Unfortunately, I have nothing to write about.
When I sit down to write a blog post with nothing to say I end up sounding equal parts stoned and equal parts suicidal. (Note: I am neither. OR AM I? I am not.)
(Also, the more parentheticals I use THE BETTER. AM I RIGHT? Note: This also applies to CAPS.)
So what's been up, boyee? Not too much. Not too much. I just opened a bag of Sun Chips and the bag made such a loud noise Jeff immediately said, "You're gonna need a plate."
It's that kind of up to date information on my life you've been missing.
Possible topics for this post were pitched as:
1. The Rape Condom
2. The Human Centipede.
3. [Redacted]
4. Camel Spiders
5. My singing abilities
6. Bras or Pants -- which sucks more to wear?
I don't think I should touch the first two (LITERALLY! Hey-o!) because this is a family blog. Also: Don't google camel spiders. They will haunt your dreams and then actually eat out your brains through your eyeballs in your sleep. Or so I've been told.
My singing abilities were "shown off" last Wednesday night in a dive country western bar in downtown Bristol, CT the other night. Don't worry, I'll text you the address. My coworkers (hi Chris!) and I had all gathered for our annual gathering for gathering's sake, and this bar was just one short gravely walk across the parking lot from our hotel. Naturally, we ended up living there for three days. Note: When you walk in somewhere and it has a mechanical bull you know you're in for a good time even though no one in your party will have the guts to ride it any look like a fool.
Fortunately, there was plenty of time to look like a fool as Wednesday's are karaoke. Karaoke was being run by a guy who looked like Mario Batali's fatter, less successful and more musical little brother. He had a long red ponytail and apparently a very fruitful career which had let him to our little corner of the world on that night.
Not a lot of people in our group were really gutsy (is gutsy the right word?) enough for karaoke, but we finally goaded one of the writers up to the stage where he then blew our minds with a particularly straight faced and unforgettable performance of Gin & Juice, complete with a few loud "Biatch!"'s at the end. Well done, sir.
My buddy Tim was up next, singing "Radar Love" -- a song which I have never heard before in my life, but sounded brilliant. Tim then suggested he and I sing a song.
Now, I'm not shy. I'm not adverse to making a fool of myself in public, speaking my mind, doing the robot, drinking too much and revealing embarrassing details about myself, etc. This is why people always have the utmost respect for me. But I can't sing. So I don't usually karaoke.
But Tim was goading me, and wanting to be a good sport, I obliged. The exchange went something like this.
Tim: "Let's sing Barenaked Ladies 'If I Had a Million Dollars.' Everyone will love it and be singing along with us at the end."
Me: Dopey smile and complete trust in this statement.
Cue us on stage. Song starts. Awwww... damn. I really don't know this song that well at all.
***Crickets***
There is video of this somewhere, but I could only watch the first 20 seconds before I wanted to die of shame. And thus ends my karaoke career. (But who are WE kidding!)
By the end of the three days I realized I have pretty much the coolest coworkers on the planet which makes my job so easy and great. I'm so damn lucky, you know that? I don't think there's many girls on this planet who have surrounded themselves with such amazing and funny and good (I broke out the thesaurus there!) people as I have. And by surrounded, I mean virtually. I see them once a year. They don't know how little I shower and that's probably a good thing.
I'll wrap this up by saying, it's a close debate but ultimately: Pants.
-- Drops mic --
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