The Poker Party

I could have sworn that I have posted before about our Christmas party, "Christmas with the Krunks," but I guess not. Genderist talked about it here. We were really disappointed in the outcome of the Christmas party because there were way too many college kids there and it felt more like a frat party than a dirty Santa party. We thought maybe we were getting too old to have parties because we had a miserable time. People were stumbling around and taking naked pictures of their "situations" which normally is very amusing to the Count and I, but this year, we were not impressed. At the end of the night they stole our good alcohol and we were left cleaning up the mess. We were pissed.

2 weeks later...

Over New Year's, we went to a poker party and I was pumped because I hadn't ever played poker before, and I ended up splitting the prize money with two other people! Everyone had a great time and we all agreed that someone else should step up and host another one.

Count and I were not inclined. We had just picked up after the 10 year old drinkers and we were pretty sure that we were still not speaking to "parties" just yet.

Over the next few months, "parties" and us took a break. We'd been to a good one, but we weren't sure if we could ever have "parties" over to our house anymore to play.

Enter the month of April.
The Count sporadically made the decision to type up an invite to a poker party. Okay, party. Game on.

Last night the same thing happened that happened at the Christmas party. People got really drunk, people stumbled around, and while no one took pictures of their "situations," there were still some ridiculous happenings-such as someone putting a dog toy on one of our guest's windshields-that made the evening strange. We still had tons of stuff to pick up this morning when we woke, but we still had a great time. We loved every minute of our little gala.

And, just because you were wondering, neither of us had any winnings to speak of-although we would like to send out a big contrats to Bad Shoe Guy, who was our evenings big winner. We left the winning to our guests. Even still, there was no alcohol missing at the end of the night and I am sure that if I could remember the last few thoughts I had about the party right before I passed out, they would have put a smile on my face. In the end, though, we had a really good time, thus proving our theory that the most important portion of any performance still requires a strict analysis of your pending audience, because in this situation it wasn't what was happening at the parties, but rather who was happening at the parties that made all of the difference.

Just Messin' Around

Please ignore!

What Guys Think of Your Long Straight Hair...

Sexy, desirable, and hard to please. A girl who's so stunning that you've got them lined up around the block!

What Do Guys Think Of Your Hair?

Shameless Promotion

In an effort to help The Count out, I just wanted to let everyone know that he has a new post for the first time in a LONG time. So, go. Check it out! Have fun and happy reading!

Ugh. Retraction Action

Time: 7:30p.m.
Weather: Unbearably Hot.
Mood: Eh. I'm killin' time.
Number Dead: None, although I've contemplated a few today...
Bullets Remain: 98

And the wheels fell off of the wagon. Wow. I cannot believe that I wasted a post yesterday on defending "A Million Little Pieces!" I have been happily reading this book and as I said yesterday, I have been living and loving the lies in it.

Then I got to the big dick contest. Or, what my grandmother lovingly calls the "small man syndrome."

This book has been awesome and then last night Frey went to the dentist. Not only was the dialogue forced and contrived, it was obviously false and exaggerated. I am guilty of exaggerations as much as the next fella or lady. As a matter of fact, I am prone to be the exaggerator, especially if I am wound up about something, but this guy is unreal. Every other night that I have picked up the book, I have barely been aware of the controversy. I just sucked back into the world of the story. Then, like a puppy that starts performing tricks for company, I became akwardly aware of the fiction.

This book is really something to behold. Do like I did and find someone to borrow it from or find your library card and go get it. Too much fun.

In another stroke of interestingness(yes I do reserve the right to make up my own words), I found James Frey's blog. If you want to read his comments about the Smoking Gun report, check it out here. Follow the link and then scroll down the page. Is anyone else cracking up about the fact that his website name is "Big Jim Industries?" I guess I wasn't too far off with the "Jimmy" stuff yesterday...

FTBSITTTD

"Fuck the Bullshit, It's Time To Throw Down."
This is what the tattoo on James Frey's body stands for. I think it's perfect.

I think this guy definetely didn't plan on fucking over Oprah when he got this tattoo, but I couldn't think of anything more beautiful for this guy to do.

I have been fascinated with this controversey since it started. And, just in case you have been smart enough to avoid Oprah, CNN, and Larry King, just click on the Frey link above and you can get caught up.

I have been, of course, curious to read this book because of all of the controversey. The 100% Angel in me wanted to stand strong behind the Oprah book club and the rest of America and say, "Shame on you Jimmy. We gave you millions of dollars because we thought we were reading the truth and you lied to us, Jimmy. You lied." And then I remember how much I hate Oprah-someday I will get to that long tangentle post, until then, just know she's one of the people I will fight with pudding, raw meat, and chinese stars when I get to heaven. That bitch is goin' down.

Where was I?

But, the 100% Debater in me has been dying to read this book. And not just read it, but actually stand beside it. This guy not only pulled a huge stunt on the book publishers, who didn't want to publish it when it was fiction, but also, he pulled it on mine enemy, the woman who is in every soccer mom's wet dream, the woman who has also lied about her own addictions, the same woman who told a fan that she would never do a favor for one of her fans for $2,000.00 because that was pocket change compared to what she was really worth. The Debater in me keeps callin'. I remember reading Baudrillard. I remember him telling us that reality has been constructed by the media, and I think this is the perfect ironic slap on the wrists to all of us. I really want to say, "Good one, Jimmy. Through lying in your book, you have taught us the value, or rather lack of value in purchasing life stories of other people's pain. You told us that if we take pleasure in the simulation of the train wrecks of other lives then you were going to give us the ultimate of all train wrecks. We should be thanking you Jimmy. For giving us what we want. That safe and secure feeling that we get when we know that we didn't have to go through what you did. That we are a wee bit better than you. Jimmy, we love you because we read your bio back cover and we are pleased to see yet another person who can overcome adversity and grow up to have a spouse and children in the land of the free. God Bless America, Jimmy. God Bless America."

I can't help it. I love the rebel hero. I love how even morality and reality has become one large game. And I'm not fighting the games. I wasn't sure whether I was going to read the book, though. Irony or not, it's still lies. Last week, in another stroke of irony, one of my students brought it into class and she actually loaned it to me to read. Sweet! Perm! Don't have to purchase. Get to still read the dirty little lies. Hee hee hee! I love it! Last week I was complaining about how my interests are often bastardized by school, and then school paid me back by giving me the resources to check out one of my interests. Wee! It's been like winning the lottery. And I will shamelessly say, it's everything a lie should be. I'm 60 pages in and I like the way my toes feel in the mud...