Oh. My. God. I. Got. My. 500th. View.

Miscellaneous

At some point yesterday a kind citizen from Brazil became the 500th viewer of my blog. Now, I don’t know this for sure, but hear me out on my logic (you better agree with me, or else). I know someone from Brazil viewed my blog yesterday, therefore we can make an educated guess and say that he/she was my 500th viewer, because, well…that makes it cool as hell (we stay fly, no lie, you know it…RHYMIN!). I will now be as conceited and over-the-top stuck-up as Paris Hilton, simply because of how successful my blog has become in such a short period of time. I want nothing to do with you if you’re not a celebrity like me. Shut up.

Anyways, I haven’t written on here in about a week, and I want apologize for my laziness. I was in the process of transitioning from an intern to a full-time employee – a daunting task of basically moving my laptop to another desk, and signing an offer letter – and I was also in New Orleans for a bachelor party over the weekend, which is a whole different story no one will ever hear about. Had I written while in the Bayou, my posts would have been along the lines of “fsadmlfkioi3cpq fjsadkh hfuioh34982gQ#$T#$ f au8934#$#”, so I figured I’d save you the time. My mind may still be a little blurry from the aforementioned bachelor party, but I wanted to tell you personally I am back writing, and hoping/wishing you all read my posts and pass my page along to friends and relatives; hell, even strangers – I don’t mind.

I want to personally thank everyone who has read any of my posts, and contributed to getting the word out about my blog.  I really started this blog on a whim while talking to a friend of mine, and I’m pretty surprised/stoked it’s been even this successful from when I wrote my first post. So, if you could just leave your name, address, and cell-phone number in the comment section below, I’ll be in touch with you soon. Don’t worry, it’s only creepy if I think it’s creepy, and I don’t.

With that being said, I leave you with a sweet selfie of me before I rob a convenient store, shirtless, in GTAV. I probably ruined this poor clerk’s day, and possibly the rest of his life. I may have even shot him. I don’t remember. It was the heat of the moment. However, I did get $1,500+!

Olympic Fwy

Go Sox!

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Rewriting History

Baseball

Photo Cred: Boston Red Sox Official Instagram

Late into the fall-night of October 19th, 2013, the Boston Red Sox continued to pile up historic stat after historic stat. After Shane Victorino (The Flyin’ Hawaiian), having looked like he didn’t know how to swing a bat in his previous 23 at-bats (2-23), took advantage of an 0-2 curve ball from Jose Veras that caught too much of the plate, the Sox became the first team to hit two game-tying/go-ahead grand slams in the 7th inning or later in a single post season (ESPN Stats and Information). Putting more and more distance between them and and the down-right disgusting season they had a year ago, their game 6 win over the Detroit Tigers marked only the 7th time since 1990 that a team made the world series after finishing in last place a season before (ESPN Stats and Information). Granted, those other 6 teams to do so are a combined 1-5 when it comes to winning the whole thing, I dare you to tell those beards that history is against them. You know what they’ll do with those comments? Besides laugh at you and move on to the next task at hand, they will do the same thing they did with those comments made at the beginning of the season, stating 2013 will be a rebuilding year; use it as motivation.

I don’t think I’ve seen a closer group of guys in my life. In my opinion, one of the biggest driving forces behind the 2013 Boston Red Sox is “team chemistry”: almost every player on the team has a beard; the pitchers (including some position players) have three lines cut into their hair at the bottom of their hairline on their neck; they have a statue of a Native American (called The Chief) that pitcher Jake Peavy bought from a cigar shop while on a West Coast trip in August that is taken with them everywhere. These things may seem irrelevant to some people, but it plays a huge role in the clubhouse, in the dugout, in the bullpen, and on the field. The team chemistry the Sox have developed allows one player to pick the other one up when they strike out/don’t move a runner over/botch a play; it allows the catchers to call the game no matter who is on the mound; it allows the fielders to know the range of one another on balls put in play. Of course, a lot of these things develop over time, but team chemistry allows them to develop at a much faster rate (i.e. the 2013 Boston Red Sox).

So, here’s to hoping the 2013 World Series between the Boston Red Sox and the St. Louis Cardinals will be as attention grabbing as the ALCS, with the Sox prevailing in no more than 5 games (my poor little heart won’t be able to take more than 5 games of stress related activity). It’ll definitely be a family-divided time period for my dad and me, seeing as how he is a Cardinals fan (sorry if I call you some bad things, dad; it’s for the love of the game).

Is it too much to ask for a repeat-sweep, similar to that of 2004, Sox? Thanks a bunch! Smooches XOXO!

The Saying is True…

Skateboarding

…you never realize how much you miss something until it’s gone. It’s been just about two days since the last time I skated, and to a lot of you, two days isn’t that long. But, what if I said two days ago was the last time I’ve skated in the past two weeks – give or take a few. Now that is worthy of some water works. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to skate, because I know my brain doesn’t function like that. It’s more along the lines of life getting in the way.

Towards the end of last week  we had a storm system come through that lasted 4 days (Thursday night(ish) – early Monday morning), and it affected my holiday weekend I dedicated to skating – which is really the only time I have nowadays, with the sun setting sooner. I’m talking enough rain to make Noah consider building another ark. Luckily, we didn’t have to do that, because I wouldn’t be able to let only 2 animals of each kind on; I’m too nice. Then came Monday evening, where I skated with my friend ______ (name left out for security purposes, but I did use the exact amount of underscores to represent the letters of his name) well beyond sunset. I ended up closing the place down. It was pure bliss. Tuesday, the most handsome group of men in the world had a playoff game at 4:00pm that I watched, but I’ll never place the blame on them. And, I didn’t get home from work until 6:45pm yesterday, forcing me to cancel my skate-date with my aforementioned friend ______. Being the nice guy he is, he fully understood (at least that’s what he told me). And, Mother Nature, being the most inconvenient bitch that she is, decides to likely make it rain (not the good kind) at 5:30pm tonight; just about the time I get home. I may just start crying.

You know how some people listen to music, or read a book when they need to get their minds off things? Well, I just hop on my board and go. It’s something about the wind in my face, and the noise the wheels make going across the pavement that puts me at ease. Skateboarding acts as the bridge between breaking away from life’s hectic moments and leading me to a meditation-type state of mind. If I happen to leave a few marks along the way, who cares? Not me!

So please, skateboard, can we go on another date soon? I hear you rolling around in my backseat crying, and I can only assume it’s because I’ve ridden you once in the past 2 weeks (hmmm…can I make this sound anymore sexual?). You’re the only Girl I ever want to ride (to answer my previous question; why yes, yes I can!). I just can’t live without you. I miss you…(Cue Baby Come Back by Player)

Go Sox!

October Baseball at its Finest…Well, Kind of

Baseball

Image

This. This is why October baseball is amazing. This is the exact swing Big Papi himself put on a first-pitch fastball from Tigers closer Joaquin Benoit in the bottom of the 8th, with two outs. The Sox were down 5-1 entering this inning and still struggling to even make contact at the plate. But, with one flick of the wrists they were all knotted up at 5. It was the latest game-tying grand slam in post season history, and it couldn’t have happened to a more clutch player. If (when) the Sox go on to win it all this year, this one swing will be viewed as the turning point for the Sox.

Now, I’m a guy who will give credit when credit is due, and the Tigers pitching staff, especially the starters of both games one and two, are making the Sox look foolish at the plate. Six innings of no-hit ball by Anibal Sanchez with 12 K’s in a game one victory, and then another no-no into the 6th inning with 13 K’s from Max Scherzer in game two? If my math is correct, you’re looking at a combined 11+ innings with 25 K’s. That’s almost unheard of. Also, in game one the Tigers were two outs away from being the first team to throw a combined no-hitter in a post season game. I was grumpier than…well, let’s just say I was so grumpy I couldn’t think of one of the tear-jerking analogies I’m so famous for. It’s not going to get any easier for the Sox going into game three at Comerica Park. They have to face 6-time All Star and the 2011 AL Cy Young award winner Justin Verlander (he also dated Kate Upton, that little punk – not Kate Upton, Verlander).

One thing that may have gone unnoticed by a lot of viewers (but not me, because I’m a baseball genius) is that the Sox third base coach, Brian Butterfield, basically saved the game. You may be asking, “how does a third base coach save the game?” Well, let me tell you with my record-setting baseball IQ: Will Middlebrooks was on second base when Pedroia hit a laser in between first and second. Now, typically a runner who is on second will try to score, but Mr. Butterfield, being the same baseball genius as yours truly, knew there were two outs and Papi was coming to the plate. It would have been a TERRIBLE idea to send Middlebrooks, knowing Torii Hunter was playing right field (he’s got a cannon). So, Butterfield alertly stopped Middlebrooks, and the rest is history. Brilliant, glorious Red Sox post season history. I solute you, Mr. Butterfield, along with all of Red Sox Nation.

Well, that was a brief VERY brief overview of the first two games of the 2013 ALCS. The Sox and Tigers are playing, well, right now. As previously stated , Verlander is on the bump for the Tigers, while Lackey is going for the Sox. Whoever wins this game will hold a series lead of 2-1. Hopefully the Sox can ride Sunday night’s momentum into today and steal (OH MY GOD, THE STEAL! – Sox fans know what I’m talking about) one away from one of two aces the Tigers have. By the way, whose idea was it to make a start time for an ALCS game 4:00pm EST on a weekday?! I need to call up commissioner Selig and talk to him about this. This is unacceptable.

Go Sox!

On to the Next One

Baseball

Image

It’s time to put away the McDonald’s Oakley’s/swimsuit combo and the army helmet and start preparing for the ALCS showdown. This series has the recipe of being one of the best of all-time, but nowhere close to the Sox winning 4 straight to beat the Skankees Yankees in 2004, en route to winning it all. Last night, Justin Verlander pitched a gem for the Tigers to punch their ticket to the ALCS, where they’ll battle it out with the Red Sox. Two high-powered offenses facing off against two very talented pitching staffs?  I’d like to reserve a seat for one, please – on my couch that is. There ain’t no way in hell I’m forking over $150+ for standing-room only tickets. I’m still just an intern 😦

A lot of people had their concerns about the Red Sox going into the series against Tampa. Not only do those games typically come down to the final innings (as we saw in 3 out of the 4 games), but analysts were predicting the Sox to be sluggish offensively, due to five days of rest. Boy, did the they make those “experts” eat their own words. The Sox put up 12 runs, on 14 hits in the first game to win 12-2. They followed that up by pounding out 7 more runs, on 11 hits to win game two 7-4. If that’s sluggish, then I’m going out on a date with Kate Upton tonight (please, whoever is up in the sky (Santa); make this come true. I promise to be a nice boy for the rest of my life).

The only blemish on an overall good series was when manager John Farrell brought in Franklin Morales (my “are you shitting me?” moment) to start the 8th. After Tazawa got Evan Longoria to pop out to third and Will Myers to strike out to end the 7th – the two bats with the most pop in that lineup – I was for sure he’d come back out in the 8th, but nooooo, Farrell had other plans. Morales ended up walking James Loney to start the inning, and giving up a bunt-single to Desmond Jennings right after. Sam Fuld, who pinch ran for Loney, ended up scoring the go ahead run later that inning. I wanted to give Farrell “the look” (you all know that look, so don’t ask which one) before, during, and after Morales’s performance.

As for the Tigers, I didn’t watch much of their series because, well, they aren’t the Red Sox. However, a colleague of mine told me they weren’t swinging the bats too well (I bet you the “experts” said they were going to come out hot). I’m just hoping they don’t come alive during this series, especially at Fenway. Reigning triple-crown winner Miguel Cabrera could have a field day with the Green Monster, and slugger Prince Fielder can make any field look like a little league field. The Sox pitching staff just needs to execute their pitches, which they’ve shown they can do, and try not to leave anything up in the zone. As for handling Miggy; I don’t know what to tell you. I wouldn’t doubt there’s a video out there somewhere of him pulling a slider, low-and-away, from a right-handed pitcher, and putting it 415 feet. That guy is unbelievable.

I guess the only thing I can do now is sit and watch at home, while stroking my…playoff beard (AHA, GOTCHA!) that I’m in the process of growing. It’ll never be on the level of Pedey’s, Napoli’s, Salty’s, or Gomes (way to ruin the “eeee” sounding names, bud) beautiful forests of facial hair, but it’ll do. Being the ex-baseball player I am, and seeing how superstitious we (baseball players) are, I remembered the exact three outfits I wore on the days the Sox won (in order, too). You better believe I’ll be sporting those for the first three games, sweat-stains and all. Go Sox!

The Not-so-Smooth Criminal

Miscellaneous

I wish this would have happened a day before, or two days after the Red Sox beat the Rays to punch their ticket to the ALCS. I kind of feel obligated to write about their domination, but I CANNOT risk forgetting this story by researching stats/facts. However, the Sox do play a critical role in this story, because I stayed up into the whee hours of the morning watching every second of the 3 hour and 49 minute plus game. With that being said, I present to you the comical, yet tear-jerking (not in a good way) story of what happened to me this morning. “Get the popcorn ready, honey!!”:

“Wake up in the morning, feeling pretty shitty” (read to the tune of Ke$ha’s TiK ToK). My alarm was set for 7:04 AM, and it took me 30-minutes to muster up enough strength to finally get out of bed. I got in bed around 1:00 AM the previous night, but didn’t fall asleep for another half hour or so due to my level of excitement from the Red Sox beating the Rays.

Anyways, fast forward to when I actually get to work around 8:30 AM. Before I can even get to my desk, equipped with water-front views (no, really), I was pulled in to this lady’s office. I was assigned the task of picking up cupcakes to celebrate a colleagues birthday (the norm in the office). Due to my sleep-deprived self, I must have asked how many cupcakes I needed to get at least 5 times. When I was finally able to grasp the easiest part of the job, I put my stuff down, and headed back to the garage. This is where the fun begins.

The cupcake place, which was actually a coffee shop, was about a 5-minute drive away. When I parked in the parking lot, I couldn’t help but realize how amazing it felt outside. According to my meteorological calculations (sight and feel), it was cloudy and in the high 50’s; perfect weather. The coffee shop was on this enchanting little corner of a newly built development. As I casually walked to the door, I thought to myself, “how cuh-ute is this place?!” Upon arrival, I was greeted by this precious little girl who just stared at me wide-eyed until I opened the door (can you say “show stopper”?). I greeted her with a smile and a “scoooooze ME!” as her mom pulled her out of the way.

When I got to the register, there were three employees working. One was on the phone taking a customer’s order, and the other two were assisting the in-store customers. (Sorry to break away from the pleasant scene you’re building up in your mind, but some BITCH cut in front of me while I was there, and I don’t take too kindly to that behavior). When I finally got to the front, one of the two employees went to the bathroom, so a line starts forming behind me. I politely ask for a dozen and a half cupcakes, and the girl tells me she has to go to the back and get them. Let the waiting begin.

As the line behind me grows bigger and bigger, I stand there eyes glazed over due to lack of sleep. Typically I would get that “uncomfortable/nervous” feeling; you know, the one that results from knowing everyone behind you is thinking, “Wow, what the hell did this guy order? Could his order take any longer?” Wait, you don’t know what I’m talking about? Well…cool. Anyways, while waiting, I couldn’t help but notice there was another adorable little girl two spots behind me, standing with her babysitter/aunt/mom (although I doubt it was her mom, because she seemed pretty young, but this is America – home of the unusual, so I put it in the list of possibilities). While this 3-4 year old girl is standing there, she is just amazed by this die (singular form of “dice”). She keeps rolling it, and saying “Ask me how many black dots are on this side!” The babysitter/aunt/mom then asks, and the little girl proceeds to yell out the exact number. She’s got valedictorian written all over her.

Then, the unthinkable happens! The die rolls off of the little tray she was playing on and near my feet. I bend down to pick it up, and start walking over to the little girl to give it back. She stands there, still as a board, as nervous as I would have been like I previously stated (thank you for sleep-drunkenness). I bend down, stick my hand out, and she takes it out of my hand. The babysitter/aunt/mom smiles and says, “Now what do we say?” and the little girl lets out the sweetest “thank you” I’ve heard in ages. As I’m standing back up, I look over in the direction of the babysitter/aunt/mom and she says, “Now, maybe he’ll buy us a cup of coffee.” Now, this has the makings of the next Notebook written all over it, and how does the man referred to (by some) as a “Smooth Criminal” respond? The only imaginable way possible: I look her in the eyes and laugh. I then grab my cupcakes, pay, and walk out.

As I’m walking back to my car, a slight breeze hits me in the face and I alarmingly realize, “Holy shit! She may have been hitting on me/dropping some hints! Why didn’t I capitalize?!” I could have pulled the, “Oh, yeah. Put whatever she’s getting, along with her cute little friend on this card” and then gave her a nice little smile. That would have been a classic smooth criminal response, but nooooo. Being high on sleep-deprivation, I laughed at her…while looking her in the eye. Thanks, Red Sox. (I still love you, and I know you do too, contrary to what Drew Barrymore asks Jimmy Fallon in Fever Pitch – only the greatest movie ever).

There you have it, ladies and gentlemen; smooth as butter.

Move Over Jack the Ripper…

Miscellaneous

…there’s a new killer in town, and it goes by the name “radio”. No, I’m not talking about the mentally-handicapped guy Cuba Gooding Jr. plays in the 2003 movie “Radio”, that would just be rude, now wouldn’t it? I’ve never seen the movie, but I’m sure the guy wouldn’t have harmed a fly. Anyways, I’m talking about THE radio, as in the one you listen to on your daily commute. Although I try to steer clear of listening to the radio, it’s become harder to do ever since my iTrip broke about a month ago, thus leads me to labeling the radio as today’s number one killer; of songs, that is.

Tell me, have you ever been on a road trip, and either A) your copilot forgot to bring this years “Summer Jamz Mixtape Vol. 69”, forcing you to listen to the radio, or B) your copilot indeed brought said “Summer Jamz Mixtape Vol. 69”, but you’re getting tired of the songs, so you turn to the radio for your listening pleasure?

If you answered “yes” to either of those options, please continue reading. If

you answered “no”, screw you; you probably fall asleep on road trips and your friend hates you,

so read this and stay awake.

Now, when listening to the radio, have you ever been flipping through the stations and heard the same song on three, four, sometimes five different stations?

If you answered “yes”, please continue reading. If you answered “no”, screw you again; 

your iTrip probably works, or you have an AUX input

to plug your iPhone/Android/[Insert music device here] and I’m jealous, so keep

reading to make me feel better about myself.

If you fancy that song and you’re a girl, you may look at your copilot and scream like you did when you heard there is going to be a “Fifty Shades of Grey/Gray” (I never know how to spell it, so I figured it’s better to be safe than sorry, you Grey/Gray Nazi’s; also, I didn’t want to open up a new tab to check the title, because…distractions, duhhhh) movie coming out. Or, if you’re a guy, you play it cool by looking at your co-captain, giving the “this song is the shit” head-nod (it’s okay, we all know you’re screaming on the inside like the girls mentioned above). But, what happens when the song is over, a shitty song comes on after, you change the station and hear the song we established you fancied earlier again, and the cycle continues? I don’t care who you are, you’ll get annoyed.

One example I have for you all deals with the ever-talented Lorde, and her song “Royals”. I’m man enough to admit that I dig that song. Not only do I like the beat of it, but I also think she has a unique voice (does that make me a pedophile? Because she’s 17…ehhhh, fuck it). Anyways, I’m starting to get sick of that song. I heard that song on the Radio about a month ago on DC 101 – probably the only radio station I listen to, even though it sometimes blows. They introduced it as “first time ever airing on the radio”, which I feel like is a publicity stunt to build credibility. While I listened to it, I did a mixture of the screaming and “this song is the shit” nod mentioned earlier. It was kind of like a, “THIS IS MY NEW SHIT!”, while bobbing my head ferociously through the mean streets of Old Town, in my shirt in tie during afternoon rush hour.

Fast forward to this morning at about 8:15 AM. There I was again, scowling the heavy streets of Old Town in my shirt and tie during my morning commute when “Royals” came on. Except this time, a song that once made me go ape shit made me moan and groan like a 13 year-old girl whose dad came down to the basement during girls night (does that make him a pedophile, too?!). I FEEL LIKE IT’S ON EVERY 15 MINUTES NOW! I was so mad, I turned the radio off until I got to work, because the radio committed yet another killing of a song. Thanks, radio. Now I have to wait at least 4-5 months until you stop playing the song all together, so when I do hear it again it’s considered a “classic”, thus resulting in my “girl scream/this song is the shit” antics. Thoughtless bastard…

Oh, and go Red Sox!

A picture is worth 1000 words. This safe has been through a lot. Tell its story. Image credit: “safe” – © 2007 Paul Keller – made available under Attribution 2.0 Generic

I have been sitting here for the past 30 minutes trying to think of something to write about. I figured I would spare you all from another post about beards and the Red Sox (even though I know you all look forward to reading about those two subjects), so I clicked on the “inspire me” button. Upon clicking, I get a picture of the safe above, and I’m supposed to tell you it’s story. Prepare to be inspired. Readers, I give you True Life: I Auditioned for “The Italian Job”.

Rusty – pictured above – lived the wonderful life. Getting his name not from his current appearance, but from the fact that he was conceived on a pile of rusty scrap metal in the middle of the dreary Aberdeen Reservoir in Washington (130.6 inches of precipitation annually). Rusty was a lady-safe killer, making all of them swoon with his broad structure, tight core, and chiseled corners. The amount of square-feet he was packing made all of the lady-safes doors open instantly when entering the club (talk about a show stopper). Little did he know, his glory days would take a horrendous turn for the worst when he was introduced to Steela, the hottest, baddest safe in the land.

Everything started out perfect, almost dream-like – as do all relationships. During the honeymoon stage, Rusty and Steela would often attend safe cracking seminars where the worlds best safe crackers would try to crack the toughest safes from around the world. The two would tease all of the safe crackers into thinking they cracked the safe, when in reality Rusty and Steela would imitate the “click” sound a combination-lock makes when the code is cracked. When the safe cracker was filled with accomplishment from hearing the “click”, he would crack the slightest of smiles, stand up, turn the handle, and to no avail the door would not open. This would lead to Rusty and Steela sliding out of the seminar, giggling like little school girls.

As the leaves began to change colors, and the long summer days turned to brisk fall nights, Rusty and Steela were beginning to drift apart. The once tight bond that held them together was diminishing faster than Lindsey Lohan’s sober-stint (the first one, not the second, third, fourth, fifth…). They began getting into fights about whose combination was harder to crack, whose turn it was to wash the dishes, and who left the toilet seat up (you know, only the important matters). Steela couldn’t take it anymore and ended up giving Rusty an ultimatum: if he could be the lead safe in the Italian Job, she would take him back with open doors. So off Rusty went; hoping to reignite the passion the two had back in their safe-cracking seminar days.

The only means of transportation Rusty could take to make it to the audition in time were those that involved sitting in the bed of travelers trucks – hitchhiking. He would flag these travelers down with his high stature and eagle-like door-span – and also the fact he would center himself in the lane holding them at gunpoint. Many of rainy nights in the beds of strangers trucks led to the current reason behind his name. Rusty’s once shiny exterior, that made you shade your eyes even with your stylish Ray Bans on slowly started cracking and turning all sorts of dark colors. The corrosion caused by the moisture began to affect his combination lock. By the time Rusty made it to the auditions, he was looking a hot mess. Not even enough hair and make up from the worlds best makeup artists could hide all of his blemishes. When it was his turn to stand there as Stella Bridger (Charlize Theron) tampered with his lock (sounds sexual), it opened as easy as a strippers legs do when she’s dancing to the Pussy Cat Dolls (now THAT is sexual). He was so embarrassed he fled the auditions and sulked outside the local Waffle House.

After weeks of sulking, the once idolized safe finally gathered enough courage to contact his one true love. He pulled out his iPhone 5C and commented on her Facebook wall explaining what happened. He told her that the rain ate away at his stunning outer-coat, and the sliding back-and-forth within the beds of trucks made his once razor sharp edges dull enough for a baby to play with. She ended up liking the post (which I find weird), and then commented on it saying, “I never want to see you again. I hope you flee the country due to your embarrassment. Have a SAFE life.” (Yes, she capitalized her pun to make it obvious.)

This is the last selfie Rusty has posted to his Instagram @RustyMan_420. It was posted about two years ago. From the background one can assume he’s in the abandoned city of Chernobyl. One can also assume he is no longer living, especially after seeing what happened to those poor young travelers who went to Chernobyl to right a diary, or something like that. May he rest in peace.

What can you take from this devastating story? Nothing. Abso-freaking-lutely nothing.

Miscellaneous