when no doesn’t mean no…

No. I’m not here to talk about that kind of no…today at least…

While boarding a plane last week, I made it to my row to find an empty slot in the overhead space for my carry-on therefore defeating the airlines attempt at tricking me into losing my luggage. However in a goldilocks and the three bears scenario, I did find an older foreign women sitting rather comfortably in the seat conveniently located on my boarding pass…

Given I was traveling for the day gig, I opted to not go the rather ethnic ‘seat check’ route and instead try to decipher why she felt the need to personally warm my seat. Her reply was not very helpful (or audible) as she merely grabbed for her knee. Seeing that she was sitting next to a man that appeared to be at best her husband and at worst her pimp, I decided to ask him to help solve this row 20 seat mystery. He offering at least some form of a verbal response answered in a language not familiar to my ears nor found on any taco bell menu my eyes have seen…

My next act was to ask for their boarding passes to overcome this apparent communication gap. As I had suspected, they were assigned the window and middle seat vs my aisle seat. After trying to again explain this to them, she continued to direct me to her knee. This made me realize that her legs were somehow allergic to every seat not found under her back end at that moment and she was now expecting me to trade with her…

[insert dilemma]

the tri-coastal battle: going back to cali…

Last week merely hours after leaving the beautiful soil lining the pch, elrock hit the ubf fam with his ode to why the red dirt is the best stomping grounds. First and foremost, I must admit he raised some valid points (hoping not to lose my waffle house membership card) but I’m not sure I’m ready to jump on that bandwagon just yet…

You see I just read a study that 9 out of 10 blog readers prefer the west coast when given the chance to pick their preferred coastal allegiance. Now granted Suge Knight administered this referenced study but we can’t just throw out the results right? So for those of you still on the fence, let me make a case for why the left coast is the right coast…

how old…

Once we begin dating people who are no longer wearing a letter jacket with their graduation year in plain sight, there is a common question we find ourselves asking:

How old is she?

As nice of a guy as that ‘to catch a predator’ host seems to be when he offers you a chair, the police force awaiting you outside can definitely be a buzz kill on top of your realization she wasn’t able to vote…or drive…or see that PG-13 movie…but I guess that is what you get for still being in those AOL chat rooms. But this isn’t about Law & Order SVU today.

All of us have some type of age range that we consider acceptable for potential bunk mates. If I had a quarter for every time I’ve heard “I don’t date guys under 30” or “I don’t date women over 25”, I’d need about $0.15 for a bottled water as I make it a habit to stop listening to people when they tell me things they don’t do. But based on reality dating shows and all those romcoms that have been forced on me over the years, I’m assuming age plays a role in determining compatibility.

Now I don’t really see a problem with this at the theoretical level, but where it breaks down is in what age you are actually evaluating. Most of you probably base a potential mate’s age on their DOB…you silly daters…

another round of thanks…

So we find ourselves at that one day of the year where you thank others for doing the things you spend the rest of the year taking credit for. Since you are either patiently waiting on mama dukes to finish up the greens or sitting on the couch with your pants undone eye raping that piece of pie, I’m guessing I have your attention for a little bit.

Yesterday elrock kicked off the holiday with his special shouts to those things filling his basket o’ happiness. Not to be outdone, I’m back with a turkey leg and a few things I’m thankful for:

+ elrock for always being the co-conspirator in these bad decisions and good times…

+ lolita’s unique ability to raise the male ubf readership through the mere mention of perky boobs and nice behind without any pictorial evidence…

all they do is win…and lie…

This past weekend, I found myself out amongst the bright lights of LA’s nightlife and I experienced something for the very first time. No Stacy Dash didn’t kidnap me and whisk me off to her slayer lair (there is always this weekend right?). But instead I was brave enough to man the LA scene sober. I know it is very disappointing and I apologize for my transgression. Who creates a blog titled Us, Bottles and Friends and then comes back with a story heavy on the us and friends but nan drop of bottles or their delicious contents? I must do better.

However, this new experience did show me something I had to that moment never witnessed in any of my stand on couches, take off one too many articles of clothing, ingest copious amounts of alcohol into my bloodstream while drinking my drinks via my clothing moments (it is a tough life but someone has to do it). I witnessed a sad sight that needs to be corrected instantly.