My future brother-in-law Mike and his friend Liz are making a documentary about their hometown of Milford, Connecticut. Last night they came over to watch the raw footage they captured at the Milford Oyster Festival. Let's just say that if you enjoyed my story about Monsieur Pissypants, you would love the interviews these 2 got at the Oyster Fest. They managed to find every single freak at that festival, including a guy who had no problem admitting he lived in his car, a guy with a ZZ-Top style beard, and a drunk woman in a pink furry hat who swatted her kids away during the interview and whose nipples pointed through her tank top in very odd directions. One guy ended the interview by saying to Mike "see you at the liquor store!" (Mike works there. The other guy does not).
Anyway, I think their documentary is going to be fabulous. It does actually have a somewhat serious theme: the commercialization of American towns. Check out their website.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Friday, August 26, 2005
it's the little things
Today J and I accomplished another pre-wedding task: deciding on inscriptions for our wedding bands. After eliminating choices such as "Put me back on", and "My nubian princess" (don't ask, I have no answer), we settled on these coordinating inscriptions:
His: "Let your lovelight shine on me"
Mine: "Not fade away"
Both will also have our wedding date. Yeah, yeah, we're a couple of freakin' hippies.
Peace.
His: "Let your lovelight shine on me"
Mine: "Not fade away"
Both will also have our wedding date. Yeah, yeah, we're a couple of freakin' hippies.
Peace.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
He let me touch his ball...
At first, I found his ponytail offputting. Then, as I acquired a new angle and a better view, I realized that with an ass like that, I could deal with the ponytail, and decided I'd cheer for him anyway. Ladies and gentleman, may I present my new favorite hunk of manflesh (after J, of course), Tommy Haas:
Last night, dear Tommy beat some Belgian guy in a 3-set match at the Pilot Pen tournament (thanks to J's folks for the box tickets with a prime view). God love my fiance for alerting me when Tommy changed his shirt between sets--what a good sport! I am not kidding when I tell you that sometimes I missed entire volleys because I was too busy staring at Tommy's ass.
However, the best part was when I got to put my hands on one of Tommy's own balls and even take it home with me!
Yes, you see, at the Pilot Pen, the winners hit a few balls into the crowd after their matches. Tommy autographed his last two, and the last one he hit came right for me. J was a darling, responding to my cries of "catch it! oh my god J catch it!" because, having played softball before, I know that a ball coming right for me is more likely to whack me in the eye than end up in my hands.
Last night, dear Tommy beat some Belgian guy in a 3-set match at the Pilot Pen tournament (thanks to J's folks for the box tickets with a prime view). God love my fiance for alerting me when Tommy changed his shirt between sets--what a good sport! I am not kidding when I tell you that sometimes I missed entire volleys because I was too busy staring at Tommy's ass.
However, the best part was when I got to put my hands on one of Tommy's own balls and even take it home with me!
Yes, you see, at the Pilot Pen, the winners hit a few balls into the crowd after their matches. Tommy autographed his last two, and the last one he hit came right for me. J was a darling, responding to my cries of "catch it! oh my god J catch it!" because, having played softball before, I know that a ball coming right for me is more likely to whack me in the eye than end up in my hands.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Family Fun at the Milford Oyster Festival
Yesterday, we spent the afternoon at the 31st annual Milford Oyster Festival. I don't like oysters (or most seafood other than the mainstream fishes, for that matter), but the Oyster Fest is more of a town fair type deal than an all-out day of oysters, with live music, food and beer, and vendors hawking homemade soap, cheap and not-so-cheap jewelry, and other assorted tschotskes. J's mom and aunt are on the organizing committee, so it was obligatory (sort of) that we make an appearance.
We arrived in time to catch a funk band we wanted to see, and then headed over to browse the craft/crap booths. Rode the ferris wheel (first time in AGES), ate some greasy food, and then started to head out the way we'd come in--through a short dirt path up a hill through some woods. As we approached the path in the woods, we noticed a man who'd just fallen on his face, right at the bottom of the hill. J was the first to notice that the man had clearly pissed himself. We chuckled and watched as a good samaritan helped Monsieur Pissypants to his feet and up the hill (attempts to lead him to the less steep path were unsuccessful). After much stumbling, he finally made it up the hill, which lead to a residential neighborhood.
The good samaritan and his family left Monsieur Pissypants to make his way home "roundddaaggghhcorrrnnnerr", and J and I decided to follow behind him as he meandered down the street, wobbling this way and that, to make sure that he did not intend to get into a car. He made it about a block before wandering into the corner of someone's front yard. There he stood, swaying precariously as J and I approached. J asked "you alright, man?" Monsieur Pissypants slurred "yaaaaaamarright" and then proceeded to plummet face-first directly into a large evergreen bush. He rolled onto his back, still crushing a large branch or two, exposing his unzipped, piss soaked jeans. J says he started to twitch, but at that point I was across the street trying to take a picture with my cameraphone (sorry, it sucks):
J tried to get his mom or aunt on the phone, to see if some cops might like to come assess the scene, but before he could reach anyone, the homeowner came out scowling, as if we knew the drunken log of flesh who'd taken up residence in her yew. We assured her we did not. We discussed the next step, and the last I heard out of Monsieur Pissypants was something like "aaagghnnndunncallgghhcops." Too late, buddy.
J's brother M, after hearing the story, suggested that the Milford Mirror run a picture of Monsieur Pissypants--in all his bush-crushing, pants-moistening glory--the following day, with the headline "Oyster Festival a Huge Success".
We arrived in time to catch a funk band we wanted to see, and then headed over to browse the craft/crap booths. Rode the ferris wheel (first time in AGES), ate some greasy food, and then started to head out the way we'd come in--through a short dirt path up a hill through some woods. As we approached the path in the woods, we noticed a man who'd just fallen on his face, right at the bottom of the hill. J was the first to notice that the man had clearly pissed himself. We chuckled and watched as a good samaritan helped Monsieur Pissypants to his feet and up the hill (attempts to lead him to the less steep path were unsuccessful). After much stumbling, he finally made it up the hill, which lead to a residential neighborhood.
The good samaritan and his family left Monsieur Pissypants to make his way home "roundddaaggghhcorrrnnnerr", and J and I decided to follow behind him as he meandered down the street, wobbling this way and that, to make sure that he did not intend to get into a car. He made it about a block before wandering into the corner of someone's front yard. There he stood, swaying precariously as J and I approached. J asked "you alright, man?" Monsieur Pissypants slurred "yaaaaaamarright" and then proceeded to plummet face-first directly into a large evergreen bush. He rolled onto his back, still crushing a large branch or two, exposing his unzipped, piss soaked jeans. J says he started to twitch, but at that point I was across the street trying to take a picture with my cameraphone (sorry, it sucks):
J tried to get his mom or aunt on the phone, to see if some cops might like to come assess the scene, but before he could reach anyone, the homeowner came out scowling, as if we knew the drunken log of flesh who'd taken up residence in her yew. We assured her we did not. We discussed the next step, and the last I heard out of Monsieur Pissypants was something like "aaagghnnndunncallgghhcops." Too late, buddy.
J's brother M, after hearing the story, suggested that the Milford Mirror run a picture of Monsieur Pissypants--in all his bush-crushing, pants-moistening glory--the following day, with the headline "Oyster Festival a Huge Success".
Friday, August 19, 2005
tonight's special: T & A
As related to me by my mother...
At a family breakfast outing (which included my Grandpa and his girlfriend Sally, Little Sis, my mom, and some aunts and cousins), the topic of spicy foods came up.
Sally: You know who has the best wings? Hooters! I just love going to get wings at Hooters!
Grandpa: Who cares about the wings? I go to Hooters for the tits and ass!
At a family breakfast outing (which included my Grandpa and his girlfriend Sally, Little Sis, my mom, and some aunts and cousins), the topic of spicy foods came up.
Sally: You know who has the best wings? Hooters! I just love going to get wings at Hooters!
Grandpa: Who cares about the wings? I go to Hooters for the tits and ass!
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
The Disappearing Cock Trick: aka The Bachelorette Party Report
After braving the traffic on I-90, we (Little Sis and I) finally made it to S's apartment on Fullerton. S and Little Sis will be my maids of honor come October, and it's the night of my Official Bachelorette Party. I have requested not to be adorned in a "suck for a buck" T-shirt, but I have been given no guarantees. We meet up with a few family (cool aunts--one is my uncle's new wife and is also the same age as me) and friends for dinner at a kick ass mexican place. Fancy tableside guacamole, the whole works. Then, we head back to S's place to lubricate ourselves in preparation for the night's entertainment. And by lubricate I mean have a few drinks, you perverted fuckers. So anyway, I have a drink or two and a few shots. There are 6 of us. Then "Brad" shows up, found on chicagogentlemen.com by S. He has an assistant with him, as it turns out his function was to operate the boombox and prepare the blowjob shots and strawberries.
Brad arranges our seats to make room for the performance. Oh, did I mention he was wearing full fireman regalia?? We're talking a little simulated ash on the cheeks, and a big red hose here people. This guy paid attention to detail. Anyway, he asks "are you ready" and before we can blink he's in full So You Think You Can Dance mode. He had no qualms about grabbing our hands and placing them directly on his groin. Or ass. Or chest. You get the idea. He even took the liberty of copping a feel on a few of us. But hey, it's OK, it's my last official hurrah...it's all good. Before we know it Brad is in his red thong, lying on a towel on the floor, having us do blowjob shots and eat strawberries off of various parts of his body. I can't help but wonder what the assistant thinks of the whole deal, but it's hard to concentrate on that when a nearly naked man has your 19 year old sister on all fours and has a handful of her hair in his fist.
After much hose-thrusting, crotch grabbing, and gyrating, we thought the show was almost over. But apparently Brad had other ideas, for all the sudden, the thong was removed and there were Brad's dangly bits, right in our faces. I think my jaw is still recovering from its lighting-fast plummet to the floor. I'm no prude, but I certainly was not expecting this! To make matters even more, shall I say, interesting?...Brad was able to make his cock temporarily disappear! ...into S's mouth, that is. He swooped over to her, his groin level with her face, and put the towel he'd been using for lying on the floor and wiping his man-sweat off of various things over her head, presumably to be cheeky. Well, as S put it later "there was a cock in my face, what was I supposed to do? It was instinct!" The girl has some issues. [Let me clarify that the cock-disappearance trick lasted only a minute or so, and there was no wad-blowing involved. Thank god.]
So, since I really can't top that part of the story, I will quickly recap the rest of the night:
11 PM. Brad and his helper leave, Ed the limo driver comes to get us. we are all wearing feather boas and I have on a sequined headband with large pink feather sticking straight up.
11:30 PM. Ed drives us down Lake Shore Drive. We stop for pictures and end up talking to some nice bicycle cops. One frisks me against the limo for a photo op.
12 AM. We arrive at a dive karaoke bar. S pays the DJ $40 so we can get songs in within the hour. I sing "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" while waving a penis-shaped squirt gun in the air. S, Little Sis and I sing "Baby Got Back" together. Someone buys me a shot of Jagermeister. I do it without puking.
2 AM. We leave the karaoke bar and head to the Liar's Club, an awesome hole-in-the-wall bar where they are playing great 80s dance music. Little Sis and I head straight for the back to dance. S finds Rick, the resident nudist, and asks him to disrobe for the occassion. He complies without hesitation, and for this I have the best photo of the evening: me, Little Sis, and S, standing with a buck-naked 40-ish year old man. It's a full length photo.
3 AM. Liar's Club closes, so we head outside. I give Little Sis's pink boa away to a chick who promises to wear it--and nothing else--for her husband. I thought it was a noble cause but Little Sis was none too happy. I owe her a pink boa. We walk back to S's place.
3:30 AM. Little Sis and I leave S in the bar below her apartment and head upstairs to crash.
9 AM. We are awakened by a strange man opening the bedroom door (Little Sis and I had shared S's bed). "Who the fuck are you?" I ask. "Who are YOU?" He replies. This goes back and forth, until we figure out it's S's friend from HS who she must've called after we passed out. Then I realize I've lost my cell phone, the only shitty part of the whole affair.
11 AM. Brunch. Then Little Sis and I drive back to the 'burbs, witnessing a Mexican guy falling asleep at the wheel right there on I-90. We manage to make it home alive.
Brad arranges our seats to make room for the performance. Oh, did I mention he was wearing full fireman regalia?? We're talking a little simulated ash on the cheeks, and a big red hose here people. This guy paid attention to detail. Anyway, he asks "are you ready" and before we can blink he's in full So You Think You Can Dance mode. He had no qualms about grabbing our hands and placing them directly on his groin. Or ass. Or chest. You get the idea. He even took the liberty of copping a feel on a few of us. But hey, it's OK, it's my last official hurrah...it's all good. Before we know it Brad is in his red thong, lying on a towel on the floor, having us do blowjob shots and eat strawberries off of various parts of his body. I can't help but wonder what the assistant thinks of the whole deal, but it's hard to concentrate on that when a nearly naked man has your 19 year old sister on all fours and has a handful of her hair in his fist.
After much hose-thrusting, crotch grabbing, and gyrating, we thought the show was almost over. But apparently Brad had other ideas, for all the sudden, the thong was removed and there were Brad's dangly bits, right in our faces. I think my jaw is still recovering from its lighting-fast plummet to the floor. I'm no prude, but I certainly was not expecting this! To make matters even more, shall I say, interesting?...Brad was able to make his cock temporarily disappear! ...into S's mouth, that is. He swooped over to her, his groin level with her face, and put the towel he'd been using for lying on the floor and wiping his man-sweat off of various things over her head, presumably to be cheeky. Well, as S put it later "there was a cock in my face, what was I supposed to do? It was instinct!" The girl has some issues. [Let me clarify that the cock-disappearance trick lasted only a minute or so, and there was no wad-blowing involved. Thank god.]
So, since I really can't top that part of the story, I will quickly recap the rest of the night:
11 PM. Brad and his helper leave, Ed the limo driver comes to get us. we are all wearing feather boas and I have on a sequined headband with large pink feather sticking straight up.
11:30 PM. Ed drives us down Lake Shore Drive. We stop for pictures and end up talking to some nice bicycle cops. One frisks me against the limo for a photo op.
12 AM. We arrive at a dive karaoke bar. S pays the DJ $40 so we can get songs in within the hour. I sing "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" while waving a penis-shaped squirt gun in the air. S, Little Sis and I sing "Baby Got Back" together. Someone buys me a shot of Jagermeister. I do it without puking.
2 AM. We leave the karaoke bar and head to the Liar's Club, an awesome hole-in-the-wall bar where they are playing great 80s dance music. Little Sis and I head straight for the back to dance. S finds Rick, the resident nudist, and asks him to disrobe for the occassion. He complies without hesitation, and for this I have the best photo of the evening: me, Little Sis, and S, standing with a buck-naked 40-ish year old man. It's a full length photo.
3 AM. Liar's Club closes, so we head outside. I give Little Sis's pink boa away to a chick who promises to wear it--and nothing else--for her husband. I thought it was a noble cause but Little Sis was none too happy. I owe her a pink boa. We walk back to S's place.
3:30 AM. Little Sis and I leave S in the bar below her apartment and head upstairs to crash.
9 AM. We are awakened by a strange man opening the bedroom door (Little Sis and I had shared S's bed). "Who the fuck are you?" I ask. "Who are YOU?" He replies. This goes back and forth, until we figure out it's S's friend from HS who she must've called after we passed out. Then I realize I've lost my cell phone, the only shitty part of the whole affair.
11 AM. Brunch. Then Little Sis and I drive back to the 'burbs, witnessing a Mexican guy falling asleep at the wheel right there on I-90. We manage to make it home alive.
the oh-so-enlightening book quiz
Thanks to BBFK for the Book Quiz link...
You're Lolita!
by Vladimir Nabokov
Considered by most to be depraved and immoral, you are obsessed with
sex. What really tantalizes you is that which deviates from societal standards in every
way, though you admit that this probably isn't the best and you're not sure what causes
this desire. Nonetheless, you've done some pretty nefarious things in your life, and
probably gotten caught for them. The names have been changed, but the problems are real.
Please stay away from children.
Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
note to self
While most organic/100% natural products are yummy and fresh, I have recently learned that this does NOT apply to the results obtained with organic deodorant, even if it did cost almost $6/tube. Now, to go buy a new (non-natural) one, or to just say the hell with it and break out the old patchouli oil again??
a contradiction?
Yesterday, I said to BBFK: "I think I am just really sensitive if I feel like someone is trying to be too controlling with me."
Yet I have some of the most controlling tendencies of anyone I know. Makes sense, of course, but I was amused when I thought about how it must've come across when I said it...
Yet I have some of the most controlling tendencies of anyone I know. Makes sense, of course, but I was amused when I thought about how it must've come across when I said it...
Monday, August 01, 2005
surprise!
Yesterday, I was thrown a suprise shower by J's aunts. Not only do these people know how to throw a good party, they really know how to keep a secret. J lured me to his aunt's house (which is situated directly on Long Island Sound) with the promise of riding the Sea-Doos, which we had wanted to do the previous weekend but couldn't, so the story was fairly plausible. The downside was that my preparatory routine for sea-doo riding consisted of throwing on a tank top and shorts over my bathing suit and donning sunglasses over my splotchy, makeup-less face. Hardly what I would have done had I known I'd soon be confronted with 40 women who'd come to spend the day watching my every move.
After the intial shock wore off, I was able to not worry so much about my appearance. Until, that is, after the gifts had been opened and they seated me in a centrally located chair for the "silly games". That's when the cop walked in, and with a flourish of his nightstick, asked me if I was ready to be taken..."downtown". (Do I need to clarify that as he spoke the word "downtown", his hand made its way over his crotch in a suggestive manner??) Giovanni the "cop" put on quite a show. Let's just say he was very athletic and also very hairless. Used to performing in more private locations, the setting on the wide-open deck found him both a bit chilly and slightly embarrassed (not that you'd have known that!). After his primary act, he allowed me to choose the next victim. Thank god my future mother-in-law is a good sport!
Overall, a good time was had by all. And I get to do it all over again next weekend when I go home to Chicago for another shower and the "official" bachelorette party...
After the intial shock wore off, I was able to not worry so much about my appearance. Until, that is, after the gifts had been opened and they seated me in a centrally located chair for the "silly games". That's when the cop walked in, and with a flourish of his nightstick, asked me if I was ready to be taken..."downtown". (Do I need to clarify that as he spoke the word "downtown", his hand made its way over his crotch in a suggestive manner??) Giovanni the "cop" put on quite a show. Let's just say he was very athletic and also very hairless. Used to performing in more private locations, the setting on the wide-open deck found him both a bit chilly and slightly embarrassed (not that you'd have known that!). After his primary act, he allowed me to choose the next victim. Thank god my future mother-in-law is a good sport!
Overall, a good time was had by all. And I get to do it all over again next weekend when I go home to Chicago for another shower and the "official" bachelorette party...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
