Just say: I need a plumber

Saturday, April 01, 2006

Oh our idol

of course it makes perfect sense... why only humans and dragons can blow smoke from their bodies. What with all the shadows and rocks to hide under during the nuclear meltdown. but why why! did a brazilian other creatures have to die? Why? Paula, Simon and the fat one are going to pay for their lack of compassion! And who do they think they are!? judging a barbeque eating contest! BOSH! how could they know. they're from outa town!

Well it's good to know that there are more and more squid decoys in the world. It's a relief to me. swish!

Sunday, March 12, 2006

This is getting intense...

So ya'll, I definately slept for 10! hours last night making me late for church. And I couldn't even hope to sing well. Fortunately I wasn't cracking by the time we sang the anthem. But that's not the half of it. Children's Choir was la'poop this morning, the preacher's wife is on the verge of setting herself on fire, and I'm having a secret affair with Greg the Creepy Janitor who dwells in the basement. The one who caught me (broke my fall) when I slipped out of the window last year. Yes. Well the passion has only grown.

So I'm so tired because of the recent influx of visitors to my humble and moldy abode. And not to mention my newest job of selling Wicked Merchandise at the Aronoff. It's intense. and I like that. But I fear that I may take my job too seriously... hmmm... what do you think fellow co-workers? But at least, there's a surplus of other creepy old (and sometimes homowners) men to hit on me... and sometimes I get the extreme pleasure of working with their inept, awkward and ninkinpoop asses... of the joy.

I leave for St. Bernard's Parish is a week! EEK! Yeah that sentense sucked. Actually this whole post smells of raw garbage. Sorry. I'm a little rusty after such a hiatus from blogging. I'll try harder next time....

Thursday, March 02, 2006

How Gay Was It?

I just went to see Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat at the Aronoff on Sunday after the race and after church...

and frankly, I thought I knew gay. But this show sent it to a whole new realm of gaydom. It was so gay I thought I saw a drag queen on stage, it was so gay, I was sure the American Family Association would be picketing outside. It was so gay, I got a crabs from putting the program between my legs. It was so gay that I think I'll vote for the Marraige Protection Amendment.

oh wait, nothing's that gay.

in conclusion

(The Tale of my Carew Tower Climb for The American Lung Association of Ohio 2.26.06... conclusion)
Oh how cruel and usual of me; to not finish the story completely; not to reveal how our young hero did in the race. Times have been posted. I know the outcome. And who would I be not to share it with you all?
Well I'm fortunately not that cruel or unusual, so I will tell you.
But first, a word from our sponsors. As many of you know, I could not have participated in the Climb the Carew Tower had I not received financial backing from a few wonderful friends. And I thank you all. As most of you don't know, I'm about to embark on another adventure over Spring Break, one which will take me into the heart of Lousiana to help the National Relief Network in their continuing efforts to clean up the mess left by this past year's meteorological menaces. Check out the website ( www.nrn.org) for more info.
To fund the trip, I need to collect $399.00 by the end of next week. AH!!! I know. As of yet, I have a modest $45.00 committed to the efforts... If you would like to contribute a tax deductible donation, please send a check (payable to National Relief Network) to Chad Benjamin Potter at 228 Klotter Ave #3 Cincinnati, OH 45219 this weekend. Or you could arrange to meet me in some dark alley and we can make the transaction there.
Okay! And now the moment we've all been waiting for!
The Results! (click on the Schedule/Results link on the left, then the 2006 results on the Carew Tower Climb row, then overall results)
that's right...
here are some photos too
Thanks again for reading, send your checks in the mail today!
love and happy legs,

pt. 3

(The Tale of my Carew Tower Climb for The American Lung Association of Ohio 2.26.06... pt.3)

I can't move. I can't breath. I can't stand up tall.

"Congratulations," the man states as he rips the bottom of my number off.

My lungs! They won't fill. Someone help me, NO! I don't need help. I can do this on my own. Stand up! I can't. Yes you can, you must! What did they tell you in middle school P.E. Stand up! I can't!

"Here's your medal," the cheery lady chirps as she places it around my hunched neck and body.

Stand up tall! There… that's a little better. Okay. Move around. Walk a little. No! Don't fall down! STAND UP! I can't. My legs won't work. I'm trying. I can't move them. They won't. Please someone… NO! Don't ask for help. You can do it on your own!

"Do you need some oxygen?" the bird chirps.

That's right, shake your head no. And Stand up. Support yourself. Get up!

"HEY! Get up from there. You aren't suppose to lay down after such a race.," the man I past in the stairwell lectures after passing through the cones.

"I can't stand up."

"Oh, here let me help," he extends his arm. We stand together. My legs still on vacation. I plaster my arm around his shoulders.

"Do you want some oxygen?" she's persistent. I wrap my other arm around her shoulders as she brings the mask to my mouth.

See. We can accept help and still be strong. And look now we're standing. You could have done it yourself… but we accepted the help of others. Just breathe.

After a few moments, I release the bird and stumble around with my support.

"Here we go. Let's walk over to the elevator,"

My legs are finding their grounding again.

"You shouldn't lay down after a race, even if you have to have someone support you."

"Thank you."

The doors slide open and we enter.

NO!!! WAIT! Go look out the window. We didn't huff all the way up here not to see the view! Go back.

Stumbling out to the gasps and protests of my fellow passengers, my balmy fingers reach up to separate the mini-blinds. My hand hits the glass.

"I know. Chirp. Chirp. The blinds are between the window panes and you can't even open them or see out. It seems like a rip off to me. Tweet! But the observation deck opens at noon. They'll let you in…"

Go back to the elevator. See you can walk again! I knew you would.

The Support assists me to the back wall of the elevator. I clasp the handrail; my eyes sludge around in their sockets taking in the other passengers.

"are you alright?" someone new, her shimmering hair wavy like Ms. Leigh's or the secretary of the Voice Department.

"uh huh."

"okay." The sounds fade around me as the car descends into the bowels of the building.

The voices within become occupied with the dull twisting growing in my chest.

It's burning! Your lungs are on fire! I'm not on fire. It's just that asthma that you've had since high school… I Don't Have Asthma! I'm perfect! Well then breathe deeply and say that again! HA! Now, who doesn't have asthma.

The doors slide away

"are you sure you're gonna be alright," my Support assures himself.

"yeah."

The figures scatter out of the capsule. I trail along with them trying to regain my anonymity.

"Hey, come over here with me," she waves with her hair.

Go. Don't object.

"Stay here with the paramedics."

Oh now look what you've done. Answer their questions. You're doing alright, you're have a little trouble breathing, no, no cramps, Tell them you'll just walk it off.

They watch over you wandering about in the lobby hands on knees.

The blurred line of pinned numbers keeps moving to the stairwell. One by one, they wait with excitement. One breath at a time. The twisting tightens.

STAND UP TALL! Go ahead, we know you can do it. You're feeling better. We believe in you. There you go, head up. Hold up guys! That was a bad idea. WHOA! Really bad idea! FIND A BATHROOM NOW!

"Where's the bathroom?"

"Oh there's one downstairs across from the reception hall," her voice trails off as I pass her for the stairs.

Hold it down. Come'on. You can make it. Look for signs. Follow the stairs. Look for signs. Hold it down. Hurry. We can't hold it for much longer. Come'on just a little bit more. One more flight. Why aren't there any signs!! Go right. HOLD IT DOWN!!

The place is a'buzz with fellow climbers, joyous after their climb and festive with the Hilton reception. Laughter over here, someone animates their heroic tale, a guide, "There's a yoga cool-down to your right and the reception's to your left." Everyone so happy. So unaware. I bust into the middle of this jovial scene.

HOLD IT DOWN!! WHERE ARE THE BATHROOMS! Why can't we find the bathrooms Call out CALL OUT!! ASK FOR HELP!

"Where Are The Bathrooms?" my voice, so sincere, full of desperation. Everything stops. Silence and waiting.

It starts with a burp. There's a churning from within. The reverse flow of partially digested matter surges through my esophagus. My left hand shoots up to my mouth to try and stop the eruption. But it's too late.

As if fire were shooting from my eyes, or a giant tomato, having gnawed out of my stomach, started ravaging the townsfolk, the crowd hurls their hands in the air, screaming away from the epicenter as sputum and intestinal mush explods out from the corners of my cupped hand like fireworks on the Fourth.

I fall to my knees, my hand and face dripping of the devastation.

"Oh my," the outside voices return.

I pause for a second.

Gather your pride. It happened. You can't change that. Just collect yourself and move on.

My head lifts to see the bathroom door a few yards ahead.

I lean over the commode, and flick the yellow mush with chucks of chew-up strawberry into the water.

Nobody says a word.

The room is still spinning as I hunch over the sink to wash my face off. I cup some water to my mouth to swish and spit when I notice him.

"How do you feel?" He's a paramedic. Arms crossed. Just observing.

"A lot better now." I chuckle. Embarrassed. Humbled. "The top of my lungs are in pain though."

"Okay."

Well don't make him wait here watching over you. Yes. You are fine now. He doesn't need to fuss over you. Get up and leave the bathroom. Push open the door. Keep walking… WHOA!!! TURN BACK! RETREAT!!

This time was much more fulfilling. I purged myself of most everything. A good five pumps. He's behind me leaning against the sink. Arms crossed.

That's all.

With a push, the hodgepodge spirals away, replenished by fresh aqua.

"WOW!! I Feel GREAT!" standing tall and proud. Smiling perhaps. I rinse a little in the sink and wipe my face.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes. I feel just swell. My eyes are a little slurred still, but I feel fine. Thank you for watching over me."

"Okay, well if you need us, we're right at the top of the stairs."

He leaves with a hand shake. I emerge from the bathroom a new man, if not a hungry one. Any trace of my episode a few moments prior are disposed of from the foyer. Well that's efficiency!

I explore this space anew. The laughter returned. The tales, even more ostentatious than before. "Yoga cool down to your right, after party to your left."

"Well I just vomited twice," my voice, acid-stripped and brassy, a little unstable. "So I'm not sure if I would be up for some yoga, but okay, why not?"

He just kinda stares at me.

She's with another client when I enter the room. I remove my shoes and find a space on the floor and begin to stretch out my legs. She sneaks up on me while I'm in child's pose.

"Let's take this to the wall," her voice like the breeze over a field of wild poppies.

For the next ten minutes or so, downward facing dog, the scissor, shoulder rotations with a stretchy band, forearm stands and head tri-pods never seemed so refreshing. We even tried some handstands against the wall. What a treat to work with a yoga specialist at this stage in my theatric training.

I thanked her for her help exchange a few words on Fanchon, and went on my way to the reception.

"HELLO!" The peppy greeting table! "How was it?!"

"Well I vomited twice, so I must have done something right."

"Well good…… enjoy the reception."

And enjoy the reception I did. The fruit, so fresh. Moist, like candy. And soy beans, popped out their shell and right into my mouth. And the cookies and miniature cheese cakes… well didn't I deserve a treat or two or eleven?

I sat alone at my large round table, my shoes by my feet, enjoying the festive interactions of others, content at enjoying my own solitude.

You did it. You actually did. And you're going to survive. You're eyes are less slurred now. Go get some more pineapple.

Around 9:31, I realized that it was time for me to start getting off to church so I could sing in the choir. My voice really didn't feel up to singing, but I'm sure I've sounded much worse before.

I gather my things, don my shoes, pick up some water bottle from the Funeral Home/ Cemetery display table because they were "not going to lug all those bottles back to the car," so I might as well take as much as I wanted. I took six.

On my way out, I ran into my Support, "Hey! This is the guy who passed me," he tells his lady friend. "He was really movin' it. But you know, you're never suppose to lay down after a race, even if someone has to help life you up."

Some things never change.

I took the stairs up to the lobby. The line to climb Carew still strong and ever shrinking. I approached the paramedics.

"Hey. I just wanted to thank you for looking out for me and making sure everything was alright. I really appreciate it."

"Oh no problem," the collective bunch responds.

"We sent someone down to check on you and they said that you were doing handstands against the wall. We figured you were alright."

"yeah. I'm good, now. Thanks."

I turn to leave.

"Hey!" the crossed one stops me with his voice.

"What was your time anyway?"

"You know, I'm not sure. I really don't know. I suppose they'll call me if it's good enough."

The parking garage elevator was warm and bright and smelled of urine all the way up to the seventh floor.

Tuesday, February 28, 2006

pt. 2

(The Tale of my Carew Tower Climb for The American Lung Association of Ohio 2.26.06... pt.2)

Now, I've never been alpine skiing before, but I would have to imagine that it would be something akin to the technique I used to traverse those first floors.

Swoosh! Slah! Swoosh! Slah! Clickity-Clack, Clickity Clack, two steps at a time, hands jetting out in front of me to latch onto the railing and pull me up to the next step.

Swoosh! Slah! Swoosh! Slah! Clickity-Clack, Clickity Clack.

While I was in rhythmic ecstasy, those stairs had no rhyme or reason to them. The first floor, 13steps, the second, 2. 5 steps around this corner, now 8! An interesting challenge. Quite engaging for the mind.

4th floor.
Swoosh! Slah! Swoosh! Slah! Clickity-Clack, Clickity Clack,

5th floor
Swish! Slah! Swish! Slah! Clickaty-Clack, Clickaty Clack,

6th floor
Swish! Sloh! Swish! Sloh! Clickaty-Clack, Clickaty Clack,

7th floor
Hirsh! Sloh! Hirsh! Sloh! Clickaty-Clock, Clickaty Clock,

By this time I've started to meet some my earlier climbers in the stairwell, hunched over clamoring their way to the top. I'm beginning to feel their pain, but my mind flashes back to that bull horn guy

"shh... Ladies and gentlemen... shhh... Remember to pass on your left. Pass on your left! ...shh"

Well they were to my left. Does that count?

I keep truckin' along. I'm feeling the onset of fatigue, but it won't stop me. I'm going to make it all the way. I'M GOING UP!!!

Then suddenly... the stairwell ends. I pause! There's a little lost lamb of a lady there too, her wide eyes searching in bewilderment for a way out. No time to chat. I notice an arrow and dash down the hall after its suggestion.

Brilliance! Through an open door at the end of the hall way, there are a new set of stairs.

Hirsh! Sloh! Hirsh! Sloh! Clickaty-Clock, Clickaty Clock,

I huff past another I suppose, when out of this maze of metal concrete and poor lighting rings a voice!

"THERE'S A BREAK AHEAD!!"

What! The trumpet blare! a break! Mine eyes raise toward the heavens and behold, a door way! Oh how it sparkles the golden hue of overhead florescent lighting, plush hotel carpeting and faux (or are they?) floral concoctions!

"Do you need water?" the angel calls forth.

"huhyesh," I rasp out. He flutters ahead to retrieve a bottle as I emerge into the splendor. He untwists the top and offers it to me. I bring it to my lips, but the lid's still on and feels awkward to my tongue. I pull it from mouth, rip of the lid, take a swish in my mouth and spit it into the gargantuan trash can, then thrust the bottle back into the awaiting hands of my salvation.

I leave that place through a corridor that reveals the continuation of the original stairwell.

Back to skiing.

It's around this time that I notice the posters on the wall. They mark the different floors of the Carew Tower with such clever sayings as

"Floor 23! You're over half-way there!"
"Floor 27! Won't the the reception in the Hilton conference room be wonderful once you get to the top?!"
"Floor 30! Pass on your left!"

OH COME ON!!!

And to be completely honest with you, I'm not sure if this building actually has floors 30 through 40, because all I remember is huffing for a while, and looking up to discover.

"Floor 42! You're almost there!"

FLOOR 42!!! I'm really gonna make it! I can't believe it!

My skiing picks up a little as the voices from above grow louder and I pass yet one more person.

"Come on! You're almost finished! Eat at Rockbottom Grill!"

My eyes have glazed over by now. I'm functioning on sensation and drive now.

I will make it. I will prove to myself that I'm good enough, that I'm worthy of being called an athlete. I'm valid.

"Floor 44! One more to go!"

I burst through the doorway, triumphant!

"The finish line's around the corner!"

WHAT!?

I stumble down this final patch of hallway, slink around the corner and come to a rest past the two miniature orange cones.

It is Finished.

the race at least.

(t.b.con. one more)

pt. 1

(The Tale of my Carew Tower Climb for The American Lung Association of Ohio 2.26.06... pt.1)

Focus.
Wake up, 6:04.
Roll around in bed in nervous anticipation until 6:3something.
Get up. Have some oatmeal with apple butter mixed in.
Out the door by 7ish.
Jog around the neighborhood. It's my warm-up. It's 21 degrees.
Get back around 7:30. Hop in the shower. Fill up the tub. Soak for about ten minutes.
I've never stretched out in the shower before. It is interesting.
Pat myself dry. Down two micro-waved eggs and three strawberries around 7:54.
My start time for the climb isn't until 8:37:30, I don't want to lose all my energy.
Put on my climbing clothes, spandex undergarments, orange and white Portuguese swimming shorts, too stiff, take off, put on green mesh running shorts with pockets, black three leaf clover sleeve-less shirt.
Pin my number (1783) to the bottom of my shirt so as not to cover up clover.
Put on socks, warm-up sweat pants, red hoodie vest, and shoes.
Out the door by 8… ish.
Take Race Street. Every light… red.
Park in the Tower Place parking lot, 7th floor.
Barrel down stairs to the street and enter the Carew Tower.
People everywhere. Darting about. Stretching. Looking fit. I coat-check my vest.
I register and sign the waiver.
My group, the 8:24 to the 8:44 group, is already in the holding zone.
Heart in throat pounding out to beat the band.
Dash over to coat check, fumble out of my sweats and return to get in line.
Clock flashes 8:24:27 and ticks away.
I jump, squat. Stretch, twist.
Man with bull-horn
"Ladies and gentlemen, let's give a round of applause to this fire-fighter up front. She's going to go up in full gear."
Clap to release the nerves.
8:31:39
"Ladies and gentlemen, let's give a round of applause for ourselves!"
Clap to stay warmed and pumped. The line moves along. Closer.
8:34:14
"Ladies and gentlemen, this guy just finished with a time of 6:10!"
6 minutes 10 seconds. 6 minutes 10 seconds. 6 minutes 10 seconds. The time to go for, 6 minutes 10 seconds.
"He looks pretty happy with that time," those around me nervously chuckle to themselves, "I wouldn't want to take it away from him."
I would.
8:36:48
Inspirations. My mother. My mother. And family. Emma, papa, Daniel, erin. Other inspirations. Think of more. My friends. Fanchon, Amy, Ashley, Bryce, Jennifer, Nick, Nora, Mary, Lynn, names and memories zip by without recollection or comprehension, only appreciation.
8:37:02
"Are you Chad Potter?"
"Yes."
Well sorta…
Look up the stairwell. It's narrow, dark, cold. I like that. The sounds of those clunking away spiral down to me.
"It's best not to look up."
"No I want to."
"Please stay behind the grey line."
I find my breath and face away from the clicking clock.
"Ten seconds."
Life in focus.

"Go!"

Friday, February 17, 2006

The UC REC Center just got a little more recreational

So by now, most of you have realized that I'm not blogging as much as I used to, one because my sister got her act together, and two, because I live at the UC REC Center. I really must be there about 8 times a week.

I always go Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to do my general strength trainging, but recently, I've started to go at odd times just to swim/dive (when the diving board is open). Most of my odd times just happen to be a night... mainly because the sights are better, if ya know what I'm sayin' and I think you do.

So last night, I'm there, doing my laps in my little spandex, look-at-my-dick shorts with my new lover Ashley (she's tre magnifi), and enjoying our dives and swims and blah blah blah. We finish up our laps and head for the locker rooms to change and meet back up to go for a stretching spell upstairs.

I go through the men's showering/bathroom area and turn into the hallway that leads to the lockers. Well as I'm heading down this corridor, I nearly knock over this guy, I'd say in this early thirties, shirtless with some jeans and white underware showing, who was on his way out. Because of how we almost bumped into each other as we turned the corner, I gave a polite smile or apology and went on my way.

I head over to my locker to change into some dry clothes. I open my locker and pull my shorts out and turn around. Well, what do you know, who's there across the aisle from me staring me down but afore mentioned shirtless thirty-year-old. I do take note that he's looking right at me, but think nothing of it. You know, maybe he was just going to the restroom before he came back to get fully dressed, or maybe he needed a tissue, or maybe he was trying to solve a psyhics problem. Whatever

Well as he stretched out his jeans and underware and pulled out his semi-erect cock, I began to take a different position on what he was doing. And let's just say that little ole modest me took my dandy time taking my spandex, look-at-my-dick shorts off, drying my naked abdomen off, and putting my dry shorts on.

Needless to say, I was slightly aroused at this point. It's just the scene that fantasies are made of, except for the random guys walking in and out of the locker room in a constant flow. But maybe that is a part of the fantasy too....

Well I put my clothes on and take my wet shorts over to the drying spin machine, thinking that this would be the end of it. Well nope. He followed me. And when he I went back to my locker to retreive my bag, he followed, then when I went back to the showers and bathroom part, he followed, and then when I went out in the hallway, he followed. Quite possibly the most arousing and engaging experience thus far.

So, all I gots ta say, is that mamma is gonna start carrying rubbers to the rec center from now on!

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Survey Says

In the spirit of Gunshot, I took a little quiz of my own. Well I'd say they were right on the mark with this one. Happy V-day to me!

You scored as Penis. You are attracted to the: penis.
You are a penis man/woman.

Penis

100%

Abs/Stomach

83%

Face

75%

Butt

33%

Boobs

33%

What Body Part Are You Attracted To?(pics)
created with QuizFarm.com

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

The Society of Molluscumbags

In honor of The Whole Dried Raspberries and all the happy-feely let's remember freshman traumatic memories that I'm going through recently, I thought, "what the hell?" Why not revive a classic?

Ladies and ladies, I give you, Hot or Not.


Let's start with Heidi Not-Hot

I gave her a 7. But I'm no judge of female beauty.

Here's Razor.

I gave him a 3 and his companion a 10.

Apparently Jasmine got out of the cartoon and forgot how to post an upright picture.

7

Pat

I gave... umm... this person a 5.

Claire, you're about as awkward as your expression.

but your father's a fox. 5

Holla! Kim here, and I thought I'd go with the icicle look

ye-haw! 4

Oh Shawanda, do you shop at Banana Republic?

10!

Hello Trevor!

Sin City? I hope so! 10!

No Amber, You won't confrom! EVER!!

7.

And last but certainly not least, Tiffanie

i'll let this senior pic (i hope i hope) speak for itself. 8

Oh I thought that was the last one... till I found Becky.

how haunting... 10