Now, turn on your local NFL game (whoops! Sorry Detroit and Jacksonville!), wait for a tipped pass (Bears or Panthers games) and focus on the zebra. Who knew that old white dudes could be such trendsetters, right?
Pacman's story is one that has a far-reaching lesson that can be inappropriately and incorrectly applied in a general fashion on a broader scale. Women. Love. Money.
Don't think so? I'm reading over Asylum's countdown of the Weirdest News Stories of 2009 on Digg and what do I see hanging out at #64? THIS. The story of a 48 year old dude who was a virgin living with his mom until he won the lottery. Then, BOOM, knocks boots with his mom's nurse. I'm sure the $13 million had absolutely nothing to do with that love connection. Sure, men love money, too - but that's only because we love women.
I don't mean to go on a Dennis Miller rant here...
...or to evoke the spirit of Glenn Beck - but is money really all you need? I know of several women within my circle of friends (which keeps shrinking for some reason, wtf) dating men almost twice their age. As you can guess, these men are loaded out the Ying Yang Twins. I look at certain relationships and I think what would happen if you took that money away? Contrary to what I believed, with the market in the sh*tter, the divorce rate actually declined for the first time since 2005. Why? Maybe because divorce is expensive. Just ask Tiger.
In addition to the humongoid settlement Elin will eventually win (estimates range from $20 million to upwards of $300 million) Tiger's been paying off women to keep their mouths closed about his affairs. Some of these women claim to love him, yet what if he weren't paying them? The one chick desperately plead Tiger to "help her out" and he turned her down. That was the end of that. At least Tiger can find solace in the fact he could have a very successful career in porn.
It reminds me of this girl I met in Tampa. She bragged about how she has a sugar daddy that buys her all kinds of ridiculous gifts. She referred to him as a sucker that she doesn't care about. I really really didn't want to know about that. I've never gone from liking a girl so much to hoping she got hit by an oil tanker so quickly. For god shammgod's sakes, I thought I took the blue pill!
You see some couples and you're like what happened there? How did he pull that off? Oh, he's really well off. OF COURSE! But, come on, beyond that. Beyond the shopping sprees, luxurious cars, vacations, summer/winter houses, there HAS to be something more, right? As the "Gimme Some More" interlude on Busta Rhymes album "Extinction Level Event" goes, "But there ain't no more... is there?" Thanks to Wasting Time with Mike and Ari, we can do a quick recap of what said man offered in that exchange with the ladies at the club:
"I noticed you from across the way, and i think me and you should get to talkin'. so if you're not doing anything tonight, maybe you can come to my place. baby girl, you know how much money i got? Oprah does my laundry. Michael Jordan cuts my grass. you know how frivolous i am? i drive my hummer to the end of my driveway just to get the mail, and that's all i use it for. i got 6 stock brokers, 14 doctors, 2 lawyers, 17 accountants, and 8 other lawyers to watch the first 2 lawyers. and i got custom made condoms that’s made of other people's *****. And ****, when i’m too tired to get my socks blown, i hire someone else to **** for me. you know how rich i am? you know how much credit i got? i threw away all my platinum cards and i got a uranium card. b*tch. i drive a rolls royce pickup truck. i got the penthouse with the helicopter pad on the roof and snipers in the other building to make sure no one steals my helicopter. Donald Trump delivers my newspaper in the morning and i don't even tip him."
Tall, rich, and handsome. No wonder I'm depressed. I live in the New York metropolitan area. 2010 can't come quick enough. And, as Sphere's Steven Pendlebury points out, the end of this decade, can't happen any faster.
But, it's amazing what a shower can do for you. Wash away the shame, guilt, repression, sadness. Axe hit the nail on the head for their body wash product. Showers are game changers. Despite the grim outlook for the New Year, I still believe it can't get any worse than '09. As long as my shower works, I remain optimistic. Let's take a relatively abridged look at The Year Most Aught to Forget...
JANUARY
It started with a "rain check" and a debilitating loss at home in the Divisional Playoffs for the G-men. That day I learned that one text message can effectively ruin a relationship. Then on the day of Obama's inauguration news came down from up top that Playboy would be closing its NYC office. Select employees would be re-located to Chicago prompting me to make a last-minute trip out to the Windy City during Super Bowl weekend to look at apartments. My preconceived notion of Chicagoans was debunked when I was roundly rejected in a very New York manner. Even though the big game was super, my experience was not. What bar doesn't stay open on Super Bowl Sunday then denies having your license? THIS ONE.
FEBRUARY
Bar golf introduced me to my eventual ex-girlfriend and proved without a shadow of a doubt that I'm Irish. Valentine's Day brought me to Boston and Providence where I almost saw a re-enactment of the infamous Miller Lite catfight commercial at my uncle's Dirty Dancing performance. No, it wasn't a family dinner gone wild, it was an actual play.
Later that month, I helped manage the Afro Samurai party at McFadden's in NYC. Miss November 2001 Lindsey Vuolo hosted. She's a former resident of Yardley, PA, a town that saw more than a couple NDHS alumni. Lindsey kinda gives me a look like, "ew" every time I see her, which makes me think some bad press got back to her. Sadly, it's all true.
At the party, wigs were distributed along with t-shirts. I was able to reconnect with ********* *******, but just as the conversation picked up momentum, it slipped off the radar.
MARCH
100% of the blame can be placed on St. Patty's Day in Hoboken. A day that I look forward to for 364 days of the year despite its reputation for always landing me in drama / hot water. This year was, at first, a success but once the dust settled, it revealed itself to be just as detrimental as its predecessors. SUNGLASSES! STOLEN! VENOMOUS COMMENTS! GRUDGES! Luckily, everything worked itself out but it would take a couple months.
What else would take a couple months to heal? My knee. The day after St. Patty's Day in Hoboken, I dust off the arm for a coed flag football game in which I scrambled more than eggs. Down 21-7 in the first half, I avoided the rush (hot chick with inability to move laterally) sprinted to my left and picked up the first down. I was mere feet from the sidelines where I could've stepped out, stopped the clock, and catch my breath for the impending touchdown we'd most likely score. Instead, I saw a crease and thought I could take it to the house. My ACL thought otherwise. Snap. Crackle. Pop. Judging by the reactions of just about everyone else on that field (refs included), they did NOT sign up for this kind of tragedy. Thankfully, I waived off the ambulance and subsequent insurmountable hospital bill.
It took almost two months to schedule the surgery. I spent the following two weeks at my grandmother's where I feared for my life, had an Arrested Development marathon (are they making the movie or not?), and a beard that would prompt one receptionist to question whether or not I was human.
(more human the human...also, forgot to change contacts)
Mid-March, I get to work Playboy's Rock the Rabbit Late Night Party at South by Southwest in Austin. If you've never been, I highly recommend it (said like Ferris Bueller). Great weather, great people, great music, great sports, great culture. And... the women. Very cute. I was in a relationship at the time, making the ogling very difficult to do with a clear conscience. Pile on top of that the responsibility of working with Miss May 2008 AJ Alexander and Miss September 2008 Valerie Mason and you can taste the temptation sweats (ew). The Playmates got pretty bored pretty fast and I was stuck hanging out with a bunch of middle aged reformed druggies passing out on the beanbag chairs we set up. Not to mention we were handing out free sh*t and these vultures kept stealing the Playboy decor. Eventually, I got to hang in the VIP room with Miss October 2008 Kelly Carrington, who is dating Vegas Playboy George Maloof (awkward smirk as I wait for you to scroll up to the second or third paragraph of this post).
APRIL
April brought hope as many experts and pundits predicated the Mets would go to the World Series. Five to six months later, we know how that turned out. Little known fact - The Mets drafted Troy Aikman. How's your mind? Blown?
Me and the gf split. I went to THE Johns Hopkins Homecoming Weekend and wore my super sweet "I ****** my ***** for this?" t-shirt. I was not welcome "home." I was ridiculed. This lil' adventure proved to me without a shadow of a doubt that I'm nowhere near being in college drinking shape. I couldn't move on Sunday - it took all my energy just to shower. Used to be, you drink a keg, and a diseased-ridden Gatorade bucket of jungle juice mixed with rusty golf clubs and you wake up the next morning with a kick in your step on your way to a footlong Blimpie's sub and an entire pizza pie.
Please flip to Side B for the rest of my god awful year in review (coming soon)...
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