Tag Archives: Personal

Dancing With The “O” Girls

17 Apr

If you don’t have sisters…you just won’t understand

Last week was siblings day! How could I have let that one slip? I wanted to introduce my two sisters to my TGR readers the right way. Obviously by dancing.

My entire family loves to dance. People ask me all the time what I like to do with my free-time…well this is it.

One constant argument between my sisters and I is always….Who has the best dance moves? Saturday nights and sometimes, Tuesday mornings, you can find us battling it out in my Mom’s living room.

So, we decided to settle this argument the right way, with a PUBLIC Dance-Off. (god help me if this ever comes back to bite me)

WARNING: The dance moves you are about to see will blow your mind. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.

Wax On….Wax Off

27 Mar


It’s Spring Time! A time for the sun to warm the earth, a time for a new and bright wardrobe, a time for the plans of summer to begin….but really, Spring time is a time for your post-winter bikini wax.

Similar to my thoughts about getting massages; bikini waxes are bizarre in theory. Removing hair from your nether region is a social fucking phenomenon.

I cringe just looking at this

I cringe just looking at this

I didn’t get my first waxing until 4 summers ago…you know why? My mom always said to me, “Your hair is meant to be there, if it wasn’t, god would make it hairless”

Besides that odd explanation, we now all know who isn’t a fan of rocking the Bald Eagle…if you know what I mean.

So, I made my appointment at the waxing center and walked in with hesitation…

“Welcome Ryan, Linda, your wax-er will be right out…you’re getting the bikini and eyebrow wax correct?” As cheery as possible.


That’s right lady… I’m here to rip the hair follicles out from my face and vag

“ok great have a seat”

You know what really jerks my chains, why the receptionist is so cheery about the whole thing. What is so pleasant about getting a wax? Nobody WANTS to be here, but when you walk-in, the receptionist acts like a greeter for an all inclusive resort in the Caribbean. To top it off, she always want to schedule your next appointment BEFORE you get wax-tortured. Probably because by the time you come back you won’t remember that you screamed the F-word 5 times and that you couldn’t walk for days after. Clever.

My waxer, Linda, appears and summons me back to the room. Here goes nothing…

Frida needs to be introduced to Linda the Waxer

Frida needs to be introduced to Linda the Waxer

“So, I see this is your first wax this season; ill make sure to take it slow’”O great, how embarrassing. Linda, the bikini wax-er clearly can tell I haven’t been here in a while…“So what are we doing today? Bikini, Brazilian, Bleaching?”

“Did you say bleaching? Like bleaching my pubs?”

“No, silly your asshole. Bleaching your butthole”

Put your money where the bleach is.

Put your money where the bleach is.

I’m sorry, I thought she said I can bleach my ass hole…I have many questions….

Does my asshole need to be bleached? It is obvious that its darker? Doesn’t bleaching make everything whiter? Being a white person, doesn’t that automatically guarantee a white hole? Would they offer bleaching to me if I was black? How would that work? Do I have a choice of bleaching with a certain color; like choosing highlights or low-lights?

Look, I admit, I haven’t looked down there since the age of 4 during my “Discovery phase”, I don’t even know what it looks like. But on that note, if I did bleach, who would see it? maybe it’s like getting a tattoo on your back. You never see it, you just know it’s there.

Seriously, what women in their right mind would invent this degrading procedure? I just can’t imagine a woman waking up one day and saying, “Wow, my asshole looks terrible in these jeans…I should bleach it”.

This whole concept is complete over-load for my brain right now.

“Um, yea ill pass on the ass bleaching for today, thanks”

Frog Stance...this is pretty accurate

Frog Stance…this is pretty accurate

“Ok, so well just stick with a full bikini wax then. Put your heels together and relax your legs like a frog…just relax.

Well, Linda, you don’t fuck around, girl-Get right to it.

Relax? No problem, I usually lay flat with my heels pressed together showing complete strangers a full frontal view of my Pickachu.

As Linda turns to retrieve the wax and make me balder than a babies ass…I started to think…

Are you there Bikini Hair? It’s me, Girl Ryan…

“Ready? Here we go!!”….Rip

Look, I’m real sorry about all this…it’s been a great winter…can’t thank you enough for the time that the power went out for 3 weeks or when I went skiing with only one pair of pants on. You probably prevented me from getting hypothermia.


But summer is on the way…and this is just how it has to be…especially if I want to start taking that Pilates class with shorts on. Can’t be the only one at the gym with long-spandex all summer.


Plus I might want to go the beach and play some volleyball…yea…I know I don’t play volleyball, but still, I can if I want to.


You know things just aren’t the same since the summer of 2004…Remember that wave at the beach that knocked me over and took my bathing suit top and bottoms? Yeaaaa… I can deal with flashing my bare A cups… but you, bikini hair…that’s an embarrassment I can’t afford again.

Rip… Rip

Hush, Hush, don’t cry, it will all be over soon.


“Ok, Ryan, now we should probably get the “inner section.” Looking now, this shouldn’t be too difficult to do, your inner’s are very… accessible.”

I have to admit, I haven’t heard someone say that since college and I sure didn’t expect to hear it from my wax-er. And what the hell does that mean my inner’s are accessible? Like its open? Just flying around in the wind?

I suddenly remembered a story I heard last week about this girl who had a sloppy vagina. Obviously, it’s a male’s way of referencing a girl’s parts, basically calling them ugly and mis-moshed. I guess its like a female calling a guy’s area a “Micro-penis”. Though I have never seen one personally, I know what a micro-penis looks like, I googled it. But I have no idea what the fuck a sloppy V would look like.

I quickly took out my phone and did the only thing I could think of at that moment.

Text Message Girl Ryan: DO I HAVE SLOPPY VAG?

Text Message Boy Ryan: ?????

Text Message Girl Ryan: Don’t fuck around, I’m getting waxed at this moment and need to know!

Text Message Boy Ryan: What’s a sloppy vagina? Is that like having Roast Beef Vag?

(Roast Beef vagina: I would define this, but I think you get it)

And no, You have a beautiful vagina.

Text Message Girl Ryan: Ok, if you say so…ttyl

For Life's Biggest Questions

For Life’s Biggest Questions

Ok, I should know by now not to ask my husband questions like this. It’s like asking him if I look fat wearing a hippo costume…he would never tell me the truth.

So, I decided to ask Google what it looks like and never will again….the related searches were composed of the following:
“How do you get sloppy vag?…Is it contagious?…What does it look like?”

Shit I guess this is a common thing. One Medical website even said that 3 out of 8 women have a Sloppy V. Maybe I need to get a professional opinion…Yes…next time when I’m there, I’m going to ask my doctor if I have an ugly vagina.

“Ok, Ryan. Your all done. Here’s a mirror to see if I missed any spots.”

She hands me a hand-held mirror…Seriously? What the hell am I suppose to do with this?!?”

Mirror, Mirror in my hand…who has the prettiest vagina in all the land?

Yes, Mirror, tell me who has the fairest one of all?

Yes, Mirror, tell me who has the fairest one of all?

“That’s OK, I’m sure it looks great…I trust your waxing skills, Linda.”

I quickly scoot out of the wax center-on-fire– and ease into my car. Honestly, all I wanted to do at that moment was go home and dance naked in front of the mirror; you know… check out my new “do”.

But instead, I decided to head over to my mom’s house for dinner. This situation has traumatized me enough for one day and cooking my own dinner tonight was just out of the question.

I opened the door and hear music playing in the living room: Girl on Fire, by Alicia Keys…This girl is on fire…She’s walking Her bikini line is on fire… how appropriate…exactly what I’m feeling right now.

Suddenly, I’m greeted by my mom: “Hey, rye, hungry? I just picked up some Sloppy Joe’s and Roast beef sandwiches for dinner…”

UGH, Fuck my Life.



Always BE Closing

13 Mar
Beware The Heels

Beware The Heels

Dear fellow sales account executives in the world…I have a killer story to tell you.

So yesterday, I definitely had a classic one night stand. I didn’t even bother to call him back after I left.

That is usually how these things start.

I went to the location of a business man…a rich business man. When I showed up I simply handed him my contract and a list of my services.

Without hesitation, he told me what he wanted and how he wanted it.

It was fast, easy and painless.

He even paid me upfront, I didn’t have to even ask for money.

I left out of breath and was completely unsatisfied. It was too easy, I wanted a chase but I took what I could get.

I just closed a sales deal.

I never wanted to start my career in sales, I just couldn’t see myself being any good at it. Usually successful sales people are aggressive, persistent and have no problem asking for your money.

Call me a bad democrat, but I hate asking for money.

Like any recent college grad, sales seemed to be the only fast-track option into the workforce that didn’t require entry-level bitch work.

Entry Level=Coffee Boy

Entry Level=Coffee Boy

One little aspect you must know about sales is that your fellow co-workers will always share their advice on how to be successful, whether you want to hear it or not.

“Sales is like getting a PHD in People. The more you know about them, the more you sell. So you should probably stalk them on Facebook, Twitter and Linkedin”


“The best sales people are actually the best listeners. If you listen more than talk, you will be successful. Because if you continue to talk and talk talk, then nobody will listen because nobody cares…blah blah blah blah blah”-(This advice came from a recently fired employee due to his excessive talking)


“Sales is a bunch of bullshit + Smiling + more bullshit…you will be fine if you do the following”

Alec Baldwin Said It Best

Alec Baldwin Said It Best

As I listened to all the advice offered to me, I realized that most of these quotes never captured the essence of what being in sales is really like.

So I’ve decided that one day when it’s my turn to give the advice, I will say:

“Sales is just like being a white collared prostitute.”

If you can’t make the connection hear me out…

  1. Prostitutes have Pimps….Sales people have Sales managers…Both expect you to be out all day meeting with clients, and return with money. We may not get beaten or stalked, but we sure are held accountable for our quotas.
  2. Just like Prostitutes….sales people meet with their clients, figure out their needs and promise to fulfill them with their services.
  3. The better looking you are, the more money you will make.
  4. Sometimes you do and say things you would never normally would do, in order to close a deal. There are moments you go to Low places in order to do business. Like discount your prices.
  5. In order to be a successful salesperson, you got to recognize when your client is D-T-F, Down to Finance.
  6. Sales people make booty calls, we just call it “Cold Calls”
  7. We walk the streets, only we do it during the day and hit more clients in a shorter amount of time.
  8. Prostitutes get perks, but so do sales people. It may not be jewelry, fur coats or expensive dinners, but we get discounts, tickets and weekend outings.
  9. We too, are only doing this gig to pay our way through college and pay off our student loans…
  10. This industry is known for human trafficking…once you’re in sales, you can’t get out, you just move from company to company.
  11. You make every customer feel that they are special and important even if they are smelly and hairy
  12. Every now and again, we have a “Pretty Woman” Story. Sales executive gets rescued by one of their clients and leaves the business to live a wonder life in marketing
  13. Your clients pay your bills.
  14. If sales is like being a hooker, then customer service is like being a sex slave; Nobody wants to make that lateral move.

Ok, so point made.

Eventually, you stop being a hooker to your clients and your relationship begins to progress into something more…especially when you find out they got more money in their budgets than you were aware of. Now, you are in dating mode and will do anything to show them you are ready to be a committed sales girlfriend.

Typically, I use all my office resources to impress my client, show them how wonderful I can be.

Eventually if your dating goes well, your client will decide to sign a contract and make you their sales wife.

Sign my contract and marry me.

Sign my contract and marry me.

There is nothing better than receiving an email from your client that says, “Attached is the signed contract”

And all you can think is: Yes, I DO! I will be your sales wife!

The joy is overwhelming; this going to be the best sales relationship ever.

Now that you’re a newlywed sales wife, life is great. You treat them with respect, you take them out to lunch on “Sales dates” and everything is peachy.

But sometimes, the honeymoon comes to an end and the abuse begins…They call you non-stop… wondering where you are…why you haven’t called them…accuse you of not giving them enough attention….telling you how much you suck.

Nothing is good enough.

Walking away isn’t an option; your married now. You have to deal with them because, they are financing your life and feeding your children- And you don’t want to starve the children.

And if you can’t find a way to turn the marriage around, they usually file for divorce and discontinue the contract. Never underestimate a client, they can take you for everything your worth; your commission, your perks; YOUR DIGNITY.


You start to think, “what could I have done differently? Maybe I should have been more attentive as a sales wife or took them on more sales dates. How did it get to this?”

I even had one client divorce me because of another woman…another sales wife.

“Ryan, we decided to give our business a new and fresh approach…by signing with your biggest competitor.”

When this happened, I didn’t know what to say…but these lyrics from Bruno Mars came to mind:

I should have bought you flowers
And held your hand
Should have gave you all my work-hours
When I had the chance
Now my baby’s client’s dancing
But my baby’s client’s dancing with another sales-man.

Sales Love hurts.

To all my non-sales readers, if you can take one thing from this post take this:

Before you hang up on that telemarketer or slam the door in someones face, remember that we have feelings and we don’t like to ask for money. We just want to be your hooker.

Happy Selling !!!

PS-if you like my blog…please sign up at the bottom of this post in the “Follow This Blog” box!! After all, i’m trying to sell this shit.

This blog was inspired by Cold Call Me Maybe I highly recommend you check it out!

Silver screen blog posthttp://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/03/13/daily-prompt-silver-screen/

Chuck E Cheese…A Place Where You Can Beat Your Kid!

24 Feb
My mind is forever ruined

My mind is forever ruined

I brought my daughter to Chuck E. Cheese; once a childhood favorite past time, now a memory I wish to forget. I spent 45 minutes in Chuck E. Cheese and to be completely honest, I haven’t felt that many emotions all at once since the first time I tried Hard Liquor.

Casting Call!!!

Casting Call!!!

At first glance, I couldn’t tell if I was in a Chuck E Cheese or in a casting call for MTV’s show 16 and pregnant. There were so many pregger teens, that I began to think perhaps these girls had so much fun here as a child, they couldn’t wait to come back. Almost like a Chuck E. Cheese pregnancy pack. Maybe they came here to get used to all the annoying children screaming and crying. Or maybe they came to learn how to properly discipline their children. I have never seen so many instances of child abuse in one area. Parents were beating their kids left and right. A Smack here, a spank there. It was so bad I started to wonder if Chuck E. Cheese should consider a different tag line;

Chuck E. Cheese, A place where a kid can be a kid you can beat your kid

Moving through the crowds of people I noticed that Addison stuck out like a sore thumb. Here we have this little white girl with bright blue eyes, blonde hair and a matching outfit from the Gap (she also had a bright bow in her hair to top it off). I felt like I stuck a sign on her that read, “Your right, I’m not on welfare” and of course Addison had the attitude to go along with that invisible sign. If all these kids were older, Addison would have been asking for a beat down.

We made our way over to the games and I quickly realized I had entered the front lines of a war. Being the civil person that I am, I waited my turn for every game, however, rules do not apply in Chuck E. Cheese. Every single line rule was thrown out the window; it was a straight free-for all.

Now, there is only so much line cutting a person can take before they snap and I believe Boy Ryan was at that point when I spotted an open game…I decided to move quickly on it.

This Meant War

This Meant War

Mama Bird to Papa Bird, I’m seeing a vacancy at the “Fishing Boat” Game. Look at your 3 o clock… Over”

“Papa Bird copies that, let’s make our move… Over”

We scooped up Addison and B-lined, and  ran over to the game before anyone else saw the opportunity.  We put in the coin to start the game and this little boy- we will call him Little Jose -walked up and helped himself to the game. He just started hitting buttons and completely took over. Addison was immediately turned off by the intruder and I shrugged my shoulders in defeat. But, Boy Ryan hit his breaking point. He bent down to get on the level of Little Jose, who by the way couldn’t have been more than 5 years of age:

“Hey, its not your turn. Its her turn so you need to wait in line”

“Como se?”

“Como se, it’s NOT YOUR TURN”

“Te Llama?”

Boy Ryan rolls his eyes and scoots the boy to the side of the game so Addison can play.

“Look, Kid, Not your turn. Her Turn. Comprehende? Adios” He turns back to Addison and I.

Can you believe that? The nerve, I almost lost my shit”

After about ten minutes we realized that playing any game was a total suicide mission,  so we moved our way over to the tunnels and slides.

This used to be my favorite part of Chuck E. Cheese. I have never been a big game-er so I spent most of my time crawling in and out of those tunnels. I wanted more than anything for her to try them out. But you must know, my daughter lives in a bubble. Not because I am an overprotective parent, but because she is the most cautious child I have ever met. She thinks the fire alarm in our house is a danger to her.

“Addison, look how fun those tunnels look! You should try it!”

“Mom, I am too little for those tunnels, maybe next year. I really just want a balloon.”

I was so disappointed to hear that… I may or may not had promised a balloon in return for a trip through the tunnels. At the time I did not see this as bribing my kid, I saw it as parenting. They are more or less the same exact thing.

Addison looked at the tunnels above her, then at the balloons, then at me, “Ok, ill go”.

As she reached the last platform, a large child pushed past her almost knocking her down the stairs. My instinct kicked in and I walked over to exchange words with this little fatty.

How dare he push her, does he not understand that one tumble down those steps will make Addison’s bubble a cement case? She will never want to leave the house again.

Would you want to mess with Aunt Jemima?

Would you want to mess with Aunt Jemima?

But then I caught a glimpse of his mother. This lady looked like Aunt Jemima’s evil twin sister. Taking one look at this woman, I decided it was best to let Addison fend for herself, it was about time that kid held her own.

Addison finally made it to the last platform and entered into the tunnels. Boy Ryan and I tried to follow her shadow above us as she crawled through the tubes, but soon lost sight of her. I panicked and realized this was a very bad idea, worst than my idea of wearing penguin underwear to a back massage session.

It had been years since I went into those tunnels but I remembered the dangers, shit can hit the fan real fast. When you come to a fork in the tunnel and spot an older, much larger child barreling down in your direction, you better turn and crawl your little ass as fast as possible or you will be road kill.  All I could imagine was Addison learning that lesson the hard way. Great, I just sent my kid into hand-to-hand combat all because I promised a fucking Chuck E. Cheese Balloon…

Boy Ryan interrupted my thoughts, “Do you see her?”

“No, do you?!”

“No, Jesus Ryan why did you let her go in there? I would have never let her go. Do you not remember how crazy, shit can get in those things?”

“What, she wanted to go in there, she is growing up you know she can do stuff like this. She isn’t a baby”

Yes, the look of anxiety

Yes, the look of anxiety

As Boy Ryan and I frantically raced back and forth trying to find Addison, I overheard another mother say to her husband, “Aw look, they must be newbies.  Remember how frantic we were the first time Johnny went into those tunnels? Thank gosh he only came out with a black eye!”

I should have bribed her into watching that dancing rat on stage, Chuck E. Cheese himself. At least it was a safe place where I could explain that the big rat is the last person to worry about in this cluster fuck.

The only thing Addison had going for her was her vast experience with Dora The Explorer. She definitely knows enough conversational Spanish to make a friend in those tunnels.

Finally we spotted Addison being led by a little girl, not too much older than herself. I assumed Addison trusted the little girl because she resembled a chubby version of Dora the Explorer.  Addison popped up in one of the glass cubes and waved to us, pointing to her Dora friend. I breathed a sigh of relief… ok, she is still alive….

mail.google.com1 mail.google.com

As the little girl walked Addison back to us, we quickly put on her shoes and decided it was time to move on to our last resort, the rides.

So , once again we waited in our invisible line and watched as people cut us over and over. I finally started to lower my behavior to a barbaric level and push my way onto a horse ride, but these two children beat me to it and Addison missed her chance again. Frustrated, I sighed and was just about to yell when I see the two kids Baby Mama walk over with her additional 4 kids in tow.

So I say (in the nicest voice possible), “Um, Hi, excuse me we were waiting in line…”

“You what? You was waiting in line? I didn’t see nobody in line, they ain’t no lines in Chuckee-Cheese.”

Yes apparently there aren’t any lines, but we have been patiently waiting here for about 15 minutes now. My daughter really wants to ride the horse, don’t you sweetie?” I turned to Addison.

Of course Addison completely throws me under the bus. “No, I want to ride the butterfly, I don’t want the horse”. I quickly shift my eyes to Boy Ryan who is pretending to be on his phone.

Thanks Guys, just sacrifice me to the angry Baby Mama. I will remember this moment when I’m doing your laundry tomorrow.

Baby Mama yells louder, “I’m sorry, there something you want to say to me? Cuz im listening.”

220px-CarterIIII searched my brain for something quick to say and my eyes landed on the little baby, Baby Mama was holding. Like every small infant in Chuck E. Cheese, this baby had the sharpest Timberland Boots with a collared shirt and fuzzy black hair. How cute!

This place must be where Lil’ Wayne found the baby on the front of his Tha Carter III CD album. There are tons of them here.

“ Hey, lady, Im listening…”

Call it fear or call it being the bigger person, but I was not about to throw down with this lady over a fucking pony ride. I’m usually not above a lot, but I am above brawling in a Chuck E. Cheese.

“That’s Ok, we were just about to leave”

“Damn Right you was”

So we left, rather quickly.

With my ego in one hand and a balloon in the other, I am not too proud to say that Chuck E. Cheese kicked my ass.

Chuck E. Cheese- 1      That Girl Ryan-0

Leaving the building, I don’t know who was more scarred; Boy Ryan, Me or Addison. Chuck E. Cheese, you have completely let yourself go, Zero Fun.

O, and on a side note…I have made an executive decision that Chuck E. Cheese and Walmart are now on the same status level. There are now officially TWO places where the creatures from the depths of the earth gather and hang out. That place is a total hot bed of society mis-fits.

With that, I will not be returning to Chuck E. Cheese anytime soon.

Adios,  you dancing rat.

Shear Disappointment Chuck E. Cheese

Shear Disappointment Chuck E. Cheese

The Most Interesting Man In The World

19 Feb

This topic was inspired by a writing challenge that was posted on WordPress.com last Friday.

The Prompt:

This week’s writing challenge: Tell us about a character in your life. It could be your best friend, your partner, your child, or even your third grade teacher. With as much detail as possible, make this person real for us. Tell us more than what they look like or how you met. Let us know what their laugh sounds like, or that oddball quirk that makes this person so unique.

After reading this, one person in my life immediately came to mind….

The Man of the Hour

The Man of the Hour

Coming into this world, you don’t get choose much. Your parents, your home, your siblings…they usually just come with the main package of birth. Sometimes I wonder that maybe each of us are placed strategically in an environment to learn valuable life lessons from those around us. Well, let me tell you, this particular person has taught me a lot about life, in a variety of interesting ways.

This character at first glance is very normal looking, brown eyes with blondish hair (blonde from sun-in, but he would never admit that) his height is nothing to gawk at and neither is his weight; the one thing that makes this character in my life so unique is his mind. This character has the most interesting perspectives I have ever heard, his thoughts and theories would crumble a grown man’s entire moral structure (in a good way) with one in-depth discussion because you just can’t predict what this guy is going to say next.

Let me put it to you this way; I’ve known the man my entire life and still can’t figure that fucker out.

You just haven’t lived until you have spent some time with my dad.

My dad is a born and breed jersey boy, but not the Guido type. He is still married to my mother, lord help him and has three girls, the best being his eldest daughter, me of course.

Ever since I was a wee-toddler, I have always found him fascinating. His mind works in ways that I don’t think Stephan Hawke could keep up with and he has more conspiracy theories than Jesse Ventura. He is just THAT interesting.


So, let’s all try and understand my dad, maybe you can figure him out. 

Andy’s Advice 

My dad gives some killer advice. His advice does not come in long winded speeches or rants; His advice comes out of nowhere and is never up for discussion. He literally will walk into a room, delivers the line and exits (no questions please). You just take it for what its worth and move on.

My top 5 favorite Andy Advice lines:

  1. If you ever do something bad and get caught, don’t ever admit to it. Even if you get caught red-handed, you LIE and LIE and never admit it was you.(age 12)
  2. Police are all pigs, they are out to screw you over. Don’t ever trust a cop, I can’t stand them. (age 17)
  3. Listen Ryan, I’ve done a lot in my life and I am all for trying everything once. Seriously, try it all once but always, no matter what, always make sure you wrap the “Tool” before having fun. (age 16)
  4. When I die, I am going to visit you as a ghost, don’t be all scared…because then I will just screw with you and make you scared. (age 20)
  5. You only get about 80 solid years on this earth, so you might as well have a good time while you’re here. (age 23)

Andy’s Spirituality

My dad has always been interested in the supernatural and unexplained phenomenon. When my friends come over, the only rule I asked them to follow with my dad is to NOT ask/talk/mention anything related to ghost, psychic or orbs. They can talk about drugs, sex and rock and roll, but please -NO supernatural shit.

My dad’s particular interest is orbing (catching ghost energy in pictures). According to some ghost hunters, a person’s energy never really disappears, even after they die. Their energy is attracted to other energy which is why if you take a picture, orbs can be present in the photo.



When I was younger, about 10, he would pick me up from soccer practice and tell me that we are making a pit stop before heading home. I would get so excited thinking we were going to get ice cream but you know where the pit stop was? In a fucking graveyard. My dad would go to the graveyard with his camera so he could get photo evidence of  spirits. He would actually make me get out of the car and be in his pictures to “attract” the spirits. I am no expert in parenting, but using your child as ghost bate doesn’t seem to be very orthodox.

One time, my family actually took an orbing vacation to Gettysburg on the anniversary of the Gettysburg battle. Yes, courtesy of Andy, we spent 4 days romping around the battlefields at night taking pictures to catch orbs.

I remember going back to school after summer vacation…

“So Ryan, I went to the Bahamas over summer break, what did you do?!”

“I went ghost hunting with my family in graveyards”

That is a great transition into my dad’s next fascination, psychics. Have you ever heard of Edgar Cayce? Well he is a famous psychic that wrote a bunch of books on futuristic prophecies, past life predictions and holistic ways to cure sicknesses. Needless to say my dad has always been a loyal fan. He has even tried some of these holistic treatments to cure my family…

Got a Problem? Andy’s got an answer for that!


Nagging Cough?
Andy’s Answer: take an empty barrel, fill it with apple brandy and breathe in the fumes with short tube.
You want to know how embarrassing it is to have your friends come over and your entire family is inhaling fumes from a barrel full of apple brandy? No, because I bet your dad would simply go down the street for some fucking Robitussin.

Hair loss?

Andy’s Answer: Crude Oil!

Crude Oil comes from god knows where, it smells like rubber and engulfs the entire house in that exact smell. My dad would bathe his head in this shit, every other day for months to encourage his hair follicles to grow. But it gets worse…He would force me to look at his “bald spot” –located on the back of his head-and tell him his hair was growing back.

“Ryan, come here. Look at my head. Is there more hair there?”

“Dad, It looks no different from last week”

“What the fuck do you  mean? Yes there is your not looking hard enough, look again”

“Dad, I don’t see anything. I have to go”

But even if you do tell him you see the hair growth, that’s never good enough, he must see the proof for himself. My sister actually found a folder on his computer of “Bald Spot” pictures. He would take pictures of his bald spot, upload them on his computer so he could analyze the growth himself.

I would assume most dad’s have a secret folder of porn pictures on their computer; mine has a secret folder of “hair re-growth” pictures on his.


Andy’s Answer: Jerusalem Artichokes.

This year when my 9 year old sister was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, (the kind that’s in-curable), guess who had the cure?! Modern medicine? No, of course not because brilliant doctors have no idea what they are doing. But Andy knows just the trick, Jerusalem Artichokes. My dad suggested that my sister stop taking insulin and just eat Jerusalem Artichokes to cure her diabetes, but unfortunately, my mother put a stop to that plan.

Famous Andy Pranks

My dad’s pranks have left lasting scars on my development as a competent adult.

1. When I was 6, sometimes my mom would go on business trips. My dad would take of advantage of the lack of parental authority and let me watch movies such as Freddy Krueger, Chucky, and Poltergeist.

Ok, so I can live with little kids watching scary movies, but he would take it a step further. He would hide in my room, preferably in a dark corner and put on his Freddy Kruger mask from Halloween. When I would walk into my room and turn on the lights, SURPRISE Freddy Kruger, the child killing machine would be there to greet me. He always found this hilarious and never could understand why I am still scared of the dark at the age of 24. Thanks Dad for the heart-restart.

Imagine this beauty hiding in your room.

Imagine this beauty hiding in your room

2. Fast forward a few years later, age 9, and my family went on a camping trip. My dad runs down to the local grocery and invited me to come along. While we was in the store, I found a playground and asked my dad to let me know when he was leaving. About 10 minutes later as I was on the swings, I see my dad’s car drive off. I immediately start to race after the car, waving my hands and screaming to my dad. The car continued down the street, turned the corner and disappeared. I sat for a moment to take in what had just happened, my dad left me at a gas station and I started to hysterically cry.  About 6-8 minutes later, the car returned and I see my dad laughing his ass off.

Ryan, the look on your face was priceless! Hahaha that was so funny, you actually thought I left you. I was just playing a joke, get in the car, And- O and don’t tell your mother”


Andy’s War on Technology

At home, my dad is always on the computer, probably re-analyzing his bald spot pictures. When you ask him what he is doing, he immediately responds with “Im doing some work”. But you know what he is really doing? He is reading about  holistic medicine therapies, researching UFO sightings, and surfing on facebook.

Andy has more friends on facebook than I do. You know why? Because he has friended all of my friends. I actually have been at a party and overheard two of my friends chatting,

“O, so I saw your friends on facebook with that guy Andy; who the hell is he?”

“I dunno, I saw he was friends will all my facebook friends so I just accepted his request.”

I refuse to inform these people that, that guy “Andy” is my dad because at the end of the day, he will always be that guy who “likes” your post.  Even if you posted the dumbest thing on facebook, Andy will “Like” the post and make you feel special, so its better, I guess, he friends everyone. 


Want to friend Andy? Here's his profile...just be careful, he might find you first: https://www.facebook.com/andrew.olexson?ref=ts&fref=ts

Want to friend Andy? Here’s his profile…just be careful, he might find you first: https://www.facebook.com/andrew.olexson?ref=ts&fref=ts


Once My dad asked me to take off the auto correct on his cell phone because it messed up his text messages.

“Why do you want me to take it off dad?

“Because I can’t spell certain words. Like for instance, yesterday I went to spell Farkle and it kept auto-correcting to the word, Sparkle”

I’m no spelling-bee winner, but what the fuck is farkle? Is that a real word, can you use it in a sentence? Who texts the word farkle?

Well I looked it up….

Just a typical Saturday night playing FARKLE!

Just a typical Saturday night playing FARKLE!

The back-extension machine

One weekend my dad was MIA. He was locked up in the garage and nobody knew what he was up to. Then on Sunday night, he came upstairs and you could tell he was very proud of himself. He grabbed a drink of water and went back downstairs. I assumed that he had finished his project so I followed him a few minutes after to snoop and see what he was up to.

I open the door to the garage and saw my dad hanging from the ceiling, upside down like a bat in a cave. I looked up to the ceiling and realized he had taken his old roller blades and made them shoe-hooks. These hooks, were attached to an anchor on a piece of wood that was nailed into the ceiling.

“God dammit ryan, shut the door! I am fixing my back!”

“fixing your back? Your hanging from the ceiling! What is the point of that?”

“I read on the internet that this helps your back, now get out. O, and don’t tell your mom, she will get all psycho and tell me I’m weird”

Yes, the man created a home-back extension machine in his own garage. You have got to give him kudos for the idea…

Doomsday wannabe prep-per

Have you ever seen that show “DoomsDay Prepper?” My dad is borderline qualified to be on this show. Him and my mother went through a mid-life crisis and they did not buy a red convertible or get a younger girlfriend or boyfriend, they started prepping.

Step 1: The developed a “ trash composite” site in their backyard

Step 2: They bought a generator

Step 3: They began eating weird plants like “Wheat grass” and Chi Seeds

Step 4: They dug up the entire yard to put in public water system so they can save their well water for a “disaster”

Step 5: They hoard enough fire wood to heat the neighborhood

Step 6: They started lecturing my siblings and I about the end of the world and their plan of action

Step 7: My dad started researching on the internet all the possibilities that could result in a doomsday situation and the many things he needs to do to prepare for each.

Step 8: When Hurricane Irene hit, a lot of the transformers in the town started to explode and gave off a bright green light. My parents insisted these were not transformers, but aliens landing on earth.

Dooms Day Preppers, Meet Andy.

He could survive any disaster.

He could survive any disaster.

So yes, when your born you don’t choose your parents and I’m so glad I got stuck with mine. My dad may be a little off center, but he’s quite an interesting character and if you know my dad, you are just as lucky as I am.

And Dad, if your reading this…I already know what you’re thinking,

“This whole post is full of shit. I DO NOT take pictures of my bald spot”

Well, the entire world knows that you really do. But dad, do us all a favor- don’t ever change a thing, I love you just the weird way that you are.


I Named My Pet Peeve, It’s Called “Annoyance”

7 Feb

Pet Peeve

Hello my TGR Readers! This is my 10th post on my blog, Yeah Me for sticking to something!

I was really stumped thinking of what I could write this week to mark my 10th blog posting. It really pissed me off. So after sitting for hours thinking and annoying myself….wala! Being annoyed actually inspired me to write about annoying things…WEIRD annoying things. So, I made a list of my top 5 Pet Peeves.

But before I dive into my list, I want to let you know that I am really interested in what annoys YOU!

At the end of this post, please post your strangest pet peeve and a little bit about why it drives you nuts.

Let’s see who has the strangest pet peeve out there…

My Top 5 Strangest Pet Peeves

1. Fake Huggers

Clearly a fake hug caught in a photo

Clearly a fake hug caught in a photo


My publicists and I have gotten into deep discussions about “Fake hugs”. I bet each one of you has a fake hugger in your life. These fake huggers give the weakest, most non-emotional hugs a human being could provide. A feather might actually give you a better hug.

Sometimes I get the hug and just think, “Why even hug me at all? Why don’t we just skip the hug and move on”.

Definition of a fake hug: usually come as a side hug (they reach across you with one arm and hold an itty-bitty squeeze for 3 seconds) or a failed bear hug (they put both arms around you and keep so much space in the middle that you awkwardly have to lean away and hug their shoulders).

Fake huggers, hug you as if you have some contagious disease and they don’t want to get infected. Its ok, because fake huggers are just fake people, never trust a fake hugger. You know how that saying goes, don’t judge a person by how they look? Well, you can definitely judge them by how they hug. One day, I believe there will be a study done on the correlation of bad hugging and bad people.

And just a note, if you have no idea what the hell i’m talking about, chances are you that you give fake hugs. I suggest  learning how to give a proper hug quickly or sticking to classic cheek kissing.

2. Fat People in McDonald’s

There is nothing rewarding about this picture.

There is nothing rewarding about this picture.

Ok, picture this…you have been religiously sticking to your diet and workout routine. You maybe have lost some weight and are feeling great. Now, if your anything like me, you know its time for THE ultimate reward (and I ain’t talking about a shopping spree). You know its time for a Big Mac/ Milkshake Combo at McDonald’s.

So you pull up in your car, butterflies are going off in your tummy as you open that door, and you even trade smiles with a stranger because you both know this is a moment when life is at it’s best. Nobody comes to Micky D’s unhappy.

You continue down that the walkway to the “Place your order” counter and look up as your take your place in line. And that is when you see it, you are standing in line behind THE 700lb man.

Whoomp Whoomp.

I know this is extremely shallow, but it ticks me off to see obese individuals in fast food places. Its like a reminder of why I shouldn’t be there and it’s no where near a satisfying experience.

To be honest, it’s about as satisfying as eating and shitting on the toilet at the same time.

3. Food Thieving

This next pet peeve is a bit extreme, but it makes the top five.  I believe it has something to do with my childhood.

My parents were always against us kids eating junk food-Thank you mom and dad, my hips and ass appreciate it.

You see, when my parents would buy junk food it would only be on special occasions, usually, every 6-8 weeks, minimum. Between my siblings and parents, we would eat junk food like it was going out of style because you just never knew when the  next binge of junk food would be coming. Carpe Diem.

This had a profound effect on dining situations that I have encountered as an adult.


I am sitting in a restaurant and the waiter brings out the food that I had ordered. Lets just say I ordered Lasagna.

Bobby-a friend I am dining with- takes his fork, reaching across the table, and helps himself to a piece of my lasagna.

-End Example-

This might be normal to you, but to me…this is a total FOOD Party FOUL. It doesn’t matter how close of friends Bobby and I are, he just crossed a line.

When this situation occurs, an animal-is-tic rage comes over me and I have visions of taking my fork and poking Stabbing the hand of the food burglar.

First off, certain food items are considered luxuries in my belly (remember, I was a junk-food deprived child). These days the stomach and I-We’re gluten-free. Lasagna is a fucking treat.

Second off, if I wanted to give you a piece I would offer you a piece. There was no asking, no eye contact for approval, Shit, not even a nod that says, WOW, that looks great let me try some-nothing. Just a fork, on my plate, in my food.

When this situation occurs, I usually don’t say anything or make a fuss, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I  had a total melt down over it one day. I think I would grab their mouth, pull the food out  and say something like, “Back off Bitch, that’s my lasagna”.

4. Breathers

This has two sub-categories: Phone breathers and Food breathers.

A.    Phone Breathers….UGH, I come across these people everyday in my profession. They breathe into the phone so much you can’t even understand what they are saying. The worst is when breathers leave me voicemails because you now have to listen to the message 4 times so that you can decode the words between each breathe.


HMMMMMM, Hello, my name is Cindy, HHMMMMMMM, I am calling to, HMMMMM, To ask if you could give me a call back as soon as you can. 973. Hmmmmmm. 77….hmmmmm….56, HMMMMMMM, Thank you, have a nice Day HHHHHHHHHMMMMM

My immediate thought to Cindy:

Cindy, just write me a fucking email.

B.    Food breathers…These types of people breathe heavily while chewing their food. It’s like eating dinner next to a vacuum.

Unfortunately, My mother falls into this category.  I sometimes get so annoyed by her breathing while she eats, that I have to play my Ipod or talk loudly at the dinner table to drown out the sound.

One time, when she was eating broccoli, she noticed that I was annoyed by her breathing. So to make a point, she asked :

“Ryan, would you rather:

Allow me to eat my broccoli and breathe…….. or Suffocate on the broccoli

I sat for a while thinking about this question….and I decided not to answer.

5. In-betweeners

The finish off my top 5 pet peeve list, I want to explain the “In-betweeners”.

Have you ever been walking through the store and catch a glimpse of a person that has an “in-between” gender? You actually have to ask yourself,  “Is that person a boy or a girl?”.

It's always a surprise

It’s always a surprise

I have noticed that I usually encounter this pet peeve in Walmart and the person always falls under 1 of 2 categories…

1. The Girl Who Could Be a Boy

2. The All-Too-Obvious-Woman

The girl who could be a boy… The Question: is that person a chubby lesbian or a feminine looking man? It’s not like their outfits are dead give-a ways so your eyes always go to the obvious area of the body, The Boobs. But here is what gets tricky, Boobs can be real or they can be man boobs. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.


Chaz, great example

The All-Too-Obvious-Woman….At first glance, your brain thinks, woman, but then you take a second look because  you honestly haven’t seen a single woman your whole life who is as tall as Yow Ming the basketball player. Once you notice the height, you go again to the boobs and see that they are a little off center or a little too pointy to be real, but then again Madonna made that look work in the 80’s.  So you continue to scan for more clue and that most likely brings you to the person’s nails… the nails are always super-long and painted a ridiculous zebra print.

And then you get to the shoes, always a dead give a way.

These all-too-obvious women always do this, no matter what the season or the temperature is outside, they always wear open-toed sandals that are way too small for their feet.

All Too Obvious

All Too Obvious

But even if you have the signs listed above, you never REALLY know the truth.
And that is why I get so annoyed; I can’t even focus on my shopping by this point.

Either way it’s a total loose/loose situation. Sometimes I leave the store in a deep internal conversation….

“That was a guy! Did you not see the hair on the hands?”

“No way, the boobs were too big to be a guy, it was definitely a girl. She was just a Rosie O’Donnel type of girl”

“Ha! Those were total man boobs. They were the result of too much Kentucky Fried Chicken. There wasn’t even a formation of a breast bud present under that shirt!”

And that my friends, concludes my top 5 list.

So now that you know mine, What Are Your Pet Peeves?


Kardashian Brainwash

23 Jan

As I was watching another dreaded night of football games with my NFL addict, a commercial popped up about the upcoming season of Keeping up with the Kardashians

Kim: “Stay out of my life mom”

Courtney: “Your such an ass, just leave me alone, Scott”

Khloe: “Kim and Courtney, you really need to grow up and be MA-TU-ARE. You should be more like me and Lamar.”

Don’t miss an episode of your favorite family; watch Keeping up with the Kardashians tomorrow night at 8pm CST.

You should all strive to be a Kardashian

You should all strive to be a Kardashian

Something about this commercial got my mind thinking… Why is it so important to keep up with the Kardashians? Why are these brunette, fat lipped, black-men loving gals so wonderful that now we have to “keep up” with them? They go against most of our social norms; having children out of wed-lock, implants in all the right places and posting sex tapes online (completely overrated). But, we as Americans totally glorify them!

We love watching them…but why?

Maybe to feel better about ourselves? Maybe to fantasize what it would be like to be a Kardashian? (I would soooo want to be Kim).

Honestly, I think it’s because we are just stupid and like to be distracted by nonsense on television.

Like for instance, Good Morning America spent 35 minutes discussing the story on that Hawaiian football player…Te’o. They played a whole video clip about the situation. First the camera focused on the Notre Dame Coach holding a press conference. “WE are thoroughly investigating the situation and will let you know when we have further information”. Then the camera moves to Dan Abrams, Legal Analyst for the morning show.

Your telling me this strapping football star can't get laid at Notre Dame? Please...even the nuns are laughing. #PullingATebow

Your telling me this strapping football star can’t get laid at Notre Dame? Please…even the nuns are laughing. #PullingATebow

Abrams: “Well, technically, he didn’t do anything wrong if he did make up the girlfriend. I mean you are allowed to make up an imaginary girlfriend.”

Whoa, thank you Dan Abrams for getting a law degree to discuss this kind of controversy. What are the concerned people of America to think without your intelligent input!?

Why is my morning of news filtered with football player’s made up girlfriends and what Michelle Obama did to her hair? Why?

It’s really not our fault; we are programmed to be retarded individuals from an early age. Nickelodeon and Disney are really just early introductions for total brainwashing tactics. Have you ever REALLY watched some of these shows as an adult? After watching a full 3 hours of TV with my daughter, I’m convinced our youth is being strategically brainwashed.

Let’s start with everyone’s favorite…Dora the Explorer and Go Diego, Go!

Dora and Diego, is definitely a way for Nickelodeon to deal with the growing Hispanic population. At first glance, you think, how wonderful, all the children of American are being taught Spanish and learning valuable lessons on the Hispanic culture. A real life example of the “Melting Pot”!

But then you take a deeper look…

First off, Dora and Diego’s parents are pretty negligent. I’m not one to judge, no one’s perfect, but I certainly wouldn’t allow my child to run around in the jungle with a rabid monkey wearing boots. I don’t know, call me crazy, but it sounds a bit dangerous.

Speaking of running around in the jungle, why is it that Dora and Diego always seem to be on an adventure that requires running away, jumping over obstacles, referencing a map and transporting “little stars” in a magical backpack that can hide everything…Hmm, that sounds a bit fishy… like a Drug Mule. I bet Dora is running an entire drug smuggling operation out of that backpack.

Yea, I'm on to you Dora.

Yea, I’m on to you Dora.

There was even one episode in which Dora and her rabid monkey run into a big problem with… “The Grumpy Old Troll”.

Now say that name really fast…what does it sound like? Umm…YEA…BORDER PATROL.

I'm Seeing some Striking Similarities

I’m Seeing some Striking Similarities

The Grumpy Old Troll

The Grumpy Old Troll

Dear Mr. President, the war on drugs needs to continue and Dora’s backpack needs to be thoroughly checked.

Ok, so maybe Dora and Diego are really drug smugglers trying to cross into the United States, but here is the real kicker… the real purpose for Dora the Explorer was to prepare kids for a Full Mexican takeover.

Dora the Explorer and Diego are really just futuristic visions of what is would be like if Mexico took over the world.

To back up my theory, I must introduce the main antagonist, he is a little fox named Swiper. When you take a look at all the other characters in the show, Swiper has no accent and does not speak a word of Spanish. He doesn’t care what kind of adventure Dora is on, he just wants to steal all of her hard-earned stars and take away her important missions. He is always the “BAD GUY”. I think there are some interesting analogies here, sounds eerily familiar does it not? Could Dora be trying to teach children that, “Brown is the new White?”.

Even Dances like a white guy.

Even Dances like a white guy.

Now let’s shift focus….

Yo Gabba Gabba.

First off, this show is fucking crazy. The creator definitely had to be a crack head that thoroughly enjoyed taking LSD.

I know my ADD is bad, but even I can’t keep up with the transition of it. A typical show goes like this: First, the characters are dancing to a DJ remix then they are jumping around; then they are singing songs about “biting your friends”… Then they do some more dancing and singing and- BAM some colors flash on the screen and then it ends.

After its over you think, “What the hell just happened?”

So let me explain all the characters…

Would you trust this man to babysit?

Would you trust this man to babysit?

DJ Lance-He is a black guy who wears tight orange spandex and a fluffy hat. He dances like Michael Jackson and has an insanely creepy smile.  He may or may not be a child molester, I still haven’t decided.

The whole show revolves around his suitcase full of creatures…every start of the show he walks on stage and pulls out his suitcase where the creatures come to life…

Here's The Gang. From left to right...Broobie, Foofa, Plex, Toodee, Muno

Here’s The Gang. From left to right…Broobee, Foofa, Plex, Toodee, Muno

Foofa-she’s pink, silly and very cute. If I could make a vagina into a cartoon character, Foofa would be it.

Broobee-he’s a little green monster with crazy long arms but definitely has psychopathic tendencies.

Plex-a yellow robot that is magical. He is always making some crazy rainbows with unicorns and leprechauns. I believe he might be the other character’s drug dealer because when Plex is around, its always a good time.

Muno, is the giant red…dildo. There is no other way he can possibly be anything else. Plus, DJ Lance is the type of guy who would carry around a red dildo in his suitcase; he is just that kind of a guy.

Toodee– She is blue and…I have no idea what the fuck Toodee is. I even tried to google “What is Toodee?” and still haven’t gotten a straight answer. Not even Wikipedia knows what she is.

My first issue with this show is the songs. One day I was half listening to the TV and this one particular song came on. I began to get really suspicious of the lyrics… See Below.

“Nice and Easy”-sung by Foofa and Broobee.

Background: Foofa and Broobee are supposedly bird watching in a park. Broobee keeps scaring the birds away because he is so loud and disruptive. So Foofa tries to explain that he needs to be more quiet.

She sings….

Foofa: “Nice and Easy, Nice and Slow, It’s nice to be quiet and listen you know, lets be quiet and listen…shhhh…Nice and Easy…lets be quiet.”

Broobee: “BUT…Sometimes I have to move around and be LOUD LOUD LOUD!”

And they continue to go back and forth about being loud or being quiet…

Look, were all adults here, we know what they are really doing in that park. And you know what? I don’t blame Foofa for wanting Broobee to be quiet. Like I said, Broobee is not the type of guy you want to be seen “doing the dirty” with, he is a bit unstable and I’m sure DJ Lance and his red dildo would have something to say about it.

BUT THEN, we get to the topic of the WIGGLE SONG. There are no words for the wiggle song. Just watch the short video clip.

My kid stops ALL ACTIVITY to participate in this song.

You know how the CIA gave LSD to house wife’s in the 1950’s to experiment with mind control? Well, Those damn secretive douche bags are at it again! They have figured out a way to telepathically control the mind of little kids through this song. Seeing my daughter go into her “Wiggle” dance during this song is like watching someone have a seizure.

I know now you are starting to wonder if you were brainwashed by shows when you were younger and yes you have…we have all been subjected to it.

I went back through all the shows I used to watch as a child to see if I could pick up on brainwashing evidence that I didn’t catch when I was younger, and let me tell you, one show in particular stuck out…That damn Winnie the Pooh is one sick bear.

Winnie the Pooh…he’s nothing but a fat, naked bastard.

Winnie the Pooh…he’s nothing but a fat, naked bastard.

Do you know that Pooh still to this day does not wear pants? You would have thought by now his friends would say something, like, “Hey pooh, don’t you think your old enough to wear some pants? Want to cover that shit up every now and again?”  I mean come on, even that SpongeBob guy wears pants and he has a hole for a crotch.

Then you have Piglet: the on again-off again transsexual. Are you a boy? OR are you a girl? Just pick a gender and stick with it. Jesus Piglet you really rattle my chains.

And did you ever notice that Tigger is a total schizophrenic? Someone needs to give that bouncing lunatic some xanax.

But then you get to Eeyore- Ugh, can’t stand him now. He is always so depressed. You just want to slap him and be like “EEYORE! Put your god-damn tail back on your ass and be a man”.

It’s just a never-ending cycle of brainwash. If you watch TV it’s too late for you, you have already been re-programmed.  The countless hours you spent watching your favorite past time shows are just a crock of shit.

And that is why you all must get off the computer and turn on the E! Channel, You are missing the re-run episodes of Keeping up with the Kardashians.


NFL Addict

15 Jan

Do you know what my favorite part of January is?!!!

My two fulfilled weeks of New Years Resolutions-NO

Tax refund time?-NO, but that is a wonderful thought.

My daughter’s birthday-NO, A close second for sure though.

Nearing the end of football season? Yes, thank fucking god, yes.

I didn’t mind football in the beginning before I met my husband. I even dabbled in it a few times (bought some pink jerseys, thoroughly enjoyed pre-game tailgate events and participated in discussions about which NFL players had a better looking ass in their spandex.

Now that's what I am talking about!

Now that’s what I am talking about!

Now, I hate it, it has ruined my life. Why you ask? Because I married a NFL-A-Holic.

So for me, January marks the end of football season. It means my husband is finally right around the bend to living a sober, healthy spring and summer. It also means I can finally start to hang pictures up in my new house, have my lawn mowed AND drag my husband along to dreaded weekend errands like grocery shopping. Ahhh the thought brings a tear to my eye.

When I first met my husband, I thought I could change this little habit. Don’t get me wrong, we have made some great progress. I have successfully eliminated the tantrums, one of which ended in a beer being thrown into a wall. I have also ended the excessive crying at the end of each loss, but people, I am no where near the point of ending the addiction entirely. Good thing for me, I am also not alone. There are millions of lonely girls out there who live with these kinds of addicts. To us, “Sunday-Funday” does not exist. Our Sundays are more like “Aw, fuck it’s Sunday”.

For those of you reading this blog wondering, “Could my significant other be a NFL-A-Holic, continue to read, we will find out together.

If you are a NFL-A-Holic, stop reading and get some goddamn help. For Christ sake you people need some serious medication.

Let’s explore the phases of a NFL-A-Holic…

Preseason (gateway behaviors)

The Real Fantasy

Ah, preseason. Perhaps one of the most crucial points in stopping a NFL-AHolic. These  preseason behaviors start early in June/July with…I can’t even write it….


The spreadsheet is a complied, complicated list of NFL players your addict will be drafting for his fantasy football team.

Ask yourselves these questions:

1. Does he spend hours watching NFL preseason highlights?

2. Would he rather watch men in tights 3x days a week than you in tights?

3. Does he have “Spreadsheet Orgies” with his friends? (discusses his picks for hours)

Yes?! Read on…

Be prepared. The fantasy draft excel spreadsheet will become the mistress in your relationship. In my life, my husband is always with the spreadsheet, rushing home to see it, edit it…to get his fix. If he goes more than 3 days without opening it on the computer, he sweats, gets shakes and becomes intolerable.

During this time, I usually say things to press his buttons:

Me: (sexy voice) Hun, would you mind taking a look at MY spreadsheet? I might be your MVP! (wink, wink)

Him: (doesn’t look up from the computer) Sure, when I am done, ill take a look.

Me: (Now in a very angry voice) You know what, you don’t need that stupid spreadsheet. I’ll just tell you what happens this season. Let’s see…You will loose your fantasy league, which is a total waste of money AND The Redskins will not win, disappointment just like every year….(PAUSE)….AND……RG3 Sucks!

Him: UHHHHH, How could you say such a terrible thing like that? I thought we were in this together…Hail To The Redskins…Remember?

Then comes…THE ACTUAL DRAFT (usually 1-2 months after spreadsheets are finalized). The draft IS a binge to an addict.



Take it from me, the actual draft is one of the worst experiences I have ever witnessed.

One time, I decided to sit with him during a draft to fully comprehend the addiction, you know, like try it out and see what all the fuss is about, but honestly, I’d rather give birth to an 80lb baby without medication than to ever do that again!

Call me mama, kid. I'm never sitting through another draft again.

Call me mama, kid. I’m never sitting through another draft again.

Let me just give you a visual; the draft takes 3-4 hours in total. Each person tells the other which overpaid athlete they want on their team. Easy right? No, these idiots change there minds 50 times and take forever to make a god damn pick like their entire existence depended on. The only thing I thought was, “Seriously? After all the hours you spent with that damn excel spreadsheet why wouldn’t you have some type of “Plan B”.

And then the personality changes begin… You know how men claim they don’t like talking on the phone…WRONG. The addiction turns them into little gossiping housewives.

I received this text from my cousin one football night…”Ryan, John was on his phone for three hours discussing NFL. Some stuff about Brady’s numbers? and Peyton throwing across his body?- I dunno weird stuff-but anyway, the phone conversation ended, not because he was finished talking but because his phone died”.  I told her this was getting serious.

I don’t know one talkative girl that can have that kind of stamina.  I’m telling you, The NFL changes the addict’s normal personality structure.

Regular Season (Full Fledged Addiction)

Regular season, the worst. This is full-on addiction at its finest. Nothing gets done, the entire day is planned AROUND 1pm, 4pm or 8pm.

They even start making excuses, like, “I gotta run to the bathroom” or “I gotta go get my wallet from my car” But once you have lived with an addict, you know what they are really doing.  I followed my addict one day and found out he was secretly logging on to YahooFantasy Sports “Changing His Picks”.

Eventually it gets so bad that my addict doesn’t even get dressed on Sundays. Iv’e taken picture evidence for you all to see…

9am on Sunday...

9am on Sunday…


And…8pm that night

Sundays are filled with lots of cursing, yelling and of course tantrums. The tantrums are worse than my 3 years old, I finally know where she gets it from. I am a bit nervous as well because I am starting to believe that this behavior is making a lasting impression. Do you know any 3 year olds that have NEVER heard of Cinderella but can tell you RG3’s best vertical jump?

Monkey See...Monkey Do

Monkey See…Monkey Do

ABC, CBS and Fox- YOU are all homewreckers!

I don’t even have a decent sex life in-season.

No, I don’t keep any kind of sex calendar, my dog documents that for me.

Quick side explanation….

You see about two years back, my addict received a Redskins blanket (like the man needs any reminders of his habit) and it slowly became Joba’s (my dog) blanket. In Joba’s mind, him and I are in a relationship (See: I am a cheater). To him, I am his girlfriend who is unhappily married to “Master” (Boy Ryan). Everytime Boy Ryan and I have sex, Joba chews on his blanket. I assume he thinks Boy Ryan is violating me and because Joba feels he is helpless against Master and can’t come to my rescue. So, he chews and takes out his frustrations on his blanket. Thus, creating the nickname, Joba’s Sex Blanket.




You see that hole in the top right? Yea, summer of 2012., aka Summer of Love.

The blanket is now missing a few months of holes, because from Sept-Jan, I am pretty much celibate (unless the Redskins get a great win, but we all know that’s a rare occurrence).  In-Season, our nights are filled with Pre-game highlights and post-game reviews and I sit, waiting patiently,  while my Sex drive screams, “NO! PLEASE NOT ANOTHER NIGHT OF FOOTBALL.”

How I can’t wait until February 4th; I am truly looking forward to having Joba continue his nibbling rituals. I have no doubt that the return of my sex life will be well documented-thanks to Joba.

Post Season (Postpartum)

Post season for a NFL-a-holic is like postpartum for a new mother. These are the happiest times for me, but devastating for the addict. It’s a time for self reflect, especially if his fantasy team didn’t make the top three. Sometimes there is a remorseful period. He starts to apologize for his lude comments and outbursts while taking NFL. It can get very emotional in our house, but remains quiet, peaceful and productive. The withdrawal symptoms can be devastating and at times- scary. Sometimes, I notice a heightened interest in the NBA Fantasy Teams, but it usually doesn’t last long. It’s usually just turns out to be a temporary void that needs to be filled after Football Season is over. Phewww…

I have my sweetheart back but it never last long because he always re-lapses in June. The relapse is inevitable. It’s about as reliable as an obese person going through the drive thru at McDonald’s; you just know it’s bound to happen.

Being with an NFL addict is not an easy thing, but remember that Post season is right around the corner. WE are Almost There! Hang on to any braincells you still have left!

So with that, January, I welcome you with open arms and February 4th, you can’t get here soon enough.

And Finally, my parting words to the NFL…

All I have to say to you is: GFY, HTTR (Go Fuck yourself “Hail To The Redskins”)

On a Positive Note...

On a Positive Note…


Who Is That Boy Ryan?

28 Dec

The man behind the crazy lady.

As I was watching Batman, The Dark Knight Rises the other night, I had an epiphany. Being married is like knowing who Bruce Wayne really is. All the citizens of Gotham think Bruce Wayne is just some hot billionaire but little do they know he enjoys dressing in tights, wearing a cape and hanging out with wack-jobs in his free time.

Before you get married, you have this glorified vision of what being married is like. Your positive you know who you are married to and will never be surprised by them. But when you get hitched, they surprise the shit out of you! Sometimes in a good way, and sometimes in ways that make your mouth drop.  Therefore, in part two of this blog I want my readers to learn about Boy Ryan and to do this, I think its best to share the things I have learned about Boy Ryan since being married to him.  

Now, before I embarrass the shit out of him and reveal the things that he told me strictly not to talk about,  let me tell you the stuff he would want to me to say about him.  

Boy Ryan is from Virginia, grew up in a decently well off family with good morals and values. He had a typical catholic upbringing, was a super-star jock and is ridiculously good looking. He is a sensitive, quiet guy that is incredibly intelligent. He is very traditional, but bends over backwards for Addison and I. Boy Ryan is very private about his life, let me repeat that, he is VERY private about his life, feelings and accomplishments which makes him a humble person.  He is exactly what we would call, an All-American Boy.  


A Hypocrite Germ-A-Phobe .  BRyan is a self proclaimed germ-a-phobe. He constantly overcooks his meat (for fear of food poisoning) will not touch the dogs without washing his hands (because dogs are dirty) and is a “clean-car” Nazi (if you leave a gum wrapper in his car, you will hear about it). 13522103761952037965_jpeg___1_500_1_500_cb94de6a_However, Boy Ryan missed in important lesson in being a germ-a-phobe; your personal hygiene must be part of your rituals. It was about a year into our marriage I started to notice that he would wear the same pair of underwear 2-4 days in a row. Now, I assume he was trying to save me some extra loads of laundry (very sweet) but because I sleep in the same bed as him, I found this a bit disgusting. I explained to him that you can’t be a germ-a-phobe and re-wear your underwear. It completely contradicts the point and he must pick one personality; Anti-Germ Gerry or Dirty Boy Bob.

A-Don’t Rush Me-Pooper. Boy Ryan is a shitter (excuse my blunt statement). When he has to go, he HAS to go. Just to put this in perspective, at one point during our relationship, I caught him shitting in the backyard (all the bathrooms in the house were occupied). Have you ever looked out of your window to find your boyfriend crouched like a dog doing his business in someone else’s backyard? I’m guessing no. But the important lesson that I learned is from the “Dinner Party Incident”. Ryan of course, decides he has to go to the bathroom, promising that he will be quick. I waited patiently for 2 minutes and knocked on the door to tell him to hurry up. The next thing I know I hear a loud bang and open the door to find him, pants around the ankles, passed out on the bathroom floor. I panicked and woke him up to tell him I was going to call 911. I even offered to wipe his ass before the ambulance came. (sometimes you say things in the moment). He said he was ok and that it was unnecessary to call the ambulance, this sort of thing happens all the time.

Elvis Says, "Only Fools Rush In"

Elvis Says, “Only Fools Rush In”

Now, I’m sure if Elvis Presley were present at that moment, he would of disagreed. After all, the man died on the toilet, but I still thought it was important that he should go to the ER. Till this day I feel responsible for rushing him but it was a lesson learned; Never Rush a Shitter or you might be offering to wipe their ass. 

A Man Who Fears Balding. There comes a time in every male’s life in which they must face the truth that their hair is diminishing.  I think it’s an anxiety similar to women’s fear of getting fat. Ryan has started to realize this and has dealt with the issue head-on. He has started to purchase mass amounts of hair spray so he can “style” his bald spot. He is very particular about his hair and won’t let me within 2 inches of his head (god forbid I mess it up). He even hides his hairspray bottles and goes into a different bathroom to style it, as if he is trying to hide the fact he is going bald. I try and suggest things like buying Rogaine or getting hair plugs, but he gets defensive and says, “O, so you DO think I am going bald?”. I assume this is how guys feel when girls pull out the “I am so fat” card. I feel your pain boys, I get it now. The  best advice I can give him now came from a shirt, “Keep Calm and Bald On”.

A Man With A Secret Alter-Ego. My husband has an alter ego when he hangs out with Jack Daniels. When he drinks with Jim Beam or Johnny Walker, it’s fine, but Jack is the worst. Let me explain a little further; he always takes off his shirt, pees on everything and has even spent an entire concert in “concert jail”. But the best example of Boy Ryan’s alter ego was the night after our rehearsal dinner. There had been quite a party with all of our friends and when we had gotten home, Boy Ryan realized he had forgotten the keys to our apartment. My friend and I suggested calling the cab and getting a ride back to my parents place to spend the night, but Boy Ryan’s alter ego

A picture of the Alter-Ego

A picture of the

insisted he would find a way in because after all, he starts to believe, “He is the Most Interesting Man in the World”. I waited by the door hoping that he would realize there was no way into the apartment but was shocked to see him open the front door smiling (that “I am so smart” smile). That night I went right to sleep and didn’t think anything of it. I woke up the next morning to two people chatting, LOUDLY, outside:

Nosy person #1: “Wow, we should call the cops. It looks like someone broke into this apartment!”

Nosy person #2: “Yea, let’s go call, I’m sure the tenants would be happy that someone called the cops for them.”

It suddenly hit me, Boy Ryan’s alter ego had busted the window to break in and unlock the door to our apartment.

I won’t even go into the explanation I had to give to get us out of that one.

The Worst at Hiding Secrets. Men need to learn that Women are smart. Men can’t hide anything and get away with it. We notice everything, I mean everything especially if you have a shared bank account. So when our 2 year anniversary came around, I looked on our bank statement (to snoop) and found a purchase for a jewelry store on our card. I got so excited and went out to buy Boy Ryan an equally nice anniversary gift. He had mentioned that weekend he was taking me on a “surprise”. We found ourselves at a cute little Bed and Breakfast for the weekend. All weekend he had planned activites and dinners for us to celebrate our anniversary, but never gave me my anniversary present. So on our drive home, after I had given him his gift, I found myself disappointed that he hadn’t given me the jewelry (what was he waiting for?!). My mind starting to go to crazy places and I was reminded of the many Lifetime Movies I had watched that month. I know what it means when a man buys jewelry but doesn’t give it to you. He must be giving it to SOMEONE ELSE! Then I thought a little deeper…How could he possibly have a girlfriend? How would he have time? With his clothing choice…who would want to date him?! How dare he!

I sat the whole ride home in silence and got angrier as the hours passed.

Boy Ryan: “Are you ok? You seem a little mad?”

Me: “No, not me. I’m not mad, what COULD I POSSBILY BE MAD ABOUT?!”

Boy Ryan: “Wow, ok? You must be hungry then. I’ll stop for food.”

Me: “No, but I do want to know who SHE IS!”

Boy Ryan: “Who’s who? She? Whose she?”

Me: “You bought HER jewelry, I saw on OUR bank statement.”

Boy Ryan: “O, About that…yea. Um, I lost my wedding ring last weekend and I didn’t want to make you mad so I bought the same exact wedding ring from the same exact store. I thought you wouldn’t notice…I guess I should of mentioned something…”

Yes, correct Boy Ryan you should have mentioned something. Guys, if you buy jewelry and don’t give it to your girlfriends, our minds do go to these thoughts, we are all products of Lifetime Movies.

A Brand-Name Virgin. One of my fantasies about being married used to be that I could shop for my husband and dress him in nice clothes, but unfortunately I married Boy Ryan. Boy Ryan is what I consider a, “Never Grow Up Dresser”. He constantly wants to wear sport-team shirts, ripped

No, Means No!

No, Means No!

shirts and high-water jeans. He also refuses to wear certain brands.  Some to name are; Express Men, H&M and (my personal favorite) Calvin Klein. These brands to him are “Gay” and “Fruity”. Now, let me explain what I have to go through to get away with buying him clothes from the stores listed above:  I have to strategically get rid of the bags/tags or any evidence related to the brand name. Sometimes if I am lucky, he will accept the outfit and not look too hard at the shirt tag to see where it’s from. If he does notice where it came from, I have to tell him that it was on clearance and I couldn’t pass up the sale price and then he MIGHT accept the brand.

The shit I go through to make sure that husband looks hot…poor me.

There. Now that you all know about Boy Ryan, you can decide for yourself what you think of him.

If he reads this and decides to file for divorce, then I guess that shall be my next  topic.

Knocked Up…Ryan Style

20 Dec

My co-worker/Publicist has brought to my attention that my readers don’t know the story behind That Girl Ryan. So I thought I would take the time and dive a little into my story…with a humorous touch of course because you just can’t take all this shit too seriously. Perhaps this will give you a better idea of why I write the nonsense that I write.

It also occurred to me that I haven’t really gone, in-depth about my husband, Boy Ryan (don’t worry, he’s well aware that his blog debut is drawing near). So I decided to make this a two-part blog, the first being a little background about me and part two about, That Boy Ryan.

We can go into an in-depth analysis on boy Ryan later…moving on…. Boy Ryan and I started hanging out-at first- on the weekends; mainly partaking in one of our favorite activities- college binge drinking (which, I’m not so sure we really gave up). Now, not to spoil too much about part two, one thing you have to understand about Boy Ryan is that he is a man of little, outward emotion. He does not openly express himself like normal human beings. This is probably why I was attracted to him the first place. He was like a pet project; it’s always a mystery to find out what the man is thinking. As you can imagine this relationship did not begin in a normal fashion.

I know, we look so normal.

I know, we look so normal.

Now as us gals know, we over-analyze everything with men. So working with little hints here and there, I started to notice that Boy Ryan was into me for more than just my impressive keg-stand record.

Like this one time we were at a party (we had no idea whose party, we just saw a party and walked in) and I of course, cut the line in beer pong. I strategically scratched out the next contender’s name on the list and inserted my own. The next contender was not enthused when she saw this. She asked her boyfriend to explain to me how a beer pong line list works. Well, the boyfriend decided to use the word SLUT to refer to me, more than a few times. I just starred blankly at him thinking quickly for a come back. But Boy Ryan stepped in before I had the chance to embarrass myself. Being the southern gentleman that he is, asked me to kindly go downstairs for a moment. I walked out of the room and went downstairs to wait for him. The next thing I know, Boy Ryan comes barreling down the stairs, his shirt ripped in half and behind him, a mob of Perry, boat shoe-frat boys. As we ran out of the house, Ryan grabbed my hand and it dawned on me that whatever happened up in that room was done to defend my honor. Even though I DID indeed cut the line, he still defended me. This little gesture continued throughout our relationship and I still, to this day think it’s adorable even if it is a tad violent.

OR another example…

One time I went to his house for a party and regrettably drank 2 cups of lethal “JMU Jungle Juice”. If you attended JMU and know about the jungle juice its probably because you encountered it at a baseball party. But like any good drinker, we always blame it on the juice. Well it was a long night, or short night, whichever perspective you choose to take, but basically it was all a blur to me. I woke up in Boy Ryan’s bed and realized I had peed his bed. No, I’m not kidding I peed the kid’s bed. I was more than mortified and quickly left his house not expecting any kind of communication to continue between us from that point on. But, can you believe that crazy idiot called me the next day? Now if someone peed my bed after only 4-5 weeks of hanging out, I would have never called them again, maybe only to ask for money to buy a new mattress. To this day I can’t comprehend why he called, maybe he just really liked the fact that my name was Ryan, or maybe he thought I was marking my territory and was flattered by that gesture.

We have had romantic moments (the kind that Hollywood defines as romantic), but for some reason, out of all the dates, flowers and jewelry, these moments are the ones that I always remember and love the best.

Fast forward about 11 months later and WAM, we found out I was pregnant. Now this is always the part that people ask me that stupid question, O-M-G, how did that happen? And I always answer…“Well I think it happened with little Birds and Bees and a wild Cinco-De-Mayo that year”.

We created a monster.

We created a monster.

A gorgeous one at that!

A gorgeous one at that!

When we found this out, I was miserable, embarrassed and just down right disappointed. Not only did this little Oopsy not fit into my five year plan, but I was still in college and I had to quit track. There is nothing more awkward than telling your track coach that you got knocked up and can’t compete anymore. “Coach, I wont be coming back to track this year. I sort of have this-let’s call it a disease, that requires me to get fat, crave ridiculous things like pickles and mayo and eventually push out a live human being out of small hole. SO…The whole track thing-yea I just don’t think its going to work out this year. Go Dukes!!”

I'm making a come back when I turn 40.

I’m making a come back when I turn 40.

The only thing that got me through this tough time was the award winning show, 16 and pregnant. Watching that train wreck made me feel better about myself. As I watched faithfully every week, I found that things could be a lot worse. My personal favorite life lesson came from Amber. Amber taught me that beating up your baby-daddy is NOT a good idea. Thank you MTV for that televised inspiration.

During this time I also reflected on why I was so embarrassed to be in this situation. I always wanted to be popular and liked by everyone. I wanted my story to be a successful one, the golden, all American girl themed story, similar to Carrie from Sex in the City. I wanted to be that girl at the party that was just enough fun but never over the top (however, coming from a family with a long history of alcoholism, just enough is really never enough, so that plan went to shit.)

My life took an unconventional path and going through this event, I soon realized that I’m more comfortable with being a tad different than I am with being normal. Like for instance, I had always imagined when it was time for my marriage proposal, it would be this magical thing. Fireworks would sparkle and these guys with guitars would sing and I would look so beautiful because I would have a killer outfit on that night. But remember, I married Boy Ryan and my proposal was anything BUT.

Boy Ryan is the worst at planning things out-Like throws a party and doesn’t remember to pick up the beer-worst. For my proposal, he took me out to go geo-caching. Geo-caching is like a scavenger hunts for adults but way, way nerdy-er. I was about 5 months pregnant at the time and he thought it would be such a great idea to hike up a hilly trail to get to the right spot. Well, after 45 minutes of hiking and a nasty case of swamp ass, we were at the “perfect” spot. He pulled out his GPS Geo-caching app on his phone and told me to follow him down a rocky ledge. This ledge was covered in rocks, steep and slippery. It lead right to the edge of a waterfall-Again, not a good idea to make the woman carrying your child to climb down a ledge.

Actually, thinking about it now, he may have been trying to kill me and thought “if this pregnant girl makes it down this ledge, I’ll propose to her” Well, lucky man that he is, I made it down the hill with my fat self and there he was kneeling, face red and grinning from ear to ear. At that moment, all my fantasies of being proposed to with fireworks and guys with guitars seemed so…blah. This proposal was not the picture I had created in my mind. But you know what, it was so Boy Ryan to do something like that. He wouldn’t think ahead of time that pregnant women couldn’t hike up hills or climb down steep ledges. He wouldn’t think to make sure I wore proper shoes or dressed in pants that wouldn’t show my sweaty ass marks. The whole thing was so funny and backwards that it will always be memorable.

This whole backwards thing has been a hell of a fun ride and I have no idea where it will take us. From this epiphany, I’ve unlocked a great secret that perfection is boring. Because nobody is perfect. If you watch enough 20/20 episodes, you’ll see relationships are not always what they seem.

Such an awkward photo, I had to share it.

Such an awkward photo, I had to share it. Of course Boy Ryan looks out of his ring like it’s a telescope.

So with that being said, I write what others are too afraid to admit. I also write because my therapist thinks it’s the best thing for my Adult ADD. But now that you know a little about me, you might understand the perspective I choose to take.

I strongly suggest you stay tuned for part 2 because I am going to have a blast telling you about my husband.


WHO IS THAT BOY RYAN…coming soon.

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