The Sex Lunch

The title of this blog sounds like a porno. With that being said, I shall pose the same question that I asked a few weeks ago regarding the title of this post; how many of you clicked on this link from Facebook simply because you saw the word "Sex" in the title? Come on, admit it. I certainly would have. Now that you are all blushing in shame at the double-click misdeed, I will continue on in my discourse.

As stated last month, I have a 2-liter bottle full of subject topics to choose from in which I will express my thoughts and feelings about. This week however, I will unload to you my thoughts and ideas regarding the topic of sex. Granted, these are thoughts and feelings from a 26-year old virgin who doesn't look like will be hopping between the sheets any time soon. However I would like to begin the week of sex, which this shall be called, by telling you about a conversation I had with three wonderful friends.

To protect their identities from possible scrutiny, I shall be identifying them with my classic blogalias's. First there is Goodyear Scotchsketcher. Second, B.E.P. Longhorn. And finally, one who has already been given a blogalias, J. Black Hairpiece. All three of them were seated with me at a popular restaurant in St. George a few months back on a day when we had the infamous "sex lunch."

Granted, all three of these studs are married men. Married to beautiful women. They are all classy, loyal, honest. The list could go on and on with positive adjectives to describe how great these three men are. My respect for them cannot be described. It was on this day when all three of these great men attempted to educate me about the topic of sex.

"See, it's not what everyone thinks that it is." one of them said. "It's actually kind of messy, dirty."

"Yeah." another of them agreed. "There certainly is a lot of cleanup to be done once the whole shibang is over with."

The third one agreed. "Seriously, that first night, you get something completely different than what you were expecting. The movies show it being all heated and romantic, when its not even close to what really happens."

It took my mind a few minutes to try to comprehend what these three were explaining to me. Dirty? Messy? A lot of cleanup? That's not what I was thinking! One of them then tried to use an analogy to help me understand this physical act.

"Picture sex as if you're hot tubbing." he said with a wry grin on his face. "At first you jump in the hot tub, and you're like 'Oh yeah! This is fun, I haven't felt this good in a while!' And then after a while you start to kind of feel like 'eh, it's not as fun as it was when I first jumped in.' And then you get out. That's a good way to look at sex. And then there's the cleanup after."

Wait, was he referring to sex in a hot tub? Or that sex is the hot tub? And what do you mean by cleanup? Do you mean figuratively? Or literally? It was at this point when one of them shattered my hopes and dreams with a very logical/business point of view.

"Look, sex is fun and all, but it's not this painted picture that everyone thinks it is. Sex is love and romance, but it's also completely different than you think. When you're laying there in your hotel on the night of your honeymoon, you're gonna find that sex is completely overrated, and different from what everybody says it is."

Overrated? Umm...thank you for kicking my hopes and ambitions in the gonads and throwing them out like rotten milk.

This had to be one of the most entertaining lunches I have ever been a part of. And granted, these three fine gents have much more experience than I do in the art of love-making. But whenever that day finally happens for me, and I'm laying in a hotel somewhere in a foreign country, am I going to look at my girl and say, "That was kind of like being in a hot tub ya know?"

I just hope she doesn't look back and say, "It was more like a luke-warm bath for me."

Mortal Kombat!

At 1:27 in the morning, I was being sucked into my soft couches being pulled into a semi-comatose Mormon hangover induced by Tylenol PM and 5 hours of sleep. Flipping through the fuzzy HD channels, I came across one of the greatest films ever to be adapted from the video game industry; Mortal Kombat.

No question, I can quote the entire film from start to finish. I'm sure you can too LTT. From the opening scene where Shang Tsung defeats Liu Kang's little brother, to the last hurrah as the Lord Shao Khan comes to face the tournament winners, and all of the glorious fight scenes in between. This movie is right up there with "Enter the Dragon" and "The Matrix Reloaded" for its brutality and martial arts. And to think it all stems from the best hand to hand combat game ever made.

You can't be reading this and tell me that you don't respect Ed Boon and John Tobias for their epicness. And yes, I did just use the word epicness. Those two deserve it for bringing forth the greatest violent platform game in our history. I remember how hooked I was to Mortal Kombat when it was released in 1992. As a seven-year old, the blood and guts and fatalities to such characters as Scorpion, Sub-Zero, and Johnny Cage mesmerized me, and I have been a fan ever since. Heck, I've even liked them on Facebook I appreciate them that much.

The characters in this game go down as some of the most brutal and intimidating in all video game creation. These are characters that would put Zelda to shame. That would beat up the gunmen from Contra without blinking an eye. Characters that even a tag team of Alice from Resident Evil, and Lara Croft couldn't take down. Bad guys such as Reptile and Motaro. Good guys like Jax and Kung Lao. Heck, the baddest of them all I was proud to have been named after. The razor-toothed, hand-bladed creep show known as Baraka. Tell me you don't have to change undies after seeing his pic.

I knew all of the phrases, all of the code words, all of the hidden characters that could be brought out of the works. Fifty rounds in a row in MK2 and you could bring forth Noob Saibot. Down, back, B, and either the frozen block of ice, or harpoon would be launched from the Lin Kuei brothers. "Get over here" would be yelled as Scorpion would launch your body across the screen. Epicness I tell you, epicness!

These childhood memories of mine drifted across the screen and my mind last night as I watched terrible acting and poor dialogue in a film that has been stamped into my memory bank. I will always love this film and game. I will always be a Mortal Kombat character in my own mind. I will always suit up to fight Kano, or Sonya Blade, or Goro. I will always wait for Shang Tsung to look me in the eye after throwing a nasty uppercut to my jaw knocking me to the mat, and say, "Your soul is mine!".

My soul certainly is.

American Idol?

So while I sit here roasting my Grandma at Canasta, (and yes that is the highlight of my trip to Ogden) she asks if she can change the television in the background to "American Idol".

"Do you watch 'American Idol'?" she asks.

What?! Are you kidding me? I may watch re-runs of Glee and shop at Roberts Arts & Crafts but there is no way I would be caught dead watching that primetime blah that is wasting away hundreds of hours of pathetic Americans hopes and ambitions.

I remember when "American Idol" had their first season. (Not proud to admit that.) I never thought it would last. Heck, I thought that "From Justin to Kelly" would curse the series. I only wish it had.

Since that piss-poor pioneering season, we as an American Culture has had to sit through countless losers hoping to pursue a musical career. And why do we do this? Why do we text message our choices thinking that we can help shape someone's music life? Why do we have to watch a D-list celebrity such as Ryan Seacrest bathe in the attention? I have no idea.

It hooks everyone. One of the manliest men that I know, a Texan football stud who if I were starting an imitation band of 300 Spartan soldiers, I would pick to be the role model, my co-worker C.J. Ferguson, has been snatched up by this Fox network Beelzebub. This is a guy who could probably beat up Anderson Silva, and yet he tunes in on Thursday nights to see who's been voted off. It makes no sense.

And so as the swan songs drag on as another 15 minutes of fame has just been booted off, I will sit back and beat up my Grandma at cards and get on Hulu later so I can watch re-runs of Glee.

That's manly isn't it?


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Church St,Layton,United States

B.F.E. Ville Conversations

Alright, I am back to nothingness. I am sitting in the middle of oblivion. I have front row seats to a blank screen and I'm clawing at the armrests to get out of this joint. That's right. I am back in B.F.E.Ville.

There is NOTHING to do here! Nothing at all. And yet, people love it here. Let me tell you what conversations I have been exposed to in the last 78 minutes and counting.

I must be curteous and respectful to the people that I come in contact with in places such as this. However, when the mix of their dialogue includes discussion about the diagramming of a chicken hotel, it is then when I want to hold my breath until blackouts occur.

Thing 1: "Well, ya see, I been runnin' a chick'n hotel for upward uh 10 years now. It's been a fine run for me.

Thing 2: "Yeah, you should see the layout of the hotel that they live in. It's got to be somethin' like 50 square feet. It's HUGE!"

Thing 1: "I have over 30 chickens, and I named em all. I even have a differ'nt whistle for each of em."

Thing 2: "And like, there's a nice roof and place where the chickens check in. It's so extravagant. Like, there's even a place for them to check in and everything!"

Thing 1: "Sometimes, I lay in bed at night, and I do a certain whistle, and that chicken will come and lay with me in my bed. It don't get any better.

Thing 2: "You can get like, 8 eggs a day per chicken. I mean, think of the money you can make with organic chicken eggs."

Thing 3 (me): "I'm sorry, I've been holding my breath in hopes of a blackout. Say again?"

Why I listen to possible pyramid schemes with egg marketing and chicken hotel schematics is beyond me. It is conversations like this that make me never want to live in B.F.E.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Somewhere I'm not proud of...

Words With Friends Part II

Forgive me for rubbing it in, but I temporarily need to feast upon this glorious Words With Friends victory. I heart Jflounder a.k.a. Jeremiah Rawson, but this 99 point score, was the highlight of my day.

Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?

Whew!

After a 22 page final paper, and the completion of the A to Z challenge, I will admit that I have been a bit wiped out this week. To the whopping 30 people that tune in to this blog on a regular basis, forgive me for lacking on my writing skills this week. I have much needed that 6-day break. However, I will stay consistent to your needs and continue to work on putting a smile on your face every once in a while.

With that being said, I have a question that I don't think anyone can answer;

Where in the World is Carmen San Diego?

I doubt I am the only person who watched this PBS hit growing up. It was something that every kid wanted to participate in. We all wanted to put the flags on the countries. We all wanted to listen to Rockapella serenade. We all wanted to take orders from "The Chief". We all wanted to find, Carmen Sandiego.

I even had the computer game "Where in Time is Carmen Sandiego?" on my family's ghettofabulous old school PC, which I would play for hours on end. I came close, but no cigar in trying to locate the most wanted fugitive known to fictional history. She's right up there with Dr. Richard Kimble and Mona Simpson.

Trying to find this jezebel villain is about as easy as locating where Jack Bauer uses the restroom. She is the invisible Waldo. The one that always got away. The one that drunken recounts get told about in bars late at night when "I was this close to finding her, and she slipped between my fingers."

In a realistic sense, we all have our own Carmen Sandiego's, or we are Carmen Sandiego's to someone else out there. Either way, I'll still listen to Rockapella sing their jukebox harmony of the background music used to catch this crimson criminal, and always wonder where she is.

And so I pose this question to my contingency of 30 viewers; Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? Do you know where she is?