No, I’m talking about the most exciting news that I’ve heard in months……
Survivor is once again accepting applications for contestants!
If you’ve been coming here for a while, you might recall that I have a SLIGHT obsession with that particular reality show.
Ok, ‘slight’ MIGHT be an understatement.
I fucking LOVE Survivor.
I have applied to be on the show 3 times now. The last time I applied, I actually came close to the final selection process where they were going to ask the public at large to vote on who they should put on the island. They had my video up on cbs.com and everything.
I came close enough last year to taste it. I’m sure you all remember my audition video, too. Hell, most of you chicks probably have it bookmarked so you can use it to get your rocks off every morning. I’m feeling lazy, but if you go through the archives, you can search for it if you are so inclined. Believe me, it’s worth it. I take off my clothes in it. Really.
And the WORST part of not making it past the final cut to get on Survivor this season?
It's THIS guy:
This is Rick. He’s a cowboy. Although he made it to the final 5 this year, he spent the entire season not winning ANY challenges, and barely speaking. He was just there as a patsy until the REAL players had no more use for him and slit his throat.
He’s ALSO the guy who beat me and stole my fucking spot on Survivor last year.
That, my friends, is completely unacceptable. It simply cannot happen again.
Anyway, as I said, last year I came close to FINALLY having a chance to be on the show. I don’t want to blow it again. And since I got a new high definition webcam for Christmas, America will now be able to see my rock-hard abs in the 1080p goodness that God intended.
The question, once again is, ‘What the fuck do I do for my audition video?’
I asked this last year, and some of ya’ll had some really good ideas. The reason I couldn’t do some of them, however, were two-fold:
- Although I DO have a camcorder, it’s kinda shitty and I worry about the quality of using it, so I forced myself last year to stick to doing it from the webcam.
- Many of you had good ideas, but they involved getting the help of others. And, well, I’m kinda shy like that. I’ve done every audition tape so far all by my lonesome. Shit, I don’t even like other people to be HOME when I make my audition tape. Last year, I sent the fam out for ice cream or some such shit. I’d kinda like to keep it that way if I can.
So, there you go. I want your bestest ideas. The deadline is January 10th, but I’d like to submit something before this week is over…..
…Because I’m still off from work this week, and I’ll still have the house to myself.
You wouldn’t think that someone who has the body of Hercules and the face of a runway model would be so demure and shy, but it is apparently true.
We here at Slydesblog are trying very damn hard to put ourselves in the “Holiday Spirit”.
Like most of you, some of the fondest memories of my life stem from Christmases long past.
I remember as a kid, having tons of family over on Christmas Eve, and getting present after present. It was always a fun, magical night, and the best part of it was going to bed that night, knowing that when I next opened my eyes, I would run into my parent’s room to wake them up at the crack of dawn, and race into the living room to see what Santa had left me.
I’m sure many of you have those same memories.
The thing is, as we get older, it gets harder and harder to hold onto those Yule-time feelings.
Most of it just goes out the window with the complications of adulthood. Jobs, bills, and mortgages tend to take a big bite out of the ol’ Holiday Spirit.
Part of it just comes when the illusion of Santa is broken once and for all. I think I was around 9 at the time when my parents finally told me that Santa wasn’t real, but in all honesty, I kinda knew already. I just didn’t want to admit it.
It didn’t help that my parents were SO damn bad at hiding my presents every year, either……..
I’m not going to say that the holidays had gotten humdrum for me, but they certainly weren’t the holidays of my youth…..
Until Mini-Me came along.
One of the BEST parts of having a little boy in my life is that I can once again experience the magic of Christmas all over again, through his eyes.
Friz is always getting perturbed at me because I am always going overboard on my son every year. And she’s right, of course. Christmas isn’t ONLY about giving and getting, but for a 9 year old boy, it’s a pretty damn big part of it.
It might be sad to think of it this way, but being a child is typically the happiest part of a person’s life. It’s not ALL downhill as an adult, of course, but it IS certainly more DOWN than UP.
But, when that precious little boy of mine comes bounding into our bed at the crack of dawn this Christmas, begging us to wake up so he can bolt downstairs to see what Santa has left him, Darn It All To Heck, but that old Spirit of Christmas comes flooding back to me.
As I said, he’s 9 now, and by some miracle, he’s still “all-in” with believing in Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. I’m not sure how many more Christmas’s I have left where that’s going to be the case. In all probability, some little shit friend of his will soon open his big mouth about Santa and that, my friends, will be all she wrote.
So yes, I went a little overboard this year. Ok, Ok. I REALLY went apeshit this year. Did he REALLY need an Xbox with Kinnect along with the 2 dozen other pricey gifts I got for him? Probably not.
But damn it all, if this IS the last year that he is going to believe that a big fat man in a red suit came down our non-existent fireplace to place presents under our tree, then I sure as Hell wanted his last mythical Christmas experience to be one he’ll always remember with a smile…
You would never ever EVER think it by looking at my killer good looks, rock hard abs, and 12 inch dong, but I’m getting old.
How am I starting to come to this very sad realization?
I blame my grandfather.
Let me explain……
When I was a kid, I always considered Grandpa, God Bless him, to be old. But it wasn’t because of his actual age that I thought of him that way…..
It was because of the fact that he could never get ANYONE’S name right.
He would often confuse one pet with another. Family member’s names were often interchangeable. Once when he was calling me to dinner, he yelled out the dog’s name.
I didn’t take it personally, though. After all, he was old.
And now, Fuck it all to Hell, I’M starting to do it, too.
Since we got the puppy, it seems like my “Golden Girls”-like mind just can’t grasp the concept of having to remember ONE more new name, and now all the names that I DO have stuffed into my brain are all spilling out all over the place.
I keep calling the dog by the cat’s name, and vice versa. I’d say I do this about 90 percent of the time, now. Shit, even if I picked a RANDOM pet’s name every time, I’d only be getting it wrong 50% of the time!
And now, I have started to take my senility to the next level…
Last night I called my son by the dog’s name.
We all laughed it off, but deep down, I took a good look at myself and saw my grandfather laughing down from Heaven at me.
This shit needs to stop before I fall further down the road to adult diapers.
Because let me tell you, if I slip up and call Friz by the dog’s name, I will be in for one major ass-whuppin’.
One more thing that I’ve noticed about myself that confirms that I am turning in to my grandfather….
I’ve started saying “Huddycall”.
Whenever my grandfather didn’t know the name of something, he’d call it a huddycall. He’d say, “Go down in the basement and get me the huddycall”. Then I’d say, “You mean the screwdriver, grandpa?”. And he’d say, “Yeah, that!”.
I always just thought that huddycall was some funny name he’d made up for himself, or he was just mispronouncing “what do ya call it”….
Until today. I just looked up “Huddycall” in the Urban Dictionary and found:
Huddycall: A word common among the coal region in Northeastern PA. A word used as a filler when you can't remember what you were thinking of.
Which makes sense, kinda, since my grandpa grew up in Brockton, Mass.
But it IS nice to know that he wasn’t just spouting jibberish.
Cause THAT would have meant he was probably crazy, and that shit can run in the family, yo…..
In what is sure to be a trend here for the next 4 weeks, I will once again apologize for the lack of posting. I'm sorry to say that it's pretty much going to be like this until life returns to normal after New Years, but I'll try to pop some Pearl's O' Wisdom on ya whenever I can. Likewise for not visiting anyone else's blog in over a week now.... between work happenings and some other stuff, time has been short.
Anyway, speaking of my Pearl's O' Wisdom.....
Have you ever dreamt of something, and then woken up in the middle of the night thinking that what you just dreamt about was the damn FUNNIEST thing in the world? That you just HAD to remember it when you woke up in the morning, because anyone you tell it to will piss their pants with laughter?
Then, when you wake up the next day, you remember what you had dreamt about and think, "What the fuck?"
Seinfeld even did an episode about it once. During the night he thought of the "Ultimate Joke", only to later realize it made no sense.
Well, last night was MY night.
I woke up at 3A.M., with literal tears in my eyes from the joke i just told myself in my dream. I actually woke up still laughing. I honestly considered getting up and writing it down, in the fear that i wouldn't remember it in the morning.
But luckily for you all, I DID remember!
You ready to be wowed?
OK, here we go.......
A friend comes up to me and tells me about this new burger joint that just opened up across town.
He is RAVING to me about how good the burgers are! He Tells me they are to DIE for!
The only drawback, he tells me, is the price.
He tells me the burgers cost $100 each!
So, I turned to the guy and said.........
you ready for it?
I said "The only way that I'd pay $100 for a hamburger was if it came with $99 crumpled between the buns!"
I'll wait here while you all find some Kleenex to wipe away the coffee you just spit onto your monitors from unexpected, uncontrollable laughter.
Thank Goodness that I'm so much wittier when I'm conscious....
First off, apologies for being AWOL the past week. With me taking some days off and relaxing during the Thanksgiving week, there wasn’t much of a hope in Hell for me doing any blogging last week. Expect a similar apology from me to be heading your way sometime after Christmas.
I know I use these pages to bitch about Friz a lot……
Well, let’s just go ahead and beat a dead horse, then, shall we?
Friz is one of those people who you simply can’t talk to until she’s had her first morning cup of coffee. She is just completely unresponsive until she’s had her caffeine fix. After all these years, that’s about the ONLY thing I have been able to figure out about her.
But I would STILL like to think that there are SOME things that might be able to shake her out of her morning coma….
Yesterday, I woke up all bleary-eyed and descended our stairs so I could take the devil-puppy outside for his morning poo-poo. As I’ve mentioned in the past, we have installed a 3 foot high fence that runs across the length of our house, and is currently the only thing that keeps the peace in our home between our puppy and our cat.
Now, we’ve had this pup for 2 months now, so I have learned to live with having to high vault over the fence in order to get into the kitchen. But yesterday, at 8A.M and with sleep still in my eyes, I didn’t quite make it. I got halfway over the gate, when I slipped and my hey-nanny-nanny came crashing down on the gate. It probably would have been quite funny, if not for the fact that it just fucking happened TO ME!
Anyway, I’m writhing in pain on the floor, waiting for the commotion I just made to bring Friz over to help me.
When I’m finally able to open my eyes and see through my tears, what do I spy with my little eye?
Friz, with her back still to me, sitting on her little breakfast swivel stool nonchalantly still sipping her morning coffee.
Without even turning around to look at me, I hear “You ok?”
Then she takes another swig of her coffee.
For FUCK’S SAKE, I could be jetting blood out of my jugular by the time she deems my life worthy enough to swivel 90 fucking degrees to see if I’m still alive or not!
I would SOOOO not do that to HER, if SHE was the one who happened to trip over the fence….
Unless of course, I was in the middle of a game of Call of Duty.
But that’s different. The fate of the Free World could be at stake!
Thanks to Facebook, now I think I’m being stalked by a sexy assassin.
I logged in this morning, as I do EVERY morning, mostly to read the deluge of dirty and suggestive private messages that all the women of the world feel the incessant need to keep sending me.
So, as I’m scanning through the dozens of offers of obligation-free threesomes that I get every day, I happened to glance over in the corner of the screen to the “Friends You May Know” area….
You know what I’m talking about, right? In the upper right hand corner of the screen, Facebook will often show you a picture of some person with the tagline of something like “This is Suzy. 13 people you know are already friends with Suzy. Would YOU like to be friends with Suzy too?”
Most of the time I ignore these things, because quite honestly, I could give two shits about Suzy. If I haven’t friended Suzy by now, it most likely means that either I don’t know her, or she’s someone I haven’t seen in so long that I could give a flying fuck about her.
But sometimes, out of curiosity, I click on the link anyway, because I want to see which of my friends know Suzy. That’s how I can usually tell who the hell she is. For instance, if I click on Suzy and see that the 13 friends that know her are all friends from grade school, then I know that Suzy is someone that I went to school with who I have long since forgotten. You get the idea.
Anyway, TODAY’S “Suzy” message informed me that “4 friends know Suzy! Would you like to be friends with Suzy too?”. Looking to kill time during breakfast, I decided to see who knew Suzy.
This is where I got freaked out.
The friends I know who know Suzy are:
- Someone who I currently work with
- Someone who I worked with at my last job
- Someone who I worked with at my very FIRST job out of college
- A childhood friend I had when I was 8 years old.
NONE of those 4 people, as far as I know, know each other, but yet, EACH ONE OF THEM is friends with Suzy!
And yet, when I look at Suzy’s picture, I am quite sure that I have no fucking clue who the Hell Suzy is!
How is that possible?
Here is a chick who has been intersecting with people in my life for the past 40 years! I feel like she is the “Jenny” to my “Forrest Gump”.
Or worse, maybe she is a silent assassin, stealthily stalking me from the shadows for the past 4 decades, just waiting for her time to finally strike when I’ve let my guard down, infiltrating my circles of friends over the years with the sole intent of getting closer to me…..
Well, Suzy will have to wake up pretty early in the morning to pull one over on ME, dammit!
Do you hear me, Suzy! Now I’m on to your game, bitch!
Last week’s Halloween happenings got me thinking, as it does every year, about all things spooky and creepy that have happened to me in my life.
And to this day, when I think of things that have happened to me that give me the creeps, THIS is always the story that comes to my mind:
I was 6 years old in the Winter of 1975. Even though we had only been living on Long Island for a few years at that time, a common thing for my family to do was to go house hunting on the weekends. I don’t think we were really in the market to buy another house and move, but checking out other houses was something to do. Hey, it was 1975…. What hell were we SUPPOSED to be doing with our weekends….stare at my Pet Rock and Lava Lamp?
Anyway, it was a typical practice for my folks to check out the local newspaper, read of a house that was for sale, and then pack me in the car and head out to take a look at the place. Little 6 year old Slyde always thought of it as an adventure.
Except for ONE time.
We had pulled up to a house that my parents had read had recently come on the market. I remember my parents talking about being surprised how cheap the place was being sold for.
As we pulled in front of the house, I remember it being a large white house, right on the water, with 2 large windows overlooking the second floor. I remember seeing a gazebo in the backyard, right next to a dock that you could pull a boat up to.
On paper, it sounds like a great home, right?
But, until the day I die, I will remember the feeling I got when I first saw that house…..
It wasn’t excitement, or awe, or even childhood indifference….
It was fear.
Pure, unexplainable, pants-peeing fear.
I remember not being able to explain it to my mom. The house just felt…… wrong.
I got this bad vibe from every part of the house. The windows looked like evil eyes staring down at me. The gazebo looked wicked and dangerous. The quiet backyard looked like something bad was going to just pop out at any second.
I remember my father getting out to take a look around, while my mom and I stayed in the car, and I remember totally freaking out, screaming for my dad to come back inside.
In the end, my agitation got to be too much for my parents, and we ended up driving off, never having set foot inside that house.
It wasn’t until a few days later when I heard my mother talking to the real estate agent on the phone, that we learned that the house we had visited was the house that, only a few months prior, was the very home in which 23 year-old Ronald DeFeo, Jr. decided to wake up in the middle of the night and murder his entire family.
You might know the house by its more popular name……
The Amityville Horror.
Anyway, a few months later, the Lutz family famously lived there for 28 days, generating a half dozen films and making that place one of the most famous haunted houses in the world.
Now, were the Lutz’s nothing more than full-of-shit media hounds making up a story to get rich, or did they really spend 28 days in Hell in that house that, to this day, still stands not 10 miles from where I’m typing this?
I honestly don’t know, but I CAN say that here I sit, almost 4 decades later, still grateful as HELL that I never set foot in that house……
And as close as it is to where I live, I STILL have never gone back for another look……
Have I mentioned that Halloween is my absolute, favorite holiday?
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I like being scared. Or maybe I just enjoy putting on a disguise and being someone else.
Or it just might have something to do with the fact that I am inherently evil.
In any case, if you’re one of my old-time readers, you might remember that I make it a point to carve a pumpkin every year. I honestly don’t remember how I started doing this, but some time back when I was a teenager, one year I just decided to carve one, and I don’t think I’ve missed a Halloween since.
Now that I’ve got Mini-Me, I usually ask him what he wants me to carve. Then I sketch a few designs on some paper, and let him pick one. This year, this is what we came up with.
I was quite pleased with myself this year. I think this one came out aces.
Speaking of Mini-Me…. this year he decided he wanted to be a werewolf, even though I TOLD him in the store again and again that he wouldn’t want to wear that heavy mask for more than 30 minutes.
I was wrong. After 15 minutes, I was wearing the mask AND holding the bag of candy. Meanwhile, he just ran from house to house, then ran back to me to dump his loot into the bag I was holding. Walking around wearing a mask and holding candy, I must have looked like the world’s hairiest pedophile.
Today is November 1st, which is the day AFTER Halloween, of course. It is ALSO the day which 9 years ago, changed my life forever for the better.
I talk about Mini-Me a lot on these pages. That’s because I have no doubt that my little bundle of energy is the reason that I was put here on this earth. He is my buddy, my helper, my little confidant, and the best friend that I will ever have.
Nine years ago today my life turned remarkably for the better, and if I have to put up with a puppy pissing on me once in a while to make him smile, then by God that’s what I’m gonna do.
As I am still firmly entrenched in what we’ve come to call “Week 4 of the Puppy Seige”, I’ve been doing a lot of research on different ways to train a young dog.
One method that many trainers use today is called “Clicker Training”.
For those who aren’t familiar, basically you get one of those little hand-held clickers, and a shitload of little treats, and whenever you give your dog a command and he follows it correctly, you click the clicker and give him the treat. The idea being that he will quickly associate the ‘click’ with having done something ‘good’.
At this point, I’m willing to try ANYTHING, so I went down to the local Pet-Smart to get myself a clicker.
When I walked in, I was greeted by a 20-something chick who looked like she wanted to be ANYWHERE else but there. Undaunted, the following conversation took place:
Chick: Can I help you?
Stud: Yes please. I’m looking for a clicker.
Chick: A what?
Stud: A Clicker.
Chick: Oooooooh, you mean something to cut a dog’s nails with.
….at which point I thought to myself , “What the FUCK is she talking about?”
Then I put two and two together and realized that SHE thought I had said that I wanted a ‘CLIPPER’.
Ok, honest and completely understandable mistake there.
Stud: No, not a clipper! A clicker! You use it to help you train a dog by clicking it when he does something correctly.
Chick: Oh, ok. Yeah, we have those. Follow me.
So I follow the chick down an aisle. She finally stops, reaches for something from the shelf, and hands me………
OK, so NOW I’m completely dumfounded. I JUST told this asshat 30 seconds previously that I most definitely did NOT want a nail clipper. I THEN relayed a fairly descriptive explanation of what I DID want. But I guess that part of our conversation just bounced around the cavernous, hollow area inside her head where it eventually died a lonely death, because she just chose to ignore that part of our conversation.
So, holding the clippers that she gave me in my hand, we proceeded to have a 10 second stare-down where I was trying to figure out if she was just fucking with me, or if she was really THAT stupid.
Finally settling on ‘stupid’, I repeated myself:
Stud: No, not a clipper! A clicker! You use it to help you train a dog by clicking it when he does something correctly.
Chick: Oh, no. We don’t carry that.
Now in the grand scheme of my life, was this a big deal? Of course not.
But I’m a tax-paying American, dammit, and I have a right to complain about anyone who wastes my time because they are stupider than me!
Contrary to what most of you might deduce from my divine PHYSICAL appearance, I am not QUITE a perfect person.
Hard to grasp, right?
Anyway, one of my most glaring imperfections is that I have a bit of a temper.
Mind you, most times I’m a complete pushover. I routinely let people walk all over me. I live in fear of having to haggle with anyone on the price of something I’m buying, because I just opt NOT to haggle and pay whatever price they first tell me, when I know full well if I just opened my mouth I could have gotten it cheaper.
The point being: I don’t get angry easily, but if you push me past a certain point, I instantly catapult from ‘Docile’ to ‘Wolverine Berserker’ pretty much instantly.
And there are certain things you can do that will get me to “Rage Level” REALLY fucking quickly. Do not Collect $200. Do not pass “GO”.
The quickest way to piss me off is to fuck around with my son.
And guess what? His new 4th grade teacher is doing exactly that.
Yesterday, the little guy came home from school very upset. For the third or fourth time in the past month, he has asked the teacher if he could go to the bathroom, and his bitch of a teacher has told him “No”. Then a few minutes later, another student asks to go to the bathroom and she lets THEM go.
Yesterday, my son came home and raced to the bathroom, telling me he held it in for most of the day.
I fully realize that I’m only getting an eight year-old’s side of the story. I asked him if he asks to go to the bathroom too often, and he told me that was the first time that day that he asked to go. I asked him if he asked to go during a time when the teacher was trying to teach something important, and he said it was during “coloring time”.
As I said, this has happened a few times this past month where he has been denied going to use the restroom.
And I’m getting FUCKING PISSED………
I guess so far I’ve gotten spoiled where my son’s teachers are concerned. Each of his previous 4 teachers have been absolute ANGELS who really cared about their kids. The fact that each of them have also been hot MILF’s and THIS one is a Sea-Hag has no bearing on my reasoning.
Anyway, tomorrow when I pick my son up from school, Mrs. BattleAxe and I are going to have a little chat, and she had better come up with an ASTOUNDINGLY good fucking reason why my son can’t go take a piss when he needs to.
Another web site that I frequent plays this little game all the time, so I figured I’d give it a shot here.
Here’s the rules:
I will present you with three statements of fact. TWO of these statements are honest-to-goodness truths, and the third one is a bold-faced lie.
Your job, should you choose to undertake it, is to spend hours and hours contemplating which statement is the lie.
It might not even be that difficult for you guys, either. After all, I know for a fact that EVERY damn one of you has read every post I have ever written (twice!), so you all know me inside and out.
I WILL say that I have never written about any of these statements before, so there’s no way you rapscallions can try to look in the archives and cheat your way to victory.
Ok, enough with the preamble…. Here are my statements:
1) I was once lost in the wilderness for 2 days and was certain i was going to die.
2) I am friends with an axe murderer.
3) I dated my sister.
Remember, two of those statements are true, and one is not.
Now, if I wasn’t so damn lazy, this would be the part of the post where I’d offer some cool prize for the first person who guesses correctly.
But as I said, I’m lazy. But maybe I can muster up enough energy to send one of you lucky chicks a really awesome prize, like a picture of my abs or something. We shall see.
Legal Disclaimer: This contest is valid for anyone residing on the planet Earth. Hell, let’s make it the whole damn galaxy. No reason to discriminate against those cute little E.T’s. This contest is only NOT valid to Earl, who knows way too much about me for his own good. One day, I may have to kill him. Seriously.
Apparently, no matter what kind of shape I work hard to keep myself in, once you hit the big 4-0, your body starts to disintegrate.
Let’s do a quick rundown of my bodily woes…
Last Thanksgiving, I tore my Rotator Cuff while in a bare knuckle street fight with a gang member named “Bulldog”. He was beating the living tar out of me when I managed to swing a wild haymaker with all the strength I could muster, and knocked his ass out.
The fact that this fight did NOT happen on the streets, but on my Playstation 3 is completely irrelevant.
Ok, so I was playing a videogame with my Playstation Motion controllers and I tore my rotator cuff…. Happy now?
Anyway, I completely fucked my shoulder up. It’s hurt like a bitch for almost a year now, and although it’s much better than it was, I’m still not back to 100%. Every once in a while I’ll extend my arm the wrong way, and I’m down for the count again. One year of icing, heating, physical therapy, and I’m still not healed yet.
What the Hell is up with that? In my 20’s I used to be able to chop off my arm with a meat cleaver and just duct tape it back on. In the morning, I’d be fine!
The injury ALSO ended up tearing the tendons in my forearm, so basically the end result is I also have a type of tennis elbow.
So, to recap, my right arm fucking HURTS!
Then, last month, just as I was starting to feel a TAD better, I had to tear up our backyard patio to get ready for the pool to be dug, because I had some demolition guys come over and they wanted $400 to do it so FUCK THEM! Anyway, I did it myself and ended up tearing the tendon on my LEFT forearm.
So, now I’m basically a hobbled, armless stud. Sort of like Venus De Milo but with a wee-wee instead of a cha-cha.
The whole ordeal is really pissing me off. I haven’t done a decent workout in my gym in over 6 months now. For a while, I kept trying to work around the injuries, but nothing really worked. I have now resigned myself to stop doing any lifting at all until the new year.
Until then, I’ll just hang with the other housewives on the stair masters and the ellipticals.
Getting old sucks. Thank GOODNESS I’m still gorgeous! If my looks ever start to go, I may just have to kill myself.
So, I’m watching the latest episode of The New Girl, which I’m not completely sold on yet, but it’s been entertaining enough to keep me coming back for its first few episodes.
The show is light, 30 minutes of fluff that I’ve been using to get me off my puppy woes.
When, suddenly, without warning, a commercial comes on that was SO damn depressing that I almost went into cardiac arrest from the sudden shock.
Honestly, when it was over, I couldn’t even tell what the hell it was a commercial for. That’s probably because I suddenly had a fucking FOUNTAIN of tears in my eyes worse than if you had thrown a Jalapeño pepper in my face.
I had to search the web for about 30 minutes before I finally found it. The site won’t let me embed, but clicky-clicky here if you feel like you need some extra motivation to go kill yourself.
Seriously, what the fuck?
One second, I’m laughing politely in the comfort of my Den, and the next minute I’m thinking back in horror of a lifetime of regret.
You just don’t do that to an unsuspecting person, dammit!
And now that I’ve watched it again, I’m STILL not sure what the hell Values.Com is all about. Truth is, I’m afraid to click on any of their other links in fear that they remind me that when I was 8 I killed my goldfish or that life has no meaning.
Maybe it’s a website devoted to teaching people to feel shitty about themselves? That sounds like a worthy cause. I’m pretty sure no one else has done THAT yet.
Oh, wait a minute, my bad. Someone already HAS got that covered.
But I believe that this little bundle of fluff is going to fucking kill me.
Here are the 3 things he’s doing that are driving me batshit-crazy. I’ll also add below each item what I’ve tried to do to curb the behavior. If anyone has any other ideas, please let me know before I jump off the Empire State building…..
1) He bites.
Not to hurt, but he’s always putting his mouth on my hand, or worse, pulling at my son’s pants. Yeah, I know he’s only 3 months old, and he’s teething and his teeth hurt, but sometimes, it’s relentless and drives me crazy.
What I’ve done:
I always give him a firm and loud “NO BITE!” when he starts with his chewing. We’ve tried to be consistent with this. I’ve also tried to put peanut butter on the back of my hand, and when he licks it I tell him “Good Boy!”. The idea here is that they get accustomed to licking your hand and getting positive reinforcement from it. The only thing THAT has done for us so far is getting him to drink a lot of water, and me having a really sticky hand. We had a trainer come to the house for one visit (he’s too young to begin training yet) and he suggested getting a can of compressed air and blowing it in his face when he bites. We’ve been doing that and it seems to work, but NOW I can’t go anywhere without this fucking can of air in my pocket. We also try to divert him with the millions of chew toys we have bought him.
2) He poops and pees.
Yeah, I know, that’s a pretty good sign that he’s ALIVE, which is a positive thing. I’d just prefer him not to poop and pee on my carpet. He was actually getting pretty good about going on the wee-wee pads, but this weekend it seemed like he wanted to give us a big SCREW YOU and almost spitefully started giving me presents in the Den again.
What I’ve done:
TONS of positive reinforcement when he goes on the pads, and a big “NO” when he doesn’t, followed by my picking him up in mid-pee or poop and carrying him to the pads. Honestly, except for this weekend’s relapse, he’s been pretty good with this. My BIG concern is when I have to make him unlearn this behavior and start going outside. I’d LOVE to get him started outside NOW but both the vet and pet store said we really shouldn’t do it until he’s had all his shots, and I’d rather not take any chances on an animal that cost more than most South American countries. Am I shooting myself in the foot by teaching him to go in the house?
3) Chasing the cat.
This is the one that literally is keeping me up at night with anxiety. The little bastard wants nothing more than to chase and terrorize the cat. Yeah, I know he just wants to play with the cat, but the cat sure doesn’t know that! The problem is that the cat is the most docile and timid thing in the world, and he will NEVER just swat the pup. He doesn’t have it in him. He just runs for his life.
What I’ve done:
To start we put up some small fences in the house, basically giving the dog one small area, and the cat the rest of the house. I have a fence that cuts across my kitchen and den like the Great Wall of China. I swear, it’s like a fucking maze in my house! Right now my house looks like the Hedge Maze at the Overlook Hotel. Sometimes, late at night when I come down to the kitchen for a drink, I fully expect to find a dead-as-fuck frozen Jack Nicholson sitting in the corner.
Also, I’ve tried to get a small amount of time each night to get the two of them in the same room. I put the pup on a leash, and let them interact. At first, it was chaos, but it HAS been getting better. Sometimes, they will sit in the same room, noticing each other but completely disinterested, for a full 10 minutes or so, before the pup decided to get it into his head to trot over and say hi, and then the chase is on.
This is the one that I HAVE to nip in the bud, because I can’t fucking live like this much longer. EVERY damn website I go to says that this behavior WILL cease if I keep doing this, but I have yet to find a website which tells me how much longer I have before I stuff my head in the microwave and set the timer to “Popcorn”.
Anyway, that’s where I’m at these days. The past 3 weeks have honestly been more work and stress for me than when my son was born, and THAT’s really saying something.
It all came to a head last Saturday when, between an unending barrage of chasing, pooping, and biting, I needed a Calgon moment to Take Me Away and decided we were getting rid of the puppy.
At which point, my son cried for 4 hours and I then floated back to Earth and realized that no matter what, I CAN’T do that to my son.
No, this HAS to work.
I don’t care if I have to buy a second house and put the fucking cat in it, this HAS to work.
I have a bit of a dilemma at work that I’m hoping you can help me sort through.
Ya see, there’s this guy that I used to know. His name was Luis. As you can probably guess from the name, Luis was of a Latin descent. And if you couldn’t tell that from his name, it would have been a dead give-away if you had met him.
Let’s just say that no one was going to be mistaking him anytime soon for a Swede.
Anyway, although I used to see Luis regularly, I don’t spend too much time with him anymore.
Cut to a few months ago when I met this guy Jose’. (p.s. That apostrophe that I just put after his name is SUPPOSED to be one of those little fucking lines that some Latin people put over their names, but I don’t have a button here on my keyboard that’s labeled “little fucking line used for Latino names” so I chose the apostrophe. It was either THAT or the Pound sign, k?)
As you can probably guess AGAIN, Jose’ isn’t Irish, either.
So, here’s my dilemma…..
I’m not sure what the Hell is wrong with me, but for the life of me, EVERY damn time I see Jose’, I reflexively call him Luis.
I TOTALLY don’t even realize that I’m doing it, but then he looks at me like he doesn’t know what the fuck I’m talking about, and I quickly catch my error.
But I’m a pro at social situations like this…. I quickly look over his shoulder and find some stranger standing far away from us, and yell “Hey Luis! Come over here! I want to talk to you!”. Then I run off and pretend to have a conversation with the stranger who I have just dubbed Luis. This pretty much confuses EVERYBODY concerned… Me, Jose’, and Fake-Luis, but it gets me out of a sticky situation quickly.
Anyway, as much as I try NOT to, every damn time I trip over this name mix-up, and it really is quite embarrassing. I don’t make this mistake with anyone else I know…. Just these guys.
So, my question to the group is…. Am I racist?
I obviously keep associating the ONE Latino guy I know for the OTHER one Latino guy I know.
I mean, they DO kinda look alike….
There I go being all racist again!
I mean, it’s not like I ever mix up and confuse the names of any two OTHER people I know so, it’s GOTTA be a racial thing, right?
And here I thought I always was racially sensitive and unbiased.
Except for those 2 black guys I work with… I can never tell them apart, either…..
Sorry for the minimalist posting last week, but between the house construction and the new puppy tearing my house and my cat apart, I was in serious need of a Calgon Moment to take me away.
Anyway, concerning the construction…..
As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I am in the process of having an in-ground pool put in my backyard. Now, for anyone out there who’s gone through this already, you KNOW how stressful it can be. Between dealing with the contractors, the builders, the town board, and a million other piss-ant groups who need a check from me before they’ll do their job, I’m ready to pull your hair out.
But that’s not why I’m posting today…. THAT was just me venting a bit.
No, my rage today has to deal with nosy fucking neighbors and how people need to mind their own damn business.
I’ll back up a bit….
I was in my backyard yesterday, cleaning up a bit, when who pops his head over his side of the fence but my neighbor.
Now, I don’t have a real issue with my neighbor. I mean, I’m not too happy with the fact that every 6 months or so he seems to think it’s JUST DANDY to have a Sunday night outdoor party until Midnight, because I guess people in HIS world don’t work on Monday….
But, he’s friendly enough. Our kids go to school together, and he generally minds his own business. That’s about all I really ask from people who live next to me. But, if I’ve said 200 words to him in my lifetime, I’d be surprised.
My new friend pops his head over the fence, and the following conversation takes place:
Neighbor: Hey, you’re getting a new pool?
Neighbor: How much did it cost you?
Did he REALLY just ask me that? I was SURE I had misheard him.
Stud: Excuse me?
Neighbor: How much did it cost? I bet at least $40,000!
At this point I went from friendly to pissed-off pretty much instantly. So, I quickly decided that I really didn’t need this nosy prick as a friend after all, and decided to act like a pompous ass just to irk him.
Stud: Yeah, I guess. A lot more than that once I put in my solar heating and landscaping! I really haven’t been paying too much attention to the cost……
Neighbor: So, you got a home equity loan?
The fucking BALLS on this guy!
Neighbor: Oh, you worked out a payment plan with the pool company?
Stud: Nope. I paid cash. I don’t like to have bills over my head.
And when I said it, I said it really obnoxiously, like how much money this was costing was the most insignificant thing in the world. Really. If someone spoke to ME with that kind of attitude, I’d probably punch the pompous ass in the nuts.
Neighbor: Really? Wow.
Stud: Yup. Great talking with you!
And with that, I walked back into my house with a happy-go-lucky, carefree spring in my step.
I can’t wait till he gets a new car so I can waltz over there and ask to see his checkbook to make sure he can afford it.
P.T. Barnum famously said that “There’s a sucker born every minute.”
Well, I guess I win the prize as the sucker born during MY minute.
Didn’t I JUST tell ya’ll last week that I wanted to rescue a puppy from a shelter? Didn’t I JUST say that?
I really intended to go through with my plan, too. Every day at lunch, I was hitting yet ANOTHER shelter, looking for a dog that I hoped would be a good fit for my family.
Didn’t I JUST say last week that the LAST fucking thing I wanted to do was to get a puppy from a pet store?
Well, apparently Friz had other ideas. She called me while I was at work on Friday, telling me that she was going to a very reputable and recommended pet store “just to look”. Then, she told me she was taking Mini-Me with her.
I knew then that I was done for.
No WAY was she taking my son to a puppy store and NOT coming home with one. No way.
And, I was right.
Ozzy is a 2 month old Shiba Inu puppy that is, without a doubt, the cutest damn animal that has ever walked the Earth. I came home from work Friday, to find the little guy already having the run of the house, and Mini-Me on Cloud 9 with glee.
How could I say no to that?
So, now I have a puppy that cost me slightly more than my first used car.
Anyway, as I already mentioned, my son has dubbed him Ozzy. I’m not sure why.
But now a new controversy has begun. Should we spell his name “Ozzie”, conjuring up wholesome, family thoughts of Ozzie and Harriet……..
Or, should we spell his name “Ozzy”, conjuring up thoughts of devil-worshipers and biting the heads off small animals?
My vote is for the devil worship.
Anyway, it’s only been 2 days so far, but I’ve already cleaned up more pee and poop than I ever did with Mini-Me. The pup is a sweetheart but he is constantly torturing our poor cat by assuming he is another stuffed animal and chasing his ass all over the house. Hopefully, we’ll be able to curb said behavior right fucking quick.
Because right now having dogs and cats sailing past me at breakneck speeds for hours on end is seriously putting a cramp in my nighttime routine of trying to get drunk on Peppermint Schnapps and falling asleep in front of the computer watching Midget porn.
Hey, you’ve got YOUR tricks to relax, and I’ve got mine….
I mean, I LOVE dogs. Love em. I generally love ALL animals.
It’s just that the IDEA of having to take care of a dog right now…. running to the pet store, the vet, cleaning up poop, the whole deal…… well, it kinda fills me with dread.
So WHY, you may ask, will I most likely be getting a dog ANYWAY, in spite of my misgivings?
Here’s my reason…..
For the past year now, Mini-Me has been DIEING for a dog. Literally every day, he asks me if I have changed my mind yet, and his little face is all crestfallen every time when I tell him “No” yet again.
He has sworn to me that he will take care of the dog all by himself. Now, I’m no sucker. I know that kids throughout the ages have made this same claim to parents over and over again, only to quickly lose interest in the poor animal, leaving the parents to inevitably take care of the darn pooch. But I really DO think he’ll make good on his claim. Last year for his birthday we got him gerbils (mostly because we didn’t want to get him a dog) and he promised me he would take care of them all by himself, and bless his little heart, not a day has gone by in the past year when he didn’t wake up for school, all bleary eyed and tired, yet the first thing he does every morning is feed and take care of those damn gerbils. He’s really impressed me with his dedication.
And he’s such a good boy, with such a big heart. It makes me happy when we visit other people who have a dog and see him barely able to contain himself while he runs around the backyard playing with the animal. And it stabs me right in the heart when he cries in the back seat of my car when we drive home and he has to say goodbye to the pup.
I’ve held out this long, but I am only human. I give. I give.
The question now is what to get him, and where to get it.
I could give a fig if I get a pedigree or a mutt. All I want is a nice friendly puppy that he can handle, and won’t kill my cat or rip my house to shreds.
In the end, I’ll probably get a dog from a shelter, because damn it all but that seems like the best thing to do. The problem I’m learning THERE is that getting a PUPPY from a shelter is not easy.
Option # 2 is to go to a breeder, but I have this aversion to spending $2,000 on a pet that I could otherwise spend on coke and hookers.
If you know where to look, $2,000 can buy you a LOT of hookers.
Option # 3 is to go to a pet store, which is not really an option at all. I’m all down with the “not supporting puppy mills” thing. I also don’t support Nazi’s. I think they had their chance and now they should just shut up and let some OTHER group try to take over the world. Fair’s fair.
What was I talking about again?
Oh yeah, puppies. Well, if anyone around these parts knows where I can get a good puppy to give it a good home, give me a yell.
And if anyone has some sick fetish and is REALLY into cleaning up puppy poop, well then this could be the beginnings of a BEAUTIFUL friendship!
I don’t propose to be a smart man, but I DO know what I like.
And Gosh Darn it, I loves me some Reality TV.
Whether it be Survivor, Amazing Race, The Real World, or The Bad Girls Club, I can hang my head in shame and admit that I’m a fan.
That said, I don’t watch EVERY Reality show. There are TONS that I don’t watch, and even MORE that I have never even freaking HEARD OF.
The clip below falls into the latter category.
I have NO freaking clue what this show is called, or what it’s about. I can tell from the scrawl on the bottom that it’s on VH1, but other than that, I’m at a loss. Admittedly, I could have kept reading the comments to see if someone mentioned it, but after perusing through a dozen comments of “You’re Gay”, “No, YOU’RE Gay!”, and about 6 ads for Penis Pumps I realized that I really don’t care that much what this show is called after all.
All I can say is that watching this poor asshat getting kicked off Whatever-The-Hell-This-Is gets funnier and funnier every damn time I watch it.
I have no words. Behold……
I’m not sure what scares me more… the fact that he decided to try to pass off reciting Rocky Balboa as his exiting speech, or WHATEVER THE FUCK IT IS he decided to do right after that.
Oh, who am I kidding? It’s what he does after his speech that I just can’t look away from.
SERIOUSLY, WHAT THE FUCK?
I can only assume that he did that on a dare. Any other explanation would require him to be put in front of a firing squad immediately.
Anyway, I promise you all that when I finally get on Survivor, I will act much cooler than this.
Of course, I’m not getting voted off, so the point is moot anyway.
You might think that someone who looks as beautiful as I do would be EXTREMELY high maintenance, but I’m here to humbly report that just isn’t true.
On the contrary, I am about as easy going about the ‘little things’ as they come.
In fact, if YOU were the girl who hit the jackpot in the Lottery of Life and married me, you would feel so damn lucky to be alive, that every morning you would wake with a smile on your face, jump out of bed, and do a cartwheel to celebrate your incredible good fortune.
My point being is that I REALLY don’t demand a lot from the person I live with. I really don’t. Basically, as long as you don’t throw poo on the walls or try to cut off my wee-wee in my sleep, we’re good.
Oh, and there’s one other thing you’ll have to do for me…….
When you fill up one of the garbage pails in the kitchen, could you for Fuck’s sake please replace the pail with a new trash bag?
Because, I’m not a murdering type of man, but so help me, if I have my hands full ONE MORE TIME with something I need to throw away and slide open the cabinet in our kitchen that contains our garbage pail, only to discover AGAIN that the garbage bag is full, tied shut, AND JUST SITTING THERE, I do believe I am going to take an icepick to someone’s cranium.
It happens a few times a week, too. I open the cabinet, needing to throw something away, and find a full garbage bag just sitting there, mocking me.
Now call me crazy, but when I see that one of the pails are full, I take the garbage out of the pail, tie it off, and then PUT A NEW BAG IN THE PAIL TO NOT COMPLETELY FUCK OVER THE NEXT PERSON WHO NEEDS TO USE IT.
Look, I understand that sometimes the garbage is heavy, and she’s all girly-girl and I’m all bulging-biceps-manly-man, but just leaving it there really peeves me.
I think it really gets my goat because leaving the full trash bag there is just her way of leaving me a message. The message being, “Hey shithead… this garbage is full…. Be useful and take it outside for me!”
I GET that. I do. And I’m happy to do it. And you know what? I DO do it. Every damn time I open the garbage pail and see it’s full, I’m not one of those fucks who just cram whatever shit I had in my hands down into the bag, looking to magically create more space in there.
No, I take out the trash and replace the bag.
Like EVERYBODY should.
Because, I’m a caring, sensitive human being who cares about the garbage-creating needs of my fellow human beings. I’m not some cold, insensitive, trash-creating monstrosity sent here from the future to kill my mother ensuring I will have never been born so the Terminators from the Cyberdine Corporation can have dominion over the post-apocalyptic world of the future.
Wait, I think I got a little confused there at the end. Were we talking about robots taking over the world, or taking out the garbage?
Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have fallen asleep drunk while watching that Schwarzenegger marathon last night……
I sat my butt down to write something yesterday, feeling that since I’m from NY I should at least say SOMETHING about it, and no matter what I jotted down, nothing I wrote really said what I wanted to say any better than what I wrote exactly 5 years ago, on the fifth anniversary.
So, here it is, with just a small edit here or there…..
I used to work on the 90th floor of Tower 2 in the World Trade Center.
The time was 1994. It was about 6 months or so after the first failed attack on the towers.
I remember my mother at the time, freaking out about me going on that first interview, saying “That building isn’t safe! What if they decide to try and blow it up again?”
I carried her concerns with me as I went on the interview. Any reservations that I DID have, however, left me as soon as I walked inside the building.
For months after the '93 attack, the security inside the Trade Center was mind-numbing; Police, guard dogs, photo-ids, multiple drivers license checks, and all of this before I could even enter the first floor elevator!!
After the interview, I went home that night seeing any fears I had about working in that building washed away. It felt like Fort Knox to me. It felt like the safest building in the world.
Who could have known?
Who would ever consider that people would use commercial airliners as weapons and try to bring the towers down from the sky? Such an idea would have seemed unfathomable to me back then.
Remarkably, it still does.
What people not from the greater NY/Long Island area need to understand about the World Trade Center is just what a major hub of commerce and employment it was for us here. I am not exaggerating when I say that there is literally no one who lives in this area who hasn’t worked in the Trade Center, or knew someone who did.
We ALL know people who died in those buildings. All of us.
Simply put, for everyone here, the World Trade Center was a huge part of our lives.
Luckily for myself, I had moved on to other employment by the time the tragic events of 9/11 struck, but I have friends and family that were working there that day. I lost friends that day too. Everyone around here did.
My friend Scott Bart had just gotten married a few months before 9/11. He was young. He was happy. He had his whole life in front of him. He never made it out of that building that day. Sometimes I go to his company’s memorial website and just sit and stare as I try to grasp the extent of the insane, needless loss that all those names on those memorial web pages convey.
Such a staggering loss, and at the same time, just one story, among thousands.
I have a family member who worked on the 50th floor of Tower 1. After reaching the 10th floor during his evacuation, he decided to help a group of EMS workers that were heading back up to help the wounded. Upon reaching the 40th floor, he happened upon his ex-wife, also working in the trade center. She dragged him away from the EMS workers and told them that they would need to find someone else to help them.
The building began to fall as they finally reached the main lobby. They ran for their lives across the street, and into Battery Park. We didn’t hear from him until 3:00 P.M. that afternoon, by which time I had been sure he was dead.
He still won’t talk about what he saw that day, and I have learned to no longer ask.
I simply cannot believe it has been ten years since the place that had at one time been such a central part of my life came crashing down, changing the world forever.
It doesn’t feel like ten years.
And it shouldn’t. Not ever.
We should, each and every one of us, keep the memory of that day alive in our hearts and souls for whatever time we have left in this world. We should remember the horror of it, but also remember proudly that, throughout it all, that day helped bring out the absolute best in so many of us. It was a day that tested the mettle of many, and few were found lacking.
Say a prayer tonight for the children and families whose lives were forever shattered ten years ago today.
After 7 days of living like the sexiest Amish dude EVER, I finally got my mother-humpin’ power back on late Saturday night. Seven days of not being able to do important stuff like pay my online bills, or look at midget porn! I swear I don’t know how I did it.
Anyway, as the Summer draws to a close, I finally decided to do something I’ve wanted to do for years.
No, it’s NOT to finally get my self-help book, “Men With Big Peens and How They Cope”, published. I still need to come up with a final chapter for THAT.
No, I have finally decided to get rid of our above-ground pool, and get a nice, honkin’ in-ground pool. I’m going the Full Monty with it, too. Salt water, solar heating system, spa jet bench…. The works.
So, I’ve begun the long (and costly) process to get this started.
The first step was trying to obtain the permits from the town. I filled out all the proper paperwork, and in 2 weeks time, I got a call from the town saying that I could come on down to pick up the permit.
This is the conversation that took place with Town Clerk Millie once I got there…..
Stud: Hi! I’m here to pick up my permit.
Millie: Ok, that will be $58.25.
Stud: Ok, here’s my credit card.
Millie: I’m sorry… we don’t take credit cards.
Stud: Well, I don’t have the cash on me.
Millie: I’m sorry sir, but you’ll have to come back when you have the money…..
So, at this point I’m already peeved off. I mean, C’mon…. what business doesn’t take credit cards in today’s world, besides prostitutes? And believe me, if you had SEEN Millie, you would be pretty darn sure that she was NO ONE’S prostitute….
Anyway, I walked outside, frustrated, when what do I spy in the lobby of the Town Hall?
You would think, for someone who probably has to give the “We don’t take credit” speech a gazillion fucking times a day, she might have thought to mention to me that THERE IS A MOTHER FUCKING ATM ABOUT 20 FEET AWAY!!!!
Anyway, I was just happy to be able to get the cash. I took out $60 and returned to my good friend Millie.
Stud: Hi! I’m back!
Millie: Great. That will be $58.25.
Stud: Here’s $60.
Millie: I’m sorry sir, but I can’t make change.
Millie: We don’t make change…. It’s exact change only.
Stud: Are you fucking with me?
Millie: No sir. We don’t make change.
Stud: Ooooooook, then just keep the $1.75.
Stud: Yeah, keep it. Buy yourself a new blouse for something.
Millie: Sir, I can’t do that.
Stud: Sure you can… it’ll be our secret.
Millie: I’m sorry sir, but I could get fired.
Stud: Not because of me, you won’t. I promise that I will take this scandal to my grave!
But no matter what I said, no matter HOW much charm I oozed on this old bat, she wouldn’t budge.
So, now I have to make ANOTHER trip there tomorrow to get my damn permit.
I am about one day away from going completely feral…… sleeping outside in filth, eating rats and berries, and slinging my poo at passerbyes….
Honestly, I think I’ve handled this pretty damn spiffily so far, but now, after almost a week of this crap, I am seriously about to fucking lose my shit.
And let’s give a big FUCK YOU to L.I.P.A. (the Long Island Power Authority) who continue to show ineptitude day after day. On Wednesday, they told me to expect power back on before nightfall. We got zilch. On Thursday, they told me they were sending a team out at 8pm and that they would work all night until the problem was resolved and that I should expect power by the time I woke up.
Not only do I have the exact fucking OPPOSITE of ‘power’ right now, but I checked every few hours during the night and absolutely NO ONE came last night! When I called again this morning to complain, I was told that a crew DID come last night, but assessed that it was a “High Voltage Situation” and they weren’t prepared to deal with that, so they left.
What The Fuck????
Granted, I’m no electrician, but it would seem to me that ANY fucking time you’re dealing with power lines, it tends to be a fucking high fucking voltage fucking situation. Maybe it’s me.
Anyway, since sitting in the darkness before finally taking a sleeping pill and going to bed by 8:45 started growing old, I’ve spent the past few nights going to the movies. It was down to either staring at my watch and watch the hour hand move, or committing Sepaku.
Anyway, here are the movies I’ve seen:
Spy Kids 4 – With Aromavision! Seriously. They give you a piece of paper with 8 numbers on it, and during the movie they tell you to scratch a certain number and get the appropriate smell. It all smelled like the same crappy cologne to me, but Mini-Me couldn’t get enough of it. He laughed his little butt off during this movie, so I’d say this film was a hit.
Rise of The Planet Of the Apes – This was hands-down the best movie of the summer for me. A lot of critics have complained that the human performances were sub-par and dopey, and you know what, they’re right, but just like I fast forward all the crappy dialogue in Titanic to watch the awesome scenes of the ship sinking, when the apes start waging war this movie goes into hyper drive and kicks serious ass! I loved every minute.
Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark – Being a Huge fan since I was a kid of the original, I walked into this a tad skeptical, but in the end, even though they really fiddled with the premise from the original, I really liked this one, too. The story of a couple moving into an old mansion, only to discover that the basement has some sub-human dwellers, is really creepy. The original used to give me nightmares as a kid, and this one had enough scares for me to consider it a win as well.
Anyway, since there are no more movies out that I want to see, and in the past week I have consumed more Twizzlers than my body weight, I can only pray that this is fixed soon.
No, I haven’t misspelled the title song of those one-hit wonders, Dexy’s Midnight Runners…..
I’m just gonna bitch and whine for a few moments about my post-hurricane Irene situation.
I really thought we were gonna get thru this thing unscathed. Even though the rain was torrential, and the wind was whipping things around like a mother, by 9 A.M. Sunday morning things were starting to die down and we still had power.
Then, just because Mother Nature likes to fuck with me, a mini-tornado touched down on our street.
It was about 2 minutes all told, but the damage done in those 2 minutes was pretty damn massive. Trees came down crushing fences and sheds, power lines came down, windows were smashed….
The worst damage came from a series of big trees down the street from us. The picture above is the best I could get of it from my cell phone, but you really can’t see the complete devastation that happened from that pic.
That tree in the pic is MASSIVE. It came down sprawled across the street, landing on a little Toyota and pretty much cutting it in half. There’s also a second tree, almost as big, behind the first one, which came down as well. THAT second tree hit the power lines, and took them down, along with the pole it was attached to.
The end result is a street that is completely cut off, some fucked up cars, live wires crackling all over the place, and me without power since Sunday morning.
We have now entered Day 3 of what I like to call “Slyde Under Seige”.
Living without power pretty blows donkey chunks. You can quote me on that.
During the day, Mini-Me and I take walks to look at all the downed trees, and play board games. Once the sun goes down, I feel like Will Smith in “I Am Legend”. I run home to sit in a pitch black house and try to drink myself silly so I can force myself to actually fall asleep by 9 P.M. Good times.
The WORST part of the whole situation is that the house next door to mine gets their power from a different transformer, so THEY still have fucking power! Some nights I sit on my porch steps and stare at them all watching TV through their window. I get filled with rage and seriously contemplate throwing a tree trunk like a javelin, right at their fat, TV-watching heads. I guess I’m petty, but I think I could be handling this much better if my entire neighborhood was suffering like I am. Seeing the people next to me going about their day like nothing is wrong is almost too much for me to bear.
From what I’m being told, I’d be surprised if got power back before next week.
So, that’s where I’m at. I could say something noble like “At least we all came thru the hurricane OK”, but fuck that…..
What’s up with all you chicks and the Lifetime channel, anyway?
Seriously, I just can’t wrap my mind around what the Hell keeps you guys coming back to that channel, time after time, to watch one crappy movie after another.
Every fucking night, I try to wrench the remote from Friz, so I can watch something of substance, like Die Hard, and I am inevitably greeted with “You can watch your stupid show when MY movie is done.”
Then I look at the screen, and of course I see that damnable Lifetime logo on the bottom…..
But hey, I’m a reasonable person. I’ll often sit down on the couch, and see if this movie that has her so engrossed is anything actually worth watching.
EVERY STORY REVOLVES AROUND THE SAME FUCKING 3 PREMISES EVERY DAMN TIME!!!!!
What’s that, you say? You won’t be home tonight to be able to watch the Thursday night movie on Lifetime?
Well, I don’t have a TV Guide in front of me, but let me take a wild stab at what tonight’s movie will be about….
1) A wife gets into a car accident and gets amnesia. Watch her painful struggle as she tries to remember who the fuck she is, while she starts a new life somewhere else and bangs someone who isn’t her husband…..
2) A wife gets roughed up a lot by her abusive husband. Watch her painful struggle as tries to leave a bad marriage, while she starts banging a new guy who is NOT her husband, but seems really swell….
3) A wife has a painful secret from her youth. Usually that means that she either murdered someone in self defense, or she was a hooker (or both!). Watch her painful struggle as she is blackmailed into banging someone in order to keep him quiet, while she struggles to keep her family together.
And THAT’S FUCKING IT!
Over and over and over.
Different casts, different locations, people wear different hats and shit, but it’s basically the SAME DAMN premises again and again!
I can’t fucking stand it anymore. I honestly don’t understand how you gals can sit thru this dreck again and again…..
The best part is that Friz doesn’t even seem to remember which ones she’s seen and which ones she hasn’t seen already. Sometimes I’ll ask to use the TV, and she tells me that she is in the middle of a movie, and I’ll take a gander at the screen only to see Melissa Gilbert getting chased through a forest AND I KNOW DAMN WELL THAT SHE WATCHED THIS SAME SHITTY MOVIE TWO DAMN MONTHS AGO!
When I tell her that she’s seen this one already, all I’m given as a reply is, “Really? Yeah this DID seem kinda familiar. But I don’t remember how it ends so I still want to watch it.”
How it ends? HOW IT ENDS?
It ends with Melissa Gilbert getting away and starting a new life! JUST LIKE EVERY FUCKING ONE OF THESE SHITCAN MOVIES END!
And while we’re on the topic of Melissa Gilbert, what the fuck is up with her being in EVERY damn one of these movies, anyway? I thought Hollywood was FULL of washed up 70’s actresses…. Why the hell do they have to keep plowing THAT same field over and over again? Geez, give someone else their big break, won’t ya?
Seriously, this crappy channel is cutting into my time to watch REAL quality programming….
I just got Predator on Blu-ray, for Gosh Sakes!!!!
There have been times, after I have posted something here, that I look back on what I wrote, and reflect to myself , “I just shared a little TOO much.”
This is probably gonna be one of those times.
If you’ve been around these parts for a while, then you know that I have been prone to having some pretty messed up dreams from time to time.
Well, Ladies and Gents, I do believe we have ourselves a Winnah!!!
Let me recount for you my dream from last night…….
In my dream, I was petering around my house, when I realized that I was quite hungry.
Actually, “hungry” doesn’t really do justice to the state I was in. I was RAVENOUS!
So, my sexy dream self decided to go into the kitchen to see what kind of left-overs we had in the fridge.
No sooner did I open the fridge, when I started tearing open every container I could find to see what there was to eat.
The problem was, no matter how many Tupperware containers I opened, I could find NOTHING to eat. One container had spoiled Chinese food, the next was empty with just crumbs inside, the next one had some food that I can’t stand, like Eggplant, in it……
On and on and on….
Now, at this point, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that this so far is the lamest and most BORING dream that was ever dreamt in all of Dreamland.
Well, hold on to your hats…..
Because, just when I was about to give up my search and go hungry, I found one last Tupperware container in the back of the fridge.
So, I pulled it out, set it down on the counter, and when I peeled back the lid, I discovered that it was full of………
Yeah, that’s right. I said it. The container was filled to the brim with dozens of penises.
And whoever had put them in there did so very lovingly, because they weren’t just thrown in there all hap hazardly. Lord knows I wouldn’t have taken the time to place them in there all nice and organized, but THAT’S just how they were placed, all neatly splayed on top of each other.
They were all even facing the same direction!
Clearly, SOMEONE really cares about the contents of their Tupperware.
Anyway, although I’m FAIRLY certain that, in real life, if I came home to find a box of severed penises in my refrigerator, it would probably put me in some level of distress, my Dream Me seemed to be just fine with it.
MORE than fine with it, actually.
You see, I was still hungry.
So, Dream Me started trying to decide how I was going to cook them up.
Should I bake them? Bread them? Or maybe just throw em on the Barbeque basted with a little Teriyaki?
A Penis shish-kabob, perhaps?
Anyway, while Dream Me was trying to decide just what Emeril Lagasse might do in this situation, my alarm went off and I woke up.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so fucking glad to have to get up to work in the morning.
Ok then. This is the part where I’d normally ask you to go easy on me, but who am I kidding?
Go for it. Be your most vicious. I can take it.
That which does not kill me, makes me stronger.
I promised myself I would blog about this, and I did it.
I FULLY intended to just phone one in today and put up a bullshit, easy-peasy post with a youtube clip that I found funny, but then Barb had to give me a shout out telling all the interwebs about how awesome I am, so NOW I feel compelled to actually WRITE something today.
Thanks a lot! What the Hell did I ever do to you?
Now I feel all sorts of pressure about what I’m going to write. I didn’t sign up for this. Barb just wrote all this stuff about how damn funny I am, and now I feel like the center stage is on me, because if someone from HER site reads about how poop-your-pants funny I am, and then comes over here and the first post they see is me talking about my grocery list, then they are going to think that I suck and never come back. It’s kinda like that one time in 3rd grade when I tripped over my shoelace in dodge ball and lost the game for my team. Those little shits ALWAYS picked me last after that! Every damn time! That’s a lot of stress for a little kid wearing Hulk Underoos to have to deal with, yo.
What the Hell was I talking about again?
Oh yeah, the pressure to be funny.
Actually, this whole thing reminds me of some friends that I used to have at my last job. Come to think of it, ‘Friends’ might be a bit too strong….. they were more like ‘co-workers who I didn’t mind spending some free time with’.
This group of people had this regular thing where they would get together once a month after work and have a big group dinner/night out. It wasn’t really a “Happy Hour” thing.. it was more like a big group meal. After I had been working there a few months, they started asking me to join them, so I did.
The problem is, these people loved being around me. I mean LOVED it. They thought I was funny as shit, and they only wanted me to join them so I could crack them up at dinner like I did around the office.
That’s cool. I learned a long time ago that my sense of humor got me in good with many people on the rare times when my movie-star good looks looks failed me.
The problem was that these people were SO damn annoying about it. No sooner would I walk in to dinner than the whole group would stare at me with these dopey-ass grins on their faces, just WAITING for me to say something funny. If I decided not to play along and not say anything, then they would attempt to bait me and set me up so I could deliver a funny punch line.
“So Slyde…. Can you believe what Kathy from accounting did today?”
Then the asshat who started it would stare at me with the world’s biggest shit-eating grin on their face, and I just KNEW he was thinking …
“Oh Boy Oh Boy Oh Boy! I just set him up big time! I can’t wait to hear what he says about that!”
And I would look out across the table, and see every damn one of these lemmings staring at me waiting for me to put on my comedy show.
And it would really piss me off.
I would just respond with a succinct “Yeah, that was sure something.” and go back to my meal. The crest-fallen looks I saw on everyone’s face told me that each one of these jerks were thinking “Hey, that wasn’t funny at all!” silently made my day.
Eventually, I got tired of being the main attraction for their evenings and stopped going to the dinners.
I just read this back and, in retrospect, a story about how I sometimes try NOT to be funny isn’t very fucking funny at all, but I just took 20 minutes to write it so Damn It All, you’re going to read it.
It really IS a challenge trying not to just coast thru life on my looks. It would be so damn easy, too. Like taking candy from a baby.