OK! Friday ... done! One of the highlights from last night ... I was at Portside later in the evening, and these young ladies asked me to take a picture of them with their camera. I now have a new digital camera. Don't ask, because I have no idea how it happened. Stopped in at Portside and gave the bartender my name today. Hopefully, they'll call to get it back. Otherwise, I'll always be that jerk that stole their camera.

Started out last night at happy hour at Max's with some work folks, and we managed not to talk about work all that much. Imagine that! From there, hit home for a quick shower and to gussy myself up for the evening (who doesn't love the word gussy ... say it!), then met some friends at Gecko's. The word of the evening was FROLIC, people, so be sure to note that in your codebooks. Last week, Hoobastank, this week, frolic. Got it? Ok.

From Gecko's, we hit Portside (if you're scoring at home, this is visit #1 to Portside). So, my buddy Jen had brought along a lovely friend named Angie for all of us to admire. Being the good wingman I am, I decided to prop up my boy Jim to Angie. You know, telling her how he's a hell of a guy, how he's a good kisser, the usual stuff. Things seemed to be going fairly well ... more on this later.

After Portside, there was a really quick stop in Colburn's (which was lllllllame ... poor Colburn's, you used to be my friend), then it was off to the Horse! Yeehaw! Giddyap! As we're about to get in the cab, I pull Jim aside and ask him how things are going with Angie. According to Jim, she's tired and wants to go home. Hmm ...

So, the Horse. My boys Ed and Frank were jammin' ... they even gave me my double shot of Weezer. So, I'm doing the solo dancing around like I know what I'm doing thing, and next thing you now, I'm dancin' with the lovely Miss Angie. Double hmm ... I guess she wasn't that tired after all. Silly girls. Er, silly Jim.

If you know me and my friends, you know that at midnight, they all turn into pumpkins or something, so they have to run home before that. Stuffed 'em all in a cab and waved b-bye. So, I made the return trip to Portside solo. Upon arrival, da joint is jumpin'. This is when the Great Camera Caper took place. Coupla girls asked me to take their picture, I do (I think ... there aren't any pictures that came out on the camera - I checked). Next thing you know, I'm pulling a camera out of my pocket this morning. Cripes!

I meant to save all of the text messages from last night, cuz there were some beauties, but I think I had to clear my box at some point. But, I did save this one from the hot neighbor. It's an instant classic:

"You're odd and the pizza was kind of yucky but thanks"

I think she wants me. I have a feel for these things, doncha know. Oh, and the pizza was kinda yucky, but I was drunk and I ATE THE WHOLE FRIGGIN' THING! I woke up this morning, and I felt like I had eaten Rush Limbaugh. Yeesh.

Ok, I'm only going to say this one more time, people. I expect you to get it straight this time. Ready?

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a big fucking television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disk players and electrical tin openers…choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on the couch, watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life.

Got it? Good.

Speaking of Trainspotting (if you didn't get the previous blip, that speech is from the opening of the movie), I have a great finish to a cardio workout. Jump rope for 10 minutes to either Born Slippery or Dark and Long, both songs by Underworld from the Trainspotting soundtracks. Each is a little over 9 minutes long, and it's some quality stuff. Your welcome.

A'ight, it's off to Saturday! Drink on!

Hee haw! I'm still a bit yippy after seeing my boys Cracker at the Ram's Head last night. Quite good stuff - I've seen 'em 5 times now (I think ... might be more), and this was their best show yet. If you don't know Cracker, give yourself a wedgie and a swirlie right now in punishment.

'Course, I did find some things to talk about at the show. Imagine that! The Cracker crowd is made up of three types of people:

1) Frat boys
2) College girls that look like they've put on their freshman 15 already
3) Yuppies

Since I used to be a frat boy, I am now a yuppie, and I sometimes act like a college girl, naturally I fit right in. Not only that, but there was hardly any color in the crowd at all. Guess I wouldn't be rushing to a show for a band called Cracker if I was AA, either.

I went with my buddy, Chris, who violated my first rule of concerts all night. What's the first rule, you ask? Ok, you didn't ask, but I'm going to tell you anyway, so shutty. The first rule of concerts is to SHUT THE HELL UP! Call me crazy, but I didn't pay $20 to listen to you talk ... I came to hear the band. Dumbass. Talking between songs is a'ight ... talking during is grounds for a flogging.

One other note - I've petitioned the State of Maryland, and have gotten permission to arrest anyone that mistakes Cracker for Uncle Kracker. UK is a fat slob that had one hit song. Cracker is a good, quality band that has been around for decades, previously sneaking around under the name Camper Van Beethoven. You've been warned.

Ok, some have asked to define my emotional words, so here's a quick glossary.

Eesh ... a cringing sort of word ... example: I just saw some dude accidently pee on an electric fence. Eesh.

Bleh ... disgust. Pam Anderson's back with Tommy Lee? Bleh.

Cripes. Frustration. I can't believe Lauren Holly doesn't answer my letters. Cripes!

Consarnit. See cripes, but lesser in strength. I can't believe I ate the whole pint of B&J Peanut Butter Cup. Consarnit.

Boo yah! Elation. Paris Hilton is moving to Mars. Boo yah!

Feh. Non-caring. Brittney Spears wrote a book. Feh.

Meh. See Feh.

D'oh! I think everyone knows what d'oh! means. If you don't, move to Mars.

I think that's all for now. If you need more info, send $5 and a SASE to my home address.

So, I hit the grocery store last night for some goods. Now, when I go to the store, I always get one of those li'l basket thingys that you can carry around and, of course, I always get just enough stuff that it's overflowing by the time I get to the checkout. I have this weird aversion to the cart. There's just no way to look cool while pushing a cart if you're a dude. Sorry, but true. Pushing it from behind is very feminine (that's a joke in and of itself), pulling it from the front doesn't really work. Unless you're at Sam's Club or Costco, because that baby is gonna be full of MEAT. Manly MEAT. So, instead of being logical, I fumble with the basket. I'm just oozing with smartness, eh?

All of these crappy bands are getting together and doing reunion tours and coming on bad TV shows. Why can't they get a good band back together? I mean, you're telling me that friggin' Loverboy can reunite, but The Cars can't? Ridiculous. Even INXS is running some half-assed contest for a lead singer so they can play again. Maybe I should give Paulina Poriwhatshername a call and tell her to let Ric Ocasek play with the boys. I want some Touch and Go, baby. Some Just What I Needed. Is it too much to ask for a little Candy-O? Damn.

Speaking of The Cars, the picture on the cover of the Candy-O album pretty much accelerated me right into puberty. Check it out if you don't know what I mean. I still get a little twitchy when I look at it.

I have a box of stuff that's been left at my house by people over the years ... ok, ok, not people ... women. Coupla scrunchy things for the hair, shirts (how do you leave a shirt? Cripes.), assorted earrings. I haven't the slightest idea what to do with these things. Maybe I'll have a "hook up remnants" party, and just give them away.

Ooh, gotta take a whizz. Hang on a sec ...

Ok, I'm back. What's that? YES, I washed my hands! Thanks for asking.

Was at the gym last night, and only two of the Three Stooges were in attendance. You'd think that with only two, doing a little simple math would tell you that they'd be 33% less intrusive and annoying. Nope. More like about 13%. They were doing this hop up and down thing directly in front of one of the weight racks. We have a big gym, with tons of better places to do the bunny hop, but they decided this was the best location. So, in order to get the weights, you either had to wait for them to stop their little bunny hopping exercise, elbow one of them out of the way, or just do something else. Friggin' Stooges.

Ok, the disappearance of Fiona is really starting to bug me. Where do I turn to get my fill of female angst? Sheryl's new job is to blow up Lance's tires (insert joke here), Fiona has split the scene, Alanis has put me to sleep ... I'm not sure who to listen to when I have my period now. Dido? I have a hard time listening to someone whose name is so close to a female toy.

A'ight, file this under the "Jack is weird" category (I know, I know, it's a big assed file ...). I've always wanted to walk into work with my fly open. Not in some weird perv way, although my goal is to be a dirty old man, but just in a "let's see who notices this" sorta way. I tried to do it on a date once, but I forgot that I had already mentioned the idea to my date, so she just laughed and zipped me up. Someday ...

Just as an aside, do any other guys get nervous when someone else is zipping up your fly? That whole scene in There's Something About Mary has traumatized me for life. Go figure.

If they ever make a Party Mix snack without friggin' pretzels, I'm gonna be in heaven. You got cheese doodles, tortilla chips, nacho chips, and those Frito sorta things, and then they suck up the whole concoction with the pretzel wheels. It's like having an orgy with Fergie, Pam, Jen Connelly, Lauren Holly ... and Roseanne. Roseanne = pretzel wheels. The new math.

Friggin' Monday. You know that's exactly what you were thinking, too. Just admit it already. We'll both feel better.

[edit note ... I know it's Tuesday when I'm posting this, but I started writing this thing on Monday. Yes, I'm very lazy. Shaddap.]

You know it's been an interesting weekend when you start most of your accounts of what happened with the word "Apparently". As in:

- Apparently, I was at Artscape for all of about 20 minutes. Call me crazy, but at 8:30 on a Saturday night, after I've had a couple spanks with the Cap'n paddle, art isn't my first interest. Unless Art is a woman with a small waist and a great smile. I'm funny that way.

- Apparently, the word Hoobastank is hilarious to me at certain times of the night. That was what we were using as our "toast" word on Saturday night. It's sorta like Pee Wee's secret word, except minus the creepiness of Pee Wee and chairs that talk. Anytime someone said Hoobastank, it was drink up time. Hoobastank!

- Apparently, if you hold the door for a hooker, she'll be very friendly. Cripes. I'm waiting for the light rail to go to Artscape, so I popped into 7-Eleven for a drink. I hold the door for this lady, and she's starts blowing me kisses. Um, blowing me kisses for opening a door? Ok, maybe she wasn't a hooker, but the outfit and the reaction were a little ... out there. Come to think of it, if she was a hooker, it's no wonder she was so friendly.

Ok, enough of the apparently stuff - on to the recap. On Friday, one of my dumbass friends committed another dumbass move. Dumbass. So, I ended up going out by myself and doing my own thing. Worked pretty well, even though I ran into my ex ... twice. That's always a bonus in any evening. I saw her at Cosmo's, leaving as I was coming in, then I got bored with Cosmo's and left.

Now, there are probably 10 bars on the Square, another 20-30 in Canton, and another 100+ in all of Baltimore. I walk in the next bar ... and there she is. What are the odds? If you live in my world, obviously they're pretty good.

The rest of the night was spent at Portside where, strangely enough, nothing of any real interest happened. I know, I know, I'm a bit perplexed as I write this, but it's true. I managed to end up with the same bar tab, though, and to steal some ice cream from the hot neighbor.

Saturday, I almost peed my shorts. Literally. We were coming back from Artscape, and I ended up in a full sprint to get to a bar to whizz. Full friggin' sprint. Imagine a man, almost 6' tall, almost 215 lbs, sprinting down a city street in flip flops and shorts while trying to hold his bladder. Got the visual? Ok, it looked even more ridiculous in real life.

Beauty is, I get to Magerk's, and there's someone in the bathroom. So, I'm doing the leg cross thing along with the eyes crossed thing, while trying to look cool. Pretty much impossible. Even the bouncers were getting concerned - when the door opened, they both yelled "It's Open!!" and make shooing gestures at me.

So, to recap, the list for Saturday ... Artscape, Magerk's, Thirsty Dog, Ropewalk, Mother's. I also made enough future plans to cover the next 3 months. I'm really good at that - planning things when I'm drunk. Then, sobriety comes, and I have no interest in doing any of them. I think I'm scheduled to go cow tipping, sing karaoke with monkeys, and watch Beaches next month. Yeesh.

Sunday ... recovery. I did manage to check out an interesting movie - Confessions of a Dangerous Mind. It's the story of Chuck Barris, who was the host of The Gong Show and the creator of The Dating Game and The Newlywed Game. Good stuff - turns out he may or may not (depending on whether you believe him or not) have been an assassin for the CIA while he was producing these shows in Hollywood. Check it if you get a chance, it's a well done flick, and Sam Rockwell is perfect in the lead role.

Hecka ... hecka ... hecka ... that's sort of an imitation of a cat hurling up a hair ball. Try it. Guess what I found this morning on the floor? Those poor things. How much would it suck to throw up hair every other day or so? I haven't thrown up in a couple of years, and every time I do, I pray it's the last time. If I did it every other day, I might have to consider shaving myself. Wait, I sorta do that anyway. Moving on ...

Just found out that my good buddies here at Myspace, Weezer, are touring with the Foo Fighters this fall. Fantabulous! It's true that Weezer has something like 12000+ friends on Myspace, but I'm their favorite. Just so's ya know.

So, I managed to get my ass out of bed this morning and hit the gym. Now, it's better for you to go to the gym in the morning ... gets the metabolism up, burns calories earlier, etc. However, the main issue with this is that the shower afterwards NEVER, EVER TAKES. I'm sure there's some secret to getting one's core temperature down - eating ice cubes, picturing Joan Rivers naked, finding out that the surviving member of Milli Vanilli is putting out a new CD - but I haven't figured out what it is yet. So, I arrived at work with swamp shirt. Not a good start. I also got a couple of odd stares in the elevator when sweat ran down my nose and dripped onto my tie.

I suck at picking out steak. I just recently figured this out. I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. Either that, or I suck at grilling them. I made one the other day, and it easily could've passed for someone's old hat. Ate the whole thing, too.

The hot neighbor informed me that Pam and Tommy Lee have gotten back together. I think that's magnificent. Better that those two geniuses talk to each other than talk to anyone else. That should cut down on the stupidity in the world by about 7%. If we can get Tom Cruise to marry Paris Hilton, that would probably be another 12%.

Is it possible to tell any female that you had a dream about them and have it not feel a little skeevy? My calculations say no, not possible.

A'ight, it's off to the weekend ...

Mmm ... there's nuttin' like walking to work with a little Incubus blasting. Why not try and make yourself? Indeed.

Ok, so the story of the week (so far) is last night's softball game. We get there, and we find out that the team we are playing has some blind players on it. As if this isn't enough, the ump comes over and informs us that "they lost their beeping ball". Now, you might think I'm censoring some speech there, but I'm not. They had, indeed, lost their beeping ball.

So, we got to play a team partly made up of deaf players without their beeping ball. To top that, after the first inning, we were losing 5-4. Classic. We ended up winning 24-5, once some of my teammates figured out which players were blind and started hitting the non-beeping ball at them. Dopes.

The best part was when one of their players was on first, and the batter behind him walked. So, as he's walking to second, one of our players starts telling him where second base is. I start laughing because, sure enough, the guys turns to our player and says "Uh, I can see, dude". Heh.

This past weekend was kinda boring, so not much to blog about. Saturday, one of the neighbors had a party, which I was planning to attend for an hour or two then hit some bars. Well, once the monsoons came, I was sorta stuck at the party. As we all know, when you're stuck at a party, you have to do a shot or two ... so I did six. I think. Once the count gets past one hand, I tend to lose it. Yum!

Friday, went to a 40th birthday party for a buddy, then went on walkabout and managed to cover most of the city - Pickle's to Fed Hill to Canton, with about 10 bars in between. I do a ridiculous amount of walkabout when I'm not drunk enough - every place I go into seems a little too boring. I even tried one bar twice. Needless to say, I generally do this by myself.

I'm thinking of trying out something new here at work ... lemme know what you think. Every time someone asks me to do something, I'm going to say "make me!" It worked like a charm when I was five. I mean, is there any sort of comeback for that? I was thinking of using "you're not my boss", but in some cases, that's not applicable.

Went to see the John Fogerty/John Mellencamp show on Tuesday. If you're looking for a review, I'll probably put one on my website. This blog is for discussing the yahoos that were at the show, especially the dude in the Dale Earnhart hat right in front of us who smelled like he hadn't touched a bar of soap in a week. Thanks, dude, for enhancing our experience! By the way, your 'dancing' reminded me of ... um, well, it just wasn't good, how's that. I can't think of an analogy that would be strong enough. How about a drunken cowboy on LSD riding a sheep? An interesting visual, but still doesn't quite get there.

There was also the lady in green to the right of us who was also rockin' away ... sorta. It kinda looked like her boyfriend was jabbing her with a tazer every 5 seconds or so. I'd imagine her chiropracter is doing a kickin' business. I love rock concerts. To hell with the music - it's the best people watchin' you can get for your buck.

Garden State is on Cinemax this month ... every day. The new name of that channel should either be GardenStatemax or IRobotmax. Take your pic. That's sorta good for me, though, because I absolutely love the movie Garden State. L-O-V-E it.

Oh, yeah, I learned something new the other day ... Murphy beds! Can you tell I'm excited? Turns out, those beds that come out of the wall that only skeevy bachelors with cheesy mustaches have are called Murphy beds. I even went and looked it up online ... sure enough, there they are. So, props to you, Murphy dude or dudette, for a brilliant idea for Tom Selleck types.

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Here's how f-ed up my head is. I woke up this morning with the following jingle in my head:

Pop in the cassette and sew Sew Perfect!

Mmm, some of you might remember that one. If you don't, it was a commercial back in the day for some chick toy, which was some sorta sewing machine. I'm assuming this, based on the jingle ... I don't think I ever actually saw what they were selling. I mean, are you friggin' kidding me? Next, I'm going to be singing Tampax jingles or something. Cripes.

I can also recite the entire Life commercial with Mikey, and the Calgon commercial with the "ancient Chinese secret" couple. I think I'm actually looking forward to becoming senile and my memory failing me. I might not remember your name, but at least I won't be singing the Slinky song.

By the way, Weebles wobble and they don't fall down ... unless you stomp on them really hard with your foot. Then, not so much wobblin'.

Just out of curiosity, has anyone told Alanis Morissette the difference between coincidental and ironic? Think she's getting tired of that yet?

So, I have this new thing ... I have a tendency to end a lot of exclamations in -O. Example: I was walking down the stairs with laundry, and the cats were in the way. "Scram-O!". Worked like a charm. Some dude cut me off in the car ... "Jerk-O!". Don't ask, because I don't have an explanation. That's just my head.

So, if you remember the Three Stooges from the gym, they were at it again yesterday. This was a beauty. I was walking to the upstairs area, and there's this sorta passageway which has enough room for two people to pass by each other somewhat comfortably. So, I'm passing by a couple of folks, and here come the Stooges! Now, I completely believe in chivalry - holding doors, opening doors, letting a woman walk before you, that sorta stuff. Problem is, in order to be chivalrous in this situation, I would've had to have jumped over the railing to the floor some 20 feet below. Hey, that didn't stop the Stooges! They came barreling right on by, so I had to squeeze myself up against the railing so that they could pass. And if you've seen me, you know that I don't squeeze well. I'm not even sure what that means.

I still haven't figured out which one is Moe, but they sure are some inconsiderate dopes.

Ok, here's the deal. I was watching one of those 80s rewind shows this weekend, and I completely missed the boat on Queen, the Village People, and George Michael being gay. I mean, it was like a decade later that I figured it out. At least. So if, say, Queens of the Stone Age or The Killers or someone like that is gay, could someone please let me know? I mean, I don't care about their lifestyle choice, I just like to know these things for some stupid reason. Thanks in advance.

So, for some reason, every time I go to whizz at work, I keep seeing the same dude in the bathroom. Now, the question is, if I see him out in the hall, should I give him a "Hey, you're the dude from the can!" sorta greeting? You know, complete with a finger point and head nod? Hmm ...

I'm not a big fan of re-posts, but a friend sent me this and since I have a fat cat and this kinda cracked me up (it's funny because it's true!) ...

16. Cat door retro-fitted with garage door opener.
15. Confused guests constantly mistaking her for beanbag chair.
14. Always lands on her spleen.
13. Fewer calls to the fire department, but a sudden upsurge in broken branches.
12. Fifteen month gestation period, and still no kittens.
11. No longer cleans itself unless coated in Cheese Whiz.
10. Rosanne fits through your kitty door without the aid of lubricants.
9. Catfood dish replaced with Rush Limbaugh trough.
8. Luxurious, shiny black fur replaced with mint green polyester pants suit.
7. It's no longer safe to lift him without a spotter.
6. "Steals breath" from all five quintuplets, simultaneously.
5. Larry King keeps trying to kiss it full on the lips.
4. Waits for the third bowl of food to get finicky.
3. He only catches mice that get trapped in his gravitational pull.
2. Enormous gut keeps your hardwood floors freshly buffed.
1. Has more chins than lives.

So, I just saw a commercial for some new food thingy they're selling at Taco Bell. Now, let me give you a little tip about my relationship with Taco Bell. I don't eat it all that much, but when they have new stuff, I have to try it. Not want to ... HAVE to. They know how to get me, too. Basically, they could wrap a cow pie in a tortilla, make sure the word "crunchy" or some variation of it is in the product name, show a commercial with someone tossing lettuce and diced tomatoes on it and some hip lookin' people eating it, and I'll come running. Yes, it is a little disturbing.

Oof. Well, I managed to really rack myself up this weekend, because I think I'm STILL hungover. Christ in a handbasket, or whatever that weird phrase is that only your Aunt Betty uses. Sometimes, it's not the best thing to know bartenders, because they give you free shots of Grand Marnier, and you end up bleeding from the eyes the next day. I'm still trying to figure out how that stuff is so expensive. Anything that tastes like spider ass and causes you to shudder two days later when you think about it should be illegal, in my book. And it's a big book, lemme tell ya.

You know it's a good Friday when you lose your shoes. I still haven't gotten them back. Funny thing is, at about 7:30 on Friday night, I was on my couch and planning to stay home. Five hours later, I'm stealing ice cream from someone's fridge and losing my shoes. Go figure. Hmm ... maybe the shoes are being held until I replace the ice cream. Eureka!

Also ran into my friend Lisa in Portside, who decided to request a song for my birthday. She requests it, comes back all excited, then I hear The Outfield come on. Um, The Outfield? I'm still scratching my head over that one. At least it wasn't Wham. Apparently, unknown to me, I'm the world's biggest fan of The Outfield and their ... um ... one hit. Did they have one?

Went to see Batman Begins on Sunday. What a cool ass movie! Props to Christian Bale, too, who absolutely nailed the lead in it. He IS Batman, people. Check it if you haven't already.

So, on Saturday, I ran into the Asian woman who kept looking at her cleavage ... pretty sure I mentioned her in a previous blog. Talked to her for a bit, and I mentioned that whole scene on cleavage lookin' and asked her what was up with dat. Her response? "I was really trashed that night." Gee, ya think? Actually, I don't even care about why she was doing that anymore ... I'm more curious about how an Asian woman that size can get a DD chest without surgery. Maybe I'll ask her that the next time. I figure either she's been part of some nuclear experiment, or she's pregnant with sextuplets.

I've declared this summer the Summer of the T-Shirt, since that's pretty much all I wear out to the bars or on dates. Previously, it was going to be the Summer of Shoes, but since I've lost mine ...

I'm actually watching the Real World again ... and it couldn't be more boring. It's the exact same recipe as every other RW - hot chick breaks up with her boyfriend within the first 17 seconds of being at the house, someone gets really drunk and does something idiotic, a couple of chicks make out in the hot tub, and there's always some boring stick in the mud that 'mothers' everyone and is pretty much a buzzkill. Yeesh. Yeah, I'll probably watch the whole season. Yeah, I'm unbright.

Fiona on a Friday. That's almost an oxymoron of sorts. I mean, we all know how much I love Fridays. Almost as much as I love Pez. Fiona ... well, Miss Fiona has a tendency to knock me into a funk ... and not in a good way. Yet, here it is, a Friday, and Fiona is rockin' my world. Fast As You Can and all that stuff. Quality.

I've spent most of this week sleeping and not going to the gym, so I've been a complete bitch all week. Picture a sober Paris Hilton with no money, and you get the idea. This weekend is shaping up to be a quiet one, too ... which means I'll probably end up in New York City on a street corner with no clothes, hitting on Katie Couric, or something dumb like that. It's the quiet ones you have to watch out for, doncha know.

I managed to make it through another birthday pretty much unscathed,which is always a bonus. The majority of my friends don't even know about it, which is perfect. Dunno why, but since I turned 21, I just haven't really cared about the day. One of my co-workers got me one of those floss things with the handle and everything as a present ... I'm not sure if that's a hint or what.

The cats have fallen in love with the new $12 rug I bought at Wal Mart for the bathroom. This is not a good thing. I mean, I have a hard enough time hitting the bowl as it is, now I have to do it with the added obstacle of balancing myself over a cat. Maybe I should put some bowling pins in there so I can do some juggling as well. Just a tip - cats aren't real big fans of getting peed on, either, even if it is just an accident.

Watched Step Into Liquid the other night, and I was informed by my co-watcher that this surfer dude, Kelly Slater, was ruined by Pam Anderson. I'm not really sure what that means, either, but what a way to go! I'm all about getting ruined like that!

Am I the only one frightened by Tom Cruise now? I mean, next I'm expecting to hear that he's taken the entire cast of Risky Business hostage or something. Bronson Pinchot and the dude that played Glen, tied up in Cruise's house, helicopters circling, the media in a frenzy! Although, now that I think of it, I am getting a pretty good image of Rebecca DeMornay tied up ...

I got pretty well soaked on my walk to work today. Makes for a pleasant work experience. It's pretty much akin to wearing a pair of moist towlette jeans with a matching shirt, minus the pleasing smell. Not good times. The kicker is, I almost went back and got my raincoat, but I think I look too much like Inspector Gadget in it. Damn you, vanity!

Ok, it's off to the weekend soon enough. Enjoy!

Ok, this is going to seem a bit strange, and sometimes I think I have the mentality of a 13 year old girl, but does anyone else ever feel sorta weird when you're checking out the cucumbers in the grocery store and a member of the opposite sex walks by? Especially if they're hot or something? What's that? No, I'm not talking about the cucumbers being hot. Mmm, ok, I'm the only one. Just checkin'.

Just finished off quite the interesting weekend. Notes:

- If you're walking around in Claddaugh, look out for flying shoes. Not kidding. Was running around Canton Square on Sunday, trying to find some friends, and it turned out that one of them was hit in the jaw by a shoe ... while in the bar. The shoe tosser - a lovely young lady who looked like she walked right out of an ad for White Trash Illustrated - was arrested and taken away, complete with "What'd I do?" crying/blubbering for extra entertainment. The shoe 'catcher' was eventually ok and seen doing JellO shots the next night.

- I've come to the conclusion that the "do you need someone to walk you home?" line to women from my gym is just not going to work. Strike three. The sad thing is, it's not really a line - I am genuinely concerned about their individual welfares. Stop snickering.

- I have no idea what I did on Friday. I might remember in a few paragraphs, but it's a long, long time ago. Holiday weekends can seem like entire months sometimes.

- If you drink enough and use that as dinner every night, you can lose a lot of weight in a holiday weekend. Got on the scale this morning ... 7 pounds lighter than Thursday. It's a whole new fad diet I've developed. Let's call it Drink Away. Ok, so I need to work on the name.

- File this one under the category of "innocent comments that are taken the wrong way somehow". Or just file it under more stupidity from yours truly. Anyway. One of the nights of the blurry weekend, I was talking to a beautiful woman at one of the bars. Said woman was very well endowed in the ... hmm ... ok, she had big boobs. I was going for the gentlemanly way of saying it, but I obviously botched it, and it's too late to think about this stuff.

Now, I know what you're thinking - you got caught looking at her boobs! ... but I'm not really a boob man, and I do make a point of looking women in the eye when I'm talking to them. ESPECIALLY the ones with big boobs, because I know there are guys out there that talk directly to the breasts. You always wait until there's a ruckus or distraction in the bar (you know, like a shoe flying around) before you check out the cleavage.

[Oh, a quick aside here. If you're talking to a guy, and you're talking about boobs, you can use pretty much ANY word in place of the usual ones, and the guy will know exactly what you're talking about. Any word in the phrase "She had some great [blank]s" will work. Eisenhowers. Whack-a-moles. Jennifer Tillys. Life cereals. Isn't the English language combined with the idea of boobs fun? Um, I think it's time for my pill.]

So, the entire time I'm talking to her, SHE keeps looking down at her breasts. It was kinda odd at first, then it got almost distracting. I almost felt like I was SUPPOSED to be looking at them or something, like I was slacking on my duties, and she was keeping up for me. Finally, I just said to her, "why do you keep looking down at your cleavage?" I guess that wasn't the best question for whatever reason, because she giggled for about 30 seconds, then got up and walked away and didn't come back.

Note to self ... can the walk home offers and the cleavage discussion. I said cans. Heh heh heh.

- I think I need some new male friends. When your guy friends get annoyed with you for calling them to try to get them to come meet single women, that's a problem. As a topper, these are two guys with no game ... in fact, I think they actually drive women away. One of them actually woke up on a Sunday morning a couple of weeks ago with a sub from Royal Farms in his bed. So, in conclusion, they can't meet women themselves, and they get annoyed when you try to introduce them to single, attractive women. I'm not kidding.

- Oh, I remember what I did on Friday. Cripes, now I'm going to get my ass kicked by one of my readers. D'oh!

- I found out the hot neighbor doesn't really like Matthew's Pizza. It's entirely possible she might be a Commie. I'm going to look for propoganda or pictures of Joe Stalin in her house at her next party. Her hotness meter would've went down a point if I didn't see her sunbathing later in the weekend. Instead, I think it went up 2.

- How do you respond to a booty text the next day? Those are always interesting to get at 9 am on a Sunday morning. Um, sorry I missed you, maybe next week?

- Oh, so, after the boob looker walked away, one of her friends comes up and says hello. I reply likewise, and she says "You don't remember my name, do you?" Now, I'm fairly bad with names, but I did remember the BL's name (that's short for Boob Looker, in case you're wondering), so I figured I was doing pretty well. My answer ... "Absolutely! ... um ... not." You know, I said the Absolutely part really loud, and the not part kinda quiet. Yeah, that doesn't work, either. Maybe I should've went with Mulva, for you Seinfeld fans.

- If you're at the Bay Cafe, stay out of the sand. Don't ask why, just do it. Unless you like rats big as cats.

Ok, enough of the weekend talk ... besides, now I can't remember what I did on Saturday. Lordy.

The new Foo Fighters CDs - know 'em ... learn 'em ... live 'em. Good stuff.

I just got the DVD for Step Into Liquid. If you haven't seen it ... man, it's almost a must see. It's about surfing, and it's an amazing movie. Yeah, yeah, I know, I can't watch surfing for very long either unless it involves Keanu trying to act ("I am an F B I AGENT!"), but this movie is visually stunning. Worth a look-see if you get a chance.

A'ight, it's time to get some kip and dreams of lost brain cells ...

Ok, let's review the good and bad ways to wake up:

Good
- looking into the eyes of Angelina Jolie
- in a bed full of money
- with a furball or two snoozing along

Bad
- looking into the eyes of Rosie O'Donnell
- in a bed full of urine
- with a snake or two snoozing along

Unfortunately, I have another one to add to the bad. Last night around 2 am, I was awoken to the sound of a jackhammer outside of my window. Sweet! Now, I kinda like jackhammers. I mean, they share my name, they're hammers, what's not to like? But, the noise they make a 2 am is ... mmm ... not so good. Even worse, they didn't manage to rouse the hot neighbor into running out into the street in a nightie or anything.

As if that wasn't enough, I woke up this morning to no water in the house, and someone (I'm guessing it was one of the cats, since I don't have any roommates - I'm quite the deductive reasoner) hurled on the floor. Good morning!

Is there an odder food than the Munchkin? Mr. Levi brought in a couple of boxes this morning, and of course I had to indulge. They're fairly close to cotton candy in that they're like a food tease. Hey, here's some food! Whoops, gone! Ah, the Munchkin ... 'course, I could eat 100 of them if left without supervision.

There are these three women at the gym that are evidently doing some sort of group workout with one of the trainers. Now, that's all well and good ... problem is, they have a tendency to do all kinds of kooky stuff:

- hopping around on one leg
- doing the running thing where you kick yourself in the ass
- jumping jacks ... is this 1982? who the hell does jumping jacks anymore?

Now, it is pretty comical watching 3 sorta chubby women hopping around on one leg. I have to admit that. Of course, every now and then, one of them fires off a WOOT! or a YIP!, which is my favorite thing ever. Problem is, these workouts generally take place right in one of the high traffic areas, so you have to try to figure out a way to get around them if you want to get to the water fountain or something. We have a huge gym with lots of space, and this is the best place they can find to do this stuff? It's incredibly annoying, and fairly inconsiderate (um, they have aerobics rooms that are open, idiots). So, I've dubbed them the Three Stooges. I haven't figured out which one is Curley yet.

The other wonderful part of this is yesterday, they were doing all their little gyrations right in front of me as I was on the rowing machine. So, I'm watching the screen to monitor my progress, but I'm a bit worried that they're going to think I'm looking at them, since they're doing the chicken dance or whatever right behind the screen. It's kinda tough when you're trying NOT to look at someone, and they think you ARE looking at them.

A bit of a serious note here. I was riding the bike home from the gym last night, and I put on "I Stay Away" by Alice in Chains. Got me thinking about Layne Staley, and it actually got me a li'l choked up - the song's got kind of a heavy feel to it, and his Layne's presence in the song is what drives it.

For those that don't know, he was their lead singer, and his addiction to heroin was eventually what sent him to his grave at an early age. What a waste of some incredible talent. If you ever get the chance to read about his last days, don't. I've read some excerpts, and it's pretty ugly stuff. I'm not a huge AiC fan, but I like a good portion of their music, and it's quality stuff. So, RIP Layne ... I still miss ya ...