So Fucking What?

I feel the need for confession.

I own a Creed Album.

So fucking what? That don't make me a bad person. I found it when I was cleaning my desk area. It was buried under a pile of dirty paper plates, Poland Spring bottles and a Back to the Beach VHS tape. I don't listen to it or anything now. I haven't for years.

The only reason I even bought it was because I thought it was some shitty new Pearl Jam CD. It's true dude. I swear.

It sounded cool when it first came out and you all know it! I thought, "Wow these guys are singing about lions and people being crucified. They are hardcore!" How was I supposed they were talking about Jesus?!

Don't judge me assholes. Just because I said to myself, "Wow this lead singer has a lot to say about the world and is definitely not a giant dog cunt," it means I'm some kind of jackass? I was young and naive and didn't know anything. You think you're better than me, but you know what? You're not.

I feel better having gotten that off my chest. You guys should try it some time. It's healthy for you.

It's Science, Part 2.

As those of you who I send messages to on AIM all morning to avoid doing work may have noticed, I wasn't around this morning. This was because I ventured outside to take another shot at my friendly harassment of the ladies.

It is absolutely gross out today. The temperature is in the 90s and the humidity readings are ranging between 90% and Louie Anderson's taint. The one good thing about the Venutian temperatures is that the women of the city like to parade around half naked, so I had many worthy targets this morning.

Originally I was planning to use some of the suggestions people were nice enough to give me or leave in comment form, but I forgot them and couldn't be arsed to check what they were. So I found a new spot in the shade on a new block and began to muster up some courage and pray my brain would come up with something better than, "I want to fuck a bag of your hair."

An attractive white gal in disturbingly tight, white Capri pants strolls by...

"How's it goin' miss?" Pathetic, I know. She obviously didn't even flinch. I never call anyone "miss" unless she is on a box of hot chocolate. I don't know why I said that.

A tall, good looking black woman in a halter top enters my field of vision...

"Hey girl...uhh... Shit!!!" I completely choked here. I panicked I think because in all likelihood I would have said something really dumb involving the word chocolate, and I know that all black women can beat me up. I was struggling out there real bad. AnNother one like this and I was going to be done for sure.

A middle aged, but still MILFy brunette carrying a Duane Reed bag prances down the sidewalk...

"Yo girl, I got all the medicine you need" Halfway through this sentence I began to wish I was a turtle, so I could hide in my shell and roll into a sewer then learn karate. However! Much to my surprise she not only turned her head, but she smiled! Score one for Ry Dawg!

A foine lookin, well tanned chick with dangerous amounts of cleavage bounces by...

"Hey good lookin, what's happenin on the Flip Side!" Help me. What is this? What the fuck is this?! There was no reaction. If there was it was just her choking back the vomit. I begin to think I don't have much left in me for today.

A very tall, bird-looking yet still cute female swoops on by...

"Heyy eyyyy. Yeah. Alright" If you could hear me say this it would come across as much more enticing and seductive. At least I didn't go with my first instinct and call her "Stretch." This is when I decided to call it a day. And much like my previous entry, this blog ends with me turning away from a girl and running off in the opposite direction as quickly as possible.

So I guess today was not a complete failure even though it felt like one. It's kind of like, "I just completely wrecked my car, but at least my Kenny Loggins mix tape survived."

I don't know if I can do this again. I will be taking advice if I do however, so feel free.

Forever in Blue Jean Shorts

On our last episode of "Ryan is Really Stupid, and when I say really I mean REALLY," I found myself about to spend an evening with two young and attractive fashion students while clad in denim from hip to slightly below my knee.

So there I am trying to act cool like everyone knows wearing jean shorts is the hip thing to do and it's not at all embarrassing enough that I would write a blog about the experience one day, when Rebecca (the girl I had previously charmed) lays this on me.

"A couple more of my friends said they wanted to come along to the movie."

Awesome! Four College girls! Even without the severe fashion faux pas dangling from my waist, this situation would normally be enough to send me into a mental tail spin with flames of anxiety bursting forth from my fuselage. Somehow I managed to ignore the voice in my head saying "PUNCH OUT MAVERICK!" and convince myself that since I was here I might as well stick it out.

Now in all my excitement and horror I hadn't bothered to find out what movie we were going to see. When they told me we were going to see "The Break Up" I could hardly contain my excitement and bile. What an awesome girls night out this would be for us ladies. But it turns out the movie is better than I thought it would be. Perhaps there is hope for this night after all! We sat in the first row because the theater was packed, so I spent most of the film hoping my nose hairs weren't visible in the dim glow of the projector's light as I leaned my head back.

After the movie we walked back to this hotel where they all live, and I was told I had to wait in the lobby while they all went up stairs to "do girl things." I can only assume this meant change their tampons and talk about how much of a weirdo I am. I spent approximately 15 minutes talking to a bellhop named Felix before the ladies came back down. One of them was now missing. I was told she was tired, but I'm pretty sure it was because she was allergic to Wranglers.

The four of us walked around a bit before finding a diner. I was pretty starving form all the staving off of multiple panic attacks, but rather than immediately blurt out to the waiter, "I'll have belgian waffles my good man, and stack them as high as the eye of a mountain goat," I let the gals order first. Thankfully they all ordered meals, so I was able to get my goat's eye waffles, which are not to be confused with goatse waffles. Those taste like ass.

During the meal I thought I was highly entertaining. Not only did I razzle them, but I also dazzled them to the max. I had them laughing frequently and was enjoying myself until I used a local cultural saying which elicited a, "Oh my god you sound like one of the Gotti kids!!" from one of the girls who I will now refer to as Bitchface McHugevag.

I pay for the meal because I'm a gentleman, and it was only 21 bucks. We all walk back to the hotel, and I am wondering what in the world is going to happen now. hey all decide to call it a night. Bitchface McHugevag and the other friend head back up to their stalls, and I am left alone outside with Rebecca.

You'd think I would be in good shape because her friends seemed to like me and none of them once called me "Mean Jean Okerlund." As I stood there with her, a Tsunami of nervousness and distress came barreling down 8th Avenue at me. Being that I am neither Jet Li or Petra Nemcova, I get swept up in it. My hands feel like they are beginning to shake. My voice begins to crack when I talk. I notice that what has been merely a semi-erection all night long is starting to mature into a full on boner. I panic and half-scream out, "That was fun we should all do it again some time HAHA AHA HA." I then boldly lean in and plant one on her lips.

Okay, "plant one" isn't appropriate to use here. I pecked her on the lips and then turned around and ran across the street as fast as I could because I am 12 years old.

And that was the last I ever saw of the quartet of fashion students. It was not my finest moment, but at least I learned a valuable lesson. Do not dress like a bull dyke on a date.

The Long and Shorts of It

Amazingly enough, during the year or so that I didn't post here, one or two interesting things happened to me. They were all painful or embarrassing, but if I can get a good blog post out of it, all the shame was worth it.

One such tale doth begin way back in the Summer of '06. The kids were hitting the beaches and Wyclef was informing us that Colombian hips are completely honest. I was working in an office in midtown Manhattan where I do office work.

One day an attractive young college student showed up to help on some project that was near completion. If I had to paint a picture of her with words I would say she was one tall margarita with a short but full and bouncy auburn colored hairdo, an adorable face you just want to bite off and skin the color of skim milk.

Now we would all assume I'd be a nervous and mostly silent oaf as she worked in the same room as I did. However, this day I was feeling kinda jazzy my friends and I whipped myself up into a human tornado of humor, charm and sultry facial expressions. Confidence Rising! I learned much of this young lass. Her name was Rebecca. Rebecca was from Ohio. Rebecca was currently not in Ohio because she was studying fashion in New York City. Keep this last tidbit on the surface of your brain.

As the hours rolled by and the number of laughs and smiles I drew out of her grew, I became emboldened! By quitting time I had not only gotten her digits, but we had already made tentative plans to hang out the coming weekend.

Confidence Explosion!

We time travel ahead to Saturday. Around noonish I speak to Rebecca via cellular phone and she tells me she will call me in a few hours to let me know if she can hang with ol' Ry Dawg later that evening. I've just decided my supremely and tragically confident alter-ego will be known as Ry Dawg. The hours pass. I kill time by doing some yard work and practicing my katas outside. I surrender to the thought that there will be no hanging of the out this evening with my hip young gal pal.

This of course means that 10 minutes later my phone rings and Rebecca tells me that she and her friend are going to a movie, and she would like me to come along. However the movie started relatively soon and I would have to leave almost immediately to make it in time. Being the cool customer I am I say, "Oh yeah definitely I will be there!!" I bolt out the door still swishing Scope swishing between my cheeks.

Because I was swept up in the giant wave of enthusiasm that was carrying me to my fate, I failed to realize something until it was too late to go back...

I am wearing jean shorts.

In my haste I forgot to change out of my standard gardening/karate practicing attire of jean shorts. Oh god I think they are Wranglers!

As I came up out of the subway station 2 blocks from where I was to meet Rebecca and her friend I managed to convince myself that this wasn't a big deal. I was halfway across the street when I saw the attractive girl I was meeting and her equally attractive friend waiting for me when it hit me...

I am wearing jean shorts while hanging out with a couple of fashion students.

This is getting too long, so I'm going to have to throw in a "To be continued..."

TO BE CONTINUED....

Def Poetry Jam

I have a friend named Joe Massey. I have mentioned him previously. He is a big deal in the poet community.

Recently he sent out a mass email to all of his poetry compatriots asking them to call in to his livejournal and leave a voice post. Many of them responded. Last night as he and I were chatting, he asked me to do the same.

The end result can be read at Mr Tong Bliss' Journal.

Peruse around while you're there. It's highly entertaning and rich in Riboflavin.

It's Science, Part 1

And so the great experiment begins.

If you read my previous post, you would know now my fascination with men hollering at women walking down the street, and my desire to participate in it. This morning I found some time to jump on in to this swimming pool of public lechery.

I walked a few blocks away from my office to avoid any of my co-workers witnessing me embarrassing myself. I found what looked like a nice comfortable spot on the side of a building, leaned up against it in a happening "Fonzie next to the jukebox"kind of manner and waited.

Admittedly at this point I am nervous as all get out. I wanted to give up and abandon the whole science project. Women kept walking by and all I could manage was my creepy "I'm checking you for obvious pantylines" stare. (Mad Props to Jessica for the OPL)

After about ten minutes I decided I had to dig deep, real deep, and find some testicles. So I removed my imaginary shovel from it's corinthian leather case and got to work.

An average looking white female with huge sunglasses walked by....

"Lookin good girl," feebly fell out of my mouth. I am not even positive she heard it because I think I was saying it into my armpit. However, it was a vocalization in the general direction of a lady. Confidence rising!

A tall Mediterranean looking girl in a billowy summer dress strutted by...

"You are one tall margarita." As soon as this left my mouth I realized I should have planned out what to say beforehand. I don't even know what this means. She didn't have salt around her head. HOWEVER, I'm pretty sure her head dropped forward with laughter. It could have also been fear and disgust, but I'm feeling optimistic today. Confidence rising!!

A short blond broad in capri pants and some kind of tank top deal ambled by...

"Yeeeaaah! You know what time it is girl." This was not good. The girl stopped and looked at me. I was not prepared for this. I tried as hard as I could at this moment, but I could not seem to push myself through the wall of the building to escape like Shadowcat. As I stood there paralyzed and trying to hold back a wave of bodily fluids from flooding out of me she said, "I'm sorry did you say something?"

"Uhhhhh. Just ... uhhhhh... what time is it?" This was all i could muster under such duress. She gave me the time and walked off. I pointed myself in the opposite direction and racewalked back to my office in shame.

Confidence depleted.

This was not as fun as I had anticipated. I do intend to at least make one more go of it when the wounds heal. I am an emotional hemophiliac though.

Sexual Harassment is All in Good Fun

My current job requires that I spend several hours a week wandering the gum encrusted streets of Manhattan. Yes I am a hooker. Because of this, I get to see a veritable cornucopia of interesting people and happenings such as a homeless man wearing nothing but a welcome mat wrapped around his waist, and what appeared to be an elderly mustachioed man doing cartwheels.

One of my favorite things that I see happen on a regular basis though, is when guys say and/or yell out things to women walking down the street. Now I realize if I were these women I might not find it so hilarious and awesome, but at least I would have large succulent bosoms. These fantastic men never yell out anything too vulgar or offensive in my mind.

For example, one time I was patrolling W 37th St. past a group of guys loading boxes off a truck. As I passed them, a young african american lady person with a pleasant face and copious amounts of booty walked in the opposite direction across the street. One of the workers noticed her and immediately yelled, "I LOVE YOU GIRL BUT I LOST YO NUMBER. HIT ME UP WIT IT!" All the workers and myself started laughing, but the woman didn't even flinch.

A lot of the gentlemen I have seen participating in this are middle aged Hispanic men. They are great because they say cool things like "Mamacita" and make entertaining celebratory latino noises. I admire their cajones

I am enthralled by the guys who do this, and it's probably because I am much more comfortable simply burning holes through the back pockets of the gal's pants with my eyes (or a magnifying lens if I have one handy and the midday sun in hot and blazing). Also they always seem to be having the grandest of times even though the targets of their affections never even grant them so much as a glance in their direction. I wish I could experience this care-free, who gives a flying fudge attitude instead of my normal "I can't talk to that girl because I think my teeth are shrinking," or similarly paranoid, mindset.

However for the sake of entertaining the three people that may read this blog, I will do the unheard of. I will stand outside on the bustling streets of this metropolis and attempt to get the attention of attractive female pedestrians. Then I will report back to you my experiences once the swelling around my black eyes go down. It will be a social experiment. I wonder where I can get a labcoat.

Where in the World?

I'm no Matt Lauer so the answer isn't very interesting. After a few months of setting the virtual world on fire with my revealing insights, quirky no-holds barred take on life, and off-putting yet somewhat intriguing odor, I began to lose interest in writing on this here blog.

Unfortunately this is nothing new in my realm. It is a realm filled with magic and enchantment. A realm of dinosaurs, ninjas and Ted Danson, all with incredibly short attention spans. Many of my past endeavors have ended with my will to participate petering out. Others have ended because my peter was out.

Some of the undertakings I have lost interest in include:

Tae Kwon Do - I was well on my way to a yellow belt and a full split when the S.S. Disinterest crashed into my head.

Exercising - It never could live up to the excitement of it's rival, eating.

The Ladies - You know, the ones that didn't lose interest in me first. There were like 1 and a half I swear. It's true! Stop laughing.

Undertaking - Another dead end...ugh. It was pretty disappointing actually. I didn't even get to have one cage match.

Bathing - Sure it's nice to be clean I guess, but all that dampness and arm movement and self-nudity gets old pretty quickly.
Listing Things I've lost Interest in - It started off pretty fun and I was enthusiastic about it, but now it just seems like a chore.

The only activity I really have been able to be consistent with is masturbation. And man oh man am I consistent! However that is probably because if you add up all the time I have partaken in "roughing up the suspect" over the past 15 or so years, it would only total about 39 minutes.

Lets see here. Self-Effacing humor...Check. Penis jokes...Double Check. Ted Danson mention...Check. Favorite European Nationality...Czech.

I'm glad I still know how to do this. Let's see how long it lasts.