Your Beard is Good

Callin All Freaks Now

2008-08-21T09:25:00.000-07:00

Well yet again I have a post on someone else's blog up. Go to Alice's blog for an awesome tale of Canadian ladies. Also read her blog since she's one of the people on the Interwebs that always has me laughing. If that's not enough someone said she was pretty. So you can use your imagination to what that means. If that's not enough then you can suck it.

Some of you may be asking, "RS27 how are you so popular and sexy that people keep asking you to guest post all the time and you crank out these ridiculously awesome posts?"

To that I would answer.

"Babydoll, it's not easy being me."

To that you would answer.

"But I wasn't finished, why are the posts on this blog not as good as the guest posts?"

Then I would kick you in the groin. I don't take criticism well.

I might as well start characterizing myself as a guest star at this point. Sort of like Ellen Travolta on Charles in Charge. You know, you would be watching this great episode where Buddy Lembeck got Charles all in trouble with the Powells because he brought some hot blondes over and they got caught by the grandfather. Then Charles would have to go down to the pizza parlor and talk to his mom about it and you would be all disappointed because those scenes were so lame and you just wanted them to get back to the house so you can maybe catch a glimpse of Nicole Eggert getting out of the shower or something.

Um, takebacks?

LEMBECK!

Maybe we should have went with the Nate Dogg comparison instead. Next time.

As has been noted on this blog before I absolutely hate flying. It's something about being 30,000 feet in the air and having no control about the possible outcome that makes me want to urinate, but not in the bathroom. I get really nervous on airplanes and am generally a bad flier. When my flight got cancelled on Saturday up to the Bay Area I had to actually make a stop on the way up there. To put this in perspective here is what that's equivalent to.

Stopping in Baltimore on a flight from NY to DC
Stopping in Bloomington, Indiana from Chicago to St. Louis.
Stopping at the urinal on the way to the sink in the bathroom.

Its ridiculous. So I re-book my flight and head on over to the gate to get ready to board a plane which is now stopping in Santa Barbara on my way to San Jose. Awesome. So we're ready to board on our plane and the dude says, "everyone can now board Flight whatever to Santa Barbara." Hmm, that's odd, why don't they call everyone by sections? So I head down to that little thing that connects the Airplane to the terminal and I'm walking around and I get to the end and...

THERE'S NO PLANE!

I look to my right and I see this puddle jumper and I'm already freaking the f--- out. I have to get on this thing? Why doesn't someone just make some paper wings and throw me off of a cliff? If I flap really hard maybe I can get some distance. I board the plane and look around at all the calm and collected people while I'm frantically holding onto my seat arm. Because if this plane goes down, me holding onto the seat arm will save me. Saw it on TV once.

I think it was Lost.

After a pretty uneventful ride to Santa Barbara which pretty much consisted of me creeping out the flight attendant because I was staring at how cute she was, I got out of the plane ready to go to the bathroom. Since I had an hour layover I had time to find a bathroom and unleash the fury. I run inside to an airport that was the size of my apartment. I couldn't believe it. There was one counter, about 50 seats and that's about it. They still had one of those boards where you manually had to put up the arriving and departing times and the flight numbers.

It felt very little league.

In fact on the back wall was an employee of the month plaque. That's right. A plaque. At an airport. Let me tell you something about being employee of the month at the airport. If you don't crash the plane, you win. Step right up and get your free cupcake! On the plaque were two names and the second name was crooked. Not only are we in a 1930s airport (were there planes in the 30s? No? Well that makes that analogy better) they couldn't get the names put on straight. If I was Megan Martinez I would be pissed.

"Excuse me, where's your bathroom?"
"We don't have one?"
"Excuse me?"
"Sorry we don't have one?"
" There's no bathroom in here at all?"
"Not for customers."
"That makes no sense. So if I have to sit here for an hour I have to hold it?"
"I'm sorry, yes you will."

At this point I would normally throw a fit. But considering my skin complexion, my bag and the fact I hadn't shaved in 5 days it was for the best that I kept it to myself. No need to get the Anti-Terrorism task force all up in my grill.

Again.

I wish Lembeck brought me some ladies.

I Got an Aunt Ruth That Can't Remember Your Name

2008-08-19T10:59:00.000-07:00

A week with the family is often a relaxing thing for most people. You fly to Sanjose (population 974,000, Asian population 1.2 million. Not sure how that works out, but I'm no mathemetice), you catch up, you laugh, you eat authentic Indian food and then you proceede to realize one major thing.

You are the dumbest person in your family.

I don't know when exactly that transformation happened, but when hanging out this weekend with my parents and some of my cousins (and second cousins) I hadn't seen in a few years it became painfully obvious. The kids that I knew that were just growing up had graduated from Georgetown, were going to NYU and basically reciting things that I had never heard of. Case in point, my second cousin has a nicer phone than me and was telling me the degrees in crookedness of Lombard St. and some other street that I thought he made up, but he didn't. He then proceeded to tell me how airplanes fly, how to move the ribcage during surgery, and the correct pigmentation of Michael Jackson's skin.

He's 12.

The Michael Jackson thing was freaky.

In full disclosure of this blog here are a few more things I learned this weekend with the family. Before I start a big FU of the week to United for cancelling my flight and making LAX look like Times Square on New Years. Thanks.

1. Indians drag out everything. If something is supposed to take 10 minutes it takes 20. If its supposed to take an hour it takes 2 and if it's supposed to last 3 hours( like a cricket match) it takes 7 days. On Saturday, one of my cousins was doing some kind of dance recital where I alternated between falling asleep and trying to find a sharp object to make myself bleed so I would have an excuse to leave the theater. I looked at the program and it said it was 6 acts. Really how long can 6 acts be? An hour tops? I mean it's just one girl dancing around in proper Indian dress and waht not. Nope it wasn't an hour.

4 MOTHER F"IN HOURS!

Seriously, can someone give my family a watch? It doesn't even have to be fancy. It could be a hello kitty watch. As long as it tells time. For real? 4 hours of sitting there and watchign someone dance is not my idea of fun. Well, unless said dance involves a girl named Ginger, some 80s rock like "Pur some sugra on me" and some glitter with my hands filled with singles.

Then yes.

2. My family can't pronounce certain words. I've known this for a long time (like my whole life) but it was in full display this weekend. The first couple times of pronouncing something wrong is cute and funny but the 8th time hearing your mom say Gran-night avenue instead of granite gets a little annoying. Here are the words that were mispronounced this weekend.

Perseverance ( pronounced Per-Seaver-ance) 4 times
Epitome (Epitomb) 2 times
Creek (Crick) 8 times
Feet (Foots) 12 times

I'm sure they're were many more but my head starting hurting after a little while and I pretended that I was not actually hearing the mispronunciations of those words.

3. My dad knows how to read - For some reason anytime we're in a different town my dad has to read every single sign that is on the road. Including storefronts.

"Oh honey there's a ...Star..bucks. Stevens road, Pancake house, McDonald's, Carls Jr, Szechuan number one best Chinese."

It goes on and on like that the whole weekend. I don't understand why he has to read EVERY single one. Dad, we get it. you're literate. You don't have to prove yourself to anyone else here. to cap it off he always has to relate everything back to me. So he'll read a sign and say, "Oh Starbucks..."

"Do you have a Starbucks in LA?"

No, we don't. LA is some alien planet that doesn't have Starbucks which I'm pretty sure is now more plentiful than air. Wait, let me look that up. Yes, There is more Starbucks than air on Earth.

4. My parents don't like me being immature. When we were at the recital on Saturday they were introducing all the dance teachers and the first one comes out and the MC goes, "She studied dance in BANG-alor."

I lost it.

I was giggling like a 4th grader that just got a big sugar rush from downing 8 pixie sticks and snorting one up his nose. As I was giggling my dad asked me what was so funny. I just responded, "you wouldn't get it," and kept giggling to myself. The second teacher came up and the MC goes again, "Studied in BANG-alor"

At this point I was hysterically laughing in the second row of the auditorium while everyone looked at me. My dad hit me in the arm and told me to have some respect.

"But dad, BANG-alor. Get It Bang?"
"Get out"

I'm stupid.

Move Along

2008-08-18T09:29:00.000-07:00

I'm over here today doing a guest blog. In real life I'm over here.

No, not a Full House remake because the Olson's scare me and did something to Heath Ledger.

But in the city.

Let's hope I didn't get run over by a cable car.

I Will Be The Flame (possibly NSFW)

2008-08-15T09:54:00.000-07:00

Sadly after many, many, many man hours; Olympic hotties week has come to an end. It's been a fun ride even though the dude pictures were a little much. In fact I'm pretty sure half naked dudes on my blog got me flagged by the FBI for some kind of weird terrorist watch network. Damn now I just wrote terrorist. And I'm brown. It's not going to be a good week. Let's finish off Olympic hotties week the only way I know how.

Hot babes.

And fine, a couple dudes.

(Reminder, if you go further this may be possibly NSFW. I mean its 2008 so it shouldn't be, but some businesses don't appreciate the human species. For those business I bite my thumb at you. Been reading some old time literature.)

First up Stephanie Rice, swimmer, of Australia. I would like to swim in her pool indeed. See what I did there? No? No? Pool is a metaphor for stuff.

Not only does Stephanie look good, she has 3 more gold medals than all the readers of this blog combined. And a New world record. For sexiness.

Now the dudes. God this pains me. (See how equal opportunity I am! Why must I be so giving?!?!) Two guys nominated by my friend Michelle who has been watching the Olympics intently for the eye candy. Or as she so eloquently put it in G chat, "I want to lick lick lick them from their head to their toes." Oh god, I just vomited. Again. Two dudes that are, just I don't know, a couple of dudes.

First up Alexander Despatie, diving, from Canada. If there's one thing Canadians are good at it's styling and profiling. (ed note: never do this again. By this, I mean this whole thing.)

The second guy up is Stephanie Rice's ex -boyfriend, Eamon Sullivan, swimmer, of Australia. As you can see the ladies like the English speaking countries. "Throw another shrimp on the barbie, guv'nah. cheerio! Eh?" Those crazy non-Americans.

And of course we're not ending with good ole' Eamon. We're ending with the only thing that could possibly the end the hottest Olympians edition.

Twins.

Bia and Branca Feres, synchronized swimming, from Brazil. Where do I get my "Bonkers for Branca" t-shirt? Or my "Ride My Feres Wheel" hoodie? Let's just say, yes and yes.

First Brazil gives us the wax and now this? I think its safe to say Brazil is the greatest land of all the lands.

Viva Brazil!

And for you more adventurous types, there's a video on You Tube of my favorite Synchro team.

That's what they call it in the biz. Synchro. Lingo is great.

I was going to write a real post today but, um, this video is kind of....

Gotta go.

Court is in Session, The Verdict is In

2008-08-14T10:28:00.000-07:00

Our hottie Olympic week continues with a 4 pack of Germans. Yes Germans be hot. Especially when they pose for playboy. We have the lovely sailor Petra Niemann, canoeist Nicole Reinhardt, Field hockey player Katharina Scholz and, my personal favorite, judo fighter Romy Tarangul. When I meet Romy I won't make any Romy and Michelle jokes because she can kick my ass. Well so can a 10 year old, but that's neither here nor there. (much love to Thespoiler.Co.UK for the censored pics. This is a family blog. The Kingdom knows what's up)

Nackte Mädchen machen mich glücklich ja.

I believe in the above statement.

For some uncensored pics because I know we all love the uncensored stuff, go here to bask in the glory that are women that are free with their bodies. I haven't been to the site, but I heard its awesome from someone. Twice, in fact, I heard it was awesome.

And for anyone else who likes this sort of thing, here's Alexa's favorite Water Poloist, Tony Azevedo from the USA. He was not in the German Playboy. Sucka

Also click here for Tony's photo shoot for Creed. If he was in Creed.

Last night I was at the good ole grocery store at around 1030 after a rousing game of how do we fit a couch through my doorway without losing my security deposit.

Worst Game Ever.

I was walking up and down the aisles to just look for something to eat for dinner. Yup, eating dinner at 1030. Screw you fitness instructors telling me that's not good for me. I'll eat my Chef Boyardee whenever I please. The first thing I do is grab a Gatorade from the refreshments aisle. Sweet Sweet Gatorade how you always quench my thirst and then make me even more thirsty than before. But it's only one dollar so how could you go wrong?

As I'm walking through the store I'm flipping the Gatorade bottle in the air, doing some flair tricks because I can never just have something in my hands. I always have to messing around with it and catching it and basically looking like a jackass. As I'm pondering what world cause Bono will take up next, I stumble upon the frozen pizza aisle. Is there anything better than frozen pizza?

Yes

But since I was hungry I decided to grab one of those Celeste: Pizza for Ones that are so delicious. (Aside- Is there anything more depressing than pizza for one? They might as well put on the box, "Hey Stupid, we know you're lonely and have no one so we made a pizza that YOU and only you can eat because we know that you won't be sharing . You pathetic individual. Go play some solitaire." I always hesitate to buy it because then you have to explain yourself at the register. "No ,no I have a girlfriend, totally, but she's away for the month so I'm buying this pizza. No, we don't buy groceries because she's lazy. Ok I'm alone. Hold me")

I open the freezer door and my worst fear takes shape. No, Andy Dick didn't show up. I dropped the Gatorade on the ground and broke the cap off of it. Fruit Punch spills all over the floor of aisle 7. I'm not talking about one spot. It spilled all the way across the aisle. Why is Gatorade in a round bottle? It encourages mass spillage. If it was in a square it wouldn't keep rolling on the floor.

I call dibs on square Gatorade.

As I pick up the bottle I step all in the red juice on the ground and pick up the destroyed sports drink. As I'm walking up to the front to let them know they need cleanup on aisle 7, I notice that I'm leaving Gatorade footprints all through the store.

Classy.

I walk up to the front and hand my busted drink to the nice 16 year old kid working there and do the only thing I could possibly do.

I ran.

I ran out of the store and into my car and left. I didn't want to pay for a half full Gatorade. Then I would ahve to buy a full one and that means I'm paying for two Gaotrade and only getting the juice of one and half. Blasphemous! I won't have my thirst quencher devalued like that. I won't stand for it.

After I started up my car and laughed at how cunning I am, I drove to the next supermarket and bought my pizza for one. I ate it and it was great as usual.

Then I played solitaire.

Its Like I'm Paranoid Looking Over My Back

2008-08-12T11:31:00.000-07:00

Our Olympic Hotties week continues with Leryn Franco of Paraguay who throws a mean javelin. Into the hearts of men everywhere. Cupid jokes rule!

Leryn has a 2007 calendar out if anyone would like to purchase 70 one. I bought one because I don't have anything in my apartment that tells me what month it is. Sure it might be for '07, but I still need to know what month comes after April. I always stumble on that.

(side note: If you disagree with the Olympic hottie of the day you cannot just say you disagree. You must provide a 350 word reason why followed by a 200 word rebuttal to the reason so I have both sides. Or you must give another person for nomination. Either way.)

And for the ladies, ugh, here's a picture of some dude with his shirt off. Whatever. We're not pieces of meat.

Ryan Lochte - USA- Swimming

Anytime you read Men's Health or MSN.com or Highlights magazine they always tell you the best places to pick up women. It's always the usual. Grocery Store, Book Store, Toys R Us. They never tell you what to do when you want to talk to someone in awkward places. Why won't they tell me what to do when I meet a girl walking into the men's room at a bar? Wouldn't that be the easiest place to pick someone up?

"Hey baby, gotta pee?"

"Yes"

"Awesome, lets dance, but wash your hands first. "

It shouldn't be that hard. On Saturday I went to the bank to deposit my extremely large paycheck into my extremely large bank account with my extremely large fingers. Damn. Ruined that sentence. Anyways, since I go to the bank often I usually run into the same tellers. They give me a wink, a smile and a free lollipop before depositing my check and giving me back the $5 I requested be taken out of the check for a delish Subway Sub.

Shameless plug.

This past Saturday I went up to a new teller and let's just say she was the most amazing teller in the history of bank tellers. Perfect typing ability, nice eyes, nice customer service, good hair, quick transaction time, nice boo...bone structure. Once I went up to her I was googly eyed and really couldn't even speak. Normally that kind of things only happens to me during the week every time I talk to a woman, not on a Saturday morning at the bank.

I had entered the Twilight Zone. (I'm not sure what that is, but it sounded good).

I walked up to her and handed her my check (yes I don't have direct deposit because our HR department is a freakin' mess) while trying not to stare a hole through her when she put my info into the computer. She looked up and cutely mispronounced my name and I corrected her. She giggled. Giggling is good right? Dammit. Why did I not bring my Maxim magazine with me? I think its on page 85. She kept smiling the whole time and I thought I got it. Got what? Got milk? What? I'm stupid.

As I was standing there I wondered if there is proper protocol for asking someone out when they are standing behind glass and looking at your bank account. Ok that's strike one. She already knows my net worth is less than most 12 year olds. Maybe I should slide my phone number on the piece of paper that she gives back to me. Yeah that would be smooth. Ladies love the smooth like James Dean. James Dean was great. I wouldn't know, but he sounds great. While I was contemplating all of these scenarios she turned back to me and said...

"Do you want to open up a credit card with us?"

"um, well, um, you see I just opened a thing with, um, uhhhh, yeah."

I was bumbling like a fool. I couldn't even speak around this girl. It was embarrassing.

"What was that? It's free to open."

"You see I have a credit thing."

A credit thing? A credit thing? I am officially the dumbest man in America. Maybe North America.

"You don't have to..."

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes I'll open one."

She could have offered to break a vase over my head and would have relented. She could have offered to push me out of a plane with no parachute and I would have said yes.

WHERE IS MY WILLPOWER?!?!

After opening a credit card I don't need or want I walked out of the Bank wondering how I could be so overcome that I couldn't speak.

Next time I go to the bank I'm going right up to her and demanding her to have coffee with me.

Or I'll never go to the bank again.

Some of Them Want to Abuse You, Some of Them Want to Be Abused

2008-08-11T11:43:00.000-07:00

It seems as if Michael Phelps caused quite a stir among the people that like hard bodied male athletes.

I am not one of those.

A lot of people were distracted by that pic of Mike. If you made it to then end of the last post, congrats. Some of you didn't such as..

Ben said...
I'm sorry. I have no idea what you said after the link to the picture.Seriously. Not a clue.

Marie said...
Oh...my...GOD. I'm still slobbering over the picture

Lauren said...
Um, yeah, I kind of stopped reading after that linked picture to him. It's still on my screen. It says hello.What were you saying about pancakes?

A Martini Always Helps said...
Drool......Wait, what were you saying?

I now understand that people like other hot people. Me? I like myself very much. Hey-OH! Anyways, to celebrate the hotness, this week will be Hottest Olympic athletes week where the picture will be one of a hot Olympic athlete. Because if its hottest Olympic athlete week and they were hot actors or something it would be weird and kind of make no sense. Like Gary Busey everyday. I'll be taking suggestions for anyone that they feel deserves this honor this week.

We'll kick off Monday with Rhythmic Gymnast Almudena Cid from Spain. She's spicy.

See what I did there? Spanish. Spicy. Damn, I'm clever.

Saturday evening my phone was stolen. Outside of actually being killed this is probably the worst thing that could happen to a human being. I would rather have my wallet, my keys, my car stolen before someone takes my cellphone. Hell you can have my brother. Just take him, but leave me with my cellphone.

What am I going to check and fidget with when people annoy me at bars and I want to pretend I'm popular? How am I going to send out funny text messages at 12:45 AM on a Sunday?

HOW WILL I LIVE?!?!

When I play basketball at the park I never bring my cellphone there. Saturday I did because my friend was going to call me to meet up so I decided to bring it. You know just in case the phone rang during the middle of the game I could call a quick timeout and go over and chat about how freakin' Angelina and Brad are adopting AGAIN. Please stop.

The short story is that I left my cell phone on the bench at the park. I went to play basketball and since I'm super intense and undeniably focused at shutting down mad peeps that go one on one ( see: standing and hoping to touch the ball) someone jacked my phone from the bench. Maybe I should have learned my lesson from the key stealing incident, but I am a glutton for punishment.

And pizza.

Love pizza.

After I came back to the bench and noticed my Motorola Razr (you leave out the "O" because it's hip) missing I went into a mild panic and started frantically searching the park. It was at this point I did what any reasonable person in my situation would do.

I asked every homeless person to borrow their cellphone.

You see because I knew one of them had taken it. I know the process of interrogation. You have to try to trick the criminal. What better way to trick them to ask them for a cellphone? Then when they let me borrow one, I catch them dirty handed and fingerlessed glove when they hand over my phone. We all know homeless people are cooperative. Why wouldn't they be? A genius idea if I do say so myself.

As I asked the 6 homeless in the park for a cell phone and for some reason none of them had one. I don't get it. How do they call people? They must have some super secret homeless Psychic network. Probably sponsored by Miss Cleo since she has nothing better to do.

Call me now indeed.

So as my interrogation process failed and the search party came up empty, I decided to deal with my fate. My cell phone was gone. I had to go to karaoke night and sing Tom Jones without the comfort of knowing someone could text me and ask if the girl in the corner of the bar was a guy or girl. Instead we had to talk about it out loud. It was uncomfortable.

If anyone sees a homeless person in Santa Monica with a Razr phone with the back missing, kick him in the groin.

Then ask him for change.

Aint Too Proud to Beg

2008-08-08T09:35:00.000-07:00

With the Olympics getting underway tomorrow (or today or whatever the hell time it is in China) it is with great pleasure that I unveil to you one of my secrets. It's something I hadn't planned on telling anyone, but I feel like on Olympic eve it's just the right time to do it.

Michael Phelps is my bff.

Now, some of you may be asking who is Michael Phelps. Some of you may be wondering how you get Michael Phelps' phone number and lastly some of you may be wondering how you can see the god like physique of Michael Phelps on display in a bedroom near you.

I can't help you with any of that.

Michael Phelps is an American swimmer that's trying to erase Mark Spitz's (He's Jewish!) name from the record book for ~~greatest moustaches ever~~ most Olympic gold medals in one Olympiad. You might remember Spitz famously donning a Speedo in 1972, collecting 7 gold medals and showing the world that mustachioed people everywhere will not be taken lightly as they have the previous 196 years of America's existence.

Tom Selleck, BOW BEFORE YOUR GOD!

One thing that is almost certain, barring some bad Panda Express in China, is that Phelps will obliterate the record for lifetime gold medals in this Olympics. The record is 9 and Phelps already has 6. That record is tied by Spitz and by none other than the ever talented Carl Lewis. Seen here. (There's a Finnish Dude and a Russian girl tied in there with 9 gold medals also, but they're not American so most people don't care because Americans are self serving and in differential to other cultures. But remember, America, land of the free. Right? Right?)

Anyways back in 2003 when Mike, I call him Mike because we're best buds, was training with the North Baltimore Aquatic Club he was just a growing 18 year old getting ready for the Athens Olympics. I was a creepy 23 year old living outside Baltimore just looking to latch on to the fame and success of others with more will and determination than myself.

My mom says I've gotten worse.

I had read in a wonderful article by the Baltimore Sun about Mikey P's daily regimen in training for the Olympics. It consisted of basically swimming all day. Boring. But since he did swim all day he had one of the most ridiculous breakfast spreads I had ever read about. I'm talking 4 stacks of pancakes, 8 pounds of hash browns, 321 bacon strips, 68 sausage links, 10 hard boiled eggs, 14 omelette's. and only one glass of orange juice. (some of that may be approximate). Guy's a trooper. Since he was burning so many calories he had to replenish himself after he worked out at 5 AM. It was ridiculous. Anyways, after I finished reading the article I gave the homeless person back his newspaper hat went on my way.

One day while driving around a suburb of Baltimore I saw a tall lanky white man in the distance. He was gangly a little aloof and smiling. I know what you guys are all thinking and no, it wasn't Dustin Diamond. Too bad. Anyways as I park my car and start heading into an IHOP I see him. My boy Mike just walking around. I always like meeting famous people. Especially ones that are younger than me and already an infinitesimal amount more successful than I'll ever be.

I cry at night.

I get up to about 10 feet from Phelps and start maybe the greatest friendship a guy could ever ask for. Well outside of being Chuck Norris friend. He kicks ass. Like literally.

Me- "Dude, Pancakes? Totally love them. Syrup and all that good stuff."
Michael Phelps- "Pancakes are good."
Me- "Yes."

Nothing else was said. Nothing else needed to be said. Just like that a bond was formed. A connection. A bond over pancakes. I can feel it. Me and Michael Phelps, Aunt Jemima's lost sons. Mike hasn't called me in 5 years, but I know he's thinking about me. He's been busy with this Olympics nonsense. But he'll call after he's done dream chasing and we'll go out and get chicks together and laugh about the good times. So many good times.

Phelps is going for 8 golds in 8 days starting on 8-8-08.

The symmetry is so sweet.

Ask him about the pancakes if you see him.

Can't Stop Til I See My Name on a Blimp

2008-08-07T10:25:00.000-07:00

For a person that's never been arrested or really been in trouble with any authority my whole life, I've been kicked out of a lot of places in my life.

Except bed.

By myself.

What?

Anyways, I don't really hang out with a rough crowd unless you count guys that understand what http means or guys that don't talk to girls or the one dude with tattoos all up and down his forearms that's eats small babies. But it's cool because babies are his necessary fuel to live for the day.

Just trying to live.

I was thinking about this the other day. The last 10 years I have been kicked out of a variety of places for the actions of my friends with no fault of my own. Hey, I'm just watching. Well I could stop my friends for doing something stupid, but that would be stifling their creativity and who am I to stop someone from possible becoming the next Picasso? Well the next alive Picasso. Maybe not Picasso. How about the next Marc Curry. Hanging with Mr. Cooper?!?! Creative Genius!

In order to satisfy myself I've decided to come up with my top 5 places I've been kicked out of the last 8 years. I figure this will make me happy for the non-rebellious person that I am.

5. O'Brien's Pub- Los Angeles, CA - 2006

We go to O' Briens which have 2 people in it after a concert on a Monday night. The bartender decides after one drink that he's not going to serve my friend. My friend becomes furious and instead of yelling and screaming like she normally does, she smiles, waits for the bartender to turn around and tips over a whole row of glasses behind the bar. Glass shatters. She laughs. I cry. And we are told to "get the hell out"

4. FFFFF- Hermosa Beach, CA - 2007

While drinking heavily on the Hermosa Pier we're at a bar with an overhang looking over a courtyard. My friend's boyfriend goes outside into the courtyard for a cigarette. My friend decided it would be an awesome idea to try to pour her beer into her boyfriend's mouth from about 30 feet in the air. I root them on because I like athletic endeavors. Big Bouncer sees us and tells us to leave right now. I try to rationalize with 300 pound man. 300 pound man grabs my arm and leads me out. I do not argue any longer.

3. McDonalds - NYC -2000

We spent a spring break in NYC one year at my friend's cousin's sweet high rise pad on the upper west side of the city. We decide to go down to the Soup Nazi of Seinfeld fame and get our soup. There are no seats at the Soup Nazi place because that wouldn't be very Nazi of him. So we take our soup into the neighboring McDonald's to sit down. After looking us over for 5 minutes the manager comes over and informs us that we can't eat outside food in McDonald's. Conversation ensued.

Manager- "Excuse me you have to leave"
Friend - "What if I buy something"
Manager- "Then you can eat it here"
Friend - "What if i buy a soda. Everyone needs soda to wash down a meal."
Manager- "Then you can drink the soda"
Friend- "After I eat? Gotcha"
Manager- " You have to go"
Friend- "Supersize?"
Manager- "I'm calling security"
Friend- "See ya!"

2. Quad - Syracuse - 2001

Now while this may seem highly impropable my roommate and I did it in the summer of 2000. We were staying at our house for the summer and Syracuse was having a student appreciation something or other on the Quad. But instead of giving away refreshments, students could use their student card to buy refreshments. Lame.

My roommate and I decided it would be splendid to go down there and hand out free lemonade ala the old Tom Green "Undercutters" skit. Undercutting the competition. After handing out lemonade out of our sweet life size Gatorade bucket that was in a shopping cart, campus security escort us off the quad for selling "unlicensed refreshments". When we told the lady we were giving it away for free, she just retorted, "well aren't you special?" The Real Life Church Lady! I knew Dana Carvey took that from a real person.

All of it is recorded on videotape and the public safety officer followed us all the way home and told us to "not come back". Um we go to school here lady. You don't tell..Oh, she pulled out her mace..RUN!!!!

1. Hancock Airport- Syracuse -2002

As an assignment for my journalism class, in which I despised and hated every single person in there because they were all TV geeks and I was cool, I headed out to the only airport in town. Like Mike Seaver cool when he was hanging out with Boner Stabbone. I walk in with my bulky camera and start filming everything. Military personel, kids eating ice cream, up women's skirts. Anything that had any journalistic value at all. As I make my way upstairs to the security area to film some sweet bag screeners I get stopped by the police. The real motherf'ing Po po. 5-0.. The pigs. The fuzz. The do-dos. Ok, I'll stop. They confiscate my camera which was rented with my student id from the school and my tape.

Me- "Um, I kind of need that camera back because I can't afford replacing it."
Police- "Well you can't tape in here. It's illegal."
Me- "I didn't see a sign, I thought it was..."
Police- "You giving me lip boy?"
Me- (wetting my pants) " N-N-N- No s-s-s-sir."
Police- "Good, I'm keeping this tape. Here's your camera and please leave the premises"
Me- "Yes, sir. Over and out."
Police - "What?"
Me - "Just leaving, just leaving."

I went back to class to relay the story where I was scolded by my professor for giving up the tape. We have to fight for the tape, he repeated. I repeated that he had a gun. He asked me if I wanted to be a journalist. I said no. He said then what do you want to be. I said an NBA player or really rich. I will settle for marrying rich though and being a bum.

I won.

Rendezvous then I'm Through With You

2008-08-06T09:20:00.000-07:00

There are a few things I don't understand in this cruel, cruel world that has reaped upon me the sacrifices of young love and Nintendo. (I don't know if this sentence made sense, but I wanted to work in Nintendo somehow) Most of them have to do with why can't you wear white after labor day, who really is Ryan Seacrest deep inside, and why CAN'T we be friends? But one thing above all I will never understand.

Car Alarms.

I know pretty in depth stuff, but seriously I don't get the car alarm. I had a huge conversation on Sunday night with one of my friends about the virtues and ineptitude of the car alarm. Then this morning while I was dreaming about rhinoceros and silly leprechauns I was awoken for the 87th straight Tuesday by a car alarm going off. The reason? Because the garbage truck is too loud.

The thing I don't get about the alarm de caro is how everyone is so care free about it.

" Hey, I think you're alarm is going off"
" No prob," *leans out window and hits button.

How is this alarm protecting you from anything? Seriously. I have never ever seen anyone hear their car alarm and run outside and think their car is being stolen. All of my friends just find the nearest window and hit their little button and off goes the alarm. Presto. Done and done. The car alarm is just a hindrance to society.

That's right I said it.

What is the car alarm good for? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Say it again!

It wakes people up in the morning. It's annoying with its series of sirens and beep boop boops, and eeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwsssssss. It makes dogs bark. It makes cats somewhat bearable. They go off in mall parking garages bouncing off the walls and making you go insane. It makes me put a pillow over my face and stop all air flow to my vital organs therefore making me incapable of breathing and slowly killing me.

I really didn't want to bring this up, but car alarms cause cancer.

I'm sure in the manual of car alarms it doesn't say, "When alarm goes off, just pretend that its not going off and turn off said alarm therefore insuring any thief the capability of stealing your car with no worries." And if you bought a car alarm that said that on the warning label then you my friend are a sucker. I'm sorry, someone had to say it.

How does a car alarm help you if you're not in the vicinity of the car? I just want to know. If you're shopping at the sweet new Hot Topic at the mall looking for the newest Gwar t-shirt you're not going to hear the alarm going off. If you're at Dodger Stadium getting a 10 dollar Rolling Rock because a Rolling Rock is an import according to the girl behind the counter and even when you point out Rolling Rock comes from Latrobe, PA she still says, "Pennsylvania is pretty far," you ain't going to hear the alarm. Your car could be gone and to top it off you have annoyed the rest of society because it went off for 2 minutes on repeat.

Suck it noise.

While at my friends place on Sunday an alarm goes off in the alley. He nonchalantly grabs his keys and shuts off the alarm because our riveting game of video game football couldn't be interrupted by such things. After the game ended and I whooped his ass we got into a discussion about why even have a car alarm.

Me- "Hey wouldn't it be funny if your car wasn't there when you go outside?"
Friend - "Why wouldn't be out there? I have an alarm."
Me- "Um, do you remember 10 minutes ago, your alarm went off and you shut it off."
Friend - "Dude, no one's taking my car. I have an alarm."
Me- "So what if I went to your car, kicked your tires, waited for you to shut off your alarm because your lazy ass wont come outside and hijacked that biatch?"
Friend- "I would be outside before that happened."
Me- "How? If the Princess Diaries was on, you wouldn't move"
Friend "Great movie"
Me- " Car alarms are wasteful."
Friend - "You won't be saying that when your car gets stolen. Alarms care off thieves."
Me- "Not a smart thief."
Friend - "Thieves are dumb by nature otherwise they would own Fortune 500 companies."
Me- "You can make the statement that those people are thieves."
Friend - "Rich thieves. You wouldn't be saying this if you had a car alarm."
Me- "That's why I have The Club. Take that dummy."
Friend- "But you never put it on"
Me- "Understood"

What was the point of this post?

The Club is great.

If I Could Find You Now Things Would Get Better

2008-08-04T10:28:00.000-07:00

(For another recap of Chardsy and yours truly getting into a strangers car, go here. It's a doozy)

Ever since the first day I stepped onto California soil as a resident of this sun drenched and fake plastic trees state, I've made one statement that I have stuck by.

People from New Jersey love the state of New Jersey.

Now you may be asking what one statement has to do with another. Well pretty much nothing. Nothing at all. But since I moved across the country it's obvious that people from New Jersey love their state, anything from their state and most importantly love the fact that we don't live there anymore.

+1 us.

On Saturday a group of us headed down to the 6 man volleyball tournament in Manhattan Beach. If you want a description of the madness that ensues there go read this blog by SO@24 He does a lot better job describing it than I can. Mostly because I would describe the scene as something out a college coming of age movie on the beach. With beer. And Bikinis. And people. Oh and this guy from Road Rules 1. Here's a pic to demonstrate the ludicrusosity (made it up).

(side note: So every year teams come out for the tournament with different agendas. Some teams try to win, but most teams try to come up with a great costume idea and just have fun on the beach. This year's costume winner? A bunch of guys dressed as old time wrestling characters. Hulk Hogan, Andre the Giant, and so on. Now while that is awesome in itself, let me also mention that before the match started they put up ropes around the court to make it look like a wrestling ring. COSTUMES OF THE DECADE! I'm ok with that statement. Much better than the team of Jack Sparrows. Hello, guys. Full pirate outfits on the beach? Um, no.)

Seeing as it is one enormous party on the beach everyone must figure out a way to smuggle alcohol onto the sand. What's a beach party without alcohol? Probably a lame Bette Midler movie.

As we head down to the beach a couple of my friends had a jug full of vodka that they decided to mix in with the Gatorade we brought. Oh yes, we are 19. Take that America! As they pour the vodka into the Gatorade bottles we get busted. I'm pretty sure we were the only people on the beach to get busted for alcohol all day.

We're sneaky.

A couple of my friends head up to the grocery store to get more liquor while the rest of us go down to the water. I jump in the ocean for a couple minutes and then head out to meet a couple of my other friends that had a tent by all the volleyball action. I put on my sweet Rutgers: The State University of New Jersey t shirt because I was freezing and I have to represent the state school of the homeland when I got out and headed over. No more than 8 times did I get stopped with this various reaction. (Reminder: I did not go to Rutgers)

"Dude, NEW JERSEY RULES!"
"RUTGERS, WHOO!"
" I WENT TO RUTGERS TOO! GO JERSEY!"
"LOOK OUT, BROWN PERSON!"

I've never seen a reaction like that. People were stopping me and asking me where in Jersey I was from, giving me high fives, girls were flashing the goods at me (not true) and all in all people loved the shirt.

I get to the tent my buddies had and we were all chatting and having a good time when I went inside the tent to grab a beer. I get to the cooler and this one guy goes, "Oh my god, a Rutgers t shirt? That's great." I don't know if I was more terrified at his love for a school in the middle of New Jersey or that he sounded like a 13 year old girl that just figured out that cell phones can send text messages.

Guy- "Dude we need to shotgun a beer"
Me- "Huh?"
Guy- " Let's go me and you, shotgunning a beer for New Jersey!"
Me - "Is that the state motto? I'm pretty sure we don't need to do ..."

* hands me a beer with a hole in it

Guy -"YEAH!"
Me- *shrugs "We're doing it!"

So I ended up shotgunning a beer. Something I had never done before. I can't turn down my New Jersey brethren like that. Its not neighborly. I felt like I was somehow being initiated into some secret California New Jersey society where we all bond over how we kind of know where you're from and then to seal the deal we start poking holes in random things.

We're a classy, classy bunch.

After that rousing display we decide to leave and head back to Hermosa Beach and call it a day. Only one problem.

Everyone left me.

So as I try to figure out where everyone went I start walking back because trying to get a cab down there is like trying to not watch Shark Week when a shark is attacking Ryan Seacrest. Impossible. A walk that Google maps (it's the bomb. True that. Double True) puts at a rousing 2.5 miles. Fantastic. As I start walking I realize this isn't worst it and I just sit down on the sidewalk.

Cue sad RS face.

Finally a cab comes by with two people in it and I yell out, "Hermosa?" The cab stops and the nice couple inside say, "Yeah, that's where we're going. You want to split one?"

HELL YES!

I get in and start the ride.

"Hey, you went to Rutgers?"

Damn.

We're everywhere.

I leave you with what the shore in New Jersey is like during the summer because it is You tube Monday.

(some NSFW language, but it's cool)

Here's Another Barn Burner For the Slow Learners

2008-08-01T09:18:00.000-07:00

If anybody wants to read anything substantial from me, you've come to the wrong place today. Everyone go to La Dolce Vita to read a hilarious (not so much) post (so much) on my blogging friend Dolce's page. When you're there browse around and see all the fun stuff that you can still do even if you're married.

Marriage = lame. Except for Dolce because her husband still gets flashed by other women.

Note to self : Get cool wife.

It's the beginning of August so I'm posting my favorite posts from the month of July. Also it's a no pants Friday so I don't feel like writing two posts for the price of none. Also I'll be spending my weekend watching half naked babes prancing on the sand so I need to prepare.

That's right, I just purchased the E! Wild On DVDs.

Actually maybe this counts as a post. Dammit. What was I saying? Yes.

So go read everyone else's stuff because it's 300 times better than anything you've ever read here. (In no particular order other than randomness)

Just Keeping the Resume Real - (Alice In Average Land)
The Right Way to Bring a Kid Into This World (Mental Poo)
Never Make Resolutions (Cleveland's a Plum)
Musicians Are Not Complimentary (Baking With Plath)
Batman Delivers (lacochran's bloggery)
Jehovah's Witnesses Have the Best Stories (Crissy's Page)
8 Simple Rules For Staying Buff on Vacation - (Arjewtino)
The Opposite of a Cat Advertisement (Golightly)
You Can't Slow Women Down, You Can Only Hope They Quit (White Collar Redneck)
Toilets on Display (LBluca77)
Morrisey Is About Right For Breaking Up (Save Your Generation)
An Auto Shop and David Duchovny Being a Lesbian? Yes and Yes. (The Typing Makes Me Sound Busy)
When Dumb Kids Cheat, We All Win (Half Deserted Streets)

Also I'm posting my new favorite song for the month of August. If you don't like The Roots, well, you should. That's all I got.

I Hyperventilate, Looking For Hope Somehow Somewhere

2008-07-31T10:28:00.000-07:00

I was going to write about something totally different like dragons or leprechauns today. Anything green, really, when I came across this headline on Time.com (which is not in fact a website which just shows a ticking clock. If I wanted to know what time it was, wouldn't I go to time.com? No, if you go to that website all you get are some lame articles about how John McCain is old or kids are getting fat, or water being wet. Poor advertising there.)

THE WAR AGAINST BEER PONG...DUH, DUH DUH!!!!!

I added the duh, duh, duh for effect.

Apparently there's some kind of video game for the WII that lets you play beer pong. That's what they're marketing themselves as. Playing Beer Pong. When, in actuality, all you're doing is throwing a ball in a cup that they tell you has beer in it. Can you see the beer? No. Can you smell the beer? No. Can you drink the beer, start making bad decisions and make an ass our of yourself? No. Well you can still make an ass of yourself. Who's buying this game?

Nerds.

I'm convinced. Why would you purchase a beer pong game without the merits of actually drinking the beer? Isn't that the whole point? Why not just call it, "The throwing Balls Pong" or "Cup a Pong Looza"? Not to mention the whole basis of playing beer pong is to get drunk and then see if you can still throw the ball in the cup. Do you know how hard it is after 562 cups of beer to see the cup let alone make the ball across the table? It takes skill baby, an extreme tolerance to alcohol and probably 9 livers.

Some people just have the DNA make up for it.

Playing beer pong sober is the cheaters way to play. Playing Beer Pong sober is like playing UNO with only draw four cards and skips. Where's the skill? Sure I could bust you with 6 draw fours in a row and then skip you until I say UNO and you lose, go cry to your mom because you got your ass beat all over the place and I just threw a deck of cards at you and showered you with sweet nothings such as, "You suck, suckster!"

That's only fun 62 times.

Of course, no one brings up how pathetic it is to buy a beer pong video game and how it doesn't prepare you for the "real" thing. Seriously, can you imagine a group of kids going to a house party in 2011 and going, "Dude, we are so going to kill you guys. We played Beer Pong '09 for hours on the WII!"

Nerd Alert.

So instead of focusing on the merits of a beer pong video game, adults have united to condemn the real beer pong game because "Although we understand that 21 is the legal drinking age, we don't want our students participating in activities that could do excessive harm to themselves or others," says Michelle Bowdler, a health administrator at Tufts.

Listen Michelle, babe. First off, don't' tell me you never played. We all know the Bowdlerster was beer pong champion back in 82. Or 62. Or whenever really. Don't rain on the kids fun. Granted I haven't played in about 3 years, but I'm looking out for the kids. Kids getting drunk is a money maker for the university. Have you seen fast food sales at 130AM? I think not. What's next, taking away breathing?

Secondly, I understand you don't want binge drinking on campus. Shouldn't you then be promoting this video game? Go buy Beer Pong for the WII and go crazy! You do realize that the WII doesn't dispense alcohol, right? This video game is your FUTURE! Kids playing beer pong and not drinking! I imagine Tufts university finding this game is the same as cavemen realizing that peanut butter and jelly together on some grains is delicious.

Also, Michelle, if we don't want college kids doing excessive harm to themselves how about you cut out studying too. That's right I said it. Studying. Do you know how many times I stayed up all night cramming for a test and at around 6 AM saw a bear and something that looked like James Earl Jones hugging in the sky? Or I thought a cloud had turned into the cookie monster and was chasing me while I ran screaming through the dorms? Studying does that to you. It's destructive.

I'll come up with a studying video game to combat this problem.

So now everyone hates beer pong because it gets kids drunk. How about all the life skills it teaches? It teaches you to pick a partner that is compatible with you(Psychology). It teaches you how to arrange cups in a triangle and then re-rack them in a diamond or triangle again (geometry). It teaches you the proper trajectory to get a small object into a bigger one (Sex Ed). What more do you want from a game?

Writing about dragons would have been more fun.

He Said Blink We Gonna Send the Hounds In

2008-07-30T10:07:00.000-07:00

Don't know if you guys heard, but we had an earthquake in Los Angeles yesterday. That's right, Rosie O' Donnell moved.

Hey-OH!

I'm a jerk.

Well anyways if you didn't find out through my blog about our massive 5.4 quake, maybe you found out through cnn.com, msnbc.com, nbc.com, espn.com, playboy.com, or the ever favorite, hotornot.com

Theory

Let's say I did spend 20 minutes this morning perusing through hotornot.com looking for the latest earthquake information. Let's say I did vote on whether some females were, in fact, hot or not. Every girl on that site was above a "9" in rank. This just goes to show that if guys see a random picture of a girl online and they can rate them, they will give them the highest score possible to try to sleep with them. Never matter that the girl has no idea you gave her a 10. It's just the chance that she could find out and then take her clothes off for us without us having to give her money. Like dollar bills or something. Damn, we're smart. High Fives for dudes!

/End Theory

My favorite part of any small disaster is the blatant over exaggerations by people that are on the scene. Yesterday's quake wasn't a big deal. No fires, No freeway collapses, no Arnold Schwarzenegger flying in and telling to people to, "Shut up" or "I'm a cop." None of that. But people always feel the need to make it bigger than it is. Here are some stories taken straight from CNN's hip new online feature, Ireport.com, where YOU can become the reporter.

What a horrendous idea.

Do we just want random people becoming our next reporters? I don't get this. Americans can't even report on what was in their cereal this morning (ooh I think it was a clover and some sort of horseshoe?), but they're going to give me accounts based on their 10th grade public school education. Or in the case of the select few, they're 11th grade PRIVATE school educations. We're rich, bitch. Anyways, on to the stories...

Isaiah : I had no cellphone service for a little while but I manage to get to my family eventually... Man it was crazy...folks on the streets thinks its not over

MPalmer538 : The wall was swaying so bad I could hardly stand up!! The quake lasted around 30 seconds!!! I finally made it out of the room dressed and alive.

xgunther: I was awoken by a sudden jolt. As soon as I realized what that familiar rumbling sound and feeling was, I jumped to my feet and ran to my doorway

Ok, hold on one second. First of all, what the hell is gunther doing sleeping at 1130 on a Tuesday?How about getting off your ass and looking for a job? And no, "musician" is not an applicable job. Secondly, it's people like MPalmer538 that make me realize that we've gone off the deep end. The quake lasted 30 seconds? What? Where were you? In a Bounce house? I know exactly how long that quake lasted. It lasted enough time for me to get up from my desk, look out the door and then sit back down.

Let's time it.

Ok, getting up, I'll be back....back..that was about 5 seconds. People lose their minds when describing stuff like this.. Everyone wants the, "I survived a natural disaster story." It's a hit at parties.

"Hey, I totally survived that 8.4 earthquake last year. It was rad."
"Huh, I thought it was a 5.4"
" Nah, it was gnarley, the building almost toppled over and I ran and grabbed 3 kids and a disabled woman and got them out before the whole thing collapsed on me, but then I found two more people to resuscitate and helped them too.
"Lets make out."

I appreciate Isaiah's sentiments that the "people in the street" think it's not over though. Good to see Isaiah has also seen Independence Day and believes that the aliens have taken over because the first earthquake is never the ONLY earthquake.

The tops of any earthquake, though, ,is the people saying that they were in the right spot when it happened. Growing up on the East Coast we never had earthquake drills because apparently the Earth only divides California. Apparently the best place to be is either under your desk or in a doorway. Why? I don't know. Probably because desks nowadays can uphold anything thrown at them. If 5 floors of building comes crashing down on you at least you're under a desk.

Once we find that Bin Laden guy maybe we should just throw a bunch of desks at him. They're indestructible!

Yesterday I heard 3 separate stories about how people were in doorways at the precise time the quake was happening. It's like everyone's personal, "see I was listening that day in school!" moment. My favorite had to be my friend who told me, "hey, it was perfect. I was in a doorway and the building started moving." Yup, pretty perfect. Considering you're on the 9th floor!

Let me tell you something buddy, if that building goes down you're going down with it, whether you're in a doorway or not. "But I was in a doorway, that's what they tell you!" Really? Is this some magical doorway that has an ejector seat and a parachute so that when you are plummeting to the ground at 6,000 mph you can say go go gadget and you'll be lifted to safety?

Oh, it is?

Nevermind.

I'm going to go find a desk.

2008-07-29T12:20:00.000-07:00

Survive an Earthquake? - Check.

Our building is still shaking but it's cool because someone is running around screaming, "IT'S OK, ITS NOT THE BIG ONE!"

I love this town.

Real post below.

The Last Time I Freaked Out, I Just Kept Looking Down

2008-07-29T10:44:00.000-07:00

I like listening to music. A lot. Any kind of music really. I'm a little bit country. I'm a little bit of rock and roll. I'm a little bit of Memphis and Nashville with a little bit of Motown in my soul. Nope, totally did not quote Donnie and Marie Osmond right there. Seriously, didn't do it. Go read someone else's blog if you think I did.

It's embarrassing.

I listen to my iPod everywhere. On the way to work. On the way to the bathroom. In the shower. I've ruined quite a few iPods this way, but how am I supposed to belt out Journey in the shower without hearing the tunes? Exactly. I'm glad you all see my point.

Saturday morning I went to Ralph's, which is a supermarket, equivalent to a Shop Rite, or A&P or really any grocery store that sells various amounts of food and/or feminine hygiene products. Since I don't like to be bothered with the questions of, "Excuse me, do you need help?" or" Really, you look great in that shirt, where did you get it?" I tend to put my headphones in and walk around the store unaccosted.

Us non celebs have to stick together.

Since I never see anyone I know out and about in LA I decide to put my iPod on my favorite "no one knows what I'm listening to" play list. I have titled it the very apropos: Songs I shouldn't be listening to. It has various amounts of pop and boy band songs that make me look less masculine than I already am. Really I'm ok with admitting that. Because I like girls. A lot. I don't care what you or my mom says.

I'm walking through Ralph's searching for the Margarita mix I was bound to bring for the afternoon party. All the while tapping my feet to the pop hits that are blasting through my ears. Oooh, Jose Cuervo mix is 2 for 1. Can't pass that up. As I pick up two bottles of sweet sweet mix, I turn and see one of my friends right in my face. I think I had a mini heart attack. As I've said before I jump at almost anything and she was smiling and waving. I take my headphones out and turn around.

Friend - "Gotcha"
Me- "Please don't ever EVER do that again. I think I had a stroke."
Friend - " What are you up to?"
Me - "Buying some margarita mix for a birthday bbq."
Friend -"What are you listening to?"

What is this? Dennis the Menace? What's up with all the questions. I didn't realize she was 8 years old and chewing bubble gum while running into Mr. Wilson at the 5 and dime.

HEY MR. WILSON!

Seeing as what I was listening to wasn't really conducive for her years I hurriedly try to shove my headphones in my pocket while shutting off my iPod.

Me- "Um, just listening to some NPR. Car talk, you know. you wouldn't like it..." (come on come on, turn off iPOD!)
Friend- "Come on, let me just listen. I hear music. I saw you breaking it down when I was behind you. Must be a good song. What is it? "

God Damn.

She grabs the headphones out of my hands and puts them in her ears which is pretty nasty because what if I had a massive ear wax issue and now she has all kinds of ear wax in her ears and maybe she could....

"YOU'RE LISTENING TO MILEY CYRUS!"

God Damn.

Out of all the times I've ever been at that supermarket, I've never ever seen anyone I knew. Now the one day I download a catchy song it has to be a by a 15 year old girl that goes by a pseudonym of the only state that rhymes with Hannah.

Sure, maybe I shouldn't be listening to Miley Cyrus. But there are a lot of maybes in this world. Maybe I shouldn't be stupid. Maybe I shouldn't wear pants before getting in the shower. Maybe Maybe Maybe. I don't have time for this. That song is catchy.

"HAHAHAHA, MILEY CYRUS! SOMEONE HAS A CRUSH!"

DAMN YOU WOMAN!

Now in the store about 5 people are looking at us. I would like to think it's because I look like M. Night Shymalan's 4th cousin removed, but mostly it's because Miley Cyrus is being yelled throughout the store while I stand there and wonder if bashing my friend over the head with a margarita mix bottle is assault in California.

After her evil laughter subsided and I tried to explain that I heard the song on Sirius and thought it sounded good, did she finally understand where I was coming from. No I don't want Miley Cyrus. That's disgusting. I'm no pervert. That's what she said.

What?

Whats so bad about listening to music you think is good? Who cares you sings it? If I want to listen to Enya, I will dammit. If I want to listen to Avril, I will. If I want to listen to Hannah Montana, YOU CANNOT STOP IT!

"I can't believe I'm friends with you."

Then she left.

That seems about right.

Now This Is What Its Like When Worlds Collide

2008-07-27T20:35:00.000-07:00

(I have put up some of my favorite posts to the right. Read them. Then tell me why my life stinks)

One of my favorite sayings in the world is "Go Hard or Go Home" or as my dad eloquently puts it, "Go Hard or Don't Go Hard."

You just don't want your dad saying things like that to you.

I'm always in the "you only live once" camp. I'm also in the "quotation" marks camp. Its sort of like camp for grammar usage. It's also sort of the worst joke of all time.

I like going out and having a good time, getting myself into ridiculous situations and pretty much embarrassing myself at a moments notice. 4 birthday parties on a Saturday? I say Hell Yes! Lets go to all of them.

What started as a nice Saturday afternoon enjoying 12 blue margaritas (why is it that if you make an alcoholic drink blue or red it automatically becomes that much stronger? Chalk this up as life mystery number 34 right behind Who is BigFoot and right ahead of What if God was one of us?) at a birthday BBQ turned into insanity and gooder times in Hollywood.

At around 5 on Saturday afternoon I decided that it would be a wise idea to go to Chardsy's sisters birthday party in Hollywood. Now for all of you this may seem like not such a big deal, but after you've had a lot of blue margarita, have been throwing stuff at random girls and explaining why you are wearing a shirt with the United Kingdom Flag and the word "Greece" under it to English people, it becomes clear that maybe I wasn't in the right frame of mind to be going anywhere. But I soldiered on and drank the Pacific Ocean's weight in water. Ok, not really because then I would have drowned myself from the inside.

It happens.

Since I was venturing into Hollywood I had to send out a mass message to my friends that I would be out in the 'Wood on Saturday. One of my friends said they were thinking about celebrating my other friends birthday at the same place Chardsy's sister's b-day shin dig was going to be at. Following? no? Who cares? This blog sucks.

Internet life and real life combining as one. The time has come.

Hey that rhymes. I'll write a limerick to celebrate.

There once was a man from New Jersey
Who set up to go to a derby
He said it was relaxing,
what more could he be asking
something else that rhymes with relaxing.

I think that was well done.

Anyway as I was sobering up I decided it would be a great idea to first head down to the South Bay to hit up b-day party number 2 and just say hi. I walk in to the bar, the birthday girl is trashed and I decided this is stupid. But before I left I put my name into free raffle drawing because I like not winning things.

Me- "Hey, what is that for?"
Bar Girl - "It's a raffle"
Me- "Does it cost money?"
BG- "Nope, its free."
Me- "YES! One please."

After I finish filling out paper

Random Girl - "Sucka!"
Me- "What?"
RG- "Didn't you have to pay?"
Me- "Um, No. who's the sucka now sucka?"

She didn't talk to me again.

I went out to Hollywood to meet up with Chardsy, meet Clumsy Chatterbox and somehow integrate my friends in real life with my friends in this nether world of fake life or as I like to call it, "Fife". Huh? That made no sense. I kind of just wanted to say nether world anyway.

I walked in said hello to everyone and then Chardsy, Clumsy Chatterbox and myself had to come up with a way to answer the question, "Oh, how do you know them." I was ok with saying blog since my friend reads the blog and she knows how weird I am. Chardsy came up "Writing group" as our cover. Clumsy Chatterbox came up with "creative writing class" Those two things don't really work since I'm not creative and we can barely call what I do here, "writing. I more like to call it scribbling.

(Aside - If you ever get the chance to meet Chardsy or Clumsy Chatterbox they are awesome people. So I suggest you meet them. I was not paid in any way for that statement. Yet.)

I think we settled on writing group or something or other so the plan was in effect for when we got the question. Easy as pie. Our two groups merged and hit it off which was great. Everyone was having a good time. Shots were flying. High fives were being exchanged.

Friend- "So how do you know Chardsy?"

Here we go. Ok, writing group it is...

Me- "Blog friends."

DAMMIT!

My friend Jack Daniels or Jameson probably had something to do with that. After the bar debauchery it was time for some late night karaoking at Chardsy's place. That and I was in no condition to actually drive something with a motor at this point.

Chardsy- "Lets grab a cab"
Me- "Yes."
Chardsy - "Cab, I see one. Lets go!"

As we were getting into this cab I noticed something odd about it. One, it was an Audi. Man the Hollywood Taxi Service has really opened up the budget here. Fancy. Two, there was no meter. I guess they just keep the fare in their head. Probably smart like that. Oh My God. I figured it out, we're in the Cash Cab! Whoo hoo! Free money!

Um, how about no to all of the above.

WE WERE IN SOME RANDOM PERSON'S CAR!

When you hang out with the classy RS27 and Chardsy you don't need no taxi! Random strangers love us! Being the lovable drunk asses that we were we laughed it up with our "cabbie" Hansel (He's so hot right now). Ok, his name wasn't Hansel. It was Haven. I just wanted to drop in a Zoolander line.

Most people in this situation would probably be wondering how to call 911 while their phone is still in their pocket. Not us. We laughed it up with our new friend while Chardsy was pitched on a pyramid scheme of some sort while I said, "Wow that's great, you should do it."

I'm a good friend like this. Amway needs more customers.

Shockingly he dropped us off at Chardsy's apartment, didn't want any money and most importantly didn't kill us.

My mom would be pretty pissed if I was dead.

The moral to this story? Drink a lot, get into random people's vehicles so you don't have to pay and don't die. After that everything else is cream cheese. Remember when your parents told you to never talk o strangers? Well all of your parents lied to you. ALWAYS talk to strangers. You can get free rides to wherever you want and sometimes candy. Candy is awesome.

Go hard or go home.

I'm choosing home from now on.