I AM RETURNING...

after a long, four year hiatus. Over the past few years a lot of people asked me questions like, "Where the hell are your blogs?" and "Are you gonna give me something to read at work again or what?" and "Why'd you stop writing?" And by a lot of people, I mean one. My mom.

First, I didn't stop writing. I try to write everyday; I just eased off the blog. I stopped creating entries because I felt like no one was reading them, like no one cared. That never mattered to me before, but suddenly, it did. In the creative world, that's a huge no-no. Insecurity is a bitch, and so typical of a phony writer.

There are a few other reasons I stopped blogging. I felt the world was over-saturated with content, especially on the internet. Well, obviously. Ever heard of Twitter? Snapchat? People no longer crave substance. They crave blips, blurbs, tweets, and snaps. I mean, who gives a shit? I thought, Every asshole has a blog now and nobody wants to read more than 140 characters, so what's the point?

The truth is, everybody does have a blog, but they already had one already when I started this seven years ago. It's not like I was a pioneer or anything. I was a follower like everyone else, and I hated myself for it. A child craving the attention he would never receive. Like I mentioned in my first entry: I am unoriginal, and so are you.

Then, I got into what some would call creative suicide. A relationship. And as always, I was working on a script or two, or three actually. All four of which I did not finish, including the relationship. Standard. Girls I'd dated didn't seem particularly enthused by the idea of being written about on the internet, even if the only people reading about them were my mom and childhood neighbors. I allowed that to be a deterrent even though I didn't write about my sexual exploits, because I'm not Tucker Max. But suddenly I didn't want to offend anyone. Tucker would have been ashamed of me. And right there, at that moment, I knew I'd lost my edge. So I vanished.

I was busy trying to make necessary changes in my life. As much as I loved my work situation, I needed to find a new job. I was getting too old to make a peasant's wage with a smile on my face.

So I broke up with my roommate/hetero-lifemate and moved to New York. Too many dishes in the sink. He's now married and a father. I had to have emergency surgery. I had a few panic attacks. My dad died. And then the kicker...I met a GIRL, again. But this time she was, THE girl.

How things have changed since I last visited the world of the writing. The country is actually considering Trump as a presidential candidate. Sadness. A girl I went to college with became one of the most famous people on Earth. Surprise. The Mets made it to the World Series and are a contender again. Joy. The Jets had a winning record last year, so there's promise for the fall, but let's get Fitz-Magic signed already; the Rangers get so close every year. Hope. I now have two beautiful little nieces; and I am getting married. Love.

When I finished typing my last entry in 2012, I was 31 going on 18. And now, four years later, I'm 35 going on my first full attempt at being an adult. I wasn't challenging myself professionally or personally back in LA, or when I first got to New York. My life in general was a cakewalk. I didn't make much money, but I didn't need it. Now I have the girl and she has me. Life is good, but I will now demand more of myself and continue to strive for something better. I have a big year ahead of me with a wedding on the horizon and working on finishing some of the things I started. Hello again, world.

I AM ABOUT TO RATTLE YOUR CAGE...SWM 73

Before I get after it, let me give you a little backstory about my MOM.  I mention her a lot not only because I'm a Momma's boy, but because she is a total CHARACTER.  She comes from a large family.  As the only girl in a litter of eight, living in a small three bedroom apartment, you can imagine what this woman went through.  She's been hit in the face with baseballs and footballs.  She's been put in more headlocks than Hulk Hogan.  As a young woman she was even mugged and fought her way through it without harm, but the masked man got her purse.  She chased the assailant four city blocks before the dude hopped a 10ft iron fence.  At that point she figured, "Fuck it, if he's gonna try that hard, he can keep the god damned purse."  And with her luck, she was forced to raise two wild animals that now pretend to be grown men.

She took in my grandparents when they got sick.  And that was no easy task.  Grandma had Alzheimer's and Grandpa, a retired alcoholic/lunatic, had become quiet, sneaky and as stubborn as a Donkey in Tijuana.  After Grandma passed, Grandpa was so calm, but extremely sad.  He sat at the keyboard and played all day every day until he died.  My Mom really took care of them with every ounce of her being while putting up with the other three maniacs in the house simultaneously.  Through it all, she's still standing.  Even after being married to my father (who is also a character) a few different times over the course of a million years, but we'll touch upon that subject another day.  She is a good woman with THICK SKIN, who likes to have a little fun.

Okay, so a few weeks back I was on the phone with my mother when she said (as she always does), "You wanna laugh?"  "Yes" I say, "Of course."  She began with, "So Brenda and I were reading the singles ads in the local paper on Sunday."  Wait a second, Mom.  You and Brenda are always up to no good and THE SINGLES ADS?!  Come on!  Pump the fucking brakes, would ya?  "Are you shitting me," I say.  "Gimme a break, it was just for laughs," she continued.  Sure it was,  Ma.  So I say, "And where the hell was Dad?"  "Outside cutting down a dead tree or something, who knows?" she said.

She went on to explain to me that one ad in particular caught her eye.  It was the biggest one on the page.  No wonder it caught her eye.  She probably wasn't wearing her glasses.  So a 73-year-old man posted something like this: SWM looking for companion 62-73 years...PETITE, enjoys walks, hiking, movies, golf, travel, pleasant personality, loves to laugh, consistent church goer, likes dining out and eating in, petite, well groomed... Please DO NOT contact me unless you are serious and fill ALL (PETITE) of the requirements. If so, Call....blah blah blah.  He left his number.

I'm already hysterically laughing knowing exactly what my Mom will say next and sure enough..."Can you believe this fucking guy?  What's with this petite bullshit?"  "Most men want a woman in shape," I say.  "In shape?  He sounds like he's looking for one of those trainers on the Biggest Loser," she says.  I shoot right back with, "Yeah one that reads the Bible while playing golf."  We laughed for a second until I blurted out, "So when are you guys going out?"  To which she responds, "Oh we're not going out. The guy was an asshole."

At that moment I realized my Mom had actually called the old geezer.  Shit just got real.  So picture the scene... My Mom and Brenda are probably having an apple-tini on a Sunday afternoon, laughing their asses off when the "CHRONICLE CONNECTION" section of the paper gives these two geniuses the idea to terrorize some old bag.  "I'm glad you guys were acting your age," I say.  "Sweetie, I'm 39.  I believe I was acting my age and I can do whatever I want," she said.

So in the midst of a geriatric SUNDAY FUNDAY, my 39-year-old mother picks up the phone and dials.  This is a scene straight out of The Jerky Boys or Crank Yankers.  She told me she had hoped the man wouldn't answer so she could leave "a smart ass message" and "break his chops on the machine," but sure enough on the fourth ring a raspy voice on the other end says, "Uh (throat clear), Hello?"

She tells the guy he startled her by answering.  She thought she would get THE MACHINE.  What fucking machine is she even talking about?  An answering machine, I guess.  Do people still have land lines?  I don't.  So I say, "Do you mean VOICEMAIL, Ma?"  "What the hell is that?" she says.  "It's not the 80's anymore, Mom."  "Leave me alone."   At this point we're both laughing so hard she can barely get the story out, and neither of us can breathe.  I'm not even sure it was that funny yet, but now you should buckle your safety belts because this is where it gets good.

Before the man can say anything else she says, "I think I have a doll in my closet that will fill all your requirements."  This cracked her up of course.  She was basically laughing in the man's face and all he said was hello.  And as you may imagine, the man was not laughing.  Then he said, "Do you think I was asking for too much?"  "Are you kidding me," she said, "Even a 25-year-old marathon runner who models on the side would think that."

The man may have cracked a smile on that one because he continued the conversation.  He told my Mom his name and the town he lived in.  He then described his house and property, no doubt trying to impress her.  Little does this poor sap know, NOTHING impresses my MOM.  My guess would be she didn't even listen to that part.  Then he asked, "What do you look like?"  Before I give her response, I have to say she looks great for her age.  I mean, for 39, she looks at least 37.  So she told him, "Like Christie Brinkley in her prime."  "Really," he said.  "No, not really.  I would say I'm average looking, but I've been told I'm above average."  Here comes the zinger.  He says, "Well, let me tell you up front that I am not looking for these big women I see in WALMART all the time.  My wife (dead for 2 years) was very PETITE."  Immediately my Mom shot back, "What the hell are you doing in WALMART all the time?"

I dropped the phone on the floor.  I never laughed so hard in my life.  After running around in circles like a 9-year-old school girl for two minutes, I picked the phone up and she was still there laughing at her own joke.  Man, that runs in the family.  Once we stopped giggling she said, "Honey, did I lose you.  Honey?  This damn machine!" "I'm right here, Ma."  The story stopped for a moment because I said, "What the fuck is this class act doing hanging out in WALMART?"  My mom laughed at me and said, "All the hillbillies and old fogies down here do their shopping at WALMART.  Everything's so cheap."  I went on a tirade telling her to stay the hell away from that place.  She said, "I used to buy all my DVDs there cause they were so inexpensive, but now that everything on the MACHINE is On Demand I don't need to go there anymore and frolic with the toothless rednecks."  Can you believe this woman?  She knows how to use On Demand, and she calls everything a fucking MACHINE.  I guess they are machines, but still.  She calls her computer THE MACHINE, too.  Unbelievable.

Back to the creepy phone call... My Mom went on to tell the guy her dimensions (which made me ill) yet I still laughed.  Hard.  5'4, yada, yada and she told him her weight and said, "You think you can handle that, pal?"  Do I need to remind everyone that THIS IS MY MOM talking like this?   His response was, "Ohhhh."  And before he could complete his thought she said, "You don't need a cow, I get it, but maybe it's time you try a woman with a little meat on her bones."  She said she laughed her way through that comment almost peeing her pants and Brenda was rolling around on the floor, which I'm sure made this guy feel all warm and cuddly on the inside.  His last words were, "I don't know."  Famous last words.

And then, wait for it... my Mom said, "Well (his name), think about it.  With all that eating in and dining out it sounds like you're planning on doing all the eating yourself and your COMPANION would have to watch you dine to fit your description.  Personally, I think your mate would be hungry after a day of golfing 18 holes, saying a few OUR FATHERS, hiking the Everglades, watching the Godfather Trilogy, shaving her mustache all while laughing at your incredible jokes before you locked her in the basement for the night."  He's speechless.  "Don't forget, I have the perfect doll for you in my closet.  She blows up and everything.  She's totally PETITE.  Great sense of humor."  Again not a word, just breathing.  Until, "Um?" he muttered.  And then she finished the Mortal Kombat-like fatality with, "Well, okay.  Good talk."  She hangs up.  She and Brenda were in stitches for at least a half hour and now I was too.

Thick skinned.  Insane.  Hilarious.  Set in her ways.  My mom could have fit right in with the rest of Tina Fey's "MEAN GIRLS."  After laughing for a while I asked, "Why on Earth would you do that, Mom?"  She just laughed and said, "The guy's an asshole.  He probably thought he was talking to a baby elephant.  I just wanted to leave him a message and tell him to GET REAL.  Have a little fun.  I'm not really sure why I went off like that, but he's 73 years old and thinks he's gonna find the perfect broad?  Here?  Anywhere?  No way."  I just said, "Maybe he will someday."  "Maybe he will" she said, "But I'm not perfect...nobody is.  It's about finding someone who is perfect for you.  And if he didn't get my sense of humor, that's his problem.  I was just having a little fun, kiddo."  "By the way, where is Dad again?" I said.  "Who knows?"

A few hours ago I asked my Mom if she ever heard back from the guy.  Her answer, "NO.  He's probably still in church praying for the perfect specimen to appear."

What can I say?  She's a New Yorker.

I am Back. I'm Back in New York Groove

Life has taken some strange twists and turns lately.  Linsanity has left the building.  R.A. Dickey is god.  And I'm having a JANE EYRE-like awakening in this city.  Confidence is a staple of this town.  People are different here.  They walk differently with a certain swagger and at an extremely fast pace.  They talk differently with crisp accents and enthusiasm.  And most of all they act differently.  People are generally friendly and angry as shit.  I can't seem to find the middle ground.  They want different things here.  They want more.  No one is satisfied.  I know my roots were planted here, but I'm not so sure I will hang my hat here for an eternity.  This place could drive a midtown madman to the brink of sanity and make a sane man roll around in his own feces on 10th Avenue.

I grew up exactly 27 miles from New York City.  One of my best friends grew up here in TriBeCa.  My parents are from Brooklyn.  My brother went to school here, so this isn't exactly foreign territory.  I thought I knew this place oh so well, but boy did I have something coming.  I'm 31, and have been living here almost a year and although I've spent time staying in the mecca for a few months at a pop over the last decade, it has never been home.  Now, it's the only home I know.

I must say, NYC has many commendable qualities.  The food is exquisite. There is a local watering hole on every corner.  The art scene is fantastic from the MoMa to the WHITNEY to almost any gallery in Chelsea.  The JETS and METS are a stones throw away, which I love.  The architecture is astounding and the sight of wondrous design never gets old.  A sunset over the Hudson is really something else.  A rainy day day is shockingly refreshing and doesn't always require an umbrella.  It's as if the raindrops absolve you of your sins as they run down your face.  Or if it's hot and humid and smells like piss out there, you just feel like you're being tinkled on by the man upstairs.  Still, I'll take it.

People are beautiful here; way more so than LA.  Sorry Californians, it's a fact.  Maybe it's the fashion sense or the fact not everyone is tan and shirtless, but beautiful people are surely abound.  Maybe it's the models walking down the street eating hot dogs, wearing fancy shades.  Maybe it's the tightness of the clothes that makes everyone look better.  I really don't know.  What I do know is the dedication to fashion and a finding a man has me admiring the women here.  And the dedication to fashion and finding a man also has me admiring the men here.

The layout of the city is what I find most fascinating.  It's ingenious.  Unlike most other cities, the grid is perfect.  Even it's faults shout perfection.  I love the neighborhoods.  There are so many.  Anyone could find a place to live here and be happy.  I love the constant change every few years, too.  And you have to respect a neighborhood that stays the same.  Here are a few examples:
Chelsea was not pretty in the 80's.  It had the grunge of the LES.  It's now home to some of the finest galleries in the land and has extremely coveted real estate.  People want to live here.  It's gorgeous.
Hell's Kitchen, which became the old Chelsea and is now following suit to become like the new Chelsea as well.   HK is always changing.  A once rough and tumble neighborhood now has expensive condos popping up and young people with money moving in.
TriBeCa is a great place to shop, eat and now live.  I remember going to my friend's house in the 90's thinking the block he lived on was a shithole, even though the apartment was MINT.  Today, it seems like the safest block in America.
The Financial District will always be the financial district, but artists are moving there because it's cheaper.  Soon enough that neighborhood will change too.
NoLita, where the cool kids are.  Little do they know it used to be a dump.  The hipper and less snobby versions of UES women have inhabited this neighborhood faster than the Russians occupied Poland during WWII.

SOHO, always fashion forward and cool,  but very touristy.  The WEST VILLAGE is as hip and shady as ever.  The East Village isn't just home to the sketchy folks anymore since it's gentrification by way of retired frat boys and young professional women.  Oh, and don't forget the hipsters.
The grit and grunge of the LOWER EAST SIDE has remained, yet new restaurants, bars, and nightclubs pop up everyday so the wealthy bottom feeders aren't afraid to venture into the neighborhood.  This frightens the locals.  They can't lose that grit.  Don't worry, they won't.  The LES is definitely a great place to hang.  Gramercy and Murray Hill have remained constant.  Gramercy is getting better though and Murray Hill will always have the young crop of bankers and NYU grads moving right on in.

And then you have the UPPER EAST SIDE.  This place is like being on MARS in comparison to SOHO.  It's quaint, family oriented and offers a nice breeze off the East River.  It's also very quiet up there which is a nice change of pace as we all know how hard it can be to find a quiet street.  The UES used to be cool, now it's viewed as an affordable part of town for yuppies and families looking for their own niche.  People wanted to be like the uptown crowd for a long time, but the artists changed that.  They made downtown cool.  Moving into studio spaces, showing work there and frequenting night spots in the area helped with the change.  They weren't afraid to live in shady neighborhoods and that was just the beginning.  Now, uptown might as well be Jersey.  And make no mistake about it, the UES is frowned upon by all young, cool people.  The chances of you getting your friends who live downtown to come visit you are slim to none.  And as for the UPPER WEST SIDE, I don't know much about it.  I haven't spent a great deal of time over there.  Lincoln Center, the Museum of Natural History... and John Lennon... and even Nora Ephron lived there for over a decade, but she eventually moved to the UES.  And HARLEM?  The yuppies and hipsters are even moving up there.  Who knew?  There are so many more, but I would be here for days.  Anyway, what do I know?  I'm an amateur. You get the picture.

But what sticks out most is the people here are jaded.  Despite all the beauty, culture, diversity, and spark this city has worn its residents thin, quite literally.  But in turn has made their skin even thicker.  Everyone is looking for a new job, but is afraid to take one.  Everyone is looking for love, but no one wants it.  People here are scared, quite frankly terrified of being alone.  People want security, yet have none of their own.

It's strange for me to write such harsh words about a city that thrives on ambition and energy, but it's true.  There isn't any room for mistakes here.  There's no second place.  Everybody has his or her own pace and it's hard to move someone off their beaten path.  NYC is as unforgiving as they come, just like it's inhabitants.  If you say the wrong thing, you're done.  If you say the right thing, you may be done as well.  Space out for two minutes; you're done.  Finished.  I don't want to be impressive.  I just want to be me.  If you don't like it, choke on it.  I'll move at my own pace, thank you very much.

I said a while back, if you've been single long enough you become set in your ways and I meant it.  It's how I was.  Yet, I chose to break my own mold and gave it a shot.  I played a hand.  And you know what, I'm not afraid anymore.  Fuck it.  You can't win em all.  Not everybody is willing to put up with your bullshit.  And you're not willing to put up with everyone else's bullshit, but that's life JACK...and so the story goes.  New York can be the loneliest place on Earth if you let it.  So when you find somebody who's willing and able to put up with all of your shit, you push all your chips to the center of the table and go for it.  Whether in New York, Detroit, Jacksonville, or Trenton it won't matter.  But these New York women are tough, thick-skinned individuals.   But that's what makes them great, I guess.  Well that, and those awesome LuLu Lemon tights they're always wearing.  They are confident and they will fuck you up for sure if you let them.   So don't.  As for the dudes, the jury's not out just yet.

I came here for a job, one I couldn't refuse.  I came here for a girl, one I couldn't resist.  I came here to change my life, one I couldn't escape.  I came here to start over, so close to where it all began.  And where am I now you ask?  Back to SQUARE ONE.  Now go get your fucking shine box, Tommy.

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!