 |
|---|
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
|---|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Monday, July 28, 2003
|
|---|
|
Sans Smokies~~1 Week! **fanfare** Yes, the first week is over...should get easier every day from here. I've even forgotten to put a patch on a couple of times and fought my way past convenience store after convenience store of potential cig purchases. Okay, so I'm a little proud of that...=] I think I'm growing out of my current kite. Need to start shopping for a 14 meter one here soon, but that's about a $1200 purchase, so I'm a little hesitant. (There's still some part of me that is saying "$1200??? For a KITE??? You sir, are an asshat." You'll know when I rationalized that little voice out of existence when I come on here and exclaim how I've ordered a new North kite and how excited I am. Oh, and ignore the shadow dancer on that page...I had nothing to do with putting her on there. ) Fantasy football draft has been set for August 12, (the day after my birthday) and I can't wait. Silly how much I love to watch that stupid game, but I really do. I don't think it's so much the game I love, but the event that it makes my Sundays. And playing fantasy football is just another excuse to get excited about more games than just Houston, Tampa Bay and New England. =] I watched "Mr. Deeds" last night. "How can one go wrong with John Turturro and Winona Ryder?" I asked myself. Apparently you can. Awful movie. Winona is still as beautiful as she ever was though, and the whole shoplifting thing just makes her even more endearing in my book. (Granted, that book is mostly made up of stick kitties and doggies drawn in crayon...but it's my book nonetheless.) Okay, I've got some calls to make. Take care of yourselves. j.s. |
|
|
|
Sunday, July 27, 2003
|
|---|
|
Oh yeah, and Jenny did send me the pictures from New Orleans. I'll post one tomorrow I think.
|
|
|
|
I have 1000, blue, foam boomerangs. Really. j.s. |
|
|
|
Wednesday, July 16, 2003
|
|---|
|
Hello again, I have the world's worst headache behind my left eye right now. I've taken 4 extra stremf Tylenol, so I should be able to take a bullet to the chest and continue calisthenics if I so desire.. If I did calisthenics that is... Speaking of which, I am going to Bally's after work today to sign up for a membership. I tried on a pair of pants this morning that fit me fine in Utah, and now they're a wee bit tight around the waist. Granted they are a size 29...and for a 6 ft. 1 guy that's pretty slim...but still, it's the principle of the thing. I weigh more than I have...ever...right now. 185 lbs. =I I mean, that's a scant 15 lbs. away from 200... Which is madness. All very upsetting. Hence the gym membership again. Concurrent with this gym membership will be yet another attempt at quitting smoking. After flying my kite for only 30 or 40 minutes, I was completely winded. (badum bum.) Not good. That and my chest is beginning to rattle a bit when I take a deep breath. Especially right when I wake up in the morning. Scary. So as of Monday, Russell and I are quitting. I'll be certain to post all my ravings and rants and general bitchiness here for all to enjoy. Aren't I a doll? I'd also like to retract all earlier exultations of praise for .www.designermenswear.com. They're a bunch of crooks. I paid 'em almost $200 a month ago for a couple of shirts that I have STILL yet to receive. I've continued to email them and no one is answering me. Fuckers. So don't buy anything from them. You'll never get it. Otherwise there isn't a whole lot going on. I'm feeling a kite flying day here in a couple of days...as soon as the ground dries up a bit. Take care, j.s |
|
|
|
Saturday, July 12, 2003
|
|---|
|
Do NOT, under ANY circumstances...go to see "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen." Thank you. That is all. j.s. |
|
|
|
Thursday, July 10, 2003
|
|---|
Continued from post below...if you haven't read the first post, scroll down to where it says "THURSDAY" before reading this.SundayWe wake up Sunday afternoon to pouring rain. We also find that we have mixed up the pack of "Poogarettes" with the good pack, and are now unsure as to which is which. Shrug. Smoke 'em anyway. Beignets and Cafe au Laits from Cafe du Monde are an absolute imperative. So off we go. Jenny did have an umbrella with her, however after a few minutes of trying to share it, I decide it's simply too much work for my hungover psyche to handle and just get wet instead. Very wet. Cafe Du Monde was great...though very confusing. It's just sad when one is so hungover that they are unable to convey their wants/needs. Our waitress basically had to order for us as we were incapable of forming sentences that seemed to mean anything. Mmmm...beignets... Somewhere along the way, Jenny also picked up a throwaway camera with which she is certain to have many blackmail-worthy photos of me in various ludicrous states and situations. That's dirty pool my dear. Dirty pool. =] Anyway, the touristy bug hits us, and we decide since we're not going to be in New Orleans that long, we should sign up for one of the many tours available. The "Ghost Tour" sounds more promising than the rest, so we sign up, leave a deposit, and continue on our walk around the Quarter. There are some really beautiful places around there. Specifically on Royal St. Cute apartments with ornate iron railings and giant ferns along the balconies. And relatively inexpensive to boot. We walk around for a few hours, then decide to go back and take a nap before 8:00 rolls around and it's time to take the tour we signed up for earlier. Crash at 6, wake up at 8. Damn. Missed it. So we go down and ask Rafael what we should go check out. He answers "Exchange **something** neighborhood, down off Decatur and Frenchman St." Hooray for agendas... Turns out, Rafael knew exactly what he was talking about. Of course, it took 5 laps back and forth along the sidewalk in front of all the little bars, and being accosted in the street by a bartender who convinced us to come inside, for us to finally commit to a location...but we did eventually commit to d.b.a., ruling out "Snug Harbor." d.b.a. was a very cool little bar complete with awesome beers, cute bartenders, (one was from Murray, UT) an awesome, awesome, awesome banjo player and a yellow lab. "A fine lookin' dog" to quote Mike West. Had a great time there, and hobbled out happy, buzzed and hungry a couple hours later. We didn't have to wander far, as we passed a small restaurant called Angeli that had really great food, (comparatively speaking to the rest of the swill we'd had in days prior anyway) and a very cool vibe. An old silent version of what I think was "Ben Hur" was projected on the wall above the bar. Their calzone was the perfect drunken and depleted blood sugar refresher. So, we stumble out from there, full and happy, and make our way back to Bourbon St. where we are accosted by a midget in suspenders with the promise of "free cover, free cover!" at some random strip club that started with an "S." (I told you I was drunk by this point...) We go inside, see some nekkid girls. Jenny gets her first dance and "is smacked in the face by some boobies," and we take off, a little worse for wear after the experience. (The girl doing her audition that night was very hot though...and had great hair. Though seeing the midget leap into her arms after she danced and fondle her was such a disturbing image that I'm certain it will haunt me the rest of my life.) Next stop, another bar on Bourbon that I think was called "The Front Door," and where we were the only white folk in attendance. After a couple of drinks we decide to pack it in and call it a night and head back to our new, improved hotel room. (Oh yeah, Rafael upgraded our room free of charge for our last 2 nights there. We moved to a much cuter loft-style room with the bed on the second story with a little iron railing around it.) Pass out...again... MondayThe hangovers continue to worsen...and we wake up later and later... One pack of Poogarettes down...one to go. I am incredibly crabby this morning for some reason, and end up whining and bitching until we stop at some awful restaurant for breakfast. My mood significantly improves after eating and coffee, and we formulate a plan for the remainder of the day. Touristy time. We head to St. Louis 1 cemetery where Marie Laveau is interred, and catch snippets of other tour group lectures for free. Unfortunately, we are caught by one asshat tourguide who tells us that we shouldn't wander around the back of the cemetery without a group and to "be very aware of our surroundings." He then goes on to make an example of us to his tour-oids by screaming "See, I like to tell people not to wander around the cemetery alone, especially in the back as it just isn't safe!" Jerk. Anyway, we meander around the cemetery, all very cool and hauntingly beautiful, one mausoleum was even cracked open to where you could see the coffin inside. (I took Jenny's word for it, as I was not about to peek in and have a look.) We then take off for more touristy stuff. The Aquarium of the Americas. Cool place, but kinda small...and we were a bit rushed through it as we had tickets for a 3-D Imax movie called "Bugs!" at 5:00. It would do well to note that I was perfectly fine watching the praying mantis and caterpillars run around...insects are okay. (Poor little "Papillo the Butterfly"...=[ ) But NOWHERE in the ad did it say that arachnids were going to be involved...4 story high arachnids...in 3-D...coming right at me on a web that looked like it was attached to my chin. I scream like a little girl, writhe around in my chair, and hide my eyes...hoping only that my heart will slow down its frenzied pace before it launches out of my chest like a jellyfish strapped to a bottle rocket... Horrifying. We happily leave the Bugs! behind and head out to the Riverwalk. It's here where we have the brilliant idea to get on the trolley, and use it as an "easy" way to see the rest of New Orleans. And so begins the afternoon on.... Public Transportation of DOOOOOOM!!!First trolley ("Riverfront Line") took a good 15 minutes to arrive, we hop on, and purchase a transfer ticket to the next line (St. Charles.) What we don't realize is, we're approximately 2 stops from where we are supposed to transfer. About 100 yards. Also, we are told that we can't actually get from one trolley to another, we have to hop a bus, which will take us 5 blocks to the NEXT trolley stop. Sigh...okay. So we wander over to the bus stop where a bus is waiting...and waiting...and waiting... 5 minutes later, the driver pulls forward 20 feet, and picks us up. It is at this point that we see the trolley that we'd GOTTEN OFF EARLIER go by us in the same direction we're now heading on the bus...ringing it's bell happily. Giggles of ridiculousness begin to set upon Jenny and I...and we ride the bus until the driver tells us to get off and points in the direction of the next trolley we need to get on. He also tore off our transfer ticket stub and threw it away. We look up where he is pointing...and see THE SAME TROLLEY WE GOT OFF EARLIER, still clanging happily, and bouncing down St. Charles street, again in the direction we were supposed to be going in. What the hell? =] So, refusing to be deterred...we walk 4 blocks up St. Charles to the trolley stop and wait for another 10 minutes right next to what just so happened to be the World's Smelliest Garbage Can. It was like a mix of urine, horse shit, sweat and hot, wet trash. Awful. Anyway, so the (packed full) trolley eventually gets there, and we convince the driver to take our already torn tickets by basically looking clueless and/or helpless. She is none too happy, but takes them anyway. We stand behind her and jostle down the street, starting to feel better about New Orleans public transpo. Until a booming yell emits from the driver..."GET BACK! GET BACK! MY SEATS HAS HANDLES ON IT! MY SEATS HAS HANDLES ON IT! GET BACK!" We are completely taken by surprise by this screaming that we begin to look around nervously...wondering if she's talking to us...and unsure as to just what the hell she's talking about. "LET'S TRY THIS AGAIN! GET BACK! MY SEATS HAS HANDLES ON IT! MOVE BACK!" So, since she's still yelling...and we want desperately for her to stop...Jenny and I start herding toward the back of the car and hang on to the back of people's seats. This scene repeats itself 3 times along the trip, and we decide we simply can't take it anymore, and leap out of the trolley at a random stop...not looking around us to see the neighborhood we're in. Mistake. Luckily, an elderly african-american gentleman with so much ear hair it looked like he had muppets strapped to the sides of his head told us that we "should probably get back on the trolley...bad gangs down there..." **points down the street from us.** Unfortunately, we're now terrified of trolley drivers...and out of the required correct change. Pit stop at McDonalds for change...and then we wait again for the next car...amidst lots of suicidal joggers who apparently enjoy running along the trolley tracks, an irritated elderly lady who stared unblinking down the street, as if she could simply will the trolley to arrive, and a crazed looking homeless man with blue, velcro cast pads for shoes. Needless to say, we're getting tired of this. Eventually the trolley came, and as the door opened a sweet voice said, "Hello there! $1.25 please." as we clambered up into the car. Thank God...a kind driver. So we rode along...and it was so worth it. Beautiful plantation houses. Tulane and Loyola university campuses. Awesome parks. We rode it all the way to the end of the line. Then got up, put another $1.25 in the other side of the car, flipped our seat back so it was facing the other way, and rode all the way back to Napoleon St. thinking our locomotive woes were over. Wrong. We get off at Napoleon St. as it appears to be close to an Indian restaurant we want to eat in called "Nirvana." As it turns out, the place was as elusive as it's namesake as it took us quite awhile to find it...and when we finally did, and came around the corner with a cheer...a sign. "Closed on Mondays." Dammit, dammit, dammit... It was at this point that the lead singer of Creed, wearing a pair of Hawaiian, floral-print shorts wandered along and suggested we go to Vaqueros for "tuna fish tacos and margaritas." We call a cab...tiring of the mass transit bedlam. "Take us to Vaquero's please." "Sure." ..... "Vaquero's. That'll be $7.50" We hop out. Door is locked. Vaquero's is closed too. Gawd...DAMMIT! So we chase the taxi down the street a short bit and tell him to take us to our last chance...the dubiously monikered, "Juan's Flying Burrito" which promised a vegetarian meal for Jenny. "Juan's Flying Burrito. That'll be $7.50." Thankfully, it was open. And very cool I might add. Their cajun chicken quesadillas were awesome...and the Patron margaritas were damn good too. Overall a very cool little place, and I think it wins the "Best Restaurant We Attended" award for New Orleans. After dinner, we take a cab back to the room...freshen up a bit...and ask Rafael yet again where we should go. He says with authority, "It's Monday. Go to Donna's." Donna's turned out to be a small, hole-in-the-wall feel bar, with absolutely incredible jazz musicians. We ended up closing the place down, when Charlie, (the guy in the picture on the website...looking exactly like he does there, same hat and everything) stopped and chatted with us for awhile about how he is almost 70 years old, has 5 sons that he raised alone, how he used to work the railroad, and how he's going to open a "soul food joint" on some random Floridian highway in the next few years. As cool as they come was Charlie...as cool as they come. I also tried "Abita" beers here, which is a local microbrewery. If you get the chance, don't miss the "Turbodog" brew. Some tasty mess. So, it being our last night in New Orleans...and since Donna's closed around 2 a.m., we still had more drinkin' to do. So we headed over to Bourbon yet again. Passing a gay couple who exclaimed how "fun and pretty!" Jenny was. I shouted back in agreement, and they yelled something unintelligable back at me. **shrug** I have no idea what the name of the bar we ended up in was, but it had "Blues" in it's title, and had blue and yellow neon on its sign outside. Inside, it was like a casting call for Girls Gone Wild. There were 3 drunken girls on stage, dancing around to the hoots and cat-calls of guys up front. We debated how long it would be before their tops came off. They shocked the hell out of me by actually going 2 songs before they threw them off...at which point there were 4 of them, shirtless, sometimes pantless, and making out on stage. Then, the cutest shot girl EVER came by us with french braided pigtails and lifted her test tube rack of shots expectantly toward us. Jenny and I both shook our heads "no thanks." Normally a shot girl would just wander off to find easier sheep to shear...but this one pouted at us, with near Jim Carrey-esque, over-the-top facial expressions. Then she stroked the test tube shots reassuringly, as if they were disheartened by our decision not to drink them...and literally skipped off toward the dancefloor. She was awesome. This prompted much discussion from Jenny as to how I might get her attention and talk to her. Unfortunately, I began to fuzzily recall a night in Puerto Vallarta when I actually took the shot girl up on her offer and, after pouring nearly a gallon of grain alcohol down my throat and blowing an incredibly loud whistle in my face a few times, she banged my head around violently between her hands before taking $10 from me. No, shot girls are definitely not to be trusted. No matter how cute they are. Anyway, I took off to the bathroom and when I returned there was a guy who looked like he was trying to be Amish...except his hat brim was WAY too wide and he had one gold, dangly earring... was sitting on my barstool, chatting with Jenny. I grin, grab my beer, and just watch. Apparently he was trying to convince her that he was from Switzerland, and that everyone dressed like him when they were going out there. He never expected Jenny though...poor guy. Turns out, she had spent 6 months or so, (tell me if I'm wrong here Jenny) in Switzerland, and spotted his fake accent. So she started asking him questions about his "home," like what language he spoke, etc. None of which he could answer. The guy just squirmed there, stuck. Eventually Jenny spotted me grinning at her and gave the "I need help" sign and I came over, grabbed her hand and started dancing with her. We left shortly after this, found a A&P and had to plead to the clerk to open the door and let us grab some Powerade, then headed back to the hotel...and yes...passed out again. TuesdayWe wake up, go grab some breakfast at Royal Cafe and then headed back to the room to pack up. It was here that Jenny admitted that she made up the name "Rafael" for our concierge...and that she actually didn't have any idea what his real name was. And I'd been calling him Rafael to his face all weekend... =] So Jenny catches a cab and heads to the airport toward her flight to Tampa. I go back in the room, pack my stuff up, and get directions on how to get out of the Quarter and to I-10. To check up, I call Jenny. Her flight was delayed by over 2 hours. So, I swing by the airport...we hang out there for a few, eat some really horrid pizza, drink more Powerade, then she heads back to her gate, and I head home to a beautiful sunset over the swamp...the first time I've seen the sun in 4 days. Overall, I think we did everything exactly right. The trip was a perfect blend of debauchery, tourism and authentic New Orleans culture. My only regret is it being over so quickly. And Jenny, if/when you read this, I want to thank you for coming down to Houston, and inviting me along with you to New Orleans. It ranks among the best times that I've ever had...and one that I will most certainly never forget. And for the record, I just so happen to think you are one of the warmest, sweetest, and most amazing people I've ever met, and getting to spend that much time with you again was wonderful. You are what I miss most about living in Utah. So, thank you. I can't wait to do Nantucket next...=] And that, friends, finally concludes our "Meaty & Vegetarian Guide to New Orleans." Thank you for reading for this long. I'll post something about more current events a bit later today. j.s. |
|
|
|
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
|
|---|
|
Okay, I'm going to break this up a bit so I can avoid losing a huge post if it screws up during publishing. Let's start on Thursday. ThursdayJenny flew into town around 4ish and we headed back to my Dad's house to relax after spending 2 hours in 4th of July weekend rush hour traffic. Had pizza outside by the pool and found that Houston-based mosquitos have an affinity for Jenny. She had something like 10 bites by the time we finally went inside...and it wasn't even dark yet. She also decided Sammi looked like a giant potato with legs and lovingly dubbed her "Potato Salad" and "Sweet Potato." Dad was nonplussed. Later, we went out to Brasil for wine and then to Sam's Boat where we basically made fun of everyone that came in...like we do. Drove home, and passed out. FridayFriday was pretty low key. Though I must admit to being amazed at her inner-city shopping prowess. She found a $6.00 dress in the Galleria. Those of you from around here know the improbability factor of such an event. We had dinner at Vincent's with Mom on Friday night, and watched the downtown fireworks from the front patio. Dinner was amazingly good. If you're in that neighborhood, you must not pass up Vincent's/Nino's restaurants. Friday night was pretty low key, as we knew we had a long drive to New Orleans the following day, and we were a wee bit sleepy after drinking a bottle of very, very good chianti. SaturdayWe finally got out of Houston around 1 or 2...and started the drive to N.O. under torrential downpours. We arrived around 8 and realized we had no idea how to get to the French Quarter, where our hotel was. So after making several laps along Poyour street, (or something like that) we found Canal, and made a lap on that as well, before calling the hotel and getting directions. We get to the Quarter, and, once I'd narrowly avoided a horrid case of E.B.S., or Exploding Bladder Syndrome, we got to our hotel...The Olivier Housewhich looked almost exactly like a hostel you'd see in Paris. (Jenny did say that it looked like a lot of hostels in France, however the ones in Paris would be the only eyewitness assurance I can give you.) Very cute and quaint. Just the right mix of French opulence and full-on ghettoness that seemed to blend perfectly with New Orleans itself. It was there that we met "Rafael the Concierge." Rafael was a 6' 8", bald, pot-bellied, 30-something guy with glasses and a slight speech impediment who seemed to run the hotel at all hours. It was a very rare event when we went downstairs and Rafael wasn't sitting hunched over at the tiny front desk. We liked him instantly...everyone else in the hotel made fun of him mercilessly. We find our room, which is absolutely hideous and arctic frigid. I mean, I could almost see my breath in there. The beds were befitting of the cities nickname, as they were in a definite crescent shape. I slept with my feet at a higher altitude than my head. We also discover that in order to get out to the wrought-iron patio that looks up to Bourbon St., we have to open the window and climb out. All very cool. So we head out and see what trouble we can get into. We start by having an awful meal on Bourbon St. at a restaurant that I have thankfully forgotten about. The only important event that happened here, was our first Hurricane of the trip, and Jenny's first one ever. For those of you who have never had a Hurricane, it tastes innocuously like fruit punch. This easy-drinking libation causes a nuclear powered drunk within minutes of imbibing. And we staggered out of the first establishment we went to in New Orleans very tipsy, with me nursing my second Hurricane in a To-Go cup. Next came, the "Hand Grenade." Jenny had heard rumor from my Dad about a drink called the Hand Grenade, and after my taunting her about not having a drink for 5 minutes, she stopped in and picked up one. Yet another turbo-powered drink that was the color of anti-freeze and sported a floating pink grenade on top. We finish these while walking along Bourbon St., stopping only into Marie Laveau's House of Voodoo to have a curse removed from Jenny, (The witch who cast it on her tried one last ditch effort to keep her from having it removed as Jenny got her heel stuck in a crack in the pavement just outside the door. I had to basically yank her foot out of the ground. Root spell pwned.) and the Reverend Zombie's Smoke Shop so I could pick up some cigarettes. (Dunhill International Lights...my favorite...and these become important later as I handed one of them to Jenny to keep for me in her back pocket.) We finish our drinks and head into Pat O'Brian's for a couple more and to use the bathroom. Jeremiah's Pat O'Brian Bathroom Story I head in, do my thang, and in walks a very nervous looking, profusely sweating, fat guy with a NASCAR shirt on. He asks if I'm from around there. I say, "Not too far...why what's up?" "Ah got sum kinda voodoo curse thang cast on me and I'm freakin' out." "Er...what?" "Some guy cast a voodoo curse on me...he slapped me on the back o' mah neck and it's all red now and burnin' where he touched me..." "Wow...really? Lemme see..." I say, trying not to laugh at the irony of the whole thing. And sure enough, there was a huge, blistering red mark on the back of this guy's neck...my Hercule Poiriot senses kick into a low, alcohol-dulled, first gear. "Um...dude...you reek of cinnamon." "Huh?" "You can't smell that? You smell like cinnamon, man." "Oh...uh...yeah, I guess I do kinda..." "Okay, here's what happened...you pissed somebody off, they rubbed some cinnamon extract on their hand and slapped you on the back of the neck with it. You need to keep washing it off with clean COLD washcloths or it will get worse as you sweat and it cooks a little." "Reallah? I don' have a curse ahn me? Ahm okay?" "That I can't really say man...but if you're worried about the reason why your neck currently feels like it's on fire, that's why. You have pure, concentrated cinnamon extract on it." "Thanks mister! Thanks a lot!" "No problem." Jenny's Pat O' Brian's Bathroom Story Jenny accidently drops my cigarettes into the toilet, picks them up, washes them off, and comes back. After I tell her my story, she debates telling me what happened...then admits to it. Thus, the term "Poo"garette is born...to which we referred to these cigarettes throughout the rest of the trip. The fountain at Pat O'Brian's was as cool as I remembered it, and we continue on, getting really, really wasted as the minutes pass. Next stop, The Cat's Meow. Kareoke night. Where Jenny is hit by an epiphany. We must now make a bet. The first person to kiss someone inside here wins $10. Knowing this is a bet I can't win, I balk and refuse to bet...but she grabs my hand, shakes it, and the bet is on just as we walk in. Okay. Fine. So, with absolutely no warning, I whip around immediately after passing through the doorway to the bar and kiss Jenny full on the mouth. She, in turn, makes a low growling sound and bites the hell out of my lips. I wander the bar the rest of the night looking like a herpes experiment gone awry...simultaneously proclaiming myself the victor. We agree to double or nothing on the bet, and she prowls around the balcony, finally spotting a good looking guy standing a few paces away. She leaves me to go play him, until I start hearing the guy next to me ask to his friend, "What's up with that??" He continues to glare angrily down at Jenny while she talks to this guy. He finally gets fed up of watching from near me and heads over to where Jenny is chatting and slyly attempting to get a kiss from what turns out to be...his boyfriend. 2 gay guys from Germany. Swing and a miss. Jeremiah 2, Jenny 0. He did however, pretend to be with her to stave off the amorous advances of a rather unpleasant drunk...so we will award her one-half point for that. Jeremiah 2, Jenny .5 So, the last ditch effort is to split up and meet back at a pre-determined spot in 15 minutes. So we do. I go up to get a better look at the people doing kareoke, Jenny wanders off somewhere else. I'm standing there, minding my own business, leaning against a small cocktail table, when Nell Carter grabs me by my collar and says, "THIS MY JAM!!" and proceeds to start rolling on me. I felt like the penultimate white-boy prude, exclaiming "Madam!" and trying to convey my outrage at being tossed around the dance floor by this giant woman. So I try to get away, backpedaling a bit with every few song beats...she sees this, grabs me again, and turns me around so she can roll on me and keep me put. I swear, the woman even goes so far as to put my hands in the air, as if I needed instructions on what I'm supposed to do. The song finally ends, I thank her, and run back to the bar. She follows, sits down on a barstool and yanks me between her legs exclaiming what a "fhiiiine whiteboy" I am. I escape by saying my girlfriend will be in soon and I need a drink and have to go to the bathroom...all in a very panicked tone of voice. She says "Fine..." and lets me go. I run. Jeremiah 2, Jenny 1.5. During this time, Jenny has been hooking up with some random Brazilian date rapist who has literally tried to drag her into the mens' bathroom, and outside to take her home. She finally escapes and relates the story to me. I am very unhappy. Already being drunk, and thus made of kevlar, I'm ready to crack this guy's jaw...Jenny dissuades me by being very non-chalant about the whole thing...but the guy knows I'm unhappy b/c he sees her telling me about him. I have fun the rest of the night showing up right next to him and making him wander away, spooked. He catches back up with Jenny as we're leaving and is talking to her on the street. I walk up, say simply "goodbye." to him, wrap an arm around Jenny while he's in mid-sentence, and we stroll off. She did get a kiss from him at some point though. So Jeremiah 2, Jenny 2.5. Game over. We decide after this that the kiss bets are dangerous and not to attempt them again. At this point, we carry one another back to the room. (I think so anyway, as the "goodbye" incident is the last thing I remember clearly.) And we pass out. Thus ends the first night in New Orleans. **continued above** |
|
|
|
Wednesday, July 02, 2003
|
|---|
|
Hi. Okay, so I kinda screwed up yesterday. I was supposed to send out an inter-office memo about our employee of the year award right? So, in the interest of obscure voting references I thought of Herbert Hoover's nomination speech. You know, the "A chicken in every pot" speech? But I got a bit mixed up. Instead I put "40 acres and a mule!" on the memo...of course, referencing what African-Americans were supposed to receive as reparations from the U.S. Gov't after slavery was abolished. Not good. Not good at'all...I felt like a total heel when someone called me out on it... Yes, I am an asshat. So let that be a lesson to everyone...always remember to check your references. Sigh. Moving on. My kite is here! And it's awesome. About 10 feet long and 2 1/2 feet across. Now I just need some wind...=( AND! Jenny called me the day before yesterday. She actually bought her tickets, and is coming down tomorrow. Unbelievable. You know, just when I start to write that girl off, and assume that I have her pegged, she goes and throws me the behavioral exploding slider and I fan on it like a human auger. For the baseball-y challenged, that means I can't figure her out. I'm really excited to see her... Though I just can't imagine her in Texas...there's just something fundamentally wrong about it. We're sticking around Houston for Thurs. and Fri., then driving over to New Orleans on Sat. and staying there until Tuesday. She goes on to Tampa from there, but I, of course, have to go back to work. I have a lot to finish up before she gets here. Cleaned out my car last night, taking it to be washed/waxed today after work, then I need to do some laundry, straighten up my room a bit, clean the bathroom, etc. You know...preparatory "girl coming over" guy stuff. My "Roomerangs" also came in. I must say, that was a particularly clever idea. =] You know how our company name has a "+" sign in it? And how we work on returning receivables to hospitals? Well I found these foam boomerangs that are really easy to throw and designed to be used indoors called "Roomerangs." They're shaped like "+" signs. [Insert "returning your receivables" tagline here.] I should do this for a living...=] Okay, I have another website to update and some forms to order... Take care, j.s. |
|
|
|
Tuesday, July 01, 2003
|
|---|
|
I'm stuck in end-of-month office hell right now...I'll post when I can. j.s. |
|
|
