Brace yourself...

...because this blog will be bitch free.

I went to IKEA Sunday with a couple friends.

Oh.

my.

God.

Yeah, yeah, the furniture is cool in all, but the women! Oh my. It's been a good long while since I've seen so many good looking women in one spot. I don't think I saw 1/4 of the displays at IKEA, but I can guarandamntee you I saw ALL of the women.

My, my, my.

I wonder if IKEA will let me live in one of their displays. I can model it for 'em.

One can hope.

Show some courtesy...

Aaaah, spring is here, the birds are chirping, the weather is nice. In the DC area, that always means one thing.

Tourist season.

Ug.

Not being a resident of DC, I have no love for the tourists because they have no idea how to be courteous to others. It’s as if they get stupid once they leave their house. Especially when it comes to the metro—and its unwritten common courtesy rules.

So, being the caring guy that I am, I decided to provide the list for those of you planning on visiting DC in the near future. You should print these out for your—and my—sake.

Metro Rules (in no particular order)

- When arriving at the Metro Station, park your car between the yellow (or white) lines. No matter what kind of car you drive, it’s not good enough to take up more than one spot. If you do take up two spots, on your return don’t be surprised to find someone has parked so close to your car you can’t open the door. I’ve seen this done and it’s hilarious. Also, if you are driving a trailer, park it somewhere else. Rent a car. Spots are hard enough to find without some idiot and their trailer taking up 4 parking spots.

- When purchasing your ticket, do not use the “Smart Trip” machine. The “Smart Trip” machine is the machine with many buttons. Those buttons will confuse you and you will not know what do to. The only thing you will succeed in doing is standing in front of me like a gump, scratching your head in confusion. Then you will turn to me for help, which I won’t give you because your dumb ass made me miss my train, which is either going to make me late for work or delay my trip home. Just use those machines without all the fancy buttons and we’ll all be happy.

-When the train arrives and the doors to the train open, stand to the side and let the people on the train exit BEFORE you attempt to board. Believe me, I will plow my way through you if you stand in my way. It’s the same concept as an elevator. All the people must exit so there is room for those entering. If you don’t follow this rule with the elevator, you are an idiot and you should just stay in your house.

-When choosing a seat on the train—particularly during rush hour—do not take up the whole seat. Or sit on the outside of the seat leaving the inside empty in the hopes that no one will call you on it. They will. You are being an ass when you pull a stunt like this and everyone knows it. Don’t pretend that you weren’t thinking; when you do shit like this we already know you’re stupid. You are being an ass and you know it, so just don’t do it.

-Don’t talk to me. I don’t give a shit where you are from. I’m wearing headphones for a reason.

-Don’t talk loud. You aren’t the only one on the train and the other people don’t care what you did today or what you are doing tomorrow.

-Don't talk on your cell. No one gives a shit about Sally and the boys.

-If you are sitting on the outside of the seat and someone is on the inside, make sure you move your ass when they inform you that this is their stop. Don’t dick around gathering your shit. As a sitter on the outside seat, it is your responsibility to be ready to move at each and every stop.

-When you are taking an escalator either to or from your train, if you aren’t moving, STAY TO THE RIGHT. Like traffic in most places, people pass on the left. So, again (and I’m typing this one slower so you will get it), if you aren’t moving, stay to your right. Just because you are on vacation doesn’t mean the rest of the country is. I need to get to that train to get to work. Or I’m going home after a hard day of work. Either way, stay on the right, stay on the right, stay on the right. And for the love of God, when I get up your ass because you are standing on the left, don’t dare give me a dirty look, because I will call your stupid ass on it.

-Also, when exiting or entering the metro-station, do not use the widest—or handicap—entrance gate. The ticket comes out of a different spot and you will only hold everyone up looking for it.

That’s the rules.

Enjoy your stay.

And now for something completely different...

Memoir

Inebriated at 4 o'clock in the a.m.
Talking to people never known before;
dancing with strangers to the p.m. dawn
Smoking coffin nail in hand,
wandering the assemblage
of collegiates.
Ears ringing from discussions of automotive specs
to the most popular fucks in high school.
And where are they now?

I am here


I must have written that about 10 years ago or so. I was taking a creative writing class and it was an assignment to write something that happened that weekend.

Well, that was one of those weekends where everything went right and all was good. I was going through the first of the major changes in my life and the bitterness I held for the people I went to high school with was on the down slope. It was also right around the time when I was becoming truly happy with myself. Even though I met a girl that weekend that I eventually moved in with (and got destroyed by), it was good times that I look back with fondness.

I believe it's the most honest thing I've ever written.

What every fat-ass does...

My whole body hurts.

I was trimming this big ass bush that surrounds my deck yesterday. I hadn't trimmed that bush in about 2 years, so I needed to knock quite a bit off.

Part of the trimming required me to stand on the deck and lean over the rail to cut the branches of the bush that creep onto the deck and 'tickle' peoples feet (on the occasion I have them over).

Well.

I was leaning on the rail, hedge trimmer running, and the rail gave away.

I went over.

Luckily, I was smart enough to release the trigger of the trimmer and fling it away from me. Also, luckily, it was only about a 3 foot drop.

But it was still a three foot drop into the bush. Without a shirt.

So, naturally I did the first thing every fat-ass does when he falls--especially when he's not wearing a shirt--I made sure nobody was looking. Again, luckily, it went site unseen.

My stomach and chest, however, was a mess. No deep wounds, but plenty of scratches.

That fucking bush is coming out this summer.

Top down, windows up...

So I'm driving home from work today, listening to some tunes, digging the weather and looking at the women.

Then I saw the convertible.

Top down.

Windows up.

What the hell is wrong with people?

What goes through the person's head who does this?

"Damn it's windy! I gotta put these windows up!"

HELLO! THE TOP HALF OF YOUR CAR IS DOWN!

And don't tell me it makes a difference. I've been in convertible. It doesn't.

Dumbasses.

The Perfect Woman...

I'm a single guy. And generally, when one is single, he creates an image of the perfect woman. Hell, sometimes you don't even have to be single to do that...

Anyway, my perfect woman must have...

Red hair - There is nothing finer than a gorgeous redhead. And, when I say red hair, I mean red hair. Not dyed. I want the whole red head package. Grrr baby.

No friends - Let's face it, guys don't like your friends. None of them. None of those nosy women telling you how I should treat you. 9 times out of 10, your friends are single, bitter and want you to go out and meet guys with them. So, they take every chance they get to tell you how wrong I am for you. Jealous, petty and childish, there is a reason why these friends are single. The ONLY exceptions to this rule is if the friend is my best friend's girlfriend. Then, if they break up, you stop talking to her. The other exception is if my best friend is single, you must find a friend for him. Then, if they break up, you stop speaking to your friend because she's such a bitch for leaving my buddy.

A need to smoke - I'm a smoker. I don't plan on stopping. I don't want to be nagged about stopping. My next girlfriend will either be a smoker or someone who doesn't care if she dates a smoker. Who am I kidding? She'll be a smoker.

Above average heighth - I love tall women.

Parents are either dead or live in another country - I have a hard enough time dealing with my mother. I don't need to deal with yours.

Deaf - Okay, maybe not deaf. But none of this selective hearing bullshit, either. You either hear me or you don't. Nothing in between.

Short-term memory - I don't need to hear about shit I said to you in 1986. Get over it.

A sense of humor - I want you to laugh at my farts and call me a dumbass for being so crude. But don't hold it against me.

A high self-esteem - I've had female friends long before I met you and I'll probably have them long after you leave. Deal with it. Also, I do not want to hear how fat or how skinny or how unattractive you think you are. Nothing is a bigger turn-off than a woman begging for attention. Hey, I'm a fat-ass, but I never once said "Golly, I need to lose weight." Why? Because I don't give a shit what other people think because I am better than them.

A need to be alone, sometimes - Every Saturday and Sunday morning I go to the coffee shop for about an hour or so. That's my time. We don't need to be together 24/7.

Now, that said, I will make it clear that I love women. I love everything about women--particularly those without issues. There is nothing more attractive than a woman who not only knows what she wants, but she knows how to get it and she's not afraid to speak her mind with complete and utter honesty. I just haven't found her yet.

I gotta go now, I gotta go to Home Depot and Radio Shack for the parts I need for this robot it looks like I'm gonna have to build.

Having drinks with a celebrity...

I love horror movies.

I remember when I was a kid, my parents would often go to the drive-in. Fortunately, my mother was a big horror fan and some of my earliest movie memories included such classics as Dawn of the Dead, The Shining, Manhunter and so many more.

Now I write reviews for horror movies. Granted, it's more of a hobby than a job (depending on the movie), but I have met a lot of good people and have had more than a few of great experiences because of this. Fred, the guy who is great enough to host my reviews on his site, HorrorTalk (link on the right), has given me an opportunity that I can never thank him enough for. My name in print. Granted, it's my screen name for the forum, but it's my work getting out for the world to see. And nothing is cooler than getting feedback from the director of a movie you reviewed. But that's another post. I'm going somewhere else with this...

The beauty of the HorrorTalk forum is the people that run it and the people that post on the boards. And one of the coolest things is every year, since 2002, a group of us head to Horrorfind Weekend for a weekend of meeting our favorite celebrities and spending money to no end. All good times.

I have met numerous horror celebrities (TV, movies and authors) at the conventions, but one of most memorable was having a beer with Reggie Bannister.

First, if you don't know who Reggie Bannister is--and you are a horror fan--shame on you. Go watch Phantasm. Go watch Bubba Ho-Tep. Go watch some movies. Come back when you know.

So, the story...

Last August, I arrived to the hotel where the convention was to be held and it was to early to check-in. So, naturally, I went to the bar and ordered a Sam Adams and a shot of Grey Goose (side note, the bartender asked me if I wanted it chilled. How the fuck else are you supposed to drink vodka?). I made a quick call to my buddy Eric to let him know I was at the bar and just to look for me when he arrived. I hung up the phone and proceeded to drink.

So I'm sitting there watching ESPN, drinking my third or fourth beer, just waiting. I turned my chair to the left to check out the pool... Strike that. I was looking around the pool. Seriously, who looks at a pool? I was looking for honeys. But, alas, there were none. But there was a guy sitting next to his wife, reading a newspaper. It was Reggie Bannister. Not one to stare, I verified in my head it was indeed him and turned back to the TV. Not long after I had turned around, I noticed his wife walking out of the bar to make a call on the hotel phone. That was my chance (as I'm not one to interrupt people spending time with their family).

So I walked over to him and said (already knowing the answer), "Excuse me, are you Reggie Bannister?"

He threw me a big smile and said, "Yeah. What's your name?"

I said, "I'm Steve. I just wanted to let you know I love your work. I'm not here to ask you for an autograph, but I would like to buy you and the lady you are with a drink for the entertainment you have provided me over the years."

He said, "Have a seat."

I politely declined. I didn't want to be that guy. You know, that guy who is hounding a celeb for their autograph when they are just trying to have a drink or some private time with their friends. I was bordering on the town of that guy as it was and I explained all of this to Reggie. I didn't want to offend him and I sure as hell didn't want to impose. As I was explaining this, his wife (who was the lady friend) had come back and heard the majority of what I said.

"Oh for God's sake, sit down. He lives for this. He loves his fans. He's not doing anything but reading the paper anyway." She said.

Who was I to argue?

So there I was, having drinks with Reggie Bannister and his wife (whom, unfortunately, I forgot here name). You want to talk about beaming. Shit, I could feel the heat on my face. I was drinking with Reggie fucking Bannister. And he was cool! And we were talking about non-movie stuff. Just shooting the shit. We were just chilling! It was great.

Then my phone rang.

I looked down and checked the caller ID. It was another friend who was coming to the convention. I said to Reggie and his wife, "Excuse me, this will literally take one second."

I turned my head, flipped the phone, said "I'm having drinks with Reggie and *wife's name* Bannister. Fuck off," and hung up.

I turned back to the table. I said, "Gotta set your priorities."

I don't think he heard what I said to my friend, but they laughed like they got the gist of what I said.

The next day, Eric and I were walking around the convention when Eric said, "Looks like the bar's open," because he saw Reggie leaving the celeb mini-bar (not a minibar, but a little bar) with a drink. Reggie, apparently hearing what Eric said, looked over at us and said, "Hey Steve!"

According to Eric, I never made a sound. Eric said he had taken a few steps ahead and when he turned back to me I was standing there "like a dope literally with your mouth open."

I'm pretty sure I gave Reggie a wave It was one of those things where I was surprised he remembered my name. You gotta think the guy has seen 300 - 500 people in the past 2 days, and I made enough of an impression that he went out of his way to say hi.

Reggie walked off.

Eric told me to pick my jaw up off the floor.

Good times.



*Note, I edited this post after I got an email from Eric. He corrected the last part of me (some of which is taken verbatim from the email). I believe Eric is spot on with his description. Hell, I can't argue with the guy when he says, "Trust me on this one. I was there, and not stunned into shock."

We'll see...

I have a friend who is from Russia. About a year and a half ago, he mentioned he was going to go home (to Russia) for two weeks. I - speaking out of my ass as usual - told him I'd go. A week later he said he called his mom and told I was coming. He told me to get a passport and grow some hair. Apparently, the only people that shave their head in Russia are the skinheads and it was wise not to be associated with them.

About 6 months later we went. It was one of the best experiences of my life.

First and foremost, the Russian women are stunning. Each and every one I saw was beautiful. Maybe it was the novelty of being in Russia, maybe it was the language they spoke, maybe it was a combination of both. But the fact remains, they were beautiful.

I have a thousand stories I could tell about my trip across the ocean, but tonight I'm going to tell only one. Maybe more we'll come later (more likely than not), but tonight's tale is one that we laugh more about than the others.

The day after we arrived, my buddy called a friend of his, Natasha, and made plans to meet up for dinner and drinks. Being the kick ass friend that my buddy is, he told Natasha to bring a friend, as he was not alone. She said she would.

And she did.

When Natasha arrived, she brought Sonya. Sonya and I hit it off pretty well. At least I think we did. She didn't speak English and I do not speak Russian, so obviously there was a bit of a language barrier. Regardless, at the end of the night, we were holding hands. However, I must credit my friend for this. As we were stumbling home (sometime after 3 - the bars don't seem to close), he told me she wanted me to take her hand. I didn't buy it, but he told me it was okay, she wanted me to, it was tradition. Who am I to argue. When in Rome, do as they do, no? I reached it, found her hand and we walked the ladies back to their apartments.

This went on for two days - and nights. We'd go out to a bar or a friends, get drunk and walk the ladies home. However, I did not have to be told after the first time to hold Sonya's hand. I didn't want to offend anyone by breaking tradition, after all.

On the third night, I went in. Went in for the kiss. Yep. I hadn't had one conversation with this girl, but I threw caution to the wind. What the hell. The kiss was returned, albeit briefly. As she pulled away, she put a finger on my lips and said, "We'll see." Right on! We'll see. Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. Maybe she knew a little English after all, but was just shy.

So I walked up to where my buddy was giving his lady a goodnight's kiss, waited in the shadows for them to finish (if it's one thing I'm not, it's a cockblock) and my friend and I continued back to his mother's.

The conversation we had...

"Why is your smile so big?" He asked.

"No reason." I laughed.

"Whatever. Don't give me that shit. What happened?"

"She said, 'We'll see.'"

He stopped and smiled. "Tell me exactly what happened."

I told him I went in, I told him she seemed cool with it, I told him she put her finger on my lips and said "We'll see."

My friend started laughing. Hard. Doubled over laughing. I stood there smiling like an idiot. I was waiting for the shoe to drop.

"It doesn't mean what you think it means," he said, still laughing. If it were brighter, I would have seen how red his face must have been. "She was speaking Russian."

Oh shit. Now I felt like a fool and I didn't even know what she said yet. "Well," I asked, "what does it mean?"

"When she said 'we'll see,' she told you to shave. Dumbass. She doesn't like the mustache." He said.

I started laughing. What else could I do. It then dawned on me I had not noticed many Russian men with facial hair. Not even van dykes (like me).

"ohhhhh. She wasn't touching my lips, she was touching my moustache." I said, laughing. What are you going to do?

"Yep. She's probably not used to it. It probably tickled her." He explained.

So the next morning I did what every red-blooded American male would have done.

I shaved.

And it was worth it.

When in Rome....