Throwing in the towel

My life is about to get very complicated.

But, quite possibly, infinitely more interesting. Which is good news for blog.

While I was in Super Target on Saturday, 2 things of note occurred. The first, being the intensely obese woman I saw wearing the shirt with a cat on it that stated, "Cute but dangerous." Which reminded me of how much I love those kinds of shirts, and how they are typically worn by a pretty particular demographic. My favorite such shirt of all time, being the 3XL white T with an angry marching duck with a ball cap turned backwards, stating "I'm the boss."

This one, in fact. It is remarkable how this nearly verbatim image was pristinely mummified in my mind for the last decade or so, being that is how much time I am fairly certain has passed since I have seen one of these draping a human torso.

The second pretty great thing that happened, was I received a call from a man friend in New York, petitioning my advice about a date he had with a 55 year old incredibly wealthy dude with a house in the Hampton's. While I found this to be flattering--my advice being sought at the attempted genesis of a very awesomely taboo relationship--I also felt like the only advice I could give, was to do probably exactly the opposite of everything I EVER DO IN A RELATIONSHIP. Or, rather, concerning the attempt to begin one.

He gave me an all too common scenario--he felt like the date went well and great and lovely, but then at the end, Rich Man seemed indifferent and aloof, and left Man Friend with a feeling of, "WTF just happened or didn't happen and how did I do something wrong when everything seemed right, and not even a little wrong, except for the apparently unperceived wrongness at the end of so much right?"

At which point, typical overzealous me probably frets, and then subsequently attempts to pry and probe for possible reasons and motives of disinterest, or I make my thoughts and feelings way too obvious or available. I told him that I hate playing games, and I just like to be genuine with my feelings. Which, apparently, is the WORST THING TO DO.

It would seem members of the opposite (same)sex do not desire clarity and transparency, but rather are drawn to horrible games, reticence, and indifference. This, apparently, fosters interest. Or some such bullshit.

After a time, I began to realize that he and I think the same way about relationships and dating. So I implored him to ignore his every instinct, and do the complete opposite of whatever his heart told him. Because his (my) heart is an IDIOT, and does not know how the (fe)male heart functions. Or, rather, most other hearts, be they male or female.

I think I'm ready to try the asshole card.

Which, I now realize, in the context of this post, sounded like it meant something entirely different than what I meant.

I'm just going to be an aloof, reticent asshole, utterly disinterested in you (girl), devoid of all feelings, to see if that works for me (you).

If that doesn't, I suppose it is never to early to start my collection of 3-4XL Big Dogs and other sundry animals saying clever things shirts, for when I finally decide to throw in the towel and let obesity whist me away into a comfortingly happy existence as a McDonald's acolyte.


Death by wolves or death by creed. coin flip.

I'd say the following qualifies as a not only an early 2k11 miracle, but also as an important lesson. http://gizmodo.com/5739091/how-creed-saved-a-norwegian-boy-from-a-pack-of-wolves

In case you don't want to take the time to read that article, basically there was a Norwegian lad who was walking home from school. Apparently, a pack of wolves found him and contemplated devouring him. His mother, born of a long line of good viking stock, had taught little Walter that, if ever attacked by a (pack of) wild beast(s), running away is the worst thing that one can do. This apparently lets the wild beast(s) know it is okay to then attempt to devour the escapee. If one merely holds one's ground, and maybe plays CREED REALLY LOUDLY, the wild beast(s) may have second thoughts.

This is apparently what happened, when little Walter stumbled into the midst of the pack of wolves.

First, my mind is slightly blown that, of all things about which a mother must warn her child, what to do if one encounters a pack of wolves is at the top of the list. Man, but American moms are overly paranoid. Can you imagine, having to worry about your kid getting chewed to death by wolves while walking the 2 blocks home from school? I suppose they should have wolf guards, instead of crossing guards in Norway land. Dressed in the skins of beasts (mostly wolves) and wielding a wolf carved scepter hewn from the tallest tree in Norway in one hand, and an axe made from the cold bones of ancient Inuits in the other, s/he (they) would be the envy of all Scandinavia. And certainly local children would need not fear being eaten by wolves, or other sundry carnivorous creatures.

I certainly can't say that I am surprised that Creed served as an effective ward against a pack of blood thirsty wolves. I think that is the lesson we can learn here--whether faced with a pack of wolves, a pack of unwanted friends, bullies, Nazis, illegal immigrants--its a pretty small demographic of douchebaggery that is somehow immune to the repellant musical horrors of Creed.

I'd rather be consumed by wolves than to suffer even a small moment of Creed induced eardrum rape. Shame on that boy. He may have spared himself a violent death by chewing, but he has shamed himself in front of God, the world, and the animal kingdom.

Dirty finger nails and weird shit drawn all over the hands. That seems about right.


Satan is a tea party liberal

Sometimes I feel like the politics in this country are a festering lesion on Thomas Jefferson's illegitimate son's club foot.

Whenever national tragedy occurs, the analytical cogs immediately begin turning in the heads of political pundits and politicians, seeking the best ways to exploit and manipulate horror into a positive outcome. And they aren't even subtle about it anymore.

So many articles over the weekend began targeting (I better be careful, as the word "targeting" may have to be stricken from the political arena, since it be a word that could incite violence, obviously) the vitriolic political rhetoric coming from conservative talk radio, the tea party, and Fox news as fuel for violent and radial acts.

On my way home from trying to undo an entire month of sedentary, gluttonous damage, I tuned into Sean Hannity for about 5 painful minutes as he began his show. Immediately, he went on the offensive, pointing fingers, and playing quote after quote of negative, semi-violent rhetoric from the mouthes of liberals. I mean, all of his little cronies must have spent every waking moment from the time the first bullets penetrated flesh, till his Rocky Survivor theme rolled across the airwaves, scouring the archives for "violent" liberal quotes.

Why can't tragedy bring out the best in people, rather than a load of acerbic criticism and acrimonious rhetoric? It seems as though in politics, everybody thinks that the only way to make anything better, is to utterly vituperate and ultimately destroy the other side, and thereby prove that one's own side is infallible.

I am fairly certain, if this crazy asshole came out and said, "The night before I decided to kill the Congresswoman, Lucifer Satan visited me in a dream, and told me to do it. Also, to always buy local." that the political world would immediately begin discussion and speculation as to which party or faction Mr. Lucifer belonged.

Surely, the Dark Lord would be a liberal Democrat, since all are baby hating abortion loving morality despising mongrels. Or maybe Lucifer is a right-wing Conservative, since they are all greedy, gun loving and therefore murder promoting selfish capitalist scumbags.

Perhaps the Son of the Morning is a Tea Party activist, since they are all violent racists, seeking to violently and racistly overthrow the government. Or maybe Satan is a Muslim, since all those people do is strap bombs to their chests, and blow people to hell (home.)

Maybe the Dark One is actually a Christian, since he loves to hate people who are different (which would be everyone) and he thinks everyone is going to hell who doesn't think like he does (which is everyone.)

Shame on everyone who is trying to turn this event into some sort of a political advantage. But, I suppose, that is business as usual.

I think, ultimately, we have to remember or come to the realization that we don't live in a completely benign, sterile society. There will always be people who do despicable things, in the name of one cause or another. We can't and shouldn't stop people from saying what they want to say, acting how they want to act, living how they want to live, believing what they want to believe, simply because it rubs us the wrong way. Or because, occasionally, someone takes a specific message to the maximum, crazy degree, and acts out violently.

Even if this guy did happen to be a staunch, tea party activist--SO WHAT. If he was a left wing commie, WHO CARES. Christian, Muslim, Jew, Jedi Warrior. 99.99% of people aren't incited to violence when they hear so-called "radical rhetoric." Unfortunately, living in a free society means occasionally we have to deal with that really shitty .01% that are.


Dressing gay

Typically, when accused of being gay, the assumption is made by one of two parties, and for two or three reasons.

The first party, being extended family members. The second, young children in minivans leaving 7-11 in the summer time with mom. In the little bigot in training's defense, I WAS wearing incredibly short shorts, on an extremely hot day, riding a bike. Which, in case you weren't aware, makes yelling "faggot!" out the window totally called for. And 9 times out of 10, the little shit might be right.

I imagine the conversation in the van went something like this:

"Denton (pronounced Deh-uhn), roll up that window, air conditioning isn't free!"

"Ah, but mom its haw......Whoa, lookit! FAGGOT!"

"!Deh-uhn! Roll up your window! Don't ever draw their attention, you might catch the gay."


When accused, whether vocally or non by party numero uno, I think there are two main reasons. One, being the fact that I have somehow inexplicably been a complete and utter failure in the marriage arena, despite living in Utah Valley for way too many years. 28.5 year old men in Utah are obviously either mentally unbalanced, or gay if they aren't married.

The second reason, compounded with the first for an unprecedented level of possible gayness, is that I dress well. This, more than any other thing, bothers me. I don't care that my heterosexuality is put into question because I missed the 21-22 1/2 year old marriage bus. But what I DO care about, is being thought gay because I dress well, when in reality, I've never actually known a gay man who dressed better than I do. With the possible exception of ONE.

I don't know if this is a Utah phenomenon, but the stereotypical well dressed gay man is a mythical creature that is totally screwing all us straight dudes over. Not in the sense that being thought gay is something terribly (or even remotely, in my opinion) offensive, but because (most) Utah gay men dress, from what I've seen, atrociously.

Last night, I was in Smith's. I encountered 4 gay men, in 2 separate couplings. As I pulled a gallon of Kroger 1% out of the cooler, I stopped in mid removal and simply stared at the man next to me. American Eagle hoodie, which I guess isn't the worst thing in the world, and a pretty standard "I don't give a shit" piece. But coupled with flare jeans, and high heel clog boots? Ohhh girl.

Now, it wasn't as though he was going for a tranny look. He just somehow missed the memo, along with a lot of other Utah babes, that FLARE JEANS AREN'T A GOOD IDEA. I immediately wished that the gallon of milk in my hand was heavily carbonated, and that I could shake it mightily, stab the knife I wasn't carrying into the top, and spray his awful ensemble with milk, yelling "Stop dressing like a BYU coed!"

The other two dudes in the checkout line just looked like a couple of slobs. One guy in baggy jeans with frayed bottoms and a Mossimo shirt, the other with one of those awful olive green canvas belts with the 2 metal hoops at the end wrapped around come puffy tan cargo jeans, circa Aeropostale 2001. Common guys, step it up a notch.

I've let a few babes drag me to a gay club dancing in the past. On the way, I thought, "This could be great for 2 reasons. Certainly, I shall be in the straight dude minority, and there will most definitely be a lot of straight girls in attendance, looking for some non-threatening male dancing counterparts. And secondly, most of these gay men will probably be so poorly dressed, that the females shall veritably flock to me like the children of Israel to Moses in the desert."

Maybe I am getting different memos than the Utah gay man community at large, but I'm not sure why so many homosexuals think that wearing the tightest shirt into which one can feasibly pour oneself is a good idea, regardless of body type. I guess this would be the standard I'd assumed most of the world understood: If the shirt does not reach the top of one's pants, and one must have the help of 2 or more people to slide one's torso into said article, one should discard the offending article. I just don't know why gay dudes with bad bellies and love handles think they are exempt from this rule. NOBODY IS EXEMPT.

Silk shirts, shirts that button up the front with dragons or tribal designs, polos with popped collars, anything with a logo, in reality. COMMON! Rise to the stereotypical standard!

So I guess what I am saying, oh ye people who accuse me of "struggling with same sex attraction" due to the fact that I know how to put together jeans, vests, blazers, sweaters, and pocket watches in a multitude of ways that "work," is you don't really know what you are saying. I don't even remotely dress like a Utah gay man.

4, incredibly straight, well dressed doods.

THIS is the only one that I think offers up a good argument for "gay."

Utah gay men, you can do better.


How to make 2k11-infinity a better place

Every time a new year begins, I can't help but think of all the things I wish would go away permanently, thus making all years hence forth and forever a little bit better.

Sometimes, I wish Facebook would go away. But then I think, "Who am I kidding? I love Facebook. Don't strike me dead or delete my account for that blasphemous though/status update, Mark Zuckerberg." I think, rather than wishing for the annihilation of Facebook, I'd just prefer the banishment of certain features.

First, being the inane "check in's" that are constantly occurring. "Reginald Bojangles checked in at Bill's Taco Barn." While I would probably be typically interested in 98% of what a person named Reginald Bojangles would be doing at any given moment, I just can't care about where he is. Unless the update with the little red pin said, "Reginald Bojangles checked in on the Moon," and Reginald actually checked in on the moon, I don't give a shit. I don't care about when you check in at church, school, restaurants, massage parlors, whore houses, or Yosemite. STOP IT.

I really dislike, nay, abhor relationships that are more obvious via Facebook than the info section saying "Rodrigo is in a relationship with Don Julio." And some pictures together. But a constant relationship wall to wall, status to status cute-fest is nothing short of nauseating, if not completely repugnant. I am happy for your happiness, and like, totally interested in how much you love each other and shit. But maybe you could just like call me on the phone and tell me about it for 3 hours. Or blow my brains out. Either way.

Status updates about an omnipresent horrific weather condition. Even if I never emerged from my house EVER, I would be keenly aware of every cold, snowy, rainy, or otherwise blustery moment of the wintertime, due to the incessant bitching that occurs on Facebook, each time global warming takes a break from boiling us in our own carbon emissions. Unless an icicle falls from your roof and pierces your chest, I don't really care how cold and snowy it is. And please don't "check in" at the hospital.

Any Facebook statuses involving feces. Or flatulence.

I wish people would never send "Happy/Merry-insert holiday" mass texts. I don't need my phone vibrating my pocket 27 times on Martin Luther King Jr. day with generic "black power!" texts. If the text isn't personal in some way, it is annoying, rather than thoughtful. "Hey Fish! Black power bud!" is a text worth getting.

Over the last few weeks, I posted a series of statuses addressing some of these issues, using quotes from viable, authoritative resources to prove my point about some of the aforementioned items. Most of these were in the spirit of Christmas.

Some things not related to Facebook.

Newborns posed in everyday items in which one would never expect to encounter a newborn, e.g. buckets, boots, flower pots, ammunition boxes, etc. I know my mother (and probably most mothers) absolutely adore an infant wrapped up in a confederate flag and stuffed into the end of a civil war cannon, but I just find all such pictures creepy, unless I know the infant. I think if it were my infant, or a family infant, I might find such things weirdly cute. But I just want Anne Geddes to stop.
Would anyone care to explain to me what isn't creepy about this picture? Are the liver spots on the hands somehow endearing? Or is it the claw like fingernail on the left index finger with enough length to make Dracula, or a coke addict jealous that tugs at the heart? Or the fact that an infant which seems to be premature by at least a trimester and a half is gently sandwiched between said hands?I DARE you to try punishing baby Hitler. Too cute!

I think maybe just newborns in general, I am not a fan of. I wish they emerged from the womb as 8-10 month olds. I realize this would require considerably larger wombs, and even bigger birth canals, but I think we can all agree that skipping the lolling neck, spitting up, way too fragile phase would be well worth it.

I wish the Westboro Baptist Church would just go away.
Actually, going away isn't quite good enough. I wish Jesus, Buddha, Allah, Vishnu, Boba Fett, and Santa Claus would get together and strike the WBC from the face of the earth. Preferably, in a way involving fire, lasers, and maybe a huge mudslide full of glass shards, liberalism, and homosexuality, so it be an ignominious death.

While this post has a slightly negative tone, despite the previous items, I actually liked 2k10. And am looking forward to 2k11. I just think the United States would be a better place if, rather than wasting time bickering about the economy, healthcare, and the Mexican invasion, Congress would address these paramount issues.