Santa the Reindeer Molester

Yeah, you heard me right. Apparently Saint Nick likes to get a little bit too jolly… well at least according to the Little Theater of Alexandria (LTA), in their production of “The Eight: Reindeer Monologues.

 

Oh Santa! You're so naughty!

Oh Santa! You're so naughty!

Ok, so I’m guessing at this point you are asking yourself, “What the heck is ToBlogOr talking about???” (The answer? Does anyone really ever know? Probably not. But that’s the fun of this blog. I can talk about poop pretty much anything I want, blabber on and on and on aimlessly and without any intelligence or reason about nothing in particular and then make a crass joke or 2 or 9.)

Anyway, the point is here that I saw a show last week. An “adult humor” show at LTA that started at 10:30pm. I was excited to attend a show with “adult humor” because to me, that translates into stupid jokes with boobs.

But oooooooh was I wrong. While there were a few stupid jokes, the only boobs were the audience members who paid to see the show.

[Editor’s Note: Sorry GF, I know you paid for the tickets and were really excited to take us, but seriously??]

So, the show was basically a rant by 8 reindeer who all mostly talked about how Santa molested them, and Mrs. Claus was a saggy old cougar who shamelessly hit on all the elves.

The producer/director had a chance to put on the show in 2 ways:

Way #1 (i.e. the preferable way): Sarcastic and crass yet still funny and a bit light hearted.

Way #2 (i.e. the uhhh other way): Bitter and angry and performed as if you had serious parental issues when growing up.

It had such potential, but the show just left me feeling empty and dirty. Plus, the last thing I really wanted to know was that Cupid is gay, Dasher is a bad actor, Comet is a big-time druggie, and Vixen is a nasty slut. Oh, and did I mention that apparently Rudolph is retarded and has been institutionalized?

This wasn’t adult humor, this was a show meant to crush the happy spirits of human beings around the world.

The producer/director/creator/janitor of this show are Emotional Terrorists.

Maybe they were deeply entrenched members of Al Qaeda.  Hamas? Also a possibility as well.  Republicans?  Definitely.

Either way, they should be immediately shipped off to Guantanamo Bay with the other terrorists!

(You might note that I’m feeling a biiiiit strongly about this.  But come on!  It’s the Christmas Season, the last thing I want to think about 10:30 at night is reindeer sodomy.  And I’m not talking about the fun kind of sodomy.  I’m talking Santa-with-an-elf-tattooed-on-his-wang kind of sodomy.  And I’m not even kidding here.  They talked about that!)

Luckily, as a Jew, I don’t have to worry about it too much.  Yeah, it kills the holiday spirit a bit, but Santa never really visited my house, so who cares… right?

Now Hanukkah Harry?   That’s a different story.

He would never get caught with his pants down around a couple of hairy reindeer.  No, we Jews don’t do that kind of thing.

I would imagine if good ole HH were to get busted, it’d probably be for  insider trading or matzoh ball smuggling.

Santa the Reindeer Molester

 

And that would be sad.  Because who else would deliver my presents this holiday season?

————————————————-

I wish you all a very happy holiday season!

How a Muppet Got Me Fired

Well, I’ve been in Boston the last couple of days, primarily snowed in.  They got, I’d say, hmmm about 16 inches or so of snow between Friday and Sunday.   Coming from DC, I don’t think we’ve had 16 inches of snow the last 3 winters combined.

I might have been slightly unprepared for the weather.

Not too unprepared, mind you.  I’ve lived in snow country before, so I showed up with my snazzy North Face jacket (with associated fleece zip-in thingie) and my super-awesome gore-tex skiing gloves.  I also had my very fashionable ear-muff things that wrap around the back of your head, so you don’t mess up your hair too badly.

This is where things started going wrong.

Firstly, in order to make room for extra clothing that GF required I bring along… I had to leave my moon snow boots home.

I also forgot what it was like to trudge around in 20 degree weather while being pelted with snow moving somewhere between 20 and 40 mph.

I needed a hat.  Badly.

We’ll just forget that the trip involved me trudging around in 16 inches of snow in a tuxedo and patent leather shoes… that’s a story for another day.

My head was freakin’ freezing.

So, I did what any other upstanding gentleman would do in this situation.

I went to the nearest Filene’s Basement to get the cheapest hat possible.

Luckily, they were having a 25% off sale on everything, so I found 2 or 3 hats that would work.

But ohhhhhhh nooooooo those wouldn’t do for GF.  No, she had a plan.  She wanted me to look “cute.”

She picked out one of those skiing type hat things with the built in ear muffs and a pom-pom on the top.

I immediately nixed that idea, but she would not relent.  And then she got her family involved, and they all convinced me that this hat was the most appropriate and logical choice.

For accuracy’s sake, I even took a picture for you:

How a Muppet Got Me Fired

Those conniving Bostonians…. they must have been conspiring behind my back, because they obviously had a plan.

They wanted me to look just like Gonzo.

Being a Jew and all, I have a bit of a nose on me.  And by a bit of a nose, I mean I once got a t-shirt from friends with the following picture on it, because they said it reminded them of me:

How a Muppet Got Me Fired

So, as you can see. Very Gonzo-like.

So, let’s fast-forward to today. I was having a very nice online conversation with the always super awesome, and finely-boobed haired Lemmonex. I was telling her this little story, when I decided that it would be a good idea to elaborate by showing her a picture.

I mean, a picture is worth a thousand words, right??

So, I pulled up my trusty google images, and went searching – and that’s where it all went so, so wrong.

All of a sudden I was assaulted with pictures of women in hats doing unmentionable things, and err well, other pictures of women with pom-poms in their uhhhh no-no spot.

On my work computer.

Where they tightly track everything I do.

You see, there’s the muppet’s Gonzo, a sweet little quirky alien type being.  And then there’s the branch of pornography known as “gonzo.”

Oops?

So no, y’all don’t get a cute picture of gonzo in a pom-pom hat.

Now I just gotta find a way to bribe IT security to look the other way.

Or else I will truly be able to say:  A Muppet got me fired.

TMI Thursday: Attack of the Feminine Product

And yes.  I’m male.

So I’m sitting at my desk chatting with a whole bunch of co-workers.  I turn my chair and my coat falls on the ground.

Female Coworker: “Hey, your coat fell, you might want to pick it up.”

Me: “Oh thanks!”

So I grab my coat and pick it up and hang it on the back of my chair.

The room suddenly gets really quiet.

So I turn around, and notice everyone staring, mouth agape, at the floor under my chair.

After an awkward pause.

FC: “Uhh, is that what I think it is?”

Fuck.  What did I just drop?  A condom?  Did I have a bottle of lube in my pocket?  A vibrator?  A 12 inch dildo?  Shitshitshitshitshit what did I have in that coat??????

I look down…. and the blood rushes from my head.

Keeping in mind that there are now 5 of my co-workers standing around….

And there, sitting on the floor, under my chair was…..

a tampon.

It was very clear to the entire room that the tampon came from my coat.  There was no other explanation.

Uhhhh what do I say? Err uhhh I get really bad nose bleeds a lot and so I keep it around just incase? No no no they won’t buy that.  Uhhh I have a tendency to crap my pants, so when I’m really really nervous I pop it on in just incase?  Yuck.  No.  Uhhhh shit I’m running out of time.  Quick! What’s the excuse here?????

So, I did the only thing I could think of at that moment:  I said oops yep, picked it up, and put it right back in my inside pocket in my jacket as if this was completely normal.

Keeping in mind that my face was 17 shades of red.

I guess I must have shoved one in my pocket for GF at some point in the past and forgotten about it.  Can we all say “whooooooops” together now?

Oh well.  I guess it could have always been worse.

It could have been used.

(Pause for “Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwws”)

ToBlogOr's Pocket Buddy

ToBlogOr's Pocket Buddy

But wait, there’s more!

In honor of TMI Thursday – I am posting a list of my favorite TMI Search terms from this past week.  Keep in mind, not only were these people searching for these disgusting things…. they found MY blog using them.

TMI Thursday: Search Terms Edition


  • how long it takes to poop out food
  • naked hairy man on bed
  • two muscular hairy guys fucking
  • men with really hairy butts
  • smurf asshole
  • i have hair everywhere
  • i have a hard time passing my poop out
  • hairy balls porn
  • what do genital crabs look like
  • i hate pooping in public bathrooms (Amen brotha!)
  • suck a christmas dick
  • old farts on bicycles
  • fat ball sack
  • gay hairy asshole
  • “i had bad gas” fart
  • gravity and pooping
  • how long it takes you to poop
  • how long to push for pooping
  • sexy bathroom poop
  • toilet paper stuck in crack
  • hairy muscle gay bears
  • guys poop more then women
  • how to get rid of little bitches
  • hair continues down neck women hairy
  • why does my girlfriend act like a little bitch

And my favorite for the week:

  • do all dogs have hairy ass holes

So, with that, I wish you all a fabulously fantastic TMI Thursday!

Spank Me, I’m Naughty!

I’m a bad person.  Not so bad as to say, be sent to be somebody’s butt buddy in prison….. buuuuuut perhaps just bad enough to receive a swift smack in the ass once in a while.

I don’t mind though.  Why?  Because if someone is going to spank me, then I’m allowed to give them a good spanking back…. and who doesn’t enjoy a good spanking once in a while? 

Apparently there’s quite a debate on each side of the issue, which I would love to weigh in on, but unfortunately, my company has blocked my every attempt to learn more about the issue.  Apparently someone IN MANAGEMENT (I’m looking at you!) needs a good spanking!!

So, I can’t vouch for it, but if you are interested in this topic, feel free to go here, and let me know if there are any pictures of naked boobies. I did discover this little beauty of a story at “Marie Claire” that involves a wussy guy getting spanked at a strip club. 

So where was I?

Oh yes, I’m naughty.

How naughty might you wonder? 

 

The 12 Reasons Why I Need a Spanking

 

I use my DVR to skip commercials

  • What can I say?  I don’t like watching really bad holiday commercials over and over and over and over again.  If I hear the “Every kiss begins with Kay” jingle one more time, someone’s gonna pay.  If networks still ran commercials like this one, I might actually consider watching ‘em more often.

I reused a stamp once

  • This is a hard one to admit, since it’s sort of actually really kind of illegal.  I think the post office just sort of forgot to mark it up, and well, I was really lazy and didn’t feel like dragging my ass out to the Post Office in a bind and really really needed a stamp for my Playboy subscription renewal letter a really important document.

I threw out a soda can instead of recycling it

  • I  was walking on the street and there wasn’t a recycling bin around.  I knew I should have just stuck it in my laptop bag, but well, who really wants a dirty can dripping all over their laptop?  I deserve an extra spanking because, when I threw out the can, I justified it by thinking “hmm, well that’ll just get picked up later by a random bum anyhow.”

I copied a friend’s Menudo cd so I could listen to it in my car

  • I’ve been worried that the music industry will sue the hell out of me ever since that fateful day.  And yes, I should be spanked extra hard for just mentioning Menudo.

 
Spank Me, I'm Naughty!

I use pictures on my blog without getting permission

  • I could ask permission, but I’m in a hurry, and really who wants to wait several weeks while I get my lawyers to talk to your lawyers and blah blah blah.  I want my Menudo picture, and I want it NOW.  (But seriously, how awesome is that picture??)

I accidentally took a picture of my girlfriend’s boobs once (or twice)

  • I swear it was accidental.  I swear that I deleted it immediately after I downloaded it to my private collection for future viewing ward.

I took 2 samples of the fudge when I was grocery shopping at Harris Teeter

  • I just couldn’t resist.  I was hungry.  It was tasty.  No one was looking. 

I accidentally threw out a tray at the cafeteria… and didn’t retrieve it out of the garbage can

  • I had all good intentions of putting it back, but then I got distracted and accidentally dropped it right on in.  And c’mon, do you really expect me to reach my arm down into that disgusting trash can and fish it out?  I’d rather be spanked with a spiked paddle, thankyouverymuch.

I parked in a “compact car only” spot, even though my car is clearly not “compact”

  • Why are all the best spots always reserved for people who are “handicapped” or have really freakin’ small cars?  I mean, what about us with bigger cars?  Screw y’all – the spot looks big enough, so I’m taking it.  And besides,  the model I drive was compact back in ’82, so I’m grandfathered in.

 
Spank Me, I'm Naughty!
 

I made a right turn on red at 7:12am at a corner where there was a sign that said “No Right Turn 7am – 7pm”

  • Turning right on red is a 1st amendment right, so those signs are unconstitutional.  Why?  Freedom of religion.  Mostly because I religiously cut people off.

I used my company phone to make a long distance phone call

  • Apparently this is stealing or something…. but I don’t want to use up all my minutes while I’m sitting at work.  I mean, I have this perfectly wonderfully functional phone sitting in front of me, so why shouldn’t I use it?  And have you seen the long distance rates for calling Sri Lanka on a cell phone??? Jeez!

I bought food for my company potluck

  •  And unwrapped it and put it in a nice bowl, and told everyone it was my mother’s secret recipe.  In fact, I have a potluck today, and I’m bringing a traditional Philly delicacy for everyone to try.

I guess I know what list Santa has me on this yeah, eh?  Luckily I’m a Jew, so I don’t have to worry about that whole coal thing.   And since Arjewtino is already intimately familiar with my ass – I know I’ll be getting my payback for all my sins soon.

Speaking of Arjewtino, here’s a guy who REALLY deserves a good spanking.

So what have you done to deserve a spanking?

Free Money

I need better friends.  I love y’all out there, but really, I need you to start stepping up to the plate a little bit more and do your part.

I need friends like Bernard Madoff. 

You know that guy – he’s been in the news all week with the whole money scandal thingie.

Ok ok, so the guy might not exactly be the most honest or forthright guy, but that doesn’t make him a bad friend.  You see, apparently he was just about to turn himself in when the police got him.  The only reason he hadn’t turned himself in yet is that he had an extra $200 or $300 million left over that he wanted to split up among family, friends, and some staff.

WHAT THE FUCK??

Why can’t I have friends like this?

 

My New BFF

My New BFF

 

I mean, little ole ToBlogOr wouldn’t mind an extra mil or 2 to have as pocket change.   I mean, I’m a pretty darn good friend – I think I’m worth it!

And that got me thinking.  I think my friendship is pretty worthwhile.  I bring a lot to the table. 

So, if you happen to have some extra cash you are thinking to give to a friend or 5….

Even if you don’t really know me…

12 Reasons Why You Should Give Me Free Money

 

I update my Facebook status fairly often

  • Since we’re friends, you’ll never have to wonder what I’m up to.  This will help save you time and stress during your day, since you’ll know that I’m currently “bored at my desk” or “heading to poop – back in 30.”

I don’t give worthless holiday presents

  • You’re already rich, so you don’t need me buying you any crap.  On the crap-o-meter, holiday gifts from friends generally score fairly high, mostly because they are re-gifts from other friends from past holidays…. like that inflatable moose head you got me a couple of years back.   I’m such a good friend that this year I won’t get you anything.

I’ll write really nice things about in my blog

  • Millions upon millions Tens upon tens of people read my blog.  I’ll give you all sorts of props and tell everyone how amazingly wonderful you are.  Everyone needs some positive press, and I’m here for you.  Of course,  I won’t say anything about the money, that just stays between us mostly because if you have any extra, I don’t want those greedy bastards getting their paws on it.

I won’t write anything about you in my blog

  • Who am I kidding?  You probably don’t want any press at all, especially written by a hack like me.  Let’s keep your name out of the press and besides I’m super lazy anyway and that’ll free up some extra time so I can write another entry about important things like poop.

Loyalty

  • Unlike your heartless family, I won’t be so uncaring as to turn you into the cops or the security and exchange commission.  I mean, who really cares that you swindled like $50 billion or something like that?  Who cares that that you screwed over thousands of retirees and fruity non-profits?  In the end, that’s chump change next to all those other crafty financial firms.  The difference?  Those firms fucked my 401k, but you hooked me up big time.  I never saw a thing, you can trust me unless the reward for turning you in is more than what you gave me.  Sorry man, business is business.

I’ll let you use my place for the inaugural ball (or GF’s) for free

  • It’s the hottest ticket in DC, and you’ll have your choice of places to stay.  I’m such a good friend, in exchange for your millions of dollars, I’ll let you stay in one of our crappy apartments for free!  I’m saving you at least $350 a night right there, and I’ll even provide freshish sheets and towels that I think I washed last month.

I’ll buy you a copy of “Brewster’s Millions

  • Ok, so the movie is a bit out of date, but it’s still inspiring.  The dude (played by Richard Pryor) had to give away $30 mil in 30 days, in order to get his mega-inheritance.  It’s like your life story!  Giving money away to random people for no reason other than to get MORE money! 

I’ll set the time on your VCR

  • I don’t have many skills, but this is one of them.  I don’t know if you still use a VCR, or if anyone actually still uses a VCR, but I’m damn good at getting rid of the blinky 12:00′s.

I won’t forget your birthday

  • I have a fantastic memory for this kind of crap stuff.  Just like clockwork, each and every year I’ll send you happy birthday wishes as long as we’re friends on Facebook and I remember to log in and see whose birthday is coming up.

I know all the best free porn sites

  • Ok, fine, so you’re mega-rich, but NOTHING beats free porn.  And I know all the very best free porn sites.  I have many other friends who can vouch for this talent.  I would give you a taste of the depth of my knowledge, but “Big Brother” tracks me here at work, and I need to keep my job until your check clears.

I am a master googler

  • Looking for something and just can’t figure it out?  I am your man.  I surf the internet aimlessly research like no one’s business.  Not looking for anything?  Well then I can tell you important facts like how to change your google interface language to Elmer Fudd or Swedish Chef Speak (bork! bork! bork!).  Ee’m feeleeng loocky!

I’ll visit you in jail

  • Oh yeah, you’re going to jail.  Sorry about the dude.  Well, don’t fret, I’ll be your #1 friend and visit you all the time.  Well, except if you are sent to supermax, or any prison facility I can’t metro to.  (Correllary: find out if they offer conjugal visits with hot female inmates.  If so, I’ll be there every weekend!)

So, you see?  I’m like the greatest friend you’ve always wanted, but never had the time to find.

How’s this sound?  Let’s go out later tonight and grab a drink and catch up.  I want to hear about what’s going on in your life, ’cause it’s really been too long since we last hung out.

The first round is on me!  Just go ahead and subtract it out of that check you owe me….

My Deepest Darkest Secrets

This whole metrosexual thing really bothers me sometimes.  It’s kind of like Bon Jovi for men.  You see, most of us deny that we like Bon Jovi, yet we’re all secretly excited when “Bad Medicine” comes on the radio.  You don’t have to admit it to me, but I know you have all the words memorized.

So, why does this whole metrosexual thing bother me?  Because it conflicts with my manly-man side.  It’s really like I have multiple personalities, where half of me is like John Wayne:

 
My Deepest Darkest Secrets
 

And the other half is like Nathan Lane:

 
My Deepest Darkest Secrets
 

And the John Wayne side wants to beat the snot out of the Nathan Lane side for even considering getting a manicure.

The culmination of this internal battle royale came last night, when I did something that I may regret for the rest of my life.

I applied a facial moisturizing mask. 

Voluntarily. 

And I enjoyed it.

WAIT!

Ok, before you get all up in arms, I know that there is no acceptable excuse or explanation.  I will not try to defend myself here, but I will provide some context:  It was free, the product was made in Israel by Jews (gotta support the tribe!), GF and I did it together, and I was blackmailed by Columbian Drug Czars. 

Let the public flogging begin.

You see, I was already cringing with embarrassment when I was applying  a thin layer of paste evenly over my face while making sure I avoided the area just around my eyes. 

And then I got to thinking, while I was letting it set for 10 to 12 minutes.  (But not too intensely thinking, as to avoid inadvertently removing any paste before the time was up.) 

And then it came to me… while I was gently removing the mask with warm water.

No one really cares.

Except for me.

I alone am causing myself this stress.  My John Wayne side is embarrassed about all the girly things my Nathan Lane side likes…. and my Nathan Lane side is embarrassed about all the neanderthalish things that my John Wayne side likes.

I’ve been harboring all sorts of fears, and resentments, and embarrassments over my likes and dislikes, and it has to come to an end.  I need to come clean.  Because once it’s out in the open, I can truly feel comfortable with who am I.  I need John and Nathan to be comfortable with each other, and maybe even man-cuddle once in a while.

It’s going to be tough, I have some secrets that are so deep and dark that I shiver even thinking about admitting them in public.  But I know it must be done.  I’m doing this to improve my life, and to be an inspiration to other men in my position all over this fine planet.

So world?  I’m coming out of the closet.  NO, I’m not gay.  I’m not a metro-sexual.  I’m a metro-man-ual.

 

The 6 Confessions of Why I’m a Woman

 

Getting Clear

  • I was looking at my face one day many eons ago and I really didn’t like how clogged all my pores looked in my nose.  I thought to myself, hmm maybe I could use a piece of tape and that might help unclog them.  And then I learned there’s a product out there that does the same thing, and isn’t as harsh on the skin.  So yes, I’ve used Bioré Face Strips.

Yummy face-yness

  • It was free, and it happened in the back woods of Vermont.  I had some dude give me a face/head/neck/shoulder massage for like 30 minutes.  He used hot towels on my face.  And then he cleared all my clogged pores.  And my skin felt all soft afterward.  Yes world, it’s true.  I had a “Man Facial.”  And you know what?  I’d do it again.

I pay more than $20 for a haircut

  • I got faked into this one, because I have a friend who is a hair stylist.  One thing led to another, and suddenly I had this lady giving me head/neck massages while washing my hair.  What can I say?  I’m a sucker for a good head rub.

I love shoes

  • I can’t travel with less than 3 pairs of shoes.  In fact, I get excited when I get a DSW coupon in the mail ($20 by December 24th!).  So what if I leave the shoe store with more boxes than GF???

I like nice soap

  • No, I might not use body wash, but I love me some nice smelly soaps.  I’m not talking Irish Spring, I’m talking the good stuff you can buy at those girly stores like Bath and Body Works and the like.  It pains me to even say it, but I…. *deep breath deep breath* …. I…. know how to spell exfoliation.  And I can’t live without it.

I dig a good chick-flick

  • I recently saw “The Holiday”…… and I liked it.  In fact, I even watched the entire Sex in the City series.  Of course, I do still have a pair of testicles, so there are some lines I just can’t cross – so, I haven’t seen Steel Magnolias or Fried Green Tomatoes.  Though, I might have read “The Bridges of Madison County” and teared up.  (you like how I snuck that last fact in?  So sue me, I read it, I liked it, and I did it for a girl… that I never even hooked up with.  I sure was a sucker on that deal, eh?)

My deepest darkest secret

  • I enjoy reading People Magazine.  And Us Weekly.  Whoa.  Talk about a load off my chest.  It was getting expensive having to keep going to the doctor JUST so I could read the most recent copies. 

 

The 6 Confessions of Why I’m a Man

 

My Massive Tool…… Box

  • I own a huge tool box with just about every hand tool known to mankind.  I haven’t used half of them, but I am prepared incase just about anything breaks.  I even own a 6 inch Medium Mill Bastard File, just incase I ever have to file a bastard.  And yes, power tools give me an erection.

Size Matters

  • When it comes to multi-media products.  I have huge-ass speakers that are totally inappropriate for the size of my apartment.  But who cares?  They look great.  And no, I’m not  compensating.   Though watching action movies on a 50+ inch widescreen TV does make my balls bigger.

I Love Sports

  • If sports are on TV, I cannot tear my eyes away.  It doesn’t matter what sport it is… football, hockey, boxing, UFC, bull riding, golf, tennis, basketball, greco-roman wrestling, badminton, etc.  If it’s on, I’m watching it.  The bloodier, the better.   Multiply this by 623 when Philadelphia sports teams are on the tube.  Hell,  I even teared up when the Phillies won the world series.

I fart/burp

  • Publicly.  And take credit for my work.  That is all.

Grill me

  • I can’t really cook a lick in a kitchen, but stick me in front of a grill, and I can create a gourmet meal.  I think, genetically, all men are able to cook using fire.  It’s like a caveman thing.

I hug

  • No, not a wussy-man hug.  A MAN hug.  My only question is: who was the brilliant person who designed it?  It’s a recent development and whoever designed it needs to win a Nobel or something.   

Bonus Confession

  • I don’t use “product.”  In spite of all you’ve read above, I don’t actually own any moisturizers or anything like that I use on a regular basis… other than deodarant.  I have some sort of aftershavey type stuff, but I haven’t used it in ages.  Sometimes I feel like I really should be using some stuff, but the product aisle always confuses me.  This makes my John Wayne side happy.

So there you have it.  The cat’s out of the bag.  You now know my deepest darkest secrets. 

I’d write more about my feelings and stuff, but I don’t really have time for that right now.

The new US Weekly just came in, and I have some reading to do.

Oprah Pissing Makes Me Hard

I had some real excitement on that first date.  And I don’t mean “excitement” in a good way.  I mean that it in the, oh-shit-I’m-about-to-be-really-embarrassed-and-people-will-talk-about-this-for-years-to-come-and-I’ll-never-live-it-down kind of way.

Or I’ll just harbor the embarrassment for 10 years and blog about it when I can finally find it amusing.

The year is 1998, and I had just moved down to the DC area.  I didn’t really know a whole lot of people, but I was kinda social and ended up meeting a gal through a co-worker at a happy hour.   She was fun.  She was attractive.  She was interesting.  And she apparently really liked tall geeky dudes.  Saweeeeeeeeet.

So…. almost exactly 10 years ago I grew a set of balls and asked her out.

I was young and hadn’t really dated a whole lot before, so I was pretty stoked about the whole thing.

Our first date?  A movie.

Yes yes yes ok ok yes I know I know, I violated one of my own rules – but I hadn’t created the rules list yet, ok?  Get off my back.

So, we meet up at the super classy Centreville Multiplex Cinemas to see “Beloved” – a movie that includes a scene with Oprah Winfrey peeing standing up.  Ok ok, maybe not the best 1st date movie, but I think LiLu would approve.

Anyway, so we find our seats, and have a nice little chit-chat beforehand.  Since we didn’t have any dinner beforehand, it was a good time to get to know each other a little bit better.  It worked out well since the movie started about 30 minutes late, because they apparently forgot to “turn it on.”

But I digress.

So, the lights dim, and we’re sitting there, practically alone in the theater, watching a pretty deep movie about slaves and stuff.

And then it happened.

She touched me.

Apparently this is what happens when you go on a date with someone who likes you.  They touch you.  In completely inappropriate places.  Like on my hand.  AND my arm.

Holyshitholyshitholyshit She’s touching me.  What do I do?  Do I hold her hand?  Do I touch her back?  Do I just grab her boob now and get it over with?  Argh!

So we’re sitting here watching this movie, and I’m internally freaking out because I’m completely clueless.  And excited.  And nervous.

And I have a huge boner.

Fuck! Go away! Stop it! What are you DOING?? This is NOT a sexy movie!  We just saw Oprah Winfrey piss standing up.  And it wasn’t a sexy piss either!  Argh! She’s gonna think I’m a freak because I’m all hard over Oprah.  FFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKK!

Yeah.  I had a HUGE problem.  (and yes, I mean huge *wink wink* )

Firstly, here I am on a first date and I’ve popped a major woody.  Secondly, I had absolutely no way to hide it.  I was wearing a nice flannel shirt, tucked into my acid washed jeans (shut UP, it was 1998 ok???).  It was so obvious I could have just hung a flag from it and we could have all said the pledge of allegience to my crotch.

The Star Spangled Crotch

The Star Spangled Crotch

What the hell do I do?  I don’t want to let go of her hand or accidentally push her away – I like her!  But at the same time, if she sees this, is she going to still like me?  Probably not.

I make the executive decision and shift a bit in my seat.

Ooof.  Ok.  that’s a bit better.  You can’t really see it anymore…. but errgh now my leg is starting to go numb.  Crap.

So, as you can see, this date is going really well by now.

You may not know this about guys, but when we get….er…. excited, it sets off a chain of events that cannot be stopped.  Step 2 of surgation is the release of a small amount of lubricatory liquid.  This is unavoidable.  In normal circumstances, undergarments are enough of a barrier to keep things on the down-low.  But not when your jimmy is straining at your zipper.

Wet spot.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I try to subtly blow on my crotchel region.  That said, in public it is not possible to subtly blow on your groin and still have it be either 1: subtle or 2: effective.

The spot keeps growing and I start realizing that I’m really in trouble here.  At this point, I start to think that I might be better off if I had just crapped my pants instead.  Maybe not.

Anyway, let’s recap.

We are an hour into date #1.  The girl is touching me completely inappropriately, I have a stiffy the size of the Washington Memorial, and keeping with the DC theme, an appropriately placed “tidal basin.”  Did I mention that I had completely lost feeling in my left leg about 20 minutes earlier?

I figured I had three choices at this point.

  1. Fake death.  If I just slump over and die, maybe she would just get up and leave.  Or when she called 911 and the ambulances comes, I can just explain the wet-spot away as a side-effect from the massive heart attack I apparently had.
  2. Crawl to the bathroom and try to fix things.  Have you ever seen a movie theater floor though??  Yeah, this one was out immediately.
  3. Hope God hears my pleas for help and things clear up before the lights come back up.

Being the optimist I am, I vote for #3.

Another hour goes by, and things don’t get any better.  I try to shift around in my seat, but nothing works.  The wet-spot has subsided a bit, but in its stead, I now have a nasty looking stain.  And both of my legs have fallen asleep.

Hello God, it’s me ToBlogOr.  Why do you only help that Margaret chick?  This isn’t FUNNY ANYMORE.

The movie ends.

[Insert continuous stream of expletives]

I convince her to stay and watch the credits with me… because I really want to know who the assistant 2nd grip is.  Plus, hopefully the extra time will help me formulate a real plan.  A plan that will help me get out of this situation with at least a shred of dignity.  A plan that involves never having to stand up ever again.

We sit…. we wait…… she keeps petting my arm….. I keep sweating….. and bulging….

The credits are winding down, and I’m running out of excuses as to why we have to stay….

Marty Elfalan …. assistant accountant
Pablo Ferro …. title designer: main title sequence
Peg Flynn …. office and stage production assistant
Elena Gavrilova …. assistant: Rachel Portman
Bob George …. invaluable assistance

Invaluable assistance.  heh heh Nice title buddy.  Hmmm… actually. I could really use some invaluable assistance right now….

And then I saw a bright light…

God? Is that you?  Are you coming to save me?  Bob George??????

But no, it was just the theater lights coming back on, and I was on my own.

My date stands up, and I am royally fuck-a-doo’ed.

I start to stand up…. and I do the only thing that came to my head….

I start humping her leg.

Just kidding.

I try to nonchalantly un-tuck my shirt.  It’s a bit awkward, but it gets the job done.  Sort of.

Of course, at this point, she doesn’t really care about my crotch.  Why?  Because both my legs are completely asleep and I have to lean on her for support as we limp out of the movie theater.

Maybe Bob George really did have a plan, since she just ended up thinking I was cute with my whole invalid act… and she agreed to go out with me again

Of course, our 2nd date involved seeing “What Dreams May Come” which is about a guy who dies, and his wife commits suicide…

More hard-ons?

That’s a story for another day…

And another set of underwear.