-related responsibilities has seriously diminished the amount of time I spend in clubs (not counting health clubs, I guess). These tragedies sort of make you wonder how many times you have been on the cusp of violent death while having a blast of a time and not realizing it.
My condolences to all the victims in Chicago and Rhode Island.
Yeah, I know you're interested by that title, right? Kathy won the rights to the story -- and, besides, what's a weekend without a bar brawl?
I'm guest-posting for Kathy while she's in Florida. Poor Kathy, letting me loose on her blog! Heh.
If you're interested in Catholic Patron Saints, here's a link to the post.
I can't believe there is a Patron Saint of dysentery and salesmen, and it's the same person. Bwah!
I've already hinted on my site that I have a spot of bother sometimes making my mouth say what my brain is thinking. I suffer from this when everyone in the room is waiting for me to say something, or when I'm trying to impress and tripping over myself in my attempts to try hard. The following is a true story, when both of the above combined to make one outstanding moment of embarrassment.
Ten years ago I was dating this girl, who, for the sake of this tale, we shall call X. It was approaching our first Christmas together and, keen to impress, I gladly accepted the offer from X's parents to enjoy a Christmas lunch with them. It would be fun, X outlined, as the family often sat down afterwards with a bottle of port and avoided the Queen's Speech by playing board games.
How stressful could that be, I thought. Sounded easy.
But. I. Tried. Too. Hard.
Christmas Day. Having arrived at the home of X for lunch, I began my endless attempts to impress X's parents.
"What a lovely house", "What a lovely smell" (re the dinner, not the foul aroma wafting from the lavatory), "That's a nice blouse" (though I think I meant to say it to X's mother, not her father).
The awkward acceptance of a stranger in their house for Christmas slowly began, and by the time lunch had finished, the ice was well and truly broken (amazingly) and we settled down in the living room for a game of Trivial Pursuit, accompanied by a glorious bottle of port.
I'm OK with general knowledge stuff, so wasn't worried about making myself look like a donut by saying something stupid. I should have worried.
The game progressed reasonably well. Three teams (X and I, her parents, her brother and his wife), the bottle of port, no Queen's speech, general laughter and a good sense of competition. Realising I was perhaps trying too hard, I remained quiet unless X asked me for help for the questions, and she was doing just fine until we were asked one that I knew I knew the answer to.
The question was this:
What was the name of the building Lee Harvey Oswald shot JFK from on November 22nd 1963?
I knew this. I'd watched stuff about JFK, read books on the theories about his death, and I knew the answer. Part of me wanted me to be asked what the answer was. So imagine my delight when X turned and said, I'm not sure... Iain, do you know? I knew.
It was an opportunity for me to impress with a dazzling display of my general knowledge. The room was silent. Everyone looked. Everyone waited.
My brain said: Texas Book Depository
My mouth said: [swipe with mouse to reveal] Texas Book Suppository [end swipe]
???
I cannot describe the moment after the words came out of my mouth, the looks on faces, the scarlet red X's face went...
Appropriately, I felt an ass...
Now, don't be shy, you must have a similiar tale, of brain and mouth being out of sync, you'd like to share... any fishes care to take the bait?
Hi-ho there, it's Mrs-Roboto. Thought I'd come hang out here today since my place is getting fumigated. I seem to have some sort of a cootie infestation at Rainy Daze. I think those pests are just drawn to the lime green or something. Anyway, Nicole was nice enough to let me crash out here and watch her cable and eat her food and make long distance calls from her phone. Well, she actually never said I could use all those amenities but I'm sure she won't mind. She's generous like that.
Now on to the storytelling. Some of you may know that I worked at an erotic bakery while attending college. What you probably didn't know was that the bakery also sold a variety of amorous accouterments (yes, I mean sex toys). We had vibrators, butt plugs, lubricants, lingerie, everything you could imagine except porn mags and videos. That was where the boss lady drew the line. She felt that those types of products might draw the wrong crowd. Edible underwear and nipple clamps, on the other hand brought in the creme de la creme of society.
So we got our fair share of nuts and perverts. There were men who might ask what a dildo was used for just to hear you explain. My standard response was that they should read the instructions because I had no idea being the innocent christian I am. Would they like to read the bible with me? I had another guy who would come in daily and purchase a vagina shaped lollipop which he would then proceed to consume in what I believe he saw as a sensual manner while strolling through the shop. And then there was the lady who came in daily to buy condoms. She'd buy a pack of ten on Monday and then come back Tuesday for ten more. I think we can all draw our own conclusions here. But there's one guy who really stands out in my mind, one man who makes cringe even seven years later.
His name was Martin. He was small and skinny and pastey white. He looked like he might be in his forties but was probably only in his late twenties. He had thick coke bottle glasses and greasey hair. He claimed to be a research assistant at M.I.T. He talked alot but avoided ever making eye contact with me. His first purchase was a blow-up doll named Cherry. He told me his friend was getting married. He thought this would be a good gag gift for him. They were having a bachelor party. His friend would think this was funny and so on. Did I have any blondes? His friend liked blondes. No just Cherry, a red head, and an inflatable sheep called the Love Ewe. It was his choice. He took Cherry.
About a week later Martin came back. He was looking for lingerie for his girlfriend. She was about 5'6, he told me, very slim and attractive. What size lingerie should he get? I selected what I thought the doll would wear and sent him on his way. He came back the following week for some lubricants, once again for the girlfriend. I sold him some. Another week passed and he returned for chocolate body paint. Things were getting wild with the girlfriend. The fourth week he returned he just looked around. He was quieter than usual. He looked out of whack. He finally approached me. He was looking for a vinyl patch kit, for his girlfriend.
It's Todd for my very last guest post of the day.
Last night during my two hours of sleep I dreamed I was in an episode of Seinfeld. Jerry was dragged to a gay man’s convention. The speaker announces that food was ready to be served but only gay men would be served first. Jerry, impatient, strolls up to the buffet table topping his plate with food when along comes a gay acquaintance of his. The gay man is surprised to see Jerry at the convention, especially first in line at the buffet table. The man smugly asks Jerry, "So you’re gay?” Jerry grumbles to the man that yes he is gay. The man keeps pressing Jerry with questions, "So you like to smoke the sausage? So you like to pack the fudge?” Jerry grumbles again, "Yes, I’m a fudge packer." The other man keeps pestering Jerry. "So you like to—" And Jerry finally fed up starts waiving his arms around and yells out "I'm not gay! I’m not gay!" And as the crowd of gay people look on, Jerry settles down and adds … "not that there is anything wrong with being gay."
... now back to your regular scheduled programming...
This is Todd again. I think I understand why the earlier post by Meegan was archived away already. I think when you select “new entry,” the page will refresh and post anew. It’s not my fault. Honest. Nicole left me the instructions. I guess Nicole adds new posts during the day to the original one started for the day. That’s what I am going to do here.
I want to tell you about my new friend...
Meet Galápagos Rex. Self-proclaimed ruler of the Galápagos Archipelago. Though he may never have stepped foot outside of Henderson County, he likes to envision he has. His reverie is short-lived when the town-folk snicker in his face. The town-folk know him as Jimmy. Call him Jim for short.
My fiction writing class assignment is to create a character and fully describe him in explicit detail so that we may choose to use him or her in our upcoming assignment of writing a short story. I have written a lot more about him, but I want ideas. I need eccentricities to make him come alive and become approachable. What does he think about? What are his hobbies? How does he talk to people? What does he dream? What are his conflicts? Got any ideas?
I wrote about Galápagos Rex (Jim) in my web log and asked for suggestions but not many people come around my parts, so I thought I would ask for suggestions here because Nicole is so popular and because she smells nice.
This is Todd coming down the homestretch, filling in for Nicole who is performing her civic duty.
Nicole is very trusting. She has no screening process in place for would-be guest posters. I could be loony and post a whole lot of lunacy … my plan exactly. Actually, I don't know what to write. I could start off telling you a little about myself and maybe how my day has been going so far.
As a matter of description I stand yay high and yay wide. I attend the University of Arizona where I study and work at Campus Recreation and the College of Public Health. I have a hot "new" girlfriend. Sweet the girl with brown hair curls that kisses me. That's enough about me.
Today's happenings ... got two hours of sleep and almost overslept for work. Rushed off throwing on the only clean shirt I could find - my old soccer jersey that as I was slipping on dawned on me that I have grown quite the muscular body since the days of my youth. The shirt looked like it was spray painted on. I had no choice but to wear it and look like I was some pompous macho guy trying to show off. I just moved and the lady I rent a room from has not bought the washer and dryer she promises is on the way. I have no clothes. I think I will have to go to a Laundromat tonight. Another byproduct of my moving to a new home is that I can't find some of the things I packed up - like my nail clippers. I can barely type this post my nails are so long.
Please send donations of clothes and nail clippers to the Poor Pompous Macho College Men Without Clothes or Nail Clippers Fund. Thank-you for your support.
That's quite a specifically esoteric sounding foundation. I think they need to work on the name. Any suggestions?
This is Meegan filling in for Nicole who is performing her civic duty.
In todays top news headlines:
“The Russians said it's "Bye Bye Bye" for Lance Bass and his quest to fly into outer space.” You would think journalists could come up with a better catch phrase for the denial of Lance Bass into space. Apparently, he thought his celebrity was enough. The pretty boy has yet to cough up the $20 million required to be the third civilian to rocket with Russian cosmonauts to the International Space Station. Case and point that good looks and status will only get you so far. When it comes down to it, it is all about the Benjamin’s baby.
Venus Williams will most likely be ousted from the family. The tennis prodigy is no longer performing up to par. Doesn’t she understand that love is conditioned on whether she brings home another trophy?! I suspect there was a beat down as Daddy Williams berated Venus for not pulling through. Hey, at least there is still hope for Serena.
I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Freddie Prinze Jr. is officially off the market. He and Sarah Michelle Gellar were hitched in a “secret ceremony” in Mexico." This puts a whole new spin on runnin' for the border.
Oh! And how could I forget American Idol! Tonight is the season finale. Justin will win. Mark my words. I have never seen the bloody show, but the boy pisses charisma. I have heard that Kelly is the better singer, but when it comes down to it, talent does not hold the weight that style does in Hollywood. Just look at Britney Spears.
