Friday, December 14, 2018

Ballet Is Not My Jam.

So, y’all know that I work for a non-profit organization that a lot of times I cannot mention due to privacy and HIPAA standards. However, at this point I don’t really need to mention that place because if you don’t know where I spend my blue collar 40 and passion - I don’t know what to tell ya.  

Now sometimes, this place invites to me tag along on big adventures with the people we support, and 90% of the time I’m down for the ride. I’ve been to the state fair numerous times, to the circus numerous times, to Shine Prom 3 or 4 times, I’ve made multiple trips to Huber’s....I mean, we do a lot of cool shit.

A few weeks ago, I was asked, and I agreed to tag along with some folks to see the Nutcracker - that big adventure took place last night.

First, I need you all to know that I appreciate all kinds of art, I really do. Anything creative that stirs my emotions, man - I’m down with it. Also, I believe that ballet is very artistic and at the same time, very athletic. I respect what those dancers do, the skill they have, the work they put in, their dedication, all that... but y’all - ballet is not my jam!

For the most part, at the beginning, I stared at their feet. It really started to fuck my mind up quite a bit. Like, bless those poor little twisted up ankles, those poor toes...those bunions! A half hour in, I just wanted them to stop it and sit down.

I decided to stop watching the feet and focus on something else. But after a little while I became bothered by how extra the dancers were with their arms and fingers. I know it’s meant to add flair and look graceful and be beautiful and all that jazz, but damn...damn the ballet fingers! That shit is annoying.

And I also must admit, I don’t even know the story of the Nutcracker - so I was lost and couldn’t follow what the hell was happening to save my life. So really, all I had to get me through were the feet and fingers - that is, until the second grown male ballerina brought himself out into the light.

Now, the first grown male ballerina on stage was about as normal as any grown ass man in white satin tights doing ballet could be, I guess. I’m not all up to date on my ballet information so I have no idea what’s good or bad, but this guy seemed to be doing things as he should.

But then this second grown male ballerina made his way onto the stage. And y’all, I don’t even know what the hell you are supposed to call male ballerinas for real, but I know if I had to pick a name for this guy it would be “ballewiener”... because this guy totally forgot his dance belt. Which, I didn’t even know was a thing until this morning.

For those of you who aren't aware...

...a dance belt is a is a kind of specialized undergarment commonly worn by male ballet dancers to support their genitals. Most are similar in design to thong underwear. Dance belts were developed and considered desirable for male dancers and others to wear because various choreographic moves can otherwise result in pain or possibly even injury to the male genitalia which are not supported nor held snugly in place against the lower abdominal area, as well as skin-tight, body-hugging ballet tights would otherwise reveal the contours of the male dancer's anatomy to a degree of detail which could be considered distracting to the audience.

So “ballewiener”, in all his distracting glory, leaps and flies out onto the stage, lands with a swirl & a twirl...and I realize immediately that at 34 years old, I’m not mature enough for ballet.

...I may or may not have blushed.

...I may or may not have laughed a tad longer than I care to admit.

...And then I may or may not have thoroughly weirded out.

For real, I am not making this up - this man had his dingus straight up in the 12 o’clock position, his satin white tights were splitting his balls in two, and the head of his dingus looked like he stuck a damn bouncy ball in his tights right below his belly button.

And there were children there! So many CHILDREN!

So now, for me, the ballet consists of twisted feet and fancy fingers getting on my nerves, and a flying dingus -  just swirling & twirling & jumping about - right in front of me!

It was awkward, y’all. Really fuckin’ awkward....me and the ballet just weren't vibing.

So, in an effort to walk away from this adventure with some sort of positivity, I moved my focus away from the dancers and over to the props...and I must say that I really, honestly, enjoyed that part of the show.

And just so you know - despite “ballewiener” being a tad absentminded with his costume, I think he ended up being quite an impressive dancer. I can’t be real sure because I didn’t watch him much, but when the show was over and they all came out to take a final bow...I'd be lying if I told ya he didn't get the biggest applause. 😉

- Crow

Wednesday, December 5, 2018

We’re not allowed in the Porn Store anymore.


Okay y’all - surely by now you have seen the picture of Cousin Eddie in our front yard, right? Yeah, man - he’s basically the coolest thing to hit 202 since Dale moved in.



(Unless you ask Slim, she’s absolutely against his whole entire existence.)

But just let me tell y’all a little something about this Cousin Eddie project - because of it, I’m about 96.7% sure that we are no longer allowed in Love Stuff.

So last Thursday we go on a spontaneous adventure for some good ass food, which for me translated to Ginger Chicken & Broccoli from P.F. Changs. I don’t remember what the hell Dale & Jason ate, but that’s neither here nor there, just minute details for dramatic effect. Anyhow...

On the way back home I’m spouting off plans and wishing I could locate a mannequin for said project, so we decide to stop in at Love Stuff - because porn stores ALWAYS have mannequins, right? I figured that maybe, just maybe, we might be able to charm the owner and come out with an old dusty ass tired ass mannequin from the shed out back. I had legit dreams here, y’all.

So, we put on our sweet faces and walk in on our mission. Jason knows the guy who owns the place, so he goes straight back to the corner to his office. I follow behind.  

Dale, being the hot damn mess that she is, lolly-gags and piddle-dicks around for a minute and comes up behind us at the door of the owner’s office. I see her walk up - oh, there she is! - and I turn back around to the discussion at hand.

And it happens...

She somehow slings a hip into a stack of boxes...which would have been no big deal.

Except the box on the top fell the fuck off the stack...which would have been no big deal.

Except the contents of the box were glass, and very fragile...and everything in the box shattered when it hit the floor.

Me and Jason exchange a look of “what in the solid fuck just happened?” and turn around to see her standing there, frozen with panic. The owner rushes out of his office past us, grabs the box up off the floor and begins to open it.

...I’ll admit, at this point, I’m starting to panic.

And y’all, you can’t make this shit up...it was a box of METH PIPES. Fuckin’ meth pipes!

...and she broke the. whole. fuckin’. entire. box.

Upon seeing the contents of the box, I decide that we can’t even worry about that shit - I’m totally seeing it as divine intervention that just saved some poor asshole’s life - or at least hindered him or her from making it worse, right?

...but this is where Dale tucks tail and hauls ass out of the porn store.

...and sadly, this is also where our mannequin mission failed.


(In case you were wondering, Cousin Eddie came from the Helping Hands store in New Castle.
I ventured into that establishment alone the next day.)