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I finally got to see a Braves game at Turner Field last night. The stadium is really nice, one of the best I’ve been to. It sucks that we were over an hour late and that the Mets won, but other than that it was cool. The Braves are now only 2 and 6 when I am in attendance, so basically I’m a huge bad luck charm. This picture in which I look pretty awful was taken at the game. The seats were left center, 8th row. We stayed at the Crowne Plaza Ravinia last night which was really nice, and right now we’re driving back to Greenville where Anna’s from. It’s been a good trip, fun times. I’m still trying to make plans for this weekend, any ideas people?

And I am dangerously attracted to women with issues. I mean issues. Alcoholism, eating disorders, drug addiction, abortions, children of divorce, past abusive relationships, victims of sexual assault, bipolar girls with intimacy issues, whatever; the more the better. Without making it sound like some kind of creepy pathological need, I am simply not as interested in boring women. It took me long enough to figure that out, but since I’ve realized it and chosen to embrace it things still haven’t gotten any easier.

My problem: I’m too nice. More specifically, the type of women I’m interested in generally do not want to be treated nicely. Oh, they might act like they do up front, but in my experience they still want to be treated like shit once in a while. That is not something I believe I am capable of doing, but I can change for the right woman. That last part was a joke. There has got to be a woman out there that has had enough trauma in her life for me to find her interesting that is also well-adjusted enough to enjoy being treated like a woman should be treated. Otherwise I guess I’m just out of luck. If you just read this and said “Bullshit!” out loud, please leave me a comment and tell me how wrong I am.

Also, I don’t think the girl I’m talking to now will work out, and it’s just because there isn’t enough time. It’s too damn bad, because things started out pretty good and she’s exactly my kind of girl, she’s really something special. Either way, I really like hanging out with her and who knows what might happen, but I guess it is silly to start a relationship a month before moving.

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Last night I finally got a chance to try Tucker Death Mix, the ingredients of which is pictured above. It is delicious and I highly recommend it. I do not, however, recommend seeing the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie. It may be because I don’t remember the first one that well and was pretty drunk when we went to see it, but that movie didn’t make a lick of sense to me. And there is no ending or resolution, just a three hour set up for part three. So fuck that movie, I can’t wait for Clerks 2. Also, Anna, you’re awesome and thanks for letting me borrow those swimming trunks last night. And if anyone has any adorable kittens in the Charleston area, you should definitely give one to Anna, she wants one really really bad.

I was hanging out at Tracy’s brother’s house last night, having some drinks and watching the UFC pay-per-view. Met a lot of really cool people, definitely my kind of crowd, but I noticed a continuation of a strange trend. Apparently I have a very common and recognizable face, because everywhere I go people seem to think they recognize me from somewhere. I had no less than three different people ask me last night where I went to school or where I work because they thought they knew me. This is of course impossible because I’ve only lived here for a month. The same thing happens all the time back in Michigan, although at least once I’m pretty sure it was just a gay guy hitting on me, and he may or may not have actually thought I looked familiar. Either way, with my super-recognizable face I just hope that I am never in a police line up, because I will be doing time for sure.

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This is how my head would have looked if I trusted Tracy to cut my hair.

I wish I had a better place to be on the 4th of July than a goddamn laundromat…

The other night some friends and I went to a strip club I’ve never been to before. Club Fantasy is pretty ridiculous, first of all it looks like a plain warehouse from the outside with no sign or distinguishing marks. They don’t have a liquor license, and the cover is pretty steep, but what really sets Fantasy apart is the girls’ standards. More accurately, their lack of standards. After being pat down very, very thouroughly at the front door, you walk in and notice a prominently placed sign that says “No touching on stage.” It is a de facto admission that touching is in fact allowed, just not “on stage.” The place is full nude, all the girls are black, and not many of them are terribly attractive by stripper standards, but if you’re the type to be put off by a few stretch marks and caesarian section scars, then I guess this just isn’t the place for you.

One event pretty much sums up the whole experience. At one point FriendOne, who will remain nameless, was being entertained by one of the ladies at the end of the stage, when he suddenly took several quick steps back and swatted at his face as if being annoyed by a swarm of gnats. The two of us that saw this were instantly intrigued, and eager to find out what happened. Come to find out later that he was assaulted by a surprise shot of breastmilk. Yes, the stripper was lactating.

All in all this was probably the most entertaining strip club experience I’ve ever had, because personally I don’t generally like strip clubs. Call me a faggot but I’m really not that crazy about fake affection, lapdances are okay but way too expensive, and I’m actually a lot less superficial than I seem. I didn’t get any dances, even though FriendTwo kept offering to buy me one. Speaking of FriendTwo, she definitely had more fun than I did, taking advantage of a few free lapdances and lusting after the same big booty girl all night. But anyway, the best strip clubs in my opinion are the dirty, nasty and just plain freaky ones. I don’t get turned on by the atmosphere, but I find the situations that arise to be often hilarious and worth retelling.