Your Weekends Probably Don't Involve A Taken Swimming Pool

As I was casually awakening from a mid-day nap (hey, I've got that kind of flexibility), my mom asked me if I wanted to go to dinner at my aunt's boyfriend's house. Seeing as I really didn't have much else going for me, I decided to go. Frankly, this was one of the best decisions that I've ever made...ever. To begin on how crazy this day was, I have to start from the very beginning and I do mean the very beginning.

We roll up to the house, and there are people hanging around on the porch doing whatever. This is pretty normal. It was slightly strange because people were yelling from the porch down at us. But, the absurdity begins when I walk through the door and first experienced a hurricane named Bob. The real Hurricane Bob hit land at a Category 3: pretty strong, but you might still have your house if it wasn't built out of wood. The Bob that I encountered on Friday was far more damaging to one's environment than his natural counterpart.

First things first, I believe Bob said to me when I walked up, and I quote, "who the hell are you?" After introducing myself, my aunt explains that I'm her nephew. This term "nephew" was one that did not have a lot of resonance for Bob, as he spent about five minutes trying to figure out what exactly a nephew is. I didn't think it was that difficult, but this also might have been subtle foreshadowing for what was about to happen over the course of the night.

As I asked where the drinks were, I learned that Bob made the first set of margaritas. At a later point in time, I could tell this to be true because they were not nearly strong enough to withstand what I was seeing. Seeing as I've used all of this conjecture, let me actually begin with my story. After getting a margarita in my own generic red cup, I sit out on the porch and find that special angle on cast iron furniture that we all wish for: the one that is comfortable. Anyway, as I'm looking for this, Bob starts talking about how he only wear boots and that he wears his boots everywhere at all times. The only time he takes his boots off is in bed.

This works as a not-so-subtle lead-in into Bob hitting on my mom. No bullshit. And, he was going hard at it no less. Seeing as she is more than capable of defending herself (believe me, I have proof), I drowned my embarrassment in booze. Among other things that I remember from this discussion was him actively making attempts to bed my mom, talking about how awesome he is in bed. At some point during this conversation, the topic stayed on hitting on my mom but switched to how much Bob hates living in Lancaster County, PA. For those unfamiliar with American geography, Lancaster County, PA has one of the highest concentrations of the god-fearing luddites more commonly known as the Amish. Anyway, he went on a riff about how he hates going to the club there and blah blah blah.

The next thing I know, I have a loud redhead running across the porch, turning off the classic rock playing inside, and replacing said rock with The Pussycat Dolls. This did, in fact, lead to her singing along with the songs, and me being generally, and genuinely, confused. I felt like I had left out of my regular life and entered an alternate universe where everyone was just wasted. I had to go take a smoke and come back. The smoke did help out. I started hanging out with the sane people, and the day became considerably more tolerable. Although, from hanging out with them, I did learn that a divorce settlement led to one party taking a pool. Not the house, just the pool. Yea, that's West Virginia for you.

Anyway, as the night progressed on and I got drunker (I think I was about 3 margaritas and 2 beers in at this point. In the in-between time, I was asked why I don't have a girlfriend and found a connection with another due to the fact that shoes are never worn in the house if at all possible), Bob became a lot more amusing as his intended goal had passed out from being way too drunk early in the day, as she forgot that oh-so-important skill in drinking: pacing.

Instead of trying to pick her up, he tried to pick up everything else in the room with a pair of boobs that wasn't already taken of which there were many. My family, real and assimilated, can all handle itself very well, so the outcome of this situation was very amusing to watch, especially while drinking. As I watched him, I quickly began to realize that if this was not a sign of desperation and/or over-intoxication, I'm not really sure what is anymore. Bob was completely out of control, bringing up inappropriate conversation topics in public, being belligerent, and making a generally uncomfortable atmosphere. And, I'm a guy saying this. I create uncomfortable situations all of the time, and I'm uncomfortable. That's how bad it was. Luckily for me, Bob started to fade back into the sea of noise as I continued on with my drinking and went down the hill. Honestly, if I hadn't gotten so wasted to cope or take notes, I would have put up a verbatim list of discussion topics.

After Bob decided that it was time to put it down, we all decided to wrap it up. I left still able to walk but definitely under the influence. Anyway, I definitely will not forget the time that I spent with Bob on this Friday night because, most likely, I will encounter Bob again. Well, that and the thing about the swimming pool. Seriously, who takes a swimming pool instead of the house?

Boobs Don't Always Swing

Every year in the summer, my aunt in Frederick has a formal ball for her Walk for the Cure team. Because it's a nice cause, the people are involved are family (my aunt and her daughter do the walk together with a couple of other people as well), and know that I would never hear the end of it if I didn't come, I wear a tie for one of two or three times all year and attend.

I have gone to this event twice, and it really has yet to let me down. Last year, the ball was full. There was a local blues band playing along with a DJ who had no clue of what it meant to make the dance floor move. But, luckily, the DJ's inability to make people dance did not stop some of the people at the party from busting a groove. When I say busting a groove, I mean busting a groove. Nothing can make a group of people get really, really raw on the dance floor than drinking a shit ton of booze. Honestly, booze is the only way to explain why a guy would get on the dance floor and do the worm not once or thrice. But four times! four! And it wasn't during the DJ; it was actually during the blues band. Yea, my jaw dropped to the floor, too. It left me laughing the whole night and thoroughly enjoying the experience of the night even though no one could do the electric slide all that well and the buffet sucked.

While the year has changed, the event hasn't really changed. The blues band was rebooked but cancelled before the event so it was just the DJ by himself. This was a tragedy within itself, but it wasn't as much of a tragedy as the buffet was this year. Chicken, potatoes, green beans, pre-made salads, and rolls. That was the meal because I don't consider the piece of leather that they gave me and called roast beef to be a part of the meal (If I ask for medium, I don't expect a piece of meat to be brown all the way through). But, like last year, there was more than enough liquor flowing through the room, especially since the liquor was dirt cheap and being shelled out with the efficiency.

While there weren't as many people as the year before, there don't need to be a lot of people for someone to make an ass of themselves on the dance floor. This year that title when to this guy and his "friend with benefits" (read: fuck buddy, booty call). The FWB, apparently, never danced in a formal dress and hiked it up far too high. So high, in fact, the DJ, and almost the entire room, found out what kind of underwear she was wearing when she got low. Oh, also, she had ridiculously fake breasts. They didn't move. And, yes, I did stare and I'm not ashamed. If you were there, you would have stared too. They were unreal *rimshot*.

Even though we were mesmerized by her boobs, we, and I do mean we, stopped looking at her to gape at her buddy who was clearly on another level. Adopted family member Gretchen (she comes to enough of our family events to be a member of our family)noted that he dances like he has prosthetic legs; his knees don't bend. Her assessment is right, but that's an insult to people with artificial legs because I'm convinced that they can dance better than this guy. He couldn't do the cha cha slide. The cha cha slide tells you how to do the cha cha slide. I can't understand how someone could be off of it. But, at multiple points over the four hours of music, him and another guy threw rhythm out the window and went all out. It was amazing to watch, but, wow, it was definitely some of the worst dancing that I've ever seen in my life. I can only hope that when I attend this event next year b/c I probably will have to again that it is so drunken and rhythmless.

This event was legitimated from being a misplaced house party (there were like 30 people at an event meant for about 100-150) after we found out that one of the women catering the event was actually suffering from breast cancer. She had a double mastectomy and was still being treated. She thanked us immensely for what we were doing. That did make it worthwhile. But, it also probably would have been worthwhile if I had donated some actual money to the cause. But I can't donate the money that I don't make due to my unemployment, so cut me a little slack. I'm not so heartless as to not donate to a cause that would affect many people in my life such as Breast Cancer if I can.

Nudists are the New Hipsters

Since I don't really read my news on Sundays primarily because that day is generally my computer moratorium day, I just found this article on The Huffington Post. Apparently, the nudism industry is hitting a bit of a rough time in America, as young people are not flocking to nudist camps in the way that the geriatric set is. They are trying a number of different things to get young folks into the camps such as offering deep discounts and having younger people talk to their peers about the fun of nudism. While their attempts have to be rewarded immensely, there is a reason that their attempts have not worked: nature.

An aversion to nudity is not about the disinterest in seeing old folks walking around with their bits and junk all hanging around and out. Hell, that might actually be kind of hot seeing all that flesh jiggling around. Might be a bit much at times, but still pretty hot. Voyeurism aside, the problem with nudism is the fact that one would have to expose themselves to the full wrath of nature. Now, I was born in a swamp. Living in a swamp means that there's a lot of insects and bugs, things that can bite you on those same bits and junk that look hot while moving through the air playing lawn sports. I don't know about you, but I'm not trying to get bit on my junk just so I can express comfort with my own body. That's not how I roll.

But, if the negative effects of nature are neutralized, I can't imagine why anyone wouldn't want to go nude. It sounds pretty hot, and you wouldn't have to guess about the opposite sex since everything is all out there. I need to find a nudist singles night. That has to be a horribly disorienting situation. I thought the whole point of singles night was to get someone home to see them naked. I guess that nudist singles nights are positive since you can't really imagine anything to distract you from the other person because it's all out there upfront. What do you think about this?