We've all had it happen.  We hear a term used and, for some unknown reason, it sticks with us like freshly chewed and carelessly discarded gum will stick to our favorite new shoes.  For the past couple of days, I have had one of these terms stuck in my head and I just have to write my thoughts on it in the hopes that I will be able to let the fucking word go.  It's not even a cool new term that I've never heard...  It's simply one that I don't hear very often.  Fuck it.  Let's get this exorcism started.

It all started a couple days ago when I was casually perusing some bulletins.  Most are garbage and I can tell from the subject line but I am a sucker for a good title so I'll read the ones that catch my eye.  That's when I saw a bulletin posted by a smokin' hot blonde from California.  The subject?  "You and your janky Target Card. (SO NOT HOT)"  It got me and I'll tell you why.  First, however, let me share the entire bulletin...

"I have gotten sooooooo many TARGET gift card spams in the last few days that if I actually believed you bitches, I could probably have enough gift cards to buy the whole damn COMPANY!!!!!!!!!!

If this is the first time you have seen my bulletin-bitching about your janky spam, all I am saying is change your damn ass password!!!!!!!!!!!!

If not, well then you already know why I am irritated, and I am not even sorry one bit for bitching yet AGAIN ;)

Have a good day....

And don't talk shit about people when they are standing 3 feet away and expect them not to hear you.

That's a lesson some bitches on BART had to learn last night, and I don't want you all to have to make the same mistake.

That is all.

xo"

I love this girl's attitude.  You all know that I'm a sucker for a hot chick with a knuckle-up disposition.  However, the term that struck me twice here is her use of the word "janky."  That's right.  "Janky."  You can probably gather the meaning of the term from her use of it, but if you're not sure what it means I'll share the definition straight from the Urban Dictionary...

Janky - jain-key (adjective) Of inferior quality; held in low social regard; old and delapidated.  Refers almost exclusively to inanimate material objects, not to people.

On my way to work this morning, my recent obsession with the word came to a head.  I started rattling it off out loud to myself in the car as I made the 8mph crawl around the northend I-285 perimeter to work.  It started off innocently enough when an overweight woman beside me got a little bent out of shape when I wasn't in the mood to allow her to bounce back and forth between my lane and hers as she did the dumbass Office Space lane dance trying to get a leg-up on everyone else.

"Fuck you, lady. I see you aimin' your bitch-lights at me while your ass is plopped in your driver's seat like a sweaty stack of pancakes, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna sit here and let you bounce between these two lanes in your janky Toyota Camry all fucking morning!"

While a mouthful, that was actually one of the shorter comments that I made which highlighted the term.  By the time I passed the 400 exit, I was in full-on janky mode and I couldn't stop myself.

"Could you go any slower, Vanilla Ice?  I know you're rollin' in your 5.0 with the ragtop down so the wind can whistle thru your janky-ass Got2B ultra-stiff, ultra-greasy pomade and to the extreme you rock the brake like a vandal... You block up a lane and wax a chump like... Get that janky piece of shit in to a slow lane, Ferdinand Ma-hair-GEL-len!!"

I know.  I was a little road-ragey.  Sorry.  I really wasn't pissed off, but I wanted to say the word "janky" out loud as much as possible.  I couldn't stop.  Hell, I couldn't even slow down.  I still can't.  I just said "is my janky-ass shift key not working now?" when it didn't capitalize the "I" in that last sentance.  I have a problem and I may need professional help.

But why share this with all of you?  The truth is that I don't want you to be confused when you run in to me at the club.  I don't want to tell you "So you decided to wear those janky shoes to the club?  Nice." and have you walk away thinking "So Fain loves my new flats!"  No I don't.  When every other woman is in her strappy stilettos, your flats make you look like you've been baking E.L. Fudges in the Keebler Elf Tree all day and came straight to the club after work.  Put on a pair of heels for fuck's sake.  This ain't some janky neighborhood bar that you like to loiter in after you eat at Applebee's.  No matter what my tone of voice may be, janky is not a compliment or a term of endearment.

So, thank you DALLAS, for sticking that word in my head...  And I'm sure the thousands of people who hear me use the term ad-nauseum this weekend will want to thank you too.

I'll see you at Fever Saturday night and if you refer to my sweet mullet as janky, I'm goin' to start throwin' 'bows in the VIP.  Don't try me.

Stay slutty, Atlanta! 

Yesterday, my father suffered a stroke and wound up in the hospital back home in Florida. My sister called to tell me just an hour or so before I had to go out and shoot Paul Oakenfold at Wet Bar with Joey G last night. At the time, all I knew was that he had suffered a stroke and was in the Crestview Hospital. My sister said she would give me info as she got it and that there was no reason to head home until she had more info so I stayed in Atlanta and went out.

Luckily, my sister sent me a text later to tell me that it was a minor stroke and that he appeared to be okay. The doctors wanted to take more testes and get a specialist in to see him so they held him overnight. Today, he remains in the hospital and I'm sure his doctors and nurses wish they could get him the hell out of there.

When it comes to me, in the case of my dad, this apple didn't fall far from the tree. I'm a lot like the man who is known as Fain in the family. My relatives call me Erran since he doesn't want me to tarnish the name Fain any more than he has already. He's a smartass and doesn't care what people think of him yet has more friends than I can even comprehend. He does what he wants, has a biting sense of humor and drives the woman in his life absolutely nuts. My mother is in Austria right now and I'm sure she wishes she were with him, but since he appears to be okay I know there is a part of her that is happy to be 5000 miles away from him right now. He's mad as hell about being held in the hospital when he feels fine and I'm sure he's raising hell. Mom hates it when he causes a scene... Unfortunately for her, he loves to see her squirm and will sometimes cause one for no other reason than to hear her snap "Oh, Fain, stop that right now!"  I don't help much either since I enjoy watching her cheeks turn red too.

I didn't tell a lot of people what happened, but still the word got out and I received a lot of love and support from many of you. I'm very grateful for your well wishes and prayers. I'm sure he'll be just fine. He told me just a minute ago that he'll stay one more night to finish reading the book on the Hell's Angels that my sister bought him but was very clear when he told me "I'll be good n' goddamned if I'm going to waste an entire weekend in the fucking hospital!" I love his attitude.

So, thanks again and I'll keep you all posted when the tests all come back... I'm sure he will be just fine tho, so no need to worry. He's powered by spite, rebellion and evil and there's no way in hell that something as emo as a heart is going to take him out. ;)

Stay slutty, Atlanta... See you all at Fever tomorrow.

It's been a while since I have addressed a dumbass bulletin on MySpace, but this one has been circulating for at least a year and it's full of some pretty rediculous shit.  I saw it once again today and decided to kill two birds with one stone...  The first bird is this mysterious "MySpace Etiquette" that some people think is law and the other is to try to break my writer's block.

So, now, let's get to the bulletin.  My responses will be in italics.

11 THINGS LOSERS DO ON MYSPACE TO MAKE IT LOOK BAD!

ONE
there is NO SUCH THING as a myspace tracker.
it does NOT exist. so quit posting stupid bulletins like
"OH-MY-GOD this WORKS!!!"
NO!, It doesnt.

Saying that there is no such thing as a MySpace tracker is bullshit and an outright lie.  There ARE trackers out there that work and I've seen them do their thing.  Do I use one?  No, but I am aware of their existance.  In this first point, the original author says to "stop posting stupid bulletins" when he knows damn well that he has just created yet another stupid bulletin for newbies to spam all over the fucking place.  He probably started a bullshit MS tracker too.  This is the irony.  Spammers know that messages denouncing spam create more reposts and even more spam.

TWO
To the people who have like 25,000 friends,
are you serious?
You're stupid.
Go play in traffic.

Nice.  No explanation of the author's point, just a simple insult followed by something my Dad used to say to me when I was a kid.  Guess what?  Not everyone uses MS for the same purpose.  Some people in industries who's target demographic is the same as MS use the site to share their music, art, writing, events, product or business with people who may be interested in such.  If you have ever posted this bulletin and Christine Dolce (Forbidden), Tila Tequila, Dane Cook, Fallout Boy (or any of your favorite bands on major labels) are in your friend's list, then you are now a hypocrite.

Why join MS just to send messages to your "real" friends?  You already have their phone number and email addy, right?  You joined MS to meet new people, show off how hot or interesting you are and, apparantly, to be able to feel superior when you deny a request from some "loser."

Who cares how many friends I have?  Do I respond when you need me? Yes.  Do I try to keep up with my page as if I had 5 friends?  Absolutely, but I do get behind sometimes...  I always catch up tho.  The point?  Mind your own business.  Cure your penis envy before you create a new mental illness for yourself...  Friend Envy can kill if combined with Adderal and the right Snow Patrol song.

THREE
Don't ever post pictures and say
"OMG, I'm so ugly" or
"OMG, I'm so fat"
because if you were,
you wouldn't post them your silly ass is just begging for compliments.
And if u do ur a freaking mongoloid.

This is apparantly aimed at girls.  Now I must assume that a guy (who doesn't understand sentence structure) wrote this piece.  Posting a caption under a picture is not begging for compliments...  Posting a bulletin that says "Comment my new pics!" is.  I do like the cheap shot at ugly people in the last sentance here.  Now I understand that this author is a male with limited education and little concern for other people's feelings.  Oh shit.  Did I write this when I was fucked up last year?  Hmmmmm...  I better lay off the peyote.

FOUR
NOBODY cares about threats over the internet.
Don't try to act hardcore with the keyboard.
No keyboard gangsters or keyboard thugz.
FIGHTING ONLINE is like racing in the Special Olympics;
even if you win, you're still a RETARD.

Even if the joke is stolen from a pre-MS graphic that used to be prevalant on forums, this is still his best point so far...  Except for the fact that MS enables you to block other users.  Why fight?  Block someone.  Simple.  My ex-girlfriends do it to me all the time, right Blakeley?

FIVE
Quit crying
b/c you're not on someones top 8.
who cares?
ITS MYSPACE!!!

Again, I agree, but being in some people's top 8 (or 24 now) can get you a suprising number of friend requests.  It can be useful if you are one of those people who use MS for a purpose other than leaving comments for friends that you see every fucking day in the real world.  However, people that whine about not being there can be a huge pain in the ass...  And when you get in to four digit friends, even finding them is damn near impossible unless they send you their email address to help your search.

SIX
Who really cares if
I don't accept you as a friend?
MOVE ON!!!
Don't send me another request or message asking
"what's up with you not adding me?"
I don't want you as a friend,
that's what's up fruit!!!
Go kick rocks...

Another good point, but I'll use it in reverse.  Did I send you a friend request but you think I'm an asshole, an attention whore, a friend collector or "hiding" behind my sunglasses?  Hit the deny button, please.  Did I not follow your protocol and send you a message first?  Hit the deny button, please.  If you don't want to have me in your friend's list, then hit the fucking deny button, please.  And don't send me a message telling me why I was denied.  I don't care.  Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm a bad guy, blah, blah, blah...  I get it.    Hit the deny button, please, and move along.

SEVEN
Little 6th, 7th, as well as 8th. graders who have MySpace
and look like sluts, and act like whores
go somewhere else because nobody
wants you here. And Parents
quit blaming myspace for your kid being
a hooker, she was a whore before
myspace, and she'd be a whore without it!
What does that say about your
parenting skills? Think about it!
Ooh that one stung didn't it?

This has now confirmed that the author is himself a child.  Have you EVER heard an adult use the phrase "little 6th, 7th and even 8th graders?"  No, you haven't.  We stop thinking that what grade you're in is important the instant that we graduate and realize that the adult world doesn't acknowledge this class system anymore.  As an adult, we stop spewing hate at people that are a couple years younger than us and save that venom for those of other races and those with more (or less) money than us.  Isn't that much more mature?

However, this kid's point is why I don't have children.  Karma would ensure that I have a daughter and then I'd catch her showing her tits on MS when she's 14 and lying about her age.  My advice?  Go download "Network Magic" and start monitoring your kid's online activity.  It's your fucking computer, now keep your child from pretending to be an adult.

EIGHT
If you have decided to read this,
you are a true MySpace Friend.
Real friends read their bulletins.

Puke.  This finally exposes the author AND the reposters.  After all of this, it turns out that you posted it for attention.  Now, who's sad?

NINE
I say you go and pass this on and maybe it will finally get through people's brains.

Yes.  And we'll all know that you have low self-esteem and want all of your friends to say they read this.  Well, most of us read it and subsequently got the idea that you are small-minded and insecure...  We were being nice by not responding to point this out to you.  You're welcome.

TEN
And if you open a bulletin and it says something like repost this in 100 seconds or a ghost will rape your dog tonight,or some dead skinless girl is gonna rape your mom" QUIT BEING DUMB

My dog being raped by ghosts explains a lot of late night howling.  I should have reposted that bulletin.  Now, what is the author's obsession with rape?  He uses two examples and both involve rape.  Someone get this kid into therapy quick before he  matures into a sexual predator.

The reposts that really get me are the ones with a headline that says something provocative but then turns out to be another "repost this if you love Jesus" bulletin.  I checked the Bible (well, the Cliff's Notes anyway) and it's clear that Jesus doesn't care if you repost and tell everyone that you love him via MS bulletin...  Well, teenage, misunderstood Jesus might care, but the baby Jesus and grown-up, bearded Jesus would rather you be out doing a good deed or going to church, you heathen.

ELEVEN
Myspace was created to keep up with friends. quit trying to check up on your ex... come on now people its called stalking you might as well be sitting in front of their house with binoculars

So, you know why MySpace was invented, huh?  Too bad you were wrong.  That's NOT why MySpace was invented...  However, stalking your ex is another excercise in low self-esteem.  Don't go visit their page, don't contact their Top 24, and don't look like a pathetic lunatic.  It just makes them look cooler because they must be special to have a crazy like you watching their every move.

I have one ex that stalks me, but she's hot so I forgive her.  Why she would want to come see my page is beyond me tho...  Yes, baby girl, I'm living a lifestyle that you hate with women that you didn't think I could score.  Stings a little, doesn't it?  Pssssst!  There's an answer...  Stop coming here.  My MySpace Tracker is on to you!  ;)

This is a test to see how many people in your friends list
actually pay attention to you.

Nice wrap-up!  You know how many of your friends are paying attention to you?  One less now that I know your bulletins are filled with crap like this.

Well, Max and I home safe with no broken limbs and some fresh new clothes...  So we're gonna call the trip a success despite the lack of nightlife and hot chicks.  We half-assed our cougar hunting and spent most of the trip working, but all in all, it was a great trip and a much needed break from reality.

Anyway, we decided to put a new twist on our vacation photos this time.  It certainly made for an interesting (and rather conspicuous) time downtown on Main Street, and it opened our eyes to just what you can fuck up with four simple letters...

F • U • C • K.

And now...  The photos...

This was almost too fortuitous considering that we arrived in Utah sleepless after flying out straight from our "Caution Icey Conditions" party at Fever with Dj Icey.

The good ole' FUCK WORK CAFE!
Wake up and fuck the coffee!

Now, THAT's good bin!

Pleeeeease don't fuck the bears...

But making out with the bears is just fine.

They knew he was coming.

And they knew I was coming too.  ;)

No sticker needed for this.  It's self-explanatory.

This one made me feel a little PE...  I'm from the streets!!!

We had no idea that there was anyone inside...

It was worth it!  And these machines were on every block!

The fence is there for YOUR protection!

It was cold outside, but they asked me kindly to put my
clothes back on and take it out of their building.

It was great sushi, but I don't give a flying fuck.

This one didn't need a sticker either.

Max loves him some yellow box!

Over my limit.  I was fucked.

Hell, once you got going, the lot was less frigid than some women!

Well, if you count the cost of the call, the 4 fucks came to $1.35.

I respect the Utah educational system.

Apparantly, Locals fuck and Sundancers blow.
It's a win-win situation for Max and I.

Got a Gold Medal in the 500m Breaststroke. Go USA!

Harry-O's.  The only large scale venue in town.

I don't get it.  He kissed Max and then tried to
punch me with that airhorn.  Not cool.

FINALLY, we got some play from the hottest bitches in Park City!
(I got their cell numbers.)

Thanks for the love that we were shown, Utah...
Especially you, Nick.  You kick more ass than a Chuck Norris Marathon!

Stay slushy, Utah!

So, after the Icey party at Fever last night, Max and I hopped on MARTA and headed to the airport. The plan was to take the limo to the airport, but thanks to me, we had to go back to my apartment to grab the overcoat that I left at Jack Rabbit Lounge (thanks for ripping it out of the mexican's hands and bringing it to me, Corey!) Max wasn't exactly thrilled at my decision to ditch the limo and opt for public transportation, but breakfast at Wendy's made him forget about it. He's easily distracted by bacon. Figuring out MARTA's new Breeze Pass actually took us longer than the trip on the train. What was wrong with subway tokens? And when did Atlanta switch over? The damn vending machines take a fucking genius (or maybe simply sobriety) to figure out when it's cold and the hobos are eyeballing your laptop bag.

Anyway, we took the redeye to Salt Lake City during which we only woke up long enough to scarf down the sesame seed cardboard plank with a rather strange cheese-flavored spread and shortbread cookie that the airline was generous enough to supply for us. The shrink-wrapped "refreshment" had a plastic knife in it so I kept an eye on the other passengers to make sure there were no terrorist antics on my watch. My conditioner is apparantly a bomb-making apparatus, but handing out 280 shanks to grumpy passengers at 8am is quite alright. Thanks FAA! If my hair looks like a poorly colored poop-bomb in the morning, I'm going to send a nasty email to the Department of Homeland Security. Anyone know their MySpace URL? I'd rather leave a scolding comment on the DHS's profile.

After signing a promise not to smoke in the SUV, we were given a clean rental car which the snow and salt quickly covered so we would blend in with the locals. (What is the smoking issue here? Did Brigham Young die of lung cancer or something? I know, I know, it smells bad and will probably kill me but you should all be thanking RJ Reynolds for removing the long-haired pain in your ass 10 years ahead of schedule.) We drove up to Park City and rushed to Nick's condo (my NEW favorite Texan) so we could plug in our laptops and nerd out all day with design work for some upcoming suprises we have planned. In the spirit of January in the Rockies, however, we did take a couple breaks for brief forays out in to the snow and ice to try to acclimate a little.

So after 12 hours or so in the mountains, I'd like to share a few things that I've learned...

1. It's fucking cold.

2. "Snow" is really just ICE that falls from the sky and turns you in to a shivering, wet tourist. It's nice to look at, but my first attempt at starting an avalanche at the ski lodge across the "street" almost caused me to lose my fingers due to frostbite. Take my word for it, Florida and Georgia friends... It's much more interesting to watch on TV.

3. Rex Grossman sucks.

4. Max and I can't stay cooped up another day without getting out and drinking.

So, for my 4 MySpace friends that live in Park City, I need you to hit me up and tell me where the best spots are going to be for the next couple of nights. Max and I spent all day at the dining room table calling each other every variation of "homo" that we could come up with and we have got to get the hell out of here! We'd appreciate the heads up.

Next up? Hitting the slopes, breaking my fool leg and then bar hopping (literaly). Luckily, this condo is wheelchair accessible.

Stay slushy, Park City!

Yes, today I get another year older.  For a lot of people that share this birthday with me, this is not something to celebrate.  Many people look at their birthday as a reminder that they are a year older and they are no closer to making their dreams come true.  For me, nothing could be farther from the truth.

On this day one year ago, I was still new to the city.  I had spent my entire life living either on the farm where I grew up in rural Florida or in the sleepy beach city of Pensacola.  Sure, I did my fair share of traveling.  I saw cities and other countries and got a taste of what was out there in the world.  These peeks, however, were not risky.  I always had a home to go back to in Florida.  I had friends, a loving family, a job and security.  Hurricane Ivan stripped me of that security.  I lost my job and my life went in to a tailspin.  I tried to live in Pensacola after the hurricane for as long as my credit and pathetic amount of FEMA money ($75 a week) would allow but early last year I was forced to leave my shattered home in hopes of finding a job in a more prosperous and populous city.  Although I knew no one in Atlanta, I have always loved this city when I visited, so I rolled the dice.  I spent the first part of the year finding a job and trying to get a handle on my finances.  Once this was done, I forced Alcoholnik to move up with me and we got an apartment in the Vinings.  Soon after, we started making friends and joining the social scene.

By my birthday, we had met some great people and were constantly worked up in to a frenzy of excitement over our last night out and the friends we were making.  Every day in the "big city" brought new experiences.  We were like children on Christmas morning.  Neither of us could believe that we were actually having some success here and living in a city with a building over 10 stories tall.  Many of my friends in Pensacola had told me that I wouldn't be able to just kick the door in on Atlanta.

"You're a big fish in a small pond here, Erran.  In Atlanta you'll just be another face in the crowd."

I would joke back in my most confident voice, "A shark is a shark, baby.  It doesn't matter how big the pond is when I smell blood in the water."

However, inside I was quaking in my shoes.

On my first visit to Bluepointe on a Tuesday night, one of my exgirlfriends had even told me, "These people in Atlanta will never accept you."

"Why not?"

"You don't have enough money, Erran."

When my birthday fell on a Tuesday night last year, it seemed only natural that I should start the night's celebration there.  When Nick and I walked in to Bluepointe, I lit up when I saw my girls there waiting.  My ex had been wrong.  Atlanta was accepting me and this was proof.  I had my very first Cosmopolitan and then started pounding Cape Cods.

This morning, I found a gallery of pics from that night and I want to share some with you again.  How short was my fucking hair?   Wow.  Since then I have had ONE haircut.  I should probably think about getting another one soon.

Jesus.  We were like newborn babes in a new world.  I'm even still trying to figure out how I want to throw the 'V'.  We had just invented it.  Looking at these pics brings it all back to me.  The feeling in the air, the excitement of new friends in a new city, the wonder that such amazing bars and clubs would even allow us country-bumpkins to walk thru the front door!  And these girls?  Luckily, I'm blessed enough to still have them ALL as friends today.

So, after Bluepointe, I made a wardrobe change and we all headed to the Blue Olive...  Much, much more intoxicated.

Are you kidding me?  Ha!  Well, one thing is for sure...  I've been rockin' the binge drinking tip proper since day one!

Since that night, my life has gone places that I never even imagined...

My blog, which was once just a hiding place for my drunken ramblings, has gained attention that I never could have forseen.  I have readers all over the world and am constantly having strangers on the street coming up to introduce themselves and tell me that they love my writing.  This is a thrill for me and I appreciate you all!  I'm entertaining pursuing this novel and even simple blogs like the one yesterday get worldwide exposure.  It was the top blog in Romance and Relationships and #41 overall on MySpace yesterday.  Fucking insane.

I participated in the 2006 Great Maxim Magazine Roadtrip and bonded with two men that are now my brothers.  I would go to war, I would give up all my possessions, turn aside a woman that I love and I would give my life for you, Max and Nick.  Why?  Because I know you would do the same for me.  And you want to know the kicker?  We got third place and were in the July 2006 issue of Maxim.

In 2005, Nick and I once embarrassed Megan Meyers (DotCom!) with our backwoods excitement at being in Compound's Loft VIP...  Now, with my best friends, I host some of the most talked about parties at some of the top nightclubs in the Southeast.  I ignore dresscodes without ever being second guessed, enter any VIP without a wristband and never have to wait in line...  Even tho I have a penis and no fake boobs popping out of my top.  ME?  Seriously?  I'm just a beachbilly from the Redneck Riviera.  I do not deserve all of this...  Unless it's because I'm a world-class alcoholic.  In that case, this is all very much deserved.

I have made literally hundreds of friends who are all unique and talented in their own manner.  You all fucking kick ass and it's an honor to get shitfaced and act a fool in front of you 3-4 times a week.  Thank you for not judging me to my face.  As I type this at a rediculously early hour in the morning, I already have over 4 pages of Happy Birthday comments to reply to...  And even more messages.  I've never had so many well-wishers on my annual day of reflection and introspection.  You all fucking rock!  Be careful or you may make Daddy cry.  You don't want that do you?

A year ago at this moment, I was still lamenting the loss of the girlfriend that I had to leave in Pensacola.  Now, I have dated a magazine covergirl, dozens of models and some of the brightest, most amusing, most accomplished, most successful and beautiful women I've ever had the pleasure of meeting.  I have dated girls who I thought were amazing and turned their low self-esteem in to firm self-confidence by showing them how to see themselves as I see them.  I have spanked the bare asses of the kind of wickedly fun women that a year ago I never dreamed would even allow me to touch them...  And I love every single one of you...  Especially all of you naughty ones.  You know who you are.

I get the opportunity to meet, party with and subsequently offend celebrities almost on a weekly basis.  Who would have thought that a simple farm boy could have the power to make the rich and famous want to punch him in the face?  Who the fuck do I think I am?  Ask me tomorrow when I'm back to being my regular cocky self.

I've done all of this and countless things that I don't have time to include in this blog.  I've been in magazines, in newspapers, on the radio, on television and in the face of this city non-stop.  I've buzzed between skyscrapers in a helicopter and seen the city at night from 800 feet.  I've organized and worked on photoshoots with some of the most beautiful women in Georgia.  I've spent a sinful night on the side of a mountain in North Carolina catching cabin fever with the Thrill Planet Bikini Team.  I got drunk with the 2006 Playmate of the Year and I spoke with my dream girl, Paris Hilton, on the fucking phone.  Hearing her say I was "fucking hot" was one of the most surreal experiences of my life.  So, as is my fashion, I responded "well, sugar, you're fucking rich."  For all of this (and so much more) I am profoundly grateful and more than a little overwhelmed.  What is going to happen to me in the next 365 days?  I can't wait to find out!

Well, that's it for today's birthday sentimentality.  Enjoy it.  Tomorrow I will be back to my usual arrogant, self-absorbed self...  The same So Fain that showed up to the invitation only Grand Opening of Lotus Lounge with the beautiful and talented local celebrity Tracy St. George on my arm and said...

"I can do anything. I'm famous."

I've got to get out of here.  In a few hours it'll be time for me to head in to the shadows of the skyscrapers for another night of drinking and naked debauchery topped off with a bewildered stagger thru my beautiful city....  Until the sunrise leaves me blind.

Stay slutty, Atlanta.  Daddy loves you.

A thousand years ago in what I laughingly refer to as my "college years," I lived with two friends in a shitbox roachmotel in Pensacola, Florida.  The apartment complex was called The Moorings because it was less than 1/2 mile from Pensacola Bay, but this really dresses it up.  It was an open sore on the face of upper class Scenic Heights.  Looking back, I should have been afraid to live there at all, but my friends and I kept moving in until we basically held control of the entire north end while the rest of the complex ended up living in fear.

Back then, we were a real wild bunch.  We didn't give a shit about anything.  Our apartments were constantly crowded with teenagers at all hours of the day and night.  We paid the rent and bills not by having jobs but by throwing keg parties on a legendary scale.  The scene was only a cunthair from devolving into a Lord of the Flies kind of scenario.  I rarely saw daylight unless it was due to the damn thing rising before I was ready to creep away to my dark, secluded bedroom with a random girl or crawling to the bathroom to spend a few hours vomiting blood.  (Yes, blood.  I was hospitalized eventually and diagnosed with severe, alcohol induced bleeding ulcers.)

Anyway, this is the quick story of how I met a girl we will call Blockhead.  She was a 16 year old with an amazing body, a suprisingly pretty face and parents who should have kept a closer eye on the little whore.  I met her because she was dating a guy at the place I was currently working 10 hours a week for a little clubbing cash.  One night during our monthly rent-drive, I invited him to a kegger and he brought the little lady along.  I was struck by her dark hair and smoldering eyes right away.  She was dressed in such a conservative, preppy fashion that I couldn't resist.  What I saw in her was good and wholesome and I just had to spoil it.  Daddy's little girl needed a spanking.

As the wee hours rolled around, her man and she remained.  Everyone that was still hanging in there was completely trashed and scattered among the four apartments in our building that were hosting the event.  By 5am, my apartment was down to two of my roommates who were asleep, two friends playing Super Tecmo Bowl on the NES, Blockhead and myself.  Her man had passed out drunk on the couch in the apartment below mine.  Thoroughly intoxicated and feeling deliciously evil, I couldn't get the scent of Blockhead out of my head.  My mouth was watering.  We stood in the kitchen as she rambled on about cheerleading practice and her upcoming prom.  Fuck this.  It's time.

I grabbed her face and kissed her.  It took scant minutes before I was pulling her in front of the Nintendo players and in to my room.  Clothes flew off and we collapsed naked on the bed.  This took much less time than I expected and I took a second to pause and take a good look at her naked body.  It was delightful.  She was petite yet hard with young muscle, covered in soft skin and had an ass that was as perfect as I have seen before or since....  And her smell.  God, her smell.  I still wish I would have asked what that scent was.

Willing to waste no more time, I quickly grabbed a condom and rolled it on.  Ready.  Here we go, sugar...  Fuck the foreplay...  We talked, didn't we?  Let's get to business.  I looked down at her and she was staring me right in the eyes...  And smiling.  Not a sexy, wicked smile but a genuine, sweet smile.  A smile I recognized instantly.

If I fuck this girl, she will love me.

No, no, no, no, no!  This is all wrong, baby!  You have a boyfriend that you have been with for two fucking years!  You can't love ME!  This is supposed to be dirty, naughty sex and you're smile is turning it in to love making.  Shit.

I had to make a decision right on the spot.  The dark side took charge.

Fuck her.  Now.

I started to go for it.  She threw her head back and squealed.  It was actually a very sexy noise but an odd image popped in to my head: Her boyfriend.

No.  Fuck this.  Shut the fuck up, conscience.  You never show up unless you are trying to spoil my fucking fun.  Eat shit.  Go away.

But I did like the guy.  He always covered my shifts when I was too hungover to work and he acted like I was his fucking hero.  He listened to all my stories no matter how boring and always asked for advice about women like I was the Dali Lama of Pussy.  Now I've got my cock in his sweet, innocent girlfriend while he is sleeping 12 feet below me.

"I'll be right back."

Wait.  Was that my voice?

I was getting up off the bed and wrapping a throw blanket around my waist.  She looked terribly confused.  Hell, I must have too.  I didn't say another word, I just turned and walked out of my bedroom, closing the door behind me.

The guys were still playing Tecmo, so I went and sat in a chair beside them.  Empty beer bottles were scattered all over the floor and furniture around them.  I spotted the half-empty twelve pack on the floor, grabbed one, popped the top and took a long swallow.  Both of my friends glanced over at me.  Spleen spoke first...

"That was quick"

They both laughed.  I was too sullen to even argue.

"Want next game?"

I drank some more beer and responded quietly, "yeah, sure."

Their game was nearing the end and was quite close.  I found myself completely distracted by it and the sound of my bedroom door opening didn't even register in my head until the front door opened and let the morning light pour in.  We all turned just in time to see Blockhead leaving without a word.

"You're a lucky man, Erran."

"Yes he is.  I can't even afford condoms anymore.  Cuts in to my beer money."

I didn't say a word.  I was too wrapped up in my thoughts.  They continued to ramble on about condoms and how expensive and uncomfortable they are.  Finally, Groceries turned to me and asked me a direct question.

"Do you even use condoms, Erran?"

I looked at them both and they met my gaze.  I paused a second and then looked down at the blanket which was the only thing covering my nakedness.

"Yeah.  I'm wearing one right now."

"You're fucking disgusting, man.  Go wash your hands before you touch the controller.  It's your game."

This blog is a little overdue and since it's raining outside and the football game is as brutal and one-sided as a prison gang rape, I thought I'd take a second a clear up an issue that many women (and a lot of you insecure, clingy, jealous, crybaby men) seem to have a very dificult time grasping.  I'm hoping that by paying a little attention to this now that you will save me from having to break it down to you while you are causing a dramatic scene at the club or while you are curled up in the corner of my bedroom howling like a werewolf with a silver dildo lodged in it's ass...  You know...  The Other Vagina.™

Today, I'm going to try to clearly define the levels of dating as I see them evolving here in the DubG6 (that's 2006 for those of you that aren't from the mean streets of Pensacola Florida like myself) and hopefully help you understand what the boundaries and limits are for your current and future relationships.  It's a subject I have thought about quite a bit since the muddy and rather hard to define dating situation that I had with Turkey Timer earlier this year.  We never could seem to decide where we wanted our relationship to fit in using the old ladder based on the Single > Going Together > Engaged > Married  > Divorced system I grew up with.  It's my belief that not being able to accurately define where our relationship was at led to our rapid exit from it altogether.  Finally, I think I've finally managed to update the old, simple standards and translate them in to more modern terminology.

Single - Let's start at the bottom.  Being single is the easiest and simplest state of being when it comes to relationships.  You have no restraints or limitations set upon you by anyone.  You have no one to worry about judging you for being a drunk and no one spray painting "was it worth it?" down the side of your car because you may or may not have been banging the cashier at the Kroger like a snare drum during a halftime show.  (By the way, how did you figure that one out?  Was it the daily Kroger receipts for condoms and canned chili with no beans (for a delicious, edible version of the Cleveland Steamer) or the glitter all over the couch and the smock and nametag stuffed into that vase?  I've been so curious about that but the restraining order won't allow me to ask you directly.  I told her not to wear the goddamn glitter, but she was half your age and had a body that could only be forged by 12 years of ballet.  How could I say no?)

Anyway, I digress.  We all know what single is.  If the person you just went out with for the first time last night still considers himself (or herself) truly single, you probably won't be getting that second date call.  I'm just trying to be honest and spare you countless hours of fuming.  But now that you know that they don't want you, doesn't that make you want them more?  Well, let that be a lesson to you.  On your next first date, pretend to fall asleep during the interview session at dinner where they are spilling out the job / income / future plans bullshit.  When they see how much they bore you, they'll want you more.

Dating - This is a slightly more tricky level, but it still allows for a lot of freedom while still providing a nice portion of fun...  And by fun, I mean naked tickle fights and whip cream meat puppet shows.  Dating limits you to nothing other than not taking two people on the same date with you...  Unless you're some kind of weirdo, kinky swinger person (call me.)

When you are openly dating, you can date as many people as you have nights on your calendar.  Dating is a great way to shop around for someone who isn't crippled with low self-esteem while avoiding anything too serious.  It's usually smart to make sure any person that you date more than once knows that you are also seeing other people...  Unless they have a tattoo on the front of their neck or any visible weapons on their person.  Then you don't say shit until you can get the cops on the payphone in the busboy's break room.

Dating Exclusively - Now we're getting deep in to a very gray area.  While you may think that this stage gives you the right to call the other poor soul in this precarious situation your boyfriend or girlfriend, it does not.  You can say you are dating exclusively but if you call me your boyfriend at this stage, I'm going back to single faster than hummingbirds fuck.  Take it easy, lady!  It gets hard to breathe when you are jumping ahead a full stage before I'm completely ready.  In this stage, flirting and keeping your options open are not only perfectly acceptable, they're practically required.  You are on the edge of a dangerous precipice...  Watch your step, loverboy.

Boyfriend / Grilfriend - Now we're getting heavy.  You are now an open and obvious couple.  You can hold hands in public (Which is far scarier to me than a makeout session in the Frozen Foods aisle at Kroger which leaves so much glitter on you that it looks like a fairy farted on your sweater.  Why do you keep wearing that, girl?  Is it fucking intentional?  Why don't you just write your name and employee id number in permanent marker on my ass?) and openly refer to one another with the proper term.  "I love you" is also now okay to be said although I don't recommend abusing it just yet.  In this stage, it's best to stop trying to keep your options open unless you're very good at being sneaky.  If you get caught keeping other people on the line, you will probably find yourself back at single whether you chose it or not.  That may or may not be bad depending on how much being in this stage is making it hard to take a single freely drawn breath.

"In a Relationship" - Thanks to MySpace, we have this new and extraordinarily public level of commitment.  This is a higher tier simply because there is no hiding it from anyone who wants to make a quick investigation.  Keeping your options open becomes much more dificult and as dangerous as a drunken, unprotected night in an hourly hotel room with a $30 hooker.  This is very, very real shit here.  I hope you're prepared when you hit that "submit" button.

Since moving to Atlanta, I have changed to this status one time.  This was back in January and February when I started dating Covergirl.  We skipped all of the previous stages and went straight to this.  We also began using "I love you" more than the bad boys of armada say "Heeeeeeeeey girl" on a Saturday night at Fever.  This was the scariest experience I've had in 2006.  Even scarier than when I thought that girl's boyfriend was going to shoot me when he caught me in bed with her on the Maxim Road Trip in Dallas.  So why would I, of all people, jump from Single to this stage without pause or rationality?  She was rediculously hot.  I call her Covergirl not because she looks like one, but because she is one.  It was a risky move, but I took the gamble...  And lost.  6 weeks later I was back to Single and reopening all options.

Engaged - This is about the same thing as "In a Relationship" except with lots more stress, plans, family bullshit, tedious chores, phone calls, politics and much less sex.  Sound fun?  You bet it isn't!  Personally, I've been engaged three times and this stage killed 2 good relationships due purely to the stress of it all.  Be ready to spend a lot of time at Ikea, Tiffany and Home Depot when you're not busy flipping thru frilly wedding magazines as you watch the girlfriend you used to be crazy about plan your entire life out down to what kind of preppy mutt you are going to have taking Puppy Chow shits on your new speckled berber carpeting somewhere outside the perimeter in the 'burbs.  Who has time for flirting or keeping other options open?  Forget it, fella.  You're about to walk the Green Mile, Boss.

Married - Ah, finally!  You've reached the mountaintop!  This is what you worked for!  This is why you sucked all those fratboy johnsons in college and fucked all those drunk sorority girls in your smelly dorm room with the Budweiser blanket tacked over the window to seal out the daylight.  All those bad relationships, the thousands of dollars of "comfort fit" condoms, the birth control, the rejection, the hangovers, the awkward after-sex moments when you realize that you just hip-hammered the hairiest midget you've ever seen have all led you to this one ultimate goal!  Enjoy as much of it as you can until you start to fucking dispise this asshole that keeps knocking you up and trapping farts in the cushions of your trendy sectional couch or the hedgehog of a wife that just sits around watching Oprah while she gnaws on generic biscotti like it's the paperboy's cock.

Family Share Cell Phone Plan - This is the ultimate in commitment, people.  You want to prove your long-term intentions?  Share a cell plan and see how hard that shit is to get out of.  Trust me, getting a divorce is a lot easier and a hell of a lot cheaper.

Divorced - This is just fucking depressing.  That's why I recommend that you don't refer to yourself as "Divorced" and just say "Single" once again.  Single has a much more positive ring to it even if you still have the kids on weekends and still have to drive that ugly minivan with soccer ball stickers with your kids' jersey numbers stuck to the back door.  Time to start opening options again if you aren't completely defeated and wallowing in paralyzing low self-esteem.  Don't even bother calling the girl at Kroger.  After seeing you buying tampons, diapers and Pokemon sandwich bags for the last few years, the raw desire has gone out of banging you in the walk-in cooler on a palette of Grade A eggs.

Wait...  I put myself thru all of this because she used to give great head before we got married?  Oh well.  I've heard worse reasons.

I hope this helps clear things up for you confused daters out there.  Just remember to have a conversation about exactly which stage you are in as soon as possible to avoid any confusion or any nasty public scenes that end in domestic violence charges.

Hope to see you all this Tuesday for the kick-off party of our NEW Tuesday Night Weekly parties at the new Lotus Lounge in Lindbergh Station.  We'll all get shitfaced and see how many sets of us we can get started climbimg up the commitment ladder again using the absolute worst judgement that we can muster.

Ahhhhhhh, amoré!

Stay slutty, Atlanta!

File this Saturday's trip to the NOPI Nationals with the Thrill Planet Bikini Team under "There are far worse lives than So Fain's to live."

I'm currently sorting thru the 550+ shots that I took with the Godfather Joey G's Fuji S3 so that I get the good ones resized, touched up and uploaded to the new Thrill Planet Bikini Team website.  This process will probably take me thru tomorrow and that's before I get the other 500+ that sKiz took with his new Canon.  Considering the amount of effort I'm going to be expending to do this, I thought I'd package up around 40 to share with you guys...  A sneak peak in to what I saw thru my lens all day Saturday.

Thanks and mad love go out to sKiz, Nick and the Thrill Planet Bikini Team girls that rode out with us.  It was a helluva day and I had a blast...  And that was before Fever and the Cabin Room topped it all off.  We'll have photos from that posted on the armada Magazine website later this week.

Yes, there are far worse lives to lead than mine...

Stay slutty, Atlanta!

Today I'm posting a short piece that I wrote back in early January of this year.  I do this often, actually.  I'll write something and then decide it's not that funny, poorly written or doesn't have a point so I just save it in my big Word file folder and let it rot.  This past weekend gave this next story a point tho.  And what was that point?  I was dead wrong.  I'll let you read this and I'll explain at the end...

Okay, so I'm an asshole.

This fact has been well established for quite some time, but my co-workers always seem surprised when faced with this reality.  Today they once again voiced their unanimous opinion that I am indeed an insensitive jerk.  Hell, even I felt a tiny twinge of guilt when the entire corporate office turned to look at me with jaws dropped.  Whatever.

Everything started like normal today. I came in, sat at my desk, ate my chicken biscuit and started checking the blogs for the weird and perverse.  After a couple hours, a girl from the sales office walked in.  We'll call her Anna.  She's 20 years old, reasonably attractive and been with the same guy since she turned 17.

When Alcoholnik first started working here, he was a complete dick to her at every opportunity.  It was actually quite funny until one day she confronted him and wanted to know why he was being such a prick to her all the time.  Alcoholnik played it off like she was imagining shit but if you have ever hung with the Alcoholnik then you know hes going to see a challenge in there.  He goes into full on flirt mode from then on.  Within days she is always being sugary sweet to him, batting her eyes and giggling like a schoolgirl.  Its even funnier than when he was an ass to her.  She even asked him to not get her in trouble with her man at the office Christmas party.  Yup.  Just as I thought.  Another young girl who hasn't had an opportunity to express her wild side yet  That's a tragedy for her man.  If a girl doesn't have her wild phase before you start dating her, then she's going to have it sometime after.  Take that to the sperm bank, fella.

She came in to work the Tuesday after Christmas with a big announcement.  She walked around the room showing everyone her new engagement ring which she modeled enthusiastically.  Alcoholnik and I did our part and smiled vaguely at her glowing pride.  She was definitely excited about her engagement and was expecting everyone to share her joy.  I hate this kind of situation and it seems like conditions are perfect for me to hurt someones feelings.

Everything was all good in her presence and I was well behaved, but when she left the room Alcoholnik and I burst into laughter.  Marrying a 20 year old girl is like pulling the pin on a hand grenade and then swallowing it.  You're just asking for a disaster.  Her man should know better too.  He's like 28 years old.  I suspect that the proposition was more or less putting a band-aid on a severed hand.  He knows hes bleeding to death, but had to make a desperate attempt to slow the blood flow.  Bam!  Marriage.  It's funny how a diamond will shut a woman up.

Well, the plan worked.  She stopped bitching about what an asshole he is and started talking about wedding plans as fast as her mouth would allow.  I wonder if he's happy with this change from constant bitching to spending countless hours flipping thru wedding magazines and picking out a china pattern.  Does your back hurt?  Well, try punching yourself in the face.  Voila!  Pain transference!

This morning, Anna walked into the office and immediately started with the wedding talk.  She has picked a date ("It was soooo hard, you guys, OH MY GOD, you have no idea!") that's about 9 months from now and she is filling us in on all the details that she has decided on for herself.  Oh, and her fiancé.

"It's definitely going to be an outside wedding, you guys.  We are sooo sure about that.  I just love being outside." 

And this next quote from her was one of my favorites...

"Huh? What denomination will the service be?  What do you mean?"

I turn the volume up on my iPod.  I must drown out this inane drivel.

"I'm not sure if were going to have liquor or not. My family will be there."   (Translation: Erran isn't going.)

Well, I sat at my desk while she droned on and on about details for a wedding she has been planning for 30 seconds and is still 9 months away...  At best.  Finally, she started talking about having liquor anyway (okay, I'm going after all) and that Alcoholnik and I would be in charge of bringing the Jager bombs.  Okay, stop.  Dont drag ME into your delirious fantasy world, sugar.  Its one thing for a girl to play house or pretend with dolls, but when you start asking ME to participate then something must be said.

I turned and asked what I thought was a simple and direct question.

"Do you mind if I wait until August before I start stocking up on booze?"

The other 10 people in the room all turned towards me and I saw Alcoholnik start to voice his agreement that playing pretend was not on our menu for today.  However, before he could get anything out everyone started chiming in with various expressions of their horror.

"Erran!  How can you say things like that?!?"

At first, I couldn't figure out the problem.

"What?  All I'm saying is that a lot can happen in 9 months.  I shouldn't have responsibilities assigned for an event that probably won't take place."

"Okay Erran, don't you think its time you stepped outside for a cigarette?"

"Oh I'm sorry.  She's playing house with dolls.  She's too young to realize this game is real.  My bad, sweetheart, did I walk up and kick your dollhouse?"

Tears.  I heard her muffle something about "if Erran's gonna be that way, then blah, blah, blah..."  Oops.  Looks like I made her cry.  She's a sweet girl too.  Naive, but sweet.

The room is glaring at me.  I tell them that I can't breathe and that all the marriage talk is suffocating me.  I then try a half-assed attempt to defend myself but my heart wasn't in it.  They all start telling me that you don't crush a young brides dreams like that.  Apparently marriage is something that even when everyone knows its a bad idea, you have to keep your mouth shut and pretend to be happy for the deluded bride.  Whatever.

The office manager went out to console her.  A few minutes later he came back in and said, "You owe me.  You're going to help me set up the tables for the wedding.  Got it?"

This seemed like an easy gamble to take.  "If they manage to make it to the wedding day even after she turns 21, not only will I help you set up the tables, I'll work the push broom after the reception AND clean up my own alcohol induced vomit."

-January 2006

Well, this past weekend, Anna got married.  Sometimes I make mistakes but I still believe that in the long run, I'll be proven correct.  Marriage at such a young age is a disaster 90 percent of the time.

I had a friend and quite a few people from work go to the wedding and on Monday morning they all had this weird look on their faces while talking about the wedding.  Apparantly the crowd was kinda low-brow and backwoods.  My friend told me, "Erran, I'll just use three words to describe it...  'Hatfield and McCoys.'"  Ha!!  Got it.  What's even better is that my boss forgot about my deal to set up tables and hose off my own puke.

Anyway, congratulations Anna!  You proved me wrong.  Wanna play for double or nothing?  I bet you guys split up within the first 18 months.  Whaddaya say?

Wait.  Stop crying.  What did I say?  Jesus H. Christ.