Wal-Mart: The Weirdo-Freak Capitol Of The World

One positive thing about becoming Paris Hilton would be that I’d never have to go to Wal-Mart. But, if for some strange reason I did become Paris Hilton, I’d have to say I’d gladly go to Wal-Mart in exchange for a brain and/or the removal of all the venereal diseases I have swimming around in my reproductive system.

Regardless… Wal-Mart is a strange place. While I understand it’s a “monopoly” of sorts I cannot ignore the fact that their oatmeal is twenty cents cheaper than Homeland’s, their canned mandarin oranges are ten cents cheaper than Target’s, their adult diapers are almost a dollar cheaper than Geriatric World’s and their fertility testing is almost a thousand bucks cheaper than the local hospital’s!

Although, low prices don’t always tend to attract financially saavy individuals hell bent on saving money for retirement… they also attract some of the weirdest damn freaks you've ever seen!

Case in point:



I myself fell victim to a Wal-Mart troll about a week ago… although it wasn’t so much what I saw than what I heard.

Allow me to explain…

Bre and I had just turned the corner of the bread aisle because we were looking for some tortillas to make chicken enchiladas for some friends that particular evening. A quick glance down the aisle revealed I was sharing it with one other man. He was an older gentleman carrying a food basket. He sported a very trailer-trashy ensemble with a long trench coat, flowing greasy hair and combat boots. This indeed really wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for Wal-Mart  but as we closed in on crossing paths I noticed he was talking on the phone in very hushed tones. I’m not one to really try to listen in on other people’s conversations but as we passed I couldn’t help but catch what he was saying in very forceful tones:

“I’m sticking my tongue in your mouth and I’m swirling it all around all in your mouth. Oh. It feels so good…..”

Needless to say I was slightly taken aback… yet strangely intrigued by this multi-talented man who could apparently shop for bread while deeply engrossing himself in such an emotional phone call. I don’t stare at people EVER… but this just wasn’t any old people. This was perhaps one of the weirder things I hope to ever see at a Wal-Mart.

So, I positioned myself amongst the wheat breads in such a way where I could keep an eye on this guy and see if I could hear anything else he was saying.

I didn’t have to wait long.

As he continued strolling amongst the breads he stopped and began slapping his hands together right next to the receiver of his telephone while saying, “… And I’m spanking your ass so hard! Oh, and you like it! Oh yeah, c’mon baby!”

For as quickly as I was intrigued by this dude… I was just as quickly completely disgusted and felt a bit like vomiting on the english muffins.

I tucked tail and got out of that aisle as fast as I could lest I contract some airborne “freak-weirdo” virus and feel inclined to conduct a phone sex call in Wal-Mart or something.

While it could have been any number of scenarios, I believe he was more than likely a phone sex-operator on the phone with “a client”… or he was just a complete freak getting his rocks off on a phone-sex call! I’m not one to judge (okay maybe I am), but isn’t there a better place to conduct such a phone call than in the bread aisle at Wal-Mart?

I felt a little less queasy once I came home and took a shower to wash all the heebie-jeebies off.

———————————————————————

I wanna hear good stories from you all on some of the weirdness you’ve seen at Wal-Mart. C’mon… gimme somethin’ good!

Uh... What Broke?

I came home the other day from work and everything was going on as normal. Jasmine was driving Breana crazy, the dog was on the couch as she was not supposed to be, and the smell of dinner was lingering in the airmosphere. After food and playtime I noticed that it was really warm in the house. When I wandered over to the thermostat it read 85 degrees! I was like “what the crap…what do I do now?” I don’t have any sort of home protection plan that covers this and I don’t know how to fix it.

My father came over and took a look at it and said either the fan motor or a small electrical transistor went out. I asked him if he knew how to fix it but that turned out to be a “no”. He did know a guy that works on them and said that it shouldn’t take too long to fix. I called and a couple of days later he came out and fixed me right up. Turns out it was a small itty-bitty little electrical component. I’m not saying how much that little thing and the visit cost me. Since then I have looked into some ways to safeguard me against little things that go out and break on me. Home warranties like what American Home Shield has to offer look really appealing. I just know that the I need to look into something before I spend all my free time on the phone trying to find someone to fix the junk when it breaks and then go broke trying to pay them.

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.

The 37-Year-Old Virgin

“I want you right now,” she said in her best attempt at being seductive.

In September of 2010 I wrote about the 36-Year-Old Virgin turning 37 and remaining untapped. I planned on waiting a while (but not 2 years) before revealing the final installment of this epic “Quadogy”. A quadogy is kind of like a trilogy, but has four parts. I just made up that word, but I don’t give a shit.
It’s probably been a while since you read that post (if you ever read it), so I’m gonna throw you the final two paragraphs from that post. That way you can see why this is going in the direction it is.
I drove home and pondered my evening. I left home hopeful that I could have sex with her and didn’t. Her friend wanted to have sex with me, but I couldn’t. In case I wasn’t totally clear earlier, BFF straight up said she wanted to pull over and have sex with me while the Virgin was in the car. Classy, huh?
In case you didn’t figure it out—she became the 37-Year-Old Virgin and if you actually scrolled down to see how this ends—you suck! Now go back and read what you missed. It’s shocking, informative and entertaining.
The day after the 37th birthday bash I received a phone call from the now 37-Year-Old Virgin. She told me she didn’t remember a lot of the night and wanted to know if anything interesting happened. I pondered that thought for a moment. Should I tell her that her BFF wanted me to pull over and screw the shit out of her while the Virgin was in the front seat? That probably wasn’t the best strategy, so I went ahead and lied. “Nah. It was pretty same ‘ol,” I said. “I had fun.”

She thanked me for being such a good boyfriend and said that she was really looking forward to our trip on Friday. I was going to Mexico for seven days and the Virgin was going as my interpreter. I was going to tour the original Dos Equis brewery, which was then known as Tres Equis. Her family was from that small town and I needed someone fluent in Spanish, so it worked out perfectly.
We were going to spend two days in Mexico City, then take a bus to Orizaba for three days, then back to Mexico City for two more. We arrived in Mexico City and as soon as we checked into our hotel on the Zocalo, I was off to get some tacos al pastor (my personal fav) and a Corona.
The first night there she wanted to take me to La Zona Rosa (the pink zone) and she assured me I would have fun. I did have fun, but I have to say that Zona Rosa doesn’t mean what I thought it meant. I’m not sure why they call it the pink zone, because there wasn’t one strip club in the area. The name is kinda misleading, if you ask me.
We came back to the room and I (of course) made an overture towards having intercourse. I was rebuffed as usual. I tried the ‘ol, “We’re in a different country so it doesn’t really count,” line, but she reminded me that God sees everywhere. I hated when she played the God card. Once she does that your response has to include some reference to burning in hell.
The second night in Mexico City we again went out and she once again was
drinking a bit, kinda drunk,
totally hammered. We got back to the room and all she could do was slur something about, “Tonight’s the night, baby. We’re gonna have sex.” You would think I would be thrilled to hear those words come out of her mouth, but I wasn’t. Not that night.
Many probably consider me a full-time pig, but I’m not. That night I told her no. I explained that we weren’t having sex because she was drunk and because I had respect for her virginity. I wanted to take it from her, but I respected her going 36 years without ever slippin it in. I told her that if this is what she really wanted, that I would have sex with her tomorrow, but not tonight.
I, of course, went to sleep frustrated as hell and completely pissed off at myself for having a conscience. The next morning we awoke early and caught our bus to Orizaba. The bus had a TV and played Disney movies, one in English with Spanish subtitles and the other in Spanish with English subtitles. Weird, huh?
Along the way we discussed the previous night’s adventure and she claimed that she knew exactly what she was saying. She reiterated that she felt like she was ready and that she wanted to, “Do this now.” I looked around at the bus full of travelers and asked if she meant, “Right here, right now.” She assured me, she did not mean that.
We got to the hotel just in time to drop our bags and walk across town to see her grandmother. I noticed that people seemed to be staring at me and about the third block down, I asked, “I’m guessing they don’t get a lot of americans around here, do they?” She told me they didn’t and wanted to know why I was asking. “Uh,” I said sarcastically. “Probably has to do with the fact that every person around is staring at me.”
As we walked, I looked at her and asked if she was completely sober. “Of course I am, silly,” she said. “You’ve been with me all day.” I then asked if she was still sure she wanted to be de-virginized, and she said she was sure she was ready. (I probably used a different word at the time, but I don’t remember.) I explained that I wanted to know, because if she was drunk again tonight and wanted to do it, that I was totally going for it. She laughed and said it was fine, but she didn’t plan on being drunk. She wanted to, “Remember this night.” I was pretty sure it would be memorable.
We went out with her grandma, two uncles and two aunts to some local joint specializing in sopes and we ate till we were stuffed. As I was paying the bill, someone asked if we had any big plans for the night. I refrained from explaining that I was planning on taking their niece/granddaughter back to the hotel to experience what many of her all girl Catholic school classmates experienced before they took their drivers test. You shouldn’t tell family that stuff. Your friends? Maybe. But not family.
We strolled back towards the hotel and stopped into a cantina for a couple Mexican car bombs (Dos Equis in a glass with a shot of patron at the bottom) and as we finished our second one, she leaned in and whispered, “Let’s go back to the room.” I walked as fast as I could without seeming too anxious. She seemed excited too and not at all nervous. I was a bit shocked by that.
As we walked, I had a thousand thoughts running through my mind. Was she going to cry and scream the whole time or would she get into it pretty quickly? I planned on pretty much doing all the work, but I wondered how good she would be. I wasn’t expecting much, but I was hopeful. “Fuck it,” I said to myself. “She’s finally giving it up, so stop whining like a pussy.”
She opened the door to the room, sprinted ahead, turned around, and proceeded to rip her shirt off. “I want you right now,” she said in her best attempt at being seductive. What happened after that? It’s not cool to tell. Suffice it to say that I stopped the clock on her virginity that night and that there will never be a story about the 38-Year-Old Virgin. At least not here.

Mr. Whipple would not approve

Would that be considered third base or was the guy trying to steal home?

On Thursday Breana and I were at home when her friend Arika rolled in to see if we wanted to head over to Costco for a cheap lunch. My daughter said yes right away and I figured I would tag along since I wasn’t really looking forward to heating a can of soup in the microwave. After parking and standing in a long line I grabbed my Polish sausage  and rounded the corner to fill my cup. I know there are better ways to say that though not many funnier.

As I was getting my drink I watched some guy walk up to machine with a big jug, fill it with ice and water then put it on the ground and fill another before walking away. “WTF?” I thought as I watched the guy do this. Once we had our drinks the three of us grabbed a table, ate lunch and bullshat*.
My daughter also noticed the guy with the jugs and when Arika saw the dude pilfering the water she started telling us about a guy she knows who keeps a collection of fast food cups in his car. He saves them in order to take advantage of free refills. If he’s at Burger King, he whips out his BK cup. If he’s making a run for the border he grabs his Taco Bell cup. Classy huh?
We all finished our lunch as we talked and my daughter was telling us about some ideas she has for her birthday. At one point late in the meal I noticed a couple dudes walk up and grab a table behind my daughter. I really didn’t pay attention because the patio was kind of crowded and they were just a couple of guys eating lunch.
I noticed that the two guys were sitting next to each other and not across from each other which didn’t seem to be a big deal as I figured they were probably expecting another person or two. As my daughter continued to tell us of her plans I noticed something that caught my eye.
Dude on the right put his hand on his friend’s back as if he was consoling or comforting him. I still thought nothing of it and continued to listen to my daughter. Suddenly my attention was diverted back to the other table. The guy’s hand started sliding down the friend’s back. And it kept going.
Without warning, fingers grabbed shirt and hand slid inside the jeans and under the drawers. Before glancing at Arika (who was sitting next to me), I noted that while “squeezing the Charmin” the guy was also eating a slice of pizza. My first thought was of the Alanis Morissette song, One Hand In My Pocket. My second thought was, “”That’s not his pocket”.
Arika blurted, “Time to bounce,” as I said, “I’m ready to go.” My daughter, who was sitting with her back to the show, had no clue why we were suddenly ready to leave and after walking 20 or 30 feet asked why we were both in a hurry.
As we headed to the car Arika relayed the story to my daughter who was kind of surprised but also kind of glad she didn’t actually see it for herself. After returning to the house I was asked if I took a picture, which of course I didn’t. I really wish I had because before we were out of the parking lot I knew I had today’s blog post.
I’m not here to judge but I don’t think the patio outside a crowded Costco at 12:15 PM is the best place to get a little “down the pants” action. Not even if it was a guy and a girl. Not even if it was two chicks.
Would that be considered third base or was the guy trying to steal home? If Alanis ever remakes her hit she could croon, “He’s got one hand eating pizza and the other one is giving a low five.”



P.S. If you think about it, the guy was really just grabbing a slice with both hands.
*Bullshat is the past tense of bullshit.

Elway, Manning, Tebow and why God hates me

He’s the kind of guy that you hate with a passion, until he comes to your team.

I’m a Raider fan and make no apologies for that. I’ve loved the Raiders since I was a kid and I will until the day I die. I tell you this so you understand why I’m saying the things I’m saying in this post.




Monday morning I woke up feeling good. The previous evening was spent making fun of Aubrey O Day as I watched Celebrity Apprentice and I was looking forward to seeing what the day held. I threw on a t-shirt, grey cardigan, jeans, Converse and after my 19-year-old daughter (who I affectionately call Drama Queen) was off to school I went to eat breakfast. As I sipped green tea and ate blackberries and raspberries I turned on my computer and immediately felt sick. “Manning chooses Broncos” appeared on my screen.
“Jesus Christ” I yelled. “This blows.” There was no one in the house with me but I still felt the need to vocally declare my unhappiness. As a Raider fan the Broncos were the last team I wanted Peyton to go to. Don’t get me wrong, I respect the hell out of Manning and what he’s done in his career. He’s one of the best ever and that’s precisely the reason I’m less than thrilled about the choice of teams.
The last thing I want is for my Raiders to once again face one of the greatest quarterbacks of all time twice a year but as I continued to contemplate the ramifications of the event I was struck with the proverbial silver lining to this very black cloud. Manning coming in means that the person I detest most in the NFL, Tim Tebow (or as I like to call him, “Teblow”), is getting kicked to the curb.
My favorite clipboard holder will be getting a new home and that makes me very happy. I never got the whole Tebowmania thing. The guy completed 46.5% of his passes (126 of 271) and had a QB rating of 72.9. Dude lost to Buffalo 40-14 and completed just 13 passes. Actually, if you count his three interceptions he completed 16. Throw in his two fumbles and you can see that the guy is not a quality quarterback.
Tebow Nation will respond by pointing you to the games he won but I reply by saying the only way the Broncos won those games was by some sort of dumb luck or divine intervention. You can’t tell me that when a guy completes two of his eight passes for a total of 25 yards that he deserves the credit for the win against KC. Absolutely not. Could I do any better? No, but I’m not pretending to be an NFL quarterback. My guess is now when Timmy “Tebows” he’s praying for a backup job somewhere and not a gig as the third string/guy who shags the loose balls at practice.
Tim Tebow isn’t my problem anymore. Peyton Manning is. As a fan of the silver and black I can only pray that Carson Palmer gets in sync with his receivers and that he has the kind of year he’s capable of having. If not, the Godfather will roll over in his grave as his much-hated Broncos defeat the team he built and then tore down.
I thought John Elway was smoking crack for drafting Tebow as high as he did but I have a renewed respect for the man who said “Tebow will be our starter next year” then sent him packing. Elway is a guy that I respect the hell out of for what he accomplished in his career as a player and now as an executive, but I don’t like him because he beat the snot out of my Raiders time and again as a player and now it seems he’s found a way to do it again as an executive. He’s the kind of guy that you hate with a passion, until he comes to your team.
Why do I say God hates me? Simple. I prayed daily that Manning would sign with anyone other than the Broncos or Niners. My friend, Wes is a huge San Fran fan and I know the kind of taunting I would have received had Manning arrived on the wrong side of the bay. Thankfully I won’t be hearing Wes run his yap about that but I know I’ll get an earful when the Raiders and Broncos hook up.
If I could ask Peyton Manning one thing it would be this. “Why not Tennessee?” It’s a nice state. Elvis lived there. You went to college there. People in that state worship you. You had an owner who wanted you badly and fans that would go crazy for you. Wouldn’t that be the perfect fit for you? If Tennessee is good enough for the King it’s good enough for you.
In Denver you have to play outside in the cold and the snow. In Tennessee its warmer and they make Jack Daniels there. You broke my heart Peyton Manning and for that I pray that my Raiders find a way to shut you down, sack you, intercept you and limit your touchdown productivity. I’m not optimistic that will happen because as I said before, I’m pretty sure God hates me.
                                               

                    If you’ve never seen the Tim Tebow skit on SNL, check it out.

Stuff my mom forwarded me this week

I was sitting at my desk the other day when I received an e-mail from my mom. Then I got another. And then one more. All told I received three forwarded e-mails in a five minute period, which was actually a pretty slow day for her. After deleting the e-mails without reading them I had a thought.






“Why not take the best of her forwards every week and make them into a blog post?”  I was kinda proud of myself for coming up with the idea, even if it does make me seem totally lazy. These are the ones I felt I could post without offending segments of the population. That being said, take a look at what my mom sent me this week.


A single glass at night could mean a peaceful, uninterrupted nights sleep.

NEW Wine for Seniors
I kid you not…

California vintners in the Napa Valley area,
which primarily produce Pinot Blanc, Pinot Noir, and Pinot
Grigio wines, have developed a new hybrid grape that acts as an anti-diuretic.
It is expected to reduce the number of trips older people have to make to the
bathroom during the night.
The new wine will be
marketed as

PINO MORE

Brain Study….

Wow! It took me a few seconds, but then I got the hang of it…I’ve seen this with the letters out of order, but this is the first time I’ve seen it with numbers. Have fun.

7H15 M3554G3

53RV35 7O PR0V3

H0W 0UR M1ND5 C4N

D0 4M4Z1NG 7H1NG5!

1MPR3551V3 7H1NG5!

1N 7H3 B3G1NN1NG

17 WA5 H4RD BU7

N0W, 0N 7H15 LIN3

Y0UR M1ND 1S

R34D1NG 17

4U70M471C4LLY

W17H 0U7 3V3N

7H1NK1NG 4B0U7 17,

B3 PROUD! 0NLY

C3R741N P30PL3 C4N

R3AD 7H15.
PL3453 F0RW4RD 1F

U C4N R34D 7H15.

[This made me dizzy just looking at it and I didn't try to read it]

                               

Kicking a Star in his land down under

I’m still unclear on the whole “Nicole Richie fashion icon” premise

Tuesday night I turned on Fashion Star about halfway through. Don’t judge me for that until you hear my reasons.
A) My niece is a fashion designer
B) I needed to figure out why the commercials touted Nicole Richie as a “fashion icon”
C) This show has meltdown written all over it and the truth is, I enjoy a good train wreck
I tuned in about 45 minutes into the 90 minute show and as soon as it came on I was struck by a realization. Jessica Simpson has very large breasts. The reason I say this is because the first thing I saw was a close up of her cleavage thanks to some director at NBC. They went back to it several times which I don’t completely understand because I believe this to be a show mainly for women, but who am I to argue with how they do things, right?
The next thing I saw was a short Latin designer in a baby blue bowler. After a moment I picked up my phone to text my brother.
I just turned on Fashion Star. Is that a dude in the baby blue bowler or is it a chick?
He responded by telling me he was taping the show so he had no clue. Later in the show I came to the conclusion that it was a dude. Either that or a woman named Oscar. I’m sure from this photo you can see why I was confused. Considering he’s wearing an orange one in this pic, I can only assume that brightly colored bowlers are his “thing”.
The concept of the show is kind of interesting. There are three mentors, Jessica, Nicole and some guy I know nothing about other than he’s from Detroit. The trio give the contestants suggestions before they make their garments and present them on stage. The designers then show their piece on the runway to buyers from Macy’s, Saks and H & M. Some contestants listen to the mentors advice and others do not. One woman listened to the advice given to her and ended up with a $50,000 order from H & M. “Good for her,” I said out loud to my dog, Lucy.
An Australian guy who thinks his shit don’t stink didn’t listen to the mentors. In fact, he told Jessica Simpson that he didn’t know why she and Nicole were critiquing men’s fashion since they were women and therefore didn’t know anything about men’s fashion. At this point I looked over at Lucy and said, “This is gonna be good.” I was not wrong.
The guy was designing some “high end” motorcycle jacket that frankly looked pretty much like a hundred other jackets I’ve seen on clearance racks. They weren’t bad, but there was nothing unique about them. This guy had the balls to tell Jessica “It’s hard to understand girls giving advice when it comes to men’s fashion.” If you don’t believe me, check out the clip at the bottom of the page.
That wasn’t a smooth move when you consider that the buyers from Macy’s and H & M were women. I don’t know the ins and outs of the fashion world, but I’m pretty sure you don’t talk to buyers like that if you want them to buy your mediocre clothing. Needless to say, he didn’t receive any offers.
Big props to the creators of the show for streamlining the process. Most reality game shows stretch out the critiques and the kicking off of someone, but this show flowed really well. My only question is about Nicole Richie. I don’t understand how being Paris Hilton’s former BFF and parking your car backwards in the fast lane of a freeway makes you a fashion icon. But as I said before, I don’t know the ins and outs of the fashion world, so I’m going to assume the creators know what they’re doing.
My two favorite moments were when the Aussie guy dissed women and said they know nothing about fashion and when they booted his ass off the show because “It’s apparent you can’t listen to constructive criticism.” To be clear, the reason it was a favorite moment is because it was ridiculous, not because I agreed with the douche.
I also liked watching the reaction of the designers who finally realized their dream of having something they created being sold in a major retailer. That has to be a huge thing. I know I'll be really proud of my niece when her design's are in a major retail in a few years from now. I imagine it feels kind of like I felt when I saw my first blog published in a magazine, only a thousand times better.
I missed the first half of the show but I saw a couple other designers who look like they could be train wreck material, which means I definitely need to watch again next week. If I had to bet I would guess that the next one to go will be the androgynous chick (her description not mine) who designed a man’s shirt collar with an attached tie for women to wear as an accessory. The only thing that saved her ass last night was the fact that Aussie boy is a dick.
I’m still unclear on the whole “Nicole Richie fashion icon” premise and I would appreciate it if someone could please explain that to me. Gracias.

                                               

An amazing voice

Christina’s rack isn’t the focus of this post. Seriously.



Dateline: Monday night
Around 9:30 I began channel surfing and came across The Voice. I’ve never seen the show but I heard some dude singing and he sounded good. Damn good actually. With one of my favorite train wrecks (The Bachelor) cutting in and out thanks to my POS antenna, I decided to listen to the guy sing.
Apparently they were in some sort of battle round and Christina Aguilera paired a dude named Jesse Campbell against a guy named Anthony Evans. Both have rad voices but I was most intrigued by the story of Jesse. Jesse is a dad who was once homeless with his daughter after his wife left them.
Dude was as down and out as you can be but he never gave up. He kept singing and praying and finding ways to make life better for his child and for himself. I respect the hell out of that. I really do. If he were here now I would give him a man hug and a fist bump, though probably not in that order.
This guy has a set of pipes that seriously blew me away. Last night they showed Jesse’s blind audition and just moments into his song all four judges buzzed in, which I believe is a good thing. I’m not really sure how the whole competition goes but I think if more than one judge wants you, the choice is up to the singer.
If I’m right, that explains the massive cleavage Christina shows on every commercial for the show. And on last night’s episode. I’m a huge fan of cleavage (and the cleavage doesn’t have to be huge to be nice) but I think that the amount of exposed bosom the former Mouseketeer was showing could be deemed public nudity in several countries around the world. To be clear, I would never visit any of those countries.
Christina’s rack isn’t the focus of this post. Seriously. This is about a dad who never gave up and who though sleeping in a car with his daughter, made something of himself. Whenever I get that “feeling shitty about my lot in life” attitude I’m going to try and remember Jesse. He’s an inspiration to me and to anyone who feels that they can’t find a way out of the rut they’re stuck in.
Believe it or not, I don’t have a lot to say about this. That’s probably because the story of Jesse is pretty clear. It doesn’t matter what life throws at you, if you keep trying, eventually opportunity will find its way to your door and God help you if you don’t answer it!
 One final thought. My daughter Breana forced me to watch American Idol last week and both Jesse and Anthony were better than any of the dudes remaining on Idol. WAY better.
I’m not sure what happens on The Voice from here because as I said at the beginning, I’ve never watched the show before. I haven’t heard any of the other contestants sing but I’m certainly pulling for Jesse, the pastor’s kid from the Windy City. Want to know who won? Jesse did, but no way would I have wanted to be Christina last night. This contest was too close to call. Check out the head-to-head battle between Jesse and Anthony.

                             

        *Jesse is wearing a white shirt and doesn’t have glasses.

The Dodgers are insane

And in related news, rape victims are partially to blame.



First things first, I am NOT a Dodgers fan. Nor am I a Giants fan. I grew up watching the Angels and have long loved the Cubs. This isn’t a story about baseball, but about ultra-wealthy greedy people who try to blame others when it comes time to shell out money.
I guess I started thinking about this because spring training is underway. And possibly because I saw a bunch of Angels billboards with Albert Pujols on them. The billboard somehow made me realize that the Angels will kick the crap out of the Dodgers this year and that reminded me that I don’t like the Dodgers.
Remember Bryan Stow? He was the San Francisco Giants fan who received a major beat-down from a couple of low-life thugs in the Dodger Stadium parking lot after the home opener of the 2011 season. How bad was his beating? Stow suffered a major brain injury and in fact nearly died from it . He spent more than seven months in the hospital before being moved to a rehab facility and his life is forever changed.
That ultra-wealthy, greedy douche (and current Dodgers owner) Frank McCourt is trying to get out of paying Stow any money and has asked the federal court judge overseeing his bankruptcy case to disallow the claim. The Dodgers had this to say in their 37-page motion.
“The Stow claim is, when stripped to its core, based on the faulty premise that a landowner is an insurer of the safety of persons on its property.”
I’m not a law geek. I leave that stuff to my Muse (who went to law school to understand things like this), but here is what I do know. People shouldn’t go to a baseball game and worry about whether or not they’ll get beaten while on the stadium property. There’s an expectation of safety when you go to a game. Depending on where you sit you may expect to get hit with a foul ball, but not a shoe to the head while on the way to your car.
As a kid I used to go to Angels games all the time but we rarely went to Dodger Stadium. Why? Because the parking blows and there are only a couple ways in and out and it takes forever to go to or from a game. I still go to games as an adult and I’ve been to seven major league ballparks plus I’ve seen several spring training games.
Never once in all those years did I think that I would get my ass kicked in the parking lot. Even when I wore my Cubs jersey at Dodger Stadium. Or even when I wore my Cubs jersey to a game at old Comiskey Park, the former home of the Chicago White Sox.
I didn’t think I would get a beat down because you’re supposed to feel safe coming out of a baseball game with your son, daughter, niece, nephew, chick, dude or friend. You know there’s security in the parking lot and you assume that the people in attendance are going to leave you alone. But not at Dodger Stadium.
I’m now seriously rethinking getting tickets to see the Dodgers and Cubs this year which is sad because I love to see my Cubbies in person. I guarantee I won’t even think about going until McCourt sells the team. I’m not giving that dude a freakin dime.
Do I expect there to be security in every row? No. But I do expect that if there are questionable looking individuals or people who appear to be perpetrating evil or possibly planning to perpetrate bad deeds, they should be watched closer. Safety is an expectation everyone should have when attending a professional baseball game or any sporting event.
What ticks me off the most is the fact that from day one McCourt was a huge ass. Stow and his family spent a lot of money going to that game for tickets, parking, food, drinks and eventually a hospital stay, rehab and probably extra care for the rest of Bryan’s life. That was one expensive family outing.
What’s McCourts’ reaction? I mean, after he got pissed at MLB for seeing through the “robbing Peter to pay Paul” scam he was trying to pull with some lucrative TV contract between the Dodgers and Fox. In case you didn’t know, McCourt owns Fox as well. McCourt’s reaction was to push the blame to the victim.
According to my Muse, the bottom line is that McCourt is saying “It takes two to tango,” with the tango apparently being the fight. Only it wasn’t a fight. It was a beating. In front of the dudes kids. McCourt implying that Stow somehow provoked the beating by wearing his Giants gear is absolutely insane.
I dig Stow’s lawyer, Tom Girardi, for quotes like these.
“The last thing anybody would expect from a statement from the current bankrupt owner would be something about integrity, something about fairness, something about how do I correct the problem I caused?”
and
“But steady as she goes with him, the same guy who siphoned off $189 million bucks of the Dodger organization and then put the team in bankruptcy, who got rid of security, who has more incidents of harm than any other team in baseball. Now this guy coming forward and saying forget about it.”
I know this isn’t all legal-ese, but in my mind it comes down to this. Bryan Stow and his family went to Frank McCourts house, then on the way out Stow got the shit kicked out of him by a couple of McCourt’s friends. I say “friends” because the assailants were Dodger fans.
If you apply the McCourt logic in other areas of law one could assume that rape victims are partially to blame. That, of course, is complete crap and it’s nothing more than sarcasm to make a point. I sincerely hope that Frank McCourt loses his ass in a big way, but even if he loses the case and has to shell out big bucks to Stow, the reality is that he will never live life in poverty. He may never be truly poor, but an average Joe like me can only wish that McCourt gets what’s coming to him. And then some.

Diversity

I am a diverse Motherf*****

I was tweeting the other day with my friend Tara about dating and I (for some reason) said that I was a “diverse motherfucker”. Tara replied back immediately and said that I should “use the term the ‘Renaissance Man’ on your online profile. You never know who/what you’ll attract with ‘diverse motherfucker’.”
I appreciated her concern and this got me thinking about myself. I am diverse. I’m also hip, cool, rad, eclectic, horny and occasionally even sane. I’m just me. Love me for who I am or kiss my ass. It’s your call. If you’re hot, female and single I would love it if you were to kiss my ass, but that’s a whole different blog post for a different time.
Why do I consider myself diverse? I have all kinds of interests and various personalities that come out at different (and occasionally inappropriate) times. I am a dude, but still can be a gentleman. I can throw down shots with the boys on a Saturday night as we talk about scoring with chicks (or our lack of game) and I know how to handle myself in church.
I like vanilla AND chocolate. Strawberry too. There’s not much better at 2 AM than a bowl of old school Cap’n. Crunch Peanut Butter cereal. A hot fudge sundae is off the hook, but hot fudge sundae Pop-Tarts are weak. Have I ever tried one? Shit no! How do I know hot fudge sundae Pop-Tarts are weak? I just do. There are some things that a guy just knows.
I like women (and occasionally women like me) and I am in no way gay (not that there’s anything wrong with that) and I am not at all ashamed to admit that I occasionally enjoy spending a quiet evening alone on the couch sucking down (down. Not off.) Jack Daniels, Jose Cuervo or Ron Bacardi.
I dig all kinds of music. Looking at my Top 25 Most Played list on my iPod I have Foo Fighters, Linkin Park, Sublime, No Doubt, Muse, Dropkick Murphys, Michael Buble, Daughtry, Black Eyed peas, Dee-Lite, Reel Big Fish, Brian Setzer Orchestra, Dean Martin and Disturbed. What I listen to depends on my mood.
I’m not big on rap, but I’ll kick on some Snoop from time to time. Why Snoop? That’s easy cuz—me & Snoop are just a couple of gangstas. I’m not a big fan of country music, but if you threw me on a tour bus with Carrie Underwood, Faith Hill, Shania Twain (vintage Shania, not recent Shania) or Miranda Lambert, I would do my best to try and seal the deal.
I love surfing and skiing. Back in the day we used to go surfing at the Huntington Beach cliffs in the morning, come home, shower and head up to Big Bear for some night skiing. Oh to be young again and think I was cool…
The last almost 20 years I’ve been a dad first and foremost. I’m a way cool dad, but I know how to drop the hammer when I need to, I know how to drop the hammer when I’m dating, but once again, that is a different blog post for a different day.
As we come to a close boys and girls I would like to leave you with another tweet from Tara. “You do deserve a hottie, and one who will love and embrace you for the incorrigible middle-aged man you are.” What does this have to do with the rest of the blog post? Nothing really. I just like reading it and am thinking about making it my personal mantra. Your thoughts???

Niche dating is ‘wack

Once you’ve got a colostomy bag…


Raise your hand if you’re single and are on Facebook? OK. Thanks. Now raise your hand if you’ve ever tried online dating? Great. One more question. How many single people on Facebook see those bullshit ads on the right side of the page, click the ad yet somehow never see the person in the ad? Yeah. Same here.

If you’ve never seen these ads, they truly are amazing. Facebook was nice enough to take the time to tailor the ad just for me. Apparently there are a lot of large breasted women who are looking for 47-year-old single fathers. I know that Facebook has my back, because until late November the women were looking for 44-year-old’s. Now that I think about it, the year before they were looking for 43-year-old’s. Weird.
When I click on the site (which has pictures of women like the pair above) I see women. Lots of women. Do they look like the girls in the ad? Not a fucking one one them! I call bullshit and false advertising. That’s not cool. Not cool at all.
My favorite ad has to be the one for Christian Mingle. They explain, “If you’re looking for a Christ centered relationship, the next move is yours.” The next move is yours? I didn’t think Christians had “moves”. I thought their purity rings counteracted the urge to put the moves on anyone. Maybe I was wrong.
I’ve tried Match.com with limited success. The same with e-Harmony. I appreciate the effort that old dude and his company are putting in, but the reality is that I end up running into the same train wrecks that I do on the free sites. If I thought I was getting something for the cash, I could see it, but I don’t.
If you’ve ever done any Internet dating, you’ve likely run across PlentyOfFish.com. I will admit that I’ve met some nice people there. When I lived in Canada, I met Teacher on that site. I met The Nurse there as well. However, the overwhelming majority of people have been either crazy, strange, troll-like or a combination of all three.
I’m sure there are lots and lots of wonderful women on POF, but I can say that I have yet to meet more than a couple solid ones. I can’t tell you how many women have a profile that says they’re 42, but you would swear in court that she was 60+.
Let me disclaim this right now and say: I am in no way making fun of anyone’s weight, whether below average, average or above average. Anything I say is meant to illustrate a point and not ridicule. Shit, I need to lose 20, 30, 35, so no way am I cracking on people’s weight. That being said, people need to be realistic about what they look like. I tell people that I’m fat and they typically say that I’m not. “It’s no more weight than most people need to lose,” they tell me. I don’t buy that bullshit, which is why when I was online dating I put, “A few extra pounds” rather than, “Average.”
Just because everyone in your family is 60-80 pounds overweight, that doesn’t make you average. If you’re a little big, then say so. Some people are looking for that and if you’re stuck in, “Average”, you may get overlooked. If you don’t like being in a certain category, make it your goal to get down to the next level.
The beautiful thing is that you don’t have to spend months trolling through the big sites. For example, if you’re Jewish, there are sites for you. If you like crazy chicks, there is a site called Women Behind Bars. You can correspond with an inmate, then let her beat you, rob you and kill you shortly after her release. But not until you’ve bought her some cans and a new wardrobe.
Apparently there’s a dating site for Trekkies. I can’t even begin to tell you how stupid that is. If you’re willing to drop a grand for a lifetime membership, you can join Scientific Match and let DNA testing help determine your match. I don’t think Crazy Blind Date needs any further explanation, nor does Bi-Cupid.
If you’re into Ayn Rand, you can join Atlasphere.com. If World of Warcraft is your thing, then you will want to rush on over to DateCraft.com. As tempting as that may sound, please wait until you’re finished here before you do so. Thanks.
If your junk itches, drips or oozes, you can log onto STD Friends and find people who likewise suffer from chlamydia, gonorrhea or just plain ol’ crabs. My favorite one might just be Ostomate.com. Once you’ve got a colostomy bag, I would imagine that it’s hard to get past those first few dates, ya know?
What did I miss? Are there any more niche sites that I overlooked? Do you have any experience with any of these? Stories that you heard from, “A friend?” Spit ‘em out. Let’s hear them…

Glee is bullshit

There are some things a guy just knows.

I’m in the car with Drama Queen Sunday evening and she asks if I have the song Gives You Hell on my iPod. I dig The All American Rejects and I told her I did have it. She asked if it was “The Glee version or the real one.”

I quickly glanced over at her with a look of sheer…I don’t even know what I was feeling at the moment. I was disappointed that my daughter would even consider that I had the Glee version of anything on my iPod. I was also feeling frustrated that a bunch of losers would take a perfectly good song and F it up. I was also holding back laughter. That was quite possibly the dumbest question I have ever been asked.
I glanced at her, then back at the road and asked, “What the hell would make you think that I have a Glee song on my iPod?” She responded with the typical teenage reaction. “I don’t know…..”
“Glee is just High School Musical done on a weekly basis,” I reminded her. “If I think High School Musical is stupid, why would I have Glee music on my iPod? Have I EVER indicated that I had an interest in watching that show? In fact, when you’ve asked if I wanted to watch it with you, what was my reaction?”
“You said, hell no!” She replied. Damn right I said hell no. If my internal filter hadn’t been switched on I probably would have said “Fuck no”. I’m a hetrosexual male in my late 40's. Why would I have an interest in watching Glee?
For the record, that was a rhetorical question. I don’t need your answers on why I should become a Gleek. I will never become a Gleek. I understand chicks who are Gleeks and I guess I can understand homosexual males who enjoy it, but I don’t get how a straight male could think it’s anything but stupid.
You’re probably all asking, ” Benjamin, how many episodes have you watched?” I will answer you honestly and say, “Absolutely none. Not one single minute.” How do I know I don’t like it if I’ve never watched it? There are some things a guy just knows. That’s all I can say.

                                         

P.S. The only nice thing I can say about Glee is I like how they use the fingers to make the “L” in the name. That part they totally got right….

Cruising on a Saturday

My teenage Drama Queen’s first semester of high school was officially over Thursday and the students had a day off on Friday. With that in mind, I arranged to meet my friend Steve at his son’s apartment a block from the beach in Seal Beach for a bike ride.
As I read what I just wrote I realize that sounds vaguely homosexual and I want to assure you he’s not that kind of friend. I have gay friends. Steve’s not one of them. As usual, I digress. Allow me to begin again.

Saturday morning my daughter and I loaded our beach cruisers onto the back of my car and headed to Seal Beach to meet my friend Steve and ride around the beach. To be clear, I did all the loading. She just stood there.
It takes 1 hour 15 minutes to get from home to downtown Seal and as soon as I started the car DQ began yammering. “Did you know on Monday we start reading the Odyssey in English?” She asked. “Uh,” I replied. “Yeah. Who told you that you were starting it and who suggested you get a copy for your Kindle so you can begin reading?” She had no answer to the question which was odd considering we had the Odyssey conversation less than 18 hours prior.
After reminding her it was I who suggested she get the book, my daughter began to ask detailed questions about Homer and his Odyssey. I explained that I hadn’t read the book in years but My Muse loves the book so she should point any questions that direction. She then started asking questions about Greek gods and I once again explained that she should discuss this with My Muse because the only thing that I know about Greek gods is that Aphrodite is supposed to be the hot one.
I’m pretty sure you can see where this is heading, right? For the next seven minutes I swear to God she asked me thirty different questions about the book and the gods and I only had two responses for her. It was either, “I don’t remember anything about Greek gods. Ask My Muse.” Or, “I don’t remember the book. Ask My Muse,” Actually, the last Greek god one started with, “Seriously?” And the last book one began, “Holy crap!
We were three blocks from our destination when she finally stopped yammering and I was enjoying the quiet. As we approached a stop sign on Main St. I noted that we were the fourth car back. And that we had a cop in front of us. Suddenly, dude throws on his lights and barrels around the two stopped cars and through the intersection.
“Damn,” I said to my daughter. “Somebody must have really messed up.” At the same moment I saw the car screech into a parking spot directly in front of Nick’s Deli. The only parking spot within a half block of Nick’s, I might add. Then they casually walked in to the deli, presumably to pick up breakfast burritos. Is the siren used for dinner only or do they have to be traveling further than 500 feet before they use it?
I would say I’m surprised the cops did it, but My cousin grew up in Seal Beach and frankly it would take a lot to surprise me with the Seal Beach Police. This is the same force that in the spring of 1984 sent a police dog after three of his friends who were toilet papering my uncle's house.
They were hiding in the bushes three houses down and the officer knew where they were, but this lunatic had just gotten the dog and wanted to try him out. After they arrested his friends and took them to the police station (seriously) the cop pulled my cousin’s car in front of a fire hydrant and gave him a ticket. Nice, huh? If I remember the story right, that officer was later dismissed from the force for something crappy. What a shock.
Once we got to Shawn’s (Steve’s son), we unloaded the bikes and headed down Ocean towards First. We passed beach front house after beach front house and as I glanced at the ocean and blue sky between the houses, I vowed that I would try to get out and do this a couple times a week. I also vowed that I would do it when DQ was in school so that I could keep my sanity.
Why do I bring up my sanity? My daughter isn’t “uncoordinated” but it’s safe to say she could use a little more. She’s never had much desire to ride a bike until this past summer and she’s not overly steady on it.
My brother got her a cruiser for her birthday in April and she loves it. She and I have been out together a few times, but she has this tendency to not ride straight and it scares the crap out of me. Just before we ended the ride this morning I pulled to the side because I’d gotten slightly ahead of my daughter. I turned to look just in time to see my angel (only riding about 2 MPH) ride straight into the back of a parked Infiniti. Not the corner of the car but dead center of the back end.
In her defense, it was black and one could make the argument it was hard to see. Who am I kidding? There’s no defense for hitting a parked car when you have a whole street to ride on. I apologize for even trying to spin that in a positive manner.
After an hour of cruising through the streets of downtown Seal Beach we stopped for a donut and coffee before biking to the pier to take a couple of pictures. For some reason I don’t have a lot of pictures of the two of us together and I have none of the slimmed down me (15 pounds in three months) and my daughter.
There’s a grassy area next to the pier and we stopped there to take a couple shots. Drama Queen got off her bike and I turned towards the beach to look for a good spot to stand. Suddenly I heard a smack and quickly spun around. Seeing my daughter with her hands cupped closed, I ask what happened.
“I caught a butterfly,” she proudly said. “No,” I thought. “You killed a butterfly.” As you can see from the picture, the butterfly was unharmed and stayed in her open hand for almost 30 seconds.

I totally needed this bike ride and I’m going to make it a priority to get out on a regular basis. I think I’ll hit Bolsa Chica or the Huntington Cliffs next weekend so I can ride with a prime view of the ocean and chill while I exercise. I think I’ll even put together a Beach Cruisin playlist for my iPhone. That way I can stick in my earbuds and listen to some tuneage as I ride.
I’m thinking Sublime, Katrina and the Waves, Blink 182, Oingo Boingo, The Smiths, Harvey Danger, Red Hot Chili Peppers and anything else that was played on KROQ since 1980. Any suggestions?

If I were lesbian

…she’s nerdy hot. Me likey.





Sunday night at 9:01 I was NOT sitting on the couch watching Family Guy. Instead I was sitting on my bed, eating Almonds and watching videos for Music Monday on Benjamin's Blogs. I was also texting The Muse.
She asked if my friends and I ever had the “If I were gay” conversation. I told her that guys don’t have that conversation, they have the “If I were lesbian” talk. That got me to thinking. I really had nothing better to write about, so why not take this idea and expound on it…

If I were lesbian…
I was in downtown Los Angeles one Sunday morning several years ago. I was heading to Roscoe’s House of Chicken n Waffles for some breakfast. Yes. I eat fried chicken and waffles for breakfast. Dinner too. It’s the shit, but not the subject of this post.
As I approached the restaurant I realized it was Pride Parade morning. Roscoe’s was jammed and as I waited, I noticed a mannish girl wearing a t-shirt which said “I (heart) Vagina.” She walked past me and I pointed to her shirt and said, “Hey! Me too.” The look she gave me told me she wasn’t impressed. Oops.
I like boobs, but I also like a nice ass. The boobs don’t have to be huge, but they should be nice. And they should be a reasonable match. There’s nothing worse than the right one being much smaller than the left. Or vice versa.
Yeah…If I were a lesbian I would definitely be more lipstick then butch. I’d have a little edge about me (like Jo from Facts of Life)., but I would look all sexy and shit (like Mallory from Family Ties).
If I were a lesbian I’m not sure what color hair I would have. Being a blond would be too cliche, so I guess I would want to be a tall, sexy redhead with big cans. I would prefer them to be natural, but I wouldn’t be above shopping for a nice pair.
I was thinking about what type of chick I could realistically score if I was a lesbian. Since I don’t plan on being an ugly lesbian (but then again, who plans for that, right?) I think I would attract a pretty decent sort of woman. I would like one who is smart, cute and can fix shit around the house. I’m not good at the whole home improvement thing.
I’ve compiled a short list of: Chicks I Would Bang If I Were Lesbian. I’m going to start in the 80′s because that’s likely when I would have come out.

Both sisters from Too Close For Comfort. But not the mom.
Suzanne Somers from Threes Company. The other blond chick who replaced her too. The tall, dumb one.
Heather Locklear. T.J. Hooker. Melrose Place. Posters. Motley Crue. Take your pick of where you know her from. She’s delish. I once gave her friend my underwear when we were all at the Hard Rock in Beverly Hills. Totally true story.
Katey Sagal. Peg Bundy from Married With Children. One afternoon with me and she would forget all about Al. I wouldn’t do Marcie though. That dude looks kinda rough.
Christina Applegate. Peg Bundy’s daughter from Married With Children. This is as close as I would ever get to pulling a mother-daughter train, so I’m going for it!
Jenny McCarthy. She’s been in Playboy, is funny and farts. She is mmmm mmmm good!
Carmen Elektra. Watching those babies bounce on Baywatch was awesome. She’s a bit of a mess, but very, very do-able.
Marisa Tomei. Do I even need to explain? Seriously?
Liz Phair. Singer. For some stupid reason I thought she used to be in Veruca Salt. Portia di Rossi of Arrested Development. She’s already lesbian, so I don’t have to convince her to switch teams. Cool.
Mary Louise Parker. She’s the pot dealing mom from Weeds. If you’ve seen the show, you totally know she would consider a woman.
Tina Fey. Whether on Saturday Night Live or 30 Rock, she’s nerdy hot. Me likey.
Most of the girls Charlie Sheen is banging. I have a feeling nearly all of them would.

This list in in no way complete. Please let me know who I left off or who you would like to be with if you were a lesbian. I don’t really think it matters whether I was lesbian or I was straight; all I want is a woman who makes me happy. That would be some cool shit.

Somewhere Over The Rainbow

And the dreams that you dreamed of
Once in a lullaby
Israel “IZ” Kamakawiwo’ole
(Hawaiian pronunciation: [ka-maka-iwo'ole]






If someone told me I would be quoting lyrics from the High Holy Diva of homosexual men (Judy Garland) I would say you’re sm0king crack AND sniffing glue. Yet here I am, quoting song lyrics from the Wizard of freakin Oz. Weird.
For the record I don’t advocate the use of either crack or inhalants. Whether alone or together. Crack is wack. Say no to drugs, yo. This is a tale of perservernce, stress, parenting and other assorted stuff. It should make you laugh and it might make you weepy. OK, maybe not “weepy” but it’s a look inside my world and right now my world is kinda sad.
First let me give you a little background on this song. It was done back in 1993 by a dude named Israel “IZ” Kamakawiwo’ole. Who is he? Here’s the Readers Digest version. If you want to know his full story, wiki it.
IZ is the most popular Hawaiian musician. Ever. He kicked Don Ho’s ass years ago and at his biggest (pun intended) he weighed 757 pounds. That’s not a joke. IZ stood six-foot-two and weighed 757. In 1993 he recorded this version of Somewhere Over The Rainbow and around 2004 or 2005 it was released as a mainstream song.
IZ died in 1997 at age 38 and 10,000 attended his funeral while thousands more were at a service to dump his ashes into the Pacific. There’s a shot of it in the video. He’s also only the third person ever (and only non-politician) to have their body lay in state at the Capitol building in Hawaii. That’s a pretty bitchin honor, bro. Nicely done.
I implore you to watch the video at the end of this. It’s just a big dude with a rad voice and a ukelele, but it features some beautiful scenery and it’s something you need to hear at least once in your life. That’s enough about IZ. On with the blog post.
Where trouble melts like lemon drops
High above the chimney tops that’s where you’ll find me
There are times I feel like I’m over the rainbow, as in ready for a straight jacket. The reality is that I wish I could figure out how to make my troubles melt like lemon drops, but I can’t seem to figure it out. It often seems like I’m seriously losing my mind, though I’m
fairly
confident that I’m not.
I’m adjusting to changes in lifestyle due an ongoing illness and it’s frustrating at times. By “at times” I mean most of the time. I’m not in a wheelchair or anything, but I have to plan my day so I don’t get burnt out. That’s easier said than done.
For example, Saturday night I learned (the hard way) that when I’m around fireworks I need to put on my headphones and play some music because the booming sounds are not pleasant for me. But enough about that.
I’m stressing and worrying about things I have no control over and I try to let go of it, but for some reason I can’t. On the rare occasions I do relax, it’s short lived because I start thinking about these things I have no control over and it worries me, which stresses me out. I keep telling my brain to chill, but it likes to screw with me and does its own thing.
Lately I’ve started accepting invitations to events I know will likely not be great for me, but I go anyway. Why do I go? Easy. I don’t want to completely hole up and become a social douche. Plus I need to figure out a way to enjoy myself without paying a huge price and if you don’t try, you don’t know. Ya know?
I know that this will sound both ignorant and insane, but it’s the straight up truth. My lack of confidence is feeding this fear of both success and failure. I really believe that I often subconsciously sabotage myself because I’m afraid of succeeding, even though I very much want to be successful.
At the same time, I’m deathly afraid of failure. Why? Hell if I know. If I could figure it out, I wouldn’t be afraid of it. Trust me.
Here’s how my personal Circle of Life works. I’m afraid of failing, so I don’t try to do things that I should try. When I don’t try, that satisfies my fear of success, but like any nasty beast, my fear of success needs more nourishment, so I continue to not do things because I’m afraid of failing or looking like an idiot.
Add the inherent stress of parenting my hormonal teenage Drama Queen to the equation and you can begin to see why I feel very alone and discouraged. My Muse keeps trying to get me out of this funk, but her arms aren’t long enough to bitch slap me on the West Coast from the East Coast. Still, I appreciate her trying and I publicly apologize for being a whiny douche and for heeding about 2% of the advice she throws down. Maybe 3%. Definitely low single digits.
Thank you to everyone who is still reading. Most sane people left at some point before this and I want you to know I appreciate your sticking with me. I listen to this song and it reminds me that I need to let my troubles melt away and that I can’t change a lot of what’s happening in my life, so I need to roll with it. I’m ready to be happy for a while.
The video was recently released and watching it reminds me that it doesn’t matter what the package looks like on the outside, it’s what you have on the inside that counts. If a 757 pound guy can belt out songs like this, then I’m pretty sure a dude with a weird sense of humor, skewed view on life and a flaming cane can accomplish something pretty decent with his writing.
Note that I said, “pretty sure” and not “sure”. Why not completely sure? Self doubt. As I begin taking regular trips over the rainbow I’m sure I will feel better. I cannot believe I just typed that. Remind me to find a better way to say it. The phrase “As I begin taking regular trips over the rainbow I’m sure I will feel better” sounds wrong on so many levels and I offer my most sincere apologies for having uttered it.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to look for that lemon drop place so I can chill a while. Daddy needs a time out.

                                                                

P.S. If you read this regularly, you’ve probably noticed I haven’t written much this past month. I’ve been out looking for that damn rainbow. I’m pretty sure I’m close, so please stick with me. If you’re new, hook a brother up and subscribe?

The Muse on Valentine’s Day

  Go ahead, make everyday Valentine’s Day.


A couple weeks ago I was chatting with The Muse and she (out of the blue) mentioned her feelings on Valentines Day. I paused for a moment to make sure I heard what I thought I heard and asked her to repeat herself. I heard her right the first time. I was intrigued by her viewpoint and asked her to write a guest post for me. Here it is. The Muse’s views on Valentine’s Day. Enjoy.

Valentine’s Day- Is it a real holiday? I think not. Over the years, the notion of spending a ton of money one day every year in the order to shower your significant other with love has been blown completely out of proportion. Personally, I put a boycott on the so-called holiday years ago. I mean, why should some card company and ridiculously overpriced flower shop tell me when I should tell my significant other I love them?
If they aren’t bad enough, the commercials for jewelry stores are so sickeningly sweet they should come with a warning beforehand stating “Caution: May induce vomiting”. One in particular strikes me as completely moronic.
Two lovers in a cabin, watching a storm out the window at night. Lightning strikes and she leaps into his arms like she just spotted Michael Myers standing on the other side of the glass. But! Don’t fear frightened Princess! This diamond ring will make the lightning go away! Seriously??
We are losing sight here, people! If you love someone and it’s Tuesday, July 7th, don’t be afraid to buy them a card, write them a love letter, or give them flowers for no reason other than you love them. You shouldn’t feel obligated to purchase overpriced roses for the woman/man you love simply because it is mid-February.
If you are truly in love with someone, don’t you think about little ways you can express that love every day? A good morning kiss, a call during the day just to say hello. I would much prefer a small daily reminder of the fact that someone loves me. What I don’t want is someone to feel obligated to buy me flowers or a heart-shaped pendent because some marketing machine told them that was what is expected of them.
They say diamonds are forever and, well, they sure as Hell better be for as much as they cost! But, and here’s where you’ll probably thinking “This woman is out of her freaking mind!” I tend to boycott diamonds as well as odd holidays. But, it’s for good reason. Most diamonds are from South Africa and it is extremely hard to prove how the diamond was obtained from the mines and from whom.
There are so many corrupt “businessmen” who hire young men and children to go out into the mines, enslave them, even kill them over the tiniest gem. It isn’t worth it. I don’t want to look down at my hand and think “I wonder if some child lost his life so I could wear this?”
Needless to say, I don’t ever expect anyone to go all out for me on Valentine’s Day. What I DO want is, if you love me, show me. Everyday. The little notions of love are so wonderful, especially when they are completely from the heart and not from the wallet. A quick call to ask how my day is or a text that says “I Miss You”, would be enough. Wouldn’t you feel amazing every single day if someone just gave a couple of minutes to make sure you know they care?
So, this Valentine’s Day, I urge you to give this gift to the one you love…it doesn’t cost a thing: Tell them how much you love them, how your life has improved with them in it, how you would not want to go another day without making sure they know how you really feel. Then, vow to yourself that you will take a couple of moments everyday to show them you love them. Make them feel good, loved, and appreciated, and I’m quite sure they will return the gesture. Go ahead, make everyday Valentine’s Day.
Now, if you don’t mind, will you please pass me a few of those Conversation Hearts? Those things are addictive!
Muse

Tuna helper and other white trash food

If you wash it down with cigarettes and generic vodka, it’s white trash food.





I have great friends. I tend to get some great inspiration from The Muse, but from time to time, my inspiration comes from elsewhere. Like this post.
My friend Liz inspired this post with her stories of shake & bake and tuna helper. I texted that for a girl who went to a fancy college, she was eating pretty white trash.
She went on to inform me that every year for her birthday, hubby gets her a cake made out of Twinkies. A Twinkie cake is definitely white trash! With this knowledge front and center in my mind (and with nothing better to blog about) I quickly turned this convo into a blog post.
I started thinking about what other foods were white trash and I assembled a short list in my head. Next, I texted The Muse to get some of her thoughts. She had a few good ideas too, but something seemed to be missing. So I turned to my great Twitter friends for some suggestions and clarification of a few items.
My point? This was kind of a group effort and I want to give credit where credit is due. I give a hearty *chest bump* to all of you, but to some more than others… *wink* When you’re done with the list, let me know what I forgot and throw your two cents in on what I did list.

White Trash Food

Sonora dogs–A.K.A. the bacon wrapped hot dog. I’m going to get this one out of the way, because frankly I don’t give a crap how white trash this is. I love them! I’m not sure if I first had these in Tijuana or if it was from a cart outside a Lakers or Kings game, but who the hell cares. I know my last three.
One was Saturday afternoon. I got a craving and I fired up the cast iron skillet.
Pork rinds–I’m not sure I really need to elaborate on this one. I’m totally confident, if you asked 100 people to list 10 white trash foods, that 100 out of 100 would have pork rinds on the list. Not a doubt in my mind.
Corned beef hash out of can–On St. Patty’s Day I made corned beef and on Saturday I made corned beef hash for breakfast. I’ve made it many times, but I still went to the Food Network website to see if there was a cool recipe. I looked at almost a dozen and none included the words, “can” or “can opener”. I don’t think I need to say any more on the subject.
Spam–This one has long intrigued me because Spam is huge in Hawaii and Hawaiians aren’t white trash. I’m sad to admit that one night, several years ago, I sat in my backyard in Redlands, CA and pondered what Spam really is and why someone created this crap in the first place. In case you were concerned about the fact I was talking to myself about Spam, you can relax. My friend Jack Daniels was keeping me company that night.
Cheese in a can–Cheese was not meant to be squirted directly into the mouth. That shit is just wrong.
Nachos in the microwave–Nachos were meant to be cooked in an oven. Or a toaster oven. If you put cheese on chips then throw them in the microwave, you’re following a white trash recipe. You may not be doing it consciously, but you definitely have some white trash tendencies.
Casserole–This one isn’t as cut and dry as you might think. My initial feeling was that any casserole should be considered white trash, but a Twitter friend said she feels there has to be cream of something soup in there in order to be called white trash. She makes a good point.
Another Twitter friend explained that casseroles aren’t white trash, but rather are retro and hip. Yet another said they have to include potato chips in order to be considered white trash. I never knew that a simple casserole could spark such strong debate. I’m going to err on the side of caution and go ahead and call the casserole “White Trash”. Sorry mom.
Fried bologna–Some people will tell you that it tastes like hot dogs, but it doesn’t. Nor does it taste like chicken. It tastes like fried bologna. To me, fried bologna tastes much like I imagine ass to taste.
Tater salad–Potato salad is OK, but if you call it tater salad, you’re eating white trash food. The same with smashed taters. Mashed potatoes are perfectly acceptable in high society, while smashed taters are to be eaten in the double wide.
Keystone beer–It’s the official beer of Keith Stone and Keith Stone is white trash.
Sunny Delight–To be fair, it’s only white trash when you call it “orange juice”. It’s also white trash if you mix it with vodka. I don’t care if you call it Sunny-D and vodka. If you put vodka in it, it automatically crosses the border. It passes go and collects the $200. If, however, you recognize it for what it really is–citrus flavored sugar–it’s perfectly acceptable to drink, and in fact, I would love a glass. Do you have any rum?

For dessert, anything with Nilla Wafers and Cool Whip automatically qualifies. A Jello mold with fruit inside also gets an automatic berth on the list. I think these two are definitely white trash staple. I’m pretty sure when mama sends papa to the A & P, he sees this:
Nilla Wafers (the cheap ones)
Cool Whip
Jello (lime)
canned fruit cocktail

As I was working on this post, I noticed a few other things. There are no fresh fruits or veggies in white trash food. In fact, the more it has been processed, the white trashier it is. I also noticed that a lot of white trash food is meant to be eaten with condiments such as ketchup, mustard mayo and store brand salsa. That’s probably because most white trash food tastes shitty.
Some things are meant to be deep fried, like chicken, potatoes or onions. If you fry anything out of the ordinary, go ahead and consider it to be white trash. What do I mean by “out of the ordinary”? Things like pickles, mayonnaise, Oreos, pizza, corn or spaghetti and meatballs on a stick, are all items that only white trash will fry. Just because you have hot oil, doesn’t mean you have to use it. Remember that.
The bottom line is, it doesn’t matter what you eat. If you wash it down with cigarettes and generic vodka, it’s white trash food.

Benjamin



P.S. I always want to give credit where credit is due. Monday evening Liz texted me the “Washing it down with a cigarette” line. I added the generic vodka part. Thanks Liz!!!

Chair guy had a girlfriend?

That’s a shitty move bro.

I’m driving home from work on Wednesday and clicked on my favorite radio show, Shredd and Ragan on 103.3. A few minutes after I turned them on, they started discussing someone they called Chair Guy. You know who I’m talking about, right?
If you don’t, the short version is that in a small Ohio town, very, very near to West Virginia (I mean, like spitting distance), lived a man who literally did not get up from his chair in two years. I’m not kidding. He did everything in that chair. Yeah…Everything.
He wasn’t alone in the house. His girlfriend and a roommate lived there as well. How the fuck does someone live with a guy who for the last two years has crapped his pants and pissed himself every time he had to relieve himself?
I wanna know something about the girlfriend. Did she perform her “girlfriend-ly duties”? If so, that chick is a special kind of white trash!
Anyway…this week the two roommates found him unconscious and called paramedics. When they arrived they found his skin “welded to the chair with his own urine and feces.” I’ll pause for a moment while you try to get that image out of your head….
They had to cut him out of the chair and they had to cut a hole in the wall because he was too big to fit through the door. They took him to the hospital and the state told the roommates they had to clean the apartment thoroughly or get the hell out!!! A state inspector said he goes to the house daily to monitor the process.
WTF is up with the girlfriend and the roommate? How could they live there in the stench and the filth and the squalor? I mean, we all know the roommate was bangin the girlfriend, right? C’mon, it’s pretty obvious Chair Guy isn’t getting any. Yeah, she’s a special kind of white trash, but there had to be a point where she just said, “I can’t baby. Sorry.”
Those two should be put in jail for subjecting Chair Guy to this prolonged agony he must have been in. It’s pretty obvious that this guy hasn’t been mentally capable for a very long time, and these two were morally, if not legally, obligated to call authorities after a few days of this. This shit went on (pun intended) for TWO YEARS!!!
How sad is it, that after I heard the story, the first thing to cross my mind was, “No shit? Chair guy has a girlfriend?” I mean, how the fuck did this guy get a girlfriend, when perfectly mobile men with proper bathroom etiquette, can’t find someone? Seriously. That guy has game.
Actually, it’s more proper to say Chair Guy HAD game. He passed away Wednesday; just three days after being removed from his chair. If the roomies can’t be prosecuted legally, we should at least be allowed to kick ‘em in the junk. Anytime. Anywhere. Can I get an Amen?
I’ve already determined that she’s a special kind of white trash, but the dude is too. Not only for the living conditions, but for nailin his roommates girlfriend the past couple of years. That’s a shitty move bro.
As I close this tale, I would ask that before you click to another fabulous post on my blog, that you observe a moment of silence as we ponder in our heads, just what those living conditions were like, [shudder]

R.I.P Chair Guy.