What's a Delmer Look Like?: General Babbling Archives

June 30, 2008

Signals

So, there I was on Truman Blvd. doing 40 in a 35 zone. I was in the slow lane and ahead of me, in the fast lane and four or five car lengths in front of me, was another car seemingly doing 40. Truman is only two lanes wide and the slow lane/fast lane bit isn't all that important as there are left-turn lanes a person might drift into every so often.

As we sped along a white sedan pulled up next to me in a manner that required the driver, a woman, to look over her shoulder should she want to look at me. And she did. Twice. The third time she looked at me I started wondering if she thought she knew me.

She looked one more time. And then she pulled into my lane and nearly clipped the sweet mini-van.

And I thought: "Maybe she's someone I dated."

I mean, not everybody can divorce me and it was only a matter of time, I suppose, before someone tried to crash into me.

The reason I didn't think she was trying to pull in front of me is that her car was never past me and that is typically a very important part of pulling in front of another car. Even in the no-fault insurance states.

She was so incredibly not past me and had looked at me four times and had such a shitload of space between her and the car in front of her that when she started to come over I didn't think it was anything more than a little bit of lane drifting.

And then, all of a sudden, she was there. Luckily I'd braked out of reflex.

Of course, she hadn't signaled.

Technorati Tags: Driving, Women

Posted by delmer at 10:18 PM | Comments (7)

June 24, 2008

Clint Eastwoodness

The men in my family seem to have a Clint-Eastwoodian sense of right and wrong. And like Clint we're not afraid to mete out a little justice when the situation calls for it. I'm not necessarily talking about big things — we've got law enforcement agencies to take care of those items and if we were to be honest they don't want us in their way (not that that ever stopped Clint, but he had a bevy of writers working for him). Also the things they deal with don't always impact us in a manner that leaves us saying, "I wish I would have done this or that… then."

Several years ago Granny and Big D (my mom and dad for the newer readers) were in a fast food place; my children were with them. At the table next to them was a group of young people who were using language, in a conversational tone, which my dad didn't think he nor his dining companions should be exposed to. Dad gave the young people a few minutes to note they weren't the only ones in the restaurant and maybe reign the cursing in. When that didn't happen he slapped his hand down and in his authoritative-booming-dad voice said, "That's enough of that." I honestly think when I heard this story it was told with dad slapping his hand in the middle of the foul-mouthed-patrons' table. In any case, the cursing stopped and the conversation turned more toward the rudeness of the big old guy; they seemed to be clueless that tossing "fuck" around between French fries might put some people off. I believe that conversation was held as the foul-mouthed-diners filed out of the restaurant.

Another time Big D was at a campground and overheard a father tell his son, "Michael, don't run off and leave your sister," and assumed it to mean maybe little Mikey had been running off and leaving his sibling to run crying after him and that Mike's dad was tired of it. The next day Big D was at the campground's carryout and saw Michael and his sis buying snacks. After the little boy paid he made a dash for the door leaving his sister at the counter. "Michael," dad said, and the kid froze, "don't you run off and leave your sister." And he didn't. And if your name is Michael and you were anywhere within three counties of my dad that day you didn't run off and leave your sister either. Such is the power of my dad's dad voice, will, psyche and Clint-Eastwoodness.

In the above examples he isn't exactly stopping bank robbers but he did make the world better for anybody who didn't care to hear thoughtless kids tossing F bombs over lunch and for a little girl who was buying snacks. And I'm certain he could stop bank robbers if the situation ever arose: "You, with the gun! That's enough of that! Give the money back!"

You may recall my frustration with idiots who text in theaters and the steps I've taken to keep that behavior from being a bother to those of us who came to watch a movie. And my possibly-poorly-thought-out chasing down of people who yell at me while biking (though I maintain that may eventually keep idiots from yelling a someone else and distracting them to the point they crash into the ditch… oooh, that's a weak one). And there was the shopping cart incident that I can't find the entry to link to.

Hmmm. Maybe I'm just an asshole.

Anyway, this past Sunday, Samson and I rode our bicycles up the bike path and then to the local carryout for refreshments. At the door of the carryout was a very young brunette gal who politely stopped us and asked if we had any "spare change for gas." The brunette was likely somewhere around 20, perhaps just under 18 or just over 22. Having a choice of tossing a twenty at her or three ones, I gave her three ones; I figured I'd give her two more after Sam and I had our drinks.

While Samson and I paid, another patron asked the clerks if they knew anything about the gal panhandling outide; one of them got on the phone to the owner.

The carryout emptied except for Sam, me and two clerks. As we sat sipping our pops the young gal came in, apparently having gotten all the money she needed, paid for her gas and asked for a pack of cigarettes.

"I gave you that money for gas," I boomed from where Samson and I were sitting. The clerks turned and looked at me though the brunette appeared not to hear.

My thought was the brunette and I had a verbal contract of sorts. She asked for money for gas and I gave her some. She did not ask for money for cigarettes and while I'd have happily bent the contract to allow for snacks and a pop, tobacco products fall outside of my contract bending. I'm guessing the gal could have argued the point that while she'd asked me for gas money she'd asked the next person for cigarette money and they'd tossed some cash at her — I don't think Perry Mason would have believed it and neither would I, but it didn't matter; she wasn't interested in arguing her point so much as she was scurrying out of the carryout.

"That was really good," said Samson, more about the boomyness of my voice than my oddball sense of right-and-wrong.

Later, when he told his brothers about it he said, "Dad sounded just like Big D."

[I was just the smallest bit irritated with the brunette because I expected honesty from her. I've given seemingly-intoxicate homeless folks money "for food" when they've asked me even though I've suspected they might use at least part of it for Thunderbird; that was my expectation and it was my hope they'd buy at least a little food. (I've bought food for people too, rather than hand off cash — it depended on the situation and my fatherhood status at the time.) "Can you spare a few dollars" would not have come with any strings. "Can you spare a few dollars for gas" comes with strings as the "for gas" portion suggests a specific need — a need she felt to mention as it made her more a damsel in distress than it did a person with poor budgetary skills. I'm not saying it'll make sense to everybody.]

The following photo is a Flickr photo inserted using Linear (formerly Ecto); it's inserted as an image of medium size. AND, it's the Iron Sheik, Haydn, Jack and Samson.

The Iron Sheik

Technorati Tags: Flickr, Wrestling

Posted by delmer at 7:07 AM | Comments (9)

June 23, 2008

The Amazing Human Body

I wish I knew more about how the human body works. I'm good with the basics — stuff goes in one end and typically comes out the other — but aside from that a lot of what goes on is a big puzzle to me. [I've also noticed that things coming out of the body, regardless of the mode of egress, typically feel a lot better than things going in. Blood is the exception.]

Not long ago I did something to my lower left side, just beneath the last rib. I don't know if I bruised a rib, separated a rib, or cracked a rib off so that it was sort of pointy and poking whatever internal-organ thing might be behind it. Old School

It hurt a fair amount whenever I did something to aggravate it but as the aggravation-type things seemed to be few there wasn't much to complain about. After a few days I'd determined that running, coughing and doing sit-ups/crunches were the things that hurt most (and sit-ups/crunches the most by far)… so I tried not to do those things.

The sit-up-crunches were very easy not to do.

You'll recall I'd talked to a couple of doctors about this and we'd decided to see how things felt after a few days. And, generally speaking, things felt better day after day.

When I went to bed Friday night I noticed the pain as I put my head on my pillow. This was new, I thought, but I attributed it to having my pillow puffed up a bit much. Saturday morning things hurt a good deal more in that way things will hurt when your body acknowledges that your doctor is closed and your only chance to see a medical professional involves Urgent Care or an ER. Not that I'd go to Urgent Care or an ER for it — the pain wasn't that bad — I was just enjoying the irony. And I'd decided if it hurt that much on Monday I'd certainly see my primary care physician then.

It hurt enough that when I'd lay back on a bench while lifting my eyes would water a little and getting up off the bench required that I sort of roll onto my right side and push off with my shoulder. You've probably seen that move in the Olympics.

Several times over the course of the day I'd lift my shirt and look at the area in pain as I figured there should be some sort of bruise, maybe some swelling, or a glow-in-the-dark patch of skin right around the painful area. Something! But there was never anything there.

And then, Sunday, I could do situps. It hurt a little. But just a little.

The photo on this page is an old schoolhouse I rode past last summer. I've probably posted the picture before but this time I've used the Insert Flickr Photo tool from Linear (formerly Ecto) to place the image.

Technorati Tags: Cycling, Flickr, Health, Injuries, Working out

Posted by delmer at 4:40 PM | Comments (7)

June 21, 2008

From the Mailbag

This is part of something that was in my e-mail today.

Dear delmer.com webmaster,

Your web site appears at the our top of the best sites by Ron Jeremy theme.

Our web site www.WhatAppearsToBeAPornSite.xxx has the similar content and we would like to place a link to your web site in order to allow our visitors to enjoy your web site content as well.

If you find this offer useful for your business and are interested to keep the link for extended period of time, we would like to ask you to place receiprocal link to our web site on yours.

Ron, who I'm sure is a delightful man, needs to hire a better PR firm if my site is one of the best referencing him. (In all fairness to Mr. Jeremy, I'm guessing he's not affiliated with this promotion.)

So, visitors to that site would be treated to links for porn, porn, porn, then, boom, stories about me wearing my underwear for a week at a time. Oh, and, I guess, a shot of my backside, which is hardly porn-worth. (Hey! Would it have been too much for any of you folks commenting about my tushy to have tossed a "sweet" in there? I don't ask for much people.)

I ran this next one through Notepad to destroy all the links. It sort of destroyed the formatting as well.

Spanish is not one of the languages I barely speak and the only thing I recognize are my name and the reference to Alaska (both highlighted). The colors used in the original mailing were very festive and had a party feel to them.

Bem-vindo ao Habbo, delmer!

Usted tiene un asno dulce

Obrigado por registrar-se no Habbo.com.br e Habbo.pt.
Por favor ative sua conta clicando aqui.
Aqui estão seus detalhes de usuário:

Nome Habbo: delmer
Nascimento: 30/05/1985
Guarde as informações acima com segurança - você precisa do nome de usuário e da data de nascimento para recuperar a senha no caso de perdê-la.

I suspect the part that says "you have a sweet ass" might translate correctly to "you have a sweet donkey," as I put that part in myself. I'm guessing, too, that this might have something to do with somebody wanting to use Delmer as a trademark or something in a Spanish-speaking country; I get a similar sort of spam from a dude claiming to be in Hong Kong and concerned about what a Chinese person might want to do with Delmer.

Technorati Tags: SPAM

Posted by delmer at 9:37 AM | Comments (6)

June 17, 2008

I'm a Winner

As you know I am sort of odd about the things I share with people. Last year when I went to the UK I don't think I mentioned it until I was on my way to the plane. I went to France when I was 15 yet failed to mention it to anybody 10 years later when everybody was talking about the trips abroad they'd taken. I don't know why I'm like this except, maybe, I don't want people to think I have more than they do. I'm not sure. I mean, I'm considering riding my bike from Montreal to Quebec, or the other way around, I want to go from west to east so the wind is at my back, and I'm happy to mention that now (even though it may never happen). But it's Canada. And it isn't that Canada isn't special, it's just that I can be there in a couple of hours so it doesn't feel like a big deal.

[The Montreal / Quebec route is a bit short. Throwing Toronto into the mix makes it a bit long. Unfortunately, those are the only three cities in Canada and the rest is just a giant, rambling, wilderness. (Ramblin' … I'm a ramblin' man. Now put on your Steve Martin arrow-through-the-head thing and do that last line properly.)]

Anyway, back to the fact that I'm a Winner.

Today I've won an international award from the Dutch Council of Resource Management for my contributions to water conservation. First prize is something the DCRM referred to as two kilos of Maui Wowi and while it sounded interesting it also sounded like it would involve some sort of conversion from the Metric System to the One True System That is Right and When Will the Rest of You Get on Board With. And that's a lot for an American to deal with first thing in the morning.

Especially before coffee.

So I opted for a different prize.

And I may have made some of that up.

What I've won is the Rinse, Lather, Repeat contest that the Dutch Bitch was running. It appears I came in first over two tots being bathed in sinks. What is super awesome is that my photo is currently represented thusly on her site:

So, as the Photobucket images scroll you get, cute kid followed by cute kid, then Danger Will Robinson!!

My mother, thank God she still doesn't have Internet, would be so proud.

The Dutch Bitch seems like a very nice person and it's my understanding that English is her second language; she may have even more languages in there, I'm not sure. I know the Dutch guy I met last year had his noggin chock-full of languages; perhaps all the Dutch (and there appear to be about a 15 of them… Holland is very small but filled with cuteness) are multiplylinquistic; learning a new language seems like it might be a good way to pass the time when you can't find a fourth for bridge; and in a country comprised of only 15 people one table is always going to be short a player.)

But anyway, as I said, the Dutch Bitch seems like a very nice person and she makes use of the English language better than so many of us do. But I have a concern. Even when a person knows a lot there might be one or two things that get past them and I'm worried that she doesn't know that "Bitch" is not typically a term of endearment over here. Maybe "Bitch" was so close to whatever word they use for "Queen" that she decided to use it without checking her Dutch/English Dictionary.

Who knows? It's a lot for an American to fret over first thing in the morning. Coffee'd up or not.

Oh, part of the picture looks a bit like this.

You'll note an serious lack of lats.

Technorati Tags: Blogs, Contest

Posted by delmer at 7:56 AM | Comments (12)

June 16, 2008

Wang Dang

Yesterday I was driving along when Ted Nugent popped up on my iPod. While this happens more often than you might think it is always a pleasant surprise.

The song he was singing was the redundantly titled "Wang Dang Sweet Poontang." Redundant because, you know, it's all sweet; he probably knew that but needed the extra syllable to tie the song together. Artists are like that.

At one point in the song Ted goes into what we'd call these days a "rap." In Red Red Wine it was called a "toast." When Ted was in the creative throes of what would become Wang Dang Sweet Poontang he probably said, "I'm just gonna talk this part."

So the rap/toast/talk bit came up and it goes sort of like this:

All right baby,
You see what I got here in my hands,
It's right here in my hands and it's for you baby,
I think I'm gonna yank on it one time ... Lookout!

And that is followed up by some serious guitar.

I have a thought on what Ted is talking about here and I've got to say that I admire the fact that when he talks about what he's holding he says "I've got it here in my hands." It takes 'em both it's that big. I suspect the size of his man-tool is one of the reasons he bangs around on such a big guitar. Because when you're wearing a loin cloth on stage there's a better than 50% chance the tool will slip loose and you'll want something to hide it behind to keep the man from hauling you off to jail on an indecency charge. (It's a little known fact that one of the reasons you see so many waist-up-only shots of Johnny Weissmuller in the Tarzan's he shot is because his outfit provided so little in the way of coconut support.)

I also like the fact that Ted comes off as a thoughtful lover in this bit of the song. Nothing says "I care for you" more than a big, screeching "Lookout!" right before you set stuff flying.

Of course I'm not sure the fact that yanking on it "one time" leads to a "Lookout!" says much about his stamina. Ah, well… Ted was young when he wrote the song and as men age we gain a little bit in the way sexual resiliency. And, "I'm going to yank on it all afternoon just before I fail to please you" is an awkward lyric. Even when it's followed by serious guitar.

Speaking of serious guitar, I think this song is proof that you can say/sing almost anything and if you follow it up an ass-kicking riff you can sell whatever it is you're saying/singing.

Think about it — you've got George Bush giving the State of the Union and he comes out and says "We've found no WMDs and the whole war was a sham." And you think, what a dipwad. And you think it again when you see it replayed on the early news and again on the late news.

Now, if he says, "We've found no WMDs and the whole war was a sham" and then pulls out Gibson hollow-body and goes into the opening chords of Wango Tango you'll find yourself thinking, "Go Dubya!." You'll tune into the early news just to hear the guitar part of the State of the Union and you'll give the wife a yell so she catches it during the late news.

And when she grouses, "No WMDs? What a dipwad!" You'll give her a shush and a keep-quiet look and say, "You're going to miss the best part."

Lookout!

Today's Photo is from the St. Brendadn 2006 Pig Race. Several of the elementary classes painted battery-powered pigs that were placed in the center of the basketball court. The first pig that scooted to the edge of the ring won and that class got a visit from the Pope. Or a pizza party.

Technorati Tags: Immaturity, Ted Nugent

Posted by delmer at 11:47 AM | Comments (6)

June 14, 2008

Snoozy

My day started off with me lying to a female. "Are you just getting out of bed?!" asked a woman friend of mine incredulously (as denoted by the exclamation point and question mark) when I returned her call.

"No, I was in the shower when you called." bliz08_watertower

To be totally honest, I had been in bed when she called but showered and in the car and on my way to breakfast at Hometown Buffet (I had a coupon) by the time I'd noticed she'd left a message. The message was, "Would you like to join my boys and me for donuts?"

I called back and after a brief conversation we decided to have breakfast instead of donuts. Her children didn't want to come.

One of the hardest things about being divorced is that you have to look good all the time. When I was going to breakfast by myself I knew for a fact I wouldn't run into anybody I knew and had dressed appropriately. I didn't know who I'd run into while with AWFOM and thought I'd better change clothes.

During breakfast I'd confessed that I'd been sleeping when she'd called and had not climbed out of bed until after 10 a.m.; it would seem lying to her had been more than I cold bear. She was kind enough to not give me a hard time about it — and probably just as well.

After breakfast, we had omelets and pancakes at First Watch, we drove over to Kroger to return a video to whatever that kiosk thing is that are popular in supermarkets these days. The weather was beautiful and as we drove along AWFOM stuck her legs up and out the window of the sweet, sweet, AC-less, minivan. This caused me a little concern.

"You probably don't let your kids do this," she said.

"We'll," I said, "I'm always afraid the airbag will deploy and break their legs. Since your an adult I'll cut you some slack. And this way I get to admire your legs." And I said that just to be funny as I'm really not a leg person.

And I don't know why I'm not a leg person. I'm sure AWFOM had nice legs, she works out, and they seem to carry her around well enough. They fit snugly up into her butt which I think is rather nice. Oh, and today at breakfast I stole a look at her boobies, just because she had sort of a tank top thing on and I wondered how they were doing up under it; they seemed to be holding up rather well. But they're really not my trigger either.

Don't get me wrong, I am a big fan of breasts and not just because it isn't uncommon for the part of the woman following the breasts to be bringing me a sandwich, or an omelet and pancakes, but because they're just sort of nice. (When they're growing out of a woman. Not so much when they're growing out of me.)

I realize this is an odd digression it's just that I sometimes wonder why it is I like the things I like about women.

Anyway, AWFOM has very nice hair, and that is one of my triggers. Though I knew it wouldn't matter today.

Back at her place I started doing some work on one of her computers. It has slowed down to the point her kids didn't want to use it and she'd thought she might give it to me to re-purpose. I'd suggested that she keep it and that the operating system be reinstalled so I set about doing it. She took a nap.

(And while she snoozed I put her hand in a warm bowl of water. It really doesn't make you pee your pants.)

She woke up before I was finished and apologized for taking a snooze. Inasmuch as I've had women divorce me and leave me an emotional wreck I can't say the nap was really too bothersome and we talked about how sometimes sleep is just the thing a person needs to make them feel better.

"As a matter of fact, I was self medicating this mornining," I said.

She'd call me a few hours later to thank me again and to tell me about the graduation party she'd gone to … and the nap she'd had following that.

Today's Photo: Not long ago I was taking a walk around town and noticed the City of Hilliard had painted the water tower in Old Hilliard. They may have also replaced some lights on it; I can't remember if the water tower was poorly lit when it had rust streaks on it. Anyway, this is a picture of it I took during the blizzard of 2008.

Technorati Tags: Hilliard, Women

Posted by delmer at 10:15 PM | Comments (9)

June 11, 2008

Something Goofy from McDonald's

I think I've mentioned that the best McDonald's in the chain is less than a mile from where I work. There's another that's about the same distance from where I live but I always come to the one near work as I just like it more.

Once in a while I'll go to the McDonald's site for nutrition information, to take a survey, or to tell them how much I love my local McDonald's. At some point I gave them a throwaway e-mail address — that way if they started to SPAM me I could delete the address and have lost nothing. I'm happy to report that in all the months they've had the address yesterday is the first time they've sent me anything. And it was this:

Click to make me move.

I can't say I agree with what the character says, I'm more of a Diet Pepsi guy in the morning, but it is kind of cool in a goofy sort of way.

Technorati Tags: McDonald's

Posted by delmer at 11:06 AM | Comments (10)

June 9, 2008

Holy Crap, it's June 9th

The 15-year old in me had almost forgotten.

Technorati Tags: Immaturity

Posted by delmer at 4:07 PM | Comments (10)

May 30, 2008

Another good thing about being a guy

"So, you got anything going on this weekend," I asked one of the Electrical Engineers as we strolled out of work Friday afternoon.

"I ..." and as soon as he started his sentence I realized we'd already had this conversation. He was going to West Virginia (which is Wild and Wonderful, if you've ever seen their license tags).

And you know how he completed his thought? He said, "I'm going to West Virginia," the Wild and Wonderful being understood and often left out of casual conversation. But that's not the important part.

The important part is that he didn't get his feelings hurt because he thought I didn't pay attention to him the first time we'd talked about this and he didn't accuse me of going behind his back and paying more attention to the Mechanical Engineers' weekend plans.

He just told me what he was going to do.

As a matter of fact, when I apologized for making him repeat our earlier conversation he was polite enough to pretend he'd forgotten about it, "We already talked about this?" was all he said.

Why? Because we're guys.

Which means we don't get torqued out of shape about things like having to repeat stuff we've said.

And, there's a 95% chance he had no recollection of the earlier conversation either.

Technorati Tags: Friends

Posted by delmer at 6:17 PM | Comments (4)

May 24, 2008

Walk Like a Man Meme

I've been tagged by Emma at Eriepressible.

The Rules: You highlight the things you can do and you leave in normal type the things you can’t. And it’s a freakin’ free-for-all on snarky comments. Assign 2 other poor bastards to the task and the electronic equivalent of chain letters is complete. The only thing to do is to sit back and wait for my millions to be mailed to me.

1. Give advice that matters in one sentence. (Does 'butch up' count?)
2. Tell if someone is lying. (Never. I believe everything I'm told.)
3. Take a photo.
4. Score a baseball game.
5. Name a book that matters.
6. Know at least one musical group as well as is possible.
7. Cook meat somewhere other than the grill. (I can boil and bake chicken)
8. Not monopolize the conversation.
9. Write a letter.
10. Buy a suit.
11. Swim three different strokes.
12. Show respect without being a suck-up.
13. Throw a punch.
14. Chop down a tree.
15. Calculate square footage.
16. Tie a bow tie.
17. Make one drink, in large batches, very well. (I used to make some kick-ass egg nog)
18. Speak a foreign language. (French well enough to order meals containing eggs and cheese. Je voudrais deux oeufs avec fromage)
19. Approach a woman out of his league.
20. Sew a button.
21. Argue with a European without getting xenophobic or insulting soccer.
22. Give a woman an orgasm so that he doesn’t have to ask after it.
23. Be loyal.
24. Know his poison, without standing there, pondering like a dope. (WTF does this mean?)
25. Drive an eightpenny nail into a treated two-by-four without thinking about it.
26. Cast a fishing rod without shrieking or sighing or otherwise admitting defeat.
27. Play gin with an old guy.
28. Play go fish with a kid.
29. Understand quantum physics well enough that he can accept that a quarter might, at some point, pass straight through the table when dropped.
30. Feign interest.
31. Make a bed.
32. Describe a glass of wine in one sentence without using the terms nutty, fruity, oaky, finish, or kick. ("I'm looking for the one with the naked girl on the bicycle on the label.")
33. Hit a jump shot in pool.
34. Dress a wound. (my own…I’m a klutz)
35. Jump-start a car (without any drama). Change a flat tire (safely). Change the oil. (Hell, I broke the steering lock once and hotwired a car. This other stuff is nothing.)
36. Make three different bets at a craps table.
37. Shuffle a deck of cards.
38. Tell a joke.
39. Know when to split his cards in blackjack.
40. Speak to an eight-year-old so he will hear.
41. Speak to a waiter so he will hear.
42. Talk to a dog so it will hear.
43. Install: a disposal, an electronic thermostat, or a lighting fixture without asking for help.
44. Ask for help.
45. Break another man’s grip on his wrist.
46. Tell a woman’s dress size. (They're all size threes.)
47. Recite one poem from memory. (There once was a man from Aras…)
48. Remove a stain.
49. Say no. (I'm just learning this one.)
50. Fry an egg sunny-side up.
51. Build a campfire.
52. Step into a job no one wants to do.
53. Sometimes, kick some ass.
54. Break up a fight. (I have three boys. What do you think?)
55. Point to the north at any time.
56. Create a play-list in which ten seemingly random songs provide a secret message to one person.
57. Explain what a light-year is.
58. Avoid boredom.
59. Write a thank-you note.
60. Be brand loyal to at least one product. (Diet Pepsi.)
61. Cook bacon.
62. Hold a baby.
63. Deliver a eulogy.
64. Know that Christopher Columbus was a son of a bitch. Your understanding of your heroes must evolve.
65. Throw a baseball over-hand with some snap.
66. Throw a football with a tight spiral.
67. Shoot a 12-foot jump shot reliably. (I used to be able to crash the boards effectively if not prettily)
68. Find his way out of the woods if lost.
69. Tie a knot.
70. Shake hands.
71. Iron a shirt.
72. Stock an emergency bag for the car.
73. Caress a woman’s neck.
74. Know some birds.
75. Negotiate a better price. (I can determine what a negotiator should be able to get a price down to, but I don't negotiate well. The ex was very good at this wearing salespeople down.)

Regular readers will recall I can't tag people, so I'll leave it to you to tag yourself.

Technorati Tags: Bloggers, Memes

Posted by delmer at 4:40 PM | Comments (10)

May 21, 2008

When your friends know you too well

I was on the phone the other day with a friend who happens to be a woman. It was a warm day, she'd been working in her yard and had worked up a sweat.

"I've got all this work to do in the yard and I can't wear a tank top," she modestly complained. "I'm hot enough to wear a tank top ..."

"Wuh ..." I started.

"I mean in a human-furnace sort of way," she said, cutting me off as she assumed I was on my way to saying, "Well, that goes without saying."

And I was.

Her neighbors are having some work done on their house and she didn't want to be outside falling out of a tank top and being ogled.

To beat the heat she decided to suds up her car in a bikini while blasting the soundtrack to Boogie Nights.

Technorati Tags: Friends, Women

Posted by delmer at 3:29 PM | Comments (4)

May 20, 2008

Oil

The minivan — you admired it's sweetness in yesterday's post — had recently developed an oil leak as evidenced by two stains it had dropped on the drive.

And that made me sad. I'm not a terribly big fan of having oil stains on my driveway nor am I a terribly big fan of paying to have gaskets replaced. Especially as I do so very little driving.

So I did what any man would do: I spread some mulch over a spot in the driveway and parked on it all the time.

And I never missed. There was no more staining. Even when I goofed up and parked the non-engine part of the van over the mulch such was the power of this magnificent idea that oil failed to drip on the concrete.

Then I developed another idea: Maybe it never was the minivan that was leaky — maybe it was the ex's car. The leaks quit appearing not long after I pissed her off and her visits became less frequent and when she did visit she was so cold that I'm certain her coldness permeated her auto and caused her oil to thicken to a non-drippy state. I really want to work the phrase "oil's bitchcosity" in there somewhere for the sake of humor, but it sounds sort of mean.

Anyway, the oil stains quit appearing and that was all that was important.

Saturday, on the way to Home Depot, my oil light flashed and the warning dinger dinged as I made a turn. It hadn't seemed like that long ago that I'd checked the oil but, well, time sort of slips by me and it could have been decades.

When I got home I pulled out a quart of oil, threw up the hood, and went to remove the oil-fill cap. Naturally, it was gone.

This would not be the first time this had happened to me as I sometimes forget to put the oil cap back on. It happened several times in the Nissan, but that car was always kind enough to spew oil all over the engine compartment which caused big billowing clouds of gray smoke to rush form from the hood seams to make me aware of my misadventure. This typically happened at the McDonald's drive thru.

The minivan, being less flashy, took a more subdued approach. It merely dropped warning leaks on the driveway up to the point it determined I was unlikely to put the hood up for a look-around.

As I stood there, hood up, filler cap gone, and scratching myself, I had a brief moment of rat's, I'll have to buy a new filler cap panic before noticing the cap sitting on the part of the engine compartment next to the latching mechanism. I could tell by a pattern on the cap bottom, which was facing up and at me, that wedging and not luck had kept the cap from rolling from its perch and onto the highway. (An oil stain on the underside of the hood confirmed this further.)

I oiled the minivan, gave it a loving pat on the hood as I closed it, swept up my mulch and had a congratulatory Diet Coke for a job well done.

Posted by delmer at 2:09 PM | Comments (9)

May 16, 2008

Iron Man

The boys and I went to see Iron Man this past Sunday. The movie was very good and I'll certainly see it again.

On Wednesday someone mentioned that a funnel cloud could be seen from Walcutt and Roberts, which is about 4 miles driving from the movie theater and a bit closer by the path a tornado would take. I'm not concerned or anything about this, I'm just amazed that we could have had such bad weather and it took three days for me to find out about it.

The reason I'm posting this is that during Iron Man I teared up twice. Once I could actually feel my jaw get wobbly before the tears came on.

Did this happen to anybody else? And where.

I've hidden the part that made me cry in the extended entry as it may be a spoiler for those of you who haven't seen the show yet.

[Ah. This post is also a test of the timestamp problem I was having. I re-upgraded my posting software to see if that was the problem. And it was.]

Technorati Tags: Movies, Crying

I teared up during the scene in the village when the men were being separated from their families; mothers and children were being loaded into trucks and the men, I think, were being lined up against the wall. (I'm getting misty typing about this…. it was a frikkin' movie!) One father breaks away and goes for his son. The bad guys drag them apart and start beating on the dad. Just as they are about to shoot him Iron Man shows up and kicks some ass. The father and son run toward each other, hug, my jaw went weak and I teared up.

The second time was just a few minutes later when Iron Man accidentally takes the wing off a fighter jet. The pilot ejects, is plummeting toward the earth, and can't activate his parachute. As Iron Man saved him I teared up.

I also cried a bit during that movie the kids and I went to see last fall. It was based on a book that Jack had read. A little girl died in it.

Also during The Incredibles. Which, of course, was animated.

Posted by delmer at 9:24 PM | Comments (10)

May 3, 2008

Bonus Condom Story

I mentioned the "Needing a Translation" problem (see the other entry from today) to a female coworker which led her to tell this story.

Her friend is a Teachers' Aid for a first-grade class in Cleveland. The TA walked into class the other day, took a look at something on the edge of the teacher's desk, and asked the her, "Why do you have a condom on the desk?"

"That's a condom?!" she asked with some surprise and dismay.

One of the first-grade girls found the condom on the bus, opened it, and brought it to class blown up for the teacher. She was so happy with her "find" that she'd gone so far as to draw a happy face on it.

As it was a condom the teacher was required to take it to the principals office and make a report.

I'm guessing she left out the part about not knowing what it was.

Posted by delmer at 4:55 PM | Comments (6)

May 2, 2008

Women, I need your help

Guys are welcome to lend a hand too.

I need a translation. For a friend of mine.

This friend, who had three adorable male children, was having a conversation with his ex wife. Without getting into all of the specifics he was led to say, "You accused me of cheating on you."

"I never accused you of cheating," she said.

He thinks she did, based on the following conversation they had while married:

"Where'd this condom come from?!" she said, picking a condom up off the counter and using a tone that a woman might use to ask about a condom she didn't recognize.

"Where do you think it came from?" he said in the playful tone a man might use because he's an idiot and he thinks is spouse is goofing on him because she gave him the condom and certainly she must remember she did.

"I don't know. It's not one of ours." And it is then he realizes that there is not a hint of "fun" in her voice and that her tone is very pointed.

And, we can really stop there I suppose.

That is the part I need translated. What could she be suggesting? And to be clear, her presentation was not conversational. It wasn't, "Hey… here's a condom. I wonder who it could belong to."

Certainly this conversation lacks the direct finger-pointing that "I think it was you (who was) looking at porn on my computer!" but it does not appear, to my male friend, that the conversation was headed toward, "I think you've been using condoms to make balloon animals and that is nothing but a waste of latex. Don't you know there are people in developing countries who can't get condoms at all! What would Al Gore think?"

Any thoughts?

[For the record, she had given him the condom in a birthday card. It wasn't the brand they normally used as she'd gotten it at an odd little shop in and odd little part of Columbus; the kind of shop that might have a giant bowl of condoms on the checkout counter. Also, it was she that had been looking at porn on her computer… accidentally, and she didn't have the clearest sense of how Internet Explorer's history and cache worked.]

Update: When he explained she'd given him the condom in a birthday card, with baseball tickets, and further explained the events surrounding it's procurement she seemed to start to remember that she'd been in the odd little shop… and they had a fishbowl of condoms… and perhaps she'd given it to him.

Posted by delmer at 11:47 AM | Comments (8)

May 1, 2008

A 49th Anniversary

It's a shame the RAINN posting period is over as I've got the most interesting sex story yet.

My parents have been having sex with each other as a married couple for longer than most of you have been alive.

Today marks their 49th anniversary.

I called this evening to wish them a happy anniversary and got dad on the phone.

"Happy anniversary," I said. "What did you two do today to celebrate?"

"Well," said dad, "As a matter of fact we were just getting out of the bed." And he didn't mean because they were having an afternoon nap.

Big D is always the cut-up.

Posted by delmer at 8:51 AM | Comments (7)

April 30, 2008

The Finale

April is National Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention Month. In order to help the Rape and Incest National Network (RAINN) raise funds so they may offer online counseling to victims of sexual abuse, sexual assault and rape, members of the blogging community have banded together to lend a hand by writing posts of a specific topic. You can read all the details at Kevin Apgar's site.

If you would like to make a donation to RAINN please be sure to put GBBMC2008 and Delmer Wells in the "Include a note to RAINN" box as there is a chance I could win something. (I am less concerned about winning something than I am about helping the organizers be able to track GBBMC2008 donations. So, at least put the GBBMC2008 bit in.)

A friend of mine and his brother lived out in the country. They were 17 and 19 years old or 16 and 18 years old or 17 and 18 … about that age.

Their parents, in their early to mid 40's had suggested the boys collect their girlfriends and bring them back to the house for an evening of home-made ice cream churning and good old-fashioned Christian fun. (You know how I am, but I say "Christian fun" with sincerity.)

The girls, what with it being the country and all, lived a good deal more than a block away and in two different directions. So the boys took separate cars.

My friend arrived back at the homestead first. As he and his girlfriend stood on the back porch he gave the back door a push. It swung open into the kitchen and past his dad's bare ass as he was in the process of giving my buddy's mom a churn on the kitchen table.

"Get back, get back!" he shouted to the girlfriend and tossing a "Get some clothes on," toward his parents pulled the door to.

A moment later his mother opened the back door (no pun intended) and invited my friend and his girlfriend in.

Later in the evening the two young couples had snacks on that same table.

Posted by delmer at 12:00 AM | Comments (4)

April 29, 2008

Self-Realization

I don't know how other people go about writing their blog entries but, despite the way they sometimes turn out, I often put a fair amount of time into mine. (I originally typed "fair amount of thought into mine" but thought and time are two distinctly different things and time is the much better descriptor.)

I'll typically bounce things around inside my head while I ride the bike or work in the yard or floss or trim my ear hair or whatever.

And it isn't uncommon for me to have several thoughts going on in sequence one after the other* (men, it seems, can't parallel process which is why women will find one boob getting all the attention and then have to do some noggin pushing).

And so it happened that a lot of my RAINN posts took some sort of form over the course of one or two afternoons. These are some of the bits and pieces of things that made it, or almost made it, here:

she led me to the stairs

despite the fact she had friends coming over in about 30 minutes she suggested we go upstairs, so we did

I think I wrestled with an Australian gal once. While I don't remember the details I have a distinct memory of her asking if I wanted to go "upstairs" and I wasn't like me to say "no."

she made a suggestive move that was so direct ... we spent several hours wrestling

she said, "don't move," and I didn't

she said, "I think we should swing by the house, have a quickie, and then get some lunch" which is exactly what we did

After mentally reviewing these bits several times and following a couple of cold showers it occurred to me that I'm easy. If a woman does or says something that seems to be bedroom-oriented, I'm usually on board with it. And I'm not real particular about a bedroom or bed being involved.

Or maybe I just take direction really well.

I don't think I'm necessarily promiscuous, which comes from the Latin words promis (I promise) and cuous (to call you tomorrow), as I think that would suggest having a lot of sex Willy Nilly (which I think would be a great name for a vibrator) and that simply isn't the case as sex applies to me. I've gone for such great lengths of time without having sex that whole epochs have passed. In fact, I'm able to measure the exact amount of sex I had during one period of my life as each sexual outing produced offspring that are now fourteen, twelve and ten.

So, easy, yes. Promiscuous, no.

On second thought, maybe It's not so much that I'm easy… maybe it's just that I'm a guy.

*Yes, I know. One after the other is the definition of in sequence.

Posted by delmer at 7:31 AM | Comments (8)

April 28, 2008

Regrets -- Two

A long, long time ago, I think I was 23 or 24, I found myself wrestling with a cute 20-year old. We had known each other for several years but due to the nature of our relationship, and how snuggling with her would have broken several of the Rules of Dating, we'd never been anything more than acquaintances.

One night she, lacking the compulsion to live by a silly set of dating rules, made a suggestive move that was so direct even I would have had trouble misinterpreting it.

We ended up spending several hours pinning each other before she had to be on her way. (Yes guys … she got up and left. There was none of that hard-to-sleep through post-coital cuddling.*)

We both had a very good time and I don't say that as a guy who thinks he is a very good time regardless of what he does. I say this as a guy who would find himself with the same woman months and months later and who would find that woman unbuttoning his shirt and moving closer in a not-incredibly-private room. Luckily, I say that as a guy who knew where a more-private room was.

In between these two encounters I would see this woman on a regular basis. At least weekly and probably every day for days at a time. We always talked, though not about this, were friendly, and had no awkwardness.

You would think that between the two encounters we might have gotten together a couple of times more.

And the regret here is that I didn't say something like, "When can we do this again?" as she didn't seem put off by the notion of wrestling with me. Especially after the first encounter.

(Regrets are funny though. Had we had sex every night for a month it would just be a memory now. So why fret over it? People are funny.)

[*Gals, the reason a lot of us don't care to cuddle is because when we fall to sleep we become drooling, snoring, farting, lumps and we don't want to expose you to that side of us. It isn't fair to you who, when sleeping, are adorable little packages of cuteness and sweet smells. (I would go so far as to say you are like puppies and scented candles all in one but can't think of a way to express that without conjuring up images of bestiality). As it happens, when I was younger I sent away for a self-study course which trained me to control my nocturnal drooling and farting and as a result have been told, more than once, I'm a pretty good cuddler. You know, once you get past the snoring.]

Posted by delmer at 5:26 PM | Comments (4)

April 26, 2008

A Funny Quick One

And this might be one of those things that is funny only if you were there.

She weighed just under 99 pounds and I came in right at 215. We were both in our 20s which is only important to know from the position of flexibility; and I suppose that isn't necessary for this story at all now that I think about it.

We were in a bed doing that thing that the Missionaries made famous as they were bounding around the country whenever it was they were bounding.

As we were boinking I noticed we were moving up and across the bed a little bit. Some math (I turn to math when I'm trying to stretch things out as thinking of baseball just doesn't work for me — I only go to sleep faster) suggested that our current rate of progress coupled with my 20-something level of stamina was going to put her head into the wall right where two of them met.

In the end, but that's a whole other blog post, she had to cock her neck just a little bit a bit before we finished.

At which point she said: Well, it looks like we fucked ourselves into a corner.

Posted by delmer at 9:08 AM | Comments (7)

April 25, 2008

blah blah blah

This will not be the hardest thing I've ever typed. That would be "Kalgoolrie" which is so hard to type that even as I express the typing challenge it provides I screw it up; a Google search suggests it's "Kalgoorlie." And I felt compelled to type it the other day in a comment at Michael Gorey's site. (It comes up in Bill Bryson's "In a Sunburned Country," Michael lives there, and it's one of those words that makes you wonder what the people were trying to spell before they said, "screw it… that's good enough." I'm not picking, I love things like this… Maidenhead in the UK… Big Bone Lick, Kentucky… Intercourse, Pennsylvania, etc. I believe Kalgoorlie might be derived from an Aboriginal word or phrase which gives it some character while Big Bone Lick is so named as it is the porn capital of the south.(Kalgoorlie is derived from a Wangai word and has about 2000 more people living in it than the town I live in. Wangai has an interesting look all its own if you think like a 14-year old boy.) )

This will likely be uncomfortable for me. So much that I've typed up a whole paragraph of something unrelated to sit above it. So much that I'll post something about my new clipless pedals right after this to give me a sense of distance. Yes, I know, I'm only fooling myself but it will make me feel better.

** I typed all of that yesterday and then went to bed.**

Today I, coincidentally, met with a psychologist to go over a battery of tests I took earlier in the week. Without getting into all the details I was curious to see if I had ADD. As it happens, I do not have ADD or any other cognitive dysfunction though I sometimes tend to "overincorporate." That is, I have trouble proceeding with a project as I always want a bit more information before continuing. This is something I've known about myself for a while and that I've been working on (I didn't know what to call it, however).

[When the doc told me this I thought it gave me the opportunity to ask if the thing that kept me out of a Bell Tower was not being sure I had the best rifle at hand as maybe there was part of me sure that a new and better scope was just around the corner. He seemed positive that there was more than indecision over equipment outfitting that kept me from getting all Bob Lee Swagger on the local community.]

I also found out that my self-esteem is pretty well in tact. I've sort of known this too. I mean, I think I'm a good person.

However.

I spend a lot of time wondering what is wrong with me as it applies to relationships with women. In the past I've thought I might be afraid of rejection but, really, I'm not. I am very good with "no" and freely accept the notion that everybody is not right for everybody else.

It seems, however, that anything other than "no" sort of screws with me.

A long time ago, back in college, I asked a woman out every week for a month. She was always busy, but never said she didn't want to go out. That is, until week four when she said, "Delmer, I just don't want to go out with you." When I asked why she hadn't said that the first week she told me she didn't want to hurt my feelings. I said, in a very friendly manner, "You wouldn't have hurt my feelings, you'd have just saved both of us some time."

Fast forward some years, post divorce. I had dinner with a woman and we sat and talked for four hours. She could have gotten up and left at any time during the four hours. When dinner was over I asked if she'd like to get together again she said something like, "That would be nice though I don't know how easy it will be to work around our childrens' schedules."

And this left me to sort out what she meant. "Yes" would have been fine. "No" would have been clear. The bit involving children tossed me. As I was reluctant to fall into the trap of being put off week after week by a woman who didn't know how to say "no" initially, I didn't call her again. Even after I found out she'd made inquiries about me I wasn't inclined to take that chance; I mean, who knows what she wanted?

About this same time in my life I had dinner with another woman (you know how it is when you're divorced … everybody knows somebody they want you to meet). She seemed nice enough and we talked about getting together again. I called a week later, give or take, to see if she wanted to get together the next Saturday. She had a prior commitment that involved some sort of Ohio State University sports thing — I'm sorry I can't be any clearer on this, but you know how I am with sports — and wasn't free then. She suggested I could call her later but I wasn't sure that hadn't been said out of reflex; it happens in sitcoms all the time. So, I didn't call back.

When you get right down to it, I guess I just I don't want to be a bother.

[I remember being in 10th grade English class and the teacher asking if guys would rather have a girl tell them something nice like, "I've got to wash my hair that night" or something simple like "no" when they didn't want to go out with a guy. Even then I fell into the "no" camp.]

I've had other thoughts involving my shyness around women. And it may be shyness, I haven't sorted it all out yet.

I used to think it was caused by this…

In first grade I sent a little girl a note that said, "I love you" and she ratted me out to the teacher. It was humiliating. It was also 41 years ago; don't you think I'd have gotten over it by now? Wait, I'd almost forgotten! I didn't tell anybody I loved them for a good long time after that. I remember my sister telling me she loved me and actually choking as I returned the sentiment. I was about 21 then. Maybe 23.

(For the record, I tell my boys I love them each and every day.)

And, of course, getting divorced sucked royally too. (You know, if I were British I think I'd say, "sucked royalty" and eventually shorten it simply to "Camilla.")

And, of course, getting divorced Camilla'd.

Dammit! Where was I going? I had the tying it all together part right at the tips of my fingers. God, I hate it when this happens. It always means I have to read the whole thing again and try to sort out where I was going.

What have we got so far?

~~Kalgoolrie~~ ~~Lakoo~~ ~~Kalgoorlee~~ Big Bone Lick
Battery of tests
Women are confusing
Little girls are evil
Camilla gave Prince Charles a Lewinsky
A bulleted list

Ah yes.

We had something I typed and then erased as I was uncomfortable with it.

Though, basically, I seem to be the sum of my past interactions with women.

But never a bother.

Posted by delmer at 9:23 PM | Comments (7)

April 23, 2008

Regrets - One

Way way way back, and really, I mean a good long time ago, we had gone to her house while her parents weren't home.

She might have had a sun dress on. Would that have been like a short skirt?

We were in her kitchen and rubbing noses a little bit and I started to make a move that led her to say, "Oh!… you're going to be super boyfriend."

This move required her to sit down and for me to be on my knees.

After an amount of time that she indicated was adequate by way of a little bit of hip thrusting, heavy breathing, moaning and the vocalized "wait" that always suggests things are all of a sudden super sensitive, I moved up and gave her a little kiss on the neck.

Still breathing heavily and with her lips on my ear she breathily said, "I want you."

STOP here.

Because I want you to consider what you might have said or done in a similar situation. When you have an answer continue to the extended entry to read what I said or did.

And what I said was: "This is not the best time."

Or "The time is not right."

Or something just as stupid.

We were in an empty house. She was worked up and suggesting she might want to do something to… um… help me out. AND I had a pretty good idea what she meant.

And I said, "The time is not right" because I was afraid her parents might come home. She wasn't concerned and she knew their habits better than I did.

Oh, I called this entry Regrets - One. I'll leave it to you to guess the regret.

Posted by delmer at 11:14 PM | Comments (3)

The Ohio Troopers Coalition has a funny smell

I received a call from a number my caller ID couldn't ID. Against my better judgment I picked it up, gave a quick "Hello," just in case anybody was there, and was about to hang up when a voice came on the line.

The gal calling identified herself as a representative for the Ohio Troopers Coalition and under some questioning told me that 100% of my donation would go to help trooper's causes and that she wouldn't need a credit card right now but would be happy to send me a donation form in the mail.

I can't remember if the gal told me they were all volunteers. That sounds right as it would go along with the 100%-to-the-charity idea they were promoting and would be something she could have said to make that more believable… but I won't swear to it. She did tell me they were not professional fundraisers and that she worked for the OTC; I specifically asked that question.

Anyway, too many people in the past have said 15% goes to the charity when they called so I thought 100% was a pretty good deal. I said I'd give $20.00. She transferred me to another gal.

This gal started telling me about what they were going to send me in the mail, which I really didn't need to hear, and asked me for two additional dollars (for some special need and I was happy to give it) and then for a credit card to authenticate? verify? something my donation. (Basically they wanted to make sure they got my money.)

I told gal 2 that gal 1 had said I wouldn't need to give out my credit card info. Gal 2 then restated I'd be getting something in the mail in a couple of days and asked if they could they count on me to mail my check as soon as their literature got to me.

I assured her I'd drop something in the mail the afternoon their stuff arrived.

It will not be a check, however, but a copy of this which suggests that gal 1 was about 94% off in her estimation of what goes to charities.

You know, as I reread that it dawns on me that she may not have been lying. I believe she said she worked for OTC, and that 100% of donations went to OTC which worked to help Trooper's causes. I took from this that 100% of what I gave went to charities, but I don't think I asked what percentage of my donation would go to a charity... I asked what percentage does the Ohio Troopers Coalition get, thinking that was enough.

Well, it was certainly misleading and I don't think it was by accident.

(And, yes, I am on the no-call list.)

Update: I just reread the Dispatch Article. I'd glazed over this the first time:

The company misled potential donors into thinking that all money given to the Ohio Troopers Coalition would go toward charitable works by using a legal sleight of hand: the fundraisers were classified as employees of the coalition, said Jason Small, the assistant attorney general who filed the case.

Posted by delmer at 12:11 PM | Comments (4)

April 22, 2008

The First Time

I lost my virginity in October of 1981. It was a Friday or Saturday night and toward the end of the month. As my birthday is in August, I would have been 21.

I've no idea how I ended up at a Halloween party after work and it isn't because alcohol was involved. I've just no memory of it. And honestly, as I consider that, I'd get out of work between one and two a.m. so I couldn't have very well gone to a party then. And I would have smelled like pizza, sweat, and cleaning products which goes a long way toward undoing a fair amount of about-to-get-laidness.

I was starting to doubt the year, since I wasn't sure I was still making pizzas in October of 1981, when it dawned on me that I'd quit making pizzas just before spring break.

Anyway, I think my buddy Ken called to tell me about a party. Another buddy, Tom was with me and we may have been working together that night; he decided to go with me. And I'm going to go with the thought that I was at work when I got the call and that Tom and I busted our asses to get out of work more toward one than two.

I remember the name of the street but not the girl's name so much. Wait, I do, but I'm not going to type it.

She was also dressed as a cat and I have a memory of going as a Pizza Chef.

Oh. What else do I remember?

She was older, perhaps 24 or 25, and a brunette.
I think one of the reasons she wrestled with me is that she knew I was a virgin (who knows how things like that come up?) and there was the, you know, novelty of that.
She didn't take her cat leotard totally off and when I asked about it she pointed out that having one leg free was plenty. Who was I to argue? I was new to the whole thing.
It didn't last what I, or anybody with any sense of things temporal, would call a long time.
As short as it was my buddy Tom walked in on us.
Twice.

Hey, maybe that's why it didn't last so very long.

Maybe not.

Anyway, as I recall, my bare butt was in the air and Tom opened the door. "Hey Delmer… did you call my mom?" he asked.

"Yes," I screamed. "Now get out of here!" And he did.

Just a second passed before he opened the door again. "What'd she say?"

"She said you could spend the night! Now get out of here!"

"I don't think this is going to work," said the cat.

Happily, as I got a blog post out of it, she was willing to put a few more minutes into the process.

Why not? She already had one leg out her leotard.

A few moments later, and I swear it was by accident, I walked in on Tom and a female person.

Posted by delmer at 10:25 PM | Comments (1)

Parenthetical Phrases

You know how you'll be out and about. Maybe at a McDonald's having breakfast, trying to read a Bill Bryson book off your PDA, and someone will whip out a cell phone and start talking into it as if they're the only person on the planet aside from, we'll assume, the person on the other end of the line. Which is not so much a line as a digital signal, but you get my point.

I've often thought this was rather rude behavior and have wondered what makes people think it's right. I'm guessing that sometimes a person may not realize just how loud he is but even then he must know that the people around him are getting just half the conversation and are having a hard time keeping up with whats going on.

Trust me, if you are a woman, we want to know if your friend brought the lace bra or a bra made of something else and I'm really stuck for a comparison material here which I suppose isn't important as I was more concerned with how this thought would end than the middle parts. Starting over and making it up as I go: if you are a woman, we want to know if your friend brought the lace bra or the spandex bra and if, in fact, it pushes her boobs up and makes them look bigger.

If you're a guy maybe some of us would like to know the score of the Cleveland game as well and whether or not your buddy thinks beer prices will go up when the Indians move to the new stadium.

Keeping those informational tidbits to yourself gives the conversation you're having and air of I don't give a shit about this could you please shut the hell up to the rest of us.

Allowing people to hear just one side of a conversation is the rudest part of that behavior. At least that's what I thought.

And I was wrong.

Today at McDonald's I had the opportunity to hear both sides of a conversation. Not because some goofball was talking loudly into a cell phone and using a Marshall Stack Amp as a speaker, but because there were two guys sitting at Micky D's about six table apart and carrying on a conversation as if they were the only two remaining people alive in the world.

Both guys were in their 60's and seemed to be discussing world politics. I didn't catch everything they said which is to say I was unsuccessful at blocking out all but about 50% of their conversation. (Bryson is in Australia and I'm trying to get to the point where something undoubtedly bites and kills him, not because I wish him any ill will but because I'm eager to see if the writer that finishes the book shares his writing style. I'm hoping it's an Australian stripper; I don't care if she's the thing that bites and kills him or if she's the person who finishes writing the book.)

In trying not to eavesdrop I learned that Iraq has shitloads of money in the bank — so much in fact that they bundle it tightly together and use it to make bricks for new construction — while we are spending a fortune on this war. And that 94 is torn up and has been for three years and it's taking forever for them to finish that project.

Those two stories seem to be unrelated and the topic appeared to have shifted when I got up to get a pop refill. (And that's another thing I like about Bill Bryon books. He says "pop." I'll bet he says "tennis shoes" as well. And probably "too" instead of "as well.") Iraq lacks anything in the way of a "94" designation though Ohio has I-94 somewhat north of where I'm now sitting.

Both guys were actively talking. It isn't like one was talking and the other was throwing polite, "Mmm hmms" at him. They were both engaged in the conversation.

I'm not bitching about the fact that old men will drone on about anything. I will likely be an old man someday and in preparation for this I keep a list of old-man topics in my wallet (as you can see I'm prepared should my memory start to fade.)

In no particular order the list contains: Patricia Heaton, Courney Thorne-Smith, Jamie Gertz (assuming the gals hold up into their latter years), what a dickweed Bush was/is (I'm prepared should Jena Bush take the reigns someday), the air of respectability Jena has restored to the White House (should former porn star Jena Jamison someday take the reigns), etc.

At the end of my list is a little parenthetical phrase: Sit no farther than three feet from anyone you are blathering on with.

Everyone should have such a phrase.

Posted by delmer at 7:58 AM | Comments (4)

April 21, 2008

RAINN Update

I'd sort of rethought the posting of the Sexography items and considered cutting back on them and removing some I'd put up when May came around. This idea hit me when I was working out in the garage yesterday as I was afraid I might be offending some of the women readers. And I'm sort of a prude, kind of. Sometimes.

Anyway, I mentioned this to a couple of women friends who are readers and who do not seem to be offended in the least. They thought it was sort of odd I'd consider removing things. Among their thoughts were that I've been posting for three years and in that time I've posted far more offensive things than the recent bits about oral sex and what not. (Those may not have been their actual words or, even, anything close to what they said.)

Anyway, if you're thinking of Donating to RAINN, the time is right, per this mail I received:

Double Your Donation to RAINN in April!

In honor of Sexual Assault Awareness & Prevention Month any online gift to RAINN during the month of April will be matched, dollar for dollar, up to $25,000! You can take advantage of this opportunity to help victims of sexual assault by donating today through our secure website or by hosting a RAINNMaker event.

To learn more about becoming a RAINNMaker, event ideas, and to create your own RAINNMaker profile, visit: http://rainnmakers.rainn.org/.

Posted by delmer at 9:08 PM | Comments (1)

Near Misses -- Massachusetts

Once day, a long time ago when I lived in Massachusetts, I found myself with a woman… oh, about midday.

We'd just come in from lunch and as we entered my living room she sort of led me toward the stairs.

The bottom landing was put together in such a manner that if a person were so inclined, she could sit on the steps and look another person, assuming he was about six feet four inches tall, right in the crotch. The woman involved either knew this in advance or made a lucky guess as the really awesome and super cool thing that happened next seemed to go along quite well as if, perhaps, she'd planned it ahead of time.

As a matter of fact, from start to finish, there was only a brief break in the action and that was when she looked up to provide verbal assurance that should I be worried that something which might eventually happen be off-putting to her that I should not let it trouble me in the least.

Which was just as well as I had something else to worry about.

As awesome and super cool as this was (well, super-duper cool, what with the verbal assurance I'd just been given) I couldn't help but be concerned that someone might walk in on us. My mother, for example, who I knew was coming to visit that afternoon.

Anyway, just a moment after the thing happened that the verbal assurance suggested would be OK to happen, and mere seconds after zippers were zipped and buttons buttoned, the back door opened and a "Yoo hoo… is anybody home" signaled the arrival of my mom.

It's very likely she brought some groceries with her.

I honestly can't recall what led to the treat on the stairs. I wish I could as I'd do what I could to set that chain of events in motion more often. Unfortunately, and women will back me up on this, any time a man ejaculates it erases a portion of his memory starting from the first "yip" he makes and moving backwards anywhere from 10 minutes to 24 hours. This is why guys have as much trouble as they do remembering things like a woman's name; it's not their fault, it's biology.

And so, I'm left without a clear memory of all that happened prior to midday. It may have involved Cuban food. Who knows?

Posted by delmer at 5:43 PM | Comments (0)

April 19, 2008

We know how you are

It has occurred to me that I have enough posts that I think fit the Sexography category that I might be able to do one a day until the end of the month. One of the benefits of this is that should I decide they are more inappropriate than the normal fare here they'll be easy enough to find.

It also occurs to me that as you read through them you might be left with the thought that I pretty much have sex all the time. When I was younger my sister-in-law asked me about a sleeping bag that was in the back of the car I most often drove. I told her it wasn't mine and when I went on to ask why in the world would I have a sleeping bag in the back of my van she politely and without any malice said, "Well, we know how you are."

Which led me to wonder how having a sleeping bag in the back of my van could possibly express my terror of women.

And, oddly enough, this was not the first time that topic had come up right around that time in my life. Just a week before I'd had a similar conversation with another relative, I think my mother, in which she'd said something (again without malice) that suggested she too thought I jumped from bed to bed.

The two events, so close together, made me wonder where people got their ideas and, as I really hated to be a disappointment to them, what I could do to be the person they thought I was.

That last part isn't really true. But I did think it would be novel to have been living the life people thought I was.

I was about 24 when all of this was going on.

I always had a lot of friends who were women and I'm sometimes curious about which ones my relatives thought I was snuggling up with.

Anyway, to get back to the main point of the this entry, while there may be a fair number of Sexography posts the next week or so I'm not trying to create the illusion that I have or have had a life filled with sexual encounter after sexual encounter. It's been a good long time since I've done any wrestling with a woman and if by some odd alignment of the stars I end up cuddling with anybody before the end of the year, well, nobody will be more surprised than I.

Oh, I could drone on and on in this manner but I'm not sure what good it would do either of us. Please, just keep in mind that I'm not bragging about my good fortune in Sexography entries. I'm just pointing out the more interesting things that happened.

Well, I've got a mini van full of sleeping bags to unpack.

Later.

Posted by delmer at 2:20 PM | Comments (2)

April 18, 2008

Near Misses -- The JWs

Oh, it's been a while ago now, but one Christmas eve I got a visit from a couple of Jehovah Witness ladies. They'd parked across the street in an area that wasn't really a parking lot but, you know, when you're doing God's work you can't be bothered with things like where to appropriately leave a car.

They toddled across the street and up to my front door which they gave a light rap. I knew who they were before I answered and had already formed two thoughts before I'd opened the door.

The second thought was, "I wonder if I give them $5.00 for one of their books if I'll be able to get them on their way any faster." I'd had Jehovah's take an aggressive approach in their presentation during prior encounters and really wasn't in the mood.

My first thought was, "If they'd only been five minutes earlier they could have caught me fornicating right in the living room and wouldn't that be a nice story to take back to the Kingdom Hall."

Oh… and $5.00 seems like the right amount to get them off your stoop.

A friend reports the following works as well, and I think I've blogged about it before: He had a mother/daughter team that refused to take "no thank you, I'm not interested" as an answer to their repeated attempts to engage him in conversation about his religious beliefs. He finally said, "I've told you 'no thank you' three times. Now, unless the two of you are interested in coming in for a three-way, I've got better things to do." As it happens, a three-way did not interest them. Though, that was likely a good story to take back to the Kingdom Hall.

[I'm not picking on the JW's. I don't want anybody stopping by my house to save me. I'm happy in my beliefs and will meet you in Heaven.]

Posted by delmer at 12:39 AM | Comments (0)

April 17, 2008

A buddy told me this story

Many, many, many moons ago a buddy of mine told me a story. He's not one to say cunnilingus, and I'm not one to say eating pussy in actual context. I'm not kidding when I say things like that; I honestly cringed a bit when I wrote those words — I believe I've mentioned in the past that my inability to talk dirty was one of the things that made my career in porn so short lived. I'll leave it to you to make the language substitution.

"The other night," he told me, "We were in bed and I was performing cunnilingus on Carol. I just knew I was driving her crazy. When I looked up" and his voice became very matter-of-fact here, "she was watching TV and eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

How, I wondered, do you not notice when a woman gets up and makes a sandwich before returning to the bed? Had she brought a loaf of bread and a Jar of Jif to bed with her?

As you can imagine, alcohol played a big role in their evening prior to either's midnight snack.

Posted by delmer at 6:09 PM | Comments (4)

What's a Delmer Look Like?

What could be less interesting than reading about the day-to-day doings of Delmer Wells?