X-treme Energy Saving

My parents have adopted a new, aggressive policy on saving electricity. No, it's not those compact fluorescent light bulbs or purchasing energy-efficient appliances. Those are far too sensible! Every time my parents leave a room, they turn off every single appliance inside of it.

...even if I am still in the room.

Allow me to paint you a mental picture, my beloved blog reader. I was sitting downstairs watching the Steelers game with my mother recently. The game was almost over, and it was pretty apparent that the Steelers were going to be handed yet another loss. So my mother got up, turned off the television and every light in the room, and waved goodnight over her shoulder as she walked out... leaving me alone in the pitch black and missing the last three minutes of the game.

You need another example?! Fine. Let's say I was in the kitchen one evening, typing on my laptop. My father walked into the room, grabbed himself a fresh beer (Milwaukee's Best Light, of course), and then turned out all the lights in the room as he leaves.

"Hey, I'm actually still in this room!" I called out.
"You don't want all that glare on your computer screen!" was the gruff reply.

So now it's gotten to the point where there is a bitter struggle in the household about who can keep the most lights at any one time. I'll walk from room to room, engaging in short activities and then leaving all the lights on, and my parents will follow in my footsteps five minutes later turning everything off. During phase two, I'm going to run the washer and dryer every second of the day (totally empty), and leave hot irons on in random hiding places. That will teach them!

HOW TO BE THE SMARTEST PERSON ON EARTH IN JUST THREE DAYS !

I was going through a couple drawers in my old room at my parents' home and I found a bunch of old photos from my high school prom, my 16th birthday, college, etc. Going through a different drawer, I found a scrapbook that somebody had given me, but I had only partially filled.

Oh, Fate! You flighty temptress! Obviously, this day was meant for scrapbooking. I had no choice but to oblige. And rooting deeper through drawers, I found the following gem that I wrote when I was but a wee lad:

HOW TO BE THE SMARTEST PERSON ON EARTH IN JUST THREE DAYS !

Read this first!

Hello. My name is Connor J. Dolan. So you want to be a super genius? Well, then I guess I'll have to make you one. In this book are three, very short chapters. One chapter is assigned for each day you are in training. I am a person who gets right down to business. For that reason, I would like you to turn to the first chapter. Wait! Before you do, I must tell you something. If you try to finish my program before three days, you will be as you were before. So now I urge you, READ ON!

Chapters.

1. Your First Lesson

2. You're Getting Smarter

3. Your Last Lesson

About the author

So apparently, I decided I was going to create my own self help book. Who knew I was so entrepeanurial in my younger and more vulnerable years? Please notice that the "About the author" section is left blank. I guess I wanted to remain mysterious. I only wrote Chapter 1, and failed to finish the rest of my course. I guess that's why I'm only one third of a genius. By the way, I love the aptly named chapter titles. Also, the fact that in my introduction I mention how I love to get right down to business. Then I tell you to start the first chapter, but immediately tell you to wait. I'll post my insightful instructions in the next connblog entry.

Dre: A female version of "Hitch"

Dre set me up on an "almost blind date" last night. I say it was "almost" a date, because Dre told each one of us that we're single and should meet. But she apparently decided that we were incapable of human interaction without adult supervision, so she invited herself and a friend along to dinner. I guess something about me screams "I require a chaperone with girls."

I should also mention that yesterday I was experiencing one of the top 5 hangovers of my life due to the insane Christmas party I had attended the night before. Despite my temporary mental handicap, I feel like I managed to be a decent conversationalist. Here are highlights of how Dre made us feel super comfortable:

Dre: You smell like booze.

Me: What? Seriously?

Dre (trying to fan air away): Did you even shower today?

(My date is looking at me with wary, judging eyes.)

Me: YES, of course I showered! And I'm wearing cologne!

Dre: I can smell whiskey oozing out of your pores.

Dre then spent the rest of the night awkwardly and absent-mindedly putting her arm around me in the middle of conversation. One time, she was speaking, went to drape her arm around my chair but managed to catch herself at the last second, and tried to pull away. She ended up strangely touching my face with her hand and then attempting to continue with the discussion as if that were totally normal.

When the check came, Dre and I agreed to split the bill. But Dre discovered a tear in the plastic checkbook the bill was delivered in. Of course, her first instinct was to jam both our credit cards into the gap just to see if they would fit. They did. And of course, my card ended up getting trapped inside. My "date" almost had to pay for the meal before Dre tore open the checkbook and recovered the card.

I'm so glad that Dre managed to find time in her schedule to tag along. Without her, things might have been super awkward!

Coffee shop awkwardness

I'm in a Greenberry's coffee shop right now as I write this. There is a man sitting right in front of me who is getting really wrapped up in the Christmas music that's playing over the speakers. I think there may be something wrong with him to be totally honest, but it doesn't look like he's mentally retarded. He's just seriously jamming out to the Mariah Carey tunes.

He's now half-singing "All I Want For Christmas Is You". And when I say half-singing, it's like he wants to belt out the song at the top of his lungs, but he's semi-aware that he's in a public setting. But he also appears to be physically unable to resist his urge to sing this song. So this internal struggle creates a situation where he's kind of very quietly singing, but with a strange sense of urgency in his voice. It's really weird.

I'm avoiding all eye contact with him. I wish there was another table available. He was violently tapping his toes earlier with beat of "The Little Drummer Boy" and he touched my table and made it rock. I almost moved.

A Lady Gaga Christmas

I don't typically post twice in a day, but this offer is just so amazing that I needed to share. Today, Amazon.com is promoting a special Lady Gaga song "Christmas Tree" in time for the holiday season. It's free.

I'm going to allow you a moment to let the gravity of this situation sink in.

You can get a LADY GAGA song.

For. Free.

OMFG!!!

The lyrics, btw, are an undeniable masterpiece of human expression. I feel confident saying that this song is the greatest achievement of Art in all the millennia of human existence. From crude cave drawings, to Greek sculpture, to Beethoven and Mozart, to Andy Warhol, to the culminating pinnacle of creation with Lady Gaga. I don't want to give it all away, but some of the most poignant phrases include:

"Ho. Ho. Ho. Under the mistletoe. Yes, everybody knows we will take off our clothes, yes, if you want us to we will."

Also, "Oh oh, it's Christmas. My Christmas tree's delicious." I think this is symbolism, but I can't be sure.

The entire thing culminates with some dude who sounds like a cheap version of T-Pain yelling "Space Cowboy" over and over again. This has quickly become the new standard by which all Christmas music will be compared against.

Civic Duty

On Saturday night, I met up with my jolly buddy Felipe at an Irish pub in Fairfax called "The Auld Shebeen". It's one of my favorite spots in Old Town Fairfax. You know why? Because they're very discerning about who they let inside (no Italians). Felipe had never been there before but, laughing like a bowl full of jelly, he said he would put it in his navigation system.

Well, imagine my surprise when I get a call from Felipe saying that he's lost. Apparently, Google doesn't have the bar correctly listed in its mythic system of inter-tubes. If you search for The Auld Shebeen, you'll find a listing ("Now Guido-Free!") with the correct address. And if you type that raw address without the title of the establishment into Google Maps, it will properly display the location. But if you type in "The Auld Shebeen, Fairfax, VA" Google Maps suddenly has a series of seizures (much like my cousin, may he rest in peace) and decides to throw the location in the middle of a residential neighborhood like 2 miles away. Here's proof:


View Larger Map

Anyways, I found this to be unacceptable, so I used Google Maps error reporting feature and informed them of this grievous error. I will keep you posted on any developments. You can send your letters and cards of appreciation to my new address in Vienna. Yes, I have moved from my awesome pad in Arlington. I have a couple of new roommates now. They're a little older than me, but generally ok people.

5-Year UVA Reunion

I was the fortunate recent recipient of the renown, award-winning, and world-class UVA alumni magazine. My delicate fingers quivering with joy like Michael J. Fox on a cocaine high, I was flipping through the pages when I saw an ad for the upcoming 5-year reunion for the class of 2005. Naturally, I went to the website and pre-registered immediately.

During the registration process, there is a section where you can enter the name of your spouse and any children. Naturally, I put "Andrea Leung" as my spouse and "Shoa" and "David" as my two children. Hahaha! Isn't that funny? Can you imagine if Shoa and David really were siblings?! Man, that would be so weird if Shoa had some creepy, unnaturally close relationship with her brother. I know that's a ridiculous thought, but it's still hilarious to speculate...

And as a parting thought, Happy Thanksgiving. I'm going to gorge on more leftovers and pumpkin pie, then pass out. If anyone hears me giggling in my sleep, it's because I'm dreaming of all the starving African children.

New Moon

Bella: I'm kind of suicidally depressed.
Jacob: Yo. I'm abruptly emo. Let's hang.
Bella: I guess I can emotionally torture you for like 1.5 hours while tweens scream in the audience.
(Tweens: OMGGGGG!!!)
Edward: I hate life right now.
Connor: I hate life right now, too.

Digital archives... of my heart

I was recently going through some old bags of things and I found my old phone! It was a piece of crap Motorola Krzr (apparently they hate vowels) that I loathed with a burning passion, but it brought back a lot of old memories. Also, I found a lot of awesome old photos, videos and text messages on there. In the interest of sentimentality, I would like to post some of these delightful reminders of bygone years here.

On April 15th, Shiva texted me and said "Hey man thhok about pottery for picking 8p womens"
Thanks for the tips on the ladies, Shiva. You're such a player.

On April 24th, Felipe texted me with "You were single at a wedding? For shame."
Then he followed it up with "You're lame for your singledom."
And a minute later: "I am too. So ronrey."
I kind of hate and feel bad for him all at once, which is some seriously weird internal conflict! Who would have thought that text messages from a year ago would test the limits of my emotional maturity?!

On May 7th, I got a text from Andy that simply said "Love me..."
That's saaaad.

I also found an outrageous video on my phone that captures a conversation that Shiva had with Katie, Elizabeth, and myself. Sadly, I'm unable to transfer the video so I'll just need to transcribe the dialogue (which is the funny party anyways). The video kind of cuts in during the middle of a conversation, so in the background you just hear somebody mumble the word "crisis" and then this happens:

Katie: Well you stuck your fingers in his mouth, so that--
Shiva: Well, it's not a crisis...
Me: You said it was an eternal crisis!
Shiva: No, no. That's not what it was. It was like 'Why did I do that?'
Katie: Because you enjoyed it.
Elizabeth: To enjoy some sexual finger sucking.

I just want to point out that in the video, Shiva may or may not have been having an eternal crisis about sucking the fingers of a man. The gender was very clear.

Here's a picture of Felipe and Wenri dancing in Shiva's basement with their pants off. I clearly remember this was the point in the evening that I decided to say take my leave. Shiva, Felipe and Wenri all CLAIM that nothing happened that night, but I guess we'll never know for sure.

And this is a photo that I actually really, truly love. I took this in Nantucket during the Fourth of July weekend in 2008. It's the oldest windmill in North America, or something insane like that. But essentially, I'm just really impressed with the crappy camera on my Krzr phone.

Pshhh... Krzr. Wht stpd nm. Enjy plz k thnx.

Deception and consequence

Today I received an email from a "friend" of mine that was pretty obvious spam. This "friend" was trying to generate interest in a website that she had recently become involved with. I've copied the email below, with certain names edited for confidentiality:

Hello Hello!

First off, I’d like to start with a Congratulations:

Congratulations to you!  I went through my entire contact list, and when I saw your name, I immediately thought, “Yes! Connor is someone I want to keep updated about my life.”

(If I’ve misjudged you, please let me know, and I will take you off this list.)

(If I’ve accurately pegged you as caring, intellectually inquisitive, and kind, read on!)

Well, in September, I joined C-------.com, a company that specializes in interactive video.

“Praytell S---, what is Interactive Video?” you ask.

Interactive Video is video that responds to user choices.  You can see a sample on our site: www.c-------.com.   In the example, a spokesperson asks for responses to your questions.  Interactive video is great for marketing, training, and surveying in an engaging way.  Boring video and text are out, engaging interactive video is in!  The video helps create a customized viewing experience for the user.  Also, our reporting engine lets you know right away how people are responding.  So if you’re doing an interactive video of a politician having a conversation with constituents visiting the web site, you can see what issues they were interested in and what direction they leaned towards.

We are currently in the midst of building a training product, called A-----, that helps people improve their interpersonal skills in the workplace. I'm pretty excited about this.  Most people are already good with people, so just a _slight_ improvement in people skills could be worth a couple extra hundred thousand to you over the course of your career.  We include lessons and interactive roleplay exercises that are fun and encourage users to explore how to act in different business situations with people.

“S---, I must know: how is the company doing?” you implore.

Things are going great. We're now up to three full time people and a number of part-timers. We've signed several key customers, and we're smack in the middle of building interactive videos for them.  We've also partnered with some terrific professional script writers, videographers, and video editing experts. The result is that we now have the ability to deliver top quality interactive videos for all applications.

“How can I help!?” you graciously offer.

Well, we are just ramping up our marketing efforts. If you think your organization or some other organization can make use of this cool new approach to online communications, please get in touch and we'll follow-up.

We'll certainly appreciate any assistance or ideas as well!

Warm regards, "Former friend of Connor's"

I was enraged. Here is my stinging response:

Have you sent this email to each of your friends, and just ran a search and replace for the name of the person? I noticed you only mentioned my name once in the first paragraph, and the rest of it was a pretty strange boilerplate email.

It's like getting an obvious mass text message but it pretends as if it's really only addressed to you. Let me be clear, I am furious if that is the case. I'm going to dedicate the rest of my life to making sure that your new website fails terribly. I'm going to leave the most withering, awful feedback possible. So I suppose congratulations really ARE in order, S---.

Congratulations: you've just made the worst enemy of your life. I'll see you in hell.

Connor's Visit to Charlottesville

So my friend Bobby went as me for Halloween.  Part of the act included excessive chatter about UVa (go 'hoos!) and demands that everyone in the room do shots.  At first I thought he was portraying nothing more than a selective and sad caricature of myself.  But today I realized just how accurate his little bit was.

Last night, Shiva and I went out to some of my favorite watering holes in Charlottesville.  And at every one of them, we ended up doing a shot at my behest.  Stopping Shiva mid-conversation, I would simply interrupt with, "shot?", and flap my huge doe eyes until he obliged.  Bobby was right.  I love my liquor.

I also chewed out Shiva for his failing to visit UVa's gorgeous main grounds often enough, rejecting his ridiculous excuses that it's several miles from the law school and he never has class there.  I then proceeded to buy a UVa sweatshirt from Mincer's, which I realized may have been the highlight of my entire trip to Charlottesville.  It's a fantastic sweatshirt.  I was pleased with how long its sleeves are-- it's hard to find one that fits my lanky woman arms without drowning my petite body.  But the main reason I literally jumped for joy on the sidewalk by the Corner after trying it on is that I just love this school.  I was so happy to have its name temporarily tatooed across my chest.  Well, most of it, anyway-- "ersity of" is all that managed to fit on my scrawny little boy pecs.

Good job Bobby.

Disclaimer: This post was actually written by Shiva. And of course, he has betrayed me.

Label-tastic

Some of you may have noticed that I add three delightful labels to the bottom of every post I make. I try and sum up the spirit of every post with these little post-scripts of joy. It's a little extra gift for visiting this blog. Think of when the maid leaves a mint on your pillow after making the bed. Or when your boss gives you a firm, open-palm slap on the ass after presenting a report.

In a word: "Bonus".

I have an intricate, lovingly crafted system for creating these labels, by the way. Generally, I try and make two of the labels genuinely helpful in case you were searching for some specific content in a post. The third label is just a shit show. Let's just say it's an inside joke between you (dear reader) and me. And that comment is not intended for every one of my blog readers. It's only an inside joke between me and YOU. You know who you are.

You are the wind in my sales

Some people who are born into the bosom of Mother Gaia are blessed with a natural ability to make sales. They have a likable demeanor, an inviting smile, and a silver tongue. Their voice draws you in and almost lulls you into a trance. The car salesman I spoke to this morning possessed none of these qualities.

He looked like a fleshy balloon that was about to pop. He had cinched his belt tightly (wayyy too tight) around his ponderous girth, creating what is colloquially known as a "muffin top." He spotted me looking at cars from across the lot, and came huffing up the sidewalk. Sweat stains slowly expanded down his shirt as he reached out to shake my hand. His grip was slimy and greasy, as if his body were sweating out mayonnaise instead of moisture.

"Do you have any GMC Terrains?" I asked him.
"ARGHHH! SO HUNGRY!" he bellowed at me, his fat tongue rolling to one side of his bulky face. He eyed me with an expression that reminded me of my time with that African cannibal tribe.

I was lucky to get out of the dealership alive, but sadly he managed to consume one of my kidneys. Live and learn.

Can't read my p-p-p-poker face

My mother is worried about me. I know this because she believes I've gone insane and has tried to tell me many times that people love me. You might be sitting there, all alone at home, wrapped in your Snuggie, wondering why people would be worried about me. "That Connor," you say to yourself "is such a happy person. He's got a great attitude. Why would people worry about him?!"

The answer is all about a game of cards, and my inability to control my emotions while playing them. My "poker face" if you will. Allow me to explain.

I love playing Hearts. It's pretty much one of my most favorite activities of all time (the other being scrap-booking). Sometimes I play online, but more frequently I'll just play the version of the game that comes installed by default on Microsoft Windows. My goal in this scenario is to keep my win percentage at 50% or higher. It's actually really hard.

In the default Windows version of this game, you can rename your computer opponents to whatever you like. So I chose to name them after some of my work colleagues (Marina, Cassie, and Alexis). Now, whenever I play against the computer, I'll sometimes get angry when they beat me and I'll unleash a stream of exuberant profanities. But my parents don't understand the situation, and they think that I'm infuriated at my old workmates for some elaborate personal reason, and that my emotional control is slowly breaking down. I'm pretty sure this is what Lady GaGa was going through when she wrote that hit song about her poker face.

I think it was called "Just Dance" or something.

The most important decision EVER made...

Today I was on the intertubes surfing the interwebs, when I came across a product that stopped me cold in my tracks. I sad there, eyes transfixed on my computer screen. I knew right then what true love is. What people talk about when they realized that a piece of them has always been missing... but now you are finally complete.

Yes, today I have ordered a Snuggie (also known as a Slanket). This is probably the crowning achievement of my entire existence.

But as I was filling out the order form, I was suddenly paralyzed by indecision. What color Snuggie should I order? Royal Blue? Sage Green? Burgundy? I needed help from those closest to me. I sent out a mass text to every single person in my phone that said "Help! Emergency! Please call me ASAP!"

Apparently, people aren't that concerned about me because only two people responded. Anyways, through long deliberation and a length "Pro vs. Con" list, I decided to go with Royal Blue. Here's an advanced computer simulation depicting how I might look in the throes of ecstasy, wrapped in my Snuggie:

Rock Bottom.

Ok, I just finished watching the latest episode of How I Met Your Mother. There was a joke on there that led me to do research on Celine Dion (btw, thank you Canada!). That led me to YouTube, which led me to watching Celine's music video of "All By Myself."

I am alone, in my apartment. Drinking a beer. Unemployed. 1:30am. Watching Celine Dion's "All By Myself" on YouTube.

When people ask me if I've ever hit rock bottom, I'm going to remember this night.

My Celebrity List

Everyone has a list. You know the list I'm referring to. The five celebrities that you would be allowed to romance if you ever ran into them on the street. For example, Suzie has always had a thing for Kevin Federline, the winner of The Biggest Loser Season 2, Senator John McCain, R. Kelly, and Lindsay Lohan. I honestly can't fathom why she would chose four of the five on that list.

So without further ado, here's my own list:

Pam Beesly (alias Jenna Fischer). Awww, she's just so cute with that lovable "hometown girl" atmosphere.

Norah Jones. Can't you imagine her just crooning a soft jazz song to you on a rooftop balcony at night in New York City? No? I can.

Felicia Day. She's an accomplished violinist! Also, she's a hilarious writer/director/actor. And I hear that red hair is from Satan's evil oozing out of your head. Interesting.

Kristin Bell. She's cute as a button. Also, she played Veronica Mars on the hit network "The CW". So after we ate dinner and spooned, we could go solve a mystery or something.

Sarah Palin. This is just to get back at Suzie for hooking up with John McCain.

Precious P!nk problem... potentially

I went to see the Ting Tings and P!nk in concert on Monday at the Patriot Center. What did you do on Monday night? Probably nothing. You probably sat on your couch and looked at your TV and then commented "How come there's nothing good on TV on Mondays? Maybe I should just watch the new Two and a Half Men. Sighhhh." Meanwhile, I was watching the gay couple in the row behind me get drunk, dance wildly, and eventually fall halfway down the bleachers.

But this blog entry is dealing with a specific issue that occurred Monday night, and I'm not sure how to handle it. You see, Pink came on to me. In front of the entire stadium! It was so public and embarrassing and I'm not sure how she expects me to react! Pink was on stage with her dancers, singing to the entire crowd. I was enjoying the show and fun acrobatics, when things took a turn for the surreal. Quite abruptly, she turned to my side of the stadium and pointed.

Right. At.Me.

It was unmistakable. Everyone around me gasped and turned to look. I was flush with confusion. "Don't you have a boyfriend?!" I screamed down at her.

"I guess I just lost my boyfriend," she hollered back at me. Her gaze unwavering. "I don't know where he went!"

"Well, then maybe you shouldn't be looking for a new relationship so quickly," I called out. "These things take time and they can be both emotionally and financially complicated!"

"I'm gonna spend my money!" she immediately shot back, her brow furrowed in frustration at my resistance. "I'm not gonna pay his rent!"

I was, of course, sympathetic towards her. "Well, no! You shouldn't be expected to pay his rent! You need to separate yourself from a toxic atmosphere."

"I got a brand new attitude," Pink insisted to me. She was pleading, really. "And I'm gonna wear it tonight!"

"Look," I tried explaining to her. "The connection between us is pretty obvious. I mean, the entire stadium can see the spark." Everyone in the Patriot Center nodded in agreement. "But the timing just seems off. Won't your boyfriend get angry if we start dating right away?"

"I'm gonna get in trouble," she agreed with me. But after a long pause, she seemed to have made up her mind. "I... I want to start a fight!"

"Oh, Pink! My precocious Pink! That's sweet of you (in a strangely violent way), but I'm just a small-town boy and you're a big city girl! A celebrity!"

"So what?!" she screamed at me, stung by my rejection and fighting back the tears. "I'm still a rock star!"

So I guess we left things on confused note. I'm not sure how to proceed. Do I call her? Should I wait for her to call me?! Are we technically dating now, or are we still just friends? I don't want to take things to the next level with her and lose our friendship, which I value so much. Maybe I should wait a few days and then send her a long email. Gosh, rock stars are so moody and complicated. I need a nap.

Garters galore!

I've gone to a lot of weddings. I've been a groomsman multiple times (and a groom twice before, but let's keep that hush-hush). For some reason, as soon as my collective group of friends graduated from college, they all decided to get hitched and start having babies. Immediately. At 26, the vast majority of my friends are all married. This is confusing, because shows like Friends, How I Met Your Mother, and basically every other sitcom all seem to indicate that people don't find true love until well into their 30s. Is it possible that television is lying to me?

Anyways, I've noticed that a higher power seems to be sending me a message at all these events. I have caught the garter at FOUR different weddings. That's a lot. And let me also stress that I'm not diving across crowded tables to catch these airborne metaphors of future commitment. They fly through the air and land gracefully in my hands. One of them even struck me in the face.

So at this most recent wedding, I again had the garter go soaring in a tidy arc and land with a little plop into my outstretched palm. I never even moved from my initial spot on the floor. The hand of fate, perhaps? Anyways, what typically happens in a reception at this point is that the man who catches the garter puts it on the leg of the woman who caught the bouquet. As ancient legend goes, the higher you place the garter, the better luck the bride and groom will have in their marriage. It's basically a transparent opportunity for men to feel up the leg of a pretty girl. I personally find this ritual abhorrent, but I am nothing if not a traditionalist. So with a heavy heart, I resigned myself to the unwanted task of sliding a garter up a bridesmaid's leg. Curses!

But then, to my surprise, the crowd dispersed and the band started up again. I was confused. And when I get confused, I cry easily. Fighting back the tears, I ran up to the bridesmaid. "What's the situation? Are we going to partake in this time-honored tradition in just a few minutes?" is the sentence that formed in my head. But what I really said was, "WHAT THE FUCK?! Why am I not touching you right now?!" My date glowered at me from a corner as she slipped a knife up her sleeve and began moving towards the bridesmaid; murderous intent glinting in her darkened eyes.

Fearing for the bridesmaid's life at the hands of my delightful (though occasionally violent) lady companion, I went up to the bride herself to get to the bottom of this mystery. Sheepishly, the bride informed me that they weren't doing the whole "slide the garter up the leg" bit. I was shocked and appalled. This is the conversation that followed:

Connor: So... I'm not going to put this on anyone?
Bride: No, we decided not to do that.
Connor (brief pause for mental processing): So, what should I do with this?
Bride: I don't know. Whatever you want.
Connor: What would I want with your garter?
Bride: Ummm... I don't know.
(Long awkward pause.)
Connor: So... do you want it back?
Bride: Uh. Ok.

My new gf/wedding date

So some of you may be aware that I'm going to a wedding this weekend. That is to say, anyone who's anyone will be at this wedding. What's that? You didn't get an invite?! Oh no! You must not be as popular as you once thought. I got an invitation and a "plus one", no big deal.

Anyways, I'm going to this kickass wedding BUT, in a shocking twist, I will not be going stag! I can almost hear a collective groan from all the single ladies and predatory cougars who will be attending the reception. Sorry, but I'm off the market. So who is this woman that managed to lasso this lone wolf? Here she is:

You may recognize her from some hit TV documentary series she says is on NBC. Her name is Pam. She keeps insisting that her "real name" is Jenna, but that's just a little joke we have between us. I know better. So Pam and I are a hot item now. You'll probably see us on the cover of the next People magazine. You might wonder why I have a beard in the picture above. That's because Pam likes me with lots of facial hair. She braids it with beads like Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean.

And look at that face she has in the picture above. Sheer delight. She's so happy that she finally landed a real man and not that whiny Jim dude that works in her office. It's actually kind of a sore subject between us, so please don't bring him up at the wedding.

Anyways, THIS is the woman that I've been spending so much time with in the past 6 or 7 weeks. We've been going out in Chicago a lot, but I think we're going to buy an island in the Caribbean and move there. It's a secret island that only extremely beautiful people know about. So if you haven't heard about it, just look in the mirror and there's your answer as to why.

Crisis averted

The second preseason game of the Washington Capitals is tonight! I'm delirious with excitement now that hockey season has resumed! The sun seems to shine a little brighter. I've been skipping down the streets of Arlington. I find myself humming songs in the shower. And by "humming" I mean "screaming loudly until the next door neighbors bang on the wall."

Tonight, the Caps are playing against the Chicago Blackhawks. I was getting dressed today and decided to go with a daring fashion combination consisting of jeans with a brown t-shirt (I saw a model in GQ wearing something similar). As I walked past the full length mirror in my bedroom and gave myself  a little wink and a head nod, I abruptly noticed that I had haphazardly thrown on my Chicago tee!

O.
M.
G.

I almost betrayed my own sports team by wearing apparel for the away team! And why? Just to wear some t-shirt that I bought to impress a girl?! I don't even remember her name. I think it was Michelle Obama.

Anyways, in a fit of fury I tore the shirt off and burned it. And now I'm wearing a less controversial shirt that depicts a cartoon about Israeli settlements in the West Bank. Crisis averted.

Chicago: A city of murder, crime, intrigue, and piers

Guess what? This is Navy Pier. It's kind of a Chicago landmark. You might not know that if you haven't been to Chicago. I have. Many times. Are you jealous? Probably. I would be... that is, if I hadn't already been to Chicago. Many times. Loser.

Let me tell you a story about this photo. It was a warm September afternoon, and the sun smiled brightly on our beautiful faces. We're beautiful people, btw. You probably see us all the time on Perez Hilton or in the tabloids. Suzie and I had just finished donating blood to underprivileged orphans, and we were strolling along the pier eating ice cream from Haagen-Dazs.

Suddenly, a purse snatcher went tearing through the crowds (having just recently snatched a purse, obvi). Being good citizens, Suzie and I commandeered a vehicle and pursued him with due haste. An epic high speed chase commenced, which culminated in the thief's grisly death in a wood chipper. (Just between you and me, btw, it was no accident. Suzie pushed him in there.)

We celebrated this gruesome bloody massacre among the throngs of cheering "lesser people" by taking a picture of the Navy Pier sign and guzzling the last of our cookies and cream milkshakes. The end. The moral of the story? Don't steal purses, or else Suzie will brutally murder you.

Pressure cooker

I'm here with Suzie and tonight I will be meeting all her friends. In fact, her friend Rita is here right now. The pressure is on to be funny and delightful. But I'm worried that the anxiety has gotten to me and I'll crack. I mean, look at this blog post! It's not even clever. Maybe things will turn out ok and the next post will be "How Connor Got His Groove Back."

What do I do with this "Rita" person? Should I fake hit on her? What if she takes it the wrong way?! What if she takes it REALLY the wrong way and flirts back?! Then I need to tell Suzie that her friend Rita is trying to get in my pants. Damn my symmetrical features and attractive personality!! It is a blessing AND a curse. Or should I be kind of stand-offish and let them open up to me?

No! Go big or go home. I'm going to solve this the way that I should have long ago: heavy drinking. Nothing helps bonding like intoxication. Let's just hope that nobody judges me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to chug a Zima while the ladies are in the other room...

Tuesday: Mission Accomplished!

My big accomplishments today? Well, first you should know that I'm sick so I spent all day laying on the couch in sweats, chugging DayQuil until I got lightheaded, and slowly eating everything in my fridge. Gretchen is even making me homemade chicken noodle soup. But, we were about to discuss my major accomplishments today so let's not get sidetracked. Even though I'm an invalid laying in my sick misery (which my mother is convinced is swine flu, naturally) I can still achieve giddy heights.

So today I... updated my facebook profile! I added "Dexter" to my favorite shows. BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY... I changed the order of the shows so that each show was on its own separate line. For example, I don't want "Flight of the Conchords" to display as:

"Flight of the"
"Conchords"

I've been attempting to make this happen for like 8 months, but it was too hard so then I gave up. But today there's one less major life goal that I need to accomplish before I turn 30.

Upstaging the bride and groom? No big deal.

I'm going to a wedding in September. "Oh, Connor!" you might say. "Going stag to a wedding... again?!"

Haha. No, you cruel blog-stalking bitches. I'm not going stag. Not this time!! I'm going with a stone cold fox. I'm not even sure what her name is. She's some pretty young thing that I picked up at a local Greyhound bus station.

She came to the big city with a head full of smiles and a pocket full of dreams. But soon her luck ran out, so she started exotic dancing just to make ends meet. After a week long vodka bender, she woke up in the bus station where our fates intersected.

Sure, she's not exactly the type that you take home to momma, but whatever. I like her. Anyways, here's a picture of us. We're cute. Cuter than you, in any case. Burn!

Bess, I have failed you

Sweet Christ. For all my planning, I have failed you Bess Rogers. NOOOOOO!

I went on iTunes just now and I saw that my customer review was posted. But wait, why wasn't my post the number one comment? It was the most recent, so it should probably be at the top. But then I realized...

ALL THE OTHER REVIEWS GAVE HER FIVE STARS AND I ONLY GAVE HER FOUR!

I was so stingy! DAMNIT! I just thought that people sometimes give too many stars. And while I felt that her album was good, it wasn't "Five stars" good. I mean, the songs were all amazing, but some of them weren't the type that I would like to listen to every other day. Please forgive me, Bess. I didn't mean it.

My first iTunes album review! OMG!

I'm filled with nervous anticipation as my fingers brush over the keys. Instead of swift, confident keystrokes, I strike down on the pad with hesitant uncertainty. Doubt clouds my feeble mind! I quickly backspace over the two words I had just carefully crafted. They weren't eloquent enough, damnit! Beads of sweat form on my brow. I phone my family psychiatrist for an emergency session, which quickly devolves into weeping.

Am I working on my resume? Am I applying for a new job? Am I writing a wedding toast?

No, this is something else. The pressure is far more intense. This is my first album review on iTunes. A while ago, I went to a club in Clarendon called Iota and saw an artist perform there. Her name was Bess Rogers, and I thought she was amazing. Our eyes connected over the crowd as she whispered (just for me, I'm sure) "Mic check. Check, check. Can you hear me?"

Yes, Bess. I hear you.

That was last month, but I just now found the note that I made on my iPhone to buy her album, "Travel Back". And since Nic gave me an iTunes gift card for my birthday, I thought I would put it to good use. Normally, I would just pirate her album, but Bess is such a small-time artist, that I can't even steal her music. Well played, Bess.

Anyways, I was such a fan of the album, I decided to write a glowing review and submit it to iTunes. It took me about an hour. Seriously. But behold the review that I have written (I doubt a poet could even produce better):

Conn-Rating: 4 stars
Conn-Title: Worth Every Cent
Conn-Description: "Travel Back" is short, but sweet with great upbeat songs. I saw Bess Rogers live and immediately made a mental note to buy this album. "Everything to Lose" is my favorite, but each song has great merit!

Like a phoenix, risen from the ashes!

Yes, you all knew that it would happen one day or the other. Connblog, that indescribable hint of class in an otherwise crass and unfulfilling interweb, has been reborn. You may ask "Why now? Where did you go? How do I know you won't break my heart again?" These are all amazing questions, and I hope to answer them all in time. But first, I have to address something of pressing importance:

My doctor almost forgot to give me a groin exam today! I only come in once a year, and every year I'm told that I am the pinnacle of the human condition. My cholesterol? Perfection. Heart rate? It's like listening to God himself keep rhythm. Bloodwork? Cleaner than yo momma after I finish giving her a bath.

So the fact that she forgot to check "down South" is kind of a major oversight! My doctor doesn't even take my bloodwork (someone else does). All she does is ask if anything's wrong in particular, check me for moles, and then give me a friendly handshake in the nether regions. Only three things she needs to do, and she forgot one of them! And then when she realized her grave mistake, she wasn't kind or gentle either. Just because you're embarrassed, Doc, there's no reason to take out your wild emotions on my ability to make children.

Goodbye, Dr. Sindhwani. Your callous disregard has cost you a delightful patient. I'll see you in Hell.