4 days of drinking, 1 frog leg, and 1 sixteen-hour throw up session

Ah... Yogi turns older by a year today.

Celebrations with multiple friends' circles = mucho alcohol and food + being surrounded by good friends. It's nice to know a bunch of people like you and care about you. It's a soft and mushy feeling even for a hardened cynic like me. I just couldn't do five days straight (plus I had to go in for a solid 9-hour day of work today).

Bet you thought the chundering had something to do with the drinking. Wrong. It had all to do with frog legs.

See, last weekend, I agreed to go to a play on a whim, and decided to meet the rest of the group at a bar. I was under the impression that the "friend from work" that my friends were bringing was a dude. In retrospect, I have no idea why I would have had that impression, because my friends certainly didn't tell me their friend from work was a dude.

Because the friend from work was one cute asian chick.

Unfortunately, they were late getting to the bar (may have something to with the fact that it was three women. Just saying, just saying...) by which time I had already run through three beers and was on my fourth. So by this time I was already feeling pretty good about myself, and the world was pink and rosy, and this woman suddenly seemed very very cute. So I'm thinking "Yogi, this is awesome. You should go make an impression" and so I open with this:

"HEEEYYY. Burp. How goooes iiiit... I'm yogi."

- " uh... hey (polite handshake). I'm Gina."

"Oh Gina? You mean like VAGINA? Hahahahaaa..."

This was a mistake on multiple counts:
1. This was the first time I was meeting Gina. You do not attempt to rhyme people's names with body parts when you meet them for the first time.
2. Her name is pronounced Jeena. Vagina of course, does not rhyme with Jeena.
3. This was the immediate death of any chance I had with Gina. Or Vagina. or Geena's Vagina.

Of course, I did not know this, and I interpreted the frozen mask of horror on our mutual friends as a look of pride (at my awesome ability to break the ice) and merriment (at my stellar sense of humor). Still, given Gina's sudden glum silence, I thought I should make another attempt at bonding. So when we sat down to eat and got our food, I looked around and saw that Ms Gina had gotten herself frog legs. The legs were deep fried in some sort of tempura and came arranged in a circle around a little bowl with some asian hot sauce. (It was one of those somewhat fancy restaurants where they think itsy bits of grub artistically arranged fills your belly). Feeling somewhat emasculated by my own choice of green salad with tofu and raspberry vinaigrette, I decided to take Gina up when she offered me some frog leg (while not making eye contact). I thought this was Asian demureness at the time, which I found quite alluring.

But anyway, I ate one. It must have been a big frog because it had a big-ass leg. I think it tasted like chicken, but more amphibious. Anyway, I washed it down with more beer, and didn't think any more of it; we had a play to go see, and we needed to hurry.

The play was uneventful and so was most of the pitstop afterward. We were midway through another round of beer and chips when I got a sudden spasm in my midriff. "Ah, well, yogi, you're getting old", I thought to myself, and I stretched a bit. No problemo. I downed a bunch of water and then we left for the night.

The second spasm hit when I was peeing at home. "Hm. Come now, yogi. Surely, you didn't drink THAT much, did you? You must be a little dehydrated, plus all that sitting through the play..." but still, I didn't think much of it and went to sleep.

Well, it turns out that I have a checkpoint in my gut, around where the stomach gives way to the small intestine. I call it Checkpoint Charlie, like in Berlin. It's sort of like immigration check. Unsavory characters get held up for a bit, and then if you're brown and have a beard, you're in for an extra check, lubed up baton and all. And then if you happen to have crummy papers, you're out. You and your belongings do a U-turn and head back to wherever you came from.

So around 2 am the frog legs got a thumbs-down from Checkpoint Charlie. Which is when they packed their bags and trudged back up. But see, by then they had already dispersed out a lot and were swimming in a sea of beer, and because Checkpoint Charlie sends out bad guys bit by bit, it makes for a long drawn out process. This was when I started feeling really bad, and I was pretty sure what was coming. The thing about the process is
a. Once the U-turn is made, there's no stopping it
b. The exodus is forceful
c. It is also extremely thorough

So I parked myself near the toilet and let it start. And it did start. It was good. It was spectacular, even. I think I should spare you the details, but I was done by the end of it, which was midway through the next morning. Done. I couldn't move, my head was killing me, my body was killing me, my abs were killing me, I had a fever, but surprisingly, the bottom half of my GI tract was absolutely fine. It was like the West Germans that were milling around in Berlin and had just not noticed a bunch of East Germans being given the finger.

So yeah, even though I lost a solid five pounds and my abs look sculpted, it was less than a pleasant way to start the birthday week. Anyway that's the story I thought I should tell you on this beautiful day. Makes the second half of the week feel even better. It also adds one item to the (short) list of things I think I should avoid in the future.

Happy Birthday, me.

Halloween this year...

... was a repeat from way back. Cheating. But fun. Yogi is nothing if he isn't classy.


Worried you might get let down on that important date???
Scared that your mojo might go AWOL in times of need???
HAVE NO FEAR, BONERMAN IS HERE!!!


Boner Man's Power Belt had Viagra and ExtenZe (fake packs. Of course.), K-Y, 5-hour energy drinks, something I bought from Target that was battery driven and guaranteed "20 minutes of quivering pleasure. Batteries not included" (no I don't know what it was; I gifted it to my roommates lady friend) and, as a last resort clearly, a wrist exerciser.

Great reception for the costume, absolutely shredded inner thighs because of walking with the prop. Yes it's a prop. No, there is no subliminal psychological compensatory thinking here.

Women: cock-blockers of the first order

Yeah, I know, I know, you all already know this. Men and women think differently. Men come from Venus, and women come from Mars or some such b.s. Well, you're wrong.

Men come from Hey-let's-give-this-guy-a-chance, and women come from Hey-let's-crush-this-dude's-balls. Let me explain.

When men are at a bar (or some equivalent social locale) and start up a conversation with a bunch of women and one of the men takes a fancy for one of the women and starts talking to her and it's obvious that she's into him too, do you know what we men do?

We let them be.

With the one and only exception of obviously foreseeable irreversible physical harm that might occur (after multiple beers, everyone can make mistakes, and it is the duty of the group to ensure that their friend lives another day - this has happened to me and I'm glad for it), we let them go their own way. Whatever happens happens. They both are ADULTS, they can reach their own decisions. Our best wishes are with the guy, and we let him make the best he can out of the evening.

When WOMEN are at a bar (or some equivalent social locale) and start up a conversation with a bunch of men and one of the men takes a fancy for one of the women and starts talking to her and it's obvious that she's into him too, do you know what the women do?

They decide all of a sudden, oh no, we can't allow our dear friend (who've we've been bitching about all this while because she's wearing old 06 Blahniks and has the wrong shade of eyeshadow) to make her own mind up about the dude she's having a fun time with. Oh no, we can't. We've been drinking our martinis all night and making catty comments at all the other girls who look like they're having a great time. Oh, we know we're going home alone tonight and crying ourselves to sleep after eating that half tub of icecream and feeding the cats, pretending that we really are too good for the trash out there in the city while knowing full well that we're going to hit 35 and then realize that we're running out of time to churn out babies and then decide that that shlub from high school who admitted that he jerked off to our graduation photos all through college and still lives in his mom's basement while earning 10 bucks an hour at the local florist and who's only upwardly mobile posession is his hairline, all of a sudden seems to be a stable and sensitive guy, and that as a result of having gotten hitched to this winner in the future, we're going to end up living the rest of our lives wanting to shoot ourselves in the face to lessen the pain of a pointless wasted life.

Still, with all of this, you know what they do? They execute the classic cock-block. They lead their bewildered friend away, "Oh honey, it's for your own good...." leaving yogi (equally bewildered) wondering what the heck just happened. Listen, if I looked like a rapist, fine. If I was smashed and acting creepy, fine. If I was sober and taking advantage of a clearly drunk woman, that's kosher too. But if she is obviously having a great time and we are in the MIDDLE OF EXCHANGING PHONE NUMBERS, LET. HER. BE.

Listen, you stupid dumbasses. I don't know what your problem is. Let your ADULT friend make her own decisions. She's smart and can handle herself, which is why yogi liked her in the first place. If she needs your help or if she needs to extricate herself from an awkward situation, she'll let you fucking know. Or, god forbid, she might actually take care of herself.

Creepy guys in bar restrooms

The only reason I don't have a pic is because the only thing creepier than the creepy guy in the men's room is taking a photo of the creepy guy in the men's room.

Well, long story short, there are some bars in DC that have dudes parked in the men's room. I don't know why they do this, maybe to ensure there's no drugs or gay sex in the bathrooms, but whatever the reason is, you're having a good time in a crowded bar, you have a bunch of beer, and eventually it's time to empty a kidney. So you walk down to the men's room (focusing on walking dead straight, chest all puffed out, gazing ever-so-casually at the rest of the bar with the supreme confidence of the leader of a pride of lions gazing at his harem), and then just as you relax and get ready to do what you have to do, you smack right into the dude.

He's there, right by the door, looking at you, paper towel at the ready and a steady gaze through you and beyond, a good 500 yards behind your skull. He has little set of things right by the sink too. Cigarettes, breath mints, gum, q-tips. And condoms. And that's just what you could see - I'm sure you could buy car insurance and walking canes from him too, as long as you paid the right price. And as long as he could watch you urinate in a bar. You edge by him, do your thing somewhat self-consciously, remember to flush, and wash your hands thoroughly, all under his undecipherably blank gaze. He then gives you the paper towel, and then waves his hand in front of the damn machine until it spits out some more, tears it out, and goes back to standby mode. You then feel obliged to throw a dollar or so in his tip tray and get the hell out. It's downright creepy.

And it's also bullshittical.

1. There are enough people up there, and I'd like to clear my head for a few seconds. I'd like to do it without some brother looking right at me.
2. I can bloody well wave my hand at a machine to make it spit out some paper at me. I do not need your help.
3. I am never going to take those individual half-unwrapped sticks of gum that have been marinating in aerosolized shit and/or piss for the last few hours.
4. I appreciate your concern and your sense of entrepreneurship with the condom sales, but could you take it outside, please?
4a. btw do you have a lady partner hawking lipstick and tampons in the women's room? I'd like to know.
5. Very smart move, keeping just the two bucks in the collection tray. Just enough to let people know that that what it's there for, yet not enough that people will think you've earned enough money for waving your hand every once in a while and hawking some knick-knacks.

Bar owners, you have to stop this shit. It's stupid and pisses people off. ESPECIALLY if you have a rest room the size of a coffin. The dude was literally looking over my shoulders last night.

Jeez.