Let me just admit right away that this is a slightly drunken post. I promised myself that I’d wouldn’t make any more drunken phone calls or website posts, but I guess the *predicted* snow day tomorrow allows for some unscheduled debauchery.What’s been going on lately? Same old same old. Still spending more hours at Bennigans than work. I found a rationalization for it though, so it’s ok. The theory is that since I’m seeing these people outside of the bar, I’m not just hanging out with acquaintances and bartenders, I’m spending quality time with friends. In fact today I had lunch with my bartender and some regulars, and then we played some Golden Tee (cause what would lunch be without eighteen holes of golf?).What else have I been up to? When I think back over the past few weeks, it strikes me that I’ve been laughing a lot lately. It’s a really nice state of affairs. Go to work, laugh all day with Woolson … ok, well mostly laugh at him laughing at me. Then go to Bennigans and laugh at Ed, and in between I talk to this amazing girl who makes me laugh every time I talk to her. She says funny things like “I do not like Evanescence, I do not like green eggs and ham, I do not like them, Sam I am.” It’s amazing how much you learn about yourself when interacting with other people. Lately I’ve learned that my ideal girl has to make me laugh. And not just ha ha funny, but witty, clever kinda funny. Which isn’t easy to find cause that witty kind of funny requires extraordinary intelligence. Which is threatening because although I consider myself to be an intelligent individual (who applies himself probably %5 of the time), I’m awed at how clever she can be. It’s funny how in every Cosmo every chick says that their ideal guy has to make them laugh, and I’ve never really related to it until recently.

How much fun is it to hit penguins with a baseball bat? Alot. Update: Thisserver is much faster and the penguin flies way farther.

I was listening to Howard today and he started reading a list of rules for women. I was amazed that I’ve expressed some of these ideas almost word-for-word to past girlfriends. For example, “no matter what you may believe, I am not a mind reader.” So, to benefit all, here is a shortened list of just the rules that I firmly agree with and support:

• Learn to work the toilet seat. You’re a big girl. If it’s up, put it down. We need it up, you need it down. You don’t hear us complaining about you leaving it down.
• Don’t cut your hair. Ever. Long hair is always more attractive than short hair. One of the big reasons guys fear getting married is that married women always cut their hair, and by then you’re stuck with her.
• If you won’t dress like the Victoria’s Secret girls, don’t expect us to act like soap opera guys.
• Crying is blackmail.
• Ask for what you want. Let us be clear on this one: Subtle hints do not work! Strong hints do not work! Obvious hints do not work! Just say it!
• We are not mind readers and we never will be. Our lack of mind-reading ability is not proof of how little we care about you.
• If we ask what is wrong and you say “nothing,” we will act like nothing’s wrong. We know you are lying, but it is just not worth the hassle.
• We don’t remember dates. Mark birthdays and anniversaries on the calendar. Remind us frequently beforehand.
• If you think you’re fat, you probably are. Don’t ask us. We refuse to answer.
• If something we said can be interpreted two ways, and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one.
• Let us ogle. We’re going to look anyway; it’s genetic.
• Don’t rub the lamp if you don’t want the genie to come out.
• You can either ask us to do something or tell us how you want it done. Not both. If you already know best how to do it, just do it yourself.
• Your ex-boyfriend is an idiot.
• If we hear from an old girlfriend, we will briefly fantasize about having sex with her. But do not worry, the fantasy includes you AND her, together.
• Whenever possible, please say whatever you have to say during commercials.
• If you ask a question you don’t want an answer to, expect an answer you don’t want to hear.
• When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine … really
• Beer is as exciting for us as handbags are for you.

Where was the phone call last night? Remember, the one where you call me at 11 and tell me to go home? Granted, it would have broken my New Year’s resolution of no more drunken phone calls, but I haven’t been doing so well with that lately anyway. It seems that I’ve also found a new use for the Bennigans Time Crunch Lunch stopwatches. Normally they count to 20 and your meal is free if it’s not there, but I use it to gauge the amount of time I’ve been pounding beer. When I hit 6 hours last night I had to leave. Unfortunately I just ended up going to Rock Bottom for dollar drafts then back to Bennigans. My excuse is that Briggs made me do it. Then I did that bad habit thing (but not that other badhabit thing that I stopped doing for my New Years resolution). My excuse for thatone is that Ed made me do it. (sorry, being a public forum and all, I can’t revealthe identity of said bad things) Speaking of beer, the phrase “tasteslike beer more than it tastes like anything else” sounds a little fishy to me.FYI: My plans this weekend are to Do Nothing. Please do not interfere with them. Thankyou.

Not much to report, just the same old same old. There was a bunch of stuff I wanted to write about, but I’ve forgotten it all. Usually I write these ideas down, but in a fit of rage I trashed a bunch of papers the other day. I have no idea how the mail in my apartment multiplies and spreads; all I know is that I can’t find a damn thing anymore. It’s like a junk mail mitosis experiment in my place. Ergo the fit of rage and subsequent trashing.Tonight is dollar Lumpy Dog drafts at Rock Bottom. Someone please please please call me at 11 pm and make me go home. Thursday (and Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday) nights are turning into a painful scenario. First Bennigans, then the Rock, then back to Bennigans, then the Hose, then hate myself in the morning. Repeat that over and over again and welcome to my conundrum.Hey! I read in the Inquirer today that theReal World is coming to Philadelphia. Old City to be exact. I’m not sure how Ifeel about that yet. How weird would it be to be sitting in a bar and then a wholecamera crew comes rolling in to create a scene. The only plus is that it still leavesa slim chance that I could get to see the inside of a Real World hot tub. (Albeita nasty STD infested one) I’ve decided to start selling the contents of my bulletinboard to finance my beer habit. Silent auction begins now, and here’s an itemizationof the contents (blacked out items not for auction): 2004 Barbie calendar, “On theInternet” sign (not really mine, may not be able to sell), Master Yoda cutout withthe inscription “Size matters not.”, Litterbutt.com bumpersticker that used to read “The World Isn’t Your Ashtray”, LaserJet 5si quality printoutof Katie Holmes, Scarf-tying 101 Instructional Brochure, a nasty note that was lefton my windshield that reads: “Don’t block the steps again you idiot!”, and my crownjewel, an autographed photo of Peter Brady. The autograph reads “To Jeff, All my love,Peter Brady.”