Monday, May 30, 2011

Have Mexican, Will Discount

      Hope you guys are all having a happy Memorial Day. I'm celebrating my 3 day weekend by barbecuing and drinking some beer. Then, when that's done, and Tuesday is here... I'm probably gonna barbecue and drink some beer, because there's really no such thing as a 3 day weekend when you're unemployed.
     The in-laws were here this last week, and if any of you guys remember this post, you know that we have a townhouse two houses down from the one I live in now that we've been trying to get ready to rent out. It was once lived in by my brother-in-law's now ex-wife, and she completely trashed it. There were cigarette stains EVERYWHERE. Walls were ripped out. Playdoh and pudding was mashed in the carpet. The whole house reeked of smoke.
      We needed help fixing it, and so according to my father-in-law, a big jolly Mexican guy who looks exactly like Kim Jong Il (seriously, it's hilarious), we needed some Mexicans. Now don't look at me like I'm racist, and don't shoot the messenger, because A) my father-in-law is Mexican, B) I'm a small part Mexican and C) I'm just relaying what happened.
     My pop-in-law asked the wifey and I where he could find Mexican people. We jokingly told him there's a Mexican market 5 minutes away. He left, came back 15 minutes later, and said he found some. We thought he was kidding. He was not. In that 15 minutes, he had found some guys that would replace the carpet in the whole house for less than half the price of a CarpetMaster tech that had come to run a quote.
     They came that day... the carpet's done... and it looks decent for what it is, but what I have to wonder is... how the hell did he walk into a Mexican grocery store and find someone to do the job?


Anyone know how this works?

Stay classy, friends,

Mood: Mystified
Cerveza: Corona
Shower: I was going to, but this guy said he'll do it for half price.

Friday, May 27, 2011

Three Day Free Day

            Here in the States, it’s Memorial Day weekend. If memory serves me, historically, I believe the holiday was founded to be observed by the gainfully employed, who celebrate the occasion by spending a three-day weekend remembering how much happier they are when they aren’t working for The Man. Because that’s the point of the three day weekend, isn’t it? Waking up on Monday morning, liberated of all responsibility; it’s a day in which you can comfortably enjoy all the highlights of unemployment before being dragged back into the mire of monotony.
It doesn’t matter what your occupation is. Whether you spend your hours on the time-card slinging grease patties to diabetics at McDonald’s, making millions on Wall Street, or just breaking kneecaps for Bruno the patriotic loan shark, everybody deserves a little break. So, go on, you’ve earned it. Kick back. Cut loose. Buy a carton of Twinkies and watch reruns of Ren and Stimpy all damn weekend. Refuse to change your underwear. Go on a three-day bender in Las Vegas and legally change your name to Hoosier Daddy.
Whatever you do, have fun, folks. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. But if you do, name it after me.


Beer: Amstel Light
Music: Thea Gilmore

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

The Wedding Report, Pt. 2

            As Bryan mentioned on Monday, the world didn’t end. Sadly, it’s true. Sorry folks, if you’re anything like me, you were equally disappointed to wake up Sunday morning and find that the world was still ripe with the un-raptured agents of dumbfuckery. I know, it came as a shock to everyone. But, I assure you, it’s going to be alright. We’re just going to have to live with the fact that the gullible idiots of the world really aren’t going anywhere. Church bells will continue to toll on Sundays. Televangelists will continue to blame Satan for their public homosexual affairs. Altar boys will remain nervous. Shitty, wholesome rock music will still be made. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but just sit back, grab a frosty brew, and relax. It’s all going to be okay.    
            The day he got married, the world only ended for Bryan’s testicles. It was a beautiful thing. And now that he’s had a good couple days to get over it and there are a thousand miles between us, I think he’s forgiven me for keeping him out all night before his wedding, drinking pitchers of Rail Yard amber and throwing paper airplane dollar bills at strippers drinking pitchers of Rail Yard amber and throwing paper airplane dollar bills at strippers.
            The wedding was a lot of fun. As far as the beer, wine, and lingering bachelor party hangover would allow, I recall it going something like this…

            I guarded the ceremonial wedding rings with my life...and my sphincter. A drug smuggler couldn't have done better.

            Next, I gave a stellar Best Man speech.

I savored the flavorful complexity of gourmet cupcakes.

            And finally, I dazzled my fiancĂ© and Bryan’s new family with my karaoke skills. Along with the two single dudes who inadvertently became each other’s date, our vocal recreation of the Backstreet Boys was uncanny.
            All in all, it was a great day, and an awesome trip home for the weekend.



            Music: The Turtles
            Beer: Rail Yard amber (from the Wynkoop Brewpub, bitches!)


Monday, May 23, 2011

The Wedding Report, Part I

           So a lot happened the last few days. The world didn't end, and Harold Camping looks like the world's biggest asshole. Brandon came here to visit, which was awesome and a lot of fun. And oh yeah, I got married.
           At first I wasn't sure it was going to come together. The bride and I were doing everything ourselves, and once it hit an hour before the ceremony, she had to go get ready and I was left to set everything up by myself. Like the many armed goddess Shiva, I had to pull up my big girl panties and make things happen. See diagram below.

1. Platter of bacon wrapped shrimp I grilled
2. Extra serving spoon for mashed potatoes
3. Beer to calm my nerves
4. English to Spanish dictionary so I can talk to Grandma-in-law, who speaks no English
5. A symbolic offering of my testicles on a silver platter (symbolic because they already belonged to the woman long before we married)
6. The Flaming Sword of Anthor (for slaying dragons, duh)
7. Another beer to calm my nerves (double fisting it!)
8. My Shake Weight(TM)... gotta keep those serving arms strong, right?
9. My angry tears... pull it together, Sally!

The nuptials were sweet. They kinda went something like this.


   I hope the photographer captured that. It'd be a great addition to the office.

And so now I'm happily married, and I'm also able to return to blogging, both of which is fantastic. I've missed you guys a lot, so expect some blog lovin' in the next few days. Also look for Brandon's report of the wedding on Wednesday. In the meanwhile, I'm gonna go spend some time with the new wifey, but I'll leave you with this...

If you remember THE Neighbor (see either this story or this story for the craziness) you know that he hates my guts. And in the 1 year I've lived here, he has never spoken to me. Not once. So imagine my surprise when I'm loading up folding chairs in my father-in-law's SUV to return to the rental place, and the neighbor steps outside of the house, smiling his cheesy fake smile. He then asks if he can move his truck, so I could pull in the SUV closer and save myself some trouble. Uh... what?


His exact words. "I'm just happy to help you out." So now we're cool? I don't get it. I can't stress this enough, this man hates me. He's never spoken to me prior to this, has yelled at my now-wife, and has called the police on us. And now he's just being our friendly neighbor?

But alas, this was not the weirdest part. Right as he went to move his truck he asked me this:


Yep, the neighbor's "really happy" for us and thinks we're buddies now. God, I need a beer.

Stay classy, friends,

Mood: "Flabbergasted" (even more so than Harold Camping, because unlike the end of the world not happening, this IS shocking)
Beer: Avalanche
Shower: It feels like I need to scrub myself extra hard after having that conversation