Quick thoughts:

I wouldn't call myself an exhibitionist by any means - but am I the only person that really wants to fly somewhere just so I can go through DIA's bodyscan? Do you think they can give me a printout of my projected naked self?? Hmmmm . . .

In more upsetting news, it's something like 4º outside and cold weather always makes me have to pee. It's a tragic irony that when I come in from the freezing cold and head for the restroom the very LAST thing I want to touch is my junk.

Did I mention that I took a double dose of Benadryl a little bit ago?

Two Movie Reviews Disguised as a Story. Enjoy!

Picture it:

Berlin. September 2010.

Matt has just finished taken a shower and discovered me scratching at the bathroom door . . .

You may be thinking I reaaaaally had to go to the bathroom. You may even be thinking that I just wanted to help Matt towel dry!

But you would be wrong.

I had to get Matt out of the bathroom because we were under attack!

(And by "attack" I mean I SWORE I heard someone trying to break in through the front door. . .)

Matt looked at me like I was a crazy person.

But you know what? I was right to be wary. And here is my proof:

In the past couple of weeks I have watched 2 German . . . well, we'll just call them films.

#1: The Human Centipede

In this story there are two American tourists road-tripping through Europe. Their car breaks down in a rain storm and, rather than change the damn tire, they set of on foot for help. What do they find but a house occupied by a crazy German surgeon who promptly drugs them and brings them down to his lab. In his lab there is already a Japanese man strapped down.

Does this guy have big plans to sew them all together, mouth-to-anus, to create a big human centipede? You bet he does! Before you start to wonder too many things, let me answer all your questions.

Yes, it's gross.

Yes, it's unlikely that the 2nd and 3rd 'segments' would survive for long solely on fecal matter

Yes, there is a scene where the Japanese guy in front can't hold his poo any more and involuntarily craps directly into the mouth of the American chick sewn to his booty. (What makes this worse is the creepy German doctor saying "yesssss. Feeeed her!!")

Yes, Matt and I watched the ENTIRE thing.

My defense: It was a present from my curator because I love scary movies AND it's kind of work related!

#2: Otto, or Up With Dead People

A zombie comes to life in rural North Germany and hitches his way to Berlin to find himself. It turns out this zombie, named Otto, has a whole laundry list of issues other than being dead. He's an antisocial homosexual vegetarian zombie in search of . . . something more.

He meets up with - who else, but two morbid lesbians making - you guessed it! A ZOMBIE MOVIE!! (Guess who just found their star!!) Did I mention that for some reason one of the lesbians is only filmed in black and white and doesn't speak, but has piano accompaniment and old-timey captions? I guess she's a silent film lesbian?

My defense: It showed up on Instant Netflix's new arrivals page. I saw a zombie in an outfit I really liked so I hit play! I guess that'll teach me . . .

Sooooo. See what I mean? Germans breaking into our apartment? AWFUL!!

Matt finding out that it was our landlord's sister stopping by late at night to pick up the rent and I look like a psychopath? EVEN MORE AWFUL!!

At least we didn't get sewn together or have a gay horror-orgy. (tongue kissing AND intestine eating? You pick one or the other! Good day good sir!)

I Certainly Hope I Be Decent. Nahmean?

My friend Lindsey sent me a link recently that made me realize: at first glance we may seem very different, but really we all strive for one thing. One basic human need that is intrinsic in us all even if we don't all express it or realize it. The yearning for sweatpants to go away . . .

This link brought me to a series of "tweets" (God, I hate Twitter) (And anything else that tries to work the word 'tweet' into an audible statement) (Rockin' Robin? I'm talking to you too)

Anyway - it brought me to a series of tweets (gak!) by a rapper named Ghostface Killah. (Yes, It's a stupid STUPID name - but at least it isn't 'tweet')

It seems that Ghostface (I assume that since we have so much in common I don't need to address him as Mr. Killah. We're pretty much best friends in my mind) has had enough of people not putting any effort into their appearance.

Because his message is so valuable - I will translate it here for my non-fluent-in-gangsta friends out there. Lets make my translations yellow . . . you know, so you don't get us confused.

Ahem.

Ghostface says:

A lot of niggas don't know how to get busy.
1:27 PM Nov 3rd via web

I have recently become aware that many of my friends and colleagues are not sure how to take on a suitable appearance

A lot of y'all muthafuckas just throw on whatever whatever whatever and just think thats whats poppin and it's not poppin man.
1:28 PM Nov 3rd via web

Many of you feel that wearing something you would normally wear to bed or the gym is also appropriate for, say, going out for drinks. But it isn't.

Yo when you step out the crib, just make sure you match. Don't be coming outside on some like you Rainbow man or something like that G.
1:29 PM Nov 3rd via web

When you leave your house it is important to coordinate your clothes and accessories. Bold patterns and solids are always a good bet, but NEVER bold patterns mixed.

With mad different colors and shit and your gear ain't proper. You know what I mean? Make sure your swagger is up to par nahmean. You decent
1:30 PM Nov 3rd via web

Remember our motto: Flashy, not trashy. Make sure that you look appropriate for the occasion. Yoga pants are appropriate for YOGA. Flip flops are appropriate for VOLLEYBALL GAMES. Uggs are appropriate for . . . well, nothing. When in doubt ask a friend for advice!

You ain't gotta come out looking all Super Fly and dapper and all that shit but just make sure that your gear you know...that you official!
1:31 PM Nov 3rd via web

It isn't necessary to wear Marc Jacobs to the grocery store, but some effort is appreciated by those around you. Remember - there is a whole array of attire between formal and pajamas. It's called *blank*-casual.

You can take the wackest gear but make sure that gear, that K-Mart gear, whatever you wearing, you official wit it.
1:32 PM Nov 3rd via web

Again, couture is not necessary. But make sure that it's flattering, wears well, and makes you feel good about your appearance.

YOU bringing the steez to it. Nah mean?!
1:33 PM Nov 3rd via web

Style with ease (yes, I had to look it up. Thank you Urban Dictionary)

Make sure your foot game is official. A bitch don't like you to step to her acting like you trying to bag her with your shoes all bent up.
1:36 PM Nov 3rd via web

It isn't flattering to a lady (or gentleman) if she thinks you assume that she is so easily attainable that you can attempt to make advances in battered old sneakers. Make an investment in a good shoe that will last you awhile. Diesel makes wonderful casual shoes and Prada is pricey - but will last you a lifetime!

Or at least if your jeans is fucked up and you got a decent pair of kicks on, you might could be able to pull a bitch. She might go for it.
1:38 PM Nov 3rd via web

With appropriate shoes by your side you can probably get away with less-than-your-best jeans. A lady will overlook a hole in the knee if she sees a strong symbol of pride on your feet.

Your hair cut game gotta be live too.
1:40 PM Nov 3rd via web

Take pride in your hair as well . . .

Just make sure that your cut is good. If your cut is good and your kicks is good, you might could get the bitch.
1:41 PM Nov 3rd via web

A fresh hairstyle and decent footwear can go a long way with your intended romance

A lot of y'all niggas ain't LIVE. Nah mean. Out of 100 niggas it might be like 10 LIVE LIVE LIVE thats SUPER LIVE niggas!

1:43 PM Nov 3rd via web

Many of you are not as dapper as you think. The likelihood that you are as posh as you believe (according to a recent study by Ghostface Killah) is approximately 1 in 10.

The Rest Of Y'all Niggas Is BIRD NIGGAS! Straight Up!
1:44 PM Nov 3rd via web

The rest of you are mere posers. Seriously.

The type of niggas that just get punched in the face all day, robbed all day.
1:45 PM Nov 3rd via web

You anger society that takes offense to you're attitude of "I'm a trendsetter. Look at me wear Ugg boots with short shorts!".

Niggas that was getting stuck for they cupcakes man back in high school, Jr High, taking your Butter crunch man we know about that shit man.
1:47 PM Nov 3rd via web

These individuals most likely developed this arrogance as early as high school or junior high. As a result they may have (rightly so) been the target of bullying. Bullying, and perhaps a few instances of stabbings for any cupcakes you may have on your person. Bullies know how to expose your weaknesses, and that is usually through brutal theft of your cupcakes and/or your Butter crunches. That will take you down a notch.

Like I said, out of 100 niggas it might be like 10 LIVE niggas out of 100 niggas man and which one are YOU nigga. Point it out nigga.
1:49 PM Nov 3rd via web

1 in 10 individuals truly have style, while the rest are delusional. Which one are you, good sir or madam?

and is you sure about that dude!
1:49 PM Nov 3rd via web

Let's reflect on our wardrobe for a moment. Do you have good taste? Really?

Pictures of Your Kids

Yeah.

I'll probably never be that guy that pulls out pictures of my kids to anyone with the faintest interest.

However - I already am that guy that does so with shoes. Something that I imagine my close knit group of loved ones to be very excited about.

For example: Yesterday when Matt was hard at work, getting ready to start his weekend, he was probably very relieved to get this picture message from me:

They match my wiener dog!!

They're my new Matt-inspired shoes. Black and camel pikolinos that pretty much feel like your walking around on a cloud made of buttery leather.

And this? Is why people don't like to give their phone number out . . .

Our Very First Tag!!

My friend Ana from Caffeine and Cocktails has tagged Matt and I. My head has explained it to me in this manner:

Remember that semester in college when you were obsessed with Myspace? This is kind of like all of those quizzes you'd take. Ana tagged you guys. So answer her questions, make up your own and tag blogs you love.

Oooh! Fun! I LOVE answering questions about me!

Because I'm giving Matt a break from Chad (the poor guy spent nearly 300 hours with me attached at the hip with no breaks) I will be answering these exciting questions on behalf of both of us to the best of my ability.

Let's look at Ana's questions!!

1. If they were to make a biopic of your life what would it be titled and who would be casted to play you?

If I were already dead it could have a way cool title - like The Unravelling of A High Strung Kook - but neither Matt or myself are dead it would need an ominous title. Maybe something ironic like Critical Indifference. I like that. I'm critical - Matt is indifferent. It works.

Who would play us? I have a list of people that I think resemble Matty. Starting with Dick York from the early Bewitched years and ending with Jim Carrey in Cable Guy. I've never found anyone that looks like me. I've never been told that anyone looks like me either. I think that due to a lack of options our biopic would have to have me animated. Geez, that's depressing. Everyone likes to be compared to pretty celebrities - so why not me? However - Matt being an actor and Chad being an animation would be Who Framed Roger Rabbit? level of badass!

2. What is your favorite dessert? Be specific.

Hmmmm. That's tough. We're both very inclusive with sweets. So in the spirit of specifics I will go with favorite dessert of the week! Matt is now borderline-stalker-obsessed with Wispa bars. Its a deliciously aerated milk chocolate bar made by Cadbury. Picture chocolate mousse in a candy bar wrapper! (They are exquisite!!)

I, on the other hand, just went back to work and was greeted by a wonderful triple chocolate cake. It was super moist, super sweet, and best of all, super devoted to me. I even ignored the spelling error and saw it as an opportunity to eat as much as I could until the poor English was a distant memory.

Also - how did my coworkers convince a bakery to put a picture of two tarantulas mating on a cake? They're probably still thinking "What the fuck did we just send out into the world?"

3. What's your favorite cocktail, shot, and wine? In that order.

I think we're both beer men. But cocktail wise I will always lean toward cape cods and Matty will most likely take a rum and coke. Shots? I'll take anything that doesn't involve pineapple or coconut. I don't do tropical shots. I think Matt has vowed to stay away from shots since his Old Chicago shot night that ended up being his Old Chicago bathroom head-in-the-pot night. Matt also isn't the biggest fan of wine (I think) - so he probably won't have a preference. That's okay. I'll take his. While I don't love wine either - I am a drunk.

4. What is your favorite holiday? How would you celebrate it?

I have to be honest. I have NO idea what Matt's favorite holiday is. Mine would be Halloween. I love the creepy factor. Jack-O-Lanterns, Black Cats and Skeletons, Wicked Witch silhouettes over full moons? Its the best! Last year I celebrated it by reading to little kids and then I went to a party downtown where I felt like a cheap piece of meat (not complaining!). I totally won a costume contest too! I was the mouse from "If You Give A Mouse A Cookie"

5. If you could travel anywhere in the world where would you go and why?

Me? I'd go to Dior. Whichever one has the largest section pour homme. (I need fall clothes! Squeee!) (Too gay??) Also - I should mention that the scenario that involves me being able to transport ANYWHERE problem free also comes with an unlimited line of credit and my bill? Does NOT come to me, but is instead portioned out and distributed amongst my exes. Well - now I'm just super depressed that this isn't happening like - tonight!

Matt? Hmmm - I suppose he'd be happy anywhere with food and a bathroom. . .

6. How would you describe your personal style?

We're very similar. If we were chocolate bars Matty would be a Mars bar. I'd be a Snickers - which is a Mars bar with nuts. We both start out with chocolate (casual shoes) caramel (t-shirts) and nougat (jeans) - but I have the little bit extra: nuts. I tend to be more insecure than little Matt so I like to layer a lot more.

Outside of clothes we're still very similar. What I call "vintage modern". Classics with a modern spin. Like shaving with with a straight razor, but using L'Occitane shaving soap. Tooling around town in a 72 Beetle listening to your iPod. Stuff we both do.

Otherwise we are very different. Matt is very balanced and demure. I have violent mood swings and am a *tad* more crass. Matt is independent and conventional. I am emotionally crippled, yet wildly devoted. A combination that makes me very symbiotic on friendships.

7. What do you keep in your Box of "It's Not Going to Work Out"? (Basically, what secrets do you keep from your significant other that may make you look a little bat shit crazy?)

Hahaha! I'm afraid not much. Probably why I'm significant other-less. Because Matt's been married since about the 6th grade he doesn't have any secrets from his significant other because he didn't have much of a past to develop any. I am concerned that one day he will run amuck with an automatic weapon and let his secret desire spill onto police demand lists . . .

8. Tonight you can do anything without worry of cost... what would you do?

Damn. It's 7:30 on a Sunday night. So I can't legally buy anything. I guess that leaves me with malice. I'd probably settle all my scores via vandalism and use my monetary freedom as my parachute! Then I'd order an obscene amount of shit online - because who doesn't love getting packages?

Matt would hire a hitman to rub out his mother-in-law. (And since I'll be in the gettin' even business - I'll be for hire. Cheap.) (What can I say? I'm a good friend!)

That was more exhausting than I thought. I guess its a different story when I'm not trying to kill time between Virology and Analytical Chemistry. I've lost my steam. The GOOD news is that every blog I follow has already been tagged with the exception of two - so I'm tagging The Daily Update and A Writer's Landscape. Hosted by my sweet cousin Melissa and my amazing friend Josheleh, respectively.

So go read away! And continue to read their blogs or I will probably cut you. As you can see from the above answers - I'm both crazy AND hellbent on mayhem.

Physically, I'm Great

On September 26th Matt woke up from a much deserved nap to a half naked Chad bursting at the seams with eagerness.

It was time for Matt to remove my stitches!

Those itchy itchy stitches.

It was phenomenal! Actually, it felt like Matt was flossing my skin, but whatever. I was excited. After I finished mentally congratulating Matt on his surgical prowess I realized that if only all of my problems could be solved with Matt's skilled hands . . .

Chad's 10 Little Things that make him look S-L-O-W while in Europe:

1. No matter how many times Matt forewarns me I will ALWAYS try to pull doors open. Which makes me look like a complete tool. People realize I'm either A) stupid or B) American. Six of one, half a dozen of the other . . .

2. I enjoy drip coffee. Which is kind of like asking for a cup of unicorn in Europe.

Chad: I. Would. Like. Just. Plain. Iced. Co. Ffee.

Barista: Next time you need to ask for Americano.

Chad: NEXT. TIME. I. WANT. AN. AMERICANO... I. WILL.

Although -I've always wondered why they call cafe americanos that. My best guess is that it was created for European coffee shops to try to imitate American coffee. Because they only have espresso and Nescafe -which is dirty river water. But, in their defense - the espresso is A-Mazing. Non of this Starbucks "my machine must pull my shots for me business"

3. While I look both ways when crossing the street - I do it in the wrong order if I'm in London. Which means that while I'm looking left I'm walking right in front of traffic coming from my right and Matt has to jerk my arm out of the socket to save me - like I'm his blind, deaf child.

4. I WILL make a big deal over every Porsche, Volkswagen, Skoda, Fiat, etc. that I see on the road. Which is time consuming because that's all they have. Matt and I saw an Isetta in Wolfsburg Germany and I was basically a drooling puddle of gushing love.

5. When at restaurants I'm conditioned to waitstaff checking on you. Or at least bringing your check. Which means: until I realize that it's time for me to use my pushy set of lips, I'm sitting at a table with empty plates and glasses and the staff is wondering why the hell won't that guy ask for his bill and get out of here?

6. The excitement I clearly FAIL at suppressing when ordering a beer to go with my Royale with cheese at McDonalds makes me look like an insane person.

7. When Matt finds a candy bar he loves that you just can't get in the US - I'm probably going to load up my arms with it to stock up. Do the cashiers see a well intentioned person looking out for the delight of his friend? No. They probably see an slow moving American trying to buy 21 Wispa bars. I think that I? Am a big part of the reason the world thinks the US is over-indulgent.

8. I have been raised in an asphalt world. Which means that when I've had a beer AND my legs are exhausted from walking - sending me out into cobblestone streets is just asking for physical comedy

9. I love me some yellow mustard. The people of central Europe? Don't even know what it is. Neither of us happened to know the German word for 'mustard' which left me telling a waitress in broken German that Matt and I wanted our hamburgers to be more yellow . . .

10. While Matt would prefer to watch the news in our Berlin apartment - I would much rather watch The Nanny dubbed in German. Matt always knew that the second he would take a shower he could expect me to 1st) change the channel and 2nd) interrupt his shower by barging in to give him play-by-plays of plot development. Nanny Fine liebe Herr Sheffield.

Fun with lists!

Hi all! it's been a while since I've blogged, and I've leaned heavily on Chad to keep all the gaps filled-in, but I just started a new job, which brings me to my list of today: jobs I have held...

1. Carnie
2. Grocery boy
3. Applebee's host
4. Grocery night stalker
5. Warehouseman
6. Tire buster
7. Real estate admin
8. Barista (thanks to you Chad)
9. Car salesman
10. Barista at Braun's bar and grill
11. Sam's Club - gas station attendant, electronics sales, and tire busting
12. Sofa Mart - warehouse, routing delivery trucks and delivery driver
13. Race car parts fabricator
14. High-end sculpture awards fabricator
15. Orthodontic Product Designer
16. Real estate admin (calling all those who were in foreclosure)
17. Freelance designer/fabricator
18. Home Depot flooring associate
19. Master Artist at a mannequin manufacturer
20. Warranty department lead

I also have done my fair share of freelance fabrication and repair, and I also helped fix and flip a house. And I suppose you could count 'musician' in there somewhere...

What you got for job lists?

Not itching like a dirty ho no mo'

I'm cancer free . . .

Hooray!

But I'm still not . . . erm . . . 'pre-cancer' free?

I don't exactly know what it means either. I have "pre-cancer".

Here's an idea: if there are people out there with the ability to tell what will some day be cancer. Why the fuck aren't they scanning the masses when they're babies?

Anyway. Pre-cancer schmancer. What I'M more upset about is having to deal with the Dream Team again.

Lets look back, okie?

I had two chunks of skin with suspected melanoma corkscrewed out of me and stitched up.

The Dream Team called me and said "Yeah. . . We need to corkscrew out more. But this time we're using a much bigger corkscrew. So . . . let's make you an appointment!"

I made an appointment.

For yesterday morning.

To have BIGGER chunks taken out.

Nurse: Good morning, Chad. It looks like we're going to be taking your stitches out today.

Me: Yep.

Nurse: And it looks like we need to schedule an excision.

Me: Actually, that's supposed to be today.

Nurse: No

Me: Yes

Nurse: No - it says here that you're scheduled to have stitches removed.

Me: Yeah. Stitches . . . and the hunk of meat they're sewn in to.

Nurse: Yeah, actually [Dr Awkward Touch] likes to do surgery later in the morning.

Me: Why does that matter? Is he eating it for lunch?

Nurse: That's funny.

Me: So I have to schedule ANOTHER appointment?

Nurse: Yeah. But the front desk (the Dream Team) will help you out with that!

Me: How about instead of sending me to the front desk staff you just blindfold me and start hitting me with a stick.

Nurse: Haha! Now lets get those stitches out!

Chad: (eyes rolling wildly) okay.

Nurse: Ooh! These have healed nicely!

Chad: Good.

Nurse: Yeah! The skin has even started to heal over the stitches! I'm going to have to dig them out!

This is when I revealed my secret weapon. (Yelling)

Chad: Wipe that stupid smile off your face! If you act cheerful about digging stitches out of me (without painkillers!) I'm going to leave. (And I'll be slashing all of your tires)

She shut up and went to work with what I think was a pair of cuticle scissors. The fact that she didn't appear to know how to handle them should've been apparent by the shape of her cuticles. She had the hands of a disabled welder.

Now - in pain - I was sent to the Dream Team to ONCE AGAIN schedule my excisions.

Instead of recounting my experience with them for you, just stick your head in the refrigerator and slam the door a couple of times. You'll get the idea . . .

Now I have a new appointment on Thursday. Which means that my stitches need to come out sometime when I'm in Prague.

Matt promised to take them out for me.

I better remind him to pack some scissors and an ice pick.

Itching like a dirty dirty whore

Recently I went into a dermatologist's office to have some 'suspicious moles' looked at as recommended by my friend Natalie.

Actually my friend Natalie, an oncology nurse, didn't exactly say I should have them looked at. We were in Mississippi (read: drinking heavily in the deep South) when she starting scanning our friend, Heather and myself.

"Jezzussshh! Youu sshould reaally have thozze looked attth!"

With advice like this I could've said I wasn't concerned, but I'd risk drunk Natalie trying to scoop them out with a potato peeler and some vodka. So I just promised I would.

"Ohhh Naaataliiieee. Offf coouuursshe I willl . . . "

This is how I found myself in Denver Dermatology at 11:45 when my appointment was scheduled for 11:00. Keep in mind this is a dermatology office. Not an emergency triage. There wasn't a line ahead of me. I was the only person IN the waiting room. Well . . . eventually a burly woman who I referred to as "Clark" in my own head arrived around 11:15. When Clark was brought back after a 10 minute wait it occurred to me that the front desk staff - who I have dubbed "The Dream Team" - forgot about me. How the FUCK you forget about someone who is sitting RIGHT in FRONT of you is beyond me.

Anyway. . .

An hour after I arrived I was brought back and given a body scan (humiliating) and then had 2 punch biopsies taken. Martha accompanied me to the dermatologist's office for A) morale support and B) her credit card because I? decided to cancel my health insurance to pay for my gym membership (which I no longer go to). While I'm being given the local anesthetic Martha strikes up a conversation with my medical assistant, Yolanda. They were cooing over the pros and cons of getting your eyebrows tattooed (slightly less humiliating).

Did I take pictures of me getting my body scanned by doctor awkward touch? Yes. Did I send them to Natalie AND Matt? Yes.

Doctor Awkward Touch and Sharpie Eyebrow Yolanda stitched me up after removing two pieces of my chest meat that looked like bloody cigarette butts. So now I have to reschedule a time to have the stitches removed.

Back at the front desk the Dream Team is trying to reschedule me. I have 3 days off every week and they're all weekdays. It shouldn't be that hard.

"Yeah." Miss Dream Team smacked her gum while talking "It's going to be hard. Because you have to come in two weeks from now to have your stitches out so the skin doesn't overgrow."

Okay. I can do any Monday, Thursday, or Friday. Just pick a day and I will be here.

"Yeah. Ummm . . . but nobody's going to be in the office because of labor day so we can't do Monday."

Be that as it may - I gave you a window that represents 60% of your business hours. You can find a space.

"Yeah. I'm going to have to check with my office manager because nobody's going to be here. Because of Labor Day."

Labor day is in ONE week. So when I come back in TWO WEEKS it shouldn't matter. Unless, of course you people get like 10 days off for labor day.

"Shoot." Blowing bubbles with her gum. "Did I get the wrong week?"

**********

So today when I got a message from Miss Dream Team saying that my biopsy showed abnormal cells I needed to schedule a biopsy.

I swear to God. I will kill this girl.

I know these cells were 'abnormal' hence the BIOPSY that you're calling with the results to. The results, I might add, that you have yet to give. Did I hear cancer or cancer free come out of your gum smacking mouth? Not yet!

So now I have scheduled a biopsy to see if there's any danger in the cells that they found abnormalities on in my first biopsy.

Does your head hurt yet?

If it's any consolation, that's nothing compared to how Miss Dream Team's head will hurt after I hit it with my shoe until bubbleyum starts leaking out of her ears.

AND my stitches itch so bad I'm sure that people at work think I have scabies. (the humiliation just doesn't stop.)

"Get Judgey"? Done and DONE.

I'm sitting in a booth inside California Pizza Kitchen with Josheleh when I spy my friend Ana walk past outside. We wave -she comes in to say hi. Then she introduces me to the guy she's with (Edwin? Eggbert? Whatever.)

Anyway. Ana at one point had told my sister that after dancing with me one night she felt she needed to take a pregnancy test. Haha. Love it.

So what do I blurt out at Ana immediately after introductions?

"Hey Ana, ever get that PERIOD?"

Hahahahaha. I am so hilarious.

At least that's totally how I feel until I get a message from Ana on Facebook titled "Get Judgey"

So - nerdy or not, this guy scores major points because A) his disdain for flip-flops and B) totally making Ana look like top shelf goods just by comparison. (But mostly A, people. Mostly A)

August 2010

The gracious thing for me to do would be to wipe my brow, turn to August, and say Well done, summer month. Well done.

However, being less than gracious I'm more apt to tongue kiss September on the mouth, while looking over it's shoulder at August just long enough to give it the bird.

August was busy.

1 car show

1 death in my immediate family

1 wedding in my immediate family

(with subsequently - 2 wildly awkward extended family get-togethers)

3 birthdays (1 penis cake)

1 scientific article submitted for publication

1 poem written about my joyous smile (Yay! go read it at jhartf.blogspot.com)

2 endangered species I mated (my very first time mating anything on the IUPC endangered species list!)

2 chunks of cancer cookie cutter-ed out of me (The stitches are driving me nuts)

3 times I completely exposed myself in front of someone in a completely non-sexual way

1 time was Matt, so it doesn't count (because he enjoyed it)

4 phrases i learned in Czech

1 conversation I had in German

You know, now that I look back - August was kind of awesome! (And warm!)

Oh, August. I can never stay mad at you. (February, on the other hand? Can suck my balls)

My Sleepwalking

My friend Lindsey would get a kick out of this . . . so I'll just blog about it and figure it'll probably get around to her eventually. She loves how my logic evolves. What I do is I take facts as I see them and come to a logical conclusion, but if you weren't there for the whole thought process you'll think I'm nuts.

Example, you say?

Okie dokie.

Last night I may have killed a prostitute in my bed.

You think I'm nuts, yes? Case in point people. Case. In. Point.

NOW, lets take you through a very logical thought process.

So last night I fell asleep while reading about rabies. I slept fitfully for about 6 hours. Usually when I wake up exhausted that means I've been sleepwalking.

(Matt has come over early in the morning before to discover my . . . leavings. Like when I toasted a box of frozen waffles, placed them all over my kitchen, then ate a tube of toothpaste.)

After my shower I went to make my bed and noticed a fair amount of blood on my sheets. Blood. BLOOD?! After examining myself thoroughly I found no lacerations or abrasions. I had no taste of blood in my mouth.

You can believe that I went over every square inch of my body because after a night dreaming of rabies I was positive a bat was sucking blood from somewhere while I dozed.

ANYWAY - nothing.

So clearly - I fell asleep, then sleep walked outside, picked up a prostitute, came back to my bedroom, killed said prostitute, disposed of his or her body (My best guess would be that I stuffed in in the abandoned coal chute in my building. That's just a guess.), then went back to sleep.

See people? Logic.

Either that or I ate a bag of Hickory Barbeque chips and downed a Dr. Pepper slurpee then drooled like a sieve all night long.

The world may never know . . .

Why Yes, I DO have this much time on my hands . . .

For the record - the phrase is "Don't judge a book by its cover" - it doesn't mention anything about accepting it unconditionally.

This is why I feel so justified in doing what I've done to the book I bought today. . .

I love David Sedaris. So when I stumbled upon this book in a used bookstore today I had to purchase.

Sadly - it wasn't Sedaris' name that caught my eye, but the absolutely HIDEOUS cover.

Call me shallow (okay - I kind of am), but I'm a sloooooooooow reader, which means I'd be carrying around the unibrow twins for an uncomfortably long time.

I don't deal with unibrows, or any other form of body hair very well.

A fellow zookeeper at work named Jaime refuses - REFUSES to shave her legs, yet insists on wearing shorts. After considering the most tactful way to approach the subject I said "Jaime! When are you going to shave your damn legs?! You're making me sick!!"

At first she said I was jealous because she had nicer legs than me. I told her to try again because she has legs like a ninja turtle.

So Jaime said she wasn't A) trying to impress anyone and B) uncomfortable with her bushy legs.

Oh, HELL no. If I'm uncomfortable - She will be too.

I slipped out of the back door of the animal rearing room and crept through the empty hallways on our slowest day at work. Collecting other employees as I went I finally came back to the rearing room with an army of educators, custodians, and gift shop staff.

Jaime turned around and was surprised at the people I had collected. She was probably also confused until she saw what I had brought them back for. To see Jaime's hairy legs.

See you guys! I told you she wears short jeans shorts with long loooooong leg hair. Look close!!

I treated Jaime like a sideshow freak.

Uncomfortable yet, Jaime?

(This may sound mean - but she had it coming after the umpteenth time she told me I was going to hell for various reasons)

So yeah. I'm not going to deal with the unibrow.

So I replaced the pictures. With black and white pictures I had stored somewhere in my email folders. They happen to be of Natalie and Matt.

And this? Is what I do with my days.

Well . . . and I got some peanut butter FroYo (AMAZING)

Czech, please!

Haha! These titles write themselves!

Okay. Actually - my sister text messaged it to me today. So pretty much all I do is steal titles from those more witty than I.

Meh.

Let's move on.

We all remember my Czech phrasebook, yes?

Good.

Well last night I went to Old Chicago with Matt and Gina for trivia. I happened to have my little book in my pocket to show Matt. After Matt had set it on the table so he could stuff his face with pizza and Oktoberfest beer our waitress noticed the little book.

Our waitress just happened to be from Bratislava, Slovakia. Slovak and Czech are like American English and Canadian English. We say the same stuff, but Americans totally make fun of the way Canadians say "aboot". Hehe.

Anyway - she asked if I wanted to see a Czech tongue twister. Umm. Yeah!

So she wrote down Strč prst skrs krk

to which I said "I KNOW THAT! IT MEANS STICK YOUR FINGER IN YOUR NECK!"

Then I made her teach me how to pronounce it. (I'm pretty good too - but I've always been fast with my tongue)(Take that as you wish)

She then gave me another statement that is much softer: Lǎlǎ ho paplǔha ogrcal mi krpce.

It means Look at that douche bag who threw up on my shoe.

I wonder what tomorrow holds. Perhaps I'll learn how to say "hello." or "my name is Chad." or "my friend Matt's nut sac is full of jelly beans."

Guess what my money's on.

Czech Me Out

I have to be honest. This blog title? Is not my own piece of brilliance, but a modified pick-up line that Matt invented about 8 years ago when we were trying to help a coworker ask out a sexy Czech chick that worked next door. But it seems applicable and due for a comeback. No?

ANYWAY . . .

I'm going to the Czech Republic for the first time next month so when I saw a teeny weeny Czech phrase book in the bookstore yesterday I decided I must purchase.

There are several reasons why I want to learn at least a little Czech (which they call Čeština) (Which is pronounced CHESH-tyi-nuh)

A.) The language is actually very beautiful

B.) I watched Inglourious Bastards yesterday and when Diane Kruger gets all snooty in Brad Pitt's face in her "would it to too much to hope that an American speak any other languages/ Miss Thang" attitude I wanted to slap that bitch (or at least prove her wrong)(Girl. She so ig-nant)

C.) I also want to be as far removed from Brad Pitt in that movie as possible. What's worse than Brad Pitt's awful Tennessee accent? His fake Tennessee accent trying to speak Italian. Bon-JOR-no.

D.) Actually A. is kind of a crock. My reasons are pretty much just B. and C.

So. Now I leave you with my findings.

Chad's very first memorized Czech phrase:

Chtěl pivo (KHUT-yel Pee-vo), which means "I'd like a beer"

Best thing about Czech:

Every letter has one way to be pronounced. None of this english nonsense where C can sound like an S or a K. GH is not either silent or sounding like an F. Nope if its a letter its the same as you always see it. which means I can totally just read the dictionary to people and be spot on!

Worst thing about Czech:

Have these people ever heard of vowels? Seriously. Do they know they're free?

I found this little gem in my phrase book: Strč prst skrz krk, which means "Stick your finger through your neck"

Thankfully I probably won't have to use it too often.

Although we all know that I'm gonna try to bust that bad boy out after a few pivos . . .

Things Matt Doesn't Want Me to Share: Part 1

See what happens Chelsea? When you decide to have a wedding with an open bar. Look at iiiiittt.

This? Is Wine-drunk with a hot tub.

Yes, Matt and I are wearing matching trunks that are meant, not for adult men, but for fat children.

Yes, we look like Reese's Pieces with bad farmer's tans.

Yes, Zahra is wet because we pulled her into the hot tub with her clothes on.

Finally, YES - I realize I need to go to the gym.

Despite the fact that Matt will probably slap me in public after publishing a picture where he thinks he looks "squishy" - its not as bad as what Zahra would do if I posted the other hot tub picture where you can totally see her taint.

So . . . remember this the next time you think it would be fun to have a wedding Chelsea!

I am a Creepy Hypocrite

Picture it:

Last summer I rebuilt my bathroom. Every wall, every fixture, floor to ceiling remodel. Needless to say I was at the hardware store like three times a day.

At one point I logged onto my facebook page and a girl I didn't know had asked to be my friend. Normally I would simply delete, but she looked somewhat familiar.

I enlisted my friend Zahra to help me find out who she was.

Here are the facts:

She was like 17

About the size of a small shed

Worked for Lowe's in Thornton.

The Lowe's that I had been going to for the past week.

The Lowes that employs slightly large girls who commit the name on your debit card to memory and then find you on facebook.

Bless her enlarged, tortured heart.

What. A. Psycho.

Well, the day I can no longer call her a creepy stalker is today. Specifically all afternoon. When I spent my day off with an anonymous friend creating a fictional profile on an unnamed dating website so we could use it to look up her ex.

The take-home message? Stalking is super fun.

So what if I'm going to hell as fast as that hand basket can carry me. At least MY stalking victim can't look at me and think you poor poor fat girl. No.

Hehe.

Besides. Karma has already nailed my ass. Fictional profile persona? Yes she's had more interest shown in one hour than I've had all summer.

Our fictional girl is kind of a bitch.

I'm just a creepy hypocrite.

ratemystudent.com? A Grand Idea.

A few days ago at work I had to give a training session for new volunteers for our exhibit featuring tarantulas. I know, pretty much every job has this training session, yes? Which is probably why this volunteer gave me a 4/5 on the training evaluation. She's probably seen better.

Wait.

Not so.

This girl - who is like 16, has probably NEVER been to a "survey of tarantulas" training in her life. (who has?)

(well, me. But I'm the exception not the rule)

(by the way - my training was WAY better than any I have attended NOT instructed by me.)

Everyone else gave me a 5/5 because I'm great. Not this chick. Apparently she could have been a little more impressed with the instructor's knowledge.

I called my friend Lindsey to vent. I was hoping she'd make me feel better and she delivered like dominoes!

She works at NYU and has the standard, official class surveys at the end of a semester.

But she also has to deal with the dreaded ratemyprofessor.com

This website is absolutely absurd. Why? Because there's a "hotness meter"

How hot is your professor? This is ridiculous.

Of course we all like having super sexy professors so we can fantasize about sleeping our way to an A+ (just me?) but who needs this information?

This totally makes me feel better about my 4 out of 5 - but it also gives my warped mind ideas.

Like . . .

Before I realized this I thought: I should make my own survey on them and grade them as instructees.

Afterwards I thought: I should still do this AND include my opinion on how hot they were.

By the way - in case you were wondering - this volunteer (who was anonymous) seemed intellectually retarded and has a unibrow and b.o. I would not recommend her as a student.

If the Devil Wears Prada, Jesus should too

Hello. My name is Chad. And I'm addicted to incredible footwear.

I'm not saying I'm a shoe whore like my dear friend Matt.

I am - but that's not what I'm saying. My shoe issue (I get points for NOT saying is-shoe, like I really really wanted to) is that a measurable portion of my life revolves around shoes.

Shoes make me feel happy. Shoes can make me feel sad. Most importantly: shoes help me see how douch-like the folks I encounter daily are.

Once again I should mention my thoughts on flip-flops. If you have a nice pair, wear them. Wear them sparingly though. Wear them when appropriate. Volleyball game? Yes. Picnic in the park? Yes. To a job interview at the bank? No.

Also - by "nice" pair of flip flops I mean they MUST be made of natural fibers. No foam. No rubber. If you got your flip flops out of a bin for $2.99 - you should probably kill yourself before I do because I will make it slow.

I feel now is a good time to relate a story.

Picture it: Last week I was helping my soon-to-be brother-in-law move some furniture. My sister and I were the best dressed in the storage compound (not a difficult feat). Davey? was wearing flip flops.

Chad: Hey Davey. I'm glad to see you're wearing your heavy duty flip flops to move furniture.
Davey: Hey. Jesus wore sandals and he moved furniture. He MADE furniture!
Chelsea: Jesus wore sandals. Not flip flops.
Davey: Flip flops ARE sandals!
Chad: Not Jesus sandals. Jesus didn't get his shoes out of a bin at Payless.
Chelsea: Jesus probably had a woven leather sandal. Maybe with a sling back.
Chad: A "mandal" if you will.
Chelsea. Right.
Chad: I don't like mandals either. But who am I to judge?
Chelsea: You're a good person to not judge Jesus.
Chad: Thank you. I am.
Davey: ???

Haha. You can tell Chelsea and I are related. You can also tell that Davey will probably be eaten alive by us within a year.

I should probably confess to something right now. Because Matt is a huge shoe whore I have discovered that when I want to buy shoes I can buy them for Matt. That way I get the thrill of shopping/trying on without the whole selfish feeling/buyers remorse problem! (Also - I know that if Matt should die in an industrial, mannequin-making accident before I can give him shoes, I get to keep!)

These? Are what I got Matt for his birthday.

Now can you see why its a confession?

But I love Love LOVE them!!

The Lovers, The Dreamers, and Me

So convinced, Kermit the frog is, that someday he'll find it - the rainbow connection - that he sings about it with banjo accompaniment.

That's pretty much how I feel right now. Only replace rainbow connection with the reason why John Paul hates me . . .

John Paul is this (fat) guy I kind of work with. I work in curatorial. He works in education. We don't have to deal with each other much but we do have to interact from time to time.

We used to be tight. "Buds" if you will. Then a few weeks ago for no reason known to me - he hates me.

Step 1: Confrontation.

Chad: What the hell is your problem John Paul?!

John Paul: (Rolling. His. EYES!!) You're too sensitive.

Then this jerk off turns and walks away from me.

Later . . .

I walked into one of our back rooms to find a fellow zookeeper and a 13 YEAR OLD volunteer with looks on their face that can only be described as "I just walked in on my grandmother whipping my grandfather while he was wearing a gimp mask."

NOW, I recognize the look as "Chad just opened the door just as John Paul (who is now behind the door) called Chad a fucking cunt."

Step 2: Tattle Tale on John Paul to my boss.

Chad: I don't know what his problem is - but that is absolutely uncalled for in front of a sweet 13 year old volunteer.

Mary Ann: I agree. I'll talk to him. Meanwhile just don't do anything to antagonize him.

Chad: Of course I won't!

Mary Ann: . . .

Chad: What?!

Mary Ann: Didn't you just describe him as "Jell-O with a belt"

Chad: Not to his face

Mary Ann: You did it over the loudspeaker.

Chad: . . .

Mary Ann: . . .

Chad: Well, when he sits down its takes five minutes for the whole mess to settle.

Mary Ann: . . .

Chad: Since when is his weight problem MY fault?!

Step 2 (Part 2): Tattle Tale on John Paul to his boss.

(I should mention that this was a completely normal circumstance and I acted the way I'm expected to.)( I should also point out that if I weren't pissed at John Paul I would have utterly overlooked the following.)

Chad: Hey Marcos. It's not that big of a deal. But whoever (John Paul) worked in the exhibit the past week hasn't been returning the animals. Not just that - they've been locked up and the key is missing. Whoever worked (again, John Paul) must have taken it home on accident. 5 nights in a row. I'm sure their fine - but they need food and water. . .

Marcos: HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN LOCKED UP??

Chad: About a week. I don't want to get anyone in trouble (pfft. Haha.) but I just want to make sure their okay.

Marcos: I'll take care of it.

Step 3: Denial of Cake.

My work just had its 15th Anniversary carnival. It came with games, events, bouncy castles and enough leftover cake to play soccer on. (Mmmmmm!!!) Now we all scuttle off to the breakroom for our secret stash of cheap, sugary sheet cake.

Mary Ann: Should we go tell John Paul we have cake up here?

Chad: No. He probably wouldn't want any. I think he's on a diet. And I for one think he looks great!

Marcos: Didn't you just say that they shove him through the Eisenhower tunnel once a month to clean it?

Chad: . . .

Mary Ann: . . .

Marcos: . . .

What? If the prick's gonna hate me I may as well give him good reason :)

Pizza + Cake + Cotton Candy = Speeches That Write Themselves

Jen Lancaster, one of my favorite authors, likes to put things into timeline form. So because I feel that it is the BEST way to portray this blog entry - I'm totally swiping her style for a moment.

May: My curator at work asked if I would be willing to be a guest speaker at the grand opening of a new sustainable library (I don't know what makes a library "sustainable". Aren't all libraries? They're based on the principle of reuse, after all) Anyway. My topic? Beekeeping.

I say yes.

June: I briefly wonder "when is that speech? I should find out so I can work on it." I then put it out of my mind so I can focus on other things. Things like someone should create a bread bowl out of donut and fill it with pudding! Mmmmmmm. pudding filled donut bowl. :)

July 7: At my staff meeting (you remember: the one where they read The Lorax to us?) It is mentioned that I am giving a presentation on beekeeping on Saturday the 10th. Shit. The 10th of JULY? As in . . . 3 days from now? Shit.

July 8: I am REALLY going to write my speech . . . after I finish helping my sister move. And do laundry. And watch Psycho. And procure an apartment in Germany for September. And pass out at Martha's house after eating 6 pounds of buttered noodles.

July 9: I NEED to write my speech.

9:00 am: But first I promised Chelsea I'd help organize to make room for the stuff we had moved the day before.

3:00 pm: I also need to try to fix Chelsea's garage door (unsuccessfully)

4:00 pm: . . . and work on my Volkswagen (UNSUCCESSFULLY) and have a small breakdown.

7:00 pm: Drive to Boulder with Zahra to drop off Ophelia, the tarantula I've been babysitting while her awesome tattoo artist mommy is out of town. Awesome tattoo artist mommy got me a spider totem necklace. Squeee!!! Bad mood - going away! Squeee^2!!!

8:30 pm: Call Matt to apologize for his having to deal with my small breakdown.

8:32 pm: Matt didn't answer. Call Lindsey to tell her that I'm a shit for unleashing my misdirected fury at poor Matty.

8:35 pm: Move on to a detailed description of the hobbit across the alley from me who is sitting at his computer naked (except for a pair of very large glasses and VERY unkempt body hair) with the blinds wide open.

11:00 pm: I've opened my notebook. Step one!

11:01 pm: Decide I need some background noise. Cabaret is appropriate. It takes place in Berlin, which will inspire me to get all my stuff done before I leave in 2 months.

1:00 pm: Go to bed. After watching Cabaret and not writing down a single thing. I'll do it at work tomorrow . . .

July 10, 8:36 am: show up late to work. No one really notices (cares) because we have our 15th Anniversary carnival all weekend.

11:00 am: Eat blue cotton candy.

11:30 pm: Eat two pieces of pizza

12:00 pm: Eat chocolate cake

12:30 pm: Breed tarantulas

1:00 pm: Eat two more pieces of pizza

1:05 - 3:00 pm: food coma.

3:00 pm: cockroach races.

3:45 pm: one hour until my presentation. Scramble to write an outline of honey bee facts I already know well

4:00 pm: Leave for library opening.

4:45 pm: Give my half hour presentation. (It was OUTSTANDING, by the way)(My audience was something like 10 people)(I knew 3 of them)(Still OUTSTANDING)

5:30 pm: Try to escape super creepy ginger little man who is pestering me with his questions and telling me that he'll see me again. Yeah, stalking is illegal in all 50 states sir. What am I? Some novice apiarist whore? Sure. But I still have standards.

5:50 pm: Call Matty to tell him how amazing I am with my public speaking skills. He laughs at me when he finds out the size of my public. I let him because I was a douche yesterday.

6:00 pm: Decide to blog about my procrastination skills.

6:01 pm: Decide to actively ignore the irony that I was right on top of writing about my procrastination skills.

Movie Review: Eclipse

Gina cajoled me into seeing the newest installment in the Twilight series "Eclipse" a couple of days ago. I reminded her that not too many husbands would sit through two hours of hormone-infused teenage romance blather, and that she should be pretty lucky.

The movie drones on about how mouth-breathing Kristen Stuart wants to become a vampire at graduation and her pasty vampire boyfriend will then have sex with her (with, I assume an ice-cold ding-a-ling). Tempers flare when werewolf other boyfriend Taylor Lautner (cromagnon man)tries to put the moves on bland, whitebread Kristen Stuart.

But wait! There so happens to be a vampire army (more like zombies) being assembled, up in Seattle. Beware of Dakota Fanning! She is a tiny carb-faced Darth Vader-type vampire!

Bella kisses the wolf man and the vampire. Why is anyone fighting over dumpy Kristen Stuart anyway? She practically has Rickets from living in the sun-less Pacific Northwest.

Can I have that two hours of my life back?

Go Team Victoria! Whoo!

Chad's All Staff Meeting

I had a meeting at work today . . .

Our meetings are good because they give me time to reflect and brainstorm. Unfortunately, my brainstorms are all in my head and have nothing to do with meeting topics. Rather - they are a way to pass the time without A) falling asleep B) Getting nasty cases of "church giggles" and C) keep me from blurting out my opinions that are generally not considered to be "constructive" by the rest of the staff.

I would feel bad about not really paying attention . . . but . . . well, our meetings go something like this:

Today I showed up at 7:30 am so that Marcos could get us all motivated towards efforts in conservation. Which most of us already are. While I've spent 2 days trying to procure 2 critically endangered species for breeding - administration has been cooking up their own methods of conservation.

It involves Marcos reading Dr. Suess' The Lorax. Like we're in elementary school.

I love the story SO much and Marcos did a very good job of reading - but do I really need to be here at this ungodly hour for this?

I started texting Matt, but figured he wouldn't believe that my meetings are really this bizarre - so you bet your ass I took pictures!

Around the time the Lorax began speaking for the trees I decided to read the online news from my phone.

It seems that Leslie Van Houten - one of the members of the Manson Family - was just denied parole for like the 20th time (Why do they even bother?!)

With my (forced) downtime I imagined a more fair/entertaining punishment for people like those crazy Mansons. But before I tell you my idea I have to give you a little info on Karen - a coworker of mine.

Karen is hysterical and sassy and I like her.

What I don't like is how Karen shares WAYYYYY too much and is very detail oriented. I don't need to hear about Karen's pot smoking kids, her impotent husband, etc.

But because she's my friend I bite the bullet and pray that I have the strength to survive her personal accounts.

NOW for my hilarious punishment!

I imagine sticking Leslie Van Houten in a sealed room with no doors, windows, vents, whatever. The only other thing in the room is an assortment of potential weapons. Not guns and knives (that's too easy - we're talking punishment people) - I'm talking hacksaws and reams of barbed wire. Maybe some flasks of various strong acids.

Then, through a surround sound speaker system - pipe in a looped recording of Karen describing her latest uterus scraping procedure. (trust me. She has HOURS of material with that one)

Then the general population could watch and enjoy via the monitor that could be mounted from the ceiling! There would probably be bets and pools going on as to how long Leslie lasts or what weapon she decides to use.

It would pretty much be like the super bowl except I would totally watch this.

Ahhhhh . . . good times.

Time to tune back into the meeting? Maybe Marcos is done . . .

Nope.

Remember: "UNLESS someone like you cares an awful whole lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not."

I Scream for Ice Cream

Foods that I love unconditionally:

Pudding

Home-Run Pie

Cheeseburgers & Fries

Iced Florentines (Technically, it's a drink - but I'm pretty sure I survived on them from 2001-2003)

All forms of delicious ice cream, gelato, frozen yogurt, etc.

Today? I was introduced to a delightful subspecies from the ice cream world.

Delicious Frozen Greek Yogurt.

I pigged down as much pomegranate blackberry frozen greek yogurt as I could stuff in my cheek at one time. That's the good news. The bad news is that I spent the rest of my day chasing the FroYo dragon.

I tried to take my mind off of my new addiction by watching "Under the Tuscan Sun".

It is an AMAZING movie. Possibly one of my favorites. (I'm watching it for a third time as I type.) (Are you sensing an obsessive streak to my personality?) (It's all in your head.)

That's the good news.

The bad news is that there is a character in it named Katherine who has a love for ice cream that she displays on camera several times. One scene even revolves around her ice creamy affair.

It's like trying to quit smoking and EVERYONE around you seems to, not only be smoking, but loving the shit out of it!

To get my mind off of it I needed to call someone to talk me down. My topic of conversation? How tremendous this movie is.

I almost called my sister - who used to live near where the movie takes place. I knew she'd just gloat so I opted to call my friend Lindsey - who has spent enough time in Italy to know the streets of Florence and Rome better than I know the streets of Denver.

I gushed about the movie. She informed me of how she hasn't seen it out of protest for how touristy Cortona has become since the release of Francis Mayes' memoir. I think I convinced her to netflix it.

Then I made the mistake of asking her what she was up to . . .

Well, she had ordered several things from the market, like blueberries and rhubarb, and she was now going to put them to use. In ice cream form. That bitch is making her own ice cream.

THEN she was telling me about how it could be a habit after just returning from Rome where she had gelato on a non-stop basis.

Right about now is when I started fantasizing about a scenario in the future.

In my fantasy I'm speaking on the phone to Lindsey when suddenly she goes into renal failure.

What do I do? Hook myself up to dialysis and describe it to her in detail. I'd throw in comments like "I don't even need it - but what the heck." or my favorite "God! My blood feels so filtered and clean!"

Lindsey started telling me that her ice cream was turning out "disgusting". Then she told me that she had just said that for my benefit and it actually looked DELICIOUS. This? Is totally defeating the point.

Lindsey is kind of a big bitch.

So I made her stay on the phone while I walked down the street and made her help me pick out what flavor of frozen yogurt to get.