Good places to eat while not wearing pants.

Longtime Denverites are familiar with the tasty treats to be had at El Taco de Mexico, but I had my first experience there tuesday night. All the best Mexican food comes from holes-in-the-wall, shacks, or dives, and this establishment is of the shack variety. Located at Santa Fe and 7th, the relatively small confines house a rather impressive menu, similar to the various Santiago's locations sprinkled around the greater Denver Metro area. I had heard so much about El Taco's Chili Relleno Burrito that it was starting to gain legendary status. I must say that this status has been dutifully gained. The burritos are to die, or kill, for.

I recommend shedding one's pants, ordering a burrito, and enjoying said burrito on their outdoor patio.

Just another reason to veto pants

I believe this needs no explanation.

No Whammies!

I must admit that there are days that I look on the schedule and silently sob to myself. Mind you, these days are few and far between. However, I had one such day recently. The boss listened to my concerns and said, “It’s a day to test your luck”. “If you are lucky, all will fall in your favor and flow smoothly. If you’re not lucky, everything will go against you and you’ll have one of those days.” I’ve always considered myself to be a fairly optimistic person. But does optimism transfer into luck? I’ve never won the lottery but perhaps if I actually bought lotto tickets I might have more of a chance. I did manage to play slot machines for 2 hours on $20 and come out even (okay, so they were only 25-cent slots). And I do feel as if my guardian angels (I require multiples) are watching over me. Sometimes I feel like they are so overworked that they are going to retire on a beach somewhere by the time I’m 35. And that’s not too far away! And it’s not like I can ease their workload with a gift certificate such as the one my boss offered me for having to deal with the day of mayhem. And how about all the phrases involving luck. Good luck! Wish me luck! Follow me lucky charms! Gettin’ lucky? Wasn’t there a Lucky brand of jeans that put “Lucky” on the fly. Heh heh, ‘cause I’m gettin’ lucky with my Lucky pants. And if I get really lucky, someone will veto them Lucky pants…

Brain Drain

I have to think today. Yes, the evil Think Master pointed his thinking stick in my direction and proclaimed, “You must think today my child!” My father likes to call me child. I thought when I was young it was just because he couldn’t remember my name. Although, now that he’s growing older, it could still be because he can’t remember my name. “Child, ya can’t learn any younger!” And thus, the thrill of learning was bestowed upon me. I took a quiz once that determined that I am a visual and kinesthetic learner. I much prefer to say that I’m a touchy feely learner. Learning to ride a bike is my most favorite memory of my father’s teachings. My form of braking often resembled Fred Flintstone’s barefoot braking method. I, however, was smart enough to know to wear shoes. The cries of “Use your brakes child!” sounded in my head as I proceeded to ram into the school building and the poor guy playing basketball on the totally empty school playground. I did feel really bad for giving him a puncture wound in the calf. Guess I’ve always liked a moving target. Neither incident helped with the learning curve though. That saying about see where you want to go not where you are afraid to go really doesn’t work for me. Hee hee, or does it? Luckily, learning to drive was a much smoother experience. Although, my father thought the ideal time for me to learn how to drive on ice was on a 2-lane one-way road with cars parked on both sides and my good friend in the back seat. “Slam on the brakes child!” Yep! Can’t learn any younger! So today I’m thinking. Thinking about how beautiful it is outside and that I’d much rather be on a mountain than stuck in the corner. When you were little, the corner was always the place for punishment. Well I’m here to tell ya the corner is actually quite nice. Ya know what else is really nice? Toasty blankets from the blanket warmer. Some day I will have one of those in my bathroom. Warm blankets after every shower or bath would be such a simple pleasure! I had to prepare myself to think today. Most often than not, I don’t have to work on Fridays. I have a sense of calm and peace on Thursday nights knowing that the next day is all about me. Sure, I still have the office responsibilities, paperwork, scheduling of massage, planning of playtime, you know the important things in life. But I’m learning. I’m learning that it’s not so bad to sit in the corner wrapped in a nice warm blanket and think…on a Friday.

I see naked people

There are many catch-phrases for describing my role as Responsibility Girl, the evil alter ego that prevents me from being Outdoor Adventure Chick. “I’m full of potential.” “I’m rather stimulating.” “I tend to get on people’s nerves.” “I readily get down on my knees.” And my personal favorite, “I work well under the sheets”. “Voodoo girl” is the term affectionately given to me by others in the operating room. Hee hee, I like to think that some of those phrases are applicable to O.A.C as well. Anal Sphincter Girl has to rear her ugly head once in awhile too. My first day as A.S.G. was actually a good, clean experience. And fortunately, A.S.G. doesn’t have to save the day very often. I see lots of nakedness. Speaking of naked, Naked juice is very yummy. I think people in the medical field view nakedity (word not found in Webster’s Dictionary) differently. I much prefer candlelight but, unfortunately, candles are not allowed in the OR. Something about fire and 100% oxygen, it doesn’t do the body good. There is lots of care taken to make sure that the naked body is protected. Check the breasts. Are the boys hangin’. Checks and balances of sorts. And then there’s the day I’m on my knees, under the sheets, performing a little voodoo. I’ve quite learned the importance of the quickie in this very situation. As I’m getting ready to exit from under the covers, I take a quick look around to figure out exactly where I am in relation to things around me. This, of course, is of extreme importance as not to contaminate the sterile environment created as a safety bubble for the naked person lying on the table. And, as I take a look around, I spy the boys. And they’re hangin’. Right next to my head.

Pants a waste of time

On average let’s say that it takes 1 minute every morning to put on pants and a minute in the evening to remove said pants. Net time dealing with pants 2 minutes/day.

Now say the average person uses the restroom 4 times a day. Each time you use the restroom you must remove your pants to use the toilet. Because you don’t remove them all the way lets say you spend 2 minutes extra a day in the restroom because you are wearing pants. Net time dealing with pants 4 minutes/day.

Ok now you wash your pants once a week. Time to collect the pants on your floor and go to the laundry room and wash them is about 5 minutes. Then you need to change them to the dryer which is another 3 minutes. Finally you need to take them from the dryer and fold them and put them back in your dresser. Lets say this take ten minutes. So every week you spend 18 minutes because you have to wash the pants. Net time dealing with pants 6.571 minutes/day.

Now let’s do some math.

If you live to the age of 50, you will have live 18263 days. Of those 18263 days you will have spent approximately 6088 days asleep (1/3 of the time). Which leaves 12175 days that you are awake. Now using the above 6.571 minutes per day we can calculate that you spend 167 days of your doing something with your pants. Which means that you have wasted 1.360% of your waking life dealing with your pants.

Just another reason to not wear pants.

Pantless Productivity

The latest discovery from my laboratory of pantless monkeys is thus:

Wearing pants decreases productivity by up to 72.3%

Apparently the constriction of the evil garment reduces blood flow to the brain, which causes an inverse potato shaped graph of brain function. The monkeys tested hundreds of subjects in job functions ranging from Coyote Wrestlers to Chia Pet Therapists. Every pantless person’s productivity increased markedly over that of our control group. I am going to write a letter to congress with our findings and ask them to begin working on pantless policy, post-haste!

Pants-less Democracy

Back when I first moved to Boulder, circa 1999, we declared our household a Pants-less Democracy. It was akin to democracies of yore, in which you had be a citizen or land-owner or somesuch elite class in order to vote. The law of our pants-less democracy was rather more simple; you had a vote as long as you were not wearing any pants (again, wearing a skirt or a kilt did not count as not wearing pants). We used this method to solve any household disputes. These disputes, more often than not, centered around the wearing of pants, i.e. that the wearing of pants was not allowed.

I hereby declare this blog to be a Pants-less Democracy! Let's vote!

Where are my pants?

If you are uncomfortable with the whole no pants thing, here's an idea... you can warm up to 05.05(06) in any of these fine ways, yo:

1. hide all of your pants. Pretend that you can't find them. If this won't work, because you always remember where you hide things, give them to a friend for the day. Remind me to give you my emergency chocolate too.
2. give your pants to a stranger. Ask for them back if you have to, but don't expect to get them.
3. freeze your pants. If mom comes over for dinner, just say "oh yeah, all the kids are doing it."
4. hang your pants in your front lawn. It's like the totally new Tibetan prayer pant flag thing.
5. come back to this blog often for other excellent ideas.

Don't try this at home, you could bruise your noodle

One night, while enjoying too much wine in Berlin, I figured out how to conjure mini fireballs from my fingertips. Here's the unretouched photographic proof.

(I admit, the only reason for this post is an excuse to use a dumb word like unretouched.)

Not cryin' over spilled milk

Fridays are my favorite day of the week. I try not to think on Fridays unless thinking is forced upon me. Evil think master! But on this particular Friday a "stupid pill" was somehow slipped into my breakfast. I never really quite know exactly how it happens. It just happens. And I really just have to giggle it off. Yes, for all of those of you wondering how to rid of the effects of the "stupid pill", it is giggling. Laughter is okay too but I much prefer to giggle. So in my attempt to avoid thinking, I open my eyes and mind to just enjoying moments of life. Moments such as the car who's windshield washer jets are so powerful that they create this spectacular fountain affect as the washer fluid rebounds off the windshield, the thrill of not being in a hurry to be anywhere that I consider taking the entire 15 seconds allowed by the blinking countdown to cross the intersection, and the ever mesmerizing head bob that allows all other drivers who care to notice that I'm feeling the groove or in the groove or just plain groovey. And then the effects of the "stupid pill" kick in. I'm in the coffee shop. I love coffee shops. What a wonderful conception. People gather to hang out, discuss life, politics, work, and create world peace. Or at least a peaceful world. I love coffee shops! I'm at the "milk stand" as it be and procede to attempt to move the Fat Free Milk pitcher out of my way so that I can make more room for the full bodied Half and Half pitcher. In my attempt, a slow motion movie plays out as I watch the Fat Free Milk pitcher tip just enough to spill a sizeable amount of milk that required an announcement from the overhead speaker "clean-up for the girl who took her stupid pill". Just kidding. No overhead speaker in this coffee shop. So I giggle. And I wipe up the spilled milk. Then as I pour the crystallized contents from the long cylindrical packet into my coffe, the "stupid pill" causes a brief disconnect between my brain and my fingertips that allow the cylindrical packet to fall into my creamy coffee colored goodness. And it bobs! And I giggle.

How many chickens must a man cross the road with?

Blizzo and I say some fantastic nonsense to each other. Randomness that flows out our mandibles sometimes ends up in our everyday language. (The word "blizzo" for example.) Sometimes we hear something on TV or in a movie that's eerily similar to something absurd we came up with years before, so we like to think we played a role in it -- after all, those actors and screenwriters are at most 6 degrees from us, right?

Here's a list of new things to say:

• Excuse me sir, but I believe you are standing on my octopus.
• All's fair in love and Gwar.
• I'm out like a trout! (borrowed from the genious of Mr.Scruff's Fish)
• Booyakasha, grandma!
• There's more than one way to skin a gift horse.
• Straight out tha 'blivion! (The origins of this one are cloudy even in MY mind)
• The platypus won't exist.
  

Stay tuned for more.

PS -- for those of you who are etymologists, "blizzo" is a contraction of the phrase "biznacho bizblotto". Consider yourself schooled on that. You best recognize, son!

Sometimes you just need to hear it

It's Friday, hooray! Isn't that just super? I think everyone reading this blog is super. Why not share something super that happened to you today? Or something super that you wish would happen to you today. Super is just super.

Famous Supporter No.1

Some of you may not quite realize how important this movement is. So, I thought I would share one of our long-time supporters. That's right ladies, Joesph Fiennes also stands up to veto pants. Let's hear it for Joseph Fiennes! There are many more where he came from, but we have to reveal them one at a time. You know, to avoid too much "blooling," or blog drooling. So stay tuned. You too, can be a supporter of pants are vetoed. We'll tell you how over the coming weeks.

Metal Claws of Doom

While I sit here in a coffee shop preparing to "work", Christopher Grundy is in front of me talking on a cell phone. I don't know if he's a local celebrity, but I certainly know who he is. I saw him perform at Impulse Theatre a couple times, where I thought he was easily the funniest performer. Then I saw him on that Vehix.com commercial where he's trying to grab stuff out of that carnival machine with the big metal claw of doom.

But I digress.

I just got done having lunch with Blizzo, and as I get back to my car, a chick in authentic punk garb asks me for $2 for a cup of coffee. COFFEE?? I try to figure out why someone lacking even $2 needs it for coffee. Is it because you're thirsty? No, that doesn't make sense. Is it because you need nourishment? No, coffee doesn't help much there either. It's a pretty warm day so I don't think drinking something hot is the goal. I really wanted to make some comment about how the tragic incidence of drowsiness among America's youth is on the rise, but I wanted to get through today without an ass-beating.

For the record, I didn't have $2 at the time, so wipe that look off your face.

I like squirrels and nuts

I happen to like both squirrels and nuts. That's why I love the guys at RatherGood.com. Their work is quirky, fun and crazy. Just like me. Although some of their work is a little too tight, trust me, you'll like it that way.

If you love monkeys, bananas and otters, this is still a good place for you too. I would like to see a video about the goat that ate my pants. Maybe Mr B. and I can work on that, and it will shed some light on the name for our new blog. So stay tuned for that err, soon. Like very soon in the next year.

Adventures in Public Transit #1

Being a responsible, and cheap, urbanite I am an avid user of the RTD bus system. There is a stop one block from my house that takes me 2 blocks away from work, and I get to read and blast my headphones. Denver is not a public transportation city, no matter how many awards RTD seems to receive. Middle class Denverites by and large avoid the bus, leaving me as something of an outsider in the bus population. One thing the bus provides in abundance are interesting people and situations, which brings me to the story I want to share with you.

Earlier this week as the bus pulled up to the stop outside the Safeway in Five Points a man boarded the bus. He was tall, unkempt with a faded blue windbreaker, similarly faded black jeans and a hat on backwards that said "New York" in a lanky gothic font. As he made his way up the steps onto the bus, his last step that would have put him on the level floor didn’t quite hit the mark and he stumbled a bit, which is what caught my attention. He steadied himself, with his left hand on a railing and his right hand just below his stomach on his belt buckle. I was taking bets inside my head: Was he drunk? Was he on drugs? Did he have some sort of medical condition? It was so nice of him to answer the question for me.

After an awkward pause the driver reminded that he had to pay before boarding. The man took his hand off his belt to reach into his back pocket, apparently forgetting that it was supporting a hidden bottle of beer. The bottle fell to the ground and erupted into a Vesuvius of foam, covering the floor and dripping down the steps. I should mention that I was wearing headphones, listening loudly to Coldplay so I couldn’t hear actual words.

As he reached down to pick up the bottle the driver spoke, “You can’t bring that on here” (Did I mention I can do my own subtitles?). The man didn’t reply, but picked up the bottle and chucked it, HARD, directly behind him without even so much as a courtesy glance to see if anyone would be bludgeoned. He finally fished his wallet out and flashed his bus pass before sitting down in the spot very closest to the driver.

The bus continued on to the next stop, which was on a much less busy street, and the driver got up and used some of those Wipe-All towels to mop up the spill as best as he could, dumping out some of his own bottle of water on the floor to dilute it. By this time the drunk, for what else could I call him, had extracted a handful of bills from his wallet and was organizing them on the seat, lining them up into neat little piles while his torso wobbled to and fro.

The heroic bus driver moved on and the drunk put his money away and then immediately collapsed against the wall and passed out. I privately hoped that he would sleep through his stop. As I got off the bus I gave the driver my best “Man, this job must really suck at times” expression and gave him a heartfelt “Thank you”. Fortunately headphones don’t prevent me from speaking, and I’m not so dumb as to yell to the point where I can hear myself.

They need to make one of those Bud Light Salutes Real Men of Genius commercials for the misunderstood bus driver. Thank you Mr. Bus Driver man, thank you for all that you do.

The Barbie of Poker

So recently I played a Friday afternoon poker tournament at a lunch place in the tech center. Now, it may not be a surprise that there are mostly men playing these games, but there are exceptions to the rule. There's this girl -- I think it's Kelly -- who is just... wow. Extremely attractive. Suspiciously attractive. I've never seen anyone who personifies Barbie like she does. I see her quite often when I play poker, even at different locations. So while I play once or maybe twice a week, I'm pretty sure she's playing 4 or more times a week, based on how often I seem to coincidentally see her. Usually she has this dude with her, and they don't seem to be romantic with each other, but I'm very curious about the nature of their relationship. Before I go on, I have to clarify that I'm not interested in this girl -- she's too "plastic", too "prissy" for me. Even if she were my type, I'm confident she wouldn't give me the time of day, and she'd probably just look blankly at me when I try to tell a joke... plus it's possible she's had some augmentation somewhere down the road, and I'm not into that... but I'm just curious because you rarely see a girl who's THAT HOT who loves to play poker and is VERY GOOD at it. It's a statistical anomaly, similar to seeing an old grandma driving a Murcielago.

Anyhow. On this particular day, aforementioned dude was not in attendance, which further adds to the novelty of this anomoly. She's obviously not playing poker because of him. I overhear her talking on the phone with someone, and she's says she's thinking of playing the 7pm game (this was during the 2pm game). So, she likes poker so much, she might be playing 2 games in a ROW on a Friday evening. Getting stranger.

So usually, the guys don't talk to her because she's so attractive. Her personality is such that she's not very talkative, so most guys don't have the guts to break through the ice. Here comes the other exception to the rule. One of the guys sitting at the table starts blatantly picking up Barbie. This guy had the guts and then some. You see, there are 12 people crowded around the table, so everything is easily heard by all.

"So do you have a boyfriend?"
"Well, sort-of."
"What do you mean, sort-of? Is he HERE?"
"Well, no. But he's actually the one who taught me how to play poker."
(Ok, so there's a clue about aforementioned dude)

They keep talking and she is pretty defensive while he is overly aggressive. Everyone at the table is listening intently because everyone is obviously curious about Barbie and it's very surprising to see someone chatting her up in such an obvious way. It's that funny sort of thing where you want to overhear everything, but don't want to be too obvious in your listening because it could make them feel self-conscious and stop talking. People were looking away or quietly staring straight ahead, not wanting to interfere, but wanting to know if the guy was going to succeed. It felt awkward and riveting at the same time. Anyhow, he continues trying to charm her, and asks her to dinner, but she politely declines.

I didn't think he was going to get a date out of it, but you really had to hand it to him for putting forth the effort. He could have talked to her during a break when you're not on stage with a spotlight on you, but he did it at the TABLE. I came away from it not knowing whether to be impressed or think of him as a complete moron.

People are interesting.

Veto Underwear instead

There seems to be some touching of your ass in public seems to be unacceptable. But what is wrong with trying to remove a wedgy. Why do people givet some of the strangest facial expressions. 10 year olds laugh. Mothers look at you shamefully like you are a seriously disturbed person. Men will cross the street away from you. All because you have your hands down the back of your pants try to excavate a piece of cloth that has gotten lodged in your butt.

Wedgies are a good reason to go commando.

I have a question about frisbees.

So while attempting some housecleaning today, I realized two things: 1.I have never learned how to use a chest of drawers, and 2.My frisbee is dirty. Which led to another thought: A lazy person, such as myself, needs a shortcut regarding cleaning frisbees. Sure, I could use a paper towel and some actual effort, or... OR... I could put it in the dishwasher or the washing machine. I could use technology! I have a feeling the results would be disasterous for either the frisbee, the appliance, or both. But oh, the possibilities! I decided to turn to a panel of experts. My friend's brother is starting up a company that allows you to ask any question for ten cents. It uses something called mturk and I've been testing it here and there. So I ask:

"Is it possible to wash a frisbee in either the dishwasher or washing machine?"

Here are my two responses:

Answer 1:
no, you needo to wash it by hand
Source: me

Answer 2:
Yes, it is possible to wash a frisbee in either machine. I do not think it would be a good idea to send it through the cloths washer but the dishwasher seems like a good choice.
Source: Deductive Reasoning

Well, I guess that clears up that little dilemma.