Kendall
I heart waffles
I just got an email about a bar in Chicago that is now making booze-sicles. And its only a block away from my office. I have a new favorite bar in Chicago.
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GM's thread about nothing (5 Viewers)
- Thread starter General Malaise
- Start date
General Malaise
Footballguy
The Wedding Diaries - Day 1 - Daddy Driven to Airplane Scotch
If you ask my sons, age 7 and 5, what the best part of the last week of their life was, chances are you'll hear a multitude of answers ranging from swimming on the beach of a Michigan Lake to dancing with the Sun Messengers until 12:30am to learning how to play bocce ball with true Italians to spotting and watching a UFO fly right over our heads to being given the green light by my MIL to eat her endless supply of ice cream sandwiches morning, noon and night to listening to my college and HS buddies tell embarrassing, albeit PG rated, stories about their dad to drinking typically forbidden Cokes as often as they pleased. And while all those are true and impossible for them to single out as their very favorite moment of the past week, nothing at all compares to the excitement I saw in their eyes when the school secretary called them out of their classrooms and into the office at 11am last Tuesday to meet their dad and depart on their voyage to meet up with their future step-mom and my wife to be.
To say they were excited to bolt school early, hop on a plane, fly across the country and miss the next few days of 1st grade and kindergarten would be like saying Fred Flintstone mildly anticipated the bird call to end his work day. These boys were literally skipping down the hallway to greet me. We signed out, raced home, got our bags in order and waited for my sister to pick us up and drive us to the airport. Their mouths didn't stop moving the entire time as commentary flew out at a rate John Madden would admire. It was then I realized that I was, for the first time in my life, about to wedge myself on non-direct, change-planes-in-Chicago, Southwest Airlines Flight with Beavis & Butthead all alone, with no co-parent to assist me. I was going to have to play Cover-2 without any help from the Free Safety against Peyton Manning and company. I began to wonder if they sold bear tranquilizers inside the airport. I'm not a praying man, but friends, I'm not above saying I bowed my head and asked sweet Jeebus to send Maverick from Top Gun to pilot our planes.
Check in through the airport was, thankfully, uneventful. Well, that is if you forget the fact that my youngest son began to take his pants off to deposit them in the security bucket along with his shoes before I could turn around and tell him we didn't actually have to go through the airport screen naked like his older brother had told him.
We made it through no problems, found our gate and found a nearby restaurant to park ourselves, order a little pre-flight food, a couple of sodas and a giant beer. The boys ate their food like starved dogs, leaving me all alone to play games on the moving walkways, which were fortunately within my sightline. The airport was relatively empty, so their antics weren't too encroaching and with any luck at all, I was hoping the treadmill like sprints would tire them out...at least a little.
With a final gulp of my 22 Oz Ninkasi IPA, it was time to line up on the Southwest Cattle Car and not only bid farewell to the rain and cold of Oregon, but also say good bye to fine Northwest micro brews. For the next cold ale to hit my warm and eager hands would come in a blue can and would be, to my best guess, 8 hours away. The boys and I lined up in the A group, readied our boarding passes and then....then the fighting started. "I CALL WINDOW SEAT"! "HEY, THAT'S NOT FAIR"! "IS TOO, I CALLED IT FIRST"! "YOU ALWAYS CALL EVERYTHING FIRST"! "THAT'S BECAUSE I'M SMARTER THAN YOU"!
I quickly bent down and shushed them with a scowl Ice Cube would appreciate. I pulled out a coin, told the oldest to call it in the air which led to, you guessed it, "HEY, HOW COME I CAN'T CALL IT IN THE AIR"! Sigh....The lines began to move and in a negotiation move Kissinger would admire, I told them that since they couldn't agree that I would sit on the window the entire trip on all legs of every flight. They immediately made an arrangement whereupon one would get a window from Portland to Chicago and the other would get a window from Chicago to Detroit and then vice versa on the trip back. Splendid. Well, except for the fact that that meant dear old dad, purchaser of all fares, would ride in the middle seat coming and going. Failure to do so would be like moving the Israelis and the Palestinians even closer together. Sigh....
We loaded into our seats, settled in nicely and actually had a very nice, uneventful flight to Chicago. My sons absolutely LOVE to fly and ask questions I really don't have answers for, but tend to, upon exhaustion, fabricate my responses. "Dad, where do planes go when they aren't being used?" "They, uh...they have a really big plane wash area, kind of like those car washes we go through at the gas station to get clean. It takes a long long time". "Dad, what happens if a plane gets a flat tire?" "Ummm, they have tow truck planes that come up underneath and change them". If I don't provide an answer, they'll just keep hammering away. They are going to hate me when they grow up and realize that everything I've told them about air travel is BS.
After the initial excitement of flying wore off and after the boys had tired of playing their Nintendo DS games, they began to get restless, leading to the inevitable question every father endures on any trip - "How much longer"? And they didn't want to know what time, since the time zones were skewing their grasp on reality. No, they wanted to know the number minutes. Minutes they understand. "How many more minutes until we land" was plagued upon me over and over. Then they wanted to go to the bathroom. And they wanted to poop on an airplane toilet as if pooping on an airplane toilet was like landing on the moon. I put my foot down on that one and told them they could do what every normal human does - wait until we arrive at the airport in Chicago. When asked if they'd like to take a nap, you would have thought I asked them if they wanted a lava enema. Sigh...
The plane change in Chicago was quick and painless, but the fighting over seats began a new as we boarded, our treaty already forgotten. We finally settled in, with me in the middle, beleaguered and ready for the day to be over. Once air born, the flight attendant asked what I wanted. For the first time in ages, perhaps years, I ordered a Scotch on the rocks. Ahhh, glorious Scotch. My old friend. It went down Hennigan's smoooooth. And so did the flight. Night was now here and as we flew over the Great Lake and into Michigan, I was finally as excited as my boys were all day long. I had been apart from my lady for nearly a week and couldn't wait to see her. Couldn't wait to greet her family again. Couldn't wait to get these boys off the mother F'ing plane.
Upon arrival, we waited an eternity for our bags. It was a battle to keep the boys from riding on the baggage carousal, though deep down, I wanted to ride around with them to quell the boredom of wating for suitcases. Finally, they dropped down and we left to catch a bus to make our way to the Budget Rental Counter where we learned, near midnight now, that they were OUT of our rental car. Right before I jumped over the counter to strangle the gal who had informed me that they were out of my car, she said the most glorious words I had heard all day long "Sir, will a Mini-Van work instead, no extra charge"? Folks, I have a dirty little secret. I've always wanted a mini-van and were it not for my ex-wife refusing to sign off on one years ago, I'd be the owner of one right now. So when I get a free upgrade to rent one, I do it. And I drive it like I'm the ghost of Dale Earnheart.
We loaded up into the van, admired the cool sliding doors, the spacious room, the drink holders and best yet, it's ability to go 85-90 on Detroit's copious, wide open highways. My wife's family lives an hour and change away from the airport. We got there in 50 minutes, thanks to some insane Michigan drivers who feel 85 in the left hand lane is a sin. We followed a few guys going 90+. We rocked hard to AC/DC, .38 Special and Journey. We arrived to a full house, an arm full of hugs and the first of many ice cold Labatts.
If you ask my sons, age 7 and 5, what the best part of the last week of their life was, chances are you'll hear a multitude of answers ranging from swimming on the beach of a Michigan Lake to dancing with the Sun Messengers until 12:30am to learning how to play bocce ball with true Italians to spotting and watching a UFO fly right over our heads to being given the green light by my MIL to eat her endless supply of ice cream sandwiches morning, noon and night to listening to my college and HS buddies tell embarrassing, albeit PG rated, stories about their dad to drinking typically forbidden Cokes as often as they pleased. And while all those are true and impossible for them to single out as their very favorite moment of the past week, nothing at all compares to the excitement I saw in their eyes when the school secretary called them out of their classrooms and into the office at 11am last Tuesday to meet their dad and depart on their voyage to meet up with their future step-mom and my wife to be.
To say they were excited to bolt school early, hop on a plane, fly across the country and miss the next few days of 1st grade and kindergarten would be like saying Fred Flintstone mildly anticipated the bird call to end his work day. These boys were literally skipping down the hallway to greet me. We signed out, raced home, got our bags in order and waited for my sister to pick us up and drive us to the airport. Their mouths didn't stop moving the entire time as commentary flew out at a rate John Madden would admire. It was then I realized that I was, for the first time in my life, about to wedge myself on non-direct, change-planes-in-Chicago, Southwest Airlines Flight with Beavis & Butthead all alone, with no co-parent to assist me. I was going to have to play Cover-2 without any help from the Free Safety against Peyton Manning and company. I began to wonder if they sold bear tranquilizers inside the airport. I'm not a praying man, but friends, I'm not above saying I bowed my head and asked sweet Jeebus to send Maverick from Top Gun to pilot our planes.
Check in through the airport was, thankfully, uneventful. Well, that is if you forget the fact that my youngest son began to take his pants off to deposit them in the security bucket along with his shoes before I could turn around and tell him we didn't actually have to go through the airport screen naked like his older brother had told him.
We made it through no problems, found our gate and found a nearby restaurant to park ourselves, order a little pre-flight food, a couple of sodas and a giant beer. The boys ate their food like starved dogs, leaving me all alone to play games on the moving walkways, which were fortunately within my sightline. The airport was relatively empty, so their antics weren't too encroaching and with any luck at all, I was hoping the treadmill like sprints would tire them out...at least a little.With a final gulp of my 22 Oz Ninkasi IPA, it was time to line up on the Southwest Cattle Car and not only bid farewell to the rain and cold of Oregon, but also say good bye to fine Northwest micro brews. For the next cold ale to hit my warm and eager hands would come in a blue can and would be, to my best guess, 8 hours away. The boys and I lined up in the A group, readied our boarding passes and then....then the fighting started. "I CALL WINDOW SEAT"! "HEY, THAT'S NOT FAIR"! "IS TOO, I CALLED IT FIRST"! "YOU ALWAYS CALL EVERYTHING FIRST"! "THAT'S BECAUSE I'M SMARTER THAN YOU"!
I quickly bent down and shushed them with a scowl Ice Cube would appreciate. I pulled out a coin, told the oldest to call it in the air which led to, you guessed it, "HEY, HOW COME I CAN'T CALL IT IN THE AIR"! Sigh....The lines began to move and in a negotiation move Kissinger would admire, I told them that since they couldn't agree that I would sit on the window the entire trip on all legs of every flight. They immediately made an arrangement whereupon one would get a window from Portland to Chicago and the other would get a window from Chicago to Detroit and then vice versa on the trip back. Splendid. Well, except for the fact that that meant dear old dad, purchaser of all fares, would ride in the middle seat coming and going. Failure to do so would be like moving the Israelis and the Palestinians even closer together. Sigh....
We loaded into our seats, settled in nicely and actually had a very nice, uneventful flight to Chicago. My sons absolutely LOVE to fly and ask questions I really don't have answers for, but tend to, upon exhaustion, fabricate my responses. "Dad, where do planes go when they aren't being used?" "They, uh...they have a really big plane wash area, kind of like those car washes we go through at the gas station to get clean. It takes a long long time". "Dad, what happens if a plane gets a flat tire?" "Ummm, they have tow truck planes that come up underneath and change them". If I don't provide an answer, they'll just keep hammering away. They are going to hate me when they grow up and realize that everything I've told them about air travel is BS.
After the initial excitement of flying wore off and after the boys had tired of playing their Nintendo DS games, they began to get restless, leading to the inevitable question every father endures on any trip - "How much longer"? And they didn't want to know what time, since the time zones were skewing their grasp on reality. No, they wanted to know the number minutes. Minutes they understand. "How many more minutes until we land" was plagued upon me over and over. Then they wanted to go to the bathroom. And they wanted to poop on an airplane toilet as if pooping on an airplane toilet was like landing on the moon. I put my foot down on that one and told them they could do what every normal human does - wait until we arrive at the airport in Chicago. When asked if they'd like to take a nap, you would have thought I asked them if they wanted a lava enema. Sigh...
The plane change in Chicago was quick and painless, but the fighting over seats began a new as we boarded, our treaty already forgotten. We finally settled in, with me in the middle, beleaguered and ready for the day to be over. Once air born, the flight attendant asked what I wanted. For the first time in ages, perhaps years, I ordered a Scotch on the rocks. Ahhh, glorious Scotch. My old friend. It went down Hennigan's smoooooth. And so did the flight. Night was now here and as we flew over the Great Lake and into Michigan, I was finally as excited as my boys were all day long. I had been apart from my lady for nearly a week and couldn't wait to see her. Couldn't wait to greet her family again. Couldn't wait to get these boys off the mother F'ing plane.
Upon arrival, we waited an eternity for our bags. It was a battle to keep the boys from riding on the baggage carousal, though deep down, I wanted to ride around with them to quell the boredom of wating for suitcases. Finally, they dropped down and we left to catch a bus to make our way to the Budget Rental Counter where we learned, near midnight now, that they were OUT of our rental car. Right before I jumped over the counter to strangle the gal who had informed me that they were out of my car, she said the most glorious words I had heard all day long "Sir, will a Mini-Van work instead, no extra charge"? Folks, I have a dirty little secret. I've always wanted a mini-van and were it not for my ex-wife refusing to sign off on one years ago, I'd be the owner of one right now. So when I get a free upgrade to rent one, I do it. And I drive it like I'm the ghost of Dale Earnheart.
We loaded up into the van, admired the cool sliding doors, the spacious room, the drink holders and best yet, it's ability to go 85-90 on Detroit's copious, wide open highways. My wife's family lives an hour and change away from the airport. We got there in 50 minutes, thanks to some insane Michigan drivers who feel 85 in the left hand lane is a sin. We followed a few guys going 90+. We rocked hard to AC/DC, .38 Special and Journey. We arrived to a full house, an arm full of hugs and the first of many ice cold Labatts.
Folks, this is why the internet was invented.JFC, I miss the GM stories of years past...most of which would get banned nowdays and force him to slink around as redeyeguywholovesdudes or something.The Wedding Diaries - Day 1 - Daddy Driven to Airplane Scotch
If you ask my sons, age 7 and 5, what the best part of the last week of their life was, chances are you'll hear a multitude of answers ranging from swimming on the beach of a Michigan Lake to dancing with the Sun Messengers until 12:30am to learning how to play bocce ball with true Italians to spotting and watching a UFO fly right over our heads to being given the green light by my MIL to eat her endless supply of ice cream sandwiches morning, noon and night to listening to my college and HS buddies tell embarrassing, albeit PG rated, stories about their dad to drinking typically forbidden Cokes as often as they pleased. And while all those are true and impossible for them to single out as their very favorite moment of the past week, nothing at all compares to the excitement I saw in their eyes when the school secretary called them out of their classrooms and into the office at 11am last Tuesday to meet their dad and depart on their voyage to meet up with their future step-mom and my wife to be.To say they were excited to bolt school early, hop on a plane, fly across the country and miss the next few days of 1st grade and kindergarten would be like saying Fred Flintstone mildly anticipated the bird call to end his work day. These boys were literally skipping down the hallway to greet me. We signed out, raced home, got our bags in order and waited for my sister to pick us up and drive us to the airport. Their mouths didn't stop moving the entire time as commentary flew out at a rate John Madden would admire. It was then I realized that I was, for the first time in my life, about to wedge myself on non-direct, change-planes-in-Chicago, Southwest Airlines Flight with Beavis & Butthead all alone, with no co-parent to assist me. I was going to have to play Cover-2 without any help from the Free Safety against Peyton Manning and company. I began to wonder if they sold bear tranquilizers inside the airport. I'm not a praying man, but friends, I'm not above saying I bowed my head and asked sweet Jeebus to send Maverick from Top Gun to pilot our planes.
Check in through the airport was, thankfully, uneventful. Well, that is if you forget the fact that my youngest son began to take his pants off to deposit them in the security bucket along with his shoes before I could turn around and tell him we didn't actually have to go through the airport screen naked like his older brother had told him.
With a final gulp of my 22 Oz Ninkasi IPA, it was time to line up on the Southwest Cattle Car and not only bid farewell to the rain and cold of Oregon, but also say good bye to fine Northwest micro brews. For the next cold ale to hit my warm and eager hands would come in a blue can and would be, to my best guess, 8 hours away. The boys and I lined up in the A group, readied our boarding passes and then....then the fighting started. "I CALL WINDOW SEAT"! "HEY, THAT'S NOT FAIR"! "IS TOO, I CALLED IT FIRST"! "YOU ALWAYS CALL EVERYTHING FIRST"! "THAT'S BECAUSE I'M SMARTER THAN YOU"!
I quickly bent down and shushed them with a scowl Ice Cube would appreciate. I pulled out a coin, told the oldest to call it in the air which led to, you guessed it, "HEY, HOW COME I CAN'T CALL IT IN THE AIR"! Sigh....The lines began to move and in a negotiation move Kissinger would admire, I told them that since they couldn't agree that I would sit on the window the entire trip on all legs of every flight. They immediately made an arrangement whereupon one would get a window from Portland to Chicago and the other would get a window from Chicago to Detroit and then vice versa on the trip back. Splendid. Well, except for the fact that that meant dear old dad, purchaser of all fares, would ride in the middle seat coming and going. Failure to do so would be like moving the Israelis and the Palestinians even closer together. Sigh....
We loaded into our seats, settled in nicely and actually had a very nice, uneventful flight to Chicago. My sons absolutely LOVE to fly and ask questions I really don't have answers for, but tend to, upon exhaustion, fabricate my responses. "Dad, where do planes go when they aren't being used?" "They, uh...they have a really big plane wash area, kind of like those car washes we go through at the gas station to get clean. It takes a long long time". "Dad, what happens if a plane gets a flat tire?" "Ummm, they have tow truck planes that come up underneath and change them". If I don't provide an answer, they'll just keep hammering away. They are going to hate me when they grow up and realize that everything I've told them about air travel is BS.
After the initial excitement of flying wore off and after the boys had tired of playing their Nintendo DS games, they began to get restless, leading to the inevitable question every father endures on any trip - "How much longer"? And they didn't want to know what time, since the time zones were skewing their grasp on reality. No, they wanted to know the number minutes. Minutes they understand. "How many more minutes until we land" was plagued upon me over and over. Then they wanted to go to the bathroom. And they wanted to poop on an airplane toilet as if pooping on an airplane toilet was like landing on the moon. I put my foot down on that one and told them they could do what every normal human does - wait until we arrive at the airport in Chicago. When asked if they'd like to take a nap, you would have thought I asked them if they wanted a lava enema. Sigh...
The plane change in Chicago was quick and painless, but the fighting over seats began a new as we boarded, our treaty already forgotten. We finally settled in, with me in the middle, beleaguered and ready for the day to be over. Once air born, the flight attendant asked what I wanted. For the first time in ages, perhaps years, I ordered a Scotch on the rocks. Ahhh, glorious Scotch. My old friend. It went down Hennigan's smoooooth. And so did the flight. Night was now here and as we flew over the Great Lake and into Michigan, I was finally as excited as my boys were all day long. I had been apart from my lady for nearly a week and couldn't wait to see her. Couldn't wait to greet her family again. Couldn't wait to get these boys off the mother F'ing plane.
Upon arrival, we waited an eternity for our bags. It was a battle to keep the boys from riding on the baggage carousal, though deep down, I wanted to ride around with them to quell the boredom of wating for suitcases. Finally, they dropped down and we left to catch a bus to make our way to the Budget Rental Counter where we learned, near midnight now, that they were OUT of our rental car. Right before I jumped over the counter to strangle the gal who had informed me that they were out of my car, she said the most glorious words I had heard all day long "Sir, will a Mini-Van work instead, no extra charge"? Folks, I have a dirty little secret. I've always wanted a mini-van and were it not for my ex-wife refusing to sign off on one years ago, I'd be the owner of one right now. So when I get a free upgrade to rent one, I do it. And I drive it like I'm the ghost of Dale Earnheart.
We loaded up into the van, admired the cool sliding doors, the spacious room, the drink holders and best yet, it's ability to go 85-90 on Detroit's copious, wide open highways. My wife's family lives an hour and change away from the airport. We got there in 50 minutes, thanks to some insane Michigan drivers who feel 85 in the left hand lane is a sin. We followed a few guys going 90+. We rocked hard to AC/DC, .38 Special and Journey. We arrived to a full house, an arm full of hugs and the first of many ice cold Labatts.
strykerpks
Footballguy
Can't wait for the next few installments 
Oh, PS - Congrats GM!
Oh, PS - Congrats GM!
Last edited by a moderator:
Homer J Simpson
I don't push
I generally don't profess my man-love for strangers on the Internet* but I truly love GM.
*That isn't even close to being true.
*That isn't even close to being true.
Radical Larry
Footballguy
The_Burning_Bush
Footballguy
*standing ovation*
FFchamps01
Footballguy
Great stuff GM.
Congratulations! Hope things continue to go your way.
Congratulations! Hope things continue to go your way.
St. Louis Bob
Footballguy
Any post he makes over a couple of sentences, I imagine the Rocky theme playing.Homer J Simpson said:
Running with scissors
Stark Raving Sane
Any post of GMs that's over two lines I start to read in Morgan Freeman's voice. Anything under that however, gets Drew Carey.
Last edited by a moderator:
Running with scissors
Stark Raving Sane
On an unrelated note, does anyone have any idea whether it's possible to die from a hangover?
General Malaise
Footballguy
Hey buddy! Where the hell have you been? Hope all is well with you and yours.
St. Louis Bob
Footballguy
The dog ate my kids poop.
FFchamps01
Footballguy
PM Sent.Hey buddy! Where the hell have you been? Hope all is well with you and yours.
cosjobs
Footballguy
So I go online today to pay my credit card bills and my Mastercard is really high and I had not used it much lately.
but let me go back a little ways, first.
Last weekend, I had to miss my GBGM's wedding. I just had too much going on to take off 3-4 days to go to Detroit.
Thursday night his soon-to-be BIL was throwing a bachelor party / poker game in his honor and I decided it would be good schtick to have some strippers deliver an ice cream cake to the event and dance to some Neil Young songs.
So after calling around the greater Detroit area, I finally found a stripp-o-gram operation that promised to pick up an ice cream cake, take it to the poker game, and serve it to the guests while singing Heart of Gold and Southern Man in the nude. The only catch was that I had to find and pay for an ice cream cake. I tell them to give me an hour and I'll call them back.
Eva's ice Cream in Lake Orion seemed like the best choice after some Google searching, so I call them up. but they sell ice cream. And they sell cakes. but they do not sell ice cream cakes. I spend 15 minutes with the owner trying to get her to concoct the unimaginable recipe of smearing a couple of quarts of ice cream on top of one cake and then putting another cake on top of that. I offered her $100 to perform this complicated task and I think I just about had her talked into it, until I told her it needed to be done ASAP before the strippers showed up. She hung up on me and no one there would answer the phone when I repeatedly tried to call back.
I tried a few other places with no luck, but finally the Lake Orion DQ told me that they had ice cream cakes ready to go, but they closed in 15 minutes. He even agreed to a credit card payment - if I threw in an extra twenty bucks for the trouble.
I called back the strippers, but they said there was no way they could get to Lake Orion before the DQ closed. So I told them to blow it off. That without an ice cream cake it would just be inferior schtick.
Evidently the strippers had caller ID, because they called me back twenty minutes later and told me the Kroger sold Ice cream cakes. So I call the Lake Orion Kroger to see if I could charge one of their delicious cakes on my Mastercard for my hired performers ( I had learned that the sensibilities of Western Detroit merchants were offended when it came to holding cakes for strippers).
My new-found decorum was lost on the Kroger manager, as he would not let me pay for a cake over the phone no matter who was picking it up.
So I called back the strippers and told them it was still a no go because the Kroger wouldn't take a credit card over the phone.
So they told me that if I would pay them $375 ($100 over the previously negotiated price) that they would pay for the cake themselves.
Ok I said, relenting to their unrealistic demands due to my BAC and determination to see this task through.
But that wasn't enough. Evidently the Detroit-based strippers were too inept to get to Lake Orion, unless I was willing to stay on the cell phone while they navigated to the privileged western regions of the county while read turn-by turn directions from Google maps.
To help pass the time while they drove, I worked with them on the lyrics to Heart of Gold and Southern Man. Turns out they really did not know either song and were doing a woeful job of memorizing the words while I played an MP3 in the background during our phone conversation.
My patience is running thin because they only remember half of the chorus to Southern Man and hardly any of Heart of GOld. But they finally make it to the Lake Orion Kroger.
Once there they cannot find any ice cream cakes.
They find ice cream and they find cakes. But no ice cream cakes.
I figured if na Ice Cream shop owner (like Eva from Eva's ice Cream) in Michigan cannot figure out how to transform two cakes and half a gallon ice cream into a delicious ice cream cake - there's no way it worth even attempting to do it over a cell phone with two strippers from Detroit.
At this point I've spent over three hours trying to get this done and I am ready to give up. I told them it had to be ice cream cake or the deal was off. They insisted that cake and ice cream was a suitable substitute and I was still obligated to go thru with the deal.
Sorry, strippers, but that was not the agreement.
Several minutes and hundreds of profanities later I turned off my cell and ended the once- flourishing relationship.
About that time Charvik calls me on my home phone. I had left him a message several hours earlier to try and help me coordinate the stripper and ice cream cake fiasco. I briefly attempted to enlist his support in obtaining an ice cream cake, but I don't know if you have ever tried communicating with a drunken Norwegian who is barely understandable when sober, but its not pretty. Or productive. He finally hands off the phone to Forrest.
I still ahve glimmers of hope that I may somehow pull this off as a surprise, so I have to chat with Forrest and pretend that I am just calling to wish him luck yada yada yada. I finally get his drunk ### off the phone and he gives the receiver to JTC, who is also in town for the festivities. His complete drunkenness makes him even more indecipherable than the drunken Norwegian who first called me.
By this time its almost midnight and I decide to give up. I had given it my best shot and failed.
Now I see the strippers charged me $375 with a $500 tip for their troubles. That seems excessive since they never delivered cake, took off their clothes or learned any of the Neil young lyrics. I think I may file a dispute over the charges.
but let me go back a little ways, first.
Last weekend, I had to miss my GBGM's wedding. I just had too much going on to take off 3-4 days to go to Detroit.
Thursday night his soon-to-be BIL was throwing a bachelor party / poker game in his honor and I decided it would be good schtick to have some strippers deliver an ice cream cake to the event and dance to some Neil Young songs.
So after calling around the greater Detroit area, I finally found a stripp-o-gram operation that promised to pick up an ice cream cake, take it to the poker game, and serve it to the guests while singing Heart of Gold and Southern Man in the nude. The only catch was that I had to find and pay for an ice cream cake. I tell them to give me an hour and I'll call them back.
Eva's ice Cream in Lake Orion seemed like the best choice after some Google searching, so I call them up. but they sell ice cream. And they sell cakes. but they do not sell ice cream cakes. I spend 15 minutes with the owner trying to get her to concoct the unimaginable recipe of smearing a couple of quarts of ice cream on top of one cake and then putting another cake on top of that. I offered her $100 to perform this complicated task and I think I just about had her talked into it, until I told her it needed to be done ASAP before the strippers showed up. She hung up on me and no one there would answer the phone when I repeatedly tried to call back.
I tried a few other places with no luck, but finally the Lake Orion DQ told me that they had ice cream cakes ready to go, but they closed in 15 minutes. He even agreed to a credit card payment - if I threw in an extra twenty bucks for the trouble.
I called back the strippers, but they said there was no way they could get to Lake Orion before the DQ closed. So I told them to blow it off. That without an ice cream cake it would just be inferior schtick.
Evidently the strippers had caller ID, because they called me back twenty minutes later and told me the Kroger sold Ice cream cakes. So I call the Lake Orion Kroger to see if I could charge one of their delicious cakes on my Mastercard for my hired performers ( I had learned that the sensibilities of Western Detroit merchants were offended when it came to holding cakes for strippers).
My new-found decorum was lost on the Kroger manager, as he would not let me pay for a cake over the phone no matter who was picking it up.
So I called back the strippers and told them it was still a no go because the Kroger wouldn't take a credit card over the phone.
So they told me that if I would pay them $375 ($100 over the previously negotiated price) that they would pay for the cake themselves.
Ok I said, relenting to their unrealistic demands due to my BAC and determination to see this task through.
But that wasn't enough. Evidently the Detroit-based strippers were too inept to get to Lake Orion, unless I was willing to stay on the cell phone while they navigated to the privileged western regions of the county while read turn-by turn directions from Google maps.
To help pass the time while they drove, I worked with them on the lyrics to Heart of Gold and Southern Man. Turns out they really did not know either song and were doing a woeful job of memorizing the words while I played an MP3 in the background during our phone conversation.
My patience is running thin because they only remember half of the chorus to Southern Man and hardly any of Heart of GOld. But they finally make it to the Lake Orion Kroger.
Once there they cannot find any ice cream cakes.
They find ice cream and they find cakes. But no ice cream cakes.
I figured if na Ice Cream shop owner (like Eva from Eva's ice Cream) in Michigan cannot figure out how to transform two cakes and half a gallon ice cream into a delicious ice cream cake - there's no way it worth even attempting to do it over a cell phone with two strippers from Detroit.
At this point I've spent over three hours trying to get this done and I am ready to give up. I told them it had to be ice cream cake or the deal was off. They insisted that cake and ice cream was a suitable substitute and I was still obligated to go thru with the deal.
Sorry, strippers, but that was not the agreement.
Several minutes and hundreds of profanities later I turned off my cell and ended the once- flourishing relationship.
About that time Charvik calls me on my home phone. I had left him a message several hours earlier to try and help me coordinate the stripper and ice cream cake fiasco. I briefly attempted to enlist his support in obtaining an ice cream cake, but I don't know if you have ever tried communicating with a drunken Norwegian who is barely understandable when sober, but its not pretty. Or productive. He finally hands off the phone to Forrest.
I still ahve glimmers of hope that I may somehow pull this off as a surprise, so I have to chat with Forrest and pretend that I am just calling to wish him luck yada yada yada. I finally get his drunk ### off the phone and he gives the receiver to JTC, who is also in town for the festivities. His complete drunkenness makes him even more indecipherable than the drunken Norwegian who first called me.
By this time its almost midnight and I decide to give up. I had given it my best shot and failed.
Now I see the strippers charged me $375 with a $500 tip for their troubles. That seems excessive since they never delivered cake, took off their clothes or learned any of the Neil young lyrics. I think I may file a dispute over the charges.
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videoguy505
Footballguy
St. Louis Bob
Footballguy
Radical Larry
Footballguy
"A parent's only as good as their dumbest kid. If one wins a Nobel Prize but the other gets robbed by a hooker, you failed."
cosjobs
Footballguy
YSR
Footballguy
x 10
a lot
Homer J Simpson
I don't push
Pure hilarity.
cosjobs
Footballguy
is there a difference?
Homer J Simpson
I don't push
BTW cos, for $875, you could have flown to Detroit, rented a car, bought an ice cream cake, done your own Neil Young based striptease, and sat down for a little poker while you were there.
General Malaise
Footballguy
General Malaise
Footballguy
Cos, I think you owe me $200 or so from gambling losses. It's absolved as of now.
St. Louis Bob
Footballguy
I guess we'll go pick up Mrs. SLB now. Things ran pretty smooth.
I hope she doesn't wonder why I'm washing the sheets.
I hope she doesn't wonder why I'm washing the sheets.
Radical Larry
Footballguy
Well?I guess we'll go pick up Mrs. SLB now. Things ran pretty smooth.
I hope she doesn't wonder why I'm washing the sheets.
St. Louis Bob
Footballguy
Dylan fell last night and cracked his head a rock pretty good. So I let him sleep with me and he pissed himself.At least that's the story I'm going with.Well?I guess we'll go pick up Mrs. SLB now. Things ran pretty smooth.
I hope she doesn't wonder why I'm washing the sheets.
Radical Larry
Footballguy
Dylan fell last night and cracked his head a rock pretty good. So I let him sleep with me and he pissed himself.At least that's the story I'm going with.Well?I guess we'll go pick up Mrs. SLB now. Things ran pretty smooth.
I hope she doesn't wonder why I'm washing the sheets.
St. Louis Bob
Footballguy
So we pick up Mrs SLB from the MS walk and head to our friends house. Couple of beers, some BBQ for a couple of hours, whatever. We left there and it was a beautiful day so I had a couple of drinks while I listenerd to the ballgame and played with the boys. We (she) put the boys to bed and I receive a text. I don't get texts. She asks wtf exactly was texting me and I reply that the only person that sends me texts is my cousin and it's always pron that I forward to my GB Forrest. This one was from old friend however. All is says is "sup". I reply, "Living the dream. Come on over." My phone rings a couple of minutes later and my GB's, since we were 8, and their GF's. come over. They have been drinking heavily which was evident by the "I love you man" theme of their conversation. Then my other GB's GF, who he keeps talking about getting married to, which I keep telling him to not be a moron....well let me back up a bit. This guy is one of my best friends in the world. He's the Godfather of my youngest son, best man in our wedding and pulls tail like a Disco Stu. So I was a little surprised when his GF remarks "I saw some pictures of you with hair Bob, you are a lot sexier bald." I laugh, my GB who isn't the jealous type says something like "Bob is sexy MF'er." Mrs SLB gives me that raised eyebrow look thing. I'm laughing because it's 11:00 on a Sunday night and these guys are just getting started. My friends. She goes on about why she doesn't know why I'm so sexy but I just am. A few minutes later the new neighbor yells out his window to shut the hell up. No, he hasn't met me yet. That will happen very soon. So they take off to leave, we shake hands, give the broads hugs. Fine. Well they are dicking around in the driveway and I walk outside to find out what exactly the problem is. No problem, just drunk. Then my GB's GF starts rubbing my butt. WTMF.
She goes on about why she doesn't know why I'm so sexy but I just am. A few minutes later the new neighbor yells out his window to shut the hell up. No, he hasn't met me yet. That will happen very soon. So they take off to leave, we shake hands, give the broads hugs. Fine. Well they are dicking around in the driveway and I walk outside to find out what exactly the problem is. No problem, just drunk. Then my GB's GF starts rubbing my butt. WTMF.
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bostonfred
Footballguy
go on...
St. Louis Bob
Footballguy
It isn't often that I feel uncomfortable but I did last night. I didn't say anything to my GB or Mrs. SLB. That's saying something.
YSR
Footballguy
We have hawks in our new backyard. Huge hawks. And apparently, they have nests in the area, because no fewer than three people have been attacked since we bought the place (most notably, one of the contractors who may or may not have been a part of the inside burglary at the house last Friday).
No blood has been shed yet, just a few of buzzings of the head and/or actual base-of-palm/talon contact to the back of the head in a "I'm here, mother######" kind of way. BF is of the opinion that we don't do anything until blood is shed. I'm of the opinion that I'd like to have people over to cookout, etc. without asking that they bring protective headgear.
No blood has been shed yet, just a few of buzzings of the head and/or actual base-of-palm/talon contact to the back of the head in a "I'm here, mother######" kind of way. BF is of the opinion that we don't do anything until blood is shed. I'm of the opinion that I'd like to have people over to cookout, etc. without asking that they bring protective headgear.
cosjobs
Footballguy
YSR
Footballguy
Damn, I actually did a search the other day but yours didn't come up, presumably because I only entered "Hawk". Who knew the FBG search filter was so sensitive.So thus far, my boyfriend was kind of buzzed (I was walking next to him and heard the "whoosh" effect), but both I and my contractor have been hit. Yesterday, we were clearing out the garage and my boyfriend hopped on his riding mower, in order to take it to the outside storage shed - via the backyard. The second he hopped on it, we heard the squawks. I watched him out the window and at one point saw a pretty violent move to the right on the mower. He told me later that he spotted a couple of them in the trees and was keeping a wary, peripheral eye on one of them. He saw the guy go into a dive, turned his head to make eye contact, and the guy took off into the sky.
I think it's cool to a certain degree but am not crazy about having to walk back to back with someone anytime I come up from the water to my house.
cosjobs
Footballguy
I made some Green Dragon with a bottle of Benedictine Liquor. If I take two shots, I sleep twelve hours and feel groggy for three days.
St. Louis Bob
Footballguy
I was at a golf tournament about 10 years ago and ate 7 magic cookies not knowing they were magic cookies. It was painful.
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YSR
Footballguy
I'll have to look more closely. We have seen a couple of bigger nests in some trees and just assumed they were the hawks'. Our next door neighbors had given us a heads-up to their presence (not so much the attack part), saying that there were a good number of squirrels in the area.Our pest control guy came over yesterday and has a friend with the Florida Wildlife and Game thingy and the guy will stop by the next time he's in the area to let us know if they are protected or not.
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