The Cocktail – A Short Story – Part 1

A football game streaming on the right.  An empty page to the left.  This was meant to be an article on the peer-driven rituals of a friend turning 21.  Only a few unsuspecting minutes remained before all that Jeremy knew in his life would be gone.

Watching a dismal game while it poured outside, “Fitting,”, he thought.  The first half was slow, and the team he had wagered a small side bet on wasn’t performing as well as he had hoped.

“Aww, what was that ref?!,” he yelled into his computer screen in the naive but instinctive manner commonly attributed to sports fans as if the official would suddenly turn and look him eye-to-eye in the camera and say, “I’m sorry, I was wrong,” and reverse the call.

21-3.

How was his team going to come back from this deficit?  It wasn’t that he particularly liked this team, but there was hard-earned money riding on the outcome.

Dark and dreary.  It had been raining for the past couple of days so much that the drainage pipes couldn’t handle the

Stove Top Cooking Weekend

Quick, it’s Friday/Saturday/Tuesday and your bachelor or bachelorette self needs to get out of the house for a drink, but haven’t eaten dinner or breakfast yet (some of you I know start earlier than others).  Now, normally I’m all against posting about food, but this isn’t about food.  This entry is about getting you out to the bar earlier; a public service announcement if I may say so myself.  And especially for the men out there, let me tell you that bitches love a man who can cook up a meal when needed.

Specifically.

So let’s get right to it because there’s no time to waste… there’s actual people and a bar waiting for you!

Cutting Open History: The Story of Ming

This is actual news from the science community, and not just a made up life story… mostly... and by mostly I mean the link and the ending are true. 

1499. Ming the Mollusk is born to a single mother into the quiet life of the sea floor.

1500. Ming’s mother gave it a shell-crafted pearl as a first birthday present which Ming, doing as children do, promptly got it stuck up in its gills and had to get the local doctor to pluck it out, further pushing the family into debt.

1605. Ming realized that spending a century chilling down in the mud eating Cheetos and drinking Mountain Dew was no way to live and decided to venture out of its hole.

1606. Ming was wrong and dug itself another, albeit larger, hole.

1707. Ming

Sticks and Stones, Words and Greed

Alas, I cannot get through a single news day without reading an article about lawsuits and laws to re-inform me of society’s greed over the smallest of actions and overburdening political correctness. I also wonder how many times I’ve used “alas” in a post. It’s probably because I lock myself in a bathroom, stare at the mirror, and chant Shakespeare three times to summon the frilly playwright for personal vocabulary lessons. And to talk about wenches over tea.

Art thou good looking today?

Read: Phrase Mocking Asians on NY CVS Receipt as I try to tell a tale without my cultural bias. Meet Hyun Lee, a woman of Korean descent who wanted a simple day in NYC getting some photos developed at a nearby CVS, probably during her 6th trip to Starbucks because no self-respecting Manhattanite keeps their Blood Coffee-Content below 0.08%. Now either the photo-developing employee was extremely racist or had an unethical sense of humor, but he decided to

Sh*t I Say While I’m Sleeping – Databases

Yet again I’ve been thinking about work in my sleep when I should be dreaming about bikini guns or watermelon bombs or steak.

 "...urghmm Which database should we use for this test?"
 (how is the girlfriend even awake to hear me?)
 "Are they able to get hacked?"
 *searches around on bed for something*
 *gives up and lays back down*
 "No... no. zzzz"

Sh*t I Say While I’m Sleeping – Dream 1

Or as it may also be labeled, “Sh*t My Girlfriend Gets To Laugh At While I’m Dreaming”.

Dead sleep.
Zombie Geoff is accidentally rustled by girlfriend rolling over in bed.
"We just gotta find a nephew that can block the missiles!"
And she starts laughing...
"Whatever, just replace the missiles with deer.  We gotta kill that deer!"
Resume dead sleep.

Work, families, and rampaging deer in one nice chaotic dream.

…Alas, I’ve been lazy for a blog site that’s reached it’s 2 year anniversary. Cry and eat ice cream between now and

Twigs and Berries – The Sole Remaining Health-food

Health and food news is constantly invading the Life sections of newspapers and the oh-shit-if-you-eat-this-you’ll-surely-die-a-less-timely-death-than-getting-hit-by-a-bus articles, which are mandatory each day on Yahoo!  I’ve never liked releasing posts that are short takes on everyday stories, especially when I’m severely lacking any original commentary to get your laughter muscles laughing (you know, the ones that make you fart, which is scientifically the only reason farts are funny).  However, I’ve recently had a three month period of not publishing anything so I might as well get your stubborn anger raised up a notch because it’s Friday, and I see no better way of ruining the last day of your work week when you’re usually skipping down the hall and giving the finger to the standard dress-code.

Once again I learned that apparently everything once thought to be healthy for those of us growing up in the ’80s was a lie created by Skeletor or somebody humanely evil that didn’t like to see people drop dead after immediate consumption, but liked keeping scrapbooks of our lives to track our progressively deteriorating health.  Among this article’s list of ingredients that you “never want to see on a nutritional label” (because reading the sodium level apparently gives you brain hemorrhages) are a culmination of all things that made your childhood a damn childhood.

Well, also this. Before your parent’s bought you a Nintendo.

Did you like cereal?  Do you still eat cereal? Boring cereal like Cheerios didn’t always do it for you, did it?  You had to have some of that flavored stuff like Fruity Pebbles, Cocoa Pebbles, or Lucky Charms.  BOOM!  You now have cancer or at best a tumor.

Lunchtime. 

What To Say … Stream of Conscious Yet Again

Hmm…. three or so months after not writing a thing.  What to say… it’s about as awkward as seeing somebody in the hallway in your office that you generally acknowledge but have nothing more than a nod and a “Hey, good day, huh?”  Should we act like we’ve seen each other in the hall recently?  Like I’ve been an ass and faintly acknowledged every one who has shown any interest in my past writing.  I’ve checked into a few of my favorite old WordPress blogs over these past few months to see if … shit, distracted again.  Maybe it’s because I’ve lost a certain type of motivation to writing or maybe it’s because dinosaurs are roaming in my mind begging for a chewy, yummy bacon strip.  I’m not sure, but I do know that these Velociraptors keep eying me from across the bar and their unibrow can only keep me entertained for so long.

What have I been up to?  Saving the world, of course.   I mean, if I’ve previously named this site ‘For Better GENiUS’ you could only assume that I had some legitimate stake in providing to the world…. penises rule the world… wait… those weren’t my words.  This particular person staring over my shoulder named Journey decided that big ol’ dicks had to rule the world… and wow… sexist isn’t she?   Not even giving credit to her own kind.  Pigs.  I just snorted like a pig and I’ll admit it. Maybe it’s because I like bacon… I think I already said bacon once this post, maybe not, but who’s keeping track?  Not me.  I had some other idea there but as this is a stream of conscious post I cannot … I lost it… again.

Here’s an eye. Because Batman said it’d reduce crime, or something. I wasn’t really listening because that voice is tantalizing in it’s odd, deep way that makes you question whether or not he should be the one doing movie preview narrations.

Smells Like Foreign Smells

In surely the most diabolical scheme of a artistic madman since the kid who put cherry bombs in the elementary school toilets back on that day that you remember that prank, somebody is now taking the time (and your money) to sell you canned air.

I should sell a patented paint can opener specially designed to open these air cans.

*#$(&#!  I opened the lid too far and let all of the $10 foreign air out.  Now coworkers are looking at me funny as I’m wildly sniffing everything around me to breathe in this precious gift before it blends in with our stagnant, boring work air.  I want to open my own brand of Movie Theaters From Around The Globe themed air cans where you’ll get that unmistakable popcorn-cooked-in-the-office-kitchen-microwave smell without the annoying hassle of kernel shells stuck between your teeth and gums.

Eight Pairs Of Judgement

For all the men reading this post, I’m going to let you in on a little secret: the girl that keeps glancing at you from across the bar (because you’re practically staring at her without blinking and she’s kind of getting creeped out) didn’t wear her best curve-fitting, matching outfit to impress you or any other guy tonight.  Women dress up more for the accepted opinion of other women rather than the accepted opinion of men.  I’d like to believe that guys do not typically care what their buddies wear out to the bar; that is unless one of them is supposed to be your designated wingman and he’s looking like resident bum, Carl, from the back alley on downtown U Street.

As I’m writing this post, I can’t fully immerse myself in this idea since I’m vaguely aware it’s even a problematic situation.  There’s an unseen social peer pressure existing in her clothing choices that has been transparent to my eyes (if I say is something is “unseen”… can it still be transparent?).  A typical college-aged girl has already learned how to flaunt her figure to catch a guy’s junk* regardless of her outfit, but first she has to consider the group of girlfriends she’ll be going out with.

*I would have said “a guy’s eyes,” but I finished the last sentence with that word. It’s bad form… in my eyes. 

He’s been actively undressing her in his mind all night anyway, so she won’t need to try very hard to steal his willpower.

If she’s a reasonable, middle-grounded modest girl, not too much of a vain attention whore, but not so quiet people forget she’s in the room, then she won’t want to be appear as the “ugliest” out of her group nor the overly dressed.  Guy’s may have their non-discriminating wingman lined up on the carrier deck ready to make a strategic pass targeted at the “ugly” girl so his flight leader can snatch the good one without any distractions (I went way too far into that analogy).  Unless you’re feeling some female blue-balls** and are dying for sex,