John's 32nd Birthday Suprise

I was just reminded of John’s 32nd birthday party. Wait. Let me rephrase. John’s 32nd surprise birthday party. No one told me it was a surprise until after I asked John about his party. I was scorned and accused of anti-suprisism. Screw them. No one told me.

The next weekend, something else was planned. This time I wasn’t given any details. Probably a smart move. I was told to go to John’s apartment where a new surprise was going to take place. Miss Sally and I headed over. I decided to wear my orange sweater with a blue stripe. John and his brother Chris were hanging out. We chit chatted for a few minutes, acting casual and waiting for a stripper or a horse or whatever to show up at the door.

There was a ruckus at the back door and in through the kitchen stormed eight chicks dressed in black and wearing masks and bandanas. John was quickly subdued, handcuffed and blindfolded. This was going to be interesting.

Until they did the same to me.

As I was cuffed and blindfolded, I was called a traitor and a sneak. Submerged in total darkness and tightly bound, we were dragged out of the house and put in separate cars.

The rest of the night went like this:

1. The cars would stop (unbeknownst to John and I) at landmark locations around Columbus
2. We would be pulled out
3. Compromising positions were created using John’s and my body
3a. Compromising positions were created using John’s and my and a male stripper’s body
4. There would be several flashes
5. We would be thrown back in the cars

We stopped about five or six times. At the end of the night, we were walked across a busy street, into a crowded bar and unmasked. Many of our friends were there. A cake and gifts for John were spread out along with 30 or so Polaroid photos from the evening.

It was a very memorable night. And I’m sure I was supposed to have learned a lesson from the evening, but I can’t tell you what it was.

Later on I realized that Miss Sally knew what was going to happen that night and she didn’t let on. I’m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing.


Oh yeah. I changed a few facts in this story.

A. It was actually seven girls and one gay guy that kidnapped us
B. I wore a blue sweater with an orange stripe
C. The handcuffs were the really cheap plastic variety and the blindfolds were the type Mrs. Howell would have worn. I had to re-snap my cuffs on every three minutes. We were very willing participants.

See the photos of the night here:
  • John's 32nd Birthday Photos on Flickr
  • Note to Self: Idiot

    My job is an unhappy place. There is no joy in the work. The only happiness is derived from the interaction with the people in my office. It has its moments, but compared to some of the exciting stuff I’ve done in the past… this job is purgatory.

    What really stinks is that I’ve known this for over a year, but every morning I get out of my car and walk into that rotten building. (Morning is being generous. I’ve taken to rolling in at noon some days. At least the job has that going for it.) I know that I’ve known this for a while because I just received an e-mail from myself telling me just that.


    There is a website called From this site you can write an e-mail to yourself that is delivered at some point in the future specified by you. On the site, you can see what other people have written to themselves. Letters of Happy Birthday or Are You Married Yet are not uncommon. Every so often you get Am I Dead? Last Thursday morning, I was greeted by this e-mail as I strolled into the office (very close to noon.)

    From: []
    Sent: Thursday, May 18, 2006 5:00 AM
    To: Doug
    Subject: Do you still work here?

    (The following is an e-mail from the past, composed on Sunday, December 18, 2005, and sent via

    Dear FutureMe,

    If you are reading this, it means you still work at (INSERT MY CURRENT JOB HERE) and that you are a TOTAL FUCKING LOSER!

    Quit now.

    Then kill yourself.

    You (me)

    Last December, I was applying for a job where I thought I was a shoe-in. In my mind, I shouldn’t have been interviewing for the job, they should have been recruiting me. Little do (did) I know (knowed.) When the phone call came, I thought it was for the last of the interviews with VPs and the P. Instead it was the FU; “We’ve gone with someone else. Thanks!” I about shit my pants. The best part must have been listening to me reply back, “Hey, thanks for letting me interview. I totally understand your decision.” Boo fucking hoo.

    So, six months later is now five days ago. I still haven’t quit the job and killing myself just isn’t in the plans (unless it’s through drinking.) So I guess I have two choices… move on or shut up. I guess the third scenario would be that my boss reads this and fires my sorry ass.

    It could be worse.

    1995 Honda Civic

    I am waiting for the car repair guy to call. My breaks broke, so I guess they are working perfectly.

    They’ve simplified their pricing:

    Nothing wrong (which means they didn’t have a chance to look at it.) = $50.00
    Something Wrong = 1 credit card
    Holy Shit = 2 credit cards plus a free oil change (thanks!)

    He called. Holy Shit.

    Kid Rituals

    I have a kid. Other people do too. Seems to be a trend.

    My ex-co-worker, Steve, has a little girl. As a special gift of love, he would write a small note that would go with her everyday to preschool. The note would say things like “Daddy loves you” or “Have a great day.” Cute. That is until the day they forgot to give her a note and she had a, now predictable, meltdown for several hours.

    Solution: They started hoarding old notes and recycling them. They also started giving the teachers at pre-school a stockpile of notes in case they forget again.

    My warning to you: Do not interact with your child in any special, out of the ordinary way. Keep it basic. Keep it mundane. Keep your sanity. Currently with our kid, the bedtime ritual includes: read two books, ensure all stuffed animals are in bed, blanket number one, blanket number two, hug, kiss, I kiss you, high five, double high five, thumbs up, secret sign, I have to pee, repeat. If any step is missed, he’ll tack it on the end and then want to do all the others that come after it. If you miss blanket number two and he decides to do an inventory on the stuffed animals, you could be there all night.

    I’m sure someday we’ll look back and reflect on how cute it was.

    Actually, I’m lying. I’m totally into creating an elaborate combination of moves, signs and dance steps before bed. I’m hoping to get up to 25 steps before my wife figures out what I’m doing. This is the only time I’ll be able to get away with this before my kid figures it out and starts thinking I’m gay.