I Have a Problem Von Problemstein

Mmm Hmmm, yeah, lately I've been compelled to start everything I say with either a "Mc-" and end with "-ster," "-ton," and "-son," or begin with "Von" and end with "-stein." I hit an especially low point today when I called Spence "Wency McWenstenstein." Can I be any more gay?? I have no idea how this "situation" surfaced. I'd blame it on Erica if I hadn't been the one who caused her to suffer from the same verbal affliction of absolute GAYNESS. Seeing a shrink is in order. Are there shrinks that specialize in verbal communicative disorders or am I just shit out of luck? F-word. I'm banishing myself from verbal dialogue altogether until this problem disappears. Hence me actually visiting my pitiful blog for the 5th time since March to write.

Speaking of problems, I took a survey from a Camel cigarettes representative the other night pretending I'm a smoker so I could receive a prize....and I ended up with a lighter. Go figure. But this lighter was an exceptional piece of machinery that stands apart from its fellow competition: this thing had a blue flame only. There was no blemish or sign of weakness in this firestarter. This monster fire maker wouldn't deign to have any woosified yellow elements to it's flame. I could've used this thing as a blow torch to construct a bridge to Catalina. Or cleanse by violent fire an Al-Qaeda compound in the hills outside of Karachi. Unfortunately in a moment of sheer idiocy I made the mistake of pushing the button while the torch of death was turned upside down.....toward my ring finger. The blue flame made direct and extended contact. Not sure how the extended contact occurred. Probably because my brain is so slow to react to virtually anything, especially math, that it took me about 1, and then 2 seconds to notice my finger was being permanently and irrevocably damaged. Conclusion: I am a tard.

As far as tards go, I went to Jim and Stacy's ribald wedding last weekend on Halloween. Spence and I crashed it because the invitation list was for family only. Had we known those who were invited were told not to wear costumes, we wouldn't have showed up dressed like The World's Most Interesting Man and a box of Franzia (dispensing wine out of my costume to boot). Altogether the feedback was pretty positive though, and the bride and groom, being the unpredictable people they are, decided they'd prefer to have their two wedding crashers sign the documents as their two legal witnesses than say, their parents. Go figure again. Very flattering though. I was touched. But I do wish I'd anticipated that there would be multiple jokes at the wedding about my box (i.e. "Now that's a good lookin box," and "Can I get a squirt from your box?"). Woulda been nice to pre-plan some quality comebacks. Jesus the Millichaps are so wonderfully unholy.

Life is great now that I'm paying WAY less rent and live two blocks from the beach in an apartment virtually twice the size of my last.....but I've missed my only local friend Jen. She's good for the soul and makes me a better person. Luckily Jen's coming home on Tuesday and she's bringing her godly French guy with her so we can execute a "make the French dude love us and leave France" marketing campaign. I'm excited to meet her French Hercules. I have a crush on his pictures. Of course I told Jen that and of course she laughed hysterically. I love being engaged because you're allowed to have little meaningless crushes. Makes no sense? Sure it does. You commit to someone and are secure with them in every way, and vice versa, so it's safe then to say out loud "man I'd give anything to make out with that feast." Of course you typically follow the shocking revelation with another in your head that goes something like this: "but my Feasty Von Feastenstein at home is feastier than any feast.......well Eric from True Blood is pretty feasty....and maybe Tom Brady without the cleft.....but still, my Feasty is the best feast of all."