Opposition of Fleshy Parts

It happened folks. After dinner the other night, while sitting in the most comfortable chair in the world. I sighed the sigh of a man who ate the absolute best combination of chicken pot pie, ice cream and coke and then, without the aid of conscious thought ... I unbuttoned my pants.

The feeling! I was relieved! I could breathe! Sit comfortably!

And now I must lose at least 5 pounds. Now, here's the deal. I must lose the weight. Why? Why conform to a society so critical in its judgment of physical appearance? Why not love me for me?

Why?

Because I can't afford it. I can't afford new pants. That's like ... at least 10 pairs of pants! And it's summer season so that's pants and shorts!!

Plus I miss being able to bend over and ...

tie my shoes. There's just too much flesh in opposition of itself and it has got to go.

So, stay tuned. I'm losing weight.

My Super Sweet Slut-Teen

Waaaaaaaaaaay back in December I started writing this:

So. The very first time I saw MTV's "My Super Sweet Sixteen" I thought - "WTF?" Then I thought, "When's the next episode?!" Then I thought, "Are these chippies for real?" Then I thought, "I can't believe I just spent my Saturday afternoon watching this. For shame." You know, the classic "car crash" emotions. Shock. Intrigue. Disgust and ultimately guilt for taking pleasure in something that is so tragically devastating to someone else.

You see, I've been working on college campuses for upwards of eight years now and for the longest time I've always wondered what happens to young women when they get on campus and into fraternity parties. Why do they lower themselves to such submissive behavior? Why do they allow the boys on campus to take advantage of them, manipulate them and both literally and figuratively, rape them? Then it finally dawned on me - these super sweet sixteen girls - these controlling, daddy's little girl, power mongering, credit card swiping, I'm the queen of my party, my school, my town girls - are simply trying to replace the power they (w)horded while in high school. Their "status" means nothing on male dominated campuses. No one cares that Ciara played your sweet sixteen party or that you handed out silver coined invitations or that you made three guys dance poolside as you and your three girlfriends decided whether or not they were worthy to attend the magical event.

And when they realize that no one cares about that, it makes it that much easier to make out with the next "hot" girl and subsequently get approval from the men cheering them on.

...

Apparently, sometime between now and then, January and February happened. I've obviously lost the fervor with which I was writing that post ... some valid points were made, but for the life of me, I can't remember what my point was going to be.

Daddy, don't let your daughters grow up to be frat whores. I'll leave it at that.

I'm Bringing Sexy Back ... in 5-7 Days

I have pink eye. I need a haircut. I just ate my own weight in Christmas Eve cheese and crackers and chex mix and macaroni and cheese and hot dogs and green beans. Needless to say, I'm not the sexy beast I once was.

But who cares because it's Christmas Eve!! This will be short post because it's almost time for bed and Santa will be making his way to Wilson's Mom's house (where we're spending the holiday) and I've already been naughty enough this year, I don't need to push my luck by staying up late.

Blessings to all, and to all a good night!!

Miracle on 30-poopth St.

So this morning I woke up in a foul mood. I don't know why, I was just a bitter little man this morning. Nothing suited me - I was like Goldilocks - I wasn't happy with my toothbrush, the water just wouldn't get warm enough in the shower and even though I looked hott, I just didn't like what I was wearing. Wah, right? It's all about perspective, really ...

So I was walking to work and as I turned the corner at Baker Library I saw a huge dog taking a dump on the lawn. Its owner was standing nearby, waiting patiently holding on to the leash. I thought, "Great, what a fan-fucking-tastic morning!" But then something miraculous happened. Something I was not prepared for - visually or emotionally. The woman pulled out of her pocket ... wait for it ... a plastic bag! And she scooped up her pooch's poop! And then threw the little baggie in the trash!

It was a Festivus Miracle!

Let me tell you, if you're ever in a bad mood, watching someone pick up dog shit, might just do the trick. Trust me.

A Yule Blog

Oh ho ho ho ho ho, I ate so much pot roast for dinner.

So, let me tell you how bitched up I am about shopping at the mall. Civilization has deteriorated (and yes, I had to spell check that word) into a completely self-absorbed capitalistic power shopper and it is no wonder that Time magazine had to name "you" as a computer aided being Person of the Year and not the "You" that stood in line at Gap whilst her 3 year old screamed at the top of her lungs.

Seriously, though, it is no wonder I shop online these days. Our society ills me. I do have to say, though, that the people working the registers at Victoria's Secret were fun. They were trying to sell this lip enhancer thing at the counter and I picked it up and looked at it with my queer eye (and in this case, queer refers to the "odd" definition and not the "homo" one) and the woman goes, "I know ... like I need my lips any bigger" and then she puffed them out. Then I replied, "would it be the same thing as if I ate a banana, I'm allergic to those and swell up." She laughed.

Okay, so not the most witty of repartee, but amusing nonetheless.

So, Christmas is here, and I for one, am reclaiming my "Christianity" and greeting people with Merry Christmas (should the occasion warrant a holiday greeting). I'm done with Happy Holidays and Chrismahannakwanzakuh and being politically correct. In honor of a) my identity and b) separation of church and state (and hence any politically correct brainwashing) I'm saying Merry Christmas.

So Merry Christmas. Bitches.

Looking Good Costs Time and Money

I went shopping yesterday! I bought me all kinds of nice shirts and sweaters so I can look good for approximately one week and then not want to do laundry which will result in me inevitably wearing the same OLD clothes I used to have that made me want to buy the new clothes in the first place.

Why do I insist on buying dry clean only sweaters? Dry cleaning is expensive! More expensive than the sweaters! Well, not at first, but it eventually is. I guess technically though everything is. For some reason though, the dry cleaning part seems more expensive to me. Aside from the extra monetary commitment that is required, you have to do it within certain times. I mean, the laundry room is open 24 hours a day. There are even 24 hour Laundromats in case I feel like taking my clothes for a ride! But there aren't 24 hour dry cleaning places. I would gladly exchange 1 hour dry cleaners for a 24 hour dry cleaner any day. I mean an "open 24 hours a day dry cleaner." In the context of the 1 hour dry cleaner it sounded like I was talking about a dry cleaner that took 24 hours to clean your clothes. Which I was not.

Anyway, the extra time it takes to dry clean clothes is the point I'm trying to make. I guess I need to just get off my butt instead of whining about it. Like instead of writing this blog I could be taking my clothes to the dry cleaner ... oh wait, it's Sunday.

Brian Likes His Cake

Christy: You got invited? All they told me was 'Don't eat the cake.' (To Brian after Brian revealed he was invited to a retirement part at Christy's office)

Overheard at staff meeting.

Marzipan is Such a Great Influence

Zach: That's disgusting. And I don't like your outfit. (To Rachel in reference to her wanting to dip her pickles in her au jous)

Overheard at Quizno's.

If I Don't Get to Punch Someone, Why am I Paying So Much Money?!

So today my trainer informed me I have two sessions left in my training package. When I asked if there was some sort of culminating experience to commemorate the occaision he just looked at me, the same way he looks at me when I say, "20 reps? You're kidding right?" or "Run 2 miles? That's funny!" So, I decided to take a shot ... "How about, on our last day, I get to punch you in the gut?"

It was worth a shot right?

Anyway, I'm making my way back home for a few days ... look for some blogs (and some pics, hopefully) from the Land of Enchantment. It'll be hott.

So Who's Up for Some Pot Pie?

I wonder if Tyra Banks ever regrets being the catalyst for Janice Dickenson being thrust upon the world again. Maybe a little guilty?

Whatever, as long as Ms. Dickeson keeps her male models working for 2xist, she can be any shade of crazy she wants!

So, I often have a problem when it comes to dinner time. Backstory - Wilson and I got into a huge argument over groceries the other day because I wanted to buy groceries and he didn't want to because I tend to buy things I won't ever eat (mostly because I have this notion that I'm a chef, when in reality, the only cooking skill I have is the ability to dial for chinese delivery!), they go bad, and in the long run he wastes money. Okay, all logical. So anyway, we argued, we bought groceries. Cut to today and me sitting on the chair, literally watching the minutes pass, thinking, "How late do I have to let it get before I don't feel guilty for making the decision to not make food, but to order it ..." Then there's the whole problem of me waiting so long to make food that I get so lethargic about it ... what a viscious cycle.

No! Make food! You can do it! Oohh, there are tater tots ... No! Tater tots are not food! So, I pull out some chicken from the fridge ... what shall I do with it? Let's just sautee some chicken, boil some pasta, throw some red sauce on there and call it a meal. No fuss, no muss, and a net gain of approximately 4 dirty dishes. But wait - what's that yellow box in the corner? Bisquick ... ooh a recipe for dumplings! I've never done that before. Yeah, yeah, you can boil some chicken in some chicken broth, cut up some celery, put in some potatoes, some carrots, green beans, corn, onions and totally make a stew!! With dumplings!

P.S. Who knew it would take an hour and a half to make this stew with dumplings and that I wouldn't be eating dinner until 9:45. Not this kid, that's for sure.

I'm not even going to get into the fact that I was one can of chicken broth short and it really came out as chicken and dumpling pot pie stuffing ... so guess what's for dinner tomorrow?! Oh and I'm also not going to get into the fact that I have no idea what dumplings are supposed to a) look like or b) taste like, so I dont' know if I got those right ... as far as I know they're balls of steamed dough ... and I like dough, erego, I liked the dumplings. That's the transitive property, bitches.

Anyway, the moral of the story is that when it comes to cooking I'm way more ambitious than I am talented.

Wilson Hates Luke Perry

I decided I need to post more. I often wait until something absolutely fan-fucking-tastic (that's for you Mike) happens or something hiLARious (that's for you Brian) happens and then it gets to be too long and it needs to be something super and then I just get over it and don't post anything. So I got over that, and now I'm posting.

It's now June and I'm entering my 4th term working at Dartmouth - summer term. From the stories that have been told, it should be a cake-walk, however, I will be flying solo as opposed to partnering up with another Community Director, so it's kind of like a cake walk only a little more challenging. Like maybe there's no cake at the end ... just walking in circles to music. Which can be enjoyable - as long as the music isn't Toby Keith.

I was told twice this weekend that my body looked pretty good from all the gym-goin'. I believe the words "svelt" and "ripped" were used. We all had a good laugh after I mentioned that I appreciated it, especially since it didn't come cheap ... I guess it's worth waking up at 6 a.m.

I supposedly have the day off tomorrow, but who takes the day off the day before the summer term begins? Not this kid. Officially, on the books, though, I have the day off. What shall I do? I guess I'll probably just sleep in. My gym appointment isn't until 9, which I guess is good.

We're currently watching "Signs." I read this and completely agree with the assessment. I do, however, still get the crap scared out of me while I watch it. I drive myself crazy with anticipation. [Cut to me, changing the channel.]

P.S. We're never living on a farm.

Where Do I Get in Line?!

Brian: Hey Jeff, would you like me to toss your salad?

Overheard at the Olive Garden.

There's Still the Matter of That Pie in the Fridge

It’s Sunday evening and the weekend of sloth is about to come to an end. Soon it will be Monday and my stomach will be sad because I will no longer have meals that consist entirely of Pepperidge Farms cookies! You think I am kidding, but here is a list of things I ate this weekend, we’ll start with Friday night because, well, who am I kidding, my brain goes on weekend at 2:30 on Friday why shouldn’t my stomach?

Friday night: Relay for Life – a proud night for a glutton. First off, I didn’t register to participate, but was easily convinced by Tricia to go and watch. “Watch a bunch of people walk around a track to support cancer? Meh.” “There’s free food.” “Okay!” So I go, and much to my chagrin you have to pay $5, but it’s all you can eat! I decide to wait until I’m really hungry. And by “really hungry” I mean “until Tricia gets up to go get food and ask her to bring me something.” Eventually, one of our co-workers leaves and gives me her $5-all-you-can-eat-all-money-goes-to-cancer-research wristband and I get to eat! All I can! For free! So I have a hamburger! And a hot dog! And another hamburger! All in about 45 minute span. It’s a proud night for a glutton. And cheap bastards.

Saturday I woke up and ate 4 pieces of toast with butter. Then I went to visit Wilson at his mom’s. Since it was around lunchtime and I was going to be in the car I figured what could be better to eat than … gas station lunch! So I had a bag of cracker and cheddar cheese combos and – GASP! – the Foodstop is out of Diet Mountain Dew! WTF? DMD is a driving necessity! How else am I to belt out Kelly Clarkson songs while barreling down the highway at 80 mph without the caffeine boost that only a DMD can provide?! I settle for a Diet Dr Pepper because, well, it tastes more like regular Dr Pepper. (P.S. I’m a commercial monkey).

Once I get to Wilson’s mom’s house I’m greeted by the neighbor with a bag of cookies! Hell yeah, it’s time for dessert, I say! So I eat two cookies. While at Wilson’s we work on the neighbor’s boat … hmm, cookies first, then work – what a tricky lady! But it’s worth it cause A) the cookies were good, B) it’s a beautiful day and C) I get to spend time with Wils. So we’re painting and drilling and here comes the cookie neighbor with what? More cookies! Yum. After paining and drilling and cookies we take a nap. We awaken to Wilson’s mom with hot dogs! After an hour drive home I come home and eat a bag of Lime and Red Chile Tostito’s. I’d never heard of them, but I found the bag in the house so I ate them. They were pretty tasty!

On Sunday we didn’t wake up until around 11 and I finish off the rest of those Tostito’s for breakfast. For lunch I have a can of Chef Boyardee Ravioli. For dinner we try to fix last Sunday’s Chicken Fried Steak disaster by making … Chicken Fried Steak again! We tried a different biscuit recipe and after a successful taste test (read: 5 biscuits later) we then fry up the steaks. Mmmm beef fried in butter and oil?! Please sir, can I have some more? No! You’ve eaten too many biscuits and physically cannot intake anymore food!

Which is where I sit now. Bloated. Staring at a plate of uneaten biscuits smothered in gravy. Oh yeah, did I mention that the steak was smothered in gravy? Yeah … so, in summary – cookies, combos, hot dogs hamburgers, chips, biscuits and fried beef … oh mama, my trainer should have never gone on vacation.

Thou shalt not have chicken on Easter

Jesus said, "Behold my hands and my feet, that it is myself: handle me and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have." So my question is: This relates to the bunny rabbit how?!?

I hate holidays. They are so inconvenient. Things are closed. Children run about. Is a bucket of chicken at 9:30 p.m. too much to ask? Only if it's Easter Sunday.

Not to get on any sort of religious high horse, but really, to me, religious holidays are the pinnacle of hypocrisy. No one cares more about their religion than when there's a reason to not work.

Okay I'm done. And kids be quiet and go home.

Meanwhile, the window is wide open ...

Daniel: Do you have cramps? Would you like me to massage your ovaries?

Jenn: No!

Daniel: Dry hump?

Jenn: No!

Daniel: I'm an excellent ovary massager, Wilson, tell Jenn I'm an excellent ovary massager.

Wilson: Do you even know where the ovaries are?

Daniel: I would assume they're in this general region [points to pelvis].

Wilson: Yeah, well ... you know what she could really use is a heating pad.

Jenn: I'm fine. I have cramps but they're well managed by all the Motrin I took.

Wilson: Oh, okay. Do you have a tipped uterus?

Daniel: I can check that out for you.

Wilson: There's a three finger test.

Daniel: I have three fingers.

Wilson: I don't know which fingers, though. And I'm sure it's done from the outside.

Daniel: Like a shocker?

But I bet your tongue likes it ...

Brian: These Doritos really are nacho cheesier. I'm not sure how my colon feels about that.

Overheard at the Hop during lunch.

Jaywalk Rock Chalk

Pedestrians.

It is state law in New Hampshire to stop for pedestrians at crosswalks. Actually, you only have to stop for them if they've already begun to cross or if they are on your side of the street and are in the process of stepping out into the street. But I don't want to talk about pedestrians in crosswalks, with them I have no beef. What I do want to bring to the attention of every idiot savant out there in Dartmouthland is a little thing called "jaywalking."

I would like to take the opportunity to educate pedestrians to the fact that if you are not in a crosswalk, my happy ass does not have to stop for you. And believe me, I will take every opportunity to remind you of that. I don't want to hear anymore bullshit of, "Oh that's the culture around here," cause as hard as it is to change culture, it's harder to wake up from a coma from me and my Landrover mowing you down and launching you across the Green. Believe me, I have no problem testing this theory.

I also don't want to hear any more shit about "You shouldn't be driving that fast anyway," because there should be no reason an Ivy League educated person should just walk out in the middle of traffic anyway. I don't care how privileged you think you are, or if you didn't hear the car approaching cause you were listening to your iPod, which by the way you don't want me to get started on either, or that the light was red so the driver was going to have to stop anyway - I stop where the car in front of me ends ... if you are in between me and that point, be prepared to become very familiar with my bumper.

Think I'm rambling incessantly? Read this. That's right, it's your duty to stop for me when I'm driving and you're cutting across the street. So surrender to me and my car, lest ye surrender thine life to the asphault. That's right, I said it.

The "Overheard" Feature

I decided that once a week I would add a post that includes a compilation of quotes and conversations that made me laugh that week. To start it off,

Ben: My high school was the kind where everyone drove BMWs and Mercedes-Benz.

Jenna: In high school, I had a bus pass.

Overheard at a UGA function.

That's Fizix

I often believe that if I were born in another time and place I would be a genius. How awesome would it have been to be Isaac Newton? I mean basically, he made observations and then wrote them down and then said then in rightfully fanciful verbiage. Really, did he do anything that anyone else couldn’t have done? I mean, I can guarantee you there was some dude at a party just a few days after Newton would make one his “discoveries” saying, “Did I not just say that to you the other day? Damn I should have written that down.”

Now, don’t get me wrong, yes, Newton is a genius. I mean, first, he had the common sense to write shit down. For instance, how many times have you been up late at night only to stumble across a commercial advertising, say, Doggy Steps and thought “I could have invented that! In fact, I’m sure I said something to someone sometime about how cruel it was to have a dog jump onto a bed, or how absurd it would be to, god forbid, pick it up!”

Secondly (and I use “secondly” knowing full well that my grad school advisor Dr. John Mueller is about to go into a tizzy and deduct 3 princess points) – secondly, he possessed a lexicon that made him seem smart and he used it well. I mean come on, “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction?” How many drunk ass bastards are out there who not only proved that over and over but probably said just as much before, “Hell no, bitch, I can’t take a shot of Jaeger cause that shit makes me boot.” What’s the difference? Okay, so it’s not as elegant, but it gets the point across – For every action (shot of Jaeger) there is an equal and opposite reaction (boot). And furthermore, as you increase said action (more shots of Jaeger) there is indeed an equal and opposite reaction (more boot.)

So yes, Newton was a genius. But had he existed at the time, I don’t think there’s anything Newton didn’t teach that you couldn’t learn on say … Maury Povich. Let’s take Newton’s first law of Motion: “An object at rest tends to stay at rest and an object in motion tends to stay in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.” This could easily be observed on any episode of Maury, especially any episode involving a paternity test. Witness:

An object at rest (Baby Mama) tends to stay at rest and an object in motion (Baby Daddy) tends to stay in motion with the same speed and in the same direction (away from said Baby Mama) unless acted upon by an unbalanced force (Maury Povich).

I really don’t know what my point was, at all, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that I like television and I’m tired of people telling me that TV rots your brain. I don’t know, maybe, next time someone gets on me for watching Maury I can say, “Shut up bitch, I’m learning physics.”

In the Beginning, God Created Mexicans

First of all, Mex to the Max is a slogan used by the restaurant Margarita's, which by the way, is a perfect example of "just because you name your restaurant after something doesn't mean that particular item is any good." For instance, the actual margaritas at Margarita's suck, whereas the margarita's at Molly's give me warm tingly sensations that eventually make me urinate. As an aside, I cannot comment on any Mollies at Molly's as I have never met, seen, or heard of a Molly at Molly's. But I digress. The term "mex to the max" is also a blitz nickname used by one of my staff members. I will discuss this "blitz" and these "students" at a later date. (This is where I try to intrigue you with vague references to things I hope to write about and will in turn tingle your curiousity and cause you to continue to read my bloglet ... providing of course I update it regularly and actually write about the things I seductively elude to.)

About me, your blogger extraodinaire: I was born in Columbus, NM. A U.S. citizen I grew up on the border speaking english and spanish and no, I have no accent in either language. Sometimes I'm happy about this, sometimes I'm saddened as things tend to sound funnier in an accent, and since I'm not an actor, I'm not great at doing fake accents. It tends to come out as someone impersonating Cheech Marin ... and not very well.

I am 27 going on 28, baby it's time to think ...

I work at Dartmouth College. This topic, also, will arise in the future.

I am recently engaged to my partner, Wilson.

I am a homosexual.

I like to state the obvious.

I also like to make people laugh. It's my "thing." If I can make people laugh I feel they like me, and I like when people like me.

I don't like when people don't like me.

I'm not, however, one of those people who will go to the ends of the Earth to try to get someone to like me. If you don't like me, you don't like me and I will probably make fun of you behind your back (and then write about you on my other blog).

I'm mature like that.

I have a penchant for run on sentences and belaboring a point. I feel the more verbose I become the greater chance of me saying something funny will arise. An economy of language is not this humorist's friend.

So at times I will post some monologues that otherwise would only occur in my head (where of course there was laughing) and sometimes I'll post some where maybe there could perhaps be laughter, but more than likely only a confused "huh?" will be produced. If you know me in real life, you may find somethings to be repetitive, or slightly altered. I feel that my interactions in daily life are a rehearsal for conversations I can then make more dramatic, humorous and intriguing when I write about them. This will cause people who don't know me to believe that I am as quick witted and lingually blessed as I appear on their computer screen. Cause, come on, who would really use the term "lingually blessed" in an actual conversation? Well, maybe Wilson, and you had a pleasant wake up call from me this morning.