29 April 2008

I understand the message, but your delivery is wrong

Sooo, we're all partied out around 1 or 2 a.m. at a friend of a friend's birthday party at their large home with large gazebo and large pool and guesthouse when I was ambushed by the idea of a foursome in the guesthouse. Where did that come from? Not really into it. I might be if I was trading up, but the other guy's wife wasn't doing anything for me. So, I told him I wasn't into it and he says, "Hey you're the newcomer around here. We've known each other for 10 years. So, you should shut up". It was very clear at that moment what was going on. If you could hear the sexual frustration in this guy's voice you would have had a similar epiphany. I told him "I understand the message, but your delivery is wrong" and we clanked beers and had a laugh about it.

Later, his wife could have kept the lights off or her clothes on. One or the other.

I had to jet and we called it off midway... I guess. I was really hammered. Maybe it was earlier than halfway. All of us sloppy drunks with our 40 year old bellies hanging out just wasn't my idea of our best time.

My girl stood up for me and then took care of biz and we slept it off.

16 April 2008

This isn't true

When you 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'd forgotten to make. I found the number and dialed it. A man answered, saying "Hello." I politely said, "This is Chris. Could I please speak with Robyn Carter?"
Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear "Get the right f***in number!"
and the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn't believe that anyone could be so rude. When I tracked down Robyn's correct number to call her, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two digits.
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 up and yell, "You're an asshole!"
It always cheered me up.
When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my "therapeutic asshole calling" would have to stop.
So, I called his number and said, "Hi, this is John Smith from Verizon. I'm calling to see if you're familiar with our Caller ID Program."
He yelled "NO!" and slammed down the phone.
I quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're an asshole!"
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'd been waiting for that spot, but the idiot ignored me. I noticed a "For Sale" sign in his back window which included his phone number, so I wrote down the number.
A couple of days later, right after calling the first asshole (I had his number on speed dial) I thought that I'd better call the BMW asshole, too. I said, "Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?"
"Yes, it is", he said.
"Can you tell me where I can see it?" I asked.
"Yes, I live at 34 Mowbray Blvd, in Vaucluse. It's a yellow house, and the car's parked right out in 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?"
"Don, you're an asshole!" Then I hung up, and added his number to my Speeddial, too.
Now, when I had a problem I had two assholes to call.
Then I came up with an idea. I called Asshole #1.
"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 34 Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse, a yellow house. My black Beemer is parked in 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," and hung up.
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 34 Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse, and that I was on my way over there to kill my lover.
Then I called Channel 9 News about the gang war going down on Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse.
I quickly got into my car and headed over to Mowbray.
I got there just in time to watch two assholes beating the crap out of each other in front of six cop cars, an overhead police helicopter and a News crew.

NOW I feel much better.

Anger management really works...

It's pronounced: Four Dollars

I bought gas yesterday and it was $3.99 per gallon for the medium grade 89. Since I've never paid four bux for a gallon of gas, I wanted to try it out. Don't forget the 9/10ths of a cent that is attached to every price you've ever paid. What other industry consistently prices that way?

How about this:
When I was a kid, we drove an RV to the Grand Canyon. I was part time co pilot and navigator. This included keeping a logbook of our mileage, gas cost, etc. for the trip. We paid a high of 74 cents outside of Fagstaff, AZ and I still remember that the gas was priced in 10-cent increments.

When I began driving, gas was $1.27 or so. I knew it would be $2.00 before long. And, it was. As gasoline prices climbed to $3.00 per gallon, there were still 10-cent increments. $1.27 for 87, $1.37 for 89, $1.47 for 91 octane became $3.27, $3.37, $3.47 per gallon. Sure, it is sometimes a 12-cent jump between grades, but the range remains consistent over the years. How has the cost of 2 octanes remained the same for 30 years while the gasoline increased?


It finally happened, part 40

I've been falling off of bicycles since my 5th birthday when I received my first two-wheeled bike. I knocked out my two front top teeth on a curb in front of the family compound in CA. Today, I was JRA in Wilder Ranch on Dairy Trail (beneath "PARK" on this map) I must have been distracted by the soundtrack in my mind. Y'know the one that is static free and switches songs flawlessly with lightning speed.

So, I'm loosely riding a sandy, foot-wide singletrack and I didn't see a small drop that bounced me off the bike ---> straight onto the downhill side covered by blackberry and poison oak. It was a soft, prickly landing that made me laugh because it didn't hurt as much as annoy me. There was nothing to push off of and my head was pointed downhill -- with my bike humping my leg! The bike and I were fine and we finished the ride in 1:04:00 with 9.7 miles. It's a great loop of mostly singletrack that can be done btwn the final whistle at the office & sunset.

I've never fallen into the thicket like that. Ever. Oh, sure -- I've hit rocks, but not the barbs of vines that wrap around your socks and shorts.

Which is worse?