The Drunken Blog

So, I know what you’re thinking.  It’s been a while.  And I apologize.   Allow me to explain.  You see, I’ve been away.  Far away.  On the other side of the world, in fact.  I spent the last year in the Oriental paradise known as South Korea.  What can I say?  My job takes me crazy places sometimes.  And I know what you’re thinking, now.  What more interesting to blog about than living abroad?  Well, to be honest, the majority of my time there was spent working… not sightseeing.  So, I figured I would spare us both the effort and avoid the exercise in futility.

Now, I’ve been trying to decide an appropriate topic for my anticipated return (well… anticipated by one or two people, anyway).  There are plenty of blog-worthy topics out there right now just waiting to be expounded upon.  But none were grand enough an entrance.  Then, finally, it hit me.  What better topic for a new beginning… than the end?  The end of the world.

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Have you ever heard a phrase, most likely carelessly juxtaposed, and thought, “that needs to be the title for something – I don’t know what; I don’t know why, but it must be.” A quick Google search tells me that apparently I am unique in this thought.

One would think in the seemingly infinite amount of Simpson’s episodes that Homer would have inexplicably muttered the phrase, though I imagine that “sex”, for the sake of appeasement, would have been replaced with “Mmm” (my book antiqua font doesn’t do the word justice, but pretend it is moaned in a sexy woman’s voice) and French toast with “beer” and you’ll see that, in fact, Homer has been saying this phrase for year – they just haven’t named any episodes after it.
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I was in DC recently for Lisa’s birthday party. The plan initially was to start at Rumor’s and barhop. I had a feeling the barhopping wouldn’t happen because it’s hard to coordinate a large group of people leaving one bar and going to another bar.

We stayed at Rumor’s the entire night, and through the process I become somewhat intoxicated, so much so, in fact, that I decided to lower my standards. I spotted two girls that weren’t ugly by any means, but they weren’t exactly Perfect 10s, and they might have been a bit on the “meatier” side, although I wouldn’t go so far as to call them fat, despite the fact that I called one of them “Fat Tina Fey.”

I got Will to come with me, since there were two of them and we started dancing. The one girl didn’t want anything to do with Will, which was odd, since Will was out of her league. But I continued dancing with my girl, who I quickly dubbed Fat Tina Fey. Tina Fey, of course, was one of the lead writers for SNL, she also did the Daily Update, and most recently she is on the show 30 Rock, which happens to be one of my favorites.
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If you’ll recall, Ghost Writer was a pedophilic ghost who would help middle school kids solve mysteries in a twisted game of hangman by revealing only certain words or letters and making the kids guess who the deviant was. You can basically think of Ghost Writer as the live action version of Scooby Doo, where the ghost would be Scooby Doo, except replace “stoner” with “pedifiliac”.

You might have assumed that a ghost did not actually write this because I’m not in middle school, and therefore Ghost Writer wouldn’t waste his time with me, but what you may not have guessed is that I have a team of real live writers dedicated to making me look good through the written word.

I fired them.

Really, it was about hygiene, keeping a room full of monkeys with typewriters is downright disgusting. Too often they would start arguing over the phrasing of a particular sentence and before you know it the feces flinging would begin. I was spending half of my ad revenue on bleach and toothbrushes (don’t ask). I figure that while my writing may be less entertaining now and therefore garner less income for me, the drop won’t be 50% and I’ll still be ahead of my monkey-poo depleted net income.
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I don’t really think of myself as a good writer. I’m very critical of what I write to the point that it becomes tedious and arduous to read, so generally I don’t read what I write. If I’m lucky I’ll proofread a story to make sure that while I was changing thoughts mid-sentence that I remembered to go back and make the rest of the sentence cohesive. Recently, however, I was forced to go back and read a story that I had written.

The story was about a housewarming party and it apparently made me some enemies. Somebody disliked that story enough to give me a mild death threat in the comments section. The reason that I went back to read that story is because I randomly ran into the person that sent me the death threat. Let me explain.
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Halloween is a magical time of year. It’s a chance for guys to show their creativity by coming up with humorous and/or grotesque and/or ironic costumes, and it’s a chance for girls to show off their “creativity” by dressing as slutily as possible. Really everybody wins. Since guys typically like girls based solely on their looks it makes it even easier for guys to pick out girls; of course, just because it’s easier to pick them out doesn’t mean that it’s any easier to pick them up.

It’s not just the guys that make out on Halloween, although I’m sure that is what all girls think that don’t dress up slutily. If anything, girls have even more of an advantage in terms of choosing winners during Halloween than do guys. You see, often times a costume will reflect a person’s personality. If you see a guy that has a T-shirt that says “Free breathalyzer” and has an arrow pointing at his crotch, you can be pretty sure that in addition to being unoriginal, he is probably a douche.
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An interesting side effect to going out drinking at veritable hole in the wall establishments is that it’s often slow and the servers can be pretty bored. And just like anybody when they are bored, they turn to TV to fill the void, unless of course you are a girl server in a place that only has sports on the TVs; they have to become more creative to overcome their boredness.

It’s been my experience that they will typically try to talk in order to spice things up a bit. Sometimes they do it because they are bored, other times they do it because they are trying to extract as large a tip as possible from you. You can usually tell when the conversation is genuine, however, when what they say is not exactly what you want to hear.
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Everybody knows baseball as an analogy for sex. At least, I thought everybody knows what the bases mean, until I brought it up in conversation as fact and I was questioned, “Well, what do you consider second base” they queried. I told them what second base was, but they didn’t agree.

I silently thought to myself, “But it’s second base, how do you not know what second base is?”

For the uninformed, I will list my bases, with which I think most of you will agree:
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For some reason competitive running and drinking go together. It’s not like drinking and competitive swimming, which can result in death. Interestingly enough, for casual running and casual swimming, the exact opposite is true – you don’t want to go out for a jog when you’re wasted, and somehow when alcohol and a pool come together the clothes come off and the good times begin. In fact, there are many groups dedicated to running and drinking. They say that they are drinkers with a running problem.

A few months ago I signed up for the Rock N’ Roll Half Marathon in Virginia Beach. I did it for several reasons; the first was that it was extremely convenient (if that’s not an oxymoronic statement, then I don’t know what is). The starting line was literally half a mile away from my mom’s house. Secondly, I convinced myself that it would force me to get in shape by training. In fact, I was so confident that I would train and I would best my time of 2 hours and 5 minutes from the last half marathon that I ran that I signed up for another half marathon in Philadelphia only two weeks after the one in Virginia Beach.
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I’ve been told that there are two ways that people clean themselves after they poop. The first is to sit on the toilet and lean to the side so that you can reach a hand under and do God’s business. The second is to stand up and wipe. Pooping is a very private matter, so most people assume there’s only one way to wipe your ass because they’ve never seen anybody do it differently. It’s with this in mind that it confounds me that there are so many standards for buying drinks at a bar. Drinking is such a social event everybody should know what’s up.
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