Thursday, March 24, 2016

Perfume, Candy, and Billy Idol

                If you’ve been following this blog for a while, or if you know anything about me at all, you know that I have a great track record of dates that went horribly awry, dates that didn’t happen, dates that went down a path of mental instability, and dates that were just downright shitty (literally).   So, despite my absolute failure of a dating history, I do enjoy going out on dates because my only 2 options for it are that it goes well and something comes of it, or it does not go well and I manage to have another ridiculous story to share with my (probably) adoring fan base; it’s a win-win for me.

                This particular dating experience actually happened pretty recently.   As you may recall, I thought it would be hilarious if I were to decorate a shoebox for Valentine’s Day like many of us did back in grade school.  Not to brag, but it turned out great because apparently my shoebox wrapping skills are fantastic even after all of these years of disuse (clearly, I’m a natural).  So, when I was invited to a friend’s Valentine’s Day party the night before Valentine’s Day, it was a total no-brainer for me to bring both the shoebox and the Star Wars Valentine’s with me, because I know how to get a party started like nobody’s business.

The Ryan Rick Party Starter Pack 3000

                The shoebox went over exactly as you would expect: amazingly.  Turns out, drunk people love writing ridiculous shit on cards and stuffing them in a box for some unassuming asshole to read later.  At one point, there was basically a production line of people filling out cards to put in the box.  Interestingly so (or maybe not, whatever), that production line was led by a girl who I’ve known for several years (I’m not going to name names because I’m respectful of peoples’ privacy and shit).   Now, I wouldn’t exactly say that this girl and I were great friends, we are really just two people who see each other a couple of times a year at parties like this, get along decently and then part ways until the next party comes up; we really just kind of run in the same circle of people.  During the course of the night, this girl had made several offhand remarks about being single, not having Valentine’s plans, having some guy talking to her but how she was really interested in someone else, and how she was getting out of her comfort zone and taking a leap of faith that night (I didn’t really know what that meant at the time, thought maybe somebody was going bungee jumping after the party).  Now, I didn’t really pick up on any of this stuff because I’m not a great detective so I don’t follow clues and also because, in my opinion, she’s always been kind of an open book with her life/emotions and whatnot (even on Facebook), so I thought that was just her doing her normal thing (if that is, in fact, her normal thing she may want to look into blogging.  I hear everyone is doing it these days).

                Fast forward to after the party, I’m in my kitchen about 2:30 in the morning and, just like a kid on Christmas, I can’t wait to open up the shoebox and see all the ridiculous shit people put in there (times like these I start to wonder if my life even has any meaning).  Because I’m a grown up and I don’t have to wait for mom and dad to say it’s okay, I enthusiastically opened the box to examine the contents.
Whoever left Goldfish Crackers is my hero.

Because of how many times I’ve already compared this shoebox to Christmas, I expected this whole thing to continue to be like Christmas: a painful, disappointing experience that makes me realize nobody likes me and I should probably drink more (just kidding, mostly).   To my delight, I found that I apparently had a not so secret admirer, as the aforementioned girl had filled the shoebox with countless Valentine’s cards all saying some variation of “I’m seriously into you” and “you need to ask me out” and “This isn’t a fucking joke, ask me out asshole.”  When I say there were countless cards, what I really mean is that I counted them all and there were 32 cards in there all basically “I don’t care if this comes off as slightly insane, I want to go out with you and you clearly need some help getting the hint, moron.”  32 fucking cards.  Now, it wasn’t exactly her running me over with a truck that had a license plate saying “DATE ME,” but I started to get a gut feeling that maybe, just maybe I should see if she wanted to go out sometime.  

Of course, I’m a grown up (arguably) with every intention of not looking like a desperate creep so I decided that 2:30 in the morning was probably not the best time to be following up on this, so I went to bed and texted her about it after a good night’s sleep.  She told me I was an idiot for not noticing that she was into me sooner.  I pointed out that, yes, I am an idiot but that basically every other time that we’ve run into each other she’d been dating someone else and I’m totally not known for assuming that someone else’s girlfriend is into me and she accepted that as a sensible answer (because, try as I might to prove otherwise with the stories on this blog, I’m actually not an enormous piece of shit).  Here is the first of two spots where I will legitimately brag on myself in this post: the date set up.  I asked her if she had any food preferences, to which she responded that she was big on Mexican food.  I suggested a little Mexican cantina place in downtown St. Louis that was right in the middle of a bunch of other cool things to do so that, after dinner, we’d have options for anything ranging from dancing, to drinking at a bar, to bowling to hanging out at a couple of local landmarks, etc.  I thought this would be an awesome way to basically choose our own adventure for the night rather than having something set in stone; because Ryan Rick does cool shit.  Unfortunately for me (and her), she shot this idea down for a variety of reasons that included her not wanting to spend the gas to get there, not wanting me to pick her up in case I actually was a huge creepy douche (legitimate concern), and getting out of class immediately prior to the date and not wanting to rush downtown.   This is not a problem at all for me because I’m a pretty easy going guy (but she totally missed out on what would have been a pretty friggin’ awesome night and if there are any ladies reading this that would be interested in a great time like that, you should hit me up but also be prepared for me to be a complete disappointment as a human being), so I picked a different place closer to home and the plans were set.

From my own perspective, I thought the date itself went pretty well.  Obviously, I would not be writing a blog post about this situation right now if I were actually correct in that assertion, though, so fuck me and my opinion.   We had dinner and margaritas at the Mexican restaurant while chatting it up.  One thing in particular that I recall us talking about is how she was disappointed that there weren’t prickly pear flavored margaritas on the menu because she had visited Phoenix and there was prickly pear flavored everything down there, but there was none near us and that sucked because she liked prickly pear flavored things (I know, this sounds like a totally mundane thing for me to be bringing up here, but just remember that point and trust me because it will be on the test later).  There was also a point where she said she had some concern going into the date that I might not be able to turn off my “funny” and have real conversation, which, I will say is a legitimate concern with comedic minded people, but I reassured her that after my last workplace burned down because I wouldn’t stop making jokes about how hot I was long enough to get an extinguisher, I really changed my tune and realized it was actually harmful to be funny all the time (but I am positive the firefighter who carried me out of the inferno got a kick out of my jokes about airline food.  I couldn’t really tell if he was laughing under his oxygen mask, though).

We actually stayed there talking and having (what I assumed was) a great time until the restaurant closed.  After a few stares from the staff that basically translated to “Estos gringos necesitan que salir de aqui,” we decided to head out of there and down the road to a local bar at her suggestion (also, really hoping I didn’t disappoint my high school Spanish teacher with my impromptu and rusty use of Spanish there).  And since it was chilly out, I even let her wear my jacket along the way because I’m a manly man with rippling muscles that retain all of my body heat and an overactive imagination that made about half of this sentence absolutely false.  Realistically, nothing important happened at the bar.  We stayed there talking and joking until well after my bedtime (responsibilities, yo) which I didn’t even mind because I was out connecting with another human being who, for whatever reason, had taken a shine to me.  Regardless, the night had to come to an end at some point (because death is inevitable or something).   As we were parting ways, 2 interesting things happened: first, she asked me when we were going on another date and second, she spritzed my jacket with some of her perfume.  As I’ve said countless times already, I’m horrible at signals but I thought her asking about the second date before the first one was even officially over was a pretty solid sign that I had succeeded in not fucking this whole thing up.  And I’m also no psychologist but I’ve watched a lot of Discovery Channel and I felt like the perfume thing was something akin to marking her territory, which is both strange and flattering at the same time.  We picked a night that worked for both of us, decided for the second date we would go out dancing somewhere (because I have some sweet moves), and I walked away smelling fucking gorgeous.

             Here is the second time where I will go out of my way to brag about myself during this post.  Because I’m not a total dipshit (not that I’m not a dipshit, just not a total one), I know that sometimes it’s cute, polite, and appreciated to bring flowers or candy to dates.  But I also hate being cliché and, as already mentioned, I do cool shit, so I got online and ordered some prickly pear candy for her (I told you we were coming back to that prickly pear), and because the estimated ship time for it had the purchase arriving after the planned second date, I signed up for the free trial of Amazon Prime to get free 2-day shipping on the order (and subsequently cancelled my membership afterwards because I’m not paying for Amazon Prime).  I do not tell her at all about this prickly pear candy because I know how to keep my damn mouth shut and I’m good at fun surprises.  In fact, if she is reading this post now, it would be the first time she found out anything about this candy.

Surprise! I hope you like it!

See, she never got the candy because a few days before the date, I asked her if she had any ideas in mind for where she wanted to go out dancing and she took this as an opportunity to cancel on me.  Here, I’ll just go ahead and post the texts.


So, she cancelled on the date and used a sad face, which I was pretty sure indicated sincerity on her part.  I't seemed like a totally understandable situation.  And as for me, well, I handled it the same way I handle everything (most things….eh, some things), by not getting upset and just cracking a joke about it.  Not just any joke, but a joke referencing Billy Idol.  I mean, obviously, since her and I weren’t going out dancing, the song Dancing With Myself was the perfect musical reference there (side note: if you weren’t already aware, that song is actually about masturbation.  *ahem*).  And, I put the ball back in her court just in case she actually wasn’t interested in rescheduling because deep down she actually thought I was an insufferable douche, it gave her an easy opt-out for saying “Thanks, but no thanks.  I’d rather get hit by a bus than schedule another date with you” (which would have been hurtful, but fair).   Instead of doing any of the things that I expected might come of this, she actually just never responded.  That text of mine was sent February 23th.  Still waiting for a response (you should imagine me impatiently glancing at a calendar right now).

                Okay, so I’m actually not really waiting for a response (I swear, I’m not that pathetic).  While it’s true that, as of this posting, I still haven’t gotten a response from her, I’m honestly not hung up on it because I’m a reasonable human being who both does not get too attached after one date and is kind of just used to ridiculous shit like this happening to him.  In fact, thanks to the wonders of social media, I recently saw a notification that she is now in a relationship with some guy (maybe that dude already had prickly pear candies and didn’t have to wait for two day shipping).  And because I’m not a scumbag, kudos to her!  Lady in question, if you’re reading this, I’m not mad.  I'm not bitter either (at least not any more so than usual). Realistically, I had my own reservations about going out with her (beggars CAN be choosers, just you watch me), but I figured it was at least worth going on a date or two to see if anything clicked.  I’m sure that since we’re in the same social circles we’ll probably run into each other again and I don’t intend on making things weird aside from the fact that she has a pretty chill blog post written about her that actually doesn’t out her identity at all.  I am, however, confused as all hell.  Mostly confused about why I didn't even get the decency of a response rejecting me.  Somehow, I managed to go from getting 32 Valentines, having her ask me for the 2nd date and then (presumably) her marking her territory on my jacket to suddenly just deciding “Yeah, that dude is totes not even worth talking to.  I'm out.”   It makes no sense to me.  Did it just take her a few days to realize that she thinks I’m a garbage human being, and once that realization hit she had to just cut ties immediately?  Is she that opposed to Billy Idol that even referencing him caused any good will I had built up to come crumbling to the ground?  Was she intimidated by the looming success and fame that my blog will inevitably bring me?  Was she on a plane that crashed on an island where some inexplicable yet convenient combination of time travel, smoke monsters, and magnetic fields prevented her from texting me back but still allowed her the use of Facebook (this whole date situation makes just as little sense to me as the events of Lost)?  I’ll probably never know but I will speculate wildly about it.

                So, for any lady fans reading this, you can rest easy knowing that I'm still on the market and you've still got your own chance to turn me down.  But really, the two most important things that you, as my audience, should take away from this is: I have some prickly pear candies available if anyone wants them, and if you have a problem with Billy Idol, you better tell me from the get-go because that is a deal breaker.

Billy Idol gets it.


Tuesday, March 8, 2016

The Nugget Run & The Roundabout

                It’s been a while since I’ve posted a story involving #Knuckles.  This particular story happened several years ago, but I hadn’t posted it yet because I had minimal involvement in the actual events of the story so I had to work extra hard to make sure I accurately recounted all of the events (because I have integrity!). 

                This story starts like countless other events in my early twenties: having a large group of friends over to play Drink the Beer in my dad’s basement.  Really, though, how we got drunk isn’t as important as what we did when we were drunk: which was to simultaneously all demand some Chicken McNuggets (drunken minds think alike).  The major problem with this was that nearly the entire party was far too drunk to even attempt going anywhere.  The exception to this was my cousin Victoria.  Through a combination of her (relative) sobriety and our peer pressure, Vic was elected as the chosen one to venture out into the night and acquire McNuggets for all of us.  #Knuckles, visibly drunk, volunteered to ride along with her (presumably) to the dismay of Victoria.  Meanwhile, I and several others collapsed into drunken piles on whatever piece of furniture or floor space we could find while we waited for the warm happiness of McNuggets to grace our bellies.

                This is where everyone’s plans were shot down by the cruel hand of fate.  Victoria made it halfway to McDonald’s and was pulled over en route to our delicious, golden-fried prize.   See, it just so happened that it was prom night for all the high schoolers in town, so the police were out looking to bust kids partying and in their fervor to round up all the teenage hooligans, had set their sights on Victoria and #Knuckles.  It was pretty clear from the start that they were not teenagers, but it was also pretty clear that #Knuckles was wasted and the cops presumed that Victoria probably was as well.   After a short exchange in which the officer revealed that he had pulled over Victoria for not using her blinker in the town roundabout (yes, you read that right: she was pulled over for not using her blinker in a traffic circle where you are only allowed to go one way), the cops had Victoria perform a field sobriety test; which she passed.  Still not entirely convinced of her sobriety, they administered a breathalyzer test: which she also passed with a .05 (for anyone not aware, you must be below .08 to legally drive….also, kids, don’t drink and drive.  Learn from our mistakes).  This right here is where things took an interesting turn.  The cops then decided that they still did not want Victoria to drive, so they told her she’d have to wait there with them until she got someone else to come pick her up.  What. The. Fuck.

                As I lay on my basement floor amidst and hastily strewn about pile of blankets, I hear my phone ring, notice through my drunken haze that it is Victoria and immediately answer the call, “Yeah, make sure to get Sweet & Sour with those nugs.”   Unfortunately, Victoria informed me that she had been pulled over and needed someone to come pick her up.  My immediate response to this was to ask, “Did you get the nuggets?”  She had not gotten the nuggets.

                She explained the situation to me; all the while I could hear #Knuckles absolutely losing his mind in the background as he screamed, “THIS IS BULLSHIT?  WHY ARE WE BEING DETAINED?!  THIS IS AGAINST MY CIVIL RIGHTS.  I’M AN AMERICAN CITIZEN.  YOU CAN’T DO THIS,” and Victoria kept turning away from the phone to tell him to shut the hell up.   I got off the phone with Victoria and immediately called my friend Hobbit, who was at home, in bed, sober as a bird.  He, being a damn saint, agreed to drive across town to pick up Victoria and #Knuckles.  Here is where the story gets extra stupid, though.  The cops did not want Victoria to leave her car just sitting on the shoulder where she had been pulled over.  But Victoria drives a manual and neither officer knew how to drive stick, so despite the fact that they felt she was not capable of safely driving home, they made her get in her car and drive it down the road to a parking lot where she could leave it.  Seriously.  This happened. 

                With Victoria’s car safely moved and #Knuckles’ smart-ass mouth miraculously not having been beaten shut with a billy club, Hobbit arrived at the scene, loaded the two of them up into his car and brought them back to my place to pass out for the night.  As soon as they walked in the door, the first thing I said was, “So you got the nuggets, right?”

They had not gotten the nuggets.  Bastards.


Tuesday, March 1, 2016

February 2016 Joke Round-Up

                So another month has come and gone; here I am with yet another recap of all my jokes for the month.  What kind of new things happened this month?  Well, first of all I moved all of my jokes from my personal Facebook page over to a brand new page specifically for Last Place Trophies (how exciting!).  I also found myself being some strange combination of exceptionally creative and lazy at the same time, because I have planned out 11 future blog posts to write but haven’t actually managed to sit down and start writing any of them (what a lazy asshole!).  But, you should start seeing some of them trickle out this month and it seems like that will keep me busy for a while.  In the meantime, enjoy all of these jokes I’ve already written!

I keep seeing posts about that Valentine's Day promo at Hooters where you can shred pictures of your ex for 10 free wings. No offense to all my female friends, but I'm probably gonna print some of your pics from Facebook and see just how many free wings they'll give me. I love hot wings.#‎HeartacheAndHeartburn

In case anyone was wondering what Lacey Chabert is up to these days. Gretchen Weiners has fallen so far.

Positive side of drinking: you get to exercise your critical thinking skills as you try to deduce what the hell you did last night.

I've had this phone for a couple of months now and the auto-correct still hasn't quite gotten the hang of how I talk. For instance, any time I try to refer to something as "baller" my friends just think I'm really into ballet. Side note: I often refer to things as baller.

One of the more harrowing moments of my everyday life is when I've finished my shower but my brain has somehow forgotten which way to turn the knob to shut off the water. So, I have to make my peace with the world, pick a direction to turn and hope I don't boil myself alive. Thankfully, I've once again survived to see another day.

I think I'm gonna go old school for Valentine's Day this year. I'll decorate a shoebox and just hope someone wants to leave me a Valentine card or some candy in it.

I've had a lot of people in my life tell me that I have a big mouth, but I had to buy a youth-sized mouth guard for hockey because all the adult ones were too big. So, I'm feeling pretty vindicated right now.

I think the most damning evidence against a lot of conspiracy theories is the fact that they imply that our government is actually competent enough to accomplish anything.

I just got kicked out of a grocery store because #Knuckles passed out.

I've never caught and roasted a squirrel over a fire for a girl. Maybe that's where I went wrong.

It's amazing how much you can accomplish in life while drifting through your days completely oblivious to everything going on around you.

I decided to give up sex for Lent. Thankfully, this just means that life will continue as normal for me over the next 40 days.

I don't really handle emotional situations well, so I have a pretty standard technique for whenever someone is upset around me: stare at them blankly until they stop crying.

I'm all ready for Valentine's Day.
In case anyone was wondering how far I'll go for a joke, the answer is $8 and 20 minutes of wrapping.

I want to become a notary public just so I can make every useless note an official document: grocery lists, post-its, random scribbles, etc.

My buddy Anthony has put $0.27 and a bottle cap in my Valentine's box. He's also stolen candy out of it. #‎TrueFriendship

My friend Tara has started a sweatshop to make Valentines for me. I have never felt so powerful and pathetic at the same time.

I had a difficult decision to make this morning: wash off the temporary tattoos from the party I went to last night or walk around with Han Solo and Chewbacca neck tattoos. Ultimately I washed them off because I didn't want to be profiled as a thug.

Making a playlist for all of the single folks out there on Valentine's Day. So far I've got:
"Dancing With Myself" - Billy Idol
"Turning Japanese" - The Vapors
"She Bop" - Cyndi Lauper
"Longview" - Green Day
"I Touch Myself" - The Divinyls
Feel free to add your own #‎SongsAboutBatin #LoveThyself

Looks like my Valentine box was a success. Clearly more grown ups should take a cue from their grade school V-Day parties and make these next year.

I was at a raffle where one of the prizes was several free months of a gym membership. I can't convince myself to go to the gym when I'm paying for it, what makes you think I'm gonna go when it's free?

Historians have reconstructed the rebel yell that Confederate troops used to psych out Union soldiers during the Civil War.
It sounds nothing like what Billy Idol led me to believe it would.

Had a customer at work tell me she found my Facebook page and blog and that she thought I was hilarious. This must be what fame feels like.
I am available for public events and autograph signings. Or, you know, just if anyone wants hang out, too.

I thought I could write a funny article about charming the opposite sex called "How to Flirt." So far, all I've written is the title and the word "Don't."
Looks like this one is gonna take me a while.  #KnowYourLimits

For any of my friends that are fellow Blues fans, I made this image today. Pretty sure it nails their current situation.

Watching other people making the same old mistakes over and over makes me feel good about the new and different mistakes that I make.

I currently have 9 new blog posts planned out and ready to be written. Let's see if I actually get any writing accomplished today or if I panic at the notion of all the work in front of me and decide the best course of action is to avoid it all and watch Netflix.

My life has really never recovered from Totino's discontinuing the Cheesy Taco flavored Pizza Rolls.

One of the fun quirks about my brain is that even when I do something legitimately good or charitable, my brain is disappointed in me. "You donated $10? Someone who isn't a piece of shit would have donated $20."

According to my tax-preparer/sister, I cannot claim my roommates as dependents on my taxes. Personally, I think if I got audited a simple meet & greet would sufficiently prove that I'm the closest thing to an adult in the household.

Went to the post office earlier. As I was walking out, 2 other people were walking in and all 3 of us got tangled up like idiots trying to hold the door for one another. #‎PolitePeopleProblems

Have you ever heard a recording of yourself and found the sound of your own voice to be so much worse than it sounds in your head? Do you think Morgan Freeman has that problem?

So Words With Friends is a knockoff of Scrabble and Dice With Buddies is a knockoff of Yahtzee. I'm assuming next there will be a knockoff of Monopoly called Property Management With Pals. Possibly a Clue knockoff called Murder With Mates, too.

With these new Facebook reactions, we can pretty much stop using words to describe our feelings forever.

"Hey dude, we better carb load so we have energy for all this Netflix we're about to watch." - My brain's take on fitness

Apparently our office's kitchen has those soup bowls with handles on them that look like mugs. Looks like somebody is having a bowl of coffee this morning.

I managed to spill mustard on the guy in front of me. Having a hard time mustering up the courage to tell him.

Occasionally, people will accuse me of using humor to cover up for my insecurities. Let me assure everyone that I feel no need to compensate for any of my apparent shortcomings. #‎AllMyPencilsAreThisBig

One of my steadfast rules of dating is that I never chase a girl. That's mostly because I'm kind of out of shape.

As a bachelor, one of my recurring goals is to finish a loaf of bread before it goes bad.

"The Cardinals have a lot of Stanley Cups." - #Knuckles

"That baby knows it's ugly." -Anthony's take on Fuller House
"I can only say that because I was a beautiful baby." - Anthony 

With Netflix's release of Fuller House, it's only a matter of time before we see Saved By The Bell: The Cripplingly Depressing Adult Years

New drinking game: Take a viagra and see if you can get drunk before you get an erection. The game is called Whiskey Dick.

I regularly have trouble getting comfortable when trying to fall asleep because I don't know what to do with my arms. I really hope I'm not the only idiot with this problem.

This faceswap is terrifying. #‎Knuckles

If I approached the rest of my life with the same kind of iron resolve and determination that I exhibit when trying to carry all of my groceries in one trip, I'd be unstoppable.

Remember, anything you do today won't show back up in your time hop for another 4 years. That's basically a free pass to make regrettable decisions.

A true showing of testosterone: playing hockey and following it up by jamming in the car to Backstreet Boys, NSYNC and Hanson.

Keep an eye out for some of those upcoming blog posts that I've been working so diligently on!