Thursday, August 24, 2006

Fruit Fasting Away

Less than five hours to go for the juice fast. I feel a little out of it. I don't usually come home from work and flop on my bed because I feel like my stomach is concaving into my spine. I don't usually go for a five-mile run and need to stop at the first mile because I feel like my soul is running on empty. And I don't usually spend all day thinking about what sandwich I can stick directly past my mouth into my esophagus. But, here we are.

This has been MUCH easier than the water fast. I want a challenge, and this was not it.

Whatever should I do?????

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Darron's A Little Fruity

Since I realize all my faithful blog readers don't always check out "my partner's" blog, I need to catch you up on something. Darron recently came into some money, or rather, got back some of his money he should have never lost. About 6K.

What does one do with an extra $6,000...well, Darron bought a Jack LaLanne Power Juicer...and for days and days (ok...two days) he ranted and raved about how great this juicer was.

Of course...this got me thinking.

Last year, as I'm sure you all remember, Darron and I did a three-day water fast. Of course, that was then followed by Just Veggie January (where we became vegetarians), Fish February (Where we added seafood into the mix), and the ever-so-popular Most-Meats-March (where we could eat anything but red meat).

We have also done things like not masturbated for a month, but you all can't see THAT blog. But I am obviously digressing.

A Juicer, ehhhhhhh.

SO after listening to Darron literally just go on and on about this juicer...I challenged him to a three-day juice fast. He begrudgingly agreed...with such feeble protests as:

"I have school on Thursday. Am I supposed to bring juice with me to school?"

and

"I'm a wee girl."


Darron and I by Friday


In the end, he agreed; I bought a juicer, and now we are in day two of the three-day juice fast...and this is VERY different than the water fast. Basically, I feel like I can still function right now while during the water fast, I felt like 80-year-old boobs: saggy and droopy. ZING

Thus far, I have made such wonderful concoctions as:

1. Tomato, garlic, ginger, carrot, and celery. I call it The Bloody Darron.

and

2. Apple, pluot, carrot, and blueberry. AKA The Fruitcake AKA The Darron on Sunday.

and

3. Cucumber. The Bizarro Darron (think about it.)

Anyway, there is only one more day left to the fruit fast, and this is fairly easy. I am craving rice/bread/AND pasta...but I'll survive.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Every Cloud Has A Silver, Jewish Lining

Yesterday I did something really stupid. I somehow managed to lose my garage door opener, which initially didn't seem like that big of a deal to me.

Alas, when I called the garage door company, it appeared that I would have to get a locksmith to get me into my garage so that I could then reprogram a new opener. I have never needed a locksmith before, so I didn't know how much they were. I figured it would cost maybe $50.

I called around and was getting quotes from $150 to $200 to get me into my garage, so I could get my car, so I could go to Home Depot and buy a new opener.

Fuck, indeed.

How I lost the opener is beyond me. I somehow managed to lose it between walking from my car to my front door a mere twenty feet away.

I finally find a locksmith that will come out and get me into my garage for about $120. This charge, coupled with spending $30 on a new opener meant by losing a piece of plastic that weighs about 1/2 of a lb, I was out of about $150 and three hours of my life.

But then enter Ben.

Ben is the Israeli locksmith that came to my house. He picked the lock to my garage in a number of minutes, and while he did, we chatted like a couple of old school girls. It came to my attention that not only was Ben Israeli, he was also a sniper. DREAMY.

But what really got me about Ben was his cologne. Ben was the best smelling man I have ever met, and I didn't know how to go about asking him what cologne he was wearing without appearing (1) gay and (2) really needy and gay. So I didn't ask. After Ben was done picking my lock, he gave me his card (got the digits!) and told me that once I had the new remote, all I had to do was reclose the lock on my garage. He left and was seemingly going to be out of my life forever.

After I returned from Home Depot, I reprogrammed my remote, closed the door, and relocked it, just as Ben told me to do. He would be so proud of me!

But after I locked the garage, I hit my newly reprogrammed opener and heard the motor running...but the garage didn't open. I tried to repick the lock...nothing. Shit...

I had to call Ben again.

Ben, can you come back over. I followed your directions, and I am relocked out of my garage.

I'll be right there. And I promise to smell really good when I get there.

He didn't say that last sentence.

When he arrived, he slightly ribbed me for locking myself back out. While he did, his cologne kept wafting over to me. He honestly smelled really, really good.

As we worked together to fix the garage, I thought of 1,000 different ways to ask a man what kind of cologne he is wearing:


So, I'm not gay or anything....but can I smell you?

Ben, get your Israeli-perfume-wearing-ass over here.

Ben, Daddy wants to sniff.

So...cologne, huh?

So...you're a sniper? Kill lots of people, do ya? What cologne is that?

No matter how I searched for the right combination of words...I could never actually bring myself to ask him what he was wearing.

He got into his car, and told me to call him if I had any more problems. I still stink, and want to smell better. Does that constitute a "problem?"

I think Ben picked his way into my olfactory-less heart. And if it only cost me $150 to realize that I want to smell better...I salute Israel...and all their flower-scented killing machines.

Here's to Ben!

Thursday, August 17, 2006

The Purple G and Other Stories

The following is a true story. I WISH I were imaginative enough to create this bullshit. Alas, I'm just a caveman.

Part 1: The Purple G

About six weeks ago, I am doing some laundry. And if nothing else, the main thing I have learned from all of this is that I shouldn't be doing laundry. Maybe that is not a valuable lesson to learn, but I feel like I need to take something away from this since most of my dignity is gone.

It's true, that since I literally despise doing laundry, that most of the time I'm not paying attention, which is why when I found a purple g-string within my fresh-out-of-the-dryer clothes I was not completely surprised I hadn't noticed them. Not completely.

I picked up this purple g-string that was intermixed with my ratty, and hole-filled jockeys and boxers with a bit of amazement. I held it between my thumb and my index finger.

How I thought did these get in here?

At the time I found the purple g-string, I was in the midst of not only being celibate for six months, but also shunning all women completely. So these panties couldn't have been from some random, late-night hook up. Yet there they were. Dangling in my hands, like the arm of a grandfather clock tick-tocking back and forth as I held them, arm out stretched, by the very corner of one of the thin pieces of purple fabric. Sounds poetic.

AH HA!!! I love when I realize how smart I am, and I pat myself on the back and glow inside my own self-modesty. These have to be Brittany's.

Britt is my running partner and often showers at my place after we run. Amazingly, she manages to keep her hands off of me long enough to get through the entire process without jumping on me...but her mind was obviously distracted enough to forget some panties at my place. That silly girl.

For weeks and weeks and weeks, I kept reminding her that I had these panties and that she needed to get them the next time she was at my house. They were just sitting on the floor of my room for ALL to see two feet from the washer/dryer that is just outside my bedroom door. I thought about moving them so when my roommate does laundry he wouldn't see them. That would be embarrassing I thought. Eh...who cares.

Finally, after many times of forgetting, Brittany and I met up at my pad after a run. She was just going to drop by and take a quick shower. I thought it would be funny to leave the g-string on my bathroom door, and in the end, it did end up being humorous, in a way.

She walks in a few minutes after me, tired and sweaty.

Me: I have a surprise for you

Britt: Is it water?

Me: No...guess again.

Britt: Is it food? I'm starving.

Me: Nope. You'll know when you see it I'm so clever.

Britt: Oooooooooook. Wait. Are you finally going to give my underwear back?

Me: Yup.

Britt: Where are they.

Me: That's the surprise.

She looks around for a bit, but is really too tired to be bothered by my shenanigans. She starts to walk over to the bathroom and let's out a laugh and a squeal.

Britt: Mark!!!!!

Me: Heheheheheheh Yes, Britt???? Leaving them on the bathroom door was so funny.

Britt: Did you look at these panties?

Me: No. Not really. Why?

And when Britt come back around the corner to where I am sitting, she is holding out the g-string, and all it's glory.

Britt: Do you think I could fit into these?

Britt is a very in shape girl. VERY fit. And when she unfolded the g-string I had been storing in my room for about six weeks...it appeared that these panties could have fit about three Brittanies...and oddly, the front part of the panties...were unusually large, especially for panties.

Britt: These aren't mine.

Mark: Well, they have to be yours. No one else has been over here...unless...

And for the first time in my life, I felt an urge to puke like I just drank a 12-pack of beer....without drinking the beer. In one of those rare moments in life where a spotlight from above came shining down on me; I literally had an epiphany.

Mark: OH MY GOD...OH MY GOD....OH MY GOD....

Britt: What?

Mark: Those must be D's!!!

D- is my new roommate. He has been living with me for the past few months. He is a great guy. He's quiet. He keeps to himself. He's 52. And he weighs about 350 lbs.

Mark: I think I'm going to be sick.

Britt is just laughing. And laughing. And laughing some more. I don't know what to do..so I throw them back in the dryer...where I found them SIX WEEKS EARLIER. No...no...I can't do that. He'll know I had them. I can't let him know I had them. So Britt and I decide the best course of action is to just throw them away.

Darron convinced me to dig these out of the garbage, and post some pics. Here you go:


From The Back



The Glorious Front

I later learned these were called manties...and that there is a website. Sigh.

Part 2: Sleeping with the Barn Door Open. Literally.

It has been especially hot in my condo recently. Now in all my months of living with J- (My old roommate. Hot. 28. Great body.) not one time did she EVER sleep with her bedroom door open, which is right by the front door. You can totally see into this room when leaving the house. D-, on the other hand, ALWAYS sleeps with his door open.

D-, I have also found, always sleeps naked. It's hard to miss a 350 lb man sleeping naked (in his room) right next to the front door.

So last weekend, I have some friends in town and we go to Del Mar and Casino Barona. When we come back home, at about 3 AM, D's TV is on and blasting, and he is once again sleeping with his door open. And yes. He is naked. Now the sound of his TV doesnt bother me in my room all the way across the condo. I never hear him at all.

My friends, though, are trying to sleep in the living room. They can't sleep. His TV is too loud.

Someone needs to go close his door so that it is quieter. Someone needs to get within three feet of a naked, sleeping D-.

Yes. That someone was me.

But it gets worse.

Part 3: Parading

I'm sitting in my living room a couple of days ago waiting for a friend of mine to come over. I'm sitting on the couch, and D- is in the kitchen. There is a landing between the two of us, and all I can see is him from his waist up. We are chatting for about ten minutes while he is making his dinner. Normal stuff.

A few minutes before my friend arrives, I get up from my couch to check my email in my bedroom. When I stand up, I can see over the landing. I can see D's entire body. He is wearing his work shirt, and white jockeys. Yes. That's right. He is walking around in the kitchen in his shirt and tighty whities.

I gag as I walk into my room.

A few minutes later my friend calls and tells me she will be over in a minute. I walk into the kitchen, and say the twenty words I never imagined I would have to say to my 52-year-old roommate:

"D-, a friend of mine is coming over. Do you think you could, I don't know, put some pants on?"

"Oh....ok. I'll just hang out in my room."

Not the exact response I was looking for. "Dude...you don't need to hang out in your room. You just need to put some clothes on."

Please...PLEASE....PLEASE....I do not want a part four.

Saturday, August 12, 2006

Where the Surf Meets the Turf

A little insight into the Saturday afternoon of five 30-year-olds with too much money on their hands:

Chris sounds a lot like Cruella Deville.

I led poor James astray. Sorry James.

Darron and Armando were too busy to be bothered.

They call me Mr. Static Voice...give me some candy.


this is an audio post - click to play

Thursday, August 10, 2006

People Die, Ideas Do Not

I have not been infatuated with a movie since I saw the director's cut of Donnie Darko about a year ago.

I have watched V for Vendetta twice in four days...and plan on buying it this weekend so I can watch it again. It is so rare to see a movie with themes and a point (combined with some kickass fight scenes).

By far, one of the best movies I have ever seen. And I know Darron would like it because it actually has one of our favorite quotes:

"There are no coincidences"

If you haven't see it...and you are half-way intelligent, put it on your netflix queueueueueueueu.

M

Thursday, August 03, 2006

I dont have long

But...I thought I would blog since I had five minutes of free time.

The summer of craziness is coming to an end. I can definitely see the light at the end of the tunnel. A couple classes end next week!

It turns out Mario, the landscaper, is not going to be my future lover. He, as we say in the English Professor biz, is full of shit. Regardless, I should be putting my first home up on the market in a few days.

31 x 31 is not getting off to a great start here. I need motivation. I think Darron should send me some naked pics (of himself) to get me going.

I SLEPT LAST NIGHT! I don't believe I moved an inch from the second my head hit the pillow until my alarm went off.

And last, but not least, no....I still have not had sex. We are now at a full six months of celibacy. Hurray to keeping my pants on!