Usually, Hype, Donation (UPDATED), Sexual Jihad and A Decade of Dancing: The Cruise
Friday, September 02, 2005
A new Here’s the Thing is up. This one is about The Usuallies and I’m probably going to spend the next three weeks focusing on the topic before taking another break from the column. I’m growing fond of this “four weeks of columns, two weeks break” format.
The new Industry Buzz is up, the collaborative column I participate in on Buzzscope. Focuses on hype and the impact of reviews. Guy did a great job putting this one together, go check it out.
I made my hundred dollar donation to the Red Cross Relief Efforts. The situation there is deteriorating everyday and while the people fight over food, water and control my neighbors up here in DC are shoving multiple thumbs up their asses – it’s a thumb-ass gang-bang which sounds like it’s worth at least trying, but not during a national emergency. Please give what you can. (UPDATE: My company just sent out an email saying they'll match dollar-for-dollar every employee donation to a legitimate Katrina charity. So my 100 bucks just became 200! Give, people.)
And before story time I wanted to once again rip off Sean Maher (who called me a blogging champion) and share a conversation Robin and I had. I was in Myrtle Beach this past weekend and got burned really bad. My face started to peel yesterday and I wasn’t able to stop myself from aiding and picked the skin off my forehead until it was raw. Realizing I was an idiot, I put some of Robin’s lotion on, effectively setting my head on fire. I washed the lotion off, wet a hand towel, wrapped it around my head like a mini-turban and fastened it in the back.
Robin comes home from class and I’m making dinner with a sopping wet turban on (I’m currently growing a beard, I should add) and she starts cracking up laughing, grabs her camera and starts to take pictures. She jokingly tells me I look like a terrorist, prompting me to grab her around the waste, pull her close and with my best Arabic accent and sexual eyes offer to “plunge my 747" into her "Pittsburg”.
She gets mad, says I have no class and walks away. It’s amazing I ever get laid. Oh, and here’s the sexual mujahideen in the flesh:
______________________________
Junior year in college my friends and I decided to partake in this Masquerade Ball cruise/dance thing. The ship left from Boston harbor, spent several hours at sea, and dropped us off in time for after parties and drunken hook-ups.
I rented the usual white tux – this one was collarless and looked a lot like a lighter version of Dr. Evil’s get-up. Got the fresh bic-job, as well, which didn’t really help me avoid the “evil genius” image. See for yourself:
All I need was a date. I’ve been single for almost a year at this point, a couple of weeks before Robin came into the picture. I ended up asking this girl Kristen “as friends” and she agreed to come along.
Kristen was an interesting situation. Her best friend Kim and I were very good friends. Kim went abroad for a semester and told me to “look out” for Kristen which I agreed to do. She didn’t really specify, though, so I’m not the biggest asshole here. Additionally, I went on a couple of dates with Kristen’s best friend although it never quite worked out (and there is one hell of a story behind that one).
We had a good time dancing and drinking and smoking cigars. We all had our masks on until it became too hot to wear them. There was a bit of sexual tension between Kristen and I, as I remember it – dancing closely and some subtle touching here and there.
As the night went on I got stupid drunk. We all brought flasks on board but since this was Junior year and not all of us were 21 we pretty much let the 20 year olds partake in the illegal alcohol. I must have dropped close to a hundred bucks on drinks that night and given Kristen my flask full of vodka so she can get sauced.
Now, by junior year I wasn’t the nimble little dancer I was in early high school. I put on a couple of pounds, smoked and had the tendency to trip over my own feet quite often. So when they started kicking some early 90s jams it probably wasn’t a good idea to jump in the middle of the circle and try to serve it up like times past.
And now here I am, in the circle, doing the Running Man, the Roger Rabbit, the Lawnmower, the Cabbage Patch – I attempted the Kid & Play but tripped over my own leg and fell. Everyone was laughing – I was a lampshade short of being the drunken idiot – but in an attempt to redeem myself I did a split.
And split my pants. My rented tux pants, I should add. Big split, too.
My friends told me to chill out so I capped the night off with another cigar and chilled out until the ship pulled in. Got back to the dorm, horny as fuck, and started making out with Kristen. I don’t want to explicitly say she was a bad kisser but I hope she got better since then. All tongue. 100% tongue. I tried to pull in with the lips and I’d find a strong-ass muscle trying to push its way through. And she had this really hard tongue that just sort of flapped around like Jaba’s did before he died in Return of the Jedi.
You know you’re a bad kisser when you’re making out with a 21-year-old horny, single, drunk college junior and the only thing he can think about is how bad of a kisser you are. The night ended awkward, as I remember it, with me falling asleep while making out. She woke up the next morning and left, we never talked about it (but I have no qualms with broadcasting it over the internet, as usual).
Kim knew – when she returned from her semester abroad she cracked many a joke in private about me “taking care of” Kristen. I think we sort of laughed it off because it didn’t really go anywhere thanks to my inability to stay interested with the worst kisser of all time.
I got the pants sewed up and they passed inspection, thankfully.
And so concludes a Decade of Dancing. I think the next three weeks are going to focus on Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll – one week for each.
The new Industry Buzz is up, the collaborative column I participate in on Buzzscope. Focuses on hype and the impact of reviews. Guy did a great job putting this one together, go check it out.
I made my hundred dollar donation to the Red Cross Relief Efforts. The situation there is deteriorating everyday and while the people fight over food, water and control my neighbors up here in DC are shoving multiple thumbs up their asses – it’s a thumb-ass gang-bang which sounds like it’s worth at least trying, but not during a national emergency. Please give what you can. (UPDATE: My company just sent out an email saying they'll match dollar-for-dollar every employee donation to a legitimate Katrina charity. So my 100 bucks just became 200! Give, people.)
And before story time I wanted to once again rip off Sean Maher (who called me a blogging champion) and share a conversation Robin and I had. I was in Myrtle Beach this past weekend and got burned really bad. My face started to peel yesterday and I wasn’t able to stop myself from aiding and picked the skin off my forehead until it was raw. Realizing I was an idiot, I put some of Robin’s lotion on, effectively setting my head on fire. I washed the lotion off, wet a hand towel, wrapped it around my head like a mini-turban and fastened it in the back.
Robin comes home from class and I’m making dinner with a sopping wet turban on (I’m currently growing a beard, I should add) and she starts cracking up laughing, grabs her camera and starts to take pictures. She jokingly tells me I look like a terrorist, prompting me to grab her around the waste, pull her close and with my best Arabic accent and sexual eyes offer to “plunge my 747" into her "Pittsburg”.
She gets mad, says I have no class and walks away. It’s amazing I ever get laid. Oh, and here’s the sexual mujahideen in the flesh:
______________________________
Junior year in college my friends and I decided to partake in this Masquerade Ball cruise/dance thing. The ship left from Boston harbor, spent several hours at sea, and dropped us off in time for after parties and drunken hook-ups.
I rented the usual white tux – this one was collarless and looked a lot like a lighter version of Dr. Evil’s get-up. Got the fresh bic-job, as well, which didn’t really help me avoid the “evil genius” image. See for yourself:
All I need was a date. I’ve been single for almost a year at this point, a couple of weeks before Robin came into the picture. I ended up asking this girl Kristen “as friends” and she agreed to come along.
Kristen was an interesting situation. Her best friend Kim and I were very good friends. Kim went abroad for a semester and told me to “look out” for Kristen which I agreed to do. She didn’t really specify, though, so I’m not the biggest asshole here. Additionally, I went on a couple of dates with Kristen’s best friend although it never quite worked out (and there is one hell of a story behind that one).
We had a good time dancing and drinking and smoking cigars. We all had our masks on until it became too hot to wear them. There was a bit of sexual tension between Kristen and I, as I remember it – dancing closely and some subtle touching here and there.
As the night went on I got stupid drunk. We all brought flasks on board but since this was Junior year and not all of us were 21 we pretty much let the 20 year olds partake in the illegal alcohol. I must have dropped close to a hundred bucks on drinks that night and given Kristen my flask full of vodka so she can get sauced.
Now, by junior year I wasn’t the nimble little dancer I was in early high school. I put on a couple of pounds, smoked and had the tendency to trip over my own feet quite often. So when they started kicking some early 90s jams it probably wasn’t a good idea to jump in the middle of the circle and try to serve it up like times past.
And now here I am, in the circle, doing the Running Man, the Roger Rabbit, the Lawnmower, the Cabbage Patch – I attempted the Kid & Play but tripped over my own leg and fell. Everyone was laughing – I was a lampshade short of being the drunken idiot – but in an attempt to redeem myself I did a split.
And split my pants. My rented tux pants, I should add. Big split, too.
My friends told me to chill out so I capped the night off with another cigar and chilled out until the ship pulled in. Got back to the dorm, horny as fuck, and started making out with Kristen. I don’t want to explicitly say she was a bad kisser but I hope she got better since then. All tongue. 100% tongue. I tried to pull in with the lips and I’d find a strong-ass muscle trying to push its way through. And she had this really hard tongue that just sort of flapped around like Jaba’s did before he died in Return of the Jedi.
You know you’re a bad kisser when you’re making out with a 21-year-old horny, single, drunk college junior and the only thing he can think about is how bad of a kisser you are. The night ended awkward, as I remember it, with me falling asleep while making out. She woke up the next morning and left, we never talked about it (but I have no qualms with broadcasting it over the internet, as usual).
Kim knew – when she returned from her semester abroad she cracked many a joke in private about me “taking care of” Kristen. I think we sort of laughed it off because it didn’t really go anywhere thanks to my inability to stay interested with the worst kisser of all time.
I got the pants sewed up and they passed inspection, thankfully.
And so concludes a Decade of Dancing. I think the next three weeks are going to focus on Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll – one week for each.
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posted by Jason at
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