I’m a little bit sarcastic. And I joke around a lot. Big hairy surprise, right? Right. So it’s a good thing the Smiley Guy has become a universal symbol in written communication for making it okay to say what you just said, no matter how obnoxious, wrong, sarcastic, silly, insulting, naughty or ridiculous it was.
You know the Smiley Guy. He is the yellow smiling face emoticon that is in most IM and email programs. If I had a clue how to put one in here, I would. Smiley Guy is also represented by various combinations of punctuation marks depending on if you want him blinking or with smelling capabilities. Here he is in the most standard form:
:)
If somebody wants a cheeky or racy emphasis, they may choose a winker with a nose:
;-)
I try to avoid using Smiley Guy in any format, just as I try not to spew out a lot of the LOL, LMAO, etc. To compensate, I’ll sometimes use “ha” or if I was really obnoxious, I’d put a little Beavis & Butthead into it with a “heh.” When I do use Smiley Guy, it tends to be a genuine symbol of my happiness, rather than my bailout for whatever I just wrote.
But I’ve done it. We’ve all done it. We all have written something and added some derivative of the Smiley Guy as our way to say ‘whatever I just wrote may be 100% true and exactly what I’m thinking but I don’t want to offend you, at least in front of your stupid face, so this Smiley Guy here is making it perfectly clear that I was only kidding as far as you know and that I’d never really say anything like this, out loud or in mixed company, again as far as you know, so now my ass is covered and I have a free pass to say whatever the fuck I want.’
Wouldn’t it be cool if we could apply this concept to real live conversation? We could carry a Smiley Guy around on a stick and hold him up whenever we say something inappropriate and all would be well. Just imagine the possibilities!!!
“Good morning. Wow, you look fat in those pants.” *hold up Smiley Guy*
“If I have to listen to one more minute of your drivel I’m going to puke.” *hold up Smiley Guy*
“Hey Cousin, if you go to Sam’s I think you can get a better deal on bulk sour cream than I’m getting buying one carton every other day from the grocery store for your fat ass.” *hold up Smiley Guy*
“You are so hot and I can’t stop staring at your boobs.” *hold up Smiley Guy*
“You fucking idiot!” *hold up Smiley Guy*
“It’s not you. It’s me.” *hold up Smiley Guy*
And then if this goes on long enough, I think you can save valuable time and energy simply by holding up the Smiley Guy anytime you see some jackass without even having to say a word. The Smiley Guy says it all.
Thanks for reading. ;-)
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Row Row the Dragon Boat
I took Drew to the Dragon Boat Festival on Saturday. We have a few lakes here in Denver. Most of them are man-made, all of them are small, and some of them get shut down a few days a year because of high bacteria count. The more disturbing part of this last fact is that there are acceptable amounts of fecal matter and bacteria counts that likely hover close to the point of having to shut down access to the mysterious density of liquids posing as lakes and/or reservoirs. Wouldn’t you hate to know you were frolicking in the murky waters the day before the city said whoa, that water is so disgusting we’re not even gonna let the Californians go in there.
Sloan’s Lake is on the western edge of the city and is the site of the annual dragon boat festivities. I don’t know who Sloan is or why it’s his lake. Lucky bastard. I looked up Wow’s Lake on The Google and mostly came up with information on Pow Wows. How cool is that? I signed up for three! Now I need to figure out how to get to New Mexico, Minnesota and Arizona in one weekend.
So Drew and I were at the dragon boat festival. Have I mentioned that yet? I just checked The Google again and found that Denver’s population is 2.81% Asian. I’m not sure how many people that computes too because I don’t know if that stat is based on the city limits or the six-county metro area or what. But let’s just assume it’s a small number and I think it’s cool that this festival even exists because I love Asian food. I don’t mind paying eight bucks for little paper trays of noodles, egg rolls, wontons, pad thai, and whatever else I could get my chopsticks on with a kid in tow. Plus, Drew loves the old chopsticks in the corners of the mouth to make like a walrus trick.
Next time you go have sushi, put the chopsticks in for the walrus trick and then say to your dinner date, “Is that tempura in your belly or are you just happy to sashimi?” Do it with a Cajun accent and you will score brownie points.
So Drew and I were at the dragon boat festival. He saw a couple dragon boats racing from afar but then was distracted by four hungry ducks. I asked Drew if he wanted to get closer to the boat races and he proclaimed that he wanted to buy something. I asked the pint sized consumer what the hell he wanted to buy and he said a ring. I asked him if he brought his money and he said no, but he wanted to buy rings for himself, me, Will, mommy and The Cousin.
That Cousin eats a lot of sour cream. She has been staying with us all summer while she completes an internship. Normally, I will buy sour cream for the random taco or enchilada nights and it usually lasts at least a month. With The Cousin around, the sour cream hasn’t ever lasted more than a week. She also eats a lot of cookies, cereal, cheese pizza, tortillas and ice cream. Surprisingly, The Cousin is a bit on the larger side despite exercising a fair amount. Like the other day, she went on a bike ride on her cruiser and returned about fifteen minutes later. I wonder if she went to the ice cream store and back.
So Drew and I were at the dragon boat festival. There were lots of vendors there. One tent had a display of rings for two bucks a pop. They were ‘lucky jade' rings. Drew picked out four for himself, Will, mommy and The Cousin. And then he picked out a kick ass skull ring from the $6 tray for me. Hale to the yeah! I put it on my pinky and did my best Joe Pesci Saturday Night Live skit impression. I’m pretty sure the chicks were digging me but I can’t be positive because I don’t speak Mandarin.
We went home and Drew distributed the ring booty. Drew kept the red jade ring for himself and gave Will a blue one. They fought all weekend long about trading. Drew likes blue better than red and Will likes red better than blue. Should be an easy trade, right? Well, Drew knew Will wanted red so of course he kept it for himself. The little stinker was cool enough to want to buy gifts for everyone, including The Sour Cream Loving Cousin, but yet he was a total dick by using the gift to taunt his big brother. Yes, I called my little Drew a dick. He was totally being one and then Will became one too by being ungrateful for getting the blue ring.
Finally, by Sunday night I was able to broker a trade and everybody was happy. But then Drew lost his ring and now he wants Will’s back. Will won’t budge and they are both being dicks again. We are going to have to do a massive ring hunt tonight. I can guarantee that the festival ring buying days are already ancient history never to be repeated.
But the four seconds of the dragon boat races we actually saw were pretty cool.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Woman Getting Off in the Workplace
I was just telling sort of a serious story to a woman borrowing a desk in my office. She sits on the main level and I was standing above her on the catwalk. I like to shout orders down to the minions you know. Anyway, my story was about one of the old guys where I volunteer and how upset he was that we weren’t fishing today. Fishing is Friday. Not today. But for some reason this guy thought it was today. In his mind, he woke up from Christmas this morning only to find out it isn’t today. He was screaming, “I’m tired of waiting for this,” while he pounded the table with the palm of his hand.
Luckily we calmed him down (without drugging him) and he recovered. There are small details that I was conveying to the woman downstairs that made the story more interesting and longer. As I talked, I noticed she started looking her down shirt. She had on a sharp white blouse and black skirt. I kept talking about this guy wigging out and how I got distracted by another guy rolling in on a wheelchair in his boxers with a pee tube coming out a leg when I noticed this woman peeking inside her bra.
I looked away for two seconds. Or maybe just one. Okay, I blinked. She then started feeling her breasts while I talked about these fucked up dudes. I suddenly realized, she is getting turned on by this story! She is feeling herself up and down, faster and faster as I tell her my story!
I was just trying to think of things to prolong the story when she untucked her blouse and started feeling herself up from the bottom. I started making stuff up that didn’t really happen just to keep this all going when suddenly she stood up and started jumping up and down.
Something small and shiny hit the floor. She said, “There it is. I hatched my earring.” And then she sat down and asked me to keep going.
Luckily we calmed him down (without drugging him) and he recovered. There are small details that I was conveying to the woman downstairs that made the story more interesting and longer. As I talked, I noticed she started looking her down shirt. She had on a sharp white blouse and black skirt. I kept talking about this guy wigging out and how I got distracted by another guy rolling in on a wheelchair in his boxers with a pee tube coming out a leg when I noticed this woman peeking inside her bra.
I looked away for two seconds. Or maybe just one. Okay, I blinked. She then started feeling her breasts while I talked about these fucked up dudes. I suddenly realized, she is getting turned on by this story! She is feeling herself up and down, faster and faster as I tell her my story!
I was just trying to think of things to prolong the story when she untucked her blouse and started feeling herself up from the bottom. I started making stuff up that didn’t really happen just to keep this all going when suddenly she stood up and started jumping up and down.
Something small and shiny hit the floor. She said, “There it is. I hatched my earring.” And then she sat down and asked me to keep going.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Bottomless, Topless and Batless
Cell phone use while in the car is a big topic everywhere. The old guys never cease to crack me up. A couple of these guys have cell phones although I don’t think they know how to use them. I mentioned the debate on hands free calling while in the car. This one old guy said, “Pants free calling? Why would you want to take your pants off while you are calling people in the car?”
That got me thinking. Wouldn’t it be cool if pants were optional while in the car? Some professional football coach got in a lot of trouble a year or two ago for being naked in his car while at a fast food drive thru. I can see completely naked being an issue because it is distracting to other drivers, especially if the naked person is a woman. But pants free is nearly undetectable. And isn’t a car an extension of the home anyway? If you are free to be nekked at home, why not allow some variation of it in the car. This would make driving more exciting because who wouldn’t be smiling at the idea of wondering what other drivers would think if they only knew you were bottomless with the pedal to the metal? And if men were pants free in the car, then they wouldn’t get caught with their hands in their pants all the time. Win win for everyone.
I was also talking about food with the old guys. They love talking about their food. I mentioned how I like tapas bars and restaurants. The same pants free guy said, “Who doesn’t like topless bars? I used to go to topless bars all the time. Bottomless too.” There he goes again on his pants free kick.
I got him back on track and we talked about baseball. They made fun of me for being a Cubs fan. I threatened to ghost ride some of them in their wheelchairs. The guy with the cane laughed until I kicked it out from under him and said, “Who’s laughing now old man?!” Okay, I only threatened to do that and feigned fear when he told me he used to be a bouncer. I asked him if that meant he bullied all the other old guys in the cafeteria and the big ex NFL football player was laughing so hard because this guy is on an oxygen tank and can barely move. Ahh, fun with the old folks.
So yah, one of these old-timers is a Cardinals fan. Which makes him my nemesis. He challenged me to name a better player in the league today than Albert Puljos. I said something like, “Oh yeah, well nice stain on your shirt cowboy.” And then we had a fun conversation about baseball.
I came back to the office to a bunch of hoopla. The gals were all riled up and aflutter. Apparently a tiny little bat was spotted crawling down the wall! One of the gals swooshed him off the wall with a duster and another covered him with a box while a third shouted out orders and the other two ran around in wild circles with their hands searching their hair for bat eggs. Do bats lay eggs or do baby bats come of mommy bats’ belly buttons? I will have to check The Google.
Anyway, the five squealing women could still hear the little bat squealing under the box as they scootched him toward the front door. Excited orders came from the person standing furthest away from the box full of immediate bloodsucking danger. The threshold of the door presented engineering difficulties for scootching the bat in his trap outside. Orders came faster and from further away. The two girls running in circles had bed-head hair from searching for bat accomplices. The two brave bat removers never made more than a quarter of a second of contact with the bat box. Somehow, all five of the girls got the tiny beast outside and one brave soul kicked the box off while they all yelled, “Shoo, shoo” and made flailing gestures with their hands that I believe the little bat could not see because I think bats are blind and cannot play the piano worth a damn either.
By the time I got to the office and heard the story, I could not find the little fellah anywhere outside on the sidewalk. I came back in and pretended I was really angry and sad. I yelled, “Bats are people too!” And then I told them that is the last time I try to be different and bring in a company pet that isn’t a dog or a fucking cat.
They didn’t like the company mice we had when we moved in four years ago either. Women!
That got me thinking. Wouldn’t it be cool if pants were optional while in the car? Some professional football coach got in a lot of trouble a year or two ago for being naked in his car while at a fast food drive thru. I can see completely naked being an issue because it is distracting to other drivers, especially if the naked person is a woman. But pants free is nearly undetectable. And isn’t a car an extension of the home anyway? If you are free to be nekked at home, why not allow some variation of it in the car. This would make driving more exciting because who wouldn’t be smiling at the idea of wondering what other drivers would think if they only knew you were bottomless with the pedal to the metal? And if men were pants free in the car, then they wouldn’t get caught with their hands in their pants all the time. Win win for everyone.
I was also talking about food with the old guys. They love talking about their food. I mentioned how I like tapas bars and restaurants. The same pants free guy said, “Who doesn’t like topless bars? I used to go to topless bars all the time. Bottomless too.” There he goes again on his pants free kick.
I got him back on track and we talked about baseball. They made fun of me for being a Cubs fan. I threatened to ghost ride some of them in their wheelchairs. The guy with the cane laughed until I kicked it out from under him and said, “Who’s laughing now old man?!” Okay, I only threatened to do that and feigned fear when he told me he used to be a bouncer. I asked him if that meant he bullied all the other old guys in the cafeteria and the big ex NFL football player was laughing so hard because this guy is on an oxygen tank and can barely move. Ahh, fun with the old folks.
So yah, one of these old-timers is a Cardinals fan. Which makes him my nemesis. He challenged me to name a better player in the league today than Albert Puljos. I said something like, “Oh yeah, well nice stain on your shirt cowboy.” And then we had a fun conversation about baseball.
I came back to the office to a bunch of hoopla. The gals were all riled up and aflutter. Apparently a tiny little bat was spotted crawling down the wall! One of the gals swooshed him off the wall with a duster and another covered him with a box while a third shouted out orders and the other two ran around in wild circles with their hands searching their hair for bat eggs. Do bats lay eggs or do baby bats come of mommy bats’ belly buttons? I will have to check The Google.
Anyway, the five squealing women could still hear the little bat squealing under the box as they scootched him toward the front door. Excited orders came from the person standing furthest away from the box full of immediate bloodsucking danger. The threshold of the door presented engineering difficulties for scootching the bat in his trap outside. Orders came faster and from further away. The two girls running in circles had bed-head hair from searching for bat accomplices. The two brave bat removers never made more than a quarter of a second of contact with the bat box. Somehow, all five of the girls got the tiny beast outside and one brave soul kicked the box off while they all yelled, “Shoo, shoo” and made flailing gestures with their hands that I believe the little bat could not see because I think bats are blind and cannot play the piano worth a damn either.
By the time I got to the office and heard the story, I could not find the little fellah anywhere outside on the sidewalk. I came back in and pretended I was really angry and sad. I yelled, “Bats are people too!” And then I told them that is the last time I try to be different and bring in a company pet that isn’t a dog or a fucking cat.
They didn’t like the company mice we had when we moved in four years ago either. Women!
Thursday, July 9, 2009
One for the Chicks
No, this is not about sports or dirty sex. Is that all you women think about? Sports and sex? No, this is even more dear to your cute little sensitive hearts. Shopping. Even better – shoe shopping! Moi is jumping for joy. After months of reading about poop, vomit and other bodily fluids, I am finally speaking her language! I bet Mandy will even squirm in her seat over shoe talk. If her special guy mouths ‘poontang’ to her today, he is gonna get stilettos in the air for sure. Every gal loves a good shoe shopping story. They get all excited and talk progressively louder. Smiles widen and the next thing you know a giant pillow fight in their negligee breaks out. Oh wait, this is a story for the gals, not the guys.
I admit I dig shoes. I have no issue with women having closets full of shoes. I have a fair amount of shoes myself. I have a couple pairs of black shoes I can wear for work and more casually. I have formal black shoes in case somebody dies or gets married (sort of the same thing, really). I have brown shoes in case I’m in a brown belt kind of mood. I have my Chucks for lounging around and cutting the grass. I have sandals and flip flops. I have slip-on Merrells. I even have those blue clogs with no tread that are guaranteed to make you slip on something within twelve point five minutes of initial wearing. I have running shoes. I have basketball shoes. I have baseball cleats. I have golf shoes and snow shoes. I have hiking shoes, hiking boots, and gortex snow boots. I have steel tipped work boots. I have casual shoes that look like bowling shoes.
I actually wear all these shoes at one time or another, but never at the same time. That would be uncomfortable. With all that said; I wear the two pairs of black shoes for work and play the most. Therefore, they wear out the most. I really like my Ecco loafers. They feel like slippers.
I have gone through two pairs over the years and need new ones again. I usually deviate on the second pair of black shoes for alternating in and out. I went to Nordstrom to grab my Eccos and see what else they had for the second pair. These shoes tend to last me a couple years so I usually go through sticker shock, forgetting how much they cost. I found what I thought was the same kind for $175. Fuck me, I’m a guy and do I really need to spend that much on shoes? I found a slightly different version that was $125 and figured those must be the right ones. I easily justified the cost by calculating that if I wear them two hundred times, I would be at sixty-two cents a wearing (how do you like that math pwn star?). As I waited for the overly friendly sales guy, I wandered over to the clearance racks. Hold your skirts ladies! I found the exact same shoe, in my ginormous European size of 46 for just $95! Woooooot woooooooooot! That gets my two hundy times wearing ratio down to just forty-eight cents a pop! That is less than fiddy cents bitches!!! I nearly high fived the gal at the makeup counter on the way out.
For the second pair, I thought I should try to find a bargain, so I entered a world I have never entered before. Off Broadway. I later found out it is just like DSW Warehouse, whatever the heck that is. All I know is that there were tons of women scouring the ladies shoes while my kids wildly played a game called Monster as they ran up and down the aisles and hid under benches whenever I went searching for them. I told them to stop running a couple times but apparently monsters don’t understand dadspeak. Besides, I was too distracted by the incredible deals. We are looking at an average of thirty-three cents per wearing, people! They had all the big brands.
I was wearing sandals so I had to put on one of those thin nylon footies so as to avoid some nasty hoof and mouth disease that the fragile strands of recycled pantyhose over my sweaty clown feet would be sure to fend off.
Long story short, if it’s not too late, because I’m already getting tired of talking about shoe shopping and am itching to check sports scores and watch porn, I bought a pair of Steve Madden loafers that are similar to my Eccos, but were an additional 20% off the already phenomenally low price of $60. I paid just $48!! I’ll do the math for you again. At two hundred wearings, that is less than a quarter! Makes me want to get a mani/pedi over white wine with my girlfriends to talk all about it!
The biggest difference with the Steve Maddens is that they were made for people with club feet. I don’t have club feet, but just like you women that buy those fancy shoes with points that extend six inches beyond your biggest toe, I assume you aren’t all tall elves. Check these fuckers out.
They don’t need a shoebox because they are the shoebox! I can water ski in these things. I can teach geometry with my shoes as the props. When they wear out I will donate them to the homeless so they can build a shelter.
I warned my boys that these things will really hurt their bums if they don’t behave themselves. I told them to imagine being kicked by a brick made of pure steel. They both roared at me and skipped merrily over to the women’s pumps while I stood there in my nylon footy eyeballing the Merrell camping sandals. Just as I was about to try one on, I heard an avalanche of shoe boxes crashing to the ground followed immediately by two suddenly very quiet monsters sheepishly sneaking back to my side.
My boys rebuilt the pyramid while I paid for my bargain Steve Maddens and looked forward to showing them off to my Neanderthal friends back at the cave.
I think I got that shopping bug out of my system for at least a year. Now let’s get back to lingerie pillow fights, porn and baseball.
I admit I dig shoes. I have no issue with women having closets full of shoes. I have a fair amount of shoes myself. I have a couple pairs of black shoes I can wear for work and more casually. I have formal black shoes in case somebody dies or gets married (sort of the same thing, really). I have brown shoes in case I’m in a brown belt kind of mood. I have my Chucks for lounging around and cutting the grass. I have sandals and flip flops. I have slip-on Merrells. I even have those blue clogs with no tread that are guaranteed to make you slip on something within twelve point five minutes of initial wearing. I have running shoes. I have basketball shoes. I have baseball cleats. I have golf shoes and snow shoes. I have hiking shoes, hiking boots, and gortex snow boots. I have steel tipped work boots. I have casual shoes that look like bowling shoes.
I actually wear all these shoes at one time or another, but never at the same time. That would be uncomfortable. With all that said; I wear the two pairs of black shoes for work and play the most. Therefore, they wear out the most. I really like my Ecco loafers. They feel like slippers.
I have gone through two pairs over the years and need new ones again. I usually deviate on the second pair of black shoes for alternating in and out. I went to Nordstrom to grab my Eccos and see what else they had for the second pair. These shoes tend to last me a couple years so I usually go through sticker shock, forgetting how much they cost. I found what I thought was the same kind for $175. Fuck me, I’m a guy and do I really need to spend that much on shoes? I found a slightly different version that was $125 and figured those must be the right ones. I easily justified the cost by calculating that if I wear them two hundred times, I would be at sixty-two cents a wearing (how do you like that math pwn star?). As I waited for the overly friendly sales guy, I wandered over to the clearance racks. Hold your skirts ladies! I found the exact same shoe, in my ginormous European size of 46 for just $95! Woooooot woooooooooot! That gets my two hundy times wearing ratio down to just forty-eight cents a pop! That is less than fiddy cents bitches!!! I nearly high fived the gal at the makeup counter on the way out.
For the second pair, I thought I should try to find a bargain, so I entered a world I have never entered before. Off Broadway. I later found out it is just like DSW Warehouse, whatever the heck that is. All I know is that there were tons of women scouring the ladies shoes while my kids wildly played a game called Monster as they ran up and down the aisles and hid under benches whenever I went searching for them. I told them to stop running a couple times but apparently monsters don’t understand dadspeak. Besides, I was too distracted by the incredible deals. We are looking at an average of thirty-three cents per wearing, people! They had all the big brands.
I was wearing sandals so I had to put on one of those thin nylon footies so as to avoid some nasty hoof and mouth disease that the fragile strands of recycled pantyhose over my sweaty clown feet would be sure to fend off.
Long story short, if it’s not too late, because I’m already getting tired of talking about shoe shopping and am itching to check sports scores and watch porn, I bought a pair of Steve Madden loafers that are similar to my Eccos, but were an additional 20% off the already phenomenally low price of $60. I paid just $48!! I’ll do the math for you again. At two hundred wearings, that is less than a quarter! Makes me want to get a mani/pedi over white wine with my girlfriends to talk all about it!
The biggest difference with the Steve Maddens is that they were made for people with club feet. I don’t have club feet, but just like you women that buy those fancy shoes with points that extend six inches beyond your biggest toe, I assume you aren’t all tall elves. Check these fuckers out.
They don’t need a shoebox because they are the shoebox! I can water ski in these things. I can teach geometry with my shoes as the props. When they wear out I will donate them to the homeless so they can build a shelter.
I warned my boys that these things will really hurt their bums if they don’t behave themselves. I told them to imagine being kicked by a brick made of pure steel. They both roared at me and skipped merrily over to the women’s pumps while I stood there in my nylon footy eyeballing the Merrell camping sandals. Just as I was about to try one on, I heard an avalanche of shoe boxes crashing to the ground followed immediately by two suddenly very quiet monsters sheepishly sneaking back to my side.
My boys rebuilt the pyramid while I paid for my bargain Steve Maddens and looked forward to showing them off to my Neanderthal friends back at the cave.
I think I got that shopping bug out of my system for at least a year. Now let’s get back to lingerie pillow fights, porn and baseball.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Go Fish Old Man
Is it wrong for a guy to be in love with eight other men over the age of 65? Dudes, I can’t even tell you how great I feel after visiting my guys group at the assisted living facility. These men are genuinely happy to see me (no bananas or otherwise in their pockets) and every week they open up more and more. All we do is talk for an hour every Wednesday which just goes to show what a little attention and respect can do for people that are otherwise often treated like walking mentally and physically wounded old afterthoughts.
The facility is actually really good for the guys. They get to do four or five outings a year; kind of like field trips. Right when I started volunteering (about two months ago); they were talking about the next outing being a fishing trip. Since then, nothing has really happened. The people running the show over there keep saying they were waiting on fishing licenses, didn’t have a date set, didn’t have a location and really didn’t have any timetable for getting details set. My old guys were getting frustrated. So last week, I told them I’d come in today with some answers.
I kicked some non-profit red tape ass and got them to commit to Friday July 24th from 9a-2p at a lake about twenty minutes away. There will be hamburgers, hotdogs, worms and sunscreen; although I don’t believe the intention is to eat the worms or sunscreen. I gave the guys the update and they were so excited. They were like little kids finding out Christmas is only three weeks away.
The crazy word repeater yelled “worms and sunscreen!” The Long Island woodchuck eater lit up and told me about the walleye he caught back in the fifties. The professional football player told me about gar fish, saltwater catfish, flounder and his collection of moonshine. The guy that thinks I was there five months ago when they got the new pop machine told me about the perch he caught and based on his arms-spread estimation of said perch’s size, he must have caught it in a pond contaminated with toxins that create mutant giant-fish. The Chilean tailor got off track and asked me what the difference is between Independence Day and the 4th of July. Then he asked me why we had the Civil War and if I was for it or against it. Then he asked me why Abraham Lincoln got shot in a theater. He got way off track. The slightly rihtarded room coordinator asked me to remind him to get clearance from his doctor to go on the trip.
I usually have to come in prepared with topics for the guys to talk about. We have covered where they grew up, what they did for a living, what their first jobs were, families, places they have visited, favorite foods, favorite music, talents they have, hobbies, things they like about each other, favorite holidays, and more.
I am always looking for new ideas, but because of the fishing excitement, time flew by today and I didn’t have to dig up new topics. More good news is that I can save all of Amy’s suggestions that she was kind enough to send during my meeting today. Luckily I did not look until afterwards. Here is a sampling of her brilliant ideas for next time:
Ask if anyone has committed any crimes. Promise you won’t tell and then immediately alert the authorities.
Tell them your Cindy and Mrs. Brady story (note: I have pics of myself with Cindy and Carol from about twenty years ago), and then ask if any of them has had sex with a famous person!
Have a round table discussion on blow jobs versus hand jobs.
Ask who gets the most ass in the old folk’s home. Have any of them been with the same women?
I don’t believe sweet Amy had any illegal (or legal for that matter) drugs or alcohol prior to making these suggestions. I think maybe she was giving me a dose of my own medicine. I can’t wait to tell her mom all about it.
Interestingly, Steph was thinking along the same lines as Amy. She only gave me one idea which was to ask them for advice about sex and see what happens. Apparently Steph and Amy are unfamiliar with the weak hearts of the ancient and decrepit inhabiting assisted living facilities.
I am going to miss next week because I will be in the mountains. But I will have two more meetings with them before the fishing trip. If anyone else has any topic ideas even half as good as Amy and Steph’s, please let me know!
The facility is actually really good for the guys. They get to do four or five outings a year; kind of like field trips. Right when I started volunteering (about two months ago); they were talking about the next outing being a fishing trip. Since then, nothing has really happened. The people running the show over there keep saying they were waiting on fishing licenses, didn’t have a date set, didn’t have a location and really didn’t have any timetable for getting details set. My old guys were getting frustrated. So last week, I told them I’d come in today with some answers.
I kicked some non-profit red tape ass and got them to commit to Friday July 24th from 9a-2p at a lake about twenty minutes away. There will be hamburgers, hotdogs, worms and sunscreen; although I don’t believe the intention is to eat the worms or sunscreen. I gave the guys the update and they were so excited. They were like little kids finding out Christmas is only three weeks away.
The crazy word repeater yelled “worms and sunscreen!” The Long Island woodchuck eater lit up and told me about the walleye he caught back in the fifties. The professional football player told me about gar fish, saltwater catfish, flounder and his collection of moonshine. The guy that thinks I was there five months ago when they got the new pop machine told me about the perch he caught and based on his arms-spread estimation of said perch’s size, he must have caught it in a pond contaminated with toxins that create mutant giant-fish. The Chilean tailor got off track and asked me what the difference is between Independence Day and the 4th of July. Then he asked me why we had the Civil War and if I was for it or against it. Then he asked me why Abraham Lincoln got shot in a theater. He got way off track. The slightly rihtarded room coordinator asked me to remind him to get clearance from his doctor to go on the trip.
I usually have to come in prepared with topics for the guys to talk about. We have covered where they grew up, what they did for a living, what their first jobs were, families, places they have visited, favorite foods, favorite music, talents they have, hobbies, things they like about each other, favorite holidays, and more.
I am always looking for new ideas, but because of the fishing excitement, time flew by today and I didn’t have to dig up new topics. More good news is that I can save all of Amy’s suggestions that she was kind enough to send during my meeting today. Luckily I did not look until afterwards. Here is a sampling of her brilliant ideas for next time:
Ask if anyone has committed any crimes. Promise you won’t tell and then immediately alert the authorities.
Tell them your Cindy and Mrs. Brady story (note: I have pics of myself with Cindy and Carol from about twenty years ago), and then ask if any of them has had sex with a famous person!
Have a round table discussion on blow jobs versus hand jobs.
Ask who gets the most ass in the old folk’s home. Have any of them been with the same women?
I don’t believe sweet Amy had any illegal (or legal for that matter) drugs or alcohol prior to making these suggestions. I think maybe she was giving me a dose of my own medicine. I can’t wait to tell her mom all about it.
Interestingly, Steph was thinking along the same lines as Amy. She only gave me one idea which was to ask them for advice about sex and see what happens. Apparently Steph and Amy are unfamiliar with the weak hearts of the ancient and decrepit inhabiting assisted living facilities.
I am going to miss next week because I will be in the mountains. But I will have two more meetings with them before the fishing trip. If anyone else has any topic ideas even half as good as Amy and Steph’s, please let me know!
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