I feel bad for guys named Rob.

Why feel bad for guys named Rob? Why not feel bad for guys named Richard?

Because guys named Richard are Dicks.

I joke. I joke.

To explain why I feel bad for Dudes Named Rob, first I have to tell you about my friend Rudy. Rudy has been a friend of mine for a very long time. HOWEVER, Rudy always gets himself in these ridiculous situations. I imagine if you ordered a shot of “Rudy” the bartender would mix two parts loud mouth, one part clumsy, one part ignorant and serve you the drink on fire.

Anyway, when we were younger, whenever something insanely stupid or annoying happened, it was usually (read: always) Rudys fault. But we kept him around because sometimes it was just outright hilarious. Like, for instance, a time we decided to go fishing during the winter. It was very cold- so cold in fact, it was hard to get the boat into the water because ice surrounded the shoreline. You’ve probably already guessed what happened, right? My friend Rudy got his foot stuck in between two floor boards on the boat and fell, head first into the freezing cold water. Now I guess this wouldn’t have been so funny if he wouldnt have sprinted onto the shore and stripped himself down to his tighty whities. There he was, in all of his glory- naked standing by the lake, waiting for us to bail him out. This is a constant reocurring theme in my life.

ANYWAY, as a result of this, anything bad or stupid that happens, we call it Rudy. Example:

Friend: Did you watch the Yankee’s game last night?

Me: Yeah, it was pretty Rudy how Jeter kept striking out.

or you can just make blanket statements

I think it’s Rudy that we have to be early to a Dr’s appt, only to wait for a half an hour to see him.

You can use it anyway you want. If you want to tell someone to be careful you just tell them “Don’t pull a Rudy”. The possibilities are endless.

ANYWAY, my point here is poor Rob gets all these negative connotations but Rob (unlike Rudy) probably doesn’t even deserve it. Example:

Friend: Did you watch the Yankee’s game last night?

Me: Yeah… the umpire was a real Rudy, the Yankee’s got robbed!

You see what I mean? I don’t know how the word Robbed was created but I am guessing it was created by a guy who hated Other Guys Named Rob.

So to all the Robs out there, I am promising right now not to use your name in vain anymore. I will say thief instead of ROBber (robber is pretty damn close to Robert, don’t you think?) and burglary instead of ROBbery.

We good?

Over at Peter’s blog he is hosting a contest. A drabble contest. You are probably asking yourself- what the fuck is a drabble?

Well it’s a piece of fiction that’s exactly 100 words. For this contest, he picked (well, I’m pretty sure he didn’t pick it) the theme to be love.

So this is love… in 100 words.

—————————————————————————————-

“Hey, how was your day” he asked.

“Mine was ok, nothing special- how was yours” she replied, while swallowing a mouthful of her absolute favorite snack of-all-time, flamin’ hot cheetos.

“It was a fucking nightmare”

“You want to talk about it”

“No, not particularly”

“Are you sure”

“Yes, I’m sure. There any more of those cheetos left?”

“No this is the last of them,” she answered while showing him the remains of what was left inside the bag.

“Oh”

“Here, take the rest of them. I’m full and they are turning my fingers red”

“Fine, give them here”

I’ve actually been kind of busy with life lately. I feel like the old bloggy blog has been suffering since I am now averaging a whopping 2 posts a week. I did get the new iPhone and on the way home from the bar tonight, I decided to test out the video.

This is me, giving you the play by play as I stumble home from the bar. Enjoy.

I’m somewhat of a regular at a biker bar.

Which, is kind of funny because I really don’t fit in. I mean, I iron my clothes and I don’t have a tattoo of an eagle anywhere on my body. I prefer light beer and I don’t chew tobacco.

I’m a democrat.

So why do I go to this bar you may ask? Purely because of it’s close proximity to my house. Walking distance, baby. Also? the waitresses all have to wear these leather chaps with nothing but panties and fishnets underneath, so thats just a bonus.

I was there, on the patio, enjoying the sun (seems like all summer it’s rained every single day) when I overhear a conversation thats going on between five bikers to the left of me. I first heard this skinny, Joe Dirt looking guy (sans mullet and teeth) talking about some “beaner” hit his car.

“Did he have Mexican insurance?”

“I guess so, he just ran off”

I thought they were done but nope… there was still more to come.

“You know Obama want’s to give them all amnesty”

“We need to kill that (Insert N-Bomb here)”

This Pluto-the-dog-looking-mother-fucker had to take it there. It was almost shocking, hearing this guy be so open about his racism. I listen to people throw Obama under the bus on a regular basis- if it isn’t about healthcare it’s about the economy. Which, you know, is fine… republicans and pundits alike, can go ahead and believe whatever they want- it’s their right… and I am all about proving them wrong in a drunken debate session. 

Because I’ve already told you about my flawless Strategy To Win Arguments.

But I won’t even waste my time arguing with ignorant people like this guy… because mostly, you can’t win an argument against someone who doesn’t have the ability to decipher fact vs fiction without looking at the color of someone’s skin.  A person like this won’t even hear you. No matter what you tell him about the current beliefs of this administration, they will call you a liar.

Also I just want to mention real quick- that even talking about killing the President? Yeah, thats treason. So you didn’t vote for Obama and he won. Fucking deal with it… I didn’t vote for Bush and I dealt with it for eight years. Don’t go uttering some bullshit about murdering a President. Thats just fucking stupid.

Besides, I’m sure he has American Flag tattooed on his arm or stickered on his Harley somewhere… Maybe he should honor it.

I don’t cook.

Four out of five nights my dinner consists of rice, some kind of hamburger helper concoction or chicken. The other three nights I like to switch it up with Southern Comfort and or cereal. I do have a special manicotti recipe that I keep in my repertoire for when a lady comes by but I like to keep that under wraps.

But don’t get me on a Barbeque grill. 

I’m lethal with the tongs! I will kill you if you touch my meat fork, I don’t play around!

Don’t tell me what needs foil and how to clean the grill… I got this. Don’t tell me when you think it’s done, nobody cares what you think. Don’t even attempt to give me any other kind of barbeque sauce other than Bullseye, or I might publicly ridicule you.

And believe me, people will point and laugh.

I might have to start my own barbeque business, I’m that insane. Thats all I wanted to share with everyone today. Bye.

One thing I wish I had more of, besides money and self control, is Patience. 

My lack of patience is probably the number one reason someone would label me as an asshole.  I don’t know if I was absent the day they taught patience in elementary school, or what, all I know is how angry waiting around makes me. Whether I am waiting around for a friend to get ready or if I am waiting for Anchorman 2 to come out in theatres- it makes me angry.

Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy the first anchorman.

“Ron Burgundy: I’m very important. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany.”

I have a friend, my best friend, who is late to just about everything in his life. I am 100% positive that he is going to be late to his own funeral. It fucking drives me nuts. He knows it drives me nuts- he thinks it’s hilarious. Or when I have to explain something more than once to someone. Or when I hear Pauly Shore’s irritating voice… I go apeshit.

Ok, that Pauly Shore comment was kind of random. But I totally meant it.

I believe it’s genetic. My father is a ridiculously impatient person. Almost to the point of annoying- if I am running one minute late, he’s dialing my number. So what I am saying is, congratulations to any woman who has the pleasure of dealing with me when I get older; you got that to look forward to.

So how do buddhists or ninja’s stay patient? Do I need to become one with the universe or some shit? I just dont know how they do it.

Seriously, I’m surprised all of my hair isn’t grey already.

I dont believe in fate.

That’s right, I firmly don’t believe in it. I don’t believe that my future is already decided for me. I refuse to believe that I don’t make my own choices in life. I also refuse to believe that my decisions are someow guided by some uncontrollable cosmic force. All that fate talk is bullshit for overly optimistic people with no better way to explain why they are waiting around doing nothing with their lives. Burning candles and what not…

I bring this up because I recently had a heated conversation with a friend and it happened to be about online dating. Now, I’ve never did the whole online dating thing but not because I think it’s lame or for people who can’t find a partner in real life (As if the internet is somehow fake life. It’s not fake, it’s real people. Last time I checked there weren’t a whole bunch of robots typing shit on the internet) I’ve never did it because I don’t like putting myself out there like that. I would probably start sending angry emails to every girl who didn’t send me a “wink”.  Anyway, girl tells me that she doesn’t go online because she would rather let “fate” find a guy for her.

Riiiiight…

Firstly, who says that you have to meet your suitor at King Soopers? Just because he decided to tell you the secret to finding the hottest jalepenos in the bin doesn’t mean that somehow the stars aligned and he is the one you are supposed to have kids with. Girls put WAY too much emphasis on HOW they meet a dude. For instance, when they dont call a guy back because they met him at a bar and not while she was volunteering at The Children’s Hospital. That somehow bar guy is a slumlord and Childrens Hospital dude is a saint. Please, I know plenty people who volunteer strictly for vein reasons- not because they really care about people. For some, it’s a resume builder or a “Hey, look at me, I’m good because sometimes I do good things”. Like there’s something embarassing about telling their parents they met a guy at a bar- or online for that matter.

Please.

But who says fate works like that anyway? Maybe it’s fate that led two people to go online, read each others love profile and meet at starbucks for overpriced coffee? See how that fate thing works? Thats why I hate fate so much because when people do make a conscious effort to do something great or in this case, meet someone great, they can always fall back on fate saying “Obviously it was fate that brought us together”. That kills me. Take a little bit of credit for what you’ve done. Fate didn’t bring you together- you did. You put in all the effort, why are you giving fate all the credit?

I wish I was fate. People always credit fate for all the good things that happen in their lives. You never hear people saying that 9/11 was fate. No, terrorists get all the credit there (which I think is 100% correct).  Fate is like the ultimate double standard. The ultimate catch 22. The ultimate cliche…

So I hope this post doesn’t discourage those who believe in fate… if you believe, keep burning those candles, by all means.

I did a guest post about when I was younger.

Click Here

No, really. Click the link. Serious. It will take you places.