Monthly Archives: June 2003

B-I-N-G-O, and FREAK was its name-o

First things first: FUCK YOU, National Bank of Commerce. Fuck you running. With a chainsaw.

Unfortunately, the above didn’t cure me of my deep desire to firebomb said bank.


Friday night will live in infamy as The Night Our Waitress Kicked Serious Ass, and also The Night When Eating Dinner Would Have Been a Good Idea.

We went to our favorite Mexican place for margaritas to celebrate Boss getting the new job. We belong to that uber-elite group known as Regular Customers among the lunchtime crowd, and it just so happened that our Regular Lunchtime Waitress was our waitress Friday night. Waitress rocks because after our third margarita or so, she started hooking us up with free drinks. And THEN she started bringing us tequila shots on the house.

You can see why we love her.

We got a bit belligerent. We called Boss’ boyfriend to come party with us, and he complied, and we made a loud raucous scene. It’s bittersweet, in retrospect, because it’s one of the last times we’ll have with Boss, but damn, did we enjoy ourselves.

Highlights include: various accusations of gayness; the introduction of the phrase “gayest gay in gaytown” to Boss and Mindy; new use of the phrase “whitest white in whitetown” to describe Boss’ lack of tanning ability and my lack of rhythm; utterance of the phrase “some of my best friends are lesbians,” which happens to be absolutely true; a below-the-belt insult match when I called Mindy old and she called me Matt (a co-worker I intensely dislike); oh, and much reminiscing of the time when I got smashed at my first professional conference and, while Boss was walking me home, asked her about a hundred and eighty-four times if she was going to fire me, not realizing that she was almost as drunk as I was. That night’s a story for another time.

But we had a fabulous time, despite our lack of sustenance. I crashed with Mindy because there was no way I was making the hour-long trek home that night.

Saturday was when barybabe and I were roped into volunteering at the bingo hall. Let me tell you – Bingo people are FUCKING FREAKS. The amount of money that poor people and old people drop on bingo cards is completely astonishing. We sold bingo cards from the front registers until the games started, and then spent the rest of the evening working the floor, selling bonus sheets and verifying winners.

People really did have troll dolls and little elephants and Buddha statues and shit. Because I’m sure Buddha has a vested interest in helping you win a bingo game. One old pimpin’ dude had a cane with a cobra head, an old radio, a photo album, and various pink shopping bags full of who-knows-what. These folks are hard core.

It was fun in a freak-show kind of way, for sure.

Oh, and last night after Jamie’s all-star game, we went home and I finally got to see Vertigo, which is every bit as good as I hoped it’d be. I’ve been working my way through Hitchcock’s oeuvre for a while now and have just gotten to this one, and I’m probably going to have to join the legions of Hitchcock fans who consider this his best and most intensely personal work. It was truly incredible.

And now, since I just got to work an hour ago, I should probably actually do some work.

Or I might go watch the new Strong Bad email again.

Neverending so-daaaaa, whoa-oa whoa-oa whoa-oa…

The One Where I Talk About My Search Engine Hits

I never used to have many search engine results as referring links to my pages until recently. I’m not sure why, but all of a sudden I’m getting tons of hits from search engines, and particularly in the past few days, they’ve become interesting.

Like last night, for example. Someone searched twice for tighty basketball -gay -sex -cock. Which brings you to this page, incidentally. Apparently this person must have been getting a lot of porn sites and not too much tighty basketball information, so s/he specifically excluded those words.

I’m also now getting hits from searches for jello pudding pops on a daily basis. Of course they lead to this page. Rock.

Yesterday I got three or four searches for “Homestar Runner” and “Entertainment Weekly”, which has the searcher visiting this page.

Numerous searches for depantsing and shanking, primarily originating in England and/or Australia (crazy furriners), have scored this page – the same one where you can get information about tighty basketball, by the way. Two-in-one!

And then, of course, you’ll be happy to know that Local 11 O’Clock Meteorologist continues to do searches for his own name, a few times every week. And then he keeps visiting, because even though I took his name off the pages the first time he searched, the engines haven’t updated yet. I may have to just put his name back in, though, since he’s so keen on finding himself.

I’m just sayin’. Ego much?

Metallica, Dog Mafia, and Other Tales

The other day they aired some show about Metallica on MTV, and Sam and Ginny were like “Why did they agree to do this? People can watch it, and they might tape it, and give it to their friends who don’t have MTV, and those friends will be getting to see it for free, and that’s taking food out of their kids’ mouths!”

* * *

Also, the Dog Mafia set up a roadblock today.

Our neighborhood has this pack of dogs – some of them might be strays, but I think most of them actually belong to people. But we live in Redneckville where people don’t train their animals or take care of them. So there are about 7 dogs in the Dog Mafia. Six of them are black dogs, and the don is brown and white, like a collie.

The Dog Mafia frequently employs intimidation tactics to keep the neighborhood in line. Sometimes they sleep menacingly in the yard on the corner. One time, we drove by and they were all lined up, sitting on rocks by the side of the road. Just to remind us that they were there.

Today when I left for work, the Don and his right-hand dog, his capo or whatever, were sitting in the middle of the road. Did they get up and run away when I approached?

No, because they are the DOG MAFIA.

So instead they just sat there and stared at me until I stopped the car, and the Don sent the capo up to collect the road toll, and then they stepped aside and I went on my way.

Actually I think the capo might have slapped a little baggie of crack under my fender before they left. I’m not sure.

* * *

I took Sam shopping last night so she could get wifebeaters and men’s shorts for basketball camp, and we had to go to Barnes & Noble to pick up a book for the summer assignments for her AP History class. So we get the book and get in line, and the old cardigan-wearing librarian-ish cashier lady, who probably watches a lot of PBS and has a tote bag with cats embroidered on it, said, “Will you be saving 10% today?” You know, to try to get us into the Loyal Reader program or whatever it’s called. And I wasn’t even really thinking about it, but I said, “No, we’re going to pay the full price. We hate saving money.”

That old cardigan-wearing librarian-ish cashier lady got so tickled she could barely finish ringing us up.

Also, we ate at our favorite place in Roanoke – CiCi’s Pizza. They’re all remodeled! Woo!

Shiny Happy People

Alberto compared my site to a waiter’s tie once. Actually, it was yesterday. Anyway, he’s cool. Go give it a read.

It’s fuckin’ hot outside, not that I’m complaining. I’ll take this over 40 days of rain any time. But I just went across campus to do an errand and as I sauntered through the grass, my big sweaty foot slipped within my cute black sandal and I twisted my ankle and almost busted ass in the process. And do you want to know how very lame I am?

As I was kind of halfway-falling through the air, the thought in my head was, “If I don’t hurt myself too badly I’ll have to write an entry about this before I go to the doctor.”

Luckily it’s not quite that bad.

I got two incredibly nice emails today. One was from a dear friend of mine who is making his way in Hollywood as we speak. Also, last year he was on The Price is Right and won the Showcase Showdown. It was seriously cool. Despite my lousy correspondence skills, he still writes me faithfully every once in awhile, and I love him for it. Rock on, Pat.

In the second, a response to some melancholy rambling I sent, I read one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said about me. Witness:

I am relieved to hear you are well, albeit under the weather. there are always times when the world around you seems to spin at a different pace, wants different things, and you wonder whether you should be more like “them” — be yourself …. L, you have everything that matters – wit, soul, intelligence … you will always have a connection, with me.


Consider my day made.

Oh, and also, read here about how 40 copies of the Harry Potter book were shipped with 33 missing pages. I ate lunch at that bookstore today. Woo, we made the news! Anyway, the staff members told us that some guy snapped them all up and is going to sell them on eBay as collector’s items.

Looks like someone already has.

Check that shit out. Already the price is at $91 for a book with missing pages. That’s wack.

Scatterbrained Me

I have an astonishingly keen ability to forget things.

It’s not about stuff – I’m good with stuff. I generally don’t misplace my keys or lock them in my car (knock on wood), and I don’t have problems like “oh, I just found this $20 bill in my pocket, I’d forgotten all about it!” It’s more like I forget information.

My brain is so weird and spotty.

I can remember the address of nearly every house I’ve ever lived in, and the phone numbers. I can also remember the phone numbers of the people I knew when I lived there. But I can’t remember the name of someone I met yesterday. I regularly see people I know from my past, and can’t remember who they are. This has been a problem, especially lately when I’m running into a lot of people from high school, because I don’t remember them and they get kind of hurt by that. It’s nothing personal. I just don’t.

The other day I freaked my mom out when we were talking about the time that Ginny and I “stole” a bunch of artificial flowers from Wal-Mart. I can remember the skirt I was wearing that day, and the exact details of how the whole incident went down, but I have no clue what year it was.

I’m really bad with time. I often say “a few days ago” when what I really mean is April. I’m the friend who is always late, in part because I tend to get lost, but also because I have no concept of how it feels to spend a certain amount of time doing something – say, ten minutes. If someone asks me how long ago something happened, I always answer, but I usually make up the answer. I’ll say “a half-hour ago” but it could have been yesterday.

I’m pretty good at remembering the dates of birthdays and anniversaries, but when they actually roll around I forget. I can remember that a friend’s birthday is on March 28th, but when it’s March 28th I don’t remember that it’s a significant day. If that makes sense. So I don’t often give people cards or gifts because I forget.

When I’m singing, I can picture how the notes look on the page, and where they are in relation to each other, and that’s how I usually hit them all. But sometimes I don’t remember the title of the song.

But sometimes I do.

I have this random, haphazard memory, but I also have excellent attention to detail. I can’t find anything in my office, but I can organize spreadsheets like nobody’s business.

I don’t know. Maybe the same things in my brain that are responsible for my vivid imagination and creativity are also responsible for my tangential, stream-of-consciousness manner of speech, and for my tendency to be neurotic and scatterbrained.

I imagine it’s probably kind of frustrating sometimes to know me.

My sisters will probably weigh in on this.