Irish Wake Style… Pt.2

1 09 2009

If you haven’t done so already make sure to check out the first installment of this 2 part series.

Now, where did we leave off. Oh that’s right our faithful hero had made it home after a very long night of drinking, and had his manliness insulted.

I awoke early afternoon and RPG had already headed off to work. Luckily enough because of my extensive pre-game preparations before I headed out to Boston, I was indeed not hung-over. Some may say that this is a glorious turn of events, and other that know me really well might say that drinking excess amounts of Jack Daniels and not having a hang-over may actually be a sign of alcoholism.

Jury’s still out.

I got a call from RPG roughly around 1 something seeing if I wanted to get some lunch. Of course I hadn’t eaten, nor really done anything, so I agreed. He left work a bit early and we rolled to Coolidge Corner Clubhouse. Not going to lie, this was one of my favorite places on the trip to Boston. We enjoyed some jack and cokes in pint glasses, and some delicious huge sandwiches, and then some more Jack and cokes. It was a glorious place. I probably could have stayed there all day and night, but we had things we needed to do.

We headed home and began to do work. And by doing work I mean pouring Jack Daniels into flasks and taking shots before heading to Fenway park. the greatest place on earth. Seriously.

We headed to La Verdad, a bar outside Fenway, to meet up with RPG’s roommate. Probably my favorite sub pot/side story of the whole weekend that I wasn’t really able to exploit much was that RPG’s roommate happens to be moving out near the beginning of September.

I was wondering if any of you remember the theatrical performance Riverdance? You know Michael Flatley who’s feet look as if they are moving independently of his body? Well, as it happens if you thought Riverdance was no more, you my friends are 100% wrong. Riverdance is alive and well AND touring the country come this September. How do I know this you may ask?

Apparently, RPG’s roomate is indeed a dancer in Riverdance! That’s right, lets let that marinate for a bit.

Riverdance. My mind was immediately filled with questions. Have you met Michael Flatley? Can you move up the ranks and become lord of the dance yourself? Are you coming to Portland? What accent do you have? Oh, Australian? Cool.

So let me get this straight. You’re a dancer. You’re Australian. You dance for Riverdance. And I’m the one giving out the gay vibe?!?! Gotta love Boston.

We finished a couple of beers then headed into Fenway for what was going to be a glorious night of baseball. After picking up two bottles of Coke RPG and I found our way to our seats. Upon finding them I couldn’t help but notice that we had gotten seats in the Ted Williams era of Fenway park. You know the time many years ago that man was built like teacup Yorkshire Terriers. Turns out, RPG and I are not built like teacup Yorkshire terriers. We’re men. And were larger than the original designers of Fenway had in mind. We crouched in like sardines only to look down and see the wirey frame of Riverdance sitting comfortably in his seat, all sprawled out enjoying the copious amounts of space allotted to him. Gotta be something said for being a dancer.

The game began as did our drinking of the Jack Daniels. We had both managed to pour our entire flasks into a 1 liter bottle of coke. We sat there and watched as things began to get ugly. The Sox were facing the Yankees from the North in what was a pretty important game. The Yanks jump out to an early lead (like the first couple pitches) and I had thought to myself, maybe I’m going to be in for a long night. I was right.

At one point in the 5th inning I believe, I had finished my Jack and Coke and moved on to beer. The 5th inning had taken so long because we were getting ROCKED. Like bad. I thought maybe I could drown my sorrows in a Fenway Frank (the only hot dog I’ll eat in this world) but to no avail. Nothing was working. The Yankees began pouring on runs and I sat looking on more and more defeated. It was about this point in the game where things took a real turn for the worse. I looked over at RPG and said..
ME: “This is getting really ugly. I’m not sure I can handle much more.”
RPG: “I know. Maybe you shouldn’t come to Fenway anymore.”
ME: “Is it sad that I was just thinking the same thing.”
RPG: “I’m being serious.”
ME: “No, really. I know.”
RPG: “This sucks.”
ME: “Man, fuck this. I’m not going out like this. There will be no mourning. From here on out I’m celebrating this Irish Wake Style!”
RPG: “Fuck.”

(sidebar: I’ve never actually been to an Irish Wake, but on TV they always show people drinking a lot. RPG lived with me through college and had seen me celebrate Irish Wake style many times. I just felt that with America’s foundation being built on some of the Irish’s decisions to immigrate here, I would indeed honor them the best way I knew how. Even if it was stereotypical, and completely false.)

And with my last statement it was indeed “on.” I left my seat for another Fenway Frank, and to procure two more beers. One was in fact for RPG, but unbeknown to me, RPG had also gotten up after me to procure some beers. When I returned to my seat he was nowhere to be found. I focused on my beer for it was my only solace for what was happening on the field. RPG returned with two beers in his hand. Apparently he had gotten the same idea, and gotten another beer for me. So there we were. In our tiny seats. Dropping back beers like our Irish grandma twice removed had just passed. And to be honest. Life was good. We moved down a bit after Fenway had starting clearing up a bit. I told RPG, no matter how bad it got, we weren’t leaving till Sweet Caroline. I flew across this damn country for some all American baseball at one of America’s most beloved ballparks, god dammit, I’m not leaving till I sing Sweet Caroline, sung by none other than one of America’s most beloved artists, Mr. Neil Diamond!


(sidebar again: I was drunk at this point.)
(another sidebar: Not my video. For reason to be explained)

The 8th inning came and went. We left Fenway and it was 18-10 or something god awful. I will say this. Yankee fans sure have become a little more tame in recent years. Years past, I would have been getting an earful from Yankee fans that traveled to Fenway. Not so much. Smart Yankee fans (oxymoron) know that while they may have overall dominance in the world of baseball, we have indeed handed their ass to them for the last 10 years. So, the walk from Fenway to the Cask N’ Flagon was indeed delightful. Aside from not having any booze.

We got inside the Cask, and I proceeded with my declaration of Irish Wake style celebrations. We ordered up 2 more Jack and Cokes, and watched as the sluts made there way inside the bar. Now, typically, this would make me a very happy person. Sluts, jack and coke, and being in Boston. However, while we were at the Cask, they still were showing the last couple bits of the game. Just enough for my poor eyes to witness, another 2 run home run! That was it. Couldn’t take it anymore. Two more Jack and Cokes were ordered and devoured.

It was about this point that I had realized my iPhone battery had died. I figured no big deal. I’ll miss all my friends texting me from their drunken nights back home, and just text them tomorrow. I was excited because I had gotten a number of great pictures, and video of everyone singing Sweet Caroline. Life was good.

At about 2 something am, we decided it was all said and done. We took a cab home to sleep off our depression of losing that last game. We got outta the cab, walked up stairs to RPG’s apartment and began to settle in, when I realized something. I was missing my phone. I searched all 12 of my pockets (I was wearing cargo shorts.) and it was nowhere to be found. I searched high and low beliving that it could be somewhere in the apartment already. No luck. We went outside and searched the area between being dropped off, and the apartment. No luck. The phone was gone. Like Ben Afflecks directorial debut, Gone Baby Gone. (which was also set in Boston. But this was about some kid, not exactly a phone. However, I feel that if anyone had lost an iphone, the feeling is similar right? too far?)

We walked upstairs defeated. Now what happens next depends on who you ask. If you ask me, in my hazy state I went upstairs and passed out in a deep depression. However, if you ask RPG, we went upstairs I grabbed the bottle of Jack and began chugging from the bottle. And then went to bed. Toss up. I’m not sure who to believe.

The rest of the trip was a bit sad. I had lost my iPhone, and we had only been together for 6 days. She was good to me. And so I was sad to have lost her. I’d like to think she found someone who was better than me. A Lawyer, a doctor, maybe even a Red Sox/Celtic, but who knows. It’s difficult to see your life without someone you love. Especially if you think she left you in a cab to be with the driver.

RPG and I killed our day be reliving college and not getting up from the couches for a good 6-8 hours. We rallied after a stunning win by our beloved Red Sox that night, and met up with some more wonderful friends of RPG. The night indeed wasn’t as taxing on my body as the other, but drinks were had, as were laughs and good times. I concluded my Boston trip by flying out 715 am with just enough booze on my breath for the mother with a 3 month old sitting next to me, to give me a dirty look. The look was returned for having a 3 month old sitting next to me. Touche lady.

I made it home safely. Exhausted. Hung over. A bit depressed. But that was one of the greatest vacations I’ve had in a long time. I love me some Boston. I look forward to my next trip.

Until Next Time…

email me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com


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Categories : Fun, Life, Vacation

Irish Wake Style… Pt. 1.

26 08 2009

It had occurred to me that I haven’t written in quite some time. I knew that most of that has been because I haven’t had much to write about. It was also because I knew that I would be headed to the wonderful city of Boston later on this month.

It started on the day of my birthday, where I had won a lottery to buy Red Sox tickets online. I called up my old college roommate RPG, and took the plunge. After literally waiting online in the queue for 45 minutes I was finally in. I had gotten 4 tickets for a Friday night game in August. I was all set.

However, after using my Target credit card, I realized that with my current income it would be difficult to purchase some airfare. So I waited.

I plugged away at the Gym, hoping and trying to find ways to come up with some money. Airfare wasn’t cheap either at the time. At one point, a friend of mine from radio contacted me and asked if I would be interested in a part time gig. I was a bit intrigued and asked for some info. Apparently it was a gig to DJ at a new 18 and up strip club that was being opened up. He mentioned it would have been an extra 200-250 a weekend. I can’t say I actually didn’t contemplate this current career choice. But I stuck with my morals and still kept the streak alive.

So my income was low, and I made an executive decision to buy a plane ticket anyway. And of course, I did it the American way… on credit.

So I was committed. There was no stopping me. I was headed to Boston. The next part of this blog, is dedicated to bringing the truth of these events to light. To expose the myths and rumors of such events. The names have been changed, but, if you know me, this probably won’t matter anyway.

I had decided that in order to enjoy this trip and to eliminate carrying extra electronic devices, I would indeed decided to buy a brand new iPhone 3gs. I had planned on tons of mobile uploads to facebook, and twitter updates, along with new videos, and a photo collection to rival Annie Leibovitz, minus 15 year old slut pictures.

I had gotten up at 5:30 am to board my plane early Thursday morning to make it into Boston early enough to enjoy Happy Hour. I slept for a portion of the plane ride, then delved into the book Bowerman, that JDub had let me borrow. Before I knew it, I was touching down in Boston.

I grabbed my one carry-on bag and bolted out to the pick-up area for RPG to come get me. Now, I had lived on the East Coast for some time, and had known exactly how the summers where out there. However, it had been such a long time since I had been out there that I had forgotten one key element, humidity.

It was a nice 80 something degrees when touching down, but getting outside the terminal I had almost immediately began to sweat. It didn’t help I was wearing my hooded sweatshirt. I was disgusted. I cannot stand being hot, and being hot and sweaty is just down right Devil like.

RPG arrived shortly and I was saved by his blasting air conditioning of his jeep. We drove to his apartment where we quickly started with the festivities. And by festivities I mean drinking.

I had prepared my liver, and other internal organs, by constantly reminding them that they would indeed be under pressure this coming weekend. They knew it was coming, so there would be no excuses during this trip. RPG had put two options for the night on the table. One, we would drive to Gillette Stadium and take in a Patriots game. Two, we go downtown and drink our faces off. I asked him to find out how much it would cost to hit up the Pats game and we’d take it from there. Turns out, the game would be at LEAST 70 bucks for some pre-season games.

It was quickly decided to “fuck that” for 70 bucks was money that could be well spent elsewhere (Read:Booze) So downtown we went. RPG informed we would be meeting up with some of his good buddies from around town. Nothing could prepare me for what was to happen next.

We sat down and got some drinks at a wonderful bar called Rattlesnakes. RPG’s friend B showed up and informed us that his girlfriend JP would be a bit late and that she had a funny story for us.

Initially when I meet new people I hold out a bit, turns out I tend to judge people. And, I generally don’t like new people. However B and JP had a story that made me instant friends for life. They had been walking down the street when they ran into Derek Jeter and Jorge Posada. (For those that don’t know they play for the Yankees.) They were in town early for the game and apparently were walking amongst the common folk of Boston. I would also like to point out they were hand and hand with each other, and Jeter was carrying Posadas Bed, Bath, and Beyond bag. (I may have embellished this part. Creative privileges) Anyway, so they notice Jeter and Posada coming close, and Jeter looks to JP and asks “Hey do you know where the Mandarin Hotel is?” To which my new friend JP looks at him and says, “Like I’d tell you.”

New. Best. Friend.

As I got to know my new two best friends it was revealed to me that not only does JP love to watch 90210 (like me) she also loves my blog (like me. I showed her on my iPhone) but also her and B were in the processes of creating a company that would sell granola clusters. I told them of the hippy-ness that is the Pacific Northwest, especially Oregon, and how that would be an instant hit. Of course, this is not entirely true, because I for one, hate hippies, and I’m not that big a fan of granola. However, I’m a huge fan of Honey Bunches of Oats, and the giant clusters in that cereal and if they are anything like this, consider me sold! You can check the website here… and help out my new best friends!

RPG, JP, B, and I had done some pretty sweet damage at the bar because we were pretty wasted. It was decided we’d make one last stop and call it a night. Apparently some people had jobs the next day and it wasn’t cool to be hung-over. (JP was in the most trouble for not only was she 105 pounds I’m pretty sure she drank her weight in Sangria, Tequilas Shots, and pitchers of margaritas.)

We boarded the T and were on our way to a bar close to home. JP and B said they were along for the ride, and at the very last second they snuck out of the T like Ninjas! It was up to RPG and me to carry on! Apparently JP and B have never been in the Army, because they obviously don’t believe in the motto leave no man behind. It’s cool, keep your jobs.

RPG and I had made it to one last bar. We were about 20 minutes into our second drinks and having a lovely debate that we usually end up having when something strange happened.

Minding our own business, a nice young lady decided to come up and strike up a conversation between her and me. It went a little something like this.

(By the way, she just came up to us and interrupted our conversation)

Girl: So you think you’re hot? (looking directly at me)
Me: Uh, um, like temperature wise, or like attractive?
Girl: Like you think you’re really good looking?
Me: Well, I mean, I don’t think I’m particularly ugly.
Girl: But like you think you’re really hot.
Me: Are we talking overall, or just in this bar?
Girl: In this bar, you think you’re really hot!
Me: Um, I mean, I may give myself top 5. I guess.
Girl: You’re definitely top 2. Top 2 for sure.
Me: Is Tom Brady over there beating me out for number one? (It wasn’t actually Tom Brady; it was indeed some dude wearing a Brady jersey.)
Girl: Hahaha… you’re funny.
Me: Thanks?

And with that she left. That was it.

Until another 20 minutes passed and she made another approach. I figured someone hotter had rolled into the bar and she wanted to tell me that I had been indeed knocked down to number 3, but that wasn’t the case. Turns out, she had an even more important line of questioning.

Girl: So you’re not gay?
Me: Excuse me?
Girl: You’re not gay? You’re straight?
Me: Yeah, I’m straight!
Girl: Oh I just really thought you were gay.
Me: Am I really giving off that big of a “I’m gay” vibe?
Girl: I dunno, I just figured you like really gay.
Me: Wait, so am I still top 2 hottest in the bar?
Girl: Yeah totally!
Me: Nice. I’ll take that.

After RPG had come up from air from laughing so hard, we decided it was probably time to go. We finished up our drinks and made the trek back to RPG’s place for some much needed sleep. Friday, was going to be a long day.

To Be Continued…

Until Next Time

Email me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com


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Categories : Fun, Life

Chivalry Is Dead…

4 08 2009

If you’ve been keeping up with me, you’ll have read my last post about putting Olivia Munn into my top 5 list.

I can proudly say that she indeed won the popular vote and has taken her rightful place in my top 5 crushes.

Playboy July Issue

Playboy July Issue

So I can thank all my faithful readers for helping me out on that one.

Now to some other pressing issues.

This past weekend I was lucky enough to attend Big P’s wedding on the Oregon coast. You may remember Big P from I’m Still A Virgin which I wrote a couple weeks back. It was a beautiful wedding with the Pacific Ocean as the backdrop, but more on that later.

I had prepared for this wedding knowing full well that Big P and his wife met at the Best Buy that we all worked at. During this time of employment we all became friends as we were all struggling college students and we all worked for the Man.

I knew that there would be a couple of people attending the wedding from Best Buy, and my secret hope was a couple of them would have been the High School Sluts that ran the cash registers at the front.

Before you go getting all indignant about my previous slut statement, let me give you some background. You see, our hiring manager at the time could easily be explained as a dirty old man that like to surround himself with attractive women. Seeing as I was in college I have no real problem with this theory or this practice. I mean, one can only hang out in computers with computer geeks for so long. So the Cashiers were a welcome change to a huge building filled with Computer Geeks and people who frequented Porn Conventions. Regularly. (I wish I was kidding about this.)

As it turned out most of these high school girls not only had low ambitions, but also lower morals. Bingo!

Now, as I am indeed much older than I was back then, it was my hope that indeed these high school girls would also be older, which would negate the creepy factor of me hitting on them.

In preparations for my weekend I believe I hit an all time low. I was getting ready and gathering all the things I would/could possibly need for this jaunt to the coast including condoms. Better to be safe than a dad. I always say. (no offense to dads.) So in my vain attempt to find some condoms in a Mormon household I began to give up the futile search. Then it dawned on me. I had kept a box of them in a travel bag hidden somewhere in my room.

So I began my search and came across the box tucked away in a safe place. I was delighted. If it came down to it, I would indeed be making smart decisions. (Obviously after I made poor ones.)

And then it hit me….

Upon closer inspection of the condoms I realized that these condoms were expired. A whole entire box (minus two I may or may not have used) expired. This is a depressing feeling. Knowing at one point in my life I thought to myself, “dude, you’re getting tons of sex. You should totally get the box” and then having them finding them years later dusty and unused and having to throw them away because they were expired is quite the depressing realization. There is no greater indication as to how your sex life is going, then having to throw out an entire box of condoms.

It goes to show you guys, never get the box. Never. Get. The. Box.

However, I moved on. I had packed my backs loaded the iPod and made the 2 hour drive out the coast to partake in Big P’s wedding. I wasn’t in the wedding so the need for me to be there early was not necessary. I pulled into my hotel and immediately cranked on the AC. You see, I LOVE a cold hotel room. I mean that. I’m not just trying to say that for some sort of literary symbolism (although now that I mention it, my life is a cold hotel room. Empty, cold, and there is never anything on tv. Son of a bitch) I just really love when my hotel is like 62 degrees. It’s bliss.

I began preparations by pouring myself a Jack Daniels on the rocks. Broke out the ironing board, and decided to take a shower. I’m not sure how many of you know this, but drinking and then immersing yourself in any type of hot water tends to accelerate the drunken process on the way.

In my near drunken state I had a breakdown of sorts. I couldn’t decide whether or not I should wear shoes or flip-flops with my khaki’s, shirt, and tie. I decided to ask my friends on Twitter for a quick response, and was told (by ladies) it was indeed ok to wear flip-flops to a beach wedding. Whew.

I was lucky enough to get a hotel room that was essentially right across the street from the reception hall. This would allow for quite some stumbling to my room a great deal later that night. I walked to the reception hall where the hosts were providing drinks for the guests. One of the guests happened to be my ex-girlfriends best friend from college. She was there as a date of one of the groomsmen, so while he was away fulfilling duties, we hung out and became Date-Non-Date friends.

After sometime we were ushered outside, and boarded a private train that took us up to the beach where the wedding would take place. It was an amazing ride, and Gibbs was on board to show me the exotic locales of the Oregon Coast in which he grew up. It was a lovely trip but one couldn’t help notice that the sun had been quickly replaced by cloud cover and a bit of a chill.

We enjoyed a wonderful ceremony and found ourselves back on the train. The cold air had indeed stuck around, and made a certain girl with a blue low cut dress sitting across from me visibly chilled. Which I noticed. A lot. The same girl, I had noticed came with another nice young lady that was sporting a nice white blazer. It was deduced by me and Date-Non-Date that they were indeed a lesbian couple, to which I leaned over to DND and said, “shouldn’t she offer the lady her jacket? Obviously chivalry is dead in the lesbian community.” DND broke into some chuckles and we both had a great laugh.

For some reason, I couldn’t help but think I knew cute lesbian girl. (the one with the low cute dress not the blazer.) Turns out, she knew Big P from back in his cheerleading Power-Stunting days. It instantly clicked. Big P had met this girl Stunting, and brought her to our house one day. It was after practice and she showed up in our house still sporting her cheerleader uniform.

Anyone who knows me, knows that cheerleaders are somewhat Kryptonite to me. I don’t know what it is. But there she was, abs of steel, cute smile, and a cheerleader outfit. However, she was either just out of high school or still in. Either way, I let that one go as just another cute girl to come and go outta my life.

Until now. We re-connected based on the fact I said I had recognized her and began talking again. (Sidebar: The saying I recognized her was actually me trying to save myself from getting called out on staring at her rack.)
Me: “I knew you looked familiar!”
Cute Assumed Lesbian:” Really?!? I thought you were just staring at my rack.”
Me: “uhhh. Nope. Uh huh. No. Not me. You looked familiar.”
CAL: “uuuh huh. So you weren’t staring at my rack. At all?”
Me: “No. No I don’t think so. Sure it was me?
CAL: “ Yeah, the seats on the train were like 2 feet from each other. It was you.”
Me: “Hmmm…. Doesn’t sound like me.
CAL “Pretty sure you were. Like, I caught you.”
Me: “Shit. Yeah I was. But in my defense, you did look familiar.”
CAL: “That’s what I thought.”

She was indeed still cute, with a beautiful smile. While no longer a cheerleader, she did teach dance at a large studio back home. I finally got drunk enoughthe courage to ask her to dance. She agreed and what I thought was going to be a “clutch and sway” (as she called it.) Turned out to be a lesson on how to Waltz.

At one point, I actually said… “I really enjoy how your talking to me like a kid.” To which she replied, “Oh I’m sorry. Force of habit.” And “You’re doing really good.” With a slight smile and pained look on her face. I know when I’m being lied to. I did my best, and we actually danced for a couple of songs. Meanwhile, Blazer had been sitting at a table playing solitaire on her phone.

The night was coming to and end and CAL had to get going. I even got more drunkgot the courage to ask for her phone number which, she gave me and if we wanted to hang out again. It was a big win for straight guys hitting on Assumed Lesbians that night. I felt I did my team a great service and decided to celebrate with some more drinking. And by drinking I mean Keg stands with the bride. No joke.

We ended the night at some Coastie bar that was playing karaoke. The details here are really pretty fuzzy, so I can’t really give many details. I know Big P had his head down and his eyes closed. Gibbs had left. Date-Non-Date finally got some time to put the moves on her actual date. And I?

Well, I drank whiskey.

The night was good.

The moral of the story is… Just because a cute girl brings another girl wearing a blazer to a wedding, don’t automatically assume she’s a lesbian. For you never know.

And DON’T buy the Box!

Until next time…

Email me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com


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Categories : Life

I’m Still A Virgin…

22 06 2009

First things first.

I would like to announce that I have indeed changed the address of this blog. It’s now, SarcasmAsAWeapon.com, which is what should have done in the first place, but I’m a bit slow. So feel free to update your bookmarks, or bookmark it in the first place.

With that outta the way, I shall now get to the meat of this blog.

You see, I’m not your typical guy.

Don’t get me wrong. I love many of the same things that men do. I love fast cars, actions movies, I love sports, I love eating wings and drinking some beers, I love whiskey, I enjoy a nice cigar here and there, I love Vegas, and gambling, and not showering for a couple days.

With that being said, there are a few things that I also enjoy that don’t necessarily make me gay, but it makes me look gay.
I like to go shopping.
I enjoy The OC, 90210, and The Hills
I spend a lot of money on clothes.
While not completely metrosexual, I do put some time and effort into my appearance.
I have an insane collection of shoes. And I’m not talking about Air Jordans.
Speaking of, I love shoes.
I’ve seen my fair share of musicals, and reference them in conversations.
I hate camping and being dirty. (aside from playing sports.)
I don’t really care for the outdoors whatsoever.
I don’t believe you should wear socks and sandals.
I don’t think you should wear a black shirt with a brown belt.
I spend too much money getting my hair cut.
I really liked Hitch.
I have some “interesting” titles in my iTunes collection.
I spend too much on grooming supplies.

But the kicker…. I don’t like strip clubs.

I’ve never been to a strip club in my life. I don’t understand them. I don’t get them. Wait, let me take that back. I totally understand them. I totally get it. However, for me it’s always been a mystery to me. Why would a perfectly smart dude got spend money on getting cocked teased? Blows my mind.

I mean put it this way… no man would buy Rock Band, open the box, and realize he couldn’t push the buttons!! Or, he wouldn’t take his hard earned cash to a car dealership, give them all his money, for him to smell the interior then 15 minutes later see another dude with his dream car! Yet, when it comes down to naked women, men will do a lot of crazy things.

While other men’s propensities for strip clubs is not the subject, my disdain for them is. I’ve gone 30 years of my life without setting foot in a strip club. Most of it was due to the fact that I’ve been in relationships in most of the years I was supposed to be out getting ripped and seeing naked women dance around. I guess I just thought that I was already getting laid on a consistent basis so what’s the point of seeing some other chick take their clothes off. Oh, and I was getting laid for free. Now, admittedly I paid for sex in different ways, like having to see some pretty messed up chick flicks, but the reward was always pretty worth it.

So I guess I just missed out on a time when I had tons of expendable cash to help support higher education goals of today’s women.

The Streak, as it shall be forever called, was in jeopardy this past weekend as I reunited with my college roommates for one of their bachelor parties. My good friend Gibbs was there and as we had talked in the weeks prior to the event, there was mention of indeed visiting a strip club. Gibbs is happily married, and like me, has grown a bit past the strip club stage. That, and he went about a month ago. But Gibbs, like me, wasn’t very keen on the idea of attending another strip club. Sadly, this was the goal of the groom Big P. He had his mind made up and was determined to go. He was really looking forward to it.

Gibbs and I had a plan.

Back in college we drank a bit. We may have made a Drink-O board that rivaled Bob Barkers Plink-O board. Some may have said we had a problem. We just figured we were accomplished. We haven’t changed much since then, so all of our drinking tendencies are all pretty much the same. I tend to swear a lot and Gibbs is a close talker. Big P, on the other hand, Big P is a different animal all together. Seeing as how Big P is a really big man and a National Champion CheerleaderPower Stunter one would assume that Big P can handle his liquor. And to be honest, if the man would slow down a bit, he could probably out drink the both of us combined.

Big P, however is no marathoner. Big P is a sprinter when it comes to his drinking. As is the case, Gibbs and I devised a plan to see to it that we indeed missed the strip club. I received a text earlier from Gibbs asking me a great tequilla for Big P to drink. I responded by letting him know my buddy swears by Don Julio. And so it was.

I arrived Saturday afternoon to the boys already immersed in a game of beer bong. However this wasn’t your typical game. The cups were filled with water and the boys were drinking from cups they had to the side of the table. Turns out, the cups to the side were filled with their beverage of choice. In this case, Big P’s was filled with roughly 8 shots of Don Julio and some Sprite. When I asked the boys, why they didn’t just play regular beer bong, the informed me that this was indeed “dirty.” This coming from the same guys that after spilling a pour of Don Julio on the plywood table top, proceeded to lick it up.

Our plan was in motion. It was like George Clooney and Brad Pitt in Ocean’s Eleven. (Gibbs, go ahead and pick whichever one you want to be. I’m cool with either, however, I’d kinda rather be Clooney. Pitt kinda seems like a little bitch. Aside from Fight Club.) Big P was diligently killing cup after cup of Don Julio. In most cases, I’d be a bit appalled that someone was treating such a fine liquor like a two dollar PBR, but shit, it was all a part of the plan.

Roughly around 10:30 (which unknowingly to me, is prime strip club time) the rest of the natives were getting a bit restless. In fact I remember a shout, “Big P, it’s 10:30!” “We gotta get going!” It was about at this point that Gibbs was taking out his revenge for The Dark Knight weekend of hockey beatdowns. He was indeed whooping my ass 10-2 in some NHL 2001. We decided that we should put down the PS2 controllers and start rallying the troops. This took longer than expected for some were still eating, some were smoking, some were finishing up a game of beer pong.

Around 11:15, our plan had been determined a great success. We had lost Big P for a good 10 minutes. When we started scouring the house, someone had gone to the side of the house, where a patch of grass was now wilting under the immense pressure that was the dead weight of a 300lb Power Stunter. Big P had passed out in the front lawn. We of course rushed to his side…. to take pictures. He remained there for sometime. I figured it was all over, and the rest of the guys would been crestfallen and resign themselves to continue PlayStation and Beer pong.

And then it happened….

The taxi pulled up and honked. The mighty beast was awaken!

Big P arose from the grass to not only walk like a infant taking his first steps, but to yell out… SHOTGUN! Big P was back. Clooney and Pitt had been foiled. I volunteered to drive some of the others toward their preferred destination of some place that was indeed a euphemism for sex. Something like the “Hot Box” or “WildCats” or “Giggles.” The name isn’t particularly important. We arrived in splendid fashion. I couldn’t find Big P or Gibbs. I scoured the parking lot that was only brightened by the amber glow jetting out from the front door lights. And then I saw them, Big P, doubled over with Gibbs hand on his back. Big P was indeed puking. This had to have been it… it had to be over!

Sadly, one of the guys in our group knew the owner of the Club, and astonishingly they were allowed to proceed inside. It was tough… The Streak was alive. Yet so close to it becoming over. I didn’t want to go in. Yet the golden lights that back lit the naked lady figures on the doors called to me like the Yellow Brick road of OZ. (PS that was a reference to The Wizard of Oz. Not HBO’s prison Drama OZ. Again, please refer to the list above. It doesn’t make me gay, it makes me look gay.)

(Cue internal struggle.)
I should go in.
No I shouldn’t.
I should go… I’m just supporting higher education.
The streak is alive. THE STREAK!
There are naked ladies… I haven’t seen one in a bit, aside from the ones that appear on this 13 inch screen.
They have STD’s in there.
Maybe one will like me.
You don’t make enough to enjoy yourself in there!
THEY’RE NAKED!
THE STREAK!

The Streak. The streak was kept alive. A shit storm of smack talking rained down from some of the boys including calling me gay. And “loving the cock.” However, as it stands… I’m 30 years old. And I’m a strip club virgin.

I’m pretty okay with that.

Until Next Time…

Email Me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com


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Categories : Fun, Life

Never Pet A Hooker… Pt 2…

21 05 2009

If you haven’t already done so, please make sure you read part 1 of this Saga in Seattle. (ooh alliteration.)

After the nights run in with a Hooker, it was off to sleep in our cozy hotel room. I figured I’d plow through a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep and wake up feeling like a million bucks.

This however could not be further from the truth. Roughly at about 5:45 am, the fire alarm in the hotel was going off. We happened to have the room right by the exit, so I could hear everyone congregating outside our room. And by everyone, I mean a team of high school girls it seemed. Along with the fire alarm, I could hear countless girls laughing and cackling and generally having a raucous good time.

Of course, what they couldn’t hear was me, still laying in bed cussing up a storm. I made it my goal to let the world know how pissed off I was at this current moment. Had sailors been around, more than likely I would have offended them. It was definitely a mouth I don’t kiss my mother with.

After a good 3 minutes of my continuous swearing, I decided that my life was probably a little more valuable than a couple more minutes of sleep, and there was a group of high school girls just outside my door probably in teddies, and all sorts of hot lingerie. I begrudgingly got my self out of bed and headed to put on a shirt. The second, and I mean the SECOND that shirt was on, the fire alarm, and girls ceased.

I’m not sure I’ve ever been more pissed in my life. More swearing ensued.

About 930am I made a phone call to my friend Micah for it was indeed his birthday. We had a great conversation about his birthday, and shenanigans, and how he was in fact not in Seattle over the weekend. The reason I questioned this, was because it was in fact my friend Micah who rocked the Michael Vick jersey when trying to score at the clubs. He talked me down of the ledge, by letting me know, much like Vick’s career, his Vick jersey was on lock down.

The phone call lasted about half an hour, when JDub started getting agitated and needing food. Apparently training for a Triathlon* generates an insatiable hunger. So we were off to find some food. However, something was off. I just didn’t feel right. My stomach didn’t want anything inside it, and I was fighting off the urge to fall over and go to sleep. I wasn’t hung-over, because I’ve been hung-over many times, and this was unlike anything. I couldn’t figure it out.

[side bar, please check out JDubs fund raising for her triathlon, it’s for a good cause]

JDub, being the trendy-outdoorsy type that she is, drove my sorry ass to Whole Foods, where she figured we’d both find something to eat. We got inside, and at first, I was in awe of what the Whole Foods had to offer. I am a man that enjoys good food, and for my first time at Whole Foods, it seemed as if they had everything. Chinese food, Pizza, Meat, tons of Beer, it was all there, and on any other given day, Whole Foods may have turned into my favorite store. However on this day, Whole Foods became enemy number one.

As I previously stated, my stomach didn’t feel as if it wanted any food. And while the prospect of some nice Chinese food always makes me happy, I can honestly say the ONLY thing I wanted in this world at that time was a Gatorade, shit, I would have settled for Powerade even. As I perused the store, I saw all sorts of organic hipster loving bullshit. Organic this, organic that, Whole Foods was rapidly moving down my list of cool places to shop. After many passes through the store, I came to the conclusion they had no Gatorade. I want Gatorade dammit. Finally becoming acutely aware of my misery and hatred for the store, JDub found an ultra-hipster employee and the following exchange occurred…

JDub “scuse me, do you guys happen to have Gatorade?”
Ultra Hipster * scoffing at her * “We DON’T carry Gatorade! (acting all indignant that someone would insult the great Whole Foods by carrying Gatorade.)
JDub “ok, do you have anything with electrolytes in it??”
Ultra Hipster “ummm we have some VitaminWater.”
JDub “Soooo water with some vitamins in it?”
Ultra Hipster “Well, ya.”
JDub “ So nothing with electrolytes?”
Ultra Hipster “ VitaminWater.”
JDub “Thanks for ALL your help.”

That was pretty much it. Whole Foods and been removed from my list of places I’ll ever shop. Listen, I know people in their Birkenstocks and Volvo’s love that shit, but if you “CANT” carry some Gatorade, were going to have words.

I settled for some Organically grown water in a bottle and proceeded to checkout with a limited amount of Chinese food. For if it was indeed a hangover, I would soon be cured. I looked longingly at my food, as if at some point it would let me know it would all be ok. That if I ate it, the magic would come through and I could go on and face the day. This was all not to be. I took one bite, and my stomach informed me that another bite, may in fact be the worst decision ever.

We left shortly, with JDub wanting to go for a run, or walk downtown, or check out Pikes Market. However, I, I could only think of one thing. Sleeping. I was having problems keeping myself awake, I knew instantly I was not hung-over. No, I was indeed still drunk.

As I awoke again at 4 o’clock with a hangover I asked JDub just how many people I drunk dialed the night before.
Me “How many people did I drunk dial last night?”
JDub “No one. Oddly enough.”
Me “No one? Are you sure?
JDub “ ya positive.”
Me “That’s weird, I could have sworn we called Micah.”
Jdub “ You did, this morning.”
Me “ ooooooh shit… I don’t really remember that. At all.”

That’s right boys and girls, I made my first trip to Whole Foods, still outta my mind drunk. Awesome. (My feeling still stands. Carry Gatorade assholes.)

Four o’clock brought time for us to get out and face the day. That and the fact the Everybody Loves Raymond was over. We threw on our Sox gear and headed toward the stadium to meet up with some more friends at Sluggers, a sports bar near the stadium.

As we wandered the streets of Seattle, we got a lot of negative remarks for our Sox gear proudly displayed. “Sox Suck.” “Go Mariners!” we’re the majority of things said to us. In most cases I would be the one returning a verbal assault on someone. At one point we were walking down the street, when a bum on the side of the road shouted to us, “Mariners are going to give Boston a tea party tonight!!” This actually caught me off guard and I had no response. JDub, in all her cleverness returned quite the volley…

“Yeah, well I have a home and you DON’T. DEAL!”

Both the bum and I were in awe. It was glorious. Obviously not to the guys feelings, but quite the comeback. To which I turned to her and said… “That’s going in the blog.”

She knew what she had done.

We met up with JLee, Tyson, his brother, and spunky little thing named Katie. We all hung around Sluggers pregame, and enjoyed a number of cocktails and tallboys of Bud Light. (Funniest point of this part of the night was a tie, between this group of douches in plaid shirts wearing St. Louis hats taking pictures of Katie, and Katie, who’s all of 5’3, chugging her tall boy in record time, and slamming it down on the table proclaiming DONE!)

The Sox won the game with Josh Beckett pitching a gem.
Highlights of the game…
1. JDub being called Maam by some dad.
2. Some 8-year-old girl, would mean mug me (glare) every time I verbally rooted for my sox. I counted 4 times. I also made a bet that she was going to throw up, after killing, Nachos, Soda, Cotton Candy, and possible some pizza. I don’t remember it was gone quick.
3. Fans from Boston buying me shots of Jack at the bar in the stadium.
4. Unknowledgeable fan being taught baseball as it was happening by his softball playing girlfriend. Or, mistress, as he was wearing a ring, and she was not. Dude was really annoying… “ooooh that ball is really high.” “ooooh he hit that pretty far.”
5. Girl sitting next to me getting shots, asking her boyfriend if Josh Beckett is good, while rocking a Papelbon shirt. You honey, are a bad Sox fan, as is your boyfriend. He should have his ass kicked. I’m not kidding about this. Don’t bring your new Sox fan girlfriend to the game if she doesn’t know her history. If she didn’t have a sweet southern accent, I would have been more pissed.

We left the game on a mission to meet up with JLee and crew at the Red Door a bit a ways from our hotel. We stood on a street corner attempting to wave down a cab. After several minutes, we saw a cab coming towards us and started waiving. To our shock, he crossed three lanes of traffic coming within inches of hitting the car parked on the side, and having the Toyota Camry rear end him.

I knew we were in for something special!

We got into the cab, and gave him the location, and we were OFF! He took off like a bat out of hell. No red light could stop him, no corner was to sharp, and mirrors we just decorations. Our man had his head on a swivel like he was running from the cops. In fact, now that I think about it… we may have been in a stolen cab. I felt like I was Space Mountain in Disneyland, and only he knew where we were going. The ride jilted the both of us, and I asked to borrow the cabbies Rosary he had dangling from his mirror. It was next to the peace sign.

As we met up with JLee and crew, we got drinks and began just having a good time. The weekend was dying down for most of us, and some of us (me) were a bit tired from the night before. However, once I started drinking that Jack, I couldn’t help but “need’ more. I’m not kidding when I say I have a problem. I’ll deal with it later.

Probably the highlight of the night was when someone spilled some whiskey on the table, and Tyson was in no way going to let it go to waste. So like a cat, he leaned down and began licking the whiskey straight off the table. To which everyone all started moaning and yelling “grossssss.”

I took this opportune time to make a remarkable observation.

“I guess I’m not the most likely to get gonorrhea this weekend now am I?!?”

To which, everyone agreed. And I sat vindicated. My ultimate feat of being the most likely to get gonorrhea by petting a hooker, was trumped only by a man licking whiskey up from a bar table.

Which brings me to the end. While I have remained STD free for my many years of living, my recent outings have caused me to re-think my actions whilst drunk. My conclusion I shall pass onto you, my friends…
Never Pet A Hooker.

Email me at
SarcamsAsAWeapon@gmail.com

Until Next time…


Comments : 4 Comments »

Categories : Entertainment, Life, Sports, Vacation

Never Pet A Hooker… Pt 1…

18 05 2009

I know it’s been some time since I’ve written something. To my faithful followers I apologize. I’m trying to get back into the whole writing thing after landing a new job.

I currently work the front desk of a gym, and while I’ve got one or two things in my head I’d love to write about, every time I think of the gym and working, it takes my soul away and I have no desire to continue writing. But know this, a blog about the inner workings of a gym is coming.

This is not that blog.

This my friends is a blog of my Booze induced weekend in Seattle for some Red Sox baseball.

It all began in February, when my birthday is. My friend JDub purchased tickets to see the Red Sox only trip to Seattle this year. I have obviously been in a little bit of a funk, so I was looking forward to this trip.

As some of you may know, I joined the twitter revolution (before Oprah) and decided to send text message updates on twitter as the weekend progressed. The only negative to this whole situation, is I don’t have a phone capable of checking @replies and the such. So basically I update with something funny, and don’t get to see any of the responses. If any. Sad.

As JDub and I proceeded to go over the checklist of things we may need or things we may have forgotten, somehow that list included 2 fifths of Jack Daniels. Obviously a necessary item for any Sox weekend. As we left our great city, we hadn’t even been driving 5 minutes, when I took my first pull from a flask filled with Jack.

This was going to be awesome.

We arrived in Seattle in perfect time to head to the Pyramid Brewery to get some much needed food and….. well booze. Pizza and beer arrived at our table as we sat across the street from the amazing Safeco Field. Whilst the beer and pizza arrived, so did a very nice young lady with nice fake boobs and a glittery Red Sox shirt on. I’m not going to lie, and pretend I wasn’t already smitten, cause well… She was wearing a Sox shirt. However, my curiosity was peaked (as was JDubs) to the fact that said girl was wearing a Friends and Family pass around her glittery Red Sox covered chest.

Which got us to thinking….. and by thinking I mean searching the internet on JDubs phone. After a couple minutes of relentless stalkingsearching, we came to this website, and this conclusion……

John and Farrah Lester

John and Farrah Lester

This was Farrah Lester. Wife of one of my favorite up and coming Red Sox players, and wife to JDub’s second favorite cancer survivor, Jon Lester.

The plan in our heads was hatched of how to say hello, talk to her, ultimately, How can we meet your husband. I was even willing to seduce her to meet her husband. I believe it was at this seminal moment in my life, I realized that I should really find someone to marry or at least seriously date. That way all this attention I place on the Red Sox, could be diverted into real life things I can control. However, since the prospect of getting married is far from here, I shall resume my focus on the Red Sox, and hitting on Jon Lester’s smokin hot wife.

We discussed for a good 30 minutes on an “ice breaker” to talk to Mrs. Lester. However nothing came of it, and she left with her Friends and Family pass.

(ps, I had already been drinking pretty heavily at this point, so it may not have been Mrs. Lester. But I’m pretty sure it was. Either way, please check out The Lester Project)

As we watched Lester pitch a pretty decent game, it was Ichiro who saved the day for all Mariner fans. Speaking of Mariner fans, can people help me out here. If you go to a baseball game, anywhere across this great nation of ours, can you please take a poll of how many lesbians you see at the game. (hot or not, a lesbian is a lesbian.) It just so happens that for some reason the Seattle Mariners fan base consists heavily of mullet wearing, visor toting lesbians. I wish I was half way kidding about this. Friday nights game had us sitting next to a very nice couple, one sporting the short man cut, and the other sporting the very eloquent salt and pepper mullet to the shoulders.

At one point, after Ichiro’s first home run, Man Cut decided to start talking shit to me. Why she didn’t choose JDub who was siting in the seat next to her is beyond me. Maybe she thought JDub might think she was hitting on her… I don’t know. However she leaned over, clapping her hands Church Clap style and proceeded to shout, “He can hit em anytime he wants. ANYTIME HE WANTS.”

Now, we were winning at this point, so I’m ok with a little shit talk here and there. I feel it’s supposed to be there, and he did just hit a home run. However…. The second home run that gave them the lead, and the second ANY TIME HE WANTS had me fuming.

Look tiny lesbian with a nice fade….. Like you, I also believe in rights for everyone, which means treating women equally, which also means, you lean over one more time and come inside my circle, and sure as hell there will be shit storm a coming! I know for 100% fact I can take you… No doubt in my mind. On the other hand, I’m going to refrain from whooping some ass at the ballpark, because I am legitimately scared of Salt N’ Pepper Mullet to your right. I feel as if I’d get one good shot in and SnP would want to get to me! So be happy you’re Mullet sporting partner has got your back cause you almost got an equal rights beat down courtesy of me! (PS, I’m a lot tougher when I drink. Or at least my mouth is.)

Anyway, there were no fisticuffs with the Lesbians, however the Sox did lose, and so I took it upon myself to celebrate Irish Wake style! I received a text from a good friend and former co-worker in radio who informed me he was indeed doing a club night at one of the clubs near the stadium. We walked a couple blocks and were soon in front of the greatest bar in the entire world. (Gross exaggeration for effect.) We were indeed making our way into Cowgirls Inc. OH HELL YES!
(For those of you who didn’t click the link, Cowgirls Inc. is indeed a real life Coyote Ugly. Where the dancers are hot, and the clientele is not.)

Anyway, My friend Maynard knew one of the bartenders in the joint, so it was awesome in getting drinks. Lets just say there were a couple dollars from being free. Which, as anyone knows, is a good thing to have cheap liquor, however, you tend to buy a bit more booze when it’s really cheap. And seeing as how I was in mourning… it was bring on the Jack and Cokes…A lot of them! I was so focused on drinking that at one point, whilst one young lady was gyrating in booty shorts in front of me, attempting to earn some college tuition, I gently nudged her leg and asked her to move so I could get more booze. (Note, this is probably why I’m single, and an alcoholic.)

sidebar: they’re hiring.

The night carried on as did my drinking. In the midst of my drinking 3 major things occurred.
#1. The SECOND Michael Vick jersey siting in Seattle. THE SECOND!!! And this wasn’t even a Falcons jersey, this was an old school Virgina Tech jersey. What’s with Seattle? I haven’t seen two Michael Vick jerseys in one day for as long as I remember. However, back in the Day one of my buddies used to wear his Vick jersey to the club. He mentioned it being the #1 jersey for scoring chicks. Said he was batting a cool .750 (75%) with the Jersey. So I supposed this dude was also attempting to score some chicks at the great Cowgirls Inc. I’m not sure it worked.
#2. I did the robot. It was awesome.
#3. At one point, JDub and I were standing next to one of the speaker boxes. And on said speaker box was a delightful 40 year old cougar dancing her troubles away…. and her marriage. More than once she reached down and was touching me on my head. Messing with my hair. It was hilarious. But what can I say, when I have a good hair day, it’s pretty amazing. And last Friday, my hair was pretty good… so it goes without saying that this cougar was obviously smitten. Our time together came to an abrupt end as we decided it was time to leave. But not without her pointing to her wedding ring multiple times, informing me that we would NOT be having hot cougar sex tonight. damn.

We proceeded to our hotel room, escorted by our mighty yellow chariot. As we were driving up the street to our hotel, we couldn’t help but notice two ladies who were scantily clad walking up the street. JDub, upon seeing the ladies, couldn’t help but yell in excitement like she was on an African safari…. oooohhhh HOOKERS! Our mighty cabbie also got excited shouted “hookers!” and proceeded to honk the horn! So as we pulled into our parking lot the hooker picked up the pace to gallantly take over our cab to reach their next destination.

As I got out of our cab, I decided to be the gentleman that I am and hold the door for one of the hookers. As one of them proceeded to walk past me, I couldn’t help but notice in my drunken state that she was indeed wearing a black fur coat. To which I proceeded to take my hand, and pet her arm and proclaim…. “I like this.”

I’m not sure what followed, but no money or bodily fluids were exchanged, and JDub wisely got me inside the hotel without further incidents with the hooker. I did tell some of my friends about said hooker incident and here were some responses….
#1. You have chlamydia.
#2. Did you ask to try it on?
#3. Is one of your eyes going blind, and does it burn when you pee?
#4. Did she charge you for that?

I proceeded to the room to pass out and get ready to face the day ahead of me….

to be continued.

as always email me
SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

until next time.


Comments : 6 Comments »

Categories : Life, Sports, Vacation

V Day with Rachel Bilson…

15 02 2009

First, I wanted to let the millions three readers that I have know, that I updated my “about me” section so that the next time I go off and judge 25 women based solely on their looks, you can now email me and call me an asshat.

And based on my wit, the return email will probably go something like this….

To: SarcasmFan
From: DoubleDown
Subject: RE: Judging women

Dear Fan,
YOU’RE an asshat.

Thank you for reading.

 

 

With that out of the way, I figured I’d update my friends with how I spent my Valentines. As per usual, I really hate Valentines Day as a whole. I really think that it’s pretty much shallow and commercial. And believe me, I’m not one of those people who hates commercialism. I’m totally cool with it. In fact I embrace it for all it’s worth. Christmas being commercialized.. Awesome! Just as long as I’m getting in on some of the action.

This however is not the case on Valentines Day. For I am not getting in on ANY action. Therefore, Valentines Day sucks.

I’ve been fighting off a cold the last couple of days, so at night I’ve been taking night time cold medicine which pretty much knocks me out till noon the next day. In addition to that, I’m also insanely groggy because of it. Therefore I hadn’t really realized that our doorbell had rang 10 minutes after I had gotten up.

However, after the drug induced haze had left me, I quickly remembered that the doorbell had indeed rung 20 minutes ago, and I hadn’t heard the door close. (We have a large door to our house, and no matter where you are in the house you can hear it close.) So I left my perch up stairs and came unto our landing to see my little sister holding the door open, and a BOY standing outside on our doorstep.

sidebar: For those of you who don’t know, I’m VERY protective of my little sister. I, being a boy at one point, know exactly what boys have on their mind. In addition I also coach High School soccer at the same school she attends. Which allows me to know exactly what the boys are talking about. And I’m going to let you in on a secret. Boys are dirty.

So it displeased me a great deal. To notice said boy lurking about our house. Dropping off valentines to my little sister. As I rounded past the open door, I made sure that he saw me. We made eye contact, to which I believe said…

MyEyeContact: Don’t think I don’t see you there. Even though I just woke up and may not look it, I’m effing crazy! I’ve killed people for less than what your doing.
HisEyeContact: ooooooh shit. Big brother.
MyEyeContact: Damn straight.
HisEyeContact: Look at the ground.
MyEyeContact: Dude, sweet blazer though. Nicely done.

I felt as if the eye contact of death was enough. I’m pretty sure I got my point across, however what I really wanted to do is this….

Turns out, he brought her a rose, a valentine, and some candy or some shit.

And for all of you stop saying… awweeee that’s cute.
That shit aint cute. Dressin all snazzy dropping off Valentines. Damn.

The rest of my Valentines Day was fairly uneventful. I met up with a friend of mine from high school for some drinks which were intended to be for my birthday, but seeing as how some people have a job they can’t always find a ton of time to get drinks.

It was very cool, however, I told my friend “Belle” (she to this day still has a thing for Disney princesses, although by definition, I don’t think Belle was actually a princess) about the story of my young sisters new suitor. She responded by saying “be nice to her.” Which I respectfully disagreed with.

We had great conversation, especially when the couple next to us sat down. The woman was wearing a wedding ring, while the gentleman next to her was not. Seeing as how my friend Belle is married, we got on the topic of conversation about wearing a wedding ring etc etc.

At this point, Belle got a little heated, and may or may not have been calling the gentleman next to us a “dick” for not wearing a ring. Obviously not to his face or directly, but in the context of the conversation. I found it hilarious, because every time she would mention his charcater, she would said “he’s a dick!” quite loudly.

After some time passed and conversations changed, I noticed that I was indeed wrong. That the woman next to the gentleman was in fact NOT wearing a ring. To which I giggled to myself. And no, I didn’t tell Belle, because I thought her commentary on the fact was hilarious.

After drinks with Belle, I stopped by my happy place. Best Buy. I actually got quite the chuckle at seeing a couple couples hanging out at Best Buy. Heads up guys. For any of you reading this, based on some of the expressions of the ladies that were at Best Buy, taking them there on a Valentines date, not a good idea.

One couple, the young man was taking down death glares left and right as he poured over Car stereo information. I could just see him dropping 200 bucks for a new Car Stereo then taking the young lass over to Chipotle for 2 burritos, and a bag of chips. That made me laugh internally.

Another couple was in the DVD section trying to pick out a movie for the night. I could tell who was leading the charge based on the movies they were looking at. The Notebook, Pretty Woman, Sleepless in Seattle, and so on. Poor guy, kept turning his head and watching the big screen displays. Hoping and praying at some point he was able to make it home and watch the All Star festivities. Hate to break it to you young man, but in no way shape or form are you watching Dwight Howard lose the dunk contest to little Nate Robinson. Enjoy the Notebook dude, heres hoping you get those 123 minutes of your life back.

I left the Best Buy empty handed and without completing any retail therapy. I resisted the urge of treating myself to dinner from 5 Guys Burgers and Fries, went home and decided to finish off watching the NBA All-Star festivities and find a movie on TV.

I came across Jumper. A movie I had always wanted to watch but never had any desire to make the effort to watch. In said movie is a girl, I’ve always had a little crush on, but I’m pretty sure she’s making her way into my top 5.

That’s right, little Rachel Bilson.
rachel_bilson1

I’m pretty sure were the perfect fit. She’s short, brunette, spritely (trying to use that word more often) seems really down to earth, and based on an extensive google image search always dresses cute. Which are all qualities that fit me perfectly.

Plus, she acted like she was interested in guys who like sarcasm (Summer on the OC.) and appeared in a show in which she fell for a geek (Chuck) So based on those two parameters, I’m pretty sure she’d totally dig me.

So if any of you know Rachel Bilson, I’d soooo totally love an introduction. Then we can make out, talk about Geek stuff, be sarcastic and live happily ever after.

That last sentence reminded me why I don’t like boys talking to my sister.

Happy Valentines day to me!

Until next time.

SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com


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Categories : Family, Life

Dirty 30 Gossip…

3 02 2009

It’s inevitable, and there is no way I could have stopped it. I tried.

I started giving myself a years head start. But to no avail.

I turned 30 this past weekend. The day after the Super Bowl, to which I’m blaming my aching body, not the fact that I am “old.” The aching might also have to do with the fact that 4 or 5 games of beer pong, may just be too many for a Sunday evening. Then I realized I have no job, or any real responsibility so why the hell not! Bring on the beer pong.

It was the next morning when I realized, I have no job, or real responsibility and I am now 30. I feel as if the only way one can really get away with that in this world is if they are a professional snowboarder/skateboarder/or former cast member of the Real World. And seeing as how my attempts at being a skateboarder ended at the tender age of 9 with a broken wrist, I don’t think I can claim professional skateboarder.

I’ve never really made a big deal of my birthday. I think it stems from having a gigantic family in which remembering a birthday let alone making a big deal of it, is a huge feat. It may also stem from the fact that I’m a male and in being one of those, events/details/anniversaries are widely forgotten.

This weekend was no different. (not the forgetting part, the actual making a big deal)

I would have thought that creeping close to 30 I would have let go of things that may not be targeted quite to my demographic. For example, it’s been well documented that I do love me some reality TV, and The Hills, 90210, and even the OC here and there. So, in the course of being male and forgetting small details, I had forgotten I have a pension for tv dramas that may be targeted at the 18-25 year old female demographic and decided to pop in season one of Gossip Girl.

Bad mistake my friend. Bad mistake. I had been told that in fact I would enjoy the show based on this premise.
#1. Hot girls. Check
#2. Good Music. Check
#3. And something else, I forgot. Check.

You see little did I know but you blend all of these factors together and you’ve got me hooked. I started disc one late saturday night, and finally finished mid evening on monday. Yes friends that was 20 hours of Gossip Girl watching in a weekend of Super Bowls and Birthday haircutsfestivities.

The obsession began with Serena van der Woodsen… aka Blake Lively.

 

hellllllooooo!

hellllllooooo!

(ps, now I know this picture is ridonkulously photoshopped making her look like a porn star  a little fake, but it’s one of the hottest ones. I mean, mens button up shirt. Skirt. Tie. Thats a win in my book.)

While she is quite the filly, there are moments where Im not sure she’s hot. And then she is. And then she’s not. And then she is. Basically she plays yo-yo with the hot/not hot line, and slightly leaning staying on the hot side. I believe her incredibly preppy outfits she rocks on an episode to episode basis remind me of a J.Crew add, which lets be honest, who doesn’t love J.Crew. 

Plus Blake was also in Sisterhood of the Traveling pants, and I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out a joke about Blake and my pants, but I keep coming up empty. 

After becoming smitten with Serena van der Woodsen I couldn’t help but notice relatively new commer Taylor Momsen. 
taylormomsen

Upon further review, (and a diligent search on IMDB.com) I’ve come to the conclusion Taylor is not quite of age for me to be macking on. In fact, based on some loose math and the laws of gestation, I’m pretty sure that if I had gotten a girl pregnant in high school* I could in fact have a daughter the age of Taylor. Which is sad, because now I’m that creepy guy. Which I could have totally gotten away with in my 20′s. However seeing as how I’m now 30, this is totally creepy and now I’m a creepy old man. 

Damn you age!

Lastly, is Jessica Szohr, who plays some hot girl interested in some douche bag. Standard MO for this type of show. 

Hiiiiii cute girl! (Photo by Andrew H. Walker/Getty Images)

Hiiiiii cute girl! (Photo by Andrew H. Walker/Getty Images)

Anyway, this foxy lil lady has appeared on such high quality shows such as What About Brian? Which leads me to ask, what about Jessica. No way that show should have focused on anyone but Jessica here. I mean, look at her. Honestly.

 

So that’s been my obsession for the weekend. I even looked at Target.com to figure out if they had Season 2 on DVD yet. Apparently, season 2 is on the CW every Monday night. But had they, I would have made a trip down to Target just to pick up season 2 and some hair stuff. I need some new hair stuff, because I got a new hair cut at one of those “man spas” HairM. 

I don’t usually pay for haircuts, I usually take a set of clippers attach the number 2, and BAM! But in this rare instance I decided to hop on down to HairM and get not only a great hair cut (thanks short little asian lady with huge white clown shoes) but got a great scalp massage and beer. You see, I love the scalp massage. I’ve been to HairM three times, and all three times I have passed out asleep whilst getting said scalp massage. It’s glorious ladies, seriously. You should all take classes in how to do this so that you  when it comes down to it, you can help end world wars with a simple massage. 

The best part of this adventure to HairM was actually the day before at our Superbowl party where the discussion of frequenting an establishment such as HairM may be akin to frequenting a whore house. 

Me: So I’m getting my hair cut tomorrow at HairM
Friend: (suspiciously) Really?
Me: (picking up on said suspicion) Yeah, why?
Friend: Do they wax your balls there?
Me: (in shock) Well, I, mean, I haven’t exactly memorized all the services provided….. but…..
Friend: Well I was just under the impression that’s what they did there.
Me: Well I’ve only been a couple times, so I”m not  exac…. wait,  WHAT MAN GETS THIER BALLS WAXED?
Friend: (laughing hysterically) I dunno, just figured Guys did that and thats the place it would get done. 
Me: NO!! NO. NO NO. NO. NO NO NO NO. Nope.
Friend: (giggles)
Me: Seriously, I can’t imagine that being a service anywhere aside from International super spys.
Friend: Just figured that would be something that went down there.
Me: Are you implying it’s a whorehouse?
Friend: Well, maybe.
Me: Well, for your benefit, I’ll make sure to ask in between hair cut and head scalp I’ll slip in a little, “hey can I get my balls waxed?”
Friend: Why thank you.

So, as I sat their in my chair, I contemplated for a short second asking if HairM services include Ball waxing. Then I realized, what if they did. Then she would think I would be willing to get one. And I’m just telling you this one thing. No man should ever want his balls waxed. EVER.

Plus depending on the girl, that may be considered a pick up line.

But, of course to conclude my 30 birthday festivities my little clown shoed asian stylist stopped near the end of my cut to mention,

“you’ve got some hair on your ears, I’m going to shave it off. And one long one.” 

Thank you. Thank you very much for reminding me that my new faux hawk haircut cannot halt the slamming realization that I am indeed 30. 

Boo Yah Twenties. We had a good run. 

 

*This of course was not at all possible in high school, for I was not cool enough to be having sex. However, I was cool enough to be 5th in line at the movie theater when Star Wars was re-released. Yup. I am that awesome. Who knew that I was this cool BEFORE the blog.

As always email at
SaracasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

Until next time….


Comments : 4 Comments »

Categories : Entertainment, Life, Television

Auld Lang Syne…

28 12 2008

New Years can suck it~

I’m pretty sure that New Years is the second worst holiday of the year. Following Valentines Day, at the number one spot. I come to question New Years as my life goes on.

I’m not sure how getting really drunk, and making out with someone at midnight is any more special that most my week nights. (minus the making out.)

In addition to that, is it just me, or has New Years become a marketing ploy to overcharge you at the door, then make sure they complete the rape with no lube, by charging obscene amounts for drinks?

This really only pains me, becuase I am a consumer whore. So I will more than likely be partaking in this obvious exploitation, only in hopes to score with some drunk chick hottie, who can hopefully still stand.

Here’s to ’09!


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Tags: , , ,
Categories : Life, Self Reflection

Happy Trails, and Heroin…

8 12 2008

I’m currently sitting in my car.

It’s 6:28 on a Sunday night. I’m doing “Lot Security” for The Warehouse.

I’m basically wired right into the police station keeping watch on The Warehouse as people get off work and mosey to their cars.

It’s been quite the last couple of weeks at The Warehouse. Of course a couple of weeks ago, Thanksgiving was in full force. As was the stupidity of people.

Before, the radio station would generally close it’s doors at noon on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving so that people could go home and make happy hour be with their families. This is not the case with The Warehouse. They are open EXTRA late for all those people who obviously couldn’t invest in a calendar and mark it with the date A YEAR IN ADVANCE!

(ps, if your wife sent you to fulfill one, and one mission only, for Thanksgiving to get dinner rolls. And you waited till the Wednesday night at 6:23 before Thanksgiving, chances are….
#1. You failed
#2. You didn’t plan ahead.
#3. Your wife is going to pissed cause you had to settle for “The Other Stores” brand of dinner rolls.
annnnd #4. I could give a fuck less if you waited till 6:23 on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving to get dinner rolls. No, we will not make more. And it’s your fault if you got married, and it’s even more your fault that you can’t finish one simple task. Oh and glaring at me, not getting you your rolls any faster. Happy Thanksgiving.)

ps.. Thanksgivings on the 26th next year. You’ve got some time. Just tryin to help.

Sorry bout that. Back to the point. The point is, not only did I not get out of work early on Wednesday but I had to work the day after on Friday. Black Friday it’s called. With reason. I imagine a lowly little high school kid coined the term, because he was forced to work at 4am at a Best Buy, therefore going to work in the dark black night sky. Or it could possibly be because retail owners have a cold black heart and no soul. Still up in the air.

With that being said Christmas is right around the corner so I fully expect that people will only get worse as the “season of giving” gets closer. Come to think of it, it’s already started. Peoples intelligence level is already beginning to decline along with their patience and manners.

Man I hate the Holidays.

Not only have I been trying to save money, but also, I’ve been trying not to eat a ton of crap. So usually I eat a protein bar for breakfast head off to work and graze upon the many samples during my designated 30 minute “lunch” period. (ps, I clocked back in one day 4 minutes late and got written up. 4 minutes. At least I was sober is the way I look at it.)

On this day though I had run out of bars and was running late so I went to work without something to eat. Bad idea.

I often get cranky when my blood sugar drops, and combining that with completely stupid people and basically you’ve got trouble brewing. Crisis was adverted this day my friends. I got off my register for my 30 minutes bought some much needed protein bars for the future, and stood in line for a cheap slice of pizza.

The line for food often times gets of of control because people cannot pass up a dollar fifty for a hot dog and coke. Today was of course no different. I stood in line for 10 glorious minutes of my alloted 30 minutes giving me 20 minutes left of my break and giving me just enough time to listen to the two awkward alterna-teens behind me playing grab ass.

Two teens roughly 17-18 each and both highly socially inept were standing behind me waiting for the opportunity to order some delicious artery clogging treats. I kept tuning in and out of their conversation. Of course they weren’t having a very quite one, so it wasn’t hard. The first conversation was a great debate as to wether one of the customers was a guy or girl… I couldn’t help but actually join that conversation in my head…

Jury is still out too. I’m leaning toward girl, but I can’t be certain.

So I tune them out for a couple of minutes. I’ve moved ever so close to the front to order my pizza. I’m beginning to get really excited at the prospect of a warm slice of combo pizza in my hand, when I realize I’ve let my guard down just enough to catch this little gem….

awkward teen guy: “you know what I could do with my happy trail?”
awkward teen girl: “(excitedly) whaaaaaat??”
awkward teen guy: “I could shave it into an arrow or something like that!”
awkward teen girl: “ooooooh…”

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEASE HURRY FOOD COURT PEOPLE! PLEASE!

Just at that moment when I thought things could only get worse, food court guy shouted, “can I help the next person”

Thank you food court guy. Thank you. You have no idea how you’ve helped.

So that was fun. However, nothing prepared me for the fun we actually had a couple of nights ago. Everything was going along as normal at The Warehouse. People checking the clock. People boxing your stuff. Me slacking. When all of a sudden The Warehouse managers all run toward the bathroom at a full sprint.

Apparently, some dude thought it would be cool to shoot up heroin in our bathrooms and almost die.

Seriously.

We as employees weren’t allowed near the bathrooms unless we had something to contribute to the situation. And since my CPR card ran out a few years ago, they felt as if I probably couldn’t help much with the situation. I didn’t get all of the details, however the police and paramedics were there. As a security measure The Warehouse management decided it was best if we closed the restrooms for a short period of time, while they cleaned up, and got the dude out of there.

I guess the part that shook me the most were the customers who were bitching at management because the restrooms were closed. And it’s not like they didn’t inform the customers that we had a “medical emergency.” Apparently though, that’s not a good enough reason for our bathrooms to be closed.

I’m not sure what’s more concerning to me. The fact that someone thought The Warehouse bathrooms were the optimal place to shoot up. Or people were pissed off about the bathrooms being closed for medical emergencies.

Boggles my mind.

I wrote this on my phone and imported it today. So if your reading this and complaining that I’m not in my car, and it’s not Sunday…. well there you go. Damn. Sticklers for accuracy I guess.

I know I’ve been writing about work a lot, but it’s really all I have. So if there is something you think would be fun for me to dissect, or rant, or joke about send it to me….

SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com

Until Next time…


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Categories : Life

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