Thanks, Glenn.  Appreciate ya.  *rolls eyes in faux disgust* 

     Met up with some cool people for Blogfest on Saturday night:

• Perry Nelson
• Cathy McCaughan
• Doug McCaughan
• Rich Hailey
• Michael Silence
• Randy Neal
• Barry
• SayUncle
• CE Petro
• Les Jones
• Mike Faulk
• Lissa Kay
• Katie Allison Granju
• Jonathan Hickman
• Dr Helen

     Oh, and Glenn “Instapundit” Reynolds … *snicker*

     Had a few laughs … Had a few Porters … Had a few more laughs … And then … Met up with some more friends … Had a few more Porters … And laughs … and continued to the next venue(s).

     At some point during the night, I actually turned off my phone and left it in the car, because the business calls were really bringing me down after what had already been a long, long, long, long day.  Four business calls per hour gets old on a Saturday night…

UPDATE 11:26PM GMT-5

     Having just read Rich Haily’s blog in its entirety, I wish to clarify something:

Present but not blogging were Les Jones and his wife Melissa, and Mark Steel.

     I submit that I am not the wife of Les Jones.  I have not, nor will I ever be, married to Les.  Nor has anyone ever, ever called me “Melissa.”  I am also sure that Les is not from Utah, nor Massachusetts.
     That said, however, Les and I do have more in common than most of my recent dates, such as mutual affections for Star Wars, Firearms and making fun of the Dixie Chicks.  *snicker*

     Some days I think: Estrogen makes people crazy.  Some go insane for having it, and others go insane for putting up with the ones who have it.   

     There’s some proof to it, too.  Just look at space shuttle astronaut Lisa “Robochick” Nowak.  She was charged with attempted murder and accused of plotting to kidnap Colleen Shipman, who she believed was messing with “her boyfriend,” space shuttle pilot William “Billy-O” Oefelein.

     Estrogen, all the way.

     The last few months, I’ve had a lot of great experiences with women.  Paramount of these has been talking to ex-wives and ex-girlfriends, and just kind of making sure the air’s totally clear.  One hundred percent closure, making sure we’ve said all that we ever needed to say to one another, and generally cutting through the years of crap and getting back to the business of being friends again.
     I’ve hung out with the usual suspects, as well, and generally had a great time.  Pirate Chicks rule, because we get together, laugh at everything, and pretty no subject is sacred.  No drama, so for the most part, they don’t really fit inside the Estrogen-Crazy bubble.  Yay!

     So here’s the weird stuff from the last week:

• A young girl decided to create overly dramatic situations involving violence towards other people, just to see how I’d react.  Me, being old, realized it for what it was.  I died laughing as I walked away.
• A bartender/server decided to sit down uninvited, start flipping her drink on me, calling me names, and when I decided I’d had enough (I was mean back — heh), she decided to say I’d poured a drink on her (never happened!) and send out a couple of guys to attempt to cause me physical harm.  Laughed all the way to the car.
• A pretty hot one my age decided to get all weird, complaining that she’s boring, not very smart and too old.  “Oh, and I’m fat.  I need to lose weight.”  At that point, I couldn’t help but laughing at her 115 pound, skinny butt, and of course, she got more than a little pissed off.  She told me to copulate myself, or words to that effect.

     Ones like that are pretty easy to just walk away from.  Drama, drama, and more drama.  Life’s too short.

     Sometimes, tho, it’s people you care about.  Friends you’ve known for years, people you talk to on a regular basis.  You let your guard down with them.
     Last Saturday was a case in point why I shouldn’t.

     I liked hanging out with “Elle” for a couple of weeks, getting to know her.  She was good fun, enjoyed movies and we could pretty much talk about anything.
     Eventually, though, the conversation became nothing but self deprecation on her part, having an extremely poor opinion of herself.
     Me being a guy, and wanting to fix things rather than listening to constant complaining, I reminded her about what she’s accomplished in her life, the fact that she’s a beautiful woman, and that she needs to just relax and take things as they come.
     Of course, she felt that this proved her point that I’m ”smarter” than her, and that she’s “an idiot,” and I’m “a jerk” for making her feel so stupid.
     Finally, I just told her:

If you wanna get along, we’ll get along. If something isn’t working, I’ll try and fix it. But don’t you dare come over here and kick me in the balls for caring enough to try and make you feel good about yourself.

     Sad, really.  I liked her, and she didn’t.  You can’t do anything with that.
     Haven’t heard from her since.

     Later that day, I was talking to a friend about it, and I’ve known her for about twelve years.  I was decidedly a little down about the whole Elle situation, which, according to the people I’m around most, just isn’t like me.
     “You don’t know how to date.  You never have.  You’re too sexual,” she says.
     When I consider that she’s been a friend for twelve years, and I’ve never been sexual with her, and she’s seen me go in and out of some pretty intense relationships, I couldn’t help but wonder what man pissed her off that day.
     “Hmm, okay,” I said.  “I guess ya never knew me.”
     I had to walk away and ponder that one.

     Next, I hit a few more of the same.  Grave “observations” about myself and my personality which were clearly aimed at someone else entirely.

     And then, finally, I was talking to “Kay” online.  We talk occasionally, haven’t ever dated or even talked about it.  But she came out with a winner.
     “You hate sex.”
     A minor argument ensued, and I said, “Ok, well, on that note, I’m gonna call it an early night.  I’ve had enough of that kinda thing today.”
     A little dishonest of me, perhaps, but I just wanted away from that silliness: I hung out with a couple of friends for rest of the night.  We discussed.  We laughed.  We always do. 

     The aftermath of the Kay-thing got funnier tonight, tho.  It has changed and twisted so many times over the last few hours that it’s hard to figure out, from moment to moment, what, specifically, she was angry about.
     It all started earlier tonight when she asked if I was “still in a grumpy mood” (which I wasn’t actually in one to begin with), and I responded laughing:

I was in a fine mood [Saturday night]. Just had four of “you people” (you ones with Estrogen) giving me shit that day, and I had more than I wanted or needed of those judgemental statements with no basis in reality.

     Well, apparently that was enough to set her off, even with the smiley, the subsequent laughter, and outright assuring her there was no mean-spirited intent to any of it.
     Estrogen Logic (the oxymoron) dictated that I was the one who was being grumpy the other night, since I didn’t feel like putting up with insults.
     It apparently also dictated a few other twisted things that made no sense, but I’ll digress them to her since I don’t understand them.
     I mean, I am male and all… *rolls eyes* 

     But all grumpiness aside, when she finally realized that I wasn’t really bothered (I didn’t care), it was the “judgemental statements with no basis in reality” wisecrack that really got to her.
     But, hey, she let me know that I live in a screwed up reality, where I’m an unhappy whiner who never has any fun.
     I’ll bet I would be, since I also “hate sex.” 

     WHO KNEW?!?!

     So I have to ask … I’m dying laughing the entire time I’m writing this, because, to me, it’s funny.
     Should I go over to these peoples’ houses and search their basements for Pods…?

     Nah … they’re tough girls.  They’ll probably get over it.

     Then I’ll laugh at them some more. 

     Tonight, as usual, I tried to have a good night, hanging out with the Pirate Chicks.  I like them.  And, overall, they give me great insight.

     But…

     Our place-of-choice was, as usual, sub-optimal.  This required me to go to the bar on many occasions to get our drinks, because the service was, typically, sub-optimal.

     And what should happen, just before I left, if one of the servers didn’t come and sit down at our table, telling us all her hopes and dreams, about how she’s going to be a clothing designer?  She’s so much better than “this place?”  How she’s going to move away from Knoxville, and get a “real life?”

     And when I offer her a bit of advice, she says: “I’m not gonna sit around here talking to some f&*#ing bald guy!”

     Let’s see …

     Waitress?

     Old enough to be her father?

     Experience, maybe?

     Already been to the countries she dreams of visiting?

     Know more people than she ever will, most probably?

     No.  Doesn’t matter to her.

     *shrug*

     Long story short, bouncer, bartender, and both of them told me I didn’t do anything wrong.

     “She’s drunk, dude, and being a bitch.  Sorry, man.”

     “I am so sorry, and I don’t know what happened, but you’ve always been sweet to me.  And you’ve — Oh, Thanks!”

     *shrug*

     It’s all about Customer Service, to a very large degree.  Don’t insult your customers.  And if you do, apologize.

     And if you’re a drunken idiot, at least have the couth to say, “I’m drunk.  Bye.”

     Wish I could drink while I worked … *rolls eyes*

     For a few months, I’ve been writing down some of the bizarre and humorous things that come out of peoples’ mouths.

     Back on November 10th, we’re sitting having a late lunch, and from out of nowhere, Zacque sits up in his chair, narrows his eyes to slits and monotonically mumbles:

Ahhh! Get your genitalia out of my eyes! I can’t see!

     On November 20th, I slammed the last portion of a beer sitting on the table, because you know, we can’t abuse the alcohol.  Susan quotably quipped:

Yeah, what’s a little backwash between friends?

     On November 30th, Zacque, Susan and I were sitting in the Old City when Niki walks in wearing a — form-fitting — red shirt.

Zacque: “Ya know, that’s a very nice shade of red.”

Me: “Yeah, I was gonna say, that is a very nice shade of nipple.”

Niki: “And they’re cold, too!”

Me, Susan & Zacque: “DUH!”

     Now, of course, there have been many, many more over the last few months, most of which are too rude to post here (I try and keep things semi-clean).  Hilarious, nonetheless…

     But this one today, from Lisa, takes the cake:

Stop cursing! I’m ovulating and it turns me on!

     Apparently, insanity runs in circles. 

     Parents are frequently reminded about how resilient their kids are despite seeming so fragile.  I’m sure one friend of ours is thankful how tough hers are.
     On Friday night, her son, daughter and a friend of theirs were in a pretty horrible car accident.

     The son and the friend are both in clear, and already out of the hospital — concussions, internal bleeding and broken bones, and already out. 
     Her 15-year-old daughter, however, wasn’t quite that lucky.

     Above and beyond being bounced around and getting a few nasty bruises, scrapes, gashes and broken bones, she ended up being impaled on the car’s gearshift.
     According to a Paramedic on the scene, she wasn’t taking her predicament lightly.  Though they were attempting to help her, she was dead set on kicking their butts when they tried to move her — so much so that she had to be sedated before being removed from the vehicle and flown to the Hospital.

     She’s going into a surgery in a few hours to repair her broken spine.

     But even with injuries like that, she’s still been moving her hands and feet.  For that matter, she’s been writing notes telling people what she needs. 

     That’s a helluva tough kid, and I have no doubt she’ll pull through with unbelievable speed.
     She’s a Pirate’s kid — these things happen.

     But at the same time, a little but if prayer never hurts.

     According to the rules of “Pirate Chicks” (I don’t date and/or do Pirate Chicks) I stay in line.  Mind you, those were my own rules, if for nothing else than to cut down on drama.  I love those girls, and I’ll stand up for any one of them at any time for almost any reason.
     Some conditions do apply — they make their own rules, and can make their own mistakes, and take their own consequences.  But I’d like to think we all know each other well enough that no lines will ever be crossed.  We do what we need to do, and we respect each other enough to step on one anothers’ toes.
     I like that.  It’s friendship.  It’s what we do.
     My Pirate Chicks.
     Cuz I’m possesive like that, and hey, like the Pirate Princess said, I was Pirate enough to Hijack the booty …

We are Mark’s Pirates because he said we are.  He sought out the treasure in true Pirate form and laid claim to the booty.  (In a manner of speaking, of course.  LOL  We all know you don’t date Pirate Chicks, Mark.)   All treasure is not silver & gold, mate.  Some things are better and worth a whole lot more.

     But, there’s this guy, Marty Ray.  He’s the one who brought the whole “Pirate” thing together with an annual Pub Crawl, complete with a designated driver (on a bus, with lots of Jell-O Shooters).
     Thanks, Marty Ray.
     He’s real Karaoke Afficianado.
     It’s not your plain-jane, “Hey, we gonna sang some sheeyit!” Karaoke.  Instead, he plays “popular” music in between, and pretty much keeps the crowd entertained.
     Tonight, I went to one of his shows, propagated by the ass, errrrrrrr, girl, in my Flirting 101 blog… (Ed - Sam: Yeah, that deserves a slap.  Oh, Baby!)

      I had a good time, actually.  I didn’t expect that.

      When I got there tonight at 10PM, the place was a little empty.  A few college kids, not much going on in general.
     But by 11:30PM, there was a line out the door.
     You sit around, being “old,” and just kinda watch for a while.  You have a laugh at the guys “trying” to hit on girls and getting slapped in the face.  You have a laugh at the girls swaggering out the door (even though they’ve been drinking Coca Cola all night) with the object of their affection.
     You have a laugh, basically, at the whole, “Been there, done that, and you are certainly a dumbass!” of it all.
     But I found that every ten minutes or so, some hot young thing would come up and ask me, “What am I drinking?” and I’d tell her how, regardless of that fact that she hates gin, she’d enjoy a Gin & Tonic the way I make them.  I’d instruct the bartender, and she’d love it, and pretty much offer me anything I desired.
     Else, one of them would come up and rub my closely shaven head, and tell me how sexy I am.
     Or, one of them would come up and just ask me, straight out, “Are you going home alone tonight?”

      When you’re old enough to be their father, that kinda crap just seems … weird.  And that’s a good thing.
     Then again … It’s a serious ego-boost to know that I’m still sexy at my age.
       But all in all, it certainly feels good to hear all these young kids singing along to the songs you know.   It also feels good to know that they’re making some of the same dumbass mistakes you made when you were their age.

     For all the stupidity of the night, I had a damn good time.

     I even gained a little faith in the future.
     I mean, at least they’re not fighting each other like we did…
     Maybe they will be a better generation…

     Certainly, they know how to make an “old man” feel pretty damn good by asking him to take them home.

     Especially after they’ve been drinking Coca Cola all night.

     A few months ago, I went out with a couple of friends (Gina and Joe) and had a fun time.  In trying to make sure Joe was okay to drive (he ran from the car) I inadvertently dropped my phone in her backseat.
     Long story short, one of her workmates, Paula, volunteered to bring me the phone, and I agreed.  She didn’t bring it to me, however.  Instead, she threw it out her window in Halls, TN (where I definitely do not live) and ignored all attempts at contact.
     Fortunately, an older gentleman named Wade ended up with the phone (picked up from a ditch and put it in his mailbox by his postwoman, he said).  He called me, from my phone, and arranged to get the phone back to me.  Thank God for honest people in the world.
     Last night, a friend of mine called Paula and let her have it.  In turn, Gina calls me to scream at me so much I have to walk outside from where I was to hear her.  She calls me a liar, tells me that I had fabricated the entire story and that she’s told my friends, they believe her, and blah blah blah blah whiney, idiotic garbage.

     This is overly dramatic for me, and whole lot of them can screw off.

     Another asshat has been hanging around telling people he’s a race car driver, with millions of dollars, million dollar contracts, and he’s gonna start paying three of us at the first of January.
     He told me that he lived in a 4000 sq ft house and wanted me to secure it and run Ethernet around it.  Told me had a four bay garage where he keeps his race cars, and one of the bay doors is torn off because he and a friend came home drunk and couldn’t get it open to park the truck — so they rammed it. 
     He told me that he has a private jet, and has invited us all out on several occasions, but never follows through.
     He’s told us all that he owns Tennessee Racing, Inc.
     He’s an IMCA driver and points leader.
     He’s on Team ARCA.
     He’s a NASCAR driver.
     He was in Daytona this weekend with Teresa and Dale Earnhardt, Jr.

     Needless to say, he hasn’t paid any of us a cent.  ”My racing license was revoked, and I’m trying to get it back.”  Of course, he’s already told me that one, and that he did get it back.  “Yeah, but I went this weekend and got it back.”  Of course, he’d already told me that they’d reinstated him the week before.  But that’s also been mixed with, “I might be going to jail,” “All my assetts are frozen by the court,” and “I have to go to Europe to hide from some very bad people.”  Of course, those things have changed, too.  “The judge let me off even though she hates me,”  “I have more money than the courts know about,” and “I said I was gonna to Europe to hide after I hurt the guy who was molesting my daughter.”  But no, he didn’t.  He’s talked himself into both a corner and poverty.
     About the house:  “Oh, well, I haven’t bought it yet.  I was looking at four, but they were out of my price range.  I only have $750K and need $1.2M.”  I can’t help but wonder why he’d crash the garage doors on a house he doesn’t own, then?  He lives in a crappy apartment in South Knoxville.
     Why doesn’t his pilot file flight plans?  “I didn’t know they were supposed to.”  Yeah, that pilot stuff might elude him, especially since he claims to have had a pilot’s license.
     Tennessee Racing, Inc. doesn’t exist?  “Yeah, I registered that in Iowa.”  No, not there either..
     He’s not on the IMCA list.
     Team ARCA’s never heard of him.
     NASCAR certainly hasn’t ever heard of him.
     Teresa and Dale Jr. have had a parting of ways and certainly haven’t sat down to dinner together, much less together with anyone else.  And since Dale Jr. has been busy with the Nextel Cup and giving press releases about the future of DEI & his younger brother, Kerry, it’s pretty much an impossibility that our dear-old-bullshitter had dinner with just him, even.

     “Well, maybe I should just not come around if it’s gonna be like that!”
     “Good idea.  BYE!”

     Besides, I doubt Dale Jr. would take time out of his busy schedule to have dinner with a door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman.

     I declare this a Drama Free Zone.

     Take it outside — we don’t need that crap in here.

     You’re in a bar, let’s say.  The guy next to you says, “Oh, man, check out that ass!”
     “Go talk to her!”
     “Nah, I’m shy and quiet.”

     You pull out your trusty digital camera, and start snapping pics of different stuff going on, and offer to take a few of the girl.  When she turns around to walk away, you snap a picture of her butt.  
     When you come back and sit at the table, you show him the pictures you took of her.
     As she walks by, you show her.  Women love to look at their own photos.  She says, “Oh, nice pic, bad pic, oooooh, I hate that one…”
     Then you get to the butt pic.  ”Ooooh, that’s nice…”
     She says, “Yeah, it is!  Whose butt is that?”
     “Yours,” you grin.  “But I’ll bet we can do a better one than that.”

     And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you get a hot young thing to climb up and lean over the bar and stare back at you seductively as you snap off a few more shots.

     Any questions?

     Here’s the obligatory holiday photo…

     I missed the Thanksgiving post because I was busy enjoying myself during what was certainly the event that I was most thankful for in 2006.  Miranda and I spent some good, quality time together discussing everything that went wrong during our marriage, and making our apologies where they were applicable.
     Sure, divorce is divorce, and it is the end, but it’s always better when you can part as friends.  And hey, everybody can use a few more friends.  With that, we have all the closure we need to go ahead and get on with our lives.
     So, Miranda, my friend, I hope all of you on your side of the world, and the rest, have wonderful and memorable Holidays. *toasts*

     To my family, hey…  *toasts*

     To Mr. & Ms. Swanky, here’s to you guys.  You know why.  *toasts*

     To the Bloggers I’ve talked to, met, hung out with and e-mailed over the last year, kudos, and here’s to a great new year.  *toasts*

     To my customers & clients, we’ve had a good year through all our ups and downs.  I truly appreciate the business, loyalty and reciprocity we’ve all achieved this year.  *toasts*

     To my new neighbors, who’ve been great to hang out with and talk to the second half of the year. *toasts*

     To my friends, both new and old, thanks for the wild times and here’s to us making a few more. *toasts*

     To my Pirate Chicks (possessive little bastard I am), certainly, you girls have certainly made my year.  You’re every one individual and unique, some loud and some quiet, some bold and some shy, some aggressive and some passive, but I know damn well when the shit hits the fan, every damn one of you would be right there with me — and for any of you, I’d do the same.
     You’ve made the good times better, and the bad times bearable, if not hilarious.  *hugs* I love every damn one of ya.  *toasts*

     It just wouldn’t be like me to get all sappy and not leave something sarcastic.

     So, to all the ladies, a special gift, courtesy of NBC…

First, I have to say love is grand. Love is the greatest feeling in the world, especially if it is true love and the other person is the one you intend to spend your forever with. I will preach that day and night. I am indeed in love with the man I intend to spend forever with and I cherish him very much.

However, in a relationship (and my fiancee agrees) two people can still maintain relationships and friendships that were in place prior to the meeting of said significant other. Individual identity is what attracted you to that other person and that other person to you to begin with.

What is the point here? Well, the point is that just because I have found someone that I love, cherish and want to spend forever with, doesn’t mean I wish to cut the friends I had in my life before him out of it.
If nothing else, I wish for us to remain close. Yes, there will be less time out for me. No, I won’t attend every Wednesday night gathering. But IT IS NOT because my man doesn’t encourage it and IT IS NOT because I love my friends any less.

It is simply because I have a teenage daughter who really needs me to be home. It is because I sometimes get to steal a weekday with my fella and his kids.

Just because I’m not there all the time doesn’t mean that I don’t want to hear the stories about who did what, or in our case, see the photographic evidence.

Just because I’m not always there, doesn’t mean that I am turning my back on my friends. Just because I’m not always there doesn’t mean that any one of them can’t call me in the middle of the night to cry on my shoulder if they need to.

I am dedicated to spending my forever with HIM. I am very much in love. But my friends were the ones who cried with me when I was sad. They laughed with me when I was tickled about something. They are there through thick and thin. I love them and I will always want to hear the sappy dating drama (tales) and I won’t just be smiling a fake freaking smile and shaking my nappy freaking head acting like I care. I will be listening intently, most likely holding my gut from laughing so hard and truly caring about what words are passing from my friends’ mouth to my ears.

Ok, now specifically to you, the one who pretended to be our friends. Who the hell do you think you are? Seriously? Do you think you’re high, mighty and perfect?

These girls all befriended you when you had nothing but extra belly fat.
No, girl, see this one loud and clear…. YOU ARE NOTHING LIKE ANY OF US.

At least I’ve heard that’s what you said….

YOU ARE EXACTLY RIGHT!!!!!!

1. Friends don’t molest someone else’s man. There were plenty of occassions that you blatently stuck your tongue down the throat of a taken man. Granted, Ron was not mine… but the other man in question was a claimed man. You had no respect for boundaries and no respect for your girlfriends.

WHICH SHOWS YOU ARE NOTHING LIKE ANY OF US because there is not a single one of us who would look twice let alone deep throat one of the other girl’s boyfriend.

Just not kosher… not acceptable….

2. Friends don’t just quit talking to friends. If nothing else, when a happy event such as an impending wedding or pregnancy is on deck, I would think a girl would want her friends close by.

WHICH SHOWS YOU ARE NOTHING LIKE ANY OF US because I would be honored for all of my friends and family to be there when I say I do.

Either you didn’t want us getting close to your man because you know that paybacks are a bitch… or you were horrified that if you let him speak to us, that he would find out about your legendary exploits on the skank side.

Hmmmm….. go figure. Everybody pulls a drunk now and then… get over it. Hey, Dorothy…….