Entry 144: Where The Whores Is

When Ceaser built the Eiffel tower, he said his inspiration came from boredom and too much coffee.  Or something like that, I don't know- it's not like I pay attention to things.  But anyway, like Ceaser, most of my random conversations are due mainly to the same factors.  Many times I hear the question "are we really talking about this?" in mid-conversation, which is totally rude considering I'm trying to enlighten you out of my own good intentions.  You're welcome, life.

So recently I had a (brief) moment of self-reflection where I realized that a conversation that had just happened had, in fact, happened.  Determined to share with you what an ordinary conversation with me might look like, I immediately transcribed it to the best of my ability and checked it with my friend, RM, who I had just had the conversation with.  We sometimes do the weekly crossword, but often get delayed due to awesome conversations like this.

Here it is:

RM: "Are you ready to do the crossword now?"
Me: "Yeah, sorry, I had to re-post all my toys on Craigslist."
RM: "Toys?"
Me: "Yeah, I have several I need to sell.  And when I do, I'm totally going to be responsible with the money."
RM: "Your eyes make me doubt you."
Me: "Okay, half responsible.  I'll use half to pay for ::does air quotes:: 'Bills', and half on booze and whores.  Well, booze anyway.  Not sure how much whores are... ::considers:: Are they expensive? What's the going rate for whores nowadays, anyway?"
RM: "Um.  I don't know."
Me: "Ballpark.  Be reasonable."
RM: "I don't know.  Why would I know that?"
Me: "I'm just asking for an educated guess here.  Are we talking $20?  $10,000?  I just want to get an estimate."
RM: "A $20 whore doesn't sound like it'd be good."
Me: "Do you suppose $100 would do?  You know, for one nights work?  Maybe they operate like hotels and if you're still in past 11AM the next morning they charge you another stay."
RM: "Gross.  I think $100 sounds a bit cheap for a whore."
Me: ::sighs:: "You're probably right.  What about $250?  Straight up.  From the dinner hour through the evening.  Dancing optional."
RM: "You're going to buy your whore dinner?"
Me: "Buy her dinner?  Fuck no! I just gave her $250- I think she can afford a Subway sammich!"
RM: "You're really [at this point we don't remember if she said A)an idiot, B) cheap, or C)a fucking retard] you know?"
Me: ::wonders what whores eat:: "Anyway.  On to logistics."
RM: ::sigh::
Me: ::ignores:: "Where are the whores at?  I mean, where do you get them?"
RM: "I don't know where whores are.  Why would I know that? You seem to think I know a lot about whores."  ::casts suspicious glance my way::
Me: ::ignores:: "If you had to guess though? Downtown?  The Library?  Do they come out in the day or are they like Vampires? Oh! Oh! Are they still on Craigslist?? Under... erotic massage was it?"
RM: "No, they had to shut that section down remember?"
Me: "Oh right right right.... where'd they move to? Recreational vehicles?  Home appliances?"
RM: "Yes Caleb.  Home appliances.  That's where they went.  Can we do the crossword now?"
Me: ::rubs hands in maniacal glee:: "Yes... yes we can.  I'll BRB."  ::darts away towards desk::
RM: "No! No whore shopping! We have to do the crossword!"
Me: [yelling from my desk now] "Two minutes!"
RM: [yelling] "God!  I just wanna do the CROSSWORD!!"
Me: [yelling] "Two minutes I say!"
RM: [yelling] "Said that before, haven't ya!?"
Me:  ::ponders::  "Shut up, that's why!"



But it kind of gets you thinking, doesn't it?  Where are there whores?  What DO they cost?

It occurs to me that I know more about zombies than whores.  For shame.

Also, I found this:

Yes, it says "Luv Box"

So...

Tweet

Entry 143.5: In Defense Of My Previous Post. Also, Why Facebook Stalking Is A Viable Pastime.

Peepers!

In my previous post, I mentioned my twin, a Slippery Dick, hostage blue Doritos, and the benefits of the iPhone.  But all of that was a roundabout way of showing you what, I felt, was the best father/son picture ever taken.  My friend Andrew from the blog Too Much Pressure (read it!) with his dad. Here it is again for you ADD-can't-remember-anything crowd:

Pirate baby, right?  Well, actually, Kimmie thought he looked like a baby popeye.  Spot on, Kim.

Well, Andrew- while appreciative of the flattery- felt that this baby picture was not representative of his typical baby cuteness.  He had this to say in the comments:

Vapid Vixen [who said this this picture was effective birth control], this is an absolutely terrible picture of me. Because Caleb obviously hates me and couldn't use one that had me looking cute. Because usually I was cute. My mom wrote on the back of this one, "Buggers!" Yeah, I have no idea what the hell she was talking about... 


Well, I didn't want Andrew to think that I had somehow maliciously picked out his goofiest looking picture just for the amusement of myself and my readers, so I decided to do some investigating and see if, in fact, most of his baby pictures were cute.  Had I found one anomalous picture?  Was this an outlier?

Turns out Andrew was right, and I was wrong.  He left a bevy (::crosses 'use the word bevy' off the to-do list::) of evidence pictures on Facebook, and I'd like to set the record straight now by showing you what a typical picture of young Andrew looks like.  We'll start here:

Ah-dorable. The perfectly fitted hat, the artfully placed freckles... in fact, if you look closely, you can see the loving craftsmanship that went into designing the patches over the knee.  Score one for Andrew.


And how about this gem?

I don't know what I like more in this picture, the snappy overalls or the baby-on-one-leg pose.  If you look closely, you can see a bit of the popeye face on young Andrew.  

In this oh-so-adorable picture I won't even point out which one is Andrew.  See if you can guess!

I think that Andrew and I have a lot in common.  I too was always "that guy" that had to be different in every picture, never face the camera, and had inordinate pride in my overly-large and oblong head.  We suffer in silence, Andrew.

Cuuute!  Once again we see a hint of the Popeye face here, but nothing as intense as the original picture from Entry 143.  Though the distress and obvious escape attempt in this picture is telling, it's still much cuter than the one I picked out.  Touche.

You know what's cute?  No, no... not just the too-short pants.  And not the brown shoes or even the perfectly symmetrical hair part.  Nope- look closer.  The epic tenderness used to hold that rabbit in place on the fern bridge?  Beautiful.

So after reviewing the evidence, I've come to realize that I needed to set the record straight and show people that Andrew was right, I picked the one strange picture he had, and show you the rest of the pictures so you could gain the proper context.

Oh! Oh! Because I can:

LOLZ!

Sorry Andrew.  That's just... the most ridiculous picture I've ever seen.  On the plus side, I didn't submit any of these to awkwardfamilyphotos.com.   But maybe YOU should!  And I want t-shirts made up with the original father/son picture by next Father's Day.  I stand by my assertion: best. picture. ever.

In fairness, one day I promise to divulge a few of my embarrassing kiddy pics.  I, uh, have some bad ones.

Caleb "sets the record straight" Shreves

PS In other news, I was awarded "Reader of the Decade" by the Cubs site bleachernation.com.   Epic.

PPS In an effort to create balance in The Force, I'll include ONE actual cute Andrew baby picture.  Hope you're happy. 

....................





PPPS wait... wait... more balance needed.  Here's one ugly baby, not Andrew. 

There we go... ::sighs::  Balance, restored. Tweet

Entry 143: Hehheh... "Entry 143" How Many 'Entries' Does It Take Before... You Know What, Nevermind.

Hey There Peepsosaurus!

You know, every time I make up some ridiculous name that ends in "saurus," I always wonder, "does that end in a 'us' or 'os'?"  Because, of course, when you're making up words it's important to spell them right.  So this time I finally looked it up.  Which means, reader, that my calling you "peepsosaurus" was done with the utmost of academic integrity.

That being said (because it was), look at what I found!

Can you guess which one is me?

Same jeans?  Check.  Black Laredo boots on?  Check.  Same "corncob stuck in my butt" strut?  Check.  Nondescript shirts?  Check.  Talking on a white iPhone?  Check.

That's right.  I found my twin while I was in Chicago!  I thought it would be fun to sneak him back to the hotel and trick LJ into having some sex with him, then I would jump out and yell "surprise! gotcha!" and she'd laugh and laugh, but we were running late to the Shedd Aquarium.

When we got to the Aquarium I thought I was going to have to have an epic battle with Linezilla, but for an extra 11 cents you can skip the 2 hour line, get a years membership, and get in right away.  Yeah, apparently some people are dumb enough to not do that and prefer standing in line next to overweight emo teenagers that insist on wearing clothes that fit them 8 years ago.  Great plan, happy. 

But you know what's really cool?  When we got in, I showed the chick at the counter my gun show and she was all like "Holy cow!  Your guns!  Please do us the honor of naming a new species of fish!"  And then I was all like "Fine.  But these guns are fer lookin', not fer touchin'"  (Which is a lie, because, she could totally touch 'em.  But you know.) 

Ladies and Gentlemen, behold my aquatic masterpiece!

Named this one after my dear great-grandmother...bless her soul.

 

 

You're welcome.  Now you might be saying "Whoa, whoa Caleb!  Slow down!  What were you doing in Chicago?  What have you been up to?  You can't just stroll into your blog without-"  Which is where I interrupt you because you SO talk too much and I zoned out seconds ago.  I will tell you what I was not doing however, because I took a neurotic and probably OCD girlfriend with me: getting lost.

It's kind of hard to see (sorrs), but these are directions, printed out, to and from every location within 200 miles of Chicago.  Home to hotel, home to Wrigley, Wrigley to hotel, hotel to Wrigley, Wrigley to home, hotel to home, etc.  This isn't even all of them (for serious).   I'm all like, "Yeah, that's crazy sweet and all, but it turns out- like most things in life- the best solution is in my pocket." 

Yeah... who even prints out directions anymore? Sheesh.  That's so 2005.  Get the net, LJ!  (This is the part where she jumps in and argues that my iPhone map app is possessed, and the little blue dot has the ability to travel through time and space in ways that do not follow known scientific models.  My standard retort goes as follows: "shut up, that's why."  Then I kiss my iPhone on it's mouth.  Well, where I imagine the mouth to be anyway.)

^ longest parenthetical thought of the day award!  Yay me!

Anywhoo. 

I went and saw the Cubs, they were awesome, and Wrigley field is my Mecca.  But you knew that.  And you also probably knew that the Cubs are the greatest sports team in the history of the universe.  And you ALSO probably knew that I am a respectful and dignified fan of the game, who tries to treat my fellow man with grace and tact even when that sentiment is not returned.  However, Yankees and Cardinals fans are rarely worthy of such treatment. 

I generously offered a co-worker (Yankees fan) text updates with pics and highlights of the game.  She told me I'd "better effing not" and then said bad things would happen if I did.  Then I received this:

Threatening my innocent Blue Doritos?  Not cool.  Typical Yankee fan.

And Cardinal fans?  They always claim that they know the most about sports.  I was suspicious of this claim until recently, when an obliging Cardinal fan took the time to explain to a group of us the difference, in animal-mascot terms, of the Cubs and the Cardinals.  Maybe they do know a lot.  Worth considering.

Enjoy.  (and no, you can't have these 19 seconds of your life back.)

What's the point of all this rambling?  Well, okay.  Fair enough- you caught me.  I really just wanted to show you the funniest father/son picture I've ever seen, courtesy of Andrew at Too Much pressure.  Thanks, man.  Awesome pic!  Seeing you as a baby really explains some things.

Stay classy!

Caleb "coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee" Shreves

PS someone please buy me the t-shirt that has 5 commas and a picture of a chameleon.  Thanks. Tweet

Entry 142: I Lost An iPhone, But Gained Maturity. And Pants.

Some of you longtime readers may recall that very few things in this world send me into a rage. Losing things, however, does. So I was surprised this weekend when I showed a lot of maturity by not going on a rampage when I temporarily lost my new iPhone.

Tangential story: I got a new iPhone, it's awesome, I can upload ridiculous pictures straight to Facebook and even have an application for fake texts. More on that later.  Also, if you're curious about what else sends me into spiraling hate-fevers: hiccups.  Seriously- I have left bars, parties, and fun events merely because a case of hiccups wouldn't go away.

My first all left-handed drawing! 

ADD-return-to-topic time.

Anyway, I was drinking a few (read: 30+) beers on Sunday at The Cave and lost my phone somewhere between leaving there and arriving at the bar to drink more beers and a half bottle of tequila.  (Note: that's not a good idea.) The next morning I awoke on my bed, sprawled out Vesuvian man style, fully dressed and with everything in my pockets from the night before except my phone. This morning I found my phone.  The story of what happened in between is instructive, and I'll share it with you since you'd rather hear this story than work, obviously.

What to do in the event of you losing your phone: By Caleb Shreves

Start here. Not pictured: iPhone

  
1. Check obvious places, wear pants.

First you want to piece together where you might have been between the last time you had your phone and now.  If you're hungover and likely still drunk, I recommend guzzling some coffee and maybe a few warm beers just to get your brain firing again.  And if you have to step outside to check your car, I definitely recommend remembering to wear pants.  Trust me.*  Did you pass out on a couch?  Perhaps your phone slid out of your pocket when you were fumbling to find your last crumpled up bills to buy that last shot of tequila? Nope, you've checked the obvious places and now it's time to get creative.  So slam that warm Mike's Hard Lemonade you found outside (how'd that even get there, you wonder?) and hop on your 1983 Honda Nighthawk 650 to go revisit all the places you went last night.  
*if, when you step outside, it takes you longer than 1 minute to realize you're not wearing pants, go back to bed. 

2. Retrace your steps, blame others.

At this point you've officially lost your phone.  You'll likely feel the indignant sting of universe-totes-not-being-fair and feel your anger rise, but don't give in to your hate-devil just yet.  DO, however, name your hate-devil.  I recommend "Wally" or "Clyde." Also at this point it's best to redirect your shame at drunken misplacements by subtly accusing everyone you see of somehow being involved in a nefarious phone-stealing plot.  When you go to your cousin's house where you drank all day and don't find your phone, be sure to give him a suspicious glance and say something like "Gee... that's funny.  You saw me with it all day and now suddenly you DON'T know where I lost it?  Weird." And leave.

If you go to check the last bar you were at, but it's closed on Mondays for unknown reasons, you'll probably want to loudly pound on the door for several minutes, hoping that maybe someone is there who can open the place up so you can look around.  They're not, and people on the street will look at you funny, but fuck 'em. Don't let their "oh I'm awesome cuz I still have my phone" smugness get you down.  They probably have typhoid anyway.

New hairdo not included.

3. Complain loudly about your missing phone, blame more people .

Now your phone is officially lost, you've checked the obvious places and it hasn't turned up, and you're ready to regroup and think rationally.  Don't do it.  Try and find every person you saw the night before and accost them without warning about your phone.  "Where is it!!" you demand.  "Where's what?  What are you talking about, Caleb?"  "My phone!  What'd you do with it??!" and give them that crazy look you've been practicing in your rearview mirror.  That look that says "yeah, I'll eat a live squirrel on a dare." There's about a 0% chance that any of the people you blame actually had anything to do with you losing your phone, but you'll get a warm fuzzy feeling just by making the accusations. Wally will be pleased.

4. Use science and stuff.

LJ had a brilliant idea that was just crazy enough to try.  Her theory was that I had to get into the same mental state as the night before in order to effectively recall what I had done with my phone.  I googled some shit about it and apparently there's like, doctors and shit who have done tests showing that this works.  If you're studying for a big test, study in the same conditions you'll take the actual test in (good advice for you LSAT takers out there).  If you have a performance for something, practice it in the same way you're going to perform it.  If you got absolutely hammered all day and night and lost your phone, well... I think you see where this was heading.

At about 6 beers into this plan you'll likely have your first epiphany.  "Wait!" you say, "I do sort of remember getting my phone out at the bar to show someone a picture of my 5 year old cousin with his head and feet inside empty cases of miller lite!"  Great- now we have a starting point for finding your phone!  Keep those beers comin'.

Around 12 beers you'll likely get another revelation that will likely seem like that "aha! I know where it's at!" moment.  Maybe you actually didn't drive yourself home (because you're totes responsible) and your phone is in someone else's car!  Immediately find that person and order them to stop whatever they're doing for a full-on car search.   When you dont' find it, your initial excitement will fade back towards rage and it's time to get back to drinking.






Keep drinking and having a good time, but make sure to interrupt periods of good-time-having with sudden random outbursts.  "I WANT MY PHONE!!!"  then "too bad about those Cubs today..." then "WHERE IS IT!!!" followed by "I love those shoes on you!"  After enough beers you'll likely start to intermingle your comments.  This is good.  "Hey could I get another Bud Light and while you're back there could you FIND MY FUCKING PHONE??" is a good one.  Or, "remember that time that we had an amusing adventure together and let's fondly reminisce about it and by the way I HAD A PHONE THEN." Good stuff.  Nothing makes new friends like alternating bouts of good cheer and sullen yelling.

I mean, how could you *not* share this?

5. Give up, loser.

It's gone.  Gone for good.  You tried to recreate the conditions of when you lost the phone, you've exhausted every reasonable and logical possibility in your search, and you've made sure that everyone around you is aware of how you feel about losing your phone.  Good work.  At this point it's okay to reward yourself with some amusing distractions.  Maybe a roll in the hay, or a drunken 3am bike ride on an icy road, or maybe you put your cat in the freezer until she "learns some manners." Whatever you want- you've earned it.  Go to bed.

6. Acceptance, slight pangs of guilt, and the first place you should have looked.

There's almost always some sort of clue, right under your nose, that you've been missing all along. Perhaps as you clean your kitchen counter you see a mess of cheap Campbell's soup cans, empty ramen noodle bags, and a pot full of some strange-smelling meal still sitting on your stove.   

"Wait..." you think, "if I drunkenly made food, and it's gone, then I probably ate it.   Usually when I eat stuff I like to sit down places.  If I was hammered and eating this strange ramen noodle/Campbell's soup/chicken lunchmeat extravaganza, I would have probably sat in my chair.  Yup- look!  Dumb and dumber is still up on Netflix and paused at the scene where Lloyd says 'Harry- I took care of it!' [total Lolz]!"

So check under the cushion of your chair, and... BINGO.  There it is, with 17 missed calls, 5 voicemails, 9 texts, and inexplicably set to silent.


7. Scold your phone, refuse to apologize to people you falsely accused.

Pretty much self-explanatory, right?  Don't go easy on your phone, either. Bad phone!

I can't stay mad at you...

I hope you appreciate how far I've come to have handled a phone loss like this with such grace and maturity.  Gone are the days where I would stomp through the house, flinging cushions, pans, and cats around while making up angry lyrics to Garth Brooks songs. Nope, not anymore.  I have a foolproof and responsible 7 step plan to dealing with loss now, so losing things isn't quite as scary of a prospect as it used to be.

Just don't let it happen again.

Caleb "can't wait to show you how fun the fake-a-text app is!" Shreves Tweet