Shameless Self-Promotion

Hey everyone,

I know it's been a month since I posted and I know this is the kind of thing that any person that has ever been subjected to every Girl Scout, ridiculous trinket, candle sale, etc. that has been peddled to them at work or home hates, but I'm trying to raise some money. And believe me, it makes me uncomfortable just asking this.

I have a good friend that has a son that suffers from hemophilia B. For those who aren't familiar with what this is, it's a serious disease that prevents blood clotting. As you might imagine, this poses great challenges to those affected.

My friend Greg recently clued me into a charity bike ride that is going to benefit people like his son that suffer from this disease. It's a road race that will cover almost 700 miles in 7 days. To help the various foundations that will benefit from this ride, they are asking each participant to raise $3K. I know in these economic times, altruism is a tough to do. But if you've ever thrown a couple dollars to your local Girl Scout troop, homeless shelter or cause of choice, I ask you to do the same now, for someone you (nominally) know as well.

If you are interested, please visit here. It's a great cause and I really appreciate anyone who decides to help.

We'll be back to our regularly scheduled dick jokes soon.

Ahhhh Baseball, Welcome Back My Friend

We're very fortunate to have a friend that has season tickets to the Angels and he quite often calls to offer me his seats. Yesterday he called and asked if I'd like to join him for opening day. Kickass It's the first home opener I've ever got to attend. Man, you can't beat California in April (82 @ game time, of course that'll be 98 in the summer months), at your team's season opener, several beers in hand.

Where My Weekend Hates Me

Meant to get this up on Monday but, a post is a post right? So here's the way my weekend decided to crush my hopes and happiness:

1. About a year ago, we ended up adopting, through osmosis, 4 feral cats that we're running around our place and that M had decided to feed. We got them all fixed and they even started warming up to us, letting us pet them, hold them (a couple of them anyway). M is much more of a cat person and of course got very attached to them. Since they are reformed feral cats, they often disappear a day or two at a time. No biggie.

The one that has warmed up to us the most disappeared last Wednesday. By the weekend M was inconsolable about the whole situation. She kept looking to our backyard, distraught when Balls (his naming is a good story for another time) didn't show up at feeding time. She kept on asking me questions like:

"Where did he go?"
"What could have happened to him?" **
"Is he going to come home?"

You get the idea. Constant questions that had no possible answers. I mean the dude's a gdamn alley cat. Who the hell knows? The best part was when she'd ask one of these questions, then go into a crying jag. It was great.

Thank goodness, he mysteriously appeared again last night and she was so happy she cried...again. I'm happy he's back, but even happier that I don't have to put up with the nonsense anymore.

2. I take our puppy, Dak, to a local dog park a couple times a week so he can go out and run around nuts and play with other dogs. A couple of M's coworkers had told her about this great dog park on the other side of town. Since I was heading over to a friend's place to drop something off that's near there, she suggested I take him along and go over there. OK, fine.

The problem when I get there is that the place is basically a huge area of nothing but dirt. Interspersed with puddles and mud. "Great park," I'm thinking to myself. My mistake was not just packing him up and leaving immediately. I let him go out to play and run around, he's having a great time. So far, so good. The problem occurs after he runs around for about 40 minutes and decides he's hot. Want to guess where he went? That's right, straight into one of the aforementioned mud puddles which he proceeds to roll around in, covering himself in water and mud. He looked something like this:



Only with more mud and water. Of course I didn't have any kind of towel or anything to clean him up. So I had to use the shirt off my back to try and clean him off before I let him back in M's car, with the nice leather seats. So awesome. I looked like Pigpen after wrestling around with him to try and clean him off. Thankfully he sat on the floorboard, pooped out, on the way home.

3. When I get home, I call into M to try and get her to come out and help me give Dak a bath. As soon as I say, "Hey M, I need som..."

"Aggghhhhh! Hurry up and get in here! The washer is leaking everywhere!"

I have to scramble to get the dog out to his kennel, trying not let his muddy ass bound around the house and dirty everything up. Since I had just replaced the drain hose on the washer two weeks ago, I was worried that I'd done something, like not tighten down a clamp enough tight enough, to cause this new problem.

Well it turns it out it wasn't that, it now seems as though the tub will no longer turn as well as leaking water from the bottom of the tub causing a nice little lake in our laundry room. Guh.

Since the washer is 10 years old, we've pretty much decided that we aren't going to drop anymore money into this thing. So she decides that she wants the new front load machines. Which of course means we have to buy a whole new set. Cause they have to match.

Which leads to the inevitable argument of, why the hell do we need to do that? No one comes into your place and goes, "Oh my god! They don't have a matching washer and dryer!" An argument, mind you, I'm destined to lose. Hello $1500 expenditure.

Women.

** - I thought he was probably dead. It might have had something to do with the fact she sprayed enough ant killer around where they hang out to poison the water table in the greater So Cal area.

Fun With Bums

M & I got these coupons in the mail for free frozen yogurt at a new place opening up near our place. We figured what the hell, leashed up the mutt and walked over there to cash in.

Since I had the dog, we decided she should go in first and claim her prize. I'm waiting outside the store (which is located in a strip mall with a big grocery store and a pharmacy) and engaging the occasional person that walks by wanting to comment on how cute our puppy is, etc. And then a bum strolls up.

Now, as bums go, he wasn't particularly disheveled or oozing the stink of someone who hasn't showered in a long time. He looked like he kept himself reasonably cleaned and attired. Probably in his late 40's, sleeved arms and some neck tats, sort of like a construction guy gone to seed. I figure the guy is harmless and know with certainty I'm going to get hit up for money. Even Dak is wagging his tail as the guy approaches.

"Hey man, you got some change to spare? I need to (fill in the reason)."

"Sorry dude," I reply, "I really don't. My girl and I just walked up here to score some free frozen yogurt."

The guy gives me a semi-hostile look, "You know man, it's really tough right now for me. It's been hard you know?"

OK, this is taking a bit of a turn. "Hey, I'm sure it has. I don't know what to tell you though, I don't have any cash."

The guy turns and starts to shuffle off, mumbling under his breath. As he gets about 6 feet away, he suddenly stops, turns around and says, "You know, it's not easy being a fucking ex-con!"

Uh oh, this is definitely taking a turn and suddently I hear Dak start to growl at this guy. Which he's never done to anyone unless it's part of playing. This is not good.

"Listen man, I'm sure it's not. But I don't know what to tell you," a shrug of my shoulders, "I don't have any money."

"You know, when I was in prison man...people would just do what I told them to do. I was someone that was respected!"

At this point I'm beginning to get pissed off since, from my point of view, he's threatening me. I make sure I'm square to him so there's no surprises. I'm also beginning to wonder how well a punch can be thrown when you're holding on to a dog? Especially one that's starting to get a little wound up. OK, so go with the kick to the kneecap.

"Well sure. And I'm sure you're mighty nostalgic about the forcible sodomy in the shower too. But I told you, I don't have any cash. Now.Fuck.Off!

I'm not sure what he was expecting, but it surely wasn't that. He just stood there for a couple of seconds, eyes wide. Maybe he was just doing the math on whether or not he could get away with trying to beat the shit out of me. Who knows? In any case, he just turned and walked away without another word.

Perhaps I need to take some classes in conflict resolution.

At least the frozen yogurt was shitty.

I've Found Nirvana

M, who by the way is the greatest g/f like...evah, bought me a bottle of 16 year old Lagavulin the other day while she was out shopping. Now I've had a ton of single malt, covering the gamut from cheap-ass rotgut to stuff that generally tops out @ around $50 a bottle. This stuff however, is on another planet. I love Laphroaig, but this stuff is like that, only on roids.

Immediately after opening the bottle and just sniffing the cork you get a heavy sense of the smoke and the peat that you're about to be treated to. Pouring it into the rocks glass and getting your nose in there only increases that sensation. And sipping it, good gravy. It is the best single malt I've ever had. It's like...drinking a BBQ done over oak and moss. But rather than being harsh, it's as smooth as fresh pressed silk. I'll never be able to write reviews, cause obviously my vernacular sucks. Suffice it to say, this shit rules. Red, not that you read this anymore, but you were right. This is fantastic.

And if you ever saw someone put ice in it, you should immediately scorn them. Then punch them in the mouth.

I.Am.Golden

Read this.

Men of the world, rejoice. Now there's some scientific knowledge you can drop on your lady when she catches you in the shower. Or...wherever.

You Know What I Found Out Friday Night...

No, not that I'm gay.

Getting hit by a car while riding trying to ride to school? That.Shit.Hurts!

Luckily I'm all in one piece. My bike, perhaps not. The shittiest part, besides the 4 hours I spent at the ER? The fucking cocksucker ran. Shitheel.

Where I Nab Some Pussy

As I may or may not have mentioned, we have several cats running around our place that we kind of adopted. They were feral when M started feeding them (she's such a bleeding heart about animals) but 2 of the four quickly became more docile, practically domesticated. One was still extremely wary and the fourth was still bat-shit insane.

We managed to capture the 3 that were getting used to being around humans and the lady who acted as our realtor picked them up and went and got them fixed. That left us with the completely feral kitty. I mean, this cat wouldn't get within 4 feet of us and would run away if you looked at it cross.

Sunday night M texted me while I was out grabbing dinner and said that she had the cat trapped in the shed and should she leave it in there. Well, duhhhhh, yes. We called the realtor and when she called back that night she told me to capture the cat and she would take it in on Monday morning. Since it was already 10:30 at night, I decided to get up early in the morning and capture the cat. No problem right? Here's where the tail (yes Verbal, that was intentional) gets funny.

I roll out of bed @ 5:30 and I start to gather the stuff I'm going to use. I had planned on putting on my leather work gloves and wrapping up my arms in towels so that when I managed to nab the cat I didn't get shredded. Well M immediately shit on my idea, saying it was stupid. Thanks babe! Her suggestion was that I put on my good winter coat to go after the cat. I said that was an even stupider idea than what I had. We commence argue, then yell, back and forth for the next 10 minutes before she finally agrees with me. Good way to start. *

I trudge out to the shed and lock myself in to go after the cat. My plan is to just snatch (*tee-hee*...snatch) her and stuff her in the cat carrier. Let the games begin! The cat is hiding behind our woodpile so I make my first grab at her. This cat, literally, climbs the fucking wall and shoots to the other side of the shed. This cat was faster than the fucking Flash. Nothing but a gray blur.

We go back and forth at this for a while before she ends up hiding underneath the treadmill we have stored out there. I try a couple times to grab her, without success, before I finally manage to get a hold of one of her legs and start to drag her out from under it. I couldn't get my other hand on her quick enough and she escaped. But not before giving me a solid bite on my index at the big knuckle. Through the leather gloves. It still smarts.

After that she ran behind the woodpile again. This is how I get bit the second time. On the opposite hand. Oh, I forgot to mention, M was no where near this little drama trying to help, except for the occasional time she would come peak in the window and offer this helpful advice as she hears me cussing and raging, "Don't get mad at the kitty and hurt her! It isn't her fault!" Super, thanks for the tip! Fuck me.

We go round and round about the wood pile and the treadmill a couple times more. Again I make a lunge for her while she's behind the woodpile. This time I end up taking a branch stub in the ribcage. It was a TK-like display of grace, agility and athleticism. And it hurt like a motherfucker. There's no bruise or anything but it hurts when I laugh, cough or sneeze. So it's uncomfortably similar to when I cracked my ribs. At this point, I'm out...I've been out there 45 minutes, close to be late to work and the score, for those keeping track is:
Cat: 2 Bites, still free.
Me: Potentially cracked ribs, no captured cat.

As I relate this story to various people during the day I'm greeted with laughs and ridicule, deservedly so. At this point I'm bound and determined to catch this little fucking hell spawn. I come up with the brilliant idea to make my own animal control lasso out of some PVC and rope. I call a buddy and con him into helping me at round two of V vs Stupid Cat.



Last night my buddy and I head into the den of the beast after I gear up (I'm wishing now I would have had him take a picture of the get up...just picture the Stay Puft guy made up of bath towels). Said beast is no where to be found. Our realtor had stopped by that morning to see if I had trapped the cat, so I thought maybe she had let it out. Turns out the gdamn cat is hiding up inside the guts of the treadmill. We have to upend it and partially disassemble the treadmill to get her out.

After she's out I manage to wrangle her in short order with the homemade lasso. I lift her out from behind the wood pile. Let's say at this point the cat is...a bit angry/spastic. It's spinning out at the end of the lasso in a what looks to be a nightmare fit of epilepsy. I hand the pole to my buddy B and go in to grab the cat. At which point she squirts out of the lasso and jumps onto a window ledge (nice work B, way to hold it tight!). I just say fuck it and make lunge for the cat and end up grabbing it around the body. It was every bit of what you would think handling a lunatic, feral cat would be like. But we managed to get the little bitch shoved into the cat carrier! "Mission Pussy Snatch" (see what I did there?) completed sir! We had some well earned booze after our foray. I mean, we showed that little terror right? I mean, it only took two grown men. After it had thoroughly abused me that morning.

Here's a picture of the little bastard.

Looks happy, doesn't she?

* - She told me later that she also started her period, so maybe that was the cause of some of the morning's fireworks.