Fogo de Owwwwwww

I participated in an eating contest at Fogo de Chao.

For those you that don’t know, Fogo de Chao is an upscale restaurant with all you can eat barbecue meat. I know that sounds like an Oxymoron but it’s true. The way it works is that you have a coaster on you table with a red side and a green side. If the green side is showing, people come around with slabs of meat on a spit and keep putting it on your plate until you give up and turn your disc to the red side. If the green side is up, the meat keeps coming until you turn that disc over or you die. If you die, they call an ambulance and throw a few pieces in a doggy bag for you to take to the morgue. They don’t mess around at Fogo, baby.

My friend Dirty Dave was visiting and I decided to challenge him to an eating contest to make up for the drinking contest I lost to him in 2000. The fabled Pre St. Patty’s day drinking contest was between me, Dave, U-Boat, Shamus McIrish and Fat Kid Who’s Name I forget.

Dirty Dave was sure his drinking prowess was unmatched. He had some advantages in his favor. He weighed about 30 lbs more than U-boat, or McIrish, (50 lbs more than me) and he’s from a rednecky place where people marry their cousins and start drinking when they’re still in diapers (which in this place, means when they are 10).

Now here’s some random facts about U-Boat. He’s from germany and his real name is Adelbert, but we call him U-Boat because we know it offends him. Actually, I think he’s exaggerating about how offensive he finds it, because it’s common knowledge that Germans love it when you make WWII jokes at their expense.

So FKWNIF dropped out after nine beers, even though he was the heaviest of all of us. I don’t buy his B.S. story that he “had a couple before he got there’. I tapped out at 12 beers and could barely stand. McIrish downed an impressive 15 beers, then threw up outside. He was just trying to get some air, but the beer had other ideas. U-Boat and Dave were up to 16 beers when the place closed and they agreed to continue the contest the next day (St. Patty’s Day).

U-Boat calls in at noon and is ready to start drinking again. Dave was so hungover, that he couldn’t even get up to walk his dog, and as a result, he ended up sleeping next to dog poop all night. He said “no mas” and conceded defeat. Victory for the Nazis…errr, I mean Germans.

Because I’m competitive, the fact that I came in fourth in a drinking contest has bothered me for the last 7 years. I couldn’t beat Dave at drinking, but I thought I might be able to beat him at eating. I put on about 20 lbs from stress eating when I thought I was gonna die, so I’m closer to his weight now. I’m also a pretty good eater. I ate 2.5 jumbo pizza slices once in Adams Morgan without breaking a sweat (it would’ve been 3 but the cabbie said I couldn’t bring food in the car).

The rules were simple, we each had to eat exactly what the other person ate, and the first person to flip his disc from green to red would lose.

I was holding my own against Dave, but I was clearly nearing full stomach capacity and that fat bastard was still going strong. Just when I was about to give up because I couldn’t eat anymore, I got a sign from the heavens: Filet Mignon wrapped in bacon.

Filet Mignon wrapped in Bacon!?! Now, I’ve told you before about how much I love bacon. Oh sweet, sweet bacon. If bacon was a girl, she would be sooooo hot. Now, Filet Mignon tastes awesome on it’s own, but there’s only two things I can think of that could possibly improve how enjoyable it is:

• 1) covering it in Heroin;
• 2) wrapping it in bacon.

Anything tastes good wrapped in Bacon. FACT! In fact, even if you wrapped an olive in bacon, I would think about eating it (although at the last minute I would probably come to my senses and eat the bacon and throw away the olive).

Eventually, Dave won the eating contest. After a while I couldn’t eat any more…even for bacon. I tried a few tricks (like covering the meat in Chimmichurri sauce when my body started to rebel at eating more proteins), but in the end, Dave was just too much of a fat bastard and sometimes a determined will is no match for a fat stomach. I think Sun Tzu said that.

The next day we went out drinking with him, Tiny, and a few girls. Eventually, it got late and Dave, me and Tiny ended up at a dive bar in G’Town.

Now I’ve seen Dirty Dave and Tiny do some questionable things* in the past, but that night I saw a rare display of chivalry. There was a young chick who was so drunk she could barely stand and four creepy arab guys were trying to drag her out of the club and probably date rape her. Tiny (who was a Division I wrestler with Dirty Dave) pulled the girl away and saved her. The creepy guys started yelling at DD and Tiny. They didn’t know I was with DD and Tiny, so I moved behind the creeps so that if one of them took a swing I would hit him from behind with my beer bottle. What? Oh, like you’ve never done that?

Luckily, after some yelling, and “we’ll be waiting for you outside” threats, the creepy guys left without me having to break a beer bottle against the back of their heads. It was almost a full bottle so it would’ve been a shame to waste it. Tiny and Dave then carried her up the stairs and put her in a cab and gave the cabbie $10 to drive her home. Just when I thought I didn’t know who these guys were, Tiny said to Dave “I think she liked you…you should’ve asked to squeeze her tit before she left.” Yep, that’s Tiny.

Then I started getting text messages from my friend who was at Wonderland and wanted me to meet her and some other people out. I couldn’t get Dave and Tiny to go, so I left them there and drove over.

Friend was out with a cougar who was on a date with a guy that was, literally, barely old enough to drink. Friend told me not mention how old the Cougar is. She said the Cougar met the kid online and he didn’t know she was 12 years older than him. Apparently, the kid was legally blind or brain damaged. Because he thought a track suit was acceptable to wear on a first date, I’m assuming he was brain damaged. There were, it turns out, a couple of bloggers there too, but I haven’t seen them mention this night yet, so I’ll let them remain anonymous (yes, I’m talking to you, Cougar).

Anyway, I’m tired of typing, so THE END.

Coming Soon: Part 2 of the Ninja Mitzvah story.

*I’ve mentioned before how Dirty Dave will “teabag” an unattended drink, but I’ve got a few Tiny stories that make that look tame. I'll keep them to myself since this is a PG-13 blog, and because I don't want to get my ass kicked.

Greenspan Still a Moron: Housing Thoughts

Whenever someone tells me I'm wrong about something, I usually assume they are morons, and I'm usually right. When I bought the Ninja Fortress, I anticipated a housing correction because of the stupid things that Greenspan was doing to the ecomony, but I thought that I was getting a good enough deal (and that the neighborhood was developing fast enough) that I would still do okay. The Washington Post has article Here about the housing situation proves I'm right about him.


Sales of previously owned homes in March fell 8.4 percent from February, the group reported. It was the largest one-month drop since sales plummeted 12.6 percent in January 1989, when the country was in a housing recession. It was also 11.3 percent below the number of units sold in March 2006.

Not surprisingly, industry shill David Lereah attributed the decline to "bad weather". Where did you go to college again, David? The housing bubble Greenspan created got people greedy about real estate. They saw other people make LOTS of money for doing nothing and figured "if it's raining gravy, why I am standing here with a fork" and they bought houses they didn't intend to own so they could sell them a few months later and double their money.

I actually met Alan Greenspan once, but I was in celebrity shock so I didn't tell him what I thought about the job he was doing.

Friend: Holy sh1t, man, we just shook Greenspan's hand. Alan Fcuking Greenspan, man!

Me: Yeah...but I forgot to call him an asshole.

If someone offered to loan me money so that I could buy a million dollar yacht, I wouldn't take them up on it because I have no business owning a million dollar yacht. So just because Greenspan made it possible for banks to offer lots of people enough money to buy homes that they couldn't afford, doesn't mean they should take him up on it either. After all, Alan's not the one who's gotta make the mortgage payments.

Greenspan created an artificial boom that made people feel like things were okay, but it has to be paid for eventually. It's like buying things on your credit credit card. You FEEL like you are doing okay because you have all this new stuff in your house, but then the bill comes and you're screwed. You can't make people richer by printing more money.* If you could, the government would just gear up the printing presses and send everyone a check for a million dollars? There are lots of millionaires in Turkey, unfortunately a million turkish dollars is worth about $0.18. And you don't know what disgusting is until you've seen a Turkish Toilet.

Unfortunately, Alan burned the dinner and now we all have to eat it. The drop in housing prices will mean people in the housing sector will get laid off. Greenspan is making great money on the lecture circuit though, so as long as his parachute opens, he doesn't care.

A lot of people who bought houses they couldn't afford, but figured they would sell them to a bigger sucker in 6 months will go into foreclosure and the banks will get burned and will be hesitant to make new loans. We'll be paying for his foolishness with higher interest rates.

I hate to say I told you so, Alan, but you suck!

*See the www,mises.org website on my sidebar for information on the Austrian Business Cycle Theory (for which Hayek won the Nobel Prize in Economics), which proves this point empirically.

YouTubey Goodness

In lieu of a real post, here's some random video entertainment from the net, that is work safe. I think of all the dumb marketing ideas by real estate developers, this is the dumbest. I found out about it from Boston Gal's website.

Here is a series of clips that were used as an internet marketing ploy by a homebuilder. It’s really odd. It features a plotline about their target buyer (a young urban professional who can afford a luxury condo, but isn’t really looking to buy one). The plot goes like this: girl breaks up with slacker boyfriend and moves in with flaming gay male friend. Meets metrosexual guy in building who they can’t decide is gay or straight. Girl discovers that he’s straight, and does what any single hetero gal in her shoes would do. She spends half a million dollars to buy a condo in his building in the hopes that it will get him to like her. Any girl can start going to the gym and highlighting her hair, but guys like it when a girl goes the extra mile and buys a condo in their building. It’s sorta sweet in a psycho hose beast kinda way.







Here is a clip that has three of my favorite things: Jennifer Love Hewitt; sweet, sweet breasticles; and Hanes underwear. I don’t have to explain why I love Jennifer Love Hewitt and her sweet, sweet breasticles, but a few words about Hanes are in order. As you may know from my investing site, Hanesbrands is my second largest position in the Ninja portfolio (after Smith and Wesson). I had hoped to get a 30% return in about a year, then sell it. It’s up more than 30% in 5 months, plus they are launching new products like this Comfort Soft bra and they just signed a contract with a big retailer who will carry their products in several thousand stores. $ $ $ Cha Ching $ $ $ So on behalf of my fortune, I encourage you all to wear Hanesbrands bras and panties (which includes Wonderbra, Playtex, Barely There and Just My Size). If you are working out, be sure to only wear Champion Brand sweats (also by Hanesbrands). Also, if I have stared at your sweet, sweet breasticles recently, I was “researching” this stock. I loooooove me some research.



Here is a video on How to Break Up. It’s educational as well as funny.




And here is a video that I found with some Northern Eagle Claw Kung Fu on it. It has some demonstrations of Grandmaster Shum doing some Wu Style Tai Chi self defense on it too. For those of you who are unfamiliar with Tai Chi, there are three kinds. Wu style, and the other two kinds, which are practiced by wimps. I think part of the reason that Tai Chi is so deadly is that it's practiced in slow motion by old people. I think, in combat, it's really demoralizing to your opponent if they get their ass kicked by an old man who is moving in slow motion, so it makes people unwilling to even fight you.

Back soon with a real post soon, hopefully.

Joining the Boycott

Velvet is a good friend. In the past she’s helped me paint my house, loaned me deviant porn (that she thinks she’s getting back), and told me when I was wearing clothes that were too close to the euro/gay line. So I won’t be attending the Happy Hour. Getting back at people by posting their real names and phone numbers on a website is not cool. So I won’t go to a Happy Hour with people who think that’s okay. And if you are thinking of going to a Happy Hour and revealing your identity to people who are so careless about safeguarding it, then lots of luck to you.

FREE PLUG: DC LINDY EXCHANGE

For those of you in the area looking for something to do this weekend, check out the DC Lindy Exchange. If you're wondering what that is, I'll pretend to know what I'm talking about. It's where swing dancers from all over come to DC to dance with the locals and trade moves. There will be events all day & night Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Some are free, some are not. Some have live bands, some have DJs. Anyway, you can find out more from the website. I plan on trying to go to a couple of events. If you see me there you can shake my hand if you're a guy or dance with me if you're a girl. You'll recognize me by my incredible swing dance moves that look suspiciously like salsa moves that are done to a different rhythm. Also, I'll be dressed in black and killing people between dances. See you there.

Random Thoughts on Housing and Shooting Yourself in the Face With Powertools

This is one of those times when I'll post something timely that is actually useful. Don't get used to it because I don't do it too often. Usually, if you if you learn something from here it will be despite my efforts, not because of it.

Here is an interesting article on housing in the NY Times. It makes the point that when house prices are really, really high, sometimes it makes more sense to rent rather than buy. I think they should've printed this 5 years ago. A lot of the problems that we are having in the real estate market would've been avoided if people kept in mind that buying is better than renting, but not if you buy at any price that would've been considered insane a few years ago. It sorta reminds me of the dot com era when a company with nothing but a website, like eToys (which never made any money) stock was selling at a price that made it worth more than twice as much as Toys R Us (which had billions in sales, lots of real stores and which actually turned a profit every year).

The article caught my eye because they mentioned Hollywood Florida, where my Dad used to live. He ended up selling his house about a year ago for what I thought was an outrageous price. A price that I can only attribute to the unrealistic expectations of buyers in the real estate market, or to heavy drug use.

Speaking of heavy drug use, here is another article that caught my eye in the news. It seems that nailgun injuries are up 200% from 5 years ago, mostly due to weekend warriors buying nailguns and shooting themselves with it. Now, I have a compressor and nailgun that I bought, so I find this particularly interesting. Especially since the nailgun has a safety that makes it unlikely that you could ever unintentionally hurt yourself unless you are really, really, careless or do something really, really stupid like the guy who shot himself in the face with his nailgun. I hope to be using my nailgun this weekend when I do some work in the MacGuyver kitchen, so I 'll keep this article in mind if I am tempted to see if my nailgun is working by holding it up to my face and pulling the trigger.

In other news, I've avoided mentioning dating in this blog because I want to keep this blog focussed on ninjas and toilets. But since I found out that I am not going to die, I started dating again. I don't think I want to turn this into a dating blog because only chicks write dating blogs, and I don't have a uterus (although I was worried that I might have grown one when I was forced to watch an episode and a half of Grey's Anatomy). But I have some thoughts on it. Anyway, a prominent chick dating blogger said she would publish my screeds on dating if I sent them to her. Should I do that and tell you where it is? Or do you people want to read it here? I don't want to set up another blog for dating because I already have a second blog and it's too much work (although my Investing Site kicks ass, if I do say so myself), but I don't want this site to be a random collection of eclectic things that don't match. If you want that, you can just go to my grandmother's living room and look at her curio cabinet. Anyway, so do you internets want me to post stuff about it here, or on another site.

(by the way, this will be general dating stuff, I won't mention specific incidents because it's disrespectful).

Random Stuff about Easter, Passover and Heart Disease

I'll step out of character for a minute to tell you people to check out this NY Times Article on Heart Disease. (free registration required). And if anyone has a history of heart disease in your family, please get yourself checked out.

Back to randomness:

Easter came and went with no big deal. In honor of the Baby Jeebus, today I will eat a chocolate bunny in silent solemnity. A chocolate bunny that I was too lazy to get out of my car on Sunday because it was cold out.

Also, Happy Passover to our Jewish readers. As many of you are aware, although I'm Catholic, I observe Passover because it's a holiday that is sacred to the Ninja. Thousands of years ago, the Lord sent his ninja, the angel of death, to kill the first born child of every egyptian in the middle of the night. All I have to say about that is: MAD SKILLZ!

And finally, I'll start posting some pics fo the progress in the MacGuyver kitchen hopefully this week (which means probably next week).

The Ninja Mitzvah: Part 3

Okay, if you're wondering what the hell happened to Part 2, it's still in the works because it's got a lot of pics and me working a computer is like George Bush trying to do calculus. Anyway, so assume I told you about the actual event and reception and I'm on my way home.

The night before, The Bensonhurst Kid and his wife come up to Long Island (pronounced "Lawwhng-EYE-lind") to show me their new baby. It was a really cute poopy factory, let me tell you. The Bensonhurst Kid and I have been friends since we were about 14, so it was good to see him again and especially good to see his new baby. He had been married before and his pregnant wife died in the Twin Towers on 9/11, so it messed him up pretty bad after that. But he's a fighter (I mean that literally, he was a kickboxer) and he doesn't go down no matter how hard you hit him. So it's good to see him back like his old self again. Anyway, I won't post a pic of him out of respect for his privacy.

Monday morning I decided to stay a while in manhattan and catch the last Amtrak back to DC (the train costs more than flying, but it's worth it). I was going to meet my friend Double Down, a blogger who said she had a blog crush on me, and my imaginary girlfriend (who works with the Bensonhurst kid and has a real life non-blog crush on me).

Double Down works at a big investment bank. I have a LOT of good stories about when we were growing up, but I won't mention them on here because they make me look as bad as they do him. But I will say that if I ever have kids, I will make them play little league soccer on the same team that I did. I don't know what it was about that team, but most of the kids who played on it are doing pretty well (except for the one who died). There's a doctor, a lawyer (me), an investment banker, an executive at a drug company and a few others.

Here's a pic of me and Double Down at his desk, where he is a very big deal. His office has many leather-bound books and smells of rich mahogany, if you know what I mean. He showed me his trading desk, which has 4 computer screens going at the same time. Luckily it's at work. At home, I think with four computer screens and a T1 line you could overdose on p0rn, if you're not careful, but whatever.


Anyway, we met at a bar near Double Down's offices. I arranged to meet him, blogger and Imaginary girlfriend all at the same time. This was interesting since none of them knew each other beforehand. It was either gonna’ be lot of fun, or a blurb in the crime section of the NY Post. (“mediocre lawyer and prominent banker beaten to death by irate internet dates”). It was fun though. There were many jokes made, and lots of double entendres were bandied about without any drinks or pepper spray in my face. We met at an Irish bar which refined the art of fried cuisine to some disturbing heights. I didn't know what my imaginary girlfriend looked like, but she was pretty cute. She was a Brazilian girl, who in the US would be considered a light skinned black girl, or a dark skinned latina. I'm only saying that to give you people an idea of what she looked like. Because I'm not prejudiced I don't even notice skin color when I talk to people...only breast size. Hers were nice, after I got her to take her coat off, I started picturing what they would look like in Carnaval. Niiiice. She was pretty impressed with Double Down's ability to speak Portuguese (he lived in Brazil for a couple of years on business). At first I thought someone else was her because before she arrived, she was on the phone telling me that she couldn't find the place, when another girl walked in front of the window who also talking on the phone and looking around like she was lost.

Ninja: what do you mean you can't find it? You just walked right past it, I'm looking right at you.

Girl: No you're not. What do I look like?

Ninja: You're an angry Chinese woman in your late 30s.

Girl: Uhhhh...what?

Ninja: Oh, excuse me...."Asian".

After a while, the Girl who Blogs, came in. And I have to say, she was a cutie. She was tiiiiny. Less than 5' tall (she wouldn't say how much less) and she talks like she blogs, which is a good thing because I like her blog. If I lived in NY and she had bad taste in men, I would definitely date her. Anyway, she gave me a shout out on the Dr. Blogsteins radio talk show the other day. After several drinks and appetizers soaked in trans fats, we left for the evening. I made it back to the train station with 10 minutes to spare and caught the 10:05 train. If I had missed that one, the next train to DC left at 3am, and that would leave me 5 hours with nothing to do except talk to the homeless people in Penn Station about conspiracy theories. I had a book with me that I bought for the train, which quite frankly sucked, so I probably would prefer talking to homeless people or Tranny Hookers (Hi Porter Goss!!!) than finish that book.

Anyway, I'm back now, and I'm making some progress on the ninja fortress. Next week I'll also start back at the gym and stop eating crappy food. I was eating like a fat girl sitting home from the prom for the past couple of months because, well, I thought I might die, so I didn't think it really mattered. But now I'm planning on getting back in shape. Technically, I'm in shape now, but I'd like to be in a shape that doesn't resemble a barrel.


Looking at this pic you can kinda tell that I put on some weight since November. I am no longer at 10% body fat, but I don't want to know the new percentage because it doesn't really matter. I'm not a fatass, but I look forward to getting back to fighting weight.

Normal

Yesterday I had one of the greatest days in my life. I had a complete stranger tell me that I was normal. That may sound like nothing, but the complete stranger was a cardiologist so the fact that he said I was normal was better than winning the lottery. For the past couple of months I've put on a few pounds and several grey hairs worrying about the results of a sonogram that I had done on my heart. Readers of my blog will remember that a few months ago I was bragging about the results of some special tests I had done. I also mentioned that the technician did a sonogram of my heart and told me that they would mail the test to a cardiologist who would mail me back the results. I got the results back on Valentine's Day. The irony of getting a letter on Valentine's Day that said I could potentially die of a broken heart was not lost on me.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm a bit of a hypochondriac. If the worst thing you could do to a paranoid person is follow them around with black helicopters, the worst thing you could do to a hypochondriac is to tell them that there is something wrong with them; something fatal. After I had a physical, I scheduled an appointment with a cardiologist. The referring doc said it was "probably nothing" but not to exercise in the meantime...just in case. I wanted to be reassured, but I wasn't. It's like when the police tell you that you're not a suspect, but that you shouldn't leave town. The doctor said the results had "TDS" or Technically Difficult Study written on them, meaning it was difficult for them to get a good picture of my heart, which might be why something looked abnormal to them. Shit. "Abnormal". I get freaked out even typing that word.

After worrying that I, literally, might die, the word "normal" has never sounded so good to me. After another sonogram, which involved a hot nurse (no, really, really hot) rubbing gel on my macho ninja chest, and a stress test which involved me running on a treadmill while being hooked up to more wires than the back of my computer, the results were: NORMAL. Although the other tests I took before all said that I was exceptional in every way--Ninja-esque, in fact. I was ecstatic that I was "normal;" more than ecstatic in fact. The man with more degrees than a thermometer and a strange accent said I was normal. THANK YOU, GOD!!!

The Ninja Mitzvah: Part 1

Well, I'm outta' town for the weekend. I'm in NY for a Bar Mitzvah (oh vey!). I know what you're thinking: Jewish Ninjas? Well, yes. Let's not forget the Taga Ninja Clan's 42nd grandmaster was Abraham Hirohito. He made two of the greatest contributions to the dark art of the shadow warrior.



Firstable, The ninja throwing star. Few people are aware that Abraham crafted the first throwing star out of a star of David. Legend has it that several ninja masters were invited over for a Passover dinner and one of the Shinobi inadvertently insulted his wife's Matzoh Ball soup. This particular ninja's command of the yiddish language was not what it should be and when he said he had to pee, he used the wrong verb in yiddish and inadvertently said the soup tastes like pee. Abraham grabbed the nearest table ornament, A star of David, and killed him. The eldest ninja grandmaster saw this remarkable feat and proclaimed that all Ninja warriors should begin using throwing stars as weapons. He also proclaimed that if anyone had to go to the bathroom, they should really, really, hold it 'till they get home.



He also came up with the idea of wearing black. Before him, ninja's would wear a uniform disguised to look like whatever they were hiding near. So if they were in the forest, the would wear a uniform that looked like a tree. If they were infiltrating a castle, they wore a uniform that looked like bricks and mortar. Abraham, using his connections in the Japanese Garment district, was able to get several hundred hasidic outfits (wholesale, no less!) and passed them out as gifts to his ninja friends during chanukah (the "c" is silent, just like a ninja...coincidence?).

So from then on, the ninjas started wearing black and throwing ninja stars...the end.




Before I left, I walked the 2 blocks from my office and attended the first couple hours of a Blogger Happy Hour. I saw BettyJoan (who it turns out I have some things in common with), Arjewtino (an Argentinian Jew who's probably related to me by marriage or incest), I66 (who's part asian, but I'm afraid to ask if he's a ninja, because the only way to be sure if someone is a ninja is to have them kill you), LemonGloria (who seems to have a girl on girl blog crush on someone I know...wow, that's hot), Martin (who I suspect may be part of the Matrix), Across the River (who I'm sure was disappointed by how un-ninja like my shirt was), and someone who recognized me, but looks totally different from the last time I saw her. She quit blogging because of a stalker, started a new blog, made herself look even hotter than before and said to me "hey ninja, don't you remember me? I used to be [blank] but I stopped blogging when I thought someone was going to kill me to vent their pent up rage and sexual impotence. I write under the name [new blank] now." There were some other people there I talked to who I'm sure I'm forgetting. If you're a girl and I forgot to mention you, then please passively aggressively complain about it to your girlfriends of anyone else before you finally tell me how hurt you were. Then I'll pretend I don't know what you're talking about; will reluctantly admit I was wrong; and buy you flowers and apologize for it while secretly resenting you for making me apologize for something that was unintentional. If you're guy and are upset that I forgot to mention you, then stop being such a wussy. Seriously, Chief, do your ovaries hurt when you cry?

Anyway, after my family is done driving me crazy, I'l be back in DC. I'm planning on making a pitstop in NYC where I'll try to meetup with 3 people before i leave. My childhood friend, the Bensonhurst Kid, my imaginary girlfriend (who works with BK and has a real life non-blog crush on me) and a blogger who I've been wanting to meet for a while. I'll report back next week.