Coffee Mate

I never liked coffee. Not the smell. Not the taste. Not the jitters. Not the shakes. When Starbucks was the "in" thing,  I was still at Cinnabon - I love the Cinnabon.

I may not like coffee but I love company. I have 2 buddies - Jello and Manjee. These guys are good guys. Stand up guys. They like comic books and video games; go-carts and pizza; wings and beer....but they also like coffee. Now, when I say "coffee", I don't really mean "coffee". I'm talking about drinks that I can't pronounce and could never order. These drinks have names like "Frappalingus" and "Machallatio" - very authentic french names since we all know that coffee beans only come from Paris. These drinks conjure up dreams of tasteful bliss....

One day Jello and Manjee invite me out for a Cup o' Joe. I thought, "Sure, why the hell not? They're my buddies! They wouldn't lead me astray!" How wrong I was. It was a cool Autumn afternoon in the City of Orange when the incident occurred. We were winding down from a day of slave-wage-labor when Jello offers up a so-called coffee drink. It is key to this story to know I haven't actually had coffee for more than 5 years at this point. I don't exactly remember why I didn't drink coffee, just that it's a bad idea. Because I'm a great friend and attention whore, I go with my buddies. Jello orders a double-shot, extra-hot, low-foam, goats-milk, Carmallatio with extra llatio. I had never seen a drink like it! It was like a hot ice-cream sundae in a foam cup! Next up was Manjee. He went with the quad-cream, no foam, extra whip-cream, Iced Mochalingus with double lingus for good measure. This was an ice-cream sundae...with sprinkles to boot!

I order the same thing.

About 10 minutes later I remember why I didn't drink coffee. Coffee, much like prunes, is a natural laxative. I'm talking about DEUCES WILD type of laxative. I thought that the jitters and shakes came from the effect caffeine has on my body...not true...it's trying to control the ensuing "prairie dogging" that occurs when coffee enters my body that affects me so. At this point, I'm concentrating on keeping the cheeks together while Jello and Manjee begin a debate over the best Simpson's episode ever. I'm starting to sweat and can hear my stomach rumbling while a brick begins to form. This isn't a nice little house brick. Oh no Cyberspace....this is a cinder block that can be used as someone's backyard wall. I excuse myself from the conversation by saying something along the lines of "I think I'm dying...an alien pod is in my body...if I don't make it...tell my wife and kids that I've always loved them...."

Some years passed and I somehow forget about the incident. I am now living in the Great State of Texas. I need to transport my sweet ass Toyota Matrix from SoCal (Chino Bitches!) to the Big D (Dallas BITCHES!). What better way than to drive it with my lovely bride? And because it's blazing ass hot in Cali, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas I figure we should leave around 11 PM.

I've done the drive between Dallas and Los Angeles about 12 times. Every time I do it, I man up. I drive it straight - 24 hours straight. No breaks. No hotels. No sleeping. Eat and drink in the car. Only stop for potty breaks. I'm a MAN! A Man's Man! Not a Metro/Pretty man...Oh no! I GOTS THIS!

I must have been extremely fatigued on this day. We barely make it from LA to Blythe when I'm ready for a nap. I've only driven 3 hours and I'm going rounds with the Sand Man...and he's winning. I pull into a gas station and look for anything with caffiene. I find a bottled Ice-Frapalingus and decide that this is the best drink to get me from California to Texas. I take it one gulp! I'm ready to go! I CAN'T BE BEAT! I WON'T BE BEAT!

I'm not sure if it was because the drink was cold or because I was extra-tired, but it takes a couple of hours to completely infect my body....then things get bad. Really bad.

I make through Arizona, but when we hit the New Mexico state line an out of body experience begins. My stomach starts the familiar rumbling...but now I have the sweats. It's like I'm TD Jakes on Easter Sunday. It takes all of my concentration to simultaneously keep the cheeks together and the car on the road. There will be no prairie dogging on this day my friends. If the cheeks fail, it's Groundhog's day...and there is no shadow. I drive into Las Cruces, NM sitting sideways, my clothes drenched, sweat running into my eyes, body shaking, teeth and cheeks clenched with the force of a prehistoric alligator. Hallucinations begin and I know that my time is short. I find a McDonald's off the side of the freeway. Nelly may have seen the Golden Arches; I saw a porcelain throne on which I would be seated.

All I remember is telling Nelly to order herself breakfast and I would be back. We lost 2 1/2 hours that day my friends. Every time I thought I had fully purged my temple, I was mistaken. By the time I left the stall I was only wearing a sock. You all know what I'm talking about - when you get so hot and things are going so violently wrong you just start taking clothes off. I collect myself and my clothes off the stall floor; the both of us a crumpled mass. I begin to dress and am a bit light-headed from the total-body-cleanse that just occurred. I'm not sure, but I think I saw an angel in that bathroom. He looked into my soul. He didn't say anything, yet he did. Not with words...with his eyes, "Tell the world of your story, Famous Ray. For the masses must know of your bodily functions. You may never know the impact you will have and the Glory that it will bring His Kingdom..."

Cyberspace, stay away from coffee.

You're welcome.

I Love My Mommy

Like most Latino/Hispanic boys, I grew up very close to my mom. As an example: I cried the first day of kindergarten when mom left me to the wolves. Actually, I cried every day of kindergarten - I didn't know if mom was ever coming back to get me.

This is not to say that I'm a "mama's boy"...just that I love my mom. I have story upon story of the crazy things she's done and said over all the years of my glorious, sexy existence. Most of them I cannot disclose because she will either stab me or deny it all. This post is dedicated to my mom. I learned very early on that she would always be there to love me and put me in my place...even if it meant throwing vegetables at me while I ran away from her down the aisles of the local Albertson's.  As a side note - I was a spirited little boy :)

My mom has a very loud and in-your-face personality. It's a wonder that I grew up to be so humble and introverted  Ever since I could remember, she's had platinum blonde hair - think Marilyn Monroe, but really more Jane Mansfield.  She would never leave the house or let anyone see her without being done up; full make-up and hair every day. She's very quick witted and sharp shooter when it comes to quips and come-backs. As another side note - you can see that I didn't want to marry any one like my mom...riiiiiiiiiiggght....let's move on.

Like any other Mexican-American mom, there are just somethings you can count on:

1. Mom will do what she wants when she wants without regard or notice - I remember one birthday when I was first married. Nelly called my mom to let her know we were going to stop by. Mom told her that she was ordering a cake. Nelly told her that we had one and would bring it with us...Mom replied, "but THIS is his favorite."  We had 2 cakes that year.
2. Mom will put your friends in-line if they act up - I think I was 12 years old when chased X Obesco around our house with a plant in her hand...she was going to make sure that he never mouthed off in our house ever again and a pot upside his head was just the reminder he needed.
3. Mom will pack food for you to take even when you're not hungry - does anyone remember (or still do) the 2 paper plates wrapped in tin foil? I don't mean 2 separate plates with different food...I mean all the food you can put on a single hefty plate with another on top as a cover then held together with reynolds wrap. Yeah...you memer....Or the food is put into empty plastic butter containers that she keeps in the cupboard with the plates and bowls. Sometimes the lids don't match.
4. Mom will make tamales every Christmas - so we have something to unwrap if we don't get presents....I love that joke and so do you. Don't judge me.

Now that's just the basics. That's what it takes to be a Latina mom raising kids. My mom did that and upped the ante:

• I dated an Asian girl in college. I told mom that my girlfriend had me some cookies...and, no lie, this was mom's response, "Oh, she made you fortune cookies?" 
• While still in college, my lady friend Lama Chops stopped by the house after a group presentation. As Lama was telling mom about it, mom cuts her off and says, "Were you nervous? Probably not huh. You were probably just looking at Raymond all in love [then she starts making googly eyes off into space and tilts her head]."
• Nelly and I showed mom some pics from our honeymoon. We had snorkeled off of the Baja California coast. As mom is looking at pictures of us in the ocean she sees Nelly in a swim suit, "Oh! Who is this in a bikini!? Nelly, is that you? Oh look...you have hips...you're going to be ok."

I have to admit that my mom is one of the funniest people I know. She may also be a bit crazy. In either case, I grew up very loved. There was never a doubt in my mind that mom would always care for me and want the best for me. When I was 17 it had occurred to me - mom may not always agree with my decisions, but she will always love me.

Mom was sad when I joined the Army, but never let me see her cry. Mom worried about zombies eating my brain while I was deployed to Haiti, but she never sent me clipping from her tabloids. Mom never said she hates my tattoos, but when she saw the first one she sat down asked for water and prayed to the Virgin Mary for my soul. 

It's a miracle that I turned out as normal as I am.

I love you mom!

Cyberspace, you're welcome.

Metroman and the World of Tomorrow

Maybe I've changed since my humble beginnings in the Inland Empire (shout out: Montclair, BITCHES!). Granted, I've become a bit "soft"...I traded in DJ Quick for Taylor Swift...sold the Camaro for a Lexus...no more fried weenies in tortillas, it's all about dry-aged filet....I don't think that this makes me a metrosexual...just a lil soft.

Maybe the underwear story changed your perception and it got me to thinking about who I am and my awesomeness.

As I reflected on my man-panties, I pondered over my mortality metrosexuality. I've reviewed the evidence of my sexy-awesomeness and I'm not really sure that I'm a Metro...not that there is anything wrong with Metros...I believe they should have all the rights afforded to all Americans. I'm just not convinced that I'm metro. Maybe I've caught a metrosexually transmitted disease - you know when you spend so much time with them that you some habits stick.

Let us look at my greatness and you can judge me (it will be like we're married):

1. I rock designer underwear that resemble man panties. They are a soft cotton lyrca, though the mesh ones are a spandex/nylon blend.
2. My hair is cut every 2 weeks at precisely the same time. It's a salon - I have a standing appointment for my hair like an old lady.
3. Eyebrows - I have 2 of them. I don't wax; could you imagine Nelly allowing a women to pour hot wax on me!? I don't thread, that looks awful painful. I don't pluck - that's what you do to chickens. I tweeze.
4. There may have been a time or two when I shaved my armpits. That time may have been this week. It's a bother when I'm getting all swole at the gym..and it's way to make my guns look bigger.
5. During the summer months, I tan. I don't mean that I go swimming or play soccer outdoors. I mean that I deliberately get mostly nekkid and lie down in the hot, hot sun so that I can be my delicious brown self that I was born to be. Nelly loves it...and so do you.
6. The Goods have been shaved to resemble a baby seal. In my defense, when you rock designer thongs you can't be all scraggly. I've looked into the "Full Brazilian", but Nelly vetoed that one right out of the gate.
7. I  lotion up my arms and legs..but it's a specific lotion  This lotion is not overpowering in smell or greasy to the touch. It gives my skin a nice satin look and feel.
8. I use a different lotion for my face. Because all of this lotion use, I have soft hands. So soft that when I need to open a beer bottle, I have to wrap my shirt around the cap first. And that beer isn't for me...I drink apple martinis with pixie sticks.
9. Body spray. Not cologne. And this is why my lotions can't be odorific...
10. All of my t-shirts are v-necked and sized for a medium dude even though I'm a large sized man.

I haven't always been like this..Do you remember The Day the Sexy Died? Well Sexy Is Alive Today BITCHES! Like Bruce Wayne, and Bruce Lee before him, I have fought my way through a broken back and am healed! Skinny jeans and extra small white T's are back! And the kittens have come back around....that's the real measure of sexy isn't it? I don't think that I've become Metro...I am just celebrating my good looks. And you should too.

I wasn't happy being the pretty, husky guy. Now that I am again that Hot, Delicious, Sexy, Smelling-all-Good guy I possibly took it over board. I know, I know....I would never push the limits of anything. I may have done it this one time. I don't think so. My haters think that I have taken it too far - and that's perfect for me.

I would write more, but it's time for my mani/pedi, then a latte with my bestie - he can be such a bitch when I'm late.

Cyberspace, feel free to judge and comment. I love the drama!

Thong You Very Much

My New Year's Resolution may have gone awry. As many of you know, I go commando 98% of the time. What is "Going Commando" you ask? Well, it has been called many things: free ballin', all out there, easy access, ready for action, etc... It all refers to not wearing underwear. On January 1st of what may be our last year on the planet, I declared to no longer go commando.

I know what you're thinking - awesome people don't need underwear! And I have to admit that I agree. Wearing chones everyday makes me feel too normal. I started out strong but I began feeling restricted - not only my twig-n-berries...but my whole being was under wraps. This would not do. Famous Ray sits quiet for no man! As I thought about my normality it occurred to me - this is just the man trying to keep me down...make me conform to what "society" says is right...what so-called "classy" people would call proper. I'll tell you this: I have no class - this would not do.

So I took to the Internet seeking a change to my apparel. As an FYI, when you google "sexy ass man underwear that let you be free and on display" you better not have the kids around. As my search returned some interesting results I began to see that fashion had changed....particularly in men's briefs.

I quickly realized that Hanes or Fruit of the Loom would not do for my jewels. I needed special gear to keep the boys homed. As I dug into my research I found that designer male underwear don't have a trap door...the pilot doesn't have an escape hatch...there's no fire escape for the fireman...there is no little pocket sewn into the front of men's underwear to hold change or gum. They are "man panties."

And you are absolutely right - I am down with rocking man panties. So much so that I began to research only man panties. Now, this may not be the correct term, but make no mistake...I wear man panties.

I had searched and searched for close to 90 days looking for panties that would make me feel like a man again. I settled on what was marketed at "Boxer Briefs".  Now, these are not really boxer briefs...they are really boy shorts. These boy shorts have extra material sewn in so that the gonads are displayed. I wore these for about a week when I just couldn't take it any more. They were small and tight in the right places and had the team out of the dugout, but DAMN - they were hot!

So back to searching. I then decided on "briefs". These are not real briefs - these are bikinis...you know...where 3/4's of the cheeks are covered and all the thigh is showing. I really like these. Big Jim and The Twins are out front and my cheeks are out enough to make me feel like I'm sticking it to the man - damning his society and their rules. To kick it up a notch, I ordered a few pair in mesh! Well, it was hot and the mesh keeps me cool....

BUT THAT WASN'T ENOUGH FOR FAMOUS RAY!

Oh no, Cyberspace. I was not ready to lie down. I am at war with all things keeping us down. The story that tells us that we need to go to school, get a job, buy a car, get married, and buy a house....that lie that says "You want all this, you NEED all this."  I do not need that lie! I do not want to be a 401k-wage-slave while the man is living like a king! I will not stand for it!

That's right! I wear thongs now! Not because they are super-sexy and have my soldier standing up straight and at attention but because it's how I thumb my nose at the royal family and all elitist. This is how I say that I am not going to conform. This is how I say that I look good as hell in Cheetah print...and also in mesh.

IT DIDN'T STOP THERE!

Um...this is where I may have gone a bit too far. I may have veered from my original intention of wearing underwear everyday in 2012. You see...I liked the thong better than the bikinis and the boy-shorts. I got to thinking...the only way to make a pair of cheeks look better is to cut them in half. If this wasn't true, the Brazilians would not have gone through the engineering feats required to not only design but develop the G-String. YES. I rock G-strings. Don't judge me! I had great intentions of staging a 1-man protest to the societal norm, but I fell victim to metro-sexuality. When you look this good it's just a matter of time before it happens.

Cyberspace, I have kept my vow. I go commando no more.

Something for the Ladies

Adele is a liar. I have taken offense to some key lyrics in her hit, "Someone Like You." Telling all those ladies that have dedicated that song to me that they will find someone like me is absurd and misleading. I am the original - often imitated but never duplicated. I think a more fitting song is "The One That Got Away."

I know that I am dealing a blow to many of my female readers that are waiting for there opportunity to pounce. 2 things: don't stop trying and I have something that may help.

I can't just say that I'm greatness and I'm sorry that you can't get up on this. Imagine how many readers I would lose. No, ladies, that will not happen. I am here to let you admire me and still give you a chance at a great guy - not the greatest since I'm off the market - but still...a great guy.

Below is my resume. I recommend you have your suitors or anyone stuck in the "friend zone" submit their resume for review. Then....we see how he stacks up against me - a "stare-and-compare".....

Famous S. Ray

World’s Greatest Mate

Accomplished boyfriend of the luckiest of ladies; experienced in watching chick-flicks, snuggling, cuddling, and showering women with gifts. Expert navigator that never gets lost while driving. Can cook intimate meals for two or a buffet for dozens. Can and will wait patiently while my date gets ready for the evening. Insist on opening all doors and always pay for everything. Caregiver extraordinaire – home-made chicken soup with an excellent bedside manner.

Summary of Qualifications

• Ridiculously good looking with a great sense of humor
• Nicely put together to include pre-matched seasonable outfits
• Winningest in-house champion of  Dance Central and Just Dance
• Regularly watch LMN, OWN, We-TV and occasionally cry
• Have read and watched all things Twilight and can recite lines

Professional Experience

Best Boyfriend Ever: Post-Graduate/Professional Work

4/2003 – Present

• Began dating my girlfriend’s best friend; married her in 2004

Best Boyfriend Ever: High School/Military/College

1990 – 2003

• Subject of the greatest senior high school picture ever taken
  
• [all other experience omitted for the safety of this applicant]

Skills

Never lie              Text/sext to correct phone number        Never drunk call/text

Know when to listen      Know when to give advice           Amateur mind reader

Keeps secrets               Massage therapist                        Master choreographer



A few things....Yes, my middle initial is "S". Yes, that stands for "Sexy." Yes, I omitted high-lights from my dating history in an effort to save my own life. BUT, this is a great starting point for women to determine what they should be looking for in a mate; it is also a basis for what all men should aspire to be.
Though we all know that many will fall short, we must always keep hope. Hope that a diamond in the rough will present himself. This is your year ladies - make sure your man is up to the task!

Cyberspace (mostly ladies), you're welcome.

The Bean Story

As it turns out, the majority of my devoted fans (casual readers) are women. I have a few theories on this...1) I'm an amazingly good looking man, 2) my sexiness abounds, 3) they can't believe that I'm married, or 4) they are waiting for Nelly to grow tired of my antics so they can pounce!

Whatever the reason, I do have a strong reader-base of smart women. Why is this important? Because today I reveal a story of my very early days of marriage. A time of innocence in a the land of milk and honey. I will be asking for some feedback at the end of this story...I need to know if my fans can see my side and agree that I did nothing wrong. This is "The Bean Story."

A long time ago, in a land far far away, Nelly and I lived in harmony: we were Newlyweds. We lived in the area known as "The Triangle" in North Carolina. Life was grand living in the South. All the children called us "ma'am" and "sir," the ladies wore sundresses and big hats, the men were weekend warriors. A hot Salvadorian and Sexy-Mexi (yes, that is me) fit in just fine...though most people thought I was black or in the Marines...and everyone assumed Nelly was a nanny.

Being a newly-wed meant that things were a bit different. Before all of today's running about with tournaments, practices, play-dates, science fairs, dance recitals...we actually had time to sit down for dinner together. I remember my Latin Hotness (Nelly, not me) would call me at work and ask, "Sugar-bear, what would you like for dinner tonight?" Like clockwork she would call me every day. Almost every day I had the same response, "Kitten-whiskers, I think I'm in the mood for chilidogs and tatertots." We must have went through 350 cans of Hormel that year. And who doesn't like tatertots!?! They are little golden-fried pieces of heaven.

Ahhh, life was grand....then one day...I veer off course...and things have never been the same. One particular afternoon while I was slaving away for the firm, my Honey Muffin calls me to inquire about our dinner plans. I still opted for the franks n' tots, but I asked for something different next week. I believe I said something along the lines of, "Apple-dumpling, do you think we can have beans? We haven't had them for so very long. What do you think?"  Being the awesome, hot, newly married wife, Nelly says, "of course!"

Next week's dinner was set! I'd have a big pot of beans and I'd eat like a king! Well like a peasant, but you know what I mean.

I had never cooked beans and neither had Nelly. We had some thoughts around this, but figured we should ask the experts. This was before "google" existed so we had to revert to caveman style of searching. We had to talk to people. So I call my mom and sister and Nelly calls her mom. We have a game plan. We know what to do. We are set.

It's at this point that I need to pause - I need to explain something before we go any further. We all know that Nelly is from El Salvador. We know that I'm of Mexican descent. It stands to reason that we know beans. I grew up having beans with every meal:

• Breakfast: cho-reets-o, tortillas, and beans
• Lunch: fried weenie, tortilla, and beans
• Dinner: steak, potato, salad, and beans

I would go see my grandma and have a "taco de frijoles" and Pepsi for lunch. My whole life I have eaten beans...

Back to the story

After an exhausting day at work, I come home to my lovely wife and beautiful daughter. The aroma of freshly stewed beans fills my wondrous home. I walk into the kitchen and passiontely kiss my wife hello. I bend down and kiss my lil girl. I walk over to the pot of beans, take a look, pause quizzically and say, "those don't look like the beans my mom makes."

It turns out that Salvadorians eat Red Beans ..... and I grew up on Pinto Beans (frijoles). There was no compare/contrast of cooking styles...there was no mention of my mom's beans being superior (as they are not)....there was no criticizing of the cooking methodology....there was no "tone"....there was only sheer and utter amazement that more than one type of bean existed.

This happened many years ago before my many travels. This was before my time in New Orleans, eating Red Beans n Rice. I hadn't yet been to Guadalajara to understand the many varieties of beans. I had not yet had Chilean style barbecue with an assortment of beans. In short, I had never seen a Red Bean in my life.

I now implore the court to render their verdict. To once and for all clear me of all charges. To understand that my question came from absolute befuddlement when coming upon a pot of Red Beans. For the record, my wife makes the best beans and rice, not my mom, not my tia. My wife adds that extra ingredient: Love.

Welcome me back, Cyberspace. I know you missed me. You're welcome!

Artsy Fartsy or The Green Eyed Monster

I can't believe that I'm actually going to write this...against all that is me....I have to admit it: I'm jealous.

Now this isn't your run-of-the-mill type of jealousy. I'm not jealous that my wife watches Twilight everyday, eating bon-bons in a seductive/suggestive manner while rockin a "Team Edward" extra-tight T. I'm not jealous that skinny people can rock extra-tight jeans, Baby Gap T's, and moccasins. I'm not even jealous of people that can show their tats and wear a fully formed mohawk to work.

I am, however, envious of creative people that put it all on the line....the artists that are "all in."

Most of you won't believe this....but you're only really getting somewhere between 30-45% of me. Even in writing, it would be 45% max. Some people think that this blog is an exageration of who I really am. Not true. Others think that "FamousRay" is a caricature of the real me. Also not true. This blog and FamousRay are a watered-down version of the real deal. Scary, I know...but all true.

So much more I'd like to do...but I am holding back. If only you could look into my mind - you'd be blinded by sheer awesomeness. Or at least pee yourself laughing.

Since I began making your lives awesome by allowing glimpses of my thoughts, some things have changed...I see the world differently. I completely dig the creative process. Not just writing....drawing, painting, music, movies, singing, dialog...all of it. Because I'm an awesome person and kick-ass writer, I appreciate other awesome people and their works. Hence, I have become Artsy-Fartsy.

You've all read about RyuKen in the past. I'm jealous of that dude. If you take away the leather jumpsuit, ditch the cape, remove the custom-made full body leotard...if there were no man-splits, no more jump splits, no more back hand springs, if he didn't tickle the gnarly sythe...you are left with an awesome singer. RyuKen sings with a passion that is palpable. To be honest: His soul bears witness. This guy is all in.

I went to the Katy Perry concert last week - it was greatness. We all know that she is talented and her songs are hella-coo. I want to talk about her opening act: Robyn. This chick was in-it-to-win-it. Her music wasn't really my bag. It was some sort of intergalactic, space-age rock. But, I did appreciate her music and her performance. I was in awe of this girl that was on stage in front of thousands and dancing like she was in her living room. It was easy to tell that the performance wasn't for the audience. I don't mean this in a bad way. I mean that she was so wrapped up in her music that it could have been 5 people sitting there or five thousand. She was so comfortable in her own skin. I was jealous.

The PARTY ROCK ANTHEM! The number one song and going strong. This song just makes me happy; it brings me joy. When I saw the video...I almost fell down. I think that video is absolute genius. When I see something creative and I think to myself "maaaaan...I never could have thought of that!," it really takes me back. Puts me on my heels. Makes me question my own awesomeness. I dig that video.

Sure I'd like to do more...take some risks. Some include a luchador mask, a camera, and a bull. Others include all the public restrooms in the immediate area. Another has a singlet and booty-pop on the list. I am hoping that I can break these chains of normalcy and just be me - I'd rather be Artsy-Fartsy than a Fuddy-Duddy any day of the week.

I love you too Cyberspace.

You're welcome.

The Day the Sexy Died

Not sure if my sexy is dead; but it's in a coma at the very least. A fat/food induced coma. Today I am tipping the scales at 204 lbs.

I would love to blame this all on my broken back. I'd like to suggest that the 3 rounds of epidurals and the final surgery that severed my  back muscles was all to blame. Truth is I love food. My steady diet of stuff-crust pizza and chili-cheese dogs has finally done me in. And I can't discount the tots - they are little golden-fried pieces of heaven.

Now I sit as a blob. Not just any blob; but a blob that acts as a monument to a once great and sexy man. I know what some of you are thinking...that a few extra pounds won't make a difference. I am here to assure you that they do. I can't get into my skinny jeans. Not even when I do the trick. The closest I'll get to showing off a six pack at the pool is if the HOA will allow brew-doggies passed the gate. I have to go commando so that my shorts will fit...well, I would go commando in any case. But still, this layer of fat and apathy has softened my once rugged features. I'm no longer ruggedly handsome; not even classically handsome. I am now "that cute husky guy."

You men know what I'm talking about. Ladies, let me help you out with this. All men (starts around the 10th grade) will look at a heavier-set girl and make comments like these:

• She's cute, but she'd be HOT if she dropped 15 lbs
• Ya know, the cute husky girl?
• She has a really pretty face
• She's really cool

Now I'm that girl...er...guy. I'm the cute husky cool guy with a pretty face that would be HOT if I dropped 30 lbs. 

I'm so used to be the sexiest man in the room that I'm a little distraught. I don't know if I should just accept this and take advantage of any Papa John's latest deals. Should I just have a brownie sundae with extra brownie...and extra sundae?

I thought of doing a video series of me struggling to lose weight. I called MTV and was told that I was not enough of an ass-clown to get a series...they also muttered something along the lines of "we want someone that can't spell contract negotiation"...

I then thought of doing a self-produced, self-starring, self-recorded, self-edited video diary - but we all know I'm too humble for something like that.

So, this is what I plan to do. I will share my sexy greatness with you all! This is cyberspace! I can be anyone! I'm still 3 times as great as anyone else you know in real life! So of course you will keep reading and sharing this blog. What am I crazy!?! To think some baby weight could keep me from being awesome!? That's crazy talk!

I know that I need to get my food under control. I know that I need to exercise. Well, all I can do is walk...doc says I can't do ANYTHING until the muscle is completely healed. This is bad news - I have a ShakeWeight just sitting here...it's the big gray one, cuz I'm a man. Now it just lies in the corner; unshaken. What am I  supposed to do for dynamic-inertia?!?? Not being able to exercise was an excuse for my chocolate dipped strawberry waffle ball breakfasts for a few weeks. But, NO MORE!

Veggies, lean meats, complex carbs, and me shirtless in biker shorts doing laps around the neighborhood. I may get arrested for indecent exposure. I'm hoping that my fans will bail me out.

To the haters: Suck It! 

To my millions of fans: I love you like I love chocolate cake!

To cyberspace: You're Welcome!

If I Could be Anyone for a Day

This was not a college paper and I'm not sure why. You'd think that our Institutions of Higher Learning would stress not only the sciences but the art of being awesome.

If it were a writing assignment, I think my paper would go something like this....

For Just a Day

by

Famous Ray

The annals of time remember only the greatest of men and women. Studying their history can give us a glimpse of former glory and inspire us to be better people. While analyzing this project, a few characters came to mind:

• Abraham Lincoln
• Albert Einstein
• Winston Churchill

These were leaders of their time. They were literally writing history with every step taken. They will forever be etched in history and steeped in greatness that will overshadow lesser men. Their absolute resolve and monumental tasks would have crushed others under the very weight of their decisions. For those very reasons, I never considered being any one of them for a day.

For this assignment, I filtered out many candidates and came to three very strong possibilities:

• Bruce Lee
• Michael Jackson
• Stan Lee

You see, I don’t want to be steeped in greatness. I want to be clothed in AWESOMENESS.

Bruce Lee – He single handedly (or footedly) revolutionized the world! Before him, there was no Black Belt Theater. There was no understanding of the Eastern world. The Last Dragon would never have been filmed. Every boy wanted to grow up to be him. He had a cool accent and even cooler hair. What man wouldn’t want to be him for a single day?

Michael Jackson – are you kidding me!? Without Michael, the Kinect wouldn't have the best game ever! He is the greatest showman of all time; a musical genius. He could hit moves with such precision and control that people today are still copying his choreography. Why wouldn’t  I want to play to sold-out arenas and inspire generations?

Stan Lee - who doesn't know this man? Really...you don't?!? He is only the creator of some of the world's greatest heroes: Spider-Man, The Avengers, Thor, Captain America, Iron Man, Fantastic Four, Hulk. He created a complete UNIVERSE. In his mind! Talk about creative writing.

If I could be anyone for a day it would be Stan Lee. I'm sure people are wondering why I wouldn't want to be a great fighter or a dancer. I already am. But Stan Lee has taught us all about being a hero. That we sometimes don't get to pick our battles. Sometimes the odds are stacked against us. There will be times when we get knocked down. He also taught us how to rock spandex and look good - I think the first male skinny jeans were modeled after the Fantastic Four uniform.

To give you the gravity of what Stan Lee has created, let us look at some of our recent history:

1. Hugh Jackman is the sexiest man alive - because he's Wolverine
2. Robert Downey, Jr is once again recognized as a great actor - because he's Iron Man
3. Toby Macguire will never again be mistaken for Frodo Baggins - because he's Spiderman
4. Scarlett Johansson rocked a leather cat suit - because she's Black Widow
5. Halle Berry went topless in multiple movies - because she didn't get enough lines as Storm in the X-Men movies

The list of why Stan Lee rocks goes on and on. The biggest reason that I'd want to be Stan Lee is his creative genius. Comic books are a lost art. No one is making new heroes because all the cool ones are already out there. Stan Lee wasn't confined to what was real in this world. He created a universe where a 17 year-old kid raised by his elderly aunt could overcome impossible odds. In Stan Lee's world, might wasn't used for power - it was used for justice. In the Marvel Universe all women are scantily clad and unreasonably nice.

Stan Lee has saved a lot of childhoods. He also instilled a great truth in little boys: we should protect everyone around us.


#########################

Grade for this paper: C-
Notes: Mr. FamousRay, your prose were weak and grammar was absent. You did not end with a complete thought. There is literally no conclusion to this paper. You have a flawed view of history and pop-culture. I suggest you take some time and actually research before writing anything else. Don't think that I didn't notice your juvenille attempt at crude humor by using "annals" and "anal-yze" in your first paragraph. You switched from 1st to 3rd person views without cause. You asked questions that were never answered. If not for the saving grace of letting me know that Halle Berry has nude scenes, you would have failed this assignment...and yes, I know you are saying "ass-ignment" in your mind. You are receiving  a passing grade so that I will no longer be made to read your ridiculousness.

Trade Secrets

I'm disclosing sensitive information today. This may label me as a "Benedict Arnold" or a "miscreant" or a plain "fink." Today we are discussing the Top 10. I've heard of this mythical list during my travels around the world - whispers in seedy bars; knowing looks traded across dark rooms; drunk ramblings while visiting the jiggly room. We are talking about the list of Top 10 Women that men keep in their heads.

I don't have such list so I can't write about this from a first-hand account. I'll have to do my best to report my findings. The first of which is that EVERY MAN (besides me) HAS A TOP 10 LIST.

What is this list exactly, you ask? From what I gather, it's an eclectic collection of celebrity females. This is finding number 2 (hehehe "number 2"), THE LIST CANNOT CONSIST OF ANY ONE YOU KNOW PERSONALLY. This is extended to friends of friends, minor/local celebrities, cousins - none of them can make the TOP 10.

Here is an example of a TOP 10. Keep in mind that this is not my list. This is a make-believe list being used for instructional purposes only. This list is NOT in any order:

1. Cheryl Burke
2. Tyra Banks
3. Ema Watson
4. Kim Kardashian
5. Constance Marie
6. Taylor Swift
7. Ashley Greene
8. Meagan Good
9. Natalie Portman
10. Salma Hayek

Since this is not my list and I only have eyes for Nelly, I cannot tell you why anyone would find those ladies attractive. But with my keen eye I can see the differences. This is finding number 3: THE TOP 10 SHOULD BE A MIX WITH NO SEEN PATTERN. In the above list we see a lot of different features - tall, short, curvy, slender, dark, light, brown, blonde, brunette. Besides that they are all women, nothing is the same. From what I have heard, this is the beauty of the list.

Now, let's take this list for example:

1. Nelly
2. Eva Longoria
3. Shakira
4. Rosario Dawson
5. Vida Guerra
6. Jennifer Lopez

All latina. Can't be a true Top 10 - this is more of a Hot Latin Ladies list. How can I tell? Because my hot wife is number 1!

Some other interesting finds reveal that women also have a list. They crafty at hiding the existence of their list. A common man will say things like "she's hot" or "jinkies! she's hot" or "did you see her? She's hot." Women, on the other hand, will disguise their attraction with a mix of words. Here are somethings that you may hear a woman say: Classically Handsome, Ruggedly Handsome, Exotic,  Good-looking, Distinguished, Athletic, Strong, Boy-Next-Door, Virile, Vigorous...

Women are very protective of their lists - just look at Team Edward vs Team Jacob. A woman's list is even more varied than most mens. Let's take this example:

1. Famous Ray
2. Zac Efron
3. The Rock
4. Robert Pattinson
5. Joey Mcintyre

I don't know how all these men could all be on a list. I only know that it's a SEXY MAN list because I'm on it. 

The last, and most important, finding is NEVER DISCLOSE YOUR LIST TO YOUR MATE. Under NO circumstance should you feel compelled to tell your mate the degree of hotness of another person. Women will bait you, "She's hot huh?" or "Do you think she's pretty? I think she's pretty." Women are masters of manipulation and should never be trusted. Everything is a test. Everything.Is.A.Test.

This Public Service Announcement has been made possible by my adoring fans and multitude of haters.

YOU ARE WELCOME CYBERSPACE!