Saturday, August 31, 2002


 

A bee just stole my egg. I don't know if this is funny because I let a bee bite off a chunk of my egg that was the size of his thorax and fly away with it or because I am hungover. I'm guessing the latter, but regardless, a bee stole my egg.


9:37 AM . . .



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Friday, August 30, 2002


 

Go here and bring your credit card.


8:46 AM . . .



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Yet another reason to dislike American foriegn policy. I don't like Iraq stockpiling weapons of mass destruction, but I don't like having to have our men and women over there at all times to *try* to make sure it doesn't happen.


8:05 AM . . .



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Thursday, August 29, 2002


 

Friday night started by driving willy-nilly all over the Westchester County/Northern New Jersey/Southwestern Connecticut area trying to find Stamford. I finally found the house I was supposed to be at and commended drinking. I'll have to say we pretty much drank two or three beers an hour straight up until we left for the bar. We were doing all right. Of course, Curt had to leave for three hours to go hang out with his girlfriend, even though it was the first night in six months he had seen any of us. Out of respect for Curt's masculinity (aka. Allison), I'll say no more.

We left for the bar at about 10 and immediately placed dibs on the shuffleboard table. As we had learned at The Ruck, where we were schooled in the way of the Buffalo Burger style of shuffleboard tossing, we devoured our opponents with such voracity that they were left dumbfounded by our puck-sliding prowess. We took over the table with our first game and didn't let the table slide from our grasp until last call . . . And that's when the altercation that made this night noteworthy occurred.

I was playing shuffleboard with Marf, a man who is no stranger to pub shuffle and scuffle, and we were doing fine until a disputed point caused the fifty-year-old looking girl (who was the most time-ravaged twenty-something I've ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on) beside me to lose her temper, and thankfully nothing else. We settled the dispute and went on playing, but on the next point, it seemed that her boyfriend believed she couldn't fight her own battles, and he leaned across the table to kiss his lady friend and stayed there.

I really didn't understand what this was all about; I think he was just a townie who didn't really appreciate a newcomer joining the fray, especially when the newcomer was arguing with his girlfriend. Now I can see that part, but there is a time and a place for picking your girlfriend's battles, and this clearly wasn't either. I asked the guy if he could let me toss the puck and he came back with something like, "Well, at least I don't come to a bar with a hole in my shirt."

So I had a hole in my shirt . . . I borrowed it from Curt since I hadn't wanted to iron one of the shirts I'd already worn at my training class earlier that week. When was the last time a guy tried to tear you down by commenting on the inadeqacies of your wardrobe? This was my turn to be dumbfounded; I just stared at the guy with a confused look on my face as Marf came over stepped in the middle of us as if something might actually happen.

Nothing did, I don't remember saying much of anything as their friends grabbed them and left, and at that time Wilkens and I began to make complete fools of ourselves on the dance floor for the last fifteen minutes that the bar was open. Wilkens was one of those down-for-whateva type brothas; my roomate in college. We's gots some good stories between the two of us.

We departed with our hands raised in victory, shouting ROCK! and YEAH! in succession to make sure that we were completely ailienated from the pub. We were hungry, as guys that leave bars at closing time usually are, so we went across the street to this Stamford sub shop called the Hubba Bubba. Lo and behold, we saw the chump and his chump entourage; you know we had to say something. Wilkens and I, being completely obliterated, caused a total scene (as was intended) and had the cops called on us (as was not intended). Weighing our options between staying, trying to look tough, and being arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct and the converse option of booking it and sleeping in our own beds, we were out of there.

As soon as we hit the steps, the black and white rolled up, so we hightailed it over a couple of fences and got the fuck out of that place. We hid between apartments and behind hedges watching cop cars go by, and we were that careful because we were told that the police in their town had nothing better to do than bust kids for being a little tipsy.

Obviously, the most of the fun derived from this expedition was that of the running and hiding from the cops. There's nothing like the adrenaline rush that you get when you know someone's out looking for you, and you know you're going to be fucked if they find you. It's not so much the getting away that's fun, it's definitely the chase. . . I guess I'm just a chase kind of guy. I've never really run from the cops before (wink, wink, nudge, nudge).

I don't usually ask for responses, but when was the last time you ran from the cops? I wanna hear your stories! Comment away!


7:09 PM . . .



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Wednesday, August 28, 2002


 

I have a bunch of stuff to write about; really I do. It's all funny, too. I swear. Coming soon to a Blog near you! My weekend in Stamford and Atlantic City. It'll be here tomorrow or Friday, I guarantee it. Sorry about the extended hiatus.


11:40 AM . . .



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Friday, August 23, 2002


 

And GE's Leadership Essentials class is over. My group just left the adjourning stage. Thursday night, they weren't expecting too much from me. I think their CTQ was for me not to fuck them by screwing up like I had done in every practice run so far. I did pretty well and even stuck the calrod example. The thing that helped the most was that Amy was able to keep from laughing at me, I managed to not crack up at the thought in front of the entire class.

And for those team members that are back at this site, here's a link for you.

I'm off to AC for my Fantasy Football draft.


10:26 AM . . .



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Friday, August 16, 2002


 

As if this week wasn't slow enough, I'll be at a leadership training class for GE until next Sunday, so don't expect much on the ol' D Train for a while. Thanks for understanding.


8:48 AM . . .



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Man . . . Captain Lou Albano ain't got nothin on this guy. I can just imagine Ron rapping the Do The Mario! theme song. How jaded would we be if the casting director decided to cast Mr. Jeremy instead of everyone's favorite wrestling manager.

"Me and Luigi finally beat Bowser; so we get the key, go in, and this asian chick says 'Sorry! But the princess is in another castle! To show my thanks for rescuing me, why don't the two of you boys come over here so I can show my reeeal gratitude . . .'

Bow-chicka bow booowwwww
I've gotta find that one on DVD.

Thanks to Jason for the Hedgehog link.


5:41 AM . . .



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Saturday, August 10, 2002


 

My mom's favorite license plate is one that says: Don't blame me, I voted for Willie Nelson.

If you're of age, register to vote. It means A LOT to have this right, and if you don't exercise it, you could lose it.


6:44 PM . . .



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Well, I guess that sums it up pretty well, huh?

Taken without permission from Conseco.com after searching for someone to help me out with an IRA.


8:59 AM . . .



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Friday, August 09, 2002


 

About a year ago I was listening to this Christian radio show, and a lady was talking about driving with her daughter. I don't remember the full monologue, but what follows is pretty much the gist of it:

My daughter and I were driving through town one afternoon coming home from a trip upstate. I guess I took a wrong turn somewhere, because all of a sudden, we were in a bad part of town. As we rolled up to the next red light, I rolled the windows up and locked the doors with a loud, audible click. When my daughter heard this, she turned and looked at me. She then said "Mom! What are you doing?"

I was speechless since I didn't think I'd done anything wrong. When I turned to look at her, she said, "Mom, this is their HOME! Can't you see that you're insulting these people by locking our doors?"

And I knew, she was right.
Wait, what? So you're saying that you're letting political correctness get in the way of common sense?

Last summer, I had to drive to this bar in DC, and the address said 8th ave, so I hooked myself up with directions from Mapquest.com. I read the address wrong and I took the crew to this trendy section of North East DC, which, if you're from the area, you know is the decidedly not trendy area of DC. It's actually quite the opposite of trendy, unless you consider trends in homicides. It's pretty much the reason that DC was the murder capital of America for the second half of the 1990s.

So I'm doing about 20 miles an hour in reverse down this dead end street in NE, and the last thing I am thinking about are the feelings of the people sitting on the stoops of their government-assisted housing development as they stare at the confused white-boy in his pressed blue button-down dress shirt as he dangerously navigates his Mazda 323 equipped with Thule roof rack and Maine license plate reading DZ NUTZ out from their "cul de sac." When you hit a dead end in North East DC, you think there's a likelihood that you'll be the main character in a scene re-enactment of the part in Clear and Present Danger where the drug lords ambush the brigade of suburbans in the streets Bogota with AKs and missile launchers.

I'm exaggerating a bit, as I tend to do sometimes, but when I roll into North East, I cease to use words like "roll" in place of the more widely accepted "drive," I try to avoid contact with just about everyone, my windows are rolled up, and my car is LOCKED. I'll leave my car unlocked when I drive through, say, Bethesda, or pretty much anywhere around here except North East. I'm just playing the odds. Odds that people may learn all too quickly as they neglect their child's safety when they're trying not to offend the slums.


8:33 PM . . .



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This just amazed me. The guy that thought this up is pretty much the man. The code to write this program was only five kilobytes. Whodathunkit?


7:01 PM . . .



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Wednesday, August 07, 2002


 

Well . . . it's ten o'clock and I haven't really found anything interesting to write about. I could write about the interesting sounds coming from the walls in my apartment. I could write about how everyone died laughing the fourth time I erred in my softball game. I could sing the praises of Homestar Runner and the hilarity that ensues when you explore that site. Really, I gots nothin, so I think I am going to tell a story. This is a good one. Not one I'm too terribly proud of, but a good one nonetheless:

So I'm wasted, right. A bunch of GE employees (including my friend, Brian Weintraub) and I are at a UMD (University of Maryland) bar in College Park and we're havin' a grand ol' time with some lovely ladies. These girls decided that they were going to come back to the UMD apartments where Traub lives to have a few drinks with us. When we get there, he starts trying to be smooth with one of the girls, so he's playing "Kryptonite" or some other absolute crap song on a guitar and singing to it. It was total cheese; I saw a thought bubble emanate from the girl's head saying "All right, you're Superman already . . ." and then Roger Lodge cut to commercial.

So the girl I am with are getting cozy with suggests that we leave with her friends and they'd take me home. This is fine with me, but it would be putting the kybosh on my friend's chances of participation in any extra-libationary co-ed activities. I stayed out of the whole thing, and we ended up leaving within fifteen minutes. On the ride home, it was clear to me that I wasn't going anywhere else when I got to their place.

We're in her room and the lights are on. Hands are roving, buttons are coming undone . . . and she gets up to turn off the light. So I am rounding second and . . . well . . . post your e-mail in the comments section or IM me and I'll send you the end of the story. It includes pictures.


8:09 PM . . .



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What's the best way to show your pride for your and pimped out car?

Give up?


6:00 PM . . .



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I am going to write something really funny today.


6:35 AM . . .



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Monday, August 05, 2002


 

COME . . . ON . . . FHQWHGADS.


2:54 PM . . .



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Sunday, August 04, 2002


 

Test your intelligence. I took the 'Ultimate IQ Test.' Then when I scored high enough to put me into the 'Society,' they asked me to pay for a membership. If they're preying on smart people to suck money out of, I think they're barking up the wrong tree.

I took it again and answered more than three-quarters of them incorrectly and still scored an above average IQ. On second thought; don't click that link. It's a waste of time


10:20 AM . . .



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Saturday, August 03, 2002


 

Is my Blog HOT or NOT? Rate me.


9:29 PM . . .



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I spent $50 on feather pillows for my bed and ended up sleeping on one of the polysomething ones that I got for $6. I sure hope the ladies like the feather pillows. Oh, and last night's sleep was fan-fucking-tastic.


12:23 PM . . .



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Friday, August 02, 2002


 

I bought my bed for $230. I paid $330 for all the other stuff that goes along with the bed (ie. sheets, pillows, comforter, etc.). The only thing I can equate this to is someone buying a Civic and dropping a bunch of cash on it to soup it up instead of buying a nicer car and leaving it stock.

I pimped out my bed.

All I know is that this better be one of the best nights of sleep I ever get. I know a lot of people may not agree with me, but I think $600 is a lot to pay on a bed. My friend told me he picked up one for about that price (just the mattress and boxspring), and I was wondering what he was thinking. He told me you could get them cheaper at 1800mattress.com. When I went to that site, they weren't advertising their sale like they are now, the prices on the front page looked more like this. All I know is that if I ever spend $2300 on a bed it better massage my ass to sleep and give me a happy ending.


8:06 PM . . .



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Thursday, August 01, 2002


 

Friend X: Do you ever think of something dumb and then add a ".com" to it to see if it's a real website?
Me: All the time
Me: That's how I found Suck.com
Friend X: Haha
Me: I read it every Wednesday for like, four years
Friend X: Well, I just tried PoopShoot.com
Friend X: It said "coming soon"
Me: Hmmmm . . . Try PoopChute.com
Friend X: I think I'd be pissed if I jumped out of a plane and someone replaced my parachute with a poopchute


8:27 PM . . .



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Thanks for ridin' the