Express?

So tonight, I finish up with work and as usual, I'm not in the mood for cooking. I've got a football game later, so I figure eating something of higher quality might be the best way to go, so I head over to Balducci's to pick up one of their meal combos. I roll in there and make my selection (seared tuna with sesame crust...quite good, I've had it before) and two side items, head over to grab myself a Dr. Brown's Cream Soda (haven't had that in a long time) and saunter on up to the register. Yes, I saunter...it's Balducci's god damn it.

Anyway, most of the aisles are pretty crowded, but then I see a sign on the last register: Express. Hell, yeah. I've only got two things...this makes sense. So I stand in the line, not really paying attention, but then I notice things are moving a little slow. And that's when I realize...the checker is retarded. Yes, legitimately suffering from Down's Syndrome. Not me joking and saying they're "retarded," full on clinically diagnosed with a mild case of Down's Syndrome.

So, let's recap. Express Lane. Down's Syndrome checker. Uh...does this make sense to you? Express...I don't think so. This has got to be some sick joke played by the manager. Like calling a three-legged dog Speedy or your fat friend Tiny. There is gonna be nothing express about this exchange. And 15 minutes and two people in front of me later (yeah, I couldn't give up on my line at this point) I finally got out of there and got home to enjoy my tuna steak. Ha ha, very funny Mr. Balducci's manager. See you in hell.

The Anniversary

Well, for those who weren't counting, yesterday was the one year anniversary of the day that I broke my jaw. Thankfully, I have completely healed (though my mouth still doesn't close right and that bugs me some times) and I am also back to the weight I was prior to the injury.

Needless to say, I was worried of some sort of jinx associated with the day, so I was happy to learn that there was no football game scheduled this weekend (yes, I'm back to playing...ain't nobody making me stop on their terms). So, yesterday, my day goes by uneventfully taking a trip to the Outlet Mall in Woodbridge and buying a bunch of cheap shit to wear. After that I met up with some friends to celebrate Ike's 30th birthday with some dinner and then headed out to Union Jack's for some drinks with Jaclyn, her sister and some other people.

The night is going along fine, I'm getting drunk, Jaclyn and her sister are dancing on the speakers as usual, and I am still without incident for the evening. But I wouldn't be writing this if I got off completely unscathed.

So, technically the day has passed, it's about 1 AM on Sunday and we're still at the bar...and Jaclyn's sister is shitfaced. I'm talking the dancing with random dudes and throwing your head up in the air and spinning around even though you're not on the dance floor kind of shitfaced. And it's that second part that does us in. I'm chillin by the beer girl, having just met back up with everyone, when I realize that her sister is plowed.

I suggest that it might be time to go, before she starts a fight, and wouldn't you know it. Yep, she has spun into a 5'9" black guy with dread locks and knocked his beer to the ground. This kind of shit happens all the time at a bar, I've had it happen to me, and I've bumped into someone before myself. It happens, you either get a beer for the guy or all is just left as it is, and everyone goes their merry way.

Well, not on my jaw-breaking anniversary, of course. So Ziggy Marley over here is quick to start mouthing off at her sister, and I'm still over by the wall, assuming everything will clear itself up. I send Jaclyn over to clear things up, assuming a normal guy isn't gonna start shit with girls and perhaps her sister is not in the best mindset to talk this one out.

Well, apparently, neither is Lenny Kravitz, because when Jaclyn gets over to him, he decides to start in on her, calls her and her sister bitches (among other things) and then he grabs Jaclyn by the arm. Now, I'll be the first one to admit that I'm not looking for a fight, nor do I consider myself a fighter. And on this particular night, I'm especially not looking for trouble...but there are certain things you just don't do, and putting your hands on a women while mouthing off like that is one of them.

So, apparently, my right mind shuts off at this point and I jump in ready to throwdown like a jackass (I've been watching too many Segal movies) and I grab old Man-Ram's arm off of Jaclyn and put myself between him and the two girls. Now this is where things get kinda cool for me, and I will deem this my "movie hero" moment of my life thusfar, as all ladies in earshot were probably dreaming of me while they slept with their loser boyfriends last night (hey, this is my story...write your own if you don't like it)

Anyway, our drunken banter goes down like this:
Me: Whoa, whoa, whoa. You just don't do that.
Him: Fuck you man. I ain't got no problem with you.
Me: Uh, yes you do. Because if you have a problem with them, then you have a problem with me. (I'm totally not shitting you. I really did say this...so badass) And I'm pretty sure you have a problem with most of the guys in here if you're gonna grab a woman like that. (yep, actually said this too...not making this part up)
Him: Fuck that bitch. She fucking spilled my beer and doesn't even fucking apologize.
Me: Well, if she spilled your beer, I'm sorry. We'll get you another one.
Him: Fuck you.

The next couple minutes are your standard meathead bullshit, with him calling Jaclyn and her sister names as they try to chime in and me declining his nice invitation to step outside with him. Perhaps, that's because I said something along the lines of "what kind of fucking pussy goes and puts his hands on a woman over a beer?" I think he knew what fucking pussy I was talking about. Probably wasn't the best way to diffuse the problem, but if you had heard this guy, I doubt you would have been any nicer. Anyway, he says some shit that I kinda blacked out, but it must have been bad because Jaclyn and her sister said that I leaned in at him and looked like I was gonna swing. I don't remember exactly, as I had a lot of beer and by this time adrenaline has likely taken over.

Anyway, I guess this is what sparked his friend to jump in and apologize and ask me to be the bigger man and walk away, because Wyclef's just drunk and doesn't know what he's doing. Pretty much your standard bar fight scenario. I back down, the bouncers come over by this time, and look to escort him out. The beer girl saw the whole thing so they didn't even hassle me, which is nice since I was probably too drunk to talk to the cops hanging around outside.

And thankfully, I write to you this Sunday evening having not spent the night in jail or in a hospital, and I enjoyed solid foods on July 1 for the first time in two years. Happy 4th of July.

Disaster on Tuckerman

So I'm driving back to my house today at around 2 PM, so I can meet a guy about adding stairs to my deck and to let my dog out. It's like any other day, it's nice outside, and I'm frazzled from the craziness that the early-Spring brings the poolman.

I make the turn from Old Georgetown down Tuckerman Lane and I'm in the right lane getting ready to turn into my neighborhood (OK, stalkers...now you know where I live) when I see the two cars in front of me slam on their brakes and come to a jolted stop. Great...they just got into an accident. I switch over to the left lane behind a UPS truck, but then things start getting weird.

The UPS truck pulls to the left and stops in the middle of the street, cars coming the other way all stop and people are getting out of their cars. I slow down, figuring these cars might be pretty messed up, when I realize what just went down.

I come to a stop right next to the first car of the two, an SUV...and there in front of that car lay a girl on the ground. She's not moving. This fucking intersection!! I've lived here for over 2 years now, and frequently walk my dog across Tuckerman to get to the park on the other side. And almost every time I try to cross, people come tearing down the street, completely oblivious to the reality that a car should yield to pedestrians in the crosswalk. Pulling out of my street in my car is just as difficult and I've always wondered why we don't have a light here.

Sadly, it takes shit like this before the county will consider doing something like that. And there lay this girl, finally moving her leg ever so slowly. A man with no shirt is standing over her, a frantic look in his face. Women have congregated on the sidewalk, crying and making calls...assumedly for an ambulance, and the UPS guy has gotten over to the scene. I'm not a doctor and there's really no point in me getting involved, so I sit there in my car, rattled by yet another surreal experience going on around me.

As blood begins to stain the asphalt around her, I can only hope that an ambulance will get here soon and that she will be alright. She is likely one of my neighbors...though one I don't recognize, and as the UPS guy begins acting like a traffic cop directing me and the row of cars behind me past this scene, I am left to wonder.

Bienvenido a Miami

It's been a long time, but I have finally returned after experiencing some pretty crazy shit this past weekend, which had to be written about and saved for posterity. I hope you enjoy:

For those of you that weren't aware, this past weekend I made a trip down to Miami with some buddies to celebrate my friend, Kupe's bachelor party. In the past, we have hit up the likes of Las Vegas and New York City for bachelor parties and I've seen some pretty crazy shit during these escapades, as seen in some of the slide shows I have on this blog. However, nothing could have prepared me for the most surreal 2 hours of my life on Friday night.

After checking into the Fountaine Bleu hotel and seeing that my buddy Ike had hooked us up with a ridiculously large suite, we decided to get things started by heading to a dog track to watch the NCAA games and bet blindly on dogs running in circles. The track is out in the middle of nowhere and the clientele patronizing this establishment are reminiscent of a mid-week, mid-day Atlantic City outing. Nonetheless, we settle down at a table, order a round of $1 Rolling Rocks, several plates of chicken fingers and fries, and begin throwing money at random dogs such as Mo's High Steppen, who coincidentally won me no money. We knew it was going to be a long night when the waitress brought us our 4th round short one beer, informing us that they ran out and that we could have another, but it would be hot. Yes, hot.

We headed out of there, I was up about $20 by dumb luck, and we walked out to the parking lot to see absolutely no cabbies. Figuring we'd have better luck on the main road, we trecked out to the corner where a McDonald's sat and within a few minutes a cab showed up. Now this is when things start to get a little weird.

So, we tell the cab where we're heading (back to South Beach) and he proceeds to scratch the side of his car on the curb, before jumping it as he pulls into the McDonald's parking lot. Perhaps this should have warned us to reconsider using this guy, but hell, we're in Miami.
Within moments of driving, we've struck up a conversation with Jorge (don't call me Hor-hey) Sanchez, a Cuban-born, 60-something who drives his cab because it's fun, not to make money. In fact, he reset our meter after driving about 2 miles, laughing that he doesn't give a shit. Is he drunk??

So, we keep driving, he's telling us that he hates Cubans and hopes Castro dies so that "some of these assholes" will go back, and then we start talking about women. The converstaion takes a turn for the worst when he starts telling us stories about his ex-wife and how much of a whore she was, and that leads us to the most bizarre of all cabbies moments.

Old Jorge decides that he's gonna show us a picture of his new girlfriend. She's a crackhead, and she's in rehab now, and she used to be a hooker, but she's all his...and he usually doesn't like showing anyone pictures of her because then they want to date her..but hell, we're like family now. So he reaches for his cell. phone and is having trouble getting to the pictures, so all attention is on the phone, not the road, as illustrated by the three lanes we're swerving in. Again, we were suprisingly not upset by this. But we were upset by the series of pictures that ended up developing.

There before our eyes, on this old Cuban's grainy cell. phone sat a picture of a relatively fat black woman seated in his passenger seat. He instructed Kupe to push the button on the phone to continue to cycle through the pictures, which went from bad to worse. Now she's sitting there topless. Now she's got her legs up. Whoa...where did her underwear go? Oh my god, is that his wang? And her mouth? Yeah, I would have to say the last thing I would want to do is want to date this girl. Dear god, what is wrong with this city??

So, we eventually make it to our destination...The Clevelander, where upon our exit, Jorge once again lowers our $24.00 fare to an even $20...I mean he really doesn't give a shit...and he lives in his cab...he told us.

Happy to be out of that surreal experience I walk towards the bouncer for Clevelander only to have a couple walk right in front of my path. And they both have pythons drapped across their shoulders??!!! What is in the water around here?

We walk into the bar, house music is pumping, so you all know I'm super thrilled. I mean, get me a glow stick and a couple of small Asians and my night would be made. But instead, all I got was a guy dancing on a stage wearing a costume like the Last Samurai, with some sort of animals horns on his helmet, and his swinging a flaming whip to the beat. Uh yeah...normally all of this would be shocking to me, but I did just see a picture of a 60 year old man getting his dick sucked by a crack whore. And perhaps it's better I saw all of this, because it destracted from the $280 bar tab we ran up over the next 4 hours of drinking.

Bienvenido a Miami...and that's only our first night.

J-Man: Imaginary Ninja

So, today I finally decided to use my gift certificates that I got for Christmas and my birthday on some clothes at the mall. I was bored...it's slow at work...so I headed over there around 2 PM, and after an hour or so of shopping (way more than my norm, but what else do I have to do) I walked out with six shirts, and two pairs of cargo khakis. Man, do I love those cargo khakis, and my old ones have a tear in the crotch, so this was perfect timing.

Anyway, as you can picture this scene, it involves me wandering around the mall and dropping into Old Navy, JC Penney, Nordstroms, Express (yeah, they have men's stuff...and it's nice), Gap, J.Crew, Banana Republic and even Guess. And I'm doing all of this alone. Well, after a few minutes of wandering in and out of stores by myself, I realize I need the input of someone else in buying clothes. I'm color blind to begin with and I suck at picking out clothes. Usually, if I shop alone, I buy a bunch of stuff, hate all but one of the things I bought, and sit with the other clothes in my closet for several years because I'm too lazy to return them and too proud to give them away to Salvation Army.

So, rather than burden other people in the store with my problems, I begin talking and discussing the clothing options with myself. Yes, this might be construed as insane, but I had some really good insights about which clothes looked best on me, and since I wasn't acting alone, I felt more confident with my choices.

After an hour of this, my mind is running like mad, coming up with wild ideas since I'm talking to myself. I'm done with my shopping and start walking outside. I'm parked over by Old Navy, which is near the bus stop, so lots of people are heading out this way as well. Anyway, as I make my way outside, I take a few steps when a kid, maybe about 16 or so, comes running up behind me and bumps into my bag.

Now usually, I'd just shrug this off as he continues running along towards the bus, but since I'm bordering on insanity after having been talking and shopping with myself for the past hour, the idea crosses my mind that he was attempting to steal my bag.

It is at this point, when my imagination takes over and thankfully none of this truly went down...but in my alternate world, he grabbed my bag and started running. So I started chasing after him. Luckily, he's shorter than me so I start catching up to him and lunge for him. I'm able to tackle him to the ground, but I don't know if I can merely grab the bag from him and asume I'll be able to walk away...so I begin punching him in and about the head. I yell for someone to call the police as I continue to beat down on him, fearful that if I stop smacking him in the head, (and now I've moved on to kneeing him in the chest,) that he'll have a chance to return the favor or pull out a weapon. I slowly make my way to standing, as he lies on the ground. I've gotten my bag back and I order him to stay down. He keeps trying to get up, so now I'm forced to stomp him on the back and kick him in the chest and stomach with my Timberland boots. A scene is developing around us, but I'm not letting this guy up.

Finally, the police show up, but they're wondering if they should arrest me, as the kid is a bloody mess. They start questioning me and ask me what happened, and I tell them:

This is why men shouldn't go shopping.

Expired

So, I've got a football game in an hour and I just decided that I want to grab something quick and light so I have energy but I'm not weighed down. I walk into my pantry and see my boxes of cereal, and I'm like...perfect. I know I just bought some milk a couple weeks ago when I went to the grocery store, so I grab a box of Berry Blast Cheerios (which are great, by the way). It's a little light, so I notice I have a second one, so I grab it as well, in case I don't have enough in the first one. The second box has a little bit more in it, but it's also less than half full. Wonder why I opened a second...oh well.

So I open up the box and pour some Cheerios into a bowl. The Berry Blast variety has some dried fruit in it as well, and as I gaze upon the dried fruits, I'm thinking something doesn't look quite right. I don't now how to better explain it, but it looks like the dried fruit...is dried out. Moreso than usual?? The raspberries are downright scary so I take a gander at the box and try to locate the expiration date. JUNE 06. Well, that ain't good, these are over seven month expired. So I dump the bowl and check the other box. Even worse: NOV 05. Yeah, I ain't kidding you. 2005!!!! I didn't even bother to open up the packaging. I walked back into the pantry and saw some Fruit Harvest...DEC 05. Some other odd granola and fruit thing...MAY 06. Ok, I have a serious problem with eating cereal on a timely basis here.

Thankfully, I had seen some Boo Berry on the shelves at Target back around Halloween and decided to grab a box for old time sakes. I mean, these are like the caviar of monster cereals. You can find Count Chocula all the time...Franken Berry here and there...but Boo Berry was the thing of legends when I was 8. Kids would claim they'd eaten them, but there was never any solid proof. Anyway, I checked the box: MAY 07. Hell yeah. But then that got me thinking about two things:

1) If this expiration date is MAY 07 and I remember buying it in October, how old must those other boxes have been????!!!!

2) I just ate a bowl of super sweet blueberry flavored cereal with purple colored milk and I'm about to go play football now.

This might not have been the best idea after all.

Brain Farts 8

Well, been a long time once again and I blame the Holidays, excessive drinking, and illness for the latest delays. Rather than dwell on the past and retell stories of the past couple weeks at this time, I'm gonna throw out a bunch of things that I've been thinking about or seeing lately, in yet another installment of Brain Farts: Not quite the full shit, but still entertaining:

• So with the recent head cold I've gotten, I've been forced to stay inside and kill most of my afternoons (I don't work full days this time of year) watching TV or movies while lying in bed. This, sadly, gets very old very fast. That is why yesterday, I decided to give myself something new to waste my time with. And this is where things got ugly. I went to White Flint, into the video game store, and picked myself up a copy of Final Fantasy XII. Yes, I know...but it gets worse. I then took my new treasure home and headed into my basement, where my PS2 is located. The configuration of the couches was not condusive to the amount of playing that would be necessary, so I grabbed the loveseat and rotated it so that it is facing directly at the television, about 7 feet from the big screen. I then brought down my comforter from my bed, a pitcher of water and gatorade, lit a fake log in my fireplace and settled into my new Nerd Fort for the next 7 hours. Yes, 7 hours. Hell, at least it's not World of Warcraft.
• So I was just reading that Dodger stadium is going to be introducing a new "all-you-can-eat" seating section in right field. You pay $35 (as opposed to $10 for standard left field) and you can eat all the hot dogs, peanuts, popcorn, nachos and soda you want. This could arguably be the greatest and sickest idea I've ever heard of. I feel sick after two hot dogs...if I'm challenged by the words "all-you-can-eat", it's gonna be a bad scene in the bathroom by the 7th inning stretch. If RFK adds this to the repertoire, look out.
• You ever buy something at a store and when you go to pay for it, you feel like the checker is judging you? Since I'm not feeling well, I went to Giant to get some drugs. Well, Sudafed was on sale for 2 for $6. Being the thrifty Jew I am, I grabbed four boxes and took them to the checkout. The lady gave me this look like I was doing something illegal. Or maybe she didn't, and I'm just paranoid from all the drugs?
• I guess that's better than when I went to the Target a couple weeks ago and bought a 36 pack of condoms and 6 gatorades. Awkward.
• Why are dogs afraid of helium balloons? Regardless of whether I show them to be non-threatening, Chloe refuses to walk by a helium balloon. She got trapped upstairs the other day after one that had floated up to the skylights finally fell down onto the stairs. Naturally, I didn't want my dog to be afraid in her own house, so I grabbed a knife and stabbed all 20 balloons that were left in my house from my birthday.

Alright, that's it for now. I promise I'll write an entry summing up the cruise from last month as well as my birthday fiasco, which is a new J-Man classic. Until then...

Top 10 Christmas Gifts She Won't Want

I'll totally get around to writing a recap of the cruise as well as some other fun recent activities, including a trip to AC last Saturday, but I felt inspired to write another Top 10 List, and this one is topical, so I couldn't delay. Following along the same lines as my Top 10 Things No Woman Wants to Hear, I give you:

Top 10 Things No Woman Wants for Christmas
10. A gift pack from Bath & Body Works (This is obviously a cop out gift, and every woman knows it)
9. Another lame excuse why you won't give her a wedding ring (Trust me, I've given this gift before and she didn't like it)
8. Anything electronic (She's gonna know you bought it for yourself and that you actually had fun buying it, and that's gonna piss her off)
7. Anything that isn't wrapped (You could wrap a box of cereal from the pantry and it would be better than handing her the gift still in the original bag)
6. Jewelry with diamonds (OK, I totally was just testing to see if you were actually reading. Joking about giving her diamonds and not giving them is especially bad)
5. A year's supply of Nutri-system (Yeah, you better duck when she opens this one)
4. Jackie Chan blow-up doll with actual-sized Asian penis
3. Driving lessons
2. A menage a trois (the 2-girl variety) (But wouldn't it be great if she did?)
1. K-Fed

Top 10: Cruise No-No's

As some of you may already be aware, I am heading out of town on Friday en route to Miami and ultimately a weekend cruise to the Bahamas. This will be my second cruise, and I am somewhat excited to see how this cruise compares to my last one, which was really fun. In anticipation of this trip, I thought I would bring back another of my old favorites, The Top 10 List. So, I hope you all enjoy:

The Top 10 Things You Shouldn't Do On A Cruise
10. Repeatedly ask people where the poop deck is
9. Smuggle weed you bought on the island back onto the boat inside your own poop deck
8. Attempt to pick up women by offering to let them join the boating equivalent of the Mile High Club
7. Run around in a red rugby shirt and floppy white hat, yelling "SKIPPER!!"
6. Challenge old women to card games and then flip the table in disgust after they beat you
5. Inform complete strangers that your plans at the next island are to "plunder."
4. Grow an afro and mustache, wear a white suit and offer love advice to anyone that will listen
3. Naked wrestle a fat foreign guy and then chase him around the boat
2. Jump in the hot tub...no joke needed. No, I'm serious, don't jump in that hot tub. Have you seen the other people on this boat with you???
1. Grab small children and their mothers and throw them off the boat, proclaiming, "Women and children first!"

Bon Voyage, bitches. I'll post some stories and pics when I return.

Happy Holidays to Me

Last week, we decided to send an extra Holiday gift to those clients of ours that had purchased some very large items or projects this year. This was sort of an extra 'Thank you' to these particular clients, above the standard Christmas card that we send to all of our regulars. Having just received some Mrs. See's chocolates from one of our main vendors, I knew I wasn't going to send these out. You see, unlike Russell Stovers (my chocolate candy maker of choice) Mrs. See's does not label the chocolates in their boxes. And if you're anything like me, this usually results in the consumption of several absolutely disgusting chocolates due to sheer ignorance as to what is inside. I swear one was filled with mud.

So with this disaster in mind, I decided you can't go wrong with cookies. I had eaten Cheryl & Co.'s cookies in the past and knew that my favorites that they made (Sugar, Snickerdoodle, Oatmeal Raisin, and Cherry Chocolate Chip) were all really good. So we visited their site, found a nice Holiday box gift pack and shipped a few assorted cookies out to these lucky clients.

Of course, the package would include a short note, wishing them a Happy Holidays and thanking them for using our company this year, signed by me and the company as a whole. Ah yes, a perfect little touch to end the year.

But now I'm starting to think about those delicious cookies. Heck, I want some of those delicious cookies too! But nobody knows the ones that I like...except me.

So, I ordered myself the same gift pack, but specifically chose an assortment of just my favorite cookies. And of course, I included a card...I mean it is the Holidays:

Dear J-Man,
Enjoy these delicious cookies.
Love, You

Man, was I pleasantly greeted on Monday afternoon, when I found a package sitting at my front door...full of these great cookies. I really outdid myself this time...and it was sent with love. Love of cookies. Happy Holidays to me.

BLOG DISCLAIMER

Given some concerns and complaints by past readers of my blog, I feel it is only appropriate that I post this new entry which I will have a permanent link to should you ever again feel uneasy with anything you have read:

• J-Man is a fictional character. The fact that I (the writer of this blog) refer to him in the first person is merely a literary device to help pull you in and identify with the characters.
• Some of the events described in this blog may be construed by many to be "illegal." It is in these instances that you must remember that the events, much like J-Man, are fictional. They may be loosely based on real events and locations, but once again...fictional.
• All of my blogs are intended for the sole purpose of entertainment. The actions described in this blog should not be attempted without proper supervision or not attempted at all.
• If you are a midget, retarded, physically handicapped, black, Asian, fat, ugly, female, Indian (Crazy Horse or Crazy Cabbie variety), Muslim, Jewish, non-Jewish, Irish, infected with an STD, an alcoholic, or other such grouping that I have mocked or made fun of at one point or another, please understand that my blog entries are to be taken as humor (regardless of whether they're actually funny).

Again, thank you for reading my blog. I feel now that we have established some of the rules of the blog, it is a happier environment for everyone to read and enjoy. God bless.

Brain Farts 7

Wow, no posts for two weeks and then I'm gonna drop two on you in one day! The other one I actually had started a little while ago and just completed today, so I feel it's acceptable that I throw out a new one going over some of the finer snippets I have come across over the last few weeks. As always, I bring you Brain Farts: Not quite as satisfying as the full shit, but still entertaining:

• So, ever since Britney Spears burst onto the scene back when I was in college, I have wanted to see her naked. I am a man, she is a hot woman...it's only natural. Well, now, here we are a mere 7 years later, and finally my prayers were answered. She drank it up with Paris Hilton and decided to go commando in a short skirt and a low car. But now she is fatter, trashier, a smoker, and a mother of two. Ugh. What a huge letdown. I am thoroughly upset by the quality of the pictures. That didn't stop me from saving them to my computer though. Come on, seriously?
• As I mentioned in the last post, I have found a new addiction in MySpace. And thank god I did. Because just last week, I received a new email and friend request from a random girl that I didn't recognize at first...and actually assumed was just another ad for porn (yeah, myspace mail has it too) until I read her profile. It is after that, and reading her message, that I realized it is a girl I actually had met only twice before and thought was ridiculously hot (thus the assuming it was porn). Because you see, this girl is not the normal kind of hot, she's the kind of hot where your guy friends wanna shake your hand and your girl friends demand to know why you're hanging out with "a whore." Well, not only did she locate me even though I had know idea she even knew my last name, she's now emailing me regularly and has now even begun texting me. God has obviously seen the pain I have endured this year, and is finally giving me something good. The possibility of hooking up with a girl like this is an inbred dream of all men since they first discover that the penis is used for more than just pissing, and I pray that I am somehow strong and funny enough to pull that off.
• Last night, I'm out at Dave & Busters with Jax and my buddy Dave, pounding a few drinks, playing the horse racing game (you know you love it) and grabbing some grub towards the end of the night, when Jax brings a friend of hers, that she ran into on her way from the bathroom, over to the table where we're sitting. This would normally not be an issue, except that this guy is a uniformed cop. So there we are, shooting the shit with this guy, me sucking back on my 5th Captain & Coke, when the bar announces that it is closing down. So, then he asks "Who's driving?" And it's me. And I'm pissing my pants (in the bad way), so I throw out this line: "Whoever's sober enough to find the car." Ha, ha, ha. A good laugh is had by all, we walk out of the place, he even walks halfway through the parking lot with us, before wishing us a good night. And then I got home and changed my underwear.

New Distractions

As you have probably noticed, the amount of posting I have done on this site has decreased tremendously over the last couple weeks. It's not that I don't care about you, my readers, it's that I have found so many new distracting things that seem to be taking up alot of my time. The first, and most distracting, is myspace.

For those of you that aren't familiar with myspace, why don't you come out of your hole real quick and let me explain to you this completely pointless addiction. Myspace is basically like setting up your own personal ad, much like match.com, except it is considered acceptable for even people in relationships to do so. The main purpose of Myspace is so that you can locate all of your old high school and college friends and ex-girlfriends and see how fat, bald, and/or whorish they have gotten. Much like a high school reunion, laughs are had at the expense of the few unfortunate shlubs, but without the whole awkward "what are you doing now? blah blah blah" conversations.

But there's more than just old acquaintances to be found. There is also a giant library of songs, music videos and television show clips that can honestly take up several hours of mindless clicking. I believe I have now seen every Sportscenter commercial since 1995, some several times, as well as every Saturday Night Live sketch that ever featured Will Ferrell. But not only can you watch them yourself, you can save them and bring them to your own page, so that your friends and old acquaintances can waste hours watching them too. You're welcome.

In addition, you can add pointless surveys/questionnaires that tell you things such as "what type of beer are you?" and "what color are you?" For those of you that have never seen such things, yes, it is as stupid as it sounds. And yes, I am Corona Light and the color Green...like you didn't already know.

But nothing is more popular on Myspace than plastering your own pictures and those of your friends on your main page so that they, and the whole world, can see how shitfaced you all got last weekend or how much little Jimmy has grown. But why stop at pictures...you can upload movies if you want.

And that leads me to my newest distraction...a digital camcorder. Yes, I know digital camcorders are for people with families or up and coming pornographers, and I don't have the former, but I have greater plans than being the next John Stagliano. Aside from promoting my dog as a future TV pet star, I plan to turn my blogging from merely the written word to the visual concept. It's called growth, assholes, and I'm trying to enlighten you with some visual humor to go along with my wity banter. Give it some time, as I asked for the editing software for Christmas/Hannukah/Birthday so I'll get it by the 28th at the latest. In the meantime, I'm brainstorming ideas of things that make me wanna pee my pants (in the good way) and taking raw footage of comical things (people falling, retards, Asian people driving, etc.) that I can somehow edit into several overall concepts later.

And lastly, in addition to strengthening my mind, I am once again returning to trying to strengthen my body, having returned to the gym after my injury and post-injury waiting period. Gold's has obviously missed me, but I haven't missed naked 70-year old men hanging out in the locker room.

So, now you need not wonder if the J-Man had died. I'm still kicking, and wasting more time than ever doing basically useless things along the same lines as blogging. I'll keep the posting coming though, and hopefully in 2007 will start to incorporate some video footage. I know, you can't wait.

Black Friday

Well, I really can't write too much right now because I'm about to head out to Tyson's Corner to see what this whole Black Friday thing is about. I'm sure I'll have some great stories and perhaps some scary ones since Black Friday sounds creepy. Maybe it'll be as creepy as that time when my cat watched this video and then the phone rang and all we heard was meowing...and then I took a picture of her and this is how it turned out.

Even the dog was scared.

Go Socks

Is there anything more satisfying than finishing up with the folding of your laundry and finding a match for every single sock? I mean, I swear I'd have to compare it to the feeling of hitting a homerun, with the walk from my bed to the sock drawer being the last few steps before you cross home plate. I'm gonna have to start wearing a helmet when I fold clothes, just so I can pull a Big Papi and throw it in the air right before I drop the socks in the drawer. Man, it's great. Woo.



Yeah, that's it. That's all I've got for today. Were you expecting something better?? Well, perhaps you should go do some laundry yourself and enjoy the experience. Then come back to me and tell me if you'd want to write about anything else. Jerk!

Waiting too Long

A public outcry from my friends after my long hiatus has drawn me back to posting again. Not sure why I haven't posted as I've had some pretty funny stuff happening over the last couple weeks including getting selected for jury duty, seeing Ricky Paugh perform comedy once again, and of course, my continued efforts to locate a J-Woman through any means possible.

Sorry for keeping you guys waiting for so long, but I imagine most of you in DC, and those that know me, are used to waiting longer than usual for something new. Perhaps it's something in the water here that keeps the population content with living with the status quo. Days pass, problems develop that don't get resolved, things are left unsaid or questions are avoided, relationships get strained, and yet nothing is done until far beyond the point that it should have been.

Well, this year, things have started to change. Back in 2005, the status quo was in full force. I was one of several of my friends in a long term relationship, longer than typically acceptable by female standards. In addition, republicans ruled congress and George Bush was in the early stages of his second Presidency despite being considered a complete moron and not doing much to endear himself to the overwhelming majority during his first term. And one Mark Brunell was showing week-in and week-out that his arm strength and control of the Redskins' offense left much to be desired.

But there we all sat, watching the days pass, turning our collective heads...Me, My Friends, America, and Joe Gibbs. And then it happened. The event that will long go down as a turning point in the world. An event that sparked the nation to change. Yes, my buddy Zack, after over 7 years of dating, finally proposed to his girlfriend.

The status quo had been broken. Things could be changed?? We can do something different?? And like a bully knocking over that first domino that the Asian kids had been setting up all recess, the chain reaction had begun. Within months, I had decided to separate from my girlfriend, my buddies Langley and Catheter Man had put an expensive "property of" sticker on their respective girlfriend's fingers, Ike's making a baby, the Democrats have retaken the house, and Mark Brunell...is still the god damned quarterback of the Redskins!!!!

Damn it Joe Gibbs, get with the stinking program. This guy can't complete a pass beyond ten yards on a consistent basis. Yesterday's game was a downright disaster...constantly throwing to the flats and 4-yard slants when we needed 8-12 yards??!! We have three relatively fast and shifty receivers, all of which seem to make pretty nifty catches when needed and you're telling me we can't hit them 15-25 yards down the field??!!! We can't even try to when we're already down by 20???!!! I know you guys have history, and that a breakup is always hard, and it might be a bit awkward since you work in the same place, but this is 2006 damn it. Zack is no longer still dating.

Jason Campbell may not be the guy you wanna take home to meet your parents yet, but take him out for some drinks, maybe a nice dinner, play some pool (I hear that's big now), and see where it takes you. It's obvious you're not going to the Super Bowl with what you currently have, and isn't the reason you play the game so that you can win a Super Bowl??

Could I have found a more round about way to bitch about the Redskins???

Et tu Halloween?

Well, 2006 continues to be one of the worst years thusfar and I hoped that old faithful, Halloween, would not let me down and would once again provide me with a hilarious weekend of excessive drinking, elaborate costuming, and general debauchery.

My costume idea did not come to fruition until last Wednesday, but my hopes were high after I decided on... '70s High School gym teacher. You would think this is an obscure costume and really couldn't be pulled off, but let me just explain that I will go to great lengths to complete a perfect Halloween costume. And this one required a complete transformation.

I started with the black afro and 70s porn star-esque mustache. Then I picked up some red, white and blue head and wrist bands, and a coaches whistle, and we're on our way...now for clothing. The shirt would be easy, a simple gray t-shirt (extra tight, of course) and what to wear for pants???? Oh yeah, the bootiest of booty shorts, complete with high cuts on the side of the thigh to show off my manly legs. Sadly, they don't sell such things for men, so after a long laughing session with the guys from Finish Line at Montgomery Mall, I decided that women's large would definitely work. But we're not done yet. You gotta have the high socks with the colored stripes, and old school generic shoes, courtesy of my brother.

To ensure that everything is good to go, I do a quick trial run wearing of the costume on Friday, only to discover two problems. One, I'm gonna freeze in this outfit. And two, I have no underwear that is going to protect you (my readers and friends) from seeing more of me than you really ever wanted to. So there I am, on Saturday afternoon, in the mens bikini underwear section of Macy's awkwardly pulling the trunks out of a box to see if the elastic seems adequate to hold "everything" in place. After finding a good pair, I swing over to the athletic wear section and pick up some retro warmup pants, that I assumed I would wear to and from parties and the bars, only to tuck into my shirt as a gut once I arrive. Hell yeah, a transforming costume that never leaves me out of character...you gotta love it. Expectations are high.

First stop...my older brother's place for his gathering at 7. We stroll up there, it's pretty low key, especially with my parents and grandmother in attendance, but it's a good starting point. Sadly, we have to excuse ourselves rather promptly at 8:30 to move on to our next gathering at my younger brother's place. Yeah, good brotherly planning, I know??!!

So we walk up into there, but the lighting is much brighter and everyone is immediately appauled by my pasty white upper thighs and generally sleazy look. Oh yeah, this is gonna be a good evening. Shots are flowing now, an entire bottle of Jager is killed, I'm snapping pictures left and right and we're anticipating a 10:30 departure to M Street for a bar crawl.

And that's when things take a turn for the worst. I did not pre-sign up for the bar crawl, having never done it before. Typically I just visit my usual haunts (hey, double meaning) in Adam's Morgan and just enjoy the added horniness and outgoing feeling that Halloween brings. But, when in Rome, my friends. So it's off to Front Page. Kevin and his crew get a head start as I'm waiting to meet up with someone in Rockville when they depart. We're about 15 minutes behind them, sitting on the metro when I realize that one of the worst things has just occurred. I have lost my cell. phone.

Yeah, for those of you that have lost your cell. phone before, you know my pain. I am too shit-faced to know exactly where I lost it, and no one is answering it when I call my number. This is not good. I'm out of touch with everyone, but thankfully I actually know my younger brother's cell phone number, and they're inside Front Page when we get off the metro and discover the longest line this side of Chipotle at lunch hour.

We wade through the people to get to the ATM, since it's cash only, then push our way to the last stand that still has wrist bands, pay $15 for a wrist band and wait in yet another line to get into the bar. Now, I've been to Front Page before and this bar ain't all that...especially for this kind of line. But, remember, when in Rome. We finally make it to the front of the line, when what do you know? The rest of the group is starting to leave. What!!??? Yeah, they're moving on to the next bar. You're kidding me??!!! We're outnumbered, and the Caesar has made his call, we're moving on.

So we walk outside and over to Madhatter...and the longest line this side of the Fedex Field bathrooms at halftime. And it ain't moving. I am now losing my buzz, growing increasingly angrier with the loss of my cell. phone and there is no end in sight. So, I make the executive decision that we're ditching this bar crawl bullshit and finding a bar without a line. Is this a Roman uprising?? Yes, indeed.

So, we stroll past Sign of the Whale...packed. Lucky Bar...mobbed. 1223...even worse. And I give up. We're standing in line outside of Five. I am beaten, bruised, and almost completely sober. Kupe ends up bailing at this point, feeling the same anger. And it is only a few minutes later when I am stabbed by the mob of people around me and forced to retire to the metro in disgust.
Yes, even Halloween has turned against me this year. But I am not done...I will regroup for an even better 2007. Thankfully, I now have these booty shorts and bikini drawers to prepare me for next year's costume which I have already begun planning for...Jack Tripper. So, who wants to be Janet and Crissy? Oh yeah, and I did find this guy:

A Solo Wedding

This past weekend, as I mentioned, I headed up to Long Island for my buddy's wedding. It was a momentous wedding in that the two had been dating for 7 years (yeah, even they joked about it in their vows) and that it marked the first wedding that I have ever attended alone.

When you're just out of college and someone has a wedding, being alone may not be that much of a big deal, since most of the people at the wedding are not married or in long-term relationships, justifying bringing a date along with them. In those cases, it's just a great big party, where everyone has a hotel room and the liquor is free-flowing.

However, when you're close to 30, being alone means that you are like the "new kid" in school. You're trying to be outgoing and fit in, but everyone else already has their cliques set up and when push comes to shove, you're eating lunch with the smelly guy and the guy that eats his boogers.

So, there I am at 11 PM on Saturday, drinking Capt. & Coke number eight; sitting alone at our table with an old buddy from high school, who I really haven't spoken with in several years, barely able to hold a conversation from lack of mutual knowledge of each other and because the speakers for the band are positioned right behind me. Meanwhile, everyone else is out on the dance floor dancing about. All I needed was for the fat bass player in the band to come over and take my lunch money and we've got our perfect scenario.

Don't get me wrong, it was a good time. The food was good (Chinese food at the cocktail hour...hell yeah) and knowing most of the people there made it definitely easier to deal with the change. But hopefully, by May, I'll have a date for my next scheduled wedding. Or maybe I'll just join the chess club.

J-Man: Smooth as Gravel

So, it's been a little while since I brought up the whole match.com experiment, and my attempts to find a few dates without leaving the comfort of my desk to do so. Anyway, things were looking pretty positive on that front...getting tons of girls looking at my profile, and about 3-4 a day either emailing me or "winking" at me, so I definitely have a lot to choose from. I've picked a few here and there that I liked what I read, so I sent them a quick email. Winking is gay, so I refrain from doing that, but that's just my opinion.

After these four weeks, I've set up for different blind first dates. It's a bit of a process to get to that point however. First, I have to send them my initial email, where I try to crack a joke or relate to one of their interests that I have in common with them. If I'm lucky (and trust me, not all of them write back, go figure?), I'll get an email back to me. If I'm really lucky, it'll be more than a quick note that gives me no feeling whatsoever as to what to do next.

You see, unlike a real conversation, an email conversation with a complete stranger, becomes very difficult when you have nothing to work with. At least in person, you have the same environment around with which to talk. But you know me, I'm not a talker...I'm not a talker. So, you make it through a few emails, a few new topics come up and a bond seems to be forming. Now it's time for the next step...phone conversation.

Yep, enough of the 24 hour delayed responses, it's time for instant feedback... or awkward silences. So, I've made these calls, cracked a few jokes, dealt with my dog howling in the background (more on her later...that little bitch), and eventually set up for a real date. Did I really say this was gonna be easier than picking up women in a bar????

So, I'm sitting pretty. Got these dates lined up. Ready to put on my 'A' game. But where to go? The first girl let me choose. She lived in Bethesda, so I chose a bar that has billiards for some drinks and possibly pool. This was a two-fold move. One, by having a game of pool to keep us occupied, awkward silences could merely be perceived as deep thought on the next shot. And two, even if the date sucked, if I continue doing this for all of my dates, I will eventually get better at pool. So, it seems like a win-win for me.

All goes well on the first date, we have a few drinks, play some pool, and eventually call it a night with the thoughts of a second date. But I get distracted with other things, lose track of the days, and the next thing you know, it's been two weeks and I haven't called her. And she hasn't called me either...so that's dead.

Date #2 was the debacle at Baileys with the Sox fan I mentioned before. After pulling teeth for the first hour, things loosened up a bit, but she was "tired" and despite saying that she was actually having a good time and wanted to go out again, I decided a quick email note to her a couple days later just to see what she was up to would be the end of my attempts...and it seems the feeling was mutual.

Date #3 went really well, or so I thought. Again, I chose to go to play pool (perhaps that's my problem...but hey, I'm getting better) and she and I had a few drinks and had a lot in common. We made plans to possibly do something the next day and I told her I'd give her a call to set that up. Learning from my earlier mistakes, I actually did call her the next day, but only got a voicemail. Three days later, I got an email. The night after our date (we did something in the day because it was her friend's birthday that night) she ran into her ex-boyfriend and decided they would give it another try. She insisted that I was one of the greatest guys she's met and would definitely have been interested in dating me, but "they had history." And I am history. Nobody can drive a girl back to her ex-boyfriend like the J-Man. What can I say?

I think I may start selling my services: Just had a breakup? Want to get her back? Give her one date with me and she'll come crawling back. Sweet.

So on to Date #4. This one actually seemed the most positive of the bunch so my expectations were high, and I was not let down. We grabbed some dinner (her call...and maybe better than pool) at a place by her house, and had a few drinks while just shooting the shit. Now, I'm a story teller (if the blog didn't tell you) but this girl had stories upon stories, and I'm loving it. All seems well, (but didn't the others??) and we make plans to see each other again this week before I head out of town. Surprisingly, she called me to see about doing something the next day!! Unfortunately, I was busy, but said I would be free the rest of the week if she wanted.

And she actually did. She called yesterday, while just down the road in Bethesda, and wanted to see what I was up to. After mulling over few options and realizing that I had just gotten home, and she had mentioned being exhausted, I asked her to come over to my place to watch a movie. J-Man, finally laying some smooth down.

She came over, and that's when I realized that I already had a girlfriend. A jealous one. A short, furry, jealous one. Chloe is having no part of me being anywhere near this girl, nipping at my hands while I'm on the couch and trying to sit between us. I'm sure Amy taught her this just in case of a breakup...clever indeed. So, finally, I take Chloe upstairs and lock her in my room, where she proceeds to howl for the next 20-30 minutes. What a cock-block.

Needless to say, Chloe alone could not stop me from being anti-smooth, and making no moves towards improving my 5-month drought.

And now I am packing for a weekend wedding for my boy, Zack, up in Long Island. Hell yeah, you say? Just like Wedding Crashers...the women will be ripe for the picking? Think again...I've already been informed by the bride that there will be no single women in attendence. Are you kidding me?!!

So, this weekend, you can picture me, chillin at the wedding bar, drinking Iced Teas, because I hear they make em pretty good up there, not getting any and awaiting my next anti-smooth adventure.

J-Man: Teen Heart Throb

Is it a good thing when the majority of your "celebrity look-alikes" have been on the cover of Tiger Beat magazine? I am especially psyched to have Jason Priestly as a strong 2nd place...yeah, that's Brandon Walsh, bitches.

Who Let This Guy Out?

Man, have I been slacking on writing new posts. Well, soon work will get a bit lighter and I won't be completely exhausted when I get home, so maybe I'll post more consistently then. As for now, you'll just have to deal with the spattering of incoherent babble. And what's more incoherent babble than a story that involves me playing beer pong.

So, last Saturday, just over a week since I had my final jaw wires removed allowing me to eat, talk and smile without pain, I decided to throw a barbeque at my place. I picked up some burgers, dogs, chicken, beer, crackers and dips, and mixed up some pasta salad, anticipating a crew of about 10-15 people. Knowing that the crew would also be a bit guy-heavy, I made the move that would determine the evening for several unlucky visitors to my house. Yes, I pulled out a table, twelve solo cups, and two ping pong balls. Not much more needs to be said about that.

Hours pass, over 100 cans of Miller Lite disappear (yeah, I ain't shittin you) and it is merely 10 PM. The burgers were amazing, or at least that's what I remember. The dog is going ape shit. People are playing 'Sorry' on my basement floor...WTF??? And Langley and I are running the beer pong table like Tiger Woods on a PGA tour.

So, where should a crew like this head? Well, out on the town of course...and we're off to DC and Madhatter's. The ride's a bit hazy down to Langley's place, where I think we only were for a few minutes before grabbing a cab over to the bar. We're the first to arrive, and a whole second crew is also planning to meet us, but I'm in a zone of stupidity that can't wait until others arrive.

I don't know how it happened, but the next thing you know, I'm talking with this chick and telling her about breaking my jaw. She's telling me about how she broke her nose and then decided to have it completely redone, since she was having a surgery anyway, and all I'm thinking about is how hot her friend is and wondering why her friend is bitterly sitting down in the midst of this crazy bar.

I should have left sleeping dogs lie once her friend told me that she just broke up with her boyfriend, but the challenge draws me in (like a girl refusing to laugh when I do the Roger Rabbit in front of her). So I proceed to ask her her name. She tells it to me, but I'm too shit-faced and it's too loud to hear anything. So I ask again. Again, I've got nothing. So I ask again..saying what I think she said. Not a smart idea J-Man. She tried one more time to answer before storming off in disgust at my obvious incoherence. And yes, ladies and gentlemen, it appears as if Johnny Smooth is back.

The next couple hours is even more of a blur, though the other crew rolled in from a birthday party and I remember being handed a truly unnecessary SoCo-Lime shot and a couple more beers, before I am now magically talking to yet another girl that goes to UVA. I'm baffled when she says she lives in Charlottesville, not fully comprehending that cars can travel long distances to allow girls to go out in DC even when they don't live here...and then we're dancing. Yeah, your guess is as good as mine. I'm surprised I was even forming complete sentences let alone convincing a girl to dance with me??? All appears to be going well, until a buddy of mine, that I actually grew up with but don't see all that often, decides to 'playfully' head butt me right in the temple.

Owwww. Why would you do that? In a bar?? While someone is dancing??? What in god's name is going on here???? Why would you do that?????? (He's laughing. Having a good time.)

Well, this makes me dizzier and now I realize that I have to take a piss, so I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. Did I say I'd be coming back?? Who knows. Because after suffering through the second worst bathroom this side of Dan's Cafe, the girl has mysteriously disappeared and is now dancing with another one of my buddies. In a drunken state, I am now transformed into bitter J-Man and lack of sleep and 10 hours of hard drinking are catching up to me. And Langley just pulled an Irish goodbye.

Thankfully, the lights go on in the bar, and it's time to head for the metro. The rest of my crew heads out with me and we're cruising back to Rockville...me sitting all alone, stewing about that fact and the impending 1 mile uphill walk from the metro to my house. Somehow I managed to muster the energy to make it home, and thankfully my football game was cancelled in the morning, because even a noon wakeup seemed early.

God bless being able to eat and drink normally again. Man, have I missed these retarded outings.

Brain Farts 6

Well, there's a lot of little things that I've seen over the last couple days that I really couldn't put all of them into one real post. So, as I've done in the past, I'll just throw them all together in a big jumble and call it a Brain Fart....not quite as fulfilling as the full shit, but still funny.

• So, after being on match.com for two weeks and finally getting my braces taken off from the jaw injury last week, I decided it was time to see about setting up to meet one or two of these girls. One girl in particular mentioned her love of the Red Sox on her profile and even goes so far as to say that she has slept in her hat for luck in the past. Those of you that know me, know that I am a Yankee fan and crazed Red Sox fans are always amusing to me...like a kid brother who wants to be like the big kids but isn't quite old enough yet. Anyway, despite the obvious conflict which may ensue if she is, in fact, a Red Sox fanatic and discovers I'm a Yankee fan, I decide to write to her and eventually end up meeting up with her last week. She lives in Arlington and since I don't get out in that area all that often, I let her decide where we should go. And where does she decide? A sports bar in Ballston that I've only been to once before...to see the Yankees beat the Red Sox in the 2003 ALCS Game 7 on an extra-innings Aaron Boone homerun, putting them in the World Series. You can't write these kind of coincidences.
• My brother had a party at his place last weekend, so I decided to head over and hang out with his crew. We end up heading out to Bethesda late night and these two girls that he knows end up coming with us. They're both shitfaced from drinking and watching Notre Dame earlier in the day, so it's a big gong show as we roll into Caddies. At one point, one of the girls has been surrounded by some Indian guys that she's talking to, so her friend decides to grab her and pull her away...by grabbing the back of her pants. She ends up reaching far down the girl's pants and almost gives herself a stink palm, which leads to this winning line from the girl that got pulled. "Holy Crap, I think I just got a colonoscopy. I'm pretty sure I owe somebody a co-pay." I almost pissed my pants.
• Finally, yesterday, my buddies and I headed to the Redskins-Jaguars game as our annual Redskins game trip. The game itself was amazing, but what made it even more amazing is that when I bought my first beer, the guy who sold it to me told me to keep the cup and bring it back to him, and he'd keep filling it. Unsure as to what he meant, I said, "for free?" to which he gave me a grin and head nod. Ike and Catheter Man encountered the same exchange when they separately bought their own beers, and Catheter Man made the first refill attempt. Cup filled...cost: $0. Needless to say, nothing makes me more excited than free beer (well, ass dimples do) so it's open season on pounding beers. 5 beers for $13 (I tipped him, of course) at a football game?? God bless that man.

Vegas Kicked My Ass...Again

I have returned, I have recovered from my two day hangover, then my mini-cold, and now I can grace you all with yet another disasterous escapade in the land of sin. I rolled out on Thursday night and after the painfully long set of flights, I finally arrived in Vegas at 10:30 PM (or 1:30 AM, my time). Do hot women not take plane rides? I mean, has anyone ever had an attractive woman sit next to them on a flight? I don't travel all that much, but I would have imagined at some point a remotely attractive woman would have sat next to me or at least in my row. Instead, I got a smelly Indian on the first flight and a guy who really thought the arm rest was his exclusively on the second flight. Thankfully, Vegas and the women in the Hard Rock would make up for this.

After locating my two buddies who also came in one day early, we grabbed a cab, headed to the Hard Rock, and proceeded to gamble until our eyes bled. The highlight of this night was calling my brother after I had lost $500 and finally decided to get some sleep, to remind him of a job that needed to be done that day back at work. Oh yeah, it was 8:30 AM Eastern Time when I made this call. Vegas.

On Friday, we headed down to the pool, truly the crowning jewel of the Hard Rock hotel, and grabbed a few chairs in prime view of the northern pool. The scenery was especially nice, as was expected, but what wasn't completely expected was this exchange which occurred across the pool from me.

An attractive and "fake" woman had been walking around trying to strike up conversation before finally sitting down by herself and revealing the tiny bikini and thong she was wearing beneath. She danced in her seat for about 20 minutes before the large group of guys to her left (another bachelor party, I assume) began talking with her. About 10 minutes later, she was gone. I wasn't sure where she'd gone, but after she left a second, not as attractive girl showed up and sat in her seat. She too began talking with the guys, and it was not for another 15-20 minutes that I got a complete understanding of what was going on.

It was at that moment when the first girl, and one of the guys, came walking back to the seats together. She sat down next to the new girl, while the guy walked over to his buddies. And then we have our moment of Zen. One of the other guys hands the second girl some money, we'll refer to her as the "Madam", which she places in her purse. While reaching into her purse, she pulls out a small bottle which she hands to the first girl, we'll refer to her as the "Ho". Apparently, the madam handed her a bottle of hand santizer which the ho used to clean herself from what likely just occurred. Ah, Vegas.

So, the day moves into night and soon the remainder of the crew has shown up and we're heading to do what bachelor parties do...go to a strip club. Unfortunately, the strip club across the street is standing room only and we've got a large crew. The owner tells us to come back on Saturday, a bit earlier, and he'll hook us up with table. So, we leave, saddened by our inability to see naked women that don't require the use of any sort of word savvy to get them to take their clothes off. But wait...this is Vegas.

It is at this moment that a Hummer limo pulls up (or nearly hits us as we cross, not sure exactly) and offers us a winning deal: A ride to another strip club, a table at that strip club, and a bottle of liquor at the table...$20 per person. Are you kidding me? There is a god and he wants us to see titties. We jump into the limo, Eminem and Xhibit are blasting, and the night just got a whole lot better. Ah, Vegas.

On to Saturday. Ha, you were expecting more?? Anyway, we returned to the pool but saw no obvious Ho-John transactions, which was a bit of a let down. The quality of women was also a bit lower, but it's all relative, as plastic and silicone are pretty standard stuff. I bail from the pool a bit early because I'm exhausted, and unfortunately miss out on two of our crew getting loaded and pretending to be bouncers for the VIP dance area around the pool. How did they get away with this, you ask? Well, one of them is a 6'2", 280 lb. black man that resembles Mike Tyson. He apparently gets away with a lot...and he's only just begun.

We try to clean things up a bit and head over to the Bellagio to grab some dinner buffet. After waiting in line for more than an hour (yeah, I ain't shitting you), we finally get in and I am sorely let down that there is not gold sprinkled on the food after a line like that. Eating a buffet after two days of heavy drinking and minimal sleep is tough, so the buffet, like the table games, kicks my ass...even though I went heavy on the sushi. That's not all bad, as the madness is about to begin and to be completely full of food would have been a buzz kill.

So, 10:30 rolls around, we're all cleaned, showered, and pimped out for our trip to Body English, Hard Rock's dance club. But we're not just going to the club, we're going VIP. Two tables, four bottles of liquor and an overhead view of the dance floor...plus no waiting in line, we cruise on in and start hitting the liqs. But there is one thing that must be done. The bachelor must be made to feel like an ass...it's only appropriate since he is about to say goodbye to single life. So out comes a bright yellow T-shirt, covered in flashing buttons courtesy of our buddy who works at a promotions company.

Words can't really do the shirt justice, but imagine a giant walking Christmas tree in a classier, somewhat exclusive dance club, and you're heading in the right direction. But what could have been a classic disaster, turned into the greatest social move in the history of bachelor parties. Women are flocking to the lights like it's a homing beacon for vagina, and soon we've got a full blown party going on with the liquor flowing and people dancing in every direction. But just like a good gangster movie, the high times lead to the terrible lows. And nothing leads to a terrible low like a 6'2", 280 black man that resembles Mike Tyson, taking off his shirt and jumping on the couches of the VIP room. He is left to his own accord for about 10 minutes, before someone tells him to put his shirt back on, which he proceeds to do...backwards. Oh, boy.

It is around this time that a second disaster hits...we're out of booze. Yep, four bottles doesn't go very far when you're mixing for yourself and about 30 random girls. It's still early, so I take the plunge and hand my credit card to the waitress to order us up another three bottles. What I wasn't expecting was for her to bring me back the three bottles and a slip of paper saying they were $1100!!!! Ah, Vegas.

It is at this point, that I become the Vodka nazi and scowl at all random women approaching the booze. This will likely lead to me not getting any ass, but I'm still graced with sharp wires across my jaw and enough liquor to make my dick non-functional, so I'm not too concerned. A haze covers the rest of the night for me, but Tyson got tossed and then paid to get back in, all but about 20 buttons were handed out making the bachelor's shirt less flashy, and Vegas has once again kicked my ass.

Vegas, a nice place to visit. Thank god I only do it every once in a while.

Full Circle, Part Duece

Just over 6 months ago, a bout of bad luck began for me that included people hitting my car, damage to my work vehicles, an unexpected cell. phone outage, the need for all new car tires, and a terrible outing to Vegas that saw me end up down $1400...and of course, you know what happened after that.

So here we are, the jaw is healing, I survived a three day weekend without injury, my car is apparently working fine (please god), and I am a mere 4 hours away from a plane trip taking me to none other than Sin City, Las Vegas, Nevada.

I have come full circle. The bad luck is now behind me. I believe the town of Las Vegas owes me $1400 and this Jew is starting his new year (Tova Rosh Hashannah) off right. A new beginning is upon us. Viva Las Vegas, bitches.

Full Circle

Well, it was only a matter of time and a matter of stupidity before I would make my way back to the location of my injury...the Rockville Sportsplex. Last Friday, after 11 weeks of surgery, rehab, medical bills (oh yeah, I never touched on this disaster), and learning to chew food again, I pulled my blue jersey over my head and got in my car, returning to the field for the first time since the accident.

As I drove, a combination of excitement and fear filled my stomach, as I got the uneasy feeling like someone rising up the initial slope of a roller coaster. Should I be going back to play this soon? Should I be going back to play at all?

The doctor had informed me that my bone had not completely healed at this point, and was merely reconnected by a callous, one that does not have the strength that my original bone had. He suggested I not even consider playing any contact sports until February, if ever again, and explained that repairing a second break would not be as "easy" of a process. It would be a process that required grafting bone from my hip. YIKES.

So, why do I continue to drive? Why am I putting myself in a position where I could be forced to go through this unbearable process again?

It's hard to explain the force that was driving me, and I can only assume that someone who has had something stolen from them or maybe even lost a loved one could relate in some small way. This was something I loved doing. Something I looked forward to each and every week. Something I was good at, and getting better each and every week. And then I stopped doing it. Not because I wanted to, but because someone forced me to.

So, as I parked my car, and grabbed my gym back, I knew what physical danger stood in front of me. And I also knew what mental danger stood behind me. I needed to go back, prove to myself that no one could stop me from doing what I wanted but me. Not a doctor, not my family, and certainly not the guy who sent me to the hospital.

24 lbs. lighter...two rows of braces still on my jaws...11 weeks without practice or lifting...and terrified inside like a base jumper on the edge of a bridge, I threw myself into the game. I had come full circle, a slight detour, but I had made it back.

And wouldn't you know it...two sore quads prevented me from doing much of anything. God works in mysterious ways. I didn't even think about my jaw for most of the game, because I was too concerned with how to relieve the tightness in my legs. It forced me to run slower and limit the amount I could play. Apparently, whether I wanted them or not...I was given training wheels. Who cares, it's good to be back.

NFL Predictions

Unfortunately, I forgot to post this prior to the start of the season, but I was getting a bit burnt out on sports talk with 3 Fantasy Baseball teams all competing for a championship and 3 Fantasy Football teams starting off the season, plus an NFL Pick 'em League to boot. But coming out 3-0 after the first weekend of the play and winning a Pick 'em League with over 100 people in it by only missing one game, has fired me up again. So, you too can benefit from my apparent NFL picking prowess. And here's where I think the boys are gonna finish this year.

NFC East
1. NY Giants - Too much talent for even an inexperienced Eli to botch things up
2. Washington - Preseasons mean absolutely nothing...look at what the Steelers did last year. They'll start off slow but the easy schedule early on will help them cruise into a Wild Card spot.
3. Dallas - Their QBs will be their downfall. They may have better arms than Mark Brunell, but they don't have better heads.
4. Philadelphia - They're just not as good as they used to be.

NFC North
1. Chicago - This division is crap. They'll coast to the division win and may even get home field as a result.
2. Minnesota - Brad Johnson is underrated, but there is nothing to work with at the skill positions
3. Detroit - Roy Williams is the only bright spot on this miserable bunch.
4. Green Bay - I'm not sure they'll win more than one game, if that.

NFC South
1. Atlanta - The defense took a big step forward and Michael Vick is going to regain the aura he once had
2. Carolina - A great offensive and defensive line, but I'm not sold on the running backs.
3. New Orleans - Reggie Bush and Drew Brees have brought new hope to the Saints
4. Tampa Bay - They really aren't as good as last year would make you think.

NFC West
1. Seattle - Defending NFC Champs didn't really lose much from last year's squad
2. St. Louis - Moving away from Mike Martz was a good call
3. Arizona - The offensive weapons are explosive, but the defense is not so good.
4. San Francisco - They're still too young to be considered even a .500 team

AFC East
1. New England - Brady and Belichik just know how to win
2. Miami - Daunte Culpepper is definitely a step up from Jay Fiedler, but why did Minnesota let him go in the first place?
3. NY Jets - Chad Pennington is a really good quarterback, when he can actually use his arm.
4. Buffalo - JP Losman is not a good quarterback, and he shouldn't use his arm.

AFC North
1. Baltimore - The defense is always one of the best and Steve McNair still has some fire left in him.
2. Pittsburgh - Defending champs only lost the Bus, but their schedule is pretty tough this year.
3. Cincinnati - Another victim of a tough schedule, their team benefitted from a lot of takeaways last year...they won't have the same luxury this year.
4. Cleveland - Doo doo brown.

AFC South
1. Indianapolis - Losing the Edge will keep them out of the Super Bowl again, but they're easily good enough to take the division
2. Jacksonville - They have a strong defense and a growing offense, but I just can't trust Leftwich and Taylor to be healthy all year.
3. Houston - I really didn't think they were as bad as their record indicated last year, so they should bounce back.
4. Tennessee - If they win more than 2 games, I'd be shocked.

AFC West
1. Denver - Mike Shanahan always seems to assemble a good squad, regardless of whose running the ball.
2. Kansas City - I actually had them winning the division in my first draft, but after losing Trent Green yesterday, I'm dropping them down.
3. San Diego - Phillip Rivers and Marty Schottenheimer in the news will ruin the chemistry of this otherwise competitive team.
4. Oakland - Their offensive line is crap.

PLAYOFFS
WILD CARD
Redskins over Giants
Atlanta over Carolina
Denver over Miami
Baltimore over Pittsburgh

DIVISIONAL
Redskins over Bears
Atlanta over Seattle
Baltimore over Indianapolis
New England over Denver

CONFERENCE
Atlanta over Redskins
Baltimore over New England

SUPER BOWL XLI
Baltimore over Atlanta

Yes, an unorthodox pairing but the AFC representative and Super Bowl champion will once again come out of the AFC North.

J-Man: Internet Gigolo

As I've mentioned in past posts, I broke up with my girlfriend of 6 years back in May and then subsequently broke my jaw a few weeks later, taking me out of the dating game...hell, the eating game...for the last 3 months. With my mouth now unwired and my jaw braces a mere two weeks away from removal, I will soon be back to 100%. But then what?

This is a dilemma that likely troubles all single men. Unfortunately (or fortunately) for me, I've never had to deal with being single all that much. I had two girlfriends throughout most of college, then started dating Amy about 6 months after my last college relationship ended. Relationships are nice because I find it much easier to beg for sex than to actually have to go out and find it. (You guys in long-term relationships know what I'm talking about...don't even try and deny it). Perhaps it has always been laziness that has driven me to getting into relationships, because I'm just too damned lazy to keep going out and meeting new women.

With that in mind, I thought I'd be a bit proactive in my laziness. And what is the mecca for laziness? Why, the internet, of course. I don't even have to leave my house to meet women. Yes, ladies, the J-Man is now available for your dating pleasures through Match.com. (Yeah, I know J-Date would have been funnier on several different levels, but I'm not trying to discriminate against the goyim)

So, having seen a friend of mine use it before, I decided to make up a fancy profile (I think after writing a blog for a year and a half about my life, I can take a few moments to write two paragraphs), throw up a few classic pics of me in action, and see what happens. Now, you're probably all sitting there thinking to yourselves...J-Man, I think you could very easily find yourself a girl or two to go out with on your own, you don't need to be a loser and post on the internet.

Why, thanks. Yes, you're probably right. (Did I just have a conversation with myself?) But where is the fun of that? Plus, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing with this whole internet dating thing anyway, so I'm imagining there's gonna be some pretty funny stories to come out of this. I mean, the usual combination of me on my computer with pictures of women on the screen usually ends in masturbation, so we can only go up from here.

And these women wasted no time moving to action. I just got approved and had my profile end up online on Friday and 8 girls have already written or "winked" at me (Yeah, I know...the whole winking thing seems a bit weird) and a couple of them are actually pretty good looking. I'm more or less clueless with what to do next, but I guess determining that they're not 60 year old men would be a step in the right direction...then we'll see what happens.

Get ready my friends, this blog could start to get even more entertaining, because J-Man: Internet Gigolo is ready for action.

OC's Finest

As I mentioned in the last post, I made it to Ocean City just after 1 AM on Saturday morning after a disasterously long drive. Given the time, and the fact that I worked outside in the pouring rain that day, we didn't really do much of anything that night, aside from shoot the shit and have a few drinks. Not what you'd consider a crazy night at the beach, but hey, I'm out of practice. On to the real Saturday.

I roll out of bed mid-morning and after a quick breakfast, we head out to grab some booze. It's still pouring rain, so the beach is out of the question. Looks like it's gonna be a day of getting tanked inside while playing board games. When in Rome, my friends...when in Rome. We didn't bring any games, so we headed to a thrift store called Roses to hopefully find some. Unfortunately, all we found was a store that looked like it was going out of business, clothes strewn about on shelves, and about 40 cases of head lice. Of course, they didn't have any more games in stock...so we bolted out of there and thankfully found a toy store at a mall a couple blocks away.

Being at the beach, I decided to go with the oh so festive Margarita on the Rocks and proceeded to pound those for much of the afternoon as we played Yahtzee, Scrabble, and a card game Rick's girlfriend taught us. You ever notice how when someone "teaches" you a new card game, they magically end up winning at that game. I mean, she pulled some backwards rules out of her ass right from the get go. "Yeah, I just cut the deck perfectly to deal out all the cards, so I get -50 points to start." Uh...what??!!! Uh...whatever...I'm at the beach, and I'm drinking. (I know some of my readers are shocked because I take board games very seriously...apparently I have been reconditioned once again)

The afternoon flies by, a couple of girls that work with Rick and were also around came by for a bit, and then we decided it was time to leave the confines of the room and head out for dinner and bar scenery. This is where things get ugly.

After a pretty good Italian dinner, we roll up into Fager's Island bar (yeah, I know) and proceed to get things rolling with a round of shots. Had we not been drinking all day, this might have been a good idea.

Let the onslaught of stupidity begin:

Within moments, we have found what can only be described as a stripper pole in the corner, and Rick's girlfriend, and the other two random girls from before (who magically appeared amidst my blackout) begin dancing around it. It doesn't take long for other random girls to pick up on this and we've got an overpacked dancing area on our hands. A few minutes later, we have our first casualty as a girl looks over at me, smiles, and then proceeds to fall flat on her back next to me. I help her up, and then proceed to do the classy thing...whip out my digital camera and take a picture of her as she stumbles away. I'm all class.

With that comedy behind us, enter a "larger" girl to the dancing area. Her and the rest of her herd begin pushing Rick's girlfriend off the stage, and that can't be good news for them given the amount of alcohol we've had thusfar today. Within seconds, Rick is informing them that there is a specific height and weight limit for the stage and they have exceeded both. They storm off in disgust and proceed to give Rick the finger during their departure and for several minutes after that. Apparently, classiness runs in my circle of friends.

But what about Rick's buddy...he hasn't offended anyone yet? Oh, just you wait. Moments later, we take a walk around the bar and pass by a large bachelorette party, doing what all bachelorette parties do...selling stupid candies and no chance of scoring. Rick's girlfriend tries to help the cause for us single guys by pulling one of the girls over to talk with us, and that conversation lasts about this long.

Her: Hi

Rick's Buddy: Did you have a ham and egg biscuit for breakfast? (apparently a reference to how short her skirt was, but bizarrely funny even if you don't understand it)

Her: (blank look...running away quickly)

We're all class...gonna be a good night. But what more could happen?

Rick ends up buying 5 lollipops from the bachelorette and starting a giant party for everyone within pointing distance as he's handing out orders (which were written on cards you got with the lollipop and that members of the party must do) including giving Mr. Ham and Egg a shot to drink with a fatty, and me a girl writing her name on my chest in lipstick. Wouldn't you guess her name was AMY? I whipped out the camera regardless and continued documenting what would soon be forgotten anyway. Now, on to the dance floor.

Decent music is playing and I'm in my own little world at this point, until a girl who I think looked sort of like Selma Blair, and was even more shitfaced than me stumbled my way. I don't know how or why, but the next thing you know, I'm dancing with this girl....well, carrying her and avoiding falling would be the best description. I think I'm getting dirty looks from people around me because I'm with the "drunk chick," but when a random girl rolls up to you after you've been 'without' for your longest spell since high school, and she's trying to kiss you and grab your wang right there, and you've been drinking all day...you tell me what you'd do.

What I did...was pass her off to someone else. Yeah. I know. But hey, I don't have herpes as I'm writing this (well...I don't think I do??) and I'm not sure I could say that if I had dragged her home. I mean, this is Ocean City we're talking about.

Things get really hazy at this point, but we regroup at the front of a concert stage as a cover band begins playing. The music is pretty good, though all I remember is 'Enter Sandman' playing while strobes went off and confetti fell from the sky. They finished their set, and the crowd cleared as the hip-hop music began pumping again. I'm not sure how what happened next got started, but apparently the stupidity meter had one more setting it could be raised to...and here's my best description of how this went down.

Like a scene from the Wild West, the prairie is clear as the crowd disperses leaving just Rick's girlfriend and myself standing there amidst the blowing tumbleweed (confetti...what's the difference) and a little Justin Timberlake pumping. Oh yeah, it's on. Yes, my friends...a dance off. Several minutes and maybe three songs later, and this bout is over. She just got served. I told you I was bringing sexy back. And that's a good way to end an evening.

You can't really follow up a night like that with any sort of story, so I feel my trip to the actual beach on Sunday would best be described by these two pictures of what surrounded us.

Yeah, you gotta love OC.

Disasters Avoided

So, as you can tell by the fact that I have written this post, I did not suffer a terrible accident over the Labor Day weekend, putting an end to my fear that I should avoid all three day weekends. But I wasn't too sure that was going to be the case as I started out on my voyage to OC on Friday night.

Having just written my last post, I decided it was probably best that I avoid eating my leftover Chinese food, and instead went with a bowl of Campbell's soup, before jumping into my car (without any injury) for my trip. Since I was going to be in my car a bit, I decided it would be smart to clean it up first, so I threw away like 10 empty Gatorade bottles that had piling up, along with some miscellaneous papers and such, and everything is feeling good as I pull out of my driveway.

I've got my iPod all prepped and pumping through the radio as I jump onto 495 on this rainy Friday evening at about 7:30. I figure I'm behind the rush hour traffic, and Rick, his girlfriend and his buddy have left around this time as well, so we should all arrive about the same time.

We did end up arriving about the same time, but that time was 1:15 AM. Yep, 6 hours to drive 150 miles...you do the math. On the other hand, don't do the math...let me give you a recap of this new Holiday weekend horror story.

As anyone who lives in the DC area will tell you, any precipitation falling from the sky causes the local drivers to downgrade their driving abilities from abnormally bad to Dustin Hoffman in 'Rain Man' status. Sure enough, the rain has all the 'tards going about 25 MPH around the beltway, even at this late hour. Luckily, the traffic breaks for me at around the split off for 95 North and I'm cruising again, all the way to Route 50 and past Bowie.

Everything seems good as I'm making back some of the time I lost from the Beltway debacle, and then I see the sign. 'Delays at the Bay Bridge: 9 Mile Backup.' Holy crap. This just went from bad to worse, and then I came to a screeching stop just short of Annapolis at around 8:45. And then I sat...and sat...and sat.

Normally, I would be fuming mad, getting very impatient, and contemplating just getting off at the next exit and turning around for the night amidst several expletives, but for some reason I am exceptionally calm and at ease. No, I wasn't high. I think the jaw rehabilitation and my concerns over some bizarre psychological side effects have finally shown the first sign of a change. I was forced to be patient, trapped inside the wires that bound my mouth for 7 weeks. Unable to get frustrated and rip them off, I became content...I became reconditioned. Well, whatta ya know?

So there I sat, completely fine with my situation. My first problem is not much of a problem after all. Crank up the tunes, drink another can of Pepsi (I brought two so I wouldn't have to stop) and watch the other drivers as we cruise on ever so slowly.

8 Miles and 2 hours later (I ain't shittin' you) and a new problem has developed. As delicious as those Pepsi's were a little while ago, I am regretting the obvious outcome which occurs when you drink 24 ounces of soda after a liquid dinner. My bladder is aching. And of course, I just threw away 10 perfectly good urinals a few hours earlier. Talk about dumb luck. There's no exit in sight, and it's gonna be at least another hour til I get to the toll plaza, just to try and cross the bridge. And then I stare down at them...the only containers left in my perfectly clean car, the empty Pepsi cans.

There is no way I'm gonna be able to pee in that small hole and to even attempt to put my dick near that sharp metal sends shivers down my back...plus it's still Friday, and I'm awaiting a horrible injury. I'd have to say cutting my dick off while trying to piss in a can in my car would definitely be classified as 'horrible.' But what other choice do I have? I must do something. So I take my thumb and smash it down into the top of the can...and the metal tears!!! Perhaps things won't be so bad after all. I'm able to push down the metal from the top of the can enough to make a large enough hole to minimize my fears (yeah, yeah, make with the small penis jokes...jackasses).

I am almost shaking with pain and have been pushing on my groin area for the last 5 minutes to try and hold back my pee as I whip my wang out and try to position myself to pee in the can. This would likely not be as awkward if the people in the other cars were not more or less at a complete stop around me, in an area flooded by headlights, but I tredge on...and oh, is it good. The can couldn't hold much, requiring me to do two pinch offs (ouch) and pour outs on the highway (like no one knew what I was doing) and I spilled a bit on myself (small price to pay), but I made it through another possible disaster unscathed. Now we're back on track.

After a quick stop at a Wawa to meet up with Rick and the crew, and we're both still west of the Bay Bridge at 11 PM. Rick made the executive decision to take the fine and drive through the EZ Pass lanes, saving us a good hour more of waiting, and we're up on the bridge cruising at 30 MPH (which is like NASCAR at this point). The wind is ridiculously strong, causing my car to sway up and down as I drive by trucks, but the ordeal is over shortly, the speed picks up, and all is good as we cruise into OC on a Saturday morning...the Holiday Weekend Horrible Friday has come and gone, and I am not in the hospital.

Disasters avoided...now on to the greatness of a weekend in Ocean City. Unfortunately for you, I'm tired right now so the stories...and some classic pictures will have to wait til tomorrow.

Labor Day Weekend

The last time a holiday weekend rolled around, I viciously had my face destroyed on the Friday night, thus eliminating any chance for fun the remainder of the action-packed extended weekend. So, here we are two months later, Labor Day weekend is upon us, and I have a somewhat full palette on tap for the entire weekend.

With that said, I'd like to thank everyone of you for reading my blog and our friendship over the years, as I am probably about to have another brutal accident occur within the next 8 hours...possibly life threatening. With that in mind, here's a few possibilities of what may happen, and the odds I'm putting with them.

Eat leftover Chinese food and contract internal parasite: 8-1
Fall down the stairs and crack a vertebrae: 10-1
Slam my hand in my car door, breaking several fingers: 12-1
Tragic victim of road rage: 7-1
Drive off the Bay Bridge en route to Ocean City: 50-1
Kidnapped by hillbillies at a gas station stop: 60-1
Eaten by wild dogs at the same gas station stop: 90-1
Alcoholic baffoonery turns tragic as I fall in the bay and drown: 4-1
The "old Ricky Paugh" returns and punches me in the jaw, rebreaking it: 25-1
Develop gangreen on my right testicle (Ike, this is the most disgusting ailment I have ever heard by the way): 100,000,000-1

If I was you, though, I'd assume the following: I'm gonna eat my Chinese food for dinner and give myself some serious stomach pain, which will force me to puke it up, but no parasites. The pain is gonna linger and cause me to flinch as I'm carrying my bags down the stairs to my car, and fall down a few. Luckily, I'll only bang up my arm as the weight of the bag will pull me down sideways. Unfortunately, just moments later, I'll end up slamming three fingers in my trunk after throwing my bags in the back. I'm still OK enough to head to OC, but when a crazed driver on the Bay Bridge mistakes my mangled fingers for me giving him the finger, he's gonna slam his car into me, forcing me to swerve into the edge of the bridge and bust up my car. After waiting with this douchebag for almost an hour in pouring rain on the Bay Bridge, some hillbilly in a tow truck will pull up and take me to some backwoods service station to fix up my car. Like most rednecks, he's gonna have a bunch of dogs, and they all smell Chloe and will therefore try to bite at me. After fighting off the dogs for 2 hours, the hillbilly will have completed a quick repair to make my car drivable and I'll continue on to OC. I'll arrive to an already drunk group of people because I've been so delayed, so I'll decide to take shots to catch up. This is a bad idea since I'm only tipping the scale at 162 lbs. now and the only food I ate, I threw up almost 6 hours prior to this. Obviously, I'll be shitfaced quickly and in an unknown environment, so it seems only natural that I would do something stupid, like fall in the bay. This will sober me up alot, but is hilarious to all the other people who are still drunk, including ol' Rick, who will decide to playfully jab me in the arm for this monumentally classic, stupid move. Unfortunately, it's the same arm I injured when I fell down the stairs earlier, and now I can barely move it. What's even more unfortunate is that it is my jerking off arm and with the overall craziness and pain I've endured already this day, jerking off seemed like a good idea. Not wanting to ruin the opportunity, I'll decide to use my right hand instead. Well, with three busted fingers and a lack of practice with the off-hand, I'll do something terribly wrong, causing me exceptional pain, and the eventual gangreen formation on my right nut.

Yep, I love these holiday weekends. Enjoy yours everyone.

Jeopardy Knows Its Champions

I just turned on the TV while I was eating dinner and Jeopardy was on. After watching for a second, I saw that it was the "Tournament of Champions" and three dorky guys stood there answering questions. And what were the categories for these questions? Seriously...this is not a joke...this was honestly on TV...the real Jeopardy...not a SNL sketch:

"Star Wars, Star Trek or Harry Potter"
"Action Figures"
"Dinner for One"
"In Need of a Date"
"Still Living with 'Mom' and 'Dad'"
"You Have No Life"

There are just way too many jokes I could come up with here, that to print just one would be doing this set-up an injustice.

I'm Bringing Sexy Back

It was only a matter of time before the need to "do" my hair would grow old to me. After not cutting my hair for the entire wired jaw escapade and the two months prior to that, due to sheer laziness, I could not deal with the jew-fro, curly side burns, and borderline mullet anymore.

Others also had noticed that my hair had gotten out of control and commented that a change needed to be made. So, go ahead, be gone with it. Cropped, styled, and back in business.

It's just another sign of the rebirth of the J-Man back out into the civilized world. Get your sexy on.