Archive for the ‘unhealthy behaviors’ Category

thank you carlos quentin

September 12, 2008

for breaking your wrist in a fit of rage not unlike the one that resulted in my broken hand. Now instead of people telling me “you’re an idiot” they say “you’re like Carlos Quentin” which at least makes me feel not alone, and if I have to be in a White Sock’s company, so be it. The other good news is that the cast will likely come off in three weeks, 4 days before my high school reunion. I don’t particularly want to go to the reunion. I could have stayed in touch with these people if I wanted to and Facebook gives me all the “what are you up to these days” information anyway. But it is two el stops away from my apartment so I feel like I should go. Still – $90 to drink at Rock Bottom? My shitty fraternity had a formal there for half that.

In other news I bought ski boots.

That is all.


bill roentgen appreciation day

August 26, 2008

Went to the hand doc today who took x-rays and it looks like I won’t need a pin. I am now in something they called a clamdigger cast, which is great, because nobody digs clams like I do. The only bad thing about this cast is it will not get through my suit coat sleeve, so I have to go to depositions with one sleeve on and the other side draped over me like I am a crippled soldier or fucking James Brown doing the cape routine.

Before that I was at a new dentist. They also took x-rays (of my teeth). I have not been for two years. That is because my last dentist was a eastern European stone cold bitch who made me feel like a periodontal Pol Pot because of the bad shape my gums were in. She told me i had ACUTE NECROTIZING ULCERATIVE GINIVITIS which had led to bone loss and scared the living fuck out of me. When I told my new dentist that he laughed. “You’ve never had it. You would have had pus coming out of your mouth and your breath would smell a mile away. In 7 years at this location I’ve never seen a case of it. That’s ridiculous. Your gums are the same as 9 out of 10 people out there.” So I have some mild gingivitis but they gave me some chlorhexidine mouthwash to take care of it.

I am so pissed at that former dentist, and my wrath is threefold:

  • I do not like being lied to,
  • I missed a week of drinking because I was on unnecessary antibiotics including metronidazole which will KILL YOU IF YOU HAVE ONE SIP OF BEER while on it. Allegedly.
  • My dramatic blog post about that dentist visit, from my last blog, which I thought was very clever, is now completely vitiated. However I reproduce it here, in the hopes that somebody will finally enjoy my Phil Niekro joke:
Cheerful Update
Went to the dentist, finally. I have what’s known, colloquially, as “trench mouth,” which is not to be confused with “gutter mouth,” with which I am also afflicted. Any kind of excavation-mouth, I have it.

Trench mouth sounds better, to me, than “acute necrotizing gingivitis” which is what the dentist called it.* Apparently the condition is caused by stress. Severe stress. The kind of stress you might experience if you were sitting in a trench in WWI and shells were exploding and limbs were falling off and your buddies were rotting in the mud next to you, hence the name.

I’m trying to figure out where this particular stress in my life came from. People who know me know I worry about just about everything but really the worrying has been better than it used to be. I’ve had this gum problem for months now. I must have been more stressed in Virginia than I thought, even though I didn’t basically do anything for the whole time I was there. Including brushing my teeth properly, I guess. I don’t know. Is a general malaise = stress?

The best part is, it’s the first time in a while where I’ve already booked myself two social events in one weekend, and I can’t drink because I’m on antibiotics.

*Not to be confused with “acute niekrotizing gingivitis,” in which you start to develop knuckles on your gums.

So then the third big thing today was the first of my two fantasy football drafts. This year I did something different, which is, actually prepare for the draft. Usually I just sort of have a loose list in my head based on faulty memories of last season and watching Bears preseason games. Not this year. This time around I cooked up a massive spreadsheet that calculated both the 2007 actual player value based on my fantasy league’s scoring, and the projected 2008 value based on professional predictions. I then took the 2007 value, and ran a sort of ghetto mean regression based on the values found on this site.

I didn’t stick to it rigorously, because of issues like bye weeks, subsequent trades, intuition, contrary conventional wisdom and naturally the latest injury reports, which of course once again involve x-rays, and thus I have my theme for this post.

This was a keeper league where you could keep up to 4 players but I only kept 2 due to some fucktarded trades at the end of last year, including Jamal Lewis for Vince Young, which as you can see, I remedied:

The keepers were Westbrook and Hoshamazoli. I am feeling optimistic about Witten, who I had, in my spreadsheet, as ranked even above Gates, Kellen Winslow, and Tony Gonzalez (who went surprisingly low). I would have liked to have gotten Rashard Mendenhall but I am happy about Rice. Anyway. The other league is 14 teams which is much deeper than I’m used to; that draft is next week.

EDIT: For the first time ever I have drafted a team with NO BEARS on it. This was on purpose.

the broken hand post

August 18, 2008

If you are ever playing a soccer game, and defending a corner kick, and your goalie yells “back post” and you are not covering somebody, please get your ass on the back post. This way, you prevent a guy from crashing the back door and zipping the ball past your goalkeeper at point-blank range.

It’s very frustrating for a keeper.

Frustrating enough for him to punch the goalpost. Hard. Which is why my hand is in a cast today.

Fifth metacarpal is broken. It is what is called a boxer’s fracture. There was no bullshitting the doctor. I said something to the effect of “I was playing goal and my hand hit the goalpost.” He looked at me and said “OK, it hit the goalpost or YOU hit the goalpost.” The orderly who was nearby related how he got his boxer’s fracture by punching a couch. This made me feel like less of an idiot.

I have some hydrocodone but am reluctant to take it at work. If I do I will report on wacky side-effects.

Couple of things I am already sick of:

  • “Well you shouldn’t have done that!”
  • “I thought you played soccer with your feet!”
  • “The goalpost will usually win that one!”

If you are feeling particularly funny and purposely tell me one of these things, in person or in the comments, I am seriously going to tubgirl you.

On a completely unrelated note, I was searching for video of Bela Karolyi watching the all-around and cheering for the US while he was “off-air” – couldn’t find the original but found the same bit with the all-around video replaced with video of turtles humping, which is surprisingly SFW and so, so, so much more hilarious.

a letter to chili’s

July 21, 2008

Situation Has Deteriorated Enterprises, Inc.
Department Of Major Fucking Grievances

Todd E. Diener
President, Chili’s Grill & Bar
6820 LBJ Freeway
Dallas, TX 75240

July 21, 2008

Dear Admiral Asshat:

Jesus H. Sharkfucking Christ in a lunchbox.

What in the name of Nebuchadnezzar’s pisshole are you thinking? I fucking went to your fucking restaurant on fucking Saturday for the only fucking reason I ever fucking go there which is to have an Awesome fucking Blossom. I ordered it right after I ordered my drink. But it is fucking gone. It is not on the menu anymore. It has been banished to the realm of shadows.

Do you think I go to your soulless husk of a restaurant for your fajitas or tacos or quesedillas? No, I can get salmonella at Taco Bell for a third of the price. Do you think the El Presidente margarita is some kind of draw? No, you miserable taintlicker, it is not. The Presidente tastes like it’s already been pre-filtered through Cheech Marin’s kidneys.

Where is your fucking obnoxious ad campaign, announcing your insane decision, to save me the trouble of visiting your cookie-cutter establishment? You know, with the whole crew, and instead of singing the old jingle “Chiliiii’s – babyback ribs” you can sing “Chili’s – awesome blossom is gone” and the bass voice that says “barbeque sauce” can now say “go fuck yourself. ” People will get the drift, then.

And you know, the hostess even heard me talking about my craving while I waited for a table and she kept her mouth shut. I pray to Vishnu that she will burn in hell for her sin of omission.

Is this the result of the New York thing, requiring restaurants to show how many calories are in each item? Guess what! I know that the Awesome Blossom has 2700 Christ-humping calories. CALORIES ARE DIRECTLY PROPORTIONAL TO DELICIOUSNESS. And even if I didn’t know the exact number, I am grown-up enough to realize that when you take something and slice it into its thinnest possible components and then CAKE EACH TINY PIECE IN FRIED GOODNESS, it is not a positive choice for a heart-healthy lifestyle. I CAN MAKE THAT CHOICE FOR MYSELF, YOU CRYPTOFASCIST MOUNTEBANK

I don’t want to eat at your shitty establishment every week. But God-damn-ass-crap-it, when I want an Awesome Blossom, I sure as shitballs should be able to get one.

Maybe this decision was not yours, personally, but you are the captain of this particular epicurean Titanic, so I fault you. And now that I think about it, I am going to follow-up and investigate whether you are involved in other recent wrongs I have suffered, viz., 1) the closing of the Burger King on North Ave., 2) the closing of Cactus (which by the way had better quesedillas) with nothing being built in its place 3) my Red Line stop has been closed on weekends for like a year now.

If you want to contact me I’ll be at fucking Outback Steakhouse eating Bloomin Onions because the fake Australians have retained, for the time being, a little bit more man-juice in their metaphoric scrotums than you and your fake Mexicans, or fake Arizonans, I can never really tell which you are supposed to be.

Warmest Regards,


cc: Barack Obama

Related: sign the unofficial petition to bring back the Blossom.
Sort of related throwback: my slightly less furious tirade against Burger King regarding the onion ring in the fries issue.


recipe of the day

March 14, 2008

Sometimes it is hard to think of stuff to blog about, especially as I am reticent to publicize my (failed) relationships with, you know, females. But as I sail through the blogipelago, I frequently find inspiration in other blogs. For example I have noticed that the lady bloggers frequently blog about their cooking, e.g., wife of my law school buddy made something chocolaty with berries. So I said shit, I should do that, give my new readers a little insight, a little taste, a ha ha, if you will, of what it is like to dine at my apartment on a fine near-spring evening. So here we go. This is a recipe that my mom used to make and, you know, it’s just kind of stuck with me over the years, I think it is good to hold on to traditions, you know, pass them down, maybe someday I will pass this recipe down to my offspring, should I break the lifetime streak of failed relationships mentioned above, or, hnur, if something else breaks in the interim.

For my slower readers, that last bit was about condoms breaking, and illegitimate children.

Anyway. The recipe. What is it? I have seen many versions online, but I like to use the one directly below, not only because of its three short steps, but also due to the ancient pictogram format. Pictograms are always a sensible call. “If it’s good enough for ancient Mesopotamians, it’s good enough for me,” is what I always say. Perhaps this recipe comes to us, through the ages, from Gilgamesh himself:


Steps one and two are simple enough. Just boil some pasta and drain it as you normally would. But after that’s done, it’s time for the secret ingredient:


Oops! That’s uranium oxide, aka yellowcake. (Do I need to tell you what the fuck you can do with an aluminum tube?). This is what I actually put in my dinner:


I don’t know how I got those two mixed up! Wacky. Now, to tell a secret, I kind of deviated from the recipe here. I don’t actually have any milk in my apartment because it goes bad quickly. EVERYTHING I have goes bad in my apartment. I could tell you about the Pot of Pasta, but that’s a story for another time (two other times. There was a Pot of Pasta fiasco in law school. This is Pot of Pasta II.) So long story short, there is no milk in my mac’n’cheese. Just butter, pasta, and powdered uranium “cheese.”

Here’s the final product. Not my best work. I overcooked the mac and then I sort of forget to turn the stove off and burnt it a little while i was mixing. I’m sure I’ll get the hang of this after the next 10,000 times I make it.


After a taste test I still deemed it delicious, but what do I pair it with? And what about presentation?


Bon appetit.

I’m not going to lie to you…

March 12, 2006

…I’ve kinda got the hots for the Esurance chick. I believe her name is Erin Esurance, which is not a great name, but when she marries me, it’ll get worse, even if she hyphenates.

If you don’t know this particular dish, here she is:

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Perhaps you feel the need to mock me for being enamored with a fictional, non-human graphic rendering. Say your worst (“YOUR WORST!”) but I refuse to be ashamed. This has been going on since I saw Who Framed Roger Rabbit? when I was 9 and I had trouble breathing when Jessica Rabbit made her first (or any) appearance. I will also admit to jonesing after the Little Mermaid back in the day, and you’d be surprised what’s out there on the internet involving Snow White in compromising situations with her dwarvish friends.