Retiring

Obviously I haven't blogged in quite some time. The surface reason for this is that I've spent a lot of time since my last blog in a bed, either recovering from back surgery or trying to prevent it. This blog has been dedicated largely to funny happenings of my day-to-day, and truthfully, there just hasn't been that much funny going on. I had surgery, my brother-in-law almost died, I ruptured a new disc and my grandmother had a heart attack. None of that is funny.

Which leads me to the real reason I'm retiring this blog - I don't FEEL funny right now. And I write what I feel.

When things turn around, and I have something more interesting to write about than how my sheets feel today, I might pick it back up. But for now, vaya con nachos.

Liz

Omegle, Omyoh.

Even though it will be completely obvious I'm stoned when I get to my topic this evening, I would like to preface this entry with the caveat that I am currently laid up awaiting back surgery and on fairly heavy pain meds.

That said, a friend introduced me to a site called Omegle.com today. There is no point to this site aside from chatting with strangers. That's it. And given I'm more or less stuck in a bed and hopped up on pain pills, I knew this would be entertaining. And oh my, has it ever delivered.

I love talking to strangers. I love sitting at the bar in restaurants by myself for that exact purpose. I love chatting with people on planes. But all of that is done in PERSON. It's a whole different world when you're talking to strangers in cyberspace and have no interest in discussing what you're wearing.

Most everyone hung up on me when I wouldn't tell them where I live. Others hung up as soon as they found out I'm not the person they'd been chatting with before. "AJ?" one asked. "Nope," I wrote back. *click* One hung up on me after I confessed I was neither naked, nor Asian. Another guy (or I'm presuming it was a guy), didn't even bother with "hello", preferring instead to great me with a friendly "I'm horny." His honesty was certainly appreciated, but after wishing him luck with that, I hung up on him.

The beauty of this thing is that you can immediately start a new conversation with someone else. I made it my goal to have one normal conversation and eventually succeeded with some kid in Argentina. We discussed music, his interest in studying film in Buenos Aires, I gave him some career advice and we exchanged restaurant recommendations. After a few minutes, though, I got a notice that our conversation had "asploded"...a word I would have associated with bathroom activities, but apparently it applies to internet activities.

But no matter. The entire evening was worth it simply for the exchange below:

Sweet, isn't it?

A gutter ball of a statement.

So, last night, Obama was on Leno and today, all of cyberspace is up in arms about Obama comparing his bowling score of 129 to the Special Olympics. People found this offensive to the Special Olympics, and I can see why. If you're going to make a tasteless analogy, at least make it an accurate one. I attended a Special Olympics bowling tournament just a few weeks ago. (Further proof I don't have a lump of coal for a heart...) And, while none of the participants could give you their thoughts on capital gains taxes, I promise you every one of them bowled higher than a 129. I peronally think a man with no arms could bowl higher than 129 just by kicking the ball down the lane.

Beef stew: the Breakfast of Champions

Anyone that knows me knows I eat breakfast every single day. But a day will come when I won't. And the day I get no mo' Cheerios, will be a sad, sad day FOR ALL OF YOU.

Sorry, I don't speak Crazy. (Or Chinese.)

I will give $100 to the first person that translates this video for me...

My grandmother is adorable.

*answering the phone*

"Hey Gigi, are you okay?"

"Hi love! Yeah, I'm fine..."

"Well, I saw you called earlier today, so thought maybe something was wrong."

"Oh, no! Everything's great. Just wanted to make sure you weren't hit by that fireball this weekend. Looks like it shot RIGHT over you!"

"Ah, well, no, I'm okay."

"Good, love. I'm so glad to hear that. Thought it might have shook the ground if nothing else!"

"Nope, everything was fine."

"Okay, well, I'm heading to bed..."

"At 6:45?"

"This old lady gets TIRED sometimes! Haha..."

"Well, thanks for calling, and love you. Sleep tight."

"You too, love, and so. so. glad you weren't hit by that fireball!"


*Picture of "fireball" over Austin, February 15th

How you know the cat's been on the computer.

Winner, winner, chicken anal beads.

I haven't blogged in over a month, which makes me a loser. Only I won a fierce competition tonight, which not only makes me a winner, but also cured my writer's block.

Last week, I got a call from my friend Megan. "So, I'm calling you because you're the only person I know that would go to this with me." With that opener, I was already sold; but she went on to tell me about this show at a local theater called "The Sickest F***ing Stories I Ever Heard". It consists of a group of local comics sitting around a poker table telling disgusting, politically-incorrect stories. It's worth noting the three movies I've laughed hardest in are: Jackass, Jackass 2 and Borat. This was right up my alley.

The show tonight didn't disappoint. There were several times when I laughed as hard as I could, yet still wasn't laughing hard enough to satisfy my amusement. And probably due to his charming tales of rub and tugs, I developed a mild crush on KLBJ's Charlie Hodge, one of the comics. But the best was yet to come. When the show finished, they announced a competition for the sickest audience story. I'm competitive as all hell, but for the life of me I couldn't come up with anything. A chick with a clipboard came by and asked if I had anything to contribute and I shook my head, disappointed in myself. Members of the audience went up to the mic and told stories about poop in a bag, "retards fucking" and even a two-toned dick, the result of a middle school masturbation accident. Suddenly, not one, but two sick stories popped in my head. I headed to the mic, was unanimously voted the winner and went home with a lovely prize package consisting of porn, a dildo, and some anal beads.

And because I'm the most competitive person on earth, it was pitifully a win I needed as last week, I challenged my friends' four year-old to Mario Kart with disastrous results.

"Jackson, you're about to get OWNED!!!"

Jackson's dad shot me a look that was a mix of disbelief and horror. "Are you seriously trash talking my toddler?"

"I prefer to call it 'managing expectations', but potato, potahto."

The kid demolished me. He sailed into 2nd place while I did circles, trying to figure out how to get the "U-turn" signal off the screen. That, combined with continually driving off cliffs ensured I never made it past 12th place.

"He can't even form full sentences!" I howled in my defeat. "This SUCKS! Hey, you don't have Zelda on here, by chance, do you?"

I was still licking my wounds last night, when we introduced my 89 year-old grandmother to Mario Kart. My grandmother had her license taken away from her three years ago, gets driven around like Miss Daisy, and yet somehow managed to finish first.

All this to say that quick thinking and two different but equally disgusting stories have ensured I won't be sobbing myself to sleep again tonight.