Nic Ouzo Meets A Woman: A Template

The following is but an example of what occurs when I meet a woman for the first time. While the details may change, the general pattern (and end result) are always the same.

Don't know what to offer you I'm only broke and lonely
And another one goes, and another goes by...

Being the naturally shy type, it is rare I approach anyone, female or otherwise. Some of my friends may find this hard to believe, considering how I can be around them, but put me in a new situation with people I don't know and I clam up. 24 years on this planet has taught me that people are rarely excited to meet me, and I tend to respect that opinion. As a result, interactions are forced upon me, and not the other way around.


So that's how it happened in this case. I was being introduced to a new co-worker, and we exchanged the usual pleasantries and engaged in the standard chitchat. She was beautiful--the precise kind of beautiful that would have prevented me from talking to her in any other circumstance. The best way to approximate it is maybe to see she looked a bit like Jessica Alba circa Idle Hands, and readers are familiar with the esteem I hold for that look. I was instantly struck by her cheerful demeanor and was disarmed by her smile, so to speak (sue me, I like to painfully insert musical references). Though the initial encounter was brief, I longingly looked forward to our next meeting and did all that I could to make it happen.

Over the next two days, we had chances to talk for longer periods of time, and she only proceeded to enrapture me even more. I went on to make a not-fool out of myself: I showed a careful depth of knowledge of the fine arts (but not too much so as to indulge my tendency towards know-it-all-ism) and asked probing questions about her background and career. Oh, you were a gymnast on the national team for your country? Tell me more about Paris... Hell, I made some jokes and she laughed! Honest laughs even, not just the standard polite laughs. There just might be something there. I was even beginning to think in terms of "Romantic Rights."

Death From Above 1979 Romantic rights
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Come here baby I love your company
We could do it and start a family
She was living alone unhappily
We could do it, it's right romantically...

Again, being one to not make the first move, I went home that second night wondering if it would be too soon to become Facebook friends (ugh, objectively I know it's lame, but that's society for you these days). I may have a rapier wit, but I have a rapist's looks--I know my strengths and weaknesses, in other words. I went out for a jog, cooked some dinner and then settled in to check what news I had missed in the States. I check my email, and holy shit, she asked to be Facebook friends first! Good sign, Nicm good sign. Now let's just see her relationship status...

"In a relationship". Um, probably not a good sign.

Sure enough, I got confirmation the next day. "My boyfriend, he's an engineer, he doesn't have a great sense of humor..." Ah, an engineer, a practitioner of the black arts--I know when I am of no match.

Oh well. Everything remains the same, the same that it ever was.

It's the End of the World As We Know It...Possibly.

But I'd still want some time alone

Patton Oswalt had it right: Scientists are all about "coulda", not "shoulda". And we're going to put that to the ultimate test today as some egghead physicists perform their voodoo black magic and try to recreate the big bang (well, the first few milliseconds or whatever afterwards--I know Joe (if he's still alive) would split hairs over this). While this could be a boon to exploratory physics (how cute, they think they're like Columbus!), there is a potential downside:

The collapse of the universe.


Of course the scientists are trying to downplay the potential risk of all of existence being blinked out. They say things like, hey, if there's a black hole, it's going to be so small, you won't even notice! But like that ugly mole on that dude on the subway's neck, we will notice...when we're all dead. All I know is that you don't fuck with a black hole...and if you do, Sam Neill will try to kill you. But if you're reading this, you're probably safe from Sam Neill. For now.

Then again, if we don't die in a fiery blaze of glory tomorrow, at least we can count on the US being safe in Iraq. People like John McCain would like you to believe it's because of the "surge" (even if he doesn't understand what exactly this means), or if you have a brain, you mention a variety of factors, including Sadr instituting a cease-fire on his militia and the US bringing the Sunni militia onto its payroll. But Bob Woodward has news that you can use--we have a secret weapon in Iraq that's helped us turn one of those corners in the conflict. It's so secret that it's mentioned in the same breath as the Manhattan Project.

So of course we want to guess what the hell is the secret.



My guess is that we're using Iron Man in Iraq. I mean, I saw the movie--he's totally pissed at being kidnapped by random extremists. Plus, Batman's been kind of busy.

WDR Returns!...With A Vengeance!...YES

OR: How We Spent Our Winter Vacation


Some of our more perceptive readers (i.e., the ones who aren't here just for our dirty pictures/Ronnie Coleman breakfast recipes) may have noticed a slowdown in our production. Then again, considering our Sitemeter numbers, there's a good chance that's not the case, since we're averaging similar numbers with or without new content. Nevertheless, we must move forward, not backward, upward not forward, and always twirling, twirling towards freedom. And irreverence, I guess. Because that's how we roll.

I imagine some of you are wondering just why we weren't filling up the [other word for "blogosphere", because it's a horrible term] with our mindless ramblings, well, the answer is simple. It's because we were all together, in the same city at the same time (if we were occupying the same space at the same time, we'd have some sort of Physics Anomaly that would result in the ending of Timecop being played out in reality--you'd have to consult our Resident Practitioner of the Black Arts of Physics, Joe Reefer, for further study). You might think that having all three co-authors of the blog might lead to enhanced productivity, but you would be sadly mistaken. All it does is lead to incredible, incredible destruction. If you thought that what happened when I had my mini-vacation in July was bad, you're in for quite the shock.



Sorry Rasheed for all the mess. We might just sweeten your perks package by giving you free Equal for your coffee during your unpaid internship here.

All we were able to accomplish was drinking. A lot of it. We're talking epic here. We weren't even able to accomplish more modest goals of specific movie nights, much less work on the blog due to the sheer amount of alcohol being poured down various gullets. To say the "beer flowed like wine" would be an understatement. But now the holidays are over, and everyone is separated, and finally, progress shall be accomplished. And the drinking shall be done (relatively) alone.

To sum up: Drinking + WDR authors = Hilarity!
Drinking + WDR authors together = Chaos.
And Destruction.

Nevertheless, the holidays weren't a total washout. We were able to brainstorm about potential column ideas, some of which may be better than others (which will probably be a function of our state of inebriation at the time of inspiration (with the function of course being "more shitfaced = more awesome idea!")). One such idea was the creation of a drink I'd like to call "Mr. Festive", or as it will be known around most office Christmas parties, "The Babymaker".

It's a relatively simple concept that's perfect for the Christmas season. People are always looking to put liquor into their Egg Nog, because they are kind of unwilling to just soak in the delicious nogness of the beverage (that, and I guess they'd rather have the added benefit of getting wasted while downing all that delicious fat and calories--I call it the "regret multiplier"!) That's where my inspiration came into play. What could be a better Holiday Combo Offering than Peppermint Schnapps and Egg Nog?! It's like your drinking a Crack Candy Cane! Drunk Santa heartily approves.



So "Mr. Festive" is simply a nice big shot of Ice 101 and a scotch-glass sized offering of Nog, resulting in an unholy marriage that puts you in a holiday spirit that's sure to annoy Janice in Accounting. "Ice Nog" or "Nog 101" (as Joe and Zhuang call it) is sure to lead to many a drunken grope at your Office Party, but the price of a few sexual harassment suits (and I guess paternity suits as well) are worth it when considering the joy you'll get from drinking one or nine of these delicious cocktails. All this solidifies my stake to the claim of "Food Alchemist", as seen in my previous attempts of combining random foods (See: Macaroni & Cheese and Curry; Raisin Bagels with American Cheese). And with the great possibility of me acting the fool due to the inclusion of My Kryptonite, Everybody Wins!

So sit back, everybody, and grab yourself a Mr. Festive (if you have an unexpired jug of Nog). It's going to be a fantastic 2008 for WDR.

Everything's Coming Up Milhouse!

As we eagerly anticipate Joe Reefer's delicious and scandalous contribution for the month, allow me to indulge in a bit of personal news. You may recall my continual detailing of my attempts to avoid becoming a total loser, which somehow involved the use of Logic Games. My ability to do things such as determining the correct order of scheduling 7 flights while paying attention to arbitrary rules was going to be my ticket out of this dump (for the record, I made the sentence structure of that previous statement as unclear as possible to give one an idea about the type of language they actually use on the test). Ah, yes, the glorious LSAT. Today, I found out if my efforts were in vain.

They were not. To say the least.


I remember being very uncertain about my potential score while I was taking the test, as my mind was continually plagued with self-doubt. "Oh god, no, not another guess! Holy crap, I'm not going to have time to finish this game! What the hell is Germanium?!?" In fact, there were several moments where I was ready to throw in the towel and tell the kindly old folks at the LSAC to please burn my test and salt the earth where they buried it so nothing would ever grow there again. But I didn't. And as the day, went along, I gradually thought better of my efforts, and eventually decided that I should say "what the hell" and hope for the best. What convinced me to adopt this strategy? Well, this was the reason. That's right, college fuckin' football convinced me otherwise. If LSU could pull off such an incredibly lucky run to the championship game, wasn't this a good omen for me?

Apparently it was. Because when I opened the email that would tell me of my fate (i.e., my score), I was absolutely stunned. I nearly had the happiest heart attack on record. Actually, I've had a lot of those near-heart attacks this year...you would think this would bother me. Anyways, I was convinced that I had been a victim of a cruel joke, but hey, the story checked out. I did actually make that score. Redemption, thy name is Nic Ouzo!

All in all, it made my top 3 moments of the year. What were the other two? Well, they're too retarded to mention here in this space. And yes, I say this with the full realization that we have multiple posts that utilize the "bongtarded" tag. Your arguments do not persuade me! Why do you continue looking at me? I don't have to answer to you!



Now it's time go out and celebrate, WDR-style. It's the only way to celebrate the 174-99 combo.