Thursday, March 5, 2015

When Bad Things Fappen to Good People

Although let's be honest... Do bad things ever really occur during a Fappening?

Unless, of course, you're a teenager who forgot to lock the door?
Or a married man with dial-up?

Which brings us to a story...
Who among you fancies a story?
As if it matters... because you're totally getting one.

So, a  friend....
---Disclaimer: No... in this case "friend" is not me. Given the many, many things I've overshared with you, at this point in time you can safely assume that I would never pawn a story off on a "friend" if it were mine.... regardless of how embarrassing it is, or of how poor of a light it casts on me. I can only wish this story was mine, because It. Is. GOLD!)---
Anyway... a friend... I've long since forgotten who it was... (or have I?) had, what he thought were a few moments to himself. I won't discuss the whys of it right now, but it is a simple scientific fact that occasionally men (and women) ensconced within even the most amazing and sexually fulfilling of relationships still occasionally need (and dare I say, relish,) some "moments to themselves."
Yes, while imagination can and will suffice... as grown-ups who have earned the dubious right eat Crunch Berries whenever we want... we've also earned the dubious right to look at porn whenever we want. (Except at work. (Unless you're Rich.))
(Yes...The politics of porn are complex and many. Proponent or opponent... that is a discussion for another time... Now is the time to listen to my damn story.)
I'd be curious to know what percentage of cyberspace actually is porn... (whatever the nature of cyberspace is)...  but it's extremely telling that humans would utilize something so literally world-changing as a conduit for the dissemination of naked pictures.
Yeah...We don't have issues with sex or anything.

For the most part, I think everyone is probably a bumbler. How they stumbled on a particular site is a mystery. Luck. Recommendation. A precious few (and I'm sure, statistically speaking, an absurdly massive number of men) take it so far as to "join" a site and actually pay for "premium content." But the vast majority (and in light of the statistics regarding the aforementioned population, every man on the planet (statistically speaking)... just go to whatever free photo-dump site they think (they hope) is least likely to turn all the icons on their desktop into penises and vaginas. If they thought that far ahead... which they probably didn't... (Until that fateful first trip to "Geeksquad"... computer full of virus... mouth full of lame excuses.)
But I digress...

My friend... had dial-up (this was a while back). And some moments to himself.
And so he went about finding some appropriate content (such as it was).
The extremely slow connection and poor processor, clunkier than anything on the most pitiful of phones nowadays, did it's best... but unfortunately, it all proved to be ultimately too much. One link in particular led not to euphoria, but to an endless and unstoppable barrage of pop-up screens.
At which point the computer just... couldn't.



And like a fainting goat.... froze.

At which point he heard a car door slam in the driveway.
At which point, the panic set in.
At which point he further noticed, terrified, that the last unwanted and very much unsolicited pop-up happened to be two very, very, very old people doing very, very, very bad (or good? depending on your tastes?) things.
(The front door opening...)
Sadly, at this point the computer was beyond responding to any and all attempts to close the myriad of windows on the screen, much less the one front and center.


(Footsteps down the hall...)
An attempt to discard of the physical evidence... (ahem, lotion)... resulted in tragedy when what seemed a light, easy lob toward the corner with hopes that it would fall behind the shelf, had a little too much power behind it and instead resulted in a shattered bottle and a substantial amount of white lotion now literally exploded all over said wall.
(The turning of a door handle....)
A firm pressing of the power button on the monitor and the screen blinking out....
(The door opening...)
... only to find that, like the lob, mayhaps too much firmness was behind the pressing of the power button, and the terrifying sound of the monitor blinking back on at the very moment he turned to face his spouse....

At which point, honestly....what can you do?
Save try to explain for the next 12 hours (12 years) that you are decidedly NOT into senior-porn. (Which somehow, in the discussions is purported to be less egregious a crime than the need for "moments to yourself."....
....Because "Is this what you're into?!!" is much funnier and easy to dismiss and discuss than "What's wrong with me?!!!) 

(And "That you seriously have absolutely zero interest in sex with me," while the correct answer....never goes over well.)

But... things Fappen, right?
(You can blame that story on Rich, by the way... Watts Fappening was his damn idea.)

When Rich and Ryan broached "The Fappening" I was pretty well into some beers. Dorita had come over and was lounging on the couch with a stack of papers. "So... I'm'a go down to Charlotte for some sexyfuntime with Rich on the 14th."
A brief word that the 14th was Valentines Day. The awkward grind of the rusty gears in my head. These things mean something. Even when you pretend they don't.

This was to be the follow up to Rich and Ryan's travels to my town, which I stupendously failed to document. And which.. while he won't admit it... Rich is a wee bit miffed about.

A note on that:
Rich is a blogger. I am not. I am merely a (very emotional) man with a (very bad) blog. And while I have achieved, in some circles, and for whatever insane reason, a modicum of familiarity for the things I write... when the gaping hole in my heart makes mirth impossible...or when my head is a thousand miles away... or when my son needs me (and more than anything, I need him)... or when someone's magnetic field disrupts literally every wireless connection within a 50 yard radius.... (ahem)
story time for you is no-go.

Lack of timely documentation aside....
I enjoyed having those boys come visit me.


We began with some late lunch at Taqueria El Azteca.
Bill (Ryan) Nye brought his appetite.. Rich brought his 90's facial hair.
 Hey man... you like Soundgarden? Yeah, you do.

Then we went to "the hovel" where Rich made friends with my dog Mango... who is usually quite particular about his friends.

Then we went to ride bikes around a parking lot. And a dumpster. And some trails.
Until it was dark. Very dark.

Then to the shop where we were apparently late to our own party.



Then we went downtown to drink at Gibbs Hundred Brewing.... where we made fun of everyone.
("psst.... You know who sucks? Watts.")

Take that, girl in the cow-chair.

Then we went to Sticks and Stones....where we apparently drank... water?
(Although you can see MY beer in front of my rock hard tasty abs, washerboard style.... glistening in the sun.)
And then.... I have no idea.
I guess we all made it home.
Rain the next day made riding a non-option, so Rich and Ryan fled back to their hometown to be bored as shit on familiar ground.

So....

Like a number of people (mostly women) I had to google "fap" to decipher Rich's joke. When I did, and found that I was the brunt of it... as usual... I spit my beer out and laughed...and knew that chances were the weekend would go wonderfully south.
A nine mile ride including nine breweries/drinking establishments. Pffft. I've had nine beers a million times. Stretched out over the course a half day? Cakewalk. What could possibly go wrong?

I was fighting a bit of the funk (general physical malaise... separate from my usual existential funk), but was starting to feel a little better. Nonetheless... a pre-ride at Back Yard was not in the cards. So I met Rich at his place and after some dicking around (get it? Dickie? Dicking? Ugh. God, I suck.) we rolled out to meet some peeps at a mexican restaurant for some foodstuff-calories before we were too full of beer-calories to make sense of proper nutrition.



Mexican food without beer is an issue for me....so without hesitating, I looked Rich in the eye and ordered a Negra Modelo. He followed suit with a Dos Equis. That's how we roll. We hadn't discussed pre-gaming, and knew that it probably wasn't a super great idea. But it's not "great-idea racing" is it?
After two pre-game beers each, we hopped on our bikes and rode over to Sugar Creek... Stop #1 of the Fappening.
You know who loves a bunch of dirtbag cyclists descending on their establishment?
Fucking nobody....

Zac Avant..."We don't serve your kind....Unironic moustaches aren't allowed in here."




Nick "The Face of Chaos" Barlow rolled up right before we were about to leave, and once we corralled all the cats, we headed out to our next, unofficial and impromptu stop. Old Mecklenburg Brewery. 




More foodstuff-calories gleaned from sausages and pretzels... and standing too close to a fire pit... which made all of us smell like campfire for the rest of the night.




To Triple C Brewing. OMB had been a vast outdoor courtyard (the inside being vast as well). Triple C was notable (outside of the beautiful people) for the preponderance of dogs of all shapes and sizes. I love dogs. I especially love dogs that can co-mingle with humans and other dogs in a social setting.
Mango... is nonesuch an animal.




This picture is less of this dude's head, and more of the barmaid.



We are very funny.


On to Sycamore,,, our party growing with every stop.






At Sycamore, in what was an amazing stroke of luck, we ran into Danny the Hobbit... whose fame, of course, stems from the fact that he had successfully completed the Nine brewery crawl before us.

...and who, for a halfling, was actually a good bit taller than either Rich or myself. And better looking.
Good god, I am an unattractive man.
Humblest apologies to any and all women who ever mistakenly thought otherwise for a moment or two.

But after six beers, everyone starts to look attractive. Even when we drink beer like this.
"Ow. Watch the teeth, Rich."


"Umm....don't kid yourself, Watts. We might be attractive.... but a lot more is going to have to be consumed before you look that way."
On to Unknown....

This photo is less of Rich and more of a pixie-like barmaid examining the contents of his nose.
Or not.
He traveled from the wilds of Roanoke to join the Fappening.... and was in a constant state of disappointment at my constantly unraveling state. It's not unraveling, man.... it's.... fappening.

Is this still Unknown? I seriously have no fucking idea.

Can you believe that all these people actually showed up to an event named after me? 
And fapping?

This is when things truly began to get a little bent... and you can see the degradation of my photo taking.





I'm pretty sure that the aftermath of  "the ball incident" is why my hip was so sore the next day.
At least... I hope so.
So... I think this is NODA?... But I don't know.
Stop #6... Beer #8.



Yep.... NODA.... because according to tradition, you have to drink your beer in the bathroom.
Apparently.

Wait.. shit... I had two beers here. This is beer 9!?

And this.... is the last photo I took for the night. Kate and Jurwayne.
Somewhere.
Could be Birdsong. Could be Dolce Vita. Could be Sanctuaray. 
By Dolce Vita, things were kind of... done. Multiple beers were being consumed in place of one. All I wanted were more foodstuff calories... and instead, a shot of sake materialized...and vanished into my body.
I was beginning to lose some of my nigh legendary control. All of it, in fact.
Rich refused to budge when Ryan suggested we all go find more beer.... and successfully dragged me back to his house. The ride was fairly miserable... but I was doing alright. I mean... it wasn't like NAHBS last year....

I can DOOO it!

I even felt alright when I woke up the next morning.
For a little while....

I don't know what your hangovers are like... but mine start slowly... and like a freight train, gain unstoppable momentum.
If I wake up at 6am... it isn't until 8am that things really start to hit me. And once they do... I'm incapacitated for hours.
This... was no exception.
And for whatever reason... it was among the worst. Maybe it was the quanitity of beer. Although I've certainly had more. Maybe it was the addition of the sake. Maybe it was my weakened constitution from the funk. Or maybe... I just need to rethink some things in my life.
After lying in bed for about an hour... trying to sleep a little more... I decided that getting up and walking was the only possible option.
So I pulled on my clothes and bolted outside.
It was going alright. Yeah... I felt awful.. but the cold was helping.
Until it wasn't.
Walking by some houses less than a block away from Rich's, it hit me hard. I didn't even have time to bolt. I bent over and threw up in a stranger's front yard.
I had time enough to shuffle behind a row of Leland Cypress before it happened again. And again. And again.
I made it back to Rich's, where, much to my chagrin, and his family's wishes, I'm sure... I alternated between their couch and their bathroom for hours.
Kim is a super sweety-pie (THE pie, in fact) and did her best to care for me....even offering (in the sweetest, most aggressive way) an anti-nausea suppository...which I eyed dubiously every time my head came up from dry heaving bile into the terlet.



Much to their relief, I finally rallied enough to bid them adieu, and I headed to IKEA to buy a shelf, return some lightbulbs, and to eat Swedish Meatballs... which were probably not one of the things that Kim could have, in good conscience, recommended... ever.
As I left the house... Rich and I joked about having named the event Watts Fappening '15. As if there was going to be a '16.

Well...It's already in the works... whether Rich knows it or not.

Next time... FROSTBUKAKE '15.. which... will be fucking epic....
Consider yourself warned.