I drive a Dodge Charger.
I have two garage doors.
One day, I says to myself, "Self, why don't you ever park in your garage?" Then I cocked my head and looked at my garage doors, and realized that they are both- for some reason- undersized. Like, maybe the width of my car.
Bummer.
So I'm drinking Bud Light one day and I decide that, no, my car will fit; I'm just not trying hard enough.
I spend 20 minutes clearing out the space in my garage and then start trying to ease the big Hemi Dodge into the small opening of the garage.
Wait... too close. Back up. Try again. Almost... Nope. Too close. I back up, try again, back up, try again, over and over until I finally ease it into the garage with about 1 inch to spare on either side of my rear view mirrors.
I exit the car, stand back and beam in congratulatory appreciation, then say the phrase:
"Yeah, I dated a girl like that once."
Hence, the phrase was born.
Tweet
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Entry 44: Caleb Reunites With The Johann
Johann. Have I mentioned him yet?
He's.... a little different (people reading this that know him are now laughing and saying "a little??!"). Top-notch guy, smart and funny; I just like to think of him as a little... sideways.
Anyway, he's back. Back from a terrible place of danger and confusion- and no, I don't mean Home Depot. In fact, in typical Johann fashion, he left early from his assignment and didn't hardly take any of his belongings. A couple of t-shirts, a urine-cured rug, and 2 headscarves (one for each of us.)
So what do you do with a guy that's been sober for 4 months, hasn't slept in 3 days, and is still adjusting to a 9.5 hour time difference? Get'm drunk of course. That's why I'm here.
We decided to go for a low-key restaurant type place with seating outside to enjoy the weather. Friends show up, which is neat as some of them had no idea he was back (in typical Johann form he shows up almost completely unannounced). Tall mugs of brew are evaporating at our table and continually having to be refreshed.
Behind us was another table where two girls were enjoying a nice, quiet dinner. Of a sudden, Johann gets up and sits down at their table. I knew one of the girls (Doe) but not the other. I don't think Johann knew either of them (we'll call the other SA).
My great regret of this weekend is not recording the random and out-of-nowhere comments that an increasingly drunken Johann threw out to this table (we joined their table with our table, Captain Planet style, after awhile).
At one point I wrapped a chicken wing in a napkin to give to Johann as a return gift, but he was a no-go there. Instead he offered the last remaining wing to Doe, who politely declined. Johann pauses, thinks, and
Johann: "You're really stuck up."
Doe: not sure how to take this. Looking at me for help
Caleb: "He may be right. I think everyone at this table would be more comfortable if you just ate that chicken wing."
Doe: awkward laughter. SA looks at us like "are you serious?"
A short time later this conversation happens:
Johann, to SA: "You know, I watched you when you walked inside. And that... (pointing to crotch/butt region) that, is, uh... It's just really nice. I mean no- seriously. I'm not just saying that because I'm nice or I think you have bacon. It's probably the best.. yeah. Best ass ever. Can I just call you sweet ass for the night? I'll probably just do that."
She didn't react negatively, and I think in a way she was charmed by Johann's honesty. In fairness, I later sneaked a peek when she walked away (by "sneak" I mean "ogle") and would give her ass a solid 8 (amongst other things).
Through the night Johann recounted his harrowing journey through Qatar, Amsterdam, and -even worse- Atlanta. He spoke of "Operation Douchebag," shitty bosses, and bacon. He professed his love of sex and made suggestive looks at any woman in a 15 meter radius.
I didn't realize it then, but Johann had somehow gotten hammered. After everyone else left I took the man to a neighboring bar. It took quite some time, as their was much weaving and bobbing about (with an occasional dance move) going on, but we settled in with some Guinness at a table outside. Johann saw a big girl at the table in front of us and told me confidently that he "would never fuck that. Seriously." I'd say 50/50.
1 minute later: Johann passed out, chin bobbing on chest. He claims that he's "made some calls" and that someone is coming to get him. Disagreeing, I wake him up to get him home. I won't go into the 5 minute, 50 feet journey of awkward stumble-dancing, but suffice it to say that we got some looks. Fuck 'em.
In the car:
Johann: "Let's. Let's. I say Taco Bell. You like Taco Bell? ::giggling:: Let's go to Taco Bell."
Of course I get this man his burritos, which he refuses to let me pay for and instead thrusts his bear-cub covered debit card at me.
Caleb: "Johann. I thought I told you that this debit card was too gay and you needed a new one. This is me disappointed."
When I pulled up to Johann's house, the following situation happened. This is a true story. In fairness, the man had not been home for months.
In front of his house, waking him up.
Caleb: "JOHANN!! Wake up. Your burrito's on the floor. You're home now."
Johann looks around in confusion. "This looks familiar."
Caleb: "Because it is the place where you live."
Johann: "No... I live... elsewhere."
Caleb explains to Johann for several minutes why this is his house and that he is, indeed, actually home. Johann leaves the car and stumbles to the sidewalk. Then he turns and goes the opposite direction. "I think it's up thisaway" he claims.
Caleb sighs. "No, no it's not. It's right here!" Caleb leaves the car, goes to turn Johann around and try reason. Good plan, Caleb.
Johann: "Let's just drive up a block. One block. I think we're close."
Caleb agrees, commences driving away from what is, in fact, Johann's house.
Johann: "Turn left. I think this is it."
Johann: "Now left again. Yeah. Familiar."
Johann: "Wait. This isn't it. What street are you in?"
Caleb: "Johann. What is your address?"
He says it.
Caleb: "Then wouldn't it stand to reason that you are on the street that your address is?"
Johann: "Yeah. No. Yeah- just... take this left. I think this is it."
Caleb: "Johann- we've weaved through every block in a 3 mile radius. We are now literally back at your house. Again."
Johann, with sudden excitement: "No! Wait! I got it. Just take this left. Take it. Do it. Take this left."
We proceed on the same not-leading-to-Johann's-house route that we have 3 times already, and disappointment crosses his face when he realizes that his plan does not lead him home. It's now been about 15 minutes of weaving through streets and listening to drunken Johann give directions. He refuses to acknowledge that his house is his house. I get a flash of inspiration.
Caleb: "Hang on. Lemme show you something."
I drive a half block past his street and pull into the alley. Bingo- there it is! His car, shiny and gay in his parking slab.
Johann: "Hey that looks like... wait. It is! My car! I think I'm home. That's usually where I park."
So he finally gets out, offers me the floor-burrito, and stumbles into his backyard. Not sure if he made it in or of those burritos got ate, but at least he finally agreed it was his house.
It's good to have this guy back- there will be many stories involving him forthcoming. I promise to record some of his best and share it!
Caleb
PS some of you might be wondering what happened to old Caleb that night afterwards. Well, in short: drank lots, found a couple hot (yet annoying) cuties to flirt with, got kissed on the mouth by a dude, grabbed my 3rd grade girlfriend's ass in front of her husband, and stayed up until 4 or 5 debating whether some making out was worth putting up with annoyance. It wasn't. Maybe that's part of getting older? Regardless, it's been a long weekend. Okay, week. Allright, fair enough, I've pretty much been on a college-style binge since I went to Pittsburgh. What did they put in the water there? Tweet
He's.... a little different (people reading this that know him are now laughing and saying "a little??!"). Top-notch guy, smart and funny; I just like to think of him as a little... sideways.
Anyway, he's back. Back from a terrible place of danger and confusion- and no, I don't mean Home Depot. In fact, in typical Johann fashion, he left early from his assignment and didn't hardly take any of his belongings. A couple of t-shirts, a urine-cured rug, and 2 headscarves (one for each of us.)
So what do you do with a guy that's been sober for 4 months, hasn't slept in 3 days, and is still adjusting to a 9.5 hour time difference? Get'm drunk of course. That's why I'm here.
We decided to go for a low-key restaurant type place with seating outside to enjoy the weather. Friends show up, which is neat as some of them had no idea he was back (in typical Johann form he shows up almost completely unannounced). Tall mugs of brew are evaporating at our table and continually having to be refreshed.
Behind us was another table where two girls were enjoying a nice, quiet dinner. Of a sudden, Johann gets up and sits down at their table. I knew one of the girls (Doe) but not the other. I don't think Johann knew either of them (we'll call the other SA).
My great regret of this weekend is not recording the random and out-of-nowhere comments that an increasingly drunken Johann threw out to this table (we joined their table with our table, Captain Planet style, after awhile).
At one point I wrapped a chicken wing in a napkin to give to Johann as a return gift, but he was a no-go there. Instead he offered the last remaining wing to Doe, who politely declined. Johann pauses, thinks, and
Johann: "You're really stuck up."
Doe: not sure how to take this. Looking at me for help
Caleb: "He may be right. I think everyone at this table would be more comfortable if you just ate that chicken wing."
Doe: awkward laughter. SA looks at us like "are you serious?"
A short time later this conversation happens:
Johann, to SA: "You know, I watched you when you walked inside. And that... (pointing to crotch/butt region) that, is, uh... It's just really nice. I mean no- seriously. I'm not just saying that because I'm nice or I think you have bacon. It's probably the best.. yeah. Best ass ever. Can I just call you sweet ass for the night? I'll probably just do that."
She didn't react negatively, and I think in a way she was charmed by Johann's honesty. In fairness, I later sneaked a peek when she walked away (by "sneak" I mean "ogle") and would give her ass a solid 8 (amongst other things).
Through the night Johann recounted his harrowing journey through Qatar, Amsterdam, and -even worse- Atlanta. He spoke of "Operation Douchebag," shitty bosses, and bacon. He professed his love of sex and made suggestive looks at any woman in a 15 meter radius.
I didn't realize it then, but Johann had somehow gotten hammered. After everyone else left I took the man to a neighboring bar. It took quite some time, as their was much weaving and bobbing about (with an occasional dance move) going on, but we settled in with some Guinness at a table outside. Johann saw a big girl at the table in front of us and told me confidently that he "would never fuck that. Seriously." I'd say 50/50.
1 minute later: Johann passed out, chin bobbing on chest. He claims that he's "made some calls" and that someone is coming to get him. Disagreeing, I wake him up to get him home. I won't go into the 5 minute, 50 feet journey of awkward stumble-dancing, but suffice it to say that we got some looks. Fuck 'em.
In the car:
Johann: "Let's. Let's. I say Taco Bell. You like Taco Bell? ::giggling:: Let's go to Taco Bell."
Of course I get this man his burritos, which he refuses to let me pay for and instead thrusts his bear-cub covered debit card at me.
Caleb: "Johann. I thought I told you that this debit card was too gay and you needed a new one. This is me disappointed."
When I pulled up to Johann's house, the following situation happened. This is a true story. In fairness, the man had not been home for months.
In front of his house, waking him up.
Caleb: "JOHANN!! Wake up. Your burrito's on the floor. You're home now."
Johann looks around in confusion. "This looks familiar."
Caleb: "Because it is the place where you live."
Johann: "No... I live... elsewhere."
Caleb explains to Johann for several minutes why this is his house and that he is, indeed, actually home. Johann leaves the car and stumbles to the sidewalk. Then he turns and goes the opposite direction. "I think it's up thisaway" he claims.
Caleb sighs. "No, no it's not. It's right here!" Caleb leaves the car, goes to turn Johann around and try reason. Good plan, Caleb.
Johann: "Let's just drive up a block. One block. I think we're close."
Caleb agrees, commences driving away from what is, in fact, Johann's house.
Johann: "Turn left. I think this is it."
Johann: "Now left again. Yeah. Familiar."
Johann: "Wait. This isn't it. What street are you in?"
Caleb: "Johann. What is your address?"
He says it.
Caleb: "Then wouldn't it stand to reason that you are on the street that your address is?"
Johann: "Yeah. No. Yeah- just... take this left. I think this is it."
Caleb: "Johann- we've weaved through every block in a 3 mile radius. We are now literally back at your house. Again."
Johann, with sudden excitement: "No! Wait! I got it. Just take this left. Take it. Do it. Take this left."
We proceed on the same not-leading-to-Johann's-house route that we have 3 times already, and disappointment crosses his face when he realizes that his plan does not lead him home. It's now been about 15 minutes of weaving through streets and listening to drunken Johann give directions. He refuses to acknowledge that his house is his house. I get a flash of inspiration.
Caleb: "Hang on. Lemme show you something."
I drive a half block past his street and pull into the alley. Bingo- there it is! His car, shiny and gay in his parking slab.
Johann: "Hey that looks like... wait. It is! My car! I think I'm home. That's usually where I park."
So he finally gets out, offers me the floor-burrito, and stumbles into his backyard. Not sure if he made it in or of those burritos got ate, but at least he finally agreed it was his house.
It's good to have this guy back- there will be many stories involving him forthcoming. I promise to record some of his best and share it!
Caleb
PS some of you might be wondering what happened to old Caleb that night afterwards. Well, in short: drank lots, found a couple hot (yet annoying) cuties to flirt with, got kissed on the mouth by a dude, grabbed my 3rd grade girlfriend's ass in front of her husband, and stayed up until 4 or 5 debating whether some making out was worth putting up with annoyance. It wasn't. Maybe that's part of getting older? Regardless, it's been a long weekend. Okay, week. Allright, fair enough, I've pretty much been on a college-style binge since I went to Pittsburgh. What did they put in the water there? Tweet
Friday, June 25, 2010
Entry 43: Caleb Never Calls You By Your Name
It has been pointed out to me that I rarely use anyone's real name. True story. I got to thinking about it and realized that my use of made up nicknames is ridiculous.
The following is a list of names that I call people. See if you can guess which one is for you! (if you don't have one yet, leave a comment and I'll be happy to give you one) ((that's what she said))
Farjar Binx (combination of Jar-Jar Binx from Star Wars and "Farjah" from Austin Powers: Goldmember)
Karolina Macelroy
Moms (always plural)
Wendy, Samantha, Lori, Trisha, Sally, Heather (basically anything but her actual name)
"T" (always yelled)
Kimmie (cuz she hates it)
Barnyard Jenkins III
Nerv aka Brohemian Rhapsody
Krusty Cheezeburger
Sanderson Cooper 360
Travissimmo
Big Gay
Yimminy Cricket
Lizamatron
Buzzard Billshanks
Harrison Jaybo aka Harry Bunstalio Morey
J Bird
LazelBeam
Cherzles
Buckminster Abbey
Yenny
Boner
Soul Bagel aka Yoelsef
Yoshimura
JewJew Spindler
Preichard Strauss
Mitcheesmo
Rebecky The Rascal
Hoags
Salamander
Brooklyn Bridge aka Brooookah
Cledus
Ames Magillicutty
Srah
Ginger
A Shreebs
Sherven Heigen
Ten Inch AKA Decameter Meatwhistle
Connye West
Cripes! I'm a madman. Also, on an unrelated note, a new study has come out saying that coffee is pretty much the wonder drug of the universe.
Told ya.
Haz a good weekend, all!
Caleb AKA Leeby Oscar Tweet
The following is a list of names that I call people. See if you can guess which one is for you! (if you don't have one yet, leave a comment and I'll be happy to give you one) ((that's what she said))
Farjar Binx (combination of Jar-Jar Binx from Star Wars and "Farjah" from Austin Powers: Goldmember)
Karolina Macelroy
Moms (always plural)
Wendy, Samantha, Lori, Trisha, Sally, Heather (basically anything but her actual name)
"T" (always yelled)
Kimmie (cuz she hates it)
Barnyard Jenkins III
Nerv aka Brohemian Rhapsody
Krusty Cheezeburger
Sanderson Cooper 360
Travissimmo
Big Gay
Yimminy Cricket
Lizamatron
Buzzard Billshanks
Harrison Jaybo aka Harry Bunstalio Morey
J Bird
LazelBeam
Cherzles
Buckminster Abbey
Yenny
Boner
Soul Bagel aka Yoelsef
Yoshimura
JewJew Spindler
Preichard Strauss
Mitcheesmo
Rebecky The Rascal
Hoags
Salamander
Brooklyn Bridge aka Brooookah
Cledus
Ames Magillicutty
Srah
Ginger
A Shreebs
Sherven Heigen
Ten Inch AKA Decameter Meatwhistle
Connye West
Cripes! I'm a madman. Also, on an unrelated note, a new study has come out saying that coffee is pretty much the wonder drug of the universe.
Told ya.
Haz a good weekend, all!
Caleb AKA Leeby Oscar Tweet
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Entry 42: Caleb Loses Track Of Blonde Girls
It all started when I saw a tall, cute blond in an area adjacent to where I work (The Babe Nest).
While cute, this chick sort of had a "I'm a badass" vibe which- while kind of hot- made it seem like it would take some work to capture. Another interesting thing is that she appeared to be different heights on different days.
No.. wait.. there's two! Whoa. Okay, evaluated the new blond. Shorter, prettier, face not quite as good as Tall Blonde. Friendlier seeming though, so she took over status as "girlfriend" (no, I don't even know their names).
While researching the "girlfriend," I became confused when her hair seemed to be different lengths on different days, and why she sat in two different desks.
No... wait... there's another one! Cripes man! I haven't gotten to see this new chick yet, but I saw "girlfriend" today and she has officially been upgraded to an 8. Yes, an 8.
Then, I find out this week, that there is ANOTHER girl who is cute over in The Babe Nest . I give up- this is getting ridiculous. The only saving grace of this new girl is that she is a brunette and easily identified (I've only glimpsed her once and can't speak to her number).
So, to recap, there's:
Tall, Snooty Blond: Not seen recently, definitely give her one though
"Girlfriend" Blond: Hotter by the day, initial research suggests she may have a fiancé (probably a douche)
Decoy Blond: Only recently confirmed to be different than "girlfriend," no real recon on her yet.
Brunette: Sorry Charlie- too late to the party. Have to do research to see if she's an 8+ or not.
Ridiculous, right? I've gotten so confused trying to keep these girls straight that I gave myself a headache. I think I'm going to round them all up one day, line them up, give them name tags, and make my selection(s).
Thoughts? Tweet
While cute, this chick sort of had a "I'm a badass" vibe which- while kind of hot- made it seem like it would take some work to capture. Another interesting thing is that she appeared to be different heights on different days.
No.. wait.. there's two! Whoa. Okay, evaluated the new blond. Shorter, prettier, face not quite as good as Tall Blonde. Friendlier seeming though, so she took over status as "girlfriend" (no, I don't even know their names).
While researching the "girlfriend," I became confused when her hair seemed to be different lengths on different days, and why she sat in two different desks.
No... wait... there's another one! Cripes man! I haven't gotten to see this new chick yet, but I saw "girlfriend" today and she has officially been upgraded to an 8. Yes, an 8.
Then, I find out this week, that there is ANOTHER girl who is cute over in The Babe Nest . I give up- this is getting ridiculous. The only saving grace of this new girl is that she is a brunette and easily identified (I've only glimpsed her once and can't speak to her number).
So, to recap, there's:
Tall, Snooty Blond: Not seen recently, definitely give her one though
"Girlfriend" Blond: Hotter by the day, initial research suggests she may have a fiancé (probably a douche)
Decoy Blond: Only recently confirmed to be different than "girlfriend," no real recon on her yet.
Brunette: Sorry Charlie- too late to the party. Have to do research to see if she's an 8+ or not.
Ridiculous, right? I've gotten so confused trying to keep these girls straight that I gave myself a headache. I think I'm going to round them all up one day, line them up, give them name tags, and make my selection(s).
Thoughts? Tweet
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Entry 41: Dear Caleb, Girl A Or Girl B?
Dear Caleb,
Long time reader, first time writer. I have a difficult situation, and I was hoping you could shed some light. I live in a very small community, with very limited female prospects. My choices are:
Girl A, who is highly attractive, but has a child and is looking to settle down, fill out the family, and other such nuclear attributes, and,
Girl B, who is at least a three-beer woman, meaning that it takes a minimum of three beers before she is anything but fugly. However, she is more willing for various sexcapes, but warns me of impending feelings of responsibility soon.
So the question is, do I have a drunken good short time with Girl B, forsaking all hope of Girl A, or do I go for the hot piece of arm candy? There are no other options for women-folk at this time, not until the next class graduates high school.
Signed,
Befuddled in BFE
Dear Befuddled,
First, let's approach this analytically and lay down some assumptions:
1. Areas with low-babe concentrations are not okay, and you will be moving (sooner the better)
2. You are hence a short-timer in the area
3. You are not particularly looking to start a family and stay in no-babe land
5. (4, if you're counting) Small community = high chance of them knowing each other and/or knowing about you trying to game both of them (which would obviously be the first course of action)
11. Limited prospects means you probably haven't had many chicks in that area, so you're probably close to desperate
Now let's take a look at your proposed 2 options:
Girl A
1. Hot, which is good.
2. Has a kid. This can be an "in" for you, but also could complicate matters if you get sucked into the relationship zone. (I'm picturing you in the desert, living in a hut, planting seeds in your overalls, with a whole passel of kids running around. All named Daryl.)
3. She is settled and looking to get settled-er. Again, if you don't want to marry this girl, etc., then you need to be careful to be honest while still hinting at the possibility of a relationship.
Girl B
1. Fugly. Not good, nearly an automatic disqualification.
2. More likely for sexcapades. Good, but again- Fugly.
3. "Warns of impending responsibility" does NOT sound good. Again, Fugly
Looking at it this way, the choice is clear. Right? Girl A.
Now just to determine how to go about it without entangling yourself in some shenanigans. You know she's probably bored in that small town anyway, so play up the "let's have fun and make the best of this situation... naked" angle and seem like a nice guy who isn't for relationships necessarily, but not against them either (which is probably true, right?).
The worst you can do with Girl A is attempt to woo a hottie and fail- and that's something that could happen to anyone, anywhere, anytime. If, however, you go hoggin' with B then you've just given up, admitted defeat, and resigned yourself to a crappy situation. Keep your chin up, soldier! Plus, chasing Girl A for a while would probably be both entertaining and distract you until high school graduation.
So set a goal: escape your town and hookup with Girl A in the meantime. Then when you finally get your escape you're not abandoning the blossoming relationship with Girl A- you're merely following the circumstances of life which happened to take you away from her. It hurts you just as much as it hurts her (chicks loving hearing that shit).
Best of luck, keep me posted, and send pics!
- "Better to have aimed high and missed the mark, then to have aimed low and hit." -Caleb's bastardized version of someone's famous quote
CSS
Tweet
Long time reader, first time writer. I have a difficult situation, and I was hoping you could shed some light. I live in a very small community, with very limited female prospects. My choices are:
Girl A, who is highly attractive, but has a child and is looking to settle down, fill out the family, and other such nuclear attributes, and,
Girl B, who is at least a three-beer woman, meaning that it takes a minimum of three beers before she is anything but fugly. However, she is more willing for various sexcapes, but warns me of impending feelings of responsibility soon.
So the question is, do I have a drunken good short time with Girl B, forsaking all hope of Girl A, or do I go for the hot piece of arm candy? There are no other options for women-folk at this time, not until the next class graduates high school.
Signed,
Befuddled in BFE
Dear Befuddled,
First, let's approach this analytically and lay down some assumptions:
1. Areas with low-babe concentrations are not okay, and you will be moving (sooner the better)
2. You are hence a short-timer in the area
3. You are not particularly looking to start a family and stay in no-babe land
5. (4, if you're counting) Small community = high chance of them knowing each other and/or knowing about you trying to game both of them (which would obviously be the first course of action)
11. Limited prospects means you probably haven't had many chicks in that area, so you're probably close to desperate
Now let's take a look at your proposed 2 options:
Girl A
1. Hot, which is good.
2. Has a kid. This can be an "in" for you, but also could complicate matters if you get sucked into the relationship zone. (I'm picturing you in the desert, living in a hut, planting seeds in your overalls, with a whole passel of kids running around. All named Daryl.)
3. She is settled and looking to get settled-er. Again, if you don't want to marry this girl, etc., then you need to be careful to be honest while still hinting at the possibility of a relationship.
Girl B
1. Fugly. Not good, nearly an automatic disqualification.
2. More likely for sexcapades. Good, but again- Fugly.
3. "Warns of impending responsibility" does NOT sound good. Again, Fugly
Looking at it this way, the choice is clear. Right? Girl A.
Now just to determine how to go about it without entangling yourself in some shenanigans. You know she's probably bored in that small town anyway, so play up the "let's have fun and make the best of this situation... naked" angle and seem like a nice guy who isn't for relationships necessarily, but not against them either (which is probably true, right?).
The worst you can do with Girl A is attempt to woo a hottie and fail- and that's something that could happen to anyone, anywhere, anytime. If, however, you go hoggin' with B then you've just given up, admitted defeat, and resigned yourself to a crappy situation. Keep your chin up, soldier! Plus, chasing Girl A for a while would probably be both entertaining and distract you until high school graduation.
So set a goal: escape your town and hookup with Girl A in the meantime. Then when you finally get your escape you're not abandoning the blossoming relationship with Girl A- you're merely following the circumstances of life which happened to take you away from her. It hurts you just as much as it hurts her (chicks loving hearing that shit).
Best of luck, keep me posted, and send pics!
- "Better to have aimed high and missed the mark, then to have aimed low and hit." -Caleb's bastardized version of someone's famous quote
CSS
Tweet
Monday, June 21, 2010
Entry 40: Dear Caleb, My Ex's Whore Is Going To Be At The Same Event I Am.
Time for some more Caleb advice. This one is adapted from an actual email conversation I had with my friend, Krust.
Dear Caleb,
I have a problem. The whore that [my ex] was cheating on me with is running in the same marathon that I am! I just don't see how I can go knowing that she's going to be there. What should I do?
-Running From Problems
Dear Running,
Today you get a special treat: a mix of responses to choose from! Enjoy.
Mean Caleb: "Grow up. Seriously, there's going to be thousands of runners and you're supposed to be focusing on running anyway. Quit thinking of excuses for every challenge in your life and man up. You= not in 7th grade anymore."
Sensitive Caleb: "Hmm. Probably not a fun thing to think about given the current situation- especially if he's still talking to her. Hopefully you won't see her, and I guess we'll just have to have enough fun to distract you from looking for her at every bar we go to! Plus, if you're in marathon shape you'll be proud of how you look and will probably be glad if you do see her!"
Facetious Caleb: "Maybe you'll see her in the last mile and lock eyes. Then each of you will start running faster and faster until you're in a dead sprint for the last half mile. Each of you knowing that this contest is about more than just running, more than just [the ex], it's about life. About who you are as a person and the very nature of your character. Both of you will be so exhausted as you tie at the finish that you fall over... as you see each other both of your eyes shine with the glint of respect and you shake hands. Later, you buy each other beers and tag-team some Joey Mcintyre look-alike at the hotel. Tie game."
Completely Disregarding and Perverted Caleb: "Is she hot? I suggest making out with her- a lot- and filming it for monetary gain."
Bored, Tired Caleb: "Good luck with that."
Irrelevant Caleb: "I dunno. Anyway, what about that cute chick in your work area? You hooked that up for me yet? Get on it."
Self-Esteem Crushing Caleb: "Just don't go. She's probably going to laugh at you, and she's most likely going to be looking great in some short shorts. You'll just end up cry-babying all weekend and I'll end up having to bang her just to give you some measure of satisfaction. That's the kind of good friend I am. You probably won't even finish the race, wimp."
Take your pick!
CSS Tweet
Dear Caleb,
I have a problem. The whore that [my ex] was cheating on me with is running in the same marathon that I am! I just don't see how I can go knowing that she's going to be there. What should I do?
-Running From Problems
Dear Running,
Today you get a special treat: a mix of responses to choose from! Enjoy.
Mean Caleb: "Grow up. Seriously, there's going to be thousands of runners and you're supposed to be focusing on running anyway. Quit thinking of excuses for every challenge in your life and man up. You= not in 7th grade anymore."
Sensitive Caleb: "Hmm. Probably not a fun thing to think about given the current situation- especially if he's still talking to her. Hopefully you won't see her, and I guess we'll just have to have enough fun to distract you from looking for her at every bar we go to! Plus, if you're in marathon shape you'll be proud of how you look and will probably be glad if you do see her!"
Facetious Caleb: "Maybe you'll see her in the last mile and lock eyes. Then each of you will start running faster and faster until you're in a dead sprint for the last half mile. Each of you knowing that this contest is about more than just running, more than just [the ex], it's about life. About who you are as a person and the very nature of your character. Both of you will be so exhausted as you tie at the finish that you fall over... as you see each other both of your eyes shine with the glint of respect and you shake hands. Later, you buy each other beers and tag-team some Joey Mcintyre look-alike at the hotel. Tie game."
Completely Disregarding and Perverted Caleb: "Is she hot? I suggest making out with her- a lot- and filming it for monetary gain."
Bored, Tired Caleb: "Good luck with that."
Irrelevant Caleb: "I dunno. Anyway, what about that cute chick in your work area? You hooked that up for me yet? Get on it."
Self-Esteem Crushing Caleb: "Just don't go. She's probably going to laugh at you, and she's most likely going to be looking great in some short shorts. You'll just end up cry-babying all weekend and I'll end up having to bang her just to give you some measure of satisfaction. That's the kind of good friend I am. You probably won't even finish the race, wimp."
Take your pick!
CSS Tweet
Friday, June 18, 2010
Entry 39: Caleb: 0 Wasps: 1
Peeps,
Status update for Operation Wasp Destruction:
Yesterday evening at approximately 1600 local time forces under the command of Cpl. Shreves launched a surprise nighttime RAID on known wasp outposts in the contested region known as "Downstairs." The attack was met with minimal resistance and enemy casualties were limited to one wasp sentry. Total RAID saturation of wasp forces was completed, as well as a picket line of RAID established along both the mud puddles and picnic bench. 1 bottle of RAID was used.
One kamikaze wasp attacked Cpl. Shreves while he was spraying the area, but in a heroic act of defense Shreves ran screaming like a girl spraying haphazardly towards his 6. The wasp was injured, but managed to fly off unsteadily towards the wasp homeland. Shreves is pretty sure that wasp will never be right in the head.
Aftermath:
A routine reconnoitering of the area at 0930 this morning revealed that the attack did not achieve its intended results. Wasp activity was intense, with as many as 20 wasps patrolling the windows and skies at any given time. While it is possible that they have merely been forced from their bases and are scavenging materials to relocate, a more likely explanation is that they are mustering forces for a counter assault. Three serious attacks were thwarted in a mere five minutes with no reported stingings.
Recommendations:
The RAID used in the assault was a generic variety. Perhaps name-brand repellent would be more effective. Recommend purchasing 2 bottles of RAID brand spray and commencing fresh assault. Also, alternative methods of attack should be researched and implemented. It may become necessary to form alliances with birds, bats, lizards, and even spiders to help quash this wasp rebellion. Peaceful relocation or "ignoring them" are options that have been taken off the table. Tweet
Status update for Operation Wasp Destruction:
Yesterday evening at approximately 1600 local time forces under the command of Cpl. Shreves launched a surprise nighttime RAID on known wasp outposts in the contested region known as "Downstairs." The attack was met with minimal resistance and enemy casualties were limited to one wasp sentry. Total RAID saturation of wasp forces was completed, as well as a picket line of RAID established along both the mud puddles and picnic bench. 1 bottle of RAID was used.
One kamikaze wasp attacked Cpl. Shreves while he was spraying the area, but in a heroic act of defense Shreves ran screaming like a girl spraying haphazardly towards his 6. The wasp was injured, but managed to fly off unsteadily towards the wasp homeland. Shreves is pretty sure that wasp will never be right in the head.
Aftermath:
A routine reconnoitering of the area at 0930 this morning revealed that the attack did not achieve its intended results. Wasp activity was intense, with as many as 20 wasps patrolling the windows and skies at any given time. While it is possible that they have merely been forced from their bases and are scavenging materials to relocate, a more likely explanation is that they are mustering forces for a counter assault. Three serious attacks were thwarted in a mere five minutes with no reported stingings.
Recommendations:
The RAID used in the assault was a generic variety. Perhaps name-brand repellent would be more effective. Recommend purchasing 2 bottles of RAID brand spray and commencing fresh assault. Also, alternative methods of attack should be researched and implemented. It may become necessary to form alliances with birds, bats, lizards, and even spiders to help quash this wasp rebellion. Peaceful relocation or "ignoring them" are options that have been taken off the table. Tweet
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Entry 38: Caleb Sees Drunk Guy Fall, Then Gets Drunk And Falls
I have a friend, "Window", that is one of the most good-natured dudes around. I call him Window because when he wants to go drinkin' he has to sneak out the window to escape the wife (okay, it only happened once, but I swear to God he actually did sneak into his own home). Well, he got loose and was out on Friday night- which always bodes well for a good story.
Picture this: Window and I are sitting outside of our local bar having a smoke. I see my dad's truck and think I spy my dad in his signature white t-shirt standing nearby. So, accordingly, I yell out "Hey Gay Dad!" No response. The only other peeps around are the bartender ("T") and Redshirt Guy. Redshirt goes over and tells "dad" that I called him gay, and suddenly "dad" is stomping out into the street, cursing and pointing at Window and I.
As you might have guessed (yes, I KNOW I need glasses), it was in fact NOT my dad but rather a very fat, very drunk loud guy in a beer-stained shirt who was now threatening to fight Window and I for calling him gay. I'm levelheaded (you know me) but am worried that Window is going to get his hackles up and go beat up some drunken idiot (seriously- this guy was hizammered!). Redshirt starts trying to get his buddy (fat guy in a little shirt!) to fight. T the bartender is in Fatty's face telling him to GTF out of here.
Fatty: "I'm a stomp yer ass for ya! Ya'll pussies done call me gay..
yer the gay fuckers! Ima whoop you and him both!"
Me: "Noone called you gay. I thought you were my dad, who is gay, and it was merely a case of mistaken identi..."
Fatty: "Shut da FUCK up! You done did it and I knows it! Ima ::stumble:: whup ::more stumbling:: yer ass for ya!"
Fatty starts directing his yelling and pointing at Window, as if HE was the one who yelled something. I find this hilarious.
T: "You need to get the FUCK out of here! You're never coming into this bar again now take your dumbass home right fucking now!"
At this point Chubs is yelling, Redshirt is yelling for him to fight us, T is screaming at Chubs to leave, Window is semi-loudly trying to explain that HE didn't even say a word, and I am laughing on the inside. A lot.
Fatty continues wobbling in the street, yelling profanities. Window is calm for now, but his anger level is rising. I am keeping a straight face while finding the site of this beer-soaked tubbo stumbling around in the street Hi-larious. God loves putting me in these spots and I love him for doing it!
Redshirt succeeds (finally) in getting Porkneck (clever combination of pork chop and redneck) over to his truck across the street. He is fuming (or hungry- hard to tell). Rather than get in his truck he sits on a log fence, crosses his arms, and stares at us. As he begins to open his mouth yet again we hear a loud CRACK! Yes, he broke the fence, then toppled backwards in probably the most ridiculous way a person could do so. His legs actually shoot out in a V shape as he lands on the back of his neck and rolls over.
Tears. TEARS, people. I haven't laughed that hard in ages. I felt surely this was Karma giving me a present for not punching the fat off of some drunken moron. "Thanks, Caleb." Says the Universe. "No, thank you!" says Caleb with sincere gratitude. Life is fair.
Or so I thought.
The next night I'm getting hammered- probably all the way up to an 8 for me. (If you don't know me, that's pretty drunk.) I go to take a girl back to my place after we leave. It's late. We're drunk. I go to molest her in the hallway and things are going great. Really great. Then, my PLAN was to lean back against the other wall of the hallway and pull her towards me. I, however, was not IN that particular part of the hallway (the part with a wall) but rather I was in the entryway part. So I, completely flat-footed, fall backward exactly smack on my ass and head. I BOUNCED.
In fairness, after the first full second of shock at what happened, I proceeded to laugh at myself uproariously for at least a minute.
Or so I thought.
The next night I'm getting hammered- probably all the way up to an 8 for me. (If you don't know me, that's pretty drunk.) I go to take a girl back to my place after we leave. It's late. We're drunk. I go to molest her in the hallway and things are going great. Really great. Then, my PLAN was to lean back against the other wall of the hallway and pull her towards me. I, however, was not IN that particular part of the hallway (the part with a wall) but rather I was in the entryway part. So I, completely flat-footed, fall backward exactly smack on my ass and head. I BOUNCED.
In fairness, after the first full second of shock at what happened, I proceeded to laugh at myself uproariously for at least a minute.
I guess the Universe wasn't done being funny, was it?
Yours,
Sore-Ass Caleb
Tweet
Yours,
Sore-Ass Caleb
Monday, June 14, 2010
Entry 37: Caleb's Advice On Facebook Dating
Team,
It's been awhile since we've had a new advice column entry, and I happened to find this one from over a month ago wedged in my couch cushions along with bong resin, Cheetos, and $1.37. Enjoy!
Dear Caleb,
I've started seeing someone recently and things have been going well. When should I change my Facebook relationship status? Should I bring it up or should she? Should we do it earlier or later? I really like this girl and don't want to chase her away, but I think we're moving to the next level. Not sure what to do. Help!
Facebook Lover
Dear Facebook Lover,
How long do you date someone before you're expected to change your relationship status from "single" to "in a relationship with..."? Good question. Just imagine that, one day, this girl says playfully "hey big guy- I see that your FB status still says single... how's that going?" Haha! What a playful minx she is. Let me translate for you what that innocent statement actually means: "Hey. We're fucking. Change your fucking facebook status voluntarily or we will NOT be fucking much longer."
Think I'm kidding? Trust Caleb on this one- he knows his stuff.
If you are head over heels for someone and the feeling is mutual, then wait until you've dated for awhile and then have a fun, open discussion about this and mutually change your statuses (statusi?). For the other 99% of us, there are a few options to escape this trap without injury:
1. Remove the section of your profile. If you go under "settings" and look, there is a way to just leave the entire section blank. This is the preferred method, but be careful to check your profile immediately after because FB will leave a "(you)'s relationship status is no longer single" which brings attention to the fact. Attention that you don't need and that could possibly jeopardize not just your life, but your future beej-getting. Click "remove" by this little update-grenade.
2. Create a fictitious relationship that's funny. You've seen people do this; "so-and-so is in a relationship with (insert ridiculous person, thing, idea, etc. here)" Usually mildly amusing, and effective for some time against the relentless attack that is a women's attention. This idea is inferior to the first, only because there is some sort of relationship status available. Eventually, she will call you on this and make you change your relationship status from "in a relationship with Will Ferrell" to "in a relationship with controlling and dominating
woman" Woe is you.
3. Refuse Facebook-friending ANYONE that you date. This, my friends, is both very tricky to pull off and carries with it some serious liabilities. For one, finding a reason to convince your new playmate to not accept her friend request is like convincing a cougar that leopard print is out of style. Good luck with that. And, if you do manage this feat (may haps with some sort of "I want us to each have our own thing in life... you know, not smother this wonderful relationship we have" BS) then remember that YOU will not have access to any of HER goings-on. If you are an ultra-insecure, jealous, over-roided up meathead who threatens to beat up the gas station attendant for "looking at my squirrel!" then this is probably not a good option for you. Of course, if you are that guy then you should probably just change your status to "In a relationship with violence" and go back to beating your old lady. Then put Decon in your coffee.
4. Be an Ultra Hard Ass (UHA). When she ever brings up anything on the subject, you just look pissed and say "What? We ain't dating. You's ma ho. Make me a sandwich and give me a beej." Then, if she gets mad or threatens to leave, crush her self esteem to the point where she believes that a jerk like you is all she deserves in life and she'll stay with you forever. This is sort of... (don't want to say "mean") um... bold? And has actually never worked. Good luck if you attempt it.
Best of luck,
CSS Tweet
It's been awhile since we've had a new advice column entry, and I happened to find this one from over a month ago wedged in my couch cushions along with bong resin, Cheetos, and $1.37. Enjoy!
Dear Caleb,
I've started seeing someone recently and things have been going well. When should I change my Facebook relationship status? Should I bring it up or should she? Should we do it earlier or later? I really like this girl and don't want to chase her away, but I think we're moving to the next level. Not sure what to do. Help!
Facebook Lover
Dear Facebook Lover,
How long do you date someone before you're expected to change your relationship status from "single" to "in a relationship with..."? Good question. Just imagine that, one day, this girl says playfully "hey big guy- I see that your FB status still says single... how's that going?" Haha! What a playful minx she is. Let me translate for you what that innocent statement actually means: "Hey. We're fucking. Change your fucking facebook status voluntarily or we will NOT be fucking much longer."
Think I'm kidding? Trust Caleb on this one- he knows his stuff.
If you are head over heels for someone and the feeling is mutual, then wait until you've dated for awhile and then have a fun, open discussion about this and mutually change your statuses (statusi?). For the other 99% of us, there are a few options to escape this trap without injury:
1. Remove the section of your profile. If you go under "settings" and look, there is a way to just leave the entire section blank. This is the preferred method, but be careful to check your profile immediately after because FB will leave a "(you)'s relationship status is no longer single" which brings attention to the fact. Attention that you don't need and that could possibly jeopardize not just your life, but your future beej-getting. Click "remove" by this little update-grenade.
2. Create a fictitious relationship that's funny. You've seen people do this; "so-and-so is in a relationship with (insert ridiculous person, thing, idea, etc. here)" Usually mildly amusing, and effective for some time against the relentless attack that is a women's attention. This idea is inferior to the first, only because there is some sort of relationship status available. Eventually, she will call you on this and make you change your relationship status from "in a relationship with Will Ferrell" to "in a relationship with controlling and dominating
woman" Woe is you.
3. Refuse Facebook-friending ANYONE that you date. This, my friends, is both very tricky to pull off and carries with it some serious liabilities. For one, finding a reason to convince your new playmate to not accept her friend request is like convincing a cougar that leopard print is out of style. Good luck with that. And, if you do manage this feat (may haps with some sort of "I want us to each have our own thing in life... you know, not smother this wonderful relationship we have" BS) then remember that YOU will not have access to any of HER goings-on. If you are an ultra-insecure, jealous, over-roided up meathead who threatens to beat up the gas station attendant for "looking at my squirrel!" then this is probably not a good option for you. Of course, if you are that guy then you should probably just change your status to "In a relationship with violence" and go back to beating your old lady. Then put Decon in your coffee.
4. Be an Ultra Hard Ass (UHA). When she ever brings up anything on the subject, you just look pissed and say "What? We ain't dating. You's ma ho. Make me a sandwich and give me a beej." Then, if she gets mad or threatens to leave, crush her self esteem to the point where she believes that a jerk like you is all she deserves in life and she'll stay with you forever. This is sort of... (don't want to say "mean") um... bold? And has actually never worked. Good luck if you attempt it.
Best of luck,
CSS Tweet
Friday, June 11, 2010
Entry 36: Caleb Gets His Fingers Licked And Shits Fire
So what has Caleb been up to, you might ask? Allow me to fill you in.
1. The local tap has some new hot sauce for their wings. Believe it or not, it's made with Bhut peppers (apt name). If you can eat 6 in 15 minutes you get them for free and $25. So yeah, I did it. What's funny about it? Two things. First, when I was done I offered to let others try the sauce by licking my fingers. Three guys did (at the same time, too. Gay?), two went outside and puked. Secondly, the old adage that spicy food is hotter on the way out is TRUE. Imagine an un-extinguishable candle being lit and shoved betwixt your butt cheeks. Yeah, not good. It was bad enough that when I even THOUGHT of pooping again later in the day my eyes watered up.
2. I've been searching out funny and interesting blogs out there and then commenting on them. Great success! I've even got a girl to take a picture of a "Douchebag" flask just for me. Now if I can just get her to send it to me.
Here are some example Caleb-comments on other people's blogs:
-To "Fishy", who dates tons of chicks and went on a particular date with a doctor who didn't return his texts. The funny text I refer to is, after she didn't say anything for a week, he texts "got any advice for athlete's foot?"
Fish-meister,
I've been keeping up with your site for awhile now. Good stuff! Overall, pretty good game. However, your text-game needs a little work. First(ly), never respond that quickly- it makes you seem overly eager and a bit desperate. You have tons of fun things going on in your life that distract you from texting a girl you barely know. Second(ly), the texts "Shall I take that as a no?" and "I take it no second date?" are NOT allowed. I don't think I need to explain why.
That minor criticism aside, your final text was spot-on. I think if you would have kept your first texts as irreverent and funny as the last, you could have been eating more fishcakes.
-To my friend Krust, who got a new, fairly simple, tattoo but took 4 paragraphs explaining its many layers of meaning.
I have a "C" on my back. My name is Caleb. Get it? I'm a hardass. Symbolize THAT.
-While looking for inappropriate web material.
"The head of my broom is 2 inches thick, and the bristles are 7 inches long."
made the June selection of the "That's what she said" competition. Check it out on imtellingyourmom.blogspot.com. Also, goldfish are NOT delicious.
- To some random lady's family blog
I'm just a "stumbler" onto this blog, but well done. I don't think it's demeaning at all for a woman to take pride in a clean home- especially a kitchen. While I may make chauvinistic comments about women cleaning/cooking etc, I DO think it is a serious job and should be treated that way.
That being said, do you have any sisters?
- Commenting on a chick who has a dating blog and made up categories of guys. FYI 9= The Commitment Phobe, 10= The Grass is Greener, 14= The Alcoholic, and 16= The Prick
I've considered your list. I believe I'm equal parts 9,10,14,
and 16. Can we add a few categories?
17. THE MEATHEAD. This guy where's shirts too tight, will punch his love into your face, and nearly always has on a backwards baseball cap. He is the guy in the gym who wears the short shorts to show off his massive thighs. Avoid.
18. THE MEGADOUCHE- Douche being the vague term that it is, this guy has many variations. Generally he's not very fun, usually possessive, hates kittens, and is almost virtually guaranteed to cheat on you (not that the other ones won't either). Favorite shot: Jagerbombs. Oh, and popped collars are pretty common
19. THE DREAMGUY- This guy appears perfect. To YOU. He's not so perfect that you're suspicious, he's not too into you or too not into you. He's funny and seems ultra laid back. He seems to have some underlying real feelings that you can get to if you just dig a little and get to know him (usually some family issue that makes him look like more of a hero). He's good looking, funny, and good in bed. Wait- what's the problem you say? He will eventually move on and make you feel less about yourself. How he does this may vary, but inevitably he will be the one who can call you for a booty call whenever he wants and you will feel powerless to resist his call.
Met any of these guys?
And shouldn't there be some categories that seem more... you know, flattering for guys? No? Okay, fair enough.
3. There is a picture of me in circulation now where I appear to be kissing another dude with some sort of sauce all over my face (Cledus). If you look closely our tongues are definitely not touching, and the sauce is mustard. End of story.
4. Shameless flirting. I mean lots! And not only with good looking chicks- with anybody, anytime, anyplace. I'm pretty sure I have the bank girls at HyVee wrapped around my fingers. If I could magically cross-pollinate the face of the one with the body of the other we'd have ourselves a date. Does making out with both at the same time count?
You stay classy, readers.
PS I left two big innuendos in this post. Bonus points if you can find them! Tweet
1. The local tap has some new hot sauce for their wings. Believe it or not, it's made with Bhut peppers (apt name). If you can eat 6 in 15 minutes you get them for free and $25. So yeah, I did it. What's funny about it? Two things. First, when I was done I offered to let others try the sauce by licking my fingers. Three guys did (at the same time, too. Gay?), two went outside and puked. Secondly, the old adage that spicy food is hotter on the way out is TRUE. Imagine an un-extinguishable candle being lit and shoved betwixt your butt cheeks. Yeah, not good. It was bad enough that when I even THOUGHT of pooping again later in the day my eyes watered up.
2. I've been searching out funny and interesting blogs out there and then commenting on them. Great success! I've even got a girl to take a picture of a "Douchebag" flask just for me. Now if I can just get her to send it to me.
Here are some example Caleb-comments on other people's blogs:
-To "Fishy", who dates tons of chicks and went on a particular date with a doctor who didn't return his texts. The funny text I refer to is, after she didn't say anything for a week, he texts "got any advice for athlete's foot?"
Fish-meister,
I've been keeping up with your site for awhile now. Good stuff! Overall, pretty good game. However, your text-game needs a little work. First(ly), never respond that quickly- it makes you seem overly eager and a bit desperate. You have tons of fun things going on in your life that distract you from texting a girl you barely know. Second(ly), the texts "Shall I take that as a no?" and "I take it no second date?" are NOT allowed. I don't think I need to explain why.
That minor criticism aside, your final text was spot-on. I think if you would have kept your first texts as irreverent and funny as the last, you could have been eating more fishcakes.
-To my friend Krust, who got a new, fairly simple, tattoo but took 4 paragraphs explaining its many layers of meaning.
I have a "C" on my back. My name is Caleb. Get it? I'm a hardass. Symbolize THAT.
-While looking for inappropriate web material.
"The head of my broom is 2 inches thick, and the bristles are 7 inches long."
made the June selection of the "That's what she said" competition. Check it out on imtellingyourmom.blogspot.com. Also, goldfish are NOT delicious.
- To some random lady's family blog
I'm just a "stumbler" onto this blog, but well done. I don't think it's demeaning at all for a woman to take pride in a clean home- especially a kitchen. While I may make chauvinistic comments about women cleaning/cooking etc, I DO think it is a serious job and should be treated that way.
That being said, do you have any sisters?
- Commenting on a chick who has a dating blog and made up categories of guys. FYI 9= The Commitment Phobe, 10= The Grass is Greener, 14= The Alcoholic, and 16= The Prick
I've considered your list. I believe I'm equal parts 9,10,14,
and 16. Can we add a few categories?
17. THE MEATHEAD. This guy where's shirts too tight, will punch his love into your face, and nearly always has on a backwards baseball cap. He is the guy in the gym who wears the short shorts to show off his massive thighs. Avoid.
18. THE MEGADOUCHE- Douche being the vague term that it is, this guy has many variations. Generally he's not very fun, usually possessive, hates kittens, and is almost virtually guaranteed to cheat on you (not that the other ones won't either). Favorite shot: Jagerbombs. Oh, and popped collars are pretty common
19. THE DREAMGUY- This guy appears perfect. To YOU. He's not so perfect that you're suspicious, he's not too into you or too not into you. He's funny and seems ultra laid back. He seems to have some underlying real feelings that you can get to if you just dig a little and get to know him (usually some family issue that makes him look like more of a hero). He's good looking, funny, and good in bed. Wait- what's the problem you say? He will eventually move on and make you feel less about yourself. How he does this may vary, but inevitably he will be the one who can call you for a booty call whenever he wants and you will feel powerless to resist his call.
Met any of these guys?
And shouldn't there be some categories that seem more... you know, flattering for guys? No? Okay, fair enough.
3. There is a picture of me in circulation now where I appear to be kissing another dude with some sort of sauce all over my face (Cledus). If you look closely our tongues are definitely not touching, and the sauce is mustard. End of story.
4. Shameless flirting. I mean lots! And not only with good looking chicks- with anybody, anytime, anyplace. I'm pretty sure I have the bank girls at HyVee wrapped around my fingers. If I could magically cross-pollinate the face of the one with the body of the other we'd have ourselves a date. Does making out with both at the same time count?
You stay classy, readers.
PS I left two big innuendos in this post. Bonus points if you can find them! Tweet
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Entry 35: I'm A Dude And I'm Going To Send Creepy Messages To Girls. Or, Online Dating From A Lady's Perspective
Online Dating... Hmm.
I've tracked down (read: captured) a live girl who has given the internet dating scene a try. While squirming to avoid my questions and evade captivity (don't worry- I'm feeding her) I forced her to send me some of the messages she has received from some of the many douche-weasels that infest the waters of the online dating world. Sadly, she had already deleted a great majority of the TRULY great messages, but there were still enough left to amuse me. I'm even going to let her "guest write" for me (Danger Shreves) and copy you the email that she sent me. Woe of all woes, she no longer has the picture of the pot-bellied and naked old guy's wiener. For shame. Regardless, in exchange for her freedom she sent me the following email:
Here goes:
All right - some of the best messages for your blog...
Quotes from messages personally sent to myself (all copied and pasted,
grammatical and spelling errors included):
"But it always seems like I'm the groms men but never the grom.lol "
- Maybe when you learn how to spell groom, you can be one.
"Your like the Mona Lisa, but I dont even gink Leonardo could capture
that smile."
- *gag* I'm sorry, were you serious?
"What do you think of my profile?
(please reply)"
- This was it. The entire message. Are you looking for a girlfriend
or an editor....? I'm confused.
"I do Came Ac cross your profile and I like it cuz It's very cool."
- Thanks? You must be cool because you use z's where they don't
belong!
"Are u up2 much on new years eve?"
- This was sent to me in October. From a guy in New Zealand.
Relevance? Yeah, I got nothing either.
"i hope i wasnt bothering you and if i was than im sorry and thank you
very much for your time"
- Push. Over.
"I like being outdoors and would love to talk to someone interesting
about really anything."
- Apparently he's looking for someone to sit on a sidewalk with and
say words.
"I have a severe "dislike" for metal spoons. I'll only use them under
the most desperate circumstances."
- Like, when you order soup? Or do you make do with a spork? What
kind of information is this to start 'chatting someone up'??
"heres just a little info about me im a student at clarke college
majoring in communications gettng my degree in Public Relations"
- Hint: Punctuation helps. I would think they'd cover that in
communications...
"maybe it is I who add a lil' spic too your life! you are very
attractive and hopefully you can see the same in me"
- Yes, you have large muscles. No, I will not tell you this every
day. I don't need to 'add spic too' my life (I'm assuming that was
supposed to be 'spice,' btw - but who knows, really) - I need to
eliminate douchebaggery.
"i really like your smile"
- And what am I supposed to write back, huh? "Thanks"? I mean, nice
sentiment and all....but you're not really setting yourself up for
success here.
"all I can say is WOW :)"
- I know a fantastic English teacher that can teach you new words.
I'll message you back her number.
"I'm not too excited about your cat! I may be many things, but a cat
person I am not. No where near. They actually freak me out... that whole
rubbing on your leg thing."
- So you're not used to things rubbing against your leg, huh?
- Cats freak you out? Really? Really.
GENERAL GUIDELINES FOR THE FIRST MESSAGE:
1) Declarative statements make it difficult to want to write back. And
please...anything but your absurd phobias.
2) Giving me your phone number, email address, IM screenname, weekly
schedule, and favorite hangout makes you look a) very desperate and b)
potentially stalkerish.
3) Learn to spell. (Spellcheck...) Learn to punctuate. Learn what words
to capitalize.
4) I'm sure your kids are lovely, and I'm sure you're very proud of
them. But I'm not looking to adopt, I'm looking for a relationship. Tell
me about YOU.
PICTURE GUIDELINES
1) Make it one from this century. Preferably within the last 2 years.
2) If you take a picture of yourself in your bathroom mirror with your
cell phone without a shirt on, you are a douchebag. I will assume you
also drive a Hummer, and elevate your status to Mega-douche.
3) Taking a picture of your erect penis (that doesn't extend past your
potbelly) is not attractive. That should NEVER be your main photo. That
should never be a photo in the first place. If that's the best looking
part of you....I'm so sorry. There are doctors to help with things like
that.
Thanks to "The Lizard" for sending this! I always get a kick out of the seemingly endless supply of douchery in manland. Also, I think bringing some of the shemanigans (great word, btw) of the world to light helps mitigate the fact that I make fun of women literally every day. Love you chicks.
Danger out!
Addendum: we've got a couple more for you. Take it, Lizard!
Tweet
I've tracked down (read: captured) a live girl who has given the internet dating scene a try. While squirming to avoid my questions and evade captivity (don't worry- I'm feeding her) I forced her to send me some of the messages she has received from some of the many douche-weasels that infest the waters of the online dating world. Sadly, she had already deleted a great majority of the TRULY great messages, but there were still enough left to amuse me. I'm even going to let her "guest write" for me (Danger Shreves) and copy you the email that she sent me. Woe of all woes, she no longer has the picture of the pot-bellied and naked old guy's wiener. For shame. Regardless, in exchange for her freedom she sent me the following email:
Here goes:
All right - some of the best messages for your blog...
Quotes from messages personally sent to myself (all copied and pasted,
grammatical and spelling errors included):
"But it always seems like I'm the groms men but never the grom.lol "
- Maybe when you learn how to spell groom, you can be one.
"Your like the Mona Lisa, but I dont even gink Leonardo could capture
that smile."
- *gag* I'm sorry, were you serious?
"What do you think of my profile?
(please reply)"
- This was it. The entire message. Are you looking for a girlfriend
or an editor....? I'm confused.
"I do Came Ac cross your profile and I like it cuz It's very cool."
- Thanks? You must be cool because you use z's where they don't
belong!
"Are u up2 much on new years eve?"
- This was sent to me in October. From a guy in New Zealand.
Relevance? Yeah, I got nothing either.
"i hope i wasnt bothering you and if i was than im sorry and thank you
very much for your time"
- Push. Over.
"I like being outdoors and would love to talk to someone interesting
about really anything."
- Apparently he's looking for someone to sit on a sidewalk with and
say words.
"I have a severe "dislike" for metal spoons. I'll only use them under
the most desperate circumstances."
- Like, when you order soup? Or do you make do with a spork? What
kind of information is this to start 'chatting someone up'??
"heres just a little info about me im a student at clarke college
majoring in communications gettng my degree in Public Relations"
- Hint: Punctuation helps. I would think they'd cover that in
communications...
"maybe it is I who add a lil' spic too your life! you are very
attractive and hopefully you can see the same in me"
- Yes, you have large muscles. No, I will not tell you this every
day. I don't need to 'add spic too' my life (I'm assuming that was
supposed to be 'spice,' btw - but who knows, really) - I need to
eliminate douchebaggery.
"i really like your smile"
- And what am I supposed to write back, huh? "Thanks"? I mean, nice
sentiment and all....but you're not really setting yourself up for
success here.
"all I can say is WOW :)"
- I know a fantastic English teacher that can teach you new words.
I'll message you back her number.
"I'm not too excited about your cat! I may be many things, but a cat
person I am not. No where near. They actually freak me out... that whole
rubbing on your leg thing."
- So you're not used to things rubbing against your leg, huh?
- Cats freak you out? Really? Really.
GENERAL GUIDELINES FOR THE FIRST MESSAGE:
1) Declarative statements make it difficult to want to write back. And
please...anything but your absurd phobias.
2) Giving me your phone number, email address, IM screenname, weekly
schedule, and favorite hangout makes you look a) very desperate and b)
potentially stalkerish.
3) Learn to spell. (Spellcheck...) Learn to punctuate. Learn what words
to capitalize.
4) I'm sure your kids are lovely, and I'm sure you're very proud of
them. But I'm not looking to adopt, I'm looking for a relationship. Tell
me about YOU.
PICTURE GUIDELINES
1) Make it one from this century. Preferably within the last 2 years.
2) If you take a picture of yourself in your bathroom mirror with your
cell phone without a shirt on, you are a douchebag. I will assume you
also drive a Hummer, and elevate your status to Mega-douche.
3) Taking a picture of your erect penis (that doesn't extend past your
potbelly) is not attractive. That should NEVER be your main photo. That
should never be a photo in the first place. If that's the best looking
part of you....I'm so sorry. There are doctors to help with things like
that.
Thanks to "The Lizard" for sending this! I always get a kick out of the seemingly endless supply of douchery in manland. Also, I think bringing some of the shemanigans (great word, btw) of the world to light helps mitigate the fact that I make fun of women literally every day. Love you chicks.
Danger out!
Addendum: we've got a couple more for you. Take it, Lizard!
"Let's see, if I were to wake up and have a whole week to do one thing, I think I'd choose to spend the week with my significant other and go around doing random stuff with her. Now I just need to find her. I'm fairly sure it's you!" - mmmm...prolly not. Sorry
I got an animated dancing banana from a screenname called 'firecrotch.' Feel free to run with the layers of symbolism. (May even have Kristy's tattoo beat):
"Hi, you look cute....I like ur height and fit physic..."
- that's the entire message. And my dr's not particularly in shape, but sure. Ohhhh, my PHYSIQUE?? *sigh*
Indeed, Lizard. Let's all sigh collectively for mankind. Sigh.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Entry 34: Caleb's Questionable Vision and Shameless Womanizing Saves A Cripple's Day
What can I say, I've been feeling froggy lately.
Here's the scene. I'm walking up a few flights of stairs to get to my office when I think I spy a Milfzilla through a glass door. Behind her is a young lass in a motorized wheelchair. Smelling opportunity, I divert from my intended destination to go on the hunt.
Fumbling for spare change in my pocket so I can pretend to buy something from the vending machine, I get in close and realize that my judgment was off. Instead of the hot older blond with big cannons I was hoping for I'm looking at Grandma Wrinkles. Disappointed but unfazed, I gaze vapidly into the vending machine and then turn to leave. But before I do I hear Gram-Gram and Wheelie discussing how they are going to get upstairs with the elevator broken. Ignoring my own "I do what I want" inclination I leap into action and save the day. "I got it!" I exclaim with great-yet-unwarranted confidence.
The elevator is very complicated to operate and requires that certain doors be all the way closed, certain inner doors be partway open, and the up-and-down buttons only work when you can't actually see where the elevator is at in relation to the floor. Yeah, sounds like a government project, I know. So as I am calibrating this door-of-destruction to get it to where Wheelie can roll on in, I hear her talking about being late for some really important meeting and just wanting to give up and try limping up the stairs. I tell her:
"No way. This elevator is designed for you and it's GOING to work. You will be at your meeting in time and you will NOT hobble painfully up three flights of stairs because of a crappy government elevator door. If I have to call the Firechief himself to come get this damn elevator right that's what I will do. This is too good of a country for us to give up now. We're doin' it!!"
I know, I inspire myself too.
We got Wheels and Gram on the elevator and on their way without any extra help, but I realized that if I hadn't been shamelessly chasing tail or if my vision was at all decent that the poor girl might have missed some important meeting. Maybe ruin her life, too.
And some people don't think God has a plan.
PS In case you were wondering, yes- 'judgment' is the correct spelling. Tweet
Here's the scene. I'm walking up a few flights of stairs to get to my office when I think I spy a Milfzilla through a glass door. Behind her is a young lass in a motorized wheelchair. Smelling opportunity, I divert from my intended destination to go on the hunt.
Fumbling for spare change in my pocket so I can pretend to buy something from the vending machine, I get in close and realize that my judgment was off. Instead of the hot older blond with big cannons I was hoping for I'm looking at Grandma Wrinkles. Disappointed but unfazed, I gaze vapidly into the vending machine and then turn to leave. But before I do I hear Gram-Gram and Wheelie discussing how they are going to get upstairs with the elevator broken. Ignoring my own "I do what I want" inclination I leap into action and save the day. "I got it!" I exclaim with great-yet-unwarranted confidence.
The elevator is very complicated to operate and requires that certain doors be all the way closed, certain inner doors be partway open, and the up-and-down buttons only work when you can't actually see where the elevator is at in relation to the floor. Yeah, sounds like a government project, I know. So as I am calibrating this door-of-destruction to get it to where Wheelie can roll on in, I hear her talking about being late for some really important meeting and just wanting to give up and try limping up the stairs. I tell her:
"No way. This elevator is designed for you and it's GOING to work. You will be at your meeting in time and you will NOT hobble painfully up three flights of stairs because of a crappy government elevator door. If I have to call the Firechief himself to come get this damn elevator right that's what I will do. This is too good of a country for us to give up now. We're doin' it!!"
I know, I inspire myself too.
We got Wheels and Gram on the elevator and on their way without any extra help, but I realized that if I hadn't been shamelessly chasing tail or if my vision was at all decent that the poor girl might have missed some important meeting. Maybe ruin her life, too.
And some people don't think God has a plan.
PS In case you were wondering, yes- 'judgment' is the correct spelling. Tweet
Friday, June 4, 2010
Day 33: The Pittsburgh Trip
Blokes and Hos,
As I type this I am currently borderline-functional and probably still drunk. I went to Pittsburgh, bent the town over the sink in the bathroom of a shady dive, and did blow off its ass while I pounded it like John Henry working on the railroad. While I still have some coherent thoughts I thought I would relay some of the shenanigans that transpired.
Participants: Me, Farjar, Rebecky, Nerv, and Ten-inch (though, in point of fact, Nerv also sports a decameter meatwhistle. He's just not as famous for it)
Tuesday Night:
3:00 PM: Checking into the hotel lobby. Only remarkable because we had to give the front desk chick more info than if we were filling out adoption papers for a Romanian baby. I declare loudly that, if the cubs do not win, I will be defecating profusely throughout the lobby and elevators.
3:25: We have hit our pre-game bar and ordered beers and Jack Daniels. I have not eaten at all, and can tell from the first sip that the night could end rough.
3:29: Second round ordered
3:40: Third round. (yes, rounds are both beers and JD)
When we left this bar to go to the game, we were treated to the crabbiest cabby in Pittsburgh. I complained about her driving and Farjar advised her often to "slow down" and "watch out" Cabbie was not amused.
We take our seats, I'm drunk, we order lots more beers throughout the game. Luckily, unlike my trip to Busch stadium, they are still serving very inebriated Cub fans.
At different points during the game I announce loudly that the Pittsburgh umps are gay, that predictions for rain tomorrow are gay, that warm beer is gay, Nerv is gay, and that since Rebecky's shirt is not a Cubs shirt then it is, in fact, gay.
Kyle takes a now-famous picture of the scoreboard at the very instant that Ted Lilly gives up the losing homer to the Pittsburgh Punching Bags.
We go out after the game to the bars around the stadium, but none of them are very busy. The stadium itself was only about 1/4 full, which is gay considering what a great ballpark it is, so strangely enough most of the people out and about are Cubs fans. We RULE. At the first bar we stop at we decide to up our already prodigious drunkery with some shots (tequila, of course). Then we ordered more Jack and alternated between smoking/drinking outside and drinking/arguingwithstrangers inside. Unlike most nights where I am belligerently drunk I didn't almost get beat up. I think. I did however try and pull my quarters trick but was so drunk that not only could I not pull it off but I didn't even remember trying the next day.
[the quarters trick is where I lay out 5 quarters on the bar, don't look while someone touches just one, then feel the heat signature from their fingers to tell which quarter they touched. Normally, pretty bad ass. Tuesday night, not so much.]
Apparently the lameness of Pittsburgh spreads beyond their baseball team to their bars, because all of the bars right around the stadium were closing or closed before midnight. We were not pleased, but for some reason the JD+drunkenness that normally pushes me into the realm of assholery didn't happen and I remained mostly docile. Except when Ten-inch ordered a pizza that tasted like dust, moldy basement, and tree sap.
Ten-inch: "I don't know... I like it allright."
Nerv: "Yeah, it's not bad."
Me: "Are you retarded? This tastes like a load from bigfoot's dick."
I would tell you what happened from then until the next morning, but I don't remember much. I DO know that I did not, in fact, poop in the lobby.
Wednesday
Most of Wednesday was spent recovering and doing very foul things to the hotel toilet, but we had our game faces back on around 5PM or so. Well, technically, it happened accidentally. I was going with Farjar to find cigarettes (apparently there are no gas stations in Pittsburgh- all the cars must run on coal) and the store that we were directed to was inexplicably closed. Twenty feet away however was a sign outside of a dive bar that said "$1 drafts during happy hour"
Farjar: ::looks at watch, looks up at me::
Me: "Is it...?"
Farjar: ::nods::
Me: "Well... I AM thirsty..."
Farjar: ::nods, heads into bar::
Luckily, not only did they have $1 drafts, but they had an old school cigarette machine. We slammed down some drafts for a bit and met a lady who claimed to be an event planner for the Heinz museum. At this point I would like to elucidate you on the relative merits of my friends. Nerv is a guy who will never say never, never back down from a cold beer, and has put up with my constant hassling for almost a decade- all with good humor. Ten-inch, however, is a logistical master who can accomplish complex and confusing tasks that may require ingenuity with ease. Since I was away from the hotel and not technically game-ready, but I didn't want to stop drinking delicious cold beer, I made the following call:
Me: "Ten-inch. I need you to grab my Jersey, the tickets, the giant Cub fist, Farjar's shirt- and not the one from yesterday-, and grab a hotel key. Then round up Nerv and head downstairs to meet Rebecky. Give her the hotel key so she can park, wait for her, then go to a bar called Crystal with your drinking face on."
Ten-inch: "Gotcha."
Five minutes later, there they are. Man I love that.
Sadly the game Wednesday was rained out, which sucked. Two notable things happened:
1. When it stopped raining they sent out the grounds crew to get the field ready. Literally every one of these guys was alive during the civil war area and they had the worst equipment I've ever seen. They would take these wooden rake things and swirl the standing water in circles for a half hour. Why? No idea. After an hour and a half of this, they called the game. Wish they would have told us this sooner, as there are nicer places to keep your drunk going on $7 beers.
2. As I passed from our seating area to the concessions I would get heckled by this 15 year old pimply-faced kid and his loser-squad. "Hey, Hughes [I had a homemade jersey on that said "Hughes" with the number 720 to commemorate the great Cub radio announcer Pat Hughes] Cubs suck!" Or, "Hey again: Cubs still suck" or "Cubs suck- and 720's not even a real baseball number." I handled all of this with grace, and didn't say anything (surprising for me, I know) for at least 4 trips back and forth. Finally, on the last trip he said something again and I stopped and faced him. Here's what happened:
Me: I slowly drink a good half of my beer straight down and then make my "boy that's delicious!" face. Then I smack Rebecky on the ass [sorry about that]. "I have an ice cold delicious beer and a hot chick's ass; all you have are zits and a curfew. Pirates suck." Then, to his stunned silence, I turn around and walk back to my seats.
Childish? Maybe- but he started it.
After our rain-out, we head back to dive-bar because it had just our dive-y kind of feel. The bartender, Amy, was nice but we hassled her incessantly all night and steadfastly refused to call her anything but "Crystal", since that was the name of her aunt and the owner of the bar. I performed my quarter trick- a lot- and earned several rounds of free drinks from it and from a few other tricks I pull. One guy, "Hairplug", showed up and commenced into some general douchery, so we fucked with him off and on all night. For some unknown reason, Farjar had marked some of the quarters on the bar with a sharpie I had. That led to the following scenario:
Farjar: (interrupting me trying to insist to Hairplug that my heat-signature reading is for real and the result of years of practice) "Actually, he's even better than that. I bet if I throw these four quarters up in the air and catch them, Caleb can tell which one I touched.
Hairplug: "What? How could he know that?"
Farjar: "Just watch" He throws the quarters in the air, catches them, and holds them out to me. I pretend to consider, then pick one at random. "That's the one! Wow- too weird. How does he do it?"
Hairplug: "How do I know that was the one you picked?"
Farjar: Sees one of them has a Sharpie mark on it and holds it up. "See? I marked it so I'd know."
Hairplug guy actually thought this made sense. If you would have asked me beforehand whether I thought anyone really was that dumb, I would have told you no. I'm not right all the time I guess.
The last funny thing I remember happening is Farjar convincing "Crystal" that Nerv was a diabetic and that if he didn't get some nachos soon he would be risking a dangerous blood-sugar dip. Amazingly, she bought this (helped by Nerv's quick thinking and suddenly shaking hands) and talked the 18 year old cook to turn the kitchen back on and fire us up some nachos.
[As I read this, I have to change my assessment that I didn't almost get beat up. I did. When I was out smoking at the dive bar, this bulimic wine-drinking chick was out with me and flirting with me quite a bit. She was reading my palm and telling me things like "oh, I think this line means that you are quite ferocious in bed." Yeah, classy. I would have considered something, maybe, but she had black bulimia stains on her teeth (deal breaker). She begged me to show her the quarter trick back inside and when I did, her boyfriend at the bar stared daggers at me while sipping whiskey. Since he was obviously a fun-hating douchebag with his tie partly undone and a permenant scowl on his face, I didn't feel bad in the slightest and even hammed it up a little extra just for his benefit. As I told her funny stories and jokes, each peal of her puke-tainted laughter would send his eyes a shade darker. Luckily he was alone and I had some homies]
That pretty much sums up the trip, except for a few notes about Farjar and I fucking with Nerv.
1. Farjar steals- in plain sight- Nerv's ticket for the game then announces "okay everyone, make sure you have your ticket!" Nerv, sweating, furiously looks through his pockets and wallet for his ticket but all he can find is the stub from the first game. Wanting to save face, he claims that he "found it" and only later does Farjar let him know that he was the one who stole it. Nerv not amused.
2. On Thursday morning Farjar and I pile every blanket and pillow on top of a passed out Nerv without his knowledge. In a two bedroom suite with a pullout sofa and extra couch cushions, this is no small mountain of linen. Nerv not amused.
3. When Nerv is dropping a deuce in the hotel bathroom, Farjar turns off the light switch. Since the switch was on the outside of the bathroom instead of the inside, Nerv was not amused.
Surprisingly I didn't get beat up, kicked out of anywhere, or thrown in jail. I did, however, drink a can of warm Budlight on the carride from the airport to home. Stay classy, Pittsburgh.
Tweet
As I type this I am currently borderline-functional and probably still drunk. I went to Pittsburgh, bent the town over the sink in the bathroom of a shady dive, and did blow off its ass while I pounded it like John Henry working on the railroad. While I still have some coherent thoughts I thought I would relay some of the shenanigans that transpired.
Participants: Me, Farjar, Rebecky, Nerv, and Ten-inch (though, in point of fact, Nerv also sports a decameter meatwhistle. He's just not as famous for it)
Tuesday Night:
3:00 PM: Checking into the hotel lobby. Only remarkable because we had to give the front desk chick more info than if we were filling out adoption papers for a Romanian baby. I declare loudly that, if the cubs do not win, I will be defecating profusely throughout the lobby and elevators.
3:25: We have hit our pre-game bar and ordered beers and Jack Daniels. I have not eaten at all, and can tell from the first sip that the night could end rough.
3:29: Second round ordered
3:40: Third round. (yes, rounds are both beers and JD)
When we left this bar to go to the game, we were treated to the crabbiest cabby in Pittsburgh. I complained about her driving and Farjar advised her often to "slow down" and "watch out" Cabbie was not amused.
We take our seats, I'm drunk, we order lots more beers throughout the game. Luckily, unlike my trip to Busch stadium, they are still serving very inebriated Cub fans.
At different points during the game I announce loudly that the Pittsburgh umps are gay, that predictions for rain tomorrow are gay, that warm beer is gay, Nerv is gay, and that since Rebecky's shirt is not a Cubs shirt then it is, in fact, gay.
Kyle takes a now-famous picture of the scoreboard at the very instant that Ted Lilly gives up the losing homer to the Pittsburgh Punching Bags.
We go out after the game to the bars around the stadium, but none of them are very busy. The stadium itself was only about 1/4 full, which is gay considering what a great ballpark it is, so strangely enough most of the people out and about are Cubs fans. We RULE. At the first bar we stop at we decide to up our already prodigious drunkery with some shots (tequila, of course). Then we ordered more Jack and alternated between smoking/drinking outside and drinking/arguingwithstrangers inside. Unlike most nights where I am belligerently drunk I didn't almost get beat up. I think. I did however try and pull my quarters trick but was so drunk that not only could I not pull it off but I didn't even remember trying the next day.
[the quarters trick is where I lay out 5 quarters on the bar, don't look while someone touches just one, then feel the heat signature from their fingers to tell which quarter they touched. Normally, pretty bad ass. Tuesday night, not so much.]
Apparently the lameness of Pittsburgh spreads beyond their baseball team to their bars, because all of the bars right around the stadium were closing or closed before midnight. We were not pleased, but for some reason the JD+drunkenness that normally pushes me into the realm of assholery didn't happen and I remained mostly docile. Except when Ten-inch ordered a pizza that tasted like dust, moldy basement, and tree sap.
Ten-inch: "I don't know... I like it allright."
Nerv: "Yeah, it's not bad."
Me: "Are you retarded? This tastes like a load from bigfoot's dick."
I would tell you what happened from then until the next morning, but I don't remember much. I DO know that I did not, in fact, poop in the lobby.
Wednesday
Most of Wednesday was spent recovering and doing very foul things to the hotel toilet, but we had our game faces back on around 5PM or so. Well, technically, it happened accidentally. I was going with Farjar to find cigarettes (apparently there are no gas stations in Pittsburgh- all the cars must run on coal) and the store that we were directed to was inexplicably closed. Twenty feet away however was a sign outside of a dive bar that said "$1 drafts during happy hour"
Farjar: ::looks at watch, looks up at me::
Me: "Is it...?"
Farjar: ::nods::
Me: "Well... I AM thirsty..."
Farjar: ::nods, heads into bar::
Luckily, not only did they have $1 drafts, but they had an old school cigarette machine. We slammed down some drafts for a bit and met a lady who claimed to be an event planner for the Heinz museum. At this point I would like to elucidate you on the relative merits of my friends. Nerv is a guy who will never say never, never back down from a cold beer, and has put up with my constant hassling for almost a decade- all with good humor. Ten-inch, however, is a logistical master who can accomplish complex and confusing tasks that may require ingenuity with ease. Since I was away from the hotel and not technically game-ready, but I didn't want to stop drinking delicious cold beer, I made the following call:
Me: "Ten-inch. I need you to grab my Jersey, the tickets, the giant Cub fist, Farjar's shirt- and not the one from yesterday-, and grab a hotel key. Then round up Nerv and head downstairs to meet Rebecky. Give her the hotel key so she can park, wait for her, then go to a bar called Crystal with your drinking face on."
Ten-inch: "Gotcha."
Five minutes later, there they are. Man I love that.
Sadly the game Wednesday was rained out, which sucked. Two notable things happened:
1. When it stopped raining they sent out the grounds crew to get the field ready. Literally every one of these guys was alive during the civil war area and they had the worst equipment I've ever seen. They would take these wooden rake things and swirl the standing water in circles for a half hour. Why? No idea. After an hour and a half of this, they called the game. Wish they would have told us this sooner, as there are nicer places to keep your drunk going on $7 beers.
2. As I passed from our seating area to the concessions I would get heckled by this 15 year old pimply-faced kid and his loser-squad. "Hey, Hughes [I had a homemade jersey on that said "Hughes" with the number 720 to commemorate the great Cub radio announcer Pat Hughes] Cubs suck!" Or, "Hey again: Cubs still suck" or "Cubs suck- and 720's not even a real baseball number." I handled all of this with grace, and didn't say anything (surprising for me, I know) for at least 4 trips back and forth. Finally, on the last trip he said something again and I stopped and faced him. Here's what happened:
Me: I slowly drink a good half of my beer straight down and then make my "boy that's delicious!" face. Then I smack Rebecky on the ass [sorry about that]. "I have an ice cold delicious beer and a hot chick's ass; all you have are zits and a curfew. Pirates suck." Then, to his stunned silence, I turn around and walk back to my seats.
Childish? Maybe- but he started it.
After our rain-out, we head back to dive-bar because it had just our dive-y kind of feel. The bartender, Amy, was nice but we hassled her incessantly all night and steadfastly refused to call her anything but "Crystal", since that was the name of her aunt and the owner of the bar. I performed my quarter trick- a lot- and earned several rounds of free drinks from it and from a few other tricks I pull. One guy, "Hairplug", showed up and commenced into some general douchery, so we fucked with him off and on all night. For some unknown reason, Farjar had marked some of the quarters on the bar with a sharpie I had. That led to the following scenario:
Farjar: (interrupting me trying to insist to Hairplug that my heat-signature reading is for real and the result of years of practice) "Actually, he's even better than that. I bet if I throw these four quarters up in the air and catch them, Caleb can tell which one I touched.
Hairplug: "What? How could he know that?"
Farjar: "Just watch" He throws the quarters in the air, catches them, and holds them out to me. I pretend to consider, then pick one at random. "That's the one! Wow- too weird. How does he do it?"
Hairplug: "How do I know that was the one you picked?"
Farjar: Sees one of them has a Sharpie mark on it and holds it up. "See? I marked it so I'd know."
Hairplug guy actually thought this made sense. If you would have asked me beforehand whether I thought anyone really was that dumb, I would have told you no. I'm not right all the time I guess.
The last funny thing I remember happening is Farjar convincing "Crystal" that Nerv was a diabetic and that if he didn't get some nachos soon he would be risking a dangerous blood-sugar dip. Amazingly, she bought this (helped by Nerv's quick thinking and suddenly shaking hands) and talked the 18 year old cook to turn the kitchen back on and fire us up some nachos.
[As I read this, I have to change my assessment that I didn't almost get beat up. I did. When I was out smoking at the dive bar, this bulimic wine-drinking chick was out with me and flirting with me quite a bit. She was reading my palm and telling me things like "oh, I think this line means that you are quite ferocious in bed." Yeah, classy. I would have considered something, maybe, but she had black bulimia stains on her teeth (deal breaker). She begged me to show her the quarter trick back inside and when I did, her boyfriend at the bar stared daggers at me while sipping whiskey. Since he was obviously a fun-hating douchebag with his tie partly undone and a permenant scowl on his face, I didn't feel bad in the slightest and even hammed it up a little extra just for his benefit. As I told her funny stories and jokes, each peal of her puke-tainted laughter would send his eyes a shade darker. Luckily he was alone and I had some homies]
That pretty much sums up the trip, except for a few notes about Farjar and I fucking with Nerv.
1. Farjar steals- in plain sight- Nerv's ticket for the game then announces "okay everyone, make sure you have your ticket!" Nerv, sweating, furiously looks through his pockets and wallet for his ticket but all he can find is the stub from the first game. Wanting to save face, he claims that he "found it" and only later does Farjar let him know that he was the one who stole it. Nerv not amused.
2. On Thursday morning Farjar and I pile every blanket and pillow on top of a passed out Nerv without his knowledge. In a two bedroom suite with a pullout sofa and extra couch cushions, this is no small mountain of linen. Nerv not amused.
3. When Nerv is dropping a deuce in the hotel bathroom, Farjar turns off the light switch. Since the switch was on the outside of the bathroom instead of the inside, Nerv was not amused.
Surprisingly I didn't get beat up, kicked out of anywhere, or thrown in jail. I did, however, drink a can of warm Budlight on the carride from the airport to home. Stay classy, Pittsburgh.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)