Monday, September 25, 2006 :::
I went to the wax museum in Vegas after having had a few too many beers. And apparently I REALLY enjoyed it.
See for yourself: Drunk at the Wax Museum
There are more vegas pictures here, for the interested, but I can sum it up pretty easy: drink, eat, gamble, drink, eat, gamble, visit Hoover dam, drink, eat, gamble, drink, drink, drink.
::: posted by dan at 11:29 PM :: [ link ] :: (31) comments
I returned from Las Vegas on Sunday to discover that one of the myriad of mousetraps that I setup in my absence had done its job. Twice.
Yup, looks like there's more than one mouse after all. I'm not going to disclose the method or device I used to catch said mice, out of fear of starting a brouhaha in the comments about animal ethics, etc., but lets just say that little Houdini and his friend are no longer with us. I almost felt a twinge of regret after finding the carcasses, but then K-Mack and I discovered that they had been using our snack cabinet as their personal buffet/toilet, which made me want to squash the bastards with my bare feet. Sorry, but just wait until you realize that you may have eaten a rodent-spiced tortilla chip before you judge me.
Now I have to wonder how many there actually are, though. I was sure that a lone intruder had accidentally found its way into my open doorway, but who knows? I guess the question is, do I call an exterminator now or just wait to see if I find any more "evidence" of an infestation? Gross. Bastards.
::: posted by dan at 7:03 PM :: [ link ] :: (11) comments
Wednesday, September 20, 2006 :::
I may be away from the blogging machine for the next couple days, so here's something else for you to drool over until I get back:
And here's something else to ponder: Did you know that "Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo." is a grammatically valid sentence in English? For real it is. Chew on that!
::: posted by dan at 6:51 PM :: [ link ] :: (9) comments
My fortune cookie has an attitude.
My dad has mutant eyebrows. And he doesn't have the ambition to keep them in line, so they grow and curl and ensnare his glasses like wild jungle grass. I'm hoping I didn't inherit that gene. I've been more and more worried about the hair on my ears lately, though. It's still baby soft white but seems to be growing at a faster pace and to a longer length lately. It's only a matter of time before it darkens to be even more noticeable. Why does head-top hair turn white with age but ear hair darkens? That's lame.
At least there's no sign of any growth on my back yet, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed on that one.
Speaking of hair, they say that everything's been done before, but I hadn't even considered this type of hairdo to be a possibility until now:
The guy did it for $1,000 bet. It'd be kinda cool if it were longer. Like a lion's mane or something.
::: posted by dan at 6:37 PM :: [ link ] :: (5) comments
Monday, September 18, 2006 :::
After nearly killing my entire household (including my esteemed houseguest) with carbon monoxide a couple weeks ago, I had to leave my doors wide open in the middle of the night to rid my basement of the poisoned air, and in doing so it seems that I have acquired a whole new houseguest: a mouse. I first saw it last week scurrying across my kitchen floor and I had to do a doubletake. I always assumed that my house was unwelcoming to such creatures, so my mind wasn't even able to process the possibility.
Considering my phobic reactions to spiders, robots, and soup, you might predict that I would have a problem with a rodent moving in. But honestly, the mouse itself doesn't bother me all that much, except for the fact that it could be hiding anywhere and chewing through anything, and god only knows where it's pooping.
So I set up traps. Just the normal ol' Tom and Jerry kind with the trigger and snapping spring device, only I substituted peanut butter for cheese. The next morning I woke up to find the traps unsprung, but the peanut butter had been licked clean. I don't know how he did it, but I can only imagine it was ever so gently. Suddenly I wasn't just providing the little bastard with free lodging, but a nice greasy meal as well. And probably some rodential diarrhea to boot.
So I got some sticky glue traps and positioned them strategically around the traps in a way that would make it quite difficult to snag the prize without getting caught. But the other morning, I woke up to this:
How in the...? He's like Houdini or something. What gives? There ain't so much as a single mouse print in the glue trap and the peanut butter is but a memory. Not to mention that K-Mack and I had him trapped in the corner the other night only to have him miraculously disappear, escaping our clutches. It's driving me nuts.
Tonight I've got a pretty special concoction of cheese, peanut butter, spring traps, and glue in store for that little freeloading bastard. So I'll keep you posted.
::: posted by dan at 8:07 PM :: [ link ] :: (39) comments
T got his dance on at last Thursday's Greasy Cooter game. He's got some moves.
Keep on dancin', T! Never stop dancin'!
There are, of course, many pictures of the evening, including that of a rather indulgent after party.
Speaking of dancing, I hate this banner ad so bad. That guy is the worst dancer evar. His wiggling makes my lunch repeat on me:
[you may have to rollover the ad to see him in action]
::: posted by dan at 7:40 PM :: [ link ] :: (25) comments
Wednesday, September 13, 2006 :::
It took me the better part of a really preplexing 20-minute car ride today to realize that this personalized license plate was not owned by a self-proclaimed Dumb Fan but rather a Dave Matthews Band Fan most likely. Not that the distinction is important really. Potayto/potahto.
::: posted by dan at 8:02 PM :: [ link ] :: (16) comments
Monday, September 11, 2006 :::
My first experience with Karaoke was as a senior in highschool. Stacy and I sang a charming duet of Copacabana at our Senior All-Night Party that literally got the crowd off the floor and onto their feet dancing. We were the life of the party. We were an entire graduating class' second wind during a long night of underaged partying. Or at least that's how I choose to remember it, regardless of accuracy.
My Karaoke history came to a climax last Thursday, after a much deserved kickball victory, where there happened to be Karaoke at the neighborhood dive bar.
It's a somewhat sobering moment to look around the room while your belting out Meatloaf's vocals from all nine minutes of Paradise By The Dashboard Light to see a bunch of stumbling drunk teammates completely lost in their own worlds, a couple random pool games being played uninterrupted three feet to my right, a spattering of beer-soaked locals with eyes fixated on some televised sporting event, and not one single patron actually watching me sing. Which is sad, really, because I killed. But seriously, a more enlightened thirtyone-year-old karaoke-singing kickball player might have taken it as a wake-up call.
Before that evening, I had higher Karaoke aspirations. I had wanted to make my next Karaoke performance to be my own interpretation of ELO's Sweet Talkin' Woman, but the requisite falsetto has me spooked. I may need to practice that one a bit before I unleash it on the general public. It's going to be an attention-grabber for sure, I promise you that.
Just to be clear, I am really not a fan of that Meatloaf song, so I must have been feeling pretty loose. There are a few songs that have been completely ruined for me due to rampant overuse by wedding reception deejays. Paradise.. is one of them. You Shook Me All Night Long is another, just the thought of which makes my stomach turn sour. Rounding out that list is probably Stroke It, You Look Beautiful Tonight, Brown Eyed Girl, Shout, and The Electric Slide. There are, of course, many more where those came from.
The Chicken Dance hasn't quite soured on me yet, though.
::: posted by dan at 11:23 PM :: [ link ] :: (22) comments
Nevar forget the free fries.
::: posted by dan at 11:06 PM :: [ link ] :: (14) comments
Wednesday, September 06, 2006 :::
Erik from Playing Doctor was my houseguest this Labor Day weekend. My plan was to impress him with fine foods and good wine, accompanied by some great conversation and perhaps a tour of what is surely one of the best cities on the planet: Minneapolis. But instead we got super drunk on mediocre beer and bad shots within a few short hours of his arrival. So much so, that the subsequent hangover had me practically bed-ridden for the next two days straight.
Dr. Erik will probably confirm that I look just as unphotogenic in person as I do on film. I tried to rally for the rest of the weekend, but the rain made it difficult to leave the house, so during his short visit, he was fortunate enough to experience:
1. An Ill-Advised Drunk Fest
2. Swedish Meatballs at IKEA
3. Multiple Naps
4. Countless Hours in Front of the TV Watching Some of the Worst Cable Movies Ever Produced
5. A Near Death Experience via Carbon Monoxide Poisoning
Sounds like the best vacation evar, right? To further explain number 4: somehow on the third night, in a weakened mental state, we returned from a late dinner and I left my car running in the attached garage. Don't ask me how. I know it seems ridiculous, but let's just reserve judgment for now. Hours went by without noticing. Luckily, we were up exceptionally late watching cable TV so I was awake enough to hear the subtle beeping of the Carbon Monoxide detector I had purchased a couple years back. Upon investigating the beep, we discovered my car purring in the closed garage, and the detector readings were off the charts, peaking at almost 500 parts per million. Just a slight bump above the 50 parts per million that is apparently dangerous enough to trip the alarm.
The hazy thick stink of the fumes in the basement was choking. Had we gone to bed ten minutes earlier, the Carbon Monoxide would have surely permeated the "expanse" of my smallish climate-controlled abode, silently killing us all in our sleep. You'd think that almost killing your houseguest by means of being a total thoughtless idiot might sound a little embarrassing or uncouth, but really, what's more exciting than almost dying, right? People might come for my sparkling personality, but they stay for the near-death experience. After all, you can't get that just anywhere.
To be fair, Erik was gracious and understanding about the whole affair. And he did get a Greasy Cooter T-shirt out of the deal, though, so all's well that ends well. Right, Erik? Oh, and I didn't force him to eat those $1.99 meatballs. He did that of his own volition.
::: posted by dan at 12:21 AM :: [ link ] :: (17) comments
Tuesday, September 05, 2006 :::
Once upon a time, in the innocent era before heightened airplane security, I bought K-Mack a cheap and floppy rubber penis for Christmas, just to see what her reaction would be when she reached blindly into her stocking and felt the rubbery flesh. It was a good reaction; worth the six bucks I spent on it, and even more so as it has since become a long running gag (ewwww no pun intended) between the two of us. It gets hidden under pillows, packed in suitcases, slipped into purses, and tossed back and forth on a semi-regular basis. In fact, I think the rubber penis is better traveled than I am. It's been to Hawaii, Las Vegas, Florida, and god knows where else, all unexpectedly. For instance, if you don't pay attention to your belongings while packing or while actually on vacation, you might find it:
1. Packed in your purse at a restaurant...
2. Placed next to your unsuspecting face as you slumber, or...
3. Slyly hidden in your carry-on bag for all the x-ray machine guards to see...
Most of these shenanigans happened before September 11th, but a few trips back in the post 9-11 world, K-Mack slipped the six-incher into my carry-on. I made it all the way through the security x-ray before discovering it, which in hindsight helped me understand the odd behavior of the guards on duty. This was all amusing with acceptable levels of embarrassment, but my good sense of humor changed abruptly when we got to the actual gate and they were doing random searches. These weren't private pat-downs either... they actually emptied the contents of your carry-on baggage, one piece at a time, for clear display on a large metal table in front of a long line of gaping passengers. I nearly vomited in line while waiting to see if I would be chosen. For some reason it didn't occur to me that I could simply throw the penis into one of the nearest trash bins to avoid any embarrassment. Or perhaps it did and I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Whatever the case and with great fortune, I was not chosen for random inspection, and I made sure the penis found its way back into K-Mack's luggage for the ride home a few days later.
This guy, however, was not so lucky:
Evidence ruled sufficient in penis pump case
I definitely feel his pain.
[thanks, marty, for the link]
::: posted by dan at 11:56 PM :: [ link ] :: (7) comments
Friday, September 01, 2006 :::
Greasy Cooter Kickball, Season Six.
I don't even actually play anymore. For me, kickball has turned into two hours of cheap canned beer and some slap and tickle.
Still, it's kinda fun. I think we lost, but I never verified that.
Ooo, and we got fleece vests this year. I'll model one off as soon as the weather permits. This may be my last season of kickball, but I got a wardrobe full of Cooter Gear to show for it.
::: posted by dan at 12:27 AM :: [ link ] :: (6) comments
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