GMYH Mini Haitus

Just so no one freaks out, I wanted to let all of you loyal GMYH readers to know that I will be taking a few days off while I make the move from the Gem City to the Second City. Mr. 15,000's biography will be coming at some point in the next couple weeks.

Also, Ryan and Tradd, please record tonight's The OC for me, since I will be unable to watch it. Much obliged.

What I Will and Will Not Miss About Dayton

Today is my last day of work in D-town, and now that my 2 1/2 year tenure in THE birthplace of aviation is coming to an end, I have given some thought to what I'll miss about Dayton and what I won't miss.

What I will miss:

1. My friends here. Lemme holla at ya.
2. Walking to work.
3. 30 in8 and "Hamburger Helper" Ashcraft puking all over my front stairs. I guess I can start up 30 in 8 West this year, pending Jester's approval of course. (For those of you unfamiliar with 30 in 8, here is a link explaining the rules.)
4. Movie Night (even though we haven't had one in a while and we didn't get a chance to watch all three Sleepaway Camps, along with the production footage from the unfinished fourth, Sleepaway Camp IV: The Survivor. Yes, I do own said footage.).
5. Kramer's. 40s and some of the best in the world, period.
6. Seeing babies in bars. Case in point, Jamie and Amy brought AC to Kramer's last night, put a hood on him, gave him a fake, and let him down his own quart of Bud Light. In a related note, AC's Jheri curl mullet is not coming in nearly as nicely as I would have hoped.
7. My bowling league. Except for about five or six people in the league, we all sucked. Thus, it was fun.
8. The annual ritual of seeing Ken Griffey, Jr. succumb to a season-ending injury sometime each April or May.
9. Dirty Dayton Bar Crawl.

What I won't miss:

1. The drivers. As a whole, drivers in southwestern Ohio might be the worst in the world. Whether it's driving the speed limit in the fast lane (and failing to move to the right when you come up behind them), accelerating out of stop lights with the urgency of a dying sloth, parking in the right lane when it's a no parking zone, coming to a complete stop while merging onto the highway, slowing down or coming to a complete stop at intersections where there is no stop sign, never using turn signals, or not driving more than 25 miles an hour at the slightest hint of precipitation, I have never encountered a larger concentration of shitty drivers.
2. OSU fans. Obxnoxious, annoying, ignorant, and generally classless is unfortunately the rule and not the exception (luckily, most of my OSU alum friends are the exception).
3. Fecal phantoms. I pray that it's a southwestern Ohio thing.
4. Bengals fans. See #2.
5. The fact that there will be no buckeye nuts (which are poisonous) for my dog to attempt to eat, thus forcing Jester and me to make Harley swallow hydrogen peroxide in order to induce vomiting, thus meaning that Harley will puke all over the carpet (and I do mean all over) a week before we have to move out of our apartment.
6. The fact that the sun disappears from October to April.
7. The redneck factor. Dayton is only an hour north of Kentucky, which you will realize once you make a trip to the Super Wal-Mart and see someone using food stamps to buy 10 bags of potato chips, 5 Whatchamacallits, a 2-pound bag of Twizzlers, a case of Jolt, 3 tins of Skoal, and a box of Franzia White Grenache, rather than, oh say, bread, milk, eggs, fruit, vegetables, etc.
8. Residing in a city where the mayor wants to fine people for swearing in public. Are you fucking kidding me?
9. People who think it's completely cool to have a "Tell Your Girlfriend She Talks In Her Sleep" bumper sticker on their car. I actually saw this one on my way to work today. It was on a late model Jeep Cherokee, and not the 1988 Dodge Daytona that you might have guessed.

I'll Be Damned if David Cross Isn't Dead On

Thanks to Intern, once again, for sending me a great video clip. This one is from the filming of Arrested Development, and David Cross goes off on Fox for canceling the show (despite my best efforts).



If the in-screen video doesn't work, here's the link.

Smack in the Mouth

I'm not sure what this was all about, although the lady who gets jacked was making some smart-ass comment to the teenager, asking her if she understood and then saying something about the teenager having THC in her system. Luckily, the lady's impending smug grin was preempted by a justified mouth smacking. She can take a punch pretty well. Given the sound that it made, I was expecting some blood or chunks of teeth. Special thanks to Holt "The Phone" Hedrick for sending me the link for this one.



If the in-blog video doesn't work, here is the link.

"But Back Home They'll Always Run To Sweet Melissa"

Just when I thought K-Fed was the biggest embarrassment to men, Brian "Intern" Ezell sent me the link to Troy's Mixtape of Love. Apparently Troy Gregory of Boise, Idaho made a 14-minute spoken-word CD for his girlfriend, Melissa Kaiser, on their 6-month anniversary. I can only assume that he made this CD while buck naked in his room, which I have a pretty strong feeling was plastered with pictures of Melissa, not unlike the room Adrienne devoted to Nick in the 1993 Alicia Silverstone and Cary Elwes vehicle, The Crush.

Apparently Melissa broke up with Troy and posted the CD online for all to hear. I would too if my only 6-month-anniversary present was the worst CD ever made (yes, even worse than System of a Down).

Here's a tip for you lovestruck guys out there: Under no circumstances should you ever put your voice on a tangible medium declaring your undying love for someone (especially someone you have dated for only six months), and never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever tell someone you've dated for six months that "this is like only one of our many many many many anniversaries, and there's many many many many many more to come. And I know that for a fact."

Here's a tip for you ladies out there: This shit is not cute or sweet. If a guy ever makes you something like this (especially after only 6 months), break up with him immediately because he's a fucking psycho (and -- I can't stress this enough -- make sure you post the CD on the internet). Let's take a look at some of his quotes:

• "I will never lose attraction to you."
• "I care for you more than anything that I could ever care for or have cared for in my entire life. Or will ever care for."
• "You've done so much for me, and I'll never forget any of it. Any of it."
• "You're a part of me. You're in me, Melissa."
• "I never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever want to lose you. Ever."
• "You're all I ever think about Melissa. 24/7. Nonstop. No matter what I'm doing, you're all I ever think about. No matter what I'm doing. Even when I sleep I think about you. Mmmmm, my babe, I love you. You're seriously all I ever think about. Every moment of every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every year -- well, maybe not a year yet. But as soon as I've known you for a year, you're all I ever will be thinking about for a year."
• "I will never ever leave you."

These aren't the kinds of things a sane guy says to someone he's dated for 6 months. These are words spoken by a guy who will boil rabbits and "won't be ignored" when you try to break up with him. Also, anyone who calls you "my babe" (as in "hey there my babe" or "I love you so so so so so so much my babe") and feels the need to say it over 75 times in a 14-minute span should be permanently removed from your "Possible Husbands" list, which I assume all unwed women keep and update regularly.

Here are some other highlights to listen for:

• Right before the 5-minute mark, he says, "We have so many memories together. I'll never forget any of them. I mean . . . watermelonhead." And that's the only memory he can conjure up. Pretty weak, considering that she's all he's ever thought about since the moment he met her.
• Around the 6:20 mark, he starts singing a heartfelt rendition of K-Ci and Jo Jo's seminal hit, "All My Life." It turns out that she didn't feel the same way too.
• He follows "All My Life" up with a bush league attempt at "If You're Not the One" (I'm extremely proud that I have no idea who originally sings that), stopping after about 20 seconds, apparently so overcome with emotion that he was unable to sing anymore.

Perhaps Troy also bought her a gun rack for their anniversary, even though Melissa doesn't own a gun, let alone many guns that would necessitate an entire rack.

If you cringed while watching Mikey in Swingers repeatedly call that girl Nikki, or if you generally become uncomfortable while watching Curb Your Enthusiasm, then you may not enjoy this. But if you like train wrecks -- and I know you do -- then this is 13 minutes and 39 seconds of heaven. My sincere hope is that Troy made this CD because he wanted to break up with Melissa (knowing that she would break up with him after hearing it), but he didn't want to come off as the bad guy, since he totally wants to date her friend Brooke. Forever. And ever and ever and ever and ever.

Average Homeboy

There was once a day when I thought Kevin Federline was the least talented human being in the history of the world. That hasn't changed, but the guy in this video gives K-Fed a run for his Brazilian ass-shaking money. Maybe it's his uncle or something. My favorite line: "I'm not trying to be anybody that I'm not." Thanks for the clarification, Willie Aames. I almost mistook you for Grand Master Flash. Special thanks to Jon "J-Diza" Dudek for sending me the link and opening my eyes to a rapper who is not typical.

Nothing Much

Well, most of my weekend was spent packing, which is awesome. Moving is fun. Here's some random nonsense:

• Friday night, several of us went to Kramer's, which is an awesome bar that serves 40s and the best pizza in Dayton. After gorging ourselves, we trekked to the Oregon Express (aka, The OE), a delightful bar in the Oregon District (aka, The OD), where we all pussed out early in order to go to sleep. If you're ever in Dayton and you have the opportunity to see a band named Spun, just go ahead and do yourself a favor by forgoing the $3 cover and going elsewhere. Alternatively, have someone box your ears.
• Saturday night, several of my work peeps met at a co-worker's house for some drinks, and then we went to The OE, where we enjoyed the third best pizza in Dayton. Like Friday, everyone tapped out early, like Royce Gracie had us in a collective arm bar.
• I had a dentist appointment this morning. No big deal. I've never feared the dentist, perhaps because I've never had a cavity. But that's neither here nor there. Today, while in the waiting room, I was looking for something to read, and all I could find was World magazine, which I have come to find out is a religious-based news magazine. Then, while I was getting my teeth cleaned, I noticed that the radio was playing Christian music throughout the office (it used to be your standard easy listening oldies). I'm not sure why that pissed me off so much, but it did. At least I won't have to worry about that in the largely godless Chicago, where I will be happy to hear "Mrs. Brown You've Got a Lovely Daughter" while in a dentist's chair.
• I'm not sure what's more pathetic, the fact that the IU athletics website provides updates about the former IU football players playing in NFL Europe or the fact that I read every update with the excited anticipation of a virgin on prom night.

"I Never Drew First When I Drew First Blood"

This week's Hair Band Friday is out of control, since it will be my last one in Dayton. I made it clear that, like my impending funeral, I don't want this to be some weepy affair; I want it to be a celebration of all the good times we've had since the inception of Hair Band Friday. Apparently the ladies have taken this to heart. Many of them have been bonging beers since 9am while catching one last glimpse of my astounding Lexis-Nexis researching abilities. Just for shits and giggles, Lita, Gigi, Kat, and I were playing a halcion-and-Jack-charged game of "sexual favor poker," a much better version of the formerly exciting strip poker. Kiki is so fucked up on absinthe that she is currently performing fellatio on the leg of an overturned chair that she honestly believes is Harry Truman. Candi has been making use of the south stripper pole while she still has the chance, performing a "best of" routine from her many dances over the past 2 1/2 years. While watching her, I thought I felt some tears running down my cheek, but it turned out to be the Sauza I was drinking off of Michele's naked body. Meanwhile, on the north stripper pole, Lexi has been performing a hell of a speedball-induced act to the last three songs: "I'll Never Let You Go" by Steelheart, "Blaze of Glory" by Jon Bon Jovi, and "Winds of Change" by The Scorpions. A lot of good memories have allegely been made during Hair Band Fridays in this office. It's been real.

Last night's The OC didn't quite live up to the hype, which still meant that it was the best option of the day, however.

1. While at the airport, after seeing Seth and Ryan off to their respective prospective freshmen weekends at Brown and Berkeley, Kirsten sees Teresa with a baby that looks a lot like Ryan. Eventually this gets back to Ryan, so he goes to Chino to figure it out. Teresa wasn't there, so she comes to Newport to talk to Ryan. It turns out that the baby is "Fast" Eddie's, and not Ryan's. I don't believe her for a second, but that might have a lot to do with my theory that no woman can be trusted. Whatever the case, it was sure anti-climactic.
2. Kirsten, after ripping Sandy in public in front of a bunch of doctors, heads outside of the restaurant, grabbing a glass of chardonnay on the way out. She gets onto the restaurant's front patio and chugs it. The look on her face afterward seemed to say, "Oh sweet nectar of the gods, how I missed thee."
3. Seth goes to Brown's prospective freshman weekend, where his goal is to try to convince Kojak that he should be admitted to Brown. Sans lollipop, Kojak isn't having any of it.
4. While at Brown, Seth also runs into Anna, his former flame. She now has a worse haircut than before. It looked like she either had a wig on or a bowl cut with extensions. When will women realize that bangs rarely look good? Additionally, she has apparently gotten tooth implants that cause her to talk with an annoying slight lisp, not unlike that of Ellen Pompeo (of Old School and Grey's Anatomy fame).
5. After his failed attempt at getting into Brown, Seth decides to head home. Anna magically arrives in the cab that he is going to take to the airport. She has some wacky plan to get him into "Riz-Dee," which is actually RISD, which is short for the Rhode Island School of Design, which is a phenomenal art school that would likely not admit Seth based on his graphic novel. After an apparently decent admissions interview, Anna sees Seth off at the airport with a hug, just in time for Summer to see them, thus believing that Seth has been planning all these years to go to Brown just to be with Anna. Obviously.
6. Ryan's "freshman buddy" at Berkeley is a guy named Wes, who resembled an odd mix of the kid from Mask and the guy from Wings. Yet somehow he almost bagged Marissa.
   
7. Having always been intrigued by the glorification of romance in Austrian mountain towns, Marissa tells Volchok that she can no longer go slumming with him, in part because she always dreamed of having a relationship like that of someone in The Sound of Music. So after returning from Berkeley, she heads over to Volchok's dungeon to pick up the inordinate amount of stuff she had left there, such as clothes, half-drunk bottles of Dark Eyes vodka, coke mirrors, and her dignity. Sitting on Volchok's coffee table was the DVD box of The Sound of Music with a "5 Day Rental" sticker on it. What we didn't see was that Volchok did not actually watch the movie (since there's no way in hell he has a DVD player), but instead put the DVD in a mason jar, lit it on fire, and huffed the effluence for a fucking sweet buzz. This explains why he was asleep/passed out when Marissa arrived. By the way, that guy's life of surfing, rampant drug abuse, banging Newpsies, and fashioning shanks from discarded bedframes (or so I assume) must be exhausting because it seems like he sleeps for a good 18-20 hours each day.

In the remaining three episodes, here are the questions that we should be looking to have resolved:

1. Now that Kirsten's back off the wagon (or is it on the wagon?), will Sandy finally realize that he has become a puffy-eyebrowed monster? If not, will Kirsten become the drunk street walker that we all know she is more than capable of becoming?
2. Will Seth get into Riz-Dee? If so, will he make the move back to Anna? If so, will she get rid of that stupid haircut and shave her teeth so that she can look and talk like the Anna we all grew to know and kind of like a couple years ago.
3. Do Josh Schwartz and McG honestly think they can fool us into believing that Eddie's boys can swim?
4. How soon before this scenario happens: Seth doesn't get into Riz-Dee, Ryan finds out the kid is his and stays home to take care of it, Marissa decides college is not for her, and Summer decides she can't be 3000 miles away from Seth, and thus, they all conveniently end up back in The OC, commuting to fictional Cal U. in LA. Or alternatively, they all end up at Berkeley.
5. When will this Volchok and Marissa thing end? In a related question, is it possible that The Sound of Music is actually Volchok's favorite movie too, and that he uses his tough guy surfer image as a front for vigilant salad tossing?

In random news, I have the Worst-Case Scenario page-a-day calendar, which entertains me each day with a nice mix of "how to" tips and survival history. Today is the only day that I have been outright disgusted with its contents. Yesterday was the best "how to" since the one about how to fend off a bear attack. It was "How to Hot-Wire a Car." Sexy, intriguing, generally helpful, and always relevant.

What survival history tidbit do they follow that up with? Bear in mind that the standard survival history facts are about people overcoming disasters or extremely difficult or unnerving circumstances, such as earthquakes, avalanches, and Kathy Griffin stand-up routines. Not today, though. Apparently April 21 is the page that they let the editor's flaming son write, because here's the harrowing tale of survival with which I was greeted today:

"On this day in 1975, the Swedish pop group ABBA released their self-titled album, containing the hit single, "S.O.S." Formed in the early 1970s by Björn Ulvaeus, Benny Anderson, Agnetha Fältskog, and Anni-Frid Lyngstad, ABBA arguably came into their own with this, their third album. One of the album's songs, "Mamma Mia," became the title for the Broadway musical based on the songs of ABBA, which premiered in 1999."

What a story of survival. I'm still trying to piece together how they made it out alive.

I've Been Exposed

My former roommate and avid GMYH reader Brian "Intern" Ezell has come to a realization that I have been fighting to deny in my own mind. There has been widespread speculation that I was separated at birth from Jason Schwartzman. Rumors started to swirl after my February 20, 2002 appearance on ESPN's SportsCenter dressed as Maverick from Top Gun. In an early running of the show that evening, SportsCenter anchor Rich Eisen quipped, "I can't tell if that's Tom Cruise or the kid from Rushmore." That statement blindsided me like a hooker with a chastity belt.

I am writing today to dispell the rumor (or rumour, for you British readers) that I am Jason Schwartzman's twin brother. I am almost three years older than him. Whether or not he is my long lost middle brother remains to be seen. DNA tests to this point have been tampered with, and thus, unconclusive. Based on looks, and my parents' anxiety-ridden and cryptic excuses when I bring up the issue, it is entirely possible. Below are some pictures of Jason that may shed some light on the subject:

Possible blood relations aside, Intern has unveiled a new theory as to why I like The OC so much. The following excerpt was taken from a threatening email I received from Intern this morning: "[O]h and by the way, Jason Schwartzman's band, Phantom Planet, wrote and perform[ed] the theme song 'California' from [T]he OC. Explains why you like the show so much." I can't deny that at least some of my love for The OC is beacuse the show has one of the greatest theme songs in television history. And I can't deny that I feel this way in part because the theme song was written in part by someone who may or may not be related to me. There, I said it. God, it feels like a thousand-pound weight has been lifted from my broad and extremely muscular shoulders.

The Easter Bunny Hates You

Special thanks go out to the man they once called Joey Bates for sending me the link to this video entitled "The Easter Bunny Hates You." It's under 2 minutes, and I think it reaches out to people on several levels. My favorite parts are when the Easter Bunny beats some guys with a sock full of pool balls and when the Easter Bunny knocks the ice cream cone out of the guy's hand.

The fact that this video has found its way to me is not surprising. In the back of my mind, I knew this day would come. You see, back in the salad days, I was part of one of the longest running and most wildly successful talk shows in West Central Cable Commission (read: cable access for Chicago's near Western suburbs) history -- a show by the name of The Better Half of 60 Minutes (Season 1 should be out on DVD by June 2013). In one particularly forgettable skit, I played a crazed redneck who attempted to assassinate the Easter Bunny, Lee Harvey Oswald style from a building while the Easter Bunny was in a parade. We received a lot of criticism from the religious right, but the way I figured it, I was just striking down a false idol. And also, it'll be a cold day in hell before I bow to the wishes of Jesus freaks. Needless to say, the show went off without a hitch. Or so I thought. It looks like that fucking bunny can take a bullet.

A couple sweet videos

In the past couple days, several peeps have sent me links to some great videos on the "internet."

The first is an RBI Baseball reenactment of Game 6 of the 1986 World Series (Mets/Red Sox, Buckner's error), with the TV commentary synced up. A must watch for sports fans. Special thanks to Mike "Pata-Goni-a" Malangoni for sending me that one.

The second is a clip from an episode of Montel featuring a 2-legged dog that walks upright. Hilarious. Disturbing. Unbelievable. Thanks to "NaviKate" Rohrer for that one.

Hidy Hey...

The weekend in Chicago was a good one. It was clear from the get-go that God wanted to test my mettle. Just before Indy, it started to rain. And then it started to get harder and harder and harder. I had never heard rain pound against my car so hard. That's because it was hail. Sweet. As if hail damage would do anything to lift my '91 Accord's already fragile self-esteem. The hail subsided, although the rain continued. I got to Lafayette, where I filled up. Nothing good can possibly happen in Lafayette. As an example, while inside the gas station, I heard a tornado warning on the radio. I got back on the road as soon as possible, since I've heard the best thing to do with a tornado is try to outrun it in your 15-year-old compact car. After successfully doing so, God threw a curve ball at me: fog. Not just a little fog. This was dense, can't-see-10-feet-in-front-of-you fog. Were it not for the forsight of the man who invented flashers (the lights on your car, not the guys in the trenchcoats), who knows what would have happened.

Here are some highlights from the weekend:

• Jesterio the Magnificent found an apartment for us that is a block from (1) the L, (2) the dog park, (3) the White Hen, (4) two bars, and (5) an upscale, overpriced gym that we'll probably end up joining because it's so close. Kudos to Jester on the find.
• I went to the Burwood 2 nights in a row. And it would've been 3 if it wasn't for you meddling kids and that pesky dog.
• Saturday afternoon I was enjoying a lazy day on the couch when I saw White Sox second baseman Tadahito Iguchi make one of the best plays I've ever seen -- a play that I'm not sure any other second baseman in MLB history has made. It turns out that the Japanese really are more efficient than Americans.
• On Saturday night, while taking one of our free shots courtesy of our waitress at the Burwood, Jessie totally gave me some bedroom eyes.
• Friday night, I was able to dine on some Papa Romeo's pizza after the bars, while watching Cesar Milan work his freaky ass dog voodoo on "The Dog Whisperer." If only I knew how to intimidate the shit out of dogs with my mind, I wouldn't have to support myself with that silly law degree.
• Sunday's torrential downpour, combined with the grossly negligent upkeep of the sewer drains along the 800 block of Diversey caused a sweet half-block mini flood, complete with water over the curb and onto the sidewalk. To cross one of the cross streets, you had to walk practically halfway down the block in order to escape ankle-high water in the middle of the street. Not even that could keep me from going to White Hen to get a freshly made egg salad sandwich.
• Thinking that it was going to be over 70 the whole weekend and that my personal hygiene has evolved far past that of other humans, I failed to pack a jacket of any sort, or any jeans or boxers. The move didn't end up paying off, so I had to visit a local clothier to obtain new jeans and boxers and then, to borrow a jacket, I had to visit a local street tough and mime apprentice who goes only by "Christoff."
• On the drive back, I thought of an awesome name for the virus with which Hoosier fans will be stricken when IU head football coach Terry Hoeppner takes us to a bowl this year: Hoeppititis. Plans for t-shirts are already in the works.
• Oh, and I heard Jesus made it back. Congrats JC!

A Light in The Attic

A story on innocence lost greeted us this morning at 7:30 EST with a harrowing Saved By The Bell. It all starts when Zack changes a tire for a girl that goes to USC named Danielle. Zack tells Danielle that he's a photography major at USC. Bold move for a 16-year-old, but apparently college-aged women cannot tell the difference between 16 and 19. If only I had known that before now.

Danielle invites Zack to The Attic, a totally hip dance club where you have to be -- get this -- 18 to get in. Yep, 1-8. Luckily Zack, Slater, and Screech are taking a photography class together, so they make fake IDs that say they're 18. Not 21. 18. Idiots.

They get to The Attic, and after cracking wise with the large bouncer, the group heads in. Zack dances with Danielle. Rather than mack on college chicks, Albert Clifford "Absolutely Charmed" (his words, not mine) Slater only talks about Jessie. Samuel Screech "Donny" Powers keeps getting harassed by a hulking "woman" named Reggie. Despite the many opportunities, at no time does anyone say "Shut the fuck up Donny!" It would have some nice Lebowski foreshadowing. Thanks for nothing Peter Engel.

Anyway, the guys see Jeff (Kelly's boyfriend at the time and also her boss at the Max) totally making out with some blond chick at The Attic. So while Zack (a 16-year-old) is trying to get into a willing college girl's pants, Jeff (a college guy) is trying to get out of a willing 16-year-old's pants. It's the kind of irony that would make O. Henry blush.

Eventually all of the girls (Jessie, Kelly, Lisa) find out that the guys went to The Attic, and they get fake IDs made too. Kelly sees what she's been fighting to deny for half of the episode: Jeff dancing with some other trick. She confronts him, and in a classic college-guy-dating-a-high-school-girl line, he says, "It's not like we're going steady." Bah-zing!! He should've added an "and your fired" just because he could have. And let's face it, no one wants to work with an ex.

Just when you think it couldn't get any worse, Zack's mom walks in. You see, she answered Zack's phone in his room when Danielle called to tell him that she wasn't going to be at The Attic until 11. Mrs. Morris shows up just in time for Danielle to show up. No college ass for Zack tonight. He'll have to wait a couple years until he gets to Cal U., or what I like to call "The College Years."

"Key West is Cool": A Novella by ADL

Synopsis
A group of Midwestern misfits, ruffians, and amateur street performers travel to Key West, Florida during the spring of 2006 for a wedding. Tomfoolery ensues. The story is told as a first-person narrative from the perspective of a borderline alcoholic with foot problems and too many t-shirts.

Cast of Characters
-Kyla - the bride
-Alex - the groom
-Me - me
-Jester - my beautiful wife
-Ari - my sister-in-law
-Brian - friend/groomsman, shared suite with Ari and Alleycat
-Alleycat - bridesmaid from North Cakalaki, shared suite with Ari and Brian
-Joe - friend of bride and groom, Katie's boyfriend
-Katie - friend of bride and groom, Joe's girlfriend
-Dave - friend of bride and groom, Sox fan, Julie's boyfriend
-Julie - friend of bride and groom, Sox fan, Dave's girlfriend

Chapter One: The Awakening and Journey
When my alarm went off at 4am last Friday, I was as close to murdering an inanimate object since I shattered a LaBamba's burrito man bobble head doll over Christoff's head. But alas, I jumped out of bed and greeted the day with vigor. Up front, I'd just like to let you all know that last week I pulled a reverse Daniel Day Lewis and messed up my left foot. Not only could I not paint with my left foot, but walking on it generally felt like I was walking on golf balls. Thanks to my co-worker Katie "I Ran Cross Country and Track in College" Miltner (who I asked about it, despite the fact that she does not have a medical degree or any sort of experience in podiatry), the preliminary diagnosis was that it might be a stress fracture, since I had been running more than usual in order to get a total hard body for Key West (I failed, by the way). I had no reason to believe that she was wrong (and still don't).

Since airlines generally treat nonstop flights from Dayton like Rick James treated cocaine and women (abusive and with little respect), our flight path was exactly as you would guess: Dayton to Dallas to Fort Lauderdale. On the way their, we had a 40-minute layover in Dallas. And of course out flight out of Dayton was delayed for about 35 minutes, which meant that we had to truck it once we got to DFW. Since everything is bigger in Texas, including airports, we had to go to another terminal, and the slightly helpful American Airlines rep that we talked to felt that walking would be fastest (as opposed to an interterminal tram). While that might have been true, it was still hell on my foot, and indirectly resulted in an escalator taking a nice chunk of skin out of my heel. Luckily the flight to Fort Lauderdale was delayed a few minutes, so Jester and I made the flight with about 5 minutes to spare.

Chapter Two: Fort Lauderdale to Key West
Upon our arrival in Fort Lauderdale, Ari and Brian were waiting to take us to Key West in a Ford Taurus, which they had apparently somehow arranged with a company to temporarily use in exchange for a predetermined sum of American dollars.

The drive through the Keys was better than expected. There were no croc or gator attacks, and we saw a couple pelicans. We stopped in Marathon at the Seven Mile Grill to quell our appetites and quench our thirsts. As it turns out, fresh seafood tastes even better than Gorton's fish sticks.

We stayed at a place called the Merlin Guesthouse, which I highly recommend. It was on Simonton Street, which is a block from Duval Street, which is the main drag of bars and shops. And as an added bonus, the lady who showed Jester and me to our room told us that the Merlin used to be a bordello. I forgot to ask her how many hookers had been killed in our room, but it had to be at least seven. Our room was the second one from the right in this picture.

Chapter Three: Friday Night
Everyone convened Friday night at 9 at the world-famous Sloppy Joe's. It was clear from the very beginning that this was going to be a ragingly drunken night for everyone. Shots of sambuca and Jager began to show their mischievous heads within minutes of arriving at Sloppy Joe's. By the time we arrived at Irish Kevin's around 11, I was well on my way to sleeping on the sidewalk with a three-toed cat.

Irish Kevin's features solo guitarists playing a variety of hits to a rowdy crowd. While there, I realized that I had not eaten since Seven Mile Grill (8-10 hours earlier), so I left to get some pizza, since I thought I remembered seeing several pizza-by-the-slice places on the walk there, so I took a left out of the front door and headed south on Duval. I should note that alcohol has a wonderful numbing effect on foot pain. The speed with which I was walking down the sidewalk and the look of gritty determination on my face caused many a fellow walkers to get the hell out of my way. As it turned out, the pizza places I thought I had seen must have been bars, because I walked for blocks without seeing any pizza. Concerned about why I was walking about 8 times faster than everyone else on the sidewalk, a nice gay couple asked where I was going. I managed to slur together, "Just want pizza," and they pointed me to a place a couple blocks down called Upper Crust.

I arrived at Upper Crust, both relieved and eager. I walked up to the counter and order two slices of cheese, to which the girl behind the counter says, "We stopped making pizzas at 11, so all we have is our daily special." "And what might that be," I ask. She replies, "Spinach and ricotta." The look on my face must have screamed "if I wanted my mouth to taste like puke, I could just stick my finger down my throat" because when I asked where else I could get pizza, she said, "I don't know, but you can go to Wendy's." Bitch.

So I kept on movin' down the road, finally coming to Pizza Joe's, a delightful place that sold pizza with non-vomit-like toppings. I grabbed my two sliced of cheese, and headed back toward Irish Kevin's, which was about 8 blocks away. By the time I got back to Irish Kevin's (about 45 minutes after I left), I was satiated and satisfied. I arrived in time to hear the current guitarist play some "Wanted Dead or Alive" by Bon Jovi, which Brian and I sang along with at the tops of our lungs. This picture accurately portrays everyone's state of mind at the time.Chapter Four: Late Night Friday
After Irish Kevin's, the ladies wanted to go dancing, so we went to a place across the street called Rick's. It was at this point that I realized, had I gone right out of Irish Kevin's and crossed the street, I could have gotten pizza in about 43 fewer minutes than with the path I chose.

Somewhere between the time we left Irish Kevin's and being at Rick's for 38 seconds, we lost Joe (or more likely, Joe lost himself). Given that Brian, Alex, and I were pretty sober at that point, we decided to scour the bar looking for Joe, as well as the bars below Rick's, one of which conveniently was a strip club. It took some long searching, but Joe was nowhere to be found. At some point, we gave up and decided that our happiness was more important than helping others. By the way, how many brides do you know who are triple fisting at 3am the night before their wedding?

And I'm not sure what was going on here, with some random dude, Alleycat and Jester striking some fucked up pose.

The walk back to the hotel was going so well until the ladies decided to go to a country bar, leaving Brian, Alex, and me to walk the rest of the way by ourselves, which meant that no one was there to stop us from going into another bar, where we would have a shot and a beer to help us get to sleep.

I'm not sure exactly how we made it the rest of the way home, but I'll assume it was by hovercraft. Back at the hotel, I was falling quickly and firmly into an alcohol-induced coma when Jessie got back and said that she and the others were going to be taking a 4am dip in the pool. Perfect way to sober me up, I thought.

The pool was a bit small and a bit shallow. Feeling threatened, I decided to get into a fight with the floor of the pool while I was swimming a few laps. As is always the case in these types of situations, the pool floor won, and I have the wounds and scrapes on seven of my fingers to prove it.

As of bedtime (approximately 4:30am), Katie, who was staying at a different hotel and was text messaging Kyla, had still not heard from Joe.

Chapter Five: Saturday
If you thought I was pissed at my alarm clock on Friday morning, imagine how pissed off I was at the sun on Saturday morning. More pissed off than hooker who accidentally walked into a Promise Keepers rally.

I pulled myself together and headed out to the pool, where the ladies had been apparently for several hours. It was then that we learned about what happened to Joe. This is awesome. Apparently, he strolled into his and Katie's hotel room 'round about 6am, soaked head-to-toe, with his shins scraped to all hell. He told her that he got lost and went swimming in the Gulf, and then refused to say anything else and went to bed. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that Katie paid for Joe's trip.

Anyway, Kyla, Jester, Alleycat, Ari, and I decided to go get some lunch, since that's the custom in those parts. Our destination was Willie T's, a delightful shanty with a list of mojitos longer than Tommy Lee's wang. Since I don't like penis, I went with a beer.

After lunch, I spent a good part of the afternoon in the hotel room, icing my foot and watching the History Channel's "The Presidents" series. Man, that James Buchanan sure was a shitty President. What an asshole. Meanwhile, Brian was essentially doing nothing as well, since he could barely walk on account of his back pain.

At some point during the day, Kyla found out more of the Joe/Katie saga. According to Joe, he was hammered, left Irish Kevin's and went to another bar, which he then got kicked out of because he was too drunk, but he snuck back in the back entrance, had a couple more drinks, and then wandered aimlessly around Key West for a while. Eventually, he came upon some water, so he decided to take a swim. It was unclear to him exactly how he gashed the shit out of his shins (they honestly looked like someone had taken a peeler to them), but he guessed that he must have hit some rocks. And then somehow he made it back to the hotel. Makes perfect sense.

Chapter Six: The Wedding
The wedding itself was awesome. Our only directions were "Smathers Beach, staircase 8, palm trees," which were actually perfect directions. It was the first, and hopefully not the last, wedding I have attended where I didn't wear shoes.

Kyla and Alex exchanges vows and pleasantries in between two palms trees, with the audience facing the ocean. Of to the left about 20 yards was a classy lady who was sunbathing topless (she was lying on her stomach guys, so get your heads out of the gutter--her two gigantic lucious melon gutters). She of course waited until after the ceremony to put her top on and move to a different spot. Notice her in the background.

After the wedding, we all went to the reception, which was at a delightful restaurant nearby called Shanna Key. I ate more shrimp than should be allowed, while the bride and others rocked the sambuca shots. Also, Kyla's mom (a nurse) wrapped my foot for me.

That night, we tried our damnedest to go out, so many of us went back to Irish Kevin's. We muscled down a couple beers, then decided that we were tired as shit, so we all went back to the hotel after an early night. I, of course, laid awake in bed until 2 watching the History Channel's "The Kennedys." Man, that Joseph Kennedy was one cursed motherfucker.

Chapter Six: The Walking Wounded
Upon awakening with the foot wrap on, I could barely walk. It hurt more than when you get soap in your pee hole. It turned out the Brian could also barely walk. Ergo, we both made out way to the Truman Medical Center, a delightful little urgent care center only a few blocks from our hotel.

The doctor informed me that it may be a stress fracture, but that if it was, it won't show up on an x-ray for another couple weeks. He prescribed me a sweet anti-inflammatory and a pain killer for the meantime. Meanwhile, Brian found out that, in addition to his back pain, he had strep. He was also given several prescriptions. Both of us had the foresight to ask about our respective drugs' interaction with alcohol, and both of us were given the green light to mix away.

Chapter Seven: Sunday Night
Sunday evening can only be described as pleasant. It started at Alex and Kyla's hotel, which is probably better described as a little apartment. They had a private patio and a grill. Hence, we had a cookout, complete with cheddarwursts (I was surprised they were available south of Kankakee).

After the cookout, we all headed to the Green Parrot, which is apparently owned by some former Chicagoans. They were showing the Cubs game, which interested most of the others, but certainly not me. What did interest me at the Green Parrot, however, was a plaque that commemorated the fact that at some point in 1959, Elvis slapped Hemingway at the bar. Seems to me that Elvis must have immediately run away after the slap, since I'm sure Hemingway would have pounded Elvis to the ground. Unless of course Hemingway was already passed out when Elvis slapped him, which is entirely possible. I took a picture of the plaque, which you can't read, but I think the fact that it's there is good enough. Also, Brian labeled me a hippie.

After the Green Parrot, we headed to Captain Tony's, which is apparently the original Sloppy Joe's, and is the bar where Hemingway hung out the most. The walls are covered with business cards from patrons throughout the years. Since I have never had a reason to give someone my business card, I of course didn't have one with me. But I did sign and hang up my betting slip from Caesar's Palace that had IU winning the 2006 NCAA basketball title. Thanks for nothing guys. But there was a great sign outside the men's bathroom that strictly forbid peeing on the floor. I assume that was because of Hemingway. Below is a picture of Jester, me, Alex's friend whose name I can't recall, and Kyla pimpin' it at Captain Tony's.

After Captain Tony's, we went to that country bar that the girls went to Friday night. I hate country music more than AIDS. They really took the country theme to heart because the only bathrooms were port-a-potties. Nothing like being hammered and taking a piss in the dark in a fucking port-a-potty. There was also a cowboy hat on the wall, so Jessie insisted that I get her picture (left). It totally looks like she's really wearing a cowboy hat, doesn't it? Crazy Key West country bar, what will you think of next?

Like Captain Tony's (and several other bars in Key West), the country bar allowed patrons to hang shit up on the walls. So, Brian hung up an index card that said "The Dude Abides." For some reason, I decided that I needed a picture of this, so in case you think I'm bullshittin', I have this picture to prove that I'm not:

Apparently we also got pizza at some point that night, much to Jessie's enjoyment.

Chapter Eight: Rendezvous in the Keys
Monday morning I woke up still a little tipsy. Luckily I had sobered up by the time we got to the Alamo Rent-a-Car. We reserved a Geo Metro (I don't know what the hell I was thinking), but luckily they had no compacts, so they gave us a Buick Rendezvous. We hit a Dunkin Donuts on our way out of town. Word of advice: don't get an egg and cheese sandwich from the Key West Dunkin Donuts. It tasted like sidewalk chalk covered in stale dog vomit. And yes, I have tasted that.

The drive back was relatively uneventful. As expected, we got stuck behind idiots going less than the speed limit on a 2-lane highway. We did stop at a sweet restaurant right before getting on the Florida Turnpike called the Mutineer. Yes, as in someone who mutines.

Chapter Nine: Going Back to Dayton
At the Fort Lauderdale airport, we had to take a shuttle from Alamo to the terminal. Apparently Jessie and I were wearing signs that said "If you're a fucking nut job, please talk to us." On the shuttle bus, this middle-aged couple sit next to us. The wife must have been psychic or following us because she asked what part of the Midwest we were from. Here's how the conversation went from that point on:
Me: We live in Dayton, Ohio.
Crazy Wife: Oh, my husband's sister lived in Cleveland. Small world.
Me: Where are you guys from?
Crazy Wife: We live just outside Rockford, Illinois.
Jessie: Oh, we're from Chicago, and we're actually moving back in a couple weeks.
Crazy Husband: Ahh, the crazy town. [It was unclear to me whether he was calling Chicago a crazy town or talking about the shitty rock group Crazy Town]
Me: Yep.
Crazy Wife: My brother and sister-in-law used to live in the suburbs.
Crazy Husband: Yeah, but they're dead now.
Me: Oh.
Jessie: So, where outside of Rockford are you from?
Crazy Wife: A town called Byron. I have a sister in Rockford, though. A Mexican family just moved to their neighborhood. There aren't any black people or Mexicans in their neighborhood. The daughter's really pretty and outgoing, though. So they should be able to make it there.
Me: Yep.
Crazy Husband: Yeah, we moved to Byron from Cleveland because my sister was there. She got cancer last November, though. Then she died in February.

It was at that point that we stopped responding to them.

Anyway, the flights back were alright. Then we get into Dayton at 11pm. At the baggage claim, American sends out about 25 bags, then shuts the baggage claim doors, then makes an announcement over the loud speaker that says, "American Airlines Flight 1234 from Chicago and Flight 5678 from Dallas/Ft. Worth are on Baggage Claim 4. If your baggage did not come out, you can file a claim with the American Airlines service counter." I don't know if they just like to fuck with their passengers, but it proved to be an unnecessary announcement, since 5 minutes later the rest of the bags came out. But for that 5 minutes there were about 300 confused and borderline riotous people.

Then we got home and went to bed.

"We're Gettin' Funny In The Back of My Car, I'm Sorry Honey If I Took You Just a Little Too Far"

After a two-week hiatus, Hair Band Friday is back in full effect here in the office. HBF is bittersweet this week, given the recent announcement of my departure. A lot of the ladies are going to miss me. Unfortunately, the unwritten law is that the groupies stay with the firm, not with the attorney. But I'll be taking my stripper poles with me, and I'm excited for some new meat to try them out up in Chi-town. That being said, we're still gonna rock the shithouse these last few Fridays. The last 3 songs blaring out of my speakers were: "Jamie's Cryin'" by Van Halen, "Big Guns" by Skid Row, and "Wait" by White Lion. This chick named Kerri is completely enamored with my expert witness deposition outline writing ability. So much so that she's invited herself to the party in my pants. It's ridiculous sometimes in here. Of course that'll happen with the amount of coke, smoke, and joke flying around. "Joke" is a word combination I just made up for Jack and Coke. In case you were unaware, I love word combinations. Oh, and I also love former strippers named Kerri who can tie cherry stems into knots with their tongues (I assume there is more than one in the world).

Well, another two weeks of The OC has gone by, and I'm becoming extremely pissed off. Here's what we've learned the past two episodes:

1. Seth has been chuggin cocks (not as many as Dean Hess, since it's impossible to out-cock-chug Dean Hess). He didn't get into Brown, but Summer did. In a brilliant move, Seth decides to lie to Summer by telling her that he did get into Brown, but that he wasn't going to go to school there, and then he breaks up with her so that she will go to Brown. Summer, with the help of sex panthress Taylor, thinks Seth is hiding something, so she asks Seth if she still loves him. Oops, pow, surprise, Seth says "no." I know that I would probably do the same thing if it meant never again having sex with the hottest girl I would ever have the opportunity to bang -- in the parlance of our times -- who was essentially begging me to do so.
2. Volchok lives in the lair formerly inhabited by The Lost Boys. Which brings me to my next point: never invite a vampire (or someone who may be a vampire) into your house.
3. Apparently Harbor has some totally gay college sweatshirt bonfire party, where you have to wear the sweatshirt of the college you will be attending. This shit wouldn't have flown at my high school, since they simply don't make that many College of DuPage or "Not Applicable" sweatshirts.
4. That mustached hippie chick Sadie finally left after she realized a life of making beads and hemp necklaces just wasn't going to fly for someone like Ryan, who would be going to Berkeley and had a real future.
5. Sandy and Matt and Dr. Griffin are trying to extort money and deals and lives from each other. Blah blah blah. Sandy dicks over Matt to save the deal with the hospital, and in doing so, nearly drives Kirsten to drink. For shame, Sanford. For shame. I thought I knew you.
6. Matt is moving to Chicago. Maybe I'll see him up there.
7. Ryan goes off to Albuquerque to rope his recovering alcoholic, diner waitress mom into coming to The OC for his high school graduation. In the process, Ryan meets Chloe, a blond seductress who works with Ryan's mom at the diner. After knowing each other for 12 minutes, Ryan and Chloe head back to Ryan's hotel room and take the skin boat to tuna town. So now Ryan might have 2 kids out of wedlock with 2 women in 2 different states, which means he's almost 30% of the way to being the next Shawn Kemp.
8. Volchok throws a totally sweet vampire party at his dungeon. Marissa goes the party because her mom is a total drag and she's totally rebelling. While at the party, she notices Trent Reznor -- who for some reason hangs out with Volchok -- slipping some chick a mickey. That chick is a total bitch named Heather who went to Newport Union with Marissa for a short time, but nonetheless, Marissa decides to help her. So Trent and some other street toughs take Heather out to a van that looks like a poor man's version of the "dog brothers'" Sin Bin from MTV's Sex in the '90s special ("beggin', beggin'"). Marissa follows, saying she left her jacket in the van. She busts open the doors to see Reznor totally dead horsing Heather, and upon the door opening, he says "Hold on. Wait your turn." No mention of feeling her from the inside, though. So NIN leaves the van and Marissa is left to take care of some passed out bitch who has been nothing but mean to her.

Here's what we have left to be resolved in the remaining episodes of the season:

1. Teresa and Ryan's 1st kid will make an appearance, as per the previews for upcoming episodes. Finally. I knew this was going to happen right before Ryan was going to go to college. He should've snatched her ass in a bear trap while he had the chance. Or at least used a condom. But we all know that's impossible. Ryan Atwood doesn't use condoms because latex is defenseless against his sperm.
2. Will Marissa kill Heather? Hell, she almost killed Trey. She was the reason Johnny died. She might as well make it a series. That's what Bundy would have done.
3. It looks as though Anna will be making a return. You may remember Anna from Season One. She was the punk-rock chick who moved to Newport from Pittsburgh and fought with Summer for Seth's affection, eventually giving up and moving back to Pittsburgh. She was everything that The OC wasn't: shitty haircut, tattered clothes, natural breasts, and an independent thinker. Anyway, it looks like she's going to run into Seth, perhaps at Brown (even though Seth hasn't yet gotten in). My guess is that it's going to be a short cameo, since there's no way anyone is going to go to school outside of southern California.
4. Will The OC's newest saucy little tart, Chloe, mysteriously move from New Mexico to Newport? Probably not for another 9 months.
5. Will Sandy continue to work at the Newport Group, thus becoming more and more detached from Kirsten? I would if I was him, since that will drive Kirsten back to the bottle. And we all know that drunk chicks will do just about anything.
6. How many cocks has Dean Hess chugged during his absence in the past 15 episodes? 100? 1000? 10,000? 100,000? 1,000,000? 1,111,100? My guess is yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes, 'cause man, that guy was good at chugging cock.
7. Will Marissa finally break things off with Volchok, now that she knows his friends are hard-rocking, date-raping vampires? Or is she already a vampiress? The undead work quickly and stealthly, you know. Regardless, in order to trap Marissa in his lair, will Volchok create some sort of moat, complete with lava, lava-proof alligators, dogs, bees, and dogs who shoot bees from their mouths? My hope is that Marissa breaks it off with Volchok, then Volchok keeps trying to get Marissa back, then Ryan finally guts Volchok with a broken wine bottle.

It's Official

Jester and I (and Harley) are moving back to Chicago. We both start our new jobs May 1. She is currently up there looking for a place to live.

I put in my notice yesterday, and my co-workers took it surprisingly well. Both the office manager and the managing partner seemed to almost be excited for me, both mentioning their respective love of Chicago. It was almost as if they were jealous. Strange.

Another Solid SBTB

This morning's 7:30 Saved By The Bell was one we all remember and love. More importantly, it was one that taught us a lasting lesson of friendship, scholarship, and trust. Trying to study for a geometry midterm that no one else is worried about, while at the same time trying to break into the music industry with the group Hot Sundae (comprised also of Kelly and Lisa), Jessie Spano becomes addicted to pep pills. Speed. Mini-thins. Caffeine pills. Whatever you want to call them.

In an Emmy-worthy scene, Zack (Hot Sundae's manager) finds her asleep in her room when she is supposed to go with him to Hot Sundae's audition for a record exec (which is obviously taking place at the Max). Jessie becomes distraught, then reaches for the bottle of pills. Zack tells her to calm the fuck down and put the pills down. She says that she can still sing, and in a dramatic, tear-jerking climax, belts out the now-famous, "I'm so excited. I'm so excited. I'm so . . . scared." Then she starts crying. Then I started crying because it was then that I realized Hot Sundae had missed its big chance.

For those of you worried, my Key West weekend recap will be along later today.

Slangin' Keys

Bright and early on the morrow, the wife and I are heading to Key West for the wedding of loyal GMYH readers Alex and Kyla. Henceforth, tomorrow I will not be able to provide yet another brilliant update about tonight's The OC, but look for it at some point next week. Worse yet, Hair Band Friday will be on haitus for the second week in a row. Many apologies to you HBF fans out there. But just know that it hurts me just as much as it hurts you. Rock on in my absence. You know I'll be boozin' it up on my 6:30am flight. Why else would God have invented ecstacy-laced bloody marys and the mile high club?

They're Baaaaaack

It's been a while since I've had to deal with (or even hear about) the extremely disturbing and completely unnecessary fecal phantom phenomenon. Maybe I'm just a dreamer, but I foolishly thought that the word had spread and that fecal phantoms everywhere had been put on notice that their despicably dirty ways would no longer be tolerated. Boy was I wrong.

Approximately 15 minutes ago, I entered the men's lavatorial facility on my floor, which, in case you have forgotten, has only 2 stalls. Stall 1 was occupied, so I entered Stall 2. My theory is that the human brown eye in Stall 1 had wrapped up his duties just seconds before I opened the bathroom door (which was most likely only 45 seconds after he himself had opened the bathroom door). I heard no sounds that would suggest he wasn't finished with his business. I did hear what may have been silent weeping, perhaps because he thought his fecal phantomism was about to be exposed. After sitting in silence for a minute or two, this guy takes one pull from the toilet paper dispenser, presumably wipes (he and God are the only ones that know for sure), and then flushes mere seconds later. He then leaves the stall and heads for the sink. The water was running for approximately .62 seconds before he shut it back off and then loudly rubbed his hands together for about 2 seconds, perhaps in an attempt to make me believe that he had actually used soap. That theory was shot down when he failed to turn the water back on to wash the imaginary soap from his hands, but instead just grabbed some paper towels and hastily got the hell out of the bathroom before I had any chance of discovering his identity. The time from when he pulled the toilet paper to when he exited the bathroom was between 25-35 seconds.

I was able to see part of his shoe below the stall divider. Unfortunately, nearly every male attorney in my firm wears the same style of black dress shoe, so I have my work cut out for me. Rest assured, I won't be shaking any hands for the rest of the day.

Fecal phantoms must be stopped. If you encounter one, call him out. It will have to be quick, since they are both extremely swift and extremely spry. But let them know that their filthy ways will not be tolerated.

Abort! Abort!

So the wife was feeling a little under the weather a couple mornings ago, and she says to me (in jest), "Maybe it's morning sickness," to which I replied, "Don't be stupid." Nonetheless, it got me thinking. With the recent appointments of John Roberts and Samuel "Boom Boom" Alito to the U.S. Supreme Court and South Dakota's immediate passage of the most restrictive abortion law in the country, the protection of a woman's right to choose is in jeopardy.

This is a call to arms (or, more appropriately, a call to bed) for women and the guys who love to plow them. It's high time for a good old fashioned right-to-choice sexual revolution. Don't let some self-righteous conservatives and Bible-thumping psychos ruin your sex life. Take advantage of the right to choose while you still have it.

• Do you hate condoms? Who doesn't? I know I do.
• And what about diaphragms? If you're like me, you have no idea how one is even used.
• Scared of sponges? So am I.
• Has digital penetration runs its course? You bet.
• Does the thought of yet again performing fellatio or cunnilingus on your partner make you want to puke? Most likely.
• Sore backside? Put down the Astroglide.
• Is the rhythm method taking the rhythm out of your sex life?
• Why pull out now when you can pull out up to three months down the road?
• Not disciplined enough to take pill after pill, day after day? All you need to worry about is one teency weency pill that you only need to take one time: RU-486.
• Is the only thing you want implanted into your body the warm phallus of a complete stranger? You're not alone.
• Does the thought of having a child that looks like your Catholic husband frighten you? Despite what he might tell you, there is an option that doesn't involve annulment.

If you think any or all of these questions might describe how you feel, it's time to get out there and have some of the best consequence-free (and preferably disease-free) sex of your life while you still have options. Because before you know it, your only options will be to actually have a child or to get one of those completely safe back-alley abortions that were so popular in the pre-1973 South. Neither are options you want to deal with at this point in your life.

OC Can You See?

Dearest GMYH readers, I apologize for the fact that I have not had a The OC update in a while. With the NCAA tournament and a raging meth addiction, I've been tied up (both figuratively and literally). But last night, I finally had time to sit down and watch the episodes I missed. On a related note, DVRs rule.

Before getting into my unnecessarily lengthy diatribe about the past few episodes, I would like to note that I have finally had a chance to confirm the rumor that Marissa Cooper did in fact eat during Episode #69 (hell yeah!). What did she eat, you ask? She reached into a box of cereal, pulling out approximately one piece of cereal, and forced it down her throat. This means that Holt "Your Fire" Hedrick is the winner of the ridiculously awesome OC When Will Marissa Eat? Pool. As the Grand Prize Winner, Mr. Hedrick will have his choice of one of the following two items: (1) a Free Marissa t-shirt from http://www.freemarissatshirt.com/; OR (2) an OC shirt from CafePress.com of his choosing, not to exceed $25 (excluding tax and shipping). Rest assured, this is truly a great day for him, especially considering the fact that he was forced to watch all 3 Final Four games in person.

On to more important things, here is a brief summary of where we're at in the show:

1. Marissa and Ryan broke up. I couldn't date someone whose body rejected food either.
2. Ryan starts dating the mustached Sadie. Just when Sadie was about to leave to go back to Oregon (or wherever it is that mustached hippie chicks come from), Marissa of all people stops her and tells her that Ryan wants her to stay. Unfortunately, Sadie stays.
3. Volchok and Marissa have for some reason become fuck buddies. In an unnecessarily graphic scene (shown to the right), Volchok shows up at Marissa's trailer and they go at it like Mama Cass to a ham sandwich (too soon?). You may remember Volchok as the son of a bitch who Ryan nearly gutted with a wine bottle, who looks like Gonzaga guard Derek Raivio, but with more tattoos and facial hair and with less of a chance to win a Sinead O'Connor lookalike contest.
4. Saucy tart Jess has returned, alleging that she has changed her whorrific ways. I don't believe her for a second, since she's a woman and all. Apparently Ryan thinks it's a good idea to protect her from her ex-boyfriend (not his brother Trey--he's dealing blackjack in Vegas off the strip). Since Ryan Atwood has no bad ideas, this was a good choice. Unfortunately he stopped short of murder when Jess's boyfriend showed up at a party. Before bludgeoning the guy's face to the point of unrecognizability, Ryan stopped and realized that it wasn't his problem, proving once again that the only thing that can stop Ryan Atwood is Ryan Atwood himself.
5. Like most high school kids, Seth and Summer are suffering from a lack of libido. I know when I was a teenager, the last thing on my mind was having sex with my hot girlfriend (if such a person had existed). Don't worry, though, they get over it and do what high school kids should be doing: tantric sex.
6. We furthered our suspicions that Taylor Townsend is a tigress in the sack. Not because she did anything or anyone, but because she had the foresight to teach Seth about the Kama Sutra to cure his ailing teenage libido.
7. Summer's dad and Julie Cooper are engaged. Blah blah blah.
8. In a situation that could never be awkward, Kirsten takes Seth to her AA meeting. Thanks Mom.
9. Sandy is forced to fire Matt (aka Pat Bateman) in order for the Newport Group's deal to go through with the hospital. Some dude (Dr. Griffin) orders Matt to be beat up so he won't talk shit about Griffin or the hospital. Rather pedestrian storyline at the moment, but it's waiting to explode in magnificent fashion all over all of our faces.
10. Volchok goads Marissa into trying some cocaine. This is certain to be a bad idea, given that even one snort will give Marissa's body nearly 600 times the calories her body is used to consuming in a day.

What's left for the rest of the season, you ask? Here are the questions we hope are resolved in the next few episodes:

1. Where will the kids go to college? My guess is that either Summer or Seth got into Brown, but not both. Hence, everyone stays in the OC and commutes to USC, UCLA, Pepperdine, or one of the other 7000 schools in the Los Angeles area, including the fictional Cal U., whose graduates include Brandon Walsh, Steve Sanders, Albert Clifford Slater, Zachery Morris, and Samuel "Screech" Powers.
2. Will Nat come back to manage the Peach Pit? Oops, sorry, wrong southern California teen dramedy.
3. Will Sandy turn down the hospital deal and side with Matt against the increasingly shady Dr. Griffin? If so, will they enlist Ryan's help to destroy Griffin's evil henchmen?
4. How much longer is Marissa going to go slumming with Volchok? Sure, he's got tattoos, a seemingly unlimited supply of coke, abs of steel, a fragile ego, and--oh wait, that's me.
5. Will Ryan finally kill Sadie? I know there's been nothing to indicate that this is a possibility, but with McG and Josh Schwartz at the helm, anything can happen. Anything.
6. When will Teresa show up with Ryan's kid? And how much in back child support will Ryan owe? In order to support his out-of-wedlock child, will he bypass college to fulfill his previous dream of working as a commercial fisherman?
7. Now that Marissa has eaten a piece of cereal, when will she force herself to puke it back up? My guess is that it already happened. Right after the camera cut away from her eating it.

Interesting New HBO Show

In case you haven't seen or heard of it yet, there is a new show on HBO called Big Love, which centers around a Utah polygamist and his three wives. It's got a pretty decent cast. Bill Paxton is the husband. Jeanne Tripplehorn and Chloë Sevigny are two of the wives. Harry Dean Stanton plays the creepy polygamistic patriarch of Sevigny's family. Anywho, check it out and dare to dream.

200 Large

Yesterday, Rhonda (my totally awesome '91 Accord) hit a milestone that most cars only dream of: 200,000 miles. To help Rhonda celebrate, I'm giving her two more stickers: a Velvet Underground sticker to balance the White Stripes sticker on the other side of the rear-window middle brake light, and a "Mark it 8, dude" sticker for the bumper. I know, I know. You're jealous because you wish you had the moxie to put a "Mark it 8, dude" bumper sticker on your car. But that's just one of the many advantages of having Rhonda over your car.

A lot of people give me guff (either to my face or behind my back--don't think I don't know) because I'm a lawyer who drives a '91 Accord. I walk to work anyway, I've never had a car payment, and I get 30+ mpg. Pardon me for not giving a shit, but I simply don't get impressed by people with expensive cars. Anyone with money or a smidge of credit can get a new car. Hell, I could if I wanted to. But it takes grit, determination, and a bit of cockeyed optimism to make a car last 200,000 miles. So you can have your shiny new car, your 18 mpg, your GPS, your fancy in-dash CD player, your antenna that actually goes up and down, and your several hundred dollars a month car payment. I'll gladly take my monthly payment of zero, filing up only once every 450 miles, oil changes every 7,500 miles, sweet bumper stickers, and carefree lifestyle.