Oh 2009, I Barely Knew Ye

Hmmmm. Last year at this time I was just getting ready to run out and pick up my new wiener dog puppy while taking a break from completely redoing my bathroom. I was also battling a vicious chest cold, which I attributed to the pounds and pounds of gypsum board I inhaled because I refused to wear a mask. I may get mesothelioma, but on the plus side it was a sneaky way of getting Matt to bring me fast food! Mmmmmmmmmm!!

I wish I had some way of knowing what 2010 has in store for me. Lets face it, 2009 was not very eventful. I mean- I started a blog for Christ's sake.

I know - I'll look up my horoscope! I'll just type in "2010 Virgo Horoscope" into my little Google search bar. Reliable, yes???

Let's see . . . here are my results

Year 2010 Overview

Whew! Feel that enormous burden sliding off of your shoulders, like you've been carrying around an overstuffed backpack for the last couple of years? That would be Saturn, planet of structures and limitation, moving out of your sign. Congratulations, first of all, on having simply made it through more or less in one piece. You passed through the fire and made it out the other side.

Now, what to do with that spiritual Medal of Honor you've earned? Well, for one thing, establish who it is you really are with both yourself and those around you. Your ability to quietly endure both the big and little outrages of life have served you well in the last couple of years, and many of those around you may have come to assume that either it wasn't as rough on you as it was, or that you are somehow made of steel. In fact, you may have come to the same conclusion yourself. Virgo has a reputation for being able to take care of others with the best of them -- but can you turn that same care and attention on yourself? That's the big question you'll be facing in 2010.

The good news (beyond simply less bad news) is that there will be all kinds of opportunities opening up for you in new directions as far as fun, recreation and romance. So take advantage of those whenever you can. You've earned it!

Well . . . huh.

I'd normally be excited about this. I mean - it's pretty good, right? Nothing is said about boils or vagrancy or getting really bad diarrhea in a cab in traffic. That being said, I think it may be a load of entirely different crap. What gives me the right to call shenanigans to the computer fortuneteller?

(For the record - I totally envision a Romanian accented woman with a crystal ball and tarot cards laid out in front of her diligently typing all of this info in. Hey, even Gypsy fortunetellers can embrace technology - from the back of their nomadic wagons - right?)

Oh yeah - why the fortuneteller is full of shit. "Your ability to quietly endure both the big and little outrages of life have served you well in the last couple of years". Yeah right! I don't quietly endure anything and I come armed with examples!!

Setting: Going to school with Matt. Matt is driving when we go to a McDonalds drive-thru. I ordered an iced tea.

Matt: (handing me an iced tea) Here's your tea.

Chad: Oooooooohh!! Thanks!

I pierced the lid with my straw and took a sip of what I thought was tea. It wasn’t delicious iced tea, but Hi-C. Lets face it – there are few things as upsetting as when you take a drink of something and it isn’t at all what you were expecting to taste. So I threw my cup of Hi-C out the window back at McDonalds.

Chad: I SAID ICED TEA, BITCH!!

Matt sped out of the drive-thru telling me how he can never go back.

Setting: The back yard of Zahra’s new house. Steve, Bob, and myself have come over to assist in bringing it up to code. While on the back porch I got a splinter in my hand.

Chad: You son-of-a-bitch!

I grabbed a nearby shovel and swung it, repeatedly, at a vertical support beam until it gave way. In my defense – our job was to tear down the porch roof ANYWAY, so no harm done – right? Bob ended up knocking down the rest of the roof. It almost collapsed on my head, so I appointed myself in charge of carting away debris…

Setting: Graduation. I’m sitting there in my blue cap and gown, dying to get the hell out of there. But this bitch on stage won’t shut the hell up! Finally, near the end of her epic speech I had had enough.

Chad: (Talking to girl next to him while pulling out cell phone) I can’t believe this nonsense. (Referring to speaker)We don’t care about you, you bitch! Just shut your trap so we can turn in our shit and get out of here!

I called Matt – who was sitting across the room from me, also in his cap and gown.

Matt: (clearly flustered) uhhhh . . . hello?

Chad: Watcha doin’?

Matt: Are you kidding me right now?

Chad: Can you believe this?!

Matt: uh-

Chad: So where do you want to meet after? – I’ll just wait for you by where we turn in our gowns.

I don’t exactly recall, but I think Matt hung up on me. And just so you understand where I’m coming from I had JUST listened to this ass clown blabber on for like an hour and NOW I’m supposed to listen to this chick on stage literally telling us, in her speech, about what she had for breakfast at Einstein’s that morning? No. Some people are deathly afraid of public speaking – and some people just reaaaally need to be.

So – I don’t give to much credit to my gypsy fortune teller’s prediction of what 2010 holds for me.

Let’s see what my Chinese Zodiac says.

The Rooster

The Rooster is always popular, extravagant and creative. They can be brutally honest and generally like being showered with attention. They are wonderfully loyal friends and also give advice freely – whether they are asked for it or not! Family means the world to the Rooster and they are fiercely loyal to those they care about.

Forecast for 2010 The Year of the Tiger will have mixed fortunes for the Rooster, but by staying calm, observant and flexible, the Rooster will glide through 2010 coming out much wiser, stronger and with great success behind him. He will be in much demand for his sage advice and experience and, at work, this will come to the notice of his employer. Many will also decide to go back to college this year or completely change the direction of their career. Travel features quite strongly with the Rooster seeking out adventure, fun and new places to visit. A word of caution: all Roosters must ensure that they don’t overdo things – exhaustion and a depleted immune system will result if proper rest isn’t taken. Home life will bring many joys and will be seen as a cozy sanctuary throughout the year. The spring months and November and December will be excellent for intimate romantic encounters. March and July to October will be the optimum time for making career decisions or to change jobs.

Okay. The first thing it tells me is how popular I am? Sold.

Bring it on 2010!

Humbug

I'm obsessed with Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. I think I love it so much not only for the theme of an amazing conversion, but I love how creepy and (woohoo!) spooky it is. Halloween is my favorite holiday, but A Christmas Carol brings the macabre to the joyous season. I mean - the first line is "Marley was dead to begin with". That? Is awesome! Best first line ever.

I love Jacob Marley. There. I said it! A creepy spectre that visits people with his chains forged by hatred and a jaw rotting off his head and needs to be tied up? Hell-o!!

When I was little he scared the crap out of me. Sad, really - considering that my sole exposure to Jacob Marley was in "Mickey's Christmas Carol" and was played . . . by Goofy.

I was scared of Goofy.

Just sad.

My favorite film version of Jacob Marley? Haha! It's totally Statler and Waldorf in "A Muppet Christmas Carol" (shame). Not only do I love me some cranky muppets - but Jacob Marley was bifurcated into brothers. Jacob and Robert Marley. Read: Bob Marley. How great is that?!

ANYWAY, I remember when I was in high school I found out that my friend Amber had never read it. Because I'm insistent and stubborn I made her accompany me to Perkins on Christmas Eve where we chain smoked, drank coffee, and I read the entire novella to her outloud. Yes, I can be a bit obsessive and more than a little nuts.

Here's my only deal with my fav Christmas story:

"Humbug". Bah humbug.

The expression, at least I think, has come to mean "shit on Christmas" to a shit-ton of people. It's just not true. In fact, "humbug" has nothing to do with Christmas. It's a phrase that means trying to trick people with a false sense of gaiety. Scrooge uses it all the time because he's letting people know that he's on to them. That their jovial dispositions aren't fooling him, he won't be swindled out of anything.

Now that you know (because, lets face it - you thought it meant "shit on Christmas") pass it on...

Don't make me haunt your ass next Christmas Eve. Chains don't look good on me.

Merry Merry lovies.

My Cookies Have Gangrene. . .

Too cold to go outside. What better time to clean my house and reward myself with food! Because I'm pretty much my own slave/master combo!

Clean Bedroom?

Eat bagel dog

Clean Living Room?

Eat buttered noodles

Clean Kitchen?

Eat . . . well, more like devour wonderful homemade cookies that look like sad, sad burn victims.

(I consider it an act of mercy on my part. agree?)

Is Comfortable the New Risque?

Victoria's secret is out of the bag. The veiled actuality that Victoria has been hiding is this simple fact: the bitch has just given up.

I was recently in a Victoria's Secret and I was completely dumbfounded. At first I was struck by the people shopping there. I'll just say it - fat and/or old women that nobody wants to see in anything revealing. I'm not getting down on the old or the fat - but come on. Save yourself the time and money and do your unmentionables shopping at Target.

After my eyes adjusted to the patrons I was able to focus on the actual problem at hand. The mighty Victoria's Secret has fallen. The store - known world wide for being chock full of sexy lingerie, the store that releases a catalogue that evokes inappropriate desires from married men, adolescent boys, and confused girls in high school drama, the store with a diamond freaking bra (!!) - has become the clothing aisle at Walgreens.

I looked around and there were racks and racks of plaid flannel nightgowns, sweatpants, slippers, cheap body lotion gift packs, and finally underwear. Not "Victoria's Secret" underwear, mind you - but underwear you'd find left behind in the dryer at your local laundromat.

Did I mention the underwear was sloshed into bins? Bins! The bin is the epitomy of tasteless. Even Payless fucking shoes has their shit on racks! Victoria's Secret is now below Payless on the scale of inventory solicitude. Way to go Vicky.

Victoria's Secret is sexy lingerie. It's main staple needs to be bras, garters, stockings, and *gulp* panties. (why do I feel like a pedophile when I say "panties"? It sounds like there should be a more grown up word for women's underwear. I need to come up with something better because it gives the the heebie jeebies.)

Victoria's Secret? You have abandoned your niche. Is it your goal to be play vital role in the frumping-up of America? Thanks. A. Lot.

Pretty soon we're going to have nothing but dumpy, grouchy women that resemble men in their attire.

(Kind of like dwarves from Lord of the Rings. God. I? am such a nerd. Let's move on, shall we?)

Victoria's Secret still has the sexy stuff though. Ask a sales girl for the sexy section. She'll walk you past the sweatpants, past the bins, past the fat girl eyeing a baby-tee that says "party with me" (poor thing).

She'll walk you to the back of the store, past the employee lounge, through the stock room, and out by the loading dock - there they are. The 4 styles of bras and matching p-a-n-t-i-e-s that remain in the Self Confidence collection.

Hope you like them, because they'll probably be discontinued by spring and replaced with glad bags sloppily crammed with granny panties and velour jogging suits. (Blech.)

My overall question for anyone that can answer?

When did this . . .

Become this???

Now, if you'll excuse me. I have to go was my boxer briefs, I told my friend Zahra she could borrow them for her next date, you see . . .

Me Need Camel

Not the cigarette, but the one with humps. No, not Fergie - a real live camel that you can ride on (again - not Fergie. hehe)

ACTUALLY - I don't really need a camel, but I did have an interesting conversation with my transamerican life mate, Lindsey about needing said camel.

Lindsey (the big bitch she is) is spending her Christmas in Egypt. Again, I say bitch.

We discussed what all she had to do and what all she shouldn't do.

List of "Shouldn'ts":

1. Rent a car. Egypt, from my understanding, is the equivalent of . . . if you took every elderly Chinese woman, made them all New York City cab drivers, set them loose on downtown Los Angeles during rush hour, and gave all the traffic cops the day off . . . that's something like the streets of Egypt. No car.

2. Matched Luggage. This was totally a jab at me, I think. This "luggage" business? Just another way for Lindsey to rub in how much more worldly she is than I.

Lindsey: I found the most amazing backpack!

Chad: Oh, yeah?

Lindsey: I'm so excited because I'll need it when I'm in Egypt. I mean, all I had was my amazing matched luggage for all those times I'm going to Europe!

Oooooh. Also, she totally does that snooty, "drag on a word too long/act bored with your own sentance" combo when she states the name of a fun place she's going.

Lindsey: I'm going to Egyyyyyyypt, but usually I go to Eurooooooppppe.

What the hell was I talking about?

Oh yeah, The list of "Shoulds"!

List of "Shoulds"

1. See Valley of the Kings via hot air balloon. I'm so jealous of this that I'm actually in pain. A pain that can only be mildly eased when Zahra takes me out to eat 2 dozen Krispy Kremes.

Lindsey is in Egypt with her sister. When Lindsey proposed the hot air balloon idea her sister was "on the fence" about it. This? Is where Lindsey gets that snooty streak from methinks. I wasn't present for their conversation, but I can totally imagine . . .

Lindsey: I totally want to see the Valley of the Kings in a hot air balloon!!

Sister: Ugh. Maybeeee.

Lindsey: I Insist! It'll be my first time in Egyyyyyyyypt.

Sister: I'm always in Egyyyyyyyyypt.

Lindsey: Well, I'm always in Eurooooooooppppe.

Sister: That's because you're an Art History majoooooooor and you work for NYUuuuuuu. I work for the CDCccccccccc . . .

There's a lot of snootiness going on there. I think the only time they drop the "too cool for school" phonetics is when they're laughing about me.

Sister: Where did Chad go this year?

Lindsey: Haha, Get this! He and Matt went to Wyoming!

Sister: Oh my God.

Lindsey: I know.

Sister: Thank God I was somewhere more exciting. . . Egyyyyyyppttt

Lindsey: Egyyyyyyyyyyppptt.

ANYWAY, back to the list.

2. Ride a Camel. Again, I'm totally on board with Lindsey's desire to ride a camel. I'm a sucker for riding things.

To make absolutely sure that Lindsey gets to ride her camel she asked a friend who studies Arabic or something, how to say "I would like to ride a camel". He dumbed it down for her to a simple blunt "I need camel" that I suggested she yell at various people she encounters that look as though they may have a camel stashed.

"I NEED CAMEL!!"

I also made the little suggestion that she get it down pat before she tries it out otherwise there could be an awkward blunder like JFK in Germany when he made his famous 1963 speech and tried to say " I am a citizen of Berlin" by uttering "Ich bin ein Berliner", which in German means: "I am a Jelly Donut". Poor stupid JFK.

Lindsey approved my suggestion because she's had her fair share of near-misses in foreign tongues. For example, in America we say penne pasta. In Italy you say pen-ne. If you go to Italy and say you'd like some penne they may come back with some penis for you to enjoy. (careful, hot plate!)

JFK's blunder made me start thinking - I really need to learn me some German because Matty and I are going Germany in 9 months. I started to panic at the thought of trying to ask someone to bring me to Berlin from Munich, but I've realized - if I get it wrong I'll get a donut, yes? Either way I win!

And, yes - I'm rehearsing how to say Munich to Lindsey.

Muuniiiiiiiiiich.

Kirk Cameron Says I'm Going to H-E-Double Hockey Sticks

Most people know that Kirk Cameron is a crazy bible beater now - a far cry from the wiley Mike Seaver that I remember who was a douche for completely different reasons. But I never gave him much thought (aside from "Oh. What a sad life.") until today when I was reading an overview on the craziest celebrity douchebag stunts of 2009.

Kirk Cameron made the list for writing a book about how simple logic is all that is needed to debunk evolution. Because it takes the genius of Kirk Cameron to prove Darwin wrong once and for all. (What a moron.)

It turns out that Saint Kirk also has a test on his website to find out the liklihood of your going to hell. This? I can't pass up. Feel free to follow along!!

"Kirk Cameron's Hell Test" from www.wayofthemaster.com

1. Have you always put God first in your life with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength-- so much, that your love for your parents, brothers and sisters, friends, and even your own life is like hatred compared to your love and devotion for God?

Let's see. I feel I should provide examples to support my yes/no answers - so lets look back to last Sunday morning to see if I missed church because I was too busy loving God. Actually I woke up late and decided to go to the gym instead of church to burn off the hot dog shaped cake that I binged on the night before. Going solely on this I think that saying my love for a V-taper is stronger than my love for God. Crap. Maybe question 2 will be more promising??

2. Is God a god of love and mercy who would never judge anyone and never cast anyone into Hell?

Well, the intangible higher power that I imagine in the back of my head would be understanding. In fact - he'd be totally awesome. The type of guy you'd like to go to the mall with and people watch. But I can't ignore the traditional deity from the Old Testament that was a complete prick.

Abraham - traditional regarded as the first believer was rewarded for said belief by instructions from God to first circumcise the shit out of everyone - then finally to sacrifice his own sons.

Job was "God's Favorite" because he was supposed to be the best, most devout of all worshippers. To this God thought, "Love me, will ya?" and sent a holy shit storm of boils, fires, death, and the removal of his clothes and hair. Just to prove a point to the Devil. Because in the Old Testament God and the devil are like manipulative, crotchety old gamblers that are just trying to find ways to entertain themselves by seeing what others will do . . .

Moses? He freed the Jewish people and wandered the desert for 40 years to find the promised land. When they finally arrived God told Moses "Guess what! You're not gettin' in! Hahahaha!"

See what I mean? Prick.

I guess I fail this question too.

3. Have you ever been a blasphemer and used God's name as a curse word? or used a filthy, four-letter word?

Come on. I pepper most of my statements with blasphemy and filth. I love that about me.

4. God commands that we set aside one day in seven and keep it holy. Have you EVER been GUILTY of BREAKING this Commandment?

Well, I'm not exactly sure on the technical definitions of "keep it holy" - but I do know that when I encounter absolutes like "always", "never", or "ever" my outlook is grim. We'll just say maybe.

5. Have you always honored your parents in a way that's pleasing in the sight of God? BOTH parents?

Hahahaha. Not since I learned to talk. Come on - no one does. Up yours Kirk Cameron.

6. God sees hatred in the heart to be as wicked as murder. We can violate His Law by attitude and intent. Have you murdered OR held HATRED in your heart?

Shit! Sometimes the only thing that keeps me from killing people is the prospect of hell. Had I known that hate was just as bad I might as well have started picking people off the sidewalk with automatic weapons YEARS ago! My only obstacles are a.) jail time and b.) I tend to hate unkillable things - like Colorado winters and Will Ferrell.

7. Have you ever LOOKED at ANYONE who was NOT YOUR CURRENT MARRIED SPOUSE (of the opposite sex) with lust in your heart?

Ummm . . . sometimes Zahra and I go out with the intent to find people to lust after. If I've had a few drinks I may even start lusting after inanimate objects! Sooooo . . .

8. Have you ever taken ANYTHING that belonged to someone else (from the office, school, parents, etc.)? A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G? No matter how small?

Does virginity count? Chad:0, Kirk Cameron:8

9. Regardless of the reason WHY or how righteous you were being at the time, have you EVER EVER EVER LIED?

Who are we kidding? I lied in my answer to question 4! (The true answer would be "no")

10. Have you ever desired ANYTHING that belongs to another person? Their house, their car, their money, their wife, their lifestyle, ANYTHING that belongs to our neighbor? A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G?

Yes. In fact, as I write this I would smash a box of kittens if I could lick the plate of the woman eating a cinnamon roll next to me. (That might get weird looks though . . . )

11. Does the fact that you have sinned against God scare you?

Well . . . kind of, but the thought of living a life that would allow me to say "no" to the previous 10 questions scares me wayyyyyyy more.

*****Oh God! The test actually gave a pop-up response to that answer! see below!*****

It should. You have actually angered Him by your sin.

The Bible says His wrath abides on you, that you are an "enemy of God in your

mind through wicked works."

Perhaps you think God is good and because of his goodness He will overlook your sins?

************************************************************************

Crap!!!

12. But if you knew of a human judge who turned a blind eye to the crimes of a guilty rapist... would you describe him as a "good" judge? Hmmmmm. Am I the rapist? Wait. I'm not a rapist - I'm just saying - I've totally broken the law before and had judgements against me. Do you think I thought that the judge was "good"? Fuck you. Let me hear an "Oh Chad, cut that out! Now get outta here, you crazy kid!" and we'll talk good judge!

***** Uh oh. Another reaction from the test . . . *****

God could never be a corrupt judge. He will punish all the rapists, murderers, and thieves... But he won't stop there. He will also punish all liars, the lustful, adulterers, idolaters, and blasphemers. The place of eternal punishment is Hell.

Well, I'm fucked!

13. What is your current spiritual direction?

This doesn't have a yes/no answer. It has multiple choice answers of:

A) Christianity

B) Islamic

C) Judaism

D) Buddhism (and any other not listed)

Well, I don't exactly have an affiliation with any one organized religion, so I guess I'm lumped in with the Buddhists (Read: religious deviants who are TOTALLY going straight to fucking hell!)

14. Do you think you may someday accept Jesus Christ as your personal savior and live your life strictly by the New Testament and how this test described how to live by the Ten Commandments?

You never know. I've tried my hand at rim-jobs. Is being born again that big of a leap??

Your Analysis

You scored 1% on to Heaven, higher than 75% of your peers.

*********************************************************

So, I'm most likely going to Hell, but it looks like everyone else is coming with me! Party at my fiery place!!

P.S. You don't fool me, Kirk Cameron! You just reworded the ten commandments. That, my friend? Is plagiarism. I'll bet if Old Testament God was here to

smite your pious ass you wouldn't be so high and mighty.

P.P.S. Kirk Cameron is a prick.

The Untimely Demise of a Little Crone

Yesterday was an eventful day for me. It started off tearing my closet to shreds, looking for something suitable to wear to Metro's graduation. I ended up making an emergency run to Express Men for gray trousers and vest. I didn't have time to try anything on so I was resourceful and called Lindsey, my New York fashion guru.

Thank God she answered or it would have been one of those days where Matt shows up at my house expecting me to be ready but finds that instead I'm standing in my room in my underwear in tears.

After some brief descriptions over the phone and a couple of text message pics I was ready for my day!

Sometime in between A) standing in front of my mirror talking to Lindsey on one phone while texting her from another and B) ending up at the Old Spaghetti Factory with a balloon viking helmet on my head there was a small death in my house . . .

My little Tucson Blonde Tarantula, Cronos - who I just called my little Crone - died for no apparent reason. He/she wasn't even one year old yet! Normally Matt would've been my prime suspect (he hates my little spiderlings) I realized that not only was I with him all day, but Crone was perfectly shaped (if a little stiff (hehe)) and not a smear on the floor - Matt's m.o. for spider encounters.

So I have another entry for my book of animals that I call "The Tragic Undoing of Animals at the hands of Chad".

When I was little I had an arsenal of living things.

Cat: 1 († feline leukemia)

Dog:5 († various deaths, most noteworthy are car accidents and asshole farmer with a shotgun)

Snake:2 († escaped while I was on vacation and the crazy old woman charged to feed them left the cage open)

Iguana:2 († fell to his death, ? Donated to elementary school in Aurora)

Hamster:1 († I don't remember. All I recall is that he bit my cousin Melissa on the finger and I don't recall his being around after that . . . hmmmmmm . . . )

Bat: 1 (? Set free - probably dead now, but through no fault of my own)

Lately I've been much better with animals (only 1 fatality until Crone bit the dust)

I had a cat - an Abyssinian - named Alex. He was old and had to be gassed, but before that I had to follow him around my various houses cleaning up unexplainable blood clots on the floor. I also got sprayed a lot because he stopped cleaning himself and I had to start bathing him. I wish I had YouTube footage of my bathing a 20 pound cat. My bathroom always looked like the beach at Normandy in 1944 and smelled a little worse. Like someone had tried to clean away the carnage with vinegar douche and Indian food. Alex was also crazy, he wouldn't eat anything with fish in it - but did manage to devour half of one of his feet.

Then there's my chihuahua, Jack. Natalie and I went into a pet store one day. Not a good idea for me since I have a bleeding heart for animals and no self control. There was this sweet little deer faced chihuahua there that no one had showed interest in because he wasn't the coveted apple head chihuahua. (Really? Who names these things? It isn't like their life isn't crappy enough already - being a chihuahua.) ANYWAY, Natalie turned her back for a few minutes and when she found me again I had bought him. Natalie named him Jack and I took him home. I had him for about 6 months until he found a happy home. I was reluctant (read: I still complain) to give his sweet face up, but I accomplished my mission of the deer face dog not being unwanted, so . . . there's that.

Next - Sabrina, my (?) ossie cat. I acquired Sabrina from Chelsea. She was moving (I forget where to at this point - maybe Italy?) and she couldn't bring her cat - so I took her in. She's a good cat, but likes to scream at me from time to time and I suspect she may be trying to suffocate me in my sleep. My evidence to this is very convincing but kind of gross.

Many mornings I'll wake up with a tickle in my nose that ends with my pulling an ungodly long cat hair out of my sinuses via my nostril. (I told you it was gross). There's no way cat hair could accidently get lodged, regularly, like 4 inches into my head unless that bitch was doing it on purpose. I still have Sabrina. Chelsea is back and taking over my house so I can get out fast instead of trying to sell it. I'm thinking of leaving Sabrina there and seeing how long it takes Chelsea to notice. After all - ownership was never officially changed.

On to my wiener dog, Eva. Eva was a very similar situation to Jack - you see why I can't be trusted in pet stores?? Eva was already a full grown dachshund when I found her. Nobody wanted her because she had some weird bump on her nose. In fact the pet store was trying so hard to get rid of her that they started changing her date of birth on her little card on her glass kennel. When I noticed (because I'd visit her CONSTANTLY) I threw a small fit. Who are we kidding, I was escorted out of the pet store in mid tantrum. I promptly had Chelsea return and buy her for me for Christmas last year.

Then there's my slew of arthropods that Patrick gave me for my birthday. Poor Cronos died of what I'm assuming to be an arachnid form of SIDS, so now I'm fiercely protective of my remaining tarantula, Ghia, and I've started coddling my roaches, who - let's be honest - always took a back seat to the spiders.

R.I.P. Little Crone

At the Movies . . .

At the movies some people like to talk through the entire thing.

At the movies some people prefer to fool around in the dark of a theatre surrounded by strangers.

And finally - at the movies some people can't control their curiosity and find it necessary to fill their box of Milk Duds to the brim with butter substitute. . .

Guess which camp I belong to.

Ahhh. Every trip to the movies is another step on my path to a quadruple bypass.

(P.S. Don't try it. Totally not worth it.)

Trailer Park Chic

I had such a fun day today. I ditched work at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science today to go kick it with Matt. I fully needed a day of play.

Matty and I schlepped down to Glendale today to scoop Gina up from work and take her to lunch. It was here - hovering around Colorado Blvd. that I realized that I have a large streak running through myself that I like to call "Trailer Park Chic" (Or "White Trash Elegant"?)

My first choice of having trashy lunch with strippers at Shotgun Willie's was vetoed, so we ended up going to Go Fish - a sushi restaurant I have been obsessed with ever since Natalie and I drank too much sake at Zahra's birthday dinner and I did inappropriate things to an eel . . .

ANYWAY

While we're sitting there having a nice lunch (feeling very chic) I can't stop thinking about how we should all really run across the street to The Crypt, and pick up some awesome Christmas theme bondage accessories (feeling very trailer park). We brought Gina back to work with a to-go box of the spider rolls I couldn't finish before we were off to the Cherry Creek Mall so I could pick up Matt's graduation present.

(I got him a swiss army knife. It's one of the most random things there - but Matt is a bitch to shop for and I know he'd never buy a swiss army knife from Tiffany's for himself)

People! I breezed into Tiffany & Co with an air of inexhaustible class! I swear that if I had looked around instead of staring confidently straight ahead in my best "I'm so smooth" stance I would've seen shoppers gasp as I strode by. Totally chic.

Then what do I slap down as method of payment???

Oh. Yeah, that's totally trailer park. (seeing the theme yet?)

We went to have Matt's professional portfolio printed up. We took it back to Matt's house to assemble it. There was a picture of Matt doing some welding on my bus. My Gertrude is part of a portfolio!! Very Chic. Before I could stop myself I blurted out "You know what you should've put in there?! My tattoo that you drew!!"

Trailer Park people. Trailer. Park.

Then it was time for us to knock out the "Honey Do" list that Gina left for Matt. I hung artwork in Matt and Gina's guest room. Chic. I followed that up with picking up dog poop outside. Trailer Park.

Matty wanted to get some BBQ for dinner. I don't particularly like the meat used for barbecue because I eat too fast to deal with working around a bone and I have found, time and again, that anything pulled or chunk form is comprised of mostly gristle and maybe a chicken foot claw. However, I advocate second chances so I went and got happily ordered a chicken sandwich and a "ball of fries". Me being the bigger person and having barbecue with Matt? Chic. (Just as long as you disregard the "ball of fries" part). Me smashing my sandwich into the table top after discovering a clear piece of "meat" in my half chewed bite that looked like a dying sea anemone? Trailer park.

Then we grabbed some Buffalo Gold and plopped ourselves down in front of Matt's Wii so we could play Super Mario Brothers 3. This, people? is neither "trailer park" nor "chic" it's just plain fun. Damn fun!!!

(Sidenote: I usually protest playing video games with people (Patrick - I'm talking to you...) because this? Is apparently the face I get when I play. It gets even scarier when time is running out or I need to jump really far. Terrifying.)

Matt rocked the Tanooki suit while I was partial to the frog suit. I advise everyone to run, right now, and dig out their old school Nintendo games. Nothing brings out the kid in you like the sheer joy of that third triumphant jump on King Koopa (or one of his bastard little children!)

And nothing else

in your life seems to matter when you experience the anguish of falling into a pit when the end of the level is in clear sight.

Goodbye Beetle, Love Chad

I woke up this morning hearing about the sad, sad news about the bug from Matt. It's a very sad day for sweet little Chad.

I still haven't told my 1975 bus (Gertrude) the news. She likes to act self righteous about the water cooled VWs - but I know that she'll take it hard regardless.

On the bright side - maybe now there's room for a new generation of bus!! wooooo!!!

Bye Bye New Beetle

I just found out this morning that VW plans to finally axe the New Beetle.

After producing the redesign back in MY 1998, the New Beetle has seen a few changes, including a "Super Beetle", convertible Beetle, Turbo, and a handful of special editions. The final run will consist of 1,500 sedans ($21K) and 1,500 convertibles ($30K) which will have a special 'retro' paint scheme, interior, special badges and special steering wheel. Only available in the 5-cylinder 2.5 gas engine with 6-speed tiptronic automatic transmission.

As many of you know, the classic air-cooled Beetles were finally killed back in 2003 with a final production run of the Ultima Edicion Beetles, which included similar 'retro' touches like white wall tires, Wolfsburg badging, chrome strips replaced, and special paint colors.

Both the New Beetle and the air-cooled Beetles were produced at the same factory in Puebla Mexico.

What will be next for VW?

A Masonic Plot Against Me!? But I Have To Pick Up My Clothes From the Cleaners!

I don't usually buy into conspiracy theories. Maybe Lee Harvey Oswald was a "lone nut", maybe he was a patsy. I don't really give it any form of thought. I don't think commercial planes are dumping poison onto urban areas, nor do I think the government created HIV to rid the nation of the drug addicts and gays (come on - someone has work in Nordstrom). The Holocaust happened and Elvis isn't living in an Airstream in the woods in Lefor, North Dakota.

This being said - I am positive that a band of people are out to get me. Specifically they are determined to make sure I look my worst for Matt's party on Saturday.

(I should probably close my blinds before I go on.)

Here are who I believe to be the Four Horsemen of my coming apocalypse.

My physics professors: Not only does the subject absolutely suck, but they each gave me study guides for their finals that are the equivalent of a phone book. Not that little Dex thing, but the old school phone book that is so big it's broken into volumes of A-L and M-Z and the pages are . . . well, I can't say "paper thin" - "tissue paper thin"? That's my study guide. Only phone books make more sense.

Canadians: Lately there has been this cold snap in Colorado. This is how imagine it would be to live on Pluto. In winter. Right now its like -5 degrees outside. Today I noticed that the first day of winter is like two weeks away. That means it's still technically fall and it's 5 below. F you, Canada. Close your freaking door, you're letting the cold air out. You chose to live in arctic tundra, you deal with it. (Especially those butt-holes in Nunavut!)

The Furnace Man: I got a new furnace a while back to warm up my poorly insulated house. It's amazing in that it provides a solid base for my insane need for warmth. I can then pepper my dwelling with additional pockets of increased heat with random space heaters, oil filled radiators, and my enormous electric blanket

Matt: He's the Lucy to my Ethel, the Shirley to my Laverne, and most recently - my favorite vehicle for speedy lipid delivery into my bloodstream! Who are we kidding, I've only been on the "Matt diet" for two days (doing VERY well, by the way). But over the last two months Matty has a.) made me burgers, fries, and chocolate cake (all from scratch for my birthday - thank you very much) b.) pan fried chicken and waffles (holy crap - yum!) and c.) totally egged me on to binge myself sick at McDonald's. (see below. shameful.)

Hot-n-spicy McChickens: 5

pumpkin pie pocket: 1

Ounces of soft drink: about 700.

Yesterday I woke up after a really late night of studying for my physics finals. Like, a really reeeeally late night. When I woke up I found myself to be in a deep freeze. Not only has this Arctic (Plutonian?) Front not lifted, but the ignitor on my furnace went out. The furnace fan stayed on. This means that while there is no more heat in my house, COLD air is blasting out of the floor registers.

The only thing that kept me from screaming "MOTHER F---" was that now my lips and face are so chapped that I would have created cracks on my mug that would probably have leaked greasy, buttery, blood. I ran to my bathroom (possibly with icicle tears clinging to my eyelashes) to take a hot shower when I saw something.

I guess the stress of my finals are making my fat-rich blood in need of a release because there is now a giant zit on my face. Framed neatly with pale pink flakes of dry skin. I look like an angry mutant albino ice lizard in mid-molt that just ate a stash of red fish eggs and one is still stuck on my face. It actually distracted me so that it took a moment to realize that the black circles under my eyes are truly heinous. I'm an ice lizard going through chemo?

Matt's graduation party is less than a week away. 2009 has been the year of my attending parties full of people I'm meeting for the first time while looking like I came directly from a bar fight . . .

Lets see some examples

Random Mardi Gras Party - not only was I WAY older than anyone else, I believe I was sporting a split lip and a black eye.

Fourth of July Party - severely sun burned and peely from laying sod for Zahra, also fall-down drunk, thanks to my friend Justin and his mission to finish off the kegs for clean up purposes...

AIDS walk after-party - Soaking wet from a freak downpour and sporting an awkward limp

It seems that the only time I'm presentable is when I don't need to make a good first impression. If I know most of the attendees I'll look amazing. Otherwise, it's a test to see if new people will talk to me despite my Swamp-Thing appearance. They don't.

NOT gonna happen this time.

1. Furnace fixed? Check

2. Acne cream applied liberally to my cheek? Check

3. Scrubbing the rest of my face until its rosy and clean? Check

4. Roll around in kiddy pool of Burt's Beeswax? Check

5. Finish finals? . . .

*ahem*

5. Finish finals??? okay, check.

Now I just need to spend the next three days in the conservatory of the Butterfly Pavilion to thaw out my clogged arteries and cleanse those pores!!

P.S. Just for future reference:

1 Bedroom + 1 Space Heater (cranked to the max) + 1 Radiator (also to the max) + 1 King Size Electric Blanket = Cozy Quarters for 1 Wiener Dog, 1 Cat, 4 Cockroaches, 2 Tarantulas, and 1 Fugly Chad

Leave the Obese Alone, Let's Get the Stupid!!!

Lincoln University in Pennsylvania needs to be bitch slapped.

The university has made it so that students can't graduate if they're "obese". Not morbidly obese or super obese, just plain old obese. That is, you can't have a body mass index of 30 or above. We're not talking have-to-be-craned-out-of-your-house fat, but belly and love handles fat.

This is the dumbest fucking thing I've ever heard. What in the hell does your weight to height ratio have to do with whether or not you have completed your academic requirements and can excel in your field? Not. A. Thing.

If you are a student at Lincoln and are over their weight limit you must pass a "Fitness for Life" class in order to graduate. Are you fucking kidding me?! This sounds like the kind of shit my school would pull just to make sure I'm there forever.

When I went to my little trade school to be an X-Ray tech I had to pass a test too. It was a cumulative exam of the practical labs I had taken over the 18 months I attended. This? Makes sense! "You want to shoot X-Rays? Well, you better prove you remember the shit from your first class!" there was no "Well, before we give you your degree we're gonna need you to remove your clothes and step on this scale". I would've punched someone.

What offends me EVEN MORE about this bullshit is that while this nonsense is being enforced, there are other, more important requirements that people should have to meet if they want to function in the real world that are ignored.

Here is what I propose society forces people to be tested on:

If you work at a hair salon, you must demonstrate a desirable do. This means that when you show up for an interview with brassy yellow streaked hair that looks like hay with a plume of Aquanet? Sorry. You cannot pass "Go".

Cab Driver? You must pass a fucking driver's test. (these may sound like they're already enforced, but think about it. Everyone's had terrifying experiences with salon women and cab drivers)

Finally, college professors have to know that a centimeter is visible to the naked eye.

***Backstory!!!***

My freshman year I had a Biology Lab where my professor was explaining how to measure bacteria cells while under a microscope. Her "formula" gave her an answer that estimated the bacteria I was looking at to be about 10 centimeters.

"Really?" I said, waiting for her to say - I must have written something down wrong, because that can't be right.

She looked through my microscope eyepiece, you know - to confirm - then looked at me and said. "Yeah, that's probably about right" and then walked off to ruin someone else's sense of reality.

A bacterial cell. 10 centimeters.

10 centimeters is the dilation a woman in labor should reach before she is instructed to push.

I'll say this again. You can try to squeeze a newborn fucking baby through a hole the size of what this moron professor was trying to tell me my bacteria was the size of.

I never took a class of hers again. Not only because she's an idiot, but because she liked to wear belly shirts that showed off a happy trail. I was done with this train wreck of a woman.

*** ***

ANYWAY

Lincoln fucking University? Unless you're trying to churn out nothing but fitness models and personal trainers - get in touch with reality and cut the shit.

The rest of the world? (I'm talking to YOU Metropolitan State College of Denver!) Up the fucking bar a bit.

*********************************************

Because my newest fear is that Metro will tell me my weight isn't suitable for cap and gown I'm going on "Matt's Diet" until graduation day!! Wanna monitor my progress with me, lovies? I knew you would!!

The "Matt" Diet

You may be asking yourself during these holiday times: "how do I keep from becoming 'festively plump' with all of these holiday parties?" The answer: The Matt Diet.

See I am 6'1" and weigh a mere 155 lbs. - well within my BMI.

Do I exercise - no. Do I take harmful diet pills - no. Do I eat what I want - yes.

Example - Today I ate:

1 Oberto cocktail peperoni stick
1 one-pound bag of steamed edamame
1 PBJ (double PB)
1 cup of tea
1 cup of coffee - black
1 Banquet chicken pot pie

An example week might look like this:

Sunday: general snacking a grazing - eat a lot of sunflower seeds and drink a lot of coffee

Monday: Don't eat anything until 3:00 PM. When you do eat, mostly sugar, carbs and fat. I.e. burger, fries and coke. Eat more sunflower seeds in the evening.

Tuesday: Eat at 10:30 one microwave burrito with hot sauce. Join Chad in the afternoon for some BW3's or Hooters boneless wings. The wings provide much needed protein and fat and the capsaicin in the wing sauce gets your metabolism going. Drink another 25-30 fl. oz. of sugary soda.

Wednesday: Only drink coffee or tea. Eat 2 big Snicker's bars after 4:30 PM. Do not chew any gum. Ramen in the AM is okay.

Thursday: Go to McDonald's and eat 4-5 $1 Hot 'n' Spicy McChicken sandwiches or McDoubles, small fries and a small Mr. Pibb with plenty of ice. DO NOT USE A STRAW!

Friday: 1 meal - Pizza and Beer - eat 'till you're full. Don't mix German beer with American. One or ther other. Eat one slice of strawberry rhubarb pie.

Saturday: Full lumberjack breakfast. 2 chocolate chip pancakes, real butter, syrup, 4 strips bacon, coffee, 3 egg omelette with cheese and onions and green Tabasco on top, 2 pieces of buttered toast. Also eat what Gina doesn't.

*feel free to add BBQ sauce to any of the above foods.

Have you ever heard the saying: "in the morning eat like a king, at lunch eat like a prince, and at dinner eat like a peasant"? Well, how about stop gorging yourselves America?! Eat when you are hungry and stop eating when you are full!

I am not a medical doctor, but I haven't stayed this thin and trim NOT eating like this my whole life. People ask me how young I am and they are astonished when I tell them the truth - 26. Everyone else who's 26 has gained 15-20 lbs. since high school. Not me - perpetually young.

So try the Matt Diet - if you dare to look 15 your whole life.

Why Chad can NEVER be a Mailman

"Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these courageous couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds"

Yeah. Not so much.

In Colorado its something like 1 degree outside. It would suck to be a mailman right now. I'd feel bad for them, except I hold strong to the belief that mailmen are judgmental a-holes. It's actually been confirmed!

Setting: Last year at the height of my Netflix frenzy. My Driveway. I'm getting into Chelsea's waiting car 1 second after the mailman pulls up in his stupid little car

Chelsea: The mailman's here. Want to get your mail really quick?

Me: No! Drive! Drive! My mailman is judgmental!

Chelsea: What?! You're being ridiculous!

Me: NO! He has unfairly discerned that I am a

pervert dweeb because the only mail I get is Playboy (Oh, Bridget Marquardt! You're my idol! Squeee!!!), Hooters Magazine (subscription free with my ultra-trashy Hooters Mastercard!), gay fashion magazines (I'm talking to you GQ, Details . . . ) and about a million Netflix movies a week! (Because I'm not gutsy enough to rent "Teeth" from Blockbuster)

Chelsea: (pause) Well, I'll get it FOR you then.

As Chelsea flips her hair and gets out of her car I watch through her tinted window and watch as the mailman hands her my mail (read: Netflix movies) and smirk "Well, here's something to watch at least . . . "

Chelsea gets back in the car.

Chelsea: Oh my God. He DOES judge you!

Me: I know. I know!

Chelsea seems to be the only witness to how I'm judged DAILY.

Setting: Cherry Creek Mall. Chelsea and I do some needed shopping and decide to get some lunch at Subway and catch up.

Me: I hate Subway. I think they snicker when I place my order.

Chelsea: You've got to be kidding.

Me: No. Subway people are TOTALLY judging me for my sandwich choice every chance they get!

The Subway douche takes Chelsea's order, then mine. Just plain tuna fish on wheat bread. Its all I ever get. I'm a creature of habit (and severe pickiness).

Subway Douche: Tuna? That's it??

Me: Yup

Subway Douche: You're kidding. People come here so they can put all of the accoutrement on their sandwich.

Me: Ummmmmmm. Nope. that's it.

At this time I'm NOT looking at Chelsea who just witnessed this and promptly dropped her jaw. I'm having a vision of my standing in line at Subway, crying, trying to come up with anything that they can extract from a bin and place on my tuna that won't make me start to gag. (I have a vivid memory of sitting in the kitchen of my Aunt Gwen's trailer while she made little Chad and little Melissa tuna fish sandwiches with pickles. It was AMAZING - but I've never been able to recreate it. Or maybe I've just gotten pickier??)

ANYWAY.

Chelsea and I sit down so I can inhale my sandwich. Subway douche literally came from behind the counter and up to our table!

Subway douche: How's that plain tuna fish sandwich?

Me: huuuuuuu . . .

Subway douche: I still can't believe it (walks away, shaking his head)

Chelsea: Oh. My. God.

Me: Can we just go? (Just as soon as a refill my drink and smear shit on the restroom walls.)

Okay. Back to my destiny to never be a mailman. This morning I woke up freezing (an easy task for me) and I couldn't even put my contacts in because the thought of icy fingertips poking my eyeball makes me dry heave. I refuse to do anything today, including attend my final review for physics - due to snow. And I can't see. If it weren't for spellcheck this post would look like it was written by someone who's been drunk for three days and can now vomit at will.

To be a mailman, you need three things:

1. The knack of judging people for their mail. Be it contents, sender, whatever

2. You have to be able to see - at least well enough to get the addresses right.

3. You can't be a pussy when it comes to cold weather.

Guess which two qualities I don't have . . .