10 Things I am Thankful For…

…in no particular order.

1. My 2 daughters. They keep me in check and give me a reason to keep on going when life starts kicking my ass. They are my kryptonite.
2. My job. I am very fortunate to have one.
3. My close friends that are there for me.
4. My family for being non-judgemental of me over the years.
5. Apple. My entire career has been inspired and shaped by this incredible company for the past 17 years.
6. My Mom & Dad for being able to maintain a good balance of being my parent and good friend.
7. My health thus far. So far good so good. Well according to my doc. *turns head and coughs*
8. Feeling free of any anger, hate or guilt that I might have felt over the years.
9. Starbucks. Because it’s SO good. That’s why.
10. Technology. Without it, you wouldn’t be reading this.

What are you thankful for?

This post is my early Christmas gift to you. or Chanukah or Kwanza. Whatever your thing is.

It’s simply the best Effing holiday of the year. Seriously. I first became aware of Festivus at the same time many of you did. It was December 18, 1997 and I was watching Seinfeld. Frank Costanza was explaining the origins of the holiday to Kramer, who of course became obsessed with it and asked to resurrect the day.

Frank Costanza: “Many Christmases ago, I went to buy a doll for my son. I reached for the last one they had, but so did another man. As I rained blows upon him, I realized there had to be another way.”

Kramer: “What happened to the doll?”

Frank Costanza: “It was destroyed. But out of that a new holiday was born: a Festivus for the rest of us!”

Kramer: “That must have been some kind of doll.”

Frank Costanza: “She was.



Festivus has gone from a sitcom gag to a legit holiday. People all over have Festivus celebrations, complete with the traditional aluminum pole, a Festivus meal, the Airing of Grievances and Feats of Strength.



If you’re going to do Festivus right, you have to start with the pole. There’s nothing fancy about it. It’s a simple aluminum pole. You don’t decorate it. You just put it in the middle of the room like a tree.

Things are a little tight financially for me and I couldn’t afford a Festivus pole, so I used the vacuum cleaner wand. It’s silver and some sort of metal, so I figured it would do. I was going to use a hockey stick, but mine are all composite. And yellow. The wand seemed to work better.

Once you have your family and friends gathered, you share the Festivus meal. I don’t believe there is a traditional meal that should be served, but I’m not 100% certain, so don’t quote me on that.

Tonight we will gather around the Festivus table where Drama Queen and I will be enjoying buffalo chicken sandwiches, French fries and fresh green beans. If I have time I may even whip up a Festivus apple pie. We’ll have to see how much time I have after I spend the day doing jack shit.

Frank Costanza: “And at the Festivus dinner, you gather your family around, and tell them all the ways they have disappointed you over the past year!”





This year it will be just Drama Queen and I celebrating Festivus and believe me when I say that we are both already well aware of what our grievances are against each other. That means we won’t spend a lot of time airing out against each other and can instead focus on other people.

I’ve complied a list of some grievances I plan on airing and I’ve decided to share that list with you.



To the trolls that stalk my blog endlessly, I say, “Blow me”. No one gives a crap about your shitty websites and they never will. If you can’t spam in proper English or even in actual letters why would I want to pay attention to you.

To all the Gleeks of the world I say, “What the fuck?” I’ve never actually seen the show, but I know it sucks. Allow me to be proactive and answer the question I know you’re going to ask. “How do I know I won’t like it if I’ve never seen it?” I’ve never been junk punched, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t like that. There are some things a guy just knows.

To the douchebag that owns the company I worked for “There is a special place in hell for assclowns like you.” I don’t think I need to elaborate on that one. It pretty much speaks for itself.

To the woman who jacked my parking spot at the mall on Drama Queen’s birthday, I say, “When I got out of my car to ask what the hell you were doing, you laughed at me and snottily told me to have a nice day, but that’s OK. I was the guy who took a picture of your license plate with my camera phone and told mall security you were driving 30 MPH in the parking lot and almost hit me.” Also, “Those pants probably would have looked good on you about 45 pounds ago, but not now.”

To the editors of Modern Mom who dumped me as a Featured Blogger without having the courtesy of telling me, I say, “You said women found me offensive, yet you have Denise Richards as a Featured Blogger. Denise Fucking Richards. Need I say more?” Your loss. All kinds of moms dig me and every last one of them is more modern than you.

To Time Warner Cable, I say, “Man up and get the NFL Network. The NHL Network too. While you’re at it, if you actually dump Fox on January 1, I’m gonna have to go all Gordon Ramsey on your ass.”

To the 48-Year-Old Hottie, I say, “I don’t know why you got so mad at me for asking if you wanted to pray.” You’re the one who said on our second (and last) date that you were religious and that you wouldn’t have sex with anyone unless you prayed with him first. I just assumed that since we were making out pretty heavy on your couch, that you wanted to pray with me at that moment. I know I wanted to have sex with you at that moment. “My bad.”



If you’ll excuse me, I need to make sure that the living room is set up properly for the Feats of Strength. I know it’s not fair for a 19-year-old girl to try to pin a man who is, well, older than 19, but it’s the hand she’s been dealt and she’ll have to take her whuppin’ with a smile.

If you don’t believe in Festivus, that’s cool. They say that every year there is Festivus Miracle. If anything good happens to you on December 23, you will have your proof.

If you have a grievance you’d like to air—either against me or someone else, please feel free to leave it in the comment section.

Have a Happy Festivus and a Bitchin’ New Year.

My Rules of Engagement

“No thanks. I’m gonna pass on playing cowboy with James Bond’s alien.”


Dateline:Thursday night. My bed.
There I was, desperately trying to fall asleep. No mater how hard I tried, I couldn’t shut down my brain and drift off to the peaceful slumber I desired. Thought after random thought passed through my mind and at one point I had an epiphany. Or a revelation. One of the two. I immediately reached over to the night stand and fumbled to get my glasses and phone. Once I cleaned the fresh thumbprint off the right lens, I texted the Muse.
I’ve come to the conclusion that you and the Rules of Engagement chick look a lot alike and that a three way with you and her would be kinda rad. Just thought you would want to know.
Please keep in mind that both she and I know what I said was a joke. When I awoke this morning I found this waiting for me.
OK. But if Daniel Craig becomes available, you have to be willing to do the same thing.
I thought about that for a moment before I responded.
Daniel Craig? No thanks. I’ll sit that one out. If you had said Ryan Reynolds, I would consider it, but I’m gonna pass on playing cowboy with James Bond’s alien.
After reading her Daniel Craig response, I knew this was a blog post in the making, so I grabbed my headphones and iPod before sitting down to a bowl of boysenberry almond granola with vanilla soy milk, a container of Greek yogurt (honey), fresh blackberries and green tea. Cranking my “Dope Tunes” playlist (seriously), I blasted some loud music while letting this post brew in my noggin. About half-way through my granola, I knew how I wanted to start it.
I could totally see me and the Muse as the married couple from Rules of Engagement. I could pull off the Patrick Warburton character with ease and if David Spade needed a week off, I could probably fill in for him as well. I know this will be hard for most of you to believe, but I couldn’t torture my assistant the way Spade does. Don’t get me wrong. I could do some of that stuff, but not all of it.
The truth is, that I would love to have a relationship like Patrick Warburton and Megyn Price have on TV. They screw with each other constantly and each always tries to “win”, but they love each other and are very happy together. I don’t think that’s too much to ask for.
Last week’s episode started when Audrey (the Muse) and Jeff (me) meet their lesbian surrogate mother for breakfast at their favorite diner. Jeff made a wiener joke, which started the show off on a high note. The next exchange was classic married couple. The waitress comes to take their order and I can totally picture this happening with the Muse.
Jeff: I’ll have scrambled eggs, pancakes
Audrey: No
Jeff: And hash browns and bacon.
Audrey: No. No. No. No. There’s no one growing inside of you. He’ll have egg whites, dry toast, fruit and turkey bacon.
Jeff: Turkey. A stupid, lean flightless bird.
Audrey: You remember what the doctor said about your cholesterol.
Jeff: He was impressed.
Audrey: Yeah. That you’re alive.
The episode goes on and on until near the end when Audrey finds barbecue sauce on Jeff’s collar along with a wet nap in his wallet. Jeff decided to lie and say he wasn’t eating greasy food with the lesbian surrogate, but rather he was having an affair. Needless to say, mama wasn’t buyin’ it.
My favorite line from the episode? It came from Timmy Patel, the personal assistant from India by way of South Africa. “No. I go with you because you’ve made it my job to stand next to you as you spew crude double entendres at women who are just this side of street walkers.” Either that or when he asked David Spade, “Did anyone ask who invited Hall from Hall & Oates?” The waitress asking, “Where’s the little sex offender you’re always with” is pretty good too.
One last thing on Megyn Price. Assuming everyone was cool with the situation (of course), I would totally go for that. She’s like the “mom-next-door-MILF” The sad reality is that it will never happen, so I guess I’ll just continue to spend my Thursday nights watching CBS and living vicariously through their fun, dysfunctional loving relationship.

My Town Redlands

All these pictures were taken with my iPhone...

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U.S. Post Office

U.S. Post Office, a photo by benjamin_valadez on Flickr.

201 Brookside Avenue at Eureka. Placed in the National Register of Historic Places in 1985

Amy Grant is a whore

FYI…It’s called “Adultery” and it’s one of the Ten Commandments. Check it out sometime.

I was in the shower Saturday night when a thought ran through my head. I have no idea why this thought ran through my head or where it came from, but it was there.
I stood there a moment, body puff (there has to be a more manly name for that) and body wash in hand, and I realized that this had the makings of a rad blog post. So I set them down, half-ass dried myself off, ran across the hall to my room, grabbed my little idea notebook and scribbled “Amy Grant is a whore. Jim Bakker/Swaggert”.
I then returned to the shower and began thinking about what else I could write. I slid the curtain open, reached for my iPhone, and text a friend, who I use as a muse.
I text this muse and said, “I’m in the shower and had an idea for a blog post. Besides Amy Grant, Jim Bakker and Jimmy Swaggart, can you think of any other Bible thumpers who got caught cheating on their spouses?’
The response? “Sadly no. You naked and wet is all I can think about.” I wasn’t sure if she was serious or if she was mocking me. I choose to believe she was serious, though the mocking seems a legitimate possibility.
My next thought was that as soon I type the phrase, “Bible thumpers” I will have the whole right wing up my ass. Then I realized that Bible thumpers don’t read my blog and if they do, they’re not very good ones. Plus, I don’t really care what they think.
Why did I call Amy Grant a whore? Because she is. Who is Amy Grant? In case you don’t know, she was the Christian Pop Princess who got caught banging Vince Gill. I couldn’t remember all the sordid details, so I Google’d “Amy Grant whore”. Here’s the Readers Digest version.
Amy was married to Gary Chapman when she “allegedly” started nailing Vince. She divorced Gary and married Vince. Several years later the new happy couple ended up on the cover of Good Housekeeping.
I used “allegedly” in the last paragraph because some Jesus freaks will try and make you believe that Amy and Gary were already divorced when she started seeing Vince. You and I know that’s a crock of shit. They don’t want their precious diva to look like a harlot. But she is. Big time.
Before you go thinking that I have a problem with God, relax. I don’t. I like the G-man and I’m pretty sure he kind of digs me. My problem is with Christians who strut their morality for all to admire, then get busted for being, well, human.
If you’re going to get up in front of the world and say, “If you follow God, you should model your life after me,” you ought not be boning people who aren’t your spouse.
I heard that Amy’s husband had a drug problem and that’s what led to the divorce. I understand that, but Amy had an infidelity problem. They were both smoking something/someone they shouldn’t have been and the reality is that neither one is a good thing.
If you think Amy Grant is the only high-profile “Goddie” who enjoyed sex outside of marriage, you’re mistaken. Jim Bakker nailed Jessica Hahn and paid her to keep her mouth shut about the sexual relationship and about the fact that he ripped off the followers of his PTL Club (Praise The Lord) for more than $3.4 million.
Bakker was sentenced to 45 years in federal prison for his criminal activities and fellow televangelist Jerry Falwell called Bakker a liar, an embezzler, a sexual deviant, and “the greatest scab and cancer on the face of Christianity in 2,000 years of church history”.
Sucks to be you Jim Bakker. I hope no one rapes you in prison the way you raped people out of their money, thinking it was going to do the work of the Lord and instead was paying for hotels so you could bang a skanky church sexretary secretary.
Anyone remember the famous 1988 scandal involving televangelist Jimmy Swaggart? The short version is that he found out a major New Orleans holy-roller minister, named Marvin Gorman, was having several affairs and he ratted him out, thus getting Gorman “defrocked” (un-pastor-ized).
Gorman was pissed for being ratted out and had his son and son-in-law stake out the Travel Inn, where they took photos of Swaggart entering and exiting a room with a known prostitute. Gorman blackmailed Swaggart, who basically told him, “Bite me.”
Gorman blew the whistle on Swaggart and a short time later we all heard the famous “I have sinned, ” speech. “I have sinned against you, my Lord, and I would ask that your precious blood would wash and cleanse every stain until it is in the seas of God’s forgiveness.”
Swaggart didn’t learn his lesson and in 1991 he was stopped by the California Highway Patrol in the middle of nowhere (Indio, California) for driving down the wrong side of the road. The officer asked the woman in the car with Swaggart what she was doing with him. Her reply is priceless.
“He asked me for sex. I mean, that’s why he stopped me. That’s what I do. I’m a prostitute.” Rather than man up and admit he likes to bang the occasional ho, he told the members of his congregation, “The Lord told me it’s flat none of your business.” Uh, if they give you their money it’s absolutely their business, asswipe!
These are but three of the reasons I have a problem with a lot of organized religion. Too many people figure out they can make a buck off God, then behave in ways the majority of us would never consider acting.
By no means are all churches like this and in fact, I would say that the vast majority of churches in the United States are doing good things. But when you use people like this as the window to the church, don’t be surprised when we get turned off to your shtick.
My final comments are directed to those that will back Amy Grant and call me a douchebag for saying what I said. Yeah, her affair is controversial. Do I have proof that she had an affair? No. Do you have proof that she didn’t? Your answer to me had better be no! The bottom line is, only a small handful of people know what really went down with that, but perception is reality. FYI…It’s called “Adultery” and it’s one of the Ten Commandments. Check it out sometime.

 

Amy was married to Gary when this video was made and I get that it’s acting, but she’s really flirty and seems to be having a pretty damn good time with the guys in here. I’m just saying…                  

Closer To The Edge

Can you imagine a time when the truth ran free?
The birth of a song, The death of a dream
Closer to the edge

Thirty Seconds to Mars



I was listening to Pandora last week and this song came on. I’ve heard it a bunch of times, but for some reason the beat caught my brain and I paid more attention to it. Later in the day I was on YouTube and decided to check out the Closer To The Edge  video. About 58 seconds in, I came to the conclusion that I liked this video despite the fact that one could argue the possibility that the “Thousand to one and a million to two” move is a sign of which team lead singer Jared Leto plays for. The white leather belted coat doesn’t help your case either. I’m not saying I believe it, but I can see how someone might.
I don’t remember the moment I tried to forget
I lost myself, is it better not said
Now I’m closer to the edge
The straight up truth is that I’d like to forget the last seven or eight years of my life. It was going well, and then it all went to shit. I’m not throwing blame around. I’m a grown-ass man and with a lot of hindsight in my past, and it’s my fault. Not that it matters who’s at fault. The point was that I’d like to forget the last seven or eight years of my life. Let’s just leave it at that.
Also, that edge I’m getting closer to better damn well be the top of the shit hole I’m trying to pull myself out of. If it’s not, I’m gonna be really  pissed and go off on some gnarly rant. Guaranteed. Stay tuned.
It was a thousand to one and a million to two
Time to go down in flames and I’m taking you
Closer to the edge
I find it ironic… I truly believe in my heart, the good shit is right around the corner, yet if you said that to me a week ago I would tell you that you’re smoking crack. I’ve learned a lot about myself as a writer, especially over the last year. I’m not sure how I got on this writing high, but hands off. This shit is mine. My point with this is that I’m going for it. I feel great about the way my life is heading and if I go down, I’m going down in flames. As in, pushing myself closer to the edge of a happy, successful rest of my life. You’re invited to come along for the ride, just be sure to wear your seat belt. If we do near the “going down in flames’ part, I’ll be sure to eject you all from your seats. You’re welcome.
Also, how can something be both 1000-1 AND a million-2? If it is possible, what’s the vig on that gotta be? Sounds like shady gambling to me. You’re better off staying away from that action.
No I’m not saying I’m sorry
One day maybe we’ll meet again
As funny as that may sound, the last year or so, I’ve really isolated myself from almost everyone and I hate it. I really do. I’m not entirely sure why I’ve done it and still do, but I think it has something to with the health limitations I’m presented with right now.
I’m not my normal self and I don’t want people I know to see me like this and I feel like if they do, they’ll feel like they don’t know how to react to me. I know that sounds totally ignorant considering they’re all great, loyal friends who I’ve known anywhere from 16-25 years. The reality is they’ve all seen me worse than this, but it was only for a night, or until I yakked it out of my system. This is different. My message to those friends is to get in touch with me and call me the same shitty names you always have.
If you actually watch the video (which I encourage you to do for its one two punch of normal looking guys from their The Kill video? OK. They weren’t all normal. One guy was getting fellated by a giant teddy bear, but it was only for like two seconds or something, so he’s probably still relatively normal.
I’m not at all sure why, but Jared has this Adam Ant thing going on Dude’s wearing war paint like Adam did in Goody Two Shoes and he has what I believe is a white weightlifting glove on one hand. Hate to break it to you J-Lo, but Michael Jackson barely pulled off that look and his glove had sequins.
I told Drama Queen that I wanted her to watch the video and she asked why. “Just shut up and do it,” I said. So she did. And she liked it. As I knew she would. My daughter wanted to know why I wanted her to watch it. “Two reasons,” I said. “First is that I thought it might inspire you to accomplish great works or something.”* She stared at me like I was wasting her valuable time and asked what the other thing was. Shaking my head, I sighed and explained that she needs to, “Get over this Rhianna, Lady GaGa and KIIS FM bulllshit” she’s been listening to.
I reminded my daughter that KROQ roqs the FM dial, plus she already likes Muse, Evanesence, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Veruca Salt, Garbage, Puddle of Mudd, No Doubt, Paramore, All-American Rejects, Brian Setzer Orchestra, Good Charlotte, Linkin Park (she LOVES Linkin Park) and now, Thirty Seconds to Mars. That seems like a good foundation for alternative. I’m trying to get her interested in Silversun Pickups, but no luck yet. I could tell you I’ll keep you posted about that, but the reality is that I wont. No point blowing sunshine, ya know?
I’ll end it like this. Watch the video and listen to the song, then honestly ask yourself this question. “If I were at this concert, would I be bouncing up and down during this song?” At least a little? Let me know your answer…

*“Or something” is the PG version of, “And shit.”
P.S. If you picture Jared Leto as a blond Faith-era George Michael with a pink mohawk, the video makes a lot more sense.

Entertainment and catchy music along with a positive message for the youth of today), you’ll see this is a new look for the band. What I want to know is what happened to the normal looking guys from their The Kill video? OK. They weren’t all normal. One guy was getting fellated by a giant teddy bear, but it was only for like two seconds or something, so he’s probably still relatively normal.
I’m not at all sure why, but Jared has this Adam Ant thing going on Dude’s wearing war paint like Adam did in Goody Two Shoes and he has what I believe is a white weightlifting glove on one hand. Hate to break it to you J-Lo, but Michael Jackson barely pulled off that look and his glove had sequins.

I’ll end it like this. Watch the video and listen to the song, then honestly ask yourself this question. “If I were at this concert, would I be bouncing up and down during this song?” At least a little? Let me know your answer…


*“Or something” is the PG version of, “And shit.”
P.S. If you picture Jared Leto as a blond Faith-era George Michael with a pink mohawk, the video makes a lot more sense.

The wrong side of 48

“Buttercup took the dirt nap.”

I'll be turning 48 in March, which means I’m now officially on the countdown to 50. I really don’t care about the number, because I believe it’s about how old you feel. Unfortunately I have days where I feel like I’m 90 and others where I feel 17 and that I’m old enough to know better, but the reality is that I know jack shit. The only problem is that I don’t know that I know jack shit. I think I know more than I really know. Ya know what I mean? Probably not. Moving on…


I’m not gonna blow sunshine up your ass (or anywhere else) and say that my life has been awesome, because it hasn’t. On the plus side, I’ve never been on Cops and I’ve never lived in a trailer park or in a state in which the Confederate Flag flies from every liquor store, bait shack and gun shop. So I’ve got that going for me.
My daughter (A.K.A. Drama Queen) has turned out much better than she should have and I’m constantly amazed by that. She has a mom who has been mostly non-existent in her life and is stuck with a douche bag for a dad. When Her Majesty was five, she had a rough six month period. Her “Papa” (ex's dad) died of colon cancer, her mom moved out and her hamster died.
The hamster was named Buttercup, not because it’s the type of name a five-year-old girl chooses. It’s not that easy with my daughter. “Why did you name her Buttercup?” I asked on the day we bought her. “Because,” she said with hands on her hips and an eye roll. “Buttercup is my favorite Power Puff Girl because she has a bad attitude.” That’s my angel. I vividly remember the day Buttercup left this world.
After I broke the news that her furry friend was taking what’s called, “The dirt nap”, D.Q. asked if we could bury Buttercup next to Papa. My  ex's dad was cremated and his ashes are buried in a family burial plot. There were some flowers in the plot and I said we could bury Buttercup with my ex's dad. “Buttercup is family,” my angel told me. An hour later I walked down the hall and I heard my daughter crying and talking.
Walking into her room, I noted that she wasn’t there, so I listened closer. It was coming from my bedroom and I crept down the hall as quietly as I could and peeked in the door. What I witnessed made me retreat to my den and cry. My daughter was sitting at the sliding glass door and had it cracked open just enough to get the dog’s nose in the door. “Lucy?” Drama Queen cried to the pet she received as a birthday gift seven months before. “Papa left me, mommy left me and now Buttercup left me. Please don’t leave me Lucy.” I cried like a baby at that one.
I’ve been thinking about my daughter a lot lately and I’m proud of the way she’s turned out. In her younger days I dated a couple of women who weren’t the nicest to her and I stayed in those relationships longer than I should have. It was never abusive, but wasn’t cool. Like any parent, I make mistakes, but I tend to keep revisiting mine and breaking them down in intricate detail. That drives me up the wall.

There’s a rad chick in my life who listens to me whine and then helps me chill da fuck out. I keep telling her she can do way better than me, but apparently she’s under the delusion that I’m the shiz. I keep telling her she’s wrong, but she won’t listen. “What the hell does she see?” I ask myself. I’ve got no clue, but I’ll hang around as long as she lets me.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my writing and my life as a writer. When I was in high school I was on the school paper staff, but had an adviser who was less than nurturing. She thought my writing wasn’t any good and I barely got in the paper. To be honest, that criticism knocked myself confidence as a writer down to zero. It was almost 20 years later that I had the balls to pursue writing again and when I did, it was pretty good.

I honestly believe that I’ve gotten better with age. I’m way cooler than I was in my teens-mid 30′s and even though I’m having a momentary self-esteem crisis, I kn0w I feel better about myself than I probably ever did. I’m also going to go out and fire up a New York steak, some Pacifico and red velvet cupcakes courtesy of my Muse. See. More cool shit I don’t deserve.


P.S. I put Butercup in foil and Ziploc bag before shoving her into the bottom of the freezer. That would preserve the body so we could bury the damn hamster the next afternoon. My daughter wanted to go back a few days later to pay her respects and I eventually gave in. We got there and the spot I buried the rodent had been dug up and my daughter asked what happened. “When hamsters go to heaven,” I said. “This is what happens. Buttercup went to be with Papa.” For some reason she actually bought it. Apparently the cemetery has cats. And I’m probably going to hell for telling my daughter that.
P.S.S. The day after this happened, the kindergarten teacher wanted to talk with me after school. Apparently she didn’t appreciate that my daughter shared with the class that, “Buttercup took the dirt nap.” I don’t know why not…

Coffee addiction is a bitch

Every morning I long to hold you.. I need you, I want you, I have to have you... your warmth, your smell, your taste...ohhh coffee, I love you (o:

HISTORICAL GLASS MUSEUM HISTORY

HISTORICAL GLASS MUSEUM HISTORY, a photo by benjamin_valadez on Flickr.

The museum located in a restored 1905 Victorian house and is Redlands Historical Resource #107.
The Historical Glass Museum Foundation was founded in 1976, to preserve specimens of American
glass from artists and factories that were becoming extinct, as well as those currently
producing glass. Dixie Huckabee, her husband, Dee Huckabee, and many volunteers spent
numerous hours restoring the 1905 Victorian house museum to its original look, both inside
and out. Thanks to their efforts, the museum received the Heritage Award from the Redlands Area
Historical Society in 1995. This award is given each year to acknowledge well-maintained
structures in Redlands that are at least 75 years old.

In 2004, several HGMF members refurbished every room in the museum's interior, while two
members voluntarily repaired and painted the entire exterior of the museum.

On August 2, 2005 the Historical Glass Museum was dedicated as Redlands Historical
Resource #107.

The home that houses the museum was constructed by Jerome E. Seymour, a Redlands builder and
architect. Seymour purchased the lot in 1903 and built the home in 1905 for a total of
$1,000. Seymour started the Seymour Planing Mill in 1886 with his brother, Howard. Jerome
built the home for his family. His daughter, Emma Cryer, lived there after her parents'
deaths, and until her death in 1977. Jerome Seymour died in Redlands in 1917 during the
influenza epidemic.

According to historical data available, the home was constructed from wood from the
historic J.D.B. Stillman Winery, which was located where the University of Redlands is
today. Inside the home you will find beautiful dark woodwork. The rooms in the
museum all have high ceilings and tall, double-hung windows. A very ornate and
fretwork wood archway still stands between the front room and dining room.



Most of the museum's funding comes from affiliated glass clubs, fundraisers, member's dues, and the museum's wonderful two-room Antique and Gift Shop.

Dancing mailmen and other assorted nonsense

My daughter is 19. This is stuff I need to know.

I was watching the Raiders game on Sunday morning, when it went to commercial. It looked like I was in someone’s house and I noticed the front door was open. Suddenly, Without any warning. The mailman came leaping in the door and proceeded to dance like a fairy on PCP. I sat there with my mouth open as I watched this guy completely make an ass of himself.

The only thing I took from that commercial is that Dish Network thinks it’s OK for the mailman to waltz into your castle and act like a dick. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only stupid thing I saw this weekend. My TV was filled with funny moments that weren’t supposed to be funny.
Beginning Saturday with the Arkansas football game on CBS, I heard a lot of interesting comments made by the announcers. Brent Musburger (Saturday night) and Solomon Wilcots (Sunday morning) both said things which indicated they were coming out on air. What did they say? I’ll get to that in a moment. I know commercials exist to inform us of something or to get us to shell out our hard earned cash for their shiz. I totally get that, but I don’t think it’s too big a deal to get things grammatically correct.
A commercial for the NCAA had a guy saying, “Team is plural.” Uh….no it’s not. It’s singular. “Teams” is plural. Now, I know the point they were trying to make, but is, “A team is a family,” really too difficult for the actor to remember? If so, he may not be the right guy for the gig. Whoever wrote that line and approved it needs to be fired and sent back to third grade English. Seriously. “Team is plural?” I’m giving the commercial a D+.
Early in the first quarter of the Arkansas v Mississippi State game, a commercial appeared on my screen. It was the T-Mobile chick and she was with some elf dude. The elf called her, “Naughty” and the first thing that went through my mind was, “I bet you wish she was naughty. She’s probably the first tall chick you’ve seen in years. Whatcha gonna do? Whip up some of your special ‘nog for her?” I reminded myself that everything didn’t have to be about sex and the very next commercial easily put the T-Mobile hottie out of my mind.
The next commercial showed an old lady hocking Depends. Yeah. Adult diapers. I have no clue what she said at the end of the spot, because once I realized what it was for, I kept watching her body language and facial expressions to see if she was relieving herself while she filmed the commercial. I don’t think so, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she wet herself. At this point, you probably think I’m a dick for making fun of incontinent adults. I’m not making fun of the problem, just the commercial. If I’m ever in adult diapers, you have my permission to mock me constantly.
Shortly after halftime, I was treated to a lesson in feminine hygiene. Apparently, Stayfree maxipads wik away moisture. I did not know that. I guess I’m gonna go ahead and ask the obvious question. “Where does it wik to?” Am I to understand that a woman’s period blood will somehow dissipate into the atmosphere if only she sticks a Stayfree maxi pad between her legs? My daughter is 14. This is stuff I need to know.
I guess CBS was calling this their “Chick commercial break” because the next ad was for some medicine a doctor can prescribe to make wrinkles go away. I knew I could believe what they were saying because of the caption at the bottom of the screen. “NOT ACTUAL USERS”, is what it said. Is their snake oil so crappy that they can’t even find four women who look decent after using it? Probably not. To tell the truth, the actresses all looked a little rough. Oh well.
Finally it was time for USC and Oregon. As I watched the opening, I wondered aloud (even though I was alone) why Brent Musburger wasn’t wearing a bib. “Dude is blowing USC big time,” I noted. Musburger couldn’t understand how anyone would think #4 Oregon could actually beat USC, (unranked in the BCS because Pete Carroll is a pussy who cheated, then ran to the NFL, but #18 in the AP poll). Brent needed the bib because at the rate he was going, the whole team would erupt shortly before halftime.
Musburger donned his cardinal and gold knee pads and slurped away as he told America how Matt Barklay was the next great NFL quarterback and how Lane Kiffin was an offensive genius. Of course his dad, Monty Kiffin is the greatest defensive mind in the game today. Watching it made me want to take a shower. I felt that dirty.
Somehow, color analyst Kirk Herbstreit was able to interrupt the orgy and uttered the first funny line. Of one of the Oregon players, Herbie said he, “Weighs 195 and has a low center of gravity.” I looked at the kid and laughed out loud. Yeah. He probably does weigh 195 and has a low center of gravity. That’s because he’s short and fat. Nice phrasing Kirk. Seriously. I’m gonna use that line sometime.
I tossed a couple pistachios in my mouth and almost choked on them because of what Musburger said next. He told everyone watching that the running back was, “swallowed” by the cornerback. I swear to God. That was my first clue that Brent may be coming out on air, but i was still willing to give the veteran broadcaster the benefit of the doubt. It was hard to cut him some slack, because he spent the rest of the first half saying things like, “The receiver was swallowed on the play.” Also, “Here’s Kenyon Marner to give him a blow.” A hummer? really? What exactly is the penalty for that? I would think 15 yards and automatic first down, but I’m not sure.
Sunday morning I turned on the Raiders and swore out loud as the Silver and Black took stupid penalty after stupid penalty. My favorite moment was when Michael Huff clotheslined Percy Harvin and evaded the flag. Nicely done, bro. Al would be proud.
Near the end of the first quarter I watched as some guy walked out of the grocery store with a paper bag, not a reusable one (I thought Honda was all about going green). Dude also had a gallon of milk, which he dropped once his van caught fire. He pressed his remote and suddenly the whole thing turned into a black light 70′s metal thing, complete with a black panther, rocker with long hair and a headband, plus Godzilla breathing fire on the DVD entertainment system. “The van beckons like no van before,” said the announcer in a very creepy voice.
As soon as I heard the phrase, “The van beckons” I immediately pictured a black panel van (owned by a rapist, of course) sitting in a dark alley. I don’t think, “This is the perfect vehicle to haul my kids around in.” Sorry Honda, but you might want to rethink that spot. After that I tweeted: “When did Honda become the official van of child molesters?”
As he half came to a close, I heard Solomon Wilcots say, “I love me some John Kuhn.” I bet you do, Solomon. And now everyone who watched the game knows it too. I’m not sure how often those two get to hook up, but I think it’s nice that CBS lets Wilcots call Kuhn’s games.
Finally, I close this out with something that’s funny because of what was said, but also the fact that the player had no clue that what he said was stupid. We were told this guy was cut by the Lions last offseason, but was recently re-signed by the team and he played today. When asked why he thought the Lions signed him, the genius had this to say.
“Well, if you have talent and you’re available, you’ll play. If you’re not available, you won’t.” Wow. I wonder when (if ever) he’ll realize that he said the only reason he’s on the Lions is because he was available to play. My guess is the 12th of Never. Anyone want to take that bet?

Phantom Turkey

Being goofy in the turkey trailor...

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Musical Families for $200, Alex

This is what you get when you cross Jeopardy with one of those, “Hardhitting” VH-1 Rockumentaries.
The other day I was doing some writing with iTunes in full shuffle mode. About an hour in, I heard Wilson Phillips. A couple songs later, The Wallflowers oozed into my headphones. For some reason, this started me thinking about the fact that these two groups feature children of parents with Rock and Roll Hall of Fame credentials.

“How many other singers are there with parents who rocked out?” I asked myself. I immediately eliminated Kelly Osbourne because, lets face it, the chick sings slightly better than I do and I sing like shit. Mulling this over in my head, I spontaneously began inventing questions in a Jeopardy sort of way. Here’s what my brain spewed forth:
ALEX TREBEK: Welcome to Jeopardy. Poindexter, as our returning champion, you have the honor of selecting first.
POINDEXTER: [said with a very strong nasal tone] Thanks, Alex. I’d like Musical Families for $100
ALEX: Dad will have an achey-breaky heart when this child gets arrested Lohan-style.
BEN: Who is Miley Cyrus.
ALEX: Correct.
BEN: I know. That’s why I said it. Musical Families for $200
ALEX: This is what you get when you take two daughters of a crazy, drug addicted over eater and cross them with a blond chick whose parents worked with a woman who died from a ham sandwich.
BEN: Who are Wilson Phillips.
ALEX: Correct. Choose again.
BEN: Musical Families for $300
ALEX: He can pronounce his words. His father? Not so much.
BEN: Oh. Who is Jakob Dylan. Musical Families for $400.
ALEX: This pop star had a pop who hung out with a redneck hippie.
BEN: Oh…Uh…who is, um…Enrique Iglesias?
ALEX: You’re on a roll.
BEN: Thanks bro. Lets close out this thing. I’ll take Musical Families for $500.
ALEX: This drug addicted singer came from musical “ROYALTY”, but had a very forgettable career.
BEN: [Getting more worked up than I probably should] Who is Natalie Cole!
During the next break, the guy on the end said my knowledge of current music was fascinating. “How do you know all that?” He inquired. “Easy,” I said. “I have a life. There’s more than living in mom’s basement and creeping out the patrons at your local library.” The director guy counted us down and Alex went into full on ass-kissing mode. “First we have our returning champion. Say hello to Poindexter McDorkus. Poindexter has won over $200,000, and has yet to kiss a girl.” The audience giggled, while I just rolled my eyes. “VIRGIN,” I coughed in a non-discreet way. After getting a nasty glare from the host, I looked at the chick next to me.
“Welcome our first challenger, Sally DaProody. Sally has a PhD. in Library Science and spends her free time at the Library of Congress.” With that, Alex turned to me and said, “Finally, we have Benjamin Valadez. Benjamin, it says here that you’re a single father, a budding blogger and a part-time douche bag. How do you find time for all that?” I looked past him and straight into the camera. “I’ll tell you Alex,” I said, as I leaned on the podium. “It’s taken me a while to learn this, but I’ve found if you put a little extra effort into the douchiness, the rest just kind of falls into place.” Ten seconds later, the director cleared his throat loudly, waking Alex out of his stupor.
ALEX: Ben It’s your board.
BEN: Damn straight. Let’s take Musical Families for $200.
[Yeah. I know they don't use the same category in both rounds, but it's my imagination. Plus, I had more than five I wanted to mock.]
ALEX: This crackhead has an aunt who talks to ghosts.
BEN: [snorting] Uh…who is Whitney Houston.
ALEX: That’s right. Her aunt is, of course, Dionne Warwick.
BEN: Yeah, yeah. Let’s keep going. Musical Families for $400.
ALEX: This family featured a teen idol, high powered lawyer and a guy who picked up a trannie.
BEN: Who are the Partridge Family. Excuse me, but when do the hard ones start?
ALEX: Musical Families for $600?
 BEN: Duh.
ALEX: This child’s father died while pushing one out.
BEN: Who is Lisa Marie Presley. [Under my breath] BOOM!
ALEX: Musical Families for $800. This singer must have…excuse me. Is there a problem?
BEN: Huh? Oh. My bad. I was just asking Library of Congress over here, what she was looking at. Then I told her I was running the table because I listen to music written after 1600. Please continue.
ALEX: As I was saying, This singer mush have been “HIGH” when he wrote his one “HIT”.
BEN: [Rubbing my scalp fervently]
ALEX: We need an answer please.
BEN: [Light bulb goes off in head] Snap. Who is Tal Bachman.
ALEX: That’s correct. Son of Canuck Randy Bachman of Bachman-Turner Overdrive, eh.
BEN: Whatever. Let’s get to the money shot.
ALEX: Uh…yeah. For One thousand dollars, If 3/4 of this band were in bed with you, it would definitely leave you breathless.
BEN [Staring straight into the red light on top of the camera.] Who. Are. The Corrs.
ALEX: That’s correct. And you are tonight’s new champion. [Again, I know it's not like real Jeopardy, but I figured this post was long enough]
BEN: Thanks Alex. I have a quick question. When will I get my check? The reason I ask, is I want to get this guy a medium quality prostitute before he leaves town. You know. To celebrate his reign on top.
ALEX: Join us tomorrow, on Jeopardy.
BEN: I’ll be back, biznitches. Peace.

Let the Porn Star Read

PORN STAR DEFENDS READING TO ELEMENTARY SCHOOL CHILDREN AFTER PARENT OUTRAGE

               Adult film star Sash Grey read to Los Angeles elementary school students.       

Hal Jordan and His Merry Men

I’ll be straight with you. When I saw Van Wilder jacking off a dog, I never imagined the ring would choose him. That was some sick shit.


It’s probably obvious from the caption above that I just saw Green Lantern starring Van Wilder hisself, Mr. Ryan Reynolds. Friday late afternoon, I’m chillin in my
writing space
hovel, when I remembered I have two promo codes from Redbox. I hopped on the computer, located the flick at a partially-convenient location outside a nearby Walgreens, and boom. Ten minutes later it was wham, bam, thank you Redbox.


I returned home where I took Shadow (Our dog) out to do her biz. After leaving the present for my daughter, I poured a bowl of Fritos and grabbed the chipotle salsa. After that it was time to settle back in my chair and press play.
Please don’t judge me for my choice of snack. My selection was limited to Pop Corn and a half bottle of water. The Fritos was unopened and thus had the most to offer the situation. For the record, Drama Queen is in the mountains with her mom. It’s just me, the dog, Fritos and a 1/2 bag of pop corn, no ice and no Diet Coke..

Here’s my first question. There may be more, but I’m not sure. I’m using the force with this blog post and letting The Big Kahuna guide me. Aloha everyone.
I’m not a huge Tim Robbins fan, so when I saw him get sucked into that black, firey cloud guy, I was all, “Hell yeah!” Does that make me an ass? I mean, it’s only a character and not the real Tim Robbins, so it’s probably OK that I found pleasure in his demise.
I think the next movie should be Hal Jordan with the red dude, the pug on steroids and the fish. They look like a ragtag bunch and lets face it, who doesn’t like a ragtag bunch. These four have the power to be bigger and better than Hellboy and his crew, so they need a cool name. Hal Jordan and His Merry Men sounds kind of, uh, you know. I would go with the Green Team, but that sounds too environmental. Whatever. It’s not my problem.
The girl who played his squeeze was pretty cute too. I’m not sure who she is, but she’s definitely worth saving. At this point you’re probably asking yourself why I said I wasn’t sure who she is. Yeah, I could Google, “Green Lantern cast,” but frankly, I’m lazy and don’t feel like taking my hands off the keyboard to use the track pad. You probably feel let down at my sloth, and for that I apologize. I promise to try and make it up to you.
As Hal Jordan was getting his ass kicked by the pug and the red dude, I began realizing that I’m a lot like Hal Jordan. On the inside. On the outside he blows me away, plus he has a killer job and a lot of cash. Hal Jordan’s life was a show. He pretended to be fearless, but his peeps saw through it.
I’m scared. A lot. Scared for my health. Scared that I’m not raising my daughter the best way. Scared that one night a skunk will wander into my hovel and unload on my bed. But most of all, I’m afraid that I will be a success. How fucked up is that?
BTW, I cannot believe that I’m somehow turning this into a sentimental, inspirational thing. That wasn’t my intent at the outset. You have my apologies. Considering the bottle is now empty, it’s most likely The Big Kahuna talking. Back to playing Siskel and Ebert. Does anyone know how Siskel could die before Ebert? I mean, that guy was a heart attack in a jacket and slacks.
I was told by several people that the movie was crap. Others told me it was pretty good, while yet a third group told me it was OK. I’d say it was a pretty decent flick. Nice eye candy, without the gratoutious cleavage. That’s both a positive and a negative. Reynolds was pretty good and I really liked the pug, fish and red dude. It’s definitely worth $1.20 (plus tax).

Do you think Hal Jordan ever harnessed the power of the ring when he was with his chick. I figure he had to try it at least once. What do you think?                                                                                                          

My Two Cents–Penn State

I apologize in advance if this gets, uh, animated. It could possibly be the best 4:45 of your day. Or maybe not. I guess you’ll have to look and find out.

Douche of the Week–Soccer

All the Euros and soccer honks can sit back down. I’m not dissing the world’s most popular game. Please continue to read and I’m pretty sure you’ll be as appalled as I am.







VICTORVILLE, CA:
Saturday morning I was on Twitter when @VirtualMom tweeted about her kids soccer games being an hour late because someone stole the goals. Yes, you read that correctly. Someone stole the goals from a soccer field. Word from the snack bar is apparently that the a-holes in question also hit another local field.
I want to know first off, who does shit like this? It takes a special kind of douchebag to steal goals from a kids soccer field. The next thing I want to know is, why? What purpose would they have for doing it? Was it just to be dicks or is it the parents of some middle school soccer phenom and they needed some goal posts in their backyard so Junior can get better? Finally, where do you hide them without attracting any unwanted attention?
It obviously takes more than one person to jack some goalposts off a field, which is why I use the word, “They” and not, “Him”. Or her. It could be a chick. If it is a woman, I bet her ex played on those fields and she’s likely on her period, which COULD (not WILL) make her irrational. Using that implausible scenario you can see how it could possibly be a woman. I don’t know that for sure, it’s just a theory. I mean, I’m not ready to take it to the cops or anything, but I could see it happening.
Please join me in raising a glass to the people who stole fun and much needed exercise to many little tykes who dwell in the I.E. (That’s Inland Empire, or Inbred Empire, depending on who you ask) When they find you I hope they let a bunch of soccer hooligans go all World Cup on your ass. You totally deserve it.



P.S. Big thanks to Virtual Mom using her sources in the snack bar to break this story. There’s not a Pulitzer on the line, but I will give her a hearty fist-bump. With a, “Pow” at the end.

The Middle

Live right now.
Yeah, just be yourself.
It doesn’t matter if it’s good enough for someone else.

Saturday morning I was sitting down to see if I could write and, as I often do, I clicked on Pandora. I looked at the screen for a moment and perused my options. “Am I in a 90′s Alternative Grunge mood, or would Today’s Alternative Radio be better?” I pondered that question for a moment as I continued to look. I also had 80′s Alternative that seemed to be calling to me, but only from a distance. I could listen to my Zwan channel (a band Billy Corrgan of the Smashing Pumpkins put together between visits to rehab) or to my personal fav, Kick Ass Shit, but neither of those seemed right for the situation.
I decided I wanted something more current and clicked on the Today’s Alternative Radio button and I was off to the races. After the last few seconds of the Harvey Danger song I was last listening to, it kicked to a Vista Print ad, then a familiar song began to play. It was The Middle by Jimmy Eat World. I dig the song and I started listening as I opened Chapter 14 on my computer.
I’ve heard this song 1,000 times over the years, but I will admit that I never paid much attention to the lyrics. For some reason, this morning I really heard the lyrics and to use a tired cliche, “They spoke to me.” I know it sounds like a far-fetched tale, but I was moved by the lyrics of a band that I once called a, “One hit wonder.” To be fair, I called them that until they came out with Pain, then I said they were a two hit wonder. At that moment I was struck by a profound thought. Better to be a one hit wonder, than a no hit wonder.
As I said, I started listening to the lyrics and I was moved by their message. Seriously. I can take a break for a moment if you care to laugh out loud. [PAUSE] OK. Back to the blog post. The lyrics carry a message that I need to hear right now and I was struck by the timing of hearing the song.
Hey, don’t write yourself off yet
It’s only in your head you feel left out or looked down on.
Just try your best, try everything you can.
And don’t you worry what they tell themselves when you’re away.
I’m struggling with believing in myself, but I have to say I’ve been feeling much better lately. I’m actually a bit ahead of where I wanted to be on Sunday night and I’m on a roll that I don’t want to stop. I’ve also noticed that I don’t get down on myself as much as I used to. On occasion I will still ask myself, “What the hell was that?” But Its getting less frequent.
I finally feel like I’m back in my groove and that I’m starting to write like I know I can. It’s a cool feeling and one I hope stays around for a while. Be glad you can’t see me as I bounce around my mancave/hovel/writing area as I sing in my very shitty voice.
It just takes some time, little girl you’re in the middle of the ride.
Everything (everything) will be just fine, everything (everything) will be alright (alright).

P.S. I’m not calling myself a little girl. I’m just keeping it true to the lyrics and shit. Also, the fuzzy bear in the tightie whities is a nice touch.

Wordless Friday–Jesus loves the little children

Leave me your best caption for this picture.


















P.S. Before you judge me for this, remember that some company made this. A christian bookstore also stocked it and sold it. And some holy roller Christian or devout Catholic purchased it and very likely put it in the nursery. Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it.
P.S.S. I’m probably going to hell for this. What do you think? Am I getting off the hook or not?

Magnificent Moms–Vodka Mom

It was his BALL!! It got all big and purple!







Shortly after I began churning out this drivel in December of 2009, I ran across a blog titled, Vodka Mom. Any blog with booze in it’s name has to be worth checking out, so I did. And I laughed. Kind of hard. And then I started following her.
The recently divorced kindergarten teacher is a BlogHer regular. and she runs frequent posts at Vodka Mom. She blogs in between the grueling task of grading finger paintings and paper bag puppets. She’s a well respected Mom Blogger, having made the Babble Top 50.
Vodka Mom answered a few of my random questions and I think her answers gives insight to who Vodka Mom really is. When you’re done, please click on the VODKA MOM link at the bottom of the post. She’s worth your time. I’ll vouch for her.

Not that I give a shit about labels, but you’ve recently gone from Mom Blogger to Single Mom Blogger. That’s gotta be difficult. Was it?
It was one the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. (And I’ve done some pretty hard stuff.) I finally realized that I am the only one who is responsible for my own happiness. I want my kids to know that each person deserves respect, honesty and affection. It’s up to each of us to make sure that this is what we get.
I am doing this for them, but more importantly for me. I’m worth it.

In all your years teaching Kindergarten, you have to have some bitchin stories. Give me the Top Three.

Top THREE? Oh my Lord, I don’t even know where to begin. The ones I remember most? I’ll give it a shot.
• The first year I was teaching kindergarten I was giving a phonics test to each child to determine where they “were” in terms of ability. I pulled them aside one at a time. I pointed to pictures and asked Jack to tell me what they were. He looked at the third one and said,
“What the HELL is that?”
He looked at me- and I looked at him.
“Did you say what I thought you said?” I asked.
“Yep.” He nodded.
Well then. How about you don’t say that in school. Okay? Okay.
Next picture.
• That next month (still my first year in kindergarten) I had ALL four classes sitting ready for a movie. One of my little girls raised her hand an I SHUSHED the WHOLE GROUP to get them quiet for her question. She mumbled something, and I couldn’t hear her. I made her stand up and repeat it. She screamed, “My VAGINA IS RED AND ITCHY!”
“Um. Okay. Well, alrighty, go to the nurse then. “
3. (And one of my all time fav.’s.) Shedaziah: “My brother’s eye is swollen and we don’t know why.”
Ryan: “ My brother was swollen one time in his private parts (pointing to his crotch). It was his BALL!! It got all big and purple! It looked like a big purple grape!
Me: Uh. Okay. Well. Sharing is over..
Do you have a legit fear that your kids will come into your room and kill you? Is it a cry for help or is it simple humor?
I think I’m done worrying about that. I’ve written just about ALL I CAN WRITE and they still love me. I don’t get it.
When did Vodka Mom hit the web and how did it start? [Please don’t say, “Well I was drinking a martini and… unless that’s how it really happened.]
I was writing a column for the local paper, this was about five years ago, when a mother of an old student of mine told me that she was a mommy blogger! She had been reading my column, loved it, explained blogging to me. I got online and started reading! I was hooked.
I had always written- mostly at night, or when the mood struck me. I have tons of envelopes, scraps of paper, and journals filled with thoughts and stories from over the years. She helped me start my blog, and I was given an amazing gift. I finally, FINALLY had somewhere to write about my thoughts, stories, anecdotes, fears and dreams. It filled a whole in my life that I didn’t even know existed- and I’ll forever be thankful to her!!
What has Vodka Mom got in the pipe. [Be warned that if you say, “crack” I will not only publish it, but send the link to every school in, uh, wherever you live. Just say no to drugs, yo.]
I am working furiously on “The Book of Frank.” I am sending to an agent friend of mine- and if he passes on it then I am going to self-publish and e-book! Oh, and I’m also doing this little, tiny thing called a JOB!!
Also, I am basically working on making it through EACH DAY alive. I pray for my children, and I also pray that one day I might find the love of my life.
If not, I am working on loving myself. That, to be sure, is my number one priority.

BONUS QUESTION:
Other than using the word “gotta” did I make any grammatical errors in my questions?
You are incredible. I am honored that you thought of me

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Douche of the Week–Cliff Harris

Way to do your school proud, bro. Go Ducks.

I’m gonna cut straight to the heart of the matter. University of Oregon cornerback Cliff Harris is one ignorant son of a bitch. This Duck is fucked. [Did ya like what I did there? He's a U of O Duck. And he's fucked. For real.]
Basically, these are the three paragraphs that were the difference in picking this week’s winner. Any one of the three makes him a winner, but dude hit the trifecta and he goes straight to the back of the class.
Oregon cornerback Cliff Harris was suspended Monday after he was pulled over for several infractions, including driving on a suspended license and driving without insurance.
Then we find out why he got pulled over.
Eugene police said that Harris was stopped on a city street Monday afternoon after an officer noted he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, for which he was also cited.
Buckle up bro. It’s the law. Rewind a few months.
Harris, an All-American who broke up 23 passes and averaged 18.8 yards per punt return last season, was also ticketed in June by Oregon State Police for driving 118 mph on Interstate 5 on a suspended license.
What a moron, huh? 118 M.P.H. on I-5 on a suspended license, then he does it again. This guy should probably be selective who he breeds with. If Cliff has the game people say he does, then he can hire himself a driver when he gets to the NFL. Until then maybe he can hit up a booster for a chauffeur. Or a bus pass. One things for sure; this dude brings down the team I.Q. Bigtime. Way to do your school proud, bro. Go Ducks.

Secret Agent Man

Grab a cocktail and enjoy.                      The other day I’m at home, typing away on my keyboard when the phone rings–completely interrupting my boredom.. I pick it up and a man with a creepy voice asks for my brother. I immediately smell sales call, so I start screening. This is often the high point of my day. I find that kind of sad. “May I ask who’s calling?” I politely said. “This is Agent Richardson.” Agent Richardson? Is he fucking kidding me. Agent my ass. “What agency are you with, Agent Richardson?” I inquired with a full dose of fake interest. There was a long pause and he said, “Winters International.”
I’ve been feeling especially feisty lately, so I immediately responded. “Wow. That must be wicked cool. Is that one of those covert agencies like ISIS or ODIN, or one of the bullshit ones like the CIA and NCIS. C’mon dude,” I asked with an overdose of sarcasm. “Do you get to kill people? Do you get cool gadgets like James Bond and Sterling Archer?”
There was again a long silence, but I could hear background noise so I knew he hadn’t yet hung up. “Hey secret agent man,” I said with all the seriousness I could muster. “Take us off the top secret scam list you have. Peace out.”
I don’t want to toot my own horn, but that is the way to handle sales calls. Seriously. What kind of an agent is this guy? Is he a real estate agent? A sales agent? Maybe he’s an agent of the devil. But he was certainly no agent of the law.
My four-year-old nephew would call bullshit on this guy. Well, he would if my brother and sister-in-law let me teach him crap like that. But they don’t. Probably because they’re good parents. I digress.
I get what these people are doing. I know they have quotas and overweight asshole sales managers who spend half the day firing up Camel non-filters and the other half sweating stains into their chairs and the carpet underneath the desk. I know their life most likely sucks some major, major ass.
I worked for a collection agency, so I get all the pressure this guy is under, but telling the gatekeeper that you’re a fucking agent? That takes some cajones. That’s someone who won’t even come close to making his goal, but he’s gonna try every shady thing he can to somehow not get fired.
This is Alec Baldwin yelling at Jack Lemon in Glengarry Glen Ross. This is, “Third prize is you’re fired.” This dude’s life fucking blows. And I’m truly sorry for that. I really am, but don’t start off our relationship with straight up bullshit, Agent Richardson. That ain’t how it works, playah. If you want to talk to the man in charge, you got to be nice to me.
Especially when I’m on my man period. When I’m not, I’ll just hang up on your ass, but when I’m on the dude rag, I’ll screw with you a bit.
Let me leave you with a fun way to jump start your weekend.

Google Me

daddy I’m a hooker.





All things are spelled and grammerized as they were in the Google search.


If you blog, chances are you pop up in some pretty weird searches. Now imagine what you pop up in when you have the word, “Sex” in the blog title. Then imagine also having the word, “Dad” in the title. I’ll be straight with you. There’s some sick shit that people search for at night. The majority of it comes from Eastern Europe and the Middle East, though I do get my fair share of scary ones from Georgia, Alabama and Arkansas.
What you see listed below is a weekend’s worth of Google searches. This past weekend, to be specific. This is how people occupied their time between noon on Friday and 9:47 AM on Sunday. Go ahead and assume that the big winners were anything that had any or all of the following words, in various (and shocking) combinations: Sex, dad, daughter, father. Most added the words, “And”, or, “With” in their searches. Hidden amongst the weird ones are some really funny ones. Enjoy.

amy grant. Daddy sex. blink 182 nurse. sex with sex doctor sex. sex dad. sex with dad. i love boobs. enema. Dedy sex. soccer. prety breasts. white trash backyard. drunk woman. drunk old lady. I’m on my period. Sofia vergara nipple. world’s best breast. handjob. German chick. father daughter sex. kotex. Buddy Jesus. Amy Grant whore. yashi guzel sex. pizza al davis. red forman. heather locklear no panties. Chris daughtry. Raiders black hole. Miller Lite man card. mexicanhookers. plump bikini. hookers dad sex. daughter naked stories. getting down. hot nurses. old hottie hottie. fantasy sex. picture with cool baby. Jack Daniels. sex in cabo. salma hayek ass. archer sex. enema of the state. Mexican hookers. Motel 6 sucks tits.
That gets us through Friday night. Tomorrow is a new day.
dad sex. Archer sex. man card. getting laid cabo. Cabo sex. where to get laid in cabo. Josie Stevens tits. sex with daddy. white trash dip. virgin at 37. man card revoke. South Dakota. find prostitutes in cabo. aunt flo. Dropkick murphys. Daddy phone sex. Dick Booster. black hole. soccer. cavity search. daddy I’m a hooker. single dad double standard. daddy needs to bone. NFL breast cancer gloves. Iraq sex. 12 hot dads. spuds mckenzie. bald is beautiful. sexy nurses. Blink enema.

All told, there were upwards of 100 searches that referenced having sex with one’s own father. As mentioned above, the vast majority came from India, Pakistan, Nepal, Greece, Poland, Slovakia, Italy, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Georgia, Alabama and Arkansas. Occasionally from Canada. Mainly the plains provinces. Must be something about being home alone on those cold winter nights.
“daddy I’m a hooker”, came from a New York City suburb. What a shock. I hope she (or he) found something more helpful than my blog. And that daddy didn’t have a stroke when little Cindy or Bobby dropped the news that they’re a prostitute.
I want to hear from you. What’s the weirdest or funniest search have you had for your blog? Have you searched for something you thought was very PG, but Google led you to places that were more XXX? Which of these were your favorites? Tell me about it.

Jesus and the Tijuana hooker

How much is too much for good pussy?

Let me be perfectly clear about one thing. I’m talking about a Guatemalan  friend named Jesus–not Jesus Christ. I’m sure the Lord would spend time with a Tijuana prostitute, but I have a hard time believing that the Son of God would pay for her services. Every weekend. For the past two months.
I’m not knocking the world’s oldest profession, because it’s a woman’s choice how she wants to make a living, but I have to believe that Jesus (pronounced Hey-Zuse) could find a perfectly suitable ho without driving more than two hours and crossing an international border. I’m not an expert on So. Cal. prostitutes, but I’m pretty sure he could find someone in the same genre as the one he’s currently banging. One would have to think, right?
Let me give you a little background. Jesus is a porter who has rented a room from my friend’s house for the past five years. My friend is a checker and having a him around was helpful to her. Jesus has been acting kind of loco lately and my friend finally got tired of his act and on September 1 told him he needed to find another place to live by October 1.
Jesus didn’t really spend much time looking for a place, so my friend found him a place to live, and he will be moving there later in the week (obviously past the October 1 deadline). Now that you realize who I’m talking about, let’s go back to this morning.
I arrived to work about 7:00 and started doing my thing. Jesus normally rolls in around 5:30 or 5:45 (though he always insists that he’s there by 5:00) and around 7:00, I asked another friend if she knew where Jesus was.
I was told that Jesus called yesterday and said he would be in later today, but no explanation as to where he was or what he was doing. Not that it’s any of my business.
My friend tells our manager that she will call Jesus to see when he will be in, and Leonel (an employee) says that Jesus probably won’t answer the phone because he’s in Tijuana with his girlfriend. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked. “Jesus has a girlfriend?”
Leonel went on to explain that he’s been going to TJ every weekend for the past couple of months to see this girl. “OK, seriously,” I asked as soon as the manager was gone. “Jesus has a girlfriend?” Leonel said, “Well. She’s actually a prostitute, but he calls her his girlfriend.” He went on to explain that he met her in a bar and enjoyed her company a couple of months ago, and now he goes down almost every week to spend time with her.
“Dude,” I said to Leonel. “What does this chick look like?” (Not that it matters, but I imagine her to be fairly hideous.) Leonel isn’t sure, but agrees with me that she’s probably been beaten with the ugly stick. Then again, maybe she’s hot-ish and she sees Jesus as her “Sugar Papi.”
Let me give you a brief description of Jesus, so you know the whole situation. He’s a nice enough guy, but he’s as lazy as I’ve ever seen. Jesus stands 5′ 1″ and has a beer gut that is mas grande. After three hip surgeries, one leg is about three inches shorter than the other, which means he wears special shoes to compensate. He says he can’t lift anything and gets people to do everything for him, yet he seemingly has no trouble carrying a case of Corona from the car to the table out in the driveway. Go figure
I guess I should say, he’s supposed to wear special shoes. He doesn’t always do so and when he doesn’t, it’s interesting to watch. I remember one summer day, walking in and seeing my homeboy going shirtless and in flip flops. I watched as he walked across the room to grab something from a shelf and I noticed his C cups bouncing as he limped.
“Amigo,” I shouted across the room. “Donde esta your zapatos? And your shirt?” He told me that it was really hot and that was the reason he was wearing only shorts and a smile. I begged him to please at the very least put his shirt back on. “No one needs to see that shit,” I explained.
If you think I’m a dick for laughing at the way he looks, please relax. I’m no George Clooney and I readily admit that. I don’t take my shirt off in public because no one needs to see my shit either. It’s like how people of African-American descent can use the “N” word with each other and get away with it. Dudes who have a few pounds to lose are allowed to rip on other dudes who need to lose the gut.
My friend called him on his cell phone. She heard music and a bunch of chicas laughing in the background and Jesus never said where he was, just that he wasn’t going to be here today. “Probably tomorrow is more better,” he said. Yeah. I bet it is more better.
At this point I looked at Leonel and said, “C’mon. Tell me what’s going on.” It turns out that Jesus has been banging this ho for the past couple of months and that he is even paying for her cell phone and an apartment in TJ. I’m not sure what an apartment in Tijuana goes for, but I would assume it’s pretty cheap.
As funny as this tale is, it’s also kind of sad. Jesus is no sugar daddy. He sleeps on a couch at his sister’s house and doesn’t make a lot of money because his work schedule is erratic at best, It’s money out the door.
I’m sitting in the break room, mulling this situation over and I keep asking myself the same question. “How much is too much for good pussy?” Also, “How good does the sex have to be if he’s willing to drive 2 1/2 hours down to Tijuana, then sit in a huge line to re-cross the border?” There are times that it takes two hours just to get through the line and back into Los Estados Unidos.
I walked into my manager’s office and said, “So, if Jesus has any more people ask for him today, can I say he’s not here because he’s in TJ banging his prostitute?” I was asked politely to NOT say that, and my assistant manager commented, “I wonder if he’s actually getting anything.”
That’s a good point. What if the skank is playing him? I don’t doubt that the possibility exists, but if it’s true, that’s some cold blooded shit. What if she’s out there, allowing anyone with cash to stick it to her, then doesn’t give it up to him. I can only hope for his sake that my assistant manager is wrong and that he’s at least getting some action for all the dinero he’s spending.
I’m also disappointed that Jesus never said anything to me about these trips. I’ve been wanting a new Baja surfer hoodie/poncho thing and he’s in Tijuana every freakin weekend. Also, a case of Victoria would be nice to have as well. What the hell is he holding out on me for?


Excuse me for a moment. I need to get my bro to call him back and see if he can get me one on his way out. I’m sure he can grab one from the multitude of vendors he will encounter as he sits in line at the border.



P.S. I think the ‘chick” in the middle might actually have a penis. I’m not sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised.