Interesting Fun Fucking Fact #421

I never learned how to tie a tie. I'm 35 years old, I've performed five weddings. I own a business. I can't tie a tie.

Have I ever tried? Never. In grade/middle school I either rocked a clip on or had my Mom or Dad help me. At the second to last wedding I performed, the groom gave me a tie to wear. On the most important day of his life (if you buy into the whole marriage being the most important day of someone's life) this man had to break from his wedding in order to tie a tie for his fucking officiant.

Embarrassing.

I hate ties. I hate them primarily because you should have the top button of your shirt buttoned when you wear a tie. You know, so you don't look like a fucking slob. My neck is so disproportioned to the rest of my body that it's almost impossible for me to find a shirt that fits my neck while not draping over the rest of me.

However, I'm attending a charitable fundraiser and I've been instructed to wear a tie. Youtube, don't fail me now:



I've used this video, carefully slid the tie off of my fat head, and hope that the knot will be preserved for when I get dressed this evening.

This website is my last refuge in which I would divulge such an embarrassing situation. I feel incredibly douchey. Now, I have to go find one of those button extenders for the top button of my shirt. Gooch: Fat and Classless.

goochout.

Law Abiding Gooch.

Wow, I had a lot written that I quickly deleted because it was getting incredibly lame. I mean who wants to hear my observations on human nature? Or read them, as the case may be.

I haven't had much to write as of late. Too busy working and trying to lose my slacker image that the chicks past age 28 don't find as appealing as their younger counterparts.

My commitment issues have been brought to light again recently. Combine that with the public nature of ALL of our existences thanks to social networking, and it's becoming all too real that a lot of people read this site and I don't know who they are and quite frankly it's caused me to become super paranoid. I think that every word is being analyzed by everyone with an IP address and I started to get anxiety. Garnishing a glass of red wine with Xanax sprinkles may help, but I've got to get the anxiety under control.

Fuck, I think this is worse than what I'd written before. I should have kept that. At least it had some sort of structure.

I did have a science moment in my office today. I have one of those timed fragrance sprayers above my cat box in the office (every 36 minutes a plunger pushes down on the canister to let out some spray). I have a bunch of neon signs and a lava lamp on the light switch plugs (when I hit the switch, all of the neons and lava lamp turn on). Something with the lava lamp caused the spray plunger/servo to start plunging like a machine gun. It was insane as I walked through the fragrant fog (I believe the scent was Glade's "French Whore" fragrance) and pulled the device away from the lava lamp, which caused the air freshener bukkake to stop. Something about the mystical power of the lava lamp causes electronics to go nuts. Cool.

Eh, I got nothing. Finishing wine and Tylenol PM and it's good night gracie for me.

goochout.