One of the things I like about myself (and I have in common with my friends) is that if we aren't enjoying an experience, we are out. Doesn't matter where, or with whom, or how inebriated we happen to be - we are just gone. When great conversation turns dull, or when the hottie we wanted just left, sometimes it's time to just get the hell out - no matter what the guests left behind think.

It's rarely an impulse decision, but based on a through understanding of the best and worst case scenario. And when the worst case is bad and very likely, and the best case is not much better - then it is time to go.

I was out with a new group of Arabic and Hispanic folks the other night, and I was invited out by a girl who I never met face to face (it's a long story). It was a bit awkward, given I only knew two people (who didn't know anyone else), but I can handle awkward. Anyway, one of the girls there was this Columbian knockout - who looked like the final product back from when God took itemized orders from horny guys when he was making women. Great skin, hot face, sultry accent, huge tits, everything you want. Aside from the minor stretch marks indicating that she spent a hell of a lot of time in the gym to look the way she did - she was pretty much hotter than any girl I could reasonably expect to pick up at Twisted Taco or anywhere else0 in Midtown Atlanta. So after my friends left, I stuck around.

The conversation got a little insane... the Colombian turned out to be married to the guy next to her (although she wore no wedding ring, or had a visible shadow on her ring finger), and also turned out to be a stripper. Suddenly her admission that she had a thing for black guys, and the constant touching of my hands and my knees lost all material signficance. Another woman at the table was a tall white girl with huge tits and turned out to be a former stripper. She spoke with an air of a life fully lived, but with plenty of bruises inside and out from when life decided to kick her ass for a while. She steered the conversation at the table towards ideas that she picked up during her prize fight with life, with the expectation that those ideas count as wisdom. The biggest (and funniest) thing to come out was the magic formula to take home a girl from a bar (it involves a specific number of shots and lies), as well as why you should avoid complementing a girl on her period.

After the cigarette smoke that hung in the humid Atlanta air started giving me a headache, it was time to go. Especially since the Columbian started in on the speeches she gives to her marks in strip clubs about how she will never fuck them, yet they still pay her thousands just to talk. She even emphasized that she was treating me like the mark, only I didn't have to pay. Since I don't make a habit of seducing married women, especially when their husbands are sitting next to them; I didn't feel the need to break her down.

Some people feel the need to take on all comers when they are slighted. When it happens to me, I always do a quick reality check. A) Best/worse case scenario; B) Is it worth it. When a jackass tried to steal my parking spot on my first date with a hot girl, dammit I made it clear I will get out of the car and kick some ass. I got the space, and got the girl. I tend to never back down in bars, because too many guys are wanting to prove themselves, and too many drunk girls take stock in that kinda shit. At a table with no single women or guys I know, I am not gonna take down some girl if the best case scenario is having her sneak around her husband's back. It just isn't worth it.

I hope this made some sense.

Two of My Favorite Things

Today felt like it was going to be a rough day. That is until I saw this.





Much better than raindrops on roses or whiskers on kittens, don't you think?

Halloween Approaches...

And for once I will be in Atlanta. There are a ton of parties planned for this weekend, and I will make my rounds in between fencing tournaments and attempts to stay sober.

The sober thing actually feels kinda new. One of my friends from Minneapolis came to town last weekend and we threw down pretty hard. Hard as in late night stops at both Waffle House and Krystal's in the same weekend hard. I knew it was time to go dry for a while when various conversations take this direction.

DunwoodyGirl: So I have been dating around a lot, but haven't found the right guy. And I am obsessed over a guy in Peachtree City who is getting married...
Me: You see, your problem is that you need to get fucked. Hard. Soon.

Me: So, just curious, when did you get your boob job?
FakeBoobsGirl: Hmm, that's a little personal.
Me: Well, I over heard you mention it before. They look fantastic though!
FakeBoobsGirl: Do they make me look fat?

Me: So, you think I can home run this girl?
Dick: Dude, why? She's stinky man! You gotta have some kind of standards...
Me: Hey, I got a shower! And a bath!
Dick: Yeah, well I don't know about you, but being stinky is a deal breaker for me.

After that weekend came sales meetings in Florida and lots of wine and scotch. I love scotch (scotchy scotch scotch!), but my body has had enough. Plus I am tired of my pants using my eyes for a periscope.

So Happy Halloween to you all, and let me know if you need a ride. Friar Bellow's can always be trusted.



I was just ministering extreme unction!

Sober Minded About Booze and Boobs

Last night I was giving one of my good friends the run down on the Chivas Studio Playboy event. He couldn't make it because his newborn was on her way to a wedding the next day, and understandably he wanted to spend time with her. His thoughts were simply, "something is up when you need Playboy to get a draw to a free booze event." He had a point.

While I enjoy scotch generally, and I am a fan of Chivas - I was a bit disappointed in the event simply because I expected so much. The Playboy Chivas event is like Fergie's body - the description sounds way better than reality.


Long hair, big boobs, nice lips - isn't she supposed to be hot?


The problem was that while Chivas wants to brand their blended scotch as exclusive - the idea of a lounge where those who bother to RSVP get to wait in line for an hour for the opportunity to taste every horrible scotch cocktail dreamed up is ridiculous. Usually these events are first come, first serve - and are so unpublicized that only true believers (read: drunks) tend to find out about them. You eat, you drink, you get merry, you go home. Even though I was nowhere near the first person there, some how I am at the front of the 100-strong RSVP line while legions of Playboy and "Playboy" associates (none hot women, I might add) get shuttled inside. Only my very very scant relationship to Pernod Ricard USA was enough to get me past the past-her-prime name checker after the bouncer felt sorry for me and let me in.

Once inside, I had a Chivas side car, which was awesome. I tried some other forgettable drinks (only the first sip of the Chivas green tea tasted good), and then switched to scotch on the rocks. Unfortunately, I was fighting a nasty cold which makes drinking scotch less enjoyable. Unlike other whiskies like Irish, bourbon, or Canadian - scotch has a strong and distinctive nose, and if your nose is too stuffed up to smell a quality scotch's nose, you may as well be drinking OJC from Schnuck's.

Since you have to doctor the drink until it tastes like Kool-Aid for them to drink it, there were hardly any single women at this event. Even the one I invaded a group to talk to was married, although she was charming. Funnily enough, one of her friends I passed on seemed to get a lot of attention from random guys asking for pictures. I was too busy working my magic, being funny, and not acting as drunk as I was to notice until guy number seven comes over. Turns out the girl I wasn't interest in happened to be a Playboy centerfold. Awesome.

Oh, and I met some Playboy bunnies, so there's that. They said I was the smartest guy there because I actually set down my full drink before posing with them.

Making The World A Better Place

Ahh, I feel better.

Life has been interesting - in a bad way - lately, and frankly I have put up with a lot of bullshit that I typically squash in about ten seconds. It's almost enough to put me into a funk, until I saw this.

Boobs! Boosh!

Few things put me in a good mood like nice healthy rack. And if a less endowed woman aspires to that end - or front, as it were - then more power to her. I am behind the eight ball on this operation, but then again I found out about it from a woman here in ATL who just signed up. And of course, if she gets them, I get to touch them. Look, no hands!

Guys, if you absolutely must spend your money on women, don't buy them hoes a drink, do the Lord's work. We are all counting on you.

A Man's Guide To The Topless Beach

That's neat! Can you tell time with a watch too?

Few things are more uplifting in the summertime than the topless beach. You and your friends are walking along, and then out of nowhere God shines his blessed rays of sunlight on a pair of beautiful tan titays. Our male unevolved brains want to instantly sport wood, turn our eyes in to sauce plates, and our hands into tense boob sized claws. Our male unevolved brains also has no concept of jail. Thankfully, the 10% of the brain we men do use knows what jail is, and is willing to learn what it takes to enjoy the bountiful goodness of the topless beach, without causing undue offense. Here are some tips.

• Wear sunglasses, especially your first time. Sunglasses mask the natural radarlike twisting your neck will do as you look from one succulent chest to another. Plus a decent pair of sunglasses help you feel cool, which will help down the road.
• Avoid twisting your neck like a radar dish. It makes you look like an amateur, and a little creepy. Instead, take in a large view and focus on interesting points from right to left.
• Try to have a general smile the whole time. This will help you avoid a reflexive shit-eating grin when you see a Scarlett Johannsen calibre set.
• Take about ten minutes to scout out your general area, then establish a base a few yards from any topless girls you will be approaching.
• Once you set up base camp, take a dip in the water (bringing along any frisbees, footballs, etc)... this will calm your nerves and give any perspectives a chance to look at you.
• IF you see a benuded girl you want to chat up, be sure to approach her from a vector where she can easily see you coming. Also call out to her from a close, yet safe distance.
• When chatting, maintain eye contact and smile. If she hasn't put on her top by now, feel free to hazard an easy yet quick glance.
• If over the course of your conversation she still hasn't put on her top, feel free to make a cute comment about how the tanning is coming along. If she is not with a significant male other, feel free to offer her a drink.

Follow these rules, and you are guaranteed a day of beautiful views and bountiful scenery.

Nine Days in Miami

Miami is hot as the fire of Hades in July. This is coming from someone who lives in HOTlanta. Whereas I have been able to enjoy life in a dark suit in ATL, I was sweltering wearing jeans and a polo at an outdoor bar on Ocean Drive at night. Plus nearly every day I was in town, there was a torrential storm in the afternoon, assuring that beach life was only viable in the morning and noontime, and every evening would be balmy. If you want to visit Miami, wait till November.




This water should be boiling.

Other than the weather, Miami was pretty cool. The food was very good, from the relatively cheap yet tasty gourmet pizzas at Pizza Rustica, to the moderately priced lunches at Cafe NeXXT, to the very well presented dinners at Oliver's on West Ave. Honestly, my favourite meal was the one I cooked myself. My very gracious host, Antagone (more on the name below), and I bought groceries during the week, and towards the end of my stay we decided to eat in. The chicken I bought was a little suspect after sitting open in the refridgerator for five days, and rather than throw it away, I figured I would take a page out of the cookbooks of our friends to the South and in South Asia. The theory is that enough spices and alcohol will kill any bacteria, so chicken three times doused in ground red pepper and marinated in vodka and coke it is. After that preparation I sauteed the meat in olive oil at a high temperature, and everything seemed to turn out ok. Of course, the food was so spicy, the sauce (before adding soy sauce) actually had the same consistency of pepper spray, and felt the same against my skin.

The nightlife wasn't bad either. One of my clubmates and I headed out to the Playwright Irish Pub, which is nowhere near as fun as it is during Spring Break. However their signature pour, Murphy's Stout, is a reasonable stand in for Guinness - and the clientele were very friendly and interesting. That same night we went to the Clevelander on Ocean Drive, which is an outdoor sports bar attached to a hotel, restaurant, pool, and some sort of concert stage.




The night we were there, there was a Young Republicans party. The YRs were easily identifiable by their tweed sports jackets and their dismissive demeanor. Of course, the one girl I actually have a great conversation with turns out to be in a bachelorette party composed of die-hard Democrats. The joke was that the bride would lose her bridal shower deposit on the Women's Democratic Center in DC once word got back she was partying with the GOP on South Beach.

It seems the main occupation of Miami partygoers is to literrally "see and be seen," many bars were outdoors, and there never seemed to be a place with the quiet corners that are abundant in ATL bars and clubs.

What I did see was a lot of bugs. Right now I am sitting here alternately typing and scratching the mosquito and ant bites up and down my legs and arms. As gracious as my host was, I have to give her shit for the fact that my stay started with "what the fuck are those," and ended with a purchase of a three pack of Raid's strongest Fumigators. So her new nickname is ...




Queen of the Ants!


Antagone, Queen of the Ants! Click here if you don't get the reference. It is very funny.

I also have to give a shout out to another friend of mine, who I am going to reference here as JD until I get some dirt on her. There is nothing like making a friend out of a girl that you met in front of a club on a rainy Thursday night. Plus it was cool having a friendly face watch me fence. Explaining the game to a newcomer does wonders for calming the nerves. Below is her shout-out; if you watch more TV commercials than I do, you may even recognize her.



It's too bad I don't drink Mike's Hard Lemonade anymore. My friends and I stopped buying it once it officially became a girl's drink. Great commercials though.
As for the real reason I was in Miami for so long - the 2007 Summer National Fencing Championships - well, that was a bit of a disaster. In the team event, our star fencer was wearing a spare set of glasses and he literally couldn't hit what he was aiming at. For my part, I did ok against higher rated fencers, except for the time I helped the team discover a new rule that earned a touch for the opposing team down the line.

My individual event was testimony that there is a God, and He is angry.




The full breakdown is here, but the long and the short of it is that electronics control the game. So no matter how hard I hit a guy, if my epees and cords aren't working, I won't get a point. And if I can't figure out the root cause of the problem in the middle of a high pressure bout, I'm screwed. Never mind I tested my weapons and the armourers certified my bodycords. So even though I tanked, the good news is that I know I am a better fencer than I was a few months ago - now I just need to make sure my shit works so I can actually win these things.

In spite of the heat, the overpriced drinks, and throwing my disfunctional bodycord into Biscayne Bay, it wasn't a bad trip. I got to see some old friends, made some new ones, and saw some great fencing. I'll be back to Miami - let's hope that the Almighty and I are on better terms when I return.

Oh, and topless beaches are the tits.

Friday Night: Sponsored By Guinness

Friday night I will be hanging out with friends at the Guinness Believers party, then off to a house party in Smyrna, and if I am still alive... "sexy dancing" at Loca Luna. It's never often enough that alcohol companies sponsor my good time. If they do this every night, I would be happy to wear logos on my clothes!

Unfortunately, the only girls I have met at the Guinness event were either engineers or relatives of executives at Diageo. So I found the above pic online. If you have something better, click here.

This Brightened My Day

Few times (read: almost never) is a shirt with HTML tags actually clever AND kinda hot. Even more rare is the occasion that a basic knowledge of how HTML modifies text is absolutely necessary to get a sexy sexy joke.




Then again, she is hot with big cans. Everything else is just background noise.

American Idol: the Winners, the Losers, and the Boobs

I can't let Coletrain show me up on AI updates. I fortunately have a single weekend before my gynecology rotation to get a load off my chest. See, I managed to write that whole sentence without a boob joke! First, the top three:

1. Melinda. Unless the audience becomes bored by her complete dominance every week, she's the next champion. I actually think it's unfair for a backup singer to compete, because backup singers are usually more technically proficient than leads. While leads like Madonna or Britney can make up for mediocre voices with stage presence, ample breasts, or off-stage slutting, wallflower backups actually have to sing well in order to get on stage. Except for Ashley Simpson, of course, who sings her own backups, which still suck.

2. Blake. Being the only male with talent, his mix of modern styles, Snow-inspired beatboxing (I hope that reference wasn't too obscure), spiky hair, and metrosexual dress will bring in a hefty constituency of tween girls and middle-aged gays. This is my chance to mention that teenage girls are the one greatest reason for why music sucks today. And all you offended chicks old enough to remember NKOTB, you know why. The other reason why music sucks? Lyrics like "I'm hot 'cause I'm fly, you ain't 'cause you not." Or should that be "'kause," yo?

3. Gina. AKA pseudo-goth chick. I mentioned her as a dark horse in my last post, but I think she'll take 3rd place after the God-singer vote condenses around Melinda. She has a great voice, and may help fill this season's black hole of well-proportioned chests (no, not literally, I said no boob jokes!). After her vote-off, she will immediately take her rightful place in an Evanescence wannabe band. Way to go, pseudo-goth chick! Naperville rox!

And now, for the losers:

Antonella. Yeah, this one's a little old, but I think people missed the boat on analysis here. Poor girl says on her profile that her most embarrassing moment was "Saying the wrong things before I think." Sure. Well, there was a lot of flack that she was not booted off immediately after her embarrassing moments were ejaculated online, much as the fate that befell Frenchie from a previous season. This, said the experts, was racism. Hmm...maybe it's because one was morbidly obese? Actually, the reason is pretty obvious: Frenchie could have won and dealt Simon Cowell his own embarrassing moment. Antonella, well, you saw what happened to her. Case closed.

Sanjaya. Like a pit stain refractory to multiple bleachings, here's the most talentless kid in all of AI stage history. So everyone's blaming the website votefortheworst.com for keeping this vaginoma in the competition. They're forgetting both a long-standing pity vote and the unknown constituency supporting his family's jewels (Damn, a boob joke!). He will eventually lose as legitimate singers' voters coalesce, but in the meantime it would be helpful to look at this phenomenon. AI itself is partly to blame, because the show has always been a little too Disney owing to the fact that singers can only sing covers karaoke-style; if they forced singers to write their own songs and impress their audience with originals, the dregs would sink away pretty fast. As for the VFTWers, who purport to just be having a little fun, these people sound a lot like that kid you knew in junior high who liked to play soccer with stray cats as balls. It's amusing the first time, but then you just feel ashamed for not interfering. Like ordering a tranny stripper for your best friend's bachelor party. No boob jokes necessary.

Sorry for the long post. Well, it's back to diseased vaginas for me. Remember, kids: bacterial, not viral. See you all in six weeks.

This Just Made My Day...

Yoko Matsugane Jumping - Watch a funny movie here

I gave up on my Asian fetish soon after college when I didn't close the deal with quite possibly the horniest East Asian girl I have ever met. My friends from Wash U and I were at a fraternity party in Bloomington back in 2002, and long story short... after the third bump and grind song with a short, slender, pretty Chinese girl - I should have been looking for an empty room. Instead we continued dancing until she got tired and left.

This video might rekindle anyone's yellow fever.

American Idol Update

I know that many of you are jonesing for some of Nati's American Idol coverage, but since med school has him tied down, I have included something to tide you over.




Wow, that was nice wasn't it? Here is another highlight from American Idol...




Wow, this show is great! I wonder what the singing is like?

They Are Just Like A Train Wreck

You can't stop staring. I was all set to grab some Beam and whatever mixer I could find, pop some Chuck Norris in the DVD, and enjoy my first night in months without "The Shield." But then I saw this on my computer monitor (thanks to Go Fug Yourself).


Wow, Tara... I know you have pretty eyes, but come on, can you blame me? In the words of Damon Wayans, it's like you got two midgets in there. They couldn't be anymore obvious if they were hanging out of your dress. And we all remember that episode. BTW, the most downloaded pics from Coletrain.org are the progression from normal Tara to Big Titty TaReidy and the one where Tara makes Paris Hilton look like Grace Kelly.

By the way, if I saw Tara looking like that in a club. I would approach her with a shot of Patron, and have her chase it with a 10oz glass of Popov Vodka and some ice. She would just think its water, and by the time she realizes the truth - I will be getting dressed and taking one more picture before heading to IHOP for breakfast.

Category:

• Celebrities

The Greatest Night in Months: Free Chivas Regal

Lately I have been trying to stay in more. My lessons from fencing have shown me it is easier to beat in shape teenagers when my strength and endurance have not been sapped by alcohol. With a couple exceptions the last few weekends since my birthday have been fairly quiet - either watching movies with my cousins here in town, fencing, studying for the GMAT, or just relaxing at home.

The weekdays of course have taken up the slack, and last night was no exception.

Last night I got together with the guys from "Who's Got Game" and headed to the Ritz-Carlton in Buckhead for some free Chivas Regal No.12. How did I hear about this? I got an email from the Booze Fairy, but that doesn't matter. What matters is I am once again drinking quality alcohol for free, and it is not in a fraternity house (not that there's anything wrong with that!).

The event started at 7pm, so we started off with a Molson at home, and then proceeded to Buckhead (taking one car, we're responsible) and sent my buddy's nice Lincoln into valet. We scope out the ballroom holding the event, and then head to the bar for a drink. Mostly older men dominate the place; with a few girls in their late 20s; and a couple women who are pushing 50, have prominently displayed boobies that must be fake, and most likely are pros.

At 6:45pm, we head towards the Chivas ballroom and are greeted by three lovely young ladies. They are all wearing delicate silvery grey satin blouses with spaghetti tops (with "Chivas Regal" sown in over the left boobie) and a necklace with the Chivas Regal logo. Awesome. After about five minutes of flirting the head chick lets us into the ballroom early. Thank heaven, it was wonderful. We were the first to arrive and headed straight for the suprisingly ornate bar set up for the event. After some coaxing, one of the bartenders convinces me to try my first Chivas Regal Martini - a Green Apple something. It was pretty good, and went down a lot quicker than any other appletini I have ever had - especially considering it was made with scotch.

After about 20 minutes or so people started flowing in to the room, and the servers started bring appetizers: my favorites were the lamb chops and beef wellington, yum! The crowd was pretty tame and professional, and we met some cool people - but the focus was on consuming as much scotch as possible. This is nowhere near as easy as filling up on free Guiness at the Guiness Believers party. After three I was impressed with myself only to find that I was one down compared to my friends.

I managed to grab another one before we moved to another ballroom where we were educated and entertained by an offical Chivas scotch taster. This guy was all gussied up in a dinner jacket and a kilt, and was hilarious! He was telling stories about the scotch, making fun of the English, and converting Irish blessings into witty Scotch ones. For a brief moment, I found my hero. Truly a man who gets medals for tasting scotch lives a good life.

After tasting some single malts, Johnnie Walker Black, and Chivas No. 18, we left with some scotch filled gift bags and went back to the bar to chase some women. When only the pros where to be found, we relocated to Stooge's near my place for some beer and wings. By this point I was completely loaded, and all I wanted to do was sleep. Of course, "Jake" found the one attractive woman in the bar - a woman who looked like Nicolette Sheridan if she was from rural Tennessee and had fat friends. So Jake tries his best and actually does well - unfortunately she does have a
fat friend, who is NOT coming back with us, and her boss is out with them too, and she is the designated driver. Plus she might be banging the boss. None of this would be relevent except that it was Thursday night. Convincing a girl to abandon her friend and HER BOSS on a weekend is one thing - the night is young, who cares. Convincing her to do so on a weeknight is tough, after all she has to see that boss the next day - if she still has a job. So after spending another hour there working with her, she disappears, and we finally go home.

I am completely bombed at this point, and my only consolation is that it is only 10:45pm. Plenty of time to sober up and sleep before work. I ordered a pizza from Giorgio's only to pass out as soon as I pick up the phone. I wake up to hear someone pounding on my door, and mad as hell I crawl up from the floor and open the door. The pizza girl smiles and gives me this large flat box, and I pay for it. I then look at it, not sure what it is. I open it up, and there is this large steamy brown disc inside. I think about throwing it on the couch, but the bottom of the box feels moist and I don't need that on my couch - so I put it on the dining room table instead.

Thankfully I woke up on time today; I put on a fresh shirt and went to work. Awesome!

Category:

• Parties

So She Did Blow Up Like Bubblicious

From Cityrags.com


Wow, Tara Reid gets no love from anyone... and she actually thought no one would notice the difference above. Sorry darling, we noticed, it's what we do. We even noticed the little rumpling on your stomach too...

Category:

• Celebrities