How funny is this ...

I got a candy bar!
I got a popcorn ball!
I got a quarter!
I got a rock.

Haha! Yeah, the Great Pumpkin was on last night. I only watched a smidgen, but I did catch that part. Never fails to crack me up.

BTW, I'm pretty sure Linus was gay, along with Peppermint Patty. Not that there's anything wrong with that! I'm also pretty sure that Charlie Brown went postal once he got to the teen years. It's impossible to be spanked around that much as a kid and come out normal.

I'm stuck on a word today. Ever have a word that's a very normal word, but you look at it one day, and it just seems ridiculous. Well, mine is kitchen. I haven't the slightest idea why, but it makes me giggle like a schoolgirl inside when I look at it. Kit-chen. Kitchen. No, I am NOT on mushrooms.

I just made this up. Watch:

You're in? Alice is!

Now, say that really fast, running it all together. That's right ... urinalysis. Hmm ... on second thought, I did have mushrooms in my fajitas the other night.

Let's discuss Collateral. Well, I'll discuss it, you just read my rant. Deal. So, I don't really care about the movie that much - it was ok, mainly because Jamie Foxx was great and Jada Pinkett-Smith is the hottest woman ever. Here's what annoys the urine out of me:

1) Scene in the club. People everywhere. Jamie Foxx and this cop head to the exits. A few moments later, Tom Cruise heads to the exits from further back in the club. Cut to outside. Tom Cruise shoots the cop with Foxx as they're leaving the club. WTF?! Um, how did Tom Cruise get outside of the club before they did. Stupid ass mofo garbage #1.

2) SAMG (that's stupid ass mofo garbage to you, but I'm too lazy to type it. Mmm, wait, I just did. Forget it.) #2. Hotness and Jamie are on the 14th floor of a building. Foxx shoots Cruise IN THE FRIGGIN' HEAD. Bam! TC falls over, they split for the elevators, a few seconds later, TC pops up. WTF?!

3) Same scene, Hot Stuff and Jamie are in the elevator. They go to the lobby and our boy TC takes the stairs. Now, there's no one else in the building, TC just got SHOT IN THE FRIGGIN' HEAD, and he's taking the stairs, yet he manages to be right behind them when they leave the building. WTF?!

Stupid ass movie. Not to mention ol' Tom Cruise played himself yet again.

BTW, if I ever get SHOT IN THE FRIGGIN' HEAD, I ain't getting up for a few minutes. Bank on it. I don't care if Lauren Holly and Angelina Jolie are serving Pez in the lobby and giving away free smooching sessions in the elevator ... I'm going to be down for a few minutes.

A moment on Muppets. Thank you.

Beaker ... did this guy get some serious bad drugs or what?
Oscar ... put a friggin' sock in it, ya bitch. Jeez. Remodel the garbage can, get your eyebrows waxed, and take control of your life, man!
Snuffleupagus ... um, can't somebody give you a nickname? Damn. That must be hell on the DMV people.
Mrs. Piggy ... go read "He's Just Not That Into You" or whatever that chick book is called. The frog just don't dig on swine.
The Frog aka Kermit ... uh, stay away from France, cuz you're a delicacy there. Trust me.
Ralph (dat's da dawg dat played da piano) ... uh, how the hell can a dog play the piano? You don't even have thumbs!
Animal (the crazy red one that played the drums) ... dude, ya look a liiiiiittle too much like Charles Manson. Take one more step closer to the razor next time, too.
Swedish Chef ... I checked with the Swiss Miss - you ain't speakin' Swedish, pal. Bring that language in for a fitting.

Finally, if you've been around me at all, you'll know that I am hecka fired up for the release of Walk The Line, which is the story of Johnny Cash and stars Joaquin Phoenix (my favorite dude actor) and Reese Witherspoon (hotness personified, and a fine actress to boot). I plan on seeing this baby sometime in the next year. Ok, I can't stand the yahoos in the theater audience - gorging on popcorn, talking on cell phones, yappin' kids - so sue me. I might have to brave it for this one, though.

Yeesh. A'ight, people, so I've been on my back for the better part of a week now. No, I'm not hookin' (although now that you mention it ... hmm), I've been sick, thank you. So, not only have I missed a few days of work (yay!), I've also missed my entire weekend of idiocy (boo!). Hopefully, ya'll drank enough to make up for my loss.

Two quick stories from last weekend, since I didn't have the energy to blog it.

As some of you already know, I managed to send my cell phone for a little swim on Saturday. 'Twas quite comical, actually. I'm hanging at a party that a friend was having, and I got myself a nice roadie for the trip to another party. As I'm leaving, I've got my cell in my lap, and I'm cruising out of their development. See, I was trying to be considerate and not dial any numbers until I was in a safer area. Well, instead, I took a left turn, the cell zipped right across my lap and right into my drink. Yum!

Lessons learned:

(1) cell phones don't like Cap'n n coke, even if there's a lime in it and
(2) don't shake the cell phone to try and get the drink out of it - you'll just get it all over the car

Oh and (3) ... the seeds from the lime will wedge their way into the spaces around the numbers. That way, when you tell the person at the Verizon office that it fell into a glass of Coke, they can get all skeptical with you.

The phone came SO CLOSE to working after that, too. It was such a tease. It would come on, pretend to be charging the battery, then flash a couple of weird screens and die. I guess that's what drunk cell phones do, for your future reference. I guess that's kinda similar to what I do around 2 am after a night of boozin'.

The other semi-story is more of a theory. I've learned that when meeting women in packs, you have to be very careful about choosing who you're going to put your serious interest into in the group. I met a gaggle of women last Friday, and I was very interested in a couple of them. Unfortunately, the one I chose to hit on had a boyfriend. Lesson - always try to glean this information from the ladies BEFORE you start focusing on one. I pretty much shot myself in the foot with the rest of the pack once I zeroed in on an individual member.

By the way, learning from your mistakes, as in the above two instances, sucks. I'd much rather just develop a Bad Decision Meter that can evaluate my individual decisions and give me immediate feedback. I'm working on it.

So, to entertain myself these past few days, I've taken to doing lines from Reservoir Dogs at the cats. It goes something like this:

Me: You're not Mr. Purple. Some guy on some other job is Mr. Purple. You're Mr. Pink!
Cat: [blank stare]
Me: Eddie, if you don't stop talking like a bitch, I'm gonna slap you like a bitch.
Cat: [washes foot]
Me: Are you gonna bark all day, little doggy, or are you gonna bite?
Cat: [wanders over to the food bowl]

I guess the lesson here is don't expect cats to get movie lines.

I also watched a hecka cool movie - the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Man, there were some original mofo hijinks in that caper! I'm buying that as soon as it gets cheap. Good stuff.

I also watched the Playboy Channel for some time. Shocker. I pretty much learned nuttin' from my time spent there. I did watch this one lady do a very impressive headstand, though. Didn't look comfortable at all but, strangely enough, she seemed very aroused. I wonder if she was faking. ;-)

Oh, another lesson when it comes to cats. A closed door is going to cause you a great deal of grief. I was doing some work in the basement this weekend (working on the Bad Decision Meter, doncha know), and I had to close the door for a bit. Every single friggin' time I walked near that basement door, I got major complaints from the furball department. You'd think there was a case of tuna down there and an entire catnip garden or something. The lesson here? Don't have cats.

Other lessons learned recently:

- Antibiotics suck as medicines go. They are zero fun. They don't give you a buzz, they don't put you to sleep, they don't do Jack. Boring!

- I am now quite possibly the best remote control user in the universe. I got skillz, people. It's magic to watch me on the wand. Not THAT wand, the remote control one! And I'm flexible, too. I mean, I can handle any remote you throw at me - VCR, TIVO, DVD ... bring it!

- It was bitch ass cold out this weekend, so I did get a chuckle out of that. At least I picked a good weekend to have my head explode.

- The women in the movie Braveheart are HOT. Oh, and the blonde in Bend It Like Beckham is HOT. Oh, and there aren't any hot women in The Outsiders, which is why it sucks.

- My weekend was strangely about 10-12 hours longer than normal. The hot neighbor thinks it has something to do with alcohol. She's crazy. It's fairly obvious to me that the Keeper of the Clocks has granted me an extra 10-12 hours because I was sick. Completely logical.

I'm telling ya, I'm a friggin' genius. I was at the gym last night, and I was watching Jeopardy and kicking TOTAL ASS. I don't think I got a single question wrong. Huh? Who cares if it was Children's Week. I rocked! I had a little trouble with the "Things that rhyme with power" category, but whatever. I would've kicked some ass on those 8 year olds.

So, the Foo boys are playing at the 9:30 Club, and DC101 is giving away tickets. Problem is, every time I call, it's busy. Get off the damned phone! I'm trying to win tickets here, and some intern is yapping away to her boyfriend. What's that? Other people are calling? Well, screw them, I need my tickets. Dag.

Someone posted this bulletin that had this formula where each letter of the alphabet had a value. What ya did was take the letters in your name, calculate the total, and then there's this li'l chart to figure out how sexy your name is. Ok, that's corny enough by itself, but my last name is BEDWELL. That's right ... 1 part BED, 1 part WELL. I don't think I need to do any calculatin'. I think I won the name contest. Where's my prize?

I watched a movie called The Machinist last night. It's a'ight - not great not terrible. The weird thing is, Christian Bale is the lead, and he's a complete stick - apparently, he lost a ton of weight for the role. I mean, we're talking Olsen twins stickly. It was incredibly odd. I spent the first hour or so just in shock at how thin he was. He did have some good abs, though.

So, a friend posted a thread on a message board I frequent asking for new slogans for scotch liquor. I think I came up with some good ones:

Scotch ...
... I once puked drinking that ... once
... peeling paint throughout America
... guaranteed to put hair on your yet-to-be-conceived baby's chest
... for that bleeding-from-the-eyes hangover
... you'll wish it had butter in front of it

I also came up with some other slogans along those lines. Here we go ...

Paris Hilton ...
... that mentally disabled kid Corky has a partner for Trivial Pursuit
... enough brain power to lightly toast bread

Old folk drivers ...
... turning left for fifteen miles now

Tom Cruise ...
... now with extra craziness!
... playing himself in movies for decades

College boys ...
... willing to have sex with knotholes and vacuum cleaners

Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie ...
... God's memo that you suck

Las Vegas ...
... Love, schmove ... we've got hookers!
... enough liquor, and you'll be dippin' into your retirement account. Trust us.
... stop harassing us with lines from "Swingers"

Peein' ...
... even more fun in alleys
... try it with asparagus!

The inner city ice cream truck ...
... now serving snowballs ... for $25 a pop
... we run 'til midnight, cuz most 5 year olds are still up

Ok, it's time for you people to start calling me by a new name ... Mr. Productive! No, wait, how about Senor Productivo? That's cooler. Oooh, how about Herr Productive? Ah, this is getting silly ... just call me what you usually call me - Adonis.

So, why the name change? Well, I kicked some royal ass on my house this weekend. I cleaned pretty much the whole damn thing. Mmm, ok, so I didn't do anything in the basement. Hmm ... didn't touch the fridge, either. Or the kitchen floor. Ok, forget I said anything.

I actually stayed in on Friday. The horror! Saturday, well rested and ready to go, I headed out to a birthday party/duckpin bowling thing, which ... mmm ... ok, I'm not going to pull punches here - I was bored out of my friggin' mind. The kicker was it was BYOB, and I had my flask with me, but it wasn't lasting, so I had to sip my drinks. Sip? That's for sippers! Sip this. Sip off. I think sip might be my new cuss word. For sip's sake! Sippin'-A! I don't give a SIP! I'm losing it.

When you're bowling in a group, it never fails that there will be one person on your lane who never, ever, ever realizes that it's their turn. You have to continually remind them that it's their turn. I mean, how hard is this? You follow Fat Pat, who is after Plain Jane, who is after Scary Harry, who follows Joe Blow. Hey, here's a hint ... when Fat Pat's up and bowling, your turn is coming soon! If Fat Pat is rollin', don't be going to the john. If Fat Pat ain't rollin', you can have sex on the scorin' table for all I care (which would also bring a double entendre meaning to the term scorin' table). Dopes.

Yeah, so by the time I got out of there at 11, somewhat cranky and almost sober, I could've sprinted all the way to Portside. That's about a mile, if you're scoring at home.

My home away from home was fun as always. I got into a long discussion with a young lady about striped shirts. I know that's a big surprise. The best was when I went to the bathroom, and I came back and this complete and total tool was hitting on her ... and he had on the world's finest striped shirt. Absolutely hilarious. She gave me the "help me" look, I snickered, mouthed "striped shirt", and gave her a thumbs up and a wink as I walked by to talk to someone else. The po' thing.

I also met a hecka hot thing who goes to my gym. We got into a convo, and she mentioned that she saw me at said gym. This was part of the discussion:

Me: So, you go to my gym. I don't know if I've seen you there.
She: I've seen you.
Me: Really? Ok then. So, what was I wearing?
She: Nothing.

Umm ...

I spent most of Sunday at the mall. I got some new cologne, so be sure to sniff me the next time you see me. I also got some new jeans, so be sure to ... you know something ... I'm just going to leave that one alone.

Put on your jealousy shoes, people, because I went to the Foo Fighters concert last night. It was hecka-fan-rific. Dave Grohl is in a very close race with Billy Jo from Green Day as my favorite lead dudes in rock bands. That guy could make a song about cancer funny. He even let Taylor come out from behind the drums and sing his li'l rock tune and DG went back and got on the drums. 'Twas also good to see Dave behind the skins ... brought back some great memories.

I'll tell ya what's funny. Here's a list of some of the movie descriptions on the Playboy Channel:

Beauties have fun at an amusement park.
Beauties show off their curvaceous bodies.
Beautiful women titillate their lovers.
Spicy seductresses turn up the heat.
Young beauties display active lifestyles.
Seductive beauties rule the night.

Some dude actually has to sit around and think up this stuff. I'm guessing he has one of those magnet sets that people have on their fridges, with a few of the choice words ... you know - beauties, seductive, titillate (a personal favorite of every 12 year old boy), curvaceous, etc. He just rotates them around and picks out a couple. Kinda like the casting calls for the movies themselves.

I came so close to buying a Pez dispenser the other day. I mean, I had it in my hand and everything. You know the one thing that stopped me? Remember when you'd be loading the thing, and it would snap and Pez would fly everywhere? Yeah. I'm not sure I could handle that sort of stress at my age. Friggin' Pez.

The other thing that stopped me was the flavors they had with the dispensor. Lemon? WTF? What kid, or near adult in my case, would choose friggin' LEMON? Lemon is like the nerdy kid at the party - someone always gets stuck with it. Stupid Pez people. If I want to eat pee-colored candy ... hmm ... I don't think I can finish that without getting in some serious trouble.

So, I've come to the conclusion that cats don't have very good senses of humor (sense of humors? senses of humors? whatevah). Last night, I'm doing my best Rain Man imitation, and they're just giving me this blank look. You know, stuff like this:

Yeah, I'm definitely going to fill the food bowl. Definitely filling the food bowl. Yeah.
'Course, I'm an excellent litter box scooper. O-O-Only on Sundays.
Two minutes to petting time. 'Course, this is Tuesday, petting time is usually on T-T-Thursday.

I mean, this is top notch humor. I'm telling ya, I got zero response. Bupkis! Nuttin!

Twerps.

Went to the Beck show on Wednesday. The show was kind of disappointing - saw him a couple of years ago, and that show was much better. But, I'm not here to talk about the show ... I'm here to talk about idiots. Let's review:

- Yuppi-ish dork in dockers and a button down that can't seem to figure out his electronic picture taking device ... SIT YOUR ASS DOWN!
- Yuppi-ish chick with Yuppi-ish dork who can figure out how to work her video taking device and who stands up to do it ... SIT YOUR ASS DOWN!
- Nerdy li'l 5' twerp who dances like he's got a bee in his underwear ... SIT YOUR ASS DOWN!
- Teenage girls who spent the entire show yapping about some boy who kissed one of your friends ... STFU!

A'ight, so I was a little annoyed. I mean, I have no issues with people wanting to stand at a show at the appropriate times. But, this dumbass lady was in the second row, the people in front of her are sitting, and she's the only one standing up in our section ... just so she can get video of the show. Um, hello? How about WATCHING THE SHOW? Meantime, me, my friend, the people behind me, and the people behind them all have to crane to see around this yutz. I felt like asking her if we could come over and watch the video, since we didn't get to see the show. Dumb, dumb people.

The li'l dude wasn't so bad, simply because he was too small to get in anyone's way. However, Beck played a couple of tunes from an album that he wrote after a rough breakup - I mean, this is pull your heart out stuff - and this dork is still dancing to it. Dipass mofo.

The chicks behind us ... um, call me crazy, but I came to hear Beck, not you. I'm sure if I were around you, I could hear you talk all the time, since you never seem to STFU. That's not even worthy of dorknerd status. That's just plain bonerish.

A'ight, now that I've got that out! I spent part of the show trying to figure out what you call Beck's music. I came up with a name for it. Ready?

Hippy Spanky Dork Rock.

Maybe the Hippy Spanky part should be hyphenated. Hippy-Spanky Dork Rock. Sold.

I haven't vomited in over a year. In case you were wondering.

Someone in the office just played "Get Down Tonight" by KC and the Sunshine Band. Yup, now I'm doing the hustle in my head. Check me out ... I can really get down ... tonight. I'm even wearing my best bell bottoms.

I saw Phillip Seymour Hoffman on the Daily Show last night. He's starring as Truman Capote in a new movie called ... uh, Truman. Creative, eh? Anyway, it looks fantastic, and he's one of the better unknown actors out there, so get ready. You've been warned.

I think Steph on Survivor has been replaced ... I'm very much into this hot thang named Danni. Steph's still on the radar ... I mean, I wouldn't kick her out of bed for eating crackers, as a buddy used to say ... but Danni ... yumma humma.

Ever have one of those weekends when there's something you have to do? You know, one of those pain in the butt things that you don't want to do, but ya have to? You have? You've had one of those? Ha ha! Suckers!

Let's recap, shall we? On second thought, I'll recap and you read. It's easier that way.

Friday. Hit the Bay Cafe with one of my friends from work. We've been doing this Bay Cafe happy hour thing, where you get 2 for 1 drinks and walk out of the joint right around sundown unable to see straight. Weird thing is, usually when we were splittin', the joint seemed to be picking up. So, we decided to start a little later, see? Thinkin', and all that. It's all about strategy - if we get there later, we'll be in prime time.

So, got there at 7. 'Course, my friend was late, so I got to stand around like a yutz for 30 minutes trying to act cool. You know, the hand in the pocket, acting like I knew someone on the other side of the room. There's a whole strategy to acting cool, too. Maybe one of these days, I'll figure it out. I did manage to strike up a conversation with a young lady, who worked her boyfriend into the conversation within 30 seconds. I think it was something along the lines of "hey, nice to meet [cough, boyfriend!] you." Always a fun thing. So, anyway, my friend finally shows up, we're hanging out and drinking, and right about the time we usually leave, the joint completely and totally dies. I mean, you couldn't have cleared out the place faster if you were showing Roseanne sex tapes on the TV monitors. Or if Rush Limbaugh had walked in the door.

Unfortunately, we're sitting there with our freshly made 2 for 1 drinks in front of us. Not the wisest idea to go slamming the good cap'n ... he has a tendency to turn into a bad pirate when you do that. So, we had to sit around in the Dead Cafe for a bit and finish 'em off. The good news is that we've clearly been trend-setters the past few weekends by leaving when we did. Who knew?

A quick aside - black cherry jelly is the finest creation in the history of mankind. You think I'm kidding? Some day, black cherry jelly will RULE THE WORLD! You mark my words, people.

Ok, so from there, we headed up to the Square. My friend hadn't ever been to the Square, so I had to give her the tour - you know, Claddaugh's, Looney's, Colburn's and, of course, my home away from home, Portside. I even explained why I call Looney's the "bar of 5s". So, we go to Portside, and there's this hecka darlin' woman there that I'm giving the eye. My friend asks me what I'd rate her on a scale, and I tell her I'd give her a solid 8.5.

Friend-O proceeds to go over to the chick and tell her that I think she's an 8.5. Um, just a note for all of you female wingpeople ... if you're using this strategy, don't tell the woman she's an 8.5 - tell her she's a 10! Dag. Needless to say, I didn't get too far with chicky girl. In return, I ducked out of the way when my friend was asked to dance by a nerd boy. Heh. Turnabout can be some fun stuff sometimes.

On the way home, I woke up the neighbor to see if she had any leftover Chinese food. That didn't go over well. The neighbor and I have a love/hate relationship, minus some of the love. It's fascinating.

For those completely out of the loop, the Fell's Point Festival was this weekend. It's a little disturbing when you're so excited about a festival that you can't sleep the night before. I got home around 2 or so on Friday, and I got to bed around 4. I laid in bed for 2 hours thinking about all of the fun things I was going to do the next night. Yeesh.

Hit the gym for a good workout, then we started our day at a mini block party of hillbillies. I mean, these were some serious good ol' boys. I don't think you were allowed in without either (1) a tattoo, (2) fake boobs or (3) both. A fascinating study in social culture to start the day.

Split out of there in the early afternoon, and hit the festival. Notes:

- the Admiral's Cup is officially a weird ass place. We used to live there on Fridays when the clock struck midnight. Now, I have trouble going in there without my strange-o-meter going off. Plus, a dark, skanky bar isn't always the best place when it's beautiful outside. At least the drinks were free.

- The rooftop bar at Slainte is quite possibly my favorite secret. It's rarely crowded, and has one of the better views in Fell's Point. I hung out there by myself for about an hour, waiting for a buddy to show (long story, that).

- Running into a former hookup is one thing. Running into two is another. Running into THREE is just wrong. Fortunately, one of them decided to call me at 4 am. That's always a great idea. Needless to say, I didn't answer. Ok, that's not needless to say, since I'm not above a 4 am hookup, but I didn't answer anyway. So there.

- I came very close to meeting Miss Myspace Hotness, aka Sandra. Well, at least I think I came close. Eh, I was drunk, I probably wasn't close at all. Friggin' redheaded hot thangs.

- A great way to get a woman's number ... the surprise attack! I ran into a friend of a friend, who I think is kinda toasty, and before I even said hello, I asked for her number. Done and done. Haven't called it yet, though ... it's probably the number for KFC or something. Hmm ... I do like me some KFC. That might not be a bad thing.

- Pretzel dogs rule. I had nothing to eat all day, then had a pretzel dog, fries, and ... um ... something else later on. If you don't know what a pretzel dog is, ya better ask somebody. A couple of thousand calories after midnight is always a brilliant move, too.

- The next time someone tries to get me to go into the Green Turtle, I'm tackling them and beating the urine out of them. It's that simple.

Sunday was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, perfect temps, a slight breeze, fuhgedaboudit. At least that's what it looked like from the couch. I barely left it. I think I got up to whizz once, and I got up to answer the door when the delivery dude brought my food.