i am REALLY digging kimberly – the porn star in training’s new porno pad. it comes complete with ol’ school hot tub in the master bath, plus dual shower heads and mirrored wall in the master bed room…and out back a pool and a bad-ass grill (and buford, the wonder basset). the whole thing just DRIPS of 70’s swank, and if it didn’t get any better from there, it’s just off the loop and pat booker making it damn near the easiest place to get to in SA for me, with the exception of the forum, which is where we had dinner and drink (note the lack of an “s” on that last word – still saving up for my birthday festivities tuesday-wednesday…though that one margarita was pretty large and pretty strong).
[continue reading…]

on the rare occasion i have to speak in public, i tend to go at it dry; kinda like when i’m fucking (TOTALLY kidding on that one, folks…but it DID get your attention, right??) no, i mean with no notes, and little if any mental preparation. i’ve always been pretty good at improv and a bit quick witted, so i just sort of wing it in most situations and do okay. i can be lazy like that sometimes. today was grandma’s memorial service, and i began preparing my speech while in the shower about 2:15. the service started at 3:00.

by the time i arrived at lockhart first united methodist (shudder) i had my stuff pretty much mentally prepared. i was all set until i saw my uncle arthur in the parking lot, and he had PAGES in his hand. LOTS of pages. like, “i couldn’t glance down quick and do a count” kinda pages. like, “i could hear the trees nearby weeping kinda pages. you may recall i mentioned he had planned to do a speech that covered my grandma’s entire ninety-five year existence that would be about half an hour minimum, which he DID do, and it contained the phrase, “my mother” approximately 2,467 times…but we all grieve in our own way and i believe this was therapeutic for him.

but if the “main act” is gonna run long, the “opening act” must take the hit; and with no note cards to line through, it meant i had to do some quick editing on the fly at the pulpit of the church i grew up going to but have avoided since i was old enough to know to do so. loooooong story there, so we won’t go into that. but here, i shall give you, the eulogy i had mentally scripted, with the usual running commentary, astrowhore style (i.e. in parentheses).

“we are hear to remember my grandmother, kay edwards. but we are not here to mourn her death; but rather, to celebrate her life. my grandmother was living proof that incredible things can come in very, very, very, VERY small packages (she stood barely five feet tall and rarely weighed over 110 lbs.) while it was no mystery that she did not attend college on a basketball scholarship, (i actually said that) nobody in our family stood taller when we all had to come to this exact building six and half years ago and say goodbye to my mother, her daughter, when she was taken from us by cancer at the age of fifty-five; FORTY years younger than grandma would be when she went to join mom only six weeks ago.

shortly after mom’s service, grandma pulled me aside and told me how proud and happy it made her to see me up at this very pulpit, offering kind words in my mother’s honor at what was undeniably the saddest day of my life; and using my “gift” (as she called it) of making people laugh and smile in a situation where laughing and smiling was at it’s most difficult. she then requested that when HER time came, that i would do the same for her, and that is why is stand here before you today.

despite her tiny stature, she was a strong, vibrant woman (know another one in the same height range right now, actually…equally as incredible) who never stopped giving to others, no matter what life handed her. she endured the great depression, two world wars, the premature losses of both her husband and her daughter, and also had to deal with the emotional stress and strain of trying to raise ME (picture what a joy THAT must have been).

i recall many a time she would tell us she was going out to the golden age home to visit with, and teach bridge to, the “old ladies” out there…many of which were ten to fifteen years her junior. she taught me to always see others point of view, take into account where they were coming from and what might lead them to think and act the way they do, and to react to and deal with them accordingly; but all the while to stand up for, and look out for, myself.

this, and the many other lessons she taught along her way through life, and the lives of all that she touched, will be her most lasting gift; and is how i will always remember her.

all of us will miss her dearly, and all of us thank you for coming.”

and i thank all of you for reading.

so, today’s father’s day; or as they call it in the trailer park, “the day of mass confusion”. i actually spent mine with my dad for the most part…the first time i’ve done so in twenty-five years. pretty cool…especially since we also through in my sister (notice the lack of quotes…this was my real sister); plus my stepmother, my aunt and uncle (both of whom i hadn’t seen since their wedding; which i believe was in spring of 1996…sad, huh? like i said, i always wish my family was closer than it is). good mexican food, with NO margaritas…for three reasons…

1. after a good rita buzz on friday AND saturday, i figured sunday was a good day to take off.
2. i’m saving up for tuesday / wednesday, when i have a feeling a WHOLE lot of booze will be partaken in.
3. there’s something that even i see wrong with downing tequila at 11:30 in the morning.

that’s right, 11:30 in the morning. i wanted father’s day lunch, i got father’s day brunch. with THREE times the family i expected (VERY cool) and unlike typical brunch, NO cantaloupe (which was cool, too). there were, however, enchiladas and quesadillas; which kicks the crap out of cantaloupe ANY day. and since we waited till after my sister arrived, we ended up not eating till 12:30 anyway, which was more my speed.

why the early hours? well, my family has always taken their sweet time in having kids…my grandparents didn’t have my dad (their oldest) till they were thirty-one, and likewise my parents waited until they were thirty-one to have me. do the math. that makes my dad sixty-one now (he was actually thirty, and my mom was thirty-one).

and you KNOW how older people eat.
lunch is BEFORE noon.
dinner is BEFORE six.
and breakfast?

well, if you wanna have breakfast at THEIR time, just go out drinking with your friends the night before, put a change of clothes in your trunk, and plan on not sleeping. you know when you see the older people in iHop at 4:00 am and think to yourself, “i wonder if i’ll be that cool when i’m that old?”. they’re actually NOT that cool….they’re STARTING their day; not finishing it. they were asleep before you were sliding into your $7 parking space and praying you’d hit the bar in time to still take advantage of the $1.50 anything-in-the-house special. see, we all still eat at the same time, just a few things shift.

they were born in the early 30s, so now they’re in their early 70s; so they eat breakfast at 3:00 am on a sunday, go home, and take a nap, and about 10:00 the next morning they’re on their knees in prayer…at church. praying the world will keep spinning, and keep feeling fine.

i was born in the early 70s, so now i’m in my early 30s; so i eat breakfast at 3:00 am on a sunday, go home and pass out, and about 10:00 the next morning i’m on my knees in prayer…at the toilet. PRAYING the room will stop spinning, and stop feeling so cold. so verrrry cold.

we’re all the same deep down…it’s just that sometimes you have to break the cycle; and that’s why i didn’t have booze with lunch. but now, i just got a call and i’m off to SA to have dinner with kimberly, the porn star in training…so the non-boozing of sunday may end up changing in a couple of hours…but since i won’t see her on my birthday (i’m assuming…don’t know anyone making the sa/austin commute on wednesday unless they’re surprising me), this will be our b-day celebration.

this weekend is all about the family; which is weird, because i’ve always WANTED my family to be closer than it is, and this weekend it has the chance to be so but i have this weird feeling i’m gonna be going into sunday with that infamous, “be careful what you wish for ’cause you just might get it…” line echoing in my head.

first off is tomorrow’s memorial service for my grandmother. a few things make this one a bit odd for me. for one, even though my grandmother had always said she wanted me to speak at her service (after hearing me speak at my own mom’s in february of ’96) and i had mentioned that to my uncle on NUMEROUS occasions, he had forgotten to put me “in the line up”, as it were….something he says WILL be corrected by tomorrow.

my uncle is a very, very, VERY quiet, private person; yet plans on giving some war-and-peace-length family history/story of grandma’s life speech tomorrow that he says will be around thirty to forty-five minutes in length. i’m curious to see how he holds up speaking in front of a crowd (for the record, i actually get nervous every time i do it; but i think i hide it fairly well). why this is necessary, i DO not know; but we all grieve in our own way, and as i was just saying to i forget who on the phone the other day, what makes this odd is the fact that she died six weeks ago, i’ve grieved, i’ve moved on, i’ve healed, and NOW we have the memorial service.

six weeks ago i had a great, funny, witty speech all prepped for her in my head; but didn’t write it down ’cause i was just gonna let it flow at the service, keeping the language in grandma-speak of course (i.e. 100% “fuck” free). now i’ve got nothing. but since i DO tend to do pretty well with this page, i might just sit down and write it as in entry (might even post it) and then print it up and take a whore page as notes. for the one or two readers who were at mom’s funeral you may see the parallel in this “whore reference” if your memories are good enough. (if anyone else wants to know, ask me…)

it has been a while since i’ve gone to a funeral, let alone checked my watch at one; but in order to make it to work on time i have to be in and out of this thing in about two hours, which given the fact there’s no body; and therefore no VIEWING of the body, or procession to the grave site, or for that matter, no grave site, i figured this was safe and told work i’d be there with no problem. my uncle seemed offended that i thought it would be over that quickly. is there a formula i’m missing here? allow one hour for every thirty years a person lives or something? or am i just an insensitive prick?

(for all of those who’s mice are now RUSHING to the comments button to answer the preceding question keep in mind that i meant it as it would apply to this situation and not as an overall judgement call on me and my life in general; as a general rule, i KNOW i’m a prick…but i’m a lovable prick)

then i work, grab dinner, hopefully drink heavily to make the whole unfortunate day a blur, and pass out. then it’s father’s day.

i haven’t spent father’s day with my dad in twenty-five years. soon after my parent’s got divorced, my dad remarried the woman that he would apparently stick with (and be completely controlled by) for the rest of his life; and he took to raising HER daughter from a previous marriage and kinda forgot about us. there’s a current situation in my life where i’m banking on absence making the heart grow fonder (and it’s working on this end) with my dad, not so much…

i went through three very distinctive stages in my relationship with my dad and my views on it. they can be summed up in three simple phrases:

“dad, what did i do?” (i.e. GUILT)

i blamed myself for him leaving. maybe if i had been a better son, more what he wanted, he wouldn’t have gone. maybe if i can prove to him NOW that i CAN be what he wanted, he’ll come back and we can be a family again. this lasted till i hit my teens, where i kicked into…

“dad, you SUCK!!!!” (i.e. ANGER)

freudian fuel, boys and girls. i didn’t BLAME dad for everything wrong in the world or my life; but i’ll be damned if he wasn’t gonna shoulder his share. i was pissed he left; pissed he didn’t seem to care; and pissed that he had started treating someone who WASN’T his own flesh and blood better then me. this rode out ALL through high school, and basically started at my grandfather’s funeral when i was in the eighth grade. after high school, i went to college, began the study of both broadcasting (my major) and what i almost double majored in, psychology. this allowed me to see everything in a whole new light, and i started to view things the way i do now…

“dad, you poor bastard” (i.e. ACCEPTANCE)

now i can see who wears the pants in that marriage, and it ISN’T my dad. he’s on such a short leash i don’t even know if it qualifies as a leash; more like a neck chain. and it’s been going on so long it’s no longer a problem or an issue or a debate; it’s simply a way of life that he can not and will not change. my dad didn’t leave us and forget us of his own free will…he HAS no free will. he’s the only one that can do something about it, he chooses not to, and there we are. a few vertebra short of the whole set. it should be mentioned at this point that he has NO idea i have a web page.

or that i curse a lot.

yeah, we’re that close.

but he IS in town this weekend to take care of some issues with my other, still amongst the breathing, grandmother (i.e. HIS mom) and i suggested a father’s day lunch (pointing out it’ll be the first chance we’ve gotten to do this in twenty-five years) and got a, “we’ll have to see” out of him as an answer. in other words, if it’s cool with my stepmother, it can happen. oh, dad…you poor bastard.

i LOVE strong, independent, intelligent women who can think for themselves and act on their own…and could never spend my life with anything less. but my nuts WILL stay my property until someone is publishing MY funeral speech on line. i learn from the mistakes of my parents…

Replies: 2 Comments

My dad did the exact same thing, but I don’t think it’s a neck chain, I think it’s a nose ring she’s got on him or one attached to his balls.

Damn, are our dads related?

amy said @ 06/16/2002 04:33 AM GMT

ouch!

kristie said @ 06/14/2002 09:37 PM GMT

i’ve always told kramer that one of these days, IF i’m lucky, my readership will one day hit the double digits…not including people i hang out with. dare to dream, right? don’t laugh…it COULD happen. one day. maybe. kramer says i have certain “psychic” abilities. or maybe that was psycho. i don’t remember which…i was kinda buzzed at the time.

kramer ALSO says that day has already happened. he claims my readership is already far above that. if that IS the case, than i have a birthday wish for you people. this is the runner-up wish; but since i KNOW the real one can’t happen (at least this year), then i need you to all pitch in for this. this is the shit.

it’s TOO smooth. and i want the black one, of course. it has a leather interior, a harley motor, a rockin’ stereo, three custom rims (don’t worry, it DOES only have three wheels) and can top out over 100 mph. now, it does cost quite a bit, but they take installments…so y’all start the down payment off and i’ll pick it up from there. think about the stories i could tell cruising around the state on a manly tricycle that’s harley powered to over 100 mph on the open road. koRn cd blaring….(the new one’s pretty good by the way, and comes out tomorrow), wind through my hair, everything else just a blur.

it insures and registers just like a motorcycle, so it should be pretty cheap in that respect…but i need someone to front up the down payments, and with the birthday being in a week or so, i thought y’all could pitch in, especially if i have all the readers kramer SAYS i do, then you shouldn’t have to pitch in too much, right?

wanna see it? click here.

**2020 NOTE** so, my theory is the link (click “HERE”) doesn’t work ’cause the company’s out of existence (that part is true) due to it being sued into oblivion by the widow’s of the dipshits that bought these (and i fully acknowledge i wanted to be one of those dipshits). and i couldn’t find a clear pic of a black one of these deathtraps, but here’s a red one:

blame it on the booze last night. blame it on the poor amount of sleep. blame it on the impending birthday. (june 19th…shop early, shop often) DON’T blame it on mercury being retrograde, since that righted itself on june 7th (see, kramer, SOME of us listen to you). but the bottom line was, i woke up in a funk. and trying to work on the house DIDN’T help. while it was productive in it’s undertaking, it also meant being alone, thinking too much, etc, etc, and so i decided on my typical route to try and alleviate depression…

RETAIL THERAPY…..

ah, yeah….ain’t nothing like that plastic-card-swiping-prozac to kick what ails you, right? went all over hell’s half acre in san marcos and bought next to NOTHING. it wasn’t helping. still feeling funky (not meant in that james brown sort of way). then other feelings decided to enter into the funk mix. the feeling of being disturbed being one of them.

i was at target, looking around, and saw something on the sales rack that disturbed me…lucky charms boxers. yes, as in THOSE lucky charms…..the cereal, not your nuts. that’s some scary shit. understand that as a man who’s family came off the emerald isle many years ago, i’ve always cringed at lucky, the “mascot” for the children’s cereal….is it possible for an irish man to be MORE flamboyantly gay than that little fucking, marshmallow-hocking “irish” stereotype? and on top of that, you want me to put his big, gaping mouth near my genitalia? i felt violated just being near the rack.

there were also boxers with the trix rabbit and sunny, who goes coo-coo for cocoa puffs…two primo examples that the good marketing folks at general mills (i THINK that’s who makes those cereals) took some GOOD shit before coming up with their box designs. they can stay in the pantry, and out of my drawers.

don’t worry lucky…YOU can come out of the pantry ANYTIME and won’t a damn person be surprised. for crying out loud, you’re IRISH and start the list of marshmallows with the “pink hearts” instead of the “green clovers”. the signs have always been there, luck boy…don’t be ashamed to admit who you really are. come clean, and next tour i’ll take YOU to see the pet shop boys.

so, that was my planned piece. it was supposed to be over now. basically just a supplemental thang until the end of the cd contest tomorrow when i reveal the number, the winner, etc. but NO, vH1 had to step in. they’re playing the queen’s golden jubilee, a star-studded rock concert where everybody apparently gets to do ONE song. i was not cool with this, since ozzy WAS on the bill. then ozzy played. and i was TOTALLY cool with him only doing one song. allow me to explain…

ozzy comes out, and basically chases the stage mc off the stage. tony iomoi was there, so i, like so many, were thinking, “hell yeah, it’s ozzy/sabbath time”. sure enough, the opening notes of paranoid begin, and the crowd goes into a frenzy.

but here’s the problem.

see, it’s ozzy on vocals. and tony on guitar. but it was PHIL FUCKING COLLINS on drums. he was basically the session drum guy for this show, and while i LIKE phil collins (and will admit it), ozzy and phil on the same stage is just not something that’s meant to happen. and even MORE disturbing was the fact they kept cutting to shots of phil, then tony, then ozzy, then tony, then ozzy, then PHIL like he was the third, forgotten member of sabbath.

no. wrong. BAD.

phil collins and ozzy?

two things i like. you probably know which one i like MORE (hint – i don’t have an autographed phil collins jack-in-the-box staring down at me right now). but you know, i also like crown royal and chocolate milk…but i would never MIX the two, ya know??? so, my funky sunday had a very disturbing musical close…now, on to that cigar i discussed earlier…

Replies: 3 Comments

glad you finally went and picked that disc up… your collection wasn’t complete without it.

kathi said @ 06/11/2002 01:55 PM GMT

can beat it…yesterday, drove TO san marcos listening to “untouchables” from koRn (comes out tomorrow..don’t ask me questions) and drove BACK from san marcos listening to pop! – the greatest hits cd from erasure…

sean (i write this stuff….except the comments that come from other people, of course) said @ 06/10/2002 06:41 PM GMT

think that’s freaky? try jammin’ out to ozzy’s latest cd (down to earth) then following that up with Tom Petty’s Full Moon Fever. *shudder* does not work. trust me.

topenga said @ 06/10/2002 03:18 PM GMT

06/09/2002: “wow…i can breathe. now if i could only stop seeing double…”

so, yesterday, i did a lot of auto-bonding. i don’t mean that as some sort of masturbatory statement, as my more perverted readership (i.e. the ones that think like me) would interpret it. i mean bonding with the 98 malibu that bears the still needing to be replaced “white trash” sticker. i had to run to san marcos, then downtown austin, then round rock, then far east austin, then south austin, and then finally back to lockhart.

damn.

all i can say is, thank god for very welcome, surprise phone calls and plentiful weekend minutes, or i would have gone nuts. in all this, i only actually got paid for six hours and about 49 miles. but that’s okay. and the later part of the night was even more okay (though far less cool than one of my afternoon conversations).

you see, i don’t smoke. i DO smoke cigars, and quite enjoy them, but it’s not as regular a habit as one would think. not to shoot my “image” in the foot (if i have one at all) but i probably smoke, at most, three cigars in a week…if that. typically, it’s more like one or two a week. of course, since i’m now talking about it, i’ll have to “partake” a bit later; and i only mean that about cigars…not booze (i DO have to work in the morning) or weed (since i have none in the house).

but cigarettes have never touched these lips for a lengthy amount of time. i specify that because i have, on occasion, pulled one out of the pack, put in my mouth, and lit it for a lady friend or something. sorta classy; good bonding gesture. but i only puff it once or twice, and never inhale it. i also then IMMEDIATELY drink something to kill the taste from my mouth, although i find it next to impossible. it simply just takes time.

through all this, with me never smoking, every woman i’ve ever had a serious relationship has been a smoker except one…but soon after we started seeing each other, she started back with the habit that she had kicked a few years before. it should be noted, though, that i was NOT the reason she started back; although the reason (and the habit that likewise ensued) are still around; but i digress…

kramer smokes. kathi smokes. josh smokes. junior smokes. shane smokes. so last night, when i ended up solo and starving post-indoor-football i went to baby a’s for some food and potent purple margaritas and got to say, “one…booth…NON-smoking, please”. all of a sudden, i realized this joint actually didn’t smell as dingy as i thought it did. and the food DOES actually have some scent to it. and tastes a little more vibrant when not accompanied by eau de camel No 5.

the plum-crazy purple ‘ritas still taste just as strong (god bless whoever thought to put everclear in margaritas); but their impact is a bit less due to the extra oxygen inhalation helping to clear your head…and for the record, i was NOT seeing double when i left (the title was only a joke, people)…i am still a bit responsible. not all the way, but a bit. after all, i step deeper into my thirties in just ten more days.

and speaking of countdowns, let’s not forget the cd contest, folks…lock in your final numbers for how many CDs you think i unearthed when i FINALLY cleaned out my car. whoever picks closest wins a free cd; but the cut-off is midnight tonight, and the next entry will announce the number (for all of you with side action going) and the winner. last chance to vote is right here.

…and now, for another reader’s poll….those of you who know me personally have a bit of an advantage on this one. yesterday, at the advisement of my base contact, i cleaned my car out completely (all clutter, weapons, etc…even took the small pocket knife off my key chain) and as a result all the CDs that have been in my car FOREVER finally had to leave (and now i have to go through the not-so-fun task of putting them back in their original cases) went down to just the CD wallet, which got “re-loaded”. so, how many CDs would you figure got unearthed by me cleaning the car? keep in mind the wallet holds twelve, so guess over twelve. at one point, when i mentioned this idea to my “siter”, kathi, she bet on forty. if anyone nails it dead on, i’ll buy YOU a cd of your choice from sundance…just no box sets or imports. now vote away.

so first off, to address the issue of, “dude, where the hell is the new astrowhore stuff?!?!?” it’s been a combination of two different things. one is not much time at home and awake, which obviously makes for fewer entries; and two would be the fact that i’ve been a bit bummed lately and when i’m feeling down and funky (not meant in a “get-you-ass-on-the-dance-floor” kinda way) i tend not to write, or for that matter, do much of anything. and as a third BONUS one, not a lot happened on tuesday, so i didn’t really have much to work with. to quote one of my former professor’s at swt, “you can’t make chicken salad out of chicken shit”. needless to say, i never sampled any of his cooking, for fear he might have attempted such a feat, but i digress….

yesterday we added our latest ticket outlet to the system, fort hood – what josh (who went with me, ’cause he was bored and when i’m bummed i always try to be alone as little as possible so he obliged me on that one) called the “largest military base in the free world”; but as we found out on our SECOND pass through the “army” of MPs that look up under your car, in the glove box, trunk, under the hood, etc, etc, etc, it’s actually just the largest in the US; there’s supposedly one in germany that’s bigger; a scary prospect considering that if you look on a map of texas, fort hood looks about the size of delaware.

the MP check point is an interesting one. you pull up and are surrounded on all sides my the military police, who have you kill your engine, and open all doors, trunk, and hood. then they look, but DON’T TOUCH. they can’t legally “touch” the vehicles, which i kinda think is ridiculous. this means i could have had a gun and some bombs (or at the very least, pro osama bin-laden pamphlets) in the trunk, but as long as it was in my BAG, which they can’t root through, you’re all good. they also sweep the perimeter of your car with a mirror on a stick to look under it, which josh at first thought was a “metal detector”. metal. on the chassis of a car. go figure, josh. i guess riding in a car with me for that long can make one loopy, huh? we step out of the car so they can take our i.d.’s and “view” my car, and i realize that with my hair cascading down to the middle of my back, i actually have as much hair as all ten MPS COMBINED….and everyone’s in camo. even me. (hey, when in rome…) okay, so josh wasn’t. but he just HAS to be different sometimes…

we go in, install the system, do the most question filled training session i’ve EVER dealt with, and then breeze out about an hour or so later with directions to a good bar-b-Q place, and off to home we went. on the way back to civilian land, you pass a sign with a counter that made me REALLY glad we were leaving base. it said, “it has been 004 days since our last traffic fatality”. FOUR days? since a FATALITY on base? is this REALLY something worth bragging about?

this is getting a bit lengthy (although i guess with yesterday’s absence of an entry, i owe y’all more stuff, right?), but here’s a few blurbs from the trip out to the land where all sentences start AND end with the word, “sir”….

1. the town attached to “fort hood” is killeen, texas….which has as the first four letters in the town name, “KILL”; and the place has a population of 86,911 people, making the last three digits of the population “911”. you conspiracy theorists have fun with that one…

2. on the way to killeen from i35, you pass, in the middle of nowhere, “the ding-dong trading post”. a business so humorously titled it had josh and i LUSTING for a digital camera on excursions like this (likewise with the traffic fatalities sign, but i bet taking pictures of stuff on base gets you thrown into a deep, dark, hole somewhere). i was wondering if the “ding-dong trading post” is where soldiers go to trade out their cocks if they got them diseased sticking them in someone funky, since the area DOES tend to cater to every other need they might have…

3. despite the word of some of the locals, the bar-b-Q there is quite good…the name of the place escapes me right now, but it’s on highway 195 next to blockbuster.

4. when we got to killeen and needed directions to the main gate of army land, we stopped at a store i just couldn’t resist, “guns galore”. much like every other product, the ingredients are listed IN ORDER…heavy on the GUNS, light on the GALORE….(why cant they do that when you order a “crown and coke”? actually, if you’re known there, they DO, now that i think about it…) rows and rows of pistols, that due to my height and the height the of cabinets, were actually pointed at my nuts. talk about making you want to shop FAST.

Replies: 6 Comments

51.. is this an exact, nail it dead on game or can we play “closest without going over” sort of game?

the redhead said @ 06/07/2002 03:47 AM GMT

has anyone nailed it yet? and how can we trust you to be honest if someone does (i still think it was a nice, clean 40)

kathi said @ 06/06/2002 06:25 PM GMT

37. nice awkward number.

topenga said @ 06/06/2002 03:52 PM GMT

I’m guessing 49. I like that number.

jette said @ 06/06/2002 03:18 PM GMT

no man, Bubba is “old school,” thirty-three & third.

astrofishy said @ 06/06/2002 03:08 PM GMT

i say there were 34 cds in the car. probably a bit on the conservative side.

josh said @ 06/06/2002 02:35 PM GMT

okay, so i didn’t write this one; i WISH i did, but i didn’t. HAD to share it, though…and keep the votes coming for the chance to win a free cd (see the entry below this one for details). and now something DAMN funny my sister sent me…

For all of you who occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take it out on someone, don’t take it out on someone you know, take it out on someone you don’t know.

I was sitting at my desk, when I remembered a phone call I had forgotten to make. I found the number, and dialed it. A man answered saying, “Hello?” I politely said, “This is Fred Hanifin, could I please speak with Robin Carter?” Suddenly, the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn’t believe that anyone could be so rude.

I tracked down Robin’s correct number, and called her. (I had transposed the last two digits of her phone number). After hanging up with her, I decided to call the ‘wrong’ number again. When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled, “You’re an asshole!” and hung up.

I wrote his number down, with the word ‘asshole’ next to it, and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I’d call him. He’d answer and I’d yell, “You’re an asshole!”

It always cheered me up.

When Caller ID came to our area, I thought my therapeutic ‘asshole’ calling would have to stop. So, I called his number and said, “Hi, this is John Smith from the Telephone Company. I’m just calling to see if you’re familiar with the caller ID program?” he yelled, “NO!” and slammed the phone down.

I quickly called him back and said, “That’s because you’re an asshole!”

So, one day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking spot. Some guy in a black BMW cut me off, and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I had been waiting for the spot.The idiot ignored me. I noticed a “For Sale” sign in his car window, so I wrote down his number.

A couple of days later, right after calling the first asshole (I had his number on speed dial), I thought I had better call the BMW asshole, too. I dialed and someone said, “Hello? I said, “Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?”
“Yes it is.”
“Can you tell me where I can see it?”
“Yes, I live at 1802 West 34th Street. It’s a yellow house and the car’s parked right out front.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“My name is Don Hansen,” he said.
“When’s a good time to catch you, Don?”
“I’m home every evening after five.”
“Listen, Don, can I tell you something?”
“Yes?”
“Don, you’re an asshole!”

Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too. Now, when I had a problem, I had two assholes to call. But after several months of calling them, it wasn’t as enjoyable as it used to be.

So, I came up with an idea: I called Asshole #1.
“Hello”
“You’re an asshole!” (but I didn’t hang up.)
“Are you still there?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Stop calling me,” he screamed
“Make me,” I said.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“My name is Don Hansen.”
“Yeah? Where do you live?”
“Asshole, I live at 1802 West 34th Street, a yellow house with my black Beemer our front.”
He said, “I’m coming over right now, Don…and you had better start saying your prayers.”
I said, “Yeah, like I’m really scared, asshole.”

Then I called asshole # 2:
“Hello?” he said.
“Hello Asshole,” I said.
He yelled, “If I ever find out who you are…”
“You’ll what?” I said.
“I’ll kick your ass,” he exclaimed.
I answered, “Well, asshole, here’s your chance…I’m coming over right now.”

Then, I hung up, and immediately called the police saying that I lived at 1802 West 34th Street, and I was on my way over there to kill my gay lover. Then, I called Channel 13 news about the gang war going down on West 34th Street.

I quickly got into my car and headed over to 34th St. There, I saw two assholes beating the crap out of each other in front of 6 squad cars, a police helicopter, and a news crew. Now, I feel better.

Have a great day!

so, pride weekend is now behind us (pardon the pun) in austin, and it was the same weekend as the lone star harley rally; which probably made some bars just a HOOT to wander through on saturday night. phillipe and i were discussing this whole “pride” thing, and it just seemed a bit much to him. to a degree, i agree.

basically, to alter a rallying call, “you’re queer…you’re here….and we’re USED to it.” “gay pride weekend” in austin texas makes about as much since as having “mormon pride weekend” in salt lake city. pride is good, but if you feel you need a weekend to draw attention to yourself, you’re a bit late. we KNOW you’re here, and at least for me, i’m all good with it. if nothing else, it just means more hot latinas, blondes, redheads, brunettes, and all for me.

but did you not show your pride but SHOULD have? after all, i know a gay man or two who took a while to REALIZE they were gay. maybe you are, and you just don’t know. over MUCH booze on friday night, josh and i pondered this, and it became a drunk tape list.

ever since i started writing this page, i find myself coming up with stuff for it at odd times, and sometimes a pen ain’t handy. friday night, between margarita rounds, was such a time. and josh and i birthed this concept of a list to help those who might be confused to discover if they needed to show a little pride. between “hey check out the ass on HER” and “come on kings…DEFENSE!!!” (the friday playoffs were going on at the time) i left this list in several messages over the course of the night on my home answering machine.

we’ll go with a “twelve pack” on this, just to add a bit of masculinity to it…since that’s about the only way it’ll creep in. so, you might be a bit TOO prissy, and need to show a little pride, if you’re a guy and…

1. you can’t dance (and i’ll spot you the fact you even DO dance) without snapping your fingers or raising your hands over your head.

2. you know all the words to more than one of the songs from “grease”.

3. you think it’s a sin to wear white after labor day.

4. you’ve ever taped a vh1 diva’s live special.

5. you’ve ever driven half-way across the state of texas to see the pet shop boys (wait…forget i said that)

okay, the REAL number 5. when getting ready to go out you require more mirror time than ANY woman i’ve ever dated.

(whew…saved myself on that one)

6. you look back at shower time from high school gym with, and i paraphrase queen elizabeth on this one, “undiluted pleasure”.

7. you think ricky martin is masculine.

8. you simply ADORE cher.

9. you own a shirt that laces up the front.

10. you really, REALLY like that “interior motives” show.

11. whenever someone mentions princess di, you get tearful.

12. you’ve actually been kicked out of a bar for starting a cat fight as to which village people member was actually straight.