Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Butt Hurt

Sweet title right? We'll get to that in bit. For now, I'd like to start by letting you know

There's an old saying in Texas...I know it's in California, probably in Texas...that says hurt my feelings once...........shame on....shame on you..............................if you hurt my feelings you can't hurt me again!

For the last 7-10+ years, if someone asked me how Nelly loved me I would have proclaimed her undying affection for yours truly. I would have thrown out examples, a quick story, maybe a homily.

If asked that question, here are some possible answers:

  • What I got, boy, is hard to find
  • She thinks about it all the time
  • She's all strung out, her heart if fried
  • She just can't get me off her mind
  • I got spark, I-I got spunk, I-I got something all the girls want
  • I'm like a candy store and she's a toddler, I got her wanting more, mo, mo, more
  • My love, my love, my love, my love, my love
  •  She wants me to get swept away. Wants me to levitate. She wants me to sing with rapture, dance like a dervish
  • I am the chili dog to her tatter tots, simply said...
  • I complete her
Right about now, some of you are thinking:  Hey! You just stole lyrics and movie lines and twisted them to make you look good! To you I say: Very perceptive. And. It doesn't make it not true.

You may also be wondering what I'm babbling [writing] about. Let me explain. As most of you know, we are going on vacation soon (in fact, the first day of vacation was the day this was posted). We are planning a little get together with some friends back home in SoCal: The Golden Coast. This is going to be awesome time - Nelly will back in her natural element. She's a California girl: daisy dukes, bikini on top, sun kissed skin, fine, fresh, fierce, she got it on lock! So...I'm all pumped up about us all hanging out, chillax'n, maybe a few adult-type beverages. While were doing some shopping for the smaller stuff for the trip, I saw the PERFECT shirt for the get together:

When I saw this shirt I thought "OH SWEET JESUS! THANK YOU LORD GOD FOR BLESSING ME WITH THIS SHIRT!" I went on to think "This is the PERFECT shirt to wear when we get together. I'll do some push-ups, some pull-ups, some squat thrusts, maybe some deep-knee-bends (I plan to wear shorts) and throw on this shirt...I'll look like a SEXY BEAST!" It didn't stop there..."When someone asks 'is that Mighty Mouse?' I'll say 'Hell yeah it is! I love Mighty Mouse. He reminds me of me. He's not all shredded like Rambo...Ya know, Rambo II when he was all cut? Not like that. He's big an' stout but doesn't need to show off..and he has big ears'...Nelly is gonna LOVE IT". Then I thought "I bet Nelly says 'That is the PERFECT shirt to wear when we get together. You can do some push-ups, some pull-ups, squat thrusts, maybe some deep-knee-bends (if you plan to wear shorts) and throw on this shirt...You'll look like a SEXY BEAST!" 

Very happy with myself and my new found treasure, I race to Nelly. I hold it up and proclaim "I'm gonna wear this when we all get together!"

I did not get the reply that had just played in my head. Instead, I got THE LOOK.  Any one that has been married for at least 1 day knows "The Look". Nelly has many "Looks" in her repertoire. This particular look said "OH HELL NO! You are NOT wearing that thing when you meet my friends. You need to look 'nice', not like your 8. And while we're at it, go to the pool and get some sun. I can't be showing you off when you're all yellow."

Since I know this "look" all too well, I say "F me...I won't wear it..You F'ed me." She quickly replies with "I didn't say anything!"

I retort with, "You're face said it all."

I learned a few things in that exchange:
  1. I am very needy
  2. I am overly sensitive
  3. I am a sexy beast
  4. I should NEVER tell Nelly what her face is saying to me, under ANY circumstances
(1) I absolutely wanted, nay I say NEEDED, Nelly's approval of my shirt. Not only my shirt, but my whole idea. Also, (2) when she looked at me like I was as smart as a bag of hammers, my feelings were hurt. (3) The clothes really don't matter - I am a sexy ass man regardless of what clothes are on (or off) me. (4) I will not expand on point 4 above.

You see, I really did discover something. Any one that has done a character study knows that the protagonist [Famous Ray in this case] needs a "tragic flaw" to be a hero. Think of Superman...his tragic flaw is kryptonite. If you have studied Greek Mythology, you may be familiar with great hero TESTICLES (pronounced TES-TA-KLEEZ) and his tragic flaw: his weebles. Before this day, I was just an incredibly good looking man. NOW...I am an incredibly good looking man with feelings! I am a hero. My tragic flaw: I get Butt Hurt :(

Butt Hurt is California slang for "Hurt Feelings" or "being in a state of hurt feelings". Here are couple of examples:
  1. Why you crying!? Cuz your Butt Hurt? Why you crying??!
  2. I told him that shirt sucked, now he's all Butt Hurt...what a girl....

I know that it's possible that by sharing my tragic flaw, I have just opened up the door to all the cougars and kittens out there to adore me. Before they come out of the wood work, they need to know how I feel about Nelly. Even though she F'ed me and I can't wear my sweet ass shirt, I still love her dearly.

She knows that I'm Butt Hurt. But....if she asked me how I felt about her, I would have to say:

Beautiful girls all over the world
I could be chasing but my time would be wasted

They got nothin' on you baby
Nothin' on you baby
They might say hi and I might say hey [I would NEVER say 'hey' as to keep myself out of danger]
But you shouldn't worry about what they say

Cause they got nothin' on you baby
Nothin' on you baby

To my friends back in Cali - we shall see you soon. I won't be in my Sweet Ass Mighty Mouse T...but rest assured, I'll still be looking good. To everyone else in cyberspace - GRIND HARD AND PROSPER!

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

The Married Life

I may have seen 1 or 2 pornography movies. Total. During my time in the Army. I do not believe that porn has led to the depravity of our nation or is only viewed by the mentally deranged - that would be reality TV. I do, however, blame the porn industry (those 1 or 2 movies specifically) for ruining my view of marriage.

Those 1 or 2 movies from back during the military days, a long long time ago, were the only frame of reference I had on the glorious union that is marriage. This example of what I believed married people do twisted my thoughts of how my life would be lived.

Let me explain. When I asked Nelly to marry me, I had envisioned a few things. For example, I had always imagined that she would make breakfast every day with her make-up perfectly applied, every hair in its place, wearing a g-string, high heels and an apron. In my mind she would have her hair up in a tight bun, her apron would be off-white, trimmed in red, and her heels a glossy black. Every morning for 1 1/2 years I was hoping to see this. I would roll out of bed, run down stairs, and hope that today was the day. That day never happened.

Another day that never happened was Nelly waiting for me to come home during lunch while she was walking around completely nude doing chores - doing the dishes, folding laundry, making beds, maybe doing yoga. I ate lunch everyday at the house for the first 11 months of our blessed union. That's a lot of PB-N-J

I figured that if lunch wasn't the meal of choice for my beautiful wife, then surely when I came home from a long day of modern slavery, she'd great me in lingerie for dinner. Not just any lingerie. A sheer black chemise, matching g, a black garter belt, complete with thigh-highs: a real classy look.

That day didn't happen either.

Porn was obviously not a reflection of marriage. If I may, art was NOT imitating life. Not only was I completely wrong about what marriage entailed, I found out a few things along the way. I have been married now for 7-10 years; that doesn't make me an authority but it does mean I have experience. Believe me when I say that there is NO substitute for experience. For those of you that are not married or are just in the should know that things change when the honeymoon is over.

Here is what married life has taught me:
  1. Good-bye SPIKE TV, hello OXYGEN Channel
  2. You must trade in all "Jason Bourne" type movies and purchase chickflicks
    1. The Notebook
    2. A Walk to Remember
    3. Beaches
  3.  You can set your DVR for "The Deadliest Warrior" but you never see any episodes because the DVR is full with recordings of "Bridezillas", "The Real House Wives of [insert location here]", and "Dr. Phil"
  4. The best way to never have sex is to have children
  5. NEVER have a "guys night out" because this means that she will have "girls night out" and hers will be better than yours
  6. NEVER speak to another woman other than your mother and sometimes your sister
  7. No matter the size of bed you are sleeping in, you will never have enough room. She will be able to sprawl out in any direction she chooses
  8. Lingerie will not make its way to the bedroom. Instead be prepared for ugly, over-sized flannels in the winter...and the summer because she likes to keep the A/C on all night
  9. After a week of marriage, she no longer feels the need to shave her legs
  10. Or do her makeup
  11. Or do her hair
  12. Or dress up
  13. Ever
  14. Unless she is having a girls night out
  15. Then she will shave herself to resemble a hairless chihuahua
  16. And make an appointment for her makeup
  17. And to color her hair
  18. And to style her hair
  19. And buy a new outfit
  20. That she will never wear for you
  21. The breakfast of eggs, sausage, pancakes, hash browns and freshly squeezed orange juice is out. Frosted Flakes are in
  22. Friday and Saturday nights are no longer clubbin-till-the-clothes-fall-off nights. They are now we-have-to-do-laundry-and-give-the-kids-baths-and-put-them-in-their-jammas nights
  23. All of your friends are stupid.....because she says they are
  24. Taking a shower together really means just taking a shower together
  25. The sports car doesn't fit the family so it's time for a swagger-wagon
  26. The party used to start at 11:00, now you're in bed by 9:00
  27. You have to lie about watching cartoons and buying toys by saying it's all for your son
  28. You'll have to see NKOTB in concert
  29. Everything is a test
  31. IS
  32. A
  33. TEST
  34. This includes when she says "are you sure?"
  35. When she says she's "cold" or "hot" you have to turn on the fan, or grab a blanket, or turn on/off the AC...even though you are perfectly comfortable
  36. Porn does not reflect marriage
For those of you that are in the honeymoon stage, heed this advice: RIDE THAT ISH TILL THE WHEELS FALL OFF! For those of you that are newly married, but the honeymoon is over, take comfort in this: The 1st year is truly the hardest. This is when you are really getting to know each other and the dating life is slowing down. She will gradually stop doing those things that she used to catch you. She has the ring now and won.

The married life is a splendid thing. I love my married life with children. I wouldn't know what do if I had a bank account full of money. Or a luxury, sports car. Or the freedom to travel the world at any given moment. I mean, who wants to go to Brazil? Who wants to be known as walking cougar-bait? Who wants to have cold pizza for breakfast?

I hope that this post was not only helpful, but also insightful. I give away these gems of enlightenment as a free public service. Take them as you will; I am here to change the world 1 post at a time.

    Tuesday, July 6, 2010

    Homeland Security

    I have a great friend whom we shall call Art Vandelay. Now then, Art won't admit it, but he loves me like I love cake. Not the homo-erotic love that many of you are afraid of, but a brotherly love. He's always been there to give me advice, both sound and ludicrous. He has stood by every one of my decisions, both good and bad. Any one that knows Art knows a few things about him: he eats too many beans, he can be aggressive, and he will protect what he loves with a fierceness that is second only to Batman.

    You may recall Art from my Moving Day story. He was my roommate that had me evicted. Before he sent me out on my own, we had shared an apartment for 2 years. I have more stories about Art than I do about Bobbert Creamer. To protect his identity and to make sure I don't get him in trouble, I will only tell you about a few. The mystery and intrigue will keep him all the more interesting.

    These stories take place while we were living in The OC.

    Being the great son that I am, I used to drive up to see my parents on weekends. Like any typical Saturday, I got dressed and gathered some belongings for my trek to the Inland Empire (SHOUT TO MONTCLAIR!). I had told Art I was going to see my parents and headed out the door. I pulled out of the parking lot when I realized that I had forgotten my phone. I turned right back into the complex and headed for my home. My apartment. My living quarters. My place of safety.

    I opened the front door and walked around the corner to grab my phone from my room. What happened next couldn't be scripted and couldn't be made up (I'm not that talented). As I turn the corner I am greeted by Art and Louie. Louie was the baseball bat that he slept with under his bed. This was our home security system. Like Babe Ruth, Art had wound up and was gonna let one fly upside my head. With my cat-like reflexes I dove out of the way. Truth be told, I think Art hesitated for 1/2 a second when his brain registered that I was a friend and not a foe – that didn’t stop him from swinging. The best part, Art didn't apologize to me - he yelled at me.

    Art: What the hell are you doing here!?!

    Famous Ray: I LIVE here

    Art: You're supposed to be at your mom's house! OOOOOH...You're lucky you didn't get one to your head!

    This story gets better. From the time it took me to open the door and walk 12 feet to the corner, Art had already devised 2 plans. Not only that, he had made a decision on which plan was best. He put that plan into action. In about 1 second, this ran through his head:

    Some dirty bastards are breaking into my house! They think they can come in here and steal my stuff?! NOT ON MY WATCH BUDDY. I have Louie in here with me...and they don't know I'm home. I can sneak out the back [Art's room opened to the patio. The patio opened to the street/sidewalk].  I need to interject here: When I first heard this story, I thought "wow...Art was gonna leave and call the police or security" - I was wrong. Then I can sneak around real low to the front door. I'll hide around the corner. Then the first person I see coming out of the apartment with my stuff, I'm gonna take Louie and BREAK HIS KNEE CAPS. That will clog the front door and I can takeout whoever is behind him since he won’t be able to get out. Hmm…On second thought, I might get arrested for doing that. Maybe I can just hide in my room and wait for one of those rat bastards to come this way and I will take Louie upside their head. Then it will be considered Self Protection. Ok, I'm going with the second option.

    I somehow survived that day.

    This extreme feeling to protect was not only bound to our living quarters. Art is a true patriot and will protect the U.S. against all threats; both foreign and domestic. Because of this, I always had to stay home when Art was flying. You see, he doesn’t like to fly. He’s not scared of flying, but it does get his Agent Orange to acting up. When flying in either direction (inbound or outbound) I stayed at home waiting for a call from the Orange County Sheriff’s Department. I knew it was only a matter of time till Art saw something that he thought was off and jumped into action . It would be my duty to get him out of jail when this happened.

    This almost happened twice.

    Art was flying back from Northern California. This is a short trip, but you never know what may happen and I didn’t want this to be the day Art was detained and I wasn’t around to pick him up. As the story goes, Art was anxious because he was on a plane. As they are making their descent, the guy next to him decides to turn on his cell phone; Art was not having this.

    Art: I was sitting there and the guy next to me decides to turn his phone on – I think he may be a terrorist.

    Famous Ray: Was he Middle-Eastern?

    Art: a white guy.

    Famous Ray: a white guy.

    Art: a white guy. I don't discriminate.

    Famous Ray: What happened?

    Art: We were still in the air and getting closer to the airport and this dipshit turns on his phone.

    Famous Ray: Did you think it was a remote detonation device to blow up the plane?

    Art: I did…then I thought that was ridiculous. So, I figured he was calling his homies to let them know we were close enough for them to take us out. Like with a Surface-to-Air Missile.

    Famous Ray: Yeah, that makes more sense. What did you do?

    Art: I leaned over and told him “Um….I don’t think we can have those on right now. You better turn it off.”

    Famous Ray: What did he do?

    Art: He turned it off. But I didn’t trust him. So I tailed him.

    Famous Ray: You tailed him.

    Art: I tailed him.

    Famous Ray: For how long?

    Art: 20 minutes. I followed him around to see if he was meeting up with any other suspicious characters. I took a mental note of what he was wearing.

    Famous Ray: Why did you do that?

    Art: So when I reported him, I could give a complete description.

    Famous Ray: You reported him?

    Art: I reported him. After 20 minutes of following him, I found two deputies and gave them the run down and his description.

    Famous Ray: Good thinking!

    Art: Yeah, I don’t trust that bastard.

    To Art, it was just another day. Nothing odd or out of place. Just doing what anyone would do. During a flight back to the OC from visiting his family, Art got a little jumpy and was ½ a second away from laying someone out. This is a much longer flight so there was a whole lot of time for something to go wrong. I always worried during these flights. He made it back to our apartment that day without incident, but this is conversation we had when he got home:

    Art: Dude. I almost had to take somebody out on the plane.

    Famous Ray: On the way there or on your way home?

    Art: On the way back….on this last flight.

    Famous Ray: What happened!?

    Art: Well, what had happened was….I was sitting in the wing aisle. You know the seat that has the emergency door? Has the extra leg space? I like that seat so I can stretch my legs and not worry about some bastard getting mad about me kicking his stuff or someone leaning his seat back into me. I hate that ISH. Well, I was sitting there, right, and the captain came on and said something stupid about looking out the right side of the plane. You know how I feel about planes, so I just sat there. But this Indian-looking dude got up and started walking around.

    Famous Ray: Indians are our allies….

    Art: YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN! Well this terrorist-looking guy…

    Famous Ray: better…

    Art: He starts walking around the plane! Like he was on a Sunday stroll! He came over by me and was starting to walk towards the door to look outside.

    Famous Ray: What did you do?

    At this Point, Art went into demonstration mode…

    Art: I was sitting like this and had a magazine up like I was reading. I wasn’t reading. I was watching him. I kept my eyes on him and with one hand I unbuckled my seat reeeeeaaaaaly slow so that it wouldn’t make a sound. I left it unbuckled but I didn’t take it completely off – so it looked like I was still buckled in.  I wanted to have the element of surprise in case I had to go into action. So I slouched real low in my seat and kept watch. I’m telling you, had he sneezed it would have been GO TIME! He’s lucky he didn’t have to scratch his nose or have the hick-ups. He was going down if he moved.

    I already knew the answer to this next question, but I couldn’t help but ask…

    Famous Ray: Did you have a plan? Did you know how you were gonna take him down?

    Art: You bet your ass I did!

    Famous Ray: Were you going to kick him in the knee? Choke him from the back and wrestle him down?

    Still in demonstration mode, this was his answer, no fabrication, no lies, all Art:

    Art: Well, see how I’m slouched way down in my seat? I did that to get into position to pounce. This was my plan: I was going to slide out of my chair, drop to knee, then give him a forearm shiv to the [weebles], like a forearm uppercut; then I was gonna yell and grab him by his weebles and the back of his neck and SLAM HIM INTO THE WALL…Then I was going to scrape him against the wall then up to the ceiling over my head then SLAM HIM TO THE GROUND…AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!

    Famous Ray: You know…you can’t extend your hands over your head on plane.

    Art: Yeah

    Famous Ray: Scrape against the wall…over your head…then a WWF press slam to the ground. Was he a small guy?

    Art: No, he was about as big as you.

    Much like The Boy, Art believes he’s as strong as the Hulk. When he looks into the mirror he sees Thor, only better looking.

    Famous Ray: Good plan

    Art: Yeah, I think so too. I call it SHOCK AND AWE. The “shock” was the scream in the face while I scraped him across the plane. Had to keep him off his game.

    I have not embellished any of these stories or conversations. These are as accurate as I can completely recall. Unfortunately, these are all the stories I can tell about Art. To go any further may reveal his true identity. That would represent a clear and present danger to the security of our nation. I still talk to Art almost every day. He is one of the best pseudo-big-brothers any one could ever have - just be sure never to board a plane with him.