Sunday, November 28, 2010


Dear Diary:

I seem to have an ability to understand things.  When they are explained, I can find the reason and rationale behind them.  However, there are two things on this planet that I simply cannot for the life of me understand: women, and traffic.

Now, since I have a penis, the odds of me ever being able to understand women are somewhere between none and never in a million fucking years.  But traffic?  Come on now.  It makes absolutely no fucking sense whatsoever.

Ok ok.  Yeah, I get the general principle behind traffic - there are too many vehicles on a road and the road hits capacity.  But it would appear that any rational person could simply find ways to alleviate traffic.  But, that never seems to be the case.  Let's take my trip back from NH yesterday.

Right around Exit 8 on the NJ Turnpike, lanes merge.  Seems simple right?  Why can't people slow to a moderate speed and easily merge, like a zipper?  One in, one out, repeat.  Seems simple right?  But no.  It NEVER fucking happens like that.  So, there I was, sitting at a dead stop on the NJ Turnpike.  And that is just unacceptable.

So, I got off the Turnpike and took a state highway south and picked up 295.  Sure, it was out of the way, but at least I was moving forward.  And I think that is what I hate about traffic.  I hate being in a car at a standstill.  If I wanted something that barely moved, I would be in a horse and buggy. Or I would fuck my ex-wife.  But I digress.

So, I finally got out of NJ, and things were moving smoothly until hitting 95 in Maryland, and it was a fucking parking lot.  So, I got off the highway again.  All I have to say is thank the good Lord that I had GPS.  I was on roads that I have never in my life driven on.  At least I was introduced to Mumford & Sons by the local radio stations while driving.

And I imagine someone out there there are people who would think riding out the traffic is better because it generally always picks up.  I say bullshit to that.  Fuck traffic.  I would rather remove my spleen with a wooden spoon than sit at a dead stop on the interstate.  If I wanted to be in a parking lot, I would go to a drive-in.

I'm just glad the dozen lobsters I brought back (cooked and cooled, not alive) made it back, still chilled.  Because if they spoiled, I probably would have set my car on fire.  Or maybe I would have done something less drastic, like caused a car accident by throwing bags of shit at oncoming vehicles.

Cause then traffic would make sense.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Wouldn't It Be Nice?

Dear Diary:

First of all, it is about 67 degrees here in the nation's capital the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. And while I am not one to complain, this makes absofuckinglutely no sense whatsoever. It is someone strange to walk outside and see the leaves changing color and falling everywhere, and yet it's, dare I say, warm out. I really hope this means we get a shit ton of snow this year. Otherwise I am going to be sadly disappointed.

But I digress...

Have you ever reached the point where you are just sick and tired of pretty much anything you can fucking think of? Nothing seems remotely anything other than shit at this point. Hence me telling you to to fuck off yesterday.

It is at this point that I know I need to get away.

It would be nice to go sit on some tropical beach, in complete solitude (like no one else on the beach, not even a toned, tan, and topless woman), with a beach chair and a bucket of cold Corona. Yes, those fuckers do taste better with your feet in the sand. I could just sit back, read, relax, and listen to the sound of the waves gently breaking upon the white sand beach. That would be heaven.

But I am not going to heaven, I am going to New Hampshire.

Now, don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with New Hampshire. New England is my home. But right now, I wish New Hampshire was about 1500 miles further south than it is. The beach I will see will be violent, with the cold Atlantic ocean crashing upon a rocky shore. It will not be warm out. It will be fucking cold I imagine.

But, I am going to be with family. This is the first time I have been to New England since early last year. I haven't seen my mom in about a year and a half (yeah, I know, I am a horrible fucking son), so it will be nice to be able to spend the holiday with her. And I have to say, there is just something about spending Thanksgiving in New England that is somewhat different than spending it anywhere else. Maybe it's the Pilgrim shit, I don't know, but it's definitely a different feeling.

And another good thing about New England is.......lobster. Lobster is about $14 a pound in this area, but in New Hampshire, it is about $5.30 a pounds at the moment. This means I will bring back, oh, maybe about a dozen lobsters from my trip.

Why? 'Cuz that's how I roll muthafucka

Monday, November 22, 2010


Dear Diary:

Fuck you



Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Why I Like Not Dating

Dear Diary:

I am loving the whole not dating thing at the moment. I am loving the whole not even worrying about dating at the moment. In fact, I think I like it so much because...

-I don't have to worry about making a good first impression.

-I can get back to a routine of working, working out, writing, and doing my own thing.

-Dating is hazardous to the waistline. I don't have to worry about that at all.

-No more wondering, "Why?"

-I can spend more time with friends.

-I can spend more time focusing on myself, and not worrying about what someone else is thinking.

-Less fucking pressure.

-I am saving a shit ton of money. Enough in fact that I may go car shopping, or SUV shopping rather.

-I can also focus more time on something that I have always wanted to do: brew my own beer.

-I can do whatever the fuck I want. If I want to be lazy, I can be lazy. If I want to work on my house, I can work on my house. If I want to work on my health, I can work on my health. I don't have to explain my actions to anyone. I don't have to tell any stories. I do not have to feel embarrassed if I choose to relax on a weekend as opposed to going out all the time and doing a shit ton of activities.

Sure, it can be lonely. But feeling lonely sometimes is better than feeling worthless.

Monday, November 8, 2010


Dear Diary:

I am not a fan of the word "date" these days. I mean, the word itself has so many different meanings. It could mean a particular month, day, and year when some event happened or will happen, or it could mean the day of the month. It could mean and inscription that shows the time, or time and place, of something written, cast, or delivered, or it can mean the time to which any event or thing belongs. It could mean a duration, or an appointment for a particular time. It can mean an engagement for an entertainer to perform, as well as the years of someone's birth and subsequent death. Not only can it mean a social appointment, engagement, or occasion arranged beforehand with another person, but it can mean the person with whom the aforementioned appointment, engagement, or occasion was made. And these are just definitions of the word used as a noun.

So basically, "date" is just too fucking complicated.

And because it is too complicated, I think we need to ban the use of the word in certain scenarios, specifically when it is used to describe a social appointment, engagement or occasion arrange beforehand with another person, as well as when defining the person with whom the aforementioned appointment, engagement, or occasion was made. I mean, there has got to be a better fucking word than "date" in the entirety of the English language that can be used to describe both of these, correct? Or do we have to create a new word, or even two?

How about "boondang"? I personally like the sound of it. "Hey man, sorry, can't hang tonight, got a boondang with that girl I told you about."

Now, you may be wondering how in holy fuck all did I come up with this particular new word. Well, I will tell you. Or better yet, let me paint you a mental picture.

You meet someone at a bar, first date, and you are nervous, so you order a drink, and drinks have what in them? BOOZE

You are talking, and having a nice discussion. You both seem interested in what each other is saying. What do the two of you create? A BOND

The afternoon/evening goes very well, the alcohol is flowing, and the conversation is stellar, and everything is firing on all cylinders. So, what do you two do? BANG (ok, obviously this doesn't happen EVERY time, but it does happen time to time, and to say it doesn't is a flat out lie)

So, now take those three words, and mash them together, and you have boondang (shut up, yes you fucking do, cause I said you do, now just go with it).

Now, the word can also be used to describe the person you have a boondang with. "Hey Jack, this is my boondang Sara." Or, "Amy, I can't wait until you meet my boondang Brian." Or, "Can I bring a boondang to the wedding or do I have to fly solo and end up getting drunk and saying inappropriate things on camera? Cause you know that will happen if I fly solo."

I like this word. It sounds a hell of a lot more badass than "date" does. It's got attitude. It's got balls. And in this day and age, when something old isn't working, what do you do? You repackage it, but without actually changing the fundamentals of it, you know, like Republicans. It's just all about marketing.

I think this calls for a movement.

Friday, November 5, 2010

Well, That Is That

Dear Diary:

I have decided to go ahead and cancel the subscription I had to the online dating service that I was using (and yes, it was a legitimate one, I am just not saying which one it was because they don't fucking pay me to promote them). The fact is, I am just burned out when it comes to dating.

Ok, let me rephrase that.

I am burned out putting myself out there and getting shot the fuck down. The icing on the cake was when I mentioned to one woman that I was divorced, and that match became closed within a few hours. Forget about the fact that she knows as much about me as she does the secrets of the universe in ancient Sanskrit. And I am so over sending out messages without a response. I mean, a negative response is better than no response. At least it acknowledges that I am a human being. But sending something into the vast universe of nothingness? No fucking thank you. I'm done, over and out.

That, and well, going months multiple months without a damn date from there is well, just a waste of money if you ask me. I'd rather save that money and buy something I want, like a nice stainless steel roasting pan (wait, did I actually say that?). Because the yearly subscription costs about as much as an All-Clad stainless steel roasting pan, and if I am buying a roasting pan (ok, come on, you and I both know I will fairly soon) then I am buying the one that I want.

On a more positive note, I went a full week cold turkey, nicotine free. And I feel fine. No more urges to strangle someone or club a baby seal. I am rather calm actually. This is good.

Oh, not to mention I had a really good Hefewiezen last night.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Would You Date Me?

Dear Diary:

(Ok, before getting into anything I imagine that you have noticed that I am writing a bit more. This is true, and this also has to do with the fact that I cannot work out at the moment and need to take my mind off that, as well as the fact that I have quit nicotine cold turkey and need to take my mind off that. So, it is either write, or cook an elaborate meal. And I do not have anyone to cook for, so you are stuck reading this pointless bullshit.)

Everyone so often one begins to wonder if there is something wrong with them that somehow makes them undatable. I'm beginning to think that some of the ends of relationships coincide with seasons. I mean, I have never really heard of couples splitting when the weather was fantastic. Have you heard of a couple breaking up on a beach? No, but you have heard them get engaged on one.

Which kinda, sorta, in a round about way, brings me to me. Am I datable? I honestly do not know the answer to this anymore. At one point I thought I was, but looking at the basic facts seems to pain another picture.

I have not been out on a date since, ummmm, what, August? I've had women I used to date come back around and say they are interested and then spend a day with me on a "non-date" and then I haven't heard from them. If you want to imagine how big of a blow to the ego that is, imagine a building, exploding, falling into a sinkhole, then getting hit by a forest fire, and add a tsunami for good measure.

I've gotten the whole "you're great, but I am not ready to date," line. I've been the recipient of the brush-off, of the no-response response. I've put myself out there, even when I was not comfortable at all. And even when dating was going well, I had one ghost show up and completely obliterate my reality and my confidence.

Listen, I'm 32, chubby and hairy. I'm introverted by nature. I'm a dreamer. I like making my partner smile. I'm shy and self-conscious. I can cook. I don't outwardly show excitement, but that doesn't mean I am uninterested. I've been told I am funny, in a deranged and self-deprecating sort of way. I have nice eyes. I don't do drugs. I don't smoke, or use any tobacco products. I do know how to throw down a few drinks. I don't have any psycho ex lovers stalking me (that I know of).

Would you date me?

Or do I already know the answer?

Monday, November 1, 2010

Mail Call

Dear Diary:

Alright folks, I am a bit bored and unable to focus on anything other than the fact that my mouth is sore and I am having nicotine withdrawals (the nicotine withdrawals are good though since I am quitting).

That being said, ask me some questions, would ya? You can either email me directly by going to my blogger profile, or leave them as a comment.

Now get crackin'. Let's see what you come up with.