tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58202995355821445932023-11-16T08:52:21.526-07:00Chad & Matt's Guide to LifeWitless banter from the minds of Chad and Matt, two best friends who understand that when life gives you lemons you make lemonade - but wonder what to do when life gives you a big pile of crap . . .Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.comBlogger123125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-37213445274590601552011-01-25T21:10:00.002-07:002011-01-25T21:22:31.128-07:00My Good Advice for Zahra<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>I've always been a <i>slightly</i> critical person AND don't really have a knack for pushing compliments I don't mean. Okay - I probably do, but a) honesty is easier and b) I want you to be honest with me.<div><br /></div><div>Besides - what takes more time away from your life in a response to the following question "Do I look fat in this?"</div><div><br /></div><div>Saying <i>no</i> takes way more energy because there's always the task of having to convince the fat person you're being sincere (nice)</div><div><br /></div><div>Say <i>yes</i> and it's over. You're not doing your fat friend any favors letting them go out looking like they just won a pie-eating contest after lunch.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the cases where your friend truly doesn't look fat you can say <i>no</i> and then rather than plead your case of sincerity simply remind them of all the times you didn't spare their feelings.</div><div><br /></div><div>Them: Do I look fat in this?</div><div>You: No</div><div>Them: Are you just saying that?</div><div>You: Remember that time I told you that all you needed to do was put a ring through your nose and matadors will be poking you in the neck?</div><div>Them: . . . yeah.</div><div>You: I'm not here to spare your feelings. I'm here to be a good friend. Now go get me a cupcake as a reward.</div><div><br /></div><div>ANYWAY - I got to give good ole <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Zahra</span> some email advice today as to how she should do herself up for an upcoming wedding!</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNETsYJzwThDcYyyALalHG8-MzjbC8o71-B3gbXMY6iWJLwi3U67EsLWlaww1UtJygbpMI5bxvaVDrzydBj7EyG0OOj9jmPQl0Txkw_N9J7MTNz3RWFZvS1tUO1aDuBmbzmYSpy7xvzLaW/s400/Snapshot+2011-01-25+21-07-49.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566344878088366898" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 315px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtge9m9CaJmE49NjheyutnAUVe4C3nqraq2JuCKcSKegt_iq5RXwwVWiwsyW8skjEDWQNVwmLjDTgfuTpKyQ0KWhh9bPUuMiwSxnUixzk-elDs6mwIUVDeREHhN6wdMW9fTiotmHmxqA1/s400/Snapshot+2011-01-25+21-08-28.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566344879820413826" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 249px; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-N6jBudIVtxRa_r0MPmGI7K_1RvutdOSvsaMqYht0J8uqg4BuJ1T7OtXUUdJYvyDHHRa0gcTTFuOlBcV5-GG0mJqnsiHD5r76SncLJR2nNIpC0WSd3MUu3XgoNMmMTKUKBu6fh0IOL9cY/s400/Snapshot+2011-01-25+21-09-02.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566344879394358610" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 347px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></span></div><div><br /></div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-64955754786458814942011-01-24T10:32:00.006-07:002011-01-24T13:47:02.373-07:00Spit it out, spit it out!!<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Yesterday while at work I got to enjoy some cake!<div><br /></div><div>Mmmmmmm!!</div><div><br /></div><div>Delicious cake! Left over from a birthday party somewhere at the other end of my building. This happens almost daily. Cake cake cake.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sooooo . . . because I see cake on a very regular basis you'd think I wouldn't go crazy when I see it. We're talking shark-near-chum crazy. My eyes roll into the back of my head, I unhinge my jaw, etc.</div><div><br /></div><div>Back to yesterday at work. I'm sitting at my lab table getting ready to eat cake with Amber and Troy. While cutting the cake a little chunk fell from the plate and onto a petri dish. I picked it up and ate it. Amber and Troy stared at me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Chad: What??</div><div>Troy: Did you just eat that out of a petri dish?</div><div>Chad: . . . ummm . . . no . . . </div><div>Troy: I just had tarantula molts in there. </div><div>Amber: I just had bedbugs in there</div><div>Chad: . . . </div><div><br /></div><div>It's a fact that your mouth is the dirtiest part of your body (dirtier than even your rectum!) so I feel like my mouth was <i>probably</i> dirtier than that petri dish cake. </div><div><br /></div><div>In addition to standard bacteria found in the human mouth . . . (**ahem**)</div><div><br /></div><div><b>There was the time</b> I was cleaning out storage cabinets at work and found a tea bag and thought "I need to make me some tea!". It tasted like something that would leak from the bottom of your fridge when the power is out.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>There was the tim</b>e I was helping Zahra clean out her purse and found a mini toblerone that she had been holding on to like it was a savings bond. Chocolate probably shouldn't crumble. It should melt in your mouth, not bead up and roll around on your tongue.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Then there was the time</b> Matt and I removed all of the interior from his '72 Beetle. I found a mint in the floorboards and promptly ate it. It fizzed in a hurty way. And Matt looked like he was going to finger sweep my mouth like he was my dad and I was a two year old that was eating a quarter . . .</div><div><br /></div><div>Heehee. </div><div><br /></div><div>At least I've moved up to eating old/dirty sweets and left behind my problem of kissing things I shouldn't. Enjoy (while I cringe) exhibits A, B, and C</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Dead Squid in a disection lab.</b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHpwYmY0XCwpELQVg3IYEoBCFIE8df146Yrp66JfLoP7nhRg8PoL5KWi9MQnq_yZKD8NvYLG4r0VHsMZTDkrSewP8Q07v7OzmyTECWguN9okekYX4SLuqGhvihEMPmsXTKRoM2CHlKXcDV/s400/26558_551348686373_72205042_32279137_6479023_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565820233327536866" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 170px; height: 127px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Stuffed Brown Bear in a sports bar in Lodo.</b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm1ykiNpfD7JYYfFLIS9xPcTXetRGH1hQJFqHB5_r9ykOKhNtA6Bn68MxjX9tSn1riQkkBEl_zD2R4QPxs3-QNsyfV3G1Wim0GGhPPKRTolxuhFMoocfVtg3DQyXidyBk_wn4h6K8FLEw4/s400/IMG_0041.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565820228856292482" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Patrick Casto.*</b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHSpoB09snnwyUTNOHcVmG-oW8R5iVHMUfsB9TqqNwQe1tIiE8VeN088foMThcZIZwOy-q8HuakvRhDPlh6RA-g9EY8lQcFizdym_5E8guqpru-tLOV0j0TrVjbNyMzBwKJc3Kx1rgb5_N/s400/photo-2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565820224943064242" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">*(It was St. Patrick's Day - of course drinking was involved)</span></div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-27145968108998603202011-01-20T21:50:00.002-07:002011-01-20T22:11:08.996-07:00If I were a betting man . . .If I were a betting man I'd be living in the gutter eating my own shoes.<div><br /></div><div>This is because evidently I don't have good bettin' instincts.</div><div><br /></div><div>Case in point:</div><div><br /></div><div>about 21 minutes ago my brilliant and gorgeous cousin, Melissa sent me a video for a PSA about testicular cancer. I watched it and thought <i>I'd bet anything that this is a bad SNL skit or something . . . </i>Nay nay. In fact, it is a legitimate PSA (one of many) made by CBScares and aired during 60 minutes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let's watch!</div><div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwzHkJQzSZn3R9wwhzMBTN64B8j4b1VwsOcils-IA39BpgmJYfZUJrqLjh_A6l7_CGgWcNLfXxVrzBvtPLa1w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div>60 fucking minutes aired this. Did the CEO of CBS recently suffer a stroke? Recently as in <b>while they were pitching this idea?!?!</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>"Hey guys! You know what's coming up? Valentines Day! And I don't know what says Valentine's Day like a testicular exam!"</div><div><br /></div><div>As hilarious as I think it is I don't think it was done very well. The marketing people at CBS need some schoolin' from yours truly.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>How</i> exactly is grabbing your nuts to check for lumps better for your significant other than a diamond? <i>I </i>think that they should be aiming towards the idea of spending Valentine's Day performing exams on each other!</div><div><br /></div><div>She gives you a testicular exam - you give her a breast exam!</div><div><br /></div><div>This could be made into a whole series!! </div><div><br /></div><div>*Ahem* Marketing people . . . you. are. welcome.</div><div><br /></div><div>Best Friends: Check each other for scoliosis. Routine exams are the backbone of true friendship!</div><div><br /></div><div>First Dates: Check eachother for cavities and/or early signs of gum disease. Let them know they're the only sweetie you put in your mouth.</div><div><br /></div><div>Valentines Day: See above</div><div><br /></div><div>1 Year Anniversary: Pap smears for your partners. There's one sure fire way to show you love her for what's on the inside.</div><div><br /></div><div>10 Year Anniversary: Prostate Exam. Give him a gift he'll never forget. </div><div><br /></div><div>The slogans write themselves!</div><div><br /></div><div>Better than that - if relationships last long enough you'll probably be the most healthy person on the planet!</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course - you always risk losing your partner once you utter the words "Honey, I got you something better than a diamond this Valentine's Day. I got you the family jewels."</div><div><br /></div><div>Trust me - I think I've ended relationships this way.</div><div><br /></div><div>Except I wasn't refereing to having just given myself a testicular exam exactly . . .</div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-77729090869187869512011-01-18T22:45:00.003-07:002011-01-18T22:57:18.656-07:00Oooh . . . That's hot!<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>I realize that, for the sake of good taste, I should have (long ago) written "Chad's Guide to Sexy Art".<br /><div><br /></div><div>Better late than never (or pregnant) - but because we're in a race against time I'm not making a formal guide - rather a short list.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here is my list of things you should NEVER try to make sexy:</div><div><br /></div><div>1. Disney Characters</div><div>2. Bad people</div><div>3. People who are ugly when <i>clothed</i></div><div>4. Dead people</div><div>5. Anyone with a prosthetic.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh wait - I'm sorry. It looks as though my list is too late. </div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZawfZfKvsHfx1rzUHI0E7qv6RZHYTrQerRWWkEsNad14ktIZ4vh3p1oavtBtkErSJ2pzPoZ-yztdugQ5Kx8XlBGTviHjkGDRRAvFhjfSXVy-0eaIDLGBkO1zjSWDtb8o8L18d8o2Yp8s/s1600/Disney_Vilains___Hades_by_Lcslayer.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZawfZfKvsHfx1rzUHI0E7qv6RZHYTrQerRWWkEsNad14ktIZ4vh3p1oavtBtkErSJ2pzPoZ-yztdugQ5Kx8XlBGTviHjkGDRRAvFhjfSXVy-0eaIDLGBkO1zjSWDtb8o8L18d8o2Yp8s/s400/Disney_Vilains___Hades_by_Lcslayer.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563771922703345506" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 307px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAhqOUpAZ9Qs4ONu6MV5YrzmLF6toHGKH7E-8XYdhpYC_iLQwp5vWcpIG3wff4K_uYu4HJnDGIlc4TyoTnfUMCasdKknA2aK4hyphenhyphenR2Kts47TNHYNDbVCUP1hBczr4JPVh9FxyurIvm5FB_0/s1600/Disney_Vilains___Cruella_by_Lcslayer.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAhqOUpAZ9Qs4ONu6MV5YrzmLF6toHGKH7E-8XYdhpYC_iLQwp5vWcpIG3wff4K_uYu4HJnDGIlc4TyoTnfUMCasdKknA2aK4hyphenhyphenR2Kts47TNHYNDbVCUP1hBczr4JPVh9FxyurIvm5FB_0/s400/Disney_Vilains___Cruella_by_Lcslayer.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563771908370811826" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 344px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKT7rP_4UkEG1uewNquBXBOlsJ6onebwQheaUYMzZ_aYGeOxTd0Hy3KN9LsIPCfksknB0p1nFxtR2_p8VqMNlyfmVQ_MsCn7sRBeDL-DTziRbyZYcEKXloU86HhXSc1nBmjW055RA2dltj/s1600/Disney_Vilains___Hook_by_Lcslayer.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKT7rP_4UkEG1uewNquBXBOlsJ6onebwQheaUYMzZ_aYGeOxTd0Hy3KN9LsIPCfksknB0p1nFxtR2_p8VqMNlyfmVQ_MsCn7sRBeDL-DTziRbyZYcEKXloU86HhXSc1nBmjW055RA2dltj/s400/Disney_Vilains___Hook_by_Lcslayer.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563771905888366450" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 317px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>My bad.</div><div><br /></div><div>P.S. For anyone thinking "Hades isn't a dead person! He's the God of the Underworld." I must say <i>Seriously? That's what you have a problem with??</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>P.S.S. And to those same people: judging me and NOT sexy disney villain art means you are a little creepy</div><div><br /></div><div>P.S.S.S. Even though I just had the thought <i>it doesn't look like Hades' pubes are blue fire . . . hmmmm . . . </i> I maintain that YOU are still the creepy one.</div><div><br /></div><div>P.S.S.S.S. No, I'm NOT protesting too much.</div><div><br /></div><div>P.S.S.S.S.S. Shut up.</div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-37918900535826391402011-01-17T19:41:00.006-07:002011-01-17T20:11:53.996-07:00Junk Mail<div><br /></div><div><br /></div>I have recently been working on my finances. More specifically I have decided to solve the mystery of <i>I make a decent living so how can I possibly be broke ALL THE TIME? </i><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Answers keep popping up and I have a beautiful example. My email address at mac.com is ending soon and to renew it (like I always do) is $100. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>$100!</b> For a service I can get for FREE through gmail - which I totally do now. But I need to be sure I don't lose anything in my switch . . . other than my mind. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sooooo I've been going through all of my email folders to see if there's anything important. I've found a few things. Among them is the realization that I abuse the email system with . . . well . . . strange things. </div><div><br /></div><div>Luckily I don't send to the masses, but generally to a couple of people. Which pretty much means Matt.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here is a little sampling of what Matt's inbox looks like. So sit back and enjoy!</div><div><br /></div><div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">From: <b>Chaddy</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Date: <b>May 14, 2010 8:46:27 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">To: <b>Matty </b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Subject: <b>I came downstairs today...</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>To An upset back yard. When they told the butcher they wanted the head</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>cut off they assumed he would throw it away. But he included it and</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>now it has to be thrown in a ditch.</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>I've never seen "dispose of pig head" on a wedding to-do list before.</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>A pig head.</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>Mississippi is f*ed up!</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJqOj6s3LAtl8ioAjjeh_2Dr61cWW9AvuNZSgDjFbOvfUiv52jEF_UZ8kMP5wmb3Pfm8M4QWGLpNQbJ0F1J1LGOWd1_f8rUgDDux-VZ56fVEOwxmGM4yegLrTFhI-nLFQDgnREwI2cBm-p/s1600/-1.jpeg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJqOj6s3LAtl8ioAjjeh_2Dr61cWW9AvuNZSgDjFbOvfUiv52jEF_UZ8kMP5wmb3Pfm8M4QWGLpNQbJ0F1J1LGOWd1_f8rUgDDux-VZ56fVEOwxmGM4yegLrTFhI-nLFQDgnREwI2cBm-p/s400/-1.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563354356511956258" style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></a></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><b>***************************************************************************************</b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">From: <b>Chaddy</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Date: <b>May 08, 2010 1:31:26 PM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">To: <b>Matty</b> </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Subject: <b>My rental car</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>The guy says "I've got an HHR for ya"</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>And I'm like "what is that? Some kind of form?"</b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: normal; font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyei9s_yHLk0tgvtG7DwHTWMS3ZZ9DlkDO_gFsuTajTMkg0pDb_k-_h2f93yK7BbJA0Pl_jagzJCgJR_gF3Tq9gNReD9Coa8mfH_3Z2E2w2X1t9di5VvpWCOFY5kYSDVhhDmsbnSI2E8uf/s1600/-2.jpeg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyei9s_yHLk0tgvtG7DwHTWMS3ZZ9DlkDO_gFsuTajTMkg0pDb_k-_h2f93yK7BbJA0Pl_jagzJCgJR_gF3Tq9gNReD9Coa8mfH_3Z2E2w2X1t9di5VvpWCOFY5kYSDVhhDmsbnSI2E8uf/s400/-2.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563355183592101314" style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></a></span></b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>********************************************************************************</b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b></b></p><b><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">From: <b>Chaddy</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Date: <b>April 04, 2010 8:54:43 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">To: <b>Matty ,Lindsey </b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Subject: <b>Hero Bee (Beero?)</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>So last summer when I was collecting feral bees with Patrick he got</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>stung by one</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>(very funny)</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>(and kind of sad)</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>(but mostly just funny)</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>So I stumbled upon the bee that stung his ho ass and performed it's</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>necropsy last night.</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>Poor bee.</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>See all the entrails dangling out of her stinger hole?</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>At least she went down in a blaze of glory. Teehee.</b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: normal; font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg26-mXiWGNRkcfz1v6cYllQzWhKwely1EROVOPY9XwyHoSdmkaskrl8_q5IAWjI4REsvX756i1r01LVXed0z2Q5KyJp5f1EiYWFrOW_MiWaQHLYJtYtpifbtsJYjDeOMoT8pGFcpHxDHY4/s1600/-1.jpeg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg26-mXiWGNRkcfz1v6cYllQzWhKwely1EROVOPY9XwyHoSdmkaskrl8_q5IAWjI4REsvX756i1r01LVXed0z2Q5KyJp5f1EiYWFrOW_MiWaQHLYJtYtpifbtsJYjDeOMoT8pGFcpHxDHY4/s400/-1.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563356012176379058" style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></a></span></b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>********************************************************************************</b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b></b></p><b><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">From: <b>Chaddy</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Date: <b>March 31, 2008 3:16:50 PM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">To: <b>Matty</b> </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Subject: <b>Squid</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>The whole time I was doing this I was thinking "I'll never question</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>matt's weird class assignments again! Just make the smell go away!!"</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>So if you ever question why you have to make a radio out of a rock-</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>remember that I wonder why I have to know the gonads of a squid by</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>sight...</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>(its #5 by the way)</b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-weight: normal; font-size: 16px; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZMJhcOLmzxTZE9TmRAZgvpbR5uOZd3VPwIKuj6qXtoyKjmQEsDZoyhCJnNGyKM1uySEdwPITGZvBFbAHGsFRvGSXWsjtMWkHHcB301wg5gLtA4gto_ZoSzLUUjMHiRHC4DrJtvjifM8dk/s400/-1.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563356787644071026" style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-weight: normal; font-size: 16px; "><br /></span></b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-weight: normal; font-size: 16px; ">***************************************************</span></b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-weight: normal; font-size: 16px; "><br /></span></b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-weight: normal; font-size: 16px; ">And now for my personal favorite example of the grave importance of my email correspondence: </span></b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-weight: normal; font-size: 16px; "><br /></span></b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-weight: normal; font-size: 16px; "></span></b></p><b><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">From: <b>Chaddy</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">To: <b>Matty, Zahra</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Date: <b>March 02, 2009 09:45:16 AM MST</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Subject: <b>my morning is full of laughing at the GIS students</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>wuttup homie?</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>So - because i'm bored and the only thing keeping me from going to starbucks is that i'm also lazy. (i'm totally allowing myself to go though . . . i haven't gone since last week!) I'm going to give you a play by play of my morning.</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>1:00 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>Go to bed after watching hilarious (only to me) episodes of Ren & Stimpy with Heather, followed by Last Holiday with Queen Latifah. *Do you think She and LL Cool J got into a 90s "hip-hop off" on the set? I really hope so.*</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>6:19 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>Hate Zahra for sending me text messages regarding a voicemail I left her yesterday. Not even an important voicemail! I just called to tell her that Bob called me while he was taking a dump and told me about it (yes, i hung up)</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>8:02 AM decide to schlep my way to the bathroom. hate my bladder, still hate zahra a little more.</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>8:04 AM turn on Sex and the City playlist on my iPod, because showering just seems easier with Cheryl Lynn gargling about how I got to be real!! Also, doesn't everyone feel like they look amazing when getting dressed to fergie?! Let's hope so, my cold sore looks like a plate of italian nachos.</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>8:15 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>Open bedroom door to let Sabrina out - accidentally let Heather in. Dancing Heather. uuuuggghhhh. i'm assuming she remembered something important she had to do and THATS why she scurried away - not because of the look i shoot ANYONE who dances into my room before I've had coffee.</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>8:30 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>Heather shows off her "earrings" (read: gallstones with hooks) to me. how can someone have such little self awareness??</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>8:31 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>Make fun of heather's gallstone earrings. kindly recommend she find another pair.</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>8:32 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>Heather refuses to find another pair - she thinks they look GOOOOD! While telling me how she has way better taste than me (really? you're wearing what appears to be an old halloween ninja costume) she accidentally drops a gallstone earring down the sink that i forgot to put the stopper in.</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>8:33 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>While telling heather that Lord God, Creator of the Heavens and Earth, ALSO thinks those earrings are heinous I secretly thank Zahra in my head. Several days ago when I asked her if i should put the stopper for the sink in she replied "why?! No!! What are they going to be doing in there? spa facials?! leave it alone so we can go to sonic!"</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>Zahra is forgiven for stupid text message this morning.</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>8:45 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>walk into every room of house with no intent. just bored.</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>8:50 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>still bored</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>8:55 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>still bored</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>9:00 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>remember how Bob wants to borrow my scooter. don't want to let him. how to say no?? hmmmm</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>9:01 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>get sidetracked and move from thinking about Bob to thinking about cupcakes. (Do I have a secret stash in the kitchen????)</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>9:02 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>HALLELUJAH!! Secret cupcake (and there's more where that came from) in tow, I shuffle to the computer to check if my professor emailed me to tell me that class is cancelled.</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>9:04 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>No</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>9:05 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>read some weird email addressed to science and technology students. "That's Me and Matt!! Squeeee!"</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>It's about some rally to conceive of green ways of living. Science and technology suck. Are we the only departments that are hounded by this? At least I get to giggle about the two examples of science and technology majors in my head are also the two biggest contributers that I know to CFCs in the air from classic car (way better than hybrid) pollution. If driving our amazing vehicles is so wrong then why are we exempt from tailpipe emissions bitches?! wooooo!!!</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>9:07 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>decide that Matt HAS to read this email! OF COURSE he'll think it's as funny/ironic as i do!!</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>Matt will probably delete it immediately - I'll copy and paste it in my own email! (seen below). . . .</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">>LOOK INTO THE FUTURE WITH GREEN TECHNOLOGY</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">>Attention all science and technology majors!! Here is your opportunity to hear about sustainable and alternative practices in your field.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">>Speakers from Colorado Conservation Trust, SWCA Environmental Consultants, and Colorado School of Mines will be discussing topics such as creative solutions in environmental management with GIS and fuel cell technology research in the Front Range.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">>FREE Food and Refreshments</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">>March 4th 2009 Science 138 11:30-1 pm</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">>Hosted by Metro State Environmental Science Organization &</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">>The GIS Club of Metro State</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>9:37 AM</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>did i really just spend a half hour relating my uneventful morning to a more than likely unimpressed bubeleh? yeah, i guess i did. But I got me a cupcake bitches!!!!</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>see ya soon</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b><br /></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><b>Chad</b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><br /></p></b><p></p></b><p></p></b><p></p><p></p> </div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-74288920205001229052011-01-10T11:59:00.007-07:002011-01-10T12:47:05.674-07:00Lots of Ladybugs . . . or at least another type of Beetle<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Most people know that I love Love LOVE my job!</div><div><br /></div><div>I get to wake up and go to work where I spend anywhere from 8 to 14 hours playing.</div><div><br /></div><div>I walk around with Jungle Nymphs on my shoulder like they're parrots. . . </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUnB3FN1GCbDeb9iHvZFJRPiCp6lEZnNxVds3lQP8Evn55DpupwAaxhgUzWyK01J8KE0BZ2L1oXxXS2U-Ev91nCew77KPlPacjLJHkPJh35zFiLQQcDyLA7uNMDcUuixGsOPXfUhay6qSs/s400/IMG_0964.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560639752744610738" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div>Sometimes I have stern talkins-to with tarantulas about boundary issues regarding my iced chai . . . </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXAtpWFRAVq_ntRig3wzaChyphenhyphenScPtZeUGp795YMQR15NHMC4UrAIetMqVF4NP6_n9Z5sSCMd_dVWAuteTZERF1HBxyc5bKuhjJHaXip0MQeUFvTunBbFk6GSGyXqSANMkot4yWfM8xtw4z3/s400/IMG_0959.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560639745095774610" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div>Sometimes I make fun of children's artwork . . .</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAWOBr-tVvHVWbcnNYhmTQGLeSWtOYrUM8YKMOgdzoEZmz0PhlsNxvMluF1TXxRxNkyyueUpxOUQCbzVCUj41uXUIA_PMFMg7IF6YE4NoQl0dTrN86S3HjpJUInt3KRMeYwaxlBtplscys/s400/IMG_0955.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560639735897837506" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">(Come on people. This 3rd grader knew exactly what he was doing. I'm counting AT LEAST 3 rim jobs going on here and I think 1 has a little insertion. Sick.)</span></i></div><div><br /></div><div>But I also do work. This year I've been focusing on breeding things that we've never been able to breed in captivity before. </div><div><br /></div><div>Let's see . . . </div><div><br /></div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_mf2K6OCd12U/TStgAKzZzKI/AAAAAAAAAAc/0ygLEUvTWzM/s320/2074886391_79cfb96702.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560643720935230626" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 222px; " /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Right now I have a species of spider that I need to figure out how to couple without getting</div><div>them killed or me sent to the ER</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mf2K6OCd12U/TStf_hQF23I/AAAAAAAAAAM/P0NgwSWXzC4/s320/32110_RL_m.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560643709781269362" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>One species of beetle that I can't figure out the right soil composition for the female to lay eggs in.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Another species of beetle that I'm trying like mad to find a second plant the larvae will eat because the first plant, kudzu vine, the USDA won't let anywhere near a US port of entry.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8smehY7CgIEEX0_ShyphenhypheniDEz5Ned420YTuh-_1bNHclDPWlH5uWmqOkvxEqnm-nNhIK7KmoNBLsfG2TqwbGWjOyxMBPR4AWCXEBYu5FNX3uw7iYnEewocRZr2UWwYAPW2bqMzPR9l7VN3f0/s400/171_8.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560639740851169634" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 150px; " /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_mf2K6OCd12U/TStgApuxqMI/AAAAAAAAAAs/szjpJtS-P-8/s320/violin_mantis_by_Blepharopsis.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560643729237321922" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>A mantis that needs a temperature about 30 degrees higher than the other animals in the room</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_mf2K6OCd12U/TStf_80GORI/AAAAAAAAAAU/miv47ezbkII/s320/5112097-md.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560643717180045586" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /></span><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And another mantis that needs humidity about twice as high as everyone else in the room.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And while I'm experimenting over and over and failing over and over, guess what happened . . . </div><div><br /></div><div>the little Blue Death Feigning Beetles from the Sonoran desert - an animal that no one has ever been able to captively breed - has quietly been laying eggs and raising their grubs in a tank right in front of me. This ground breaking thing is happening without my help at all while I can't replicate what others have already done before.</div><div><br /></div><div>There's a story from Under the Tuscan Sun that tells of a girl who used to hunt for ladybugs and never caught any. Then one day she fell asleep in the grass and when she woke up she was covered in ladybugs. </div><div><br /></div><div>That's totally me! Except with Blue Death Feigning Beetles. Plus, while the little girl probably kept them in a jar until they slowly suffocated and/or starved to death - I am off to work on publishing.</div><div><br /></div><div>In yo' <b>face</b> little girl!!</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_mf2K6OCd12U/TStgAeIrcMI/AAAAAAAAAAk/vlFePJ8ygGQ/s320/OLMZWLYLVLSZZH8ROZXRNLLZTZ8RVL6ROL4RHHPRHH5RKHGRHH0RNLHZFZKROZIRULYL1LSZBL0Z.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560643726124740802" style="text-align: center;float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 237px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-78029260221896821732011-01-07T14:28:00.002-07:002011-01-07T15:07:44.601-07:00Temperence Brennen is a fucking liar.For years now Matt has been talking about this 'Bones' show. I've never really cared to watch it - which means I <i>really</i> don't care to hear about it.<div><br /></div><div>I totally do it too, so I'm a hypocrit - but let's get past this and focus on what really needs to be said: <b>If you find a program interesting you will never translate that interest to others by telling them episode plots. </b></div><div><br /></div><div><b></b>The only way to get someone to love a show with you is to get them to watch it. And the best way to get them to watch it is to get them to feel like they NEED to watch it at least once. The best way to do this? In my case - tell me I remind you of someone on the show.</div><div><br /></div><div>This has <i>never</i> been a compliment to me. I've been compared to people on tv before and it never fails to anger me. So after years of Matt telling me "so last night on Bones . . . " or "Gina and I were watching Bones . . ." and my just hearing white noise after that my need to see it was finally activated by my horrible friend Josh who spent like three minutes telling me that I'm like someone he referred to as the "bug and slime guy".</div><div><br /></div><div>I kind of already hate this. </div><div><br /></div><div>A) oh good. Yet another time that my job has people seeing me as a 2-dimensional bug-loving character. I never NEVER get sick of that. Way to make me feel like there's othing to my life besides a respect for arthropods Josh. I hope I never get fired because I'll have nothing to live for. People will probably see me wandering street corners in ratty clothes looking for rolly pollys (which are technically crustaceans . . .)<br /><div><br /></div><div>B) even though Josh claims this was a compliment - perhaps he needs to read "Chad's Guide to Compliment Giving" that I posted on October 31st of 2009</div></div><div><br /></div><div>ANYWAY - so thank goodness Bones is available on my instant Netflix so that I was able to immediately see this person who is just like me. </div><div><br /></div><div>He is so ugly.</div><div><br /></div><div>Also, he is a complete a-hole. I don't understand why anyone can stand him. He's snide and that's about it. I suppose he's smart, but he's not funny or charming or anything. He's just a douche that's always cranky. <i>HE</i> is a two dimensional character.</div><div><br /></div><div>And he is so ugly.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lets face it - compare me to anyone you want and no matter how painful they are to watch, it won't bother me at all compared to saying I remind you of some ugly guy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Josh doesn't think he's ugly.</div><div><br /></div><div>But Josh was backpedaling methinks.</div><div><br /></div><div>Aside from Hodgins (the ugly bug and slime guy) I kind of dislike several aspects of the show. I dislike the two main characters (P.S. Zooey Deschanel TOTALLY got the looks in the family). I find it a little far fetched that these people are stumbling across decayed remains like all the time. At what point are they going to realize "hey, we seem to stumble upon a lot, I mean a <i>LOT</i> of human remains by accident. Maybe we should start hanging out somewhere else"</div><div><br /></div><div>The thing that bothers me the most is the lab. Their beautiful lab that looks like a cross between the main entrance to the Louvre and an Ikea. No one has a lab that looks like that. NO ONE. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hospitals don't even look tht clean and sterile. </div><div><br /></div><div>Temperence Brennen? You and your lab are a big fat lie. LIE!!</div><div><br /></div><div>So here's my official opinion of the show <i>Bones</i>:</div><div><br /></div><div>I think it's phenomenal. Am I going to watch every season? Yes! I love the science behind everything, I love the plot lines, and most importantly I love Zack (word on the street is that after a couple seasons he goes into an insane asylum because he was found to be a serial killer apprentice. Thanks for ruining my favorite character on my new favorite show)</div><div><br /></div><div>So thank you Josh. </div><div><br /></div><div>But next time we want to get me to watch a show I've never seen, lets not compare me to someone with bug eyes and a fro . . . </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-91503203446457944822010-11-23T20:58:00.002-07:002010-11-23T21:02:38.197-07:00Quick 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 . . . <div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>Did I mention that I took a double dose of Benadryl a little bit ago?</div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-5467856480805090982010-11-20T21:31:00.006-07:002010-11-20T22:43:07.281-07:00Two Movie Reviews Disguised as a Story. Enjoy!<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Picture it:</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Berlin. September 2010.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Matt has just finished taken a shower and discovered me scratching at the bathroom door . . . </div><div><br /></div><div>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!</div><div><br /></div><div>But you would be <b>wrong</b>.</div><div><br /></div><div>I had to get Matt out of the bathroom because we were under attack!</div><div><br /></div><div>(And by "attack" I mean I SWORE I heard someone trying to break in through the front door. . .)</div><div><br /></div><div>Matt looked at me like I was a crazy person.</div><div><br /></div><div>But you know what? I was right to be wary. And here is my proof:</div><div><br /></div><div>In the past couple of weeks I have watched 2 German . . . well, we'll just call them films. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>#1: The Human Centipede</b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxVb6nehNZzxkiyWypPJDLFWG7KBwZdJ3Tzlv_GV69Tk2Igp4PmYUqaPBC30q9T8d7Y2eFsjFt5OVrucshE8TIEbqAgdRJnMnWy1YpKKcF0fS2I_W_iVOd1CpYueljme8fP5v8mULRkh6a/s400/watch-the-human-centipede-online.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541871834476737938" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 273px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div>In this story there are two American tourists road-tripping through Europe. Their car breaks down in a rain storm and, rather than <b>change the damn tire</b>, 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 <i>lab</i>. In his lab there is already a Japanese man strapped down. </div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>too</i> many things, let me answer all your questions.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yes, it's gross.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yes, it's unlikely that the 2nd and 3rd 'segments' would survive for long solely on fecal matter</div><div><br /></div><div>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!!")</div><div><br /></div><div>Yes, Matt and I watched the ENTIRE thing.</div><div><br /></div><div>My defense: It was a present from my curator because I love scary movies AND it's <i>kind of</i> work related! </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpEX0Yqo6B5rvplKSeAuiAYczJRm1_bGzZ_-v4e0AtNKZIDfltPJrB0qFPHZnZcCS3xe7-kY7FyM1a277Qn-8r272i1wKNQKB4awpMJ3CzvkkD-hhPthFTsfF0a4gJdSOhXIl124wiuH39/s400/human-cent.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541871816478703122" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><b>#2: Otto, or Up With Dead People</b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ONp8oe-PFhxD48I_Z5ZgxS5ZbTq8x03pFu-q9Ir44mbWCCdlsHPYdCMXTtT6IRYSBf9uGgCyKbqqs4YEljOtxPDhiY-RD_y3uxFQKbZnQZwtTHo9HzMf33pkD9bn_Uwm-kA0SNB217OQ/s400/l_1151384_a18c2366.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541871828310074626" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 400px; " /></span></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>some</i> 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?</div><div><br /></div><div>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 . . . </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizax9ZnY0LSwnLD3veoEZBHWmEAsdFSUgdliikW0pQm_2fTOWse3E68TbzBMIIumhOlQFyu9rqQIECxNu5fZFJnMgK1M29JqdYWdDHFUiQ6e0tPimTAwIamqYyX3oumbAedD4jLkLhq6G-/s400/6a00d8341cc27e53ef010535b430e9970c-600wi.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541871815409805938" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 217px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Sooooo. See what I mean? Germans breaking into our apartment? AWFUL!!</div><div><br /></div><div>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!!</div><div><br /></div><div>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!)</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm-CoKhTpvfJ_4TXymlpfDCDz97QAjvvXb61B9LvkcfUBo_04bZQLsHAixkVgeTFhgdRNqeoIov3z7zNRTR5TNBH0mzUrl6podY0N3oWEUvUpENLHPhrPMM4FSjV6r3jUw5ucgXNsWo3xv/s400/photo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541874242554573106" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-70371375049385954552010-11-16T22:23:00.004-07:002010-11-16T23:08:01.279-07:00I Certainly Hope I Be Decent. Nahmean?My friend Lindsey sent me a link recently that made me realize: <i>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 . . . </i><div><i><br /></i></div><div>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) (<i>Rockin' Robin</i>? I'm talking to you too)</div><div><br /></div><div>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')</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>Because his message is so valuable - I will translate it here for my non-fluent-in-gangsta friends out there. Lets make my translations <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">yellow</span> . . . you know, so you don't get us confused.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Ahem. </div><div><br /></div><div>Ghostface says:</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 18px; font-family:georgia, serif;font-size:13px;"><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; ">A lot of niggas don't know how to get busy.<br /><span data="{}"><a rel="bookmark" href="http://twitter.com/GhostfaceKillah/status/29594999641" style="color: rgb(127, 23, 59); text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span data="{time:'Wed Nov 03 18:27:10 +0000 2010'}">1:27 PM Nov 3rd</span></a> via web</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">I have recently become aware that many of my friends and colleagues are not sure how to take on a suitable appearance</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; ">A lot of y'all muthafuckas just throw on whatever whatever whatever and just think thats whats poppin and it's not poppin man.<br /><span data="{}"><a rel="bookmark" href="http://twitter.com/GhostfaceKillah/status/29595063246" style="color: rgb(127, 23, 59); text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span data="{time:'Wed Nov 03 18:28:07 +0000 2010'}">1:28 PM Nov 3rd</span></a> via web</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span data="{}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">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.</span></span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; ">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.<br /><span data="{}"><a rel="bookmark" href="http://twitter.com/GhostfaceKillah/status/29595140100" style="color: rgb(127, 23, 59); text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span data="{time:'Wed Nov 03 18:29:15 +0000 2010'}">1:29 PM Nov 3rd</span></a> via web</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span data="{}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">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.</span></span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; ">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<br /><span data="{}"><a rel="bookmark" href="http://twitter.com/GhostfaceKillah/status/29595231712" style="color: rgb(127, 23, 59); text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span data="{time:'Wed Nov 03 18:30:33 +0000 2010'}">1:30 PM Nov 3rd</span></a> via web</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span data="{}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">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!</span></span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; ">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!<br /><span data="{}"><a rel="bookmark" href="http://twitter.com/GhostfaceKillah/status/29595295591" style="color: rgb(127, 23, 59); text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span data="{time:'Wed Nov 03 18:31:30 +0000 2010'}">1:31 PM Nov 3rd</span></a> via web</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">It isn't necessary to wear Marc Jacobs to the grocery store, but </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">some</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;"> effort is appreciated by those around you. Remember - there is a whole array of attire between formal and pajamas. It's called *blank*-casual.</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; ">You can take the wackest gear but make sure that gear, that K-Mart gear, whatever you wearing, you official wit it.<br /><span data="{}"><a rel="bookmark" href="http://twitter.com/GhostfaceKillah/status/29595379052" style="color: rgb(127, 23, 59); text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span data="{time:'Wed Nov 03 18:32:45 +0000 2010'}">1:32 PM Nov 3rd</span></a> via web</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span data="{}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">Again, couture is not necessary. But make sure that it's flattering, wears well, and makes you feel good about your appearance.</span></span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; ">YOU bringing the steez to it. Nah mean?!<br /><span data="{}"><a rel="bookmark" href="http://twitter.com/GhostfaceKillah/status/29595441298" style="color: rgb(127, 23, 59); text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span data="{time:'Wed Nov 03 18:33:42 +0000 2010'}">1:33 PM Nov 3rd</span></a> via web</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span data="{}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">Style with ease (yes, I had to look it up. Thank you Urban Dictionary)</span></span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; ">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.<br /><span data="{}"><a rel="bookmark" href="http://twitter.com/GhostfaceKillah/status/29595626970" style="color: rgb(127, 23, 59); text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span data="{time:'Wed Nov 03 18:36:29 +0000 2010'}">1:36 PM Nov 3rd</span></a> via web</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span data="{}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">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!</span></span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; ">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.<br /><span data="{}"><a rel="bookmark" href="http://twitter.com/GhostfaceKillah/status/29595765791" style="color: rgb(127, 23, 59); text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span data="{time:'Wed Nov 03 18:38:19 +0000 2010'}">1:38 PM Nov 3rd</span></a> via web</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span data="{}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">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.</span></span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; ">Your hair cut game gotta be live too.<br /><span data="{}"><a rel="bookmark" href="http://twitter.com/GhostfaceKillah/status/29595892265" style="color: rgb(127, 23, 59); text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span data="{time:'Wed Nov 03 18:40:11 +0000 2010'}">1:40 PM Nov 3rd</span></a> via web</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span data="{}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">Take pride in your hair as well . . . </span></span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; ">Just make sure that your cut is good. If your cut is good and your kicks is good, you might could get the bitch.<br /><span data="{}"><a rel="bookmark" href="http://twitter.com/GhostfaceKillah/status/29595965327" style="color: rgb(127, 23, 59); text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span data="{time:'Wed Nov 03 18:41:16 +0000 2010'}">1:41 PM Nov 3rd</span></a> via web</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span data="{}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">A fresh hairstyle and decent footwear can go a long way with your intended romance</span></span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span data="{}"></span>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!</p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><a rel="bookmark" href="http://twitter.com/GhostfaceKillah/status/29596107579" style="color: rgb(127, 23, 59); text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span data="{time:'Wed Nov 03 18:43:22 +0000 2010'}">1:43 PM Nov 3rd</span></a> via web</p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">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.</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; ">The Rest Of Y'all Niggas Is BIRD NIGGAS! Straight Up!<br /><span data="{}"><a rel="bookmark" href="http://twitter.com/GhostfaceKillah/status/29596185283" style="color: rgb(127, 23, 59); text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span data="{time:'Wed Nov 03 18:44:31 +0000 2010'}">1:44 PM Nov 3rd</span></a> via web</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span data="{}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">The rest of you are mere posers. Seriously.</span></span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; ">The type of niggas that just get punched in the face all day, robbed all day.<br /><span data="{}"><a rel="bookmark" href="http://twitter.com/GhostfaceKillah/status/29596270109" style="color: rgb(127, 23, 59); text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span data="{time:'Wed Nov 03 18:45:46 +0000 2010'}">1:45 PM Nov 3rd</span></a> via web</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span data="{}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">You anger society that takes offense to you're attitude of "I'm a trendsetter. Look at me wear Ugg boots with short shorts!". </span></span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; ">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.<br /><span data="{}"><a rel="bookmark" href="http://twitter.com/GhostfaceKillah/status/29596357506" style="color: rgb(127, 23, 59); text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span data="{time:'Wed Nov 03 18:47:05 +0000 2010'}">1:47 PM Nov 3rd</span></a> via web</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span data="{}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">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.</span></span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; ">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.<br /><span data="{}"><a rel="bookmark" href="http://twitter.com/GhostfaceKillah/status/29596494516" style="color: rgb(127, 23, 59); text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span data="{time:'Wed Nov 03 18:49:10 +0000 2010'}">1:49 PM Nov 3rd</span></a> via web</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">1 in 10 individuals truly have style, while the rest are delusional. Which one are <i>you</i>, good sir or madam?</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; ">and is you sure about that dude!<br /><span data="{}"><a rel="bookmark" href="http://twitter.com/GhostfaceKillah/status/29596522124" style="color: rgb(127, 23, 59); text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span data="{time:'Wed Nov 03 18:49:36 +0000 2010'}">1:49 PM Nov 3rd</span></a> via web</span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span data="{}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">Let's reflect on our wardrobe for a moment. Do you have good taste? Really?</span></span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span data="{}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="zoom: 1; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; line-height: 21.7px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;"><br /></span></p></span></div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-71933339202226649092010-10-09T19:08:00.004-06:002010-10-09T19:15:55.922-06:00Pictures of Your Kids<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Yeah. <div><br /></div><div>I'll probably never be that guy that pulls out pictures of my kids to anyone with the faintest interest.</div><div><br /></div><div>However - I already <i>am </i>that guy that does so with shoes. Something that I imagine my close knit group of loved ones to be very excited about. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>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:</div> <img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ilU3hcmGz6FrV7eBL0dvPQ0r9rlWs7oPv3BB5DAQLrgcJ6bvBKQR2sVm3cZUedqYECT_xOrMakyd14PgmD3-f7XBQ2JaAoxtOqbm8HOHSWGqEs5-J6aeutv6kg0ccshefaQGu_rH8CdR/s400/IMG_0852.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526219361367179506" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">They match my wiener dog!!</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>And this? Is why people don't like to give their phone number out . . . </div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-35322586880986158482010-10-03T16:49:00.005-06:002010-10-03T19:46:44.907-06:00Our Very First Tag!!<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>My friend Ana from <i>Caffeine and Cocktails</i> has tagged Matt and I. My head has explained it to me in this manner:<div><br /></div><div><i>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. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Oooh! Fun! I LOVE answering questions about me! </div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>both </i>of us to the best of my ability. </div><div><br /></div><div>Let's look at Ana's questions!!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>1. If they were to make a biopic of your life what would it be titled and who would be casted to play you?</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>If I were already dead it could have a way cool title - like <i>The Unravelling of A High Strung Kook</i> - but neither Matt or myself are dead it would need an ominous title. Maybe something ironic like <i>Critical Indifference</i>. I like that. I'm critical - Matt is indifferent. It works.</div><div>Who would play us? I have a list of people that I think resemble Matty. Starting with Dick York from the early <i>Bewitched</i> years and ending with Jim Carrey in <i>Cable Guy</i>. 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 <i>Who Framed Roger Rabbit?</i> level of badass!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>2. What is your favorite dessert? Be specific.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>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!!) </div><div>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.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4CCMCRcfbNHDHircgHVzXRuxbE-PTB9K9529gVpVheBNG2tOkAvqcGYH8ue1HuEo7-0tVQqi0tqnltyJ676MOsS2oph7yDV1SjPjKuGIYgYVLYhBacd853Io3YUnvcldEnpk45qCFYRNj/s400/IMG_0843.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523969464551816178" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div>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?"</div><div><br /></div><div><b>3. What's your favorite cocktail, shot, and wine? In that order. </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>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 <i>am</i> a drunk. </div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>4. What is your favorite holiday? How would you celebrate it?</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>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"</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4KRmR5RVR1zujs543-XyHw4VfGCZxoSLOM4OLycJ7g4r6WT0h2y_51Jg54DS00AK_XRhoJwoglzauCJzfSP_FsH4ml5fond0tn0sA98lredafAHOJXUUIXsL7qQSRBzVehIh2RQKJyy0/s320/11267_166315433715_71177988715_2887213_6441766_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523981406716306434" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></b></div><div><b>5. If you could travel anywhere in the world where would you go and why?</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>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!</div><div>Matt? Hmmm - I suppose he'd be happy anywhere with food and a bathroom. . . </div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>6. How would you describe your personal style?</b></div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div>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. </div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>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?)</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>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 . . . </div><div><br /></div><div><b>8. Tonight you can do anything without worry of cost... what would you do?</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>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?</div><div>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!)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">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. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">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.</span></div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-89846386291990626852010-10-01T08:55:00.009-06:002010-10-01T12:02:17.110-06:00Physically, I'm GreatOn September 26th Matt woke up from a much deserved nap to a half naked Chad bursting at the seams with eagerness. <div><br /></div><div>It was time for Matt to remove my stitches!</div><div><br /></div><div>Those itchy itchy stitches. </div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>if <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">only</span></i> all of my problems could be solved with Matt's skilled hands . . . </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b>Chad's 10 Little Things that make him look S-L-O-W while in Europe:</b></span></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>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 . . . </div><div><br /></div><div>2. I enjoy drip coffee. Which is kind of like asking for a cup of unicorn in Europe. </div><div><b>Chad:</b> I. Would. Like. Just. Plain. Iced. Co. Ffee.</div><div><b>Barista:</b> Next time you need to ask for Americano.</div><div><b>Chad:</b> NEXT. TIME. I. WANT. AN. AMERICANO... I. WILL. </div><div>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"</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB1-6Ql-AaR_W3bmkGlXCC3qSoREUvfF-DGxxh9oCiMMHKcu-4jelvlIYZVCbsZdSImFjjExE4PHIrOLMuCV6rmOWeskyWHue9SiZhvRy8t7c0ygEhj1Vtmzhyphenhyphen6zLky2akFqNrT-YaougH/s400/BMW_Isetta_Vorderansicht_3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523097390181797746" /></div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>staff is wondering why the hell won't that guy ask for his bill and get out of here?</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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</div><div><br /></div><div>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 . . . </div><div><br /></div><div>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. <i>Nanny Fine liebe Herr Sheffield.</i></div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-58273996750113886602010-09-14T17:42:00.002-06:002010-09-14T17:54:22.078-06:00Fun 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...<br /><br />1. Carnie<br />2. Grocery boy<br />3. Applebee's host<br />4. Grocery night stalker<br />5. Warehouseman<br />6. Tire buster<br />7. Real estate admin<br />8. Barista (thanks to you Chad)<br />9. Car salesman<br />10. Barista at Braun's bar and grill<br />11. Sam's Club - gas station attendant, electronics sales, and tire busting<br />12. Sofa Mart - warehouse, routing delivery trucks and delivery driver<br />13. Race car parts fabricator<br />14. High-end sculpture awards fabricator<br />15. Orthodontic Product Designer<br />16. Real estate admin (calling all those who were in foreclosure)<br />17. Freelance designer/fabricator<br />18. Home Depot flooring associate<br />19. Master Artist at a mannequin manufacturer<br />20. Warranty department lead<br /><br />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...<br /><br />What you got for job lists?Mattyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05734124199648419963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-71368416821419660252010-09-11T17:37:00.002-06:002010-09-11T19:32:10.758-06:00Not itching like a dirty ho no mo'<div>I'm cancer free . . .</div><div><br /></div><div>Hooray!</div><div><br /></div><div>But I'm still not . . . erm . . . 'pre-cancer' free?</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't exactly know what it means either. I have "pre-cancer". </div><div><br /></div><div>Here's an idea: if there are people out there with the ability to tell what will <i>some day</i> be cancer. Why the fuck aren't they scanning the masses when they're babies?</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway. Pre-cancer schmancer. What I'M more upset about is having to deal with the Dream Team again. </div><div><br /></div><div>Lets look back, okie?</div><div><br /></div><div>I had two chunks of skin with suspected melanoma corkscrewed out of me and stitched up. </div><div>The Dream Team called me and said "Yeah. . . We need to corkscrew out <i>more</i>. But this time we're using a much bigger corkscrew. So . . . let's make you an appointment!"</div><div><br /></div><div>I made an appointment. </div><div><br /></div><div>For yesterday morning. </div><div><br /></div><div>To have BIGGER chunks taken out. </div><div><br /></div><div>Nurse: Good morning, Chad. It looks like we're going to be taking your stitches out today.</div><div>Me: Yep.</div><div>Nurse: And it looks like we need to schedule an excision.</div><div>Me: Actually, that's supposed to be today.</div><div>Nurse: No</div><div>Me: Yes</div><div>Nurse: No - it says here that you're scheduled to have stitches removed.</div><div>Me: Yeah. Stitches . . . and the hunk of meat they're sewn in to. </div><div>Nurse: Yeah, actually [Dr Awkward Touch] likes to do surgery later in the morning.</div><div>Me: Why does that matter? Is he eating it for lunch?</div><div>Nurse: That's funny.</div><div>Me: So I have to schedule ANOTHER appointment?</div><div>Nurse: Yeah. But the front desk (the Dream Team) will help you out with that!</div><div>Me: How about instead of sending me to the front desk staff you just blindfold me and start hitting me with a stick. </div><div>Nurse: Haha! Now lets get those stitches out!</div><div>Chad: (eyes rolling wildly) okay.</div><div>Nurse: Ooh! These have healed nicely!</div><div>Chad: Good.</div><div>Nurse: Yeah! The skin has even started to heal over the stitches! I'm going to have to dig them out!</div><div><br /></div><div>This is when I revealed my secret weapon. (Yelling)</div><div><br /></div><div>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)</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now - in pain - I was sent to the Dream Team to ONCE AGAIN schedule my excisions. </div><div><br /></div><div>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 . . . </div><div><br /></div><div>Now I have a new appointment on Thursday. Which means that my stitches need to come out sometime when I'm in Prague. </div><div><br /></div><div>Matt promised to take them out for me. </div><div><br /></div><div>I better remind him to pack some scissors and an ice pick. </div><div><br /></div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-38181193021410132862010-09-07T19:46:00.003-06:002010-09-07T20:20:05.926-06:00Itching like a dirty dirty whoreRecently I went into a dermatologist's office to have some 'suspicious moles' looked at as recommended by my friend Natalie.<div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Jezzussshh! Youu sshould reaally have thozze looked attth!"</div><div><br /></div><div>With advice like this I <i>could've</i> 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. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Ohhh Naaataliiieee. Offf coouuursshe I willl . . . "</div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>dermatology</i> 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. </div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway. . . </div><div><br /></div><div>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). </div><div><br /></div><div>Did I take pictures of me getting my body scanned by doctor awkward touch? Yes. Did I send them to Natalie AND Matt? Yes. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>"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."</b></div><div><i>Okay. I can do any Monday, Thursday, or Friday. Just pick a day and I will be here.</i></div><div><b>"Yeah. Ummm . . . but nobody's going to be in the office because of labor day so we can't do Monday."</b></div><div><i>Be that as it may - I gave you a window that represents 60% of your business hours. You can find a space.</i></div><div><i><b>"</b></i><b>Yeah. I'm going to have to check with my office manager because nobody's going to be here. Because of Labor Day."</b></div><div><i>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.</i></div><div><b>"Shoot." Blowing bubbles with her gum. "Did I get the wrong week?"</b></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>**********</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div>So today when I got a message from Miss Dream Team saying that my biopsy showed abnormal cells I needed to schedule a biopsy.</div><div><br /></div><div>I swear to God. I will kill this girl.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>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! </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>Does your head hurt yet?</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>AND my stitches itch so bad I'm sure that people at work think I have scabies. (the humiliation just doesn't stop.)</div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-66535039454343859022010-09-03T12:07:00.004-06:002010-09-03T12:42:14.353-06:00"Get Judgey"? Done and DONE.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>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.)<div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>So what do I blurt out at Ana immediately after introductions?</div><div><br /></div><div>"Hey Ana, ever get that PERIOD?"</div><div><br /></div><div>Hahahahaha. I am so hilarious. </div><div><br /></div><div>At least that's totally how I feel until I get a message from Ana on Facebook titled "Get Judgey"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy3HlvmCFSoYqwwUZliqTtqiVbIfyu_OVCfMArj7FRtZlLKN9-eq0w8jtOXcPYR2K02eVkWeV9YFkLTVaPdUSG-RqPu1okGzQzcMxgUGg_hUEsQtVbT8wLacZdB39MxtyJpOsfXk30TpDV/s1600/Snapshot+2010-09-03+12-27-20.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy3HlvmCFSoYqwwUZliqTtqiVbIfyu_OVCfMArj7FRtZlLKN9-eq0w8jtOXcPYR2K02eVkWeV9YFkLTVaPdUSG-RqPu1okGzQzcMxgUGg_hUEsQtVbT8wLacZdB39MxtyJpOsfXk30TpDV/s400/Snapshot+2010-09-03+12-27-20.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512759039600753170" style="cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">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)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-53573437170044468452010-08-30T19:33:00.003-06:002010-08-30T19:51:12.008-06:00August 2010The gracious thing for me to do would be to wipe my brow, turn to August, and say <i>Well done, summer month. Well done.</i><div><i><br /></i></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>August was busy. </div><div><br /></div><div>1 car show</div><div>1 death in my immediate family</div><div>1 wedding in my immediate family</div><div>(with subsequently - 2 wildly awkward extended family get-togethers)</div><div>3 birthdays (1 penis cake)</div><div>1 scientific article submitted for publication</div><div>1 poem written about my joyous smile (Yay! go read it at jhartf.blogspot.com)</div><div>2 endangered species I mated (my very first time mating anything on the IUPC endangered species list!)</div><div>2 chunks of cancer cookie cutter-ed out of me (The stitches are driving me nuts)</div><div>3 times I completely exposed myself in front of someone in a completely non-sexual way</div><div>1 time was Matt, so it doesn't count (because he enjoyed it)</div><div>4 phrases i learned in Czech</div><div>1 conversation I had in German</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>You know, now that I look back - August was kind of awesome! (And warm!)</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, August. I can never stay mad at you. (February, on the other hand? Can suck my balls)</div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb4EyjatbySGCAKa50AjfFUG3h3JlzPnRxXvU4DL74PqrGr6NCbOTEjUUZ3NRd3B4G9lyUjTPzrZoHcmqn6PoodY2Nu77PD9TYvHGYeICPyODrnX-U9ArZEpjYDRHC7rIpGhFoS6YtPsf0/s1600/IMG_0813.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb4EyjatbySGCAKa50AjfFUG3h3JlzPnRxXvU4DL74PqrGr6NCbOTEjUUZ3NRd3B4G9lyUjTPzrZoHcmqn6PoodY2Nu77PD9TYvHGYeICPyODrnX-U9ArZEpjYDRHC7rIpGhFoS6YtPsf0/s320/IMG_0813.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511385382007851186" style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglczUexXamp5y2BBzzs0POpjZqEHmA2ctj-o-j80-E6-DWsRxSPEBa6pBuFRJqtYj0vnqDOCxWAEIK08ZeQ3ZP8eTzr_uqbO7YoP17mYPScn7Kxq4J2Qjebh0EeO0LaxvRMbQ1SERM4CXk/s1600/IMG_0810.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglczUexXamp5y2BBzzs0POpjZqEHmA2ctj-o-j80-E6-DWsRxSPEBa6pBuFRJqtYj0vnqDOCxWAEIK08ZeQ3ZP8eTzr_uqbO7YoP17mYPScn7Kxq4J2Qjebh0EeO0LaxvRMbQ1SERM4CXk/s320/IMG_0810.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511385375202297810" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgADTAADL8nmQNrOF_4owu2yQm6S999nKTxgid2cmENNbevI1oNK3jJdm2CeW8udJBSZLDGVu_WGfBP-rjoPKZSjbsykU9T2-vUEA2gH9U-EzHVP3-iPE8LjXZGeQwwn968Cfu1STPBpA3d/s1600/D3S_9598.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgADTAADL8nmQNrOF_4owu2yQm6S999nKTxgid2cmENNbevI1oNK3jJdm2CeW8udJBSZLDGVu_WGfBP-rjoPKZSjbsykU9T2-vUEA2gH9U-EzHVP3-iPE8LjXZGeQwwn968Cfu1STPBpA3d/s320/D3S_9598.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511385366652831794" style="cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px; " /></a><br /></div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-28172097092143397492010-08-28T21:07:00.006-06:002010-08-29T07:49:03.273-06:00My SleepwalkingMy 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. <div><br /></div><div><i>Example</i>, you say?</div><div><br /></div><div>Okie dokie.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Last night I may have killed a prostitute in my bed. </span></div><div><br /></div><div>You think I'm nuts, yes? Case in point people. Case. In. Point.<br /><div><br /></div><div>NOW, lets take you through a very logical thought process.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>(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.)</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>somewhere</i> while I dozed.</div><div><br /></div><div>ANYWAY - nothing.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>See people? Logic.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>The world may never know . . . </div></div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-10822069991394775182010-08-26T17:46:00.005-06:002010-08-26T18:24:07.925-06:00Why Yes, I DO have this much time on my hands . . .<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>For the record - the phrase is "Don't <b><i>judge</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> a book by its cover" - it doesn't mention anything about accepting it unconditionally. </span></b><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">This is why I feel so justified in doing what I've done to the book I bought today. . . </span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">I love David Sedaris. So when I stumbled upon this book in a used bookstore today I had to purchase.</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Sadly - it wasn't Sedaris' name that caught my eye, but the absolutely HIDEOUS cover.</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4eweYSSd6dpS5tc0QmwusyPkhEINIi1kKXgfX2V89OXVsYbvDFM9S6poJxvEbp726uhWbHP7arY_GylIzJdQbClogD-llOMG45fNWAKR0Kb1bGNwn7BpbpUNVFMoyVkKl3AV8ctFTekKx/s400/photo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509871471502592786" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " /></span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">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. </span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">I don't deal with unibrows, or any other form of body hair very well.</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">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!!"</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">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.</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">So Jaime said she wasn't A) trying to impress anyone and B) uncomfortable with her bushy legs. </span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Oh, HELL no. If I'm uncomfortable - She will be too.</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">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.</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">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. </span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><i>See you guys! I told you she wears short jeans shorts with long loooooong leg hair. Look close!!</i></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><i><br /></i></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">I treated Jaime like a sideshow freak. </span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Uncomfortable yet, Jaime?</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">(This may sound mean - but she had it coming after the umpteenth time she told me I was going to hell for various reasons)</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div>So yeah. I'm not going to deal with the unibrow.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCf1wO1yYENJrWnM8_o6qu_3N_ea9mXuilHJFutxQTwN-OwLl0265r075uJnFcoZ1CZPzm_qlYASKax_zhaES6Jn0BfN1D-QRxW97QT2J1ivTuD507sVuCQ2RUQqzhyphenhyphenOuVuFpsoAcz1zFn/s400/photo-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509878368530756226" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div>And <i>this</i>? Is what I do with my days.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well . . . and I got some peanut butter FroYo (AMAZING)</div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-39970941798387184852010-08-22T18:20:00.002-06:002010-08-22T18:38:22.669-06:00Czech, please!<div style="text-align: left;">Haha! These titles write themselves!</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>Meh.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let's move on.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>We all remember my Czech phrasebook, yes?</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlYMk_hi2xQROjNpo3dwyo4KT14aE4Tmjq8XI8ErlHKJmJiVz6-n8E7fbaCaPtRW74f4jEhONFgSzxkFAc9kdJxjY-dZLBxbB3KXoufIMQqSERzOpQR1kOT5g6yovUYjRbptuT_ijNiUZd/s400/IMG_0814.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508397946694247474" /></div><div>Good. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway - she asked if I wanted to see a Czech tongue twister. Umm. Yeah!</div><div><br /></div><div>So she wrote down <i>Strč prst skrs krk</i></div><div>to which I said "I KNOW THAT! IT MEANS STICK YOUR FINGER IN YOUR NECK!"</div><div><br /></div><div>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)</div><div><br /></div><div>She then gave me another statement that is much softer: <i>Lǎlǎ ho paplǔha ogrcal mi krpce.</i></div><div>It means <i>Look at that douche bag who threw up on my shoe. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>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."</div><div><br /></div><div>Guess what my money's on. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdXm6vOQE0Vqyl_UaEvP3cVJ9FnqQpVP10J2dfpjAhSxCaSvCSkcqQtcFiQ0OJaRnPbv6p0hSL6pkDYq1rcEY7gKYuxOzLAsFdHh5KZYH_OCBBo42bfYz35iO4ial6ENDkOoeAUmV8qzEI/s400/IMG_0812.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508397942323513810" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></span></div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-1083323607393070742010-08-21T18:08:00.004-06:002010-08-21T18:58:05.038-06:00Czech Me Out<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>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?<div><br /></div><div>ANYWAY . . . </div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgceHrfUmPh2zhxlwwD-cCU-ivorGYfG0U07tn0UWkBp1uET4nChOxXY75IGTauF3tmsMki3WnjYvw0PCImnba_a1Dt_2ikk8e-cuzYuIwWaF3uR27yI27Rf6Ffxl3sGdw_Qj-zRBNQzaHc/s400/czech_yourself_tshirt-p235194131120277113cisa_400.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508025653524761938" /><div><br /></div><div>There are several reasons why I want to learn at least a <i>little </i>Czech (which they call Čeština) (Which is pronounced CHESH-tyi-nuh)</div><div><br /></div><div>A.) The language is actually very beautiful</div><div>B.) I watched <i>Inglourious Bastards </i>yesterday and when Diane Kruger gets all snooty in Brad Pitt's face in her "<i>would it to too much to hope that an American speak any other languages</i>/ Miss Thang" attitude I wanted to slap that bitch (or at least prove her wrong)(Girl. She so ig-nant)</div><div>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. <i>Bon-JOR-no.</i> </div><div>D.) Actually A. is kind of a crock. My reasons are pretty much just B. and C.</div><div><br /></div><div>So. Now I leave you with my findings. </div><div><br /></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Chad's very first memorized Czech phrase:</span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Chtěl pivo (KHUT-yel Pee-vo), which means "I'd like a beer"</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Best thing about Czech:</b></span></div><div>Every letter has one way to be pronounced. None of this english nonsense where C can sound like an S <i>or</i> 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!</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Worst thing about Czech:</b></span></div><div>Have these people ever heard of vowels? Seriously. Do they know they're free? </div><div><br /></div><div>I found this little gem in my phrase book: Strč prst skrz krk, which means "Stick your finger through your neck"</div><div><br /></div><div>Thankfully I <i>probably </i>won't have to use it <i>too</i> often. </div><div><br /></div><div>Although we all know that I'm gonna try to bust that bad boy out after a few pivos . . . </div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-67658793902892921542010-08-20T20:08:00.002-06:002010-08-20T20:20:00.035-06:00Things Matt Doesn't Want Me to Share: Part 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuSgaSvbxUGaky9Abc7ZHolD53LGl5Oe2lTTZFXXdKUypslbU3-fANu6ryUN6uazM_jQgDUsCFW3x1I3sbPahCUXCQ6pjPno5zH0oZiHyVC8f_9uw4KURKO2TlIrIWjk1gF96eJIEf9Yvp/s1600/IMG_0809.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuSgaSvbxUGaky9Abc7ZHolD53LGl5Oe2lTTZFXXdKUypslbU3-fANu6ryUN6uazM_jQgDUsCFW3x1I3sbPahCUXCQ6pjPno5zH0oZiHyVC8f_9uw4KURKO2TlIrIWjk1gF96eJIEf9Yvp/s400/IMG_0809.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507679766111459778" /></a>See what happens Chelsea? When you decide to have a wedding with an open bar. Look at iiiiittt.<div><br /></div><div>This? Is Wine-drunk with a hot tub. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yes, Matt and I are wearing matching trunks that are meant, not for adult men, but for fat children.</div><div>Yes, we look like Reese's Pieces with <i>bad</i> farmer's tans.</div><div>Yes, Zahra is wet because we pulled her into the hot tub with her clothes on.</div><div>Finally, YES - I realize I need to go to the gym.</div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>other</i> hot tub picture where you can totally see her taint. </div><div><br /></div><div>So . . . remember this the next time you think it would be fun to have a wedding Chelsea!</div><div><br /></div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-44639060630204264322010-08-05T23:58:00.003-06:002010-08-06T00:14:34.482-06:00I am a Creepy HypocritePicture it:<div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>I enlisted my friend Zahra to help me find out who she was. </div><div><br /></div><div>Here are the facts:</div><div>She was like 17</div><div>About the size of a small shed</div><div>Worked for Lowe's in Thornton. </div><div>The Lowe's that I had been going to for the past week. </div><div>The Lowes that employs <i>slightly</i> large girls who commit the name on your debit card to memory and then find you on facebook.</div><div><br /></div><div>Bless her enlarged, tortured heart. </div><div><br /></div><div>What. A. Psycho.</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>The take-home message? Stalking is super fun. </div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>you poor poor fat girl. No.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Hehe. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our fictional girl is kind of a bitch.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm just a creepy hypocrite.</div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5820299535582144593.post-33341377937364551682010-07-27T19:40:00.002-06:002010-07-27T19:59:17.586-06:00ratemystudent.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. <div><br /></div><div>Wait.</div><div><br /></div><div>Not so. </div><div><br /></div><div>This girl - who is like 16, has probably NEVER been to a "survey of tarantulas" training in her life. (who has?)</div><div><br /></div><div>(well, me. But I'm the exception <i>not</i> the rule)</div><div>(by the way - my training was WAY better than any I have attended NOT instructed by me.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Everyone else gave me a 5/5 because I'm great. Not this chick. Apparently she could have been a little <i>more </i>impressed with the instructor's knowledge. </div><div><br /></div><div>I called my friend Lindsey to vent. I was hoping she'd make me feel better and she delivered like dominoes!</div><div><br /></div><div>She works at NYU and has the standard, official class surveys at the end of a semester.</div><div><br /></div><div>But she also has to deal with the dreaded ratemyprofessor.com</div><div><br /></div><div>This website is absolutely absurd. Why? Because there's a "hotness meter"</div><div><br /></div><div>How hot is your professor? This is ridiculous. </div><div><br /></div><div>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?</div><div><br /></div><div>This totally makes me feel better about my 4 out of 5 - but it also gives my warped mind ideas. </div><div><br /></div><div>Like . . . </div><div><br /></div><div>Before I realized this I thought: <i>I should make my <b>own</b> survey on them and grade them as instructees.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Afterwards I thought: <i>I should <b>still</b> do this AND include my opinion on how hot they were.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div>Chaddyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03836276379354525508noreply@blogger.com1