I’ve been having the oddest dreams. You are supposed to write them down as soon as you wake up. Here goes…

I’m living in a house not far from the beach. I’m visited by this older couple who thank me for coming (even though I’m already there) and hopes “my writing can do something to save the local economy”. The guy leads me to the far end of the beach and it’s COVERED in disgusting creatures like snakes, crazy jumping fish, beetles and they just hover around and attack without warning. I’ve got bugs stuck all over my body.

I run back up to the boardwalk and the guy explains the creatures are killing the local economy. “I can see why” I say, “but what can I do?”

He requests an article about how wonderful the beach is and how everyone should visit. I refuse to lie and tell him to piss off. I walk down the boardwalk eating an apple (naturally, because, who doesn’t carry apples) and someone asks to borrow it. I hand it to them and they throw it down the boardwalk and hit some people.

I’m stopped by a cop. I’m assuming for the apple incident. She asks to see my left hand. She points to my wedding ring and says “I’m arresting you for excessive bling” and tries to handcuff me.

I start running. (Lessons to kids, ALWAYS run from cops) Luckily it wasn’t the typical dream running where you can’t move your legs or get above a speed of gereatric. I’m booking.

I duck into a store on the boardwalk. It’s a spa. I’m trying to find a way out but there is nothing but shower stalls. I can hear the cops coming so I duck into a stall that already has the water running. I hide behind the water.

The door opens and a naked woman enters the stall. She doesn’t see me. There is a loud CRASH. Metal hitting a wood floor. She sees me.

I wake up to find the cat on the bed. He knocked my wedding ring off the dresser and onto the floor.

Cat must also have an issue with my bling.

Got a weird dream you want to share? Leave it in the comments.

A favorite story of my father’s involves his honeymoon. Let me paraphrase, though I could recite the whole tale by heart, having heard it more than the story of Christmas.

It’s the day after his wedding and he is by himself in the ocean staring out at the vast nothing in front of him and this thought pops into his head; what the fuck am I doing? He thought about his life, his new wife and the future ahead and just went into momentary shock. Fear washed over his body faster than the salt water. He couldn’t move.

Then it passed. Forty-one years later my parents are still together.

My dad told me that story, again, a couple months before my nuptials. He usually reminds me of it before every big moment in my life. Heard it again when the wife got pregnant. His little pep talk.

I was fine. I had no regrets or unresolved issues.

Then my ocean moment came during a car ride to work the week before my wedding. Am I ready for this? The same fear that overtook my old man hit and I started to panic. A good five minutes. It lasted longer only because I also came to the realization I knew all the words to a Rihanna song on the radio. Now THAT is scary shit.

I see a story like this and I wonder if this guy had the same moment my dad and I experienced around the time of our wedding. Sad.

Nothing is ever as bad as it seems. Marriage. Kids. Life. Death (not that I know that yet).

This too shall pass.

I’m gonna stick it out till the end. Now that it’s raining more than ever. Know that we’ll still have each other. You can stand under my umbrella.

See how scared you just got. I can relate.

One of my favorite features on Amazon is the “people that bought this also bought this” section. You get some weird combos like bibles and vibrators.

So what did people that bought my book also buy?

People who pre-ordered the book also purchased slingshot frogs and monkeys. Check out the Amazon page for the Assholeology book for proof.

I am sure am learning a lot about my audience. Well, at least they don’t like to throw poop. Then we’d be TOO much alike.

Click here to order if you haven’t already before they jack up the price.

If I had to guess I’d say we’ve spent about $300 on cat toys over the past two years. He has played with them all for about ten minutes. There is one toy that he never tires of: milkies. Milkies are the plastic rings that get ripped off the top of milk containers. He loves those damn things.  He spends half his day chasing the top of the milk carton around the house and the other half licking his balls in exhaustion.

Kids are the same way. Spend thousands of dollars on toys and they spend their afternoon banging on a pot with wooden spoon. What does this mean? We are as dumb and finicky as cats but with less ball licking (SOME of us).

It got me thinking about the things I played with as a kid weren’t really toys

Empty Paper Towel/Wrapping paper rolls

Swords. Batons. Lightsabers. Maybe just grab one end and yell as loud as possible to hear your voice echo out the other side. The fun never ended. Until they break. Then you just grab another roll, flush the evidence down the toilet and use that roll as the world’s largest spitball cannon. Distance varies.

Bugs

Spent hours torturing ants, ladybugs, and centipedes. Can you think of a more inhumane death than to get caught in a jar and used as some medieval lantern? Worse, it was encouraged by parents. “Here is a Smuckers jar, go play God.”

Label Maker

I have no idea why but everyone in my family had a label maker. The old school kind looked like the Starship Enterprise. Spelling out stickable curse words never got old. Who’s skateboard is this? Cockhammer’s that’s who!

Calculators

The only time numbers were fun. Especially when you can flip them upside down to spell boobies or boobless.

Couch Cushions

Bored of morning cartoons? Time to build a fort. Set up the large cushions as walls, the smaller cushions as the roof and use the throw pillows for their intended purpose: to throw. Normally at brothers and sisters who were forbidden fort access and accidentally at lamps. The lamps triggered a ground attack on the fort by Dad. Ass beatings are just a part of war son.

Expired Credit Cards

Ah the reckless days of yore where identity theft was a myth and asbestos just a delicious desert topping. My parents and Aunt gave me expired credit cards to play “pretend businessman”. I would use them in an attempt to break into locked doors around the house. Also on the front door of the neighbor’s house. That alarm was so damn sensitive.

Dirt

Dirt bombs. Dirt castles. Dirt sandwiches. Some kid pisses you off and you rub some in his eye. Don’t get me started on mud.

Matches

You weren’t supposed to play with matches. Doesn’t mean you listened. Then you got “the lesson” where something almost caught fire and you quit cold turkey and moved on to something safe like lighters and aerosol cans.

Food

Mom’s grub wasn’t always edible so it became source of amusement. How many scoops of mashed potatoes could you fit in your mouth? How far can you shoot a bean with your fingers? Will your brother notice is you drop a pork chop in his milk? A personal favorite was blowing bubbles into a drink until it overflowed onto the table. Ever get stabbed with a fork by a pissed off mother? I’ll color you lucky.

Your Genitals

You had those things in your hand at any free moment.

So what did I miss?

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The family is preparing. Next Monday is huge. Will it be a boy or a girl? The moment we find out it is officially go time.

Baby supplies to beg for or buy. Nursery to prepare. Whittle down the names to just one or two.

It’s also time for this future dad to get ready. I’ve been making a list in my head.

These are the things I’ll need before the baby arrives:

New clothes

Dad jeans. Sweatshirts from college. Sneakers that look like they want to commit suicide. I’ll do my best not to dress like a dad. I won’t stare at the guy in the mirror with a “ah screw it” attitude about my appearance. I’ll only embarrass the kid. Maybe not at first but on one future Fall afternoon when I drop him or her off at a friend’s house wearing a Springsteen ‘99 tour shirt and Adidas three-stripe pants. The kids will tease. I know I would have but that is because I was a mean kid.

I’ll try my damnedest not to shop only once a year at JCPenney and not count on Christmas for a closet makeover.

I’ll miss you most of all mesh shirt. We will always have summers in Seaside Heights.

New jokes

God bless my father. Funny guy. Jokes need an update. I pride myself on making other people laugh. I’m good at it. Hang on. Toot. That’s my horn.

I’ve have noticed my quips getting a little stale. Dated even. Whimsical but usually just a chuckle and a roll of the eyes from the guys hanging out at the OBGYN (I basically live there now). Gotta keep the material fresh for the kids. Keep them laughing. Keep their friends laughing. The word poop isn’t going to make them cry laughing forever. Unlike me. That word cracks me up.

Poop.

See. Funny.

Soccer knowledge

For those dads lucky, possibly unlucky, enough to have played or know something about soccer, please move on to the next entry. Those of us that don’t have a CLUE what the hell is going on we need rules and knowledge fast.

Saturday mornings look like a World Cup qualifying match on my front lawn. Every kid in the neighborhood plays soccer. I pass fields packed with kids running in circles and parents sitting in lawn chairs watching them run in circles. Joy. I’m screwed.

This is what I know about soccer; games can end in a tie and David Beckham wears nut-huggers. For those reasons alone I’m not a fan. A game shouldn’t end in a tie. Ever. Wait, what do you mean kid’s leagues don’t keep score? If I’m wasting a Saturday little Cecil down the block will learn there are winners and losers in life and him and the other Warriors are losers. L-O-S-E-R-S.

Speaking of that….

Lessons on sportsmanship

This could be my biggest issue. I’m a poor sport. I pretend I’m a good sport. I laugh off losses and say things like “we will get them next time.” It is bullshit. Losses stick in my gut like a Black Taco. I’m depressed for days. Oh and God forbid my team wins. I’m an insatiable ball-buster to the opposition.

I don’t want this rubbing off on the kid. These are just games. Athletics aren’t really that important. It’s about having fun and escaping the grind of daily life.

Now go shake Cecil’s hand, tell him good game, and let him know he is the best player on an awful team.

You hear that Warriors! You suck! Oh god, please don’t cry.

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The Assholeology: The Science Behind Getting Your Way - and Getting Away with it

Yes, it is real. Click the link to see more. Details to follow….

The nature of my work with Ask Men, Asylum, and of course years of stealing from Dear Abby, has positioned me as some type of relationship authority. I accept.

From time to time, I will get questions from friends and family about what they should do in certain affairs of the heart.

This is a perfect example. This email is real. Names have been changed to protect his balls.

Hey Illuminati,

Is it normal that my girlfriend tells me the most random crap about her day that I dont care about? We have been dating for 6 months now, and I have to hear boring shit everyday! I really dont care about what she did in school and EVERY detail of it! I usually respond in a “Oh yeah that’s cool” because what else do I say?? Then she gets all pissed saying, “I hate telling you things because I can tell you don’t care.”

Is every girl like this?

Signed, Earplugged

Dear Friend,

First, be happy your girlfriend is in school and doesn’t work for a living. Now those are some boring stories. They involve an uninteresting job with awful people. It’s like…reading…God, ever try and read? Like a book? Ugh, torture.

Anyhoo, I’ve come up with several options. I’m going to let the good readers of this blog vote which is the best option in your case.

You can either….

A) Interrupt her every sentence with “1…2…3..shut up!” and tell her she can’t talk until you say.
B) Wait until she is done, act excited and say “Oh god, that was a great story. Can you tell it again? Do you think there is time??”
C) She is probably hot. You wouldn’t let it go this long if she wasn’t. You are shit out of luck. Deal with it best you can.
D) Remember every single thing she says and ask her about it all the time. Example, if she tells you about this great sandwich she had at lunch, ask her about the sandwich EVERY DAY. Do this same for everything she mentions. She won’t tell you anything anymore.
E) Ballgag

Please vote and comment any other ideas.

n

Last year, with the help of some blog friends and a great guy named Chad, I was able to raise some money for prostate cancer as part of the Movember charity event. Basically, people paid money to watch me grow a mustache. It was a great cause but my mustache was lackluster.

I’ll be honest, it sucked.

This year, I’ve pledged to raise more money and also cheat my ass off. How will I raise more money? Well besides myself, I’ve joined with the great people over at Asylum to try and generate even more buzz about the month of Movember. They’ve enlisted the help of over twenty other websites to get the word out about Movember and the fight against prostate cancer.

But how will I cheat? Simple. I’m starting the mustache early. How early? Right damn now. I really want to make it a mustache for the ages! Unfortunately I’m dealing with the biggest baby-face since Koko B. Ware and his good friend Frankie.

I figured I also needed some role models. Shining examples of everything a mustache should be. I thought about the most influential mustaches in my life.

Mustaches of my youth

1.) Don Mattingly- Donnie Baseball was my boyhood baseball hero. I thought to be as good as him I needed a mullet, a nosetickler, and a pinstripe Yankees jersey. I would take the baseball eye black and draw myself a Mattingly Mustache. After 20 minutes of running around in the summer heat my lips were black and my lunch would taste like pine tar. I WANT TO BE A PART OF IT!!!!! NEW YORK! NEW YORK!

2.) Ron Jeremy- A porn star had influence on a child. Sadly. The Hedgehog was on the business end of the first porno I ever watched. I wasn’t sure where his mustache ended and chest hair began. Frankly I was frightened. I didn’t have sex for months. Years. Ever. You guys suck.

3.) Hulk Hogan- When it comes crashing down and it hurts inside. You gotta be a man it don’t help to hide. I’ve got something deep inside of me. The Hulkster’s mustache is what keeps us free!!! The first three lines are from Hulk Hogan’s theme music Real American. The last line is how I feel about that mustache. It was a freedom fighter, Hulk up after every Hulk up. Say your prayers. Take your vitamins. Train. Grow that mustache. Dye the hell out of it until you’re 60. America.

4.) Mr. S - (Like I’d have a pic?) Mr. S. had a mustache. He always had a mustache. From the first time he came to pick Brian up at my house and the thousand other times I saw him until Brian and I stopped hanging out around 8th grade. On our high school graduation day, this strange man came up to congratulate me and my parents. It was Mr. S. sans the mustache. He looked so different. I didn’t grow up that day because of a diploma. I grew up that day because I realized things won’t always stay the same.  I knew I had to grow a mustache some day. Right after I got laid.

So, with those motivators in mind, it’s time to kick cancer in the ass.

If you want to support my cause, and make a donation to my Movember page, please click here.

I’m going to try and get some type of prize for the highest donation, more on that in the coming weeks. You can also chart my progress as I post pictures of my own glorious mustache.

It’s time to get this Mo-ving!

Ugh, even I’m ashamed of that pun.

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The toll was exactly $.75

That is exactly what I had in my pocket. No more. No less. No time to hit an ATM in the morning rush.  Just enough to get me over the bridge to work.

“Whoa, whoa we only take American money.”

“Good because that is all I’ve got.”

I figured he was just telling me in case I knew of any German nationals or out-of-towners headed from New Jersey to Pennsylvania. I’ll be sure to pass on the message.

He handed back my coin. The coin I swore was a quarter.

Now I was a quarter short. Here is where it gets interesting.

“Need another quarter.”

“I don’t have any other money on me.”

Dead silence.

“Give me a dollar.”

“Again. I don’t have any other money on me.”

Dead silence.

“You don’t have a dollar?”

This guy was fantastic at spotting foreign currency but isn’t great at understanding English.

“I don’t have anything else. You want my debit card?”

Dead silence.

“You’re really going to make me sit here for a quarter?”

He raised the gate and gave me the stink eye. I stared him down and gunned the car before he changed his mind.

Stink eye me?!? I was angry. It was on my mind all day. Did he think I was lying? Did I really look like the person who goes around trying to rip people off? Stink eyed?!?

$1.00

I went right for his window this morning.

“I owe you from yesterday.”

“Owe me what?”

“I shorted you a quarter. Here is a dollar. Keep the change.”

“Oh…. Thanks.”

He had no idea what the hell I was talking about. He was caught off guard. So was I.

I didn’t think that Monopoly dollar would work.

Other Great Moments

Great Moments in ChrisCatstory

Six stores I’d love to see go bankrupt

Name number #1 on the naughty list this year