kris

At dinner tonight, Mark started telling one of his college stories (his story to tell, but the summary is: he and his friends killed a rabbit with a BB gun from the dorm balcony, cooked it at a barbeque (tastes like chicken!), was tattled on by the women downstairs, ordered to volunteer at the local Humane Society, tried to do said volunteering at the local Humane Society but were refused because of the reason why they had to volunteer, and ended up volunteering with the campus gardener, who offered them $1 for every rabbit they killed). At one point, Kris leaded over to Megan and asked, "Have you heard this story a million times before?" She laughed, then said yes, but it was okay, because she listened for differences in the stories, to see how they grow over time.

She asked me if I did the same with the stories from Kris that I hear over and over again. I laughed, and said, "No, I just pull out my phone and try to keep up with him while typing it in." I then asked, "Want to hear one?"

I figure Kris isn't going to blog his stories, but some of them are just so so funny. The best part is, of course, the fact that Kris just laughs when he tells the story, so, yes, a lot of it is in the delivery. If he starts typing up his own stories, I'll stop. Until then, I'll keep transcribing.

Megan said, yes, she'd like to hear the story, so, in his words, Kris' story of Stuart Foreman:

Stuart Foreman was the name of our catcher in high school.

We had a rule that a runner heading to home had to slide if there was going to be a play at home. They had no choice, they were rwquired to slide.

my junior year, we were playing our arch rival, James Wood H.S., In one play, the runner starts coming into home. Our catcher caught the ball, and turned to meet the runner. The runner was this 6" 200 (220 in one version of the story) pound guy. Our catcher was like 5'7", 170 (180 in a different telling) pounds, stocky and built like Eric Newman.

So this runner comes in, and our catcher is holding the ball (out in front of himself, both hands around the ball) when the runner keeps charging.

So our catcher goes HUNH! picks up the runner, body slams him to the ground, touches him with the ball, spikes the ball,and walks back to the dugout.

The guy immediately stands up, like he wants to fight. The whole bench is waiting at the end of the dugout, just waiting to rush the field, while the umpire is throwing warnings around.

Immediately warned both dugouts to stay in their dugouts.

Someone asked, What were you doing?

Me? Oh, I was laughing hysterically.

Today was supposed to be a vacation day for Kris.

Having worked ungodly hours for the last month and a half (the last three weeks where he went to work at 6:30 am and arrived home after 9 at night, usually 10), Kris was finally able to take a day off. Four in fact: the weekend, today as a floating holiday and tomorrow as a real holiday.

Didn't happen.

Someone from his work called my cell phone, Kris' not working yet, and left a message to the effect that there have been site errors, mostly memory problems, and that the head honchos were cancelling the holiday and asking everyone to return to work. I listened to the message, and, annoying, tragically, did the right thing: I called home, had Heather wake up Kris at 11 in the morning, and told him he had to go to work. I then played the voice message for him. His response was a muted, "You have to be kidding me."

At least he got 7 hours of sleep last night.

An hour later, I received another phone call from the same coworker. I answered, and he asked for Kris. I told him that Kris wasn't here, he was on his way into work.

Apparently this was the best news this guy could have ever heard. He went off on oh, how wonderful that is, and after a few minutes, started saying how sorry he was that he had to call everyone into work, there were such problems.

As he went off on his apologies, my anger started rising. My husband has been effectively working for less than minimum wages for this company, and they're calling him in on his day off, the first in six weeks. Kris has missed half the ultimate practices in the last month, hasn't spent a weekend with me for two, and I can count the number of times his hasn't been too exhausted in the last month for sex because of work on one hand.

Right, this guy is sorry. So sorry that the site that isn't making any money has to fix itself right now.

I hung up on the guy.

I have no desire to be nice to the person who is clearly not as sorry as he is claiming to be. If he were that sorry, he wouldn't have called in the first place.

Asshole.

Several years ago, I bet Kris I could pee farther than he could. He told me he'd take that bet in a heartbeat. Tonight, once again, I bet him, given a full bladder and the right angle, I could pee farther than he could. To my surprise, I had intimidated him into saying, no, he wouldn't take that bet.

We were having dinner with Tyler and Heather at the newly opened, local Indian house (notes to self: veggie Korma delicious, chicken Korma sucky suck, garlic naan means no kisses, but is oh-so-very tasty!). I wish I could recall how the conversation went, but somehow we managed to arrive at the topic of peeing distances. Tyler expressed disbelief at my assertion.

I had once told Kris I could do 100 situps, no problem. He bet me $100 (our standard bet) I couldn't do 100 in an hour. I won, but only just barely. It's become our standard measure by which we gauge how likely some seemingly innocent statement is true ("Sure. And I can do 100 situps. In an hour.").

Update: Was talking to Roshan, and yes, we agreed that 100 situps in an hour is ridiculously easy. So, I'm clearly misremembering the incident. It must have been 100 situps in like 10 minutes, but Kris was gracious and gave me 15, or something like that.

So, sure, I can pee farther than you. And I can do 100 situps. In an hour. (Ignoring the fact that, yes, I really can do 100 situps in an hour, and in far, far less than than hour, but that's because I train.)

I had to describe to Tyler various requirements, then commented that my smaller bladder and higher pressure, compared to Kris's larger bladder and lower pressure, was guaranteed to win. He tried to counter with Kris' amazing stomach muscles being able to force the urine out more effectively, but was thwarted by my comment, "His abs are no match for my Kegel exercises. Which I'm doing. Right. Now."

I learned to pee standing up a long while ago, but the website I learned from has since been bought out and redirects to a sucky-suck site now. The best I could find was the recently discovered (for me) NSFW site, with her description of the process. It's as I recall, but without the pictures and helpful comments.

I'll need to wait until after Heather moves out before I practice in the shower hitting one wall with my back against the other wall.

"Excuse me for my ignorance, it wasn't very smart. But if it came out the other end, it would have been a fart."

Blink.

Blink. Blink.

"I don't think I've said that since I was twelve."

Much hilarity ensues.