Monthly Archives: February 2012

Three hundred dollars of oops (pure awesome!)

Drunk me makes sober me really, really tired. Drunk me is full of ideas, just “ideas coming out of every hole in my body” full of ideas.

It’s up to sober me to filter them.

Here’s a hint drunk me, most of the ideas suck. Can you do a little better job at filtering them yourself maybe? Reducing the amount of ideas that you push through to morning would really help. Perhaps you, drunk me, could apply some commonsense sort of rules before you push the thought forward to the morning?

For instance you could ask yourself the following questions before forwarding the idea on to tomorrow.

1: Will the idea get me fired from work?

I’m not kidding. We really do have one of these at work. And I can verify, the temptation is overwhelming.

See this one is easy. At work we have a large, old fashioned, metal triangle fire alarm. Even when sober I want to hit it with the available medal bar while yelling nonsensical emergency things. “Salmon Attack” dong, dong, dong. “My balls itch”, dong, dong, dong. “Bring out your dead,” dong, dong, dong. “Antiquated fire systems test!” dong, dong, dong.

See it IS funny and I’ve often been TEMPTED at work to do just that. Thoughts about rigging cameras around the whole place to capture the reaction don’t help, so stop suggesting it. It would be funny, but only for about 10 minutes.

2. Does it involve being naked?

You’ve violated the wait-’til-morning rule here a few times with mixed results. I admit the close-up photo of testicles texted to, well more people than was sane or necessary, worked as a funny joke. But sober I never would have approved this idea. It was funny, yes, because the photo didn’t look like anything (other than a really close up picture of testicles) so the joke worked. I maintain you got lucky, most who received the text laughed and the ones who didn’t still talk to me so …

Don’t do that again, no more naked jokes unless I’ve (while sober) sanctioned it!

3. What does it cost?

I’m pretty sure I don’t need to remind drunk me of the strip club after the long business trip or the bill that followed.

like this only I don’t remember and it was on a credit card.

After a grueling two-week trip to Italy, the night before I left for home, I decided, at the prompting of others and while blasted out of my mind, to visit a strip club. Sober, I, in all honesty would never, ever, not in a million years, be up for this. Drunk, boobies AND beer equaled me fully in. But here’s the thing, just because I had a tough two weeks (you’re thinking tough, two weeks and Italy don’t go together in a thought, screw you it was tough) that was NO reason to go back into the private VIP area of the club and run up a Visa bill that was both obscene and awesome at the same time. The memories from that night SHOULD HAVE BEEN epic, yet all I can remember is at one point there were two girls with me, one said something to the effect of, “you can touch them” followed by me batting at large swinging breasts like a kitten plays with a ball of yarn. My wingman, sensing economic disaster, finally pulled me out of the back room and in the morning, when I asked him why he let me stay back there so long just said, “You looked like you were having fun.” He should have bought me a ball of yarn.

This reminds me, I should buy Dagmar something expensive. When I got home this was how the confession about the strip club went …

Me: Hey I should tell you something. I spent like 2k in a strip club.

Dagmar: Did you get laid?

Me: No.

Dagmar: You’re an idiot.

I’m thinking a necklace or ear rings, but I’m taking suggestions.

Which leads us to …

About five days ago the $300 remote-control helicopter (Ar Drone for those who are curious) that I ordered while Maggie and Alex were visiting arrived. Even the next morning, sober, I considered canceling the order, but besides that quote from Hemingway, it passed the filter.

If nothing else, I thought the damned thing would be good for a laugh and it LOOKED easy to fly. It syncs with your smart phone or iPad and you tilt the pad to the right and it goes … how hard could this be?

The answer is hard. As Adrian pointed out in this video, the damned thing just sort of crashes a lot. The only bonus I can think of is that it scares the hell out of the cat and annoys the wife. Win some, lose some.

I say go left and it flies, with reckless abandon, right into the wall getting one of its propellers locked in between two pieces of paneling.

Forward, forward, forward … HOLY too much forward … BACKWARD full … backward into the clothes and into a full crash. The propellers are caught now in my shirts, the ones I have to wear to work. No wonder pilots are cocky … this shit is hard.

The battery lasts as long as your high-school boyfriend did, provided you’re a chick. If you’re a man the battery did an awesome job, high-five!

Here it is … about to fly right into my face …

You can kinda get it, hovering and adjusting the altitude easy enough. Spinning in a circle left or right — also easy. Movement from a stationary position is the trick. When attempting to command the helicopter to perform movements more complex than hovering a foot off the floor it all comes down to knowing what direction the helicopter is facing in relation to the iPhone… Work it out in your brain, calculate the direction its facing and the direction you wish it to go, add 2, subtract 67, multiply by 9 (consider how old your grandmother was when she was happiest) and it’ll fly into your wall with simplistic finality. Then subtract two.

Naked in mixed company: The return of the German sauna

The blog I wrote about nude German saunas has received a lot of attention. By some magic, people like to Google the combination “nude” and “saunas” or “nude” and “German,” or any combination of words if “nude” is one of them.  This is a good thing because whenever I write I blog, I obsessively hit refresh on the status page to see what sort of page hits its getting. The naked sauna stuff does well. Public nudity has upped my popularity. So, I thought to myself, why not milk the cow that is nude German saunas and offer readers some tips on how to navigate them (while simultaneously feeding my ego by way of page hits.)

I have no idea what the fine print on this demotivational poster says, it was just the least “WE LOVE GODish” image I could find when I Googled, “Google god.” Also what are the rules about using capital letters with Google. When It’s Google sure cap that G baby but when you are googling … nevermind.

Today’s topic will be (are you listening Google): What to expect during your first naked German sauna experience. I don’t want anyone to miss out on what will happen when they go to a naked German sauna for the first time. Otherwise people who have the question, “What is a mixed-gender German sauna like,” will be without an answer. So let’s answer some questions about what your experience at a nude German sauna will be like.

(See what’s I’ve done there for the Google god? I’m not above self pr0motion.)

When I first decided to write “First time in a naked German sauna,” I Googled the topic and found a few really good articles on it. I also found a few retarded Americans who couldn’t get over their Americaness; and one idiot, in the comment section on Yahoo answers (Mr. Maul) who said, there have to be separate gender areas otherwise there would be a lot of rape. There are gender–specific e saunas available in some German saunas, Mr. Maul, and I was only raped once in the mixed-gender sauna, sir. Only once!

Maybe it’s common knowledge, maybe it’s not, but Europeans think shooting a dude’s face off is disgusting (whereas Americans barely flinch) and that a naked human body isn’t disgusting (whereas Americans flinch and lock up their kids.)

Backward, I know.

Obviously, a naked human is MUCH more dangerous to a society than shooting a person’s face off. We understand this.

‘Merica, human body bad — unless filled with bullets — then human body good. We also like meat a lot, which I think means something.

I digress.

I think that basically there are three types of people who Google “First time naked in a German sauna.”

No. 1.  People who are about to go to a nude German sauna and are panicked like a high-school senior a month after prom night

No. 2.  People who are about to go to a nude German sauna and are legitimately wondering what to expect

No. 3.  Men who are about to masturbate to a video that starts with a blonde girl in a towel walking into a sauna where a man wearing a towel says, “In Deutschland das towel is verboten” <cue porn music>

So, lets break down the types of people who use the above reasons.

In a perfect world this would a photo of a man with an erection, with lots of women laughing at him. This isn’t a perfect world.

Reason No. 1  — I figure one in 100 Googlers is about to embark on their first foray in public nakedness and their nervous.

Look here’s the deal, if you’re freaked out about going to a German sauna where you will likely be naked in front of members of the opposite sex, don’t go. If you’re a dude and scared you’ll have an erection* or a woman and are concerned strangers will be lusting after your exposed lady bits (you won’t and they aren’t) don’t go. The German sauna’s not for you. They’re about relaxing and taking care of yourself.

If your cultural/family/societal norms are that mixed couples cannot be together in the nude for any nonsexual purpose then don’t go.

If you just read that and still think you might be interested, I have some golden advice for you, the kind of advice that won’t leave you with a boner in public (take THAT Google) or salivated over by lascivious men.

Every German sauna I’ve been too has an area where you can undress in private and put on a robe or towel. So, wear the robe or towel and walk around. Get a feel for the place. You’ll see pretty quickly there’s nothing to fear. Or you’ll run in fear (please report back to me which it is). My point is, you can explore a German (European) mixed-gender sauna without exposing yourself, then make a decision on whether you  should disrobe based on what you actually see, versus what you think you’re in for.

Reason No. 2  — Americans who are about to visit a nude German sauna and are legitimately wondering what to expect (I think two in a 100 people Googling have this reason)

I had this long ass thing in my head I was going to here, but I can basically sum it up in a paragraph I think.

The truth is, visiting the sauna is a great way to spend your day. You’re going to sweat it out, lounge in a pool and chill. It’s Germany and they have an official way to do everything. This includes relaxing. (Insert your own, “Then why did they follow Hitler” joke here. But in this, and a lot of other respects, the Germans are right. They have relaxing down.)

At the German sauna, there will be a little “schedule,” if you will, posted on the wall that says what you should do first, second and third. The to-do list ends with a drink. A boozy drink, wine or beer generally.

Reason No. 3 — Men who are about to masturbate looking for a video that starts with a blonde girl in a towel walking into a sauna where a man wearing a towel says, “In Deutschland das towel is verboten” <cue porn music> (this is basically the only reason anyone is Googling naked in a mixed gender sauna, let’s be honest)

Please send me links to the best videos you find. Thanks.

* I have seen three erections at a German mixed-gender nude sauna. So it does happen. It was all within the same group of men (I use the term loosely) and it was very much intentional. It was also one of the funniest things I have ever seen. I promise with my next sauna update to explain it.

In fact with the next naked sauna update I will explain the following and likely not in this order:

The Pee-Pee Patrol

Three erections (see above)

What happens when the whole place goes nude.

Sailor man’s penis

Exhibitionist girl

(Yes, Dagmar, Ok, I was looking at those girls cause they were hot ’cause Bron Barry was right),

Gay man hits on me in the sauna and the same gay man hits on me later story follow up.

Finally here’s a poll. It’s anonymous (I think) …

NJ Governor Christ Christie honors Whitney Houston by pissing off a lot of people, also has an extra large pizza

I just had an argument about current events with the woman who keeps my house clean and fixes delicious food.

I couldn’t be happier.

I was going to use one of the images that clearly shows Whitney thought drugs, other than crack, weren’t whack, but really that doesn’t matter …

After nearly 20 years of marriage, I’ve got to admit it was unexpected. It was like having a repressed sexual fantasy finally play out. She and I can agree on most things with laser-like precision. Sometimes it really, really, really pisses me off. I’m in full, pumped-out chest with righteous rage about an issue only to find she completely agrees. We disagree on things we agree on, but it’s more like arguing who more dedicated. Which is like arguing which cookie tastes better, when they both taste good.

Dagmar and I, and the thousands of commenters on websites that carry the story, vehemently disagree about New Jersey Governor Chris Christie’s decision to lower the American flag to half-staff in honor of Whitney Houston.

Fortunately, unlike on the internet, Dagmar hasn’t called me a racist, a Nazi or an asshole (well, not in reference to this particular issue anyway).

But there should no argument. Christie has every right to lower the state’s flag even if it doesn’t make this decision a good one. Christie also has every right to make an (even bigger) ass of himself.

Here’s the awesome part of the story: New Jersey has lowered the flag for each of the 31 service members from New Jersey who gave their lives in the war on terror. I have no idea how many other states do that, but they all should.

New Jersey does it when former presidents and other high-ranking elected officials pass away. This is also good. They do it when a law-enforcement officer or firefighter dies. Also good.

Here’s the non-awesome part of the story: They’re going to do it to honor Whitney Houston. Not so good.

Even if — and think about this for a moment please — Whitney Houston had lived a life that was pure and chaste, it wouldn’t change one single thing. Lowering the flag to honor a pop culture icon is wrong, no matter how popular the icon.

It is. I’m sorry it is.

Lowering the flag is a gesture that honors the individual’s service or sacrifice for the good of the nation, state, community, what have you. It will be appropriate when former President George W. Bush dies. Even though I didn’t agree with a lot of the things he did as president, I cannot deny the fact that he served and sacrificed for our nation. Our flag should be and will be flown at half-staff in his honor.

The anniversary of Sept. 11 is an appropriate time to fly the flag at half-staff. Or when popular singers die, whichever.

According to the Washington Post, Christie said that he decided to lower the flag to honor Whitney Houston’s, cultural impact and as “a daughter of New Jersey.”

Only that’s not what I, and a lot of others, thought lowering the flag was for. We kind of thought it was honor, sacrifice and service. While Whitney may indeed have done a lot of “good things in her life,” as the Governor said, it’s my opinion that he’s cheapened the tradition for every other person the flag’s been lowered for since then and in the future. If you’re willing to lower it for a singer, no matter how good a singer she might have been, what message are you sending to the family of a police officer who is killed in the line of duty in Newark?

Whitney might have had a heart of gold, she might have adopted every stray puppy she ever saw, she might have loved little babies, been really fun at parties and, for all I know, she might have farted $100 bills as a party trick.

None of that is service to or sacrifice for the nation. None of it.

We do know she sang very well, she sang so well that millions of teenage girls in the 80s pissed off their boyfriends by playing her songs over and over and over. I’m 41 so I know this first hand.

But really that’s it. Her music touched so many lives though, I hear. But how exactly it touched so many lives remains open for debate. If her songs made you cry, smile, laugh or love, that’s great. It has nothing to do with — here’s those words again — service or sacrifice.

Her voice made me cringe because I knew I’d be cursed with whatever song I had just heard. The song would stick in my head for a few hours, which could be an example of touching my life I guess.

The special musical tribute concerts and television shows that are no doubt about to hit the airwaves and the internet are appropriate tributes. Honoring her with that sort of venue is appropriate and I’ve no argument against it.

I really hope they decide not to do this, not because I have anything against Whitney Houston, but because I have something for all legitimate heroes and leaders the flag will be lowered for in the future.

There’s some really easy jokes to make about New Jersey being full of idiots, which isn’t true or even relevant (though looking at what’s come out of there recently: Jersey Shore, Mob Wives, Jerseylicious, Real Housewives of New Jersey, it’s a legitimate question). So I’ll avoid that joke. The governor there is, if his weight is any indication, no stranger to vices. His vice just takes the form of a Twinkie-eating contest that never ever ends.

Chris Christie hopes that by giving state honors to people who abuse drugs whilst singing like a lark, his overeating will get the recognition it deserves, and it better or he’ll sit on you.

Lowering the flag half-staff not a joke at all, though. It cheapens the honor of lowering the flag for those who really deserve it..

Truth be known, after about five minutes of listening to me rant about this, Dagmar told me to shut up. After 20 years of marriage, I knew what she meant; she meant I should stop talking. So I started typing.

Still though, it was an awesome argument.

Why Valentine’s Day sucks, Written by a person who hates Valentine’s day.

Note: This update is by a person who REALLY, REALLY hates Valentine’s day. I’m rather blah about Valentine’s Day. On one hand there is yummy candy, on the other hand it’s retarded (not as badly as Xmas but still). She hates it so much that she asked that I not use her real name, for fear of angering the Valentine’s day lobby or something. This is the first of what I hope (cause I don’t have to do very much work) are a few guest writers.

Without further ado here’s Why Valentine’s Day sucks …

She is correct … Valentine’s Day does suck.

Here we go again… You know, one of the many holidays throughout the year created, I’m convinced, to remind me that I’m still single. Well, not single… DIVORCED! Which at 26, is 10 times worse. I will never be single again. I now have a nice little label that follows me around everywhere I go, laughing in my face, occasionally reminding me of my epic failure of a marriage and insisting that I will never, ever, be happy again. So, enter Valentine’s day, a holiday that even when I was married, I hated…

The Golden Rule

I really like the concept of treating others as you would like to be treated. So much so, that I exercised this rule in my marriage, particularly on Valentine’s Day. My then-husband was not much of a romantic, so to show him how I would like to be treated on Valentine’s day, I sent flowers and balloons to HIM… at work. That may have been my first mistake, as I have been told that I have a tendency to emasculate men, but that’s another story.

So, I figure, if I did this, he would naturally come to the conclusion that he should do something similar for me on special occasions, something very public. I am a huge fan of public displays of affection, and not just the kind that involve boinking in a bar bathroom. I know that some people believe that special moments should be private, and to those people I say, if a tree falls in the forest and no one is around, did it make a sound? I am incredibly insecure, and I want, on special occasions like Valentine’s day, for everyone I know to see that there is somebody who thinks I’m awesome and loves me and wants me to have like 20 of his babies… I want to proudly display two dozen roses and a big stupid teddy bear on my desk at work for one fucking day… So sue me.

Anyway, that whole treat him how I would like to be treated really worked out for me… That’s why I’m divorced, not single. However, being divorced on Valentine’s day isn’t any better…

Red Suede Shoes

Nothing says I love you like shaving a heart into your hairy back!

So, my second Valentine’s day as a divorcee is the reason why I loathe first dates. In my opinion, asking someone out for a first date and scheduling said date ON Valentine’s day is pretty fucking ballsy. I tried to remain optimistic, even though the invitation came via Facebook from a bald lawyer, who happened to be a captain in the Army. I had recently been on several first dates, with several different captains, and came to the conclusion that in order to reach that rank, you needed to 1) Cry frequently in public, 2) Be balding at the age of 30, and 3) Have a really, really, really small penis. Really. So, I was impressing myself with my optimism. He was using words like “epic” and “unforgettable” when describing our evening. So what does a girl do? Honey, I bought the sexiest little black dress and some new knee high boots. I was determined to make THIS Valentine’s day my bitch…

And after walking around in the freezing cold, in heels and said little black dress, for 45 minutes because a certain someone failed to make a reservation, my optimism slowly deteriorated. Finally finding a hole in the wall, that I was clearly over dressed for and being asked, by my lawyer date, about how my divorce paperwork was handled over a sub-par dinner, I succumbed to the fact that this was probably NOT my year for a memorable Valentine’s day.

So, at the end of the evening, when my date said he had almost had enough wine to get up the courage to kiss me… You will completely understand why I told him he should have some water.

So, this year, I officially give up the idea of romance on this Hallmark holiday and instead will from now on give two, very nicely manicured, middle fingers to St. Valentine. (Well, at least until I meet an amazing man who will treat me how I want to be treated… Then I’m totally hopping back on the bandwagon.)

Beer on an empty stomach with Maggie and Alex

Spent three days with Maggie and Alex. Maggie and Alex came to visit, obviously. Drunken shenanigans followed.

I picked Maggie up from the airport at 10:40 a.m. Thursday. We arrived at our house at almost 10:30 p.m.

No caption other than, hot works here. Thus, just hot. Until …

2240 9 Feb 2012 until 1330 10 Feb 2012 Maggie and I: discuss fashion, giggle a lot, talk about work, cry and discuss fashion. Maggie makes me gay.*

(Maggie’s description of what happened after she took her boots off at our house.)

Maggie: Do you mind if I take my boots off?

Todd: No problem, go ahead. Hey, did I say I really like those boots?

Maggie: Yeah, they’re cool but after having them on all day and all night through the airport. My feet hurt. (Boots come off)

Todd: Hey, what the hell is on your feet?

Maggie: Socks.

She is the reason we should be able to keep our shoes on at the airport.

Women. Look at the before photo. That’s a very cute, sexy look. Nice looking boots, hot skirt, black tights. You’d think that once the boots came off you’ve find seductive looking foot with red (or whatever) toenails … no, this is the abortion she has on under those boots.

Friday

Three hundred dollars of sure to be AWESOME!!!

1331: Alex show’s up. I rediscover I’m a man when he shows me the coolest remote controlled helicopter ever, it only cost $300. I order it because I’ve had five beers on an empty stomach and I really like helicopters. I hesitate about getting a robot room sweeper … why I don’t know.

As people like Maggie, Alex, that woman who lives in this house with me and Gina know, when I’m sober I’m highly gullible to suggestions that if I do/get/buy something I’ll be cool. Gina once in Iraq convinced me to buy a CD from a band that I had never heard of because she said it was cool. I’m an idiot, I bought it. This is sober. Drunk, any hint at all is enough to send me over the edge. None of that matters though because now, sober I fully realize this thing will rock (video link).

Alex: There is an iPad app that will let you record the video that the helicopter takes…. Might come in handy….Just saying…

1335: I’m convinced, after the 10th beer on an empty stomach, that I should call my office and propose my idea for a toy helicopter American Forces Network commercial shoot that involves our office staff meeting. Maggie talks me down from this, but encourages the purchase of five toy remote control helicopters for later use. Thankfully I’ve forgotten my Amazon password (the one that I had used 15 minutes ago) and/or lose interest quickly

1445: Alex uses the term “mangina,” which makes me laugh…

Alex (reading the above): I also use the term, “Man-Dang-Go” which I feel is funnier. Also, I like to say, “Laba-Daba-Doo” a lot when referring to female genitalia….

We go buy food. We wanted to get Donar Kebabs, but the local restaurant is out of business, so we go to a grocery story. We buy a crap ton of food (wine) and return home.

Food is eaten. It’s suggested I put on season one of Chappel show. Maggie falls asleep and Alex and I laugh about the reparations skit because the phrase “tri-state area” when used in reference to a man’s ass, is funny.

Dagmar calls that she’s working late and get home until after 1900. I wonder what she’ll walk in on (me wearing the Simpsonsunderwear she bought me and nothing else,  if there is a god).
No man can fart more than Alex. Dagmar is no man though … she might be a contender. Seriously though, the amount of gas that man produced was at first humorous and then quickly became something I felt the scientific community should study. I’m convinced he could have powered a small city, if only science could harness his gas.

Alex:  Dude… The gas can be traced back to having about 12 dunkleweisens over the past two days… And I think eating stir-fry cabbage at the DFC yesterday….

1815: Everyone, including me, is into their own IGNOREEVERYTHINGELSE device.

Alex: Todd begins speaking “Toddlese…” We are all perplexed as he’s only had two beers, (that we can verify)…

1955: With no context whatsoever Alex yells out “Poontang safari gone wrong.” (Edit my memory, because of the 143 beers I drank to this point is a bit off, Alex yells this after leaving a Thai restaurant mentioned later in this blog, because the owner is German and married a Thai lady … his version is MUCH, MUCH funnier.)

2005:  Dagmar arrives home. I am fully dressed and my Simpsons boxers are upstairs in the closet still. There obviously is no god or he/she/it doesn’t find Simpsons boxers as funny as I do. Dagmar begins berating me, loudly in front of my friends, for choosing crappy beer, not good dark stuff like her and Alex like.   Then they proceed to kill (over the weekend I mean) the case of crappy beer I bought.

Alex: “Poop Talk with Dagmar” commences…

For reasons that baffle both Maggie and I, when Dagmar and Alex are “reunited” they immediately start to discuss umm, well — pooping.  I’m afraid to explore their desire to discuss this topic … “afraid for my eternal soul” afraid. He also asks Dagmar to “pump his legs” which somehow encourages more gas. Open flames are banned from the living room for 24 hours.

Alex: Due to gasousness… I wear paper underwear… One-time use only….

2030: We are informed by Maggie that we are going to get Thai food. I’m not hungry, but realize I can drink beer there so why not.

2130: Maggie has finally herded us into the car, but not before I hand Alex a handful of plastic army men and dinosaurs with the instructions to “put these in your pocket” … he doesn’t argue or even ask why. He knows that I am an idiot. Beer has made me invincible to logic or maturity.

Drunk, I am immune to grown up logic

2140: I pull out my army guys and dinosaurs; no one is impressed but me. I stage fake army guy vs. dinosaur battles while quizzing people who don’t care if I should, blog it?

Dagmar foolishly thinks plastic army men are toys. They DO have feelings Dagmar. They’re clearly fleeing in reaction to your mean gesture.

2145: Dagmar correctly refers to me as an idiot. I eat some chicken fried rice and drink beers.

2155: I go outside to have a cigarette and decide I’m going to steal one of the wooden, 3-fo0t tall oriental man statutes that decorate the windows of the restaurant. I’m literally laughing out loud to myself in the frozen tundra that is Germany at how funny it will be when I get it home. I think I have “blogish” plans for it. I can’t wait to tell Maggie.

2136: I tell Maggie about my plan.

2150: Maggie stops telling me I’m an idiot and that I am certainly NOT stealing a 3-foot tall oriental statute, even though I thought for sure I was going to.

2151: We leave.  I don’t have a 3-foot tall oriental statute.

Saturday morning I’m forced, with an epic hangover mind you, to venture out into the very cold outside for a death march through the vineyards. When I’m elected king of everything any walking outside that doesn’t involve beer in 70 degree or higher temperatures will be banned.

* Truth of the matter is Maggie and Alex have been friends of ours since 2002, she and I just stayed up, catching up.

Baby? No Baby? It’s a choice right?

Here’s a link that I think goes to the history of birth control pills. I say I think because it’s late and I didn’t really read it very well

While it might be fun (for me anyway) to launch into a tirade against the Catholic church’s recent opposition to the government’s requirement that they include birth control in the health care they offer their employees at Catholic universities and hospitals, I’ll try not to.

But mostly I will.

A quick Google search of the church’s reasoning behind this opposition to contraception seems to be that every time a man and a woman engage in the “marital embrace” it’s to make a baby. That’s right, the only reason (which I guess in a very strict sense is true), to have sex is to reproduce.

This website even lists several biblical examples couples that “hid the miracle of the marital embrace” and were struck down by God’s wrath. God, according to Catholic leadership, really, really likes babies.

One problem I have with this is that according to a study in April of 2011 an astounding 98 percent of Catholic women support the use of birth control. So even after (presumably) telling Catholic women they shouldn’t use contraceptives, 98 out of a hundred either did so or supported the decision too. If you argument is so poorly thought out, so poorly put forward, that even your own faithful audience ignores the message, it’s like the message is not a very good (useful) one.

But really that’s between the Catholic church and their followers. Really it is. The problem I have is when the Catholic church tries to dictate to non-Catholics what contraceptives their health care plans cover (hint it’s none!).

If the U.S. Government was making the Catholic church use their money to directly spend it on contraceptives, despite their moral opposition, I would be truly offended. But what the church is doing in essence is telling non Catholic employees what they can and cannot do with their own money. If I’m hired tomorrow by a Catholic organization and the job has a health care plan that comes along with it, its part of the salary effectively. The plan is available because I have toiled through time effort and job skills for their organization. In other words I’ve earned it.

Why every woman (hell every man as well, but that’s another update) isn’t outraged by this is beyond me, but I suspect it has something to do with the Kardashians, Desperate Housewives and Jersey Shore.

Is it just a well-timed, “look at what evil President Obama is attempting to make us do,” attention grabbing political election year stunt? I don’t know, but I’ve already heard every GOP hopeful chime in about it. If the Catholic Church had been this energized about clergy molesting children there might have been a few less clergy molesting children.

I know, I know, it’s not the same thing. But it does point to an organization that is out of touch with reality in my opinion.

Even the websites listed above point out that contraception isn’t a new phenomenon (though I’d argue safe and effective contraception is).

Hopefully this couple had lots of kids, before this happened, obviously.

They point out that there are references to the use of contraception in the bible (referenced as bad of course, but still referenced nonetheless). I can understand why the church might take this stance if the year was 1012. With high infant mortality rates, plague, starvation and the like, would suggest that yes, please do keep the babies coming if for no other reason than to keep the church pews (and pocketbooks) full.

However it’s 2012 and kids today generally have a very, very good chance of, well — living. Some of them in our American health care system I understand might even be healthy (and chubby if the most recent statistics are to be trusted). That fact that today’s women have a safe, reliable method of birth control is, arguably, one of the greatest medical advances of all time.

I really don’t care which parts of the bible the Catholic church chooses to support and which they ignore as long as they do it inside the church. My opinion, though, changes radically when they start to enforce that standard on their employees, inflicting their belief on those who are opposed to it. Sure they don’t have to work there, but that’s not the point. The employee has earned the right to health care and it’s not the church’s say as to whether that health care covers contraceptives. This is exactly (well one of many) reason we needed government health care reform.

Finally, I do understand that many health care companies routinely disallow certain services. Mental health and dental care are primary examples; need I bring up pre-existing conditions? Access to contraception isn’t one that insurance companies, outside of their dealings with the church were not one of them. It’s far, far cheaper to pay (from the insurance company and the from the insured’s perspective) for contraception, than it is to pay for a baby carried to term or an abortion.

The GOP and their candidates have already started to use this contraception issue as a talking point for repealing “Obama Care” ignoring the fact that this was exactly the kind of thing that regulation of our health care system can do right. In essence, it forces an employer to be fair to an employee regardless of that person’s faith.

Army Guys vs. dinosaurs on Rick’s BMW hood requests … old movies, crappy movies, and lasers!

I’ve got to be honest, you people piss me off.

I thought for sure you would all pick historical battles, really cool movie battles or maybe even something with a nautical theme … the background was blue after all.

But no.

You picked foody stuff, a really bad 70s movie and movies that require I learn something about Photoshop. Thus, Mike Lavigne, Anna Whateveryourlastnameis and Bob Close I give you your wishes:

We're fat. Evidence? Sixteen year olds, when I was a sixteen year old I masturbated to food sex. Yeah we're fat. Also there was no internet back then damnit!

Foody stuff:

Anne wanted a steamy scene from the 80’s flick, “Nine and a half weeks”, which I watched on HBO when I was like 16 and TOTALLY and had a reaction you would expect from a 16 year old male, basically that Michelle Pfeiffer was really, really pretty. Had you known me, even at the age of 20, Anne I would have assured you that Michelle Pfeiffer was A: a total babe, B: she was totally hot and that C: I really thought she was good looking.

I’m not kidding, I had some sort of post card that had an image from the flick in my wall locker at the Defense Information School. Michelle Pfeiffer was serious Anne.

Anne I like you, honestly I do. But there is only so much you can do with plastic dinosaurs and Army dudes …. there is even less you can do when the idea is a sex scene. Also its Army guys VERSES Dinosaurs not Army guys love dinosaurs Anne … geeze.

The T-Rex is totally eating Army Guys face off, but in a good way ...

Look I tried. I didn’t try very hard mind you but I tried. Take comfort in the fact that yes there is a real strawberry, leaking acidic juice, on Rick’s BMW hood.

this was totally not a gay thing ... male Army Guy and a chick dinosaur

Bad movies with uncomfortable scenes …
Mike, Mike, Mike. You picked with a rape sex, heavy on the rape in this case.

Its people like you that encourage the Westboro Baptist church and Fred Phelps.

For those not familiar with the 1970’s classic “deliverance” it’s a movie about men in the rugged wilderness down south getting butt raped by homosexual redneck hillbillies. The seventies were weird I tell you, just weird. Also the star of the movie, Burt Reynolds, had a really cool bow and arrow. If you’ve ever heard someone use the phrase, “squeal like a pig” it’s from this movie.

Macho 1970 men, with butt secks

I used an elaborate five camera shooting technique here that I think helps show … screw it I used a point and shoot. I really got lazy here but in my defense, how graphic did you people want an Army Guy having sex with a dinosaur to be?

I know, very, very graphic.

Tough pervs … this is what I came up with. That scene from the 1972 film deliverance.
It’s a very accurate photo of the actual scene in the movie, for very small quantities of very accurate.

Somehow the look on the dinosaur's face is interesting

Lasers!:
Finally the tough one, Bob’s request for the stay puffed marshmallow man from Ghost Busters. Anyway as much as I’d like to get flaming-melted marshmallow all over Rick’s BMW hood, creating an actual Stay Puft man from actual marshmallows is REALLY friggen hard. I spent at least $1.69 and this is the result.

I made this for my art class and got an F ...

The people that made this had a budget for special effects that exceeded $1.69

But, thanks to the magic of Photoshop you can insert what is likely copyrighted material and make ‘friggen laser beams’ and stuff. I spent like five minutes using the magic wand tool (hehehe that always cracks me up) trying to delete the back ground around Mr. Stay Puft before I got bored and started making, “lasers” which was TOTALLY cool.
Thus, “Army Men versus the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man on the hood of Rick’s BMW — with lasers”

Don't cross lines ... which is a quote from Ghostbusters, not gay porn oddly.

Still taking suggestions by the way for more ideas of Army Guys vs. Dinosaurs on Rick’s BMW … so please leave a comment and I’ll work it in …

* To all my gay friends, I’m sorry. I fully understand that the scene in the movie wasn’t “gay sex”, or gay, or even any sort of representation of two same sex couples in a loving relationship. It’s a dumb joke and shouldn’t be taken for anything else. Same sex rape, actually any rape, which occurs in prison (or anywhere), I fully understand, is about power and nothing else. I’m sorry but damnit it made me laugh.

Facebook posts that piss me off …

Cancer is BAD!

I admit it, I was too cool.

Remember the old email spam that said for every forward of an email that Bill Gates will donkey-punch a hooker, err I mean he would give a nickel to (insert the charity here)?  If you ever received one you (hopefully) rolled your eyes and questioned the wisdom of getting Gramma an internet connection. As retarded as those emails were, this one is even worse. How is posting this honoring anyone or anything? This has the exact same effect of my opening my bedroom window and yelling, “I honor cancer victims,” really, really loudly. Actually that has more effec. It’ll annoy the neighbors and might scare a cat. You want to show me that you honor cancer victims?  Upload a receipt of your donation to a cancer charity or better yet do some volunteer work. That honors cancer victims. Jesus Christ, I need a fucking cigarette.   

Look, if I was 100 percent truthful you’d beat the crap out of me

This one is for people who never got over the whole Santa Claus thing.   

Basically, Santa was having an affair with your mom, you knew that right?

 Fine, but sit down and have a drink first.  Yes, you’re too fat.  That’s an ugly baby.  You really are stupid. That dress makes you look like a whore.  I thought your idea was idiotic.   I haven’t written or called because I don’t give a shit. Oh yeah, and you’re new hobby doesn’t interest me at all. I’m going out for a drink with the boys because you’re driving me insane. I bought you this expensive gift because I thought it would get me into your pants. I spent little Johnny’s college fund on hookers and blow last weekend in Vegas, the bank didn’t a mistake.

You’re right that was better.

 No, it really doesn’t matter, even though you think it does

After its all over I’m having a beer

If we’re really gone, as in dead, it doesn’t  matter, at all. How we treat each other matters right now, not later and surely not after we’re dead.   On my tombstone put:

Todd Oliver*
Born blah, blah, blah
Died blah, blah, blah.

 * he was an asshole

 I’ll be gone.  I won’t mind, It’s okay really.

I know this is talking about after an argument, but when I first read it I thought it meant after we’re dead.

This or That? When or Why

lolz at fat gurls!

I know exactly when this happened; it was Nov 20, 1993, at exactly 4:13 p.m., I remember because I was eating a cheeseburger. 

It was a really good cheeseburger. 

Why did this become hotter than this? That’s the real question here isn’t it?   I can tell you why, because you and me and every one of us “bought” it.

 We drive the market for this shit not the other way around. As an aside anyone else find it hysterical that we Americans get collectively fatter each year while our super models could blend in with famine victims?  

That shit cracks me up.

I ♥ ‘MERICA!

Get yer gun!

 

I post on face book a lot of political shit. Seriously it’s a lot of political crap, my wild ass guess is that about 50 percent of what I say there relates to politics.  But even this, were it to reflect my political opinions, is over the top.

Let’s start at the bottom and work our way up. 

Eighty-six percent of the people reading this are going to finally have 100 percent proof  that you’re an idiot.   Your two redneck friends from high school will repost it and your coworkers are going to eye you suspiciously at work tomorrow.

Term limits. Good idea, if only we had some sort of voting system to help us with that.

Balanced budget AND tax reform? I hope you were extra good this year if that’s what you’re hoping to get for Christmas. You want these things? Good idea, next time you vote for a senator, congressman or even the president, make sure that he or she can compromise a bit. That’s how this  should work, each side gives a little and the result is in the middle. Simply yelling “no” is what 2-year-olds do.

No freebies to non citizens and closed borders: first off no voy a recoger la lechuga de mierda and does the term xenophobia mean anything to you?  Because you forgot to add it. I’ll give you a free one, no shira law either, amiright?  

The constitution and the bill of rights are great, but how is that culture? Look, you can have a bill of rights and a constitution and live in a society where every second Sunday of the month all males over the age of 16 dip their balls in green paint and yell, “I have green balls,” because that’s the cultural norm.  

English is a language. Now  please look up culture, thanks.  

Ahh, here is the nut of it, “Obama gone.” Relax man he will be gone … in 2016.

 Lay off the drugs (while on Facebook)

 This one is just weird.  It’s like Frodo from Lord of the Rings meets soft porn and well she does have a sweet rack.

I think I need this printed on a shirt

Anyway, can anyone explain this? I thought not. Has anyone told that three-wolf -one-moon guy at Amazon about this image? Can someone? Thanks.

That’s great. Are you going to show me your boobs or not?

Holy crap I’m naked and so are they!

This photo I found on the internet proves Germany is cold, ’cause the internet never lies!

Germany is a cold, wet, cold, freezing, cloud-covered, cold, testicle shrinking, shivering, cold country. But it has really good beer and food so, you know, it’s a balance. I’ve lived here with Dagmar since about 2006. I think I could go on and on about Germany and Germans. Their little quirks, annoying things, stuff that is just bizarre, stuff I wish more Americans did (myself included) … it’s obviously a country with its own identity and culture.

This is about the German, or at least a part of the German, culture that has absolutely no aversion to nudity. Let me refine that a bit. At German saunas the people, both male and female, mingle nude and it’s not as weird as you would think. Or it is as weird as you would think, but they don’t care, they’re naked.

As any 10-year-old with the ability to set Google’s safe search option to “off” likely understands, beaches in Europe are generally topless. Actually I can get rid of the qualifying “generally” I think. It’s safe to say that on any given beach in Europe, you will find topless women.

Someone recently asked me why I was still here in Europe. The above paragraph is the reason. It’s topless beaches and beer. I can drink a beer and see lots and lots of boobies. And I like beer and boobies. Together … well it’s a little like heaven.

But back to saunas. Germans think there are health benefits to sauna going. I have no clue if they’re right or not, but I do know enjoy the sauna, particularly in the winter when the thermometer is pegging out at a high in the 20s.

This is what i will deal with for an eternity when I die …

The place I’m most familiar with is a water park named, oddly enough, Miramar. If you have kids I think you’ve been to a similar place. It has a giant wave pool, screaming children, water slides, screaming children, inner tube rides, screaming children and a snack bar/real bar occupied by, you guessed it, screaming children.

Why the hell would I go to a place infested with screaming children?. Because apart from the kids play area, they also have an area that consists of hot pools and quiet rooms and, most importantly, they have the nude side.

The Nude Side.

NAKED PEOPLE EVERYWHERE!

As you enter the nude side, the entrance to which is only sorta, kinda hidden from the clothed side (walking to one of the clothed pools you’re basically looking directly into the entrance of the nude side) you are immediately accosted by all shapes, sizes and ages of nakedness. Although there’s the line in the sand where you are expected to remove your bathing suit and stow in lockers any items you have like keys and wallets, there are, unsurprisingly, a lot of naked people.

After disrobing, because the Germans have a rule for everything (but this is a good rule), you’re expected to shower before entering the actual sauna and swimming area. Interestingly, or not, 99 percent of the sauna-goers don’t just walk around naked, they have a towel or more often a robe on between the saunas. This percentage drops considerably in the warmer months, but still, the general rule is if you’re not in a sauna or in the pool, you’re covered up.

To sum up the ‘textile free” or nude side, it consists of five indoor saunas, two tubs (one warmish and the other BONECHILLINGLY cold) two “quiet rooms” and a (’cause it’s Europe) snack bar/restaurant area devoid of any screaming children. Outside there is a pool, four smaller saunas, the “Sauna Maximus” (a HUGE sauna) and another quiet area.

Inside the non-special saunas, people come and go as they please. Some, like the Jagersauna outside, are super hot. Others, like the aroma sauna, have aromas like lemon or straw.

Inside these saunas everyone sits from toe to buttocks on a towel and … wait.

HOLY CRAP I’M NAKED!

I think this is the point where I need to address the naked part because some of you are thinking this is very weird, pervy or just fucking insane. You’re all wrong and you’re all right. Taking off your bathing suit is weird for the first time, for the first five minutes. After that you start to realize that the atmosphere in a German Sauna area is about as sexy as a hospital visit.

For a moment you think, ‘HOLY FUCKING JESUS I’M NAKED AND SO IS EVERYONE ELSE,” but then the discomfort fades because everyone is naked. You quickly realize that all men have a penis and when not erect it looks like, well, a non-erect penis. All girls have pronounced breasts and a vagina. Strip away (haha!) any hint of romance, lust or sex, and it’s as sexually stimulating as a medical text book. Besides there is a lot of looking straight ahead, lots of eye contact. No one, you can be reasonably sure, is checking you out** because you really don’t stand out, even though you’re naked.

Guys reading this might be thinking, but aren’t there some hot girls, hot naked girls?

Yes, there are, but again it’s simply not a sexual environment. I confess I have thought, “Wow, nice body,” but in a sea of bodies that’s akin to saying in a forest, “Wow, that’s a nice tree.”

(For the record, I’m rarely actually in a forest because it’s very hard to get a beer there unless you bring it yourself and then, what the fuck are you doing drinking in a forest retard? A bear is going to eat you.)

Every hour, on the hour, a special group sauna is held in either an indoor sauna or the Sauna Maximus outside. These group saunas are where it turns weird. Until now the saunas are basically sparsely populated. But during the special group saunas, it turns into a packed sauna where you will sit on your own towel, naked, shoulder to shoulder and leg to leg.

HOLY CRAP I’M NAKED WITH ABOUT 60 OTHER PEOPLE, ITS HOTTER THEN HELL AND SOME IDIOT IS MAKING IT HOTTER.

You have to get to the group saunas a good 10 minutes early or you’re going to have to fight for a seat or you might even be turned away. Contrary to what I said in the paragraph previous to this, there’s no actual skin to skin contact, but it’s close and yeah, you do bump into the person next to you. If you just said “Ewww!” swapping sweat with strangers, oh nooooes! Yeah it certainly happens but you shower immediately afterwards so …

It’s like this, only a lot bigger and with a lot of naked people. Also there’s no guy in charge of making even friggen HOTTER!

At the scheduled time the sauna master comes in, closes the door and the fun begins. No shit, the place has people in charge of the sauna event. It is Germany after all. Usually there is a quick introduction, some joke I’m not likely to understand and then the buckets of water are poured onto the rocks cranking the heat up to 11. The sauna master, clothed in shorts and a T-shirt, then starts to wave a towel over his or her head while walking around the sauna in an effort to crank the heat up past the mystic 11 and into the unknown 12. They are successful. It gets up to “HOLY SHIT THIS IS HOT” temperatures in a short amount of time. Then, they usually do some sort of gimmick. Two of my favorites are the honey sauna and the salt sauna.

In the honey sauna they — no shit, I’m not making this up and I’m not drunk — pass out small cups of honey which you are then expected to rub on yourself. If you have never seen a room full of naked people vigorously rubbing themselves with honey while a clothed person twirls a towel over their heads, you haven’t been to a German sauna. I don’t need hallucinogens, I’ve rubbed honey on my naked body with total strangers. The purpose of this is to attract insects and/or to give your skin the ability to sweeten tea. Actually, I have no idea what the purpose is, but I’m sure it’s a skincare thing.

Mmmmmm honey, a super hot room and sweat!

My other favorite (well the honey thing isn’t a favorite it just cracks me up – who the hell thought of that?) is the salt sauna. I actually like the salt sauna. I’m a heterosexual male and I realize that what I’m about to type will make everyone reading this question that statement, but the salt sauna makes your skin super smooth. Halfway through this sauna, just when you’re thinking that your body can’t really be producing the amount of sweat it is currently producing , they pass out small cups of rock salt.

Rock salt, not just for de-icing your driveway, but for vigorously rubbing all over your naked body too!

Cup of salt in hand, you pour a bit on your leg, arm chest, everywhere and scrub. Words of caution, do not get this shit in your eyes and any little open wound (shaving nick, cut on a finger) is about to sting like hell. But the after effect is, (again I am a heterosexual male) really smooth skin. I find myself hours later going, “Why are my arms so smooth?”

Then, just when you feel faint, just when you can’t take another moment of heat, just when you think you’re about to catch on fire, the sauna master opens the door and everyone pours outside. Typically, they have some sort of refreshment available, a Popsicle or a glass of tea or a piece of candy.

This after–special sauna-moment is another one of those, “Am I really seeing/participating in this weird shit?” There you are, buck naked except for flip flops, a group of between 20 and 60 men and women sucking on a Popsicle, drinking tea and desperately trying to cool down. Immediately after a sauna Germans love, love, love to dunk themselves in cold water and there are showers and buckets everywhere for just that purpose. I’m interested in not having a heart attack or enticing my testicle to relocate into my abdomen, so except for a few experimental tries, I forgo this aspect of the sauna.

That’s the naked German sauna experience in a nutshell. After round after round of sweat like a man waiting on the results of the girlfriend’s pregnancy test, it’s time for a beer and maybe a bit to eat and then it’s over.

There is one other aspect of this experience that I’ll save for another day. That’s the two days a week that the whole damned place goes “textile free.” At 7 p.m. there is an announcement and magically everyone is naked … the transition is, to me at least, funny for its own reasons .. more about that next time.

* Yes. If you’ve known me more than 10 minutes, you fully understand that after the fifth beer I’m as likely to remove all of my clothing, regardless of the situation, as a 2-year old … I am unable, with beer, to resist nearly any dare. It’s a gift/curse.

** No one is checking you out unless you’ve done something that screams CHECK ME OUT. There is an older man, who Dagmar and I call “look at my penis man.” He is about 70 and I’m reasonably certain that he must have been a sailor in the 1970s as he’s covered in aged tattoos and, get this, has more piercings on his penis and scrotum than is reasonable or even sane. I have seen him engage with other Germans discussing his dick artwork (I assume, all parties involved were looking directly at his junk so I can’t imagine is a discussion about Greek debt). There are a few “personalities” at the sauna that Dagmar and I laugh about … more about them next time though.