I was out of town for just over a week. I had back to back conferences in LA and Phoenix. The weather was grand, the sessions were great and the time away was refreshing. I barely paid attention to what was going on at the office back home. And I managed to forget about the daily stresses that seem to be building up inside me every single day.
I learned tons and had a lot of fun too. I have stories. Stay tuned.
In the meantime, I was giving my boys a bath last night. Drew (the three year old) had a nasty looking wound on his forearm. It looked like a rattlesnake bite.
“Drew, what happened to your arm?”
“A baby tried to eat me.”
Then I remembered that the wife told me they had dinner at a neighbor’s house my second night away. She said the neighbor’s one year old bit Drew.
“Ohhh, buddy! Who did it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was it Ryan?”
“Yes, Ryan did it. I got away, but I cried.”
“Are you okay now?”
“Yes Daddy.”
“You are lucky he didn’t eat you.”
“Yah, I got away.”
Getting back to reality after being out for a week has been tough. But tales of a cannibal baby from my little boy makes it a little bit better.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Group Encounters
I had never had a multiple partner encounter before. Nope; no threesome, swapping, tag teaming or orgies of any kind. I guess I just like to stay focused. Despite the male-female-female soiree being a typical male fantasy, I just haven’t wanted it. Digging deeper into the every-man fantasy, the ideal women would be a model with boobs, loves sports, is a gourmet cook, likes to clean, a great sense of humor, smart, makes tons of money, loves oral, and is bi-sexual. I think that about covers the essentials. But I digress.
So, I haven’t had a threesome. I haven’t wanted to. Or maybe I just haven’t had the opportunity.
Recently, all that changed.
Just the other day, I had a three-way with two other bloggers. And get this! One of them was a guy! I would have never guessed in a million years I’d take part in a male-female-male encounter. Not that there is anything wrong with that. The other guy and I laid down the rules up front. We ordered each other to stay on our own sides and to absolutely avoid any physical contact with each other. We also agreed that neither of us wanted to see each other, especially in places where the sun don’t shine.
Who were the other two participants you ask? Well, I’ll take a chance that they don’t mind the world knowing and reveal them as MoMo and Cunning. I gotta tell ya, MoMo was in heaven. Cunning and I decided she should pay us next time. Don’t get me wrong, we all had a good time. But rightly so, MoMo did most of the receiving. I have to admit, I’m looking forward to another three way IM session with them on gmail sometime soon.
Amazingly, I had another multiple person encounter that went to an even bigger level. And frighteningly enough, it was with TWO other guys and a gal. Yes, the three of us studly mountain men teamed up on a not-so-innocent damsel sure to be in distress after we got done with her.
The three of us had gone to a basketball game and stopped at the neighborhood bar on the way home. Mind you, I live in the Truman Show Pleasantville Bubble, meaning I’m in a newer neighborhood of family-fest where everyone has kids and hangs out with each other and attends the numerous community wide planned events. If you drink the water, you will get pregnant. Good thing I am snipped, but that is another story altogether (go here for some good snip snip laughs).
Anyway, the three of us had a little buzz going on and bellied up to the corner of the bar. There was a really cute gal sitting there by herself drinking a glass of wine. Being the charmers we are, it took about 1-1/2 seconds for us to start talking to her. Her date came back from the bathroom and didn’t seem perturbed that the three of us were dominating her attention.
Long story short, she totally dug us. We got her number. Get this! I just called her and she is coming over to my house tomorrow night! I was stoked, but of course there is a slight catch. Yep – money! The dirty ho. But instead of hanging up on her, we negotiated a price. I made sure she knew the guys would be dropping by as well and wanted to know how that affected the price. She raised her rate a tiny bit, but said she was excited for this to be a long term affair and didn’t want me to worry about money, especially when she enjoys it so much. She said I can just feed her once in awhile and she’d be happy too.
Wow! I wonder if she cooks and cleans, much less if she is bi-sexual.
So yah, this gal is babysitting all six of our combined kids tomorrow night. How lucky of us to run into a gal in the hood that works for a babysitting service but wanted to get some gigs direct. And what a great coincidence that she is a tenant of one of my friends that was able to vouch for her good character.
This group encounters things is fun. I can’t believe I waited this long to try it.
So, I haven’t had a threesome. I haven’t wanted to. Or maybe I just haven’t had the opportunity.
Recently, all that changed.
Just the other day, I had a three-way with two other bloggers. And get this! One of them was a guy! I would have never guessed in a million years I’d take part in a male-female-male encounter. Not that there is anything wrong with that. The other guy and I laid down the rules up front. We ordered each other to stay on our own sides and to absolutely avoid any physical contact with each other. We also agreed that neither of us wanted to see each other, especially in places where the sun don’t shine.
Who were the other two participants you ask? Well, I’ll take a chance that they don’t mind the world knowing and reveal them as MoMo and Cunning. I gotta tell ya, MoMo was in heaven. Cunning and I decided she should pay us next time. Don’t get me wrong, we all had a good time. But rightly so, MoMo did most of the receiving. I have to admit, I’m looking forward to another three way IM session with them on gmail sometime soon.
Amazingly, I had another multiple person encounter that went to an even bigger level. And frighteningly enough, it was with TWO other guys and a gal. Yes, the three of us studly mountain men teamed up on a not-so-innocent damsel sure to be in distress after we got done with her.
The three of us had gone to a basketball game and stopped at the neighborhood bar on the way home. Mind you, I live in the Truman Show Pleasantville Bubble, meaning I’m in a newer neighborhood of family-fest where everyone has kids and hangs out with each other and attends the numerous community wide planned events. If you drink the water, you will get pregnant. Good thing I am snipped, but that is another story altogether (go here for some good snip snip laughs).
Anyway, the three of us had a little buzz going on and bellied up to the corner of the bar. There was a really cute gal sitting there by herself drinking a glass of wine. Being the charmers we are, it took about 1-1/2 seconds for us to start talking to her. Her date came back from the bathroom and didn’t seem perturbed that the three of us were dominating her attention.
Long story short, she totally dug us. We got her number. Get this! I just called her and she is coming over to my house tomorrow night! I was stoked, but of course there is a slight catch. Yep – money! The dirty ho. But instead of hanging up on her, we negotiated a price. I made sure she knew the guys would be dropping by as well and wanted to know how that affected the price. She raised her rate a tiny bit, but said she was excited for this to be a long term affair and didn’t want me to worry about money, especially when she enjoys it so much. She said I can just feed her once in awhile and she’d be happy too.
Wow! I wonder if she cooks and cleans, much less if she is bi-sexual.
So yah, this gal is babysitting all six of our combined kids tomorrow night. How lucky of us to run into a gal in the hood that works for a babysitting service but wanted to get some gigs direct. And what a great coincidence that she is a tenant of one of my friends that was able to vouch for her good character.
This group encounters things is fun. I can’t believe I waited this long to try it.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
How to Catch a Leprechaun
According to my six year old son, this is how you catch a leprechaun:
“First you make a trap. Mine is a cozy home. It is a bag with a jar in it for a lamp. And a chair. It has love in it. And a blanket and that’s it. But I’m still working on it.
Put the trap down and once the bell rings on the string I would go outside and put a heavy cage on the leprechaun. When the bell rings again, I pick him up and get the gold. And then I would let him free.
No, I actually want to keep the leprechaun so I can pass him to a friend and they can get some gold. And then I want him back.”
According to my three year old son, this is how you catch a leprechaun:
“At first I thought I’d use a fishing pole, but now I want to use a shooter. A plane shooter.
I’m going to shoot the plane to the leprechaun and it goes far up so the leprechaun gets on.”
Just in time for St. Patty's Day. Good luck catching yourself a leprechaun.
“First you make a trap. Mine is a cozy home. It is a bag with a jar in it for a lamp. And a chair. It has love in it. And a blanket and that’s it. But I’m still working on it.
Put the trap down and once the bell rings on the string I would go outside and put a heavy cage on the leprechaun. When the bell rings again, I pick him up and get the gold. And then I would let him free.
No, I actually want to keep the leprechaun so I can pass him to a friend and they can get some gold. And then I want him back.”
According to my three year old son, this is how you catch a leprechaun:
“At first I thought I’d use a fishing pole, but now I want to use a shooter. A plane shooter.
I’m going to shoot the plane to the leprechaun and it goes far up so the leprechaun gets on.”
Just in time for St. Patty's Day. Good luck catching yourself a leprechaun.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Boys Throwing Rocks
Many people think Denver is a winter wonderland. Sure, when it snows here, it dumps. But it usually melts within a day or two because we have so many days like today – seventy degrees in the winter. I checked with The Google and quickly found that Denver is the 9th sunniest major city in the U-S of A. We are sunny 69% (heh heh – sorry, I’ve got a little beavis and butthead in me) of the time – ahead of San Diego and San effin Francisco! Here are the top twelve cities in terms of percentage of sunshine:
Phoenix 85%
Vegas 85%
Tucson 85%
El Paso 84%
Fresno 79%
Sacramento 78%
Albuquerque 76%
LA 73%
Denver 69%
San Diego 68%
OK City 68%
SF 66%
We took advantage of this phenomenal weather to take a hike around Evergreen Lake up in the mountains. This is the lake:
This is the boardwalk to get through the wetlands:
There was a statue in the park by the lake. The kids ran to it and the wifey’s natural reaction was to yell at them to stay off the statue. I told her I thought it would be okay considering the statue was of kids climbing all over a statue.
The walk around the lake would normally only take about a half hour. It took us about 2-1/2 hours because of all the stops to throw rocks. I love throwing rocks in the water. My kids had to keep yelling at me to keep moving. Or was I telling them we couldn’t keep stopping. I can’t remember because it was so sunny and refreshing out that I couldn’t think straight.
We stopped by this dam to admire the waterfall.
All that rushing water made me need to pee. Drew, the three year old, didn’t have to go. He already pee’d off the deck of the restaurant we had lunch at prior to the hike. We were letting the kids run around the deck while we waited for our food. I looked up to see Drew’s bright white ass and a fire hose stream of pee flying through the railing of the restaurant deck. Where people eat. Yah, that deck. I had to stifle all the laughs when I ran out there to remind him we are in a restaurant that conveniently comes equipped with bathrooms. Drew’s response was to marvel at how far he shot his stream. I have to admit he did some good long distance shooting.
Nature is a man’s bathroom after all. I guess the restaurant deck in such a mountainous setting confused my three foot tall high pressure pee machine of a son.
Isn’t it funny how it always takes about ten tries to get one good picture when you ask your kids to pose? This one with Will’s tongue sticking out was the best of the lot.
My kids rock. They are the same in so many ways and different in so many others. Take this morning for example. Will is pretty anal about some stuff and demanded that I get him other socks that match his khaki cargo pants – brown socks instead of the grey I gave him. Whereas Drew put a brown shoe on his left foot and a white shoe on his right because he thought the kids at school would think it was funny.
These kids can be a living hell. But I gotta tell you, having them makes our house sunny every day. I’ll put the percentage of sunshine going on in our crazy boy infested household to be at about 93%. Surviving the other 7% can be a challenge, but that is what alcohol and/or business travel is good for. Did I mention I’m going out of town next week?
Sunny day, gonna make the clouds go away…
Phoenix 85%
Vegas 85%
Tucson 85%
El Paso 84%
Fresno 79%
Sacramento 78%
Albuquerque 76%
LA 73%
Denver 69%
San Diego 68%
OK City 68%
SF 66%
We took advantage of this phenomenal weather to take a hike around Evergreen Lake up in the mountains. This is the lake:
This is the boardwalk to get through the wetlands:
There was a statue in the park by the lake. The kids ran to it and the wifey’s natural reaction was to yell at them to stay off the statue. I told her I thought it would be okay considering the statue was of kids climbing all over a statue.
The walk around the lake would normally only take about a half hour. It took us about 2-1/2 hours because of all the stops to throw rocks. I love throwing rocks in the water. My kids had to keep yelling at me to keep moving. Or was I telling them we couldn’t keep stopping. I can’t remember because it was so sunny and refreshing out that I couldn’t think straight.
We stopped by this dam to admire the waterfall.
All that rushing water made me need to pee. Drew, the three year old, didn’t have to go. He already pee’d off the deck of the restaurant we had lunch at prior to the hike. We were letting the kids run around the deck while we waited for our food. I looked up to see Drew’s bright white ass and a fire hose stream of pee flying through the railing of the restaurant deck. Where people eat. Yah, that deck. I had to stifle all the laughs when I ran out there to remind him we are in a restaurant that conveniently comes equipped with bathrooms. Drew’s response was to marvel at how far he shot his stream. I have to admit he did some good long distance shooting.
Nature is a man’s bathroom after all. I guess the restaurant deck in such a mountainous setting confused my three foot tall high pressure pee machine of a son.
Isn’t it funny how it always takes about ten tries to get one good picture when you ask your kids to pose? This one with Will’s tongue sticking out was the best of the lot.
My kids rock. They are the same in so many ways and different in so many others. Take this morning for example. Will is pretty anal about some stuff and demanded that I get him other socks that match his khaki cargo pants – brown socks instead of the grey I gave him. Whereas Drew put a brown shoe on his left foot and a white shoe on his right because he thought the kids at school would think it was funny.
These kids can be a living hell. But I gotta tell you, having them makes our house sunny every day. I’ll put the percentage of sunshine going on in our crazy boy infested household to be at about 93%. Surviving the other 7% can be a challenge, but that is what alcohol and/or business travel is good for. Did I mention I’m going out of town next week?
Sunny day, gonna make the clouds go away…
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
I Had A Dream
Last night, I had a dream. I dreamt that I was shot in the neck. I don't know any details, other than I was definitely shot in the neck and it sucked. But then, in my dream, I woke up from the dream of getting shot in the neck. So now, I was dreaming that I dreamt I was shot in the neck. In my dream, I was so relieved that I was dreaming.
I just remembered all of this over lunch today when a co-worker was blabbing about some stupid dream she had last night. I rudely interrupted her and slammed my hand down on the table exclaiming I dreamt that I dreamt that I got shot in the neck last night!! And then I apologized for interrupting and rubbed my neck.
What does this mean?
I just remembered all of this over lunch today when a co-worker was blabbing about some stupid dream she had last night. I rudely interrupted her and slammed my hand down on the table exclaiming I dreamt that I dreamt that I got shot in the neck last night!! And then I apologized for interrupting and rubbed my neck.
What does this mean?
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Pink Goggles
I woke up at 8AM today to find out it was really 9AM. Cah-rap. I lost an hour somewhere and this place is a mess. My wife has been out of town all weekend and doesn’t get back until tomorrow night. So the boys and I have been female free. Except for all the porn (soft-core HBO for me, Winx for them). As you can imagine, things went down a little differently around here with the new sheriff in town.
I figured the first thing I should do today is try to find that stinking lost hour. I looked everywhere. I even looked behind things in the fridge. Well sort of. I peered around items as much as I could without actually touching anything. I looked in the couch cushions. I looked in the boys’ respective butt cracks (all I found there was bread crumbs - don't ask). But I could not find that missing hour.
I thought about doing what I always do when I spend a few minutes half heartedly looking for something before assuming the object of my search was stolen, thrown away or the lost item itself packed a bandana full of stuff on a stick and caught a freight train to a dusty outpost outside of Vegas. Like Tom Robbins bizarre book about a Can o' Beans, Dirty Sock, Spoon, Painted Stick and Conch Shell trying to meet up for coffee or something. I am having vague recollections or maybe those are from the hallucinations caused by the mayhem of my motherless boys.
So, I thought about texting the wife to ask her where the hell the lost hour went. I decided not to though because that tactic didn’t work at all yesterday. Will had swimming lessons and I tore this dump apart looking for his pink goggles. After looking in at least three places (maybe just one or two actually) for well over a couple minutes of my life that I can never get back, I decided to improve my chances of finding said pink goggles by at least 765%. Yep, I sent the wife a text.
Or so I thought. I believe my text said something like, “Hey, do you know where I can find Will’s pink goggles?” And then I sat staring at my phone waiting to see the light. Instead, I nearly fell asleep because I was up late the evening before talking to a really whacked out friend about a variety of things including but not limited to traveling, foreigners, family relations, baking, parenting, photography, hitch hiking, biology and brilliant ideas for t-shirts (cuz there just aren’t enough t-shirts out there).
The phone rang, snapping me out of my stupor. Of course I didn’t answer it – I never answer my home phone. I got the boys ready for the soccer and swimming lessons combo platter and then checked the home voicemail. It was the swimming lessons people saying the class was cancelled because two instructors were sick.
I sent a text to the wife saying never mind about the pink goggles and lamented the fact that she had been gone for 24 hours and not only did she not help me with the pink goggles hunt, but in fact she hadn’t been in touch at all. I heard from some of my buddy’s via their wives that the ladies all made it to their weekend long girls’ fest of laying around the pool, getting mani/pedis, drinking lame drinks, and hopefully having late night scantily clad pillow fights, so I knew she got there safely.
I still got nothing from her regarding my text. And then I realized I sent the two pink goggles texts to the friend I had been talking to the night before. Whoops. Thank goodness I didn’t send a text thanking the wife for the wild sex fest sendoff we had and that I never thought I’d enjoy recreating the hog tied red rubber ball in mouth scene from Pulp Fiction like I did. Although maybe my friend is into that kind of thing, I don’t really know. If I had to bet, I’d guess that is a typical Tuesday evening for my friend. But other than March Madness, Vegas, and nearly anything competitive with my buddies that we can put a buck on (like, I bet I can hit that stop sign with a rock), I’m not a betting man.
Of course none of that is true about the wild sex sendoff and in fact I believe our wild sex sendoff consisted of a quick kiss goodbye and my warning to her that I’d be selling the kids to the gypsies if they give me any flack so take a good last look before you abandon me with the little monsters so you can have a weekend of pampering and relaxation while I clean up piss on the floor and wipe poopy butts between chewing up food and spitting it into their mouths to keep the little devils alive until Monday night when I can punch out.
That last paragraph is just one sentence. Ha! Fire away Steph!
Anyway, as I write this, Will and Drew are both wearing their goggles and running around the house pretending they are robots. They are chanting, “Malfunction, malfunction” and acting like zombies on speed. I am a bit in shock. I just want to know where the hell Will found his pink goggles and why the squirt didn’t tell me where they were yesterday.
Now I need to set the clocks ahead for Daylight Savings Time. I’m not going to worry about finding that lost hour. I think I just lost another hour writing this nonsense anyway, so why worry. In fact, I’m not going to worry about anything this month. I’m going with the flow, yes I am. Good things tend to happen when I go with the flow. Plus, I can always borrow Will’s goggles.
I figured the first thing I should do today is try to find that stinking lost hour. I looked everywhere. I even looked behind things in the fridge. Well sort of. I peered around items as much as I could without actually touching anything. I looked in the couch cushions. I looked in the boys’ respective butt cracks (all I found there was bread crumbs - don't ask). But I could not find that missing hour.
I thought about doing what I always do when I spend a few minutes half heartedly looking for something before assuming the object of my search was stolen, thrown away or the lost item itself packed a bandana full of stuff on a stick and caught a freight train to a dusty outpost outside of Vegas. Like Tom Robbins bizarre book about a Can o' Beans, Dirty Sock, Spoon, Painted Stick and Conch Shell trying to meet up for coffee or something. I am having vague recollections or maybe those are from the hallucinations caused by the mayhem of my motherless boys.
So, I thought about texting the wife to ask her where the hell the lost hour went. I decided not to though because that tactic didn’t work at all yesterday. Will had swimming lessons and I tore this dump apart looking for his pink goggles. After looking in at least three places (maybe just one or two actually) for well over a couple minutes of my life that I can never get back, I decided to improve my chances of finding said pink goggles by at least 765%. Yep, I sent the wife a text.
Or so I thought. I believe my text said something like, “Hey, do you know where I can find Will’s pink goggles?” And then I sat staring at my phone waiting to see the light. Instead, I nearly fell asleep because I was up late the evening before talking to a really whacked out friend about a variety of things including but not limited to traveling, foreigners, family relations, baking, parenting, photography, hitch hiking, biology and brilliant ideas for t-shirts (cuz there just aren’t enough t-shirts out there).
The phone rang, snapping me out of my stupor. Of course I didn’t answer it – I never answer my home phone. I got the boys ready for the soccer and swimming lessons combo platter and then checked the home voicemail. It was the swimming lessons people saying the class was cancelled because two instructors were sick.
I sent a text to the wife saying never mind about the pink goggles and lamented the fact that she had been gone for 24 hours and not only did she not help me with the pink goggles hunt, but in fact she hadn’t been in touch at all. I heard from some of my buddy’s via their wives that the ladies all made it to their weekend long girls’ fest of laying around the pool, getting mani/pedis, drinking lame drinks, and hopefully having late night scantily clad pillow fights, so I knew she got there safely.
I still got nothing from her regarding my text. And then I realized I sent the two pink goggles texts to the friend I had been talking to the night before. Whoops. Thank goodness I didn’t send a text thanking the wife for the wild sex fest sendoff we had and that I never thought I’d enjoy recreating the hog tied red rubber ball in mouth scene from Pulp Fiction like I did. Although maybe my friend is into that kind of thing, I don’t really know. If I had to bet, I’d guess that is a typical Tuesday evening for my friend. But other than March Madness, Vegas, and nearly anything competitive with my buddies that we can put a buck on (like, I bet I can hit that stop sign with a rock), I’m not a betting man.
Of course none of that is true about the wild sex sendoff and in fact I believe our wild sex sendoff consisted of a quick kiss goodbye and my warning to her that I’d be selling the kids to the gypsies if they give me any flack so take a good last look before you abandon me with the little monsters so you can have a weekend of pampering and relaxation while I clean up piss on the floor and wipe poopy butts between chewing up food and spitting it into their mouths to keep the little devils alive until Monday night when I can punch out.
That last paragraph is just one sentence. Ha! Fire away Steph!
Anyway, as I write this, Will and Drew are both wearing their goggles and running around the house pretending they are robots. They are chanting, “Malfunction, malfunction” and acting like zombies on speed. I am a bit in shock. I just want to know where the hell Will found his pink goggles and why the squirt didn’t tell me where they were yesterday.
Now I need to set the clocks ahead for Daylight Savings Time. I’m not going to worry about finding that lost hour. I think I just lost another hour writing this nonsense anyway, so why worry. In fact, I’m not going to worry about anything this month. I’m going with the flow, yes I am. Good things tend to happen when I go with the flow. Plus, I can always borrow Will’s goggles.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Dizzy Shirt
Last week was dizzying. Like the shirt I wore on Friday. Look at this baby.
If you cross your eyes, squint, tilt your head, and focus on the approximate location of my nipple (either one actually – I have two), you will fall out of your chair. I didn’t consciously choose to wear the dizzy shirt on Friday after my dizzying week, but I suppose it was all very appropriate.
It all started last Monday morning. I came in to the office to a voicemail and email from the same guy. He was a potential new client whose bidness we had been pitching. I could tell by the tone of his voice in the message that we were a no-go. His email actually said it. Okay, happy Monday to you too buckaroo. We can’t win them all and I had higher hopes for a much bigger pitch anyway. We were supposed to hear back on the big one early in the week as well so I wasn’t too disappointed with greater things on the horizon.
It was a busy week at work with some stupid bullshit hitting the fan. Shit hitting the fan is one thing, but bullshit hitting the fan is entirely different. Shit hitting the fan implies real problems. Bullshit implies a waste of everyone’s time on something inane, ridiculous and/or downright irrational. Like a ballpoint pen in the eye kind of crap.
Hump day came along and not only did I not hump anyone (or anything), but we still hadn’t heard from this big pitch client. No news began to feel like bad news.
I had lots of evening activities last week. Three Nuggets games and a dinner the fourth night. The wifey had plans my only night at home, leaving me with the two rugrats alone. I love hanging out with my boys and often times they are easier with only one of us around. Not that night. Holy moly, call the gypsies cuz I had two blonde haired blue eyed bundles of mayhem and terror that I was willing to pay the gypsies to take off my hands (normally I sell children to gypsies). It is amazing what kind of hell three foot kidlets can cause in a whopping two hours.
Besides wanting the new biz, I have been stressed about work anyway. It seems we are in a bit of a recession (it’s true – I heard it in line at the soup kitchen), people are out of work, funding has dried up and there is still no solution to the great paella debate (should chicken ever be mixed with seafood). So I binged every time I was out last week.
More bad news hit Friday. We found out we did not get the big client we were going after. Doh! February bit. I was glad March was coming over the weekend so we can just move on. Unfortunately, my fancy watch needed to have the date manually adjusted, which I did not do. So I ended up having a February 29th, 30th and 31st this year. Once my watch flipped to the first I have been so mixed up that I have been telling people today is February 33rd.
The end of my binge week was Friday night after watching the Nuggets beat up the Lakers. My buddy and I did post game at the Capital Grille, a swanky pricey place that we normally wouldn’t have done but my pal used their $5 valet and walked to the game from there, saving him a whopping $15. Which buys like one martini. So we (he) felt obligated to patronize their establishment to justify using their valet. Plus, he had to get his claim ticket stamped.
We made lots of friends. Three cougars got stuck talking to us because we are so charming and don’t smell too bad. Plus it was crowded and they were wedged in next to us. Considering the ages of my buddy and me, I guess the cougars weren’t really cougars, but rather age appropriate women to be chatting it up with us (wouldn’t we have to be in our early 20s to make them cougars?).
Two of the three of them had fake boobies which they were proudly displaying to the city of Denver. I told the two enhanced women that I’m in the market for a motorboat and neither one of them understood. They asked clarifying questions like what kind, where would I use it, do I like to fish, and one particularly lame story about a motor home. I kid you not. Of course the au natural gal stood up on her bar stool to give me an eye level view of her breasticles and said she might know where I can get a motorboat. I took an exaggerated big look over each shoulder to make sure the coast was clear (it wasn’t) and stepped forward to commence motorboating, but was interrupted by the two enhanced gals asking her where and how she knew such a thing. We laughed our respective asses off and then I ate half their calamari.
Meanwhile, my buddy struck up a conversation with a gal that looked like she turned 21 in the future but traveled back in time with her ID so she could get in. I think her flux capacitor was fluxing. That could happen. He was buying her pineapple martinis. Three to be exact. I know because the tab was on my card and that fucker didn’t tell me. I found out when he left to get his car from valet while I paid the bill.
*still shaking my fist at my scammer of a buddy*
He (apparently I) was buying drinks for this chicky and she left without even giving him any contact info. Smart girl. I, on the other hand, got my three cougar non-cougar gals to feed me calamari. Smart boy.
The conclusion to this stupid story is what happened when I said goodbye to the cougar non-cougars. I had on that dizzy shirt. The gal who knew all about motorboats closed in for a hug and literally stumbled. She supposedly only had one drink and wasn’t drunk. She recovered and said she really liked my shirt when I walked in. But now it was making her dizzy.
I told her to stop staring at my nipples.
And then I left, proud of myself for such a great line for a guy to say anytime really. I think I will go to the soup kitchen today and tell the volunteers to stop staring at my nipples. Despite having on an uncomplicated shirt.
If you read this far, my apologies for wasting time in your life you can never get back. Stop staring at my nipples.
If you cross your eyes, squint, tilt your head, and focus on the approximate location of my nipple (either one actually – I have two), you will fall out of your chair. I didn’t consciously choose to wear the dizzy shirt on Friday after my dizzying week, but I suppose it was all very appropriate.
It all started last Monday morning. I came in to the office to a voicemail and email from the same guy. He was a potential new client whose bidness we had been pitching. I could tell by the tone of his voice in the message that we were a no-go. His email actually said it. Okay, happy Monday to you too buckaroo. We can’t win them all and I had higher hopes for a much bigger pitch anyway. We were supposed to hear back on the big one early in the week as well so I wasn’t too disappointed with greater things on the horizon.
It was a busy week at work with some stupid bullshit hitting the fan. Shit hitting the fan is one thing, but bullshit hitting the fan is entirely different. Shit hitting the fan implies real problems. Bullshit implies a waste of everyone’s time on something inane, ridiculous and/or downright irrational. Like a ballpoint pen in the eye kind of crap.
Hump day came along and not only did I not hump anyone (or anything), but we still hadn’t heard from this big pitch client. No news began to feel like bad news.
I had lots of evening activities last week. Three Nuggets games and a dinner the fourth night. The wifey had plans my only night at home, leaving me with the two rugrats alone. I love hanging out with my boys and often times they are easier with only one of us around. Not that night. Holy moly, call the gypsies cuz I had two blonde haired blue eyed bundles of mayhem and terror that I was willing to pay the gypsies to take off my hands (normally I sell children to gypsies). It is amazing what kind of hell three foot kidlets can cause in a whopping two hours.
Besides wanting the new biz, I have been stressed about work anyway. It seems we are in a bit of a recession (it’s true – I heard it in line at the soup kitchen), people are out of work, funding has dried up and there is still no solution to the great paella debate (should chicken ever be mixed with seafood). So I binged every time I was out last week.
More bad news hit Friday. We found out we did not get the big client we were going after. Doh! February bit. I was glad March was coming over the weekend so we can just move on. Unfortunately, my fancy watch needed to have the date manually adjusted, which I did not do. So I ended up having a February 29th, 30th and 31st this year. Once my watch flipped to the first I have been so mixed up that I have been telling people today is February 33rd.
The end of my binge week was Friday night after watching the Nuggets beat up the Lakers. My buddy and I did post game at the Capital Grille, a swanky pricey place that we normally wouldn’t have done but my pal used their $5 valet and walked to the game from there, saving him a whopping $15. Which buys like one martini. So we (he) felt obligated to patronize their establishment to justify using their valet. Plus, he had to get his claim ticket stamped.
We made lots of friends. Three cougars got stuck talking to us because we are so charming and don’t smell too bad. Plus it was crowded and they were wedged in next to us. Considering the ages of my buddy and me, I guess the cougars weren’t really cougars, but rather age appropriate women to be chatting it up with us (wouldn’t we have to be in our early 20s to make them cougars?).
Two of the three of them had fake boobies which they were proudly displaying to the city of Denver. I told the two enhanced women that I’m in the market for a motorboat and neither one of them understood. They asked clarifying questions like what kind, where would I use it, do I like to fish, and one particularly lame story about a motor home. I kid you not. Of course the au natural gal stood up on her bar stool to give me an eye level view of her breasticles and said she might know where I can get a motorboat. I took an exaggerated big look over each shoulder to make sure the coast was clear (it wasn’t) and stepped forward to commence motorboating, but was interrupted by the two enhanced gals asking her where and how she knew such a thing. We laughed our respective asses off and then I ate half their calamari.
Meanwhile, my buddy struck up a conversation with a gal that looked like she turned 21 in the future but traveled back in time with her ID so she could get in. I think her flux capacitor was fluxing. That could happen. He was buying her pineapple martinis. Three to be exact. I know because the tab was on my card and that fucker didn’t tell me. I found out when he left to get his car from valet while I paid the bill.
*still shaking my fist at my scammer of a buddy*
He (apparently I) was buying drinks for this chicky and she left without even giving him any contact info. Smart girl. I, on the other hand, got my three cougar non-cougar gals to feed me calamari. Smart boy.
The conclusion to this stupid story is what happened when I said goodbye to the cougar non-cougars. I had on that dizzy shirt. The gal who knew all about motorboats closed in for a hug and literally stumbled. She supposedly only had one drink and wasn’t drunk. She recovered and said she really liked my shirt when I walked in. But now it was making her dizzy.
I told her to stop staring at my nipples.
And then I left, proud of myself for such a great line for a guy to say anytime really. I think I will go to the soup kitchen today and tell the volunteers to stop staring at my nipples. Despite having on an uncomplicated shirt.
If you read this far, my apologies for wasting time in your life you can never get back. Stop staring at my nipples.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
The Bitch Is Back
It has been a few months since I first tangled with her. I guess time heals all wounds because I came back for more. I am typical of scorned males, hoping that somehow things would be different.
I thought about coming back to her right after New Years. I wanted to unwrap her to a completely naked and vulnerable state. Despite the rebuffs from the last time, she continued to light up my nights when I saw her. I thought maybe New Years was too soon, especially while she still made me smile in the moonlight.
So I waited. And I waited. I thought of her often, seemingly every morning when I stepped outside to get the paper and the cool fresh air welcomed me to a new day. Yes, a new day to perhaps approach her again.
I decided this was the weekend. I would go out Friday night and have a few cocktails to lower my inhibitions and take my mind off her nasty habit of wanting to hurt me. Yes, I was hiding in the bottle a bit, but I vowed to keep a clear head for the next day. I even decided to visit her before the sun set so I wouldn’t be lashed out at in the dark dark night.
She has provided nurturing to me in the past. He long limbs tantalizing me, dangling the fruit of her blossoms. Oh yes, I both longed for her and feared her at the same time.
I saw her outside, practically dancing in the breeze. I approached her from behind in part because I wanted to delay her potential to wield her mighty bark at me. Just as I was about to gently touch her; I was practically kicked in the shins by her bitchy friends. I didn’t even see them hanging out to the side of her, their prickly little attitudes making the first puncture in my quest.
I circled around her. Other than swearing at her little fat friends, I didn’t even say a word before she introduced me to her son. It was like a blast of fire in my face causing me to take a step back in shock. She swayed in the breeze and nearly poked me in the blinded eye with her thorny disposition.
It took over an hour and lots of new bloody scratches and prickly pokes before I finally got off the seven strands of white Christmas lights. That fucking tree’s thorns and the bushes’ prickly leaves below are the perfect prowler detractors.
Here is the bitch again.
Her are the leaves on her bitchy friends. Those pointy things on the leaves are like pins.
Here is the brutal son, I mean sun. I couldn’t look west while I was taking down the lights.
And here is the link to my first encounter with the beast.
She (the bitch)
I thought about coming back to her right after New Years. I wanted to unwrap her to a completely naked and vulnerable state. Despite the rebuffs from the last time, she continued to light up my nights when I saw her. I thought maybe New Years was too soon, especially while she still made me smile in the moonlight.
So I waited. And I waited. I thought of her often, seemingly every morning when I stepped outside to get the paper and the cool fresh air welcomed me to a new day. Yes, a new day to perhaps approach her again.
I decided this was the weekend. I would go out Friday night and have a few cocktails to lower my inhibitions and take my mind off her nasty habit of wanting to hurt me. Yes, I was hiding in the bottle a bit, but I vowed to keep a clear head for the next day. I even decided to visit her before the sun set so I wouldn’t be lashed out at in the dark dark night.
She has provided nurturing to me in the past. He long limbs tantalizing me, dangling the fruit of her blossoms. Oh yes, I both longed for her and feared her at the same time.
I saw her outside, practically dancing in the breeze. I approached her from behind in part because I wanted to delay her potential to wield her mighty bark at me. Just as I was about to gently touch her; I was practically kicked in the shins by her bitchy friends. I didn’t even see them hanging out to the side of her, their prickly little attitudes making the first puncture in my quest.
I circled around her. Other than swearing at her little fat friends, I didn’t even say a word before she introduced me to her son. It was like a blast of fire in my face causing me to take a step back in shock. She swayed in the breeze and nearly poked me in the blinded eye with her thorny disposition.
It took over an hour and lots of new bloody scratches and prickly pokes before I finally got off the seven strands of white Christmas lights. That fucking tree’s thorns and the bushes’ prickly leaves below are the perfect prowler detractors.
Here is the bitch again.
Her are the leaves on her bitchy friends. Those pointy things on the leaves are like pins.
Here is the brutal son, I mean sun. I couldn’t look west while I was taking down the lights.
And here is the link to my first encounter with the beast.
She (the bitch)
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