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Not so glad to be back.
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8/31/2004
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You know what the worst part is about being on vacation? The last two days of vacation. Those are the two days when I know everything is coming to an end, and I start worrying about the wall of shit that is going to hit me when I get back to work.
I spent the beginning of last week flyfishing the rivers of Utah. Not all of them, just the ones that had no fish in them. Sure, my buddy Russ caught one every thirty seconds or so, but I managed to keep them at bay with my horrible cast and complete inability to set a hook. I think Russ brought them with him or something. Russ sucks for outfishing me on my vacation.
I also discovered that walking in wading boots on mossy rocks in three feet of cold water is a lot harder than you think. Factor in the lack of oxygen at that altitude, divide by the amount of exercise I have not gotten in the past year, and you have me stumbling around in a river, gasping for air while the fish swim away and my fishing buddies laugh at me.
My niece and nephew provided entertainment while I was at my sister Tamara's house. I found out that Lincoln Logs are way cooler than they were when I was a kid. I also found out that they still aren't edible.
We went to a rodeo, and I sat and took pictures of people with mullets. One of them came out all blurry like that famous picture of the sasquatch. I plan on selling it to the enquirer for a million dollars and then moving to either Chicago or Idaho. I'll keep you updated. The following weekend they were having the gay rodeo. Two thoughts came to my head immediately- the first was "what kind of crowd will a gay rodeo draw in Davis County, Utah?" The second one was "hey...now that I think about it, aren't all cowboys a little gay?" Just something I have a feeling about.
The next morning I saw a headline in the local newspaper- "Davis County Man Kidnapped, Robbed, Forced to shop." Apparently the kidnappers held him at gunpoint and forced him to go shopping at target. I don't know how he handled it, but I'm sure the phrase "wouldn't you guys rather just rape me or something?" came up on the way to the store.
I had my "friend" Dave take care of my animals while I was gone. They lived and seemed healthy, if a bit skittish (they say it's contagious). I deeply appreciate him doing this for me. In fact, that exact thought was going through my mind as I opened up the fridge for a cold beer. Draped over the bottle was what appeared to be a used condom. Did Dave have sex with my refrigerator while I was gone? Wouldn't put it past him.
In order to determine whether it was a prank, I had to first determine what was in the condom. I'm still not sure...
...but it tasted sort of like ranch dressing.
 Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 9:04 PM |
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The Meathead Perspective
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8/17/2004
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Here are a few things I have gotten away with at work-
- Calling my boss a fuckwad in a meeting. In the nicest possible way, of course.
- While a group of five or so people were having a heated discussion about appropriate dress and behavior, I sprinted past them, yelling inappropriately, with no shirt on. Yes, in the office. If you ever want to get a feeling of velocity, sprint through forty rows of cubicles. If you want to make sure others share your glee, do it sans shirt.
- Pretending to urinate in a cup while standing in my cube as folks toured the office. It's very convincing if done correctly.
- Making sobbing/screaming noises from inside the bathroom stall while grown men were trying to pee.
- Pushing the elevator button, farting into it when it arrives, and sending it on its way. With a prize inside.
Here are a few things I plan on doing as the dementia progresses-
- Introducing a high quality multi-media presentation (designed and produced by me) to the CEO, CTO, and all VP's about our company, but doing all of the sound effects with my mouth (very poorly). This one is coming in the next couple of weeks or so. Don't tell anyone.
- Buying a pair of adult sized grranimals or underoos and dropping trou all the way to my ankles while standing at the urinal, shirt tucked neatly under my chin. (It will be a while before I am sufficiently insane to pull this one off).
- Bursting into tears the next time someone doesn't like a concept. I've actually done this before, but not in an effort to be funny.
In other news, Rick James died, bitch. So did that one old lady who cooked and had the shaky voice. Not your grandmother, the famous one.
I saw on t.v. that some scientists speculate that there could be as many as 20 Woolly Mammoths still surviving in the world.
I sure hope so, because they look delicious.
I was talking to a waitress the other night and she asked me to tell her something only a few people know about me. I told her I was a nudist.
"why do you have clothes on?" she asked.
"I'm streaking." I replied.
This guy from the AJC called to interview me for an article he is writing. We talked about me somehow falling into a paying writing gig after starting an online diary and he said the article would be in Saturday's paper. Of course I told everyone to look for it, so when it wasn't there they all thought I was a liar. My dad says I owe him 50 cents. It finally came out in the Aug. 17 paper. I'd say go read it, but it amounts to about four sentences (most of the article was written about much more interesting people, and rightfully so), and they got the URL for my site wrong. They also put it in the "metro" section, even though I made it very clear that I was only metro-curious. Of all the honorable places I'd like to see that article, my mom's refrigerator still does and always will top the list.
Next week you'll probably have to cry into your hands, as I will be on vacation in Utah and probably won't update this thing. Of course, I'm going out there to hang with my sister's family, and my niece and nephew and I have big plans to draw pictures and play with the dog. I'm also going flyfishing with my friend Russ, and one of us usually does something funny/illegal/dangerous when we get together, so I might have some of the best material ever.
Even better than what you just read? Hey, anything's possible.
Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 8:54 AM |
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All Funked Up
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8/11/2004
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If you missed Funkfest, you missed one hell of a party. You also missed having me sign your breast, but you are not alone. Many people declined my breast signing offers, and it's not something you can sneak up and do without them noticing, either. As usual, I was ready to go home by about 11 pm, but not because the party sucked. More because I suck. I even took a nap that day because I knew I'd be up late. It didn't work.
A guy approached me at the tee-shirt/poster booth and said in a southern accent that made me a bit uncomfortable, "You that one Pork Salami guy from the blog thang?"
"err..yes."
"You need to grow some balls, man."
"Nice to meet you, too..."
"Seriously, man. Grow some." (this sentence made me smile for some reason- like I could just make a strained face and you'd hear two popping sounds as they sprouted.)
"What makes you say that?" I asked him innocently.
"I put a comment up there and you erased it. That's fuckin' weak, man."
"What was the comment?"
"Somethin' about you bein' a idiot..."
At this point, I ponder for a moment, wondering if I should congratulate this obvious mental skyscraper on his ability to use a 'puter, or start confusing him. I chose the latter, as I traditionally do.
"What's your name?"
"Matt"
"Do you know how many pages there are on the Internet, Melissa?"
Matt stared at me for a second, wondering if I just called him Melissa "...hell if I know, but that ain't the point."
"Whoa, Fury, you don't know what point I am making. There are about 3 billion pages on the internet, give or take a few million. If you take away the ones you can't access, can't post content on, and so on, I'd say you have about 2 billion pages that you can post any kind of insult you want to about me, but you can't do it on my page."
"...you can't...bahhzjuk. Onna' that gawna just fukkin' be a MAN."
Having been put squarely in my place by the "be a man" comment, I responded, "Run along before you hurt yourself, Lisa." and gave him my last free drink ticket. Say something mean and do something nice- another useful technique. He wasn't sure if we were friends or not, but I was. We're best pals forever. Look for your friendship bracelet in the mail, Matt.
That was the only non-happy person I saw that night. The energy of the crowd was excellent, and everybody grew more friendly with each passing beer- er...hour. There were live breakdancers and everything. Live break-dancers are much more entertaining than dead ones. That rule goes double for hookers, in case you were wondering.
Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 9:17 AM |
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Scent of a Womanizer
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8/3/2004
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Women smell fantastic. If I didn't think I'd get the tazer, I'd walk around and sniff girls everywhere I went. I guess this has something to do with their overstocked showers.
My shower contains a bar of soap, a washrag, and on some days, me. That's as many as three things, depending on what kind of math you use. Girls don't usually like shacking up at their boyfriend's house for a million reasons- we're not very clean, we never have any food, our roommates stare at their boobs, etc. Plus, when a girl stays for the night, she has to pack a u-haul with her showering equipment.
When a guy uses a girl's shower he is overwhelmed. There's barely enough room in there to bathe. There are anywhere from twelve to ninety bottles that look like shampoo (but aren't), a whole bunch of things that are presumably used to scrub one's skin, scented candles, and the ever present "Exxxo-ssage hydro pleasure wand 6000®".
Whatever that is.
I guess the shrine to women's hygiene that is their shower should be kept sacred, but I broke the trust a couple of weeks ago and decided to find out just what the hell this stuff is. I'll share this information in case anyone else is curious.
I don't own a bottle of shampoo. My hair is about 1/8" long, so I don't need it. She had some kind of thermally activated hyperbody fullness action stuff that came in THREE SEPARATE BOTTLES. Like a starter, a catalyst for the chemical reaction, and the third was probably a neutralizer in case the whole thing gets out of hand. It also smelled exactly like peach preserves. It is a miracle how something that smells so delicious can taste so much like poison. In fact, it will create blisters on any mucous membrane it comes in contact with. It did make my armpit hair unusually full and manageable, though.
The next thing that caught my eye was the chamomile jasmine berry morning mist delight bullshit face scrub exfoliant. It was in a beautiful package, and even had little thingies floating in it. I didn't bother tasting it, since my eyes still burned from the "agent peach". I squeezed a small amount on my hand and started exfoliating. Let's not worry about what I chose to exfoliate. What I will say is that this stuff contains tiny bits of broken glass, and exfoliating a prisoner of war would be in violation of the Geneva Convention. I was worried that someone had broken into her house and sabotaged her tube of soap, so I threw it in the toilet and looked for a way to stop the bleeding.
I had been in the shower for ten minutes by now, and still hadn't gotten clean. There was nothing there that looked like soap, and even the stuff that was soap didn't say, "soap" on the bottle anywhere. It was all green gel infused with cantaloupe farts and rainbows, "hydrating body wash" and so on. She also had a couple of little puffy scrubby things that seemed to be a hybrid between a corncob and a sponge, so I grabbed one of those, put a few drops of purple soap substitute on it, and tried my luck.
Now I'm starting to figure out that this chick must be in to some kinky pain kind of stuff. The scrubby thing looked soft and luxurious, but felt like a belt sander. She must have heard my screams, because shortly there was a knock at the door and I heard her say "You all right in there?" I would have used my "hey, come on in and let's save some water" line, but I was actually in considerable pain (my skin glowing bright red from the irritation) and I didn't want her to know I had been using her $20 shampoo.
I felt sort of bad for desecrating the very place that she goes to get herself smelling so good, so when I peed, I made sure it went right in the drain.
Cause I'm a gentleman like that, you know.
Dusty
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posted by Dusty at 9:38 PM |
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