My Buddy

I'd like to introduce you to someone I have referred to a few times here and there: my buddy.

This is pretty much how we act all the time...

Opposite sides of the fence we are on. As he put it: "He talks about cock and I go ‘Ewwwww’. I talk about pussy and he goes ‘Ewwwww’."

Tragic, isn't it? ... he he he.

On Monday, the buddy and I go out to have a beverage of our favorite kind—alcohol. We belly up to the bar at one of the local restaurants/watering holes (even though we live in a dry country...) and start having a few rounds.

At some point, I lost my memory. Completely. I have been drunk before in the past, but this time only a few beers and this happens? This is new to me. So little alcohol. How is this possible? And I even didn't finish a beer I had ordered!

I vaguely remember bits and pieces of the ride home. He, being somehow sober, was an awesome buddy and drove me all the way home. And apparently my demons came out on the ride home. After he gets me to the house, I remember absolutely nothing. The husbear says I was in rare form. I even fell down at some point. I'm sure he and the husbear had some good times teasing me.

I'm sure there's a lesson in here. To me it is this: If you're going to drink and then not remember anything, make sure you have your buddy with you who will take care of you.

Maybe he'll make an appearance on here and fill in some of the blanks for everyone... and me!

Thanks buddy! I owe you a few beers....

Until next time...

When social networks go "ugh"?

I deleted both my MySpace account and my FaceBook account today. Over the last few months, I have found them to become quite... "high school-ish." I originally created these accounts so I could find people from my past and visa-versa.

I think the social networking concept is a great one. I like the idea of a network where I can go and search for and easily communicate with my friends and family via message (either post or real-time).

Well, I did until the whole "applications" thing started. The "Pieces of Flair" and the "I just bought you as my pet" things got annoying enough to me that it ruined the concept of what a social network should be to me. It's all that crap I could do without. As much as I dislike Bear411 (for reasons other than these), I like the fact that I can search for friends and easily communicate with them. Nothing else.

Then there is the web design aspect. FaceBook at least looked uniform (which did stifle self-expression). MySpace, on the other hand, propagates bad web design. Nothing like browsing to a webpage that autoplays some obnoxious song at you. Did people learn nothing from the blink tag era? Granted, most of the people using these sites probably weren't even around when the blink tag went nuts.

Just my opinion.

Until next time...

Another child, another accident.

First one, now another. I think we're just going to get our kids big rubber balls to walk in and be done with it.

Our youngest, our 18 year old son, calls today. He was heading to our house from his mothers for the weekend. He had been in an accident. Correction—he had CAUSED the accident. He wasn't paying attention and rear-ended someone who had stopped in the road ahead of him. AND that person then rear-ended the person stopped in front of them. Joy. Less than two months after we give him the car and he wrecks it and takes out two other vehicles in the process.

The son is fine, aside from his knees bothering him (he somehow whacked the underside of the dash during the accident) and the verbal lashing he has received from the husbear and myself. The husbear is upset, mad and disappointed—all the emotions one has as a parent when their child is in danger and causes danger.

The car is totaled. It is amazing the damage that can be done at 35 miles per hour. Guess he'll find out what it's like to be an adult faster than he wants. I'm glad we gave him a "boat."

(sigh)... at least he wasn't using a cell phone at the time....

Until next time...

Poor Tattoo Choice?

I was going to post about my best buddy today, but something happened that I just had to write about. This was one of those "I just have to tell someone" stories. He will understand... and I'll make it up to him later. ;)

Here's the story. I arrive at the tattoo shop this evening just as the [She Who Shall Not Be Named, At Her Request] started a tattoo on a customer. [She Bitch Who Shall Not Be Named, At Her Request] is our primary tattoo artists. She has been tattooing for 16+ years and knows her stuff.

But this isn't about her. It's about the customer: it was a 16-year old BOY getting a tattoo.

I don't really have a problem with the age thing. We attempt to talk most underage people out of a tattoo. I believe it would not be responsible to not attempt to do so. I typically won't say "no" as they will just go elsewhere or have it done in an unprofessional/unclean environment. Anyone under 18 years of age must have a parent sign for them, and remain there during the procedure. His mom was there with him, as well as a friend-girl. (After a while I realized it was his "Guuurrl-friend".)

But this isn't about his age either. It's about his tattoo choice.

He was getting a lower back tattoo. Also known as a "tramp stamp".

I have issues with tramp stamps on both men and women. More so on men. I'm not sure why, and I should be the last one to be judgmental about someone's tattoo choices. I just have issue with them. I'll deal with that at some point, I'm sure.

BUT this was not just any tramp stamp. It wasn't your typical flowery or tribal-type tramp stamp...

This tramp stamp was a word. And not just any word. It was HIS OWN NAME! Read that again. His. Own. Name.


Why would anyone have their own name tattooed on themselves? And of all places to have it tattooed, why on this green earth would you have your own name tattooed DIRECTLY above your ass?

What the hell is going to happen when this kid has to take showers in gym glass? (Do they still do that these days?) Worse still, what if he ends up in prison? And what about when he is wearing swim trunks at the lake? How do you explain that? Or is it like a "Hello my name is" sticker so that when he is on the bottom of some orgy pile some daddy can look down and know who he's fucking?

And what about his mom? Did she not think this was odd? I later found out his mom was the one who drew out his name. And worse, she helped him pick the location of the tattoo. WHAT THE HELL?

I think this one will stick with me for a while....

To make matters more... well... funny (to me): he had a "v" in his name that was centered directly above his ass-crack. It was like a directional pointer saying "Please fuck me here!".

Until next time...