Ok, so I hit Petsmart this week, and each time I go I try to get the furballs a toy or something. Well, and catnip - the two dweebs are addicted to the hooch. So, I found this really cool lookin' thing - it's a mouse on wheels, and if you pull it back, it's supposed to shoot across the room, and the cats are supposed to chase it and I guess everyone in the room is supposed to shoot tears from their eyes from laughing at this spectacle. Well, I get it home, and I break it out. The cats are sorta pacing it, and I pull it back and let 'er rip ... and it goes about 8 inches. I hope the friggin' folks at Piece Of Junk cat toys are having a nice meal with my $4. Twerps.

So, last night was quite interesting. Went to the Blast game to see the hot neighbor in action at work. 'Course, I have a hard time attending any weekend sporting event without my flask ... it's kinda like Linus and his blanket, except the stuff inside the flask get Mr. Liver all cranky. The game was great, but we're up in the press box, and it's pretty close to the same temperature as that Chinese mustard that causes people to see through time. Think lava, and add on another 10 degrees or so. Naturally, I'm sweating, and when I sweat, I have a hard time getting drunk. The fun part is, when I get back into normal temperatures, all that I've ingested alcohol-wise smacks me right upside the forehead. So, game over, Blast win, everyone's happy, we go downstairs, and suddenly I'm tanked. Nice! It's like an alcoholic teleportation machine.

We head down to Fed Hill, starting out at a place called Metropolitans. Two separate people have told me that Metropolitans is Fed Hill's version of Portside. Two separate people need their heads examined. It wasn't terrible, it wasn't great, it was ok. The one good thing is the bartender made some serious drinks ... like I need help getting drunk at this point. I guess she's the Fed Hill version of my boys Steve and Bo at Portside.

So, we split out of there after a bit. Now, I think there are a few folks that read this blog that live in Fed Hill. Welp, folks, no offense, but it SUCKS down there now. Cat on a hot tin roof, it was awful (I just made up that expression, by the way ... I'm quite proud). We walk past Drifters, and there's a group of people outside that were previously inside, and I was seriously wondering if Drifters was hosting the high school prom. Eesh.

We blow by there, and we're headed for Mother's, but it's absolutely packed. As we're walking by, the bouncer, who was roughly the size of Nebraska ... no, wait, that's not big enough ... how about Mars ... the planet, not the candy bar, wiseacre ... has this other buffoon on the ground right in the entrance. He on top of him, screaming something at him, and either choking him or punching him ... or both. Actually, if it wasn't for the punching part, it might've been kinda erotic ... on Mars.

So, the buffoon finally gets up, the bouncer punches him, it spills out into the street, and finally they corral the bouncer. Lovely. Needless to say, we decide to skip Mother's for Ropewalk.

Ropewalk is equally horrendous. It's pretty crowded, and approximately 92.3% of the guys have Izods on with the collars up. Oy. At one point, I go to take a whiz, and as I'm in there, some dude opens the door, looks in, and apologizes, saying he thought I was someone else. 'Course, my immediate question was what if I was the person he was trying to find? Yeah.

One of the bonuses of the evening was getting to hang out with this woman who looked very much like Scarlett Johansson. Evidently, I was either really drunk or still dialated from my eye doctor appointment, because when I told her who I thought she looked like, she noted it was the first time anyone had said that to her. Scored some cheap points there, people.

The hot neighbor and I couldn't split out of there fast enough. I think she may have left tire tracks on the departure. So, just a note for ya ... if you're trying to get me out of Canton to go to Fed Hill, you're gonna need one or all of these:

1) A pretty hefty bulldozer
2) All the cover girls from Oxygen magazine
3) A warehouse of Pez
4) The Foo Fighters and John Mellencamp

Righto.

I'm on my way to work today, and there's one of those 5 car running into the back of each other accident things. I can't tell you how comforting it is to know that 4 clowns out there aren't paying enough attention to stop when the car in front of them stops. And, yes, I do realize that it's possible they were pushed into the car in front of them from behind. I'll admit that, as long as you admit that it's entirely possible there were 4 clowns out there talking on their cell phones and eating a Burger King heart attack sandwich while driving.

So, went to the eye doctor yesterday. Classic. I was at a new place, so they didn't know my prescription. As a quick aside, I did enjoy the woman who got there right before me, and noted that her "subscription" had expired. Anyway, so they have me take out my contacts, they take me in the Darkened Room of Tests, and she asked me which line I could read on the chart. My response? Where's the chart? Heh.

I also love with all my heart and soul the glaucoma test. You know, the one where they shoot air in your eye, and you try not to hit the ceiling when you jump. Absolutely love that 'un.

Well, the Three Stooges are sorta back at the gym, although it's a different three. I'm having trouble calling these three Stooges, though, cuz all three are extremely hot. Like lava hot. They've also figured out how to do their weird exercise gyrations somewhere besides the middle of the gym. Last night, they all had medicine balls and were doing this thing where they pass the ball back and forth through their legs. 'Course, I have four thoughts in my mind when I see this:

1) Dag. I wish I had some circus music on my iPod. That would match what they're doing perfectly!
2) Maybe someone will balance a ball on their nose and clap like a seal.
3) Am I supposed to tip them for this act?
4) Whew. Them chick's is HOT!

As a bonus, the gym was sorta kinda not crowded. Now, I'm almost done with my workout. I have one last thing I want to do, and I know of at least 6 different machines or areas of the gym I can do it in. Of course, every single one was being used. Go to shoot some hoop, court closed. Grr.

So, I have a few rules that I live by. Ok, if you know me, I have a LOT of rules that I live by, but that's not important right now. Here's a few:

1) Never pet a porcupine
2) Never pass out around college kids with Sharpies
3) Never cook bacon naked
4) Never get your haircut by someone that can't speak English

I violated #4 today. The last time I did that, I ended up looking like a Chia pet. One of the worst haircuts ever, and it was completely my fault. I wasn't sure she realized what I wanted, and it turned out she didn't. So, today, I'm getting my cut, and the cutter asked me a question that roughly went something like this:

Dyu wenkt klee pthems lung?

Yah. Normally, when I don't understand someone twice, I just nod. That comes from my father, who was a habitual mumbler, and passed the trait onto me. But, this was quite important - I'm not hip on the Chia pet look. Upon repeat #4 of the question, I realized she was asking if I wanted to keep the length on my sideburns. Man. I mean, I spent at least 7.2 seconds on my hair before work or going out, it's got to be perfect. Actually, that estimate might be a bit high ... maybe 6.7 seconds. Plus, I'm paying $13 whole dollars here, $20 with tip. I'm expecting to walk out looking like Fabio on a good hair day.

It's hard out here for a pimp. Hmm. I can't even type that with a straight face. Ok, so I watched Hustle and Flow this week, and I can't get that friggin' song out of my head. I guess it's better than me walking around singing Whoop That Trick. I mean, one of my neighbors is a minister, doncha know - that might scare him just a tad.

Ok, so the weekend. Friday ... boy, it was quite some time ago ... what the hell did I do on Friday? Ah, yes, cue the music ... Friday was the return of the "Bay Cafe happy hour 2 for 1 drinks get drunk as possible before the sun goes down and possibly fall down thingamajig". Yeah, that's my own personal name for it. Last year at this thing, I was standing/leaning/wobbling in one place for a bit, and I managed to spill drinks in a semi-circle around me. That's how good it is.

Now, important point here ... last year, you'd order a drink, and they'd just give you two. This year, they give you one drink and a chip. What's that? No, not a potato chip, ya dip, a poker sorta chip. Not sure why they changed that, but it's important. Here's why.

I'm there with some folks, and it's getting close to 8, which is when the specials end. We decide to get one more round. Lauren and I go to the bar, and she orders 4 drinks and gets 4 chips with 'em. I mention to her that we should check to make sure they'll still take the chips after 8. Nope! So, double drinks for everyone! I actually got to the point where I was trying to give away alcohol. Yeah, I was a little disturbed by those actions as well, especially when the hot women I was trying to give one to declined. Commies. Who turns down a free drink, especially from me?

So, we split from there and hit Looney's. Now, if you're familiar with me, you know my nickname for this joint - the Bar of 5s. Strangely enough, we're upstairs, and I see two of the hotter women from my gym in the corner. The rest of the bar is the same as always ... a 5fest. I guess they wanted to raise the average or something. Weird. Still wasn't enough to get me to stay, though.

We hit Claddaugh for a bit, then it was off to my joint, Portside. Last week, I was a little concerned about my bar. Well, it's made a comeback, people! Ha! Unfortunately, 2 for 1 got me pretty heavy in the head, so things are a bit foggy. I did spent a decent amount of time explaining to a hot lesbian that she was indeed hot. It's hard work convincing people they are attractive, doncha know.

I do remember getting a goodbye hug from Kelly, who I now like to call The Girl Formerly Known As Katie, or TGFKAK. Ok, I basically surprised her into giving me a hug - she was holding both a drink and a shot at the time (hey, what's not to like about that?) - but I'm still counting it.

Any other information on the rest of that evening will be given on a need-to-know basis. In other words, you don't need to know. Ha!

Woke up the next day, and had to run to an orientation at a local animal shelter. Here comes my rant for the day. Ready? So, first of all, they start this meeting late because people can't seem to show up on time. Apparently, showing up on time is pretty much impossible to do any more (*cough cough Cherie cough cough*). So, they finally start the meeting, and after about 30 minutes, a couple of more people come stumbling in. I mean, are you serious? If I'm 30 minutes late to something, I'm too embarrassed to even show up. WTF? Ok, rant over.

Hit the gym, and realized when I got home that I have some mystery bruises. Mystery bruises are the best, aren't they? Especially when they are in certain areas. Let's just move on from that topic, before I get myself in real trouble.

So, my boy Chunky decides to visit me. He shows up around 5 or so, we hit the candy store ... er, the liquor store ... and start drinkin'. Around 8, we split for Claddaugh. We hit a couple of spots on the Square, get some grub, and end up at ... imagine that ... Portside! Not only did I get flashed at Portside ... wait ... does it count as a flash if the woman shows you her bra? ... I also had some hottie take my hand and put it on her can. Talk about your opening lines! Ladies, if you've got a good can, that's a fine way to say hello.

Anyway, I look over at Chunky and ask him if he understands why I come to this place. He gets this grin on his face and just nods his head. Ok, ok, by then, neither of us could speak English very well anyway.

At one point, this girl gets up on the bar and starts dancing. Now, early on in my career at Portside, someone did this, and I yelled out "This is not Powerplant!", she gave me an evil look and got down. I guess this girl also figured that out because she was up there for about 15 seconds and then quit. Ladies ... dancing on a bar is kinda pointless. If you want to meet boys, here's a tip - don't put yourself in a position where they have to get a ladder to talk to you. If you want to meet girls ... um ... go to Gallagher's?

We hit the pizza joint and head back to my place. I manage to rouse the hot neighbor and she stops by to watch us devour the pizza. Chunky and her talk soccer (yeah, that's right ... I said soccer ... don't ask me), she goes home, and we crash.

Sunday, I spent a bit of time with a friend waiting for the thunderstorms to show up, then crashed even harder than the night before. You know the type - you hit the pillow and it's like you've fallen into a bank of clouds. Yeah, that's how I slept all weekend.

A quick movie review ... check out Layer Cake if you get the chance. Yeah, the title sucks - I mean, it's not catchy like Trainspotting or Snatch - but the movie is excellent. Lots of stuff going on here, and lots of people with English accents, so I had to watch it twice to really get it, but it's worth the effort.

Are ya sittin' down? Be sure you're strapped in. I don't want anyone falling out of chairs and hurting themselves after you read this. Ready? Ok, here we go:

I didn't talk to a single woman in a bar this weekend. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Bupkis!

Yup. I'm still in a tad bit of shock myself, but this weekend was soooooo incredibly boring at the bars. Guess you can stop reading now, eh? Heh. Ok, so that's a tad of an exaggeration, but it was certainly down from my usual quota. Might have to go back to school or something.

Friday, got out of work at 1, and I was all kindsa fired up. Hit the gym, finished cleaning the house, and then started drinkin' and rockin'. And drinkin'. And drinkin'. And ... well, you know. I couldn't get drunk! It was the oddest thing ever. So, as I'm sure most of you know, being at bars when you're essentially sober is like being around a group of 16 year old girls at a Brittney Spears concert ... or poking yourself in the eye with a stick. Not fun.

I did start something new this past weekend. I finally figured out how to do voice recording on my cell phone (thanks Cherie!), so now I voice record stuff so that I can remember it. Let's run through this weekend's highlights!

Voice Record #1:

"The hottest woman I've ever seen surrounded by a bunch of 2s, and gum that makes me sneeze"

The woman was at Bay Cafe, and she was incredible. The rest of the bar? Awful. You know when I walk in and raise the average, that's not good. I also tried out some new sorta Dentyne gum, and every time I put in a new piece ... Sneeze City. Lemme tell ya, women dig a dude that is recording stuff on a cell phone and sneezing.

VR #2:

"The Doublemint Twins"

I'm at Claddaugh, and there are these two women there who I dubbed the Doublemint Twins. They have very similar outfits on, are just about the same size, same proportions, both blonde. It was kinda weird, like looking into a mirror or something. I actually met one of them later at Portside. She told me her name was Deborah, so I immediately dubbed her DD for Doublemint Deborah. Probably not the best nickname to give a woman outside of a strip club.

VR #3

"The SR-71 guy is gonna play a tune for us"

Ok, so I'm on the Square, and the hot neighbor forces me to come meet her at some bar. So, I leave wherever I am and start walking ... and walking ... and walking. In retrospect, I think the bar was somewhere in Delaware. I finally get there, and I immediately dub this joint the Bar of Implants. Easily the highest percentage of implants on women I've ever seen this side of a strip club (that's right, people ... two strip club references in the same blog!). I think there were maybe 12 women in there, and 8 had 'em, which by my calculations is ... well, it's a lot. Anyway, as a bonus, some dude from the band SR-71 was there.

I was actually laughing when I left the message, and I laughed again when I listened to it just now. Ok, he was actually playing a tune on the jukebox, and I spent a good 10 minutes postulating over whether he would play a SR-71 tune or not. He didn't. Yeah, I got some issues.

VR #4

"There's a girl here with earrings like fire or ... something"

Obviously, this one was a little later in the evening.

VR #5

"Mbinglet oburhsnik blentinky pang ... inglefish oont."

That's a direct quote. Obviously, this one was really late in the evening. I now understand why, when I drunk dial people and leave messages, they have no idea what I'm saying. Mumblefish.

One other note from the weekend. Apparently, the birds have decided to start their "you're up way too late in the night because we're singing and you haven't gone to bed yet" deal a little earlier this year. Like around 3:30 or so. Stupid birds.

Watched a very underrated movie from the 80s on Sunday - Teachers. Nick Nolte, Ralph Macchio, JoBeth Williams ... quality stuff.

Hmm ... not really sure where to begin this blog. I've been through a whole whirlwind of stuff since Saturday. Let's do it chronologically ... hang on a sec, I have to go look up what that means.
Ok, Saturday. My buddy Jim calls in the morning and asks if I want to go to the O's game in the afternoon. Now, mind you, I haven't been outside yet, so I give him a definite maybe. I step outside to hit the gym, and it's raining, freezing, and raining. And I'm pretty sure it was raining, too. And freezing. Bleh. Game over.

Side note ... I'm at the gym on the bike, and there's this hottie on the treadmill sorta in front of me and a few spots over. Now, the gym is fairly empty, but some clown comes up and gets on a machine right in between us, completely blocking my view and causing me to actually read the magazine I'm holding. Frick! I mean, how am I going to further my image of being a lecherous old man with these blockers?

Another side note ... I get home from the gym, and Beautiful Girls is on. It's a decent movie, but the best thing about it is Lauren Holly is in it, and she's incredibly hot. In-cred-i-bly. In one scene, she has a diamond choker on ... whew, I might have to towel off just thinking about it. Always good to get extra randy before going out on a Saturday, too.

So, I head out and we hit Pickles, because during this weather, dumb guys will go into the game and the women will stay in the bar. Brilliant! Unfortunately, Pickle's has turned into PowerPlant West. It's really weird. We sit down, and these li'l possibly 21 year old girls get mad because we stole their stools, even though they were empty when we walked in. We offer the stools to them, and they decline. We move over to a table, and they sit on the stools. Whatever. Have I mentioned that I have zero patience for dumb, young girls? I have? Oh, then never mind.

Jim and I play my favorite game - pick the bar for one drink, then move on. Ok, that's a terrible name for a game, but it's pretty simple. You pick a bar, have a drink there, then the other person picks the next bar. That's why I usually end up with a list like this: Pickles, Sliders, Drifters, Magerks, Grumpys, Ropewalk, Magerks, Drifters, Grumpys ... then I went to Canton.

Jim's a good dude, but he struggles with his stamina ... hmm, lemme clarify that ... his drinking stamina. So, round about 10:00, he begs off and heads home. I, of course, go hit on my friend Janet at Grumpys, which is like running in circles. Hmm ... it could also be that I'm incredibly drunk, and am having trouble putting words together, but I get absolutely nowhere with Janet ... I may have even lost ground.

The rest of the night is pretty blurry. I ended up at Portside ... naturally ... but it was kinda weird in there. It seems to go up and down like a roller coaster sometimes, and it's in a down period now. I have faith that it will return to splendor, however. The rest of the weekend was spent mostly on the couch, which has a tendency to grab me by the ankle and suck me in. Friggin' couch!

I got to go home for a quick trip earlier this week. It was quite the fun trip ... ok, it was akin to pulling teeth. My family still lives in Terre Haute, which isn't exactly a thriving metropolis. Basically, every song John Mellencamp sings about bad economy and unemployment could've been written about Terre Haute.

I'm cruising to meet them, and in a 5 mile stretch, I pass every single fast food joint imaginable, and some that I think were made up - Taco Villa? The best was when I passed a Thai place ... think of putting a dress on a pig, and you'll understand a Thai place in Terre Haute.

The beauty of the trip? I got to sample the two finest restaurants in the world - White Castle and Long John Silvers. Ok, yes, they both are horrendous, but when in Rome and all that noise. White Castle or, as I used to call it, La Casa Blanca (yah, I know Casa means "house", but it fits better), was one of the late night places we would go when I was in college. If you haven't tried it ... mmm, don't. You'll be in some pain.

The beauty of LJS is I loved the place as a kid. I think back now, and feel for my parents, because every time I got to choose the place when we went out to eat, that's what I picked. Plus, they had these swords for door handles, and every time we left, I did the "cut my hand on the sword handle/ketchup packet" trick. Total entertainment, me.

Flew back into DC on Wednesday morning ... what an incredible sight that city is from the air. Passed over Arlington National Cemetary, and was just struck at the beauty of it. Highly recommend flying from National Airport, especially if you can hit it at sunset, which I did on the flight out. Good stuff.

Yucka ducka ... that Friday is worthy of a full blog. You know it's been a good night when you get up the next day and find your clothing all over the house ... especially if it's not your house. Ha!

Let's see ... after work and a can of Diet Crack ... er, Diet Mountain Dew ... I had a big ol' concert in front of the computer. Covered a lot of stuff - Oasis, Sting, The Cure, English Beat, etc. The house was rockin'. I even got everyone doing a sing along to Boys Don't Cry. I got a standing O from the crowd and did two encores. A couple of women threw their panties on the stage. It was quite a sight.

And before you start, I'm fully aware that I'm a freak, a nerd and dork all rolled into one, so sod off. I'm a frorknerd! In fact, I just got through 80s dancing to some Erasure. I might do the Rick Astley dance in a bit, too. I haven't even started drinking yet. Very proud.

So, anyway, headed out to the Red House Tavern to meet up with some peeps. Red House used to be Cardwell's, which used to be something else. I can't keep track of these places. Canton is full of these cool li'l side bars, and this joint is one of them. Turns out my hip chick friend Tammie has a friend that's playing at the bar. I get there, and she's banging out Walk The Line. I find the girls, have a seat, say my hellos and I'm sitting right across from this smokin' doll. Check out this work by me, aka Casanova:

Me: Hi, I'm Jack
She: I'm Jen
Me: Flauren?
She: No, Jen
Me: Oh, I thought you said Flauren
She: No, Jen
Me: [blank]

Oh yeah, this can't miss. Actually, I think Flauren's a pretty cool name, but whatever. I give Tammie a poke, do the eye thing towards Jen, and she quickly informs me that she's off the market, lesbian style. The night is off to a flying start! I've been out all of 15 seconds, and I've already struck out ... and I didn't even get to bat!

I down a drink there, then split out to Red Fish. This is another cool joint, and the bar area is fairly crowded. Unfortunately, there are some hip chicks from the gym there, and I'm fairly certain they are too cool for me, so I had to blow that joint something speedy. I stop in at Kiss Cafe, which couldn't be more empty. Wow. How that place stays in business is anyone's guess. So, it's time to get back to the basics.

I manage to grab a seat at the front of Claddaugh, and who walks in but the hot neighbor with two friends in tow. One is her friend Leann, who I've met a few times and is a lot of fun, and the other is a newbie named ... um ... Terri! Ha! You didn't think I was gonna get that, didja ... boo yah! Terri's just moved here from San Fran, she's quite toasty, and she's bored. Imagine that - coming from SF to Baltimore, cultural center of the universe, and being bored! She's obviously insane.

I yap with the HN for a bit, watch her do a shot of Tuaca, and seriously consider hitting on Terri with this line: "You know, there's no possible way I can hit on you in this situation, but I would if I could." Unfortunately, I never get the opportunity to try it out. Hmm ... might have to keep that line handy.

Off to Portside! I walk in, and immediately bump into Whatshername. Um, the friend of Darla who I think is unbelievably hot. The friend, that is, not Darla. Darla's the one that claimed she slept with me and didn't. Anyway, turns out Darla is on a date and isn't there. Score! Problem is, I don't know Whatshername's name ... obviously ... and I don't have a way to figure it out. I'm pretty sure women don't dig being called Whatshername. Or Whatsyourname. Either/or. So, no hope there.

The best bartender in Baltimore is off work tonight. This just keeps getting better. Luckily, Steve's replaced by a good dude name Bo, who does a fine job of getting me cross eyed. The place is kinda dead ... Leah Hot walks in, but she's way too sober to be interested in me. I'm also wearing this new shirt I bought the past week, and I'm hating it.

Oh, here's a tip, chicks. When I'm hitting on ya ... you'll know it. As someone once said, I'm as subtle as a sledgehammer. Welp, this young lady is there that I know from various outings. Her nickname used to be Fun Jen, but apparently she didn't like that, so now she's just Jen. Not Flauren, mind you ... Jen. FJ is completely bombed ... she's struggling to put two words together. I offer to get her home ... now, mind you, I'm not in any way, shape, or form hitting on her, I'm just genuinely concerned for her well being. Seriously. Stop snickering. Naturally, Jen thinks I'm hitting on her. Cripes. Fortunately, some dude she knows comes by and takes her away.

Classic part of the night. Thanks to Miss Cherie for reminding me of this. She's on the scene, and we're standing around, and I say something to this young lady to my right. She looks at me, turns to the person next to her, and says "this is my boyfriend." I look over, and it's a girl. Cherie and I look at each other, back at her, and bust out laughing. Not only am I striking out, but I've got women making stuff up to avoid me.

Meantime, the HN shows up. She starts kicking me in the shins for whatever reason. Tuaca is a lovely alcohol. She also kicks me in the spot where Meano bit me, which actually sobers me up enough to offer to escort her home. She accepts, and we head out, stopping to get a pizza on the way.

As we're heading home, some dude is on his cell, walks up to us, and asks if we know where Foster Street is. We start yapping, dude's name is Amir, and he's going to a party. Um, look at me ... do I EVER turn down a party? Exactly. So, Amir's our new walkin' buddy. As we're walking, I'm dancing with the pizza. Hey, at least pizza won't reject me. Sure enough, I drop it, and it spills all over the street. Amir calls the 5 second rule and piles it back in the box. Streetza!

We get to Foster, and Amir informs us that the party is at the corner of Foster and Linwood, which is the same as telling us it's in Montreal at this point. Hasta le vista, Amir ... enjoy your streetza!

The rest of the night is pretty blurry ... or maybe I'm just saying that to throw you dawgs off the trail. Heh.

Dag, the weekend's not even half over. Tonight, it's off to Fed Hill with some dudes I used to hang with for more nonsense. Hmm ... maybe I'll meet a Flauren.

Man, I cannot believe I completely whiffed on the best text message of this past weekend. I might even consider this for the text message of the year. Ready? Here 'tis ...

I drunk
home soon

Classic. With a few more syllables, it could've been some sort of drunken haiku poetry sorta thing going on there. And, hey, is there anything better than drunken haiku poetry at 12:51 in the am on a weekend? Oh, and this same person lost his/her cell phone (I'm going through many pains to protect identities here, lest I get beat up) and found it the next day in the flowers outside. How can I compete with that?

Hmm ... I'm sure I'll try soon enough.

Ok, so Svetlana on the Real World is officially off my list. Beautiful girl ... until she opens her mouth. My new top hottie is Yolanda on the Amazing Race. I'm sure Svetlana will be crushed and Yolanda will be thrilled.

Speaking of the Amazing Race, TIVO failed me! I'm in complete shock. TIVO, also known as Lord of Television and All Things Essential, didn't record the AR last week, and I missed the Boob Twins finishing last and getting tossed. Eh, it's only a matter of time before they're in Playboy anyway ... I'd imagine that some sort of alarm goes off at the Playboy mansion every time some blonde with large knockers appears in a reality show.

I started watching Brokeback Mountain this week. Got about 40 minutes in, and the DVD stopped working. Very frustrating. It's pretty rare that I'll sit down to watch an entire movie anyway. I mean, I have the attention span of a 2 year old ... wait, more like a gnat with ADD ... wait, more like ... you know something, I've already lost interest. What's next?

I've got a profile up on a couple of these dating sites. I haven't the slightest idea why ... it seemed like a fun idea when I became single again, but they all charge, and there's no way I'm paying for an online dating site. As Costanza said about parking, why should I pay for it when, if I apply myself, I can get it for free? Anyway, so one of them sends me my "matches" every week in an email, which are people they think I would click with based on my preferences ... and I'm pretty sure the last one I got was a dude. Yeah. Might be time to take those profiles down.

Cat stuff. Last night, I got to watch what I like to call the BAWM ... that stands for Big Ass Wrestling Match ... that's right, it's the BAWM! Ok, that's stupid, but it's pretty comical to watch. Basically, these usually start with one cat cleaning the other. I guess in cat world, that's akin to pouring your drink on someone's head, cuz it's usually go time right after that. I guess I can understand that ... who really wants someone else licking them? Hmm ... just got a vision of Angelina ... never mind. Let me fix that ... who wants their sister or brother licking them? Ok then.

The best part of the BAWM is they're pretty evenly matched. Batman is male, but Robin is hugely fat, so it sorta balances out. The best thing to do is sprinkle some catnip on the match, and watch it turn into a happy fest. Dopes.

MTV makes me wanna smoke crack. Man, I've been trying to find that tune, which is a fine one by Beck, for an entire week now and I've had no success. Yes, this is a cry for help. HELP!

Speaking of tunes, you retro 80s folks are driving me nuts. I mean, it's bad enough you're making me relive my developmental years with this going back to the 80s stuff, but you also pick the WORST music. Kajagoogoo? C'mon now! So, in an effort to help you out, I'm going to give you a few tunes you need to hear:

U2 - Wire
Echo and the Bunnymen - Lips Like Sugar
Nails - 88 Lines About 44 Women
The Cars - Bye Bye Love
John Mellencamp - Ain't Even Done With The Night
Billy Idol - Shooting Stars

I'm also the world's biggest Big Country fan - a greatly underrated group. Actually, I think I'm the only one.

Drink on in 8 hours!