Ya know what REALLY drives me crazy about you chicks?
The fact that, you all seem to have NO PROBLEM yelling at us about something that is COMPLETELY fucking insignificant, but you really don’t see anything wrong with something YOU do wrong, even if it’s LIFE-THREATENING!!!!
I routinely get my ass handed to me because I leave my clothes on the bed instead of putting them away.
I mean, I get CRUCIFIED for doing this. EVERY DAMN TIME I don’t put my clothes away, I get yelled at and spoken to like I am 6 years old.
Seriously ladies, it’s not THAT big of a deal.
I fucking work ALL day, usually getting the shit kicked out of me, and when I come home, if I want to throw my damn shirt on the bed, I’m gonna fucking do it.
You would think, by the reaction I get, that I was tossing FLAMING WOOD on the bed, instead of a polo shirt.
So, you might understand that I find it a bit remarkable that she doesn’t think ALMOST ELECTRICUTING HERSELF is a problem!
We’re getting ready for work this morning, and I happen to catch Friz in the bathroom doing whatever the fuck she does to her hair that takes over an hour every morning.
I mean, there are about a thousand items all over the place in there: dozens of bottles and tubes, hair-dryers, curling irons, straighteners, and whatnot.
Seriously, there are TONS of machinery in there while she’s getting ready. I’m pretty sure if she wanted to, she could start performing pap-smears in there.
Anyway, I walk in there to get my toothbrush (if I could fucking FIND IT, that is), and what do I spy with my little eye?
She’s got her curling iron plugged in, and draped across the counter SO THE CORD IS UNDERWATER IN THE SINK!
So, being a sexy man of action, I quickly yank the plug from the wall, and yell out..
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“What’s your problem?”
“MY problem? MY Problem? I don’t have a problem. YOU, on the other hand, were about to fry yourself in Aqua-Net!”
I have to daily endure the Nuremburg Trials for leaving my underwear on the floor, but I guess I should stop being so jumpy when I see someone almost flash-frying themselves!
How silly of me.
You girls are just wacky. Not doing the dishes is a capital offense, but you would do “The Macarena” through fucking BARB WIRE if someone told you there was a great new moisturizer on the other side.
Yesterday was my 10 year year wedding anniversary.
It may sound a bit like something I got out of a Hallmark card, but I honestly can't believe its been 10 years.
10 years ago yesterday, I was standing outside in a tux, in a 105 degree heatwave sweating my ass off, while we took our wedding pictures.
10 years ago, my grandparents were still here to share my day with me.
10 years ago I didn't have a mini-me to follow me wherever I go.
How could so much have happened in 10 years when it feels like just yesterday?
I give Friz alot of shit within these pages, but the truth is, as hard as it might be for you all to believe, i'm not the easiest person to live with. So, for her, yesterday was probably more like finishing her 10th consecutive tour of duty. But for some reason, she honestly appears to be happy with me, and seems willing to give it a go for another 10. Yay me!
Anyway, I know that the video below has been burning through the internet at the speed of light this week, and you've probably all seen it already, but dammit if the pure goodness and fun of it all doesnt just come through and give me a warm and fuzzy feeling.
P.S. Reading this back, i fully realize that this was way too sappy for the likes of me. I promise to counter this by getting back to my roots with some good dick jokes in my next post.
p.p.s. Those Rascally folks at Youtube disabled the original video from being embedded. Lets try it now. This will probably not stay up too long either but what the Hell?
But I mean I have this ridiculous compulsion to pee right before I leave to go anywhere.
And I know exactly when my pee-pee obsession started.
When I was about 7, I remember going out to dinner with my parents, and before we left my father asked me, “Do you have to go to the bathroom?”, and of course, said what ALL kids say, even if they are busting….
“Nope. I’m good!”
So, we all piled into the family car, and drove off. My father had just gotten onto the highway when the need to pee my little pantsies got to be too much, so I told my father that now I DID have to go to the bathroom.
And then I proceeded to basically get the shit kicked out of me the entire way back home with that backhand slap that all parents seem to know how to do from the front seat, as my father had to get off the highway and drive all the way back home so I could go potty, screaming at me all the while.
I guess it made an impression on me.
To this day, I have this overwhelming, all-encompassing URGE to quickly pee before I leave the house, no matter WHERE I’m headed. It could be a cross-country trip to visit Aunt Sally, or it could be a quick run down the block to 7-11, but you can make damn sure that I’ll use the bathroom before I leave.
And it’s always RIGHT before I leave. I mean, like 1 minute before. I do this so I can guarantee that I’ll be as “empty” as possible for my trip. Even if I peed 10 minutes before, I’ll try to go one more time right before I walk out the door.
And it’s not just right before I take a trip, either. For years, Earl has busted my horns because, whenever we go to see a movie together, before we go get our seats, I give him all my candy and bon-bons and shit so I can use the bathroom before the movie starts.
I always knew that it was kinda weird behavior, but I never really put 2 and 2 together as to why I’m like this until a few weeks ago.
I’ve mentioned before how I used to have a touch of OCD when I was a kid (and still have a mild case of it today). I think this little ritual I’ve adopted over the years feeds right into it.
I think tomorrow I’m gonna slam down 2 Super-Sized Big-Gulps, and then get on the Long Island Expressway during Rush Hour. Maybe I can shock myself out of this weirdness.
Every summer, I try to pick one now-cancelled TV show that, for whatever reason, I never got to catch when it was on the air. I get my sweaty little hands on every season of that show, and watch it, from beginning to end, as quickly as I can.
I’m really not sure how this little “tradition” of mine got started. I guess, since I really don’t watch much television at all during the summer, it must have made sense to me at some point to use these few months to finally watch a show that I normally wouldn’t have time for during the rest of the year.
Last summer, it was Arrested Development. Before that, it was Buffy, the Vampire Slayer.
This summer, I decided it was finally time to take a bite out of The Shield.
I’ve been watching this show like a crack fiend for over a month now. I’m currently finishing up Season 6, before I continue at my breakneck speed with the final Season, number 7.
I always knew that I would like this show, and now that I am finishing it up, it certainly hasn’t failed to disappoint.
I think what sets it apart from other typical cop-dramas that I’ve watched over the years, is that the main character, Vic Mackey, isn’t merely the stereotypical “Cop who doesn’t play by the books” that we’ve all seen in a thousand other movies and television shows.
Mackey is nowhere NEAR that black and white of a character. He doesn’t just PUSH boundaries, he fucking SHATTERS them. And although you might still call him a “good guy”, he certainly doesn’t always act like one.
In fact, one of the things that initially drew me to the show was that, in the first episode, he does something SO evil that I couldn’t see how they could center a show around someone so irredeemable.
And THAT, in a nutshell, is where this show shines. The past 6 seasons have all basically revolved around the repercussions of what happened in that first episode. Every season, the noose seems to tighten a little more for Vic. It’s quite clear that, at the conclusion of the show, Vic Mackey will finally pay the price for what he did in that first episode. It’s only a matter of time.
It’s been a great summer show to kill some summer nights on.
Be Warned: I am about to go off on a tear about CBS’s Murder Mystery mini-series event, Harper’s Island, that just wrapped up this week. If you don’t want to know “whodunit”, then I suggest you stop reading now, and for the love of God, don’t even scroll down at all! Look, just close the browser now and you’ll be fine, k? You’ve been warned.
So, the murder mystery show Harper’s Island has finally finished, and the killer has been revealed…..
… and I am right pissed.
I REALLY tried with this one. REALLY REALLY tried.
As I mentioned before this show started, I LOVE a good murder mystery. It just might be my favorite form of entertainment (besides orgies, and busting on Earl, not necessarily in that order).
And with all the money and hype that CBS put into this endeavor, I had such high hopes that my murder-mystery itch was going to be scratched.
Boy, was I wrong.
Did you see the banner picture above? You might have noticed the not so subtle text, “13 Weeks, 25 suspects, ONE KILLER?”
Well, silly me, I mistakenly took that to mean that THERE WAS ONLY 1 KILLER ON THE ISLAND!!!!!
Each week, I painstakingly watched each episode, and began ruling out potential suspects based on the “one killer” rule. When there was no WAY a person, based on his/her current location, could have been in the same location at the time of a particular murder, I removed them as a suspect. I began to suspect I was in a bit of trouble about 3 weeks ago, when I categorically “cleared” every fucking person left alive on the island.
My suspicions proved to be true when, 2 weeks ago, a new person suddenly “popped” onto the island, WHO IS NOT EVEN LISTED IN THE PICTURE ABOVE, who turned out to be doing a good number of the kills. We quickly learned that he was working WITH one of our original suspects.
Now, I’ve never professed to be a math wiz (just incredibly good-looking), but from the way I’m looking at it …..
2 KILLERS DOES NOT = 1 FUCKING KILLER!!!!!!!
Just as I feared at the onset, all my deductions proved for naught, for with the inclusion of a “new” person on the island, any logic I used from the onset went right out the fucking window.
And since, if you read this far, you either already KNOW who the killer turned out to be, or you could give two shits, I present to you the ultimate murderer on Harpers Island.
Yes, in the end, Henry, the groom, turned out to be the son of the islands original murderer, John Wakefield. The father/son duo teamed up to …..
… to WHAT, actually?
I can’t really figure THAT part out either. I guess you can argue that they were taking revenge for almost killing Wakefield years before, but most of the people they killed really had nothing to do with THAT prior event.
The final insult was in the ending scenes, where Henry tells Abbey that HE went along with his father’s plan, and faked their deaths, so the two of them could fall in love and live on Harper’s Island forever.
You just faked your own death, idiot. I’m pretty sure if you just moved into another house somewhere on the island, the other island residents might start to get suspicious when they saw you in town buying groceries.
But then again, with the morons who seem to populate this place, maybe not.
At least, as some Summer fluff goes, Harpers Island kept me entertained, but in the end it fell FAR short of being anything resembling a solid murder mystery.
And one of the truly GREAT things about LIVING on an island is that I can’t help but walk 10 minutes in any direction without hitting a beautiful beach.
I’ve mentioned before that I LIVE for the Summer months. They go by too damn quickly, but I try to make the most out of them. Whether it is going to the beach, hanging by my pool, or just inviting people over for a Summer Barbeque, I really try to soak up as much Summer sun as I can each year.
So, it’s kind of strange that, even though I have been asked to be in a Summer beach volleyball league for about 5 years now, I have always turned it down.
I’m not sure why the thought of being in a volleyball league never really appealed to me before. I mean, I love being outside in the Summer, I love the beach, I love volleyball, and I seem to enjoy watching chicks in little bikinis jumping up and down, so why the Hell have I never pulled the trigger on this?
I don’t have the faintest, but this Summer I finally decided to take the plunge and join up with some friends, and I’ve been thoroughly enjoying every damn minute of it.
We are in the “non-competitive” league, which suits me just fine since by the 2nd game of each week my multiple trips to the beach bar have begun to take their toll. We have about 10 people on our team, 7 guys and 3 girls, and so far it’s been Hella-fun. There are a TON of people playing. There are usually 36 courts going at one time, and with 3 teams to a court, there are usually a few hundred people there each week. At the end of each night, most of the crowd heads over to the beach bar for some cocktails while an outdoor band plays on. All in all, it’s a very fun night that I’ve been finding myself looking forward to each week.
I think our current record is something like 5-20. That’s bad, right? Honestly, being so bad is part of what’s making this such a fun evening every week. We could care less if we win, and we usually have a fun time losing.
The only bad thing about the experience so far is our team name.
As the title of this post suggests, we are the Sweet Tomatoes.
Why the Sweet Tomatoes, you might very well ask? Well, the league gets revenue from corporate sponsors, and in turn the sponsors get to have their company name be the name of a team in the league. Some teams are sporting some cool names like “Sky Dive Long Island”, or “Long Island Athletics”.
But not us. Thanks to some fine people who opened up a restaurant in Glen Cove called Sweet Tomatoes, we are now the laughing stock of the league.
At least we are embracing our effeminate name. We are contemplating buying team t-shirts that show a picture of a tomato with the text, “You say Tomato, I Say Go Fuck Yourself!”. I am wholeheartedly behind this purchase.
Anyway, we are playing tonight, so wish us luck. It’s always a treat for the women there when I show up, being so hot and all.
Maybe I’ll treat them to me playing with my shirt off tonight. After all, they’ve earned it.
I don’t think I’ve gone this long without updating this blog in years.
Sorry about that, I really am, but I had the project from Hell at work and the deadline was last Friday (which I barely made by the skin of my very muscular yet supple ass).
Why do companies enjoy putting unrealistic goals on their employees, just to watch them scramble around like chickens with their heads cut off, when no real deadline was needed?
I mean, NO ONE in this company NEEDED this project up and running by today. And God knows we could have used another week to get it done, but even though we requested to move the due date numerous times, we were flat out denied every time.
So now, I’m sitting at my desk waiting for the users to start to test what we’ve given them, knowing damn well that they have NO intention of even using the programs we’ve written for weeks yet.
Someone remind me again why I do this for a living, instead of my God-given calling as a high-end male prostitute?
Anyway, I just checked my Google reader, and I see that I have about 25 Gajillion of your posts to catch up on. At least I THINK it was 25 gajillion. All I know for sure was that the number of unread posts had more 0’s than I had fingers and toes.
Needless to say, I cannot read them all, but I will try my darndest to at least make a fly-by over all your awesomeness in the next day or so.
p.s. Yes, i fully realize that i just wrote a post about not writing posts. This was pretty lame, i know. I suck.
One of the reasons why I am so damn irresistible is that, aside from having the body of a Greek god and my jaw-dropping good looks, I also love spending time with children (don’t even go there, Earl!).
It’s true. I love just getting on the floor with the little munchkins and acting all the clown so I can get them to laugh their little buns off. I can spend hours playing with kids, when I usually can’t stand most adults for more than a few minutes.
But this past weekend, I believe I finally met my match.
We were at a 4th of July party this weekend at a friend’s house. One of our friends is in the process of going through a pretty bitter divorce with what I can only call one of the biggest assholes I have ever met (and I’ve met a lot of them).
Seriously, one time a group of us went away for the weekend to the Hamptons, and this guy, a grown man in his 30’s, told me how we loves to just get into random fights with people to let out his aggression. He told me how he does it all the time, and tried to convince me to start a fight with some poor schlub who we were walking past in a 7-11 while getting beer. Apparently, he’s seen FIGHT CLUB one too many times.
Anyway, she’s dumping him, which is Aces as far as I’m concerned, but the thing is they had 2 kids together, and because this guy is a royal jack-off, he now thinks its funny as hell to raise the kids as badly as possible on the days he has them, just to give his ex some extra headaches.
And it’s working. Their oldest son, who is 6, is quickly becoming just about the meanest kid you could ever imagine. I’ve honestly never seen anything like it. He spent the day Saturday jumping in the pool, trying to land on the littler kids who were splashing around in swimmies, just to dunk them. His mother was beside herself, and repeatedly tried everything from time outs, to screaming, to giving him a good swat on the ass, but nothing would stop this kid. He was being a right dick to everyone at the party.
At one point, I saw him sitting down on a blanket with a bunch of other kids, so I figured I’d try to be nice to him. I sat down with them and said cheerily, “So guys, what’s going on?”
This kid, this little monster, looks at me and says, “You know, those glasses you are wearing make you look like an idiot.”.
I told him that wasn’t very nice, and he promptly told ME that he didn’t care. Then, my temper got the best of me, and I proceeded to tell him that the hat he was wearing made him look like a dope.
The other kids laughed, and I guess this little Hitler didn’t imagine that the tables could turn on him so fast, so he reached out, grabbed my sunglasses, and started running away with them.
I looked around for his mom, but she was in the house and nowhere to be seen. I tried to calmly ask him to give back the glasses, but he wouldn’t. When I went after him, he ran away.
Finally, I cornered him, and when I went to reach for the glasses, he threw them to the ground, and stepped on them.
I saw red.
I grabbed the hat on his head (it really DID make him look like a dope), and once again his expression told me that he didn’t see THIS development coming, either. He started SCREAMING at me to give it back. I told him I would give it back to his mom after I told him what he did.
Then he hauled off and PUNCHED me.
At this point, people were staring. Although I outweigh this kid by about 150 lbs and 35 years, I decided it would probably be wise NOT to beat the shit out him, no matter how much I wanted to.
I ALSO didn’t want to embarrass his mother more than she already was, so when I ran into her, I just handed her the hat back without explaining what happened. But last night I learned that the host of the party, who saw the whole thing, couldn’t contain herself any longer and ended up calling this woman and telling her everything her son did. Then the woman called me, very upset and apologizing up and down, saying that she knows how her son is, and she doesn’t know what to do.
All I could do was listen and mumble “don’t worry about it” when she offered to pay for my glasses…
But all I WANTED to do was scream at this woman and tell her that she needs to nip this behavior in the bud NOW. This kid is already 6. By the time he’s 10, at the rate he’s going, he’ll be on the road to being a juvenile delinquent and I don’t think anything short of a military academy would correct it.
If you come here often enough (and really, why wouldn’t you?), you have PROBABLY gleaned that I am a bit of a techie geek.
I’m all for being the first kid on the block to get the latest techno-gadget. I just can’t get my hands on them fast enough, and I’m usually willing to pay a lot more to own whatever the latest blinking, beeping, piece of shit is, months before anyone else.
I bought my first Tivo back when the damn thing was still in beta production and wasn’t really even being sold yet. I had gotten my first DVD player when they only had about 2 dozen movies out for them. Ditto for my GPS, Ipod, Wii, you name it.
Point being, I am always pretty much ready and eager to chomp down and take a bite out of the latest technology.
But ladies and gentleman, I have finally met my match.
Try as I might, as much as I WANT to, I just cannot for the LIFE of me understand cell phone texting.
My nieces text me ALL the time. My friends text me. Friz texts me. Shit, even EARL texts me.
Every time my cell phone beeps me that I have a new text, I then proceed to look like a Neanderthal for the next 10 minutes as I try to use the miniscule buttons on my cell phone to attempt to type in a 3 word message that I could have spit out in a 15 second fucking phone call.
It was pissing me off so much, that I finally broke down and got one of those “flip” cell-phones, so now I have a full keyboard for texting instead of having to hit each fucking button 3 times just to type the letter “c”.
And you know what? I STILL don’t get it.
I’d much rather just pick up the phone, say what I have to say to you, and then hang the Hell up, than to sit there and hunt and peck at this thing for 30 minutes back and forth just to find out that you thought this week’s “LOST” was good and we should hang out tomorrow.
I just don’t get it.
Texting is the first (and so far only) technological “advancement” in my life that honestly makes me feel old.
I feel like any minute now I’m gonna violently swing my cane at some passing texting kids and yell “You young whipper-snappers! In my day, we didn’t have these fancy “Cell Phones”. NO Siree! No, when we wanted to talk to someone, we would call them up on these big, clunky phones attached to our kitchen walls! And we didn’t have these namby-pamby push buttons, either! No, when we wanted to call someone, we had to get a pencil and stick it in the holes in the phone and actually dial the number! Just dialing someone’s number took 30 fucking minutes, and we LIKED IT!”
I really hope that this “texting-aversion” I have is just an anomaly, and that this isn’t the first sign that I am starting a slow slide into old age and senility.
Because, as we all know, this body of mine is WAY too sexy for me to be going senile. It just wouldn’t be fair to you guys.
p.s. I know, I know. I’ve been a bad boy this week and have not visited any of your blogs. I’m just all honked up at work right now, and haven’t had the time. Hopefully I can make things right with each of you next week, with a nice slow massage, and a bubble bath. Call me.