An Exercise in Mental Masturbation

I write only to amuse and satisfy my mind.

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Oooh baby you want me? Now you can get this lap dance here for free...

It was said to me, "Hey, JC? You ever notice the most depressing place, and yet the most exciting, is a strip club?"

I pondered the thought for a while, carefully peeling another one dollar bill from the stack layed out in front of me, leaning over gently towards the stage, and slipped the dollar bill between Heidi's breasts, and replied, "Yeah, it's pretty pathetic, but then again, I'm pretty drunk, got a stack of bills here, and there's a crapload of hot chicks in here..."

Rewind a couple of hours...

I had not planned on going with Nav and Hertz to the bars Friday night; I originally wanted to go climbing. It had been raining for over eight days straight, and the cold rain dissuaded me from running for over a week. I needed to get some physical activity to overcome to cabin fever I was experiencing.

BA was stuck at work and he called me at eight to cancel. Nav and Hertz called me earlier to go to Rafferty's but I declined, again, I wanted to climb. Anyway, finding myself with nothing to do on a Friday night, I put on my Friday best and headed out.

The bar at Rafferty's was a bit dead, but the dining room was packed. Didn't me bother me one bit, as I was not in the mood to push through a crowd for a drink. Pleasantry's aside, we had a couple of drinks and head out to Gaebles as that place usually had clientelle more of our age.

In contrast to Rafferty's, Gaebles was packed. We met up with a few of Nav's friends, which included this one Indian chick who was a blast to talk to even though me and Hertz had absolutely no chance with her.

Then the suggestion came...

"Hey, let's hit Double D's..." Hertz said.

"I told you once, if I go there I end up spending two hundred dollars..." Nav replied.

I was unfazed, but intrigued. "You know, I haven't been there in years..."

This was true. Back in the '90's (tells you kids how old I am) my old roomate and I used to tour the local strip clubs whenever I came back from Asia. Now there is nothing that says home more than returning from a three to four month stint in Asia and seeing women with delicious curves. Forgive me for my crudeness, but that's a fact. Spend time there, and you'll know what I'm talking about.

The more I drank, the more the thought of going to DD's became more appealing.

After an hour of frustration, we left Gaebles and headed to South Amboy.

Now, there were a few things I kind of forgot when I got there...

1) It's really hard to strike up a meaningful and interesting conversation when someone is rubbing there ass against you. Not that I wasn't enjoying myself, but heck, I figured some small talk could break the ice. I should have just kept my mouth shut.

2) Don't accept dances from your friends, 'cause they send the crappy chicks your way.

3) I should treat trips to the strip club like trips to AC. Leave the ATM card at home 'cause I'll spend a crapload of money and the ATM fees are outrageous.

Got home at something like four in the morning, smelling like cigarettes and cheap perfume.

Felt pretty pathetic at the time, but then again, it was a lot of fun.

Cheers all..

Saturday, October 01, 2005

I ain't saying she's a gold digger.. But she ain't messing with no broke nigga's...

One of the funniest things that I've ever heard while playing cards was, "Used to think that women (poker players) couldn't bluff... But she took my money!"

So last night, we had our third poker night, and for once, we had a 8 way game going which allowed us to have money for first, second, and third place. My buddy, Breadman, and his girlfriend K played, and that was a welcome sight as both of them play in local bar tournaments almost all the time.

So there we were, seven guys and one chick...

And the one chick won.

All in all, she played really well, betting aggressively when she had the cards, and had a large enough stack (of chips that is...) to be able to steal the pot with nothing easily.

Funny thing was, Breadman lost almost all of his money including two rebuys to her all night! He'd win a small pot, then get in on the next hand, only to lose, or be pushed out by K.

"I can't believe it, at every tournment we played, she's always out after the second or third round!" Breadman said as his chips were slowly transfered over to his chick's.

We all joked that they were in collusion, but that claim was quickly denied.

Towards the end of the night, we were hanging out on the patio and Breadman said, "You know, me and K went on a couple of fishing trips, and each time, she caught more fish than I did!"

Hertz commented, "Breadman, are you trying to tell us that your girlfriend has bigger balls than you?"

Sheepishly, he agreed. "Yeah, I guess..."

All in all it was a fun night. I came in third so I walked away with my buy in plus a little extra.


Friday, September 23, 2005

I'm drinking again... I'm on my seventh cold glass of gin oh, oooh... these lyrics are probably wrong, but they usually are on these things.

Yep, I'm drunk.

Not because I'm sad, but I have to work the weekend, and I'd rather be hung over on a Saturday at work than anything.

So here are some pictures of me when I've been drunk...

So here I am in the UN General Assembly, drunk off my ass, sitting in the General Secretary's chair.

This was the buffet concert last year, man was I fucking wasted.
Me and the crew at Caroline's with Carlos Mencia.

Joe and I down in Ft. Myers...
Madrid 2005

Madrid, a few hours later.

Enough blogging, I need some sleep.


Wednesday, September 21, 2005

I think a Ferrarri is a scaled down version of... God. And a Porsche 911 is just a jumped up version of a Volkswagen Beetle...

So here I am, housesitting once again, watering the near dead lawn and garden, watching Top Gear, and eating the last of my parent's food. One thing that struck me as I perused the near empty fridge and tupperware stocked freezer, I realized how much my parent's cooking really sucks.

Case in point...

I was driving to the 'rent's house from work delighted with the thought that they have a grill and I was in the mood for a good steak. Grills are prohibited in my apartment complex despite having a neat balcony at the bachelor pad so the joy of outdoor gilling on this fantastic evening is an experience I cannot have at my apartment. On the way to the house, I picked up a rib eye, some fresh herbs, and some name brand side dish as I remembered the pantry is devoid of any good condements and/or spices.

And that's when I realized how bad my parents are at cooking.

If the pots they own suck, as well as the cutlery, and the spice selection, then the prowress in the culinary arts that my parents should have is severely lacking.

How depressing.

I guess that's why when I moved out at the tender age of 26 (hey, I travelled for a large part of my adult life, so why pay rent? Live at home...) I took a fascination with cooking. I got myself a decent set of cutlery, a set of Emeril's cookware, and have half a bookshelf full of cook books. Plus, my overwhelmingly huge crush on Rachel Ray helps in cooking meals in less than 30 minutes.

On a side note, I would like to point out my dad's fascination with socket timers.

Almost every light in the house, save for the kitchen, dining room, and bathroom lights are on timers. This is to deter potential thieves from thinking the house is unoccupied. However, having the living room lights or the upstairs bedroom light turn on at three in the morning everyday, in my opinion, really doesn't engender a feeling of "all is normal at JC's 'rent's house." It must leave a sense of severe insomnia for the occupance to any casual observer. If there are any at three in the morning.

What does this have to do with my chosen title of today's post. Nothing really, but I do suggest you all watch Top Gear.

Cheers all.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

You sorry? I've got some old man's chopsticks stuck up my ass and all you can say is sorry?

It's not a good sign when you're sitting at work surfing so I decided to head over to the cafeteria to grab a cup of crappy coffee and bug Wiggums. The Big Dongster, who happens to be the tallest Asian I know, sat down at the same table and started to eat a late lunch.

Out came the little tupperware containter in which was a simple salad: romaine lettuce, cherry tomatoes, red onions, and mushrooms, quite a tasty looking salad I must add. Next came the little container of what looked like ranch dressing, but what amazed me the most about this little scene of Big Dongster's lunch setup was the fact that he whipped out a pair of chopsticks and began to eat his salad.

"Chopsticks and salad, huh? Interesting concept..." I said.

Wiggums stopped chewing the sandwich that me and the other guys got him despite the fact that it was the wrong sandwich order (I think Hertz ate the sandwich originally meant for Wiggums). "You'd be surprised, it's easier to eat a salad with chopsticks than with a knife and fork." Interesting he'd say that as he was the only white guy I know who lived in an Asian country (Japan) who DIDN'T come back married. Add that to the fact that he's probably the only guy I know who lived overseas and DIDN'T go "native" either. So that statement was a bit of a shock coming from him.

But then I started to think about what they were saying...

Consider this...

Everytime I eat a salad, I tend to get too much lettuce and shit crammed onto the fork than I can eat. A pair of chopsticks would prevent the accidental overstuffing of rabbit food into my mouth. It would make distributing salad ressing easier as you could conceivably dip individual pieces of salad into the salad dressing. (As demonstrated in this photo grabbed from the vast internet.)


As I was contemnplating this fact, the Big Dongster added that he eats everything with chopsticks: salad, both sticky and non sticky rice, and Kentucky Fried Chicken.

As most nutritional anthropologists would say, the idea of the chopstick is to reduce the amount of work needed to eat and enjoy a meal. Somehow eating KFC with chopsticks would refute that idea.


Thursday, September 15, 2005

Years later, a doctor will tell me that I have an I.Q. of 48 and am what some people call mentally retarded.

Saturday, Hertz, The Kim, and I, headed down to Philly to meet up with some of Hertz's friends to catch the Phillies/Marlins game and then later go to Market Street to hit the bars. Normally, I worry about little jaunts like this as the three of us tend to drink rather heavily and I really don't know anyone down there. But Hertz, in his infinite wisdowm, decided that he'd drive there and back. It was an offer me and The Kim could not refuse.

So we head down to the city of brotherly love, first stopping by Hertz's friend A's house. We immediately hop over to a house party to pick up his other friend, an Indian dude whose name I completely forgot, pounded a few beers, and played a kick ass game of wiffle ball. Afterwards, with less than thirty minutes until the first pitch, we headed to Philly proper to go to the game.

I must admit, I am not a baseball fan, but seeing the game live is sooooo much better than watching it on television. The Marlins won, and we rushed back to Hertz's car to get changed for the night on the town.

Before we left the parking lot, Hertz asked The Kim, "Dude, I'm not familiar with this town so you need to help me leave..."

"No problem," The Kim said, and we left the stadium to head down to Market street.

We get to downtown, and we are met by more of Hertz's buddy's friends. Our little group of six grew to a group of twenty, consisting mostly of Indian chicks. Interesting, I thought as we headed to the bars in this group straight out of Mumbai (Bombay for those uninitiated).

This is where things get fuzzy...

First off, I realized I really don't make that much money when someone from the group orders twenty Coronas and twenty SoCo and lemon shots. A rather large bar tab ensues where I imbibe something close to six Goose and Tonics and The Kim downs a shit load of Coronas and Patron shots.

Needless to say, we end up closing the bar.

The Kim and I stumble out of the bar with the sober, yet tired, Hertz guiding us back to the parking deck. Mysteriously, the fire alarm was tripped at the parking deck, so we had to huff up eight flights of stairs to get to my buddy's G35. Once I hit the back seat, I was passed out.

Take note, that was at 3AM.

I was awaken sometime later by Hertz screaming and pounding on the steering column.

"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! I just want to find the fucking Turnpike so we can get home! I've been driving around and I can't find the fucking Turnpike. You guys are fucking passed out, and I don't want to fall asleep at the wheel!"

In the front seat, The Kim was awoken. "Huh?" he said.

Just as The Kim woke up, there was a sign for the NJ Turnpike.

It was 4AM.

It took Hertz an hour to cross the Delaware and get to the Turnpike. A distance of about 10 miles. What the fuck?

Confused, drunk, and sleepy, I just nodded off, hoping that we don't crash into a pole.

When we got back to Somerset, I could see the sun start to rise.

Man, I haven't done something like that since I was twenty five.

Man, I'm too old for this shit.

Cheers all

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Let me give you a little advice so you know. In times of economic uncertainty, never ever fuck with another man's livelihood.

So I'm house-sitting the 'rent's homestead as they are away on vacation in the Phillipines. While the thought of having to water my dad's lawn and my mom's flower bushes twice a week, the prospect of free gasoline ("Go ahead and use my Speedpass while we're away..." Dad said) and eating all of my parents' food does outweigh the downsides of the deal.

With the recent rash of all my friends buying up townhomes whilst driving themselves into a 30 year debt has me thinking that my bachelor pad is getting quite small, my parents' home seems so empty with just my lonesome self wandering the halls of this quaint manor. Okay, it's not a manor, just a four bedroom one and a half bath house. But now that I have turned the big three oh and feeling exactly the same way as I was when I hit the big two nine or the big two eight, I ask myself, am I just taking advantage of my situation.

Here's food for thought.

My friend The Kim, who looks like a spitting image of Odd Job from James Bond or Random Task from Austin Powers, recently moved his family from Korea back to the States, once again reuniting the dynamic duo who terrorized Taiwan when his wife was away. Anyway, I was driving him around in my car and he was asking about how much it was and I told him.

"Man, you single guys have so much fucking money..."

Later on that day, I was talking to PA and T and they were lamenting about the rising cost of gasoline and their commutes. PA drives all the way from Fort Lee, NJ to Somerset, and T from east bumblefuck Pennsyltucky. It has gotten so bad that PA is giving up his prized possession of his Audi because a) the insurance is too high, b) the gas is too expensive, and c) he can't stand having his wife drive a better car than he does (his wife took the Audi after they moved here from Minnesoooooota so he now drives a crappy Maxima)

I advised him to get a Civic Hybrid if he feels that gas is too expensive.

"Too much money, and they don't have any power..." he replied.

T and myself looked at each other and laughed. "Dude, you can't get good gas milage and get good power at the same time..."

It was then that PA started into this whole, "if I were single again..." crap that made me, Wiggums, and T, laugh.

So as I walk around this empy house in my boxers, devising a way of being able to buy a house only if I win the lottery, I realize that things may not be so bad.

But we'll see.

Cheers all