CHRIS COEN

I had a bachelor party this past weekend.  I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it, I had a random headache so bad that morning I vomited, which usually happens during the bachelor party, not nine hours before.  Good times ensued, but the true hilarity was after most of us went down for the count.

The bachelor himself wandered back into the casino, and in his stupor saw a very minor celebrity, the former WWE wrestler Virgil (The Million Dollar Man’s Butler).  “I know you!”  Virgil scowled and said, “You think all black people look alike?”  “I know you!”  Realizing he was cornered by drunk wrestling fan who didn’t fall for his racism accusation, Virgil finally admitted his identity and gave a picture to my buddy…for $20.  Not with him, rather, of him from 25 years ago…for $20.

There are a couple things that went through my head.  One, I can’t believe he paid for it.  Two, I can’t believe Virgil only hit him up for $20.  At four AM, he probably could have stuck him for $50.  At least he personalized the pic by writing “Be Cool.”  Memories that will never fade.

If you drink a Coke or eat yogurt, you can win a Gold medal.  It’s science.  Or pathetic marketing.  I know you drink enough whiskey and Coke, you can win medals in your head.  I won the coolest guy in the bar medal drinking that in a bar in 2004.  It was revoked when I was tossed from the bar.

If you’re a good looking person, your silver or bronze means more to the media than some uggers’ gold medal.  Take that, you monster, I’m still pretty!

I was watching the men’s figure skating highlights and thought the Japanese gold medalist was a woman.  Then I saw Johnny Weir’s sequined headband and low cut shirt and had no idea what gender anyone was.

The U.S. should have lost the hockey game vs. Russia, if not for a technicality with the net.  I felt no remorse.  Take that, commies!  Or former commies!  Now if only we could make up for the 243 medals they screwed us out of before that moment, we would be even.

If I hear another announcer talking about athletes “fighting” and “struggling” I may vomit.  How about they’re just out there doing what they trained for 10 years to do?  Too boring?  We need more childhood drama stories, people are turning the channel!  Throw in a story about a stubbed toe at age seven, quickly!

I still don’t understand 72% of these sports, but I’m sure I could do curling.  It’s like shuffleboard made by potheads.  Maybe I can’t do any winter sports…it’s just the mountains on my Busch Light can lying to me again.

Sometimes things are normal on my weekend, as in I’m not getting paid work and I sit at home at drink instead going to another town and drinking, but as I found out…that could be weirder.

My future in-laws stopped by to visit this weekend, which meant two boys, 6 and 8 were part of the gang.  I actually have a lot in common with them, we like video games, Abraham Lincoln, and dogs…and apparently football.  I was on my computer when it was their bathtime, when the oldest ran out.  I didn’t look up until I heard him calling out “Hut, Hut!”  I looked up just in time to see him dropping back to pass.  In the ol’ birthday suit.  Well, guess, I’m staring at the ceiling for the next several minutes.

I thought the overwhelming awkwardness was done, but the next bathtime brought more.  I was watching TV, when a freshly washed young man ran out, flashed us one by one and yelled, “Pee Pee Boy!”  There was much laughing from his brother, much more staring at the ceiling from me.  I was rather disturbed, but in fairness, I streaked a sorority house when I was 19, so I can’t really judge.  Especially since I yelled “Pee Pee Boy!” the whole time.  It’s a small world.

I had to get a glucose test to keep my insurance from going up.  Not sure if this is the fault of insurance companies, Obamacare, failure of tort reform laws being passed, greedy CEO’s, or whatever the reason of the day is, but at least I don’t have to be genetically tested like in Gattica yet.  But that’s probably coming soon.

I made an appointment online and realized I had to fast for nine hours.  Normally, not an issue, but there is something in humans that makes you want to do whatever you’re not supposed to, like curse in church, drink at work, etc.  Just me?  Moving on.  I got there and the place was completely packed with WT’s.  I haven’t seen that many Starter jackets in one room since the Colony Square Mall in Zanesville in 1993.  I went up to the clipboard and thankfully, saw I was only one with an appointment.  Yes!  The sign says appointments first.

They then proceeded to ignore this sign and let every single person ahead of me.  The hunger was bad, the conversations were worse.  One guy wearing sweat pants looked at the clock, then got up and left.  You’re wearing sweat pants to a drug screen/blood test, my friend.  You have NOWHERE more important to be.  Trust me.  I then stared at two girls talking about not working as they played games on their iPhone 5’s.  Of course.

Finally, the room was empty.  The lady stuck her head out the window, looking at the empty room and me.  “Jiminez?”  I said, “Coen.”  She looked down, then up.  “Davidson?”  Son of a bitch.  “Chris.  Chris Coen.”  She looked down, then up.  “Smith?”  I peered back into her soulless eyes.  She looked down, then up.  “Coen?”  “Yes, that’s me.”  “Come on back!”  I’m sorry, I have to cancel.  There’s a sale on sweat pants down the street.

The Walking Dead is back, which means my Sunday nights go from “Oh poop, I have to work when I wake up” to “Yay!  Walking Dead is on!”  Then after an hour, back to statement one.  I did however compile a list of things bad and good if this really happened.

Let’s start with the bad.  1) No cold beer.  I should end the list here.  2) No video games, internet, TV.  Almost as bad as number one.  3) No flushing toilets.  Yikes.  I shudder to think of people dropping deuces seventeen feet from my tent.  I then realized all three of these remind me of camping.  Thus, the no camping recently.  4) Zombies are trying to eat you.  With the lack of showers and toilets, maybe they couldn’t tell you were a human.  Unfortunately, I have no zombies to test this with.

The good?  1) Less people.  Then again, the only people left are probably huge dicks, so this may be a wash.  2) You can steal anything, much like almost everyone I met in college.  3) You can murder zombies.  This may be better than video games, except for the being eaten part.  4) If your job sucks in the real world, you could reinvent yourself as someone like the Governor in a zombie world.  I’m pretty sure I’ve worked with a few guys that are one bad day away from that transition.

In summation, I am going to go out on a limb and say it would suck.  The lack of hygiene alone would make it unbearable.  Not only the stench, but can you imagine having to stare at someone with unpopped whiteheads every day?  I think I would go it alone.

I am not very handy.  I can do stuff with tools, but more along the lines of “Hey, can you take this ______ and rip out that _____.   In other words, I can destroy things.  I worked for my uncle’s construction company when I was 15.  I managed to get a piece of aluminum in my eye from cutting fascia and soffit.  I later hit my thumb so many times with a hammer I launched it across a parking lot and outcursed the other construction workers, which is like out whitetrashing Miley Cyrus.  Nearly impossible.

I remember growing up, my dad actually was the general contractor on his own house.  In other words, he built the place largely himself, and with the help of family and my generally useless fraternity labor (myself included).  He would tell me to grab a tool, I would meander over to the toolbox and stare at it for minutes until he muttered under his breath, came over, and grabbed it himself.  I would then stare off into space and imagine I was a bald eagle or ninja until given a menial task like picking up nails or moving blocks.  Thus, the owning of a condo later in life.

Fast forward to now.  My fiance is perhaps the queen of home improvement.  She runs laps around me in terms of fixing, building, or upgrading everything from electrical wiring to carpentry.  She tiled a fireplace, cutting the tiles with a wet saw, mounting the pieces, and putting two different kinds of grout when done.  My job?  I ran upstairs and got paper towels wet mostly.  To be fair, I also got dry paper towels out, got alcohol at the store, ran a shop vac and cleaned out buckets.  In other words, other than buying booze, my skill set is still that of a distracted child, just one with a deep voice and chest hair.  I also realize my testicles are basically a prop.  Anyone need help duct taping anything?