In a Garage by the Motorway

Now that we have the new car, a major task lies before me, cleaning out the garage so that we can use it for vehicles rather than just storage. After living together for 16 years, the wife and I have accumulated a lot of useless shit. Luckily, we’ve moved a dozen times, so most of that stuff has been donated to Goodwill or tossed into a landfill (Sorry Jason). Unfortunately, I still have those four or five boxes that I can’t bring myself to let go.

Box #1 – Keeper!
I have a box full of childhood trophies that impresses no one but me. “Wow Erik, you won first place in baseball, soccer and football in 1984, you sure were quite the athlete. Now I bet you couldn’t run a hundred yards without your wife having her finger on the final 1 in 9-1-1.”. Of course I can tell Maggie when she gets older, “When I was a kid we actually had to win something to get a trophy, not like this everybody wins bullshit that goes on today.” I think the weakest award I have is a medal that I won in cub scouts for running 10 yards and hammering a nail into a board. I came in third place. That’s right folks, I am a bronze medal winner in the short run / basic carpentry event for 10 year olds, now kneel before me and kiss my ring bitches!

Box#2 – See ya!
I have a box full of pants in various sizes. In fact I’m pretty sure that I have the standard issue khaki Dockers in sizes 34, 36, 38 and 40. Unless I somehow get stranded on a desert island or acquire a severe illness, my ass will not be seeing the inside of size 34 pants in this lifetime. I’ve moved this “brotherhood of the traveling pants” box at least four times, including a trek across the country. It’s time to put an end to this madness, and kick these “skinny man pants” and my dreams of being a smaller human being, to the donation box.

Box #3 – Reluctantly Toss!
I have a box of music memorabilia; tour books, box sets, autographed pictures etc… This shit would be the bees knees if I were 16 and lived in my parents basement, but since I have a job, a wife, and a kid, these treasures will never see the light of day. Before our move back East, I got rid of all of my CD jewel cases, which was tough. Then, I tossed my concert T-Shirt collection that included, a bitchin’ stone-washed Van Halen, a smokin’ tie-dyed Robert Plant and the crème de la crème a three-quarter sleeved Rush, Power Windows bootleg t-shirt that I bought in the parking lot of my first concert for $10. If I can get rid of my first concert T, then maybe it will be OK if I toss my autographed Collect Soul picture. “Whoooooaaaa, heaven let your light shine down, whoooooaaaa, we’ll be lucky to get a gig when the state fair comes to town…”

Box #4 – Reluctantly Keep!
This one has haunted me for years, but there’s no good way to tell your wife, and her most generous family, that several ceramic music boxes are only cool to people who were alive before the Wright brothers set up shop in North Carolina. I have been hauling this box of assorted collectors plates and music boxes for a solid 15 years. Every time we move or I go into the garage to do some organization I run into this box, and like an old rival we stare at each other, and I swear the ceramic figures have a “fuck you dude, you can’t touch us” look in their eyes. They know I can’t “misplace” them without incurring the McMahon wrath, so they just sit there with their diplomatic immunity and taunt me from their stupid Styrofoam boxes that jingle some outdated sentimental tune whenever you even think of touching them.

Throw in several boxes of Steelers collectibles, X-mas decorations, and tons of baby items and trying to make space in a one car garage for an actual vehicle will be like solving a Rubik’s cube. I’ve put these boxes in more configurations than an average game of Tetris and I still can’t clear the board. Now that I’ve given you two references to obsolete games, I’m going to drink some beers sit in the middle of a pile of boxes and read my Pink Floyd Box Set booklet one last time.

Woman Got My Money

So I caved, and we pulled the trigger on both large purchases this week. We had a car transferred from Maryland to Virginia over the weekend and had full intentions of purchasing it, but after a test drive that was less than impressive, we traded it for what was behind curtain number two. So instead of the Acura RDX we are now rocking a Lexus RX330, complete with the Soccer Mom package upgrade that includes gift cards to Nordstrom, Starbucks, Banana Republic, and a bumper sticker that says “My Wife is Recession Proof”.

Later in the week we had hardwood floors installed. This involved moving a bunch of shit into the kitchen and bathroom so that the three amigos could get their installation on. Of course Maggie and I got home before they were finished, and it was one of those days when my bowels were ready to erupt like Mt. Vesuvius. I ran up to the third floor, handed Maggie some stuff to play with and then proceeded to do my business.

Meanwhile, Maggie is screaming like she just took a nunchuck to her retina, there’s a cacophony of banging and sawing going on downstairs and I am just sitting there with an “Ain’t this a bowl of fucking cherries?” look on my face. I will say the new floors are spectacular, and now that the carpet is gone, I am ready to throw on the pink button down, Rayban Wafarers sunglasses and rock out to some Bob Seger. Although, I’ll probably skip the house call from the hooker, dumping the Porsche in the lake and losing a glass egg to a pimp, bullshit.

New fancy car, new fancy floors, go ahead and add two more checks in the “Could you be any whiter?” record book. Now if you’ll excuse me I am going to see how many times I can spin around on one foot in my living room. Woman, hand me my socks and let’s get this party started!

Just Say No to VD

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Life's Been Good to Me So Far

So my beloved wife introduced me to this website called Fuck My Life, where people post embarrassing or stupid shit that happens to them and they end their posts with FML (Fuck My Life). Instead of posting over there and adding to the misery, I decided to post my most recent Top 10 FML’s here for you to enjoy.

10. I was at lunch with the girls on my team and one of them asked what I did before I started working at my current gig. Without batting an eye, I said I worked at Chippendales. She then referenced the Chris Farley SNL skit. WTF? Has she not seen my Patrick Swayze hair? He was in that skit too, but she immediately went for the girth reference. Weak. FML

9. I’ve been debating which is the bigger chore; taking my shirts to the dry cleaners, paying and picking them up, or just breaking out the iron. Neither option is very appealing. If one of my dress shirts gets wrinkled I usually take it out of the rotation and then it takes an act of God to get it back in. I have a heavyset Mexican dude who comes and cleans my house every month, I wonder if he knows an elderly Asian lady who wouldn’t mind coming over and ironing my shirts. Could I be anymore lazy? FML

8. I had pasta with meat sauce for dinner tonight. That’s it, just spaghetti, Prego, onions and ground beef. Doesn’t look like I’ll be winning the Quick Fire challenge on Top Chef. I get stuck in these dinner ruts where I end up making the same shit over and over. The “What’s for dinner?” conversation is beyond old at this point. Maybe I should start going the anorexic route, those skinny assholes never have to ask “What’s for dinner?”. FML

7. It has officially begun. I was driving home and this long ass light near my house changed to red on me and I muttered “Oh shit”. Then, a little voice from the backseat echoed my sentiments with a soft but intelligible “Oh shit”. I guess it is finally time for me to clean up my language. At least she can’t read yet, so I may need to use this forum to get my profanity fix. FML

6. My work blocked the Pei Wei website today. Yes, you heard me correctly, they blocked a fucking restaurant website. I guess people were spending too much time debating between the wonton soup and the lettuce wraps. It sure is starting to feel a lot like East Germany circa 1965 at my office. If anyone can help me get over the wall, let me know. Danke. FML

5. I used to watch one to two movies a week, and I had a nice little give and take going with Netflix. However, the movie I finally watched the other night (The Visitor) had been at my house since October 28, 2008. I essentially paid $20 for this fucking movie. Don’t get me wrong, it was a solid flick, not $20 solid, but definitely worth watching. I really need to get a break from Tivo and wean myself off of these shitty reality shows, so that I have time for some thought provoking cinema. I need less VH1 and more IFC. FML

4. A random dude on a web conferencing demonstration was looking at my webcam video and asked if I played football. I wasn’t really sure how to take that. Was he saying that I’m fat? Do I have a big head? Are my eyes glazed over from too many concussions? Was I wearing shoulder pads? How exactly do you respond to something like that? “Yeah, I played when I was eight, how’d you know?” Dick! FML

3. I’m pretty sure I’d make an awful activist. To be an activist you need to actually care enough about something to take action. A couple of weeks ago some fuckbutt in my neighborhood horked my recycle bin. Look, I try and do my part by separating my glass, plastic and paper from the other refuse we produce, but if I have to actually do internet research to find out who's my recycling provider and then make a phone call to get a new bin for $10, we are starting to go beyond my level of commitment to the cause.

However, to be a good person, and more importantly avoid the green guilt of my very green centric brother, I did the leg work. (In my Jerry Seinfeld voice) “What’s with the size of these recycle bins? I put in one empty milk gallon and it’s full. They give us a full size garbage can, shouldn’t we get a full size recycle bin? I’m, just saying.”. Let’s just hope someone doesn’t steal this one or else its back to giving Al Gore the finger and sending everything straight to the landfill. FML

2. My wife got her bonus last week, and we also got a nice chunk of change back from our taxes, but instead of saving it for something like our retirement, Maggie’s education or my pending mid-life crisis, she wants to use it for hardwood floors and a new car. I used to be a frugal motherfucker, who wouldn’t even pay full price for a Big Mac, but over the years the old lady has beaten me down, and now we spend money like Kid Rock at a strip club. I will try and suggest that she picks one or the other, but in the end I know that she’ll come home from work with that new car smell on her as she clip-clops across our new hardwood floors. FML

1. I am supposed to get out of work at 4:00, but people occasionally schedule meetings for me after hours and I just can’t say no. I’ve always been a pleaser, so even if it means inconveniencing me, I will usually go the extra mile. Like that time in high school when I went out with this car stereo guy I met at the mall, and then he took advantage of me in the dugout at the little league field. I wanted to say no, but instead I just stared at the ceiling and took it. Wait, that wasn’t me, that was Jennifer Jason Leigh in Fast Times at Ridgemont High. I guess not being able to say no, and dating guys with bitchin’ cars is just something we have in common. FML

I know what you’re thinking, if these are the biggest problems in this guy’s life he is doing pretty well. And you’d be right. I don’t have a lot to complain about, but do you really want to read about how I fart rainbows, piss rivers of gold, and my nipples taste like Hershey Kisses? Yeah, I didn’t think so.
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Goddamn Right, It's A Beautiful Day

When you list the top ten best days in your life, you think of your kids being born, your wedding day, losing your virginity, participating in a Mexican donkey show and then if you’re a true sports fan you have to go with seeing your team win a Super Bowl in person. Then you throw in the longest play for a touchdown in super bowl history, a 4th quarter comeback to win with 35 seconds left, having front row seats to a domestic dispute, seeing a prostitute riding a dude and all you can eat pancakes and last Sunday easily ranks in my top 5 of all time.

We left for the stadium around 10:00 AM, parked, and then walked to this party that my brother found online. There are a bunch of homes a couple blocks from the stadium where people tailgate for Bucs games. For $30 approximately 300 Steelers fans packed this guy’s yard for an all you can eat and drink festivity. The rest of the neighborhood also had such gatherings, so Heinz field south was in full swing. With a Yuengling in one hand and a hot dog in the other, I sat back, got some sun, and enjoyed the constant parade of black-n-gold.
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Around 4:00 PM we headed to the stadium. I expected a full blown cavity search on the way in, and I have to admit I was a bit disappointed when the extent of security was a quick pat down and walking through a metal detector. In retrospect, hiding that dead cardinal in my ass as a surprise for security wasn’t the best idea. I don’t know if you’ve ever shit feathers before, but it isn’t a pretty site.

As soon as we sat down, the Jerry Springer Show got into full swing. This chick right behind me was berating her significant other with a series of profanity that would have made Chris Rock blush. “I can’t believe you fucking disrespected me like that. You are such a fucking asshole. Believe me I’ve fucked younger guys than you and they were all much better. You are the worst lay I’ve ever had. Oh Big Ben looks good in those shorts, I’m definitely going to fuck him. There goes Willie Parker, he can pound me anytime he wants. I can’t wait to go out and fuck all these guys. We’ll see how you like it, you fucking dickhead.” I’m just sitting there trying to watch the players warm up and enjoy a great day and I have an episode of Cops going on behind me. After fifteen minutes of listening to this chick go all ‘Oh no he di’int” on her man, we headed down to the lower levels to get some pictures.

A half an hour later we returned to our seats and the tirade continued. “I don’t need you. You ain’t nothing but a worthless piece of shit. Get the fuck away from me.” The debate started in my head, do I say something or just let it play out. She is starting to ruin my super bowl vibe, but getting involved will only turn her masterful use of the English language onto me. Eventually, her drunken rant began to subside and then it mysteriously disappeared altogether. Confused by the silence I turn around to see her mouth raping her emasculated partner. Awwwwwkward. I’ll bet it will be an awesome Thanksgiving in their house when they announce that he IS father of her super bowl baby.

The game was ridiculous, Bruce Springsteen was great, and the dude who yelled at the Cardinals cheerleaders “We don’t need cheerleaders, our broads are in the stands” was entertaining. Later he was even prophetic when he said to his 8 year old son before the final drive “Pay attention kid, this is where legends are born”.

After the game we headed to the IHOP for some celebratory pancakes. Walking home we passed this car with its dome light on. As we closer we got a nice eyeful of a tan, robust ass on top of this random dude. Really? Parking on a well lit street. Really? Leaving the dome light on in your car. Really? Banging a prostitute at 1:00 AM on a Monday morning. Really? Uncle Wayne is that you? It wasn’t, but we resisted our urge to start shaking the car and rolled on back to the crib.

The perfect day was now in the books.