I dislike happy hour. Nothing is worse than having a few right after work, then going home at 8. You will accomplish nothing other than dumb Facebook updates. I need to unwind before I unwind or I am salty. Of course, dollar beers are hard to beat, but my pet peeve is guys at the bar who wear work clothes…especially at 9 pm, when they walk into the bar in a suit when you know they got off at 5. Ooohhh, that guy has a suit on. He must be a millionaire.
Adult sports
Since “retiring” (read: quitting) college football, I have this lingering moronic desire to continue sports. I have played basketball (I never scored a point in two years in elementary school), dodgeball (sorest I have ever been in my life other than the motorcycle wreck I had), bowling (two time Big Wazoo champions, but not really a sport), and softball. We went tonight and the other team no showed, so we won. At the bar, we got a call – the league commish sent their team the wrong schedule, so now I have a doubleheader later. Boo. Adult sports = injuries. I have torn my hamstring, my buddy broke his leg, and another one tore his elbow tendon. For what, you ask? A $10 engraved trophy that sits in a bar in Hilliard, Ohio – 2006 runners-up, Field 4. Yes, Field 4, where the worst of the worst relive little league memories under the influence of booze and false hopes.
On a side note, how do so many people with minimum wage jobs have arm sleeve tattoos and Harleys? I went to college for free, drink Busch Light, eat Kroger brand ravioli four times a week and live in a part of town two miles from the Hilltop; which looks like Snake Pliskin is about to try and escape from any day now. Seriously, they found a human torso in a pond a mile from my front door in 2010. What have I done with my life? Oh yes, it’s the run ins with the law, the gambling trips while drunk, and of course, the motorcycle I bought for $5000, then totaled after less than a quarter mile. I went from a DMX video to a Jackass: the Movie outtake in one half minute.
Bookers
When I first started doing comedy and was absolutely awful, people came up to me and said, “When are you going to Houston?” Everyone’s experience is different, but here’s how comedy works for most people. You start, you do time, you bomb for at least a year, then you start to slowly figure out how to be funny. Clubs spit on your face – why? So many awful comics came before and blew it so bad, no one will give you a chance. I heard a story about a comic that got his first show w/ a booking agency and he smashed up the hotel room. Fired. The key to getting work is to get in front of bookers. These are mostly comics with some business accumen that go to small towns in your geographic region and convince bar owners that they can provide an assemblance of humor for a fee. Most of these are one nighters that eat up your profits in gas, but if you do them, you get 25-35 minutes as a feature act to polish your act to a shiny turd. When you start, that much time is worth a financial loss. Trust me. Some bookers are great – Steve Sabo w/ Inside Joke Productions gave me my first tryout in Bowling Green, OH after seeing me MC in Lancaster. I have been working for him for three years now. Steve rocks and got me in with another booker later this year that I have been begging for work for two years from. Others are less than desirable. I may have three shows next week…but I don’t know if it’s confirmed, or where they’re at (may not even be in Ohio), or any other random details. Why? I can’t get a return email or call. If I am booked and no show, I’ll get banned forever from working for this agency. If I can’t get the time off work? Done. If I can? Same treatment – suck it, Coen. You are my puppet. Be funny. Imagine getting a job – you start Monday. Where? I’ll get back to you, but if you no show…you’re fired. When someone told me in 2007 it took 7 years to make enough to pay your bills doing comedy, I waved them off as a loser. Now I think 7 years is perfect…if you live at home, drive a Geo Metro circa 1996, and eat ramen noodles on your birthday. That said, I will conquer you, comedy. I am funny and I am an American. No one tells me no unless you want a bloody lip. I will fuck up at 180 miles an hour. I am too stubborn to quit and too stupid to know when I should. See you at the top, one small town at a time. Your ass is next, Houston…
Too drunk
A certain person I know just texted me about the spins, caused by excess alcohol (name withheld). Thankfully, rarely if ever do I experience this, but if you’ve drank, you’ve ran into this. The first time I drank, my buddy puked and then fished his retainer out of said puke, nearly causing the same reaction from me. My moment of utmost intoxication came on a bet. I was talking about another friend of mine that drank 72 beers in two nights. One of my fraternity brothers then said if I could do it, he would buy me a combo meal at McDonald’s. Not one to back away from a challenge/being a moron, I took this bet. After a huge meal, the clock started. I woke up with “27 down” written on my face in marker. I later found out my roommate had a great action shot of me expelling the demons – from what I can tell, about two gallons’ worth of evil. I may have also comandeered the CD player and turned it into a Pantera night, which is never good for picking up chicks. I was in no state to talk to anyone that night, but I’m sure my frat brothers didn’t woo any ladies to the melodies “Primal Concrete Sledge” or “Good Friends and A Bottle of Pills.” If a girl likes your heavy metal music, chances are she doesn’t have a strong relationship with her dad or she has Hep C from a dirty tattoo needle.
Vacation
As the weather improves, most of us think about upcoming vacations. Vacations are weird. They usually involve more stress than just staying home and cost a lot of money. Last time I went to Las Vegas, I lost enough money to feed a Ugandan family of five for a year. Plus for me, being unmarried my whole life, all my buddies have one question for me upon returning: “Did you get laid?” I got this question once after returning from camping in West Virginia for a weekend trip of white water rafting. The only way I was getting laid in the middle of nowhere in West Virginia is if I pulled a Ned Beatty and got found in the forest by toothless hill people. No, my friends, I didn’t find the magic vagina tree in the wilderness. I’ve been to Mexico a couple times and once they gave my hotel to other group of people. I spent the first night guarding a pile of shoes with a chair leg suffering sleep deprivation until my buddy Peterson threatened the travel company with a baseball bat and got us a four star hotel. Once, I went to Washington DC on a tour bus and got sat by the crapper, which on a bus, is not supposed to be a crapper, but try getting 40 people in their 70’s to hold a deuce for more than hour. It smelled like a cesspool within 55 minutes of pulling out of Ohio. Is there such thing as a stress free vacation? If you have kids, then no. If you travel, then no. If you are forced to interact with other people, then no. My ideal vacation? Ten cases of beer and a new Playstation 3 game in a bunker isolated from humankind.
Mother’s Day
Thanks to moms everywhere, especially to mine for working so hard, putting up with my hijinx, and also for helping to craft my sense of humor. Especially the immature part. Every time I see a guy get hit in the nuts with a football and chuckle – that’s my Mom. Each time I hear a fart and tee hee like a six year old – my Mom again. Love you Mom; now excuse me, I have to watch the neighbor’s dog hump a stuffed animal.