Greetings, all!

I have indeed renewed my membership (that Missy is a temptress, what with her "special price" offers! ) However, I'm afraid I haven't been on much. I've been working a lot, and post-divorce from my ex-wife, MausFrau, not much funny has happened to me.

For example: my hairline seems to be receding and I was thinking, on the plus side, that I'd have less hair to comb. Of course, on the negative side, there'll be more face to wash.

For example: I just received some porn spam with "Huge Crocks" in the subject line, which is something of a rare example of truth in advertising.

So, mildly amusing, but not wildly funny.


Well, I'm still glad to be back. If anything funny actually does happen, I'll be sure to let you know.

There seems to be something of a minor exodus of longterm members and SGs from the site recently, so I think that I'll be going too. I'm not spending much time on the site lately; the SG sets, with a few exceptions (hello Rei ) are beginning to pall for me; and, given my current personal circumstances, I just don't much feel like being funny.

It has been a pleasure to virtually meet all of you. Those of you who'd like to maintain contact may still reach me at my SG e-mail address: fatdavid8@hotmail.com

Should you try to reach me via e-mail, my name actually is David. The "fat" bit's more of an honorific where I come from, like "sir" or "lord", than an actual part of one's name.


moochas smoochas, con queso,

FatDavid8




p.s., (June 13, 2006): I'm apparently paid up until September, so there's no need for wailing and gnashing of zee teefs just yet.

;~)

So . . . er . . . now that I'm a single man again, I've been giving some oblique thought to dating. Dating really doesn't much interest me right now, but I was thinking that it might some day and that, after 10+ years of marriage, I might be a bit rusty and need a little practice.

I had met a young woman a week or two ago while walking into work whom I found attractive. We had walked together and chatted a bit, and she seemed very thoughtful in her replies. I assumed that she was a foreign graduate student. Now, I don't know what the university's policy is on faculty dating students, but it's one of the unwritten perks of faculty-dom that you get to date graduate students. I mean, why else would we sit through all of those interminable meetings, listening to our gas-bag colleagues bloviate out of their ample, pasty asses? For our salaries? Ha! There isn't enough money in the world!

So I decided that if I ran into her again, I'd ask her if she'd like to go out on a casual date.

[Cue Sade: Smooth Operator]
As luck would have it, I ran into her earlier this week. We chatted for a bit as we walked, and it turned out that she was an undergraduate rather than a graduate student, but I thought to myself, what the hell, it's not like an evening with me's going to be anything but platonic, and I told her that I'd enjoyed our earlier conversations and that I thought that she was remarkably lovely and then I asked whether she might like to have dinner or a walk 'round the lake sometime.

Now, the whole time I'm saying the above, her body language is getting more and more awkward, like she's putting a lot of thought into what she's going to say next. What she said next was, "Well, I think I should tell you something: I'm studying to be a nun, and I'm going to enter the convent this fall."



"Ah," I replied. Then there was a looooong and awkward silence. In a kind of jocular way, I broke it by saying, "Well, I suppose you could have just said I was too old for you."

Then she started laughing a little, too, and said, "There is that, too. This is my first year of college."


[/Abruptly Stop Sade: Smooth Operator]


So I told her again that I very much did enjoy talking with her and that I hoped to see her again, and we parted ways.


Well, I happened to bump into her today, and after a bit of chatting, I said, "So, still not interested in a date?"

She looked puzzled for a second, and then she looked like she was going to say, "No," so I said, "It's 'cause I'm too old, isn't it? Well, what about this other fellow you're interested in?"

She looked puzzled again, and I supplied, "You know, Jesus? I'm no gossip, but from what I've heard about that guy, he's 2000 years old if he's a day."

She started laughing like crazy.



So, to recap: The first woman I attempt to ask out on a date is very lovely and thinks I'm a funny, funny, funny man, but she's also a soon-to-be nun who's half my age.



I haven't even really gotten started with the dating nonsense yet, but the signs suggest to me that I should just pack it in.

Late this evening, while I was walking home from work, just stompin' along and doin' the cowboy polka (i.e., when the weather gets uncomfortably warm, my manner of striding makes me look a bit like an angry, saddle-sore, and slightly constipated cowboy . . . intra-thigh chafing's no laughing matter, boys and girls)

Er . . . where was I?


Right! So I was walking along, and I passed by one of my city's fascist puppy-mills (i.e., highschools) and noticed that it had a new, annoying, scrolling LED sign.

The sign was going through the school-related news of the day, of the week, of the month, and so forth, and then, as a finale of sorts, it displayed one of those inspirational slogans that we Americans like to use as a substitute for thought. The message was supposed to read, in two rows:

Effort -- even if you're on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there!

However, there was apparently some sort of glitch in the sign, and it kept getting stuck toward the end so that it read:

you'll get run over
just sit there!


Horrible person that I am, that made me smile all of the rest of the way home.

So . . . er, I've got a bit of a manly dilemma, here. You see, I've got a cheap new office chair that's made of 107% artificial fibers and is apparently impenetrable at the molecular level, and while sitting on it, I just happened to fart . . . 'cause that's what men do when they're sitting in chairs.

My dilemma? Well, it now feels like there's something trapped between my cheeks.


It could just be the fart that's trapped between my impenetrable cheeks and the impenetrable fabric of the chair, or . . . I could have just crapped my pants (which is another thing men do . . . as they get older).


I'm afraid to reach back there and check 'cause I don't want crap on my hand, but I'm afraid to stand up 'cause I don't want the crap to roll down my pants leg (I'm afraid I'm not wearing underpants . . . 'cause I'm a man and its friday night and washday's saturday).


What's a man to do? I guess I'm just going to sit here 'til whatever it is back there hardens and I can let it fall to the floor without making a big mess.






Jeez! Has the quality of the journal entries here gone to the crapper or what? Apologies all around!

Sorry about the lack of updates and whatnot. I just moved out of my and my wife's old house and have just had my Internet hooked up, so I haven't been on for a bit.


Thanks to everyone for their well wishes and sympathy. I wish I had a funny story for you, but the story-telling portion of my brain's on hiatus.

I'm hoping I'll have something like a real journal entry up soon.


Moochas smoochas, con queso,

FD8

A few days ago, the Mausfrau left a message on our machine asking me to bring her laptop and purse in to work for her (note: since I've been granted tenure, I sleep in a bit). After my usual morning ablutions, I put on my clothes for the day, which included a brown belt and brown shoes, and grabbed her laptop and her purse, which was black, for her.

While making my way from the parking lot to the library, with laptop and dangling purse in hand, I espied a pride of goofy young frat boys in the distance.

"Dude, check it out!" I overheard one say to his buds. "Nice purse!"

As I approached them, I said, "Hey, jackass! This obviously isn't my purse, ok?" They looked a little apprehensive. One of them started to apologize, but I cut him off. "I mean, really! It totally doesn't go with these shoes!"

Then I winked at them and sashayed away with a little extra waggle to my ass.




______________________________

p.s., I don't normally put much in the way of personal/private detail in my journal, but I thought I'd mention that the Mausfrau and I are splitting up, so this'll probably be the end of Mausfrau stories.

In a recent election, my current home state had one of those anti-gay-marriage/"Defense of Marriage Acts" pass rather handily. Local liberals weren't surprised that it passed -- the state's a traditionally red state, after all -- but they were dismayed that it passed so handily in our town.

The conventional wisdom in the state, at least among the local liberals, is that the most populous city in the state is full of rational, pro-business, fiscally conservative Republicans, that most of the rest of the state is full of rural, irrational, voice-in-the-wilderness, values-voting, neanderthal Republicans, and that our home town -- which is home to the state's capital and to the largest university in the state -- is the state's lone bastion of enlightened liberalism.

I, personally, found the local liberals' astonishment to be indicative of their naivete, and I found myself wondering whether they've ever paid the slightest attention to the environment in which they live and work. For example, while walking home from work recently, I noticed that the dedication on a monument near the state capitol's main staircase reads:

Honour to
pioneers
who broke
the sods
that men
to come
might live


I mean, come on! The phrasing of that "that men to come might live" bit is a little convoluted and ambiguous, but they have a monument to the pioneers who "broke the sods"! Right by a main entrance to the capital building! Obviously, the state was built upon a foundation of anti-gay violence. No one who knows me would suggest that I'm overly sensitve or too PC, but that "broke the sods" business seems pretty clear to me.






DISCLAIMER: The phrase "broke the sods" may appear to be more humorous if you should happen to be British. Individual perceptions of humor, or humour, may vary.

So . . . er, as those of you who frequently read this journal (hahahaha, ah-ha!) . . . as I was saying, some of you may remember that the MausFrau and I recently purchased a mansion (don't be impressed: property is cheap out here in the corn 'cause no one wants to live out here). Well, it turns out that the basement has a mold problem.

We had some mold remediation guys out to take a look at our basement a few days ago. They wandered about, muttering things that sounded like "aspergillis" -- or perhaps Dobie Gillis -- to themselves, and taking samples. At one point, the head guy, the mold master, called me over and said, "Mr. FatD, take a look at this. What do you think this is?"

So I had a look at this crappy wood panelling with white rings on it, and hazarded, "Mineral deposits?"

"Looks like," he answered, "But it's actually penicillin. You've got several huge penicillin colonies all over this panelling."

"So that's good news, right?" I asked, and he looked at me with a puzzled expression. "I mean, we've got mold out the yin-yang, but the house's probably free of STDs."

And hilarity ensued . . . until I got their price quote.

At work last night, we had an opening ceremony for a Queen Elizabeth I exhibit, which was attended by a bunch of university administrators and a bunch of historians and literary scholars. It went really well. The exhibit was really nice, the library got to unveil a unique historical item that a donor had provided, and the caterers provided some mighty tasty snacks.

Unfortunately, I don't think I was a good fit for the crowd. Most of my schmoozing interactions went something like this:

Attendee: Well, this exhibit is lovely.

FatD: Yes, yes, it is. In fact, it's much, much nicer than the Queen Mary I exhibit we have down in the basement.

Attendee: You have a Queen Mary exhibit, too? Maybe I should run down and have a look at it.

FatD: Oh, I wouldn't. It's rubbish...just a couple of old boxes filled with severed heads.

Attendee: Well {backs away slowly}, I think I'll have some more of that delicious dip.


Ah, well. I guess you just have to pick your audiences.