I'm sorry, but it's just not quite time yet to get to the talk about San Francisco. There are a couple other things I've got to run through.
Last night, I was drinking bourbon and flipping back and forth between The Biggest Loser and Big Brother (during the commercials of American Idol), and thought a couple things. The first thing I thought, I thought when the fatties on Biggest Loser started stripping for the weigh-in. Call me old-fashioned, but I don't really like looking at blubber, so I changed the channel... only to find a 23-year-old Douche-Captain saying about a 46-year-old housemate, "46, dude? She still looks GOOD. I'd hit that." Well, I had to think, why are all TV shows about gross people?
That was an easy one, of course. It's because we all like watching gross people and mentally wincing at how much grosser they are than we. Like the Real World. I love the Real World.
Then I flipped back to the Biggest Loser, started looking at blubber again, and had my second thought: "the phrase 'the bigger they are, the harder they fall' should really be 'the fatter they are, the harder they fall,' because don't fat people always hurt themselves when they fall?" Then I thought, "but then again, they've got all that fat for padding, so..." In case you couldn't tell by now, I drinking plenty of bourbon.
And all this drinking and thinking about falling got me to remember the last time I fell down when I was drinking. It was about a month ago, and after drinking at home, I had gone out to a bar until closing time, after which I had stopped by a party that my brother was at, after which I went back home with my cousin and played dance music and drank, after which we decided it would be good to head to his apartment for a nightcap. After which, fatefully, we decided we needed to go buy Tiger Woods for his X-Box 360. It was 6:30 am.
Immediately upon walking out his front door, I stepped on a patch of ice, skidded a little forward, caught my balance with a sharp pitch left, and then caught my toe on an uneven edge of sidewalk. I bit it, straight up bit it. Big tree fall hard.
I bounced slightly on my chin, took the brunt of the shot on my left eyebrow, bounced and skidded onto my right side and finished with scrapes covering my face, bleeding in a cascade over the left half of my face. So we kept going to the store.
When the cashier asked me, startled, "Are you ok?" I was quick with, "no, we just need to buy Tiger Woods."
I didn't say it was a good story.
Some people have been finding my blog with some interesting Google searches lately. The most recent:
(with my reactions)
1. why are you such a lush
I don't know. Is that a trick question?
2. defecating in bed –dog
True enough. Don't think I've ever defecated in bed WITH a dog.
3. dress up retarded men games
Or tell them it's the special olympics and make 'em run around?
4. am I retarded quiz
If you're Googling this, then yes, probably.
5. Julianne Hough scoring
6. Pope undershirt
I think that's a sin to talk about, man.
7. Think like a retarded woman
Oh, if only we could.
8. feeling of car hair on tongue
9. but first, I would just like to get to know you
Great, because I usually don't put out on the 0th date.
10. Women are retarded
Well, that's not the best way to phrase it, but...
Also, in case you cared (I'm sure you didn't), I updoodled the layout over here. And the blogroll's updated too. If you don't thank me for adding you to that little pile of exclusivity and sexiness within two days, I'm going to kill you and never call you again.
Do we have to get more into it than that? Do I tell you every time I get a haircut? No, I don't. And that's why you think there's another woman. Well, maybe I just didn't remember, or I didn't think it was that important.
Or maybe there is another woman. And she's skinnier than you.
As Confucius said, "my philosophy in life is not to spend too much time fantasizing about old Jewish men."
Did you hear me say I like the Real World earlier? Because I don't.