A co-worker let me know that this is BloMo. Or as the people call it, National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo). I like BloMo more. You are supposed to blog every day for the month of November. But since it is now November 15, I would have to make up for the last 14 days. That won't happen.

I had an idea where I would post something about every day, but that was on November 7. Things were so much easier back then. I was going to blog about chicken soup on November 1, then maybe blog about how Cleveland gets all the great trade shows and expos. Sure, Vegas gets their CES and porno shows, but Cleveland gets the Rubber Expo! Suck our rubber, Atlanta!



I can't begin to imagine the amount of condom jokes that go on in that expo. And really, can anything that has to do with just rubber be called an expo? The word carries a sense of grandeur, and rubber doesn't really cut it.

Wow... this is real.

"The Rubber Expo is held (in Cleveland) in odd-numbered years and highlights rubber and rubber-related industries. It features everything from tires, hoses and underwater face masks to the chemical companies, testing equipment and raw materials that make them possible."

I love how it also features "rubber-related" industries. I think I am going to start using that as an excuse for things at work. People will ask me what's wrong and I will say, "Eh, it's rubber-related. You wouldn't get it."

If I was participating in BloMo, I also would have blogged about how I've started to answer my phone whenever I fart in front of my girlfriend. I pretend that I now have a fart ringtone. I will fart and say, "Ooh, sorry, I have to take this." It's a great method and I can't imagine it ever getting old. I've taken farts and made them cute again. If it's a silent one and it's stinky, I tell her that my phone was on vibrate.

Speaking of my lady, I've heard a few complaints lately that she has been the Yoko Ono between my blog and I. They say my blog has not been the same over the last 2+ years, because of her. I quote a co-worker of a friend (from Australia, because I am global):

Toole has gotten too comfortable and friggin happy - everyone knows a writer needs to heartbroken and drunk to write his best. Only solution is for Toole to leave his wife....he owes it to his blog.

Well, I don't have a wife, so there's that. But I see what he means. Lozo also kind of mentioned something similar. The other problem with that email is that in order for me to be heartbroken, she would need to leave me. So for the sake of the blog, I am going to try and get some ladies pregnant. Whether or not I succeed is irrelevant. The important thing is that I tried.

So this past weekend, the lady (or as I like to call her, Yoko) and I went to Lola, the restaurant owned by your Next Iron Chef, Michael Symon. It was cool, because he was there and it was two days before the big finale, where he became the winner. He even came over and talked to us for a bit and Yoko made him laugh. The guy has a great laugh. He really does seem like the nicest guy in the world. You should all hang out with him.

The next day we went to Cracker Barrel. I got the triangle game down to two pegs.

It was the first time I have ever gone to the CrackBar without being on a road trip. It's really weird to go there when you aren't traveling, because all of the sudden you think, "Holy shit, these other people probably aren't traveling either! They are really going to the Cracker Barrel!" Anyway, it was fucking delicious. You can't go wrong with Chicken Fried Chicken. Lola was good, too. But whoever made my mashed potatoes at Cracker Barrel should have also been considered to be the Next Iron Chef.

It would be awesome to be a Cracker Barrel chef that got to go on the Iron Chef and they were all like, "The secret ingredient is... WHITE GRAVY!"

Labels: gravy, iron chef, vibrating farts