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Tales of a Post-Grad Nothing

Thursday, November 29, 2007

I Gotta Say It Was a Good Day

My roommate just let me name one of her fish Mitt Gromney. Other name choices included Oliver Gromwell, St. Gromas Aquinas, Pope Grom Paul II, Gromstantine the Great, and Viggo Mortgromson. In other news, I have no life and Michael Jackson II is no longer constipated.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Greatest Excuse Ever

My roommate just told me that she can't go to the science supply store with me tonight because her fish, Michael Jackson II, is constipated. Of the three of us, I'm not sure who's the sadder party.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

E-mail Received From My Friend David. He is 26.

"Hey, I need a favor since you're a part of the media and have a blog capable of attaining critical mass for the cause. I really think she could use our prayers...or, yours and your friends' prayers 'cause, mine are clearly labeled as spam. At this time of year when Hallmark tells us to be thankful for stuff, we might want to remind ourselves of the unfortunate and how lucky we are. Hope you're having fun being awesome."

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Open Letter

Dear Internet:

Sometimes when I do something awkward

like accidentally yelling the f-word in the middle of my yoga class

or comparing someone's real life relationship issues to that time in the X-Men cartoon series where Wolverine thinks Dr. Jean Grey is dead only to have her return for a while and he all puts his heart out on the table until she goes nuts and thinks she's a Victorian aristocrat,

both of which have happened this week,

I think to myself, "Holy shit, I'm awkward."

Like really, inexcusably awkward.

The kind of awkward that would be punishable by public stoning in certain cultures.

But you're always there,

providing me with work from people who may very well also be awkward

but in a totally badass kind of way.

So thanks for that.

If you ever need anything, I owe you one.

Keep well. Say hi to your mom for me.



More here. Link found through Superdeens.


Sunday, November 18, 2007

The Ultimate Mood Killer

While in a pet shop buying a new chew toy for the dog, I turned down an aisle and saw a rear shot of some dude unloading boxes. The following inner monologue took place:

Why helllllllllo there hot box boy. Nice biceps. Nice butt. Extra nice single trickle of sweat pouring down the back of your box-handling neck. Isn't this the opening to an episode of The Red Shoe Diaries? Shouldn't I be shopping for something phallic and whispering things people never say in real life like 'I have a box that could use some handling?' Hey sexy box guy, that's an extra heavy one over there. You're going to have to really roll up your sleeves and flex those biceps to handle that one. Oh my gosh, he's slowly turning around. Let's get a good look at your face...hot sideburns...strong jaw line...clean shaven...holy shit he's mentally retarded.

And just like that I understood exactly what it feels like to go from normal to predatory asshole in 0.2 seconds.

Friday, November 16, 2007

Project Badass Part II: Find the Strangest Thing You Have Ever Seen

It's a strange feeling to have really planned for something big to happen in your life, like a momentous occasion, and then for whatever reason it doesn't happen and your life is filled with anticlimax...anticlimax being a totally acceptable noun for the purposes of this blog entry. For me, October 20th was that day. It would have been my 10 year anniversary and maybe, possibly, potentially the day I would have gotten engaged had a number of things not gone belly-up over the past two years. But they did go belly-up for valid reasons, and while it's probably to everyone's ultimate benefit experiencing a non-anniversary is pure emotional displacement. Anticipating the inevitable Whitman's sampler of emotions that would accompany this day, I wanted to spend it amongst friends seeing something so absolutely bizarre that it would (hopefully) absorb all of my attention.

Instead of celebrating on October 20th, I drove to rural Indiana to a church located in a former warehouse located across the street from a strip mall*. The thing that makes this particular church located in a former warehouse located across the street from a strip mall special is that it's home to the first (and to my knowledge only) church-sponsored backyard wrestling event.

The next thing I'm about to say may be the most honest thing I've ever said in my entire life - If you ever, ever, ever need to take your mind off of something, NOTHING will do that more than seeing one grown-ass man in a speedo fake kicking another grown-ass man in a cape all in the name of the son of God. Nothing. You can just click that link and scroll down to see the flier featuring a guy who's kind of dressed like he came from an oil tycoon's wedding (minus the bolo) with some girl that you just know has a hyphenated name that ends in Lynn standing near but not necessarily noticing the dude who looks like he's from The Tick channeling fury through his paws of might and know - from the bottom of your heart - that whatever burdens you carried into FirePro Wrestling, you most assuredly will not be taking out. Being a natural born weird magnet, I've seen a lot of strange things in my time but the moment I saw Pastor "Diehard" Steve step into the ring (which also doubles as the platform where he preaches the following Sunday morning...seriously), it honestly felt like Jesus himself personally handing me the most awesomely strange gift heaven could conjure up.

From the PG-rated trash talk (spewing from both the wrestlers and the audience) to the surplus of unitards to the uber-dramatic storylines, FirePro Wrestling is, no contest, the single most fascinating thing I've ever seen in my life. Events are approximately three hours** long and feature about 20 wrestlers who range from maybe-if-I-was-drunk-and-it-was-Halloween-I-would-think-you-were-a-small-time-athlete to hey-that's-just-a-fat-guy-in-a-mask. There are dropkicks. There are stage names like "Hoss," "Hotbod," and "Devon Fury."*** There are tag team events catalyzed by carefully constructed soap opera-like vendettas. There are crustaches and supportive ring girls and surprise betrayals and empty I'm-gonna-hit-you-with-this-chair threats. More interesting than what's actually there is what isn't - namely the sex, drugs, and rock n roll aspect that's become the hallmark of the modern WWF.

Take out the bikinis, explicit music, realistic violence, token drunks, and potty words and you're left with a family-friendly Disney version of a live wrestling show - one that attracts a bizarre cross-section of families, church-goers, wrestling fans, amateur athletes, and freak-seekers like myself. I think the thing that struck me as the most strange was that it is a surprisingly warm community of people that are hungry for church-sanctioned fake violence. I came prepared for bodyslams, but not for hugs and friendly catch-up conversations between grandmas and spandex-clad men before and after matches. Everyone knew each other. Everyone supported each other even amidst the trash talking - the event I attended was put on to raise money for a local missionary who will soon head to Uganda with his wife to work in a camp designed to help children forced to be soldiers...that missionary is also one of the ring refs as well as the dude who sold me a hotdog during intermission...natch.

In a weird way, it was kind of like being with my own family - they might yell and fight and have an affinity for drama, but the bottom line is that we're built off of something much stronger than what we show on the outside. And while God himself wasn't there taking it from the top rope,**** there was a definite human warmth that was there in that unlikely arena. At intermission, the largest wrestler of all humbly laid down and allowed each and every child in the audience***** to come stand on his chest and hold the heavy-weight championship belt over their tiny heads to "make them feel like a champion," a feeling which seems to be one of the underlying goals of religion anyway. Right then and there I thought Yeah, maybe John 3:16 and Austin 3:16 can coexist after all.


* This doesn't say much in the way of location. Almost everything in rural Indiana is located across the street from a strip mall.

** Oh my God, it was three hours long.

*** Some of these names kind of creeped me out because they sound like the names of dudes my dad hangs out with and as I've mentioned here before, an unfortunate number of the dudes my dad hangs out with have been stabbed.

**** But seriously, how sweet would that be?

***** And me


Thursday, November 15, 2007

Now That's Resolve

This isn't filed under "I Need A Hero" because of the guy dancing. It's because his mother is clearly the kind of woman who breaks her knitting stride for no man, not even the Hammer.

Thanks Shaun.


Friday, November 02, 2007

We're Back!

Hey, this site is back up. I had to take the site down for a few days for work, but now we're back up and all of you lovely lovelies who sent me kind/concerned e-mails can look forward to a daily dose of awkwardness once again. In fact, here's a photo essay to kick things back into gear. Enjoy! Or don't! Choose your own adventure!

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When life gives you a buttload of corn, make the world's largest corn maze. Last Saturday, I drove an hour and a half outside of Chicago to the aforementioned corn maze with some pretty kickass dude buddies where we truly did have an A-Maze-ing Time as the sign encouraged us to do:

Here's a fact about a corn maze. It doesn't really matter that it looks like this from the air:

It looks like this from inside no matter where you go:

In fact, once you've run out of corn-themed puns,* the cold begins to get to you and you'll realize that a corn maze is actually pretty lame, no matter how cheerleader-shaped or filled with high school kids the maze may be. Therefore, it's essential that you bring people who aren't opposed to smuggling a bottle of champagne in:

And then maybe rockin it out with a spontaneous corn dance party to The Karate Kid soundtrack:

And cooling it down by slow dancing to Glory of Love:

And wrapping the whole thing up by re-enacting some battles with corn stalks:

It also helps if one of them is dressed as Patrick Swayze from Ghost:

And if you top off the whole experience up by going to the diviest bar you can find and dancing to Poison songs. I guess a corn maze could be super fun if you're into reading maps at night in the cold. I, however, am way more into sipping some bubbly and dancing my heart out. If corn rock were a real thing, I'd be all up in that. Maybe that's a goal for next year.


* My favorites included "Hey Couch, let's make a cornographic film," "I hope there aren't any Anacorndas in here," and "How close are we to Wiscornsin?"