Is there anything worse than someone yipping about the heat? Well, it's friggin' hot. So there.

Before I get started on ... um ... whatever it is I do here, I have some random stuff. Well, I always have random stuff, this just seems to be particulary random stuff. Anyway.

Seen on a Myspace profile under what this person is looking for: "Hott guy, between 14 and 15." Another joke that writes itself. The only thing better would've been fractions. Hott guy, between 14 2/9ths and 15 7/23rds.

So, I spent some time in airports this weekend, which are absolutely the best situations for people watching. Some clown, and that might be a kind assessment of this dude's character, was walking through the airport with one of those neck brace things on. You know, those pillow things that keep your head from lolling over onto the drink cart or stop you from drooling on the twinkie next to you. As if that wasn't enough, it was askew. That's right, I just used askew in a sentence. He topped it off by wearing a pink Izod shirt. He's the early leader for Idiot of the Year.

I have a urine story. Imagine that! So, I'm on the plane, and I have to whizz. If you haven't been in the bathroom on an airplane well, let's just say it's about the size of a school locker. As a bonus, since it's on the side of the plane, it's a little tricky for a dude to whizz, because the wall is at an angle. Basically, you have to lean backwards while doing this ... kinda like doing the limbo, but with urine involved. Anyway, I'm doing my thing, with my nose pressed against the side of the plane - quite the comfy position. I finish and as I'm washing my hands, I realize I pretty much got most of the whizz on my shorts. On both sides, I have nice long wet spots. Beautiful. I couldn't be happier if you had poked me in the eye with a Slim Jim.

As an added bonus, there are 2 hotties on the airplane that are sitting near me. I realize I'm going to have to return to my seat at some point. Yes, I did consider staying in the bathroom the entire flight, then realized that pee stains probably aren't a good enough reason to violate FAA rules. Fortunately, the mind was still working, so I did the splash water all over my shorts and pretend like the sink went crazy thing. As a bonus, neither hottie even looked up. So much for the Mile High Club.

Even better than this is the fact that the only other pants I have with me are my black dress pants. So, I change in between flights, and now I've got an all black outfit on - pants, shirt, shoes. I am Johnny Cash. I looked like an advertisement for GQ or something. Ok, ok, let's not get crazy ... how about Old Navy?

As I'm waiting for flight #2, I sit down next to this attractive woman in the gate area. After a bit, she stands up and starts doing some sort of yoga moves, right in the middle of the airport. I sniff myself, just to make sure I didn't accidently put on my Freak Attraction cologne. She finally finishes, and we start talking. At one point, she uses the exclamation "Jump Back!". You heard me. If you aren't familiar with "Jump Back!", go rent the movie Footloose, and you'll hear it. I felt like I had time warped right back to 1984. I half expected to see Boy George walk by or Dexy's Midnight Runners to be the baggage handlers.

The weekend was a little short due to a quick trip I had to make, but I did manage to get back in time for Sunday night's festivities. Started out at the Bay Cafe which couldn't have been more crowded. I guess I wasn't drunk enough, because I was actually annoyed. As a bonus, the bartender gives me my tab as I'm about to sign, then informs me that she's "watching me". I sorta smiled, because she's kinda hot, and I'm down with her watching me, until she notes that she's watching me so that I don't walk off without signing. Apparently, that's common practice there. Lovely. Needless to say, I didn't write my phone number down for her at that point.

From there, I hit Granite for a drink in peace, since there's rarely anyone in there before 10:00 ... rule of thumb on this joint - once they start charging a cover, run for the hills. The bar basically turns into a bunch of Jabronis covered with nacho cheese. Not pretty. Fortunately, it was also late enough to hit Portside.

At Portside, I learn that both Victoria and April have found me on Myspace which ... well, it really doesn't change anything, I s'pose. In fact, it gives me a great opportunity to mention the scar that Meano gave me on my leg. Heh. Friggin' hot dogs!

I also meet a hottie that I've been seeing at the gym for some time. I mention to her that I've always thought she was attractive, and she responds with a couple of words that are awfully close to English. Unfortunately, she's so waffled that she can't make conversation, and my buddy Mark informs me that the previous weekend, she was carried out of a bar. Oof. I mean, even if you're incredibly hot, there's nuttin' attractive about having to hold someone's hair back while they get sick. Hmm ... she does have kinda short hair though.

I bumble around there for a bit, then split for home. I stop at the pretzel dog stand, but the brain has pretty much shut down for the night, and I can't decide between a pretzel dog or a pizza pretzel. I actually stood there for a good 3-4 minutes debating it, then decided to go home and make eggs. Brilliant.

Music tip for the day ... go get Bobby Caldwell's "What You Won't Do For Love". Great tune ... good background music for practicing your kissin' skills. That tip is on the house. You can thank me later.

I've been at home the past two days ... I don't go back to work until tomorrow. Fast Times at Ridgement High is on TV right now ... needless to say, I won't be leaving the house anytime soon. Way to go, Hamilton!

There's nothing worse than being on a food binge and having a bad Last Supper. You know, the meal that's the last one, and the next day you're eating healthy again. I had some sorta cardboardy tasting pizza for my Last Supper. Sucks. When in doubt, always go turkey pot pie! Dummy.

Ok, the weekend recap. On Friday, I did nuttin'. Felt like hell, so I stayed in and watched Magnolia. I've seen this movie before, and I think it's fantastic ... until it starts raining frogs. If you haven't seen it, you read that right. Three hours of movie, then it starts ... raining ... frogs. Mmm ... yeah ...

I have a tendency to see things when I get a tad drunk. At the time, I could swear they are real. F'rinstance, I swear that I once saw George Clooney in the upstairs of Claddaugh, making out with some chick. I also have a tendency to see incredibly hot women that I think are hitting on me, when they aren't even talking to me. Ok, maybe I do see things that aren't there, but Lauren Holly was at Portside on Saturday night, and I talked to her. So there. She wouldn't admit that she was Lauren ... she made up some fake name ... but it was her. It had to be her because she wouldn't give me her number. That's my proof and evidence. I'm quite the private dick ... er ... detective.

You know the song Tripping Billy by Dave Matthews? Well, I re-wrote it on Saturday night ... I call it Tripping April. April is the owner of Meano, the dog that bit me and left a scar that I still have today. Well, I was funnin' around on Saturday, she walked by, and I tripped her. It wasn't a full trip, just a sorta kiddin' around trip. The beauty? April was flirting with me up to that point ... after the trip, she got all po'd at me and lectured me on how I pick up women at bars and make out with them. Um, not exactly a news flash!

My new favorite woman, Victoria, was also there on Saturday. Victoria couldn't have been drunker if she was swimming in a pool of vodka doings shots of tequila. How do I know this? She was wearing sunglasses ... at night ... in the bar. Cue the Corey Hart music! You might as well put a neon sign on your head that reads "I'm Blitzen" if you're gonna do that.

My favorite part of the evening, and the only voice recording of the night. We're chillin' at Waterfront, and this dude walks up to the bar and says this: "I'd like to order some shots of Jager". Some? Now THAT'S a quality way to order drinks, people! I think I'm going to employ that strategy. Next time I'm at the bar, I'm just gonna say "I'd like some booze, please", and see what happens. Have to make sure I enunciate booze, especially if I'm at the strip club. I'd hate to get boobs. That would be awful.

I also have a new nickname for my buddy Jim - Ten High! Why's that? Well, Jim gets drunk, and is generally done for the night by 10:00. Maybe that should be Ten Low. Hmm. Ten der?

I also managed to make up with Lindsey, which I'm very proud of myself for doing ... hmm, that was almost a complete sentence. Turns out her boyfriend was just funning around with me. I'm so gullible. So, if you're scoring at home ... one woman happy with me, one woman pissed at me. A zero sum gain for the weekend.

So I'm with 2 couples on Saturday night (don't ask, cuz I don't know how I ended up in the situation, either), it's after midnight, we're in Fells, and I've got to get to Portside fairly quickly to hit prime time. Why is it that couples can never understand how slow they move? Who can tell me what's quicker - walking with 2 couples 3 blocks to get a car out of the garage, then drive to Canton, find parking, and walk to the bar ... or catching a cab that will take me from door to door? Exactly. As a bonus, I got into a convo with the cabbie about John Wayne movies. Not that I remember any of that.

Ok, I'll admit it ... I almost cried when Barbaro pulled up lame. Jeez. We're in a bar watching the race on Saturday, and I had to pretend I got something in my eye for about 10 minutes. Crimeny.

A PBR for RHB ... RIP ...

Jeez, what a week. It's quite possible that I might spend Friday night on the couch, with my arms crossed, staring grumpily at the television. Oh, who am I kidding? When I do that, I just spend the entire night wondering who's hitting on the women I like, who's tipping my favorite bartenders, who's falling down in the places I fall down. And so forth.

Check this out ... I'm getting ready for work on Tuesday, I go to tie my shoes, and the shoestring breaks. Ok, no biggie ... I don't have a replacement in the house, so I rewire the thing through my shoes so that it's equal on both sides, and go again. It breaks again.

MOFO! So, now I'm stuck with a nubstring, which is pretty much useless. Friggin' nubstrings.

Now, for me, that's a rough start. I mean, I'm usually pretty lucky in that nothing really bad ever happens to me. A cold sore is a major tragedy in my house. I figure I'm done for the day ... should be clear sailing through the waters of Bad Karma Sea. I walk out the door, reach back for that stupid Examiner paper that I don't think I've ever opened ... even though they've been delivering it to my door for free for over a month now ... and I completely and totally lose my balance and fall down.

It would've actually been hilarious if someone had caught it on video. I'm all dolled up in my shirt and tie, and I go down in this sort of twisting display of clumsiness. I managed to catch myself before knocking my teeth out on the sidewalk, and I scraped up both palms a good 'un. I think I also pulled my left ass ... it's still a tad sore. Top notch!

So, the Amazing Race is over, Survivor is over ... what the hell do I do now? Might have to re-up that Playboy Channel subscription. 'Course, last time I had the PC, I think I destroyed all the nerves in my right arm, and I couldn't have sex unless it was on a ladder or the woman I was with did some really bad acting first. It's the nature of the business, doncha know.

Ok, I wrote this last week thinking I'd top it off with weekend stuff, but it looks like the weekend blog might be a tad bloated, so I'm posting this now and I'll have the weekend blog coming up. I'm certain that makes a ton of sense. Have I mentioned that it's Monday morning yet?

Hmm. This could be a tricky blog. Why? Because I'm having a bit of trouble remembering a good portion of Saturday night. I'm quite proud!

Ok, let's start with some generic fun. The hot neighbor had one of these sex toy parties awhile back. I think I may have mentioned it, because I stopped by for the food. As I'm sure you've all figured out by now, I have zero interest in a house full of attractive women with a bunch of sex toys. I'm all about nutrition.

So, anyway, I managed to get my hands on this piece of comedy. It's instructions for some of the toys. I'll give you a few of the more hilarious exerpts:

Keep SUPER STRETCH away from other toys. Let it air after cleaning before storing it.

If you bought the BEADED SUPER STRETCH, you can take two beads out and put a bullet in and give him a buzz!

DOUBLE TROUBLE should have plenty of lubrication on the ring before you slide it on the shaft. Position the bunny ears on top of his toolman and the other set of bunny ears underneath.

Don't forget we offer HIDE A VIBE PILLOWS to hide your toys from prying eyes.

Naturally, I have plenty of comments on this stuff. F'rinstance ...

- BUNNY EARS?! No, wait, TWO sets of bunny ears!? Um ... I think I need to take a sex education course, cuz I've never done anything in bed that involved the Leporidaes family.
- What, exactly, is SUPER STRETCH going to do to the other toys?
- And finally, now I'll be checking all the pillows for "hide a vibes" (doesn't that sound like a candy you'd buy at the movies or something?) whenever I go to any female's house.

Ok, let's start with some Voice Recordings.

VR#1:

"Prop, P-R-O-P, Talk, T-A-L-K ... PropTalk! For boaters everywhere!"

That's right. There's a magazine in the Bay Cafe called PropTalk. I think that joke writes itself.

VR#2:

"Some clown just blocked out the sun in Portside"

Had a little trouble understanding this one, mainly because I recorded it at 1:38 in the am, which is right about the time I abandon English as my native language. I finally figured it out ... there's this dude that comes to Portside sometimes, and he's gotta be somewhere around 9 feet tall. It's a little ... mmm, no a lot ... comical. I keep expecting him to start changing the light bulbs or to put the star on the tree like the Bumble in Rudolph.

VR#3:

Hmm. I'm not going to quote this one, cuz it's kinda mean. Let's just say that the World's Ugliest Bachelorette Party walked into one of the locations I was frequenting. I'm sure it was the World's Best Personality Bachelorette Party, though.

VR#4:

"Fat boy is in the way. Damnit."

I think I was just in a bad mood overall on Saturday. We'll come back to the mood later, but this dude was blocking out half the bar, including my view of a very hot young woman. We all know how much I dislike my views of hot women being blocked.

So, Friday, we started at the Bay Cafe for the usual nonsense, then went to Claddaugh for the usual nonsense, then went to Portside for the usual nonsense. How's that for a recap! Ok, there were a few things tossed in there for excitement. At Claddaugh, some of friends are totally setting me up with this woman across the bar. As they are working this, some other friends decide to bring the hot neighbor over as well. Worlds are colliding! At one point, I'm talking to the HN, and the woman across the bar is calling me on my cell because she wants to meet me by the coffee pots in the back of the bar. Crimeny.

The rest of that story doesn't really go very far. Basically, the HN splits, the other woman comes with me to Portside, and she gets blitzed. She's so bombed that at one point I go to the bathroom, come back, and some dude is talking to her, and I just let him keep on. Done and done.

Later, this hecka hot woman named Victoria (the name will be important in a bit) drags me out to the dance floor. Psst ... I don't really dance. No, really, I pretty much don't. It's got to be the perfect situation with the perfect song or I have to be completely and totally alone and drunk. Otherwise, it's pretty much a no dancing rule in my life. So, we get to the dance floor, and I sorta stand there. It's my best move ... I like to call it the Fonzie. It takes about 30 seconds for her to get pissed. So, that went pretty well overall.

The name's important because I know her name. I've got it nailed. As soon as she told it to me on Friday, Victoria's Secret pops into my mind. Remembering this name is going to be easy. So, can someone explain to me why it is that when I saw her on Saturday night, I called her Valerie? Sing along with me ... smooth as sandpaper! Actually, I think it's more like smooth as broken glass with chunks of asphalt.

At that point, I started to get the feeling any chance I have with Victoria is likely gone. I think this is when I started to get a tad grumpy, also.

The rest of Saturday is pretty blurry, but I do remember two gems:

1) At one point, I decided to ask Lindsey, who is the girl I went on a date with months back (and whose name I still don't know if I'm spelling correctly), if she was ok. I mentioned that I noticed she seems very depressed and if she needs to talk, I've got good ears. After midnight in a bar is always a good time to show concern for someone, but seriously, my intentions were good. Apparently, I have a tendency to obsess when I think people are in pain. Go figure.

2) Shortly after that, this dude she's either dating or ... whatever ... comes up to me, points to Lindsey, and utters this classy line: "Why don't you just go f*** her?"

Yah, that was pretty much the end of the night for me. I did manage to come up with a fantastic invention, though. On the way home, I grab a pizza. Now, the pizza box is a tad too big to carry under your arm, and it doesn't look all that cool to carry it any other way. Luckily, Captain Morgan has lubricated my inventive powers.

The pizza briefcase is born.

I fold the box, with the pizza inside, so that I can carry it in one hand, like a briefcase. Evidently, I was quite proud of this invention, because the hot neighbor noted that I shouted it to the entire block when I got home. Note to self ... she also doesn't care for folded pizza.

Let's talk gym posers. Actually, I'll write about them, and you read. Might be a little easier for this forum. Actually, you can talk about them all you want, I just won't hear you. Shoot ... forgot what I was going to say.

Ok, let's talk Real World. If you don't watch the Real World, give yourself 10 more IQ points than me and move over there ------------> for now.

Two notes from the latest show:

1) Svetlana is officially the dumbest girl on TV. She's far surpassed anything Paris Hilton has done or said, and ... well, Brittney Spears might actually still be ahead of Svetlana after getting knocked up again. Anyway, quote of the show from Tyler, the token gay dude: "I got ass last night, now she [Svetlana] thinks her boyfriend's gay. You make the connection." Classic.

And, yes, I'm well aware that I thought she was incredibly hot at the start of the season. Pipe down!

2) Whoever the third chick is - not Paula the Anorexic and not Svetlana the Idiot - she must be the most boring person ever. I think it's over halfway through the season, and she's been on the show about 4 minutes total. She's kinda hot, too ... maybe she's actually got a brain, and they don't want to ruin the show for all the teen boys out there. 'Course, I'm seriously old enough to be all of their fathers ... if I had kids at an early age. My response to that thought is right out of Fonzie World - sit on it!

Ok, gym posers. I remember now. So, I'm in the gym on Tuesday, and there's this woman in there on the stairmaster. She's got it on quite possibly the slowest speed ... you know, the speed that's so slow that she actually might be walking downstairs or something ... and she's pretty much laying on the machine. Yeah, yeah, you caught me - I noticed this because she's hecka hot. Didn't I tell you to pipe down earlier?

Anyway, so later, she comes downstairs to "work out". That's in quotes because as I'm on one of the leg machines, she gets on a chest machine. As I'm doing my sets, I watch her sit down and start adjusting - hair, shirt, implants, etc. She gets done adjusting and ... sits there. And sits. I finish 3 sets before she does one. I do my 4th set, change machines, and do another three before she does another. In between sets, she's primping, adjusting, and in general making sure she's seen. 'Course, I guess in my case, it's working. Heh. Gym poser, Exhibit A.

Let's see if I can remember the weekend.

Friday, got good and drunk before the sun went down. Sing along with me ... Bay Cafe Happy Hour! We've come to the collective conclusion that there are three types of people that go to BC:

- Hecka hots
- Older people that used to be hecka hots
- Quite ugly folks that like to look at hecka hots

I think it's possible I might be part of all three groups. Other things learned:

- women wearing high heels struggle walking through sand
- the sun is my friend ... unless it's in my eyes for an hour
- if they can't find your tab, put your drinks on someone else's
- if you want someone to stop bugging you, spill your drink

From BC, we went to Austin Grill, which was really cool except for one problem - it took almost 30 minutes to get a drink. I even left my card there because I wasn't going to wait another 30 minutes to sign my tab. The hot neighbor went with me to pick it up on Monday. As I'm waiting for it, she informs the bartender that it's in the "Idiot pile". I had to spend the next 10 minutes explaining to her why it was a smart move to leave the card there. Friggin' women!

At one point, I'm sitting on the stage, and I see this hottie from my gym. I wave at her, and she does the old "are you waving at me?" move, complete with a turn to look behind her to make sure I was waving at her. Hmm. We wave her over, and she spends more time talking to my friends than she does to me. At least I got her name ... Ambrosia ... no, uh ... Anesthesia ... no ... Anastasia! Yeah. I'm great with names. Needless to say, I didn't get her number. It's just as well - she's the one that drives me nuts by singing on the elliptical machine. Friggin' women!

Strangely enough, that was pretty much it. I stopped in at Portside, which was average, then grabbed a pizza and headed home.

Saturday was a perfect day ... for going to the Townsontown Festival and making fun of people. Ok, ok, the PC people call it "people watching", but we all know it's really fun pokin'. I also enjoyed how the had the country beer garden at the bottom of a hill among all the trees. Sort of a fitting setting - put the hillbillies in the bog.

Got home around 8 and ... hold the phone ... I stayed in. Yup. Didn't do squadoosh all night. I think I might've been in bed by midnight. Hey ... don't be "people watching" me, now!

Arriba! That's right, people, it's Cinco de Mayo, which is the celebration of ... um ... ah, who cares, it's another excuse to drink! Always fun when they put these holidays on a weekend, too, so you can get extra special super duper silly.

I still owe a recap of Saturday night. Let's do this voice recording style again. These are direct quotes from the machine, too.

VR#1

"The DJ doesn't know who New Order is ... he had to pull out The Book! New Order, for God's sake!"

Yeah. I'm at Portside, it's fairly early ... well, early for me and Portside, which is somewhere around 10:30 ... and I figured I could get the dude in the corner to play a tune that I actually know and like. Seems to be a tough combo in that joint these days, what with the likes of the humps song and the other junk they play for the 5 people dancing. Anyway, so I ask him if he has any New Order, and he looks at me like I have 9 heads. Not just 2, 9 heads, people. I felt like I had asked for him to play The Wiggles or something. Funny thing is, if this dude plays any sort of dance music in a club, it's likely that there's some New Order sampled in a number of those songs. Whatever. Friggin' DJs.

VR#2

"Yeah, I got the hiccups twice. Not just once, but twice!"

There are a lot of things I don't like. People that don't use turn signals. Coconut rum. You know what's coming next ... that's right, Tom Cruise. Or, even worse, Tom Cruise having a conversation with Paris Hilton. Topping all of those disliked things are the hiccups. I think Saturday night was Perpetual Hiccup Night, because I had them most of the evening. I wish someone would've warned me ahead of time so I could've stuck my head in the oven beforehand. There's nothing better than introducing yourself to a hottie like this:

Me: Uh [hic] hi, my name is Ja[hic]ck. What's you[hic]r name?
She: Um, I have to go over here ---------> now.

Friggin' hiccups.

VR#3

"Shirt that smells like iced tea"

Yup, this one's pretty much self-explanatory. Well, maybe I should clarify - not Ice T, the rapper, but iced tea, the drink. I'm not sure which would be worse, actually. I have these two new shirts, and I tried one of those home dry cleaning things, and it came out smelling like iced tea. Yeah. Think about that for a second. Not really the worst smell in the world, but not something you want to be smelling like if you're attempting to attract the opposite sex. Or even the same sex, for that matter. Dousing it in cologne seemed to somehow make it worse, too. I even tried spraying cologne in the dry cleaning bag. No dice.

The evening actually turned out pretty well. Met up with a couple of friends, went to the Bay Cafe late night (which is quite possibly even stranger than it normally is, which is pretty strange), and got home around 5 am. Oh, and I left my credit card at Portside and had to go back and get it the next day. Always a fun thing to do.

Me: Um, yeah, I left my card here last night.
Bartender dude: [raised eyebrow]
Me: Believe me, it was worth it!
BD: [unraised eyebrow]
Me: [sheepishly handing over $10 for the tip I missed the previous night and splitting quickly]

Look, I don't care how hot you are, there's no PDA in the friggin' gym! There's this way hot woman in there last night, and she's smooching with her boyfriend by the squat machine. Cripes. Ok, well, I'm assuming that's a boyfriend ... I guess she could be paying for her training sessions or something.

Tonight, the coolest dudes in music, Ed and Frank, will be playing at the Austin Grill in Canton at 9. I'm not sure it gets any better than that, unless they decide to play at Portside someday. Or in my backyard. Hmm ...

Arrrrrrrrriba!