06-19-2004

(Warning: This post is huge and picture-intensive. It will be merciless if you have a dial-up connection, so be patient. It’s worth it, and if there are any problems with things showing up, please leave a comment about it. Hell, just leave anything. I’d appreciate it.)

Friday Morning

Ben and Sherry spent Thursday night at our house so we could head out at 7am on Friday. This proved to be slightly difficult due to lack of sleep. (Sherry gets the giggles when she has too much wine.)

Not pictured: Benjamin Jenkel



Delorted!

So anyways, we arrived to lovely Thayer’s Historic Bed and Breakfast at about 1pm after picking up our tuxes and wedding license. Once there, we were greeted by our huge wedding suite, equipped with huge hot tub being sat on by Ben and Sherry here:

We were also greeted by the 2 resident Maine Coons, Sadie and Tennessee.



After emptying the contents of our car into our respective rooms, it was off to the Mall of America for some recreation, veggie burgers and fish.



Hey, nice jorb there, Ben!



So after a long day of not shopping, we visited my family who was staying at a nearby hotel, and then headed back to the B&B for some sleep.

Or so we thought.

Out of respect for the fragile mindsets of some of our friends and family, the 4 of us decided not to discuss the events of Friday night until now. We figured if our guests knew that the place was haunted to the gills, they wouldn’t want to spend the night. Here’s just a sampling of what happened to not only the 4 of us, but also to 2 lovely Korean ladies who also where there with us: (My apologies for not snapping a picture of them. They were sweet and nice.)

– The original owner of the B&B, named “Gus”, likes to leave pennies around as gifts. I noticed one of these on the floor, and ignored it, chalking it up to dropped change. When I remembered about the “Gus” story, I went back for it no more than 30 seconds later. It was gone.

– The 2 ladies gave the spirits “permission” to enter their room, and asked them to “give them a sign”. When they came back in the room, all of their stuffed animals had been moved from one corner of the room to another. Honestly.

– Celia, upon standing next to a rocking chair on the third floor, was overcome with a feeling of uneasiness and sickness, and had to leave for a minute. We later found out that the rocking chair is frequently inhabited by the spirit of an old woman. Apparently, this spirit passed right through Celia.

– Ben was constantly locked in and out of his room all weekend. Admittedly, I chalked this up to stupidity on Ben’s part, but I later saw it happen first hand and saw that Ben did nothing to the door to make it lock. It just locked by itself. We also saw several doors slam shut on their own.

– While giving the spirits “permission”, the 2 ladies were standing next to an antique table in the hallway. Suddenly, something ran into the table so hard that it shook the things on it. Seriously.

There were more things that happened, but we were so completely freaked out that we couldn’t remember anything else. This was the night before my wedding, and I couldn’t get to sleep until 2am. Before going to sleep, I made a loud announcement that there were to be NO SPIRITS IN MY ROOM.

Don’t Cry Over Pastry

The 4 of us had a quiet breakfast on Saturday morning, feeling slightly haggard and stirring with anticipation about the long day that was about to unfold. One by one, everyone showed up on time and checked in, and the weather couldn’t have been more beautiful.



Exclusive Members Only Picture From AMYSBACK.COM!

(I have several more pictures of Amy’s back, with closer zoom-ins on her tender shoulder blades. If you want them though, you’ve gotta pay. Sherry looks hammered.)

There was only one little teenie, tiny hitch to our plans. A half hour before the wedding was to begin, Celia’s dress hit a snag. Well, her zipper, to be more exact. The dress was beautiful and beautifully made, but the zipper wasn’t worth a shit. After a short delay and some struggling, we made our way to the garden and participated in the most stressful 25 minutes of my life.

Allow me to get a little personal for a paragraph here. I did everything I could not to cry. I sang songs in my head, refused to stare her in the eye, and laughed at nothing for as long as I could. But once I had to take her hands, and let her know how much she meant to me, I just couldn’t handle it. I recovered quickly, but I did have several welling tears. Luckily for me, there wasn’t a dry eye in the place. Rumor has it that even old Ben was shedding a tear or two, but out of respect for his masculinity I will not confirm or deny these accusations. I’ve never been sadder or happier in my life.

We made it through, though. Then it was pictures and mingling for a few hours before the big murder mystery began. It is at this point that I must mention that Anthony, Lindsay’s Texan boyfriend, took most of these pictures of us. He did a great job, and we’re all very appreciative of his work. (I tried my hardest to get him to talk to me, and I think I almost succeeded. I’m beginning to think that the guy just doesn’t like to talk. Oh well, I liked having him there anyways. Thanks, man.)

What A Scoop!

I was so proud of everyone who did the murder mystery. I laughed harder than I have in years, and from the most unexpected sources. (Like my Dad. Go figure!) Some of the highlights were Tyler’s unfliching performance of the meek nerd-slash-murderous genius, Kevin’s believable death scene, Celia’s Mother’s completely over-the-top southern belle act, my Dad’s Matt Foley-esque screaming delivery with every question asked of him, and Ben’s borderline-alcoholic portrayal of newspaper writer “Clint Print”. Honestly though, everyone was great. We couldn’t stop talking about it for days, and we plan on doing it again sometime.

After a long day, everyone was pretty much exhausted, and went to bed earlier than expected.

I know there are a lot of stories I’m leaving out, so if you have a specific memory you’d like to share, please leave it as a comment. Everyone played a supporting role in this wedding, and that’s exactly how we wanted it to be. My wife and I didn’t want to be the centers of attention any longer than we had to, because we essentially wanted this to just be a fun weekend for everyone.

I think we pulled it off. See you again this weekend!

We’re As Dead As Disco, Baby.

My old band Mediocre At Best played their last show over 2 years ago, just before realizing that we had played just one show too many. Nevertheless, we had a great time and made a lot of temporary friends along the way. For me, the best part of the whole experience was talking to people who really appreciated or at least feigned interest into what we were doing.

Which is why I found this letter so charming. This is an e-mail sent to Celia about 2 weeks ago. Bear in mind again that we haven’t done anything with this band in years.

Date: Fri, 11 Jun 2004 11:34:27 -0700 (PDT)

From: aditya renggadita

Subject: Mail from indonesia

To: thegirlfrommars@XXXXXXXXX.com

I havent hear any song from your releases,cos i

couldnt find it in Indonesia due to economic condition

of Indonesia. That why i wrote this mail to

you….wondering…dyou guy have any cd sampler?or

whatever like free cd or anything? maybe i could make

a small promo about your band.

i couldnt always browsing your site cause i dont have

any internet acess. i use internet on cyber cafe so i

must pay it over and over again.

why dont you guy come and play in Indonesia?its a

great place.

Aditya Renggadita

jl. setia no.124/e sukarasa

Tangerang 15111

Indonesia

The 4 of us are currently scrounging around, looking for things to send her, free of course. With this bit of good news, and my wedding on Saturday, I’m having a much better week than I deserve. Here’s to hoping that yours is the same.

The next time I talk to you, I’ll be a married man.

Paid Endorsement.



A conservative is a man with two perfectly good legs who, however, has never learned to walk forward.

Hey, bitches! Long time, no see! This is your old pal FDR, and I’ve got a bone to pick with 21st century America.

Now as you may or may not know, I’ve been dead for about 59 years. I’m not “keen” to what the kids think is “cherry” nowadays. I don’t pretend to be “down” with the “Miami Vices” or the “Hall and Oateses”, or even the “Knight Riderses” on the late-night telestrator. That shit doesn’t concern me one bit. But last week, something chapped my ass so much, I had to wheel myself right up to the Big Man’s throne and ask him for a day pass to earth to talk some sense into you bastards.

Ronnie Reagan died last week, and that’s tragic. Damn tragic. Sure, he was 93 years old, so it wasn’t really a surprise or anything, but it’s still sad to watch a decent man go. I saw the premiere of Knute Rockne in 1940 and I thought he was the most inspiring bastard I’d ever seen on the screen. He knew how to work an audience. He took this talent right into the Oval Office, where he defined a decade of greed and class separation the likes of which were never seen before or since. Good for him, the jellybean-loving turd. He deserved it.

But you already know all this crap. You had to watch it for 144 straight hours, didn’t ya? We don’t get cable in heaven, so I couldn’t turn the channel to “Wildboyz” or anything. We had a dish for a while, but it didn’t work for shit, and all we got was a lame-ass channel from Winnipeg. But I’m rambling again.

People started jaw-jacking about taking my face off of the dime, and replacing it with the face of the Gipper. What? You can’t do that! You can’t just permanently change currency because someone thought it was a good idea! Sure, I’m on the dime, but I was the FIRST guy on the dime! I’m already there, Ron, get your own! May I suggest a new coin altogether? Perhaps Mr. Reagan could be on the all-new bronze 14-cent piece. Or maybe a 99-cent piece. These would especially come in handy when you go to those 99-cent stores looking for fridge magnets. You wouldn’t have to get back that loser-ass penny that you can’t do anything with. And don’t bitch at me about the sales tax, either. When I was in office, 99 cents WAS 99 cents, God damn it.

So shut your mouth about trying to make me disappear off of your change, Conservative America. FDR’s here to stay! If any of you have a problem with it, so help me, I’ll get right up off of this Hoveround and kick you square in the sack. Don’t even test me.

Roosevelt….Out!



Additional Note From Ryan:

The opinions, views and foul language expressed by deceased President Roosevelt do not necessarily reflect me or the Communist Dance Party. Deceased President Roosevelt offered the Communist Dance Party a sum of money to use our page as an outlet for his expressed views.

As a side note, the Communist Dance Party is fully against the notion of defacing any existing thing to add ANY deceased President to it, such as existing currency or landmarks. This offers the impression that the work of one President is more deserving than another, when they should not be compared whatsoever.

It should also be added that deceased President Roosevelt was very nice, and we played Sheepshead throughout the night that he was here. He had plenty to say about the way the United States was currently being run, but none of it was able to be posted for legal reasons. Just because we have been dealt a new loss, this doesn’t mean that we should ignore the losses of the past.

Bring Your Mitten Clips.

Here’s the new format, ya’ big babies. Make sure you leave me a comment about it, no matter what you have to say. If something isn’t working right, or something isn’t to your liking, PLEASE let me know so I can fix it. I want to make absolutely certain that this is the last time I do this, because it’s way more work than I can handle, and I’d like to get back to other topics besides, “here’s the new format!”

The new and improved links will be here tomorrow, and that will pretty much bring everything back up to speed. But again, if you see something you don’t like, or you don’t see something you DO like, leave me a comment and I’ll take care of it.

Can I go to bed now?

I’ll Mess With Texas.



I’m Ben Jenkel, and I approved this message.

“Ben is blasphemy!

Pretending to be our Lord,

Strumming the new song.”

Due to petty bickering within an earshot of me during the last few weeks, I may or may NOT change the look of this page again. We’ll see. If you have an opinion in the matter, post a comment. Remember that you don’t have to register to post a comment if you’re too lazy or afraid.

On Saturday night, I had a dream that my Dad was dead on the couch of my childhood home. He had a rope around his neck, and appeared to be posed after being killed somewhere else. There was a similar corpse next to him, but I screamed myself awake before I found out who it was.

On Sunday night, I had a dream that a man threatened me with a scissors, forcing me out of a bathroom with my pants around my ankles so his daughter could use it. My only display of defiance was as I was taking baby steps out the door, yelling to him, “You’re the worst French ambassador we’ve ever had!” The Kindergarten-aged daughter fired back with, “Adios, Rooney!” In which I replied with, “Adios, you f***ing bitch!” I awoke laughing my ass off. (The F-word has been edited by me to preserve what little family atmosphere left here.)

And on Monday night, I dreamed that I was in my Grandparents’ driveway on the hood of my car, talking to a cloud in the middle of the night. The cloud said something to me about dragons and witchery, and began to swoop down to me. I again screamed myself awake, and my nose started bleeding.

The last dream I can chalk up to my new surroundings in the mailroom where I work. Dawn, the resident mail handler, has covered every inch of drywall with more fantasy posters and action figures than all the Anime conventions in the world. Those first 2 dreams though, I’m telling ya…

It’s the heat, is what it is. I can’t stand peeling myself off of every surface I come into contact with for more than a second. You’re uncomfortable everywhere, the electric bill goes through the roof, and intimacy is almost impossible for a neat freak such as myself. Celia so much as throws an arm around me, and I break out into a flop sweat so dense I go blind. There is about a 2-week span where it’s comfortable to live in this part of the nation.

I still hate Texas.

Casual Friday.



I’m Jesus Christ, and I approved this message.

Work? Wish I were dead!

Wasting body, mind and time.

Leaving life behind.

“Oh, boo-hoo! Look at me, I don’t like my job! Look how bad I have it! I wish I didn’t have to go because all it does is waste my time and-”

GET OVER IT, JERK-OFF!

Hey, I’m your conscience, and I’ve got something to say here. EVERYBODY hates their job, Ryan. Maybe if would have had one in the last 3 years you’d still remember that. You get paid almost 11 bucks an hour to answer phones and open mail, and you’re whining? Well, do me and yourself a favor. Take all the stress caused by co-workers, fear of failure and rejection, 5 days of crappy microwavable lunches and SHOVE THEM STRAIGHT UP YOUR CHUTE, YA BIG PANSY! Get right over it, and shut your mouth before someone realizes you don’t belong there.

Enjoy your weekend while it’s here, Ryan. Live the same way everyone else does, 2 days a week. You only deserve 40-some hours to yourself a week anyways, considering how much time you’ve pissed away over the years. You deserve to be punished for your 3 years of daytime television and online gaming. 3 years of bad essays and The Price Is Right. Don’t talk anymore about how bad you have it, because your girlfriend just watched a homeless man throw a phone at someone because his welfare check didn’t show up. This happened while you were alphabetizing index cards in your cubicle, mumbling about when you could go on break.

I’d punch you in the head if I had arms, but I don’t. I’m only your conscience. I’m leaving now. Go to hell.

……..Wow. I would have never in a million years guessed that my conscience looked liked Dr. Teeth from the Muppets. And what an elegant speaker! You learn something new every day. Thanks, man.