Thursday, June 30, 2005
Open Mouth...Insert Foot
Somehow...somehow I knew that last post would come back to haunt me. I figured it would be that the day before the wedding I would have to write and announce my utter failure. It turns out I did get a date though, and i was planning on writing about how I had upgraded...but then I read a comment on my message board. It went a little something like this,
"Thanks chief...this makes me feel good. Way to cop out and ask a friend :) just joking...looking forward to going to the wedding with ya!"
posted by Jen : 11:12 AM
First...I would like to thank Rex for linking me to his site "Lost...and Gone Forever" so that Jen could read that ... I owe ya buddy. Secondly, this was not a cop out. My plan was to get Jen to the wedding, get her in that "buzzed wedding mood," then ask her to run away with me to Alaska and start a litter of eskimos. We would feed them only baby seals and orca blubber and train them as one would train a snow dog (I know how to do that from Cuba Gooding Jr's heart-breaking performance in a little cutting-edge film aptly named "Snow Dogs.") We would ride them back home to the 'nati and enter into the Flying Pig marathon. I would go around and collect donations, because people would pay good money to see a pack of eskimo children run for hours while pulling their cigarette smoking, beer drinking father on a sled behind them. Then, after the race I would give all the donations to an animal shelter that specializes in preserving the lives of little three-legged puppies. In short, I do not take responsibility for my previous post. It was part of an ellaborate plan to save the lives of the tri-ped infantile canine's of the world. By allowing Jen to read this post, Rex has destroyed my plan and the lives of those poor little bastards...and...and...and even I'm confused at this point. Bottom line: Jen and I are gonna have fun at the wedding, but if there are no more posts after this, it's because I'm living in Nome. (Which may be the best thing for all of us).
Much Love,
Bo
"Thanks chief...this makes me feel good. Way to cop out and ask a friend :) just joking...looking forward to going to the wedding with ya!"
posted by Jen : 11:12 AM
First...I would like to thank Rex for linking me to his site "Lost...and Gone Forever" so that Jen could read that ... I owe ya buddy. Secondly, this was not a cop out. My plan was to get Jen to the wedding, get her in that "buzzed wedding mood," then ask her to run away with me to Alaska and start a litter of eskimos. We would feed them only baby seals and orca blubber and train them as one would train a snow dog (I know how to do that from Cuba Gooding Jr's heart-breaking performance in a little cutting-edge film aptly named "Snow Dogs.") We would ride them back home to the 'nati and enter into the Flying Pig marathon. I would go around and collect donations, because people would pay good money to see a pack of eskimo children run for hours while pulling their cigarette smoking, beer drinking father on a sled behind them. Then, after the race I would give all the donations to an animal shelter that specializes in preserving the lives of little three-legged puppies. In short, I do not take responsibility for my previous post. It was part of an ellaborate plan to save the lives of the tri-ped infantile canine's of the world. By allowing Jen to read this post, Rex has destroyed my plan and the lives of those poor little bastards...and...and...and even I'm confused at this point. Bottom line: Jen and I are gonna have fun at the wedding, but if there are no more posts after this, it's because I'm living in Nome. (Which may be the best thing for all of us).
Much Love,
Bo
Friday, June 17, 2005
Mission: Impossible
My good friend, Scott, is entering the holy bond of matrimony in three weeks. I have been given the honor of ushering the guests down the aisle at this ceremony of love, harmony, and eternal lunacy. All seemed fine and dandy until last night. I was enjoying a game of Texas Hold'em at Scott's house (chip leader I might add),when his older brother pointed out to us that the wedding was a mere 3/4 of a month away. Immediately I caught a cold run of cards like you read about and lost all my money. On the plus side, this means that the bachelor party is next weekend :) On the other hand...I have three weeks to find a date. Scott has inadvertently put me on a time schedule that, quite frankly, I'm not sure I can live up to...se la vie. I currently have three weeks, 21 days, to grow the balls that have eluded me for the past year...I have to ask a girl out. Now I could easily cop out and take one of my friends, but that would be too easy and would exclude me from the torment that I so surely desire. I have mentioned before that girls are crazy and scary...and I'm sticking to that, but tonight I begin the quest which I have so appropriately dubbed: "Mission: Impossible." I'll keep a running tab on the events that plague me over the next few weeks in my search for that one perfect girl...who is too nice to say no and has nothing else to do on that day. Wish me luck...I"ll need it.
Much Love,
Bo
Much Love,
Bo
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Deli Dream
So at the end of my last entry I claimed that I might actually have something of substance to write about later...apparently I was wrong. Instead, I'm gonna write about a dream I had last night (Keep it in your pants not that kind of dream).
I dreamt that I was at a deli getting a sandwich. Little salami, some cheese, thin layer of mustard...when this beautiful woman taps me on the shoulder. I turn with the bag o' sandwich in my hand and she says to me, "You never called me." Now I have no idea who this girl is, but she's looking at me like she really fucking wanted me to call her so I play along and start calculating my chances. I first realize...this shit never happens to me. Secondly I realize, if this shit were to happen to me something completely obscure would surely happen that would ruin any chance I ever had with her, and thirdly I realize...I can't talk. Not stuttering and stammering, nervous bullshit, I mean I physically can't talk. All I can do is take big gulps of air so that it sounds like I'm having a damn asthma attack. She gives me a weird look and then looks back at her friend who looks just like her except she had brown hair where my mystery girl had blonde (mundane detail, I know, but if you think about it life is just a series of mundane details put together to mean...nothing, but I digress). Blondie asks me if I lost her number and I nod, "yes" like an asshole. She then asks me if I want her to write it down for me and, once again, I give the nod. She takes my sandwich bag and turns to pick up the pen that miraculously appears on the table behind her, only to find that the pen is connected to the table by one of those chains like at the banks...perfect. Now remember I can't talk, and I want to tell her to just put the sandwich bag on the table to write her number on it so that the pen will reach, but I can't. So this intellectual Aphrodite keeps pulling on the chain in an attempt to make it stretch to reach the sandwich bag in her hand. (Now in retrospect I suppose I could have taken the bag from her and showed her how to put it on the table but let's analyze the situation: I've suddenly been struck dumb, I've got this gorgeous girl attempting to give me her number, and she's jarring her torso left and right so that...things... are bouncing everywhere. No matter how much I would have wanted that number I was in a fucking trance...plus it's a dream so stop analyzing it so much you freudian fuck). Finally, after what seems ages of gyrations...she miraculously gets the pen to stretch and writes her number. Looking up she gives me a little smile, her eyes are an emerald shade of green, the skies open, the ground shakes, birds in the distance seem to be chirping Mozart. Then as she reaches to hand me back the bag with this holy grail of phone numbers on it...I wake up. I know, anticlimactic as hell. Upon awakening, though, I quickly discovered that I had regained my voice as I screamed "Fuuuuuuck!" into my pillow. I suppose that was a testament to my intellect...after being struck dumb I announce to the world that I have regained the gift of oration by screaming the most versatile word in the English language into my pillow. Through all the frustration, though, my degree in psychology stuck it's nasty little head out and I realized the sad, sad truth about what the meaning of my dream was. In the deli of life I can stand there an hold my salami, but I can't talk to girls (let alone get their number)...se la vie.
Much Love,
Bo
I dreamt that I was at a deli getting a sandwich. Little salami, some cheese, thin layer of mustard...when this beautiful woman taps me on the shoulder. I turn with the bag o' sandwich in my hand and she says to me, "You never called me." Now I have no idea who this girl is, but she's looking at me like she really fucking wanted me to call her so I play along and start calculating my chances. I first realize...this shit never happens to me. Secondly I realize, if this shit were to happen to me something completely obscure would surely happen that would ruin any chance I ever had with her, and thirdly I realize...I can't talk. Not stuttering and stammering, nervous bullshit, I mean I physically can't talk. All I can do is take big gulps of air so that it sounds like I'm having a damn asthma attack. She gives me a weird look and then looks back at her friend who looks just like her except she had brown hair where my mystery girl had blonde (mundane detail, I know, but if you think about it life is just a series of mundane details put together to mean...nothing, but I digress). Blondie asks me if I lost her number and I nod, "yes" like an asshole. She then asks me if I want her to write it down for me and, once again, I give the nod. She takes my sandwich bag and turns to pick up the pen that miraculously appears on the table behind her, only to find that the pen is connected to the table by one of those chains like at the banks...perfect. Now remember I can't talk, and I want to tell her to just put the sandwich bag on the table to write her number on it so that the pen will reach, but I can't. So this intellectual Aphrodite keeps pulling on the chain in an attempt to make it stretch to reach the sandwich bag in her hand. (Now in retrospect I suppose I could have taken the bag from her and showed her how to put it on the table but let's analyze the situation: I've suddenly been struck dumb, I've got this gorgeous girl attempting to give me her number, and she's jarring her torso left and right so that...things... are bouncing everywhere. No matter how much I would have wanted that number I was in a fucking trance...plus it's a dream so stop analyzing it so much you freudian fuck). Finally, after what seems ages of gyrations...she miraculously gets the pen to stretch and writes her number. Looking up she gives me a little smile, her eyes are an emerald shade of green, the skies open, the ground shakes, birds in the distance seem to be chirping Mozart. Then as she reaches to hand me back the bag with this holy grail of phone numbers on it...I wake up. I know, anticlimactic as hell. Upon awakening, though, I quickly discovered that I had regained my voice as I screamed "Fuuuuuuck!" into my pillow. I suppose that was a testament to my intellect...after being struck dumb I announce to the world that I have regained the gift of oration by screaming the most versatile word in the English language into my pillow. Through all the frustration, though, my degree in psychology stuck it's nasty little head out and I realized the sad, sad truth about what the meaning of my dream was. In the deli of life I can stand there an hold my salami, but I can't talk to girls (let alone get their number)...se la vie.
Much Love,
Bo
Monday, June 06, 2005
Welcome
Well this is my first entry and I don't really have anything life-altering or mind-blowing to say. Right now I'm just wondering whether or not I'll keep up with this. Part of me thinks that I might give up on it after a few weeks like I did the piano, my baseball card collection, my degree in geriatric gynecology, and my heterosexuality (Now, I'm not gay...women are just insane and kinda scary). My asexual lifestyle aside, I'm on the ass-end of an all nighter right now and it's 12:30 so I'm gonna try to slip into a coma for the next few hours. Stay tuned, I might surprise all of us and actually have something of substance next time.
Much Love,
Bo
Much Love,
Bo
