For the one of you who has been wondering where I've been, the answer is quite simple. Camping.
And not punk-camping, like out in front of a music store to get the next release of a self-proclaimed dark, underworldly muscian that goes out of his way to be mysterious & aloof. No. This camping was done far from running water and internet connections, and very close to wherever it is that mosquitos come from, apparently. Yes, this practice baffles me as well.
I won't bore you with the sordid details of outdoor life, but I will share a few tidbits about my camping cohorts, as I've come to call them. Though not in their presence, of course. Names have been changed for plausible deniability.
Ryan is a rather substantial fellow, probably more likely to be found with a double-barrell shotgun and RealTree camo bandana than a propane stove and pup-tent, if you catch my drift. His greatest aspiration seemed to be the dismantling of several Mag-Lites to supplement construction of a six-foot Mag-Staff. I imagine we'll see a website about this on FAZED shortly. I'll also note that, though I don't avidly seek stuff like this, Ryan doesn't seem to have an ass crack.
Allen & Jimmy are roommates of 10 years or so, and have become quite adept at humorously cutting people down in tandem, while managing to avoid puns and obvious references to contemporery movies and TV shows. I believe I gained their respect for a brief moment after waking up in the midst of a practical joke with shaving cream all over my face & quoting "My mouth tastes like.... e-mails." Trying to actually talk to these two resulted in my being nicknamed "professor" for the rest of the trip.
Sati is the kind of woman every man dreads. The kind of woman that can take a simple topic and turn it into a 20 minute tirade about every tiny experience she has had with said topic. Additionally, she's of the sort that never hesitates to say when you're not doing something according to her master plan, or how something you did in the past shouldn't actually have been done. Those of you who know me know that I couldn't just let this go on forever, and on the trip home I snapped twelve minutes into her rant on how stupid those secret tracks at the end of CDs are. Though I can't repeat it wor for word due to space restrictions, I assure it had every bit of sardonic humor and all the well-developed main points you've all come to expect from my criticizms.
Maggie is the only camper among us that would have scored over a 6 on any Hot Or Not website, and managed to reinforce the stereotypical dull flakiness of "the beautiful people." One gets the impression that Maggie is always on the go, always on her way to do something, except she doesn't actually have anything to do. No job, no school, no social activities. I wish I could explain this a little better, except she never actually spoke directly to me. She and Sati loved to exchange stories about bad stuff that annoys them, which they found no shortage of.
Rachel. Ah, Rachel. The shining highlight of the trip. The closest thing to a surfer girl Clovis County has to offer. Quick, logical, and subtly funny. And she makes faces. Oh cheesus, have I ever mentioned how much I like the girls that make faces? That I have to change my fudgies every time Bjork's Big Time Sensuality video comes on? Yikes. Double yikes. Alas, however, she is five years my senior, which may seem shallow, but is merely at the top of the pile of reasons why it would be silly and unreasonable to make anything that could be construed as a move. Among the other reasons are a six-hour drive between our living quarters, and the fact that that drive time will increase considerably come September 16th. And I've never been comfortable with the idea of short-term relationships, see.
So there you are. Also, I got bit by a snake or something. I don't really remember.
Now tell me, do you have a Rachel somewhere in the world? And what are your selfish reasons for letting her escape?
And not punk-camping, like out in front of a music store to get the next release of a self-proclaimed dark, underworldly muscian that goes out of his way to be mysterious & aloof. No. This camping was done far from running water and internet connections, and very close to wherever it is that mosquitos come from, apparently. Yes, this practice baffles me as well.
I won't bore you with the sordid details of outdoor life, but I will share a few tidbits about my camping cohorts, as I've come to call them. Though not in their presence, of course. Names have been changed for plausible deniability.
Ryan is a rather substantial fellow, probably more likely to be found with a double-barrell shotgun and RealTree camo bandana than a propane stove and pup-tent, if you catch my drift. His greatest aspiration seemed to be the dismantling of several Mag-Lites to supplement construction of a six-foot Mag-Staff. I imagine we'll see a website about this on FAZED shortly. I'll also note that, though I don't avidly seek stuff like this, Ryan doesn't seem to have an ass crack.
Allen & Jimmy are roommates of 10 years or so, and have become quite adept at humorously cutting people down in tandem, while managing to avoid puns and obvious references to contemporery movies and TV shows. I believe I gained their respect for a brief moment after waking up in the midst of a practical joke with shaving cream all over my face & quoting "My mouth tastes like.... e-mails." Trying to actually talk to these two resulted in my being nicknamed "professor" for the rest of the trip.
Sati is the kind of woman every man dreads. The kind of woman that can take a simple topic and turn it into a 20 minute tirade about every tiny experience she has had with said topic. Additionally, she's of the sort that never hesitates to say when you're not doing something according to her master plan, or how something you did in the past shouldn't actually have been done. Those of you who know me know that I couldn't just let this go on forever, and on the trip home I snapped twelve minutes into her rant on how stupid those secret tracks at the end of CDs are. Though I can't repeat it wor for word due to space restrictions, I assure it had every bit of sardonic humor and all the well-developed main points you've all come to expect from my criticizms.
Maggie is the only camper among us that would have scored over a 6 on any Hot Or Not website, and managed to reinforce the stereotypical dull flakiness of "the beautiful people." One gets the impression that Maggie is always on the go, always on her way to do something, except she doesn't actually have anything to do. No job, no school, no social activities. I wish I could explain this a little better, except she never actually spoke directly to me. She and Sati loved to exchange stories about bad stuff that annoys them, which they found no shortage of.
Rachel. Ah, Rachel. The shining highlight of the trip. The closest thing to a surfer girl Clovis County has to offer. Quick, logical, and subtly funny. And she makes faces. Oh cheesus, have I ever mentioned how much I like the girls that make faces? That I have to change my fudgies every time Bjork's Big Time Sensuality video comes on? Yikes. Double yikes. Alas, however, she is five years my senior, which may seem shallow, but is merely at the top of the pile of reasons why it would be silly and unreasonable to make anything that could be construed as a move. Among the other reasons are a six-hour drive between our living quarters, and the fact that that drive time will increase considerably come September 16th. And I've never been comfortable with the idea of short-term relationships, see.
So there you are. Also, I got bit by a snake or something. I don't really remember.
Now tell me, do you have a Rachel somewhere in the world? And what are your selfish reasons for letting her escape?
I think my girlfriend's my Rachel. She makes the faces, and she's silly, and smart too.
Don't I know women like Sati! They'll tell you they're confident, but what they really are is bullishly arrogant. And if stupid means lacking any ability whatsoever to learn and adapt, then women like Sati are its definition. Blind Date seems to try to include one per episode; sometimes they change it up and include her male equivalent. Not that I watch Blind Date, mind you....