Zit Happens!!

 

Sometimes I hear what my wife says, and sometimes I don’t. Most times, however, I hear part of what she says and just go with that. It is not a safe way to live and/or survive marriage but I’m fortunate enough to have a very tolerant wife who takes ALL of my many faults with a grain of salt and still loves me anyway. Yes, most of the time my inability to listen drives her insane but at certain times the consequences of the half-information that I ingest affect only me and she can at least laugh about those instances.

 

This is one of those times.

 

For whatever reason, whenever the seasons change my body reacts in a horrible way. My allergies act up, my face breaks out, and I lose my hair. Well, okay, maybe the changing seasons don’t cause me to lose hair, but I’ll take any excuse I can get to explain this travesty atop my noggin. Anyway, those first two items are true and, as a result, right now I look like I am smack dab in the middle of puberty once again. As if puberty wasn’t hellish enough the first time through my body seems to relish in reminding me just how awkward those teenage years were by giving me a good dose of blemishes every year at this time.

 

Normally I can deal with this dilemma as I am used to the occasional breakout, but every once in a while one particular zit comes around that drives me nuts. It hurts, I can’t do anything with it, and it just sits there looking large, red, and 100% awkward.  Back in my younger days I would mess with the stupid thing and attempt to get rid of it until I had essentially bruised the area and made the situation exponentially worse. These days, by way of a lifetime of dealing with this crap, I know enough that I can typically wait it out and get it at just the right time.   

 

I know this.

 

Sure enough, this fall is no different and for the past week I have been dealing with my bi-annual breakout. Like I said, I know how to handle this and am confident enough to deal with a few noticeable blemishes until they run their course. It’s just what happens to me and I’m fine with it. That doesn’t mean, however, that I always do what I know is best. Nor does this mean that I won’t try different things in order to “fix” my problem.

 

This is where listening to my wife comes in.

 

Carol has had a long standing theory that works very well for her in times like these. Her theory is that if you have a zit that is harboring its nasty little self deep under your skin where you can feel it almost to the point of it hurting but it won’t fully develop, you can hold a hot washcloth against the spot to bring it out more in order to eliminate it. I had always (for no good reason other than it hadn’t been my idea) doubted this theory and was hesitant to try it. Lo and behold though, after years of doubt I tried it a while back and it worked wonders. Of course, at that time I was under Carol’s adult supervision and she had been there to assist me along the way.

 

And, as she was giving me the instructions, I didn’t fully listen.

 

This brings us to last Sunday afternoon. Ben and I had spent the morning shopping for his Halloween costume and running some general errands. Carol was at work so we essentially had the entire day to go on a hike, play at the park, go to the zoo or Six Flags, or any other outdoor event we wanted as it was a beautiful day outside. So, as I was sitting there watching TV in between my morning and afternoon naps I reached up to scratch my nose. At the moment my finger touched the tip of my nose my entire body jumped at the sheer sensation of being jolted with about 1.21 gigawatts of electricity. After the pain subsided and I had changed my now-soiled pants I, of course, reached up to the exact same spot to put myself through that intense pain once again. Yes, I had a zit. And it was a doozy!!

 

My immediate reaction: try to pop it. I quickly went to the bathroom mirror to look at what I had. The area was a little red but it hurt like the dickens. Given my history with this I knew right then that I couldn’t pop it and would just have to wait it out. Being the stubborn ass that I am though, I had to at least give it one shot and see if I could take care of this bad boy. Due to the tears flowing from my eyes every time I ever so gently touched it, however, I was unable to eliminate it properly and had irritated it even more. Now, instead of just being a little red, it was glowing a bright shade of red and making my already bulbous nose seem that much more bulbousy.

 

I knew immediately that I needed to do something with this. It hurt, I resembled Rudolph, and I wasn’t going to be able to stop thinking about it until it was gone. There was no way I could wait this baby out. I had to go back to Carol’s tried and true method of the hot washcloth.

 

Did I mention that Carol wasn’t home like the last time I did this?

 

What Carol had told me as she walked me through the steps and I had done perfectly the last time was to get a cup of water, put it in the microwave to heat up the water, and then dip parts of the washcloth into the hot water before applying it to the troubled spot on your face. Seems simple enough.

 

What I had heard, however, was get a cup of water, put it in the microwave until the water is boiling, and then dip parts of the washcloth into the hot water before applying it to the troubled spot on my face.

 

Did you notice that word “boiling” there?

 

Just so you know and so that you don’t have to find this out later by trying it yourself, I’m going to drop a little wisdom on you right now. Boiling water is hot and, whether it is in a pot on the stove or whether it is on a washcloth that has just been dipped into a cup of said water and applied to the troubled spot on your face, it will burn you.  It will burn you and it will hurt.

 

As I put it on my face I noticed the pain immediately. I didn’t think it had hurt like this the last time but, then again, my prior zit hadn’t hurt like this one did either. After that pain subsided and I felt the water slowing cooling down, I dipped the washcloth back into the water (more deeply this time to get MORE water on there to REALLY get the job done) and applied the soaking steaming washcloth to my face. Yes, it made me tear up a little (a lot) and, yes, I screamed at the top of my lungs, but I was pretty sure it was working so I held it there. I held it there and then I did it again. And again.

 

Apparently, this was dumb

 

Needless to say, my zit is gone. Yep, I burned that sumbitch directly off my face. Along with the zit, however, I also burned away a small chunk of skin which immediately scabbed over and now makes having a small red zit on the end of my nose seem much more desirable. The pain has subsided and I am, as of today, able to wash my face without crying, but my massive ego has taken a shot and I will have this soon to be scar on my nose as a constant reminder. It will be a reminder that sometimes zits happen. It will be a reminder to trust my instincts and that sometimes you just have to let that zit run its course. And, it will also be a reminder that I should never EVER try doing anything my wife has told me to do without her right there, by my side, giving me step by step instructions.  

 

She’s usually right anyway.

 

And, I’m generally an idiot.

I Need Help!!!!

For those that may not read any of my umpteen million Facebook posts per week, for those who may not be on Facebook, and for those that I may not have spoken with in the past month or so there is big news out of the Scott Hopfinger camp.

I am running a 5k

No, nobody is chasing me. Nobody has threatened my life and nobody is threatening the safety of any of my loved ones. The truth is, I have found something  I care about. A cause, if you will. A really really good cause.

At this point, you’re probably looking for a joke or some type of punch line to go with this really really good cause. Oddly enough, you’re not going to get one.

This is why.

At the beginning of this year I saw a story on Facebook about a college athlete named Cameron Lyle who was in the midst of his senior year on the track and field team at the University of New Hampshire. Before the season finished, however, he was contacted by an organization that he had joined during his sophomore year who needed him. In fact, it may have been a life or death situation. As serious as that sounded and as easy of a choice that may seem to be, deciding to help would mean that he would have to forego the rest of his senior and final year on the track team. Without hesitation, the young man bypassed his remaining season and helped the organization when they needed him most.

What did he do? He answered the call from Be The Match and donated bone marrow to a needing recipient and possibly saved that person’s life in the process.

Be The Match is an organization that connects patients with life threatening cancers like leukemia and  lymphoma with their donor match for a life-saving marrow or umbilical cord blood transplant. This young man had registered for this knowing full well that once he was part of the registry he could be called upon at any time that he was deemed a perfect match for a needing recipient. He also knew that he may never be called. The point is that he was willing to make that sacrifice and do what was needed of him at any possible time. It happened at probably one of the most inopportune times of his life, but Cameron Lyle answered the call.

This inspired me.

I immediately went to the website for Be The Match and answered the short questionnaire that would determine if my overall health was adequate enough to move onto the next step. Surprisingly enough and through no falsification of the facts, I was deemed eligible and I moved onto the next step which was waiting. I had to wait a week or two while Be The Match mailed  me my official packet which consisted of a series  of cotton swabs that I had to run along the inside of my cheek for a few seconds before placing them in the envelope that they had provided and mailed it back  at no cost to myself.

How easy is that? No pain, no cost, no problem.

If I am a match, awesome. If they never call, at least I tried. Every four minutes in this country someone is diagnosed with a blood cancer like leukemia. Just being on the registry improves the chance that that person may have a marrow donor when they need them most. The knowledge that at any point going forward that I could possibly save someone’s  life is pretty damn cool. I’m not a fireman or a policeman. I wasn’t really cut out for the military and the chances of me suddenly gaining superpowers are pretty slim. This is my way of helping. This is what I can do. This is the way that I can really make a difference.

And so can you.

As part of the Be The Match registry I occasionally receive emails and/or flyers in the mail with information on upcoming events. A few months ago I received one regarding a 5k happening in St Louis on Saturday September 7. Now, any of you who know me know that I am not the poster boy for health. I’m trying harder, but it’s a work in progress. That being said, I know I can finish a 5k. And the fact that I can raise money by doing so that will benefit Be The Match made it that much more tempting. So, I signed up.

This is one of the parts where you come in.

I don’t like asking for money. Yes, I do it for a living, but that’s different as that money is owed to my company and I have every right to ask for it. I have no right, however, to ask it from you. This fact, however, has not stopped me and I have spent a good majority of time through emails and posts on Facebook asking for donations. This money is not for me. This money is for an organization that helps people when they need it most. This money is for people whose life is literally on the line. But most importantly, this money could  be for someone you or I know who  has yet to be diagnosed and may need whatever help they can get just to stay in our lives. There are no politics involved.  There are no two sides to any type of religious/moral/political argument. There is just the basic fact that we have the opportunity to help and we, as human beings, should do what we can to facilitate that.

CLICK HERE TO DONATE TO BE THE MATCH!!!

The above link will take you to the donor page for my run. Through the love and generosity of friends and family, I have already surpassed my personal goal of $500.00. I couldn’t be more thankful for that. But just because donations have helped me with my personal goal does not mean that Be The Match doesn’t still need funding. The St Louis race has not met its overall goal and, even once it does it does, it does not mean that Be The Match’s work is done. Hopefully one day there won’t be a need for Be The Match but for now, unfortunately, there is. Please, if you can, donate  a few dollars (or a lot of dollars) to this fantastic organization. By following the link above you can also read about Be The Match and all of the good work it does.

And this is the other part where you come in.

Whether or not you are able to financially assist Be The Match, I hope that through reading this or through perusing their website that you’re moved to take the big step – becoming a member. You and you alone have the power to potentially save someone’s life.

You can save someone’s life.

You may never be called. You may take the very few minutes it takes to complete this process  and never give it another thought again. But what if you are called? What if there is someone out there right now who is in need of a bone marrow donor and you are their perfect match? Can you imagine how great you would feel being able to potentially single-handedly save someone’s life? Now, take that feeling and multiply it by a gazillion if you’re that person who’s been waiting for a donor and they find someone, like you, who is their perfect match.  Personally, I wouldn’t want to take that feeling away from anyone.

I joined

So should you

Please, help out however you can be it through monetary or bone marrow donations.  If the only way you wish to help is by passing this blog on to others, then PLEASE do so as every person that reads this is another person who might be moved to help. Even if you can make a donation, please pass this on to anyone and everyone you can.  Even if only one person in one hundred signs up, that’s one more life that could possibly be saved. Unfortunately, cancer isn’t going away any time soon. Let’s all do our part to fight it where we can.

Thank you so very much for reading and thank you even more for helping – however you can.

The One That Carol Probably Won't Like

I mentioned to my wife the other night that I may write a blog about the following incident and she didn’t exactly tell me “no”. Given that fact, I am going to assume that I have her full permission to share the following story with you about one of our first dates. If I’m wrong in my assumption that it is okay to share this story with you, hopefully one of you will have a couch for me to crash on for a couple of nights while this blows over at my house. Carol, when you read this, remember that I married you regardless of this incident so hopefully you can forgive me regardless of my never ending idiocy.

Here we go

Without getting into the entire backstory of how Carol and I met, how we were separated, and how we reconnected a number of years later, I will simply tell you that Carol and I knew each other prior to our first date. In fact, we had even slept together our Freshman year in college, if by “slept together” you mean falling asleep in a room full of people while watching a movie while lying on the same twin mattress while back to back and having as little physical contact with the other one as possible since we were just friends and were both in significant relationships with other people. But that is neither here nor there. The bottom line is that when we started dating years later instead of having that uncomfortable “getting to know you” phase, we simply had a “getting reacquainted with you” phase. This made things very easy as we pretty much fell right into a groove with very little awkwardness.

Well, it started out that way.

I’m not sure how many “dates” we were into our relationship, but it was very early on and one of, if not the, first time I had met her sister, brother-in-law, niece, and nephew whom she was living with at the time. Knowing them as well as I do now, I understand why after quick introductions to each of them, Carol quickly ushered me downstairs to the basement away from them and to the couch where we would spend our evening watching “Mr. Deeds” with Adam Sandler. Not that they horrible people or anything, but let’s just say that anybody new who shows up to my wife’s family is given almost every embarrassing fact of the family member they are there with within the first 20 minutes. Since joining the family I have become a proud participant in this ritual and it’s a lot of fun. Carol was right to run me downstairs and she was right to do it quickly.

Once we got downstairs we made out like high schoolers at prom for a good 45-50 minutes. I mean, this chick was all over me. It was all I could do to push her away as I really wanted to watch this movie. Plus, being the good Catholic boy that I am, I had a much higher set of morals than Carol who, as I first incorrectly introduced her to my grandma, was pagan.  

(Okay, most of that last paragraph is a lie. We may have smooched for a bit, but more than likely it was me that had both initiated it and also wouldn’t leave her alone. And it was probably only for about 45 seconds – a trend that would unfortunately not end there. The part about me introducing her to my grandma as a pagan was 100% true.)

Anyway, we snuggled up on the nice leather couch that was in the basement and turned on the movie. It was an okay movie that definitely had its funny parts but nothing super hysterical. Now, while I mentioned that the “getting to know you” phase wasn’t necessary, we were still feeling each other up, I mean out, as far as dating goes so there was a bit of nervousness in the air. Nothing extraordinary, but there were still some jitters to be had and things we had to experience with each other to take that next step in our relationship.

One of those experiences was about to happen.

Now, I mentioned that it was an okay movie that had funny parts, but I find it amazing how much funnier something can be when you’re a little nervous. As a result, I was laughing out loud at things that today I would barely give a slight smile to. Carol was laughing as well (good sign) but it seemed she was holding back a little. I didn’t really notice it at the time, but looking back I can both see it and, most importantly, understand why.

I don’t know the exact part in the movie that it happened and I’m not sure Carol could tell you either, but there is a certain part in that movie that may very well be responsible for the extremely sophomoric sense of humor that has come to define our relationship. As I said, while I was feeling free to laugh loudly at certain parts of the movie Carol seemed to be holding back her laughter. At one point however, something funny happened and whether she wanted to or not she finally just let it rip.

Oh yes, she laughed, but she let something else rip too.

Had we been sitting on a normal couch it probably would have gone unnoticed. I know this for a fact as I have dropped many a bomb in my lifetime into the very forgiving cushions of many  very unfortunate couches. Leather couches, however, tend to be much less forgiving and almost act as a type of amplifier. That being said, when Carol laughed I heard something that was unmistakable and, to be honest, quite awesome.

I’ll never forget the look on her face as she stared at me waiting for my reaction. In retrospect, I really should have messed with her. I should have acted disgusted and stormed out of the room. I should have acted offended and questioned her on the spot why she would think that would be appropriate. I should have closed my eyes, inhaled deeply, and said “oh yeah, that’s the stuff.”

But I didn’t

Being a gentleman trying to earn points with his new lady friend, what I really should have done was just ignore it and pretend like it never happened so that she would be less embarrassed about it, but we all know that wasn’t going to happen. So what did I do?

I laughed

I didn’t laugh at her, but I laughed with her. We both realized the awkwardness of the situation but, and this is one of the gazillion reasons I love her, awkward is what we are. After a while the redness drained from her face and we laughed even more.  To be honest, I’m not really sure what other reaction she could have expected out of me as, all things being equal, there are very  few things funnier than an ill-timed fart.

 

My point is this: In life, farts are going to happen. Should I have been the first one in our relationship to break wind in front of the other one? Probably. Was I the first one in our relationship to break wind in front of the other one? More than likely, but I had the benefit of not sitting on a leather couch when it happened.  And despite the rumble from down under on that fateful night we still ended up getting married and having a wonderful life together. And, with all sincerity, I’m pretty sure that the events of that evening were what made me fall in love with her.

Well, that plus the fact that we totally did it after the movie.

Just kidding. I would never do it with a farter. That’s just gross.

Love you, Carol

 

Thanks for reading

Top Eleven Ways to Drive Your Woman Wild in Bed

1) Be Chris Hemsworth

2) Be Channing Tatum

3) Be Bradley Cooper

4) Be George Clooney

5) Be Brad Pitt

6) Be Adam Levine

7) Be Johnny Depp

8) Be David Beckham

9) Be Ryan Gosling

10) Be Joel McHale (yes, I included you. I know you're reading!!! )

11) Be accepting of the fact that you look like none of these men and grateful that your woman still wants to sleep with you regardless.

Disclaimer: While I am aware that these men do possess certain attractive qualities, I am by no means attracted TO them. I got these names from various websites naming these along with others that I did not recognize. The picture selection, however, was all mine and 99.5% heterosexual.

What I DON'T Like About You

Twitter is an amazing thing. In 140 characters or less you can express your views on any topic you so desire to anyone who has either chosen to follow you or who is following a certain hashtag (#). While I do feel hampered by the 140 character limit, I find it to be a unique challenge to craft what I want to say so that I can express my opinion fully within the limits of those 140 characters. No, I don’t tweet anything groundbreaking or truly thought provoking, but the 55 followers I have (it was only 54 until yesterday when Naughty Loving asked to follow me) get very sporadic and nonsensical tweets from me and seem to enjoy them. Prior to yesterday, this is what I considered Twitter to be for.

Amanda Bynes is/was an actress whom you might remember from the Nickelodeon show “All That” or from some of her other film and  television roles including “What I Like About You” or “She’s The Man”. She was never really a big time actress but was very cute and kind of funny. The thing that I noticed most about her, however, and what I truly appreciated  is that she looked like this:

 

In 2010, Amanda “retired” from acting for no apparent reason and since then has kind of disappeared. After that she had a small role in the Emma Stone film “Easy A” but, acting wise, she has been mostly irrelevant and she officially re-retired in 2012.  

No big loss

A few months ago, however, Ms. Bynes reappeared thanks to Twitter and TMZ. She had a string of car accidents, drunken/stoned escapades, and altercations with law enforcement that brought her full swing into the world of the paparazzi and all of the fun that goes along with it. To defend herself, Amanda took to Twitter and began what I like to call the Amanda Bynes meltdown. She has denied obvious drug use, she has denied any kind of mental instability, and she has taken to calling people ugly. I won't go into her various tweets because, simply, there isn't enough room in this blog to fully describe the insanity. Just know that the chick is cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Given how she looked in the picture above though, I could understand the “ugly” references, but she has also become obsessed with her own looks and has had surgery to correct what she thought was wrong. As a result, she now looks like this:

 

And this

Why would anyone do that to themselves?

 

Now, I love crazy chicks. My obsession with Britney, Mariah, and LiLo (and to some extent my lovely wife) are examples of this. I don’t even mind if you go off the deep end a little bit, a la Britney, and shave your head. But poor Amanda has gone and totally disfigured what was really a very pretty face. On top of that, she’s still calling people ugly.

That's fine. To each their own.

I was okay with that until she referred to a picture of Drake (couldn’t name one of his songs if I had to) with a tweet that I was going to repost here, but has since been deleted from her account. In a nutshell, she claimed that they must have photoshopped  a picture of him to cover up his Downs Syndrome eyes. Drake does not have Downs Syndrome and, for some reason and I have zero idea why, that sent me over the edge.

Which brings us back to Twitter.

Since she posted this on Twitter I took it upon myself to respond to her via the same format to make her aware of my displeasure for that tasteless Downs Syndrome comment. This is what I wrote:

oReply

oRetweet Retweeted

oDelete

@AmandaBynes you are a horrible person and are getting uglier by the minute. NO amount of surgery can cure the ugliness in your soul.

 

After that, I was happy with myself. I don't know why as she has over 2 million followers and I'm sure that just one tweet from me would more than likely go unnoticed, but I felt good knowing that I made a stand. But then it started to get to me that she probably wouldn't see that tweet. What good would my stance do if it would go unnoticed by its intended target?

That is when I made it my goal to get blocked by Amanda Bynes

I've seen this happen before. One of my favorite follows on Twitter is @JennyJohnsonHi5 and she has made a career out of taking tweets from the likes of Kim Kardashian and Chris Brown and replying to them with wit and gnarling teeth to the point where they got sick of her and blocked her from posting to their account. I see no harm in calling out idiots who post idiotic things and pointing out that idiocy for others to see. It's the American way of doing things. As a result, I decided to do my patriotic duty and get blocked myself.

Seeing as Amanda has over 2 millions followers who are probably posting to account on a fairly regular basis, I knew my tweets would have to be quick and sharp. They would need to show up on her feed in rapid succession so that she recognized my name and the smiling picture of me in the upper left hand corner. I then began about the process of posting the following tweets to Amanda Bynes

      

@AmandaBynes saw an old show that you were on, but then realized I was actually watching my neighbors ugly dog dry humping a dead squirrel. 

 

@AmandaBynes I thought you were AWESOME in the title role in Mask.

 

@AmandaBynes if you had to pick between being ugly or having your career be over, which one would you... oh, nevermind. #bothtrue

 

@AmandaBynes Knock knock

                             Who's There?

                             Amanda Bynes

                             Amanda Bynes who?

                             Exactly

 

@AmandaBynes you know that movie you were in about that thing? The one where you were pretty and really nailed he role? Yeah, me neither.

 

@AmandaBynes If an "actress" retires from acting and no one is around to give a crap, does the sound of her bombing movies make a sound?

 

Can't wait for @AmandaBynes rap album 2 drop. SOMETHING needs to replace North West as the worst thing 2 come out of a "celebrity" this year

 

 

At this point I was still able to post to her account so I knew that I had not been blocked. I needed to step up my efforts. I needed to hit her where it hurts. I needed to play on her insecurities. I needed to make her feel super ugly. That's when I invented #amandabynesmustache

 

 

Hey @AmandaBynes!! Let's get #amandabynesmustache trending. You do know about your mustache, right? No? #awkward

 

@AmandaBynes I'm having chicken and rice for dinner #amandabynesmustache

 

@AmandaBynes #amandabynesmustache is not trending yet. Surely with your beauty and star power you can help out, right? #amandabynesmustache

 

@AmandaBynes in an earlier tweet I mentioned my neighbors ugly dog. He's only ugly compared to the dead squirrel. Compared to you, he's cute

 

@AmandaBynes so is the dead squirrel. #amandabynesmustache

 

@AmandaBynes "you are a great actress. I hope that you get back on track because I really enjoy your work" said no one #amandabynesmustache

 

I stepped in a big pile of @AmandaBynes career the other day. I threw the shoes away. #amandabynesmustache

 

 

Still tweeting, still not blocked. It was here that I made my intentions known to my buddy Chris and he, understanding my odd sense of humor and need to accomplish this feat, made a suggestion to me in regard to #amandabynesmustache. Based on that suggestion, I tweeted the following:

 

 

@AmandaBynes I was watching Super Troopers the other day and got inspired to ask you a question. Can I have an #amandabynesmustache ride?

 

 

I was now becoming desperate because my time in front of a computer was ending and I wouldn't be back on for another hour or so which would break my flow. I had to let her know what I was doing. Hence:

 

@AmandaBynes block me and I'll be forced to stop, but then you'll also admit to the fact that you're aware of #amandabynesmustache #quandry

 

 

Nothing

 

My day was over and I drove home a little sad that I hadn't achieved my goal. I know that it takes someone who is really good at what I was trying to do a lot longer to get noticed and then blocked by their intended target. But I was only a novice. It would probably take weeks, if not months, to get blocked. As a result I started thinking of more tweets I could send Ms. Bynes to continue my tirade against her. I continued to think about this the entire way home and began to construct tweets in my mind that I could post in the future. I had one in mind but I had to craft it perfectly. I'm not a crude person and I would not resort to vulgar language just to get noticed. That is why the next tweet had to be worded exactly right to fit in the constraints of those 140 characters and my personal code of ethics. This is what I sent her when I got home:

 

Pretty sure the only thing less attractive than @AmandaBynes face is @AmandaBynes lady parts #amandabynesmustache

 

 

After that, I was officially blocked.

 

And it feels good!!

 

 

 ***UPDATE!!***

While posting this blog on Twitter I mentioned that it was a shame that @amandabynes couldn't read it. Upon doing that I was expecting to be notified once again that I had been blocked. I did not receive this notification. I sent her another test Tweet and it also went through. I am officially unblocked.

While saddened that my blocking only lasted less than 24 hours, I am bound and determined to make it a permanent ban. This is my mission. This is my goal. I'll let you know how it goes : )

Thanks for reading. 

Cub Scouts and Danny Tanner

I, believe it or not, am a huge sap. While this big manly physique and tough as nails demeanor might lead you to believe otherwise, I am, in fact, a sucker for the emotional moments in life. While most of the time I avoid anything that may emit some sort of emotional response out of me, it is the exact opposite when it comes to such moments with my son. I live for the fatherly advice moments. I yearn for the I’ve-been-there-before-and-here’s-the-sage-advice-I-can-bestow-upon-you talks. In a nutshell, I love the Danny Tanner moments.

For anyone unfamiliar with Danny Tanner, he was the character played by Bob Saget on the television show Full House in the late 80’s to early 90’s. Danny was a single father of three girls who, after his wife’s death, asked both his brother-in-law and also his best friend to move in with him to help him take care of his family. Regardless of the kinda creepy premise, almost each and every episode’s plot was resolved at the end when Danny would have a sit-down meaningful conversation with the troubled party and they would work out their differences while both learning a lesson from their encounter.  Was it cheesy? Oh yeah. Did I watch the show regularly? For the purposes of establishing a basis for this story, I’ll say yes. Either way, the Danny Tanner moments were inspiring to me and, once I found out my wife was pregnant, I couldn’t wait to have them with my child.

Now, my son is six years old and, while he is extremely intelligent, I’m pretty sure the Danny Tanner moments I’ve had with him in the past have been forgotten or ignored up to this point. I’m not saying that he ignores me, but his ability to sit still for a meaningful heart to heart and his desire to listen to his old man ramble on and on about anything that doesn’t involve Skylanders, super heroes, or the crappy toy he just got from his fast food kiddie meal box just isn’t there. As a result, I’ve wasted great speeches on topics such as the importance of family, the ability to rise above, and the need to not pull your pants and underwear all the way down to your ankles while peeing in a public restroom.  

It’s okay. He’ll get there.

That being said, last night was a big night for him/me – his first Cub Scout meeting.  We had gone to an informational meeting about a month ago regarding Cub Scouts and had purchased the necessary shirt, belt, poorly-sewn-on-by-his-father-patches, and Cub Scout manual. Last night, however, was his first actual meeting and I thought it was a pretty big deal. Now I, myself, had gone through the Cub/Boy scouts in my youth and never really got that into it as I had some really annoying older scouts that acted like the boss of me (and NO ONE is the boss of me. Well, maybe my wife…). But I was really excited for him because it was something that we could do together. We could go on hikes together, we could go camping together, and I could make his Pinewood Derby car for him and let him add an early coat of spray paint to make him feel like he contributed (thanks Dad). It was really going to be awesome.

After I picked him up from his summer day camp, we went straight home and got him dressed in his three sizes too big Cub Scout uniform. After taking the shirt tails that hung down to his knees and tucking them into his shorts so that it wouldn’t seem TOO monstrously big (he’ll be a scout for years and should grow into it) I stood back to take a look at him.

Man.

Ben’s always been my little boy. He just turned six a few months ago and it amazes me how much he’s grown even since then. I know he’s just a kid and that any stranger that looks at him will still see a six year old, but to his mother and me he is just growing so fast.

Too fast.

Anyway, looking at my grown up little boy in his Cub Scout uniform, I was immediately inspired to have a spontaneous Danny Tanner moment with him. I asked him to come into the living room with me and sit down on the footstool while I knelt in front of him so that we could talk eye-to-eye. I told him that tonight was an important night because he was officially becoming a Cub Scout. I told him of all the great and useful things he would learn like fire building, public service, and general gentlemanly behavior. I told him that when I was his age I was a Cub Scout. I also told him that when I was a Cub Scout my dad had given me a Cub Scout pocket knife and that once I learned to use it properly I was allowed to carry it to meetings and other Cub Scout events.

At that moment, I reached into my pocket and retrieved that very same knife and showed it to him (okay, so this wasn’t entirely spontaneous – deal with it). His eyes widened as he asked me if that was the same knife and I responded with a yes. I opened up the blade and showed him how it stopped at a 90 degree angle and then opened the rest of the way. After checking it myself, I showed him how dull the blade was and told him that we could sharpen it together once we learned how to properly handle, use, and store the knife. I showed him the can opener and I also showed him the ice pick looking thingy that maybe was an ice pick or maybe it was something more handy and useful that I wasn’t familiar with. Whatever it was, I was in heaven as I had his total attention. My inner Danny Tanner was reveling in this moment as I was really connecting with him and he seemed to really understand the gravitas of the situation. I then told him that the knife was now his.

That is the moment where he looked me dead in the eye and said with all sincerity “I don’t want it.”

Excuse me?

Did he not understand what was occurring here? I was handing him what I was hoping would one day become a family heirloom. I was passing something given to me by my father on to him. We were having an emotional connection. I was Danny freaking Tanner. I WAS DANNY FREAKING TANNER!!!!

“It’s too sharp” he said as he handed it back to me. “I’m scared I might cut myself.”

Oh. That wasn’t so bad. Not the response I was necessarily looking for though. I simply told him that he didn’t need to be scared of it because I’d teach him exactly what to do with it and how to take care of it so that nobody got hurt. I also asked him if he’d like me to hold onto it until that time. With a look of obvious relief, he said yes.

From that point we left the house, got dinner, and went on to his first Pack meeting where he ceremoniously received his Tiger Cub neckerchief. He also was asked to be a part of the color guard that presented the flags at the beginning of the meeting. He was well behaved and he was reverent. I was disappointed that the knife presentation didn’t go better, but was proud of him nonetheless.

After the meeting, we went home to find my wife waiting to hear all about his first Cub Scout meeting. After convincing him that we did NOT want to hear about the paper thumb wrestlers he got in his kid’s meal from Wendy’s he began to tell her about what happened at Scouts. He seemed pretty into it and is looking forward to some of the upcoming events. At that point, mostly for my own benefit, I asked him if he wanted to tell Mommy about the knife. To my surprise he lit up, came over and got it from me as I still had it in my pocket, and took it over to Carol. My wife, being the great mom that she is, put on her amazed face and asked him to tell her all about it.

“It’s a Cub Scout knife. It was Dad’s when he was a little boy.”

That’s all I needed to hear.

He had listened and he got it.

I was Danny Tanner.

Thanks for reading

Number One? Think again...

I’ve spent some time over the last few weeks reading some of my previous blog entries. There were some stinkers, there were some (many) with typos, and there were some that were obviously written just so I could say I wrote something that day. And, as much as I’d like to say that even the bad ones are worth a quick glance for just a few laughs, most of them were just god-awful and should never have been written in the first place. For that, I apologize.

On the other hand, there are a few that are my personal favorites that I believe to be undiscovered gold. Sure, Ben’s green eggs and ham was popular, but what about the one discussing my soccer abilities? And, while some of my more serious ramblings about our Veterans and our duty to our country have been well received, I noticed a severe lack of readership for my fictional tales of the Tro-lo-lo guy and Rick the cougar chaser.

The reason I bring this up is that on my blog site I have a section entitled Scott’s Greatest Misses. It lists, in order of popularity, my most accessed blog entries. It doesn’t mean people have read them, but it means they have at least opened the link, read a few sentences of this drivel, and closed the page soon after. Hopefully most (more than likely some, or even more likely than that, very few) have stuck around long enough to read an entire blog entry, but I’m going to guess not because sitting at the top of the list for almost the entire life of my website has been the same freaking entry:

“Damn you Joel McHale”.      

For longtime readers of this blog, you may be able to remember back to its earlier days when Joel McStinkbutt was a frequent topic of my disdain/homoerotic fantasies. It wasn’t until this recent perusal of my blogs that I discovered how many references I made to this jerk face/stud muffin. You could say I was borderline obsessed. Luckily, up to this point, I had moved beyond this and no longer felt such intense dislike for a man I have never met (those feelings are now saved for Chris Brown and Justin Bieber – but for totally different reasons). But that does not change the fact that my entry entitled “Damn You Joel McHale” is the most accessed/read blog on my site.

Yes, I know it is because I tagged Joel McHale and that anytime someone does an online search for him my article will be referenced. But shouldn’t they have to scan through about 23,187,554 other online subjects pertaining to “Joel McHale” before coming to my piece of crap article about him? Wouldn’t you think that something entitled “Damn You Joel McHale” written by some bald-headed nobody on a more than obvious blogging site be skipped over for anyone looking for the slightest bit of credible information on a mainstream star? Hell, in a quick Google search for Joel McHale, in the first 20 pages of results there were at least three references to Jerk McHussein discussing Seth Meyers’ boner and not one link to my article. Seriously, how is anyone accessing this?

But then it hit me.

It’s McHale

You see, I called Joel out on more than one occasion. I told him to keep his hands off the beautiful Allison Brie, but did he? Noooooooo. I told him to keep his damn shirt on, but did he? Of course not. I told him there would be serious repercussions for his actions should he continue on his path of sexy destruction and he defiantly did not heed my warning.

But it scared him. It scared him bad.  

It scared him so bad that he forced his show Community to take a brief hiatus at the beginning of last year’s season in fear of what I might do. It scared him so bad, in fact, that he started a rumor that the show might be cancelled in order to throw me off my tracks. In his defense it may have worked as, in its absence, I found other much more entertaining (you hear that McPoopforbrains? MORE ENTERTAINING!!!) shows to watch. Even after Community returned mid-season, I still neglected to watch it because, quite frankly, I had lost interest in both the show AND my feud with Just McHorrendous.

Well played, sir.

But after doing some (not-so) serious, very (not at all) thorough, and (absolutely none of my) time consuming research I discovered that while my “Damn You Joel McHale” article was the most accessed blog entry on my site, it was only being accessed by one man. This one man accesses it multiple times per week. This one man accesses it multiple times per week from a computer in Los Angeles, CA. And this one man who accesses it multiple times per week from a computer in Los Angeles, CA is the one and only – Steven Rothschild.

DUHN-DUHN-DUHN. (That’s the climatic music that plays when the villain is discovered. I really need to get a soundboard for this website to make it more dramatic).

Who is Steven Rothschild you ask? I honestly have no idea. But, if my spidey-senses are in tune I’m going to bet that it’s an alias. It’s an alias for someone who has an interest in me and my writings. It’s someone who has a vested interest in what I’m going to write about next. It’s someone who is fearful that if he steps out of line one more time that I’m going to follow through on my threats of composing strongly worded letters to the networks. But mostly, it’s someone that craves the attention. That someone is – Joel McHale.

DUHN-DUHN-DUHN (seems more dramatic now that you know what it means, no?)

I’m on to you McHale. More on to you than I ever have been on to you before. I’m so on to you that my on to youness is only surpassed by how on to yourself that you are. (??) You read that article because you’re vain. You read that article because you like the attention that I give you. You want it to be the most read blog on my site because it makes you feel good. But most of all, you read that article because you don’t want it to be over. You want my hatred/homoeroticism. You NEED my hatred/homoeroticism. Well, guess what McHardabs:

You’ve got it.

I will not have you besmirch the other great writings I have written about in my writings. I will not have some over the top diatribe about my half-truth/half-playful feelings for you sit atop my most read blogs anymore. While I can’t make other people read my other blogs so that it overtakes yours for the number one spot, I can call you out – once again – and make it be known that your secret is no more. I know you read the article. I know you read it every chance you get. And I know that by making reference to it multiple times in this blog (and offering links for my readers’ convenience) I am only drawing more attention to it and to you. That’s fine. You can win this battle.

I’m in it to win the war.

McHale, we live in a world that has blogs. And those blogs have to be written by men with wit. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Joke McHasbeen? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for Chevy Chase and you curse the bloggers. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that this blog, while tragic, probably makes people laugh. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, makes people laugh...You don't want this to end. Because deep down, in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me writing this blog. You need writing this blog.

I use words like blog, awesomesauce, randumb thoughts...I use these words as the backbone to a lunchtime spent writing something. You use 'em as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very entertainment I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide it! I'd rather you just said thank you and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a pen and write you own blog. Either way, I don't give a damn if you want the blog about you to be number one!

It is my hope that calling attention to this will shame you into not reading it anymore – but we both know that is not going to happen. If not Steven Rothschild you’ll just find another alias to access it under. Maybe you’ll even find a different server in a different state or even country to access it under in order to go unrecognized. That’s fine. Do it. Just know that I know that as long as that blog is sitting as the number one most read entry on my site – you’re reading it. And as long as I know that you know that I know that, that’s good enough for me.

I’m on to you, McHale – like never before.

And it feels good.

Heavyweight Champion of the World!!!

Let’s get something clear right off the bat: I know wrestling is fake. I’ve known wrestling is fake for the better part of the 28 years I’ve been watching it. Sure, there were some times during the early years where I thought George South was actually going to beat Arn Anderson for the NWA TV strap and, sure, I was slightly devastated when King Kong Bundy attacked Hulk Hogan leaving the real American lying motionless in ring after countless big splashes on Saturday Night’s Main Event. I may have even shed a tear when my beloved Road Warriors turned on Dusty Rhodes by shoving a metal spike into his eye possibly blinding the American Dream for life. But as I grew older and became wiser to the product I realized that this was all part of the huge male soap opera that professional wrestling/sports entertainment is. They feed you the bait. They lure you in. They get you to want to watch and see what happens next week.

And I’ve been tuning in “next week” for the past 28 years.

I’ve seen wrestling through the high points and the low points. I started out as an NWA guy watching he likes of Ric Flair, Dusty Rhodes, the Rock n Roll Express, Baron Von Raschke, and Lex Luger. I also gravitated towards WCCW with the legendary Von Erich family (before they all died), Rick Rude, Chris Adams, and the Fabulous Freebirds. Heck, I would even tune into ESPN in the middle of the afternoon to catch some AWA action with Larry Zbyszko, Nick Bockwinkle, and a very young Shawn Michaels as part of the Midnight Rockers.  

But the main show of the day and, with the exception of about a year and a half in the mid 90’s, the consummate pro wrestling benchmark was the WWF. Now known as the WWE, the WWF took the smoky bingo hall wrestling that previous generations had known and transformed it into a testosterone driven broadway spectacle. Guys like Hulk Hogan, Roddy Piper, Andre the Giant, Junk Yard Dog paved the way for younger guys like Bret Hart, Shawn Michaels, Steve Austin, HHH, and the Rock to do what they did on a worldwide stage; a worldwide stage that has generated billions of dollars and a publicly traded company for Vince McMahon.  

Not bad for a bunch of juiced up rednecks rolling around on the ground in their underwear.

The truth is, I love it. I love the simplistic storylines. I love trying to guess what is going to happen next and tuning in the next show to see if I’m right. I love the pageantry. If you’ve never sat down and watched a WrestleMania I highly suggest renting a DVD at least once and watching it. The production and presentation are beyond compare. The wrestlers try harder, take more risks, and put on a show worthy of the Super bowl, World Series, Stanley Cup, and Daytona 500 of professional wrestling.

Yes, it’s fake.

But I also know a shit ton about it.

Now, I’m probably the exact type of wrestling fan that Vince McMahon doesn’t want. I don’t buy the merchandise. With the exception of a few Royal Rumbles here and there, I don’t buy the PPVs. I also don’t go to the live events. On the rare occasion when WWE comes to St Louis, I rarely even take going to the event into consideration. I am only willing to pay so much money for live events of any kind and that amount of money usually puts me in the cheap seats. For things like concerts and such, the cheap seats are fine. For wrestling, however, the closer you can get to the action the better. These guys are “actors” and their facial expressions tell a story in the ring. Plus, the chance of getting spit/sweat/bled on by one of your favorite superstars has a certain redneck appeal to it. So, when I heard that WWE was bringing its Extreme Rules PPV to St Louis, I didn’t even bother to worry about getting tickets. I’d just hang tight and read the results on the internet the following morning.

But that was before I heard the announcement.

A radio program that I listen to in the morning on 590 AM (yes I watch wrestling AND listen to AM talk radio in the morning) announced that they were giving away ringside – yes, RINGSIDE – seats to the PPV and all I had to do to get them was to go to Hot Shots in Arnold, MO and answer trivia questions on the history of wrestling.

DONE!

Had it been just regular tickets to the event I wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but these were ringside seats. I stood the possibility of sitting close enough to actually see them not hitting each other with my own eyes. And, given my vast wrestling knowledge and attention to nerd details, I was a shoe-in to win these things. I was sure of it. I even began prematurely bragging to people that it was a lock that I was going to win.

So I promised to blog about it.

With that setup, I bring you to the actual day of the event in real time fashion. To recap, I was going to a wrestling trivia contest. At a bar. In Jefferson County, MO. I wasn’t sure what I was going to encounter when I got there, but I knew it stood the chance of being backwoodstastic. Luckily, I wasn’t terribly disappointed.

1:00 PM – Got back from my lunchhour and decided to do some studying on various websites to test my wrestling acumen.

1:15 PM – finished my games of Candy Crush and got down to the actual studying

1:18 PM – finished another game of Candy Crush after I was given an extra life by my cousin, Ryan Harres

1:20 PM – went to Sporcle.com (greatest website ever) and began taking WWE quizzes. Did pretty well. Simultaneously raised my arms in victory and hung my head in shame. Being a wrestling fan with all of your teeth and sleeves on your shirts is a conflicted existence.

2:15 – got a call from my wife where I had to remind her to wish me luck on this all-important evening. She seemed anything less than enthused in her response.

4:30 PM – left work while bragging to my co-worker that I was probably in for a long grueling night of wrestling trivia but that I would come to work tomorrow victorious. He was genuinely excited for me. I’m pretty sure it was genuine. Maybe.

5:00 – arrived at Hot Shots. Surprisingly enough, I was the only person that showed up two hours early for the event. There was a smattering of people seated around the bar. There was also a smattering of cloth covering the bartender’s ample bosom. Additionally, there was only a smattering of teeth amongst the people and the bartender combined. Given the lack of fabric covering the bartender’s chest, however, I’m surprised I even gazed far enough north to notice her teeth or lack thereof either way.

5:02 – ordered a Stag, was served a PBR. Didn’t notice until the boobs had made their way to the other side of the bar. Didn’t complain.

5:10 – Macho Man Randy Savage entered the establishment.  “But the Macho Man’s been dead for a few years now” you say. I know. That’s what I thought too. But there he was. The sleeveless wonders around the bar that had no clue about the trivia contest could do nothing but stare, mouths agape, toothless gums bared for all to see. 100% in character he approached the boobtender and asked what time the trivia night started. She laughed, jiggled a bit, and said that registration was going to start around 6:30. His response? “6:30? Oh, yeah!!! Dig it!!” I was awed.

5:23 – I ordered a cheeseburger. I think. At least that’s what she of the 75% exposed breasts brought me later on. I wasn’t going to argue.

5:40 – Larry Nickel walked in. If you’re not familiar with Larry Nickel (and there is no reason on earth that anyone really should be familiar with him) he is a contributor to the radio show that was sponsoring the event. Much like Howard Stern has his Wack Pack, this radio show has its share of colorful characters that contribute on a regular basis. Larry Nickel is one of those guys. He’s also one of those guys who believes wrestling is real. And he’s older than I am. This is Larry. He was our emcee for the evening.

 

5:45 I made a friend. This is the conversation we had:

Him: Um, so what’s going on here?

Me: I think it’s some sort of wrestling trivia thing

Him: Oh, I heard that was going on. Are you playing?

Me: Yeah, I guess. You?

Him: Yeah probably.

Me: It’s nice to meet someone as equally ashamed of what they’re spending their evening doing as I am.

Him: What? Sorry, I was staring at the bartender’s boobs.

This man is my new best friend.

6:05 – Macho Man walked back in. Apparently he had just been standing by his car in the parking lot with the doors open and the radio playing. I mentioned to my friend that I hoped to God he was blaring the Macho Man’s theme music from his car stereo. I didn’t go outside to check but made the decision that if I had enough to drink I was going to get into that car and cruise up and down Highway 141 with the Macho Man while screaming “Oh yeah” out the window.

 

6:06 - In one of the most surreal moments of the evening, Larry Nickel (who believes wrestling is real) comes face to face with the Macho Man doppleganger and stops in his tracks. All of the air seemed to be sucked out of the bar as the anticipation of what was going to happen next built to a crescendo. Luckily for all in attendance the meeting went well, Larry didn’t freak out at the possible ghost sighting, and they shook hands before parting.

6:15 – paid my tab at the boobs so that I could breast my cleavage and move to another jugs by the contest on the other side of the knockers. I was gonna miss her.

6:30 – picked up my sheet of 60 questions. The top three scores out of these 60 questions would move on to the next round. I quickly glanced at the questions and saw that I already knew the answers to the first 8 questions. This was going to be a piece of cake.

6:32 – realized I had no idea what the name of the stable was that consisted of Owen Hart, Vader, and Yokozuna. Damnit!! Despite the brief blow to my confidence I skipped the question and moved on with the self-assurance that I would know the rest.  

6:32:30 – realized I couldn’t remember where WrestleMania 30 was taking place. Crap!! That was two I might get wrong. Looking around I noticed that instead of the redneck wonders I was expecting to see there were actually quite a few normal looking people participating in the contest. I also noticed, however, the guys wearing the wrestling t-shirts. Anyone in their early to mid-thirties willing to wear a WWE shirt out in public was someone that I knew would be competition. I counted about 6-7 or them and knew immediately that I was going to have to answer every question correct to get this. It was on. I put down New Orleans as my answer and planned to check my phone for the answer immediately afterwards.

6:33 – Which one of Chyna’s friends did Mark Henry have a liking for? What? When did this happen? I don’t remember this storyline. Anything here will be total guess. Yes, this is one of those points where I’m fully expecting you to judge me even more so than you have in the past

6:35 – Is Glacier dead or alive? I wrote alive but didn’t have confidence. Since it was the last question I decided to skip it and go back to check my previous work. I am a college graduate. I went through 8 years of Catholic grade school, 4 years of Catholic high school, and 4 years at an accredited university and at no point ever during those 16 years of education did I ever once go back and check my answers on a test. Not once. In my defense though, my teachers were never offering ringside seats.

After getting back to the Glacier question I crossed out my answer, second guessed my second guess, and re-wrote “alive”.

6:38 – turned in my sheet knowing that I had at least two wrong.

6:38:05 – got on my phone to check some of my answers. WrestleMania was indeed happening in New Orleans and Glacier was, in fact, still alive. Boom!

6:38:45 – Rufus R Jones, however, is dead. Damnit. Three wrong. There was nothing left to do now but wait.

6:45 – read on my phone that Dick Trickle had shot himself. I quickly went up to the organizers of the event and let them know that there could be a major reaction to that news amongst the patrons. We were, after all, at a wrestling trivia contest, in a bar, in JeffCo. This could be akin to Kennedy getting shot. Luckily, the news must not have traveled very fast as nobody even mentioned it.

6:53 – Mike Lee just arrived. Much like Larry Nickel, Mike Lee is another personality on the radio program and is famous for nothing othe than being Mike Lee. The story behind Mike is that he would call the radio station 30-40 times a day and the only way to get him to stop was to put him on the air for about 2 minutes every day to discuss how Ozzie Smith came to the Steak N Shake that he works at. Now, all he talks about is how people know him and always want to get their picture taken with him. I have no idea why anyone would ever want to get their picture taken with him.

This is Mike Lee:

 

 

7:23 – still waiting for the results.

7:23:01 – the sound system just gave off a noise that led me and other patrons to believe that the building was blowing up and that we were all going to die. After it was clear that we were going to be okay it occurred to me that my obituary was going to say that I died at a professional wrestling trivia contest. In a bar. In JeffCo. I quickly escaped to the bathroom to have a good cry.

7:30 – The winners have just been announced. The final three had scores of 59 and 58. I had a 57 so I didn’t make it. I was overcome with simultaneous feelings of great sadness and great relief at the fact that I did not know enough about pro wrestling to win a contest. In a bar. In JeffCo.

7:31 – I was going to leave but decided to order one more PBR from my new less-than-chesty waitress and watch what would happen in the final round. It would be a series of 15 questions to determine the winner. Somehow my ego needed to know that I was better/more pathetic than the three who had moved on instead of me.

7:45 – 15 questions later and I had my answer. The winner answered 12 of the 15 questions correctly. I knew 14 of the 15. Oh well.

The guy who won had been sitting with his friend at the table next to mine. It was obvious pretty early that he was going to win so I began nudging his buddy and telling him he was going to sit ringside. He kept looking at his friend and cheering him on while giving me the occasional no-look fist bump. Once it was official that his buddy had won I congratulated him and wished him luck at getting the second ticket. It was at that point that he turned to me, smiled, and exposed both of the teeth he had in his mouth while saying “I thure hope he takth me inthtead of hith wife.”

Yep, I was at a wrestling trivia contest. In a bar. In JeffCo.

I didn’t go on a drive with the Macho Man.

I also got my picture taken with Mike Lee. I have no idea why.

Thanks for reading.