Nick's Corner

Ikea: Land of adventure

2005-09-08T16:23:00.000-04:00

Sorry I haven't updated anything in awhile... I've actually had to work at... welll.... at work. Another reason why I haven't is because I've been on holiday. My last trip took me up north to the wonderful land of Connecticut. On the way my car broke down which was unfortunate, but fortunately it broke down right next to an Ikea.

I'm assuming most of you (all three of you) have been to an Ikea and if you haven't then you should probably stop what you are doing and go immediately. If you have been living in a hole though, let me give a little background as to where this wonderful store came from:

It all started back in the forties with some Swedish dude named Ingvar Kamrad (pretty sweet name eh?) Anyway, he started selling matches to his friends when he was 17... buying them in bulk and selling them for a substantial profit. Apparantly, in the 40's 17 year old Swedes would do damn near anything for matches. Eventually, he transitioned into much larger pieces of wood and started selling furniture. Originally, it was going to be your typical furniture store, but then Ingvar realized he was a horrible craftsman. It is well documented that one day, while attempting to assemble his own "Billy" style bookcase he exclaimed "FUCK ALL! How in fuck's sake do you do this?!" He then decided that his buyers could assemble their own furniture. (As a side note for the flamers out there, it is also well documented that Ingvar had a brutal English accent.)

In fact, this is where the name of the store originated... and the story goes...

One day a happy Ingvar looked up at the big red barn that would be the first IKEA and disclaimed, "Well, the furniture is all shit, but maybe some Scottish mugger will buy it. What should we call it though?" His assistant who loved Ingvar very much said that the store was as lovely as "Ingvar Kamrad's English Accent." And the name stuck.

For my purposes, Ikea was not a furniture but a way to waste four hours while some dude fixed my Taurus. What follows is I'm sure a mediocre list of things you can do in Ikea to pass the time.

- Play old school Sega on the sweet video game system they set up in the little kids bedroom section. (I was lucky. They had Sonic and Knuckles loaded when I was there.)
- Join the weird couple who has posted up on the couch to watch "Singing in the Rain."
- Try to hack into the Ikea mainframe computing system. Hint: Try the password "meatballs"
The computer hacking game is a lot of fun... it will probably take the workers a good few hours to discover why their chestnut colored headboard is ringing up for $4.99 and meanwhile the cute and cuddly Ikea stuffed snake is a whopping $215.
- Poke fun at the men who take their special lady friends to Ikea for the "restaurant".
- Take all of the Ikea brand stuffed animals (there are many) and set them up in a play Ikea zoo.
- Kidnap someone.
- Pretend you are a dog and pee on everything that you would like to claim as yours.
- Learn Swedish and then only speak in Swedish there and get pissed off when the help has no idea what you are talking about.
- Do mushrooms.

Any combination of these things is a surefire way to waste 4 hours in your local friendly Ikea.

Who's cereal did I pee in?

2005-08-19T13:24:00.000-04:00

So, I had a Craig's list date last night, and while it was fun I have decided that I am probably not supposed to see this girl ever again because the cosmos kept making it incredibly difficult. The first time we were supposed to be together, we both went to the same bar and could not locate each other. Weird, but I chalked it up to her just blowing me off and she did the same.

Eventually, we actually did get together for round two. I'm supposed to meet her outside of this Krispie Kreme shop and I'm thinking "Oh god... not a Krispie Kreme girl... " and then as I approach I see this short girl with brunette hair (the only description of her that I had) waiting for me... except this girl is... well... a Krispie Kreme girl. Putting my superficiality behind, I approach her. Turns out this is not my date. Score one for the home team.

Then I got assaulted by a homeless man for ten minutes. He actually threatened me for a quarter. Apparantly I was supposed to be afraid of "what I couldn't see" b/c he was a third degree blackbelt. My ass.

Luckily though, the girl didn't stand me up and double luckily she was cute and triple luckily we seemed to get along okay. Sooo... what could go wrong right? A freakin lot. That's what. We decide to go to get some mojitos at this cool cafe. We are talking, getting along, no awkward silences... pretty awesome. I learn that she went to all girls, Catholic schools for her entire life... sweet.

What happened next has probably happened to a lot of people, but damn does it suck to have happen in the middle of a date. My stomach started hurting... and not like a ... oh... my stomach hurts cause I ate too much... like... oh... I need to spend some quality time with the toilet gods for upwards of 20 minutes. However, I am of course not going to say anything about this development and therefore try to play it cool. For all intensive purposes I black out at this point and stop listening to anything she is saying... I'm just trying to make it through. Luckily, I pride myself as an actor and therefore I think I maintained some semblence of control. Until....

My tooth fell out. Correct. There I was sitting with gassy gut when a filling in one of my molars just magically ejects itself from my tooth. like... WHAT THE FUCK? Now not only am I writhing in gutwrenching pain, but everytime I open my mouth it feels like someone is sticking a needle deep into my jaw.

Regardless, I stay cool... at this point I'm sure I'm sweating up a storm and she must have thought I was a nervous wreck. In any event, I didn't say anything because what the hell can you say? So I casually finish my drink (which was painful) and suggested that we should leave. I think she may have been confused by my sudden urge to leave, but all i know is I had to get the fuck out of there before something else awful happened.

So end of story: Cute girl, bad luck, God hates me. Now the question is... do I tempt fate and call her again or do I take it as a sign that we should never be together?

My Home

2005-08-15T11:49:00.000-04:00

I recently went home to Wyoming to attend my mom's wedding. While the wedding was great, there was a much cooler highlight to the trip:
The Mast.
The Mast is my local strip club where dreams come true. Let me explain. It is a small hole-in-the-wall place across from City Hall and next to the Payless Drug Store which has a drive through liquor department. You can hear the classic rock blaring from the sidewalk and can enter the club either through the official engraved wooden door or you can use the back entrance which is what the cool people do.
So what makes this place great? How great could a trashy strip club be in the middle of Southwest Wyoming? I've composed a brief list of reasons why it is sweet. Check it:

- No cover. Ever.

- A beer will set you back a paltry $2.

- If you go regularly (I regularly go about once every three months) you will get free drinks.

- The pool tables are right next to the stage. For those of you who frequent strip clubs you will know how cool this is because it gives you something to do so you aren't just being a perv.

- They put ice in the urinals. I still haven't figured out why they do this but it makes pissing a lot of fun.

- About 1 out of every 5 dancers looks decent naked. This saves you a lot of money because you can play pool while the meth addict strippers are "dancing" and then throw a few bucks at the hot one.

- If you are a half-way attractive, average male, that one hot girl will do amazing things with your one dollar as she is typically used to old depressed bastards or fat sloppy truckers. I recently had a girl lift my dollar off my nose with her erect nipple then she gave me the dollar back and let me place it wherever I pleased. I'm a gentlemen of course so I chose her vagina.

- The Mast is part of the official WY/CO/UT stripper circuit which means that every week they ship in 5 new girls although the 1 to 4 ratio of attractive girls always seems to hold.

- Finally, I'm fairly certain you could get the whole 9 yards treatment for 50 bones. I haven't tested this theory, but I think that yes.

So, if you are for some strange reason travelling through Wyoming on I-80, take exit 89 and find The Mast. It'll be well worth your time. Oh... and if you're religious don't worry, they're open on Sundays.

Cool Tech update

2005-08-10T15:08:00.000-04:00

I recently discovered that we have the capabilities to do the following two things:
1) Invisibility
2) Create Fire from water

I think these are worth the time to delve into a little bit. So let's look shall we.

Invisibility: The japanese have recently created a freakin' invisibility cloak a la Harry Potter. It looks more like a really ugly rain pancho, but it makes you invisible. At first, I thought surely that is impossible and then I realized, after visiting the site explaining how they do it that I was actually right... it is impossible. Yes they made a cloak, but if you look at the site it sure as hell doesn't make you invisible. In every freakin' photo I can totally see the person wearing the cloak. This is poor marketing because it is really easy to advertise an invisibility cloak, just have the guy leave before you take the photo then explain how the cloak works. Don't tell me you are giving me an invisibility cloak and then give me this piece of crap. I would never buy this. Could you imagine how boring the Harry Potter series would be if he had this craptastic cloak instead of the one he has:

Excerpt from book six, all that's changed is the cloaks:

Harry, Ron, and Hermione meet downstairs just as planned at approximately 9:17, or just as the beetlebears begin to howl.
"I should really be studying," Hermione moans.
Harry quickly retorts, "Shut the hell up Hermione. You know you are played by Emma Watson right. You know how freakin' hot she is in the new movie right? Start saying sexy things for God's sake. And also, Ron... you look like a pot head in that photo."
"Huh?" asks Ron.
"Nevermind, now let's all get under my cloak and go see Hagrid."
They barely all fit under the cloak but manage. When stumbling through the hall, Professor Snape appears out of nowhere and they halt. However, Snape doesn't! He walks directly up to them.
"Seriously Harry, I've told you. That cloak doesn't make you anywhere close to invisible. I can see you."
"But my Daddy gave it to me."
"Your Dad was a nit."

That would be the end of the series because without the cloak Harry would never sneak out, never accomplish anything, and die. That being said, I guess it's a cool cloak if you are going for a predator type look.

2) Creating fire from water. I have no freaking idea how they do this. But apparantly you can buy a fireplace that is filled with water and somehow creates fire. I can't even begin to say much that is sarcastic or funny about this. I mean. It's just badass.

Update on robo-boobs

2005-08-04T09:23:00.000-04:00

I went back to the bar that I was talking about in a previous post where there was a plastic girl in the bathroom who whispered sweet nothings in your ear while you urinated. I basically went back there because of said girl, but whatever.

In any event, some thoughtless soul had punched her in the boob, her left boob in fact which so happened to be the boob that contained her brain. So not only does she not talk anymore but she's really lopsided.

This is the show by the way... If you can't pick out the character I'm talking about... it's the human female with huge jiggling things.

Where I've been...

2005-08-01T08:59:00.000-04:00

As some of you may have noticed, I've been away from this blog for a bit. I just went on vacation for a few days and it was lovely, but I'll get to that later. First, let me quickly respond to some comments that astute readers have made over the last few days during my absence:
1) I am not a "worthless cunt."
2) I rarely have "rape fantasies"
3) I do not "fist fuck" girls "en generale."

OK. Now that that is out of the way... on to my weekend which I must say was interesting. I went on an almost impulsive trip with a friend to the Hamptons last Saturday. He said we were going to a party and that it would be worth my while to go. Only after agreeing did he tell me it was a theme party. The theme: The Great Gatsby. This sounded too good to be true, but before I could get completely excited I had to hit up spark notes to figure out what the hell the book was about.

After some intense debate we decided to go as Tom and Daisy. I made a rather stunning Daisy and dressed the part in a nice flowing white dress with cute bonnet. I looked as aristocratic as ever. So on Saturday I met Tom, who wore a classic 20's suit, and we took off for West Egg in his Mercedes.

As we pulled up to the house in a large semi-circle walkway, I realized that when the host, whom I had not yet met, said theme party he meant THEME PARTY. First off, there was a large constructed billboard of what I took to be Dr. T.J. Eckleberg staring down upon us from up high. Obviously this host, who I found out was actually named Jay, was new to this money game and was looking for ways to flaunt his wealth. A huge billboard was the first thing that came to mind I suppose.

We walked into the gothic mansion to find a man greating us, a man in a wonderfully pink pastel suit who I had never met before. He accosted me, "Oh Daisy! So glad you could make it and good thing you brought Tom. Tom ole sport!" I thought about telling Jay that my actual name was Katie and this was, of course, not Tom, but I figured I would go along which his little game until the booze kicked in. I fluttered my eyes longingly at Jay and took on a bad 20's accent to tell him how grand the drive was from East Egg. Knowing that he was supposed to be in love with me, I thought I would flirt for a bit.

Right then a young man approached us who neither myself nor "Tom" knew, but Jay quickly filled in the gaps. "Daisy my sweet. I'm not sure that you have met Nick." I shook my head that I had not; "Nick" looked rather embarrassed. Jay continued, "Nick and Tom attended Yale together Daisy and I'm sure Nick could tell you many tales about the trouble they got into." After a strange moment of silence "Nick" smiled at me and said, "Hi. My name is Jack." I let out a sigh of relief that there were normal people here after all. "Katie" I responded. Before we could get too acquanted however Jay tried again to isolate me. "Nick. Tom. Old Sports. Why don't you two run along and get caught up. I would like to talk to Daisy about something most mysterious that happened to me right after we first met in Louisville!" I signaled that it was okay if they left as long as they hurried back and brought drinks. Jay then started to whisper and tried to convince me that Tom was cheating on me:

Jay: You know that Tom is seeing Myrtle in a apartment of filth in the city that symbolizes all that is bad with wealth and greed right?
Me: Umm... 'Tom' and I aren't really seeing each other.
Jay: Surely you jest! Daisy. I must say I have watched your green light shine from across the bay on many clear nights.
At this point he tried to siddle up to me.
Me: Dude. Seriously. You know it's 2005 right?
He looked shocked and then actually glared at me as if plotting some sort of revenge. After a few seconds:

Jay: Myrtle is right over there you know. I could arrange to have her alone in the driveway. You could run her over!

Luckily "Tom" and "Nick" came back so I was able to avoid responding to this comment. I met a number of girls throughout the night who told me that he had identified them also as "Daisy" and had similar conversations with them. In the end, I was able to avoid him for the rest of the party... and in a shocking twist on the book ending I ended up ditching both "Tom" and "Jay" for the unassuming, recently wealthy "Nick." My parents would no doubt be in shock by our being together, but what can I say... he was hot.

- Katie

Album I've Almost Heard

2005-07-28T11:02:00.000-04:00

This is the first in a series of posting where I will review things that I have basically heard/seen even though I may not have TOTALLY heard or seen them. On today's list:
The new Alanis Morissette album entitled "Jagged Little Pill Acoustic".

Now before all you Alanis loving hippies start flaming, let me assure you I love her as well. But I think we are all in agreement that this is getting ridiculous. Allow me to elaborate on why I can completely review this album without buying it, stealing it, or listening to it period: It already exists. Now I know you are all saying, "Duh Nick. Tell us something we don't know." Obviously, the original Jagged Little Pill was produced 10 years ago almost to this date and obviously there will be the same songs on the new album. But let's go deeper into the Alanis discography for a look at what goes on in the mind of a Morissette:

After producing her awesome 1995 album JLP, she does what some of the best artists of our time do when they have a decent album: They go unplugged. I think we are all in agreement that some great albums have been produced in the MTV unplugged arena: Nirvana and Clapton just to name two. And Alanis's wasn't bad... granted I haven't listened to it, but I'll say it wasn't bad. What I did notice is that of course her best songs from Jagged Little Pill are on her Unplugged Album: "Head over Feet", "Ironic", "You Oughta Know", etc...
Now for you readers who are bluthering idiots: Unplugged means acoustic. So our lovely Alanis has made an album, taken the best of that album and combined it with some other songs to make a decent acoustic album, then re-recorded those great hits off the original album in the exact same style.

So what's new Alanis? I'll tell you what's new. The crappy songs off Jagged Little Pill re-recorded in a crappy format. If they were good, then they would be on the Unplugged album. So she is effectively trying to peddle good songs which you've already heard and crappy remakes of crappy songs. Awesome. I, of course, say this as someone who actually liked Jagged Little Pill... but here is my quick summary of the new album: It's the worst of the best, only quieter.

Failed Advertising

2005-07-26T09:56:00.000-04:00

As we all know there is one thing that will get the attention of most men on the planet: boobs.
A rather nice pair of them got my attention as I went into the bathroom at a bar last night. I'm not used to seeing boobs as I enter bathrooms so I was suprised to say the least.

Now of course these weren't real boobs (I could only be so lucky), but plaster breasts that had been dreamed up in some exec ad meeting to get my attention. And it did just that. The photo was of a fairly attractive cartoon women - think Jessica Rabbit breeds with Laura Croft. What was shocking about this ad is that the boobs were in 3d. I mean they stuck out. I almost walked into them. They were more volumptuous then most the girls I've dated... (not that this is a stab at the girls I have dated, or slept with in Katie's case, but this ad just had nice knockers.)

I didn't really think much of it though other than, "Nice knockers" because I had business to attend to after all. As I approached the urinal I heard a sultry voice from behind me... I knew it was the ad, but pretended it wasn't. I then had the following conversation with a cartoon ad with 3d breasts:

Sultry cartoon: Hey big boy! Bet you're suprised to see me here.
Me: (going about my business unzipping) Actually yes... not everyday that you see a--
SC: Whoa! Alittle forward for the first date don't you think?
Me: Oh! Jeez. Sorry... um... (actually feeling alittle embarrassed.)
SC: Ohhh... What? Is it too cold in here?
Me: Ummm...
Silence.
I finally decide it is probably safe to urinate.
SC: Watch out for that zipper hot stuff!
Me: What the hell!

Now you may be thinking that I made that up, but I guarantee you I did not. The bar is called Cornerstone and it is in College Park. I also have the conversation memorized because I was so intrigued by it that I went back like seven times. (Flame on I know).

This is what this ad company doesn't realize though. Yes. Boobs got my attention and the sultry voice was cool. But even though I listened to it over and over again, I don't have the slightest idea what the ad was for! I think it was for a TV show, maybe on the Sci-Fi channel, but I googled and googled and can't find my sultry vixen anywhere. (Hence no photo.) So while their ad was sweet, their effect was minimal as I think most guys have no idea what the hell it was for... I actually figure that powerful women executives probably designed the ad as I would hope guys would be well aware of this affect and steer away. In any event, sweet ad even if it failed.

And Yes. I washed my hands.

Contest

2005-07-22T13:38:00.000-04:00

The person who posts the best poem, ode, etc on Nick's sucky blog posts will receive a prize of some sort from me. You will have the weekend to compose these and I will judge sometime early next week. Post them in the comments.

You should probably participate in this contest just in case I'm drunk when I decide the winner and happen to issue something sexual by mistake.

- Katie

Fourier Transform Infrared found your fluids

2005-07-22T09:46:00.000-04:00

I get addicted to TV dramas years after their prime. For example, I only recently found out that Law and Order is awesome, but only SVU, Criminal Intent or whatever sucks as there is little chance for me to see scantly clad women.

My new show (really new as in I watched it for the first time last night) is CSI. Now I hear that CSI has been around for many years, but somehow I missed it. The show isn't really all that amazing... not even close to Law and Order. What was great about Law and Order is the endings wouldn't always make sense, but you would never see them coming. They would introduce some new characters 5 minutes before the show ends just to throw you off. That rocked. CSI is lamer, but they have cooler "police tools." For example, in the episode last night, there was your typical dead flight attendant coupled with beaten to death child plot. Obviously, the child was beaten to death by his brother (you would know this if you watched and had half a brain b/c the brother CONFESSED). But confession does not lead to the use of cool police tools which is the whole premise of CSI. Confession uses a pen which isn't even on the list of cool CSI tools. In fact, if you use that website... anyone can be a writer for CSI. Allow me to demonstrate:

Opening Credits:
A dead hooker is found in a dumpster. However, this is not your typical dumpster. This is a medical dumpster. Therefore there are hundreds of different types of DNA. Therefore, it is impossible to narrow down anything. OR SO YOU THINK.
Her Liver Temp is a solid 83 degrees putting the time of death at about 9 hours AGO or midnight. Good to know.
The hooker has no identification so they use the clavicle to identify that she is 19. Good to know.
The street police find a fellow hooker around the corner that frequently services doctors in their off time. She seems nervous. They bring her in.
OOPS. They use a Fourier Transform Infrared to learn that the dead hooker is doused in the semen of 5 or 6 different men. They start to think group rape/kill.
They use a CVSA to tell that the brought-in hooker may be lying when she says she does not know the dead hooker, but CVSA analysis is inadmissable in court of course as we all know if we were to check the procedures handbook.
Everytime one of these cool gadgets is used, it is made clear that it is a cool gadget that can be found on the website by doing a REALLY close up shot of it and playing techno music. Some other cool tools that I would probably throw in this episode from the website in a completely arbitrary fashion:
- Maglite Flashlight
- Camera
- Oven
- CPS (Child Protective Services)
- Geiger Counter

If you are interested in how my episode ends, then I'll be more than happy to tell you. After plodding around arresting various doctors and so forth for an hour, it will end up that the hooker had killed the other hooker to increase business and sprinkled the semen of many clients on her body so as to lure the police astray.

I could totally write CSI scripts.

A Lesson in Psychology

2005-07-21T09:45:00.000-04:00

I was at a favorite watering hole last night playing some billiards when I felt the urge to urinate. So into the bathroom I went. When I walked in there was some dude there already who I swear let out an audible sigh when I came in. I thought this was definately strange, but didn't think too much of it. Then I had an epiphany right in mid-stream. Why did he sigh you ask? Well, my first thought was that he probably just didn't want to share the tiny bathroom with another man. Logical. But after some analysis I learned the real reason why he was pissed that I came in: My being there meant he had to wash his hands.

Newsflash ladies: Most guys don't wash their hands. Especially when there is drinking to be done. Sure if I'm at work or something I'll do it, but just because it gives me something to do at work. But this whole idea is destroyed when there is someone else in the restroom because then you HAVE TO wash your hands. This is especially true if you are a guy because there is a chance that the guy watching you may know someone who you will later try to sleep with and you do not want to be cockblocked for some stupid reason like hand washing. (For the record this theory is really only applicable to guys. I have a second theory that girls are seriously dirtier than anyone wants to admit. It's easier to not think about it though.)

To test this theory I did some research at a friendly org that does this kind of research. They also make very awkward graphics to go along with their research. Anyway, this company has apparantly devoted much time and money to investigating hand washing. There conclusion: You should wash your hands. They wanted to figure out how many people actually do it though. They found that 94% of people say they wash their hands, but only 68% actually wash their hands. This wasn't enough evidence to back my theory however so I had the following brief phone conversation with our friends at microbe.org:

Me: Hey. I'm calling about your hand washing study.
Microbe: Ah yes. That was a good study.
Me: How'd you guys get that 68% number?
Microbe: Very tiny cameras.
Me: Good to know. The reason I'm calling is that I was wondering if you noticed any trends in the situations where people washed their hands?
Microbe: Not really. Why? What's on your mind caller?
Me: Welll, I think you may find that really what your study proved is that 68% of the time the people in the study were in the bathroom with someone else. People only wash their hands when someone is watching and can report to a possible future bed-buddy that they did not, in fact, wash.
Microbe: Hold please.
*Hours later*
Microbe: Shit. You're right.

So that's about as conclusive as you can get friends. There are lots of add-ons to this theory that could be explored in the future:
1) Does this help explain why bathroom attendants exist?
2) Will people use hand sanitizer even if no one is around?
3) Does any of this change if the subject pees on himself?

A Reenactment

2005-07-19T17:45:00.000-04:00

This is a reenactment of something I witnessed today (more or less):

To Be Continued... maybe.

Humor... etc.

2005-07-19T11:42:00.000-04:00

It has dawned on me recently that Nick is not very funny. In fact, after reading all of the comments on the previous posts, I think he is actually one of the unfunniest people ever. I have a dilemma though... part of me says, "Oh Katie... just wait. He's new to this whole blogging thing. He will get funny. Give him time to blossom."

Then I remind myself that I've said that exact same thing about the sexual skills of most of the guys I've dated only to realize that I would be much better off cheating on them. So while I will continue to write for Nick, I think I should probably cheat on him and his "Corner." This is then an open proposition. The people who are writing these rather humorous comments, especially the gentleman who drew out the ejaculating penis... let me know if I can come hang around your blog for a bit as I'm realizing Nick's blog is rather small.

This isn't to say that small is bad. Sometimes wondering into a large blog can be painful. I would prefer a nice medium-sized blog and an owner who knows how to use the blog. That's all I want. Is that so much to freakin' ask!? I mean sure. I could make my own blog. But why should I when there are so many great blogs out there... I just have to find one that, ahem, fits me.

I am a blog slut.

You make me feel like a really old woman...... woman.

2005-07-18T09:48:00.000-04:00

Don't know how many of you loyal readers live in the DC area but if you don't then you missed out last weekend. The one, the only, Carole King played live (barely) at the wonderful Wolftrap stage on Saturday night in front of thousands of old people, me, and my ex-girlfriend. It was truly a spectacle. Allow me to set the stage.
The tour is called 'The Living Room" tour which I thought was just a name but it was more... so much more because the stage was decorated (furnished) to apparantly mimick Carole's home. I think poor Carole is getting so old that the only way to get her to play was to blindfold her, drive her to the venue, and then have the following conversation:

Studio Pimp: Carole! Look! Your living room! With a piano and an entire back-up band!
Carole: I feel the earth...move...under my feet--
Studio Pimp: Carole wait baby, wait. Look! (sits her down at the piano) I've prepared you a nice lukewarm cup of Metamucil.
Carole: You can't talk to a man... with a shotgun in his hand... SHOTGUN!
Studio Pimp: Sigh. Ok Carole. Have a good show.
Studio Pimp exits with Studio Pimp 2
Studio Pimp 2: That's the saddest thing I've ever seen.
Carole: It's TOO late baby now it's TOO late....
Studio Pimp: Truer words were never spoken.

The point being that she is old. like 63 or something. But to tell you the truth she looks damn fine. I mean... I wouldn't put her at a day over 40. I would love to make her feel like a natural woman is all I'm saying. And actually, she not only looks great, but she can still sing like a champ. Unlike Bob Dylan, who I also recently saw and frankly, I really think he had no idea where he was or had any concept of what song he was singing. He literally just moaned, I think in pain, for about an hour.

Back to Carole. So she looked great, however, the crowd was REALLY old. We were sitting on the grass taking in the concert, or at least the sound of the concert. We forgot that we were attending an event with very old people. Therefore we arrived on time, but most of the audience had been there since at least noon so our seats were not in the most desireable section.

The concert went something like this. Carole would talk for about ten minutes about her life and "the good 'ole days" which was apparantly very interesting. Then she would play a song. Then her guitarist would make a joke about how many times he has been married. At one point he actually made an open proposition to the audience for "Lucky number 8." It was scandalous and the crowd loved it. After playing for a bit, there was like a thirty minute intermission. I think that is approximately how long it takes for five thousand 70 year-olds to relieve themselves.

When she came back on she played hit after hit and the crowd was electric. The highlight was definately the end when she got called back for her second Encore. I think she had pretty much played every freakin' song she knew, so she played what: The locomotion. This was the awesomest thing ever. If you ever are feeling down and out try to get thousands of drunken, old people to stand up and simultaneously do "The locomotion." Then of course, us youngsters had to stand up and do the locomotion as we sure as hell weren't going to be shown up by these old hippies.

So there I was. With my ex. In Carole King's living room. Doing maybe one of the more latently sexual dances ever created with a bunch of old timers. Seriously, what more could you want in a weekend?

Results

2005-07-14T17:49:00.000-04:00

Well, while I wouldn't call my experiment a failure, I suppose it wasn't a success either. The lucky number was:
4. One of whom I knew (thanks Hannah) and one was a dude I think. So really the number was:
2.

One of the girls actually wrote alittle about herself which was promising... who knows... maybe something beautiful will blossom out of it.

I doubt it. Back to the drawing board for ways to get something out of internet personals...

Seriously LAME

2005-07-14T15:48:00.000-04:00

Nick... I can't believe you talked me into writing for a blog that no one reads. Not a single person has commented on your ridiculous post.

I would bet you get a whopping zero responses on CL as well. I'll take that signed piece of paper now please.

~Katie

Craig's List Experiment #2

2005-07-14T09:39:00.000-04:00

Ok. So after my brief encounter with Trannies, I thought it would be interesting to see what Craig's List can actually offer these days. So I thought I would post a comment on the men looking for women section but not include ANY actual information about myself. I could be anyone in the world and then see who responds. The following was my post:

"Seriously. I'm kind of a big deal.

You should probably email me as I get weirded out if I don't get new emails every minute or so.

Seriously."

I posted this at 5:36 PM yesterday. I'll give it 24 hours and then count the responses and post them. I may even post some of the more interesting emails I am anticipating receiving as I assuming none of my 4 readers will respond to the ad (and that would be awesome if they did-if not just to inflate my final tally). If you guess the correct number of responses you will win something: A book signed by me. Not my book... actually Bill Clinton's book. But it will be signed by me. And actually, probably not the WHOLE book... maybe just the blank page before the title. But still you should take a stab at it. The results WILL SHOCK YOU!

A Conversation I Just had with Nick

2005-07-13T13:52:00.000-04:00

This is what I deal with every day people:

Nick's lovely blue eyes never left the computer screen for this entire conversation.

Me: Nick, did you do that thing for me?
Nick: Yea.
Me: Where'd you put it?
Nick: Huh?
Me: Where'd you --
Nick: Uhuh.
Me: What?
Nick: That sounds good.
Me: Nick, seriously where'd you put it. I need it.
Nick: Oh. It's on the file server.
Me: Nick... I asked you to move a box.
Nick: What box?
Me: The HUGE box filled with legal books that I can't lift?!
Nick: Oh. It's probably where you left it.
Me: Thanks. Thanks a lot.
Nick: Sounds good to me.

Seriously. How he stays employed is beyond me.

~ Katie

Sweet Succulent Psycho Shuffle

2005-07-13T11:50:00.000-04:00

I recently learned that there is a very small chance (much like winning the lottery) that my brain could turn into an Ipod Shuffle in my old age. What I mean is that there is a chance that I will go crazy and start hearing music all of the time. I always hoped this might be a possibility, but only after reading this did I realize I may have a shot. I could hear any song at all that I had heard in my lifetime. Maybe it will repeat. Maybe it won't. Maybe I'll start remixing Nelly with Prince. Maybe I can finally listen to "Borderline" over and over again without the fear of being caught. And all without headphones or that annoying little wheel device that everyone loves so much.

There is a catch of course. The doctors think that for this cool affect to happen, A) you have to be crazy. B) You had to have either emotional connection to the song or listen to a lot. This is great to find out now because I'm still young and have plenty of time to fulfill both of these. In this case, they think you can't get your cool new, permanent Shuffle until you are around 78. That means I have many many years to program away. I think if I listen to one song, and one song only, for a week straight that will be enough to encode it deep deep in my mind so 56 years from now it will appear on my hallucinogenic playlist. Then all I have to do is go crazy. And if I listen to the same song for an entire week, that is bound to happen eventually.

The other good thing they've discovered through all this research is that they can alter the part of your brain that interprets music. I mean, I think this is what they were talking about, but frankly I just skimmed it. I'm going to pretend that that's true which is sweet because that means maybe I can get them to fulfill a wish I've always had: I want to go instantly deaf anytime that annoying techno song, Sandstorm, comes on. I really want to be able to watch people just jump around stupidly to that song, but it is impossible if I can hear it because then I'm too busy jumping around stupidly to watch others. I'm sure that there are other songs I would like to be deaf during. Maybe they have a flat rate for that kind of thing.

If you can't read this very awesome and hopeful article because you don't have a free registration for the NewYork Times, then I can't help you. No one can.

Weird Awakening

2005-07-12T13:25:00.000-04:00

Hello loyal readers! I work with Nick and I guess I'll post occasionally.

I woke up via a broken window a few days ago. Someone, who I guess was Mark, had thrown a hard something through it. I think Bethany lives next door to me and he must have gotten confused. Anyway, I opened it as any curious girl would. The letter that was attached I simply have to share with you as it was horrible.

__________________________________________________________________

July 9th, 2005

Dearest Bethany:

Don't worry. I didn't break the police order to deliver this. I had Mark throw it through your window on his way to the store. I guarantee that this letter is not a plea for forgiveness as I have already tried that to no avail. Instead, I write to clean out my closet as they say. I know you may have bitter, possibly even rage-filled feelings for me, but I still have hopes for brighter skies in the future. This will only be possible, I think, if we start with a fresh slate -- A new beginning! :) (on the letter it's a real smiley face)

To aide in this process, I've composed a short list of things that I maybe forgot to mention to you during our previous discussions.

I don't know if I ever said so specifically, but I am really sorry about the broken ribs. That will teach me to argue and drive! Hahaha.

You remember that time Ralphy threw up on your bed because someone fed him an entire bag of Hershey's Semi-sweet chocolate morsels? I know I said I didn't feed them to him, but I did. If you'll recall though, he licked up most of it before the stain could really penetrate... so no hard feelings I hope.

Just as a formality, I apologize for any tension that exists between you and Jessica on account of me sleeping with her. As an aside, throwing potted plants at people is not an acceptable way to discharge anger missy.

You were right to accuse me for taking the batteries out of your vibrator everytime your back was turned. It just seemed like the right thing to do. I will say that if you were to scoot your dresser away from the wall you may find that the Duracell fairie left you 16 or so Double A's.

You'll notice that along with this letter is your blue lingerie that went missing mysteriously about a month ago: You couldn't find the outfit at the time because I was wearing it under my clothes. I thought it would spice up our love life if I suprised you in it later. How was I supposed to know that was the night we would have "the talk." Anyway, both the top and bottom pieces are enclosed. They are alittle stretched, but just think of them as your "comfy" lingerie.

You know how your space bar key sticks now... That was me.

I also owe you 50 dollars which I promise I will have for you the next time I see you.

Finally, I didn't realize it at the time, but it was very inappropriate for me to tell your mom she could stand to lose 20 or 30 pounds. If she wants to give it a shot though, I can refer her to a great physical trainer.

That's all for now my dear. I hope this letter finds you in good health and good spirits. Now that all of this is behind us maybe we can start anew. Give me a call sometime and maybe we can grab coffee (on me!) I would call you but I think my number might still be blocked. Maybe you should call the phone company about that. Anyway, I hope to hear from you soon friend!

Kisses,
Kevin.
__________________________________________________________________

Girls, stop dating people named Kevin just in case.
~ Katie

The Hardest Thing in the World

2005-07-12T09:44:00.000-04:00

Golf. The word strikes fear into incapable men everywhere while still giving some men medium to large golf boners. (There is a wood joke there, but come on.) It's a sport that takes years of frustrations to master and can account for hours of mindless TV on Sundays. Because of the former, I hearby make the official statement that golf is the hardest thing in the world. Officially.

First, some history is in order. Golf as we know it was created by the Scots in the 15th century. Cool. That's enough for now.

The following is a conversation between two bored lads and most likely resembles the conversation had when golf was created:

Lad MacDonald: Oye! I'm bored.
Lad Linklater: Would you like to play a game?
Lad M: Blimey I would!
Lad L: Very good. Take these. (hands Lad M. a very tiny ball and stick)
Lad M: Is this like baseball?
Lad L: Baseball?
Lad M: Nevermind.
Lad L: Anyway. Set the ball down and hit it with the stick.
Lad M: What in the arse kind of game is that?
Lad L: I guess you're right... (Thinks) Hold on. I'll be back.

HOURS LATER

Lad M: Well the hell have you been?
Lad L: Ok. Here's the game. Hit the ball with the stick. To make it fun, I dug a very very tiny hole 400 metres away. You have 4 tries to get this ball in the hole.
Lad M: Are you fucking serious?
Lad L: I know. Sounds easy right? To make it more challenging for you I also dug 17 similar holes all throughout the countryside which are marked by these cute little sticks. That way once you make one, you start hitting for the next!
Lad M: Fuck you Linklater. Fuck you and the entire Linklater Clan.

So I think it goes without saying that it is a very difficult sport which is why I offer the following changes to make it more accessible.

1) They should consider changing the word "par." This is because par means average and four shots to hit a very tiny ball into a very tiny hole miles away is not average. Therefore, I think they should rename it "great." So your average golf hole would be a 400 yard great 4. That is much more uplifting than simply par. This change should be implemented immediately.

2) The obvious real solution though is to change the par of a hole to what par would actually be, which for most holes is probably closer to 7 or maybe even 9. This would be cool because then my 120 score would start to look okay. The other awesome effect this would have is that it would really inflate golf scores when you watched it on TV, which is always exciting. Seeing Tiger hit a 76 under would be very sweet.

As of now however I doubt either of my awesome changes will be made as only four people read this. Think about it though. Golf is seriously freakin' hard.

Stooping in the Gayborhood

2005-07-11T09:28:00.000-04:00

I love to people watch. It's a hobby of sorts. If you just sit in a public place and pretend to be doing something but REALLY be watching people, the things you will see will blow your mind. (For novices who are interested in getting started in the people watching profession, you always have to be pretending to do something, otherwise you are just some pederast watching people.) You don't want to be doing an activity that requires a lot of attention. I sometimes bring a book, which could be in chinese for all I care cause I'm not reading it. If you play the guitar then you are set because people will stop which gives you lots of time to study. On the night in question, my activity was drinking and my prop was a bud light.

This specific type of people watching is called stooping. It really only works if you live in a row house or apartment and it helps if you live on a busy street. A friend, who I will refer to as Ms. Hustler (see About Me), and I were stooping it with some beers but our main focus was people watching. It was about 4 AM on a Saturday which is primetime for our purposes. We are talking major leagues. Only the professionals are willing to stoop that long and it is only then that truly awesome shit happens. It's tough to make it to 4AM and be sober enough to be a watcher and not an exhibit, but we were dedicated to the sport, and we got paid off in gold.

I've seen some pretty awesome stuff in my watching career. I swear I once saw a 250 lb., 6 foot women dragging around a small scrawny man who was literally on a leash. Even with that, what I saw that night was like uncovering a beautiful white truffle in your backyard. It just doesn't happen.

So, right before we think about calling it a night, these two guys come stumbling up the sidewalk. Now keep in mind that it is large street with nobody there. They could have stopped anywhere along the street, in front of any number of the houses without people sitting outside. But, they stop directly in front of us. I mean ten feet away. Sweet.

I was thinking it would be a quick thing, they would stop for a few seconds, talk maybe, go on their way. What I saw over the next fifteen minutes or so was unbelievable. First, you need their descriptions. They were two beautiful, fit, well-groomed, clearly gay men. I would try to lie and say that I have a good gadar, but that is simply not true. I mainly knew because one was wearing the following shirt. They were objectively attractive people and housed beyond belief. As far as I can tell, they didn't even know we were there (which had to be impossible because we were literally feet away). But they made no gesture that we existed. Now, while it was cool that they were gay, this would have been equally as cool if it had been a girl/guy or even better a girl/girl, so that isn't reaalllly essential. But I don't think a girl would've been so privy to stopping in front of two complete strangers like that.

Anyway, they started out fighting alittle bit. The gentleman in the above shirt had apparantly been hitting on another man in the bar and his partner wanted to talk about their relationship. They would talk alittle, then make out. I think there were some tears. It was adorable really. At one point there a lot of ass-grabbing going on. (This particular man had a very interesting technique for ass-grabbing. It involved an approach that I used to think was just for breasts. Lift. And separate.) At one point, after five or so minutes, they started to walk away, but then, I shit you not, they stopped and came back to center stage! At one point I started to feel really weird and almost wanted to say: "Hey! You know we're here right? We want you to stay, but you should just know that we're here." I wanted to say that, but I didn't.

Eventually though, they made up for good I think, embraced in a truly magical kissing bonanza, and stumbled on along their way, hand-in-hand. Those two gentlemen made my weekend. I almost want to retire from people watching now as I doubt I will ever see anything that cool. But I'm afraid it will have the reverse effect. I will probably spend even more time now sitting outside, stooping it... hoping and praying that I can catch a small glimpse into the lives of others.
So if you see some dude sitting outside with a beer and a chinese book, try to do something interesting. Or better yet, bring two gay men so they can make-out in front of me.

Some Chemical Advice

2005-07-08T09:07:00.000-04:00

If you live on the East coast and have ever taken the wonderfully scenic drive from New York to Washington, then you will know the one unmistakable sign that you are in the Garden State of New Jersey: The "Drive Safely" chemical plant.

For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, approximately fifteen or so miles after you enter the NJ Turnpike from the North you will come across a HUGE chemical vat that warns you in large, black, block letters to "Drive Safely." It is unmissable.

I'm not entirely sure what the actual name of the "drive safely" plant is or what exactly they make there, but I'm fairly certain that they make artificial butter flavoring. I say this because the last time I was driving through I approached the drive safely plant going a whopping fifteen miles an hour and was hit by the strong smell of buttered popcorn... It lingered in my car like a dead skunk for oh... about 5 miles. This is apparantly because a vat of artificial butter flavoring had leaked hundreds of gallons of goodness near the road. As I was cruising through some thoughts came to mind:

1) The idea of a huge vat of boiling butter telling me to "drive safely" freaks me the hell out and it should you too.

2) It's I-95. There is no such thing as safe driving. If you are in a car on the NJ Turnpike you are in danger and more importantly you probably are a danger. For example, I once saw a car explode on the turnpike. It was doing nothing wrong. It was just cruising along the turnpike and BAM. Flames. What the hell does the chemical vat have to say about that? Drive safely huh? Impossible.

3) Most importantly: I wonder if this company (who by the way is probably doing a lot more damage to the world than a wreckless driver on the Turnpike could ever hope to do) thinks that this type of thing actually works. Meaning that I wonder if they actually think a man who just lost his job and family and is speeding down the turnpike taking shooters of Cuervo suddenly looks up, sees the vat-of-truth and says "Oh my God! I need to right my ways!"
If they think it actually does work then why the hell stop at driving. I mean, if people are going to listen to a vat of butter then why not have the butter say something worthwhile. It would be much cooler to be driving along the turnpike and look up to see the vat saying "Stop cheating on your wife!" Now that would be forceful. That's all I'm saying.

Sante Fe and Bust

2005-07-07T09:44:00.000-04:00

This is only my second post and I am already going to teach all of you readers some life lessons. Two, to be specific. However, before the lessons are revealed a story is necessary as it led me to my simple yet elegant discoveries. Bear with me.

I embarked on a casual dinner/drink date with a beautiful young lady (would I frequent with any other type of lady?) We were in the mood for Mexican, or a Tex-mex alternative so we thought we would try this place called Sante Fe in College Park, MD. This is apparantly a very hip place to be at night because they charge a cover regardless of the time of day and regardless of how many people are there. Allow me to elaborate.

We approach a bleach-blond surfer type with a backward hat. He is at the door and is "employed" at this establishment. His job is to lure us inside. He has the standard sultry blond hanging off his shoulder.

Me: Can we have a table for two for dinner? (There was maybe twenty people in the entire place.)
Blondy: There is a three dollar cover.
Me (checking my watch to ensure that I hadn't black out for three hours): You realize it is 7PM right?
Blondy: Yes.
Me: So you are charging a cover to eat dinner?
Blondy: There are 25 cent wings and one dollar Buds.

The sun began to shine as I realized that we were entering a "happy hour" While I was still hesitant, as was my special lady friend, to try it out, the prospect of dollar beers lured us inside. Only once we were seated and our 6 dollars long gone did the waitress tell us a very crucial part of this whole scenario: The man at the door, Blondy, was a liar. Bold-faced. However, she assured us that he was correct about the 25 cents wings which no one cared about.

This was a very interesting, yet profitable business venture on the part of Sante Fe Inc. because it meant the following: If we ordered these 25 cent wings (and I assure you we did) then that means they cost us 9 dollars ($3 for 12 wings plus $6 dollars for the cover). The price of the wings on the menu: $8. They have actually found a way to charge MORE than the listed price for items. Put them on special and then charge people to order the special. This is lesson number one: If you want to make a quick buck then lie, cheat, and hustle via a shady Tex-Mex restaurant.

After we discovered this, I waited for the waitress to return and did the only thing a real man would do: flirt. After that failed my partner in crime tried using "logic" to make the waitress understand how she works for a bunch of swindlers. This also failed, mainly because the waitress attends a state school. (I joke I kid.)

Unluckily for them, we were relentless and eventually got the attention of the night manager, a burly man wearing, I kid you not, a referee jersey. He came up and my friend did what any cute female would do in this situation: flirt. After he got her phone number, he gave us two free beers... and here comes the grand lesson for the day: If you want to make people happy, give them free shit. It didn't matter that in reality we still paid for the beers and we mathematically paid more then what Blondy told us we would pay. What was important is that it appeared to the outsider that we got something for free. This is a sign to everyone around that we know the system and we therefore get a sense of entitlement.

This lesson is best applied if you are the person giving the free stuff because you get to choose not only the situation but the item that is given. I'm typically on the receiving end of this arrangement and therefore get the short end of the stick even though it may appear that I'm winning out. For example, friends often come up to me and ask, "Nick, how is it that you get beautiful girls as frequently as you do?" In answering, I typically lie. The truth is that behind the amazing sex, I'm usually stuck paying $9 for an $8 bucket of chicken wings.

Craig's List experiment #1

2005-07-06T17:25:00.000-04:00

I recently realized that one can communicate with transvestites through Craig's List. This is wonderful news for someone who has always wanted to communicate with trannies.
The following conversation took place solely through email and I assure it actually happened.

Me: Hello Anon-43563466! :) I hear you are a "Tranny looking for hot str8 man flesh" Well I must say that's me to a T. Keep in mind I don't want anything serious, but I'm new to the area and would love a friend that I could connect with on a serious level. Think "hot cocoa and fireplaces" connection. Anyway, let me know if you are searching for something similar.

Tranny: You want ficky-fick. $100.

Me: LOL. I love a good sense of humor that is for certain! It is by far the most important thing in a relationship. I had a girlfriend once who had not a shred of humor in her and well, I don't want to get into the nitty-gritty, but lets just say she wasn't for me! Do you have a boyfriend/girlfriend/tranfriend? Also, if you don't mind me asking what is your name? Not that I don't like calling you Anon-43563466... haha.

Tranny: I Rito. I am man and girl. sucky $50. I hand you $40.

I cut off contact with poor Rito after this message because of the language barrier mainly. I'm sure that Rito was lovely on the inside and I would have been more than happy to spend some quality time breaking through that impenetrable, rough, never-takes-no-for-an-answer exterior. This just begins my search to find a soulmate via Craig's List. More updates to come.