To discuss returning the favor to Haute Pocket

I'm a believer in karma- someone helps you, you help them back. You kick a little boy in the crotch, a lion rips off your testicles. Stuff like that.

Haute Pocket has long been a Wild ARS Chase reader/commenter/guest blogger, so, from time to time, I like to return the favor by ruining her blog with my drivelwriting a post for her. This time, the occasion is Haute's 25th birthday, which was this past weekend.

Please, in an orderly fashion, head over there and see how I predict Haute's life unfolding, from age 25 until the end of her life. There's even a Full House reference.

To discuss a Get to Know Me interview, plus Australian slang

Get to Know Me Week

Much like my guest post on Haute Pocket last Friday giving me a gateway to post morally corrupt material, Southern Belle wanted her latest Aussie dictionary post to find refuge on my site.
Southern Belle and I already have some history, after I wrote this co-blog in part because she correctly called me out for offending an entire nation. But she has stuck with me, showing me she is more wonderful than even her fun blog led me to believe. (Yes, I linked the crap out of that paragraph.)

Today, you can find her guest post below, defining an Australian slang word I had never heard of, so enjoy.

Also today, visit her site to read a Question and Answer post we wrote together that continues my Get to Know Me Week. In it, you'll find answers about my relationship with Capricorn, religious views and a random pop culture reference or two...

Thanks to all who have already volunteered and/or already posted their prompt for Get to Know Me week. If you missed it, check here. I'm posting everyone's links at the end of the week!
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Southern Belle:

root:

1.noun
A part of the body of a plant that develops, typically, from the radicle and grows downward into the soil, anchoring the plant and absorbing nutriment and moisture.

2.verb (idiom)
To have sexual intercourse with, as in: "Hey Kylie! Shane said he wants to root ya."

3. noun
An individual with whom sexual intercourse is
performed. Often used in the context of describing the quality of said performance, as in: "Shane is a dud (terrible) root" or "Kylie is a top (very good) root!"

Additional:

root dreads
noun
Matted hair, similar to dreadlocks, at the back of a woman's head. Caused by repetitive movement against a surface (usually a pillow) during sexual intercourse.

To discuss a Haute end to an eventful week

After an advice-filled, raunchy, fun-filled co-blogging week with No Ordinary Rollercoaster*, you'd think I'd have no problem writing a post with some mature topics on my site. Well, considering I had a post about Jesus on here this week, I thought it best to put this adult post in more capable hands.

Enter Haute Pocket. A former Q&A partner-in-crime, Haute has long been one of my favorite bloggers. She also is quite willing to have posts on sexy topics, so it seemed like a natural fit. I wrote an extensive guest post for her today that I ask, no, implore you to go see if you're looking for a spicy end to an eventful mid-November week. The post involves Taxicab confessions, hookers, crack and Swiffers. Interested? Then go here.

If you want a more family-friendly ending, I'll see what I can do.

I'll be spending today at home with Capricorn, taking the day off. We're celebrating a holiday we made up, Feliz Navidad 2008, which will involve margaritas, Christmas decorations, and Home Alone with Spanish subtitles. Happy Holidays to you and yours...Have you already seen Christmas decorations on homes?

* Ben, thanks again, dude. I consider it an honor to have completed three epic co-blogging days with you. Just so you know, man, I followed my own advice. I gave Capricorn flowers and ice cream yesterday.

To discuss how I am 'Donna' apologize, and more Google search fun

Two points today:
1. I made a boo-boo yesterday that is one of my own pet peeves, which means I'm pet peeved with myself, if that's possible. I'm peeved all over myself...

I called someone by the wrong name.

No, it wasn't because I didn't know the person's name, or was being inconsiderate, or hadn't used it before. It was because I was doing too many things at once. But excuses are worthless.
So, Diane, I am sorry I called you Donna. As my penance, I offer you this free publicity for your wonderful blog, which deservedly won an award from Haute Pocket (where the offense took place). Mea culpa. I hope you can reinstitute your blog crush (which I know waned during this post). I'm sure there's a Backstreet Boys song that's appropriate for this moment- any ideas?- but, anyway, Diane, you're the best Diane I know. Diane. Diane.

It's not like I lack experience with wrong names. I get called Adam all the time. All. The. Time. "Hi, my name's Andy." "Nice to meet you, Adam." "It's Andy." "Cool, Adam." "Andy." "Adam?" "No, Andy." "I'm not wearing pants." "What?" "Don't worry about it, Adam." "@$&@"
A former co-worker of mine, who was a lovely person, thought my name was Anthony. I corrected her a few times, but eventually, I just let her roll with it, as I liked the idea of being Italian, plus she was a bit older and I didn't feel like nitpicking.
She died from cancer, sadly. And she still thought my name was Anthony.

It's even better when someone has no idea what your name is, but it's past the point of asking. Or, if one person knows the other's name, but that person doesn't know the first person's name. "Hey, Andy, what's going on man?"
"Heyyyy... dude. How are ya?... Uh, how's your driver's license photo look? Mine's always bad...(scans the guy's driver's license). Yeah, JOHN, that's a weird photo (hands back license)"
"Uh, I go by my middle name. You knew that."
"Of COURSE I did, uh, buddy. So, are you an organ donor (takes back license), um, um, um, what I'm guessing is either Michael or Mark?"

2. After writing my latest "Google searches that led people to my blog" post, I discovered I had a score of new Google searches that needed to be mentioned.* If any of these are yours, please claim them. I love them and want to know their inspiration.
Some of the latest:

• "Here's a confession: I'm in love with a man. What? I'm in love with a man... a man named God. Does that make me gay? Am I gay for God? You betcha." That, Google searcher, is a monologue by Charlie on "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia," when the Gang thinks they see the Virgin Mary on a water-stained wall. Excellent episode. Glad I could help.
• "Stage coach stops western PA" Are you planning a heist? Can I ride shotgun on the horse, or are you doing this solo? It took several guys to do it in "3:10 to Yuma," just to let you know. Unless, of course, you just want to drive a stage coach. That's completely legit and eco-friendly.
  
• "Rapestand S&M" So... this is a bit awkward... I'm glad it took you to this post about fantasy football and Michael Vick's dogs, and not some post I have about hardcore S&M. Because I'd like to think I'd remember writing a post like that, and the severe amount of coke I must have used before I wrote it.
• "I like mail in my mailbox." Who doesn't? It was even better in the old days of AOL when people would get psyched to hear the "You've Got Mail" sound. Now all I get is a bold-faced lie from Yahoo telling me I have "mail," which really means I have an offer to invest in an African prince's real estate, risk-free.**
• "Pictures of naked hot sexy girls showing there bubes." Well, first off, "their," not "there"- girls won't flash you if you use incorrect grammar. Second, I'm a little disturbed Google led you to a post about me describing my girlfriend's Halloween costume (which mention's Bube's Brewery). There will be no hot sexy fun time with her. None.
  

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* For those of you who wonder how I do this, check "Referrals" in your Sitemeter account. Take a moment. Enjoy. Then recoil in fear as you realize most of your visitors are twisted, twisted people.
** And for $140,000 down.

To discuss what went terribly, terribly wrong...(Part 2)

It’s taken me longer than I thought to continue this harrowing story. That’s due, in part, to all the work needed to get that sweet Q&A going yesterday- Haute and I wrote and edited nearly 4,400 words combined for that sucker. Good God, what were we thinking? I do hope you enjoyed it- if you’d like me to continue doing my own Q&A in future weeks, let me know or e-mail questions to wildarschase@yahoo.com. I’ll try to get an e-mail link going in the sidebar as well. Oh, and shower Haute with praise on her site. She’s fragile.
I went back and forth on whether to write about Sunday, so as not to be a total jerk to people involved, even if they aren’t named. I decided to take the journalist’s approach and stick to the facts, letting you form your own opinion. Also- I'm not one for trashing people on a freakin' blog- if you know me in real life, realize I'm not just waiting for you to mess up so I can blog about it... I've got enough of my own problems to write about.
If you need to catch up, here's Part One: To Discuss what went right...

Back to shattered flowers and dreams...
When we last talked about my weekend, I had finished a very pleasant outing with Ladyfriend on Saturday, complete with my usual trademark “Did I just say that?” comments.
Sunday was full of promise. After coming home from church, I confirmed plans with XXX (not her real name), another cool girl I had recently talked to over the phone, but had not yet met in person. We were going to watch the Steelers’ game together at my place in front of my extremely large flatscreen TV*. I rushed home to clean up the place and make it smell all nice and un-boy like.
The game started at 1 p.m. XXX said she had left a few minutes prior to that, meaning she should arrive around 1:30sh, coming about 25-30 miles away. A timeline:
1:30 p.m. Steelers 7, Texans 0, Andy, alone.
1:45 p.m. Steelers 14, Texans 0, Andy, still alone and making a call to see if she’s lost.
2:15 p.m. Steelers 21, Texans 3, Andy a little worried because she’s not answering her phone.
2:45 p.m. Third quarter, Steelers 35, Texans 3, Andy now legitimately worried after several unanswered phone calls
3:30 p.m. Fourth quarter, Steelers 38, Texans 10, Andy now convinced he’s caused the death of XXX
4 p.m. Game over, Steelers crush Texans 38-17, Andy now has no idea where XXX is or why she isn’t answering or letting him know what happened.
5:30 p.m. After convincing himself she’s alright, I (we’re back in first person now) decide to get out of the house so I’m not just staring at my dog, waiting. I leave a last voicemail- number 2- telling her I was out but hoping she was OK and that she’d call soon to let him know what’s going on.
5:45 p.m. XXX texts to say she got rear-ended by some old, scary dude soon after she left, and her phone had died, so she couldn’t contact me. Everything makes sense now, glad she’s OK. Since she had a bad afternoon and it was partially linked to me, I offer to cheer her up by driving up to her place to keep her company and get her mind off of things. I tell her I’ll likely get there around 8:30 p.m.
8:10 p.m. Andy (third person again- I switch literary devices like underwear) is a mile or two down the road when XXX texts to say she needs an extra 30 minutes so she can stop at a co-worker’s house to pick something up.
8:15 p.m. Andy, an amiable gent, texts back that he’ll get there at 9 instead. Moments later, XXX texts back that 9 isn’t enough time, causing Andy to wonder how an extra 30 minutes past 8:30 p.m. does not equal 9 p.m. Andy writes back, 9:30?
The last text is critical, friends, as you’ll find out.
Andy spent the next hour picking up flowers- friends, dates or whomever it is, anyone can get flowers if they need cheering up- and driving to XXX’s place. It took less time than he expected, so Andy killed some time in his car after arriving watching episodes of The Office** on his laptop, which he had with him.
9:30 p.m. Andy calls XXX to tell her he’s here. Although she had not texted back before, Andy figured that 9:30 should be more than enough time, considering she said she only needed an extra 30 minutes or so.... Ring. Ring. No answer. Voice mail. “Hey XXX, just letting you know I’m around, let me know when you get back.”
9:45 p.m. Andy, sitting in silence, decides he might as well go knock on XXX’s door in case she already was home. The following exchange took place:
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Andy, looking for XXX?
" XXX who?" A random, shirtless dude replies.
XXX. Is she home?
Naw, man, XXX doesn’t live here. (no one said random shirtless dude was good at telling jokes)

Andy, now utterly confused, calls XXX to make sure he’s not in the wrong freakin' area. Again, no answer, which, in a Verizon commercial would go, “Can you hear me now?” followed by, “No I can’t #@%&*% hear you, no one is answering &%#$.”
10:10 p.m. Now getting frustrated, sitting in silence, not sure if he’s at the right place or if XXX actually exists, Andy grabs some food at the Sheetz station*** and calls his ex-fiance to explain the situation and double-check his sanity. Ex-fiance reassures him that he’s not crazy and that maybe he should wait a little longer, and then peace out. Ex-fiance, as always, is wise.
10:30 p.m. Andy, now back in the parking lot of XXX’s supposed housing complex, steals the Internet signal from some unsuspecting neighbor not smart enough to use a passcode (seriously, dude. That’s not smart). He wastes some time checking blogs and Twittering with the lovely MissTiff. Another call, another text. No reply.
10:45 p.m. Andy is now once again concerned he has caused the death of XXX.
10:45 p.m. Andy leaves one final, and as it turns out, fatalistic voice mail, using a slightly caustic tone to vent his underlying frustration that XXX hasn’t let him know anything about what’s going on, even just to say she’s running late or can’t make it or that she’s dead and he’ll have to reschedule. No expletives or raised voice were used, but it wasn’t sugary sweet, either.
11 p.m. Andy wishes it was Saturday again. Ladyfriend, already a nice person, is coming out like roses now.
11:45 p.m. Andy is back home, picking up at...
... Andy looked at the flower bouquet in the passenger seat. Silently, for everything that night was about silence, he picked up the flowers, got out of his car parked by his apartment, walked calmly to a nearby dumpster and bashed those motherf'rs in one, sweet blow to the ground before tossing in the remaining stem carcass, as petals fluttered in the air like Forrest Gump's feather.
Monday
11:22 a.m. XXX is alive! That’s the first and foremost concern alleviated. Good. Bad stuff, though. XXX texts that she’s fine but that Andy’s last voice mail made her not want to talk to him last night. Mind you, the last voice mail was at 10:45 p.m., well after the meeting time and after an earlier voice mail asking if she was ok.
A series of texts go back and forth, leading to an actual call (texting, as it turns out, is truly the devil).
XXX explains that she didn’t like Andy’s tone (somewhat understandable), that she had unknowingly left her phone in her car when visiting her co-worker, that she didn’t want to just quickly run in and out of said co-workers house and be “rude,” and that she didn’t think Andy would leave his place because she hadn’t confirmed the 9:30 p.m. time.
(This is the vitriolic part I’m leaving out- I try to give people the benefit of the doubt... Now you, you might not. So come to your own conclusions).
The icing on the three-layer, double-fudge cake is that Knock Knock dude, as it turns out, is XXX’s roommate. Yes, that dude lied to my face- he told XXX he didn’t know me, so instead of dealing with me he just made something up, and they had a good chuckle over it.

Well... um... at least the Steelers won.

* Some guys overcompensate by driving large cars or owning large dogs. I have a large flat screen. My overcompensation has brilliant colors and resolution, HDMI outputs and HD capability. My overcompensation is better.
** OK, so it was that sweet Halloween episode where Michael tries to fire someone, but he can't go through with it, and Jim and Pam send Dwight's resume to other companies, leading Dwight to ask a potential employer what his resume says under "Martial Arts Training." Classic.
*** Sheetz, for those outside the PA/WV region is a gas station mecca that includes touch-screen food ordering that is so well-made and delicious that people go there just to eat. Recognize.

To discuss Part One: You've Got Questions, We've Got No Freakin' Clue

There are times in life when the stars align and God's cool with you and you can just tell things are going your way. This isn't that.
This is better.
It's the inaugural Question and Answer session, unofficially titled You've Got Questions, We've Got No Freakin' Clue. But it's not just me answering your hot mess questions... I've been admiring Haute Pocket(HP) and her Q&A from afar (using a telescope). So I asked her if she'd co-write one with me, as I find her stuff to be hysterical and full of belly laughs that make me pee a little.
Wouldn't you know it, that crazy lady said yes. So, here you go. The first half is all here; the second half will be posted on her site this afternoon (UPDATE- Here it is, yo. Still working out some formatting issues, but otherwise all good), so we can torment you. It was either that or Chinese water torture. Be grateful... The questions are from actual (re: forced to do so) readers of both sites... Oh, and the language is more adult than usual for this site- even worse than daggummit.

Insane Mama desires to know the following:

Obviously you are voting for Obama. Can you give me one point as to why?

HP: Dude, he's hot, which you must admit will make the State of the Union speech far more entertaining. I would totally do him. Again. That, and I'm relatively sure he is the lesser of two evils (which coincidentally is what WAC is about to say, but I promise I didn't steal that from him, though I can't prove that, so maybe I did.) For me, and I'd imagine many others, it's impossible to find a candidate that satisfies on all levels (How are we feeling about the sexual innuendos? Too much?) Truthfully I'm not overly impressed with either of the candidates, but one of them has to win. I want to do my part to challenge the status quo. (I'm sure that's incredibly shocking.)

WAC: You're right, HP, Obama is a good-looking man. That's why I'm glad McCain grabbed Palin, so I have something to look at, too. I think it's patriotic to want to have relations with a vice president. So, most of the time in politics it's the lesser of two evils and that's kind of the case here. Obama has little experience and McCain is a good ol' boy who likely will follow the path of G.W. I can't shake the feeling that if I didn't vote for Obama, I'd miss out on the first true game-changer up for the presidency in my lifetime. That's not to say he'll do well or not do well, but he's the first legitimate candidate where you can look at him and think, "Here's a guy who really might do things differently." That, and as part of the media, I'm obligated to love Obama. It's in my contract.

Do you think marriage is just a piece of paper, meaning should I push for my boyfriend to get his divorce legalized so we can get married? (They have been in court for over three years.) Or should I leave it alone?

HP: Hold the phone. I thought we were asking questions about me here? I'm joking, it's just that I hardly posses the authority to dole out relationship advice. Different things work for different people and so I think it's important for couples to define marriage and commitment on their own terms. With that said, fuck yes you should get him to finalize that divorce. Uh...at least that's what I would do. Whether you elect to get married is an entirely different matter. I've yet to tie the knot so the idea of marriage to me is still a relatively romantic one. I realize it's not thought of that way for everyone. Ultimately, what it comes down to is whether or not you're happy with your current situation, but your question leads me to believe that it bothers you and that you would prefer he did finalize it. If that's the case then yes, you absolutely should say something.

WAC: Mama Mia... I know someone in a similar situation. She's dating a guy who is in the process of divorcing his wife, except for the fact that it never actually happens. It keeps getting delayed, and I fear that maybe this guy is jerking her around so he can have his cake and screw it too.
Marriage is a piece of paper— the way we think of marriage is a relatively modern concept, especially the wedding ceremony— but, fo' real, you either tell him to get that stuff finalized or get out.

HP: Wow, WAC Man, you really laid down the law there.

WAC: Only because too many girls think the guy is going to leave his current lady, and he never will. Why would he? He's got them both. So you have to force the issue.

HP: I actually agree (and no, you can't get that in writing.) I just want to be sure not to assume our reader's situation with her boyfriend is the same. After all, I like her, and we want her to stick around, don't we?

WAC: Good point. Let's hope for the best, Mama.

What is your favorite perfume for you and cologne for a man?

HP: YES! Finally an easy one! I highly approve of Dolce & Gabana's Light Blue, but my long term staple is Divine from the Victoria's Secret Dream Angels collection. Actually, you can read a cute story about that here, if interested. If you're not interested, could you just pretend to care? Please? My ego is fragile. My favorite male cologne would probably be Armani Mania, though that's entirely cliche. But come on, it's like an orgasm for your nose, it just smells ohsogood. Let's not for one second assume that Boyfriend wears Armani Mania, because he doesn't. He used to...back when we were in college and not poor (i.e.: Living off of student loans.)

WAC: So what do you make him wear now, then? I just wear Axe stuff, because the commercials make it seem like women will drop their clothes and jump on me for wearing it, a fact I'd like to believe will come true.

HP: It won't. Unless you're hot. Are you hot?

WAC: I'm going with nerdy cute. So, no. On women, the best smell is vanilla. I have absolutely been more attracted to a woman, even a woman who is not terribly beautiful, just because she's wearing vanilla. If Haute has on vanilla right now, I will drive to L.A. on. the. spot.

HP: You know, that's interesting because I had an ex-boyfriend that absolutely loved the smell of vanilla and I used to wear it all the time. Unfortunately, he was in prison at the time and I am happy to say that situation did not work out. And by "not work out" I mean a couple of things: He totally cheated on me with his baby mama, in the bathroom of a Taco Bell. (Not exactly a strong point in my life, but cut me some slack. I was like, 17.) Secondly, my parents ended that torrid love affair the second they found out about it, praise Allah. The point through all of this, is that I can no longer stand the scent of vanilla. So WAC, I'm sorry that you don't have an excuse to road-trip across the U.S. of A.

Kimmers

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

HP: Truth be told, I would just allow myself to be, rather than stressing about every mundane detail about every.single. thing. I over-think everything, plot out an exact plan in my head, and then freak-out internally when it doesn't go as planed. . It's definitely my biggest weakness and something I'm continuously trying to improve. Sometimes I'm really fun, can role with the punches and go with it. Other times I'm a completely over-planning, psychopathic, can't-let-myself-just-enjoy type of asshole. I like the first version of myself much better.

WAC: I'd love to have the ability to finish anything I started... I'll be surprised if I finish this Q&A entry.

HP: Dude. Whatevs. Of course you'll finish this Q&A. You're attention needy. (Don't call my bluff, don't call my bluff, don't call my bluff....)

WAC: Bluff called. I'm not finishing this thing unless you all meet my demands... which are that all the readers enjoy our Q&A and leave a few comments at the end stroking my... ego. I expect it will be done.

HP: I don't respond well to ultimatums. But cash? Definitely.

Who is your favorite author?

HP: US Weekly. No, kidding. US Weekly is a publication, not an author. At risk of sounding like a total cliche, I'm going to say Dan Brown. Angels & Demons was the greatest book I've ever read, hands down, and I only wish Mr. Brown had more for me to read.

WAC: It used to be John Grisham. Now, I don't read novels much- I stick to how-to books and the like. So I'll say Mr. Bookfer Dummies. My favorite classic book, though, is The Great Gatsby. Oh, and the Bible. I'm supposed to say the Bible, right? I did actually read all of the New Testament a few times through. Old Testament is rough. Too much begetting. It's all they do in Deuteronomy. Beget babies and stone prostitutes.

What TV shows are your must-sees?

WAC: Um, anything I write a TV play-by-play about, because it's just trashy enough to make you feel better about yourself, and just entertaining enough that you don't feel totally embarrassed telling your friends you watched it. Also, The Office, Friday Night Lights and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, which will have an episode about cannibalism this season. I'm jacked. Haute, I'm a little scared to read what you think are must-sees. It's not Gossip Girl, is it?

HP: Good God no. I have excellent taste in television. Upon first reading this question my initial reaction was, "I really don't watch much T.V." Upon further consideration of my must-see list, I realized it actually appears that I never leave the couch. That's not entirely false. Many of my favorites have been discontinued, but the list is as follows: Grey's Anatomy (WAC, don't even THINK about it), Arrested Development, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Entourage, Weeds, The Sopranos, The Wire, The Office, Til Death, Family Guy, Malcolm in the Middle, Rob & Big, and I Love Lucy. Wow. I'm lucky I'm not an 800 pound women. Especially considering my love for Doritos.

WAC: Yeah, how are you all thin and hot and whatnot? Go figure. Anyway, a lot of excellent choices, especially since you know I'm man-crushing on The Wire recently, and I love The Office. but Til Death? Really? That's one of those comedies that's just... on. You don't ever love it, but if there's nothing else on, then you say, Well, it's got the guy from American Pie on it. Eh.

Bex

Would you date/ have you dated a co-worker? I ask because I really, really want to make a move on Pancho the Copy Machine. and by that, I mean photocopy my butt.

WAC: If you do photocopy your butt, please blog about it.

HP: You're so discreet, WAC. But Bex, I totally agree. Do it.

WAC: I had a brief fling with a girl who worked in a different building but same company, if that counts. Let's just say that didn't go well. Fortunately, most journalists are not the type you'd want to date (myself included), so I don't have that problem. If Haute worked in my office, I'd send her a photocopy of my butt. No doubt. I'd autograph it, "To Haute, You're the best. No butts about it. WildArs." She'd tear up a little, and then sell it on eBay.

HP: You know me too well. Where have you been all my life?

Diane

What's the weirdest thing you've ever eaten?

WAC: Crocodile sausage. Wasn't bad, either.

HP: I'm going to tell the Internet a story that I have never lived down and will most likely immediately regret. I am the oldest of 3 children. A long time ago, my parents, younger brother, younger sister and I all sat down to eat s'mores and watch a movie. Family time, if you will. My sister was still in diapers, meaning I was about 8 years old. Give or take a few minutes. I saw a brown chunk on my blanket, and thinking it was a piece of fallen chocolate, I popped it into my mouth. A millisecond later, I was up and screaming, running around frantically, crying and brushing my teeth. (I can see you all, hands to mouth, in horror.) I had somehow eaten a small piece of poo that had escaped from my sisters diaper. Nearly 16 years later and I've yet to live that moment down. Or top it.

WAC: Words cannot describe how to react to that. On a related note, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

Do you think guys and girls can be really great friends without sex becoming an issue?

WAC: See my co-blog post with my ex-fiance. We lived in the same apartment for a year, using the same bed, after we broke up, and we never touched each other. I've been friends with lots of women without sex getting involved. I'd be much more worried if I had problems with guy friends because sex got involved.

HP: Honestly, I'm not sure how I feel about this topic. There are three particular males that I consider great platonic friends of mine and sex/gender has never been an issue. And it's also never been awkward. But there are a couple of guys, namely an ex-boyfriend, whom I know I could never have an honest-to-God friendship with. At this moment in time, I would say it depends on the people.

WAC, what's the longest you've ever gone without showering and why?

WAC: Good question. I'm guessing during the summer when I was in high school and didn't have to go anywhere, I figured screw it for several days. I was such a social butterfly.

...to be continued (dramatic John Williams music)

To discuss what went right ...

Andy looked at the flower bouquet in the passenger seat. Silently, for everything that night was about silence, he picked up the flowers, got out of his car parked by his apartment, walked calmly to a nearby dumpster and bashed those motherf'rs in one, sweet blow to the ground before tossing in the remaining stem carcass, as petals fluttered in the air like Forrest Gump's feather.
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That's how my weekend ended. You must be interested, then, to know what led up to that point, right?(If not, dude, what's up? What, you want chain saws and explosions involved? It's a low-budget blog.)
Let's start off with the good...
Saturday was a total wash, weather wise, because Hurricane Anna used the East Coast as the tampon for her rainstorm period. But, I did get to hang out with a new Ladyfriend. So as not to jinx anything with Ladyfriend, especially on the off chance she finds this blog (in that case, um, you look pretty), I'll skip much of the details. It wasn't a date, officially- we met on a friendly level. It was an online connection.
Just know there was bowling involved, and we both got schooled by a neighboring toddler- and you know how I hate that. And Ladyfriend's got lots of wonderful qualities. And, at one point while discussing The Notebook (Good God I end up talking about that movie a lot), I made the off-the-cuff statement that I'd prefer if my wife and I died at the same time to avoid heartache, so maybe it would be best if we did a double suicide. Double. Suicide. My. Words. W. T. H.
There's nothing more attractive to a woman than a man who wants to go all Romeo and Juliet on her in her golden years. What in the world was I thinking.
In any case, given her good sense of humor and my exquisite good looks, everything went well...
And then, dear, dear friends, there was today...I got stood up twice, by the same girl (not Ladyfriend, mind you), in two different towns- although, to be fair, for legitimate reasons.
Want to know more? Check back later (I'm a bigger master of suspense than M. Night Shyamalan), after you've read all of my new, two-part Question and Answer feature with Haute Pocket. If all this doesn't get you through Monday, then what will?
No, seriously. What will? Like, LSD? Heavy petting? Cause I'll do what it takes.
The Q&A will be posted first thing Monday morning, with the second half coming mid-afternoon on Haute's site (in the meantime, check out her recent post about her dog eating $20.)

To discuss you stuffing my mail box like a Thanksgiving turkey

The regular daily post will be coming soon- there are dying puppies involved (now are you interested?)- but first, because I'm guessing most of you took the holiday weekend off from blogging, I just want to remind you of a sweet feature coming out next Monday: Question & Answer. With the help of Haute Pocket, we'll be answering your questions about anything that comes to mind- make it random, make it funny, make it serious, make it borderline illegal. I hope to turn it into a weekly feature, but first, we gotta get a good start.
That means I need you submitting questions like it's your civic duty. You can just leave them in the comments, or send them to a spiffy e-mail account I set up just for you: wildarschase@yahoo.com (can you believe nobody already claimed that? Morons. It's golden).
If you want to hear about puppies, about Christmas in Delaware or about the brief moment yesterday that I considered stabbing myself with plastic flatware, I suggest you question up.
Love ya! (in a non-sexual way)