ElimiHate

ElimiHate

This QOTD is Rated R for offensive language and sexual content

I was at a bar the other night and this show called ElimiDate came on the TV. For those of you fortunate enough to not know what that is, it's a show where four girls go on a date with one guy (or vice versa) and as the date goes on, the guy (or vice versa) gradually eliminates the girls (OK, you get it) one by one until he has only one left and this girl is fortunate enough to be declared the winner and I'm not sure what happens next, but I know from the one and a half episodes that I've ever seen that it is usually the sluttiest girl of the four so one can only imagine. I hate this show. I hate the concept of it. It's disgusting. It's kinda like if you took what little class there was in The Bachelor and flushed it down the same toilet that the "game show" Deal Or No Deal flushed all the strategy down. So yeah, dumb show that I would have never even thought to turn on if I was home, but I understand why it has a following and I know why they would play it at a bar at 2am.

So I find myself glancing at the TV and all of a sudden, up pops Ms. Heather! Ms. Fucking Heather! She was a counselor for me for like three years at UMBC Day Camp and I think we even hooked up once. Actually, I think I made that up. But it's easier than telling people here that we almost hooked up but we were both pretty trashed and then I was going after her friend too who I found out too deep into the courting process had a boyfriend and I'm pretty sure that I wound up sleeping alone thinking about my new "fence riding" theory. But if I'm pressed for time, I'll just say that we hooked up. Actually, she's on this list. Heather, write me back sometime to help jog my memory.

So yeah, there she was on TV. Sure it was just a stupid MTV Generation Y show, but she was on national television trying to beat out three other guys to... do whatever winners do on that program. And after they show the four chicks, they showed the guy. And it was my idiot friend Eduardo Van Machos (name changed to protect the guilty)! You gotta be kidding me at this point. I was going nuts at this bar. Like I wasn't screaming enough about the chick I didn't really hook up with, but now this guy shows up on TV? There's no way any four females should ever be competing for him, let alone on national television. The girls in my volleyball class would fight over who got to play on the other court. Nobody else on the club team would room with him so I always got stuck with him on road trips. OK, I'm embellishing a bit because his job was always to be the butt of my jokes, but nonetheless I have lost a lot of respect for the people they pick to be on that show. Well when I think about it, I don't really know what I was expecting. I think I was better off with people I didn't know on the show. Then I can at least pretend that they are better than me and deserve to be on a date with four hot chicks trying to.. you know... win. You know I love you Eduardo. Even if you did vote Heather off first. She's too classy for you anyway. Well, that information is based solely on the fact that we never hooked up. Maybe.

And I never hooked up with Eduardo. No semantics needed with that statement.

Sorry to say, but I never found out how it ended because there was no sound and I was being kicked out of the bar (it was closing, I wasn't throwing olives at people or anything) and I had to drive a friend home to his wife and kids who I later found out is no longer allowed to be my friend. I've seen enough of Eduardo hanging all over girls at our national volleyball tournament in Charlotte anyway (and the local high schools). And if the end was anything like those experiences, it will directly contradict my theory about what really happens at the end of ElimiDate.

Unfortunately, I don't have any material written down about the plethora of stupid things that Eduardo has said over the years, but I can chronicle a few of the stupider things he's done in past years over the next few days. So I'll start with Charlotte again. We were at a party with the Xavier women’s volleyball club team and Eduardo was getting a back rub from this hot chick and things were heating up between them. Now, our volleyball club was like a cross-section of our school at UMBC. There was Eduardo, Ryan and myself at this party able to hold a conversation and interact with people of both genders. Then there was Neil and Amir, two of our - let's say socially awkward - friends who don't get out much. Which is fine with us and they were fun to hang out with, but it came back to haunt us (Eduardo). Oh, and meanwhile, the other half of our team had been back in the room since 8pm. So about 45 minutes into the backrubs and the running hands through hair and kissing on the neck (check out Eduardo’s moves on syndicated TV if you get the chance), Amir, who has been sitting on the ottoman for the last 2 hours just grinning, blurts out...

Quote of the Day 4/17/06

"Wait, Eduardo. Don't you have a girlfriend?"

-2004 Cock-Blocker of the Year, Amir

Whatever Eduardo's actual status was with the girl who hung around him a bunch, it was all the same to Amir. And it was a bit too late to try to explain that to the Xavier girl who had already kicked him in the nuts. But hell, it made my week.

1999 Cock-Blockee of the Year,

Coach.

Still Standing Right Here...

Play is a 4 Letter Word

Play is a 4 Letter Word

So one of the most exciting and unpredictable tournaments in NCAA basketball history just came to a close tonight. Unfortunately, the climax was the worst part. Kinda like how Signs was awesome for about an hour and a half and then Wakeem Phoenix beat the alien to death with a bat. And I just don't ever feel like spelling his name right, in case you were gonna jump on me about that. The whole George Mason story was great up until Saturday where they looked like Brick Mason. And some people said when they got to the final four that you couldn't have scripted a better story than if they won the whole thing. I disagree. I am going to prove that you can. My screenplay will have an 11-seed win the NCAA tournament, but also save us from evil robots and a Category 5 hurricane. There's your script!

Yeah, anyway, so they're done. As is LSU, so there wasn't even a guy with a nickname in this final game. And I just couldn't care less about this Goliath vs. Goliath match tonight. It's like watching the Williams sisters in the finals of the French Open. What's the point? Well, I suppose I could actually care a little less. Like at least it's not soccer. Or American Idol. Or the last 5 seasons of Friends (yep, I think he successfully offended everybody). But hey, at least Duke didn't win, right?

So I'm going to this party, er... I mean conference all this upcoming week starting tomorrow for college recreation professionals. A bunch of people who do what I do for a living from all across this country and a few others will be in Sunny Louisville all week long swapping stories and maybe swapping some other things if I come back and there's a hanger on the door. And we can toss around terms like "informal recreation coordinator" and "sport clubs assistant director" and everybody there will know what we're talking about. But I realize that it's kind of difficult to explain these things to people that aren't in our profession. Erin recently asked me what I was doing at work. I told her that I was in charge of the Rec facility that day and that means that I walk around and make sure that everybody is happy. When she asked what I was doing that night, I told her that I had a basketball game with the Free Agents. I know; it's a rough life. So to sum up...

Quote of the Day 4/3/06

"Oh, I think I understand. So basically, you play games and talk to people."

-Erin


And I'm demanding a raise.

Puttin bread on the table,

D Rec.

Still Standing Right Here...

Lingerie for the Feminist

Lingerie for the Feminist

Holy crap. Lots has happened in the last however long it's been. First of all, this past March 3rd was the 11 year anniversary of the quote of the day. That's right, I've been doing this since I was 12 (maybe in metric years). And I want to do something cool for the anniversary, but I made a promise to a certain cutie back in Maryland that I would send something out tonight and frankly, I don't have time for cool. I have time for this.

I dated a feminist for about two weeks since we've last spoke. I have since decided that was never a good idea in the first place. But she wasn't a real feminist anyway. She shopped at Victoria Secret. What kind of self proclaimed feminist who does spoken word poetry from the perspective of a vagina (Ed note: he doesn't even look for red flags anymore) buys lingerie? Who is she buying it for? You know what - forget I asked. A friend of mine who just recently left Paradise Island here for sunny Cleveland was telling us about his wife taking him shopping for lingerie. At first I thought he was the biggest sell-out wus pansy I ever met (he's still close), but then I figured that it made sense after all since he was the target demographic (we hope) for said lingerie. We went on to ask him if he had her try it on there or maybe asked one of the 18-year old cashiers to model it or what. What exactly do you look for when you shop for lingerie?

Quote of the Day 3/27/06

"She would hand me something and ask me what I thought of it and I'd just crumple it and throw it on the floor. 'Looks fine to me, honey, we'll take it.' "

-Jimmy K

That's strangely enough how I shop for lunchmeat.

Just doing the damn thing,

D Rec.


Still Standing Right Here...

Wishboned

Wishboned

Well, when I originally decided to leave all my friends and family behind on the east coast to move to Fantasy Island , I did it because I wanted to find out more about myself, to see what I was made of. As it turns out, I’m made of tinfoil and yarn. Like I couldn’t have found that out without moving all my crap 600 miles inland. So it looks like I tore my groin again. Or at least pulled it. And not in the fun way (if I’m going to go through the same injuries, I’m going to use the same jokes). This is going to completely ruin my sex life. Now I’m going to have to watch porn sitting down.

Anyway, I just wanted to throw out a quick hitter since I haven’t yapped at you cats in about a month. I’ve actually been working my ass off (another injury I’ll tell you about later) on this special project I’ve been given by my boss’s boss’s boss. But when I asked, he was actually able to grant me more hours in the day so I guess I can’t complain too much. But I really should be getting to bed. I need to squeeze in at least 2 hours sleep if I’m going to be working for 28 hours tomorrow.

Speaking of things ruining my sex life (segue successful), I have serious wardrobe issues. I can only wear the one Aerospace shirt so many times and all the outfits that Steph dressed me in years ago have all gotten lost or stained or I forgot how to match them with other stuff that I have. It was easy, I was told exactly what matched with what and how to wear clothes and when stuff was appropriate and everything. But now I’m trying new stuff out here and it’s tougher to try to fit into this Fantasy Island society also. So I’ve taken to trying some new techniques. I tried wearing this corduroy shirt with jeans and socks with sandals. My sister looks down and asks me if I’m seriously wearing socks with sandals. I tried to tell her that I was going for this “I don’t care what anybody thinks of me” look and how that was going to work for me. She agreed. Kinda…

Quote of the Day 3/5/07

“Yeah, it kinda has this ‘I’m definitely not picking up any chicks tonight’ thing going on.”-Sisfish.

Looks like I’m going to need to tweak that outfit a little bit.

Sitting out the next dance,

Groinless in Ohio.

Still Standing Right Here…

Don’t Give me No Lines…

Don’t Give me No Lines…

Yes Sis Fish (my actual sister), there was a time in which the quote rant was a lead-in to the quote quote. And no, the giggle blink girl had nothing to do with the guy who hurt his ankle. I could make something up and I think I will from now on just to create a segue of continuity, but you are correct. I have too much to tell all of you and I don’t want to be handcuffed to whatever I deem funny enough to be the quote of the day. I actually don’t want to be handcuffed to anything other than Jessica Simpson’s nightstand. And even then, I don’t know that I’d enjoy it. She’d probably only be doing it to restrain me. Probably because I’d have broken in there. (I just reread this joke and don’t like it, but also don’t want to go back and type anything else).

Speaking of Jessica Simpson, I actually broke my promise of never going back to Brick Street . A buddy came back into town and he wanted to go uptown. By 12:30, Steinkellers was down to their last staff member, Skippers and 45 East were closed and Balcony was on fire again (that’s a lie). So anyway, we wound up at Brick Street. But it was different this time. It was apparently karaoke night. And there was this hot chick up there doing a heck of a Dusty Springfield. Turns out I actually knew who she was. I talked to her and found out that there was a $100 prize that night. So I figured what the hell. I’ve make an ass out of myself many times before for free, why not do it to the tune of a possible C-note (that’s what us gangstas call a hundred bucks). And so I got up there and screamed a shitty ass version of Keep Your Hands to Yourself and during the instrumental part, I did the jump split thing made popular in Ferg’s and Milkman’s apartment back in college. Picture Footloose at Aaron’s wedding without Big Mike throwing me all over creation. So at the end of the night, it turns out I caught one of the judge’s eyes (the guy, go figure) and actually won the main prize. Sadly enough, that is more than I made the entire day of work when I calculated it out. And thus, I have decided to give up my dream to be the best wiffleball tournament commissioner ever and tour the country going to bars doing good enough renditions of Georgia Satellites greatest hits. At least until my groin gives out mid-split. But for the moment, I am the King of Karaoke Night at Brick Street . Which happens to be the bar that most closely represents my personal seventh circle of Dante’s hell. To be surrounded by hot young tattooed foxes and me without my snappy snare.

Speaking of tattooed chicks (how you like that, Actual Sis?), I got into the conversation with a few friends about a month ago talking about girls that have a tattoo on the small of their spine. Sure, we all heard Vince Vaughn say that it might as well be a bulls eye in Wedding Crashers (which will actually segue into my next message), but I just found out that they are also called “tramp stamps.” It’s not a flattering name, but I don’t think it was intended to be. And so, I made a joke to the effect of “well, no wonder all my exes have them” which is barely funny and also a complete lie. But it begat this, which was worth the self degradation…

Quote of the Day 2/27/07

“I didn’t think you were allowed to get tattoos until you were 18.”

-E Hersh

That is what we in the business call a “cherry.” It completes the joke sequence. Nothing can possibly go on top of the sundae after you put the cherry on it. And if any of our group of friends ruined that joke by trying to piggyback on it or “rejoke,” we are required to squirt them with hot fudge and kick them in the chopped nuts.