Return of the Mack

I can only assume that you guys are sick of hearing about me being down and feeling sorry for myself. Most of you have known me for long enough that you're sitting there going, "f-ing J-Man. Hot chicks flock to you for some reason. You'll be going out on dates with girls I'd give my left nut for within a week." (thanks E). He's still bitter that I never brought the "porn star" around...but that's a different story.

Anywho, I hope he's right. But in any case, I should be bringing you the stories you want to hear. The stories of random stupidity, the stories of me exchanging terrible banter while at a bar, the stories of me watching internet porn with bikini models in my bed (yeah, I wish too). So here's a quick little excerpt from last Saturday to get me in the mood for some more shenanigans down at Rocket Bar tonight. Like it or not...I'm back out there...hide your daughters (seriously, hide the ugly ones).

So, last Saturday, I head over to my buddy's place and there's four of us there, hanging out, doing some pre-drinking, and watching this really gay Japanese pro wrestling shit on youtube (trust me, you don't want to find it...it's funny for like a minute, then it's just uncomfortable). After a couple drinks, we head for the metro with roadie in hand (gotta get hella drunk right after a breakup...standard practice). We head out to Bethesda and after making a quick stop at Blackfinn and taking a double Patron shot (told you), we decide to head to Union Jacks. I had been there the night before and whipped out some of my old school dance moves with Laurie, but tonight it was just four dudes.

Well, we just watched the gayest Japanese wrestling ever, why not go that extra mile and have four dudes hit the dance floor. Did I forget to mention that we did a jagerbomb shot and had a couple drinks first? Yes, jagerbomb. Protein MILK! Fucking Skanks! (If you got that, props to you). Anywho, I'm breakin it down like I always do...a combination of Will Smith and Will He Stop stupid spins and shoulder bouncing. There's not enough room for the extra stupid running man or Roger Rabbit or I would have likely done them too.

Needless to say, women are actually coming up and dancing with me, and while I can't remember most of them or even talking to any of them, there is one that sticks out...a relatively hot brunette with some cleavage showing and a fat friend (always notice the fat friend...gotta watch out when I get drunk like this). In any case, I'm pretty sure she said I dance pretty good for a white guy and I think she was grinding on me for a bit. First rule of a dance floor, or anywhere for that matter: when a white girl ends her sentence with "for a white guy," she's probably been with a brutha (or more) and seeing as I'm not bringing it like Sean Michaels, I think I'll avoid attempting to disprove the age old myth. :o)

In any case, I turn the dry humping to moderate dance floor conversation and this is when I get these added tidbits flashing into my drunken brain...

"oh, you have a kid?"
"sorry...two kids??!!"
"and the eldest is 12!!" (how old is this chick???!!!)
"oh, you're 32" (drunken math says baby at 20)

At this point, I'm thinking I need to truly do the running man. But I've got to see the end of this train wreck...so, I ask the hard hitting questions:

Me: So, where are these kids if you're here?
Her: blah blah blah (I can't remember what she said, but it wasn't with their dad)
Me: If they're there, where's their dad?
Her: Wow, these ARE hard hitting questions! (I think I forgot to mention that I actually said that I was about to ask the hard hitting questions...I'm all class)
Her: He's in jail.
Me (in my head): I already knew the answer.
Me: YIKES!




J-Man think he the mack...macaroni!

Meathead Moments

Do you remember the first time you saw Revenge of the Nerds? Remember the opening scene where the Alpha Betas are running around like idiots in their fraternity house, partying on the roof, lighting grain alcohol on fire as they shoot it out of their mouth, and stair diving? I remember seeing it and thinking how awful and ridiculous these guys were. A charicature of what the "bad guys" in college are...and then during the Summer break before my senior year in college, my buddy Ian and I were watching the movie again, and we both turn to each other with this epiphany...we had become the Alpha Betas.

During our years in school, we manhandled a couch onto our roof so we could drink up there and heckle anyone that walked by. We accidentally lit the American flag on fire during a party when one of our fraternity brothers lit his spit like a jackass, while we would also routinely light our couches on fire for absolutely no reason. And I was the moron who twice annually would fall down the library stairs with a stack of valuable library books to the cheers of around 40 of my friends congregated in the library lobby beneath. Hell, we even played book tag (you figure it out) in the quiet part of the library basement. I've told you before, I'm not proud of some of the things I've done.

So, here I am, 10 years later (yep, reunion is coming up this year). I've grown up a lot and obviously learned from the errors of my old ways. And this afternoon, I'm driving with my brother, ironically on our way to the gym. We get to the light to turn left off Rockville Pike and as we turn the corner, a rather dorky looking young man in a short sleeved button up shirt and tie, and thick glasses tries to cross the street in front of us, forcing us to slow down and nearly get hit in the back of my brother's car.

And what do we do?




Roll down the window and yell, "NEEERRRRDDDDD!!!!"

Some things never seem to change.

Passion

I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point in my life, I turned my life on autopilot. You can look back at these blogs and I'll even mention it. I get carried from one experience to the next, stuck in a long series of routines that basically control what I do. I never really realized it, or perhaps I just assumed it was normal. I wake up, I go to work, I make it through the day, hitting the speed bumps that come along with it, I go home, and until recently, I call Lisa, I eat dinner, I watch TV, and I go to bed.

Yes, there are a few select adventures that throw themselves in there, but for the most part it's the same. I've always chalked it up to the pressure and hours that I endure at work, shutting down and acting like a robot to deal with the stress. But here it is 6 AM, I've probably only slept about 4 hours off and on all night, and I finally realized it. I've lost my passion.

I watch movies like Click and Serendipity. I read books like A Perfect Day and The Choice. I hear songs by Tim McGraw. The lessons are staring me in the face, and yet I have continued to follow the routines. Maybe you have too. It's safe. It's predictable. It's logical. I am my father's son. The engineer mind, the planner...and I'm miserable.

A change is needed. I want to do what feels right, not what makes sense. I want to put myself out there, not safely hide my feelings for fear of getting hurt. I want to wake up each day, excited for new possibility it holds, not sleepwalking through the normal routines. I want to love again.

Some times you need to hit a low to make these observations. And it's that part of the story when the main character starts taking actions to change. You've read this story for over 3 years, let's see how it turns out.

I may fall flat on my face. I may hurt worse than I have before. But at least I'll have lived and I won't regret what might have been. Carpe diem...right?

Is This Football??

So, Friday night rolled around and we were set to play the Fuel Rods in my indoor football league. They've been in and out of the league for the past couple years and they are most notorious for playing dirty and talking ALOT of shit. We already had played them once earlier in the season and I was matched up against a guy they call Skeeza who wears a jersey that says "Presidential" on the back Needless to say, I left that game having been shouldered, elbowed, and verbally abused and we lost by about 20 points.

Fast forward to this past Friday and things are looking to be headed down the same path as members of the Fuel Rods are talking shit in the parking lot before the game even starts. It's only a matter of plays before I receive my first dirty shot from Skeeza, a forearm to my jaw...right where it's cracked and I still have the bump from the repaired bone. A few plays later and he slammed me into the wall after the play was over. I returned the favor by kicking him in the thigh while on the ground and I'm sure my, "Fuck you, you dirty piece of shit" fell on deaf ears as the violence continued as he punched my teammate Shane in the back several times after an interception.

The refs are trying to control the escalating violence with calm words, but bad things are in store. And sure enough, we're up 8-0 late in the first half and they decide to throw our QB to the ground (did I mention this is a flag league). One of our WRs doesn't take too kindly to this and steps towards their lineman with some kind words. I told you these guys played dirty, but this ghetto punk takes it to a new level as he throws a right hook and connects with my teammate's face. A minor skirmish ensues, shit talking is running wild, and we're bordering on a riot. Their guy is ejected, breaks the gate to the field on his exit (which included some colorful words and the stereotypical removal of his jersey) and shit is only gonna get worse from here.

The rest of the game plays out with personal fouls flying left and right (I don't know why they didn't call the game earlier) and the jackass they ejected is hanging by the stands, brooding and seeking revenge. He refuses a hand shake to try and resolve the issue and as we celebrate our win (yep, they were undefeated and we handed them their first loss) it is apparent the violence hasn't ended with the final whistle.

The looks we're getting while we put on our normal shoes and clothes put everyone on guard that it's best we not leave any stragglers behind as we depart. Unfortunately, Shane didn't get the memo. We walk out the door, only to have my brother (who stayed to watch the game with my parents after his game) run out and tell us that Shane has been surrounded by their team inside.

I'm trying to distance myself from the whole fiasco, as I'm not looking to break my jaw again by someone's sucker punch, and it's already hurting after the "legal" sucker punch I received in the game, but both teams shuffle outside and the shit talking hasn't ended.

I get in my car but keep an eye on what's going down. Most of my team has left but Shane and Tio were still around and as Tio is walking to his car, I see the same now-jerseyless thug go running his way.

I'm not sure what's gonna happen so I swing my car around to the area, with the incoherent intent of hitting this punk with my car if need be. Thankfully, nothing has happened yet (probably wouldn't have turned out well if I had done that) but the two are squared up with their hands up, apparently intent on throwing down right there.

I turn on my brights and slam on my horn, hoping to disrupt whatever is being said, and this brings a large group over to the area. Thankfully Tio pulls away and gets into his truck, as Shane is informed by one of the calmer Fuel Rods, that we should probably get out of there since some of them carry guns and he doesn't know what they might do at this point. What the fuck!!??

Everything dies down at this point, I drive home and I realize that Kevin is scheduled to play these guys next week. Didn't I sign up to play football??

Top 10: Best Action Movies

So, I've been getting a ton of hits and comments on my top Pump Up Songs list, so I figured it's been a while since I did a legitimate (as opposed to comedic) list. So, having just seen Dark Knight on Monday and seeing as this is my 300th post (I know...ridiculous), I bring to you:

Top 10 Best Action Movies
10) Robocop - There's something about revenge that makes a good action flick, and after the early scene of the guys shooting the cop to pieces, I just love it when Robocop starts plucking off the bad guys. Classic action moment: When the truck hits the guy who fell in the toxic waste and he explodes...brutal

9) Terminator 2 - I'm pretty sure this movie broke tons of records at the time it was made with regard to all the carnage involved in it. You can't have an action list without Arnold in it as well. Classic action moment: The semi and the pickup truck chase ending in giant explosions and the semi sliding for like 1/4 mile...awesome.

8) The Bourne Trilogy - I really couldn't pick just one of these flicks, because they're all equally solid in the level of action and ass kicking. It's like a Bond movie without all the gay British people. Classic action moment: I'm partial to the scene in the last movie when Bourne calls the head dude, asks him where he is, and when he says he's in his office, Bourne is like "then we'd be talking face to face"...money lines, necessary to all action.

7) Aliens - Are you kidding me?? This movie just never ends. Action upon action upon action. The scene when the whole army gets anhiliated and all the screens go out...ridiculous. Classic action moment: Sigourney's chillin, everything seems calm, and then, BAM, robot guy's split in half and here comes more action...ups and downs, keeps you guessing.

6) Dark Knight - This movie is exhausting there's so much action. I won't ruin it for any of you that haven't seen it yet...but man, it's a new classic.

5) Matrix - This was another record breaker, this time with the special effects. You can't overlook the impact the bullet angles have had on future action movies. Classic action moment: Where do you start? Gotta say it's the scene when they come to save Morpheus and walk through the security station before blowing the shit out of the place...silly.

4) Die Hard - With this trilogy, there was no problem picking a best...and it's the first. Another action must...one man versus a bunch of bad foreigners. Overcoming adversity, and taking names. Classic action moment: Yippee ki yay, mother fucker!!

3) Braveheart - Revenge and overcoming adversity...in one movie...sounds like a recipe for solid action. Add to that Mel Gibson's desire to show brutality to the utmost, and it's one of the best. Classic action moment: I kind of like the scene where he's on the horse, surrendering, and then swings his mace and smashes the guard's face before kicking some serious ass...that's straight primal!

2) Gladiator - It's like the writers saw Braveheart, took it to Rome, and added some extra ass-kicking scenes and a bigger douche of a bad guy. Works for me. On my signal...unleash hell. Classic action moment: The speech Maximus gives when he is face to face with Commodus again..."I will have my revenge, in this life or the next."...gives me chills every time.

1) 300 - Did you expect anything else? This is my 300th post! 300! Yep, that's a lot of writing. Oh, and this is the greatest action movie ever. I want to fight people after watching it every time. They make a wall out of dead people! Classic action moment: You apparently should not insult a Spartan is his home. When he kicks that messenger in the chest, I wanna stand up and break some shit...THIS IS SPARTA!!!

Go see Dark Knight, and enjoy my 300th post.

J-Man: Professional Dumpee

So, for those of you that haven't heard, I am once again single. And in my typical fashion, I will choose to deal with the loss in the manner I most often fall back on...humor. You see with this most current breakup, I have now raised my number of times being dumped in a year up to a whopping three for 2008. This has greatly surpassed my previous annual high of one from 1999, and I would assume that this would likely put me at the professional level of being dumped...or shall I say, I am now a professional dumpee.

Some people aren't even lucky enough to have attained three girlfriends (I'm talking at least 10+ dates and intimate knowledge here) in a year, while I have not only achieved this feat, I have been discarded by each of them, and we're just past the Major League All-Star Break. You had to expect it was gonna be a bad year when I got dumped on New Years Day.

Perhaps, now that I've reach 30 years old, I no longer follow along with my past theory that women prefer to date a man that they can change. You see, when you're younger, you're still a work in progress, there's hope you can be molded (right, Amy...I know you still read this ;o) ) but perhaps at 30, I am viewed as a finished piece. And I would imagine I'm a bit more like a Dali than a Rembrandt at this point, and thus all the dumping.

Ha, ha, ha. Funny stuff...but actually, it sucks.

So as your internet blog guru, I feel it only my civic duty as a comedic writer of what passes my mind, to enlighten each of you to some of the warning signs that you're about to get dumped:

Change in the Status Quo
This one is a relatively easy one to pick up, and is usually the first sign indicator. Let's say, you and your girlfriend instant message each other each night, since she moved away and you're trying a long distance relationship. (This is purely hypothetical, of course) Then all of a sudden, you notice she's not online as often. While these facts may be completely innocent in their presence, the underlying problem is starting to bloom. You leave a message on the phone and don't hear back the same day like you used to. Saturday was always date night, but suddenly, other things pop up.

You're probably sitting there at your computer, and you're like...oh crap, J-Man, I too have seen these changes occurring. What shall I do?

And the answer is simple: Start doing weird shit. The status quo is a sense of routine, it's frightening to the other person, they are falling into a duldrom and are lulled into a sense of uneasiness as a result...so here's a few suggestions. Call them on a random night, when they answer, say hello, then say...woops, gotta go take a dump. Hang up and don't call them back. Or, while you're out at dinner, finish your meal very quickly and when you're done, grab their plate and throw it on the floor, stomp on it, and declare yourself the winner while dancing and calling them names. Or lastly, go onto their myspace or facebook (everyone's got this stuff now) and post comments like, "I am gonna chew your ankles tonight" or "Don't forget the mustard."

You see, the confusion and spontaneity of these actions will keep them guessing, the status quo will disappear, and without a pattern to break, the relationship will continue.

The Big Event
It goes without saying, that if a big event is coming up: New Years, Valentine's Day, a big party, night at the theater, you better be on guard. There's something about a large planned event that brings on the breakup bug. Having used this technique myself, it's sort of like, I don't want to ruin this event for them, so I won't say anything about the relationship beforehand. Then, once it's over...it's over. Tale as old as time. It seems, while Hallmark is cashing in on making all these extra worthless holidays, they should really hone in on that last market, the day after holiday sympathy cards for the newly single.

You're probably sitting there at your computer, and you're like...oh crap, J-Man, I got dumped the day after Labor Day. And my sister got dumped right after Martin Luther King Day. What the F? How can we stop this madness?

And the answer is simple: Make up your own Holidays. Everyone needs a Holiday. It's a way to relax and give yourself a break from your normal life...but why should I follow the Holidays set up by Hallmark, or Jesus, or George Washington? Make up your own Holidays. And don't tell your girlfriend/boyfriend when they're coming up. Just wake up one morning and be like...hey Honey, it's Skinned My Knee Day...I honor it to remember one of the days I skinned my knee as a kid (gotta encompass a bunch of days). We need to eat only bacon today and ride a bike everywhere. YEEEAAAHHH!!! If she tries to pull it again the following year, tell her it's only celebrated every other year, years ending in 8, etc. and shake your head in disgust for her not understanding the true meaning of Skinned My Knee Day.

But wait, J-Man, what about the most hallowed of all days...the anniversary? Aren't women always saying they should be treated like every day is their anniversary. Well, turn that shit around on them. Celebrate your anniversary on random days...not only does it eliminate this problem, it'll probably get you laid. Which leads me to the worst of all tell-tale signs you're gonna get dumped.

Kinky Sex
This one I just read about or something...not speaking from experience. But if you just had some crazy, kinky sex...I'm talking massages, bowtied lingerie, body oil, weird vibrating instruments, spanking, anal, or for the prudes...missionary...with the lights ON, you better enjoy it while you can, because you might be playing in the one man orchestra for a while...and you're sitting first chair on the pipe organ.

Perhaps it's a guilt thing, where a woman wants to do something special to hide the fact that they're about to end the relationship, or perhaps they'll do the crazy stuff because they know they'll never see you again. Or maybe they realize they're ending the relationship and won't be getting any for a while, so they act like a squirrel, storing away nuts (pun completely intended) for the long Winter. In either case, it's the most vicious of all backslaps. The calm before the storm. The hot bath before the cold shower. The eye before the tiger.

You're probably sitting there at your computer, and you're like...oh crap, J-Man, I too got dumped after a night of sex so hard, it hurt to pee. What can I do to stop this from happening?

And the answer is simple...stop it??? Are you on crack? Did you just read what I wrote...massages...bow-tied lingerie...body oil...weird vibrating shit...paddling...back door shenanigans...mormons with the lights on!!! Sometimes, you can't stop the inevitable. If she wants to go and she's gonna give you a parting gift of cash and prizes...you take that loot. Yeah, you didn't get to spin the big wheel and compete on the showcase showdown, but you got to come on...down.



Wow...this was probably one of my most offensive blogs to date...no wonder I don't have a girlfriend.

J-Man gets a maid

It was bound to happen. I had put off the enevitable long enough. Yesterday, for the first time ever, a maid visited my house. You see, after living alone (well, Chloe's here, but she pretty much adds to the mess with all her shedding) for over two years, things had gotten a bit out of hand in the cleanliness department. My stairs were lined with dust balls that resembled small rodents. There's so much mildew in my shower that even the caulking has turned black. And there was probably some burned dried food on the burners in the kitchen that was made back in 2007.

And so, something needed to be done. My friends and family had commented on the untidyness, and my brother took action. He has a maid clean his condo, and since he lives just across the street, he brought her by a couple weeks ago to look at my place to evaluate it for cleaning.
She quoted me $85 to clean the whole house every other week, and without ever speaking or meeting her, a deal was struck and she was scheduled to come by yesterday.

So, of course, at 7 in the morning I'm frantically running around grabbing all my dirty clothes from my bedroom floor and throwing them in the closet, I'm grabbing all the empty beer cans (I know, it's been established...I have a problem) from my basement, and I took the lotion off my nightstand and put it back in the bathroom (errr, my hands get dry with all the chemicals at work). And then I headed off to work.

My brother called me around noon to say that the maid had finished his place and was heading over to start on my house. At 1 PM, my mom stopped by my house to let my dog out, and she was still there. At 5:30 PM, my brother stopped by my house for some reason, but I was still at work...and so was the maid. And then I arrived home at 6:30 PM, and she was still working.

Apparently she underestimated the amount of mess a 30-year old man and a dog can make over the course of two years. When I arrived home, however, the place smelled different. Instead of smelling like food and mildew (not sure how that happened), it smelled like lemons and pine.

The dust film under my living room furniture was gone. So was the food caked into the burners. As were the dust rodents on the stairs heading up to my second floor. And that's where I found Dinora...passed out on the floor. She was dead.

Nah, just kidding. She looked like hell though. Her hair was going in all directions, she was somewhat sweaty, and toting the vacuum out of the spare bedroom. I asked her how it was going, and she explained that she hadn't even gotten to the basement yet. Yep, 6 hours of cleaning and she had still only covered 2/3rds of my house. This confirms it, I definitely needed a maid.

I couldn't bear to have her work any longer, as I felt guilty for keeping her here this long. I gave her a little extra money, as she apparently is not so good on the estimating of time required. And I even thought I had picked up the place a bit. I didn't even pull the old "eat some Oreos before going to the dentist" routine, just to make her earn her keep.

Needless to say, I sit here now with dustfree (and lotion free) night stands. Mirrors in my bathroom I can actually see clearly into. And a refridgerator where I realized that the shelves are actually clear as opposed to translucent. Who knew?

I've sold out, I know. But apparently it was needed. I've got a maid now...just call me Mr. Drummond. (applause)

Now the world don't move, to the beat of just one drum. What might be right for you, may not be right for some. A man is born, he's a man of means. Then along come two, they've got nothing but their jeans. But they've got Diff'rent Strokes. It takes Diff'rent Strokes. It takes Diff'rent Strokes to move the world.



Where's that lotion?

Favre from done

This isn't a story about me, as I haven't really been doing anything all that exciting (well, I have, but I don't feel like writing about it). Instead it's just my opinions about one of my favorite things, football.

For those of you that follow sports, the big story over the past 24 hours has been Green Bay Packers' quarterback Brett Favre's announcement that he wants to now come out of retirement to continue playing football.

The issue surrounding this exchange is that the Packers had, in essence, planned to move on and looked to put the team in the hands of new quarterback Aaron Rodgers, and here comes ol' Brett at the 11th hour trying to step back in. So here's the dilemma. Let Favre come back, alienate Rodgers once again (the last few years have had the same questions about retirement lingering) and risk that he'll leave the next chance he gets, thus possibly screwing up the future of the Packers. Or not bring Favre back, risk that all the fans of Green Bay will revolt, especially if Favre does well somewhere else and Rodgers falls on his face.

Definitely a sticky situation for the Packers front office, but here's my opinion. Let Brett Favre go. Yes, Brett Favre is an icon in the Packers organization and yes, he had a great year last year, showing he's still got something left. But the Packers didn't go to the Super Bowl last year. They went to the NFC Championship game. And they played it at home. And they were the favorite to win the game. And they LOST. You couldn't have a better scenario set up for you and yet no championship or even a trip to the Super Bowl. It's time to go a different direction.

Drew Bledsoe was considered one of the better NFL quarterbacks back in the 90s. He took New England to the Super Bowl and always put up good numbers. And then the organization decided that it needed to go a different direction and handed the ball to a guy named Tom Brady. Now, I'm not saying that Aaron Rodgers is gonna be the next Tom Brady, but sometimes letting an aging superstar move on, despite history being on his side, isn't a bad idea.

Last year was Brett Favre's last great chance to be a champion with the Green Bay Packers. The stars will not align so well again, so why not give the Packers and Brett Favre the chance to do something else. Perhaps one of them will be better without the other. Only time will tell.

Fuzzy Memories: Drinking Piss

I was reminded of these Fuzzy Memories just last weekend during a barbeque at my house. Lisa had mentioned that her dog Lucky was sniffing around her roommate's dog's business when all of a sudden the other dog started to pee. Humorous in its own right, Lucky was sent reeling back and Lisa said his facial expressions likened that of the cop in Dumb and Dumber.

There's something about someone drinking pee that is both disgusting and extremely humorous. And I was reminded by this story of having had the pleasure of witnessing it in person on two occassions in my life....and here they are:

40 ounces of pee

My senior year in college, we all lived in apartments on campus that were bunched together in one area, appropriately called the "senior apartments." All of the apartments had three levels and one of them had elevators to all the floors, for handicapped accessibility. Our senior year, my buddy Joyce lived in an apartment in this building and we would often have parties there, when not at our own place.

Joyce was a big fan of forties (who isn't on a college budget) and usually our nights of partying included drinking forties to help in getting shit-faced. What our nights also included when hanging around Joyce's place on occassion, was "Beat Down Craps."

Beat Down Craps was a game created by the guys in our fraternity the year above us, wherein a bunch of guys would pile into the elevator at this apartment and go up and down the elevator while shooting craps. The rules were simple, your first throw of the dice set the point, just like real craps. If you were able to throw it again before you threw a 7 or 11, your turn was over and you passed the dice. If you threw the 7 or 11 before your point, then you got beat down until the elevator doors opened next. Simple rules...we're not the smartest bunch.

On this particular night, a bunch of us jump into the elevator and are about to begin playing, when we notice a stank 40 oz. bottle sitting on the floor in the elevator, almost half full. It wasn't any of ours and we didn't want to spill it while beating the crap out of each other, so we put it outside the elevator on the landing in front of the party.

What we didn't know was that the liquid in the bottle was piss. And what we also didn't know was that Joyce was going to see us put the bottle down, assume it was one of ours and steal it to take a swig. And what a swig he took. With a "yoink", he had grabbed it and laughed as he threw it back. And then the laughing ended. And then he spit the piss out all over, followed by throwing the bottle on the ground in disgust. My roommate Boland got glass and piss all over his sandals and feet, and the rest of us are dying of laughter. Disgusting...but so damned funny.

Le Gusta El Pisso

After college, I moved into a house with my friends Zack and Scott, as well as two other acquaintances, Josh and Justin. We would often frequent house parties where someone vaguely knew the person throwing it, but for the most part we were strangers showing up at these people's houses. Not knowing the people throwing the party, and being complete jackasses to begin with (I'm not proud of some of the things I've done), we would often do childish things while at these parties to keep ourselves entertained.

On one particular night, we headed out of DC to a party in Bethesda, where they not only had a normal party going, but they had baby pools, a moon bounce (yeah, for adults...I swear I didn't hallucenate this fact), and a frozen margarita machine.

We are psyched to see the margarita machine, but unfortunately we arrived late and the machine was already drained completely. We stuck with beer, and mingled about for a while, when the idea somehow came to fruition. It's still uncertain as to why he did it, as we were debating this at the barbeque last weekend, but to the great humor of all of us, Zack took his empty beer cup, filled it with his own piss and poured it into the margarita machine.

This is again humorous in his own right, but we're not done. Sure enough, two guys roll in later to the party and see the margarita machine in all its glory. Having visited it ourselves earlier in the night, I can tell you nothing came out when you pulled the handle. But not anymore. Oh yes. This guy just poured himself a glass of pee margarita. And to my recollection, he didn't even notice. Again, disgusting...but arguably one of the funniest things I have ever seen.

You really can't make this shit up.

J-Man goes to Chili Cookoff

So, as many of you may know, I went to the DC101 Chili Cookoff yesterday. It was the first time I've been to this event, which I believe has been going on for almost 20 years now. The headlining act, and the one I wanted to see, was Staind, though Live, Seether, and Finger Eleven were also performing, among others, making it a pretty inviting event.

I finished up a halfday of work (it's the Summer now...working on Saturdays. Ugh), then slipped on my standard music festival shirt (a basaeball shirt...seems festive and serves the purpose of both short and long sleeve shirt, so I'm weather adjustable). I head on over to Eric's place and grab a few beers before the show. Laurie and Dre are also going to the show, so they show up a little while later and it's off to the metro.

Everything is going along smoothly, we don't have to switch trains as it's right at Metro Center, which is on the red line, and I'm spouting off stories of stupid shenanigans which is making the people around us on the metro terribly uncomfortable. Then we get there.

This is when I start to wonder who the geniuses are that organized this shit show. After waiting in line around the block to get in, we are greeted by a guy sitting on the ground barely 50 feet into the place puking on himself. Yes, on himself. He is sitting Indian style (is that not PC anymore?) with his head down and proceeds to yak right on his legs (that was never PC). Did I mention that it's only 2:00?

Eric and Laurie make a b-line for the port-a-potties (more on that later) and I head to the "ticket mob." You see, at Chili Cookoff, you buy tickets for a dollar which can be used to buy stuff. Beer is 7 tickets. Not just one beer ticket, seven standard tickets. So about 100 people are packed around this tent (no line of course, that would make too much sense) pushing their way towards to disheveled bunch of volunteers who are counting out 50-100 tickets for each person. Why again did they make it 7 tickets instead of just 1??? I finally make my way to the front, get 56 tickets, (that's 8 beers and three minutes of counting) though she threw in a bunch more since she lost count, and moved on to my next line.

Yes, my next line. The beer line. I don't even want to revisit this in story form, but let me just say that the word line is being used very loosely. If line breaking were a true crime, everyone at the show would be in jail right now. And speaking of everyone at the show, oh what a wonderful bunch of characters I saw. Here's some of my highlights (or lowlights):

-About 30 thongs, ranging from attractive women who like the high rise thong, low rise jeans combo, to the "I'm so fat that everything hangs out so just deal with seeing my thong because I'm just hoping someone is drunk enough here to wanna sleep with me" type. (Perhaps I should have mentioned the Indian style yakker to these chicks) I got a few pics of the finer ones, you'll have to check my pics when I get them uploaded.

-I would have to say I saw about another 30 mohawks as well. As I've established in a past blog entry on my other blog, the mohawk is taking over for the mullet and there are two places both are usually if full force, amusement parks and music festivals. I've even created a few slogans for the mohawk, since the "business upfront, party in the back" worked so well for the mullet. Here are a few: "move the party up front and center"; "live every day like Mr. T"; "not just for her pubes anymore."

-Boobs, yes I saw boobs. Two sets in fact. One set was nice and it was on a girl who was standing in front of me during Staind, whose boyfriend kept flashing them off. This must have got her in the mood, because later she decided to flash them to everyone as she sat on his shoulders high above the crowd. Classy, I know. So, I took a movie of this exchange. Classier, I know.

-Wait, didn't I say I saw two sets of boobs? Oh yes, while waiting in the line for the pisser, I am unfortunate enough to turn to the line next to me just in time to see a 60+ year old women, who had that weathered, trailer park look to her grab out her saggy right boob, manhandle it upward and lick her nipple...THREE TIMES. I think I saw some liver spots. If I had had more beer (which is impossible given the line situation) I definitely would have thrown up everywhere.

And on that, note, I just realized that I am terribly hungover (I went to a sushi place and then Rocket Bar afterward, where drinks were purchased with cash, not seven f-ing tickets) and thinking about old saggy boobs is not helping. Glad I didn't eat any of that chili. Oh, yeah. Forgot to do that.

Brain Farts 9

While I likely have had random thoughts in the last year and a half, it looks as though I haven't posted a Brain Farts post in that long. Then again, I haven't posted all that much in general. Well, here's to coming back to the blogging with a hearty helping of incomplete thoughts. Not quite as funny as the whole shit, but still humorous.

• Yesterday it was nice and sunny, so when I got home I walked out onto my deck. It is at that moment that I decided the deck was entirely too crowded, what with the grill, big table, 8 chairs and two audomons. So being the ever compulsive individual I am, a solution needed to be made. So I took the glass off the giant table, set it aside, and chucked the table over the edge. Now I have more room.
• It happens with every girlfriend I've ever had, the moment after we've broken up and some time (some shorter than others) has passed. And then someone comes along and mentions that "oh yeah, she's dating some new guy now." While it's always a natural assumption they're going to find someone new, it's never a pleasant thing to hear about it. And so of course, this bomb from my latest ex-girlfriend is dropped on me about 4 drinks into last night by my buddy Dave. Here's our exchange: Me: She's in a relationship with someone already? Dave: Yeah, I thought you would have heard. Me: Uh, no. Dave: I'll get the first round of shots.
• For work on Friday, we needed to get a whole bunch of top soil to fill in a planter area to complete a backyard that I planned and renovated (it's quite awesome, I'll put up some pics like the HGTV star I am). So the natural choice for getting this top soil is Home Depot, where they have cubic foot bags of the stuff for just over a dollar. We had grabbed a few earlier in the week, but it wasn't enough, so we had to make a return visit to get some more. When I got to the area where it is stored, there are two empty pallets on the ground, and two more on the shelf above it. Thankfully, there are two full pallets on each of the three shelves above that. They're out of reach, so I turn to a guy who works there and ask him if we could get some of those. Here's our exchange: Me: Can you get us down some of those up there? Him: Nope, they're too high. Me: Well, can you get a forklift or something to get them down. Him: I already asked my manager earlier and he said we just can't get to it. So, I can see the top soil. I can almost even reach the bottom of the top soil. But, no, I can not buy the top soil. How does Home Depot stay in business? Oh yeah, the other 100 crazy gardening women that are running around grabbing plants and mulch.

Well, that's all for now. I'll try to keep up the posting, as there should be some craziness coming up with work picking up, and all the adventures that come with that.

Holding the Bag

So the weather is getting nicer and with that comes my increased desire to walk my dog. She gets super crazy when I even get near the table where her leash is, so you can imagine the excitement when I actually grab it and say the four letter word...SHIT. No, just kidding, it's WALK...you sick bastards. Anyway, the other day I decided to take Chloe for a walk across Tuckerman over to the Gables where both my brothers now live.

Crossing Tuckerman is always a chore, and of course, this particular day is no different. I make it to the island in the middle and the next guy sees us waiting there so he stops. I've seen a teenage girl get nailed by a car crossing the street (it's on another blog, and wasn't a funny one in the slightest) so we're a bit hesitant to start across the street even with this guy's nice gesture.

Sure enough, the jackass two behind him doesn't like the unexpected stop and (illegally) pulls sharply out from behind him to the right lane and speeds through the crosswalk. The guy who had stopped lays on the horn at this jackass, but he's oblivious to his obvious violation. Thankfully, I didn't expect any better.

The road is now clear, so Chloe and I run across and she proceeds to take a dump on the hill right next to the park, which tends to be her go to spot every time we take a walk. Whenever I pass people with dogs and see them pick up poop in a bag, I laugh, but sadly, I am now playing the role of poop grabber, which is not a pleasant place to be. I don't even touch my own shit, and here I am picking up crap from my dog's ass...I've seen what she eats, this is not cool. Why do I put myself through this? But it's gonna get worse. I do the old "bag inside out and tie off" routine and then walk over to the trash can by the fields to make the deposit, and we continue on our walk.

We walk another 10-15 minutes and are now on Sugarbush Lane, with another dog and its owner walking on the other side of the street. We approach the community pool and "Poop Machine" Chloe decides that it's time to make a second pile. What the fuck!!?? I only bring one bag when we go on walks and one poop grabbing is more than enough for me in a 24 hour period, so I'm not happy about this exchange. I make this known verbally, as I have no more bags and am anticipating a poop and run when I see the old lady and her dog looking over at us, waiting, watching, stalking. She wants to see some poop grabbing, and I know she's the type that's gonna make a scene if we bolt.

So, here I am, pile o' poop in the grass, Chloe feeling pretty good about herself, and me standing there without a bag. I check my pockets and am somewhat (but not too much) pleased to find two tissues that I have been carrying around during this whole swollen eye routine. Yep, I'm gonna have to do this. I've got an audience and my back's against the wall.

I put the tissues in my hand and reach down to grab the crap. I'm about to puke from the pure filthiness and warmth of this task, and am ready to run for the clubhouse to dump the dump in the a trashcan...and wouldn't you know it.

Right at this moment, a lady and her two teenage daughters(?) pull up in their car and want to ask me for directions. Are you kidding me??!! Well, I'm not kidding you. Standing there, with several logs of dog crap in my hand nuzzled within two tissues, I am telling this lady where the park on Gloxinia Road is. Apparently, she did not see the grave look of horror on my face, as she asks me to repeat my directions before I run towards the clubhouse, make the deposit, and thank god that I didn't puke all over the place.

And wouldn't you guess it, Chloe doesn't want to go in this direction so amongst her struggling, she finds a way to riggle free from her collar completely and stands there, uncollared, before running away from me, forcing me to chase her down and yell at her in order to get her to stop and get her collar back on.

And why do I walk this dog again???!!!

J-Man goes to the doctor

So, last Monday I headed to Strike Bethesda for my usual weekly bowling. We’re waiting in line to get our lane when this group of foreign guys (they had that look, you know what I’m talking about...don’t try and judge me) comes piling in and they stink of cigarettes. You know, that "I was just outside smoking a whole cigarette in two minutes since we can’t smoke inside here, I hate America" type of smell. Well, as they walk by me, I realize that I’m slightly allergic to this and my eyes start to twitch a bit. I shrug it off, but my right eye continues to itch off and on throughout the night.

A couple days pass, and my eye is still itching me. By Thursday, I wake up and my right eye has actually gotten red and feels like I’ve got something stuck in it. I ask people to check to see if I’ve got an eyelash or something going on, but nothing. By Friday, my eye is starting to swell, and I’m getting nervous. So nervous that I go the first route I usually never do...buy some sort of drugs to help it out. I swing by Target, grab myself some allergy drops, and actually put them into my eye.

By Saturday, my eye has gotten even more swollen, I have a vicious hangover from a party night after Davidson beat Wisconsin (but that’s another story), and I’m wondering if my eye is ever gonna get any better.

Nope. Sunday rolls around and now I feel like I look like a combination of Rocky from Rocky I (second Rocky reference on this blog in like two weeks!) and Sloth from Goonies (I’ll try to get a second Goonies reference soon). I need to go that next route, the route I rarely ever take. I’m going to go to the doctor.

You see, I don’t like going to the doctor. I don’t like taking the time to drive there. I don’t like filling out all my information, because I don’t know who my "primary care physician" is. I don’t like waiting in the waiting room with sick people, so I can contract a new disease that I didn’t come in with. Or just sitting there reading Us Weekly or watching CSPAN for an hour and a half because I don’t care about either. And most of all, I really don’t like getting bills...I just got over the $3000 price tag associated with my broken jaw of two years ago...and that’s after insurance did their part.

It is for this reason that I have been wearing the same eye glasses for the past 8 years. And why I’m pretty sure I will never be able to bend my right big toe correctly again. But I digress. I’m here and I’ve endured these disasters. And the doctor has come in to check out my eye.

After a quick examination including squirting orange dye into my eye and looking at it under a UV lamp (does this sound normal to you?), she concludes that she doesn’t know what it is, and decides to treat it as conjunctivitis. She’s gonna give me some eyedrops and tells me to call an eye specialist if it doesn’t get better. She doesn’t know? And she wants me to put something in my eye? And call someone else when it doesn’t get better? You see why I avoid this shit. Again, I digress.

I figure I’ve made it this far, let’s get my money’s worth. I mention that I have a bone sticking out funny on my shoulder though the pain associated with it went away a couple weeks ago. She looks at my shoulder and tells me to call a specialist. What can she help me with?

I’ve got nothing else going wrong with me, so I’m like, "how hard is it to get an STD test?" You know, you can never be too careful, and while Mr. Johnson appears to be doing ok, I’ve never had one before, so what can it hurt? She says, ’just need to take some blood and some urine’, and I’m like, ’let’s do it!’ Am I mocking the medical profession by just adding these things on?

Anyway, a few minutes later, a nurse comes in and has the blood taking stuff and a cup with her. She’s actually somewhat attractive, which makes me regret having asked for such a test to be done, but it’s too late now. She takes my blood, and shows me to the bathroom. After taking care of business, I hand her my freshly filled cup and then there’s this awkward moment where we’re both standing there.

In my head, I’m thinking how hilarious it would be if I tried to ask this girl out. I think it would go something like this:

Me: Yeah, I know you’re holding a cup of my pee and you just took blood to make sure that I don’t have gonorhea or syphillis, and I presently look like I want a Baby Ruth from Chunk (told you I’d get a second Goonies reference in), but would you like to go out sometime?

Her: How about I let you know in a day or two after these results come back?

And perhaps this thought in my head lead to the awkward exchange as I had a goofy smirk on my face as I grabbed my box of OJ (she gave me some) and headed out.

And then today, I went to my friend, who is an eye doctor, and he said everything she told me about the eye was wrong and he told me that I’m just having an allergy issue that went a little haywire in one eye.

See...now you know why I avoid doctors offices. Nothing good comes from them except these retarded stories...and this shnazzy new t-shirt with "Disease Free" and an arrow pointing down on it that I got.

Bowling Prowess...the Backlash

So, as you've all had the opportunity to read, I was feeling really good about my "skillz" after throwing up a 5 strike and 210 game performance. So good, that I went the extra mile and picked up some shnazzy new bowling shoes (Matt got some too) for using at my bowling league.

My bowling league is down in Falls Church (yeah, I don't know why either) and competes every Thursday night. It's more or less the same bunch of us that bowl on Mondays, so everyone was eager to see how I would follow up my 210 game performance. Oh, and here's how I did it.

I bowled a 122. Yes, a 122. It's not terrible, but what I have left out of this portion of the blog is the fact that in this league you are competing against the person bowling in the same order as you. I'm feeling pretty good during warm-ups as I see he has a 54 handicap compared to my 75, so I've already got a 21 pin lead on him. And who is this "he" you might be asking...he's a red-headed stone-faced killer named Toby...but after the first game, I gave him his real name...Drago.

You see Drago throws the ball with some spin, much like the pros. And what Drago also does is kill Apollo in Rocky IV. And playing the role of Apollo was none other than your favorite, overconfident jewish bowler here. It wasn't looking all that brutal in the early going, I'm dancing around, "Coming to America" is playing and I'm still sitting about 10 pins above him in the fifth, thanks to our handicaps...and then the Russian manager in the corner gives him the signal and the pummelling begins. The remainder of the game only required him to throw the ball 7 times (yeah, you do the math) and he's just laid down a 244 on me. With his handicap, that's 298. Yeah, and I just bowled a 197.

So I regroup. I drive around in my expensive car, jamming out to "No Easy Way Out" and ponder about the good times I had bowling, when I threw 5 strikes in a row and scored 210. But that all came crashing down at the hands of Drago. It's time for some payback.

After a couple quick training montage videos, I'm back and ready to show this a-hole what bowling is all about.

Out I come with a spare, and another, and another. A literal barrage of punches. Unfortunately, old Drago is still throwing those god damned strikes...four more to be precise. And then it happens. 4th frame...I bowl a strike. And he bowls a 9. Yes, a 9. HE'S NOT A MACHINE. HE'S A MAN.

Sadly, this is where the whole Rocky reference ends, as does all of my fun. He proceeds to throw a spare, followed by several more strikes. I continue to hold my own, ending at 187. With my handicap, that actually gave me the third best finish of anyone playing on our lane. Unfornunately the second best was none other than Drago, once again eclipsing 200 and pummeling me with a 241 game.

Our team as a whole suffered much the same fate, as we ended the game, losing 1-14, and have now dropped to dead last in the league with an 0-3 start and only 14 points scored TOTAL.
This is why the sequels are never quite as good as the original.

Oh, and did I fail to mention that during all of this I'm wearing a bright orange shirt with the word "stupid" and an arrow pointing up on it...courtesy of being the lowest (2nd lowest really, but the lowest, Shayna, was not there this week) scorer including handicap on our team the previous week. And yes, our team name and all our other shirts say "I'm With Stupid."

Bowling Prowess

Well, as some of you may already know, I've been going to Strike Bethesda every Monday with a group of friends for the past several months every Monday to enjoy all-you-can-bowl night. For those that aren't aware, Strike Bethesda offers unlimited bowling for $18 from 8 PM until closing on Monday nights, and also have $.75 sliders and $.25 wings to really pull you in.

Needless to say, they had me at all-you-can-bowl and a group of anywhere from 8-13 of us head there every week. We've been there so much that now we're considered VIPs (yes, I know...it's sad) and they will give us at least two lanes regardless of how many people we have or how crowded the place is. Trust me, sometimes that's a good thing.

Anyway, while the weeks and weeks of bowling would usually mean someone should be good by now, I really haven't been displaying it all that much. I'll still throw a few silly games here and there (i.e. 170-180), I'm still no Ernie McCracken. That is, until this past Monday.

There were only 6 of us bowl this fateful night and things are looking gloomy as usually early on. I'm bowling my typically 120-130 range, I've got a stupid zit forming on my forehead from having worn my hat a couple days last week, and I've already killed 2 sliders and about 6 buffalo wings. Dismal, if nothing else. And then it happens. I have a 50 through 5 frames, and I've got a $5 side bet (apparently I have a gambling problem...at least that's what I read somewhere) with Edwin, who's got close to 80. And then the stikes begin. One. Then Two. Then a Third. At this point, I am forced to dance the running man on the alley...it's a group rule...though I likely would have done it anyway. Then comes the fourth. I had no dance lined up for this and really everyone didn't know what to do, as this doesn't usually happen. And then came the fifth. At this point, I felt it only appropriate to raise both hands in the air and yell, "I am the greatest bowler EVER." Perhaps a bit of an overstatement, but let's see you drop five strikes in a row. I botched the next throw but spared the final toss to give me a final score of 187. A record high for me since my all time top score of 194 from a couple years ago.

But tonight is where I turn the corner. I proceed to throw a 99 in the next game. YIKES. And then it is go time. The game starts of and the spares are flowing. Four of them in a row to be precise. Then two strikes. I've already busted 100 and it's the 6th frame. I've bet Edwin again (yes, I've heard) and now he's shitting his pants. But I'm not done. A quick spare and then I'm back on course with two straight strikes. The second one was a wobbly 10th pin that got knocked down as the grabber thing came down, but we'll take it. It's gonna be that type of game. I'm entering the 10th and 200 is eerily in sight.

I chuck the ball down the lane...it's looking like another strike...but, oh no. There's one pin remaining. My score is sitting at 199. It's an all-time high for me. I've marked on every frame thus far, and I'm sitting just this one pin away from the immortal 200. Don't patronize me, I have little to get excited about, and this is the best I have going right now...you're just jealous you weren't there.

The pressure is on. I throw my shot at it, and the streak continues. My tenth straight mark, and I'm sitting in the den of gods at 201. But I'm not done. One more throw. I chuck it down. The pressure is off. The 200 was reach. And I added another 9 on top for a total of 210. An all-time high for me and everyone within shouting distance. And $5 well earned. Perhaps bowling every Monday is actually doing more than making me more of a redneck. Then again, I am wearing a shirt right now that says "stupid" on it and has a finger pointing up at my face. Now that's a whole different story.

Haunted House

As I write this blog, I am slightly spooked out and slightly intrigued, but what I am not slightly is not slightly sure that I don't have a ghost living in my house. You see for Christmas, I received an alarm clock/temperature reading egg type thing that my grandmother got from Sharper Image or one of those types of places. This device allows you to fluctuate from the time, to the temperature to the date and to an alarm, all by lightly touching the top of its egg shaped surface.

When I first got this device, I placed it in my living room, as I had no clock there and that was really the only place I could have used it. So it has sat there for over a month, doing basically nothing...that is until two days ago. I'm not sure why, but this thing changes functions whenever I walk by now. I don't even get within 20 feet of it, and I hear the beep and see the light shine on. I know it doesn't do it at other times, as I could hear the beep up here in my study if it was doing it. Is it my feet shaking the ground as I walk by...tried walking all around it and even stomping and it doesn't get it to go on...not even randomly.

What does get it to go on...sitting down on the couch and asking it questions. No, I'm not shitting you, though I have almost shit my pants several times. From it's ability to answer "yes-no" questions by answering "yes" by making the egg clock change functions, it is a ghost, it is friendly, and though it does not know me, it knows my ex-girlfriend Amy. She was big into this kind of shit, so when it didn't answer "yes" to knowing me, I figured why not check. I have had an odd feeling in the house ever since her grandmother passed away while we were still dating, and though it has not answered "yes" to the question of whether it is her, I have my reservations as to whether it is lying to me. Why??

Because tonight, I had a girl come over and spend the majority of the evening here at the house with me and I have never heard the thing beep so often...as if it were unhappy with the woman's presence. Maybe I should have asked the ghost if it knew Jaclyn as well, as it never chimed off for the few days Jaclyn was here and we were still "dating" before the breakup. In either case, I hope to get to the bottom of this, even if it means simply removing the batteries from the clock and putting my skeptic voice up front. In the meantime though, I really hope that this ghost doesn't start fucking with my game, as I could really use some new female companionship and this new girl is quite great.

Why am I not in the entertainment industry?

OK, first I came up with the idea of having Joey from Friends have a spinoff show where he went to California (my version would have been better) and then I said that Transformers and GI Joe needed to have full length movies made for the people of my generation to attend (GI Joe is coming in '09). And then, back in 2005, I proclaimed that this generation's music was characterized by "remixes" and that to culminate this trend, a Michael Jackson remix album needed to be made. And sure enough, here we are, with the Thriller 25 album a week away from being released and, what do you know, 5 remixed versions of the songs. Having heard them already, again, I think my version would have been better.

So if you want to know what's gonna be cool in the next couple years, just keep reading my blog apparently. Hell, I predicted the strong return of the mohawk.

Don't See "Cloverfield"

This is a warning to all of my friends to avoid seeing the new movie "Cloverfield." Since most of you live in a cave, I imagine you might not even know that there is in fact a movie called Cloverfield or that it released today.

My older brother called me yesterday and wanted me to go with him to see it since his wife didn't want to. You see, this movie is basically a modern day United States version of Godzilla, where some strange giant monster destroys New York City. The difference in this movie is that it is shown entirely from a first person camcorder-esque perspective, a la Blair Witch (which I still have never seen).

Had I seen Blair Witch, perhaps I would have been prepared for what was about to happen. You see, while this seems like a good concept for a movie and really draws you in to the real life terror of living through a monster destroying your town (ironically after a surprise party for one of the main characters who is moving to Japan), the camera work is...how should I put this...nauseating.

No, literally. There is not a still moment in the entire movie with the camera often jerking around in all sorts of directions and even swaying when the "cameraman" is trying to be still. The result is that about 15 minutes into the movie, I'm starting to feel dizzy and queezy. A few more minutes in and I'm forcing myself to look away from the screen for fear that I'm gonna yack all of the floor. Seriously, I probably didn't watch about 20 minutes worth of movie...and this treasure went on for about 1-1/2 hours. I leaned over to my bro and told him I might just up and leave, and he actually did for about 5 minutes, but somehow we made it through.

By the end of the movie, I feel physically ill, I had trouble driving home due to the motion sickness making the world seem blurry and uneasy even when I left the theater, and now I'm wondering if I should have just paid the $9.50 for some bad fish and dealt with the same feeling without giving up 1.5 hours of my day to get to this point. Save yourself from this anguish...avoid this movie. I wouldn't even recommend it on DVD. You've been warned.

Definitely Not Snow Tires

So as most of you know, since most of you guys live here, it is snowing today. It's been doing so since like 11:30 AM and being the hard working pool man that I am, that meant I was leaving work at 12:15 PM. Thankfully I only live 5 minutes from work...but thanks to this wonderful snow, which had started to stick around this time, it took me 25 adventure-filled minutes.

Everything was cool for most of the trip, as I'm crusing along Old Georgetown Road, which is a major road that other cars have been passing over. I turn down Tuckerman, which is slightly down hill from this direction and approach my turn. Here's where I come to realize why performance tires suck. I'm going maybe 15 mph and I press on the brakes to slow down enough to make the turn...and then I start to skid. The "SLIP" light come on on my dashboard, which I think it supposed to help the tires, but I'm not slowing down and my car is starting to spin to the right from the back. There's a car waiting to turn out of my neighborhood as well, so I make the quick decision and just take my foot off the brake and accelerate past my turn, assuming I catch the next one.

I make it down to the next turn, but I'm slightly nervous as this way includes a relatively steep uphill right at the start. I'm going about 5 mph, and looking in my rearview I see another car turn completely sideways on Tuckerman about 300 yards behind me, assumedly having tried to make the turn before mine.

I'm able to make the turn this time without any difficulty and then I begin my ascent up the hill. I make it about halfway up before I just stop dead. I attempt to turn right and left, but any attempt to accelerate actually starts sending me backwards and at all sorts of angles. I back up a view feet, hoping to get a better grip, but encounter the same thing. I even try backing up into the gutter, since there is no snow there, but the result is the same. Even the backing up was dicey.

And this is where the swearing begins. I'm about 1/4 mile from my house, and I'm in my neighborhood, so I technically could just bail on the car, but when would I be able to get it, and what are the odds it doesn't get smashed up by others in my same perdicament within the next couple hours. And now the windows are fogging up. FUCK!!! And here comes a Honda Accord driving by...no problem for them. FUCK!!! And a Lexus SUV. FUCK YOU!!!

Well, I've got to do something. I could back up right onto Tuckerman, but that's a busy street, my windows are fogged, and I'm not even sure if I can start from a stopped position on that slight hill. I've got to turn around here on the side street, and if I get stuck...I'm gonna be really fucked, but at least not immediately killed.

Using the downhill force, I'm able to back around into a turn, and pull a three point turnabout to put me facing Tuckerman. This might just work. I get to the edge of Tuckerman and thankfully no one is coming so I don't have to stop as I glide onto the street. It's much more clear than my side street and my car's got decent footing as I head up towards the first turn that I missed before. I make the light in between and slowly approach my left turn, which would require me to get into a turn lane...which of course has a layer of snow on it. And of course, there's a bunch of cars coming so I have to stop. And now I'm stuck again. FUCK!!!! I try the back up and try again technique to no success, so now I decide to use the downhill momentum once again to get back into the left lane to attempt a turn from there.

Luckily, no cars are coming as I back onto the main street, begin moving forward and approach my turn again. But there's still a line of cars coming. And now a car is coming up behind me. And I really don't think stopping is an option. FUCK!!! So I bang the right and head away from my house, but at least this road is flat, and oddly clear of snow.

I whip out my second three point turn of the adventure and now I'm approaching my street head on. Thankfully, by the time I reach Tuckerman, no one is coming and I glide across the whole street and am in my neighborhood once again.

By this point, the streets are completely covered in this wet snow and each turn I make is couple with that stupid "SLIP" light coming on. They might as well not have it or just change it to say "YOU'RE FUCKED" because it really doesn't do shit. So I finally make it to my street, the "YOU'RE FUCKED" light is on constantly as I careen up the way, and I already know there's no way I'm gonna be able to make the sharp left into my driveway, so I drive around the circle to give myself a better angle at my driveway and cruise in relatively straight and into my garage.

Why did I ever sell my Toyota??

The Sadder Side of the J-Man

Well, it's been a couple weeks since I last posted, and quite a bit has happened, including my attempts to work things out with my ex-girlfriend, which ultimately ended in an unpleasant New Years Day, and an eventual decision that we are no longer getting along and that we certainly wouldn't be able to last through another 2 years of long distance relationship. At least it was a breakup on good terms, and we had said that we would keep in touch and be friendly...if that is really possible.

You all know me. I laugh, I joke, and I try to fill my life with silly adventures like the one in my last post. But the truth is, no matter how much I keep my feelings to myself and shrug off these bumpy roads life has left for me, I'm still human and not having someone with you that you've had for over a year is tough. I keep going down this same road again, and with it, you always get crappy days like today...well, I guess it was yesterday since it's 1 AM and I can't sleep.

You see, while the internet has always been helpful to me, giving me this blog as a place to vent what I would usually keep to myself, giving me fantasy sports, and of course giving me porn, the internet has also given me, and everyone, a much easier way to keep track of all your friends. And that's where today's downfall begins. On the glorious website known as Facebook. Much like myspace, which I've blogged about before, Facebook allows you to see what past high school friends are up to, reconnect with lost college fraternity brothers, and unfortunately see when your ex-girlfriend of 10 days decides to put up an update that she's going to a "Dirty Doctors and Naughty Nurses" party.

And you don't even have to look on their page to find this information out, thanks to the "home" page which gives you recently changed info from your "friends" regardless of whether you wanted to know. And trust me, I didn't want to know. And I wonder if Jaclyn knew this when she posted it? Because she didn't use to change this feature very often. And I also wonder if the same was true when 5 pictures from this splendid gathering were posted this morning, and of these five, one includes a guy hugging her and playfully kissing her on the cheek?

Now perhaps I'm the crazy ex-boyfriend, and I'm over-reacting to an innocent picture of fun partying, and technically it's not my place to have any opinion what she does or doesn't do now, but why post this picture? And why do it 10 days after a one year relationship has ended? For all my readers who have had a relationship end in the past, I'm sure you, like me, don't want to know...and certainly don't want to see...if your ex is with some guy right after you breakup...especially when you supposedly ended on good terms. I know if I had a picture like this, I certainly wouldn't post it. I have tons of pictures on my computer from events that I don't post on Facebook. But I disgress.

So while today should have been an upbeat day watching the beloved Cowboys get their asses kicked, all I have been able to do is ask myself these questions over and over again, while that picture sits in my memories. I removed Jaclyn as one of my friends on facebook, because I just can't have these kinds of surprises popping up again. I wrote her an email to let her know why, but I haven't heard back from her. I doubt I will, and I now doubt a lot of things.

Like I said before, it's a path I've been down before, and I've made it through in the past. Ironically, I've got a large scratch from football in the middle chest that looks like I had open heart surgery. Time will heal both of these wounds, but for now, they both sting and make it hard to sleep.