Nazis Are Still Bad Guys . . . Right???

While my friend, Karen is watching Channel 7 News and laughing at journalists for making up words like "courageousness" I was two channels away having the proverbial rug pulled out from under me. I had come to find out that Nazis are doing good just North of metro Denver.

Nazis.

It seems that the American Nazi Party wants to make the world a better place and they're starting off by cleaning up the side of the road. Highway 85 - which connects Denver to Brighton, our sticks neighbors to the North - has been, and will continue to be, cleaned and maintained by the world's most famous advocates for eugenics.

I feel cheated. Robbed.

Every day when I wake up I feel assured that no matter what unforeseen things are in store there are a few constants in the world. One of them is that Nazis aren't picking up roadside trash without shackles and orange suits.

I'm not just disoriented with this news, I'm a little sad. I find comfort in the black and white and Nazis as the ultimate villain was very black and white. No gray areas here! The Nazi regime is responsible for an estimated 9-11 million merciless deaths since their first appearance. Furthermore, they took the idea of eugenics to form the idea of a plausible "super race" of humans. That's all. Nazis = bad.

No gray area. No "Nazi's are pretty bad . . . but they also do some good . . ."

I like my Nazis crazy. I like them with thick german accents (virtually slaughtering the letter "R" and not even grasping "W"). I like my Nazis with their SS garb and foaming at the mouth. That? gives me someone I can whole-heartedly hate with no question.

These "new Nazis"? They must be up to something. Their official statement to 9 News was

"The goal was to get together as a group of like-minded individuals, enjoy each other's company and camaraderie for the day, enjoy some warmth and sunshine and we got lucky in that respect, and clean up some things. This just kind of took off from there. I don't know why boy scouts don't get this kind of notoriety, I mean, they're an awesome group."

What. The. Fuck.

What's next? Is the KKK going to release a statement saying that they are no longer burning crosses, but "lower case t"s for tolerance?

Whores, Cops, and Sumo Wrestlers

My friend Zahra came over for pizza tonight.

Well, that's what I'm hoping the employees and patrons of Benny Blanco's Pizza infer.

Actually she just stopped by my apartment while she was waiting to meet some out-of-towners for dinner after they arrived at DIA. We (I) decided to walk down the block for pizza. Here is where the most illicit block long walk of my life took place. I blame the moon.

I walked out of my building to meet Zahra, who had just pulled up and parked across the street. While I stood on the sidewalk and waited for her to slooooowly climb out of her car (I think she just had bilateral hip replacements, but I thought it would be rude to ask . . . ) this girl walked by me on the sidewalk. There wasn't anything noteworthy about her except she kind of reminded me of that British bitch from "The Devil Wears Prada". You know - that red-head who talks like she's chewing her face and you just want you take off your shoe and start hitting her in the face with it? No! Bad British girl!

Actually, I really like her. I understand that she's supposed to be a villain - but she's living out my fantasy of being nasty-for-no-reason to that creepy Anne Hathaway. . .

What the hell was I talking about?

Oh. Right. The girl on the sidewalk.

Like I said, nothing notable about her except, well . . . you know. Oh, yeah. And as she passed me she asked me very loudly "Would you pay me to fuck me?"

Zahra is still getting out of her car at this point so I just turn and roll my eyes.

This is one of those times where I have SO MANY snide remarks to spout back at her, but they all cause a traffic jam in my head. Instead of trying to loosen up the bottleneck of snarky retorts (which I'm really good at) I just give off the nastiest look I can muster. (which I'm REALLY good at) (I've developed a range of facial expressions that are unrivaled by anyone I know.)

As Hooker McNasty trawls down the street a cop pulls up next to Zahra (finally out of her car and joined me across the street) and myself. Does he inquire as to whether anyone here had been propositioned by a whore? No. In fact, he was very pleasant and just wanted to know if we had seen anyone running past us. Oh. And he was wearing handcuffs. Um, no. No, we haven't.

So the cop had him in handcuffs and then . . . blacked out? How did he get away with such a head start that the cop needed his cruiser? I dunno. I'm still pondering the hooker. (I never get hassled by hookers! I'm not some fat and/or old creeper. Right? If anything I, myself should be a hooker.)

Anyway - on our way to Benny Blanco's . . .

After some completely random guy gave me a dollar because, as he put it When you got somethin' you give somethin' (Oh yeah? Tell that to the streetwalker down the street) we finally arrived in the little pizza take out spot. And we were just. in. time. for Zahra to be hit on by what I believe to be a real live thalidomide baby all grown up. Never the one to cock-block I didn't want to ruin his game. Besides - I had pizza to order.

Because Zahra was on her way to dinner I was the only one eating. But since no one else knew that I decided to take advantage of my situation. I ordered 4 pieces of pizza because clearly there's two of us. I also got two drinks. This is must when you are convincing someone that all the food you just ordered is for more than one person.

Sometimes when I go too long without eating and I get fast food I also order 2 drinks. I may also elaborate (like any truly bad liar would) to the the fast food employee.

Fast Food Worker: "Okay, so you want 37 hamburgers? That'll be $4.50."

Me: "Thanks! Don't forget about my two drinks."

Fast Food Worker: "Oh, right. That'll be $7.00"

Me: "Great. It would have been awful to not get both drinks because clearly I'm not the only one eating"

Fast Food Worker: "uhhhh . . . "

Me: "I mean - what kind of person would order two drinks for himself? Not me! (nervous laughter)"

Then I usually run away.

The worst part about my block long adventure for pizza? When we got back to my apartment I started to wolf down my pizza and casually mentioned to Zahra that I hadn't eaten today. Zahra's response was You know - that's what sumo wrestlers do to slow down their metabolism and stay fat.

Zahra's kind of a bitch.

Now I can't even enjoy my pizza.

I still ate it though.

After all I suffered through it only felt right.

Crisis Averted

My building was built in 1928.

In 1928 people had style.

Hardwood floors. Solid doors. Cast iron radiators and bathtubs.

What people in 1928 apparently didn't have are A) More than two possessions that need to be plugged in and B) shit.

I've filled 4 closets already. I've crammed most of my DVDs into those book things. My next major hurdle? Books. I'm like the Library of Congress.

Not just books either - magazines, newspaper articles, notebooks crammed FULL with notes that I don't even remember making. (I took Ancient Art History?)(I couldn't even tell you who Pliny was - but I wrote a 25 page paper titled "Plato, Pliny, and Mimesis". Hmmmm.)

I need bookcases and shelves and I need them fast before a nosy neighbor turns me in and I find myself on the next episode of Hoarders.

Shelves? Check.

Brackets? Check.

Screws and anchors? Check and check.

Drill? . . . crap.

So I schlepped across town to retrieve my drill from my garage that I have retained because I also have a lot of tools and car parts. (I'm slowly visualizing myself on Hoarders right now trying in vain to convince everyone that I'm not one of those people.)

All the way back to my apartment.

Drill? Check!

Drill battery is dead. Muther F - - - - -! I didn't bring another battery or even the charger. Good thing I'm resourceful! I hold the drill where I want it and instead of pressing the trigger I turn the chuck manually. Just like my ancestors did! I told you - resourceful! (Okay, a bit lazy - but mostly resourceful)

My brackets aren't centered exactly where they should be, but there's a brick wall that I'm not going to deal with - so it's good enough.

Now - you may already know that I just finished reading a book about terrible inventions. One of the later chapters was about lead additives. As I'm stirring up all of this plaster and 80 years worth of paint I remember the "lead paint disclosure" I had to sign along with my lease. Crap. What's that funny taste in my mouth? Oh, yeah. Quiznos. But there's something else . . . is that the taste of a slow forming mental cloudiness?

Quick! Is there any way that lead poisoning can ruin my weekend? What are the symptoms? Hyperactivity, clouded judgement, and trouble focusing? Well I'm already there! Woo hoo. Take that lead! I'm immune to you! I could probably rip a chunk of this wall off right now and eat it like hand fruit and no one would ever notice.

AND! Now I have some shelves.

Crisis averted.

Movie Review - The Invention of Lying

I waited for this movie to come out to video - and now I'm wondering why. The Invention of Lying starring Ricky Gervais and Jennifer Garner is an interesting tale which involves a magical present-day land where nobody has ever lied or can lie. They say exactly what's on their mind. For instance: when Mark (Gervais) shows up for a date with Anna (Garner) she can't help but make him aware that she is not attracted to him whatsoever, stating that he is a bit short and fat. Mark is told ahead of time by his boss that he will be getting fired.



Five minutes into the movie you will be thinking to yourself that you love this movie.

It truly would be hilarious if everyone told the truth and always said what was on their mind. Imagine your next family holiday dinner. You may remark on how bland the food is, or how your parents have aged horribly and raised you all wrong, or how your sibling's life choices are a joke to you.

Good thing this only exists in the movies.

4 out of 5 stars on the Matt scale.

What's Worse: Chemical Warfare or Hoop Skirts?

I'm currently reading History's Worst Inventions. It catalogues inventions throughout history that are bad for a number of reasons. The invention didn't work in practice, killed its inventor, was a commercial failure, unforeseen consequences, was used for evil deeds, or was a success born of failure.

Reading this book while I'm under the weather will be catalogued in its follow up, Chad's Worst Ideas.

I've been fighting a bug for about three weeks now. Started off as a head cold. Relapsed as a chest cold. Now tonight I'm wondering if my sudden fever could be the sign that I've actually been fighting a mild flu (plague?)

Inventions? What could be so bad about inventions?

Well, if you'll settle down I'll tell you.

It's not all gunpowder and hilarious flying machines. I would say that a majority of the topics that made the list should NOT be read while you're feeling under the weather.

Here I will catalogue of what is making my head spin and stomach turn from the book that catalogues the strange shit people have brought into my little world. You'll see . . .

It all started with Chapter 2 . . .

Chapter 2: Asbestos. It started off as a funny read about Charlemagne's asbestos tablecloth that he would throw on the fire to clean after dinner to delight his guests. (I just fill mine up with wine that someone left at my house) It ended up telling of the damage asbestos has done post industrial revolution. Particularly to lungs and mesothelial linings in your body's chest, abdominal, and uhhhh . . . testicular areas. There's scarring, shortness of breath, mucous secretions. Keep in mind I'm reading this while coughing up lung butter and wiping my nose on my sleeve (like the gentleman I am). I'm now convinced I have asbestosis or maybe mesothelioma.

Chapter 5: Smoking. It used to be called "drinking smoke". Same old stuff about the lungs but with the addition of hypertension and heart disease. Now I'm recalling my days as a smoker and making mental note that even on my most stressful of days I'd rather not spend my life choking up what looks like creamed corn from my throat hole. I'll just drink away stress! teehee

Chapter 7: Arsenic. True, it's an element and not an invention - but in 1250 European alchemist Albertus Magnus isolated the compound arsenic trioxide. Odorless, tasteless, and a murderer's favorite because the symptoms were identical to food poisoning. Ready for the symptoms of arsenic poisoning? I wasn't. Stomach pains, excessive saliva, dehydration, hoarseness and difficulty of speech, excoriation of the anus (just adding insult to injury now people), burning pains in the urinary organs, convulsions and cramps, clammy sweats, pallor of the hands and feet, and delirium. Because I have half of these signs - I'm now pretty sure that I may have arsenic poisoning in addition to mesothelioma.

Chapter 9: Chemical Warfare. Leonardo DaVinci resurrected this idea that had been dead for a millenia before him, the prick. He proposed using projectiles made of chalk, arsenic, and verdigris - catapulting this big mass of shit over enemies - and letting them die of asphyxiation. Is this the same adorable man that I saw in "Ever After"??? World War I was chemical warfare's time to shine. Chlorine gas and phosgene gas were used at first to attack enemy soldier's lungs. (MORE lung stuff! I remind you people that I'm already on my death bed. How much more can I take?!) Soon, with the implement of gas masks the two popular means of immobilization were rendered useless. Enter mustard gas. Ahhh. No lung stuff. This shit doesn't need to be inhaled. If it touches your skin, hair, or clothes you will break out in puss filled sores as soon as 6 hours after exposure. If more than half of your body is affected you're probably dead. Oh - it lingers in the air for days too. I love me some mustard, but puss inducing gas? Not as much . . .

Chapter 14: Biological Warfare. Chemical warfare's evil twin. In the middle ages, before anything of bacteria and viruses was known, people would catapult diseased corpses over castle walls and moats. It could be in hopes that the "bad air" that killed the person (or livestock) would afflict the enemy or that they just ran out of conventional forms of ammunition. Europeans definitely knew what they were doing when they "donated" small pox infected blankets to the hostile Delaware tribe and killed them off. Other biological warfare used over time? Typhus, measles, whooping cough, anthrax, tularemia, brucellosis, and botulism toxin. I think I would've catapulted midgets. I may have lost a lot of wars, but at least I'd be laughing all the way. Flying midgets = gleeful giggles. Maybe both sides would have forgotten their differences. "Hahahahaha!! What were we even fighting about?!?!"

Chapter 18: The Crinoline. This one snuck up on me. It took a diminished-lung-capacity Chad by complete surprise to find that victorian undergarments could spike my fever. (Not in the hot way.) The crinoline, originally a fabric made of linen and horsehair, was what came to give victorian skirts their girth. It was accompanied by whalebone corsets and padded bustles to give you that high ass (Do they still make those? I could be in the market for that last one!) They eventually evolved into a metal cage that the skirt could fit around - but originally the crinoline was made of crinoline fabric that was made into petticoats. It would take at least six petticoats to achieve desired volume. Then you had the ankle length bloomers under that. Six layers of horsehair? In the summer? Forget the shear weight of that for a moment. Imagine the heat! Holy. Shit. On top of that these women would have their corsets pulled and tied to give them an 18 inch waist - and diminished lung capacity. Victorian women were known for fainting at the drop of a hat and now I know why. What I don't understand is why they aren't also known for being the biggest swarm of foul mouthed bitches the world has ever seen. If I had to go through this nonsense I would last about seven minutes before I started cursing, ripping off articles of clothing, and throwing the heavier pieces at people. I would be the victorian Courtney Love.

Well, I'm all showered and ready for chapter 22 - high explosives. It turns out that the first high explosive was discovered by accident when German chemist Christian Schönbein was experimenting with nitric and sulfuric acids on his kitchen table. He accidentally spilled and grabbed his wife's cotton apron to wipe the table before hanging over the stove to dry. The nitric acid/cellulose combo caused a spontaneous explosion. The book doesn't say what his wife said about his ruining her apron. I'm hoping she was the German Courtney Love and threw her shoes at Herr Schönbein.

Hey, it would take my mind off my black plague riddled body.

Anybody recommend any good books??

Somedays . . .

When I woke up this morning I knew I was going to have a completely unmotivated day. How exactly does one go through a day doing nothing without anyone looking at you and thinking "Pfft. Lazy."?

Well . . . here's how:

6:45am: Wake up and stare around my bedroom for about ten minutes.

6:55am: Read. History's Worst Inventions and the People Who Made Them. Right now I'm on landmines.

7:30am: Make executive decision not to shave (I can go weeks before anyone notices - so what's the point?) Move directly on to brushing my teeth.

7:34am: Decide I need a soundtrack for my shower. Spend next two minutes hitting the next button on my iPod's random play until I find something just right for lathering.

8:30am: Leave for work at the Butterfly Pavilion.

8:42am: hit gridlock traffic on I-25. When there's a traffic jam it gives neighboring cars ample opportunity to catch me singing Miley Cyrus in my car. I still do it though. Damn.

9:25am: Text message Butterfly Pavilion to say I'm going to be late for my shift . . . that started twenty-five minutes before . . .

10:00am: Executive decision. I'm already late. I may as well get a delicious iced mocha.

10:12am: Walk into Starbucks. The long line of church going folk gives me enough time to work myself into sweaty panic when I see Josh is the barista. Josh judges girlie drinks. I'm considering putting a kibosh on the mocha and ordering a shot of whisky and an open can of beans. I will then eat said beans while scratching myself and spitting on the floor.

10:13am: Order mocha out of habit. Crap.

10:15am: Josh gives me my drink and tells me its not a girlie drink (read: it's TOTALLY a girlie drink)

10:27am: Strut into Butterfly Pavilion like I'm not an hour and a half late. You just can't control traffic jams, people.

11:00am: My supervisor, Kris, asks me if I'd be available to mentor a new girl, Alicia next week. Because I? Am amazing. Not unmotivated, not late, and certainly not sipping my iced mocha while I'm telling everyone how I was stuck in traffic all morning yet somehow was still able to obtain caffeine. (Alicia - just don't do what I do. You need a certain panache to get away with the crap I get away with. It also helps if you can cry on command.)

12:00pm: Sit at Tide Pool, our exhibit for aquatic invertebrates, for an hour. May or may not have fallen asleep.

1:00pm: Gossip with Khanh about how absolutely creepy Patrick, the new janitor is. This takes about 20 minutes. The guy is creepy.

1:21pm: Off to lunch. Khanh tells me while I'm at lunch to find her a key lime pie. Haha.

1:30pm: Whole Foods. Delicious turkey wrap. No Naked juice for me. I refuse to pay four bucks for juice.

1:36pm: Wendy's. Delicious Iced tea.

1:45pm: Whole Foods again. TOTALLY getting Khanh a key lime tart. I'm just awesome like that. I also pay four bucks for a Naked juice (What? They're good!)

2:00pm: Re-strut into Butterfly Pavilion with enormous iced tea, Naked juice, and Key Lime tart in tow.

2:10pm: Take Sunshine, our tortoise for a walk through conservatory. Zone out for next 30 minutes.

2:45pm: Wander through conservatory with Khanh. We're trying to decide the perfect place to hang a rotting orange for the butterflies to suck on. That tree? No. That tree? No.

3:25pm: Leave conservatory before Khanh makes me do a "Butterfly Encounter" for the visitors. I decide my time will be better spent in the gift shop talking, once again, about the creepy new janitor, Patrick.

3:35pm: We decide that we're going to always refer to each other as "Heather" whenever Patrick is around to see if he's confused.

3:37pm: Patrick is sweeping near Kim. I run up to Kim and squeal "Hi Heather!". I run away giggling.

3:38pm Kim comes over to all of us and tells us how Patrick said "Did he just call you Heather? I thought your name was Kim." Kim stared blankly at him.

3:40pm: There is now 6 of us huddled together in the gift shop discussing how someone walked into the family bathroom to discover Patrick inside with his pants off. Creepy janitor.

3:50pm: There is an event in our ballroom. A funeral . . . or wedding . . . something. I'm not sure. I decided my time was better spent giving Sunshine, the tortoise a bath.

3:53pm: Bathe Sunshine then make her a delicious cobb salad. Spend next 20 minutes staring at wall of tarantulas. Literally just staring at a wall of tarantulas. 20 minutes. And I couldn't be more content.

4:20pm: Find wounded Atlas moth. Cuddle it like a baby for 15 minutes then place it on a tree. The perfect tree. I know because it took Khanh and I a while before we placed our orange there almost two hours ago. The Atlas moth doesn't seem impressed by our orange. Smug little prick.

4:40pm: Feed Crustaceans and horseshoe crabs. Talk to them in baby talk using words like "num-nums"

4:45pm: Instead of answering questions from visitors I get involved in much more scientific conversation with Khanh and John. Who, out of the three of us, would provide the most enticing poo for the dung beetles. I let them argue, knowing secretly that it's mine. (Naked juice people. Naked juice.)

5:00pm: Go home. Check Josh's blog to make sure there isn't a new post that says anything about girlie drinks. (There wasn't. Phew! Just more haiku. Love them.)

9:45pm: Decide to take a break from doing nothing and walk the two blocks to Whole Foods for dinner.

9:54pm: Walk right past Whole Foods and directly into 7 eleven. Whole foods three times in one day? That's insane. (Actually, that's just how I rationalized my decision to have pizza combos and Reese's dark chocolate peanut butter cups for dinner.)

10:00pm: decide to document my day. From now on when someone asks me what I've been up to and I say nothing - here's the proof.

Cheers!!

FreeCreditReport.com Now Offers Free Trial of Shame

Commercials.

I don't have a television for the time being - but I still somehow stay current on tv commercials. Usually I don't notice them - they're just a form of background noise and I need background noise. But every so often a commercial rips my attention away from what I'm doing for one reason or another. Here are my #1 commercials . . .

#1 Commercial that makes me "Happy to be Myself!". And by myself I mean not a complete fucking idiot. Are you kidding me, Taco Bell?!?! You can't pretend like you're a good option for a weight loss system when you've also created a "fourth meal" for people who need an excuse to consume calories at the absolute WORST time of day to do so. You can't! You fucking CAN'T! Taco Bell? I wish you were a person with real live feelings so I could slap the shit out of you and tell you you're fat and ugly.

Me: Joan Crawford armed with searing hot, wrought iron clothes hanger.

You: Little bitch daughter who puts her clothes on wire hangers. Oh yeah, without the use of your limbs.

Basically, Taco Bell - I want to massacre you.

#1 video that makes me "Ashamed of Myself". Freecreditreport.com? What are you doing to me? Why, oh why would you have such a catchy jingle? Not "a dollop, a dollop of Daisy" catchy - but Lady Gaga catchy.

I want the Freecreditreport.com song on my iPod. Is that wrong? I know it is. I hate myself.

That being said - I've always been one to own my nerdiness - so I've you take issue with my unadulterated love for "hello, hello, hello . . ." then you can go blow yourself. :)

Hee hee.

Love you.

P.S. Don't tell anybody that I love the freecreditreport.com commercial.

P.P.S. Maybe it's already gotten out. (not sure how)

P.P.P.S. Hmmmmm . . . maybe that's why I'm perpetually single?

P.P.P.P.S. Don't tell anybody that I'm perpetually single.

Is Ignorance Contagious?

I'm aware that stupdity is. I provide evidence. Have you ever had a super smart friend that begins to hang out a lot or date someone really stupid? They get stupid too! It's bizarre.

But ignorance? I'm not sure, but I'm becoming wary, that it will rub off on me one day. One day soon, actually.

Today at work someone was telling Matt about how they have a a high tolerancy for pain. I don't claim to be any kind of genius when it comes to the English language - I'm not entirely sure what a preposition is, or when to use who or whom - I pretty much write like I talk. A massacre to English grammar.

But I did graduate high school and I know when people are making up words. Tolerancy? Is so not a word.

Look, douche - you want to talk about a high tolerancy for pain? It's defined by the act of listening to you talk without taking two pencil and shoving them into my ears until they start to bleed.

Because I'm kind of a dick, one of my favorite past times is making fun of these people. Like Kenny - a guy I went to school with that regularly used the word "offenseful". I'd make fun by mocking him. Constantly. To his face. Like I said - I'm kind of a dick.

What I'd do is find something I could use an an example of offensive behavior - then I'd retell they story about the predetermined offense and I'd pepper my statements with "offenseful". Kenny not seeing any problems would sit there and not. (Totally agreeing with me. "That is offenseful!") Then when he would turn his back we'd all snicker.

Here's where I'm concerned for my vulnerability to catching Kenny's blissful ignorance. I use the word "offenseful" as much as I can when I'm around him (dick). Is it just a matter of time before I use it when he's not around? Just out of habit? I don't want people hearing me say a made up word if I'm not using it to mock Kenny!

Gasp! What if that's how Kenny started out? Now look at him! I don't want this to happen to me! It's time I do some catching up on my English. I'll probably have to use Matt as my tutor because he's the type of person that gets all sassy and in your face if you say "on accident"

Matt: It's ON purpose and BY accident!!!

Chad: (peeing myself a little) oh. I'm SO sorry. Please don't hit me.

I graduated from the same college as Matt, on the same day in fact - but it seems that he paid more attention than I did.

My Night With the Ladies

Tonight I went out for dinner (read: drinks) with my best vagina-clad friends Natalie and Zahra. Natalie had her fiance Josh and Zahra brought the new love of her life - her job. In spirit, anyway.

We started off with dinner (read: light rail ale) at Wynkoop Brewery before we went for Fado's for cocktails (read: even more drinks) before going back to my apartment.

I feel that I should drink more often.

Correction: I feel that I should drink heavily more often because I'm much more observant when I drink. I have come to realize two very interesting facts about myself with every passing swig of Blue Moon.

1. Tonight I realized that when I walk down the street and I'm listening to headphones, passersby must think I've suffered a discrete ankle injury. This may sound strange - but hear me out. I can be listening to normal music and walking casually down the sidewalk when all of a sudden a new song comes on. A feisty song with attitude. Well, I can't casually walk to that! I must strut. Strut your sassy self along with those sassy tunes, Chad! But people watching just see me seamlessly go from casual walk to strut with attitude. Or as they see it - "Did he just turn his ankle?"

Very sad. And If I hadn't washed down my wonderful pale ale with wheat beer I may never had noticed.

I kept my observation under wraps. Natalie, Zahra, and Josh don't need any more ammo against me.

2. When I'm drunk I find that I get very passionate about very, VERY boring topics that I normally don't care about. Example? Okie!

Tonight's discussion that was anchored heavily by my unbridled passion was transfer credits as an undergrad. You can't take as many credits as you want at a junior college and then transfer to a real university to take one class so you can graduate from said university with a 4.0! I told you. Boring. Yet I was talking about it like it was better than the sex I had last night!

Oh alcohol. You don't make life more interesting, but you sure make me enjoy the mundane a little better.

Keeping the Crazies Out and the Creepers In

Last night I was asked if I was a terrorist by a complete stranger.

This is one of those times I wish that I was always prepared with a witty retort. Usually I'm pretty good, but when you're caught off guard all you can utter to this question is "uhhhh . . . no."

This is the first time I've lived in a secure building and it has its ups and downs.

Ups:

1. I can totally escape people I don't want to deal with

2. I can passively escape people I don't know about - but wouldn't want to deal with (I'm talking to you, girl scouts!)

3. I FINALLY get to use that buzzer thing!! I'll let visitors state their purpose and then its up to me whether or not they are worthy of the door buzz.

Downs:

1. How many doors do I have to fucking unlock before I get into my apartment?!

2. When a neighbor holds the door for me he feels it's his douchy, douchy right to look me up down before making sure I'm not a terrorist. By asking if I'm a terrorist. You know what, asshole? Next time just let the door close behind you and I can unlock it myself.

Prick.

Here's my summary of a secured building: Secure building? Good. Building secured by doorman? Better!

Here's where my cage can still be rattled - locked up or not. My building's super can get in to anything at anytime.

I think I scared off Igor with my shrine of perversion I left in the living room solely for his benefit. But I'm not certain and I keep my chain on all the time.

You see, I have a history with property management staff with boundary issues.

One time I made the mistake of moving into an apartment across the breezeway from my leasing manager. I called her "Scary Sherry". She was scary, hence the name.

Sherry would pound on my door at all hours of the night when she was drunk and needed a cigarette. She'd stand outside at 3 o'clock in the morning and shout about how she needed a smoke, she was scared to be alone, and finally - how she could see lights or movement through the peephole.

I grinned and dealt with her because she conveniently looked the other way when I would boldly violate the terms of my lease.

My scariest apartment building personnel encounter of all time happened in my first apartment from the maintenance man.

One day I woke up at the crack of noon. I groggily rolled over in my bed, rubbed my eyes and looked at this creepy man I had never seen before standing directly over my bed staring at me. He looked like a complete vagrant. Why the hell is this person in my bedroom with me while I'm alone, naked, and not awake enough to form coherent thoughts?!?!

He explained that he was there to replace a couple of slats that were missing from my window. In the living room. The questions keep coming to me even now. Why was there no warning? Why was he in my bedroom? And why was I still missing window slats when he left and never came back? Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!!! Creeper!!!

Yeah. I'm a big fan of the door chain these days. That and shoving furniture up against the door.

When in Rome….

Yesterday I realized something. People take the saying: “when in Rome, do as the Romans do” WAY too seriously. For example, I was on my lunch hour from work, sitting at a McDonalds, getting a piece of chicken and a Coke. Not 10 feet in front of me was a 40-something man sitting next to his wife. The man and wife were waiting for their child who was burning off some McDonald’s-induced energy in the playland. And what better way to utilize this time? Clip your fingernails. When did it become socially acceptable to trim your fingernails while sitting at a restaurant? I’m not talking one little snaggly hangnail, I’m talking trimming all 10 digits above the table, with fingernail trimmings ricocheting into all directions. Mmmm….I’m lovin’ it. Sure it is just a McDonalds in Westminster, but come on people!

In the past I have used the “when in Rome…” saying for such adventures as going to Boulder. The uber-liberal (and annoying) land of hippies, pot, JonBenet Ramsey, Jessica Biel, Celestial Seasonings Tea, Tesla Motors, CU, and hippies. What better way to go to Boulder? In a rusty brown VW Bus! It works great. You blend right in, you can achieve your errand and return to reality unscathed.

Or if I was going to the Westminster mall to go to Sears – sure I’d go to WhatKnots and then patronize the store that consists entirely of gumball machines. Then swing by Spencer's for a tasteless keychain. When in Rome!

Movie Review: "Did You Hear About the Morgans?"

A pair of self-absorbed, estranged spouses experience an event that forces them to leave New York and seek anonymity in the middle of rural America. But having only each other in this simpler life shows them how strong their love really is when you remove all other interfering variables.

Wait. . . didn't they already make this movie? You bet your ass they did! "For Richer or Poorer" with Kirstie Alley and Tim Allen!

Before I ridicule Hollywood for running out of even moderately good ideas - I must admit. There are differences.

Kirstie Alley and Tim Allen are fleeing a false tax evasion charge and end up in Amish country. Hugh Grant and Sarah Jessica Parker are placed in the witness protection program and find themselves in Wyoming.

Either way you have the following equation:

New York socialite - New York + Horses + fresh air = Hilarity

SJP is outstanding in this movie - even if her bangs aren't. Hugh Grant - well, he's the same as always. He has that under bite that makes you want to back hand him and his eyebrows are scrunched in confusion for 1 hour and 43 minutes. But it's still a funny movie.

"Sarah Jessica Parker! You don't need to pack a strapless gown for Wyoming!!!"

"Hugh Grant! You don't know how to be a rodeo clown!!!"

"You two are SO ridiculous!!!"

Okay - it's a simple brand of humor. But I liked it. It made me want to go to Wyoming. Incredible, considering the last time I was in Wyoming was with Matt and I didn't want to touch anything (let's face it. The state is one giant spittoon) and was constantly pointing out things to Matt that are completely uninteresting.

"Look Matty! They talk just like real people do!! And look - that guy is wearing Levi's!! I thought they only had Wranglers!"

Okay - my making a mockery of Wyoming aside - this movie has more to offer than SJP trying to milk a cow. I know what you're thinking. "What more could one ask?!" Well - this movie also features the amazing Wilford Brimley!

EVERYONE loves Wilford. Everyone. The man single handedly made diabetes adorable! ("Diabetus" - Oh, Wilford! That's not how you say it!!)

I gave this movie 4 stars - then took two away for lack of originality. Then I gave one for casting Wilford Brimley (the man could've just stood there and I would've been giggly). I gave another star for not giving Mary Steenburgen a topless scene.

All in all - 4 out of 5 stars.

"With your looks and my know-how . . . "

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Matt has just discovered a little something I've done to amuse myself.

You see, my building's super - let's call him Igor - has announced that he may need to get in my apartment at some point today to install a carbon monoxide detector. I decided that the most entertaining thing for me to do is create a little shrine. It's actually closer to a nativity scene - with stacks of cardboard boxes in place of wise men, sheep, donkeys, whatever the hell else was around. Instead of a cradle of hay or whatever - I have, as the centerpiece, an open box with clothes crammed inside. Instead of the baby Jesus? I have a bottle of Liquid Silk (best lube out there people!) and a shiny new pocket pussy - complete with labia!! At the moment that's just about all that's in my living room. The nativity scene from Toys in Babeland.

I've always been this way. I just get a thrill out of getting unusual rises out of people. I have cornered the market on what I call the "uuuhhhhhhh . . ." reaction. It's fitting because Matt always gets the "ooohhhhh!!!" reactions. Always.

Matty has always been the hot one, while I've been more jaunty. I think everyone has a friend like Matt - where no matter what you're doing or when - Matt is always getting the better reaction out of people. Matt and I can be dressed identical from head to toe. Know what we'll hear? "Matt! You look SOOOOO good!!"

This? NEVER gets old. Matt always gets hit on by EVERYONE - I get psychopaths with MS and a humpback dry humping me in public. No kidding. It happened last weekend. And yes, I got to see said "hump". Hot. My friend, Murdoch literally had to stage a distraction so that I could escape Quasimodo.

My only chance to be noticed by anyone normal is to have Matt far away. Far faaaaaar away.

Since Matt being far far away makes life really boring it would seem I'm stuck in between a rock and a hard place. Not so. I do what any creature would do when faced with the obstacle of not being the center of attention - I've adapted. If I can't be noticed for my suave beauty, I'll damn sure get noticed by my actions. Enter my use of previously mentioned sex toy. hehe.

I actually have a history of sex toy hijinks.

Shortly after 9/11 I was traveling from Boston to New York with an 18" double ended, sparkly purple dildo in tow. It was a gift for a friend and when Natalie and I had to take it through airport security I jumped at the chance to carry it! Logan International airport was where one of the planes was hijacked from - so a few months later there's SURE to be incredibly beefed up security - right? I was picturing these security guards going through my bag and extracting the half yard dong in a crowded place. I find it's usually these people who are embarrassed by this scenario - not me. So what perfect payback for all the times I've been hassled outside the metal detector. Take THAT, airport security! Make me take off my shoes, will you? Well have a look through my bag!

As it turned out - Logan airport security was not very thorough. It was basically a fat guy in a folding chair asking if we were terrorists. I repeat - the beefed up security at an airport that recently had a plane hijacked during 9/11 is now being secured by a fat, lazy guy with gin blossoms and a Boston accent. Come to think of it, it could have been a Kennedy

"You guys don't have any-eh bombs do yeh?"

"No sir"

"well-eh. Then go ahead."

No embarrassment that day.

So this is my time to shine! Right now Matt is at home, probably telling his wife about the hoards of people craning their necks to get a look at his smokin' hot bod. Meanwhile I'm sitting in my apartment on the corner of 13th and Clarkson - anxiously waiting to create an awkward situation for Sven.

Maybe I should put some raunchy porn on too. Now lets see - do I have anything with a good old fashioned blumpkin scene??

Vesta Dipping Grill - Restaurant Review - ROUND 2

An open letter in response to the comment from "Anonymous"...

Dear Anonymous:

We know you are not that anonymous, let’s face it, if you actually had a stake in the company/restaurant, you would be smart enough to a) take the high road, either not say anything, or contact me via telephone to try, try again, or b) apologize for the total lack of service/experience. Since you are doing neither, we can assume that you are indeed emotionally connected to the restaurant but not financially (other than your wages and tips).

In response to your above comment, I called ahead and specifically requested the 10:30 reservation, figuring that it would leave ample time to have a relaxing late meal and ring in the New Year. I specifically mentioned to the reservation-taker that we were celebrating our anniversary. There were plenty of alternatives (both reservation times and alternative restaurants), but the Vesta Dipping Grill was a restaurant that my wife and I had wanted to try. We could have probably gotten better service had we patronized a local McDonald’s. (I have eaten at a variety of establishments on Valentine’s Day with every restaurant keeping their reservation)

My first complaint about the look of the hostess was not so much a complaint as a valid perception. Dining has a general rule of thumb – presentation is 90% of taste. Not just the taste of the food, but the taste that’s left in the patron’s mouth after they leave the establishment. If I were a restaurant owner, I would make sure that the patrons’ dining experience was top notch. So, if it’s your job to be the front runner/first fresh face that the patron sees, and all I am faced with is someone with caked-on beige makeup and a nasty attitude, who didn’t hold up their end of the reservation, I am going to be left with a bad taste in my mouth.

Regarding your comment on understanding and compassion, my understanding was perfectly clear. I shouldn’t have to beg for a table at a restaurant, especially in one of the worst economic depressions our country has faced. Unfortunately, your speculation about me being a spoiled, only-child is totally wrong. I have 2 siblings, and my parents in no way spoiled me. That’s exactly why I appreciate quality, style and design. I will pay more money for something that will last a long time rather than purchase something cheap over and over. You get what you pay for – but selling a Coors Light for $4.50 is just sad – and when there are much better beers available, especially in Colorado. Paying more money for watery beer doesn’t make it taste better. Paying more money for a wrist watch that I can hand down to my grandkids because it was made with a high level of precision and engineering over generations of Swiss watch-making, makes sense to me.

Clearly the service industry has gotten complacent with its customary 20% tipping and making people wait attitude. By the time we left the restaurant it was pretty close to 11:00. What’s the point of making a reservation anymore? Is this an episode of Seinfeld? Remember when reservations used to be a way to ensure that your table was ready? It was the patron’s end of the deal to show up at the specified time and the restaurant’s end of the deal to have a table ready at that time. If the patron was running late, they would simply phone the restaurant and deliver an ETA. The restaurant actually wanted your business! So that fact that you suggest that I ask for another table, is simply appalling. I had already waited in the bar (not drinking Coors Light) waiting for our table.

The simple fact that I have yet to mention in the few basic functions of a restaurant:

1. The restaurant makes food for people to eat.

2. The people pay money to eat at your restaurant.

3. The restaurant has an inviting atmosphere and waitstaff that brings people into the restaurant.

If you can’t go to a restaurant and pay money for food because the restaurant can’t hold a reservation, the hostess is less than accommodating, and the waitstaff never shows up, it isn’t much of a restaurant.

Had the management/owners of the Vesta Dipping Grill cared about their reputation and establishment, they would have ran out the door to catch us as we were leaving, or apologized for the lack of service, or called me back to offer some sort of restitution for missing the mark on fulfilling basic restaurant functions. So, sorry if I struck a chord with your “done no wrong” attitude, but the fact of the matter is: the review was based on something that actually happened (or didn’t happen), not just cheap shots because I was pissed. So remember: when someone is pleased with service they might tell one person; when someone is dissatisfied, they will tell 10 (or maybe more).

As a side note: My wife and I went out New Year’s Day for dinner to make up for the previous night's shenanigans. We told our server this story, and the restaurant felt so bad that not only was the service great, but they gave us free dessert. I have no problem patronizing that establishment in the future.

-Matt

Vesta Dipping Grill - Restaurant review

New Year's Eve is not just some drunken holiday for my wife and I. It happens to be the day we casually eloped at the Arapahoe County Clerk and Recorder's Office, giving the proverbial finger to any objectioners.

It has now been 7 years of marriage. I decided to take my wife out for dinner to the supposed trendy/fancy Vesta Dipping Grill - 1822 Blake Street, Denver Colorado.



They specialize in a variety of meat or vegetarian dishes with your choice (from about 60) different dipping sauces. I made our reservation for New Year's Eve later in the evening - 10:30 PM. My wife and I arrived at 10:30 and proceeded to check with the maitre'd - a 20-something blond girl with a Bondo-thick layer of beige makeup. "We're setting up your table. Have a seat in the bar and we'll call you when it's ready", she said. We aptly complied. After sitting in the noisy bar for 15 minutes staring at my Movado watch, I decided to inquire about my table. "We're still setting it up". I sat back down in the bar, and grumbled to my wife about how the hostess probably just fed me some line about the table being ready.

After about 3 more minutes a different hostess sat my wife and I at the best table in the house - right next the the freezing glass window and noisy front door! I'm glad I made a reservation! Better yet, the hostess pointed out that for our comfort and convenience, the staff has placed a space heater under our table, and if we were too hot or too cold we could simply adjust it. Wait a minute, you expect me to pay $35 per entree and $4.50 for a Coors Light, and I have to deal with the worst table in the whole restaurant that I called ahead with a reservation?!

So we sat down, hoping to try a new dish. I put my napkin on my lap after pulling off the napkin ring - wait, that's not a napkin ring it is a copper plumbing coupler. You're so clever Vesta Dipping Grill. Why don't you also use the plastic ring that is leftover from scotch tape? And for chairs - milkcrates, and patrons should be given newspaper and a few logs so that they can start their own fire next to their table in a 55-gallon barrel!

Needless to say we left. We waited and waited and waited. No waiter came to our table in the 10 minutes we were sitting there. My wife told the hostess that we were leaving. I explained about the inability to keep the reservation, the terrible table, the lack of service completly. Maybe they should consider a buffet or cafeteria-style cuisine.

On the bright side, it is good to see that their are recession-proof businesses out there that can power through - turning away customers left and right without batting an eye. "Sorry sir, but we've made too much money and we have no use for additional customers."

Vesta Dipping Grill - 0 out of 5 stars for poor service and bitchy hostess. ? out of 5 stars for food, because we'll never know.

Lather, Rinse, and Repeat (If Time Permits)

I think that the Bill of Rights needs to include an amendment dedicated to looking your best. I don't care what angle it was written from - but it totally should've been in there.

The lost amendment from the Bill of Rights:

The right to do your best to attract the opposite sex for purposes of procreation.

The right to maintain an appropriate level of personal hygiene so your neighbors aren't tempted to kill you.

The right to not smell like a week-old abortion that's been setting out in the sun

The possible ways to spell it out for Americans are vast!

What brings this up in my head is Boulder, CO. Boulder - fucking - Colorado is known to most as being this hippie community of pretentious vegans who insist on wearing Birkenstocks on their way to sing "Kumbaya" and hug their proverbial trees. To anyone close enough to Boulder to be constantly barraged with their horseshit - you know it goes deeper.

First of all - Boulder is for the rich. And who are we kidding. We hate these fuckers. I'm convinced - CONVINCED - that the outdoorsy attitude of Boulder is JUST so these assholes can buy the most expensive gear to show off, then kind of parade it around for a while before going home and telling people how avid they are about their new said sport.

They buy bicycles that cost about as much as my last car and you know it's been outside once. Its probably collecting dust in their climate controlled garage next to their Porsche Cayenne and the tote of rock climbing gear that they've never touched.

Boulder people are also all about nature. Not in the "I'm going for a walk in the woods way" - but in a "how can I let people know I'm 100% natural?!" way. Their dreadlocks and patchouli are for your benefit. Not theirs.

Normally, I don't care about Boulder because I stay the hell away. It's just as well - because I don't have a ski rack on my car and I wear deodorant I'm probably not welcome there anyway.

All this being said, Boulder is beginning to concern me.

Sure Boulder is full of these weirdos, but it also has people who live there for the sole purpose of attending CU. CU students warrant my pity because they may not necessarily belong amongst these green-to-a-fault people, but have to adapt as best they can regardless.

Case in point: CU is testing out restricted shower times. Exactly how is still up for fine-tuning, but the popular method is to have the dorm shower water turn off after either 5 or 10 minutes, at which point the water will either shut off, or the pressure will deplete. Then there will be a predetermined amount of time before the water can come back on.

For me - being a boy, 10 minutes seems fair. Five minutes? That's not "showering" - that's getting wet. And as I said - I'm a BOY. I can't imagine what girls will do. There's armpits to be shaved, legs to be chemically shorn, and God knows what else! Even 10 minutes means that corners are gonna have to be cut.

How does this affect me? Well, in Boulder it may be acceptable to walk around with hairy legged women and the faint smell of B.O. lingering in the streets - but anywhere else? No. I'm worried that any success seen in Boulder will transfer to the rest of Colorado and eventually the world! It wouldn't be too difficult to create a proposal for limited hygienic activities and use Boulder as the perfect example of how a city population can function normally. It's just not fair.

That's like rationing food and saying - "Hey, but look at this Sally Struthers country! They function day to day on one chicken head and all the dried milk they can choke down!"

Fuck you Boulder. When Colorado had rations put on yard watering I vowed that if it went any further I'd throw a fit. Cutting down shower time? This is my time to make good on my threat.

Hopefully it won't get that far and the Boulder transplants will lose their shit. I pray that when their shower water turns off when they're in mid-lather - they will jump out, wild eyed and start terrorizing the showers Norman Bates style.