scary

Alright single dudes everywhere, today is Halloween, which means tonight there will be Halloween parties. Let me repeat that (I stole that line from Biden) – Halloween parties.

You know what Halloween parties mean, right?  It is the closest you will ever come to lots of scantily clad women getting wasted.  Unless you were one of those dudes who went to a huge college and was in a frat that had parties like “Show Your Boob Night,” and in which case let me just say – I hate you.

Tonight, single men, is your best chance at getting laid.  Even better than the time you told that girl that Beaches is your favorite movie.

Everywhere you look there will be slutty versions of everything you could possibly imagine.

Slutty nurses.

Slutty teachers.

Slutty chalk boards.

Slutty sluts.

Yes.

Even slutty sluts.

All you have to do is spark a conversation with a girl at the party and hope for the best.

Single Dude: [Sliding up next to a slutty teacher] “So you know, I went to school.”

Slutty Teacher: “Oh my god!  So did I!”

Single Dude: “Yeah, I could tell. You know, what with the skirt that shows your butt cheeks and all.  My teachers wore that same outfit.  It was pretty rad.”

Slutty Teacher: “Hahaha!  You’re funny, let’s make out until we puke on each other!”

Single Dude: “Sounds good.”

It really is that easy guys.

Put on a mask, grab a six pack and get your ass to a party.  Oh and remember, if you’re going to do four keg stands and nine shots before you start trying to meet girls, your Soldier might not be ready for battle when the time comes to attack.

rules of engagement

In the last month or so I’ve been attending a lot of birthday celebrations, and they all typically start out with a large dinner.

This is exciting for me because eating out is one of my favorite things to do.  I’m doing all the same things I do at home – drinking excessive amounts of wine, having semi-intelligent conversation and eating myself into a food coma – only I’m somewhere else!  It’s like a vacation away from the table at my apartment.

Most of these dinner celebrations that I go to go well, and that’s because I am keen to the fact that when going to a large dinner, one thing you must always remember is that it’s all about where you sit.

If you choose the wrong place, you could spend the entire dinner talking to some dude you barely know about how much his pants cost when your good friends are at the opposite end of the table engrossed in an argument over who would win in a race, Superman or The Flash.

You will curse yourself over and over again, wondering why, when you had the chance to properly sidle up next to your friends, you were checking out the menu with all the “funny drink names.”

Then, as you sit there and try and drink yourself into liking the couple of people you’ve been seated around, you must watch in pain as everyone else laughs and laughs and isn’t everything in life just so great!

You make the wrong move and the dinner is hell.  Just like that.

Which is why I follow a few simple rules to make sure my Dinners With Lots Of People Including Some I Don’t Know go well.

First, I scope the scene.  As soon as everyone arrives, and we stand around all awkward because we haven’t started drinking yet, I am on the look out for People I Don’t Know.  I then mark them in my head by saying, “I don’t know that dude.”

This is very scientific.

Next, and most importantly, I make my move when we are casually entering the restaurant.  This is the best time for the move, because everyone is thinking that they are just having dinner with some friends, when in fact you are deciding between life and death.

Finally, if the previous step does not work, I resort to using mind games.  As we near the table, and I realize that I am dreadfully out of position, I will say something like, “Oh, that light is bright.”  When it isn’t even bright! Some sucker will always take the bait and you can switch seats with him and thus enjoy dinner like it was supposed to be.

I beg you, reread those steps.

Read them, know them and most of all – dear god – use them.

If none of that works, I have to tell you, all is lost.  Your best bet is to vomit on someone and leave, because that dinner is not going to be fun, it is just going to be one more Moment With Others that you regret.

make a decision

I spend a lot of my time roaming around the Internet, sometimes looking at useful things and sometimes just looking up what that dog on Dukes of Hazzard was named (Flash).

One thing that I always enjoy when I’m doing my browsing is voting.  If there’s a poll on a website, you bet your ass I’m making my voice heard on the subject.  I will click my mouse, check the results and see if I am part of the Popular Opinion or just some loser who thinks for himself.

It doesn’t matter to me what the poll is about either – I’ll make my opinion known about anything.

“Of all the MASH characters, which one are you?”  Voting!

“If you could go to a planet, which would it be?” The people must know!

“Does Obama wave his thumb around too much when he speaks?” Clicking away!

“What’s your favorite part about Christmas?” I’d be a fool not to vote!

“Do you always wear panties?” Uncomfortable, but still voting!

I find that voting on these website polls makes me feel alive, so I decided to make a couple for you.  I know a lot of you won’t vote because you’re lazy and clicking the mouse once more is simply too much if you’re not looking at porn, but trust me, voting can be fun.  So do it.

Let the voting begin!

See? That was fun wasn’t it?  It’s all about making a choice, and deciding to speak up for yourself and your generation.

And if you didn’t vote, I have just one thing to say to you: You can forget about me sending you that autographed poster of Eric Nies for your birthday.

I’ll keep it right where it belongs – above my bed.

picture day

I’m back!  Somehow, I made it through endless beers, amazing sunsets and naps immediately after eating to return to the civilized world.

I hope you’re in the mood for a good ol’ fashioned Look At Pictures Of My Vacation Because I’m Still Hungover From Consuming Vats Of Tequila Post, because that’s what you’re about to get.

With that said, I present to you, my awesome Mexico vacation – photographed!

Awesome.

This is the main area of the resort where we stayed.  It was unreal.  Like something out of a movie, one with a central plot line that goes like this: People eat.  People drink.  People yell some.  People swim.  People drink more.  People nap.  Repeat for seven days.  Fin.

 

Romantic or something.

This is a picture I took from the swinging porch seat on the deck of the main area.  It shows the pool where me and my future brother-in-law and our friend performed amazing feats of athleticism by catching a football in midair before hitting the water.  I’m thinking of sending in the pictures to the NFL, so I’ll let you know what happens.  If I get signed by a team, it was nice knowing you.  I promise to remember the little people.  Maybe.

 

Pathetic.

I’m pointing at my lame attempt at a beard.  I know – you can’t even see it.  The dudes and I decided to have a Battle Of The Beards, but as you can see, I lost.  I took this picture right before I shaved it off on the last day we were there.  I tried for seven damn days to grow something resembling Jesus’ awesome beard, but ended up falling closer to Ashton Kutcher’s.  Which is punishment enough I think.

 

Nature is dumb.

See that lizard?  Look closer dammit!  I need you to see him because I spent a good amount of time running after these iguanas that roamed around our resort, trying desperately to get a picture of one.  Did you know that lizards run really fast when a large white man with a camera rapidly approaches them yelling, “Hey!  Hey!  Come here, you!” Well you do now.  I finally snapped this one of Larry (a clever name I came up with for him) after six beers and two margaritas sharpened my focus.  Or maybe I just caught him while he was asleep.

 

Unhappy.

This is a painting that was on the wall of the only bar in Troncones, Mexico that was playing the World Series on TV.  I thought it was kind of odd to have a sad turtle as the first thing people see when visiting your place of business, but maybe that’s the way all turtles are in Mexico.  I hope they don’t put that on any tourist brochures.  “Come to Mexico!  Our animals are frowning for you! Viva!”

 

That’s it for the pictures.  I have a ton more, but I’ve reached my limit for now.

I will leave you with the only Spanish that I remember from the trip – “Bien Borracho!” Which means “good drunk.”  Which I was, and I promise to continue to be.

fishing – the sport of drowning a worm

Chris is still fucking gone.  If I know him, he is probably somewhere drinking 34 Coors lights and watching something like this on TV.

If you have ever visited my blog, you know I am from Denver.  I am single and I like long walks on the beach. Except if that beach is anywhere in Jersey.

Anyway. Chris like’s to rant a whole lot on here about shit he thinks is stupid…so since this is the perfect forum, I am going to tell you why Fishing is more stupid than McCain’s economic plan.

Fishing requires no skill. Tying a little string in a knot and hucking it out into water is hardly challenging.

I can see if people were doing it caveman style by throwing spears into the water and hitting the fish, like Tom Hanks in “Cast Away” but people are not doing that. They are sitting in a boat with an electronic fish finder, waiting for some stupid fish to bite their lure.

Therefore, I don’t consider fishing a sport. A sport is something that requires some sort of fucking skill. All you have to do to fish is wake up early (another reason why fishing is lame).

Then there’s people who say they fish- but they don’t do it for the sport of it, they do it so they can get drink and hang out. They even throw back the fish they catch. These people are the most stupid. Why would I want to wake up early (because fish are only hungry early in the morning for some reason), pack fishing gear, drive approximately two-to-three hours, just to drink beer?

I can drink beer in my boxers, right on my couch. You can come over and join me. If you want to be a part of nature we can sit outside, on the deck.

People think I’m weird because I live in Colorado and I don’t fish. I tell them to try catching a real animal instead of a stupid fish. Try catching a bear with your pole, or how about a mountain lion. Reel them in and I will be impressed.

Stupid fucks.

just being honest

We continue men week here at Surviving Myself with the ultimate man. Me. That would be RS27 for the unknown.  If you would describe ultimate as handsome, tough, brown, not afraid to cry at the end of Growing Pains when the Seavers move to Washington, D.C. and brushing your teeth, then I am the ultimate man.

Men, men, men, men, men, men, men, men, men, men, men.

That’s my theme song. Don’t make fun. Chuck Norris is my dad.

I made that up.

My dad is my dad.

So anyways to continue about how awesome men are this week, I’ve decide to write about the topic that proves our manlihood to everyone.

Women.

I tend to have a lot of women friends. This means a few things. 1.) Women like me. 2.) I’m not having sex. 3.) I’ve heard the phrase “Lay off, I’m having my period” more than twice in life. With those 3 things I get stuck in the friend zone. Men know that zone. You dream that you could totally make out with your hot friend one night when you go over and watch “The Amazing Race” and right at the part where they reach the mat she reaches over and you guys do it right there only to be interrupted to see who got eliminated.

Eliminations > Sex.

Of course, that never happens because we live in the “real world” where “men” don’t have “relations” with “women” that they “know” “like” “that”.

The one perk of knowing women, though, is that you pick up a lot of little things. Don’t leave the toilet seat up, What color is best with your skin tone and my personal favorite, that girl is a total bitch.

Bitches.

Because I know so much about fashion now last weekend I became the fashion maven for these two girls at a party I was at.

Girl #1 – “That shirt looks great on you.”

Me- “I know, certain colors work better with my skin tone. Brown. See I’m brown”

Girl #2- “What color would look good on me?”

Me- “Brown (Damn RS, you so slick. Self High Five!), but seriously, you should go dark colors because you have paler skin. The contrast looks better for you. Light colors make you look pasty. Unless you go crisp white. That could work.”

Girl #1 – “That’s what I told her!”

Me- “As for you, you should go with beige or orange to help accentuate your red hair. You’re an autumn.”

Girl #1 – “Where did you learn all of this?”

Me- “Women”

Girl #2 – “We teach boys so…”

Me- “And Isaac Mizrahi, that guy is great.”

Girl #1- “Really? You’re fascinating. Are you gay?”

Me- “If by gay you mean liking women, then yes.”

Girl #2- “Usually only gay guys know that stuff.”

Me- “And smart dudes. (Two thumbs pointed at me)”

Girl #2 – “So you’re not gay?”

Me- “Nope”

Girl #1 -”Oh”

OH?!?! What does Oh mean? Men can’t know about fashion without being gay? What about that guy Cojo? Verasce? Those queer eye dudes? Are they gay? I think no….

They are? Damn.

So anyway I’m going to go make out with a GIRL, then watch some FOOTBALL, play some VIDEO GAMES, and then fix up 342 OLDSMOBILE ENGINES.

But, seriously, if you have light eyes wear deep, dark blue. Believe me, it works.

(This and more fashion tips at Your Beard is Good. Maybe not fashion tips)

useful information

This just in!!!

The Dow is way up!

Wait – now it is way down.

Now it’s up again!!!

Hey, News, how about you make up your mind.  You are starting to sound like a girl at a movie theater.

“It’s so COLD in here, I wish I had brought a jacket!  Do you think it’s cold?  I think it’s cold.”

5 minutes later…

“Gaaawd it is like 100 degrees in here!  Ugh, I feel so gross.  Am I sweating?  I feel like I am sweating…”

5 minutes later…

“Are you cold?”

WE GET IT.  The stock market sucks.  It goes up and down like my pants during an Eva Mendes movie.  How about when it does something consistent for 15 minutes – THEN you tell me about it.

Maybe it’s me.  I am guessing the fact that I am an idiot doesn’t help things.  Telling me the Dow is down 700 points is like telling a 6 yr old about how you are out of flour – I don’t know what that means and I just want to know what is going on with the cupcakes.

Why can’t the news focus on how the fall and rise of the stock market impacts my life?

“Dow rises 700 points – Stocks now stable enough to spend $40 on booze tonight.”

That’s news I can use!

“Stock market closes with worst day ever – stick with PBR.”

Got it, thanks CNN.  You are so helpful. 

But what’s the status on those cupcakes?

please, co-worker, tell me more about your dog

Good morning…if it even is still morning!   I know!  What was with traffic today?  It was so slow!  Can you believe that?  I mean, I thought it was supposed to be the rat race.  I am full of it today!  I don’t even need my cup of joe, because I’m already black and bitter!  Ha ha ha!  Except for the black part, of course.

You like coffee in the mornings, too?  We must be related!  I also cannot believe that they won’t buy another machine for the office!  Yes, HR often seems to overlook the basic needs of the employees – you’ve aptly stated that!  

You know, I used to have this great Garfield mug that said, “Don’t even talk to me until I’ve had my first cup of coffee!”  That is such an accurate summation of the way I feel!  Aren’t I so intelligent, the way I purchase items with well-worn catchphrases? 

What’s that?  You have a dog?  Well, technically, Garfield’s a cat, but who am I to quibble over the ham-fistedness of another’s segues?  I’ll bet your dog’s confused by that big yard in your new house!  Can I have exact directions to your house, including the cross streets and at least two of the shortcuts you use to beat rush hour traffic?  Oh, and a third?  You are such a giver!  Even though I have only the faintest idea of the geographic area you’re referring to, I never would have thought you could take 29 to 167!  I must keep that in mind for all the times we’re not hanging out on the weekends! 

2 hours a day of walking your dog?  Wow, you certainly are dedicated!  Oh, sure, I can imagine that labs need that kind of care.  I mean, as if people who own beagles even deserve to call themselves pet owners with their twenty minute walks!  Might as well set up a Habitrail for your oversized gerbil, right?  Ha ha!

Seriously, I hope all people who own small dogs die.  That’s just inexcusable. 

Oh, eggs keep his coat glossy.  That information is going to be so useful to me at some unspecified point in the future.  Nope, no pets here.  I’m actually allergic to them, so I have to get my fill of pet ownership from other people telling me extensive stories about the trials and tribulations of their pets, down to the slightest nuance!

Oh, my goodness – that is too funny – I was just going to ask how your dog reacts to other dogs, and here you are telling me just that in great detail! I mean, now that I’ve got such a vivid mental picture of your dog, now that I fully understand it down to the cellular level thanks to all those descriptive adjectives and lengthy anecdotes, I would like – as an armchair scientist – to gather data on how that known quantity interacts with other similar quantities.  That would have kept me up nights guessing. 

I’ll bet he’s fussy with his food!  That sounds just like him!  Does he ever steal a long string of sausages like dogs used to in 1940s cartoons?  Do they sell sausages in long strings these days?  Whatever happened to that?

putting the pieces together

When Our Favorite Blogger decided to flee south of the border this week, he knew there was only one square-jawed paragon of manliness qualified to wear his testosterone-filled clogs.

Unfortunately, BC was too busy being completely fucking awesome to make it, so a devastated Chris had no choice but to instead recruit me and the rest of the ragtag group of ball-scratchers you’ve seen this week.  Sorry about that.

Assembling a crack team of muy macho hombres for a mission like this isn’t as easy as it sounds.  Whether you’re knocking over a handful of casinos or just trying not to fuck up someone’s blog too badly while that son of a bitch is off puking cheap tequila on a sunny Mexican beach, you need to find people with the right mix of skills and talents and chemistry. 

Now, anybody who’s seen a movie in the last hundred years or so knows there’s a formula to this, that there are certain types of people you need if you want to get the job done.  Shit, even Dorothy needed some brains, some muscle, and that one kinda femme guy to get back home.

And white boy dreads aside, we all know that Chris is a pretty smart guy.  He wouldn’t have tagged me for this gig if he didn’t think I’d fit a specific need. 

So now I gotta wonder…  which one am I?   I’ve spent the last few nights trying to figure it out:

The Leader – Every team has one: that inspired, confident dude who knows how to work with a team of egos and combine them into a single implement of ass-kickiness.  Kinda like Phil Jackson, but without the douchebaggery and insulting fake Buddhist persona that makes the Dalai Lama think twice about the whole non-violent passive-resistance thing.

Don’t get me wrong.  I like telling people what to do, and I dig me some plans that come together.  But this is Chris’s show. 

The Muscle – The Fantastic Four had The Thing, The A Team had Mr. T, Guy Ritchie had Madonna…  Let’s face it, you never know when some other group of super heroes/soldiers of fortune/African-baby-stealing pop icons will wanna throw down.  The Muscle might be all that determines whether you win the day or spend it crying in a pool of your own blood and urine while Madge kicks the shit out of you.

Seriously, did you see her guns?  Bitch’ll fuck you up.

A quick look in the mirror is all I need to know I couldn’t possibly be the muscle. 

Fuck, I’ve let myself go.  How depressing…

The Ladies Man - Suave, debonair.   Women want him, men want to be him (without all those nasty, itchy STDs, of course).  Sure, he’ll spend most of the mission tanning on the beach and seducing waitresses, but when you absolutely, positively, need that secret entry code to the bad dude’s underground lair, and said code is known only by Mr. Bad Guy and his evil sexy female lackie, then, friends, you’ll know why The Ladies Man is on the team. 

Definitely not me.  I mean, even if I hadn’t become fat and bald in my old age and still had passing good looks, I’m happily married.  The Mrs would crush my nuts in a vice if she saw me talking to the evil Ms. Putsoutalot.

The Brains – When Muscle and Sexin’ Shit Up can’t help you, sometimes you just need a Smarty Pants.  He’s the computer genius, multilingual, hipstery looking dude who can quote any episode of Dr. Who while smugly hacking into EvilCo’s network using a paperclip and a calculator watch.

I joined the Navy because Star Trek went into reruns.  How fucking smart could I possibly be?  Exactly.  Next.

The Slightly Effeminate Dude Who Just Might Be Gay But We Never Know For Sure Because Hollywood’s Full of Pussies Who’d Rather Hint At His Sexualizy Than Upset the Sensibilities of the Insecure Macho Male Audience By Including an Openly Gay Man In an Action Flick – I’m pretty sure I’m not this guy.  I mean, sure, people have, in the past, assumed I was gay.  And I’m secure enough in my own masculinity to recognize why some people go gaga over Anderson Cooper…

What, with that chiseled face of his…  and that silver hair…  and those dreamy eyes that you could just gaze into for days at a ti…  Shit!

Boobies!  BOOBIES!!!!

The Big Fat Dork – Comic relief, the nerdy-yet-not-smart guy who fucks everything up.  Think Gilligan, or that one Hobbit that Galdalf wants to throw down the well after he knocks that armor into it, alerting the Orcs in the Mines of Moria that the Fellowship is there.  Or people who know shitlike that… 

Yeah.  I think we’ve found a winner.

pimpin’

Hey ya’ll!!! Ok I don’t actually say “ya’ll” in real life, so good day fellow readers. And how are we today? Super! My name is Aaron, and I’ll be your guest poster for the day while Chris is in another country upsetting people of a foreign land. I’ve yet to be “blessed” with the opportunity to hang out with Chris in real life even though we’ve tried planning it before. I guess we’re just too cool and too busy for our schedules to align. Nevertheless, I already know exactly what’s going to happen when our powers do combine…

…Begin fuzzy, warm lens, dream sequence now…

It’s 1:12 am when we pull up to the red carpet entrance… fashionably on time. Because on time is always the exact time we arrive.

A cool Manhattan night where the moon is full, the air is crisp, the stars are bright, but Chris and I shine brighter. Our chauffer opens the door to the Maybach and as we hop out, due to our insane popularity, paparazzi try to get spread eagle snap shots of our crotch, but luckily we’re both wearing pants tonight.

We stand at the end of the red carpet and commence our ultra cool slow motion stroll making our way to the club entrance. We look fresh to death. Our attire is impeccable. We’ve only been on the red carpet mere seconds and already our look is setting trends across the globe by top designers in Paris and Milan. Midway thru our slow motion trot my iPhone 4G rings (Yes, I said iPhone 4G. I know that hasn’t come out yet but Steve Jobs has already given Chris and I the prototypes.) I answer it. It’s Justin (Timberlake) on the other end.

JT: Hey Aaron, I heard you’re slo-mo walking down the red carpet in Manhattan this very second outfitted in attire that puts my entire wardrobe to shame.

Me: Yeah, So, What of it?

JT: I mean, this may be a strange request, but if it’s okay with you, will you give me some style tips?

I turn to Chris.

Me: ‘Lake wants the hook up.

Chris grabs the phone from me

Chris: Maybe tomorrow Justin… maybe tomorrow

Hangs Up.

We continue our strut.

We enter the club and immediately the bullshit crunk music the DJ was playing stops. All eyes on us, and after a brief scuffling through his CD case the DJ throws on 4th Camber by GZA. The intro to that song is immaculate.

As the instrumental kicks in we resume our slow motion swagger. On the way to the V.I.P. section some random poser dude, with his collar popped, runs up to Chris in excitement, claiming that they went to school together.

Chris: What you say your name was again? And I know you from where? Elementary school? I don’t know you maaaaan!!!

Another random groupie skips her way thru to us and asks for our autographs. We halfheartedly scribble lines on her paper that in no way even closely resembles our signatures, but we’re so cool it’s going to be worth the price of Brangelina’s baby pics by tomorrow.

We get to our V.I.P. booth. Looking across we see Jay-Z & Beyonce in another booth raising their glasses in our direction as a toast. We return the gesture and send a bottle of Ace of Spades their way. Moments later Jay-Z & Beyonce get into a huge argument and storm out the club… something about him getting jealous because she kept yapping on about how sexy we look tonight…. I dunno.

The bouncers guarding our V.I.P. section are having a hard time keeping the ladies from storming through the velvet ropes, so we tell them to let a couple get in. Immediately these two young ladies proposition us with some gratuitous sex. We decline. However we allow them to totally make out with each other for our viewing pleasure. As the DJ plays Ms. Fat Booty, we nonchalantly gaze at the make out session with boredom. We’ve seen better.

The DJ sensing our boredom plays Madonna’s Get Into The Groove, which immediately sends Chris into a giddy drinking frenzy.

It’s 3:29am now and we’re officially drunk. It’s now time to leave. Two hours and seventeen minutes is all we need in a club. Now it’s time to consume something resembling food, yet fancy. Fancy like Grey Poupon.

…End fuzzy, warm lens, dream sequence now…

I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how it’ll go down when Chris and I finally meet up… Yup, I’m sure of it.