Futility and Humility

I was SO PUMPED this weekend. Kristen was all like, yes sir you can watch football. I like to think it's because I was so excited since there were so many great games on. In reality I paid my dues by watching 17 episodes of Say Yes To The Dress with nine episodes coming from Kleinfeld's in New York and eight coming from the Atlanta store that employs the greatest fashion director EVER...Monte. Whatevs.

Anyway, I wanted to watch the Georgia-USC game at noon. Fellas I live in South Carolina now where USC means the University of South Carolina. Everywhere else in the world it means Southern Cal. However I'm not really into the whole brevity thing so I figured I'd indulge you and explain. Anywho, I had a dillema because I also had an appointment to take my car into the Honda place at noon. Whatever would I do? Never fear dudes because Honda has a big screen and it turns out that the overweight salesmen in short sleeves and ties AND customer service reps were really excited about the game also. They made sure the game was on instead of taking care of my car. In fact it took an hour and a half for them to tell me there was absolutely nothing wrong with my car. But I didn't care because I was being manly and watching football. Could this day get any better? ABSOLUTELY. They also had free hamburgers and hot dogs and unlimited fountain drinks.

Cut to two weeks later because I got lazy and stopped writing. Check it out though yo, I'm still excited about this weekend because there's so much football. I don't have to take my car into any lame ass car dealership though. I'm probably going to sit on the couch and watch the games with my new pomeranian puppy named Jeffrey. Kristen pretty much HAS to let me. Why? Duhh because I'm a full blown Gleek. Hell yes I watched that show. Not cuz I wanted to though. Again I was paying my dues. Unfortunately for me though, that show has an unwanted side-effect. Oh Lady Gaga, why do you haunt my inner monologues so? I've been singing Telephone to myself for three days. (Check this segue) But that's okay Lady G because this weekend I'm going to watch Boise State phone it in and unexpectedly get crushed by Oregon State. Talk about a Bad Romance. Word.

I'm probably going to be allowed watch another game or two because I ALSO took Kristen to see Jason Mraz last night. Don't ask, it went exactly as you would probably expect it to. The dude stood on stage and would make his band play while he ate cantaloupe and then talk about why he loves cantaloupe and how we shouldn't drink from plastic water bottles but should actually carry our own metal canteens of water like he does. Jason Mraz, you can take your wienered out fedora and punch yourself in your melon eating face. But you're a pretty sweet guitar player...and you can dance.

Question: What is sadder, the fact that my wife just spent $30 on Glee soundtrack music or the fact that I just put it on my ipod?

Hangin with Ursher and Luda

Kristen had her national AVMA conference in Atlanta a few weeks ago. We decided to turn it into a little mini vacation since we won't have the opportunity for a real trip this year. I was excited for three reasons (in addition to the fact that I got to spend three uninterrupted days with my wife): 1) I was born in Atlanta and haven't been back there since 1980. I don't know why that's exciting. 2) We got to see a Braves game which I've never gotten to do before. 3) I got to tell people that I was headed to the A-T-L. I'm a big fan of initials, acronyms, and shortcuts....almost as big a fan as using my area code for where I am. For example, I don't live in Charleston, South Carolina. I stay in the 843....but I come from the 318. But I digress. I digress a lot.

Kristen flew down on Friday morning and I'd drive down on Saturday. We both had Monday off so it would be a nice three-day weekend. Saturday night, the AVMA paid the band Train to be the evening's entertainment. They're popular because they have that omnipresent song "Hey Soul Sister." I didn't know they sang that. I thought it was some chick. Imagine my surprise when they busted that little ditty out. I'm all like hey its that effing song that I hate because it's on every third commercial that comes on TV. The concert actually wasn't bad. The lead singer has some serious pipes and probably could have sang in an 80's hair band. He also took his shirt off which made my wife really happy for some reason. I don't know why because I'm firing heavy artillery rounds every time I take mine off. YESSSSSS. The guitar player is also the spitting image of Howie Mandel which is weird for me. Seriously look him up.

Sunday we were really excited because we were going to Six Flags. I grew up going to Six Flags over Texas but I haven't been since I was a senior in high school. We couldn't wait to get on these roller coasters. Until some gimpy wooden thing called the Georgia Cyclone. That bitch took us to OZ man. That thing shook us so incredibly hard and we just wanted it to end. To make matters worse there were two little ten year olds riding in front of us that kept screaming like girls and laughing. Kristen wanted to skull drag them down the exit ramp but I told her not to because that's rude.

We needed a break so we rode the cable cars. While riding across the park, we spotted the Ninja and I forgot all about Oz. Why? Because ninja's are awesome and it had like six loops. I became the ten year old that was screaming like a girl and laughing. What I didn't count on was the seat in front of me being broken. On every turn, the back of the seat would pound into my knee making me say the f word like 45 times. That might seem like an inordinate amount of f words but that's just how many crazy turns and loops were on this ride. That's because it's a ninja. And ninja's are awesome.

We also rode Superman which kind of supersucked. I mean hey, I guess it's a novel idea to make a roller coaster that you ride on your stomach because it makes you feel like you're flying like Superman. Except you don't feel like that. You spend the ride sucking in your stomach because it keeps falling towards the ground while your head and your legs are strapped in and can't move. Then you twist and turn and get sick as hell but you can't throw up because you're wife is riding next to you and called you a puss seven different times throughout the course of the ride because you accidentally screamed like a girl and then farted on the first drop.

I say all this to illustrate that something happens to a man in the 10+ years between high school and his thirties. Rollercoasters become an exercise in demasculinization. Amusement parks cease being fun and you realize why your parents always looked so pissed off when they were walking you around as a kid. They can't ride the rides anymore, admission is $50, and ICEE's are $10. Crazy stuff.

We went to a Braves game Monday night and had a good time. We ate hot dogs and I had Dippin Dots for the first time which was odd/cool. The Mets aren't any good so the Braves won. We went back to the hotel and packed for the drive back to the 843 the next day. Overall it was a nice little get away but I think we're ready for a beach trip again. We're thinking Bermuda with some friends. B-E-R? I don't know, it doesn't really roll off the tongue. We'll figure something out though.

Man Date

My buddy Richard and I decided two weeks ago to go see the Expendables. It's pretty much the manliest movie ever made. How do I even prepare to take on such an epic review? I need manly music. I hit play and Jewel started asking me who would save my soul. I said hell no snaggle tooth, I yield to Metallica. So with Ride The Lightening thrashing in the background, I give you man date.

I've pretty much been waiting for this movie to come out for two years. I read an interview with Sylvester Stallone around the time I saw Rambo. He said it was time to bring 80's action back. America is suffering from an extreme lack of ultra musclebound, ultra violent, ultra accented action heroes. Plot be damned, we need loud explosions and gratuitous violence, and maybe boobs. The only problem is Hollywood is suffering from the same problem as the music industry: too many pussies. I'm sorry, Michael Cera and Jonah Hill are not going to cut it with gatling guns and throat ripping. Stallone went old school. He brought in Jet Li, Mickey Rourke, Terry Crews, Randy Coutere, and Jason Statham to fight against Eric Roberts, Stone Cold Steve Austin and some dude who use to make a butt load of straight-to-HBO martial arts movies named Gary. Most important of all (in my eyes anyway), Stallone brought in Dolph F'ing Lundgren. Ivan Drago from Rocky IV. The dude is over 50 and his jaw is like a solid trapezoid. And he still has a lot of blonde hair. The movie just reaffirmed my aversion to Swedish people but in like a really badass way.

So, long story longer, Richard texted me on a Friday with two words: Expendables tonight? HELL YES. I immediately started making plans. I would drink a crap load of diet cokes to be ripped and wired. Then, after work, I would head straight to the gym to lift a crap load of weights so I'd be properly pumped to drive to the theater. We would then go to Cinebarre, one of those theaters that serves you dinner. There, I would dine on a crap load of steak and beer while I watched the manliest of man movies. I felt it was my duty as a man.

However, after consuming all the diet cokes, I suffered from caffeine withdrawal so I crashed. I no longer felt like lifting weights so I called Richard and told him I was coming over to discuss strategy for getting to the theater. Richard wussed out on dinner and decided to eat a Lean Cuisine. I punched him in the jaw. We skipped Cinebarre and went to the normal theater instead. That's cool because I could at least just get some popcorn. We settled in to get ready for the ride. This was the culmination of two years of dorking out. Let me see if I can summarize my thoughts on the actual movie.

Dude this movie is like one giant Andrew WK song. We open with hostages and the expendables show up. What happens? Dolph Lundgren shoots a dude in half with a shotgun and then people throw knives and shit. Sweet. Then back home, Bruce Willis and Arnold Schwarzenegger show up and have a conversation with Stallone. It's completely pointless but so incredibly cool because these three dudes among dudes are all on screen together. Wood. Stallone and Statham go visit the bad guys. The bad guys hang out in what can only be described as a lair. A FUCKING LAIR. Straight up videogame style lair. Statham and Stallone decide to shoot a bunch of bad guys with a cargo plane. They then decided that riddling the bad guys with bullets isn't enough. Stallone circles the plane back around and dumps gasoline on them and then Statham pops up out of the nose of the plane and shoots a flare gun at the gas covered bad guys. Why? Because this is an action movie mother fucker and he could get away with it. So not only are the bad guys flailing with unrealistic yet awesome gunshot wounds, they're now on fire. But not just any sort of fire. This gas was obviously explosive because they don't just flame, hell no these dudes explode. CARNAGE.

Statham and Stallone go home and hang out with Mickey Rourke. He smokes a pipe like Gandalf and tattoos people. He says some philosophical stuff to Stallone because the girls watching the movie need a deep part. While all this occurs, Statham finds out this girl he's been seeing got beat up by this other dude she was seeing. Bad move sir. Statham takes his Ducati to the playground where this dude is playing pickup basketball with his boys. Statham doesn't care. He delivered one of the most badass ass whippings I've ever seen on film. And it was on a playground. Dude took out like six other dudes. Nothing was sacred. He punched nuts and grabbed hair. Why? Because this is combat and not little league. And because he's one of the expendables.

After that, the whole crew gets together to go back to the LAIR. Why? We're still not really sure but mainly because man rules dictate that when there are bad guys and a lair, you take it out. So the team goes except for Dolph. He went rogue and fought Jet Li so Stallone is all like hell no dude and shot him in the chest. So the team minus Dolph heads back down to take out the bad guys. Seriously the final fight was awesome. The expendables show up and start fighting people and starting fires. Stone Cold Steve Austin and Stallone had a sweet fight that involved lots of flipping and head butting. Jet Li and Statham fought the straight-to-HBO guy named Gary. But then the bad guys got the upper hand.

That is until Terry Crews shows up with Dolph's shotgun. This is no ordinary shotgun though as we come to find out. It is fully automatic with exploding rounds. This is the most perfect weapon of ALL TIME for shooting people in half. And then when people are shot in half, you can turn it on guard towers because that fully automatic shotgun will blow those things up too. The sound that shotgun made was sweet and I still hear it in my dreams. So what do they do next? Remember, there is a lair involved here. They had to blow that mother fucker up. I forgot to mention that they spent about ten minutes of the final fight placing charges. What kind of charges were these? I don't know but they probably came from the 80's. When they went off, the lair crumbled in on itself like lairs were made to do.

Cut back to Mickey Rourke's tattoo parlor. The guys are telling stories and playing darts. Except these dudes play darts with knives because thats what dudes that ripped do. And Dolph Lundgren was back. See, he's such a badass that even when he's shot in the chest, he survives. I can't explain it and I probably don't want to know because it might be too much for me to handle. Then Statham walks out the front door into the street and takes a knife and throws it at the camera. So help me if this movie would have been 3-D, I might have kissed Richard on the mouth right then and there. PERFECT ENDING.

As the credits rolled, there was absolute silence as we filed out of the theater. Every one of us was still in awe. Richard gave me a hug and I understood. We bonded for two hours of awesomness. I was so incredibly sore the next day because I was involuntarily flexing for the entire movie. That's what happens when that much testosterone is on one screen. It's probably a good thing I didn't go lift weights beforehand because my shirt would have ripped right off during the movie because I was so incredibly pumped. I don't know if that experience will ever be repeated. All I know is Richard and I have this almost telepathic relationship with each other now. When we see each other we automatically start flexing and posing and then immediately start laughing. Just like they did in the 80's. Hell Yes.

Nevermind about August and everything after. I've got a licence to ill in this tragic kingdom. Ten-Four

Remember the blog post a couple of months ago regarding my musical nostalgia that was completely disjointed and vague? Me neither. So I've decided to revisit this subject in a hopefully more entertaining fashion. The title of this little diddy here might seem a bit ostentatious. It's not though. You see what I've done is take the titles of several of the cd's I own from the 90's and combine it into a sentence. This seems like a good idea for two reasons: a) I came up with it and it's obviously genius. b) I've seriously eaten an entire box of Mike & Ike's, two gigantic hershey kiss and chocolate chip cookies, and chugged three diet cokes. I couldn't lie about something like that.

There's this dude in my office named Jackson. He's a student worker and a pretty cool kid. I say kid because Jackson was born in 1989. Jackson has a lot of hair and one day the girlfriend of a roommate or something pinned his butt down and straightened his hair with one of those straighteners that girls with nappy hair like to use. He came into the office looking just like one of the Beatles. He also looked like the dudes from Oasis so I thought it would be a good idea to nickname him Gallagher. Apparently he didn't get the joke because he kept giving me weird looks every time I'd say the name, point, laugh, and then tell him Don't Look Back In Anger dude, which just made him more confused.

Jackson's boss Jimmy and I are the same age and share the same musical tastes. Jimmy has seen Pearl Jam live 15 times. We both started quizzing him on bands from the 90's that more or less defined our musical vernacular. Come to find out, Jackson and his fellow student workers had never heard Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Counting Crows, 311, Blues Traveler, Beastie Boys, No Doubt, Bush, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Red Hot Chili Peppers, STP, on and on and on. Does that mean that I'm just getting that much older or is it testament to the fact that music and radio is confined to the drivel that is Ke$ha, Black Eyed Peas, and Bieber?

I made it my personal mission to burn as much music for Jackson as I could. I went home that night and made him two 90's sampler cds with a song or two from as many 90's artists as I could find. I own a lot of full albums from that era from the bands that had a little bit of shelf life. I consider many of the albums to be classics but a lot of my self professed 'music snob' friends do not. I added some Alice in Chains, Jane's Addiction, and Candlebox along with the aforementioned menage-a-rock. I proudly presented Jackson with two cd's to blow his mind. I came back an hour later and he was listening to 'Alive' by Pearl Jam. He had that confused look on his face again and told me he'd never heard it. I non-verbally told him to go fuck himself and marched straight to Jimmy's office to let him know that his very own student worker doesn't know one of the signature songs of his favorite band. Jimmy verbally told Jackson to go fuck himself and ordered him to keep listening.

I gave it another hour and walked back into Jackson's office. This is a bold dude, man. He had turned off the cd's and I kid you not was listening to Hall and Oates. I was beside myself and walked out without saying a word. The battle was lost but the war, while probably lost as well, was motivating me to open this kid's mine even if I had to pry it. So here I sit at my computer burning him full albums. This is the list so far: 311-self titled, Beastie Boys-License to Ill (80's yet still classic), Blink 182-Enema of the State, Blues Traveler-Four, Bush-Sixteen Stone, Counting Crows-August and Everything After, Nirvana-Nevermind, No Doubt-Tragic Kingdom, Oasis-Definitely Maybe and What's the Story Morning Glory, Pearl Jam-Ten, RHCP-Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magic; Smashing Pumpkins-Siamese Dream, STP-Core, Third Eye Blind-self titled, U2-The Joshua Tree (80's but he'd never heard of this one either and that made me really sad) I might throw an AIC or Soundgarden album on there just to really grit things up but these should suffice.

Those albums I listed are indicative of the type of music I love but are in no way a complete representation of what I wish I could put on there. I've lost Weezer's Blue album and Green Day's Dookie. I never owned a lot of the one hit grunge bands like Sponge, Ruth Ruth,Marcy Playground, Schtum, and Trippin Daisy. I use to have Self's album but it's scratched beyond recognition and me and two other people are pretty much the only one's that have heard of them. I love 2 Skinnee J's but that might be a little too out there for him. I probably should have put Dr. Dre's The Chronic on there but I don't want to send the wrong message.

I wish I had a musical mentor to guide me when I was young and malleable like young Jackson. I had to do it on my own. Now I keep the dream alive by traveling to different horse tracks and casinos to see my favorite bands of yore; now fat, bald and pathetic, fighting the good fight. Hey Jealousy? Yes please. Cumbersome? Always. Sex and Candy? Whenever and wherever. Here's to you 90's music. And all your flannel and angst. Rock on.

Craft Beer and My Boy Sergio

The night started off innocently enough. I had the noblest of intentions. We were going to meet a friend at a hippy bar called The Pour House so we could grab some food on the back patio and then watch a band inside later that night. Kristen and I got there and the patio was deserted with the exception of the bartender and some creepy looking 50 year olds.

Our friend Colleen arrived and took one look at the patio and agreed with our assessment that it was lame so we decided to head across the street to a Mexican restaurant called Zia's. Now my name is Chris, but once we were at Zia's I became "The Most Interesting Man In The World" because I started pounding Dos Equis while Kristen and Colleen each had a margarita. I knew the beer was starting to kick in because I told every person in the bar at least three times to "stay thirsty my friends." That's all well and good but it became infinitely cuter when I did the same thing seven different times to a table of tweens and their respective soccer moms on the way to the bathroom because I broke the seal. Seriously, seven trips creeping out 12 year olds. Colleen's friend Jeremiah showed up at Zia's and I felt bad because by the time he got there, I was already "That Guy." As an aside, let me apologize for all of the "s but I'm afraid it's just going to get worse. Anywho, Colleen convinced Kristen to order a second margarita which is just not a good idea. Her face was already numb and she did not need anymore alcohol so I did what any husband who looks out for the well-being of his wife would do: I chugged it for her.

At this point I'm lit, Kristen's buzzed, Colleen's feeling pretty good, and Jeremiah is wondering just what in the hell makes me so interesting. We decided to head back over to the Pour House. In order to do this we have to cross four lanes of fairly heavy traffic. The girls and Jeremiah made it with no problem but it looked like I was playing a cross between hop scotch and twister across the highway. The reality of the situation is I couldn't really walk. I persevered though and made it across the street.

Once we paid the cover and got inside, Jeremiah and I headed straight for the bar. I need to say that a reason to add to the list of why Charleston is so great is the sheer number of craft beers they have on tap. I've lost track of all the different beers I've had but I've also gained 15 lbs since I moved here so I know the volume is large. I got a Solo cup of something dark and immediately went over to the merch table to check out this band I would be patronizing. There name was Oregone and they're from L.A. Oregone plays a mix of funk and soul which pretty much defines me. (that's sarcasm) As I'm checking out the vinyl albums, I notice a tall dude with a big ass 'fro and a bushy ass beard. I'm all like hey dude, are you the merch guy? He's all like nahh man I play guitar....and my name is Sergio. I'm like hell yes what kind of gear do you have, and that is a badass name. He reluctantly starts discussing this with me and I'm completely oblivious to the fact that I've just 100% cock blocked this guy. He was macking pretty hard on a hippy chick but I would not be denied. That's how drunk I was. He was in the middle of telling me about his gear setup when I figured it would be a good idea to go tell my wife how incredibly hammered I was so I turned my back on him mid sentence. I'm a real jerk when I drink. That's actually not true but Sergio probably thought so.

While we're waiting for the band to start playing, I continued drinking and Colleen brings up another friend of hers named Paul. Paul is from the Ukraine and has an electrical engineering degree and a law degree. That's what he told us anyway. I was to the point that I'd believe anything but looking back on it, I'm pretty sure he was fucking with me. He even got me to do a fist bump grenade which I don't think I've ever done before in my life. Now that I'm reflecting, that was probably not the coolest thing I've done but it certainly wasn't the lowest part of the evening for me.

Did I mention I was three sheets to the wind? Oregone finally started playing and it was my time to shine. The Pour House is a bit of a hippy bar. If you've ever gone out in Baton Rouge, it reminds me a little bit of Ichabods. Since my hair doesn't really work anymore, I had a hard time pulling off the nappy haired hippy look but I had something they didn't have...fratasticism. Picture if you will, Chris Noland in Polo shirt, cargo shorts, and Sperry's. Yes sirrreee, I was fratastic. I stepped up to the stage, toe to toe with the singer and mere inches from the bongo player with the flat billed cap....and I danced. Nay. I hippy danced. Head staring straight at the floor, both fists up around my ears, shoulders swaying, and Sperry's firmly in place. I did this for an hour and a half without stopping. The only time I looked up from the floor was to make eye contact with my boy Sergio. Sergio looked pissed but I know that's because he wished he could be down at the foot of that stage dancing along with me. I say I had both fists up and that's true but I didn't realize I had a beer in one of those fists until Kristen pointed out that my shirt was soaking wet. Apparently in my meditative dance I spilled the beer all over my shirt. That's cool man because the music and I were one.

The rest of this story pretty much had to be told to me because I don't really remember it. Kristen managed to get me in the car and we started the drive back to the Creek. As some of you no doubt know, I'm a bit of a drunk dialer. Apparently I called my sister. She didn't answer and I let her know how much I didn't appreciate her not being at her phone. I've since had the message played back for me because apparently she wants to hold on to this one for posterity. I didn't know I had the ability to use the word 'motherfucker' in so many different ways. Verbs, adverbs, adjectives, proper nouns, formal names, locations, pet names, cars, my friend Richard W's mom, Sergio's guitar playing ability post stinkeye, etc. To make matters worse, after I hung up with my sister's voicemail, it made complete since to call my mother. Kristen was powerless because I'm so adorable when I'm on blackout. So yeah, I called Reva and I did the only possible thing that made sense to my inebriated brain when she answered. I talked about real estate. I don't really know the details of the discussion and quite frankly I've tried to pretend it didn't happen and haven't broached the subject since. I think some things are better off buried.

We made it home and apparently I wasn't ready to go to bed. Kristen feel asleep pretty quickly but the only thing I really remember was a flash of me sitting in the car and then blinking and sitting up in bed in the guest room, fully clothed, all the lights on, OD's ass in my face and the clock saying 8am. Needless to say I felt awful. I drank a bunch of water and then walked out my back door. I literally walked six miles because something deep inside me was telling me I needed to sweat out the alcohol. I don't know why that urge always comes because I don't think its actually possible/beneficial/sensical but never-the-less, six miles I walked. I spent the rest of the morning listening to my sister laugh at me about the message and then laugh even harder at the fact that I drunk dialed my mom. I'm 31 years old. This shit isn't suppose to happen.

When I started writing this I was aiming for some sort of epic comedic story. I think I waited too long to type it up because it sort of turned stream of consciousness. We all had a blast that night but man, Sergio was pissed. I sure hope that dude got laid.

Hippies and Pizza

We're looking for a house in Mount Pleasant, SC. Those that know me fairly well know how much I hate it in the Creek. I'm just really tired of seeing dragon tattoos on fat women's boobs. I know you probably can't picture that and think I'm just exaggerating but I assure you it's true. There is a dragon-on-fat-boob epidemic going on where I live. Mount Pleasant is much more my speed. It's two miles from the beach, has a Whole Foods that Bill Murray frequents and most importantly of all, has a Mellow Mushroom.

If there is one combination that I love, it is hippies and pizza. Throw in a little high gravity beer that they serve there and I'm a happy man. Kristen is not happy about the beer part though. I'd never had high gravity beer before and didn't know what that meant. Now I do and so does Kristen and I'm not suppose to talk about it. Let's just say that it's no fun being the lone sober person around the drunk guys but I thought I was rather charming. I bring Mellow Mushroom up because we went there after looking at a couple of houses in Mt. P tonight. You know what else rocks? It was trivia night. I don't care that the hostess put us in the section that was farthest away and apparently closed so that I witnessed three separate servers arguing over who would take care of us. Kristen was both annoyed and embarrassed when I'd yell out the answers even though we didn't have our electronic trivia pad. I sounded like Timmy from South Park. The hippies didn't mind though because they're far out and cool. That's how you have to be to work at Mellow Mushroom. They LOVE me.

Since we both came from work, we'd taken separate cars. Kristen left and I decided to be chivalrous and stop at the cupcake store and get her something for dessert when she got home (shut up and don't be dirty). However it was closed so that had to wait. I did however stop and get gas. While I was pumping (shut up) I saw a man with the top of his head completely bald but the rest of his head was a beautiful flowing mullet. Top that off with the fact that he was walking directly towards a sweetass, old school Camaro. I thought HELL YES, if you only had a jean jacket and an REO Speedwagon shirt on I'd walk up and shake your hand. Then he walked directly pass the Camaro and got into a full on 1970's porno van. I immediately thought Fuck That, he's a pederass. Freaked me out and made me want out of the Creek even more.

Going to see Aziz Ansari on Thursday night. Should be awesome because I love Indians.

I'm So Tired Of Losing My Man Card...

Since I work for College of Charleston, I get to use the gym facilities for free. I go during my lunch break since it's right next door to my office. The only drawback is that there aren't any showers on site so I come back to the office sweaty. That's no fun because a) I still have to work and b) I make a giant sweaty heart on my chest every time and everyone finds it necessary to point it out. While nothing can really be done about the heart shaped awesomeness, the girls that I work with told me about a sure fire way to de-funkify myself....baby wipes. So picture me in my office pulling the wet wipes out of the tube and rubbing them everywhere. I must admit its refreshing but dammit they stink and they make my office stink and up my creepiness factor. So to recap, I grew a mustache, drank water from the crotch of an angelic statue, and work in an office smelling of eau de moist toilette. I'm officially creepy.

Sunday night was the final episode of Lost. The show got me good. The next day I was sad since I've been watching it for six years and now its gone. Really weird feeling. I was talking about it with my buddy Michael O'boyle and he agreed. That show is powerful and kind of how he and I got to know each other. We worked in the same place for a short time but would talk all about the show and throw different ideas off of each other. Very cool way to build a friendship. Now the show is gone and I am facing some rather severe consequences. By that I mean one consequence and by that one consequence I mean Glee. I no longer have an excuse not to watch that damn show with Kristen anymore. I hate that show. I hate that show because it is catchy. I hate that show because now I think I'm becoming a fan of Lady Gaga. The song Bad Romance was on the show last night and it stayed in my head all day long. I'm pretty sure I didn't sing it out loud but I'm not 100% positive and that scares me. I don't want to be a performance artist but it might be unavoidable.

Since I watched Glee, Kristen agreed to a man movie tonight. That man movie was Macgruber. Go see this. We both laughed till we cried. Probably the stupidest movie I've ever seen but it was stupid smart and therefore actually funny...really funny. I want a mullet to go with my baby wiping, crotch sipping, mustachioed ass. Hell yes! (first and only time I'll ever use an exclamation point on this page)