Archive for the ‘Jersey Shore’ Tag

World Premier…   4 comments


Let me start this off by saying that I love my wife.  She’s an amazing woman who does things on a daily basis that impact others’ lives in ways I can only dream about.  Having said that, on occasion she also does things that leave me shaking my head in confusion.  This story is one of those instances and the premier of “S#*% My Wife Does That I Don’t Understand”.  (Disclaimer:  If she ever had time or the desire to write anything like this about me, she would have enough material to fill a 12 volume set.)

As anyone who read my last post knows, we had a furnace put in this past Friday.  Our utility room where the furnace is housed is also home to a good amount of random crap.  My wife, being the considerate person she is, cleared out the room so the workers could easily move around.  In doing so, she also disturbed some of the uninvited guests we’ve had come into our warm house from the cold outdoors through the backyard access door in that room.  As I later found out when I noticed what appeared to be a slow moving black golf ball with legs on our bedroom wall, one of these guests was apparently the spider from the wine cellar scene in Arachnophobia.  With the string of obscenities that flew from my mouth, she woke up in a panic and asked what was wrong.  I told her about the spider and she casually responded, “Oh yeah, I saw that thing earlier.  It was in the towel under the litter box.  It ran into the bedroom after I screamed.  I looked it up online and I think it’s some sort of wolf spider or something.”  Phew, good thing Al Gore invented that internet and thanks for the creation story of the tyrannosaurus rex arachnid twenty feet away from where we sleep, honey.  The part I failed to catch was where you stepped on it with your shoe instead of welcoming it to kill us in our sleep.

I don’t want to be married to Xena the Warrior Princess or anything, but is killing a spider that tough?  Maybe I am asking to have my cake and eat it too here, but when I’m home, feel free to act like you’re really scared and let me get all Rambo/Boba Fett on insects 1/100th my size, but when I’m not around throw on some Pink/Alanis Morissette angry woman music and channel your inner G.I. Jane/Ellen Ripley/Chun Li/Sarah Connor and take care of business.  You are the same girl who took a softball off the face, picked up the tooth from the infield dirt, and tried to reinsert it into your gums with your only fear being the possibility of looking like a carnie for the rest of your life.  You walk a half mile through Hyde Park’s finest dimly-lit streets each day for work.  Next time, just smush (not Jersey Shore style) the bug and move on.  Also, the beef in the chilli last week was a little dry…just saying…

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Post-Halloween Monday: Christmas for Creepers   5 comments


In the movie Mean Girls, or as some know it “the approach to the board before Lindsay Lohan’s dive into the deep end of drugs and dating girls that look more like guys than I do”, Lohan’s character describes Halloween as “the one night a year where girls can dress like a total slut and no other girls say anything about it.” In reality, yes, Halloween is very much that type of night. A day before or a day after, including walks of shame the next morning, if a girl were to be seen walking down the street dressed like J-Woww from “Jersey Shore” she would be referred to by her fellow females as a hooker. However, on Halloween night, their friends and complete strangers are there to say “your boobs look awesome with only that piece of duct tape covering them up” or “Gaga would seriously be jealous of how your ass looks in those tights and thong right now.”

The one point Lohan misses, however, is that GUYS will talk plenty about girls and what they are wearing. To clarify, I do mean ALL GUYS, including the ones that don’t see you in person on Halloween night but that you are friends with on Facebook because you went to the same summer camp twelve years ago and they managed to find you on the site. With the rise of popularity of social networks, the Monday after Halloween has become something of a Christmas Day for creeps checking out girls on Facebook. Sidenote – for those who have seen St. Elmo’s Fire, could you imagine what Kirby (Emilio Estavez) would have been capable of if he had Facebook at his fingertips?

As girls come to out of hangover induced comas and blurs, they post their pictures of themselves and friends dressed as “sexy” versions of just about every late 80’s to mid 90’s female cartoon character or generic occupation/feline animal (construction worker, cop, tiger, lion, housecat, black cat, etc). With each picture post, there are guys chomping at the bit to get a glimpse of the girl they went to elementary school with and somehow managed to find and friend donning a Strawberry Shortcake outfit – tied together by a pair of bright green fishnets – on Facebook. I unfortunately witnessed this for myself yesterday while in the computer lab at school. There is nothing like sitting down to print out an article while the guy next to you sings, “Hey there little red riding hood, you sure are lookin’ good…” while checking out a girl dressed as something that involved a red hooded cape and black underwear. The moment that really sealed the deal on my future daughters not leaving the house on Halloween from years twelve through forty dressed as anything other than real-life nuns was when two guys that resembled Bulk and Skull (pictured above) from the Mighty Morphing Power Rangers show three computers down traded comments about how lucky a couple of gals were that the two of them “weren’t at the party to make Gaga gag” and “give Minnie what Mickey can’t” (although that one did actually made me laugh).

I am in no way advocating a change to Halloween traditions and costumes. By all means, continue to dress up the way you have and let yourself go crazy one night a year as you have probably earned it. Actually, while you’re out there, introduce yourselves to my single friends (you’re welcome, guys). Just be aware of and stop “friending” guys you haven’t talked to in years or don’t even know because they are probably in a dark corner of their mom’s basement looking at a picture of you as Tinkerbell from two years ago.