Been there, done that, was at the funeral.

This past weekend, at Tommy's (the same night as The Riding Crop), Stan  I were sitting at the corner of the bar talking to a couple of people. It was towards the end of the night, so we both had good buzzes going. When Stan & I get going, we can egg each other on in the worst ways possible. Okay, generally I'm the enabler, spurring him on. It's rare that I'M the one causing the trouble.

So were were chatting with a few other guys, one of whom is a little bit of a stalker. I can't recall exactly what prompted it (my mind was fuzzed by multiple Stoli & Tonics) but in reference to my stalker, I literally said "Been there, done that, was at the funeral." I think there was an actual audible gasp from Stan, but I could be wrong. At the very least, I know he gave me a look that said "I can't believe you had the balls to say that within earshot."

In order to preserve any remaining sense of dignity I have, I won't go into detail, other than to say that while I am amazed I used this line, I am NOT proud by the back story.

But dear god. it was a funny line.

Apropos of nothing...

Random thoughts:

I have a lot of shit on my laptop. It's a 2009 15" MacBook Pro, and I love it to death. But really, I need to clean it up. I have dozens of weird random images on my desktop - many for blog posts. Here's one of the stranger ones:



I just installed Lion, and so far, I think I like it.

I'm creative, caring, know how to make a mean cosmo, and am occasionally clever. Those are the plusses. I'm a procrastinator, I hate conflict, I'm mildly ADD, and am absent minded . Those are the minuses. I love reality TV, reading on the john, I'm a happy drunk, and can't burp. Plusses or minuses - you decide.

I'm blogging in my underwear, sipping a delicious glass of Kono Sauvignon Blanc. I'm also watching Big Brother - Rachel should be shot at dawn. Just a little slice of life insight.

Speaking of which - Punk & I have a side business called Slice of Life. It's an online t-shirt company with designs by and for foodies. Check us out!

My nephew just married his long-time girlfriend/fiancee last weekend. Unfortunately, Punk & I had to miss it, due to work. But we are psyched to officially welcome Lady to the family!! Hi Danielle Councilor! I saw Jodie's pictures - you were (are!) beautiful!

I'm also an avid computer gamer - I love World of Warcraft, even if I've barely had the chance to play it in the last few months. Yes, I'm a geek.

One of the the things I've learned I need to work on doing in my blog posts (thanks for the great examples, Jen!) is really to tell a story. Beginning, middle, end. And of course, to be entertaining.

Random thoughts, out....

He's a chinchilla farmer...

I know I blogged about my fear of being judged in my last post. Here's the catch: Snap judgements are fun, and occasionally hysterical.

The scene: A pool filled with 100's of bears. For those of you who don't understand that last sentence, I'll give you a readers digest. A bear is, generally, a gay man who is somewhat heavyset & usually hairy. Intrigued? My job is done - but if you want (or need, you perves!) more info, check this link for the dry, boring explanation. The more daring of you can follow this link, but I won't be held responsible. You click it, you buy it!

Okay - so anyway, we're at the pool with 100's of bears (One more side note. Lots of bears in a pool is commonly referred to as "Bear Soup".) Punk, Frank & I are sitting in the chairs, daintily sipping our Planter's Punch, complete with 151 rum floaters. We watch as one scantily clad (okay - another side note. Many bears wear speedo bathing suits, with wildly varying results.) bear gets out & poses & preens while talking to a friend. This guy was so furry it was overwhelming. He was also wearing ancient, a decrepit cowboy hat, had ratty semi bleached long hair, leathery face, etc. It set Punk, Frank & I to analyzing him. The conversation went something like this:

Frank: You know he's named something unisex, like sky or storm.

Punk: He's probably named after a car.

Frank: I don't think he's a mercedes. He's more of a buick.

Me: And you know he's sad because it's his last day here before he goes back to working at the ranch. I'm sure he works at a chinchilla farm.

Frank: Yes, that's it. His name is a vowel & he's a chinchilla farmer.

Punk: Mystery solved.

At which point we decided the best thing to do would be to order another round of drinks. I was fairly sure Oue the chinchilla farmer would approve.