The Daily Derenger

5/23/2002

I'm experiencing a bout with helplessness. I'm staying at Cyndi's place this week. She has cable TV but no remote control. It's 2002 and there is no remote. I haven't been without a remote control since the premier of "Silver Spoons." And I think that's 'cause the dog ate the cord that connected the remote to the cable box. Remember those days? Cyndi's been sick so I've had to watch her shows. And with no remote and with me not about to get up to change the channel, I was left watching TLC's "Trading Spaces," Oprah, and a 90210 re-run. Okay, so the latter wasn't so bad. I may have even watched 90210 on my own. The bottom line is that I'm a guy and feel naked watching TV without a remote. One should be delivered by week's end though. I'm waiting with open arms. And with "All My Children" on the tube.

5/22/2002

I'm hanging out with my friend Cyndi today. She thinks she has strept throat. She can't talk well and moans when she swallows although I've known many chicks who do that normally and more who won't even take it that far. Sometimes she doesn't even try to speak and instead groans and makes noises. I'm able to put the sounds together to match with what she points at. It's like playing charades with a retard. But I'm getting good at the game I guess.

5/19/2002

I was a groomsman in my best friend's wedding last night. Her uncle was suppose to be an usher. He tried on his tux an hour before the mass and found that the pants had a 32-inch waist and an 18-inch length. The coat and the shirt were fine. The pants were made for a midget. He opted to not wear the tux nor be the usher; two other groomsmen ushered instead. I wanted to wear the midget pants in the wedding. Then I realized that that wouldn't be nice to do on the biggest day of my friend's life. I wore them at the reception instead. When we got to the banqet hall/hotel, a daughter of the would-be usher ran up to tell me that a midget was at the front desk. I thought he was clearly there to get his pants. He wasn't though. I put "his" pants on halfway through the reception and had a blast. Everyone got a kick out of it. The midget pants resembled that of capri pants as they went just below my knee. I rolled my socks down to make for a better look. Perhaps the trend will catch on and men will have capri tuxes in stores soon. I explained to the reception party why I had the pants on and again all laughed. This morning, as the wedding party gathered in the hotel lobby at check-out time, the midget checked out, too. Only some of the party knew about him really being there; they thought I had made that part up. That was perhaps the biggest chuckle of the story. Until ... Shortly after that, I grabbed the pants and asked the midget to take a picture with me. He seemed a bit puzzled and then headbutted me in the balls. The moral is to be ware of midgets whose pants you may have worn.