Back In Black

Despite my earlier experiences I participated in a karaoke night again. This time is wasn’t nearly as much of a disaster as last time. Not to say it wasn’t a disaster though. I rocked out AC/DC’s (I wish my keyboard had a lighting bolt symbol on it) “Back In Black”. It’s a great song for karaoke because you can basically scream the whole thing. I had always thought that I had wanted this song as my theme tune. A theme tune, in my ideal world, is the song that plays behind me anytime I enter a room full of friends, family, or strangers. It doesn’t play when I enter toilets, funerals, or hospitals.

I haven’t decided if it’s necessary for one to be able to at least sing along to the entire song before it is allowed to become your theme tune. Or maybe just knowing the words should be enough. If either of those requirements are put into place, I have some work to do before I can claim “Back In Black” as my theme song.

I think I brought the house down though, despite my screwing up what I thought was the “daddy loose mama goose” line. My apologies go out to the old man in the front row who was so horrified by my performance, and his experience, that he refused to look me in the eye during the entire song.

On a not-so-completely different subject, I have a new book review up.

Casting Call

I’ve never been afraid to talk about my favoritism toward the “reality” style of television. My interest in them has spanned all genres and styles. So it may come as no surprise that I would actually try out for one. Well, I never thought I would, but it might not surprise you.

Yesterday, G and I went down to the Teatro Hotel to try out for the travel channels new “1000 Places To Visit Before You Die” show. Both G & I are well traveled and have few serious responsibilities, so this looked like a great opportunity for us. You know, quit work and travel the world for four months on somebody elses bill. This was right up our alley.

Now I am well experienced with casting calls – I went through two very arduous tryouts for the Littleton Children’s Theatre at the tender young age of six or seven, where I proved my talent in order to win demanding roles as a goober pea in Brer Rabbit, and a punk-robot-type-thingy in some play I have nearly no recollection of (Thank God). Despite my expansive experience in “the industry” we bombed yesterdays casting call.

I don’t consider myself ugly really, but I didn’t know that the casting call went out to all the modeling agencies in Denver. Yikes. Everyone waiting around in the lobby was so perfect it made me want to puke. These were all actual TV type of people with headshots and “representatives”. But the best part is when we went in for the interview.

“Sit closer, take off your coats, we want to see what you look like” I was just hoping they wouldn’t make me spin around.

They asked us a series of questions that were relatively easy to answer and then they stumped us with this one, “What do you guys have to offer the show? You know, you would be the hosts, why would people want to watch you?”

G and I just turned and stared at each other blankly. Finally I blurted out something about being smart, and quick witted, and able to think on our toes. It was one of my worst displays of “thinking on my toes” ever. I continued to blab for what seemed like forever. It was more like my toes were doing the thinking. After jammering-on for about two minutes too long, G said something that finally shut me up. I can’t remember what she said because I was so dumbfounded I have blacked it out from my memory.

Then they got us with this one, “Where would you guys like to travel?” G said Africa and then started talking about some sort of Angelina Jolie type of stuff about culture and saving the world type of crap. Then I said, “Well my answer would be something of the opposite.” Here, they seemed to light up, thinking there might be some sort of good dynamic or drama that our relationship could add to their show. I quickly deflated their hopes by following up with, “I would like to go to Malaysia or Indonesia cause I just want to lay on the beach the whole time.”

I could just imagine what kind of ratings they would get by broadcasting my skinny, pasty body laying awkwardly in an uncomfortable beach chair occasionally dipping into the ocean to get the sand off my ass. 30 minutes of that. That’s what I told them I wanted.

For the rest of the interview I babbled incessantly while G tried to recover from how horribly everything was going. Not surprisingly, it was a short interview. Expect to see us in the very first episode where they show all of the idiots who tried out but are laughably under-qualified.

These Truths I Hold Self Evident

I like my coffee the way I like women: blonde and creamy
I like my coffee the way I like women: hot and wet
I like my coffee the way I like women: steamy and in large cups
I like my coffee the way I like women: fullbodied
I like my coffee the way I like women: first thing in the morning
I like my coffee the way I like women: strong and keeping me up all night
I like my coffee the way I like women: dribbling down my chin
I like my coffee the way I like women: drunk, horny, writhing on my living room floor, and dressed up in a catholic schoolgirl’s uniform with her skirt hiked up around her waist exposing her one-size-too-small, slightly wet panties, and letting out barely audible, breathy little moans.

Sand Trap

I took Monday off early to go a golf tournament with a bunch of the guys. Now I’m no Chi Chi Rodriguez (I’d prefer his name to his golf game personally), but I did all right last year. This year was a different story.

I hadn’t yet golfed this year, I hadn’t even picked up my clubs and gone to the driving range this summer. I don’t know what I was thinking when I figured I would try and play a straight 18 holes right out of the gate, no warm up, and over a year cold. Oh, wait, yeah I do… I was thinking, “Fuck it!” Well my fuck it attitude cost me dearly. As it tends to do. Blisters, a sunburn, and last place makes for a rough round. I’ve got about five blisters on my had that began to develop at around hole 4, were burst by hole 6, and rubbed raw the reminder of the holes. My nose is once again a drunk shiny red. Winning the princess jacket has scarred both my pride and respect. Yes, those 18 holes cost me dearly. But you know what, I’d do it all again tomorrow for another sunny afternoon off of work, in the park, with a white ball, free beer, and battery operated transportation.

King Sized Confusion

Please, somebody tell me they saw the Anna Nicole Smith interview on Larry King Live last night. Oh my God, that was painful. Anna may have lost a lot of weight, but her head is still full of rocks. It got to the point where Larry King was actually answering his own questions cause he was tired of waiting on her extremely slow and muddled responses. At one point she was referring to her vagina as a biscuit. Here is the actual transcript:

SMITH: OK. Well, OK, they had a cake of me there, you know, a naked me, and they had — it was naked and they had the biscuit, you know, the biscuit and the boobs, and I was standing by the cake, and there was this guy there, and he’s like, oh, you want me to show you how to eat biscuit? I was like, sure. Sure. Show me.
KING: We’re approaching halftime at the Super Bowl here, Anna. I think it sounds a little wild.
SMITH: What?
KING: It sounds — that was just a start of the party.
SMITH: That was the start of it. Do you want me to finish telling you about the cake?

Larry King was baffled and had to stop her story. About half way through they brought out her lawyer and King directed most of his questions to him, seeing as how he could actually answer them.

Bizzarre Love Triangle

A funny thing happened at lunch today. I was sitting in the little fast food restaurant eating my naked burrito. To my right, on the other side of the restaurant about 30 feet away were an EMT and his girlfriend (poor girl, doesn’t she know her man’s gonna get all/is all fucked up on human tragedy and access to free pharmaceuticals). Now the EMT and his girl were really enjoying each others company – feeding each other, reaching across the table and caressing each others lips and faces, and eventually leaning across the table for long soft kisses. And they did it with no shame, aware that everyone knew what they were doing.

Next to the couple about 15 feet away were three girls in their early twenties. The one in the middle could not stop staring and the affectionate EMT and his equally affectionate girlfriend. I couldn’t quite tell from her face whether she was revolted, turned on, or simply intrigued by this display. So I stared at her.

As soon as I got her attention (which took a while cause she was so involved with this other couple) I made a little smirk. She stared at me for a second probably ashamed/wondering about how long I had been watching her for and thus knowing how long she had been watching the couple. I made a quick glance at the couple and then back at her and flashed a big knowing smile. Meanwhile the EMT realized what was happening. She then shyly smiled, blushed, and kind of flustered her hands around trying to find something to do. Her two friends who had noticed the couple and me, but hadn’t been blatantly staring, then caught on then and started laughing at her. With embarrassed giggles they quickly picked up their stuff and left.

The EMT the leaned over to his girlfriend. Having her back to me, she turned her head over her shoulder to look in my direction. When she realized whom her boyfriend was talking about she made a big smile towards me and the EMT leaned over and gave me a huge thank you smile. I laughed out loud and then buried my head in my book wondering how six people had such a full and awkward conversation without actually saying a word.
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