When I saw mention of a handmade Nintendo controller-ish coin purse at DS Fanboy, I knew I had to have one. I went to Lindsey Porter’s storefront on Etsy. Etsy specializes in handmade stuffs, so if you’re looking for something unique or small-run, check them out.

Pictures and the rest of the write-up are behind the “jump,” for you RSS readin’ folks.
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I’m pretty much the anti-Christ and an asshole of ginormous proportions. As such, it’s remarkable that I have any friends at all, let alone friends who withstand the test of time. I’ve known Stilts since he was a wee lad at William and Mary — I helped him realize when he could and couldn’t skip classes — and we’ve been best friends ever since. Stilts is turning thirty today, three decades of being one of the most accepting, caring humans I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Here’s a quick run-down some of the key events Stilts has been around for, in somewhat chronological order:

• My graduation from William and Mary.
• Ten jobs.
• Eight cars.
• Seven residences.
• Six MMORPGs.
• Five girlfriends, including his sister.
• Moving from Virginia to Oregon, to Oregon back to Virginia, from Virginia to Maryland, and from Maryland back to Virginia.
• The death of my sister.
• Losing countless games of foosball (sorry buddy).

There’s a lot of stuff in there that I won’t post about in public, or has fallen off my dusty bookshelf of a mind. What’s important is that my best friend is another year older, and I’m more thankful than ever that he’s been such an unwavering companion for so long. Thanks for over twelve years of friendship, buddy, and may we have dozens more.

I haven’t been to the real-gym for about four months. I haven’t felt the drive or desire to really go. I’m still in decent looking shape, have gone from a 34 to a 32, and am only nine pounds heavier than my high school weight. To keep up some level of upper body strength I was doing fifty pushups a day, but I was getting bored. Enter the Creative Fitness door chin-up bar.
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My uncle Nino, who has been living in Mexico for a few years, entered his modified Volkswagen Beetle in a car competition in Morelia, Mexico. Herculito (Little Hercules) competed against three hundred other cars and took first place. Here are the two pictures he sent along:

Nino has always been into custom cars. He has a Saleen Mustang back in the States, and used to shoehorn Porche engines into Beetles when he lived in Puerto Rico. One of my fondest memories growing up was when he helped me custom-paint my 1974 VW Super Beetle.

So, I got a letter from my employer last Friday. It made me nervous, as I don’t normally get correspondence from them unless it’s payday or we’re ready to do the annual insurance crap. I thought for a moment that I had been laid off and it was my severance notice. I held the envelope up to the kitchen light to see if there was any collateral inside, like a brochure or something. I grew tired of being paranoid, and tore the top of the letter off.
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Happy birthday to my good friend and ex-co-worker, JPCS. I hope things are going well with you and your adoption process is moving right along. Happy birthday, my friend, you deserve it.

I wrote up a list of ten ways to reuse plastic bags in March after San Francisco passed a ban on plastic grocery bags. I bought some things from Target recently, and noticed they also had a list of ten ideas. Let’s see how they match up.
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In my ongoing, hopeless war against my body hair, I often turn to … unconventional contraptions and procedures. At least, unconventional for a guy. Especially a straight one. That isn’t in porn or professional fighting. Rip my nose hairs out by hand if I couldn’t find a trimmer? Ayup. Own a grooming device with multiple attachments? Right here, buddy. Wax my back? Yeah, done it a few times. Nair? Yes, yes I have done Nair. It didn’t work very well and left a chemical burn on me for a few days.

So, when Stomper gave Lady Jaye an Emjoi Epislim awhile ago, I was intrigued. The Epislim is basically a device made by Satan. There’s a whirling set of … devil claws? Fuck if I know what they are really called, that rip your hair out. It is very similar to the Epilady, except the Epislim is smaller. The devil claws only cover about an inch-wide area. Instead of legs and underarms (or the “bikini area,” as I was told), I was after the hairs that grew along the tops of my fingers. I don’t know really why I wanted them gone. Maybe it’s because chimps have hairy fingers, and I am trying to avoid the primate comparison as much as possible. I might be a hairy bastard, but I’m going to be a hairy bastard on my own terms.

I fired up the Epislim, which is powered by two AA batteries. The power switch made me a little nervous. There is a safety nipple that has to be depressed in order to flip up the power switch. That’s right, this bitch has a safety. The second thing that made me pause was the incredible roar that came from such a small device. It was as if a giant demon had been smooshed down into a tiny plastic housing. I shrugged and ran the Epislim over the top of my thumb.

It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t really that bad, either. Certainly not as bad as getting my back waxed. I did wince a few times, and possibly said “Ow.” I found that different parts of different fingers were more sensitive than others. The worst parts were the fingertips of my index and pinky fingers. My middle fingers were the least sensitive. I guess flipping the bird so often toughed them up.

About two weeks ago I decided to try the Epislim out on my toes. That hurt. No idea what the big deal was, but I tried again a few days later and didn’t even finish my first toe. I was tempted to try “other areas” just for the sake of this review but I don’t want my manhood ripped off by the devil claws. Maybe for another post.

Regrowth on my fingers started in about a day or two. I waited three more days and I went after my hands again with the Epislim. The devil claws whirred to life and snatched off all my hairs. I’ve done this about four or five times. Either my hair is finally giving up or I’m fooling myself, but I think it’s taking more time to grow back. Either way, I’m pleased with the Epislim. It does what it says, seems durable, and was inexpensive ($18 before shipping at Amazon.com or similar vendors).

Emjoi Epislim AP9LC Epilator, I rip out
Five out of five STFU mugs!

Firearms are a passion of mine. If you’re a regular Gibberish reader, you know this. What you may not know is that I’ve held a concealed carry permit in the Commonwealth of Virginia ever since I turned 21. Most kids buy a twelve pack or go barhopping; I bought my Glock 27 and shot five hundred rounds of ammunition instead. I took a carrying hiatus while I lived in Oregon and Maryland, but aside from that time period if you saw me in public, chances were I was armed.

I’ve learned a lot about comfortable concealed carry over the last decade-plus. There are three goals anyone with a CCH license tries to achieve: safety/protection, comfort, and concealment. The desire to safely carry a weapon for protection is obvious. If you wear a handgun (or handguns, redundancy is your friend), then comfort is a major concern. I sit for most of the day, whether it be at the office or riding in my car. The fall and winter give you some allowances on clothing and holster options, but during the summer even small-framed handguns feel like wet anvils as you sweat just standing still.

Lastly, a key part of CCH is concealment. Freaking out that table of soccer mommies at your favorite restaurant doesn’t do anyone any good. You learn very quickly to reach for things at the store with your off-hand so that your shirt doesn’t ride up and show your piece. Take your gun out before you sit down on the toilet, or risk a nice “clank” if your handgun falls onto the bathroom floor. Sure, you might be able to pack a full-framed 1911 .45 ACP if you wear a suit all day, but my standard attire has been a tshirt and shorts/jeans. Even that is easy street compared to the poor guys who have to wear business casual. Too strict to keep a shirt over a belted handgun, too lax to wear a jacket all day. All of these issues combined lead consistent-carriers like myself to smaller and smaller handguns.
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Hey buddy,

I just wanted to give you an update. Your buddy Steven Slidelightly came through: after over a month of advertising, we got together and convoyed down to Williamsburg in your honor. There were twenty-two bikes and probably five or six cars’ worth of people. It rained all night before, and in the morning of the ride. I wore my leather, but brought my rain gear just in case. I wasn’t going to be stopped yesterday, but the weather co-operated and by the time we rolled out at 10:15 it was blue skies and sunshine.

Your mother, sister, and older brother are all riding now! All cruisers, of course. Between them and your aunt and uncle, Steven Slidelightly is the only one holding the sportbike torch. I have to talk to your sis, she’s one-upping you in the squid department by wearing a three-quarters helmet. Her face is too pretty to skid on her jaw. I talked to your moms about it, and she agrees. Your mother is finally smiling again. Being out on the bike really helps her. Her bike’s license plate says “KJPMOM,” it was one of those things that’s so simple and beautiful it makes me sad inside. Your sister’s bike is purple, and her helmet matches. Your brother’s light silver Harley looks fucking bad ass, and I’d expect some meat-handed carpenter to be astride it, instead of a delicately-boned long distance runner nerd from William and Mary. He’s doing okay, although he has pneumonia. He probably shouldn’t have had all that cold air in his face yesterday, but like me he wasn’t going to miss this for the world.
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