Thursday, June 30, 2005
Don't: Have an outdoor wedding when it's 97 degrees outside. As nice as the breeze was, we would have all preferred not to need it in the first place -- no one likes to sweat through his jacket or stick to her dress.
Do: Invite your granparents.
Don't: Let them drive themselves to the ceremony. We were supposed to kick off at five o'clock sharp, but managed to not get under way until 5:30 because my grandfather got lost on the way over from his hotel. He called my dad at 5:00 because he was in BOWLING GREEN. For those of you not familiar with Toledo-area geography, Bowling Green is 14 miles down the highway from Maumee. What's worse is that my dad took my grandfather to the ceremony site at 2:30 that very same day. Honestly, it's less than three miles from the hotel to the park -- you take two rights, two lefts, and it's on your right. But instead, he got on the highway. As soon as he got on that ramp, he had to have known he was going the wrong way, right? Instead of turning around, though, he went ANOTHER FOURTEEN MILES. Holy fuck.
Do: Have a family photo after the ceremony. Be sure to include the whole family on each side -- every aunt, uncle, and cousin.
Don't: Wait for that one uncle to return after he inexplicably decides to ignore the warnings about sticking around for a family photo and leaves. Rememebr, it's 97 degrees and we've already been standing out there for an extra half hour because Gramps got lost. You leave, you're relegated to being Photoshopped in.
Do: Seat your friends near the bar at the reception.
Don't: Let the bar serve beer in pitchers. Before you know it, all your friends will be on the dance floor drinking from pitchers and the waiters will have nothing with which to serve the rest of the guests.
Do: Have a cake topped with fresh berries instead of flowers made of frosting.
Don't: Mash a piece of that cake into your bride's face, letting the berries fall and stain her big white dress.*
Do: Let your friends decorate your car with shoe polish. You know -- crap like "HONK FOR JEFF AND ABBY" and "JUST MARRIED" and big hearts and flames by the wheels and everything. (Of course, I use the term "let" very loosely, since I was nowhere near when they did this to me.)
Don't: Let your idiot friends get non-washable shoe polish to do it. Because let's face it, your friends ARE idiots, and they'll get something that doesn't wash off, so you'll have to spend the entire first night home from the honeymoon and skip work the next day to scrub the entire car with a soft cloth and isopropyl alcohol and/or gasoline to get the damn shit off. Assholes.
Do: Invite your fattest friend to the wedding. Make sure he loves to dance, so his shirt is soaked through with sweat. Completely through.
Don't: Let your fat friend attempt to run across the dance floor and do front handsprings. The fact of the matter is, your friend is way fatter than he was in high school when he was strong and marginally athletic -- there's no way in hell he'll land that front handspring. And definitely don't let him try a second time, lest he almost kick your 10 year-old cousin in the face.
Do: A bouquet toss and garter belt thing.
Don't: Take her garter off with your teeth while he grandparents are still there. For some reason, they don't really see the humor in it.
Do: Book a suite for the wedding night at a great hotel.
Don't: Tell your friends what hotel it's in. That could be disastrous.
* This is the only one that didn't actually happen. Sorry.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Aaron - really likes to make an ass of himself. And no, my friend, you look nothing like Ben Affleck. That is why you got the boot, then you cried. Sissy. Then you were hard, and "over it".
Of course, the old guy sings a song to her, and the young woman calls it "sweet." All of us at home know that she means "creepy."
The crazy Dante guy is without a doubt a big crier. Even odds he tells her that he's falling in love with her by the second show.
The guy who uses magic to get women from Saving Silverman is on the show. You laugh when it's in a movie, you cry inside when you see it in real life. Great quote when he got booted though, "Everyone here called me the magician, I guess I have to go home and work on the magic." NBC gave him this chance, but "magic" means "extensive plastic surgery."
"Solid Gold" also got the boot. Anytime you have a nickname that originated in the 70s dance scene, you're screwed.
Igor is sticking around for the second show. Odds are he tries to actually eat the model girl. This could either be his downfall, or a huge plus, depending on how kinky this Vegas girl is.
She eliminated my early favorite, the redheaded college guy. My new favorite is Jesus, who actually is a carpenter. If he doesn't win, I bet Mel Gibson beats the shit out of some NBC execs.
Based on the teaser, this girl makes out with EVERYONE. I love her already!
Monday, June 27, 2005
These all seem equivelant to the news flash on the Channel 3 news in Cleveland a few weeks ago: "High Schoolers Drinking at a Prom Party!?" I, for one, had never known prom and drinking to go hand-in-hand. Keep up the good work, newsies!
Saturday, June 25, 2005
However, tonight will be a different story, I'm going to a wedding. I've only been to 2 weddings in my life so far, and both have ended up with me blacked out. Let's review:
Wedding 1 (Williamsburg, Va, Oct. of 2003):
The wedding itself was in Wren Chapel and was a nice 30 minute ceremony. The reception was a 6 hour open bar and buffet held at a bar less than 100 feet from my house. The bride and groom had the inherent foresight to chose this, out "hangout" bar, as the site of the reception (OK, there are only 3 bars people go to in Williamsburg, so every bar could be considered our "hangout"). The atmosphere was less wedding reception and more drink-off. I say this because I had a chugging contest against the groom's boss (best of 5, I think) followed by Irish Car Bombs. This was an important part of the night, because it is pretty much the last thing I remember.
I had been talking to two twins the whole night, and things were going well. I was talking about classical music, opera, and many other things I really know nothing about, but give off the illusion that I'm cultured. After the open bar was over, we went back to my house and played beer pong in the backyard (obviously, anyone who is somewhat cosmopolitan has a beer pong table in their backyard). Somehow, someway, my words and actions degraded the twins once-esteemed view of me to the point they felt compelled to leave. I don't know if there was an exact moment when they decided to head out, but one may have been when I saw my ex-girlfriend, who was now dating my housemate (or ex-friend), and introduced the twins to her saying "Hey, this is K, she's a whore." Yes, I may say inappropriate things when I'm drunk at wedding receptions.
I ran into the twins at a bar later that night. I proceeded to ask the one I had been hitting on what she was doing talking to another guy. Then I shoved the guy away and got in his face. At this point I realized (ok, he told me) that he was the older brother of one of my friends. While it was awkward at the time, it makes for a great story whenever I run into him back in the 'burg.
At breakfast the next morning, the twin that I was talking to confided to the bride, "(Tre!) was really fun and interesting, then we went back to his house and he turned into a frat guy." Mmmm, if only she knew the half of it.
Mindy, if you are reading this, tell the twins I say hello and that I'm gonna cut back on my drinking.
Wedding #2 (Leland, MI, June of 2004):
This wedding was a little different, as I had to rent a hotel room with 4 high school friends. The hotel was a nice, quaint bed and breakfast that overlooked Lake Leelanau. The problem was that it was full of families that had packed water skis and picnic lunches for a relaxing weekend. We had packed Tanqueray, Smirnoff, Bacardi and the like. The only relaxing part of our weekend would be when we passed out.
The reception was held at the local country club and this time the open bar was "limited." However, this in no way "limited" my ability to get completely hammered.
Once again, two quotes punctuated my general debauchery for the evening. The first was to a high school classmate that I really hadn't liked in high school, but had changed a lot (he had joined the marines) and I changed as well, and now we seemed very similar: "Hey man, listen, I really f'ing hated you in high school, but now, you know, I really like you man." I don't know if my level of intoxication had made me forget my sexual orientation, or if I just had a huge man-crush on him, but it definitely seemed like I was hitting on him. However, he diffused the possibly awkward situation by letting me know that he felt the same way. My second sound bite would not avoid the awkward afterglow.
"Listen, if you ever break up with your boyfriend, give me a call, because I've had a crush on you since high school." This, my friends, is the way to a woman's heart. The real effect of this isn't fully grasped unless the whole conversation is relayed, but here is the gist of it (this follows the aforementioned pickup line):
Her: "Oh, that's really nice, I'm flattered."
Me: "OK, I felt a little weird saying it, but I feel like I had to."
Her: "Well, that was nice."
Me: "I'm sorry, I didn't want to make you feel awkward."
Her: "I don't, don't worry about it."
Me: "Good, so are you saying you'll think about it?"
Her: "Yeah, now it's getting awkward."
What? I would never leave well enough alone! Oh well. To the lucky female I had this conversation with, the offer still stands! Feel free to continue feeling awkward.
The night in Leland concluded with me feeling some sort of compulsion to sleep outside on the swing. I didn't really consider the repercussions of sleeping in the common area of a family bed and breakfast. Luckily, the 45 to 50 degree night temperature drove me in shivering at about 5 in the morning. Kids were spared the sight of a college kid in his boxers wrapped in a sheet reeking of Jim Beam with drool plastered across his face. "Oh honey, don't worry, when you get to college, you get really hammered at night and the mornings are a bitch."
In conclusion, I'm a little worried about what I might do at the wedding tonight, but I guess at least it's another blog entry.
On an unfortunately related note, Congratulations to Nye! and to both Abbies that are getting married tonight!
Friday, June 24, 2005
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Seriously, when you decide to get married, just elope. The closer this wedding gets, the harder time I’m having believing that it will be worth all the stresses involved. Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited for the wedding and looking forward to being married – I think it will be great. But planning a wedding? Fuckin sucks.
And yes, I know what you’re thinking – “but you’re just the groom, you didn’t even have to do most of it!” And you’re right. But try leaving creative control up to your fiancée and being involved enough that you’re not making her do the whole thing herself? That’s a fine line to walk, my friends.
So I bid you farewell as a single man. I’m leaving in about half an hour to head to
PS – Pray for good weather. It’s an outdoor wedding and they’re currently predicting a 40% chance of rain. Fuck.
PPS – I was kidding about the last name, you asshats.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Howard Stern hit the nail on the head this morning when he asked her why she needed to do this. She wants to be famous, being "just" rich isn't enough, even though being obscenely wealthy would be enough for most of us. She's pretty miserable at being famous and she's on a crusade to prove that you can't buy fame (however, I will make you "famous" for a nominal fee. OK, you won't be famous, I'll just talk about all the things we did with my friends when I get drunk). All of the contestants fawn all over her, making it look like one big ego trip. However, if I was on the show, I'd do whatever she wanted, as long as it included slapping my cock across her forehead (a "wabaam" for the uninitiated).
Then there are the contestants. Most of them walking cliches. There is the large black woman with a huge personality, the effeminate waiter, the hick that has no manners and dips on national TV, the slutty blonde that insists she isn't a slut, and the so-cool-I-shouldn't-even-be-on-this-show guy. I really had to turn the TV off when the beauty queen started singing. I'm not saying I did this for effect, I actually had to turn off the TV. The British chick used the word "fracas" and actually used it somewhat correctly. However, no one else on the show understood what it meant, including Kathy Hilton. That has to be a little embarrassing for a hotel mogul. Oh that's right, embarrassment would be if the internet was inundated with videotapes of your daughter banging anyone half-famous.
I wish my biggest problem was my daughter being freaky in the sack.
Strike that. I guess when it's your own daughter, the fact that she's a "freak" (read as: whorish slutbag) isn't that cool. Good luck to you, Kathy, it's obvious your life is miserable.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Do baby daddies get a gift on father's day? What about sperm donors? On the other end, what about adopted children of a lesbian household? These kids seemed to be really screwed. Do they have to give a gift to their biological fathers and the butch lesbian? I bet people didn't think about this possible dilemma when they legalized gay marriage. What about children that were born as a result of an extra-marital affair? Or a call to a gigolo? Or a gang-bang? Or sitting on a unisex public toilet seat? I just wish Hallmark would think about these things before cursorily declaring a holiday.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
UC Law named a new dean late last week. Of all the candidates who gave presentations at the law school, he was the only one I didn't personally hear. The student response was near-unanimous though: they hated him. Well done, UC.
In other legal news, a jury of his peers (at least to the extent that such a thing exists) acquitted Michael Jackson on all 10 counts of child molestation/endangerment/etc earlier this week in California. I hadn't been following the trial, but my understanding is that the turning point was when the younger brother of Jackson's accuser took the stand. Under intense cross-examination, he ultimately impeached himself on several occasions, leading the jury to apparently conclude that the whole thing was a "shake-down." Under pressure, the boy admitted that Jackson was never anything but a gentleman when he was in the room (a gentleman who, apparently, likes to sleep with little boys).
In any case, I think this trial confirms what we knew all along -- it takes an 11 year-old boy to get Michael Jackson off.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
The first night included the mandatory trip to Hooters, followed by a few strip clubs, then the casinos. I ended up talking to a female at the Tropicana on Saturday night. I was more than slightly inebriated, and I decided to embellish the resume a little on site. Yes, I told her that I was a lawyer (I figured while "law student" makes the cut in my local bars, AC is the big time). This ploy was going well, until her friends showed up and started shooting my game down big time. OK, they just asked simple questions, and I said whatever first came to my mind. As you can imagine, lots of contradictions and missing links in my story. She then told me that her Dad was CEO of Waterford Crystal, which I'm thinking now was probably a lie in response to my lie. Why you ask? Earlier she told me her Dad looked a lot like Tony Danza. Can you imagine this man running a distinguished, old-fashioned English company? No, it's definitely someone who looks more like this, or even this. Tony Danza, definitely not the boss here (just too easy, I apologize). After the inquisition of her friends, my game fell completely apart. Tre 0, Jersey girls 1
Leaving the casino, we passed another attractive female on the street. This wasn't the slow burn like Waterford Crystal, this was the instant flameout.
Me (all words slurred): "Wow, I'd love to have sex with a girl like that. What's up?"
Her (very clear, very loud): "Fuck you, asshole."
Me: "Oh, I love it when you talk dirty, baby."
For some reason this did not work. Tre 0, Jersey girls 2
Then we decided to get strippers in our hotel rooms. However, we all forgot our Rest of the World/Jersey thesauri (what's the plural of thesaurus). In Jersey, apparently "strippers" actually means "hookers." Not really what we were in the market for. These girls were hot. I mean really hot. Not the "attractive hot", but the "oh man I can smell the gonorrhea from across the room" hot. Needless to say, this did not go well. Tre 0, Jersey girls 2 (Jersey girls do not get a point for me not trying to sleep with hookers, I'd give myself a point, but we did have to pay $300 bucks for them just to show up).
Finally, we went to a real strip club, where girls are naked and it's BYOB. The girls here were pretty attractive, and one started hitting on me. As I slowly burned all my cash, I kept thinking about that Onion editorial, "Man, that stripper really liked me," and realized I was slowly becomming that man. She was a damn good stripper though, not because she was hot, or could dance, but she definitely made me feel like I had a chance all night. All night until I passed out in the strip club and got kicked out. Tre 0, Jersey girls 3.
Let's just say I'm glad I'm back here at home, far away from Jersey girls. The girls here at least talk to me, even if it's just to tell me to buy them another drink.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Also, I am working two jobs (to John's one part-time job), wrote a law review write-on since school ended (which John did not), and am 18 days away from my wedding (while John is busy with one of his one-man jobs mentioned in the previous post).
So suck my balls.
2.) The vending machines in my office carries candy bars exclusively. I then look around the office at the denizens of overweight peeps, and I wonder if I'm working in some sort of time bubble where they don't care about being healthy.
3.) I am spending way too much money in Mt. Lookout.
4.)Anyone see "The Scholar" last night? I watched parts, and I don't recommend it at all, except there is a really cocky kid that is unintentionally hilarious. He's not jock cocky though, he's smart cocky. You know, the kid who before tests was like, I'm gonna get 100%, why, because you are all morons. I'm assuming upcoming plotlines include him getting shoved into a locker by one of the other kids on the show. It was great to see how upset with himself he got when he missed the question to win $50,000. It was: " Who wrote Gone With the Wind?" Call me uneducated, but I would have missed this question as well. However, I don't read chick books, so I wouldn't have cared. He didn't cry, but close enough.
5.) Anyone know Megan Willis? She's the catcher for the University of Texas softball team. And yes, I'm in love with a softball catcher. I know the jokes, she must be a lesbian, or she could kick my ass, but really, I don't see anything wrong with that. I definitely watched a lot of the softball college world series this weekend. What Megan really has going for her is spunk, which is a definite requirement. However, I hate the word spunk, and promise never to use it again. For the record, I'd take Cat Osterman in a heartbeat as well. So if anyone knows Megan or Cat, tell them to give me a call. We need to start breeding little baseball and softball players immediately. How does one go about meeting the University of Texas softball team? Any ideas?
6.) White bread has gotten a bad rap. I haven't bought it in about 2 years because of the healthier wheat alternative. I decided to mix it up this week, and man, I forgot what I'm missing. PB and J on white is the most amazing sandwich ever. A close second is the Oscar Meyer Bologna and Cheese with Miracle Whip on white.
7.) I'm still trying to determine if the Philly/Atlantic City trip is blogable.
8.) This is the last blog I ever try to type at work on my 1988 Apple II e computer (it's better than that, but interns get the shaft here, for sure, or maybe they're just smart and keeping us off the internet).
Sunday, June 05, 2005
So today I'm at the local grocery store picking up the week's groceries and a variety of topics to blog about presented themselves to me. First, I think that I could definitely live off Sunday afternoon grocery samples. Every corner I turned around there was another free sample. It's a good idea for those of you on a budget, just find an area with a high concentration of grocery stores, and sample away all Sunday. Second, the 40 to 50 year old man behind me was buying condoms, KY, wheat bread, eggs, and bacon. That's it. I accidentally made eye contact with him and he gave me that "you know what I'm gonna do tonight" grin. I hope when I'm middle aged, I'm not proudly buying all the essentials for a one night stand. Next, there was a lady with her 3 screaming kids buying $250 worth of groceries haggling about the price of individual items and blocking the line next to me from moving. I was hoping the guy behind me in line would just break open the condoms and KY and giver her a thorough thrashing, it was obviously what she needed. However, what I want to bitch about today is a completely different topic, fatties.
I was a little disturbed about the obese man driving around in his motorized cart with his two fat kids in tow. I know what you're thinking, the cart must have been full of healthy, low fat, low calorie foods with a lot of vegetables and fruits. Actually, my cursory inspection showed the cart was full of mozzarella sticks, chips, queso, hohos, and pop tarts. I can only imagine the guy taking the hohos and dipping them in the queso then stuffing his face. This brings me to my point, sometimes the reason your fat is because you eat shitty food and ride around in a cart to buy it. I find it somewhat ironic that these people don't even get exercise when buying the food that makes them fat.
What really pisses me off is that obese people are now complaining that they are discriminated against by having to buy two seats on the plane or not being able to get jobs that require them to be somewhat active. Right, it's the system discriminating against you, not you hurting yourself. Maybe, just maybe, if you just got the single burger at Wendy's instead of the triple bacon cheeseburger ranch biggie sized with a frosty, then you wouldn't have to buy two seats. I'm a tall guy, so I'm crammed into an airplane seat as is. The last thing I want is someone else next to me creeping into the limited space I have on a plane. Oh, you can't help that you're large, so you shouldn't have to buy two tickets? What was it that you couldn't help, getting a handicapped sticker for your car so you don't have to walk an extra 15 feet whenever you go somewhere, or was it eating twix bars for breakfast? So either buy an extra ticket or start walking to Subway every day instead of ordering in Donato's. If Jared's ass can do it, yours can too.
True, some people have serious thyroid issues that severely dehabilitate their metabolism. However, the problems of this group of people have been extrapolated to cover the obese population as a whole. Some people definitely have a slower metabolism than others, but that's just life. It means you have to work harder to stay in shape and be healthy than others. I'm white and I can't really jump that high. Does that mean that I should get to use a mini-trampoline when I play basketball? I also like to drink a lot and go out on Thursday nights. It's not my fault I like to do this, it's my environment. I think the government should definitely grant me a lifelong exemption from Friday work. Three day weekends, here I come.
I'm not sure this is coherent, but maybe tomorrow at work I'll work on developing my point a little better. I'm just tired of fat people expecting they deserve protection as a disabled class because "they can't help it." You can help it, it just takes self-control and effort. It's just easier to sit on your ass and bitch than get out and do something about it. Don't expect me to care.