Here's the thing, though. I am dedicated to bringing you the highest quality entertainment in the blogosphere, excepting, of course, FrankJ's "In my world" for which there is no equal. But, you now, FrankieJ has kind of lost his edge since he got all married and turned most of his blog over to a bunch of idiots.
That's one thing you'll never see here. Me, CherkyB will remain a one-man blog. Yes, I pledge to you that I will never - let me say it again, never - have enough readers to justify bringing on a bunch of idiots to write additional content. Given the piss-poor ad revenue of this site, I'll never even be able to pay a bunch of "undocumented guest workers" to translate Spanish-language blogs into English so I can rip off the content. No, you're stuck with my boring life as seen through the eyes of someone perhaps ever-so-slightly perceptionally challenged and prone to dramatization.
Or, you know, I could tell you about what I had for dinner. That's how not just one, but two of my "tribute" sites ended their long, painful death spirals. Hitting the ground flat and hard, screaming the whole way down, with restaurant cuisine blogging. The last remaining copycat site is flirting with disaster on the food blogging as well.
So here's what I've done to keep you, my avid reader and ad clickers (as if!) entertained. I have taken upon myself to try to finish as much of my liquor as possible before the move to Fort Collins. Why is this? Well, it seems that there is a rumor floating around that it is illegal to drive through Utah with out-of-state liquor.
Now, back in the day before we had kids and all that, we used to occasionally have a party where we had our friends over. If there's one thing I hate, it's having your friends over and not being able to serve them whatever it is that they like to drink. So I took it upon myself to get the Mr. Boston professional drinking book and getting everything it said you should have for the "well-stocked bar". We then immediately stopping having parties and started having children, which are much more fun.
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OK, I'm able to go on now. I've dried up the tears. I'm sorry you had to see me like that.
I still have most of the stuff for that theoretically well-stocked bar, though most of it is no longer original.
I took a quick headcount and got 28 bottles. I have to average right around a bottle a day if I need to have it all gone before the move. Not gonna happen.
Maybe I could have a party. Except you can't have parties when your house is for sale because the house has to stay in immaculate condition.
Not to mention that I no longer have any friends that I could invite to a drinking party. Damn near everyone has one or two kids in tote and needs to be home by 8pm.
On top of that, I've mostly traded in my friends for co-workers. Apparently, you're not supposed to admit that out loud. StinkyJ's wife is apparently upset with me because I told him that we weren't really friends, we were co-workers. And then, naturally, he ran off and told her I said this because he was apparently shattered given what a great badge of honor it is to be befriended by a borderline-lunatic. Then she yelled at him.
Let me give you a little advice.
1) Never get married.
Now, when you choose to ignore this advice as we all have, keep in mind this: your wife will do everything in her power at all times to drive a wedge between you and whatever friend she thinks you might have at the moment. All women do this. They can't help it. Don't take it personally. They take territorialism to a whole new level compared to what a man could imagine. If your woman is not right at this moment trying to drive a wedge between you and any of your drinking/poker/fishing buddies, you should worry. She's either getting some action on the side, or she doesn't give a rat's ass about you. Next thing you know, you'll be having Mexican babies even though neither you nor your wife is of Mexican heritage.
The survival of the species, however, depends upon adaptability. So, Man has invented this loophole called "coworker". "Coworker" is like a get-out-of-jail free card. If there's one thing women like more than being married, it's money. Married women will never, ever jeopardize the money stream, as it might mean they'd have to go back to work despite retiring at age 35 so you could move to Chandler. A place that is, quite literally, as hot as Hell. Too hot to move to, but not too hot to retire so that you can not move to, just so long as you never actually move there. But don't worry, we're pre-retired in case you ever want to move anywhere. That way we only have to worry about one career.
I hear the weather in Fort Collins is a lot more temperate. That could be a gigantic lie, but I don't care. I've been there probably 20 times, and I've never not encountered a beer sale at whatever restaurant I have had dinner. Right there, I am sold.
So, let's say you want to go fishing. You are married, so no way in hell are you allowed to go fishing because fishing is perceived as those two greatest-of-all-evils: 1) fun and 2) a waste of time.
#1 is yet to be proven. It's hard to argue with #2.
So you do this [dramatization]:
Me, CherkyB: "If it's OK, StinkyJ wants to take me and HannieC fishing on Saturday."(later)
The Mrs.: "Hmmm... How long will you be gone for?"
Me, CherkyB: "I dunno. Probably until like 2-3pm."
The Mrs.: "Well, why do you get to go have fun and leave me at home to watch MaxieC?"
Me, CherkyB: "I'll have HannieC with me. She's 90% of the workload."
The Mrs.: "Riiiiiight..."
Me, CherkyB: "So, here's the thing. StinkyJ can really help me in my career. I'll schmooze him the whole time, you know, maybe I can get a big raise or something."
The Mrs.: "Oh! Well, certainly take as much time as you need fishing! Can you go both Saturday and Sunday? Why is it only until 2pm? What did you do to make him not like you and need to get rid of you so early?
Me, CherkyB: "Hey, StinkyJ. Can you go fishing on Saturday? I think the Mrs. will let us go if we take HannieC and I ask real nice."Oh wait. StinkyJ's wife usually does give a rat's ass. That last part I made up. But let's not get sidetracked here - the point is that wives do not mess with coworkers anywhere near as much as they do with friends. So keep your friends close but your coworkers closer.
StinkyJ: "Of course. My wife doesn't give a rat's ass what I do."
But I digress.
I spent a good deal of time trying to figure out of there was a way to drive from San Schmose, CA to Ft. TomCollins, CO without going through Utah. The answer is, "Of course there is, but you'll spend more in time and gas than you'll save by not pouring your liquor out in the gutter."
The cost is ~300 miles and 5 hours. One needs to ask if 5 hours of me and the dog traveling in the pickup is actually a cost or a benefit, but let's pretend for a second that the dog gets carsick pretty easily. I did more research. I used my knowledge of federalism that said, "Self, Utah should be able to regulate what you bring into Utah, but they should not be able to regulate what you bring through Utah. This would be interstate trade and pretty clearly under the dominion of federal law."
So I dug a little more and came up with this jobber. I can take the stuff through Utah if'n it's going to someone outside Utah. It'll be going to me outside Utah. I figure I'll tape up the boxes really well and put shipping labels on them with my new FC address. Plus, I won't spend the night in Utah. That's a bit of a problem cuz it's 8 hours to Utah and 12 hours to get past Utah. In an 18 hour drive, Utah is a convenient overnight. But I can do 12 hours in a day. No problem.
So, really, I'm trying to drink through my stash just so I can keep up the excitement of the old blog.
Other horrible developments today: The Mrs. has begun to doubt the intelligence of me driving all the stuff I said I was going to drive in the pickup for the move. Why is this? Well, I've spent a lot of time referring to my trip as, "Driving the bomb."
Why? Cuz the inventory was this: propane, gasoline, paint thinner, ammo, and alcohol. All the stuff that the moving van company considers too dangerous for them to ship. Plus the dog.
Today, The Mrs. decided it was time to modify my move plans. First to go, the gas cans. Both the regular and the 2-cycle. "After all, gas cans cost like $10. It's not worth you blowing up."
Then, the propane. "Buy a new grill when you get there. And a lot of the houses have built-in gas grills." AndyP is signed up for my old grill if this goes down.
Most of the fertilizer I can put down on the grass. The ammo, despite being about 700 rnds, takes up maybe 1/4 cu ft. I can get rid of the paint thinner pretty easily (and it costs like $3/gallon). I can consume the gas, except for the 2-cycle gas which I can give away easily. So now the bomb is looking more like a junket.
You watch. A week from now I'll be driving the whole family in the minivan and shipping the truck.
1 comment:
what's wrong with utah? i met some nice people there.
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