Happy Drunken 101st…
Dusty has advised me that, when I write things whilst insanely drunk, be it an email or an entry, I should sit on it until morning and re-evaluate. I did so, which is why I'm posting this today.
In fact, I think I did an admirable job for being as drunk as I was, and I did no editing.
I s'pose it doesn't hurt that I've already had a beers few today though...
Much like the belief that the New Millenium doesn't truly start until the year after, I have waited to celebrate 100 entries until this one, the 101st. This isn't at all because I forgot my diary was turning 100 and wrote about poop instead, if that's what you're thinking. Seriously, reading syn_ack's comment wasn't the first time I'd ever thought about the fact that I've now got 100 fucking entries.
Honest.
Swear.
*ahem*
In celebration of this momentous event, I thought I'd do a couple things.
First, apparently there are enough people doing so these days that I thought I'd read the whole thing myself. Sure, I'd done it before, but was usually drunk and prone to outrageous laughter followed by unstoppable tears, and I'd never actually made it through the whole thing. I wanted to do this to make sure I've got a fairly firm handle on who exactly The JuddHole comes across as.
I'm going to forego my thoughts on what a complete jackass I am and/or incredibly sexy beast I tend to be, and deliver the second thing.
I'm going to share with you shit that you probably wouldn't know if you only know me through this diary.
Relax, I'm not going to do \"101 things you've always wanted to know about me\" or any of that shit.
I'm just going to talk, and you're going to listen.
Because I fucking SAID SO, that's why. Now shaddap and siddown.
First off, I am drunk right now, and I tend to write a good majority of my entries after several beers.
I drink too much. Am I going to stop, or even slow down? Not at the moment, so piss off.
I cry during the \"Jen-Ays Grave\" scene during Forrest Gump.
Every. Fucking. Time.
I believe my mother to be the most incredible human being that's ever graced this planet, and I count myself as phenomenonally lucky that I was born to her and have gotten to know her my whole life.
I fart and blame it on the nearest explicable entity.
I will sit and watch any one of my 5 fishtanks for hours like a drooling moron.
There are times that I WILL actually drool on myself while staring at my fish. I will then quickly wipe it off, look around guiltily, and say, \"Jeez, I hope nobody saw that.\"
Whenever I am near a child or an animal, I instantly become stupider. It is probably for this reason that most tend to love me instantly.
I piss on the trellis in my backyard in front of my neighbors. There are times that I'll even wave at 'em. In fact, I just did. \"Hi Jim!\"
I do this under the pretenses of \"water conservation,\" but the truth is, I just love pissing outside, and will always do so given the opportunity, no matter the audience.
I was scared and self-conscious as an adolescent, was terrified of anyone who didn't like me, and was wary of anyone who did.
I've fallen in love 3 times in my life. First was The Girl, and that didn't work out, though I still care about her and consider her a friend. Next, was MarriedGirl, and that didn't work out, though I still care for her and consider her a friend. Now... is new, and someone that I've known for a while, though have never met in person.
I am flying half-way around the World to meet her, for the first time in person, in April.
I am equally excited and terrified about this. It all feels incredibly right and I give not a fuck what anyone thinks about it.
I blow my nose in the shower. But I always make sure all of it makes it down the drain.
I've been in 3 fistfights in my life, have 'won' all of them, and only 'cheated' once by kicking the guy in the balls and then punching him repeatedly while he clutched his crotch in agony.
I consider a \"fistfight\" one in which both parties are allowed to throw punches. If you count me getting hit in the face without fighting back, my record goes from 3-0, to 3-5, so I tend not to mention those.
I own more shoes than 90% of the chicks I know. Over half of them are black, steel-toed, boots.
I have a sewing machine and love making stuff on it. I love baking too.
I don't know what any of this means, although I'm pretty sure I'm not gay.
I just checked, and I'm not gay.
I absolutely love \"fan mail,\" though at least half of it freaks me out a little, particularly unsolicited personal information and/or pictures (even if some of you ARE pretty hot).
I am a dreamer and an incurable romantic, which sometimes leads me into trouble.
I am also analytical and pragmatic, which makes me smack myself in the head for being too much of a fucking dreamer.
I am competitive to a fault. During any head-to-head competition, I will do everything I can to kick the ever-lovin shit outta you, but I will never cheat. If I win, I am completely humble, but if I lose I will do so graciously, though inside I will curse your undeserved luck. If I sense that winning would mean more to you than it would to me, I will relent, but I will subtly remind you later that I could've beaten you had I really wanted.
I am an artist, and am terribly passionate about art.
When low on laundry, I will take off a pair of boxer briefs and sniff them, to see if they can handle another day of being subjected to my nasty junk.
I sniff every article of clothing before I put it on as well as anything I am preparing to eat, and I rarely confuse the two.
Regardless of what any of the above actually smell like, I always continue on with my initial intentions by either wearing them or eating them.
I have an order when I put on clothing or hockey equipment, and I will wander the house with one boot in my hand while searching for the other, because I refuse to put the \"wrong\" one on first.
I own 100+ hats, and am almost always wearing one. I usually grab whatever is nearest and put it on my head. This means at any given point, I may be wearing a Cowboy Hat, a Sombrero, a Santa Hat, an Army BDU Hat, or a simple ballcap. Right now, I'm wearing my \"Preston* Derby\" hat that I got from a buddy who was actually there.
*Preston, Idaho, home of Napoleon Dynamite. I kick so much ass in this hat.
I've been drinking this entire night, including while I've been writing this, am very drunk, and typing is a chor that is quickly pissing me off.
I love hugs, am a great hugger, and will give them freely even when sober.
Now c'mere, and give Judd some love.
I will usually grab your ass at the end of said hugs, regardless of who you are.
This makes some people understandably uncomfortable, and they tend to be wary of me wanting to hug them ever again.
This list of Formerly Hugged and AssGrabbed includes my step-sister, her husband, my boss, assorted co-workers, my realtor, my neighbor, and a couple of good friends and their girlfriends/wives.
Everything that I am in this diary is exactly like I am in real life, only slightly more puerile and immature.
That's not true, I am EXACTLY like this in real life, and you better fuckin' believe it.
Despite this, I don't want people I know reading this for the simple fact that I don't want them thinking they know, or don't know, something about me simply because they read it in here. I fuckin' hate that shit.
I believe that stories worth telling happen to all of us, all the time, and we need to share them more often.
This entry was fun for me to write, but I know that it is a complete piece of shit for reading value. I don't care, nor have I ever.
Since I have been working my ass off to sell this fucking great house for so long, I've been remiss in simply enjoying it while I'm here, and I spent the first part of this evening in my basement, shooting pool with a good friend of mine.
He's one of the few that know I have this diary, and he supports my habit without ever reading it or asking for the link.
Regardless of this, he refuses to let me post a picture of him, though I know all the chicks that read this would go nuts over him and have told him as such, mostly because I've seen him in the shower after a hockey game and know that nothing will clear a shower spot quicker than, \"Hey Buddy... nice penis.\"
I told him how much fun it is to have all sorts of chicks throw their panties at me whenever I post pics, so he snapped shots of me while shooting pool, despite my protests.
I was kicking his ass, so I figured he was trying to distract my deep thought.
![\"think](\"images/pool_thinking.jpg\")
I'm either trying to explain something to him about a flash going off while attempting to sink the 8-ball, or I've just taken a hit off my beer bottle/bong unit.
![\"lissen](\"images/pool_toking.jpg\")
And by \"Protests,\" I mean threatening him menacingly with my pool cue turned Ninja Sword, and screaming, \"Round-eye DOG! I will slice that camera from your foolish Gaijin fingers!\"
![\"I](\"images/pool_ninja.jpg\")
I guess the last thing on my List of Things Revealed should be that I'm a complete whore for pictures and feedback on them.
But, surely you knew that one.
Now, tell me how hot I am. My fragile ego can never get enough o' that shit.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.It's all about perspective.
The other day I was thinking about some of the heavier things on my mind as I walked into the bathroom here at work. For my money, there truly is no better place to think deeply, but I know that the Zen-like state I achieve while in there isn't necessarily common. To be honest, I still think anyone who can't crap in public* is a BigFatSally, but obviously I'm not someone that has HUGE hygeine issues.
*Yes, I purposely said, \"crap in public,\" as opposed to \"crap in a public restroom.\"
I was looking forward to my solitude and an extended period of brooding, followed by an epiphany or two, concluding with a triumphant shout (all of this referencing both what goes on in my mind and my... well... arguably where my brain is actually located). When I opened the door, I indeed gave a gave a shout, but it was of pure disgust, as I saw that someone had obviously packed a double-barrel shotgun with Remington's AssJuice Loads, and fired with both barrels in the general vicinity of the toilet.
I realized that chances were slim that I would now be able to acheive enlightenment (once again, referencing both parts) if ever, and I left to go notify building management that their Hazmat Team was about to meet it's match. On my way hurriedly out of Mr. Hanky's murder scene, I brushed past Eduardo, a vaunted member of said building management staff (meaning he actually speaks English). He was holding an \"Out of Order\" sign and walking purposefully towards the Stall of Doom. As he made his way in whistling a happy tune, I was already in Full-on-Matrix-Style-Slow-Mo-Up-the-Side-of-Wall mode to stop him until I realized that he was also carrying cleaning supplies and was obviously well apprised of the situation.
I heaved a huge sigh of relief, as Eduardo is middle management of the cleaning services people, and I had full confidence in his ability to handle the situation accordingly by calling in an airstrike and nuking the entire bathroom. I was fine with that, thinking, \"I'll walk down a flight of stairs to shit from now on, thank you.\"
I turned to leave and heard him still whistling happily as he was no doubt staring DeathByShit straight in the face. I figured he was either steeling his resolve and working on breathing through his mouth, or he was going through a mental list of his employees that were deserving of such a foul fate as to have to approach that Brown Evilness. I waited before going downstairs for a minute or so, and his cheeriness never faltered, even though I could hear him cleaning away the remnants of the Intestinal God's cruel joke.
On my way back up to my office, I ran into Eduardo in the hallway.
\"Hey Eddie. Man, that was somethin', eh?\" (Gesturing to bathroom)
\"Si, si... 'eet was SOMEthin.\" (Nodding solemnly)
\"You sure seem like you're in a good mood though, what's up?\"
\"Oh, I jes' happy. I loaf my job, eeven when I have to clean dairty toilets.\"
That really hit me. That's all he sees when he looks at what's left when a Pudding Cup explodes all over a bathroom stall... a \"Dairty Toilet,\" and he loves his job so much it doesn't seem to bother him.
The seemingly overwhelming stuff I'd been dealing with suddenly seemed insignificant, and I realized that my perspective was just skewed.
I've got it pretty good, and even though I've got my share of \"Dairty Toilets\" in my life that need cleaning... I'm going to be whistling while I do it.
Unless they really ARE \"Dairty\" like that one was... then I'm going to gag uncontrollably and envision Splittin' the Fookin' Skooll of the FuckKnuckle whose ass exploded.