A for effort?

It’s no secret I am not the biggest fan of the politicians in South Carolina. They continually do bone-headed things and make poor decisions. I do have to give some credit (albeit minimal) to Senator Jim DeMint.

I took exception to two things he has done, especially his voting against the so-called Franken Amendment. For more background on the issue, check out this old entry.

I sent an e-mail to both Senators DeMint and Lindsay Graham. It took four months, but DeMint (or more likely, someone in his camp) actually responded. The following is his response:

“Thank you for contacting me about the Franken Amendment to the Fiscal Year 2010 Defense Appropriations Bill.  I appreciate you taking the time to contact me about this important matter.

Like you, I believe that sexual assault is one of the most heinous and unjustifiable crimes. I support the tough prosecution of laws to provide justice for victims and prevent future occurrences.  As a husband and father, I consider rape indefensible and believe guilty parties should be punished to the full extent of the law.

The Franken Amendment was designed around the case of Jamie Leigh Jones, who was sexually assaulted at work and mistakenly believed that the arbitration agreement with her employer prevented her from having a court hearing.  However, the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals ruled that the agreement did not prevent her from taking her employers to federal court.  Additionally, the Court ruled that arbitration clauses are between two parties and cannot prohibit the prosecution of crimes.

I voted against this amendment because our laws already protect victims of sexual assault. The real intent of the Franken Amendment was to prevent the Department of Defense from paying companies with existing contracts if those companies use arbitration, an idea that has been promoted at the encouragement of trial lawyers for years. Senator Franken was given the opportunity to rewrite the amendment so that it focused on rape prevention, but he refused. It should be noted that under President Obama, the Department of Defense opposed the Franken Amendment as well.

Thanks again for sharing your views with me.  Rest assured that I will do everything in my power to keep American families safe from violent crimes.  Please contact me again in the future about anything important to you or your family.  It is an honor to serve you and the people of South Carolina.

Sincerely,
Jim DeMint
United States Senator”

So, he gets credit for responding and at least feigning interest in what I had to say. I completely disagree with his “real reason” he voted against the amendment, but he tried.

Clamming Up

I hope you all had a great weekend. Mine was pretty fun. I woke up early on Sunday to prepare for Oysterfest!!

For various reasons, I missed the last two festivals dedicated to everyone’s favorite mollusk. I was quite excited and prepared (read: drank) nice and early. There’s something special about downing a Bloody Mary and beer well before noon. Part of the reason I drank so early was because that’s kind of how this event is seen – a drinking party with Oysters, but really I did it because that was the only way I was going to survive getting up that early for this type of event. (See this post if you are new here).

Luckily, I was feeling pretty good once it was time to leave. I met up with CF and hit the road to Mt. Pleasant and Boone Hall Plantation. Once there, we promptly met up with KT, Booze, and Fun Bobby (who was visiting for the weekend). We grabbed some beers and rounded up a bucket of Oysters.

I hadn’t had oysters in years, so I wasn’t sure if I was going to like them, so I was pleasantly surprised when I did! I got pretty good at shucking and downed a bunch of oysters while I chatted with Fun Bobby and CF. Meanwhile, KT and Booze impressively started a flip cup tournament in the middle of the festival.

All-in-all my first Oysterfest was a great success. I wish it wasn’t as cold as it was, but otherwise I had a blast.

My Own Worst Enemy

I’ve done everything in my power to resist it, but the signs are everywhere.

Somehow, someway, against all odds, I am growing up.

I just got a little dizzy typing those unholy four words.

I am in no way mature, but the changes from just a few short years ago are quite striking.

If 22-year-old me saw what he’d become at the age of 26 he’d probably try to kill himself. Well, first he would roll back over and sleep off his hangover until 3 pm, think about ending it all after seeing such a bleak future, decide that would require way too much work, play some video games instead, go party with friends and convince himself he is way too awesome to ever turn out so super lame.

WHY 22-YEAR-OLD ME HATES 26-YEAR-OLD ME

CLOTHES
22: tight, vintage t-shirt picked up at the Salvation Army (the more obscure, the better), hemp necklace, jeans, studded belt, baseball cap. Would not be caught dead in preppy-like clothing
26: Something from American Eagle

WORK CLOTHING
22: For the summer job – old T-shirts and shorts. For radio/TV – long sleeve shirt and khakis
26: Shirt and tie

TIES?
22: Constricting and lame
26: Classy and awesome

HAIR
22: If not covered by a hat, I would attempt to spike my hair or attempt fun things like a mohawk. I would go from the extreme of quite shaggy to a close buzzcut randomly
26: Relatively short, rarely styled and definitely not adventurous

FACIAL HAIR
22: Constantly growing it out and loves the shaggy feel
26: Shave 1-2 times a week

JOB
22: Summer job that paid for beer during the school year and on-campus jobs with student-run radio, TV, and newspaper groups. Dreams of working in the media field and swears he could care less what he makes, as long as he’s happy.
26: Entering fourth year of “temporary” job that has nothing to do with my major. It’s pretty good pay, but I have no love for what I do.

DRINKING HABITS
22: Party as many nights as possible. The more people, the better. Loved playing beer pong and various other games. Would drink well into the morning on numerous occasions.
26: Party once-a-week (maybe). I prefer small, quieter settings with friends. Get tired by 2 am. Never play drinking games anymore.

HANGOVERS
22: Nonexistent
26: Sometimes lasting two days

FEELINGS TOWARD AUTHORITY
22: DAMN THE MAN!
26: Yes, sir!

MUSIC
22: Tastes varied, but was a huge fan of punk (and related) music. I was always scouring the web for new, underground bands. Music was always downloaded illegally
26: Taste is still varied, but I am hopelessly out of the loop. Almost always buy music.

BEST FRIENDS
22: A great group of rowdy guys who were always looking to cause trouble
26: My dog

RECENTLY VISITED LOCALES
22: San Diego, New Orleans, Tampa
26: Work, Connecticut

EXTRA MONEY IN MY POCKET GOES TO…
22: Beer, concerts
26: Savings, but occasionally an unnecessary purchase.

GRAY HAIRS
22: Zero.
26: More than zero

As you can see there a few instances where my inner 22-year-old still manages to shine through. I just hope he doesn’t continue to disappear

The One Where I Moved to the Ghetto

I’ll never be confused for someone who has expensive taste in…well, anything.

Admittedly, the older I’ve gotten (read: got a job that pays money) the more “nice” things I may get, but I would never be confused with Don Draper.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I am super sexy just like him. And I have woman fawning over me just like him. And I’m drunk a lot like him. So, I guess sometimes I could be confused with him.

In any event, one thing I am is easy-going. I don’t like to get worked up over anything or over think things too much. This of course leads to spontaneous (read: unnecessary) purchases, last minute plan making, and completely under-thought, poorly executed plans.

With that in mind, we rewind to a few months ago, when I up and decided I needed to move. Why? I’m sure I had my reasons at the time. I think I had some vague plan to save money, get more space, and get a place with a fenced in backyard for the dog. I didn’t really care where this place was, as long as it was close to work and fit the aforementioned criteria.

Magically, I found a place that fit that description, checked it out, and signed my name on the proverbial dotted line. Soon after I was moving out of my nice, new apartment and into a duplex that was clearly built before I was born. We’ll call it vintage.

I have two bedrooms, 1.5 baths, a giant kitchen (you know, for all the cooking and lavish dinner parties I throw), and the backyard for the furry one (my dog, perverts). Oh, and a new found worry that I’m going to get robbed, raped, stabbed, or forced to choose sides between the Bloods and Crips. And who knows, the Latin Kings may throw their hat in the ring too. I’m leaning Crips, because I think I look better in blue, but it’s not a fashion show, it’s all about what they stand for, you know? Decisions, decisions.

Despite the title of this journal and that last paragraph, I’m pretty happy with my decision and if I can ever get a roommate, I will save SO MUCH money. And just think, all that saved cash can be put towards this sweet gun I have my sights on. I know, I know..I’m just getting it to fit in, but the peer pressure in the hood is fierce. Plus, my neighbor just got a sweet pistol with the serial number scratched off and EVERYTHING and I mean, it’s just soooo me, you know?

Honestly though, my new neighborhood isn’t that scary. It’s more “trashy ghetto” than “Hey, I just saw my first dead body” ghetto.

And now, I present a list of evidence to support my claim:

1. My neighbors have about 18 trash bags piling up in their backyard. They claim it’s just for the ambiance of the neighborhood, but I think they just maybe be lazy…and white trash.

2. I saw a pregnant lady smoking on her front porch. In all fairness, she could have just been fat.

3. When I left for work the other day (around 10 am because I had a mid-shift), all my neighbors were outside hanging out. It was a Wednesday.

4. People have couches on their porches. And one very eclectic neighbor of mine has a baby swing hanging from their porch.

5. The front yards are generally “spruced up” by shrubs surrounded by cinder blocks

6. All the houses are predominately made of brick.

7. There is a trailer park in my backyard. Granted there is a small batch of trees and a couple fences that separate us, but really that’s not enough distance.

8. Beer cans appear to be the lawn ornaments of choice.

9. My first piece of mail? A Capri Sun container..sans the tasty drink.

I’ve been here for 9 days. So, I’m sure this list will grow. I’ll be sure to keep you guys on the interwebs posted on my ghetto new home.

Passing the buck

I’m all moved into my new place, but I still have plenty of work to do. I won’t have internet for a while, so I probably won’t have any actual posts during that time. Devastating, I know.

To hold you over I am providing some links to some freakin great blogs I found over the last few weeks. Enjoy!

More is Better

Martinis or Diaper-Genies?

The Self-Proclaimed Long Shot

xkellyx

Musing of My Journey

rantandraver

I AM MAN!!!!

People do a lot of quirky things. Traditions, mannerisms, sayings…the list goes on. We just do some weird ass stuff. Ya know, like holding a cleaver in your Facebook picture.

One of these oddities is the proverbial handshake. The act, in and of itself, is strange enough, but the approach some men take bring it to a whole other level. And that level is super douchey.

Handshakes should not be a big deal.  Handshakes are meant to be a relatively quick in-and-out procedure (that’s what she said). For some reason there are guys out there who take this as an opportunity to prove their manliness.

I hate it when some dude goes to shake my hand and then attempts to break every single bone. What the Hell is the point? I don’t think you are any more of man than me. No women in the vicinity have any idea what you are doing (unless they could hear my faint whimpering as my hand crumbles into a pile of dust), so they aren’t impressed. I just don’t get it.

What makes these already awkward exchanges turned strongman competition even worse is the when the guys refuses to let go. This makes our handshake borderline hand-holding. Why do you feel the need to crunch my hand and then hold it tight so I can’t escape for the next 30 seconds? I’m willing to bet if I called you out on this attempt at holding my hand, you’d pull away REAL quick lest you be seen as less of a man than you think you are.

I know girls probably don’t run into this issue that much, but I have a related beef for them..

What is the proper protocol when being introduced to a girl for the first time? Handshake? A polite nod and smile? Other?

When I’m meeting a colleague at work, a handshake is the proper option. But what do you do when you are out with friends?

Thoughts?

Cute Without the ‘E’

Admittedly, my blog has been less than exciting lately.

I can’t guarantee this entry will bring any excitement back, but it will at least be embarrassing for me. Which means happiness for you.

You know all those awesome scenes in movies where the dorky, less-than-smooth guy, has the “oh-my-God-I-wish-that-happened-to-me-in-high-school-or-college” sexy-time moment with the super hot chick? Yea, those things don’t ever happen in real-life. Well, not to me anyway.

I don’t go out seeing how many numbers I can score. Girls don’t hit on me at bars. And I certainly don’t get the hot foreign exchange student stripping in my bedroom thing happening either.

So, anytime anything remotely awesome happens with a girl, it’s a big deal to me.

Which leads us to today…

I was working with a customer when one of our greeters comes up to me and hands me a business card. The greeter says, “Some girl who just left wanted me to give this to you.” Clearly confused, I grabbed the business card. The card had some girl’s name and phone number on it. And at the top was a a little message – “Your Hot”

Bad grammar aside, this was pretty awesome. At first, I thought it was a trick my coworkers were playing on me, but after I talked to the greeter she convinced me it was true. Apparently, this girl was being helped by one of my coworkers, grabbed his business card, wrote the note and handed it to the greeter because I was working with someone else at the time.

I never saw this girl, so I had no clue if she was hot, ugly, 14, or 87.

I, of course, assumed it was Megan Fox’s less famous, but much hotter sister. I also envisioned she was waiting for me outside in some sexy lingerie with a Zaxby’s chicken finger plate and a Landshark for me. What? It could happen.

Back in the real world, I had no intention of calling the girl because any girl that thinks I’m hot is clearly blind..or drunk..or desperate…or all of the above. Despite this, it still made me feel good and I knew it would make for a good story.

Of course, the story got better.

When I got home, I told Booze about it and we decided we had to look her up on Facebook. Although I knew this was probably going to ruin my Megan Fox-with-food-and-beer fantasy, I searched for the mystery woman.

Soon after, I found her profile. It was mostly blocked to non-friends, but her picture was visible. I couldn’t quite make out her face, but I determined she probably wasn’t a hotter version of Megan Fox. Before I could come to any actual conclusions about her level of attractiveness, I noticed something in her hand that was taking over much of her picture. It kinda looked like a mirror – it was shiny and had a reflection in it. I leaned in closer to my computer screen. Squinting, I tried to figure out why the Hell she was holding a mirror..

Much to my horror, I realized it was, in fact, NOT a mirror but a…wait for it…

CLEAVER.

Yes, a fucking huge-ass cleaver! As in, “Hey, I’m the type of thing Dexter Morgan would use to chop up his victims into little pieces before tossing their diced body parts into the ocean” kind of cleaver.

Only me…only me.

My Civil War

Connecticut vs. South Carolina in the PapaJohns.com Bowl today! Can’t wait!

Somebody’s Gonna Miss Us

I have been in a huge funk since Christmas. This was second (out of three since I’ve moved) Christmas that I could not make it home to see my family. I was already pretty bummed out about that, but as the day went on, my mood worsened.

My parents and brother called me in the morning so we could open our presents to each other “together,” which I know is a little dorky, but I don’t care, so shut up. Jerks.

The rest of my day was spent watching TV, playing with the dog, and playing video games. Normally, this would be an incredible day off from work, but I really wanted to be around people – especially my family. Between missing my family and having my job own my ass during the holidays, I was pretty damn emo.

Even though Christmas was days ago, my attitude really hasn’t improved. I’ve been thinking a lot about growing up, the next step in my life (which I’ve been struggling to take), and just what’s going on in my little bubble of a life.

I watched a DVD on Christmas day that really hit home. My parents got me a DVD called “Somebody’s Gonna Miss Us” – it’s a documentary about a pop-punk band called The Starting Line. The band decided to call it quits after 8 years together.

Now, I know what you are thinking: What the Hell does that DVD have to do with your life?

Well, I’ve always felt I could relate to the band. Their music was a big part of my life during my first 2-3 years in college, plus the guys in the band are all about my age. After having some modest success during my college years, the band slowly started to disappear.

It was sad to see them all talking about the end of the band and not having an idea what was next. You always assume people in bands have it completely made, but guys in these smaller bands are closer to you and me than actual rock stars. They may have seen a glimpse of “the life,” but when it’s all said and done they need to get real jobs and go back to reality.

Seeing a band I cared about so much in that light, added to my mood. It was depressing to see. It was another reminder about how hard it is to do what you love in life. Even if you get a chance, it’s no guarantee to last.

A lot of things the guys talked about in the documentary reminded me of things in my own life. It’s just been weighing on me a lot more than I thought it would.

I know that’s kinda lame and I should just suck it up and get over it, but I’m just having a hard time shaking this mood.

This is for my Charlestonians

Anyone who currently lives in or around the Holy City (or has at one time) should go vote in the Charleston City Paper’s Best of Charleston 2010. This is always a fun piece, so be sure to contribute!