What I Did On My Summer Break(Down) Pt. III - I Joined The Ranks of the Unemployed

As much as I enjoy sharing intimate stories of my unhealthy eating habits and involuntary bowel movements, I don't often talk about many of the more personal stuff that happens in my life, including my job.

Sure, I've complained about it every once in awhile, but for the most part I've kept my job experiences off the Interwebs. Mostly because we all hate our jobs (right?), and because I lived in constant fear that my bosses would somehow stumble across this site and, being the technophobic luddites that they are (there is no talking on cell phones, web surfing or IMing allowed at my place of business), they'd fire me on the spot.

I had not been happy with my job for many months and had been planning an exit. Recently, our agency lost a major account (through no fault of our own; they were getting bought out and needed to suspend all ongoing marketing efforts) and because of this (and some other stuff) productivity and billable hours across the office were down, and there was a sense that things would not be improving anytime real soon. I saw this development as one opportunity for me to discuss my eventual exit in a rational manner with my bosses.

To make a long story short, I found myself one day in a conversation with my boss where I suddenly decided it would be a good time to talk about the future. For the sake of brevity and simplification, the conversation(s) went like this:

Scene I:
Me: "Boss, I don't think this job has been a good fit for me and I think it is time to discuss a transition strategy. And since we just lost a major account, I think this is as good a time as any."
Boss (rather offended): "I'm well aware of the financial stability of this company and don't need you to tell me. Let me think about it and get back to you."

Scene II (a few hours later):
I get a call from my boss to come into the conference room. I enter the room and see him and the other partner sitting with a small stack of papers.
Boss: "We've discussed the conversation from this morning and we've decided that we don't want to pay you to sit around and look for another job and that your last day of employment with this company will be today."
Me: "..."
Boss: "So you have two options. You can work through the end of today, or you can sign these papers here and leave right now. We've cut you a check to cover you through the middle of the month, plus another check for your owed vacation time. The choice is yours.
Me: "..."
Boss: "..."
Me: "I will just leave now, then."

And in a matter of 30 minutes I had cleaned my desk, handed over my keys and was a free man. And the thing is, I think I was/am supposed to feel bad or upset about it, but the truth is that I had been feeling extremely free and optimistic. Sure, it is not the way I wanted it to end, but I've already started a new job (I've started my own consulting business -- wow,it feels weird to write that -- where I'm making good money, can essentially set my own hours, work from home, not have to put on pants) but I now realize how much more of a stress and source of unhappiness that job was for me now that I am out of it. I've used my free time to enjoy the sunshine, connect with friends, and start exercising again. I've stopped shaving and am loving it.

I also started taking classes again so that I can apply to nursing school - but that is another story entirely.

PS - If you're looking for a good online distraction, especially while at work (because really, when and where else would you possibly be looking for a good online distraction anyway?), I highly recommend the game "Five Minutes To Kill (Yourself)" from AdultSwim.com. In it, you run around the office to find items and co-workers to help kill you off so that you don't have to attend that team meeting in 5 minutes. Good fun.

My 12 Hours of Stalking Neil Finn

(Note: If you're looking for a satisfying payoff to this story -- i.e. how the [C]R successfully stalks the great Neil Finn -- go see a Hollywood movie. Because this is real life. And plus, I'm not that lucky.)

This weekend Crowded House descended upon Chicago and rocked my lame ass. To show my appreciation, I decided it would be appropriate for Neil Finn to meet me and realize what an amazing person I am and maybe invite me to hang with him back in New Zealand or at least write a song about me.

I had a great partner in crime in my efforts, Richard (who also bought the tickets for us to the show back in May, the day they went on sale). With help from Niner, Richard and I determined that the band was staying at the Hotel Sax, the former House of Blues Hotel, located right next the HOB, where the magical concert happened.

As I have no real life of any kind, my plan was to arrive in the early afternoon Saturday and essentially hang out in the hotel lobby all day, waiting for Neil to walk through, and then make the Magic happen. This proved to be a pretty easy feat, since nobody there seemed to notice us sitting on the plush couch directly in front of the elevator bank (also, there seemed to be no other groupies around so I was feeling optimistic). So Richard and I sat there in the lobby for about an hour until we started getting really bored.

Richard has plenty of experience in meeting rock stars and knows all the tricks. He suggested that we also hang out in the hotel bar after the concert, and asked the bellhop how late "after the show" the bar would be open (as if to imply he was part of the CR entourage. He was very believable). He also suggested we walk across the street to the HOB to see if perhaps the band was there doing a sound check, so we did. As good an idea that it was, we pretty much got nowhere.

He then suggested we scope out the stage door. We were able to determine that the door was one flight underground, making it a bit difficult access. To make a long story short, we had to walk three blocks west of the HOB, take a parking garage elevator to a sub-basement floor, bust through an alarmed door, endure the stench of vomit and walk through the darkest underbelly of Chicago alleyways. But we found the stage door, and after assessing the situation mapped out a plan to come back both before and after the show (if need be) and meet the band as they entered/left the venue. Because we are clever like that.

Because stalking is demanding work, we decided to leave and return at 6 (doors opened at 7:30), meet up with friends for a drink in the hotel bar and get friendly with the wait staff in case we needed their help after the show (see how smart we are??).

Fast forward to about 8 pm, with Richard and I comfortably seated at the hotel bar with 4 Long Island Iced Teas, a couple of beers and at least a rum & coke between us. The idea of hanging out at the stage door before the show starts seems like both a distant memory and silly at the same time (damn you LIIT's!).

[This is a re-enactment of me kinda/sorta pretending to be looking for Neil Finn in the hotel bar, hoping that maybe like us, he too decided that getting a drink before the show was a good idea. See how dramatic this whole affair has been?]

We head into the venue and meet up with our friends, who are standing about 25 feet from the stage. This is where I am supposed to talk about the concert itself. Yes, it was amazing. But the crowd really sucked because everyone around us was old and had forgotten what it is like to go to a general admission concert, and a few skanks and assholes directly in front of us didn't know any fucking words to any CH songs, nor would they dance, and kept looking at their watches. What the fuck is the point? Go back to Naperville and watch "Two and a Half Men" you fucktard douche nuggets!

Neil and crew sounded and played great, rocked most of my favorite songs and truly put on a good show. They came out for two encores, and played until (I think) about 12:30. When they played "Heaven That I'm Making" (from their new album) and "Better Be Home Soon" I may have cried a little. But because it was dark nobody saw me so therefore you'll never know.

Oh, also, early in to the show, during a quiet lull, I yelled out "I LOVE YOU NEIL FINN!" (Apparently the show was recorded so I'm sure my love profession is now history.) Although I am sure he heard me, he didn't acknowledge. He didn't have to. Because he knows and understands the special bond we share. However, the people around me did acknowledge, and everyone turned and looked at me like I was a freak. "What?" I said. "Somebody had to say it!" Only Richard laughed.

Since this story is really long, let me cut to the end of the evening. After the show, we went outside and snuck down into the alley and stage door. During the concert Richard noticed a lot of people with VIP passes, which meant there was probably going to be a long meet and greet backstage after the show, which also meant that we'd be likely waiting a long time outside for them to come out. By this point, we were both really tired and I was becoming extremely comfortable with the idea of not hanging out at the stage door for an hour or so.

Plus, a big security guy stopped us when we arrived, asking us what we wanted. I decided to let Richard do the talking, and the conversation went like this:

Big Security Dude: "Whaddya want?"
Richard: "We're just waiting for Neil and Nick." (See, I told you he was good.)
Big Security Dude: "Nuh-uh. You can't be down here."
Richard and Me: "OK then. Have a good night."

And that is the end of my story. Before we went back to the street, Richard did snap this photo of me in front of their tour bus. Sadly, this was to be the closest I would get to meeting Neil Finn. But the band is supposed to head back into the studio in December to record their next album (yes!), so there will be a next time. Did you hear that Neil? Our Time On Earth* will come. We will be Together Alone** soon.

[This is me in front of the tour bus. You don't have to say it - I am fully aware of what a dork I am.]

* That was a funny Crowded House insider joke, so laugh.

** So was that, so keep laughing.

Does Anyone Know How I Can Find Out Where Crowded House Is Staying While They're in Chicago?

... Because they should be arriving sometime after midnight tonight, and I got me some Stalking to do.

You will be mine, Neil Finn.
O Yes you certainly will.*

* And I mean that in a completely non-creepy, non-obsessive way, of course.

What I Did On My Summer Break(Down) Pt. II - I Joined a Cult

Like a rash or pandemic, several weeks ago my e-mail inbox began flooding with messages from both old and current friends and acquaintances, asking me to join the Facebook community. I had received requests before, but for whatever reason, in mid-July it seemed everybody was doing it, so I caved.

When i started, I spent about an hour getting my page set up, adding friends and cute little applets, like a "fun wall" and a "places I've been" map (which seems impressive until compared to those belonging to other friends. Sure, maybe you've been to Copenhagen, but I've been to Hutchinson, Kansas bitches!). I sent out a few messages to people in my network, sent back a few "pokes" to people, joined a few clubs - now I'm a member of a "Chicago is awesome" network and a Patty Griffin fanclub. Yippee.

As I went through it, I thought to myself, "this is kinda boring" but figured I'd get into it. Since there are, like, millions of members I figure it must be pretty fun, right? Daily, I'd get virtual gin & tonics sent to me from friends inviting me to join them for Happy Hour. I've now got craploads of virtual drinks saved up (which I do appreciate friends!) but I stare at the row of beers on my Facebook page and all it does is depress me that I'm not really out getting drunk.

And then there's that whole aspect where now everyone in my circle knows every move I make online. Now, all 28 people in my network get a little notice saying "[Cherry] told his brother to fuck off" or "[Cherry] joined the 'I'm Turned On by Little Superstar' Network on Saturday." Awesome for me.

And do I really want to accept the invitation to join the network of some guy who lived on my floor freshman year in college that I haven't seen since then? First off, how did that freak find me? And secondly, I'm afraid if I reject his offer he'll come after me with one of the many hunting rifles that he'd keep hidden in his closet and show off during our floor progressives.

Who are these people who say they spend hours a day on Facebook? How? And Why? While I'm not complaining that I've got great friends in my Facebook community, who has time to keep all this up? Is there something else about this whole movement that I'm not getting? Something else I should be doing besides poking other people and sending them drinks? Am I missing the point?

As far as I can tell, Facebook is pretty much only good for one thing: reminding me of the birthday's of people in my network (btw, Happy Birthday Kathy!). I'm pretty sure I'm over it. I think I'll stick to my tried-and-true cults, like Blogger and Wang-Wang.

In the Passenger's Seat - Recken Roll

Today's guest blogger is my friend Recken Roll, coming to us all the way from London. Recken and I sat side-by-side together during my working stint there two years ago. I knew we would be friends when she took me out for "dirty Indian" the first of my many late nights there, sent me links to Blagg Blog, and dared me to race her through SoHo, me on foot, her in a rickshaw (long story). I won of course.

However, she failed to tell me that one of my favorite drinks - lager and lime - is actually a "chick drink" and when I told her the exciting story of how I met Jessica Alba in a Carnaby Street shoe store, her only reaction was "So what did you buy?" (She was jealous.)

I begged her to write about something that didn't involve me, but that can be so difficult, given the temptation of such great subject matter. So I take no responsibility for the text that appears below, which was not edited by me in any way...

So to get right to it, The [Cherry] Ride and I spent a lot of time together in London – six quality weeks of sitting just 2 feet away from each other is bound to bring you closer together, right?

We also spent a lot of time in the pub and during those special hours wallowing at the bottom of a pint glass, we had several deep and meaningful conversations. I got to know our friend Cherry pretty well and was often surprised to learn that he had lived such an interesting life for someone so young. I know they always say “what happens at the pub stays at the pub”, but some of this is just too good. Therefore, I’d like to introduce you all to The [Cherry] Ride that I know and love…

ThTop 10 Things You DON’T KNOW About The [Cherry] Ride
All of the facts below are based on one conversation or another I had with Cherry before he left London. *Some* of the details have been filled in from fuzzy drunken memories but dear readers, you should know that all of these are based in truth…even if some of these CherryRide wishes weren’t true:

1. The [Cherry] Ride can beat me at arm wrestling…even when I cheat.
2. In his early youth, The [Cherry] Ride was one of Madonna’s favorite club dancers. (He worked the cage at the Limelight in NYC where Madge would scout for new talent.) He was even slated to be “dancer on the left” in the Vogue video. Unfortunately, their love affair ended when he stormed out after she refused to let him pop it and lock it during rehearsals. Famous last words as he left the studio: “Vogue is so gay.”
3. Following his failed dance career, The [Cherry] Ride moved to Washington D.C. After several years of hard work, he was actually on track to become the top secret service agent to the president…until he sharted in the Oval Office.
4. The [Cherry] Ride now lives in Chicago where he is currently writing an auto-biographical screenplay about his troubled youth. I’ve seen an early draft and it’s a beautiful tale of a young man and his personal journey of self-discovery. Although, last I heard, the working title was “Helen Mirren’s Boobs: Proper!"
5. The [Cherry] Ride often goes shoe shopping with Jessica Alba. He may or may not be the reason she broke up with Cash Warren. (I really can’t discuss the details.)
6. Because of The [Cherry] Ride, all McDonald's in Chicago have a size even larger than the super-size. It’s not on the menu, but when ordering, just ask to be "CherrySized." You’ll get a ginormous burger plus 2 orders of fries, an apple pie and a side of pancakes.
7. The [Cherry] Ride once auditioned for American Idol but he walked out of the audition in tears after Paula Abdul crawled over the desk and started licking him and meowing. He never did get to do the robot on national television but it’s still a dream he keeps alive. (The lawsuit against American Idol is pending.)
8. The [Cherry] Ride once dressed like a giant panda for Halloween. No, seriously. There is photographic evidence. I can’t make this shit up.
9. As many of you know, the [Cherry] Ride collaborates with Dr. Ken, Classy and 5of9er to form the Liars Club. What you may now know is that this is not their first time writing together. They also all share writing credits for “Shake Your BonBon.” That’s right, The [Cherry] Ride is the proud owner of a Latin Grammy AND 2 pairs of leather pants.
10. The [Cherry] Ride is filthy gorgeous.

In The Passenger Seat - MysteryGirl!

Today's guest blogger is MysteryGirl! - known throughout the land for her quick wit and especially for her stick figure drawing abilities (jealous).

And as awesome as my blog is (cough), one thing it has been lacking is the kick-ass stick figure drawings only MG! can provide...

Where in the world is Cherry?

Here are my two guesses:

I hope it's the pool.

I hope it's not the bathroom, since that cleanse should be over by now.









Now my blogging world is complete. Couple things: I love the pink drink but what is it, MG!? The Paul Poon is blue in color. Although the real answer is up for debate, rest assured I am not in the bathroom (all that much).

In the Passenger Seat - Classy & Fancy

Hello pretties:

In the first in the "passenger seat" guest blogging series, my pal Classy & Fancy is here to post something to replace that ridiculous "Gone Fishin'" cat photo that has been mastheading for far too long, and explain what I've been up to these last few weeks.

Just a few words about Classy - besides being funny and charming, she also shares my love of interpretive dance and the word "ointment." She's got Mad Skillz, y'all.

Now, I know this goes without saying, but this creation is outstanding work because it addresses three things of great importance to me: Aquaman, Burger King, and sharting.

Thanks to everyone so far who has volunteered for guest blogging duties while I enjoy my extended leave. Thanks to many of you, I think I've got enough volunteers to keep this blog alive before readership continues its sad spiral to zero.

Happy weekend, everyone!

Taking Some Time Off (Again)

[I dislike cats, btw.]

Instead of simply ignoring it or having people e-mail me with "where the hell are you" - type things, I wanted to let you know that I'll be taking (at least) a few days off from the [C]R. It's not like I haven't done it before.

However, I am happy to instate a guest blogging feature during my absence, although last time I suggested it, it went over like a lead balloon. But, like last time, if you're interested you can shoot me an e-mail (you can find it in my profile). I'll even let you decide on the topic, but if you are in need of ideas, there's always:

• The new Crowded House album (of course it is awesome)
• The new Harry Potter movie (saw it last night and it was really great. If you have the chance to see it in 3-D like Richard and I did last night, definitely do it)
• Just how shitty the Bush Administration is (like anybody needs proof, but read this article and it will likely make your blood boil)
• Sharting
• How ridiculous word verification in Blogger can be:

[I think this spells "Go Fuck Yourself, Blogger."]

Peace Out.

O Happy Day

Today "Time on Earth" the new Crowded House album goes on sale in the US. Those of you elsewhere in the world who've been listening to it for at least a week already, don't ruin the ending for me.

In other news, Richard scored two free tickets to the new Harry Potter movie tonight at the IMAX at Navy Pier. Sweet. Recap tomorrow.

Air conditioning still down in the office today. Fuck.

Sweat Shop

I don't got much to say today, except that it is 92 degrees outside and the air conditioner in the office is broke. It is probably 90 degrees here at my desk. I started sweating around 9:30 and now I'm getting kinda pissed off.

Add to that the fact that I've been drinking lemon water with cheyenne pepper + a warm herbal tea (the things I do for this cleansing diet).

In the past, I've worked at places that would let me work from home under these conditions. But I guess those days are looong gone. It's not like we're curing cancer here. How about a little break?

Can I sue my employer over this? I'd love a nice settlement that would allow me to take the rest of the year off.

UPDATE: It is now 3:40 and I'm still here and still really really hot. This is bullshit.

Live Earth

Tomorrow is the Live Earth Concert Event, expected to bring together more than 2 billion people to raise awareness of global warming.

While I tend to be a bit jaded about concerts expected to raise awareness and money, you have to be impressed with the lineup and scale of this -- 24 hours of music, more than 100 bands, across all 7 continents (apparently, there will be a group of scientists in Antarctica who will be, I assume, playing music). No matter your political or personal beliefs, I think this is something everyone can/should get behind so even if you don't watch, take a minute to get (more) educated and/or donate a little dinero.

I probably won't get the chance to watch much or any of it, but MSN has a LiveEarth website set up, where you will be able to download and stream all or parts of it. They've got a kinda scary promo for it here. (They also have an article on the 10 shows that will rock, but, please - Smashing Pumpkins and Wolfmother will suck [SP because they're horrible live, and Wolfmother because, well, they're horribly overrated]).

Somehow, my tickets to either the the London or Sydney gigs didn't show up (which is too bad, esp. for the Sydney show because Crowded House will be there), so I'll need to live vicariously through those on my blogroll already going.

[Look at how yummy Neil is. Even now that he's old.]

I Have A New Master

As I mentioned Tuesday, I have started the "Master Cleanser" (referred to only as the "Master" moving forward) fast. Richard too. I promise not to write about it too often (mostly because I don't want the [C]R to be - in the concerned comment from Recken Roll* - all about "boobs and poop." Whatever.).

I was originally planning to start it on the Greatest Country on the Planet's Liberation Day (yesterday), but Richard talked me out of it with a little common sense, stating that a national holiday is essentially an excuse to eat or drink anything you want, so why waste it? He made a strong argument, but I know it was mostly for selfish reasons -- he had a bunch of Stellas in the fridge and he needed an excuse to drink as many of them as possible.

The Master officially started last night, with a laxative tea nightcap (niiice). Followed this morning by 20 ounces of the cleaning lemonade - a little lemon juice, a little maple syrup, a tiny little bit of cayenne pepper and lots of water. This will be my breakfast, lunch and dinner for at least the next 10 days. (Please try to contain your jealousy.) There will also be herbal laxative tea and non-iodized salt elixirs thrown in periodically just to "mix things up." 'Cuz I roll like dat.

I also went threw the cupboards and fridge and threw out a bunch of food items that would only cause temptation over the next several days. That hurt a little bit.

I've also mapped out all the toilets along my 25-minute bike ride to/from work each day, in case, you know, nature calls. Thank god there's that Starbucks and North & Wells about halfway through my route. And again at Franklin & Chicago Aves.

This is probably going to get really ugly before it gets pretty, folks.

* Recken Roll is apparently going to Live Earth too. Bitch.

Tuesday List

Since everyone seems to be all about the list today/yesterday, and I fold to peer pressure like, well, [insert the name of that kid in high school who did everything that everyone else did], this is mine for today:

1. Of the bat, let me state I pretty much have nothing to say today, but don't want Friday's post about [mammaries] to be at the top of my blog.
   
2. (BTW, my idea about not blogging about them is not helping to keep the crazy pervs away - this weekend was like the worst ever for google searches. But whatever.)
3. I could not be any less excited about 4th of July. Of all the Tier 2 holidays, July 4th is the lamest. While the rest of the city watches the fireworks from Grant Park, I'll be inside with the windows closed watching Bravo or hopefully a Charm School marathon or whatever.
   
4. However, if there's a midnight showing of Transformers tonight, then Richard and I (and hopefully LP and Niner - although he doesn't know it yet) are going. You didn't realize I was a Transformers fan? Well, I'm not (I've honestly never even seen an episode), but it is something to do.
5. Speaking of something to do, tomorrow I'm starting "The Master Cleanser" liquid fast. It should be 10 days of liquid hell, but hopefully I'll come out the other end a bit healthier, leaner, and with better bowels (and after last weekend's sharting incident, who wouldn't?). And now that I've mentioned it in this blog I pretty much have to do it or you'll know that I'm really a quitter. I'm looking forward to this cleansing the way I look forward to a trip to the dentist. Which is to say, not really at all, although the end result should be good. So over the next 10 days you can look forward to a few posts about how fucking miserable I am. Why should I suffer alone?
   
6. Everyone else in the world starting today can enjoy the release of the new Crowded House album, "Time on Earth." Except in America, 'cuz we're retards. We don't get it until next Tuesday. As I've mentioned before, the idea of a brand new CH album gets me so excited that I'll likely need to take the day off from work on Tuesday, or wear Depends. Or maybe both.
   
7. Am I the only person working today? Yeah, I thought so too.
8. If by Saturday I'm still alive (thanks to the above mentioned Master Cleanser fast), I plan to do this.
9. Excitement in our apartment building last night. A couple on the 12th floor had a fight and one of them started throwing out the other guy's shit from the 12th floor window all into the street. It was classic. Like, I thought that shit only happens in commercials. But there was clothing, electronic items and other personal effects being launched into the sky from above us (Richard and I watched it all from our 8th floor window) and onto the sidewalk and, unfortunately for some poor car owners, onto the hoods of cars and through windshields. And then not one but five cop cars showed up. The gays can be so dramatic.
   
10. Every list should go to ten, even though I have nothing else to say.
    

This is My Last Post Mentioning Boobs

I'm in the habit of checking my stats to see the kind of searches people do on the Internets to get to my blog (which has become a regular Friday feature for me). I've calculated that about 10% of my daily visitors reach my blog via some kind of Internet search.

I've also calculated that of that 10%, the large majority of those people (roughly 80%) reach my blog searching for women's breasts using ever possible slang term for them. Or some other kind of strange porn stuff I won't really repeat here.

Granted, I haven't helped the situation much thanks to my frequent listing of these strange searches each Friday. It's started a snowball effect.

What also hasn't helped the situation much is the title of my blog. "Cherry Ride" is a slang term from the 70s that I used with friends in college, grad school and then in Portland to describe a nice/sweet/rad car. If you were walking down the street and you saw a souped-up Mustang drive by, you'd say "Dude, that is a cherry ride!" (In my circle of friends we'd say it mockingly because we all drove Ford Tempos and Honda Civics.)

I thought most people were familiar with this term, but apparently not, as I'd often get people asking my what the title of this blog refers to. I thought the term "cherry ride" was universally known.

I know that the term "cherry" especially when combined with the word "ride" can have other connotations as well, which is what I think brings a lot of the sickos to my blog. If I'm horny enough to be Googling "big virgin [mammaries]" at 3 am (and yes, somehow someone did find my blog that way) and a blog called "The Cherry Ride" comes up, well I'm probably going to click on it.

So I think moving forward I'm going to keep the references to female body parts to a minimum. From now on, this blog will be known only for Trannies and, after yesterday, Sharting.

But having said that, some people found my blog this week by Googling: "It's the tight ride, bitches" and "public urination fine in Milwaukee."

Peace Out and have a good weekend, y'all.

PROPER.

This Is a Post About Sharting

(Note: If you don’t want to read about gross stuff like bodily functions – particularly involuntary ones – than read no further. Come back another day when things go back to normal.)

(Note #2: The following might be considered an "over-share" by some - OK all -- of you, but what the hell, we're friends, right? DON'T JUDGE ME, bitches.)

Saturday afternoon I was in a bookstore and I sharted. Yes, it’s true. Like anyone else who’s been in this situation (and please – we all have. I don’t care what you say - we’ve all done it.) I thought I was discretely letting just a little gas pass, when suddenly I realized it wasn’t just a little air down there.

Unluckily for me, just a few hours earlier I’d had a few bites of a delicious La Pasadita burrito with some extra hot sauce (I know, I know), and let’s just say that the act of squeezing out a little gas had, umm, “opened the floodgates” a bit.

At least the bookstore was around the corner from my apartment, so I was able to get home in good time before suffering any additional damage (no, it was a small bookstore with no public restroom). But the 10 minutes it took for me to walk home - in a desperate attempt to keep leakage to a minimum – was definitely loooong.

What’s worse than the actual act of sharting is the walk. That is the absolute worst. Two things are happening with the Shart Walk: 1) You’re walking down the street like a retard with your ass cheeks clenched, trying to play it cool wondering if everyone can tell that you just shit your pants, and; 2) Since you can’t see your backside, you’re wondering if you’re beginning to leave a stain on the seat of your pants. Are people behind me looking at my ass because there’s now a stain there?? Damn.

I realized that there’s actually some good that can come from the Shart. Sharting can be the great human equalizer - it reminds you that no matter how cool or evolved you think you might be, once you have an involuntary bowel movement, you’re just as much of a dork as everyone else. Think about it. Even the coolest people in the world (think Barack Obama, Helen Mirren, David Beckham, Jessica Alba, etc.) – they’ve all sharted. Think about that. The shart is God’s way of saying: “Hey, we’re all the same. And we're all idiots.”

[I found this on Google. My shart experience was nothing like what is depicted on this movie poster, btw.]

Whatta Bunch of Baloney

It's time for my annual post about GW. Normally, I would save it for a time when he's done something really, really retarded (by GW standards), but I saw this on Food & Wine.com (via Gawker -- 'cuz I ain't no fancy food and wine person) today and felt that, yep, this was gonna be it.

When the president of the most powerful nation on earth and leader of the free world (yeah, it turns my stomach a little to write those words) stays at the Waldorf-Astoria, he eats bologna sandwiches. From F&W.com writer Kate Krader:

"...but I do know that when President George Bush stays at the hotel, he likes to order bologna sandwiches on white bread with mayonnaise, with Doritos on the side. Apparently that counts as a special order since the hotel doesn’t stock Wonder Bread, the President’s favorite."

There are so many disturbing things about the above paragraph I don't know where to begin. You're at the Waldorf-Astoria, and you're eating processed meats made for five-year old children. On the shittiest "bread" ever made (let's be real - Wonder is to bread as powdered milk is to, well, milk). I didn't realize adults ate bologna. Let alone Wonder Bread. If we didn't already have enough reason to impeach him, shouldn't this be it?

[Here's our boy, looking out the window, likely dreaming of a giant delicious Oscar Meyer & Wonder Bread sammich.]

Let One Rip

Today we're going straight to our Friday "internet searches that led people to my blog" feature. The highlights*:

The whack:

• "patriotic big hair"
• "wheels in the sky keep on turnin'"
• "St. Paul succotash mid-century"
• "house of fun TV cherry"
• "let one rip"
  

The dirty:

• "bra and girdle movies"
• "boyzillian Chicago"
• "big boob castle"
  

The really, really whack:

• "Denver trannie"
• "go to White Castle boobs"
  

*excluding, of course, the usuals -- "Helen Mirren's boobs" and "ever since I can remember I've been poppin' my collar"

PS - KAZ, I believe I may be back on top for Helen Mirren's boobs. Ball's in your court now.

Summer Solstice

I have just two things to say about today...

The Bad: the days only get shorter from here on out. That's depressing.
The Good: we're one day closer to summer being over and the yummy goodness of Fall to be upon us.

In honor, today at lunch I'm drinking the new, special edition Pepsi Summer Mix (pictured below). They say it tastes like "a mix of pepsi and tropical fruit flavors." I say it tastes like "someone drank a pepsi, ate a sno-cone and a handful of smarties and threw it up all into my mouth."

This Is a Post About My Shorts

No, I'm not starved for content today (Richard), I just want to take a minute to discuss my favorite shorts.

That's them in the picture above. They're brown with little pink crows on them. They're also reversible (!!!) and they kick ass.

I wore them on Friday and I received several compliments on them - a stranger on the elevator told me she loved them. My boss, who is straight, said they were "cute" and another co-worker told me they "are like boxer shorts" (but he went on to explain in a good way). At Taste of Randolph St., I'm pretty sure a woman next to me in the beer line volunteered to help me carry my surplus of full beer cups because she dug them.

Turn them inside out and they're a dazzling brown, red and aqua stripe yummy goodness (in the photo you can see from the cuff there on my left leg). They're like two pair of kick-ass shorts rolled into one!

The only downside is that they've got a velcro fly (cue the ZZ Top). I had forgotten this fact until standing at the urinal in an occupied bathroom at work. A bit embarrassing.

Guys, I know what you're thinking: "Pink birds? Red and aqua stripes?? Where can I get a pair of those amazingly manly-hetero shorts??" Well, sorry but Modern Amusement made them last summer and they're sold out.

Sadcakes for you.

The Wacko Macko and Paul Poon (or: Skinny Dipping Is Awesome!)

[this is a photo of what the Wacko Macko kinda looks like, if you gussied it up a bit and added a lemon]

A few posts back I mentioned that LP and I would be creating a new drink called the Wacko Macko, consisting of Hawaiian Punch, DeKuyper's "Island Blue Pucker" flavor and Everclear, and that it would be Fabulous and the Official Drink Of Summer. We finally had the chance to create it this weekend when Richard,Niner, LP and I went up/down/across to the lake house in Indiana.

After spending roughly $60 on ingredients (and since Everclear is pretty much illegal in the Midwest – WTF? – we had to settle for Vodka), LP and I got down to it, like chemists in the science lab. I’ll spare you all the details, but after a couple variations of the HP, the Island Blue Pucker, tonic water and limes, we’ve decided that the Wacko Macko needs some minor/major re-tooling to become that perfect Summer ’07 Drink. Not that what we created this weekend was bad – quite the contrary – but we may need to substitute the Hawaiian Punch with something like Tang. And maybe add some other stuff to zing it up.

Regardless, I ended up having two big glasses of Wacko Mackos in the space of about 45 minutes. They were that good, people.

And like most great scientists experimenting in a lab throughout history, we unintentionally created another equally amazing product that was completely unexpected but equally impressive through the course of our experimenting – the Paul Poon.
The Paul Poon (see photo above) is a mixture of the Island Blue Pucker, tonic water and lime and vodka (its kinda like the Wacko Macko but without the Hawaiian Punch to make it sweet). Some may say that the Paul Poon is better than the Wacko Macko. That is up for debate.

All I know is that after two Wacko Mackos and some of the ol’ Paul Poon** the next thing I know is we’re all in the lake sliding down the slide, diving off the diving board, and jumping on the big trampoline - all in the middle of the lake.

Oh yeah - and then my shorts are off and I’m Skinny Dipping. Whoops.

Last week I had described how nothing makes you feel like a kid again than a good Public Urination; I’m here today to tell you that a good Skinny Dip pretty much has the same effect. It was almost like a was a 4-year old child. ***

The rest of the evening is kinda spotty – I recall an attempt to play 80’s trivial pursuit thwarted by rain, frozen pizza AND pizza rolls (score!), an in-depth conversation about the speculative sex life of a mutual friend, watching the original 1970’s Superman movie, and the inability to make up the bed for sleeping.

I may someday live to have a few regrets – maybe even some regrets about this past weekend - but the skinny dipping incident will not be one of them. Thank you Wacko Macko (v1) and Paul Poon for giving me such pleasure.

PS – we were not able to meet up with Cooter this time around. But I have faith that sometime soon we will.

** I think it is OK to refer to the Paul Poon as the Ol' Paul Poon. It has a nice ring to it, no?

*** A 4-year old child who happened to be drunk.