Oh come on, we all have one.

So I’m at a fabulous graduation dinner for HP’s little bro. It was at Sullivan’s in Austin. My favorite place to get a yummy steak. And yummy steak I most certainly did get. But they squeezed in about 3 times more tables than should have been in that dining room because it was graduation weekend. I’m not talking a little bit crowded. I am talking log jam, parking lot, sardine style, nobody could move and we were all stuck to our seats due to “too many people eating and boozing in one room at the same time” issues. Anywho, that has nothing to do with what I am trying to say, but it makes me angry when restaurants do things like that, degrade my dining experience, to make the extra cash money. Plus, if there was a fire, you wouldn’t be reading this now.

So Kev, HP’s brother, was talking about his love for legos, and mentioned how he really wanted to build the lego version of the Death Star. To which his mom said, “you don’t have enough room in your tiny apartment for the Death Star.” To which Kevin said, “I could put it on my balcony.” To which his friend Andrew said, “Then that would show everyone what a big dork you are.” To which I said, “It’s like a dork beacon.”

Then I got to thinking about this dork beacon phenomenon, and came to the conclusion that we all have them. Sure, some shine brighter than others, but there is a little bit of dork in all of us and its impossible to keep it completely hidden. And, if you ask me, that is AOK. I’m a big dork. There are all kinds of dorks out there. I’m tolerant and rather adoring of dorkiness most of the time. Although, if your particular dork beacon is too much for me to handle, it may keep us in the friend zone.

So shine it bright and shine it proud, but here are a few that you should think about dimming a bit. Actually, these are more like dousche beacons, but nonetheless, kick the bulbs out on these suckers:

  • Nickelback (In your car, on your phone, in your iPod, in your head, anywhere)  = dousche beacon
  • Crocs or mandals (Man sandals. There are very few that can pull it off successfully. Flip flops are acceptable if you are by a pool, lake or beach, or you are consistently drunk) = dousche beacon
  • Puka shell necklace that you just can’t bring yourself to take off. Take it off.  = dousche beacon
  • Balls hanging from your trailer hitch (just don’t) = dousche beacon
  • Chains. around your neck, your ankle, your wrist or to walk your dog. = dousche beacon
  • Man purse. I know its tempting. I don’t know how I would carry all my shit without a bag. Especially with cell phones and what not. But don’t give into the temptation. If it goes over your shoulder, across your chest or around your waist, and it isn’t a duffel for your gym clothes or a messenger for your laptop,  its a purse. a purse is a purse is a purse. no.  = dousche beacon
  • Oh, you don’t get to hang your phone from your belt either. Sorry, I know I am being difficult.
  • Dogs smaller than 25 lbs that you didn’t inherit from someone. (Gay people are excluded from this one) = dousche beacon
  • Flesh colored or barely there beards. Yes, Spencer Pratt style. If you cannot grow it, don’t. You look stupid. = dousche beacon
  • Ed Hardy = dousche beacon

Meanwhile, I had a nice chat with my friend Brian last night. He used to work the party circuit downtown with HP and me back in the day. We were both downtown for dinner last night and were reflecting upon the fact that the area was crawling with people shining dousche beacons and women dressed like hookers. I mean, I love heels. I really do. They make me feel powerful and sexy. Under jeans or with an appropriate dress. But why o why do I now have to consistently compete with women that are in 8 inch heels, with their crotches barely hidden by minidresses and jumpers (who brought those back?). Oh wait, I don’t compete with them because I am pretty sure that I don’t want the men they attract…. BUT, Cosmo (the $9 one I bought in the Cancun airport) told me that all men are attracted to skanks. Literally. Those are the words that were in glossy print. Logically, men know skanks suck (in more ways than one), but intuitively they can’t help being drawn to the dirty.  Of course these mags can now add credibility to their claims by just saying Jesse James or Tiger Woods. Sigh.

Anyway. HP is in town. As are the rest of the Olsens. We went to the Highball last night. I’ve been avoiding it, thinking it was the latest gathering of dousche beacons, but I was pleasantly surprised. Love the people that work there. It has a cool vibe. And we sang the crap out of some kareoke in the hula room. Then HP and I kicked it old school style and had a dance party at my place until 4am. Yeah, just us. Pissing off my neighbors and refining our moves in my kitchen. At least we didn’t break out the tap shoes this time.

God love the Olsens. God love Jameson. God love Ciscos because I’m headed there for migas right now.

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