Crazier than Fiction: A blog about Crazy Ass MFs

June Platoon

2010-01-05T17:10:00.000-08:00

So, every once in a while, I am the Crazy Ass MF in someone else's story. I am not proud of these times, but they are stories to tell. This is one of those stories. To the staff at the Ivory Cat, the security guys at the Omni Hotel in Austin, to Apostrophe, and to my friends who slept on concrete for a couple of hours, I apologize. But, without that night of turning into a Crazy Ass MF for a little bit, I never would have been able to write this story.

It was the summer of 2007, and the Texas heat was getting ridiculous. Every time I got into my car, I would sustain third degree burns from touching my all-black interior. What appeared awesome at the time of purchase now had seemed to burn off all my fingerprints. Which isn’t a totally bad thing, considering some of the shit I get myself in to.

Anyway, we all decided we were overdue for an Austin night. For a series of a few months, we would name each big night out in Austin, giving it a theme. This was “June Platoon.” Being mostly all Army wives, Army girlfriends, or Army exs, the “platoon” was very fitting. And rhyming is always a plus. June Platoon was upon us.

AJ, Tall Rachel, E-Dub, Mel and I drove down to Austin and headed downtown. We started our night at Buffalo Billiards on Sixth Street. I was wearing a short denim mini-skirt (my summer basic issue) and my white sparkly halter top, lovingly nicknamed “Old Faithful.” Whenever I have worn this top, awesomeness has ensued. Foreshadowing, no?

We spent most of the night at our favorite piano bar, the Ivory Cat. Most nights here are blurry in my mind, but I know for a fact that at some point, we screamed along to "Here I Go Again On My Own." (Only the best piano bar song of all time).

After we closed down the bar, Mean Rachel had called up one of her cab drivers who was on speed dial. This is not a joke, Mean Rachel has at least two cab drivers in retainer at all times. This has saved our asses too many times to remember. Literally. Ali, the newest cab driver to join the Mean Rachel drinking circuit, had come to pick us up. The problem was, as it always was, that there were too many of us to fit into one cab. Texas law states that only four passengers can be in a cab at one time. When you roll with a posse of at least five women at all times, this poses a problem. Tonight we were rolling six deep. Ali was awesome though, he said all of us could ride together. This seemed like a fantastic idea until the logistics of us all fitting into the cab came to fruition.

Mean Rachel and I demanded a bathroom stop. Ali took us to the Omni hotel to use the facilities. We scurried to the bathroom and talked about how much the cab ride home was going to suck. I was lying across the laps of my friends, and though I love them all, it wasn’t comfortable. Mean Rachel and I called our friends and told them to leave without us, and we would have another cab come to pick us up. We figured we would be able to get a cab in the next ten minutes or so, and we’d all be back at Mean Rachel’s apartment in no time.

This is when things progressed from typical drunk night to legendary drunk shenanigans. After MR and I left the bathroom, my phone rang. It was my friend who we will call Apostrophe. He had joined the Army after high school, got stationed at Ft. Hood, and the rest was history. Our friendship consisted of drunk dials and random run-ins at various drinking locations. Tonight Apostrophe was calling me to tell me he was really wasted and he and his friends needed a ride home. I told him I was wasted too, and wouldn’t be able to provide a ride.

Now the next part of the story that I told Apostrophe is something I am not proud of. Women, for whatever reason, have a tendency to exaggerate a little bit while intoxicated. And we also like to play the damsel in distress every once in a while. So when Apostrophe asked, “Why are you hanging out at the Omni?” my reply was… “Because Rachel and I just lost all of our friends and we have no idea where they are and we ARE STRANDED IN DOWNTOWN AUSTIN!” Why? I don’t know. Apostrophe then shouted to his friends an even more exaggerated version of my already exaggerated tale, something to the effect of Rachel and me wandering aimlessly down I-35 with no shoes on. He put me on speakerphone, and the boys who two minutes ago were calling me for a sober ride were now determined to drive to Austin to pick us up. When I realized the shitstorm I had just started, I did the “my phone is about to die” bit, and hung up on Apostrophe and his crew.

When I turned around to find Mean Rachel, she was chatting up the two Omni security guards. They have a little security booth that sits in the middle of the lobby. One thing led to another, and Mean Rachel and I were sitting behind the booth, watching the security cameras, and eating all of these guys’ popcorn. Watching the security cameras was fun. Especially when we found out that Dennis Quaid and Mark Wahlberg were staying at the hotel that night. It was on. We were then in full force to see these guys on camera, track them down, then see what happened. Honestly, what do you think would happen if Mean Rachel and I ran into Dennis Quaid and Marky Mark at the Omni hotel? If they didn’t run away in fear, it would probably get pretty steamy.

Much to our dismay, we never saw Dennis Quaid or Marky Mark on the security cameras. Every time the phone would ring at the security desk, I would ask the guys, “Do you want me to get that?” Each time, they would politely say “No.” A call came through their radios that a vehicle had been broken in to in the parking garage. They both took off to check it out. Mean Rachel and I said we’d stay behind and watch the surveillance to get clues. These were actual things we were saying to the poor guys. On the camera, we saw who we thought would be a suspect. We named him Doughboy. We followed Doughboy through the hotel’s surveillance cameras, and sadly, he committed no other crimes… that we saw. I’m still convinced that Doughboy was the culprit.
When the security guys returned back to the desk, we started asking them a lot of questions about their profession. One of them looked like John Travolta. We told him this, and he rolled his eyes as though it is something he hears all the time. I can understand his frustration, it’s how I feel when people tell me I look like Alanis Morisette. The other guy, who did not look like a celebrity, took my camera and snapped our picture stating, “You all are going to want to remember this.” Even though he was a stranger, he knew us so well. The photo is of Mean Rachel and I both pointing at the surveillance screens, deep in thought. We really got into this.

An hour and a half and a bag of popcorn later, Mean Rachel and I realized that we still had not left the Omni. Our friends had probably made it back to her apartment over an hour ago, and, well… didn’t have a key to get in to the apartment. It was now nearing 4 in the morning. We finally got into a cab and made the trip to Mean Rachel’s apartment.

The scene outside her apartment was humorous. Tall Rachel was leaned up against a wall giving us the dirtiest look she could muster up. Mel, E-Dub, and AJ were passed out on the concrete, using purses and Whataburger bags as pillows. There were French fries, hamburgers, and fountain drinks strewn about the concrete. Mean Rachel and I knew they were all pissed. All of them except Mel, because she wasn’t even coherent. All we could think to say was, “Did you guys happen to get us anything at Whataburger?”

If there is a look that says, “Fuck you,” Tall Rachel gave it to us right then.

Where oh where have all the Crazy Ass MFs gone?

2009-09-29T20:11:00.001-07:00

It seems like for the past several weeks, I have only been encountering normal or quasi-Crazy Ass MF folk not worthy of blog entries. I don't know what this is about.

Actually, there have been a few instances that I would love to blog about, but the Crazy Ass MFs are people who I actually know, or are a friend of a friend, etc, and it might not be nice to blog about them. Agh... since when do I have awareness about others' feelings?! Especially the feelings of a Crazy Ass MF.

Anyhow, I'm hoping to have a Crazy Ass MF encounter soon, as blogging about them is quite enjoyable for me.

*sigh* Pray for me.

I'm glad it's not just me!

2009-09-10T12:25:00.001-07:00

My friend Eva, who is currently on vacation, just posted this gem as her status update on Facebook. Though I feel her pain for running into a Crazy Ass MF, I am ecstatic that I am not the only person who encounters these people.

"Ok so highlight of the trip so far (before it's even begun).... Weird ass foreign lady chasing me around the airport bathroom trying to get me to tweeze her chin hair- WTF?!? The only thing I could think of was pointing at my eyes and shaking my... head, saying "I can't see well up close- sorry..." Is facial hair removal of strangers a customary courtesy in other countries? Please tell me so I can avoid visiting those places... That was f'in weird... and uncomfortable!!"

Poor Eva!

WTFWJD?

2009-08-25T19:39:00.000-07:00

So, this is a Crazy Ass MF story that happened to my mom and brother moments after I left a parking lot last week.

I also stole the title of this blog from a license plate that my co-worker saw, thus enforcing my theory that the DMV is full of Satanists and perverts. But, it fits so perfectly with the Crazy Ass MF in this story, I had to use it!

I was off work last Wednesday, so I got together with my mom and brother to eat lunch at one of the best Mexican restaurants in town, Santiago's. While eating lunch, I managed to bitch slap my giant cup of coke off of the table while talking about how my left eye has astigmatism, while my right eye does not. It was hilarious. That's just a side note.

Anyhow, I drove separately from my mom and brother. I backed out of the parking lot and went on my merry way home. The next day I would find out that upon my departure, a Crazy Ass MF bore her ugly head to my family.

After I backed out, my mom attempted to do the same. But this was thwarted by a car full of women who were also backing out and failed to see that my mother was doing the same. My mom stopped her car and honked the horn to alert the other driver that they were about to collide.

The other driver, the Crazy Ass MF, stuck her arm out the window... and flipped my mom and brother off.

A few things make this more than your average "getting flipped the bird in a parking lot" scenario. One, my mom takes no shit from anyone. For instance, one time on the way home from my softball practice, another driver honked at my mom and flipped her off to turn into a busy intersection that she couldn't turn into. My mother put the car in park, grabbed my Louisville Slugger from the backseat, got out of the car and walked toward the other driver asking if she had a problem. I think she may have even taken a practice swing to make sure the other driver didn't have anything more to say. My mom is where I get the attitude from. This woman does not eff around. Secondly, my brother is a Catholic priest. And, on this particular day, he was dressed up in full priest gear. It's not every day you see a car full of (Hispanic women, nonetheless) flipping off a Catholic priest.

Obviously, my mom wasn't going to let this just slide. Instead, she decided to pull around and pass the other driver's car, meanwhile having my brother turn fully forward to show off his outfit. Not only did he just flash his collar, he also blessed them. All of the women in the other car then quickly made the sign of the cross and bowed their heads.

My advice to all Crazy Ass MFs is to always be sure you aren't dealing with your boss, a law enforcement official, or a member of the clergy before you flip the bird. In this case, these Crazy Ass MFs will now probably go to confession and have to say, "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I flipped off a priest. And his mom."

Crazy Ass MF update: Fat Elvis

2009-08-16T08:18:00.000-07:00

Last night after leaving Comedy Works, I was in the parking garage elevator with one of my friends. I then looked over at one of the couples that was in the elevator with us, and realized it was none other than Fat Elvis and his woman!

He didn't have on his sunglasses, but he did have on a white zip-up hoodie with bling all on the back of it, as well as bright white flip flops.

He and his woman were in his convertible, with the top down of course, behind me on the way out of the parking garage. We snapped this picture and though you can't see Fat Elvis, you can see the outline of his woman's crazy ass fried blonde hair. And that my friends, is enough for me.

Operation Crazy Ass MF

2009-08-13T20:08:00.001-07:00

On Sunday I went to Warped Tour and saw a lot of good bands. I also saw a lot of teenagers dresses like fools. I have finally reached that age where I don't understand what teenagers find cool. During most of the bands we watched, the kids were taking their shoes off to throw them on stage. I then saw a bunch of barefoot kids running around, after obviously throwing their shoes at some band, looking like a dumbass. I saw girls in tutus and guys wearing striped cloth gloves like they were emo hobos. I thought I had seen all of the worthless fashion choices, until later in the day when I was standing behind this guy:

So, the scenario with this guy is one of two things:

1.) He got straight off the plane from Iraq and went to Warped Tour with his underage girlfriend.
2.) He willingly chose to wear ACUs to Warped Tour.

Either way, he's a Crazy Ass MF.

Maybe it's because I was married to someone in the Army and lived in a military town, but wearing ACUs out in public when you are not required by your commander is beyond a fashion faux paux. It's one of the deadly sins of military douchebaggery.(I need one of my Army peeps to confirm what these are anyway. They look like ACUs but are brown. Are these the new DCUs or not even real military clothing or what?)

And let's say that dude did just roll off of a plane from Iraq or Afghanistan and rolled up his pants to go to Warped Tour. What a freaking fool. Go home and change into your civvies first. I don't think this is the case because he was wearing a dark green field cap that I have never seen a solider wear... ever. I think this Crazy Ass MF was putting together some kind of punk-military chic outfit for the concert.

All in all, he was most definitely the worst dressed Crazy Ass MF at Warped Tour... which is quite the big honor in a place where 95% of the crowd is dressed like Hot Topic threw up all over them.

Viva Las Crazy Ass MFs!

2009-08-06T16:49:00.000-07:00

Last night Andie and I were eating dinner at a restaurant that will remain anonymous. The only reason it will remain anonymous is because one of the managers, who is quite nice and knows Andie well, requested that when I posted this story on my Crazy Ass MF blog, I did not mention the name of the restaurant. Why? Because he did not want the place being associated with the Crazy Ass MF I will now refer to as "Fat Elvis."

Andie and I were enjoying some fabulous guacamole, tacos, and lobster enchiladas when she said to me, "You need to look at that couple sitting over there." I looked up and ask who she was referring to. She pointed and said, "See the chick with the hair? That's them." Upon first glance of this couple, I broke out in uncontrollable laughter. Upon second through twentieth glance of this couple, I still broke out into uncontrollable laughter.

He was wearing linen pants and a button down shirt, paired with sunglasses that looked just like these, but bigger:

He also had on a watch that looked like this, but again, bigger:

His girlfriend was quite the dish, as well. She, as my Grandfather would have said, looked like she had been "rode hard and put away wet." I guess that's Kentucky-speak for "looks like a dirty, dirty whore." Anyhow, she had a face that can only be described as "fugly." She and Fat Elvis were drunk and proceeded to make out on the patio of this restaurant.

As Andie and I were continuing to laugh at this redonkulous couple with the very friendly Texan(represent!)sitting next to us, we noticed that Fat Elvis was having a very intense conversation with Manager. Fat Elvis then handed Manager a business card. When Manager came back our way, we asked him what that conversation had been about. In a nutshell, Fat Elvis needed to speak to Manager to ask him for Bears vs. Broncos tickets. We still have no idea why Fat Elvis thought he could get Bears vs. Broncos tickets from the manager of the restaurant that will remain anonymous.

On our way out the door, the friendly Texan mentioned to us that "Fat Elvis still has not left the building!"

Also as we were leaving, Manager showed us the "business card" that Fat Elvis gave him. It wasn't so much a business card as it was a business-card shaped piece of paper with a picture of a beach, Fat Elvis's real name, his phone number, and e-mail address. Andie asked Manager, "What is this?? Where does he work??" To which Manager replied, "I don't know, a Corona commercial?"

Manager also told us that Fat Elvis is a regular there. A week or so ago, he was there wearing a crochet vest, matching shirt, and white slacks and looked like he had just stepped out of Boyz II Men music video.

Oh Fat Elvis, will you sing "On Bended Knee" for me?

The DMV is trying to make people look like Crazy Ass MFs!

2009-07-30T17:19:00.000-07:00

When I bought my red Mazda 3 in 2005, I thought having the license plate "666-SON" was hilarious. Though my ex did tell the DMV that we'd be unable to accept that... um, unique license plate because we are Catholic and frankly, such a license plate might damn us to hell. They begrudgingly took it back and I ended up with something much more blah.

Then I met Mean Rachel, who has a Scion TC and a license plate that read "666-HXX." She decided to get rid of this evil plate and change it to "OBAMA." That's right, Mean Rachel has a Texas license plate that reads, "OBAMA." Her tires were slashed during the election.

Anyhow, I thought I had seen it all in the license plate department. Until today, I thought that the DMV was just full of Satanists. But, as it turns out, the DMV has a whole other type of Crazy Ass MF at work: the pervert.

Today, my cousin Michele posted a picture on Facebook of her newly issued license plate:

Oh, and did I mention Michele is a sixth grade teacher? She's already anticipating that her students will assume her side job is as a sex line operator. She begged the DMV to take them back and re-issue. They said no.

Thank you, DMV, for either being a group of malicious Crazy Ass MFs who think up not-so-subtle ways to offend, OR being a group of idiotic Crazy Ass MFs who are too stupid to realize that some 6 digit combinations make normal people look like Satanists and Sex Line operators.

Port Aransas Crazy Ass MF story #1: Nascar Nation

2009-07-27T16:36:00.001-07:00

Memorial Day weekend 2007 was one of the most fun weekends I've ever had in my life. I went to Port Aransas, Texas with three of my friends for a little getaway. The weekend turned into one of those legendary weekends that none of us will ever forget - even though there are parts of it that we will never remember. The legend of this weekend was brought to us in part by the myriad Crazy Ass MFs we encountered while in Port Aransas.

We arrived late on a Friday night, and our first day on the beach was Saturday. The weather was perfect. The sun was shining, the temperature was comfortable. We were in our bikinis, had our lawn chairs set up, and a lot of alcohol in a Styrofoam cooler to consume. What we did not realize, though, was that glass containers were not allowed on the beach. Our drinking was quickly halted when Mean Rachel was given a citation from this cop:

After the cop issued the citation, he also confiscated all of our alcohol to "dispose of." Right. We all know that our glass-bottled alcohol supplied his party for at least two days.

So there we were, bikini clad, on vacation, at the beach, with no alcohol. I can't imagine a better definition of travesty than that scenario. Mean Rachel and I decided that we would venture down the beach in search of alcohol. We had no other choice.

About 200 yards down from where we had set up our chairs, there was a group of men who had quite the impressive little set-up. A tent (with the Texas flag printed on it), a game of horseshoes, a truck blasting country music from its stereo, and most importantly - coolers filled with alcohol. They were all probably 15-20 years older than us. They were not cute. They were rednecks. Despite all of that, we wandered up to them to make friends with these Crazy Ass MFs that we named "Nascar Nation."

As soon as they saw us, it was like someone had presented them with buried treasure. After all, we were two 24 year old half-naked women asking them what they were up to. If only they knew it was solely because we wanted their booze.

So, my favorite out of the group was a guy who called himself Stoney. Take a look at how Stoney reacts to Mean Rachel's arm around him:

And look at Stoney cheesin' when I made the poor decision to be photographed with him:

Stoney was pretty harmless. But his friend Victor, that was another story. Victor took an immediate liking to Mean Rachel. The kind of immediate liking that made me wonder if he was going to kidnap her and kill her. Do you see that twinkle in his Crazy Ass MF eyes???

He demanded that Mean Rachel take a look at his brand new truck. Finally to appease him, she sat in the driver's seat, let me take this picture, and then we blew that Nascar Nation stand as fast as we could.

Their alcohol tasted like shit, by the way. Crazy Ass MFs don't know how to mix drinks very well.

Crazy Ass MFs find inspiration at Inspriation Point Park

2009-07-24T10:16:00.000-07:00

It's becoming quite apparent that my recent move has brought an abundant amount of Crazy Ass MFs into my life. One of the big selling (or shall I say, leasing) points of my new place was that just two houses away is an awesome park. Since my dog Belle is already on a diet and Bailey certifiably has dog A.D.D., this park was a godsend into our little life. Each day I take the pups for a walk around Inspiration Point Park and they love it. My ever-expanding ass seems to enjoy it too.

But, there's a downside. Isn't there always? In the month that we have been visiting this park, we've come across quite a few Crazy Ass MFs. I shall tell you about them now:

The Dancing Crazy Ass MF
I was driving down my road and stopped a stop sign waiting to turn into a mound of traffic on Sheridan, when a Crazy Ass MF came to my passenger window and started doing a dance for me. He was shirtless and looked kind of like a ninja would if the ninja was all cracked out. It was a strange kind of dance that I can hardly explain. He was moving his arms as though he was an Octopus and making frightening eye-contact with me. I conspicuously locked my doors. He then moved behind my car and started doing the dance so I could see him in my rear view. He then took off running into Inspiration Point Park and started doing the dance for a tree. That's the last I saw of him.

When I told my parents about this Crazy Ass MF later that day, my dad said, "Maybe he was trying to pay homage to Michael Jackson by doing the 'Thriller' dance." I then proceeded to show my dad what the "Thriller" dance is to clear things up. Oh, did I mention I was doing this in my brother's hospital room as he was waking up from surgery?

The Talking Crazy Ass MF
One day while walking the pups through the park, I noticed that there were two men hanging out toward the outlook area of the park that has a "breathtaking" view of I-70. You can see some mountains too. Anyhow, one guy was just leaning over minding his own business. The other guy, the Crazy Ass MF, was sitting up on the railing kind of talking to himself. My dogs who have never demonstrated the instinct to sense danger (like when someone was breaking into my old house and they never muttered a sound), began growling in this Crazy Ass MF's direction. Bailey started to make her Cujo sounds that she generally reserves for when she is chasing a bumble bee around the house. At this point, I was fully committed to having to walk past the Crazy Ass MF. He was swaying side to side, mumbling to himself with his eyes closed. I walked past him as fast as I could. I hope that his swaying didn't get too much more out of control.. if he fell over the railing, he would have plowed into someone's backyard. I hope those people had Crazy Ass MF insurance.

The Invisible Crazy Ass MF
Last night I was walking the pups through the park and decided not to venture on to the path, but to stay in the grassy knoll area that is visible from our house. The dogs enjoy frolicking around this area and every once in a while, I will take my flip flops off and enjoy the Kentucky Bluegrass. Well, my friends, this will no longer be the case.

As we were walking through the grass, I saw something laying on the ground. I pulled the dogs closer because Belle is especially notorious for eating anything in sight. Last week, I had to wrestle a squirrel carcass from her mouth. Tasty. I wanted to see what I was dealing with before Belle ingested it. I'm glad I checked because it was a bunch of gnarly-looking used syringes. "OH HOLY SHIT!" I exclaimed. I knew that someone needed to pick them up... but um, I was not going to be the person to do that. I proceeded to freak out for another good while. I wondered if the Crazy Ass MF (who apparently was also high on something other than life) was hiding behind a tree watching. I decided to leave it all alone and go home.

The best part of this was that no more than 5 feet away from this scene was a trash can. If you're a Crazy Ass MF who is going to the park to shoot up, at least make use of the trash can... jeez... some Crazy Ass MFs are so inconsiderate!!!

I am positive that Inspiration Point Park will be the subject off many more Crazy Ass MF blogs to come.

A picture of a Crazy Ass MF is worth... not a lot.

2009-07-22T18:18:00.000-07:00

In November 2007, something tragic happened. The piano bar on Sixth Street in Austin, The Ivory Cat, closed unexpectedly. This was tragic because it was the bar where everyone knew our name, to say the least. Mean Rachel and I found out about it closing through a Myspace bulletin or something of the sort and immediately rushed downtown to see if the rumor was true. Much to our chagrin, it was. We were given the confirmation by two Austin police officers who were stationed on Sixth Street that night. They also told us that they would turn a blind eye when we noticed that the upstairs door to the Ivory Cat was wide open. They were pretty cool.

But before we noticed the door was open, we were peering through the windows to catch a glimpse of the inside. Someone had laid flowers in one of the window sills outside of the bar. We aren't sure if this was someone paying their respects to the bar or what. Anyhow, while Rachel and I were processing all of this information, we were greeted by this Crazy Ass MF:

You know, up until now I always remembered this woman as some homeless lady that stumbled upon us. Now, I am realizing that she wasn't homeless, she was just a straight up Crazy Ass MF! Look at that toy guitar! That thing is badass. No homeless person would just have that. And look at how clear her skin is. If she was homeless, she would have meth face going on! What is that, a plastic mini-Christmas tree in her left hand? That wouldn't last a minute on the streets of Austin.

So, as we are talking with her, this Crazy Ass MF rolls up on the scene:

Crazy Ass MF #1 gives a seductive winkity-wink face while Crazy Ass MF #2 tries his damndest to be a hip American dude - giving an awkward thumbs up. At what, I do not know.

This guy was from Scotland and was visiting his uber-douchy friend (also a Crazy Ass MF) who I sadly, don't have a picture of. He looked Craig Ferguson would if he got all chubbs on us. These Crazy Ass MFs were not so much intrigued with the sadness of the Ivory Cat closing as they were interesting in seducing Mean Rachel and me. This, even on a night the IC was still open, would not have been successful. I don't remember how we ended up ditching them. Perhaps Mean Rachel can help me remember.

What I learned from this night was that the best kind of Crazy Ass MFs are the ones who will let you photograph them.

Boulder, Colorado: A breeding ground for Crazy Ass MFs

2009-07-20T17:10:00.000-07:00

I hate Boulder. I'm not just saying that because I went to CSU and Boulder is the home of our rival CU, I really do hate Boulder. I only go there once a year. Because the scenery is breathtaking, the drive to Boulder always makes me wonder why I hate the place so much. "Give it another chance," I tell myself. That all goes out the window somewhere between Baseline and Arapahoe Ave.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to Boulder with three friends to see a great band called The Audition. Steph and Bryce had heard about them when they lived out in NYC and were giddy with child-like joy when they found out The Audition would be playing a show in Colorado. Of course, because everything has a catch, the show was in Boulder. But, the band is great, so that made it ok for us to go to Boulder. We weren't happy about it, though.

We arrived in Boulder a little bit early and had no interest in seeing the first two of three opening bands. Instead, we ventured in pursuit of falafel. The four of us sat on the sidewalk eating our falafel when a guy wearing a Teenage Mutant Turtles t-shirt sat on the bench across from us.

He was by himself, though shortly after sitting down on the bench, he appeared to be reliving a conversation in his head. Equipped with facial expressions, nodding, and the mouthing of a few words, this guy was pretty close to having a conversation with himself. Then, he got up and walked toward us, all the while morphing into a Crazy Ass MF. He stepped in front of Bryce and said, "I want to buy your hat."

Bryce, without missing a beat said, "Ok. For $350."

The Crazy Ass MF did not like this response. He told Bryce he was being unreasonable. That he was being ridiculous - that $350 for a hat was just out of the question! He then lectured Bryce for being rude. The Crazy Ass MF was only trying to be courteous by offering to buy the hat that never once was deemed "for sale" by the hat wearer. The Crazy Ass MF stormed off.

We were finishing our falafel when the Crazy Ass MF made another appearance. This time, he addressed all of us and said, "You f'ing high schoolers. Just sitting there on a bench!!!" He stormed off again.

We were super-duper confused by this one, mostly because we are all at least 25 years old. High schoolers, Crazy Ass MF? You're the one wearing the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt, dude.

We were laughing at this when two Crazy Ass MFs reminiscent of this video came walking out of the store. One was wearing plaid shorts and a polo with a popped collar. The other was wearing lime green shorts, a green polo, and white Kanye-wannabe sunglasses. It was hard to stifle our laughter. These two Crazy Ass MFs looked at us snickering at their ridiculousness and said, and I quote: "Fuckin' high schoolers... we're Frat-tastic!." That you are, Crazy Ass MFs, that you are. We never figured out why, exactly, two different groups of Crazy Ass MFs believed us to be high schoolers. That, I suppose, will always remain a mystery.

Only moments later, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Crazy Ass MF would come strolling by again. This time, he extended his little Crazy Ass MF hand to Bryce and apologized for being a weeny. That isn't the word that he used, but you get the idea.

See you next year, Boulder.

Crazy Ass MF check, one two.

2009-07-19T13:09:00.000-07:00

Just a couple hours ago, I got home from a great weekend in Chillicothe (said Chilly-koth-eeeeee), Illinois with two of my best friends, AJ and Rachel. We had a ton of fun and, as per usual when traveling, I encountered a Crazy Ass MF or two along the way.

The adventure began when my alarm didn't go off on Friday morning at 4:30 a.m., and I instead sat up in my bed at 5:30 a.m., knowing without a doubt that I had overslept. I raced to the airport and somehow made it in time. While riding he train to my departure concourse, a guy standing next to me said that he was about to miss his flight to Vegas for a bachelor party and that he was actually from California. He told me which gate he had to get to, and it happened to be the gate next to mine, a.k.a. the two gates the farthest down the concourse. His flight was leaving before mine so I told him he was going to have to run, but he wouldn't be alone, because my dumb ass would be doing it too. As soon as the train doors opened he and I both took off running up the stairs and onto the concourse. I was dodging small children and luggage when I looked back to see that my running partner had fallen behind. He was hunched over in pain and shouted "I can't breathe!" I shouted back, "Yeah, altitude! K bye!!" I kept running and made my flight. I am fairly certain that Crazy Ass MF missed his flight to Vegas.

After that adventure, I had another chance to test out my running skills in Omaha. Then I was in Chicago. I wish I had taken a notebook to write some notes on all the Crazy Ass MFs I saw there, but here are the highlights:

- A mid-20s woman carrying a stuffed dolphin through the airport

- A guy who looked like he stepped straight out of the Dick in a Box music video to ask me, "Hey, where didja get yo pretzel at?" I directed him toward the Auntie Annie's and he said, "yeeeah, that looks good." He lingered for a few more ridiculously awkward moments before taking off, in the wrong direction, to Auntie Annie's

My favorite group of Crazy Ass MFs of the entire trip was this shitty band playing at a shitty bar in Peoria. I never actually heard them play music, but I did hear their 20 minute long sound check that went something like this:

"Mic check one, two. One, two. Two. Mic check one, two. Do you hear that? You got that? Mic check, one two. One, two. Mic check. One. Two. Two. Two. Mic check, one.... one, two. Mic check. Did you get that? I still hear it. One, two. Mic check. One. Two. Two. Two. Two."

Meanwhile, some Crazy Ass MF girl at this shitty bar had her Chihuahua with her. It was the first time I ever wished that I worked for the Health Department. Between the Crazy Ass MF who thought she was Paris Hilton and the Crazy Ass MF band that was so shitty they have to do their own (useless) sound checks, we had to get out of that bar.

The rest of that night will not be written about on this blog because 1.) I don't remember a whole lot of it and 2.) Rachel, AJ and I would be the Crazy Ass MFs in question.

The night I bitch slapped a crazy ass MF

2009-07-16T22:34:00.001-07:00

In April, I reunited with my four best pals in Austin, Texas for a weekend of debauchery. AJ, E-Dub and I all moved away from Texas a year ago and Mean Rachel and Tall Rachel stayed there to hold down the fort. We promised each other that we'd plan a reunion each year so we could hang out and relive old times.

AJ and I stayed our first part of the trip with Tall Rachel in Killeen. All I remember from this part of the trip are these facts:

- Rachel's crock pot was broken
- I beat AJ with a swimming pool noodle outside of Rachel's apartment
- I had a bad stomach ache occur when I was completely shitty wasted and thought I was dying
- AJ couldn't drive Rachel's car because it's a stick. I couldn't drive it because there was a warrant out for my arrest in Texas at the time.

Obviously, things in Killeen got a little "off da chain" (to use some vernacular of the area). By the time we made it to Austin, I was in no shape to be drinking.

The five of us walked around 4th street and settled in at this country bar that opened up next to the Marq. It was a nice spot that we could sit around and actually talk to each other. The night didn't get too crazy. I didn't vomit. Overall, it was a success.

As we were leaving the bar, Mean Rachel called the cabbie that she's had on speed dial for over a year. His name is Ali, and he has picked us up in many states of consciousness in all areas of Austin. One time, he even picked up E-Dub in Pflugerville. Mapquest that shit and you'll see what I mean.

As we were waiting for Ali, this Crazy Ass MF comes up to me and says, "Will you please slap me across the face?" I was sober as could be, so I told him no, I would not slap him across the face. My friends told him that he was quite lucky he had caught me while sober, otherwise he'd already be laid out on the cement. Again, he asked me to slap him across the face. Again, I told him no.

Then, he leaned in and said, "Look, I'm about to go meet up with my ex and I am kind of drunk. I need some sense smacked into me before I see her. I think she wants to get back together and that's not a good thing." STILL, I told him that I wouldn't slap him across the face, though I had some serious temptation.

He turned to my friends and started telling them his story. He was droning on and on about his ex girlfriend and why it would be a bad idea for them to get back together. I hardly care about my own problems most of the time, so it's really hard to care about someone else's. Meanwhile, I saw Ali pull up to the curb to pick us up. The Crazy Ass MF was showing no signs of shutting up. So, as he was turned slightly away from me talking to my friends, I slapped him across the face good and hard. Immediately, everyone fell silent. A beat later, we had all burst into laughter and the Crazy Ass MF took his hand to his cheek. He looked at me with disbelief that I had actually hit him and said, "I think I have a crush on you right now."

We all piled into Ali's cab and left the Crazy Ass MF on the sidewalk. Ali asked how our night was, and between fits of laughter AJ said, "Chris just bitch slapped some guy!" I waved at the Crazy Ass MF, who I am sure was back together with his ex girlfriend within 10 minutes of my hand striking his face.

Pedophiles and Potato Salad

2009-07-15T16:04:00.000-07:00

The house I moved into 4 weeks ago is lacking one minor item. If by "minor item," I mean "major appliance." I do not have a stove. Long story short, the rental company remodeled the entire house and told me they were waiting to install the stove until I moved in. I moved in, there was no stove, and the rental company told me I was S.O.L and to go buy my own stove. Because I have no desire to own a stove, I currently have no stove. So, for the past few weeks I have been faced with the challenge of purchasing food items that only require a microwave.

So there I was at King Sooper's (for you Texas people, this is the equivalent of the HEB), shopping for some food. I had the brilliant idea to go to the deli and get some pre-made food that I could either eat straight from the fridge or microwave. Namely, I wanted some freakin' potato salad.

The deli had a long wait, probably 7-10 people. I took this time to meander around to look for what other food I wanted besides potato salad. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a tall older man looking me up and down. He was probably in his 60s and was wearing oxygen. He also had on an aquamarine t-shirt that looked like he snatched from Napoleon Dynamite's closet. As I milled around, the old man did not stop watching me.

Finally, I got sick of it and looked directly at him with the "What you talkin' about Willis?" kind of look. That is when the old man turned into a Crazy Ass MF.

This is what he said to me: "I like your panties. You wear them well."

I thought I misheard him. So I begrudgingly asked him to repeat himself. He said again, "Your panties. I like them. They look good on you."

That time I heard it loud and clear and was immediately confused as to what the HELL this Crazy Ass MF was talking about. I was wearing shorts and a tank top and was fully covered. There was no possible way that the Crazy Ass MF could have seen my panties to even comment on. He was just being a Crazy Ass MF. Especially since most strangers I come across think that I am 17, this whole experience was even more disturbing because I am certain that the Crazy Ass MF believed me to be a minor, as well.

You've heard that while feeling threatened, people have the Fight or Flight instinct. I am 100% fight, all the time. I've thrown a few punches in my day, and they were good. So what did I do when faced with this Crazy Ass MF? Yeah, I ran.

I don't know what makes me the saddest about this Crazy Ass MF encounter - the fact that someone's grandpa is out preying on young women at the King Sooper's deli, or the fact that I went home with nothing but a bag of cheddar cheese, a bag of mozzarella cheese, cottage cheese, and Cheez-Its.

Are crazy ass MFs the only people who shop at Walgreen's? Depends.

2009-07-14T21:01:00.000-07:00

On Sunday I went to my local Walgreen's to refill my prescription of what I call the "miracle drug." It's known on the street as AcipHex. Without it, I can't drink alcohol and I can't eat pizza. Now you know why I call it the "miracle drug." My monthly trek to refill this prescription is usually uneventful. Not this month, my friends. Not this month.

As I walked toward the back of the store where the pharmacy is located, I heard some kind of altercation happening between two men. When I got to the pharmacy, I saw that a customer was yelling at an employee behind the counter of the pharmacy. Though disputes are not uncommon in stores, I knew this one would be entertaining. Why? Because the customer in question had a cart full of Depends.

The customer was a male who was about 50 years of age. Much too young, in my opinion, to be wearing Depends. But what do I know about incontinence and adult diapers? SNL Fans might call these "Oops I Crapped My Pants." The altercation was already full swing when I came upon it, and I was sad I had missed the beginning of it. I am not sure what had prompted the customer (hereforeto known as the Crazy Ass MF) to get upset over his purchase of multiple packages of Depends. I DO know, however, that the following ensued:

- The Crazy Ass MF threw 4-5 packages of Depends over the counter to the Walgreen's employee

- The Walgreen's staff repeatedly stifled fits of laughter while dealing with the Crazy Ass MF

- The Crazy Ass MF noticed that I was waiting to be helped and told the Walgreen's employee to help me because the Oops I Crapped My Pants dispute was only getting under way

I got front row seats to the rest of the dispute, as I had to wait in the pharmacy area for my prescription to be filled. The Crazy Ass MF ended up paying about $72 for his basket of Depends, and the final complaint he had to Walgreen's was that they did not have a single bag big enough to hold all of his Depends. Instead, they had to put each package of Depends on its own bag. This upset the Crazy Ass MF, and prompted the Walgreen's employee to remind the Crazy Ass MF that he was dealing with the pharmacy, and most of their bags are peanut-sized.

On the Crazy Ass MF scale, I give this guy a number 2 for sure.