It smells like Bigfoot's dick!

Some of you saw from my AIM away message last night--I saw Paul Rudd while running along the West Side Highway. We made eye contact for like 2 seconds, and those were those most glorious 2 seconds of my life. May I note he is about as tall as me, but you know what they say...size doesn't matter. At least it doesn't when you are lying down. Ba dum BUM. Thank you, I'll be here all night.

I swear to God, there are times when I can't wait to leave this city, and other times when I couldn't imagine being anywhere else. This is one of those times when obviously I couldn't imagine living anywhere else. That is, until 2 minutes later when some bitch with an enormous stoller walking 3 people deep wasn't paying attention to her rat of a dog and let the thing run on the complete other side of the running path (basically violating 2,343 of the unspoken rules of walking in NYC) , therefore blocking anyone from passing on either end. This went on for a good 20 seconds. 20 seconds may not seem like a lot to you right now, but those moments seemed like an eternity as I wanted so much to drop kick that rat of a dog into the Hudson and yell, "Now this is happening!"

I.love.Anchorman.

I don't think they were looking at my rock hard pecs

I was at the gym this weekend, running the shit out of the treadmill. After my run, I walk through the weight area where there were some men wailing on their pecs or whatever guys do. Normally I wear just an old tshirt and running shorts when I work out, but this day I was wearing a somewhat fitted tank top.

So as I begin to wail on my own pecs, I notice I am getting a lot of stares from guys. This is puzzling to me since I just assumed everyone at a gym in Chelsea is gay. I go about my business, but inside think, "Damn Meg! You must be lookin' fi-ine! Maybe it's your haircut?"

After my instense weight session (um, more like doing 1 set of some bicep curls with 3lb. weights), I walk past a mirror. I see them...

My excessively protruding nipples so hard you could probably cut glass with them. And here I was thinking these guys were staring at me for my personality.

My first experience in the New York Court System--Part 2

My computer is fixed, and once again happily sitting on my lap. I imagine most things/people are happy to sit on my lap. All I can say is that I don't know what going through heroin withdrawal is like, but I do imagine it was something similar to the withdrawal I felt of the last three nights without a computer. I never want to experience that feeling ever, ever again.

Now back to the crazy.

Like I mentioned in Part 1 of my post regarding my day with the New York Supreme Court, I do have some stories. My experience can basically be summed up in three bullets:

• People in New York are racist.
• People in New York love to complain about jury duty.
• People in New York have all been mugged/robbed at one point of their lives or another.

For those of you who aren't "in the know" like I am now about the inner-workings of the jury selection process, I will explain the process. 1) You receive your summons to appear in some designated room at a certain date,2 ) You wait in room until your name is called (this is where my computer broke), 3) You get called in to be a potential juror for a case, 4) You wait around while the 60 or so other people in the court room with you are interviewed for any possible bias, 5) You realize that the two seemingly normal people sitting next to you have a deep seated hatred for all people that are black.

Travel back with me to the point in my juror selection experience to number 4. This is called the venire (you're learning things now, aren't ya?). The bailiff calls my name from the lottery type box, and I go through the double swinging knee length doors (you don't know how happy I was to know they really have those in court rooms. I had to restrain myself from screaming "I object! That's statement is irrelevant!"). I'm instructed to sit in the 4th seat from the right. I am no longer Megan, DMBMEG, Don Juan, Donjuanelly, Don, Meg Lou, Meggie, Meggie Lou Lou, Trashy Slut, Cum Guzzling Whore....or any of my other aliases. I am now Juror #4. Got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?

So they pass out these questionnaires that we are instructed not to write on. I already see the woman next to me putting away her pen. The questions went like this:

1. What neighborhood do you live in?
2. If you have lived there less than a year, where did you live previously?
3. What is your current state of employment along with the current state of employment of all members of your household?
   
4. Have you ever...
1. Been convicted of a crime?
2. Had a close personal friend and/or relative been convicted of a crime?
3. Been a victim of a crime?
4. Had a close personal friend and/or relative been convicted of a crime?
5. Served on a grand or trial jury?
6. Have any close personal friends and/or relatives that are attorneys, police officers, etc.
7. Do you have any mental/physical limitations that would prevent you from serving?

My answers were as follows:

1. Chelsea
2. Murray Hill (shutup. Leave me alone.)
3. Work as a financial analyst for a retail company. Roommate is a bond trader. (I had to think if "roommate" was part of household, or not. But really judge, thanks for reminding me that I'm all alone in the world.)
4. No to all parts of question 4 (despite a close call in college of almost getting arrested for a fake i.d.)
5. No
6. Grandfather was part of the NYPD
7. Despite what my friends and/or relatives would say, my answer is no.

Easy right? Well, you would be surprised how many people were eating retard sandwiches before answering this very simple questionnaire. People were answering the questions out of order. It was utter judicial anarchy (there is an oxymoron for you! OK not so much anarchy, but it was taking way longer than I would have liked).

At this point in the post, I would like to describe the defendant and the crime he was being accused of committing. My translation of the charges was this gentleman, who I looked strangely like J. Alexander from America's Next Top Model, but a little more rough around the edges, and you know, not wearing high heels. I don't need to point out the obvious that he was black. Well ok, I just did point out the obvious. The defendant was charged with 4 crimes. I heard lots of 3rd, 4th, 1st degrees. Basically, the guy tried to stab someone in a Harlem night club. Moving on...

I consider myself pretty unbiased as far as race relations go. There have been black people I dislike, but there have also been white people, Asians, Latinos, Jews, Catholics, Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, Branch Davidians, Martians, midgets, pornographers, midget pornographers, men, women, he/she's, gays, lesbians, bi-sexuals, straight people, ugly people, hot people, homeless people, rich people, young people, old people, middle-aged crisis people, famous people, non-famous people...ok you get the idea. Basically I'm an equal opportunity hater. I would never judge you by the color of your skin, or your religion, or your sexual preference, etc, but I guarantee I will judge you if you are stupid.

So surrounded by seemingly normal, friendly people like myself, I found myself aghast by the answers these people were giving the judge:

Juror: "I was mugged at an ATM once."
Judge: "Do you think this would affect your decision in any way?"
Juror: "Well, he was black."

Another Juror: "I think all cops are liars."

Another Juror (looking right at the defendant): "I believe we have the right to know if this guy had any priors."

You get the idea.

I was also amazed about the sheer number of times people have been mugged and/or robbed in the city. I'm not exaggerating when I say this, but every single person being questioned had been robbed at one point in their life. Probably 75% of the people had been the victim of a robbery 2 or more times. Then there was the cute little Asian man who went on for about 5 minutes about how his store, apartment, and son's car had been robbed about 10 times.

I must admit that at this point I realized I had been the victim of a robbery a couple years ago, but from fear of being locked in the slammer for committing pergery, I decided to keep quiet. Honestly, I hadn't thought about the event in years, so I came to the conclusion that I am unbiased. I can actually laugh at it now. On December 24th, 2004, my now ex-boyfriend's car was broken into and all of our Christmas presents were stolen, along with my coat, my makeup (obviously a tranny robber), my new running shoes. While I was upset over my lost items, the dudes who broke into my ex-boyfriend's car stole his laptop, cell phone (really, he was an idiot for leaving these in the car in the first place), but most importantly his fucking grade book. That's right. My ex-boyfriend is a high school teacher, and they stole his fucking grade book. OK I digress.

All of these sad stories led me to believe I need to get renter's insurance ASAP. And I need to stop going to ATM's.

Alright, since I'm pretty much writing a novel apparently because I am so happy to be re-united (and it does feel so good!) with my computer, I'll wrap my last point up as quickly as I can. Look, I know more than anyone that people like to complain. I complain about my job on a daily basis. Call me hypocritical, but I don't see why someone who works at JP Morgan's job is so necessary to the function of all human civilization, that they would feel the need to complain for two hours about how this jury selection process is so inconvenient to their life. I think a lot of people from the past, certainly the present, and more than likely the future, would give anything to have the rights we do in America. We got a 2 hour lunch, it's gorgeous out, we saw part of the criminal justice system in action, we caught up on reading, and more importantly, someone's life, guilty or not, is in our hands. And that, more than anything, should make you think to SHUT THE FUCK UP, and do your duty as an American citizen.

[and now stepping off my platform]

Oh yeah, after all that, I didn't even get chosen. The first case was dismissed because the defendant apparently freaked at all the crazy jurors who were about to be in charge of determining his guilt or innocence. The second case, which was a robbery, was again dismissed. After that, they sent us home (at noon) so basically I got a free day off today. I love our government.

My first experience in the New York Court System--Part 2

When I first moved to Manhattan, I was surprised by the sheer number of normal people in Manhattan. I was expecting something out of Desperately Seeking Susan or something, where women all carry around hat boxes, and wear lace gloves. Not the case. Turns out, no one who lives here is actually from here (and no, I don't care how much any of you argue, if you are from Long Island, Westchester, Connecticut, or Jersey, you are NOT from New York City).

So I asked my friend a while back, "So where are all the crazies?"

She replies matter of factly, "Either at the DMV or in court."

Touché.

I went to renew my driver's license a couple years ago around lunch time. Turns out the 3 hours that I allotted for waiting in line (standard Minnesota DMV waiting time) was a little off. I ended up being at the DMV from 11 am until 6pm. 7 hours. And my picture isn't even that good.
Fuck.

But my friend was right. Lots of crazies.

So up until Monday, I had yet experienced where all the other crazies were hiding out--the New York State Supreme Court.

Monday rolls around, I head downtown, laptop in tow in case I got bored with the book I was reading for my book club. Since I already postponed my jury duty once since it was overlapping with my Christmas vacation, I didn't look at my jury summons. I just assumed that I was being summoned to the same place. After sitting through a 20 minute video where the audio was on a 5 second delay behind the video, the lady in charge of herding all of us cattle to the slaughter speaks, "Please check the upper left corner of your summons to make sure you are in the right place" I check. Wait....mine says Centre St. I'm not on Centre St! FUCK!

So I get up--right about the time the lady says, "If you have any mental or physical disabilities that would prevent you from serving, please go to [such and such a place]. Fuck, not only am I going to be held in contempt of court or whatever they do on Law and Order for being late to jury duty, but now everyone thinks I am either deaf and dumb, or maybe just schizo. Actually, come to think of it, that isn't far off from the truth.

After a 10 minute "walk" (i.e. RUNNING LIKE PREFONTAINE AT A TRACK MEET), I arrive at my instructed destination. Everyone is still waiting in line to turn in their summons despite the fact that it is 45 minutes after they instructed us to arrive for our service. Nothing like the state of New York to do anything ON TIME.

So I take my seat in a side room that has internet access. I begin my usual duties of emailing all my friends about how excited I am to be on jury duty (read: not be at work). Finally lunch arrives at 12:35pm. I'm still not called, but the juror instructor name calling dude says we don't have to be back here til 2:15pm. At this point I'm contemplating either 1) becoming a professional juror, or 2) stealing his job. That's almost a two hour lunch!

As I'm packing up all my stuff, someone hits the table I am sitting at. My computer, perched precariously on the edge, begins to teeter. Not violently, but enough to scare me into grabbing the shit out of it. Well apparently I need to stop trying to catch things that are falling, because by doing this, I in fact sped up the velocity at which my beloved new computer was being pulled to the floor by gravity.

Forget this whole "science" business of the acceleration of gravity (9.8 m/s/s--thanks senior year physics teacher, Mr. Paetiznick!), the real measure of gravity should just be gravity=exponentially faster the more expensive the item falling is.

So my computer fell. It was closed, so after shouting a few curse words at God, I inspected it from the outside, everything seemed ok. I left for lunch.

When I sit down at [insert random Tribeca bistro here], I open up my computer, and notice the Grand Canyon like-crack the middle of my beautiful LCD screen. You know what that means. It would have been easier for me to just bend over and have that person who bumped my table to just rape me in the ass.

So I take the computer to Apple Soho (no sexy Apple man there this time). The guy at the Genius Bar basically tells me that it would cost me $1200 to fix my screen--which is about the price of the fucking computer. Now I'm no Econ whiz, but how on earth do they make a profit if the sum of the product's parts are worth more than said product? (please, no Econ major give me the cost of construction or any of that crap. It's my blog, I can say what I want)

So end of this story is that I ended up taking the computer to Tekserve where they are replacing the screen for half the price Apple is. That's right for all you mathletes out there--that's $600. Guess who may have to eliminate food from her budget? Cause lord knows I'm not eliminating beer.

I'm heading back to jury duty tomorrow. I get my computer back Friday, so don't expect the Part 2 post until then. I would write the whole thing now, but I expect most of you are either asleep, or ready to threaten my life for taking away the 5 minutes of your life you spent reading this post.

But don't worry, the funny stuff comes next. And in case you haven't figured it out, I'm at work right now--not typing this through osmosis.

Guess who is #10 in her pool?

Snooches!

And no, I'm not #10 out of 11 total entries. That's #10 out of 120 people--with my entire Final 4 still in tact. Everyone above me and below me picked Wisconsin in the Elite 8, so that loss didn't hurt me. So far, the only team I am cursing is Duke.

Forgive me readers

I'm at jury dtty now. In case you were wnderining, I bruught my new Maccbook here yyesterday. Big mistake. I nw am thhe prouud ownnerr of a Macboko with a crarcck in the screenn sinccec the fucker fell off the table. $600 to get a new LCD screenn. Fuuck.

I'm on a cmpptere provideed by the curt system. And the keeys stick. FUCCK FUUCK FUCCK. Reallyy, kiick me while I'm dwn people.

I've seen sme fnny shitt which I will pst abut when I get my cmpputer back n Friday. Until thenn....don'tt miss me t muchh!

Celebrating my people in style

I will be wearing this man's face all day on Saturday. I'll give a cookie who can tell me who he is (and I know the people I told....so you can't answer!)

Tinky Winky hearts it in the two hole!

Here's to you Tinky Winky!

May you give/receive as many blowjobs as your little sinning tubby heart desires. Carry your purse with pride!

Rev. Jerry Falwell Dead At 73

See? My company should be happy I'm even here

According to the Chicago Tribune, the weeks of "March Madness" is the most unproductive work week of the year.

The National Collegiate Athletic Association basketball tournament, which begins next week, might cost U.S. employers more than $1.2 billion in lost productivity before the winner is crowned on April 2, according to a study.

The event, also known as "March Madness,'' has 32 games scheduled for March 15 and 16. Since it begins around noon New York time, fans who should be working will be stealing glimpses of the action on television or the Internet, and tracking the progress of their office pools.

Since I work in "fashion", I don't think I necessarily work with the demographic most interested in this event. I asked my buyer (who is gay, mind you) if he was excited for the tournament since he went to Florida, and his only response was, "I don't watch sports." My point is, no one called in sick. I imagine all of Goldman Sachs is off today, or any other company where the halls are brimming with testosterone.

Unless it was the finals, and Iowa was in it (I know, when pigs fly maybe--but hey Big 10 2006 Champs! What whuuuut!) I wouldn't call in sick. I WOULD call in sick for Game 7 of the World Series. In fact, any game of the World Series. In fact, any playoff game. Oh fuck, I'd call in sick if I had tickets to a Devil Rays game.

Anyways, for those interested parties, I will be at Ship of Fools tonight getting my drink on. Forget the Holiday season--from end of March to beginning of July is the most wonderful time of the year.

NCAA?!?!?!? NCAA!?!?!?!

That subject line is for you, Megs.

I just sat at my computer for a good 2 hours trying to make sense of my brackets. Turns out my picks weren't that sexy as I'm on the lower end of my possible point totals. While I went with the trendy upsets like Winthrop and Old Dominion, my picks were pretty reasonable. I tried to show some Big 10 loyalty where applicable, and not totally fucking crazy. I also went all girly and made all past guys' I dated schools (cough, cough HOLY CROSS, PENN), and my good friends' schools win (what up GEORGETOWN - Final Four!, ILLINOIS - at least a win in the first round, DUKE - Sweet Sixteen!, WISCONSIN - Elite Eight!). Normally I'm not very good at this shit (but really, who is?), except for in 2001 when I nailed the Final Four and placed Duke against Arizona to win in the finals.

My Final Four:
Florida
Georgetown
Ohio State
UCLA

Finals:
Ohio State vs. Florida (boring, I know. I'm really tired of this Ohio State/Florida bullshit, but I'm not stupid.)

NCAA Champion:
Ohio State (Big 10, represent!)

So cut to me on Thursday ripping up my brackets after fucking Central Connecticut State upsets Ohio State in double OT or something. Fuck. I love this shit.

Last night in my dream...

I was involved in two plane crashes. While the crashes weren't that serious (the first involved the plane landing in water and me swimming away, while the second the plane barely got 2 ft off the ground), I was still curious as to what this meant.

According to some website that I found while googling, a plane crash in your dream means this:

To dream that you are in a plane crash can mean you are afraid of something catastrophic happening that's out of your control. A dream about a crash can also mean you're feeling things are out of control somehow in your life right now, or a feeling that you're having bad luck or things just aren't going your way right now.

Interesting, no? I wonder what TWO plane crashes means...

A conversation with my dad tonight...

Let me give you a little background first. I was speaking with my dad about the fact that I'm kind of lonely here in NYC. I know, I have lots of friends, blah blah blah (sorry guys, you know I love you). Despite what Carrie Bradshaw might think (I really hate her), friends do not replace family, and love. Conversely, love and family cannot replace friends. It's kind of a Catch 22 I guess. I could move to Minnesota, have my immediate family close by, but no friends. I could stay here with my awesome friends, and have no family. Or the last option is pack up and move to Chicago where I have some close friends, and some family, but basically start over with my life yet again. I'm not really in the mood to make any life choices like that, so I'm going to do what I do best: be apathetic and hope the problem goes away by itself.

Alright that was enough sappiness. One of these days I will share what is bothering me (some of you already know), but for now I feel like it will bring about unwanted attention. You know those people. The people who will use every opportunity to get you to feel sorry for them. I don't want that. I don't want anyone feeling sorry for me, because really, deep down I do know how good I have it.

So I was talking to my dad about my current state of mind (i.e. complaining about how no one will ever love me again). While he was all for me moving back home to Minnesota, I was like, "Yeah uh.....not really." Then the following conversation took place:

Me: "Dad, it's just so hard to meet guys here. With every one I meet, there seems to be something 'missing'"

Dad: "How about the gym? That's always a great place to meet guys."

Me: "Ok, 1) how do you know that? 2) How do you expect I approach a guy at the gym while he is wailing on his pecs? Like between sets offer a spot? 3) I live in Chelsea."

Dad: "What's wrong with meeting a guy at the gym?"

Me: "I'll repeat again. I live in Chelsea."

Dad: "..."

Me: "Dad, everyone is gay."

Dad: "Oh."

Me: "Yeah. 'Oh'."

So anyone have any advice for me? I tried the internet dating thing. Tried the bar scene (usually ends up with me focusing on my drink, and forgetting the guy's name). None of my friends have anyone to set me up with. I'm all out of options. Sigh.

God damn, I sound like an annoying whiny bitch in this post. Sorry 'bout that.

Sorry guys, she is taken

My friend Ria created this little chart for her husband during our clearly very busy work day. I love her. She is one of my best friends in the whole world, but girlfriend knows she is a little on the compulsive side when it comes to cleaning. Her husband, Chris, is more like me in the fact that he is kind of messy. Granted, messy for a girl is still a lot better than messy for a guy. Since they are newly married, apparently Chris has been slacking on the chores lately. Here is the chart Ria created to get the cleaning ball rolling, so to speak.Scary right? Notice how everything is color coded, bolded, and meticulously charted out. Notice how Chris has about a third of the duties as Ria does. "Magazines"? Chris, what is that? You get to pick up magazines when Ria gets fucking vacuuming? And you guys have a dog!

OK while I laughed at this chart for a good half hour, Ria then went on to create a little "presentation". It could be the funniest thing I have ever read. And I now know why some guys are scared to get married. Just kidding, Ri. I must admit that if Chris and I were married, nothing would get done. We would both die under our respective New York Posts, Sports Illustrated, and New York Magazine. Brace yourselves everyone. You're about to enter the Twilight Zone.

Ria, you're crazy. I love you, but you're crazy. And just as an FYI, while the "presentation" was created as a semi-joke, the cleaning chart was made in all seriousness.

So everyone, what's the over-under on which slide Chris asks for a divorce? I'm thinking he doesn't get past the "Agenda" slide.

I think it's about time I try out for American Idol

I was looking through my camera deleting pictures, and realized I had taped part of my favorite John Mayer song during the concert. What sounds like a cat dying is actually me singing. I believe with about 13 seconds left, I show some sign of astuteness and proclaim, "I can't sing."

Warning:
What you are about to hear is not for the faint of heart. I am clearly tone deaf. Or drunk (they served beer with straws!) But most likely it is a combination of both. Enjoy.

It's colder than a witches titty here!

My friend Ria told me about how she is considering giving up complaining for Lent in addition to the “sin” she has already given up of being mean to others. She’s a good person. I’m a bad influence on her, as I now have a calendar with Easter circled on it so we can be mean together once again. I mean come on! Everyone knows putting others down ALWAYS makes you feel better.

She suggested I give up complaining too. It’s not that I complain a lot, but even the times I do complain, I find myself rather annoying. So I tried it. And now with publishing this post, I’m about to fail. Luckily Hell is warmer than Manhattan right now.

Being from Minnesota, I face a lot of stereotypes here in New York. The most often one I get is, “Whoa! So do you like, have electricity there and stuff?” No, dumbass. I still cook a steak by attempting to rub two sticks together and yelling at my volleyball, Wilson.

The second biggest stereotype I get is when the temperature gets a little chilly, people note, “Whoa! So this must be like summer to you!”

At this very moment in Manhattan, it is 15 degrees. I do remember one time in Minnesota where the temperature got to be about 60 below. Now any dumbass can discern between 15 degrees and 60 below, but the difference is I never had to walk in 60 below weather. Here in New York, I walk to work every day. While my walking commute only takes 15 minutes door to door (jealous?), those 15 minutes when it is 15 degrees out are the worst moments of the day. Twice on my way to work this week, I contemplated just giving up and embracing a frozen death. In Minnesota, the only time I was ever really exposed to the cold was when I had to exit the safety of my heated car so run maybe like 20 feet into Abercrombie or something.

You may be asking now why I didn’t take the subway. I have this thing. We all have our quirks, right? So I have this thing, where I HATE riding the subway since I walk everywhere to work. Think about it. When you buy a monthly pass, your $80 will take you everywhere at anytime. I have to pay $2 every time I have to go somewhere, and $2 to go back. $4. That’s 80% of a beer right now because I am lazy. I am from Minnesota you know. I can handle the cold. Riggggghhhhht.

I took the subway today. That’s how fucking cold it is here. I gave up beer for warmth.

Thanks Meg for showing my readers with one single photo the depths of the frigidness here that I could not do with an entire post of nonsense.

Awesomefest 6000! Survey says? Totally awesome!

Awesomefest 6000 was a roaring success. But as Doug Coughlin says, "The money's gone. The brain is shot. But the liquor we still got." I'm not sure what that is supposed to mean since there is no liquor left. Just maybe empty 40 oz bottles of Coors Light that I can't move due to the overwhelming smell of stale beer.

I won't give a play by play, since I can barely function without devolving back into some pre-historic version of myself. Let's just say it involves a lot of staring and drooling.

One thing happened to me though that never happened before. I got kicked out of a bar. Cool, right?

I ended up following this guy that I met to Beauty Bar on 14th St (at this point, I have no idea where my friends are). The bar isn't anything special. Just another random semi-divey place in the East Village. When I go to hand the bouncer my i.d., I stumble. Now I've had quite a lot to drink at this point, but I'm not belligerent by any means. I know when I am belligerent, and this is not one of those times. The bouncer then refuses to let me in because I am too drunk. Asshole. I'd like to see him walk in 3 inch heels after drinking as much as me.

After a minute of trying to convince the guy that I am not the type of drunk to cause trouble, he gets distracted by something else, and I run in. I felt like an 18 year old with a fake id again. It was awesome.

After however long the bouncer spots me sitting at the bar. I'm not drinking. I'm just sitting there trying to impress my gentlemen companions. All at a reasonable volume. The bouncer pushes his way to the crowd to get to me, and yells at the bartender, "DO NOT SERVE HER! SHE SNUCK IN HERE!" He turns to me, "GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE."

I swear to God nothing pisses me off more than people who work at bars on a power trip. Because last time I checked, you um, WORK AT A BAR. And a shitty bar at that.

Apparently when I got home, I was so angry I was pacing back and forth in my bra and yelling at my friends, "I'm going to show him! I'm going to show up in a different shirt, and they won't recognize me!" Yeah, I'm not so smart when I am drunk. It's not like I wanted to go back to talk to the guy so much, but more of the fact that I'm really fucking stubborn and no one denies me entrance anywhere.

I guess my desire to pass out was a little greater than my desire to stick it to the asshole bouncer. I woke up in my bra.

I hope one of the bartenders and bouncers is vain enough to try and google themselves. Find this blog, and realize that they are all the devil's spawn. And who all looked like they had small penises. ZING!

What's awesome about Awesomefest (so far)

I know it’s only been half a day really, but a lot of awesome stuff has already happened during Awesomefest 6000! But really, are you that surprised?

Some things that are awesome during Awesomefest:

• Beer.
• Suprisingly, John Mayer – who I must admit is frickin’ incredible live. The dude plays the blues like a 350-pound black man.
• More beer.
• Playing trivia on that game tv thingy (and getting the high score!) at the bar below my apartment til 1am while listening to songs play on the jukebox that are on my iPod.
• Meeting white guys with dread locks in a pizza joint, and have him follow you and your friend home because he clearly thinks he is getting a threesome. Then have him ask your friend to his "art show".
• Getting drunk on a Wednesday.

One of my favorite lines in any movie comes from Jason Lee’s character in Vanilla Sky, “The sweet ain’t as sweet without the sour.” So with great awesomeness comes not so awesomeness.

Let me now share with you the not so awesome:

• Playing trivia at night because there is no “Nudie Touch” (e.g. Erotic Photo Hunt) on the game tv thingy.
• Realizing you just spent $5 to play songs that are already in your iPod, and you listen to EVERY DAY.
• Meeting white guys with dread locks in a pizza joint, and have him follow you and your friend home because he clearly thinks he is getting a threesome. Then have him ask your friend to his "art show".
• Being hungover on a Thursday at work.
• Have a woman at work face you in the elevator on the way up to your floor. Chalk this one up to one of the strangest experiences of my life. I mean, this alone deserves a blog post. Who faces the back of the elevator??? Let alone when there is another person in it facing foward that you don't know!

Stay tuned. More hilarity to come as we have 4 more days of the awesome!