Well The Big Day Is Here At Last...

Our Groundhog's Day Party will begin here shortly and we are about as ready as we are going to be. After two full days of cleaning our house is simply a wreck instead of it's usual state of disaster. I have eight bottles of wine chilling as well as 102 beers. I purchased booze earlier in the week but only the bottle of gin and a smidge of the rum survived. Guests will be arriving in an hour and the hot tub is stoked to go. I'm not certain who all is coming but we are going to have a house full.

With any luck, comedy will ensue. I will keep you updated as the evening progresses, so check back in.

Damn, I really wish you could be here.
Doc

The Night I Tongued My Boss

I went to the company Christmas party on Monday night. It was held at Mulligan's, the pricey "Irish" bar by the mall. What do I care? They have Guinness on tap, and while I have to sit through Oprah and her special guest, I tough it out and wonder what the evening will have in store. I am celebrating Christmas with all of the ladies that I work with and they are an interesting lot, let me tell you.

The barmaid brought me a Guinness that looked like the beer of my dreams. I was determined to enjoy myself whatever came, but I was going to try to keep my mouth shut this evening, as I am blessed with the uncanny ability to put my foot in it long before I have considered what it is I'm saying. Apparently this isn't an uncommon gift, as I have met several people who are just as blessed.

Perhaps you have been to a few company Christmas parties and know the etiquette. I haven't, and I don't. I even had to look up the word etiquette to make sure I was using it right. After all, the only thing I know about company Christmas parties is how they can go horribly wrong and I learned that from cartoons in Playboy as a teenager. I am the only man amongst six women. Any faux pas I make will be repeated to perhaps two hundred people. My professional reputation could be at stake and I'm a little shaky in that department anyway. Stay-at-home dads don't carry a lot of street cred around here anyway, and it doesn't help at all that I talk funny anyway compared to the locals.

But I shut up and dinner goes just fine. The waitress seats us and asks for our drink orders. I have another beautiful Guinness and order the variety appetizer plate. Let me just say that the ladies I work with aren't small and they have healthy appetites. This was not something that any one of them would have ordered, but it almost came to blows when only the last few pieces were left, and even when it was gone they insisted that the rude waitress leave the dipping sauces.

I had a steak, baked potato and a salad. I was thankful when they brought the salad as it gave me an opportunity the stuff my mouth and just listen to the conversation. "Tell Doc the gum story," insisted my boss over dinner, but the girl declined. "Oh come on Flo," another joined in, "You've told everyone else!" And at that she conceded.

She began, "Well my husband and I were just climbing into bed and he asks me for a blow job, so I do. The next morning, he gets up and takes a whiz and comes back and asks me if I've lost something. "No, I don't think so..." she says and then he shows her the glob of bright green chewing gum that is caught in his pubic hair. All the ladies laugh and titter like school girls.

At the end of the meal, my boss asks the waitress to put in a carry-out order so she can take dinner home to her husband. The waitress informs her that it will be a thirty-minutes before her order is ready. "Well let's have a drink while we wait. My treat," I volunteered. We had a round of martinis and even the ladies who didn't drink had one.

The boss shared a chocolate martini with a friend and kidded me that I had a rich wife who could well afford to pay for my extravagance. (I don't.) When our rude waitress brought the carry-out order the party broke up, and since I was sitting by the aisle, they all wanted a hug goodnight. I put this down to the vodka working and decided to give out hugs, even though I am not a touchy-feely kind of a guy.

The boss was first in line and smiling sweetly. Now I have mentioned before that I weigh in at about 180 lbs, and she is twice my size. She clasped me firmly, she turned her head slightly and pecked my cheek. This kiss was as sexually charged as two elderly French men smooching, kind of like the kiss your great aunt might give out. The hug lingered and as it did I caught some of her long hair in my mouth as I breathed in. I turned my head away from her hair so that I didn't cough, but I had turned it to her face and she took this as an invitation. She planted one on me.

I was dumbsquizled. So I tried to make light of the situation, and here is where I made my most grievous mistake. "What? No Tongue?" I said jokingly.

When she kissed me again she used her tongue as if she was looking for her car keys.

I returned immediately to dumbsquizled, but just passed out "polite" hugs from there on out. I realize now, at the tender age of 37, that the Playboy cartoons I read years ago were right. Company Christmas parties can go wrong, and it's best to never speak of them again.

happy new year,
Doc

Editor's Note: A Change in Staff

We at Social Zymurgy; The Culture Of Beer would like to welcome the return of Cap'n Ergo Jinglebollocks to our writing staff. This is a long, awkward, and painfully awaited staff change here at SZ; tcob. Long in the coming, awkward in the fact that in no way could Blogger be convinced that he had a valid sign-in, and painful because I have had to listen to him bellyache about not being able to write for a blog he started.

So on Saturday I finally broke down and said, "Here, take my sign in, on one condition: You make it clear that it is You writing, not me. I don't need the angry hate mail from the confusion!" He looked at me with that half-cocked grin that only pirates and snake-charmers employ and turned himself loose on our little cyber-bar. The results are printed below. I was caught in a moment of weakness after spending the better part of a week recovering from a bout of heart trouble, spending the entire day at hard labor, and being slightly over my six beer limit. Like I say, it was a moment of weakness.

For the better part of a year I have listened to the wailing, lamentations, and great gnashings of teeth about how he wants so badly to write for our little cyber-bar but his exclusion was none of my doing as he has gone from fruit to fruit to pirate, and none of these could accept my electronic invitation, though I tried six times. Blogger gave them all the finger and that was that.

So Cap'n Ergo Jinglebollocks now has writing privileges as well as editorship authority. One, because I can deny him nothing, and two, he has my sign-in. While I retain Senior Editor-In-Chief status and my ugly picture will hang under that heading, the Cap'n has become Contributing Editor, and can add, edit, and tinker as he sees fit. I can only hope the he chooses to abide by the charter and keep the nudity to a minimum and mildly tasteful. Flannery will still head up our Entertainment Beat columns and the IT department, as well as General Silliness.

I have no idea what the Cap'n has lined up nor when he will pop in, but rest assured, whatever it is, I can guarantee one thing. It will be top shelf, Grade A, no holds barred zany, and that's the kind of stuff we like around here.

So Cap'n, may the wind fill your sails, treasure line your chests, your horses be fast, your beer always cold, your women warm, and your whiskey old. Welcome back ol' friend!

And make sure they know it's you writing.

Doc

Strohs Is Purty Gooooood

I've had a couple...thousand this evening. It's much tastier than PBR. My tounggue is numb and I can't really type. Doc is tryinbgh to tell me soemthing, but I can't really udnderastan d it. Now he's toalking about his mother. I think's time to hit the hay, lest I beleagire you further with muy durnkn typing.

STROHS!

The Tangled Webs We Weave: Part IX

My friend Megan comes out to the Sunday night rave party with me occasionally and has now decided she wants the bartender, Mike. So she writes her number down and asks me to give it to him. I take it to Mike and he says "I don't call girls, they call me" and won't take the number. I asked him "what the fuck kinda answer is that?" He just shook his head, gave me my drink and told me to go sit down and figure it out. So the next time I get back to the bar, I ask him if he would like Megan to call him and I will give her his number. He dodges the issue and says that if I promise to write a story for my magazine on him and the club, he will have a Cleveland Browns party just for me here at the bar during the first pre-season game. He says he'll let me paint his head like a Browns helmet for the party too. And he writes down his phone number and gives it to me. So I ask him, "do you want me to give it to Megan and tell her to call you?" And he says "Take the number and do what you want with it." Again, I asked what the hell that was supposed to mean and was once again told to go sit my ass down and figure it out. I didn't give Megan the number, I told her it was just the number to the club so I can arrange a meeting about the story. I still don't know whether he wants her to have the number or not so I just kept it. The story thing isn't going to work out until at least November or so.

The good news is that Bookbag saw all this and was left more than welcome to draw his own conclusions. haha...the "big talk" will have to come soon:

"So what's with you and Mike?"
"Nothing as of right now. I haven't had the time to call or see him, so until that happens, I can't really say anything. Why?"
"Oh, I just figured if you were hooking up with Mike that you were done being after me."
"Mmmm. Sort of, yeah. I guess it's just become less that I care because I'm after you and more that I care because I'm concerned for your well-being and I don't see things turning out very well for you. I think you're going to end up getting hurt, and if I keep pursuing you I'm going to get hurt too."
"Why? What do you mean?"
"I just-I see your life getting worse before it gets better. I think you're setting yourself up for a situation where you're going to get stuck in something you can't get out of. I'm sure you do love your girlfriend, but you have no job, no way to support yourself, and nowhere else to go. Even if you did want to leave her, you couldn't. See, she's getting tired of being the girlfriend. She wants to get married and you really don't. One of three things could happen here and none of them look good for you...or me, for that matter.
She's gonna get tired of pushing the marraige bit and just boot your ass onto the street and be done with you. Kind of like an ultimatum: marry me or get out.
Or, she'll tell you she wants a baby and blow the hole wide the fuck open. I know through direct conversation that her biological clock is ticking and that she's starting to think about it...and she's only 27. That instinct is only going to get worse as she gets older.
And if you don't want a marraige and you don't want a baby, she'll do what she can to ensure that you do get her pregnant (condom broke, forgot a pill, etc.) and then you might as well marry her. You're stuck for the rest of your life and she's gotten everything she wanted anyway.
Regardless, it just sucks to be you, period. Let's face it, it would in your best interest to be with me, but it's in my best interest that you just stay with what you got."

The Tangled Webs We Weave - Part VII

I guess it's ritual now, every Sunday night there is a little rave-party with my name on it going on down in the Flats. I am the entertainment.

Bookbag is not good. He tells me he is "together" with his girlfriend. He's had a bad history with marraige, so he's not looking to do that again. He recently thought about ending the relationship but decided against it because of the bad history and he doesn't want to give up on another one. He says she's young (26) and sometimes handles things like a younger person.

Ooooooh yeah. She has no clue. She says things in front of me she probably shouldn't be saying, in part because she's drunk, in part because I make her feel comfortable talking to me, in part because I also make her nervous. She knows I'm moving in on her man and am quite capable of taking him, I see it in the way she behaves when I'm around. Well, I took what she said, what he said and put it with what I already know and this is what I've discovered:

Of course Bookbag loves her, right now she's his meal ticket. He can't leave her because he has no way to support himself; I don't know that he would even have a place to go. If he's telling me the truth, he's also got it in his head that settling for what he has is more important than making an already bad track record look worse. He's going to stick this out partly because he wants to but mostly because he has to.

My mother did that once; stayed in a dysfunctional relationship with a man who beat us both for ten years because she didn't like the idea of chalking up two divorces. Real smart. My stepfather finally filed for divorce when he got himself a girlfriend.

And here's Bookbag gonna get fucked too. Big-time.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...poor Bookbag, I've got his number and hers.

Marrying him is important to her and his inability to go along with that annoys her enough she has no problem making it public. Bookbag was adamant to me about not getting married again, having done it twice and ending badly, and I believe him. She's eventually gonna get tired of being the girlfriend and she's gonna push him to put a ring on her finger, it's already starting to happen. He might even get an ultimatum. O.U.C.H.

Or he might get trapped, and that's worse. One of our fellow regulars at the Sunday night club/rave brought her boyfriend's dog to the party last night. I happened to be standing by the girlfriend and made the comment "Great. I'm such a dog person, I won't be able to pay attention to the hot guys anymore because I'll be too busy playing with the dog. This happens every time."

She laughed. "Oh yeah, puppies and babies. I just get all giggly over them."

"Oh, okay, for me it's just the dogs, but it's still retarded."

Laughs again. "Oh, I'm like that with babies, too. I'm starting to get a little older and that stuff is starting to kick in, ya know, haha."

Yeah, I know all about that. So does my birth control. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

And wait till Bookbag finds out. He seems so thrilled about the possibility of marraige, I'm sure he's gonna love this....

He better be careful, because as soon as she figures out she's gonna lose him, she could end up pregnant, because women are manipulative like that. If I haven't given up on him by then, I sure as fuck will when that happens....

I still don't know what he's thinking of me and hopefully that part will come out next. I'm not even sure I can call him a friend, really. Can we be friends with this thing hanging over our heads? How long until it's my turn to get taken advantage of, will I be a friend then?

Speaking of friends, it seems the smartest idea for me would be to stop going Sunday nights, but I can't. I'm making new friends there all the time, and the people with whom I was at acquaintance-level with before this started, I am getting closer and closer to. We spend every Sunday night together now, and we already did adore each other, but now we're becoming closer simply by location. I can't lose that, I love that, it's what makes my life so damned important. I can't just stop because of Bookbag.

the tangled webs we weave - part VI

Mandy and I went to the club for the DJ set Chris was promoting. Once again, I happened to get too drunk and stayed way too long...it is now 2:58 a.m.

Darius was there again, too, and I confessed to him how I felt about Chris and without going into detail, Darius told me to give up on it. The hurt I was looking so greatly to avoid looks as though it is the only inevitable end to this. I may be manipulated, "played by the playa", I be mooched from, I may be used. They are not doing very well right now, financially or personally. It is a great time for me to hussle my way into the picture and it is just as horrible a time at that.

So how much hurt can I handle? It is really going to be about her in the end, even though I am a much more dynamic person? Can I just be "flirting friends" until he figures out how much more extraordinary I am than what he has?

There were a lot of people there tonight and he didn't have much time to flirt with me; all we did was play "staring contest" a few times. He watched me dance, like he always does.

We were out in the car smoking before I left and he again kissed me goodbye. Again, he opened his mouth but I didn't open mine. I will next week now that I know to expect that from him and see how far I can get him to go with me. A tongue down the throat would be satisfactory.

The problem for poor Chris is that I'm smarter than him, and the need for self-preservation will prevent me from being manipulated. He needs to be afraid that I may manipulate him, which the more I think about it becomes a better I could have fun with this....and maybe end up with him anyway.

My brain is stronger than my heart, always has been. I will do my best to not get hurt and fight for what I want anyway. I have to fight foreverything else, why not this, too?

The Tangled Webs We Weave: Part V

The bits and pieces I recall went a little something like this:

1. Chris's girlfriend was the first person who saw me when I came in. She told Chris and he came upstairs and I got the hug I've now come to expect.

2. Darius was there...thank God. Chris and his girlfriend would have been the only people I knew then if it weren't for Darius.

3. The Flats looks like a war zone.

4. I interviewed the bartender and the owner for my article on the smoking ban. The input they offered wasn't very good.

5. I started drinking.

6. I kept drinking.

7. Darius told me I am in charge of the food for Organ Grinder's next year and that he will get me a bigger budget to work with. He also said he will be passing the torch to Shana and within the next two years and he will need me to help her.

8. Chris wanted to go out to my car and smoke pot. He asked me several times if I was sure it was okay that Rachel came along.

9. I found out they have been together two years and Chris has a 14 year old son who he doesn't see, I don't know why yet.

10. The club-kids showed up. They know Chris and Rachel somehow; they're cute little raver-kids, about 20-24 years old, ten of them, still trying to figure out who they really are, but not way far off-base.

11. Chris kissed me.

12. Darius called me brilliant.

13. Gina showed up and her idiot boyfriend seemed to be acting allright for a change.

14. I've taken a strong liking to one of the club-kids. Her name is Missy and she's a cute little blonde thing, maybe 20-years-old. I said a few things that made her laugh, she was dancing like a goofball and made me laugh, and now we're friends and we keep pulling each other onto the dance floor.

15. I catch Chris staring at me and ask him what. He says, "Oh, nothing, I was just flirting with you." He told me to pay attention to what's going on around me.

16. I overheard Gina telling Chris how wonderful I am and how my one-liners just kill her.

17. Chris brought his raver-flags. They are white with a large neon pink cross. They look just like the flag of the England National Soccer Team, except the cross on England's flag is red. When I see Chris's flags, I think of David Beckham and Wayne Rooney and Steven Gerrard and Owen Hargreaves and down the list until I realize I've completely forgotten about Chris.

18. The bartender let us smoke pot on the docks.

19. The music kind of sucked; too light for me.

20. I was wearing a Green Bay Packers T-shirt.

American Idol Yeah!

Never liked it, never will, and here is why. I don't want to be a part of the train wreck that is these peoples lives. Those who aren't good enough are subjected to huge amounts of humiliation, and those who are, are subjected to huge amounts of scrutiny, humiliation, and explotation.

I like rock music. Rockers don't win. I like the blues and soul. They don't win. Anyone who doesn't sound like the same divas the the music industry has been cranking out for the last twenty years don't win.

These F*ckers have been churning out ready-made has-beens for how many seasons now? And the part that galls me the most is the fact that in one show they make enough money to fund the war in Iraq AND Afganistan for a month (40+ billion dollars). More people vote for some shmoo who doesn't stand a chance in hell than vote in most presidential elections.

I want no part of it.

That is why on tuesdays I go to the Moose Lodge and drink cheap beer, and Wedsnesdays I go to the Tiki, just so I can avoid watching these people sell their mortal souls to the Devil, week after week. There is only just so many times you can see Mephistopholese take it in the ass.

Please don't tell my wife I wrote this.

She loves this stupid show and I need some harmony at home.

Doc

The Tangled Webs We Weave-Part IV

Since apparently everyone's okay with me talking about myself too much...

I got to Jim's a bit late, which set me back timewise and I ended up not getting to the club until past midnight. That's okay, I figured, maybe Chris will have his beer goggles on and see an angel walking in the door as I enter.

I looked as good as I can look these days, of course my perfect hair and my perfect legs being my saving grace for all the other stuff that sucks, so I made sure I was outfitted to show them both off. Fabulous job, I looked way cute.

I walked down a very busy W. 9th St. toward the club and see the whole lot of the friends sitting outside smoking. I got the "Norm!" welcome as I got closer to the bar. I love it; it makes me feel like I have groupies...

Chris ended the conversation he was having to come over and say hello to me and gave me a fabulous hug. Not long after, I heard someone refer to Rachel as his girlfriend, so what I thought was correct. I don't know how long, I have no details of any kind.

Rachel happens to be very cool, I got to talk to her a bit last night and she's a fun girl. That being said, I stayed away from any kind of real advance on Chris. I just don't have it in me to be that disrespectful, regardless of how badly I want him.

There was about six of us left outside the club about half-an-hour after closing. People were arranging rides, etc. and Chris and Rachel were both there, too. I had had plenty to drink....plenty. I was standing around bullshitting with Rachel and Terry, the only black man in Cleveland with a mohawk. Rachel finally got tired of standing around and took the keys from Chris and said she was going out to the car to wait for him. This would be my only shot at getting anything on the table tonight, so I stuck around with Chris and the others still left.

And of course I hold little back because
a) I've been drinking
b) I have no problem approaching this guy...and I'm accustommed to being afraid. I freak myself out when I become flirtatious because I never believe I have it in me.

And away I went with all kinds of rotten thoughts.

Chris: "I'm definitely not Republican, but I''m not Democrat, either. I go with independent, I don't want to be classified as one or the other, I want to make my decisions of my own opinions."
Gennifer: "Wow...I'm so sorry you have a girlfriend."

Chris: "I'm going around the corner of teh building, I'll be right back. If I don't pee like, right now..."
Gennifer: "Can I watch?"
(that must have been the alcohol talking, I don't know what the fuck I was thinking there!!)


Chris: "I'm 34 years old-"
Gennifer: "Are you sure? Your MySpace page says 33."
Chris: "It does? You've seen it?"
Gennifer: "Yes, it says 33. You're lying on your profile, dude..."

The first hug goodbye, he damn near tackled me, so I wrapped one of my legs around him and hung on and he LET ME.

The second hug goodbye he grabbed me and picked me up in the air and then set me back down. I couldn't believe he actually got my ass off the ground. If you saw how skinny he is and how beefcake I am...laws of gravity say that shouldn't have happened. I hope I didn't break his back or anything....shit.

And then I left, mostly satisfied with what little I got from him, hoping that he's at least starting to "get the message" from me. Now that I have officially determined Rachel is his girlfriend, the game plan has officially changed, I can't just "go after" him. I have to "steal" him fair and square, meaning I can't "pursue" him, I just have to be Gennifer and hope that a friendship will someday become more, and be prepared that it doesn't....

I will eventually gain the courage to flat-out tell him that I like him. I have to tell him. I like him too much not to. I need to speak my mind too much not to...if I don't eventually tell him. I might explode and that will DEFINITELY come out badly. I just cannot keep my mouth shut on something I am this affected by....

So it ends up I go back to Jim's party after the club...and Richard is there. Fantastic. Richard is the guy everybody says is crazy about me but I couldn't give him the time of day. And because everybody's rolling and unusually affectionate, I spend some of the rest of the night with Richard crawling all over me and trying to get cute with me in the way a child would.

I start the night with my leg wrapped around Chris and I end the night with Richard in my face. It's like God thinks he's being funny....

So I went to sleep around 8:00 a.m. and woke up this afternoon around 4 and went to Mandy's for her cookout at her new house. Mandy is the one who, along with our friend Anna, has had some kind of "thing" going with Kellen, the guy who was supposed to cause me problems at the Organ Grinder's show by hitting on me in front of Mandy, who secretly wants him, but because I was too busy working he never had the chance. Well, he's there at the party, and he pulls me aside and says "Come get me when you go to the car, I'll go smoke with you. Don't say anything to Mandy, though, she don't want me doing it."

I said "okay" and just laugh. She's not his girlfriend or his Momma, but it's her call whether or not he smokes pot? Please....

So I bring Kellen out to the car with me and five minutes pass before Mandy figures it out and starts walking out to my car. Kellen had hit the bowl three times. I saw her coming in my rearview, so I told Kellen to keep cool and I'd tell her he was just getting a contact buzz. She asked him and me both if he smoked any and we both said no, and Kellen got out of the car. I sat there by myself just laughing. People are idiots.

The thing Mandy doesn't know is what Kellen and I talked about it the car. He told me he tried to call me twice and got what he thought was the wrong number, but was actually my work number. I swear he had my home number, but I guess not. He told me he had wanted to call and invite me out for a few beers while Mandy was on vacation but didn't know how to reach me and I never called him. All this time, I've had his number but figured he just wasn't calling me because he didn't want to. When he said he was waiting for me to call him, I told him I thought he would call me. Apparently he did, so he grabbed his cell phone and I gave him my number at home and all communication problems have now been resolved. As soon as he entered my number into his phone, I looked up and saw Mandy heading toward us in the rearview....

So what the fuck am I supposed to make of all that?

The only thing I can say about this whole mess is that I was surrounded by wonderful friends the whole night and through today and despite the good feelings I got from Chris, the best parts of it all came from my friends....

Drunken Blogging, Featuring Flannery and Elizabeth

Hi! It's Saturday night at about 10:00 p.m.

We've both had half a pint of pineapple rum/pinapple orange bannana juice. Elizabeth is reading Newsweek, a follow up to our discussion of Imus and race over lunch. I'm typing.

We've invited Big Orange to join us long distance...but he must be off starting that revolution.







Updates to follow...


********

Flannery 10:22 I want you to know that Toby Keith CD is from the library and I HATE it. Jingoistic bullshit.

Elizabeth 10:27 ...in summary, When I was a kid, I always spoke up against racism and sexism. Then when I got older, I stopped, because emotionally draining and I was always accused of not having a sense of humor. So, I decided to just lighten up. But I'm starting to realize that maybe I had the right idea to begin with.

You gotta pick your battles and this one is worth fighting.

Flannery: Word.

Elizabeth: We're not talking about Toby Keith, by the way. He's too stupid to pick on.

Flannery: True dat

*****
10:32 Flannery: Do you hate this song (Run-Around, by Blues Traveller...E hates BT)

Elizabeth: No! I've given up hating Blues Traveller. But he plays the harmonica like pixies on parade. The harmonica should be bluesy and ballsy.

Elizabeth: That picture does not look like Harrison Ford

Flannery: Yes it does.

Elizabeth: No it doesn't and it drives me crazy.

Oh nuts! We're losing battery power!