You might bump into me at your local mall, grocery store, or disco and instantly discover the one thing that makes me naturally different from…
Everything and the The Bathroom Sink
Our Thursday Posts
I stared at my hairy stomach spilling over the blue and green sequins one piece I had just wiggled into. On paper, this seemed like a good idea. Now, not so much. I always hated those douchebags that thought they were being funny by dressing up as girls for Halloween and now, here I was, one of them. I put on the long red wig, padded my sea shell bra and squinted at my reflection in the mirror, trying to calculate how many drinks it would take for me to sleep with myself. For a second, I thought about calling the whole thing off and claiming a fever or a stomach flu. “It’s funny,” I told myself, forcing a smile onto my face. “It’s funny because its part of a theme . . it’s funny because you’ll be with other guys doing the same thing . . . it’s funny because . . . its funny.” Just as I had started to convince myself that everything was going to be fine, I caught a glimpse of my backside which set my confidence level back to zero. “If you don’t find it funny, no one is going to find it funny,” I said to myself, annoyed with my own anxiety. “It’s fucking funny dude, now stop looking at yourself and lets go.”
Amongst the writers at OurThursday.com are well-prepared travellers who have ventured off into the depths of the globe and endured living in the unknown foreign…
In August of 2000, I obtained my last USA passport under auspicious circumstances. I had a trip
planned to England and with only a few weeks to go I noticed that my previous passport had expired. At that time, there was no expedited passport process so we immediately did the next best thing and lied. We had my Grandfather write a very formal letter saying that his wife, my Grandmother, was doing very poorly and it was imperative that I was present at her side during her final days. It worked. There after this passport served me extremely well and saw many an airport. I even had to have 25 pages added to it to accomodate more stamps. Well in August of 2010, it expires so I thought I would give my passport Justice and try and recount some of the memories that spring to mind while gazing through some of the stamps and visas.
The hair gene in males comes from your mother’s father. This means that I am going to have
enormous eyebrows that will shade me and my family from the sun and I will have one of those heads that has the semi circle around the back from ear to ear. If I were a weaker person, I would grow one side extremely long and try to hide the top of my abnormally shiny head and then say “What?” when people asked me about it. However, there are alternatives.
As I once again begi to blog about my memories, adventures and life…I think I’d like to start out blogging about a place that all the…
A while back, I considered being a doctor. I figured I’d be able to help people and make a few bucks. Then I learned of a pesky little process called “Med School,” where you apparently have to read a lot and wear silly white trenchcoats with tricked-out nametags. Fuck that.
Nobody has health insurance. If you do, I still feel sorry for you, because you’re either getting raped in the butt with fees, you are mooching off your parents, or your job sucks ass. I was hoping that with Obama we might get some sort of break on the health care stuff and that one day I’d be able to consult a physician regarding my fiery urination without having to spend my abortion money. But it looks like that Obama poster that reads “CHANGE” should read “SAME,” or “PUSSY BLOWJOB TAXI,” because nothing has changed.
So here’s the deal: rather than wasting my time getting a 2.2 GPA in some “Med School,” earning my “Ph.D,” and pissing my life away by telling people to turn their head and cough, I will do my part in providing you with the necessary knowledge and tools to remedy 90 percent of common colds. I’m writing it all here. So I give you:
“HEP C”: HEALTH EDUCATION PREVENTION for COLDS
Everybody has heard of the mid-life crisis. Usually typified by a balding married man trying to cling on to his lost youth by purchasing a red convertable sports car. While I am not quite to that point just yet, I have been struggling with something similar and just as sad and pathetic. My mid mid-life crisis.
About 26 miles off the coast of Southern California, you can feel as if you are a thousand miles away from the United States, and you do not need a passport. (In fact, this island is still part of Los Angeles County and has a 323 area code or is it 213?). As I write this, there is a large horde of young men that have descended upon this magical mystery tour of an island for an annual trip we affectionately call, Catalina.