Blind dates ...

It's been a while since I posted, mostly because Theo and I have been working towards our podcast which starts today (fingers crossed). But with Valentine's Day in the rearview mirror, I meant to post probably the greatest example of why people shouldn't go on blind dates, or at least do online dating. I mean I have tried it with great results, but there are also the bad ones.

29 dimensions indeed.

It can always be worse ...

It's hard meeting people. Several of my friends have lamented to me in the last week how hard it is for them on the "dating scene." We've all been there. But then there is this guy.

What do his bros say to him when he strikes out with a girl? I'd like to think they say at least one of the following things:

1. At least she said she enjoyed you in "Fantastic Four." You're like a celebrity.

2. She wasn't attractive. Trust me, if you could see through that thing, you'd know. You dodged a major bullet.

3. I told you, you should have shaved.

One in the Boot

In Australia, they call trunks 'boots.' In America, we call butts 'trunks.' There's no correlation there, but if you want to get technical, then technically Australians store their groceries and luggage in their ass.

Anyway, it was a fun weekend that saw Headfoot laugh in a stranger's face because he was bored by what he was saying. He also had 37 cocktails in one sitting and tried to order a pair of British Knights off the Internet. I played frisbee golf for the first time and may have torn my rotator cuff.

Frisbee golf is basically what hippies do for fun when there's not a music festival nearby or a van to hang out in. They play shirtless, wearing jeans, and carrying bottles of cheap beer that, I'm pretty sure, you can't carry around a public park. They stare at you for not being shirtless or having facial hair just on your throat. And they don't really talk to one another as they go from hole to hole. (That's what she said.) They more or less, just stagger around, scratch their throat-beard, stare up at the sun for several minutes, and then look around like 'how did I get here, and what do I do with this strange disc?'

They are really polite, however. Just this morning, I saw one of them offer to put a woman's groceries in her ass for her.

Friday, January 30, 2009

Nothing like a little break from blogging to recharge the batteries. You take a week off and it becomes almost three years.

I'm writing this from inside the bowels, and I do mean bowels, of my office. I have no windows so I can't tell you what the outside world looks like. But I have a plan to fix that.

Every day, I dig a little bit out of the walls with a small hammer. I hide the hole behind a large poster in my office. The warden, I mean boss, suspects nothing. In about 15 years, I will have dug a tunnel to the outside world thereby gaining my freedom.

Meanwhile, we celebrated the birthday of a good friend/co-worker of mine who turned 62 yesterday. Yes, I have 62 year old friends, what of it? Anyway ... as I near the monolith of turning 30, I admired her for her energy and vitality yesterday. She wasn't worried about a number or getting older.

Then again, she takes about 23 pills a day for various reasons, so maybe I should enjoy 29 while I can.

Facebook N.A.R.C.

I'm 26, which I don't believe is in the least bit old. But, it's becoming painfully obvious that in some instances, I am too old for things. The ball pit at McDonald's, the top part of the shopping cart where kids sometimes ride, and floaties in the swimming pool ... all things I've become too old for. And I'm okay with that ... except for the floaties part, because part of me still believes there is an actual shark in the swimming pool with me.

But I think by 26 you've also outgrown some more grown up things, like Facebook. I'm on that now, and I feel like a chaperone at a high school dance. Everyone on there is graduating college in 2020, and uses a picture they took at a rave and/or frat party for their profile. Mine is a candid shot of me buying Depends. Well, it might as well be.

Have I grown too old? Has life passed me by?

I hope not. Then again, I had a conversation with an old friend from high school and 15 minutes of it was spent talking about the weather. That cannot be good.

In the words of Conway Twitty ...

It's been a little while since the last post and thousands have e-mailed or stopped me in the club to ask, when da hook goin drop? And I always answer by saying, "what?" But after much procrastination and two catastrophic natural disasters, the H is O.

Life continues post-Katrina, which I noticed caused a run on hard candy at local grocery stores. What is it about a Category 5 hurricane that makes people go, "batteries, bottled water, candles, ... crap, where's the hard candy?! Honey, you forgot hard candy!!"

Everyone I know made it fine through the hurricane, which unbeknownst to us here in Baton Rouge, would cause its share of headaches. Whether it be the increased traffic, lines at gas stations, rampant rumors, or 18 people squeezing into an apartment above us, marching in place until 2 in the morning, and yelling off their balcony like they're performing Shakespeare meets "Coming to America," everyone has a Katrina story.

I personally worked a 24/7 information hotline that made me feel like I was helping somehow, and yet depressed because there is no easy way to tell someone you have no idea where their loved ones are, or where they can sleep that night.

But life goes on, as do the sounds of a hundred asses exploding across the hall from my office.

Seriously, I have one of the nicest views anyone's ever had. Every day, rain or shine, I look out my window and see a beautiful lake and dozens of sorority girls jogging. If only, there was a large screen outside that played "Rudy" on a constant loop, life would be good.

Anyway, on the opposite side of the room from that window is my door, and across the hall from that door is the men's room. Inside, unspeakable noises like the gurgling of hell hounds pervade my work. You try to act mature about it, but when it sounds like the first chair tuba player is having an off-night across the hall from you, it's hard.

So, in summation, if you wondered where the posts had been for the last couple months, the short answer is, I've been having trouble with the tuba lately.

Just kidding. That was gross.

Ruff waters ahead ...

What a day. People are screaming like Chicken Little with a megaphone about our new boss like he's bringing the fourth reich to LSU, a very sweet - but visually impaired - old lady played demolition derby with my car in the Wal-Mart parking lot, and one of my favorite people I've ever met passed away this morning.

Coach Sue Gunter died this morning after a long, long struggle with emphysema and pneumonia. She will be talked about as one of the great coaches, but she was an even greater person.

The following is a story I got to write on her, strictly by accident, but I'm glad I did. It was the only time I got to meet her, and she acted like we had known each other all along.

http://www.lsu.edu/highlights/041/gunter.html