trick or drink

a first. the hat trick. 3 for 3. my third consecutive night at RC.

cavs/magic game are on the TV, late 2nd half. who gives a flying fuck...certainly not me.

speaking of flying fuck, how 'bout that fuckjob drunk united pilot? has anyone heard what his BAC level was? please comment to win a prize.

if you like CA reds, go buy this next time you're making a wine run. it's so fucking money, it doesn't even know it.



ok, tonight's is going to be a long one.

(don't say it....must.....resist.....)

we live in a small neighborhood, on a mountain, in the sticks of western NJ in hunterdon county. this april will be 10 years. we're very fortunate to have a group of people who really all get along well together. each year, there are recurring events that involve most of "the hood". in chronological order:

new year's eve party
superbowl party
4th of july picnic
the hunt
group trick-or-treating
trick or drink
chirstmas party

throw in a couple of texas hold 'em tournaments and some impromptu get togethers, and you've got a pretty decent social calendar that allows you to stumble home drunk.

trick or drink. it is what it sounds like.

unfortunately, the first rule of trick or drink is we don't talk about trick or drink. but as a founding member of the board*, i will make an exception for documentation purposes.

(* the origin of T or D is controversial, but it started back in 2001)

it works like this. around 6:30pm, 2 people start out at a house and have a drink for about 15 minutes. they then walk to a house and ring the doorbell. when the door opens, you yell, "trick or drink!" you then walk in the house and the host must serve you a drink of their choice (this is rule #2).

the drink could be anything: beer, wine, or liquor....you have 15 minutes (usually set on the kitchen microwave) to finish your drinks. then, you must collect one or more people from that house to take with you (rule #3). so now you are three strong and move to the next house. the most recent person you picked up must ring the bell of the next house (rule #4). the cycle continues for about 10-12 houses.

unfortunately, most years, i'm one of the first 2 or 3 participants of this event. the flaw in the model is purely the drink math. logistically, with rule #5 stating that you can't ring doorbells after 9:30pm, you must start no later than 6:30pm...and you CANNOT stay more than 15 minutes. this works well to satisfy rule #5, but it means that you're consuming 12 drinks in 3 hours.

and the whole beer before liquor rule, you can chuck that out the window (see rule #2). if you are one of the first few houses, this event fuuuuucks yoooooouuuu up.

rule #6 states that the order of the houses is to be determined prior to the event, taking into consideration houses with small children, or angry dogs. it's one of the rules that can be adjusted on the fly, but still, it's good for planning purposes.

this year's schedule was the perfect storm. halloween fell on a saturday, so that gave us friday night or saturday night to execute. it didn't happen on friday night, but saturday, i got the call. i had just gotten out of the shower, was in my PJs, was about to give jack a bath...and looking forward to some playoff baseball. the 9 year streak of T or D was alive and well (remember, rule #1 is key).

the world series was a possible deterrent to a good T or D outing this year, so the plan was a "mini" one. maybe 6 houses and then back for first pitch. looked good on paper.

the first house was an irish car bomb. nice. a pint of guinees, with a shot of 1/2 jamesons and 1/2 bailey's dropped in, and then chugged. a good kickstart.

15 minutes later, house 2. why it took us 9 years to think to bring a camera with us is beyond me. the good news is that paul brought his iphone for pictures. the bad news is that people don't know how to take a good picture with a camera phone. after hitting the button, you need to wait a second before moving the camera, otherwise you get blurry shots....but there are a couple good ones i'll share with you.

the 2nd house was traditionally a "later in the night" stop, and was almost always a shot of bushmills, forward to which i was looking. we caught house 2 by surprise, and they had 17 shot glasses on the counter, but there was only 3 of us (see rule #6). they had prepared "lil' beers". i had never had a "lil' beer". it is Licor 43 liquer with whipped cream on top. that sumbitch went down easier than a thai hooker. here is fran before serving the lil' beer, and here is a blurry shot of 5 of us.



we pick up THREE people and leave the house 6 strong.

next house we got black-housed. a controversial move that seasoned neighbors may or may not try to do signaling that they don't want to feel like ass the next day. we boo them loudly and move on to the next house.

house 3. in the house, set the micorwave to 10 minutes (remember, this was supposed to be a mini-round) and ask for our drink. they provided absolute citron, grape juice, and ginger ale. it tasted like absolute citron, grape juice, and ginger ale. with 3/4 of my drink left, and 2 minutes left on the microwave, i down the rest of my drink. this was around the time that the iphone became an issue. to get a novice user (a man in his late 70s, early 80s) to understand how to use the touchscreen is like trying to get kelly to care about why "moving the runners over with less than 2 outs" is important. i'll spare you the first 3 attempts, but pierce, whose father in law was attempting to take the pic, ran to the garage to get something. that was when the decent picture was taken.


when pierce came back, i had a genius idea. we'll take his picture, and then i'll photoshop him in later. the best part was, as we went to each house, i was going to photoshop him in random places in each picture. however:

a. i don't have photoshop
b. i'm lazy

but, because i like you...here's a poor man's version:


so we picked up pierce, and headed to house 4. house 4 had beer. mmmmmmm, beer. st. paulie girl to be exact. and in fact, i think we each split a beer, so it was only a 6 oz hit. felt good after the grape situation:


we picked up ray, and moved onto house 5. house 5 was serving some kind of patron coffee liqueur, which was so fucking good, i almost broke rule #7: never drink more than 1 drink per house. the good news with shots is that it gives you a good 10 minutes of downtime to almost forget moments like this:


the good news: i have nice breasts
the bad news: i have two right arms

we pick up greg and move on to house six...or as i remember it, souse hix.

the beauty of T or D is the surprise factor. over 9 years of doing this, everyone has pretty much figured out that any friday or saturday surrounding halloween is an eligible night. there is a house on the corner, just outside the hood that we wanted to hit. they are good partyers and i know they would appreciate the concept.

however, as our swarm of drunks, now 11 strong, hits their house, we notice quite of number of cars in the driveway.

company. and lots of it. rule #8 of T or D strictly states, regardless of a house's guests, the bell must be rang (or is it rung)....

we stumble in and they must have 15 guests. grandparents, kids, babies, uncles and aunts. we bombard their kitchen, set the microwave clock, and explain the rules.

ugoddagivusalladriiinkyuuurchoys....we state eloquently in 2 syllables.

yuengling. america's oldest brewery since 1829. a pennsylvania beer that is a staple of 4th of july picnics and is known for its gastroelectrical impact on the digestive system.

(remind me to tell you the origin of gastroelectrical)

and no splitting like we did 2 houses ago....this is a 12 ounce chug.

we grab jeff, and head to house 7 (after a decent iphone pick):


house 7. it's at house 7 that we learn that the world series is in a rain delay, thus extending our mini-T or D. house 7 also brought on a concoction of amaretto and southern comfort....also know as a "mulhearn", named after the host. while discussing how heavy a pour the amaretto was in the plastic cups, along with the possibility of a rainout of the world series and a possible double-header the next day, the following statement was made in the video below. now in the video, i'm to the right (facing him) of the baby boomer in the iron maiden t-shirt, and i say something about a doubleheader. play the video a few times, and please tell me what the fuck i'm saying....the person who gets it right will receive a check for $20*.

* checks will not be honored.




we finished our mulhearns, and headed to house 8.

house 8 brought a much needed break from the hard stuff.

that's what she said.

i rarely start a sentence with "let me tell you something". but let me tell you something, that fucking black box tasted so good.

that's what he said.

i'm not sure if it was the snacks that i was sexually assaulting, or the fact that i had stopped using verbs, but i distinctly remember enjoying the double B.



we did our 12 minutes, had the dog take our picture:


and we were on our way to house 9.

house 9 brought us old school, striaght up, chilled russian vodka. a little stoli to keep the black box company.


sheryl also provided crumb cake, which i vaguely remember shoving a 5x5 inch piece into my mouth in one bite and then trying to talk while vodka infused crumb cake pieces flew out of my mouth.

we got our group shot and headed for the 10th and final house.


house 10 brought tequilla. a perfect last house drink.


and as we did our shot, the first pitch of game 3 of the world series was thrown. we all gathered around the TV for about 20 minutes, violating rule #5 (which technically doesn't apply to the last house) and watched the first inning of the game. we took our final group shot and left.


i stumbled into the house around 9:45pm and began to recap the evening to kelly. then i went on to explain to kelly how pivotal game 3 was to the series, but i remember having a hard time pronouncing the word pivotal...

good times.

if you've got nothing better to do next october something, come join us, but never forget the first rule of trick or drink....

the 2

i love the 2. it's such a great bill. SUCH a great bill. the design, the use, the detail on the back...and in this blogger's opinion, it is needed now more than ever.

a snapple? $1.50. here's a 2.

pack of dentyne ice? $1.25. here's a 2.

medium dunkin' donuts coffee? $1.97. here's a fucking 2. keep the change.

but no. the 2 continues to be the red-headed stepchild of US paper currency.

i just spent the last 10 minutes on wikipedia reading about the 2 dollar bill. it's still in circulation. here's some light reading.

Supplies of the Series 1976 $2 bill were allowed to dwindle until August 1996 when another series finally began to be printed; this series, however, was only printed for the Federal Reserve Bank of Atlanta. Once again, in October 2003, the $2 bill was printed for only the Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis after supplies dwindled . A Series 2003A was also issued starting in 2006, in larger quantity and for multiple Federal Reserve Banks, because of an increase in demand for supplies of the note.

where the fuck does the "increase in demand" come from? MAN i hate that baseball season is over...and that the rangers aren't on tonight...and that there are absolutely no good movies out....that is my evening priority when stuck up here in shit plains.

1. baseball
2. hockey
3. go to the movies by myself
4. blog about the fucking 2 dollar bill
5. go catch up on facebook

oh, and don't forget, tomorrow is 11/11. so celebrate 11:11:11 on 11/11. like most of you, i made sure to put it in outlook as a reminder:


loo-hoo zer-her



ah, shit...i just fucking got you tubed....here's another fav...



damn it. this always happens to me. i get a thought in my head and it starts to remind me of classic bits. speaking of the 2, here's a classic SNL commercial. phil hartman is a fucking genius, and is sorely missed.



we can give you 25 twos....LOL

(i fucking HATE LOL....and i didn't even LOL...i fucking smiled to myself while shoving salad in my mouth...i FSTMWSSIMM)

anyway, my point, i like the 2.

afterthought, and COMPLETE non-sequitur....it's that time of the year again. the time of the year where thanksgiving bends over, grabs its ankles, and gets fucked by christmas (so to speak). target, wal-mart, supermarkets...you can't find a fucking turkey or a pilgrim if you tried. it's all about saint dick.

at the goodman house, on november 10th, there is still a dracula, a witch, a bail of hay, and pumpkins on the front steps....and i'm sure it's #1 on the list of shit kelly has for me to do this weekend. down come the decorations inside, and up goes the turkey decorations. for a few short weeks, until black friday, 11/27, when the t-giving shit comes down, and christmas goes into full swing.

ideally, they would sell a dracula turkey with a white beard, that i could sit on the fucking front porch from mid-october until early january.

jolly saint turkula?

fuck it, i'm gonna go catch up on facebook....

bastard and sumbitch

greetings from you know where...

i started my tomato/cheese/wine diet this week. i asked eric, "where do you guys buy your tomatoes, gold's gym?"

goodman is now 0 for 1 on the evening.


remember my rachel ray posting from last year? well, jack and i were watching sportscenter on saturday morning. i've learned that as jack gets taller and faster, you just need to push everything away from the edges of the counters. my chair in the corner has a little table where i keep my laptop, my dingleberry, the house phone, the tivo remote, and a glass of whatever i'm drinking. the little fucker (and i use that as an endearing term) comes over and starts to try to grab any of the 4 items. so i have to pull the laptop onto my lap, with the dingleberry, and move the tivo remote behind the glass so he can't reach it. as i look down at my laptop, the bastard grabs the tivo remote and starts hitting random buttons.

now at this point i'm reclined in my rocker, with a cup of coffee, the house phone and the dingleberry all in my lap. jack is now happy that he got the remote. we watch channel 9999 for a little bit. then channel 1. then channel 555. and finally, using both thumbs now, he keys in a channel that isn't a black screen. the food network.

rachel is on. she doens't look as good as usual, but food shows suck me in like late night cinemax shows.....but different.

so she's doing a "30 minute meal" series. today's menu:

- Mac-n-Cheese-n-Spin-occolini Bake
- Meatball Meatloaves

two things immediately appealed to me. any dish that has 5 hyphens in it, or the word 'meat' twice, is right in my sweet spot.

the mac-n-cheese is made with spiral corkscrew pasta, broccolini, spinach, whole milk, a bunch of butter and a couple pounds of provolone, asiago, and parmigiano-reggiano. in the episode, she got a little cheese on her finger, and sucked it off. she probably spent about 1/2 second too much time with her lips around her finger, but hey, she needs to appeal to that 37-39 NJ male whose kid has taken the tivo remote and he is too lazy to get up and get the remote demographic.

the meatball meatlovers were made with the exact same ingredients as the meatballs i usually make, except she uses ciabatta bread soaked in whole milk, and then crumbled into the meat mixture instead of breadcumbs. it makes the meatloaves so fucking moist (her words, not mine).

then she seperates the meat mixture into 4 oval loafs.

i like shapes (said like sean penn in 'i am sam'). and something about the oval shape appealed to me. so i decided to fire up these bastards on sunday nite.

for the 210th time in my life, i just reminded myself of a seinfeld episode it was the one where the guys from texas came up to meet with george and they kept saying 'son-of-a-bitch' and 'bastard'. here is a script excerpt. i may as well copy/paste the whole script, but i won't.

(The water is at 105.F degrees. Kramer takes his robe off and goes inside)

Kramer: (relaxing) ...oooohhh yeeaaah... aaahhh... (he is really enjoying this)

««« (in a bar - George and 3 other men, drinking)

Clayton: ...'till this bastard over here says: "let's call the sons o'bitches and go visit 'em on New York!" (the 3 men laugh)

George: (smiling) Well, we're certainly glad that you could make it.

Gardner: I like your organization, George. We've been talkin' to a really friendly son of a bitch in the front office. Wilhelm, I think his name.

George: Oh yes, Mr.Wilhelm, yeah...

Gardner: He told us that George Costanza was gonna be takin' us bastards out on the town. (the 3 men laugh again) I said: "that son of a bitch doesn't know what he's got in store for him!". (the 3 men laugh once more)

Zeke: Finish your drink?

George: Oh yeah, al-almost. Almost.

Zeke: Let's get that bastard bring us another round! (waves to bartender)

Clayton: You a big drinker, George?

George: Well...maybe not as much as this bastard... (points at Zeke, they all laugh) I can hold my own! (they all continue laughing and drinking)

««« (Kramer's hot tub)

(The water is now at 53 degrees. Kramer is asleep inside and he's all trembling. He wakes up, frozen, making trembling sounds, reaches for his robe and puts it on while in the tub.)

««« (Monk's Restaurant - Jerry, Jean-Paul)

Jerry: Jean-Paul, I asked you down here this morning because I'm concerned. Concerned that tomorrow is perhaps the biggest race of your entire career. And the person with whom you have chosen to stay... is uh...

Jean-Paul: What are you saying?

Jerry: I'm saying "get the hell outta there"! Let me put you in a hotel. You'll be comfortable, you'll be near the starting line, and most importantly... you'll have a wake-up call, Jean-Paul! A wake-up call!

Jean-Paul: Wake-up call...

Jerry: These people never fail. They sit in a room with a big clock all night long, just waitin' to make that call! (George comes in)

Jean-Paul: No, I will stay with Elaine. It would be rude.

George: Hey, you bastards.

Jerry: Hey, how was the meeting?

George: I really like those sons of bitches.

Jerry: Sons of bitches?

George: Yeah! That's how they talk. You know, everyone's either a bastard or a son of a bitch. Yeah, it's like uh..."boy, that son of a bitch Box can really hit, uh?!" (laughs)

Jean-Paul: Really?!

George: Yeah, yeah. That's how they talk in the major league. (laughs)

(Kramer walks in wearing winter coat, scarf, cap, gloves... They all look at him very surprised)

Kramer: Heeeeey...

Jerry: How many sweaters you got on?

Kramer: Oh...four. (to waitress) Yeah, could I have a cup o'tea? Boiling hot.

George: What's goin'on?

Kramer: I fell asleep in the hot tub and the heat pump broke. Water went down to 58 degrees. I can't get my core temperature back up!

Jerry: Your core temperature?

Kramer: (to Jean-Paul) Here, feel my hand. (takes off glove) Yeah, feel.

Jean-Paul: Phew... this son of a bitch is ice-cold. (smiles)

«««(inside an airplane - the 3 men)

(They are calling George at the Yankee Stadium, while they're drinking and laughing in the plane)

George: Hello?

Clayton: uh...is that you, George?

George: (laughs) Yeah, it's me. Is this Clayton?

Clayton: Well listen, you son of a bitch! You know where we are? 30,000 feet above your head, you bastard! (the 3 laugh and howl)

George: What are they doin' lettin' you bastards on an airplane? Don't they know that's against FAA regulation?

Clayton: (to the other 2 men) Hey, hush up, now! I can't hear him!

George: Listen. I want you guys to send along those agreements the minute you land. Our boys can't wait to kick your butts!

Zeke: (to Clayton) When's that bastard comin' to Houston?

Clayton: Hey, Zeke wants to know when you Yankee bastards are comin' to Houston!

George: You tell that son of a bitch no Yankee is ever comin' to Houston. Not as long as you bastards are running things.

Clayton: Hey, uh, speak up, George, I can't hear ya!

George: (Mr.Wilhelm comes in and hears George yelling) You tell that son of a bitch no Yankee is ever comin' to Houston! Not as long as you bastards are running things!

see, i find this shit funny. true story on my fucking monday night triple digression. a couple years, while still working at my current client, i was doing a 2 day knowledge transfer session with some client folk. i had just seen the aforementioned seinfeld episode the night before so it was fresh in my head. my PC is imaged up on the wall and there are about 5 people in the room, all of whom know me pretty well.

scott: so once you get to this screen, you wanna click on this little bastard right here. that'll take you to the next screen where you wanna highlight this son of a bitch right here, and then click on this bastard.

a woman starts cracking up and yells "seinfeld!"

we laughed, and the rest of the day's training was done in this fashion. for like 2 days, none of us could stop talking like this until some bastard from accounting complained. this of course forced me to start responding to all emails in haikus and speaking like a jedi. pissed off it was making people, but laughing a lot i did.

where were we....

oh yes, those bastard meatloaves.

so while kelly was getting the little bastard, i mean jack ready for his bath, i start my 30 minute meal.

90 minutes later we ate. fucking rachel. that son-of-a-bitch assumes you have some sous chef shredding your cheese (that is not a euphamism), chopping your onion and peppers, dicing this, prepping that....

but all in all, kelly gave the mac an 11 out of 10....and the meatloaves a 10 out of 10....which is rare.

so here, go make this you bastards.

http://www.foodnetwork.com/30-minute-meals/kidding-around/index.html

oh and here is a 10 second clip of lion i spotted in western jersey. a fucking lion. do you believe that shit?



nice job filming the sun, asshole...

week 9

27

it's a beautiful fall morning. the yankees are on top again. during the 8th inning last night at RC, i did a david lee roth hitch kick at the bar. i had been standing since the 7th inning and was just too excited to sit. there were only two other people at RC which was fine by me, both of whom were yankee fans. they were a couple who were staying at the hotel, and the woman's parents were at westchester medical where her mother had just given her father one of her kidneys. the procedure went well, and they were both heavily celebrating with wine and coronas.

the guy wanted to take a picture of my scissor kick, but the picture came out very blurry. it made a lot of sense at the time.

now my hamstring hurts.

38 + wine + yankee win + scissor kick = slight injury

oh, and my obsession with numbers got me a free glass of expensive bourbon last night. after teixiera got a hit last night, i knew that made him a dismal 3 for 21 in the series. prior to the hit, they had shown his batting average in the WS as .100 (2 for 20). after the hit, i proclaimed at the bar, "well, now he's batting .143."

the chick from monday night was at the bar again and she said, "yeah, right...how would you know that?"

i said, "well actually, it's .1428571...but i was rounding up to .143."

"bullshit," she says.

vinnie the bartender, who knows me well, agreed with her assessment that i was full of shit. i took a pen, and wrote down on the paper .1428571 and informed her that it was a repeating decimal.

"i don't believe you," she said. then i asked one of my favorite questions:

"care to make it interesting?"

"i don't bet," she said.

"don't look at it as betting, look at it as a wager."

she laughed and agreed to buy me a drink if i was right. she took out her cell phone and was going to the calculator as i asked vinnie for a nice bourbon.

she checked the result against what i wrote on the paper and she was blown away.

"it's not just a pretty face," i said as vinnine put the glass down in front of me (126 proof bourbon...ouch....that shit'll make you do scissor kicks)

to answer your question, i don't know why i've memorized 1/7 out to 7 decimals. same reason i still know chrissy donahue's phone number from HS, my NJ driver's license, and mike metzgar's social security number...but i'll save that for another time.

oh, and meet jeff. jeff is a BIG phillies fan. we made the following bet when the series started:

4 game sweep: $50 + 1 week display of paraphernalia of winner’s choice to be displayed in office / cubicle of loser

5 game win: $40 + 1 week display of paraphernalia of winner’s choice to be displayed in office / cubicle of loser

6 game win: $30 + 1 week display of paraphernalia of winner’s choice to be displayed in office / cubicle of loser

7 game win: $20 + 1 week display of paraphernalia of winner’s choice to be displayed in office / cubicle of loser


the difference between a phillies fan and a yankees fan, is that he flashes one finger down in the picture, where i would have done the reverse.

on to football and hockey we go.....

aaah, fer faak's sake

ok. so it's monday nite, and i'm back in shit plains at the marriott. i got back to the room and before i headed down to the gym, i booted up, plugged my laptop in, and downloaded a bunch of pix i was going to use for tonight's blog entry.

i went to the gym, got back at 7:47pm, showered, watched the top of the 1st in my room, and walked out my door with my laptop after the 3rd out in the top of the first and headed for ruth chris.

i arrive at RC knowing i have just over 2 hours of battery life left, and enough time to talk about:

- my night at yankee stadium for game 2
- homemade corned beef and hash and the beauty of breakfast for dinner
- why i still find paris hilton so hot
- what turns me on about women in gym shorts with text on the back of them (preferably UCONN, or SEXY, or LBI, or whatever)
- jack's big halloween debut
- trick or drink
- why hangovers get linearally more difficult as i get older

so i decide to mix it up a little tonight, and i order a vodka rocks before dinner. instead of steak and beans, i get salad with crab. instead of red wine, i get white.

all mistakes, as it apparently caused AJ burnett to forget how to pitch.

and worse yet, in the bottom of the 2nd, after dicking around with facebook and email, i look down and see that i only have 37 minutes of battery life left.

(yes, 37.)

fuck. apparently the outlet into which i plugged my laptop while i was at the gym didn't work. nice feature....

so i decide to close the laptop and just watch the game.

now i am not a 'chat it up with people at the bar' kind of guy. believe it or not, i like to keep to myself, whether it be on a plane, at a bar, on a bus, whatever. i like my me-time.

RC was pretty dead tonight. me, eric the bartender, some chick at the end of the bar, and some dude who i recognized from the gym.

eric is a mets fan.

the chick is a phillies fan.

the gym dude is a cubs fan.

after my vodka, i ask eric for a jameson's and a vicodin, because these NL fucknuts are pissing me off.

(as always, eric informs me that they are out of vicodin, which stopped being funny in 2006, however, we still carry out the routine.)

AJ gets slapped around in the 1st, and scott wishes the outlet in room 366 worked, b/c he can't stand to watch AJ on 3 days rest get beat up. but i promised myself that i would not blog-bitch about world series pitcher strategy.

you're welcome.

so around the 4th inning, these 4 irish drunks stumble into the bar from the restaurant. now at this point, me, the chick, eric, and the gym dude have a pretty good repore going and these micks (i can say that because i'm irish*) come in and start yelling at the TV (they annunciate TV by stressing the 'T' in TV, which i found annoyING). they're yelling at how boring baseball is.

* only like 20%

however, i like the irish.

when i say these guys no nothing about baseball, i mean, they know NOTHING about baseball. some observations, and i swear to fuck, i'm not making this up.

- while the phillies were pitching, one guy asked the other guy if the P on the guy's hat stood for Pitcher. the other guy responded, "i don't know"

- after a pop-fly out, the one guy yelled, "why did he stopp running?!!"

- after a foul ball, one guy yelled, "run!"

due to my vodka and white wine levels, i started to talk to chick and gym dude in an irish accent, which i found quite funny. my irish accent sounds more like a british pirate, but it still gets the point across.

"...aaarrrrrr, i reckon that thar yanks aaar gun' ta lose the game, no?..."

chick and gym dude refused to play my accent game b/c the irishmen were about 2 feet front me.

at 8-2, i decided to engage the fellas (done in irish accent).

[in fact, the rest of the blog should be read in an irish accent.]

we started chatting. first about baseball. i explained to them strikes, balls, outs, baserunners, singles, doubles, home runs, etc. they were actually quite interested, and i was quite bored. a perfect combination.

after 10 minutes of baseball talk, i asked them, "so where abouts from jersey are you guys from?"

it got a bomb laugh. from all 4 of them, eric, the gym dude, the chick, and 3 newcomers to the bar that were listening to me explain what the fuck the infield fly rule was.

as i'm talking to gym dude, i hear one of the irishman say to the other, "i'll bet you 10 bucks they score a run this quarter..."

i stop talking to gym dude and my ears go up.

betting.

mmmmmmmmmmmm.....betting.

the other irishman had already answered 'yes' to a bet that technically could not be made. i corrected him on the semantics and told him that i would take the bet.

"take the bet?" he asked.

"yes, i want to do the same bet as you made with peter (his buddy)."

"oh, ok. we're on." (remember, irish accent)

it was probably the 6th inning. the phillies did not score.

"aaah, fer faak's sake!" he exclaims after the 3rd out. i repeated it loudly in my british-pirate accent, and i think only i found it funny.

too early, i think to myself.

i'm up 10 bucks. i tell him that i'll allow him to get his money back by betting double or nothing that the first pitch of the next inning will be a strike or a ball. his choice.

he bets strike.

it was a strike.

we're even, and he reacts like he just hit the fucking mega millions. we orange whip the bet, and he bets 10 bucks that the yanks will score that inning.

i take the bet.

yanks don't score.

i win 10 bucks.

he yells "aaah, fer faak's sake."

so do i.

now it's funny to him.

scott is happy.

we make the same bet about the first pitch of the next inning being a strike or ball. he takes strike. i adivse him against it telling him that a ball is "due". he looks at me and goes to change his mind, but i don't let him, informing him that i am fucking with him.

he appreciates the honesty.

it's a strike.

we're even again.

i exclaim after the first pitch strike, "aaah, fer faak's sake!"

we all laugh, including chick and gym dude.

we keep repeating the same bet AND we start betting on pitch speeds...5 bucks per pitch.

no joke....i hit like 8 out of 10. i'm guessing on each one....93, 91, 91, 92, 78, 90, 93, 79, 93....

the fact that i was predicting the breaking balls, based on the pitch count, and because i'm a loser, was remarkable. but the fact that i was getting the speeds right, was blowing away gym dude and eric.

i told the irishmen that this was a repeat game and that i've seen this game before. they roared with laughter, and that made me smile.

somewhere in there, they kept buying me drinks, forcing me over my monday nite quota of 2.

peter asked me what kind of odds i would give him that the yanks would win (this was at 8-4). i told him 5-1 on a 10 dollar bet. he took it.

so did his 3 buddies.

the yankes rally to 8-6. damon singles and the yanks now have the tying run at the plate.

we're all glued to the telly.

teixeira comes up to bat.

he led the american league in home runs. peter is going nuts at the possibility of winning 3 5-1 10 dollars bets with me and his 2 buddies.

teixeira strikes out swinging. the whole bar yells, "aaah, fer faak's sake!"

it is followed by a collective laugh and high fives. i tell them not to worry about the 25 bucks, but he insists...even getting change from eric to pay his bet.

a good night...a REALLY good night, considering the yankee loss.

here's a first....i'm going to go ahead and publish this post without proofreading it. so for all you fucknuts out there (including jerry weisner), dont' bother correcting my grammar...;)

(p.s. yes, the dont' typo was on purpose)

week 8

1-0

did you know that in 2008, philadelphia was ranked the least desirable place to live in the united states?*

* made up statistic

fucking yankees.

let me share with you a text exchange that took place between my brother and me during the yankees 6-1 spanking tonight:

scott, 8:26pm: are u watching the game live?

paul, 8:35pm: yes indeed!!!

scott, 8:36pm: me2

paul, 8:37pm: yanks in 5!

scott, 8:38pm: 6

paul, 8:39pm: yeah for ur sake i hope so

scott, 8:40pm: i can't wait to yell at pedro manana

paul, 8:44pm: CC's not on tonight

scott 8:45pm: no. he looked good in the 2nd. lee looks awesome.

paul, 8:45pm: i wish we would have picked up lee.

scott, 8:46pm: can't have 'em all

paul, 8:46pm: did you see bernie in the front row?

scott, 8:47pm: no

paul, 8:47pm: he's to the right a little bit

scott, 10:09pm: fucking utley

paul, 10:14pm: fucking lee

scott, 10:15pm: fucking phillies

paul, 10:16pm: fucking FUCK!!!

scott, 10:17pm: fucking fuck fuck!!!

paul, 10:18pm: fucking infinity

paul, 10:49pm: game over

scott, 10:50pm: fuck fuck fuck fuck

paul, 10:51pm: hughes fucking blows!!!

when i got back to my room, as in now, i was drunk.

[i love how i'm talking past tense.....yet i'm typing this now.]

the fuckers at the marriott are still groveling about their fuckup from last night, and they delivered so much cheese that if i was to finsih it, i wouldn't shit for a week.

here's a fun formula...

man + cheese cubes + drunk + empty coffee mug + phone video =



i crack myself up. there were two giant pieces of goat cheese that i didn't eat. i saved them for the last 2 shots. i went 1 for 2.

here is a pic of the mug....


and of the desk...


notice the cheese cube on the ipod which cracked me up...

maybe you had to be here....

i just watched the video and i'm cracking up at the "kobe" call on the first shot...

i'm such a loser...

tough check-in, VT, and the starbucks cutter

hello.

welcome back.

we've got a lot to cover, so let's get to it.

i believe this is a personal record. tonight will mark the 10th consecutive night that i will sleep in a different bed...going back to sunday, october 18th. let's recap:

10/18: home
10/19: shit plains marriott
10/20: home
10/21: shit plains marriott
10/22: home
10/23: crapton inn, lake george, NY
10/24: my cousin's house, burlington, VT
10/25: home
10/26: my buddy's house in englewood, NJ
10/27: shit plains marriott

i feel like a goddamn nomad.

i had marriott book out my hotel stay, mon-thurs until 3/31/10, just so i don't have to book every fucking week. on sunday night, knowing that i was going to crash at my buddy's place in englewood on monday nite, i called marriott to change my check-in from monday to today. i get transferred a couple times, and they finally tell me that i need to call the hotel directly to make the change b/c it's a special rate.

i call my contact in shit plains and leave her a voicemail with the change. my OCD kicked in a little and i fought the urge to double-check again on monday. their procedure is clear. voicemail or email to change any reservations.

i go to check in about 2 hours ago. i know just about every front desk person, manager, bartender, and waitress in this place. i've been staying here since 2005. check-in is always a breeze...my room card is always ready, i hand them my amex for incidentals, and the whole process usually takes about 45 seconds.

katherine smiles and greets me and asks, "i thought you were supposed to be here last night?"

"no, i changed it to tonight. i was at a buddy's place last night. i left a voicemail with lakia on sunday night."

"hmmmm," she replies, staring at the screen like a 4-star sodoku. "i'll be right back," she says.

i notice behind the counter that there is a table of hundreds of room key envelopes lined up. there is a pfizer conference at the hotel, and the lobby has a bit more of a buzz than usual.

she comes back with a woman manager in a gray suit who i've never met. she looks at the screen too and after studying it for a minute or two, informs me that she is sorry, but they never got the cancellation and since i was a "no-show" last night, my reservation was gone. and they are oversold....and they are sorry.

they both look at me apologetically, cock their heads slightly in unison, and say, "we're sorry".

my default setting has me at defcon 5. i now put my bags down and explain to them the voicemail, the fact that i spent 10 minutes on the phone on sunday night trying to cancel, blah blah blah.

"we're sorry."

defcon 4.

"hang on," i say, "i followed YOUR procedures and your telling me that i have no room because of your error?"

"yes, i'm sorry. it just happens."

defcon 3.

"does the fact that i've been staying here for almost 4 years make ANY difference? does customer loyalty mean ANYTHING to you guys?"

"we may have some rooms at the spring hill suites, let me check."

what i like about the spring hill suites, is that when you walk out of your room, you're immediately outside. it's so convenient!

she gets off the phone and lets me know that she got me a room there and that they will be picking up the first night, and the 2nd night will cost me $179.

i pay $99 at the marriott (for reasons i'll get into another night).

defcon 2.

"ok, let's summarize. because you guys screwed up, you're putting me in an inferior hotel, with much less accomodations, for essentially the same price."

"that's all we can do."

now i refrained from slipping to defcon 1 b/c i actually like these people and i still have to stay here every week. i turned my blood down to simmer, and just told myself that it's not the end of the world. now i'm waiting about 5 minutes for them to come back from the back room with my spring hill info. when they finally appear, a manager calls me over.

(as she is typing) "mr. goodman. we are so sorry. i have no idea what happened. we have you in a suite on the concierge level. please accept our apology."

while she is talking, another manager who i know comes out from behind the counter, shakes my hand, and apologizes. then another. then one more. now i'm getting stares from the other guests and it's actually a little uncomfortable. katherine comes out from the back and her eyes are red. she's been crying. she looks at me and mouths "i'm sorry".

apparently, gray suit is new. katherine had no authority to do anything about my reservation. the managers who came out to apologize to me were telling me that gray suit "didn't know who you were" and they said it would happen again.

i laughed out loud to "didn't know who you were" informing them that i'm just a 1/2 way decent looking dude from jersey.

"and a loyal dude," the manager replied with a smile.

katherine came out and asked what kind of wine i like. i told her it wasn't necessary, i just was excited about staying in the same bed back-to-back nites. she insisted and sent me up some cheese and crackers too. i really do like this place.


i actually felt bad. when i told kelly this story, and told her i felt bad, she said, "fuck them...THEY'RE the ones who fucked up."

she's the best.

so after the yankees clinched on sunday night, i was excited to read the paper on monday. 162 regular season games, 7 post-season wins, almost 7 months of baseball, and 6 years since the yanks have been to the big dance. you would think that the fucknuts at the star-ledger could get the box score of the final game of the ALCS right....


if you can't find the error, please leave my blog now.

so kelly and i left this past friday for burlington, VT to visit my father's brother's daughter...also known as my cousin. she has a 24 month old. this was jack's first car trip over 90 minutes and the first time he didn't sleep at home. we decided that we would do 3 1/2 hours on friday and the last 2+ hours on saturday morning. jack was a champ.

the amount of shit we had to pack for a 2 day trip was ridiculous:

kelly's bag
my bag
jack's pack and play
his giant bag of toys
his inflatable bath tub
the diaper bag
snacks
his giant winnie the pooh
my computer bag
the camcorder
the camera
bottled water

here are kelly and jack checking in at the crapton inn.


winnie the pooh is the best. i so wish i had a halloween party to go to this year, as i would go dressed as pooh. i would paint myself yellow, and wear just a tight red half-shirt.

our night was interesting. jack goes down at around 7:30pm. so we need to be quiet. the TV is off and we are sipping cheap wine out of plastic cups for 30 minutes in the dark until he falls asleep. then we turned the TV on low and watched for an hour until we said "fuck it" and went to bed before 10.

we got to VT around 11. it was raining the whole time. we went to lunch and then walked to the aquarium. goodmans have a real issue with competition and my cousin is no exception. we basically let jack and olivia, her daughter, run around the aquarium and look at whatever they wanted. they both got to some steps at the same time and began climbing. jack is a very fast step-climber (it's on his resume). there were about 12 steps to climb and jack got out to a quick 2 step lead as i'm cheering him on. jen, my cousin, sees jack leading and says to olivia, "olivia, don't let jack beat you! you're 9 months older than him...he's only 15 months old!"

i actually sensed a little anger in her voice. so what does she do? she picks up olivia and carries her to the top of the steps and declares her the winner.

cheater!....

good thing i have proof...


fucking goodman....

on the way back on sunday, we were not looking forward to the 7 hour trip. we hit lunch at the 2 hour mark, and at the 4 hour mark, we hit a rest stop for some starbucks....cause their fucking pumpkin latte is tits.

(there's a sentence you don't see very often)

so as i walk in, there is a long line...about 15 people. the line is a little staggered and not really single file, but there is certainly an order to who is in front of whom. i get in line and about 2 seconds after, a woman from the other side stands next to me.

the line moves up a little and she quickly steps up right behind them, essentially posturing that she is in front of me.

i'm a simple man and i play by simple rules. i also don't like cutters. george costanza set it best when he yelled, "you know, we're living in a SOCIETY!!!"

she, my friends, is a cutter.

i am also very stubborn and will go to great lengths to win or prove a point. in fact, i have at least 5 stories that just came to mind, but we don't have time tonight. see treadmill race for an example.

i move up right next to her. the front of my feet are inches behind the back of the guy's feet in front of me. the chick next to me has done the same thing.

the line moves up and we both move up in unison, practically humping the people in front of us, and we are both in complete violation of the buffer space you should give people when you are standing in line at a starbucks at a rest stop off the NY thruway. the line moves again and we both move up. as we approach the register the haphazard line is starting to take on more of a defined line and i will need to make my move soon.

there are 3 people in front of us now....single file. she and i are side by side behind person 3. person 1 finishes their order and we all move up. now there are 2 people in front of us and she isn't fucking budging. the front person finishes and now there is 1 person in front of us. we both unsuccessfully try to nudge in front of the other one and i know i'm seconds away from the result.

i know my plan.

as SOON as the dude in front of us peels off, i say to the cashier, "two grande non-fat pumpkin lattes," in the most masculine possible voice, given the contents of the order.

the woman next to me exhales.

victory. scott 1, cutter 0.

i throw in a blueberry scone for kelly.

"$11.83," the cashier tells me. next to the register were these shortbread cookies in a 2-pack that i thought jack would like.

"oh, please add these too," i ask politely. there is no barcode on the cookies, but next to the register, there is a little cheatsheet that the cashier apparently uses for about 5 or 6 items...including the shortbread cookies. the cashier types in the code and stares at the monitor looking like katherine from the marriot.

she is frustrated. "$11.83," she tells me.

nice. it wouldn't take the code so she said "fuck it" and is not charging me.

"make it two," i tell her. she looks up at me knowing what i'm trying to do. i grin at her. she does not find me charming, cute, or clever.

"one is fine," i tell her.

i love a good scam.

i hate philadelphia. i always have. i hate the flyers, the sixers, their stupid cheesesteaks, the eagles, donovan mcdouchebag, market street, I-76, the liberty bell, and that fucking accent.

now i have another reason to hate them. the phillies.

i'll be at the yankees game on thursday nite, yelling random shit at pedro martinez. series prediction: yankees in 6.

here's a clip of jack that kelly sent me this afternoon. it's probably only a video that very few people will find interesting or entertaining, but it's more for me to look back on and enjoy.



this has to be one of the best singles ads ever printed. it is reported to have been listed in the atlanta journal.

SINGLE BLACK FEMALE seeks male companionship, ethnicity unimportant. I'm a very good girl who LOVES to play. I love long walks in the woods, riding in your pickup truck, hunting, camping and fishing trips, cozy winter nights lying by the fire. Candlelight dinners will have me eating out of your hand. I'll be at the front door when you get home from work, wearing only what nature gave me. Call (404) 875-6420 and ask for Daisy, I'll be waiting....

scroll down...




















over 150 men found themselves talking to the atlanta humane society..

survivor: week 7

the hunt

remember rare bush?

well welcome to rare bush + 1 year. the annual steeplechase horse race in far hills, NJ. i would bet that when the event was first created, it was for the faddie taddie elite, who sipped chardonnay in their tweed jackets while quietly cheering on their favorite mare.

it's kind of turned into senior year of college, once a year.

drinking, eating, and gambling, in no particular order...right in my sweet spot. for 5 of the last 6 years, it has rained. kelly asks me every year, "why do you want to go stand in the cold rain for 5 five hours and drink?"

i'm convinced it's a mars/venus thing and no matter how hard i try to explain how irrelevant weather is for me have a good time at this event, she still doesn't understand. c'est la vie.

rain is for pussies.

[not literally of course, that wouldn't make much sense.]

the day starts at 11am. i grab 3 hamster lights...

[fuck, quick story. my buddy jeremy, years ago, started a little social experiment that i still use to this day. he is a big amstel light fan and when ordering at a bar, he will ask for a hamster light, instead of amstel light. i have followed suit in the years since, and i think only ONCE has the server picked up on the fact that i referred to it as hamster. see, i find that shit funny.]

anyhoo, my buddy mark picks me up. i climb into the back of his jeep and say good morning to him and neil, riding shotgun. we pull out of the driveway and i realize we don't have a bottle opener. i ask mark for his lighter to open the bottle (an old trick i learned in FL years ago, where you snap the cap off with the bottom of the lighter...on my first attempt, i tear my skin on my index finger with the edge of the bottle cap....nice start, asshole).

on the 2nd attempt, i get the cap off, bite the piece of hanging skin off my finger, and wash it down with the first sip of beer of the day.

mark has an interesting strategy with regards to getting in to the hunt. tickets are 50 bucks if you buy in advance, or 100 bucks if you pay the day of. a couple years ago, he found a weakness in the entrance to the race....similar to the vulnerable exhaust port that the rebels found on the death star. however, rather than using one-man fighters to slip past the death star's formidable defenses, mark must cross a small river and cut through the woods. looks good on paper, of course.

also, he likes to park about 2 miles from the hunt.

advantages
1. it's a free ride and i don't need to worry about a DUI
2. we avoid paying parking fees
3. we avoid the clusterfuck traffic jam after the hunt

disadvantages
keep reading

so neil and i split from mark as he starts his attack on the entrance weakness. 30 minutes later, after a long walk on the road through the rain, across a field, through mud, through more mud, across the track, down the trail, and into the slip (slip 1), neil and i arrive. thirsty, and ready to go.

i've got 2 hamster lights in me, and i'm ready to start my 3rd beer. i consider the 3rd beer the "transition beer", in that i can have 2 beers and be fine, but after the 3rd beer, i know i'm facing a virtual decision diamond in my day's visio diagram.

sip beer: check
eat mini sandwich: check
scoop cracker in spinach dip: check
scoop cracker in spinach dip: check
scoop cracker in spinach dip: check
sip beer: check
eat mini sandwich: check
place bet on race 1: check
scoop cracker in spinach dip: check
sip beer: check
shove mini sandwich in mouth: check

some woman in the neighboring slip said to her friend, "i'm so wet."

nobody else heard it but me. i laughed so hard like a fucking 8 year old, that some of my sandwich fell out of my mouth and into my beer....which made me laugh harder. i finished my mouthful and just kept drinking my beer, using my upper lip to try to grab the floating piece of sandwich, which i was able to accomplish.

eat soggy piece of sandwich out of beer: check

and so the day went on. after the transition beer, i was feeling pretty good. the rain had let up, the first race was about to start, so i figured i would go drain the proverbial snake before race 1. i took a walk down to the line of porta johns and opened one of the doors to find this:


my first reaction was a homer simpson yell.

then i realized it was mud, not someone facing the wrong way during a diarrhea attack.

then i started my walk back through this shit:


thank God kelly convinced me to go snowboard pants rather than jeans. fucking great call.

beer 4 went quickly, just like my 20 bucks on race 1 (of 6). now there are 4 different slips that i visit during the hunt. 2 of which require betting.* so i spend a good deal of the race alt-tabbing between the 2 betting slips, visiting with friends, and trying to get to all 4 slips.

* not really required, i just like the action.

twss.

slip 1 betting is a small group of friends who place bets each race, with the stakes going up each race (5-10-10-20-20-50 dollars for the 6 races). it's simple. whoever has the winning horse in that race, gets all the cash (split if applicable).

at slip 2, there are two guys in the back of a pickup truck taking any dollar amount bet on any horse, and paying odds, which are calculated God knows how after the race is done. beer 5 introduced himself to me in slip 2, and he was welcomed with open hands. i say hello to some friends, place my bets, and stumble in the mud back to slip 1 (a 2 minute mud walk).

race 2 costs me 30 bucks. now i'm down 50. but i've had 5 beers. so i figure 10 bucks per beer, i'm about even.

[i love drunk/gambling math, usually reserved for justifying an AC or vegas trip.]

it's around this time that i see mark. arms in the air, i yell out, "AAAAAAYYYYY!", excited that he was able to dis-able the death star.

"i paid 100 bucks," he says defeated.

apparently, the weakness to the entrance had been detected and fixed. i can see that mark was not happy about having to pay 100 bucks. however, after i pointed out that, over the lifetime of the trips to the hunt, he was even (having snuck in once, and paying double once), he was happy about this fact. and so was i.

i celebrated by pouring myself a 6th beer.

i place my bet at slip 1 and head back to slip 2....where i discover some very valuable information.

a system.

i love a good system.

my buddy gavin informs me that he's been playing a "system" for the past 2 races and he's won both times. MY system is to look at the horses history, look at the odds, the jockey, the times, etc, and deduce which horse has the best odds.

MY system can go fuck itself.

down 50 bucks, i'm looking for ANY system other than throwing a fucking dart at the race program.

you see, conditions were bad. even though the horseS are running on the grass, it's wet and sloppy.

insert joke here.

like most things in life, in reminds me of a seinfeld episode:

***********************************************
*Kramer is reading a newspaper. Couple of men behind him are talking.*

Man1: This, it's the fourth horse of the first race, Pappanick.

Man2: How do you know it's going to win?

Man1: My UPS-guy tells. Guys who own the horses are regular customers.

Every horse he has ever given me has won. See, they've been sandbagging and looking for a good spot. He's been getting it light cause they've been using bug boy and the workout hasn't been published. Now they are ready to run with it. They are gonna break his maiden. It's going to go to great price, maybe 30:1. I'm telling you ,it's
a lock.

Man2: But it rained last night.

Man1: Exactly, this horse loves the slop. It's in his bloodlines. His father was a mudda', his mother was a mudda'.

Man2: His mudda' was a mudda'?

Man1: What did I just say? Come on, let's go to the office, I'm going to call my bookie. Hey, don't tell anybody.

*Kramer quickly turns away*
***********************************************
2 things i like: a "system", and a "lock"

gavin informs me that there is an old british fellow by the name of ivan. every year, ivan quietly comes over to the slip and places three 10 dollar bets on every race. every year he walks away with a couple hundred dollars. this year, so far, he is 2 for 2.

"i'm in. where is he?" i ask.

"he places his bets right before the race starts," gavin tells me. "he has gray hair and is wearing a brown cowboy hat."

gavin and i are whispering now. not regular whispering....6 beer whispering. i'm excited to have a system that might work.

here comes ivan. he gets in line next to the pickup truck, followed by gavin, followed by me.

"10 on 7, 8, and 10," ivan tells the two guys in the back of truck, frantically scribbling on a giant easel pad covered by a blue tarp.

gavin copy/pastes, and so do i. we high five like high schoolers and i head back to slip 1.

winner: horse 10.

sweet. i run back up to slip 2 and find out that the payout is 13:1.

yea! gavin sees me approaching and we both are grinning widely. the system is on.

i celebrate with a vodka/cranberry.

d'oh.

the vodka/cranberry was in a giant red solo cup and probably contained 3 shots of vodka. good call, and today's turning point of the game...

race 4. horse 3, 5, and 6.

winner: horse 3

unfortunately, a favorite, so it only pays 4:1, barely covering my 30 dollar bet, and actually putting me down 10 for the race due to me losing 20 in slip 1. but that's ok.

i now have to visit slip 3, but i need to bet in slip 2 first...and also stop by slip 1 on my way. i know ivan doesn't place his bets until right before race time, so i leave my bet with gavin to place and head down to slip 1 to place my bet. i do that, and the stumble over to slip 3, where i found this:


fresh, hot meatballs in a giant pot. 60% beef, 20% veal, and 20% pork...and a little smaller than a baseball. i grab two and attack them like a puppy to a porkchop. like a rabid animal, i look around and find a pot of chili and giant corn muffins. i learned that the best way to eat the chili is to pour it in a paper cup, and break up the muffin. as seen here:


they also had hot applejack bouron-spiked cider, that i found to be like sweet nectar from the Gods. ALSO goes well with a corn muffin dunked into it.

we watched race 5 from slip 3, and the funny thing is, i didn't even know what 3 horses to root for, because i blindly left my bet with gavin. as the horses ran by, i just yelled, "c'mon brown horse!!!" which i found funny.

ivan lost.

i hate "systems".

i had 45 bucks left on me and needed to place a 50 dollar bet on the final race in slip 1. i bummed 5 bucks off neil and lost it...surprise. i went 0 for 6 in slip 1....for the 2nd year in a row.

$120 poorer, drunk, muddy, and happy, we start the walk home.

disadvantages
the walk back to the car.

it always seems longer than the walk there. here are things that apparently i found funny on the walk back to the car:

this was probably** accompanied with a "that's what she said."

** it was.


self-explanatory:




not really sure why this was funny at the time:


neil ripped a reflector stick out of the ground and was walking the whole time with it like a blind man. maybe you had to be there, but he was smacking the street and walking crooked for about a mile. it was "beer through the nose" funny at the time:


the arrival at the jeep was rewarded with a 2 minute piss, and a collapse into the back seat. the star ledger on your jacket can make a great pillow, especially while sniffing the mega millions numbers on the front page:


the arrival home at 7pm was similar to a year ago. me trying to convince kelly that i droesn't wunk, and me counting the minutes until sleepytime.

unfortunately, the yankees were playing game 2 against the angels, requiring me to stay up until 12:30am on the floor, waiting for the game to end....which i finally tivod and watched the next morning.

sunday was a little rough, and i was not looking forward to monday's early morning drive back up to shit plains, and staring at fucking sun glare on the tappan-zee...seen here:


good times....

fucking angels

they ruined my evening.

why would girardi bring in aceves after robertson just got two quick outs on 11 pitches? cause the book says that kendrick is a .341 hitter against fastball hitters and aceves has better off-speed stuff. how about playing with your gut, joe.

0 for 20 with runners in scoring position? i can't believe we're up 2-1. 0 for 20.

swisher...TWO times with 1st and 3rd with one out, and you can't get a sac fly? i fucking KNEW that would come back to bite us.

ok. i am done.

game 4 tonight. the PIVOTAL game 4. my wife turns 39 today. wish me luck at this gem at 7:57 tonight...."(enthusiasticly) hey hon! wanna watch game 4 on your birthday! CC's on 3 days rest, and the yanks could go up 3-1 tonight!"

"...biggest loser? seriously? ok, i'll tivo it and watch it when you fall asleep..."

got this in an email, thought it was almost funny...

Subject: BOOBIES!!!

week 6 results

some tight sphincters at the houses of those jacksonville starters, i'm sure.

nice job by the raiders and the bills, knocking out 7 people and leaving them 30 dollars poorer.

and yes, my brother had not paid his 30 bucks yet. he has one week. then, i will be forced to tell embarrassing stories about him...

week 6 survivor

back in my happy place

well, i'm back in my happy place.

no, not this one, but ruth chris in white plains. no more doubletree, no more hallway bar. just me, my corner booth, my laptop, and my glass of wine. the world is good again.

i was at the rangers game last night, in kickass seats, thanks to this guy (the one on the right):


who hooked me up with his company seats. i took this video of the rangers scoring one of their 7 goals.



with 6 minutes left in the game, we moved down 2 rows to the seats right on the glass and banged on the glass every time the maple leafs were in the corner. it felt good to act 10. or as the guys in section 318 referred to us, "the douchebags banging on the glass". i have some footage that i tivod at home that i'll share with you next week.

i love babycenter.com. i've been using the site since kelly was 2 months pregnant. every week, i get an email from them telling me "what to expect". when he turned 15 months on saturday, i got an email saying the following.

Hello, Scott!

Doing errands around town is harder than ever with a pint-size explorer in tow. Being strapped down in a car seat or stroller is the last place your toddler wants to be: Expect an earful — usually accompanied by an arched back and flailing arms and legs — when it's time to buckle up. This is partly because about 90 percent of all toddlers are walking by now (late walkers will catch up in the next month or two), which means they'd much rather be practicing their footwork than sitting still.

yeah, no shit.

translation:

Hello Sucker!

Doing errands around town is not fucking possible with Mr. "don't put me in the fucking car seat" in tow. Being strapped down in a car seat or stroller is the last place your toddler wants to be: Expect self-medicating — usually accompanied by a double jamesons, an arched back and flailing arms and legs — when it's time to buckle up. This is partly because about 90 percent of all toddlers are walking by now (late walkers will catch up in the next month or two (we just say that to make you feel better)), which means they'd much rather walk around the yard and street for two hours or so, practicing their footwork than sitting the fuck still. Hey, remember that project you were on in south Florida, was that really 5 years ago? Those were some good times. Anyway, good luck fucker!

fucking babycenter....they piss me off.

but they're right. MAN does he like to walk. here he his with mom and piper:


i love when chicks where baseball hats. there is something sexy about it. heels too. but you don't see the two together very often, but when you do? watch out.

[editor's note: i'm not really sure what i mean by "watch out", probably something to do with the 2nd glass of wine...]

speaking of spam email that i read, i got this little gem from playboy on my birthday.

Subject: A naked birthday gift for you Scott!



Happy birthday!
I started to bake you a cake when I realized you'd probably prefer to feast your eyes on more naked girls! So in honor of your special day I'll give you a FREE WEEK in the Cyber Club, where you can see thousands more beautiful women in their birthday suits!

Click here to unwrap your present now!

it's 7:15am. jack is eating his breakfast, i'm watching sportscenter, and kelly is sleeping. i'm thinking, 'hey, why WOULDN'T i click on this link'. i'm also thinking, 'how does playboy know it's my birthday?' but i was much more consumed with the first thought.

go ahead and click on the link...and you'll get the same treat i did....

suckers....

for my lady readers out there...a few tips for you, free of charge, of course.

1. it's never too early to surf porn
2. if you think your guy doesn't, i have a bridge in brooklyn i want to sell you.

okay, i'm going to go fuck with a new layout for the blogerman....cya.