I am a Criminal

Bet you didn’t know you were hangin’ with a bad boy, now didja?

I’m like Ben Wade from “3:10 to Yuma“

I’m a likeable character with a mean streak.  I’m witty, I’m intelligent, I’ll shoot ya dead from 200 yards for just lookin’ at me funny.

I’m a bad ass mo-fo.

Well, about as bad-ass as a yuppy jew with euro-preppy glasses can be.

 

 

But don’t tell anyone.

I’m on the run.

It’s been that way for a long time….  Several times, the authorities have closed in, but I always seem to wiggle out of a tight situation. 

It’s stressful.  I’m always looking over my shoulder.  Always planning my next move.  Making sure I stay one step ahead.   That’s the life of a criminal.  And I like it.

I normally would keep this kind of thing a secret, but I’m being blackmailed.  Charlotte Harris has been threatening to reveal my dark-side to the rest of the world for quite some time now.  And I’m tired of it.  Tired of all the crazy things she’s forced me to do, while holding this over me.  So Ms. Harris, I will no longer peel all your grapes.  I will no longer watch repeats of “Britney and Kevin” with you.  And I certainly will no longer clean your toilet while dressed in a catholic school girl uniform (though that uniform is MINE.  I want it back!)

So the cat is out of the bag.

You see, I’ve been living in DC for almost 2 years…..

And I still have Virginia plates.

It’s shocking, I know, so I’ll give you a moment to collect your thoughts and change your now-soiled underwear.

Don’t be scared.  I’m not a bad person, I swear.   Ok, ok I might be a bit of a hypocrite, with my rants against Virginia drivers.  But being a hypocrite isn’t against the law.  Not registering my car in DC?  Well, that might be another story.

So – why don’t I just make the change?

Because I hate the DC Parking Authority.

You see, when I moved into the District, I had grand plans to switch my plates and license over and become one of the few, one of the proud, one of the complainiest people known to man-kind.  A DC resident.  Of course, I would be a unique DC resident, because I own a car. 

I now know why this was so out of the ordinary.

The moment I moved into the District, the tickets started flowing in.  It was a slow trickle at first…. maybe a $30 ticket twice a month.  Nothing I couldn’t handle…. right?  I was living the good life, right up until the day that will live in infamy.

The day I met Rosa.

No, Rosa isn’t a saucy little latino babe.  Rosa is the DC Parking Authority’s trump card. 

You see, the DC Parking Authority is the lovechild of the Nazi’s and this guy:

 

Pure evil totalitarianism combined with blatant stupidity.

Only an organization as devious as this could create Rosa.

Not familiar with Rosa?  Neither was I.

One day I woke up and I had a ticket on my car that was stamped “ROSA.”  It didn’t have any charge associated with it, so I just chucked it out and forgot all about it.

That’s how they get you.  They lull you to sleep.  You see,  Rosa stands for “Registered Out-of-State Automobiles.”

In normal english, that seems a bit innocuous, right?  But in Parking Authority Lingo that actually stands for “we’re-putting-you-on-a-list-and-we-will-track-your-every-movement-with-a-gps-device-we-secretly-injected-into-your-brainstem-and-when-you-step-away-from-your-car-for-3-minutes-or-longer-we-will-give-you-the-largest-ticket-possible-just-because-ha-ha-ha-who-is-the-asshole-now-you-dumbass-Virginia-resident”

$30 ticket, $50 ticket, $100 ticket, $200 ticket.  They started flowing in faster than farts out my ass when I’m nervous.

It didn’t matter what I did.  I couldn’t avoid them.

In fact, I would get tickets when I didn’t even deserve them.  They would just drive by my car and give it a ticket.  Of course, contesting a ticket gets you nowhere, so I was at their mercy…..

And that’s when it became a challenge.  I could not let them win.  It might involve breaking the law, but I was going to take a fundamental stand against the Evil Empire.  You cannot question my manhood and get away with it.  DC Parking Authority…. my reproductive organ is BIGGER than yours.  Bring it on!

In case you wondered, in ToBlogOr lingo, “taking a fundamental stand against the Evil Empire” translates into “getting-a-garage-parking-spot-as-soon-as-fucking-possible-before-I-go-bankrupt.”

So, now I pay a pretty hefty fee each month to keep my car parked safely indoors.  Safe from the weather.  Safe from the Adams Morgan hoodlums that will break my windows with a shopping cart for no apparent reason.  And most importantly, safe from the Parking Authority Nazi’s.

Of course, I could just save the money and register my car in DC, but no…. DC is already using all the funds they sucked from me to throw a pretty nice Inaugural Ball…. and didn’t even f’n invite me!

I’m not completely safe though.  I still have to venture out of my safe haven once in a while.  You see, GF also lives in DC, and when I stay over at her place, my soft-Virginia-plated-underbelly is exposed.

Being a criminal is an exciting life.  Not everyone can handle the pressure, but I thrive in it.

Except on the last Tuesday of every month, because that’s when Rosa comes out to play.

A Return to Wedgieville

My 15 year high school reunion is this coming weekend.

FUCK.  When did I suddenly get old?

I swear it was just yesterday when I was going to college and getting bombed any night of the week was ok because I didn’t wake up the next morning with a huge hangover and have to write a blog tribute to my toilet.  How did 15 years go by so fast?

Ahhh high school.  The time of my life where I was so awkward, that the word awkward even picked on me.

I used to be short and scrawny.  Quiet.  Bookish.  I was a pretty good musician so everyone knew who I was, but no one really knew me.  I was an unknown.  Nerdy and badly dressed with huge ass shiny gold rimmed glasses.  The technical term that defined me was “bully bait.”

My senior year of high school, I was about 3 votes short of winning the award for “Most Unique.”   Yeah, you know that award.  “Most Unique” really stands for “Most-Likely-to-Get-Beaten-Up-By-a-Woman-in-a-Bar-Fight” (oh, wait, I won that one in college…) 

Fortunately there was this guy named Dennis Moon who ended up edging me out, and hence is forever remembered as the weird guy in our yearbook.  My singular remembrance of him is playing together on a soccer team and he wore a lavender sweat suit and a helmet. 

I’ve grown up a bit since then. 

I’ve filled out.  I learned how to dress myself.  I gained social skills and confidence.  I’m in shape, have all of my hair, and have a really good job.  My girlfriend is both smart AND hot.  I’m also a blogger, and we all know that bloggers are the coolest people ever.

So you know what?  I am going to own this reunion.

Why?

Because time has a way of evening up the playing field. 

Those so-called popular kids are now balding and overweight.  They still look back on their high school years as the best years of their life.

Think:

or

or

Painful, isn’t it? 

When it comes right down to it, those old popular kids are no match for me now, just as back-in-the-day I was no match for them.

I’ve entertained thoughts of verbally gouging a whole long list of people who had wronged me in one way or another.  It would be like fishing in a barrel.  I could go back and make the whole school look like the idiots they are, and I would have fun doing it. 

And then I had a realization. 

If I go back to my reunion all bitter and angry with the purpose of showing people up…. I’d be no better than them, though I have a couple of pairs of vengeful underwear that would disagree.

The thing is, I don’t need to laugh at their crappyness to validate what I’ve done with my life.  I’ve grown up and become successful on my own.  I don’t need to shove their heads in a toilet and flush insult them to make myself look good. 

Just showing up is going to be victory enough.

The GPS set, the course is plotted.  Look out kids, I’ll be taking the high road in my return to Wedgieville.

Scared Shitless

Public bathrooms are like Satan.  There’s nothing good about Satan, but you just have to sort of accept that he exists and get on with life. 

Well, except that I’m a Jew and we don’t believe in hell.  Let’s just forget about that for a moment and stick with my analogy.  Ok?

 

The point is, I hate public bathrooms.  Why?  For several reasons.

• They are never clean, or cleaned properly
• You have no idea who sat on the toilet last
• The cheap toilet paper could stand-in as sandpaper
• I hate having screaming kids in there while I’m trying to concentrate
• I don’t want a Senator groping me from the next stall 
• Butt germs are yucky

Yesterday, I blogged about The Poop Time Principle.  Arjewtino made a great comment about how he enjoys his post-breakfast Sunday poop, and it got me thinking.

I realized how much I enjoy the hospitality of my own bathroom. 

In my bathroom, I have a firm understanding of how much toilet paper it can handle without overflowing.  I have control over the softness of the TP (charmin ultrasoft is the only acceptable choice in a house I live in).  I control the general cleanliness of the toilet and surrounding area.  I also have access to my internet, and no one looks at me strangely if I happen to bring my laptop in with me.

I have none of these creature comforts in a public bathroom….. which is why I avoid them at all costs.

My worst nightmare is having to poop when I’m out and my only choice is a porta-potty.  I’d rather safety pin my butt closed than use one of those. 

The next worst places to go are at mall and supermarket bathrooms.  In general those stalls look like someone let off a urine bomb all over the place.  It’s always extra fun when someone leaves a piece of wet toilet paper on the seat.  Argh! Enough already! I can’t take it anymore. 

Of course, it is nearly impossible to avoid public bathrooms since I have to go to my office every day.  So how did I deal with that? 

I formally adopted a stall in my office bathroom. 

2nd from the right – you are my temporarily adopted stall.  God forbid you happen to be taken when I walk in, 1st on the right is also acceptable, but we all recognize its less formidable flushing power.

Should either of those stalls be taken, I walk directly out of the bathroom and wait a while.  The other 3 stalls are unacceptable by my standards… in fact, I have yet to explore 2 of the remaining 3.  Why?  Because I am not the Indiana Jones of public toilets.  Fuck that.  I found 1 that works, and seems to be inhabited less than the others, so I’m sticking to it.

Stall 2nd from the right? Why do I love you so? 

• I love your flushing power. 
• I love that someone routinely leaves very amusing Jesus propaganda jammed into your paper-toilet-seat-cover-receptacle. 
• I love that, after the cleaning people come, you are the last one to be used.  Why?  I don’t know… but I’m keeping your secret safe. 
• I love that you are less brightly lit than the other stalls.  You still provide enough light for me to read, but being less brightly lit makes me feel like I have a bit more privacy.  I hate it when I feel like people can see in through the door crack.  
• I love that you never have rogue pieces of toilet paper hanging around on the floor near you. 

 

Still…. nothing beats my own toilet.  It might have a jiggily seat that I can’t seem to tighten, but I still love it just the same. 

My bathroom and I?  We have a relationship.  A great relationship.

So Arjewtino?  Thanks for bringing it up.

My bathroom – this shout out goes to you.  I’ll be home soon.

12 Reasons I Won’t Date You

Dating is like eating chili – when it’s good it’s really good… but when it’s bad, it just gives you the shits.

As I mentioned in my post yesterday, my theme for the week is dating…. and if you’ve had a problem finding a date in this fine city, then pay close attention. I’m here to help.

DC is a great dating town for guys. It’s a buyers market – lots of single women, not as many single men.

I’ve lived in DC for just over a decade and have tried just about every possible way of finding dates. Let’s see, I’ve:

• Done the online thing
• Picked up people in bars
• Met people through friends
• Met people through co-workers
• Gave up on those people and dated the co-worker instead
• Met people on mass-transit
• Picked up people at arts venues (art galleries, the theater, concerts, finger painting seminars, you name it)
• [Insert location name, and I guarantee you I've picked someone up there. That includes at a funeral home. Bring it.]

I’ve had varying success with all of these avenues, but I’m not here to talk about the validity of any of those places.

Why? Because I’m here to help you. Your crappy dating life will remain exactly the same no matter where you go.

(I’ll pause here for a moment until the guffawing, snorting, and rolling of the eyes dies down)

You see, I’ve realized that the true key to finding a good date isn’t the place….

Wanna know what the key is?

Are you sure you can handle the truth?

(If big-brother didn’t block it, I would have inserted a youtube video of Jack Nicholson screaming, “You can’t handle the truth!” So do me a small favor and just imagine it for me, wouldja? Thanks)

Ok, I’ll give you a hint.

Take a look in the mirror....

It’s really all about YOU.

Yes you. So stop fucking up your dating life, would you?

Oh, now don’t try to pretend that I don’t know what I’m talking about, or that I don’t know your situation. Pull your huge fucking head out of your tight little ass and get with the game. There’s only one common denominator in your consistently crappy dating life, and that’s you.

What was that you said? Your dating life isn’t consistently crappy? Just intermitantly crappy? Well then, since you are so high and mighty why don’t you take a big swig of some shut-the-hell-up too.

We all get lucky sometimes.

I’ve been where you are. I truly have been, and then one day I woke up and it just came to me. It might have been God speaking to me, or it might have been the narcotics – either way, I should still be institutionalized I have the answer.

You see, it’s not about the place you meet people, it’s really all about the criteria you use to decide whether or not they are worth trying to date.

Ok, I’ll wait while you bitch at me about how you have standards and blah blah blah and this that and the other and nice asses and big arms and taller than 5′8 and bullshit bullshit BULLSHIT!

It’s all crap. Why? Because you don’t really have the same standards that you thought you had.

How do I know? Because I’ve been where you are. I thought I had standards too.

In The Beginning….

I had pretty much 1 rule of dating: No penises.

That worked right up until:

You think I’m joking.

The thing is, this kind of thing happens to YOU all the time. It just isn’t quite as obvious.

So, if you were me and suddenly realized that your date had an un-requested penis, would you just think to yourself: “Well, maybe they’ll change – I mean, it’s not so bad… it’s pretty small and kind of cute. I’ll just ignore it and it’ll go away.”

NO! Of course not! You wanna know what happens when you ignore something like this?

One morning you wake up and realize that your girlfriend has been fucking YOU in the ass is not treating you as nicely as you would like.

Until you finally put 2 and 2 together, you’ve just wondered why your ass has been killing you you haven’t really been happy this whole time.

I’ll say it again. This happens to you ALL THE TIME.

So, what’s the problem?

You can only live by standards and rules that have been defined.

Because you only have a general idea of your standards, you end up dating people who violate all sorts of rules, until one day you wake up with a bloody ass and get the fuck out.

So, do yourself a favor, suck it up, and spend 30 minutes thinking about your standards and rules, and then WRITE THEM DOWN. Once you have your list, promise yourself that you’ll stick to it.

It is ok to modify your list once or twice – but you are not allowed to grandfather people in. That means you can’t date someone and then modify the list. Don’t lower your standards – that’s what got your ass bloody in the first place!

I stuck to my list, and it’s worked out great for me. Yes, it takes discipline – but the formula works.

So, to prove my point, I’m going to share with you my list of the:

12 Reasons Why I Won’t Date You

.

1: The first question you ask is, “So what do you do?”

If this is the first question you ask me, then you have no hope. I won’t date a woman who lacks in the personality department, or a woman who only dates for status. Ask me where I’m from, what books I’m reading, what kind of music I listen to, or how many times a day I pick my nose. I don’t care, as long as it’s not that question. We’ll get around to it eventually.

2: You put the class in classless

If anyone has ever mistaken you in public for being a hooker or stripper, then the closest you are going to get to a date with me is a $20 shoved in your garter. You don’t need to be Princess Di all the time — you just need to know when the proper times are. As a starter – the appropriate place to put your gum is NOT under the table at a 5-Star restaurant.

3: You only wear jeans

I don’t have any problems wearing jeans, but if you aren’t willing to dress up for me, then you have no hope. I prefer the kind of girl who tends to slightly overdress for most situations. Again, I have no problems with jeans, but if we’re going out to brunch with some friends, I like the fact that you take the time to get yourself ready and are the best dressed person in the room.

4: You don’t have an opinion

If I wanted a woman without an opinion, I would buy a Sarah Palin Inflatable Love Doll. I don’t want you to defer to my every whim unless it involves oral pleasure. I want to hear your thoughts on the world, on politics, on the arts, on ANYTHING. The thing is, if you have an opinion, you better be prepared to defend it. The last thing I need is someone who has an irrational opinion about something and doesn’t know why they have it – and “just because” doesn’t count. I won’t hate you for your opinion, as long as it’s informed and you agree that I’m always right.

5: Your shirts aren’t low cut enough

No, this does not violate the classy rule. Why? Because I’m not going for the slut look…. I just want to see some of your boobs. I like a woman who is comfortable with her body, and knows how to look attractive and sexy. Attractivity (yes, I created that word) for men pretty much starts and ends with boobs. If you are always wearing big poofy sweaters and hiding your feminine form – then you have no chance. Oh, and in case you were wondering, there are professional ways to show off your boobs – if you don’t know what they are, learn them!

6: I can see your underwear

The only times I want to see your underwear are either when they are lying on the floor next to my bed, or when you are walking around my place. I don’t want to see your panty-lines. I don’t want to catch a view when you cross your legs in a meeting. I don’t want to see your thong when you bend over. No no no no! Those things aren’t sexy, they just mean you don’t know how to dress yourself! Not sure how to avoid them? Go here!

7: You’ve never been outside the country

What? You don’t like traveling? Sorry missy, you are out of luck with me then. Why? Because I want someone who is worldy. If you are happy just sticking around here, then you won’t mind if I get in my car and drive the fuck away. I once went on a date with a chick who hadn’t been beyond the borders of DC, MD, and VA in more than 5 years. I believe the date ended within 10 minutes.

8: If I meet you at a bar and you’re drunk

I don’t want to date someone who is a sloppy drunk. Hold your fricken alcohol wouldja?? We all like to get our drink on, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to dance on the bar wearing your undies on your head. I don’t date strippers, and I won’t date you either.

9: You diss McDonalds at 3am

So, let’s say we got to a bar and get our drink on. Let’s just say that afterward you and I have the munchies. Let’s just say that the only place open is McDonalds. 3am might be the only time I’m willing to eat there, but if you turn your nose up at good ole Mickey D’s, then our relationship is going to last about as long as it takes to get a BigMac at the drive-thru.

10: You are a smoker

Ok ok, I’ll give you this – if you smoke, we are allowed to fuck like bunnies have a little fun, but we won’t be dating. I want to be with someone who respects their body, and will be around in 50 or 60 years. My grandmother smoked for 40 years and when I was a kid, she was so sick she could never play with me. I don’t want that for my kids and grandkids.

11: You can’t walk in high heels, or only wear flats

It really all comes back to the clothes and being classy. Wear heels that are appropriate for your outfit, and know how to walk in them. Classy women know how to work a good pair of pumps…. oh and anything taller than 4 inches is saved for the bedroom. Don’t like heels? Then you can take your “comfy” flats and walk the hell away from me.

12: You have more stuffed animals than pillows on your bed

I’ve caved on this a little bit – my rule used to be NO stuffed animals, but that was a bit too stringent. I don’t like sharing the bed with things from your childhood. The last thing I want is to be staring at Winnie the Pooh and friends while we’re fucking our brains out when I wake up in the middle of the night. That’s just a bit creepy. Grow up a little and cut the menagerie down.

No no no no!

Extra Credit: You have to pee more than once per hour on a car ride

It’s not a killer, but if you can’t hold it for more than 60 minutes, then we’re going to be in trouble. If you can hold it for 3+ hours…. then you definitely win bonus points!

So, now that you’ve seen my list – go create your own, and live by it.

I guarantee it will improve your dating experiences!

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Have some dating questions? Post them here and I’ll address all your dating questions later in the week!

Come back tomorrow for the 12 Best Dates in DC

Randomly Rambunctious Remarks

Some people found my blog by searching for “sex boys and man,” “50lbs overweight,” and “Tighty whitie dude.”  What does this say about my readers (or my writing for that matter!)?

Whenever I eat a nice salad and some fruit for lunch, I’m still hungry.  I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ll never feel full unless a slab of cow and a cookie are somehow integrated into my meal.

Dasani is “Purified water enhanced with minerals for a pure, fresh taste.”  So they are unpurifying the water to make it taste more pure?

I use a Swingline stapler everyday.  I wish it was red.

 

I hate it when the car in front of me leaves their blinker on.  It makes me want run them off the road, NASCAR style.

I was once told by a Rabbi that Jews are not prudes.  I think this needs to be better communicated to the Jewish women of the world.

I’ve been pulled over for speeding by a bicycle cop.  He had a siren and lights and everything.  Ironic thing?  I was on travel presenting at a big meeting for public safety officials.

 

I often wonder if I farted on a skunk, would it smell better? 

I’ve always hated September – because that’s when you go back to school.  I haven’t been in school in more than a decade, yet I still hate September.

My work colleague has a hand drawn picture above his desk that says “I love you Dad, Plese take it to work!”  He doesn’t have any kids.

 

I like drinking hot tea, hot soup, hot chocolate, etc but I can’t brush my teeth with either hot or warm water.  It’s disgusting.

When I’m walking up to an elevator, I secretly race anyone nearby so I can be the first to push the up/down arrow.

Whenever someone talks about “Change Management” for some reason a picture of a zoo-keeper pops into my head.

I like making completely random analogies to help explain things.  The more obscure, the better. 

My life is sort of like a feather duster.  I own it, I know I can put it to good use, but I’m too lazy to.  So instead I hire someone else to clean up my dust and mess.

Scenario: 2 guys at work are in the bathroom, both in stalls.  They both flush at exactly the same time.  Invariably, one guy will pause in his stall and let the other wash his hands and leave, in order to avoid having an ”embarassing” meeting of the crappers at the sink.

And those are your Randomly Rambunctious Remarks worth blogging about…… or not.

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A quick thank you to NBC Washington for featuring my post on The 12 Best Places to Make Out in DC on their website yesterday!

McCain/Palin Ticket Influences Possible Husband-icide

Welcome to I Hate Stupid People – Politics Edition….

So, let’s say that you and your wife are about to give birth to your 3rd child

Let’s say you agree on a name… perhaps something like “Ava Grace”

Let’s say that your wife then goes through hours and hours of painful labor and gives birth to your daughter

And now, let’s say that, while your wife is under the influence of some heavy drugs while recovering from CHILD BIRTH, you decide to secretly change your new daughters name to…..

Sarah McCain Palin Ciptak

If that doesn’t prove your dumbassness enough, you decide that BEFORE you tell your wife about your moronic actions, you have a friendly little interview with the press and tell THEM all about it.

Think this is too good to be true? NOPE!

Carter County man surprises wife, names baby Sarah McCain Palin

Published 10/13/2008 By Kevin Castle

People can be passionate about their politics. Consider, for example, the name given to a baby girl born last weekend to a Carter County couple: Sarah McCain Palin Ciptak.While that’s the name father Mark Ciptak of Elizabethton put on documents for his baby girl’s birth certificate, it isn’t the name he and his wife originally agreed on. And it isn’t the name his wife, Layla, thought the baby was given.

“We actually came up with the name Ava Grace, and I secretively went and got another set of forms to send to (Social Security officials and the Tennessee Department of Health), and as of this time, she (Layla) still doesn’t realize what I’ve done. I haven’t broken the news to her yet,” Ciptak said.

“As of right now, I’m just trying to get up enough nerve to tell her what I’ve done and hope for the best. I hope I’m still living to tell the tale tomorrow. She thought it was a done deal with Ava Grace.

“Only some friends and family members who I have called for prayer support know at this point.”

Later in the day, Mark did break the news to Layla.

“I don’t think she believes me yet. It’s going to take some more convincing,” he said.

Mountain States Health Alliance spokesman James Watson said Monday he double-checked the records that were signed by the parents for the birth certificate name.

“I just got through looking at the (papers), and you can tell where the father signed the name of the baby. It’s in his handwriting. But both of the parents’ signatures are on the document, and that is what is on its way to Nashville,” Watson said.

Mark Ciptak, a blood bank employee for a local chapter of the American Red Cross, said he named his third child after John McCain and Sarah Palin to “encourage somebody” and “to get the word out” about the campaign.

“I took one for the cause,” said Ciptak. “I can’t give a lot of financial support for the (McCain/Palin) campaign. I do have a sign up in my yard, but I can do very little. Is this going to change the course of the election? I doubt it. But it’s something that I did to help out the campaign and the cause. … This is a little token to the McCain camp, and we are strong supporters of that ticket.”

Ciptak said he and his wife were both procrastinators when they named their other two children. Their last child did not receive his name until a week and a half after he was born.

“We actually had to call (health department) officials in Nashville to change the paperwork after that because we wanted to change his middle name,” Ciptak said.

“We have Annika and Isaiah, so (the names) kind of flow, so we wanted this one to flow. … So the best we came up with in the hospital was Ava. It’s going to have to stick. We both like it, and that is more than likely going to be it, unless my wife wants to keep what I officially named (her). We’ll see.”

If his wife disagrees, an official with the Tennessee Department of Health’s Office of Vital Records said Monday the family has one year to file an affidavit requesting the name change. After one year, a court order from the family’s county of origin will be required.

12 Worst Places to Make Out in DC

Making out is like interviewing – if you do well, you have a good chance of getting the job of servicing me. In my post yesterday, I listed the top 12 places in DC to make out. I created the post to help all of you people out there who like to be romantic, and want some new ideas.

Today’s post is for the stupid people. This post is for people who like to read the instructions, go step by step, and still fuck everything up. Why do they fuck everything up? Because instructions only tell you WHAT to do….. but leave out WHAT NOT to do. There’s a huge difference between the two.

This post is a public service. A public service for all of you out there who appreciate the art of making out, whether you are stupid or not. I am also offering this as a tax deduction for myself. I figure if I’m going to go out of my way to help the stupid people of the world, I should at least get something out of it right? So, let’s see… 2 hours of time researching locations, 2 hours to write the blog post, 3 hours of binge drinking after having to deal with an obscene amount of stupid people, 6 hours spent bitching to random friends/colleagues/family/voices-in-head about stupid people, and 3 minutes for editing this entry. That works out to 13 hours and 3 minutes – and at $320 an hour (I’m not cheap folks) – that works out to $4,176. Sweet.

Without further ado, the non-categorized and mostly true list of:

The 12 Worst Places To Make Out in DC

K Street – You are a moron to even try making out with someone while standing anywhere near K Street. There are 2 basic outcomes of this action.

• 6:00am – 7:30pm: You will create a massive traffic jam because commuters will slow their vehicles down to 2.3mph in order to crane their neck to get a better view of you making out. The women will do this because they think “you kids” are cute and will be daydreaming about their husband/boyfriend/fuck buddy/boss/gay-best-friend-who-they-still-secretly-have-a-crush-on doing this with them. The men will stare because they are hoping to see boobs.
• 7:31pm – 5:59am: You will be arrested for prostitution, because hookers and johns are the only people who hang out on K street during these hours.

Rock Creek Park – Ahh look at all the pretty leaves. It’s so romantic here with the soft rumble of cars speeding down the R.C. Parkway! Oh c’mon schmoopie bear, let’s go for a quick romp in the woods! Good luck my friends, you remember Chandra Levy? She’s just the tip of the iceberg. Robbery, assault, homicide – it’s the Adams Morgan of DC Parks! So if you want to do it, do it at your own risk!

Metro Escalator – There are morons who stand on the left and jack up the whole system (and no I don’t mean the Democrats). It happens 13 times a minute (that’s a real stat, I swear!). 73% of the people who stand on the left are clinically braindead and illiterate, 17% are Republicans who work to impede progress (Hello Ron Paul!), and 7% don’t know any better but should be shot anyway. That leaves the final 3% – which are made up of people who just can’t fricken keep their hands off of each other, and force the rest of us to risk our lives by standing still on the long and steep ride up to freedom. The last thing we need is for you to lose your balance while humping each other and create a domino effect that would take-out half the hill staff.

McPherson Sq – Unless you want some random homeless guy tapping your shoulder to see if he can join in, I would recommend away from this area

On the Mall – The Mall is pretty and not nearly as dangerous as Rock Creek Park, so why not? Well with the tourists and their whacky digital cameras all over the place, you’ll most likely have your face plastered all over the internet. And the goose poop? You know how one thing leads to another – and getting goose poop smushed into your date’s hair isn’t likely to get you laid.

Dark Alleys – Getting hot and heavy on the dance floor? As you walk home, don’t take a detour into one of DC’s famous alleys for a quick tussle…. well unless you want rats to be climbing up your date’s leg. We hide all of the filth in this city in our alleys - so get that naughty idea right out of your head now and go find an empty Starbucks bathroom instead.

Anywhere in Adams Morgan – The moment you step outside into the street, your life is at risk. Don’t pause. Don’t reflect. Don’t pass go. GET YOUR ASS HOME AS FAST AS YOU CAN AND GET LAID. You think getting robbed helps the libido? Trust me, it doesn’t. I live there, I know.

Front lawn of the White House – Well, you probably wouldn’t make it there without first getting shot by the snipers on the roof who also enjoy randomly picking off Libertarians protesting in Lafayette Square. Besides, that sort of egregious public display of affection would be violating our strict American morals, and W wouldn’t like that.

The National Aquarium – No, not the really cool one up in Baltimore – the one housed in the basement of the Commerce Building. Didn’t know it was there? Neither does anyone else. So, why is it a bad place to go make out? Well, the employees of the aquarium would be so shocked excited that they actually had visitors, they probably wouldn’t give you a moment alone. As for the fish? You are better off visiting the local pet shop.

Top of Washington Monument – It sounds romantic doesn’t it? Historic location. Beautiful views. Sunset. Screaming kids constantly tugging at your shirt so they can get by and see out the window.

Spy Museum – Find spying sexy? Then wait until you get home and watch the neighbors get it on. It’s a neat little museum, but let the name tip you off – THEY ARE SPYING ON YOU! Don’t live out your exhibitionist fantasies here in front of the innumerable secret video cameras, security, and kiddies.

Iranian Embassy – It’s a fine looking abandoned building in a ritzy area of Mass Ave – so what could be so bad? This is Iran we’re talking about here. You do something like that on their land, and I guarantee that President Ahmadinejad would personally teleport over to kill you in your tracks. If you think I’m kidding, look at the hubbub created when all he did was just kiss his old teacher on the hand.

Thank me now. Thank me later. This concludes my public service announcement for the day – which was definitely something worth blogging about….. or not.

Welcome to Guy Hell

I broke out in a cold sweat as the scene unfolded.  The female coworker (FC) to my left and the male coworker (MC) to my right, locked in an epic battle of the sexes.

The conversation started when MC stated, out loud, that he hated it when his face gets all dry.  I was a little bit worried, because I knew this was going to start a conversation that I definitely didn’t want to be a part of.

Now don’t get me wrong, I hate a dry face as much as the next guy, but considering I work in an office full of women…. I definitely definitely definitely didn’t want to be a part of a conversation about moisturizer products, or really about any sort of beauty products.  That conversation makes my testicles ache (thanks [F]oxymoron!).  So, I did what any other self-preserving male does in this situation. 

I ducked.

It was like a battle from Master and Commander (this is where I would normally paste a youtube video of a massive cannon shot off a ship, but my stupid company blocks youtube at work and so I can’t.  Fuck you big brother! You can’t keep the little man down forever!  More on this in another blog later this week…)

FC shoots across the bow: “Well, you should use moisturizer then.”

MC returns the volley: “Do they even make face moisturizer?”

FC1 & FC2: “snicker snicker snicker”

The final blows were swift and brutal. 

 

 

 

Game. Set. Match.

Welcome to Guy Hell.

Don’t You Hate It When: Office Edition

Work is like goose shit in a park.  You are walking around minding your own business on a beautiful day, then BANG - without any warning,  you now have a big fricken shitball smeared on the bottom of your shoe.  Have fun! 

Look at all the shit!

Of course, there is no easy way to get the shit off off.  Wiping it on the grass doesn’t really work that well.  You don’t want to step in a puddle, ’cause then your foot will get all soggy…. and do you really want to sit down with a paper towel and wipe it off?  No!  Of course not!  You don’t want to risk getting the shit on your hands.

So what do we do? 

We half ass it.  We wipe it on the grass a bit, give a good rub on some asphalt, maybe grab a stick and poke at it.  And then we all do the same thing: pretend it isn’t there, and hope we don’t track it in all over our nice white carpet.

(The worst feeling in the world is when you get back into your car, and you SWEAR you smell shit…)

If you haven’t figured it out yet, stupid people are the goose shit of the working world.

Think about it for a moment…. how many stupid people do you encounter during your normal day at work?  Outside of the cable company, tourists, and anyone driving directly in front of me – I’m going to go out on a limb and say that workplaces have the highest percentage of stupid people.  That means I spend a lot of my day dealing with goose shit that has accumulated on my nice Italian loafers.

Since my co-workers have a tendency to read my blog, I will add a corollary and say that the current group of people I work directly with are pretty smart.  It’s those OTHER people that are the morons.  You know who I’m talking about too.  The ones who make your life miserable and fun all at the same time.

Why fun? 

Fun because you get to showcase their stupidity to everyone you know, and laugh (or blog!) about it. 

This entry is not just about stupid people at work though, it’s also about the result of stupid people…. and will become a semi-bi-pseudo-haphazardly-weekly-tri-quarterly review of things I hate….

Without further ado:

Don’t you hate it when:

• People get into the elevator and ride it up/down only 1 floor
• Your boss emails you at 4:55pm for a 5pm-? meeting
• Someone comes by your desk, asks to borrow a pen, and then starts chewing on it
• The person in front of you at the water cooler decides to fill up their 2 liter bottle of water (this applies at the gym as well)
• Someone in a cube nearby has the continual sniffles and won’t just blow their goddamn nose
• You get back to your desk and someone has used your chair, and all the settings are changed
• You ask someone a question over email, and when they reply, they don’t answer it…. for the 5th time.
• You show up for a 1 on 1 meeting, and the other party doesn’t show up, and doesn’t let you know
• You show up for a 20 person meeting, and the boss doesn’t show up, even though everyone is meeting just for his/her benefit.  I especially hate the forced and awkward conversations that ensue while waiting for the boss to show…
• Someone comes to meet with you, and then during the meeting, they take calls or just stare at their blackberry half the time.  Like my time isn’t important???
• The chatty cathy of the office comes by your desk and keeps talking and talking and talking and talking and won’t go the HELL away. 

 

• Meetings/trainings consist entirely of the presenter reading the powerpoint presentation word for word.  These are never the 15 minute meetings either – it’s usually a 6 hour meeting
• Meetings are supposed to last 15 minutes, but last 3 hours instead…. AND NOTHING GETS DONE
• You sit near a “loud talker” – you know the one who sits 9 cubes over, but you can still hear them talk on the phone about how their kid shit its pants last night, or about their wedding plans, or about the shoes they bought over the weekend… 

 

Oh, and there are so many other ones….. I can’t be the only one who works with stupid people. 

What do you hate?

Stop being a whiny little bitch.

Backs are the whiny little bitches of the human body.

Why do I say this? Well, have you ever met someone who, when they wanted attention, you can’t seem to get rid of them…. but when they have other things to do, you never hear from them again?

The kind of person, who, when you treat them well – it’s a given, but when they complain, they bitch louder than anyone else? God forbid you ever make a mistake around them…. because they’ll never let you forget it. Ever.

If my back were a person, this is who it would be:

(That’s one whiny biatchmo right there! Yeah, I’m talkin’ to YOU Dawson!)

Mainly, my back is just attached to the reverse side of my body as my stomach.  I’ve always said that the fastest way to my heart is through either my stomach or my back.  Cook me some great food, and I’m yours forever.  But give me a nice back scratching/rubbing?  Well, then you might have to get a restraining order for me to leave.

You can scratch and scratch and scratch my back, and hell, you catch me in the right spot….

Yeah, that’s me…

So what’s to complain about?

Well, recently, I was brutally attacked while at a wine festival in Manassas. It was all quite tragic. I was minding my own business when a clinically mentally infirmed female (also known as: my girlfriend) decided that it would be great fun to jump on my back. Unfortunately she forgot one very important thing….. I’m old.

I say this, because, as I was getting maliciously decimated, I did what any other upstanding gentleman would do. I sought revenge.

This is where I ran into problems.

You see, as a not-so-recent owner of a “30-and-over-AARP-in-waiting Membership Card” – I apparently need to pre-plan my revenge, and not seek my vengence in a spontaneous fashion…as I did in my younger whippersnapper days.

Why?

Because my back is a “planner” – and apparently, revenge was not in its daily plan.

What the hell? All I did was try to pick up my girlfriend and toss her like a caber:

Is that really so tough to do?

Anyway…. you wanna know what happens when I go against my back’s plan? It tells me to fuck off.

For like, 3 weeks.

Basically my back just continues to complain on and on and on… endlessly. No matter what I do, no matter how nicely I treat it.  No matter how many backrubs, and scratchings I’ve gotten for it.

No, there is no pleasing my back.  It’s a vindictive little bitch too…  it complains in a very devious manner.  No, it doesn’t act up at convenient times or times where I think it might be bothered… no, it waits for completely inappropriate times to act up.  It feels fine and no problem when I’m at work all day long, but nooooooo when I get home and am ready to relax?

Oy! Apparently talking about my body falling apart is something worth blogging about….. or not.

Next edition: Mothers and other things that nag….. err oh screw it.  Just to save you time, re-read this whole blog entry, and anywhere I mention “back” just insert “mom.” It’s all the same