I Have A Favor to Ask of You...

Don't let me drink. No really, don't let it happen.

This rule not only applies to the Arcadia Rodeo, but to my body too.

I have my Navy physical on the morning of October 13th. Its not required, but it would be great if I could weigh in at a good weight. Technically, I'm supposed to be 186 pounds, but with my body structure, being 195 would probably be perfect (I keep getting conflicting information, but I think I really need to be down to 22% bodyfat).

I'm working out, I'm eating well (and less), but there is one thing I haven't stopped doing: Drinking. I only do it on the weekend, but that's probably a thousand calories that I don't need to consume.

So please, if I'm out with you, hanging out at your house, at a party with you, make sure I don't drink. If you see a beer in my hand, you can punch me in the balls (yes, Cush, this time its OK for you to punch me there). If you see me doing a shot, slap it out of my hand, maybe pour it in my eyes. One exception: this weekend, Oded has an awesome drinking/tailgating game that should only take one shot. I will make that sacrifice, but only because its for the Gators.

So this:

Drinking of Flaming Doctor Peppers befor the inaugural Drink Marathon? Yeah, that has to stop. Though if I get that thin again, It'll be on once more.

And this:

Drinking till I pass out on my friend's fiance's shoulder after winning National Championships? Can't happen. Don't let it happen. I'm counting on you.

And of course, this:

The taking of shots? Not gonna happen. And getting that fat again? Also not gonna happen.

Hopefully, I'll be able to drink again in moderation after the 13th, but most likely, I won't be drinking till mid-November. I need everyone's help with this, so please, please, don't let me drink. The fate of the world depends on you. And just think: Thats more for you to drink!

I would also like to thank Alice for giving me this advice, who is as smart as she is beautiful. And if anyone knows about the physiological affects of drinking, its her.

Update On My Life

Good Evening.

I discovered Allison's blog today, and it made me ashamed that I can't find the time to write in mine. Also, it made me miss my little, but that's as its supposed to be.

Allison and I in a simpler time, and a much much simpler place (there really is nothing in Arcadia)

I know no one really cares all that much about what's going on in my life, but I need to keep my mind going somehow, and I need to write to do that. So congrats! Here's my blog, started all over again.

- First, an update on the Navy. I took the Aviation Training Selection Battery last Thursday. This is the test that they use to select officers. It tests reading comprehension, math skills, mechanical knowledge, as well as of aviation and naval terms. I'll get my scores tomorrow or Friday, but I'm pretty confident about it. I knew most of the answers in the first three sections, and was able to figure out most of the aviation and naval stuff.

The good news is that I finally met my new recruiter, and I was very impressed with him. He knew what he was talking about, was organized, and made me very happy to work with him. It didn't hurt that he was really impressed with me. When I handed him my college transcript, he asked "Where's the rest of it?"

I gave him a confused look and responded, "What do you mean?"

"Do you have anything from a community college or something?"

Still perplexed, I said, "No....I just went to UF." It wasn't till later that I realized that most of the people who he sees probably don't have degrees from UF, let alone went there alone, and then want to join the Navy. He was even more impressed when he saw my GPA and that I had graduated Cum Laude. Later, as he fingerprinted me, he told me that as long as I got in shape, I'll be a shoo-in.

- Which brings me to getting in shape. I'm not there yet. I'm pushing myself harder, doing cardio every morning (either running, or this boot camp class at the Y, which is taught by an old Marine, which is awesome if very tiring), and then weight lifting in the afternoon. I also signed up for a 5k, so I'm working on being in shape for that. It's Oct. 20th. Hopefully I can get there.

- If you've seen my Facebook profile recently, you'll see that I find Jacksonville really boring. And it is, but a lot of that has to do with the fact that I'm not really trying to find things to do. I'm not going to be here for long, and if I'm bored, I go to the gym.

But what's saving my sanity right now are the weekly trips to Gainesville, for which I am forever thankful to Dave, Cush, Rachel, and Lex, who haven't complained about me crashing on their couch yet. The ability to go crazy for two days allows me to get through the rest of the week.

There's more, but I think thats enough for now.

Till Next Time,
Matt

Currently Reading: The Reality Dysfunciton by Peter F. Hamilton

Man Vs. Wild Drinking Game

A few weeks ago, I went over to Cush's and we ended up watching what is probably the best show on television right now: Man Vs. Wild. In this show, Bear Grylls proves that he is a true man. This is a guy whose parachute didn't open when jumping out of an airplane, he broke his back in three places, went through 18 months of rehab, and then decided to climb Everest. Yes, Bear Grylls, you are truly more man than the rest of us.

But if you haven't seen this show yet, you really need to turn on the Discovery Channel, cause its always on. Basically, Bear gets dropped into a remote place in the world, with a knife, a piece of flint, and a water bottle. He has to find his way out, using only his wits, and his ability to get out alive. It usually involves some combination Bear doing stuff absolutely bat-shit insane, killing things, and making wierd shelters to stay in.

But back to the story: Me and Cush are watching Man Vs. Wild, and decide to make a drinking game of it. Now, here are the rules that have become a Friday evening tradition:

Take a drink if:
...Bear says he is an experienced climber
...Bear says that something is 'not ideal.'
...he uses Britishism (such as saying torch instead of flashlight, or 'glacier' with a short vowel sound at 'a')
...he kills something (including bugs and grubs)
...Bear lights a fire...he has to find his bearings, or actually does find his bearings
...he tells you that you have to keep your spirits up
...he tells you to find a stream and follow it to a river, and follow that to civilization
...Bear tells you to about a native technique
...Bear tells about someone getting lost or dying horribly in the environment he's in
...Bear contradicts the Bible (something happening millions of years ago, mentioning evolution, etc.)
...anyone in the room says 'What the fuck?!' in response to something Bear does.
...he builds a shelter
...night vision is used
...uses a stick for something other than walking

Take two drinks if:
...Bear kills something in a bad ass way (uses a homemade bow and arrow, uses a throwing stick to take out a rabbit)
...Bear bites into something still alive
...he yells at the camera man
...he puts himself in danger to show you how to get out of it

Take three drinks if:
...Bear fails to light a fire
...Bear eats something that's already dead
...he has to use the camera guys (for light, for example)

Drink the entire time that Bear:
...Drinks his own urine
...Drinks poo water
...Does anything that makes you gag

So this Friday at 9pm, gather with your friends, get some beer, and marvel at the man named Bear.

Mental Health Day

I skipped work today.

I decided last night that I needed a day off. The job has really been getting to me recently. The meaningless jobs have been piling up, each one seemingly more mundane and mindless as the next. For the last few days, each time someone dropped something new on my desk, I felt like throwing it back. It doesn't help that what they say while they do the dropping usually is along the lines of "Matt, could you change these peoples' addresses in the KSS database?" or "I noticed the phone messages are really out of date. Could you change it?"

I think the fact that this is a temporary stop is finally catching up with me, especially with the prospect of other jobs on the horizon. And if I'm bad now, I'm scared to think how I'll feel when I actually have another job. It'll be Applebee's all over again.

I worked at Applebee's for a few months over the summer while I looked for a less temporary job. Once I got my current job and gave my manager my two weeks notice (actually, that happened while I was enjoying a few beers there with Oded, who was in town looking for a job of his own), I got antsy. Or maybe I just realized how much that job really sucked. With about a week before my official last day, I walked out. It was the only time I've ever done that, and probably will be the only time that I ever do, but man did that feel good.

That probably won't be happening at the OTL, because unlike Applebee's, I respect the people I work with at my current job. But if I get a job offer that I like, expect me to bouncing in my chair until that new career path starts.

Gay on the Mind

Through a weird series of events, gays have been on my mind today.

No Mom, I'm not coming out of the closest. Stop freaking out.

As I've written before, I spend a large chunk of my day surfing the Internet. One site I've been going to for a while is Andrew Sullivan's blog, The Daily Dish. Mr. Sullivan's an interesting guy, a gay Catholic, an old-style conservative who's HIV+, he's an amazing writer and a damned good political thinker. He was pro-Bush and pro-war. He's since changed his mind as the evidence accumulated that the war was not going well, and it was mostly the President's fault.

But anyways, he pointed his readers to this video for the song The Bible Says. Its mind blowing, to say the least. Absolutely stunning. Watch it. You won't be sorry.

Now, I've watched it twice today, and there's no way that can't be parody, right? I mean, saying gays are going to hell is one thing, but to actually put out a song with the chorus being "God Hates a Fag?" Would people actually do that?

After a second watching, the clues start coming through that this is a truly brilliant piece of parody. The lead singer has a very, well, gay mustache and is wearing a pink shirt. There are quite a few scenes that scream "Gay allusions!" too. And plus, the singer is basically admitting he's gay, but he's going to get through it with the power of Christ. That's not something many of the type of people who would put out a song like this would admit to.

The other thing that made me think about homosexuality happened during lunch. I went and visited the lackluster Phi Sig tabling in Turlington, and hung out for a bit talking to Jeff, Kristen and Sammy. Hung out just long enough, in fact, for the preacher who had been torturing the people in the Plaza of the Americas to make his was over to Turlington. And then the fun began.

He took out two electrical cords, and proceeded to demonstrate why being gay doesn't work. As he pushed two male sides of the plugs together, the first thing that came into my mind was "If two guys are doing that, they're probably too dumb to be gay. Or alive."

He then told a ten minute story about how sexual relations are supposed to go in his head. They involved trips to Starbucks, courting, marriage, a trip to Barbados, a hotel room, and "then they get NAKED!!!" (to quote Crazy Preacher).

These words will be ingrained in my head for the rest of my life. I really wish they weren't.

"The woman lays on her back in the bed! She spreads her legs! The man mounts her! And the penis," he then pushes the electrical plugs together, "enters the vagina! The man moves back and forth," which he demonstrated by jerking the plugs back and forth. And that, I assume, is the end of his sex life. Now, I'm pretty sure it never says in the Bible that the missionary position is the only acceptable position. Or maybe it does, but its in among all the rules in Leviticus that no one pays attention to anymore, like selling your daughters into slavery, or stoning anyone who wears both linen and leather.

Soon the Turlington Crazy started going into what happens when the virginal newlyweds decide to try out that anal sex thing they've been hearing so much about. That was my cue to leave.

Bourbon in the Backseat

Continuing on the theme of drinking in the car:

Its a minor tradition to drink bourbon, and particularly W.L. Weller brand, while watching 24. As this weekend featured the four hour, two night premiere of the sixth season, I made sure to stop by ABC on Saturday and pick up a handle. I had two bourbon and cokes on Sunday, and one more on Monday, which didn't put too much of a dent in the bottle. So I grabbed it and threw it into the foot well of my backseat and drove off.

The entire drive back, I got whiffs of bourbon, but I figured it might be some liquor that i spilled on my shorts, or had leaked out around the edges of the cap. I pulled into a parking space in front of my apartment, reached back for the bottle, and stuck my hand directly into a two inch puddle of bourbon.

It took me nearly an entire roll of paper towels to get most of the liquor absorbed, but a significant quanitity was left in the dark red carpets, wafting its smell throughout my car. For the most part, I like the smell of bourbon. It has a smokey, woody odor to it that seems fairly distinguished. But that much that quickly can be overwhelming.

I left my windows cracked all last night and today. I came home, and pretty much as soon as I turned the corner into my parking lot, I could smell the piercing odor of warm liquor on the air. I went by my car and found myself almost overwhelmed. I made it into my apartment without passing out, and asked Dave if he had smelled that.

"All day," he said. "You could smell it every time the wind blow the wrong direction."

Until the right backseat is completely dry and I can dump a bottle of Febreeze on it, its a smell I'm going to have to live with. And now I live in dread of getting pulled over by the police, as will inevitably happen now. Me trying to explain to an officer why my car and I reek of bourbon is not a conversation I look forward to, but one I will try like hell to record when it happens. Cause the comedy potential is near endless, especially if I end up getting arrested. That may call for pictures.

Fear

Fear is the power of the brain to extrapolate. It is that organ's ability to look forward the next few hours and decide that you stand a good chance of death. The brain then shoots anxiety and worry throughout your body, in an effort to stop you from whatever your doing. Fear is what I experienced on Saturday night.

I've gotten into a car when I shouldn't have before. Whether it was because the person driving was a bad driver, talking way too much on the phone, tailgated other cars (I'm looking at you Amos), or were a little worse for wear due to alcohol or lack of sleep (or both), after we've safely gotten to our destination, I think to myself, "Let's not do that again." But in none of the above incidents did I ever actively feel that there was a better than 50% chance that I was going to die. Saturday, my chances were probably somewhere in the realm of 80.

Some friends were visiting this past weekend, and since I hadn't seen them in a while, I decided to hang out with them. I met up with these friends at a party in the Estates (which I guess is what the Exchange is called now). There was Shannon, an ex-girlfriend who I'm still on good terms with (one of the few) and who is about to become a cop, which I find hilariously awesome for some reason. Her friend Cynthia was along, who is also a cool person. There, I met Cynthia's boyfriend, whose name escapes me at the moment. Her boyfriend introduced me to Nicole, his cousin. She was good looking, and very outgoing. Also, she apparently loved to drink. Every time I turned around, she was downing another shot.

I talked the group into going to Gator City, as there was no cover, and all my friends were there. So we left. Nicole drove Cyn and her boyfriend, while I drove Shannon. Nicole's drink count at this point was probably around 4. We drive, Shannon and I hang out in the parking lot for a while while Nicole drives downtown to drop a friend off. We go in.

We're there just about long enough for me and Shannon to finish a beer and say hi to everyone before Shannon gets a call saying that the rest of her group is going to a party in Cabana Beach. I'm disappointed, but I leave. We meet up with the rest of the group, and head to Nicole's car. Its not until I get into her car that I ask myself, "Why am I in this car?" The only explanation I have is that I'm tired and distracted by talking to Shannon and Cyn. But by the time I'm buckled in, Nicole has already taken a shot straight out of a vodka bottle and a chug of a Bud Light which someone had brought into the car. Then we took off.

I'm not sure what initially started my danger sense tingling, but it may have been comments like "Its OK, I drive wasted almost everyday." Or maybe its the fact that she was about two feet away from the car in front of us, and I was riding shotgun. Whatever it was, I was holding on the "OH JESUS" handle with a grip capable of squeezing coal into a diamond and pumping the air brake like the imaginary pedal might actually stop the car.

Nicole noticed, in between the phone calls she was making (yes, she was on her cell phone too). She started telling me to calm down. "Are you freaking out? I'm a very good driver!" she yelled. I assured her I was fine, as my clawing at the arm rest increased to a frantic pace. At this point, a plan emerged in my head. I mentioned that my car was back on campus and asked if Nicole would be driving us back. "Oh, no that's probably not a good idea. I mean, I can barely drive now! I won't be able to after the party we're going to." So she turned onto a side street (one that she only saw at the last second and was forced to swerve onto) and took me back to campus.

On the way over, Nicole really starting annoying me with her yelling at me not to be scared. She started stroking my face saying "Oh, is Pookums scared?" I grabbed her hand, put it back on the wheel, reminding her to keep them on 10 and 2.

"Am I annoying you?" she asked.

"Of course not," I replied, while in my head the scene from 40 Year Old Virgin was going through my head where Steve Carrell is in the car with the drunk girl, going "I just want to live!"

When we make it back to campus, Nicole turns onto the street where I'm parked. As she's turning onto it, I guess she wasn't paying attention to where the road went, as she went straight instead of turning left. This left her with the car up on a curb. "Motherfucker, the road looked it went that way!" she screamed. I looked around, but I couldn't see how that was possible. It was either go left or onto the field next to the Swamp. But as we were nearly at my car, I said "This is good," and got the hell out of that car.

The trip was maybe a total distance of one mile. I aged maybe three years and stood a good chance of emptying my bowels at any moment. No offense Nicole, but if your reading this, I am never getting in the car with you again. I like living.