Slap Stick

Hey fans hows it going. New post finally. Let me tell you where I am in my life. I am on the verge of being 23 in the second month of graduate school at UMD. I don't really feel bad for not blogging in a month or two because I really didn't have anything to blog about.

Sitting around a bonfire last weekend on a camping trip we came across the half drunk discussion about physical injuries. I started list the times I have gotten punched in the face and I would like to share them with you readers.

1990: (self inflicted) Kindergarten. I was acting like a dog and running around on my knees and ran head first into an old tree stump used for holding the teachers books.

1992: (not in the face) Got in trouble for talking in class and sent home by my teacher Mrs. Brown. Who the fuck sends a second grader home with a note for talking. My dad punched me in the face till I was deformed. Sike. Some kid on my soccer team punched me in the stomach for telling him he looked like a chicken.

1993: Moved to Howard County, MD from my old 'hood in Silver Spring/Wheaton area. Dangerous place and automatically gave me street cred as being the baddest dude at Lisbon Elementary School. Snow had given us the day off and I was busy making friends with the kids at the lovable Cabin Branch Farm community. Things were going good until Kevin O'Connor who was in first grade (I was in third) beat me up on the neighborhood pond. I ran home crying, bloody, and ashamed. I wasn't as hard as I thought. I think Kevin is wrestling at VaTech so I don't feel that bad.

1995: The kids in my community played street hockey. We would all gather at Brighton Court and play 5 v 5 hockey. I would be goalie. Mostly because I had a stick from my amazing 4th grade Mighty Ducks costume. There was this kid that would come around and kind of reminded me of "Buzz" from Home Alone, Charlie Sheen from "Ferris Bueller" rolled up into a retarded gas station attendant. He's not there anymore I think he got a sweet job at Best Buy last I heard. He took a phone book and power slammed it into my face after pushing me into a ditch. Cunt.

2000: (Doing the punching) Got suspended for punching Kenny McWhirter in the nose. I cried. He didn't.

2001: (Not in the face) High school. I gave Matt Lyons a wedgie. He punched me in the stomach. Guess we are even.

2004: (Almost Death) Rugby Party. Whilst walking home on Potomac Ave. from a rugby party an old model town car drove through the crowd at a high rate of speed. While no one got hurt I felt that I had to run my mouth. I yelled for them to come back and fight. I saw the tail lights come on and them reverse back up the hill to where I was standing. My loyal friends ran away and I was left to deal with the 4 gangsters by myself. I wasn't scarred till they popped the trunk and started looking for the metal bat. I guess you know that one ended up, not dead yet.

2005: Fraternity senior meeting. We have a tradition in my fraternity to send the seniors off or rather them send themselves off with stories, revelations, or anything else necessary to make people laugh or enlightened. I made several trips to the box of red wine hidden in my room and by the end of the meeting was very drunk. So when everyone got up and dispersed I thought it was probably the best idea for me to go to the bar. Several drinks later and in WaWa I started showing my Redskins spirit. This continued to the parking lot and encouraged a guy to come up to shake my hand. Instead of shaking my hand he wound up and sucker punched the shit out of my cheek bone. Drunk as a skunk I stood there took the punch and muttered one word, "owwww" while he ran off. Leslie was with me for the entire duration of my drunk evening and so mortified by my behavior walked several steps ahead of me when this happened. To this day I swear the guy who punched me was a midget.

2007: Outside of AXO. Leslie and I were leaving her sorority house on college avenue dressed in homemade Togas after getting late night sorority snacks. A group of 7 or so guys across the street started yelling at my girlfriend and being the chivalrous mother fucker I am I told them to stop. Unfortunately for me, I didn't know they were going to come over to my side of the street and threaten to stab me. I took several punches in the face before I whipped out my phone and called the police, at which point they ran off yelling "New York" and "Strong Island!" After I got home I forgot I called the police and got a call from officer so and so twenty minutes and several shots later. Walking outside I found three sjavascript:void(0)quad cars full of vested officers. I explained to them that I didn't really care that these guys punched me and I didn't want to file charges and that they were glancing blows the officers went on their separate ways.

I hope to write again soon, and if I get really hard up for ideas I will take another camping trip. Thank you come again.

asleep in the city

Like most I spend about 90% of my time trying to fake work. I sit at my desk and quickly close the internet and make sure that the windows are as small as possible reading one line of CNN at a time. I have recently gotten into watching TV on the internet and I have been slowly watching Arrested Development. This show is amazing and I think that my life parallels that of Job except I am not a magician nor do I ride a Segway. However, I am lazy and disrespectful of others and I really don't see a change coming anytime soon.
On my way home yesterday I fell into a real funk. It was strange because I just worked out and I was really depressed. The kind of depression that makes you walk slow with your head down and makes you want to just let everyone know you're not to be messed with right now. I attribute this to a couple of things: a) Emancipation from my car (due to legal and monetary reasons) b) Lack of sex this week (girlfriend is on vacay) c) My boring job. I need a vacation myself and I didn't realize this until my Indian lab partner asked me why I hadn't taken any time off to travel. Of course I would have if I didn't spend all my money from graduation on rent, beer, and cigarettes (temporary thing). So I have decided to take a trip at the end of the month to visit my brother in Boulder, Colorado which should prove interesting considering we argue all the time.
I saw Tropic Thunder before all you snitches, and I want to give my humble review. The movie is great. The writers saw the PC line and decided that they were going to drive a mile past acceptable humor. I think the fact they use the word "retard" is a great way to break from the stupid activism that is going on in this country. The plot was small, but good things come in small packages, unless its your dick. My favorite part of the movie was Robert Downy Jr., but Jack Black, McConaghay (wrong spelling), and Cruise make it worth while. Do yourself a favor and watch the best movie this summer (Fuck Dark Knight that shit was long and boring all the people that thought this movie was the best movie ever are smoking crack (King Snee)).
I promise y'all if crazy shit doesn't happen by Saturday, I will make it happen. More entries to come. Fuck Mt. Pleasant Blogs, hard to write about a shit hole.

Bar Fly

Since my introduction to U street I have been faced with many new situations. This past month there were 4 people gunned down within two blocks of my house. Scary. I have been drinking (at home and at bars) far more than I did in college. Whether the two coincide with each other I have yet to find out. In just one month of this new life style I have grown. I became a referee for Metro League Soccer. This lets me get my weekly fix of soccer, sun, cardio, and insults in a healthy forum. Its a great gig though and a great way to pick up a few bucks. Much better than working as a Gelato scooper at National Stadium.
This weekend had its thrills. If you visit U Street once in your life you must visit DC9 Liberation Dance Party on Friday nights from 9:00 pm to 10:30 pm. Its $6 for all you can drink liquor! It could possibly be the cheapest entertainment in DC. Its one gallon of gas, one hot dog from Ben's Chilli Bowl, one pack of smokes, a beer from Republic Gardens/Saint Ex and any Adams Morgan bar. Speaking of Saint Ex, did I mention I got thrown out of there after enjoying the $6 open bar? FYI the bouncer's maglite is not a freebie or a toy, something I apparently thought Friday night. I proceeded to curse the bars name and make my way home with my phone in one hand predialed to 911 and my wallet in the other ready for an easy ditch. Of course Saturday morning I spent in front of a toilet. Alas, I am a trooper. The girl friend, Crispy, KJ and I all spent the evening listening to the merry Irish tunes played at Murphy's pub in Old Town, Alexandria. Where the Guinness flows like wine and the average age is 27 (acting 22). I would go on a rant about how much I love this place and yada yada, but this bar doesn't need the praise of an occasional traveler. It has deep routes and a good following, a place that will have its doors open far longer than I will be able to go there.
As you can tell I have not blogged for quite some time. I have had gripes with certain established blogs in the area, blog snobs or bloggery as I like to call it. Eat your heart out neighborhood blogs. The DCist is informative, but pretentious; the neighborhood bloggers have put themselves on pedestals, self written thrones of events that have already happened. This provides no entertainment for the masses. No joy comes from hearing about how good the Fringe Festival was or who was spotted at the local spot. The only emotions spawned from these conceited ramblings is jealousy and contentment from the people that weren't there.
Let me continue by saying I am appalled by the attitude of certain people. I want to throw a stereotype and claim that all hipsters are self righteous bigots with no respect or politeness, but I know this not to be true. The same way somebody might see me and only see a beer guzzling fray guy with no respect for anyone other that his pledge brother standing next to him in an expensive polo saying things like bra and dude. Well that might be true, but at least I am no asshole, most of the time.
Enough rants about the malaise, eat well, drink more, and have more sex with better people. More posts to come.

Interview Bloopers

First I would like to go on a rant. Bear with me (Bare?). I hate blog snobs. Getting into this whole blog thing I thought wouldn't it be nice to join the online community where everyone gets along. I was wrong, blogging is as cut throat as everything else and you had better have brass buns. You have the news snobs, the kind that only read news and then the offshoot from that the neighborhood snobs that only read news about their region. These are the most frustrating bloggers I have encountered. Noone cares about the 100 different blog sites on DC. It doesn't matter read the effing news, look out your window, or just go to DCist.com.

Now for the actual story.

Everyone has a story about an interview from hell. An interview is merely a judgment of your personality and knowledge. If it goes well then it really isn't saying much except that you are a normal person. If it goes badly then you are like "what's wrong with me am I some kind of freak?!" Well being the person I am, people either love me or hate me, and of course I've had my share of bad interviews.

Military personel are all the same. As an aerospace engineer I interview mainly with people in the military or that work for government agencies. They all fit the same mold, men or women mid thirties with a pole shoved up their ass and a crew cut. I tend to bring humor into the interview and more than likely it ends up being wasted on some army ego freak.
At the University of Maryland the career center gives an annual career fair where employers come and show off their companies. The benefits to this are meeting potential employers, spending $10 on resumes, and getting tons of free stuff. During my senior year like most students I began going to the career fair because I was freaking out about what was my next life step. On my way back to class in my suit looking baller I saw an employer in the engineering building with an interview sign-up. I put my old hancock down and started chatting with one of the recruiters of ASU (fake name in case they read blogs). This Houston based space company seemed perfect and me and the recruiter got along like peas and carrots.
After our little conversation I thought this job is mine, and really didn't do any preparation. Why should I? Bob and I were old friends and he would be soon taking me out for beers at Cstone. I guess I thought wrong.
Its never good when either party involved is late to the interview. Being the stud I am I got there 5 minutes early and began to wait for 10 minutes for Bob to get there. Bob was out of breath, a big man, and proceeded to fly through the interview. Midway through in his big sweaty interrogation he adjusted himself. After 5 minutes of boring/awkward conversation I was delighted to see him start to become animated. I followed his hand movement down to his groin and watched as he gently lifted his balls through his pants and did the classic sac pull (guys you know what I am talking about). Unfortunately for me I watched the whole thing, I mean it was an accident, totally non gay, it merely grabbed my attention. When I tore my eyes away in disgust to focus on Bob's face, it was too late. I had been caught. Bob was looking straight into my eyes with the "I know what you were looking at" expression on his face. He didn't say anything and there was probably a good five second pause. From that point on the whole interview was awkward. Bob didn't laugh at my jokes or think I was an all american country boy anymore, he thought I was a gay pervert that wanted his sweaty d. Oh well, Bob probably had a heart attack.

My most recent interview was with the Army. It didn't go well either.

It was about 4 o'clock as I got into my car to race home to put on a suit and get my resume. I had an hour to get to the career center for my interview. "Plenty of time" I thought. By the time I got to my car with my suit and resume it was 4:40 with twenty minutes to get to school (1 mile away) park and get to the top floor of Hornbake Library.
Driving onto campus in the afternoon is time suicide. The traffic is horrible. It seems like everyone is going to the same place. I tried to park my car in three different lots, each one full, no meters available. I remember finding a spot a good five minute walk from the building. At this point it was 4:55. I ran to the building sweatless and thought to myself, "wow no sweat way to go stud." I got upstairs and into the room as the minute hand was gliding past 12:00. The asian man behind the table said something like "whoa, did you run here." Laughing it off we began our interview.
I knew thirty seconds in that something was wrong. I was hot. My body was sweating I could feel the sweat drip down my nose and seep into the fibers of my shirt. Excusing myself I asked if I could take off my jacket. It seemed that every minute I was wiping my brow. My sleeves look like I had reached into a bucket full of water. I rolled down my sleeves and undid my tie. At this point in the interview I looked like I had just come from work and was getting a drink. Totally unprofessional. The asian dude saw it too I could tell. This guy probably thought I had some kind of addiction to heroin or something. Moral: Don't ever run with a full suit.

The Hot Sauce Incident

Apparently no one reads this blog. At least that what site tracker says. I have applied to both DCBlogs and DCist and I guess I will have to post more. Lets see. I have been trying to find a good topic for a blog, but they don't come easy. I guess I will have to tell another vulgar story.

During my undergraduate years, I ate at California Tortilla (see Sandblasting post below). Let me tell you why I like CalTor better the Chipotle.
They have drink/chip combos.
They have a wide assortment of hot sauces
They have different flavor burritos
They have ice tea at their soda fountains
Speaking of Hot Sauces CalTor features the hottest hot sauce around Dave's insanity Sauce. This shit is good, and hot. Its the kind of sauce that if it touches your skin it burns.
It was a normal day, I remember the sun was shining. It was hot for September. A grumble in my stomach told me that I needed sustenance and I needed CalTor. After months of visiting CalTor I had realized that there was a list of all the hot sauces rated by heat. The hottest of course, was Dave's Insanity Sauce. Due to burrito store cleptos, I had not yet gotten a chance to try the Insane Sauce. It seems that it was my lucky day, for low and behold, there was the black label of Dave's Insanity Sauce unopened. I quickly opened the bottle and poured a dab on my finger and tasted. The heat came slowly, but didn't stop and eventually I had to get some water. Realizing the urge coming from my bladder I realized that I needed to use the bathroom (number 1 this time). By the time I was done my order was ready to go and I got into my sweet sweet Saturn and drove home. On the way, I readjusted my junk again and again and again because there was a stinging coming from my balls. I thought maybe I got bit by something. I went into the house put the food on the table and went to the bathroom to check it out. Nothing looked wrong. I started eating my burrito and realized that something was wrong. And then it hit me. I had transfered a small amount of Dave's Insanity Sauce to my balls when I went to the bathroom in CalTor. I ran upstairs and tried to maneuver myself to get some water running over my area. With my face pressed against the mirror, I realized that I needed a better solution. I quickly stripped down and hopped in the shower. The second the water hit me it was like I was on fire. The water had simply amplified the burning.
I had heard a long time ago that drinking milk and eating bread were good ways to recover from spicy food. I dried off put on some athletic shorts and made my way to the fridge. Well my dick can't eat bread, so I needed to find some milk. No dice. No milk. I did seem some cheese and thought well, they are both dairy, I grabbed the cheese. I saw the Pina Colada LaPlaya or some spanish named cheap yogurt I had recently bought from the store. Figuring I would go with the cheese first (I didn't want to have chunks of pineapple on my hog). I went to the toilet and took the American Cheese and rubbed it on my balls. It didn't work that well and was pretty nasty. Realizing I had no choice and that if I didn't take care of this the insanity sauce would burn a hole in my sac I grabbed the pina colada yogurt, ripped off the foil wrapper and poured the contents on my balls. The relief was instant and after smearing the yogurt pineapple concoction all over my junk the pain was completely gone.
Paranoia strikes me each time I eat hot sauce.

Ditch the Car Buy a Bike (Bicycle)

This may seem cliche, but when I moved into the city I decided to ditch the car and use my bike and mass transit as my only forms of transportation. It is a good way to beat traffic, save money and lose a few. With Le Tour de France (LTDF) in full swing, I thought this would be great post
Types/Brands of Bikes to Buy:
There are several "good" bike companies; however, be sure to understand that like cars companies make high and low end bikes. Brands that you can't go wrong:
Specialized
Trek
Cannondale
Schwinn
These companies dominate the bike market. They can be found in nearly every store. LTDF is dominated by Specialized. It makes the lightest bikes on the market. Trek makes great bikes all way round and usually sets the standards for bike technology. Cannondale is an innovative company that strays from the normal. Scwhinn comes in last because it makes econo bikes, bikes that the average person can afford. Personally if I could get any brand bike I would get a Specialized because they are so hot right now.
Places to Shop
Bike stores have been popping up everywhere since hybrid has become popular. I want to put a caveat on such places: ripoffs. They will charge you more for bikes and often times try to sell you bikes that don't fit. If you really want a good bike and are a beginner (if you are reading this blog with real interest you probably are) go on http://craigslist.com. People are selling bikes all the time and this way you can haggle on price because like bike stores people will inflate the prices of their bikes.
The first step to the buying process comes with deciding which type of bike you want to get. This is mostly based on for the bike will be used. If you are riding through the city, get a hybrid. The wheels are smaller, the bike is lighter and therefore less work for you in the morning when you can't be sweaty, and at night when you are tired. The frame is also more resilient to the potholes, curbs and cracks in the road. If you want a bike that you can take off road spend a little more money and get a mountain bike with shocks. It isn't as easy to pedal because the wheels are wider, but the ride is smoother. If you want a bike that goes fast, easy to ride, and you aren't worried about cracks in the road a road bike is your best bet. It is my favorite. The handle bars curve down to give your body aerodynamic properties and you can go as fast as you can pedal with great acceleration.
Places to Ride
During my undergraduate I spent a lot of time riding around College Park, Maryland a town a few miles from D.C. I got spoiled with the plethora of bike trails, and often found myself exploring ways to get to my gf's place in Alexandria, VA (which was about 14 miles away). If you like cycling and exploring check out http://www.bikewashington.org for trail information. The good people there have taken the guess work out of finding trails.
As for the city, well it can be hard finding good places to ride. Rock Creek Park is a place with tons of trails and lots of open space, but it isn't good if you need to get somewhere. In D.C. there are special lanes on certain roads designated for riding. There are a few near my house on U Street NW. There is are lanes on 7th Street that starts at Florida Ave. and ends at O St. There are lanes on E St. and these lanes can basically take you from NW to NE. There are Lanes on Rhode Island avenue and such, but if you really want an in depth look check out http://www.waba.org/areabiking/maps.php and download the map always good to have on hand. You can also ride along the river in Georgetown which is amazing.
If you want to join the crowd, check out the bike paths in NOVA. The most known and most famous is the Mt. Vernon Trail Path. Everyone uses this path so be careful and make sure you have a horn, bell, or can whistle good because chances are you will pass walkers, joggers, and slower bikers. This path has great views of the monuments, the city, and the river. This path is right around twenty miles long and takes you right to George Washington's place at Mt. Vernon. Along the way you can see planes landing at Ronald Reagan Airport, much like in Wayne's World, and Fort Washington.

So stop paying for gas, and take my advice. Cycling is the way to go. The more you bike the more guilt free beer you can drink.

Fourth of July Bonanza

Hello friends another day another dollar living in the city.

I want to begin with some comments on the generic look of my blog. I am sorry. Thats all I can really say for now. I know you all must think well, he is an aerospace engineer he can do anything. Well html coding is kicking my ass and I am having a hard time getting things to work my way. I also just got batteries, or bats as I like to call them, for my cameras. Soon to be posted, pictures and videos of my daily antics. I will make sure not to leave home without them.

Let me now tell you about my Fourth of July weekend. I live with some pretty awesome dudes, well who all have blogs, so if you need a blog fix check out U Street Life , and TrU life . Both of these guys are my roommates and do a pretty good job at telling it how it is. I like to stick to my personal experiences and give a flavor of how life is through my own eyes. Here is how my weekend went down.

Friday:

We had our first BBQ at our U street house. I invited some friends and my folks, as did my roommates, and we got a ton of stuff for free. We did some last minute yard work so that our house wouldn't look like the worst on the block. Things started great and then people got drunk said some stuff and feelings got hurt, but going through college you learn to ignore these things and use them later as good pieces of blackmail. For example, my father started telling the 20 something girls at my party, girlfriend included, that his porn name was "big daddy rabbit" inside joke, but pretty self explanatory. He didn't like it when I called him a creepy old man. It gets better. We have a mutual friend and if you feel the need to read more about this individual real well he went and told everyone's moms at the party that he shared a bed with their sons and that the fate of his penis rested on their shoulders. Around 8 pm the parents left to give us our space and to let the youngins start planning for the evening.
Now if you are new to the city, or rich, or just really stupid you will go to the mall to see the fireworks. Bad move. If you want a true untouristy spot to watch fireworks next year go to 13th street hill (the only one in D.C.) and watch the fireworks from Cardozo High School, Home of the Clerks (terrible mascot). We watched the fireworks side by side with U.S. loving illegal immigrants and troubled inner city youth. I loved it. There was a mashup of every possible background enjoying a holiday of freedom. People were singing patriotic songs, smoking illegal drugs, setting off dangerous fireworks, and drinking in the streets while watching the firework display on the mall. We even got an impressive private firework display on people that had their own stockade of explosives. On our walk home we got to enjoy a show of Brazilian dance fighting (see ). My night ended there with a car ride back to my girlfriends place in boring NOVA.

Saturday:

I love to run. I have not had a chance to do some serious jogging until I Saturday when my roommate and I ran around the monuments in some jungle like heat. There is nothing like jogging in D.C. There is an immediate runners high when you see the monuments and the surrounding beauty. For me I get jazzed off the people I see walking around that clearly don't live in the city, and more than likely anywhere near the city. It's my silent way of screaming to them, "ha! I live here can't you tell! I clearly live here because I am jogging and not walking around the monuments reading the plaques. I have already read them!" My guess is that feeling is probably not shared by anyone but me. That evening I did the chivalrous thing and went with my gf to see the G rated Pixar movie Wall-E. Here is my assessment.

While I generally find sites like Rotten Tomatoes to be reliable sources of good movie critiquing I was very disappointed when I found myself wondering why I had yet again been tricked by the Pixar franchise. I spent a good two hours wondering where this movie would be going and found at the end it had gotten nowhere. A plot assesment of this movie can be summed up in one sentence. A robot, left behind in a trashed earth by over consuming wasteful humans, falls in love with a probe sent by fat lazy humans waiting in space until earth's atmosphere livable. The movie has maybe 30 lines of actual dialog, non sequitor live action scenes, and a stupid love story between effing robots. I went for the girlfriend because she really wanted to see it, but it didn't surprise me in any way. My grade B-. Critics, stop sucking Pixar's D.

Sunday:

Since I am writing this technically on Sunday, I can finally write in the present tense. I spent the night again at my gf's after Wall-E and took the metro home. I made sure to sit in the front car right by the window to the pilot's cockpit. I wanted to see what it was like through the conductor's eys. I also wanted to see if there was anything strange inside the tunnels. There wasn't. Tonight we went to Duffy's Irish Pub near the 9:30 Club. I have wanted to goto this place since we got to U Street. We went for the trivia and I must say I was impressed. The atmosphere was great and the crowd was even better. The best thing was the cheap beer and darts. My roommates and I got second in trivia and won a $30 dollar bar tab, which was even better. I highly recommend this place because it is a change from the weird. It's a straight up bar with a great menu. Do yourself a favor.

Gay Bar

Let me start with Thursday night's events. My roommates and I live in a diverse area and there is a large black/ghetto black/white/gay/homosexual/transexual/lesbian/hipster, but mostly black/ghetto black/gay population. I think it adds a little something special to the mix, something that means we are living in an uber trendy neighborhood. Unfortunately for me and my bros the sweetest/closest bar to our house is a gay bar and gay club. I am not saying that its not a cool bar I am just saying its hard for my roommates to meet girls at these venues. We generally don't make our way into these places, but have gotten a burger and had drinks during the day when things are a little more tame. At night I tend to feel a little uncomfortable see below for example(ass grabbing, couples in the bathroom, men approaching me i mean its a gay bar). Back to the story at hand.

Thursday night, my roommates, Mr. T and Crispy, were hanging out with some of Mr. T's coworkers. I didn't really feel like blowing money on beer, so I stayed in for the beginning of the night. Some of Mr. T's coworkers are girls and there are some guys and there are some gay dudes also, very cool diverse, interesting conversations. Well being comfortable with our sexuality and all Mr. T and Crispy and the coworkers go to "gay night" at DC9 a pretty cool bar. This is where I step in. We get there and there are a lot of dudes, mostly gay, and a few girls, chilling grabbing beers and talking. My roommates and I chug a couple and then hit the head to relieve ourselves. We hit a line and Mr. T thinking it would be funny to be an asshole, goes and says, "Hey Stud, remember when you blew 6 dudes here in the bathroom?" I blush of course because well I am no slut, and give him the "Shut the fuck up I am already uncomfortable as shit look." Mr. T likes to do things like this. I didn't really care I was having a good time and the beers were cheap until the guy ahead of me in line turns and says "Damn, I wish I would've been there." Awkward seconds pass as he enters the W.C. and out of earshot. I immediately turn and start punching Mr. T.

This kinda shook me up a bit, now I realize that this "gay night" is really gay, not some weak attempt at being diverse. There are dudes everywhere, kissing, hugging, touching, being all broke back and shit. I make my way outside to smoke a cig and I look down the street, there is about a line of 50 guys waiting to get into this place. Hoping that I don't see someone I know and have that weird conversation explaining why we are here. I eventually leave only to argue with the gf for the entire walk home over some stupid s. I didn't have a bad time, kinda awkward, definitely very gay, but I felt proud that I was open minded enough to face real life head on and go with it. Go me.

No Mo' Dinero

I was feeling pretty blue this morning so I thought I would write about it. My name StuD and I am a poor man. Unfortunately realization and acceptance doesn't help me in this case. I wouldn't even care if I was just poor, I am more than just poor, I am in debt. Today I woke up and faced the beautiful sky and tried to pay off what I thought was only a $500 credit card debt, but it was $600. If you know what this feels like say "hell yeah." I hate money. I hate everything I do costs some fraction of money. Sleeping, eating, walking, riding, studying it all costs some fractional cent of investment or immediate cost. All this debt causes me constant stress, and I am only working to slow the speed of spending.

Fuck money, I am using clams.

My fellow americans,

I had a good story lined up for today about an incident during karate practice in my young impressionable years, but I think something far more important out weighs this silly anecdote of my life. Today they lifted the 32 year old handgun ban in Washington D.C. or as I like to call it, home.

I have bragged and ranted over the fact that I believe I need a gun to ward off urban predators from my residence, but secretly deep inside this rugged, handsome exterior, their lies a scared little boy hiding underneath of the bed waiting for something terrible to come looking for him. I am pretty good at hide and go seek. Now its not that I think that guns are evil, or that I don’t believe in the right to bear arms. I am just scared that now there might be more guns in the hands of the ignorant.

Now there is a point to be made that now I have the right to own a weapon. If you know me this is a bad idea. Let’s just say for example that it wasn’t a bad idea for me to own a gun. What would I do with one, have a showdown in the middle of Florida Avenue with some crazy? I mean if someone pulls a gun on me, am I going to pull a gun out and say, “Sorry buddy, maybe next time”?

I guess what I am really saying is that I don’t know how safe I feel now that I know every man woman and child is going out to buy firearms, especially since I will not be a part of this whole fad. Or will I?

Now I can commence in story time.

It’s funny what you can remember. (sorry Forrest) Growing up, I played sports like most youth and I had kind support and enthusiasm from my parents. My mother would buy me the equipment and my father would take me to the games and yell the same three to five letter word depending on the sport. For example if I was playing soccer he would yell, “shoot!” over and over again. Sometimes he would yell “run!” If I was lucky he would yell back and forth between “shoot!” and “run!” This was the man that raised me. I could probably write ten stories about him, and I probably will. Getting back to the point, he would always tell me, like all good parents should, “never quit.” No matter how much I hated what I was doing, he would never let me quit. Ah yes that is until I found my sac and told him to stop running my life (I have been an asshole since 5).

I can remember the first thing I quit, karate. Ah yes, Tae Kwon Doe, the Korean sensation that swept the nation. Think early 90s. Bright colors, parachute pants, bugle boys, MC Hammer were all in style. Apparently so was karate.

There I was, stretching in a large group of young and old wearing my clean freshly bleached white gee adorned by a belt depicting my rank. I was a purple belt three belts below the sacred black belt and I could do a flying side kick. I remember looking at the instructor mid butterfly stretch and thinking, “my does he have impressive facial hair.” About a second later he was looking at me shaking his head and I knew why. I had just done the most embarrassing thing a young boy could do in a room full of silent people. Farted.

I think the sound bounced around the room a couple of times which gave me just enough time to run crying from the cafeteria in which the karate lessons were held. My mother was there and she comforted me and told me it was alright and even bought me a late night grape soda, unthinkable. Stupid Chuck Norris looking instructor ruined my career as the greatest karate champion ever.

First Official Blog...Ever

Hello world,

This is pretty intimidating when I think about it. It's like walking around in that hospital gown with your ass hanging out; I feel exposed. Although I know only five people might read this unedited version of my life, I don't know how I feel about random people getting a good look into my personal life. Therefore, I have tried to be as anonymous as possible, and with luck I will slowly expose myself to my readers.

I guess I should start with some background. I live in DC actually in lovely Bloomingdale, an up and coming neighborhood next to Howard University. I moved to DC from the University of Maryland, where I attend graduate school for mechanical engineering. Unfortunately for me, I had to stay at the same university I did my undergraduate degree in aerospace engineering. I guess you could call me a rocket scientist, but I'm no brain surgeon. Little engineering humor. I grew up like most children do, in a small town in Howard County, Maryland where I learned that small towns breed boredom, intolerance, and an affection for farming equipment. Not that I am saying anything bad about my town, but the best thing we have is a 24 hr McDonalds. So for right now I am trying to do the grown up thing. Pay my rent, buy my own groceries, not ask mom and dad for money, drink heavily. It's hard trying to be independent as a student making 40K less that what you could be making in the real world, but I guess that's the story of my life.

I guess the next logical step is to to tell you readers why I am blogging. My girlfriend blogs and she is pretty good at it, shes got a great sense of humor. Check it out at brokeindc.blogspot.com. I think I am featured in a few of them. I want to share the subtle humor, anger, terror, and occasional love that I feel on a regular basis. I would say the first three emotions are the ones I jump to first, love, well that only really strikes me when I am not feeling the other three.

Now that that (is two thats' correct english) is over with I will start kick off this blog with one of my infamous story. I like to call this story the "Sandblaster." It probably isn't the best story to begin with and it is vulgar and disgusting so if you are at work and don't want someone going "What Are You Reading!" I would close the page now and pick it up at home.

During my time as an undergraduate I had a plethora of adventures filled with humor, and terror, but one that is memorable just for shear vulgarity is my "sandblaster" story. Let me begin, it was a warm day, the kind that you wake up to at 5 pm and go "yes, I am going to happy hour." I put on my shorts, flip flops, trendy shirt and started to make that quarter mile journey to one of the 3 University of Maryland Bars (yes at this time there was no Thirsty Turtle). I can remember feeling good and unattached to any work because I had made sure I didn't have anything to do on this day.
About half way into my journey, I felt the smallest stomach contraction. The kind you get when you just drank too much coffee, only I didn't have any coffee at 5 pm. I mean I was rested from the 12 hours of sleep I had just got. I thought to myself, meh, its nothing. Then about a minute later and 3 blocks away from my destination, it happened again. Only it wasn't a small gurgle anymore it was the kind where you knew that if you didn't find a toilet in 30 seconds it was bad news bears. I instantly grab my butt, like that will do anything, and begin to run. Not a normal run, but the kind where you are running on your toes and you are hunched over almost in a sitting position. I began thinking at lightning speed, where can I diarrhea in peace and cleanliness. So my obvious decision was to go to California Tortilla, I mean no one ever goes there right (except for me secretly). I bust into the restaurant like I was about to case the joint and blew past the cashier and burrito artists to the men's room. I remember thinking I almost didn't make it as I rushed to take off my shorts.
I probably missed the waistband of my sexy boxers by a half an inch when all of a sudden my sphincter said, "I can't take this anymore" and I released my BM into what I thought was the toilet with shotgun like power. Unfortunately, for me I have a phobia of sitting on strange toilets without any kind of seat cover. I turn back to see the damage and low and behold I have completely missed the boat. I like to compare the color and texture to raw ground beef and it was all over the back of the seat, floor, wall and I managed to get a tiny amount into the toilet.
Looking back, I guess my trajectory was wrong. Aerospace/Physice humor. I managed to clean up most of it, but I definitely left a mess for the janitor. The best part of this story was that there was no need for wipeage. I guess all is well that ends well. At least for me, not the poor minimum wage worker that had to clean that up, my bad. So I guess if you have any experience with power washing, or sand blasting, the visual image for the story I just told is probably ten fold on the gross factor. That's why I have entitled it the "Sandblaster."