.comment-link {margin-left:.6em;}

Tales of a Post-Grad Nothing

Friday, September 30, 2005

True Story

Tonight I was at an all-night pharmacy purchasing Batman band-aids when in walked a stripper dressed like a sexy cowgirl. For what it's worth, I love this country.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

The Next Step

Boyfriend: Do you think we're ready?
Me: Frankly yes. We've been together for a long time. We've been through a lot together. I think it's time to take the next step. I'm ready to do this with you.
Boyfriend: It's just that it's so much committment
Me: I know Chris, but think of the chicks man. Think of the chicks.

There comes a point in every relationship when you have to decide whether or not this is someone you can see yourself experiencing the ultimate with in the future. If you're together long enough, you'll have to take a good, long look at your significant other and decide if this is THE person with whom you'd like to own a pet. I firmly believe that after when a man really loves a woman (or other man or man dressed as a woman or man taking hormones to become a woman, ad infinitum), the natural inclination is to move in, get a dog (or cat if you're into useless wastes of life...sorry Miso), train that dog to sit when you say "drop it like it's hot," and spend your days watching Netflix together and discussing Lindsay Lohan's funbags (seriously, where did they go? Are they on vacation?). That stuff's in the Bible or something. It's how GOD intended it.

Besides making you a morally superior person, pets will always hang out with you, no matter how much you miss the Euro city of freaks you just came from and believe that you may never have anything else exciting happen in your life ever again. If, you know, hypothetically, that's how you selfishly feel about anything right now. Not that I know anyone who feels like that.

How do you know you're ready to go balls deep? I wasn't convinced that I was ready to take the next step until I saw how heart meltingly delightful the next step could be. Not to go all girl on you, but seriously, look at the next step:



It would take someone with a robot heart to look at that dog and not want to bring it home. It would take someone who's soul is black as tar. It would take my boyfriend 30 seconds to look at that dog, coo over it, then stare straight into its sweet, pixelated face and shoot the idea down completely.

There comes a point in every relationship when you realize that your significant other is actually a cold-blooded freak. Now it's just a matter of coping with that.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Showing You Mine in Hopes That You'll Show Me Yours

I cannot stop reading this. Someone please do an intervention.

Monday, September 26, 2005

Caution, Viewers May Experience Meatgasm

These are saw horses. They are awaiting steak.

As was this trailer. Neither the horses nor the trailer was disappointed.





As you can see, the Charles City Ruritan Club takes its promise of providing an unlimited amount of alcohol seriously. This is a glass of pure Scotch. Cheers.

Saturday, September 24, 2005

Man Size Steak, Man Size Fun

When searching for novelty, there are a few words that can tip you off. Basically if something can be delivered by the:

1. Buttload
2. Fistfull
3. Trough,

you automatically know that it will be high in novelty value, no questions necessary. I wasn't excited about going to the Charles City Steak Festival until I saw that it's portions would be "MAN SIZE W/TRIMMINGS," as my ticket noted. MAN SIZE eh? Now you've got my attention.

As it turned out the Charles City Steak Festival was "Man Size" in every conceivable way. Man Size trucks filled with Man Size men in khakis and boating shoes lined the parking lot. Man Size slabs of meat cooked on 2, 25-foot Man Size grills positioned to the side of the Man Size country music band that insisted on calling Jimmy Buffet, Jimmy "Boo-fay." Everything was big, sweaty, and slathered in a protective coating of testosterone. With the backdrop of Berkeley Plantation, "Virginia's Most Historic Plantation," the Steak Festival was the cultural equivalent of watching the Superbowl while eating apple pie in the back of a Hummer limo. Never, ever has anything more stereotypically American happened in the history of time. The Steak Fest included:

1. More people with flames embroidered on their clothing than I have ever seen in my life (and that includes that time that I saw a hearse demolition derby in Pennsylvania. I cheered for the green one.).
2. More meat than I have ever seen in my life. 2, 25-foot grills piled high with meat fed the 100 or so men and approximately 15 women who came out to support the Charles City Ruritan club.
3. Eating said meat off of saw horses.
4. An unlimited supply of liquor. Unlimited. Do you hear that people? There was no limit.
5. Beer you can pour yourself directly out of the truck. Forget the useless middle man. The Charles City Steak Festival allows you to POUR AS MUCH BEER AS YOU LIKE DIRECTLY OUT OF THE SIDE OF A TRUCK.
6. A raffle in which you could win either hams or guns. The boyfriend and I put in our cash to win the guns, but it was not to be had.

Allow me to recap. You can drive out to a plantation, imbibe as much as you like (preferably from the side of a truck), dance a country jig, eat a gigantic slab of meat from a saw horse, win yourself a gun, and drive home. The people were nice. The music was catchy. The food was, if nothing else, plentiful. Experiencing a total meatgasm on the way home, I just wished that my Euro friends were here to see this. Pictures forthcoming (hopefully).

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Conversation From Yesterday

Friend: ...Life is good in general, it's just all this house stuff. I don't know what to do. I've never had a mortgage before. I don't even know where to go to get a mortgage.

Me: Why don't you go to my mother. Mortgages is what she does.

Friend: Really?

Me: Yeah, she deals with a lot of low-income people

Friend: I'm not low-income

Me: Did I say 'low-income?' I meant students, she deals with a lot of students

Friend: I'm not a student

Me: Did I say 'students?' I meant assholes. She deals with a lot of assholes.

Friend: Now we can do some business.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Weirdly Wonderful

No place on earth has more awesomely bad things than the United States. Go ahead, search the world. I bet each and every one of you that you'll never be able to find three things as awesomely bad as an inmate rodeo, a drivable hot dog, and a corn palace all within the borders of one tackily delightful place anywhere else. The U.S. is the alpha and the omega of the absurd, putting all other countries to shame with its freestyle canine dance competitions and Museum of Menstruation.

In our little state of Virginia, the birthplace of America, there's one very special time of year when you can see everything from bearded ladies to lawnmower races...The State Fair. The state fair is 10 days of everything I love about rural America. It's big. It's pseudo-trashy. And it's chock full of cultural things you can't find anywhere else in the entire universe. Where else can you go to find racing hogs? Fiddlin contests? Demolition derbies? Or Agricadabra, a show that "captures all the magic of agriculture?" When was the last time you did anything that captured all the magic of agriculture? As if that wasn't enough to wet your country-lovin palate, this year's state fair will feature something never before featured in a Virginia-based fair: a Superchicken.

Nobody seems to know whether Superchicken is simply a freakishly large chicken or a man in a chicken suit who helps pass on the magic of agriculture to ignorant young adults who are far too old to be attending Agricadabra. I imagine Superchicken to look something like this:

The real Superchicken probably won't get shot by local authorities and probably won't have human blood dripping from its beak as my depiction suggests, but you never know. At the end of the day, it doesn't really matter whether it's a grotesquely large fowl or a stoned high school student under those feathers. One fact remains: as long as this state still has steer wrestling and the annual Open Beef Competition, Virginia will always have a piece of my heart.

Sunday, September 18, 2005

Sometimes


when I'm feeling down

about leading a cold, borderline celibate life,

I think


of everyone else

who might be getting laid

at this very moment

and my heart


sheds a little tear.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Today I heard an R&B (that stands for "rhythm and blues" for you whiteys) cover of Extreme's More Than Words. The new singer had replaced the middle lyrics, the ones I used to sing to myself while sitting alone in the dark during my first year of college, with Spanish ones. Listening to the new, terrible version today, I felt the same way I did when I realized that my awesome skateboard, the one featuring both the Sacred Heart of Jesus and a skull man riding a Harley through a ring of fire, was stolen. Nothing is sacred in this day and age.

Friday, September 09, 2005

Being back home is...well...weird. I expected to run slowly through a field to my beloved Richmond, Virginia and be immediately caught up in its warm, bosomy embrace, but instead, it's been an awkward sweaty-palmed transition back into my hometown. I'm not sure what I really expected, but it certainly wasn't that everyone I know would have carried on as usual during my year-long absence. While I was busy being unacceptably awkward in a foreign city, friends got married, changed jobs, changed cities, changed apartments, changed last names, changed lives and in essence, grew from being post-grad nothings into working professionals with mortgages, insurance, and a full collection of power ties. As Stephanie Tanner would say, "How Rude."

I commented to a friend that I felt a little left behind, in a good, comforting, happy-for-those-I-love kind of way, not in a scary beyond all reason kind of way, to which he said, "People grow up. That's just what this species does." And, as usual, my lovely friend is right. People do grow up, with or without you. Today my 6 year-old niece told me that her boyfriend, "who used to be a nice young man" (that's not an exaggeration, she really did use those words) had started wearing a gold chain and sunglasses and telling her "Girl, I've changed. I'm a man now baby." 6 year-old Drew is apparently a man now. Isn't there some sort of religious celebration for that?

I asked her if she was upset that her "eternal love" (you'll find barf bags located to your left) had become something different, she just looked at me with a completely deadpan face and said, "Why would I ever feel bad? Chris, seriously, I'm a way awesome person." And that was it. No tears. No confusion. No chocolate ice cream or the younger generation's equivalent of My So-Called Life episodes. Why would 'way awesome' people worry about anything? I drove home feeling more 'way awesome' than I've felt in about a month, thinking about people and change and doing what this species does.

Friday, September 02, 2005

Help a brotha out.