Posted by todd
Fri, 12 Aug 2005 17:40:00 GMT
Last night I fell through a wormhole or something, and wound up being the designated driver.
Actually, let me rephrase that. Last night I was the designated drunk driver (DDD).
It would have been difficult to convince, say, a police officer of the fact. Nevertheless I was the only person capable of driving anywhere. The night had gone tequila, and I was only drinking beer.
In a mark of wisdom, or at least old age, I saw what was coming so I bowed out of the "one round of shots before we go". "One and out" is a game everyone has played... You know the one where you are having one more drink and then going home like a good citizen, only to find yourself sleeping in a ditch several hours later? Good times... Good times.
One and out of course turned into two. Then we attempted to leave, and I drove the now inebriated co-worker to his house, while Gun girl rolled around in the back of my jeep giggling, you know... two shots of tequila style.
At this point it could have been ok. A woman with two shots in her is a good time waiting to happen, but the gods were not looking out for my interests and we wound up in his backyard with them "sampling" fancy tequila. Sampling needs more description.
An interesting thing happens when you drink with people who are connoisseurs of a certain alcohol... They tend to put the drink in a very small glass (which is secretly a shot glass, but much fancier), and then "sample" several different kinds. Of course, what this really means is that my girlfriend and co-worker each consumed about 5 shots of tequila in short order. Fancy or not, that's trouble.
The girl managed to maintain somewhat, opting to play in the sprinklers in her dress rather than taking it off, not that co-worker would have minded. Eventually a neighbor came out and told us to be quiet, which was my only chance to exit before the sun came up, so we left.
Now, unlike with 2 shots, a woman with more than 5 shots in her isn't really good for much. She's a happy drunk though so no biggie, we'll just go home and go to bed. Right?
2 miles after I get onto the highway (the 5, north).. The girl points out that I'm going south. I'm new in town, and have the navigational abilities of a football, so when she stood by her story amid questions, I decided I must have screwed up, and turned around.
In hindsight, taking directions from a plastered woman was a bad idea, even if she had lived in San Diego her entire life. So in about 2 seconds I realized I had been going the right way in the first place, and eventually made it to her house.
Drunk girl doesn't remember the ride home, or most likely the many fun things she suggested we do when we got home. I'll bet she remembers barfing in her bathroom though.
Wouldn't it be great if they packaged alcohol by how sick you want to be afterwards?
"I'd like a bottle of scotch please, mildly retarded size".
Posted in Girlfriends | Tags alcohol, chelsea, drinking, drunk girls, gun girl, tequila | 10 comments | no trackbacks
Posted by todd
Thu, 28 Jul 2005 21:09:00 GMT
AKA: Bachelor Todd goes to Raleigh.
I flew back from Raleigh NC for a few days to attend a wedding, a going away party, and to talk to a guy about funding my company. One of these kids is doing their own thing, one off these kids, are not the same.
Now, there's something about going on a 3 day drinking binge and then attending an important meeting that really takes me back to the old days. Sometimes it's good to go home.
Yes, I know. At 30 years old people are supposed to be responsible adults, and not be out until 3am when they have things to do in the morning. In this case though, it was perfect. You see, drinking gives guys two things: bullshitting skills and confidence. What better way to prepare?
Unfortunately these things don't stay in your system or I'd be Bill Gates by now.
The rest of the weekend consisted of explaining to 100 different people how things were going in San Diego, combined with absurd amounts of alcohol. Add a bunch of people who grew up together, and it's comedy waiting to happen.
When guys get drinking the way we were drinking, things happen. Nonsensical things. How it started has dissappeared from my mind, but late at night my buddy Paul claimed that he could smash the hotels TV remote control in half using only his head.... if he wanted to.
What kind of friends would let such a claim slide without attempting for half an hour to peer pressure him into doing it? What kind of friend wouldn't offer up 20 bucks if he succeeded?
In the end we left, after the first call from the front desk warning us to shut up. The negotiations were still ongoing. As we walked out the door someone (Al) got tired of waiting and threw it at the door behind us.
We really are a classy bunch. You can take the boy out of Erie, but you can't take the Erie out of the boy.
Posted in Girlfriends, Travel | 2 comments | 69 trackbacks
Posted by todd
Thu, 16 Jun 2005 17:52:00 GMT
(My actual pillowcases)
Laundry has never been my specialty. I admit this.
I have every intention of switching to a wash and fold service as soon as I figure out where the Chinese laundry is around here. Unfortunately for the time being, I am on my own.... You see the result above.
Actually, this one wasn't *entirely* my idea.. but I'll get to that in a moment. First the background.
When it rains it pours, or in this case, when your bed gets covered in cat fur, you light your pillows on fire. (Somehow, my version didn't catch on as well, but feel free to use that saying.) My cat is shedding, a lot, still, and it got to the point that I was starting to get fur balls myself. Combined with the fact that I had female company coming over, and I decided it might be time for some laundry.
I'm bad at laundry.
So I washed all my sheets, pillowcases, bedspread etc... Boy was it hard to stuff all that stuff in there at once! However, I'm very persistent and eventually the washer gave up.
The DRYER on the other hand, had a real attitude problem. Oh it HELD all the things just fine, more easily than the washer in fact. The problem, in my obviously non-dryer-educated opinion, was that the stuff didn't flop around like things normally do in a dryer. Like trying to shake up a snapple before you open it.
At any rate, I had more important things to do, like drink Corona with the girl, so I decided to let the dryer just work it out.
Several beers later, it was time for bed! This is where the problems began. Even as a single guy, I can't sleep on a mattress unless it has *some* form of sheet on it, so I had to go fetch the blankets from the bastard dryer.
It had managed to dry the blankets and sheet just fine, but upon inspection, my pillowcases were still somewhat damp! (Dunh duh dunh!)
In my defense, I didn't come up with the idea for what happened next... and my bachelor senses were actually tingling during the debate... which went like this:
Todd: The pillowcases are still wet.
Chelsea: Eh, just put them in the microwave.
Todd: Brilliant!
Microwave: *smoke* *smolder* *beep*
Actually, the first round went ok. I sat there and watched them spin around, and nothing funny happened. When it was done though, they were quite warm, but still damp. So I kicked it up to "re-heat", and went look out the window at the drunkards stumbling home from the bars. A big fight broke out in the street, which, being a guy, is about the best thing to see happen at 2am. So sheets be damned, get him!
Chelsea noticed the problem first.. "Uh Todd... smoke!"
Smoke indeed.
Well, nothing caught fire, my apartment only sort of smells, and I've learned a valuable lesson. Don't listen to girls, even if the idea is cool.
Any bets on how long I go without pillow cases?
Posted in Girlfriends, Best Of Bachelor Todd | 8 comments | 69 trackbacks
Posted by todd
Thu, 02 Jun 2005 18:06:00 GMT
Today, we are going to address a common guy pastime, camping.
Growing up, my friends and I spent a lot of time camping. Mostly as an excuse to go drink lots of beer in the woods away from the cops.
Don't get me wrong, the cops still came, but drunk kids have a serious advantage over police in the woods. The ability to run without flashlights. See, when police come into the woods to break up a party, they don't know where the hell they are going. You can spot them from half a mile away and split. Home field advantage at it's finest.
Not to mention, we had far more reason not to be caught than they had to catch us. I have had to run from the police at least a dozen times, and have never been in a cop car. (Note: My younger brother Drew could learn a few things here... He *always* gets caught.)
Memorial weekend however, involved no police. Just myself, a girl, a fifth of tequila, beer, my jeep, and a surfboard. While the surfboard turned out to be unnecessary, you never know! I don't get to the desert much. Plus, I was way to lazy to take it off my car before we left.
Camping on the west coast is significantly different than camping on the east coast. First of all, to my knowledge, there are no cops. In fact, if anything bad happened and you actually NEEDED a cop.......Well... There ain't no law around here lawdog. Second, it's BIG. I now realize why there are a lot of holes in the desert, and a lot of problems buried in those holes. (Ok, that's enough movie lines for one story.)
My kinda place.
It's also a bit different camping in the desert. For instance, in the woods, giant windstorms don't kick up and fill your tent with dirt. Woods also have a distinct lack of army ants, scorpions, and small things that look like weeds but fill your fingers with needles when you grab a bunch of them to start a fire with. (Not that anyone would ever be stupid enough to do such a thing).
Desert camping is a great time, once we had everything situated, and had removed the majority of the spines from my hands, we got down to business. I love business.
In this case, the business included burning things, taunting a coyote, and drinking tequila straight from the bottle. I've never been a fan of tequila, but I have to say, it is *much* better straight from the bottle and without the salt and lime. You don't have a pre-set amount that you must consume... you don't make a mess with sticky lemons... and really, after 3 or 4 slugs of tequila you don't care anymore.
If you go to REI, or any other sporting goods store, you would be led to believe that there are other essential camping items than those described above. This is categorically untrue. You do not need pots, or sammich makers, or burts freaking beez (although it's pretty good stuff). You *certainly* do not need a backpack with an exoskeleton that would make Wolverine proud. Throw all these things away, and pack more flammable materials.
There is one exception to this rule.
You need a vehicle to sleep in when your tent blows down.
And maybe more alcohol.
And some guns to shoot when you get really drunk. (We forgot this step)
PS: If you want to see some pictures from the trip, and a few random others, go here:
Camping Pictures
Posted in Girlfriends, Travel | 1 comment | 70 trackbacks
Posted by todd
Tue, 10 May 2005 14:45:00 GMT
As a longtime bachelor I've dated many different types of women.
There is no discrimination based on race, creed, education or social stature. I mean, ugly is ugly, but other than that it's pretty much all on the table. At 30 years old I thought I had met all the major makes and models.
I stand corrected.
I'll call her Ruger. Ruger is a *total* sweetheart, and I could go into a long diatribe about how we met and all that romantic stuff; however this blog isn't about romance, it's about heavy drinking, bad jokes, and in this case extreme personal danger.
With that in mind I'll cut to the chase.
I met Ruger a few days ago through a friend at NuNu's bar. She drinks Tequila with no salt/lime, and I was fairly convinced she could drink me under the table. That being said, I'm a scientific person and therefore the only way to be sure was to test the theory.
After some sushi, sake, and sapporo we wound up back at her place drinking martini's. Now as I have pointed out in the past, the Martini was once a manly drink but has recently been reborn as a fru fru pretty girl drink. However, the ones she made were entirely Ketel One and Bombay Sapphire. She called them "Perfect Martini's".. I call them rocket fuel. At any rate they aren't pink, but you will be if you drink a few of them.
When drinking rocket fuel, it quickly becomes apparent that your driving abilities are probably less than optimal. In fact, your *speaking* abilities are less than optimal, so driving is right out. I soon determined that I wasn't going home, which was fine with me and almost certainly part of her plan... so we went to bed.
Now at this point the story clearly sounds like a win in bachelor land right? Right.
Well, miss bachelorette lives alone in this really neat house that has a great ocean view and therefore lots of big windows. Not exactly the safest place for a single girl, what with all the weirdos in California.
Shortly after getting into bed, I realize that there is something strange under her pillow. Whatever you are thinking it might be, is wrong. Perverts!
What she *did* have there was a 9mm Ruger pistol! It was straight out of a blockbuster movie! (I'm sure you have noticed their large "hot chicks with guns" selection)
Don't get me wrong, I own guns.. Hell, I've even got a 12 gauge under my bed; even so there is still something that strikes me as.....spooky about a woman having a pistol IN HER BED.
Don't overreact here, I wouldn't want you to think badly of me. After I checked the chamber to make sure it was empty and noticed the clip was on the floor, the evening went out with a bang! (nudge, nudge, wink, wink!)
I just need to be very, very nice to this woman.
You may be shocked to know that occasionally I make women, um, well, insanely angry.
I've been punched, slapped, tackled, even had my hair pulled out. Imagine what the angry girls did! However this is the first time that a woman has actually had the means to take me out. To boot, she's ex-military so I'm sure she knows how to aim.
A lesser man would run away, but hey, it's got a bit of Laura Croft going on.
They make very fashionable Kevlar these days anyway.
Posted in Girlfriends, Best Of Bachelor Todd | 5 comments | 70 trackbacks
Posted by todd
Sat, 05 Feb 2005 16:41:18 GMT
Last weekend I met a woman who may become my future ex-wife.
I know what you are thinking. You're thinking, "Todd, quit being such a romantic, you are never going to meet your ex-wife in a bar." Au contraire! Many a divorce has been formed while drinking copious amounts of alcohol and hitting on bartenders. Let me live my dream you naysaying bastards!
At any rate Tonya the bartender introduced herself by making me do a shot with her, and then asked "Do you like pirate jokes?" (Do I like pirate jokes...). To top it off, she turns out to be a martial arts instructor during the day and has ferrets as pets. Summary: She is a would-be pirate/ninja who drinks at work and has cool pets.
If you know me, you probably know that my taste in humor is, well, bad. I know lots of jokes, but I don't know a single good joke. I don't let that stop me. I must admit to enjoying the threats I often receive after a pun. Tonya and I had a joke contest, and she won by a landslide. If we joined forces, just think of the pain we could cause!
The bar is called Patricks II, and I could hit it with a golf ball from my apartment window. Well, at least I could if the cops would stop showing up, whiners. It's an Irish/Blues bar, which is strange, but Guinness and blues go surprisingly well together. It is quickly becoming my local hangout.
The only thing that the bar is lacking is large amounts of smoke. Don't get me wrong, I don't smoke anymore so it's a good thing; but it still doesn't feel right. Blues clubs are supposed to be smoky. I don't make the rules.
Contrary to popular belief, health is not a top priority for blues musicians. Where most singers don't smoke because it is bad for your voice, in the blues, a smokers voice is somewhat of a prerequisite. I'm going to sneak out back next time I'm there, and I'm pretty sure I'll see the singer with a carbon monoxide mask on so he can get ready for his next set.
Nothing gives you the blues like emphysema and cirrhosis.
Posted in Girlfriends | 7 comments | 70 trackbacks
Posted by todd
Sat, 02 Oct 2004 05:45:00 GMT
UPDATE: Apparently a lot of people get here looking for pics of ex girlfriends. I presume the ones below are really what you want... click for more :) 
But, back to MY story....
Famous/Slightly Crazy Ex-Girlfriends: Lauren.
Or, "The Story of the Stunt Fish"I just talked to an old friend today. This reminded me that I should tell a story about her... Like to hear it? Here it goes.
Lauren was a girl I met in the computer lab (surprising I know). I think she liked me because I would get irritated trying to help her with programming and just write the code for her. I think I liked her because she was freaky and had a nice rack :)
She was also, as it turned out, off her head bonkers fucking crazy. (side note: I still know her and she is still, bonkers fucking crazy.)
I sometimes get flack from people who say I call all girls crazy. I can't help it if a lot of girls are nut jobs, and once you get to know them (Stevie?) you realize I'm right.
It was winter break, and Lauren was going home to Pittsburgh but didn't want to take her zebra fish with her. That seemed fairly understandable, and since I had no plans other than drinking and consuming illicit substances for the next month, I told her I'd watch the fish. Fish are pretty cool with those things handy, in case you were wondering.
It all went smoothly, except that the black light on the cage burned out while she was gone, so I replaced it. Unfortunately I couldn't find another blacklight, so I went with a standard fish light. All was well, and I gave the fish back to her at the end of the month.
The next day I got a phone call that said "I can't fucking believe you would do this". I pondered the various things I had done, but couldn't come up with anything very exciting. My response was something along the lines of "huh?". "You killed my fucking fish, and didn't think I'd notice?!?! They don't even look like the same fish Todd!! I can't believe you would do this and then not have the balls to even tell me!" She always had a way with words.
Lauren was absolutely convinced that I had murdered her fish, and replaced them with STUNT DOUBLES.
Now, anyone who knows me realizes that I'm a bit too laid back to get worried about whacking a few fish. If I killed her fish I probably would have replaced them, but I certainly would not recruit stunt doubles in hopes of getting away with murder. She was very angry. I tried to explain to her that little fish might look different when they were under a white light, instead of a black light, but she was in a rage by this point and was having none of it. I graduated shortly thereafter, with my good name still tarnished.
Lauren is "knocked up" now. (She still has a way with words). All I know is, I'm not babysitting, and that kid is getting some fish for it's birthday.
Posted in Girlfriends, Best Of Bachelor Todd | 10 comments | no trackbacks
Posted by todd
Sun, 12 Sep 2004 05:18:00 GMT
UPDATE: Apparently a lot of people get here looking for pics of ex girlfriends. I presume the ones below are really what you want... click for more :)
Introduction.As a 29 year old single guy, I've had a few girlfriends in my life. Some were good, some were bad, some were funny. My married friends like to live vicariously through my most awkward moments, so I'm going to post the particularly odd stories. This is only the first installment, and I'll try to put one up every day.
Don't read this the wrong way, a lot of these women are still very good friends of mine. In fact, if you recognize that a story is about you, post a comment and say hi! (or possibly tell me to go to hell, depending on your version of the story)
The Biker Chick.Now, I know what you are thinking. You might say "Todd, you are so hip and a real tough guy to boot! What could possibly go wrong with you dating a woman with a motorcycle?" Picture a computer nerd riding on the back of a Honda Valkyrie and you might be getting close. Luckily she was not wearing a shirt that read "If you can read this, the bitch fell off".
About two weeks after meeting Biker Chick, she invited me over to her house for a beer with her family. It started off a little strange, what with her huge father rebuilding an engine in the garage with her brother and all. The whole family sat in the garage and drank Bud, and it was actually pretty fun at first.
Bikers, for good reason, aren't big fans of drinking and driving. I understood this concept and didn't drink very fast, or so I thought. After my second drink her father came up to me, handed me another beer and said (no joke) "I don't like drinking and driving, but you are going to stay here with (Biker Chick) tonight, right?".
Now, I've SEEN biker movies. Thinking I was clearly being set up for a beating, I looked at BC for some help with the appropriate answer, and she just smiled. So I agreed and took the beer. This man was honestly more concerned about my driving after two beers than he was about me sleeping in his daughters bed the first time he met me. Who was I to blow against the wind? A family of bikers can drink a lot of Budweiser.
The next day Biker Chick asked me if I wanted to go to
the Sturgis Bike Rally with them. As tempting as riding into a gigantic Harley fest, on the back of a Honda, with a girl driving might seem; I decided it was a poor life choice and declined.
Maybe next year.
Posted in Girlfriends | 1 comment | no trackbacks
