Blast From the Past.

The time is 10:30 P.M. and I am listening to The Muse. We have a few things we can discuss tonight and I might not get to them all but we shall see. For one, we can talk about my new job a bit, also random Obama paraphernalia, gay protests, charismatic faith healers, possibly Michael Phelps, or eve an email scam I chanced upon in my inbox. Let’s start with the email.

So I have been getting a lot of spam mail the last few months and they are getting annoying. Sometimes they are cleverly labeled like “Are you that guy I used to pick on in Jr. High? (The answer is probably)” and “Are you that nerdy guy with the pimples from math class?” (The answer to this is definitely.) So much to my curiosity I opened my inbox and saw an email titled, “Hey it’s Erin…remember me?” I thought really hard for a moment, yes, I had known a couple of Erin’s in the past. At the same time however a cautious warning that it could be an invitation to porn crossed my mind. My curiosity, among other things, was aroused, so I immediately opened it. This is what I read.

“It’s been awhile, Almost 2 years now I think! This still you? What have you been up to? Still single? I have been with my GF for just about 2 years now! We met a little while after you and I stopped talking.”

I thought, okay this has to be porn related but I will make sure. So I read on:

“She’s really great and is the reason I am messaging you... her bday is coming up and since we are both into men I thought it would be fun to set some fun up for us as a present! I remembered how hot you are…”

I would just like to state that when she said, “I remembered how hot you are…” it became painfully obvious that this was a hoax. No girl from my past still in her right mind would call me hot. On a very nice day, if they are feeling generous, I might get a cute, but never a hot. I will let you finish reading the rest of the email if you are curious.

“…And was wondering if you were still interested in meeting us and taking it even further hehe”

Hehe indeed. I mean seriously, this is the kind of low grade, hack job, crappy writing I am supposed to fall subject to? I should be offended, no rising action, (Hehe, no pun here either) no antagonist/protagonist, no sense of irony, please spare me the Harlequin details. Anyway, there was a link there that I did not post here lest you may stumble, nor did I follow it myself. I can’t actually prove that I didn’t, so you will just have to trust me.

Gay Day: So I am sure you are all familiar with the recent protests for gay marriage. One such protest came to my attention from a newspaper in San Francisco. It stated that on a certain day this year every gay person “call in gay to work” and not show up to protest their rights. They were calling it A Day Without A Gay. I don’t know if this plan really ever happened or if it was just a possibility. It is pretty darn funny though. So if this is like calling in sick are they equating homosexuality to a sickness? We discussed this issue at work and we decided this would actually work against their cause because all their co-workers would be pissed at having to cover their jobs while they “Called in Gay.” Besides, if they actually went a day without gays, then every Disney store in the world would all be closed since at once. We also thought that, given the bad job market, calling in to work was not a wise idea. However, I have to say, “A Day Without A Gay” is better then their original idea which was “A Year Without A Queer.”

ODD JOBS:
So I have a new job as you all should know by now. It is pretty cool and the people I work with seem nice enough. They are letting me pretty much design their intranet site, which leaves me with loads of tantalizing possibilities. I have a cubbie (much like a cubicle but made of dry wall.) It has a window and faces my boss’s office. I have a cubbie hole? I have never had one before. What should I do with it? This leaves me in a conundrum of sorts. Everyone knows when you have an office, there are certain obligatory items that you must put in it, that more or less define you, or at least give off clues about yourself. Pictures of family or pets, bobble head dolls, sports stuff, little figurines or signs along with a whole myriad of other possibilities. So I will ask you dear reader, what should I put in my cubbie that defines me?

I know what you are thinking, a map of Middle Earth, Cobra Commander figure, a model Tie Fighter, a poster of a hot elf chick licking a dagger and maybe some multi-sided dice. But I have a chance here to be creative and not let them see me as a nerd just yet. Specifically, there are two special points of interest: the screen saver, and the calendar.

My current screen saver says, “Dell” on it and the current calendar hanging on my wall is a “Waterfalls of the World” one. I was at least hoping for a “Large rocks of the earth,” one but no, I get water. So I ask for your suggestions. My current laptop background is the picture of me with my Russian hat and German coat on. I call it the Czar picture and my friend Faith took it a few years ago. Maybe I should just use it for my screensaver. As for a calendar, how about the Far Side daily calendar or possibly a homemade "Cats I Have Loved" calendar. You decide.

So I am sitting at work on Friday and my boss walks in with a box and says, “Jeff, here are your business cards.” And I’m like, “I get business cards?!?! HELL YEAH!!!!” Was more or less my response. I have business cards now. I feel so grown up and professional. It says Jeff Jordan on it and has our company and logo etc on it. I was hoping it said, R. Jefferson Jordan, ESQ, Marketer Extraordinaire on it, but alas it didn’t. I latter asked an attorney friend of mine if Esquire was saved only for attorneys and she said, “yes. Damn lawyers, why do they get all the cool titles.

Anyway, I get business cards! I can’t wait to start handing them out to hot girls I meet on chance encounters. The real trick I have to learn is how to sneak in and leave some in women’s restrooms without getting caught. Sounds like a great way to meet chicks in my opinion.

I also have to bring a gag gift for the company white elephant party next week. I am brainstorming.

What to take a bunch of accountants? Maybe pocket protectors. One co-worker went online and found a black bobble head Jesus that looks like Snoop Dog. I totally want this. I have been debating collecting weird stuff anyway and I think that would fit right in.

Well gang that is about it for now. As you see from my first paragraph I have plenty of material to pull from for another blog or two. Until then Merry Christmas and Happy New Year and all that.

A Good 'Ole Fashioned Blog

The time is 8:51 P.M. and I am listening to Rhetoric. Okay, not really but I thought it sounded intellectual and all. So tonight I don’t have anything long or fancy, just a good ole’ fashioned blog, a return to the good ole’ days if you will, when life was simpler and there was no internet to make things complicated. Today we talk about Karate and I write my own worship song. So without further delay here we go.

Karate for Christ: Okay folks, this is something I have been planning to write about for sometime but kept putting it off. However, every day at work, I am confronted with this issue and so I finally have gotten around to writing about it. Across from my Sbux, there is a Christian Bookstore. One day I went to work and noticed a new business next door to it. The sign read, and I kid you not, Karate for Christ. My satirical instincts quickly rose to the occasion. I mean this is the very kind of Christian crap I hate, and here was the perfect opportunity to mock it.
I don’t like Karate for Christ; Karate is overrated as a form of self-defense. I much prefer the noble art of Judo for Jesus, also called Jew-do, or maybe as my brother suggested, Tai-Kwon-Do Unto Others. I see Karate for Christ as being there own sect of Christianity, much like the old monastic orders. I just have one question here. Do they teach their students to turn the other cheek? Or do they teach you to chop the other cheek? While many sects follow the teachings of St. Paul or St. John they probably follow the teaching of St. Norris, who never sleeps, he just waits. I am sure they spurn the teachings of St. Francis a Sissy. (I’m proud of that historical pun) He was way to pacifistic for them.
I can see them now, instead of using the Sword of the Spirit or the Breastplate of Righteousness, they use the Nun-Chuck of Redemption and the Bo Staff of Judgment. I think the whole idea is hilarious but I will spare you anymore bad puns. I did find out afterwards that the Main Place, a very large local church that also runs a nearby theatre and thrift store, is running the center. However that makes the whole thing even lamer in my opinion Oh well…

Speaking of which, if I was to ever start my own Dojo (Yeah right) I have decided I would name it the Cobra Kai Dojo. Many of you will remember this as the “evil” dojo in the Karate Kid movies. I mean, who wouldn’t want to join that? And yes, I would teach my students to sweep the legs, you heard me, sweep the legs. Muahahaha.

Bruce Springsteen To Launch Voter Drive – Four years ago Bruce Springsteen made a controversial tour, with many other artists, called the Rock the Vote tour in attempt to get John Kerry elected. (Much to the ire of my Dad.) He is doing it again this year, of course, the name of this years' tour? Barack the Vote.

I have decided to write my own worship song. It seems like so many people nowadays do so I figured why not me? So here it goes…

He is our thirst quencher,
He is our hunger buster.
He is the soul reaper
And Ketchup to our Mustard

He’s Omnipotent, Omniscient and Omnivorous

So we sing….

Forever God is Eternal
And that’s a fairly long time.
We lift our arms in worship,
And sometimes we really mean it
And that last line didn’t rhyme.

And we try to focus on you,
And not the hot girl in the pew,
Wearing a low cut strapless shirt,
That has no business being seen in church.

(Repeat)

So we sing…

Forever God is Eternal
And that’s a fairly long time,
We lift our arms in worship,
And sometime we really mean it.
And that last line didn’t rhyme.

I think mine is pretty good and brutally honest. Perhaps I will submit it to DK, our music minister and see what he thinks. The only down side is I can’t write music, but I have a rough tune in my head.

Well that’s about it for now folks, I have to go practice my forms for my yellow belt test.

The Night of the Hell Spawned Turd.

">The time is 3:02 A.M. and I am listening to more Wilco. That’s right folks, A.M. as in the middle of the night. Sorry it has been so long, I have been rather bored and uninspired lately, however you have to strike while the irons hot, so here it is. Now normally I would take the time to give you a brief update on my life and all that’s going on, however, something so terrible, so horrible happened a few days ago, that we are going to jump right in on this one. WARNING: The content you are about to read is graphic and might offend some readers. It’s been awhile since we have had a good one, but I kid you not, I present to you, a truly epic episode of…

Great Moments In O.C.D. History: So for several complex geo-political reasons, my store has a lot of homeless, crazies and transients. Seriously, I can think of five off hand we have to deal with. Once we even had to call the police to have them escorted off the property, (he just took off one day, running into the streets, yelling and banging on peoples car windows.) Let’s call him Leon. There is another one who hangs out all evening, is fairly polite and doesn’t quite smell as bad, let’s call him Lenny. Now one Saturday, I had a very long and tiring shift and by the end of it, around 5:00 P.M all I wanted to do was get the hell out of dodge. So an hour or so before my shift ends we get this big Frappacino rush, long lines, multiple orders, and just two of us to handle it. So I am on register taking orders and writing cups, and in walks Lenny. Great, I think, well, no big deal anyways. A minute later walks in Leon followed by another tall crazy looking dude with a hunchback, let’s call him Quasi. Now Leon was specifically told never to return to the store and if he does we are to tell him to leave and call the cops. However, we are in the middle of this rush and I can’t really shout across the store yelling at him to leave. So a minute later Lenny looks at me and points to the restroom. I nod my head. He uses are bathroom to freshen up but usually asks before he does. He goes in. Leon and Quasi then decide to get in line for the bathroom as well. We are still in the middle of the rush and I really can’t stop everything to deal with them yet.

A few minutes later Lenny exits, then Leon goes in, a few minutes later, he comes out, and Quasi goes in. We still have a long line. Then Quasi opens the door and walks out as well. Lenny is outside now and Leon is sitting down. Quasi walks past me and says in a deep voice, “Your bathroom needs some attention.” He then sits down.

Immediately I had a terrible sinking feeling in my stomach. The store was still filled with customers though so I couldn’t check things out yet. After the line goes down I pull myself away from the bar long enough to check the bathroom. I was nervous as I slowly approached it. I felt like a kid walking to the principles office, or worse, I felt like a death row inmate being led to the execution chamber. I stopped in front of the door. Trembling slightly, my hand reached for the knob. I stopped and lowered my hand in hesitation, or more likely, survival instinct. I shook my head and took a deep breath. I lifted my hand again and grabbed the doorknob. I slowly turned it, the seconds seemed like hours, everything was going in slow motion. The knob clicked open. I pulled and the door swung open.

I was instantly hit with an overpowering wave of stench that threatened to make me vomit. Suppressing my gag reflexes for the first of what was to be many times I looked inside. There in the bathroom of Starbucks, lay the most hideous, foul, disgusting thing I have seen since the Clinton vs. Obama primaries. It was as if a dark portal to the underworld had opened up and that hell had spewed its vilest, most blasphemous creation onto the bathroom floor. For you see, there on the bathroom floor of the Newport/ El Camino Starbucks lay a large pile of loose human excrement. Not only was there a pile, but there were smears of it all over the floor and around the toilet. It was like somebody just decided to wipe their butt on the floor instead of using paper.

This is the part of the narration where words fail me, but I shall try. I felt a chill rush down my spine. Like somebody had thrust a freezing cold dagger (With a frost enchantment on it.) through my upper torso and stuck it all the way down my spine. (It felt strangely similar to being rejected by a girl- fancy that!) Then, like a bomb going off, I felt a torrent of heat rush up through my gut, through my chest, and into my mind. Yes, Jeff Jordan was having a panic attack. I slammed the door shut and ran to the back and kicked the mop sink as hard as I could. What was I going to do? What could I do? I couldn’t even look at it, let alone clean it, nor could I make anyone else do so in good conscience. What could I do?

I think this was the absolute closest I have ever been to having a mental break down. I was mad as hell. I was mad as a hornet’s net poked by a stick. A hornet’s nest poked by a stick and gasoline being poured over it. Gasoline poured on it and then being knocked off the tree branch, picked up and thrown into a fire. I wanted to drag all three of those crazy buggers out onto the patio, cut their heads off right there, and spike them on the patio umbrella as a warning to all other crazy freaks to keep the hell away.

I ran back to the lobby and confronted Leon and Quasi. Did you do that? I practically yelled at them. Oh no, not us, of course not, they replied. It was Lenny, they claimed, he is “eccentric” they said. “You’re not even supposed to be here ever again.” I told them as I went outside to Lenny and threw out the same question. Of course it wasn’t him either, he always leaves the bathroom clean, he informed me.

I now had to think of the customers. I ran into the back, made a sign stating that if anybody even so much as opened the bathroom door, let alone step foot into it, then I would cuts their limbs off, stuff them in the blender, and serve them to them as a Frapiccino. I walked back outside, Leon and Quasi were gone now. At least one burden was gone.

I looked at the floor, their were small turd stains on the it. Quasi and or Leon had evidently tracked it out into the lobby as well. Great. I honestly didn’t know what to do. I went to the back, said a very brief prayer, and took a few deep breaths. About this time the shift change came. The girl relieving me came in and I told her and the other employees what happened.

“I know your not going to leave that mess for me.” She said. Damn straight I am was what I wanted to respond, after all, it was past time for me to leave.

“Well maybe we should just leave it for the manager in the morning.” I said, knowing full well we couldn’t do that, but oh what a prank it would have been. I went to the back and called the manager, there was no answer.

So I figured the first thing I got had to do was clean the lobby floor where they tracked some out. There wasn’t much and in three minutes of excruciating mental pain, I had mopped it up. That still left the bathroom. I looked at it one more time and suppressed another attempt by my body to vomit. I can’t do it, I told the Lord. I simply can’t. I walked back out, held my hand in my head trying to think. As far as I was concerned, I wanted to Napalm the whole festering pit to pieces. I figured Napalm MIGHT kill all the germs. It was from a homeless guy after all and probably contained, AIDS, Hepatitis ABCDEFGHIJKL and Z, Scurvy, Malaria and Lime disease.

About that time, salvation came through the door. One of our new girls, let’s call her Whitney, was working. Her brother was in to visit her at work. He had just gotten out of prison and really didn’t have much going for him. Whitney told him what had happened.

“Shoot, I’ll clean it for 20 bucks,” he said. I could not believe it. Twenty bucks????? That was all???? I would pay him out of my own money if I had to. Ka-Ching! I went to the cash register and did a 20-dollar pay out. A pay out is basically a way of getting quick cash out of the tills in case of an emergence. As far as I was concerned, this was a disaster the size of Katrina, but instead of swamp water from a whole in a dam it was diarrhea from a dam A-hole. (I thought that was pretty clever.)

Anyways to wrap this thing up, I guess after being in prison, homeless feces isn’t such a big deal. I got the cleaning supplies out, paid him the twenty and walked out the door, suppressing another attempt at retching, but at least somewhat sane. I went home quickly and I don’t even remember the rest of the night.

EPILOGUE: The next day before church I went in to talk to the manager to explain everything that had happened. She apologized for not answering the phone etc. and then told me some wonderful news. Whenever anything like that happened, we are not allowed to touch it. In fact, we lock the bathroom door and in the worst case scenarios we may have to close the store. The best part is that there is an emergency number we call to get a biohazard crew out here to clean up the stuff. I then replied this would have been a nice thing for them to tell us in TRAINING! They made no mention of it, I would have remembered it because I always was worried something like this might happen. Anyway, the biohazard clean up cost like 1,500 Dollars so I basically got a guy to do for 20 bucks a biologically dangerous job that normally pays 1,500$. Dang, what a bargain, I am keeping his number in my wallet from now on. I smiled slyly as I informed the manager that I just saved the company 1,480 dollars. I then asked for a raise.

Right, so there you have it, arguably the worst night in my life. It was certainly the worst in recent memory. I have to apologize for the graphic content of this humorous yet insightful look into the mind of O.C.D. I am proud of myself for making it all the way through this entry about poop without dropping an S bomb though.

Catch you all next time.

Livin' La Vie La Loofah

02 July, 2008. The time is 3:30 and I am listening to Amy Winehouse. I’m going to be honest here. I am in love with her. My former crush was Neko Case, who is still a close second, but Amy has definitely taken the lead spot. Maybe we can do drugs together some day. I have a big announcement to make today so read on.

Being out here in SoCal has made me realize that I am not cool. Big shocker I know, but there are so many cool people out here, with their fancy shades, hip styles, cool hair and hot bodies and I am definitely not one of them. I wish I could be that guy, the guy who always knew how to act around girls and get their attention, the guy who made peoples heads turn or made people envy you but I am not. Of course I also wish I was younger, not going bold and not so dang white. Oh well, screw them.

Maybe some of you have read about new legislation in Spain that would give Apes and Gorillas basic human rights as our “evolutionary cousins.” This is part of a movement sponsored by a few hundred scientists worldwide. It basically says we are related and would ban the use of Apes in the circus, experiments etc and from being caged etc. I think this is possibly the lowest level man has sunk to in recent years. Just when you thought you could not demean human beings anymore they go and throw this out. I also think this is unbelievably hilarious. Does this mean we can adopt apes and monkeys as family? Can you, for 50 cents a day, sponsor a hungry Gorilla in the Congo? Does this out law petting the monkey? France however is incredibly grateful to Spain because now they have become the laughing stock of Europe instead of France. I have just one question though, does this give basic human right to Rosy O’Donnell too?

And now it is time for my big announcement.

The Taming of the Loofah:

I am a Metrosexual. I have been in denial for a long time, trying to fight it, to say it ain’t so, but at last I am forced to come to grips with my own metrosexuality. I am coming out of the wardrobe. If gay guys come out the closet I am going to say Metro’s come out of the wardrobe, it the closest thing I could think of anyway. How did I come to grips with this harrowing fate? One simple word: Loofah. Yes, it pains me to admit it but I bought a Loofah and I know that it was the final straw. Up until then I had some cause for denial. I had special soap for shaving, advanced Neutrogena shaving cream and TWO different prescriptions to put on my face. In addition to that I blow-dry my hair and can’t stand wrinkles in my clothes. I was already long gone down the metrosexual highway but the Loofah is what really did me in. Ok guys, a Loofah is that big spongy looking thing in the shower. You use it to scrub and exfoliate your skin. (Exfoliate mean to get rid of the dead skin basically.) This helps keep pores clean etc. I had to get one. You see, for some time now, especially since I moved out here, my neck has been really red and breaking out. It was driving me crazy and I talked to the doctor about it. In addition to the special shaving cream and soap, he recommended the Loofah. So I went and bought one. It was an embarrassing experience to say the least.

Buying the Loofah was no easy task. There I was, in Target, in the feminine hair care section. There was Herbal Essence, Dyes, and Suave. Right next to them, in a large bin, were the Loofah. I looked carefully around to see if anyone was watching. There was nobody around. They were pink, yellow and green. At least they had green. I quickly grabbed it and threw it in the cart. I then put a pair of Khaki pants on top of them to hide them. I had picked the pants up a few minutes ago solely for this purpose. I proceeded to the check out. I had gone late at night so that hopefully there would be few people there. Unfortunately Target does not have self-check out, which meant somebody was going to have to ring me up. I went to the shortest lane possible. It was an older lady. I couldn’t decide which was worse, having a guy or a girl ring me up, so I went with the lady. I handed her the stuff. She scanned the Loofah and looked at me. Was there mockery in those eyes? I couldn’t tell. She scanned the rest of my items. I then told her I had changed my mind about the Khaki’s and that I did not want them. Their true purpose had been fulfilled after all. I paid, took my bags and drove home quickly.

I tried to find a good place to keep it hidden from my roommates but it really only made sense to keep it in the shower so in the end, pragmatism ruled the day. I thought I would be mocked for this obviously girly item but so far they have said little. So yes, I have been using the Loofah on my neck, my journey to the dark side is complete. I had tried to think of a manly way out. I considered using steel wool instead of a Loofah. I certainly think that would exfoliate my skin, if not rip it off altogether. In the end I decided to stick with the Loofah. I have to admit, it has made a huge difference. My neck has been much cleaner after shaving and my skin now has a silky porcelain sheen to it. (It really HAS made a big difference.) So there you go guys, I am a Metrosexual. I hope my coming out will encourage others everywhere to do so as well.

I better run, I have to be at my manicure in ten minutes.

The 2nd Date, Online Yet Again.

The time is 4:00 P.M. and I sitting at a coffee shop listening to the myriad snippets of conversation that I hear in passing. By the way, it is probably 75 degrees or so with a nice cool breeze blowing. Yeah, kind of confirms my decision to move out here. Especially when in Texas I see it is already close to 100. Haha.

So a few entries ago I did a little piece on online dating. Today, after further research, I think it is time for another entry upon this topic. So without further delay, I give you…

ONLINE DATING PART 2

I think I mentioned this before but I filled out the free Eharmony online personality profile awhile back and you know what they said? “I was currently unmatchable!” so a couple months later, after I moved out here, I filled it out again and guess what? I am still currently unmatchable. Muahahah! This really cracks me up. First of all, I would like to proudly point that this gives me the greats honor of being able to brag about being rejected by 1.2 million women at once. I mean how many guys can claim that? I would like to thank the academy

Secondly, and I think this is really what is going on here, is that I am such a tremendously awesome, cool, genuine and handsome guy, that Eharmony realized they could not possibly find a girl who would be my equal. I suppose that means only God himself can find such a being.

As for Eharmony, I am not sure what I am answering wrong on their questionnaire. I mean they want you to be honest right? They ask you questions and want answers ranging from all the time, somewhat of the time, rarely and never. (Or something like that.) So when they ask, “Do you have dark thoughts?” What’s a guy to do? I mean who doesn’t have dark thoughts every now and then? Or even on a daily basis? So I put sometimes. What’s wrong with that? When they ask. “Have you ever felt they call of the ancient god Cthulu?” what are you supposed to put? I mean who hasn’t? Oh well, who needs them anyways, I have other sites to visit.

Now upon my rejection at Eharmony, that led me to investigate other sights, mainly free ones, since I don’t have much money. (So why am I even thinking of dating then?) I did a tad bit of online research and discovered there were a couple that stood out. The largest and most popular being Plenty of Fish (At www.plentyoffish.com) This is a completely free and easy to use site with no strings attached. You can view people, message them and even chat with them at no charge and there are thousands and thousands of people on it and hundreds in the L.A. area. Before I continue, let me state that L.A, as a whole, but especially Orange County has a reputation of being very, very fake and shallow. So in accordance with that I saw profiles for a lot of really attractive gals saying they were tired of the OC scene and looking for somebody honest, genuine and sincere who would not play games and would treat them with respect. I thought to myself, “Perfect! That’s me! I mean, I’m probably the nicest guy I know. I should be a shoe in.”

I email about 25 or so to see what happens and you know what? None of them replied.

So the question is: ARE they really looking for something different or are they looking for somebody who is honest, sincere, blah blah but hot and rich and fits into the O.C. mold? Now I know I’m not the most attractive guy, so maybe they weren’t attracted to me, and that’s fine, but I still found the whole thing amusing.

I’ll have you know that writing these profiles is a very difficult thing. You have to try to sum yourself up all in a few words and the worst thing is you got to have a headline to catch their attention. I looked at other guys’ liners to get some ideas and I even looked at some women. They were all the same, “Nice ___seeks honest, sincere blah, blah, blah” or “Searching for the one, “ or “trying this thing out.” Etc etc. You get it, all pretty non-descriptive. So I figured I would try and come up with something better and if they didn’t think it was funny, well I probably wouldn’t be into them anyways. And to be honest, you can’t really judge somebody based on one headline.

At first I put “Raised by Wolves.” After about ten minutes I decided that it was to silly. So I then put, “Have your very own red-headed stepchild.” I left this up for four or five days. I then mentioned it to my friends TK and SN they thought it was horrible, because it made me sound like I have a child. I guess they were right, but anyone reading my profile would know I didn’t. Oh well. I finally ended up with, “Red, white and blue, without you.” A bit cheesy at first until you realize I am red, (my hair) white, (exceptionally so) and blue. Of course blue probably makes me sound depressed, which is funny because for the first time in along time I am not. Oh well, it was better then my other idea, which was, “Red, white, and blue ball.” Anyways, I never put much stock in the whole thing, which leads to my next idea.

I am considering giving all the girls there exactly what they want: An impossibly handsome, manly yet smooth, rich, sincere and honest guy, in short, a fake personality. I have been thinking of this character for a while. He is 29 years old and served in the 101^st airborne for 4 years. Afterwards he went to law school somewhere prestigious. He just passed the bar is starting a promising career in Costa Mesa or maybe in Newport. Anyways, I’m thinking of a name as we speak. Suddenly all these gals would start chatting with me. I could reject them, saying they are to fake or I could engage them and have fun with them. (My friend TK says this does not sound like somebody who is the nicest guy he knows...I have to admit he is right.) Anyways, then TK gave me the ultimate idea. I could have my fake profile agree to meet them for coffee. Then the real me could arrive a bit early and be reading, writing etc. The girl shows up, the fake guy doesn’t, soon the girl realizes she has been stood up, I (the real me) move in saying “ah you look like you were stood up” or something like that. “Want to grab some coffee? No point wasting the evening.” That would be hilarious. I am still considering it and it would be a great story to write someday. Which is pretty much what I just did.

Well I will catch you later but remember this, SWM L4 SWF. Later gang.

And Then There Were Two...

29^th April 2008. The time is 10:00 and I am listening to the mournful sounds of some classical piece drifting through the coffee shop something moody with violins, cellos and harpsichord. It seems appropriate enough however.

Things in California are going okay. To be honest, the time has flown by very fast and I feel like I am in some sort of dream and that I will wake up tomorrow and still be in Dallas. I don’t FEEL like I am in California, nor have I done a lot of Cally kind of things. Maybe it is all still sinking in.

This weekend I traveled to fabled Richmond, Virginia to be in my good friend and valued New Prussian citizen, Andrew McMahans’ wedding. It was fun but I still can’t believe he is married. Here is the thing, back in high school and early junior college, the five of us: my brother, me, Andrew, Scott and another friend named Matt all hung together pretty much non-stop. (Except after 10 P.M. when Andrew had to be home in bed.) Matt pulled the trigger first and got married about ten years ago. One down, but us other four were still around. Then Scott went and done got hitched a year or so ago. (How long HAS it been?) It’s okay, still over fifty percent of “the five” are single. Then it happened, Andrew found the desire of his heart and somehow wedded her. That means three out of five are married and my brother and I are now the minority. How it ended up being us two I have no idea, but I feel as though I am standing on an island all alone now, the last remaining bastion of some old guard, gone and almost forgotten. Oh well, congrads Andrew. Now go make babies, New Prussia needs more citizens. And now I proudly present...

Fun with Charities:

So there is this charity called Shoes for Africa. You have probably heard of it and undoubtedly Andrew has done much work with them while in Sudan. Anyway, what they do is take your old shoes and give them to people in need in Africa. Every girl I know has about 20 pairs of shoes and I wonder if they take red high heels. Anyway, this charity has inspired me to come up with other charities of my own that take similar donations. (BTW- there is one that takes your old glasses as well.)

‘Undies for Down Under – Every day hundreds of people in Australia go without a decent pair of underpants. Now you can donate your used boxers or whitey tighties to this wonderful cause. Please wash first.

Bra’s for France – I am told women in France go topless at this beach. Of course this must be due to a shortage of tops, which this charity plans to change. Please donate your old Bra’s or Bikini tops.

Glasses for Cambodia – Okay, this one is really, really mean and I was tempted to leave it out, but hey, I have already come this far… Anyways, if you know a little history you will get it, if you don’t then it is just as well. Think Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge.

Coats for Antarctica – Under funded scientific research teams, forced to use all of their funds on equipment and transportation, saved money by skimming on cold weather gear and are now freezing to death in the snow and ice. Your old coats can save their lives but only if you donate them in time. However with global warming this may not be an issue much longer anyway.

And now time for...

Great Moments in OCD History: I’ve decided I will never go surfing. Granted this probably would never happen anyways, but it sure as hell won’t ever happen now. My roommate for two weeks, Travis, is a surfer and he has confirmed my worst fears about this activity. They call it the brown tide. That occasional moment when swimming through the Ocean that the water gets a dirty murky brown and they find themselves floating amongst the remains of human waste and sewage! For God’s sake, what is wrong with these people? Swimming in human filth? Not only that, but he admitted that recently a bunch of syringes were found washed ashore at one of the beaches he surfs at! Okay I understand the allure of extreme sports, the rush of parachuting or the glory of snow boarding out of a helicopter on the top of some mountain. I can see the temptation for such things. However you aren’t parachuting into a vat of syringes or snow boarding down a mountain of dung. (Would that be Mt. Crap-a-towa?) I mean seriously, can you image the horror of swimming in blue waters when all of the sudden you notice oblong, brown chunks of stuff floating by, brushing up against you? Perhaps you are surfing along, floating on a wave of feces, when you wipe out, fall in the water and it all rushes into your mouth and up your nose! I would kill myself in anxiety if something like that happened. I mean if I were to invent a form of torture, it would involve something like this. Maybe I would start water boarding with brown tidewater. Now that would be enough to make any terrorist gush in a torrent of information. It is certainly enough to keep me out of the water. Incidentally, this weekend a man was killed by a Great White shark off the coast of San Diego, giving me yet another reason to stay out of the water.

Well that is probably enough potty humor for now. I will come back with more later. Roll tide, roll.

The O.C.D.

It is a big day in New Prussia and there is much to report. (Including something that hasn’t happened in months!)

The time is 1:30 and I am listening to little except the soft breeze blowing outside the window. Romantic huh? Well for those of you who are curious I am now living in Orange County California. The O.C. Now, I have to admit that I am tempted to rename my blog The O.C.D. it is fitting after all. I was disappointed with the name Letters From the Front. I was hoping that some random blog surfer would find my blog and think "oh this must be something really in depth and thoughtful," like the musings of a young soldier in Afghanistan or Iraq coming to grips with the harsh realities of war. They start reading and realize it's not and they are like WTF? Who is this freak? What have I gotten myself into? Is there a God at all? So far that doesn't seem to have happened.
Many of you know I had been looking to get out of the conservative Bible belt, as well as some of the fake yuppie-ness of North Dallas, for some time. The irony of course, is that I moved to Orange County, the Bible belt of California, and it's impossibly more fake then Dallas. Still it is nice here, the sun is shining, the ocean is 20 minutes away, I can see the mountains from my place, palm trees sway, girls are hot and many breasts are fake. I'll be honest here, I am not an expert on breasts by any means, so I don't really know this for sure, but I am told they are. (Would this make me a boob noob?)
A look at the parking lot of a local mall reveals 3 BMW's in a row, a smattering of Lexus's (lexi?), Escalades, Porches, and other car I will never drive. Sitting next to them is my beat up Altima. It has a small dent in the driver side door, on the opposite side is a paint stain where somebody at my old Sbux spilt their drink on my car, (Or more likely, threw it at my car out of anger.) and somewhere, between here and El Paso, lies a cheap wheel cover that came off one of my tires, I love my car now more then ever now. I like to park it next to these fancy cars and quietly judge them by proxy through my Altima.
However, much like heaven, I am in a better place now. There is a lot of creativity out here and hopefully I will be more inspired. More so, it is really good to be back with my old gang, fellowshipping, hanging out, making trouble and generally having fun. I had few good friends left in Dallas and I felt I just never could fit in at Watermark, I simply wasn’t cool or handsome enough.
So far I really like the church I’m going to. It’s like a breath of fresh air breathed into the stale, dank, caverns of my soul. It is a place for misfits and dregs, normal people too. I am sure there is an “in” crowd but it doesn’t seem very dominant. They are genuinely committed to the arts, not in the half assed way many churches do, but because it is the language of our generation. Most importantly they really embrace outreach as a way of life, rather then something that is preached but the congregation really fails to act on, I am excited about it and I think good times are ahead.

Another Death in New Prussia.

It’s a glorious day in New Prussia for our old dear friend, the great equalizer of man, the grim reaper has reared his cloaked head once again. Now it has been a while since we’ve had a good old-fashioned death here and I was beginning to wonder if our pal had forgotten us altogether. Fear not, however, for he has returned in full force. Now I must admit, this is not one of my child hood TV rerun heroes as in past. In fact most of you will have not even have heard of this man, yet his influence on me has been profound. Yes, folks the great Gary Gygax, creator of Dungeon and Dragons, has passed into the great beyond. Dungeon and Dragons, the game feared everywhere by all good Christian parents and Baptists ministers. The game that brought us thinly clad elf chicks and such strange wonders as 10, 12 and even 20-sided dice. The game that inspired many Friday night adventurous that kept us chasing wizards and warlocks instead of women, followed by later Friday night runs to IHOP to bask and revel in the afterglow of our glorious adventures.
Gary, or Lord Volinar, as he was more commonly known, died a few days ago when a daemon (that’s a non-satanic demon) he summed to harness and use for his own purposes broke free of the binding spells and slew him in an epic battle. He is not completely gone however, for just as his soul was leaving this realm an evil warlock captured it and infused it in a magic crystal. Gary’s captured soul now rages as in instrument of great destruction in the hand of this warlock and it appears it will take a band of mighty adventurous to kill the warlock, smash the crystal and free Gary once and for all. (Recommended for character levels 45-50 only.)
Anyhow, Lord Volinar, Gary Gygax, we lift our mead filled gauntlets in fitting tribute to your legacy. We look forward to that glorious day when we to, may join you in the hallowed halls of Valhalla. Gary was level 69 when he died. Here is the last known picture of him:

Well that is about it for now folks. I hope things are going well with you all and I expect I will have much to report, including some Great California Moments in O.C.D. history. Later.

More Great Moments

Greetings, it is 9:00 P.M. and I am at Starbucks and listening to the Challengers by the New Pornographers. It might very well be my favorite album of the year. Very Indie pop with lots of harmonies. Now don’t get worked up in a legalistic frenzy, they are a very clean band despite the name. I will explain how they got their name later. For now it is time to bring back a long lost segment. I haven’t had a lot of big incidents in the last few months but lately there has been a mild rash of them. So without further adieu I present to you.

Great Moments in OCD History:

I have to change the trash at work all the time. I have learned to do it with minimal anxiety, except for two cans in particular, the Women’s and Men’s restroom. It exists as a safe haven for germs, bacteria and diseases everywhere. I put on a pair of pastry handling gloves as I prepare for battle. I know these gloves are a feeble defense, much like France’s defense in WW2 against the plague of Nazi Germany, but it is the best I could do. I go and change the trashes. Easy enough. However, as I carry the trashes to the back room, disaster struck. Now generally speaking the men’s restroom is far nastier then the women’s, however I submit to you that the women’s trash is far nastier then the men’s. So it was, of course, the women’s bathroom trash that came open without me realizing it, spilling its contents across the floor as I walked away. I heard laughter and turned around. Horror struck as I saw what happened and I knew it was going to be my job to clean it up. I looked at all the dirty brown paper towels strewn across the floor and to my shock noticed there was something white and neatly bundled up laying on the ground as well. Yes, a tampon, a monthly necessity to every woman out there, was lying out in plain site for OCD boy to clean up. It wasn’t nasty or anything, it was safely sealed, but non-the less, I had to get close to the damned thing. This is one part of my future wife’s life I want nothing to do with, let alone somebody else’s. I did not want to even breath the air around it, lest I accidentally inhale some random feminine hygiene germs. I mean we are talking possible STD’s here. So I go get the broom and the long handled trash scoop (I don’t know what its called but it’s the kind they use to clean movie theatres etc.) I took a deep breath and swept it all into the scoop. Then I went to the back, let out my breath, dumped it all in the trash can, tied it up and washed my hand profusely while breathing in clean safe air. Now this incident wasn’t horrible compared to some, but it was bad, and gross, and the fact it happened to me, OCD boy, is just to rich to pass up. We have one more incident to report.

During the holidays there is more desert in a two week period then there is in the entire rest of the year combined. One of these deserts was a coconut cream pie. Now I have been doing really well with my diet and had decided to take the holidays off. I happen to be a sucker for coconut cream pie (And if you are curious, you can buy a whole one at IHOP or Denny’s. It is quite economical.) Now this pie was not whole, but about ¾ whole. Somebody (my dad) had gotten into it already. It sat in a cheap aluminum pie tin. I didn’t know how cheap until I pull it out. As I turn around with pie in hands, the aluminum tin folds in half. Everything goes into slow motion. “Noooooooooooo” I yell in agony. (Actually I think I yelled Damn It!) I can see the entire pie slowly sliding out towards the floor. I lower the pan to minimize impact and to my amazement the entire pie slides out neatly onto the floor without going splat or anything. It just sat there, on the floor, mocking me. Knowing I could never eat it as a horde of fell germs swarmed there way into the pie, breading in the sweet sugar and coconut. My mom came in, saw the pie on the floor, and started cracking up. What was I to do? We managed to put the pie back into a new, stronger tin and returned it to the fridge.

Fast-forward two days, my Aunt and Uncle are in town and for dessert we have chocolate pie and coconut cream. They don’t know about the incident. My uncle orders coconut cream. I raise my eyebrows and looked suspiciously at my mom. When it came my turn to order I said, “Given prior events I’m afraid I must go with chocolate pie.” My Uncle looked at us and my mom squealed the truth out to him. He laughed. I was amazed anyone would eat it until it happened. My craving for coconut cream pie hit me. I fought it. It was a furiously epic battle between my sweet tooth and OCD. I reasoned it had been in the fridge long enough to kill any germs. I succumbed to the temptation and I ate some of it myself. I still can’t believe I did that and I eagerly awaiting the Ebola I shall surely get from the situation. For my friend Nicole who sometimes reads this, you know you’re chunky when your sweet tooth overcomes your OCD!

Well that’s about it for now. Oh yeah, how The New Pornographers got their name. Often when Jerry Fallwell opens his mouth something embarrassing to the cause of Christ comes out. One of these times he said that rock and roll was the new pornographers, hence the name of the band, The New Pornographers. They are good and I recommend you check them out. Well that’s it for now folks. Take care and next year in Berlin.