Friday, June 29, 2012

Best Man: Sitting Next to the Groom

Lost?  Go back to the beginning of this series, and it should make a little more sense.  But if you don't feel like doing that, all you need to know is that this is the fourth out of four responsibilities of a best man.


4) Sit next to the groom.

This one might also come as a surprise.  Aside from handing over the ring when you are told to do so, there isn't really much you have to do as the best man except stand up at the altar and look handsome.


But that wasn't really the case the last time I was a best man.

You see, Father Chip (the priest that celebrated the wedding) had known Brian for his entire life, and was close to Brian's family.  So he felt the need to add a personal touch.

During the homily, Father Chip directed his attention towards the bride and groom.  Yes, I realize that this seems standard.  But the bride, groom, maid of honor, and best man (me!) had four special seats during mass that were behind the altar. 

That meant that Father Chip's body stood at the podium, yet his head was turned and contorted in an almost unnatural way to face us.

And he stood that way for the entire homily.

And it was a very.  Long.  Homily.

Thursday, June 28, 2012

Best Man: Holding the Ring

Missed the first two responsibilities of a best man?  Go back to yesterday's post to read about them.


3) Hold the ring.
I know.  You'd think this one would be the easiest.  Easier than making a speech, right?

Not for me.

As soon as I was handed the ring, I felt as if I was entrusted with the sole object that would save the world from the Armageddon.  I immediately tucked it away into the safe confines of my breast pocket.  But within seconds of putting it in my pocket, I began mentally evaluating the security of my pocket and the craftsmanship in which it was sewed.  Surely, if there was a faulty breast pocket out there in the world, it would be mine.  I could actually feel the stitching begin to come undone.  The pocket simply couldn't handle such a burden, weighed down not by the weight of the ring but by the consequences of what it would mean to lose it.


I imagined the priest saying, "The ring, please?" and then me grasping at every pocket with a panicked look on my face, and eventually running away, leaving nothing but a trail of tears in my wake.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Being The Best Man

Another one of my friends is biting the dust on Friday.

He is getting married.

This is the first of four weddings that I am attending in the next few months, but the second wedding in a year's time in which I am the best man.


It is an incredible honor to be the best man.  Like, seriously.  When both of them asked me, it made me want to cry. 

But being a best man has responsibilities.  Well, four basic responsibilities.  And if there are more than four, well, then I am a bad best man.  Because you only get these four from me. 

But I do them well.

I have made a list of these responsibilities, starting with the hardest and ending with the easiest.  Though, as it so often happens with me, the easiest stuff always ends up being the hardest.

Here's how it went last summer, when I was the best man for my buddy Brian:


1) Make a speech.

Aside from being nervous about making the actual speech, this one isn't too bad for me.

Monday, June 25, 2012

You Fall Asleep... Now!

If you fall asleep now, you will get 6 hours and 20 minutes of sleep.

Preferably, you would like to get eight hours, but you will still function with just under seven hours.

Why is that this always happens when you have something important to do in the morning?  For the entire day, you thought about what time you needed to go to bed.  About how important it was to get a full-night's rest so that you would be ready to go tomorrow.  And in that respect, your entire day was ruined, as you constantly had thoughts of tomorrow's misery in the back of your head.

Yet, as usual, you hopped into bed an hour after you had planned.  And as usual, you couldn't fall asleep once you finally pulled up the sheets.

You tossed and turned.  But if you fall asleep now, you will get 5 hours and 39 minutes of sleep.  That is, if you fall asleep this very second. 

Now.

Sleep.

Go.

Right now.  Fall asleep.  Go!

Ugh.

Down to 5 hours and 38 minutes.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Gettin' Digits On Mother's Day: The Conclusion

Lost?  Go to Part I first.

To illustrate how epically this guy failed, here is just one example of the things they talked about.  This particular example came in the beginning of the Phillies game, while he was still at his lowest point of drunkenness.


She mentioned that she was reading the series A Song of Ice and Fire, upon which the (amazing) show Game of Thrones is based.

She expressed how much she loved the books.

He said, "Isn't that the shit with elves and shit?"

She then gave him a basic education of the series, doing so in such an accommodating and easy-to-understand language that made it easy for any second grader or drunken 28-year old to comprehend.  And she described it in such an adoring and tender tone that made it clear that it was something near and dear to her heart.

I, myself, happen to love the show, and when she had finished her eloquent description of the books, I wanted to immediately pull out my iPhone, purchase it on iTunes, and begin reading it, right there in my expensive seats at the Phillies game.

"You really should check out the books," she said to her date.  "They are great."

"Nah," he replied.  "I'm not into that shit."

In the row in front of him, a father turned around and gave him the eye.  It was apparent that he didn't appreciate his loud and frequent use of expletives so close to his children.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Gettin' Digits On Mother's Day


My mom is a hardcore Phillies fan.  One of her most prized possessions is a gift that I got her a few years ago -- a walkman.  If the Phillies are playing, you can bet your ass that she has those headphones on and is listening to the game.  Anytime we talk on the phone or I go to visit, she is always complaining or rejoicing about the team, whatever the case may be.  Recently, it has been mostly complaining.  But even when they are losing, she is a die-hard fan.


For such a big fan of the team, however, she rarely goes to any games.  Maybe once a season.  And when my parents do go to games, they typically sit very high-up. 

So this year, my sister and I decided to splurge for Mother's Day and get her super-close-to-the-action seats.  Being the second-biggest Phillies fan in the family, I would accompany her, a task that I was pleased to fulfill.

And that is how I found myself a few rows behind the Phillies dugout, next to my mother, when a beautiful girl sat next to me.

Alone.

She was wearing a black sundress -- an atypical selection of clothing in a sea of red and white -- but one which made her stand out even more than she did as a result of her beautiful face and stunning physique.

Monday, June 18, 2012

On Picking Up Girls

Source

If you've read my blog before or know me in real life, you know that I am not much of a go-getter when it comes to hitting on girls or trying to get their phone numbers.  My quiet and seemingly unemotional persona caters to more of a love-him-once-you-get-to-know-him type of courting.  And I'm fine with that.


But that's the problem -- the fact that I'm fine with it.

Because the real world isn't like college.

In college, a missed connection is simply the first step to a relationship.  The only piece of information needed is that the girl actually goes to the same school as you.  At that point, it is almost customary to not exchange information.  As a part of the courting process, it was better to leave them hanging... to let her become a little detective for the next week to find out about you (and you, her).  Then you would find out what party she was going to be at the next weekend, where you would make an appearance.

Friday, June 15, 2012

Get Your Man Card

"...and then my face grew flush, for the McDonald's
cashier was laughing at me upon taking notice that
the drawstring of my pantaloons was not securely
fastened."
Today's post is short but sweet.  Because I am swamped.

As if I haven't been busy enough with moving, work, and this blog, I decided to get involved in another project. 

But I have to admit, I am pretty excited about it.

It is called Dude Write, and it is a way for male bloggers to come together to burp and fart, and to share some of our work with each other.


It might seem like treehouse politics to say "no girls allowed," but men are in the minority in the blogosphere, so it will be a great place for guys to expose themselves to each other.

Err... I probably should have worded that better.  But you get what I'm saying.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

The Unisex Salon: Part III

Part I --- Part II

For the next thirty minutes, cutting my hair became a secondary task.  Occasionally, she would do some work, taking a small section off here and another small section off there.  But her primary goal, it seemed, was to get to know me better.  She often leaned against her counter, the clippers still buzzing through the air as she talked with her hands.


This type of unnecessary slowness usually pisses me off.  But with Tracy, I loved it.  Perhaps the pizza was still numbing the section of my brain that controls cynicism.  But I think it was really her seemingly genuine interest in my admittedly boring life.

I explained to her that I had just moved to the area, no more than a week ago.  We talked about the area.  We talked about our mutual disdain for packing and unpacking.  She told me about her plans to go to the shore for the weekend and how she and her girlfriends go to the shore every year for Memorial Day weekend.  Then I told her about how I went to the shore every summer when I was a kid and about how I had lived at the beach for the past three years.

We covered a lot of topics, and I couldn't help but wonder if my parents would be jealous as to how much I was opening up to a stranger, when they had to interrogate me to get even the smallest details about what was going on in my life.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

The Unisex Salon: Part II

Read Part I

A bald man sat at a little island in the front entrance.  "Hello!" he said.

"Hi, how are you?" I asked.  The pizza was still settling in my stomach, but at this point I was on autopilot.


"Great!  How are you?!" he asked.  He was very, very friendly.

I used to love this woman.
"I'd like a simple buzz?" I said, but kinda asked.  As I did so, I raised my eyebrows* to signify that I was new at this whole unisex salon thing and I wasn't sure if I was being completely ludicrous with my minimal request of a buzz cut, like Lindsay Lohan walking into a liquor store and asking only for tonic water.

*The last time they would be raised in their full glory.

"No problem!" he said, alleviating my concerns.  "What's your name?"

"Youngman," I told him, craning my neck to his left and right and seeing no other customers in the store.

"Great!  We will call you when it is your turn, Youngman!"

Monday, June 11, 2012

The Unisex Salon: Part I

A little while back, I wrote about how I was offended when a hairdresser asked to "take care" of my eyebrows.

You can go back and read it, but if you decide not to, all you need to know is that, bushy as they may be, I sure as hell wasn't about to let anyone trim them.

Until the other day.

You see, I finally moved into my new apartment.  But I have not fully unpacked.  One of the things that I have not been able to find yet are my hair clippers.

So to get a haircut, I once again needed to go and pay for it.

I figured that it would be a relatively quick task.  I buzz my entire head the same length, so the haircut itself would take no more than five minutes.

In and out.  Nothing complicated.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Sexual Emancipation Night (A "Poem")

The Moore’s inaugural
“Sexual Emancipation Night”

Stood no chance
When Judy chose

Their last name
As the safety word.





Tuesday, June 5, 2012

The Laughing Stock of McDonald's

I went into McDonald's today. 

I had a hankering for a milkshake.

“Welcome-to-mcdonalds-can-i-help-you” the cashier said, without giving inflection or emphasis to any of the words.  She said this greeting to nobody in particular, apparently, as she stared through me with droopy eyes.

For the sake of this story, I shall call her “Tanisha.”

“Yes.  Hi, how are you?” I said with a gaping smile.

I have a tendency to overcompensate for strangers’ misery with cheerfulness.  It is strange, because I am mostly pokerfaced when interacting with people who I know, which generally leads them to believe that I am depressed or angry.