Archive for October, 2013

Last night the old family dog and frequent contributor to this blog McGwire passed away. In many ways his last days were like my mom’s, constant health problems and having no permanent home for more than too long. He lived 14 years, unless my math is incorrect, not that it makes a difference at all. He was an old dog who still often times had the wonderment of a puppy.

Fortunately we knew McGwire was sick and I got to see him last week before passing. I stole some gourmet dog treats from work in hopes these might brighten his day. I suppose they temporarily did.

The story of McGwire is not a simple one. We first got him back in 1999, a few months after the home run chase between Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa. Since I have a white family, we rooted for Mark McGwire to succeed. We were thinking about getting a black cat and naming it Sosa, but chose not to and thank goodness we didn’t because Sammy Sosa is white now.


I remember the first time I held McGwire. He had shit on his feet. The shit on his feet go onto my shirt, smearing Tino Martinez’s face. The woman at the animal shelter said this was his way of saying he liked me. I knew immediately we would be mortal enemies.

The summer was spent raising McGwire, teaching him how to behave better and potty train. He had our first dog Baylee to learn from, but being the youngest he was always the spoiled one. McGwire immediately took the biggest liking to my mom. Whenever I questioned it my mom would say “it’s because I’m the mom” as if this justified him ignoring everyone else and being obedient to her.

As time went on McGwire grew closer to my mom than anyone else. He still loved us and we loved him, but it was clear he was her dog. He never quite learned how to play well outside as he was a dog who went by his own rules. Fetch for him was a one step process, running to the ball and then not bringing it back.


After our parents sold our house he stayed with my mom. In that 2-3 year period I saw him a lot less. When I did see him it was almost like he didn’t even know me. He would bark like we had never met before and I was a threat or stare out me with no emotions. I would only see him a few times when he lived exclusively with my mom until she died.

When my mom died McGwire came to live with me. This was not the most convenient situation. McGwire would be alone for 10 hours every day on days I went to work. Amazingly he only ever pooped once in the house over those 20 months he lived with me and never once peed inside. Coming from a sick dog left alone who loved people, I appreciated his strong bladder and bowel.

The longer McGwire lived with me the more attached I became. He had without me wanting it to happen become my dog. I was in no position to take care of a dog nor could I take on the financial responsibilities fully. Still, there were no other options available. If I didn’t take him then he would end up in a shelter or worse, with someone I didn’t like.

At the end of last year I decided to move and McGwire would not come with me, while ironically I was actually in a better position to take care of him as I was jobless. Thankfully a friend of my sister’s was able to take him in and give him more love than I ever could have. He would have a yard, cats to keep him company all day, and more than a small apartment to roam around in. McGwire had won a retirement plan.

mcgwire dog

Not everything McGwire gave the world was perfect. His poop was gross and his butt looked like an elephant’s face/my elementary school librarian. Having him in my apartment gave me bad allergy attacks at times and his selfish need to eat for survival cost me much of my social life for the good part of two years as I always had to make sure he got what he needed. Still, I tried not to complain. Taking care of him the best I could meant sacrificing other moments and opportunities in life. I think I did this because it was the simplest way I knew how to honor my mom.

Despite his brief shortcomings, McGwire was a loving dog. Behind kicking me off the couch every night at midnight, getting into my trash every so often only to find nothing interesting, and making most meals I ate intrusive to my knees, he was a great dog. He was a ladies man, choosing girls over me anytime. M.C. Gwire had a temperament that was near perfect and a breath far from it. He might be gone, but his presence will always be felt. McGwire is the reason why I wanted a job working with dogs in the first place. He gets a lot of the credit for every hug I give a dog at work. He gets a lot of the credit for every baby-talk voice I do that makes a dog’s ears go back and tail wag. Best of all, McGwire is the reason why I never learned to pick up food if I drop it.

birthday dogs

Here’s to you McGwire. I cannot cry over your death because I know if I did you would just come sit next to me and kiss my face anyway like you always did before. Instead I’ll eat a lot of candy today (that’s my excuse for eating a lot of candy) because you always loved food. I hope wherever you have gone has a cool bathroom floor for you to lay on and nobody ever turns away when you breathe in their face. Thanks for the love you gave everyone.

The hardest part of death is always that the world never stops. People can give you sympathy. They can let you relax on responsibilities. The world just keeps going though no matter what our mood is. Before I even knew he was gone I had a dream with him in it. I have always hoped that dreams are us entering another world, perhaps even an afterlife. If this was somehow the case, he seemed to be happier, younger, and healthier than ever.

When I was prepubescent (that means pre-pubic hair) I had a next door neighbor named Mr. Marconi. Every day I would walk by Mr. Marconi on my way to get harassed at the bus stop by older kids. Mr. Marconi would sit on his porch and ask me what I was on that day. Each day I was something different. Mr. Marconi helped teach me that I should aspire to be something great. I dedicate this article to you Mr. Marconi. You opened my imagination and made me believe I could actually achieve something. Thank you for lying. Fuck you.

These are eight of the jobs I told Mr. Marconi I was back in the day. I was of course a stupid kid and cannot be blamed for thinking I could actually do them. I understand now why I never could.

1: Cowboy – Mr. Marconi made me believe that I could be a cowboy. I’m not sure why he would have done that. Cowboys were extinct for about 100 years. I mean real cowboys too like Jesse James, Billy the Kid, or whoever Mel Gibson was supposed to be in Maverick. Ted Maverick? I never saw it. Mr. Marconi provided me with a false belief that cowboy was still a profession I could pursue. The closest I ever got to my cowboy dream was when I wore my C.O.W. – Boys of Moo Mesa shirt to school.

Wild_West_C.O.W.-Boys_of_Moo_Mesa(FYI, Moo Mesa is not a real place)

2: Astronaut – Working as an astronaut was another thing Mr. Marconi encouraged me to do. The problem with this is that astronauts have to be educated and in shape. Outside of my Photoshopped pictures on my online dating profiles, I am neither. I get dizzy easily and my high school science teacher ran over a classmate who was riding his bike. This one was completely out of my control.

The-Astronaut-Farmer(They put the “Virginia” really small in the name so somewhat blind people might think Michael Madsen is in this)

3: Pirate – I always wanted to be a pirate when I was younger. I still wouldn’t mind. In theory being a pirate would be great until I realize my teeth are one of my best features. That’s more of an insult on everything else than it is praise for my teeth. I also don’t get along with parrots very well. This would be problematic with the captain.


(The one on the fart left is named “Black Beard” and it has nothing to do with the hair on his face. The one on the far right is just called “Black Everything”)

4: Baseball Player – I knew I would never be a baseball player when I had a .188 batting average with eight errors in a full season. I also cried when I didn’t make the high school team. Athletic prowess in my family stops and ends with being able to hover over a public toilet.

Twins Rangers(My cousin Barry getting hit in the face with a baseball. The saddest thing about it was it was during a game of catch with himself. He’s not really my cousin. My uncle has sex with girls way too young to get preggers)

5: Veterinarian – As a lifetime animal lover, working with pets has always been something I have wanted to do. Then I watched pet after pet of mine get carted away into a veterinarian’s office only to never see them again. A veterinarian’s job is as morbid as it is rewarding. I am not a person who gets the same level of erection from helping an animal as I do from killing one. In fact, neither gives me an erection. Nothing about animals gets me horny. Please tell this to my ex-girlfriend who may have walked in on something that she thinks she saw.

American-Eskimo-dog(Not sexy at all. Her eyes are way too close together and look at those tiny breasts)

6: Unemployed – Okay, this one I actually have achieved. And yes, it is not just something anybody can do. When I was younger unemployment seemed a lot more fun. In actuality it’s not fun because pimps charge really high interest rates. It’s hard to get a girlfriend when you don’t have a job and I need to get my sex somehow. What am I going to do, masturbate? That’s a sin. I would betray a lot of people. Jesus is not one of them.

Jonathan_G_Meath_portrays_Santa_Claus(Jesus with presents so Jesus but better)

7: Army Man – At every point in his life male Americans have considered the military. I have thought about it as recent as right now. Then I remember it hurts to get out of bed and I don’t like what I look like with my shirt off. The army is 90% taking your shirt off and 100% getting out of bed. Mr. Marconi’s encouragement for me to join the army makes him a bit of a soothsayer. He knew I would never amount to anything other than human shield.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA(I bet the two guys are annoyed that the one is waving and shouting)

8: Dinosaur – Perhaps the most ridiculous thing I wanted to be when I was younger was a dinosaur. It’s impossible to be a dinosaur. They no longer exist. Now the only thing I want to be is happy. This might be even more ridiculous. Happiness no longer exists.

dinosaur-bbq(And I wanted to have my own dinosaur Bar-B-Que. Why would a dinosaur open a barbecue and name it after their species? That’s implying the food is made of them and not that they are the manager)

Mr. Marconi is the first dead body I ever saw. It happened after he died, although many would say he was already dead on the inside. He always encouraged me to follow my dreams. Again, fuck you Mr. Marconi. My expectations on life were so high and now they are dead like you. You were a mean old man masquerading as a friendly neighbor. Your evil plan may have taken over two decades to complete itself, but it did and I can hear you cackling from beyond the grave.

I have written over 500 blog posts here and never once did WordPress honor me by having fair-weathered WordPress users leave me a bunch of phony comments in hopes it would boost their own followers and hits. I have written 73 articles for Yahoo Voices and finally, I received the honors equivalent to Freshly Pressed.

yahoo voices featured


Can you read that? I’m not sure. The font looks really small to me plus I have bad eyesight, don’t I beautiful? Yes I’m bragging. I’m bragging because I have already earned 20 cents from being on the front page of Yahoo Voices. Did you know most people skip right over regular Yahoo and go straight to Yahoo Voices? It’s a very popular site and I am being sarcastic.

Still, it’s cool, ya know. It’s only a shame that I wrote this article 3 months ago and parts of it are already outdated. I just wanted to take a moment to brag that although the WordPress Illuminati may not like me, Yahoo does. They give me money for this crap. Why aren’t you writing for Yahoo Voices you dope? See how I turned this from bragging into motivating you? I so smart.

Here’s the link to the actual home page so you can click on it and say “Oh, I see this is true.”

Yahoo Voices

I received a birthday card at work with autographs of all of my coworkers on it. Whenever people write something personal I try to think if there is a hidden meaning in the words they choose. Let’s examine.

“Happy Birthday Tim!!” – Pretty simple. The two exclamation points feels lazy to me though. Go with 1 or 3.

“Happy Birthday Tim- You have Have a fantastic day” – Clearly he got stuck in the middle of what he was writing. A little bit of scribbling and now I have confirmation that he does not think things out. At least he didn’t write “Happy Birthday! Too many more” like he did on someone else’s card once, completely changing the meaning by using the wrong to/too/two.

“Happy Birthday mate! Have fun with the dogs” – The mate was added in as a reminder that he’s English or Australian. I’m not sure which it is and I feel like I will be laughed at if I ask.

“Happy Birthday, Tim. Let it be so good that it’ll force you to compare it to your favorite 90s alt song.” – This was an attempt at humor and a reference to something else. Let’s ignore what it was a reference to because that would take too long and complicate things. What he should have done to be funny was use different titles from 90s alternative songs. He should have said “Happy Birthday Tim. I hope it’s so ‘good’ that you get ‘laid’ by ‘two princes.’ I want to ‘praise you’ like I should.” or something like that, maybe even mentioning Possum Kingdom in some way. I just want to point out the difference between being clever with a reference and just referencing for the sake of.

“Happy Birthday Tim! Libra’s Rule! XO” – Whoa! An XO? That means kiss and hug? Somebody wants to hug and kiss me, right? She also signed her first name followed by her last initial. Is she trying to remain mysterious? I already know her last name, but maybe she thinks I’m too stupid to retain information. She wants me to ask her what the letter stands for. Do you want to know what the weirdest thing is? Her birthday was not too long ago and I almost wrote something very similar, but didn’t because I feel like we have too awkward of a relationship to ever acknowledge we are two individuals. I forget what I wrote on her card. Something like “You intimidate me because you are attractive and actually a nice person. What’s your fucking deal?”

“Happy B-Day Mr. Tim. Thanks for joining the team and being so amazing. XO” – Another hug and kiss and I’m an amazing person? Well, tickle me pink I have an admirer.

But wait!!! That last one was written by a male. What. The. Fuck.

Until the XO at the end it’s fine and what he usually calls me. Amazing is his word he uses so that’s perfectly fine. It’s the XO I’m obsessing over. He wants to kiss and hug me??? No. Please. Stop. Does he even know what that means??? I really hope he was drafting out a football play and got lazy after drawing one offensive and one defensive player. What is wrong with this guy? I mean, I understand I am easy to love and all, but…just…no. I didn’t even realize he wrote that until a day too late to feel awkward around him. Maybe I’m thinking into this too much. Or maybe I’m so beloved that two people want to kiss and hug me.

Not long ago I hosted a gathering for my birthday, which was a few days ago. I think the last time I had a “birthday party” was when I was 10 years old. I was a little out of practice. The odds of this turning out successful were slim. Could I really pull it off?


The first thing was to choose a venue. This was easy because I don’t like going places. If it were up to me my party would have taken place under my bed sheets or inside a woman’s womb. I think I have abandonment issues. I chose The House of Brews in New York City because this is the only place I like to drink. The staff is usually attractive too. Unfortunately on the night of my shindig the Middle Eastern manager with the unibrow was nowhere to be seen.

Next I picked the date and the time. There’s nothing interesting about choosing those so let’s skip over my thought process.

I invited everyone I like and a few people I don’t like, just to add to the numbers. One person I don’t like actually showed up. I’m actually kidding. Or maybe I’m not. I want them to wonder.

The party was supposed to start off at 6, but I got there late. Let’s not get into why I was late. It involves bodily fluids and lonely screams of passion. I somehow did get there only 15 minutes after the first person and after navigating through the New York City tourists like a swallowed Lego through a congested colon, I caught up to two of my other friends just as they were entering. Yes. I am bragging about having three friends.

scott weiland(I still have more friends than Scott Weiland. His friends are so far away he needs to sing into a megaphone for them to hear him)

We went upstairs after the hostess downstairs asked a dumb question about needing a table or sitting at the bar. I lied and said we were sitting at the bar. I saw her later on in the night and I think she sneered at me. Women hate being lied to. That is precisely why on my way out I told her she was a 4.

The first four to arrive sat at a table near the bathrooms because when you gotta go you don’t want to have to walk a long way. We did nothing more than look over the menus as the rest of the crew sat awkwardly not really knowing what the others were capable of since they didn’t know each other too well. Eventually someone else showed up and as each did I had to introduce them all from where I knew them. The first guy there I knew from comedy. The two I entered with I knew from kindergarten and 7th grade, respectively. By respectively I mean in the order I respect them. The third was another comedy friend, the only non-white among us. He’s Filipino so it’s like he’s not even a real person anyway. The last one I met off Craigslist. The worst thing about this is he wasn’t the only person I met off Craigslist that was invited to the party.

craigslist killer(My buddy Frank was invited but he had to attend a Fat Don Quixote lookalike contest)

Sausage Fest 2013 underway, we were able to keep a conversation going well by this point. The others saw how everyone at the table was an antisocial loser incapable of being loved. This was our bond; our hatred of the world. We chatted about things men our age chat about. You know, like Breaking Bad and being 15 years away from needing required prostate exams. I had 8 beers in total, and that may not even be correct because the waitress didn’t think to give us separate tabs. Why would a group of 6 men all have one tab? She made no sense at all. I should have stuck a booger to the place where you write the tip.

My friends began to leave because they had work in the morning or forgot about the rotting body in their apartment. When it came time to leave there were four of us and we were pretty far gone. We all had to walk in the same direction home to our trains so it was easy. I couldn’t stop focusing on eating something because I am a big fat pig. Whenever I feel any pain, this time from drinking too much, I stuff my face. I literally think eating will cure pain. And it does. But it never got my parents back together.

divorce(King Solomon rule that the child should be split in two. The selfish parents already focusing more on their new romances didn’t realize how it would kill their offspring)

I got home sober enough to operate a motor vehicle, drunk enough to kill a lot of people without realizing it. I woke up the next morning covered in sweat promising myself I would never drink again. My hangover didn’t last long. I ate a cheesesteak and even had enough energy to workout later in the day. Not that the working out helped anything other than it made me feel good about myself temporarily.

The moral of the story, I had to take a lot of poops all throughout the next day. There was a lot of painful cursing, but you know what, I might contemplate doing it again.

Here are two things I recently wrote for Yahoo that were rejected for different reasons.

This is something I wrote for Yahoo that was rejected because it did not meet the guidelines. Any idea why? The subtle mention of masturbation? The Matthew Broderick reference? The pictures are and captioned have been added for your pleasure.

The Home Sick from School To Do List

Taking a sick day and staying home from school is not as easy as it sounds. While at school, your life is completely dictated and you have no say in what you do or when you do it. When you are home, hopefully alone, you have to come up with activities to keep you sane. Here are the four activities you must do.

1) Watch ‘The Price is Right’

The only game show created for sick children and old people, The Price is Right is a must if you are home sick from school. The hour-long game show featuring games an armless deaf ape could accidentally win has spanned more than a few generations since its original inception. Many young men have had their first sexual fantasies about Barker’s Beauties and this is a tradition that continues. Of course you don’t have to be a male to get something out of the show. The simple guessing games will help keep your home from school mind somewhat sharp without using too much energy.

the price is right(“Have your beauties spayed or neutered; that way you don’t have to wear a rubber.” – Bob Barker)


2) Drink Ginger Ale and Eat Ritz Crackers

Staying home sick is the perfect excuse to stuff your face. My parents always told me the two things I should consume to settle my stomach were Ginger Ale and Ritz Crackers. As a sick fat child, this meant putting as much of these two products down my throat. The stomach settling ingredients in Ginger Ale combined with the simplicity of Ritz Crackers always did the trick, even if it was a placebo affect more than anything else. Plus, the joy of eating as much as possible cured any internal pain.

ritz(The cure for whatever ails ya, especially a lost limb)

3) Do Something Bad

Whatever it is to whatever degree it happens to be, when you stay home from school it’s important you break at least one house rule. Sneak into a sibling’s room, break a valuable item belonging to your parents, or completely ruin your life. As a sick child, you have every excuse to misbehave. Take advantage of this get out of jail free card, but remember not to do anything that would actually land you behind bars.

monopoly-jail-top630(One time I knew a guy who went to jail and he passed go and collected $200. A bad ass ’til the end)

4) Explore

The perfect day home from school involves leaving the house. Ferris Bueller did it perfectly. He had the perfect alibi, that he was tucked under the covers all day long. I never managed to actually leave the house while sick. I missed out on the opportunities Matthew Broderick tried to teach me. Don’t do the same. No matter how sick you are, make sure you never spend the whole day watching television and eating. That’s what being in your 40s is for. Get out of the house and explore the world a bit. If you are on enough cold medicine you might see the world through fuzzier yet more entertaining gaze.

(1:36, tell me that isn’t the funniest thing ever)

This was rejected because “it belongs on a personal blog.” You win Yahoo.

Seven Reasons Why Parties Are Terrible

1) The Music

A party never has good music playing. Party music is always obnoxious and usually features beats from a Linkin Park song. Linkin Park alone can be difficult to listen to. Add in three obscure rappers, a female pop-singer that is only famous because of who she married, and a lot of auto-tuning and you have the perfect party song. I imagine in hell these songs play non-stop on loop. The offensive unoriginal beats and lack of soul are what really get me. I like music that has a clear purpose, even if the meaning of the song is not obvious. If I wanted to hear obnoxious loud sounds I would go see The Blue Man Group or poke a sick dog in the face with a stick.

2) The Socializing

There are two kinds of people at parties, people you already know and people you never have met before. Like a disaster movie where the blimp you are all riding on has caught fire, you are stuck with these people throughout the duration of this tragedy, doing your best to survive. When you see people you are already familiar with you have to act happy to see them. This can be hard for me because I never am. With new people it’s a little bit different. You have to find out everything about them. Speaking over the loud music can make this tougher. I have tried introducing myself at parties before. My name has been mistaken for everything from Ron to James. Either the people I meet at parties need to get their hearing checked or I need to see a speech therapist. Or perhaps the vodka has to be watered down.

3) The Guys

Other men at parties are the absolute worst. They are essentially my competition and not even for women. At parties men will brag about their life accomplishments. Some may even show off. Musicians will whip out guitars and play a song I have never heard. I pretend to enjoy it when really my main interest is smashing the instrument over their face. For some reason parties make men try to act more macho. Guys will either become the life of the party or behave like they are too cool for the room. There is also the third category, my category. We are the distinct few who behave like we don’t want to be there, mostly because we would rather be doing anything else than socializing with our friend’s friends.

4) The Girls

I take it back. Women are the absolute worst at parties. Or maybe it’s closer to a tie. A woman’s behavior at a party is inexcusable. Sure they are drunk and easier to get into bed, but at what cost? The stories they tell, the drunken observations they make, and the unattractive clumsiness that is better suited in a Sandra Bullock film make these women into asexual creatures. Perhaps the worst thing is they look like they are having fun. Parties were definitely invented by a female. I would like to meet that woman and let her know the suicide kit was a better invention for humanity’s sake.

5) The Drama

Every party has some sort of drama. The smaller the party, the less there is. At minimum you can expect a female to call up her boyfriend, a guy who is currently at another party most likely being unfaithful. It’s no secret that party-people are promiscuous and not very loyal in general. A big part of loyalty is about not needing anyone else other than who you already have. People who enjoy parties do so because they like meeting other people. What they already have is not enough. One little bit of drama at a party can completely ruin the mood of the room. Of course if you are like me, the mood is already in the deepest darkest pit of Satan’s toe blister.

6) The Need for Alcohol

No laws exist stating a party must contain alcohol. Somehow though, the only way we can tolerate each other is if alcohol is involved. Since most people need alcohol inside their systems to enjoy a party, it makes me believe most people do not actually enjoy these social functions. As a non-heavy drinker (social outcast) I never understood the need for alcohol at a party until I went to one without indulging. Being a sober person around drunk people is the biggest reminder that people are not perfect or of quality condition. I prefer a party void of alcohol or indulged lightly. This way I can have a more honest conversation and never have to worry about someone falling off the roof to their death and ruining my buzz.

7) The Emotional Pain

Nearly every party I have gone to has caused me some emotional pain. I didn’t get the girl, was reminded of my failures, or worst of all I had a really good time and had to doubt my opinion of parties. Emotional pain is far greater than anything physically damaging that can happen at a party, unless a young Led Zeppelin is there. Even the most optimistic of people go into a party with high hopes and when it doesn’t turn out the way they wanted it to then the emotional pain arises. The real key to surviving a party is the same way to survive a shark attack, avoid. Whenever someone invites you to a party make up an excuse. Tell the person who invited you that you don’t like them. If you can’t get out of going to the party because someone is making you feel guilty, do your best to find that other outcast at the party. Stand in the corner and make fun of everyone else with your fellow outcast. Sometimes in the most tedious of life’s moments the only way to ease the emotional pain of failure is to find someone as pathetic as you and convince yourselves it’s not you, it’s everyone else.

college-dance-party(Name one thing redeeming about this photograph an the people in it. I dare you)

Forgive me blog readers for I have sinned. It has been 9 days since my last blog post. That’s an estimation and kind of depends on interpretation. It’s been over a week though. I guess you can say my absence is because like Shawn Michaels, I have lost my smile.

I’m not handing over my world title. I’m not going to retire. I’m not going to stop blogging. I have too many things already written anyway. For now though I have very little interest in blogging. It’s not something I really think about even anymore. That’s not to say I have given up my dreams of becoming a writer. I may not be as focused on certain writing aspects in my life as I would like, but I am still writing as much as I can, which is not as much as I would like.

For now I will probably be blogging less frequently. I no longer get the same, if any, satisfaction out of it that I once did. That’s not to say I’m not happy. I’m probably the most gleeful I have been in a long time. So in your face, or something.

I am a week away from turning 26 and saying no is easy for me now. Well, I don’t really say no. I more bite my lip, tilt my head, shrug, and then say “Ya know, I’d rather not.” I’m fine without simple pleasures. I’m comfortable accepting every role I have in life. I know my value. Some things in life will never go my way. Some people will never be dependable. Things that used to make me sad just make me say “meh” because that’s the way it is and I didn’t see it coming. I give an “all righty then” and continue to move along through life.

So really what I’m saying is don’t expect me around as often, but expect me around. I have no real reason to slow up on blogging other than I just don’t like as much anymore. I would go further into it, but that’s a lost battle not worth dancing into.

Gold-Dress-dancing(Not sure if there is anyone on the planet with less sex appeal than Taylor Swift. My uncle who always has car grease on his hands…maybe)