I'm Not A Kid Anymore....

This will be my last weekend on Earth as a “30-something”.

That’s right. On Tuesday, September 2nd 2008, Yours Truly will finally turn the big 4-0.

And it scares the living shit out of me.

If you’ve been reading here for any amount of time, you WILL already KNOW this.

I KNOW it’s just a number. I KNOW you are only as old as you feel. I KNOW that I am in better shape than people half my age. I KNOW that I just keep getting better and better looking with each passing day.

I KNOW all that jazz. But I still don’t want to be 40.

I don’t know at what point in my life I developed this insane fear of aging, but I know that I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.

As I approached 21, I remember thinking that this was ABSOLUTELY the last birthday that I ever wanted to celebrate. I remember telling people that I hoped my 30th would never come.

In the end, I actually think I handled turning 30 better than I thought I would. The fear and anxiety of no longer being in my 20’s was finally washed away with the reality that “it was just another day”.

And who knows, maybe I’ll feel the same way come Tuesday morning.

But for now, I can’t even bring myself to think about it.

I’ve tried over the years to take a good look into my past, and try to trace back where and when this fear of getting old first descended upon me. It COULD stem from the fact that, at a very young age, I took care of my bedridden grandmother on her deathbed. It COULD be that I am such an immature big kid at heart that I find it difficult for my mind to get around the fact that my body betrays my true age, even though I don’t feel that old inside. It COULD be the fact that, because my birthday each year inevitably fell the day before the new school year started, that I looked upon my birthday each year with fear and anxiety.

Or, I COULD just be crazy.

At any rate, I think I need to do something wild this weekend, to help get my mind past this hurdle.

Some things that I have been thinking about:

1-Skydiving
2-Buying something ridiculously expensive that I TOTALLY don’t need.
3-Getting another tattoo. (p.s. one day I’ll have to show ya’ll the one I have now)
4-Participating in my first hardcore orgy

Anybody have any other ideas?

In the end, I might just kill 3 birds with one stone and get my tattoo while participating in a skydiving orgy, but it might be hard to pull that together on such short notice.

Anyway, while the rest of the U.S.A. parties through their Labor Day this weekend, I will most likely be hiding under my covers, trying to make my birthday go away.

The next time I post, I will be in another age bracket. Brrrrrrrrrr….

Have a great Labor Day, everybody…..

My Mom’s A Peach

I give my mother a hard time, but sometimes I’m reminded that I could have done a whole Hell of a lot worse in life.

My mother called me yesterday, completely frantic.

Now, anyone who actually KNOWS my mom wouldn’t be alarmed by this. She is a chronic worrier by nature. She worries and frets about everything. EVERYTHING. I have often thought that, if my mother didn’t have something in her life to worry about, then she would not know what to do with her time. I honestly think that growing up and having to deal with all her obsessing over trivial stuff is the main reason I have such a lackadaisical, “live and let live” attitude towards almost everything.

Anyway, she called me up to tell me, in a state of near hysteria, that her credit card is missing, and she thought it was stolen.

Again, I still was not too concerned. My mother loses things all the time. Like, DAILY. I think she does it on purpose, to ensure that she always has a healthy dose of things to worry about.

Anyway, as the day went on, and I got regular phone updates on all of the places where she has looked for her credit card and not yet found it, I finally started to get the inkling that this time she DID in fact lose her credit card somewhere.

So, after a few hours of these phone calls, I finally told her to just call the credit card company and cancel her card.

She called me back an hour later in a panic, and told me that the credit card company had told her that her card HAD in fact been stolen! Someone had used it just that morning to buy gasoline at a local service station, as well as some groceries at a nearby supermarket.

Of course, she had the credit card company strike the charges from her bill, and cancel the card.

They also told her that she should contact the gas station and supermarket, since almost all of them nowadays have security cameras, and it should be an easy task to find the culprit.

My mother refused.

When I asked her why, she said to me, “Well, if they had run to some electronics store and bought themselves a new 60 inch TV or something, I would have done it in an instant. But all they bought for themselves was gas and some food. With the way the economy is today, who knows what this person’s situation is. Maybe they NEEDED it. I couldn’t sleep tonight knowing I put someone in jail for trying to feed their family.”

And with that, I was humbled.

I am so used to going all Sicilian on anyone who tries to mess with me and mine, that I don’t ever step back and take a look at things from another point of view.

That’s something my mother was always good at.

My mother still drives me batshit crazy most of the time, but today she gets a Gold Star.

Mission Accomplished!

I have FINALLY taken all of my posts over from the old Slydesblog, and transplanted them over here to the new site. Now you all can while away the hours, as you peruse my archives, reading up on all my older adventures.

Damn that sucked.

It was MUCH harder than I thought, mostly because Blogger tended to turn any post where I embedded a lot of pictures into a total state of higgledy-piggledy. I even transferred over all of Earl’s old posts, back when he used to be cool and write for me.

The only problem now is, I have hundreds of posts up, and 99 percent of them have zero comments. When someone new comes here, it will look like I blogged for 2 ½ years and never had anyone come here to comment, which would be kinda pathetic. I’m not sure if my ego can handle that.

So, what do do?

What I think I might try next over the next week or so, is to add links to all my old Haloscan comments to each of the posts, so at least posts from the last 8 months or so (when I started USING Haloscan) can still be viewed. Besides, I wouldn’t want all you fine people’s comments just disappearing into the ether.

Beyond that, I don’t think I’m going to go overboard and link to the older forums. It would just be too much of a pain in the ass to maintain that old crappy database.

People are just going to assume that I suddenly became popular 8 months ago. I think I can live with that.

P.S. To all of you overly technical people who commented on the previous post and wondered how I could grab a stuffed animal and end up grabbing Amy Fisher’s boob instead: The stuffed animal wasn’t on a table. It was sitting on a shelf-thingy where I had placed it while I was playing another game. It was (apparently) exactly at booby-level. Win-win for me!

P.P.S. I just made a post about making posts. This is a new low point for me here at Slydesblog. No one could have POSSIBLY been interested in reading this. I suck.

I Felt Amy Fisher’s Boobs..

How’s THAT for a headline?

How did an event as momentous as feeling up the Ta-Ta’s of one of the most famous people to emerge from this area in the past 20 years come to pass?

Read on.

First, let’s take a step back. Maybe I’m overestimating her notoriety a bit. Although infamous here in the U.S., I’m not sure how many people around the world actually know the story of “The Long Island Lolita”.

Back in the late 80’s, Fisher, then in high school, made national headlines when she took a trip over to her married boyfriend’s (the completely useless Joey Buttafueco) Long Island home, rang the doorbell, and when his wife answered the door, proceeded to put a bullet into her head.

After Fisher was arrested, the completely pathetic story of adultery, underage sex, and attempted murder that mushroomed around our little peaceful corner of the world for the next 2 years was nothing less than surreal.

Constant camera/news crews interviewing anyone who knew ANYONE connected to the case were commonplace. Talk shows, comic books, trading cards; it was insane. Hell, they even made 2 TV movies about the incident (one starring Alyssa Milana and the other with Drew Barrymore).

Beyond the obvious, there have always been 2 things that have really irked me about the whole sordid mess.

1-Everyone connected to the story tried to cash in on it, and use it as their launching pad to a career. From the perpetrators, to the victims, it was just disgusting to watch them all try to crawl their way to fame.

2-WHENEVER I meet people from other parts of the country and tell them where I’m from, to this day one of the first things they inevitably say is “Isn’t that where Amy Fisher lived?” That really drives me crazy. I like to remind myself of the good old days when all we were known for was Billy Joel and Plum Island.

I seem to have gotten off on a tangent. What was I talking about again?

Oh yeah, boobies.

So, yesterday I decided to play hooky and take my son HERE for the day. It was beautiful out yesterday, and we had a great time. (At least, we DID have a great time until I almost got into a fist fight with the operator of the “Lady Bug Rollercoaster”. Really. Security almost hauled me out. But I’ll save that for another post).

Towards the end of the day, Joey and I were playing that game where you shoot the water guns into the balloons to see who can make them pop first. I let my son win, because I’m a kick-ass dad.

Anyway, as we were leaving, I went to grab the stuffed animals that we had already won off of a nearby table, when I suddenly felt something that was definitely NOT a stuffed animal. It was kinda, soft and squishy.

Imagine my surprise when I looked up and saw I was grabbing the soft and squishy part of Amy Fisher, who was apparently there with her children.

She looked at me. I looked at her. I looked at her breasts. She looked at my hand.

Then I removed my hand, and we both moved along.

Now that I’m writing this down, this story wasn’t quite as interesting as the banner pic would have had you believe, now was it?

I’m sorry guys. I feel like I’ve cheated you all in the name of cheap tabloid journalism.

How can I make it up to you all?

I’ve got it!

I will gladly re-enact the boob grabbing scene with any fine lady who wishes to fly out here and let me molest them. I’m a giver like that. Really.

P.S. Interesting side note. Amy was there with her loser, at-least-20-years-older-than-her ex-husband, who she divorced recently when he sold a sex tape of them to a porn studio. I guess true-love really IS blind….

P.P.S. Since someone here at work was asking me about it: The banner pic is FROM the aforementioned sex tape.

Pilobolus

Yeah yeah, i know that this has been burning through the internet for a dogs age now, but you know what? i dont care. I think its cool as hell, so i'm gonna post it.

I had heard of Pilobus before, but had never seen any of their work. They are, in a word, astounding.

I think the reason that this particular clip strikes such a strong chord with me is because of the song playing in the background. "Summer in the City" is one of those songs from my childhood that always brings back the feeling, as strong as a tidal wave, of summertime in NY.

I'm pretty sure its such a powerful memory for me, because every summer in the 70's - early 80's, they would run this commerical CONSTANTLY for some charity organization (i think it was Big Brothers), that played this song in the background with black and white images of city kids playing outside, all hot and sweaty, on a blistering Summer day. Anyone from the New York area who is at least in their 30's is going to know exactly what the Hell i'm talking about.

The rest of you.... not so much. But that's ok. This is all about me, remember?

Anyway, here is Pilobolus. If you haven't seen them yet, prepare to be freaking AMAZED.....

One of THOSE parties….

Ok, I think I am finally semi-recovered enough from this weekend’s festivities to start posting again.

Saturday night we went to our friend’s annual Summer block party. We go just about every year.

I’ve never in my life seen a block party like this one. It encompasses 4 complete neighborhood blocks. Just about every manner of drunken debauchery can be found somewhere within these blocks.

And I think I was able to find most of ‘em!

From dunk-tanks, to rock-wall climbing, to drunken Slip –n- Slide races, just about anything I should be TOO OLD to do, I did.

It’s nice to be able to just act like an ass and go a little crazy every once in a while. I’ve had some stuff going on in my life recently (that I may discuss at some point), so it was nice to get away from it all for a bit.

But, I’m sure much to Earl’s glee, I got completely smashed on every manner of Girl-Drink that people passed my way. And I got passed A LOT of them. I got hit on by some older chick who made ME look sober, which was a nobel achievment. And expected… I AM a hot piece of ass, you know.

Anyway, my high (i.e. low) point of the night came when, around midnight, in a fit of drunken inspiration, myself and a bunch of other drunk adults kicked all off the kids out of the huge “bouncy house” and invaded it for ourselves.

It was fun at first, but in the darkness, while stumbling and tumbling around in there, I got my package squeezed at least 3 times.

I can only hope all of the grabs were from drunk women, but one of the hands grabbing me felt a little too “firm” for me to be sure.

I collected whatever dignity I had left and bounced/rolled/crawled my way back out into the summer night.

Friz thought the whole scene was hysterical. I believe there is video.

I think I need to lay low for awhile…

p.s. The banner pic is NOT me. I am SO much hotter than that. Really.

On The Fence

About 2 years ago, I woke up, bright eyed and bushy-tailed one morning, and headed downstairs to get me some morning Orange Juice.

My good-time, happy feeling came to an abrupt fucking halt as soon as I looked out the window to see that, during the night, someone had knocked out a dozen of the planks on my band new PVC fence!

Have you heard about this crap? The latest thing for juvenile delinquents to do for kicks, is to have one moron throw another moron into a pvc fence, so they can see how much of it they can knock down. They even have a name for it, which I can’t remember for the life of me. I want to say it’s called “Rick-Rolling”, but we all know THAT can’t be right. Maybe fence-rolling? Whatever it is, you can watch about a hundred jack-offs doing it all over Youtube. (Educational edit: I finally remembered the name. They call it "Fence Plowing")

Anyway, when this happened 2 years ago, I went outside, manly man that I am, in an effort to put the planks back in and fix the fence myself.

Cut to 2 hours (and about 1,000 curse words later), when I realized that I had NO DAMN CLUE how to get the boards back in, without taking the whole damn fence down.

So, upon conceding my lack on handy-ness, I called the fence company to fix it. They informed me that they get about 5 calls like mine a day, and they’d be right over to fix it.

It took them about 15 minutes to fix my fence. Then I got charged $125.

Now I was pissed off all over again.

Anyway, I watched them repair the fence, and was pretty confident that I could do it myself if it ever happened again.

Hey guys, guess what happened last night?

Yup, my local neighborhood ass-hats must finally be done laughing at the destruction they bestowed upon me 2 years ago, because last night they came back for a repeat performance.

So, yesterday I trudged outside with my ladder and tools, trying to convince myself that someone as good-looking as myself actually CAN be handy around the house.

I didn’t care if I had to build the new fence with toilet paper and masking tape, I was DAMNED if I was going to spend another 100 bucks to get it fixed again.

So, for the next hour, in full view of my neighbors, I cursed up a blue streak on my front lawn as I tried to get the damn fence back together again.

And, do you know what? For once, a story about me trying to fix something around the house has a happy ending. I fixed the damnable thing with only minor injuries to my arm, and to my pride.

Take THAT, you hooligans! You young whipper-snappers better not come around here anymore, or I’ll call the cops on ya!

Kids, these days...

First Time In The Big City

I was at a party over the weekend, and a friend of mine mentioned that she will soon be starting her first job in New York City. It got me thinking about my first (and only) job in Manhattan. Specifically, my first DAY getting to the job.

In the Fall of ‘93, I landed a job for Bank Of America in New York City. BofA had 2 offices downtown, one in the Trade Center, and one on Wall Street. I was mostly going to be working out of the Wall Street office.

Now, I had gone to NYC plenty of times prior to taking this job, but my trips had always been on the order of taking the train to Penn station, and just walking around Midtown, or hailing one of the 3 million cabs outside Penn and being driven to wherever I needed to go.

Point being, I didn’t really know my way around the city too well. For my two interviews for this particular job, I was always worried about being late, so I always just took a cab right to the building.

After I got the job, I was so excited about the prospect of working on “Wall Street” that it never really occurred to me how I was going to actually find my office that first day. It sounds pretty stupid now (because it is), but I figured that if I took the E train (that exited out of the World Trade Center basement) and just looked around, I’d see a line of people heading for Wall Street, and I’d just follow them.

Anyway, much as you might suspect, I exited the Trade Center that day and watched in horror as about 50 thousand people ran by me in every single direction!

My first day on the job, and I was already lost.

I started to panic, and figured I’d ask someone to help me out.

A decently-dressed man was walking up the street towards me.

I walked up to him and started to ask him how I might get to Wall Street, when interrupted me, mumbling something under his breath.

I didn’t hear what he said, so I politely said, “Excuse me?”

To which the man replied, “I’m gonna stab you.”

I thought to myself “I did NOT just hear what I think I just heard. That CAN’T be right!”

Completely at a loss, I said again “Excuse me?”

The man glared at me and snarled “I’m gonna stab you right in the fucking heart!”

Now, I’m not sure what Miss Manners would say is the proper etiquette to employ under such a situation, but if her answer was that I should say “uuuuuuuhhh” a lot while thinking “This fucking loon is going to stab me right here on Broadway”, then I think I nailed it dead-on.

Anyway, the man stepped up to me, glaring into my eyes, then just as quickly, looked across to the other side of the street, and walked off.

I stood there, openmouthed, wondering what the holy Hell just happened.

Then my natural instincts finally kicked in.

Unfortunately, my natural instincts aren’t to be a man and go after the guy, but instead to be a wise-ass.

As the man was crossing the street away from me, I called out:

“Ok, should I just wait here for you then, or would you like me to come with you? I’m sorry, this is my first stabbing…. I don’t know the proper protocol here!”

The gods decided to give my smart mouth a pass that day, because the lunatic never looked back.

My mother always has said that my wise-mouth will one day get me killed, but if it didn’t happen in that cold October day of 1993, then I don’t think it ever will.

This Is As Much As You're Ever Gonna Get

A friend of mine, who happens to read this blog, asked me the other day:

"Hey, why don't you post more often? I notice that you've been getting more and more readers lately. You would probably get even more if you posted at least once a day"

That's a nice thought, and I'd love to accommodate him, but that's just NEVER going to happen here.

The truth is, aside from belittling brain-dead sales persons and being molested by horny therapists, i just don't have enough that goes on in my day-to-day life that would fill up that amount of posting.

For me to post daily, i would be inundating you all with posts about what i did at work, what i had for breakfast, or what i watched on TV that night.

Would any of you WANT to read that kinda stuff? I really can't see that being the case. I know i certainly wouldn't have much fun WRITING those kinds of posts.

And yet, there are THOUSANDS of blogs out there in the cyberworld that do just that. I am constantly amazed at the amount of blogs i check out that contain post after post of "Woke up early today. Had eggs and toast for breakfast. Little Timmy had a runny nose."

Wow, THAT'LL keep me coming back first thing every day, won't it?

Blogs like that have of late been stuck with the name "Mommy Blogs", which i think is an unfair nomenclature. Some of the blogs i have up on my blogroll could certainly be lumped into the Mommy Blog category, but each one of them brings something special to the table with every post, or else i wouldn't be telling people to check 'em out. They may deal primarily with day to day life, but they are far from "mundane", so i enjoy reading them.

Where the Hell am i going with all this? I seem to have gotten a bit off track...

What it boils down to is, for me, I can never envision myself putting more than 2 -3 posts a week up on this site. When I started this blog 3 years ago, I used to put up a new story every 1-2 weeks, so if i can keep things fresh and interesting at my current pace, I'm gonna consider it a huge "win".

Bottom line is, I will never put up a post that i myself wouldn't want to read, or that i find boring, just for the sake of keeping my post count up.

My hats off to all you fine folks who can put up so much content week in and week out and manage to keep it interesting, because for the life of me i can't figure out how the heck you do it.

Quite Possibly The Stupidest Person I’ve Ever Met

And no, contrary to the title, this isn’t another post about Earl.

Does everyone remember that ridiculously expensive remote control speedboat I bought my son last week? Of course you all do.

Well, I (I mean “WE”) had much fun playing with it this weekend, until my son, in a fit of glee, dropped the damn controller into the pool.

After fishing it out, the boat just wasn’t the same. When I pushed the buttons to move the rudder, it went in reverse. When I hit reverse, it went forward. You get the idea.

We let it dry out in the hot sun for a bit, and while it MOSTLY came back to normal, the poor boat just didn’t act quite the same anymore.

So, being a good consumer, I decided to exercise my God-given right to return something that I have broken for a new one.

Now, keep in mind that when I bought the boat last week, it had been mis-marked at $8 dollars cheaper than it really was, so the cashier gave it to me for the reduced price (this is important!).

So, I took the boat back to the pool store yesterday and attempted to do the exchange.

After telling my tale of nautical woe to the cashier, who looked to be about 19 years old, told me “no problem” to my request for an exchange, and while I went to get a replacement boat, he began to ring it up.

This is where it starts to get fun.

When I returned with the new boat, he looks at me with a puzzled look on his face, and says “This is weird. They must have raised the price of these boats since you bought yours. The new one is 8 dollars more.”

“Ooooookay”, I leerily replied. I had a sense I knew where this was going, but I refused to believe it.

“Ok, so your difference is $7.86”.

“Excuse me?”

“The difference in price is $7.86””

“That’s great. Can I leave now with my new boat?”

“Sir, you have to pay the difference.”

“Why? This is an exchange”

“I know, but you still have to”

“Why? That’s Ridiculous”

Now he was starting to get perturbed. “No it is NOT ridiculous.. that is the only way I can tie out the register”

“Again, that’s not my problem. I am not paying extra for something I am returning”

“You have no choice, sir”

“Really? Ok, then. Instead of an exchange, I’ll just take a refund.”

“Ok, sir”

“Of course, since you keep telling me that is how much the boat costs now, I expect I am getting refunded at the higher price, correct?”

“uuuuuuhh”

“Then, I’ll just buy back the old, cheaper boat again, and keep doing that over and over again until I can pay my mortgage, ok?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s not gonna work, is it?”

“No, it’s not. Can I have my damn boat now?”

“Sure. Have a nice day.”

It shouldn’t be the highlight of my day when I can mentally tap-dance around a brain-dead high school kid, but I’ll take my small victories where I can.

Meme Madness

The lovely and talented Teeni has cyberneticlly assaulted me with a meme. Normally I avoid these like the plague, because Lord knows I talk about how great I am enough on these pages as it is.

But, since this particular one revolves more around Friz than my lovely self, I figured I’d give it a go.

So, heeeeeeere we go……………

1. What is her name?
Didn’t I JUST say it was “Friz”? I just said it not two paragraphs earlier. Aren’t you listening?

2. Who eats more?
If we’re talking about a normal meal, probably her, but what I DON’T eat during one of my 3 meals a day I MORE than make up for with snacks like pretzels and Doritos. I really do think I could live on the stuff.

3. Who said, “I love you” first?
Oh God, this isn’t going to turn into one of those lovey-dovey memes is it? If so, I am outta here. At any rate, I honestly don’t remember, but I’m going to guess it was Friz.

4. Who is taller?
By some genetic freak of fate and chance, we are EXACTLY the same height. That bothers Friz who, because of this, says she can’t wear high heels when we go out, which I have always thought was one of the stupidest arguments for not wearing F-ME pumps that I have ever heard.

5. Who drives most when you are out together?
She does, because she is the world WORST backseat driver ever invented, so I have learned over the years to just get in the passenger seat, and let her think whichever damn way she decides to get where we’re going really IS the best way to get there. It’s probably added years to my life.

6. Who is more sensitive?
Honestly, that’s probably me. At least it’s true in the sense that I definitely get offended more easily.

7. Who does the laundry?
Are you kidding me? I’m all MAN, baby! Believe me; no human on this earth would want to wear any laundry that I had a hand in cleaning. I had to do my own laundry when I was in college, and usually by the time November rolled around each year, everything I owned had been bleached to the same color.

8. Who sleeps on the right side of the bed?
I do. Which pisses me off to no end, because we have one of those huge honkin’ king-sized beds that barely fit into our bedroom, so we only could fit ONE end table on ONE side of the bed. Two fucking points if you can guess WHICH side of the bed has the end table? I’ll give you a hint: It’s not the right. So I lay in bed each night, without the ability to turn the lights on or off, or see what time it is. Seriously.

9. Who pays the bills?
She does. See # 5. She is way too compulsive to trust me with paying the mortgage, which is probably for the best because I’d almost certainly fuck it up.

10. Who cooks more?
I can cook: 1) toast 2) bagels, 3) cereal 4) Mac and Cheese. So unless you’re happy eating from THOSE 4 basic food groups for the rest of your life, you’d probably better be doing the cooking if we decide to live together. Friz is an uber-cook. I’m barely even ALLOWED in our kitchen, which really suits me just fine.

11. Who is more stubborn?
Without question, me. I can honestly say with some misplaced pride that I’m probably the most stubborn person I know.

12. Who is the first to admit they are wrong?
See # 11. It’s kind of become a running joke with us, but I don’t think I’ve EVER admitted I was wrong. And I’m pretty sure I HAVE been. Once. Kinda.

13. Who has more siblings?
Friz’s brother unfortunately passed away 10 years ago, and I am an only child. Did anyone ever think for a second that someone with my ego had siblings? No way, Jose. I am 100 % completely a product of my parents and grandparents telling me how special I am for my entire life.

14. Who wears the pants in the relationship?
That would be me. Friz is a pushover. If I didn’t enforce discipline there would be chaos! Nothing in their place, no organization, dogs and cats living together… it would be anarchy!

15. What do you like to do together?
We hang with friends a lot and get alittle crazy, but when it’s just the two of us we’re pretty boring. If you could be a fly on the wall when we were home alone, expect to see a lot of us watching TV and reading.

16. Who eats more sweets?
No question, that would be me. I’m a glutton for them tasty treats.

17. Guilty Pleasures?
American Idol. At least that’s the only thing in my life that I feel guilty about participating in.

18. How did you meet?
At work. She threw herself at me. It happens a lot.

19. Who asked whom out first?
That would be me. How many times do I have to tell you that I’m all man?

20. Who kissed who first?
If I remembered the answer to this, I should have my He-Man Woman Haters Club membership revoked.

21. Who proposed?
Me. On Christmas Eve. Cliché, I know. Bite me.

22. Her best features and qualities?
She’s got a great laugh, and she’s enough of an angel to put up with all the worst kinds of shit I can throw at her, day after day. Plus, she has great legs.

23. Tag some peeps.
I will tag no one! The meme madness must end here!

30 Caliber Post

See what I did there? With the picture up above? Bullets? Get it? Cause this post has bullets, and I put up a PICTURE of actual bullets!

God, I’m clever. Usually people who look as hot as me don’t have much in the brains department, but I seem to have been blessed with an abundance of both. No wonder you all come here so often.

What was I talking about again? Oh yeah…

- Sorry for the late response getting back to you all about my latest adventures at the physical therapist, but I took the day off from work yesterday. Although it seems backwards, I only blog WHEN I’m at work. My free time is much too precious to waste blogging. Go figure.

Anyway, I wish had another salacious ass-grabbing story for you today (and in reality, I COULD just lie and make one up), but this weeks trip to the doctors was pretty much uneventful. This PROBABLY had something to do with the fact this week I had to share my exercise room with some 70 year old biddy on the stationary bike who kept telling us about her grandson, so I’m sure my fine young therapist was a little off put to make her advances.

She DID, however, somehow skew the conversation around at one point to telling me that her boyfriend has to put a pillow between his legs while they sleep because during the night she has a tendency to kick him in the balls while he sleeps.

Now THERE’S an endorsement for having an affair if I ever heard one!’

She also asked me if I was married at the end of the session. Just kinda threw it out there. (and yes, I told her the truth…)

- As I mentioned above, I played hooky yesterday. Took the day to just relax and hang out in the pool with the wee one (I mean my son, not my penis). I had promised to get him a new inflatable toy for the pool yesterday, so I took him to the store, expecting to pay about $20 bucks for some little inflatable lizard or some similar crap.

Of course, I left the store with a RIDICULOUSLY expensive remote control speedboat for us to play with all day. I had no intentions of buying said boat, until my son looked up at me with those big doe eyes and said…

“Daddy, you always told me you just can’t say NO to me”.

And he’s right about that……

- I have continued my ridiculously long and boring exercise of getting all my posts transferred here from the old slydesblog. At this point, I think I have all the old posts archived from about May 2006 or so, so we are nearly done.

There’s just one small problem. When I went back later to check up on some of these old posts, I noticed that Blogger sometimes, for reasons I cannot begin to fathom, changes the font size. The end result is that some posts right now have text so small that they are unreadable.

At some point, most likely when I’m done transferring over everything, I’ll go back and attempt to fix those old posts to make them readable.

In the meantime, if you just HAVE to know RIGHT NOW what I said about my 2006 trip to St. Thomas, get yourself a damn magnifying glass.