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.

Blow

My friend Nick (OMG!!! He plays guitar in Stellar Kart!!!) called me out on not updating my blog in five weeks for all the world to see on the ol' facebook by telling me that certainly something interesting had to have happened in that time. Sure, I went to New Zealand. And, sure, my position at job #1 was "eliminated". And, sure, last Wednesday night our entire weekend's stock of flowers froze causing the most righteous bit of insanity I have ever encountered there. And, sure, my mom came to visit. All of these would have made great blog entries but I am far too lazy to go back and record them in written form... Luckily, I have a story from this morning already. It's not even 8 o'clock in the morning yet.

I was in the middle of a wonderful dream and, as always, my phone was on. I had an interview with a recruiter at a staffing agency for an HR position this morning and I do like the occasional/semi-frequent text message from an inebriated friend especially when it happens on a Sunday night. Right in the middle of my dream, long about when I was about to fistfight the Incredible Hulk on top of Mt. Everest while Asia played "Heat of the Moment" in the background, my phone rang. I rolled over, saw a local number on my caller ID, and answered.

Super sultry mystery voice: "Hi, Stephen?"

Me: "Yeeeeeees?"

Super sultry mystery voice: "Hi! This is Karen from Randstad staffing. I'm calling about our meeting this morning!"

Me: "Oh, great! Yeah, I went online last night and --"

Karen the super sultry recruiter: "Well, that's what I wanted to talk about. I've reviewed your resume a little further and it looks like you're overqualified for this position."

Me: "For the HR position?"

Karen the recruiter who used to be super sultry and now had merely become just some chick on the phone: "Yeah... I don't want to waste your time by bringing you in for an interview for this position if it's not going to be a good fit."

Me: "That's cool. I've got some trivia questions to write this morning anyway."

Some chick on the phone: "Trivia questions?"

Me: "Yeah... And I think I'm gonna watch a movie. It sounds like a pretty full morning, right?"

Some chick on the phone [after a moment of silence]: "Actually... Wait... What movie?"

Me: "Blow. It's about cocaine. "

A part of me wonders why I'm not working today.

The Wonder Years

I was at 3Crow on Friday night. This is in no way unusual but since my evening started on a rather sour note I figured that an Octoberfest or two would have to cheer me up at least a bit. What? You've never had an Octoberfest?! If it weren't before 8 in the morning, I'd implore you all to walk up to the nearest pub, plop yourself down, and order one. It's what really defines autumn for me. That and the respite from southern heat.

But the Octoberfest more so.

Let me set the scene for you... There's me, Pickering Penguin, Karen, Timmy, Cori and Cori's friend Kris. Kris is the catalyst to the story. And if any of my blog readers happen to be from the 'greater' Jonesboro, Arkansas, area you may recognize her as part of the on air broadcasting talent of KAIT's local news team. Being on television on a, well, daily basis, one might expect her to act with a little more tact in regards to this story.

We were sitting next to one of the open bay garage door windows; our table. Kris, who at this point in the evening was drunk on a turkey on rye sandwich, must really have been enjoying her visit to Nashville. She kept talking about how all the guys in Nashville were "soooo hot!" and how I was "soooo funny!" A younger me would have been pretty stoked about these phrases but I was waiting for the dreaded "boyfriend" word which reared its ugly head about an hour into the evening -- thankfully, I hadn't ordered her an Octoberfest yet leaving more for me and saving me from the inevitable sinking stomach feeling. That's planning right there, kids.

A guy in his mid- to late-30s walked on the sidewalk past our open window. Kris, rather loudly, stated "Hey! That looks like somebody famous!" I don't know if that turkey and rye sandwich was 80 proof or if she had never been out in a city larger than Jonesboro, Arkansas, before... Whatever it was, when a really good looking woman whom you assume may be single and has used the words "hot!" and "funny!" you at least act interested in what she has to say. Unfortunately, (you and) I live in a world where the word "famous" still means something when talking about people.

In the interest of full disclosure, I must tell you that I had had a few Octoberfests by this point in the evening. So, when I heard the word "famous" and being the helluva guy that I am and trying to be genuinely interested in the conversation, I turned and looked. I scanned the sidewalk and expected to see... Oh... I don't know... Robert Plant. He's been known to come into 3Crow from time to time. All I saw was that same guy in his mid- to late-30s outside. I turned back to Kris and asked "Which guy? That guy?" Kris was utterly convinced that it was someone of significance and/or importance. I was not.

This wouldn't be a great story unless I put at least one foot in my mouth. It wouldn't be an even greater story if I confused the hell out of someone in it. So here goes...

I turned my head back out towards the sidewalk and scanned. I turned back to the table... "That guy there? He looks like Wayne from The Wonder Years." In my year of writing trivia questions and my many long years of watching TV (especially classic shows) I've got quite the laundry list of TV actors names imprinted in my brain. Jason Hervey is no exception for better or for worse.

Damnit. Not a few seconds later, a hand reached through the open garage window. "Hi! I'm Jason Hervey." Now, barring the extremely unlikely event that a Jason Hervey look-a-like with an encyclopedic knowledge of TV shows from 20 years ago was in Nashville and knew who the hell Jason Hervey is, I had to take him at his word. There was no other way to play this one. Here's a guy who's made more money in his life by playing a jerk [HE'S LIVED THE DREAM!] calling me out on calling him out for being a has-been. What do I respond with? "Nice to meet ya. I'm Peanut."

If there's any way to stop someone dead in their tracks, that's the way to do it. And that's the way I did it. At least he didn't get mad. Hell, he didn't even, as the song puts it, stand up and walk out on me.

If only I could have met Winnie Cooper instead:

But I'll take the taste of shoe... Sometimes that's the way it is.

Heidi Montakingherclothesoff

I wish I understood how people can sleep in. Anytime that I make it past six in the morning is a major accomplishment for me. I feel like I'm missing something in life if I'm asleep much past then. Also, waking up early gives me a really good chance to get an awesome free wi-fi signal from one of my neighbors. It just works better in the early hours. I don't know how. I'm not a scientist. Or a guy who shows up late to install your cable.

This morning, obviously, is no exception. There was, however, a catalyst to me being awake this early. That catalyst, of course, was Prince's Hot Chicken. It's heaven on the way in but burns like hell on the way out. Sometimes it burns for 45 minutes straight. And by "sometimes" I mean "all the time".

As I'm sitting in bed, patiently waiting for what's sure to be the next get-up-and-run-to-the-bathroom-moment-of-the-morning, I decided to find out what's going on in the world. With my semi-legally acquired internet signal, I hopped on over to google and one of the lead stories is Heidi Montag's sex tape. See how I got from uncontrollable bowel movements to a hot blonde in one [crap... gotta run to the bathroom real quick] paragraph? I think that's pretty good. And yet every time I apply for a writing gig/job, I'm told that my style doesn't really match what they're looking for. Or maybe it's because I start sentences with words like "and" and then end them with words like "for". Who knows?

So back to the sex tape.

Wait... You don't know who Heidi Montag is? Let me spare you the trouble. She was on this reality show on MTV called The Hills and it was cut scene of traffic after cut scene of traffic and then some 'drama' involving some really good-looking people laying on a beach talking about who they hooked up with the night before. Actually, that sounds an awful lot like a relationship I was in about 4 years ago. Minus the beach. Needless to say that if she and I couldn't make it, what with her hooking up with other dudes on a relatively regular basis, what hope is there if cameras are involved? Which brings us to the present.

Heidi and her ex-cro-magnon-husband (some guy named Spencer) apparently made a sex tape that she doesn't want released to the public. Heidi may be the dumbest person alive. Darlin'... you need to keep yourself in the spotlight. The only reason that you're famous is because you're famous. You're not talented, you probably smell like a vodka and regret, and you look like you ate Gwen Stefani. If you want to keep the lifestyle that you've got going, you might want to make a few more of these puppies... Maybe develop a coke habit. Hell, you could hire someone to carve your face onto the side of Mt. Rushmore for all eternity. And those are just ideas off the top of my head after 4 hours of sleep, pre-dancing in the shower (where most of my good ideas come from), and after Pickering Activity Penguin suggested that another shot of whiskey was a good idea at 11:30 last night.

Heidi, you've got the whole world watching you. Get naked. It's party time.

I know that the Lord of the Rings movies have been out for several years now. I still love them as much as I did when I first saw them. I hope New Zealand is as magical as I have made it out to be in my head.