Saturday, January 31, 2015

Please Like Me

                Last year I managed to put up 22 posts for the entire year.  When I math it out, that comes out to about 1.8 posts per month.  So far this year, not counting this one, I managed to get 4 posts in January already and I have 5 more posts already typed and edited (so keep an eye out for upcoming posts like Mexican Bathroom and Text Anxiety!).   I’m going to hold off on posting those for a bit so that I can space them out appropriately because I am completely terrified that this creative streak I’ve hit will dry up at any moment and I won’t have any back-up posts to weather the storm. 
                Personally, I don’t know what a typical writing process is, but I know what works for me.  I’m not going to say what’s right and wrong in this realm because I’m just one awkward guy trying to make people giggle at the words I post on the internet; not an expert by any means.  There are some people that sit down with the intent to write X amount of words each day.  I’m sure that works in certain scenarios, but being the sole contributor to this blog and trying to make it consistently funny leads me to believe that if I try to force jokes when I’m not feeling inspired, they’re going to fall flat and suck.  So when I find something that gets me in the writing mood, something I want to share, you can bet that it’s going to be posted here.  And when I don’t you’ll see this thing go quiet (unless I pad my post count with mostly useless updates like this!). 

                And now, this is the part where I beg unapologetically for you to share this blog with other people you know.  I’m hoping you share it with people because you’re enjoying it, but I’ll probably settle for you sharing it because you’re embarrassed for me as well.  Maybe someday I’ll be able to quit my job because somebody hands me a big sack of money and says “Just be handsome and hilarious, there’s more where this came from.”  But for now, I just want to make sure I continue to increase the number of people who are able to get some enjoyment out of these stories and ideas that, until now, have just been locked away in my (cluttered) mind.

                I have a good lot of material stored up that hasn’t been written down yet.  And most days my life feels like a joke in itself as more of these stories are created.   Of course, if there comes a time when I need a break to drum up some new material, I’ve built up a decent enough back-catalog on here that you could be reading too.  So while you’re waiting for my next update, go back and check out Open Letter to A&E, Fishing Trip, Weather Nation, The Murder Room or any other of my previous posts.

Thanks for reading, there’s plenty more to come.


Friday, January 23, 2015


                As of the time that I am posting this entry, I was supposed to be out on a date.  Supposed to be.  Obviously, I wouldn’t be taking the time to post this if that were the case.  It’s not necessary to get into the details; I’ll skip over everything that is either not relevant or not funny.  Basically, a date was agreed upon, then before the day of the actual date it was called off (I wasn’t stood up, I’m not that much of a sad sack…maybe).   What was funny about that was that I got a text calling off the date, and literally within the next minute my buddy Joel asked me if I was looking forward date I had coming up.  “Well, funny you should mention that, Joel, because as of 30 seconds before you asked me, I don’t have a date.”

                What really sucks most about this is that, because I didn’t even go out on the date, I don’t have a terrible and awkward experience to write about such as with First (And Last) Date and Shitty Date.  I mean, historically, dates have provided me with a ton of material based solely on the fact that I’m borderline incapable of non-awkward human interactions.  I’m most upset for my readers, who sadly find themselves without a hilariously cringe-worthy new date story (which is why I’m kind of using this post to just advertise some of my other posts, it’s an easy update!).

                In all reality, this works out better for everyone.  If you’ve read my 9 Reasons Why Women Shouldn’t Date Me, you’ll totally understand that she made the right call and dodged a bullet (I could have ruined her entire 2015).  And since I was prepared to buy 2 dinners tonight that just means that I get to eat twice as much (fat kid status!).  The waiter has also been really nice too, so I’ll definitely be giving him a good tip; making it a solid night for him, too.    I suppose I forgot to mention that, despite the cancellation of the date, I still went out to eat at the restaurant I had planned on.  And I’m still pretty damn determined to enjoy this delicious meal.    I’ve got 2 plates of food and a candle in front of me on the table.  And I didn’t have to choose between the chicken and the beef.  I got both.

The waiter seemed concerned when I 
asked to have this picture taken.

Monday, January 19, 2015

Fridge Cleaning

                I don’t know if I’m just still in the holiday spirit (I’m not) or if I’m just using this as a cheap way to post an update (I am), but I think I’ll go ahead and share another story about Thanksgiving from a few years ago.   I was actually reminded of this story at a holiday get-together this year and felt it would be a good addition to my growing catalogue of bad decisions that I’ve posted here. 

This story takes place several years ago when I was still living with my dad; he lived upstairs in the house and I had the basement to myself.   There was a refrigerator in the basement that I generally kept stocked with a lot of soda and beer, and very little of anything else.   Well, one particular November my dad asked me to clean out the fridge because we would be having the family over to our place for Thanksgiving and he wanted to make sure we had plenty of fridge space for all the food.  I took “clean the fridge” as “drink every beer in the fridge,” promptly called 2 friends over (we’ll call them LP & LG because they have the same name and it would be confusing) and declared it open season on beer.   There were 3 partially finished 30-packs (because every time we wanted to drink, instead of checking the fridge we just immediately bought a new one) and an absurd amount of orphaned craft beers from various 6-packs.  None of us are sure of exactly how many beers were in that refrigerator, but our best guesses all leave it somewhere between 80 and 100. 

                The three of us started drinking around 7 pm, extremely confident in our ability to finish every last beer in the fridge.  The night consisted of the typical drunken activities: cards, music, video games, high fives and overly deep discussions (all of which were growing increasingly disorganized and difficult).  For the most part, we were alternating between the light beers in the 30-packs and the heavier craft beers because we thought that was a good strategy for tackling the situation (there was literally no reasoning behind this).  Really though, nothing particularly important happened during most of the night (or if it did, we can’t remember).

                About 5 a.m. we were still powering our way through the, now mostly empty, fridge.   We heard my dad leave for work and decided that the best thing we could possibly do was go upstairs and start cooking breakfast for our irresponsibly beer-laden stomachs.   After making it to the top of the stairs, LG decided he needed a rest and promptly sprawled out on the kitchen floor for a nap.   LP and I proceeded to dig through the upstairs refrigerator for every bit of breakfast food we could find and carry with one hand (since our other hands were still holding beers).  What we settled on was a carton of eggs, an entire bag of hash browns and a package of bratwurst (because we couldn’t find any bacon or sausage and sometimes you just have to call an audible).

                I cooked this feast with exactly as much precision as you would expect from someone who had been drinking for 10 hours.  Meanwhile, LG snoozed on the floor and LP ran up and down the stairs fetching beers for the both of us.  With breakfast cooked to varying degrees of done-ness (nobody got food poisoning, so success), we woke up LG and the 3 of us sat down at the table to enjoy our meal, which we washed down with the last remaining beers.  I distinctly remember that my breakfast beer was a Schlafly Christmas Ale, LP’s was a Schlafly Pumpkin Ale and LG’s was a Jack’s Pumpkin Spice Ale (don’t ask me how the hell I remember this).   With full bellies and a questionable sense of accomplishment, we gave a toast in honor of ourselves and clinked our bottles together before finishing the last drops of beer; mission accomplished.

                At this, LG stood up from the table, declared “I’ll be right back” and walked out the door to the garage.  LP and I watched through the window as LG then exited through the patio, walked across the backyard and disappeared around the side of the house.   We hear a door slam followed by the sound of a car starting up and driving off (if there are any impressionable youths reading this, DO NOT DO THIS).  After calling LG’s cell phone several times with no answer, we decided that gravity was getting increasingly difficult to overcome and therefore we should just go downstairs, seek out places to pass out and prepare ourselves for what were sure to be the kinds of hangovers that would be written down in the annals of history; legends to be passed down through the generations as cautionary tales to children.

                Unfortunately, as we wearily descended the stairs we caught sight of an obstacle that would delay the sweet, alcohol-induced slumber: an unopened Schlafly Raspberry Hefeweizen sitting on my desk.  Ordinarily, a bonus beer would be a welcome sight; however we were in absolutely no condition to imbibe another.   That didn’t stop us, though.  Reasoning to ourselves that we had come so far; that only one beer stood between us glory; that if we didn’t finish this last beer we would be failures, we decided to split this final, warm beer for the sake of our legacy.   Drinking this warm, fruity beer was rough but we both took turns gagging it down, too stubborn to let the beer win.   We were victorious, but it took a toll on us.  I had never in my life seen LP vomit before this, but as soon as the beer was finished he collapsed on the floor and began desperately hugging my trash can, heaving pitifully into it.  Once he was done, he looked up at me cheerfully and exclaimed, “I feel so much better.  I want to puke all the time.”

                We later found out that LG had left to go to work, which seems like the worst thing to do in that situation.  Also, it’s worth noting that I’ve never seen LP puke again since that day.  My dad also never asked me to clean out the fridge again.


Saturday, January 10, 2015

Cup of Dicks

            Here is a quick story that I couldn’t resist sharing.

Back in December, I went out with my friends Tom and Alex to our favorite karaoke bar (we have a favorite one because we’re kind of professionals).    As usual, Alex and I rocked the place with voices that can best be equated to those of seraphim (Tom just watched because he lacks confidence), but that’s not the important part of this story.  After closing down the bar, we stopped by a McDonald’s on the way home, because sometimes the most important thing you can do after a night of drinking is to eat some nugs (McNuggets).  Now, as Tom was ordering the food, Alex and I took it upon ourselves to act like complete assholes.  When asked what he wanted, we shouted out “a cup of dicks” before Tom could respond.  And every time there was a pause, or a question of whether he needed to order anything else, again we urged them to add “cup of dicks” to the order.   There was also some singing of amended lyrics to Iggy Azalea’s “Fancy” (cup of Ace, cup of Goose, cup of dicks).

Fast forward a couple of weeks from there and it’s my annual Christmas party.  I open up the gift that Alex gives me and it’s a set of 4 stemless wine glasses (which I’m totally going to use for my Bastille Day Bash).  Upon opening up the box they’re in, I find that all 4 glasses were filled with tiny, dick-shaped candies.  I look up from the gift to see Alex with a huge grin on his face as he shouts, “Cup of dicks!”  Now, despite the fact that this was a large pile of pink, purple and white dick-shaped candies, this was still candy and the fat kid in me was not about to waste it.  I put all the dick candy in a bowl and put it on my kitchen table for myself, my roommates and any house guests to snack on (if you’re too stuck up to eat dick candies, you’re not my friend). 

Fast forward again a few weeks and I get a text from one of my younger cousins, Sam, asking if he can borrow my St. Louis Blues hoodie because he’s going to the hockey game that night.  Of course I say yes, because I’m a great cousin, but I’m already on my way to work so I tell him he can just let himself into my apartment and grab it from my closet.  A little while later I get another text from him, “Why do you have candy shaped like dicks on your table?!!”


Thursday, January 1, 2015

9 Reasons Why Women Shouldn't Date Me

                Hey! Check this out; it’s my first post of the New Year.  It’s hard to believe that another year has passed.  It’s even harder for me to believe that I’m writing this in December, but I’m hanging on to it until January because I already made 4 posts in December (I’m trying to space out my updates so I don’t run out of new content too quickly….not that I have a problem with being too quick, ladies).   I also felt like maybe I should make a post that is relevant to the fact that it’s a new year.   I was a little bit strapped for ideas, but it’s not like this is the first time in my life I’ve ever been desperate.  I do know that everyone wants to use the new year to start fresh and make better decisions.  In keeping with the idea of making good decisions,  I have decided to make a list of 9 Reasons Why Women Shouldn’t Date Me.

1)      I Have A Job
Against my better judgment, I have a full time, salaried job.  I work 7 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday through Friday, which means in any given week there are immediately 50 hours that I’m unavailable.  Add on to that the fact that I have to work every 5th weekend.  And since it’s a salary job, if my work isn’t done I’m not going home on time.  Do you really want a guy who is going to be tied up for that much of the day/week/month/year? 

2)      I Don’t Live With My Parents
I live in an apartment with a couple of roommates, not in my parents’ basement.  In fact, I moved out of my parents’ several years ago and have been in this apartment since then.  It’s a cool apartment and my roommates are definitely people (I don’t want to get to complimentary).  But what this means for you is that I’m clearly trying to keep you from meeting my family.  Really, the fact that I moved out of my parents’ house is a clear cut indication of my tenuous ties to my family.  There’s probably some sort of deep-seeded childhood issue that I’m not telling you about, too.  Is that what you really want?  I doubt it.

3)      I Can’t Play Guitar
I know, this one really sucks.  Trust me, I really wanted to learn how to play but I had neither the time nor the money for lessons and I was way too dumb to learn on my own.  I do know how to play the saxophone, but you and I both know that’s clearly no match for the raw sex appeal of a guitar.   And where this is really a deal-breaker for you is the fact that I will obviously never be able to play guitar and serenade you on a flight to Las Vegas while Billy Idol runs interference with the beverage cart.  It’s like I don’t even care about this relationship at all.

Not Happening

4)      I Don’t Have a Fancy Car
At one point in my life a girl broke up with me because I had a Cavalier and another guy had a Mustang.  I never did learn my lesson from this event as I kept that Cavalier for another six years until the day it died then bought a Cruze (I named it Penelope Cruze).  Regardless of how much I’m enjoying this awesome gas mileage, the fact that I don’t have a fancy car means that I don’t care about appearances and obviously I don’t care about arriving to pick you up in style for our dates. 

Pictured Here: Not a Pimpmobile

5)      I Can Cook
Not only do I know how to cook, but I actually enjoy doing it.  I can do more in the kitchen than just making ramen noodles and Easy Mac, and I like trying new dishes and flavor combinations. For you, this means that we won’t be having a ton of date nights at your favorite restaurants out on the town because I’m going to be too busy toiling in the kitchen trying vainly to impress you.  Inconsiderate of me, I know.

6)      I Don’t Cheat
There are plenty of relationships these days that are ruined by infidelity on the part of one (or both) of the partners.  Hell, I’ve had three different girlfriends cheat on me.  But that’s not something I’ll ever do.  I think it’s morally reprehensible to do that to someone you’re supposed to care about.  I also can’t even imagine more than 1 woman being interested in me (actually, even 1 woman being interested in me is a bit of a stretch).  This tells you, first off, that I’m not a desirable man to other women, and thus should not be desirable to you either.  It also tells you that, should you want an easy-out to the relationship that is totally my fault, I won’t be giving you one by virtue of cheating; you’ll have to come up with some other reasons to dump me (of which there will no doubt be plenty).

7)      I’m Financially Responsible
I’m not an idiot when it comes to money.  I pay all my bills (on time, even), I pay off my credit card every month, and I generally don’t go around wasting money on stupid stuff.   Most of my monthly spending goes toward buying gas to get to work and buying food so I don’t starve to death.  I do enjoy the occasional hockey game, movie, concert or night at the bar, but I’m not just tossing money around all willy-nilly.  This means I’m probably not going to be showering you with expensive gifts and trinkets.  When I do get you gifts they will be heartfelt, thoughtful and creative, but where’s the fun in that?

8)      I’m Not Addicted to Heroin
So, as stated above I’m not addicted to heroin.  In fact, I don’t do any drugs.  Hell, I don’t even smoke.  On the positive side, this does mean that I won’t be constantly stealing your belts to shoot up, I haven’t lost my teeth from doing meth, I won’t be turning tricks to score cash for my next fix, and I won’t be going to jail on any drug-related charges.  But it totally does make me seem like a stick in the mud.  Talk about a major buzzkill, right?  
I won't be needing this

9)      I Couldn’t Write 10 Reasons For This List
Here I am, writing a list of reasons that you shouldn’t date me and I couldn’t even be bothered to round it off at an even 10.  10 is a satisfying number, isn’t it?  Well too bad, I’m cutting it off at 9.   Obviously, this shows that I lack both commitment and ambition.   This is a clear indication that you should not expect me to strive to better myself and it definitely lets you know that I’m not ready for serious commitment if I couldn’t even commit to writing 10 items on a list.  Is that the kind of lazy schmuck you want to date?

With any luck, now that you’ve read this (clearly well thought out) list, you’ve put to rest any silly notions of me being dateable.   I know, it can be difficult to resist the allure of a (future) moderately successful blogger, but you’ll simply have to leave those thoughts behind, as I’m sure to be a disappointment.  And truly, if I can save even one woman from making the mistake of dating me and thus ruining her 2015, then this post has done its job.  If this list still hasn't gotten you convinced, you may want to read my last post about my literally shitty date, or my post about my awkward first dateYou’re welcome.

Happy New Year!