The Camel

This is my cousin’s rendition of a camel.

You’re probably envisioning a young kid, but no, he’s of drinking age (though we sadly can’t blame booze for this monstrosity) and obviously not an artist.

We were playing a sort of Pictionary-esque game, and he genuinely didn’t seem to notice how phallic his “camel” was when he sketched it quickly. He handed the picture to his sister to guess what it was and she abruptly tried to quit the game. ”You’re gross! This is obscene! I’m not playing this game anymore!”

The rest of us - unable to see the picture - were confused. What in the hell could be so disturbing that she’s threatening to quit?

She ultimately guessed watering can. I guess that’s one way to try to make it family-friendly again.

Illegal

Ugh, so I like to think I'm a good liberal, but then when I'm crunched for time while playing Scattergories and I need an "I" word for "Found in New York City" I hastily write "illegal alien."

People are not illegal! Even outdated press agencies have dropped the I word, yet here I am having it be my first association with NYC.

I was only slightly ashamed initially, until I remembered that, even if that was my train of thought, I could have still scored a point for putting the much more PC "immigrant." WHY DID ILLEGAL COME TO MIND BEFORE IMMIGRANT? Even if I was hellbent on using the word "illegal", at least "illegal immigrant" would have scored me double points.

Put a timer in front of me and I'll start panicking enough to let my unconscious racist tendencies show.

The Renaissance Fair

I never thought I'd attend a Renaissance Fair (because ha!) but I found myself witnessing one today by accident. I met up with some teammates for a barbecue in a park, and much to our surprise, a lot of the space was claimed by a few hundred fully costumed Ren Fair devotees.

I like people-watching, but watching people who are playing pretend is fascinating in a whole new way. This wasn't a performance for an audience (though the couple dozen of us who happened to be at the park had great seats), just adults amusing themselves and each other by sweating through heavy costumes in heat that would have called for shorts and using funny accents to say words like "exalted" and "decree."

A lot of things were going on at the end of the Middle Ages, but if you were relying on these LARPers for your information, you might think it was nothing but fencing. The men loved fighting with their swords and that took up the majority of the day. It seems like it might be more accurate if some of them were sharecropping or whatever. Then again, if they were concerned with accuracy, I probably wouldn't have seen so many of them playing with their smartphones.

And then there was the Queen! She wore the fanciest gown and a crown, and had attendants follow her around with parasols to provide her majesty with shade. I wonder how they chose the Queen and whether she got to be the Queen every time they played. When an ice cream truck came to the park's parking lot, the Queen went over to buy some and several of her attendants tagged along. I also wondered whether they were obligated to do this or wanted popsicles, too.

Although the women remained primarily in subservient positions - true to the times, I suppose - it was nice to see that the African American participants held various ranks. More than anything, however, I was just surprised that there were black people there at all. It's times like these that I recognize my underlying prejudices. White people? I expect this kind of Ren-Fair shit from them. But black people… I guess I thought that black people were cooler than that.

Happy Mothers' Day, especially to UR MOM!

I couldn't resist purchasing this airbrushed hat for today's holiday. It just seems like a nice gesture to indicate that I not only appreciate my own mother, but ur mom, as well.

It was a great thrift store find. As was this t-shirt.

Weird kid, but I didn't buy it.

My mother will be pleased to learn that I decided against buying a shirt featuring an elephant's butt, too. I think it's a sign of maturity that I realize not every article of clothing can't be a joke?

But if the UR MOM hat wasn't enough of an indication, I'm still not that mature. For example, I couldn't resist buying this bejeweled BINGO WINNER shirt. Not sure when I'd ever wear it, but perhaps I can coax one of my friends into it.

In the parking lot, a homeless guy (not the one who peed in my car) asked if he could wash my headlights for a small donation. I gave him a few bucks and he told me that my "mama must have raised me right." There, Mom, you have something to be proud of… other than that fashion sense that clearly never developed.

Oh, and I also found this shirt: 

On the one hand, it's pretty stupid to put a greeting card message on a t-shirt, because on what occasion could a dad actually wear this? On the other hand, AT LEAST MY FATHERS' DAY SHOPPING IS ALREADY DONE. Plus, it was cheap and easy. Almost as cheap and easy as UR MOM.

The Exquisite Corpse Project

I was invited to a screening of The Exquisite Corpse Project at a festival last year, and if I'm being honest, I was skeptical about the concept. But since I went to high school with the director, Ben, and my friend Leigh was one of the film's editors, I figured what the hey. I loved it, though. Not, like, "proud of my friends" loved it, but genuinely loved it and would have enjoyed it just as much if I didn't know anyone involved.

The premise is that five comedians write a movie script "together"… but really separately, because each one can only read the previous five pages before contributing his own section. It's a funny idea - and an activity I'd love to participate in, I might add - but I had doubts whether a movie that's humor is derived from inconsistent characters and a disjointed plot could sustain laughter for a full 85 minutes. It's sort of like when someone's like "Read this Madlib we did!" Sure it's amusing enough, but it's never going to be as funny to an outsider as it was for the group of people who played the game.

Don't let that aspect throw you, though. First, I underestimated how funny the movie would be from start to finish. Second, I wasn't aware that the film would be at least half documentary, and that ended up being its strongest component. Ultimately, the story behind the story is more riveting. Plus, it's never a bad time to see a bunch of comedians discuss the creative process and snark on each other.

And while this is going to sound hokey, I feel like The Exquisite Corpse Project taught me something about human nature. Ben's goal with this project was to reunite old friends who had gone down separate paths in the hopes of rekindling the magic. Alas, it doesn't quite work out how he expected: people change and so do their relationships. Thematically, it really resonated with me, and that's not something you find in most comedic films.

The fact that you can purchase it for $5 is a steal, so get on that.

ARE YOU READY FOR SOME FOOTBALL?

I was. Well sort of. I'm not often a, "Go, sports!" kind of guy, but I'm out of town with relatives for a few days, so anything seems exciting at the moment. When my cousins invited me to watch some football at another house, I decided I was in. Sure, it sounded kind of boring, but LESS boring than watching my grandfather pass out in his armchair from his new medication all day, so yay football!

It wasn't just any football viewing experience either. There were three large TVs set up in a row, each one showing a different game. While I had difficulty focusing on even one game, some of my relatives had enough practice to keep track of everything simultaneously. This is why fantasy football is diabolically genius. It convinces people that they not only need to be invested in their favorite team's games, but EVERY team's games. For the sake of winning an imaginary game and bragging rights, every single point and play in all of the NFL suddenly matters. And let's be honest - it doesn't matter at all, it's just large scale capitalism guised as entertainment.

Because I always have to be difficult, I was in the corner "cheering" for the Cowboys, and the hosts made a big point of saying no one in their house cheers for the Cowboys. I get it, North-Easterners have no incentive to root for Texas teams. But my roommate is originally from Dallas, and by proximity, I've been following their season - more than any team anyway - so it just seemed appropriate to give them my meaningless support. I clapped as the Cowboys overcame a two touchdown deficit and brought the game to overtime… only to lose then. 

As I was departing and they made fun of "my" (ha) Cowboys again, I said, "Hey, they're called 'America's Team', so what kind of Americans are you? You may be rooting for the Patriots, but you certainly aren't patriots." At least that got a good laugh.

Okay, goodbye for now football, I'm sure we'll meet again when someone invites me to a Super Bowl party and I have to drink a lot just to laugh off the intense commercialism.  

Murder in the Shower

I got bored in the shower this week (what are you supposed to do in there anyway?!) and I decided to use my roommate's stray hairs to write the word "MURDER" on the shower wall. I thought it would be funny, but I worried that it might come across as passive aggressive, like I was really upset that she left her hair in the shower.

More than worrying about being perceived as passive aggressive, I suppose I should have considered how creepy that would be. When she saw "MURDER", she took a photo of it to show her coworkers to ask if they thought it indicated some crazy guy had snuck into the house. Nope, just a crazy guy who happens to pay to live there with her. 

I assured her that it was a joke and I probably was not actually going to murder her. She seemed to buy it, which might be dumb given that years ago I accidentally threatened her grandmother with a  knife. 

Today she "retaliated" by rearranging her hair into a tic-tac-toe board. That seems like a much nicer way to communicate with your roommate. I, of course, put my X in the middle square; it may be a gross game of shower hair tic-tac-toe, but I'm playing to win!

Get a Clue

For Halloween, I dressed as a member of the Illumanti.

Actually, I was a Clue board. It was a last minute costume. I asked my Facebook friends whether I should be a Clue board or a SEXY Clue board and, obviously everyone voted for sexy. I didn't know how to actually pull that off, but I did suggestively tape the "CONFIDENTIAL" folder that you put the cards in over my crotch.

I tried to up the sex appeal in this photo I posed for just before going out. I know how to work my angles from my brief employment at America's Next Top Model. I'm holding a knife, but it's hidden behind my hat, so clearly I wasn't there long enough to learn all of my angles, unfortunately.   

On the streets of Hollywood, no one wanted to take my picture this year, not that I expected it. This was a subpar costume. To make matters worse, the cards and pieces I had taped all over my body kept falling off over the course of the night. You could have collected an almost complete Clue game if you had followed behind me.

But at least I wasn't Mario and Luigi. Half of Hollywood was dressed as those two characters. That and Waldo. When you can plainly spot three different Waldos in your general vicinity, it really takes the fun out of the game.

The most interesting part of the night was when some not-totally-sane man came up to me and said, "I get you, I get you, you've got a CLUE! I know what you mean. I've got a clue, too, man, but you shouldn't put it out there like that." He then lifted up his shirt to reveal a second shirt underneath and winked. "We each got clues, but we shouldn't give clues to other people that we have those clues, you know what I mean?" 

I didn't know what he meant, but he rambled on, occasionally lifting his shirt, which had some cryptic text. "Look, man, I know you can't talk about it, but I know you're in the Illumanati. As you can see from my shirt, I am too. But I gotta say, when you wear that clue out like that, you're too obvious, people are going to figure it out." I just kept agreeing with him because what else was I going to do?

So apparently my last minute board game costume was accidentally semi-covert Illumanti attire. Who knew? Maybe it was a better costume than I thought. 

The Second Annual Never Ending Past Bowl Challenge

A month ago, I said I would recap the Olive Garden Never Ending Pasta Bowl contest, and now that I'm actually blogging again, it's time to give the blow-by-blow.

No one lost their pants in the restaurant this time (that memory still haunts me), but a lot of competitors upped their game, with a new record being set.

Altogether, we had 8 eaters: Jessica (the defending champ), Preston, Allison, Matt, Melinda, Ted, Joyce, and me. A lot of shit talking went down as we waited an hour for a table at the Olive Garden. The entire time, we had our eye on an empty table large enough to accommodate our party. "Why can't we just sit there?" we'd say periodically. And then, after an hour, they sat us there. Not sure why Olive Garden dicked us over, but the wait just helped our rumbling stomachs (we had been starving ourselves leading up to the contest) get hungrier.

Our waiter was a strange guy with a British accent. Ted tried to mock what he thought was a fake accent, but it turned out it was real, leading to some weird tension. That sucked because an eager server is critical to the process of getting lots of pasta to us quickly. But we finally got our first dishes and they were all scarfed down in probably less than two minutes.

We discussed - at length - the rules regarding the bathroom. You could poop because the poop is going to be in there from earlier (not the pasta), but vomiting was a no-no. To ensure that no one cheated at this, we initially mandated a buddy system on trips to the bathroom, but then just decided to use the honor system instead. That's when Jessica excused herself to the restroom and the fishiness began.

We had been sitting around waiting for our waiter to come back to put in our next order for what seemed like forever. I think they had us pegged as overeaters, so they were intentionally stalling with us. Finally, the waiter came back with a single bowl of pasta for Jessica. We were all outraged and confused. It turned out, Jessica used her trip to the restroom to pull the waiter a side and put in an advanced order on her next bowl. As a result, she was able to finish her second bowl before the rest of us even ordered our second one, putting her at a massive advantage.

Some accused Jessica of cheating. It might be a little unethical - it's certainly not a move I would have pulled - but it wasn't against any rules. Ultimately, I felt played, but I respected her unconventional move as it showed how much she wanted the victory. I had been determined to not let her lap me a pasta bowl so she could play defensively as she had the year before, but she figured out a way to do it anyway, and good on her.

Ted, the guy who talked the most smack coming into the competition, didn't even order a third bowl, instead asking for a Limoncello dessert. (Perhaps he didn't want to overdo it after being cut off as a lush the previous year.) It was an early, unexpected forfeit that changed the game. Allison followed suit, not getting more than a few bites into her third bowl before throwing in the towel. She had boasted how confident she was while we waited for our table, but now the two biggest talkers were out. 

Joyce quit at three, as did Melinda, who can be proud since she hadn't even planned to compete. I felt super done after three bowls, but I wanted to beat my performance last year, so I ordered a fourth, along with Preston and Matt, while Jessica ordered a fifth. It was about this point that the waiter made a comment about how our contest was like "The Island of Doctor Moreau." None of us could figure out how that reference corresponded with the situation at hand, but whatever, go ahead and insult us, weird waiter dude, just be sure to bring us more breadsticks.

When she got her fifth bowl, however, Jessica didn't touch it, insisting she was letting the rest of us catch up. As it turned out, she was just concealing how sick she was, hoping to recover in time. Preston and I both finished bowl four and tapped out. We kept waiting for Jessica to eat her fifth bowl to clinch the title, but she couldn't bring herself to put anymore pasta in her mouth. And that's when Matt saw an opening and decided to order a fifth bowl.

I thought Matt going for it would be enough to push Jessica to dig into her bowl, but she didn't touch it as Matt - seemingly effortlessly - finished his bowl to claim a decisive win. A nice waitress came and sat down to watch the conclusion. 

So we have a new pasta victor! It was nice to see Hungry, Boastful Jessica knocked down a peg. And sure, I only tied for second, but by eating a whole extra bowl this year, I fulfilled a goal! It usually feels really good to fulfill a goal, but in this particular case, it just made me feel nauseated. 

Eavesdropping

A strange sequence of events happened at Umami Burger in San Francisco a couple of weeks ago. The hostess sat Michael Michael, Kat, and me at a long table with four people already dining on the other end. I thought it was unusual that the hostess didn’t at least check that we minded the proximity to the other party, but I didn’t actually care, because I had no intention of paying any attention to them.

My companions, however, were very intrigued with the adjacent foursome and talked about them almost incessantly. I kept trying to get them to stop because I thought it was wildly rude. Plus, I couldn’t hear the other side of the table, leaving me unable to participate in their little game, anyway. But more than anything, I hadn’t seen either of my friends in more than a year, and I was way more interested in catching up with them rather than spending the whole meal discussing strangers.

I lost, though. I never managed to diverge the conversation too far from the quartet at the other end of the table. Michael Michael and Kat would change their minds about which one was dating which and how long they had been dating (Double blind date? Long-term?). They’d quote directly from the strangers’ conversation - as it was happening - to support their arguments. I thought that this was particularly audacious, pointing out that there was almost no buffer between our parties and that if we could hear them, then surely they could hear us talking about them.

As the other four people readied themselves to leave, Kat got brave enough to address them directly: “Excuse me, we just have to know what all of your relationships are with each other.” Meanwhile, I buried my face in my napkin. “We’re two couples, why?” one guy responded. Then my two friends admit that they had been eavesdropping the whole evening and shared some of the theories they had been devising. I was mortified at how nonchalantly they were confessing to being busybodies, and worried what the fallout would be as they awkwardly shuffled away.

“Oh my God, I love that game!” one of the woman said. “I do that sort of thing all the time.” From there, everyone excitedly chatted about how they try to guess the lives of strangers they encounter in restaurants, on the subway, etc. I was completely wrong, they seemed to think it was great that we had listened to everything and encouraged us to guess even more specifically about their lives.

Then the tables turned (figuratively, not literally, as the long table was stationary) and Michael Michael asked them to figure our stories out. They admitted that they hadn’t been paying any attention to us (apparently, some people just enjoy the company of their own friends rather than fixating on their neighbors), but they were pretty quick to suss out that we were friends from college and even guessed our school remarkably quickly.

“So you know ______? And ____? And ____?” they asked. And we did know these people. The strangers from the other side of the country whose lives we were inventing were just one degree of separation from us. We all just happened to be at a restaurant in a city none of us have lived in, yet these people I kept begging my dining partners to shut up about were now almost like old friends. In fact, I think that night I learned more about what was going on in those four people’s lives than my actual friends.

I’m definitely the loser of Michael Michael and Kat’s game because I had pegged the people at the other end of the table the furthest off, figuring they’d find the game itself rude rather than reward it by acting chummy with us afterwards. But I still contend the night’s conclusion was an anomaly, and that most people you’d say, “I’ve been eavesdropping on your whole conversation, can I tell you some theories I’ve developed about you and then ask some follow-up questions about your relationship?” would respond by looking at you funny. 

Vaulting

I can't stop watching this. How in the heck does anyone even figure out that that's humanly possible without first killing herself while practicing? 

As a kid, I had dreams of being a vaulter, treating my parents' bed as if were the apparatus. With a long hallway leading up to the bed, I would regularly sprint toward the bed and then flip over it. Essentially, I was doing speedy somersaults on top of a queen sized mattress, but it sure felt like vaulting. 

When I got running fast enough before the dismount, I felt particularly airborne, even though it was barely true. The goal was always to stick the landing firmly on both feet, but it was actually much more fun on the occasions when I bounced into the wall or fell on my face. The thrill of vaulting - or my version of it anyway - was the fear from that momentary loss of control. 

If only I had kept practicing… that could have been me competing at the Olympics. I've got to know, though: do all gymnasts have squeaky high-pitched voices? I remember that used to be the fun way to mock Kerri Strug, but it seems like the whole team is trying to emulate her with their ridiculous voices. Teenagers don't talk like that, unless that's the side effect of stunting your body through constant unhealthy workouts. Or maybe helium is the sport's performance enhancing drug and the reason for how that vaulter can float so high in the air.

And yes, I cheered for team USA tonight. I wanted to try rooting for another country to challenge my own ingrained patriotism, but it's an awful urge to contend with. How do you support a Russian, Romanian, or Chinese person? Name one memorable pop culture character who has one of those nationalities that isn't super evil.  I don't want to continue that association, but I would still look at the competition and think, "Oh, that Russian bitch!" even though I knew nothing about her. Really, she's just a sixteen-year-old athlete, but I can't shake the feeling that there must be something inherently awful about her anyway. I really need to decolonize my mind… maybe I can vault it out.

Bulimia

Um, great question, Trivial Pursuit. I honestly thought the answer was "Vomiting".

Party Tip

If you want to throw a bitching party, have a game where you award a $30 dartboard to the person who puts the most temporary tattoos on herself in a short amount of time. Not only do you get to embarrass your guests, it's also visually entertaining for your non-participating guests, particularly when a frantic fight hunt for the remaining tattoos emerges.

Someone from ING should get give me an advertising job. I just came up with a pretty clever marketing campaign. Those logos are in places you can't help but look at.

The winner had 17.

My New Uni-Form

Anthony Davis is my new style icon.

You think I'm joking, but I'm not. This dude's look is captivating. It's not always about being attractive, and Davis is certainly not. It's about having a signature look that others can't help but stop and stare at. As I watched him lead Kentucky to a national championship, I couldn't avert my eyes from this strange dude. Everything about him is so wrong it's right.

Those thick, villainous eyebrows! Or should I say eyebrow, because that is a unibrow if I've ever seen one. Those insanely janky teeth. It also doesn't hurt that he's the tallest guy on the court - which is saying something when you're talking about basketball players.

He may have only just turned 19, but Davis has it figured out. It's not like he has to worry about attracting ladies, his inevitable NBA millions will take care of that. If you can't be the handsomest man in basketball, why not be the funniest looking guy? What Davis has going is a brand identity. And he's going to show you just how smart his appearance is once he's no longer a student athlete and able to cash in on those tweezer/Invisalign endorsement deals.

(Okay, but for real, I was kind of inspired to grow out a unibrow, but then I realized that since I don't pluck as is, one is not about to magically show up. Does anyone know whether you can Rogaine your forehead?)

How Michael Jackson Perpetuates Pedophilia from the Grave by Having a Hot Daughter

Yo, we have a problem. Michael Jackson's daughter, Paris Jackson, is a total fox. It's not that I'd do anything illegal with her (because gross!), but it's obvious that she's going to grow up to be a stunner. The fact that she's already objectively one of the most attractive people I've seen in a while at only 13-years-old is definitely disconcerting.

Do you suppose that this is Michael's punishment for (allegedly) touching little kids? Having a daughter so attractive that he's got to be paranoid about other ChiMos (allegedly) like him?

In addition to the whole Whitney Houston fiasco in Las Vegas the other week, I played blackjack with a Michael Jackson impersonator for a while. He was a fun dealer because he'd make us sing MJ's iconic high-pitched "Hee Hee" when we got 21 and he enjoyed punning back and forth with me with song titles.

While I played, some guy came behind me and contemplated sitting down next to me, but couldn't decide. "Play with me!" Michael said in a child-like voice. Trying to help, I added, "You can't pass up an opportunity like this, usually Michael Jackson only wants to play with children." Upset, Michael slapped my hand hard. "That's not what I meant by 'Hit me.'" I told him.

Surprisingly, the man opted not to sit down with us.

Soon after, Michael dealt me four twelves in a row, which is not a good blackjack hand.
"Why do you keep giving me twelves?" I asked.
"It's 'cause you think that's what I like," he snapped back.
Touche.

Overall, though, I was winning a lot of hands and more than doubled my money. It was almost as if I was a real child - play with Michael Jackson for a while, and you're bound to walk away with a lot of dough as settlement. Unfortunately, my friend Matt lost a bunch of money at Jackson's table. His girlfriend, Jessica, noticed his depleted collection of chips and expressed concern. That's when Michael, in a squeaky evil voice, informed her, "I fucked your boyfriend."

I cracked up, but Jessica was not pleased with Michael's statement. I thought it was pretty obvious that he meant he fucked Matt by taking his money, but Jessica took it as some sort of threat to her relationship. It seems to me that a pasty, cosmetically-butchered Michael Jackson lookalike would only be a threat if Matt had some unlikely history of being attracted to Jacko impersonators.

Oh wait, you mean to say that Jessica has impersonated Michael Jackson before? Innnnteresting. Well in that case, we can only hope that if Dealer Michael were to have "fucked" Matt, it would result in a kid half as beautiful as Paris.

Jism

Ummmmm, I just played the word JISM against my mother in Words with Friends.

I think it's safe to say that I've never used that word - or any approximation - in front of her before.

Part of me was just curious whether it would be considered an acceptable word (and by acceptable, I mean legal, obviously), and then I tried to take it back, but it was too late. I've soiled our Scrabble board, and now I can never talk to her again. Sorry, Mom.

P.S. If you like playing Words with Potty Mouths, you can challenge my user name Kevin Babbles. Just remember I'm good.

Labor Day

Don't tell anyone, but I worked a little bit today. Some people might consider this blasphemous to work on the holiday, but why do people not work on Labor Day? It's called Labor Day, and you're going to be lazy? If it were up to me, we'd all be working extra hard, and you'd be accountable for being twice as productive as you normally are. Let's champion the American work ethic with some unpaid overtime! Of course, as Ted pointed out, we don't make vets go back to war on Veterans' Day, so maybe my logic is flawed.

I wasn't too productive today, anyway. Unless you count that I spent a lot of time bowling. As Stacy noted, there is no better activity to celebrate blue-collar labor on this special day.

While I'm normally inclined to agree that bowling is not a sport, people who argue this clearly have never bowled thirteen games in a row. By the end, my hand was aching from lifting eleven pounds again and again and I could feel my arm muscles throbbing. I found that bowling might even be a legitimate work-out once I started playing by myself on a lane and had no time to sit down or rest my arm between frames. Talk about laborious!

All You Can Eat

I participated in two all-you-can-eat events in the span of three days. I'm refusing to step on a scale currently, but I think it's safe to say I have an obese state of mind, if nothing else. What's wrong with me?

First was Korean BBQ, where I ate meat, meat, meat, and meat. While there, I unbuttoned my pants, but asked the person next to me to remind me to button them before leaving so I wouldn't repeat the time I lost my pants at Olive Garden. Fortunately, I ended up remembering all by myself!

The next day I saw a commercial that the never-ending pasta bowl special was back at Olive Garden. And rather than saying, "I'm still full from last night," I immediately starting organizing a competition for the following night.

Six of us participated in this fierce battle, which required a lot of strategy. Skip the complimentary salad and breadsticks to save more room for pasta? Choose a lighter sauce? Pick a hollow-shaped pasta so that your bowl would be full of more air?

Jessica, who hadn't eaten all day in preparation for the event, took an early lead. Once she lapped us a bowl early, she had the enviable position of just being able to match us bowl for bowl. I think my mistake was trying to eat whole wheat pasta. Healthier, sure, but way too filling. I wanted to make a move at the end, but she would have just forced herself to eat another one, so the final tally was 2 bowls: Alice and Laura; 3 bowls: Ted, Preston, Kevin; 4 bowls: Jessica, proving she is worthy of her "Hungry, Boastful Jessica" title.

I was worried that the waitress would be annoyed by how much food we were having her bring, but she got into our competition, calling out the slackers for slowing down. I asked the waitress what the pasta bowl record was, and she said that her boyfriend served a guy who ordered and ate thirteen refills. My jaw would have popped open in shock were I not too afraid that pasta would pour out.

"Is it safe to assume that this was a rather large man?" I asked.
"Actually, it's safe to assume that it was a skinny Asian man."
Skinny Asian men always besting us fat Caucasian Americans at eating contests! What do we have if not excelling at shoveling hotdogs and pies down our throats? Sigh.

I'm not exaggerating when I say several of us were on the verge of vomiting. While our peers were out on Friday night putting themselves in a similar state from drinking too much, we dealt with pasta hangovers the next day. On the bright side, however, I again remembered to button my pants before standing up from the table. That makes it twice in a row that I didn't lose my pants in public at a restaurant. Looks like I'm getting smarter! ... in addition to getting fatter.

Catch the Turtle!

While at our college reunion, a bunch of us wanted desperately to break into our old dorm building, which we were purposefully locked out of. I tried for fifteen minutes to find a way in, and then Phoebe, like a true badass, was just like "Let's just take off a window" and was inside in no time flat.

While inside, a bunch of us played Turtle, one of my favorite college games. One person puts a cardboard box over his head (like a shell) and then gets a fifteen second head start to sprint away (okay, that part's not turtle-like) from a mob of angry people. Finally, someone screams, "Catch the Turtle!" and everyone goes chasing after the Turtle (who can't exactly see with a box over his head) and tries to beat him to the ground.

We used to play this game a lot in the dorm halls, causing quite the ruckus. The Turtle must be destroyed. More than once I was legitimately injured, due to unknowingly running into a wall, being body checked into a wall, and being pushed down a flight of stairs. For real, Turtle is a game only for the brave and the stupid.

This game of Turtle that was captured on video isn't a typical one. Generally, when a turtle gets knocked down, he gets knocked down hard and stays down, but Ted was clearly a tenacious turtle. He also didn't get a fair head start. But it was great fun anyway. I miss doing dumb things with these dumb people on a daily basis.

Scrabble Serendipity

I play a lot of Scrabble, so I am often faced with a problem: play the funniest word or the highest scoring one. At Scrabble, I'm a competitor, so I'll generally go with which gets the most points, but sometimes I can't help but play a word like "TWATS" when a less raunchy word would have actually fared better. I pity the person who passes on "TWATS".

Occasionally, however, Scrabble Serendipity occurs.

Scrabble Serendipity: When the dirtiest word you can play is also the highest scoring.

My opponent left an open G on the board, and I took all of the tiles on my rack to form the word "SHITTING". Double word, fifty point bonus... dare I say it, nothing feels better than playing "SHITTING"... except for maybe just shitting.