So this past Saturday I went to the Rangers game, where they absolutely dominated the Pittsboigh Penguins. It also happened to be my sister Laurie's birthday, so we celebrated her birthday, as well as my older sister Christina's birthday, which is on Wednesday.

And hey, look! Johnny Damon showed up for their birthdays!



Check out his fake tan and his carefully groomed 11:00 shadow. Also, check out the kid in the yellow shirt, who has a laser pointer for an eye, and is turning his head all the way around. He's a robot!

Damon was kind of a jerk. Everyone saw where he was sitting because they showed him on the big screen. He got lots of boos. So in between periods, all these kids lined up for an autograph, but Johnny would disappear for the entire intermission, then they'd kick the kids back to their seats, and ten minutes later Johnny would come back. Satisfied in the fact that he just spoiled the dreams of dozens of little kids.

I know how it feels. Two guys who I will always think are assholes are Phil Simms and Larry Csonka. Now that I think about it, I'll cut Simms a break. It was right after practice so he was probably really tired, but he gave this sort of look at me like, "Kid, I don't have time for this shit." I felt guilty for asking for the autograph.

But Larry Csonka was a total asshole. And you know where I saw him? At a taping of American Gladiators. My family was on vacation in California and at Universal Studios. They were giving away tickets to American Gladiators, so we were all over that shit.

He was just sitting there doing nothing. The show wasn't being taped yet, and Csonka's just sitting there staring at nothing. So I thought now was a perfect time to get an autograph. I mean, I already got one from Nitro and Lace, and they were really nice, so why wouldn't the Zonk be a nice guy?

He just grabbed my ticket (which was where I was getting the autographs) all grizzled -like, didn't even look up, signed it and handed it back. I was expecting him to say, "Stay in school" or "Just say no." Nothing. Total dick.

Looking back, he was probably just really pissed that he was a commentator on American Gladiators. Whatever, Zonk, I don't care. You are dead to me! Nitro and Lace, you are OK in my book. I also see that Lace turned to porn. Nice. She wrote "Big kiss" with a heart on my ticket stub. Pretty hot, right?

Oh, hey!!! I just took a gander in my box of ticket stubs to see if I still had the American Gladiators ticket, and check it out!!! Just in case you non-believers were like, "No way you ever met Nitro!" Here's the proof!



There on the upper left is Lace's slutty signature, then right above my thumb is Csonka's, but my favorite is Nitro. He reminds me of Steve Holt! from Arrested Development who just yells his own name all the time. Steve Holt! Nitro probably told people his name the same way he signed it. He'd be at a restaurant...

Hostess: Hi. How many?
Nitro: Two.
Hostess: Your name?
Nitro: Nitro!

And then he would challenge you to a joust! To the death!

I also just noticed that Lace didn't draw a heart, but she did give me the old "XX". She was just one X away from porn. It's like she knew what was just around the corner for her.

Anyway, here is Darius Kasparitis slamming Sidney Crosby's head into the boards.



And here are the Rangers, who now gather at center ice after every home win and do their little thank you to the fans. I like that. Good sports.



Oh Tiki Barber was also at the game, and he got a standing ovation. Take note, Johnny. Tiki is a classy guy that you can't hate. You've got a long way to go, pretty boy.

I'm having lots of trouble sleeping lately. I used to never be able to fall asleep very easily, but now that's no problem. Now I can't stay asleep. I will sleep for a couple of hours, wake up, and that's it. I'm done. So since I am really tired, I just lie there and think. I seem to revert to what I thought about as a young boy. Like winning the seventh game of the World Series; however it's not with a home run anymore, but a carefully placed bunt.

And today for some reason, I thought about smashing someone's face into a turnbuckle. You know, wrestling. No one in particular. It was a faceless face. But it felt really good to smash a face.

I get mad at my Netflix friends when they return a movie and they don't rate it. I'm always like, "What did you think of Wedding Crashers?!?!?!? Why did you return it and not rate it!!?!?!??!!?"

Seriously, why would you do that? Fucked up.

I watched The Aristocrats last night. Funny. Gets a little old, but it's really funny. If you rent it, you must watch the special features and watch Doug Stanhope tell the joke to his baby. It's the best part of the DVD, movie and all.

This is a stupid post. I've got nothing to say, really, just killing time before I have to go to work.

Hey, check it out! Pandas fucking!

In the spirit of the awards season, I would like to take a moment and recognize the best actress on television. That girl in the T-Mobile commercial. Here she is in the middle of saying "Whatever!" It makes me laugh every time.


taken with my camera phone

I think that is all I have to say today.

I just watched March of the Penguins. In case you aren't familiar with it, it's about this group of penguins who vow to lose their virginity before the end of their senior year. Pretty funny.

So my lady and I played the part of tourists this weekend. We went to Top of the Rock, so we could see New York from up top.







After that, we moseyed down towards the Rockefeller Center ice skating rink. This homo proposed to his lady at center ice.



So we are standing there and watching all the employees kick everyone off the ice, but this dude and his lady are still out there, and they are not very good at skating. So I think maybe they are just taking a while to get off the ice because they suck. But then (and here is why this guy is queer), they start blaring that Kenny Rogers song - Through the Years. So I'm like, "Oh, this dude is gonna propose." And there is this lady next to me with a British accent who didn't hear me and she keeps saying, "Why is only this one couple out there? Why are they the only ones?"

Stupid unromantic British dummy! Can't you recognize love when you see it!??!?!

Anyway, they skate around for the entire song and everyone besides British lady who has never known corny love (apparently hasn't seen Love, Actually) is just waiting for him to pop the question. So he finally gets the ring out, circles towards center ice, awkwardly gets on one knee and asks. I assume she says yes and everyone claps and yells. It would have been a really nice New York moment, but damn that Kenny Rogers song that got stuck in my head for the rest of the night.

So it's nice to see young kids in love these days.

Hey, speaking of gay things, someone is funny and keeps searching things to get to my blog, knowing I will see the search results via sitemeter. So I would just like to thank the person who is doing it, and would like for you to come clean and tell me who you are. The most recent search is below.



I'd have to answer no, but that would imply I have had sex with men, but I haven't. So to answer your question, Google Searcher, I don't know if I enjoy it, but I will never do it, so I really can't answer you. Sorry. Good luck in your future searches.

I noticed a new referring URL on my sitemeter the other day and thought it odd that it was coming from theknot.com. For those who don't know, it is not a web site devoted to an actual knot. Hey, by the way, that was the reason I quit the Boy Scouts. We had like three meetings in a row where we learned how to tie knots. And then I remember getting a schedule of upcoming meetings and there were three more meetings that said the agenda was "More tying ropes and knots." And I was like, "Fuck you scouts!" Interesting side note: four of those scouts hung themselves. The cops were like, "These nooses were done really well." That's a lie, but I'm glad I quit the Boy Scouts. I have no idea how to hang myself.

Anyway, the knot dot com is a web site devoted to those planning weddings. As in "tying the knot." So why would I be getting a referral from them? It was from a discussion group where someone recommended my blog. Here is the link.

So it is very nice and flattering that someone would take time out of their day and write a nice thing about me, but the second sentence in that post is "Every week he gets drunk."

So it made me think, Man, I have a problem!

And I realized this while watching The Price is Right and drinking a beer.

You know what phrase I would like to throw under the bus? The one where people say someone was thrown under the bus. A few weeks ago I said to someone that I've heard it way too much all of the sudden, and now because of Peyton Manning selling out his o-line, everyone on ESPN just used the phrase.

Here is a picture of Peyton Manning throwing Ryan Diem under the bus.

Most insensitive joke ever on this blog coming up!

Did anyone watch the Rangers retire Mark Messier's number the other night? For some reason, Christopher Reeve's wife was there, singing a really cheesy song to Messier. It was awful. But the thing I noticed was that Ms. Reeve was wearing fishnet stockings and a very short skirt. So she's back on the market. So I said, "Christopher Reeve must be trying to roll over in his grave."

I just got a message from the people at Marriott that they didn't find my jacket (see below post). What the hell is going on??? Bunch of monkeys fucking a football over there.

This is very upsetting. This must be exactly how the families of those miners felt.

Every time I open my mailbox at home and I see something from the good people of CARE, I sigh and say aloud to myself, "You donate to one fucking tsunami..."

Seriously, they won't let me be. I helped the bitches of Katrina, but I went to Habitat for Humanity for that disaster. So now I've got Jimmy Carter trying to hit me up for some cash. So I've learned my lesson. Don't give money. Or if you do, just give to one charity and stick with it, and let them be the only ones to occasionally bother you. Otherwise, you are going to get mail every day with pictures of some poor homeless kid eating a homeless guy's poo for dinner. Yeah, I know. I thought they went too far with that picture as well.

I wanted to donate to that Pakistani earthquake, because that was by far the worst disaster of the last year, but I've gots to save my money. Sorry, Pakky. I'll catch you on the flip flop.

So I'm down 150 bucks as of yesterday. Why? Because I lost a tuxedo jacket that I rented for my friend Kevin's wedding. 150! The bitch of it is that I know I left it somewhere at the hotel. I was getting ready to leave and check out, I checked the pockets, then I guess I put it down, called the front desk for a speedy check out, but forgot to pick up the jacket.

So I got home and realized it wasn't there and called the hotel immediately. The lady said that she would put a lost & found request in and get back to me within 24 hours. So I was all, "24 hours? Bitch, I was just in room 521 45 minutes ago, so send some bell hopping motherfucker up to 521 and scope it out." Except the only problem was that I said that in my head and not out loud. Instead, I was like, "OK, thanks." To be honest, I wasn't too concerned because I was 99% sure I left it on a chair in the room.

So they called me back the next day, just under the 24 hour deadline, and told me they didn't have it. She said that it was possible they didn't clean the room yet. So I was all, "Bitch. It's one day later. Don't give me this shit about not cleaning the room. I had some cleaning lady knocking on my fucking door at 9 in the morning! If they still didn't clean it, then what did she want at 9:00?!?! I wanna talk to a manager! Oh, I am furious!!!!!"

Again, though, I only said that in my head. I don't remember what I said out loud this time. So I called back later that day to see what was what. When she said it still wasn't found, I politely told her that I thought this was a little troubling, because I know the jacket was somewhere on their property. I don't know who would only want the jacket to a rental tuxedo, but I was imagining that a housekeeper's husband was now dressing a little classier.

Oh, one weird thing was the lady who called to first let me know about not finding the jacket. She ended her phone call with, "Have a blessed day." I thought that was odd for the people at Marriott. I hate when people say that, because it's like you aren't as great as them if you just say, "Have a good one." This bitch wants me blessed. And isn't there some sort of separation of church and hotel rule? Isn't that the whole reason they didn't let the baby Jesus in the inn? They used that whole, "We have no more room" as an excuse to keep out the Jesus freaks.

I brought the tux back to the Men's Wearhouse, where I had rented my wears, and the gal was like, "OK, just wait a moment while I verify that we have everything." So I say, "Well, I can tell you right now that the jacket isn't in there."

I truly believe I am the first person to have ever have lost a jacket. She was like, "You lost it?!" So I said, "Well, I know I left it at the hotel, but they are telling me they can't find it. I don't wanna talk about it."

So now she shouts to another lady way across the Men's Wearhouse, "Hey! He lost the tuxedo jacket!!! You have to- He lost the jacket! To the tuxedo! You have to tell me what to do!" That was kind of embarrassing, sort of the Men's Wearhouse equivalent of being at a supermarket and they are like, "Can I get a price check on the Fart-No-More medicine? And the Crippling-Dandruff-Be-Gone shampoo? And the Dr. Slippy Shits adult diapers?"

So the other lady had to come over because the girl didn't know how to charge me for it. The other lady asked me what happened, and I started to explain how annoying it was that they couldn't find it, and how I wouldn't be so annoyed if I was just a drunk idiot that left it somewhere, then I found myself again saying, "I don't wanna talk about it." That phrase became totally involuntary.

Anyway, I called the hotel one more time, talked to a different lady, and she was like, "I don't see a jacket." Now I am just picturing her sifting through this little lost & found box, waiting for her to ask me, "Um, you said it was black, right? Is it sunglass shaped?"

Finally, Tuesday night I got a call from housekeeping and they told me they found it. Hurrah! She then told me to have a blessed day. And I said to her, "Ma'am. It already is blessed. I thank you." That's not true. I just said, "Thanks. Now FedEx that shit to me, bitch!" Also a lie. I didn't say anything to her because she left me a message.

So I will get my money back from the Men's Wearhouse, and everyone will be blessed.

Dr. Slippy Shits. That was funny. Good one.

So, I found out more about why I got kicked out of a bar last Thursday after my company's holiday party. Oh wait, Christmas party for all you Bill O'Reilly fans out there.

Here is a transcript, courtesy of Luis, who I ultimately blame for everything:

Way to hold your liquor last night. I hear you don't remember so good. I didn't see you do anything devastatingly embarrassing, but here is one small excerpt from your evening of temperance:

Mike: Hey Luis you want a shot?
Luis: Sure! That sounds like a great idea after a night of non-stop drinking
Mike [speaking to bartender]: Two shots of tequila please
Bartender: Sorry we already had last call. [Goes to other side of bar and starts cleaning up]
Luis: Oh well, maybe next time ...
Mike: Nonsense my good man [In a stunning feat of agility for a man a inebriated as you were, reaches over bar and plucks a bottle of Stoli AND two glasses without the bartender or bouncer noticing]
Luis: Uh, is that a good idea?
Mike: Shut up I know what I'm doing [pours two shots, which we drink. Meanwhile the barkeep turns around and sees a) us drinking vodka and b) you holding the bottle of vodka]
Bartender: Okay buddy you're out of here.
Mike: Me? Why? [You sound generally befuddled]
Bartender: What do you mean why? You stole the fucking vodka bottle from the bar!
Mike: No I didn't, what are you talking about? [Your defiance sounds credible, unfortunately you are STILL holding the bottle of vodka.]
Bartender: Look give me the bottle and get the hell out of here.
(And this is my favorite bit):
Mike: [Hands over the bottle] I don't know what you are talking about, I didn't steal any bottle. This is ridiculous, I never steal anything.
Bartender: Whatever just get the hell out of here
Mike: You're a jerk.


So yeah. I have problems.

We had our holiday party last night for work, because the first week of January is always a good holiday time. So yeah, I was drunk. But I didn't get really drunk until the cab ride home. I don't know how, but it made me drunker. I am still drunk this morning.

Balls.

Something I found enjoyable last night was to say this every time someone walked up to me when having a conversation with someone else: Oh, speak of the devil.

But you need to say it all pissed off like.

Ho hum.

Hey, my boy Kevin French gets married tomorrow to his lovely lady!

Kevin's last name is French. When there was that French backlash in the run-up to the Iraq war, he changed his last name to "USA A-OK."

This black lady with huge boobs just won a Corvette on The Price is Right. I've got nothing else to say about that. It's just one of those things where if I was on the phone with you right now, I'd be like, "This black lady with huge boobs just won a Corvette on The Price is Right."

UPDATE: I was much drunker than I recall, apparently. I just got this email from a co-worker:

do you remember getting kicked out of the bar for stealing vodka shots?

Happy Ne... ah, forget it. You are sick of hearing that, right? Me too.

So I was in Atlantic City for a bachelor party on Thursday. And like every other bachelor party I've ever been to, we took orphans to the zoo. It's so worth it. Just to see the smiles on their faces. I also won some money at a blackjack table. I was really drunk. I've only won at blackjack when really drunk. And usually after taking orphans to the zoo.

I saw Brokeback Mountain. Normally, I would make a gay joke here, but it's all been done. A Google search of Bareback Mountin' will reveal that fact. Anyway, I went to see it with me lady, because that is one movie I don't think I'd be brave enough to see by myself. So it turns out I am not afraid of homosexuals, just afraid of people thinking I'm a homosexual. It would probably be difficult to find a straight fella other than Roger Ebert who went to see the movie by their lonesome.

Here is part of a conversation Tania and I had after the movie:

Me: Heath Ledger was really good, but I thought that it seemed like Jake Gyllenhaal was playing dress-up.

Tania: Isn't that what acting is?

Me: Yeah, but I'm not supposed to notice it.

Tania: True.

Me: I guess he did an OK job of being the needy gay cowboy.

Tania: Well, he was the bottom.

Yeah, spoiler alert. Jake is the bottom bitch. And they don't ease you into the gayness of the movie. Here is a quick blog impression of the first 15 minutes:

Hey, let's herd these sheep. OK, that's some good sheep herdin'. Uh oh, it's cold out there. You'd best get in this here tent and out from the cold. Spoon me, Heath Ledger. Oh, I'll spoon you alright! Right up the bum with my weiner!

The dialogue is a little off, but the rest is fairly accurate.