Blinded By The Light

On my way home I was listening to the radio and they were talking about movies, TV shows or books that traumatized you as a kid. So here are a couple that come to mind.

The movie that traumatized me the most growing up was Invasion of the Body Snatchers. If you haven’t seen the movie, the premise is that aliens plant these pods and they grow a clone of you when you sleep. Then you die and your clone becomes part of society until all of the humans are gone and only clones remain.

Apparently, my baby-sitter felt this was perfectly appropriate viewing material for a seven year old. As much as I love Donald Sutherland, to this day I don’t want to get with 100 yards of him. Although, it’s a toss up as to which is more traumatizing his screech at the end of the movie or his bare ass in Animal House.

The TV show that scarred me the most as a child was Little House on the Prairie. There was an episode where Mary Ingalls wakes up in the middle of the night and she is totally blind. She wasn’t kicked by a mule, she didn’t fall on a rake, she didn’t masturbate too much, that I know of, she just went blind for no good reason at all.

As a kid, I was like holy fucking shit you can just go to bed all la-dee-da-dee and then wickety-wack, you’re blind? She just woke up and started screaming “Pa! I can’t see! Pa! I can’t see!”. A couple of weeks later I woke up in the middle of the night and the power had gone out, so I started screaming “Pa! I can’t see! Pa! I can’t see!”.

Finally, I will leave you with my embarrassing moment of the day. I was meeting Amy at Chili’s for lunch and I was a few minutes early, so I decided to fix the driver seat in our car. It had become difficult to move back and forth, so I sprayed some WD-40 onto the tracks. As I got out of the car I smelled my fingers to see if they had WD-40 on them. I looked up there was this hot young chick in her car who gave me the biggest “I can’t believe you just did that, you disgusting pig!” look of all time. I guess from her point of view it looked like I reached down between my legs and then got out of the car and took a big ol’ sniff. I wanted to yell at her “I didn’t scratch-n-sniff!”, but figured that would be even creepier.

Does this shit happen to other people or just me? Well, if you’ll excuse me I need to go wash this misguided judgment off of me and try to picture something other than Donald Sutherland’s crack. Here's a picture of Mary Ingalls for you. I can't tell if she is blind here or not, because she pretty much wore that retarded grin on her face for the entire series.

Brain Droppings

Good Friday! I came to the realization this morning that I am too old and too big to play Jesus in the re-enactment of the crucifixion. Not that I am religious in any way, nor have I ever wanted to participate in such an activity, but this is some of the weird shit I think about when I’m in the car alone. Do you think if Jesus had lived another 10 years or so he would have let himself go, kind of like Elvis? Would there be a debate as to what image of Jesus to use, old, fat Jesus or young, skinny Jesus? Michelangelo what are your plans for the Sistine Chapel? “Dude, it’s a big ceiling so I am going to go with the old, fat Jesus to cover more space, maybe put him on a plush, cross-shaped couch eating a greasy turkey leg and drinking some righteous wine.” And yes, it is a little known fact that Michelangelo was the Renaissance’s version of Jeff Spicolli.

Being Mr. Observant, I noticed for the first time that my dryer has a light inside of it. This struck me as a bit unnecessary. I don’t know about you crazy bitches, but I tend to do my laundry with the lights on. I’ve never been standing in front of my dryer going; “Are there clothes in there? Is that Amy’s underwear or a dryer sheet? Hello? I can’t see shit, if only this thing had a light in it.”

Before I fall asleep every night I have these weird thought progressions that usually end up with me asking Amy some random question. Last night I was thinking about having to refill the gumball machine on my desk with Reece’s Pieces, which led to E.T., which led to Drew Barrymore, which led to the documentary “My date with Drew” where the guy gave her a Snoopy Snow Cone machine, which led to thinking about what kind of dog Snoopy was, which led to beagles, which led me to Amy’s roommate in college who had a beagle, which led me to think about the time we went with her to a Billy Joel concert, which led to other concerts I saw in college which led to the random question:

Do you remember when we went to see Jimmy Buffet in college and that drunk chick beside us was blowing that guy in the rain? And he gave us a look like “I tried to stop her, but a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do”. Good times.

Finally, I’ll leave you with this gem:
http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1905976

Now, if you’ll excuse I need to beat the church traffic, so I can get my cheeseburger on at Fuddruckers.

19 Things I Think I Know

Hola amigos. Here is my first installment of "19 Things" for '09. enjoy!

1. I hate myself for watching Rock of Love on VH1, the same way that fat chicks hate themselves for eating an entire box of Krispy Kremes.

2. I tweeted on twitter using twhirl and it twasn’t all it’s twacked up to be.

3. My daughter is addicted to the chicken dance song, which means I have to listen to it over and over and over in the car. Not only do I have to listen to it, but I have to do the dance to appease the little one. Amusing for her, creepy for other drivers who can't see her through the tinted windows.

4. Having Comcast as my cable and internet provider makes me want to strangle kittens. Verizon Fios, you are on my speed dial as soon as hockey season is over.

5. When you and one other car are speeding together down the highway and a cop pulls out, it is always better when they pull the other guy over. Sorry, to the dude with the blue tooth headset in the silver Acura, but you got the short end of the stick.

6. Eating Long John Silvers twice in one day catches up with you… Arrrrgghhhh!

7. Anytime you are doing shots with strangers after 11:00 PM on a Thursday night, Friday is going to be one long ass day of struggling to survive.

8. I have to start watching what I do around Maggie. I faked a smack to Amy’s face with a plastic baseball bat and then Maggie proceeded to pick up the bat and beat Amy down like she was Rodney King.

9. Buying a digital camera that actually takes a picture without a 3 second delay is soooo worth the money. My porn site, I mean my pictures of my daughter are going to be so much better now.

10. At Chipotle the most underated protein is the Carnitas. Just because Jules from Pulp Fiction doesn't dig on swine, doesn't mean you can't enjoy some piggy. You can thank me later.

11. In a state of intoxication I rocked an old school boy band dance to “Poison” by Bell Biv Devoe, much the same as Turk did on Scrubs, except that I’m white and have no rhythm. I wonder how long this ‘L’ will be on my forehead.

12. The “Welcome to Virginia” signs might be the worst in the country. They have this stupid cardinal on them and they look like they were painted in some remedial art class at the state penitentiary. C’mon Virginia, tighten up and at least put something on the sign that represents the state like never-ending traffic or a drunk, frat guy smoking a cigarette.

13. It might be sad, but often my biggest challenge of the day is trying to come up with something witty for my Facebook status.

14. Panama by Van Halen is the greatest work out song of all time, and anyone who says otherwise is just fucking wrong!

15. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve driven on the PA turnpike when it hasn’t been raining or snowing.

16. Ever since I saw Mickey Mouse going off on the Jonas Brothers on South Park, I have a hard time watching the Mickey Mouse club with Maggie. I keep expecting him to lose his shit and tear Donald Duck a new asshole.

17. I just found out that my cousin’s brother-in-law is dating Ginnifer Goodwin AKA Margene from Big Love. I wonder what it would take to get him to bring her to Pittsburgh for 4th of July. Lucky bastard!

18. A guy on my team at work grew a Fu Manchu mustache. I’ve always wanted to shave down to that form, but one guy on the team with a Fu Manchu is sweet, two guys on the team with Fu Manchus and the Mrs. might start checking my pockets for receipts to the Backdoor Leather Company.

19. Maggie fell down a couple steps the other day and a small part of me wanted to say “See, I told you so”.

Smokin'

So, how was your Sunday night? Did you expose your junk to any Hindus? I did. Yesterday, Maggie had a fever and was pretty listless all day, so we put her to bed early and settled in for a night of Tivo. After, a few hours of awesomely bad TV, we walked through the usual nightly routine and crawled into bed. Goodnight Ben. Goodnight Erin. Goodnight Mary-Ellen. Goodnight John Boy! All is peaceful at the Crawford abode.

Fifteen minutes later the smoke detector chirps. Maybe it was a fluke, let’s wait it out…chirp. Uggghhh! I get out of my warm bed, throw on my boxers and run down two flights of stairs to get the ladder from the garage. Our detector is about 12 feet off the ground on a vaulted ceiling, nice call home builders. I manage to stand with one leg on the top rung of the ladder and the other on the top of the door frame. I glance down and notice that my blinds are open, so the Indians across the way (dots not feathers) have a great view of my Bahliwood. I look at Amy and say Slumdog Millionaire, more like, Slumdog Underwear. HAHAHA, see what I did there, I changed Millionaire to underwear, because they’re Indian and I was in my underwear. Let me know when they create a show called “I Know I Am Funnier Than a Fifth Grader”, because I would totally win that shit.

Anyway, I manage to unscrew the detector and get the battery out. Victory! Put away the ladder and crawl back into my bed. Two minutes later…chirp. Son of a bitch! It’s midnight, I am half naked, sweaty, wearing my glasses and growing oh so bitter by the minute. I go downstairs to get a new battery, but we are out of 9-volts. I steal one from the baby monitor and of course I have to test it by putting my tongue between the two nodes. Oh, that familiar tingle, we are in business. Now that it’s wet, I also have to check it on each of my nipples. Ooh yeah, we have a live one here, but no time for simple pleasures, its fireman Craw time.

I climb the ladder, replace the battery, connect it back to the ceiling and jump back under the covers. Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…chirp. This time, my mind starts messing with me, was it this detector or was it one of the other three that are within five feet of each other on our top floor? Let the hearing test begin. Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…chirp. Ok, I don’t think it was in here, close that door and let’s listen again. Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…chirp. It was definitely in here! So I break out the ladder and go into my Cirque du Soleil balancing act. This time I press the reset button on the detector, it shrieks like a ten year old girl playing dodge-ball and then it’s silent. Ok, let’s see if that worked. Wait for it…chirp! Fuck me, back up the ladder I go.

This time I take out the battery, disconnect the detector from the ceiling and throw it on the bed. Once again we shut down shop and get ready to sleep…chirp. Really? Much like Dick Clark, this thing just won’t die. I take this piece of shit alarm into the bathroom, grab the scissors, and like a rookie bomb expert I start randomly cutting wires, red. black, gray, white, anything that looks like it’s connected to something. I throw it away, turn off everything and settle back in. Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it…silence. That’s right smoke detector, say my name bitch! I love taunting inanimate objects with irrational requests.

I wish I could say this was my first time in the ring with a smoke detector that wouldn’t die, but that is not the case. I’ve gone many rounds with these circular white discs that seem to do more harm than good. It’s like they sit up there on the ceiling, draining batteries, just waiting for me to cook up some bacon, or settle in for a night’s slumber, and then they scream “Hey, look at me. I am going to annoy the shit out of you for then 20-30 minutes, good luck shutting me off, fucker!” ---

Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to go apologize to the neighbors and buy a future adversary.

Big City Nights

My team at work hit our revenue goal last year, so we were treated to a night out in DC. The plan was to leave at 2:30 PM, rock a happy hour for a bit and then roll to the Improv for some comedy, but you know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men. That phrase always struck me as odd. I seriously doubt that mice have plans and if they do, there is no way that they are best laid plans. It’s not like mice sit around and work out detailed instructions on how they are going to get the cheese off of the trap, or maybe they do, what the fuck do I know about the plans of mice?

Anyway, it was a rainy afternoon as we rolled out of the office, and before we hit the happy hour we made a pit stop at one of my co-workers pads that he rents from friends of his parents. From the moment we pulled up to this high-rise tribute to the glitz of 70’s excess I knew the inside would be spectacular. The place was a perfect hybrid of the Jefferson’s apartment building and the interior decoration from the hotel in The Shining. Long gone were the days of key parties, disco music and copious amounts of chest hair, but the stench of cigarettes and bad cologne was etched into the vibrantly patterned carpeting.

After pounding a few beers, we rolled downtown and met up with the rest of the crew. As the drink orders came around I ordered my chardonnay and I could feel the douchy looks, so the next go round I took off my skirt and ordered a Jack and Coke. (Sorry Andy, I know I should be drinking Evan Williams) I’m not a big whiskey guy, but after numbing my taste buds with the first one, the others when down easy, like Drew Bledsoe after 3 seconds in the pocket.

Once we were all liquored up I somehow ended up walking several blocks arm in arm with our order processing chick, who was stumbling like a newborn deer. Once we got to the Improv, I was ready to get my ha-ha on. I ordered another drink and some quesadillas, and as I took my first bite the drama started going down. “Everybody get your stuff we have to go”. WTF? Apparently, the manager felt we were all too intoxicated to be served. So 30 of us got up and emptied out about a third of the joint.

Dude, this is a comedy club with a two drink minimum. Ok, maybe I shouldn’t have been on stage dancing, and yes, maybe taking off my shirt was a little gratuitous, and when I grabbed the microphone and called everyone in the audience a bunch of pussies, I may have gone a tad over the line, but c’mon people have a sense of humor. As a comedian don’t you want your audience to be a little sauced? And as a business owner do you really want to just write of 3-5k in sales for a Thursday night? So what should have been a win-win-win situation turned into a long walk back to the original bar where they were glad to serve us. What a gip!

Well, that’s about all for now. The 70’s just called and they need me to return the mirror and razor blade I procured from George and Weezy’s pad.