hang the jersey from the rafters - 02.20.06

That's it. I can't do it anymore. I'm done.

*reading from a prepared statement* Due to recent events, I am officially announcing my retirement from Valentine's Day.

I can't get Valentine's Day right. For the past two years, my girlfriend has received her flowers after February 14, though little or no fault of my own. This year, I called FTD to reschedule my order, and they wound up canceling it, yet still giving me a DHL tracking number to track my non-existent shipment.

And the thing is, I'm a really good gift giver. For the most part. To make up for the shipping blunder this year, I bought my girlfriend the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Nothing says love like watching Samwise and Frodo verbally de-flower each other as they make their way to Mount Doom.

Valentine's Day has always been pretty bad for me. Do you remember the episode of The Simpsons where Lisa gives Ralph Wiggum a Valentine's Day card ("I choo-choo-choose you!") and he gets all excited because a girl is actually showing interest in him? Well... let's just say Ralph and I had a lot in common in elementary school. I'd give out 15 or so Valentines to the girls in my class, and I'd get back four. Meanwhile, my best friend was getting them from girls in other classes, some of whom were older than us. I really wasn't hurt by that then (in those days, I still thought girls had cooties), but thinking about it now...

Later in life, I would buy flowers for girls who I wasn't with and for whom I didn't necessarily want to get with. Not that they were bad looking by any stretch (and not that they would even get with me without the aid of a mind-altering substance) - I just did it 'cause I was a nice guy. Nice and stupid.

Little did I know that by doing that, I would violate the cardinal rule in my as-yet-unwritten handbook on how men should interact with women. Rule #1: don't spend money on women unless there is a realistic chance you will get it back one way or another. And before you say anything, this has nothing to do with sex. OK, maybe a little bit. But not much.

For example, it's perfectly fine to treat a female friend (as in non-girlfriend/wife) to dinner. But she either needs to insist on picking up the next tab OR at least make it look like she INTENDS to go Dutch with you (slow movements towards the pocket/wallet/Coach bag do, in fact, count). Or she needs to make it "worth your while", and I think you know what I mean by that... (Skee ball at Dave and Busters...)

Now that I think about, men shouldn't always pick up the tab when they go out with their degenerate male friends. You know who I'm talking about - the one who insists that everyone buys a round, and when it's his turn to pony up, he "suddenly" has to leave. That guy.

But I digress... my point was that I'm done with Valentine's Day. I reject this made-up holiday and all the requirements and pressures that go along with it. Who needs a specific day to show the person that you care about how much you love them? You should be doing that every day. (And I'll end it with that - otherwise, I might write something sarcastic and blow it...)

how i ruined valentine's day - 02.13.06

Made up holiday or not, Valentine's Day is a very important time of the year. Those who are in relationships are pretty much obligated to do something special for their significant other. And those who aren't in relationships get the fact that they aren't in a relationship thrown in their face all day. In my opinion, that's a raw deal.

There's nothing wrong with being single. Nothing. Sure, being in a relationship has its privileges, but the single life has the ultimate privilege: freedom. Freedom to do whatever you want, whenever you want, to whomever you want (provided you don't break any laws). People who are dating/married/etc. don't necessarily have that, or if they do, then they have one of those strange "open relationships" you hear about on Dr. Phil. But if that works for you, then knock yourself out.

I'm an advocate of the single life because, when it's all said and done, I'll probably wind up alone. Try as I might, I don't know if I could find someone who would be willing to deal with all of my quirks 'til death do us part. And even if I did, I don't think I would want to be with them anyway, since they would have to be clinically insane to put up with me. And no one likes a crazy person.

Besides, when you're unattached, you can't mess up Valentine's Day, which is exactly what I've done these past few days.

At some point a few weeks back, due to the fact that Christmas, our anniversary, Valentine's Day and both of our birthdays all fall within a three-month span, the girlfriend and I decided that we didn't have to exchange gifts for Valentine's Day. Of course, this meant that I had to pony up for it anyway, not that I mind at all. For starters, I wouldn't want anyone to ask her what I got her for Valentine's Day, and have her reply "Nothing." But more importantly, just because you get the go-ahead to do something, doesn't mean that you do it. It would be like asking the wife if you could go fishing with your boys on the same weekend you and her had planned to have dinner with her parents three months ago. She might say you can go, but if you value your life, there's no way you put that tackle box in your car.

I had to be on my game because I "messed up" Valentine's Day last year. It wasn't my fault, though - the flowers were delivered on the 14th, but no one was home, so the delivery person left a slip in the mailbox, saying that the flowers could be picked up at the nearest FedEx office. The girlfriend didn't get the slip until the next day, so

This year, I was ready to go. Last Monday, I was about to place an order with ProFlowers or 1-800-Flowers or something until I decided to hold off. Why? The world may never know. But for some reason, I chose to wait. It's not like I wasn't going to buy them. Not sure what I was thinking there.

Anyways, last Wednesday I found a deal for a dozen red and white roses from FTD and I pulled the trigger. Only I was a bit too premature with it (as I am in other aspects of my personal life) and wound up scheduling delivery (to the girlfriend's job) for Friday, February 10. Which isn't Valentine's Day, last I checked.

I sent an e-mail right after I submitted my order to get the delivery date switched, but 24 hours later, I still hadn't heard back. I called on Thursday and got a really helpful customer service rep who called DHL to see where my flowers were. Of course, they had already left the florist and were sitting in a red-and-yellow box waiting to be delivered. She gave me the tracking number so that I could call DHL to have them hold onto it until the 14th, but I decided against that. I figured that it's better to have them delivered early than to have them wilt away in some warehouse for four extra days.

And here we are today, hours before Valentine's Day is upon us and the flowers are nowhere to be found. They have yet to show up at my girlfriend's job and the tracking number shows no activity. Or they could be in the mailroom at her job, but since she's not at work today, there's no way to find out. Or the friendly FTD person told DHL to hold the shipment, at which point I'm SOL if the flowers are DOA.

However this all turns out, I think I need to at least get partial credit for making the effort. Hey - it's the thought that counts, right?

rachael ray is awesome b/w pitfighter - 01.30.06

I have a crush on Rachael Ray.

I know you know who she is, but just in case you don't, she's the host of 30-Minute Meals on the Food Network. And several years from now, she will also be my second wife. You all are invited to the wedding, by the way.

I don't know what it is about her. She's pretty, but she's not Eva Longoria / Angelina Jolie hot. She knows her way around a kitchen, but a lot of women know how to cook. And truth be told, she's kind of corny, in that All-American white girl kind of way. The apple-pie-eating, homecoming crown-winning, Golden Key National Honor Society woman who says "(insert word here) is SO AWESOME!" 75 times a day. You know... perfect. I don't think she's ever even switched lanes on the highway without putting her turn signal on first.

Maybe that's why I like her. We'd all like to be perfect, but since none of us are (not even Rachael, sadly enough), we like to associate people who seem to be, at least on the surface. This is why many people are infatuated with celebrities, despite the fact that they go broke, cheat on their significant others and get busted for doing coke just like your uncle Harold did.

That being said, Rachael embodies a lot of the qualities men look for in a mate. An attractive woman who can not only slice scallions (and look good doing it), but who has a sense of humor and who also brings home a nice piece of change every month. That is like the male American dream right there, even moreso than being the winning QB in the Super Bowl or rocking out Madison Square Garden with your band. And I'm not sure what exactly I'm bringing to the table that would get her to divorce her husband and hook up with me - a kid from West Philly who can't chop an onion to save his life. Those are just minor details, I tell you...

*********************************************

Last Monday, someone left a flyer in my mailbox which read as follows:

LOOKING FOR MISSING DOG SHE IS A CINNAMON COLOR PIT AND ANSWERS TO THE NAME MOCA IF FOUND PLEASE CALL HAKIM AT (number withheld).

After reading the flyer, the postal cop in me wondered whether or not it was legal to stick flyers in mailboxes throughout an entire housing development. The grammar teacher in me wondered how someone could put their name on something with no punctuation whatsoever (not to mention the infatuation with capital letters). And the normal, tax-paying citizen in me thought: "THERE IS A PIT BULL RUNNING LOOSE IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD."

I'm not sure who Hakim is (I only talk to my neighbors when one of my trash cans blows into their yard by accident), but I think he lives in the house directly across the street. He moved in not too long ago, and my mother noticed that he had a young pit bull in his arms as he was unloading the U-Haul (yes, my mother intently watches people as they move in and out of the neighborhood). And if Hakim lives where I think he does, then his house doesn't have a fence. Hence, THERE IS A PIT BULL RUNNING LOOSE IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD.

Shouldn't there be some kind of neighborhood alert system when something like this happens? This isn't like Paris Hilton losing Tinkerbell - there is a four-legged killing machine roaming the mean streets of Sicklerville. I'm a little unnerved by this, despite the fact that I only recently conquered my fear of dogs.

For an entire week last year, I house-sat for my co-worker who owns a cat and a rather large dog. Ernie is a mutt, but he's friendly enough that he doesn't bite. Oddly enough, he tends to run away if he doesn't know you. On several occasions while I was housesitting, when I came back to the house from work, he started barking non-stop, staying at least 20 feet from me at all times. One time, he was so frightened of me that he damn near climbed out of the side window (which would have sucked tremendously, since there was no way I could catch him if he had gotten out). Ernie and I eventually came to the agreement that if I gave him a few pieces of bologna every time I came in the door, then he would chill with the barking and not attempt to jump out of windows any more. I went through two and a half pounds of lunch meat that week.

So after my experience, I understand dogs a little better now. Even still, if I see Moca roaming around in my neighborhood, I will be sprinting in the opposite direction. And while I'm running, I'm going to call Hakim and tell him that I found his missing dog. Maybe I can get a reward out of all this...

your mother is a cosmonaut (Part IV) - 01.24.06

The Bitchiest Girl in Hollywood - The Sequel (page 178): An article containing real-life tales about some unnamed actress who is a real beeyotch, apparently. Hollywood stars with attitudes? Perish the thought! I think it's Julia Louis Dreyfuss, but you didn't hear that from me.

Next up is the style/fashion section. You know, the section where beautiful people frolick and pose in outfits that cost more than what most of us make in a week BEFORE we get FICA and all that other stuff taken out. I've never understood these sections - I seriously doubt that there people out there looking at the spread and saying to themselves: "Wow, I need to run out and buy that $150 Juicy Couture necklace this weekend because it looks so DIVINE around her neck!" It's a waste of newsprint - you could fit at least five more articles about sex into these ten pages...

Figure Out Your Flirt Style (page 198): Depending on whether you're a mysterious flirt, a bold flirt, or a mischevious flirt, Cosmo offers recommendations on what eye shadow, nail polish and rouge to use. I kid you not.

An actual quote: "To beautify your bust, exfoliate your decolletage with a gentle body scrub like Bliss Sweet Orange and Spearmint Sugar Scrub..." Now let me just say to all the women reading this that there's absolutely no need to exfoliate nothing on your decolle-whatever to get a man to look at your breasts. If you want them to look, merely walk in their general vicinity. You don't need to be well-endowed, you don't even have to show any cleavage - men stare at dozens of pairs of fully-clothed breasts every day. Besides, when it's 12:30 in the bar, and guys are already five Jack-and-Cokes deep, none of them will be able to tell that you broke out the loofah and got your Spearmint Sugar Scrub on before you left the house. You don't need to try so hard getting ready - maybe this way, it won't take you so darn long to get ready before you hit the clubs...

Cosmo Weekend (page 206): Basically a mish-mash of stuff that didn't fall into any other section of the magazine. They actually mention a Cosmo online poll which found that 50% of their readers get asked out more often on the weekend than during the week. Which means that the other 50% of their readers get asked out more often during the week than during the weekend. Which means... ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Oh, they also say that a good pickup line for women is to go over to a dude and ask him what kind of jeans he's wearing. To which any man who is as witty/stupid as myself would respond that they're Bugle Boy Jeans. And if she laughs, she's a keeper. If not, you walk. It's that simple.

Your STD Handbook (page 209): Did you know that nearly half of the population will contract an STD by their 25th birthday? I never thought that they were so prevalent, which makes me lucky, I guess. 'Cause I don't have one. But even if I did, I wouldn't put myself out there on the Internet saying that I did. So maybe I DO have one, and this is nothing more than a miserable attempt to throw any prospective women off my scent. The world may never know...

Get this: there are actual dating websites that people who have STDs can hook-up on and get to know each other better (hmates.com and stdfriends.com, to name a couple). Think eHarmony.com with a little herpes thrown in. Crazy.

A poll (More poll results? Shocking!) in the article states that 53% of surveyed guys said that if a girl has an STD, it's not necessarily a deal breaker. And after 10 seconds of careful deliberation, I would have to put myself into that 53% camp. Granted, I'm not trying to catch Hepatitis B, but if a woman is extraordinarily hot yet just so happens to have syphilis, I'll stick around. People with syphilis need love too. And I'm just the man to give it to them.

The health section is next - the highlights: implants might cause breastfeeding trouble in the future, wash out your water bottle with hot water if you want to re-use it to avoid bacteria, and skip sex if you have a yeast infection. Oh, you think??

Cosmo's Beside Astrologer (page 232): I really wanted to see if my horoscope applied to me but... a) they're written for women; b) this is the december issue and I completely forgot what happened to me in December, and c) they're written for women. I did learn that the celebrity who is a best match for Sagittarius women is Jake Gyllenhaal and the worst is Tobey Maguire. Don't ask how they figured this out, but that's just the way it is.

Pages and pages and pages of ads... faux Botox cream, cubic zirconia jewelry (like any man can actually get away with that), weight loss patches (ala the Nicotine patch), battery-operated... items, psychics, and something called "Bedroom Adventure Gear." Moisture-proof bedding designed especially for bedroom activities. It's one of those ideas that I wish I dreamed of in college so I would be rich right about now. Then again, I didn't engage in many bedroom activities while in college, so I never would have thought about it. It would be like having invented the air bag without having ridden in a car before.

Well... that's all folks. It took three weeks and hours of painful study, but I'm finally done. I think I wrote more words about Cosmopolitan than are actually in the magazine. These past four entries clock in at over a thousand words each. I always beg off of the short story contests that require a 5,000 word submission, because it seems like way too much to write, yet I banged out just as many words going through an issue of a magazine. Up next - the January issue of Road and Track...

your mother is a cosmonaut (Part III) - 01.23.06

Page 112: Woman on Top: Pleasure-Maxing Positions - Well... the title speaks for itself, though they introduce nine unconventional ways to "do the damn thing." The most intriguing position is one named "The Jasmine" (after the reader who sent it in) and although it looks like a good time, I really don't think this would be humanly possible. If I tried to actually do this in bed, either myself or the drunk woman who I convinced to sleep with me would be seriously injured.

Sexy Things to Do Before Sex (page 122): I'm sure there are more important female issues to talk about like GETTING PAID LESS THAN MEN FOR THE SAME JOB and HOW TO COPE WITH POST-PARTUM DEPRESSION, but my favorite magazine delves right between the sheets once again. The tips are rather pedestrian - mentally play out a lusty fantasy, undress each other slowly, exchange naughty text messages, etc. One suggestion is to ask "What's the one part of my body that you would love to put your mouth on right now?" If a woman asked me that question, being the smartass that I am, I would answer "my left ear." At which point, the mood would be broken. This is exactly why I can only convince intoxicated women to sleep with me - sober ones aren't down with my sense of humor. Sober ones wouldn't find me attractive, either.

When He's Not That Into Sex (page 126): Cosmo gives reasons why some guys decline sex when it's offered to them (all 7 of them). The five mood killers are as follows: stress, fatigue, prescription meds, depression, alcohol and drug abuse. And these are all valid reasons. But there's a sixth reason out there for all you women whose men don't give you what you need when you want it. Maybe, just maybe... you need to step up your gym game, baby girl. Perhaps you've put on a few extra pounds recently - it's all good, we all do it. Just put in some work on that Bowflex, and your man might put in some work on you. I'm not saying that's the reason, but I wouldn't rule it out either.

I Lost My Entire Memory (page 138): This is the second of two actual non-sexual related stories - the first being a primer on where not to vacation (Iraq is on the list). Anyways, in this story, a woman takes an antibiotic for a sinus infection and winds up in a coma, with no memory whatsoever. When she woke up, her father handed her a fork and she had no idea what to do with it. She had to re-learn everything, including how to read and write again. Yes - it sucks that it happened to her, but it's an awesome story idea. I think I'll re-work it and submit it for a Writer's Digest contest coming up in May. Is it wrong to try to profit off of someone else's pain?

I'm actually skipping two other articles which might be good: one about how people usually get divorced before their fifth anniversary and another on post-partum depression. Post-partum depression is finally getting its shine on in Cosmo, after the 76 articles about SEX preceding it.

A Feel-Good Trick To Try (from page 155): "Slowly rub your fingers through your hair and gently tug on the roots a few times. The sensation will feel amazing." This isn't "Mother May I", but some of you are doing this right now, just like you did the "lightly trace the skin between you elbow and your wrist because it feels awesome" trick from part one of this Cosmo expose. I'm not doing it because I don't have much hair to pull and/or rub fingers through. But if I could I would.

Throw A Blow-Out Holiday Bash: I'm not even going to discuss the article, but I'd like to take this opportunity to state that I might be the only person in the history of the world who doesn't like throwing parties. I don't even like people over my house, period. Entertaining people takes me out of my element, and not just because I can't walk around the house in boxers.

When people are attending a function at your house, you have to make sure everyone is taken care of all the time. They all have to be fed, they all have to be checked on periodically to see if they're having a good time, and you have to keep an eye on the bathroom to see whether or not anyone earled and/or "had a bad #2". And of course, you have to clean up at the end of the whole affair. Too much work for me, my friend. I prefer to go over other people's houses and mooch.

Wild Office Parties (page 166): Readers sent in tales about how the HR chick got drunk and started dancing with her top off at the annual Christmas party. Where are these people working? How do I transfer? All of the Christmas parties I've been to have been lame. They did actually serve beer back at the one CIGNA holiday party I went to, but everybody was scurred (yes, scurred) to drink more than one beer in front of the boss. And I didn't want to be the one who out-drank his whole department, although that Corona was calling my name something fierce.

We actually had to bring food to our office party at Temple last December, although the higher-ups cowboyed up and bought some good ass meatballs and roast beef. Other people brought in homemade desserts that they slaved over the night before. Being the moocher that I am, I brought 2-liter bottles of soda. It's hard work being a gangsta, I tell you. Hard work.

Help For Football Widows (page 168): The article suggests that women catch their men before the games start if they want to do something fun. While it seems reasonable, I have a four-word response to that: Hell to the no. Unless it's a roll in the hay, anything you ask him to do won't be more entertaining than watching NFL Countdown and listening to Michael Irvin butcher Ben Rothlisberger's name over and over again. I might even pick that OVER a roll in the hay. I love that show...

your mother is a cosmonaut (Part II) - 01.02.06

- Next up is the interview with Eva Longoria. I'm extremely interested in this simply to find out how she met her current boyfriend, Spurs' point guard Tony Parker. Whenever two celebrities who run in wildly divergent circles get together, it always intrigues me. Eva's story is that she took her dad to a Spurs' game, got access to the locker room (the perks of celebrity life...), met up with Tony and it was love at first sight. Exciting, I know. In the piece, she brags about how she's an expert marksman and she also dishes out the tip that getting a Brazilian wax leads to better sex. This is what you would call a "wildly divergent" interview.

- I am seriously on the verge of passing out from all these perfume and cologne ads in this magazine...

- More pictures of guys sans shirts: this time for an article about how women should interpret gifts given to them from guys. Which means there's absolutely no reason for them to be 'without shirt', but they are anyway. Just like how Maxim photographs scantily-clad women holding a digital camera or the Motorola RAZR in their "Ultimate Gift" features. About the article, if a guy gives a woman what she really wants, that shows he's paying attention. A sappy gift (a teddy bear or some other romantic garbage) means he's not creative. Something practical (like an emergency roadside assistance kit - which is actually featured in the piece) means "he really cares"... and he's not creative. An expensive gift means that he's committed. Mental note: women get nothing but flashlights and flares from now on...

- Page 78 is quite possibly the greatest single page in Cosmopolitan history. There are two articles: the first details how men size women up. One of the ways described is paying attention to how kind the woman is. This is 100% accurate. Men inherently know that if we go out with a woman, and she has an attitude with the bartender, waitress, parking garage attendant, coat check girl, et al., she will cop an attitude with us. And if we pony up for the bill, we had better get a thank you of some sort. I'm not talking extra-curricular activities here, just show some appreciation for us picking up the tab. Times are hard - you should be lucky we didn't go "Dutch treat" on you.

The second article is even better - it discusses why men prefer text messaging. I've written about this before and now it's hit the mainstream media. Simply put, guys are not programmed to stay on the phone for extended lengths of time. If you're out there reading this thinking "I don't know what you're talking about - my man stays on the phone with me for hours...", here's a secret: he's doing it because he HAS to. If not, you'd cop an attitude just like you did with the waitress when you went out for dinner the other night. We'd text you 90% of the time if we could get away with it (I would say 100%, but there are those times where we do want to hear your voice. Yes, I said it - I am not completely heartless when it comes to relationships. I'm not. Seriously.)

- Another Guy Without His Shirt section: whoever said women aren't as interested in sex as men are is a liar. And how is a dude showing off his bird chest sexy? At least with women in lingerie/bikinis, you can see what they're working with.

- Perfect Looks To Party: Cosmo offers a half-dozen fashionable outfits that are good to party in. All of these outfits run $200 or more. I don't think I've ever had $200 worth of clothing on my body at one time, with the exception of rented tuxedos. I think this is just a personal problem - I'm mad frugal with mine.

- Beauty and fashion section: I'm seriously not qualified to comment on things called "Armani Hydra Glow Foundation" and "L'Oreal Color Juice Lipgloss in Watermelon Crush."

- Another sex tip section called Love and Lust which promises to "make him race home to you." I'm not going to get into it (although the tips are really good) for the simple fact that it's not necessary. Ladies... you are trying too hard. It really doesn't take much to get a man going sexually. Yes, lingerie and massages work wonders, but if I came home and saw you in my high school volleyball T-shirt and a pair of mesh shorts, I would attack you just the same. It's that simple. Now if you want to get your man to buy you stuff, then that's a different ballgame altogether. You might have to break out the massage oils for that one, but even then, I make no promises.

- The following are the 5 relationship rules women should break, according to Cosmo:
- You can't check out anyone else.
- You have to give each other the play-by-play of your day.
- Sex always has to be spontaneous.
- You have to resolve every conflict.
- You need to deep-six your exes.

My thoughts:

I'm going to be looking at other women, so if you want to look at other dudes, that's cool with me. Because I'm not going to stop looking at other women.

We don't want the play-by-play of your day unless something big happened. You don't want to hear about our day either because 98% of the time, our days are corny. And your days are even more corny than ours because they involve people that we don't even know.

Sex has to be spontaneous, and that's that (unless it's an anniversary, a birthday or Valentine's Day - those are the only exceptions). The only thing I'm scheduling in my non-existent Palm Pilot are doctor's appointments, vacations and oil changes.

Conflicts don't necessarily have to be resolved, but there's no point in holding grudges either. If you have a problem, you either deal with it or learn to live with it. Man... that sounds like something out of the Dr. Phil textbook right there.

- You don't have to drop the ex, just know your role and don't do anything with them that you wouldn't want your man doing with one of his.

I'm only halfway done - this is the longest issue ever...

your mother is a cosmonaut (Part I) - 12.30.05

Lying on the table next to me is the December 2005 issue of Cosmopolitan. I bought this issue for two reasons. One reason is that Eva Longoria is on the cover and I firmly believe that she is the hottest woman on the planet. I'm talking "Death Valley in the summertime" hot. Feel free to disagree all you want, but you would be wrong.

Secondly, from time to time, I like to dive into the abyss known as "the mind of a typical woman." I did a similar Cosmo review in a post a couple of years back, but I only made it halfway through the magazine for some unexplained reason. This time, I'm going for the whole enchilada. Most men would be intimidated by buying/reading an issue of Cosmo, but someone had to do it (although I did use the self-checkout line at the supermarket). How else are we going to figure out the proper technique to use in dealing with the fairer sex? Conversely, all of my chauvanistic thoughts will be on display for women to see, and they'll understand better why we act how we act. I'm here to provide a public service, nothing more.

I haven't read the issue at all yet, so the following is coming straight off the top of my head (for better or worse). With that said, here we go...

- Cover: As with most magazine covers, there's a number of call-outs that highlight the articles inside the issue. These include: "The Sexiest Things to Do Before Sex - Discover the Real Meaning of Shower Power", "Guys' Sex Drive - The Dirty Little Bedroom Secret Nobody Wants to Talk About", "5 Relationship Rules You Gotta Break", "Your Sexual Health - STD News Gynos Don't Share", and "Girl On Top - These 9 Pleasure-Making Sex Positions Will Send You Both to the Moon." This is going to be one of those entries that will write itself, I can feel it...

- I'm pleasantly surprised that there's only 14 pages of ads until the table of contents. With a male mag like GQ, you typically need to page through dozens of ads, three scratch-n-sniff cologne cards and two fold-out Mini Cooper posters before you finally get to anything resembling an actual article.

- Guy Without His Shirt: Each month in Maxim (or FHM or Stuff), there's a section called "Hometown Hotties" where two "girls next door" (who never happen to live next door to me) battle for readers' votes with the winner going on to face a new challenger next round. Cosmo's equivalent is "Guy Without His Shirt." This month, Storm Newton beat Forest Elander. By the way, ladies - both of those guys are using fake names. They both know that quirky names make a man seem sexier/more mysterious, so they submitted fake ones for the purpose of the contest. See, we do know something about how you all think...

- You Tell Us: The letters section is kind of weak this month. There's a letter from a woman (Jessica from Millcreek, PA) who thanks Cosmo for their recent article entitled: "101 Hot Sex Tips From Guys." She tried a few tricks on her fiance, and apparently they worked rather well. I wonder how she did that exactly. I mean, every time I see an article like that ("How to Please A Woman", etc.), I always say "Yeah, I'm going to try Number 78! That sounds awesome!!" Invariably, I always forget what #78 was, or I'm too caught up in the moment, and I wind up referring to old stuff. Man, if I had a decent memory, or if I just left the magazine open on the nightstand as a reference, I would be dangerous.

- From The Editor: There's a section on this page where the editor offers up things she didn't learn until this issue. One of them was the fact that "lightly trailing your fingertips along the skin between your inner elbow and wrist can make you feel relaxed almost instantly." I didn't know that either. But it actually works. And what's funny is that half of you reading this are either trying it right now or thought about doing it just because you read it. It's funny how that works. The power of suggestion, baby...

- Guy Confessions: More men read this than I thought - there's actually a whole section where men write in and offer up some of their dirty little secrets. The best of the bunch is a man who "wanted some outside action" and decided to invite over a woman who wasn't his girlfriend for a little shower fun. Of course, the girlfriend stops by for a surprise visit. She jumps into the stall naked thinking it was only her boyfriend in there, catches the boyfriend and the other woman fooling around, and is extremely pissed. Naturally. Three things came to mind after reading this:

1) This shower scene was one pissed off girlfriend away from being every man's fantasy.
2) How did he convince a friend of his to jump into the shower with him? I couldn't convince a woman to jump in the stall with me if I were covered with fifty-dollar bills.
3) If you are cheating on your significant other in a place where they have the keys to, it may be a good idea to throw the deadbolt on, partner. Just a thought.

- There are more than a few ads in here for engagment rings. It all makes sense now...

- Ask Him Anything: Another reader write-in section, but in this case, the women ask questions of a "guy guru", Jonathan Small. One woman writes in and asks: "If a guy gives you his number but doesn't ask for yours, is he not interested?" The Guy Guru says that guys are just taking advantage of the trend (where women are now more aggressive than in the past) by being lazy daters. This is true - if a guy hands out his number and the woman calls them, then he knows she's interested. This is much easier than collecting a dozen numbers from women, calling them all three days later, and seeing if you get a hit.

While we're on the subject, there needs to be a movement to give out e-mail addresses and IM handles instead of telephone numbers. Talking online is much less awkward than by phone, and if you don't want to talk to a person anymore, then you can just take them off your Buddy List or block their e-mail address. It's much better than getting harassing phone calls at all times of the night. Internet Pimping in 2006 - Start the Revolution.

I'm only 50 pages in at this point. This is fun...

tis the season - 12.26.05

I'm not really a holiday guy. Now don't get me wrong: holidays are great because they mean several days off from work and spending quality time with people you don't get to see too often. They also mean "running around to several different houses and exchanging presents and eating six meals in one day and gaining fifteen pounds and racking up enormous amounts of debt." I want just one Thanksgiving where I can sit at home in my boxers, watch football all day, and eat open-faced turkey sandwiches. And drink beer. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently so. Even still, everyone loves the holidays for the simple fact that you get presents, but that can get a little tricky at times. Fortunately enough, I've figured it all out...

- Gift giving and new relationships: Let's say you just started dating someone right around Christmas time. How long is it before that person is deemed to be "present worthy?" Seriously - what is the statute of limitations on that? Two months? Three dates? One session of fooling around on your couch?

I've been pondering this for weeks, but the topic actually came up during the office Christmas party this year. One of my co-workers was wondering what to get for a man whom she had been dating for less than a month. She was thinking about giving him two bottles of cologne - she works part-time in the men's fragrance section of a department store, so she gets dozens of bottles of the good stuff for free. I told her not to give him the cologne for three reasons: 1) Without getting into the intimate details, I didn't think three weeks was enough time together for dude to be cashing in with two bottles of Drakkar Noir. 2) He knows that you got the cologne for free, so if you give him something that costs you nothing (unless it's homemade), that kind of defeats the purpose. 3) If you start off giving expensive presents, it sets a bad precedent. I'm of the opinion that if you're in a relationship, your gifts to your significant other must be as good or better than they were the year before. Which is why those Zales' and Lexus' Christmas commercials bother me. Once you give a woman an engagement ring or a Lexus LS 300 one year, the bar is set impossibly high. You can't follow that up next year with a trip to the spa - it flat-out doesn't work. The most expensive gift I'll ever give my future wife will be right before one of us dies - I just need to figure out how I'm going to work that out exactly.

- Cost vs. MSRP: I don't know about you, but I set a price limit on every single person that I buy a present for. It's not that I don't want to buy them something more expensive, it's just that I can't afford to. I got bills to pay.

These aren't hard caps by any stretch - I'll overspend like Steinbrenner does with the Yankees if I find just the right thing. With that said, sometimes I'll find an incredible deal that messes with my strategy. For example, let's say I set a $50 cap on my mother. Now if I happen to come across some perfume for her that retails for $50, yet only costs me $35 on eBay, am I still good? Do I have to pony up that extra $15 on an additional gift to avoid upsetting the yin and the yang of gift-giving karma? Invariably, I wind up doing that, but I don't think I have to. I don't think you have to penalize yourself just because you're a shrewd shopper.

- Coming up empty-handed: What do you do when someone gives you a gift because they thought you were present-worthy, yet you failed to get them something? Fortunately, this didn't happen to me this year, but it's happened in the past. A few times. At which point, I'm running to the mall on December 26, scouring the "Everything Must Go" sales, trying to find something of equal value.

Solution? Gift cards. Always carry an infinity of them in your pocket. If someone unexpectedly "gifts" you, whip out the requisite amount of gift cards, smile, and say "Merry Christmas!" Like you meant to do all along.

It helps to get cards to places you normally shop - feel free to use the leftover cards on yourself once the holiday season is over. Trust me - this Christmas thing is easy once you get the hang of it...

the next great sportswriter? - 12.14.05

Apologizes for the lack of updates - I'm not being lazy, I'm trying to see if I can be The Next Great Sportswriter

Basically, Foxsports.com is holding a contest where they're looking for a talented sportswriter/blogger and I've decided to throw my hat into the ring. So I may not update this here blog as often as usual during the contest (maybe twice a week or so). Rest assured, I'm getting into as much trouble as always and I'll keep you updated on the details of my so-called life.

If you want to check out my FoxSports blog, feel free: the single blog.

back in my day... - 12.09.05

(This is going to turn out to be one of those entries that sound like the rantings of a bitter old man. And if that's the case... well, so be it. Dagnabit.)

This morning, I was invited to take a tour of the newly built TECH Center at Temple University. In the school's newspaper, they refer to it as "the nation's largest computer lab." But to call it a "computer lab" would be like calling a Lamborghini "a really nice car." This place is phenomenal.

I'm not sure why I was invited in the first place - it's not like I'm high on the list of movers and shakers at the university. I wouldn't even refer to myself as the low man on the totem pole - I'm more like the dirt beneath it. Even still, I was one of the select few to get an behind-the-scenes tour of the building one month before it opens to the students. Of course, the tour takes place on a day where a storm dumps five inches of snow across the Delaware Valley, forcing us to slush across campus and track dirt and sleet all over the carpets in the new building.

When you walk into the TECH Center, you're greeted by a large atrium (with three plasma screens), a Starbucks (which isn't actually built yet, but will be soon) and the university's Welcome Center, where parents and prospective students are bombarded with Powerpoint presentations on why they should assume $50,000 in debt and take the Temple Challenge. It's no coincidence that they just happened to put the new Welcome Center in the heart of the most gorgeous building in North Philadelphia. It's not like we can sell them on the football team.

Previously, the Welcome Center was a side room in one of the oldest buildings on campus, more of a makeshift demonstration room than anything else. The new auditorium boasts seating for 100-plus, dual projection screens that recess into the ceiling, and enhanced multimedia capabilities. And it's in the midst of the most gorgeous building in North Philadelphia.

"Hello, parents, and welcome to Temple University! Now if you'll just follow me out these doors, you'll see the most incredible computer lab in the history of all mankind! Yes... please make your checks out to Temple University. Thanks."

The second floor is comprised mostly of the main computer lab, but there is also a side area dedicated to Internet-only laptops, which they refer to as surf stations. There are also video editing rooms as well as specialized areas for learning impaired and graphic design students. This is not your father's computer lab. Your father didn't have computer labs.

The main area itself is so large (700 computers in all) that it's actually separated into six color-coded zones. So if you're working in one section, you can IM your friends and tell them: "Yo, meet me in the yellow zone." But then, that would be kind of dorky, wouldn't it? Anyway, each zone has its own lounge area with custom designed, cutting-edge furniture that is color coordinated with that particular area of the lab. It's like Bill Gates meets Martha Stewart meets Feng Shui.

I didn't get the specs on the computers themselves, but I do know that each of them has a TV card installed so that the users can watch cable TV and work on their projects simultaneously. Yeah, I'm sure they'll be extremely productive on that English paper while they're watching re-runs of the Chappelle Show. Each machine also has unlimited access to Napster, so students can listen to (but not download) all the Green Day and Dave Matthews that they want.

They were still setting up the computers as we were making our rounds, and during the tour, we saw the storage room which housed the machines that hadn't been set up yet. Hundreds of shiny new Dells and Apple iMacs just lying on the floor. I will admit that the thought of grabbing one, yelling "Break yourself, fool!" to the assembled crowd and running down the steps did cross my mind. Like they say, you can take the kid out of West Philly...

All in all, it was the most impressive building - other than Lincoln Financial Field - I've ever seen. When I was in school (here comes the bitter old man part), our primary computer lab was housed in the library, where you fought to get one of about 80 slow ass Pentium computers. If you wanted to print something, you had to send it to one of the three community printers - which were all dot-matrix - and wait until your job had been placed in the bin that corresponded to your computer. There were smaller labs in some of the individual buildings, but there weren't more than a couple of dozen workstations in any of them. Since I had a computer at home, I rarely needed to use the machines to do actual work - most of the time, all I did was check my fantasy basketball team or clean the junk mail out of my Inbox. Other people used the computers to download nudie pictures - we didn't have cable TV or Napster subscriptions, but we still found ways to be unproductive. It's amazing how times have changed, how the institution that helped shape me into the man that I am today has taken my tuition money, invested it, and turned it into what can be termed as a $17 million technological nirvana. And I may be bitter, but I have to admit that it's a beautiful thing.

confession wednesday - 12.07.05

I have a confession to make: I haven't been faithful in my relationship.

First of all, let me just say that this has nothing to do with my personal life - I've been strictly monogamous with any woman I've ever been with and I've never done anything that could even remotely be considered cheating. No - this is a much deeper bond than I can have with any other human being. I have broken the sacred convenant between a man and his football team.

There's no use in dancing around it any longer, so let me just come clean: For the rest of the 2005 NFL season, I will no longer support the Philadelphia Eagles because I have switched allegiances to the Cincinnati Bengals.

Now I'm not really cheating on the Eagles, per se - it's more like a temporary separation. It's like when your significant other says "I think we should see other people" or when Britney kicks Kevin Federline out of the house - there's always that sliver of a chance that the "irreconcileable differences" can be ironed out and things will be peaches-and-cream once again. Just not anytime soon.

And I'm not going "all the way" with my new team either - this isn't a full-blown "paint the face and take off work so I can go to the victory parade" type of attachment here. I'll wear the jersey during the games and cheer when they score, but that's about it. Kind of like second or third base on the makeout scale, if it were applied to sports. You know, "hand up the shirt" / "down the pants" action - enough to get excited about, but not flat-out adultery.

In my opinion, I'm more than justified in this move. Here's where the Eagles stand at the current time: the quarterback is out for the season after re-aggravating an injury he suffered in the first game of the year. The star wideout has been suspended from the team after (in order): causing a media circus by doing sit-ups on his front lawn, wrestling with the team's ambassador, calling his QB and the organization that he works for "hypocrites", and splitting the locker room into two separate factions. The starting running back was ticked off for the first half of the season because he wasn't getting paid what he thought he deserved, finally gets the long-awaited contract and promptly goes out Monday night and breaks his foot. The offensive line consists of mostly backups and practice squad guys, the defensive line has a constant case of diarreha ('cause they can't stop the runs) and everyone in the defensive backfield has either lost a step or gotten hurt. And this is everything that's happened DURING the season. Let's not forget that the other starting WR tore his Achilles, a starting defensive end was shot in a robbery attempt and the explosive kick returner tore his leg up jumping over fences BEFORE the season even started. You know that expression "when it rains, it pours?" That's not even applicable in this case - this is like Hurricane Katrina.

I won't rehash the familiar refrain about how Philly is suffering through the longest drought in the history of professional sports of cities with four teams. All I need to say is this: a child who was born the day after the Sixers brought the last title to Philadelphia is of the age that they could very well be graduating college this year... unless he/she dropped out midway through to become a stripper.

So all of that comprises my argument that I should be allowed to adopt a new team for the remainder of the season. There are only two rules to this whole "adopt-a-team" business: you can't root for your primary team's archrival(s) and you can't pick the best team in the league. Other than that, everyone else is fair game. Thus, I'm going down to the bus station and buying my ticket for a spot on the Bengals bandwagon.

Until now, the Eagles are the only football team I've ever known, despite a brief flirtation with the Minnesota Vikings at some point during my formative years. I've been a life-long Sixers fan, and have been a Flyers fan ever since I started watching hockey, even though I became obsessed with the Detroit Red Wings after playing NHLPA 93 on the Sega Genesis. That team was incredibly studly on that game.

Since the Phillies have been awful for pretty much their entire 100+ year existence, I became a fan of the Chicago White Sox for the better part of the 1990s. Only recently did my allegiance switch back to my hometown team and, of course, my formerly beloved Chisox go out and with the World Series this past year. Maybe there isn't a curse on the Philadelphia teams - it's just me.

Perhaps I'm the reason why we've gone championship-less since 1983. A lot of people want to blame it on the fact that the city charter was changed after the last title to allow skyscrapers taller than the statue of Billy Penn atop City Hall. And if people are willing to swallow that lame excuse, then it's not much of a stretch to blame a hard-luck 26-year-old in South Jersey, either. Go ahead - blame me all you want. And don't mind if I'm not paying attention - I'll be too busy watching Bengals' highlights to notice.

dear santa - 12.04.05

No, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus. At least not anymore.

Christmas is three weeks away and I'm not looking forward to it like I did when I was younger. For one, the true meaning of the holiday is lost in the commercialization. And on top of that, I don't clean up on gifts like I used to.

When I was younger, there was always something I HAD TO HAVE on Christmas. A Knight Rider bike with training wheels, a Sega Genesis, a 3-disc CD changer - something. Now... not so much. Sure, I'd like an X-Box 360 or an iPod, but if I don't get one, then I'm not going to throw a temper tantrum. Not like I ever did that when I was a kid, I'm just saying.

And most things that I want now, I'll just go out and buy it. But there are a couple of things that I'd like for Christmas that they don't sell at Best Buy:

Invisibility: If you ask people what super power they would like to have, most of them would say the ability to fly, but that's highly overrated. First of all, it's probably really hard to breathe at 10,000 feet in the air. Secondly, it's not like you can just up and fly anywhere you wanted to - as soon as someone saw you flying to work one day, they'd corner you and ask you tons of questions. Soon enough, you'd wind up doing the Today Show/Jimmy Kimmel/Late Night with Dick Dietrick circuit and they would expect you do to Superman things when all you can do is fly. This is why I chose invisibility.

One stipulation: this would have to be the Sue Storm/Invisible Woman type of power where I and everything that I touch is invisible. The Claude Rains/Invisible Man version where only your body is invisible is useless - I don't want to be walking around all bandanged up and in a trench coat. And speaking of things done while wearing trench coats, this is what I would do with the power of invisibility:

1) Live in Jessica Alba's shower stall.
2) Rob banks.

I think it's somewhat ironic that I would use my gift to camp out in the bathroom of a sex symbol who played the Invisible Woman in the movie version of the Fantastic Four, but that's exactly what I'd do. And if I somehow got bored with that (or if Jessica was away shooting another Oscar-caliber movie along the lines of "Into the Blue"), I'd get one of those maps of movie star houses and begin making my rounds, starting with Eva Longoria's house.

Once the women leave their houses for the day, it would be time to hit up the banks "Dog Day Afternoon" style. It's my opinion that if you actually had the power of invisibility, you're pretty much required to steal, otherwise you are wasting your talents. It's like being Derek Jeter and not using that status to your advantage. He's a handsome guy who plays in the "city that never sleeps" who banks 10+ million a year - with those qualifications, he is pretty much obligated to sleep with the hottest women on the planet, and that's exactly what he does. I would be upset if he didn't.

And since that's the case, then I feel that it's my duty to steal. Not large amounts, just enough to get by... for years at a time. Don't worry - your bank accounts are FDIC insured, so your money is safe. And for those of you who actually know me and think I have morals, just remember that I'm not above stealing. But I am above stealing and getting caught.

The ability to say what I want and have the intended audience understand me: You don't know how many times I've written something on here that's gotten me into trouble in one way or another. And it's not because I don't have good intentions - I would never write anything mean spirited about anyone I know - but sometimes the true meaning gets lost in the mix. The same thing happens when I talk to people as well, even though mostly everyone I know would tell you that I'm a nice guy. I think I have some sort of communication issues that I need to deal with.

That being said, the real reason I want this ability is to say things to people (read: women) that I'm thinking but don't feel comfortable enough to say. To all of the women out there reading this: when men are talking to you, they are usually thinking of other things they'd like to say/do to you if they find you attractive. I don't know if you all do the same to us, but that's just how it is.

There are many occasions where I'd like to tell women (strangers and friends, alike) that I find them remarkably attractive - in my own special way. And it's not that I want to "get with them" necessarily - I just appreciate beauty in all of its forms. For example, if I'm out at a bar with a couple of my boys and an attractive waitress comes over, I'd like to be able to have the following exchange:

Waitress: How are you guys doing? Is everything here OK?
Friend #1: Yes.
Friend #2: We're good, thanks.
Me: Absolutely... you sexy bitch.

I reserve the "you sexy bitch" addendum for certain women/situations - if you throw it around too much, it loses its effect. But there are times when I'm thinking it about someone in particular, and I'd just like to have the ability to let them know without getting physically assualted. Don't people want to know when others find them sexy? I know I do.

the barber of the 'ville - 12.01.05

For those of you who are relatively new readers of this blog, let me just first take a minute to explain that I get my hair cut at SuperCuts - the following story will be easier to understand if you know that upfront. For those of you who have been reading this for a while, I just want to apologize for all those hours of your time that you've spent reading the ramblings of an (obviously) insane man.

Anyways, I went to Supercuts yesterday to get my bi-weekly haircut. Except that it had been more than two weeks since I had last gone - there was a nice-sized thicket of nappy hair atop my head. I wanted to get my hair cut last week, but that was right before Thanksgiving, so that was out of the question. Barbershops are always packed right before a holiday - everyone wants to look their best before they head off to Grandmom's house for dinner.

Now everyone who goes to the salon or to a barbershop knows that if you can gain a rapport with a particular barber/stylist, it's a beautiful thing. It's like slipping on your favorite pair of underwear before you head out the door - there's no better feeling in the world than being comfortable, even at the barbershop. And, fortunately for me, my favorite stylist was in the house last night. Andrea checked me into the computer as soon as I walked in the door, and she gave me that unspoken acknowledgement that she recognized me and would take care of me when she had the chance. Or, at least I thought she did.

Her compatriot, Linda, was actually the first stylist free when it was my turn to sit in the chair. There was something about her that made me cautious, so when she started cleaning up the store after ringing up her previous customer, I breathed a sigh of relief. It wouldn't last long, however - she called me up just as I started my best "busy yourself with a magazine and ignore the hair stylist for as long as you can" impression. I knew I was in for a treat.

As I sat down, I told her how I wanted her to cut my hair and she began to caress my head. Usually, when a woman starts rubbing on my head, I get a little excited. In this case, I was a bit repulsed. Maybe it's just me, but a strange, unattractive woman fondling my follicles is a bit off-putting.

She momentarily stopped massaging my head and started picking at my hair. At first, I thought she was merely fascinated by the sight of it. I know for a fact that you're required to learn how to cut all different types of hair in order to get your beautician's license, so it shouldn't have been anything new to her. "I can't use scissors on this, can I?" she asked. No, ma'am - my hair is about 2 centimeters long and tightly rolled - you and the scissors have no chance in hell.

Undeterred, she flicked on the electric clippers and started going to work. I have this unnatural fear of getting hair in my eyes, so I usually keep them closed while I'm getting a haircut. I had to watch Linda like a hawk, though - I wasn't too confident in her abilities.

She continued to run her fingers over my head and I continued to not be excited. "Would you like me to do something with the top here?" I shook my head. I honestly think she wanted to give me a bowl cut. You know, those haircuts where it's long on the top and closely shaved on the sides? Where it looks like the barber put a bowl around the kid's head and just shaved around it? Those haircuts weren't even in style when they were "in style" many moons ago. I successfully stopped the flow of my sarcastic gland, or else I would have said something like: "Yes, Linda, I really would like a bowl cut. Please try not to get any hair on my Ocean Pacific T-shirt and my Bugle Boy jeans. And please hurry, I need to go home and watch Max Headroom."

Her fingers danced along my head. "You have some nice, natural waves in your hair - can I do something with them?" I politely told her no yet again. I just wanted to get the wig that was growing on my head cut off and walk away without any bald patches. She still wouldn't let up.

"I want to find someone who will let me give them some color," she said, working over my scalp. "But you already have color in your hair. You don't have any gray." At that point, my girl Andrea - who had overheard the entire conversation - chimed in. "You're not going to get him. He gets the same haircut every time he comes in!"

(Note to Andrea if she's reading this: Yes, Andrea - I do get the same exact haircut every single time I come in. And you probably only remember that fact because I am the only black man who comes into your [or any other] Supercuts store. Even still, you obviously know me, so why didn't you look out for me last night? That's cool, though. I see how it is. Judas.)

Linda was extremely disappointed that I wouldn't be her guinea pig. And just like that, she stopped rubbing my hair incessantly. For the next 10 minutes, she was very businesslike and cut the rest of my hair without incident, except for when she clipped my ear with the comb. As she was finishing up, she actually asked if I wanted her to cut the Supercuts logo in my hair. I was pretty sure she was kidding, so I played along and asked "How much will I get paid for it?" But I was serious. I'll let somebody jack up my hair for the right price - I have bills to pay. Let's not be foolish, now. It's Christmas time.

parking lot pimpin' - 11.29.05

Friday night was supposed to start like this: I was going to meet up with a bunch of friends at St. Jack's - a bar right off 3rd and Chestnut in Center City that we frequent whenever the out-of-town crew comes home for the holidays. Good music, good drinks, good times - we'd chill there all night and grab some food afterwards. Simple, right? Well... no. Me and simple don't get along very well.

After I parked my car, I walked to 3rd and Chestnut and, lo and behold, the bar isn't there anymore. Now I knew it was on that block - there was a huge picture of a Jack of Diamonds adorning the side of the building - it was kind of hard to miss. A new bar named Jager's was now where I thought St. Jack's was. I looked in the windows and I didn't see my friends, so I assumed that it was the wrong bar.

So for the next 20 minutes, I begin to wander around Old City, looking for St. Jack's, just to be certain I wasn't going crazy. I called my friends who were already at the bar, but they weren't answering. On my journey, I passed the same homeless man three separate times - the third time I passed, he didn't even bother asking me for change. I probably should have asked him for directions.

At this point, I'm a tad bit irate (and cold), but the second homeless man I passed cheered me up a bit. After he asked for money - to which I gave my usual "sorry, I don't have any change" response - he actually shot back: "That's OK. I take bills, checks, traveler's checks... and all major credit cards are accepted!" I couldn't help but laugh at that.

While I'm making my rounds, my friend Jaz calls and asks where I am. The original plan was for me to meet her in front of the bar, but since I couldn't find the bar, that wasn't an option. So I told her that I'd come to the Ritz garage and we'd figure out what to do from there. On my way to the garage, I called my friend Derek (who was already at the bar) and he told me that they were indeed at Jager's.

After standing outside in the cold for 10 more minutes, I quickly realized that there are (at least) two separate Ritz parking areas, so Jaz and I wound up outside different garages, waiting for the other person to show up. A quick call fixed the problem (cell phones are awesome...) and we made plans to meet at Jager's.

So we go inside and the place was awful. Beyond awful. (Insert a word that means "worse than awful" here.) There was a hip-hop room upstairs, but there were only about 10 people in there. The room was filled with "minimalist" furniture, and by minimalist, I mean "chairs so small, they were originally meant for preschoolers." Downstairs had adequate seating room, but the vibe of St. Jack's was completely gone. So the group decided that we'd only stay there until the last of the stragglers arrived (one of my boys from work met up with us as well) and we'd head out to a bar that was at least slightly "hip".

We wound up at Dolce - the same place we went last time when the out-of-towners were in Philly - and we congregated in the front section of the bar. We migrated over to Paradigm - a spot directly connected to Dolce - which happened to be spinning hip-hop that night. Hip-hop + my friends + alcohol = good times. We were rolling at least 12 deep, so we basically took over the entire back of the place. The drinks are pricey, but it's a quality spot.

Whenever I go out with that particular crew, Jaz ends up being my de facto dance partner, which is perfectly fine with me because she is invariably the prettiest girl on the floor. And anytime you go out to the bar and wind up dancing with the hottest girl in the place, you've had a good night. Even if you were wandering the streets like a lost puppy only a few hours earlier.

About 10 minutes before last call, my friend Derek and his wife started to get up and leave. He went around to everyone and made the following statement: "Chinatown. One hour." He wanted to get something to eat, so it made sense that we'd all get together and grub on some Chinese food. The thing is that Derek lives in San Francisco. 1:35 am Eastern time is only 10:35 pm San Fran time, and I'm usually in bed by 10:35 pm San Fran time. But since everyone else was going, I decided to man up and tag along.

After we all left the bar, we (myself, Jaz, and my friends Chet and Kim) make our way to Jaz's car at the other Ritz garage. We get to the lobby and... there's about 200 people in there. It was a madhouse - I had flashbacks to earlier that morning when I saw swarms of people descend on the 9.99 DVD bin at the Best Buy Black Friday sale. Everyone in the garage was either waiting to use the elevators and/or validating their tickets. How that garage works is that you take your ticket with you after you park and you pay/validate it when you return.

There was a security guard standing outside the chaos, and Jaz walks over and asks him where the steps are. He begins whispering in her ear like he was telling her the hidden truth about the Kennedy Assassination or where Area 51 really is. We eventually find out that the steps were around the corner of the building. Now, before I continue, there are three important facts that you should know:

1) The car is parked on the roof of the garage.
2) We don't have a ticket to leave.
3) The car is parked on the roof of the garage. (This needs to be mentioned twice.)

An ungodly amount of steps, one gorgeous rooftop view of the city, and several minutes frantically searching the car for the ticket later, we figure that we might as well just drive down and tell the attendant on the ground floor that we didn't have our ticket to leave. It's not like they were going to keep us trapped in there. Chet - still feeling the effects of the alcohol - actually told me: "You drive, so you can play the race card!" I didn't understand it then, and... I still don't understand it now. For one, all of us in the car were/are minorities and secondly, what "race card" can you play in a crowded parking garage at 2 in the morning? For some reason, I wound up driving anyway.

Of course, all 200 people we saw in the lobby were trying to leave at the same time, so it took quite a long time for us to get out. 20 minutes later, we're finally on the ground floor, and I told the attendant that I lost my ticket, so I just wanted to pay the full cost of parking in the garage. He gives me a slip to fill out, takes the credit card, and goes over to the booth to run the transaction.

It takes a while to run the card, so the driver of the car behind us begins laying on his horn. Note to all: do not blow your horn at a car full of Asian girls at 2:30 am after they just sat through a parking garage traffic jam. Let's just say that there were profanities exchanged.

In the midst of all this, the driver of the car behind us (who happened to be Puerto Rican) actually told someone in our car: "Shut up... with your white ass." Again, we're all minorities. I don't know - maybe you can play the race card in a parking garage. The attendant came over at that point, gave us the card back and let us through. Chet said to the attendant: "Make sure you take a long time with them!" as we sped off.

We drove to the parking garage where my car was without incident. I go up, get my car and find myself in yet another parking garage traffic jam. Some genius pulled the fire alarm in my garage, sirens were flashing everywhere. This one took about 20 minutes to get through as well, and by the time I got out of the garage, it was after 3 am. 12 am San Fran time.

I was exhausted and frustrated and the bridge over to Jersey was staring me in the face... so I made my way home. Quickly. 30 minutes after I left the garage, I was in my bed. I love hanging out with my friends, but at 3 in the morning, I love my bed even more.

no one likes a snitch - 11.28.05

A lot happened to me this Thanksgiving weekend, including getting stuck in two parking garage traffic jams on Friday night, failing my car inspection test and braving the Black Friday crowds at 5 am, but this might have been the best story of the weekend...

Thanksgiving dinner was at my mother's house as usual. We had an unusually large crowd, however - myself, my mother, my sister, her four kids, my brother, his girlfriend, and a strange woman named "Dolores." Now, she could be referred to as strange for the simple fact that she invited herself over our house without being asked, but it gets better than that.

At some point in the day, when she called my mother and invited herself to dinner, "Dolores" said that she would bring alcohol of some sort. Now, my mother isn't a drinker, so she told the woman to bring whatever she wanted. After the rest of us learned that we were getting free alcohol out of the deal, my sister - being the lush that she is - wanted to make a request for Hypnotiq (I voted Coronas, but who am I?). So she hit redial on the phone to ask the woman to bring Hypnotiq, but the woman said she was already on her way and had already purchased some moonshine-type liquor named Zombie (which I actually found out later was made by Bacardi). Only my brother's girlfriend knew what it was at the time - she said it was basically a cross between Boone's and a cheap version of the 'notiq. As long as it had alcohol content, I was good. "Dolores" was extremely excited at the thought of drinking it - she told us to "put some glasses on ice!"

About 20 minutes later, right before we're about to sit down at the table, the phone rings. It was "Dolores." The conversation was as follows:

Her: Did you call me?
Me: What?
Her: Did you call me?
Me: Yeah... we called like 20 minutes ago...
Her: I'm on [Route] 55...
Me: Uhhh, okay. Here's my mother...

As a family, we decided that we weren't going to wait around for a crazy woman, so we (with the exception of my mother) started to eat without "Dolores." So we finish up, and "Dolores" strolls in with the Bacardi Zombie in her hand (in a brown paper bag, no less), ready to attack our leftovers. The entire time she's fixing her plate, my brother is making comments under his breath such as: "You brought the liquor, so now you can go..."

Of course, there's more - my mother and "Dolores" start eating at a table off to the side of the kitchen while the rest of us adults are putting the food away. For some reason, the two of them start talking about my sister, and the Zombie Lady goes off in between bites of macaroni-and-cheese.

"You know what's wrong with her?" said "Dolores". "She's spoiled! She's Daddy's Little Girl!" Mind you, she only met my sister 10 minutes earlier, and still hadn't exchanged a direct word with her, yet she already started in on her. Now I'm quick to get on my sister's case, but no dementia-having, corn liquor-bringing woman is just gonna roll up in my house, eat my food, and talk about her like that. In my mind, that solidified her craziness to me.

A few minutes later, while my brother's girlfriend was drying dishes, she accidentally knocked a glass off of the countertop and it fell to the floor, shattering in hundreds of pieces. My mother was eating with her back to us, so she didn't see what happened. She merely asked a single question: "Who broke the glass?"

Now I wasn't taking an L for anyone, especially someone I just met, so I quickly let everyone know that "I didn't break it." My brother's girlfriend was silent because she wasn't sure how my mother would react to the news. My sister told everyone who wanted to listen that she was the one who broke the glass. Of course, it was time for "Dolores" to chime in. "She didn't break that glass."

Excuse me, "Dolores"? Are you snitching? How are you going to come into my house and rat somebody out like that? You know what they say: "Snitches get stitches." I don't care how old you are.

At that point, everyone knew who broke the glass, but no one said anything. Thankfully, the rest of the night passed without incident. Or perhaps not - I purposely avoided "Dolores" because I can't stand people who dry snitch. And bringing cheap liquor to someone's house doesn't give you license to put your two cents into everything.

As a matter of fact, I'm finishing up the rest of that Zombie as I'm typing this. This stuff is awful - it's like a nasty version of those blue rum drinks they serve at Friday's or Chili's. According to the bottle, the drink is: "An exotic Zombie cocktail topped with Bacardi 151 Rum." Oh. That makes it clear now. Whatever it is, the last of this bottle is the final remnant of "Dolores" and her Thanksgiving charade. I could just pour it out, but I'm not one to waste liquor like that. Even if it's nasty.

2005 gift buying guide - 11.22.05

Black Friday is less than three days away - the time of the year where we scratch, claw and climb over each other at 6:00 am for $30 DVD players will soon be upon us. Not that I won't be among the masses - for the third straight year, I will be forced to drive my sister around to the various Black Friday sales, largely due to the fact that... I don't know why, actually. It's just my cross to bear, I guess.

Nevertheless, before the hysteria begins once again, I would just like to introduce a concept that may very well revolutionize the way that you shop this Christmas season. Ladies and gentlemen, I present... the multi-gift.

Now, the multi-gift is a very simple concept, yet I don't think many people take advantage of it. Here it is, plain and simple: we all have someone (or a few someones) on whom we spend an exorbitant amount of money on this time of the year, usually splurging on the diamond necklace or the leather jacket that they've been dropping hints about for the past six months. Well, consider this - instead of spending all of that money on one item, why not spread it around to three or four items that they would enjoy just as much, if not more?

I don't know anyone who doesn't enjoy getting a gift at Christmas time. And the only thing better than getting one gift, is getting multiple gifts. For example, I'd love a 60 GB video iPod for Christmas. Absolutely love it. But what I'd enjoy even more is getting a slightly less expensive MP3 player, a couple of long-sleeved rugby shirts, and Seasons 3 and 4 of the TV show "24" (man, I am hint dropping like crazy today...). Multiple gifts = more things to enjoy, show off to friends, etc.

The most important aspect of the multi-gift is that you're almost guaranteed to hit on at least one thing in the package. There's nothing worse than spending hundreds of dollars on something that your intended recipient won't wear, already has, or flat-out doesn't like. If you shower them with presents, you are bound to get something that they'll truly enjoy. Or else you are a bad gift buyer, and I can't help you with that.

I was introduced to the multi-gift theory by my friend Susan who I met in college. She lives in New York, so we rarely get to see each other at all. Even still, she is as reliable as the rain when it comes to gifts. Every year, without fail, a box will arrive on my doorstep just before my birthday and/or Christmas, with a few gifts inside. Usually, I'll get a sweater, a hat and a journal or a book of some sort. And that makes me happier than a fat kid eating cake. And, although she perfected it, my friend didn't even invent the concept - it's been around for thousands of years. Did the Three Wise Men show up on that first Christmas with one really good gift? No... they came with the hook-up: gold, frankincense AND myrrh. Because, even back then, they knew that three gifts are better than one.

There are a couple of rules to multi-gifting, but both are related. The first is that you really shouldn't break it up too much. Sure, a lot of gifts are fun, but there comes a point - in my experience, I'd say 4 or 5 - where the multi-gift loses its luster because the value of the gifts lessens (there's some kind of "law of diminishing returns" thing going on there...). Getting 27 little gifts instead of an iPod just doesn't cut it.

Secondly, you can only multi-gift over a certain price range. For example, if you only want to spend 25 dollars on a person for their gifts this year, you shouldn't break that up into three 8.33 gifts. 8.33 gifts are stocking stuffers, and you can't really get a lot of mileage out of those. Multi-gifts should really only be used if the total value of the gift package is $50 or more.

Strangely enough, this isn't just a theory - I've utilized this strategy for quite some time now, and it has a 100% success rate. I've been told on several occasions that I am a very good gift buyer... for a guy. And I attribute that, in large part, to the multi-gift. Feel free to incorporate it into your gift-giving this holiday season.

the truth about cats and dogs (and men) - 11.20.05

Invariably, whenever I write about women, or how men really think when it comes to relationships with women, I'll catch some heat from at least one of my female friends. That being said, it's time to get in trouble again.

The following comes from years of discussion with my male compatriots, and by no means represents my true thoughts and feelings on these issues. If I actually wrote how I really felt, I would probably die a lonely man...

"I need some time, to ease my mind": Ladies - us men occasionally need some time to ourselves, which we like to refer to as "man time" (clever, I know). It's not that we don't like you or want to be with you, but there's something in us that requires a certain amount of time away from you when we can drink beer, play with the dog, or do whatever it is we enjoy doing. Granted, we can do all of these things if you're around, but it's just not the same. We need that time to get our mind right, for lack of a better phrase. And I would think women would need this time apart as well, but I've come across a few who don't. So, in short, if you stay around your man 24/7, he will go crazy and leave you. And if you don't want that, then feel free to hang out with the girls for as long as you'd like. We'll be here, drinking beer and playing with the dog.

"Pop-up Video": The vast majority of men have certain videos that they like to watch, and I don't mean our old high school football highlight tapes (although we do enjoy those as well). It's something that you'll have to learn how to deal with, if you're not fine with it already (and if you are... I think I love you).

Again, it's not that we don't like you, it's just that you aren't around (and/or in the mood) all of the time. And it these times of desperation, we dig into our stash. So, if you look hard enough, you should expect to find these videos. And if we get careless, you may just find them inside the DVD player. If we looked in your drawers, we'd probably find things you wouldn't want us to see, either. Tell me I'm wrong.

"You've got mail": If a man text messages you, that is not an invitation to call. From a male perspective, the very act of messaging means: "Hey, I care about you enough to check and see how you are doing, but I don't want to spend an hour on the phone trying to do so. Please text me back." Many women get a text message and think: "Hey, he wants to talk to me and he's not busy - let me call him and burn through some of his whenever minutes." This is a false assumption. If we wanted to call, we'd call. We don't, so we do the next best thing. Speaking of the phone...

"Mr. Telephone Man": If you talk to us on the phone often enough, there are going to be times where we don't have much to say. Most days adhere to the following pattern: going to work, coming home, eating unhealthy food for dinner, drinking beer, watching the game, sleep. Not terribly exciting. So don't get the impression that we're keeping you out of the loop or trying to hide something from you. If something big happens (a car accident, our favorite team winning a playoff game), we'll call you and talk about it for hours. But most of the time, we're just flat-out boring. Or maybe it's just me.

Another thing about the phone: In my opinion, unless you just met, or unless you're in a long distance relationship, phone conversations should never last longer than an hour. I have the same theory about meetings at work - after an hour, you're either repeating something you said earlier, or you're just making up stuff to talk about. It shouldn't take an hour to discuss what happened to the two of you that day. Like I said, most of my days are uneventful - it's not like I'm Jack Bauer in "24."

hugh hefner of the philippines - 11.16.05

In college, career advisors would always tell us to "do what you love, and the money will follow." It was a hard sell to most of us business majors, who had 40 years of battling through corporate America (unless we were fortunate enough to strike out on our own) staring us dead in the face. I, on the other hand, was only a business major because the classes were easy. My thinking back then - and even now - was that I'll work in a situation that I find interesting, and as long as I have enough money to do what I need to do, then that's cool. No stepping over people in fits of corporate greed, and no wondering what "the other guy" makes - if you don't help me pay my bills, then I really don't care what you get paid. I just want to be fulfilled with whatever it is that I do. In essence: if it feels good, do it. But sometimes, that could get you into trouble.

Here's the story: One of my co-workers is leaving Temple to work as an accountant at Toll Brothers, a company that specializes in building custom-made homes for rich people. He could have stayed at Temple and kept moving up the ranks, but he's already been here for 3 years, so it was about time to move on if the right situation presented itself. Besides, there is/was a lot of turnover in our department and he was constantly the one picking up the slack since he had been there the longest. There's only so long you can deal with that before you start to look elsewhere. (By the way - if there are any accountants out there reading this, feel free to send me your resume - we're always hiring.)

Here's where it gets tricky: His parents recently built a house in the Philippines. And by "house", I mean "pimped out mansion." There's a man-made fishing lake on the property where you can breed salmon (or whatever it is you put into man-made lakes), fish it out and eat it. Acres and acres of land, chauffers, maids, butlers, the whole nine. He said that if you want a ham sandwich, the cook will make it for you and then deliver it to your room. It's a lot like how I would envision Heaven to be, sans harp players. Then again, if you gave a local enough Filipino pesos, you could probably get them to play the harp for you if you wanted.

In my mind, there really isn't a decision to be made. I've never been to the Philippines in my life, but if I were in that situation, I'd be on the first plane to Manila, civil unrest or not. To him, it's an obvious choice as well, except for the fact that he would prefer to stay in the good ol' U.S. of A. This is what he said when I - incredulously - asked him why he didn't want to live the life of luxury on the other side of the world: "I like Conshohocken. I like Chick-Fil-A."

Chick-Fil-A? Excuse me? I would think that if you have a mansion and a ton of cash in the Philippines, you could get "chicks all day" which, to me, is much better than eating chicken sandwiches. One of the student workers in the office put it best when he said that a man in that situation would be "the Hugh Hefner of the Philippines." And at today's exchange rate, 100 American dollars converts into 5,463 Philippines pesos - you could literally swim in money like Scrooge McDuck used to do on Duck Tales.

And therein lies the problem: It wouldn't take Emeril Lagasse or Rachel Ray to figure out that this is a recipe for disaster. I know that if I had a mansion in the Philippines with a lake and butlers and ham sandwiches and all that, and a ton of money, and hot Filipino women throwing themselves at me because I had all of that... I would probably contract a venereal disease. And proceed to contract several more. And no one's a fan of those - the only VD I enjoy is Valentine's Day.

And that, my friends, is why you don't always do something just because it feels right. Even still, my co-worker offered to organize a trip to the Philippines in the spring, where we'd have full run of the house for a week. And although it's not my house, all of the other variables in the equation (ham sandwiches, hot Filipino women) will still be in place. As they say - what happens in Manila, stays in Manila.

nappy 101 (2 of 2) - 11.15.05

52) On the night of the first Temple game in the Liacouras Center (then the Apollo) I drank 2 40 oz. Budweisers in the span of 45 minutes. And I ate a cold Sausage McMuffin with Egg Sandwich. I promptly threw it all back up about an hour later.

53) Speaking of getting sick, I used to "lose it" quite often during my college years - there wasn't much drinking in my high school years, so my tolerance was low.

54) The last time I threw up because of drinking was when we went out for my 21st birthday. After a few beers and 11 shots, a shot of tequila prompted me to earl all over the top of the bar. And in the bathroom.

55) Funny thing is, even when I get drunk, I remember everything vividly. I've been blessed with a pretty good memory.

56) My father passed away exactly two weeks after my 21st birthday - 3:22 pm on March 22, 2000 (3/22/00).

57) I still remember the last thing he told me to do. And I've been trying to do it every day since. I've been pretty good so far.

58) Sadly enough, I personally knew someone who was murdered. I also know someone whose father was murdered.

59) I was one of the best men for my friend Jay's wedding back in August - the 2nd time I was asked to be a best man.

60) The first was for my brother, quite a few years back. I declined the offer. Regardless, the wedding never happened.

61) Do I Know You?, Part I: Two of Jay's cousins and I were at Masterman at the same time - I was a senior, they were in the 6th grade.

62) Do I Know You?, Part II: One of my friends/current co-workers worked in the same photo studio that took my school's prom and graduation pictures.

63) One of the few regrets I have is that I should have been a better date to the girl I took to the senior prom. No excuses - I just should have handled that better.

64) A couple of years ago, I was the assistant coach of a middle school boys basketball team in a neighboring township. It was a good time.

65) Rum and Coke is my drink du jour at weddings. I can put down quite a few before I even get the slightest bit tipsy.

66) Shortly after I bought my current car, I scraped it up something fierce while I tried to fit into a parking spot. I park like a 7-year-old, partially blind, epileptic girl. I just can't do it well.

67) I've been in a handful of car accidents, but I've never been the person driving.

68) I've only had one other car besides the '02 Elantra I have now - a 1990 Honda Civic. My sister still drives it to this day.

69) I only had one traffic ticket in my life - an illegal left hand turn on red (in the fog, no less) at 12:22 am in October of 2001.

70) I remember it well because I was coming home after standing outside for hours, trying to get a Playstation 2 on the first day of its release (I didn't get one).

71) The first CDs I ever bought were Shaq Fu - Da Return. And B-Ball's Best Kept Secret - a hideous compilation of rap songs written/performed by NBA players.

72) I used to co-host a sports talk radio show on a local radio station for two months.

73) DVDs and books are my thing, but I haven't watched/read half of the ones I own.

74) As I write this, I think there are about two dozen books that I've started and have still yet to finish.

75) I don't know what I would do if the Internet didn't exist.

76) I've never moved out of my house. I do plan on doing it as soon as it makes sense.

77) I think I might have attention deficit disorder. Or "can't pay attention for long periods of time" disorder.

78) Over the course of a day, I drink tons of water. That may be why I sweat so much.

79) I used to be a hardcore procrastinator while I was in school. Now that there are fewer deadlines, I simply do less things. I need deadlines.

80) I also need quite a bit of alone time during the week. I can't be around people all of the time.

81) For various reasons, I don't talk to any of my friends that I met before college. This is primarily because...

82) ... I am horrible in keeping touch with people. I don't call anyone "out of the blue" and I don't like talking on the phone for long periods of time - I'd rather talk face to face.

83) I'm also horrible at giving directions. I am pretty good at following them, however.

84) I love writing (especially short stories), but this is the longest thing I've written in at least six months.

85) This is partly because I've still never been published or won a contest of any sort. Once that happens, I'll have the motivation to write more.

86) I'm not the greatest basketball player, either. My best sport is volleyball, but I was always the QB whenever we played pick-up football in the street growing up.

87) At times, I can be religious. But I'm also very skeptical of churches.

88) I can be extremely moody.

89) I'm the type of person who usually sits back and observes the scene, but I'll speak up if necessary. It all depends on who I'm with.

90) I like a woman who isn't afraid to speak her mind. And who likes Coronas.

91) I have far more Asian friends than I have friends of any other race.

92) I'm afraid of spiders and snakes and any other animal that can kill me.

93) I can deal with failure. I don't like it, but I understand that everything happens for a reason.

94) I try to learn something from everyone. There's at least one thing that each person I know can do better than I can.

95) My favorite color is black and my favorite numbers are 21 and 27.

96) I hate it when I like things that everyone else likes. I take pride in being different.

97) If the music's right, I like to dance. A lot. And if a pretty woman happens to be my dance partner, I like to dance even more. As long as she can keep up.

98) My favorite athletes of all time are Randall Cunningham and Allen Iverson.

99) I've only had one serious relationship.

100) I only expect from someone the same amout of energy I'm willing to give myself.

101) Loyalty is very important to me. Be real with me, and you have a friend for life.

nappy 101 (1 of 2) - 11.13.05

I saw this on a few other blogs, so I thought I'd try it. So here it goes - 101 things about me that you probably don't know (well, the first 51, anyway - the next batch is soon to come). It took forever to write, but it was fun to do.

1) I was born on Thursday, March 8, 1979 at 4:55 pm at Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia, PA...

2) ... which would make me a Pisces and although I'm not big on astrology, I do exhibit a lot of the traits of a typical Pisces.

3) I have a brother who is 18 years older than me and a sister who is eight years older.

4) Three of my four grandparents passed away before I was born.

5) When I was a toddler, I had viral meningitis and was in the hospital for weeks.

6) Around the same time, I also broke my arm when I was laughing and I fell off the edge of the bed.

7) I never had a pet and never really wanted one. Too much maintenance.

8) I skipped kindergarten. I was supposed to skip first grade as well, but my mother didn't want me to be two years younger than my classmates.

9) I was in the mentally gifted program in elementary school. All that really meant was that we got bused to a different school one day a week so we could do puzzles and play Oregon Trail on the computer.

10) One time, my best friend and I thought we saw our MG teacher kiss the bus driver. We proceeded to tell the whole class. She was actually setting up a trip for the entire group. My friend and I didn't get to go on the trip.

11) Around that time, I was on choir as well. I used to be able to sing alto and soprano parts (there was no bass - this is pre-puberty)

12) One of my most vivid childhood memories involves me stumbling on the auditorium steps right before our choir performed at a neighboring middle school. I didn't fall, and no one really noticed, but the incident bothered me for years.

13) I consistently got Ds in handwriting back then - my mother used to make me practice at the dining room table for an hour each night.

14) In August of '87, my parents bought our current house in Jersey. I stayed at my grandmother's (and subsequently had several other addresses) so I could go to school in Philly.

15) On the day my parents officially moved in, my sister and I were in Canada on a trip with my Cub Scout troop. On the last stop of the trip, I got lost in Canada's Wonderland, the largest theme park in the country.

16) In 1992, I also went to Atlanta with the Cub Scouts, even though I wasn't a member anymore. That was the first time I've ever been south of Virginia.

17) More Cub Scouts: I went on a weekend-long camping retreat with my cousin and the Scouts. I wasn't doing the outhouse thing, so I didn't go to bathroom the entire weekend.

18) I was baptized a month before my 9th birthday. I didn't understand the significance until months later when...

19) ... I joined Awana, which is basically the Christian version of the Cub Scouts.

20) In 4th grade, I was told that I would be going to a magnet school called J.R. Masterman for middle school. It was (and still is) the best school in Philadelphia. I didn't know it at the time.

21) Only two other people from my elementary school were picked to go to Masterman that year: my best friend Kahaun and my grade school crush Tanesha.

22) Shortly after we got to Masterman, Tanesha made fun of me in the school cafeteria. I was so upset, I went home that night and wrote about it in my journal. Yes, I had a journal back then.

23) I only remember getting kicked out of class once - for talking during a Latin lesson in 6th grade.

24) I only had detention once, too - for hitting one of my friends in the face with a badminton racket. I told him not to mess with me, he did, so I hit him.

25) In 6th grade, my teacher used to call me the Diarrhea Kid because I used to ask for the bathroom pass right before I was called on to turn in my projects (which were never completed...)

26) I got into several fights with this kid named Ronald quite often in middle school. No one ever really won.

27) Our fights usually went like this: he would try to kick me, I would catch his leg, throw him to the ground, grab my books and walk away.

28) In the summer before 7th grade, I took the SAT as part of some special program through Johns Hopkins. I scored 920.

29) I may have been the worst art student in the history of the school. I couldn't draw, and when we got take-home assignments, I used to trace pictures. Poorly.

30) I played the flute and the trombone in my early years at Masterman. One day, I just got tired of playing an instrument, so I stopped.

31) I had two bikes stolen from me in my pre-teen years.

32) My father only really yelled at me twice: once when I was out at a friend's house and didn't check in for hours, another time when I threatened not to go to church with my parents on their anniversary (still not sure why I flipped out like that)

33) In high school, I was a very good chess player. I probably could have been on the school's team, but... I wasn't. They used to go on trips around the world, beating college teams and grand masters - they were that good.

34) A lunch table actually fell on my head once. I was trying to be a Good Samaritan and straighten the lunchroom one day, and just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I wasn't hurt badly.

35) My first job was doing data entry in an ob/gyn office at Albert Einstein Medical Center before my senior year. I only lasted a week - my mother quit and I followed her out the door.

36) That same summer, I was invited to a week-long program at Bloomsburg University. It was a ploy by the school to attract minority students.

37) There were only 30 of us there but, strangely enough, I had gone to middle school with two of the girls. I blew off half of the planned events, instead choosing to walk around the city. I can personally say that Bloomsburg, PA is extremely boring.

38) Although I was friendly enough with everyone, I pretty much hung out with the outcasts in high school. The outcasts didn't talk about you behind your back.

39) I didn't know what the Internet was until my senior year. By the time I got to college, I still didn't know what HTML meant.

40) Three of my teachers passed away in the span of six years: my 7th grade teacher, my 7th/11th/12th grade math teacher, and my 11th grade computer science teacher.

41) I played volleyball during my last two years of high school. We won the city title my junior year, but I didn't play much. I played more the next year, but we lost in the first round of the playoffs.

42) I carried a Super NES in my bookbag for the majority of my senior year. Every time we had a free moment, we'd hook it up and play NBA Live '95.

43) I made up a group called the "Community Fellowship Alliance" so I could have something extra to put on my college applications.

44) I got accepted everywhere I applied (Temple, Michigan, Pitt, Penn State), but picked Temple because it was the cheapest.

45) I made the Dean's List in my first semester at Temple. I promptly "slacked off" the next semester (if you call a 3.0 slacking off - I did get a C, though).

46) I started out as an accounting major, then I switched to computer science. After that, it was computer science and marketing, then for a while, it was just marketing. I finally graduated with a degree in marketing with a journalism minor.

47) I hated group projects. One of the reasons I don't want to do the grad school thing is because I don't want to work in groups.

48) At Homecoming during sophomore year, I was one of five students picked to kick a 20-yard field goal to win a year-long scholarship.

49) My first attempt bounced along the ground. My second attempt also bounced... right off the upright. A guy who was a walk-on to the soccer team eventually hit the FG.

50) I used to tutor players on the Temple football and basketball teams.

51) I also had a job advising undecided students on their choice of a major. I met a lot of girls that way.

52 cards, 34 players, 1 dream - 11.09.05

This was supposed to be about poker.

This was supposed to be about catching a "full boat" on the "river", about how one man overcame long odds and was victorious in fighting off all comers, about the irony of playing Texas Hold 'Em in a training facility for the federal prison system. But I'll get to all that.

The most amazing thing about last Friday was that I had the day off from work. That in and of itself isn't a special occasion, but I was amazed at all the things that I was able to accomplish in the same hours I'm usually at (or on my way to) work:

Slept for an additional hour, messed around on the Web, watched TV, organized clothes, scrubbed down the siding on the front of my house, ironed two pairs of pants, played a practice Texas Hold 'Em tournament on my computer (I lost badly), slept for another 45 minutes (when I don't have to work, I get mad narcoleptic...), took a shower, got all dressed and pretty-like, drove to Lindenwold, went to the liquor store and picked up 3 cases of beer, ate Vietnamese food (Pho - it was good as hell, too) for lunch, drove to Cherry Hill, went to the supermarket to get sodas, drove elsewhere in Cherry Hill to pick up the poker tables and chips, went to Philadelphia, unloaded the beer/soda/etc. onto a hand truck and brought it all into the training center.

All of this happened between 7 a.m. and 6 p.m. In my opinion, I was far more productive away from the job than I am when I'm there. This whole work thing is overrated.

The tournament itself was pretty uneventful. There were 34 players in all, with varying degrees of skill. I never entertained the notion of winning - I figured I would bide my time, be aggressive when I could, let people eliminate themselves, and hang around for as long as possible. I did everything but the "be aggressive" part. I couldn't because I didn't catch good cards all night. I had pocket 8s twice, other than that - nothing. I could have stood outside that night for three hours, naked except for my boxers, soaking wet, and I wouldn't have caught a cold - it was that bad.

I didn't even win a hand all to myself - I split one when me and this other guy both had A-8 offsuit, and we paired up our Aces on the flop.

I finished right in the middle of the pack - there were at least 15 or 16 people already eliminated when I got up from the table, shook the requisite hands, and cracked open my third beer of the night. I was out early enough that I was able to drive someone home who lived about 65 blocks away, and come back in time to watch the final table. I wasn't disappointed, though - going in, I assumed that I had more skill than the players who didn't really know how to play and less skill than the people who play religiously. So I'll take 17th place for my first ever poker tournament.

One final thought: Some of those correctional officers are built like brickhouses. At the start of the game, I sat next to a guy named John who was about my height, except that he was mad diesel (read: in shape), he had tattoos of... strange designs running up and down the length of his arms and he wore a gray T-shirt that read: Witness Protection Program. He was friendly enough, but there was still something about him that if I ever did happen upon a good hand, I probably would have folded if the pot came down to me and him. In case you were wondering: playing federal officers in poker is mad intimidating.

gender inequity is awesome - 11.07.05

There was a moment this weekend where a female acquaintance of mine playfully smacked me in the ass.

And I liked it. A lot.

But it got me to thinking about, of all things, gender inequity. Strange, I know, but work with me here. Of course, we know the obvious examples where women and men are on unequal playing fields: Women, on average, get paid 24% less than men who perform similar jobs. And for years, there was rampant sexism in higher education, which led to the passage of Title IX in 1972. But there are other aspects of life where women can get away with a lot more stuff than men can. And that's fine by me.

Take the previous incident, for example. I know that without a doubt, if I smacked the very same woman right in the back of her Lucky brand jeans, she would have turned towards me, raised her eyebrow like the Rock, and said the following: "What in the hell is wrong with you?" Is that fair? I don't think so, but who's complaining?

I get smacked in the ass quite often. Back in college, there was a girl where I used to work who used to "goose" all of us male co-workers whenever the urge hit her. In return, I used to give her a bear hug everytime I came into the office, lifting her 4-foot-9, 90-pound frame into the air and squeezing it tight. Neither of us wanted to "get busy" with the other (although, I would have if the opportunity presented itself - let's not be foolish here, kids) - we were just having some harmless, flirtatious fun in the office. A little workplace lovin' never hurt anybody. Unless you start dating someone you work with and things don't work out and you have to deal with that person every day for months, with half of the office knowing your business, which makes for a very uncomfortable situation. Not like that's ever happened to me before, I'm just saying. Hypothetically.

Back to my original point, though - I know quite a few women, but I honestly don't think that among them, there are three who would allow me to smack them in the ass without consequences. I am more than willing to field test my theory, but I'm concerned with the possible reprecussions that would result. Most would look at me and ask me what's wrong. Some would merely stare, shake their head and wonder to themselves what would possess me to do such a thing. And some would use profanity.

On the flip side of the argument, if every woman (well, at least those who I find moderately attractive) I know smacked me in the backside, I would find some enjoyment in it. It's cool to be found attractive enough to drive a woman to do something like that to you. And I think the majority of the male population would agree with me. Every man likes a little goose in his diet now and then. The point is that women can be far more physically flirtatious than men can, and if some woman gets the urge to do it with me, I got no problems with it.

It's funny because doing similar things to a female aren't even listed in my brain as "things that I would really like to do and could possibly get away with." I'm not even sure what I would do if I were to - hypothetically - smack some woman on her backside and she was OK with it. Being one to jump to conclusions regarding women (as most men do), I would probably think that she wanted to sleep with me. Just like I think that about any woman who ever asks me what time it is, any female co-worker who asks to borrow my stapler, and any girl who asks me whether or not the train we're about to board is going northbound or southbound. That's how I think - that's how I roll.

corolla motorola holder (2 of 2) - 11.05.05

Tuesday night, I took both phones to the local Verizon store to switch the service over to the new phone. I assumed going in that it wasn't going to take long and I was right. I went over to the technician's area and there was a Verizon rep who wasn't busy, but she didn't make any move to help me for about a minute. Now, if you've ever had a job where you had to serve the public, you know there were quite a few times where you weren't busy but you deliberately ignored a customer standing right in front of you, just because you didn't feel like doing anything at the time. Well... it wasn't like that. It was as if she knew she couldn't help me out. It was like ESP or something. She eventually had to break the news to me:

Me: This phone (holds up the busted phone) doesn't work anymore, so I want to switch my service to this phone (holds up phone without the battery door).

Verizon Rep: You can't do that. That phone (pointing to the new phone) has push-to-talk. If you want to use that, you have to talk to them to switch your plan (points to salespeople).

Me: OK, but I don't WANT to use push-to-talk.

Verizon Rep: It doesn't matter - you still have to upgrade your plan.

Me: ... Aight.

At this point, I had no one to be mad at but myself. I bought the phone I couldn't use and I'm usually pretty good at doing enough research beforehand to know what I should buy. And I could still re-sell the phone on eBay without the door and make my money back. But the fact remained that I still needed a phone. So then I embarked on my next venture.

eBay Canada.

eBay Canada is the best thing to come from our neighbor to the north since Pamela Anderson. And Molson Ice. It's just like regular eBay, except there's less traffic and less items to bid on. Most of the sellers even live in the US, strangely enough. Only thing you have to figure out is the exchange rate, and if you click on the auction, they'll even convert it into American dollars for you. Just remember that if you see something that is selling for 150 Canadian dollars, that translates into about $9.47 American. Roughly.

After three days of searching eBay Canada, I was still without a phone, however. Even those Canadians were skilled at outbidding me at the last minute, no doubt about it. So yesterday, I sucked it up, went to eBay Regular and clicked Buy It Now on an Audiovox 8910. Not exactly the phone I wanted, but it was practically new and the description explicitly stated that it came with the battery door. I think I hit gold on this one - about 20 minutes after I bought the phone, I got an e-mail from the seller saying that they were sending it out on the same day. So a few days from now, I will have three cell phones - one with a bad speaker, another without a battery door, and another which I hope I can use. Who said America is the land of excess?

corolla motorola holder (1 of 2) - 11.02.05

From the "This is funny since it's not happening to me... oh wait, it IS happening to me..." Department:

About a couple of weeks ago, my cell phone started acting up. The speaker in the earpiece began working sporadically, and when it did work, it was difficult to hear the person on the other end, even with the volume cranked all the way up to the maximum. Now, it's pretty much on life support, and I have to put everyone on speakerphone just so I can hear them.

Annoying Verizon guy from the commercials: "Can you hear me now?"

Me: "Only if I put you on speakerphone - you guys sold me a crappy phone just so you can get me to sign up for two more years when I want a new one."

Annoying Verizon guy from the commercials: "Good."

I have to admit though, it's always fun to give the pre-conversation disclaimer to people who call me while I'm at home: "By the way, you're on speakerphone, so don't start cussing because my mama might hear you..."

This isn't the first time I've had problems with this particular cell phone model. When I initially signed up for Verizon, I had the same type of phone (Motorola V265 - yes Motorola, I am putting you out there), and less than two months in, the speaker on that phone acted up as well - there was constant static whenever I was on a call. It was like I was using a CB radio talking to my trucker buddies. (Breaker-breaker one-nine, there's a Smokey hiding under the overpass near the rest stop, do you copy?) So I took that phone back to the store, swapped it with a new one and I was good to go. That was about five months ago.

So I'm on my second (and soon to be third) cell phone in less than a year, through no fault of my own. I used to drop cell phones like Tara Reid drops professional athlete boyfriends, but I've been pretty good over the past year or so. These last two are the only phones I've ever owned that didn't consistently eat pavement, and these are the only two phones that I've had a problem with. Go figure.

And since I'm not even a year into my contract, the only way I can get a new phone through Verizon is to pay full retail price and re-up for two additional years. And since I refuse to pay full retail price on anything, I could only think of one other option: eBay.

I bought a cell phone as a gift off of eBay back in March, and it was a relatively painless process. But things are never easy, are they? I spent days trolling the site for the kind of phone I wanted. The problem was that I recently acquired this strange aversion to spending large amounts of money on myself, so I had a self-imposed $100 spending limit. Note to all: don't do this to yourself.

Once, I found a phone that I wanted only to be outbid at the very last second. Another time, I clicked to bid on a phone, but I forgot to log into the site first. By the time I went through all of the rigamarole, the auction was over. A third time, I found a phone a day before the auction was over and saved it to my eBay Watch List. Of course, I didn't think about the phone again until I was playing Texas Hold 'Em on my computer the next night, and by the time I checked eBay, the auction had ended 20 minutes earlier.

The fourth time was the charm, however. I found an LG VX4700 that was at $41.05 near the end of the auction. It was practically brand new, but the seller wanted to charge a ridiculous $25.00 shipping and handling fee and an additional $3.00 insurance, so there weren't a lot of bids. Normally, I wait until about 20 seconds left before bidding so I won't be bid-jacked at the last second, but I got excited with 90 seconds left and prematurely made a move (that happens in other aspects of my life, but I won't get into that here).

I was locked in at $43.27 with less than a minute to go. Someone bid me up to $44.27, then $48.27 and finally to $53.05 before bowing out. I had a new cell phone. Game... blouses (copyright - Dave Chappelle). I sent the seller the money a minute later.

That was last Tuesday. Saturday comes and I am still sans phone - naturally, I'm stressing out. I figure if I pay 25 bucks for shipping and handling, the guy drives from wherever he lives and gives me the phone in my hand the next day, even if he has to track me down at my job. Anyways, Monday rolls around and a Verizon box greets me in the mail. The first thing I do of course is check the postage - $5.65. They got me for $19.35. Bastards.

I rip the box open, check out the phone and notice one glaring omission - the battery door is missing. I assume that the seller merely forgot to put it in the box when they mailed it. I immediately jumped on the computer and fired off an e-mail to the seller telling them that I either need a door or a refund, pronto. But initially, it turned out not to be a terrible thing since they included a protective leather case for the phone, so I could still carry it around and use it without the back cover. Or so I thought...

tell em why you madd (2 of 2) - 10.30.05

According to the site's About page, Myspace "is an online community that lets you meet your friends' friends." With that being said, there really isn't anything that prevents anyone from viewing anyone else's Myspace page. Which is what I do. Myspace Tom even encourages it by telling me who the "Cool New People" are and, even though I disagree with his assessment most of the time, I still look at these pages and find something entertaining. And by entertaining, I mean "something I can write about." The following is just some of what's out there:

Random things before I get started: It's cool to have a survey on your page - it lets people know a lot about you in a short period of time. It's not cool, however, to have 17 surveys on your page. On some pages, I have to scroll down so far that I feel carpal tunnel syndrome coming on... This is the only site I've seen where there are college students who, according to their profile, make over $250,000 a year. Don't lie about your salary just to get some play. But if you do, don't jump 10 tax brackets - keep it real... On some pages, I've seen where some 16-year-old had over 2600 friends. A special note to that person: No, you don't. I don't know 2600 people and I'm 10 years older than you. I don't think I've even talked to that many people in my lifetime. I don't want to break your heart, but they're not all your friends...

This is the Internet: Quite often, I'll see comments like this:

"Where you at, ma? Hit me up on my celly."

"I'm on my way over - you'd better have that $20 you borrowed from me last night."

This is the Internet. The way this Internet thing works is that people post updates and comments to Web pages. The only people who see these updates are those who choose to visit it. To put it in context, the only way anyone can read any comments you leave them is for them to actually go to their page and see them. So if you want instant gratification, then you probably won't get it. Dummy.

Now I know that Myspace sends out an e-mail notification when people receive comments, but who's to say that the person who you're writing is checking that either? If you really want to get in touch with me immediately, pick up the phone and call. This ain't IM.

This is the Internet, Part II: This seems like a simple thing, but people get this wrong all the time, so I'll spell it out. If you have a dark background on your page, don't use a dark color font. If you have a light-colored background, don't use a light font. I swear Maria, Gordon and Oscar the Grouch went over colors several times on Sesame Street, but some people still don't understand the concept.

What is the purpose of having a Web page if NO ONE CAN READ IT? All the time, I see people who h