I AM PRIMED FOR SUMMER...

The WORLD CUP is upon us (GO U.S.A.), the NBA FINALS are underway (Go Celtics), I play in a weekly basketball game with my friends, the weather has been fantastic, and I have a bachelor party quickly approaching a few weeks from now in VEGAS.  In light of all the fun events that stand before me, I figured I better get back on track and talk about a few more things that PISS ME OFF.

1.) LAKERS FANS.  Maybe it's because you don't have a pro football team here and there's so much focus on the storied franchise with the ugliest uniforms in the history of sports.  Donning that Purple and Gold must be painful.  Or perhaps it's the fact that Jack Nicholson (a native of my home state) sits courtside like a traitor and cheers for Kobe Bryant as if he were his son.  It really sucks that Jack is so cool and Kobe is a beast.  Truthfully, that stuff doesn't bother me as much as the God Damned flags sticking out of every car window in the city.  It might be acceptable if all the ghetto whips were rocking them, but every fucking LEXUS, BENZ, and Hummer in LA has at least one.  When I see one I want to rip it out, wipe my backside with it, throw it in a bonfire and piss all over it.  If the KNICKS didn't suck so much, I would be talking more shit... Too bad they suck.

2.) PLAYING BASKETBALL WITH GROWN ASS MEN.  I HATE it.  If you play pickup games or in a league, you know what I'm talking about.  If not, bare with me, I'll explain.  It all starts during childhood.  When you're a kid, and other kids complain and act like pussies on the basketball court, it's understandable.  You think they'll grow up, be tough and stop calling brush fouls.  The funny thing is... That never happens.  Once a sissy, always a sissy.  Quit your bitching and play ball.

I also can't stand when people think they're great and try to do more than they're capable of.  Play within yourself pal.  You're not that good.  If you were, you would've gone to DUKE, and I'd be watching you in the NBA FINALS instead of playing in a league with you at Beverly Hills High School.

3.) PEOPLE WHO CONSTANTLY SUNBATHE.  Jesus, don't you know the sun is not that good for you?  Yes, in small doses it's healthy, but laying out every day and being over-exposed to the sun can lead to skin cancer.  Haven't you heard?  Or is that just a theory, like EVOLUTION?  I think it's about time we start trusting scientists.  If you're going to be defiant and stay out in the sun all day every day, you better throw some SPF 50 on or you're going to wind up looking like MAGDA from "THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT MARY".  That's not good, trust me.  Nobody wants to fondle a reptile... Unless you live in Florida where the leather skin look is in.

4.) THE MEDICAL MARIJUANA SHOPS IN CALIFORNIA.  Look, I don't have a problem with smoking weed, but if they're going to make that shit legal just do it already.  I've had enough of these phony doctors standing in the streets with their 420 signs, ready to hand out a prescription to anyone with Bunyons or a lazy eye.  These fucking chop shops open up on every street corner like 7ELEVENs and a week later they're gone.  Then two weeks after that another one pops up in the same space.  I guess they're getting chased off, but how the fuck does a new one open up in the same spot 10 days later?  Give me a break.  Either leave the Cheech and Chong fans alone or don't let them open up in the first place.  Hey government, make up your mind already!

I have a question for all the burnouts out there... Does making weed more accessible take away from the allure?  I thought the idea of scoring some chronic was only fun when it was illegal.  Maybe if it goes legal, less people will be stoked about eating Funyuns and Cheetos at 3am.  But what the hell do I know?

5.) CLOSING THE DOOR AFTER YOU GO #2.  I will never comprehend this behavior.  What's the fucking point of taking a shit and locking your stink in a 4x6 hot box (especially when there aren't any windows)?  That's right, NONE.  And you know what's even worse?  When somebody drops anchor, and over-sprays the room with Febreeze or a disinfectant that smells like a retirement home.  You and I both know this is not circumventing the situation.

What cracks me up here, is women do this more often than men.  I know you're embarrassed that you made a smelly, but nobody gives a shit (literally).  We all know you ladies go #2, but I ask you pretty please, do not make it worse by trapping your foulness in a small room and masking it with some disgusting spray (that goes for dudes too).

I have a little story with this one.  Last Thanksgiving, my roommate and I hosted a dinner for about 12 people.  A girlfriend of a buddy of ours asked to use the bathroom after dinner and somebody was in the main one.  So my roomie politely showed her to the bathroom in his bedroom.  She vanished for about 15 minutes and suddenly reappeared.  She looked like she'd just robbed a bank.  Her face was riddled with guilt.  It's not like we didn't know she was making a doody, and as I pointed out earlier, nobody cared.  About a minute later, everyone's eyes started tearing.  Then we couldn't breathe.  This powerful scent was coming from my roomie's bedroom.  It was unbearable, but it didn't smell like POO.  My roomie hustled in there, opened the bathroom door and immediately realized it was TEA TREE OIL.  He saw the empty bottle in the trash.  If you don't know what it smells like, take a whiff... It's extremely overwhelming.  It's used to kill fungus and alleviate pain in cuts and burns (you're only supposed to use a drop).  He then whispered to me, "Do you think she knocked over the bottle?"  "Don't know" I said.  He then started laughing hysterically.  It took me a second, but I eventually got it.  She took a dumpsky and thought it smelled bad... So she went rummaging through his things to find something to cover the stench.  She stumbled upon the tea tree oil and thought it was a deodorizer.  She used the entire bottle, shut the door and scurried out.  Nobody said anything to her, but I wish I would have... It would have been hilarious, but we didn't want to embarrass her and we were too busy fighting for air while crying.

Have a great weekend kids!!!

I AM TERRIFIED OF...

One day walking into my closet to find out my favorite sweatpants and hooded sweatshirts have moved on to greener pastures.  The thought of them not being there keeps me up at night.  I don't have kids.  I don't have a dog.  I have comfortable house clothes and I care for them with all my heart.  And the best part is they don't need to be fed, nor do they talk back.  They're just awesome.  If you're anything like me, you love lounging around in your sweats.  After a long day of work, I can't wait to get home, throw my clothes in the hamper and suit up in my in-house UNIFORM (Jets hoodie, Nike sweatpants and slippers).

A great pair of SWEATS are hard to come by.  Over the years, I've had so many pairs of sweatpants, especially with all the sports I played.  We got a new pair every year for football, in both High School and College.  Man, they were comfy.  So that means I should have 8 pairs, right?  I'm no Mathematician, but that sounds correct.  Well guess what... Not even close.  I have 2.  One from HS and one from college.  Unbelievable.

The last remaining HS pair WAS great, but the waistband has since worn out, so they hang off my skinny ass.  Speaking of asses, there's a huge hole in the ass of those pants.  I have no idea where it came from.  And the College pair is now GINORMOUS (cause I used to be 35 pounds heavier) and they have oil stains all over them.  A few years back, I bought some oil to refill my engine and didn't use it all.  Like an idiot, I threw the opened container into my trunk right next to my sweats, so I can't exactly wear them in public.  They look like they've been floating in the Gulf Of Mexico for the last month.

Now HOODIES are a different story.  First off they're EXPENSIVE, so when I get a free one I'm pumped.  I got one in High School for a State Championship and it was a bit small.  I looked like a creepy hipster in it, so I gave it to a friend.  He now parades around New York City donning my famed hoodie claiming he went to my school and played on that championship team.  My college hoodie still hangs in my closet, but is mostly used for working out.  Second, the actual HOOD has to be perfect size in order for me to fall in love.  This may sound crazy, but all hoods are different.  It needs to be just oversized, so my obscenely large DOME can fit in it and if I want to sleep with the hood on, I can... without choking myself to death.  Well, beggars can't be choosers... The truth is a Hoodie is kind of like pizza... Even when it's bad... it's  good.

For some people it's a flannel shirt and a nice pair of pajama pants.  That's not for me, but I get it.  To each his own.

What I don't get is why it's frowned upon to leave your house in anything but nice clothes.  Celebrities are constantly getting bashed for their fashion sense at the supermarket.  I'm not a Mariah Carey fan, but who gives a flying fuck if she's wearing a butt ugly neon green valor jumpsuit at Target?  I know I don't.  I know they're celebrities and we hold them to such a high standard since they're in the spotlight, but should they have to be dressed for a Red Carpet event while at RALPH'S picking up baby wipes and toothpaste?  I don't think so.  I say wear whatever the hell you want... And let's leave these mother fuckers alone.  They're people too.

Comfort is key.  If you're comfortable; you're good to go.  Now, I'm not saying if your sweatpants have an enormous hole in the ass, you're 175lbs overweight, and wearing a belly shirt you should leave your living room... Cause you shouldn't.  But if you are rocking a sweet pair of sweats and a hoodie while at CVS to buy condoms (even if you're a extra on Hannah Montana), I ain't mad at you.

If I could go everywhere in my slippers I would, but then I couldn't get into my bed with them... And I would be mistaken for a homeless man, again.  Yes, it's happened before, and I'm sure it'll happen again.  If I were famous, I would most certainly be the guy getting bashed for his sense of style at the grocery store... And I wouldn't give a shit.  I'm all about the sweats baby.

So looking back I wonder where all those sweatpants went.  I know my football sweats from HS were robbed by various girlfriends over the years.  And there's no doubt about it, my hoodies shared the same fate.  Women love to steal men's comfortable knocking around clothes.  What's up with that?  If I let you rock one of my HOODIES, it doesn't mean you can take off and never return it.  That duty will be for my wife, because I know where she lives.  Broads are dancing around their living rooms right now in my HOODIES and SWEATS all over the country wondering where the hell they got them.  Pisses me off.  No respect.  Stay the hell out of my closet!!!

I AM WONDERING...

about the actors who participate in commercials for prescription drugs and weight loss products.  They must be getting PAID.  Bigtime.  Well, obviously, but notice how you never see any SUPERSTARS doing promos for VALTREX or that HPV shot for women to prevent Genital Warts.  Imagine Kate Hudson doing an ad for Herpes medication... If she did, I bet she wouldn't be getting banged by any NEW YORK YANKEES.

Poor Sally Field.  She's the biggest actor I can think of involved in this bullshit.  She is the spokeswoman for BONIVA.  It's a prescription medication used for osteoporosis treatment in post menopausal women.  Boniva helps reverse bone loss.  I guess it's not bullshit after all.  I find myself feeling bad for her.  I think, "Man, she was so hot in Smokey and the Bandit".  Then I wonder if she even has the disease.  She better, because if she's out there lying that would be a motherfucker.  No seriously, she's doing a good thing spreading the word about prevention and detection of the disease, but make no mistake about it, she is making BANK off of her demise.  And she was still smoking hot as Forrest Gump's mom, I just wish she would have drank more milk in her youth.

What about Jason Alexander?  I know you're from New Jersey, so I'm a fan, but what's going on with these Jenny Craig ads?  He's definitely making a pretty penny.  Was he even fat?  I didn't think so.  Yeah, he was a little chunky, but George Costanza isn't supposed to be skinny.  If he starts looking like Al Roker, I'm going to shoot myself in the face.

Jenny Craig isn't the only one... I see a lot of my favorite football players doing the Weight Watchers commercials.  20 pounds for 20 bucks... or some shit like that.  Give me a break.  You and I both know that shit costs way more than that.  And Dan Marino was NEVER dumpy, yet he's in the ads.  That guy is a maniac.  It would be impossible for him to be fat.  So what does this mean anyway?  Will football fans follow in his footsteps by eating non salted pretzels all day?  Will they start taking wheat grass shots while tailgating in the parking lot?  Dolphins fans maybe, but the rest of us... I doubt it.

You know what I'd really like to see...  Some celebrity whore or gigolo telling the world they have an STD.  That would take BALLS.  I bet that would get everyone's attention.  I mean, as a collective society we hang on every word a celebrity says, so why shouldn't they step out.  And by stepping out, I don't just mean out of the homosexual closet (which is also good), but the STD closet needs to open up, too.  I know it's embarrassing, but it will help a lot of people out.  Imagine Angelina Jolie telling the world she got herpes from banging Billy Bob Thornton without a rubber in the back of a limo... It would be ground-breaking... And awesome.  I bet you people would use condoms more often.  I can see some silly college broad in Middle America right now telling her friend, "I mean, like, if Angelina can get it... We better be careful... Does that mean Brad is tainted too?"

One of my favorite commercials out there right now is for VIAGRA.  It's the one with a middle aged man with ED (Erectile Dysfunction).  Go figure.  This guy is walking down the street and his reflection in a window says to him, "So, heading to the doctor?"  "Uh, yeah" the man answers.  "You gonna ask him this time" the reflection continues.  Man: "About what?"  Reflection: "Our Erectile Dysfunction."   Man: "SHHH! NO, I don't want to talk about it.  Reflection: "Look, you're not alone.  Millions of men with ED have talked to their doctors."  Man: "I don't know."  Reflection: "We can do this." Man: "Okay."  Then he walks into the doctor's office and obviously tells him about his noodle.  And the best part... On the way out he HI-Fives his reflection in the window.  I lose it every time.  HILARIOUS.  I know if that was me, I'd be home in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror naked yelling at my JOHNSON to perform... "You're a fucking soldier!!! Stand at attention!!! NOW!!!"  

I would kill to see Clint Eastwood doing an ad like this one.  I would die.  For the record, I hope this is NEVER a problem I have to deal with.  According to my DAD, I never will.  He says, "HA! You have nothing to worry about, son. The Men in our family are STRONG LIKE BULL!!!"

I AM THE KIND OF GUY...

Who notices all the faults of people... Especially a potential lady friend.  Sometimes they're great, and any other normal human being would see them for who they really are, but not me.  Shit, I'm far (not that far) from perfect, but I like who I am and I love to adhere to MY specific rule book.  It's definitely not fair to pick a lady (or dude) apart before you even get to know them, but life's not fair.

The rules I live by have most certainly limited my vision.  I can't see past a THIRD nipple.  I don't understand people who don't read.  I can't get past the fact a girl smokes.  If she has a kid, it scares the shit out of me because the last thing I want to do is shoplift the POOTY from a baby's mama.  Or how about a girl that has dated one of my friends in the past?  They're definitely off limits.  Who wants to double dip after one of my friends anyway?  And rich girls kill me too.  For some reason I don't have anything in common with a girl who has been proudly throwing around a BLACK AMEX CARD since she was 8.  Maybe it's because my Capital One card has a $500.00 limit.

I'm at an age when these things matter.  Getting older is a bitch.  These situations never bothered me before.  In High School and College, you found a little lady, made whoopie for a while and moved on.  I rarely gave a shit who she slept with, or how many prison sentences she served.  Every so often, I found one I really liked and dated her for as long as possible.  It usually took at least 8 months before I realized she had 6 toes on her left foot, walked with a limp, snorted coke in the laundry room on Tuesdays, and drank like she was preparing to play Amy Winehouse in a Biopic.  Now, I notice that shit in 30 seconds.

One time, I dated a girl who laughed at everything I said.  I know I'm funny, but nobody's that funny.  She disappeared quicker than Chris Brown's career.  He did have that one great song... "It's like a waited my whole life, for this one night..."  Sorry.  Love that track.  And most likely he'll be back in a big way since now that I think of it, his music is pretty damn good.
  

Another time, I dated a girl who used to stare at me while I slept... Like all the time.  Are you serious?  Listen, I'm not that good looking and when I wake up and you're in my face all I can think of is Glenn Close in "Fatal Attraction" and where did I put the Hammer again?  I'm not interested in dating someone that might murder me while I'm counting sheep.  At least have the common decency to attack me while I'm watching American Idol.

Sometimes AGE gets in the way.  Out here in Hollywood, it's not frowned upon to date someone much older or younger than you.  Look at Hugh Hefner for Christ's sake... That dude has 21 year old SPINNERS grabbing at his old junk at the drop of a hat.  And how about this kid from "KICK-ASS" (great movie by the way)... He knocked up a producer 24 years older than him.  It cracks me up.  What do these people have to talk about?  Him:  "Hey, you like the Beatles?"  Her:  "Yes I do."  No shit SHERLOCK, everybody likes the Beatles.  Cut to 5 years, 4 divorces, 3 kids, 2 STDs, and 1 dog later... Still have anything to talk about?  Yeah, bills and ALIMONY.  Fuck that.

I find it especially difficult to converse with people way younger than me.  21 year old girls are on a different plane of existence than me.  They want frat boys, money, nice cars and feigned confidence, not male pattern baldness and 1994 Infiniti.  And older women want you to be their boy-toy.  That's fine for a little while, but nothing long term is going to come to fruition.

5 years.  That's my limit.  If a girl is five years older or younger; we're still in the same generation.  I don't have to worry about her 8-track player breaking and her eggs drying up or talking in that acronym language I'll never comprehend.  It's taking over the planet.  For example... "OMG, it wuz gr8 2 C U yesterday!"  Holy Shit!  She spelled yesterday correctly!  It's like pulling teeth.  Speak English you lazy mother fuckers.

And this whole TWITTER thing...  People who are obsessed with Twitter drive me nuts.  Who gives a fuck?  Twitter sucks.  That's right, I said it.  Everyone I know is telling me I have to update my Twitter account.  They say it will give me a bigger audience.  I say people will only read the Twat or Tweet or whatever the fuck it's called.  Who knows... Maybe my blog sucks.  You may be right, but I'll tell you who loves it... My MOM.  And she's rarely wrong about anything... Just ask my old man.

What's with this obsession of following your favorite celebrities on Twitter?  You don't know those people, so why are you worried about what they're doing at that exact moment?  You should probably worry about what you're doing right now... Probably wasting your life pretending to be someone you're not.  Who gives a shit where Kim Kardashian is shopping right now?  Who the HELL is that girl anyway?  Why does she have a show?  A career?  All I know is she's the girl who gets broken off by REGGIE BUSH.  Great job pal, cause she's kind of hot.

Sometimes things don't work out the way you planned.  Maybe age just IS a NUMBER.  I guess people can be much more than the 47 CAMELS they smoke a day.  Maybe that third nipple is an erogenous zone just waiting to be explored.  Perhaps she's staring at you because she loves you.  Maybe you are that funny.  Maybe she reads while she's on the toilet and you just don't know it.  Maybe she dated one of your friends to get closer to you.  Creepy, but possible.  I hope you're not like ME.  Don't be that kind of guy or gal.  You should be willing and able to modify your rule book and give people a chance.

Happy Friday Jerks!  I have a big weekend before me.  I'm heading over to GOLF-N-STUFF tomorrow to meet up with Elisabeth Shue and if I see that Cobra Kai pussy Johnny Lawrence, I'm going to stuff his head in the fucking POP-A-SHOT! 

I AM IRKED WHEN...

1.)  I walk into the bank and one of those account mangers is standing by the teller line asking everyone in creation if they have a straight deposit so they can do it for them.  Don't you think if they had a straight deposit they would go to the ATM?  Just because nobody is opening any new accounts due to the fact we're all broke and you're fucking BORED doesn't make it right.  I know you're trying to be helpful, but BEAT IT NERD.

2.)  People are riding bikes and talking on their Cell Phones.  You have got to be kidding me.  I want to throw a stick between your spokes anyway because you're fucking up traffic, but now I just want to cut you off and watch you go flying into oncoming traffic.

3.)  People carry cameras everywhere.  I get it.  You're a PHOTOGRAPHER (sorry Derek, I love ya buddy) or a TOURIST... same thing.  Do you need to document the time you stepped in SHIT on LaBrea?  I'm pretty sure you'll remember it without the photo when your using a plastic fork to scrape the doo-doo off your shoe.  That rhymed.  Maybe I'm jealous because I don't have any pictures and the only camera I've ever had was a disposable.

4.)  Creditors call me for other people.  Who the fuck gave you the right to give my name and number out?  Not cool.  When they call me, I unleash the wrath of God on the operator.  I make them feel like they should jump off the Golden Gate Bridge, followed by me smashing my phone on the ground.  If I have to answer your deadbeat calls, you have to buy me a new phone and pay for my therapy sessions.  I know that's not possible cause you're being hunted by a collection agency.  It's not my fault you don't pay your bills... Leave me out of it.  This makes me so angry I want to defriend you on FACEBOOK.

5.)  Men or Women have a ridiculous amount of holes in their jeans.  Every once in a while it's okay.  For example... on Halloween, Slut night, at a gay bar, a construction site, or church... Those are the only exceptions.  If you look like you just ran through a sticker bush or were taking shrapnel on the beach at Normandy and you're in a restaurant... You're an asshole.

6.)  The WASHING MACHINE or DRYER (one of those assholes) eats one of my socks.  Where did that little mother fucker go?  I know he was in there when I started the wash.  I'm not sure why socks hate me.  My feet don't stink.  Did he hate me that much he jumped behind the dryer?  Probably.   And he knows I'm too Damn lazy to maneuver around the dryer to get anything. (And yes, socks are men because no woman would be caught dead near your feet.)  Even if I dropped a pair of Erin Andrews' panties back there, I'd have to chalk them up... No way I'm going back there.

7a.)  A dude's fly is down and nobody tells him.  What kind of society is this that we're willing to let a fellow man walk around while his BIRD is about to ESCAPE FROM ALCATRAZ?  Let a brother know for Christ's sake.

7b.) Someone unknowingly has a gigantic whitehead on their face.  I know I've said you're not supposed to touch your face, but when there is just one and it looks like a moon crater filled with cream cheese, it's time to make a move.  I'm definitely going to tell you take care of it and I expect you to do the same for me.  So go wash your hands, pop that shit, wash your hands again and you can come back without having to worry about me regurgitating my burger onto your plate.

8.)  My boss gives me more keys for work.  I already look like a JANITOR from Iselin Middle School.  I have more keys on my keychain than a locksmith.  Do they have a lot of keys?  Who knows.  I mean how many keys do we need?  One for the car, one for the trunk, the front door, the back door, the gate, the upper lock, the bottom lock, the stock room, the back office, this case, that case, the key to your heart... Jesus.  I can't walk around without it looking like I have an army of G.I. JOES in my pocket.  I make so much noise when I walk that everywhere I go people think I'm there to fix the toilet... It's a travesty.  

9.)  I need work done in my mouth and the Dentist charges me 1,000,000 dollars.  I know I'm an indentured servant without Dental Insurance, but there's got to be a discount you can give me.  That shit is expensive.  How about I don't break your fucking nose and hit you in the kneecap with a sledge hammer and you fill my cavity for $20?  Sound good?  Yeah, I thought so.  Where's the mob when you need them?  Boy, I miss New Jersey.

10.)  My family refuses to fly.  It's 2010 guys.  Planes are safe.  Fact.  Yes, they suck when you're in the cattle car, but it's only for a few hours.  And if that MASHER SULLY can land a plane in the Hudson River, I think you should feel safe... cause I do.  I know I made the decision to move WEST, but you crackers can come visit me too, you know?  Don't worry Ma, you're excluded and I'm coming to visit soon.

I AM A WINE TOUR ENTHUSIAST...

I never really considered taking a wine tour until I saw the film "Sideways".   I thought it looked like fun if you could get a nice group together or if you wanted to take your significant other on a romantic weekend.   I've wanted to do it ever since; I just never got around to it.

My friends are getting married... To each other.  One boy, one girl.  Very Traditional.  Obviously an engagement party was necessary ASAP!  One of my friends took the initiative to rent a LIMO BUS last Saturday, which would take us on a WINE TOUR north of Santa Barbara.  At first I thought, "This will be fun, but I'm definitely going to have a headache on Sunday."  I'm not much of a wine drinker... Well not on a level where I can drink it all day, but I do like to have an occasional glass while cooking or dining.  Then it occurred to me, "34 people on one bus, drinking?"  This was either going to be my worst nightmare or the BEST TIME EVER.  Either way, I was pumped.

I was excited to learn about the origins of the wines and how they care for the grapes.  The whole wine making process intrigued me.  That, and the dance party that was sure to break out on this mobile nightclub.  A small group of us were already hanging out in my kitchen having Bloody Marys and Mimosas by 8:30AM Saturday morning...  Not me, I was drinking Ginger Ale like a sissy.

So this bus, inappropriately named HERCULES, pulls up in front of my house at 8:50AM.  It's fully equipped with a monster sound system, 3 fully stocked bars, a 52 inch HDTV, and 34 raging twenty and thirty-somethings .  When I stepped onto this blasphemous automobile, it was loud.  People were eating, drinking and being merry like that Dave Matthews song.  I knew immediately this day was going to be INSANE.

Moments later, I shoved a bagel down my throat to get a layer of carbs into my belly in order to absorb the alcohol (more carbs) I was about to consume.  I kicked off the day with a few MIMOSAS.  Then I followed up with a few cups of SANGRIA.  Before I knew it, I was jamming on my AIR GUITAR to songs that didn't require one.  This was only 20 minutes into the trip.

About 10 seconds after my VAN HALEN-like solo, the bus overheated for the first time.  That's right kids, it overheated more than once.  Apparently we were too heavy.  I couldn't believe it.  It wasn't like we were the KLUMPS or anything... There were just a bunch of skinny yuppies and creative types partying like rockstars.  It was only 9:30, and people were already swinging from the rafters.  It was awesome.  Nobody had a care in the world.  Everyone stayed positive, even though JERKULES couldn't handle us.

After a few minutes of partying by the side of the road (and by partying I'm referring to drinking and going #1 behind every bush in sight), HERCULES got her second wind.  We hopped back on and off we plunged into oblivion.

Upon our arrival at the first tasting, we were feeling great.  Everyone was on top of the world.  The only bad thing was the bathroom on the bus.  It smelled like a garbage dump on STATEN ISLAND, so we couldn't wait to get off, but even that couldn't get us down.

The first stop was in a quaint little town with various wineries lining the streets.  All we did was walk in, line up at the counter, grab a glass, and taste every bottle in the house.  Occasionally we would get an explanation, but I'm pretty sure most of us weren't listening.  So much for the history lesson I was excited about.

Cut to five hours later...  We were at our last stop having lunch in a vineyard.  The refuel was necessary... For party goers and Hercules who overheated again.  We had our final tasting ahead of us.  The guy came out and we were cutting him off every chance we got to give toasts to the future bride and groom.  Some of us were out back where they kept the barrels and mixed the wine.  One of my friends even climbed into a large wine vat for a picture.  Of course another friend locked him in.  It was hilarious.  This guy doing the explaining hated us and eventually gave up, but nobody cared.

The ride back was intense.  Some people were KNOCKED OUT.  I don't know how because the music was super loud and AMAZING.  Some people were dancing on poles (I won't mention any names).  Some people were first basing (again, no names).  We needed more alcohol.  We stopped at a gas station and picked up enough beer to stock SHEA STADIUM.  And again... Everyone peed illegally and got back on the bus.

An hour or so later we arrived in Santa Monica.  The bus pulled over at an Irish Pub on WILSHIRE.  Everyone was deciding whether or not to continue this night of tomfoolery... And it wasn't even night yet.  It was probably 6:30PM.  Sure enough, 98% of us went into the bar.  The funny thing was, we left anything we couldn't carry in (coolers, bags, food, wine glasses, cases of beer, jackets, shades) either on the bus or in the parking lot and continued the night which ended hours later at a KARAOKE bar a few blocks away.  I'm pretty sure 3 or 4 dudes in our group sang "We Belong" by Pat Benatar.  One of whom had his shirt off.  Great night.

So do I recommend taking a wine tour with a large group of friends?  Yes.  Do I recommend you rent HERCULES?  Yes.  Should you bring your AIR GUITAR?  YUP!  There's nothing better than hitting the wine country with 34 of your closest friends.  We made it through the day with no casualties, a ton of memorable moments, and hundreds of great pictures.  I would do it every weekend if I could.  If I wasn't a wine tour enthusiast before, I most certainly am now.

Congratulations go out to MIKE and TRICIA!!!  That was the best (and only) engagement party I've ever attended.  I love you guys!  

I AM A JACK OF ALL TRADES...

At least that's what I tell myself.  I've worked in many fields.  Here's a list of my many professions... Stripper, Male Escort, Streetwalker, Professional Thumb Wrestler, KY Jelly Wrestler, Arm Wrestler, Center for the Knicks, Safety for the JETS, Logger, and Stunt double for Jean-Claude Van Damme.  I know, I'm impressive... Stop oooing and aaahhhing.  Obviously I've never done any of those things, with the exception of KY Wrestler and Male escort.  Just kidding.  Well, maybe not... If I'm not careful over the next year; I may wind up on the street hooking so I can grab myself an Egg McMuffin.

During summers while in while in High School, I worked as granite counter top installer and a tile layer.  While in college, I worked in many bars as a server, barback, and a bouncer (eat shit, I'm intimidating).  I also volunteered at a senior citizens home on an activities council.  And after that I worked at a hospital in the cardiac rehab department.  There, I developed a proper exercise program for patients recovering from heart disease.

After graduation, I took my teaching degree home to take a job as a full time substitute.  It was an easy choice because I was next in line for a full time teaching position in the Health Department.  That, and my brother worked there as a History and P.E. teacher.  He was also the head football coach and I wanted to coach with him.  

Sometimes during the day when our classrooms were across the hall from one another we would pass notes back and forth like 5th graders.  I'd send a kid with a note saying, "Run this across the hall to my brother, it's important."  Inside the note it would read, "You're a dipshit."  That lasted about 2 years and I loved it.

At the end of my illustrious teaching career I started writing again.  My friend and I decided to move to LA with hopes of working in entertainment.  When I arrived, I needed a job asap cause my bank account had less money than what was stashed in my piggy bank in 1st grade.  It took me two days to find one.  I got a job working for a landscape architect.  We built decks, playgrounds, a trellis or two filled with flowers and planted wonderful landscapes all over Southern California.  It was nice to work outside for a change.  I held this gig for a year.

Afterward, I moved to Santa Barbara and helped my roommate pen a short film.  Soon enough we shot it.  He directed, I starred.  We edited it together with the help of another good friend who was also involved in the writing process.  Once we had a product we were proud of, we submitted it to a few film festivals.  It was out first project, so we didn't expect anything, but to our surprise, it was accepted into three International Festivals right away.  We toured around with it for a little while, pretending we were the next big thing.  Really we were losers, but hey... Fake it til you make it.

During that time I got a gig as a handler for a Hip Hop Group performing at Sundance.  My roommate's dad made a documentary about them and he asked me to come help out.  It was a blast.  Little did I know, a year later I would be hired on the project as an assistant and eventually become a producer.

Next, I got a job working for these GAZILLIONAIRES as a handyman.  They paid me nicely to come to their house everyday and fix anything I could find a problem with.  There was plenty to keep me busy all day, but I preferred bullshitting with the Butler.  That's right, they had a butler.  I wish I had my own Alfred.  The house was huge.  It was like The Getty... A gigantic structure filled with art and a lot of other shit.  It was so big it had a gift wrapping room, which was bigger than my bedroom.  The room was filled with everything you see in a aisle at CVS during the Holidays.  It was heaven.  This job lasted 4 months.

Following my "Tim the Tool Man" stint, I got a job working retail at a designer vinyl toy shop and gallery.  And a few months later I left for New York to work on the previously mentioned Documentary.  I was there for 6 months.  When I came back, I picked up right where I left off at the toy shop.  I still work there today.  That was almost 4 years ago.  Now I work there in a different capacity... Online and store manager.  Nothing fancy.  Just a job folks.  A brother has to eat.

During my 4 years here, I've worked on numerous other projects.  I've done many short films and 2 features.  I audition when I can, but definitely need to get more involved.  I'm on it.

The other day a friend of mine called asking if I knew anyone who could help him with some sound work on a TV show.  My roommate couldn't do it, so I said "no."  Ten seconds after he hung up I thought, "Fuck me, I'll do it. I need the money."  I called him back and said, "What about me?"  He said, "Okay."

I'd never worked with sound before, but I did know those guys are usually characters on SET.  He hired me to be the BOOM OPERATOR for a popular show on USA.  If you don't know what a Boom Operator does, he/she is the one closest to the actors.  They hold a long, adjustable graphite stick with a microphone on the end of it over the actors heads (just out of frame) to pick up their conversations.  It may sound silly, but it's important.  Obviously I'd rather be in front of the camera, but I figured it would be good to get another perspective.  Well that and working on a set is too much fun to pass up.  

We show up at the stage and who's the first person I see?  Tiffani Amber Thiessen.  Yup... Kelly Capowski... In the flesh.  I began having flashbacks of my childhood.  Watching "SAVED BY THE BELL" everyday after school was my religion.  And on Saturday Mornings I wouldn't leave the house until I had my Kelly fix.  Man that chick was hot.  I thought I would marry her years later on a cruise to Hawaii.  Did I mention she is still hot?  Well she is.  I also missed the God Damn boat on marrying her, cause she was 8 months pregnant and married.  Damn.  She's still hot though and cool as hell.  She was maybe the coolest actress I've encountered.  She was always in good spirits and extremely friendly to the crew.  If you know anything about movies or TV, you know there's nothing more important that a pleasant actor on SET.  When they suck, the whole set sucks.  And Capowski was flat out awesome.

My buddy and I had a blast on Set.  We dicked around in between setups and had a solid manhang, but while we were working we were focused.  There's a time to work and time to play and on a set there's time for both.  It's the hurry up and wait game...  During the wait...  It's great talking into the microphone from across the set and just cracking on people.  All you do is laugh in between takes and everybody around you wants to know what's so funny.  Later when he was filling out the sound reports, which we forgot to do after the first two scenes, I watched him do so carefully.  One of the producers was furious we didn't do it the first time.  His concern was warranted.  I sat down next to him and noticed where he filled in the title of the show he wrote... "BLUE COLLAR" on all the cards.  I go, "Dude, what the fuck are you doing?  The show is called "WHITE COLLAR" you fucking idiot!"  He had to fill them all out again.  We laughed for 20 minutes straight.  I guess you had to be there.

My point is... Working in any capacity in the field of your liking can be beneficial and fun.  It will give you a greater respect for the hard working people who make much less than you might.  It takes a village to make a film or TV show work.  So respect the CREW!  GOOOOO BAYSIDE!!!

I AM A YEAR OLD...

One year ago today, I unleashed my unoriginal thoughts upon the world of BLOGGING.  I figured I'd write 5, maybe 10 entries in this thingamajig and give it up, but as you all know, I was wrong.  Looking back, I can't believe I had that much to say, but anyone who knows me well, knows I'm rarely without words to share.

It's been an interesting year.  I can't say I've made much progress professionally, but I sure have learned a great deal about myself as a human being.  Here are a few lessons I've learned and relearned:

1.)  ALWAYS go with your FIRST INSTINCT.  If you feel like someone is a jackass from the moment you meet them; you're probably right.  So humor them for a bit, laugh at their unfunny jokes, let them poke fun at you, sarcastically compliment their hipster jacket and don't be a jerkoff.  This will allow you to go on your merry way with a smile knowing you didn't let someone you'll never see again get under your skin.  Sometimes it pays dividends when you bite your fucking tongue.  

2.)  Never LEAD people on.  Even if you're doing it subconsciously, it doesn't make it right.  It's always best not to get involved in a situation you know that will escalate to something you can't or don't want to handle.  Be honest from the get-go.  It may seem harsh and fucked up, but you'll feel much better about it later.  People will always find reasons to dislike you, don't give them any more.

3.)  Continue to WORK HARD.  PURSUE. PURSUE. PURSUE.  No matter what it is you want in this life, no matter how old you are, you CANNOT expect handouts.  They are few and far between and most of the people who receive them are undeserving.  So don't worry about them, focus on YOU.  One needs to work diligently to reach a goal.  You must sacrifice if you want success.  It's okay to be selfish every once in a while.

4.)  LUCK is a word for the WEAK.  We make our own luck, our own breaks.  Yeah, bad shit happens to the best of us, but we're not measured by how many times we fall down.  It's how many times we're willing to get back up and what we're willing to do once we're standing.

5.)  YOU HAVE TO CAPITALIZE ON YOUR OPPORTUNITIES.  Good opportunities are rare, so we must take advantage of every one.  If you have an audition or a job interview, and you haven't had one in months, you MUST be prepared.  When someone goes out on a limb for you and an opportunity presents itself, it's up to you to make the most of it.  You have no one to blame but yourself.

6.)  Don't be so HARD on yourself.  If you're like me; YOU are your harshest critic.  It's okay to analyze your moves, but don't over-analyze.  If you've made a mistake, learn from it and move on.  Otherwise you'll wind up like one of those people in the DEPRESSION commercials.  "Who does depression effect?"  Everyone."  If you're smart about this one, you can say, "NOT ME" when the commercial comes on. 

7.)  Good friends are rare.  I've had the privilege of having many friends along the way.  Most people say they can count their true friends on one hand.  I like to believe I'd need a few more hands than that.  Hold on to your friends.  Be there for them... Cause in times of need they will always be there for you.

8.)  Everyone is JEALOUS of something.  Even if you're not the jealous type (like me), there will always be someone who has more than you do.  Someone who has a job you want.  A car you want.  The type of girl you wish you had.  A bank account you envy.  The truth is, none of that shit matters.  It's not worth being envious of anyone else.  Take a step back... look at your life... You probably have it pretty damn good and someone is most likely envious of you.  And remember, even when you're down, somebody always, and I MEAN ALWAYS, has it worse... way worse.

9.)  You have nothing to be ASHAMED of... Unless of course you're a flasher, murderer, a pederast, or a Sarah Palin supporting Republican...  If you want to listen to BETTE MIDLER in your car and belt out the chorus at the top of your lungs, by all means sing away... "Cause you are the wind beneath my wings."  Just don't crash into anyone while singing and texting.  That shit's dangerous.

10.)  You must be willing to HUMILIATE yourself.  To make it in this world (especially in showbiz), you have to be willing to completely humiliate yourself.  Every once in a blue moon you need to make an ass out of yourself just to prove you're human.  It's okay, we all do it on occasion, but don't do it all the time.  It doesn't mean you have to change who you truly are.  Be you, no matter what.  You'll get along just fine that way.  There's nothing worse than a phony.

Well... Happy Anniversary to ME!!!  I hope you've enjoyed this as much as I have.  Have a wonderful April and hopefully I can keep this little thing going.

I AM A MURDERER...

of the AUTOMOBILE.  The CAR Kevorkian... so to speak.  Do they come to me to surrender?  Do they know their time is up?  I know my recent car nightmare wasn't my fault, but I'm beginning to think heavy machinery should steer clear of me.  After the incident, I got a new (OLD) car.  It had been in the family for years and it's one of those foreign cars that lasts forever... like 500,000 miles forever.  I was excited about reuniting with the old girl knowing how well my father cares for his and my mother's cars.  I thought, for once, even with the bad luck I'd experienced a few months ago, change was on the horizon.  And once again, I thought WRONG.

On Tuesday, I went to visit a friend who lives 30 miles away.  I drove down peacefully, listening to tunes, breathing in the SMOG-FILLED air, and smiling at the traffic headed in the opposite direction.  Shortly after I arrived, we decided to have lunch a short drive away.  As soon as I turned the key, something felt wrong.  I pulled off and she began to rattle (the car, not my friend).  The steering wheel was locking up.  I didn't panic (does weeping count), but damn, can't a brother catch a break?

I decided not to worry about it until I got home, although it was quite embarrassing.  I dropped my friend off after lunch and by now the car sounded a little better, but the wheel was still as tight as the fades the white boys rock in Baltimore.  I figured I needed some power steering fluid... Yeah, that was it... "I'll just top it off when I get home" I said to myself.

I hit the road.  I'm not going to lie, I was nervous.  Not first day of school nervous... More like RUSSIAN ROULETTE nervous.  My terrible record with cars over the years wasn't setting my mind at ease.  Most people I know can count how many cars they've had on one hand.  Not me.  I need about fifty hands and a few feet.  I've had more cars than Tiger Woods has had HOLE in ONES with waitresses from TGI FRIDAYS.  Let's take a quick look at my vehicle history....

1998... My first car.  I was working at a Granite company installing counter tops and tiling floors.  The company had a 1997 RED DODGE NEON.  It was the errand car and somehow it became mine.  One day I asked to borrow it for the weekend and next thing I know it was with me all the time.  My uncle and his partner (business, not life) owned the joint and they were the ones who let me me borrow/have it.  I drove it for over a year.  At the end of our relationship, I brought the car to a party in North Jersey and I scraped the shit out of NEON DEON (my pet name for her) on the side of my buddy Will's house and that was it.  My mom said enough... "Give her back!"  So I did.

1999... My parents decide to help me buy a car.  I put my funds together and started to look around.  I found a 1996 FOR BRONCO.  This car was money.  She was shiny and white.  Pefect condition.  Leather interior.  Nice stereo system.  She drove like a charm.  No longer than two months later, the alarm started going off and wouldn't stop.  Then, the car wouldn't start.  Electrical failure.  Apparently, the car had been in a flood and was salvaged.  Those mother fuckers at the dealership were lying ass dogs.  So we brought OJ's old whip back, told them first to go fist themselves, then to give us our money back.

1999...  I'm not even sure if we owned this one.  I remember driving her around for a week.. or so.  It was a 1984 Blue VOLVO.  She ran on diesel fuel and sounded like a fucking 18 wheeler, but she was nice.  Not sure where she ended up.  My dad probably sold her for parts.

1999...  The 2000 HYUNDAI ELANTRA.  She was never really mine, I drove her for many months.  She was a little girl, but she ran well.  She was black, with lackluster interior.  It was like driving a micro-machine compared to the Bronco, but I didn't care;  I'm a little man.  I had her on and off for the next two years, whenever my dad didn't need her.

2000...  My Mom decided it was finally time for me to have a new car.  She wanted to have a JEEP in the family, for trips and such.  So we leased a 2000 JEEP CHEROKEE SPORT.  It was pine green.  I loved it.  Truth is, I felt cool as hell in my own new SUV.  We had this one for a couple of years, but in the long run she turned out to be too expensive... So we gave her back.

2001...  I was driving the exact same car that I'm driving today, the 1994 INFINITI G20t.  There's a great story behind her as she was the first new car my mother ever had, but I'll tell that one another time.  I'm pretty sure I only had her for a few months and it's unclear as to why I had to give her back to my mom.  This is what I remember... I was hooking up with a certain girl in college.  She and I had some disagreements, and the next morning I walked out to my car only to find her KEYED.  It looked like the culprit was writing something along the lines of D-I- and half of a C.  You do the math.  Somebody must have seen this criminal because they didn't finish their pleasant inscription..  Needless to say, Mom wanted her car back.

2001...  When my Mom bought the other HYUNDAI, she bought a more luxurious (as luxurious as Hyundai could get) model for herself.  It was a 2000 HYUNDAI SONATA.  She was also as black as the ace of spades and not a bad looking car.  I didn't have her for long, but I appreciated her CD player and leather seats.  She had some brake problems and when I sent her back to get fixed, she never returned and somehow she became my brother's.

2002...  My father found a good deal from a guy in the neighborhood on a 1987 MERCURY GRAND MARQUIS.  This car was AWESOME.  She was white, plush interior and white wall tires.  Pimp.  This car looked like something Frank Sinatra would drive.  Well Frank didn't own it before, but a Priest did.  The car was obviously blessed.  I had her for about 8 smooth months when she started to have some problems.  My dad told me to add some fluids here and there before I made the drive home for the Holiday.  So I added the fluids and hit the road knowing I definitely put the fluids in the wrong places.  About an hour into the trip, my HOLY MOBILE blew up in my face while I was going 80mph on the Highway.  It was five degrees outside, I was in the redneck part of Maryland and my car was on FIRE just off Route 95.  Furious.  I waited on the side of the road 4 hours until my my brother came to pick me up.  By the time he got there my face was as stiff as Heidi Montag's.  (I loathe her and her bottom-feeding husband by the way.)

2002...  Another deal from a friend of my old man.  He found me a 1986 OLDSMOBILE.  She was blue and drove like a cherry at first.  One morning during my senior year, I was on my way back to Jersey to coach a football game and the transmission blew.  Luckily I wasn't on the highway yet, but I was still 5 miles away from my house.  I had to stick my head outside of the window like ACE VENTURA and drive that bitch home BACKWARDS.  People were freaking out as I cruised by... in reverse.  That was the end of her.

2003-Jan 2005...  This time I had an ugly, gray and rusty 1989 PONTIAC BONNEVILLE.  This baby lasted me for about 2 years.  I had her until about 4 days before I moved WEST.  Despite her decrepit exterior, she drove great.  I never had any problems with her until one day my dad called and said, "My friend's daughter is driving up from North Carolina to sell her 1999 Volvo and I thought it would be good for you to drive to California."  I was pumped.  Dad was really looking out.  About a week before I left, I was supposed to go see the car at this guy's house, but there was a problem.  The night before, his son had jumped out of a moving car and died immediately... Drugs were involved.  So the sister wound up flying north to be with the family.   Selling the car wasn't first on their docket.  I understood.  His son was 28 years old.

The next day my friend (who I moved out here with) came to Jersey and we started planning our trip.  We figured, fuck it, we'll take the BONNEVILLE.  Once our plans were straight, we drove to the movies to see "THE AVIATOR".  On the way back... THE CAR DIED.  It was like the car knew I was settling for her.  Stubborn bitch.  I guess it wasn't meant to be.  That night we bought plane tickets and wound up flying out to Cali three days later with two bags each.

2005-2006...  THE 1993 MAZDA PROTEGE.  She was ugly as sin.  A weird shade of green, almost turquoise.  Now this one was a STICK SHIFT.  I am not a believer in Stick.  I know "real men" say you're not driving unless it's manual, but you know what I say to that... Fuck you.  Driving stick is silly.  Why would you shift gears if you don't have to?  This isn't the INDY 500, it's the fucking 405.  Gimme a break and stop overcompensating for your shortcomings.  

I learned to drive this piece of shit on the 101 from Santa Barbara to LA during RUSH HOUR.  This was no easy task.  By the time I parked her at the house where I was staying, I had sweated through two shirts like CHUNK from "Goonies" and had at least 4 anxiety attacks due to making traffic worse (cause I hate people that do that).  It was the worst.  I think I drove her 15 times total.  Eventually I drove the car back up to SB and gave her to my roommates.  They shared it and drove me around once I moved up to SB.  She blew up sometime in 2006 while I wasn't around, but I'm sure my magic touch had something to do with it.

2006-2009... THE 1976 FORD MUSTANG II.  She was totaled by a moron on the street.  Not my fault.  I'm still fucking pissed.  That's all I have to say about that.

2010...  Back to the 1994 INFINITI G20t.  So I get off the freeway and the wheel is really sticking now.  The rattling gets louder.  I'm at a light one block from my house, when the car starts smoking like Jackie Gleason.  Then a loud RUMBLE.  More smoke.  I think George Burns was in there too.  I parked her in the street, got out and plopped down on the grass like a dying dog.  Then I started laughing.  What the hell else can you do?

Yesterday I took her to a mechanic around the way and of course... A bunch of money needed to be dumped into it.  What choice did I have?  She had to be fixed.

I need a NEW CAR... Like an ACTUAL brand new car.  I'm going to start saving.  I can't afford to keep fixing these old babes.  I just can't take this shit anymore.  I'm an adult.  I'm employed.  I have insurance.  I have credit cards.  Why do I keep messing around with old cars?  Probably avoiding payments... Definitely.  I've had 12 cars in 12 years of driving.  That's sick.  I need to be put away.  Someone take me out to the pasture and shoot me.  I hate killing things... especially cars.  I guess it's a good thing it's not against the law to hurt your own vehicle, because I would be in THE SLAMMER... for LIFE.

Thanks for the help, Dad.  Love you.  Sorry for driving so many of your loved ones into the ground.

I AM SITTING...

in a school meeting during my FRESHMAN year of High School staring at the ceiling, ignoring daily announcements when I first heard it.  "Click!"  "Clip!" "Snap!"  I cased the room in search of a culprit.  Nothing.  Nobody else was even flinching.  I thought I'd finally lost my grip on reality.  For a second I imagined the RICE CRISPIES characters sitting behind me jumping around, but of course they weren't.  Then I heard it again.  "Snap!"  That's when I noticed a rather large, suspicious, white-bearded HUMAN at the end of my row.  I suspected the sound was coming from his direction.  I watched him closely.  I noticed him focusing on his hands as the HEADMASTER continued to speak.  I turned away, then... "SNIP!" "Crack!'  I quickly snapped my head back at the Santa Claus look alike and the sonofabitch was clipping his fingernails!

I bursted out with laughter.  I laughed so hard I almost had a coronary.  The kid to my left elbowed me in the gut and said, "Dude, what are you doing?"  While continuing to chuckle I pointed down the row and replied, "That WILDMAN is clipping his fingernails."  The kid didn't even sneak a peek (what a sissy)... he just gave me "the nod" to look forward.  Slowly I realized everyone in the room was staring at me, including the Headmaster and Fred Claus' brother.  Some nerve.

The Headmaster glared at me with a look I'll never forget, and then in front of the entire student body he said, "Is there something you'd like to add, Mr. Richerson?"  To which I promptly replied, "No sir."  I couldn't believe it.  How was nobody else laughing?  Was this normal?  I'm at one of the most prestigious boarding schools in the country and one of the faculty members is clipping his nails in PUBLIC!  And I thought I was moving up a social class by going here... Guess not.  What the fuck was going on!  Nobody said a word.  Important announcements are happening and human nail shrapnel is flying all over the place.  It was a war zone!  You've got to be kidding me.  I wondered, "Can this dude really get away with that?"  And the answer is... YES.

Through the grapevine I heard Mr. Holmes (Kris Kringle) had been cutting his TALONS during school meetings for years.  And since he'd been at the school for 30 years, everybody was afraid to say anything.  This included the Headmaster who had only been there for about 10 years.

Mr. Holmes was one of the ON DUTY study hall monitors in my dorm, so I made it my personal project to know everything there was to know about this guy before I dropped the big question.  I started by chatting with him for a few minutes every night he was around.  Everyone else thought I talked with him to get out of doing homework (that was part of it), but I truly wanted to know what made the MADMAN tick.

Mr. Holmes was a big man.  He stood 6'5 and I'm guessing he weighed in roughly around 290.  I wasn't afraid of him.  I wanted to get to know him... key in on his madness.  How was he so well respected that people were willing to shrug off the fact he was clipping his nails directly onto their heads?

Through our conversations I learned he fought in a war.  I can't recall which one, but it was probably the Revolutionary War.  He also played professional football for the GREEN BAY PACKERS in the 50's.  He was an avid sports fan and a staple in the art department at my school.  He was also a CERAMICS teacher.  I was floored when he told me.  This big maniac threw pots all day?  Yup.  And he was awesome at it.  Did I mention he laughed a lot?  Well he did... And at a decibel level that would frighten a T-Rex.

I got into trouble later that year and was sentenced to Weekend Work Detail during the winter term.  Coincidentally, my job was to shovel the entire Holmes residence, including the driveway, both front and back walkways, porches, and the flat part of the roof just above the porch.  Good thing we were hit with 27 inches of snow on Friday.  Shit.  He laughed at me while I furiously shoveled his 1970's model VOLVO out of a snow drift.  I wanted to Karate chop him in his beard.  Finally, he offered me a cup of hot cocoa and we chatted for a bit on the porch.  He told me about the fierce winters of Green Bay and how hard the playing surface was.  "It was like playing on the TURNPIKE, HAHAHAHA!!!" he cackled.  I stared at him in awe.  He was nuts, but kind of likable. 

Sophomore year I took ceramics.  I thought since I was in with Holmes, I'd cruise to an easy A.  I thought wrong.  Turns out, I'm the WORST potter on the planet.  Clay and I are not friends.  I was worse than Demi Moore in "Ghost" and I didn't even have Patrick Swayze breathing down my neck.  I received a C for my masterful work in the class and was not happy about it.  I tried hard as shit though, ceramics just wasn't my thing.  When Mr. Holmes handed me my grade during the final week of class, he laughed yet again, and I wanted to yell out, "Go clip your nails ya fucking jerk!"

By the time Senior year came around, Mr. Holmes and I were quite friendly.  He was at every one of my football and basketball games.  He always made comments like, "The game's changed quite a bit since my day, HAHAHAHA!!!"  I would just laugh along with the jolly old fellow.  Funny thing is... I never saw the guy around Christmas time.  I used to imagine him up at the North Pole making toys for all the good boys and girls, laughing away... Or maybe he just hibernated for the month of December.

A few weeks before I graduated, I was sitting in another school meeting and I heard it again.  That noise I had heard so many times during High School.  "Clip!"  I turned around just to make sure and there was Holmes sitting in the same spot clipping away at his nails... Scaring the shit out of the Freshman class.  I shook my head and smiled.  I was ready.  Immediately following the meeting, I marched right up to him and said, "Hey Mr. Holmes, how come you clip your nails during school meeting and not at home?"  He stopped in his tracks and looked down at me with the DEVIL in his eyes.  This was obviously not a familiar question.  Without answering he walked on.  I caught up to him and continued, "Isn't it weird how nobody says anything to you?"  He stopped again and just looked at me like I impregnated his Great Granddaughter.  I went on, "It's kind of crazy, right?"  Then he leaned over me continuing to stare at me with this serious scowl and said, "CRAZY, HAHAHAHAHA!!!"  And he kept on walking... Laughing at me along the way.  I just stood there like I'd been hit by a MACK TRUCK.  That mystery will never be solved.

Ten years later I often find myself sitting in my living room clipping my nails in front of the TV.  Although I do it with some tact by keeping a mini trash can beneath me to catch the clippings and I pick up the rest by hand, my roommate still complains.  And when he does, I unleash this diabolical laughter into the air.  I guess that's just me channelling Mr. Holmes.  Every time I cut my nails for the rest of my life, I will think of that WILDMAN.  I bet he's clipping his nails right now at a STARBUCKS... laughing like a mad scientist.  And I bet my bottom dollar... Not a soul in sight says a word to him.  Keep clipping Mr. Holmes.  

I AM IRISH...

And today is ST. PATTY's day.  Ah, what to do, what to do?  How about work?  Yeah, that's what I'm doing.  Perhaps I should call my Mom and talk about her favorite Holiday!  Just kidding... She's Italian, my POPS is Irish, so I think she'll pass on the corned beef and cabbage.  

Everybody keeps asking me if I'm wearing GREEN.  No FRIEND-O, I'm not wearing green, but my eyeballs do everyday.  No, I don't wear eye-shadow, my eyes are just GREEN-ISH.  I think there may be a little green on my boxers though.  Let me check.  Bingo.  So much for separating myself from the masses.

I can't stand when a fun Holiday falls in the middle of the week, especially when you don't have off from work.  In the STATES, St. Patrick's Day is about as important as the NHL finals.  Nobody really cares.  It's like Chinese New Year's up in here... If you know what I mean.  No land mass was discovered on this day.  No life-changing event occurred either.   Really, it's just a day when Catholics are allowed to take a break during LENT.  For all you HEATHENS out there... this means you can eat meat if you gave that up, get shitfaced if you gave up alcohol, or get laid if you gave up sex (sounds crazy, but Catholics can be that way).  Ever heard of the Crusades?

Every year on the 17th of March, everyone wants to celebrate by doing the kegs and eggs thing in the morning, drink GREEN beer, and pin the tail on some IRISH DAME they met at some bar around NOON.  By the time they try to take this unlucky lady home at 8pm, she's completely blacked out... What's the point?  And how the hell are you meeting people out on the town at NOON?  Isn't it Wednesday?  Doesn't anybody work anymore?  Fuck.  I need your job.

A little history behind St. Patrick's Day...  Saint Patrick was a man (obviously) who was kidnapped by Irish Raiders at 16 and held captive to Ireland as a slave.  One night while sleeping, he believed GOD came to him in a dream.   And what he said was, "Yo Patty, you have to get the fuck out of here and head for the coast.  Return to Britain ASAP!"  So of course he escaped... And as soon as he got home, he studied to be a priest.  Go figure.

Later in 432, he was called back to Ireland as a bishop.  (For those of you non-Catholics, a bishop is step or so up from being a priest. Basically he got a promotion)  The Irish who once captured him, now needed his help.  Again, God spoke to him... "Go save those poor bastards!"  Man, The HOLY SPIRIT talked to this guy a lot.  He must have been REALLY popular.  So Patty left for Ireland to save the country from poverty, famine, and of course... other religions.  He used the SHAMROCK in his teachings, saying it symbolized the HOLY TRINITY (the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit).  It didn't take much for those poor drunk maniacs to believe.

After spreading the word of the Almighty for 30 years; Patrick died on March 17th, 461.  He gave the Irish people love, peace within, hope, and a great holiday to get wasted on for ALL TIME.  

What began as a purely CATHOLIC holiday has now become more of a celebration of Ireland's culture.  Now EVERYFUCKINGBODY celebrates this day.  Every schmuck on MELROSE is sporting green today.  The MUSLIMS next door, the people we pigeon-holed as terrorists down the block, the cool INDIAN dudes in 7ELEVEN (well maybe that's just because their uniforms are green everyday?), Asians (who hate being called that by the way), regular Jews and Hasidic Jews, too.  well maybe not the HASID'S, but I bet they want to, cause it's ridiculously hot and the black get-up they rock has to be uncomfortable as HELL.  And who wants to wear the same thing everyday?  Weird.

So... What a day.  A GREEN day.  It's another excuse for everyone on the planet to party.  Gotta love it.  Embrace it.  Thanks, Patrick.  I just wish the day you croaked would have fallen on a Saturday this year.

Have fun out there tonight you phony Irish jokers.  Don't drink and drive.  Don't text and drive.  Don't make out and drive (unless she's really HOT).  What I'm getting at here is... take a GOD DAMN cab!  You kids can first base just fine in the back.

I AM PROUD...

To be an AMERICAN most days.  Well, not proud enough to belt out the song baring the same name, but proud nonetheless.  I enjoy the freedoms we have in this country.  You can pretty much get anything you want if you can afford it.  You can dine on exotic foods, sip fine wines, buy all the flat screen TVs you desire, and almost say whatever the hell you want without having your privates chopped off in a public arena.  Personally I can't afford to do or buy all the things I'd like, but I get by.  Someday I'll be able to spoil myself a little... I hope.

Our country is rich with history.  Some good, some bad.  We fought for our freedom during the American Revolution demanding the rights our new nation's people deserved.  Abraham Lincoln abolished slavery in 1865.  The long winded Woman's Suffrage Movement came to an end on August 20th 1920 and women were granted the right to VOTE.  Dr. Martin Luther King marched for Civil Rights in the 50's and 60's and eventually won those long deserved rights in 1964.  I'm not sure why it took so long for some of these issues to pass, but better late than never I guess.   On December 7th 1941, Pearl Harbor was bombed by the Japanese.  During the Civil Rights Movement people were hosed down and beaten by police.  On September 11th 2001 the World Trade Center was brought to rubble during a terrorist attack.  Another plane hit the Pentagon and another crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania.  As a result of these attacks on 9/11/2001, 2,973 American lives were lost.  In August of 2005, Hurricane KATRINA demolished the great city of New Orleans and 1,836 people died and it took days and weeks for the proper help to arrive.  Why some of these things happened, I'll never know... but I can take a guess... Mother Nature.  Money.  Greed.  Power.

I was raised CATHOLIC in a MIDDLE CLASS and LIBERAL family.  My father was a UNION worker.  He drove a truck for well over 30 years, probably 40.  He was an officer of the Teamsters Union with Local 478.  I still remember some of the Teamsters getting together at my house to discuss sanitary working conditions, wages, and fighting for the respect they deserved.  Those men worked ridiculously hard to stay afloat.  They refused to allow their lack of education or where they came from hold them back.  All they wanted was to keep a decent roof over their heads and food on the table for their families.

The Middle Class used to make up a great deal of our country.  Unions kept people paid and paid decently.  Then wealthy people took over.  We elected a few puppets for Presidents and the Middle Class was fading.  So many people lost their jobs in the 80's and why you ask?  So BANKS could profit.  Cut jobs, profits increase, stocks stay up.  Move plants to different countries, cheaper labor, more product, stocks stay up.  It was really sad.  I don't even know what's made in this country anymore.  I know a few American Apparel T-shirts I have are, but I'm sure the hat on my head was made in Taiwan, the car I drive in Japan, and the slippers on my feet were definitely made in India.

So what happened to the Middle Class?  I'll tell you... It's almost nonexistent.  Assholes like RONALD REAGAN destroyed the Unions (who were made up of a major percentage of the Middle Class) and forced millions of jobs to disappear right before our eyes.  As a result, people were encouraged to live on this fictional currency called CREDIT.  This set up up Americans to be in DEBT for LIFE.  Who profited on this encouragement?  BANKS.  And who Runs the banks?  RICH PEOPLE.  Who ran the rich people?  The government?  Nope.  The government, the banks, and the rich folks were all one in the same... Since at the time the government was made up of Bankers from Goldman Sachs, the rich people were running IT.  Ronald Reagan took direction much better as a President (too bad it was from the wrong fucking people).  He was a shitty actor... and an even worse PRESIDENT.  Great job deconstructing the class of people that made this country what it is, douchebag.  

Today people are struggling more than ever.  I realize there are problems in other countries and I do believe we should send aid immediately, but we need to get our priorities straight and take care of our own.  Every other person you meet is without HEALTHCARE.  Every third person you meet is out of work (and I'm not talking about actors).  What the fuck is going on?

We need to open our eyes people.  Those earning in the top 1% of our country are running this place.  The government has kept the wealthy at their side so they can get even richer.  It's sickening.  Back in the day (1940's or so) the wealthiest people in our nation were taxed at a much greater rate than those in the middle class.  Now those same dickheads making all that money have arranged it so everyone is taxed almost equally.  It's not fair.  I know life isn't fair, but come the fuck on.  Should we watch our own people die because they can't afford healthcare?  Should we just stand by while people we know and love get pushed out of their homes?  I think not.

I don't consider myself an avid follower of politics, but I often find a way into heated discussions about some topics.  One of my best friends comes from a similar background as I do, yet we have completely different political views.  He's a Wall Street guy; I'm a Main Street guy.  This confuses me, since we both come from Main Street.  I just don't understand the REPUBLICAN way of thinking.  How can you be educated and NOT LIBERAL?  How can you not believe in Gay Marriage?  How can you not believe in a woman's right to choose?  How can you not believe in tax breaks for the middle and lower classes?  How can you not believe laborers have a right to form unions to protect themselves?  I don't get it.  Are you like one of those assholes that didn't believe in Civil Rights?  Should women not be allowed to vote?  You may be thinking I sound stupid, but if you disagree with me you're bred from the same cloth as the haters that came before you.  It saddens me to know many of the people I love have opposing views.

Most families of wealth dislike unions (which are predominantly made up of laborers).  These are the people who fix your cars, teach your children, build your houses, fly our planes, and more oft than not are the men and women fighting YOUR WARS.  How can we not pay them sufficiently?  And somehow we pay the people who handle rich people's money and other's who hand out bullshit loans to those that can't really afford to pay them back so much more.  Are they more important?  No.  They're actually less important.  The rich want to overwork people and pay them shit to make their products.  It's ludicrous.  This isn't some 3rd world country.  This is our home.  We need to take care of the people that inhabit this great land.  We need to treat them like human beings, not rats.  People that work hard for a living deserve the right to an education, a safe home, healthcare, and sufficient food to eat no matter what class you come from.

We're supposed to be living in a prosperous land built upon equal opportunity.  This couldn't be further from the truth.  Remember a little thing called THE CONSTITUTION?  It's "WE THE PEOPLE of the United States, in order to form a more perfect UNION..." not "We the Rich People of the US, in order to destroy the Unions..."

If you start from the bottom, it's very hard to climb, but it is possible.  That's what's great about this country.  It's really hard though.  Now if you come from a wealthy family; it's a cake walk to success.  It's unsettling.  The people are supposed to be running this country, not banks and big businesses.  I'm disgusted when I think about GREED standing in the forefront.  We're veering in the wrong direction.  Being greedy doesn't make you happy.  It doesn't mean you're motivated.  It means you're an asshole.  So go ahead and work hard.  Make all the money you can.  Get a respectable job.  One that allows you to sleep well at night.  Don't take advantage of other human beings.  Don't thrive on someone else's misfortune.  Provide for your family and don't be a scumbag.  You may be doing really well, but that doesn't mean you need 12 cars, 20 TVs, a $30,000 purse and $2,000 shoes.  If you have earned the right to afford these luxuries, think about giving back.  Give back to your community.  Realize you're privileged enough to make a difference... And make a difference in somebody else's life, not just your own.  Be selfless, not selfish.  And make sure you think twice when you're voting.  Make sure you think about the people who are protecting your freedoms (firemen, police officers, soldiers) because they're the people we're fucking over.

I love this country.  I love the beautiful people in it.  I love its diversity.  I love the freedom.  I'd hate to see it destroyed to make a profit at the expense of its people.  We have a new idealistic Sheriff in town and he has some stack of papers on his desk.  In the past year and change he's probably gotten through about 3 pages, but let's hope he gets it done... And remembers the people that built the house he's living in.  To change... and having a country to be proud of.

I AM COMING TO TERMS...

With the fact that one day, I will be BALD.  This is harsh reality to face.  Isn't it bad enough that hair turns gray?  Balding can be tricky.  It creeps up on you... Excuse me, creeps away from you.  One day in High School your forehead is just a few inches above your eyebrows, a few months later you have a Widow's Peak like Count Chocula, before you know it you look like Larry David, and finally Mahatma GANDHI.  Bald as the day you spontaneously combusted into this world.  Such a shame.  What's even worse is when baldness hits you from the back, in what I call the REVERSE YARMULKE.  This is when your hair recedes from back to front, giving you that dreadful bald spot making you look like you've been at a Bar Mitzvah every day since you were 12.  Now that is way scarier than walking around with a Tyra Banks-like forehead.

I get it.  It's not cool to lose your hair; it just happens.  I'm not exactly delighted that the only brush in my future is one for my teeth, but what can I do?  This is nature's way of letting some men know how small they really are.  You think you're a pretty boy?  How does BALDNESS SOUND?  Boom!  It's just another way to keep us grounded.

Now, the delusional behavior that follows a man with MPB (Male Pattern Baldness) is disturbing.  Rugs, implants, Rogaine, and comb-overs... do you think we don't know?  Donald Trump, for example, has the whole comb-it-forward thing going.  It's ridiculous.  You have to be shitting me, Trump.  Don't get me wrong, he is THE MAN.  He's wealthy, not as bad looking as he could be, and he can have any woman he wants... On the Planet... FACT.  But let's be honest here Donnie, give it up man.  Peel your cap already.  I'm sure you'll look fine.  Maybe he's trying to hide some gruesome scar he got back in the 80's when he was banging a cocktail waitress in one of his Casinos and he hit his head on a SLOT MACHINE.  It's possible.

Look at Bruce Willis... He went bald and what did he do?  He shaved his head.  And the guy looks great.  I have to tip my hat to the fellow New Jersey Native.  He did it right.  My dad did the same thing when he was a little over 50 and he still looks good.  My Mom's not a fan of the baldy, but it looks better than the horseshoe that old men love to rock.  Then again, I'd take the horseshoe over that fucking comb-over ANY DAY.  The comb-over is flat out embarrassing.

I can't imagine looking at myself in the mirror and deciding how much gel to put in my SIDE hair so that it will look thick when I carefully place it over my shiny top.  I would never do that, I say now, but let's hope it never comes to that.  Gene Keady, the former PURDUE basketball coach, is the greatest example of rocking the COMB-OVER ever.  Google him.  It's absurd.  Great coach.  Great man.  Even greater insecurity.  You're 70-something years old!  People understand.  Let it go, Gene.  If Rose could let go of Jack, you should do the same with your hair.

What about RUGS?  Hair pieces are insane.  Remember Maury from Goodfellas?  He's the guy that wants Jimmy (DeNiro) to pay him back.  He has that commercial for the Wig company where he jumps into the pool with his hair piece on.  It's quite amusing.  Watch it again.  If you haven't seen Goodfellas, please make a fist with your right hand, lift your arm and punch yourself in the face as hard as you can... because you are an imbecile.

When a man wears a RUG, it's so blatantly obvious.  Give me a fucking break.  If any of my balding friends decide to wear a rug, I will most certainly put some Mach 3 Turbos in their stocking that year as a parting gift... cause our friendship will be over.

My brother has been shaving his head for about 10 years now.  He loves it.  It's HIS look.  He thinks he's going bald, but he's not.   We just have big foreheads, or 8-heads as I like to call them.  He may go bald in the next 20 years, but we'll never know because he will continue to shave his head as long as he has the strength to glide that razor over his cranium.  I'd bet my life on it.

When I was in college, I used to shave my head too.  Bald.  As the people in the bald community like to call it, BIC'ED.  BIC'ING your head means you put a razor to your dome as you would when you shave your face or legs for the ladies out there.  I Bic'ed my head for about 2 years.  Then one day while running the razor over my head in the shower I thought, "FUCK, what if this shit doesn't grow back?"  I knew I needed to hold onto my hair for as long as I could.

So what causes baldness?  Some experts say it comes from a gene passed on by your mother's father.  If that's true, thanks a lot GRAMPS.  Others say it comes from stress and some say it happens if you wear hats too much.  Well, I have a problem with this one.  I like to wear hats.  And maybe it's not helping my cause for keeping a full head of hair...  That's just too bad, because hats happen to look good on me.  And if balding is the result, that sucks, but so be it.

There are a lot of ballsy bald men out there.  One of my favorites is Danny Devito.  I love how he rocks the horseshoe with a ponytail.  It's hilarious and awesome.  You don't see him trying to comb-it-forward or over.  He's given up, accepted his fate, and rocks what he has... more power to him for that.  He's a masher.  Larry David is another good example.  He's made the most of his situation.  He's got a skinny head, so maybe he can't shave it off cause he'll look like Beaker from the MUPPETS, minus the orange top.  The curly horseshoe works for Mr. David.  Honestly, he can do whatever he wants because I love the guy.

The time will come for me, when I have to decide whether to rock the horseshoe, get implants or a rug, use Rogaine, or shave it off.  So many choices.  I'm pretty sure I will BIC it, since I've done it before and that's how my brother and father roll.  I used to worry about it, but I don't really anymore.  If it's in the cards for me to be a bald eagle, I can deal with it.  I've been holding on for quite some time now and let's knock on wood... I think I have a good 20 years left before I have to make that choice.  That's good news because not everybody is so lucky, but when the time comes I'll be ready... Perhaps to head on down to MAURY'S WIGS... cause they... "Never come off!"

I AM DREAMING ABOUT...

a great deal of weird shit lately.  I've never understood how people don't remember their dreams because I've always been able to recall my own.  Well sometimes I can't put the whole story together, but the pictures in my mind always come back.  I have many repeat dreams, which I'll get to in a moment, but lately my mind's eye has been witnessing some strange incidents.

Two nights ago I was doing UNGODLY things to CHER in the bedroom at the Roosevelt Hotel.  She was LOVING it.  I remember feeling a tad uncomfortable for a moment, then I just went for it.  Wait, not in REALITY... this was a dream (or a nightmare) you sick maniacs.  It was quite the romp until I suddenly woke up.  I looked left... right... I giggled a bit, grabbed the remote and turned on the telly... And what movie was on?  "MASK" starring Eric Stoltz as a disfigured teenager named Rocky Dennis (Remsburg).   Who plays his mother you ask?  None other than the free spirited CHER!  Do you believe in life after love?  I do.

Now last night I was dozing off to the movie "SNATCH" (keep that in mind).  I kept rolling over with my glasses still on my face, so I knew it was time to call it a night.  I turned off the tube and immediately drifted off into wonderland.  Suddenly my Boss, my old roommate's cousin and I were arguing over driving a caravan we just bought across the country.  We were standing at the dead end of ALBEE LANE.  Albee Lane is the street one of childhood friends grew up on.  He wasn't in the dream but interestingly enough we were in front of his house.  

After the argument died down, I decided to drive the shitty pickup truck with the caravan attached out west.  The skies opened up.  It began to pour.  I waved goodbye, hurried into the car and turned the key.  The car started.  Phew.  I hit the gas to make a u-turn at the dead end, but for some reason I was going too fast.  Somehow I lost control, so I turned the wheel and the truck began to flip.  I immediately did a WALTER-LIKE (Lebowski reference for you simpletons) roll out of the car and hit the ground safely.  The caravan was flopping my way.  Just before it landed on me... I rolled left and BOOM!  It smashed to the ground.  I jumped up, made my way through the wreckage and my boss and my old roomie's cousin were standing on the front lawn of my friend's house with the entire cast of SNATCH holding up their middle fingers in my direction.  I smiled.  Seconds later I was wiping drool from my favorite pillow.  Crazy right? 

So I figured in light of my ridiculous dreams I would give you all a top ten of my most frequent dreams. 

10.)  I'm surfing on an IRONING board with wheels down FORD AVENUE into oncoming traffic on ROUTE 1 all while laughing my ass off.  Anyone who knows those streets knows that is no laughing matter.

9.)  I'm being chased by FREDDY KREUGER on the runway of an airport.  I run toward the hangar and hide behind the wheels of a plane when... BANG!  I take a bullet in the shoulder.  I have no idea who the hell shot me.  I hit the ground writhing in pain and... Freddy is suddenly standing above me screeching his knives on the metal of the plane prepared to end my life.  As he leans down to chop me into bits; I pull out a DIRTY HARRY-LIKE 44 Magnum and blast his fucking head off.

8.)  I'm sitting in my childhood bedroom playing the LEGEND OF ZELDA on snow day... I can see particular levels that I loved conquering (6 and 8) and I always wake up before beating the game.  In real life I used to kick that game's ass.  I still love it.

7.)  In this one, I'm in the middle of a college football game at Lehigh and I am performing like Deion Sanders.  I'm a star.  I'm crushing opponents, running back every interception for a touchdown and the crowd loves me.  This is way better than I actually was.

6.)  I'm building a deck with my father in the backyard of my childhood home.  At the end of the day, the deck is completed, my old man thanks me for my services and heads inside.  I stay outside until the middle of the night and then I lay on one of the rails we built staring at the stars listening to the sounds of nature... in peace.

5.)  Flying.  I dream I'm flying high above the city (none in particular).  Floating on I take it all in... I begin to pick up a head of steam and I can't slow down.  I see dark clouds up ahead.  I start to get scared.  More speed.  Then as I'm about to head into the black clouds... I wake up.

4.)  I'm 12 years old and about to kiss my girlfriend for the first time.  We're standing right before the Jewish Cemetery I used to walk through to get home.  I lean in... She does the same and... WE DON'T KNOCK TEETH!  And it is glorious.

3.)  The sex dream.  Everyone has them.  In mine, I'm always intimate with people I have shared special moments with in the past.  Sometimes it's a girlfriend... Other times it's CHER... and the rest are people I wish I could have had more time with.  In every case the dream always ends in a good way... if you know what I mean.

2.)  I'm stepping off a CURB and just as I'm about to hit the ground... I wake up.  This one's always quick.  It usually occurs when I doze off... At school, at work... or watching the tube on Saturday afternoon.

1.)  I'm in my childhood basement.  It was my favorite place as a kid.  I spent long hours down there boxing with my friends, playing hide and seek, tackle NERF football and Basketball, darts, pool and raiding the toy closet.  In this particular dream I get to the bottom of the stairs and stop.  I reach for the light switch and only half of the lights go on.  They flicker.  I see the toy closet in the distance cracked open.  I try to step toward it, but I can't.  I cannot move forward.  I'm walking in place.  And that fucking toy closet keeps getting further and further away.  It's as if the other end of the basement is moving.  Suddenly it looks hundreds of yards away.  I walk faster and make no progress. I reach out for it, but it's too far away.  The only sound I hear is the furnace behind my Dad's work room.  All I want is a Damn toy.  Then I stop trying to move forward and everything stops.  Then... I wake up.

Happy Hump Day Kids!  I'm going to work on getting CHER out of my dreams and into my car!

  

I AM IN 2ND GRADE...

LAUREN was her name.  Blonde hair was her game.  I loved her with every ounce of my being and I was only 8.  She was the one to end it all.  As an adult I've never been much of a blonde aficionado, but as a little whipper snapper gold locks could bring me to my knees.  Valentine's Day was on the horizon...  Wait a second... Let's backtrack.  A few years before on the day of my graduation from Pre-School (I was 4 or 5), I kissed KAREN.  She smiled.  Heaven.  It was only on the cheek, but it was certainly life changing.  I thought I could get a ring from a Gum-ball machine outside of the A&P for a quarter, ask her to be my wife, and then I would be set for LIFE.  Well obviously it didn't work out the way I'd planned.  We went to different elementary schools and I didn't see her again until 6th grade.

Back to 2nd grade and Lauren...  She was the cutest thing.  A few days before Valentine's Day Mrs. Ragucci told us to start thinking about making our cards for that special someone.  I knew immediately who was to receive mine.  As the day drew closer, I hoped she had the same feelings for me.  I hoped she was planning the perfect Valentine for me.  I thought, "The clock was ticking so she had better stop answering all the god damned math questions and get her mind right."

The BIG DAY came.  I was prepared.  I had scissors, plenty of red paper, and glue to place hearts carefully on my card.  When Mrs. Ragucci finished up our spelling lesson near the end of the day; she told us to take out our art supplies.  Little did she know I had surreptitiously been working on my Valentine all day.  I learned nothing in school on that particular day.

As the rest of the class quietly worked on their cards, mine was finished.  I thought receiving a Valentine from me was as coveted as a degree from Princeton.  I looked around the room with a shit eating grin on my face at the rest of those saps who thought that had a bleeding chance in hell at my lady.  She was mine for the taking.  We were in CCD together.  Our parents took turns carpooling us,  yet I don't think we ever said anything to one another.  I was just working my game and waiting for the perfect moment... and this was it.

With my head on a swivel, I watched all the other guys closely.  I wanted to see who thought they had a drop on my future baby mama.  It was looking good.  You see, the thing was... Lauren was a sleeper.  She wasn't the class favorite.  She was number 2.  A girl named Christine was everyone else's heartbreaker.  I didn't see it.  I only had eyes for Lauren.

At the end of the card making session I took a deep breath, tied my little Jordan's tightly and prepared myself for the walk over to her desk.  Then Mrs. Ragucci made an announcement, "Okay kids, I'll come around and collect all of your cards, and I'll hand them to your Valentine."  Shit.  What the fuck was that all about?  She wanted us to turn them in so that SHE could redistribute them to protect our anonymity.  I was pissed.  I get it, she didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, but how did she think the funny looking kids felt when she was standing over Lauren and Christine's desks handing them all the cards?  Furious.  I wanted to give her the card myself.  So in a freak out moment when Mrs. R got close, I signed the card... "Love, Your Secret Admirer."  What an idiot.  When she took the card from me I was deflated.  Later I saw her handing Lauren 10 or so cards and I knew I was a goner.  I had no shot.  She'd never know... Story of my fucking life.

I waited until 5th grade to tell Lauren I loved her.  She was so shy, but apparently she liked me back.  All that time we wasted!  Our torrid affair lasted for a week or so before middle school started.  I think we held hands once or twice on the crosswalk.  That was it.  I got more play in Pre-School.  Then once middle school started everything changed.  There were more options for the both of us.  We drifted apart.  I always wanted to go back to 2nd grade and tell her everything.  I wanted to tell her we could run away and live in my parent's basement, but I never did.  I moved away after middle school and who knows what could have been if I'd only sacked up.

So this Valentine's Day... Let's not miss the boat fellas.  It's time to make your damn move.  Otherwise you'll be spending a Friday writing about some chick you haven't seen since 2nd grade.  And hey ladies, don't be scared to make a move yourselves... I mean what's the worst that could happen?  You might get shot down...  So what... My feelings are more deeply hurt watching one of those suckers get kicked off American Idol.  Remember Valentine's Day can be like it was in 2nd grade, just with a little more communication I hope.  But nothing can replace the wonderment you have as a child.  Damn I miss my youth.  Happy Valentine's Day to everyone out there... Especially you Mom.