I spent the weekend in Vail with some friends. For the most part, we had a super fun time hiking, eating, drinking, puffing, and flirting with the Tough Mudder graduates. It was a chatty group. One member of the gang in particular was hooked on the phrase “bucket list.” Whenever we saw or discussed anything half-way interesting she dorkily declared, “That’s on my bucket list!” Each time she repeated the overused cliché I wanted to burst into flames. First, that geriatric-flavored movie came out nearly 7 years ago. Second, what is the compulsive need to reference death? Death is really a downer on girls weekend. Third, when you say you want to do something, it automatically implies you want to do it before you die. Presumably we can only do things when we are alive, right? So do we need to constantly explicate that we want to do things before we die? Obviously, you want to do whatever it is before you die or you wouldn’t be able to do it, so save me the trite tautology. Because it is a stupid bummer of an expression, can we please collectively agree to a moratorium on the bucket list?
Cheesy, flaky, buttery Tiropitas, so simple, so right.Perfectly Tomato-sauced OrzoLoukoumathes – honey-nut covered fried dough balls. Paradise. Saganaki: flaming cheese. Opa! required. Spanakopita, spinach and cheese pie surrounded in flaky phyllo.Baklava, obviously.Let’s Get Hellenic Bitches.
This super cute baby skunk got stuck in a window well. It has been so hot and I was worried the little thing would die. First, I lowered water down in a cup so it could drink. Then I fretted how to free my little friend without subjecting myself to nature’s version of tear gas. I selected a couple spare pieces of scrap wood to create an escape bridge for my black & white buddy. The boards seen here didn’t quite cut it. I upgraded to a wider, thicker, rougher option, softened the angle of the incline, and put a blanket on top so skunkie could climb to freedom. I sweetened the trail with cat food to lure it up and out of its accidentally self-imposed cement cage. By the way, if a skunk enters your realm and gets stuck, don’t expect animal control to help. Most will refer skunk cases to private pest control. I was worried sick about my little terrified pal, but with patience and the right tools it made its way home. Thank gawd, because I would not have been able to deal with a dead baby skunk. Nope. Not at all.
I have never dated online, so I wouldn’t exactly call the next set of opinions “educated.” While I have been ensconced in the false security of a dead-end relationship for the past nine years, the internet dating craze has apparently become the main vehicle for getting sets of genitals together.The site you choose says a lot about you. The broke and horny go to okcupid or one of its free cousins. Just remember, you get what you pay for. Okcupid is the Goodwill of online dating sites. Whatever you find there will be heavily used.If you want the Target of online dating, go to Match. Match mirrors the vastness of Target, and much like Target, on Match you will stumble upon mostly cheap crap gussied up in slightly better packaging.If you are looking for sincere fatties hunting for matrimony, well then eHarmony is for you. eHarmony is the Sears of online dating – conservative, dependable, and for the 55+set.In an informal survey of my friends who have dated online, there is an obvious and detectable pattern. You and dickhead break up. You and dickhead de-friend each other on Facebook. You resolve to get out there and meet someone better. You google online dating sites. Depending on whether you want to shop at Goodwill, Target, or Sears, you pick one and begin to write your profile. You realize instantly that you have no idea how to pithily summarize yourself in six sentences or less without sounding like a Russian mail-order bride. You sort through all your photos and pick out several which are misleading, but you would never admit that to yourself. You publish your profile and wait. You sit and pathetically wait for some internet douche to sift through a million other misleading and inaccurate profiles until you hope he is sufficiently misled by yours. What actually happens is 13 different middle-aged married couples solicit you for a threesome. You get depressed when you realize the only guy who contacted you is a 24 year old, unemployed, balding, internet troll who just wants to three pump chump you tonight and never call you again.While almost every single person I know disagrees with me about internet dating, none of them have met anyone of merit online. Save yourself a lot of time and energy and go interact with people in person. In the flesh, you will know within 30 seconds if you want to fuck and you can save yourself the tedious email/texting getting-to-know you period that internet dating requires.
I’ve been working on a project lately that has me interacting with a number of different professionals. I use the term “professionals” loosely as most of these fuckers can barely return a phone call or show up on time. I measure a man by his word. Where I come from, when you say you are going to do something, you do it. Anything less is unacceptable. Despite a punctuality-softening stint in California, I arrive on time to professional appointments. I don’t hire late bitches. Show up on time and do what you say you are going to do. Sounds simple, right? Then how come these grown-ass men can’t seem to manage it?