Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Tiger Woods puts balls in a whole - big deal

 I'm getting tired of hearing about Tiger Woods and all the women that he has slept with.  For the life of me, I can't figure out what makes this guy so famous.  He plays GOLF for a living people.  What purpose does that serve?  I mean, he hits a ball into a hole...big deal.  I tear out old bathrooms and kitchens and rebuild them into new bathrooms and kitchens, at least that serves a purpose.  This guys puts (or Putts) a ball into a hole and becomes a famous millionaire while I am struggling to buy groceries.  Does that seem right to you?

Sure, it takes some skill to hit a ball into a hole.  I'm not saying it's easy.  But people call him an athlete?  Oh please!!!  Hand him an 80 pound jackhammer and have him chisel up 1,200 square feet of floor tile and carry it down 3 flights of stairs and I MIGHT consider him an athlete.  All he does is hit this little ball into a hole with a golf club that only weighs a few ounces and women are lining up to sleep with him?  Where's my entourage of women who would love a new kitchen or bathroom?  What kind of athleticism does it take to drive a golf cart?

Obviously, I have the minority opinion here and I'm sure I will hear many arguments from this post.  Personally, I find it much more impressive to do remodeling work than to put a ball into a hole but the net worth speaks for itself.  Golfing is a huge industry.  Personally, I think it's the most boring sport and I am using the term “Sport” very loosely.  I mean “sport” as in chess, not “sport” as in football or baseball or hockey.  Now, if Tiger Woods could hit a ball into a hole while being chased by Warren Sapp, THAT might be a good sport.  Yeah, if someone “hiked” the ball to him and he had to fire off a shot while 300 pounds of linebacker was closing in on him, that would be a REAL sport.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Airing out your laundry online

So, I did this post on how Facebook is THAT friend that likes to cause drama.  I got several comments...okay, just three...that pointed out a few other wonderful aspects of Facebook.  Laura pointed out that Facebook doesn't cause drama, people do. And she is right, there are many ways to take little shots at your friends. You could tag them in those embarrassing photos from the 80's where their hair was the size of a planet and had enough hairspray in it to eradicate the ozone layer completely.  Make sure you have the whole body in the shot so we can see the pants that come up to their sternum and the Swatch watch.

Another lovely feature of Facebook is the "In a relationship with..." link.  Sure, when you first see that your friends have now hooked up on Facebook you are thinking, "Aww, they make cute couple".   I'm thinking, "Aww, that poor guy is gonna get dumped and his 584 friends on Facebook will all know about it before he does".  I know I am constantly scouring my homepage just waiting for the post that reads, something like "Ron Ursumshitt is no longer in a relationship".  Can you believe that there is actually a "Like" option on those posts?  Why not just put a link that says, "I'm an insensitive @ss" with the little thumbs up icon.  If his girlfriends next post is noting that she is single, she dumped him.  Yes, if you do the math you even get to know who dumped who.

Friend Facts was a great drama creator and very creepy app that like to ask the question, "Do you think your sister is Hot or a good kisser?"  Do I want to know?  I mean, I am from the south and all...  I actually don't want to know if my niece has ever had phone sex, thank you very much.  Of course, Tiffany was offended because Facebook pointed out that I am a better dancer than she is.  I'm sorry but it's true.
Learning this made me decide to turn my computer off when I am not using it.  It creeps me out BIG TIME that Facebook knows how I dance.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Summer and spandex

I heard on the radio that a sense of humor is something that is learned and not a trait that you are born with. This got me to thinking who I could possibly have gotten my sense of humor from. The first thought that came to mind was an image that I have tried to block out of memory for many years. I can't be the only person who has these types of memories, can I.

It was the summer, I was eight years old and enjoying a good swim. My family and friends had all come to visit. We were all gathered around the pool when it happened. A distant sound got everyones attention, it was almost like a battle cry, “Yeeeaaaaahooooo”. Everyone turned toward the source of the noise and no one could believe their eyes.

My Dad had somehow managed to jam himself in my sister's one piece bathing suit and had emerged from the house for all to see. Now, let me tell you that spandex stretched that tightly around the male anatomy is not a sight for young eyes. Or eyes of any age. First of all, it was smashing body parts in a way that was, at best, uncomfortable and probably also explains why I don't have any younger siblings.

Secondly, the suit had been stretched to the point where it had become mostly transparent. It was like applying a very thin layer of paint to squashed manly bits and thinking it's a good idea to go out in public. This suit was pulled so tight that, had it been a slingshot, it could have launched a bowling ball into a shallow orbit.

To make matters worse, Dad started running towards us. As he dove into the water the bathing suit wedged itself into places that I never wanted to know existed. His voice was much higher pitched as he emerged from the water. Surprisingly the suit was still a one piece and had not become a bikini or...do they make a four piece?

Rumor has it that it was a chore to get the bathing suit off. It was kinda like giving birth, complete with umbilical cord and placenta (you don't want to know). A portion of the procedure was subcontracted out to a proctologist. I'm not sure why but my sister never wore that suit again. Imagine that.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

The Magic of Gardening

Two years ago I knew nothing about gardening but I wasn't afraid to try something new. I mean, how cool is it to be able to grow food in your own back yard. I headed right to the store and grabbed a bag of dirt. I'll never use the saying “dirt cheap” again, dirt was kinda expensive. I also needed to get some seeds. Let's see, they have lettuce, tomato, pea.....Dude, where's the bacon seeds!? I was so disappointed to find out they didn't have those.

So I plant my seeds in some dirt that had the word “Miracle” on the bag (someone thinks very highly of their dirt) and wait for the magic to happen. And wait. And wait. Then, Imagine how excited I was to find the first little sprouting of green coming from the soil and how disappointed I was to find out it was just mold. But a few days later I actually did have some tiny sprouts. "Bwaahaahaa, I've created Life!!!" For the next week or so I felt like the jolly green giant as I went out to water my tiny little garden. “Ho ho ho”, I would say (in the voice of James Earl Jones).

Finally, it was time to plant the little guys out in the yard. And the next morning they were all dead. I think I planted them in the garden a little too soon, you live and learn. I also learned about composting, I get to throw my garbage in the back yard and make my own dirt. Great, now I can start saying “dirt cheap” again.

So, last years garden was a little bit more successful. I waited until the plants were fairly big before I moved them to the yard. I planted a ton of seed just in case some died. I watered them often, I had squash, zucchini, radishes, lettuce, tomatoes and twelve herbs and spices (just to one-up Colonel Sanders). This garden was magnificent, it grew to be so huge that it looked like Jumanji in my back yard. And this ended up dying from all these giant plants competing for food and water. Like a crowd of teenage girls fighting over a Jonas Brothers concert ticket.

This year, I think I got it all figured out. Plus, a friend recommended that I use black cow manure in my garden. I really can't believe that you have to BUY cow crap, this is getting ridiculous. I mean, if I have to pay for manure to be some magical solution to my gardening woes wouldn't it make more sense to have David Copperfield poop in my back yard?

Monday, November 2, 2009

Facebook is THAT friend

I noticed recently that Facebook has become the instigator of drama by sending notifications to my friends that I would not normally send. Not because I don't like to start drama just because I am simply too lazy to do it myself. I don't know about you but I kind of like this new feature of Facebook. It allows me to piss of my friends and requires very little effort on my part.

For example when Facebook informed me that my friends think Tiffany is funnier than I am. That is basically insulting to both of us seeing as she has a serious blog and I have a humor blog. Or do I?

Even when I was simply bored and playing an innocent game of bejeweled blitz Facebook felt compelled to let Melissa know that I had just whooped her butt. Even though I think that the real message was simply, “Melissa has more of a LIFE than I do”.

I think I could do without the “You're a crap bag friend” feature. You know the one that nags you to reconnect with someone by writing on their wall. And it's even worse when it's my daughter who they are telling me to reconnect with. Like I'm a douche bag father. Hey, I gave her lunch money that should be worth more than writing on her wall. “Sorry kid, I can't go to the mall with you, Facebook thinks it would be better bonding time for me to write on your wall.” Great, Now I'm getting parenting advice from a social networking site.

So, Facebook has become that friend who likes to talk shit about you behind your back. Spreading rumors and gossip, trying to start drama and ruin friendships and trying to have your kids taken away for neglect. And, much like that instigating friend, the facts don't really matter it's the drama that counts.

I want you later

So, a friend asked me what I did today and I told her that I spent the day jackhammering quarry tile. Her response was, “That's kinda hot”. This seems to be a common thought among women which I simply can't seem to understand.
I mean, I am covered in construction debris and I worked two hours longer than my deodorant. I fail to see how this could be considered “hot”. I can see the practical side of this for a woman who is looking for a man who is handy around the house. That might be very attractive for a woman in a, “Why don't you shower first” sort of way.

But she insisted that when a woman says, “I want you”, she means “Now”. This might be one of those gender difference things that I could never understand because my gender bits dangle. Or, salute if the situation calls for it. Or if it's morning (another thing I don't really understand). But let me get back to my point (I can't help but notice what a poor choice of words “point” is at this particular moment).

There has to be times when “I want you” could mean “later”. I put some thought into it and came up with a list:

After I've had a few more drinks.
When you turn 18.
After you finish your STD prescription.
After you win the lottery.
When your Husband is out of town.
When you are released from prison.
After your sex change operation.

See, “I want you” doesn't necessarily have to mean "now" while you are sweaty and covered in dust, construction debris and whatever that black stuff is (I really hope that is grease from the jackhammer). The only thing worse than a fly in the ointment is a tile shard in the...

Thursday, October 29, 2009

God is on Facebook

I just heard the most preposterous caller talking to a psychic on the radio station. The woman recently got married and even more recently connected with her old boyfriend from high school on Facebook.

She claims that this must be a sign from God. I Hurried home to see if I had any messages from God on my Facebook account and got nothing. He may just be mad at me for choosing "Other" as my religion.

After getting over the disappointment of not having any divine messages or superpokes, I consulted the bible. Maybe there is a clause that I overlooked. I flipped through the pages to find the ten commandments and see if there were any amendments like, "Thou shall not commit adultery unless thou meets an old flame on Facebook". Nothing. Damn, I need to get a new bible, she must be reading the King Zuckerberg version.

She did go on to say that this man was her best friend in High school and she had lost her virginity to him. Of course she was madly in love with him. Which instantly made me wonder where the hell has he been all these years? Why didn't she find him BEFORE she got married?

I'm also wondering about the marriage vows. Maybe she wrote her own, "Til death parts us, or I find an old flame on Facebook". Now I know that Facebook doesn't destroy relationships, people do. I think that Facebook is merely a catalyst in making people reveal their true colors.

Now, if God is telling this woman to cheat on her husband, who am I to argue with God? My thought is that, not only should she cheat on her husband but she should also post it on his wall so that everyone can see the deep level of devotion she has to her marriage.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

It wasn't me

I am 38 years old and I am still looking forward to hitting puberty. Now don't get me wrong, I have a few chest hairs (5 I think) and I am almost able to grow a beard. The sides just won't fill in so I have this whole “Shaggy” from Scooby-Doo thing going on. So, as you can imagine, I've always been a little bit behind my peers when it comes to growing up. Zoiks Scoob, I need to get on with the story.

What you are about to hear is an epic tale of bravery that changed the life of one young man forever.
We moved from upstate New York (That's right, upstate, the fake NY) to Florida when I started 6th grade. So, I didn't know anybody when I started middle school. Within the first few days I had made a handful of friends and had learned which kids I should steer clear of. One of those kids was a boy who had obviously failed a few times. I think he was the only kid in middle school who was old enough to drive himself to school. In fact, I heard a rumor that this kid had a son who was in 7th grade. This kid was big and he was a bully so everyone tried to avoid him.

In the cafeteria, I had just gotten my little divided tray filled with barely recognizable items that they called lunch and I was too busy determining what it was to notice that I was walking into the middle of a very dangerous situation. That's right, there was about to be a fight. Suddenly, this shadow eclipsed my tray of mystery meat and I looked up to see that I was face to face with this bully kid. With his deep voice (sounding a bit like James Earl Jones) he asks, “You got a problem?” I looked at his face and was relieved to notice that he wasn't looking at me. With catlike reflexes I whipped my head back to size up his intended opponent. Oh, that poor kid behind me is about to get pummeled and I get to have a close up view of the action. This is so exciting.

Now, I look back at this bully smiling with anticipation for his next move. “I said, do you have a problem”, he repeated. I caught myself nodding and smiling as I was thinking to myself, “That's right, he did say that and that kid better answer him” but I heard no response and this bully was getting more pissed. I don't know why fights are so exciting but I was really hoping to see some good action here.

Well, now the bully is getting very annoyed that this kid won't respond. “Do you want me to beat your ass?”, he asks. That's kind of a dumb question when you think about it but I wanted to see a good fight so I was nodding and smiling and thinking, “Yes, beat his ass”. Again, no response. This kid is really asking for trouble. The bully is really getting frustrated, he is running out of options other than the use of violence. “What is your fecking problem?”, he asks. I find myself, once again, acting out what I am thinking. I shrug my shoulder and look confused thinking, “I don't know WHAT his problem is”. I know that if this bully were talking to me like that I would say something, anything, to avoid getting beat up.

To my disappointment, the bully simply gave up. Maybe it was the fact that the entire cafeteria was dead silent and everyone was watching but he simply walked away.

Noise resumed in the cafeteria as I sat down with my handful of friends who were just staring at me in silent disbelief. One of them finally spoke, “Dude, that was like the bravest thing ever”. I had to clear this up, “No No No, he was looking at some kid behind me.” What my friend said next changed this story completely, “No, he has one eye that looks at you and the other one doesn't”. That's right, I stared into the face of death and looked at the wrong eye.

Monday, May 25, 2009

The birds, the bees and explosives

There comes a time in every persons life when their parents feel the need to give them "the talk". It's usually a mortifying experience that stands out in every childs mind. In fact, I remember the day that my Dad gave me "the talk" like it was yesterday even though it was actually two weeks ago.
This is one of those times when I really wish I was joking. I'm 38 years old and have three kids. I was married for nine years. I've had sex with hundreds of women and a handful of them were even real. I think it's a little late for "the talk".
Besides, my Mom already gave me"the talk". Actually, she gave it to my older brother but I did over hear the conversation. I think that I was six at the time. I remember hearing her tell him, "You have a stick of dynamite between your legs and one of these days it's going to go off". For months I was afraid to go pee. It may not have been all that eloquent but it was direct and to the point.

I quickly realized that my Dad had set me up for a trap. What he asked me was, "Are you comfortable talking to your Dad about sex?" In the back of my mind (as well as the front) I'm thinking, "Sure, what do you want to know". I honestly thought that he was going to ask me for some pointers.
What actually ensued was something that left me speechless. He began telling me about the stuff he used to do with my Mom. Go back and read what he asked, that's not a typo. This is not what I agreed to. I think it was something that he needed to get off of his chest. It was one of the few times when I opened my mouth to speak and nothing came out. I tried to plug my ears but I was frozen like a deer in the headlights.
My therapist tells me that the nightmares won't last forever and some day I may even be able to be intimate with a woman again or, at least... myself. For now, I am still recovering.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Dirty Dreams

Well, this is my first attempt at doing a blog post from my mobile phone. As it turns out, you have to occasionally pay your internet bill or you get shut off. Imagine that. But, if all goes well, I won't let Verizon stifle the random rambler.

Last night I was talking to a friend who thought her air conditioner was broken based on the puddle of water that she found on the floor so, she had turned it off.
I asked her when she had changed the filter last. Turns out it was quite a while ago and the filter was horribly dirty. Occasionally, you have to change the filter in your air conditioner or you get shut off.
I told her to change the filter and fire that bad boy up.

This morning I called to check on her and she told me that she had a dirty dream about me. That's not exactly what she said, that's just what I heard. Truth is that she had a dream about dirty filters but I have a male ego to inflate.

As luck would have it I had a bit of an erotic dream last night too. It never got to the dirty part, I wish I would have been able to sleep in. It was actually just like having four hours of foreplay without it going any further. I remember an old saying, "you could screw up a wet dream". Oh great, I have become that guy.

Of course I am not going to tell you who this dream was about. I don't kiss and tell (ok, so now you know that there was kissing) even if it was just in a dream. Don't always let the interesting lies end. Some of them, I have to leave open to keep peoples curiosity. But, if you are reading this and wondering to yourself, "is it me?", the answer is probably "no". Even I didn't see this dream coming.

Anyway, back to my point. Oh right, I don't have a point, hence the term "rambling". Anyway, I had a dream that I was simply massaging this womans shoulders for like the longest time. The problem with erotic dreams is that they make you see people differently. I can't tell you how many times my ex wife had dreams that we were fighting and I had to pay for it the next day or even week.
Anyway, I have a hard time trying talking to this woman now. Apparently even writing about her as I look back to the last sentence. Gosh, all because of a dream that never even went very far. I try to convince myself that it was just a dream but I am beginning to get some clarity about the times I had to sleep on the couch throughout my marriage and never knew what I did wrong.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Decisions, Decisions

It seems that one debate that comes up again and again is whether or not people can choose their sexual preference. Like everything else, I have put way too much thought into this and I have come to my final conclusion that it is definitely not a choice.

I remember when I was a child I had some very big decisions to make. Do I want chicken McNuggets or a cheeseburger for dinner? Will I be Spiderman or the Hulk for Halloween? You know, life changing choices like that. But, I don't ever remember the gay or straight decision.

It probably didn't happen when I was a child though. If it did, it probably wouldn't have been girls, I'm almost positive that they had cooties which were highly contagious and also deadly. Plus, I was convinced that cooties would make my pee-pee fall off and I'd have to change my name to Michelle.

A few years later I noticed that girls no longer had cooties so they must be simply a childhood disease. I still don't remember this as being a choice, I just noticed that girls had some redeeming qualities that were becoming more and more prevalent.

Now, if I actually had a choice to make as to who I would be attracted to, the obvious choice would be myself. Think about it. Dating would be cheaper. I always know when I am in the mood. I know that I will always be there for me. It seems like the best choice.
Besides, when I am stuck in traffic and there is nothing good on the radio, I could, you know, enjoy the wait with myself. Not that I don't do that anyway but it would be more enjoyable.
Taking a shower would be much more fun, I could always shower with the one I love.

Besides, people are always telling me to go Feck myself, imagine if I actually could. Or better yet, actually enjoyed it. Yes, life would be a lot simpler if I actually got to choose who I was attracted to. Bottom line is, on this one, I don't think I had any choice.
Nope, for me the simple fact is that if you put a blind fold on me and put me in a room with a hundred women, I could find the crazy one and put a ring on her finger. Yup, that seems to be what I ended being attracted to.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

Sex and cinnamon life

It may come as a surprise that I am not always a funny guy who laughs at the world. I have my bad days too and sometimes the world laughs back. In fact, on occasion I decide to have a few bad days in a row, just to get them all out. What surprises me is the way that some people react to me on those bad dayweeks.

One of my very close friends said something so shocking that I was seriously beginning to wonder if someone had slipped me a micky (I' have always wanted to say that, it's so "old School" that I feel like I am in a black and white film right now) and I simply misunderstood what she had said. Sorry about going off on such a long parenthetical tangent. I'm really not sorry, it just seemed like something I should be sorry for.

Anyway, I'm sure you are wondering what she could have said that was so shocking. I'll get to that in a minute but first, I feel another tangent coming on. I have also wanted to try to work the term "penal system" into a blog post but I can't find the right context for it here so I'll have to try again later.

Oh, back to my story. I have to first explain that this is a woman who is an extremely moral catholic woman and the last person you would expect to say something so shocking. Now, let me tell you that she was trying to help. I was feeling down and she seemed to have a solution for me to get back to feeling myself. Feeling myself, I am going to resist the urge to go off on another tangent.

"Dude, you need to get laid", she says. Did I hear that right? At first I thought that she must be implying that I take a vacation in Hawaii. Then, I thought that maybe "laid" was some Catholic religious ceremony like a baptism. The only "laid" that I can possibly think of in this context is...well..."laid".
Now it would be entirely inappropriate for me to link to her Catholic inside blog. So don't expect me to do that HERE.

Now, the only appropriate guy thing to do is to point out that we are both single. I quickly found out that she was making a suggestion, not an offer. But more advice ensued as she pointed out that my ex wife is also single and we are still good friends. Of course, my ex wife didn't want to, "Go down that road again". Would it really take that much effort for her to lay there and repeatedly ask, "Are you done yet?" like she did so many times throughout our marriage?

So, anyway. This should be every guys fantasy, having two women fighting over who is going to have sex with him. Of course, in my case, it plays out like the old Cinnamon life cereal commercial. "I'm not gonna try it, you try it" pushing the bowl away "I'm not gonna try it". Ladies, please, there's milk spilling over here.

Monday, January 12, 2009

It's not broken

Well, there seems to be some controversy stirring at the Ekim household. On one side of the debate is my neighbor and my kids and on the RIGHT side of the debate is me. The problem is that everyone who is wrong seems to think that I need a new dryer. Let me start from the beginning and you can decide for yourself just how right I am.

Genesis: The dryer was given to me by my mother. It was well used and broken but I fixed it. After a few years it began to make a funny noise but only at the end of the cycle. I saw this as a good thing, it was letting me know when my clothes were dry and the smell of burning plastic was hardly noticeable. We'll just say that it was a feature for the hearing impaired.

Not too long ago, the belt broke, the heating element burned out and a wheel in the back of the dryer turned into a molten fiery goo. That was no big deal, simple parts that were easily replaced. Let's call that some routine maintenance.

Shortly after that, the dryer would shut off all by itself in the middle of the cycle. A few times this resulted in moldy clothes but mold sort of smells like Polo cologne after it has set out for a few days. So, just think of all the money I am saving on cologne.

Currently, the dryer appears to be broken at first glance. When you push the button all it does is make a buzzing noise and a little puff of white smoke comes out (Again, for the hearing impaired). All you need to do it reach inside the dryer and hand turn the drum just enough to get it started. Of course, you can't do that with the door open because when the door opens, the dryer stops. But, I have cleverly taped the door switch down so it will still run with the door open, giving me the chance to jump start the dryer.
Now, I think that this is endearing. It reminds me of the old cars with the huge spoke tires that you had to start with a hand crank on the front bumper. Or, maybe one of those old fashioned planes that you would have to spin the prop to get it started. I'm not doing laundry, I'm like a pilot. How cool is that.

So, this is why all these people (who are wrong) think I need a new dryer. The bottom line is that the dryer dries clothes. Sure, you have to start it by precariously reaching your hand into a hot spinning drum and you have to ignore the loud noise and faint smell of burning electronics but it dries clothes. I don't know how I could possibly be more right, do you?
Is your dryer broken? No, it dries clothes. See, it's as simple as that.

Now the WRONG PEOPLE have their own group on Facebook.

Grant Money

Sterility is hereditary.
If your parents couldn't have children
Chances are, you can't either.

I wonder if I can get some government grant money to prove my theory?