POD: As Promised, the Engagement Story

There is an amazing woman in my life.  Her name is Nikole Sofia.   I could start listing off all her wonderful traits, but it will get really gooey and romantic  and I don’t want to lose the hardcore biker gang demographic that’s so important to my advertisers.  So I’ll just say she is my incredible, beautiful angel.

Visual Approximation.

We have been dating for over a year now. After some intense thought, I decided to propose. All that was left was to make up my mind how to do it… I finally settled on Panorama Park, a small public space in Wheat Ridge. This was the exact spot where she and I became an official couple in August of 2012, so it had huge sentimental value.

I had intended to do a walk through the park on our anniversary, but the start of law school delayed our meeting (we’ve been long distance for some time now as she finishes up her undergraduate degree). So the opportunity presented itself when I flew up to visit her and watch her perform in A Chorus Line [She was beautiful, amazing and in my opinion, the highpoint of the show (I know, I’m biased)].  After the show, wearing a snazzy new pinstripe suit (which she helped me pick out that very day), I led her around the park, talking about how much we’ve been through and how happy she has made me since we got together.  Mere words could never explain how much I adore her, but I tried to keep myself focused without revealing how badly I was shaking and freaking out over the biggest moment of my life.  I actually had a few moments where I considered backing out of the whole thing and not asking, just because I was so terrified.  Then, in the middle of the park, just as I was about to go into my preplanned proposal (More on that later) we were interrupted by a creepy guy yelling “Hey!  Come Here.”  Talking about it later, we assume he was calling for a dog.  At the time, however, I thought it was some sort of dangerous presence.

Visual Approximation.

Moving (quickly) away from the possible demon in the dark, we went back towards the street where I walked us down to as close as I could get to the exact spot where we started dating. Once we got there, I took a deep breath and plunged in, knowing there was no turning back now. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a cheap pearl ring I bought at a huge discount online and gave it to her as a late anniversary present.  Months earlier, on her birthday, I scared the daylights out of her by giving her a diamond necklace under the mistletoe at the Denver Botanical Gardens. She thought I was giving her an engagement ring, so she freaked out a little. Since then, a running joke with us is that every time I buy her something, I preface it with “this is not an engagement ring.”

I presented her with the decoy ring, saying the famous disclaimer “This is not an engagement ring, I bought it for $35 on Woot.com” (I should get a check for that plug). Despite knowing its low price, she reacted as if I gave her a Tiffany Bracelet  (one of the things that made me love her in the first place). She was touched by the thought and started to ask if we could call it a promise ring before I pulled a second ring, an heirloom from my mother, out of my other pocket saying “This, on the other hand, is an engagement ring.” With that, I dropped down to one knee and gave her my planned speech.

The speech was long and sappy, but the important part was “I love you and I want to be with you the rest of my life.” Steeling all my courage, I said the magic words: “Nikole Sofia, will you marry me?”  Waiting for an answer, I struggled to keep a poker face while my thoughts raced around my head.

I’m pretty sure I looked a lot like this

I stayed down on my knee and waited for an answer…………………………………………………… And waited……………………………………….. And waited…………………………………………………………………….. Bueller… Bueller……………………………… And waited.

Finally, after what seemed like six and three quarters years, but was probably closer to three minutes, I felt the need to break things up.  Keep in mind, all this time, the reaction I got from Nikole was “Oh god, Dynamite. Oh my God. Oh my God.” Not the most promising response.  So thinking I was getting a polite rejection, I stood up and went in for a hug, planning to say it’s ok and I understand.  But before I could, Nikole stepped back and said “No. Get back down.” I obeyed (see, I’m ready for marriage already) and went back down to a knee, preparing for the worst. That’s when my girlfriend fiancee dropped the mother of all mixed signals on me.

“Dynamite…” Oh jeez, what is she going to say? “I have no doubts that I want to spend the rest of my life with you” She’s gonna say yes. She’s gonna say yes, I’m the luckiest man in the world! “But…..” But? What but? I don’t like but….. How can there be a but….. This was followed by a lifetime of complete silence.  OK, it may have been thirty seconds, but I swear I could have read the entire text of an unabridged copy of Moby Dick in this gap. Out loud. With dramatic pauses and character voices.

Then she looked me in the eyes and said the only words I wanted to hear: “Yes, I will marry you.”

I jumped up and grabbed her in a tight embrace, only to find I had failed in an important goal. I hate public proposals, so I tried to make sure our moment was completely private. Just me and her. However, as I hugged her tight, thrilled with thought that I could hug her for the rest of my life, I heard from the darkness behind me “Yeah man. That’s good stuff.” Come to find out, one of the homeowners across from the park had gone out on his porch to smoke and had overheard the whole thing. So I guess random guy living across the park is technically the first to know about our engagement.

There is still a lot to be done of course.  No relationship is without struggles.  But I rest secure knowing that A, I have the most beautiful, incredible, fantastic, life-affirming fiancee possible, and B, we have a great story to tell our friends for life.

A Dynamite Joke

(My last post got me all riled up…. It’s password protected, so you can’t really read it… But it’s long, angry and poorly-written, so don’t worry about it.  But I thought I’d post a good joke to displace the anger.  Enjoy and have a great weekend)

 

Captain Jim was a very successful Pirate in the Atlantic. He took so many Spanish ships that the king ordered a bounty of 1000 Gold Doubloons to the crew that brought him in to face trial.

One day, Captain Jim was sitting in his cabin eating his dinner. He had just taken a drink when his first mate knocked on the door and entered, saying “Captain Jim, there be a Spanish Galleon off the port bow. They’re flying the Pirate hunter’s flag.” Captain Jim slowly put down his mug and replied “Fetch me red shirt.” The Pirates went into battle and fought off the other ship.

Later, the first mate went to the captain and asked why he wanted his red shirt. The captain told him “Well you see, I know my men care about me. If they saw I was wounded in battle, they would do everything they could to help me and we could lose as a result. I want my men safe, even if I die. So I wear me red shirt into battle so that if I’m wounded, the men won’t see me bleed and they’ll keep fighting.” The first mate was awed by the captain’s words and spread word to the rest of the crew.

A few week later, Captain Jim was sitting in his cabin eating his dinner. He had just taken a drink when his first mate knocked on the door and entered, saying “Captain Jim, there be 3 Spanish Galleons off the port bow. They’re flying the Pirate hunter’s flag.” Captain Jim slowly put down his mug and replied “Fetch me red shirt.” The Pirates won the battle and the crew spent the whole evening singing the praises of Captain Jim, the pirate who cares more about his crew than himself.

About a month later, Captain Jim was sitting in his cabin eating his dinner. He had just taken a drink when his first mate pounded on the door and entered, yelling “Captain Jim, there be 12 Spanish Galleon off the port bow. They’re all flying the Pirate hunter’s flag.” Captain Jim slowly put down his mug and replied “Fetch me brown pants!”

Short Fuse: Let’s Talk about Crazy

In order to balance the demands of my voracious readership (three close friends, a few insomniacs who run out of good websites, and a couple dozen pity clicks from Facebook) I have decided to introduce the short fuse posts. These will be quick, easy to read posts about whatever subject happens to be on my mind.

Today, the subject of crazy is on my mind…. Not a colloquial crazy, like “Dude, that concert was crazy” but the literal meaning, as in “that guy is crazy, he stabbed ten people with an Allen wrench.” Now to qualify, I’m not talking about people with serious special needs. People who have ailments like schizophrenia or serious personality disorders are not responsible and they deserve quality care and patience. I’m talking about functional people who for whatever reason, have tuned their dials to a non-broadcasting station.

We all know crazy people. We work with them, we ride the bus with them and there’s usually one in our family. The common thing is that WE sane people are always left to clean up and handle their insanity. Here’s my question….. Why are we mentally capable people expected to change our behavior to accommodate? For example, if a co-worker suddenly decides that you are part of a massive government conspiracy to ply them with Rohypnol to knock them out and harvest their organs for sale to support a secret lab in Antarctica where they experiment to create super-intelligent tree frogs, it may be prudent and expected that you avoid them as much as possible. However, what is the response if they start demanding you stop making coffee because they KNOW you can’t wait to get your dirty, frog-tainted hands on their spleen?

They are plotting our demise at this very moment.

All too often, we simple give in and accept their demands. I always hear “You are the sane one, you should make the effort.” But my question is: Why? Why on Earth should the normal person defer to the crazy? It’s as if our entire society has given a collective shrug and said “We got nothing.”

I have been trying for months to come up with solutions to this problem…. But so far, I haven’t really latched onto the perfect solution.  For a while I considered convening a special court to adjudicate crazies into their own state, but this has problems. You would want to pick somewhere sparsely populated, preferably with high crazy content already, but I wouldn’t want to displace innocent people in New Jersey, or innocent sheep in Montana. Next I considered a “get out of crazy free card” but the logistics of that bogged me down to no end.

So I put it out to the readers: Anybody have a brilliant idea on how to fix this issue? I offer, in compensation, my undying gratitude and a free homemade lunch to whomever supplies the answer. You brew the coffee.

And a last warning to my friends and readers: No matter how tempting it may be, do not attempt to argue with crazy people. In the end, you’ll be tired, frustrated and angry, but they will still be Napoleon.

BGTD Holiday Proposal: National Stab-A-Douchebag Day

After much debate and thought, I have decided to re-light the fuse to the Dynamite and start writing more frequently. I set the pledge that I will try to do at least one long piece a week, and a few short ones as time (and the insanity of this world) allows. To kick start my new writing career, I have decided to propose a new holiday for the United States (and hopefully, someday the world) to get behind and follow with the same gusto we celebrate Christmas in December, Independence Day in July and National Rutabaga Month in June

Ok, maybe not that last one.

I kicked a lot of ideas around. Aside from my own warped mind, I bounced some thoughts off of Greg, my gay best friend, Jorje, the local supermarket checkout guy and Captain Cuddleroo, my adorable cat. Although their input was helpful (Captain Cuddleroo’s suggestion of a National Neuter-your-dog day was very high in the running) I decided to settle on something close to my heart and settled on “Stab a Douchebag Day.”

First, a little history. The term douchebag was first used circa 1685 (seriously). From the name, one would logically assume that a douchebag is a bag for storing all of your douches (douchi? douchines? Whatever) so they don’t sit around collecting dust and cluttering up your bedroom. However, logic has never been connected to the English language and shame on your for forgetting that. As such, a douchebag is in reality a very personal item used by women to clean out their, shall we say “Sarlacc Pits.”

Hey, Greg swears they all look like this to him

 Although the popularity of douche bags has waned in the medical world (seriously, unless directed by a doctor, don’t use them ladies) the term itself has been picked up by the world at large as an insult of choice, feuled largely through extensive use on light night cable shows such as The Daily Show and Colbert Report. Due to this upsurge in popularity, many people (myself included) are starting to see the dangers of having douchebags near them at all times. This leads to near supernatural levels of what I call “douchebag rage.” Most people tend to bottle this rage up inside, causing blockage that can lead to spontaneous violent events. Armed with this knowledge, historians now believe that many brutal crackdowns are a result of extreme douchebag rage including the Tienanmen square tank mobilization of 1989, the 1968 Democratic Convention riots and even the Salem Witch Trials (Giles Corey was a total ye olde douchebag).

In an effort to prevent these rage outbursts, I have decided on a novel idea to prevent it.  The first ever National Stab a Douchebag Day.  Here’s how it works:  Say there’s a douchebag in your life who constantly bothers you.  For example, lets say he constantly barges into your cubicle while you’re trying to masturbate to transgendered midget porn to discuss the latest episode of Duck Dynasty…  Whatever, I’m speaking in hypotheticals here.     During the first three weeks of September (known as the registration period), you can complete paperwork to have this person legally declared a douche (All paperwork must be received by your local Office of Douchebag Affairs by the 3rd Friday of the month to be considered).  Once the office gives the official OK, this douchebag is now an official target.  Then, on September 30th, that person is fair game for a stabbing.  Simple right?

Now don’t get too excited, there are some rules.  First, you only have one chance at this, no stalking someone all day.  Second, you have to attack them face to face.  Only a pussy stabs somebody in the back (pun intended).  Second, and this is important, you have to stab in a non vital area: Upper arms, lower legs, and buttocks area only.  We’re not trying to kill them, just teach them that their douchbagginess is not acceptable in polite society.  Finally, you can’t get crazy with the knives:  Only a standard, non-serrated, singled edged blade under four inches.  This is not the time to whip out the machetes or put your officially licensed Hellraiser proctology kit to practical use.  Again, just trying to send a message, not get good footage for the snuff film fetish society.

To conclude:  I really really really think this would be a great leap forward in our society.  Just think of all the people who annoy your that would be out of your life…. If not permanently, as least while that nasty stab wound clears up.  Plus, the merchandizing alone would pump billions of dollars into the economy and the crime scene clean up industry would see a boom like no other in history (except perhaps after the invention of the automatic weapon).  This is a proposal that could revolutionize modern life.  So please, all my loyal readers…… and any non-loyal readers……. and anyone who got this page thinking it was some kind of explosives related porn site.  Rush over to We The People and start a petition today.

Do it for yourselves, do it for your country, do it for Captain Cuddleroo!

But most importantly, do it because these douchebags have got to go.

When Surfing the Net: Beware the Wave of Stupid.

When I started debating on what my first blog post would be, I swore up and down that I was going to avoid politics. Here’s why: I’m majoring in political science in college and I devote a good 85% of my waking hours to politics, so frequent visitors, should there be any, are going to get plenty of that. But for my first post, I wanted something different, something unique and challenging, something that makes any potential reader stop and say “Does this guy snort cough syrup?” (In case you’re wondering, yes, but only on the weekends). So, my political side removed, I began to think about what would make a good post. Looking for ideas, I went to my local paper’s website, www.denverpost.com. I read through a few articles and suddenly, staring right at me was my first post. The story was about the recent death of Angie Zapata, a transgender woman in Greely. From the lead in to the article:

Prosecutors are worried that jury selection in next week’s trial of a man accused of killing a transgender woman in Greeley in July has become a lot more complicated.  That’s because 50 groups sponsored a full-page ad in 22 Colorado newspapers and purchased online advertising to commemorate the life and death of 18-year-old Angie Zapata.  The ad ran Wednesday in newspapers ranging from the Westminster Window and Durango Herald to the Gazette in Colorado Springs.

The facts of the case, as they are currently known are as follows: Angie Zapata was a biological male who lived as a female. At some point, she met with Allen Andrade online and the two of them went on a date. According to the prosecutors, Zapata performed oral sex on Andrade, and when he later found out she was biologically male, he became enraged and ended up beating her to death with a fire extinguisher. The reason this case is getting a lot of attention is that it is the first time a transgender murder is being tried under the sexual orientation in Colorado’s hate crime law.

Setting aside political implications which I promised I would, I think everybody can agree that this was a terrible tragedy right? WRONG!!!! As any third grader can tell you, a search on the internet for any topic will yield 75,000,000 porn sites within ten minutes. But that isn’t really important right now. They may also remind you that when dealing with any internet forum, you will be assaulted by massive quantities of stupid. The anonymity the internet provides allows people the comfort to say whatever thoughts may be on their mind, even if those thoughts would qualify them for electroshock therapy. Here are some honest to god comments posted on the Denver Post website, completely untouched:

that so called “girl” actually lead the guy that killed her into beleving he was a she..im not saying that killing her or him is justified but that would be some messed up @#$% and i dont know how the guy couldent tell he was a she????he must be debating if he was gay or something and freaked out when he did the deed…what the hell is this world coming 2???almost every female i know swings both ways and thinks its cool…gays are getting married…..do any of them read the bible???because to my knowledge thats a sin;(…thats just my pearsonal opinion though – Anthony J.

Well I’m no biblical scholar Anthony, but I’m pretty sure the bible frowns on murdering people with fire extinguishers as well, except of course when God ordered Jehosit to smite his mother’s third cousin Bethsezot with a fire hose for whistling Bob Dylan’s Times they are a’ changing in the temple, but that was a one time thing. By the way, who are these bi-sexual girls you know and can you hook me up?

 

When are we going to hear the end of this “dead guy in a dress” saga?
Charge murder and send the killer to prison if the jury convicts, but stop pretending that the dead guy in a dress was a real girl who didn’t set the stage for his own demise by inviting a guy he barely knew back to his apartment and having sex with him, all while holding himself out as a woman.
Just let this case go. While the dead guy in the dress didn’t deserve to be murdered, he wasn’t exactly totally blameless in this story, either. – Dan Dare

 

Dan, when Weird Al sang “Dare to be Stupid” he was not giving life advice. But Dan improves on himself later when he writes:

It’d make for better discussion if the people who are zipping through the comments and handing out “thumbs down” strikes to everyone who doesn’t toe the PC/pro-gay line would step up and try to participate instead of anonymously whacking the people who are actually stating their views in a mature, non-offensive manner.

But that’s probably asking too much of the Left – Dan Dare.

The irony of an anonymous poster complaining about other anonymous poster giving his review a thumbs down is enough to short circuit my frontal lobe.

I think the internet is great. I would place it above the wheel in terms of coolness factor and way above movable printed type in sense of being able to find cheap porn. However, we all need to stop and think before posting something really stupid online. If you ever have questions, just do what I do. Before you post something nasty or mean spirited, stop and think “Would I say this out loud in a social setting?” Think about that, and then post away, what the hell? Those jackasses don’t know you.

 

 

A special thanks to my man Ames, whose great advice helped me get this baby started. Check him out at A Candid World

A shout out to all my homies from RationalWiki who came to read my opening post. Hope to see you all back here.