You take a hotdog, some Coors, some Boone's wine and a Grendel.

The true worth of a man is to be measured by the objects he pursues. - Marcus Aurelius

Well...  that kinda sucks.  Is there a catch in there?  Perhaps he meant pursues while not being a jackass?  Maybe.... What you mean to pursue when you aren't lubing up with soap and whizzing down a 100 foot slip-n-slide?  There's got to be a loophole!  I've been known to pursue a cheeseburger now and then. Nope that's not it either.  Damnit damnit damnit...  Objects?  As Jay would say, well... There's a few things Jay might say, tho neither work here very well, "I like skanky chicks!" and "I like pie!"  hmm...  Still not what we are looking for here.  Maybe it means the stuff that's in your heart, your dreams, you wants and hopes?  True love?

Boy if that's it then I've been doing it wrong.  But hey, I think there's a defense to be made in my defense defensively!  With the fine group of people I hang out with there has to be something to say about the things we have pursued yes?  Let us delve deeper.....

The pursuit of the Grendel.

Now if ever there were a pursuit that is worth mentioning it has to be Grendel.  No no no, not the monster from Beowulf, tho I am sure it would be a good fight if Jay wasn't such a jackass and remembered to put gas in it before the battle.  To the best of my knowledge, Grendel is Jay Ellingford's first true love.  It's a hard love to understand mind you with all the strange shit he has done to that truck but hey, a mans love is sometimes hard to understand.  Oh yes, here's Jay by the way....

Cute kid right? Well as you can see below he has been known to look a little skerry.

Also in his defense, he is going to kill me for that last picture obviously.  Jay has a truck.  This truck's name is Grendel.  To my knowledge it's been through 3 engines, a transfer case here and there, axles, cab, stereo equipment galore, rims, and tires ranging from street legal to holy shit big.  This is an object that Jay has pursued for many years, and I'm pretty sure he isn't done with it yet, just sidetracked with some other project at the moment!  I borrowed this truck once to likely go to the mall to buy me some kickin rad Oakleys or buy some stupid CD.  In the middle of the intersection the throttle cable just kinda fell off the carb, but in a bad bad way putting the engine at redline.  Took a phone call and climbing into the engine bay to figure out that one.  My right ear suffers from hearing loss.  You see, it's hard to find a good spot to put that 3 inch tweeter in a steel cab Chevy truck, so they are best mounted right next to your head.  Also, Judas Priest is the appropriate music to tune Grendels stereo, or create the scar tissue in my right ear, whichever.

Grendel has made Jay late for more activities than anything else could hope.  The reason was always the same, he ran out of gas.  You see when you build a racing engine and put it in a huge truck that doesn't have a fuel gauge you are pretty much screwed until someone has the bright idea to mention that perhaps you should carry a gas can with you in the back of the truck.  We saw Jay a lot more after that.  I don't get to see Jay as much as I would like, but he has moved on from Grendel and his other projects and has pursued a beautiful family instead.  I think we're safe for now as long as he doesn't try to take them apart and then try to figure out how to put them back together again in a living room somewhere.

The man with no Moss.

This, is Michael Stumph.

This fine figure of pure sexual intensity is my husband.  Well on Facebook at least.  Which yes folks, it's a joke, and yes I wish I had a dollar for all the people that wonder if it's for real.  Mike and I first met in 1995, but he came to my school to beat me up in 1993, I just didn't know it.  The only reason I beleive I met him in 1995 was that he was out of gas money or running from the lawman.  Mike has lived in more places and seen more things that anyone I know.  He was truly a gypsy there for a while...  Constantly somewhere else than here, and likely doing something that by now the statute of limitations has passed over.  As I sit here trying to come up with a proper description of this jackass there are just too many things that come to mind.  I fed him a shot this summer stirred with a hotdog, the shot being a mixture of Boone's Strawberry Hill wine, Coors, and some kind of pop?  I don't know exactly but he's where I have absorbed a lot of my more troublesome habits from I am sure.  Shad's parents will agree with me.  He's punched me, he's kissed me, he has urinated on me...  Wait...  Why do I like this guy?  Anyways for years Mike pursued the sunset, the open road, the next thing, and a life experience be damned for what happens next.  He may have pursued syphilis but I'm pretty sure he failed there.  He's pursued all the wrong women, the wrong jobs, the bottom of the bottle, the fake breast, the pidgeon's breast, and a handy cure for the hangover.

With all the trouble I have gotten into with this guy, with all the parents that eyed him with suspicion, the girls that he likely lied to that wish him dead likely to this very day, this is the face of a true lifelong friend.  Sure he may pee on you this very week in a pub, and sure he might make you nervous as hell if you have a date around him, but he's a cool cat.  With all the misdirection, the road trips, the unmentionable things that I may or may not have been part of, this is a guy that truly cares.  When I'm down I know he can cheer me up.  When I need someone else's point of view, his is usually quite different and perceptive.  But make no mistake, we're pretty sure his wife is responsible for all this behavior.  If she isn't we have a real problem because re-enacting all the crap this guy did would land a you in Gitmo.  If he ever answers an automotive question, he's lying.  If you can name a cute girl from Shelley or Firth, they hate him.  But I bet if you ask his kids who their hero is, they'll name him.  He also likely bribed them to answer "You dad!"  You never can tell with this guy.

It's getting late, so will have to continue this later, maybe we can get down to some measure of worth for me...  But there are a lot of suckers left still!

The Redneck, The Cow, The Cat, and the Lesbian.

There are many moments in your life that define who you are as a person today I believe.  Moments that will stick with you forever embedded into your very soul.  Instances and happenings that are so poigniant and clear that it helps shape you into the adult that you become for better for worse.


These aren't any of those moments.


There lies a street in Idaho Falls, a magical street.  On this street on a blisteringly hot July evening you can sit on the porch with your friend, sipping adult beverages and watch the pretty lights....  Of the police car across the street that is!  You see, Benton street off of St Clair is one of those mystical convergences of incredibly bad energy that sometimes, when the stars align just so, you can spend a whole evening just watching the neighbors getting arrested.  Where tube tops are standard issue and speaking English makes you weird.


It's hard to describe the wonderment that is this street.  I mean really, how many places can you think of that you can suntan on your porch and watch the neighbor strip the paint off his 1980 peice of shit with liquid sandpaper and a spatula?  That takes work son!  But really, I'm not here to talk about the street, or hitting golf balls down the block off the front lawn which is really just trimmed dandelions, I am here to talk about the apartment.  This apartment was about as bad as you can figure.  Each time you vaccumed you could only smell beer.  Each time you needed a dish.... Well....  You better go buy yourself a dish because instead of washing them we just put them in a box outside with the intentions of going to the carwash instead.  To this day when I drive past it I might hold my breath a little, let it out slowly and say a quick prayer of thanks for making it through the time we lived there.


Of course I am going to have to take the heat for everything that actually happened in this place.  It was afterall my place.  At a certain time in 1995 I had moved in with a girl.  I was playing house.  Now of course I understand what a terrible idea it is to do something like that, but at the time, playing house with a hot chick that had a Camaro....  Well not a bad idea.  The girl was pretty alright, we got on pretty well, and didn't really hate each other much, but we fizzled.  She moved out after about 8 months or so and I kept the place.


My friend Shad was in the mood to move out, so we met each other for pretty much the first real time as I had no idea who he really was even though he at least wanted to beat me up in highschool at least once I am sure.  But hey, when you are in your twenties and you need a roommate it's ok to forget about certain things.  He moved in, I got a job working with him at Perkins, yadda yadda time passes and Mike moves back into town.


At the time Mike was living downtown in one of those really nice apartments, you know the ones that have cockroaches big enough to talk back to you and wake you with primal screams in the middle of the night?  Mike, his clothes and his skii's moved in.  Thank god the cockroaches stayed.


It may have been the mystical convergence of the street etc, but I think it's much more likely that you take 3 bachelors that are of drinking age, that all work at a restaraunt together, live together and well, it's pretty much signs of the apocolypse after that mix.  We three nincompoops should have been jailed.  A lot.  One night while drunk as skunks driving down 17th street we almost murdered our favourite homosexual friend.  It wasn't on purpose mind you, he was crossing the street at just the same moment that Shad's head was bouncing off the window you see?  Why was his head doing that?  Oh that would be my fault again.  Mike and I had some really wonderful peices of machinery to get back and forth to work in, they were actually functioning cars, but we decided in a drunken stupor to ram each other repeatedly while going at least 35 mph down the street.  We played bumper cars.  We smashed our cars into each other at least 3-4 times, the whole time Shad's head bouncing off the window like a basketball.  Chances are that Depeche Mode or Erasure was playing at the time in my Pioneer tape deck.  The next morning while hungover we pulled the fenders out of the wheelwells so that they wouldn't flatted our tires.


This...  This is the kind of crap that we got ourselves into.  Thinking back on it all now, we all sigh, breathe in deeply and usually at the same time say how glad we are to be alive, how incredibly stupid we were, etc etc etc.  The thing is, it wasn't all bad there.  At one time a friend we worked with lost her apartment.  She needed a place to stay.  We weren't about to leave her out in the cold so we offered her a place to stay.  The deal was that she washed the walls, and did our laundry.  So she did, and all was well.  I had folded underwear for the first time in my life.  Which honestly was a little strange.  I've never understand folded undies.  Who cares if your undies are wrinkled anyways?  Mine fit me like a rubber band around an egg anyways, the wrinkles have no chance.  Also, it wasn't my idea to fart on her head, Glen did that all on his own.  She rewarded him with a sparkly sticker that read "It's fun to fart on your friends!"


We decided to have a party during the summer.  I'm not sure why, but we did that a lot.  It was a rare occasion too that we had scraped up enough money to buy both Pizza and a keg of beer.  This was exciting becuase with kegs come kegstands, and you get to chant "Chug chug chug!" over and over again while watching beer pour out of your friends noses.  Some other people had that same night gone to a pre-halloween party.  Which brings us to the cow.  Ahh the cow.  I have no idea what her name was, but that was the best costume I have ever seen to this day.  Keep your trashy skanky revealing costumes, this chick nailed it.  She was cute as a button.  It was so cool that I had to mention her in the title of this entry.


There were people from work, and people we had never met.  We actually had a coffee can or something similar and were collecting keys from folks.  We were at our worst, and our best.  That is until the episode with the cat.


I miss this cat.  He was a good cat.  His name was Buster.  He was a male Tuxedo.  He was killed in a driveby on that same street months later which was very sad, but I cared a lot for that cat.  He attacked our computer screens, and it was always fun to watch him attack Mike and Shad's gargantuan feet.  Attacking things was what he did.  On the night of this party he likely attacked a Redneck named Billy.  And in a way I can blame this on the cat, I was just following his example afterall.  Billy had shown up to the party, he wasn't invited, and even tho at least a dozen other people weren't invited he made me mad.  He made me very mad.  Not only did he show up with a Lesbian, he showed up and drank our beer and ate half a pizza.  He also wasn't a hot chick, and the only girl he brought with him had a spike hairdo with a mullet and could arm wrestle any guy there and win.  Who the hell is this guy?  Who does that?  Well, it was ok for a bit, and then he started to mess with the cat.  The cat was there, doing whatever it is that cats do at keg parties, but he was a cool cat and was likely hitting on the chicks.  Billy decides to torment and tease the cat.  My cat.  He pulled it's tail, he messed with it for a few minutes, and the whole time I was watching.  I had a Full Metal Jacket moment.  I asked him twice to please leave the cat alone.  He mumbled something incoherent a few times and I had finally had enough.  I would feel bad for what happened, but as we have justified this a few dozen times, he was warned. 


I asked him nicely to stop screwing with the cat.  He didn't.  I asked him again, he didn't.  That's when the world slowed down.  In a fit of cat defending rage I walked up to him, reached my arm back all the way to rigby and hit him.  As hard as I could.  I had to do it, I had to defend my cats honor.  I remember being shocked at what happened, and then giggling a lot.  I hit this guy so hard that he flew back a few feet and hit a closet so hard he broke the handle right off it.  We had to use a screwdrivers to access this closet in the future.  Blood pouring out of his mouth, eyes unfocused, mumbling something he finally came to, the whole time I had my mouth open not sure what I had done, or what to do next.  From the corner of the room Kim and another girl start screaming and saying oh my god the cops are going to come!  Which in reality, they didn't.   Billy's date to this party picked him up off the ground and carried him out.  Which was interesting to see by itself.


If I saw Billy today on the street I'm pretty sure that I'd let him hit me as hard as he could, but not the face man, not the face.  I do feel bad about what happened but damnit, he was messing with my cat.  I still think back on that story, and others and feel very guilty.  Guilty that I hit that guy.  Guilty about cheating at strip poker with Jen whatever her name was (even tho the other guys were cheating as well).  But in the end I feel thankful.


We do a lot of stupid crap when we are young.  We play strip poker with strange waitresses, we hit people for messing with cats.  We run over telephone distribution blocks repeatedly, we nearly kill our favourite homosexuals.


Don't we?  Yeah I didn't think so either, but we did, and we managed to live through it.


Today Shad is an outstanding Father with a freshly minted marriage.  Mike of course is paying it forward on a daily basis because we all know he's going to rot in hell, and along the way he has a beautiful wife, beautiful children and a wonderful life.  I of course, well I'm a work in progress, but I have some pretty awesome friends.  And the fact that we never did anything that bad, or that heinous to land ourselves in really hot water, or get caught for the things that we did that were that bad....  Well I guess that means that we weren't nearly as bad as I remember sometimes.  I'm thankful that I lived in such a shithole for that time of my life because honestly, it was a real good time.

Truth and lies about dating...

Dating.

You know....  For as long as I can remember I haven't been that comfortable in the whole dating arena.  I mean lets face it, dating is hard.  You meet someone, you get set up with someone, so and so brought someone to a BBQ that they thought you should meet and it's pretty much the most uncomfortable feeling.

At least for a few seconds.

People in my experience aren't really huge fans of putting themselves into awkward situations that they have little control over.  I know I sure wasn't when I first started to get back into the dating scene.  I mean really, why would I want to be in that situation willingly where it feels like I just had my beer spiked with Visene and Jay ninja punched my throat?  Well, it's mainly not my fault. 

It's the women.

Ok, maybe it's not the women, but seriously, dating, habitually dating, pro-dating as I did for a time this summer or even just the "Good god I need to go on a date, just to see if I still can handle it!" date is hard stuff folks.

Dating is hard, that's for sure, BUT! there are things that make it worth the work!  I have evidence to support my theories and lets have a little share share time.

To protect his name, I will not name him....  There's no truth to the guy in this tale being named Mike, and the fact that one of me best guy friends names is Mike.  So if you think this is Mike Stumph, well, you can just go on thinking that if you want, but you might be wrong.

Suuuuuuurrrrrree......

Mikey, Shadly PQ, and Myself had headed out on the town one evening with the usual bunch.  The usual bunch is of course those that we at the time were able to safely surround ourselves with, and between the majority at least could scrape up bail money in the event that someone may or may not have been flapping their arms like a chicken while going down Broadway on the back of Shad's bulletbike.  (So wasn't me, I'm not sure who that guy was, but I'm a lot more responsible than that.)  But, in case you ever do find yourself in that situation, the correct response to the police officer's question "Do you know why I pulled you over?" is "Yes sir, because he is acting like a total clown."  (Again, not me, some other person did that, I as a motorcycle owner know much better than to behave in such a manner.)

The amazing thing with this bunch of hooligans, nincompoops, and long haired hippy-types is that we never really amounted to much trouble.  Mainly because women are smarter than men in all areas, and only talk to men out of scientific need, and a strange sense of self loathing that is defined in the phrase "Women like fixer-uppers."  I know this phrase is the lord's truth, because some of my friends managed to marry themselves with women that are way way wayyyyy out of their league, and really it's the only thing that makes sense.  If it isn't true then I take it all back, and the women are stupid.

So we have this gaggle of weirdos, and I don't even know for sure where we were as I was likely not paying that close of attention, or I may have thought that at the time I was posessed by a chicken, we may never know, and we run into a few girls that we had been kicking it with.  Kicking it with means they had allowed us to be near them, hadn't thrown up yet from drinking too much, or perhaps had really really low IQ's.  In this case we are going with low IQ, it is afterall a story about Mikey.

I was immune from this story due to a few reasons.  The majority of the girls there were blonde, and if you know me, I am afraid of blonde haired girls.  They are scarey.  One girl in particular was described by "Mike" as "The Bomb".  There was a time that "The Bomb" was a very descriptive term for Mike, but now we know that before he married up this was actually an intellectual term to him.  Now I'm not going to lie.  This girl was cute.  She was actually pretty hot.  I'm sure that Mike drugged her with horse tranquillizers or something nastier to even get her talking to him but all you could see in his face was a sure ticket to la la land while Mikey kicked his game to this girl that was a bomb.

I think her name was Brittany.  But it doesn't really matter, for the sakes of this tale she shall be named "Hot Girl"

So Mikey decides to plan a date with this girl and take her and.....  Amy?  Someone else and a date to Lava Hot Springs in his Jalopy.  Jalopy is a kind term in referring to a car that is owned by Mikey.  This was a pristine Mercury Sable, or something equally as terrible with 4 doors and a drivetrain that howled like Ellingford boozed up on cough syrup listening to Judas Priest in Grendel.  (Jay is ammo for more stories, we will get to him in due time.)  So they hop in the jalopy and make tracks to Lava Hot Springs.  I'm surprised that they even got as far as Blackfoot to be honest, where he stole the gas money from is still a mystery!

And there I was.  Sitting at home likely wrapped up in a towel since I was too lazy to get dressed likely playing some damn video game and eating 4 day old pizza next to the wall of shame when the phone rang. 

(phone rings, I finally answer)  "Hello?  What?  Where?  Uhh...  Yeah I guess...  I'll be there soon.  Yep.  Go to hell, bye."

The call had been made.  You see, for some strange reason I am that guy.  I'm that guy you call when your car stops working and you want some free advice form someone that doesn't even work on cars (I'm a BOAT MECHANIC you ASSHOLES) and I do the best I can with what I have learned being blessed with common sense when it comes to mechanical things, a sense that Mike was born without.  His eyes are spaced properly so I know it isn't fetal alchohol syndrome, but if you want to see a car destroyed, let this guy have it for a while!

With a couple quarts of oil (after much badgering I finally was able to get Mr. Hellen Keller to figure out what a dipstick looked like, and I am also positive that one of the girls showed him what it was) I toss on some shades, and hop on the V-Max to zip down the highway on a bald tire to feed this car oil.  Yes folks, there he is, on his date, trying to be all romantic with Hot Girl and his car died.  Because it had no oil in it.  God bless Ford for making a car that can still run in the heat of summer with only fumes that used to be oil in the engine.  After I show up, bugs palstered to my face in all my glory, I pour in two quarts, we stop and buy at least one more and the jalopy is running.  What did I get out of this trip?  a REALLY bad cheeseburger and bugs in my teeth.  Tho I did rescue Mikey on his date, which I think eventually turned out in his favor for at least a little while. 

You see, dating me, people I have lived with, or people I have known for over 15 years is at the very least dangerous ladies.  That was a tame story, and it also happened many years ago.  But times really haven't changed much either.  The selection has just thinned some.  We are currently down to Todd, Myself, and I am sure that Casey would also part with Mike if she was asked.  The dating has just changed some is all.  Mainly us.

Let's be honest.  I'm not the fine figure of a man that I was pre-marriage, or even wall of shame days.  I'm greying out my hair, and my athletic prowess is mostly based on grunting while trying to tie my shoes, (or even reach them) and watching a tendon slowly peel off my left knee.  My glory days of being in shape consist of perhaps one summer where I was able to go up 1 flight of stairs before feeling like barfing my lungs out.  Sure sure... the grey hair.... makes you look all distinguished.  Really?  I think it makes me look prematurely old actually!  And now?  NOW I have to date?

Hmm ok, so lets see here.... Moderate to low self esteem... Check.... Not a lot of money.... Check....  All my friends are married or with children.... Check!  Alright then, to hell with it, I'll just to ask a girl out, screw it!  I can do this!

Here's what I think.  I think that there is a tiny little elf, demon, muse, whatever following me around poking me with a magic stick to do stupid things.  I'm also pretty sure that if cast in a movie, this imp would be played by Jon Peirsol.  (Also, will get to him at a later time)

But hey, you can't get ahead in the relationship department if you don't try right?  So I try.  I go to the bank.  There is cute girl.  I see cute girl.  I muster.  Mustering for me takes a lot, but for some reason I mustered on the spot and actually point blank cold case asked this girl out for dinner.

What really sucked is that she said yes.  If she had said no, well I could have avoided the whole thing and just moved ahead as if nothing ever happened, but.... Then we wouldn't have.....  Wait for it......  Wait for it....  "Barnes and Noble Girl"  Ahhh finally, I named my pain.

Barnes and Noble girl was quite pretty.  Dark dark long straight hair, beautifully skinny legs with high heels, white hosey and a business type skirt.  I'm a sucker for that crap.  I don't know why, but hey it worked on me, and it always does.  I took her to Olive Garden with the hopes of getting her as drunk as I could off of wine so that she might actually find my conversation interesting, or in case it all went bad she might just chalk it all up to a bad hangover and not tell all her friends about what a nut I was.

She had other plans....

Instead I spent 50 bucks on dinner, and got a diatribe history over the course of an hour and a half about her ex-husband, her ex-boyfriend, and what gigantic douchebags they were.  She really did spend the whole time other than a brief period talking about her job rehashing the misery and unfulfilled love that she has had in her life with me, over dinner, on my nickel, drinking the wine, and eating the salad.

Oh....  My..... God.....

She just wouldn't stop.  Needless to say when the meal was over I feigned an emergency phonecall, something I have to go do for my parents, etc and got the holy shit out of there.  But..... apparently I was a good listener.  She called back the next day saying what a great time she had and if I'd like to go out again.

*cry*

But seriously folks...  She was so pretty.  Sooooooo pretty.  If this girl was a motorcycle she'd be a Ducati Desmo, or if she was a Coffee she'd be an endless Caramel Mocha.  Which is fitting because as her name suggests, the coffee house is where this story ends.  Of course there was NO WAY I was going to feed this woman again.  I mean really.  You spent the whole night talking about ex's etc and want MORE FOOD?  Noway.  So I, keeping in mind how incredibly hot and delish she was, agreed to have coffee with her at Barnes and Noble.  She asked me to bring my motorcycle because she hadn't ever ridden on one before.  ZING!  A girl on the back of my bike....  That's like.... Proof that I don't suck totally right?  So we go to coffee.

And she does it all again.

It was a repeat of the night before...  she had a really bad day, or whatever and I was smack dab back in the same place I was 20 hours before listening to the same thing come out of this torturously hot females lips.

I snapped.  I snapped like a twig.  And I completely came unglued.

It wasn't so much I think about the 50 bucks, I mean, I did actually get to be seen in public with someone a lot prettier than me, so hey that's nice.  And honestly I am pretty good at doing the wrong thing, or putting up with something I don't like for way too long, but I lost it anyways.  I started to rant.  When I start ranting it's like the depths of hell open up and all the bad intentions of man and beast come shooting forth out of my mouth like Rosie O'Donnel coughing up a rotten peice of ham.  I ranted, I raved, I spewed forth curses.  Then I left.

And damnit I left my coffee sitting there on the table.  Those suckers are like 5 bucks you know?  But before I made it completely away from the tables there was a shining light.  5 or so tables away, a complete stranger, and I'd like to name him Ralph, stood up and started to clap loudly.  While clapping she said "Yeeeeahyah, that's what I'm talkin bout".

Bless you Ralph.  I will always love you.




But I'm still pissed about leaving my coffee there.

Zach went on a date.

Ahh the joy of dating!  Those of us that have either :


A.  Divorced
B.  Unmarried


Who also fit into the category of :


A.  Over 30 years of age
B.  Don't enjoy being a hermit/hermitess ( Hermitess?  ahh hell, just go with it. )


May or may not be able to relate to the stories that are mine, but I can bet at least once you have feared of the following happening to you.  You see, in my opinion dating is one of God's best jollies.  He has just got to get a kick out of watching us do it.  After talking to a few others that are suffering from the stigmata of being single at my age-ish I know I am not alone in my pain.  One friend made my mouth hang open just reading what she typed in a chat window.  I actually wanted to drive to her house, and hold her tight whispering in her ear that yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. 


One of the things that I get a kick out of are all the dating websites etc. that exist these days.  Here's a tidbit of truth for those of you that aren't in the know.  These sites are bad mmmkay?  They truly are.  Sure you may have a friend that you know about or whatever...  I don't care.  What I am about to tell you is the truth as I know it.  One fellow I know, whom shall remain nameless has used a particular website a few times.  And sure, if he had found true love there I wouldn't be telling this story now would I?  Well, he didn't find love there, but yes, he did find sex.  He found it several times.  That meaning more than 5 times.  The kicker?  From what I have been told, it's an understood thing.  One woman didn't even care to go through the pretext of dinner and conversation and just said she had a place, and they could go there.


Well now that's just plain scary.


And the details of these encounters.  You post a picture, you describe yourself in whatever words are deemed needed, one of which is what build you are.  The choices were something like this :


A.  Athletic
B.  Fit
C.  Average
D.  A little junk in the trunk
E.  Pleasantly Plump


I know what I say now needs not be said but...  People on the internetz LIE.  They lie about being married, they lie about their education, they lie about anything that they feel like lying about because seriously?  Who cares when all you are wanting is to hook up with some random stranger and have meaningless relations.  What makes me die a little inside is the fact there there are some real people out there trying to find real love on these sites.  God bless you if you do.  But be honest to yourself about what you are going to have to sift through in the meantime.


I of course have not used a dating website, tho I have joked a time or two that perhaps I should, just to be able to tell the story of how it went.  The reason that I would think this is the same reason that I have a story about just about every single date I have had since I got divorced.  People are damn crazy. 


The 30-something dating scene is perhaps the most bizarre thing I have had the chance to experience in my life.  I'm not going to compare it with dying, or getting divorced, but it's a lot more like being strapped to a gourney and someone lighting your left ass cheek on fire while you are fully conscious, putting it out, relighting it, videotaping it and sending copies to every member of the opposite sex that you secretly yearn for in the no one can know part of your brain.


Well no, it isn't that bad...


It's more like having yourself strapped to a gourney, having both ass cheeks set on fire, doused with chili sauce, re-lit, videotaped, and then published on Youtube.  Throw in a posting of said video to your facebook profile and you're close.


Ok ok... So there's some good parts.  I have had the luck to date one woman for an extended amount of time, and it was pretty fun.  It ended in no small part to my own actions, but it was good.  But I'm not here to tell that story, I'm here to tell these stories...


Date #1  The Midget.


Not to make light of anyones physical deformities.  There's nothing wrong with being short.  Honest.  However, me and mine (meaning the jackasses that I call friends) have a tendancy to refer to members of the opposite sex by a nickname.  This is allowed.  I know it's allowed because I also know that girls do it also, I can cite sources from numerous girls I know, and don't know, but did  fact-finding mission and asked complete strangers just that.


So yes, she is referred to as "The Midget".  As those that are in the vertically challenged lifestyle react to me the next time I see you, please understand that this girl wasn't just short.  She was a damn monster.  A short little monster woman.  With the ghost of Hitler, and other bad ghosts inside her.  Really bad people.  Icky people.


I had spent a meal scooched up to the counter at a local restaraunt (yeah right... like the truckstop is a restaraunt)  trading single life woes back and forth with an old girl friend.  A few weeks pass and I get a text message from her saying that she had a friend that wanted to know if she had any single guy friends that perhaps she could be set up with.  Now... I would have said no anyways, as I had not yet even been on a date since getting divorced but she railroaded me.  I was to meet this girl at 10:00 p.m. at Denny's for "coffee".


Wow...  now this should have been a warning, I know... But I know what it's like to be stood up, and honestly, I didn't want to be "that guy".  I was told that she was "short" and "blonde" and that was all I had to go on.  Not much I know, and inside I know that my old friend is still lauging her ass off at my expense, even tho she has assured me more than once that she meant nothing by it.  So there I was...  Sitting alone, waiting for short blonde girl to appear when out of the corner of my eye I see this little person.  She introduces herself and my gut said "Hey Zach, this is your gut...  BTW you are so not going to enjoy this" and I should have ran.  I should have ran fast.  I should have ran so fast that I had a cardiac episode that recquired the administering of some kind of mind wipe drug.  But I did not do this, and instead like a gentleman made nice and chit chatted with this little hellspawned demon thing.  In her defense, maybe I am that bad too, but damnit this is my story, so you will hear my side.


First I was informed of the 140,000 dollars that she had made illegally street racing cars.  This made no sense whatsoever to me.  How does someone make that much money street racing cars and be ok with driving a 1990 Mitsubishi piece of shit?  Mystery number one!


Second she asked me why I bought the motorcycle I did with the added proclomation of "You should have bought a Ducati, those are fast, I used to race them!"  It was at this magical moment that alarms began to ring, lights began to flash, and I started to get all sweaty like a fat kid caught stealing candy at the store.  Now honestly, how does someone who isn't as tall as the average 4th grader manage to even hold up an Italian racing motorcycle?  Did she mount the thing like the Lone Ranger?  And if I am that stupid why did I bother to show up on the fastest production motorcycle ever made?  ( I bought it for the color, serious )


You mix these things up a few times, throw in numerous "F-Bombs" that she used to accentuate juuuuust about anything that she was talking about and needless to say I needed to make an exit.  I don't know what I said to finally draw this date to a close but I walked her out to her car and said goodbye.  After she left the parking lot, tourettes manifested.  I must have looked like the villiage idiot there in the Denny's parking lot muttering to myself just about every obscenity I have ever learned, and a few that I must have made up on the spot.  I tossed a leg over my slow ass motorcycle and proceeded down Lindsey Boulevard towards Broadway.  Midway to Broadway I lost it.  I snapped.  There I was, staring at the speedometer on my bike making sure I wasn't speeding since I was downtown and I started to scream.  I screamed like both asscheeks were on fire.  I screamed a few words so loud that I know if there would have been a pedestrian on the sidewalk they would have ducked for cover. 


This date was so painful that I couldn't even sleep.  I was so disgruntled and disenchanted altogether that I couldn't find the will to function until I shared the story with someone.  I'm pretty sure that my brother was the first, but after telling it a few times it got easier.  The Midget even somehow conned my friend into asking about me, and after meeting him for a beer after work on the pretense that "Someone here wants to meet you" the very next day.  I was horrified.  It was like a zit you can't manage before a prom date.  The 4 foot nothing demoness was playing pool in a tube top, with 4 inch-ish wooden platworm sandals strutting around giving me lascivous looks asking me, "What do I get if I win?  I want a kiss!"  Well, I replied "You win!  No kiss!"  And finally, I think it ended.


Weeks later her friend that set me up shared what The Midget had gleaned from me.  "He is so still not over his ex, that's why he hasn't called."


Yep.  That's why I didn't call.  You nailed it demon midget lady troll thing.

Ahh a new year once again!

And here we are once again.  A new year in which to do the wrong thing, the right thing, and the incredibly stupid things.  Hey, what can I say?  It's exactly like the old saying "I'm my own worst enemy."  Well, I am at that sometimes, but along the twisting path that I stride I seem to become very adept at not only doing those thing, but doing something so incredibly assinine that it warrants some share time and perhaps some confession?

Moments of clarity seem to pop into my head now and then, and when they do it isn't a lightbulb turning on, it's more often a smack to the back of my head with a very Homer Simpson like "DOH!" resounding through my brains.  If I could master the timing of these moments I am positive that I would be something quite astounding, but alas that's not the way that life treats us.  However painful or terribly enlightening these moments may be, they usually impart a certain understanding, that moment of clarity, or just the realization that yes dude....  You are that stupid. 

There seems to be a taste, or a feeling that the written word conveys so much better than the spoken word.  Often I find that I cannot seem to express just exactly how, or just what the feeling was with words as well as I would like to.  Also, taking the time to type things out gives you the opportunity to read again what it was that you thought was so inspiring or entertaining and realize "Oh damn...  I really shouldn't have shared that." 

So what the hell right?  Why not.  I've got a few things planned for this wonderful year that we are now in that will warrant a trendy little blog, and honestly, perhaps with the sharing of the stupid we will get me closer to a cure, or at the very least feed the beast that is the telling of my story.  The isn't just my story however, it's also yours.  Those of you in my life have helped to create me as I am. And yes, I am blaming you.  How's it go?  I am the sum of my experiences?  That quote has gone through musical meaning, literature, heavy heavy meaning of life type stuff.

It may apply to me also, but wow, the consequences eh?

Did you hear about?

Often enough I find myself repeating a story, sharing something silly, or thinking back on a story that no matter how embaressing just seems to make people in my life smile, laugh, or otherwise brighten their day.  Well, lets be honest here.  I have a tendency to do things in the exact wrong manner that I should, and perhaps those around me may or may not be infected with the same issue.  These stories are worth the telling, so many of them are at least worth the retelling I would guess, at least once.