Ch-Ch-Ch-Chia!

South gives me a call Christmas Eve morning. It's early . . . for me. He needs a favor. Or, to be more specific, our friend Ryan needs a favor. He needs help finding a gift for his girlfriend.

And I thought I shopped late.

For whatever reason, he wants to get his girlfriend a Chia Pet--an elephant Chia Pet, at that. He has been going around to local Walgreen's stores (since they carry them) with no luck. South calls me because my brother is a manager at Walgreen's: I know people.

So I call my bro. Of course, his store doesn't have any. He checks his master computer and sees that there is one elephant left at one particular store in Columbus. He has his friend there put it on hold for me.

Feeling in the Christmas spirit (. . . I suppose . . .), I make the trek, buy the hideous elephant, and deliver it to a very happy Ryan at Donato's.

For my troubles, I get a free pizza and a $3 tip.

Merry Christmas to me.

Still don't know what I am going to do tomorrow, but we'll see. Maybe a reprise of Huffman Claus?

Just Another Phase of Finding

If there is one thing in this life that I am certain I have learned, it is that I do not understand women.

I surely, surely do not.

A Kinder, Gentler Burglary

For the second time in about three months, my friend The Dawg's apartment was broken into. Just like the last time, the intruders appeared to enter through one of his windows. Just like last time, such an entry seemed very . . . difficult.

When his place was broken into a few months back, he had noticed that the screen on his kitchen window had been cut open. He had apparently left it unlocked, and the perps entered through there. Folks, this is a tiny ass window. A large rectangle, it couldn't be more than a foot or 2 tall, and maybe 10 inches wide. Nevertheless, someone crawled through and ruffled around his stuff. Oddly, nothing was taken.

The most recent break-in was kind of a weird scene for him. He came home Monday evening and noticed that a few things were out of place. It seems that someone kicked in his basement window (which were extremely cheap--they seemed to be some type of plastic), crawled through it, and unlocked his back door from the inside. Again: tiny ass window. It might be a square foot, plus it has one of those flower bed things on the outside, so it would be a bitch to get to--even if you are small.

When The Dawg came in, his DVD player was unhooked and sitting on his couch. His computer tower had been moved across the room. A few DVDs had been reshuffled on the coffee table. He had a jar of change in his room, with several concert tickets stacked on top of it. Someone opened the jar, removed $2, then put the lid back on with the tickets neatly folded.

So, to review: my friend is being burglarized by small, polite people.

I must also note that there were tracks in the snow leading to and from his basement window. These were large feet, which led me to believe that there may have been more than one person involved. Perhaps it was a couple of wayward youths, just looking for a place to hang out--just breaking in to prove that they could break in.

Regardless, The Dawg and I bought some topsoil and mulch from the store and filled in the little flower bed thing. The windows are no longer accessible. I must admit that this was a bit of a comical display as well, since the topsoil and mulch were totally frozen solid. Fun times.

So now all of his windows are locked. All of the weak ass windows are blocked off. No one should be able to get in, short of breaking a window or picking a lock. Hopefully, this will deter whomever has been breaking into his place. Of course, if they still somehow manage to magically get in, we'll all know that it is the work of leprechauns . . . or carnies, I suppose.

Gift Exchange, 1 of . . . Lord Knows How Many

Last night was my first gift exchange of the Holiday Season.

Let the fun and disfunctionality begin!

My mother came over with her fiance, his kids, their significant others, and my uncle and his parnter in tow. The evening went pretty well, with just the typical hanging out and perverse comments shared amongst family--no real stories there.

There was one thing I noticed, however. This was the first Christmas in a long time that I have been alone. Sitting around with family--the kids running around, everyone else parntering up around the TV--it definitely felt . . . odd.

Not "odd" as in "bad," mind you, but certainly different. Everything was just a little out of place. You get used to things being one way for so long, and when that gets flipped on its ass, reality seems a little less, well, real. I half expected to turn around and see my "wife" sitting on the couch, at the counter, etc.

Please don't misconstrue: I certainly did not want her to be there. Goodness no. Hell no! Again, it is just what I am used to.

I was not nostalgic for long, if at all. I quickly realized that, yeah, it's different. But I am certainly changing what it is "normal" in my life. More importantly, I'm not alone. I have some awesome friends. I have a couple of potential female "love" interests. I have a family . . . fucked up as it is.

So, I hung out with that fucked up family, and forgot about the past, the preconceptions. The evening went pretty well.

It's What is Under Her Candy Bra that Counts

Ok, that's a little lewd.

Weighing the advice of others, but ultimately just deciding to go for it, I went to see Candy Bra Girl (CBG) last night. I was probably going to go anyway, but after Sven’s comments about the poetry and fate of it all, how could I not?

I went to go see her at work, and she seemed genuinely surprised and excited to see me. It started out simple, direct. I asked her what time she got off of work, and suggested that we go hang out afterwards. She agreed, so I got her number and said I’d call her later.

At about 10:30, I picked her up from work and we headed back to Steak and Shake—it seemed appropriate. We sat down and talked for a while, about this and that. She was cute and fairly easy to talk to.

A couple of notes:

-She is very young.
-No, she did not wear a candy bra again. Though this is probably a good thing, because is would quickly turn from hot to gross if she were still wearing it.
-Yes, Perk, she is still in high school.
-She is very young.
-She apparently loves winter and loves to wear skimpy clothes out in the snow. Seriously, she told me this. She was wearing a very little tank top. It was cold.
-She is very young.

It turns out that I met this girl a couple of weeks ago. I had stopped by for a bite to eat while she was working. She commented on the cross necklace that I was wearing. We flirted a bit, and then I left. Small world, I guess.

I felt it necessary to drop the age bomb on her, informing her that I am 6 years her senior. Oddly enough, she already knew. You see, my buds and I go to S&S all the time—really, really late at night. We always have the same waitress—the one that was there Sunday night. Well, I guess that she informed CBG that I was 24. She also told her that I was cute, but shy. (I guess she was pimping me out a bit.) CBG didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed kind of . . . interested by my age.

She also seems like a bit of a bad girl, or at least a wannabe bad girl. She was talking about getting into stupid trouble and having some juvenile fun. She told me that I seemed too straight-laced (I grinned to myself a little at that comment), and decided that it was her mission to “get me into some trouble.”

It was a short “date,” inasmuch as you could call it that. She had an early curfew (insert your laughter in my direction), so I had to drive her home after only about 45 minutes of interaction. When I dropped her off, she told me that she was off on Saturday, and that I should call her. I smiled and asked, “So that you can get me into some trouble?”

She smiled back. “Definitely.”

Regardless of if I do call her or not, it was a decent night—kind of fun. We’ll see.

What's in a Name?

In other news on the relationship front: it seems that the divorce proceedings are going along pretty smoothly. We are going back and forth on "the List" (see previous post), but I seem to be getting the stuff I want--so: cool.

One thing came up the other day that I thought was a little weird. "The wife" informed me that she wants to keep my last name. Now, I don't really care if she does, but I just found it kind of odd for many reasons--not the least of which being that she totally hates me right now, and it seems strange that she would keep a name to remember me by.

So I asked her why. (note: I didn't physically ask her. We were just emailing back and forth--it's better than trying to talk, it seems.) I expected to hear her say something about how she had developed all these contacts as an accountant, and all her clients knew her by that name--after all, it's on her business card.

But no. Her response was basically that she didn't feel like going through the necessary avenues to change her name (ie. getting her license changed, SS card changed, etc). It was just easier this way.

Now, I know that it can be a bitch to fill out those forms and whatnot, but doesn't that seem a little . . . lazy? Strange?

Candy Bras: Who Knew?

It's all about timing.

So it was late last night, and I just needed a milkshake. I don' t know why--I just had the craving. After warming up my car (doesn't that always take just a little too damn long to do?), I made the trek to the local strip mall paradise. Options were limited, but I decided to go to Steak and Shake.

On the way inside, there was this girl. Our gaze kinda met as I rounded the corner, and she was following me with her eyes. She was pretty cute, but looked a little young for me. Plus, she was sitting with two guys, so I decided to not pursue it.

I go inside. I order. I wait.

Whilst waiting, my new friend came up to the counter with her two escorts to pay for dinner. I smiled at her, but again, two guys=not room for one more.

Or so I thought.

I hear the cashier lady tell her Happy Birthday. She thanks her. Then I hear one of her friends mention her birthday present. I only hear two words:

Candy Bra.

My ears perk up. They have my attention. I probably shouldn't say anything, but I cannot help it.

"Candy bra?" I ask.

It is at this point I see it poking out of her shirt. You know those necklaces you get as a kid that have the stretchy string covered in little candy disks? Ok, now picture that, but imagine that in addition to its candy goodness, it is harnessing two breasts. This is a candy bra.

One of her friends--no doubt eager to embarrass her--immediately pulls out his camera phone to show me a picture. This makes her turn quite red. I kind of grin and make a Hmmm sound. I tell her that it makes a nice birthday present. She agrees, and then points out/shows me that her other birthday present is a new belly button ring. It is at this point that she says, "Oh, fuck it," and shows me the candy bra in living color.

It looks quite nice, quite . . . edible?

But I digress. I tell her that it looks "Very nice" and I wish her a Happy Birthday.

Kind of lame, I know. But I guess that I forgot to mention which Birthday it was for her.

18. I was right--a little young. [More on that later.]

They leave, and the cashier/waitress is really getting on me for not asking her out or getting her number. I explain that she is a probably too young for me, but concede that yes, she was quite attractive.

I proceed to wait on my milkshake (how damn long does it take to make a milkshake?). I hear the door open. I turn around: it's Candy Bra Girl. She says "Hey," and then informs me that she works at a shop down the road on Tuesday-Saturday and suggests that I stop by some time. I smile a flirty smile and say "Maybe I will." She grins at that, and takes her leave.

Now, a friend of mine recently came up with (or just relayed) a formula to determine what age group you should date. Basically, you take your age, divide by 2, and add 7. This means that I should stick to ages 19 to 35. I don't know if I buy that, primarily because it boils down to maturity level. For instance, I've known some 19-year-old girls that I would never consider, due to immaturity. Likewise, I consider myself a little more mature than my age might imply, so I may be inclined to extend my range. That, and older women rock!

Will I go see her?

Maybe.