Monday, April 30, 2012

My daughter enjoys hanging with me?

“Thanks for not letting me sleep til noon, daddy.” I was sitting in my backyard when my 20-year-old daughter, who I lovingly refer to as Drama Queen, walked outside and said those words. My instincts told me she was being sarcastic, but as I looked up from my laptop I realized my daughter was being sincere. ”Fo shiz,” I replied. ”Glad you had fun today.”

I woke up Saturday morning feeling like I’ve been a complete lazy ass the past few weeks and decided to do something about it. I recently lost 65 pounds and although I haven’t “slipped back,” I put three or four back on and haven’t ridden my bike in a month and rarely go out and walk.

Glancing at the clock I noted it was just after nine so I went to my daughter’s room and announced that it was time to get up. ”What time is it?” She groggily asked. I informed her that it was nine and that we were going to the dog beach to take Shadow, our 3-year-old Pug for a walk and to chill for a couple hours.

“Why are we going so early?” Her Majesty wanted to know. ”This isn’t early, Sleeping Beauty,” I joked. ”If you hurry up we can stop and split a donut on the way down.” She wanted to know if we could go to Krispy Kreme and didn’t appreciate it when I said it was out of the way.

”What do you mean it’s ‘out of the way’?” She semi-whined. I paused for a moment to make sure I had all my sarcasm gathered in one spot.

“Well,” I said before taking a long pause. ”You know how we drive down the street and turn left to go to the dog beach?” My daughter looked at me like she knew I was going somewhere with this, however she wasn’t awake enough to figure it out.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Well,” I continued. ”To get to Krispy Kreme we turn right. [pause] And drive about three miles.” Pausing again to gauge her reaction, I realized there was none and so continued. ”And then drive the three miles back,” I explained. ”Then to the beach.”

“Oh,” Drama Queen said, pondering the information. ”Are you sure?”

Was I sure? Was I sure Krispy Kreme was the other direction or was I sure that we weren’t going? Not that it mattered because the answer was the same.

“I’m sure,” I said with a smirk. ”But tell you what. If they’ve built a new Krispy Kreme in the last 48 hours and if we pass it I promise to stop for a hot dozen.”

If you think she let that go, then you obviously don’t understand girls. For the record, I really don’t understand them but I fake it pretty well. Over the next twenty five minutes I was “reminded” that Krispy Kreme is way better than the donut shop on our way. And that we had no other plans the rest of the day, so the extra drive wasn’t keeping us from anything. And that she really wanted to go.

Somehow we made it to the car and with a very friendly pooch in the back, headed towards the Huntington Cliffs, A.K.A. the dog beach.

After scoring a prime parking spot (with 25 min left on the meter) I made sure my daughter had plenty of plastic bags and headed across the grass and down the hill to the beach below. Two cleanups later we arrived at the sand.

Dog beach is a mile long stretch in the OC and is one of my absolute favorite places. Since we were staying for a couple hours, DQ had towels, sunscreen, Kindle, iPod touch, phone, foldable sunglasses (which she wore only after I reminded her to) and assorted other things in her bag. The beach is strewn with boulders and we found a nice spot about halfway down where I could lean against a flat rock and read my social media marketing book once I was done walking both Shadow and myself.

Taking Shadow here is something I love to do but don’t do nearly often enough. Drama Queen stayed to lay down so Shadow and I meandered to the far end of the beach. As we did I noted that my dog has been showing signs of aging and that the last few times we came here she’s had a hard time jumping into the back of my small SUV. Shadow was still running and playing with other dogs but not as fast as she used to.

Returning to our spot, I sat down and let my daughter play with Shadow at the edge of the water. I brought a book to read but I don’t think I got through five paragraphs. I was too busy enjoying the scene of them playing and I remembered back to when we got Shadow from the shelter 3 years ago. It was around the time DQ’s mom moved out and Shadow was a surprise for her 17th birthday.

We had a great time at the beach and once back home, chilled. Around three I decided to make guacamole and to begin getting dinner ready. My daughter saw the tri tip on the counter along with a red, yellow and orange pepper and got excited. ”Are we having tri tip?” She asked.

“Yep,” I replied. ”Tri tip sandwiches, mango salsa, tomato salad with balsamic and other stuff and grilled corn.” A huge smile appeared on her face and she asked if she could make a cake. I told her she could and after looking in the pantry and in the ‘fridge announced that she was making a heart shaped strawberry cake with strawberry frosting and sliced strawberries between layers.

Dinner was off the hook and dessert was too. That brings us back to the beginning of the story. Shortly after dinner (and after harassing her to get the dishes in the dishwasher) my daughter thanked me for waking her up early and for the beach trip. It was then that I fully realized that my daughter actually enjoys spending time with me and that I may actually be doing something right. Cool.

Saturday, April 28, 2012

Wal-Mart: The Weirdo-Freak Capitol Of The World

One positive thing about becoming Paris Hilton would be that I’d never have to go to Wal-Mart. But, if for some strange reason I did become Paris Hilton, I’d have to say I’d gladly go to Wal-Mart in exchange for a brain and/or the removal of all the venereal diseases I have swimming around in my reproductive system.

Regardless… Wal-Mart is a strange place. While I understand it’s a “monopoly” of sorts I cannot ignore the fact that their oatmeal is twenty cents cheaper than Homeland’s, their canned mandarin oranges are ten cents cheaper than Target’s, their adult diapers are almost a dollar cheaper than Geriatric World’s and their fertility testing is almost a thousand bucks cheaper than the local hospital’s!

Although, low prices don’t always tend to attract financially saavy individuals hell bent on saving money for retirement… they also attract some of the weirdest damn freaks you've ever seen!

Case in point:



I myself fell victim to a Wal-Mart troll about a week ago… although it wasn’t so much what I saw than what I heard.

Allow me to explain…

Bre and I had just turned the corner of the bread aisle because we were looking for some tortillas to make chicken enchiladas for some friends that particular evening. A quick glance down the aisle revealed I was sharing it with one other man. He was an older gentleman carrying a food basket. He sported a very trailer-trashy ensemble with a long trench coat, flowing greasy hair and combat boots. This indeed really wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for Wal-Mart  but as we closed in on crossing paths I noticed he was talking on the phone in very hushed tones. I’m not one to really try to listen in on other people’s conversations but as we passed I couldn’t help but catch what he was saying in very forceful tones:

“I’m sticking my tongue in your mouth and I’m swirling it all around all in your mouth. Oh. It feels so good…..”

Needless to say I was slightly taken aback… yet strangely intrigued by this multi-talented man who could apparently shop for bread while deeply engrossing himself in such an emotional phone call. I don’t stare at people EVER… but this just wasn’t any old people. This was perhaps one of the weirder things I hope to ever see at a Wal-Mart.

So, I positioned myself amongst the wheat breads in such a way where I could keep an eye on this guy and see if I could hear anything else he was saying.

I didn’t have to wait long.

As he continued strolling amongst the breads he stopped and began slapping his hands together right next to the receiver of his telephone while saying, “… And I’m spanking your ass so hard! Oh, and you like it! Oh yeah, c’mon baby!”

For as quickly as I was intrigued by this dude… I was just as quickly completely disgusted and felt a bit like vomiting on the english muffins.

I tucked tail and got out of that aisle as fast as I could lest I contract some airborne “freak-weirdo” virus and feel inclined to conduct a phone sex call in Wal-Mart or something.

While it could have been any number of scenarios, I believe he was more than likely a phone sex-operator on the phone with “a client”… or he was just a complete freak getting his rocks off on a phone-sex call! I’m not one to judge (okay maybe I am), but isn’t there a better place to conduct such a phone call than in the bread aisle at Wal-Mart?

I felt a little less queasy once I came home and took a shower to wash all the heebie-jeebies off.

———————————————————————

I wanna hear good stories from you all on some of the weirdness you’ve seen at Wal-Mart. C’mon… gimme somethin’ good!

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Love

(Love) is knowing you are going to spend everyday of every month of every year with the same person; & thinking...this is EXACTLY what I want.

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Uh... What Broke?


I came home the other day from work and everything was going on as normal. Jasmine was driving Breana crazy, the dog was on the couch as she was not supposed to be, and the smell of dinner was lingering in the airmosphere. After food and playtime I noticed that it was really warm in the house. When I wandered over to the thermostat it read 85 degrees! I was like “what the crap…what do I do now?” I don’t have any sort of home protection plan that covers this and I don’t know how to fix it.

My father came over and took a look at it and said either the fan motor or a small electrical transistor went out. I asked him if he knew how to fix it but that turned out to be a “no”. He did know a guy that works on them and said that it shouldn’t take too long to fix. I called and a couple of days later he came out and fixed me right up. Turns out it was a small itty-bitty little electrical component. I’m not saying how much that little thing and the visit cost me. Since then I have looked into some ways to safeguard me against little things that go out and break on me. Home warranties like what American Home Shield has to offer look really appealing. I just know that the I need to look into something before I spend all my free time on the phone trying to find someone to fix the junk when it breaks and then go broke trying to pay them.

Friday, April 20, 2012

Spring Break Memories

Santa Cruz, Half Moon Bay, Lake Tahoe, and Yosemite…

Today’s guest bartender for Happy Hour is Elle, a Twitter friend/part-time blogger from Northern California. [Raiders, baby!] Drinks are free for happy Hour so be sure to tip your bartender with a comment or two. There are appetizers in the corner and the bathroom is the second door on the left.


When Benjamin asked if I would do a guest post, I was super flattered. I am not a “blogger” by any stretch of the imagination ( I have a blog that rarely gets updated these days) however I was more than glad to join in. When he asked me to write about Spring Break, my first thought was “What’s that?!?!”
Of course, I know what Spring Break is—see that picture? That’s me on Spring Break in Hawaii many, many years ago. This was me before I had my daughter, before I truly understood what “responsibilities” were.
(Note to self: blowing your entire savings on a last minute trip did NOT fall under the responsible category)


                                                             
I just have not had a Spring Break, or any type of break in a very long time. Spring Break used to be a bunch of sunny days at the beach and long nights filled with friends, laughter and the kind of freedom only experienced by people with absolutely no responsibilities or worries. There was no homework, no chores, nothing to stop me from living it up.
Living in Northern California afforded me the opportunity to have many wonderful spring breaks. Santa Cruz, Half Moon Bay, Lake Tahoe, and Yosemite—all those places hold many great memories for me. Those were the days before I became a Mom.–the days when I only had myself to worry about and even then I wasn’t all that great at that!
There are honestly not too many things I miss about my pre-mommy days. Spring Break however is definitely one of them. I miss the freedom to come and go, to stay out late and sleep in, to do anything I wanted to do without any worries. It’s wishful thinking, I know.
Once I became a mom, my life became everything but worry free or relaxing! My daughter turned my life upside down and inside out. Throw in a divorce a few years later and you have a recipe for insanity that I am sure many of you are familiar with.
My Spring Breaks now consist of coordinating an insane schedule of daycare, play dates and enough fun activities to make up for the fact that NO, we are not going to Cabo San Lucas like her other friends and their families.
Lucky for me, I have a great little sports fan as a daughter so the last Spring Breaks have consisted of opening season baseball games and play off hockey games as well as random trips to the beach. They are a far cry from my carefree days but they are my reality now and as much as I miss those days (and I really do!), my new Spring Breaks give me even better memories like the one below. Hugs like that make life worth living.

Monday, April 16, 2012

Google Me

daddy I’m a hooker.





All things are spelled and grammerized as they were in the Google search.


If you blog, chances are you pop up in some pretty weird searches. Now imagine what you pop up in when you have the word, “Sex” in the blog title. Then imagine also having the word, “Dad” in the title. I’ll be straight with you. There’s some sick shit that people search for at night. The majority of it comes from Eastern Europe and the Middle East, though I do get my fair share of scary ones from Georgia, Alabama and Arkansas.
What you see listed below is a weekend’s worth of Google searches. This past weekend, to be specific. This is how people occupied their time between noon on Friday and 9:47 AM on Sunday. Go ahead and assume that the big winners were anything that had any or all of the following words, in various (and shocking) combinations: Sex, dad, daughter, father. Most added the words, “And”, or, “With” in their searches. Hidden amongst the weird ones are some really funny ones. Enjoy.

amy grant. Daddy sex. blink 182 nurse. sex with sex doctor sex. sex dad. sex with dad. i love boobs. enema. Dedy sex. soccer. prety breasts. white trash backyard. drunk woman. drunk old lady. I’m on my period. Sofia vergara nipple. world’s best breast. handjob. German chick. father daughter sex. kotex. Buddy Jesus. Amy Grant whore. yashi guzel sex. pizza al davis. red forman. heather locklear no panties. Chris daughtry. Raiders black hole. Miller Lite man card. mexicanhookers. plump bikini. hookers dad sex. daughter naked stories. getting down. hot nurses. old hottie hottie. fantasy sex. picture with cool baby. Jack Daniels. sex in cabo. salma hayek ass. archer sex. enema of the state. Mexican hookers. Motel 6 sucks tits.
That gets us through Friday night. Tomorrow is a new day.
dad sex. Archer sex. man card. getting laid cabo. Cabo sex. where to get laid in cabo. Josie Stevens tits. sex with daddy. white trash dip. virgin at 37. man card revoke. South Dakota. find prostitutes in cabo. aunt flo. Dropkick murphys. Daddy phone sex. Dick Booster. black hole. soccer. cavity search. daddy I’m a hooker. single dad double standard. daddy needs to bone. NFL breast cancer gloves. Iraq sex. 12 hot dads. spuds mckenzie. bald is beautiful. sexy nurses. Blink enema.

All told, there were upwards of 100 searches that referenced having sex with one’s own father. As mentioned above, the vast majority came from India, Pakistan, Nepal, Greece, Poland, Slovakia, Italy, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Georgia, Alabama and Arkansas. Occasionally from Canada. Mainly the plains provinces. Must be something about being home alone on those cold winter nights.
“daddy I’m a hooker”, came from a New York City suburb. What a shock. I hope she (or he) found something more helpful than my blog. And that daddy didn’t have a stroke when little Cindy or Bobby dropped the news that they’re a prostitute.
I want to hear from you. What’s the weirdest or funniest search have you had for your blog? Have you searched for something you thought was very PG, but Google led you to places that were more XXX? Which of these were your favorites? Tell me about it.

Saturday, April 14, 2012

The 37-Year-Old Virgin

“I want you right now,” she said in her best attempt at being seductive.





In September of 2010 I wrote about the 36-Year-Old Virgin turning 37 and remaining untapped. I planned on waiting a while (but not 2 years) before revealing the final installment of this epic “Quadogy”. A quadogy is kind of like a trilogy, but has four parts. I just made up that word, but I don’t give a shit.
It’s probably been a while since you read that post (if you ever read it), so I’m gonna throw you the final two paragraphs from that post. That way you can see why this is going in the direction it is.
I drove home and pondered my evening. I left home hopeful that I could have sex with her and didn’t. Her friend wanted to have sex with me, but I couldn’t. In case I wasn’t totally clear earlier, BFF straight up said she wanted to pull over and have sex with me while the Virgin was in the car. Classy, huh?
In case you didn’t figure it out—she became the 37-Year-Old Virgin and if you actually scrolled down to see how this ends—you suck! Now go back and read what you missed. It’s shocking, informative and entertaining.
The day after the 37th birthday bash I received a phone call from the now 37-Year-Old Virgin. She told me she didn’t remember a lot of the night and wanted to know if anything interesting happened. I pondered that thought for a moment. Should I tell her that her BFF wanted me to pull over and screw the shit out of her while the Virgin was in the front seat? That probably wasn’t the best strategy, so I went ahead and lied. “Nah. It was pretty same ‘ol,” I said. “I had fun.”

She thanked me for being such a good boyfriend and said that she was really looking forward to our trip on Friday. I was going to Mexico for seven days and the Virgin was going as my interpreter. I was going to tour the original Dos Equis brewery, which was then known as Tres Equis. Her family was from that small town and I needed someone fluent in Spanish, so it worked out perfectly.
We were going to spend two days in Mexico City, then take a bus to Orizaba for three days, then back to Mexico City for two more. We arrived in Mexico City and as soon as we checked into our hotel on the Zocalo, I was off to get some tacos al pastor (my personal fav) and a Corona.
The first night there she wanted to take me to La Zona Rosa (the pink zone) and she assured me I would have fun. I did have fun, but I have to say that Zona Rosa doesn’t mean what I thought it meant. I’m not sure why they call it the pink zone, because there wasn’t one strip club in the area. The name is kinda misleading, if you ask me.
We came back to the room and I (of course) made an overture towards having intercourse. I was rebuffed as usual. I tried the ‘ol, “We’re in a different country so it doesn’t really count,” line, but she reminded me that God sees everywhere. I hated when she played the God card. Once she does that your response has to include some reference to burning in hell.
The second night in Mexico City we again went out and she once again was
drinking a bit, kinda drunk,
totally hammered. We got back to the room and all she could do was slur something about, “Tonight’s the night, baby. We’re gonna have sex.” You would think I would be thrilled to hear those words come out of her mouth, but I wasn’t. Not that night.
Many probably consider me a full-time pig, but I’m not. That night I told her no. I explained that we weren’t having sex because she was drunk and because I had respect for her virginity. I wanted to take it from her, but I respected her going 36 years without ever slippin it in. I told her that if this is what she really wanted, that I would have sex with her tomorrow, but not tonight.
I, of course, went to sleep frustrated as hell and completely pissed off at myself for having a conscience. The next morning we awoke early and caught our bus to Orizaba. The bus had a TV and played Disney movies, one in English with Spanish subtitles and the other in Spanish with English subtitles. Weird, huh?
Along the way we discussed the previous night’s adventure and she claimed that she knew exactly what she was saying. She reiterated that she felt like she was ready and that she wanted to, “Do this now.” I looked around at the bus full of travelers and asked if she meant, “Right here, right now.” She assured me, she did not mean that.
We got to the hotel just in time to drop our bags and walk across town to see her grandmother. I noticed that people seemed to be staring at me and about the third block down, I asked, “I’m guessing they don’t get a lot of americans around here, do they?” She told me they didn’t and wanted to know why I was asking. “Uh,” I said sarcastically. “Probably has to do with the fact that every person around is staring at me.”
As we walked, I looked at her and asked if she was completely sober. “Of course I am, silly,” she said. “You’ve been with me all day.” I then asked if she was still sure she wanted to be de-virginized, and she said she was sure she was ready. (I probably used a different word at the time, but I don’t remember.) I explained that I wanted to know, because if she was drunk again tonight and wanted to do it, that I was totally going for it. She laughed and said it was fine, but she didn’t plan on being drunk. She wanted to, “Remember this night.” I was pretty sure it would be memorable.
We went out with her grandma, two uncles and two aunts to some local joint specializing in sopes and we ate till we were stuffed. As I was paying the bill, someone asked if we had any big plans for the night. I refrained from explaining that I was planning on taking their niece/granddaughter back to the hotel to experience what many of her all girl Catholic school classmates experienced before they took their drivers test. You shouldn’t tell family that stuff. Your friends? Maybe. But not family.
We strolled back towards the hotel and stopped into a cantina for a couple Mexican car bombs (Dos Equis in a glass with a shot of patron at the bottom) and as we finished our second one, she leaned in and whispered, “Let’s go back to the room.” I walked as fast as I could without seeming too anxious. She seemed excited too and not at all nervous. I was a bit shocked by that.
As we walked, I had a thousand thoughts running through my mind. Was she going to cry and scream the whole time or would she get into it pretty quickly? I planned on pretty much doing all the work, but I wondered how good she would be. I wasn’t expecting much, but I was hopeful. “Fuck it,” I said to myself. “She’s finally giving it up, so stop whining like a pussy.”
She opened the door to the room, sprinted ahead, turned around, and proceeded to rip her shirt off. “I want you right now,” she said in her best attempt at being seductive. What happened after that? It’s not cool to tell. Suffice it to say that I stopped the clock on her virginity that night and that there will never be a story about the 38-Year-Old Virgin. At least not here.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Happy birthday 36-Year-Old Virgin

I totally could have nailed this one if I had wanted to, but out of respect for the Virgin I declined.


On Labor Day, 2010 I sat down at my laptop to knock this post out and became sidetracked, which led to the whole Peabody & Sherman post (which no one has commented on, so I assume it was a huge flop. Oh well…) This is the post I meant to write that afternoon and the one that I now am busting out for you all to read.
This story happened about six years ago. I can’t remember exactly, but I’m pretty sure Drama Queen was fourteen at the time. Or maybe she was fifteen. Either way, it happened a while ago and it is totally true, fairly shocking and hopefully funny.
In the past I’ve written a couple of posts about the 36-Year-Old Virgin. Yes, she really was a virgin at age 36 and no, it wasn’t because she was hideous. She was cute. And sort of funny. And raised by a Mexican, Catholic mother who put the fear of God into her about having sex before marriage, which kept everything else OUT of her. If you know what I mean.
She was cool to date and as much as I respected her for the virginity, it did bug the crap out of me from time to time—mainly at night when I was horny.
These first few paragraphs were a history lesson for those not knowledgeable in the ways of the Virgin. On to the blog post.
As I drove to her house I knew this would be my last date with the 36-Year-Old Virgin. There was no doubt in my mind. We weren’t breaking up, but tonight was her birthday celebration and tomorrow she turned 37. This night had two possible outcomes—either she would stop being the Virgin or she would soon become the 37-Year-Old Virgin.
I’m not going to tell you right now how it ended and I trust that you have enough restraint to not scroll down to the end before coming back up to read the story. That would be lame and could be considered cheating. I’m just saying.
I headed down the 91 from Redlands to her house in Santa Ana. It was her last night being 36 and we were meeting a bunch of her friends at a place called The Crazy Horse at the Irvine Spectrum.
I never quite understood how The Crazy Horse ended up in Irvine, AKA Uppermiddleclassville. The Crazy Horse was a redneck joint, which for years had been located in neighboring Santa Ana. If you were a fan of country music this was your hot spot.
All the big names of the 70’s and 80’s played there while they were still big names. It was the place to be if you had a big ass belt buckle with your name on it or if you wore a cowboy hat. For some reason it closed and relocated in the Irvine Spectrum—one of the most non-redneck places I know.
The Virgin wanted to hit the Crazy Horse because it was Disco Night and they had a DJ and she loved to dance. She wanted to get her groove on and wanted all her friends to be there. Awesome…
I picked her up and told her that I had her present, but that I would give it to her later. Even after New Years Eve she wasn’t getting the implication there. I truly felt bad for her, but was hoping that she was ready to stop being the Virgin. Fingers crossed.
She gave me a hug and a kiss and said “OK, Bolillo. I can’t wait.” Oh yeah, she called me Bolillo. The word means “white bread” in Spanish. That was her little pet name for me. Nice, huh?
We cruised to the Spectrum and met her friends on the patio at Crazy Horse and began drinking and ordering dinner. It was the typical mid-30’s chick birthday get together, complete with all the drama and some douche who drank his ass off but somehow seemed to have no money when it came time to pay the bill.
It was a good thing the Virgin didn’t suggest I pay his portion because I would have recommended that I beat the $50 out of him in front of his friends, immediately following the meal. Someone else covered him but we had to listen to that story all night long.
The reality is that everyone else had to listen. I tuned out about 90% of the shit that was said that night. I didn’t care and I was determined that the Virgin was going to have a birthday she would never forget. That was the plan. The reality is that it would end up being a birthday she would barely remember.
The Virgin was pounding down the margaritas as we were eating and I tried to get her to slow down a bit, but she kept telling me that it was her birthday and she just wanted to have fun with her friends. I wanted her mostly sober so I could de-virginize her in good conscience before the end of the night.
We started dancing and having a good time. I’m not a big dancer, but I figure that disco is all about getting out there and looking like a dumbass, so I knew I would fit right in. I was driving home and was taking it very easy on the drinking and was trying to get her to do the same but her fucking friends kept pouring shots into her all God damn night long!
These douche bags were ruining my plan and I was getting frustrated about it. As much as dancing wasn’t my thing, I tried to keep her on the dance floor as much as possible, because when she wasn’t dancing she wasn’t drinking and was hopefully sobering up a bit.
Her BFF was one of these whiny bitches that fills her life with drama. About halfway through the night I was informed (not asked. Informed) that we were taking her home because, “the friend that she came with was no friend and she needed us to take her home.”
Come to find out a bit later, the reason the friend was no friend was because he was trying to put the moves on the BFF. Much respect bro. Much respect. I wish I had known that earlier—we could have worked in tandem to achieve our separate goals.
At midnight my girlfriend officially became the 37-Year-Old Virgin and I officially became really ticked off. The Virgin was flat out drunk. Like, hurl in the bushes drunk. Twice. Shortly after midnight I had to get two totally hammered chicks into my Sentra and get them to their separate homes.
The Virgin wanted to lie down in the car and she was completely and totally passed out in the back seat. BFF was not quite as trashed and spent most of the car ride home telling me how cute I was and what a great guy I was. I totally could have nailed this one if I had wanted to, but out of respect for the Virgin I declined.
I eventually found BFF’s home and when I arrived I found her mother and father in the driveway very upset at the condition their daughter was in. Yeah. She still lived with her parents. And was almost 40. Sweet.
I explained to mom and dad that I was not the dude she had her date with and that I had a drunk Virgin in the back seat to take home. “Hasta luego papi,” I said as I climbed back into the car.
As much as I should have been pissed, I was more frustrated and upset. The reality is that there was no way in hell that I could even try to have sex with her. Not when she was in that condition.
Think of me what you will, but I do have some morals. I may be hard on the outside (pun partially intended) but I’m sweet on the inside—like an M & M. Not to be confused with Eminem. That dude’s kind of cool, but a bit whack too. As usual, I digress…
I took the Virgin home and as I pulled into her driveway, her mother came out to meet us. The Virgin owned the house that she grew up in, but her mother still lived there. One would argue that she still lived at home while others would argue that she owned the house and her mom lived with her. I often argued the former, while she argued the latter.
I helped mom get her inside and was thanked many times. This lady LOVED me and totally believed me when I said I tried to keep her from drinking so much (though I wasn’t giving up my reason for limiting the alcohol consumption.)
I drove home and pondered my evening. I left home hopeful that I could have sex with her and didn’t. Her friend wanted to have sex with me, but I couldn’t. In case I wasn’t totally clear earlier, BFF straight up said she wanted to pull over and have sex with me while the Virgin was in the car. Classy, huh?
In case you didn’t figure it out—she became the 37-Year-Old Virgin and if you actually scrolled down to see how this ends—you suck! Now go back and read what you missed. It’s shocking, informative and entertaining.

Redlands Community Hospital 1903-1904

In 1903 a group of Redlands physicians remodeled this home at 114 W Vine Street and converted it into a temporary clinic hospital. Physicians and Community soon raised $15,000 to build Redlands first official hospital at 302 Nordina Street, Construction was completed in November 1904. In 1929 the Hospital moved to its current site at 350 Terracina Boulevard.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Skiing with The 36-Year-Old-Virgin

She just smiled and asked, “When are you going to give it to me?”




I loaded the Drama Queen into the Sentra and headed to my friend’s house to get the keys to his cabin in Blue Jay, CA. It was December 30, 2004 and I was going to the mountains with D.Q., The 36-Year-Old-Virgin, my friend The Kings Fan, and his wife Hot Latin Mama, their son G.I. Joe along with Mama’s younger sister, Hermana. Hermana was up from Mexico for the holidays. We were all going skiing/snowboarding in Big Bear on New Years Eve and we stayed at the cabin for a couple of nights.
This place was a cabin in name only. It was bigger and nicer than my house in Redlands and sat on a golf course. My friends bought it in 1996, The cabin was 90 minutes away from home and 45 from the ski areas. For those that think there is no snow in Southern California, there is. Back in the day I would often surf in the morning and go night skiing. Life was pretty sweet.
After getting the keys I went down to The O.C. and picked up The Virgin. She had never skied before and in fact had never even been to the snow, which I guess made her a snow virgin as well. It was kind of funny seeing this Mexican cutie all bundled up in snow pants, a heavy coat, gloves and a beanie when it was 60 degrees out. I told her that we would be in the car and that we would pull right up to the door, in case she waned to throw on some jeans for the car ride up. “That’s OK Bolillo,” she said. “I want to enjoy the experience.” Whatever. (BTW…Bolillo is Spanish for “white bread”)
I threw her bag in the back and we headed out through The 909 (So. Cal’s. meth headquarters, named the 909 because the area code is 909). I pulled into Costco near the base of the mountain and tried not to snicker as the virgin trampled inside in her snow pants and winter boots when many of the other shoppers were in shorts and flip flops.
When the shopping was done we headed up the mountain and arrived shortly before our guests. There were three bedrooms—two with queen beds and one with twin beds plus a huge couch in the living room. I don’t remember the sleeping arrangements but I do remember that The Virgin and I had a room with a queen bed. Sweet.
Dinner that night was good and the girls fixed some authentic Mexican fare. The Virgin was Mexican and The Kings Fan was born in Mexico but raised in L.A. He had recently married Mama and she and G.I. Joe were full-blown Mexican and had only lived in the U.S. for a year or so. I do remember a lot of Corona being consumed that night. Some Patron too.
We got up early the next morning, made breakfast and some sandwiches for lunch and headed up to Bear Mountain Ski Area. We stopped to rent our equipment and Kings Fan laughed at me for renting skis. Everyone else was snowboarding but I reminded him that I was all the way Old School and that I had ripped up both knees and ankles playing soccer (with him as my goalie), so I wanted something that I could eject out of if and when I biffed it big.
We arrived and put the kids in a ski school/daycare thing and went off to have fun. I think that Mama, Hermana and The Virgin took lessons because King and I went off to have some fun. It had been a few years since I had skied but it came back quickly and soon we were heading down some pretty steep terrain. It was snowing a very icy snow that day and was really windy and I remember the snow stinging as it hit my face. Every time I started to get cold I whipped out my flask of Malibu (I guess I was going through a Malibu and Coke phase then). The more I drank, the better I felt. Soon enough my big flask was empty and I was pretty buzzed.
We finished skiing/boarding and headed back to the cabin. (Relax. I don’t drink and drive. I was sober by then.) We arrived and started preparing our big New Years Eve fiesta. I’m pretty rad in the kitchen and I usually cook for my friends, but tonight the chicas were preparing the food and we were all having fun drinking. The Virgin was drinking pretty steadily and the more she drank, the happier she got.
I remember King pulling me aside at one point and saying that I should “tap it tonight.” I wasn’t completely opposed to the idea (we had been dating a couple of months) and I went up to her, whispered in her ear and told her that I had a special surprise for her at midnight. She smiled and said she couldn’t “wait to get it”. This chick was so freakin naïve!
As midnight approached, King kept looking at me and giving me “the nod”. You know what I mean. The one that guys give each other as if to say, “that’s right. It’s all good.” At one point Mama came up to me and said that she was so happy for us. Apparently King had shared the secret. I had to let her know that it was actually not a done deal and that in fact The Virgin had no clue what I was planning. I also had to remind her that although I wasn’t completely fluent in Spanish, I knew enough to know if she tried to tip her off!
At about 11:50 PM The Virgin came up and asked what I had for her. I told her that it was a big surprise and that I was sure that she had never gotten this before. She just smiled and asked, “When are you going to give it to me?” I told her that I would give it to her shortly after midnight when we went to bed.
Midnight came and went and we got the cabin mostly cleaned up and everyone went to bed. She and I went into our room and closed the door. I started kissing her and she asked what I had for her. I (like a guy who had been drinking all day) told her that I thought her New Years resolution should be to experience new things in 2005 and she thought that sounded great. Please keep in mind that she too had been drinking all night. And that she was really naïve.
We continued kissing and as we did I told her that I thought that she should finally experience sex and she looked at me with puppy dog eyes and asked, “Bolillo. Don’t you care about my soul? I mean, what would God say if I had sex outside of marriage?” I told her that I didn’t know, but reminded her that a lot of Catholic school girls were sluts, so I figured that God would cut her some slack for waiting until she was 36. I also asked her how many Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers she thought the priest would give her for “doing it”.
I didn’t get laid that night but the next morning she acted as if the whole thing never happened. She bounced up the steps and into the kitchen with a cheery hello for everyone. Mama looked up at me and came over to hug me and said, “congratulations.” I told her that nothing happened and she gave me one of those “What you talking about Willis?” Looks. Neither Mama nor The Fan could believe that she still wasn’t giving it up. They were both a little disappointed in me and I have to admit that I was a bit disappointed in myself too.
The Virgin turned 37 a few weeks later and I won’t tell you whether or not she became The 37-Year-Old-Virgin. That is another story for another day.

Friday, April 6, 2012

Dating a 36-year-old virgin

“So. How did you manage that?”

I was watching TV Thursday night trying to decide what to write about when I realized that many of my newer readers probably haven’t seen any of my dating posts from the early days of the blog. Back in the day (late 2009-mid 2010) I blogged about some pretty memorable dates and I figured I would pull one out of the vault, touch it up and share it with you. Consider it an early Easter gift. Or Passover, depending on your religious preference.
I haven’t written about any crazy dating stories in quite a while because I’ve got a rad chick in my life (my Muse) and there aren’t crazy dating stories because she lives 3,000 miles away from my Southern California home. I hope you enjoy this totally true story about my first date with a 36-year-old virgin. 

The 36-year-old virgin
She had one of those perma-smiles on her face as she walked into my store for the first time. We met online and chatted a few times before deciding to go out and this was the night. As she sat down in our break room. I had no clue what a memorable evening it would turn out to be. Who knew that I would soon receive a slightly racist nickname as well as the shock of my life!
She’s from The O.C. and during one of our phone conversations asked if we could go to Downtown Disney to walk around, talk and grab some dinner. “Absolutely,” I replied. “Where would you like to meet?” She asked if she could meet me at my store, which was halfway between her place and the Happiest Place on Earth.
We climbed into my Sentra, headed towards Anaheim and grabbed a decent parking spot near the entrance to Downtown Disney. We walked around, bopping in and out of several stores and having typical first date conversation. After a while we decided it was time for dinner but couldn’t figure out where to go. There were a myriad of restaurants to choose from and she asked if I minded going to Tortilla Jo’s Cantina.
“Seriously?” I asked. “Yeah,” she responded. “Why?” I was trying to find a nice way to say what I had to say, but there was no way I could so I just blurted it out. “Well, you’re, uh, Mexican and  I can say with almost absolute certainty that this place will not have real Mexican food.”
“Oh bolillo,” (pronounced bo-LEE-yoh) she exclaimed. “I’m here with you and I want you to go Mexican tonight!” Wow! My expectations for the night just went way, way up. She was cute and I’ll admit that I had already wondered what it would be like to “go Mexican” with her. A couple of times, actually. But as it was a first date and considering I’m generally a pretty nice guy, I hadn’t put too much thought into it. Until now. For the record, “bolillo” means “white bread” in kind of a “yo, crackah” way.
We approached the hostess stand and were seated at a quiet table in the corner. It was a chilly Southern California fall evening (probably all of 50 degrees) and she wanted to avoid the patio and stay inside where it was “toasty”. After ordering a pitcher of margaritas we looked over the menu, trying to decide what looked good. The more I thought about her going Mexican comment the more I decided that she was looking pretty good, but I was still playing it cool and kept my yap shut.
After ordering we munched on chips and salsa and got another pitcher of margaritas while continuing to conversate. Dinner arrived and I honestly have no clue what was said to get her on this next topic because neither sex nor anything sexual was ever brought up. Right after I put a bite of chile relleno in my mouth, as if on cue, my date very casually mentioned that she was a virgin.
I somehow swallowed my food without choking, looked up and said, “No shit?” She looked a bit surprised at my response. I apologized and said, “Let me rephrase that. Seriously?” “Of course,” she said with a giggle. “I told you that I was never married.”
I’m far from a prude, but neither am I a man whore and I was more than a bit shocked at this revelation. I looked over at her with bewilderment and took a long drink of my margarita. Actually I drained the glass and was pouring another as I asked, “So. How did you manage that?”
The Virgin went on to explain that she had never been married, had been in only one serious relationship and that she was Catholic which meant that she knew it was a sin to have sexual relations outside of marriage. I tried my best not to laugh out loud and as I tried to suppress my laughter she asked what was so funny. I told her not to take my question the wrong way, but asked if she knew the reputation that Catholic schoolgirls have. The Virgin told me she had heard that some “engage in relations” before they’re married but didn’t know they had a reputation.
“Some engage in relations?” I asked, completely surprised by her answer. “I went to school near Aquinas high and we used to call them The Ho’s from Aquinas.” I know that I’m gonna sound like an ass when I say this, but the next thing that went through my mind was, “I guess I’m not going Mexican tonight.”
Somehow we managed to change topics and finish our meal. After dinner we walked around a bit more, grabbed some coffee and dessert and found a bench with a good view of the Disneyland fireworks. I was planning my next move when the Virgin reached over and took my hand. As she did I looked over and saw that perma-smile still on her face. I smiled back and after the fireworks were over we walked hand in hand back to my car. I gave her a kiss on the cheek as we departed the parking lot and we decided to go out again a couple nights later.
Back at my store I watched her climb into her Mustang and as I drove home had a hard time coming to terms with this new reality. I knew that statistically there had to be at least a handful of 36-year-old virgins in Southern California, but I never expected one to be cute. Or that I would end up on a date with one of them. I thought about e-mailing Match.com and suggesting they add a box on their profiles for “VIRGIN” but figured it would make me seem like a douche.
After arriving home I jumped online, checked a few e-mails and saw that my friend “The Kings Fan” was online. I shared my amazing tale with my friend and he quickly responded in typical dude fashion. “No shit?” He asked. “So…you gonna try and tap it?”