Clean at last, clean at last,

15 days ago I went in for a physical. No particular reason, I guess I figured if I can't find a girl to touch my nuts maybe I can get a doctor to. Even if it is for medical reasons. That actually wasn't the reason. I guess I felt like I haven't been to a doctor in 6 years, and there is no time like the present to make sure shit is still running properly. 

So I go to the doctor, not expecting anything to be wrong. I'm not sick, well, physically atleast.  But the second I get in there I start questioning things. 

What if they do find something?!?!

Well the way my mind works is that I can talk myself into a green sky if you give me enough time. And the good people of Keizer gave me more then enough time. I sat in the little room, with no magazine to read for a good 15 minutes. Lets just say by the time the doctor got into the room I was convinced he was going to find signs of cervical cancer.

What came next can only be described as a cross between  a terrible first date and police interrogation.

Some of the early highlights:

Doctor: so what brings you here today?

Me: uh, I guess it's been 6 years or so since I've been in for a physical. I guess I'm just here to make sure I'm runnin right.

Doctor : (stares at me blankly) ok. So, do you smoke?

Me: Uh, cigerettes? No.

Doctor: Pot?

Me: I have 

Doctor: Well smoking a joint is the equivalent of smoking a pack of cigarettes. 

Me: (now I feel like Ron Burgendy, "I don't believe you." but I kept my mouth shut) Oh, thats wild.

Fast forward a minute...

Doctor: so are you sexually active?

Me: Uh, kinda? 

Doctor: You're 23. Have you ever been tested?

Me: No...

Doctor: well you need to be. I can have the arranged for today.

Tested? Uh, like for Aids? ARE YOU F***ING KIDDING ME!??!?! So I agreed. I mean what do I have to afraid of? There are Catholic priests who have had more sex with women then I have.  But he was right, it is a good thing to know. So I agreed to it, and go get my blood drawn, and pissed in the cup. Not a big deal.

Nope, not a big deal at all. Well it wasn't a big deal, until these medical bastards took 15 f***in days to get my results back to me. Lets break it down. If after 15 minutes I had talked into myself into the possibilities of cervical cancer (remember I have no vagina), think about what 15 days can do. 

By the 15th day I was sitting in my cubical thinking about how I was going to tell my mom I have aids. Thinking about how I was going to tell my dad. Or even the scary one, my ex girlfriend.  

By the 15th day, I was making my peace with God, and preparing my bucket list.

By the 15th day, I was convinced it was done for me.

Note: This is what a good imagination brings. Paranoia. It's not good for relationships, and it's sure as shit not good for medical tests. So parents, be careful when you wish your kids grow up with good imaginations.

So tired of waiting for these bastards to get back to me, I called them. Even after that I still had to wait two more hours for them to get back at me. Finally, while I was sitting in my cubical before lunch a strange number calls me. I rush to the break room, where I was informed that I was clean...well all but HIV. I still had to come in to get those results.

I got there as soon as I hung up the phone. 

I rushed to Keizer and immediately ran up to the dude behind the desk, and handed him my card. 

Me: I'm here to get results...uh, for a test.

Dude behind the desk : ok (typing in my shit) uh...( staring very intensly at the computer) uh...(I'm now officially shitting my pants) hold on a second. I'm not sure what to do. 

Me: HUH!? 

Dude gets up and goes into the back. A few moments later a smiling lady comes from the back and tells me to come with her. I got more knots in my stomach then in a hippies hair. The lady sensing my un easiness quickly takes me to her computer which gave me the verdict...clean. CLEAN MOTHER F***ER! I'M CLEAN! 

I smiled. Thanked her for the good news then promptly went home and changed my underwear.

In hindsight I don't know why I was freaking out. Cartoon characters get more ass then me. I guess thats why it's 20/20. I need to learn to pump my breaks about shit and take a deep breath. I let myself get too freaked out about things. It'll probably be the death of me.

Shoot, maybe I should start smoking weed regularly. That seems to calm people down. Reference Snoop Doggy Dog. Oops, sorry scratch that, the good Doctor would not be ok with that. Apparently it's worse then a pack of cigarettes.

And Cigarettes kill.

Favre is back?! GTFO

Espn Headlines from this weekend: Brett Favre says he will not be coming back this season to play for the Minnesota Vikings.

Two Days Later : Brett Favre has signed a deal with Minnesota Vikings.

It's August so that means there are two constants. One, it's hot as hell and I spend my afternoons praying for snow. And of course, it's time for Brett Favre to once again call his retirement off. He is becoming the adult Urckle. Just when we think he's gone, he appears. Which like Urckle was endearing in the begining. "oh look at the nerdy black kid! It's funny how much of an out cast he is! And he always shows up and bothers the Winslows! Now THAT is funny!"

But after two episodes of that, you're done. Which is exactly where I am (and I don't think I'm stretching by assuming most of America is there too) with the Brett Favre scenario. We've seen it before. We saw it last year when he went with the Jets. We saw it the previous three years before that with the Packers. This dude has been thinking about retiring for the better part of a decade now. MAKE UP YOUR MIND BRETT.

Shoot, even Jordan is like "this dude needs to hang it up".

Speaking of Jordan, atleast he let us breath. When Jordan talked "retirement" ( I put quotes around it because I believe Jordan was suspended for gambling, at least the first occassion) he atleast left for a year or two in between. Favre retires in March and is back with before the start of the previous year.

I don't get what the issue is here with him. He is old. His body is breaking down. His talk of retirement started after the 2005 season. Four full years and two actual retirements later and he is back again.

But why!?! What does he have to do? He holds every notable career passing record. He has a Superbowl. Whats left Brett? Why do you hate us?

It just doesn't make sense, for anyone. He is not the young chicken he was when his Shot Gun arm took Green Bay to back to back Superbowl appearances in the 90's. Shoot, the last time he took a team to the Superbowl was 11 seasons ago. And he was a veteran then.

His body is breaking down. The last retirement was primarily because he nearly threw his arm off last season. Who knows how healthy he is. Why come back unless you're able to keep up your production level? Last year he started off hot, but when the weather got cold his arm fell off and he finished with the most turnovers in the NFL.

Now if you're Brad Childress are you really willing to put your job on the line of a 39 year old who led the league with 22 interceptions last year? A 39 year old who is famous for making stupid ass decisions but having the big time arm to make up for it... only now he doesn't have that arm anymore.

Quick note to Mr. Childress... ask Eric Mangini how this story ends.

Bottom line, this is a gamble. And like all gambles it can end one of two ways. Either very bad, or very good. The Vikings have the talent to win a lot of games this year. So if Favre ends up able to be productive then the fine people of Minnesota are going to celebrating a good team this year.

But if he craps the bed like he did at the end of the year, then not only are the people of Minney going to be in a bad mood, but Mr. Childress is going to be updating his resume in January.

Time will tell. But for right now, lets move on to a new subject- Like Michael Vick, Dog lover.

Dude, I'm scared.

Before I begin lets get one thing straight. Weed is not a drug. It's a plant. It's no worse the tobacco, and certainly not worse the booze. You parents have tried it. Successful people do it. It's not a drug.

Drugs are bad. Weed is not. Therefore weed is not a drug.

By definition they, drugs, are a waste of fucking time. They are for losers and wastes of space. It' doesn't matter whether it's Coke, heroin, Meth, pills whatever the fuck, it's all bad. There is no justification. 

This conversation is not ever going to happen:

Dude Doing Drugs "oh man, I'm doing (insert drug of choice here)"

Friend Who Doesn't Do Drugs "Why man?! Drugs are bad!"

DDD" Because man, (insert half ass reason for justification for killing yourself)"

FWDD "Oh, that makes a ton of fucking sense. Lets do it together!"

Tonight I had a buddy (and by buddy I mean probably one of my three best friends) tell me they've been doing a few of the previously named shit head substances recently (and at an alarming pace). I immediately went into, and remain in absolute shock. I wasn't sure what to say. At first, I just got real quiet, and REAL angry. How can this happen. This has got to be a tasteless joke. I mean, I knew he wasn't all there. I've always known that. Hell, thats what our friendship is based on. We aren't there. We both had a hint of self destruction, and have a lot of fun exploiting that.

But drugs, especially of this magnitude, is insane. It doesn't make sense. I've been sitting on this knowledge for an hour and half and still can't wrap my head around it.

I mean REALLY DUDE!?!? 

Seriously dude, what the fuck. You have so much shit going for you and you just want to fuck it all up. I know you grew up rough. I get that. I also get that coming from where I come from I can't fully grasp that. But dude, your life isn't bad. You have a good job, and a ton of friends that love you. 

And I'm not throwing the Love word around like 17 year old BFF's either.  I mean it man. We are as close as brothers, and to hear this shit is ripping me apart.

I don't want you to die man. I want to be an old dudes together and reminisce on how we use to drink a case of beer in your car before Brand New concerts. Or how we would bull shit for hours over hooka.

Tonight you told me you can see your funeral. This isn't much different from your common drunken claim where you exclaim that you won't see 29. Before tonight, I use to laugh when you would say shit like that. Now I see where you are coming from and I'm scared.

I texted you just now telling you I'm scared, and you replied "I'm dying anyways". This is true, we will all die. But that doesn't mean you need to speed up the process.

Half wasted.

So I'm kinda half shit faced right now and really hankering for an ol' fashioned milkshake. Oreo Milkshake, from Sharies. That sounds awesome right now. Seriously, it sounds better then 18 virgins (or in my Utopia, 18 girls who have had sex with one guy).

I want to wake Derek up and make him come with me. Because who really wants to have Sharies by themselves?? I'll tell you who, fucking losers. And I'm not a loser.

It's always awesome to see the variety of people you see at Sharies. You get quite the slice of life. Everything from Drunk High School kids, to a family of 9, 8 of which have Mullets (the only one missing is 1, but they put PBR in his bottle, so it works)

After I eat Sharies, I want to watch Arrested Development. I'll finish that thought later, Derek just showed up and volunteered to come to Sharies with me. 

God is smiling.

Just got back from Sharies and it was spectacular. I had an Oreo Milkshake and it was like the holocaust, only 180 degrees of opposite. 

OK time to walk the Joan Rivers Roast, which promises to have little ditty's like "Joan Rivers has been stitched up more then the aids quilt, only she's more depressing. 

Smiles kids, smiles.

Status Update

Yo YO YO. 

Ok so I've been a real slacker again. Work has been bitch slapping me to no end. I promise I have a few un finished things, that will get thrown up there as soon as their done. It'll hit you like a storm, or not at all...depending on how many readers I actually have.

But they're coming. Just not this weekend. I'm going to go fishing and drinking with the boys. But when I'm back I'll finish those previously mentioned and probably have a few new stories to tell you.

All hail weekends of drunkenness and testosterone.

Who Wants 18 Virgins?

The muslim  religion says if you are a good little muslim you get 18 virgins in Heaven.

I say who wants virigns? Wouldn't you rather have 18 girls who have had sex with like one other dude? That sounds like a better plan to me then dealing with the emotions and blood.

You also don't want them to be packing a huge body counts. Because then you have to worry about them comparing you to High School boyfriends, college flings, the Altanta Falcons and that dude that dated her and her best friend at the same time and neither of them figured it out for a while.

But if you rock a girl that only has like one dude...then you don't have anything to worry about. Well unless that one guy is a French Yoga instructor named Jean Luc, then you're screwed. Because then you're risking the only reason that the girl is only available because she got too sexed out and needed to find a guy that she could conversation with. Because she only speaks very little French, so their relationship is only bang bang bang. And damnit, she's tired of that. Poor girl isn't a shallow human.  And who wants a girl that is burnt out on banging?!?!

Also, can you even imagine the horror of having 18 girls head over heals in love with you? Lets face it, girls are already an emotional lot. Now add the fact that they are recently relieved of the shackles of virginity. AND REMEMBER YOU'RE DEALING WITH 18 OF THEM! 

Who wants that stress? Not me. Plus the promise of Heaven is good enough for me. Eternal life and a perfect body? As opposed to eternity getting tortured? Uh, where do I sign up. Thats a no brainer. Heaven sounds like, well, heaven. 18 Virgins would just be taking away from the fun. Like a fat dude blocking your sun while you're trying to tan. Which is never good. 

Thank you for listening.

Beer Goggles Phenomenon

I drank my face off last night, and I'm hurting right now. 

The old Jim Brewer joke held true last night. The one where he describes his stomach as a party with a bouncer.  Youtube it if i you haven't heard it before, cuz I'm sure as shit not going to repeat it. Nothing bombs more then someone trying to recite a joke they thought was funny. It's never as funny as you thought it was, and then it's a real awkward moment. 

But my night started with beer and finished with Tequila. Shiiiiiit. We all know where I'm at right now. I'm cage fighting a sever headache.

I came to stunning conclusion last night. Actually, more of a re-remembering (hahahaha Roger Clemens is so dumb). Because this actually wasn't NEW information. But when you're drinking, and drinking in excess, certain realities become altered.

Arguably, the most apparent is with girls. It's crazy. Throughout the night of self destruction, a girl really does get better looking. You could meet some chick, at beer one, who has no chance with you. But as each beer goes down, or you start moving to shots or what not, I don't know if you just become less aware, or if you just stop caring, but the looks become less apparent. 

Beer Goggles are real people. For good or bad, those things are real, and ugly chicks have good stories to tell at work the next day because of them.

Does that mean beauty is in the eye of the beholder? Or is beauty at the bottom of a Budwiser? You be the judge.

Through my experiments and during my research (ie. many drunken evenings) I have found that all it really takes is on trait on the girl to make her attractive during a drunken evening. You find that one thing that they have that is awesome, and get fixated on that. Honestly, the most common trigger to this reaction is big tits (which would explain how you can wake up with a fat chick).  To prove this point I remember one night, way back in the day meeting a girl. Now, I don't remember what she looked like, hell I can't even tell you what her name was. All I remember from this interaction was finding out she was a baseball fan, and being overtaken with desire. We were making out right in front of the whole party only moments after I met her. Thats all it takes sometimes.

One thing and you stop worrying about the fact that they could be a creature from the black lagoon or whatever. I mean come on, she has monstrous tits ( or in my case, she liked baseball)! 

I don't know. Maybe it's not as interesting a phenomenon that I'm pointing it out to be. Maybe I'm just making an aunt out of a mole hill. Who really knows. I know I find it interesting. And since this is MY blog, I can write about what I want. In fact, I think this subject is so interesting that I'm going to go do some more research tonight.