Friday, September 28, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Mr. 86.
I will still claim I had the worst first date ever. But my friend Roslyn has officially won the worst SECOND date award.
Her sister had met this guy and proceeded to set Ros up with him. Their first date was bad. For starters, he took her to the Cheesedick Factory. He then proceeded to text throughout the meal, so much so that Ros texted him, "Stop texting. You're on a date." (This is why we are friends.) He apologized, said his cousin was in the hospital, obviously the date wasn't going well, and could they try it again. Ros was ready to throw him on the scrapheap. Instead, she gave him a second chance upon the advice of her dear friend who coincidentally happened to be sitting in the booth next to her at dinner and watched the whole thing unfold.
This advice, while well-meaning, lead to the disaster below.
He began their second date by asking Ros where she was from.
"Houston."
"I hate Houston."
"And why is that."
"I don't know."
"Well, you can't say you hate something without having a reason."
"Yes I can."
"Fine."
"I prefer Dallas."
"I hate Dallas."
And then he mocked her and said, "Why do you hate Dallas? You know you can't hate something without a reason."
"I think it's materialistic."
"Well, you drive a BMW."
"Yes, because it gets me from A to B. That, and not because I'm trying to make a statement, is why I drive a BMW."
"If I were spending that kind of money, I'd buy another Corvette. I used to have a Corvette."
Okay, first of all, I don't trust anyone that would put that kind of money into what is, in my opinion, a "fancy" Camaro. Ros agreed and mentioned that "used to" was the theme of the evening. He used to drive a Corvette, used to have a motorcycle, used to own a home, etc. "Um, who wants to date the mother-fucking 'used to' guy? I want to date the has guy. Just as long as it's not a Camaro." Again, this is why we're friends.
She told him she was in advertising, and he asked what specifically she did. When she responded that she was an Account Manager, he replied, "Sounds like a secretary to me."
This made me laugh. But not as hard as Ros did when she told me her response. "Really," she said calmly, "And this coming from a man who works at Rooms To Fuckin' Go? Oh, and why do I know you work there? Because you're wearing a shirt that says 'Rooms To Fuckin' Go'."
Fantastic.
Right after her retort, his second cell phone rang, prompting Ros to give him a WTF look. "Oh yeah," he bragged, "I have a second cell phone." Then he followed that with, "You have to graduate to get this number."
I love this guy.
Ros shot back, "Then consider me a drop out," and went home. Of course he texted her the next day asking how her day was going. Could he be more predictable?
Hoping something was redeemable about this date, I asked if he was at least good-looking.
"He was okay," she sighed, "But he was light-skinned, and you know that shit went out with El DeBarge in '86."
The Camaro-lovin' Used-To Guy: Out in '86, and 86'ed in '07.
Her sister had met this guy and proceeded to set Ros up with him. Their first date was bad. For starters, he took her to the Cheesedick Factory. He then proceeded to text throughout the meal, so much so that Ros texted him, "Stop texting. You're on a date." (This is why we are friends.) He apologized, said his cousin was in the hospital, obviously the date wasn't going well, and could they try it again. Ros was ready to throw him on the scrapheap. Instead, she gave him a second chance upon the advice of her dear friend who coincidentally happened to be sitting in the booth next to her at dinner and watched the whole thing unfold.
This advice, while well-meaning, lead to the disaster below.
He began their second date by asking Ros where she was from.
"Houston."
"I hate Houston."
"And why is that."
"I don't know."
"Well, you can't say you hate something without having a reason."
"Yes I can."
"Fine."
"I prefer Dallas."
"I hate Dallas."
And then he mocked her and said, "Why do you hate Dallas? You know you can't hate something without a reason."
"I think it's materialistic."
"Well, you drive a BMW."
"Yes, because it gets me from A to B. That, and not because I'm trying to make a statement, is why I drive a BMW."
"If I were spending that kind of money, I'd buy another Corvette. I used to have a Corvette."
Okay, first of all, I don't trust anyone that would put that kind of money into what is, in my opinion, a "fancy" Camaro. Ros agreed and mentioned that "used to" was the theme of the evening. He used to drive a Corvette, used to have a motorcycle, used to own a home, etc. "Um, who wants to date the mother-fucking 'used to' guy? I want to date the has guy. Just as long as it's not a Camaro." Again, this is why we're friends.
She told him she was in advertising, and he asked what specifically she did. When she responded that she was an Account Manager, he replied, "Sounds like a secretary to me."
This made me laugh. But not as hard as Ros did when she told me her response. "Really," she said calmly, "And this coming from a man who works at Rooms To Fuckin' Go? Oh, and why do I know you work there? Because you're wearing a shirt that says 'Rooms To Fuckin' Go'."
Fantastic.
Right after her retort, his second cell phone rang, prompting Ros to give him a WTF look. "Oh yeah," he bragged, "I have a second cell phone." Then he followed that with, "You have to graduate to get this number."
I love this guy.
Ros shot back, "Then consider me a drop out," and went home. Of course he texted her the next day asking how her day was going. Could he be more predictable?
Hoping something was redeemable about this date, I asked if he was at least good-looking.
"He was okay," she sighed, "But he was light-skinned, and you know that shit went out with El DeBarge in '86."
The Camaro-lovin' Used-To Guy: Out in '86, and 86'ed in '07.
Gross, yet rewarding...
1. Biore strips.
2. Clean and Clear oil-absorbing papers.
3. Popping zits.
4. Peeling sunburned skin.
5. Pooping.
2. Clean and Clear oil-absorbing papers.
3. Popping zits.
4. Peeling sunburned skin.
5. Pooping.
Worst date ever.
My youngest sister called this morning with some very exciting news. She's a freshman in high school and asked a guy to her Sadie Hawkins dance. She had all the bubbling enthusiasm you would expect of a 14 year-old who met "the CUTEST. BOY. EVER!" at the mall this weekend and subsequently got him to agree to attend this dance with her. It was nothing short of adorable. I was especially proud of her, as the first time she worked up the nerve to call and ask this guy, his buddy answered the phone, pretended to be his friend, and told my sister he wasn't sure about the dance. She was completely crestfallen. Then, my sister's crush called her back, apologized for his friend, and my sister had to ask all over again. Luckily, this time he said yes.
I couldn't tell her I had a similar experience in college. It was my first sorority mixer, and I had to find a date. One of my friends suggested I ask her boyfriend's friend, Jeff. So I called him, having never met him, and his roommate answered. He talked to me for awhile, posing as Jeff, and was nothing short of a total dickhead. Then Jeff called me back, apologized, and said he would go to the party with me. At the time I was happy about this.
It turned out Jeff was an alcoholic. Of course I had no way of knowing this...nor would I until he joined AA two years later. But as this was my first college party, and he was a year older, I followed his lead on the booze consumption and was quickly blasted out of my mind. On the bus ride back to campus (as this party had been in a field somewhere because that's how they roll in mid-Missouri), I started to get sick and as my motor skills had been compromised, couldn't figure out how to get the school bus window down. (Admittedly, I struggle with those sober.) Anyway, I proceeded to just puke on myself as it seemed to be the only option at the time. As a sign of how drunk my date was, he didn't even hop up out of his seat, despite the fact he was now sitting next to Linda Blair. He just patted my back and asked if I was okay.
When we got back to campus, we all headed to the dorm. Me covered in barf, my date stumbling all over the place. When we got up to our rooms, I went to take a shower and change. Apparently while I was off doing this, my neighbor asked if anyone wanted some champagne. At this point, my horribly intoxicated date took the bottle, chugged the whole thing, then stumbled to the balcony and proceeded to pee off it, nearly missing another friend and her date as they walked in the dorm down below. Of course I knew nothing of any of this until I got out of the shower and my neighbor was yelling at me for my date drinking all her champagne. (Was later bitched out for the balcony-piss-near-miss.) I apologized to my neighbor and went back to my room only to find him passed out on my bed. I put on my pajamas, rolled him up against the wall, and crawled under the covers.
Around 3am I woke up feeling like I was sleeping under weights. Quickly I realized why. It turns out if you piss on a down comforter, it gets quite heavy. And that's exactly what was going on. I was sleeping under a blanket of piss, and thus, was covered in piss myself. I screamed, jumped out of bed (with Jeff sound asleep) and ran across to my neighbor's room and banged on the door. She opened it to find me hysterical.
"He pissed the bed!!! Oh my GOD, he totally just PISSED. THE. BED!!!"
My friend, in her drunken stupor, reminded me that another shower might be in order. I did so, and spent the rest of the night sleeping in my roommate's bed. (She'd been out of town, and I'd thought about sleeping in her bed initially, but didn't feel like I should since this was the beginning of the year and we weren't that close yet.)
The next morning I woke up, and he was staring at me clearly still wasted. I sent him home immediately, and then went about the mortifying task of having to call my parents and ask them to send me a new comforter.
A fantastic postscript to this story was last year, my friend was in a wedding and one of the other bridesmaids went to college with us, though we didn't know her. But she had the same - unusual - last name as Jeff. My friend asked this girl to repeat her last name, and when she did, my friend made a brief face, quickly explaining that she'd thought it sounded familiar, but she was thinking of a different last name.
Later that night, this bridesmaid got drunk and stumbled up to my friend. "Yes, I'm married to Jeff. And yes, I know he pissed on your friend. Everyone does. But he's been sober now for SIX years, and I'm VERY proud of him!"
I'm crossing my fingers my sister's dance isn't met with the same amount of drama. Though having a story that can trump anyone's worst-first-date story almost made the whole thing worth it.
Almost.
I couldn't tell her I had a similar experience in college. It was my first sorority mixer, and I had to find a date. One of my friends suggested I ask her boyfriend's friend, Jeff. So I called him, having never met him, and his roommate answered. He talked to me for awhile, posing as Jeff, and was nothing short of a total dickhead. Then Jeff called me back, apologized, and said he would go to the party with me. At the time I was happy about this.
It turned out Jeff was an alcoholic. Of course I had no way of knowing this...nor would I until he joined AA two years later. But as this was my first college party, and he was a year older, I followed his lead on the booze consumption and was quickly blasted out of my mind. On the bus ride back to campus (as this party had been in a field somewhere because that's how they roll in mid-Missouri), I started to get sick and as my motor skills had been compromised, couldn't figure out how to get the school bus window down. (Admittedly, I struggle with those sober.) Anyway, I proceeded to just puke on myself as it seemed to be the only option at the time. As a sign of how drunk my date was, he didn't even hop up out of his seat, despite the fact he was now sitting next to Linda Blair. He just patted my back and asked if I was okay.
When we got back to campus, we all headed to the dorm. Me covered in barf, my date stumbling all over the place. When we got up to our rooms, I went to take a shower and change. Apparently while I was off doing this, my neighbor asked if anyone wanted some champagne. At this point, my horribly intoxicated date took the bottle, chugged the whole thing, then stumbled to the balcony and proceeded to pee off it, nearly missing another friend and her date as they walked in the dorm down below. Of course I knew nothing of any of this until I got out of the shower and my neighbor was yelling at me for my date drinking all her champagne. (Was later bitched out for the balcony-piss-near-miss.) I apologized to my neighbor and went back to my room only to find him passed out on my bed. I put on my pajamas, rolled him up against the wall, and crawled under the covers.
Around 3am I woke up feeling like I was sleeping under weights. Quickly I realized why. It turns out if you piss on a down comforter, it gets quite heavy. And that's exactly what was going on. I was sleeping under a blanket of piss, and thus, was covered in piss myself. I screamed, jumped out of bed (with Jeff sound asleep) and ran across to my neighbor's room and banged on the door. She opened it to find me hysterical.
"He pissed the bed!!! Oh my GOD, he totally just PISSED. THE. BED!!!"
My friend, in her drunken stupor, reminded me that another shower might be in order. I did so, and spent the rest of the night sleeping in my roommate's bed. (She'd been out of town, and I'd thought about sleeping in her bed initially, but didn't feel like I should since this was the beginning of the year and we weren't that close yet.)
The next morning I woke up, and he was staring at me clearly still wasted. I sent him home immediately, and then went about the mortifying task of having to call my parents and ask them to send me a new comforter.
A fantastic postscript to this story was last year, my friend was in a wedding and one of the other bridesmaids went to college with us, though we didn't know her. But she had the same - unusual - last name as Jeff. My friend asked this girl to repeat her last name, and when she did, my friend made a brief face, quickly explaining that she'd thought it sounded familiar, but she was thinking of a different last name.
Later that night, this bridesmaid got drunk and stumbled up to my friend. "Yes, I'm married to Jeff. And yes, I know he pissed on your friend. Everyone does. But he's been sober now for SIX years, and I'm VERY proud of him!"
I'm crossing my fingers my sister's dance isn't met with the same amount of drama. Though having a story that can trump anyone's worst-first-date story almost made the whole thing worth it.
Almost.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Brads, Bans, Bushes and Bachelors.
I watched President Bush's U.N. speech this morning and soon realized I was experiencing the exact same physical and emotional response as I did last night watching the bachelorette from Austin talk to the latest Bachelor. Yes, typically I'm mortified for all these girls. But when there's a bachelorette from your hometown, I think there's always part of you that roots for them. Until they open their mouths and say stupid things. Then you just get pissed. And this morning, as I watched Bush representing us at the United Nations climate summit, I had this overwhelming feeling of wanting to scream, "Shut up, shut up, shut up...OH. MY. GOD., SHUT UP!!" at the television while pulling at my hair.
Again, this was the exact same reaction I had watching Solisa, the aesthetician, bond with Bachelor Brad over being from Austin. Solisa is from Georgetown, which is not the same as being from Austin. To me, that's kinda like how being against mandatory emission cuts is not the same as caring about the environment. And just as the truth will ultimately reveal itself to Bachelor Brad, so too will the truth reveal itself to Bachelor Ban.
Please note, that Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon is not, in fact, a bachelor. But I thought the alliteration was quite nice and the mental image of him as the next Bachelor is beyond hilarious. If you need help with said mental image, please go to the Bachelor website and watch a day in the life of Bachelor Brad...running (and "looking hot!") at 6am, showering at 7am, making breakfast in his towel at 8am...and substitute Ban Ki-moon's face for Brad's.
Ban Ki-moon: "the best Bachelor yet", indeed!
Again, this was the exact same reaction I had watching Solisa, the aesthetician, bond with Bachelor Brad over being from Austin. Solisa is from Georgetown, which is not the same as being from Austin. To me, that's kinda like how being against mandatory emission cuts is not the same as caring about the environment. And just as the truth will ultimately reveal itself to Bachelor Brad, so too will the truth reveal itself to Bachelor Ban.
Please note, that Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon is not, in fact, a bachelor. But I thought the alliteration was quite nice and the mental image of him as the next Bachelor is beyond hilarious. If you need help with said mental image, please go to the Bachelor website and watch a day in the life of Bachelor Brad...running (and "looking hot!") at 6am, showering at 7am, making breakfast in his towel at 8am...and substitute Ban Ki-moon's face for Brad's.
Ban Ki-moon: "the best Bachelor yet", indeed!
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Monkey see, monkey doo.
I spend a great majority of each day bitching about stupid people. But when I'm not counting on them for anything, they can be wonderfully entertaining.
Tonight, I had a couple of great conversations about stupid people. My first conversation was about some girls I went to high school with. I went to an private all-girls high school that required testing to get in, so overall I went to school with very smart people. But in each grade, there were a couple of girls that slipped through the cracks. In our grade, there was a girl that while undeniably gorgeous, was also undeniably retarded. When disgruntled by an ex, she exclaimed, "I swear! He calls me 48 hours a DAY!" She also once asked me how many trimesters were in a semester. But the greatest of all these idiots was a duo two years ahead of me who, during the review for their World History final, shocked the class with the following questions...
Dumb: "I can't remember. Was the Holocaust in World War One or World War TWO?"
Dumber: "Wait a minute. There were TWO world wars?!?"
At that, the teacher threw up her hands, shouted, "I have FAILED as a teacher," and ran out of the room crying.
My college roommate, also a teacher, called tonight with an e-mail from one of her students. She teaches at a major state university and this was her student's actual e-mail explaining why he wouldn't be attending class:
"Hello, I am in your MWF His Class at 2 p.m. I'm sorry but I can't make it to class today, as unbeleivable as this might sound I have two monkeys and my female is pregnant causing my male to be quite aggressive. This morning when I was feeding them I noticed that he was acting extremely stressed and the top of his head was really red, so when I was trying to see what was wrong he attacked me and got ahold of the back of my head. I am fine, its just a little scratch but it has been a year since they have been to the vet so I have to leave now and drive to Jackson to take them to my vet and I also have to get a TB test to make sure I am okay. I am sure I will be fine because I am sure that they are healthy...it is just a precaution I have to take. I'm sorry once again about this. I know it sounds pretty made up but I assure you it is very true. Thank you for understanding."
When I was in college, I thought I was the smartest student alive for telling my Spanish professor I'd missed class because I had diarrhea. As Sarah Silverman brilliantly pointed out at the VMAs, no one will question you if you claim diarrhea. But it's missing the outstanding creativity of this monkey excuse. So the lesson here, boys and girls, is that a pet monkey suffering from explosive diarrhea might be the greatest excuse of all time.
Tonight, I had a couple of great conversations about stupid people. My first conversation was about some girls I went to high school with. I went to an private all-girls high school that required testing to get in, so overall I went to school with very smart people. But in each grade, there were a couple of girls that slipped through the cracks. In our grade, there was a girl that while undeniably gorgeous, was also undeniably retarded. When disgruntled by an ex, she exclaimed, "I swear! He calls me 48 hours a DAY!" She also once asked me how many trimesters were in a semester. But the greatest of all these idiots was a duo two years ahead of me who, during the review for their World History final, shocked the class with the following questions...
Dumb: "I can't remember. Was the Holocaust in World War One or World War TWO?"
Dumber: "Wait a minute. There were TWO world wars?!?"
At that, the teacher threw up her hands, shouted, "I have FAILED as a teacher," and ran out of the room crying.
My college roommate, also a teacher, called tonight with an e-mail from one of her students. She teaches at a major state university and this was her student's actual e-mail explaining why he wouldn't be attending class:
"Hello, I am in your MWF His Class at 2 p.m. I'm sorry but I can't make it to class today, as unbeleivable as this might sound I have two monkeys and my female is pregnant causing my male to be quite aggressive. This morning when I was feeding them I noticed that he was acting extremely stressed and the top of his head was really red, so when I was trying to see what was wrong he attacked me and got ahold of the back of my head. I am fine, its just a little scratch but it has been a year since they have been to the vet so I have to leave now and drive to Jackson to take them to my vet and I also have to get a TB test to make sure I am okay. I am sure I will be fine because I am sure that they are healthy...it is just a precaution I have to take. I'm sorry once again about this. I know it sounds pretty made up but I assure you it is very true. Thank you for understanding."
When I was in college, I thought I was the smartest student alive for telling my Spanish professor I'd missed class because I had diarrhea. As Sarah Silverman brilliantly pointed out at the VMAs, no one will question you if you claim diarrhea. But it's missing the outstanding creativity of this monkey excuse. So the lesson here, boys and girls, is that a pet monkey suffering from explosive diarrhea might be the greatest excuse of all time.
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