Varying Degrees of Awful

Last Saturday, I was walking into my local Metro station when I was asked for spare change by an allegedly homeless person.  The exchange damn near broke my spirit because it happened like this:

"Hey, man, spare some cha-oh, sorry, bro."

I was wearing some green, heavy-duty carpenter's pants that I use as hiking pants.  They are durable, but have wide enough legs that the thick denim isn't stifling, even in a DC summer.  These pants are pretty faded, worn around the hem, and have some permanent grass stains at the knees.  I was also wearing a green, long sleeve shirt that I always think makes me look like a revolutionary.  Apparently, I looked so pathetic that even a homeless man didn't want any change I might have had.

Thanks, Universe.  I needed this.  Everything is now cobagulating.

I try to remind myself that my life could be so much worse, but this doesn't feel helpful.  Everything can always be worse.  There can always be some other, larger, more hideous monster around the corner.  As much as I sympathize with the plights of so many people in the world, reminding myself that other people live in utter terror for their lives doesn't make me want to thank the Good Lord Pasta for my life.  I am torn between feeling guilt for being lucky enough to be born who I was born, and for trying to assuage that guilt by remembering that I didn't have any choice in the matter, so far as I know.

At least I can go to sleep, reminding myself that life isn't fair, there is no plan.  This comforts me more than any other platitude.

Seth Rogen and Some Ladies?

Spotted at a bar in Dupont Circle. Is that really Seth Rogen and some interns, or is that a lucky look-alike?

The Needs of Commitment

People are odd little creatures when you look at us. We insist on some sort of dualistic relationship when our closest living relations are polyamorous poo-flingers, hanging out in the jungles all day trying to get laid. Which sounds only slightly more civilized than any bar on ladies night.

Back to our own peculiarities, commitments and committed relationships are odd for primates and yet we still hold that these are the highest and most noble of all relationships with any being other than our Divine. This seems to work out pretty well for most Americans, regardless of the government's interference, and I have no objections to this system of relating. I do have a problem with those who abuse this system to the detriment of others, specifically my detriment.

If you're in a committed relationship, you had best make damn sure that you understand and respond to the needs of the other. You are also responsible for ensuring that your needs are properly communicated. Because I am sick and fucking tired of wasting my A game with women who aggressively flirt with me and grab my interest and then flounce off to their lump of shit on a sofa that they call honey.

Case in point: I am sitting at work, minding my book, when a cute blonde with twinkling eyes walks by and harasses the shit out of me for my choice of book. I'll paraphrase:

Her: Look, friends! This man is an asshole! (Waves at me) He is reading a book that offends me, thus he is an asshole much like the man I am with but without tonight!

Me: Who the fuck are you that disturbs my quiet reading of this amusing book?

Her: I am one who disturbs and demands you justify your actions!

Me: I see no material reason to justify anything, but you are attractive and I am just arrogant enough to condescend and say, your opinion of me is worthless.

Her: How dare you ignore my reprobation!?

Me: Quite easily, shall we discuss this at length at another time of our choosing? Give me your number and you might convince me of my error.

Her: (Stares at me in amazement, before smiling briefly) I sniff in disdain at you.

Then the manager seats them in my section. The witty banter continues, I was using Classic Gambit #3: Asshole Who Reveals. She smiles, and winks at me at the end of each brief session of repartee. This went quite well until she accidentally mentioned a "Jimmy." Being no fool, I recognize immediately the significance of "Jimmy" and cease the contest. As she leaves, I ask her to say hi to Jimmy for me. To which she gasps, gapes, and blushes.

Fuck you, Jimmy. You aren't giving her what she needs, so she ventures out and takes it from those innocents willing to speak with her. She is almost as bad as you because she stays with you without communicating her needs, or despite your obvious lack of regard for her. So fuck you, Jimmy, and the horse you rode in on. Fuck you, your parents for not teaching you, and fuck your grandparents for not slapping your parents when they saw what was happening.

One final note: if you're gonna give a fake name, don't hesitate and break eye contact while you think, and then slowly say, "Starla?" I can not respect bad liars.

Allow Me to Tell You The Story...

of how awesome I am. Details to come.

The Genius Recommends: Advice for the Recently Free

I just received word that even more of my fans are now enjoying the freedom to look for new (employment/early retirement/unreasonable termination/unseasonable free time/ways to entertain the children/reasons not to purchase fireams). Since I have been seeking satisfactory employment for the last ten months without success, I thought I would share my obviously excellent experience at finding a new source of funding outside the family. These items are meaninglessly numbered and quite possibly meaningless in general, but hopefully you'll pick up something useful or at least smirk mirthlessly at my problems. As other people always say about me, if you can't do something right, try and serve as an example for others.

Item 1: Do Not Wallow
When enjoying the early stages of unemployment/freedom, it can be easy to sink into a cycle of self-pity and doubt. You just got fired, so obviously you must suck at the work you had been doing for 2/20/200 years, right? Not so much. Remind yourself that shit sucks right now and you need to get over your anger at your old company's decision and get cracking at finding a new job so you can go back to spending eight to twelve hours a day being miserable under fluorescent lighting. Take two days to feel shitty and angry, maybe get drunk or whatever, but that's it. Two days of wallowing is enough, you big baby.

Item 2: Log-ins, Log-ins, Log-ins
Unless you're some sort of fucking mega-star in your field, people probably won't know you. If you are some sort of mega-star, fuck off because you're ruining it for everyone else. In order for people to learn about you, you've got to get out there. In the good old days, you could keep up your attendance at the neighborhood happy hours over at Jimmy and Diane's. These days, it means creating profiles all over the goddam internet. Career Builder, Monster, Linked-In, (Local High Profile Newspaper), etc, etc, etc. Go the extra forty miles on these things, too. Really clog up the tubes with tales of your daring and dynamism at the workplace. Remember that time you saved that dude from OD'ing on correction fluid? Or the time you had two interns in the copy room? Well, maybe you leave those out. You may be thinking "But Genius, I'm a certified paper pusher with two degrees and several references and recommendations! Why would I need to go to all this trouble?" Here's the thing: someone at your targeted company will be searching the internet for information about you. Some HR flunky will be asked to "see what's out there about this guy/gal." Make sure that what's out there is positive and helpful to these people. They're already HR, so they're not too bright, so help them out.

Item 3: SCHMOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOZE
If you want to continue working in your former field, call everyone you know that is still working in the field. Chat them up, renew your acquaintance, and straight up ask them if they have any intel for you. This is not a time to be shy, or feel conflicted about using social contacts for personal gain. Remember that dude from (Other Department) who got a job at (Competing Company)? Call that guy, see how he likes the place, and if he will forward your information. That woman you got a business card from at that trade show? Call her, too. Be upfront about why you are calling and what you need from them. Listen to them, if they have inside info about the company that they are willing to share, be willing to listen. As for how to determine what you need from them, see Item 4.

Item 4: Research AKA Stalking
The internet is a wonderful land, full of opportunity and information. Did I mention that it's full of information? Cuz it's FULL OF INFORMATION. Unless you're a creep who specializes in digging out secret addresses of Myspace kids, you will probably be surprised at the sheer amount of stuff you can find out by searching for stuff like "KBR/Halliburton HR Staff List" or something similar. You need to be a frigging subject matter expert on any company that you are serious about making a run on. When contacting your people, you don't want to ask them to just kick your resume over to HR with a note, you want to be as precise as possible. "Please send this over to Mr. Wilmington in HR and I thought that Mrs. Jenkins in Drafting and Design would also appreciate it." If your contact is willing to put you forward in this way, you are already up on Johnny Pearlywhites at the interview.

Item 5: Appearance
As much as I don't hate to say it: appearance counts. True story: I was working at a public agency in San Francisco, conducting a survey of employers and their trouble filling positions. One woman at a large firm really wanted to vent about how hard it was to find qualified people who could also remember to comb their hair more than once a week and be bothered to tuck in their shirts. You can have a glowing resume and be everything they need and want, but if you smell or have shitty, ugly teeth, you're fucked. Think about it: how much harder does someone have to work at being liked if they don't take care of their person? You're already unemployed, so you've got the time to quit smoking, start a work-out routine, and dye those teeth. As fucked up as it is, a good looking person with a nice smile will go farther than the person who rocks the scruff and went to the British School of Dentistry. This also ties in with Item 1: Do Not Wallow. If you've been thinking about dropping a few pounds, or maybe padded out those quads, delts, and biceps, you've got the time and you'll have more energy. If you're married or in a relationship, s/he will appreciate this as well, and I doubt I need to explain how that appreciation will be shown.

Item 6: Branch the Fuck Out
You just got shitcanned at your job auditing banks, and now you're not even sure you want to continue in that field, maybe because you have a soul and a conscience. What the hell should you do with yourself? Maybe you can explore your artsy side because you sure loved that one drawing class twenty years ago, but that probably had more to do with the models than any talent. So what the hell should you do? Branch the fuck out. Think about ways you can apply your skills and experience in some way you hadn't been before, as a private accountant or corporate auditor or whatever, I don't really know exactly. Be flexible of mind and it will come to you. Read lots, and talk to other professionals. Maybe there is work for an accountant tracking transaction reports for a law firm. Chances are that if your former company is experiencing financial woes, your entire industry is, so you might have to venture outside that industry to find a new water cooler to stand over and discuss last night's Lost.

Item 7: Training
You've got plenty of free time now, don't waste it leveling another character so you can go raid Mordor six times a week. Go back and refresh your skills with training courses, or learn some new skills that complement your experience and can help you with that idea you had about branching out, as we discussed previously. Most job training expenses are tax right offs, but you definitely want to talk to an expert about that before claiming anything with the IRS.

Item 8: Don't Listen To Me
I was unemployed for eight fucking months before I got a job waiting fucking tables! Why the fuck are you listening to me? Talk to a professional career counselor.

The Battle is Enjoined!

The Corn Refiner's Association has struck back against those fighting the forces of over-sweetening and accidental obesity. They have commissioned at least one commercial and an informational website. According to the commercials, high fructose corn syrup comes from corn, is all natural, and is just as bad/good as sugar and honey. Let's break these claims down individually.

"High Fructose Corn Syrup Comes From Corn"

Yes, indeed corn syrup does come from corn. However, this is almost like saying that meth is clean because it is made with bleach. While I don't put either meth or high fructose corn syrup in my body, if I had to choose I would choose the corn syrup over meth any day. Parents of small children may disagree with any distinction between the two.

"All Natural"

According to the website, HFCS is...

considered a natural food ingredient under the U.S. Food and Drug Administration's definition of the term “natural.” Under FDA rules, “natural” means that “nothing artificial or synthetic (including all color additives regardless of source) has been included in, or has been added to, a food that would not normally be expected to be in the food.”

By this definition, gasoline is natural, too. That must be why we don't need factories to make the stuff, or to make HFCS. I wonder if you can get organic HFCS.

"Nutritionally the Same as Sugar or Honey"

The chart on each page reinforces this claim. The ads claim that as long as HFCS is used "in moderation" HFCS is just as healthy as any other sugar. This may actually be true, I am willing to concede this point. Let me be clear: I admit that HFCS is just as good or bad for you as any other refined sugar and honey. Except for the teeny, tiny problem of actually trying to use this stuff in moderation. HFCS is in freaking everything: like apple sauces, almost all non-diet soda and fruit drinks, coffee flavor syrups, beef, yo momma, etc.

According to the USDA, high fructose corn syrup accounts for roughly 41% of all caloric (nutritive) sweeteners consumed in the U.S.

True, but corn sweeteners--including HFCS, glucose, and dextrose--account for over 50% of all sweeteners shipped in the US, according to that table the website mentioned. (You have to open a spreadsheet from the USDA to find Table 49.) The funny thing about the honey claim is that we aren't consuming nearly as much honey as we do HFCS. Only 148,000 tons of honey was shipped in 2007. Almost 11,000,000 tons of corn syrup was shipped in 2007. I guess this must be what the Corn Refiner's Association calls moderation.

I was suspicious of the claim that only 40.1 pounds of HFCS were consumed per year, per capita. The chart is clear about this, despite my completely anecdotal suspicion. We purchase about 50 pounds of the stuff per year per capita, but let an estimated 20% go to waste (uneaten or spoiled or etc), according to Table 52. This means that we are wasting 20% of our soda purchases every year. I have a friend whose mother will open a soda and drink a few swallows and then put it back in the fridge and twenty minutes later, she will open a new one and repeat the process because "she just wants a little drink, not a whole one." This boggles my mind and fills her fridge with 30 or 40 half empty sodas a week, which all go stale before anyone else gets thirsty. These are also diet so they don't count, therefore everyone everywhere drinks every drop of soda and eats every pound of HFCS they purchase. 20% seems kinda high to me, but I am not an expert working for the USDA. I have wasted corn starch plenty of times making some non-Newtonian fluids and those are always cool, so maybe 20% isn't so high...except corn starch isn't corn syrup.

One regular soda a day is horrifically bad for you. Diet sodas aren't so great, either, with all that salt.

Despite all this blathering on about HFCS, I have only one reason for disliking HFCS beyond the health reason: it tastes terrible. Sodas and fruit drinks with made with cane sugar taste more refreshing to me. Cane sugar straight off the cane is soooo much better than corn syrup straight from the jar, especially when you go to the Latino grocery store and buy it in a bunch and then chew it like tabacco and sit around the pool. If you can get past the woody texture to the sheer buzz and flavor of the sap, cane sugar is brilliant.

Next week in wild, quasi-scientific rambling: if men are often red/green colorblind, are rare women blue/yellow colorblind? I once convinced an ex-girlfriend's father that this was the case, despite having never heard of it and having done no research whatsoever. I just wanted to convince a well-respected lawyer that a total fabrication was the truth.

Looking Up?

Sometimes, it is hard to tell. I've got music, a social schedule just full enough, a new job, a new era of education and a new-ish hobby. It feels like everything is going to shit.

I've previously discussed my recent musical purchases, so I'll skip that discussion and move on to the Animal Collective show at the 930 Club on the 28th. I'm going to see them and I hope they will be awesome.

I am leaving my apartment to meet people two nights this week! Better get a refill on my agoraphobia medication. I have been asked to tend the grill at my friend's birthday party on Saturday. I am at my best when surrounded by fire and meat, so this should be an excellent time. The weekend after next, I am volunteering my time at my parents' church yard sale, as I do every year. As true as certain webcomics may be, I don't do this to meet women. I do host Halloween parties to meet women and I've got that to look forward to as well.

I have been laterally promoted within my company which is nice enough, I guess. I view it as being fired from my old job. My new job is still interesting and the company is paying me to take classes at the USDA Graduate School, so that is a step in a better direction. If all goes well, I will even have a pretty bitchin' title by the new year. I'll look even better on paper than I do now, which is nice even if I can't buy myself a roast beef sandwich.

I have been hanging out with some people trying to get a short movie filmed. We are working on a script and are eager to get to filming. This is pretty cool, but we have encountered some trouble. Flaky people annoy the shit out of me. If you aren't going to show up, return the call and say so. We know you're just sitting on your couch smoking dope and watching Gilligan's Island, so be an adult and call us to say that you aren't going to show, chundernozzle. Despite the flakes, I am still learning a bit about writing and working on a script. Just the whole process of collaboration is interesting.

I guess I should be pretty excited about all this. My fall looks far more interesting and active than my summer was, but there is still some lingering malaise. It's a lot more than lingering. I've got a lot going for me, but I am just not excited about any of it.

My Head Is Separating From My Body Like The Guy In John Carpenter's Thing

I have not had any caffeine today because I have decided I like pain. I am cutting out mochas and cookies in addition to continuing my work outs. I forgot to make any coffee this morning and did not want to buy any, so here I am suffering through the DTs.

I am listening to my music at a comfortable level in my office since I am the only one on the floor at the moment. I don't mean on the floor under my desk scratching at my eyes like I am wont to do on days without coffee. I mean there are only two other people in the office and they are downstairs with their office doors closed.

Windows Media Player just shifted from Architecture in Helsinki's Maybe You Can Owe Me to Ennio Morricone's Theme from The Good, The Bad, The Ugly and my brain just became a 29 dimensional space. That is as high as I could count from all the shivering.

In other news, I bought some music last weekend:
Film Music by Ennio Morricone which has everything a guy could want
Sigur Ros' Space Angel Fetus album (I am not going to try to work out the ASCII on the name again)
Animal Collective's Feels
Wolfmother untitled Frazetta cover art album
Golgol Bordello Gypsy Punk Underdog World Strike
Man Man Six Demon Bag

This fulfills the FDA Recommended Yearly Allotment of Experimental Music. If we factor in Blueberry Boat by the Fiery Furnaces and Animal Collective's Spirit They're Gone/Spirit They've Vanished or whatever the fuck that album is called, if it can be called an album, than I can safely say that I have exceeded the FDAYAEM and am approaching overdose. I plan on buying another Animal Collective album and Broken Hearts by the God Damn Doo Wop Band, the former of which will definitely result in a total collapse of all conversational ability regarding any topic other than music. Poser will tattooed across my forehead and I will locked up with a CD player and some headphones which will only play Pachebel's Canon and Van Halen's Panama in an attempt to cure me.

Also, do you capitalize the the in the God Damn Doo Wop Band or the Fiery Furnaces? I have seen it both ways.

Nothing Ever Happens These Days, Not Like The Good Ole Days

I was reading through the headlines on Wonkette and they linked to a post by the "formidable" "law" blogger Ann Althouse about her trip to LBJ's Presidential Library. Given the even-handed treatment she so kindly gave me during the Tucker Incident, I am not at all inclined to link to her site.

Unlike her, I chose to read her entire post and I wish I hadn't. She really is as bad as Brad Altrocket (or whatever his handle is today) says she is. She is probably worse than Pinko Punko says she is, but that is only because he is too nice with some. I did not read the comments.

"And there are three floors of exhibits, which pull you through the history and culture of the 1960s, the time when I was a teenager. Did so much more happen then, or does it only seem so to me?"

I guess she is right. Not a thing is happening today.

Someone is Tempting My Wrath!

I was just called by an automated telemarketer with a refinance offer. I don't own a home. I don't have a land line. I thought we weren't supposed to get telemarketing calls on cell phones.

Crap.

Update: I was right. Regulations prohibit using automated dialers to call cellular numbers. The number was from the 712 area code, in western Iowa. That's a long bike ride for an ass whupping. I better get moving.

The Non-Date Date

You all probably know of that which I now type. The phenomenon may not be limited to my life, but it is something that happens more often to me than my friends. I know a couple women in the DC Metro area with whom I like to hang out. These are not women I am trying to hump, regardless of whether the back part of my brain thinks that would be a whole lot of fun and trouble.

We sometimes meet up for dinner, movies, hikes, and shows. I don't think this is at all odd. We are friends and hang out. No big deal. Some people have asked me why I would waste time being friends with a woman I don't plan to date or hump. This is akin to asking why we need a functioning intelligence service or investigative press corps. A fresh female perspective on certain aspects of life is important.

Friends who like to take walks at night and toss a frisbee in a park on a pleasant, mosquito-free evening in March are rare.

I wish there was a frisbee golf range close by that would let me play at night. I could bring the 2 AM Game back.

Friday Morning Musing: Is there such a thing as too much Chuck?

I was walking along the poop-laden trails in my neighborhood with a female acquaintance earlier this week. We were talking about recent dating mishaps in our respective forays on the subject. We had a discussion about her situation and I gave surprisingly even-handed advice on her situation. I made my usual disclaimer that relationship/dating advice from me is to be taken only rarely. In this instance, anyone I know and anyone I don't know would have found my advice more than acceptable and perhaps straight up decent. Once I made the discalimer, she asked me about my most recent attempt at dating AKA Global Warming Denier Girl AKA Hot Liberal That Has Been Duped By The CEI (HLTHBDBTCEI).

My friend asked me a question that I found both strange and interesting. She asked whether GWDG had ever seen "Friend Chuck or if GWDG had only ever seen On Chuck." I admitted that it was likely that GWDG had only ever seen On Chuck since we met at a party and only went on four dates before I blew up about her gullibility. We did have one date at a diner and coffee shop and we talked and had a nice couple hours, but our conversations were sparring matches. I doubt GWDG ever saw Friend Chuck. It takes a bit of relaxation around a person for Friend Chuck to come out. I am not paranoid or reserved, but I have acheived less than desirable outcomes when behaving like Friend Chuck on dates. Once we have seen each other for more than a few dates, you have to break out the Friend Chuck or you just become tiresome; always being snappy and slick with the wit wears on a person after a while. A certain amount of relaxation is needed.

This is not rocket science. If I have figured this out, then I am certain that everyone else reading this learned this back in high school or something.

In the last five dating relationships with which I have complicated my life, I have had trouble with my communication style interefering with my libido's wang style. One person said that everytime she reveals something about herself, I reveal something about myself. She also said that it feels like we are frequently in competition in this regard. I had no idea what she was talking about because I thought I was being sympathetic. I would have disregarded this criticism but at least one other woman has said this. So either to totally unrelated people ahve the same psychosis or I am a jackass that has no idea how to express sympathy in such a way as to continue a relationship that seems alright.

I have recently acquired a FREE copy of "You Just Don't Understand: Men and Women In Conversation." The last and only time I read any of this book, I was a freshman in college and fulsome and I had a good laugh reading it out loud with some girls. The question I have is: If I read this book, am I required to turn in my penis? or will I become an even better pick-up artist?

I don't know if I could get any better than I already am, though I would be willing to test the veracity of that statement.

There Are Days That Remind Me...

of how I love the internets and the wonderment therein. This is one of them.

Rumors and in jokes that can really make you smile.

Ethics? We don't need no stinking ethics.

Second Life proven to be definitive declaration of No Life. Honestly, if people did this sort of stuff in the World of Warcraft, I would never leave it.

Don't take your self too seriously because then you can't laugh at yourself. We are all the best sources of comedy in our own lives.

You Know What's Awesome?

In the middle of kicking all kinds of ass this weekend on the World of Warcraft, my graphics card started acting funny. It locked up twice and my computer decided to reboot it and then tell me about the problem. This is an event easily classifiable as Not Good. My entire system even shut down entirely once, necessitating me to use the power button on the back of the box.

Given the nature of my previous troubles (detailed here, here and here), I am just going to take it to the store where I bought all the parts and have it worked over. I would do this stuff myself but the only way I know how to do anything with a computer involves plugs, whistles, electricity and inciting tiny invisible people to fly into the machine to harass the ghost into action. You would be surprised how much influence pixies, fairies, angels and other imaginary creatures can have on tangible objects like computers and politicians.

I also figure that I can get the techs to properly install my SATA hard drive and possibly even keep my old ones in fine working order. Then I can have a proper back up of my illegally downloaded music pornography.

I May Have Inadvertently Started a Blog Fight Between Wonkette and Big Head DC

When I arrived at the party last night, I wanted to thank Rob at Big Head DC for the invitation. Having no idea what he looks like, I figured I would just ask the first two people who looked bored enough and who happened to be standing next to me. They didn't know who Rob was, nor had they heard of the website. We chatted for a bit and I learned some stuff about Rachel Ray. Then I asked the next couple of people that were standing and glancing around awkwardly. Same story. I then figured that the photographers would have to know the host of the party. So I asked this one dude with fancy camera gear and a stylishly mussed hairdo if he knew who Rob was. He didn't and he looked at me like he was kinda surprised that I was talking to him. My count was now five and o. I got a free pink martini type vodka drink that was pretty sweet. It has the "energy drink shit mixed right in" to quote one excited partier. "It's got all those extracts and shit that Red Bull has but it tastes sooo much better than regular Red Bull mixed with vodka." So grabbed one and after having a couple sips, realized that I better not have any more without eating a few plates of food. I then asked a group of two men and one woman if they who Rob was. They didn't and looked at me like I was speaking Swahili. The drinks were good, but not that good. I was not yet drunk enough to fail to notice the stunning assortment of seriously pretty ladies and the fact that I may have been one of five straight men at the party. I like those odds.

I asked the next group of people and one of them turned out to be Rob's wife. She introduced me and I said thanks and we chatted about the Tucker incident. Then Rob had to introduce Musto and thank Jeff Gannon for co-hosting the event. This is the point where the train went off the rails in my head like the proverbial needle on a junkie's turntable. The dude from the nudie pictures that Clif makes fun of? I better finish this drink. Michael Musto read some of Suzanne Somers poetry and then I fell into a conversation with a fascinating AU law student whom I shall likely never see again. Such is the way of things.

Cruising the sites this morning, I found this interesting bit on Wonkette. For the record, I am nobody's minion. Minions are classed as merely levels 1-5, whereas I am clearly an Epic Level Blogger. I am a Freelance Genius, not a damn minion.

This is funny in a sort of WHA? way.

Monday Morning Link Roundup

I was cruising the internets this morning and I found a few interesting pieces of drek.

Apparently, TUSTOSAN is not the sole source of the Tragic Tranny.


This is why I refuse to "come up" when I am drunk or she is drunk. What an asshole.

I found dontEATnachos holiday present that I should have gotten him two months ago. According to fulsome, I am still on time.