White-Collar Redneck

Trivial

2012-02-13T09:09:00.000-05:00

I've realized what's missing in my life...

...other than an ever-increasing amount of hair on the front of my head.

A rival.

How am I supposed to succeed without an evil counterpart working against me?

What is my motivation?

If I want to become the star quarterback, where is the cocky kid with more talent that makes me become the better man?

When I'm down on my luck and fighting to win the heart of a woman, where is the rich, charming guy with an accent that forces me to prove I could love her more than he ever would?

Or what if I'm stranded on an island overrun by mutant dinosaurs and trying to save my children, who is the mole sent by a rival corporation trying to steal dinosaur embryos?

It's bullshit!

It is a minor miracle I've made it this far in life. What am I competing against? Where is my antagonist?

Because right now my biggest threat is male-pattern baldness.

And I'm losing that battle.

Flushing Money Away

2012-02-09T11:07:00.000-05:00

You are looking at by far the most luxurious item in my house.

Don't get me wrong, I have a lot of nice things, but nothing compares to that.

That, dear Readers, is a $120 toilet flusher thing.

But I didn't pay $120. Because that would be crazy.

No, I found it on the clearance rack at Home Depot.

I looked at the guy stocking it and said, "Wait, that ONE toilet-flusher thing is $120?"

To which he responded, "Yeah, but it's on clearance so it is only $60."

Oh, well that makes sense - because $60 for a $5 toilet flusher thing is a STEAL.

"So why is it on clearance?" I asked.

"Oh, it was part of a set that was sold."

Part of a set? A set of what? The toilet has one button - and this is it. Did it come with curtains? Is there a reverse button? What the hell was so special about this toilet flusher thing?

I had to own it.

"I'm not paying $60 to flush my toilet. You'd be an idiot to spend more than $5 on this."

"Alright, I'll do half of that - $30 and it's yours."

What we have now, my friends, is a negotiation.

For $30 I could go buy six toilet flusher thingies and have a party. They could be like a stocking stuffer. I could give one to my friends and we could form a secret society of toilet flushers. Like blood-brothers, but grosser.

"$30 is $25 more than any rational person would pay for a toilet flusher thing."

"Ok, fine - $20."

"$20? How the hell do you plan on selling this thing? It was part of a set!"

"Just give me $10 and get that thing out of here, I'm never going to sell it anyways."

And that's how I got a $120 toilet flusher thing.

Now if I could only find the matching set.

If You're Happy And You Know It

2012-02-01T08:40:00.000-05:00

Goddamnit, Internet, shut up.

Quit whining about everything.

Hating shit on the internet is like some new trendy drug. Read the blogs, check the Twitters - for god's sake check the Facebook page of a middle-aged Mom and you'd think you'd stumbled into the book of Job.

The internet is amazing - it gives you pictures of in-bread cats, and Hipster Ariel, and PORN!

You know when you are getting your haircut and the girl leans way over your chair and her boobs are about one inch from your face? That's what the internet is like all the time - boobs are just one inch away from your face.

So cheer up. Enjoy life. Quit looking for the next great thing to complain about and be happy for 10 minutes.

Because life kicks ass. Most people eat a decent meal, see a friend, drink a beer - do SOMETHING good everyday.

And you know what - if you can't find something that makes you happy once a day, it isn't the internet's fault. The internet has boobs, and you are all 'FML have to do laundry...AGAIN'

Get over it. Cheer up. You're annoying everyone.

Including me.

And then I have to complain about it on the internet.

One For The Road

2012-01-24T08:49:00.000-05:00

We are a bunch of whiny assholes.

The only thing people like to do more than nothing is complain about the nothing they are doing.

Living in Cleveland, I hear it all the time; "Cleveland sucks, there is nothing to do!"

Really? Because I went to college in Toledo, so I know a thing or two about nothing doing.

And if that isn't good enough? I was raised in Delphos, Ohio - a town of 6,000 people that is 45 miles from the nearest free-standing Starbucks.

Think about that for a minute. There are places where the nearest Starbucks is literally across the street from a different Starbucks. And my hometown doesn't have one within 45 miles. If you were divide the amount of miles the Proclaimers were willing to walk just to fall down at your door by 20, it would be roughly the same amount of walking it would take to get a tall, non-fat latte.

So I get it - we're all bored and there is nothing to do.

My question is - how much more crap do you need?

Think about your social schedule and how often you REALLY go somewhere new and different. I'm not saying your life is an episode of Cheers - but I'm willing to guess you stick to the same five places with a new place sprinkled in once a month.

If people were really so desperate for something new to do, Applebees' parking lot wouldn't be full on a Friday night while I am the only table at that delicious burger place at the end of my street.

Anyone in a major U.S. city should have no trouble finding something to do. And, if they do - I invite them to come back to Delphos with me so I can show them how to entertain themselves.

A new Starbucks just opened up - and if we hurry, we can be there in an hour!

Pretty Woman

2012-01-10T12:16:00.000-05:00

Men are ugly.

Let's just get that out there.

The best looking man in the world is still uglier than an average looking female. We're hairy and awkward and compared to women - we don't really take care of ourselves all that well. Hell, my cat plays in his own litterbox but still gives himself a lick-down everyday. I went 3 straight days without a shower this weekend.

For those reasons, I struggle to see how anyone could be physically attracted to a man. Yet, most women and some men are into that - and that's cool.

Because we can't really control what makes our loins become our Loins.

Women complain about men being shallow because they are turned on by a large chest or long legs - but is that really our fault? I can't control what makes physically attracted to someone, right? It is a physical reaction - like being mad at someone for having a peanut allergy.

But what if you COULD control what you found attractive? There is no question I would make myself be attracted to ugly people.

Think about it - the entire world is fighting over tight bodies and pretty faces - there would be NO competition for the uggos out there. While everyone is drooling over Marissa Miller you could slide up to Rosie O'Donnell like, 'How you, girl?'

And get turned down.

Because even Rosie O'Donnell doesn't think guys are attractive.

Wolverine Sucks

2012-01-03T21:34:00.001-05:00

Ok - that title is a bit of baiting wrapped in a chewy layer of hyperbole and nougat.

Wolverine doesn't suck - he has adamantium claws and the ability to heal himself. If it weren't for that haircut, he'd be nearing Tom Hanks levels of cool.

But I think we've all taken the Wolverine love a bit too far.

In a world where mutants can control thoughts, move objects with their minds, fly, shoot lasers - and a bevy of other tricks - some claws and rapid-healing aren't that spectacular. In fact, they're barely impressive. I barely ever catch a cold - is that a super power? And are claws really that large an upgrade over just holding a damn knife?

Know what I can't do? Shoot lasers out of my eyes. That's what.

I know, I know, Cyclops sucks. In fact, you could argue that Cyclops' only real role in the X-Men is to act as the antagonist to Wolverine. He is the pretty-boy, do-good, entitled jerk that makes us all swoon at Wolverine's leather jackets and motorcycle.

But, in a fight against mutants? I want the guy with laser beam eyeballs instead of the guy with long fingernails. Wolverine could be captured and contained fairly easily. Cyclops winks and all that's left are some smoldering tree limbs.

Let's put it this way, if Cyclops had Wolverine's personality, we'd all be talking about how great those sunglasses look and how Wolverine's haircut is stupid.

And how neither of them is as cool as Tom Hanks.

Don't Sweater the Small Stuff

2011-12-28T13:24:00.001-05:00

Theme parties are a big deal in America.

While there may have been a recession, the Ugly Christmas Sweater industry must have been BOOMING.

Before that, there weren't enough hair crimpers in the world to keep up with all the 80's theme parties.

But why? In my mind, a gathering's goal is to end up as a party. That is the top of the mountain in terms of entertaining. If you are already having a party and then you add a theme, the best you can do is still just be having a party.

And if you are trying to ensure that everyone has a good time, there is a much better way to use the $20 spent on finding a costume.

How about a theme party where everyone brings more booze? If we were to do a statistical analysis of parties, I'm guessing that booze has a greater impact than Dayglo socks.

Or maybe spend that $20 on iTunes so that I don't have to listen to the Black Eyed Peas four times an hour as part of your 'UGLY SWEATER XMAS PARTY MIXXX!!!1!!1!!"

If you are really that serious about throwing a bash, how about a 'Give Everyone $20 Party'? Ever watch Oprah? 'YOU GET $20! AND YOU GET $20!' People would go nuts. Party of the year, no question.

So all I'm saying is that I want you to invite me to your house, give me free booze, only play songs I like and then give me $20.

Otherwise I'm not coming. You can bitch and moan about that, but remember...

NO ONE likes a pity party.

Unless you give them $20.

Santa Barter

2011-12-22T12:27:00.001-05:00

I want to know who was the advertising agency behind 'Christmas Gifts'.

Because that is a line of bullshit. It is more like 'Christmas Trades'. I give you a box, you give me a box - abracadabra: Christmas.

The gifts themselves aren't even an important part of the equation. It is more like you are putting a bow on the fact that you ran an errand specifically in honor of that person.

"Yes, Aunt Louise, it is a sweater. But REALLY? Really, it is 25 minutes of finding a parking spot, getting elbowed in the groin by an old woman over the last pair of reindeer socks and an extra $20 on my credit card statement. I don't give a damn if it doesn't fit. Merry Christmas."

Which is fine, I still very much enjoy the Christmas Trading and spending hours finding a gift that isn't exactly what that person would have bought if they didn't have to waste their money buying me something I don't exactly want.

Because it brings together friends and family and reminds us of all the wonderful people in your life.

Unless you're one of those people who get a Lexus for Christmas.

Then I'll trade ya.

The Bird

2011-12-20T09:50:00.000-05:00

People who flick off other drivers on the road freak me out.

Really? You are so furiously mad that you pulled up next to me and flicked me off? That's your answer?

How mature.

Last night some guy cut me off getting on the highway - so I did what ADULTS do.

I sped around him, trapped him behind me with all other lanes congested with traffic and then drove 40 miles per hour down a busy highway with no way for him to get around.

For 20 minutes.

By the time there was a break in traffic and he was able to pass me, he was red in the face and screaming at the top of his lungs.

Then he flicked me off.

What a psycho.

Dated

2011-12-13T12:49:00.000-05:00

People love to ask me how I'm enjoying married life.

There is always this tone in their voice like they are offering sympathy - like they know I just lost my job and stepped in a mud puddle.

I've been single, I've dated and I've been married.

And being married is great.

Imagine unlimited access to boobs. It is like I took a wrong turn and ended up in a boob parade around my house. We actually declared my house as its own country and have begun using the boob as our currency. And my wife is rich.

But that doesn't mean I don't know how awesome it was to be single. Single people get to flirt which is a faint memory of mine. Don't ever forget that, Single People. You know those old guys who sleep on benches at the mall? That's how single people treat married people - so if you are single, go out and flirt and enjoy being higher on the food chain that a large potted plant.

Single people also have no plans. I forget what free time feels like - I bet it feels nothing like sorting through recycling or changing lightbulbs. I can barely take a #2 without trying to tie it to some sort of chore (note: I wouldn't touch anything that uses batteries in my house).

Know what sucks? Dating. Dating is the worst. When people in a relationship give me the Marriage Pity Look I can't help but laugh. Really, buddy? I bet your pockets are full of ticket stubs of Matthew McConaughey movies and that you 'really do like all of your girlfriend's friends'.

And when you "really need to talk" it isn't because you forgot to flush the toilet again - it is something serious. What if you break up? How long do you have to wait to change your Facebook status? And you already bought tickets to that Matthew McConaughey movie.

And listen, I'd love to go with you, but I'm busy this weekend.

Gotta hitch a ride on the Boob Parade.

Cool Christmas

2011-12-06T08:59:00.001-05:00

If we're being honest with ourselves, let's admit that we all put way too much effort into being cool.

And that those pants make you look fat.

But mostly the cool thing.

The music we listen to, clothes we wear, bars we frequent to black out and wake up singing karaoke to the Cranberries - all of these things are part of our effort to be 'cool'.

And then Christmas comes along and suddenly we've got a pair of pleated slacks pulled up to our belly-button and some bright white New Balances on.

What am I talking about?

Christmas music.

It sucks. Christmas music is just shitty music that someone recycled with the addition of the word 'Christmas'.

Adding 'Christmas' to a song is like giving it a boob job - it still sucks but now there's something to look at.

Name one good Christmas song. A song you would listen to if it weren't Christmas. '12 Days of Christmas'? That's like listening to a CD of someone singing '99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall'

That's why no matter how much Christmas Spirit you try to run off on me or how much egg nog you force down my throat, you'll never see me singing along to Christmas music.

Unless the Cranberries put out a Christmas album.

Victory

2011-12-02T08:49:00.000-05:00

Life is all about small victories.

You set yourself up to get a few wins per day, and it helps keep the voices out of your head.

So you make it to work in record time.

Or you treat yourself to a cream cheese bagel in the morning.

Maybe some girl at a bar checks you out, and even though you're married and she looks like how hemorrhoids feel - it still is a nice little ego boost.

So while you are patting yourself on the back, I'm here to tell you all that stuff sucks.

Don't get me wrong, I understand that we all need a pat on the back, even if it is of the masturbatory type. If life were just an assembly line of suck we'd all go insane and start wearing pleated pants and watching Two and Half Men.

But think about life before your 401k. Think of the stories, of the victories you've compiled. Did you drink an entire bottle of Jack Daniels and then beat Pac Man? Did you and a group of friends turn your apartment into a functioning obstacle course modeled after Nickelodeon Guts? Did you meet Melissa Joan Hart at a mall, get her number, and then text her the entire lyrics to 'What's The Frequency Kenneth?'

Because the best story I have lately is this cream cheese bagel.

Even in my wins, I'm still a loser.

In The Bag

2011-11-23T11:02:00.001-05:00

You know what industry hasn't been hit by the recession?

The bagpipe industry.

I see all kinds of homeless guys in the street playing guitar, saxophone, bongos, trumpets - if I didn't know better, I'd say the Mighty Mighty Bosstones are roaming the streets of Cleveland begging for change.

But I never see bagpipe players.

Probably because they're too busy being baller.

Granted, the ceiling of a bagpipe player is pretty low - there is no bagpipe version of Kenny G. And bagpipes aren't going to get as many chicks as, say, a keytar player, but in these tough economic times, it pays the bills.

And that's more than the Mighty Mighty Bosstones can say right now.

Out of (fe)Line

2011-11-22T08:57:00.003-05:00

Dear Readers, meet Baffi, the cat.

He's a feline terrorist. He is disgusted by human extravagances such as 'sleep' and 'not constantly having asses in their face'.

He has no regards for his own life - leaping from impossibly high platforms to destroy and contaminate any source of liquid I may want to consume.

Baffi is an anarchist - destroying order by chewing cords and scratching couches. 'The Man' needs electricity and comfort - Baffi needs chaos.

His only weakness seems to be narcolepsy and string.

I am a lost cause - lost in some sort of strange Stockholm syndrome where I not only allow his cause - I support it with kitty treats and belly rubs.

Save yourself, before it is too late.

He's coming, and when he does, you're pant legs will never be hairless again.

Something In The Water

2011-11-15T09:24:00.001-05:00

There were a lot of things that caught me off guard when I first left the confines of my little farm town and moved to the big(ish) city of Cleveland.

Walk signs were one. It seems city kids put a lot of trust into a little sign to tell them when to walk. We unsophisticated country folk are so dumb and uneducated that instead of looking at a little box with christmas lights in it, we just LOOK TO SEE IF ANY CARS ARE GOING TO HIT US. It is simple, but effective. But by all means, city kids, walk when the white man tells you to walk.

Another is water. Everyone in the city seems to think that anything not out of a plastic bottle is poison. Like unless faucet water goes through a Brita filter, it causes instant and incurable death by murder. I grew up drinking old-egg smellin' sulfer water out of a 30 yr old hose - my wife throws out water if it has been sitting out for more than an hour. How do city kids think people survived before Aquafina? Why do they assume that everything will kill them? Water is a billion years old and people are however old Andy Rooney was - we've lived this long, suck it up.

But perhaps nothing was as confusing as trying to make plans.

There are so many decisions - and no one is every happy. Do we want to go to happy hour? Dinner? After hours? Do you want to drink beer? Wine? Martinis? Do you want to dance? Drink? Get a table? Are we going to eat? Just appetizers? Tapas?

WHAT THE HELL ARE TAPAS.

In the country - we just drank. That was it. We would literally get a case of beer, drive out to the country and park on some road that no one ever drove down and get hammered. Or we'd find an old barn and drink in there. There were almost no decisions to make. Everyone wanted to get hammered. Everyone drank Busch Light. It was just about finding the easiest spot to combine the two.

And when you live in the country - finding a place to drink can be as easy as just crossing the street.

Feet of Strength

2011-11-10T11:13:00.000-05:00

Why don't our hands smell terrible?

Human feet smell like garbage - but our hands come off pretty well. I'm smelling my hands right now and there is nothing special to report.

Yet think of all the disgusting things we do with our hands.

I cleaned up fish poop last night, got rid of an old rotting pumpkin from Halloween and pulled old hunks of food out of the garbage disposal.

And? Nothing. My hands smell just fine.

Yet my feet smell like a soup made out of the stuff you find under a refrigerator.

The worst part is how much effort we put into our feet - we wash them, wrap them in cloth, then wrap them in a protective shoe. What other part of our body do we spend that much effort protecting? My boy bits have a tiny inch of cloth separating them from a giant metal zipper. Where the hell are my priorities?

Not to mention - when I clean my feet, I USE MY HANDS!

How are hands exempt from smelling like feet? Aren't they just leg hands? And aren't our hands just arm feet? Most animals have four matching feet - do only their back ones smell like Danny Devito's bath towel?

Or worse - Danny Devito's feet?

Tears for Beards

2011-11-07T13:41:00.002-05:00

Things I've been up to:

Killed it with my Halloween costume. Then reanimated the corpse and killed it again:

My wife is the first vegetarian zombie.

Turned my wife into a pedophile by shaving off my beard and looking 12 years old:

Did Hitler have the Chaplin or did Chaplin have the Hitler?

Built this robot to protect me from zombies and pedophiles:


I named him 'Fire Hazard'

And then freaked out when the robot turned on me and became a robotic pedophile zombie.

Emo Robot is emo

It can touch you inappropriately, but can it...feel?

Egghead.

2011-11-01T12:28:00.001-04:00

Remember when I was all excited about getting egged? About how I had finally achieved the American Dream?

Well, it happened again.

And I realized something...

...nobody cool ever gets egged.

James Dean never got egged. Bono doesn't get egged. I'll guarantee @DadBoner never gets egged, you guys.

You don't have to be a mathematician to know there is 0% chance you'll ever drive past Tom Hanks house and see him in PJ's and a winter coat, hosing egg off of his window.

As I was standing there, sandles in socks, hose in hand, the two teenage neighbor kids walked out to their car and asked what happened.

"I got egged."

"You got egged? Do you even have kids?"

"No."

"And you still got egged?"

"Yep."

"Damn."

I got the egg off my window - but I can't seem to get it off my face.

Priorities

2011-10-27T08:54:00.002-04:00

I haven't missed watching a single Miami Dolphins game in 10 years.

At least 10 years, actually.

I never really kept track. It started in high school, when I would drive 30 minutes to a sports bar because my little farm town doesn't have sports bars with satellite dishes and 20 beers on tap. The only choice you make in my town is Skynyrd or AC/DC.

So it started in high school. I would drive to that sports bar every weekend, by myself, to watch the game. Sitting in a sports bar as a 16 yr old drinking cokes for four hours gets lonely, so I would make friends with the groups of people there watching the Steelers or the Bengals. Sometimes I would make enemies with the people there to watch the Bills or the Patriots.

But I was always there.

This extended into college, when I would bribe my friends with chicken wings and free beer to come sit at the bar with me every week.

And when I moved to Cleveland and knew only one person in the entire city? I was going to the seediest, scariest sports bars in town trying to find one that would give me some black and white TV in the back during the Browns game.

Even after my wedding day, I made my wife promise we would be back at our house in time to watch the game (I splurged for satellite at the house). We opened our wedding gifts with both of our parents there - and me watching the game.

Over the years, I've met some characters. One guy told me about how he played against NBA star Charles Oakley in high school, and that his high school GPA was a 3.1. Then he told me how much coke he did that morning.

Another time I ate one of the best hamburgers I've ever eaten. I looked up to see the cook come out of the kitchen, his mouth covered in ranch. He sneezed into his hand, used it to wipe his mouth, and then wiped the whole mess onto his pants. I never went back to that place.

I've been through hell and back to watch that team. And watching that team is hell on earf to begin with.

But I've never missed a game.

Until this Sunday.

This Sunday is the one year anniversary of my wedding. And if marriage has taught me anything, it is how to value my true priorities in life.

And my true priorities are not having to sleep on the couch Sunday night.

Cat's Meow

2011-10-25T11:13:00.001-04:00

I have the Twitter account. The Facebook account. A Google+ account I ignore.

Obviously, I have a blog.

I'm on Foursquare. I use Instagram and Pinterest and I'm dipping my toes in StumbleUpon.

I had a Myspace account; a Xanga. Hell, I was on Geocities back in the day.

I'm so connected to the internet, my body practically needs Wifi to take a piss.

But there is one last hurdle I need to cross before I can truly say I am internet savvy.

I need a cat.

The internet is actually 46% cat. Every major development with the internet can be tied back to cats or porn or cat porn. 'Early Adopters'? More like 'Furly Adopters' - amiright?

I mean, what is my social media presence if I don't even upload pictures of cats to my Facebook page. Hell, REAL social media nerds' cats have their OWN Facebook page.

So I think it is time to add a furry friend to my life.

Plus, I would finally have someone to blame when my browser history shows all that cat porn.

The Heart of it All

2011-10-20T13:01:00.000-04:00

My wedding was the most exciting day of my life.

(Did my wife stop reading, yet? Yes? Ok, let's do this.)

Yesterday was the most exciting day of my entire life.

There was a MONKEY with HERPES loose IN OHIO.

If you were to make a Venn diagram of how the zombie apocalypse was going to start, a herpe'd up monkey on the loose in rural Ohio would have been where all the awesome intersected.

I mean, Swine Flu was nothing but a tease and the nuclear reactor meltdown in Japan was more likely to make a race of Japanese Superheroes than zombies.

This was our big chance. All we needed was some stupid civilian to try to give that thing a banana and suddenly I'd be bashing in zombie skulls with a cricket bat.

But then news broke that the monkey was eaten by a Bengal tiger. At first I was disappointed until I realized...

...ZOMBIE BENGAL TIGERS!!!

Holy hell! What on earf could stop a ZOMBIE BENGAL TIGER!!!? It is the perfect killing machine. ZOMBIE BENGAL TIGERS!!! are like the physical incarnation of a Slash guitar solo. But with stripes.

But, then the ZOMBIE BENGAL TIGER!!! was killed and I was forced to face reality - the zombie apocalypse is dead - and not the kind of dead where it reanimates and tries to eat my brain.

Nope. It was shovel-to-the-head-dead.

And all we're left with are Mutant Japanese Super Heroes.

Flavor of the Month

2011-10-17T09:48:00.000-04:00

I can't think of anything I hate more than running into people I haven't seen in awhile.

There is no way to avoid them asking, "What have you been up to?" and then having to make the hard choice between lying through my teeth or telling them my life is made up of a continuous string of monotonous events that, strung together, make it appear I'm a living, breathing Ken Burns movie.

And if I do chose to lie, there is that fine line between, "interesting adventures!" and "that is just you recapping an episode of Highlander but replacing the Highlander with yourself."

THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE.

Which is why I'm instituting a 30 day rule.

If I haven't spoken to you in 30 days, you are out of my life forever. Don't think I am serious? Just ask that guy behind the counter at Chipotle who forgot to put double meat on my burrito. Now I won't even look him in the eye. Mostly because of shame, but, also because of anger.

So if I don't speak to you for 30 days your number will be deleted, your pictures taken off of my Facebook and if I see you in the street, I'm going to just look the other way.

Besides, Old Lady, I don't think I ever knew anyone named, "Grandma."

Pumpkin Patch

2011-10-12T12:08:00.000-04:00

I'll admit it. I'm a sucker for the American Dream.

I've been in my house for over two years now, and I still get excited when I have "Homeowner Moments". When a girl scout tries to sell me some cookies. When I shovel my neighbors' sidewalks. When the faucet breaks and I have to go all Manly Man trying to fix it. And then I have to go all Unmanly Man trying to re-fix it after I screwed it up the first time.

I soak that shit up. I'm addicted to it. I need little American Dreams Patches that help ease my cravings to edge my lawn and blow leaves into the neighbors' yard.

So when I carved a pumpkin and put it on my doorstep, I was having a little Amerigasm.

But not just at the idea of carving a pumpkin and putting it on my front step for all the little trick'or'treaters to see.

No, I thought it would be my initiation into the neighborhood.

I placed it right out on my doorstep, where anyone between the ages of 13-17 couldn't help but pick it up and smash it. They probably wouldn't even realize it happened. They'd just be walking by, black out for a few seconds, and wake up covered in pumpkin organs and Fourloko.

Every morning I ran outside, like it was Christmas or Easter, hoping that the Pumpkin Fairy had barfed up pumpkin guts all over my very manicured sidewalk.

So this morning I walked out my front door, saw the pumpkin perched up like some sort of vegetable royalty and walked to my truck to leave for work.

And that's when I noticed someone had egged my truck.

Finally, my Dreams had come true.

Growths

2011-10-05T11:39:00.000-04:00

A theme of this blog over the years has been 'growing up'.

From buying a house, to getting married, to no longer drinking until I strip down to my boxers and sing Eddie Money songs.

But I'm starting to think I haven't actually 'grown up'...

...I've just turned into an asshole.

I bought a house - was it because I wanted a sound financial investment and a place to start a family?

No, it was because I hate people and living in a large box stacked on top of them is about as much fun as watching Whitney. Not that I don't miss "Creepy Drug Dealer Guy" and "Awkwardly Loud Sex Girl" as my neighbors, but I don't miss them as my neighbors.

Then I got married.

Was it because I found my soul-mate? Someone I couldn't live without? Yeah. But also because dating is the single worst thing in the world. Dating is a mix of acting and negotiating - how much of yourself can you reveal and in what ways can you steer the relationship in your favor. Marriage is awesome - it's like - hey, I'm home and I'm going to leave my shoes right there in that spot you hate even though you complain about it everyday. Have fun leaving toothpaste all over the sink later, because you know that shit drives me nuts.

And once you are married, the bars are useless.

Sure, I used to enjoy going out and spending $75 on liquor and being butts to nuts with 200 other sweaty people I don't like for 6 hours, but you know what? Fuck those people. Bars are all about team work - it is only fun if everyone pitches in to make it fun. But $75 will buy me a damn nice dinner and I'm selfish as hell.

Besides - I can't find a bar with Eddie Money on the jukebox.

Fighting Chance

2011-10-03T12:46:00.000-04:00

I never got much into the whole 'bar fight' scene.

Perhaps that is because I'm a ninny little girl.

But, also, it is because of my low regard for about 78% of earf's population.

Bar fights always start out with one guy making some wise-ass remark to another guy. It might be a crack about the other guy's haircut, or his girlfriend, or because he is a ninny little girl.

I don't really understand being offended by people you don't respect. If a guy in an Affliction shirt calls me a 'pansy', it is hard for me care enough about his opinion to get riled up. I wouldn't ask for that guy's opinion on anything else in the world, so why would I care about his opinion of me?

Besides, I just planted a bunch of pansies in my cutting garden and they look FAAABULOUS!

If people are going to insult me, I at least want it to be an educated opinion. Don't just call me an asshole as you walk by to get a reaction - that is too easy.

Take me out to dinner, get to know me - ask me about my favorite color and what celebrity I would like to be stuck with on a deserted island (hint: Christina Hendricks).

That way, you can form a great insult that really cuts deep and hurts.

Just don't mention my pansies.

Food Porn

2011-09-27T09:21:00.002-04:00

I'm pretty sure there is something out there trying to kill me.

And I think that something is Food.

Food's weapon of choice? Food.

Every time Food shows up at my house we have a great time - but as soon as Food leaves, I'm suddenly so ill I feel like I might explode.

Part of the problem may be that I pick up the Food, put it in my mouth, chew it and then swallow it as quickly as possible.

And the other part of the problem may be that I don't stop until every last speck of food in the house is gone, like little Cindy Lou Who's house on Christmas Eve...

...but let's not pretend like Food isn't to fault here for being so delicious.

Kind of like how girls who wear slutty clothes can't complain when a guy tries to throw peanuts down her top - I can't possibly be held accountable for eating food if it is in the tri-county area.

And even that analogy sucks -

Because I would have eaten those peanuts before they ever made it to her top.

Mmmmm....Boob Peanuts.

Food strikes again.

The Art of War

2011-09-20T09:22:00.002-04:00

Marriage is all about competition.

Even meaningless tasks can become a contest of wills. Last night at dinner, we actually raced to the end of a bowl of mashed potatoes - with first prize being the last few bites of the ice cream in the freezer.

I won.

Laaaaaaaaaaaaaadies.

But then we sat down to watch Jeopardy. I knew I was the underdog going into this match, as my wife is more cultured, she's bilingual and can read faster than me (you'd be surprised how big of an advantage this is in Jeopardy. I bet Ken Jennings was the same guy from those speed-reading infomercials from the 90's).

What I did not expect was to be completely humiliated to the tune of 15 to 6. FIFTEEN TO SIX. She practically tripled my score. I could have played Watson and it would have been closer.

So to celebrate, she jumped up and started singing "Time of my Life" from Dirty Dancing.

Then she tripped, fell down and stubbed her toe.

While still singing.

If ever there was effective trash talk, dominating someone in a game of intelligence, while looking so completely inept has to be it.

No Pants Dance

2011-09-14T09:42:00.000-04:00

I'm somewhat confused by this new phenomenon of girls wearing shirts as dresses.

On one hand - I like chicks' legs and butts, so this is a big win. When I go to KFC I just order 'legs and butts' and when they ask 'Original or Crispy?" I say - 'OOOOOOH YEAH!'

But, on the other hand, I'm stuck shackled in these pants while girls are Porky Piggin' it around town.

Snooki without makeup / bumpit

Why can't guys have some comfort thrown into their wardrobe? A girl can wrap herself in one piece of cloth that barely hits her thighs, while I'm battling swamp ass in my long pants, dress socks, long-sleeve button down, tie and Spanx (for men). I'm really self conscious about my figure.

That is why I propose a new product for men - formal overalls.

Think about it.

If girls don't wear pants, why do I have to wear a shirt? If the only thing we have to cover is our sex bumps, my man nipples should be as free as your Barbie crotch.

Besides, I think it would look better on me than these jeggings.

Pop Goes the Culture

2011-09-07T09:45:00.000-04:00

My biggest problem with pop culture these days is that nothing lasts longer than a 16 year old boy on prom night.

Writers only need 140 characters.

Musicians only need a ring tone.

Politicians only need a sound bite.

Trashy rich girls only need one sex tape.

We're slowly Nickelbacking ourselves into a corner where our entire state of Applebeing values ease over awe.

Is it laziness? Is anything beyond a push notification too much trouble? Is there an app that can tell me what is good and what is bad? What does that app say about this blog? I NEED THIS.

Or is it a lack of taste? Has the internet made it so easy to be a critic that we just think everything sucks and go towards the path of least resistance? Are we so jaded that negativity is the new creativity?

But the real question - did I really just write an entire BLOG POST complaining about people seeking out short-form content that lacks any real talent or creativity?

Hey, Man, it wouldn't fit on Twitter.

And sales of my sex tape have been average at best.

He's All That

2011-08-30T16:39:00.005-04:00

After four years of ugly templates and nerdy color schemes, I've finally gone and prettied up the place. I feel like Freddie Prinze Jr. should ask me to prom now - only to find out he had a bet with his friends that he could turn me into the hottest girl in school. I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME FOR ME, FREDDIE PRINZE JR.!

And, honestly, saying that I prettied the place up is a gross overstatement.

Everything you see here was created by the wonderfully talented Sarah over at SillyGrrl. Go read her stuff and then be jealous at the fact that she probably brushes her teeth in a more creative and stylish way than I do anything in my entire life. Oh - and she can write and bake and build web pages and fly (with the help of some trapeze), too. Actually, now that I think about it, I don't like her at all.

But back to what's important: me. The whole blog is new - except the picture of me with the fake mustache that serves as a bow to the gift that is my beautiful face.

So, as I said - everything is new except that picture of me and my shitty writing.

Hope you like the new look. Now go give Sarah all your money so she can make you look cool, too.

With Our Powers Combined

2011-08-29T10:31:00.000-04:00

I outlined last week how I love sports.

The individual talents and greatness of the NBA.

The teamwork and chemistry in the NFL.

The beauty and grace of soccer.

The carnage and brutality of mixed martial arts.

Now I found a sport that has them all:

COMBINE DEMOLITION DERBY!

That's right, a demolition derby, with COMBINES.

Do you city kids even know what a combine looks like? It's like a big metal house on wheels. But then fill that house with diesel fuel and anger.

There is no moment in my life that compares to that moment right before the combines ran into each other. It was like an orgasm at Disneyland while eating bacon.

It was like riding a slip'n'slide made out of rainbows naked into a pool of kittens.

It was like eating a pizza covered in boobs after just getting a really good haircut.

It was like redneck heaven.

And the best part about Combine Demolition Derbies? There is no need for a scoreboard. You can easily tell the winner of every match.

Everyone.

Everyone is the winner.

Cuz I'm a Cowboy

2011-08-24T08:57:00.005-04:00

* Click to see full size...laaaaaadies

Birds of a Feather

2011-08-18T09:03:00.005-04:00

You know who are a bunch of annoying assholes?

Birds.

Seriously. Shut up. You're annoying and I don't like you.

I get the idea of birds. They're pretty and they make cool noises and they poop out seeds that make plants grow all over the place.

And that's all great in the singular case. But when you take one awesome thing and multiply it by a billion, it makes me want to ram a fork in my head and twist my brains around it like so much spaghetti.

I woke up at 5am this morning and there were approximately Too,ooo,ooo,many birds making noise. It was 5am. What the hell are you guys talking about? If you put me in a room with a thousand other people I'd run out of shit to talk about in about 15 minutes - right after we covered the weather and how much I hate Nickelback.

But no, birds are like 19yr old college guys - they just love the sound of their own voice. They were making noise just to make noise. They were so loud I actually learned how to speak bird and translated what they were saying:

SQUAWK SQUAWK I'M AN ANNOYING ASSHOLE.

How can something that is so cool by itself turn into something so annoying when put into large groups?

You'd think they were people, or something.

Footballs of Fire

2011-08-14T20:43:00.004-04:00

What do non-sports fans do with their lives?

I mean, we watch 162 Cleveland Indians games, 82 Cleveland Cavaliers games and between our two football teams (Cleveland Browns and Miami Dolphins) another 32 football games.

That is 276 games a year. Or 828 hours. Or 34.5 DAYS of pure sports viewing.

Luckily, with our teams, you don't have to worry about adding any playoff games.

But that is a lot of time wasted on guys wearing tight pants, short shorts and tank tops.

So...what do the rest of you do with your time?

I kind of assume there is a secret club that means during big games. Like the Super Bowl isn't just for sports fans, but also for a collection of the World's brightest and best to gather around and talk about all the classic novels they've been reading and the new exercise routine that makes them look like a Victoria's Secret model.

Well, I don't have time for Victoria's Secret models, damnit, I'm a sports fan.

But before I get to jealous of these secret meetings, I realize how awkward they must be. Without sports, all of the small talk must revolve around the weather and how glad everyone is that it is Friday.

So, how about them Indians?

I'm A Pro

2011-08-10T08:30:00.000-04:00

I find it frustrating to hear people complain that they didn't learn anything in college. Or that what they learned is not applicable in the real world. Or that college is a waste of time.

When I look back at college I can't help but think I learned quite possibly the most important lesson of my life:

How to procrastinate.

I use this everyday. Or don't use it everyday, depending on how you look at it.

In fact, I would argue that the single most important skill a person can have in the workplace is procrastinating. Without the ability to put something off until the last minute and then MIND FREAK! that shit into completion - you aren't getting anywhere in life.

And you know where I learned this? Every Thursday morning in college when I would wake up with a pounding hangover and a dirty magazine and realize I had a 12 page paper on sedimentary rocks due in four hours.

Now, when something pops up at work that needs immediate attention, I'm all cool as a cucumber and ready to take charge.

Right after I put down this dirty magazine...

Honest Question

2011-08-03T09:01:00.001-04:00

What would be worse:

Wanda Sykes singing Nickelback songs.

Or Nickelback telling Wanda Sykes' jokes.

Or herpes.

The Most Interesting Manchild In The World

2011-07-28T09:41:00.005-04:00

One of my nephews turned four this week, and it occurred to me that he is, by far, the coolest person I know.

The kid is amazing. Everything he says is genius. You can't stump him. When you think you are picking on him, he puts your thing down, flips it and reverses it.

I called him using Facetime on my iPad. Here is a sample of our conversation:

Me: Hey buddy, are you having a good birthday?

Nephew, arms raised screaming at the skies: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!

Do you see that? Do you see the way he dominated that question? He crushed it. That question should be embarrassed for even being asked because he made it his bitch.

Can you imagine having that kind of passion in everyday life? When a coworker says, "Hot out there, huh?" imagine raising your hands in the air and screaming "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSS!"

You would instantly be the most popular guy at the office. You'd have to fight off women with a stapler.

But my nephew wasn't done there. My wife (Lady Narm*) tried to screw with him and asked him when he was going to grow a beard like his uncle.

What did he do?

He sprinted across the room, got his face inches away from the screen and yelled "I ALREADY DID!!!!!!" and the sprinted away from the screen and started doing some intense dance/crunking.

Boom, roasted. How do you respond to that? He sprinted towards us to scream a lie in our face and then danced in our defeat. We went from picking on him to needing therapy for the severe ass whooping we just received.

This kid's entire life is like a mix between the speech in Braveheart and a Wiggles concert.

Thoroughly defeated and embarrassed, it was time to end the call. We wished him a happy brithday and told him we had to go. His response?

"HAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRY POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTTER!!!!!!!!"

You win again, kid.

* Since the Lady Friend became my wife, I've been trying to find a new name. What are your thoughts on Lady Narm?

Holiday Hangover

2011-07-19T11:35:00.000-04:00

My ability to binge drink has really fallen off. I'm really good at binge complaining and binge sleeping. When I'm feeling extra froggy, I'll go on a weekend bender of house projects.

But the drinking has tailed off.

And I think it is because of the lack of holidays.

When I was in college (and in not-married), there was always an excuse. Cinco de Mayo is a legitimate holiday for college kids. When you grow up it just means you have the brown rice microwave meal for lunch at work that day.

For college kids, if there is no holiday coming up - you just invent one.

Hell, alliteration is enough of a reason to get fall-down drunk when you are 22. Thirsty Thursday? Do it. Whacky Wednesday? Who wants tequila?

And who doesn't chug a few Monday morning molotov cocktails and burn themselves down to start the week?

But the best that grown-ups can offer is Happy Hour. One hour a day. If I were still in my competitive alcholism phase, this would become a Power Hour. But now the only "Power" things I have are naps.

Perhaps this all stems from the fact that one night of binge-drinking requires three days of recovery time...

...And Thirsty Thursday isn't a National Holiday.

Yet.

Name of the Game

2011-07-11T10:26:00.007-04:00

As my wife and I continue to play Jedi mind games over whether she is going to take my last name, I've realized that I've already won.

Sure, I'd love to see my last name on her driver's license, but my name already has a prominent place:

We are Jeff and Francesca.

Notice that? Do you see whose name came first? You're damn right you did.

I'm the leading man in the movie that is our relationship. If our coupledom was put up on the marquee, my name would be in giant, capital letters covered in puffy paint and glitter. She would have the left-over letters and they'd have to use a backwards 3 for the "e".

There is no rhyme or reason around who gets top billing in couples. It can be guys (Brad and Brittany) or girls (Meaghan and Jerry). It just has to sound right.

And hot damn does my name sound right stepping on the gas and pulling away in first place of the name game.

Know who else's name always comes first?

Brad Pitt.

Brad and Jen.

Brad and Angelina.

See a theme? Always starts with "Brad". Even when he's dating some uber-celebrity, he gets top billing.

Which obviously means I'm like a modern-day Brad Pitt, before he got old and stole all those foreign children.

Yep, Brad and Jeff, two peas in a pod.

Wait - why does his name go first?

Stop It

2011-07-06T09:44:00.008-04:00

Stop it, America.

Stop trying to make people hot. You are making us look bad in front of the rest of the world.

There are plenty of extremely attractive women in this world that we don't need to force ourselves into thinking that Pippa Middleton is hot.

She's not.

She's an above average looking girl.

She also looks about 8 years older than her real age.

She couldn't walk into a room and make every guy stop to look. She doesn't have some incredible body that makes me have to think about baseball so I don't have to sit down. I'm not even sure she could win the Canal Days pageant in my hometown of Delphos, Ohio.

She's just an above average girl that people WANT to be hot.

Same goes for Sarah Palin. She's better looking than MOST people in her position, but do you really consider this "hot":

I mean, is that where we are as a country? Are our standards to the point that the above picture is considered "hot"?

She's 47 years old. There are a lot of hot 47 year olds. In fact, Diane Lane is one year younger and looks like this:

Do you see that picture? THAT is hot. Are you really trying to convince me that Sarah Palin is on a level playing field with this.

Seriously?

Sarah Palin?

And this?

Are equal in hotness?

This is why other countries hate America. We water down hotness. We take the most pure and wonderful thing in the world (hot chicks) and dumb it down.

We've turned Pippa Middleton and Sarah Palin into the Applesbees and Wal-Mart of hot chicks.

And I won't stand for it. I demand standards.

I demand Diane Lane.

Locks of Love

2011-06-28T09:01:00.005-04:00

As I've mentioned before, I don't have a go-to haircut.

And when I start to get frustrated with what to do with the mop of always thinning, always graying, always retreating hair on my head, I have one course of action:

Shave it all off.

So thats what I did. I went to the barber and got myself a nice buzz cut. With my beard and new short doo, I look like a cast member from Prison Break, only I can act.

But during my visit to the hair cuttery, the barber made an...alarming...comment.

Just as I was checking out (and after I had already tipped him) he held up a bottle to me.

"Hey, this stuff really helps guys with thinning hair."

I was confused. Did he think I needed that for a friend? Is it close to Christmas and I just forgot? Is my beard thinning out?

Then it hit me. I'm balding.

I knew I had a widow's peak. My hair is retreating away from my face so fast I thought it had to be French. And I have quite a few grays for a kid that turns 28 this week.

But BALDING?

My Dad has a nice head of hair - and I inherited his ridiculous 70's wave that makes me look like a Justin Beiber fan if my hair gets past my forehead. So if he has hair, I have to be keeping mine, right? RIGHT!??! TELL ME, READER.

Sorry.

So when I arrived back home, I was a bit...emotional. I thought I was destined to have more hair on my chinny-chin chin than on my head.

Looking for support, I asked my wife for her opinion.

She took a few steps back, looked at my head, took a few steps to the left, to the right - got a view from every angle and vantage point.

Then she tilted her head to the side, looked me in the eye and said...

"Man, your nose is HUUUUGE!"

Thanks for the support, Honey.

Shop Till You Drop

2011-06-23T08:44:00.003-04:00

I would really like to blog more often, the problem is that I'm just way too fucking boring.

I used to have all kinds of great stories and strong opinions - and when I didn't have that I was at least a really good liar.

Now? Now, I'm just lazy.

You know those old guys that fall asleep on the benches at malls? The ones whose lives are so boring that they have nothing better to do than sleep on a public bench while their wife tries to track down that great sale at Macys?

I'm that guy.

I nap at the mall all the time. It is something of a hobby for me at this point. I practically pass out the second my wife asks for my opinion about that frilly top.

Besides, she knows that frilly top totally wasn't my color.

Splitting Hairs

2011-06-16T12:34:00.004-04:00

There are a few things a man should have as he nears his 30's.

A suit.

A 401k.

A set of tools.

And - a haircut.

I don't have a haircut.

That doesn't mean I don't GET haircuts. I get haircuts all the time, and the people who cut my hair do a great job.

But I don't have a "look". Sometimes I get it cut short, sometimes I let it grow, sometimes I spike it up, sometimes I comb it to the side, sometimes I put my left arm in, I take my left arm out, I put my left arm in and I shake it all about.

By the time a guy hits 30, he normally has the haircut he'll have for the rest of his life.

I turn 28 in two weeks, and I don't have that haircut. I'm going to go through the rest of my life constantly changing haircuts like those awkward 50 yr old guys that suddenly grow a goatee - except in my case, I'll be rocking jorts, white tube socks and the Flock of Seagulls haircut.

Then I'd just have my suit, 401k and be a total tool.

Office Party

2011-06-13T20:20:00.005-04:00

Know what would be the best part of being a professional athlete?

All the chicks.

But the second best part is that every single year has a goal and a form of measurement. Athletes know where they stand at all times.

If you ask an athlete if they had a good year last year, they can provide statistical evidence that they had a good year. That has to be convenient. Imagine how much nicer it would be for them when they awkwardly meet co-workers at the copy machine.

"Hey man, how's it going?"

"We won and I had a good game."

That has to feel amazing. I can't quantify the fact that I had breakfast for dinner and then pulled weeds for two hours last night. It just doesn't translate. Even if I try to come off sounding like a winner, it makes me that much more of a loser.

It also has to be great for remembering big events. I honestly have no idea when I bought my house. It was between 1994-2015. But for athletes, they have automatic reminders for each year. It is much easier to say, "Oh, I remember that, it was right after we won the championship" than it is to say, "Oh, I remember that, I had just sat in an office for 40 hours that week."

But best of all, athletes have singular moments of joy and celebration. In the real world, there is no comparison. Even a promotion isn't necessarily a singular moment of joy - it is the realization that you are now going to have to work even harder.

I think offices should institute some kind of celebration. Like, the Friday before a long weekend, at 4:30 everyone just goes nuts. Poppin' champagne, droppin' confetti, bangin' the secretary. The whole nine yards.

At least then we'd have something to talk about around the copier.

Teenage Suburban White Girls

2011-06-08T08:20:00.000-04:00

Can you imagine how hard life is for teenage suburban white girls?

Can you fathom the decisions they have to make on a daily basis?

Guys have it easy - they spend their time playing sports and fighting acne. They're so young and naive.

But teenage suburban white girls aren't afforded that luxury. They don't get to have an adolescence.

Because when a girl hits 16, she gets more than a driver's license - she gets her first shot at the business world.

She has major decisions: does she get pregnant so she can have a TV show? Or does she wait till she's 18 so she can sell her sex tape?

It's too bad life is unfair to the poor teenage suburban white girl, because if the legal age were 16, she could kill two birds with one stone.

Yes, I'm glad I never had to deal with the stress of people wanting to see my sex tape.

Of course, that could have been because of the acne.

Brush With Death

2011-06-02T08:49:00.003-04:00

I've mentioned before how my wife is the Enemy of Routine. And also how we like to share.

But it has officially gone to far.

She used my toothbrush.

And, honestly? That isn't a big deal. We do that all the time on vacations and when role playing about being a naughty dentist...

...but by using my toothbrush, she forced me into a terrible decision:

I walk into the bathroom, notice that there are two toothbrushes - mine, which has just been used, and hers.

Which do I use?

Do I use mine? Even though it is still wet from having been used by her?

Do I use hers? Even though she eats disgusting things like carrots?

What kinds of germs are toothbrush germs? Are they fresh and short-term - waiting on the newly wettened bristles of my own dear toothbrush?

Or do they fester after months of use - building strength and organizing like an army of food bits and morning breath?

And that is just too much thinking first thing in the morning. I want the first question I answer in the morning to be, "How handsome is too handsome, and have I crossed that line?" - not risking mouth-death over the wrong choice of toothbrush.

After contemplation, I decided to use her toothbrush.

But the whole situation left a bad taste in my mouth.

Cannibal Crops

2011-05-26T09:02:00.002-04:00

What if plants have feelings?

We already know they grow better if you talk to them - who's to say they don't have emotions or can feel pain? Maybe that plant doesn't want water right now it just wants someone to listen - why can't you ever listen? I have tulips and they were made for talking, mister.

As soon as science catches up to realize that plants are like really lazy dogs (or really active cats), it is going to throw vegetarians for a loop.

They've spent so much time trying not to be cruel to animals - all the while kicking this hell out of some asparagus. Suddenly their diet would be high in fiber AND murder.

Think about the holocaust that happens every year around harvest for farmers! Think about your disgusting compost pile! Think about the lawn mowers, the tree limb cutters, the weed wackers.

Think about the baby carrots.

But before you feel too bad, think, also, about the the fact that these plants grow in dirt. Dirt that is made up of their dead relatives and friends. The compost of their fallen breathren.

Plants are cannibals.

Which is kinda gross, if you think about it.

I'll stick to cleaner food.

Like pork.

Gotta Prescription For More Ciao Bella

2011-05-24T08:42:00.004-04:00

I've finally returned from my belated Italian honeymoon - leaving a trail of broken hearts through southern Italy. I think Italy's main export is curves. It is like the entire country is a C cup. America's obsession with skinny blonde girls seems silly after being there. Girls in America look like someone put a wig on the number 1; in Italy it is like someone drew arms and legs on the number 8.

But that's not why we are here today - we are here today to laugh at my misfortune.

As part of the honeymoon, we visited my wife's family in Sicily*. They live in a town of about 11,000 - which is similar to the size of my hometown. I wish I could say it was the equivalent of Italian Rednecks, but they have style and don't kiss their cousins - which means they are missing out on all the fun.

We arrived on Saturday, just in time for a big town festival. I had just met her family for the first time (I'm using "meet" loosely here - since I don't speak Italian there was mostly polite nodding and confused giggling), and we were thrown into crowded streets of celebrating Italians. Almost immediately my wife and I were separated, leaving me wandering the streets with nothing but a beard and a positive attitude.

My saving grace was a kind Uncle and the friendly boyfriend of a cousin. In this instance, "saving grace" actually means grappa - which is more or less Italian Moonshine.

The Uncle and Boyfriend fed me shot after shot of the stuff. And that was before noon.

After a few rounds of grappa, some lunch beers, some lunch wine and more confused giggling, the Boyfriend convinced me we should go ring the bell of the church.

Now, this is an old city. We were going to climb to the top of the "new" church, which was 300 years old and next door to the "old" church - which was 500 years old.

We climbed up the winding staircase to find a bell roughly the size of my ego with some ropes hanging to the side. He grabbed a robe and started ringing this giant, 300 yr old bell.

I thought it looked fun so I grabbed the other rope and started to help ring the bell.

Of course, I had never rang a bell the size of a car before, so when the bell swung the other way, I didn't let go of the rope. Unfortunately, the rope also didn't let go of me, and threw me across the bell tower Macho Man Randy Savage style (too soon?).

I stood up with bloody knuckles, an untucked shirt and an awesome story. And became instantly the most popular guy in town (popular kids are the ones that everyone makes fun of, right?)

So while I have made my triumphant return to the States, my heart, and knuckles, remain in Italy.

*My wife is 100% Italian which is how I got away with writing everything in that first paragraph without having to sleep on the couch.

What's For Dinner? Groundhog

2011-05-17T08:51:00.001-04:00

“If you’re not qualified to talk about anything, then talk about everything” says Narm. Okay, I’ll give this a whirl.

But I think I’m pretty qualified to talk about dinner, I’ve probably had: 11,483 dinners in my lifetime. Give or take the nights where I had two dinners or more. I’m not a master chef or anything just a guy that likes to eat tasty animals.

For some reason, the little woman and I have the same conversation at about the same time everyday. It goes something like this:

Me: What should we have for dinner?
Her: I dunno what do you want for dinner?
Me: Pizza, Chinese, Burritos? (notice I’ve covered all the major food groups)
Her: I don’t really have a taste for any of those...
Me: Okay, well I really don’t have a taste for anything, and I’m open to whatever so you pick. Chicken maybe?
Her: ... (I assume she’s thinking here, or just plotting new ways to drive me crazy about dinner)
Me: So what do you have a taste for?
Her: I don’t really have a taste for anything either.

This normally continues on in the same circular fashion until we get to a food that we’re both okay with. It’s not really “what’s for dinner?” it’s more of a game of “what’s not for dinner”.

If you majored in English/have a degree in English/done a lot of reading you might have come across: Waiting for Godot (classing this blog up a little) and this whole thing is a lot like that- infuriating. Or if movies are more your thing, this is my personal Groundhog Day.

From this point forward, that’s going to be answer: Groundhog. I might finally be able to follow in Bill Murray’s footsteps and break out of the “what’s for dinner” loop.

So dear reader, the next time your significant other, boyfriend, girlfriend, live-in howler monkey or spouse says “what’s for dinner?” answer, Groundhog. Joion me and break the cycle- stop the insanity!

(Note: Not tested in and not designed to work in parts of Appalachia)

tortorici, italy

2011-05-10T08:45:00.003-04:00

So Narm has been gone now, what five, six days? By this time he has grown fatter on some of the best food in the world, drunker on some exceptional wines, and awash in the progressive, sunsplashed, and naked atmosphere of Italy with his darling/hummingbird wife.

What this really means is that he is stumbling down a topless beach, arms outstretched to gain balance. And the all of the onlookers are screaming bloody murder about some fuzzy American bear terrorizing all of the naked chicks, offering to apply suntan lotion. And the “Polizia” are definitely on their way.

So there's that.

But what really matters is this blog. This blog that he so tenderly tends to/occasionally neglects. It's like the bonsai tree that Mr. Myagi would have had if they ever made a “Karate Kid VIII”. You know, the sequel they would have already made if they would just listen my idea of JUST KEEP MAKING SEQUELS.

Ahem.

But they let a few original scripts get through (uh, duh, “Thor”) and so now there's no “Karate Kid VI: Karate Kid Goes to Sri Lanka” and there's no Bonsai tree, and there's nothing good, and Narm left this blog in my hands. Which is kinda like leaving a piece of cake in the hands of a fat kid, right before dinner.

Omnarmnarm?

But like a fat kid after Bariatric surgery, I'm stuck feasting on lemon rinds and raisin skins. Fats McGee has no room left at the inn for this slice of Internet pie. So I'm going to wait till nobody is looking, slide this thing back under the cake server, (and by that I mean his iBook, which he left on his coffee table, which is in his living room, which is at 1405 Westwood Ave, Lakewood, OH, 44107).

(You know, for the fans, And if...if you wanna check out his place. Ummm, keep an eye on it. While he's gone.)

And I'm just going to wait till he comes/is deported home to take care of this little pet pine tree. Because then you'll hear about what an amazing time he had.

And how he got an European sprinkler system stuck between his legs.

p.s.- I just said a lot of something by saying nothing

p.p.s.- Made you look! Pfffftttt!

What You Think About Vat?

2011-05-09T08:25:00.000-04:00

I'm busy trying to convince my wife we should go check out the topless beaches instead of the Vatican right now, so I've lined up a few guest blogs to satisfy the hunger that is you, Reader.

But not just any guest blogs...

CELEBRITY GUEST BLOGS!

Wait, that just means the posts were written by people who are celibate, right?

Please enjoy the posts this Tuesday and next, the first written by @buildingjason and the second by @jasonperkowski

But I bet they aren't as much fun as topless beaches.

Not that I would know.

Coming, Dear...

Happy Bidet To You, Happy Bidet To You

2011-05-04T12:12:00.007-04:00

As I mentioned before, the wife and I are finally taking our honeymoon this spring. We're heading to Italy for two weeks of relaxation, great culture and better food.

Or at least that's what I told her.

The real reason I am going?

I want to try out a bidet.

Why don't we have these in America? This is a country of excess and comfort - where 50 yr old housewives drive Hummers and 6 yr olds have cell phones. We couldn't take the next step and add in a bidet?

Never having used a bidet, I am also a bit nervous. I mean, I've done what any rational person would do and watched as many Youtube videos about them as possible, but I didn't realize how complicated the entire process would be.

I pictured it as a Sprite commercial - like a big splash of cold mountain water hitting you in the face. But in this case your face is your butt.

But after some research, there are temperature controls and speed controls - it is just like a shower - except you don't pee in it.

With this new information, I have to admit I'm less excited about the prospect of using a bidet. In my mind it was like those water fountains at the mall that shoot water out of the ground and little kids always sit on. But now it just seems like a really cruel trick. Like if your VCR shot water out of it when you were trying to set the time.

But I'll still try it out. I just can't promise I'll put it on Youtube.

Sick Of It All

2011-05-02T08:44:00.007-04:00

I've officially been sick for a full week - which makes me assume I'm going to die.

I checked all my symptoms on WebMD and am pretty sure I have whatever Osama Bin Laden just caught.

I can't decide which is worse - feeling like I've been blowing my nose into thumb tacks all week, or my throat feeling like I chugged a full bottle of Nickelodeon Gak.

But the absolute worst part about being sick is that it ruins all the joys in life.

First, my beloved beard has turned into snotcicles.

Second, it is really hard to make fun of someone when it takes you 13 seconds to swallow the plegm in your throat before saying, "Your Mom is a birther."

And finally, no matter how hard I have tried, my wife remains unconvinced that me putting on Vick's Vapor Rub is considered foreplay.

Got It Licked

2011-04-26T12:36:00.007-04:00

I have a cold.

Which means that you should stop what you are doing and feel bad for me.

But being sick does have one huge advantage - you get to rewrite the rules on ownership.

I'm talking even bigger than "Finders Keepers".

If I see something I like? I just lick it. Bam. Owned. No one wants that shit when it has Mad Cow germs on it.

Have a banana on your desk? Licked.

New pen? Licked.

See a little kid holding an ice cream cone? Lick him. Now you have kids AND ice cream.

It's the law. If someone tries to call the cops, just lick their phone. Problem solved.

And if anyone questions what you are doing - just tell them you are sick.

I don't think they'll argue.

Tough Guy

2011-04-17T20:28:00.007-04:00

I know I claim to be a redneck, but if I am being honest, I'm actually a big sissy-pants.

I might have the lowest pain threshold of anyone on earf. I could get hurt in a game of peek-a-boo.

Which makes me rather annoying around the house.

One time I hit my funny bone and had to call off work for a week. Which at first seems ridiculous, but how was I supposed to bring the Hospice workers into my office?

For me, a common cold is a natural disaster. Don't even get me started on running out of tissues with the aloe in them. Red nose = Red Dawn.

But just because I don't like physical pain, don't mean I'm not tough in other ways.

It's like the saying goes, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."

Unless you mention my weight. I'm a little sensitive about that. I mean, I know I've put on a few pounds but I still think I look good. Who are you to talk, anyways?

Great, now I'm going to cry.

Do you have a tissue?

With aloe?

The Cascade Killer

2011-04-14T08:54:00.003-04:00

Reality Bites

2011-04-11T22:17:00.004-04:00

I like America.

Really. I do.

But I don't know that I'm all Sarah Palin about it.

I mean if I were to play Bone, Marry, Kill with three countries - say, Canada, the US and France - I'd probably end up marrying Canada.

But I like America.

What I don't know that I like is this whole election thing. It is great in theory - until you realize that you are putting our nation's future in the hands of the same people that make Nickelback one of the most successful bands in music.

These are the same people that voted Allen Iverson into the NBA All-Star game after he played 19 games one year.

These are the same people that watch Two and a Half Men. And laugh.

So excuse me if I'm not all drunk on the Stars and Bars.

I think it is time to revamp the system. Know what America loves?

Reality shows.

Lets make the world's greatest reality show - a mixture of Jeopardy, the Bachelor and Survivor. I want my President to be Ken Jennings with a chiseled jawline and the ability to eat bugs.

Instead of primaries and debates, I want to see my candidates fight over Immunity from the Final Jeopardy Solo Date.

At least that way, we would have some confidence that our elected officials are qualified.

I mean, if Trump and Palin are going to run anyways, at least they would have to eat bugs.

(Editor's Note: I'm a Redneck, of course I love America - the Canada thing was all a joke. I mean, Nickelback is from Canada, and they're the herpes of International Intercourse.)

Juke Nuke'em

2011-04-04T11:53:00.005-04:00

Bars are a strange place. It is a place full of people who really don't like each other. Guys don't like the other guys there, girls don't like the other girls there and everyone is jealous of my beard.

Yet, a bar is completely reliant on the group. The entire point of being at the bar is to be around people. Otherwise, people wouldn't think it was weird that I drank alone.

So while everyone at the bar hates everyone else at the bar, there has to be some teamwork.

Which brings us to the juke box. The juke box is an extremely important part of the bar scene. Without a jukebox, girls would have no reason to woo, and what is a bar without woo?

So here are some basic ground rules to running the juke box.

1 - Play a song right away. If there is currently no music playing - play anything. It doesn't matter. People just want noise. Everyone likes AC/DC... EVERYONE. Just throw on 'Hell's Bells' and move on. You can argue with your friends about which Sublime track is the best on your own time.

2 - No sad songs. Don't be stupid - this is bar and people are trying to have fun. I like a lot of sad songs - but I don't need to hear "Mad World" at the bar. The only exception is sing-along songs. "Piano Man" is allowed. But it also brings us to our next point...

3 - Don't jump the gun. I get it, I'm at a bar and I am going to hear Journey. It is part of the whole spectacle. But I WILL stop believin' if you play that song at 8pm. There is a time and a place and a blood-alcohol-level for the classics, and an emtpy bar at 8pm is not that time, place or drink order.

4 - Play to the crowd. I'm an elitist prick when it comes to music. I only like indie bands and shit that isn't on the radio - but that doesn't mean everyone else feels the same way. You can sneak in a few unknown tracks, but never more than two before throwing in something that will elicit a "woooo!". If you want to listen to some indie band and drink beer, do it at home like a normal loser.

5 - Have some variety. Everyone has a favorite band - but that is no excuse to play five of their songs in a row at the bar. This also goes for all genre's that fall outside of the "classic rock" catalogue. Sure, you can slip in a Hank Williams song and get by with it - but three in a row and the bartender is skipping that shit and running your tab all night. And you deserve it.

6 - Know your surroundings. If you are at a dive bar, stay away from Britney Spears. If you are at a club, you can probably avoid the Grateful Dead. If you are at my house and I hear one chord of a Nickelback song I'll call your mother and tell her what a disappointment you turned out to be. Which brings us to our last rule...

7 - Never play Nickelback. You wouldn't want to make your mother cry.

Red or White and Blue

2011-03-29T08:32:00.005-04:00

I leave for my honeymoon in just over a month.

For those of you keeping score at home (mostly the single ladies) - I'll have been married five months tomorrow (thank god for Google Calendars). So we are running kinda late on this whole honeymoon thing. I guess we were just waiting for gas prices to go up.

So in just over a month we will be leaving for Italy. My wife, being Italian, is excited to see her family that she hasn't seen in a few years. Me, as an alcoholic fatty, I'm excited for homemade wine and pasta.

Since she is fluent in Italian, and the only thing I am fluent in is flatulence, she has been trying to teach me how to speak some basic words and phrases.

I thought this was a great idea - what happens if her and I were to get separated in downtown Rome? How would I find her? Or a phone? Or more importantly, some homemade wine?

With this in mind, she began her lessons. The first word was "grattugia".

This word requires you to roll your R's and not be a complete idiot. Which means I failed miserably. It felt like my tongue was a drunk bum stumbling down the street - or like it had eaten too much Chipotle and now just wanted to watch Wings reruns on the couch.

So we worked through it until I could kinda maybe say something that sounded somewhat like "grattugia".

Proud of myself for having mastered the Italian language I asked what this word meant. Her response?

"Cheese grater"

CHEESE GRATER!

At what point on my Italian honeymoon am I going to need to say "cheese grater"???

If we get separated in the middle of Rome, am I just going to scream out "GRATTUGIA!" and find my way home?

So now we only focus on words that will be of use during the trip.

Like "vino".

Hayride to Heaven

2011-03-21T21:22:00.008-04:00

City kids love to make jokes at we rednecks' expense.

The talky-box makes us look like a buncha unlearned heathens that stumble in the city limits and look more confused than a three legged mule tryin' to do the two-step.

But I see it the other way.

I grew up in the country and seem to have mastered most of what it takes to live in the city; I can handle rush-hour traffic, eat sushi and know how to pronounce 'duvet'.

If I ever learn how to order a drink at Starbucks I'd get my official Metro-Sexual Badge.

But throw a city kid in the country and they are lost.

Case in point: my wife thought small towns just had hayrides all the time. Like it was some sort of redneck transportation system or a daily parade. As if farmers worked all spring and summer to grow the perfect crop of hay so that people can sit on it and ride around on a wagon all day.

And beyond public transportation, there is the threat of boredom. City kids will be driving home from the mall to change on their way to a baseball game before going to the movies and complain about being bored. Guess what - in the country there is literally nothing to do. Your choices are drink until you fall down or...well I guess I never thought about it long enough to find another option, so they're stuck with the drinking.

But there are SOME skills that translate. After a long night of hayrides and drinking beer, when I'm fighting through that hangover and need caffeine, it'll be GREAT to have someone around that knows how to order Starbucks.

Slip of the Tongue

2011-03-16T17:43:00.007-04:00

I called something 'retarded' yesterday.

Which is pretty lame.

I work fairly hard to clean up my language and remove some of the ignorant and offensive phrases that are common these days.

For example, 'retarded' just isn't a very efficient insult. Calling someone 'retarded' would mean they have an actual physical condition that results in their mental retardation. I don't want to tell someone they have a physical condition - I want to tell them they are fucking stupid.

It is also lazy and unoriginal to call something 'gay'.

I once stayed in from a night at the bars to hang out with my girlfriend and my friends referred to me as 'gay'. Because nothing says, 'homosexual' like turning down drunken ass slaps with your buddies to have naked ass slaps with your girlfriend.

And 'gay' isn't really a good description of how it is often used. I know plenty of homosexuals who are not effeminate. Just because someone doesn't exude a complete and total image of MANitude at all times does not make them 'gay'.

It makes them French.

Finally, an insult that isn't offensive to ANYONE.

Sporting Chance

2011-03-14T12:29:00.003-04:00

I am one of the biggest sports fanatics you'll ever meet.

I'm that guy that spends HOURS everyday reading message boards for his favorite teams. I follow six different beat-writers for the Miami Dolphins. So when news breaks, I get to hear it six times in various 140 character flavors.

I watch at least bits and pieces of every game from my favorite teams. If you are keeping score at home (and I would not only be keeping stats but would have them in an easy sortable Excel spreadsheet), that means 162 baseball games and 82 basketball games.

What about football, you ask?

I haven't missed a single Miami Dolphins game in the last ten years. And let me tell you, that is a LOT of crying for one man to do.

So you would think attending sporting events would be like mass for my religious following of men in matching tank tops.

But no.

When I am at a sporting event, I can barely tell you the score. I don't know how much time is left. Hell, sometimes I'm not even sure which sport I am watching.

Because people watching is much more important. Who wants to watch a homerun when you could watch a dancing fat kid instead? Or sneak a peek at that girl in the low-cut shirt bending down to get her beer. Or that fat kid in the low cut shirt bending down to get jiggy wit' it.

And that is just in the first quarter/inning/period. There has to be a round of "Dating Up", "I Spy" and "Celebrity Look-Alikes".

Not to mention the glorious Kiss Cam. Oh, man, is she going to kiss that old guy? GROOOOOSSS!

It has gotten to the point where watching the actual game is like a commercial - I just want to fast-forward to the end of the quarter.

Because I know they're going to play Will Smith and that fat kid is going to break. it. down.

Cuz I'm A Flirt

2011-03-07T12:10:00.007-05:00

Life has a funny way of kicking me in the groin now and then.

Remember how just last week I lamented about how horrible my life was because no one would flirt with me anymore?

Well, I was hit on Friday night.

And it was the worst thing ever.

I expected the angels to sing. Confetti. Maybe a high school marching band. In my head there would be a cameraman there asking me what I was going to next.

"I'm going to Disney World!"

But there was none of that. Just the sad realization that I had spent 24 years of my life trying to sell myself like a reject shirt on the CLEARANCE pile at Marshalls. The free drinks, the bad pick-up lines, the awkwardly staring at girls across the bar trying to overcome the paralyzing fear of actually speaking to them - all of that wasted.

Suddenly all of that blood, sweat and Red Bull that I put into being single came rushing back to my memory.

And now? Now that I'm happily married and just trying to stay out past 11 on a Friday?

Now I get hit on.

Looking this good never hurt so bad.

Winning

2011-03-02T11:36:00.002-05:00

Sales Pitch

2011-02-27T21:11:00.010-05:00

Girls, you don't realize how easy you have it.

You see, men are an ugly species. We've got nothing going for us. We don't have any sexy curves or soft features - and most of us are covered in fur. We are one Rogaine bath away from being Sasquatch.

Think about the last time you saw a guy naked in a movie - it was funny, right? Think about that. Our naked form is used solely for the sake of comedy. There's a boost for the ol' confidence.

Now that you are giggling about our naked sasquatchian form, imagine how hard it is to walk up to a girl at a bar and flirt with her.

"Hey...there. I saw you from across the bar and thought you were super attractive so I thought I would come over and...hope you were drunk enough to talk to me."

Being a guy is like being a salesman for a product that you know sucks.

That is why we have to rely on pick-up lines and alcohol to even have a shot at picking up a girl.

I hear attractive girls complain about the fact they never have guys approach them at a bar. Well, if you were a guy, would you approach you? Imagine approaching a complete stranger in a crowded, loud bar - now try not to sound creepy. It is nearly impossible.

Anytime you have to stop yourself and think, "Wait, does that sound like something a rapist would say?" you know you are set-up to fail.

And fail we does.

But we keep trying, keep working those angles, keep trying to sweeten that deal.

But mostly, we rely on the booze.

Put a Ring On It

2011-02-24T12:05:00.004-05:00

It isn't often that I am THIS disappointed in a product, but I have to vent.

I haven't gotten hit on ONCE since wearing this damn wedding ring.

If sitcoms have taught me anything, it is that wedding rings are chick magnets. Hell, there is a movie about Adam Sandler dating Brooklyn Decker's boobs just because he is married.

BROOKLYN DECKER'S BOOBS!

And no one will even throw me a bone. I'd have a better chance of getting hit on if I were wearing a replica Lord of the Rings band. Or one of those class rings that Zach Morris bought from that skeezy ring salesman that left green marks on everyone's fingers.

And obviously I'm not going to act on any of this - but damnit if I don't like to feel pretty every now and then.

Maybe I'll start wearing a fake non-wedding ring on my finger to pick up chicks so I can tell them, "Sorry, I'm married."

Or maybe I'll return this ring and see if they have something a little sexier. I mean, if a ring lands Adam Sandler a date with Brooklyn Decker's boobs, I should be able to get to first base with Betty White, right?

Weather or Not

2011-02-21T12:26:00.005-05:00

If anyone wants to know what the weather in Cleveland is like; I had my sun roof open yesterday for a nice afternoon drive and woke up this morning to a car completely frozen over from freezing rain.

Although, I guess that is a bit misleading, since my sun roof was still open today.

Which meant I didn't just have to scrape the ice off of the windows of my truck, but also my center console.

Happy Monday.

What's My Name

2011-02-17T08:35:00.004-05:00

One of the first rules of being married is putting a limit on the amount of dirty comments available.

My wife doesn't need to hear me talk about how I almost saw down the shirt of the cashier at Burger King. Mostly because she was 250 lbs.

But I also don't need to hear about that new guy in her yoga class and how great he looks for being in his 40s. Or anything about his "downward doggie".

So rather than hold it all in, we each have a few celebrity crushes that allow us to release our innuendos outward.

She has her crushes: LL Cool J, Lenny Kravitz, John Hamm, Me, Robert Pattinson, every Italian soccer player on the face of the earf, etc.

Mine include Marissa Miller, Norah Jones and Rihanna.

Following this system, all was well in the world. When one of these celebrities popped up on the screen, we would let loose with some of the most filthy and disgusting things that would make most rap songs sound like something from Yo Gabba Gabba.

That is, until Rihanna had to go and screw everything up.

You see, she put my last name in her new song, "What's My Name?"

"Oh Nomina, what's my name?
Oh Nomina, what's my name?"

Followed by some lines so filthy Andrew Dice Clay felt uncomfortable.

How do I explain this to my wife? What she thought was just a silly crush is obviously deep, passionate love. Rihanna has it bad, and, while it is hard to blame her (I mean, look at me), I'm a committed man and can't go running off to her private jets to be pampered and pleased as she sees fit.

No, this is my break-up letter to Rihanna. I'm sorry, but this just won't work.

Besides, I'm holding out for Marissa Miller

When Your Heart Hops, Skips or Jumps a Beat

2011-02-14T09:56:00.004-05:00

I'm tired of people trying to define love.

Love is inexplainable. It isn't a math problem. You can't just say, "I love X because they have Y and Z."

Otherwise everyone would love me. Because I'm the total package: looks, brains, abs, punctuality and humility.

It goes without saying that we all like people who are kind, attractive, thoughtful or have huge boobs. It is human nature - and saying that is why you love someone is obvious.

Love shouldn't be explained or quantified. It should happen. It should be a thousand tiny reasons that you yourself don't even realize.

So while I am sure your boyfriend or girlfriend is nice, and funny, and attractive, I hope they also wake you up at 1:30am to ask how a T-Rex would jump rope with those tiny, stupid arms.

Because my wife does. And that is more of a reason to love her than anything you'll find on a candy heart.

Unless that candy heart says something about huge boobs.

Happy Valentine's Day

Dating Up - Ashton and Demi

2011-02-09T08:34:00.006-05:00

Welcome to the 2nd edition of everyone's favorite game -

Dating Up.

Where I put up two celebrities so you can put them down.

Here's how it works:

I show a celebrity couple in all their pre-angry voicemail / drug rehab / sleeping with a Nazi-hooker bliss - and you tell me which one is more physically attractive, and therefore more important.

The person in the relationship who is less fun to look at is dating up.

This week's lucky couple? Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore.

First up - Demi.

She's hot. Ok, let's just get that out there. I'm not denying that she wango's my tango. But know what isn't hot? ROBOTS! And you cannot convince me that her 48 year-old ass isn't made out of 99% synthentic materials. I'm more worried about what her emissions are doing to the o-zone level.

On to her little beaux, Ashton Kutcher.

I get it. He's goofy and giggles while he talks and always has cool hair. Like the love-child of Jimmy Fallon and Orlando Bloom. And I guess if I were a chick he could be fun to look at. But he is also running full speed ahead into "Matthew McConaughey" territory, which means we should all be looking to destroy him as quickly as possible. If only we had a 48 year-old robot with 99% sythentic butt cheeks!

And there you have it - which one of these people (term used loosley when describing Demi) is calling every 20 minutes just to "check-in" because they didn't like the way that your friend was looking at you even though you've known them forever and there is nothing going on there?

Name Game

2011-02-07T11:50:00.003-05:00

Now that I am married, I am getting asked all of the usual questions:

How does it feel to be married?

Are you going to have babies?

How many babies?

When?

What flavor?

But perhaps no question comes up more than "Is she going to take your last name?"

Which got me to thinking -

Is there ANY scenario that would make it ok for the guy to take the woman's name? I don't mean "OK" in the "We can do it!" Rosie the Riveter kind of way - but in the, "My friends won't make the whipped noise everytime I see them" kind of way.

Like what if your name was Harry Buttsmells. It is totally cool to switch then, right?

What about more realistic names like Weiner, Gay or Buttsmells?

And not just if you have a BAD name - what if she has an awesome name - like Incognito, Bond or Buttsmells?

Seriously, I need to know, because I'm sick of my friends making the whipped noise.

Questionable

2011-01-31T11:47:00.004-05:00

I normally don't do this on my blog, but here is a picture of my wife:

The woman doesn't know how to make statements. Everything she says is in the form of a question. It is like she has some weird obsession with curved punction.

Every conversation starts with a statement posed as a question:

How about how much you love bacon?

Why is Meryl Streep such a good actress?

How about how is it so cold outside?

And it goes on and on.

The problem isn't that she is asking questions - it is that she is asking questions that don't have answers. She might as well be asking me for the meaning of life or why Nickelback is famous. Plus, she says something and then looks at me for a response - like I am some social mistake that I can't even answer a simple question.

This has been going on for years now - and I never knew how to respond. When nearly every sentence starts with "How about how" there are only so many smartass things to say.

But then - I finally figured it out.

Four.

Yes, four.

Everytime she asks a question that has no logical answer, I just say, "four".

"How about how you hate carrots?"

"Four."

"Why isn't there more cereal?"

"Four."

"Why are you crying?"

"Four."

It works perfectly. And it lets me drift in and out of conversations. Whatever she says I just respond with, "four" and I can't be wrong.

In fact, now that I don't have to answer her questions all the time, I've had a chance to tackle some of the bigger questions in life. "What does it all mean?" "Where do we go when we die?"

If you want to know go ahead and ask. I've got a perfect answer for ya.

Your So Vain

2011-01-25T09:31:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure what the Obamanable Snowman is going to talk about in the State of the Union tonight, but I sure as hell hope it is this:

Yes, that is an actual item for sale at Wet Seal.

If you aren't sure why this upsets me, think about what it is saying.

'If YOU ARE single, so am I'

Not: 'If your single, so am I'

So unless they meant "your single" as in "your single mission in life is to seek out and destroy the person who created this shirt by delivering a bear wrapped in explosives and a can-do attitude" then the person who created this shirt needs to be hunted down by a bear wrapped in explosives and a can-do attitude.

Is this where we are as a society? Every person on earf spends their days getting to second base with their mobile phone on texts, Twitter, Facebook, blogs and Googling "What was Lisa from Saved by the Bell's real name?" and yet we can't get this right?

So if the next generation can't even spell correctly, let's all blame Wet Seal.

Because it is obviously there fault.

500th Post and Dating Up

2011-01-18T08:59:00.001-05:00

MAMBO NUMBA 5...HUNDRED.

Today is my 500th blog post. I started this thing in the fall of 2007 - assuming it would be like my love life at the time - based loosely around drunk texts and heavy petting.

But I stuck with it. And now I'm married. Coincidence? Yeah, probably - but if you'd like to take some credit for my having conquered my fear of commitment and tying the knot, then go right ahead, Reader.

Just remember that while I may be happy - you broke the heart of single women everywhere. In particular Marissa Miller who CAN STOP SENDING ME NAKED PICTURES ANYTIME NOW. It is awkward and pathetic.

With hitting the big five hundo today, I wanted to introduce a new feature here at The 'Neck. Does anyone remember Would Ya Wednesdays - the fun-family game of telling me if you would intercourse certain celebrities? Well this is kinda like that but with WAY more judging.

So welcome to the new feature here at The 'Neck:

Dating Up.

Where I show a celebrity couple and you tell me which one is the ugly one - and therefore, dating up.

Example -

Seal and Heidi Klum. Heidi Klum is so hot I could have relations with her shadow. Seal's face looks like one of those 3-D ultrasound things that make it look like the mother has an alien growing in her belly.

That means that Seal is Dating Up.

So here are today's lucky contestants:

Justin Timberlake and Jessica Biel.

I realize I should hate Justin Timberlake but for some reason I can't bring myself to do it. I have to imagine if I were him I would act pretty much the exact same way. I mean the guy is better at literally everything than I am. How do you go from being in a boy band and having that stupid curly hair to being that cool? It has to be one of the greatest reversals in history. They should play his E! True Hollywood Story on ESPN Classic - thats how good of a comeback he had.

And what can I say about Jessica Biel? Her ass is like the opposite of Seal's face. They should make tanks out of that thing as I have to imagine it is one of the hardest substances on earf.

So it's time to put one of them down by telling me they are dating up:

Remember - the ugly one is dating up. And if you don't know whether or not YOU are dating up in your relationship? Then you are. By a mile. But at least you don't have Seal's face.

Hankerin'

2011-01-10T17:05:00.004-05:00

I've got a new life goal - to be completely average in the most awesome way ever.

In other words, I want to be the new Tom Hanks.

Tom Hanks isn't attractive - but isn't necessarily unattracitve.

He's funny - but not a comedian.

He's a good actor but he's not going to steal any scenes.

He can't dance.

He can't sing.

He isn't an action hero.

I don't even know if the guy seperates his glass from his plastics.

He's just some guy who is pretty likeable and starred in a bunch of movies.

And now that he is famous? He's not in and out of rehab or out hooking up with every new supermodel that comes along - he's just rich as hell and living it up.

I could TOTALLY do that.

Today's stars are either annoyingly attractive or so odd looking it is comedic. They're either in rehab or the adoption line.

Well guess what, Reader - I am average in every way! I'm ok to look at! I can sometimes say funny things but not all the time! If you were to meet me on the street you would probably walk away thinking, "I wonder where I put my keys?" because I'm completely average and forgettable.

SO WHY AM I NOT FAMOUS?

Give me a magic fortune reading, a mermaid, some email, insomnia in Seattle or Meg Ryan and let me show you just how unimpressive I can be.

Wife Swap

2011-01-06T11:52:00.000-05:00

As much as Tim McGraw wants me to "Live Like You Were Dying" (which is what it feels like when I hear his songs) - everyone falls into a few routines. Whether it is going to the same Starbucks every morning, logging onto Facebook as soon as you get up, or your morning poop - we all have a few things that remain constant.

But my wife decided to turn my world upside-down a few months ago when she decided she wanted to switch sides of the bed.

Just like that.

She just wants me to roll over to the other side of the bed AND SLEEP OVER THERE!!!

Who does that?

Is nothing sacred?

I mean, what did I do to deserve this? It isn't like I asked her to dye her hair or switch deodorant or change her name...

...oh wait.

Looks like I'll be waking up on the wrong side of the bed.

Sleep Tight

2011-01-03T08:47:00.004-05:00

What must the aliens think?.

If you were watching this planet from millions of light years away - wouldn't you be disgusted with humans? I'm sure they are sitting there with their 6 arms and their gills and four brains thinking, "Really, Fatty Human, McDonald's again? Why don't you just ORDER diabetes?"

Which got me thinking - if aliens were to ever come hang out with me on a Friday night, one of the hardest things to explain would have to be sleep.

How do you explain sleep to someone?

"Hey, buddy! What did you do last night?"

"Well, I was unconscious for like eight hours."

"What the hell? That's not good? Are you ok?"

"Yeah - actually I had a dream where I was a superhero that could turn anything into tacos. So, ya know, could be worse."

Imagine if you were an alien watching that. Like, trying to learn the customs of humans.

"Ok, so first they go sit in a small cube and stare at a box with numbers on it for 8 hours a day. Then they get into a moving box and get in long lines that move extremely slowly until they get to what appears to be a home. Once there, they consume food and stare at another box, that seems to contain smaller humans doing something called "Dancing with the Stars". But there aren't any stars which is stupid. After that they just lay there. For like 8 fucking hours. It is boring as hell. What are they doing? It is like they're dead. What a boring fucking species."

Either that or aliens just think we keep waking from the dead and this is an entire planet full of zombies. Which would explain why they haven't invaded us, yet.

Because if you had four brains, would YOU want to visit a planet full of zombies? Not without a taco-makin' Super Hero, you wouldn't.

Clowning Around

2010-12-28T13:41:00.003-05:00

The word epic is thrown around a lot on the interwebz. But I want to set something straight -

Your new shirt is not epic.

Your weekend? Not epic.

Even the dramatic chipmunk lacks a certain level of epicicity.

No, the word epic needs to be saved and used accordingly.

Like when this kid on a local kids show tells Happy the Hobo to poop on his mom (2:00 mark).

Fucking epic.

Pandora's Box Set

2010-12-21T13:32:00.007-05:00

Work has been crazy stressful lately.

Not because of the actual work - but because of Pandora.

As an elitist prick - I have to ensure I'm only listening to bands that are underground and that most people haven't heard. When listening to Pandora, every like and dislike is a calculated endeavor - I'm at risk of "selling out" with every thumbs up.

If I go from Collin Herring to Band of Horses to Lucero to the Avett Brothers to Wilco - well, then I've done something right.

But when that same station suddenly veers into DIERKS FUCKING BENTLEY - my entire world spins out of control.

What have I done? What is it about me that made Pandora think I would like bubble-gum pop country? Is it my hair? Is it my jeans? Is it the way I walk or the way I talk? What will my friends say? Is this some kind of gateway drug to listening to Rascal Flatts?

Now that I've been Bentley'd over, I live in constant fear of every song I hear on Pandora. What does it mean if I like this song? Is it too poppy? What does this song say about me as a person?

I feel like Pandora just attacked my character; like this was personal. And I have no way to fight back. Sure, I could just keep disliking everything Pandora plays for me. I could give them the middle finger in the shape of a thumbs down. But we all know they've been holding the secret weapon. All they have to do is press one button and my entire life is over. You see, one thumbs down too many and BAM.

Nickelback.

And that's why I gave that Dierks Bentley song a thumbs up.

Deep Pockets

2010-12-20T11:18:00.005-05:00

IT IS THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!

No, I'm not going topless on here. That is just weird. Why would you even WANT to see that? I look like an albino sasquatch. With a big nose.

No - it is time for the WINNER OF THE YEAR'S SUPPLY OF LEAN POCKETS!

*air guitar*

*leg kick*

*drum solo*

*drum solo*

*drum solo*

Craig! At Craig Goes To Cleveland. takes the cake (or pocket) with this little number:

We will now use these Lean Pockets and this footballfield platter to re-enact the "The Annexation of Puerto Rico". My mouth is the endzone!

This is, of course, a reference to the movie Little Giants - which is full of all kinds of awesome. Especially the line: "Fumblrooski! Fumblrooski!" which my old roommate and I used to say if we were hitting on a girl and either got shot down or said something stupid to ruin our chances. Needless to say, there were a lot of fumblrooskis in my single days.

Anyways - Craig just earned himself a year's supply of Lean Pockets for that dose of nostalgia.

Thanks to everyone who entered - especially Nicki who was the only person who resorted to flattery. Do you people know me at all? Compliments are my currency, people. All you had to do was say something nice about my beard - like it really brought out my abs - and the Lean Pockets were yours! You were so close - all you had to do was seal the deal and you screwed it up! Know what we call that?

A fumblrooski.

Congrats to Craig and thanks to all who participated.

(Full disclosure: Lean Pockets sponsored the Goodness Party and give-away and most of my college years.)

Live, Laugh, Fart

2010-12-15T08:43:00.003-05:00

My nephews are at that amazing age where they have discovered poop jokes. Unfortunately, in my family, that is where the maturation process ends. Here is a typical Narmonian life cycle:

Birth ---> Walking ---> Talking ---> Potty Training ---> Poop Jokes ---> Death

So the other night I was home for Christmas and my 3 year old nephew looks up at me, sticks his tongue out and farts.

Which sent me into a fit of laughter that had me rolling on the ground. In fact, I laughed SO hard -

That I farted.

I guess it "runs" in the family.

(Have you entered my contest to win a year's supply of Lean Pockets? Why not? All I'm asking you to do is make fun of me on the internet. I'm starting to feel like this relationship is one sided, Reader. I give and I give and all I get in return is some web traffic and lonely nights spent pecking away at this keyboard. We used to LIVE, ya know? Where's the passion? Why don't you just click that link above and leave a caption and we can try to rekindle this flame.)

Fame and Fortune

2010-12-13T10:37:00.002-05:00

My fortune cookie from Friday night -

"You have a friendly heart and are well admired."

When did fortune cookies turn into "fact cookies"?

(If you haven't left a caption in my Year's Supply of Lean Pockets giveaway you may be ugly. I'm not saying it is a sure thing, but I would go here and write something funny just in case. Imagine how smart you'll feel with a fridge full of Lean Pockets when the upcoming zombie apocolypse comes? Everyone else will be ordering pizza and getting eaten by zombie pizza delivery guys but you'll be sitting at home eating delicious Lean Pockets and finally catching up on that season of West Wing you missed.)

Caption Contest Giveaway

2010-12-10T09:20:00.005-05:00

Instead of just dropping knowledge on you today - I have a special surprise.

A SUPER COOL-TIME EXTREME LEAN POCKET GIVE-AWAY EXTRAVAGANZA CONTEST

The good people at Lean Pockets have provided a year's supply of Lean Pockets for me to give-away to the person who person of my choosing.

So I've decided to choose the winner in my most favoritist way eva -

CAPTION CONTEST!

This is how it works - I post a picture below and you leave a comment either on the blog or on Twitter (@jnomina) and I'll choose the one with the most awesome.

I'm going to leave this up for a week so tell your friends (http://bit.ly/fB5hUd) - because if they win you could probably play this off as their Xmas present.

* Full disclosure: Lean Pockets provided the Snuggies, Lean Pocket products as well as some funds for the decorations and party favors at the Goodness Party. They did not supply the hand turkey (patent pending). Any opinions shared on The 'Neck are my own and should be taken as law because I am awesome.

Goodness Party

2010-12-06T21:11:00.017-05:00

If there is any ONE thing that I want people to take away from my blog, it is that I am impressively lazy. One time I fell asleep on a bar stool in my kitchen because I was too lazy to move to the couch (or bed for that matter). I woke up three hours later in the fetal position on my kitchen counter. With the lights on.

So in my haste to be lazy, you can imagine that I love anytime I can make a good meal on the quicks.

Enter Lean Pockets.

They reached out and asked if I would be interested in getting together a group of friends and serving a spread of some of their new Culinary Creations sandwiches. At first I thought they were just flirting with me - like a guy buying a girl drink at a bar but instead of a pretty girl I was a nerd in his late 20's - but then they threw in a box of Snuggies and stole my heart forever. (call me)

I decided to theme my Goodness Party around the Miami Dolphins vs Cleveland Browns game. Because I am a Dolphins fan and thought it would be an easy win. I mean, it's Cleveland, right? I assumed I'd play the gracious host, have everyone over and then, as the Dolphins won, stand in the living room burning a picture of Bernie Kosar while reciting Dan Marino's name to the tune of "My Sharona".

I should have realized from the start the numbers weren't in my favor:

(Please note the above picture is my Lady Friend's debut on The 'Neck. Ain't she purty? Hey! You! Her eyes are up here! Pervert.)

We even decorated for both the Browns and Phins (because browl and teal really compliment each other).

The party started great - Browns fans and Phins fans, living together in perfect harmony -

My personal favorite was the grilled chicken mushroom and spinach. Because I am high class. And high class people eat spinach. The most popular among the guests was the grilled chicken bacon dijon. Which has bacon in it. So duh. We also included some traditional pizza flavored Lean Pockets.

We cooked the majority in the oven and they turned out delicious. We did a few in the microwave and while not as crispy - they were still very good. We also found that if you draw a hand turkey (pictured, above left) it helps them cook evenly.

In the end, my beloved Dolphins lost and, in a fit of rage, I demonstrated my manly manlinesshood and picked up TEN SNUGGIES AT ONE TIME.

Even I didn't know I was that strong - it must have been all that spinach.

(Thanks to the people at Lean Pockets (click there for Facebook page and coupons) for helping me put this together. I hadn't tried any of their new products and was very pleasantly surprised at how delicious they were. They have officially replaced PB&J as my go-to lunch at work. And also when I sneak downstairs for 2am snacks without telling the Lady Friend. Our little secret, Reader.)

Stay tuned later this week for a contest to win FREE LEAN POCKETS FOR A YEAR (when reading that please use a dramatic voice and an echo affect.) I'll post the details later this week.

* Full disclosure: Lean Pockets provided the Snuggies, Lean Pocket products as well as some funds for the decorations and party favors at the Goodness Party. They did not supply the hand turkey (patent pending). Any opinions shared on The 'Neck are my own and should be taken as law because I am awesome.

Zombies Hate Your "Monday" Facebook Status

2010-12-06T09:39:00.007-05:00

I read Chuck Klosterman's incredible take on the zombie phenomenon as well as their staying power.

He argues that killing zombies isn't all that much different than other mondane tasks. The fear and danger of a zombie attack isn't that they are individually frightening - but the sheer number of them is insurmountable. Fighting through a zombie attack is like filling out time sheets or working on an assembly line. Zombies are like Mondays - to put it in terms that people with unoriginal Facebook statuses can understand.

But I think their appeal goes further than that:

Anyone can kill a zombie.

They are slow and stupid and uncoordinated. Like that first kid that hits puberty in junior high. It isn't like X-Men or Superman or any other movie about fighting evil. You don't have to pretend to be someone else. Zombie movies allow you to pretend to be yourself - but the cocky, arrogant version you see in your head.

Everyone talks a tough game when they read a news story. "Dude - if I was in that bank when it was getting robbed I totally would have beaten the crap out of those 17 guys with machine guns and saved everyone." You know you do it. I do it - in my head I could have stopped JFK's assasination, the Civil War and the extinction of dinosaurs. With nothing but a beard and a smile.

The zombie apocolypse is just like any of those situations. Strong people think about how they'd be able to kill zombies, smart people imagine the plan they would put together, and slutty girls at bars who's only skill is flirting with guys for free drinks would finally get wiped out.

It is like the opposite of Lord of the Rings - instead of making the hero a loser that we can identify with - the hero is you - which, in most cases, is also a loser.

So Klosterman is right - fighting the zombie apocolypse is much like our fight with everyday life. But it allows us to imagine going through that fight as the person we are (or want to be) in our head - not the one that agrees to work weekends or refuses to send back a bad meal or helps that guy you don't like move his couch because you can't say no.

Because in the zombie apocolypse - you get to bash that guy's head in.

Super Sexy Hero

2010-12-02T08:45:00.006-05:00

As often happens in my household, the wife and I got into an argument about Super Heroes the other day.

No, this time it wasn't about whether or not Batman is a Super Hero (he's not). But, rather, about who was the cooler Super Hero - Spiderman or Wolverine.

Which got me to thinking - a lot of Super Heroes (why do I keep capitalizing this?) have Super Powers that are ONLY cool if there are Super Villains. Think about it - what good does it do you to have adamantium bones, razor sharp claws and self-healing powers like Wolverine - if there is no one to fight? Other than cool bar tricks, your powers would be useless.

You can argue that you would fight crime, but real crimes aren't committed by evil geniuses - they are committed by guys who try to light their underwear on fire or strap explosives to their crotch (I never realized how much terrorism centered around genitalia before, FYI).

Razor sharp claws aren't going to do much for you against car bombs. Sure, you could kick some major ass of the guy who created the bomb - but so could my grandma. Anyone who can make a bomb is probably about as cool as people who dress up for Harry Potter movies.

And while Spiderman's ability to climb buildings and shoot webs is awesome - I have to imagine there aren't that many times in real life those would be applicable. I mean - we don't even let gay people get married or serve in the military in this country and you expect to get treated normal if you are doing super crazy ninja Spidey moves all over downtown? Good luck. Don't ask don't tell, Peter Parker.

But, of course, just like every other argument about Super Heroes, the wife got the last word:

"I don't care, I still think Wolverine is hot."

My spidey sense is tingling.

eHungry

2010-11-29T08:36:00.005-05:00

Know why you don't see any homeless women?

eHarmony.

Hear me out.

Guys are slime balls. Complete and total disgusting slimeballs. Even if you found the most disgusting woman on earf - I could probably find 5 guys that would offer to buy her a drink and ask me to play wing-man.

Because guys are slimeballs.

Enter eHarmony.

You could put up a picture of the Hamburglar and still get offered dinner. Sure, the guy may not have left his basement in 12 years and there is a 37% chance he is a serial killer - but free blooming onions!

Women are using eHarmony completely wrong. They are trying to find love and nice guys - when really they should be looking at it as a coupon for free dinner.

If women are worried the guy will ask to split the bill? Just say something to make the guy think he has a chance of some post-game celebrations. Like, "I'd love to see your comic book collection" or "Pass the salt, please". Whatever, when I was single a girl could scratch her nose and I would think she was hitting on me. Guys treat flirting like a silent auction - any sudden movement is a bid - a bid, for love.

And if I were a woman I would eat that shit up, literally. Besides, the Hamburglar is kinda cute.

True Love

2010-11-22T08:38:00.004-05:00

I was talking to a friend about a few of the guys on People's Sexiest Man list when we had this exchange -

Her: I'd totally go Jon & Kate Plus 8 with him.

Me: You'd be willing to put eight babies in your belly for him? That is true love.

Her: Ew! No! She only had sextuplets.

Me: So you draw the line at six babies. You'd make six of his babies at one time but not eight.

Her: Correct.

For the record, Marissa Miller, if you are reading this - I'd totally pump my belly full of eight babies for you.

Stand In The Place Where You Are

2010-11-17T08:47:00.008-05:00

I'm taking a stand.

Against stands.

This is not like the time I took a stand against standing. That was more of a lifestyle preference than a political statement.

I'm sick and tired of people taking stands against everything. It makes it impossible for me to make jokes without offending someone.

I told a knock-knock joke the other day and someone told me they didn't support using assault, both physical and emotional, against defenseless doors as a comedic setting.

And since when did having an extremely strong stance on something mean you DIDN'T have to discuss it? Having strong beliefs is suddenly like conversational leprosy. As long as you pledge your allegiance and call the other person names that may or may not make sense, there is no need to back up your opinion.

Maybe I should take a stand against the weather so I don't have to talk about it with every stranger in the elevator -

"How dare you bring up the sun in front of me. Don't you know my father was killed by a sun? Go get a job you bible-thumping communist."

Or maybe I'll take a stand against feelings so I don't have to listen to people complain anymore.

Stranger: "I'm having a really rough time. I lost my job, my wife left me and I left my lunch on my kitchen counter."

Me: "CAN'T YOU SEE I AM AGAINST FEELINGS? I find it insulting that you would even consider feelings. That is unAmerican. You must be some sort of feelings terrorist. I feel like you just bombed my heart. I was just hit by emotional shrapnel. You know who else had feelings? Hitler. Hey look everyone! It's Hitler!"

So from now on, when someone takes a stand - I'm going to out stand them. I'm going to take their stand, and raise them a conversation.

As long as that conversation starts, "Knock-knock."

Growing Up in the 'Hood (Adulthood, that is)

2010-11-16T08:41:00.004-05:00

Monday morning conversation with a coworker of similar age:

Coworker: What did you do this weekend?

Me: Oh, I painted my front door and hung some curtains. Cleaned out my basement and then gave the whole house a good cleaning. Busy weekend. You?

Coworker: I was wasted and partying the entire weekend.

Why did I walk away feeling that mine was the weekend that was wasted?

Bear With Me

2010-11-14T21:37:00.007-05:00

Let's clear something up.

Because that is what I am trying to do here at The 'Neck. I'm not trying to make you laugh or cry or send me money. I'm trying to change the world.

And, just like pedophilia, it all starts with gummi bears.

Namely, the pineapple gummi bear.

You know which one I mean; not red, orange, green or yellow.

The other color.

Or non-color.

Depending on how you look at it.

You racist.

You see I took a very scientific poll the other day and received an even split of people saying it was the "white" gummi bear or the "clear" gummi bear.

Obviously, I went to the internet for the answer - only to discover that the Haribo website lists it as white, while the Wikipedia page lists it as clear.

I was very firmly on Team Clear to begin the argument - but then as it went on I began thinking - clear isn't really a color. Or a flavor. How could something be flavored as clear? Wouldn't that confuse kids everywhere? Wouldn't they start asking for some "clear" instead of water. Or eating air? I don't want to live in a world where kids everywhere are eating air. They'll ruin their appetite for dinner!

But that doesn't mean that "clear" isn't necessarily correct. The actual, physical bear has no white coloring in it whatsoever. And they are pineapple flavored - and pineapples are not white. The only way you could say a pineapple was white is if it liked to watch "Two and a Half Men" and was a bad dancer. So white is also incorrect.

Then again, pineapples aren't clear either. And if they are, it would explain why I thought all these kids were eating air.

But don't they know they are going to ruin their appetite?

Let's settle this debate once and for all -

Are the pineapple gummi bears white, or clear?

You decide.

Racist.

Surprise Attack

2010-11-09T08:42:00.004-05:00

I have stumbled on quite the discovery. A scientific development unlike any seen before! Or maybe just a plot for another romantic comedy. Quick, someone call Katherine Heigl.

Now that I have been married for a week and a half I have it ALLLLLL figured out.

There was a shift in power.

A shift of power in her favor, of course. And not necessarily a concious one on her behalf. It is less about her gaining power, and more about me losing power. And pride, but that is another post.

You see - I've lost the element of surprise.

When you are dating - the girl is constantly looking for that ring. If you are walking in the park and bend down to tie your shoe she gets tears in her eyes. Order champaigne for the two of you on a fancy date and she'll pour the whole glass on the floor looking for a ring like it is a box of Cracker Jacks (which is ridiculous - her ring isn't worth nearly as much as a box of Cracker Jacks).

And when you ARE engaged - you get to play tough guy about the wedding. She wants chair covers and a live band and a pack of unicorns? Too bad, honey - I say two unicorns, MAX!

But after the wedding - she has already gotten everything she wanted. There is no ring, no wedding - just a shell of a man who is folding laundry while watching The Walking Dead. It is like I've become an antique - I swear I saw her trying to sell me on eBay the other day.

So I've got an idea. Not to get all Obama on you, but we gotta spend our way outta this mess. I think men should institute a re-engagement ring.

Think about it - sure it is going to cost a pretty penny - but it leaves her on pins and needles for the entire marriage!!! It is like when you were 9 and suddenly became the most well-behaved kid on earf as soon as November hit because you wanted to fool Santa. And apparently putting roofies in the milk you left out so you could get ALL the toys in his sled is frowned upon (sorry, Mom.)

And if the re-engagement ring doesn't work? We can always fall back on the roofies. Hey, it worked on Santa.

Weddings, Wallets and Wisdom

2010-10-25T08:31:00.003-04:00

My wedding Saturday - which explains both why I haven't been posting regularlry and why I have uncontrollably sweating for a month straight. Is it hot in here?

But now that the hard part is over (writing the checks) I want to take a minute to reflect on the joy that is wedding planning.

If anyone out there is thinking about getting married, STOP IT YOU CRAZY FOOL! RUN! FASTER! ELOPE! RUN LIKE THE WIND AND LEAVE EVERYTHING BEHIND! THERE IS STILL HOPE FOR YOU! FIND A BEACH, A PRIEST AND A MARGARITA!

There is an interesting phenomenon that comes with planning a wedding. Things have a way of...adding up.

For instance, if you want to buy a cake, you can easily get quoted for a couple hundred dollars.

But if you want a WEDDING cake? Well now we are talking closer to four figures. And, apparently, it is bad etiquette to write, "Please give money" on it.

Photographer? Let's just say it is more expensive than the portrait studio at Sears. And they wouldn't let us wear matching Christmas sweaters.

I better look like Brad Pitt in these pictures. Well, Brad Pitt 10 years ago. Dude is starting to look like one of those, "What will you look like in 20 years?" pictures. But he started with a picture of Bea Arthur and THEN had it aged.

And that doesn't even include the flowers, the invitations (I suggested using Evite.com), the dress and dinner.

You add the word "wedding" in front of anything and it is an automatic 200% write-up.

But the word "wedding" isn't even the most expensive one I've run into. In fact, "wedding" is practically CHEAP compared to another word that I've been hearing a lot lately -

"Wife"

I mean...love you, Honey.

Crap, that one is going to cost me.

Caption Contest - Winners!

2010-10-17T20:40:00.003-04:00

Thank you to everyone who submitted captions. I was called Green Goblin, Alex Ovechkin, Green Hornet and Bono. Which, as the Lady Friend can attest, are all people I also enjoy being during role play.

I realize I don't blog much anymore so it was humbling for so many people to take time out of their day to make fun of me on the internet. I'm touched.

On to our winner -

"It's like Bono, only Irish."

Get it?

Because Bono IS Irish?

What can I say, I move in mysterious ways.

That wonderful caption came from Twitter - and the author was none other than common commenter here at the 'Neck, @zwinggi

His lucky self and one guest will be attending Brewzilla as part of Cleveland Beer Week. An amazing event that is like a week long pre-game for my wedding. Like P90X for my liver.

So congrats to @Zwinggi and thank you to all who participated. You boosted and crushed my confidence all at the same time.

And thank you to the wonderful people at Cleveland Beer Week for sponsoring this competition. It is truly a wonderful event and shows off a lot of Cleveland's great traits - as well as their alcoholism.

Caption Contest - Beer Me

2010-10-11T21:40:00.007-04:00

The only way beer could be any better is if there was a way to put gravy on it.

Luckily I've got a fiancee for that.

Perhaps I've said too much...

The good news is that the Cuyahoga river will run brown with beer (wait, that's just sludge) for Cleveland Beer Week beginning this Friday, Rocktober 15th.

And because I love you, I've got two tickets for the Brewzilla event on Saturday, Rocktober 23rd at the Galleria at Erieview. Tickets are normally $50 so you don't even want to know who I had to sleep with to get my hands on these.

What is Brewzilla? A collection of beer, sandwiches, cheese and chocolate. I'm assuming there was legal trouble serving boobies because they nailed the other four things on my top five. But no one is perfect. Over 80 different breweries will be present as well as food pairings from Heinens and the Winking Lizard.

Obviously only local Clevelanderites can win these tickets - but I encourage everyone to participate in the contest because I said so and I'm really good looking.

Here's what you do - write a funny caption for the picture below. If you are a Cleveland local, just add #HappyInCLE after your caption. Be sure to include your email so I can contact you.

Winner will be announced on Friday to celebrate the beginning of Beer Week (and the end of my sobriety).

Non-Clevelandonianese people that want to add a funny caption, feel free to do so. I'll still giggle like a little school girl when I read them - but the best I can give you is an online pat on the back. Maybe I'll squeeze a cheek and tell you you're pretty while I'm at it.

Remember - local Clevelanders include the #HappyInCLE and your email.

Winners announced Friday. Except for me - I'm a winner and I'll announce that whenever the hell I want. Suck it.

Losers Weepers

2010-10-04T13:15:00.003-04:00

While watching my beloved Dolphins get so embarrased on Monday Night Football that even William Hung was like, "Wow, you guys aren't living that one down", I realized something.

I know what would happen if one of my favorite sports teams won a championship.

I would weep like a little baby.

To see the Miami Dolphins holding up that super bowl trophy and seeing the field covered in their god awful colors of aqua and orange would be too much for me.

If the Cleveland Indians somehow pulled off a miracle and won the World Series I would first assume that the world was ending, and then resign myself to the fact my last moments would be spent in the fetal position clutching my Grady Sizemore bobble head doll.

I've played these thoughts out 1,000 times. I think constantly about what I would do, where I would be. Other kids pretend they are the guy hitting the last second jump shot to win the game - I imagine I am in the stands and pull off the perfect first pump / throaty scream / non-beer spill. It would be epic.

But what if my team lost? What if they got that close and then choked (a fairly real area of concern here in Cleveland).

I have no plan for that. I have no idea what my reaction would entail. If winning leads to crying - what strange beast awaits the loser?

Part of me thinks I'd just crap my pants. Literally just fill 'em with mud. Like I'd be sitting on the edge of my seat in anticipation and as I see that game winning field goal go through I would just turd it out.

Or maybe I would just snap and go into a fit of anger - Red Ross style. I'd punch walls and scream and yell and the neighbors would probably call the police because I would sound like a small boy being attacked by a parakeet.

But in the end, I would probably cry then, too.

I mean, that's what happened as I watched another horrible loss, poor Leo DiCaprio in the movie Titanic.

HE WAS SO YOUNG!

*sniff*

Wedding Bells

2010-09-30T09:18:00.003-04:00

I get married exactly one month from today.

Which is really putting a time-crunch on my life's goal of sleeping with Isla Fisher.

But at least I still have all those dates to look forward to in November.

Wait - I can't do that either?

Man, marriage is going to RUIN my dating life.

What A Catch

2010-09-29T09:06:00.006-04:00

This is one of the harder posts I'll ever write.

I realize I rarely get serious here at the 'Neck, but as I've included much of my personal life in this blog, I feel it is only right to continue that relationship for the bad news.

This post is not for sympathy, or therapy - it is merely informational. I know a lot of my friends read this blog and sometimes a blog post can save 100 phone calls and even more awkward conversations.

And I want you all to know that no matter what happens from here on forward there are no hard feelings from either side. We've all been through rough patches, we've all had to give up things we love and we all know the fall-out that ensues.

But it is time to move on.

Deadliest Catch is over.

I know! I know. I am ok - a littl shaken, a little hurt, but I have to be strong.

I will always cherish my time spent with captains Sig, Phil and the Hillstrands. Captain Keith kinda sucked and that new guy? "Wild Bill"? He kinda sucked, too.

But the rest of them I'll miss.

Technically I guess I should be already missing Phil since he got deaded this year, but I haven't really watched since that episode because I kinda maybe had a tiny tear and I didn't want the Lady Friend to see it because then I can't make fun of her when she cries during Glee.

So I guess really I haven't watched Deadliest Catch that much this year. But I used to watch it! A lot. So now I can be sad, right?

I mean, I guess it doesn't really effect me that much. I won't have Tivo Regret when I look at my recorded shows and see I have 4 episodes unwatched. That will be nice.

But on the other hand, I need a new super manly show to offset my Glee obsession. What can I counter with now when people point out that I've blogged about both Glee AND What Not To Wear? Did you not notice that? Maybe I shouldn't have said anything.

And no that is not a tear! I just...got something in my eye.

You're A (Four)Square

2010-09-23T08:39:00.005-04:00

So for those of you non-social media nerds, there is a new app for your phone called FourSquare. It uses GPS and allows you to "check in" to various locations (bars, stores, rehab). If you check in to a location more than anyone else, you become the "Mayor". All of your friends in the app can see where you have visited and stalk accordingly.

Now, a lot of people check in EVERYWHERE. Like gas stations. It is cool to see what bars or concerts my friends are at - but I never need to know when / where you got gas. I'm not going to look at the Lady Friend and be like, "Oh my gosh! Billy is at the Marathon 20 minutes away! We should totally go visit."

But I have the opposite problem - instead of OVER sharing, I UNDER share.

Mostly because I don't want to ruin my cred.

I mean, sure I go to the same McDonald's three times a week - but I don't need people thinking I'm a Fatty McFatinstein Jr. That's why I wear a fake mustache when I go on Wednesdays.

And what if I go to some crappy concert that I don't want my friends to know about. I mean, Lou Bega only comes around so often!

So I only update my FourSquare like once every two weeks.

But that makes me look even more lame. Like I only leave the house twice a month.

And if I'm only leaving the house once every two weeks, why am I checking into all these gas stations?

Cut To The Chase

2010-09-20T08:53:00.005-04:00

One of the great things about getting married is the ridiculous conversations the Lady Friend and I have been having. Last night she declared that if we were ever to have a boy flavored baby, she did not want him to be circumcised.

Yes, we sit around and talk about our non-existent children's privates, don't judge.

I was having none of this. I immediately blasted her with the voice of reason - there are health concerns, hygiene concerns and most importantly - getting made fun of in the gym class shower concerns. Ain't that right, Turtleneck?

After my tirade I asked her what possible reason she had for NOT wanting to have the kid circumcised.

Her response?

Not getting circumcised is in style right now.

Like little boy private parts are all the rage in this year's fall fashion line.

I can just see the Lady Friend walking down the street -

"Hey Sue! Nice shoes, but check out my baby boy's penis."

Well, she does love accessories.