Requests

Michael cracks me up. He can really make friends wherever he goes.

Case in point: I received an e-mail from my old man yesterday describing his new, exciting relationship with a radio DJ from Michigan State University. Dad was driving when he heard a new song he liked. The DJ announced his request line phone number so my dad called to ask what the song was (Come On Come On by the Von Bondies) and request a song (something by Cage the Elephant.) The DJ played the song immediately. Dad called again to thank him and request AFI. The DJ played Girls Not Grey and told a story about his first time hearing the song. Dad called again and requested Billy Talent.

I mean, seriously. My dad's the man. He ended the e-mail saying, "Yes, I'm a youngster at heart." That phrase dates him more than it should. He doesn't make a very believable 50 year old. (You can pay me later, fat man.)

I think I need to take this as a lesson and step up my game. I've gone to the gym every day since I registered. The first time I spoke to anyone was yesterday when two women looked at me, perplexed, wondering how to adjust their stationary bike seats. "There's a lever thing," I said pointing beneath their seats.

Here's the thing. I'm a pretty outgoing person in the right environment. I still don't feel comfortable approaching strangers in a gym. I have shared my dilemma with older, wiser acquaintances. Here are their suggestions:

1) Ask the guy how to use a machine.

2) Wait until you haven't seen him for a day or two and then approach him and say, "Hey! You haven't been at the gym, what's going on?"

3) Stare at him until you catch his eye, then smile a lot.

So clearly, I haven't hit the nail on the head yet. All seem pretty creepy to me. I don't want a pick-up line. I don't want to say anything that could provoke a restraining order. I just want a friend.

Can someone draft up some Wanted signs that I can tape up in the gym?

P.S. If you ever decide to try Exercise TV On Demand, BE CAREFUL. Some of those programs are a maximum pain in the gluteus. Burning surges still shoot through my thighs and butt cheeks after the video segment I tried yesterday. Thank God for saunas.

Gyminy Cricket! Maria gets a membership.

It's true. My funemployment has lead me to explore new horizons, most recently the YMCA. Prior to scouting the facilities, I envisioned being greeted by buff men dressed as police, cowboys and indians. Apparently that's just a rumor. (Or another delusion...)

Dad accompanied me for moral support. Deciding to join was easy. I can walk from my house (which hasn't happened yet) and it has all the equipment I need (an elliptical and two five pound weights.) I figured this would be a safe place to work out amongst old people and little kids forced to join by their parents. I figured I would be safe from all the hot, buff men I spotted at Joe's gym. Little did I know, the YMCA draws fit, young men and grannies with iPods alike.

The problem with this situation is that after about six minutes on the elliptical I look like I've been chasing mirages in the Sahara for three weeks. My face turns bright red and glistens under cascades of sweat. My legs show obvious warnings of collapse as they struggle to climb the pedals. It's not pretty. Certainly no condition to be attracting men in.

Today was an exception. One dark, handsome stranger with a tight shirt hugging his sculpted abs decided he either liked the desert-roaming look or needed to make sure I didn't pass out and get a concussion. I noticed him strutting around the room testing the machines behind me. I enjoyed the scenery as I walked to the water fountain trying to look like I'm really in better shape than the 65 year old powering away on the elliptical next to me.

On my way to the locker room, I noticed the weight room was empty and decided to try some of the exercises Joe taught me. I gathered my five-pounders and assumed the position on a bench in front of a mirror. After six reps I noticed Muscle Man walk by the room. He looked in through the window, stopped, turned around and looked out the parallel window facing the road, then turned 90 degrees walking away from the weight room. Not two minutes later was he walking back toward the weight room. I moved on to crunches and was on rep 60 (or dividend thereof) when all of a sudden Muscle Man was standing literally right over my face. I avoided eye contact. He pretended to look for a weight. He left the room empty handed. Hmmm. I decided to cool off on the treadmill and who should appear on a machine behind me but Muscle Man?

He's either seriously creepy or really worried about me. Either way, he's very good looking so I'll allow it. For now.

I repeated the story to my parents when I got home.

Dad: Did you talk to him?

Maria: What?! No. I'm not going to pick up a guy in a gym. Or anywhere. (Pours water.) Plus, what am I going to say? "Hey. You come here often?"

Mom: Ask him what his zodiac sign is!

Enter flashback to a club in Boston with Noelle. Mom would fit in well on the dance floor.

[P.S. If you have any good gym pick-up lines, do share. Maybe I'll test them out at the local YMCA.]

First person to find me a friend WINS!

I have printed a couple hundred copies of the card above. It's time to take drastic measures. [Feel free to print and distribute.]

Last Saturday, we had another high school graduation party to attend. With each graduation party, the level of embarrassment increases several notches. Here are some scenes from that night.

SCENE ONE:

(Maria, mom and dad enter the house and fill their plates with food. Mom and dad choose a table outside while Maria retrieves a drink. She plucks a Coke from a big blue cooler and scans the area for her parents. She spots her father taking a seat and approaches the table to discover that the only free chair is at the end of the table across from an elderly couple.)

Maria: (whispers to herself) Sweet.

(Maria occupies the vacant seat facing an elderly man perpendicular to his wife.)

Elderly woman: Oh hello! My name is Judy. Yes, you look like a Maria. I have awesome stories and was one of the first people to ever purchase contact lenses for which I had to take out a loan.

(Maria and Judy share stories and giggle with each other until Judy leaves for another party... But not without swapping e-mail addresses with her new best friend.)

SCENE TWO:

(Maria walks across the yard clutching her cold beer thinking to herself, "Thank GOD for liquor.")

Drunk woman: I'm sorry. I have to ask. (Quiets to a whisper and squeezes one eye shut) How ooold are you?

Maria: (exasperated) TWENTY-TWO! I should just start wearing my license around my neck.

(Maria continues on her path walking past her brother and his hoodlum wrestling friends.)

Tyler: SHAVE YOUR BEARD!

SCENE THREE:

(Maria, mom and dad are standing in a circle with the hostess of the party talking about life.)

Mrs. S: So how's being home?

Maria: Oh it's nice. Lots of down time.

Mom: Yea, it's just hard for her because she has no friends here.

Dad: She went from being in college with all her friends to being here with us. She needs some friends here.

(Maria purses her lips and raises her eyebrows. This story has been repeated too many times. She takes a sip from her beer and doesn't notice the wheels spinning inside Mrs. S' head.)

Mrs. S: (grabs Maria's hand and drags her to a circle of six older people.) THIS is Maria. She is a wonderful girl who just graduated college and has no friends here. Maria, (she points to one woman) this is my cousin. She has a very nice son who just graduated Michigan State. Talk to each other.

(Maria feels awkward conversing with Mrs. S' cousin. Everyone in the circle enjoys the spectacle of a friendless stranger being set up with an absent relative. They laugh often and lean in to hear all about Maria.)

Cousin 1: Well, why don't you give me your number and I'll give it to Tommy for when he comes back!

(Maria hands the woman a small piece of torn paper with her name and number on it and scampers away imagining Tommy's laughter when his mom hands him her number. Later that night, the cousins stand in unison and gather their belongings.)

Strange man: Did my wife get your number?

Like father, like daughter.

When I was little, my dad used to call my feet pontoons. Apparently they were abnormally large for my size. A couple decades later, his ability to make fun of me using creative nagging techniques has only sharpened. "Moose and I," he chuckles as I struggle to haul my bike up the garage stairs after a long ride. That's not even a fraction of it.

(Dad harassing me from a very young age)

There are too many great memories, milestones and quirks of my family to list. Nevertheless, I will copy Tara and share a few goodies about my dad in honor of Father's Day.

......

1. If there is ever any mention of a guy in my life (which, thanks to my overprotective siblings and an unfortunate abundance of psychos out there, rarely happens) my dad has but one important question: Can he skate? Regardless of the answer, Test #1 for any prospective suitor will be doled out in an ice rink with hockey sticks. And probably no pads.

(Dad after a hockey game in winter '08 with one of his leagues.)

2. One of our favorite things to do, especially recently, is bike ride. We explore the town, philosophize, people-watch and guess how much houses for sale cost. We also have water fights that usually don't end well for me.

3. Our favorite game to play is Guess The Song. We compete to see who can name the band and title faster. The date of production factors into who wins but we keep each other on our toes. One Christmas, grandma gave me some of dad's old records and a record player. That's when I discovered Creedence. I haven't been the same since.

Dad and I have bonded through music since I was two and screaming "mookie!" in my car seat. Since we both appreciate different eras and types of music, I predict this game will last forever.

4. We are shopping buddies. Dad understands my disdain for shopping in almost any form. I live by his motto that has been repeated to me ad nauseam: Do you love it? Only buy it if you love it. Dad and I are particularly fond of the grocery store. We enjoy discussing any deals or bargains we come by because, after all, no one should pay full price for anything.

5. We are social. My dad (like my mom) loves talking to people. Anyone. Everyone. He wants to know what people are doing, how their day is going, what makes them happy, how he can relate to them. He knows half the neighborhood and a good portion of the city (impressive considering he's lived here only two years.)

Before college I was a pretty shy kid. I hated it when dad made me talk to people. "Speak up!" He'd demand. My first day of orientation at Boston University was horrifying. I knew no one. Didn't know Boston. Had only been to the school once before.

Dad and grandpa brought me to Rich Hall for orientation. I tried to stall their departure but eventually dad pointed to three kids, told me to go introduce myself and said goodbye. After cursing him in my head and watching him walk away, I slowly walked up to the group of kids. They didn't notice me coming, which made it more awkward. "Are you guys here for orientation?" I asked the kid closest to me as I fiddled with my lanyard. "No," he informed me and turned away. I laughed a little and walked to the cement ledge overlooking Nickerson Field.

"Well, that went well!" dad chuckled. I don't know which was more embarrassing, that I got shut down by the first group of kids I interacted with at college or that there was a witness. Dad reassured me before leaving for real. I ended up making a lot of friends at orientation and having a great time.

Needless to say, I have overcome my shyness and developed dad's ability to have good conversations with different kinds of people (though I haven't developed his eagerness to interact with every stranger he sees yet.)

(Dad protecting me from the rain before Commencement)

Most importantly (as it pertains to this blog, at least) I developed my passion for writing because of my dad.

Dad- Because you're cool, I'm not a loser. (For the most part.)

Thanks dude.

Another day, another pinched nerve

Big Mike has been encouraging me to explore my funemployment through bike riding. As a result, I've also been exploring our extensive collection of pain medication (BenGay, BioFreeze...)

Today we journeyed through Birmingham. I was immediately thankful I popped a Zycam before our ride when we came across a field of huge chunks of pollen resembling the fluffy remains of the Canadian Geese that messed with Sully.

I prefer getting exercise outdoors (stop laughing) whether it be running, whiffle ball or engaging in drive-by water soaking wars with my dad. It's more interesting when the scenery changes.

We had quite a selection of varied terrain on our journey. The trail made of thousands of little pebbles that kept shifting under the weight of the tires was probably the worst. Oh no. Wait. The worst were the GIGANTIC HILLS we had to maneuver amongst oversized moving vehicles that (wanted to but) were trying not to hit us.

I must have pinched a nerve in my left butt cheek trying to get up that hill. At some point, my entire left leg went numb. I thought I was out for the count. But alas, I am here sitting on my tingling butt blogging about the hazards of the road.

Maybe I should work out more.

Anyone need their lawn mowed?

Aaah family dinners. A time to feast on sarcasm, insult, and Vicki's delicious home cooking.

It was at said daily gathering that we could be found devouring the spoils of a newly purchased grill when all of a sudden the door bell rang. Weary of robbers and environmentalists, mom and I sent dad to deal with the interruption. He opened the door and adjusted his gaze to the pudgy ten year old standing on our porch. Mom and I tried to decipher the child's muffled request over the crunch of our perfectly salted peas. Dad closed the door and returned to the table with a smirk on his face.

Dad: The kid wanted to mow our lawn. He and his sister were pulling a wagon with a weed whacker and some wires and tools.

Dad chuckled as he scooped up some peas with his fork.

Dad: Hey! (he pointed his fork at me) You should go ask if they have any jobs!

This is what I'm dealing with, people. Send sympathy cards.

Technology is dangerous in the hands of our elders.

Alright so it hasn't been nearly as bad as I thought it would be.

When my family arrived in Boston for commencement weekend just last weekend, my dad asked me how I envisioned my first few weeks at home.

"I'll probably cry hysterically all the way home. Sleep for two days straight. Slip into a state of deep depression for about two weeks and then finally pull myself together and move on."

Surprisingly, my prediction has not come to fruition. I cried a little on the way drive home. I slept most of the way, slashing about 10 hours of the required catch-up-sleep-time from my schedule. I haven't hit the deep depression, which is the biggest shock. I thought that was a sure bet. I'm sure it's on its way. 

Once I finish season one of True Blood (which will happen tonight) and finish unpacking my life (which will not happen soon) and my family has moved on with their normal lives (which will be after the long weekend)... then I'll crawl into a dark hole for a little while.

Until then, my sole job is to shield my father from internet predators. 

I am seriously worried. 

In the car on the drive home, my dad confessed his recent addiction to online Hearts. Michael has discovered chat rooms, people. That's right. After describing the concept of an avatar (even though, to his shock, I informed him I know what an avatar is) he shared a recent experiement he's been conducting.

My father has a genderless AOL screen name. He realized that you can customize your avatar with various features. Always one to fuck with people, dad decided to make his avatar a woman. He has taken great pleasure in fooling Hearts chatroom frequenters across the nation. 

People respond differently, he told me. Men generally don't take kindly to being beaten by a room full of women. My father, one of three "women" in a chatroom with one man, chuckled softly to himself as the man typed his frustration at being beaten by women.

As if that's not bad enough. People are hitting on my father in these chat rooms. Some man asked him his age.

Sidenote: I took this opportunity to ask if anyone has A/S/L'd* him. I was comforted by his confusion. Apparently that's a generational thing that died in the 90s. I hope.

After being asked his age by a strange man, my father cleverly replied, "why do you want to know?" at which point the man left the chatroom. My father flailed his arms feeling victorious against the chatroom pervert.

It's strange that I find myself wanting to monitor my father's internet use for fear he will be taken advantage of. Although at this rate, he has all the makings of the next successful Chris Hansen. 

Parents these days.

*A/S/L = Age/Sex/Location

Dad always has my best interest at heart...

Watching the NHL Superskills and Young Stars Game and texting the old man.

Maria: Found it. I'm watching.
Dad: They had the fastest skater and trick shooting already.
Maria: Oh poop. Some of these guys are dreamy! I'll have to look into the Boston ones. Muahah.
Dad: Check for teeth!

(at first glance)

(a closer look)

To Be Installed in my first Big Girl Apartment

Last night the girls and I watched Sex and the City (the movie), which I had not seen for (if you know me) obvious reasons.

This Heineken commercial (sent by my dad) was stuck in my head during the closet scene.






(can I have both?)

Scrabble Master Maria Fights to Hold Title

Happy New Year kids!

The reason I haven't posted in a while is that I have been holed up in the basement learning strange new words whereby to beat Joe's ass in Scrabble. It has become an intense rivalry, averaging a few games laden with creative shit-talking and dirty looks.

It all started with the old ladies, who didn't really get the concept of the game.



Dad turned it up a notch by forming coherent and tactical words.




Joe has been a menacing cheater since day one.



Desperation has forced us to learn strange new words while filling a few interesting boards (notice "keg" and "gat" at the mid-right section):


After holding the position of Ultimate Scrabble Champion for some time, the little shit finally beat me. I'll tell you one thing. I'll never play while Law and Order SVU is on again.

Gotta love winter break.

Weirdos in Logan, and Other Tales From the Road. Chapter Nine.

Forward
Chapter One: The Shadowboxing Magician
Chapter Two: Bug Eyes
Chapter Three: Lasso of Death
Chapter Four: Future Pilot
Chapter Five: Soldiers Making Out
Chapter Six: Steve Almost Pees Himself. Literally.
Chapter Seven: Schwayze's playing tonight but Uncle Bob is trying to hang a squirrel.
Chapter Eight: On the Ice. Big Mike Scores Big and Anna Speeds Around.
Chapter Nine: Buca di Beppo: Crop Dusting and Gorging

Buca di Beppo is a small Italian restaurant in downtown Birmingham. It's dad's favorite. The decor is random and awesome with strange pictures covering the walls and tacky little do-dads hidden everywhere. The tables are in the basement; it looks like what I'd imagine a Speak Easy to have been but with more booths and brighter lighting.

Ten of us shuffle into a booth by a 3 foot picture of a girl with her chest popping out of a leotard being fed spaghetti by some unidentified man. The servings are family style so we order many large dishes to share.

We stuff ourselves to capacity. The food is delicious. Dessert comes and Aunty Ann starts drooling.



Steve calls dad and Uncle Bob secret fat kids because they are arguing over which of them will get how much of which dessert. We all battle the food coma at the end of the meal.


As we stood to put on our coats, one person in the party who's identity will be protected, announced that everyone should stay away because they were crop dusting.

This is one of many new words Anna learned while staying with her cousins.

Crop dusting
	v. farting while walking or running n. crop duster

Joe's expert predictions hold that this will be a good year for crops.

Weirdos in Logan, and Other Tales From the Road. Chapter Eight.

Forward
Chapter One: The Shadowboxing Magician
Chapter Two: Bug Eyes
Chapter Three: Lasso of Death
Chapter Four: Future Pilot
Chapter Five: Soldiers Making Out
Chapter Six: Steve Almost Pees Himself. Literally.
Chapter Seven: Schwayze's playing tonight but Uncle Bob is trying to hang a squirrel.
Chapter Eight: On the Ice. Big Mike Scores Big and Anna Speeds Around.

We are finally home! Our luggage is not. But it's good to see family and be out of the airport.

Uncle Bob did,, in fact set up a wire noose to trap squirrels in the back yard. I don't know what he plans to do with them. Or what on earth he's thinking.

We haven't seen our cousins in three years. We catch up in the kitchen and over dinner then head to dad's hockey game.

Dad plays hockey at least once a week. I'm so glad we get to watch! In the bleachers, Steve and Joe scream "Let's go Big Mike!" every time dad hits the ice. I commentate for Anna, explaining some of the rules and the calls. She asks if I'm a Tom Boy.

The opposing team is changing lines. We spot an older man with a white beard, green shorts and bright red socks. He looks creepily like Santa. Another player on the opposite team is bleeding form the face. Did dad do that to him? Santa gets a penalty and is guided to the box.

Dad's the man. He scores two goals, one on an awesome breakaway. He's rising in the ranks of goal scorers for the league. He averages about one goal per game. Tonight he's on fire and leads the team to victory. That's my dad!


The next day dad brings us all ice skating. Anna hasn't been in a while. The last time she went she was injured badly.

What a trooper. She laces up and joins us on the ice. At first she won't leave the side but she eventually picks up the pace and moves toward the center. Dad teaches Dominic to skate backwards.


The four boys play tag on the ice, zipping around little kids and novices. Steve looks like a ninja and Joe is checking out some high school girls in spandex.

Good to be home!

(me and the cousins)

From the mailbox: Why my dad rocks.

I received the following message from my dad:

By the way, you can say it with meaning "My dad's picking me up".

I will be there, just give me 14 hours.

For condiments, you can sprinkle in "my brother Steve, the Adam's-apple-crusher, or my other brother Joe, the tooth-re arranger-but-I'm-not-an-Orthodontist", or both of them may be coming too.

Have fun.

(Thanks for always being someone I can rely on!)

Maybe it's the food poisoning...

...but someone get me Henry Cavill and a layer of vegetation, STAT!

This CNET article describes the phenomenon surrounding my rapidly increasing phone bill. Americans (such as Maria) are sending more texts than they are making phone calls. I need to get a hold of Verizon and change my plan because my phone bill doubled this month solely due to texting. Is that even possible? I guess I have to entertain myself somehow during Cultural Anthro.

The next time I'm mad at any of you, I'm sending Jess to poison your chicken. Someone's got it out for me. Today was my first time ever having food poisoning. My dad sent me this article about a recent salmonella outbreak. Cook your chicken people! I already told Jess next time I cook her dinner it will be sprinkled with ExLax or something equally uncomfortable.

The upside to being sick was that between vomitting sessions I was able to catch up on season one of The Tudors, which my roommate Ali happens to have on DVD. CAUTION: This Showtime series is extremely addicting (probably due to all the good looking men). The story line differs greatly from The Other Boleyn Girl, which scarred me with controversial topics such as incest.

When not vomitting or drooling over Henry Cavill and Jonathan Rhys Meyers, I caught up on some very interesting reading in the Wall Street Journal, which I get delivered to my dorm because I’m smart like that Professor Nowak makes me. Basically we should all seriously consider adding a layer of vegetation on top of buildings. Not only is it super sweet but it is good for the environment and could potentially save some of those tax dollars.

In 2001, Chicago Mayor Richard Daley, inspired by a trip to Hamburg, Germany, decided to cover about 20,000 square feet of the roof atop Chicago's City Hall. City officials in Chicago now estimate that their green roof saves the city about $3,600 a year in cooling and heating costs. If all of Chicago's roofs were greened, they add, the city's peak energy demand could be cut by 720 megawatts -- enough electricity for 750,000 people. The load on the city's storm-sewer system, meanwhile, would be slashed by about 70%.

In other news, we may have a problem. J wants to see a movie this week. What movie did he suggest? Out of all the movies in theaters? Beverly Hills Chihuahua. Yea. Did I mention I hate dogs? Great.

He suggested this movie and then read me the synopsis over the phone. I did not respond enthusiastically. He took the hint and said he was just kidding. Was he though?

He was either A) trying to choose a movie he thought I'd like (even though I spent several hours enjoying watching men beat each other to a bloody pulp with him Saturday), B) seriously just kidding and we simply don't get each other's sense of humor or C) truly hoping to go see this new Disney masterpiece mess up. I'm not sure which is worse but I will wallop him if he tries to make me see a romantic comedy starring a bedazzle dog.

Weekend Update: Dating is not dead.

Just when I was starting to give up hope on single life in Boston, I met a genuinely nice guy who surprised me and proved that people still go on dates.

So last weekend I met this guy at Jake Ivory's. Let's call him J. We talked the whole night, made fun of people, danced a little... It was a good time. The bar closed and he asked for my number, so I gave it to him and by Thursday he had asked me out on a date.

I told my mom about this date and felt the repercussions shortly thereafter. My dad sent me an e-mail with a subject line, "So, he's interested in my daughter now, is he?" and with two attachments, the Rules for Dating my Daughter and the Application to Date my Daughter, which I re-posted below. The same day, I received the following text from my youngest brother:

"Maria. Tell J to watch his back when I'm there cause I built a special shank that has his name written all over it."

Saturday rolled around and J brought me to Joshua Tree for some drinks. Totally different experience going on a night other than Thursday, when the bar is usually full of the same BU kids you see every Thursday. We got a table, ordered some drinks and talked about life. UFC matches were on and Murilo Rua (who's photo below some of you may recognize from my desktop) and Andrei Arlovski were fighting so I was happy. Of course the only person most of the people cared about was Kimbo Slice who lost after about 10 seconds. Didn't even get to put up a fight. It was extremely disappointing. But I digress.




That was a great first date for me. We hung out, drank some beers and watched some fighting. He drove me home and asked if I would want to hang out again. I said no. His face dropped as he said, "...what?" which I followed up with, ".. just kidding.." Mom said it was too early to joke. I can't help it though. The situation was tense and I needed to break it up a little. So I guess if I didn't scare him we may go on another date. Or something. Who knows.

On my way home, Joe and I had the following exchange of texts:

Maria: I'm back from my date. We watched the Kimbo Slice match at a bar.
Joe: How'd he do?
Maria: He lost in ten f-ing seconds it was ridiculous. His eye got split open.
Joe: Not Kimbo bitch. The kid you went with.

This morning I received the following e-mail from my father:

Well, where are the completed forms? The review committee has been waiting since last night to begin the evaluation!

The committee decided I am allowed to go on a second date, so stay tuned...



In other news.

Friday was fantastic. Erin, Katie and I went to go see Beautiful Lies play at Berklee. I hadn't seen Dave play in a while so that was fun. After the show we went to Phil's apartment to party with the band. We kept hitting our heads on underwear hanging from some hangers. The undies were either not dry or decoration supplemental to a Bill Cosby sweater and random squirrel figurines propped up on speakers and sinks.

I always forget how much I hate gin. It tastes like Christmas. But instead of leaving presents, all you get in the morning is a raging hangover. Damn you Katie!

The quote of the night occurred while Katie, four of the boys and I were squashed in the kitchen taking shots.

Katie: What would your personal physical manifestation of weather be? Mine is drizzly.
(Silence)
Maria: ... Thunder and lightening.

Love those boys.

Saturday after the date I met Noelle and Christina at Tequila Rain. It was pretty fun. A group of guys started talking to us. One was wearing a Tap Out shirt so I asked if he watched the match earlier that night. He said yes and that he was an MMA fighter himself so we talked about fighint for the rest of the night. Saturday made me want to go watch my brothers fight. Hopefully that will happen some time soon.

Noelle stole the hat of one of the fighter's friends and danced around throwing up signs like she was part of the Korean Killers.




The bar shut down and hat-boy, who Noelle named Jersey even though he was from Florida, ran to say goodbye to us and slipped and fell flat on his ass. We had to tell Noelle today that the kid actually fell and was not break dancing. Poor girl felt cheated.

As we exited Tequila Rain, Noelle shouted,

"WELL! We sure got our money's worth!"

Via My Dad: Application For Permission To Date My Daughter

Application for Permission to Date My Daughter

APPLICATION FOR PERMISSION TO DATE MY DAUGHTER

NOTE: This application will be incomplete and rejected unless

accompanied by a complete financial statement, job history, lineage,

and current medical report from your doctor.

NAME_____________________________________ DATE OF BIRTH_____________

HEIGHT___________ WEIGHT____________ IQ__________ GPA_____________

SOCIAL SECURITY #_________________ DRIVERS LICENSE #________________

BOY SCOUT RANK AND BADGES____________________________________________

HOME ADDRESS_______________________ CITY/STATE___________ ZIP______

Do you have parents? ___Yes ___No

Is one male and the other female? ___Yes ___No

If No, explain:

______________________________________________________________

Number of years they have been married ______________________________

If less than your age, explain

______________________________________________________________

______________________________________________________________

ACCESSORIES SECTION:

A. Do you own or have access to a van? __Yes __No

B. A truck with oversized tires? __Yes __No

C. A waterbed? __Yes __No

D. A pickup with a mattress in the back? __Yes __No

E. A tattoo? __Yes __No

F. Do you have an earring, nose ring, __Yes __No

pierced tongue, pierced cheek or a belly button ring?

(IF YOU ANSWERED "YES" TO ANY OF THE ABOVE, DISCONTINUE APPLICATION

AND LEAVE PREMISES IMMEDIATELY. I SUGGEST RUNNING.)

ESSAY SECTION:

In 50 words or less, what does "LATE" mean to you?

______________________________________________________________

______________________________________________________________

In 50 words or less, what does "DON'T TOUCH MY DAUGHTER" mean to you?

______________________________________________________________

______________________________________________________________

In 50 words or less, what does "ABSTINENCE" mean to you?

______________________________________________________________

______________________________________________________________

REFERENCES SECTION:

Church you attend ___________________________________________________

How often you attend ________________________________________________

When would be the best time to interview your:

father? _____________

mother? _____________

pastor? _____________

SHORT-ANSWER SECTION:

Answer by filling in the blank. Please answer freely, all answers

are confidential.

A: If I were shot, the last place I would want shot would be:

______________________________________________________________

B: If I were beaten, the last bone I would want broken is my:

______________________________________________________________

C: A woman's place is in the:

______________________________________________________________

D: The one thing I hope this application does not ask me about is:

______________________________________________________________

E. What do you want to do IF you grow up? ___________________________

______________________________________________________________

______________________________________________________________

F. When I meet a girl, the thing I always notice about her first is:

______________________________________________________________

F. What is the current going rate of a hotel room? __________________

I SWEAR THAT ALL INFORMATION SUPPLIED ABOVE IS TRUE AND CORRECT TO

THE BEST OF MY KNOWLEDGE UNDER PENALTY OF DEATH, DISMEMBERMENT,

NATIVE AMERICAN ANT TORTURE, CRUCIFIXION, ELECTROCUTION, CHINESE

WATER TORTURE, RED HOT POKERS, AND HILLARY CLINTON KISS TORTURE.

_________________________________________________________

Applicant's Signature (that means sign your name, moron!)

_______________________________ ________________________________

Mother's Signature Father's Signature

_______________________________ ________________________________

Pastor/Priest/Rabbi State Representative/Congressman

Thank you for your interest, and it had better be genuine and

non-sexual. Please allow four to six years for processing.

You will be contacted in writing if you are approved. Please do

not try to call or write (since you probably can't, and it would

cause you injury). If your application is rejected, you will be

notified by two gentleman wearing white ties carrying violin cases.

(you might watch your back)

Via My Dad: Rules for Dating My Daughter

See especially rules 4, 6, 8 and 10.

Daddy's Rules for Dating

Your dad's rules for your boyfriend (or for you if you're a guy):

Rule One:

If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure not picking anything up.

Rule Two:

You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them.

Rule Three:

I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do no, in fact come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.

Rule Four:

I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing a "Barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.

Rule Five:

It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is: "early."

Rule Six:

I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

Rule Seven:

As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process than can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Eight:

The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka - zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which features chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.

Rule Nine:

Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.

Rule Ten:

Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy near Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit the car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car - there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.

From the mailbox: Dad Approval Factor

Sometimes, I am lucky enough to get e-mails from readers. I received this e-mail from a certain father of mine:

That has such a negative connotation, as in I disapprove of everything, it is just a matter of degree to which I disapprove.

Why can't you use the inverse, and much better sounding, Dad Approval Factor? It sounds so much more positive, and from a numbers perspective, it is exactly the same.

Come on, use some of those expansive (or did I mean expensive?) PR skills.

For example, "Choke", disapproval factor = 93%, or "Choke" approval factor = 7%. Same result (although I am guessing my approval factor would probably be closer to zero).

Remember, math is your friend!

Hopefully this post's Dad Approval Factor is above 50%.



Keep 'em coming, folks.

Wrapping up the summer. Part Two.

Like usual, I'm wide awake less than 30 minutes before scheduled wake-up time. Dad and I are driving to Massachusetts in exactly 1 hour and 23 minutes. I am all packed, which is extremely rare given the unfortunate fact that my attention span never developed to that of a normal, full-functioning adult.

This summer. FLEW. by. I can't even believe it.

Life was not even close to the trauma I feared a couple months ago. Obviously. My stupid mind always expects the worst.

This summer was pretty awesome. I had a couple epiphanies and several reassurances and reminders such as:

• I love people. New people. Different people. All people. (.. ok most people.)
• I love new places.
  
• I love coffee. Medium. A little Half and Half. Two sugars. Small is too small. Large is just too large. Free trade coffee tastes like flowers.
• My humor sometimes takes adjusting to. I don't really have an arm disease or arm problem or tragic childhood story about my arm as some people may still believe...
  
• I'm glad I listened to my mother and didn't pursue photojournalism as a career. PR is the right place for me. Funny how the old folks knew first.
• I'm glad I listened to my dad's career and living-independently advice. It works flawlessly.
• Not all companies make interns do dumb things. I'm thankful everyone was eager to teach and show and my bosses were super.
  
• I'm thankful for all the advice and guidance I received over the past months.
• I'm thankful my roommates were awesome. You guys better come to Boston. I'm serious.
  
• I wish I had another month of summer.
• Nichole and Damian are the best coffee buddies ever and I owe both of them more than I could fit in a bullet point.
• I suck at goodbyes and would rather just duck out without a word because it's easier.

I'm not even going to talk about how I'm facing my senior, AKA final, year at BU. I'll save the angsty, end-of-the-world musings for late at night with the Boston roommates. MUAHAH. Just kidding guys.

Anyways there's no need for that because my family goodbye dinner at P.F. Changs yielded more than just an inflated stomach.

(Let's pretend half the restaurant didn't get this one as well.)

Let the fortune cookie speak for itself.

Bide your time, for success is near.