The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Starting the Day off Creepy

June 19, 2012

It was a day like any other. I woke up, hit snooze a few times, and then reluctantly got out of bed. The earlier I start work, the earlier I’m back with my best friend – my couch. But something felt different today, something I just couldn’t identify.

Nevertheless, I got up. I began my morning routing – a bowl of cereal while I watch the local NBC news. For local news, bad jokes, and attractive anchors – go to Local 2 News! Jennifer Reyna, the traffic girl who could make traffic stop with her good looks, was talking about an accident or really clear lanes or whatever it was, she’s too pretty for me to notice.

I thought, “maybe I should tweet that I like kicking off my mornings with Miss (hopefully Miss) Reyna.” But then I realized that would be boring. I thought of a bad joke, “Folgers? Who needs that when you’ve got Reyna.” But no, that was a really bad joke. I wouldn’t do that. But the idea had entered my head … Twitter … Jennifer Reyna … Me …

I had to know! I signed on my computer and searched for her name – what’s this! There IS a Jennifer Reyna on Twitter! I look at the brief description that every Twitter user can create, and this didn’t seem like the standard PR-created byline for a semi-celebrity user of Twitter. The byline said,

“Dedicated to the traffic hottie Jennifer Reyna on Houston’s KPRC Local 2.”

Could it be … Could it be that there are other creepy guys out there who like Jennifer Reyna?! And could it be that one of them is so creepy he has created a Twitter account where he, every day, posts a picture of Jennifer (dear, sweet Jennifer), describes her outfit, and RATES it!?

http://twitter.com/ratereyna

Yes, I would say there are other creepy guys out there …

“Did I mention that Jen’s secret power is the ability to make brown look good? It’s freaky! Rating: 9.5”

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Weekly Wacko

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Happy (Belated) Clone Creation Day!

June 18, 2012

This is one of my favorite stories about my dad. Here are a few other stories about the pops. Now for another fun pops story …

Happy Clone Creation Day!

In the 7th grade my dad and I made a habit of playing a baseball game on the Nintendo. If I had to guess, I would say that my mom told my dad that he and I needed to bond, and to think up something. My dad, brother and I had played a whole season (which is fairly impressive) on Ken Griffey, Jr. baseball back when I was in the 4th or 5th grade. The baseball idea had come around again, this time with an upgraded system – the 64.

We played as the Arizona Diamondbacks, which was the first or second year of the team’s existence. I have no recollection of how often we played, but I remember sitting in the basement with my dad, playing that game.

  • He never swung at the first pitch. Usually not the second or third, either. He was always wanting to wear out the starting pitcher. With the game’s AI, you could expect with about 99% confidence that after three pitches you’d have 2 strikes and one ball on you.
  • The first two pitches were usually strikes. During them, he would sip his beer.
  • After the second pitch (which was usually your second strike), he would pick up his controller.
  • If he got a hit, then he got a hit.
  • If he struck out or had a bad pop-up the same sound would generally escape him – an aggravated, quick, “agh!”

On one particular day, we were playing the game and my dad was up to bat. After the usual ritual, he struck out. The familiar grunt/sound of exasperation came.

I smirked. My dad is a funny guy. He’s like a monkey over there with those crazy grunt noises. I thought, ‘ok, my turn … I can do better.’ After all, I’m young and I play a lot of video games – this is what I’m built for. I waited out the strikes like my dad, not because I wanted to necessarily, but because it was a good strategy. It’s a video game! It’s not the place where you exhibit patience and strategy! Nevertheless, I did it (when he was around).

What do you know – I also get out.

And what do you know, the same, “agh!” came out of me.

Holy crap, I realized, I am my dad.

All the times I’d laughed at him, poked fun at him (just in my head, not out loud) … those would all be coming home to roost. Shoot.

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Two Shades of Vague, Part IV

June 15, 2012

Two Shades of Vague

IV

We end up doing it a bunch, and every time it feels super duper. He does this weird controlling thing during sex where we’ll be doing something, and then he’ll say “red light,” and we stop, and then he’ll say “green light” and it kicks off again. I guess you could say he’s two shades of Vague. In fact, I might be tempted to make reference to that many, many times. On to a more pressing topic though, some weird descriptions of just how fantasmo the sexxins can be with him.

It’s like someone stuck a pleasure-grenade in my treasure chest, and exploded it using rainbows made out of love.

Imagine an earthquake, wrapped in a tornado, wrapped in a pancake, wrapped in an orgasm. And that’s what happened. You know. In my va-jay-jay.

Take three cups sugar, one teaspoon cinnamon, some boy body parts, and one hefty helping of oh baby oh baby, and mix. THAT’S WHAT’S UP.

While the sex is good, some things concern me. I am inexperienced with relationships, but certain behaviors of his I find off-putting. When a boy buys you a flower, it’s cute, I know that. So when the boy buys you a car that’s just like him buying you one million flowers. My inner goddess does the math and gives me a thumbs up. Although part of me thinks maybe that’s a bit much, my libido says “FEEEED ME.”

I ignore the warnings, and instead take a stroll to bone-town, and it’s awesometacular.

I want to call my best friend Susanna to talk about Shimper, but I’m afraid he’ll be angry at me – and he doesn’t want me talking about us to anyone. This worries me, but whoops, I just had an orgasm, and I’m suddenly less worried about this shockingly frightening red flag. I decide a relationship with cornerstones of fear and sex is ok, as long as I work on lessening the fear. In its place we can just have more sex. My inner goddess looks disapprovingly over her glasses, and I give in and decide to examine the pros and cons of Shimper and I:

Pro:
He’s rich (I don’t care about that … but yeah I do)
He’s grade A meat
He’s good at taking me to my happy place

Con:
He’s quick to anger
Being in control, big time control, is how he gets his jollies
I still have no idea what exactly he does and how he’s so rich
We haven’t had an actual conversation yet
He likes to keep people out
He seems emotionally stunted
He likes the idea of punishing me, by causing me physical pain, and he’s going to get off on that

I am interrupted while making this list with, you guessed it, some bouncy bouncy.

Exhausted by the massive amounts of sex, I go to sleep. I sleep for four days. (How could I not after all that? I mean sheesh.) When I wake up Shimper is finishing a surgery where he’s putting a tracking device under my skin.

“Shimper …” I say, hesitant to criticize him. Ya know, because of the potential for beatings.
“Miss Gasm, you’re awake … and I’m awake …,” he gestures romantically to his family jewels.
“I … I don’t know if this can work.”

I say this and immediately begin moving. If I stay in motion I won’t be able to talk, and if I keep from taking I’ll keep from breaking my resolve. My mind is made up! I can’t have a traditional romance with this man, he’s incapable of it!

“Miss Gasm …” Shimper sounds so hurt. So broken. I am tempted to go to him, hold him, comfort him. No. I can’t do that. My mind is made up.

Yep. My mind is made up. Until about a week later. Then we get back together, honestly, what else would happen? And I bet you’ll never guess what happens when we get back together …

YEP! He takes me to the BONE-ZONE!!

Fin

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