The Secret Amy's Secret Story

Thanks to my sister, Amy, my mother now knows about this site and pretty soon all the sex and drugs and bestiality I’ve written about will be brought up at Christmas and during the uncomfortable silence after my dad makes the remark about how hard it was to kill those sneaky bastard Koreans during the war.

So, to thank her, I’m writing this tale from our college years. You can decide whether or not to believe it. I know I all ready do.

Amy was never afraid of anything except perhaps getting caught. During high school she played every sport and, unlike most girls, considered 84% of her classmates friends. She had only one best friend and seemingly endless boyfriends and admirers. She was crowned Miss LHS in 1987 and turned down the opportunity to be the Dairy Princess at the Fairfield County Fair. Always Amy.

Amy left Ohio forever to go to school in Missouri and she never looked back.

Except once…

I was a freshman in college. Or the 13th grade as many of the people who were stuck at the Ohio University – Lancaster Branch called it. By looking out the lounge windows, we could see our high school. If you couldn’t find a window to look out, you could be reminded by listening to the LHS band practice in the afternoon. I attended because a scholarship I earned forced recipients to save money by going to a school that had no dorms and one microwave.

It was Spring. Winter had finally been kicked to the curb and love was in the air. None of my friends wanted to spend such a glorious Saturday night in Lancaster with the possibility of drunkenly hooking up with a relative. So we went to the real Ohio University in Athens, Ohio. We had friends in the dorms and didn’t have a problem finding a place to stay. We did have a problem finding beer. The 12 pack that was split between the five of us was gone in less than an hour and none of us had a fake ID at the time. We decided to try our luck at the Greenery, an 18+ dance bar that was pretty loose with the liquor. The gods smiled upon us on that Spring night and our oldest looking friend was able to buy pitchers of BrainSlammers or MindMelters or CerebellumBreakers or whatever the blue drink of the day was. We drank and danced and tried to hook up with real college girls. We failed, but had fun trying.

We were drunk well before closing and staggered out of the bar yelling stuff that drunk 18 year old men yell when full of watered down rum and unused hormones. Russ, who is rarely the ladies man, decided to try his luck out on a few chicks walking drunkenly the opposite way. I think they saw his OU-Lancaster keychain, immediately made him cease to exist and without breaking stride, walked right through him.

Our next target was a chick sitting on the curb. For some reason, women feel compelled to sit on curbs when they are drunk. Their knees up with elbows pressed against their inner thighs to support their heavy, drunken head. Men go straight for the vertical position in the gutter. Dave, the hopeless and clumsy romantic, asked if the poor girl needed any help. She looked up… it was Amy.

Holy shit. All the way from Missouri Amy.

I guess the most positive part of this story is that Amy went from really, really drunk and sad to extremely excited, happy drunk. She jumped up and hugged me and we fell backwards.

Amy was living in Missouri, but missing Ohio. She tried to assimilate and failed at heart. But she wouldn’t let anyone know. She had a southern accent within six months and started dating several Baptist boys to try and fit in. To nibble off the homesickness, she kept in touch with an ex-boyfriend. He was a year older and going to school in Cincinnati. He flew her in so that they could spend the weekend together. Boys would do that for Amy. This was a top secret trip as Amy had not been home since Christmas and summer before that. If my folks knew she was in a 200 mile radius of Lancaster, they would be a little upset that she did not come home. So mom and dad could not find out.

In the middle of their weekend of love, the dude broke it to Amy that he and his buddies and she were going to Ohio University for a last minute party. They piled into a Blazer and drove to Athens. Amy was a bit concerned because she had to be at the Cincy airport at 10:00am Sunday morning. No problem, he promised.

Six hours later, there was a problem. Turns out that he drank a lot more when he was around his college buddies and that his college buddies also made him a complete prick. He did some heavy prick stuff and she walked out of the party, sat on the curb and unknowingly waited for me to show up.

She didn’t think there was any way in hell that the prick was going to head back to Cincy that night and there was no way that she was going to make her flight. Her bags were back in the Blazer and she was shit out of luck until we showed up.

To cut to the chase, she made her flight. And here’s how.

We all went back to the prick’s party. He and his prick friends were not there, but the Blazer was. Russ, who stopped ceasing to exist, picked up a cement block and bashed out the back passenger side window. We grabbed Amy’s bags and headed back to the dorm.

We snuck Amy into the boy’s dorm and slept for a few hours. At 6:00am, Amy and I awoke, tiptoed though the testosterone and took Russ’ Nissan wagon to Cincinnati. I dropped her off at the airport at 9:45am.

“Please do not ever tell mom or dad about this. Doug... promise.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

And so, mother dear, as you read this please thank your daughter Amy for sharing with you that there is a little corner of the internet where your son writes lies and tells truths and sometimes both at the same time.

The drive back to OU was the longest drive ever.

Scam Baiting

I decided to try a bit of scam baiting. This is the attempt to waste a 419 scammer’s time by having him think you are an easy mark, thus keeping his attention from some church secretary in Omaha. Check out some much better examples of scam baiting at 419 Eater.

This poor fellow found me through my frankenstein hotmail address. It was the third of fourth one I had recieved and thought this might be fun. I decided to go with the reverse-con, bi-polar approach. The e-mails go back and forth between the scammer (Allan Grooves) and me (Frank Chocfactory) and are separated by the dashed lines. {Editor's notes are in these brackets.}

From: "allan_grooves"
To: (Recipient ListSuppressed)
Subject: ATTENTION
Date: Mon, 12 Feb 2007 08:54:22 -0800

My Beloved,

Greetings:

My name is Mr. Allan Grooves, I work as an accountant in a bank; I contacted you to work together with me in claiming my late client's estate. Unfortunately he died without a registered next of kin and as such the funds now have anopen beneficiary status. You could be made the beneficiary since you share the same last name with him. This has officially transferred the right to you, as no other person from his family knows anything about this fund with our bank, if you are interested in working with me. Please get back to me as quickly as possible so that I will give you the details of what we are to do. I wait for your prompt response so that I can give you more briefing of what you need to and how to do it Thanks for your co-operation.

Best regards, Allan.

-------------
Dear Allan,

Oh my God! This is bad and good news together. Is this about my great uncle Charlie Andy Chocfactory? PLease let me know more details. I want to make sure this is not a scam.

Thanks, Frank Chocfactory

-----------------------
From: "allan_grooves"

My Dear,

Greetings!

Thanks for your response to my mail. My deceased client died in the year 2001 and his name was Dean Irwin Stein. Since you share the same last name with him hence I contacted you to help in repatriating the funds left behind to any account of your choice. I got your address from the Internet in my search for a reliable person that would help me in this transaction. The amount of funds left behind was 8.6 million United States Dollars only and I would want us to share it 50/50 after we have successfully transferred it into your nominated bank account. It is now very obvious that he died interstate, as I have already made further inquiry to ascertain this. And this is where and why I contacted you, as the money is now marked unclaimed with my bank. Normally After six fiscal years and nobody comes up to claim the funds it would be marked dormant and reverted back to the bank's general coffers and shared among the directors. This I do not want to happen. I now solicit your sincere cooperation so that we can work together to get the funds out of the bank before it goes back to the bank. After we might have talked I would send you a text of application instructing you on how to apply to the bank for the funds release. I will like you to provide me with the following.
a, Your telephone number
b,Yourcomplete names
c,Your mailing address
d,Your Occupation

Hope to hear from you soonest.
You can call me at +44 (0)7926586043
Best regards, Allan

-------------
Allan,

Dean Irwin Stein? Are you sure you don’t mean Charlie Andy Chocfactory?

Please let me know if you find out anything about my great uncle Charlie Andy Chocfactory? I know he passed recently, but I do not know how to get ahold of his money. Please let me know of your research.

Thank you Allen and God bless,

Frank Chocfactory

----------------------
From: "allan_grooves" allan_grooves@canada.com
Subject: RE: ATTENTION Date: Wed, 21
Feb 2007 15:12:40 -0800

I had told you that the name of my client a while ago and you actually have the same name with him. I only needed you to help me with this transaction and that is all. I will never force you to help me okay but this would be beneficial to you.

Thank you.

-------------------
Listen here Allen...

My last name is not Stein. It is Chocfactory. I do know that I have a great uncle who had a lot of money and he died with it. These funds have missing for two years. Please ask your contacts if they know of a Charlie Andy Chocfactory. His mother's maiden name was Stein. Perhaps this is the connection????

Let me know!!!

Signed, Frank

-------------
From: "allan_grooves" Subject: RE: ATTENTION Date: Thu, 22 Feb 2007 09:18:04 -0800

It is possible he lodged the money with his mum's maiden name. I have told you the one i have and it was never a mistake okay. Please if you want to assist, fine but otherwise stop sending me emails okay. The transaction is not such that i have to beg you for okay.

Thank you

---------------
Allan.

If there is something in it for me, I can help you. I did some research and found a D. Stein in my family history.

Praise be if this is the man you represented at the Bank. How can I be of service?

Please let me know.

Thanks!

Frank

---------------------
{He sends me the exact same e-mail with }

a, Your telephone number
b,Your complete names
c,Your mailing address
d,Your Occupation

--------------
Allan,

I can be reached at 1-202-331-8590
{Editors note: this is the number to the NATIONAL FRAUD INFORMATION CENTER & INTERNET FRAUD WATCH in Washington DC.}

My full names is Frank E Chocfactory

Mailing address is in Washington, but I will hold that back for now to ensure this is not a scam.
My Job is with an auto repair shop right outside of Washington in Virginia. I repair mainly BMWs and VWs.

Please let me know how I can help with the splitting of the funds!

Thanks, Frank

--------------
From: "allan_grooves" Subject: RE: ATTENTION
Date: Sat, 24 Feb 2007 09:28:02 -0800

I think you are being unserious here. You gave me a number which had been disconnected. I do not know what you are doing concerning these funds. If you are not interested, please let me know or you call me on +44 7926586043.

thank you.

--------------------
Allan,

I just tried to call your number and no one is answering. Is this correct?

I am beginning to think that you are trying to steal money from me. Fortunately, I just got a $2000 bonus from my work!! See, hard work can pay off.

Why do you contact me and then not follow up? I am beginning to think that you have found someone else to help you.

If this is so, I am sorry that we could not work out an agreement.

Best of luck to you Mr. Groves.

Frank

-------------
From: "allan_grooves" Subject: RE: ATTENTION
Date: Mon, 26 Feb 2007 15:16:58 -0800

Dear Mr.Frank,

I had been trying to reach you on the number which you had provided but all to no avail. i have not found anyone to do this business with and still believe that you would be able to assist me in all respect.

My number is +44 7926586043,+ 447909833952. you would be able to reach me on those numbers anytime. Please supply me with the information that i requested from you and this process of application would start and we would have enough at our disposal.

Expecting your feedback.

Thank you

Sincerely

Grooves

--------------------------
Hello Allen,

I am bored with all this.

Please just tell me what address to send the money that you need so that you can release the larger funds.

Please check off the following reasons why you need the money and how much you need:

1. International Transfer Fee

2. Notary Public Fee

3. Rebel Alliance Fee

4. National Transfer Fee

Just add up the amounts of money you need and make sure is isn't more than $2,000. I can either send you a cheque or wire transfer.

Please, my good friend. Let's just get this over with so that I can go back to my normal life.

Thank you,

Frank

-------------------------
From: "allan_grooves" Subject: RE: ATTENTION
Date: Tue, 27 Feb 2007 09:43:32 -0800

I dont understand what you are talking about. for now have a nice day.

----------------
Allan,

Listen, I know how this works:

1. I send you money to pay the tax or fees.
2. Once the fees are paid, you send me the larger sum of money.
3. We both end up happy and RICH!!!!!!!

Come on... I know there is some fee or something.

Just tell me what I have to pay and when I can get my hands on the BIG MONEY!

Thanks, Frank

----------------
From: "allan_grooves" Subject: RE: ATTENTION
Date: Tue, 27 Feb 2007 14:54:36 -0800

I think you had been into the wrong thing before. I would never be contacting you if it was not for someone who would be reliable and not run away with these funds. I do not
honestly know what you are talking about.

I know that i dont require you to pay me any amount of money
okay.

Thank you

------------------
Allan,

OK. I feel like we have gone in the wrong direction here.

I want to help you if it will help me. And I want me to help you.

Please let me know what information you need.

Thank you,

Frank

----------------------
allan grooves (allan_grooves@canada.com)
Subject: RE: ATTENTION

i am still waiting for your information to continu okay.

----------------------
Well Allan?

WHERE IS MY MONEY!

I SENT YOU THE MONEY ORDER!!!!!!

WHERE IS MY MONEY!!!!!

{That was the letter I sent tonight. I had not heard from Allan in a while and I assume he moved on to bigger and better things. I really think he grew tired of my bi-polar shit.}

Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s at Ohio University on April 14th

Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s is playing at OU on April 14th. I think it is a free show, but I can’t be sure because I lost my secret college free concert sense back in 94’. Oddly enough that is also when I lost my Fish Called Wanda movie poster.

Here is my plan: I am going to this show no matter what and I want you to come with me. You’ll have to drive your own car and stay in your own hotel, but I’ll be at the show around 8:00pm and then I’ll be at the C.I. from 11:30pm until closing. I’ll be the old guy. Buy me a beer in a can.

Here is my plan B: I am going to this show no matter what and I want you to come with me. Here’s the pinch - this might be the weekend of Palmerfest as well. If this is so, I will need to sneak out of the house a few hours earlier to attend and I will need your assistance. At 1:00pm on Saturday, we’ll be heading out the door to go to a good friend’s kid’s birthday party. I really want to go to the birthday party, but if you drive by and kidnap me in front of my wife, I will have no choice but to go wherever it is that you take me. If that happens to be Palmerfest than so be it. I’ll split gas cost with you to Athens and back. Just duct tape my mouth and hands before you dump me back off at my house Sunday morning. More than likely, I will have forgotten everything anyways from the alcohol. Your secret is safe with me.

See you at the show. Doors open at 6:00pm. Bring duct tape.

Neighbors

"Love your neighbor, but build fences." -Something my dad would always say

We live in a great house in a great neighborhood with great neighbors. It took us ten years, but we’ve finally got it right. We haven’t always had bad neighbors. Actually, I think we were the bad neighbors for the eight years in our first home. We were always friendly, but never interactive. Our cats were always pooping in the neighbors’ mulch and we’d pretend we didn’t notice. We kept to ourselves mainly because we were a newlywed couple, while they were families with 2 – 3 kids. I’m sure we could have been more involved, but we just had other things to do.

When we lived in an apartment during those first two frosting years, we did not have neighbors, we had “people downstairs.” Then we moved to a quad of duplex apartments and we had “the freaks next door.”

The freaks next door moved in over a week long period, one rusted vanload at a time. At 6:00am on Saturday, we were made aware that their alarm clock was moved in. It kept on its electronic droning through the paper thin walls for three hours. Obviously they had plugged it in, set it and they had not been there to turn it off. Finally, it stopped ringing. We assumed that it automatically turned off after a certain amount of time and we tried to snatch a few more minutes of sleep. But the alarm started sounding again six minutes later. Then it went silent. Then we heard voices. The neighbors had slept through their own alarm for three hours and one snooze. An alarm so freaking loud that it woke us up.

And this was not the last time.

Every morning their alarm clock would sound at 6:00am and would not get turned off for 2 – 3 hours. We were usually out the door on the way to work with their alarm still ringing. We tried pounding on the wall, but they could not or would not hear the pounding over the alarm.

I made an interesting connection the day I came home and found a flier on the door handle. It was for a home cleaning service. I looked up from the flier and saw that the neighbor’s rusty van was full of cleaning supplies. I took a closer look inside the van and saw piles of the fliers in the dirty van. (A dirty cleaning van?) I formulated a plan and took the flier upstairs and into the bedroom.

The next morning at 6:00am their alarm sounded. I grabber the flier and the phone and called the number after dialing *67 (selective call blocking.) The phone next door began to ring. The alarm turned off and a sleepy voice answered the phone. I hung up and we went back to sleep.

I did this EVERY morning for a week. On one occasion, I had to call twice when they reset the alarm. They had to be going crazy. Fortunately they were not smart enough to realize what was happening. Unfortunately, I was too dumb to remember to hit *67 one morning and they called me back.

“Hello?”

“Who is this? Why do you keep calling?”

(Pissed off but sheepish) “Um…you aren’t turning your alarm off in the morning for hours at a time. “

“What?”

“We can hear your alarm through the wall!”

“Well, you could of just told us.”

And she was right. We could have told them, but we did not want any interaction with these people. It wasn’t just the dirty cleaning van or the alarm or the cigarette smoke that permeated the wall. It was also the sex.

Hours of sex. It seemed like hours and was actually only 40 minutes, but their bed squeaked with every thrust, she was very orgasmic and when he finally came (thank God) he’s let out a disappointing, one second grunt that Miss Sally and I still make fun of to this day. You’d think after all that banging that he would scream out for 30 seconds. But instead, “Unngh.”

We ended up moving our bedroom to the smaller, second bedroom. All our weekend guests then got to wake up at six in the morning after not being able to fall asleep for 40 minutes the night before.

So in the end, we avoided them. They avoided us. Life goes on.

Then one night, the cops showed up at our door. We were both asleep in the smaller bedroom and we were awoken by the doorbell and knocking. I stuck my head out the old bedroom window and saw a cop car and officers below at the door. Oh shit. My first thought that my parents had been killed. I ran down stairs and opened the doors.

The cops were right to the point.

“Good evening sir. Are you alone?”
“No, my girlfriend is upstairs.”
“Can you get her?”

Oh shit, Sally’s parents were dead.

Sally was at the top of the stairs and was tentatively coming down.

“Yes?”
“Miss, can you come here so we can see you?”

She came and stood next to me. He asked her if everything was all right and if there was any trouble. She said no. He asked if we had been fighting. I said no and that we had been asleep. They said we are talking to her. I shut up. Sally said the same, nervously laughing. No, we had gone to bed an hour ago.

The cop said there had been a report that there was a domestic assault in progress. They seemed to believe us. We asked who made the report and they said they were not allowed to tell. Nice.

A month later, in the middle of the night, the cops were back. This time with a social worker. When I answered the door this time, I knew why. So I said, “Are you here because someone reported hearing fighting?” I said this thinking that I was giving the cops some useful information. Little did I know that it sounded like I knew why they were there because I was guilty. I tried to tell them it was the second time it had happened, but they were only interested in talking to Sally. She was asked to come downstairs. I was made to sit on the couch as they interviewed Sally and she reassured them everything was all right.

When we finally had them convinced that all was well, we impressed upon them that we were tired of the false reports and if anything could be done. They said they would look into it. Thanks.

One week later, Sally was opening the front door on her way home from work when the hard of hearing, orgasmic neighbor lady popped out her door and asked if she could talk to her. She then asked Sally if her husband was home. Sally said no and explained we were only just engaged. The lady was a bit surprised, but then said that she understood what Sally was going through as she was a survivor of an abusive relationship. Now Sally was confused. Sally laughed and said that I was not abusive. Next door lady said she heard the beatings and the fighting. Sally said that was impossible and dismissed her. Neighbor lady left Sally, thinking she was in denial.

When I came home, Sally told me about the conversation. Almost at the same time we both realized what was happening. The stairs that go up to the bedrooms double back before they got to the top. The freaky neighbors were hearing someone get the shit beat out of them… but it was the people living in the duplex on the OTHER side of them. They had their left and right screwed up. Idiots!

We moved out a few months later.

The bad thing is that poor woman who was getting the shit beat out of her never had the cops show up at her door.

The good thing about this was that we later realized that the freaky neighbors must have thought it was the other neighbors who had called them in the morning to wake them up when their alarm couldn’t. Suckers!

John and guy I bought a beer for


john and guy I bought a beer for, originally uploaded by holyjuan.

We went to Brazenhead in Grandview for St. Patrick’s Day. It wasn’t Chicago, but it was a very good time. (Remind me to tell you about the Alphabet Girls.)

Towards midnight we noticed a tall dude. He knows he’s tall. Idiots probably remind him of it every day. Bigger idiots ask to get a photo taken with him. At least this guy is smart enough to make it worth his while. Once I asked him if he’d let us take his photo, he said yes, for a beer.

It was worth it.

Damn that dude is tall.

My date with Cory Kennedy


Yes, I know. There are several reasons why I should not have gone on a date with Cory Kennedy. I’m married. She’s 17. We don’t listen to the same music. We only have a few things in common. Scratch that... we have nothing in common besides drinking. But drinking is the great equalizer and so I thought that by the end of the night, it would all work itself out.

And oddly enough, it did.

I was in LA for business. On a whim, I called my buddy who runs a recording studio. He’s a testicular cancer survivor and swears that his raw food diet has kept him in remission.

I gave my studio buddy a call and he mentioned that he recently had a celebrity in the studio. That celeb knew a guy who dated a bouncer who had a Facebook account. And one of his friends on Facebook was none other than a Facebook friend of Cory Kennedy’s.

Cory Kennedy is an internet fabricated personality. She’s interesting like a pork kite is interesting. You wonder how she got famous and why she is still famous, which makes her more famous by your wondering. But you cannot help yourself. She’s pretty because we are told she is pretty. She is fashionable because we are told she is fashionable. And I was going to go on a date with her because I told myself I was going to go on a date with her. Why not?

I tried to get her to accept me as a MySpace friend. She denied me. So I found one of her MySpace friends’ friend and they blindly added me. I was in her extended network which is almost like being in her Blackberry. I sent the friend of a friend a note to pass on to Cory that we should go out very soon. I didn’t get a response. I assume MySpace was down.

I enrolled as a substitute teacher at her high school. Since I was only in LA for a few days, I didn’t really enroll as a sub, but I did carry a briefcase as I marched around the school’s campus. I narrowed down my search by not looking for anyone wearing matching clothes, or anything with blue, red, yellow or any combinations of those colors. I had it narrowed down to about 218 girls when the cops hauled me off campus by my iPod ear buds.

I was let off with a warning after I mentioned that I had a date with Cory Kennedy planned for that evening. Cop number one said, “I’ve got a color blind daughter of my own at home. Go get her, champ.” Cop number two said, “Isn’t she only sixteen?” but I didn’t hear that as I was all ready running off through Burbank.

That night I had everything planned. I rented a limo and bought a TON of Red Bull and some menthol cigarettes. I waited outside her window for her to sneak out, but it turns out she just walks right out the front door on her way out to the clubs at 11:00pm. I ran back to the Limo and had Asphed follow her to eighteen different clubs: Rants, Jimmy 8, OutrĂ©, Sim Sim, Lookie Tick, RED, Front Door, Rex, Symbol, Number Ten, Camel Tent, WOO Tavern, Capitol G, Upstairs Twice Club, Yeast, Juvie Nile, Kliq and Epstine Fillmore and the Rat VooDoo Soul Club. I couldn’t get into any of them. I would sit in the limo and wait for her to leave. Sometimes I would put on my chef costume and try to sneak in the back door, but it turns out most clubs don’t have chefs. As a matter of fact, none of them do.

So at the end of the night or the start of the morning as we call 6:00am here in Ohio, I tracked her down at a Jerry’s Famous Deli. She was with a large group of people and I couldn’t force my way into the corner booth to ask her how she felt the date was going. So I ordered a Yummy (a cream cheese and jelly sandwich, battered and deep fried) and sent it over to her table.

The waiter handed her the plate and pointed in my direction. She pointed to some other guy and the waiter shook his head no and pointed more at me. She pointed again and the waiter shook his head no and came over to my table and held his hand over my head.

She mouthed the words “thank you” or something very similar.

All in all, the date turned out really good. I felt like a gentleman buying her dinner/breakfast and she gave me a lot of space so that I could grow. A very positive experience for both parties.

So in the end, it all worked out.

But, I do not think it is going to work out. She’s way too Hollywood for me. And the restraining order keeps me at 150ft away. Plus her arms are way too hairy.

Goodnight, Chicago

The biggest problem with being a parent is not the day to day questioning of one’s parenting decisions and the lifelong repercussions from not buying your child a Star Wars blaster for his fourth birthday. The biggest problem with being a parent is that it cuts into your drinking in Chicago on St. Patrick’s weekend.

(Please take note of the past tenses.)

Kit and I were heading up to Chicago this weekend to visit our friend John whom we haven’t seen for five years and won’t see at least in the next 72 hours. We were leaving at noon today to get up there by 6:00pm. We would have laughed and laughed on the way up and drank and laughed once we got there. The Sunday drive home would have been filled with Kit reminding me of what I did and explaining why a green, leprechaun beard was super-glued to my face.

But last night around 8:30pm, little Miss Ann took her last bottle of the night and as I rocked her to sleep she started to wheeze. She fell asleep and the wheezing became a gentle sigh. Two hours later she awoke with a savage barking cough and labored breathing. Croup. Croup is scary because the explosive barking noise that comes out of such a little body is frightening. She had croup before, but not like this.

A call to the emergency line had us taking her out into the night air whenever she woke up with her coughing fits. Oddly, taking your child out in the 24 degree night air actually does help. She’d sleep for 45 minutes, wake up barking, we’d take he outside for 5 – 10 minutes until she fell asleep again. Rinse. Repeat.

So, the plan to leave at noon is shot. Leaving tomorrow morning and driving 7 hours to arrive in Chicago at the peak of the St. Patrick’s Day celebration is not worthwhile. It’s just not going to happen.

I called Kit this morning and he was very understanding. I left a message from John and am awaiting the return call verbal beating.

Greg called to tell me I was an asshole (he couldn’t go on the trip) and I shared the news with him that the trip was off. He was happy that we might reschedule on a weekend he could go.

Maybe we’ll be able to go up on a weekend that is more than 20 degrees.

Sorry John. Sorry Kit. Sorry Chicago.

At least my liver is happy.

For now, I'm taking Ann into the doctor just to make sure she doesn’t need steroids or some kind of treatment that isn't covered by our insurance. Perhaps there is balance in the universe and the $425 I would have spent this weekend will go towards the medical industry directly instead of the 20 year plan I’m working on.

Palmerfest 1992


Palmerfest 1992, originally uploaded by holyjuan.

There is really too much to write about Palmerfest. If you went to OU after 1990, you probably have gone to one or two. Shit, you might even claim to have originated it.

Sadly, the backyards of 19, 21 and 23 Palmer are gone. Replaced when the three houses were extend backwards so that Mr. Gevas could make a couple more bucks.

I hope he bought a new blue van.

This photo was taken from the roof of the garage at 19 Palmer street.

It actually is the worst fight scene ever

This video is labeled "The Worst Fight Scene Ever!"

I was going to try and convince you that it is actually the BEST fight scene ever, but I cannot because it is the worst fight scene ever.

To make matters worse, the video compression is causing the audio to be out of snyc. Actually, that makes the clip that much funnier.

My kid can fall asleep slower than your kid

AUTHOR’S NOTE
This is a “My Kid” writing. I suggest you stop reading now. I really do not like to hear people talk about their kid because unless it is a story about them pooping their pants at the recital, I’m not interested in hearing it. Sorry. Most kid stories go like this: My kid “X” did “Y” and did it better or more interestingly or faster than any kid I’ve ever seen. He/She is advanced for his/her age. Blah… Again, stop reading. I warned you.

My kid had an incredibly crazed night. He was extremely excited and running around and I knew all the way through reading books to him that this was not going to end well.

As I turned off his light, he started asking for mommy and then crying for mommy and then ranting for mommy. Mommy came up to calm him down and it worked until she needed to leave. Then he asked for daddy and cried for daddy and so on and so forth.

After the second shift change, Miss Sally calmed him down and we gave him goodnight kisses and he seemed like he was going to be all right, but then he pulled the “sleep with me” card. I’ve slept in his room on two or three occasions in the middle of the night when he was sick or upset. I do not want to start that as a trend.

So, here I am, typing because he can hear it from the other room and it seems to comfort him to know that I am in the other room. It’s an odd connection that my clamoring on the keyboard reassures him. If only he knew that I was usually typing crap about drinking or nudie bars.

So, for the next few minutes, I’ll type. And since we are on the topic of Greg, I’ll continue this one-sided conversation.

Greg sometimes has a problem with listening. Most kids do. If we get reports from his teachers that he wasn’t a good listener that day, then we end up keeping the TV off or not letting him play Lego Star Wars. My kid Greg is the best non-listener of any kid I’ve ever seen. He’s an advanced non-listener for his age.

Lego Star Wars is a beautiful game. Watching Greg play is interesting and frightening. He picked up on it in a few weeks and he’s pretty good. There is a dual player mode so that two people can play in tandem to complete the goals. Greg thinks that it is funny to chase me down and shoot me with his blaster. When we are in the middle of a quest, I get a bit peeved that he kills me. I’ll warn him once or twice and then I’ll drop out of the game and let him finish on his own.

The other day he came up to me around Star Wars time. He said the following, “I was a good listener at school today and I promise not to kill you.”

I almost wept. My little boy is growing up.

And now he is asleep.

What to do the day after Conny takes the Bar Exam

1. Wake up drunk in Conny's hotel living room
2. Call boss and tell him you are still drunk
3. Yell at Conny and ask how I got on a fold out bed
4. Listen to Conny’s explanation
5. Thank Conny for not letting you fall asleep on the fold out bed while it was still folded up into the shape of a couch.
6. Sit up
7. Lay back down
8. Ask Conny what he is making me for breakfast
9. Sit up again.
10. Stand up
11. Go pee
12. Mistake not being hung-over with still drunk
13. Go down stairs for awesome breakfast at the Drury Inn
(Actually Step -1) Forget the Arnold Classic is in town
14. Remember the Arnold Classic is in town
15. Try not to stumble into huge dudes that are eating all the French toast
16. Smile at self for skillful ladling of sausage gravy on biscuits
17. Eat coffee and drink sausage gravy
18. Watch Conny mangle waffle with spatula on grill and finally give up and use fingers to pull shredded waffle off grill.
19. Watch Conny not eat mangled waffle
20. Sit for an hour and watch hot chicks with huge dudes with tiny pee-pees go by
21. Go back up to Conny’s room
22. Grab shit and leave
23. Go to parking garage
24. Look for car
25. – 27. Continue looking for car
28. Find car
29. Drive car to gate and realize you need room key to leave garage
30. Drive in reverse up steep hill
31. Sigh as call to Conny goes into voice mail
32. Sigh as call to Conny goes into voice mail
33. Sigh as call to Conny goes into voice mail
34. Sigh as call to Conny goes into voice mail
35. Sigh as call to Conny goes into voice mail
36. Sigh as call to hotel goes into Conny’s room’s voice mail
37. Conny stops taking a shit and calls me back
38. Drop off Conny at hotel doors after he lets me out of parking garage with his room key
39. Say goodbye again
40. Drive home 9/10th way home
41. Receive call from Conny
42. Answer, “No, I don’t think your car keys are in my car but I will check when I get home.”
43. Check
44. Call Conny and tell him keys are not there
45. Call Meshell and ask her to check her car (she dropped us off at the hotel.)
46. Answer call from Meshell and say, “Thanks for looking.”
47. Call Conny and ask if he’s looked in X for the keys.
48. Ask if he’s looked in Y for the keys.
49. Ask if he’s looked in Z for the keys.
50. Begin to feel hung-over
51. Look at clock and see that it is 11:00am
52. Get in car and go back to Conny’s hotel
53. Fight Arnold Traffic
54. Pick up Conny
55. Drive Conny by Char Bar just in case
56. Car Bar is closed and take Conny to my home
57. Conny calls Toyota dealership
58. Dealership says they can give key with VIN number
59. Drive back down to hotel get VIN number
60. Stop halfway there as Conny remembers VIN number is on insurance card
61. Turn around and go home
62. Conny drinks a diet coke and I drink a diet 7up.
63. Go to Toyota Direct
64. Sit in car listening to Howard Stern show from 1994 while Conny convinces dudes inside he is not a car thief
65. Fall asleep for 2 minutes
66. Awake screaming as Conny knocks on window
67. Take Conny to hotel
68. Drop off Conny
69. Arrange to meet Conny for dinner on Tuesday night when he’s back in town
70. Say goodbye again again
71. Promise not to go drinking when meeting Conny for dinner when he is in town next Tuesday
72. Drive home without call from Conny
73. Look at clock and see that it is 2:00pm
74. Fail at napping
75. Post photo of Char Bar chalkboard
76. Remember at the last minute to call Conny’s house in Akron and leave a message that his wife will get saying that you are the manager of a nudie bar and that you found Conny’s key’s in the $150/hr VIP room and that "Mr. Moneybags" can come back anytime and pick them up
77. Reply, “Awe CRAP” when Conny answers the phone at his house instead of it going into voicemail.

Pizza Technical Difficulty

There is a small chain of pizza/stromboli stores in Columbus called Pizzano's. It’s not the best pizza in the world, but it’s decent and quick. We get it at our office and Miss Sally likes their cheese/black olive/banana pepper stromboli.



On President’s Day, we tried to order some Pizzano’s for the office. Their phone rang and rang, but no one answered. We assumed they were closed for the holiday and we ate Lori’s stash of chocolate for lunch instead.

Last night, I tired to order some for dinner. Again, the phone rang and rang. Pizzano’s web site was up, but their outsourced, online ordering system said CLOSED. Oh dear. I ordered Donatos and drove over to pick it up.

Being a curious little boy, I drove by Pizzano’s to see if their building was open. I remembered on the way over that Pizzano’s was in the middle of a name change or take over by Mama Ghambi’s Pizza and Stromboli. They had big “Grand Opening” signs in their front window from our previous successful visit. Maybe they had just changed their number.

Not so much…



I’m not sure how a Pizza place can have a technical difficulty, but it seems they somehow do or did.

I hope everything works out for them. I grow weary of chocolate for lunch.

Char Bar Chalkboard

Conny was in town this week taking the Ohio Bar Exam. He had called a few weeks ago to say that once he completed the test, he wanted to go out for a lot of drinks.

He finished the test. We had lots of drinks.

Here is one photo from this night:



At the Char Bar, they have a chalkboard in the men’s bathroom above the two urinals. We utilize that board to make fun of each other and discuss who is banging whomever else’s wife.

By the end of the night, there were several modifications. I hope to get those photos from Jenn as my camera battery died trying to take photos of this idiot parking her car on the curb.



I'll update once I am less hungover.

Marion County Common Please Court


Common Please Court, originally uploaded by holyjuan.

My co-worker Angie picked up some documents in Marion County. As she was standing in line to deliver the documents in Franklin County, she noticed the typo/spelling error.

I think that it's positive to suggest that problems one might have with the County could be resolved just by going to the County Please Court. If you are polite, they'll let you off.



Polite or not, she still had to pay the fine.