Okay, I saw this shit yesterday that I don’t really believe is real. It’s a bubblegum flavored vodka. It tastes EXACTLY like liquid bubblegum. It’s like, the cutting edge in child molester technology. I mean, it tastes like gum, it’s seventy proof, and it’s delicious if you’re the kind of person who thinks drinking gum sounds delicious, which essentially means if you’re six. It’s the greatest innovation to come around the pedophile scene since the windowless van and the nintendo. Good lord. It’s frightening that it even exists. And yes, for the record, I know there are lots of odd flavors of booze out there, like root beer and sweet tea, and I know that sparks and joose and all that shit used youth oriented marketing, but here’s the difference: That shit also appeals to grown ups. People who are adults drink root beer and energy drinks. NO ONE OVER SEVEN CHEWS BUBBLICIOUS. This is a vokda that ONLY a toddler would love. Oh well, the good news is that in about three minutes some kid somewhere is gonna come across a bottle, taste this shit, chug it all, because it tastes like liquid candy, die, and there’s gonna be a huge flap about it. Hey, you heard it here first people. I’m like Kreskin, man.
Last night I was exhausted and we were packing for our trip when suddenly I realized I had “VERY IMPORTANT SHIT TO TAKE CARE OF” before I left. I had to research and procure some custom labels, to be ready by the thirteenth of August. Not really the hugest deal, but since I’m out of town for the next few days, it makes things harder. Well, I sat down to do this, and that’s when I got a call that the mixing of my band’s record was happening in the studio. Again, not the biggest deal, but since I’m gonna be out of town, if I didn’t get down there and throw in my 2 cents, the mixes were essentially gonna be done and ready to ship off before I got back without me hearing them. That’s not really how I roll, so I shitcanned the labels and cruised down there. End result? The mixes sound great and I’m stressing over the labels, which I’ve simply not got the time to get to before I go…I mean, as soon as I’m done typing this bullshit, I have to pack up the car and bring everything that a family needs to succeed in Colorado for ten days. This is one of those jobs that’s impossible to fully kick ass at, because something’s gonna get left behind. It’s the nature of packing and the nature of me. THEN, when it’s discovered that oops! Forgot the baby sunscreen! Well, I’m suddenly dick deep in hearing about how I’m careless, or wasn’t thinking. Being a scatterbrained male in a crisis of organization is not easy, man. I feel like I’m on a fucking tilt a whirl twenty four hours a day.
Jesus Christ. It’s coming to my attention, as I type that due to behavioral problems, I may have to go pick up my kid at daycare right now. That’s gonna throw a real kitten into the gears. I got him super drunk before I dropped him off. I think he’s been telling everyone not to tell him what to do and that they don’t know him and shit like that. Nah, he’s just having a rough week because he’s transferred into the big kids room and out of the baby room. He was a big fish in that baby room, man. He ruled that shit. Out in the big kid room, he’s just another dude who walks like Charlie Chaplin and says “uh oh” every time someone drops something. It’s a rough transition. I hope he’s fucking exhausted when I finally pick him up, because flying with a squirming one year old on your lap is like trying to play the drums with two live fish. It’s hard, and pretty frustrating. Jesus. I gotta stop typing. Shit to do, man. Shit to do.
So, what do you kids have planned while I’m gone? Parties? Rainbow parties? Cool. That should be fun. Um, I found a very interesting website recently…
beexisms.tumblr.com/
I have nothing to do with it, and I don’t know who does, but I think it goes without saying that it’s a definite harbinger of my complete and total domination of the internet. That’s cool at least. Um, what else? Nothing. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone and don’t drive my car. And NO BOYS!!!!!
Okay, I’m out.
XOXOXO
Showing posts with label vacations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vacations. Show all posts
Friday, July 31, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
hola, dildos!
Hey welcome back! I’m home from Mexico, and I’m tan and relaxed and ready to get on with the rest of this winter…actually, I feel a strange sense of dread and anxiousness today…Not sure why. It’s probably the heightened expectations of all of you, your impatient anticipation of the worlds most exciting post here today traveling through the ether like so many sentinels of expectation and attacking me in my repose or whilst I slumber, right? Yeah, something like that, probably. Anyway, about my vacation:
So the night before we were slated to leave, we realized that my wife’s passport was expired…and it was a Friday at around eleven pm. The plane left Saturday morning at 9. There was really no way to get around this one…So, we decided that I would go ahead, as to save the hotel room and not spend money unnecessarily switching my flight around, and then when she got her passport sorted, she’d show up with the baby. Sounds great right?
Well, it was weird.
Firstly, it was a very guilty moment - getting on the plane and heading to Mexico and leaving my wife and baby behind, and it only got weirder once I got to the hotel. Being at a resort by yourself is a lot like being a ghost. You kind of walk around, sharing space with everyone who’s hanging out and having a good time, but you’re really not part of it at all. In my case, people kind of stared me down a lot…let’s face it, I looked creepy just dining by myself, hanging out at the swim up bar alone, lounging without any company, peering through people’s room windows, duct taping my wiener and balls up whilst hiding in the shrubbery... I wholeheartedly guarantee that when Sophia Coppola wrote ‘Lost in Translation’ it was after a very, very similar (although obviously Japanese) experience to the one I had those first two days. In that time, I went into town and watched a soccer game at a pool hall, went to a whorehouse (I was told it was a ‘cool bar’ by a cab driver. I guess it was pretty cool, but I just walked in, surveyed the situation while I chugged a beer as fast as I possibly could and then walked out, so I can’t say for sure) and watched the super bowl. I was in Bucerias at this lame bar with a lame hippy jam band, but I was getting along with the bartender really well. Right around when the game ended, the bartender got fired. I ran out to give him his tip, which he had left behind in his ‘i’m-storming-the-fuck-out-of-here” hurry to leave, and he invited me over to his buddy’s house to drink some beer and hang out, so of course, I went.
We got to this big house and lets just say that I was the least tattooed guy there by a long, long way. These dudes had uh…turtlenecks, I guess. Is that what it’s called when your whole throat and neck are tattooed? I mean, ‘turtlenecks’ doesn’t really sound that cool or tough, huh? Well, whatever. These dudes all had turtlenecks of tattoos and they wanted to do about three things, jam rock music pretty loudly, drink beers and systematically whup my ass in chess.
I must have played six or seven games of chess that night and I don’t think I even so much as put any one of them in check once. They were all astounding players. Also, I’m not that good…whatever, man.
The next day my wife and baby showed up and things drastically improved. Everyone at the resort was suddenly very nice to me, and very welcoming to them. Also, everyone at the resort was very Canadian. There were Canadians everywhere, and about ninety percent of them were over sixty. It was the ultimate party scene. The resort had one bar that wasn’t in the pool, and I never in one week saw anyone in there. I never even went in there myself, as it was a pretty desolate and depressing place. The whole place was a ghost town after 8 pm, which was fine, because after seven thirty, when the baby went to sleep, we were stuck in our room anyway. This insured a lot of quality relaxing, which was, actually, just what we all needed.
One day we went out and watched whales, which was pretty awesome. Whales, like people, come from their cold and crappy homes to mexico to fuck tons of random strangers, and their spring break is going on right now. While we were out there we saw three males all trying to bone the same whale MILF with baby in tow…shameless. We were in a boat that was way WAY smaller than the whales, and we were, at times, about five feet away from these surfacing monsters. At one point there were whales swimming under our boat and surfacing on either side of us. It was pretty awesome. Also, whales, when they’re that close, smell like gigantic, funky, wet monsters. Coincidentally, that’s the name of my new band…The Gigantic Funky Wet Monsters. We’re going on tour with Avenged Sevenfold this fall. Check us out. Our single is called “ladies, get your tits out!” and it’s inspired by my trip to Senior Frogs.
Last night I worked. Today my wife is at work and the baby is at daycare. The dream is over. Nothing to look forward to but the sweet embrace of death, eh? Pretty much. Best entry ever? I’d say so.
So the night before we were slated to leave, we realized that my wife’s passport was expired…and it was a Friday at around eleven pm. The plane left Saturday morning at 9. There was really no way to get around this one…So, we decided that I would go ahead, as to save the hotel room and not spend money unnecessarily switching my flight around, and then when she got her passport sorted, she’d show up with the baby. Sounds great right?
Well, it was weird.
Firstly, it was a very guilty moment - getting on the plane and heading to Mexico and leaving my wife and baby behind, and it only got weirder once I got to the hotel. Being at a resort by yourself is a lot like being a ghost. You kind of walk around, sharing space with everyone who’s hanging out and having a good time, but you’re really not part of it at all. In my case, people kind of stared me down a lot…let’s face it, I looked creepy just dining by myself, hanging out at the swim up bar alone, lounging without any company, peering through people’s room windows, duct taping my wiener and balls up whilst hiding in the shrubbery... I wholeheartedly guarantee that when Sophia Coppola wrote ‘Lost in Translation’ it was after a very, very similar (although obviously Japanese) experience to the one I had those first two days. In that time, I went into town and watched a soccer game at a pool hall, went to a whorehouse (I was told it was a ‘cool bar’ by a cab driver. I guess it was pretty cool, but I just walked in, surveyed the situation while I chugged a beer as fast as I possibly could and then walked out, so I can’t say for sure) and watched the super bowl. I was in Bucerias at this lame bar with a lame hippy jam band, but I was getting along with the bartender really well. Right around when the game ended, the bartender got fired. I ran out to give him his tip, which he had left behind in his ‘i’m-storming-the-fuck-out-of-here” hurry to leave, and he invited me over to his buddy’s house to drink some beer and hang out, so of course, I went.
We got to this big house and lets just say that I was the least tattooed guy there by a long, long way. These dudes had uh…turtlenecks, I guess. Is that what it’s called when your whole throat and neck are tattooed? I mean, ‘turtlenecks’ doesn’t really sound that cool or tough, huh? Well, whatever. These dudes all had turtlenecks of tattoos and they wanted to do about three things, jam rock music pretty loudly, drink beers and systematically whup my ass in chess.
I must have played six or seven games of chess that night and I don’t think I even so much as put any one of them in check once. They were all astounding players. Also, I’m not that good…whatever, man.
The next day my wife and baby showed up and things drastically improved. Everyone at the resort was suddenly very nice to me, and very welcoming to them. Also, everyone at the resort was very Canadian. There were Canadians everywhere, and about ninety percent of them were over sixty. It was the ultimate party scene. The resort had one bar that wasn’t in the pool, and I never in one week saw anyone in there. I never even went in there myself, as it was a pretty desolate and depressing place. The whole place was a ghost town after 8 pm, which was fine, because after seven thirty, when the baby went to sleep, we were stuck in our room anyway. This insured a lot of quality relaxing, which was, actually, just what we all needed.
One day we went out and watched whales, which was pretty awesome. Whales, like people, come from their cold and crappy homes to mexico to fuck tons of random strangers, and their spring break is going on right now. While we were out there we saw three males all trying to bone the same whale MILF with baby in tow…shameless. We were in a boat that was way WAY smaller than the whales, and we were, at times, about five feet away from these surfacing monsters. At one point there were whales swimming under our boat and surfacing on either side of us. It was pretty awesome. Also, whales, when they’re that close, smell like gigantic, funky, wet monsters. Coincidentally, that’s the name of my new band…The Gigantic Funky Wet Monsters. We’re going on tour with Avenged Sevenfold this fall. Check us out. Our single is called “ladies, get your tits out!” and it’s inspired by my trip to Senior Frogs.
Last night I worked. Today my wife is at work and the baby is at daycare. The dream is over. Nothing to look forward to but the sweet embrace of death, eh? Pretty much. Best entry ever? I’d say so.
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