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.

An Important Message to Bikers Everywhere

Dear People-Who-Ride-Bikes,

I applaud you. Great job. You're saving the environment, your pant size AND the hassle of riding the T or whatever other useless form of public transportation that pertains to your city.

I CONDEMN YOU! Who do you think you are? You can't just fly through sidewalks and streets at your leisure. You do not own the road and more importantly you do not own the sidewalks. Stop trying to intimidate pedestrians just because you don't stand a chance in hell against the giant SUV trying to drive as close as possible without hitting your back tire. Your stupid bell and basket do not scare me.

I have news for you people.

YOU ARE NOT PEDESTRIANS. So when you see a red light stopping four lanes of vehicular traffic, that means STOP asshole! Not pedal faster and ram into Maria's side as she innocently walks down Comm Ave trying to further her education and become a better human being.

How dare you! You know what, if you've lost control and you're about to hit a human being the least you could do is shout a warning. If you grunt five feet from me, I'm going to think you're either constipated or really off key with whatever stupid hippy music that's blaring in your earbuds.

Stop grunting at me. Stop driving into me. Stop thinking you're a person. Bikers are not people. Turn off the iPod and follow the damn traffic lights or I will throw one of the large sticks I now carry on my walk to class into your bike spokes and laugh as you tumble into the pavement.

Yours Truly,

Maria

Booo creepy Liquor Store. HOOORAY Jake Ivory's!

(If you don't recognize that... watch this...)




Excitement = The Ann Arbor Chronicle featuring my blog (back in July... I just found out) for the following reasons:

Best imagined description of Ann Arbor in recent weeks, from the Meet Me At The Mirror blog: “Ann Arbor rang similar to a cute older woman who used to be a hippy and now spends her days sleeping outdoors and making wacky crafts inspired by her younger, LSD-induced life.” Plus a great narrative about finding a man in the bushes outside her room.

Gross = Liquor Store, the bar we visited Friday night. When I was told there'd be a mechanical bull, I (apparently naively) envisioned beer, cowboy hats, wood and a chill atmosphere. Instead, and this might be offensive to hos and perverts, I was greeted by three stripper poles, old men with cameras and red lighting, akin to whore houses in Europe.

We (Erin and I) feared that come midnight, the venue would transform into one mass orgy. Thankfully this did not happen. What DID happen however was Jess riding the bull. If you listen closely you can hear Noelle screaming, "yeeeeeea girl. Yeeeeea."


Jess Rides the Mechanical Bull. from Maria F on Vimeo.

Fantastic = Jake Ivory's, the bar we visited Saturday night. Located on Landsdowne Street right outside Fenway, the line was daunting but I knew the second we made it inside and heard two pianos playing an Outkast song that it was worth the wait. This duelling piano bar has made it to the top of my Boston Bars list.

Noelle, Tara, Erin and I met four of Erin's hilarious friends from Northeastern. This even number lended well to songs such as I Will Survive, during which the girls song-battled the guys, literally in two lines facing each other. Noelle and I engaged in a beautiful duet to the pianists' rendition of Proud Mary. Many dance-offs ensued. It was a beautiful night. We will definitely be returning to Jake Ivory's. Next time much earlier and with song requests prepared.

People send me ridiculous texts.

Aug 25 Joe: Pick a movie time turd stain.

Aug 28 Katie: Wo bist du meine sugarmuffin?

Aug 28 Nichole: You find a cheap flight I'm there quicker than B Spears can eat a cheeto. Hope your bed in a bag is fierce.

Aug 30 Evan: I mean the characters going into Fenway Park are RIDICULOUS.

Aug 30 Evan: Uh Oh. Better not do anything shady unless your shades are drawn!

Sept 2 Evan: Ugh I can't drink. I'm literally about to die. I thought my liver had failed me earlier today.

Sept 3 James: We only have two weeks to get this green card.

Sept 5 Erin: No pain no gain hahha.

Sept 8 Noelle: Don't stress don't stress don't stress. Just tell him to the left left left.

Sept 10 Noelle: Life is a whore and so are you.

Sept 10 Christina: Girl! Life's weird... And so are you!

Sept 12 Dad: Good things happen to good people.

Sept 15 Joe: Woman I will whoop your old ass all over the place.

Sept 15 Noelle: Wanna boop later?

Sept 17 Me: Make me some food wench. Noelle: Suck my peg leg.

GUEST POST My brother Steve: Saving the world one dance move at a time.

(I hope you all enjoy this post, written by my brother, as much as I did!)



After first receiving Maria’s text to write a “guest post” for her blog, a flurry of ideas came to my head. The recent selection of Sarah Palin as the Republican nominee for Vice President, the steady plunge of the US economy, the list goes on…

For those of you who are still awake you will be happy to know I chose something else, that might be perhaps equally as boring, the life of a junior (yikes!) at WPI. As we all get older (relatively) it is hard for some of us to fathom that we are about to enter the real world. We all revert back to fond memories of our childhood, whether it be summers in the sun or not having a care in the world. Those were the days…

We have now transitioned to a life where we sometimes ask ourselves, could I have any less free time? To most of us the answer is a resounding no. Days are filled with classes, meetings, work, more classes, and then more meetings. Before we know it it’s 2:00 am and time to go to sleep, just to start the process all over again.

The thing that keeps me going is knowing that the weekend is ahead. Counting down the days until I will get to let loose and have some fun, despite the fact that most of the time I really should be doing more work.

I have a feeling though that “going out” in Worcester has a whole different meaning. After reading and hearing about some of my sister’s crazy outings I must admit that I’m a bit jealous. Let me describe to you a typical WPI weekend. (As a side note I love my friends and we do have a good time… Sometimes we have to fight for it though)

Last weekend a friend of mine, Craig, decided to have some people over to pre-game before heading to a frat party. As my roommate Tim and I got ready we noticed the torrential downpour outside. I looked to him and said, “Nothing is stopping us from having a good time tonight.” He agreed. We finished getting ready, threw on our hoodies, and made the trek to Craig’s house.

By the time we got there we were completely soaked but ready to go. We had a few (read: a lot) of drinks. We figured it was the best way to ensure a good night (false logic that most people know makes things end poorly). After a few rounds of ruit and some very intense games of flip cup we decided to head to the party.

As was expected it was completely dead. Not only that but they wouldn’t let Craig in because he didn’t have an ID so he had to run all the way home to get it. As I stood there waiting for Craig to get back I decided to talk to one of the brothers. “How many people have you guys let in so far?” “Eight.” Awesome… It’s 11:00 on a Friday night and they’ve let in 8 people. Having my previous conversation with Tim in the back of my head we made our way downstairs to the party room.

It was no surprise to find that there was no one dancing. I looked around and saw some small groups mingling. Common trait: all guys. This was no shock to any of us. Answer? Double fisting. I went over to the bar, gave them my two tickets, and got two Miller High Life’s.

As I walked back to where my group of friends was standing I noticed more people were arriving, good news. The mood of the group was somber and I felt the need to inject some vitality back into the lives of my seemingly dead friends.

“Let’s dance!” I said enthusiastically. By this time the games of flip cup and my double fisting were starting to catch up with me and by this time of night I’m usually in the mood to dance. As a side note I say dance very very loosely. My sister and her roommates can attest to this. (Hi Usher!) Alright maybe my dancing in public isn’t THAT embarrassing but it’s still a white guy who goes to a tech school trying to dance, you get the picture.

I received a resounding 2 yes’s to my proposition and Jesse, Craig and I hit the dance floor, alone. As we kept waving to our friends like we belonged in a mental institute they slowly came over and joined us (I think it was more out of embarrassment than their actually wanting to dance). Accompanying this with my random requests to strangers to come join us the party actually started to get good. People kept joining and eventually the dance floor was full. Everyone was in high spirits and the night looked to have turned around.

I guess the moral of the story is this: even at WPI… where the ratio of guys to girls is about 3:1… during a torrential downpour… there is still fun to be had. So for those of you who have had as long of a week as I have, I leave you with this: Don’t let anything stop you. We’ve all had those nights, but there’s always a way to get the party started. So drink some beers and have some fun!

Twitter, the Dean, and mold.. OH MY!

I might have to purchase some of these to bring my lunch to work in. Not that I'm afraid someone will steal my lunch. It's no Jimmy Johns or anything...



Seriously though. I need a lunch box. So if anyone has suggestions, please share.





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Apparently Forbes decided Boston was the 7th best city for singles.... Hmm. Really?? Atlanta was number one.





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Recently discovered Twittervision while perusing some blogs. Interesting to see who in the world is updating.


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Speaking of Twitter... Dean Elmore joined the club! (He even blogs! My word!) It's pretty awesome. His updates are interesting and a great way to connect with the massive student body at BU.

I think I might e-mail him and tell him to follow people because he's missing messages people are sending his way... Maybe I'll meet him at the BU Pub to discuss social media and beer.



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This is what I drive to work in: