vomit in the eyes and the five beers of friendship

I dont know if you could tell from my posts last night, but I was a bit tipsy when I penned them. After work, Id gone directly to the Sidetrack to take advantage of the beer special (25 ounce drafts of anything on tap from 4:00 to 6:00 (and again after 10:00) every Monday through Thursday, excluding holidays), and to meet up with Chuck Manly, my chuck who was visiting from California. (A chuck for those of you who arent caught up, is a stalker who, by some weird twist of fate, has morphed into a friend.) Anyway, we went out and I threw back a few big Guinness and Bass black-n-tans while Chuck sat staring at me like I was half-steak and half-Pam Anderson and sipping on his pop Im not sure, but Chuck might not even be 21 yet At any rate, he sat there staring at me, his eyes spinning around like pinwheels, and it crossed my mind that there must have been a moment that morning outside the Dakota when John Lennon suspected something wasnt quite right with the guy holding the copy of Catcher in the Rye But this is Ypsi, I thought to myself, and everyone looks like that. So, I kept emptying my beers and he kept sipping his pop and staring.

Then, at some point, he started telling me about everything going on behind the scenes at his group-blog, Caliblog, and bragging about all the women who wrote in saying that theyd fallen in love with him. It was that point, as I sat there lamenting loudly that none of my readers had ever hit on me, that my wife and baby apparently strolled up behind me The conversation abruptly changed course at that point.

So, after sitting there drinking and swapping stories for a few hours, Linette and I came home, where I promptly strapped the baby to my chest and took the dog for a walk. On the walk, I met a man who Im pretty sure was a pimp. (He was following a woman in sweatpants by half a block and he would occasionally yell directions up to her, like they were rowing around a lake looking for a good fishing spot.) He asked me about my dog. He wanted to know if she was a pit. So, I stood there on the corner, a bag of her warm shit in one hand, talking with this pimp, as Clementine gurgled and made little bird noises between my womanly breasts. It was very Norman Rockwell. (As an aside, Id never felt like a bigger pussy. I kept imagining how Id fight with a baby strapped to my chest and the thought made me feel extremely vulnerable. I might as well be wearing high heels into a prison yard, I thought. And it didnt help that I was toting around dog shit in a plastic Whole Foods bag… I’m not sure of much, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that pimps don’t pick up dog shit.)

OK, I was planning on a much bigger entry tonight, but Linette and I had company and she just left. Our friend Monica came over this afternoon to hang out with Clementine and Linette and she stayed for dinner. As it would turn out, that was just long enough for her to be the very first person projectile vomited on by our daughter. We were all sitting there, eating our beans and rice, when Clementine suddenly, and without warning, sent a scorching-hot stream of vomited breast milk and bile across the table and into Monicas eyes. It was truly terrible (how funny I thought it was).

So, thats it for tonight.

(I should note, for the sake of the historical record, that Chuck never really stalked me, and that he’s not either a) insane, or b) in love with me. I just think it’s funny to pretend that’s the case.)

Oh, here, before I go though, is a link to a neat little retelling of the Planet of the Apes as though it were an episode of the Twilight Zone. Its pretty cool.

Oh, and one last thing Yesterday, I posted a link to a site where a fellow had gone to great effort to detail the various medals and commendations earned by George Bush during his time in the military. The site, featuring awards like the Fearless Ninja award and the Five Bears of Friendship medal, was not real. Im sorry I didnt mention that earlier. My apologies to all of you who were hopelessly confused.

Well, the site not only confused an MM.com reader by the name of Ken, it encouraged him to make an award of his own, the Five Beers of Friendship medal. While I like it very much, and would be proud to wear it, Im not sure what it means. Linette and I were just debating it. She thinks that if you can drink five beers with a person and you still both like each other that you should both earn the ribbon. (She said, however, that if you ended up in bed with each other that you shouldnt get one.) My suggestion was that the award should be given to people once they had purchased five beers for another person, someone who had already earned the award him or herself. The way I envision it, it would be like a secret society that you only found out about once you were gracious enough to buy five (non happy hour) drinks.

(If youd like to design an award, either for Bush, or for your fellow MM.com readers, just send it in and Ill post it here.)

On that note, I must go up to bed. Be good, my invisible friends.

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