Sick Day at the Crib.

So the first day back after Thanksgiving break, the little one ends up having to stay at home.  This couldn't have happened at a better time, as I had just spent all Sunday drinking, as usual, and even had told The Wife that I couldn't wait for Monday because it was going to be the first day in a long time that I had nothing pressing to do.  So imagine my fright when at 7am, after I had just fallen back asleep from waking up for some reason at 5:30, I feel a light rubbing on my arm.  I JUMPED up out of bed, feverishly smacking at whatever spider was surely trying to climb up my arm to eat my face.  Turns out it was just The Wife, lightly stroking her fingers on my arm to wake me up less harshly.  Well in trying to be nice she nearly lost a hand.  From what I can remember I was flailing at that "spider" like my life depended on it, then once I realized it was her, I grabbed my chest as my heart rate was in the goddamn thousands.  Then after all that she tells me I need to get up because the kid is sick and is staying home.  Great.

Now this post isn't just to show people that I'm a bitch.  The point of this post is to discuss kids staying at home and the reasons that they should or should not get the day off.  I grew up in a time when unless I could point to a limb on the floor and say, "My leg fell off", I'd be going to school.  And even if I had lost that leg, if my dad could secure a good enough tourniquet so as to keep the blood droppage to a minimum, I'd be hopping my one-legged ass into History class.  There need to be definite rules because the majority of the time that spider starts crawling up my arm, it's to alert me that a kid is staying home for a reason that in my opinion, if looked at more closely and not just reacted, wouldn't be enough to keep them out of school.

So let's go through some normal kids' reasons they want to say home, and see which ones hold up to the SB test of "being sick enough" to miss school.  If you're a parent you'll want to take notes, because we all know a kid staying home from school is a big pain in the ass and if you can avoid this happening, it's for the best for all parties involved, that is, unless they're really sick and because of this blog you've sent your child to infect the entire 3rd grade with the Bubonic Plague.

"MY STOMACH HURTS"

Your Ferrari of excuses.  As touched with belief as it is skepticism yet there's nothing you can do to prove it's a lie.  And if acted well enough, you can be convinced that there really is something wrong, and serious enough to stay home from school but not serious enough for a trip to the doctor.  And seriously, who has the time to take their kid to the doctor anyway?  You're already screwed because you have to take a sick day from work, angering your coworkers and boss.  Now the last thing you want to do is take two hours out of your already destroyed day to run this kid to the doctor for what will most likely turn out to just be gas.  And for the kid, they have to walk this thin line as well, because they don't want to go to the doctor either, so that's why TOO good a performance where they pinpoint places on the stomach where it hurts could get their mom or dad thinking "Appendicitis???" and then their faking ass is going right to the doctor, where they will be exposed as a fraud and subject to a huge punishment for wasting their parent's day.  That's why the proper response to "My stomach hurts" is and always has been, "Do we need to go to the doctor then?"  99% of the time you'll get a somber "No" and they'll slink away holding their stomach to put clothes on for school.  The other 1% you get me, who calls your bluff and thinks he can outwit the doctor.  My ass got really used to yardstick marks.  

CONCLUSION: GO TO SCHOOL, TWERP.

"MY THROAT HURTS"

This one is another one that's tough to figure out.  I mean, it's easy to fake a sore throat and make oneself sound like Merle Haggard.  But when is it really a sore throat in need of tylenol and a stay home from school, or a kid who just doesn't want to take a Science test?  Well, the majority of the time it's the latter. Kids know that sore throats are something everyone can relate to and a really bad sore throat can produce pain unlike the hardest of breakups.  I remember about ten years ago I had THE worst sore throat I could ever imagine.  It felt like every time I swallowed, shards of glass were being shoved down my esophagus, making it difficult to carry on my affair with Ricardo.  However, even though this condition probably saved my marriage, it was literally a real pain in the neck.  Heh heh...ugh.  Turns out when the doctor looked down my throat she winced from all the white splotches and sores.  I had mono. (Ricardo, remember?) So, you want to know whether that kid's "sore throat" is real?  Open his mouth and look in the back.  Now be warned. If he's smart he won't have brushed his teeth and will have created a force field of sleep breath and day old cheese that he's hoping will keep you from doing a thorough site check.  Then, take his temperature. Because what most kids don't know is that saying you have a sore throat doesn't mean strep throat right away.  THE FEVER has to go with it.  This is where they'll get caught.  No fever, so take your ass to school.  Now, Louis Armstrong.

CONCLUSION: NO FEVER, NO DEAL, YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE.

"I THREW UP"

This is NOT the gimmie you may think it is.  A throw up is NOT a throw up, although my oldest daughter knows that this is immediately the way she can get out of school.  Tell her mother she threw up, and that's it, she's home from school.  The Wife will tell me "I heard her hacking".  Well, hacking isn't puke.  Hacking could be mucus or just nothing.  Case in point.  Yesterday, the spider wakes me to tell me the little one threw up and has a 100 degree fever.  So I get up and wait on the couch.  An hour later she comes down, spry as a high school teacher who found her soulmate in a 14-year-old soccer player named Devon.  Check the smile above.  She's asking to go to Burger King for lunch, stay up after her bedtime to watch a Spongebob episode...she's singing Eye of the Tiger over and over on youtube, dancing, cracking jokes...this all before 11am.  I took her temperature when she got up and it was obviously normal.  That's when I asked The Wife what kind of throw up was it.  Was it chunky, I asked, or mucusy?  Because chunky is the real deal.  That's food from the day before, a true upset stomach, a miserable kid.  Mucusy is a different story.  I used to puke mucus all the time.  You have all this slime in your nose, a mucusy cough, shit runs down your throat, and this horribly uncomfortable feeling causes you to gag and expel all that mucus.  I'd have a trash can near just to hurl mucus now and then.  Turns out the "puke" was mucusy.  And the temp after just getting up? Well I'll chalk that up to a high body temperature after being covered in eight million blankets and the convulsing from puking the mucus.  Every time I barf after drinking too much I start sweating like a Steve the Pedophile when the kindergarteners come to the fire station.  Why Steve can be a pedophile and a firefighter isn't clear but the point is made.  Take special care to note the puke.  It'll save both you and your kid a sick day.  

CONCLUSION: TEST THE PUKE.  

"MY HEAD HURTS"

Another REALLY tough one to discern.  You feel bad because right away you think of how much Excedrin and Tylenol you pop on a daily basis when there's even the slightest tinge going on upstairs, yet you know that this six year old can't really "pop" anything and will just have to deal.  Also, the first thing a parent always thinks for some reason is "BRAIN TUMOR!!!"  So I know.  I've been there.  I've done it.  However, a headache is certainly not a reason to stay home, unless certain things are apparent. 

1.  Look at the eyes.  Are they glazed over? (And not from sleep or it's a teenager, being hungover).   A lot of times the way to tell if a kid is really sick is by a good look in their eyes.  There's this look they get that goes beyond their emotions and is a physical attribute that says this kid is truly sick.  If they have that look, it doesn't mean an automatic stay-home day, but it warrants further investigation.

2. Make them breakfast.  Now, usually a kid, despite being a worthless eater at lunch or dinner, will scarf up breakfast like they've been in a mine for three months and subsisted on grubs and their own skin.  A kid usually will forget they're faking at breakfast time and eat like they always have, throwing out the window any "sick appearances".  If they do, get them to school. If they sit down and poke at the food, eating little to nothing, not to be defiant as usual, but because they don't seem to be all there, then take the last test.

3. Temperature.  This is the ballgame.  Usually I'd say if it's 99.5 or less they can still go to school, but most schools nowadays have rules that say if they have a fever over a certain number, not only are they NOT allowed at school that day, but they have to be rid of the fever for a day before they can come back.  However, usually kids will not pass all three of these tests, and "My head hurts" can be cured by a quick dismissal of their claims and a kiss on the forehead.

CONCLUSION: JUDGEMENT CALL.

There are other, less common ailments, to which you usually can pretty much just ignore..."my eye hurts", a half-ass cough or any symptom when you ask where does it hurt ends with "I don't know", and some you probably don't want to dismiss as quickly..."my ear hurts", "I can't breathe", "my butt's bleeding", etc.  But hopefully this will give you some sort of roadmap the next time you wake up your kid for school and hear those terrible two words of "I'm sick." 

SECRETS REVEALED!! Why Guys are Sports Idiots

One of the things women have a hard time understanding about men, along with our infatuation with big boobs, cars, and hairless teenage boys, is...huh?  What are you talking about? All men are too infatuated with hairless teenage boys. Now you're just being silly.  Okay, if all men aren't infatuated with hairless teenage boys, why is my house and all the houses around me on this map with those awesome red dots? And WHY do I have this cage?  Tell me that smarties.  It sure isn't for, pffft...adult women.  You guys are stupid.

Now where was I?  Oh yeah.  Women don't understand why it is we are so passionate about sports.  Now this isn't to say that women aren't passionate, but normally it's not your average woman who takes a television and throws it out the window after a team suffers a particularly upsetting loss.  This is because women, while they can get emotionally out-of-whack about pretty much anything at any time, have some sort of internal register that when it comes to sports, tells them, "It's just a game."  While leaving the toilet seat up one too many times can eventually result in one's wife snapping and turning into Angela Bassett, torching one's possessions on the front lawn, for some reason when it comes to sports, women can put things in perspective.  And this is why they can't for the life of them understand why it is we react the way we do when our team can't turn a simple double play that would have gotten us out of the inning only down one.

So today, using myself as the typical male sports fan, I figured I'd let you know what it is that is going through our heads as we do the things we do while watching sports.

INTENSITY

THE number one trait men have when watching sports is intensity.  Especially those like myself who live and die with an entire city's teams.  Every play can either be the greatest moment of your life or the end of the world.  We watch games like every time a play goes wrong, the hand on our Great Uncle Stan's life support pulls the plug another centimeter. Too many bad plays and Stan's dead, the battle for his "estate" that includes his laminated button business and a double-wide trailer on the outskirts of town begins, and adult male family members finally feel safe enough to divulge the "special" time they had with Stan when they were eight.  But we never want to get to that point of having to relive that special time and finally explain to our spouses why we have refused to eat carrots all these years, so we need Stan to live.  For that to happen, our team needs to STOP DROPPING THE DAMN BALL.  

ANGER

You know, even I can't explain this.  Breaking televisions, kicking in walls, smashing computers, basically doing damage to expensive material over a ballgame.  I guess we've got all of this pent up rage due to the fact that we wanted to be professional athletes and so we always think that we could have done better than that jackass if we were out there, which pisses us off to the point of having to throw or break something.  I'll admit I've smashed stuff in the past over a game, but that was when I had money and could replace it.  Now I'm broke, which much have triggered something in my brain that clicks on anytime I'm getting ready to smash something, running a scroll in my head that tells me "Don't do it, idiot.  If you break that you don't have the money to replace it and the next time you need to enjoy "alone time" you'll have to find something else to shove up there.  And don't even think about your baseball bat because you destroyed that when the Bears lost last week."  And so I don't break it.  

JOY

Ladies I know this sucks to hear, but on the right day, the right game can give us more joy than our wedding day or the birth of our children.  I mean, seriously, I don't remember dancing like this after saying "I do".  I know I was incredibly happy, but the sort of involuntary, primal reaction that surfaces after the White Sox or Blackhawks when the championship or the Bears go to the Superbowl is different.  It just happens.  When one's team wins in dramatic fashion, this happens.  When a guy's team when a title, if you asked us for a new car at the right moment you'd be driving a new Lexus until they repossessed it when we stopped making payments because let's be honest, we can't afford a freaking Lexus.  I think I read somewhere that the time of the most domestic violence is around the holidays due to the stress.  I'd surmise that the number two time is when a guy's team blows the big game and if his wife hadn't asked him to do that chore at that exact moment, the mojo wouldn't have been blown, his team wouldn't have been jinxed and now this bitch is going to pay.  

DESPERATION

Players pray before the game.  The team prays in the locker room after the game.  And we pray during.  Like God cares who makes the playoffs.  Seriously.  Well, actually since all He seems to be interested in is how miserable people are down here, I'm guessing He's a Cubs fan.  But I digress.  Why we think that putting our hands together and praying the team will make this first down is beyond me.  Yet we do it.  And God forbid that our prayers are "answered" even ONE TIME.  Because if I prayed for a home run, and holy shit the Sox just hit a home run and won the game, then you best believe that I've got some sort of direct sports pipeline to the Lord and I'm damn well using it the next time my team needs help.  And while I'm at it, I could use some bigger pecs and the ability to speak Japanese.  So, you know, uh...Chop Chop God. 

DESPAIR

This is a moment that every man experiences and the one that women have the most difficult time understanding.  They can't get why their normally emotionless boyfriend or husband is now sulking like a two-year old who didn't get a lollipop at the grocery store checkout lane. I can attest that I have gone through such emotional highs and lows that at the end of an especially trying game I've felt so drained I thought I would pass out.  And I've been to this point of despair where I've felt like crying when my team lost a REALLY important game.  I remember the year after the Bears won the Superbowl, in January of 1987, they lost in the playoffs to Washington.  I was so upset that they weren't going to win two straight championships that I sat on the couch, a 14 year old kid, crying like a bitch.  Then it hit me that this was probably the reason I didn't have any girlfriends to this point, and if I didn't stop crying, then when the Bears lost the next year I could be crying and telling myself that this was probably the reason I didn't have any boyfriends.  

So hopefully, Ladies, this has shed some light on the things we do and why we do them.  It won't do anything to stop us from doing them, however, the next time we're watching a game, it may make you think twice as to coming downstairs to tell us to do a chore, because, you know, if something goes wrong it would most definitely be your fault, and you'd have to pay.  And we really don't need that to happen.  

"Best Buy" on Black Friday? No, how about "Best of"???

So seeing as no one is at work, meaning no one has any reason to avoid work and get on Facebook, not to mention everyone's either shopping or sleeping off a massive turkey hangover, I've decided to go back in the annals of the SB blogs and find a Thanksgiving post.  This one was from 2007, when I went to Chicago for the holiday.  Let's just say it involved a lot more than just eating.  That's why we'll pick it up on the Friday after the holiday.  So, to recap...Chicago. Day after Thanksgiving.  Family insanity.  Go.


Excerpt from Blog, November 26, 2007:

Friday, we went to Chicago for the Thanksgiving holiday...I WISH I could have videotaped what I saw. Unreal. Thanksgiving dinner was great. Food, family, beer, blah blah blah...it was SATURDAY that was the fucking unbelievable thing of it all.

So my sister and her husband want to go bowling to celebrate a friend's 30th birthday. I know. "Bowling" and "30th birthday celebration" should never be uttered in the same sentence. It's like "12 year old boy" and "not raping him". Anyway we head out to Dolton, a south suburb of Chicago, to the only alley that had open bowling at 10pm, Dolton Bowl. Upon arriving to the bowling alley I quickly determined that Donovan McNabb isn't the only thing from Dolton that should be destroyed. We get to the door and immediately are stopped by a Chicago Police Officer who says we have to pay $6 to get in the door for our first game and shoes. I'm stunned. I look at my sister who is all good with this guy's demands. So me, sis, her husband, our friend Rodney, my wife and 14 year old daughter go inside.

When we get inside we are met with a scene that probably made The Wife (white) and Daughter (looks and brought up white) shiver in terror. Something like this:

The place is filled with more black people than a crackhouse. It is JAM packed, by the way, and we're told it will be a 30 min-1 hour wait. Fantastic. I go up to the desk to register our name, and he points to a machine where I need to put a quarter in order to register. Unreal. This place is already pissing me off. So finally we register and I head to the bar immediately and see that Busch beer is $1. Fine, I'll take one. As you'll see later it wasn't the worst beer I'd have this weekend. Meanwhile I look over and see a woman walk down the fucking lane to go get her ball which is stuck in the gutter. An announcement immediately comes over the loudspeaker:

DJ: Do not walk down the lane for any reason. And for those of you who are hard of hearing, "DO NOT WALK DOWN THE LANE FOR ANY REASON."

I'm serious. And I'm also serious when I say the DJ made that announcement. Yes, the DJ. There's a guy behind the counter spinning records and such. Jay-Z is blaring on the loud speakers and from left to right people are DANCING IN THE LANES. Fucking DANCING. Don't believe me? Take a look:

There used to be FOUR bowling balls in this lane.  Try and guess where the other two are.

I believe this woman was doing the "Crank That Superman" dance. By the way, I'm not sure if you guys have ever heard that song but it is goddamn awful. I did, however, get a little bit of respect when my sister told me in disgust that the song is actually about a dude spraying his seed all over a girl's back, then sticking the sheet on the cum on her back and doing her so it looks like a cape. When I heard that I'll admit I thought that was some funny shit.

Anywho, the people were STEPPING and doing group fucking dances on the lanes, crossing into our lane...it was literally like we were at the club. Then it got EVEN MORE ghetto if you can believe it. These motherfuckas had CHICKEN WINGS CATERED TO THE ALLEY!!!! Brothas was walking around with paperplates full of chicken wings! It was insane. With all the dancing and chicken wings and grease and unemployment it took six people 2 1/2 hours to finish ONE GAME. It was crazy. Even though it was just six people bowling there were literally 15-20 people packed into that lane next to us. And then to top it all off, this drunk dude, (who surprisingly looked ALOT like my Uncle PoBoy, well, come to think of it, it wasn't so surprising), takes my ball and flings it down his lane. The problem? THEIR GAME WAS OVER. So the ball hit the pin guard and rested down there in the gutter. I had to call the goddamn guy to come over and get the ball. Unfuckingreal.

We left Chicago yesterday morning to get back here in time for halftime of the first set of NFL games. On my way my friend calls and says he's sick so football is off. I'm like, great. I took 8 beers from my parents' house in a calculated plan to drink 8 beers and then move to the Jack. It ended up not mattering anyway because my friend said I killed the Jack last weekend which for some reason I didn't remember doing. Anywho, I hunker down in the basement with my eight beers and start to watch the football. I called another friend and told him he could come over and watch football, but on his way bring me a 40oz of something because I only have the 8 beers. Make that 6 now. But MAKE IT CHEAP. He wants my assurances that I will drink whatever he brings over and I won't leave him holding the bag for a 40oz that he bought for me that I don't want to drink. I said buy the fucking 40, Chappy, and I'll drink the fucking thing. He walks in with this:

Now let's be real here. I've drank ALOT of beer in my lifetime. ALOT. My first beer was Pabst Blue Ribbon so I'm used to drinking shit. Hell, I'm from Chicago where some of the nastiest beer in the world, Old Style, is revered as if it's the legendary Golden Cock of Zanzibar. So for me not to have heard of something is a rarity. This was one of those times. A review of Big Bear on a beer chatroom said that it "has the scent of jet fuel". I opened it up and mother of God. It was as if you were on a long trip cross country and didn't want to stop because you were making great time so you pissed in a Gatorade bottle then forgot about that bottle for six months and then one day saw it in the car and opened it. THAT fucking bad. But I'm a drunk so I drank it. And you know what? NOT the worst beer in the world. I polished off another 40 later in the evening, but this one was Miller Lite. I was drunk, but not too drunk to watch and cheer as the Bears SOMEHOW pulled out a win against Denver, call my sick friend and bitch his ear off about something, and watch as my completely annihilated other friend held my dog Jett(about an 80-100 lb mastiff/german shephard mix) down, laying on the floor with him attempting to be a dog whisperer in order to make him a better dog. When I suggested he get up and go lay down on the couch, his retort was, "NO! Do you want him fixed or not!?!?"

Sundays rock.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE!

Where's Some Guy Named "Rolling Banjo" When You Need Him?

No idea what "Rolling Banjo" means but for the life of me I couldn't come up with a proper Indian name.  But the point is simple.  The Indians were thankful...uh, that one time, for everything that had despite everything they didn't.  It's a remarkable way of thought that is admirable in its simplicity.  Sort of the Bobby McFerrin theory of screw everything that's wrong and be happy for what you've got.  Hmmm.  I knew there was always a reason I hated that song.

Now let me start this blog off this way, because the second I start to complain about anything I'll have a bunch of people yelling at me telling me how people have it worse and I need to shut up and take it and even if there's no lube I should be happy that it's just one dick and not two.  (Seriously, my fridge went out this summer on one of the hottest days of the year and somebody said I shouldn't say anything because six months ago there was an earthquake in Haiti.  Needless to say that person is no longer a "friend".)  I get it.  I AM thankful for my family, kids, home, health, the fact I can have turkey and all the things to make the meal a memorable one, etc. etc. etc. That's not the point, so please, spare me with the speeches until I've at least had my first beer of the day.  All I'm saying is with Thanksgiving tomorrow, it made me think about how really rough a year it has been.  Every day it seemed was laden with one battle after another.  Roughest of my life, without a doubt.  And yet it was the busiest of my life as well.  Just one that I'll always remember, yet I can't wait to forget.

And just to be clear...I'm not looking for sympathy or pity or anything from this blog...there are just a lot of you who don't really know me and subsequently probably don't understand where the "Just Give Up" idea came from.  And on the flip side, those of you who do know me probably don't know the real story of what's been going on here the last year, and don't realize there's a reason behind all of this stuff I'm doing now, beyond just making people laugh.  Well, here ya go.

The year started out stressful from the job loss.  The crazy, shocking, completely uncalled for job loss.  I remember the day and it'll always stay in my mind because for a year before they let me go, I knew I was in trouble.  Not because I was doing anything wrong...in fact it was the opposite.  I had just gotten my picture on national television by being one of the ten finalists to co-host Live with Regis and Kelly.  I kind of hoped that this would save my job but in the back of my mind I figured otherwise.  You see, the News Director hated me.  Absolutely despised me.  And despite everything I was doing positively, I represented a failure in what she wanted for her newscast.  So I knew she had 60 days from the end of my contract to inform me that she wouldn't keep me.  So for two months or so, I had that date, November 21, in my head.  As the days neared...November 16, 17, 18...and I hadn't heard anything, I actually allowed myself to believe that logic had trumped insanity and they hadn't decided to get rid of me out of spite.

November 21st comes along.  I walk into the station as I always did at 10am to start my shift and went up to the assignment desk to see where I was going for the day.  That's when the Assignment Editor tells me, "Uh, yeah, Tracy wants to see you first."  I knew what day it was and immediately knew.  I turned to look in the office and the sight of the Human Resources person in the office confirmed it.  I knew what they were going to say before they said it.  "Creative Differences" was the official phrase they used, and that two-word phrase would be my financial downfall for the next year.  It's interesting because to this day I think they both expected me to explode and fire myself so that they wouldn't have to pay me anything the rest of the contract.  Unbelievably in that moment I had enough foresight to think of Christmas (I remember saying, "You're going to do this right before Christmas?") and the kids and realized that if I said ANYTHING I could lose everything, including any future unemployment payments.  I can't believe in that moment I actually thought of that.  So I kept my mouth shut, told them I wasn't working today, and left.  That's when it hit me, the actual problem I was now in.  Because after my contract ended at the start of this year, I saw my salary drop astronomically, as my News Anchor money went away, replaced by State unemployment.  I think the term is "shell-shocked".  I applied for everything.  I kept a board in the bedroom which marked down where I had applied, the date, who the contact, was, etc.  I got an agent, interviewed with local stations...nothing.  When it became apparent that I wasn't going to be getting a job, like thousands of other Kansans and hundreds of thousands of Americans, I realized that the weekly unemployment checks I was getting were going to be it.

Now when you're in this situation, as I'd never been, but quickly found out, you have to do anything you can to make up the difference.  Our 401Ks...gone.  That paid for a couple months of mortgage.  Then we started selling stuff on the Craigslist.  More mortgage payments taking care of.  In fact, it wasn't until my mother-in-law came to visit this October and started asking where everything was when we realized how much we really had sold.

One of the roughest times of the year came in the summer, when I had to transfer from regular unemployment to "extended" unemployment.  The problem here is that you can't apply online, and have to send in a physical paper form.  Imagine my fright when we got back from visiting the family and friends this summer for a week, and had in my mailbox another application for the extended unemployment.  Shit, they hadn't received my first application that I sent two weeks back.  Now I'd have to send it again and there would be a lapse in my payments.  I didn't realize that lapse would be SIX weeks.  More stuff on Craigslist.  More stuff sold.  The only good thing about selling all of this stuff is that when we finally do move I won't have to rent as big a truck, or find as many friends to help(yeah, dudes, those phone calls are coming...I'll have beer don't worry).

It became pretty apparent rather quickly that I was never going to get an interview for a job, not to mention any job in general.  I probably literally applied for hundreds of jobs.  Nothing.  Some really caring friends who I am still humbled by would send me openings and leads but nothing.  I'd ask others and get no response.  But that's to be expected.  I had a couple of priorities during this time:  1) Not let the kids know anything was wrong, 2) Not lose the house and 3) DO SOMETHING.

I took all of these priorities very seriously, but No.3 seemed to really take over my life.  DO something.  From the day I found out I was being discarded, I did something, namely I started writing.  I wrote a Family Guy spec episode(a spec is what you write to show your writing style to agents, etc).  Wrote an original pilot about TV News.  Spent weeks sending scripts and letters out to agents and producers but couldn't get past the receptionist(my second most-hated two-word phrase behind "creative differences" is "unsolicited scripts").  Then I went to L.A. in January to try and force them in someone's hands.  Came back.  Now it's February. Wrote an "It's a Sunny in Philadelphia" script.  Got more positive feedback.  Got more confident.  Late March comes around.  Wrote an original pilot about three idiot detectives.  Think I can produce this myself.  I plan for a month, then cast it in April.  During this planning stage I started a "reality show" on the internet called The Broyled Nuts about the family that I shot and edited every day until the computer broke.  A LOT of work, but the positive reception and chance to be creative was worth it. May comes.  Shoot the pilot.  Turns out great.  Get a new computer so I can edit it.  Submit it to one festival but nothing so I decide to keep it under wraps for now until the right time.  June comes.  I decide to write a book about the fact that one really will never succeed at anything so why not just give up.  That takes me into October and is the best thing I've written ever.  In fact I would eventually take a minimum wage stockboy overnight job at Toys R Us to help pay to get the production started.  October comes.  I get three grant proposals I have to do which thankfully makes a little money which can help pay the $1300 for the car's tax and title that I haven't been able to afford, so I can drive it legally for the first time in a year.  Finish those in late October and start writing a 30-minute stand-up comedy routine.  Finish that in November and plan on starting to memorize it, but I get another proposal, which I just finished that yesterday, almost exactly one year to the day I got let go from the station.  And after Thanksgiving it will be back to memorizing the stand-up routine along with re-editing the book from the copyeditor's notes.

The point is for the last year, every single day, even on weekends, I've had my nose in this computer, writing writing writing.  And shooting.  And editing.  And working.  And emailing people, making contacts, concocting schemes.  And for pretty much no money. I've actually kept a file of all the crazy schemes I've tried to get my stuff in the hands of people in the right positions.  It's a who-knows-who industry and has been extremely frustrating, especially when it seems as if the chops are there if I could just find a grill to cook them on.

But I am thankful.  It's not often that one can take a year to follow one's passion and do what it takes so when one does get in that position to show someone something, one actually has something to show.  The question I continually ask myself is am I destined to be this "No Luck Charlie" who continues to amuse and entertain people because of his terrible luck, or will the work actually shine through and something good finally happen?  It's a stressful question to ponder, and an extremely worrisome one.  We all make life choices of what we want to do.  Sometimes we're good at it and have a shot, sometimes we're not and eventually will have to give that choice up.  I don't want to be one of those guys you hear about who were basketball greats on the streets of Harlem, "better than Jordan, they say", but never did anything and now is working a menial job at Toys R Us talking about how he was better than Jordan.  I am thankful for everyone's support...ESPECIALLY my family, who knows how driven and frustrated I get, but put up with my nose in this computer the majority of each day, and my wife, who's working two jobs to pay for the Christmas she wants to have but right now because of our position, would be tough to have.  Thanks guys...and I'll keep at trying to make this choice of career a reality as long as I possibly can.  If nothing else, it's good for some laughs. :)

Ten Celebrities Who Deserve to Be Locked Up More Than Wesley Snipes

Okay, don't get me wrong.  I know dude broke the law.  Tax fraud is a big deal and if you're defrauding the government out of tens of millions of dollars I suppose a punishment is in order.  And as I sit here typing, I'm even pissed off at Wesley because I've been trying to come up with a Blade/Shank joke and I can't tie the two together in a joke to my liking.  I had shit like:

"Good thing Snipes did Blade because he'll know how to use a Shank", and
"With the Blade series over, Snipes is starting a new franchise called "Shank", or
"Could Snipes be called a psychic because he did three movies about Blade and now he's doing three years with a Shank?"

See?  Nothing landed.  There's something there though.  I know there is.  Regardless.  The point is as pissed as I am that he would give me Blade and Shank and although I call myself a comedian I still can't freaking figure out how to use them in a joke that's hilarious and coherent, I still feel bad for the guy.  Seriously.  I mean, if we're basing prison time solely on the damage that someone does to society, then there are like a million other entertainers that really deserve to be locked up more than Snipes.  Sure he gave us some stinkers like Drop Zone, Demolition Man and Boiling Point...Oh, and I guess Sugar Hill kind of sucked.  Oh God, Blade III was rotten to the core.  And what was To Wong Foo all about?  Jesus that was not just terrible, it was disturbing.  Snipes in a dress was like watching a gorilla in drag.  Brutal.  Seriously, whoever wrote that was not only high but really high.  Hmmm.  So I guess he has had a bunch of crap in his career, but so what.  His good stuff far outweighs the bad stuff, unlike a lot of these people, who just put out bad stuff and NEVER give us anything decent...ever.  Like I said, there are like a million of these people, but for our purposes, I think I'll limit the list to ten.

#10. TOM CRUISE

You know, he sort of redeemed himself after his performance in Tropic Thunder, but that only lasted so long.  The guy is a psychopath.  Not that I have anything against Scientology, but Jesus Christ.  There's having faith in something and then there's being an extremist.  I picture Katie Holmes being continually "secured" in an empty, lonely mansion without access to contacting her family or friends, while the baby lives in a golden cage overhanging a stack of Scientology manuals with a fan blowing on them so she'll constantly be inhaling the wisdom of L. Ron Hubbard.  For what it's worth, the guy has done some awesome flicks, and I just saw him performing his own stunt where he scaled the world's tallest building for the upcoming Mission Impossible flick, which was pretty bad ass, but honestly, I can't take him anymore.  Put him away.  Free Katie Holmes and protect Oprah's couch at the same time.  

#9 THE SITUATION

I cry every time I see this guy.  Because it's not fair.  I want to flop on the floor and bang my hands and legs around like a 3-year old who isn't allowed to get a pack of Lemonheads at the checkout line.  He's got abs.  That's it.  He was on a reality show.  Now he makes...where are my kleenex...$30,000 per APPEARANCE.  WHY is The Situation making "appearances" anyway?  What exactly does this guy bring to the table that's paying him that kind of money for people to just look at him?  And then he goes mainstream with "Dancing With the Stars".  That was it.  I don't even watch that show but that was it.  I long for the day that this bubble bursts.  The Situation represents a continuing trend of the American viewers who eat up anything television offers and create celebrities out of anyone.  It used to be real movie stars and tv stars and such who would be worshipped, which is bad enough.  But now reality "stars" like The Situation and The Snookie and The Housewives are followed on TMZ like they're Pitt or Clooney? Christ.  Lock them all up, I say, starting with Meathead, here.

#8 NKOTBSB

 

This is an abomination of the stage.  Watching the New Kids on the Block and Backstreet Boys(NKOTBSB) perform as what they're labeling as a "Supergroup" was an affront to everything music represents, namely relevance and coolness, but substituted with a big heaping pile of "Who gives a shit".  Wow.  First of all, nine people on stage at once is too much.  Secondly, nine boy band members on stage at once should be illegal.  Especially when one of those guys is Donnie Wahlberg who did his best Michael Bivins impersonation by trying to mask his lack of singing ability by adding even worse rapping and a tilted brim.  Why would Wahlberg do this, by the way?  Dude was accepted as a serious actor, hired in a bunch of cool cop shows, movies, etc., and he jumps back into the boy band fray that makes me take him about as serious as a 12-year old hooker.  I mean, yeah she's 12, but she's a she.  Either way, this group sickens me.  Shit, the Temptations were looking at the choreography saying, "Damn y'all, that shit's old."  I want this group gone.  Locked up in the same cell so they can have a massive nine-man orgy that would have Lance Bass calling asking them to change the group's name to NKOTBSBNSYNC.   

#7 FLO

I know she's not a "real" celebrity but still...enough.  Enough already with the Flo.  This woman is EVERYWHERE.  When I turn on the TV, there she is.  I turn on Pandora, there she is.  AOL or Yahoo, she's on the side of the page for another Progressive ad.  Do you know that a kid came to my daughter's school this year dressed as Flo for Halloween???  Are you serious???  Stop.  Just. Stop.  And it wouldn't be so bad if she weren't so freaking annoying.  The second I hear her voice I want to take my gun out of my ass and put it to my head.  You know we're going to be hearing stories about this woman once this ad campaign mercifully ends, of how she was typecast and couldn't get anymore work because all casting directors saw her as was Flo, so she posed in Playboy, and then took the leap into porn where she starred in a franchise called, "Flo Knows Diddling", until her career finally ended when she gained too much weight from all the food at the drug rehab clinics.  The sooner we kill off this character, the sooner we all can get on with our lives and this actress may have a shot at doing something other than smiling and laughing like an idiot in an all white-painted store.

#6 RYAN SEACREST

If there's one reason I am happy to see the American Idol franchise taking a nosedive the last few years, it's because this guy is just out-of-control.  He's everywhere.  He's on TV, on the radio, in print...he's everywhere.  However, if he wants to be Dick Clark he's failed because we never had to see Dick Clark like this.  Why does the American public care who Ryan Seacrest is dating and what he had for lunch on the Sunset Strip?  What is the infatuation with a guy who honestly isn't all that captivating?  I mean, the only reason I want the paparazzi to keep following him is for the day when Brian Dunkleman finally emerges from the shadows at a Seacrest event with a sawed-off shotgun and a suicide note attached to his rope belt.  No one can disagree that the guy works hard...seriously, he's everywhere, but he's taking advantage of a system that for some reason finds him appealing enough to follow his relationship with a Dancing With the Stars dancer who herself, now, is a celebrity.  Yeah, that's enough Seacrest.  No, the only way we could be hearing "Seacrest out" again is when I reevaluate your prisoner status at a parole hearing in, say, 10-15 years.

#5 WHOOPI GOLDBERG

 

What happened, Whoopi?  Seriously, what happened?  I mean, you used to be a funny, albeit strange comedian who was a pretty decent actress and fun to watch.  But Goddammit.  Now you're a strange, egomaniacal monster who can't seem to just have a regular conversation without flying off the handle.  I mean, it's to where you're not even funny anymore.  Even with your temper being as it is, if you at least gave us something to laugh at from time-to-time, we might be able to handle your insanity.  However the only time we're laughing is when you show up to The View so high on pills, you sound like the mice on Speedy Gonzalez but without that grossly-racist Spanish drawl.  Whoopi Goldberg has become the Randy Moss of television.  She doesn't fit anywhere and she knows it, but instead of staying quiet and trying to smooth things over, she makes them worse by saying anything at all.  It's time to go, Whoopi.  Away.  For awhile.

#4 PARIS HILTON

First of all, I'm just going to say my biggest pet peeve when it comes to celebrities is driving while drunk or high.  Here's why...you're a quadzillionaire.  You easily can afford a $100 limo to take you back to whatever party you're going to after the bar.  Secondly, because you're a quadzillionaire, you have a bunch of hangeroners, i.e., fake friends, who aren't really your friends but just want to say they hang out with you.  These people would be HAPPY to drive you home or to whatever party you're going to after the bar.  WHY do celebrities continue to drive themselves places after getting smashed?  I hate it.  It makes no sense and this chick is one of the main culprits.  But the reason I want her gone is because although she continues to do it, and get caught with drugs in the car and on her at the airport, NOTHING EVER HAPPENS.  Sure, she had like 10 days of jail or whatever a few years ago, but what?  She's been arrested since then, multiple times, and nothing.  Yet if her name was LaTosha Hilton she'd not only have been locked up for a few years, she'd be on probation for years and every subsequent arrest would throw her back in lockup.  She is the poster child for that Hollywood double-standard as well as Hollywood stupidity.  I hate her.  

#3 BRETT FAVRE

HAHAHAHAHA!!!! You dumb bitch.  Sending pictures of your Johnny Tallboy across the airwaves like that.  You know what, you deserve all the shit you're getting.  Especially with the pictures I saw.  Dude, those were the least sexy dick pictures this side of Screech.  And what are you doing thinking that just because you're "Brett Favre" all you have to do is have one of your cronies tell this girl that "Mr. Favre requests your company" and she'll drop her panties and run naked to your hotel room?  You aren't Kanye West, Guy.  Rock stars get away with that shit.  Young 20-something major league pitchers and other young athletes get away with that shit.  You're 40-something, have proven to be a bitch by crying numerous times on television, and your body is broken down like an '81 Honda Civic.  Plus you suck on the football field.  I mean, maybe this kind of shenanigans would be acceptable if you actually were performing, but as it stands now, no girl wants to risk her career on a guy who completes more passes to the other team than his own...AND who has a 40-year old penis that instead looks like it should be collecting social security.

#2 TONY PARKER

You fucking idiot.  YOU STUPID FUCKING IDIOT.  God, I hate you Tony Parker.  What the hell is this guy thinking.  And for that matter, what the hell do any of them think? Tiger, Eric Benet, David Arquette...the list goes on and on.  But Tony Parker, you are the dumbest man in America.  Look at this woman.  Sweet Holy Jesus.  And you spend a year texting a teammate's wife who doesn't even come close to her?  I almost put Tony Parker at #1 because of this stupidity.  And come on, man...if you're going to text someone for a year behind your wife's back, get a different cell phone plan or something, I'm sure you can afford it.  The way these dudes get caught texting is unreal to me.  It's a phone.  Hide it.  Keep two.  Have her in the contact list under "Frank".  Anything.  I mean, not that I've thought about this or anything, you know, I, uh...I love you, Honey!

#1 JUSTIN BIEBER

The hair.  The Youtube.  The Usher.  The movies.  The books.  The fans.  Please.  Please.  It's too much.  This kid is not a Beatle.  He isn't.  Yet he is.  He HAS become bigger than Jesus, and there doesn't seem to be anything we can do to stop it.  I don't know what else to say but please God.  Please.  Make it stop.  I beg of you.  Just give this kid an acne outbreak that causes his career to end.  That's all it takes, Man.  ACNE OUTBREAK.  Think about it.  Oh, and cut off his hands and feet.  That is all.  

Well, That Was Fun. (VLOG!!)

You know, many of you have wondered what has happened with the stocknegro job at the toy store.  Well...as many of you have surmised, that job went the way of the separate but equal water fountain.  Yes, I know, many of you were telling me, "Shaun, come on dammit.  Don't quit.  Our joy of listening to your horrible stories are worth more than your happiness, safety and overall welfare."  However, even though I wanted to continue making absolutely nothing, killing myself for the entertainment of others, it became just too much.  Now I know many of you won't understand this decision, and will think I'm just being a "spoil sport" or a "quitter" or a "traitor to my race".  However, I think if you watch this recap of my experience at the store, you'll realize why leaving the establishment was a necessity not only for my physical well-being, but for my sanity as well.  Hopefully after watching this you get a better idea of what an overnight part-time minimum-wage seasonal stockboy job is all about...at a toy store.

Who's a drunk? YOU'RE a drunk! Oh Yes You Are!

As many of you know, I likes my beer.  I also likes my Capt'n & Coke and Jagerbombs.  On occasion I'll like my Gin & Juice, and when I'm traveling I like anything with an alcohol content higher than the percentage of party store owners who understand me when I ask any question that doesn't have to do with where the restroom is.  The point is, I enjoy to drink.  My ex-colleagues enjoy to drink.  And my friends certainly enjoy the booze.  Where I spent the majority of my days as a paid employee, in the media, you'd be hard-pressed to find a group as insecure and questioning as these people.  It's bred into you.  You never know if you're good enough, if someone with much less talent but who is younger and comes cheaper will eventually take your spot, or if you just tick off the wrong person and all of a sudden despite everyone in town loving you you're unemployed and blogging about how you're the drunk of the town.  Media folk are sad in this way but it leads to great times because since the job, itself, isn't fun, everyone gets blasted any chance they get.  

Now, the reason I seem like more of a drunk than anyone is because I choose to write about my exploits in an open forum.  I don't drink as much as the regular person on a daily basis and with my financial situation I CERTAINLY don't go out as much.  Yet I've had people here and there post with concern on my Facebook page that, "You know, I'm worried about you..." and all that bullshit.  Nothing pisses me off more than that.  Yes, I can drink.  And yes, when I drink I go to town, but Good God.  In trying to entertain and have fun by putting my shit out there, I get people who are trying to score a deal with A&E to have me over their house for an episode of Intervention.  Well, just to prove to you buzzkillers that I am simply a happy drunk who does NOT have a problem, let's have me take a test I found on a website...the Top 10 signs of whether or not you're a "problem drinker".  Then maybe we can quit the concern altogether and I can concentrate on what I'm drinking tonight since it's Friday.  

#10.  YOU REGULARLY DRINK MORE THAN YOU INTEND TO.

Well, this ain't me.  Because, you see, I know EXACTLY how much I intend to drink.  More than a lot.  More like ALL.  I go into any social setting where I know there's going to be a party and it's that one night I've been looking forward to for weeks, maybe months, that I'm going to put on a show unlike anything many of the people in attendance have ever seen.  Whether I bust out the Michael Jackson, the splits, I put on a one-man comedy show or start flinging around racial slurs, it's all in good fun.  Another beer? Sure.  Another shot? Why not.  I go until the bars close and maybe a few hours after.  In fact, I would say I should get positive points for this one because when I buy beer at home, I know down to the beer how many I'll need for the night depending on the time and the situation.  Normal Friday night, 9pm...how about a 12pk and a 40.  Friday at 10:30, just a 12.  Sunday during football season, better get a case just to make sure.  

CONCLUSION: NOT A DRUNK.

#9.  YOU GULP YOUR DRINKS.

I do not gulp my drinks for the simple fact that I'm a cheap bastard.  The quicker I slam my beer means the quicker I have to pony up the money to buy another one.  Now, there are times where slamming is a necessity and I will not apologize for them.

- You get to the bar at Midnight and only have a couple hours to booze.

- You're tailgating and the game starts in only a couple hours and you need to drink as much as you can so you don't have to pay $9/beer inside the stadium

- It's a keg.  Those things go fast and if you spend too much time savoring the awesomeness of keg beer, it'll be gone.  That's why at keg parties I park my ass in the kitchen or the basement RIGHT next to the keg.  Hell, I'll work the pump if it means I'm the one getting first crack at each cup.

- You're playing "Flipcup". 

- The bar is closing and you just ordered a beer and they're kicking you out and you'll be damned if you're leaving a full beer at the table.

See?  I believe that having predetermined reasons for slamming means that I have a detailed, logical thought process which ensures that I will only slam for the right reasons and not 100% of the time.  I'm a trailblazer.

CONCLUSION:  NOT A DRUNK 

#8.  YOU REGULARLY MISS WORK DUE TO DRINKING.

This isn't really a fair question because I haven't had too many jobs.  However, I can honestly say that as my recollection goes I've only missed work twice because of drinking.  And one of those times it was a paid internship in Waterloo, IA.  I was in Ames (about 3 hours away) with my college buddies, and after a night of debauchery called and said, "Uh, yeah, um, my alternator died."  The guy on the other end laughed at me.  Literally laughed.  He knew I was bullshitting but what can you do, I'm an intern.  Every other time I tied one on, I've dragged my ass into work.  Christ, when I worked in Wausau, WI, I was the only weekend reporter.  So I'd get crocked Friday night, walk right into the station, past all the desks, into the bathroom, throw up, then get my assignment for the day.  Did the same thing when I worked weekends at a radio station in Lansing, Michigan.  I remember here in KC after a particularly full-on party night, I was standing next to my co-anchor on one of the sets and she says, "Oh my God, you smell like beer.  That's awesome."  It was 5pm.  

CONCLUSION: NOT A DRUNK.

#7.  YOU CAUSE TROUBLE AT HOME.

This, again, is a place that I usually don't hit because I get so faced that by the time I make it home, or go upstairs to bed, I'm just ready to pass out.  However, I can remember a couple of times that Kim was very unhappy with my performance:

- Just this past Sunday I came upstairs and flopped on the couch, waking her up.  She asked me something and I didn't respond but just stared straight ahead.  She asked me why was I mad at her and I simply said "I'm drunk", excused myself and puked in the toilet.  A toilet that was broken.  She had me fix it the next morning.

- Years ago I went to the bathroom after a long day of drinking.  I fell backwards and right through the shower curtain and into the tub.  My wife came in and said, "Are you kidding me with this."

- A few years back I came upstairs and woke my wife up who was sleeping with some pressing questions...asking her in progression where each of the children were.  I then ended with, "Okay...where are YOU?"  Disgusted, she told me to go to bed.

There are many more of these types of stories, but hey, she's still with me, so things are cool, right?

CONCLUSION: A DRUNK.

#6.  YOU DRINK BECAUSE YOU HAVE PROBLEMS.

The irony of this one is although I have a million problems, it's not because of any of them that I drink.  This picture with me, a bottle of Jager and my wife and good friend by my side slamming a shot of said Jager is why I drink.  Fun.  Good times.  Social exploits.  As Hank Hill once said, "I don't want to associate beer with this kind of pain."  That's why I don't drink to solve problems.  That would seem to me to be something a drunk would do, and I, sir, am not a drunk.  Now who this imaginary "sir" is I'm talking to would speak more to me being a schizophrenic than a drunk.  And for this test's purposes, I'm fine with that.

CONCLUSION: NOT A DRUNK.

#5.  YOU TRIED TO QUIT BUT FAILED.

Heh heh.  Yeah, right.

CONCLUSION: NOT A DRUNK.

#4.  YOU LIE ABOUT YOUR DRINKING.

 

The great thing about having a wife who understands you is that you never have to lie about drinking. She pretty much understands it and our relationship thrives that way.  I can honestly say I have never once lied to her about drinking but at the same time she doesn't ask because she knows her husband.  It's not like family members of mine who I've seen hide bottles behind the toilet and under the sink behind the Spider Killer.  Nope.  I don't have to go to those lengths.  If anything, I'll lie to my friends about how much I've been drinking and tell them it's MORE than it actually is, because if I say a number and they think it should be more by this time in the game, then I'm a bitch for the rest of the night and I really don't want to put up with that.  

CONCLUSION: NOT A DRUNK.

#3.  YOU DRINK ALONE.

This picture couldn't have worked out better for this one.  I love this pic because this was the day after my birthday in 2009, when we had the greatest party of all time, and the waitress told me I had done 15 shots, and the next day my head was feeling it.  But with my friends and family in from out of town I went "hair of the dog" and pounded until the headache went away.  Apparently by this point I was alone in this endeavor.  And, I guess during football season I drink alone down in the basement while watching football, but that could be debated since I turn on the Skype and "drink with" my friends the rest of the night.  I do know that it's kind of sad to walk downstairs the next day and see 20 empties next to the bed and know that I did all of that "by myself".  Hmmm.  This one's a toss up.

CONCLUSION: INCONCLUSIVE.

#2.  BLACKOUTS.

Well, this one is where this test has got me.  From being called "Goldfish" because of my memory loss when tanked to flat out losing hours of what happened and not remembering one thing past a certain time of the evening, blackouts are my nemesis.  I remember writing an entire blog a few years back based on the different recounts by my wife and friends of what had happened.  Blacking out sucks because it can either be really fun to hear what happened the next day, or really embarrassing.  And unlike everything else when I drink, this is the one thing I can't plan for.  I have no idea when it will start or how much will be lost in the black hole.  By the way, this picture above, yeah, no recollection. 

CONCLUSION: A DRUNK. 

#1.  NEED A MORNING EYE OPENER TO STOP THE SHAKES.

Well, thankfully for me, after a solid night of getting destroyed, the LAST thing I want to do the next morning is drink anything else.  I know friends who do.  And that's just not me.  I have a cocktail of Alka-Seltzer, Tums and Imodium at the ready because fighting the urge to puke and shit is all I spend the day doing.  I don't eat.  I have a hard time keeping down water.  So no, I don't have the shakes and I certainly don't want to drink.  That's why living in Burbank, CA during football season was brutal.  See, here I can control not having to drink on Saturday night so I can be fresh and ready to go on Sunday.  There it was a different story.  Saturday night was ALWAYS party night, and with it being the West Coast time zone, the games on Sunday started at 10am.  We'd normally be passed out by 6pm.  

CONCLUSION: NOT A DRUNK.

So overall, as you can see, friends, I don't have a problem.  I am a person who likes to drink sometimes and when I do I go balls out.  If you don't like it or can't handle it, well that's cool with me, and if you want you can read someone else who talks about knitting and building card castles.  Or, if you want, you're welcome to stick around and read on.  Just don't be appalled when my next blog talks about how I slept in the yard in nothing but my underwear and an empty bottle of Jager.