Homemade Colonoscopy

Two and a half weeks ago, I embarked on an epic journey. No, I didn't get on a flight and travel several hundreds/thousands of miles to some exotic destination although I will be visiting the lovely Detroit, Michigan, area in a few weeks for Christmas. Well, that and to see how much it really resembles The Road these days. I hear it's getting there. I really do. As long as I don't resort to cannibalism or end up getting really excited about pop (NOT Coke) , I'll probably be okay. No, this was something that I had semi-entertained the idea of doing for almost five years... From back in the days when I worked at Harpeth Financial Services, most notably during tax season. That's right. An "all natural cleanse". 'Cause what goes better with tax season than running to the bathroom 9 times a day? Nothing, that's right.

I went up to Kroger and bought the usual: toothpaste, toilet paper, Ramen noodles that won't get eaten for many months, and some fresh fruit which always gets eaten way too quickly. And, as I made my way over to the health and incontinence aisle for some cough syrup, I picked up this little guy right here:

The Mega-T Total Cleanse. I know, I know, I know what you're all thinking:

1.) That's stuff has gotta be a scam!

2.) That stuff is awesome!

Basically, it's both.

Now, according to some studies that I just made up, the human body needs to be cleansed every few months. That's why old dudes get colonoscopies. Tell me I'm wrong. I dare you. I figure that since I'm a man ahead of my time, I might as well get a jump on things 20 years before I really need one. But the image of the thin, long-legged blonde on the box jumping for joy with what must be a cleaned out intestine was enough to sell me on this so I bought it and, dear Lord, did I ever pay for it for the first few days. It was a good thing I bought all that toilet paper.

So here's my final product review:

Yes, it cleans out your intestines. Yes, as a result, you lose weight. No, it does not turn you into an exuberant athletic blonde woman.

I don't plan on doing this cleanse again anytime soon. I was happier with my 11 dollars.

An Open Letter to the TSA

Dear TSA,

The thing about airports is that you're not really sure what city (and sometimes country) you're in. It gets confusing enough when you fly from Europe and land in New York at the same time that you left. Or when you fly from New Zealand and land 8 hours before you left (but still don't have enough time to go to In N Out Burger). What's even more confusing is that sometimes you you can be in the airport in Dublin, Ireland, but technically be on US soil. That one really messed with my head.

I've got to hand it to you. FINALLY, someone has taken some of the best parts of Las Vegas and put them in 68 airports across the United States

. No, I don't mean the slot machines. No, I don't mean Cirque de Soleil which is the only circus that I think I would like because there are no horses and the chances of a clown falling and getting injured are pretty high. And if you know anything about me, you know that I'm afraid of both horses and clowns. Ha! I can't believe I just wrote that... "If you know anything about me." You're probably spying on me reading my old blog entries right now. No, my dear TSA, you've essentially made public groping legal all throughout the airports in the US. Truly, way to use your hands to get a job well done.

[See what I did there?]

Don't worry. I'm not flying anywhere this week. I mean, I do pull down delivery boy man money and all but flying up to Michigan to see my sister or down to Florida to see my parents for Thanksgiving would cost me about $450 and that's just not the kind of coin I'm willing to drop... Especially considering that I just spent $272 for my flight up to Michigan for Christmas. That being said, no 'security agent' is going to get into a stink over me this week. And, yes, I use the ' marks properly. If it came down to brass tacks, and this is purely hypothetical, there's no way a 38 year old 240 lb woman wearing polyester pants, or a 61 year old man with a clip on tie is going to be able to run me down. I'm no Adonis but I'm in pretty good mediocre shape.

Bearing in mind the fact that I am not Adonis and the fact that they probably don't teach Greek mythology at DeVry Technical Security Groping school, let me just tell you that Adonis was the man. Go look him up. That being said because I'm not him, it's been a while since I've had a good grope.

What? This is my letter to you. I love you guys.

So here we are at a paradox. As you probably know from my wonderful blog entries, I am really for individual freedoms and personal responsibility... but being that my blog is named "Looking for Like", I'm also looking for some woman to fall hopelessly in love with my writing and then want to ravage me and my somewhat flabby physique. You, TSA, have put me in a very confusing place. The part of me that wants to defend my civil liberties hates you but the part of me (*wink) that wants some woman to look at me oh so lustfully doesn't. Well played, Big Brother. Well played.

As the saying goes, all is a game and honestly until just now I didn't know what side of the fence I was on. It's Team Civil Liberty for me! However, since you guys seem to get your jollies on sliding your hands up and down some hobbit's dude's legs I think I've got the perfect solution. Wait! Two perfect solutions!

Number one: The Dirk Diggler. Did you see the end of Boogie Nights? You didn't? Okay... Stop what you're doing right now and go watch it.

Done? Okay. Good. I'll put on a big ol' prostetehcincicncichj7299mdic [sp?], you'll feel good about yourself, I'll feel good about myself, and your body image scanners will feel good about themselves. Everyone wins.

Number two: The This is Spinal Tap moment. You know when Harry Shearer's character is

going through the security line and... well...

Take your pick, TSA, it's up to you. I'm basically throwing myself at you.

Now, alot of you TSAers might be reading this and thinking, "Who's this smart ass?" Hell, since I've made this an open letter and am posting it on my blog, most people who read this are probably thinking the same thing. That is a totally founded statement. I am a smart ass. I can deal with that. Most everyone seems to love this impish little scamp. Now that that's established and agreed upon, the next thing that you're probably thinking is "I bet he's just really uncomfortable with is body" this is what I look like in a bikini:

If that doesn't get your heart racing, I don't know what will.

So, TSA, I will see you at Christmas-time. I look forward to meeting you about half as much as you look forward to feeling me up. Until then, you'll just have to look at that picture up thurr and imagine.

Sincerely,

Stephen P Bohn

The First Ever Win a Date with Florist Shop Man contest

I like to come up with hairbrained ideas. I'm not even sure what "hairbrained" really means but I think you get the picture. Hair. On a brain. Not entirely unlike the product to the right. That's not a political statement, either.

Yesterday, while eating the best cheap nachos from the worst named restaurant in Nashville (gracias, Mr. Burrito Fresh!), RH, Dan, and I came up with an idea for next month's art walk in Hillsboro Village. I think I should make it very clear that I am not much of an artist and most of my creative energy goes into updating my blog which I don't do much any more or playing my guitar which I don't do much any more either. I got stressed just trying to figure out a place to hang my "I heart NZ" banner (really, it's a tea napkin) on my wall so much so that upon completion I rewarded myself with a three hour nap. The artist's mind is a fickle thing. Also, anything I can do to justify a three hour nap... But that's another story for another time. Back to our idea for art walk. It's a Date Booth. Not a Kissing Booth but a Date Booth.

What we're thinking is we put pictures and descriptions of ourselves next to ballot boxes wherein pretty girls (I can't stress the "pretty" part enough) leave their information including their desire to be taken out on a night on the town to include dinner (possibly probably spaghetti), a night at the opera either listening to the Nashville Symphony or the Queen record of the same name (ladies' choice!), and a carriage ride. I haven't cleared the carriage with my partners in crime yet but I'm a hopeless romantic and what screams that better than sitting mere inches away from a horse's ass? Very little that I can think of. Hell, I may even wear one of those tuxedo t-shirts. Why? 'Cause it's the kind of thing that says "I want to be formal but I'm here to party."

Being the forward thinking man that I am, I realize that while face to face contact is good and all nothing happens these days without the internet. If only I had a blog or something to prepare the Nashville area for this. Wait a second...

So if any of you stalkers hot lady readers are interested, send me a note. Or a comment. Or an email. Or take your chances at the First Ever Win a Date with a Florist Shop Man contest (catchy, in'it)?

Looking forward to the great things the Lord has in store for this one.