Potpourri

• Because I didn't have time to iron my laundry over the weekend, yesterday I wore the same shirt I wore to work on Friday. No one noticed. I love this trick.
• My dad -- who for a while didn't know that he was racist but instead kept calling himself "old fashioned" -- is finally accepting the reality that my sister Lynn's boyfriend is Indian, and in fact, since having Pratik over for dinner about a month ago, he's been totally excited about him. "If marry, what you think their kids look like?" he cheerfully asked me the other day, then said, "I think beautiful. I think big eyes, high nose. Tall." Later my dad frowned a bit and added, "One thing. His last name I don't like. Shah. What the hell kind of last name is that?" So I shot back: "What the hell kind of last name is Nguyen?"
• My sister threw a birthday party for herself at Barleycorn on Saturday. Barleycorn is one of those bars that first-timers absolutely love, but if you've been there 38 times in the last 4 months like me, you get a little sick of the whole "let's drink downstairs for a couple hours and then when we're drunk and horny enough, let's stand in line for 45 minutes to go upstairs to dance in a room full of packed sardines" kind of thing. It still was a good time though. Especially when I called my sister fat. I can get really edgy when I drink; to people who know me well, this can be an endearing quality, but in front of strangers -- which is the category I'll put some of Lynn's friends -- this can make me look like a jackass. It was good times though, when I showed Mike and Tasha a picture of "Double-chin Lynn" on my digital camera and they replied, "Huh? She's not fat...?", and then I leaned over the table to point at Lynn repeatedly, screaming, "FAT! FAT! FAT! YOU'RE A FAT FUCK!" while all of the girls gasped in shock. Kelly shook off her disgust and bewilderment to remind me that a guy should never tell a girl she's fat, and I responded, "It's all good. She calls me a faggot all the time. We're joking around." I looked over to smile at my sister, who glared at me as she sank lower and lower into her seat.
• Speaking of fat, you know you're packing on too much weight these days when you squeeze your 34-inch-waist body into 32-inch-waist khakis -- which you're only wearing because you didn't have time to iron your other pants over the weekend -- and when you take your pants off after coming home, there are nasty red blisters all along your belly. Date me, ladies.
• Another case of Edgy Pete striking again on Saturday night at Lynn's party was when I walked up to Mike to playfully shake my booty in front of his face, which mutated into a full-fledged lapdance. Not winning points with any girls that night, most of Lynn's friends cringed. Although Tasha, Mike's girlfriend, oddly stamped her approval of the act by clapping her hands. Someone captured this scene on video, which you can see for yourself on YouTube if you do a search for "Pete embarrassing himself for all eternity." The next day when I was talking to Dave on the phone about Lynn's birthday, he noted, "You and Mike sure seemed to like each other a lot last night." I wasn't sure if the flat tone of his voice was misplaced jealousy, or misplaced homophobia.
• My current roommate is moving to California by the end of the week. I'm sad to see him go because he's an even bigger sports geek than I am. It was always a luxury to be able to walk into the living room and turn on the TV to find that it's already set to the ESPNews channel. I'll miss that the most. Replacing him is a new roommate I met through Craigslist that I'm a bit skeptical I'll have any fun with because when I asked him if he liked sports, he replied, "Of course! Cricket has been a passion of mine for a very long time."
• They want me to participate in caroling at my work's holiday party this Friday, but I'm scared. Even worse is that in my overzealous quest for company-wide recognition, I somehow accidentally told our party organizer that I refused to sing unless I got a solo spot... and she is going to oblige my request! Hopefully when I do this on Friday, I'll have a couple glasses of wine in me so that I can simply clear my throat, tighten my belt, and let my falsetto run loose. Because this is a job that only Edgy Pete can handle.