Tag Archives: travel

Why I should be in the Rick Ross Entourage

16 May

Man tatums.

– I don’t like my current job.

– I’ve always wanted to live where “Gettin’ Jiggy with it” was filmed and visit the shooting locations.

– I speak pretty alright Spanish which could help smooth over potential disputes with Cuban coke lords, or help holler at attractive Latinas who prefer blonde hair blue eyed devils to obese black rappers.

– I would add diversity to the crew. (Possible tax write off? I’m not sure. I don’t think that makes much sense actually)

– I want to be around girls with huge asses all the time

– I have a clean record. Think of all the cases I could catch for you. Speeding in your Aston Martin? No problem, lets switch seats, I got this one big guy. Assault and battery? Forget about it. Throw some brass knuckles on me and point the finger. Drug charges?! No fuckin problem!!! Dump cocaine on my face. My rap sheet is yours to fill, but I will only do this for you if I am well taken care of in prison. You know what that means. No butt play is what I’m getting at Rick.

– I used to freestyle battle in High School. I once rhymed dental plan with mental spam. I thought that was pretty cool. I could clearly provide light amusement and “Look at the White guy trying to do Black things” moments for you and your boys.

– I like Aston Martins and if I had money to blow fast, like if you gave me some kind of weekly allowance or per diem, I would surely blow it so fast.

– I took a NOLS Wilderness First Aid Responder course one summer. If you have any more health issues like that congenital heart failure episode on your private jet, I could…well I would be severely undertrained and ill prepared to help in that situation. Legally speaking, I shouldn’t even touch you if you were in cardiac arrest. If you cut yourself eating crab or something though, I would give you so many band-aids and words of encouragement.

– My Mom knows a speech therapist. If you ever wanted to not sound like evil Kermit the Frog on a whiskey bender she could hook up a discount. I mean its cool now, but when your rapping days are over it will just be creepy.

– We all know Miami breeds an unbearable sticky, humid heat. I can only imagine the amount of sweat that accrues under your belly and man tates. If you like I can scrub you down when you overheat and your XXXXL’s stick to your back……KIDDING Ricky! I have a sense of humor. I’m not like that, but seriously, how do you survive in Miami with all those rolls?

Well there you have it. Call it my plea, resume, wishful thinking or dementia. I would make an excellent member of your entourage and I await your call. Boss! Also this video inspired me to apply for the position.

Boyhood Boners

14 May

Orphan Hot!

Topanga– What can I say about this wild haired lass? Is she White? Armenian? Or some exotic mix of unbridled passion and scornful lust. Whatever she is she made sitting thru Corey Matthews bullshit far more tolerable. The best thing about her is she has no point of reference. Mr. Pheeny is the principal and neighbor. Sean is the best friend who lives in a trailer park, and to my knowledge Topanga is some incredibly attractive orphan girl who shows up in episodes periodically to remind me I’m a red blooded American boy.

Before Lil Wayne made a song…

Dion– I never thought I would admit this, but D from Clueless makes me wish I were Donald Faison for those 2 hours, pubic stash, gap tooth and all. She was beyond dope. She looked ridiculous at that High School, mainly because she was Black in Beverly Hills, but also because she was 100 times doper than any other student. I didn’t fall for Alicia Silverstones’ whiny voice or dumpy frame, and I certainly wasn’t enticed by weirdo turned entitled bitch Brittany Murphy. When D came out rocking that bikini in the pool scene, I had to excuse myself to the bathroom for some alone time…to poop guys. I ate too many Reese’s Cups and was nervous because it was my first sleepover. Also Stacey Dash was super hot.

So easy to tell.

Tia from Sister Sister– Yes, one twin was finer than the other, and everyone knew it. I can’t imagine growing up the less attractive twin in front of a public audience, albeit a small, afternoon UPN public audience. It must have been excruciating, but I couldn’t help see Tamera as anything but a goofy study buddy, whereas Tia exuded sex and sophistication.

Not racist…right?

Yellow Ranger– In a 1992 interview with Esquire, Fox executive Don Holcomb said, “The Yellow Ranger suit was literally the last color we had, and Trini Kwan was the last actor we hired for the show. Swear to God bro.” This is a fake quote and what Fox did is insensitive, but if we can look past the suit, we find a beautiful Vietnamese orchid who kicked and hi-ya’d her way to my heart. She also had an incredibly strange and tragic life before and after her stint with the Rangers. Check it out.

Yup.

Mya– Her only song I know of is “Ghetto Superstar” and that was enough. She is the only person I’ve waited in line to get an autograph from. Pretty weird right? I stood outside the Rasputin Records on Telegraph in Berkeley, CA for over 2 hours to get an autograph from Mya. I’m cracking up writing this. She was dope though. I still remember her outfit. Atlanta Braves bucket hat, lime green tank top, jean skirt and Timbos. Yes Mam, now that was an outfit.

Why did this happen?

Starship Troopers Shower Scene– There really needed to be some extra special rating for this movie. Maybe like, “Don’t go see this with your Mom because there is a shower scene out of nowhere that will make you feel super uncomfortable.” As you can guess this is precisely what happened. I was fully immersed in the intergalactic bloodbath, rooting for Rico to avenge his smoldering hometown of Buenos Aires, (WTF?) when that skinny red head decided to challenge gender roles and show her tits in the shower. Oh man. I had seen boobs in Porky’s, and a pair of panties in Revenge of the Nerds, but I was not ready for exposed ginger nipple sitting next to my Mother.

Wants it so bad.

Kelly Kapowski– What a dreamboat. With her short shorts and those little white Keds, she would shuffle around the halls of Bayside High rousing the attention of students, teachers and Mr. Beldings alike. She wanted it bad. Who knows if Zach Morris ever got her? Part of me thinks Belding was involved in some scandalous aftercurriculars, but we may never know. Or will we? Quick side note: Mr. Belding hangs out at bars in the Sherman Oaks all the time. He is apparently very friendly and approachable, so if you are so inclined go ask him yourself. I’m certainly not going to the valley.

So bad.

Tia Carrere– I was sha-winging all over the place.

Jasmine– She’s so sexy when she’s mad.

Never thought she would have a career.

Kelly Bundy– The hot, trashy white. She was dumb, pretty and poor, and 8 year old Me was very intrigued. She was both dangerous and accessible and ultimately a great life lesson. This was the girl you date for a summer, but never bring home to mother.

Eres Tu (Mamacita)

7 May

Vegas Recap

2 May

I know I said I would post on Monday about my weekend in Vegas, but sometimes after hurting your liver the last thing you think about is logging onto your blog and trying to be clever. So here it is some days later. For those counting at home, I will give myself a win for this trip , which brings my all time record against Vegas to a respectable 2-2. I did not win exorbitant sums of money, or go home with Kate Uptonesque girls (Hippos!!!), but I learned a lot about myself this trip. The theme for Vegas 2012 was called Getting Older. From watching 20/20 specials sipping whiskey in my room on a Friday night, to I’ding girls who claimed they were 21 on the strip, to bringing a Dave Eggers novel poolside and actually reading an entire chapter, to shopping for a nice dress shirt at Zara, to asking strippers about their health benefits, it all tied in to that inevitable clock-ticking truth. And I could really care less. I raged hard this weekend, don’t get me wrong. I drank unhealthy amounts of Jack, hollered at girls, bet on stupid things, and saw the sunrise because I know that won’t last, and I’m pretty happy about it. I embrace the fact that Vegas allows me to act like a degenerate for 2 days, but I also embrace my more mature proclivities. So let’s raise our Hennessy and flat red bulls and have a toast. To Vegas 2013! May it be filled with expensive steak houses, spa treatments, and The Blue Man Group.

8:37 PM Friday: Arrive at Treasure Island in an overheated ’65 Mustang. Pit stains non-existent because I’m wearing a Turquoise tank. Swag?

8:59 PM Friday: Fatigued from the hot ride, drink Gatorade and watch the last half of Speed in the room, friends tell me I’ve changed.

10:45 PM Friday: Guy in Ed Hardy shirt asks me “How do you play craps!” Turns out to be an all right guy.

12:25 AM Saturday: Make out with questionable looking drunk girl. (Or does she think she’s making out with questionable looking drunk guy? Wig out mind meddler)

1:40 AM Saturday: Next “Too Close” might be on, but I’m in a full BO so its’ hard to tell. Girl asks me to hold her Iphone, I pocket it and forget, and she accuses me of trying to steal it. I leave the club. #Lightweightjealouscause Ihaveaflipphone

3:17 AM Saturday: Make a terrible order at the Bellagio café such and such. Eat Fish and Chips with drunken 21 year olds from Tacoma. Feel old.

4:10 AM Saturday: Win $300 dollars in Craps; think I know how to win at Craps.

4:25 AM Saturday: Seriously contemplate seeing Carrot Top live.

5:45 AM Saturday: Painful rest.

9:45 AM Saturday: Awoken by friends who convince me to bet actual money on a three team parlay involving the Knick to cover, Pacers to cover and Celtics to win straight up. Good lord that went poorly.

10:30 AM Saturday: Watch first two quarters of the Heat game, want to cry and take a nap.

11:18 AM Saturday: Go to pool, apply sunscreen, look like a geisha girl, and listen to Flo Rida.

11:45 AM Saturday: Flo Rida is still on, and that red German is still dancing in front of the DJ, how is this possible?

1:54 PM Saturday: Stripper asks me where I get my haircut. I reply “At Rudy’s on Sunset” She gets up and walks away.

4:27 PM Saturday: Mustang won’t start for 2 hours. Saved by a redneck. Leave Vegas slightly sun burnt in the company of good friends.

My Vegas Predictions

26 Apr

This weekend I will head to Las Vegas carrying a 1-2 record against the city. My losses are mostly due to sunburns, lost money and an underwhelming buffet. My one win was hard fought and revolved around investing in stronger SPF and not playing roulette. Despite movies like the Hangover and highly embellished stories from your raver friends, Vegas isn’t all that wild and unpredictable. In fact, if I could bet on what would happen during my fourth encounter in Vegas, I would be a rich man. The following are my predictions for this weekend. On Monday I will post the actual results of the unhealthy adventure and we will all see how smart and conceited I am.

8:37 PM Friday: Arrive at Treasure Island slightly buzzed with pit stains developing.

8:59 PM Friday: Change into my sexy shirt, head down to Casino and immediately lose $75 @ Craps table.

10:45 PM Friday: Guy in Affliction T-Shirt asks me “What the fuck I’m staring at!”

12:25 AM Saturday: Make out with questionable looking drunk girl.

1:40 AM Saturday: Next “Too Close” is on. Dance in a weird circle with my friends, pit stains appear on my sexy shirt.

3:17 AM Saturday: Make a terrible order @ Denny’s

4:10 AM Saturday: Win $15 dollars in Craps; think I know how to win at Craps.

4:25 AM Saturday: Lose $110 at Craps. Definitely don’t know how to win at Craps.

5:45 AM Saturday: Painful rest.

9:45 AM Saturday: Awoken by friends who convince me to bet actual money on a three team parlay involving the Blue Jays, Coyotes and Royals.

10:30 AM Saturday: Watch first two innings of a Royals game, want to cry and throw up, can’t decide which yet.

11:18 AM Saturday: Go to pool, apply sunscreen, look like a geisha girl, listen to LMFAO.

11:45 AM Saturday: LMFAO is still on, how is this possible?

1:54 PM Saturday: Put $10 on black in Roulette, win. Feel like a fucking king. Buy Pastrami sandwich with my earnings.

4:27 PM Saturday: Buy expensive Aloe Vera, receive word the Blue Jays have lost and drive home sun burnt.

Spring Break Throwback: Willits Edition

11 Apr

...and also lots of weed

While most College Seniors are planning their epic trip to Cabo, I was convinced to spend four wild days in Willits. For those unfamiliar, Willits is a small town in Northern California that is notable for being small and full of weed (to be fair this can aptly describe any town north of the Bay Area, CA). I like to compare it to the shire from Lord of the Rings, but instead of Hobbits, its inhabitants include ganja farmers and Woody Harrelson type dealers.
With the appropriate iPod playlist at the ready, two friends and I hopped in the whip and reggae free-styled our way up state. We arrived at our destination in high spirits, and pretty much kept those spirits for the next four days. It’s difficult to be a Debbie downer when you’re a guest on a weed farm. The next 96 hours were admittedly a blur, but I remember four things that were way more awesome than anything I could have done in Cabo.

Shooting AK-47: Shooting an AK is like playing a video game. I honestly felt like I was just pressing R2 the entire time. I stood on top of a bluff overlooking the Eel River, and shot the crap out of boulders while laughing softly. It’s creepy how powerful you feel with one of those tucked under your armpit. I pretended I was a Russian guard who finally got the best of Bond and Natalia in the Stacks. It was glorious.

Rafting down the Eel River: Looking back this was pretty sketch. My friend and I literally took turns blowing air into a tiny children’s raft that clearly wasn’t meant for two grown men. With our compromised lung capacity, we failed to properly inflate the raft, but that didn’t stop us. Like a couple of veteran Oregon trailers with no Indians in sight, we chose to cock the raft and float it. We started sinking immediately, the currents were wild and the water freezing, but somehow we navigated that river for 5 minutes with our friends Cyborg dog paddling by our side. Just one of those “I can’t believe this is working moments.”

Racing Through the Woods: Weedy McGee (farm owner) wanted to show us how beautiful the sunset was from the ridge. We were losing light quick, so clearly a dirt bike/ATV race was in order. I was tripping the hardest so I sat bitch on the ATV. Unbeknownst to me, Weedy McGee was born on a dirt bike because he smashed through the woods like Bigfoot on a bender. My friend valiantly tried to keep up, but we hit a steep uphill and ended up flipping the ATV and had to use our Zeus like quads to flip it behind us. Normally, a near fatal ATV crash would stop me in my tracks, but we had a sunset to catch and Weedy McGee was right, it was beautiful.

Playing Every Instrument Ever: Apparently when you run a weed farm you get lonely, and when you get lonely you buy every instrument imaginable. I played no less than 32 instruments in a circular room for 9 hours. I thought I was the shit. Gamelans, Djembes, Obos, it didn’t matter, I awkwardly played them all, high as shit in a dimly lit room.

I have never been back to Willits, and I will never go again. I want to keep my epic senior spring break enshrined in its proper haze of AK’s and questionable river rafting. So if you are off to some sun burnt slosh fest this spring break, kudos my friend, but everyone should have their Willits. Get weird.

Let's avoid being this guy

5 Scenarios When It’s OK to Ask For Another Guy’s Number

5 Apr

Do I really need to preface this with a no homo? Fine, no homo, but it can be hard to move to a new place where you don’t have any friends, especially a core group of bros with whom you can rage, rip and reminisce with. It’s our duty as guys to pester and gently harass a girl until we get her number, but getting another guy’s number can be tricky, and what’s the point of getting a girl’s digits without your best bro there to rate her and give you a high five after? The following is a list of five scenarios in which it is appropriate to ask for another man’s phone number:

Hey Bro, Nice Outfit.

Basketball Buddy– After a few games you can start with a nice compliment like, “Sweet jumper bro,” or “Man, you’re a real beast down low.” You want to avoid chest bumps, butt slaps and complicated handshakes as the slightest miscalculation can lead to d touching. If the dude responds to your advances, then by all means let him know that you play every weekend, or want to start a Tuesday night league or would love to play some horse for money sometime. If he does not respond, he thinks you are a big joke and does not respect your game. This is fine, move on down the line to the dude with the next sweetest jump shot and try again. You’ll have enough for 5 on 5 in no time.

We refuse to go all in!

Poker Night– I guess people are still playing poker. I know I stopped in College after I lost $40, two good friends and a chance to sleep with a beautiful girl all in one brutally long night where everyone refused to go all in. Nevertheless, it still stands as a very manly activity and seems to be a legit way to gather the troops, drink brews, and talk shit about girls and sports. It is assumed that all men know how to play a little poker, so if an invitation to play is rejected it means the declining dude is either stingy or a pussy. Neither look is good for a potential friend.

Ha, ve are having so much fun killing Nazis!

Videogame Sesh– Entire weekends used to be spent as children setting proximity mines in a facility in GoldenEye and shroom boosting thru tricky chicanes in Mariokart. Although the games have changed, the murderous rage still boils deep within. Some guys will claim that they don’t enjoy videogames, and that might be the adult thing to say, but what the hell is wrong with them? I dare you to play Call of Duty and murder hundreds and hundreds of Nazis with rocket launchers and not crack a smile, or score three unanswered goals in FIFA ’12 to win in the 90th minute and watch your friend well up with tears. Videogames are a great way to share some laughs and develop a friendly rivalry.

I never wanted to do thisssssss!!

Cliff Jumping– Nothing like warm bud lights and the local meth head population cheering you on. “Fucking jump already!” You might be a Eunuch if a guy asks you to go cliff jumping, and you refuse. Despite my terrible Jeff Foxworthy impression, I’m kind of being serious. I don’t even like cliff jumping. Not even the idea appeals to me, but it has become the ultimate measuring stick for a guy’s schvienstieger. The higher the cliff the better. The sketchier the take off and the gnarlier the landing area, the sweeter of a bro you become. If you can bust a gainer, a hushed silence will fall over the quarry. Cliff jumping is one of the last bastions of pure peer pressure. There are so many reasons not to jump off a cliff, and yet when a dude invites you to hurl your body 60 feet into an icy cold pond with jagged rocks, you do it.

There is literally not a single girl here.

General Boozing and Hounddoggery– This is a risky invite and should always be prefaced with a clear intent to “holler at girls” or help out with your new home brewing kit. Just grabbing beers doesn’t quite cut it for a first time hangout. Even if there aren’t any girls in sight, you guys can still talk about what you would hypothetically do to a girl or say to them if they were there.