Friday, November 17, 2006

 

Are we becoming more perverted?

I saw this morning that Mark Foley was being investigated criminally for "allegedly" sending inappropriate instant messages to teenage pages at Congress.

What the fuck is going on?

Priests and little boys, Congressmen and a little bit older boys (but not old enough), gay governors (which is fine except when he gave his fucktoy a cushy job), ritual slayings of raped women who's only crime was they wanted to go dancing in Manhattan. It made me wonder if we are becoming more sick. Or have we just diluted the gene pool to such an extent that what we're left with is the mentally, sexually disturbed.

Or, in the alternative, is the argument that shit like this has lasted since the dawn of America. It is well documented that the Mayflower did not contain the wealthy gentlemen and women of merry ol' England, but rather the castoffs. The ones who the British assumed time would forget. This makes sense. If you were living in England, nice house, fine car (ok, horse and carriage), you're not making a voyage to the undiscovered country. As Seinfeld taught us all, "who leaves a country full of ponies, to go to a non-pony country."

So perhaps the American blacksmith, with 12 kids, was porking the next door neighbor's dog. But until the printing press, nobody knew about it except for a town of 100. Then, there was still a modicum of decency from the 1800s-1970s and Watergate. Watergate gave the press carte blanche to investigate, rob, cheat, steal, and lie as long as "truth" was the ultimate goal. And then Clinton and his pole being waxed poetic by you-know-who.

I have no idea how it happened. But I am willing to bet in the next twenty years, a public figure will be caught fucking a barnyard animal...on tape. And it'll appear on YouTube.

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

 

Batted around

In baseball, it is a feat to bat around the order in the same inning. That means that the person that led off the inning, is back up to the plate because the other team has not been able to cause three outs.

In my dating life, batting around the order means that I've run out of dating all the females I know and I have to start back with the first boink. Either that, or I have to recruit from another team. To help my recruitment, I enlisted the help of a "scout." A major league scout traverses the Earth trying to sneak promising ball players out of their home nations to groom them for baseball infamy. (N.b.- I hear that Madonna is now a scout)

Of course, I don't have the financial wherewithall to hire a professional scout. So I recruited the next best thing, my mother.

You would expect that my mother, who nurtured, fed, cared for me; who watched me mature from a toddler to awkward child, to more awkward adolescent, to an extremely awkward adult, would have some understanding of what I would find appealing in a mate. Apparently, she's gone with: "breathing." And, considering my last date, I can only assume that she was breathing because she didn't fall on the floor and have a convulsion. But I KNOW that oxygen was not getting to her brain.

I am going to keep out the more mundane questions (family, job, hobbies, etc.)

So after walking in a half hour late, she says that she has to use the restroom. I offer to get her a drink while she's indisposed and says that she will have a "cab". I'm sorry but a "cab" is the vehicular homicide device that I spend my existence avoiding. But, I decide to let that one go. She asks, "What are you going to have?" I decided on a Gin and Tonic (because that sounded mighty, mighty good to me) and she had this look of disgust.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Why?"

"Oh, no reason."

Ok, so maybe her ex was big G & T fan. Maybe she thinks only fascists drink gin. I don't know, but I had to let that one go as well.

In general the conversation flowed -- at least for five minutes until she started text messaging on her cell phone. She apologizes by explaining, "my roommate wants to go out with her boyfriend and she wants to know when I am coming home so I can watch the dogs." Umm...ok. Then she asks me:

"So when you go out on a date for drinks, how many drinks do you usually have?"

Now I know this date is DOA, and I am going to start having some fun. So I tell her, "usually around ten. If the date is going well, then we end up at one of the city's finer establishments imbibing and enjoying each other's company. If the date is for shit, I need to dull the pain."

She was not amused.

Anyway, the text messaging becomes more fervent as she is peppering serial-dating questions about my family. I tell her about my sister, soon to marry, and who is soon to be a DA (we're like our own "Johnny Dangerously" family-- just Jewish.)

So long story short, the date lasts one drink because she has to go home and watch the dogs. I then ask her if her roommate is gainfully employed. "Of course." "Then who watches the dogs while you two are at work?" I have now crossed the line from date, to the Grand Inquisitor. She says that her dogs were mistreated as pups and can't be left alone, so they have a dog walker. Now I am torn. Do I follow-up with, "So you're telling me you have a dog walker who walks the dogs 8-10 hours a day, every damn day?" But the story about the mistreated pups got to me, so I let it go.

Now I am not happy that I just spent an hour (with only one drink mind you) that has no been lost to the ether. Nonetheless, I am a gentleman and offer to walk her home as she lived in the neighborhood.

On the way home, she turns to me and asks, "Do you have any siblings?"

Thinking that she means any others, I reply, "Just the sister."

Then, I couldn't believe it. She said, "What does she do?"

"Oh. She's a chef."

"Really? That's cool"

"Yeah, she's always loved to cook but I am afraid that her busy schedule at the restaurant is going to make it hard to find a future husband."

You would think this would jog her mind about my sister and her betrothed, but she only said, "Yeah. It's hard for us working women out there to find the right one."

That was it. Luckily, we were just approaching her place, so I said, "Well, if you can find a dog walker to walk the dogs 8-10 hours a day, then I'm sure there's hope for my sister."

I wonder who is on deck.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

 

And we're back....

So I've been off in Never-Never Land for the last six months and I apologize to all my loyal readers-- both of you. It has been far too long since I've been here and I promise to at least post every two weeks or so. Although, in this land of anonymity, I don't think I have to worry about castration if I don't keep my word.

Life has become a little bit too ordinary, and I have forgotten my creedo, "Why the fuck not?" This is probably why I haven't written in far too long. Nothing to say. It seems every day I do the everyday schedule-- wake up, work, drink, sleep, repeat. I never thought I would become this person. But I'm not unhappy, just unfulfiiled-- if that makes sense. Or perhaps I've just entered into self-indulgent bullshit. In which case, you have permission to hunt me down for that ceremonial castration.

So this past weekend, I did have the pleasure of going to my sister's engagement party. Little sister. The problem, of course, is that I am a bachelor (perhaps, entering into "confirmed" bachelor status) and my LITTLE sister is getting married. From a personal standpoint, this is a wonderful occassion. From my mother's standpoint, this is a wonderful occassion but would be made better if we could get a two-for-one special on the wedding ceremony. Luckily, I've hit a status in life where I can imbibe in front of my parents without them thinking that I am an alcoholic (they know I am), and the pangs of guilt become blunted.

Luckily, this weekend, the question "so when are you..." was asked, I had pat responses. Sometimes, I interrupted the "so when are you...." -- "going to Greece?" Of course, this double-entendre was left lacking on everyone who asked the question, but the quizical looks were no less priceless. The best is when the single, OLDER, uncles/aunts/friends asked the "so when are you...?" question. Easy response -- "The Day after you, which is probably the day after the pigs fly, but the day before hell freezes over."

My new family is going to love me.

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