Hey.

I missed everybody.

I’ve been informed, several times, that I need to quit fucking around and update my blog.

I can explain, baby.

This is what John "Hannibal" Smith would refer to as "A Plan Coming Together". It's what I call "The reason I will never wear sweatpants to school".

First of all, not that it’s any of your fucking business, but I’m back in school. It’s fun. I don’t have to wear a tie, and when someone takes out a cellphone and starts texting, I don’t have to slap it out of their hand. It’s officially way more relaxing to be sitting in a desk and taking notes than it is to be standing up at the front and teaching. The only weird thing about it is that everyone is 21 years old, relegating me to the role of “creepy older guy in the back with a visible erection”.

Deal with it, college girls. It’s just the way it is. If you have a problem with it, stop being so hot.

Don’t worry, college boys. There’s plenty of creepy to go around.

Anyway, I’m trying something new in school and doing my work instead of blowing it off and looking at Internet porn, except when I’m looking for pictures for my blog posts, and it’s really cutting into my blogging time. Also, I’m sorry that I told you that it wasn’t any of your fucking business. It’s just that I think it’s really funny to say that.

Second of all, I have a problem. When I write in my blog and people don’t view it or post comments, I get nervous and worry that I’m putting uninteresting material up online and everyone is rolling their eyes because I’m a hack.

On the other hand, when people do view it and give me lots of positive feedback, I freeze up. I’m unable to tap out a paragraph without worrying that it’s not funny or interesting enough, and then frantically deleting it to avoid the shame of a sub-par blog post, because, you know, blogging is a medium well known for it’s consistent high quality.

I know that I can’t have it both ways and have people ignore my blog or tell me that I need to keep writing in it. I’m just trying to explain to you what locks me up sometimes.

Not that it’s any of your fucking business.

Lastly, as you know, I wrote my post about Dating on craigslist where I put a fake ad. Here’s the problem: Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but some people responded to it. A few of them even appeared to know that I was being facetious, and I have no idea where to go from there. I’m not really sure I want to contact with them, so I don’t know how to respond to them, or to reply at all, or what to think of the whole thing. I’m also not sure what I want to write about it.

I’ll figure something out.

I guess it doesn’t matter. I have more important things to worry about.

As anyone who knows me knows, I have a child-like fixation on my junk.

A picture of some balls. They're made out of brass. Get it? They're bra...oh, you get it. Okay.

Anyone who knows me is also aware of the fact that I feel compelled to post as much information about it as I can on the Internet. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned over the past few years, it’s this: You can never have too much awkward, uncomfortable personal information that you wouldn’t want everybody to know about you available somewhere where everybody can see it.

Combine the two things, and the results vary. Sometimes I feel obligated to share how my scrotum is starting to show it’s age and react to gravity the same way that taffy reacts to the sun, and that I need to consider some reconstructive surgery. Sometimes it’s about the strange things I yell while I’m wailing on it. I remember an older post (back from the days when I used my real name as my blog name) where I detailed the way that a hole in one pair of my boxer shorts was working as a trap door that my balls were frequently falling through.

It’s only appropriate, then, that I tell you a moving story of my most recent adventures with my precious little sack of jewels.

It all began about two months ago: Terrible, terrible itching, in the area that I would describe as my “jock”. It wasn’t constant, but when it was bothering me, it was extremely uncomfortable.

My good friend google and I did some research, and it turns out that the itching sensation I was experiencing around my jock was something commonly known as “jock itch”. It’s apparently brought on by excessive sweating that allows fungus that’s normally all over your skin to grow at a higher concentration in these dark, sweaty areas.

You know why I put this image in here? Because of all the images that come up when you google "jock itch", this is the most hilarious by far.

This is problematic for me. During the morning and evening, it’s just a nuisance, but I work with children for a living. Children who are focusing their attention on me for long periods of time because I’m standing at the front of the classroom and talking to them. Needless to say, it makes my day a lot more challenging when I’m trying to get a room of sixth graders to shut the fuck up so I can teach them how to multiply fractions and all I can think about is how badly I want to just go hog wild on my balls. There’s no discrete way to do it.

I spent a few days puzzling over my problem. My first idea was that I should figure out a way to control the sweating. There seemed to be very little that I could do to keep that part of my body from getting really sweaty. Sweating is something that I take incredibly seriously, and with the summer approaching, I’m at the mercy of the elements. I decided that the ideal situation would involve some sort of harness that kept my balls as far up as possible combined with some really well-ventilated pants.

Unfortunately, the fact remained that I work with children for a living, and although the dress code is fairly casual, mesh hot pants with a harness for my balls would probably cross the “conversation with the principal” line, hurdle the “lose my job” line, and then go crashing over the “mandatory jail time” line.

If only there was some sort of substance that was designed to prevent areas that tend to sweat a lot from sweating as much.

Then, it hit me while I was using deodorant: I should use some deodorant.

I spent some time worrying about it, though.

My first concern: Would it even work, or would it just injure me? I have stupid plans like this all of the time, and usually, instead of fixing the problem, they make it much worse. Sure, the chances that I’d be taking a 2AM trip to the E.R. with deoderant-inflicted third degree burns all over my genitals seemed slim, but was that really a conversation that I wanted to have with a nurse?

My second concern: Cross contamination. I’m kind of lost in space a lot of the time, and it would be just like me to use my special junk deodorant in my armpits. How uncomfortable would I be with the prospect of rubbing something on my balls AND in my armpits?

"Hey Kids! Use me to fight plaque AND uncomfortable itching 'down there'! What could possibly go wrong?!"

Not very, apparently, because then I just said “Fuck it” and did it. If my armpits don’t have an allergic reaction to deodorant, why should my balls? And cross contamination isn’t really that much of a problem when it’s between your armpits and your crotch. Both areas are filthy, sweaty parts of the body. If I were considering using a toothbrush that I might accidentally forget about and put in my mouth or rubbing my contacts on my neither regions, it would probably be a different story, but that wasn’t the plan. Besides, in all my years, I have not once found myself thinking “Good lord, my balls are far too dry and good smelling! It’s like a sport-talc scented desert down there! This won’t do at all!” A little deodorant might do them some good.

And, strangely enough, it did. It fixed the problem in less than 24 hours. No trips to the hospital or unpleasant tasting toothbrushes in my mouth. Good stuff.

Anyway, now that I’ve made my triumphant return to blogging with a post about why I haven’t been blogging and how I cured a bad case of jock itch, I think it’s time for a little breather. I’ll make an honest effort for Monday/Wednesday/Friday posts, because I think I might be JUST not lazy enough to pull it off.

Take Care.

-CBF-

(I am taking a tour of Internet dating to see what it’s all about. More details here.)

Craigslist: The Ladies

I’ve started my adventures with craigslist.com, because it’s easy to look over all of the personals without having to sign up for anything.

I started with the “Women Seeking Men” in my area of the state.

So far, it’s not looking good.

Based on the personal ads that I’m reading, some generalizations about the heterosexual female dating community in my area can be made:

• They love camping.
• They are laid back and fun loving.
• They hate drama.
• They do not enjoy head games.
• They are looking for someone who is honest.
• They enjoy music and movies.
• They require that you have a good sense of humor
• You must be able to enjoy their sarcastic, strong, honest, or some other code word for “bitchy” personality.

I say that if you were to select a random “woman seeking man” post on cragislist, there is a 100% chance that one of these things will be in it, a 90% chance that two or more of these facts will be in it, and somewhere around a 50% chance that you will find all seven of these bits of information contained in the post.

Lets go over this list.

Loves Camping:

I don’t have much to say about this. It just surprises me that everyone loves camping so much, or that they think that it will be vital information to know if you want to date them. It’s a very specific activity that everyone with an Internet connection and a vagina seems to be gung-ho about. Then again, maybe this IS important. Here’s a conversation I had with my friend Dan about this:

(03:45:30 PM) Johnny: and camping.
(03:45:36 PM) Johnny: I don’t know what the fuck to make of that one.
(03:45:58 PM) Johnny: But about 90% of the ads mention how much they adore camping.
(03:46:45 PM) Danny: It’s because it’s Colorado
(03:46:57 PM) Danny: They think it makes them outdoorsy and sexy or something
(03:47:00 PM) Johnny: So? It’s camping.
(03:47:04 PM) Danny: I bet most of them don’t really like camping.
(03:47:13 PM) Danny: But maybe I’m high.
(03:47:16 PM) Johnny: Even if we lived in Germany, I wouldn’t think ethnic cleansing was a turn on.
(03:47:19 PM) Danny: Maybe it’s like a code-word for something.
(03:47:34 PM) Johnny: Hopefully ass play.

Yes. Hopefully ass play indeed.

Laid Back and Fun Loving:

The North American Grizzly, worked into an unstoppable lather brought on by the smell of sweet, virgin hole. The grizzly can detect this scent from up to ten miles away. Once locked on to the object of his frenzied bear-lust, even the sweetest lake trout won't divert him.

I am fine with this, except that it’s way too fucking vague.

Everybody is laid back…about things that don’t piss them off. I’m at least five minutes late to almost any event where I’m not getting paid to be there, but usually closer to thirty. You might say that I’m very laid back about punctuality. Then again, I’ve dated several girls who respond to my constant tardiness with emotions ranging from mild irritation to murderous rage. Call it what you will, their response is not “laid back”. I’m pretty laid back about wearing pants as well. On the other hand, I’m pretty anal about good oral hygiene, and when someone couldn’t care less about something but tells me that they “could care less”, I want to punch them.

We all have different things that we can shrug off and be “laid back” about and things that piss us off. What you’re actually saying is “I’m laid back about the things I’m laid back about”. If only I knew what those things were, perhaps by way of the personal ad that you put up.

Fun loving is more of the same. It seems like a neat quality at first, until you consider this: How many people do you know who wouldn’t describe themselves as “fun loving”?  Nobody. Everybody on the planet identifies themselves as “fun loving”, they all just have different definitions of fun. Saying “I love fun” is kind of like saying “I like things that I like”.

Really? You like things that are fun? Stop the fucking presses! It is SO refreshing to find someone who doesn’t just like fun, but loves it! I don’t know where you find the courage to admit that you think fun things are fun.

Oh wait…everybody has a different idea of “fun”, as evidenced by the fact that most of these people also like camping. (Camping, for those of you who don’t know, is an activity where you sleep on rocks without hot water or Internet so you can wipe your ass with pine cones and risk getting raped by a bear (thank you, Tarina.)

No Use For Drama Or Head Games:

Sorry, Ben Watson. Ray Lewis loves playing games. FULL THROTTLE!!!

Another revelation, to be certain.

First, it’s like “Laid back” and “Fun loving”. You aren’t saying anything useful.

Nobody identifies themselves as “Looking for a lot of drama” or “A strong proponent of head games”, so you’re not actually telling anyone anything that they didn’t already know (Actually, you’re saying more than you think you are, but you’re not sending the message that you intend to – more on that in a second).

Second, nobody that creates drama or plays “games” realizes that they’re doing it, except maybe sociopaths, who will respond to your ad no matter what it says anyway. I’ve had to deal with drama and games in various relationships that I’ve been in, and when I’m on the receiving end of it, even though it always pisses me off, it has never seemed like the person was making a conscious decision to deliberately fuck with me.

In hindsight, I’ve done my fair share of it as well, and I never said to myself at the time “I am going to be dramatic,” or “It’s game time! DEFENSE WINS CHAMPIONSHIPS!!!”

Finally, any time I hear anyone say that they hate drama and games, it always sets off a little alarm in my head that lets me know that I need to run like hell, because nobody actually ever says this unless they’re actually always balls deep in drama and head games. It’s just the way it is.

Must be Honest:

Oh, you don’t want to date a compulsive liar? Well, it’s a good thing that you put that in your personal ad. If you didn’t, a deceitful person might respond to the ad. This is sure to drive all of the liars away, though.

Enjoy Music and Movies:

Always a bonus. I also enjoy these things. Tell me this, though: Do you enjoy them as much as you enjoy fun?

Enjoy a Good Sense of Humor:

So do I, but everybody thinks that they have a good sense of humor, because if you thought you had a bad sense of humor, you would think that the things you find humorous aren’t actually funny, which is kind of like saying “I think this thing that I think is true is not true”. And nobody is going to say “I would reply to this ad, but unfortunately, I have a terrible sense of humor. The things that I find funny are actually stupid.”

Must be willing to put up with their “Strong”, “Sarcastic” or “Honest” personality:

I’ve never met anybody that I consider genuinely sarcastic that would tell you that they are sarcastic. Normally, when a person is quick to point out how sarcastic or strong or honest their personality is, it’s because they frequently have to defend themselves from accusations that they are a bitch, usually because they are a bitch.

This includes men.

The Verdict:

Dan put it best: “Craigslist is good for finding something I would buy at a garage sale in front of a trailer. I don’t look for girls at garage sales, so no Craigslist for me”.

Well, I’m not Dan, so I fired up my word processor and concocted an ad, that, if my research is correct, will have me up to my elbows in single ladies within the day. Here’s the link, but just in case it gets flagged for some strange reason:

I hate drama almost as much as I love fun! – 29 (Northern Colorado)

Ladies, I’m not going to lie: I’m a lonely husk of a man. I’ve researched what women are looking for on craigslist, though, and I think that maybe we can make a connection!

Let me start by telling you a little about myself!

Are you tired of men who are indifferent towards fun or even hate fun? You’re in luck! I am laid back and fun LOVING! It’s true! I love fun!

Not only that, I love camping! Canned food, weird smelling tents, uncomfortable, dreamless sleep and deadly animals longing to feast on my flesh – All I can think about when I’m at home in the shower or sleeping in my own bed instead of on some dirt at a forty five degree angle is how much I hate it and wish I was back out in the woods wearing the same pair of underwear for the third day in a row!

I also love movies and music! Unusual, I know! Please send me a list of your favorite movies and music, because I think that they are good indicators of how compatible we will be!

I know what you’re thinking: This is too good to be true! You’re right, more right than you may know, in fact, but it gets even better: I am honest AND funny! Those are both objective qualities that I couldn’t claim I had unless it were true! I am hilarious, and I am always honest, especially when I tell you that I am honest! There is no way I could be lying about it; that would be dishonest, which I just made clear I am not!

And now, the things I don’t like: Drama and head games. I know this comes a little bit out of left field, but it’s true. I don’t like it when people start fights with me for no reason or try to manipulate me. I know that’s unusual, so I made sure to be specific about it.

That’s it! I’m looking forward to hearing from you soon!

Swarm, ladies! SWARM!!!

Now, let me be honest with you for a second (I’m honest, remember?) The picture below isn’t me. I just know that no one will view this unless it has a pic in it, so please enjoy this picture of teenage heart throb Ben Matlock!

• Location: Northern Colorado
• it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 1156346598

Bring on the ‘tang!!!

Number 4.

(You’ll notice that I didn’t put my “-CBF-” at the top of this post. There aren’t any inappropriate pictures in this post, per se, but I think that Brett Farve is a butthole, so I wanted to give all of you fair warning.)

So I was at the gym today, watching T.V.

NFL Live was on, which was a pleasant surprise. I like football, and believe it or not, they cover it at great length on NFL Live. The season doesn’t start for a few more months, so I assumed that there wouldn’t be anything too exciting on – maybe a few stories about trades and the draft, probably a bunch of predictions about how the season would play out.

And then my heart sank.

Why, you ask?

I see this guy's face on T.V. more than I see my own dick.

Because Brett Fucking Favre had a meeting with the coach of the Minnesota Vikings today about possibly playing for them next year.

And just like that, any hope I had of getting any news about football that didn’t have to do with Brett Favre between now and the beginning of the season got flushed down the toilet.

Whoop!

For a long time, I didn’t mind Brett Favre. He seemed like a pretty decent guy, he’s a first ballot hall of fame quarterback, he played for the Packers, who the Broncos almost never play, and he played a big role in the Broncos’ first superbowl win. The picture to your right is of him fumbling the football. It’s hard to tell from this picture, but he is fumbling because Steve Atwater almost decapitated him with this hit.

See what I mean? What’s not to like?

For a long time, nothing.

And then, a few years ago, my troubles began.

Tearful goodbyes.

Have you ever seen a Friday the 13th movie or maybe Halloween? You know how something happens to the villain that convinces you that he’s dead? They set him on fire, decapitate him, entomb him in concrete and then shoot him into the sun? And yet, thirty seconds later he jumps through the window with a machete and the protagonist’s love interest’s head?

Yeah. It’s kind of like that.

In 2006, Favre announced at the beginning of the year that it would be his final season playing football. The media was instantly flooded with retrospectives and tributes sucking Favre’s dick for an incredible career, which is fair: Statistically, he’s one of the greatest quarterbacks of all time.

Then, towards the end of the season, he decided that he would stay beyond the 2006 season. There was much rejoicing in Green Bay.

In 2007, he said at the end of the season that he would decide quickly if he was going to retire, which meant that ESPN spent almost all of it’s time speculating as to whether this would be the year that Brett Favre called it quits.

After several weeks of that shit, he decided that he would be back for 2008, which started a whole new onslaught of breaking news.

Getting sick of this yet?

In 2008, Favre formally announced his retirement in a tearful statement. Once again, every outlet for sports related news was saturated with shit about what an amazing career Favre had enjoyed.

Later in 2008, he decided to un-retire. Green Bay didn’t want him back, so he played for the Jets. It was huge news that the Packers were trading their franchise quarterback of 16 years (albeit their retired one), and so the media focused all of their energy on Favre’s moves leading up to his trade and then his move to the Jets. If he ate a sandwich, it was reported on ESPN. If he neutered his dog, they would spend an hour dissecting the move on Sports Center.

At the end of the 2008 season that started with promise but ended in disappointment (including a 34-17 home loss to a woefully inept Denver Broncos team that couldn’t even make it over .500 that year) , Favre announced his retirement, claiming that this was it. He wasn’t fucking around this time. The media was appropriately respectful of this momentous occasion; They made sure to bombard every form of sports news with tributes to his decorated career.

Which brings us to today on the treadmill when I found out that asshole was thinking of coming back. Not coming back for sure – oh no, a concrete decision like that wouldn’t require updates every 6 minutes. Coming back for maybe.

There he is again!

I know that it was stupid of me, but I was thinking that maybe, possibly, there was a chance that this year, Brett Favre would stay retired so I could maybe, just maybe, watch ESPN without watching Tony Kornheiser and John Clayton argue about Favre’s motivation for returning to football and the implications for the division.

See how annoying this is?

No such luck, though; if I try to follow sports at all, I’m not going to be able to open a paper, log on to a website or turn on a T.V. without that motherfucker staring back at me. At the end of the season, there will undoubtedly be more tearful goodbyes and speculation about his return.

Brett, you’re a character, and it’s fun to watch you play, especially when it involves you choking against the team I support. You can play until you die of old age for all I care, but for the love of Christ, quit this flip flop shit, because now I will be spending the next three months getting constant updates from ESPN.com that you took a dump at the Texan’s training camp or were driving your car near the Dolphin’s stadium.

God Damn it.

Oh well. At least the Nuggets are playing well, which still shocks me every time they win a game.

(I was cleaning up my posts, and accidentally deleted this one in the process. I copied it off of google cache and posted it again. Sorry to put the same crap up.)

-CBF-

8:15 PM: I have just returned from a run and I am listening to HORSE the Band on my iPod. HORSE the Band is a fairly cookie-cutter hardcore band, but there’s a guy that plays Nintendo sounds on a keyboard while everyone else is screaming. I don’t think that they’re ever going to make it into the rock and roll hall of fame, but they’ve really tapped into a lot of different elements that I like, and so I’m enjoying them immensely.

The music comes to an especially heavy part. Without really thinking about it, I start headbanging. This goes on for a couple of seconds. Suddenly, I stop and take stock of my surroundings: I am sitting on the can, pants around my ankles, a book in my hands, rocking out as hard as I can from a seated position. I wonder what someone would think if there were to see me doing this. The absurdity of the situation sets in. I laugh sheepishly and go back to reading.

I’d like to say that I’ve never had an episode like this before, and that I don’t anticipate it happening again. Unfortunately, neither of those statements are true. This kind of thing happens to me all the time, and I don’t see it stopping anytime soon. I’ve been randomly rocking out in unusual, embarrassing locations for as long as I can remember. Sometimes it’s a conscious decision, but most of the time it’s an involuntary reaction to certain stimulus. These stimuli are terrifyingly common in the average household, making it almost impossible for me to avoid making an ass out of myself. Any combination of the following reduces me to a complete idiot in a matter of seconds:

—

I, Satan, your most unholy overlord command you to slip on the floor and bump your head on the toilet!

1. Metal

Perhaps not incredibly common in most households, but present in an staggering ONE HUNDRED PERCENT of a very specific type of dwelling: “Households that I inhabit”. Double bass drums, screaming, bass guitars with two necks on them – it doesn’t matter where I am, if there’s metal playing, the story always ends the same way: With me choking on my toothbrush or falling naked through a window.

2. Mirrors

Most people use mirrors for practical tasks. They make sure their hair looks like they want it to, or maybe take out their contacts. For the average person, a mirror is a truly useful tool that provides convenience and utility. They don’t know how lucky they are. Put a mirror in front of me, and I am almost physically unable to prevent myself from going full retard. Whether I’m reliving an argument that I had with someone seven years ago, accepting the Lombardi trophy or playing a brutally heavy air bass solo that only I can hear, a mirror is a perfect catalyst for instant embarrassment for me.

3. Isolation

As most of my friends know, I tend to accidentally (and by “accidentally”, I of course mean “on purpose”) say and do inappropriate things, but I do my best to reign things in to avoid looking too stupid in front of other people. Fortunately for everyone else, I’m kind of a hermit, so I’m frequently alone, but as soon as the doors are closed and the blinds are drawn (even if they’re drawn the wrong way), I drop whatever pretense of common sense that I try to pretend to have in public. And my pants. I drop those too.

With nobody to entertain me, I’m left with no choice but to entertain myself. Most of the time I do this with Internet pornography. If there’s not a computer in the room, though, you’ve got two, maybe three minutes tops before I’m drawing a beard on my face with permanent marker and tucking my wang in between my legs.

4. Dangerous objects that I’m likely to injure myself with if I’m not being careful

This one might be faulty data collection on my part. It could be that pretending that I’m in a knife fight with the quarterback of the Oakland Raiders is not as memorable for me when I do it in the ball pit at McDonalds instead of at an abandoned construction site simply because I don’t end up with a rusty nail driven through my scrotum. Nonetheless, I have far more memories of this sort of thing happening when I’m engaging in an activity where carelessness can result in injury.

—

No big deal, right? It’s probably rare to find locations where some combination of those things are present, right? I’m afraid not. Here are some places where combinations of these things are likely to be found:

1. Bathrooms

The bathroom frequently contains mirrors, hard surfaces and slippery floors. It is second only to the kitchen in dangerous object content. Bathrooms also tend to be used one at a time, so there’s a lot of opportunity for isolation (unless, of course, you are lucky enough to find a bathroom with a love toilet installed. What’s a love toilet? I’m glad you asked.)

"Would M'Lady be so kind as to honor me with a blumpkin in exchange for a courtesy flush?" Chivalry - Still alive and kicking!

Fortunately, although the probability that I will badly injure myself while doing something stupid is high, the bathroom tends to be a private location. As long as I don’t forget to lock the door, I probably won’t embarrass myself until I have to explain to the ER doctor how I accidentally got a toothbrush jammed up my butt.

2. Cars

...And now you know why I'm no longer legally allowed to pilot a motor vehicle in the state of Alabama. The worst part? I did this on purpose. What can I say? It seemed like a good idea when I was in the grips of an especially brutal guitar solo.

Driving a car can be an isolated activity. Cars often have stereos in them and cannot even be legally operated without mirrors. Three years ago, someone was stupid enough to steal my incredibly shitty car and gut it, rendering it even shittier than it had been before. I was furious about it at the time, but, in reality, I should probably thank the thieves. The absence of a car stereo has probably prevented me from getting behind the wheel and killing myself hundreds of times, accidentally AND on purpose.

Cars are a punishing one-two punch: It’s one of the most dangerous locations to lose your bearings, and although I’m often alone in them, cars have holes in their frames called “windows” that are filled with a fairly durable but transparent substance known as “glass” that allows people to see me screaming at my empty passenger seat or using my hands to play air guitar instead of holding the steering wheel. I’ve expressed my disgust with windows before, but nobody listens.

3. Kitchens

I grew up in a family where the father was the primary cook. Over the eight year span that I half-assed my way through college, I cooked for five different restaurants. I still enjoy cooking. I spend a lot of time in the kitchen, is what I’m saying.

Unfortunately, it’s also probably the most dangerous place for me to be. When I’m not using knives, I’m handling raw meat, open flame and three hundred and fifty degree cooking oil. Since kitchens rarely have a good way to keep other people out, there’s also a pretty good chance that someone will walk in while I’m rubbing pork chops on my nipples.

(FUN FACT: Of the five restaurants that I worked for in college, an alarming ONE is still in business today. The statistics don’t lie: If you hire me, your company has an 80% chance of going under within five years. Just kidding. It’s probably just a coincidence. Probably.)

—

Those of you that have followed my blogs with any degree of regularity know that I have discussed this before at great length. Why am I bringing it up again?

I’m glad I asked.

While surfing the Internet today, I stumbled on the following video.

First of all, I don’t fuckin’ know where Daddy is, motherfucker.

Second of all, I’m pretty sure that he yells “Tarantula” during the guitar solo.

Third of all, and most importantly, I had to breathe a nervous sigh of relief after watching this clip. Why? Because there are no videos like this of me on the Internet.

Why do you suppose that is? Is it because I don’t have access to the necessary technology? Is it because my strong sense of propriety would prevent me from doing something like that on camera? Is it because I’m too smart to put content on the Internet that could prove to be embarrassing for me?

No, no and NO.

There is one reason and one reason only that there are no videos on the Internet of middle school me screaming at the camera, playing air guitar and flexing my C-cups: Because the technology didn’t exist when I was in middle school. That’s it.

A video like this would certainly be inconvenient for me now, but it would be crushing in middle school. I was unhappy and hypersensitive enough during that time of my life, and something like that would have resulted in endless mocking. I would be horrified if my classmates were to see me doing something like this, and with the way the Internet is, they WOULD see it. A video like this would have ruined my life in middle school. Nothing good would have come of it.

With that being said, I am 100% positive that if digital video cameras and youtube had existed twenty years ago, I would have been physically incapable of avoiding the creation and subsequent distribution of a video like this. Half of America would see me gallivanting around without my shirt on and doing the truffle shuffle. It’s not up for debate. Videotaping my stupid behavior and putting it on the Internet is COMPLETELY something that I would do. I am utterly confident of this fact.

I guess what I’m saying is that this provides me with some perspective about my goofy behavior. Sure, it’s inconvenient when I realize that I’m talking to myself at the gym or have to explain to someone who has come into the kitchen unexpectedly why I am out of breath and holding a rolling pin like it’s a battle axe.

But I dodged a bullet, and the only reason is because I was born thirty years ago instead of thirteen.

Maybe being old isn’t so bad after all.

…Or maybe I should keep my guard up.

-CBF-

So I was at the gym yesterday.

I had just hopped onto the treadmill and was warming up when I looked down. A little blond girl was looking up at me solemnly.

“You’re still going to be lonely,” She said to me.

Me in ten more years: Ronery and sadry arone.

Which kind of weirded me out. It freaked me out quite a bit, actually. That’s a strange thing for a ten year old girl to strike up a conversation with.

Then, I started to piece it all together.

Whenever I work a job that has any time worked into the lesson where the students have an opportunity to talk to me, I invariably have the following conversation:

First, someone asks me how old I am. I tell them that I am 29, which is roughly one million years old to anyone under the age of 18. Then, someone wants to know if I’m married. When they find out that I’m not, they want to know if I have a girlfriend. When I tell them no, they get confused and a little bit pissed off at me.

Like I said, I have this conversation at least twice a month, so I have trouble remembering it every time that it happens.

Side Note: they have a similar reaction when I tell them that I gave up video games for a year without being forced and that I plan on going car-less for the next few years. It makes sense, I guess; when you’re in middle school, nothing is cooler than video games, cars and tits. The idea that I would give up two of those things by choice when I have access to them probably does seem kind of stupid. If I were starving and someone I knew had a pizza but was choosing to eat their own shit instead, I would probably be confused and pissed off, too.

Back to the little girl that wanted me to know that I would still be lonely. I spent a few stunned seconds trying to figure out what the fuck was going on, until I remembered who she was and what the hell she was talking about.

A few weeks ago, I was working in a class that had a free day. While we were watching Enchanted (Which is not a bad movie the first six times that you watch the first hour of it, although it gets a little stale after that), a few of the kids, including the girl at the gym had the conversation with me that I described above. They told me that I had to get on that shit before I got any older, or I would die alone in an apartment with a bunch of cats. They suggested I get a dog, start hitting the clubs and start an e-harmony account. I’ve worked there since then, and whenever they see me, they want to know if I’ve gotten a dog yet. They even claim that they made an e-harmony account for me, which makes me wonder:

A. What does an e-harmony profile of me written by an 11 year old girl look like? I imagine a lot of sparkling animated GIFs and pictures of ponies, which is actually probably what I would put, so well played. Also,

B. What kind of woman does a profile like that attract? My guess is “Terrifying ones”.

Anyway,

After finally realizing that the random 11 year old talking to me while I was on the treadmill was the same one who wanted me to start using an Internet dating service before I ended up alone and unloved, I smiled and chatted with her for a few minutes before getting on with my workout.

I didn’t think much of it until about a week ago.

One of my friends has been surfing the Internet looking at personal ads lately.

As I’m typing this, I’m realizing that it doesn’t sound very plausible. In fact, it sounds suspiciously like I’m the one perusing the personals, but I’m trying to make it sound like someone else is in order to save face, as in “Doctor, I have this friend that thinks he might have contracted an STD, but he’s afraid to go to the clinic so I’m coming in for him to see what kind of treatments are available for the rash on my penis.”

Fine. Whatever. Let’s just save some time here and say that I was the one looking at personal ads on the Internet.

Anyway, I was telling me a few nights ago that there is no shortage of loony girls on the Internet. After having a few conversations with myself about this, I had piqued my curiosity on the subject.

I’ve gotten conflicting reports on the effectiveness of Internet dating.

One of my old roommates has had quite a bit of success with it. He’s had two serious girlfriends that he met on the Internet, and he’s recently started using e-harmony with quite a bit of success. Every time I talk to him, he’s met a couple of new girls that he’s juggling.

Oh, Fiona. If only my girlfriends would try to make me understand their point of view with hot pictures of you instead of your fucking song lyrics.

Much like my frien…myself, I mean, my one experience with it has been bad. When I was 15, I met a girl over the Internet, which sucked. I’m sure that Internet dating has changed a lot in the last 15 years, but seriously. If you wake up tomorrow and it’s 1995, stay the hell away from the Internet. Put on some ripped up jeans and a Pearl Jam shirt, toss on a Nirvana album and be like “O.J. Simpson – what the fuck!?”

Trust me. I still pull a lot of tail with that strategy.

P.S.: No, I don’t.

Now that I think about it, I guess I did date another girl I met on the Internet, but it wasn’t through a site, she just liked my blog. As I’m sure you know, that turned out to be a disaster that no amount of Sex in the City episodes or Fiona Apple lyrics could ever help me understand.

Either way, I think I’m going to do a little bit of research on this topic. Is Internet dating a bunch or random hook ups like it appears to be for my old roommate? A gigantic pool of crazy, angry women as I described to myself? Or somewhere in between?

I’ll relay my findings.

Expect a report soon.