Blogging Like I've Never Blogged Before

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

I had a dream last night that I had a piece of chicken for a pet. A piece of fried chicken. But it was a living and breathing piece of chicken. I think it was a chicken breast. Maybe a thigh. But it was totally cooked and seemed as though it had been breaded with Shake 'n Bake. It was a fine pet. No face or anything. As far as I know, it did not poop, which would make for a good pet.

I don't remember much else about the dream, but I must have been hanging out with other pet owners. Some dog owner kissed their dog and I told them it was disgusting. But no one there seemed to mention how gross or odd it was that I had a piece of cooked chicken as a pet.

I pass by this one homeless dude just about every day on my way to work. He never really asks me for money, so as far as I am concerned, he's pretty much the best homeless guy ever. Lately, there has been this campaign in downtown Cleve urging people to not give change to panhandlers. It basically says that sometimes people are lying about being homeless, so the money you give to people may be doing more harm than good and urges you to donate to charities that help the homeless.

Well, today I am walking by this homeless guy and these two people from the Cleveland Downtown Alliance are putting up this big old poster board thing right next to this guy. I felt bad because he looked pretty hurt as they were putting it up. At least wait for him to go take a shit behind Quizno's before you do that to the poor guy. Granted, if he was a homeless dude who asked me for change every day, I would have been all, "Yeah, in your face Johnny No House!" I am not trying to make a joke there. That is his actual name.

When I was in London, I amused myself (not Tania so much, though) by making up fake British terms for things. You know, because they say things all dumb and shit, like "flat" instead of "apartment" and "lift" instead of "elevator" and "prime minister" instead of "president." Anyway, I made up a few terms that I found quite brilliant. (Some little kid was on our flight going over to England and he told the flight attendant that he thought America was "quite brilliant." I wanted to smack him.)

Anyway, the only two made-up things that I can remember were hiccups were called "esophagus bumps" and a car accident is called an "auto mashy." Said with a British accent, these sound quite brilliant.

This was almost the greatest street sign in the world.

european cruise 466

This picture was in the dining room on the ship. I was sitting there one night and thought to myself, I wish my chest was as ripped as that baby.

european cruise 360

Seriously. Look at his forearms. Normally, I'd feel pretty confident in fighting a baby, but I'd have reservations about this one.

I was pretty psyched in France, because I saw Blue from Old School. This is not really him, but it is almost him. This poor guy thought he was in Ireland. He was trying to speak Gaelic to all the Frenchies. You're my boy, Blue.

my boy, blue

Speaking of France, they lived up to their reputation of being intolerable assholes. Well, just one guy really. I was walking around and went into this little shop that had a bunch of baby clothes, so I was looking for stuff for my nephew. It was here that I realized that the only French I knew was "oui," "bon jour" and "ooh la la." A lady that worked there asked me a question in French and I just stared at her like an idiot. I assumed she asked me if I needed any help. I smiled and shook my head.

So I bought something and was waiting in line. There was this dude who was working there who was speaking with the lady in front of me and the lady's son. He was very friendly and was being very playful with the kid. So I get up there and he says a bunch of crazy French shit. I apologize (in English) that I don't speak French. Granted, I could have at least learned that, but I didn't really think of it. I was in Paris for about three hours, so I didn't feel the need to learn the language. I thought "ooh la la" would have gotten me through the day.

He went from the friendliest guy ever to the biggest prick. His whole face changed and he never looked me in the eye after that. When the price came up on the cash register he pointed to the numbers and then said them very slowly in English. You know, because I can't read French numbers. He swung the bag at me and said "haveagooddaybyebye."

Other than that, French people seemed to be nice. There was this tour guide lady who reminded me of my mom, if my mom was 40 and French.

my mom, 20 years ago and french

For some reason, my mom has look-alikes that are tour guides. You might remember when I was in Chicago and my tour guide was my mom, if she was a Hot Pocket.

Oh, speaking of my nephew, here he is. This picture is from when he was about three weeks old. Pictured here, from left to right, me, my double chin, Oprah, Ian.

ian 028
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