Strange Places Strange Faces

This blog is dedicated to a fellow blogger who was the inspiration for this piece. We talked about it for a little bit, and it gave way to what I am about to write. You know who you are, and I am grateful.

This blog is about some forms of what I call "Guyspeak", which is the shit we fellas say that you just don't understand. In this issue of "Nigel's Guide to Guyspeak", I'll discuss some terms of endearment.

First, let's check out the word "cute". "Cute" is something we call you when you are decent looking and we would take you out with our friends. We wouldn't show you off, per se, but you are definitely some one who could hang with the guys. A girl is "cute" when she can drink beer with us, party with us and maybe "hook up" with us. We aren't going to have a long-term relationship with her. It's akin to calling her "nice". It means she's great to go out with, nice to be around, but there will never be a serious relationship.

Second, let's deal with the word, "pretty". "Pretty" means we want to offer you a compliment, but we don't want to blow things out of proportion. A girl who is pretty is someone we would definitely show off to our friends and even our family. She has more confidence than "cute". There is definitely something more attractive to her. We genuinely like her, but we don't love her. She is more physically attractive than anything else. When we say, "You're really pretty," it may be contrived as insincere, which is why you hear it less often. It's hard to tell a girl she's "pretty" in just the right way without her feeling it's a left-handed compliment. But, in the end, we pretty much mean what we are saying and we definitely find you attractive. Did I mention it can also be used as a ploy to get down your pants? Shhh... don't give any of my secrets away.

Third, there's "hot". "Hot" is pretty straightforward. It means we think you look awesome and we want to get it on as soon as possible before you might "cool down". "Hot" is one of those words girls almost certainly want to hear. "Hot" is also a word that reverberates in their minds. They want to be "hot". "Hot" is over-rated. We use that word all the time -- especially when describing celebrities. Jennifer Aniston is hot. Marge Simpson is hot (LOL). "Hot" is a push-button word we use to get down your pants. Used properly, and with enough infusion of alcohol, it almost certainly works. It's also a word we repeat more than the first two. "You're hot. You are so hot." And, when we "get it on", it's a word used in the bedroom, where the other two just aren't..

Finally, my fellow blogger -- now understanding all three of these -- asked me to define beautiful.

Now, this is much easier. "Beautiful" means I love you. There are no ifs, ands or buts about it. When we say you are beautiful it encompasses everything about you. We really want to be with you and have a meaningful relationship (or we're lying really well). This is a term reserved for the best of the best and isn't thrown around lightly. It refers, as I said, to a girl's inner-being as well as her outer features. We are definitely taking her home to meet Mom and Dad. It's also the word that appears in more songs than any other. James Blunt is the most recent example. Next to "love", beautiful is probably used in more love songs than any other word, which is why I clearly equate it to love.

That's "Guyspeak" for today. Any questions? Let me know. Want me to decipher more? Let me know that, too. This is Nigel Vossap at your service.

Posted by Ike at 3:24 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

At the end of the day, no matter how much I complain about the pain, it feels damn good. I am extremely pissed off these days at everyone and everything, so taking it out at the gym seems reasonable. Trainer is a guy who understands why I am pissed at the World, and I was explicit when I told him his only job was to make me into a lean mean M-F'er. I told him I want my bite to equal my bark. I don't even know for sure why I was saying these things. I do know I meant them. My reward, as I see it, will be the day someone says to me, "What happened to you?"

And my reply will be, "Nothing. Nothing at all. Maybe something happened to you."

Posted by Ike at 5:28 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Just thought you'd enjoy some of the subject lines on some of my junk e-mail over the last few days....

Make Your Sperm sent "ProductionAndVolumeBigger"

Hotty4Luv sent "I CantStop CravingCOCK!"

Both ErectileSolutions and ErectileMedications sent "Viaggraa -- Ciialiiss -- Levvitrra"

Susy4Luv sent "IHeard YouWere LookingFor SomeFun"

Krafty Babe sent "Neglected by my Husband"

GreaterQuantities of... sent "AndGetRock HardErectionz"

31-HornyHousewife sent "_=AreYouUp For GreatSexx=_"

Michelle-4-Fun sent "ImLooking For The PerfectFck Buddy"

I want to thank all these people for loading up my mailbox with these important e-mails.

Posted by Ike at 8:07 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Damn, I hope I don't have a cavity! I've only had two my whole life. Shoot, I better not need braces! I was pretty much the only kid without them. My lord! What if I have gum disease? Or plaque? You know there's only a one letter difference between plaque and plaGue. What if I end up with some sort of plague rather than plaque? I better take the CO2. Wait, that would be wimpy! I hate that sound the tool makes when your teeth are being cleaned, and that pointy thing they use to stick at you. I don't want to be the damn dentist's lab rat today. I don't want to go, but the appointment card says I have to. My 24 hour cancellation notice has come and gone. I'll lose a ton of money if I don't see "Dr. Dreadful" today.

If you're like me, you probably hate going to the dentist. Because of my surgery, I have to have my teeth and gums checked every 3-4 months to make sure there isn't any plaque or, worse yet, bleeding. This means I get to sit in that uncomfortable chair with the glare of that light and the gloss of that mirror. It gives new meaning to "The Shining". I need help! "Let me out of here," I can hear myself saying.

"This sucks," I tell my friendly hygienist. She nods her head in agreement which does me no good because she is still about to "go evil" on me.

HERE'S THE REAL DEAL: IF YOU ARE LIKE ME, YOU PROBABLY BRUSH, FLOSS AND SWIG THAT MOUTHWASH AT THE VERY LAST SECOND BEFORE YOUR APPOINTMENT. YOU WANT TO MAKE A GOOD IMPRESSION. HAH! WE'RE SCREWED. THEY'RE ON TO US.

So, that's my routine. Then, I show up at the real House of Blues. The Dental Dungeon. The Palace of Pain. It sucks. Every last minute of it... except the very end.

"Nigel, your teeth look better than I've seen them in a very long time. Your gums look great," exclaimed my friendly hygienist, who I am beginning to like more and more.

Scorecard. No cavities. No braces. No gum problems. No plaque. No plague. Chompers are in tip-top shape. All is well in the hell I call Dr. Dread's place.

Posted by Ike at 6:14 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

...then my little roadtrip produced two (for the price of one, you might say)....... Yes, this is the same place, and no, I didn't pull over (except to take the picture, of course).

That's it. I'll leave it up to you guys to write the rest.

Posted by Ike at 2:25 AM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Nigel is gone for the weekend. I am at the K9 motel. We'll both be back Sunday night. For now, then, Goodbye. Adios. Au revoir. Auf wiedersehen. Ciao and Tata.

Posted by Ike at 7:45 AM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

"Superman Returns" hits theatres next week -- even in IMAX 3D. I couldn't be happier. I have been a devotee to Superman as long as I can remember. I loved watching George Reeves play Superman in the 1950s TV series. Please note: I saw these in reruns. I am only 32. I remember my parents taking me to the original Superman movie with Christopher Reeve back in 1978. It thrilled me. Superman, by any means, should be my favorite superhero.

But, he isn't. My favorite superhero, strange as it seems, is Plastic Man. I was six-years-old, and it was my favorite Saturday morning cartoon (more than The Smurfs, and back when they had cartoons). The cartoon only lasted a year, but i was fun. For those of you who know more about comics than cartoons, you'll be more able to speak to Plas' aptitude.

Otherwise, Wikipedia states, "Plastic Man's powers are derived from an accident in which his body was bathed in an unknown industrial chemical mixture that also entered into his bloodstream through a gunshot wound. This caused a body-wide mutagenic process that transformed his physiology, possibly granting him virtual immortality as he also does not age, or does so at a rate greatly slowed compared to ordinary humans."

"Plastic Man can stretch his limbs and body to superhuman lengths and sizes. These stretching powers grant Plastic Man heightened agility enabling him flexibility and coordination that is extraordinarily beyond the natural limits of the human body. He can contort his body into various positions and sizes impossible for ordinary humans, such as being entirely flat so that he can slip under a door, or using his fingers to pick conventional locks. He can also use it for disguise by changing the shape of his face. As Plastic Man can alter his bodily mass and physical constitution at will, there is virtually no limit to the sizes and shapes he can contort himself into. There is no known limit to how far he can stretch his body. The only limitation he has relates to color, which he cannot change without intense concentration."

"Plastic Man's powers extraordinarily augment his durability. He is able to withstand corrosives, punctures and concussions without sustaining any injury (although he can be momentarily stunned). He is resistant to high velocities that would kill an ordinary person and is also resistant to blasts from energy weapons. His bodily mass can be dispersed, but for all intents and purposes it is invulnerable."

In short, Plastic Man is "The Man".

By the way, Plastic Man became so popular that he is definitely food for folklore on the web now. I am including this link for your enjoyment. It's for adults only, but it's hysterical.

http://www.starterupsteve.com/swf/plasticman.html

Posted by Ike at 10:16 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

I love going to my pharmacy. The two pharmacists are drop dead gorgeous. Now, this shouldn't be a pre-requisite for enjoying your pharmacy, but it doesn't hurt either. In fact, I hope they somehow know about my blog because I want them to know I shamelessly fawn over them. Anyway, a long time ago I was taught you should always know your banker and your pharmacist by name. Don't ask me why, but I guess it's supposed to be good business practice.

As you can imagine, I use my trips to flirt with one of the women -- who is married -- and the other woman who I'd like to date. It's all good. They like me a lot because I am not some crotchety old fart demanding their medicine. I am young and polite. They can relate to me. We have things in common outside of our age range. I can go in there and shoot the bull with them any time I want.

So, there's nothing quite like those would-be "embarrassing" times when you have to buy condoms, KY, etc. It used to be funny with the old lady cashiers, but now it's even better. I always like to shop on a late Friday afternoon (even when I don't need them), and say "So, what are you guys doing this weekend?" as they pack up my purchases. They always smile and say they have plans or something like that.

I always smile back and say, "Gee, thanks. I hope you have a really nice weekend."

It never fails. We still have respect for each other, but I can tell they're (pardon the use of the next word) titillated. I always wonder what they are saying about me after I leave, or even what they are thinking. Maybe they just think I am the freak I am. But, they still love to see me the next time I drop in.

The next time is even funnier (to me). Several years ago, I had some serious surgery which requires me to take some medicine that can mess with my system. After the surgery, my doctor prescribed Viagra so there wouldn't be any "down time" (pun totally intended). It turns out, in case you were wondering, that the stuff is a wonder drug. Some women don't necessarily appreciate it, but all my guy friends are getting it now and love it. It's like our wonder drug. My beautiful pharmacists just gawk at me when I come to pick up the Viagra. One time, I even -- at room temperature -- exclaimed, "Is my Viagra ready?" Obnoxious? Not really, the way I said it... they could tell I was just kidding. It was damn funny. Guess you had to be there.

The pharmacists are now like my frat brothers in my frat house. We are members of a secret society, where they know everything about me based on the medicine I take. I know everything about them based on the way they react to my coquetry. Trust me, every time I flirt with them or talk to them, I learn more about their position in life -- their likes, dislikes; their wants and needs; their joys and sorrows.

We play out this routine quite often, as I am a frequent flier in the pharmacy. I often wonder what it's like for women to have to buy the condoms. Or, how do women handle buying tampons from a young male cashier? Or, do women buy lube? How do women deal with the sometimes embarrassing moments you have at the pharmacy? Do they, like me, make light of it? Or, in the end, is it just one huge hassle they'd rather burden the boys with?

Posted by Ike at 9:45 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

I am slowly learning a little cellphone etiquette. Like, for example, I turn the phone off or leave it in my car during dates. To me, it's just a sign of respect -- showing your date you are more interested in her than your buddy's crappy concurrent date. I walk outside with it when I receive a call at a restaurant. I turn it on "silent" or "vibrate" when I am in someone's home or at a social function or a party. Basically, I have re-trained myself. I used to walk and talk all the time. I would be the loudest one around. I would have my "beeper" (at the time) on the loudest and most annoying sound possible. By the way, I think cellphones should all play a universal and soothing sound, instead of a bunch of polyphonic hip-hop crap. Of course, then we'd all reach for our phones at the same time. But that would be a hell of a lot better than what I had to witness tonight.

The restaurant was unusually abuzz with customers, and it was a little difficult to hear yourself think. But, that doesn't mean -- in my humble opinion -- you should display your worst phone manners. Do you scream on the phone so your trivial thoughts can be heard by everyone in ear shot? Do you stand around a lot of people and let them hear your entire conversation which lasts a few minutes? Do you walk around the restaurant so everyone needs to hear about your latest degree or girlfriend or what have you? That's the type of obnoxious behavior I had to listen to and witness tonight. It was awful. It was like having Chatty Cathy talking your ear off.

In particular, this one man was walking back and forth talking about a ton of crap. He was loud, obnoxious, and incorrigible. I wanted to grab the phone from him and snap it shut. The way I see it, just because a restaurant is loud doesn't give anyone the right to invade my space with loud personal conversations. There are a ton of things I don't need to know, and many more I don't want to know.

In fact, sometimes I stare someone down if I can't handle their cellphone comportment. I just can't understand how come the call can't be taken outside or in another room. While, I'm at it, I can't stand people who grab their phones as soon as the airplane lands. You mean to tell me they can't wait until reaching the concourse? I promise nothing will happen from the time we land until the time we make it to the concourse. Come on! Help me out.

So, to review... Here are my 10 simple cellphone etiquette rules for 2006:

1. Use it only when you need it.
2. Try to keep your conversations to yourself. I don't give a damn about your life and issues.
3. Try vibrate sometime. Hell, you may even find you like it.
4. Restaurants, espeecially, are for dining with your friends, family, co-workers, etc. They're not meant for you to add another person to your group via cellphone.
5. Don't use it in the bathroom. That's just gross.
6. I know some of them make nice walkie-talkies, but all the time????
7. You don't need to have the loudest, most obnoxious ringtone (it's not a contest).
8. The camera function should not be used to take upskirt shots for your myspace page, or any other place. And, yes, I know this has happened.
9. Don't drive and dial (if possible) in states where that is still permitted.
10. Don't use it to cheat while you're gambling in Vegas. Yes, this happens. And, yes.. it can screw things up for the rest of us.

Now, there are always exceptions to the rules. There are always emergencies. But, in general, just keep the damn thing to yourself. My call is that it's just plain obnoxious.

Posted by Ike at 8:37 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

It's 55 questions long. Too much to think about. By popular demand, I have been asked to answer the following list of questions ....

1. What time do you get up? Whatever time Ike wakes me to go outside.
2. If you could eat lunch with one person, who would it be? Clinton, Bill.
3. Gold or Silver? Titanium
4. What was the last film you saw at the movies? maybe "Munich"... it has been so long
5. What is your favorite TV show? "Entourage"
6. What did you have for breakfast? A scone at Starbucks
7. Whom would you hate to be stuck in a room with? All of my exes at once.
8. What/who inspires you? My Mom
9. Beach, city or country? South Beach, Key West or Cuba
10. Favorite ice cream? Graeters
11. Butter, plain or salted popcorn? Buttered.
12. Favorite color? Cornflower blue.
13. What kind of car do you drive? Nissan Murano
14. Favorite Sandwich? Patty Melt in lieu of a cheesesteak at Geno's in Philadelphia
15. What characteristic do you despise? Cheaters.
16. Favorite flower? Lilies of the valley
17. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go? The Azores.
18. What color is your bathroom? Beige.
19. Favorite brand of clothing? Ermenegildo Zegna.
20. Where would you like to retire to? My Laz-ee Boy
21. Favorite day of the week? Hump Day
22. What did you do for your last birthday? I went to dinner at Parallax with my parents
23. Where were you born? Mt. Sinai
24. Favorite sport to watch on TV? Baseball.
25. Who do you least expect to (copy this)? The Company Bitch.
26. Person you expect to copy it first? Can't say.
27. What fabric detergent do you use? You'd have to ask my Mom.
28. Coke or Pepsi? Coca Cola Blak
29. Are you a morning person or a night owl? Both.
30. What is your shoe size? Like an 8.
31. What pets do you have? IKE!
32. Name as it appears on your birth certificate: Nigel Q. Vossap
33. Nicknames: N-Sap; The "Q"; NiVo (like TiVo)
34. Piercing: Yeah.... Uh, NO.
35. Eye color: Hazel
36. Favorite food: BBQ
37. Ever been to Africa: No.
38. Ever been to Europe: Nope.
39. Love someone so much it made you cry: Uggh, yes.
40. Been in a car accident: Fender benders.
41. Croutons or bacon: Croutons
42. Favorite restaurants: Parallax, Red, Matsu, Geraci's...
43. Favorite hot drink: Tea
44. Favorite fast food: Fatburger
45. Color of bedroom carpet: Beige
46. How many times did you fail your driver's test?: 0
47. Before this idea, who did you get a blog idea from?: My sister
48. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card?: Christ, just one? I'll choose Barney's.
49. What do you do when you get bored?: I blog.
50. Bedtime?: Depends who I am with
51. Ford or Chevy?: Whichever one has the most foreign parts and is made in America.
52. Last person you went to dinner with: Myself.
53. What are you listening to right now?: "The Tonight Show"
54. How many tattoos do you have: None.
55. Time I finished writing this list: 12:00 a.m. on the head.

Posted by Ike at 11:38 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

This may come as news to some of you, but there was a point in time when parents could not find out the sex of their baby. Ultrasounds did not exist as they do today. There was this element of surprise in the waiting room. Pink and blue bubble gum cigars were the norm during celebrations after finding out a baby's sex. Bottom line: Until the baby's bottom was out, you just didn't know what you were having.

So, my Dad and a family friend bet a steak dinner on my sex. If I was a girl, the friend won. If I was "Nigel", my Dad got to feast on a big Porterhouse. Sounds cool to me. But, alas, my story gets better.

It's the 1:00 p.m. hour, and the doctor gets my head out (I am trying not to be too graphic here). He announces to the crowd in the waiting room -- my grandparents, my Dad, family friends, et al. (hell, it seems like everyone was there for this Event) -- that it looks like I am a beautiful girl. He says just my head is out, but I am beautiful. (Okay, insert your comments here)

My Dad's friend begins to celebrate. He thinks he has won this steak dinner. Then, at 1:56 p.m., the rest of me enters the world. Oops! I may have been pretty, but I came with some serious plumbing. No female stuff here. Game over. My dad wins. Our family friend has to suck up and deal with the fact I am a boy, until he gets his own girl just weeks later. As for me, I am still traumatized my parents told me the story in the first place. I think they should have just lied, told me that there was a prehistoric ultrasound and they knew I was going to be a boy from day one.

Boy, oh boy. The things that can adversely affect our lives. Have a nice day, girls and boys.

Posted by Ike at 12:16 AM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Many people refer to today as a "Hallmark Holiday," another one of those days where card makers rake in a bunch of cash by coddling us with a myriad of cards for us to give to our dads. Right as it may seem, don't you think it wouldn't hurt to take one day out of 365 days to thank our fathers for what they have done for us? Of course, to be even-handed, many of us have fathers (and mothers for that matter) we would never want to claim as our own, and dread this day more than any other.

This is not the case for me. My Dad has been unbelievably giving and generous from day one. He invented a game we used to play when I was a child called "Pillow Boomy." He would sit at one end of his room holding a pillow in front of his chest. Then, he would bark out, "Pillow Boomy!" I would run, full speed ahead, and jump into his awaiting arms. Then, he was the strong tree in the family when my Mom was diagnosed (and thankfully survived) Hodgkin's when I was only 3-years-old. He taught me to hit, run, catch and throw. That was all nor naught, though, because I have the "creativity gene", and not the athletic one (which sucks sometimes). He guided me through some rough and rocky times. I can't begin to tell you how many times he saved my ass. He always used to say, "If you are telling the truth, we will always be here to help you out."

Five years ago, when I was a burned out TV producer, my Dad offered to let me come home and join him in business -- something that, for years, he said he never wanted to do. He always wanted me to go chase my own dreams. Now, he wanted me to come work with him. I jumped at the opportunity, because it meant getting to spend every day with him. I have learned that is not always the best thing in the world (because we can get at each other), but it is not the worst either. I have never been happier in work. I truly enjoy being around Dad every day, and I know he feels the same way about me.

Dad has had many interesting jobs that he talks about. He worked as a paper boy (in high school); he worked for the Cleveland Indians baseball club in marketing and ales back in the sixties (when there were only 17 people in the office, according to him); he worked for my mother's father in the plumbing and mechanical business; and then opened his own business which we run together now. And, like I said, he has stories for all of these jobs -- especially all the guys he hung out with in baseball.

Dad also has many friends -- some as far back as when he was born. He has golfing buddies; he has close ties to our family friends; he has even closer ties to members of his/our immediate family; and he has friends in business.

Like my Grandfather (his father this time) before him, I have seen people flock to Dad because he is a "people's person". He is someone that people love to hang out with and be around because he can always make you feel better about your lot in life. He can always make you laugh. He can almost always make you smile until it hurts.

And, he can always sit firmly, hold up that pillow, and scream "PILLOW BOOMY!"

Posted by Ike at 11:50 AM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

"You're better off."

Ever find yourself asking your friends and family, "How come you didn't tell me that while I was going out with him/her? It would have been so much easier."

The response, most likely is, "You have to make decisions for yourself, and we didn't want to interfere, and it isn't fair to you if we say something about someone you love..." BLAH FUCKING BLAH.

I can't remember any relationship I have ever been in where my friends and family don't come crawling out of the woodwork when it is over. They jump at the chance to take a swipe at the Ex. Are they trying to make me feel better? Are they trying to make themselves look clairvoyant? What is it that they are trying to accomplish by telling me "We never liked him/her anyway," or "They just weren't right for you." GREAT.

After the breakup, this always makes me feel so much better. Hell, I am at the point when I am pretty disappointed if they don't validate my feelings at the end of the day. By now, I am resigned to the fact they are not going to bail me out before I bail myself out. Could they say something during the relationship? NO. OBVIOUSLY NOT. They save the ammo for the end (in most cases). Yeah, they may nudge me once in a while, but I am too stubborn for it to make a difference.

Maybe that's why my friends and family use a congratulatory "You're better off" in the end. They know I'll never listen to them in the middle.

Posted by Ike at 7:04 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

I was fresh out of H2O the other night around 10:30, so I decided to go to the "Ghetto Grocery Store" down the street. It;s about the only one open close to me. Now, don't get me wrong. It's not really in the ghetto, but it is a "ghetto grocery store" compared to the other ones around here. I love going late at night because you can always count on finding society's miscreants and artistes. They lurk everywhere, and it's cool to listen to them and watch them. Call me the Ghetto Grocery Store Stalker if you will. Anyway, sometimes I engage these people in conversation -- especially when they see me peering into their grocery cart of goodies. So, Ghetto Grocery Store has cut down on late-night employees, and that means longer checkout lines because the express self-checkout has been shut down too, and only two lines remain open for dozens of late-night shoppers. It's kind of like getting to the amusement park too late, and the line to your favorite ride has been terminated. Check that. It's exactly like that. But, now you're stuck in line with these people, and there's nothing to do but grin and bear it if you can. As you know, I am a creature of habit, so there's no way I am leaving Ghetto Grocery Store without my stash of H2O. It's about all I drink, so I'll be lost without it. After all, I learned at WW that "the clearer the pee, the better for me." I am totally off track here. Focus, dammit. Focus. So I am in line and these two girls are behind me. They are extremely giddy and giggly, although not in a suspicious manner. I want to know what they are talking about. I need to know what they are talking about, so my Eavesdropping Ears pop up, and I hone in on their conversation. The one girl, obviously talking about her boyfriend, tells her friend, "I asked him if he wanted any ice cream or anything like that, and he said I was sweet enough for him." Now I start to laugh too. This must be one of the oldest tricks in the book. I am looking back at these two girls, grinning -- acknowledging my eavesdropping. She kept going about how great her boyfriend was. On and on. The line was long so I had to hear this for quite a few minutes. I am thinking to myself this boyfriend guy is such a TOOL. I pipe up, "You have this guy so whipped," after she continues to brag about all the things he does for her. I'm thinking the TOOL likes to get INTO THE SHED if you know what I mean. She begins to defend him. Referring to his comment about how sweet she was, I say "Don't you know we have these lines written down on a note card we pull out of our pockets for occasions just like this when you call us from the grocery store? It's just another one of our 'perfect' lines." Again, she defends him, all the while laughing with me because she knows she has found the Good Humor Man in line at the Ghetto Grocery Store. So, again I say, "Look, you have him so whipped. Wait, he's more than just whipped. He's whooped!" She laughed. Her friend laughed, and even the guy in front of me -- who had also turned on his eavesdropping ears laughed too. We continued to joke while we worked our way through the line. It was the stuff standup is made of. But hey, at the end, it's another victory for us. You bought our "tool" line -- hook, line and sinker.

Posted by Ike at 7:55 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

So what that it's 3:22 in the morning? I am a night owl when it comes to this stuff. Welcome to the new and improved Strange Places Strange Faces Blog. Pardon our dust while we continue to remodel in an effort to better serve you.

Posted by Ike at 3:25 AM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Nigel is HTML dumb. So, he learns about some software that could help save his ass and make his blog look better than any other. And, since Nigel has ego issues (as you all well know by now), he has to find this amazing stuff. So, Nigel goes to his friendly neighborhood CompUSA. For those "not in the know", CompUSA is this cool computer store with lots of computers, software, hardware, cameras and other crap. Nigel doesn't really go there that often, because he just gets by on his Sony VAIO computer, circa 2001. He is a creature of habit. But, I digress. Here's what happens:

Nigel finds the alleged software tutorials for HTML. Then, he is approached by Mr. CompUSA helper man, who is wearing his neatly washed red shirt and standard issue khaki pants. Mr. CompUSA helper man asks Nigel if he needs help. Now, Nigel, being a typical guy, wants help as much as he would stop at a gas station and ask for directions. But, this time, Nigel is in a bind. Remember, he wants his blog to look better than all others. So, there are like five programs available. So, he explains his situation to Mr. Helper Man and asks for some advice.

Nigel: "Which one will help me make a kick-ass blog?"
Mr. Helper Man: "Honestly, they're all crappy."
Nigel (in disbelief at this honesty): "What do you mean?"
Mr. Helper Man: "Look, go home, get on the web, use Google and you will find everything you need to know."
Nigel: "Wow. Thanks a lot."

Nigel has rarely if ever seen a store employee honest enough to tell him not to buy something in the store. Nigel saves a good 20-50 bucks and is happy as can be.

Now, Nigel goes home and gets on the computer. No luck. He can't figure out this HTML crap to save his life. Enter one of his favorite blogger buddies, Mere. She is sweet and kind and knowledgeable. Nigel uses all of this to his advantage, and Mere guides Nigel through the process. Now, at least he has links on his website. If yours is missing, it's an accident he will rectify. Just let him know, and he will gladly link you.

Posted by Ike at 9:44 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Here's a fresh little secret from your friend Nigel: I broke off my engagement earlier this year. I was supposed to get married in August. I loved "X", but I knew we could never have a happy life together even though we never really had a fight, were best friends, etc. It wasn't a case of cold feet. I just knew that marrying X would not be good for either one of us in the long run, so I made the toughest call of my life -- calling it off.

So, this week I have been plagued by Nigel-noia -- my own personal name for my paranoia. You see, even though X lives right around the corner from me, and even though we ended things as amicably as possible, I have not seen her since the breakup. We have spoken for just a few minutes since this whole thing took place.

So, the Nigel-noia thing is that every time I see her make of car, I think she is inside. And, I just want to avoid it. I am at the point where I am numb to what has happened, and I don't want to see or talk to her. Every time I see the Honda, I think she's behind the wheel. I do my best to get in another lane, or lag behind, or pull ahead. Anything but get stuck with her next to me at a light, or glaring at me as we are next to each other.

Now that I started thinking about it, I know I am destined to see her. Like I said, I have nothing to really say to her. I am happy that we have gone our own ways. I am pretty shocked that I haven't run into her yet, but happy about that too.

The moral of my Nigel-noia is that I should pay more attention to the real road, and less attention to that other road I didn't take when I broke things off earlier this year.

Posted by Ike at 9:23 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

I am a BOLD BLUE liberal. I am not a wacky one, but I am one who supports the DNC and its many causes including health, social services, education, the environment, women's reproductive rights, the budget, gay rights, and many more. Now, I have to admit I have CONSERVATIVE friends. Some of these nim-wits even voted for Bush, not once but twice! I still talk to them. I don't listen to any of their political propaganda, but I do have lunch with them from time to time.

So, here's what I am telling them today about one of their "favorite pundits". ANN COULTER IS ONE OF THE BIGGEST FUCKING ASSHOLES IN THIS COUNTRY, AND SHE OWES A HUGE APOLOGY TO THE WIDOWS OF 9/11 VICTIMS. She makes me sick. She is an asshole. And, I am about to explain why:

Here are some of the things Ann said in her new book "Godless: The Church of Liberalism", and here are some of the things she meant. By the way, this writer in no way condones trashing the first amendment. Coulter has just as much a right to write her book as I do to write my blog. However, her stuff is totally inflammatory. It is dangerous speech, and it must be stopped. IMMEDIATELY.

Coulter writes: " I've never seen people enjoying their husbands' deaths so much."

Coulter means: "Let's say I go out every night, I meet a guy and have sex with him. Good for me. I'm not married." (Geraldo Live 6/7/00)

Now, if that doesn't say something about Coulter's cavalier view on marriage, what does? She doesn't know the first thing about marriage or being a wife, so how can she pretend to know what it's like to be one of these widows? By her book's account, you would think all she wants to do is convert these widows to her lifestyle.

This selfish bitch, in referring to a group of New Jersey widows said they are acting as if the terrorist attacks happened only to them.

This is how she defended this crap when questioned about it by Matt Lauer on The Today Show last week:

LAUER: So if you lose a husband, you no longer have the right to have a political point of view?

COULTER: No, but don't use the fact that you lost a husband as the basis for being able to talk about, while preventing people from responding. Let Matt Lauer make the point. Let Bill Clinton make the point. Don't put up someone I am not allowed to respond to without questioning the authenticity of their grief.

LAUER: Well apparently you are allowed to respond to them.

Here is another example of her prose.

"And by the way, how do we know their husbands weren't planning to divorce these harpies?"

Bitch, bitch, bitch.

How can she be so presumptuous as to hypothesize that these women were planning to divorce their husbands? In 2002, the U.S. census bureau predicted that half of every American marriage will end in divorce. However, New Jersey (where these women are from) ranked 17th in the country for divorces, with only 3.5 divorces per thousand. Those numbers bode well for these widows, and not so well for Coulter. I may, at best, give her one divorce. But, to issue a blanket statement saying these women may have been planning to divorce their husbands (and by the way the men just happen to die in the worst terrorist attack on US soil) is pure bullshit.

And, Coulter is bullshit. I can not tell you not to buy her book, because that goes against my belief in the First Amendment. However, at the same time I CAN tell you that she is, was and always will be a waste of our time, money and airwaves.

I encourage you to read other bloggers entries on Ann.

Posted by Ike at 8:57 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

According to our records, yesterday was the first time since May 23, 2006 that no blog appeared in this space. We have kidnapped your blogger and are holding him for a very small ransom. If you ever want to read him again, make a short comment saying how much you enjoy him and which column you enjoyed the most. With any luck, he says he'll write about why Ann Coulter is such a c*nt or why we should have left the President's ass in Baghdad today. But, unless you bloggers respond, Nigel will be kaput.

Posted by Ike at 1:55 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

I love "Shrink Speak". It's the stuff I commonly refer to as psycho-babble bullshit. However, once in a while, some of the "stuff" resounds within me. So, I was pleasantly surprised when I heard the following: "When you speak with someone, people may not always remember what you say, but they will always remember how it makes them feel."

Deep Thinking. It's the grown-up version of "Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me." And, it's a damn good thing to think about. Here are some classic examples:

1. When you breakup with a boyfriend/girlfriend, the words may bounce off of them, but the feeling will stay with them for a very long time, if not forever.

2. When you use racist, sexist or otherwise bigoted remarks toward another individual. I don't necessarily remember why this kid called me a "kike", but I do remember the streak of anger that raged through me at the time.

3. Conversely, (in a good way), you may not remember the words surrounding the first time they say "I love you", but you will always remember that feeling that jumped inside of you.

4. Has anyone ever called you fat? You may not hear the words EXACTLY, but you can feel the scars for years.

5. Has anyone ever called you stupid? SAME THING.

Words can be like a bodkin or blanket to our souls. Sometimes they wound us, sometimes they comfort us. In the end, though, it's how we use those words that will be remembered...not just the words themselves. I am as guilty as anyone else of using words as either bodkins or blankets.

That's why we're taught that sticks and stones may really break our bones, but names WILL NEVER HURT US.

Posted by Ike at 11:44 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Appetizers are cool.

Posted by Ike at 5:55 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Here's how it works. For every new person you send to my blog who makes a comment, you get a point. The person has to make a reference to the fact you sent them to the site. That's how you get your point. In turn, they can also participate in the challenge. You can not vote for yourselves if you land here by accident. And, you can not vote for me if I directed you here. As the Challenge Creator, I can not win. The contest will end July 4. The blogger with the most points gets $50.00. It's that easy. This is a challenge that I am offering on my own. The rules and regulations are as stated above. Anyone is eligible. There is no such thing as "Void Where Prohibited." However, the prize will be paid in American Dollars. ANY QUESTIONS SHOULD BE DIRECTED TO MY E-MAIL ACCOUNT ON MY PROFILE PAGE.

Whoever said "You never have a second chance to make a first impression" wasn't kidding. That's why I always think a first date should be a mix of perfect things -- the right person, the right place, nice chemistry, good conversation, etc. Unfortunately, the right place is usually my downfall. You see, one of my greatest vices is a good meal. That means a nice restaurant. A nice restaurant usually means good spirits or a great bottle of wine. It means a shared appetizer or two. It involves entrees with names you can't pronounce. There is a rich dessert at the ending. Oh, and by the way, I NEVER EVER let the girl pay. So, the tab is never alarming, because I have dug my own grave with this behavior over the years.

So, what if the date doesn't work out? What if she never wants to see me again? What if my LEO grandiosity kills me? Was it a waste of time, a waste of money, both or neither? I submit that, in the end, I wasted some money. Now, if I count up all of those dates over the years, I have cost myself thousands of dollars. THOUSANDS. Not just hundreds. The worst part is I really have a lot of hole-in-the-wall/dive restaurants I enjoy more than anything else. But, in my pea brain, I have decided it won't be good enough for a first date.

Hell, we all know dinner and a movie is awkward for a first date, because you shouldn't sit in a movie theatre for two hours with someone you don't know that well. Going to a concert or a sporting event can be nice, but costly as well. Like I said, I would NEVER ask the girl to pay, so I am just S.O.L.

Bottom line. If you have a nice girl for me who likes fine dining and is willing to say she'll go on a second date with me before our first, send her along.

Posted by Ike at 10:50 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

The Internet is a very strange place.

For instance, I was just on one of those infamous dating websites where more than 13,000 people were on at the same time. I randomly happened to meet a girl from Denver whose father is a first cousin to my family's best friend. What a small world the Web can be.

Lately, I have been watching the Dateline NBC pieces on Internet predators -- men who take to chat rooms, find "alleged" teenage girls and set up to meet them only to be busted by the cops. Last night, it turned out one guy -- who was a 6th grade teacher, nonetheless -- set up a meeting with a "13-year-old." Now, the Internet has taken us into an age where sickos are truly exposed. myspace.com is probably one of the best sites out there for predators and the like. Those of you with kids can probably attest to the fact it is one of the first sites you want to block out because of its disgusting (at best) adult content (and I am no prude).

Then, there are some of my favorite places to visit -- places that I have found mostly through some strange Google searches. Check out the encyclopedia-of-sex.com. Here's a site that offers hundreds of slang terms for things some of us like to do. Hell, you can enter any term into Google and learn more than you wanted to about the subject. Sometimes, it freaks the hell out of me.

Want to find people, addresses, approximate birth dates and the like, try zabasearch.com. It lists a series of my addresses dating back to my time in Miami more than 10 years ago. Strange.

When I first went away to college, my roommate had AOL 2.0. We shared it. It cost next to nothing (if anything) at the time. There wasn't much out there 15 years ago, but it has obviously changed very quickly, and I am not sure that is for the good.

Is exposing some of the things that were already out there better for society or worse? Maybe we were better off when these people just did these things on their own. Maybe the Internet has given them greater access to manifest their perversions. I am not sure. I do know I spend way too much time on here, and I run into too many dicks. There are too many people on here who I would never count as friends. There are too many people on here that I would definitely look at as enemies.

This stupid Internet (sometimes) is definitely a case of buyer beware. If we spend too much time here, we may be held hostage. If we watch ourselves and those around us, we have a better chance of making our little Internet a better place.

By the way, doesn't anyone want to meet the challenge?


Here's how it works. For every new person you send to my blog who makes a comment, you get a point. The person has to make a reference to the fact you sent them to the site. That's how you get your point. In turn, they can also participate in the challenge. You can not vote for yourselves if you land here by accident. And, you can not vote for me if I directed you here. As the Challenge Creator, I can not win. The contest will end July 4. The blogger with the most points gets $50.00. It's that easy. This is a challenge that I am offering on my own. The rules and regulations are as stated above. Anyone is eligible. There is no such thing as "Void Where Prohibited." However, the prize will be paid in American Dollars. ANY QUESTIONS SHOULD BE DIRECTED TO MY E-MAIL ACCOUNT ON MY PROFILE PAGE.

Posted by Ike at 10:13 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Let's have some fun. I thought you might wonder what a personal ad would look like if I wrote it. I wonder what type of response I would get. Hmmm..... Here we go.

"26 y.o. short, hairy and obese man looking for love in all the wrong places. I need a non-BBW to please me. I just lost my job at a kinky toy store. I was caught stealing, but I still have plenty of toys for you. I have a big heart to go along with my 5'8" 320 lb. frame. I like to drink, smoke weed and eat green jello (it's an aphrodisiac). I like reality TV shows. My favorite is "Biggest Loser" about some fat people trying to get thin. I was once on TV for eating 27 hot dogs in a minute at Bert's hot dog stand. That was a record, until I broke it the next year with 28. The cameras weren't there for that. But enough about me. My ideal woman has a good job, no family, no friends, no one to judge me. She has a good job or a huge inheritance so I don't have to work anymore. She likes to have a lot of sex. She takes excellent care of her body. She is my polar opposite, except she can eat pints of ice cream with me and not get fat. She exercises. She has a college degree (I don't). Please contact me. I am so lonely, and I am the perfect guy for you."

That's pretty close to being my ideal personal ad. Think anyone would take it seriously? After all, there is NOTHING like the truth....

By the way, doesn't anyone want to meet the challenge?

Posted by Ike at 8:33 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

I am short by all means. That's 5'7" on a good day. I'm comfortable with this. It has been like this since grade school when I was always thrown in the front row of class pictures just so I could be seen. I was always the last one chosen for sports teams because everyone assumed my small stature meant I couldn't be as competitive as the big guys (they happened to be right in this case). But, most of my life, I have just been viewed as "the short guy." Now, I am cool with that to a point. You see, in my expert opinion, I think taller women should give me a chance to go out with them. (insert crass remark about being horizontal here)

After all, I once live with this woman who was 5'10", and we had a great relationship. She never looked at me as "the short guy", or her "short boyfriend." My best friend in 6'2"+. He has towered over me my entire life, and I am just used to it. But, I will never get used to being turned down by taller women just because I am short. This has been bothering me so much of late that I asked a female friend what the deal is.

"Women like taller men because it makes them feel more safe and secure."

Bullshit. You have got to be kidding me. If height, rather than our hearts have become the moral compass to feeling safe and secure than we have a real problem. Now, I know what you skeptics are thinking. Nigel is nuts. Perception is everything. Women just can't be with a shorter man. But, I have already proved that hypothesis to be untrue. So, if I have broken down the barrier once, why can't I break it down again?

Yes, I am short. But, I make up for it in a number of other areas that are equally or more important. Randy Newman sang that song, "Short People", in which he crooned, "Short people got nobody to love." Maybe what he really should have written was "Short people got nobody TALL to love."

Here's how it works. For every new person you send to my blog who makes a comment, you get a point. The person has to make a reference to the fact you sent them to the site. That's how you get your point. In turn, they can also participate in the challenge. You can not vote for yourselves if you land here by accident. And, you can not vote for me if I directed you here. As the Challenge Creator, I can not win. The contest will end July 4. The blogger with the most points gets $50.00. It's that easy. This is a challenge that I am offering on my own. The rules and regulations are as stated above. Anyone is eligible. There is no such thing as "Void Where Prohibited." However, the prize will be paid in American Dollars. ANY QUESTIONS SHOULD BE DIRECTED TO MY E-MAIL ACCOUNT ON MY PROFILE PAGE.

Posted by Ike at 5:19 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

I made a declaration today that surprised even Shrink.

"I can't help that I just want to be an asshole."

He was so taken aback that he had me repeat myself so he could scribble it down on that pad of paper he uses to take notes about me during our unusual conversations about everything from why I don't like cole slaw to why I like sitting alone in the corner of a fancy restaurant, dressed in a suit, assessing the other patrons around me.

I couldn't help myself from feeling proud about my accomplishment. After many years of therapy, I think this is the first time anyone ever stopped me to repeat a quote. Hell, I've had female therapists squirm while I describe sexcapades in sordid details. I've had many other strange conversations with current Shrink, but this one just took the cake today. Either that or he was in a really unusual mood and I hit him at the right moment. Either way, I have been delighted the rest of the day.

However, there is something wrong here. Do I really want to be an asshole? What will it accomplish? How will I be perceived by those around me? In fact, why do I have this idea in the first place? (These are some questions he put into my head.) The answer, right now, is yes. I want to be an asshole because to me it is the only way that I can get things done, and the only way that people will understand when I mean business. I explained to said Shrink that it was how I worked my way up the ladder as a TV producer, and that lately I have felt stymied as a construction executive. He still wasn't buying it.

Look. I do community service. I volunteer for a number of charities. I have a lot of friends. I think I am generally well liked, so why can't I be that asshole? What makes it impossible or improbably for me to live separate but equal lives. Some of us have two families. Others lead different lives at night. Some work two different jobs. It's all about persona. I want to have personae just like everyone else. It's just that I want to end up as an asshole humanitarian.

See, "I can't help that I just want to be an asshole."

Is that too much to ask for?

Posted by Ike at 11:25 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

Posted by Ike at 10:45 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

I always like to tease you guys, so check it out....

Later today, learn more about my forthcoming blog, "Eat, Drink, Have Sex", plus how you can win $50 for playing the "Strange Places Strange Faces" Challenge.

Come back later today (Sunday) and I'll explain everything in detail.

Posted by Ike at 5:49 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

With respect and admiration for a fellow blogger, I offer you the following: (idea courtesy of Stephanie's Song of the Day)

I
I AM: home alone on another Saturday night.
I SAID: "I miss her" when I really don't.
I WANT: people to understand me.
I WISH: Big Box stores didn't chase all the Mom and Pops away.
I MISS: Uncle Lenny.
I HEAR: the speed of traffic outside my window.
I WONDER: if the "Right One" will ever come along.
I REGRET: nothing.
I AM NOT: afraid of commitment.
I DANCE: like Fred Astaire.
I SING: in the shower only.
I CRY: more often than you might imagine.
I AM NOT ALWAYS: kind to others.
I MAKE WITH MY HANDS: gourmet meals.
I WRITE: for enjoyment.
I CONFUSE: one twin with another.
I NEED: to remember the important things in life.
I SHOULD: have more patience.
I START: making differences.
I END: with a bang!

Visit Stephanie's site, and view her list from 31 May. It's poignant, as well as some of her other entries.

Posted by Ike at 9:24 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

This is part of a continuing series begun on April 21, 2006. I hope you enjoy.

The car is running
on a crappy snowy day
Is George Clooney cold?

I have a pink tongue
stuck to a frozen lamp post
My dog is barking

What is the girl's name
who likes to play in the leaves
the paper has lines

I hear funky tunes
It smells like a springtime rain
What is for dinner?

You must be joking
The girl eats green eggs and ham
Fall is not winter

I like to snow ski
My girlfriend is beautiful
if she existed

The flag is waving
I see the ice cream melting
Scratch my damn back please

She parties too much
It is so freezing outside
What am I to do?

Do you eat peanuts?
Baseball should be played on grass
That girl smokes a joint

Is he up or down?
I know when bluebirds fly high
Go eat a hot dog

The sex was divine
My car broke down on the ice
My blog is funny

The hurricane hit
Chili peppers make me sneeze
Lick that lollipop

She never calls me
The parking lot is flooded
My hair is curly

The waves hit his toes
I know that they were in love
I like your cartoon

You are a sucker
Get your barbecue items
Go see a movie

Let's make out right now
I like playing in Fall leaves
I played with the dog

Do not chastise me
Stone Crab is best at New Year's
I never loved you

AND FINALLY.......................

I really love you
It is the dead of winter
Now I drink alone

Posted by Ike at 3:53 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

I know. Two blog entries in one day. It's a lot of work. But, I was just thinking. I have been reading a lot of blogs lately, and they seem to be riddled with sexual frustration and tension. Maybe that's why we blog. Anyway, I have some advice for people.... as always, UNSOLICITED. Check it out: When you are done fornication (I love that word), don't ever ask "Was it good for you?" What a stupid question. The answer is always going to be "Yes." So don't be stupid. Don't put yourself through the task of getting some look from your partner like it sucked. And, if it truly did suck, and you have had any experience whatsoever, you should know. And, while I am at it, don't start telling your partner "This IS the BEST SEX I HAVE EVER HAD" right in the middle. Usually, that's bullshit. I know. I have used that false line before.... totally doesn't work. Finally, when you're all done, just don't talk about it. Be happy that it happened, and hope that it will happen again (and maybe even be better the next time).

Posted by Ike at 9:58 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery

The strangest thing happened to me yesterday. My normal routine when entering my home after work is to call out Ike's name. For those of you just joining my blog, Ike is my amazing nine-year-old Rottweiler. He's my best pal.

So, yesterday I dropped to my knees inside the door and called out Ike's name, hoping to get a little love. After all, it was a long day; Ike is very attentive and affectionate; Ike is very bright; Ike absolutely loves me.

So, it came as a great surprise to me when I called out his name, he started for me as he always does, but just kept on going. WTF? Can you believe that? I was dissed by my own dog. That is what my life has come to.

What ever happened to Man's Best Friend? Mine just passed me up for some food and water that was sitting there for him all day. Seems some things are more important than others.

Posted by Ike at 9:33 PM | Permalink | From the Peanut Gallery