He Forgot to Wipe My Ass

So I learned a few lessons while traveling to and from Paris, I thought I'd share my Top 10 with you in case you're ever in a similar situation:


1. If your boarding pass doesn't have a seat listed, be afraid and start bitching early.

2. When one airline bumps you, don't assume they're rescheduling your flight on the same airline.

3. It is possible to get from National to Dulles by cab in under 30min during rush hour to catch a plane.

4. When in a rush, it never hurts to tell security.

5. If you tell security, be prepared for a thorough frisking, swabbing, searching, and interrogation.

6. You might as well enjoy #5, there's nothing you can do about it.

7. When a meal is described solely as "beef", whatever you do, don't order it.

8. One can survive on trail mix and water for 12 hours.

9. When arriving into a foreign country, don't look suspicious or you'll be searched for drugs.

10. Travel drunk, its quasi-legal and makes the whole experience more enjoyable.

Sex is 15 Minutes, Pride is Forever

Aaaaaaaaand I'm back. So where do I begin about discussing the trip to Paris? There's actually bets being taken on what GCC will discuss first. I figured I'd first touch on an overall theme of the week in Paris, then break it down day-by-day as I have time. But the theme: Sex is 15 Minutes, Pride is Forever. As you will see it applies on many levels.


Apparently I had rather large shoes to fill at this year's IGLA, being the team newbie, relatively young (for IGLA standards), and not grotesquely overweight (except by The Imelda's standards), I was wagered to win the "Team Award," which I believe is being renamed after our former teammate who has left us for the Atlanta Rainbow Trout. I guess the best way to describe the qualifications for the "Team Award" is that it is given to the swimmer who best exemplifies the spirit of inter-squad camaraderie, networking, and bonding. I, however, did not meet these qualifications (this year). And why? TEAM PRIDE! Granted, there were some uber hotties there, who I would gladly "switch sides" for, particularly on the Paris team. mmmm...pastry flavored Paris boys. But that aside, who wants to spend $2500 on traveling to Paris to swim, but then do shitty? Well...one of our teammates (who will go unnamed).


I did, however, have my first sexual experience with a cruising bar called "Le Depot." I think that in this case, "cruising" is a complete euphemism. Before arriving, I pictured in my head the good ole days of walking the hallway at The Heretic in Atlanta...dark halls (but still somewhat light), men groping each other lightly (or as they called it "petting" in sex-ed), the occasional hand-job, etc. Nope, not this place. Full on fuckin in littly cubbie holes. Let's just say I got my free drink and left after 15 minutes. The whole time I was huddled in the center of the room, backs to my teammates, in a battle-ready position, watching the porn on the tv's of course (hey, it had been a week). Amazingly, there were some hotties there too.

Alas, I have returned to DC still sexless, light in the wallet, probably 10lbs heavier from all the bread, but with more team spirit and pride than when I left DC!

My MasterCard Commercial

This is it. Its now 9:30pm 'ish on Sunday night and I'm all ready to go to Paris for the IGLA swimming championships. My whole body is shaved smooth, and somehow I managed to squeeze everything I need into 1 small carry-on roller bag. I thought I'd run down the list of purchases that were necessary for this trip. Kind of a self-assessment, and metric of "is it really worth it?" So much for my original intent of doing this trip on a budget.

1 plane ticket: $1000

1 week apartment rental: $900

1 high tech swim suit: $130

1 new MP3 player: $140

1 new digital camera: $155

1 team swim cap: $5

1 team tshirt: $5

1 bottle of sleeping pills: $10

Various other junk: $100

Making a fool of oneself while dressed in pink and doing synchronized swimming: Priceless

I know you can swing $5

Maybe my gay root comes about from my father making sure that I knew how to properly iron my clothes, tuck in my shirts, pick matching ties, belts, socks, etc (not to mention critiquing news anchors when they made a fashion faux pas). He sure as hell didn't spend much time teaching me car mechanics or how to throw a football. So with my proper training (i.e., finishing school), I set out on the world of professionals and am now forced to critique their obscure fashion choices. One of my pet peeves stems from a lesson my father taught me earlier on...its necessary to have both "crew" and "V-neck" undershirts.



Nothing looks more ridiculous than people in business casual open collar dress shirts with their undershirt showing underneath. I do business casual almost every day now (as compared to tie everyday when I first started...I guess next year I'll wear flip flops). And in my dresser you'll find two stacks of undershirts...crew (when I wear a tie) and V-neck (all other days). And its not like this is an expensive addition to anyone's wardrobe. Go to Target, get some Hanes in both styles, and quit pissing me (and my dad) off!!

He was an animal in bed!

One of my friends and teammates, GCC, just posted a blog about the controversial documentary Zoo, detailing a man's 'love affair' with a horse. This brings up a great opportunity to introduce one of my favorite websites (very safe for work) which also has a review of another high profile zoophilia movie out there right now.

No, I really am an environmentalist!

I don't think I need to qualify myself as an avid environmentalist. Hell, I've held three job titles that included the word "environmental"...and no, I wasn't a janitor. I gave up my car for an urban lifestyle; bike, walk, or Metro everywhere in DC; turn of my lights and other hippie-like behaviors. But I gotta disagree with today's Washington Post Express article about biking to work. Their arguments for the switch to the bike were pretty weak--obviously the writer drives to NE DC every morning. This column coincided with the news that DC is #5 on the list of worst cities for road rage--something that doesn't mix well with bikers. And we all know that cabbies and bikers mix like Sunni and Shia. The biggest problem with the article is that they focused on long haul commutes of over 10miles--even I wouldn't bike that. They should've found DC residents that do the relatively common 1-2 mile commute--a relatively easy and incredibly fast bike commute, where an extra set of clothes isn't necessary, nor does it take an hour. Do you really think that most people are going to stick with an hour bike ride from NOVA to NW DC? The rest of my points will be bulleted to save ranting room:

• DC is a hilly town
• Most people aren't going to save oodles money...they won't get rid of their cars entirely, and a good bike (something with gears that piss you off after a week of wondering why the front derailleur wont work right) will set you back a good $800. Plus at least $100 a year in maintenance.
• The idea of "joining a local gym" for a place to shower after the bike just adds to the above argument. Tack on $75 a month for that one--DC gyms are a fuckin ripoff.
• I need more coffee: end rant

With that said, in a utopian world, we'd all bike or Metro to work. Actually, we'd have briefcase space cars like in the Jetsons--its 2007, where the hell are they?

Occupational Buhlimia

I often joke about being occupationally bulimic--a binge and purge in productivity. I've always enjoyed observing work dynamics (as its a form of people-watching). I'm surrounded by two different groups here in my bureaucratic cubicle: budgeting and a research group. It seems like neither ever do any work--which is expected of any good federal employee. But at least they're consistent with their level of effort and output. For example, the budget head is discussing the complexity of making lemon bars right now. Fascinating. (I really hate all things lemon, besides alcohol)

So back to the topic at hand: occupational bulimia. My job is a little management, a little production--my group does graphics and media production, so I dabble in it when I'm bored of being a manager. Lately my manager:graphics ratio has been dropping. So yea...sometimes we'll output 2 or 3 animations a day. Of course, afterwards I go home and crash. *BINGE* I track it all on a calendar. In contrast, we've done two things this whole month. *PURGE* Amazing. I've spent most of my time lookin out the window at Caribou Coffee wishing I could somehow cram more caffeine into my system (while praying for their stock to go back up).

Thank GOD it wasnt a date!

Ever wonder how the same event can be awesome one year and then realllly lame the next? In my experience, things like Pride are always the same: guys running around shirtless, most of them drunk or cracked out; lots of bars and fattening food all weekend; lame entertainers on stage; unfulfilled expectation of getting laid. However, last year was my first National Police Week here in DC. As most of my close friends in FL are cops of some sort, this was an awesome time to reunite in my new hometown. We had a great time...see the above description for the typical Pride, it applies here too. This year I expected the same or better. Boy was I wrong...


So here comes the potentially bad date part... I didnt realize my friend (call him TC) was bringing his dad along with him for the week's events. Not only that, none of my other friends came up. So dinner the first night (note that all of the events could've come directly from one of my many bad dates): trying to find a restaurant--no input whatsoever, though you know country hicks dont like most foods available around DuPont Circle. I come up with an idea, start walking. The dad insists on walking waaaay behind--if this was a gay date, I would assume it was to check out my ever-swishing ass. Though with him being a cop, it seemed like he was scrutinizing my every move--I tried my damndest not to make my ass swish. Get to dinner, TC and I are chatting away. His dad contributes about 10 words to the hour long dinner conversation. And when he does speak, its while looking into the wall length mirror on one side of our booth. If that was a gay man, I'd have to give him a verbal smack-down (i.e., Aries rage). The whole time I just couldnt wait for dinner to be over so I could get rid of him. It was just as bad as the dinner-date I had 2months ago where I walked out of the restaurant when the guy went to the bathroom, only to chicken out and return...not wanting to be the "bad guy".


Let's just say the following night wasnt a whole helluva lot better.

My first rant

As my beloved Peter Griffin would say, "You know what really grinds my gears? Nasty pickles." I'm a huge fan of pickles (and not just because of their pleasing shape). The perfect snack: no calories, no fat...just salt, vinegar, water, and cellulose. In fact, my Girls at Ts Grill in Silver Spring know that with each order (which comes with fries, chips, or potato/pasta salad), that I just want pickles. Generally, they're they yummy kind: crisp, white-green flesh that maintains its errect shape when held horizontally (e.g., Clausen brand). Ts always had great pickles...until today. Maybe I'm consuming too many (no one else seems to get them), and now they have to cut costs and get the cheap ones (e.g., Vlasic brand). How will I ever cope? Will I be forced to switch back to eating fried starches with my lunch?

Bienvenue a mon monde!

No...I'm not one of those damn French commie-bastards, I'm just feeling festive in preparation for our (me and swim team) trip to Paris in 11 days for the IGLA meet. Don't worry, I'll be eating Freedom Fries the entire time! (How's that, Stephen Colbert?)

So to start this whole thing off, I thought I might discuss why I, a Consummate Aries, gave into the local blogo-peer pressure (not a very Aries thing to do). Perhaps its because my memory is starting to slip, at the ripe old age of 29, and I'd like some way to record my thoughts and experiences for all posterity? Maybe its because I have nothing better to do while sitting in this comfy chair at my Fed desk job? Or it could be that I'm now trying to fulfill my childhood desire to keep a diary--one of the many luxuries I never had, including a teddy bear and red wagon. There's also the slight chance that the exhibitionist inside me is scratching its way out (now there's my Aries coming to the surface!). Probably a little of each.

PS...I don't hate Frenchies. Hell, I spent 7 years of my life studying that language (for...?). I guess that opening line is just another example of why us Aries don't make for very good politicians (e.g., Eugene McCarthy and Adolf Hitler)...we say/do things that get us in trouble down the road. Oh well...C'est la vie!