The Hoochieness of the Disney Princess

My wife recently said to me, “I think you’re a little obsessed with the princesses.”

The Disney princesses that it is.

On a daily basis, I am literally surrounded by Disney. And nowadays Disney means princesses.

We have two young kids, and kids love Disney. Movies, TV shows, toys.

We have the passes since we live in Southern California, and go to Disneyland a few times a year, especially for each of their birthdays. My son love Cars, my daughter loves all the princesses.

I’m no animephile, but some of those princesses are HOT. Cinderella is so pretty and clean, a diamond in the rough. Snow White is self admittedly pure as the driven snow. How hot is THAT!? Sleeping Beauty spends most of her time on her back. Mulan is for the Asian persuasion, Pocahontas for the natural lovers. Ariel, the Little Mermaid wears not much more than a fishtail and a shell bra.

My daughter has all the princess dolls and costumes.

One of the princess dolls definitely stands out as the hoochiest. Jasmine from Alladdin. She’s olive skinned. She’s got a crop top and genie pants. She’s got abs and obliques and a belly button. She’s the only princess doll wearing a thong. She has to though because her genie pants are see through. Too bad the slave girl outfit from the movie wasn’t an accessory. Who can blame Aladdin and Jaffar for wanting to ride that carpet? I wonder if the carpet matches the drapes?

Oddly enough, the Jasmine doll always winds up laying nude next to the Prince Eric doll from Little Mermaid. He’s always nude too. Pisses the other princesses off, especially Ariel. All poor Eric has is a little bulge. I guess Jasmine is getting whatever she can. When she can.

Every time we go to Disney, I wonder what the poor girls who play the princess characters have to put up with? How many pictures do they have to take with creepy Dads? Do their boyfriends make them sneak the costumes home now and again?

I’ve seen ads for “Princess Characters” to come to your party. They’re not the Disney princesses, but close enough. They just can’t infringe the Disney trademarks. I wonder how many bachelor parties try to get them, or how many birthday parties they go to like “Bobby’s” where Bobby is the only one there, he’s 40 and live in his Mom’s basement.

Where are the moms of these princesses? Think about it. Disney doesn’t like moms. Not just the princess movies, but also all the Disney movies. The moms are usually dead, die, are weak, or go crazy. That doesn’t even mention the bad step moms, like Cinderella and Snow White’s.

The moms that are around are weak. Lion King’s mom shacked up with her husband’s brother after he died. Dumbo’s mom went apeshit and got locked up. Sleeping Beauty’s mom gave her away.

If a mom is there and isn’t crazy, you know she’s going to get whacked. Sometimes we get attached and she gets take down like Bambi’s mom. Sometimes we think we’ll get attached and she’s ripped away, like Nemo’s mom. She seemed cool, but…

I’m telling you, Disney hates moms, but loves hoochie princesses.

Ode to Jennifer Love Hewitt

This is an old one, written after Jennie Love Hewitt moved on from Party of Five, long before Medium and Jamie Kennedy. For some reason, she's always bugged me...

I remember the first time I saw Party of Five. There's this psychological theory that says if we go through some traumatic event, we try to make the best of it so we can deal with it and hopefully make it through.

I tried to drool over the girls. Neve Campbell was pretty cute till she opened her mouth. I remember seeing Jennifer Love Hewitt and thinking "hey that scrawny could be hot if she only had boobs." Lacy Chrebet was too young to note, but who knew the hotness she would blossom into?

Sometimes I don't realize my own power. My words came back to haunt me. Be careful what you wish for.

It was a slow night, not much at the movie store. I picked up I Know What You Did Last Summer, Jennifer Love Hewitt's (JLOHEWs) first foray into the film world, I think. The cover of the video features JLOHEW in the foreground with these suddenly giant bazooms. On the cover, all revolved around her boobs, it's like they were the twin suns of Tatooine.

Her boobs were like costars in the film, they should have had their own double billing. Thank God they survived. Not ALL of her friends for killed in the movie.

After viewing the film, I knew what JLOHEW did last summer. She got some boobs. Hewitt had become code for "huge tits." Problem is, she's got these porno knockers on this twig of a body. They're bigger than her head. I'm hunched over when SHE walks and MY back hurts. Her bra straps cut into MY shoulders.

JLOHEW broke on of my rules. Two word: PRO PORTION. The rule of proportion. Boobs have to be proportionate to the body. Subtlety is an art, even if it looks good in a sweater. Maybe they WANTED to distract people from the plot.

If Party of Five did a reunion, it would have to be Party of Seven because of JLOHEWs boobs.

Now we know why Neve did the steamy makeout scene with Denise Richards in Wild Things. She had to do something to counter JLOHEWs boob job.

JLOHEW used to push Noxema. Maybe if she rubbed it on her boobs, they'd shrink down a bit, into proportion.

Starbucks is the 7-11 of the 00's

Starbucks is the 7-11 of the 00's. There's one on nearly every corner, some across the street from one another.

I never thought I'd like Starbucks when the first started popping up. I didn't used to like coffee until I started...dating...a girl who loved to hang out in coffee shops. I started with tea, then mochas, then made the jump. Now I love a little latte.

Actually the coffee jump is due to another girl I was...dating. I'd never drank it much, but did in the mornings at her place. Then of course working graveyard shifts as a janitor helped me acquire a taste for bad coffee.

As usual, I digress.

I don't know when I discovered Starbucks. Probably in some mall somewhere for convenience.

In San Diego, there's this fabulous record star called Lou's Records. Used to be you go into Lou's and if your choice wasn't cool enough, you got attitude from the staff, like you weren't as cool and well listened as they were. Starbucks is the Lou's Records of coffee shops.

Tall, grande, venti. No big, medium, small. No super size. Certainly no dollar menu. At Starbucks, tall is small, grande is big, and venti is large. It's like the place where you order a small soda, but they don't have a small soda.

In the real world, the smallest is small, the mediumest is medium, and the largest is large.

Tall things are big. Like Big and Tall.

Grande is Spanish for big. Or large.

So you've got two larges.

What's venti? It sounds whimpy. Venti should mean "small."

Somebody told me once Starbucks was trying to be "European" with the names of the drink sizes. We all know how cool the Europeans are, and that they can't win a war without us. In Starbucks in Europe do THEY get small, medium and large and try to be "American?"

I don't like places where it's a hassle to order. In N Out is awesome, because they have like 3 things. You're in and out, literally. Carl's Jr God love 'em. Sometimes the soda jerk running the window gets thrown off if you order a burger. They're all "stars" or some shit.

Ordering at Starbucks always stresses me out. It's like grande latte non-fat, sugar free vanilla. I'd like them to simply call that by my name. "The Doug." I forget what the Hell the codeword is for extra hot, so it burns your mouth when you sip it. Like the "secret menu" at In N Out. For the cool people.

My worst Starbucks experience was a run from work. I asked a co-worker what she wanted. She said "mocha latte." OK, fine with me, mocha latte. Sounds good. So I go down to the Starbucks and order the mocha latte. You would have thought I said to the girl "let's go out tonight, I'll pick you up in my panel van. I'll take you to a warehouse and torture you, then wear your skin as a dress."

She rolled her eyes and said "a mocha and a latte are two different drinks, SIR."

Then the barrista (the paramilitary coffee guy) leans over to her and says, "he means a latte." Then they snicker like I'm an idiot. Now I see the European connection. SILLY AMERICAN.

SO now I get nervous. I don't know, maybe my friend likes a mocha and latte mix like Laverne likes Pepsi and milk. I mean why can't you squeeze some chocolate in some frothy cappucino and call it a day?

Strippers Are Just Workin’ Girls Like You and Me

The stripper world fascinates me. The stripper as a species is amazing. Turn it on and turn it off. As long as you’ve got money, it’s on. They’re your best friend, you think they might want you. But once that cash runs out, they’re out of there like a 7 year old when church is over.

There are strippers of all shapes and sizes. Everybody’s into something different. High end strip clubs where every girl is the hottest girl you’ve seen, and low end clubs, where strippers go to die.

There are strippers with bodies you can bounce a quarter off of. There are strippers who have been bouncing back too many quarter pounders over the years.

Living in San Diego, we are less than an hour flight to Vegas. I know for a fact there are a lot of girls that make the trip out to strip and pay their monthly bills for a weekend’s work. If you get on the Vegas flight on a Fri night, these girls stick out like a stripper on a flight to Vegas. Sunglasses, hot bod, fake boobs, usually little luggage. Who needs clothes when you’re gonna be naked most of the weekend? They just need to leave some room for all the dollar bills they’re bringing home from pretending to like guys the whole trip.

On one Vegas trip, my friend and I decided to go check out Glitter Culch downtown. It’s the place with the big screen outside, across from the Golden Nugget. We used to like to stay at the Nugget. Made us feel like old school high rollers.

The greeter outside tells you to check it out as there’s never a cover. Of course there’s a two drink minimum. You’re gonna pay $6-$10. Order a bottled beer. Everything else is gonna be watered down. So we get in there and order two Coronas each. Probably cost us $32 alltogether. And the waitress wanted a tip.

So we both pull out our money wads to pay for the drinks. I used to use a money clip with the big bills on top, the little ones inside. I probably had a couple hundred in 20s, my friend probably twice that much. I’m not a big gambler. In Vegas at least.

We might of well have tossed a bloody seal into a great white shark tank.

Two strippers instantly appeared by us like magic. Like magical tag teaming twins. We exchanged pleasantries, then the girls got down to business. My friend doesn’t accept lapdances, I used to. One of the girls asked me if I was interested in a dance. I was.

Now, in the real world a lapdance is a glancing rub type of thing, a little more friendly than a floordance. Vegas in so many ways is not the “real world.” There are fewer rules. Most lapdances are topless, and used to cost $20 a pop. Not sure what it is now, with inflation. The word “dance” is open to interpretation depending on the girl, the club, and the bouncers.

Some clubs have very strict rules, and very strict bouncers. I’ve heard there are some clubs where anything goes for the right amount.

As far as the Vegas lapdance, some girls dance, some grind, some just dry hump. It’s a crapshoot.

Either way, it’s fun having a superhot chick topless in your lap.

So the girl was pretty hot, I had some cash, so I thought I’d go take a walk. She grabbed my hand, and one of my beers and took a big swig. She took me over to this couch area and asked me if I knew how things worked there.

“How do things work here?” I asked.

She told me “It’s 3 songs for $100, and I’m worth it.”

She might have been worth it, but I just wanted a taste. Like a sample.

“That’s too much. What else you got?” I asked her.

This really pissed her off. Her demeanor instantly changed. We all like our strippers detached, but not bitter and angry. “Well we could go back to your table and I could give you a table dance, but that’s boring…”

At this point if I agreed to the table dance, she was going to MAKE it boring. That’s like getting a burger and telling the guy at the window “take this back and get me another one ASSHOLE!” He’s gonna spit on your meat. She was going to spit on my meat, and not in a good way.

So I told her “no thanks” and she stormed off to get her twin. At least she left my beer.

Back at the table, my friend was doing no better. After flashing his wad around, he told the other girl he had no money…to “spend on strippers.” She asked him if he had money to gamble, and he said that was what he was going to spend his money on.

About this time this really foreign sounding girl sidles up and sits by me, the easy mark. She starts whispering sweet nothings in my ear. She talked for a few minutes but all I remember is “if you go in the back with me, I’ll let you suck my nipples.”

Well, we all know there’s no sex in the champagne room.

So this girl was trying to lure me back to the VIP room with the lure of sucking on her nipples. Obviously this had worked for her before. I mean you gotta have a pitch I guess.

First thought was “I am NOT going to suck on nipples that have been sucked by God knows how many guys today.” For me to do that, we’d have to tape off the block, bring in a hazmat team, and do some industrial nipple cleaning. I mean I was concerned about the seats, not to mention the nipples. We might be able to save some time by having a sandblaster come in and work on those nips, but it just wouldn’t be a good use of time. I had to be back to work on Monday.

So I passed.

All in all, bless their hearts, a lot of these girls are in some serious shape. They have to be. Their body is their business. A gym membership is a business investment for them. It’s not like me who pays monthly for the gym but probably couldn’t tell you how to get there.

I mean you see some of these girls and you think, “what do they EAT!?” “What’s their workout regime!?” I want a body like a high class stripper. I met some pretty amazingly hot strippers back in my strip club days. Like I said, the cream of the crop is in Vegas. I was told by many of them that the Stairmaster was the preffered workout machine. Good for tummies, thighs, legs, and buns. All good for a stripper.

So over the last decade or so, there’s been this “stripper aerobics” trend. This is basically a workout using stipper moves and poles, sometimes taught by strippers or ex strippers, or tied together in one package called Carmen Electra.

I actually don’t know how the whole stripper aerobic classes work, but I would HOPE they only let hot girls in the class. Big girls, go take spin.

I wonder if you have to pick a stripper name when you register. Maybe there’s a big whiteboard at the gym with the names available and taken. The list contains the names of seasons, spices, or characters from Disney movie, or a few adjectives like Chastity, Happiness, or Coco.

“OH, I’m sorry…Autumn and Cinnamon are taken, but Jasmine and Thumper are still available…”

I would imagine a lapdance from a stripper named Chastity is probably liked getting tattooed by a guy with no tattoos.

Then I bet you get your stripper aerobic mat. You can put your mat wherever you want, but it’s extra if you want to be up front and close to the teacher. There’s also a two water minimum every class, charged at the door. You get your two waters at the same time, when you choose you put your mat down.

The first few classes are probably the basic moves, the Britney Spears floor crawl, the scissor sisters leg spilt, the pelvic pushups, and so on. Then there’s pole work. The basic swing, she slide, the roll, the grease.

Then I wonder if there’s a class where the girls go out into the gym and hit up the other people working out for dollar bills. “Hi…so did you see me in the dance room?” You wind up giving them a dollar just to go away.

It must be tough giving a lapdance on a stationary bike or treadmill.

Restroom Etiquette and the Anatomy of a Fart

There’s a code of conduct when it comes to men and restrooms. Every guy should know it. If they don’t, they’re questionable. Most of it is gained from experience, some passed on from your Dad.

Guys aren’t like chicks. The restroom is not some gathering, gossiping, or meeting place. We’ve got business, we get in and get out. We need to talk to another guy, we’ll do it at the bar or the pool table.

We go one at a time. A guy’s colostomy bag could be leaking down his leg, and he’ll wait for the other guy at the table to come back.

There’s little conversation in the men’s restroom, unless you’re that drunk guy.

Using the urinal, a guy should leave as much room between the other guys as possible. Ideally, two urinals between each guy. I personally don’t like my own pee backsplash, much less someone I don’t know. Under no circumstances should a guy go to a urinal next to another guy if there’s other urinals open.

If you’re at the urinal and someone does say something to you, they’re either your friend, drunk, or foreign. Ignore them, grunt, or answer with a one word response. Don’t look over! You might accidentally see his penis. He might think you’re TRYING to look at it.

Of course, the old number 2 is a much more complicated process. You can set a watch to my bowel movements. Also, there’s three places I can poop: my house, my Mom’s house, and hotels. Other places are no go. I can wait till I get home, to mom’s or to the hotel. I used to be able to go at work, but now I work from home so it’s moot.

I appreciate a clean bathroom area. If it looks clean, it is clean. Some of the restrooms in casinos are lovely and spacious, but a bit too busy for me.

When I get ready to settle in to poop, everything has to be perfect. I like a nice comfy nest. I don’t like toilets with motion sensors. You set your nest and turn to sit, and it flushes, ruining your lovely nest.

A lot for times a guy will fart when he’s in the restroom, peeing or pooping. It’s almost like you’re announcing your presence, like an elephant trumpeting across the Serengeti during mating season.

Myself, I usually have to test the waters. If someone else is in there, I can’t just let go. I like to be like a poop submarine, poop silent, poop deep. If I’m alone, I am fine to let out a little Dizzy Gillespie trumpet solo, but I’ll have some respect if someone else is in there.

In so many ways, cats are like women, dogs are like men. There’s no difference in the fart world. Cats let out those silent killers that can clear a room, just like a woman. Ninja farts. Cats and women will pass through a room and let one fly just to mess with you. If it’s loud, stinky, or staining, they act shocked.

Dogs and mean will fart happily away in their sleep. If we do let one go while awake, we’re often proud, and enjoy the smell of our farts. Dogs will often act surprised, smell their own asses and look at anyone else in the room trying to pin the blame on them for the stinkiness.

Basically, men and dogs are loyal, we’ll follow you anywhere if we love you. We like to eat, sleep, and play. If we CAN lick ourselves we will, because we’ve already tried.

Why the Babysitter Got to Be So Hot, Dad?

I think one the biggest problems for me in life was that I was exposed to sexual things at a very young age. This happens when you hang out as a young kid with teenage boys. For all the fun that was, it was in it’s own way a learning experience, good or bad.

I also recall digging thru a friends Dad’s Playboys back as a very young kid. I still call the 70’s “the jungle years” because of those Playboy spreads.

My parents, or maybe my Dad, would inevitably get the hottest teen girl in the neighborhood to be my babysitter. For years they would go out to dinner on Friday nights, and I would be stuck with a hottie for a few hours. From the jiffy pop years, almost to the beginning of the microwave popcorn years. My sister is 10 years younger, and I don’t think I was trusted to babysit.

Well, I had crushes on all of my hot babysitters. I was like a 15 year old in a 7 year old’s body. Now I am a 15 year old in a 40 year old’s body. What’s different? I had these fantasies that each one of them would make me a man, if you know what I mean. Actually that still doesn’t sound half bad!

I would try the same scam with every babysitter. They would fall for MOST of it every time, until the clincher. I had this kid’s magic kit for years. I’d pull out the kit, start with a little sleight of hand, impress the girl. Then I’d step it up with maybe some magic rope, or disappearing water tricks. Then, once I had them in the palm of my mini-Houdini hand, I would offer to use my powers to hypnotize them.

I would hypnotize them, and to ensure that they were under, I’d make them do things like bark like a dog, crawl around, you know, demeaning hypnotized stuff. Then, I would move in on the piece de resistance, the ultimate hypnotrick. “Take your clothes off.” ALL OF THOSE GIRLS WERE FAKING BEING HYPNOTIZED. At that point the hypnotherapy would stop and they would chase me or call me some sort of sick something. I was no Houdini, apparently. Back to Stratego or Connect Four.

I had this friend Joey, about the same time, the “Star Wars” years of the 70s. We used to ride bikes, play baseball and stuff. One day, Joey decided to kiss me. Joey went home with a black eye. I don’t know if he’s still kissing boys, but he never tried to kiss me again. Funny how he was never as interested in the neighborhood girls as I was at that age, not that that was good for the neighborhood girls, but hmmm.

I think I became desensititized to sex AND violence at a very young age. My Mom would let me watch all these horror movies in the 80s. All these slasher flicks with violence and gore. Whenever there was sex or nudity, I’d have to cover my eyes, and there was a lot of sex and nudity in 80’s slasher movies. Chopped off heads, chainsaw severings, and hatchet chops were OK. In fact, they were encouraged, rewound and reviewed. It was a happy day in our house when we got the VCR with the slow motion feature. To this day if I watch a movie with my Mom, and there’s nudity, she yells at me to cover my eyes. Unfortunately I still need a hockey mask and kitchen knife for foreplay. And a Kevin Bacon cameo.

Besides having to cover my eyes for the occasional booby in a Jason, Freddie or Michael Myers movie, my parents did little censoring of the material I was exposed to. I pretty much watched, read, and listened to what I wanted. There’s a lot of sex in Duran Duran videos and Conan books. I’m still turned on by fur loinc cloths, broadswords and Antony Price silk suits.

My Mom DID ban MTV in the house when she walked in and saw The Romantic’s “Walking in Your Sleep” video. Bunch of girls sleep walking in lingerie. She should have seen my tape of Duran Duran videos, banned by MTV!

In my late teens I started working at a video store. This gave me repeated and constant access to mass quantities of porn movies, and that’s just in dealing with rentals and inventory. I guess I had to learn about proper sexual etiquette SOME HOW. Thank you Christy Canyon, Gena Lynn, Erica Boyer, Bunny Bleu. The stars of the 80s. You taught me so much.

I actually met porn legend Christy Canyon once. A friend and I…happened to be in the neighborhood…and saw a sign at a sex shop saying “Christy Canyon Signing Tonight.” We were literally the last two in line and the deal was you had to buy a video to meet her and get the video signed. It was a one porno minimum that night. But, how could I pass by meeting a woman so formative in my sexual flowering, or even deflowering?

So you’ve got a middle aged 80’s porn star either at the end of her career or trying to revive it. You’re in a sleazy sex shop, and you’ve been dealing with geeks all night who rarely leave the house, and make Christy Canyon t-shirts for themselves at home. They’re all her “biggest fan.” Then two more bozos show up.

She was actually still quite hot, and a brilliant conversationalist.

It went something like this:

Me: “Hi Christy.”

Christy: “Are you in my fan club?”

Me: “Nope.”

Christy: “What’s your name sweetie?”

Me: “John.”

Then she wrote on the cover of the “Where the Boys Aren’t VII” Video: “John- Join up! Love, Christy Canyon.”

Brilliant.

On the way into the shop, we bumped into these two "ladies of the night." I gave them the old "what's up ladies?"

One of them says "Why you goin' in there? I can be your date tonight."

I say, "Oh thank you, we're OK, have a good night though."

Like an overheating racecar, she goes from zero to ten, "WHY YOU ASKIN' ME WHAT'S UP THEN!?"

I was just bein' friendly, DAMN.

I think as a society, we’ve become much more sexualized. It’s just more pervasive on TV, movies, music and the Internet. It’s so easy to find for anyone. Kids are more aware, and more exposed. There’s sexual tension on Hannah Montana on the Disney Channel! I remember my jaw literally dropping the first time I saw Britney Spears’ first video.

Plus, it’s hormones in the chicken and milk. I read about it in Time magazine! Now you’ve got 13 year olds that look like 18 year olds. Used to be you’d hit puberty and get a training bra, now you hit puberty and get 44 double d’s! I actually knew a girl who’s Mom got her a boob job for a graduation present. She wound up working as a stripper.

Who’da thunk all those times she hung out at our pool as a teenager in that string bikini?

Stewardess Sex

For us boys out there, I think a stewardess (or a steward for you other boys out there) would be interesting to have sex with.

The foreplay would be particularly interesting.

Before you began, you’d have to please pay attention to the safe sex lecture, all reinforced by two pointed fingers.

“Prior to entry, please notice the breasts (pointing to breast), as well as the nipples (pointing and rotating fingers near nipples).”

“In the event of an erection, a condom will be available in the drawer in the nightstand by the bed.” (If you’re at her house, maybe it will fall from the ceiling as pressure rises).

“Open the condom like this, and slip the condom onto the penis, like this.”

“In the unlikely event of condom breakage, please withdraw the penis as soon as possible, leaving all belongings behind.”

“When finished, please exit carefully and quietly.”

Long Lost Wedding Observations

The Lord of the Rings

Also remember that cubic zarconias almost look like diamonds, and diamoniques are replaceable for life.
Think about it though…do you want the representation and symbol of your love and devotion to be tantamount to costume jewlery? Who not get a lollipop ring then. Kill two birds with one stone, engagement ring and delicious snack. It’s a big diamond shaped thing isn’t it? You probably forgot to tell her about your time in prison too.

If you love her, buy her a diamond. The come in all shapes and sizes, in all price ranges. I’ve seen engagement rings that are $200 and engagement rings that are $50,000. You buy it, don’t make her buy it even if you pay her back. She’ll tell her Mom and her friends.

I’m going to tell you this: shopping for a diamond ring is like shopping for a car. If you’re just looking, they’re going to do everything they can to get you in that diamond today.

That’s why you’re there right? What’s the hesitation? Are you sure you really want to marry this girl? See what I’m saying? It’s the mind games man! You gotta be ready. Your best bet is to do some research beforehand. Reputable jewelers will have information on the Websites to help you with the four C’s. Cut, clarity, carats, color. They often leave out the fith C: cost. That’s up to you too.

Diamonds have different colors, the clearer and whiter the diamond, the better the quality, and the more the expense. Diamonds also have different cuts. Trust me she has a favorite. You better find out which one.

Clarity is how clear the diamond is, the clearer the better. Carat is the weight of the diamond, and the measurement of how much you love your fiancee. Just kidding. Sort of.

It’s important for her to show of to her friends though.

She’ll also have a preference of gold, silver, platinum, etc. Platinum is popular and expensive, but sctraches easily. If you can, go for white gold, much more practical. If she likes gold, it’s not an issue. Just try and remember whether she like gold or silver.

They’re going to try and make it a relaxing easy decision for you. Always remember this will be one of the biggest purchase you’ll make, both expense and importance.

I think the plan goes like this: it’s mostly guys that shop for engagement rings and throw down a couple of grand, or throw down nothing and strectch payments of a FEW grand over a FEW years.. The stores hire attractive girls to dress nice and flirt with the guys buying the rings. It’s the whole stripper/female working in male clothing store for commission mentality. They get a cut so don’t care who the Hell you are, just what you spend and what their commission is!

The holy grail of rings for a girl is the Tiffany’s ring. You’ll pay at least twice as much, and you’re probably paying for that signature light blue box. If you can afford It and want to go this way go for it. Seeing that box will give your fiancee a bigger orgasm than you will ever be able to. You could probably even get away with a cubic zarconia or diamonique in a Tiffany’s box.

The thing I will say about Tiffany’s is that the staff is helpful. You might want to go in and do some of your research there. Put on your outfit and pretend like you dress like that all the time. Ask for the free video on picking a diamond, for when you “come back to Tiffany’s, ready to buy.”

A lot comes down to the ring. I’m not sure if it’s more for your fiancee or for her to show off, but that’s all part of the game. Remember if her friends squeel like a warthog in an outback snare, you’ve done a good job.

Your girl is special and the ring should be special. Yes, you can get an engagement ring for a couple hundred bucks. If you’re considering this route however, you might be too broke or too young to make the commitment. If you’re shopping in the mall by the back gat of the military base and your budget is $100 maybe you should wait. You’d probably rather spend that with your buddies on a few lap dances down at the strip club. Don’t marry the stripper though. Just “date” her for a while.

You can always buy it on credit like I did!



Engagement Pictures

I understand engagement pictures are important. I’m sure we look different since we decided to get hitched, and that out friends and realatives forgot what we look like. I understand that some of her friends and relatives don’t know me and want to see the happy couple. Let’s send everyone a photo they’ll magent to the fridge a month or two and then throw away when they get sick of the “happy couple.”

I understand the tradition of the engagement picture. I want to preserve our happiness too.

What I have a problem with is the timing of engagement pictures.

You see, there’s this sport called football. There are 17 weeks in the regular season of the National Football League, or NFL. Each team plays 16 games, and gets one week off. These games are usually on Sundays, in the mornings or afternoons, sometimes in the evening.

The last thing I want to be is a fair weather fan. You have to be loyal to your team, thick and thin. All I ask is three or four hours on 16 Sundays in the Fall and Winter.

This one Sunday comes along, and my team is tied for first place with two division rivals. Big game day.

I was informed the night before that I “might have to tape the game.” We were doing engagement pictures the next day. Watching a taped game is just not the same expereince. It doesn’t feel “live.”

With two days in a weekend, why do we have to do engagement pictures on Gameday?

I don’t schedule anything during “Survivor” or Lifetime movies.

Sex and the Minibar Scam

If you’re planning a wedding, chances are you’ll have guests from out of town. They’ll need somehwere to stay and you don’t want them stinking up your house. You’ll want to scout out some hotels for them and give them some options.

This can be a lovely day trip for you and you blushing bride. Make a day of it. A nice drive, see some hotels, plan a nice dinner.

Don’t forget the free action.

You should go to the hotels to check them out. You’re going to want to recommend some quality establishments. How can you make recommendation if you haven’t tried it out your self. What I’m tellin’ you is this is an opportunity for free sleaz sex.

The Bridal Shower

The bridal shower is that crowning event of womanhood where your bride-to-be gets together with her girlfriends and gay male friends. They carouse, drink, remineesce, talk about the groom, talk about men. Most importantly, gifts are given.

The shower, as opposed the the drunken fest that is the Bacheloreet Party, is the more somber event. The sentimental event where your fiancee’s sweet old aunts, your mother and her mother-in-law will be. I say, why can’t they BOTH be drunken fests. I should have known that with my girl, they would be.

Men generally don’t know what goes on behind closed doors at the bridal shower. This event is often off limits to the manfolk. We think it’s prim and proper because the moms are there. Little do we know they’ve actually ordered up a “fireman” to “come out a fire out” with his “hose.” Only thing is, he’s no fireman, there’s no fire, and he’s got quite a hose. Don’t worry, he’s probably gay, he’s in too good of shape to not be.

You know how these all women parties go. The booze starts flowin,’ the party starts, and the toys come out. The girls switch into skimpy lingerie to “get a little more comfortable.” Then, there’s the requiste pillow fight.

The moms and aunts are off with the gay fireman helping him wind up his hose. Your fiancee and her hot friends are experimenting with each other. It’s sweet, innocent and beautiful. This behavior should be encouraged.

The evening ends with a mass shower where the girls all wash each other. Thus, the term “Bridal Shower.”

Allright, that’s a bit dramatized.

The Bridal Shower is where your fiancee and her friends and realtives get together to reminesce. Gifts are given. If you’re lucky you’ll even get to go. I did.

The Father of the Bride and the Sex Issue


It makes me nervous to realize that my future father in law must be thinking about the things I will be doing, or have done already to his Princess.

My mother in law’s eagerness for grandkids doesn’t help the case. WE all know how grandkids get made. When a Mommy and Daddy love each other a whole lot, they get naked and the Daddy spanks the Mom and pulls her hair.

You don’t want her Dad pointing at you at the reception during his speech after he’s had a few. “You! I know what you plan on doing to my little girl!”

What it all comes down to is that at the reception everyone knows what will be going on later…most likely much later. More likely another day or night. Her Dad probably wants to kill you, your buddies want to high five you, and her Mom just wants grandkids. She doesn’t care how they get there.

What’s interesting is that if her parents knew you had messed around with their daughter before marriage, they’d hate you, try to kill you and tell her she could never see you again. Once your married though, it’s all cool baby, at least with Mom. She’ll bring it up at dinner, suggest technicques and positions, and track your ovulation and laminate it for you with a wallet sixed version of the chart.

It’s sort of like the old “Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free” theory. Supposedly you’ll buy the cow (nice reference to your bride to be), if you’re now getting the milk. I’m cool with that. I’ll buy the cow to get the milk. Only thing is that I have to tast the milk before I buy it.

How I lost My Virginity to My Wife’s Best Friend

Not every guy can say he married his dreamgirl. I can. I think a lot of guys fall in love with a girl, with being with a girl, or having good sex with a girl. I fell in love with my girl 14 years ago. Ok, maybe it was lust at first sight, but lust is a start.

What’s a “dream girl?” A working definition may be useful. A dream girl is a girl, that particular type of girl, who is beautiful, fun, smart, intelligent, and sexy. Someone you can’t be without, someone you can’t live without. Someone you want to spend the rest of your life with, build a future with, and have a family with. Someone you put above all others, love above all others.

My wife is my dream girl. Always has been and always will. She is not only the best thing that ever happened to me but the best thing in my life. She also drives me crazy. More on that later.

We met in college. Junior college, but an ambitious student has to start somewhere. I’ll never forget the first time I saw her. She had just been elected to Student Government, and we were working summer registration together. She sat sidesaddle in a chair, shorts, Oingo Boigo t-shirt, ponytail and bangs I still love. Looking positively damn cute. That’s what I remember the most. How damn cute she was. She reeked cuteness.

I wanted her, bad. I couldn’t talk to girls in general, but had to talk to her. I grasped for something in common to break the ice. Sort of like how I broke the ice with the high school mascot in history class one day by telling her she had a “big chest.” You know subtlety. It’s an art, even if it looks good in a tight sweater. And it did.

I introduced myself, and asked her about her shirt and Oingo Boingo. I find comfort in talking about music; it’s one of the few things I know well. So I guess it was Oingo Boingo that ultimately brought us together. Thank God it wasn’t a New Kids on the Block shirt. We might have never spoken.

I made it no secret that I was interested in her, or so I thought. Apparently, this was all a mystery to the object of my affection for almost 13 years. Everybody else knew…she’s always been stubborn though. Most people thought we were a couple. I should have known she’d never date a guy that wore Wrangler jeans, and had think Run-DMC glasses. What I’m sayin’ here is that I had no style, can’t ya see?

Our first big hangout night was right before Halloween. I was working at a video store. Allright, watching pornos between customers is hardly work, but I was paid for it. She and her best friend came down to the video store and picked me up. We had hung out some at school but this was my first real time out with them.

I hadn’t done much socializing of the usual type in high school. Never went to many dances, parties or football games. Never really hung out or cruised. This was a new experience to me. This was quite a social event for me, my coming out, so to speak. I did what any new young social climber does with young friends—I interpretive danced. I did the PeeWee Herman in the backseat of a VW Rabbit to “Tequila.” Danced, not tossed off.

I didn’t get out much.

Our friendships progressed from there, and being the shy type and not knowing how to express my feelings, I slept with her best friend. That’s the way to a girl’s heart! I was still a virgin, and I think they thought in some strange way they were doing me a favor. I’ve always gone about things in a roundabout way.

Depending on whom you talk to, I won or lost a bet. I was getting paid (or laid) for B-52s tickets. I was the only one of the group with room on the credit card Citibank had deemed a necessary part of the collegiate experience. They were her favorite band. The initial plan was for us to put our three tickets on my credit card. It was a New Year’s Eve show, the plan was that we would all go and have a great time.

My Mother put the nix on that action. New Year’s was too dangerous. I might be killed. True there are many drunk drivers on the road on your typical New Year’s Eve, and a car is not a toy. It’s not like I was going to be walking down the freeway or riding there and back on a big wheels. I would have been careful. Really. Anyway, I was “too young.” I also had an 11:30 PM curfew until I was 20, but that’s a different story. Their roof their rules.

I gave the tickets to the girls. We had no money (thus the credit cards), so the girls decided they would barter with what they had available. That’s right…sweet lovin’. The most precious of commerce. It was decided that her best friend would sleep with me in exchange for the tickets. Not sure if they drew straws, or if the friend was taking one for the team, or they felt sorry for me being a virgin at 19. I suspect they felt sorry for me being a virgin at 19.

The flower of my virginity was precious, my most precious possession. I wouldn’t just give it up for anything; it had to be a special occasion.

Either way, it was decided that my future wife’s best friend would de-virginize me. It was touching and beautiful. It was over in a few minutes, and I think she burned me with a cigarette while we were doing it. It was probably my fault for not balancing the ashtray properly on my back.

Her instructions were helpful though.

“No, that’s not it…right there. Are you done?”

It took about that long for the flowerpot of my virginity to break open. Maybe two minutes.

So it sort of broke down like this: three B52 tickets, $100. A t-shirt for the guy whose Mom wouldn’t let him go: $25 (which they bought with money from the 3rd ticket they sold before they show). Your future wife holding a glass to the wall hearing you lose your virginity to her best friend: priceless.

Sex Is Like Pizza

Over the years, and relationships, I’ve learned not to put sex first. This has allowed me to appreciate other things, beyond pure sex. I’ve learned that sex should enhance, not dominate a relationship. Plus, there’s always masturbation. I like to call it “training for battle.” When they get the call, my boys will be ready. Some of them might not make it back, but they’ll put up a good fight.

Tears me up to think about it.

Someday there might be a knock on my testicles, there will be bad news. His fellow sperms will know he put up a good fight though. God knows I’ve killed enough of them already one way…or another.

I gotta tell ya though, women are like rocks. My wife is like a camel in the desert, doesn’t bother her at all. Sure, a woman will rip off your clothes, tell you to spank them and pull their hair, but it’s like “Clap on, clap off” for them. No pun intended. When a woman is in the mood for love it’s a beautiful thing, but if the wind changes direction, all bets could be off. You’re looking at an often narrow window of opportunity. It’s like the Millenium Falcon jumping into hyperspace. Everything has to be perfect for Han and Chewbacca. It’s the same for women and sex.

Guys are different. I could be on a two wheeled cart dragging bloody stumps behind me where my legs used to be, bleeding from a massive headwound, barely conscious. I’ll still want to get laid. It’s my duty to spread my seed, procreate and pollute the Earth with my offspring. My duty to bust that booty!

Getting aroused for a woman is like planning a multi-national invasion or a space shuttle launch. Everything must be perfect, all the planets must be aligned. One wrong move and you’re cutting the blue wire instead of the red on a ticking time bomb, there may be no chance to make it out alive. You could take out the whole block, or the city itself.

Guys are much easier by nature to arouse. Your sleeping next to your girl and she moves in her sleep and you’re ready. She moans in her sleep, you think she’s saying “take me now big boy.” A sigh and a butt wiggle will set us off. We’re like special forces, ready to go in anytime, anywhere, at a moment’s notice. If only we could sometimes perform our mission without detection like special forces.

To me, sex is like pizza. Pizza is always good. There are all different kinds of pizza and a million pizza places, but it’s all good.

It’s pizza for Godsakes.

Some pizza is frozen, some is fresh. Some pizza you drive an hour for, other pizza gets delivered to your house. Sometimes you just want a slice, sometimes you eat a whole extra large pie yourself. That’s right, I said “pie.” That’s what we call it where I’m from, New York.

Somebody’s always gotta try and top your pizza. Everybody knows where the best pizza is. I say, find a pizza you like and stick with it. When you’re younger, you’re going to want to try a bunch of different pizza places, and you probably will. I encourage you to find your pizza and stick with it. Loyalty is good.

Anyway, it’s a good thing that men and women are wired differently, and have different sex drive levels. You don’t need 30 kids running around the house, unless you’re trying to get yourself some reality show. Second, you’ve got stuff to do. If your wife wanted sweet lovin’ as often as a guy, nothing would ever get done.

Now don’t get all offended, but being gay would be hard for me, besides the gay bashing and anal sex part, and my ass rule. Listen, I like to shop and dress nice and drink wine and hang out with the boys. When it comes to my ass however, nothing goes on, in, near or around my ass. I don’t even like to touch it, much less have someone else touch it. Pooping is fun though.

Gay men are men first and foremost. They’re going to want sex all the time. It’s like the law of the jungle, and the gay bar is wild kingdom. Don’t be the gay zebra straggling along at the back of the herd, because I guarantee there’s a gay cheetah waiting to pounce on you and take you down, or at least into a stall in the men’s room.

Try having sex when you get a dog. If you plan to have kids, you’ll probably get a dog first. It’s like the tester kid. Your wife or girlfriend is testing you. The dog sex thing might become an issue. When you’re fellin’ all lovey you can’t kick the dog out, it’ll scratch to get in anyway. They’ll either already be in there asleep at their master’s feet, or you’ll have to let them in.

Don’t look over at the dog during sex, it will disturb you. It’ll be looking at you trust me, wondering what the Hell you’re doing to Mom. Some dogs just stare, others growl, some do that head twist thing like they don’t understand. Just hope you don’t have an attacker. That’s the last thing you need. Not only because it can be painful, but if you get used to a pit bull locking jaws on your ass while you’re doin’ it…it’s just sick and probably illegal. Probably legal in California though.

Don’t have the friendly dog in the room either. You could be goin’ at it and suddenly feel a tickling down at your balls. Sure, you’ll probably think, “damn, baby’s gettiin’ FREAKY, she’s been readin’ the COSMO. How’s the DOIN’ that, I can see both of her hands!” You don’t want to come to the chilling realization that it’s the friendly dog teabagging you. The worst part is going to be deciding whether or not to let him FINISH or to shoo him away. You can give him a red rocket later for payback.

After you’re finished, the dog may be traumatized. Put yourself in his paws, he just saw and heard some strange shit. He probably won’t make eye contact for a while, and may run and hide when you walk up behind him and put a hand on either shoulder for a few days. The best approach is to soothe your animal, talk assuringly and tell him something like “I wasn’t hurting Mommy, she liked it.” If that doesn’t work you could always try doggie style, wear his collar during sex or use references like “giving the dog a bone” when talking about sex.

The old biological clock can put pressure on you to settle down. In some cases it’s a biological timebomb ticking away. She’ll say her eggs are rotting. That doesn’t make up for all the wasted sperm in all those kleenexes over the years now does it? If they could extract donations from old kleenex down at the sperm bank, there would be many rich men. Talk about a get rich quick scheme!

I suggested to my wife that we could harvest her eggs with a turkey baster and freeze them. Be careful though, you don’t want to accidentally down the precious cargo when stumbling around the freezer for an Eggo. Egg whites, ONLY please. Donated, human eggs can fetch up to $20,000. That’s a high price for you mistaking little Donny’s future for a frozen oyster shooter.

The human female only produces a set number of eggs in her lifetime. I don’t know if it’s a dozen pack, but if it was, not as many guys would be settling down.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for test driving a car before you buy it. You have to take the car out of the lot, and around the block a few times. See how the ride is, see how the cushions feel, how much pounding the shocks can handle. I’m not saying to put a 100,000 miles on it before you buy it, just get some idea of how she handles.

I’m sure our parents were the same way. I bet your Dad still washes and waxes the old ride every once in a while. Sure, the colors faded and the fenders are a little dinged. The headlights may be dimmer, but the old ride will still get you there. It’s all about reliability.

That rides going to be in your garage for a long time once you buy it. That’s a one car garage, by the way.

Stubs

I’ve been to a lot of shows and seen a lot of bands. There’s nothing like a good live show. There are those moments that are transcendent and take you into an alternate reality. That’s why I love music and a good live show. Music should change your life and a good live show can change your life.

My first concert was Duran Duran in 1987 on the Strange Behavior tour, for the Notorious album with Erasure opening. That show helped set the bar for my live show expectations from then on.

I’ve run the gamut from the giant arena shows, to the sweaty stinky club shows where you can reach out and touch the band. I’ve seen arena shows where you can hardly see the band, and I’ve seen stadium shows where the artist makes you feel like you’re seeing him in a club (Eric Clapton at Dodger Stadium, if you’re wondering).

I’ve seen shows I’ll never forget, and some I’m sure I don’t even remember.

I was privy to a local music scene that almost exploded after a casual reference in Spin magazine to San Diego as “the next Seattle” following the emergence of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains and so on.

I’ve even played a few live shows myself.

I still have that Duran Duran ticket stub. After that show, I made a goal that I would keep all the stubs from all the shows I went to. I think I do have most of the stubs from nearly 20 years of going to live shows. There are some stubs I misplaced, some shows without tickets, and some where the careless ticket taker tore them sloppily.

I started keeping them in a drawer, then in a cigar box. Eventually I moved them into a small photo album. When I moved into my new house, I found my ticket album in a box. I wish I had kept some sort of journal and wrote about each show as it happened, but I didn’t. I just have my stubs and my memories.

Favorite Live Shows

U2 Zoo TV Tour. 2 shows, arena tour with Pixies opening (loud!), Outside tour with Sugarcubes and Public Enemy opening.

Depeche 101 Pasadena Rosebowl, World Violation Tour (2 shows), Devotional Tour (4 shows). Also saw first leg of Music For Masses tour, Singles Tour and Ultra tour.

Duran Duran Strange Behaviour, 87. First concert, Erasure opened the show. Saw them in 89, Big Thing tour, and 2008, Red Carpet Massacre tour.

Midnight Oil SDSU, didn't know much about them, liked "Beds Are Burning." They were awesome live. saw them again years later at 4th and B San Diego, still great.

James Brown, Camp Pendleton, mid 90s. AMAZING show, shooks his hand after!

Ramones, saw them twice, Lollapalooza and opening for Pearl Jam as a surprise guest.

AC/DC - Play what the people want to hear, the hits!

Iron Maiden/DIo/Moterhead. Great bill, great show, all access passes, got to wacth Maiden from behind the soundboard.

Morrissey - Saw his first solo US show, SD Sports Arena. Crowd was so crazy they had to sto the show and turn the lights on. Loved the rockabilly backing band. Seen him 2 other times.

Rocket From the Crypt and Lucy's Fur Coat - My two favorite San Diego bands. Always put on great shows, brings me back to a fun time going to a lot of local shows.

The Cult, always kick out the jams. Seen them at SDSU twice, Casbah reunion show, Coors Ampitheatre.

Iggy Pop, amazing show from a guy who is 50 and ROCKs! The guy is insane, explosive.

The Cramps - Seen the Cramps several times, some good, some bad. Best shows were HOB Sunset Strip, Hootenanny and at on Flamejob tour.

Oingo Boingo - Many shows at SDSU. Still miss the Halloween shows, got to see their last show at Universal Amp. Played more than 3 hours! They were still playing as Universal crew started to break down the stage!

Nine Inch Nails, saw them in Tijuana after first album came out in a small legendary club called Iguana's. LOUDEST show ever. Amazing. Universal Amp with Jim Rose Circus and Marilyn Manson for Downward Spiral tour, amazing! Also saw them on Fragile tour.

INXS on the Kick tour, really impressive.

Tom Petty - Ex GF got cheap tix, I didn't want to go but was really surprised.

Steel Dan - Another show with an ex I didn't want to go to, but they were really good. SUPER TIGHT band.

Metallica at Hootenanny were much better than I expected.

Violent Femmes - Saw several INSANE VF shows in the early 90s.

Social D- I've prob seen them 20 something times. Good and bad shows. Favs include shows at Casbah, Vegas, SOMA and Mike Ness first solo shows.

Rev Heat - Also prob seen them nearly 20 times. Good memories of upfront Belly Up shows. The same shtick got boring after a while though.

Supersuckers - Another bunch of great Belly Up shows, also somewhere near 20 times on them. At their peak during the Sacrilicious shows.

Eric Clapton - Played Dodger Stadium and managed to make it fell like he wasn't playing Dodger Stadium. Giant video screens help.

Bowie - Sound and Vision tour. Not the best venue, Dodger Stadium, not the best show, but great visuals and stage show, and awesome to see Bowie.

Biggest show regrets - Not seeing Johhny Cash one of the two times I had the chance, not seeing Nirvana one of the two times I had the chance, never seeing Duran Duran with the full original line-up, early years or 00 reunion years, not seeing Joe Strummer play the Hootenanny the year or two before he died, not talking to Johnny Ramone as we literally bumped into each other coming out of the bathroom at HOB Sunset Strip.

Bands I've Seen Live

First concert was Duran Duran, Erasure opened.

This list isn't complete, mostly off the top of my head, with some help from my incomplete ticket stub book!

duran
erasure
depeche
the farm
nizter ebb
ned's atomic dustbin
midnight oil
iggy pop
b52s
cramps
ziggy marley
de la soul
pil
new order
sugarcubes
u2
pixies
public enemy
inxs
eric clapton
bowie
lenny kravitz
thomas dolby
omd
wire
james brown
hank III
social d
rev heat
supersuckers
tenderloin
jesse dayton
metallica
ramones
pearl jam
bad religion
rancid
rocket from crypt
lucy's fur coat
deadbolt
aminiature
drip tank
contra guerra
fluf
uncle joe's big ole driver
creedle
cadillac tramps
x
pennywise
nofx
no doubt
blink 182
agent orange
damned
circle jerks
sex pistols
cult
circle jerks
village people
the fixx
brian setzer
tito and tarantula
oingo boingo
eric clapton
elton john
sting
mike ness
dick dale
rem
el vez
ac/dc
iron maiden
dio
motorhead
queensryche
rob halford
buck o nine
nine inch nails
marilyn manson
violent femmes
morrissey
tom petty
blondie
stevie nicks
alanis morrisette
fear
the paladins
big sandy
robert gordon
link wray
morphine
steely dan
face to face
rugburns
steve poltz
soundgarden
screaming trees
tsol
deftones
collective soul
offspring
guttermouth
beat farmers
pink
blue man group
amazing royal crowns
big bad voodoo daddy
royal crown revue
exploited
gbh
distillers
buzzcocks
joan jett
public enemy
dave wakeling
dave vanian
gene vincent's blue caps
scotty moore

My 39 Year Dental Saga

I’m nearly 40, and I’ve had braces for nearly 9 years. Now that’s some jacked up teeth. Always a point of suffering for me, terrible overbite. Teased since I was a little kid. I say “since” because I’ve even gotten teased about my teeth as an adult by adults. Kids teasing kids I’ll give you. I even have gotten teased by kids as an adult.

Almost as bad is being a pseudo “dental wonder.” A dentist tip is bad enough for a little kid, but when one dentist calls another in and they lean over you to see how bad your overbite is, they might as well be teasing you. Just recently as and adult I had to got thru the same thing. I’ve got some weird bone in my mouth that’s apparently bigger than normal. Two nurses had to come in and poke their fingers in my mouth, just to see.

Braces suck period. My parents got me started on getting my teeth fixed when I was a teenager. Eventually I broke my headgear. My parents asked me if I wanted to continue or not. What was I going to say? That shit hurt, and it looked ridiculous. PLUS, I had to wear it to school now and again. You think kids tease you for buck teeth? Try wearing headgear.

The thing about getting braces when you’re young, is that you’ll have sweet teeth when it matters, high school and college. Plus, Mom and Dad can over them. That’s shit’s not cheap.

It’s always amazed me too how people think you’re a halfbreed or missing a chromosome if you have dental issues. They seem shocked when you can speak.

Another interesting thing about braces, is you can store food in them, and not usually by choice. You’ll be walking around and find an onion piece suddenly in your mouth. Wow, I haven’t had onions for like a week! You’re like a pissed of chipmunk in winter.

My orthodontist’s office is geared towards kids, because that’s probably about 95 percent of his clientele. Another couple percent are adults who got their teeth fixed but didn’t wear their retainers so now they’re back for more. Then there’s me. My orthodontist says I’m the patient he’s had the longest, and I need to get done soon, before he retires. They don’t even CHARGE me for visits anymore. They should give me a damn key.

So the ortho office is decorated with all this superhero and comic book shit. When you get started you get to pick whether you get a “before” photo with Superman or the Fantastic Four. I wanted my photo with four of the hot dental assistants. They don’t have to worry about little kids staring at their boobs, just me, patient zero.

It’s also a tough one when your orthodontist looks like he needs to make an appointment with himself. He’s supposed to be an expert on my mouth, but apparently has had all the mirrors in his house covered or removed.

Now, it’s all so structured. They put you in the chair, “put you back” and then blind you with the prison escape light. The dental assistants do most of the work, then the orthodontist comes over and pretends he’s looking, pokes you with a hook and send you on your way. Most of the girls wear a little something, like a mask, or glasses or something. One girl practically wears a welding suit. There are a couple of girls who don’t wear any facial protection. They must like to get splashed with saliva from people they barely know.

It’s like a throwback to the old dental days. Used to be no one cared. Blood and spit would be spraying everywhere, the patient’s, doctor’s and the assistant’s. Still had the same bloody hooks though, that hasn’t changed.

They’ll always have you “help” by holding your lips open…instead of a speculum, they give you a lip seperator, basically a…speculum. They have you stretch your lips and then ask if you're comfortable.

I also hate getting my teeth cleaned. It always hurts. I have nerves close to the surface of my teeth I’ve been told. I always have to get plaque scraped off, and something done to my gums that makes them bleed. The hygienist tells me my gums are bleeding “due to excessive plaque buildup.” No, my gums are bleeding because you are peeling them back and poking them with a metal prod. When I came in, my mouth had plaque build up and wasn’t bleeding. When I went to bed last night, my mouth had plaque build up. They didn’t start bleeding until someone started scraping teeth and probing gums.

You have to get your braces tightened all the time with new wires. They always ask you if anything is uncomfortable, poking or hurts. Ya, how about the 5K of orthodontia in my mouth? ALL of it is uncomfortable, poking and hurts.

One of my issues was that there was not a lot of room in my mouth, so they had to make room. So they wire in this thing called an expander. Looks like a mechanical spider they put in your mouth. I was supposed to give it a crank every other night, to spread its “legs” and these spread my mouth. It’s like attached to brackets in my mouth, seemingly permanent.

So my mouth expands in like record time, and they decide the spider can come out. This happened because my wife who was my girlfriend at the time, decided if one crank every other night was good, three every night would be better. Just about put me thru the roof each time, but sped things up. So this thing is done and needs to come out. They go in with bolt cutters like the Jaws of Life, like we’re on the side of the freeway in horrible twisted wreckage. They’re digging in here like a concentration camp trying to cut thru barbed wire to freedom. Finally they break loose.

Then there’s these “impressions.” They take this crap and put it in your mouth, and it hardens and makes a model of your teeth and jaws. I’ve had more of these done of my mouth than Bigfoot has had casts of his footprints. They always get stuck, or gag me with the plates or the cement. But these nearly 100 casts of my mouth are SOMEWHERE I suppose. Probably in some museum of the bizarre.

So the final step is jaw surgery. They break my lower jaw and move it forward. Then my mouth and jaw are banded shut for 6 weeks. Despite the obvious weight loss advantage, it’s going to suck. I can’t even use a straw for a while. I have to squeeze a feed back into my piehole for nutrients.

The jaw surgery should help my sleep apnea, TMJ, chewing alignment, and all that. I’m a catch, ladies!

Everyone tells me how different I am going to look after the surgery. Maybe I can fake my death and start anew, who knows? I’d like them to wrap my head in bandages until I heal, and when they unwrap them, a completely different actor can be playing my character.

Insurance was no help. Told me time after time, the surgery was not a medical necessity. Until the time I told them the court costs and settlement cost from me suing them would be much less than simply paying for the surgery. Thank god I didn’t need a lung or new heart. Suddenly it was “Congratulations, we’ve approved your procedure!”

After 39 years. I’ll finally have straight teeth and a jawline. Hopefully not Jay Leno’s jawline. Hopefully I’ll drop about 20 LBS. Watch out ladies!

the magnificent Shamu experience

An old one from The Pit. People always seemed to like this one, I always did too.

So my Mom thinks I’m no fun now. I don’t like the Shamu show at Sea World. I don’t appreciate it enough. You’re supposed to love Shamu. Worship the mighty Shamu like the whale God that he is. He’s a whale. He’s a God. Yeah, right.

The Shamu show is this really big deal at Sea World. The highlight of your visit to the aquatic magic kingdom that Sea World is. They really play it up for the crowd. They have James Earl ‘Darth Vader’ Jones do his Darth Vader voice (minus the obscene heavy breathing) ‘Bow down and worship the mighty Shamu!’ That heavy breathing you do hear is the guy behind you who’s the killer whaleophile.

Shamu comes swimming out on cue and magnificently leaps from the water, drenching the first ten rows (the ‘soak zone’) with water, whale piss, spit, and shit. The crowd goes wild. You don’t see comedy like this on TV kiddies.

Next, they go into the shtick about what a perfect killer the Orca is in his natural habitat. ‘Here at Sea World we keep our killer whales in big swimming pools though so you are all safe’ booms Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith. Since we are all safe here at Sea World, we cane see the killer whale up close and examine his tender, loving side. He’s just got a bad reputation. Like Manson, the killer whale is misunderstood. Tell that to the trainer Shamu crushed a couple of years ago.

Shamu is so nice he likes to give little kids kisses. Shamu likes to lick little kids to be exact. They tell you he’s kissing them. He’s actually tasting them. It’s like a little taste test. A sampler plate. Little Billy from Arkansas comes up to the side of the tank. Darth Vader booms ‘Little Billy, Shamu can take your head off with one crunch of his mighty jaws!’ Billy goes ahead and kisses Shamu though because he’s gotten a contact high from Shamu’s fish breath. That shit must smell bad. There’s something rotten in that mammal.

Suddenly, something in Shamu makes him think he’s back in the Arctic hunting seals. Maybe he’s blinded momentarily by the sun, maybe it’s the dumb ass ears on that Goofy hat that Billy’s Dad bought him at Disneyland. Shamu takes Billy’s fucking head clean off, and one of his fat little arms too. The remainder of Billy’s torso falls to the ground, blood spurting everywhere, splashing those brave souls in the ‘soak zone’. People start to scream and faint and run for the gates. The trainers don’t know what to do. People are going nuts, running everywhere, freaking out. Not me. I sit in my seat and start to laugh. Momentarily the mighty Shamu and I look each other knowingly in the eyes. He understands. I understand. Shamu and I share a bond. Years and years of doing tricks for people. One day you just snap and bight some fat kid’s head off. Then, I wake up in a puddle.

Killer whales don’t belong in swimming pools. Those pools at Sea World are a little bit smaller than Shamu’s natural hunting range in the wild. Killer whales shouldn’t be taught cheap party tricks either. That shits for poodles and dolphins. No wonder Shamu’s fucking fin is droopy.

You know what would be an ass kicking show? Get Shamu into a frenzy. Throw Billy and his fat little friends into the tank. Throw some bleeding seals and sea lions in there too. Tie Billy to a bloody seal carcass and get a whole pod of killer whales in there after his ass. I’d pay full admission to see that shit, let me tell you!