Pizza boobs

 My boobs get me sex, but that’s about it.

Last night I was sitting on my couch eating bacon wrapped hot dogs, jalapeno potato chips and drinking Molson Canadian. It wasn’t a healthy meal, but it was a tasty meal. About halfway through dinner I received a message from my friend, The Muse.
Apparently, she stopped on the way home to pick up a pizza. She innocently leaned on the counter and was making polite conversation with the 20-year-old kid working the register.
I guess he liked what he saw, because when it came time to ring her up, it was half what it should have been. Nice. She was excited and thought she would share the experience with me.
That started me thinking–which can be dangerous. What would my life be like if I had pizza boobs? You know what I mean–boobs that get you discounted pizza and other cool shit.
I’ll be honest with you and say this isn’t the first time I’ve had that thought. I guarantee you that at some point in his life, every guy has thought about it. Several times.
The Kings Fan is one of my closest friends. He and I have known each other since before Drama Queen was conceived. He was in the hospital waiting room the night she was born and he was my goalie for a few championship soccer teams.
He’s as good as it gets when it comes to friends. Except for that one night he led us into a gay bar in Tijuana. We had a lot of good times together. I remember sitting in his garage one night, getting absolutely F’d up. We were laughing at all kinds of stupid shit and all of a sudden he blurts out, “If I had titties, I’d be a big titted porn star.”
As you can well imagine, the conversation regressed from there. I asked him why a big titted porn star? I mean, the answer seemed obvious to me, but I wanted to see if he could come up with the correct reasoning. He then began to tell me that if a girl is hot and she likes to have sex a lot, a career in the adult industry can be lucrative and rewarding.
First, you get to have sex with men and with hot women. It’s a small community that performs in these films and they are all tested regularly, so the chance of contracting HIV is lower. Plus. you get paid a lot of money. He had a few other good points, but it mainly came down to sex and money.
We discussed the various fringe benefits one could get as a woman with big breasts. We listed a few immediately–free drinks, getting out of tickets, getting preferred treatment or services. I don’t know how long we talked about it that night, but we did it again another night a few months later. Oddly enough, in his garage once again. Hmmmm…
Today’s blog post was to be about something entirely different, but once I heard a large rack can get you 50% off your next pizza, I started contemplating this subject again. This time I got some help from some friends on Twitter.
I told them I was looking for things they’ve gotten discounted or for free because of their cleavage. I got a lot of responses. Free drinks was the most popular. One said she got the large pour, premium drinks but was only charged for well drinks.
Another chick said “If you let them touch ‘em, it’s easy to get free stuff.” Uh… Cool. The strangest one came from someone who said she got discounted rent on an apartment she never moved into.
A friend of mine told me she was wearing a tank top and arrived at a toll booth, only to find out she had no money. She flashed the guy and he let her go. I’m sure that’s happened more than once to the average toll collector.
The daughter of one of my closest friends texted me with her reply. She told me that she used to get free t-shirts and stickers at concerts along with the obligatory free drinks for showing your cleavage. She also told me that she once flashed her old boss and the next day she got a raise, to the tune of $1.50 per hour.
The opposite of the free drink comes from another friend who texted me back saying she bartended when she was younger. She would lean over the sink in her low cut shirt while she pumped glasses over the brush.
She said she made “hundreds of dollars a night”. Considering I know her personally and can attest to the, uh, “quality” of the cleavage; I would consider that to be a fair statement.
I found out you don’t need big boobs to get free shit. One woman said she has small boobs, but got her back tattoo done for free because she took off her shirt to have it done.
There were two that really stood out and I want to share them with you. Consider it a gift from me to you. The first one comes from my friend Elle.

Hey Benjamin,

So here’s my cleavage story:

About 2 years ago I was rushing to work and took a shortcut thru some back streets. The streets curves at a pretty weird angle and there is a park right on the side. Right as I was running a stop sign at about 35 mph I spotted a police car parked to the left of me. I knew I was going to get pulled over and I could NOT get another ticket since I had gotten 2 in the last 6 months. I had to think fast so I immediately pulled in the parking and unbuttoned an extra button on top and hiked my skirt up just a bit. I popped the hood of my car & got out just as he was pulling up next to me. He asked me what the problem was. I launched into a drawn out story about “this really scary noise” that my car made and how I was just so anxious to get to work so I could call a mechanic. The whole time I am telling the story I am pretending to look in the hood while bending over just so. I was in a nice blouse, a tight skirt and 5 inch heels. It didn’t take me long to see that he was clearly enjoying the view.

I know that he did not believe a word of what I was saying but he certainly wasn’t making any effort to really question me either. After a few more minutes of back and forth chit chat, he offered to escort me to work to make sure I arrived safely. He followed me all the way to work and even told my boss to make sure I had someone check my car out! My boss totally knew I was BS’ing but he went along with it and then proceeded to give me shit about it for years!

That is so cool. It just proves the point that a nice rack can get a lot of shit handled for you. If you let it. My final story comes from a Twitter friend, who shall remain nameless.

I have always been a fan of pornography. I’m not talking rabid fan that goes to conventions, but rather the type that enjoys movies and goes to strip clubs. I started going to strip clubs with full nudity with my then, fiancé. I was a fan of Barbara Dare because a lot of her female scenes were quite a bit more realistic. I discovered she was going to be performing at Deja Vu in Lansing, Michigan and didn’t have to convince my fiancé to come with me.

The bonus back in the early 1990s was women weren’t charged admission. The rationale, I was told, was to encourage girlfriends or wives to see and feel comfortable in the atmosphere. Also, I think it was to enhance couple’s fantasies so they would return in the future. In my case, the latter was true.

I made sure to wear my fuchsia silk blouse with a black lace bra underneath. My lips stained in red lipstick with a tiny bit of gloss. I wanted to make sure she saw my breasts so I added a tiny touch of body glitter down my cleavage. I left a hint of perfume on my neck without overpowering all of the other dancers that would be there.

Knowing where I was going made me slightly aroused and my cheeks blushed. My heart was racing by the time I hit the club. The atmosphere just oozed sex. The pounding bass of the music, the darkened room, and the beautiful women never failed to make my heart skip a beat. It didn’t hurt that I was exploring my sexuality at the time.

As I settled on a table near the stage, we ordered drinks, and it became apparent that Barbara Dare wasn’t going to give anything away for free. She had t-shirts, posters, magazines, and VHS movies (it was the 90s). If you tipped big, or bought lap dances from strippers, you might be able to get a poster. I was bound and determined to get something as I was the only woman out there, and it was no secret that she preferred women in real life.

By the time Barbara’s second set came around, I had one dancer that seemed very fond of me. Every time I tried to tip her, she wouldn’t take it. She managed to flirt , sit on my lap, and shove her breasts in my face every chance that she got, which drove me sexually insane. With my adrenalin racing, I hastily came up with a plan. As Barbara started to get ready to throw out a t-shirt for free, I unbuttoned my shirt just below my bra, went up to the edge of the stage, and and screamed her name. At that very moment, I felt like a dumb ass, because I knew they could throw me out. I probably looked like a creepy fan, and it didn’t occur to me, that any of the other men sitting around the stage could have copped a feel.

She motioned to me to get closer as one of the men next to me yelled, “Take the bra off!” With my heart pounding, my chest flush red, she leaned over, ran her hand over my breast, smiled, and handed me a t-shirt. I froze. It seemed like it took forever, but the whistles and cheers from the other men around me snapped me back to reality. I hurriedly closed my shirt and returned to my seat, with a high five from my fiancé.

As I buttoned my shirt back up, my favorite dancer came over and said I could meet Barbara personally. She would come get me when it was time. Before I could say no, my fiancé told me I should go.

After Barbara Dare’s last set, she had a VIP meet-and-greet, which I was lucky enough to be a part of. I was shocked at how tiny she was! I got the t-shirt signed, a hug, and it was the last time I used my tits to get something for free. But, it’s a memory, I’ll never forget. (wink)

My blogging friend Melisa sent me a link to a post she did for Weasel Momma. I remember reading it when it happened and it’s way too long to fit in here, but I’m throwing THE LINK to you. Check it out when you’re done here.
I want to hear from you. Use the comment section below and share your stories. Ladies–what have your boobs ever scored you? Dudes–if you had cans, what would you use them for?
Before I go, here’s one of the funniest DM’s I got back on the subject. It came from from friend Kris of Pretty All True. I loved it because it was brutally honest and I appreciated her lack of shame in telling me this:

Seriously?  My boobs get me sex, but that’s about it.

 

P.S. In the midst of the original conversation of the discounted pizza, I asked The Muse what the hell she was wearing to make the kid give her half off. She sent me the picture at the top of the post. “That’s all pizza boy saw,” she texted. She then followed it up with, “Maybe that can be your blog pic. Ha ha ha ha!!!” OK. It is.

Pass it to the left…

No child should have to hear her parent say, “Yo, bring me my bong.”

Last night Drama Queen and I were in the car with my neighbor. We we’re heading towards home around 8:15 when the neighbor suddenly blurted, “Let’s stop at Papa John’s on the way home and get a couple of slices.”
I paused for a second and said, “Uh…OK. I guess if you want to.” There are several great pizza places around Redlands and Papa John’s isn’t one of them. Their pizza sucks. Maybe in another part of the country they would be pretty good, but not around Redlands. There are too many awesome pizza joints for me to waste my time on Papa John’s.
“OK,” she said. “Hey! There’s this place right up the street from here that I’ve been dying to try. Let’s stop there.” I asked if she meant Giovanni’s and she said yes. I’ve never tried it, but have heard good things. I was totally down with stopping there.
They were out of slices for the night, so we decided to order a small pizza and have them throw it in two separate boxes so we could eat at our respective places of residence. We sat down at a table to BS while we waited for the pizza. What I heard at that table absolutely blew my mind.
My neighbor teaches adult education (GED classes) in Fontana and, as you can imagine, she has some pretty interesting students. She told us of a conversation she had this afternoon with one of her students. I know I shouldn’t be shocked by this, but for some reason I kinda am.
This particular student came into the room and my neighbor said, “Hey…how you doing?” The reply is classic. “Better now. I just smoked a blunt in the parking lot.”
Yeah. She said she was doing OK because she just toked up a fattie in the school parking lot. Nice.
The two started conversing about her marijuana use and somehow it came up that not only does she smoke in front of her 11, 13 and 15 year old girls, but she also smokes WITH her 13 and 15 year olds.
Where do I start? How about we start with the 11-year-old. No child should have to hear her parent say, “Yo, bring me my bong. No. Not that one. Bring me the tall one. Yep. Thanks. Got a lighter?”
A lot of parents won’t buy cell phones for their kids until they’re 15, yet this mom rolls blunts with her 13-year-old. I sense a very different parenting style here. Very, very different.
What kind of a Sweet 16 party does a mom like this throw? Maybe at 16 the daughter gets a meth pipe. “Time to graduate, baby.” Mom probably goes so far as to introduce her daughter to Tommy, a local meth dealer who’s giving her the first hit for free. As a birthday gift.
What criteria does she use for determining when her children are ready for their first puff? Do their grades have to slip enough that mom feels they’re well on their way to being a full time slacker or is it strictly an age thing? I’m really not sure.
With a mom like this, there’s no telling how these girls will turn out. There’s a high probability that they will be all kinds of messed up. I hope not. Fingers crossed.
This might be a good time to mention that the students my neighbor teaches are all placed in her class by social services. These people are all receiving public assistance of some kind and since they don’t have a high school diploma, they attend school instead of job hunting.
That means the weed was paid for by the people of California. With our tax dollars. I helped buy that chick and her daughters weed. No one invited me to the party. I wouldn’t attend, but if I helped pay for it, an invite would be nice.
I’m totally shaking my head right now. I can’t believe this is a true story. But it is. Every time I wonder if I’m being a good parent, I hear stories like this that tell me I’m doing OK.



P.S. For the record, the pizza was pretty damn awesome.

$1 pregnancy tests

I just returned from the Dollar Tree store near my house. My neighbor asked if Drama Queen and I wanted to ride with her and I said, “Sure.” Little did I know that I would emerge from the store with this blog post.

I’m all about saving a buck and I’m not ashamed to say I know my way around this particular store. There are some things one should not skimp on, and pregnancy tests fall into that category. I’d like to say that was the only disturbing thing I saw, but it wasn’t.
There are things you cut corners on and things that you don’t. Lotion, cleaning supplies, candles, fake Tupperware and 3-packs of Bible card games are examples of products you can get away with going cheap. Pregnancy tests fall into the, “Spend an extra couple of bucks” category.
On the shelf next the pregnancy test was an Ovulation Predictor. Do you seriously expect me to believe that you can spend a dollar and accurately find out when your chick is going to ovulate? I think I would rather guess and save the buck for the dollar menu at Wendy’s. It;s a crapshoot either way and at least you can get a frosty out of it.
After I saw the first two really bad ideas, I started searching for condoms. I didn’t see any, so I asked the girl working there. She had no clue (duh), and I continued the search on my own. I looked high and low and finally ascertained that they do not sell condoms at Dollar Tree. With that knowledge in hand, I breathed a small sigh of relief.
If they were to ever sell condoms, they should change the wording on the pregnancy test box to say, “If you used our condoms, go ahead and assume you are pregnant.”
As a species where have we gone wrong? Somewhere along the line our society has decided that accurately finding out if you got knocked up should be worth a buck. There is no way to put a price on the miracle of life, but I have to believe that finding out of you’re going to have a baby has to be worth at least $9.99. Am I right?
As I stood in the cluttered aisle I wondered what other bad ideas they were selling here for a dollar. I assumed that the aisle I was currently in would yield the best fruit, so I moved back a bit and carefully scanned the shelves as I worked my way towards the front of the store.
I’m not a chick, but I have a teen age daughter, so I will go out on a limb and say that the concealer and makeup they sell is probably crap. I’m not saying women should start shopping st Sephora or MAC for their cosmetics. I’m sure Walmart has a fine selection at reasonable prices.
I have to believe that the makeup they sell at Dollar Tree is fully-allergenic and not hypo-allergenic. I was disappointed to find that you cannot buy acne cream at Dollar Tree. I’m pretty sure if you use their makeup you will need a bottle of some good zit cream to get rid of your newly hatched mountain range.
They also had a 2-oz tube of Warm Touch Warming Jelly for a buck. I’m not sure what to say about that. I know there’s a joke or funny comment to be made about it, but I’m at a loss for words on this one. Sorry.
I did like the fact that the picture indicates one should keep it on the nightstand next to the clock radio. Totally classy…
Next to the warming jelly was a 30-pack of Lucky Super Soft Intimate Cleansing Wipes. I guess they could be used to clean up different types of spills, one of which could be the warming jelly.
I’m actually OK with this product and if I felt there was to be any intimate contact in my immediate future, I would have picked up a pack of these. But there isn’t. So I didn’t.
Actually, now that I look at the package closer, I realize that the wipes are for women to wipe down their, uh, “business”, presumably before they get down to business. I’m guessing they could be used as both a “before” and an “after” wipe.
Maybe my women readers can educate me on something. How is an “intimate wipe” different from a baby wipe? I know on a baby wipe package you don’t get a silhouette of a naked chick with her legs partially crossed. Is there any difference in the wipe itself? Help me out here ladies.
I’m sure there was plenty of other funky shit for me to find here, but at this point, Drama Queen and my neighbor were ready to roll, so I had to hit the check out line and head home to start writing this.
One final note. If you are pregnant, the test won’t tell you who the Baby Daddy is. You still have to go on Maury to find that shit out.
P.S. The pregnancy tests come 72 in a case and you can order a case on the Dollar Tree website. In case you were wondering

A tale of two years

It’s finally 2012 and for that I’m glad. 2011 was a shitty year for me, but I have big hopes for 2012. Of course, a year ago I said I had big hopes for 2011 and we know how that turned out.
2011 saw my health deteriorate and lots of financial stress, but my teenage Drama Queen and I somehow made it through. I have great friends, both online and off, who have helped keep me sane and I want to make sure they all know how much I love them and appreciate them.
I’m most thankful to my Muse who is as great a chick as I’ve ever been involved with. I know at times I’ve been a dick and a pain in the ass to deal with, but she’s stood by every step of the way. I truly believe that when you find someone willing to put up with your shit that you should keep them around. Even though it’s a struggle living on separate coasts, we’re somehow finding a way to make it work and I’m optimistic that we can continue making it work for a long time.
Six years ago I had an idea for a book, but had zero self confidence in my fiction writing, so I put it aside. I started working on it a dozen different times over the next few years, but never got more than a couple thousand words in when I figured it was shitty and not worth continuing.
Finally in late 2010 I started feeling better about my ability to write fiction courtesy of the Red Dress Club (now Write on Edge). The encouragement I received there gave me the confidence I needed to seriously attack the book in 2011 and I’m happy to say that it’s still not finished. During 2011 I asked a few of my Twitter and blogging friends to look at some of the book to give me feedback. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but my confidence ebbed and flowed and I wanted some assurance that I was on the right track. Imagine my surprise in October when a friend pointed out that someone put up a WordPress blog called “Benjamin's Shitty Book”.
This person posted three chapters online and talked about what a dick I am for sending the chapters to them and they spent a lot of time mocking me. I have no idea what caused someone to do this. I really don’t. The only explaination I have is that either someone who said they wanted to look at it, didn’t really want to or I accidentally sent it to someone I didn’t ask to read it. Either way, the person can feel free to kiss my ass.
I think my biggest accomplishment in 2011 was somehow getting my daughter ready for Collage. She’s in a good school and doing well academically, which makes me very happy. She made the frosh soph tennis team and has great coaches who work with her and who think she has the ability to make Varsity next year.
Drama Queen has played violin since third grade, but the reality is that she’s a mediocre player. The orchestra at her school is very, very good and D.Q. asked if she could change to Drama at the end of the semester. I’m happy to announce that later this month, my daughter will officially be a drama queen. I’m not sure how that’s going to turn out, but I’m pretty sure it will make for some good blog posts.
I’m still struggling with my health, which has made me kind of a loner, but I’m appreciative to my long time friends for checking on me and keeping me involved. Steve, Crystal, Bone, Shawn, Steph, Victor, Viviana, Josh and Cat are some of the best people I know and I love them all.
I keep telling myself that 2012 will be good and I’m pretty sure that one of these days I will come to believe it. I know I haven’t blogged in more than a week and my posting frequency has been spotty at best, but the truth is that my brain needs a rest.
In the half hour I’ve sat here writing this, I’ve become mentally exhausted, so I’m going to end this here. Steve and Shawn are huge Oregon fans and invited me to watch the Rose Bowl with them, so I’m going to go rest for a bit before donning my Wisconsin shirt and hat. I’m hoping for a Wisconsin ass kicking so I can do the taunting. I hate being the one getting mocked, but sadly I’m kind of used to it.
Thanks for supporting me in 2011 and here’s to big things for all of us in 2012. Word to your mother.

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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