#VoteForKev2020 Campaign Slogans Post Kavanaugh

Look, being a politician is a slimy deal. Like, look at the Kavanaugh situation.. I really had nothing to do with it, but nonetheless, it provides me an opportunity to promote my campaign, and tell everyone I am the bomb. Wait, a minute, perhaps 'bomb' is a poor choice of words here. What I meant to say but you all misunderstood (see, I am getting good at this whole politician thing!) is I can use the forum this situation has provided to clearly state my stance on like such issues for US Americans. Like it or not, the game has changed, and it's up to me to capitalize on it. For America's sake, yo.

Kavanaugh disses Parkland father.

I'm pretty ugly, so no worries about any sexual misconduct.

God's preferred candidate. Yes, your God. And your God. And your God, too, Mohammed.

College girls; couldn't get them then, still can't get 'em now.

Most women can beat me up.

I'm OK admitting Sarah McLachaln is one of my favorite singers.

GD it, Sarah. I love dogs, too, and all...

#UNFUCK

Not a Republican. Not a Democrat. Not even a politician, really.

Never watched House of Cards, so no worries there.

Never went to his prom, and he's OK with it.

The only time I black out is when I drink by myself, so that's not a problem. You hear me? I don't HAVE A PROBLEM.

Plan to combat Judge Kavanaugh; nominate a decent judge. Like Judge Reinhold. Or the cool judge from Night Court. He even knew magic!

I find women soccer players far more tough than male soccer players.

13 will still be an unlucky number for me.

I really don't know of any girl that would readily admit she ever did anything with me. Let alone bump uglies.

Kavanaugh's 10 year old daughter won't pray for me.

All my years on the Jersey shore, and I NEVER, not ONCE, EVER wore a Female Body Inspector shirt.

I know nothing.

Pretty girls intimidate me.

I'm not going to work weekends, so no worries about me trying to slip one past you while you're not paying attention.

Not a liberal, not a conservative. Just a believer in common fucking sense.

OK, strike 'fuck' from the above slogan. Not as strong, but still delivers the point.

Has refused to admit anyone wearing the sexy Handmaid's Tale costume into his Halloween party.

Still deciding on the whole sexy Sesame Street costumes, though.

So....many.....questions...

KT; knows a lot smarter women and won't be afraid to have them in his cabinet. (Sidebar, KT will also come up with a more appropriate name than 'cabinet.')

"I love the smell of chlorophyll in the morning." 

Is prepared to launch a full investigation into the existence of a "size 0."

Pretty sure Craig is the asshole here, and Sheila did nothing wrong.

Some of KT's best friends are girls. In fact, they keep him in some sort of special zone even.

Watches GLOW. Doesn't get a boner. Most of the time, anyway.

Never found Bill Cosby funny.

Only goes to Hooters for the wings. Three times a week.

Turns Out I'm Something Called an Introvert, So You Gotta Deal With It

I hate people.

In all of my years writing, I don’t know that I’ve ever opened up with a more honest statement.

Here’s a confession. I am shy. Too shy. Deathly shy. 

Me.

I know some of you are probably disagreeing with this, but bear with me as I explain. I am shy to the point of awkwardness. And I am sure my awkwardness has led many to believe I am gruff/stiff/weird/odd. And I don’t disagree with that. For me, there is no bigger dread than walking into a big room full of strangers, even if we all share a common interest. I can’t do small talk; I suck at it. “So…uh…hey…how about all that…..weather. And stuff. Crazy….sun….and barometric pressure. Um…did you see those clouds yesterday? Crazy, man.” Fucking shoot me. I feel the room closing around me, like I am the lone, shy human amongst a crowd of socially at ease zombies. And they’re going to eat my brains. And probably still be hungry.

To be honest, I’m one of those types that has more of “the feels” for animals (OK, dogs, mostly. Definitely not cats.) than for people. Just how black is my heart? Whenever I see those posters of all those missing kids, I feel nothing. Like, literally, nothing. But if I see a handwritten sign for a lost dog, I go to pieces. One time in my neighborhood, I saw a sign on a telephone pole that a little girl lost her turtle. And I actually went looking for the GD turtle! Also, protip here; don’t go calling for turtles, turns out they don’t have ears.

Good at finding Turtles.

I was shy all through school and college. I was never popular-surprise! Everyone just seemed so far ahead and ‘grown up’ and confident. Meanwhile, I was off in the corner at all the school dances, wondering why the hell I would even go to dances. I can’t dance. So let’s see; not attractive-check, can’t talk-check, can’t dance-check. So let’s just go to the dance so I can totally destroy what little self esteem I had. And these were supposed to be my good years? Doomed from the start, I tell ya.

It doesn’t help I am horrible with names. I’m pretty good with faces. Still, faces are scary because they have mouths that can open and talk and sneeze and call me by my name. What sorcery is this? I open my mouth, and gibberish comes out. Or a loud belch. Usually, it’s a loud belch. Sometimes, it smells like lunch.

I don’t know how to change it, I don’t know how to get more “social.” At times, it bothers me I am this far in life and have the social skills of a dull two year old. I should know how to have a polite conversation with a fellow human, yet this skill continues to evade me. I must have made some kind of subconscious deal to trade conversational skill for barely talented writer. They both have the same result; barely anyone hears me.

Yeah, asshole.

One of the beauty things about FB and the Net is that you can find just about any group to accept your flaws and shortcomings, give it a name, and suddenly, you’re the victim, and the world better cater to you. For example, turns out I was never deathly shy. And I’m not even an asshole! Turns out I am something called an “introvert” and there’s all kinds of memes and pointed quotes to make me feel comfortable. The world should acquiesce to my short comings and flaws. There’s actually many articles on how to deal with introverts. See, I am actually so deep and complex, I need an instruction manual! Better yet, there are lots more of these “introverts,” though we probably won’t get together to talk about it. 

The funny thing about putting any label on yourself is that it defines you. In my case, I’m an “introvert” and it’s perfectly acceptable to live inside my comfortable little box and stay here. That’s kind of what introverts do. And now this label makes it totally acceptable to stay introverted and stay inside my house and binge watch shows or read books or write blogs. I can wear whatever I want and go to bed whenever I want. Even my introvert self can recognize this behavior is socially retarded. I will always be an introvert if I stay an introvert. Nothing changes if nothing changes, and I’m OK with that.

Speaking of FB, we’ve all seen the picture of the log cabin. You’re asked if you could live in the cabin for 30 days with no wifi and no TV. And here’s where my shyness is hardcore. Every dipshit comments that they would live there, like the point is to say no. And here’s where I’m different; I could actually do it. The idea of being in the woods (actually, I’d prefer a shack on the water, choosy beggar am I) alone in a house (if it was a tent, no deal) sounds like heaven for introvert me. I would have a much better sleep pattern. I would bring every book and magazine (starting with all the unread Men’s Fitness from 2015) with me. I would bring my iPod-yes, I said iPod-that has months of music on it that I would happily listen to.

Wait. These are the neighbors!? 60. I can do 60 days. Easy.

Also, I think we’re all assuming this mythological cabin will have some creature comforts. Running hot water. Fridge. A decent bed, ooh maybe a hammock hung up in the corner! Electricity. Can I at least get Sirius? And some sort of oven or microwave? It’s not like I’m gonna be out hunting like a dirty caveman, but I’m at least going to assume there is a Wawa or something near by. Hell, there will probably be 3 Starbucks in the middle of the woods. I can snake their wifi.

No one to talk to. No one to impress or pass judgement on me. No discussions about the weather, which, by the way for the sake of this trial is assumed to be perfect. No deal if it’s not sunny and 70. I would look forward to going out into nature some days: running, walking, hiking, urinating. Maybe get up early a few mornings to see a sunrise or two. See the stars and moon with no light pollution for the big, bad city. My only real worry will be dodging the serial killers all the movies told me populate the woods.

"You getting the hockey game in that cabin?"

OK, so for shits and giggles (and wouldn’t the term shits and goggles be more appropriate? Just sayin’.) let’s just put this “introvert” label on me. Does it define me? Does it make sense? Does it explain anything? Does anybody remember laughter?

Writing is a moneyless hobby I enjoy. It can excite me, and I can stay awake half the night working out a topic I think can be funny. One of the things I enjoy most about writing is it’s all me. I do the writing, I do the editing. (This post was originally 5,000 words long.)  I choose the pictures and come up with the captions. If it’s witty, it’s because of me. If it’s enjoyable, it’s because of me. If it sucks, it’s because of me. If it’s not funny, well then quite frankly, that’s your piss poor sense of humor, ya dickwad ya. And it’s something I do totally alone. Usually with curtains drawn. So, hmmm, maybe there is a part of this “introvert” thing I should be paying attention to? OK, let’s keep going.

Another joyless hobby of mine is going to the gym. It’s my release, my escape, my therapy. I put my headphones on, then proceed to lift barely heavy things in an effort to not crush my body. The risk of benching 70 pounds is quite detrimental if my girly wrists give out and it crushes my larynx. Sometimes, my biggest challenge is to not scream like a girl when I’m benching 70 pounds. And, BTW 70 pounds is 31.7 kilos for my international readers. Still as impressive, no? But, GD, if that isn’t another thing I enjoy doing alone.

OK, so maybe some of this may fit me. As with any new theory, there are other terms to it to further apply to oneself. Here’s one I like; introvert hangover. Wow I can be sick of people, too! I’m all in now!  OK, unlike the clear fallacy that is hype like ADHD, I actually kinda believe this one. Am I not the only one, when after spending a night with a bunch of people, go to bed feeling like a semi just ran them over? And I wasn’t even drinking? I totally get that. How many of us have said, “I am so tired of people?”

People are dicks. They’re mean, fake, shallow, greedy, unappreciative, dumb. I don’t like being around people because I feel they are judging me. And being an introvert can easily lead them to. I have been an introvert long enough, that it has bred this attitude of “fuck you.” I have just gotten beyond the point of feeling the need to be liked. Face it, life is littered with fake people, just like FB is. A wise man one told me, “I yam what I yam.” And that’s how I feel about me. If you like me, cool. If you don’t like me, that’s cool, too. I’m fine either way. 

But does this make being an introvert OK? Is it OK that I stay in my little box of shyness? Shouldn’t I want to be meeting new people? Shouldn’t I be the life of every party? Shouldn’t I be more knowledgeable about world events, current topics? Shouldn’t I be able to easily discuss how earth-shatteringly cool my job is? Or the last book I read? The last freaking awesome blog I wrote? Or the last movie I saw? (Which was Jigsaw by the way, and a worthy continuation to the series. On second thought, do people really wanna know I actually think that?) The last show I binge watched?

Face it, technology has conspired to make even the most extroverted behave like us introverts. And yes, I just became the flag bearer for introverts. Ya think any of ‘em are gonna stop me? Look no further than your phone. Look at all the wonder it has brought us. I can order a pizza without talking to a soul. If I drank coffee, I can put my ostentatious order in this miracle machine without saying a word. The warehouse club can have my entire order waiting for me. Yes, I need the multi pack of KY.

Instead of talking to the few brave souls in my “tribe” I can type a few words into this magic box and voicelessly communicate with them. If I was cool, I guess I could Snap them or Insta them, but I ain’t gots that kinda time. Point being, all that technology is awesome and readily available to us on our phone. Our phone. The thing we actually used to use to talk to these people. Progress!

I think this all successfully diagnoses me as an introvert. I know I’m not a doctor, but I’ve watched enough doctor porn to at least pick up a few things. WebMD can also be a legitimate help. In fact, I’m going there now to diagnose this shooting pain and numbness in my left arm. I am sure it is nothing. It's not like I'm actually gonna go see a doctor or anything...

High School Reunion pt 3 The FInal Chapter

Amidst loud 80s music, the room started to fill. I found myself chatting with all kinds of people. I felt I was very social, which is not how I would describe myself at all in such a situation. I found myself using a line with a lot of former classmates, and it was totally true; “I don’t think I ever talked to anyone this much during high school.” The best thing about (re)meeting such a number of people in a short amount of time is it allows me to constantly use my best jokes. I found myself talking to people I knew and clearly recalled. But I also spent a decent amount of time talking to people I didn’t really know or have any specific memories of. Usually, my walls would be up and I would be coming across as extremely awkward in such a situation. Not here, I was on. Maybe those Coronas were helping my cause, too.

I had more than one person come up to me, look at my name and say, “I don’t remember you.” I was fine with this, as this was pretty much my MO in school anyway. And a lot of times, I didn’t remember them. And it was cool, no one got offended.

I really thought going in, my BS detector would be going off. Maybe it’s from all the swimming with sharks in the music biz, but I think it was more just my incorrect preconceived notions. There was a very cool vibe going through the room. I really felt everyone was real and genuine. Yea, that kinda surprised me.

For example, one of the jocks actually came up to me, introduced himself and we had a nice conversation. I don’t think that ever happened during HS. There was no antagonism. Wow, color me surprised. And as long as we’re talking about the jocks, they were all there, and damn it, if they still looked to be in shape. I was really hoping for pot bellies and hairy ears, but they all looked good.

I was happy to see that quite a few couples who were together in HS are still happily together today. I think that’s very admirable in this day and age. I was also surprised about how many classmates ended up marrying each other. Then again, I was such a loser then, I had no real idea of who was going out with who, so they coulda been together back then anyway. I’m not a big sucker for romantic stories, but ya always gotta root for the high school sweethearts to stay together.

I ran into an old classmate (well, I guess we’re all old these days) who I went to grade school with. She remembered me as being Charlie Brown in the 3^rd grade Xmas play. See, I even had talent back then. We were talking, and a guy ran up to me to see what my name was, then ran off. OK, a bit strange. A few seconds later he reappears, pointing at me and laughing in a Nelson Muntz like manner. OK, again, not all that strange, since I recall kids did this to me all the time in HS. I follow him, and a group has the yearbook. I prefer to think they were laughing at how I looked before, and not now. At least that’s the hope I cling to.

You didn’t have to go to my school to figure out who went there. All my classmates heads were on constant swivels to check everyone else out. “I don’t remember him. Wow, she turned out good.” A few hours in, and I haven’t had anything to eat yet, so I duck over to the munchies table for food that was many levels more edible than the crap we had at the cafeteria. I sit down for a bit, and some girl that I swore I never talked to in HS sat next to me and we had more conversation than we ever had before. T came to steal food off my plate, just like she always does, then leaves like nothing ever happened. Then 3 girls sit down across from me. Like most girls, they don’t recall my undistinguished HS career. One girl calls me over and asks, “I have to ask, are you a musician?” I reply with my stock answer, “Well, I play the radio and the iPod, and that’s about it.” Upon hearing my answer, all 3 girls split like I have swine flu. I sat down to finish my crumbs by myself. How apropos, the nerd sitting all by himself eating. Sheesh, some things never change.

I am surprised how many of my classmates went on to be teachers. It’s not like anyone back then was pro-teacher. No, I can’t recall any kids that thought teaching was so cool, that they would devote their life to it. T goes to the bar, where she encounters a colleague of hers. Now, I had gone to HS with this girl. It goes without saying she was popular, and I was a nerd, so we had limited interaction. Since that time, she went on to be a teacher, and I’ve run into her and spoke many, many times with her at various teacher functions. “What are you doing here,” she asks T. “I’m here with Kev,” T answers matter of factly. “Kevin?” Yes, that’s right. After all these years, she had no idea I was that nerdy Kev from HS. I guess I should be complimented.

All in all, I was very pleasantly surprised about the whole night. It went far better than I could have imagined. I think I put in a good accounting of myself. Maybe I changed a few people’s perception of me. I think I was pretty social, which is a big accomplishment for me. I talked to a lot of people, old friends, folks from FB, folks who I have forgotten about. I saw a lot of laughing, which is always a good sign. I was really glad I blew off my family obligation to go. It was good/cool to see how everyone turned out. I have to say, it looks like everyone turned out pretty good.

In fact, I probably have more positive memories of the reunion than of the four years anyway. I really enjoyed catching up with different people, and laughed harder and longer than I thought I would. It was a fun trip back. Not enough to make go down in the crawlspace to dig out the ol’ yearbook; you should see the size of the spiders down there.

High School Reunion part 2

In fact, I was set to skip the reunion. It just so happened to fall on the usual date of a big family get together. But since I got on Facebook, I have been truly surprised at the number of folks from HS who have friended me. Some I spent significant amounts of time “growing up” with; others mere acquaintances that I am surprised remember my meager existence.

Morbid curiosity is strong that way, isn’t it? There’s some sort of curiosity to see how everyone turned out. How did that nerd that sat with us in lunch turn out? Are the hot girls still hot? Hell, did any of the quiet girls get hot? And I will admit to having a crush the whole 4 years on a girl. I really hope she shows up to the 20^th (she didn’t show for the 10^th). If only for her to breathlessly come up to me to say, “O, I knew it was you all along. I have pined for you all these years, saving myself for this fateful evening.” I would then raise my left hand to show her my ring. Nearby, a digital camera would capture the image that would be captioned on Flickr with “The moment a heart breaks. I still cry when I see this pic.” I would even have to rebuff her feeble offer for a handjob out by the dumpster. I would then triumphantly return to my beautiful wife, where she would rebuke my plea for a handjob out by the dumpster.

I have decided to attend the 20^th, at the expense of my previous family obligation. I am actually kind of looking forward to it. I would imagine after 20 years, the stereotypes have faded. While I am sure some of the cliques would reunite just out of familiarity, I also hope lots of people who didn’t hang out together in HS hang out a bit here.

The morning of the reunion, I was a bit nervous. All along, I had been looking forward with positive feelings, this was the first real twinge of nervousness. Unfounded fears of cliques reuniting; jocks looking to pants the nerds, etc. I went to the gym to get one last workout in of all the vanity muscles. Yes, I have become that vapid, even if only for one day. I don’t think I will be the only one. So I came back, where T asked me the all important question, “What are you going to wear?” I had a few shirts picked out-some of her favorites-all that were a bit tight, looking to show of that vest of Hulk muscles I bought for Halloween. Instead she picks out a shirt that will need to be ironed. So I pretty much pissed away the morning workout. I could have had my usual big bowl of Lucky Charms with extra sugar and lard, and there would have been no difference. At least I wouldn’t have to spend the whole night sucking my gut in. T then told me what she was going to wear. I had very little input. Damn her, wanting to look all classy and shit.

Good Irish we are, we show up right on time. We don’t fuck around when there’s an open bar. Plus a little social lube would do me good. Right away, I meet 2 old grade school classmates. I guess we learned to be punctual. The bar and room were very nice, lots of space (much nicer than the HS dances at the shitty Knights of Columbus room), and the only way in was via the elevator. You can do some serious drinking in a bar with an elevator. We exchanged pleasantries, followed by what most likely will be the most asked questions at such an occasion; what are you doing these days, where do you live, what have you been up to, were those charges ever dropped, etc.

We realize we are at a prime position. Not only are we barside, but we can clearly see everyone else who comes in. It’s almost like we’re those Muppet judges. I felt like we were on Let’s Make a Deal; “do you know the people at the table, or do you know the people ….behind the door?” All classmates were given stickers with their names on them. I thought it would be funny if I swiped the name of a black classmate. That would really screw with people’s heads. But I was so bad off with not knowing anyone in HS, that I didn’t recognize half the damn names anyway. Spouses didn’t get any badge or recognition. By default, they all became DDs.

Suddenly, it was like a bus dropped everyone off. Old faces started streaming in. It’s really funny how people who I have not thought one iota about in over 20 years would come in, and some sort of glint of recognition would go off in my mind.

Thank god for the tags, because I was only good with their faces. I think everyone felt a bit rude as they walked around. If you didn’t recall someone’s name, you had to take a quick glance at their chest to get their names. “O, Fred, yes, of course, how the hell ya doin’?” But it was a great excuse to check out racks.

High School Reunion Pt 1

I wanna go back/And do it all over, but I can’t go back I know
I wanna go back/Because I’m feeling so much bolder
But I can’t go back I know


Am I really starting a Klog by quoting an Eddie Money song? Man, o man, I really need to work on my openings. I have found myself in a weird state of mind lately. The fact of the matter, that never in a million years would I ever want to go back. It was such an awkward time for me in so many ways. There are stretches-very long stretches-where I cannot recall a thing. Maybe it’s some sort of deep psychological defense, maybe it’s the passage of time, maybe it’s from all the drinking. I still have almost nightmare like dreams every September. I cringe at some of those times. I hated so much of my time there.


Because it wasn’t me.


I mean, sure, I was there those four years. I did experience a lot; learn a lot, too, I guess. But it just wasn’t me. I never looked at it like the golden time so many others do. I blended in, but never stood out. I just made my way through. The few friendships I did make there pretty much ended soon afterwards. I hated those days, and I hated me those days. I was never comfortable in my geek skin. I had no confidence, surely no sense of style, no luck with the women folk. So why the hell would I want to go back? Why would I want to spend a night with these people? Simple.




Because it wasn’t me.


In case you haven’t figured it out yet; or stopped reading after the Eddie Money reference, I am talking about high school. It was 20 years ago for me. Exactly 20 years. As in the reunion is this Friday 20 years. So what has happened these last 20 years for me to want to see these people? Well, I think I have some answers. I don’t have all the answers, but maybe by writing it out, I will discover them.




High school is a wealth of stereotypes and storylines. While we all went to different schools, with different people, I assure you, some things are exactly the same. Every school has it’s jocks, its nerds, it’s smart kids, popular girls, etc. I’m willing to bet some of the situations you found yourself in are no different than any other kid. I am sure you had an ‘impossible class’ with a ‘dickhead teacher.’ I am sure you failed tests, fought with friends, had awkward social situations, came of age, even had a crush on someone for the whole 4 years and never told them.


I’m sure we all had the same stereotypical teachers; the easy ones, the funny ones, the strict ones, the yellers, the eccentrics etc. For example, our eccentric was our chem teacher who didn’t wear deodorant because he thought there was some sort of foreign chemical in it. Chem was never fun when it was spring, because my HS was so ghetto, we didn’t have AC or even fans. I remember after I handed in one lab report, he wrote ‘see me’ on it. I was so chickenshit, I never did. This went on for months.




A lot of it-not so surprisingly-has to do with me. I know I have grown so much (I won’t say matured, per se) since then. The Kev 20 years ago was shy, nervous, unconfident, quiet, unsure…geez, as I go on, I can understand why I never had a date in high school.


And to be honest, I still possess some of those traits to this day. I am still shy, a bit quiet at times. Ultimately, I think the biggest difference is I am now more confident in myself these days. Sure the last 2 years of being relatively jobless can wreck serious havoc, but I feel that will be resolved very soon. Notwithstanding, I am very comfortable in my skin. I know my weaknesses and shortcomings. And while I may never beat them, I have learned to live with them and manage them.


I say it took me years to grow into my coolness; to be OK with who I am. I am still a nerd and a geek, but the difference is I now accept it. I don’t fight things like this anymore. I think we probably all harbor some sort of perfect image of who we can be one day. All kinds of “One day I will…” scenarios. I am convinced everybody thinks this way. Few of us ever realize that vision, and you know what? That’s OK. Sometimes there are just things you can’t ever change about yourself. But if you can step back and realize it, man, I’m tellin’ ya, that’s half the battle. For example, I find fart jokes eternally funny; like laugh out loud funny. Most other ‘people my age’ probably got over that years ago. OK, so that’s a bad example. But, tough, I yam what I yam a sailor once told me.


And let’s face it. I am sure there is a big element of “look at me” at these things. I get that. I am sure all the girls that were hot back in the day, still want to be thought of as that way. Even if their picture regularly appears on PeopleOfWalmart.com. I am vain enough-and confident enough- to say we all secretly hope everyone else looks like shit while we don’t. It’s not coincidence that I am posting old pics of me with rock stars on FB this week. Ha, take that anonymous internet stalker. Jealous much?


I’ve grown a few inches (that’s what she said), and have spent some time in the gym the last nine years. So I reckon to say that I will be in better shape than most of the jocks. Yea, bench pressing 120 POUNDS OF IRON, with no spotter I might add, really piles the muscle on. Not that I am going to get too caught up in the image thing. But for the rest of the week, I will be popping runway model strength fat burners and WWE level steroids. Just don’t tell any of them that.




I’ve often joked that I would go to the 20 if my hair was still long and my girl was smoking hot. Well, my hair isn’t as long as it used to be, but my wife is smoking hot. And I would still say that, even if I didn’t think she read these Klogs. And she’s going to be even hotter in the little number I picked up for her to wear at Fredericks. Fringe and animal print never go out of style. Giggity.




Speaking of the wife, checking out who married who will be another spectator sport. To wit, I am sure many are expecting my wife to have one eye bigger than the other, have a humpback, walk with a pronounced limp and only know rudimentary English. The assumption is fair, as I, myself, can’t wait to see what some of these spouses look like. O what sweet revenge it would be to see the former hot chick with her third husband, who speaks fluent Klingon and has pre-existing mustard stains on his shirt. I would really hope to see one of the nerds marrying outside his league. But, , c’mon, that shit only happens in the movies, right?


I am sure we will be in the minority. I am sure most of my classmates are married with kids. Perusing the profile shots on the guestlist, I am shocked at who had offspring. I guess we will be the odd ones as others blather on about how many books Madison reads and how young Logan is the smartest non Asian kid in class. Aside from that, hearing that these now adults-who for years had been filed away in my mind frozen as ‘18 year old dipshit’-will most likely be fine upstanding members of society. Well, that, and hearing how all these people have 2-4 kids in their midteens-almost the same age as when I knew their parents-will make me feel interminably OLD. And while I may feel old, I assure you those same little angels have aged their loving parents exponentially. Game, set, match-us.



Bonus Material

Commentary

Since I believe long posts turn people off, I have chopped up this post to be in 3 Klogs. Look for Pt 2 in a day or two.

Picture Day at the DMV

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Christ, doesn’t every hack comedian do a bit on the Department of Motor Vehicles? Why do I need to read a Klog about it? What’s next, a stirring Klog about airline travel?” I had an experience today at the DMV that I thought I would share. BTW, be sure to be here next week for a stirring piece on airline travel.

So I got it in the mail, that little official form that says “dude, you’re getting older”. Yes, it was time to renew my driver’s license. Is there any other depressing memento of time passing by? In school, it was always the yearbook picture. Every year, you were well aware when ‘picture day’ was. You made the proper sacrifices to the acne gods-2 male chickens, I believe. You didn’t want zits. You wanted to have a good hair day. You worried how your braces would look. Back then, we didn’t have the digital luxury we have these days; there were no do overs. You would dread the day yearbooks came out to see how your picture turned out. We all knew kids who unfortunately fell into the following categories; closed eyes, zits, bad hair, molest-ache.

Turns out we never quite get away from that. In adulthood, it’s called getting your license picture taken. Few such days strike fear in my shallow heart as this day. It’s almost impossible to not do a quick inventory of your life when you show up to get your mug taken. Have I progressed any since last time I was here? What significant events have occurred since Uncle Sam last took a picture?

‘K, I will confess to being a bit shallow, even maybe just a tiny, tiny, tiny part vain. I mean no one wants to look like a goober, even if they really do look like a goober all day. I don’t need to see photographic proof to reinforce the fact I am said goober. Yet, I still get unreasonably nervous come picture day at the DMV.

Which is kind of odd. When you really think about it, just how often do you really look at your driver’s license picture? Sure, it’s usually readily visible in your wallet/purse. It’s usually the first thing you see when you open your wallet/purse up. Except for me. No sir, I cover mine up. The first thing you see is my American Express Black Card.

OK, it’s more like the plastic facsimile that comes in the mail with the application, but hey, it makes me feel better about myself. Back to the point, just how often do you look at your own drivers license picture (which will now simply be referred to as DLP, I don’t have all freaking day to type out the extra letters)? The only time you take it out is at the bar-if you are still lucky to get carded. Being well north of 21, it’s still a little flattering to get carded at the door. Even if the bouncer is clearly just doing his job, and calls you ‘ma’am’ or ‘sir’ as he hands it back. Chicks absolutely love getting carded. God forbid, you also have to whip out your license if you get pulled over.

I have always admired those brave souls who take goofy pictures for the DLP. You know, they make the ‘busted’ face, or roll their eyes or look super happy, etc. I think that’s damn funny, But I know if I ever did that, I would get pulled over all the time by cops with no sense of humor. That’s a taserin’.

Point is, you hardly ever do look at your DLP. Even at the bars, you just blindly hand it over, never even acknowledging the picture. So why do I (and maybe even you, for all I know) get so worked up over taking your DLP? I really reckon it to meeting your dates’ parents for the first time. You at least want to look decent. “Yes, hello Mr. So-and-so. Please don’t worry about your precious daughter. Yes, yes, I know she is your only daughter, and your wife miscarried the previous 3 girls. Please do not worry, as I have no ulterior motives or will do anything untoward or disrespectable towards your daughter. It will just be a movie-PG, of course-then perhaps a burger and a drink. Please don’t worry, as I will be more than happy with the handjob she will give me behind Fridays.”

I know I am not one of the ‘beautiful people’. I am OK with that. So why do I get so caught up in this? I am old, I am married, I have little to live for at this point, so why do I care? There’s not much to change. And face it, you never want to screw around with your look-whatever it may be-right before getting your DLP taken or married. I’m certainly not gonna change my scruff or goatee. Really, the only thing I have to worry about is hair. And there’s less and less of that. I know that because I look at my old license. There is long, healthy, blonde hair. Now a days, not so much.

I think I get worked up because for some reason, I think this picture might be on the news some day. I will go off and do something heroic. In a scramble, the media outlets have no picture of me. So I believe there is some imaginary government office that will release the only pic they have of me; my DLP. “And the big story today is the heroic acts of this man, who singlehandedly saved the crippled orphans from the raging fire.” O, who am I kidding? The story will most likely be “In other news this night, this man was found running and screaming naked up on the town water tower. It took 3 sedative darts to take him down. When he was on the ground, reports have him saying, “Where is my rum and where are my pants?”” And then you will see my DLP.

I lay picture day out. Since these places have notorious wait lines, I plan to get there early. Early in, early out. I shower, then proceed to ‘do my hair’. I put in some leave in conditioner, comb in, then headbang for a minute. I find Judas Priest music to work quite well. Make sure some of it covers my ugly mug. Ah yes, sweet, flat lifeless hair. It’s sunny today, and that’s one less things to worry about. Imagine my surprise when I show up and there’s already a line. Damn it! So I wait outside, just enough wind to mess up my already messed up hair. O, the humanity.

I go in, and there are only 2 photo desks open, which is fine. Turns out not too many people are there. One desk is manned by a woman, the other by a man. I start to feel like a girl. I feel self conscious. Suddenly, a flashback to my last time in this very office. I can’t remember too many of the specifics, but I do remember that the guy I got to take my picture, something was different about him. Shit, was he deaf, or mentally retarded or something? It really was something along those lines. I remember even feeling more self conscious. I felt like such a girl when I had to sign that damn electronic screen twice. No, priss that I am, my first autograph wasn’t good enough.

I have suck handwriting. Apparently, I didn’t pick up good penmanship in my 12 hellacious years in Catholic school. Honest to God, my cursive is no better than an 8 year olds. I have seen my nieces’ handwriting, and they are all better than mine. About halfway through high school, it was so bad, I couldn’t even read my own writing. So I fell back to printing, more or less. I hate what has turned out to be my ‘official’ signature. My printed one is far cooler. It’s neater looking, and also, when you bend it in half and hold it up to a mirror, it totally looks like a labia.

Fate calls me to the guy’s desk. It is here that I discover he is cross eyed. Shit! This makes me even more self conscious. I admire anyone who has any such sort of thing, really. I just worry about my reactions around them. I surely want to be respectful. But, fuck, which eye is the good eye, the one I’m supposed to look at?

I sit down and hand over my paperwork. I am so hyper aware, I take off my jacket, I don’t want it to be in the picture. Hell, I even labored over what color to wear today. I am such a priss. So he’s doing his thing on his computer, and I see my chance. On the wall a few feet away is a mirror. I am sure my hair got messed up outside. So I run over to take a look. As soon as I am a half step out of my chair, of course he has a question. Damn it. I continue to the mirror, just a quick glance. But now I feel bad, and I really don’t primp as I would want to. I am sure he’s rolling his eyes (at least the eye that can roll) at me. I sit back down. I have to sign that damned electronic screen thing again.

You know I have piss poor handwriting. Have you ever signed one of these things; they are everywhere. From UPS to Target, etc. No matter how clear your writing is, it comes up looking like indiscernible scribble. I do it once, and it really looks like an illiterate monkey signed it for me. I sheepishly ask to do it over, and he acquiesces. From observation, just about everybody asked for a second shot. I sign it again, and it is clearly no better. I could have all damn day to get a good ‘graph in there. But that would be rude to the motards behind me. Fine, whatever, I can let it go.

Next up is the hard part; the actual DLP. I have no idea what my hair looks like. He tells me to get ready, as I slap on what I refer to as ‘cheesy grin #3’. Look at the white dot and-flash! Damn, it takes forever as the picture comes up to the monitor on my right. Finally it appears and it’s…..eh. It’s about as “not horrible” as we can get. It looks like my goatee is eating my jaw. There’s no bangs hanging down to cover the mess that is my face. And it looks like there is more hair coming over my left shoulder than right shoulder. Fuck, what a mess, how horrible. Shit, how everyday.

Really, if I had the time and knowhow, I would post what both DLPs look like. But I am not that tech savvy, and I fear some nerd could come along and steal my info. Yes, even if I covered my license info with a thick piece of black cardboard, I am worried there is some hacker who could somehow eliminate that and steal my identity. It would be their bonehead move, because who wants to assume the ID of a jobless, penniless loser? Plus, one dark night, the Internet Police showed up at my door, and politely told me I am “far too ugly for the internet, and to please remove all pictures”. I shouldn’t complain; I thought they were coming about all the porno…

So now I am stuck with this for another 4 years. My mug will lamely shine from my Velcro Harley Davidson wallet. (Note to self-it might be time to get a new wallet.) One day you just might see it on the news.

Why I'm Not on Facebook

Surely there must be something wrong with me. I am a grown, well mannered adult. I am sure one day I will hold a respectable and responsible job, when I fucking find one. I have never been arrested. I talk to most of my family. I am happily married; at least that’s what I think I am. But everyone is doing something that I refuse to. Just about everyone I know is on Facebook.

I don’t get the hubbub. I have a MySpace, and am perfectly content with that. O, how everyone I know goes on and on about Facebook. “I’m on it all the time.” “I’ve met so many old friends there.” Maybe it’s my decidedly old school thinking. Maybe it’s something new that I secretly fear. Or maybe it’s because I think everyone on there is a narcissist. Who am I to judge? I get emails all the time from people I barely know who invite me on. I think it’s about time to see what all this hullabaloo is all about.

I’m no fool though. I create a bogus account. No way I am giving myself up if I don’t like what I see. Here’s the first thing I don’t like about Facebook; you can’t see anyone’s page. There are many attention whores on MySpace who have their pages as public, so you can look at their blogs & pictures. You can get a general idea of what they are up to. You can see where they work, if they’re married, what they like to do, etc. It’s a great way to just kind of “drop in” and see what this person is doing, then scram with never revealing yourself. Thank God the internet has made stalking so much easier.

No such luck on FB. Every page is locked; you have to be their friend to have access. All you get is a picture, and sometimes a location. It seems to me, that just like in MySpace, all these pictures seem very deliberately posed & staged, but I will get to that later on. Yet, in many cases, you can see those person’s friends. Huh?

Here I am old school. Friend is a very serious, heavy word. I don’t really consider myself having very many friends. Yes, it is a small group, but I would almost be willing to die for any of my friends. Almost. So the fact that you can go to someone’s FB, or even MySpace for that matter, and see they have 300 friends is a turn off to me. It tells me this person has totally devalued the meaning of “friend”. Apparently, to these folks, someone who you’ve known all your life is in equal standing with someone you met at that kegger last week. That’s rude and disrespectful in my world.

I also think much of FB is lurid. I see just about every girl lists her maiden name as well as her married name(s). It’s almost like they think someone is out there, thinking of them, pining for them, searching for them. It’s a little bit high school for me. Yet, the coin has another side; it’s also a great way to track down girls as well. Ah, the net givith and taketh away. That’s why I am not on FB, nor use my real name on MS. I am not looking to be found. Honestly, I really don’t think there is anyone out there actively combing the Net to look for me. But I would be scared to find that out, though. There are very clearly a few people I hope never to hear from again. The fact that they could look me up on FB is a bit scary. I don’t want any of my stalker ex-girlfriends bothering me these days. Yes, Christina Applegate, I’m talking about you. (make ‘call me’ motion with hand.)

I don’t like the search engine. It needs to be expanded upon. The by name field needs to be filtered by city. And sure, options like by work and school are fair. But it could be more. Other search options should include; by name of bar, by name & place of party, train and of the catch all “that one time at…” I guess the appeal for me today will be high school. I hated my time at HS; and I have no contact with anyone from that era. You see, I believe in karma. We all know that friends will come and go over the years. There may be that one person that appears, and just as quickly fades for no reason. But I believe if you were really meant to be my friend, we would still be in touch today. Yes, I can look back and name 2 dozen people I wish I was still friendly with. There are a few people I wonder about quite often. But for whatever reason, we’re not in contact. Friendship goes 2 ways as well. And it just looks like maybe it was something that just runs its course. There have rarely been cases where someone has disappeared, then reappeared years down the road and assumed the same prominence.

High school seems to be the appropriate place to start, since I have no attachments there. This point is reaffirmed when I only barely recall 5 of the first 10 names. Lo and behold, here is a guy I was actually fairly tight with in grade school and high school, so let’s click on him. (Names will be changed to protect the guilty and the stupid.) First thing, Will, change your fucking picture. You look like a pedophile, which really wouldn’t surprise me. Hmm, a bunch of names that aren’t familiar, a girl I haven’t seen since 8th grade. Foggy HS memories start coming back. Names I haven’t thought of in 20 years. Hey, one of the smart girls turned out pretty cute, go figure. And that cute girl hit the wall, so sad. Man, this FB is all about busting illusions, huh?

It’s an odd collection, as I’m sure everyone’s is. I notice a lot of people either list where they now live, or who they work for. OK, that’s a big reason I won’t go on here. It’s hard to appear ‘successful’ when you’ve been out of work for 2 years. That is so not the image I would want to convey. Yea, this would have been cool 3 years ago when I was hob-nobbing with rockstars. That would have made all the girls jealous. Face it, if I got on there now & said I was unemployed, I am sure every one of those bitches would shake their head and go “yea, I thought so.”

How sweet, the HS sweethearts are still married and have 2 kids now. I am seeing a trend here that bothers me a bit that I will get to a bit later on. Ha, someone actually has their prom picture up, that’s funny. There’s the requisite burn out, pictured on the golf course. Damn, for sure, I thought that guy would end up huffing spray paint under the bridge. But, no, it appears even he can fucking find a job. WTF is wrong with me? Here is another one of the hot girls. It’s just Kay’s married name and a picture of her 2 kids. Seeing this makes me happy; it tells me she is now a fat cow. Ha, take that, Kay. As I scroll down, I see another disturbing trend that I will also touch on later.

Christ, there’s Pat! Pat was a tall, red haired geek. He was one of those guys a lot of people made fun of. And there he is, balding white hair, and with a girl, so good for him. O God, Ray. Ray was the nerdliest of the nerdliest. Yes, he was even worse than me. He always looked a bit odd. His hair always seemed wet. He was so bad, he used to be our bitch. My collective of nerds all sat at the same table for lunch. And we used to make him go and get out food. Then we’d fuck with him some more. We’d get him to get us fries, and when he came back we yelled at him because we wanted cheese fries, so Ray would have to go back up in line and exchange fries. I am not lying when I said we did this every fucking day. And Ray was also the kid who played with himself during religion class. No lie. We would watch him as his hand disappeared into his pocket. It looked like there was a small animal trapped in there, he was so active. Wait a minute, this is also the kid that handled our lunches? Uh, excuse me a minute as I go puke a bit. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), he chose not to post his picture.

Here’s another one of the girls I recall as cute, and it looks like she held up quite well. I guess there is some justice in the world. Shit, there is Steve. I hung out a lot with Steve in grade school. When we got to high school, he started showing some burn out tendencies. So it is no surprise his pic is him playing guitar in Mobile, Al. Nice arm tattoo, he is just the way I thought he would be.

So this brief jaunt down memory lane will now serve as the basis for the rest of my FB thoughts. Everyone is on here looking to get fucked. Everyone on here is a narcissist. Everyone on here is a poser. Let’s look at some of the trends I’ve uncovered.

Trend #1 the default pictures. There seem to be a few variations here. Some people show their wedding picture. By & by, this is OK. It satisfies two curiosities; 1) what you look like these days and 2) who you be fucking. I notice another trend, which I will term “look how well I am doing”. (and, yes, this is a bit tenuous since I am out of work, but, hey, write your own thing) Here is so and so on the boat. Really? OK, maybe it’s just my fragile state of mind, but it seems a tad too much. There is another trend of golf of all things. I don’t get golf, but I guess a lot of other guys do, as quite a few ex-classmates have their pic playing golf. Even the burnout has his picture on the golf course. Shit, I always thought he’d be on grass, but not that kind. Another one which I hate is pics with kids. Either you with your sperm donation or just the kids themselves. No one wants to see that. For example, there’s Jeff, another one of the more popular and handsome kids back then. His pic is him holding his kid. Now it’s not bad enough Jeff has a bunch of white in his hair, but holding a child makes him look like he’s pushing 50.

Seeing all this aging going on makes me feel pretty damn good. Why, you ask? Look, you know I have very little vanity or ego about my appearance. It’s not common or in vogue to be honest. I hope I don’t come off as having an ego here, but I will say it anyway. I look far better than most of the guys in my class today. Honest to God, no BS. I really think I have turned out far better than any of those ballsacks. Some have lost their hair, while I still have most of mine, and it’s still generally shoulder length.

A few months back, I ran into a girl I went to HS with. And she did not recognize me. This is really one of the biggest compliments any of those nerds could pay me. Yes, my hair is ‘long’, and I am trying my best to cultivate a true Grizzly Adams goatee these days. It is a fact I am in far better shape today then I was 20 years ago. In fact, I would make a fair wager to say I have a far better body than anyone on the football team. (Big whoop, I know that amounts to nothing in real life, but just lemme get my jollies here, OK?) I am really half tempted to get one of those infamous MySpace “angle” type pictures, and put it on their to boggle their little minds. I am sure I would win ‘best transformation from nerd to axe murderer’ at the reunion this year.

Default pictures can also be at the beach. My favorite ones are where it’s just the person all dolled up. You know they are available and trolling for action.

Yea, I think a lot of these photos cry “look at me!” Every picture tells a story, but the lack of a picture also tells a story. It tells everyone else you look horrible and hideous. I see some heifers in Will’s friends pictures, but at least they are who they are. But what’s the point of not putting your picture up? There is a fair deal of vanity to these things, definitely. So why not go all the way and commit? It only allows for rampant and probably incorrect speculation. (You have been reading this article, right?) This also applies if you have a picture of your pet.

I am always a bit jealous when I see some nerd I went to HS with ended up moving somewhere exotic. Like, you know, anywhere but here. I am sure it’s no where near as glamorous as I am envisioning, but that’s always been a hang up with me. And I see some people list their company name as well. OK, that makes me jealous, too.

Which brings me to Trend #2, which I find equally if not more so disturbing. No one had this many fucking friends. I am sorry, but I call shenanigans. No one has over 100 friends. It stops becoming about ‘friends’, and more about making people think you have that many friends. Seriously, no one falls for it. It becomes a cock-off to make sure you have more ‘friends’ than any one else. I make this decision based on Will. As I scrolled through his friends, I see many ‘friends’ he never even spoke to in HS. Now, all of a sudden, they’re friends? Bullshit, no they are not. It’s like baseball cards; you want more than anyone else. You want the ‘complete set’, even though that is an impossibility. You add that guy who vomited on your good shoes because you think it’s ‘funny’ you tell your friends. But it’s just another sign of your vanity and insecurity.

I’ve heard stories of people becoming addicted to FB; they’re on it all the time. Even though I have a lot of time on my hands, I think I check MS every few days. I know you can change your moods or something on there. Look, my life ain’t that interesting that I constantly have to update it every 10 seconds. I am sure a general statement of “I’m still fucking unemployed” will cover me for a period of time. I have heard stories of people updating it through out the day. “I am at work” “I am tired” “I am hungover” “I am 15 seconds older then when I was on here last”

All in all, it was a nice little trip down memory lane. It’s a mild temptation at best, but not enough for me to get on it. Yea, it’s a bit intriguing, and maybe if I was at a different point in life it would make sense. It would be flattering to have someone ‘find’ me, but everyone I know who wants to find me knows where I am. And that is good enough for me.

Echoes of High School

High school wasn’t a great time for me. I think that period is traumatic for any kid, but I hated high school. Now that I am looking back, I don’t have many fond memories. I just had that constant feeling like I never quite fit in with anybody. I was a tall, geeky, un-confident, socially retarded loser that never got any dates.

Shit, I guess not much has changed…..

Anyway, I was your typical bus-hopper. I didn’t play any sports. I didn’t belong to any clubs. I wasn’t too high on the extra-circular stuff. I showed up, did my time and got the hell out. The ‘friends’ I did hang out with were primarily the ones I went to elementary school with. I guess I hung with a few of the ‘cool’ kids, but most of my circle were music nerds. They always tried to get me into Yes and shit. After HS was over, I really never saw them again. I’d run into one at a local bar, or the music nerds would be at a show.

So my HS career was rather unremarkable. I was a wallflower. I was unsure of myself, and was never quite comfortable in my own skin. (It wasn’t until after college that I bloomed into this version of coolness.) I don’t think I could name you 10 people I knew I went to school with. And I still get the occasional nightmarish-like dream about being in HS. The dreams are always meeting getting lost in school or not doing homework. Suffice it to say, I have changed a lot since then. My look, my attitude, my confidence (to a degree) and am a lot more sure of the skin I’m in (to a degree) now. I’ve compartmentalized that whole period of my life. It’s almost like it never happened. So it came as quite a shock when T left a message for me.

She is a teacher, and this week was parent conferences. So she meets with the parents of her kids. One mom comes in, and after the meeting, asks her if she has a brother named Kevin. She says no, but her husband’s name is Kevin. “I went to high school with him,” the mother replies. Now this totally boggles my little mind. That someone remembers me from high school 19 fucking years ago. Like I said, I wasn’t very popular. In fact, in a class of almost 400 kids, I was voted 417th most popular. Yea, I was that forgettable.

So T shows this mom a picture of me now. She tells the mom’s face was shock. “Yea, I can kinda see his face…” she says. Yea, that nerdy, acne covered face now has long hair and a perma-scruff and is like 6’2. “Wow, the mom says, “he is a fox! A stone cold hunk of prime A beef. I would give him a blow job every night just for the privilege of watching TV with him. He is devastatingly handsome.”

OK, so maybe that part is a bit embellished, but I am sure she was as least thinking that. I do find it funny that on the odd occasion I do run into people I went to HS with, they don’t recognize me now. I actually take that as a compliment. Well, either that, or I’ve gotten more hideous. Nope, no, it’s because I am far more ‘me’ now then I ever was then. Yea, that’s it. I went to HS with one of T’s teacher friends, and I don’t think the teacher friend even knows that.

Wow, that’s pretty cool, I tell T. What is this chick’s name I ask her. “Umm…..I don’t know,” she tells me. WTF! You give me a great story like that, and you don’t even get me a name? So now I have to wonder who this girl that remembers me is. Again, I find it hard to believe anyone would remember me, but I am intrigued that it does happen to be a girl.

Just please don’t let it be the girl I had a crush on the entire 4 years I was there. She was a good looking girl. Total 80’s high hair, nice eyes, etc. I was so intimidated and deathly shy that I never even spoke to her. I don’t think we maybe had 2 classes together the whole time, but we were often in the same homeroom. And I would look at her all the time, but I could never even bring myself to even just say “hi”. Just please don’t tell me it’s her. I wouldn’t want to think of her as being a married mom. I’d prefer to think of her spending her days, pining over my picture in the yearbook and constantly yearning for me.

Guys are such cads. We all prefer that our exes or the girls that never gave us the time of day are now all regretting not being with us. It’s a guy thing to think that all of them are trolling MySpace and Facebook, desperately looking to track us down and reveal their real feelings for us. That is a big life regret that they never got with us. I know that’s what all of my exes are doing these days. Yea, just shut up and let me believe, OK?

T goes into work today, and even gets a note from said mom-with said mom’s name on it. The note was about why her kid didn’t do its homework or some such. (What did you think I was gonna say the note was about?) T comes home, and I ask her what the mom’s name is. I have to find out who my new stalker is. “Um, I forget. Shit, I even got a note from her and I meant to save it. I know her first name, but not her (maiden) last name.” She tells me the name, and I can honestly tell you I don’t know who she is talking about. So now I will hang in limbo until the mystery woman reveals herself.

Or maybe I will just see her at the reunion next year.