What’s up you fuckers.  Guess what?  Yesterday, I found out something that made me the happiest man in the world.  Yesterday, me and my wife went to the doctors and found out that I have superhuman powers.  Yes.  You read correctly.  I have the superhuman ability to determine the sex of my unborn baby.

See, … let me explain.  Ever since me and my wife found out that she was pregnant, I’ve been going around and telling everybody that my wife was carrying a boy.  Everyone thought I was crazy.  “You shouldn’t tempt fate,” they said.  Some, as evil spirited as they were, even wished me a baby girl because they knew that I’d be absolutely miserable.  (May those fuckers eat shit and die by the way.)  They warned me that saying out loud that I don’t want any daughters, will only bring me daughters.  Silly fools, … little did they know that I’m really powerful.  All I have to do is believe really hard that I’m going to have a son and *poof* I’ll will it to happen! 

So yesterday, when the doctor located the baby’s penis through the sonogram, my powers were confirmed.  So let this be a lesson to you all!  Do not doubt my superhuman powers!  Or else I shall will roughly half of you into having baby girls!

More on bachelor parties…

You know what?  I’m still not done talking about bachelor parties.  There’s more to be said about that topic.  I thought I was done, but I’m not.  There’s more.  Oh so much more, damnit!!  So here I am to bring sexy back!!  (sorry, … I’ve been listening to waay too much z-100.)

Anyways, … here’s another thing about bachelor parties.  It’s not only the celebration of a glorious life of bachelor-ness(?) for the soon-to-be groom.  It’s also an important occasion for your friends.  It’s a time for all of your buddies to get together once again, and party like rock stars.  Celebrate the good old days!  As great of a time and as important the bachelor party is for the, well, … bachelor, … it’s also a very important event for all of his friends.  Why?  Because it’s a fool-proof, certifiable, irrefutable excuse for a man to get away from his wife or gf for a night or two, to drink like he did when he was a college freshman, be stupid and completely irresponsible without having his wife *roll* her eyes at him and say “Chi~~.”  It’s a time where his wife won’t try to catch him riding dirty.  (Ok.  I’ll stop.)

And this is yet another difference between how chicks think, and how guys think.  Chicks don’t understand this.  Why?  Because chicks think that the wedding, and everything associated with the wedding, is all about them.  And in a way, for a chick, … it is.  They can’t fully appreciate the fact that the bachelor party is as much about the bachelor as it is for his friends.  For her, if she doesn’t want a bachelorette party, then she doesn’t have to have one.  If she feels that male strippers are “icky,” they just won’t go to a strip joint.  And that’s why she’ll sit there and think it’s perfectly ok to make ridiculous demands on the guy like, “you can have a bachelor party, but you can’t go to a strip club.”  Or, “you can go to a strip club, but you can’t have a lap dance.”  Or, “you can only have sex with one Thai hooker.  But not two at the same time.”  Just kidding about the last one.  But seriously, they don’t understand that for guys, going to the strip club, getting a lapdance, drinking until you’re inebriated, is not really a choice.  It’s what’s required.  Why?  Because you are a part of the group.  You understand, as illogical as it may sound to some of you chicks, … that by going to the strip club, you’re giving happiness to your friends.  By getting that lap dance, you give your friends something to smile about.  By drinking until you pass the fuck out, you’re building memories that your buddies will smile about for years to come.

So this is a message to all you chicks getting married out there.  And there seems to be quite a few of you on xanga.  (on a side note, … why are all you engaged/married chicks subscribing to a sexist bastard like me?  It seems like almost all of the last 20-30 subscribers have been married/engaged chicks.)  Before you sit there and try to put a restriction on your future husbands, remember this.  He’s going to have a bachelor party.  There’s nothing you can do about that.  He’s going to get lapdances.  And most likely, a great many of them, depending on how many friends he has.  There is also nothing you can do about this.  It’s not because he doesn’t love you, or because he would rather spend time with a stripper.  This is something he needs to do.  And as convoluted as it may sound, it’s because he wants to be a good friend.  And it’s because he has good friends.  Great friends.  So you can go ahead and make all the demands you want.  But know this.  By making these demands, all you’re asking for is a bad argument where the outcome becomes either him saying that you’re being unreasonable and that he’s going to do it anyways and that’s that, and you feeling really really upset, … or it’s going to be him saying ok, and complying to what you say, but then just ending up lying to you.

A bunch of us had this conversation a very long while back and I promised Bee that I’d post about it, and so here we go…

I remember when I got engaged, me and my wife had this argument about bachelor parties versus bachelorette parties.  Basically, her argument was that everything is a two way street.  If the guy gets to have a bachelor party, then the girl is also entitled to have a bachelorette party as well.

Sure, in theory this works out well.  Everybody loves equality.  Nobody wants to be “unfair.”  But the reality of the situation is this.  We are not living in an equal world.  And marriage is not an equal relationship.  And because we are not living in an equal world and involved in an equal relationship, to be “fair” actually becomes “unfair.”

Now, … before all you ERA, women’s sufferage, tree-hugging hippies get your panties all in a bunch, just hear me out for a minute.  Now I’m not here trying to say that women are inferior to men.  What I am pointing out is that women are different from men.  They’re absolutely insane, and men are not.  HAHA.  No, but seriously, men and women are just different.  And to try and go tit for tat with every single issue is simply ridiculous.

To make it easy, I’ll take examples from the entire engagement and wedding arena to explain what I mean.  I don’t think many chicks out there would raise any objection to the fact that a guy has to shell out two months salary and sell his left testicle to buy his chick a shiny little rock.  In fact, it’s absolutely expected that this occurs.  Now where’s the equality in this one?  And if a guy were to ask, “Where’s my shiny sparkly rock,” you chicks would probably reply with, “you don’t even like diamonds.”  Fine, … but at the same time, the last time I checked, I didn’t realize that you chicks really enjoyed having random men rub their penises all over you.  Wait, … isn’t that considered a sexual offense??  But yet, isn’t that what you’re arguing for when you argue equality?

Or what about the fact that the chick gets to dictate every facet of the wedding, down to the type of napkins that the guests will be wiping their mouths with.  Hell, what if there was a groom out there that actually wanted to plan the wedding as well.  Do you think if he and his future spouse got into an argument about the type of menu cards, that anyone in their right mind would actually say, …”it’s not fair man, …. she gets to dictate everything and you don’t have a say at all!”  Or would the most common answer be “stop being a pussy, just shut the fuck up, do what she says, and just show up at the day of the wedding.”  I’d venture to guess #2.

Now for those chicks that are sitting there and saying, … “I want my fiancé to have a say.  I would LOVE it.”  I say BULLSHIT.  You want your fiancé to have a say alright.  You want him to SAY what you say.  You know damn well that when you ask for his opinion, you couldn’t care less about what he wants.  You just want to ask because deep down inside you know you’re being a total nazi about the whole wedding.  But the thing is this.  He doesn’t care.  Really.  He really doesn’t give a shit if your wedding was in a cathedral, or in a Vegas Chapel married by Elvis.  All he cares about is that his buddies are all going to be around, that they have enough to drink, and that’s pretty much it.

But I digress.  My point is that marriage is never going to be equal.  What it is, though, is a trade off of different things.  The guy gets a bachelor party, the chick gets a bridal shower.  The chick gets to dictate the wedding, and the guy gets to nod and agree and make the chick feel good about planning. 

And you know what?  Life is the same way.  It’s impossible to try and make everything equal when men and women inherently aren’t.  Still don’t believe me?  OK.  Let me pose a question to you.  What would be your reaction if you heard that a 300lb man raped a girl?  Unless you’re a sick fuck with some serious problems, I would venture to guess that you would feel sorry for the girl, that you would call it a tragedy.  You’d want the guy arrested and turned into a eunuch!  

Now, what would your reaction be if you heard that a 300lb beast of a woman raped a guy?  Hell.  Let’s make this a little more personal.  What if that guy was Chy.  Would you feel sorry for him?  Maybe.  But moreover, wouldn’t you find it fucking hilarious.  I don’t know, … maybe I’m a sick fuck with some serious problems, but if I heard that a 300lb chubs raped Chy, I’d probably die of laughter.

Please note, that I’m not here to dissect the situation and give answers to why men and women aren’t equal.  That’s a much larger discussion in itself.  Rather, I’m just here to point out that in the world that we live in, this is simply the case.  And to go ahead and try go tit for tat for everything, or worse, only for situations that you deem it necessary to do so, and not for others is just simply unfair, hypocritical, and selfish.

On a side note, … hell, … you can’t even go tit for tat in the strip club example because female strip clubs and male strip clubs are completely different!  In female strip clubs (clubs where chicks get naked) there is a no touching rule.  You touch an ass cheek and chances are you get thrown out by the very large Apache Chief looking bouncer.  Sure, there are some more “risqué” strip clubs out there and there are some strippers that will encourage you to “touch.”  But that is a small minority.  We’re speaking in general terms, here.  Now, male strip clubs on the other hand, are absolutely wild!  Women are allowed to touch, grab, pull, anything and everything.  And the men are allowed to touch the women too!  And the lap dances!  Forget about it!  They’re literally dry humping the chick!  I know this is what happens!  I’ve seen Real Sex on HBO.  HAHA.  But seriously, I know that dry humping the bride-to-be, or doing some sort of backflip and having the landing be the stripper’s crotch on the chick’s face, a normal male strip club occurrence.  No??

But at the end of it all, I don’t think that you chicks really believe in the equality argument either.  The equality argument only comes about because it’s the most convenient excuse.  No one wants to seem unfair.  But in actuality, the real reason why you chicks argue for a bachelorette party to mimic a bachelor party is solely routed in jealousy.  Let’s face it.  You just don’t like the fact that your man is gonna go to a place to see tits and ass.  And to make him pay for doing so, you expose yourself to a dick-fest.  Isn’t that really what this is all about??

It’s been a while.  Hope you fuckers didn’t miss me too much.  Anyways, to give you guys an update, married life is good.  Can’t complain.  The only thing I’ve missed being married, I guess, is not being able to bang other chicks.  HAHA.  Joking, joking.  No, the only thing that I’ve missed being married is food.  And this, I’m being serious about. 

Now, when I say food, I’m not talking about “food,” as in a substance that you ingest and digest to maintain your vital life functions.  No.  I’m talking about food, as in things that actually have taste.  Now don’t get me wrong.  To give my wife credit, she is a very good cook.  Some may disagree, … and when we first met, I would have to agree that she wasn’t a great cook.  OK.  Fine, … she was downright bad.  But these days, I must admit that her cooking is very much improved, and actually very good!

But it’s not her cooking that’s bad.  No, … it’s actually the ingredients that she uses.  Everything in our house is now fat free, sodium free, reduced sodium, low fat, low carb, low cal, … you name it.  If they make a product that extracts all the flavor out of food and replaces it with tofu, my wife will buy it.  And buy it in bulk.

And the fucked up thing about it is this.  She won’t even tell me.  So I’m sitting there, eating my low sodium, low fat spam (yes, I eat spam and I like it), and I won’t notice a thing!  (But this is not my fault because I just don’t have very active taste buds.)  Now, I’m sure you’re asking, “So if you don’t notice, then what’s the big deal then?”

Well, … the big deal is this.  When I finally do taste the full flavored version of any food, THAT is when I realize how good food could have been!  That’s when I realize that I’ve been deceived!!  It’s like picking up a chick at a dimly lit club thinking she’s hotter than hell, only to see her outside and realize she was a troll.  I made this startling realization a little while back, when I was in the kitchen eating some Muenster cheese.  So I’m sitting there munching on some slices of cheese when I think to myself, wow, .. this is really good!  So I tell Susie, … “hey, which brand is this cheese?  We should really buy this from now on!  It’s much better than the other one’s we’ve been eating before!”

And that’s when she revealed to me that it wasn’t the brand that was the difference, but that they ran out of the low sodium Muenster, and so she had to buy the full sodium!  Appalled, I started to think, “wait, … if she buys low sodium cheese, then what else low sodium/fat/taste has she bought and mixed into my diet??”  And so I looked around.  Low calorie margarine instead of butter.  Low fat spam.  Low carb pasta (is this even allowed??  I thought that was an oxymoron!)  Fat free milk.  Low fat yogurt.  Low fat maple syrup!  And the list goes on and on!  Actually, … there wasn’t one thing in the house that was the “original” formula!

Now get this.  So she won’t let me buy full flavored anything, saying that that stuff is no good for you, and all the stuff she buys is healthy and yadda yadda yadda, … while she’ll go out and buy all the chocolate, cookies, cakes, and dessert she wants!  What a food nazi.

As I set out for work this morning, the elevator doors of my apartment building open and I see my upstairs neighbor inside.  When she sees me she says, “Hey, how are you doing?”  To which I give the standard reply, “Good, and you?” 

Now when I say “good, and you” I really don’t care to hear whether she is really doing well or not.  Nor do I really care to tell her that I’m not doing well if I wasn’t.  It’s just something you say.  I thought this was common knowledge.  It’s kind of like when an Italian guy says “How you doin.”  It’s not really a question.  It’s just a greeting that you say.  No one really cares to hear whether you slept well, or whether you are going to have a busy day.  It’s just something to say while you look up at the floor indicator lights of the elevator as it goes down.

But obviously, she wasn’t in aware of this notion, as she replies, “Oh I’m fine, … except for this cold sore that I just developed this morning.”  Now, what the hell is wrong with this chick?  Why would I want to hear about your fucking herpes outbreak first thing in the morning?  OK.  Correction.  What makes you think that I would ever want to hear about your herpes any time of the day?  What makes you think that this is even remotely an appropriate elevator conversation topic?  If you must, … then talk about the weather or something.  Or hell, … even make the standard, “Humpday” comment.  That’s fine.  But telling me about a cold sore that you developed makes this elevator the world’s S-L-O-W-E-S-T elevator in the world!

HOLY MOLY!!

And so now that I’m trapped in the elevator for what seems like an eternity, I am now forced to use every ounce of restraint that my body has to try and not stare at the gaping boil on her face.

And since I am finding myself literally looking down at the floor and I blurt out (because I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut when I get uncomfortable), “It’s probably from stress.”  To which she replies sarcastically, “yeah, … if it were only stress.”

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS CHICK??!!  Doesn’t she realize that I’m just trying to make the situation feel as less uncomfortable as possible?  Why can’t she just say “yeah, …” like the rest of the free world would and shut the fuck up?  Is she trying to torment me? 

So as I’m sitting here, eating a big mac and sipping on a coke, I start thinking about the events that just unfolded 10 minutes ago, from my walk back from McDonalds in Harlem. I sit here and think to myself, … “damn, … why didn’t I come up with something more clever??”

So let me fill you in on what happened. I’m walking down the street, with my bag of McDonalds in my hand, walking back to work. I’m happily walking along, minding my own business, thinking about how delicious this big mac will taste, when all of a sudden I hear, … “AWWWWHATTAWHATTA CHONG CHING CHING GAWAHH….”
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So I was in Phili last weekend because of my wife’s friend’s wedding.  So I’m staying over at my in-law’s place and when it’s time to go to bed, I feel real funny about going into my wife’s room to sleep. 

Susie’s father goes into his room immediately before anyone else at the first sign of bustling about (being the smart man that he is, I know he did this on purpose to avoid any sort of uncomfortableness in the air), and so that left me, my wife and my mother-in-law just standing there in the middle of the livingroom/dining room, kinda looking around to see what happens next.

And being that I can’t shut the fuck up when I get uncomfortable, I say, …

“OK, … I’m gonna sleep on the couch.  Susie, can you get me a pillow and blanket?” 

To which her mother abruptly forces out, … 

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!  You go sleep in there!”  And points to Susie’s room.  And then gets uncomfortable and scurries into her room.

Now, … here’s the situation.  Had the conversation flowed more normally, more casually, … then maybe it would have been ok.  I would have gone into my wife’s room with my wife, proceed with a little horizontal polka, and go to sleep a happy man.

BUT, now that I know that they know that we’re in the same room together, and are anticipating that we do the hibbity-dibbity, then that makes me extremebly uncomfortable about even attempting to do anything.  I don’t care if I were to be quieter than a man jerking off in prison (***side note – what movie is that from??  Anyone??).  I can just SENSE them wondering if we’re having sex in there!

And so I just couldn’t do it.  And I don’t know what it is.  I was talking about this with my friends last night and Kai119 was like “what’s the big deal?  You’re already married.  And besides, I’ve had sex while my roommate was in the same room as me.”  Yeah fine, … but isn’t that what’s required in a gay orgy?  HAHA.

No but seriously.  Sure.   I’ve done that before too.  But that was in the past.  When you were in college or something.  I don’t know, it’s just different now that you’re married. 

And I know that I’m not the only one that feels this way.  My friend’s wife also said that she feels the same way when her mother in law is in the house.  To bad for my poor, poor friend.  Unfortunately, they live in the same house with his mother.  I bet you their next vacation is coming soon.

So I was at herald square with my wife a couple of weeks ago.  I was on line at Mrs. Fields cookies because apparently, my wife will die if she doesn’t get cookies.  Anyways, I must admit, I was feeling quite miserable and irritable that day.  Maybe it was the lack of cigarettes for the whole day, or maybe it was because me and my wife were being snippy with each other (but it’s not my fault that she takes 50 million hours and several trips back and forth from the macy’s cellar to the 7th floor bridal regristry section to decide on a friggin toaster!!!@@#@!).  Or maybe it was because I was tired of running from Crate and Barrel to Macy’s to Staples, only to have to look forward to going grocery shopping on my only day off.  Or maybe I just missed my testicles.  I don’t know.  But I was feeling a bit cranky.

But as I’m wallowing in utter agony as I watch my wife painfully try to explain to the slow witted Mrs Fields employee that she should be getting a free cookie when she orders a dozen, I see a very large heavy set security guard lumber up to the counter and ask for a cup of ice.  The Mrs Fields chick, apparently having eaten too many of them free cookies working there was moving very slow with our order so that the security guard had to wait.  So while he’s waiting, he realizes he has to sneeze and so he turns his head towards the ground and lets out an enormous ACHOO!!

Unfortunately, there happened to be a little girl that was standing right underneath that sneeze, also waiting on line to get some cookies.  As soon as the security guard realized that she was there, a look of shock came over his face.  And he said, … “oooh shit, …” and just stood there stunned and embarrassed that he sneezed all over the little girl.  Me, … being the prick that I am, just incase he hadn’t noticed, decided to point out the the security guard, ..

“Doode, … you just sneezed ALL OVER that little girl!!”

And then couldn’t control my laughter.  The little girl, now with snot on her head, and after the initial shock of being sneezed on by a very large man subsided, started wailing at the top of her lungs and seeked comfort in the arms of her mother.  Me, seeing that she was obviously distraught made me laugh even more!  Even thinking about the scene right now, as I’m typing is making me crack up in front of the computer.  The security guard, now thoroughly embarrassed just walked away from the scene without his cup of ice. 

Am I the only insensitive prick that gets so much pleasure out of this?

So I’m a married man now.  Sorry Jessica Alba, I guess if you ever wanted to have a wild and crazy night of raunchy passionate monkey sex with me, you missed your chance.  Too bad for you.

Wedding was great.  Special thanks to everyone who took part in it the wedding.  I’ll spare everyone the gushy heartfelt thank you’s and that’s all I’ll say about that.  Anyways, I got back from my honeymoon in Bali about a week ago.  Bali was fantastic.  Maybe if I feel motivated, I’ll be a chick and post pictures, … but I have a feeling that my wife will probably beat me to it.

While in Bali, I noticed a couple of things.  For one, because tourism is so huge there, everyone is very multi-lingual.  It seems like everyone knows about three languages.  Although people don’t know how to use the word “please” correctly.  It’s like someone told them “please” is a polite thing to say, so they decide to use it after every single sentence.  So instead of saying good morning, they say, “Good Morning please,” and “Thank you, please,” and “would you like some more coffee please.”  It took a little getting used to, because the excessive pleases kept making me want to order more coffee just to be polite back.

Another thing that struck me as odd was how the women there carry large heavy objects on their heads.

It’s insane!  They’ll balance a whole tray of food, or a basket on their heads (no hands for support) and just walk around like it’s nothing.  That can’t be good for you, no?  I’d think that must stunt your growth or something.  At first it made me sad to see this.  How unfortunate it is that people in this world still live in societies where carrying large heavy objects on their heads was the way of life.  But then I started thinking.  And thought to myself, wouldn’t it be great if my wife were able to balance a beer on her head?  Then I’d be able to get head AND have a place to rest my beer at the same time!  HAHA.  Just kidding!  Maybe.

Anyways, it’s good to be back.  Surprisingly, I find that I don’t have too much nonsense to talk about so I’ll end it here for now.

What’s been going on for the past month or so:

Vegas.  The Disney land for adults.  I was there last weekend as my buddies threw me a bachelor party that I’ll never forget.  Thanks to the best man for organizing.  That’s all I have to say about that.  Well, … rather, … that’s all I care to share with you guys about that.  Heh.

Anyways, it’s funny.  A strip club does funny things to a man.  Is it just me, or do other guys also find that after you spend a certain amount of time in a strip joint, your whole perception of chicks changes.  Like for the next few days, every time you see a chick, you have to make a conscious mental note to not expect her to take off her clothes.  NO?  Just me?  Oh.  OK, … I’m the asshole then.  Whatever, fuck you.

In other news, … I’m getting married in 9 days.  Yes.  9 days!  You believe that??  Scary, scary.  But funny thing is, that I’m actually looking forward to it.  Maybe not the stress associated with the wedding day itself, … but married life in general.  I don’t know, … maybe I’m naïve, but I think it’ll be fun.  Sure, … there’s going to be sacrifices.  Like learning to deal with someone sleeping next to you taking the covers and burrito-ing herself every single night.  Or, that you now have to actually go shopping for food to put into the refrigerator.  Or that you’re going to have someone telling you to pick up your socks all the time.  But at the same time, … you also have that comfort in knowing that no matter how much she whines about wanting a new LV bag, she’s not going to leave you if you don’t buy it for her.  Or that you now don’t have to do dumbass things like spend $80 on flowers on valentines day.  Fuck that.  She ain’t going anywhere.  Yup.  Married life is gonna be great!

Let’s see, … what else is going on.  Oh, … for those of you that don’t know, already, I’ve moved into a new place.  Once all the furniture comes in, we’ll throw a house warming.  Although, … we’ll probably have to throw 5 house warmings or something because the living room can probably hold like 5 people max.  And so I guess three people can come in at a time?   But it’s cool.  It’s a fun apartment.  If you see it, you’ll understand.

Hmm, … what else, … yes.  I’m a new uncle.  My sister had a baby about a month ago.  Now, … don’t get me wrong.  I love the kid to death.  I think he’s adorable.  And maybe I’m the weird one.  But man, … when that kid farts, … that shit smells rancid!  But yet, it seems like everyone else around me thinks it’s cute.  My mother even went as far as taking a big whiff and saying it smelled “sweet.”  Fuck that.  That shit smells like spoiled cheese man.  And I’ll tell you, … the kid, although only a one month old baby boy, farts like a MAN, damnit.  You don’t understand how much gas comes out of that little body of his.  And it’s funny.  If I were to fart like that, I guarantee no one would be purposely taking a big fucking whiff of it and describing it as “sweet.”

Which reminds me of this past weekend in Vegas, … where Chy and two other friends were walking out of the casino through one of those big multi-people revolving doors.  So while they’re going through, Chy lets on RIP and then quickly gets out and immediately holds the door to trap the other two inside the compartment leaving them to smell his rancid fart.  Fucking Genius!  HAHAHA!