I have been less than diligent in my blogging efforts. I highly doubt any of y’all noticed, but Lindsay has (not one of you has come for the funny, and stayed for the food). I don’t know if it is simply my lack of content, or the fact that people have been saying, “Oh, I just love you and Jay’s blog!” So, allow me to set the record straight…Lindsay does 99% of all the work for this here blog. I am simply riding her double stitched coattails and enjoying the praise of you readers. She posts the writings, edits the pictures and edits all of my posts dyslexic horribly (get it?). She’s a one-woman blogging machine. I am the jester who occasionally pops up and uses too many words that require asterisks in place of letters (sh*t, f*ck, godd*mn, & d*ckhead). With that being said…let’s get this f*ckin’ blog started!
Relationships are difficult from time to time and that is when they often turn into “relationsh*ts” as Dane Cook would say. It doesn’t happen that much with us, but when it does, it is normally between the hours of 11pm – 2:30am. I think this maaaaaaaaaaaaaaay have something to do with the fact that alcohol brings Lindsay’s emotions to skin level, and that it makes my fuse for tolerating drama as short as my penis (meaning it only takes 12 minutes for me to get angry). We’ve had two good “relationsh*ts” recently and the best one was over a bar I didn’t want to go. The ironic part of this whole story was that the bar was called “On The Roxx.” You could say that that bar really put our relationship “on the rocks.” Seriously, that’s a great pun.
Anywho, I hate bars that sh*t bass music into the air making conversation impossible. I find it frustrating and a waste of time. Why on Mother Nature’s Green Earth would a logical person want to congregate with friends and loved ones in an environment that prohibits them from speaking to one another? It’s odd. If you take away my ability to speak, then I’m just another bald loser in a bar. But if I can speak, I am the charming, funny bald man in a bar. I still have issues from being a fat kid and feeling out of place in those environments. Dance clubs are for attractive people with self-esteems. I prefer the confines of a dimly lit bar in a corner booth making fun of the lesser people who enjoy that type of activity. The problem is that Lindsay is one of those people, and I find it damn near impossible to pretend that I am having a good time in environments I detest.
This is actually what I told Lindsay, “It’s a horrible place to be for me. I hate it. I wouldn’t make you drink and socialize in a room where people stab puppies in the face all night, because that would be horrible for you.”
I still think that is an apt comparison. Guess who did not?
So, we have decided that when she feels like DANCING and saying, “F*ck guys, let’s just dance,” that I will stay home or go to my type of bar. However, I did agree that if we are out and about with a group of friends and the all agree to go bar that stabs puppies in the face, that I will do my best to put on a happy face and go along for the ride and not be a complete a**hole (You guys probably don’t know that about me, but I am great at being an a**hole. I’m like a pro.).
I’m pretty sure that there is a homeless man outside my office right now watching TV (I work in a university recreation center). I’m not bothered by the fact that he’s homeless (I’m not sure he’s homeless but he has all of the visible symptoms) or watching TV. I’m bothered by the fact that it sounds like he has Tuberculosis (holy shit, I spelled that right on the first try!).
If he is homeless I want to be kind and compassionate towards my fellow man, but I’d also like to teach him some manners. How do you quickly teach a homeless person manners? It’s not like I could drop a copy of Emily Post on the table and say, “Chapter 6 deals with coughing attacks, covering your mouth to prevent the spread of Whooping Cough, how to politely get rid of loogies/lung butter/phlegm, and how to fashion a handkerchief out of your sh*t covered shirt.” Ah, if it were only that easy. He just moaned so loudly that I thought he was approaching climax. Turns out, he’s just a Morgan Freeman fan. He’s watching the movie “Seven”. He also has a box on the sofa with him, which poses another pun. “What’s in the f*ckin’ box man!?!” (anyone remember “Seven”?). I would so love it if this dude has Gwyneth Paltrow’s head in his box. Have you read her blog? It is amazing how detached a person can be from your average person’s reality.
Ok, that’s enough. I’m off and will probably write something else in a week. Just remember…Lindsay is the brains of this operation and she’s trying to be the brains of me.
Hugs & High Fives!