Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Clowning Around

The word epic is thrown around a lot on the interwebz. But I want to set something straight -

Your new shirt is not epic.

Your weekend? Not epic.

Even the dramatic chipmunk lacks a certain level of epicicity.

No, the word epic needs to be saved and used accordingly.

Like when this kid on a local kids show tells Happy the Hobo to poop on his mom (2:00 mark).

Fucking epic.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Pandora's Box Set

Work has been crazy stressful lately.

Not because of the actual work - but because of Pandora.

As an elitist prick - I have to ensure I'm only listening to bands that are underground and that most people haven't heard. When listening to Pandora, every like and dislike is a calculated endeavor - I'm at risk of "selling out" with every thumbs up.

If I go from Collin Herring to Band of Horses to Lucero to the Avett Brothers to Wilco - well, then I've done something right.

But when that same station suddenly veers into DIERKS FUCKING BENTLEY - my entire world spins out of control.

What have I done? What is it about me that made Pandora think I would like bubble-gum pop country? Is it my hair? Is it my jeans? Is it the way I walk or the way I talk? What will my friends say? Is this some kind of gateway drug to listening to Rascal Flatts?

Now that I've been Bentley'd over, I live in constant fear of every song I hear on Pandora. What does it mean if I like this song? Is it too poppy? What does this song say about me as a person?

I feel like Pandora just attacked my character; like this was personal. And I have no way to fight back. Sure, I could just keep disliking everything Pandora plays for me. I could give them the middle finger in the shape of a thumbs down. But we all know they've been holding the secret weapon. All they have to do is press one button and my entire life is over. You see, one thumbs down too many and BAM.


And that's why I gave that Dierks Bentley song a thumbs up.

Monday, December 20, 2010

Deep Pockets


No, I'm not going topless on here. That is just weird. Why would you even WANT to see that? I look like an albino sasquatch. With a big nose.


*air guitar*

*leg kick*

*drum solo*

*drum solo*

*drum solo*

Craig! At Craig Goes To Cleveland. takes the cake (or pocket) with this little number:

We will now use these Lean Pockets and this footballfield platter to re-enact the "The Annexation of Puerto Rico". My mouth is the endzone!

This is, of course, a reference to the movie Little Giants - which is full of all kinds of awesome. Especially the line: "Fumblrooski! Fumblrooski!" which my old roommate and I used to say if we were hitting on a girl and either got shot down or said something stupid to ruin our chances. Needless to say, there were a lot of fumblrooskis in my single days.

Anyways - Craig just earned himself a year's supply of Lean Pockets for that dose of nostalgia.

Thanks to everyone who entered - especially Nicki who was the only person who resorted to flattery. Do you people know me at all? Compliments are my currency, people. All you had to do was say something nice about my beard - like it really brought out my abs - and the Lean Pockets were yours! You were so close - all you had to do was seal the deal and you screwed it up! Know what we call that?

A fumblrooski.

Congrats to Craig and thanks to all who participated.

(Full disclosure: Lean Pockets sponsored the Goodness Party and give-away and most of my college years.)

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Live, Laugh, Fart

My nephews are at that amazing age where they have discovered poop jokes. Unfortunately, in my family, that is where the maturation process ends. Here is a typical Narmonian life cycle:

Birth ---> Walking ---> Talking ---> Potty Training ---> Poop Jokes ---> Death

So the other night I was home for Christmas and my 3 year old nephew looks up at me, sticks his tongue out and farts.

Which sent me into a fit of laughter that had me rolling on the ground. In fact, I laughed SO hard -

That I farted.

I guess it "runs" in the family.

(Have you entered my contest to win a year's supply of Lean Pockets? Why not? All I'm asking you to do is make fun of me on the internet. I'm starting to feel like this relationship is one sided, Reader. I give and I give and all I get in return is some web traffic and lonely nights spent pecking away at this keyboard. We used to LIVE, ya know? Where's the passion? Why don't you just click that link above and leave a caption and we can try to rekindle this flame.)

Monday, December 13, 2010

Fame and Fortune

My fortune cookie from Friday night -

"You have a friendly heart and are well admired."

When did fortune cookies turn into "fact cookies"?

(If you haven't left a caption in my Year's Supply of Lean Pockets giveaway you may be ugly. I'm not saying it is a sure thing, but I would go here and write something funny just in case. Imagine how smart you'll feel with a fridge full of Lean Pockets when the upcoming zombie apocolypse comes? Everyone else will be ordering pizza and getting eaten by zombie pizza delivery guys but you'll be sitting at home eating delicious Lean Pockets and finally catching up on that season of West Wing you missed.)

Friday, December 10, 2010

Caption Contest Giveaway

Instead of just dropping knowledge on you today - I have a special surprise.


The good people at Lean Pockets have provided a year's supply of Lean Pockets for me to give-away to the person who person of my choosing.

So I've decided to choose the winner in my most favoritist way eva -


This is how it works - I post a picture below and you leave a comment either on the blog or on Twitter (@jnomina) and I'll choose the one with the most awesome.

I'm going to leave this up for a week so tell your friends (http://bit.ly/fB5hUd) - because if they win you could probably play this off as their Xmas present.

* Full disclosure: Lean Pockets provided the Snuggies, Lean Pocket products as well as some funds for the decorations and party favors at the Goodness Party. They did not supply the hand turkey (patent pending). Any opinions shared on The 'Neck are my own and should be taken as law because I am awesome.

Monday, December 6, 2010

Goodness Party

If there is any ONE thing that I want people to take away from my blog, it is that I am impressively lazy. One time I fell asleep on a bar stool in my kitchen because I was too lazy to move to the couch (or bed for that matter). I woke up three hours later in the fetal position on my kitchen counter. With the lights on.

So in my haste to be lazy, you can imagine that I love anytime I can make a good meal on the quicks.

Enter Lean Pockets.

They reached out and asked if I would be interested in getting together a group of friends and serving a spread of some of their new Culinary Creations sandwiches. At first I thought they were just flirting with me - like a guy buying a girl drink at a bar but instead of a pretty girl I was a nerd in his late 20's - but then they threw in a box of Snuggies and stole my heart forever. (call me)

I decided to theme my Goodness Party around the Miami Dolphins vs Cleveland Browns game. Because I am a Dolphins fan and thought it would be an easy win. I mean, it's Cleveland, right? I assumed I'd play the gracious host, have everyone over and then, as the Dolphins won, stand in the living room burning a picture of Bernie Kosar while reciting Dan Marino's name to the tune of "My Sharona".

I should have realized from the start the numbers weren't in my favor:

(Please note the above picture is my Lady Friend's debut on The 'Neck. Ain't she purty? Hey! You! Her eyes are up here! Pervert.)

We even decorated for both the Browns and Phins (because browl and teal really compliment each other).

The party started great - Browns fans and Phins fans, living together in perfect harmony -

My personal favorite was the grilled chicken mushroom and spinach. Because I am high class. And high class people eat spinach. The most popular among the guests was the grilled chicken bacon dijon. Which has bacon in it. So duh. We also included some traditional pizza flavored Lean Pockets.

We cooked the majority in the oven and they turned out delicious. We did a few in the microwave and while not as crispy - they were still very good. We also found that if you draw a hand turkey (pictured, above left) it helps them cook evenly.

In the end, my beloved Dolphins lost and, in a fit of rage, I demonstrated my manly manlinesshood and picked up TEN SNUGGIES AT ONE TIME.

Even I didn't know I was that strong - it must have been all that spinach.

(Thanks to the people at Lean Pockets (click there for Facebook page and coupons) for helping me put this together. I hadn't tried any of their new products and was very pleasantly surprised at how delicious they were. They have officially replaced PB&J as my go-to lunch at work. And also when I sneak downstairs for 2am snacks without telling the Lady Friend. Our little secret, Reader.)

Stay tuned later this week for a contest to win FREE LEAN POCKETS FOR A YEAR (when reading that please use a dramatic voice and an echo affect.) I'll post the details later this week.

* Full disclosure: Lean Pockets provided the Snuggies, Lean Pocket products as well as some funds for the decorations and party favors at the Goodness Party. They did not supply the hand turkey (patent pending). Any opinions shared on The 'Neck are my own and should be taken as law because I am awesome.

Zombies Hate Your "Monday" Facebook Status

I read Chuck Klosterman's incredible take on the zombie phenomenon as well as their staying power.

He argues that killing zombies isn't all that much different than other mondane tasks. The fear and danger of a zombie attack isn't that they are individually frightening - but the sheer number of them is insurmountable. Fighting through a zombie attack is like filling out time sheets or working on an assembly line. Zombies are like Mondays - to put it in terms that people with unoriginal Facebook statuses can understand.

But I think their appeal goes further than that:

Anyone can kill a zombie.

They are slow and stupid and uncoordinated. Like that first kid that hits puberty in junior high. It isn't like X-Men or Superman or any other movie about fighting evil. You don't have to pretend to be someone else. Zombie movies allow you to pretend to be yourself - but the cocky, arrogant version you see in your head.

Everyone talks a tough game when they read a news story. "Dude - if I was in that bank when it was getting robbed I totally would have beaten the crap out of those 17 guys with machine guns and saved everyone." You know you do it. I do it - in my head I could have stopped JFK's assasination, the Civil War and the extinction of dinosaurs. With nothing but a beard and a smile.

The zombie apocolypse is just like any of those situations. Strong people think about how they'd be able to kill zombies, smart people imagine the plan they would put together, and slutty girls at bars who's only skill is flirting with guys for free drinks would finally get wiped out.

It is like the opposite of Lord of the Rings - instead of making the hero a loser that we can identify with - the hero is you - which, in most cases, is also a loser.

So Klosterman is right - fighting the zombie apocolypse is much like our fight with everyday life. But it allows us to imagine going through that fight as the person we are (or want to be) in our head - not the one that agrees to work weekends or refuses to send back a bad meal or helps that guy you don't like move his couch because you can't say no.

Because in the zombie apocolypse - you get to bash that guy's head in.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Super Sexy Hero

As often happens in my household, the wife and I got into an argument about Super Heroes the other day.

No, this time it wasn't about whether or not Batman is a Super Hero (he's not). But, rather, about who was the cooler Super Hero - Spiderman or Wolverine.

Which got me to thinking - a lot of Super Heroes (why do I keep capitalizing this?) have Super Powers that are ONLY cool if there are Super Villains. Think about it - what good does it do you to have adamantium bones, razor sharp claws and self-healing powers like Wolverine - if there is no one to fight? Other than cool bar tricks, your powers would be useless.

You can argue that you would fight crime, but real crimes aren't committed by evil geniuses - they are committed by guys who try to light their underwear on fire or strap explosives to their crotch (I never realized how much terrorism centered around genitalia before, FYI).

Razor sharp claws aren't going to do much for you against car bombs. Sure, you could kick some major ass of the guy who created the bomb - but so could my grandma. Anyone who can make a bomb is probably about as cool as people who dress up for Harry Potter movies.

And while Spiderman's ability to climb buildings and shoot webs is awesome - I have to imagine there aren't that many times in real life those would be applicable. I mean - we don't even let gay people get married or serve in the military in this country and you expect to get treated normal if you are doing super crazy ninja Spidey moves all over downtown? Good luck. Don't ask don't tell, Peter Parker.

But, of course, just like every other argument about Super Heroes, the wife got the last word:

"I don't care, I still think Wolverine is hot."

My spidey sense is tingling.

Monday, November 29, 2010


Know why you don't see any homeless women?


Hear me out.

Guys are slime balls. Complete and total disgusting slimeballs. Even if you found the most disgusting woman on earf - I could probably find 5 guys that would offer to buy her a drink and ask me to play wing-man.

Because guys are slimeballs.

Enter eHarmony.

You could put up a picture of the Hamburglar and still get offered dinner. Sure, the guy may not have left his basement in 12 years and there is a 37% chance he is a serial killer - but free blooming onions!

Women are using eHarmony completely wrong. They are trying to find love and nice guys - when really they should be looking at it as a coupon for free dinner.

If women are worried the guy will ask to split the bill? Just say something to make the guy think he has a chance of some post-game celebrations. Like, "I'd love to see your comic book collection" or "Pass the salt, please". Whatever, when I was single a girl could scratch her nose and I would think she was hitting on me. Guys treat flirting like a silent auction - any sudden movement is a bid - a bid, for love.

And if I were a woman I would eat that shit up, literally. Besides, the Hamburglar is kinda cute.

Monday, November 22, 2010

True Love

I was talking to a friend about a few of the guys on People's Sexiest Man list when we had this exchange -

Her: I'd totally go Jon & Kate Plus 8 with him.

Me: You'd be willing to put eight babies in your belly for him? That is true love.

Her: Ew! No! She only had sextuplets.

Me: So you draw the line at six babies. You'd make six of his babies at one time but not eight.

Her: Correct.

For the record, Marissa Miller, if you are reading this - I'd totally pump my belly full of eight babies for you.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Stand In The Place Where You Are

I'm taking a stand.

Against stands.

This is not like the time I took a stand against standing. That was more of a lifestyle preference than a political statement.

I'm sick and tired of people taking stands against everything. It makes it impossible for me to make jokes without offending someone.

I told a knock-knock joke the other day and someone told me they didn't support using assault, both physical and emotional, against defenseless doors as a comedic setting.

And since when did having an extremely strong stance on something mean you DIDN'T have to discuss it? Having strong beliefs is suddenly like conversational leprosy. As long as you pledge your allegiance and call the other person names that may or may not make sense, there is no need to back up your opinion.

Maybe I should take a stand against the weather so I don't have to talk about it with every stranger in the elevator -

"How dare you bring up the sun in front of me. Don't you know my father was killed by a sun? Go get a job you bible-thumping communist."

Or maybe I'll take a stand against feelings so I don't have to listen to people complain anymore.

Stranger: "I'm having a really rough time. I lost my job, my wife left me and I left my lunch on my kitchen counter."

Me: "CAN'T YOU SEE I AM AGAINST FEELINGS? I find it insulting that you would even consider feelings. That is unAmerican. You must be some sort of feelings terrorist. I feel like you just bombed my heart. I was just hit by emotional shrapnel. You know who else had feelings? Hitler. Hey look everyone! It's Hitler!"

So from now on, when someone takes a stand - I'm going to out stand them. I'm going to take their stand, and raise them a conversation.

As long as that conversation starts, "Knock-knock."

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Growing Up in the 'Hood (Adulthood, that is)

Monday morning conversation with a coworker of similar age:

Coworker: What did you do this weekend?

Me: Oh, I painted my front door and hung some curtains. Cleaned out my basement and then gave the whole house a good cleaning. Busy weekend. You?

Coworker: I was wasted and partying the entire weekend.

Why did I walk away feeling that mine was the weekend that was wasted?

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Bear With Me

Let's clear something up.

Because that is what I am trying to do here at The 'Neck. I'm not trying to make you laugh or cry or send me money. I'm trying to change the world.

And, just like pedophilia, it all starts with gummi bears.

Namely, the pineapple gummi bear.

You know which one I mean; not red, orange, green or yellow.

The other color.

Or non-color.

Depending on how you look at it.

You racist.

You see I took a very scientific poll the other day and received an even split of people saying it was the "white" gummi bear or the "clear" gummi bear.

Obviously, I went to the internet for the answer - only to discover that the Haribo website lists it as white, while the Wikipedia page lists it as clear.

I was very firmly on Team Clear to begin the argument - but then as it went on I began thinking - clear isn't really a color. Or a flavor. How could something be flavored as clear? Wouldn't that confuse kids everywhere? Wouldn't they start asking for some "clear" instead of water. Or eating air? I don't want to live in a world where kids everywhere are eating air. They'll ruin their appetite for dinner!

But that doesn't mean that "clear" isn't necessarily correct. The actual, physical bear has no white coloring in it whatsoever. And they are pineapple flavored - and pineapples are not white. The only way you could say a pineapple was white is if it liked to watch "Two and a Half Men" and was a bad dancer. So white is also incorrect.

Then again, pineapples aren't clear either. And if they are, it would explain why I thought all these kids were eating air.

But don't they know they are going to ruin their appetite?

Let's settle this debate once and for all -

Are the pineapple gummi bears white, or clear?

You decide.


Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Surprise Attack

I have stumbled on quite the discovery. A scientific development unlike any seen before! Or maybe just a plot for another romantic comedy. Quick, someone call Katherine Heigl.

Now that I have been married for a week and a half I have it ALLLLLL figured out.

There was a shift in power.

A shift of power in her favor, of course. And not necessarily a concious one on her behalf. It is less about her gaining power, and more about me losing power. And pride, but that is another post.

You see - I've lost the element of surprise.

When you are dating - the girl is constantly looking for that ring. If you are walking in the park and bend down to tie your shoe she gets tears in her eyes. Order champaigne for the two of you on a fancy date and she'll pour the whole glass on the floor looking for a ring like it is a box of Cracker Jacks (which is ridiculous - her ring isn't worth nearly as much as a box of Cracker Jacks).

And when you ARE engaged - you get to play tough guy about the wedding. She wants chair covers and a live band and a pack of unicorns? Too bad, honey - I say two unicorns, MAX!

But after the wedding - she has already gotten everything she wanted. There is no ring, no wedding - just a shell of a man who is folding laundry while watching The Walking Dead. It is like I've become an antique - I swear I saw her trying to sell me on eBay the other day.

So I've got an idea. Not to get all Obama on you, but we gotta spend our way outta this mess. I think men should institute a re-engagement ring.

Think about it - sure it is going to cost a pretty penny - but it leaves her on pins and needles for the entire marriage!!! It is like when you were 9 and suddenly became the most well-behaved kid on earf as soon as November hit because you wanted to fool Santa. And apparently putting roofies in the milk you left out so you could get ALL the toys in his sled is frowned upon (sorry, Mom.)

And if the re-engagement ring doesn't work? We can always fall back on the roofies. Hey, it worked on Santa.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Weddings, Wallets and Wisdom

My wedding Saturday - which explains both why I haven't been posting regularlry and why I have uncontrollably sweating for a month straight. Is it hot in here?

But now that the hard part is over (writing the checks) I want to take a minute to reflect on the joy that is wedding planning.


There is an interesting phenomenon that comes with planning a wedding. Things have a way of...adding up.

For instance, if you want to buy a cake, you can easily get quoted for a couple hundred dollars.

But if you want a WEDDING cake? Well now we are talking closer to four figures. And, apparently, it is bad etiquette to write, "Please give money" on it.

Photographer? Let's just say it is more expensive than the portrait studio at Sears. And they wouldn't let us wear matching Christmas sweaters.

I better look like Brad Pitt in these pictures. Well, Brad Pitt 10 years ago. Dude is starting to look like one of those, "What will you look like in 20 years?" pictures. But he started with a picture of Bea Arthur and THEN had it aged.

And that doesn't even include the flowers, the invitations (I suggested using Evite.com), the dress and dinner.

You add the word "wedding" in front of anything and it is an automatic 200% write-up.

But the word "wedding" isn't even the most expensive one I've run into. In fact, "wedding" is practically CHEAP compared to another word that I've been hearing a lot lately -


I mean...love you, Honey.

Crap, that one is going to cost me.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Caption Contest - Winners!

Thank you to everyone who submitted captions. I was called Green Goblin, Alex Ovechkin, Green Hornet and Bono. Which, as the Lady Friend can attest, are all people I also enjoy being during role play.

I realize I don't blog much anymore so it was humbling for so many people to take time out of their day to make fun of me on the internet. I'm touched.

On to our winner -

"It's like Bono, only Irish."

Get it?

Because Bono IS Irish?

What can I say, I move in mysterious ways.

That wonderful caption came from Twitter - and the author was none other than common commenter here at the 'Neck, @zwinggi

His lucky self and one guest will be attending Brewzilla as part of Cleveland Beer Week. An amazing event that is like a week long pre-game for my wedding. Like P90X for my liver.

So congrats to @Zwinggi and thank you to all who participated. You boosted and crushed my confidence all at the same time.

And thank you to the wonderful people at Cleveland Beer Week for sponsoring this competition. It is truly a wonderful event and shows off a lot of Cleveland's great traits - as well as their alcoholism.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Caption Contest - Beer Me

The only way beer could be any better is if there was a way to put gravy on it.

Luckily I've got a fiancee for that.

Perhaps I've said too much...

The good news is that the Cuyahoga river will run brown with beer (wait, that's just sludge) for Cleveland Beer Week beginning this Friday, Rocktober 15th.

And because I love you, I've got two tickets for the Brewzilla event on Saturday, Rocktober 23rd at the Galleria at Erieview. Tickets are normally $50 so you don't even want to know who I had to sleep with to get my hands on these.

What is Brewzilla? A collection of beer, sandwiches, cheese and chocolate. I'm assuming there was legal trouble serving boobies because they nailed the other four things on my top five. But no one is perfect. Over 80 different breweries will be present as well as food pairings from Heinens and the Winking Lizard.

Obviously only local Clevelanderites can win these tickets - but I encourage everyone to participate in the contest because I said so and I'm really good looking.

Here's what you do - write a funny caption for the picture below. If you are a Cleveland local, just add #HappyInCLE after your caption. Be sure to include your email so I can contact you.

Winner will be announced on Friday to celebrate the beginning of Beer Week (and the end of my sobriety).

Non-Clevelandonianese people that want to add a funny caption, feel free to do so. I'll still giggle like a little school girl when I read them - but the best I can give you is an online pat on the back. Maybe I'll squeeze a cheek and tell you you're pretty while I'm at it.

Remember - local Clevelanders include the #HappyInCLE and your email.

Winners announced Friday. Except for me - I'm a winner and I'll announce that whenever the hell I want. Suck it.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Losers Weepers

While watching my beloved Dolphins get so embarrased on Monday Night Football that even William Hung was like, "Wow, you guys aren't living that one down", I realized something.

I know what would happen if one of my favorite sports teams won a championship.

I would weep like a little baby.

To see the Miami Dolphins holding up that super bowl trophy and seeing the field covered in their god awful colors of aqua and orange would be too much for me.

If the Cleveland Indians somehow pulled off a miracle and won the World Series I would first assume that the world was ending, and then resign myself to the fact my last moments would be spent in the fetal position clutching my Grady Sizemore bobble head doll.

I've played these thoughts out 1,000 times. I think constantly about what I would do, where I would be. Other kids pretend they are the guy hitting the last second jump shot to win the game - I imagine I am in the stands and pull off the perfect first pump / throaty scream / non-beer spill. It would be epic.

But what if my team lost? What if they got that close and then choked (a fairly real area of concern here in Cleveland).

I have no plan for that. I have no idea what my reaction would entail. If winning leads to crying - what strange beast awaits the loser?

Part of me thinks I'd just crap my pants. Literally just fill 'em with mud. Like I'd be sitting on the edge of my seat in anticipation and as I see that game winning field goal go through I would just turd it out.

Or maybe I would just snap and go into a fit of anger - Red Ross style. I'd punch walls and scream and yell and the neighbors would probably call the police because I would sound like a small boy being attacked by a parakeet.

But in the end, I would probably cry then, too.

I mean, that's what happened as I watched another horrible loss, poor Leo DiCaprio in the movie Titanic.



Thursday, September 30, 2010

Wedding Bells

I get married exactly one month from today.

Which is really putting a time-crunch on my life's goal of sleeping with Isla Fisher.

But at least I still have all those dates to look forward to in November.

Wait - I can't do that either?

Man, marriage is going to RUIN my dating life.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

What A Catch

This is one of the harder posts I'll ever write.

I realize I rarely get serious here at the 'Neck, but as I've included much of my personal life in this blog, I feel it is only right to continue that relationship for the bad news.

This post is not for sympathy, or therapy - it is merely informational. I know a lot of my friends read this blog and sometimes a blog post can save 100 phone calls and even more awkward conversations.

And I want you all to know that no matter what happens from here on forward there are no hard feelings from either side. We've all been through rough patches, we've all had to give up things we love and we all know the fall-out that ensues.

But it is time to move on.

Deadliest Catch is over.

I know! I know. I am ok - a littl shaken, a little hurt, but I have to be strong.

I will always cherish my time spent with captains Sig, Phil and the Hillstrands. Captain Keith kinda sucked and that new guy? "Wild Bill"? He kinda sucked, too.

But the rest of them I'll miss.

Technically I guess I should be already missing Phil since he got deaded this year, but I haven't really watched since that episode because I kinda maybe had a tiny tear and I didn't want the Lady Friend to see it because then I can't make fun of her when she cries during Glee.

So I guess really I haven't watched Deadliest Catch that much this year. But I used to watch it! A lot. So now I can be sad, right?

I mean, I guess it doesn't really effect me that much. I won't have Tivo Regret when I look at my recorded shows and see I have 4 episodes unwatched. That will be nice.

But on the other hand, I need a new super manly show to offset my Glee obsession. What can I counter with now when people point out that I've blogged about both Glee AND What Not To Wear? Did you not notice that? Maybe I shouldn't have said anything.

And no that is not a tear! I just...got something in my eye.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

You're A (Four)Square

So for those of you non-social media nerds, there is a new app for your phone called FourSquare. It uses GPS and allows you to "check in" to various locations (bars, stores, rehab). If you check in to a location more than anyone else, you become the "Mayor". All of your friends in the app can see where you have visited and stalk accordingly.

Now, a lot of people check in EVERYWHERE. Like gas stations. It is cool to see what bars or concerts my friends are at - but I never need to know when / where you got gas. I'm not going to look at the Lady Friend and be like, "Oh my gosh! Billy is at the Marathon 20 minutes away! We should totally go visit."

But I have the opposite problem - instead of OVER sharing, I UNDER share.

Mostly because I don't want to ruin my cred.

I mean, sure I go to the same McDonald's three times a week - but I don't need people thinking I'm a Fatty McFatinstein Jr. That's why I wear a fake mustache when I go on Wednesdays.

And what if I go to some crappy concert that I don't want my friends to know about. I mean, Lou Bega only comes around so often!

So I only update my FourSquare like once every two weeks.

But that makes me look even more lame. Like I only leave the house twice a month.

And if I'm only leaving the house once every two weeks, why am I checking into all these gas stations?

Monday, September 20, 2010

Cut To The Chase

One of the great things about getting married is the ridiculous conversations the Lady Friend and I have been having. Last night she declared that if we were ever to have a boy flavored baby, she did not want him to be circumcised.

Yes, we sit around and talk about our non-existent children's privates, don't judge.

I was having none of this. I immediately blasted her with the voice of reason - there are health concerns, hygiene concerns and most importantly - getting made fun of in the gym class shower concerns. Ain't that right, Turtleneck?

After my tirade I asked her what possible reason she had for NOT wanting to have the kid circumcised.

Her response?

Not getting circumcised is in style right now.

Like little boy private parts are all the rage in this year's fall fashion line.

I can just see the Lady Friend walking down the street -

"Hey Sue! Nice shoes, but check out my baby boy's penis."

Well, she does love accessories.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010


There are a lot of things I miss about being a kid: being able to play with action figures without looking like a creeper, movies with talking animals and, of course, all the BK Knights light up shoes.

But I don't miss swimming.

I probably haven't gone swimming in 4 years. What did I see in this as a kid? I treat my swimsuit the same way I treat my Sugar Ray CDs - I hide them way in the back of the attic in a box with "OLD FILES" written on it.

Think about swimming. First you decide, "Hey, I'm going to go swimming!" Innocent enough. But then comes the swimsuit - do you wear underwear underneath it? I don't know. It is kind of weird. It gets all wet and clingy and then you have to pack an EXTRA pair of underwear. If there are girls there and your bag of clothes opens up they see your underwear. That is kind of weird. But if you don't wear underwear and your swimsuit gets all clingy it is even more embarrassing. What if your Mom is there? No one needs that. And don't get me started on that netting they put in swimsuits. That netting couldn't be more uncomfortable if it was a black guy at a Taylor Hicks concert.

Then you have to pack the rest of your crap. You know damn well you are going to forget something - towel, sun screen, extra pants, flip flops, extra underwear. Something ain't making that trip. And what do you do with your wet clothes AFTER you swim. A bag of wet clothes is about as much fun as Tyler Perry movie.

Let's jut get this out there - swimming is exercise. You can't put floaties on me and push me towards an eliptical machine, so don't think that pool is any better. Though it is nice that I can pee while I'm in there.

Finally you get done and dry off - but there is ALWAYS that one asshole that wants to get back in. Now your towel is all wet - half your dry clothes are wet and you have to get back in the water. For what? More exercise? Who are you, Jillian Michaels?

So when people ask me to go swimming I just say, go right ahead. I'll stand on the shore in these sweet BK Knights.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Super Heroes Suck

If anyone know what it is like to be a super hero, it is me.

Let's face it, this beard, my punctuality, these tights I wear under my business casual work attire - if anyone on earf is a superhero it is me.

But I want the movies to catch up.

I don't care how cool all these action heroes are - they still stub their toes and get nervous around hot girls. It is science.

Just once I want to see the mysterious outlaw look at the ridiculously hot girl and completely fumble over his words. Or go for the kiss and she slaps him and is all, "MY DAD WAS JUST BLOWN UP BY A KAMAKAZEE MUTANT EXPLODING BEAR AND YOU WANT TO MAKE OUT! IT ISN'T ALL JUST ABOUT SEX, YA KNOW! DO YOU EVEN KNOW MY LAST NAME?"

Or the super hero yells, "NOT SO FAST!" to the villain but instead of a cheesy come-back that plays into his over-the-top villain theme (Joker, Mr. Freeze, etc) the villain just stumbles over a bad joke -

"When you mess with the Sharkman - you sleep with the fishes!"

"Aren't shark fish?"

"Um...yes...but...they eat fish too, so, ya know..."

"So if sharks are fish, and you want me to sleep with fish - are you asking me to sleep with you?"


That's right, my super hero name is Business Casual Man, able to match Dockers and Polos in a single bound.

Except on Fridays.

Fridays we get to wear jeans.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010


The hardest thing about blogging is thinking up things to blog about.

If I have a decent topic I can write up a few paragraphs, make a few fart jokes, maybe reference my chisled abs and call it a day.

But sometimes I can't think of a decent topic.

I started leaving notes in my phone to help me remember when I came up with good ideas, but they never seem to have enough detail and end up looking like a 5 yr old and a serial killer filled out a Mad Libs book.

I sat down this morning and checked my phone for some inspiration and it just said -

"Farting nerd turds"

Well, that was helpful.

So here is my blog about farting nerd turds. Whatever those are.

Just be glad this isn't a post about the note I left that says, "booger pics."

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Tough As Press-On Nails

I am so embarrassed by my generation's version of the 'tough guy'.

When I see a Harley shirt wearin, handle bar mustachio'd man - I know he is a tough guy. I realize he can beat me up and that I should probably curl up into a little ball and scream things like, "I BRUISE EASILY!"

So what did my generation go and do? We fucked it up.

What is 'tough guy' about a chin-strap beard (I hate to insult the word beard in this sense)? Is "manscaping" sexy? Should I fear you because if I'm not careful you'll take your beard and sideburn trimmer and write something real real mean in my hair?

Or what about these bedazzled shirts with birds and dragons on them? Nothing says "hardass" like sequins. "Hey, yo, Butch - I, uh...I love how yo' shirt sparkles real nice like in the sunlight."

But the worst? Energy drinks.

Why is Monster the new Jack Daniels?

What is tough about energy drinks? Is a guy who has an issue with being drowsy now a turn on?

Is it the "danger" factor? Are you always on the edge of your seat that he'll have one too many energy drinks and then WATCH OUT! He might get the shakes or talk real fast.

I'm fairly sure Kris Kristofferson didn't write "Sunday Morning Coming Down" about that really tired feeling you get after a Red Bull. But then again, today's tough guys couldn't pick Kristofferson out of a lineup.

But it isn' their fault; there isn't much Kris Kristofferson played at the tanning beds.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Don't Call It A Comeback

So I haven't blogged in quite awhile. I wish I had a good excuse, but I really don't.

I like to think that people came to this site, realized I hadn't blogged in two weeks and thought to themselves, "I'll bet Narm is stumbling down a busy city street, shirtless, mumbling to no one about how he doesn't need reality TV. Because I'm already living it, man. I'm already living."

But that isn't ENTIRELY true.

Really, I've been sipping from the Fountain of Age.

In the past twelve months I've bought a house, fixed up and painted that entire house, put a new roof on it, moved my girlfriend into it, proposed to said girlfriend in said house, planned a wedding in that house and finally, accepted a new job. The house really doesn't have anything to do with that last one but there wasn't a poetic way to slide that in there.

You know how you can bundle your cable, internet and phone service together? I sort of worked out a package with adulthood to do the same thing.

So my wedding is in two months. My first day at my new job is Monday. And my last shred of youth slipped through my fingers as I sat at Crate and Barrel the other day saying, "Oh my god this tea kettle is the perfect compliment for our kitchen!"

I've recently spent a lot of time talking to my friends about growing up. But then I was walking down the street and bumped into Adulthood. I tried to conjure up all those nasty things I had been saying behind Adulthood's back - but, like running into an ex-girlfriend of break-ups past, I realized that with time had come acceptance. My Friday nights being blacked out and dancing to crappy techno songs were gone. I now live in a world where I don't bring a keg to a party, I bring some kind of dip and a bottle of wine in a fancy bag. And I'm ok with that.

Growing up is a little embarrassing. I suddenly had to answer to all my promises of changing the world and realized I had very little to offer other than anger and sarcasm. It feels a lot like being a Republican (zing!).

I also realized that growing up isn't so bad. Sure, I'm just a cog in the machine now. I live in the suburbs, I have an office job and a house - but all those things are grounded in reality.

And I'm just living it, man.

Monday, August 9, 2010

Are You Ready For Some Football?

I now have Direct TV's NFL Sunday Ticket, which means I am better than you.

I get every single NFL game every weekend. I may turn my chimney into a keggerator and my foyer into a urinal - because I will never leave my living room again.

Now, instead of having to go to the bar to see my beloved Miami Dolphins (yes, they suck and their colors suck and that city sucks, I know) I can just watch from the comfort of my living room.

No more flirting with bartenders hoping to get free drinks; now I can save all my winks and cleavage for the Lady Friend in hopes she will keep my beer full.

No more old dirty guy trying to talk to me about how much the Dolphins suck. I am a Dolphins FAN - you think I don't realize this? I'm dumb, not blind.

No more young fratty drunk guy quoting Jersey Shore and telling me how "this is the Browns' year, man!" Yeah, sure it is, you do remember this is Cleveland, right? It is actually in the Constitution that we aren't allowed to win sports championships. Thomas Jefferson added it just to be a prick.

Yes, it seems to all be falling into place. I can watch any game I want.

Unless, of course, the Lady Friend is watching the Browns.

Doesn't she know their colors suck?

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

I Am The Batman

Yesterday, a bat had found its way into our office and was terrorizing employees. I heroically battled this ferocious beast, narrowly avoiding its razor sharp claws and lasers shooting from its eyes.

In actuality, it was just flopping on the ground and I held a piece of cardboard over it until we could get something to carry it out of the building.

But, still, I'm a total hero.

Growing up, we had bats in our house all the time. My Mom would scream and my Dad, brother and I would grab tennis rackets and chase the thing around the house until one of us went all Pete Sampras on that mofo.

Which was all fine and dandy.

Until the time I was 17 and came home at 1am after having consumed some adult beverages. I walked in to the greeting of a small winged rat flying at my head. Being 17, I couldn't wake my parents up because they would see I had been drinking, but I also couldn't go to bed with a bat in the house because dude wasn't even paying rent.

So, I drunkenly grabbed a tennis racket and stumbled around the house swinging at the bat. We played this little game in the kitchen for about 10 minutes until it got bored with that room and went to the dining room.

But our dining room was one of those rooms people aren't allowed to actually enter. The rooms that are only for "company" and if my Dad or I stepped foot inside them, we would face certain doom. Shit was scarier than bats with laser beam eyes.

So I, in a drunken stupor, holding a tennis racket, walk into the forbidden layer of white furniture.

After another epic battle of the bat flying past me and my feeble attempts to swat at it - I finally connected and knocked it senseless.

Which would have been fine and dandy...

Except a let out a deafening "WOOOOOOOOO!" as soon as I hit it.

In my mind, I had just blasted a homerun over the left field wall to win game 7 of the World Series.

In my parents mind, I had just come home drunk at age 17 - and woken them up at 1am.

Which meant it was their turn to chase me around the house with a tennis racket.

Monday, August 2, 2010

Baby, Baby, Baby

I want to know who invented baby talk. Now I want them to drive off a cliff to the tune of hilarious circus music.

I don't care what anyone says, talking to a baby in a normal voice and then talking to them in a baby talk voice does not change the reaction of the baby. The baby isn't crying because you are speaking in your everyday voice and suddenly you go to baby talk and the thing is potty trained and reading at a 3rd grade level.

Parents go through so much trouble to make sure their kids don't watch too much television so they don't grow up to be an idiot - then talk to them like they're drunk on tequila and rainbows.

If my baby's first words were, "I jus wuv my lil pumpkin - yes I do! Who's a good baby?" I would be forced to give it up for adoption - even knowing the odds are 2:1 it ends up in Madonna's hands.

Why? Because there is still a decent chance it is adopted by Angelina Jolie. That would have to make me Father of the Year.

Talk to me, baby.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Have a Drink On Me

The farmer dating site FarmersOnly.com has a slogan -

"City folks just don't get it."

And it is so true.

I realize why it took me so long to assimilate with the urban lifestyle -

I'm a raging alcoholic.

Or, was a raging alcoholic, before I shunned my country roots and became a city kid.

City kids drink because it is fun. There is bar hopping and beer tastings and pretty girls that are all dressed up.

No, in the country, we drink because it is literally the only form of recreation available.

Think about it. When you were growing up, what did you do? Go to the mall? To a baseball game? Did you hang out at concerts or parks or any other PLACE?

In the country, we don't have PLACES. We just have open space - and when you're 13 and sick of playing bloody knuckles for 4 hours, you have to find something else to do. Cow tipping doesn't count.

So we would have "road parties" - where we would find some country road that maybe sees one car a week and throw a party. Or barn parties. Or anywhere else, really, because beer is to country folks what Starbucks is to city kids.

In fact, when I first moved to Cleveland, I was so confused by non-drinking events.

"So, um, we just...like...go to the game? What about pre-gaming? And in-gaming and post-gaming?"

I just didn't get it. We didn't drink for fun in the country, we drank because we had no other choice. It was like a hostage situation - except really awesome. So not really like a hostage situation at all.

But, finally, after a lot of encouragement from loved ones and a padlock put on our refrigerator, I can finally say I can now enjoy many recreational events without being hammertimed.

But don't you worry, Reader -

Blogging isn't one of them.

Monday, July 26, 2010

All That is Man

I am man, hear me roar.

Last night, before bed, our toilet broke. I instantly diagnosed the problem, found a short-term answer and will fix the rest after work today.

I then spent the morning boasting to the Lady Friend about how much I do around the house. How I built her a closet organizer and painted the bedroom and fixed that light switch she hated and put in a new vanity in the bathroom.

Hell, without me, she would be screwed!

And I made damn sure she knew it.

Then she folded the laundry, scheduled a dentist appointment, paid the bills, put the groceries away, swept the floor, reminded me my socks didn't match, sorted the mail, watered the flowers and packed my lunch.

Then she handed me my juice box, patted me on the head and said -

"That's nice, honey, now zip up your fly and go to work."

I am man, hear me whimper.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Cleve Me Alone

In the post-LeBracolyptic world here in Cleveland, the national media has been taking turns throwing Nelson-esque "Ha-ha!"'s at us at every opportunity.

But one article stood out as the cream of the crap.

(Quick note - I fully understand ESPN's narrative on this. They have made a fairly obvious shift away from sports coverage to player coverage. You don't get updates on your TEAM anymore - just the player du jour (Favre, LeBron, Tiger, Vick.) These articles are meant to do exactly what I am doing - incite enough of a reaction that they get passed along and therefore, more hits. I am falling into TMZ-SPN's little trap. But it hurts so good.)

In this article, J.A. Adande belittles Cleveland before giving a loaded-question disguised as a chance to defend the city -

"If LeBron leaves, Cleveland will still have ______."

Is this where we are as a nation? That our worth is based on one tangible object? Because if so, Hershey, Pennsylvania wins. Try to argue me. If your entire city's worth is based on one thing that people identify with that city, who beats chocolate? Unless there is a town named Bacon, West Virginia, then Hershey, PA should be our nation's capital.

I am getting married this fall, I own a house and I grow a mean beard - at no point in my day do I think, "Yeah, all that stuff is great, but without LeBron my life would be an empty black hole made bearable only by the fact that I once saw a guy in a tank-top play basketball."

Yes, LeBron leaving hurt this city. He brought a lot of money downtown that wasn't there before. But ESPN and the national media seems to think that if our basketball team sucks, we will cease to exist - sportanious combustion of an entire city (no jokes about the river burning).

Hey, ESPN, this is CLEVELAND, our sports teams sucked way before you got here, and will suck for a long time after you are gone.

This goes for every city. I grew up in a tiny speck on the map in Nowhere, Ohio. We never had a LeBron. Or a mall, a movie theater or laws against dating your cousin. Yet, people still live there (mostly because family reunions are off the hook.)

So what does Cleveland have now that LeBron left? Peace and quiet from everyone sticking their nose in our business; telling us how we are supposed to act.

And vacation plans for Bacon, West Virginia.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

It's All About Status

Let's talk about Facebook. Or more importantly let's talk about who you talk to on Facebook.

Know who can read your status on Facebook? Everyone on Facebook. Know who can't?

Your pet, even though he just didn the cutest thing and you just wuv him so, so much. Yes, you do. YES YOU DO!

Your grandpa who is celebrating his 92 birthday and doesn't know the difference between Facebook and a banana.

Your baby. Why? Because it is a fucking baby.

Writing a Facebook status, particularly to a person who doesn't have Facebook, is like having a conference call with your entire address book to tell your girlfriend you are going to be home late for dinner. Only she isn't on the call.

But know what is even worse? Status messages that ARE directed at someone, but in some super sneaky, ninja way, don't name them.

"You are so out of my life."

"I love you!!1!!!<3"

"Thanks for the herpes."

In today's day and age, there are millions of ways to talk to people. You can email, text, call, message, direct message, snail mail, or, even, see them in person and use your vocal chords to form real, live words.

So why on earf would someone choose to make a status message directed at one person visible to everyone in their friends list?

Send them a fucking fax like a normal person!

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Jack Frost

Fun fact -

71% of the Earth's surface is covered in water.


71% of my body is covered in fur.

We are the world!

Being half-wolf is not so convenient when it is 95 degrees out for two straight weeks.

Needless to say, we've had the air conditioning running like a fat kid after the ice cream truck.

But here is my problem with the glorious invention that is air conditioning - when you want more of it - do you say you want to turn it up (as in - turn up the power of the air conditioner) or down (as in - make the temperature less).

Me being a rockstar - I think of everything in terms of volume; so when I want more A/C, I tell the Lady Friend to "Turn that motherfucker up! WOOOOOO!" and then I play air guitar and do the splits a la Diamond David Lee Roth.

But couldn't that mean to turn the temperature up? Just the thought sends a stream of sweat running down my back. I want my house so cold my nipples actually frost over.

Besides, I need to cool off after chasing that ice cream truck.

Monday, July 12, 2010


Ok, I know everyone is sick of LeBron, but the CLE is taking a pretty hard hit in all this and I wanted to clear the air, or as close to "clear air" as Cleveland gets.

We are all pissed.

Not because LeBron left. We would have been upset about him leaving no matter where he went.

But we aren't upset LeBron is stealing us of the opportunity to watch him play and to bring us championships. It goes much deeper than that.

I am robbed of the opportunity to tell my kids about seeing LeBron James play basketball. He told us for 7 years he wanted to be the Greatest Basketball Player of All-Time.

Everything he did was to be the Greatest. His "Chosen One" tattoo. His self-appointed "King James" nick-name. His play on the court and quote to ESPN the magazine, "I don't want to go ring chasing, I want to stay with the Cavs and build a champion."

Had he left for New York or Chicago, he would have become public enemy #1, but he would have still been the alpha-dog. The guy we hated but respected. The guy that put teams on his back and won championships.

So while I would have told my kids about how much I hated LeBron - I would still be telling my kids about him. About how I spent so many nights at Quicken Loans Arena cheering him - and then, booing him.

But now?

Now he goes to a team where he is just a piece. No matter how well he plays and the stats he puts up; no matter the number of rings he wins - he is just a cog in the machine. He isn't the machine.

And in 10 years when LeBron and the Heat have won a few championships, his legacy will be that of a really good player on a really good team that won some championships.

Not the Greatest of All-Time. Not something special. Not a once-in-a-lifetime player that people will forever mention along with the words Jordan and Russel and, maybe, Kobe.

I am not upset that LeBron merely left Cleveland, I am upset that my kids won't even ask me if I saw LeBron play.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Cleveland Reads (my blog)

Cleveland Reads is having their annual Reds, Whites and Brews: A Toast to Literacy event on 7/16 at Windows on the River.

You may be asking yourself, "Narm, I didn't realize you were into charities?"

Think about it, Reader, Cleveland Reads helps area children learn the essential skills needed to READ MY BLOG!

This is an investment for me. And there is booze.

Anyways, if you are interested in the event, Groupon is featuring tickets at a discounted price today. For $50 you receive all you can drink beer and wine as well as hors d'ouvres and a silent auction. Tickets are normally priced at $90 so check it out!

Because the kids need you.

And my blog traffic needs you.

So buy your ticket right meow.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Old Dirty Bastard

I turned 27 yesterday. I woke up like any other day, showered, brushed my teeth, and then started digging through the dirty clothes trying to find a t-shirt to wear. Suddenly, the Lady Friend sprang up from bed -


Ah yes, at 16 you can drive, at 18 you vote and 21 you can drink at bars.

And then, at 27, you have to stop wearing dirty t-shirts.

Growing up is a bitch.

Monday, June 28, 2010

Fresh Produce

I've got a story about a good friend of mine. His name is Tony Romo (editors note: may not be actual friend).

As you know, my girlfriend is a vegetarian. As you may also know, Tony Romo used to date the awkwardly attractive Carrie Underwood, also a vegetarian.

After Romo and Underwood broke up, he began dating Jessica Simpson. Jessica Simpson is not a vegetarian. In fact, she wore a shirt declaring her love for dead animals.

Now, Jessica Simpson looks like this -

And Carrie Underwood looks like this -

Pass the lettuce, please.

For The Fishes

The Lady Friend and I did what any self-respecting young couple does when they get to the point that their Friday nights are normally spent on the couch in the midst of a Friends marathon - we got an aquarium.

We're so lonely.

Now that the aquarium is up and running, my favorite thing to do is lay on the couch and pretend like I am in deep thought looking at the aquarium...until I fall asleep and then get a free nap out of it. It is great. Free naps are like a get out of jail card. When someone is in the middle of a nap, the entire world stops so as not to wake them. I have no idea why naps have some stranglehold on society but they are great. Waking someone up from a nap is practically illegal.

Now, our fish have become territorial. There is a black and blue one that owns one rock - and if any of the other fish get close to it, he bites the shit out of them. Kind of like me if you try to touch the remote during Glee. I mean...umm...I like chainsaws and red meat.

So as I am laying on the couch watching the fish and trying to get a free ride on the Nap Train, I notice that the black and blue fish swims away from his little home and takes a huge poop - then swims right back to his home. Obviously, I start screaming at the Lady Friend about this.

Her response?

"That sounds like something you would do."



I just observed a fish swim away from his home to poop - and that event reminded my girlfriend of me.

How am I supposed to take that? Is it a compliment? Should I be flattered that my girlfriend doesn't think I am the type of guy to poop all over the places that I call home?

Or is it an insult? Like I am the guy that just poops in random places? When she sees a dog pop a squat in the yard she is like, "Oh, that is SO Narm."

Either way, I got a free nap out of it.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010


My truck smells like asparagus pee.

Which is weird because I haven't eaten asparagus in WEEKS.

I also haven't peed my pants.

At least, not while in my truck.

If you are at Target and smell asparagus pee in the camping section you can blame me.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Chip Off The Ol' Block

If there was one thing that drove my Mom crazy, it was the fact that my Dad always had ONE long hair that grew between his eyebrows. She would always want to pluck it and he would never let her. It drove her crazy. His being a farmer, he knew how to grow that thing nice and long. It even had a curl to it.

This morning while I was getting ready the Lady Friend looks at me and says -

"How do you only have ONE giant hair growing between your eyebrows?"

I'm becoming my father.

And couldn't be happier.

Happy Father's Day!

Thursday, June 17, 2010

High As A Kite

Everyone always says they want to go back to their high school days.

Screw that.

I want to go back to high school, but with all of the knowledge and life lessons I've learned since I left.

I would spend WAY less time trying to get girls to touch their elbows behind their back. With all my new found charm I could probably see a real boobie.

I would also realize that my "permanent record" pales in comparison to what you can already Google about me.

I would definitely spend more time enjoying those plaid skirt uniforms that girls had to wear at my school.

Gym class? Meet the steroid area. I'd roid up and own all the kickball records.

My tolerance would blow all those kids' out of the water. I'd be draining Busch Light cans like a champ.

But most importantly: only kid in high school with a full beard. That HAS to lock up Homecoming court.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

It's A Gas

Is there anything more terrifying that waking yourself up with a huge fart in the middle of the night - and not knowing if your significant other heard it?

Not that I care if she hears me fart - but I like to portray an image of having more control than waking myself up at 3am with what can only be described as a night tremor.

I mean, I jumped. It was like one of those dreams where you are falling and then wake up when you hit the ground - except instead of hitting the ground I was laying down what sounded like a sad tuba.

I haven't seen Paranormal Activity, but I can only imagine that it is loosely based on this entire premise.

Which brings me to my question - where is the most embarrassing place you've ever let one slip?

Wednesday, June 9, 2010


Ok, fine - YES I watch Glee.

Jeez - just leave me alone.

I love it. I can't help it.

I love Sue Sylvester's burns on Will Shuester.

And Rachel's dramatics.

And how all the guys look like they are pooping, crying or poop crying every time they sing.

It is amazing.

I love that it is based in Lima, Ohio - which is 15 minutes from my tiny hometown. That way when they talk about Allen County or make other regional references I can freak out and act like I'm a celebrity.

Excuse me, MORE of a celebrity.

But I hate myself.

I hate myself for enjoying quite possibly the least manly show this side of the Lifetime Network.

I hate that sometimes after a good episode I find myself singing one of the songs for days (I'm looking at you, "Total Eclipse of the Heart.")

I hate I say things like, "Oooooh, I hate that Jesse."

But I can look past all that. I can rationalize myself being into such an over-the-top show. It is based in my hometown! They are good songs! Rachel is a weird doppelganger for my Lady Friend!

What I can't get past is that I want to express these feelings with a synchronized dance number.

Or that I'm doing jazz hands right now.

Please help me.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Keep It Real

Lets be honest about the woman who was "fired for being too hot".

She was fired and now is trying to turn this into a reality show.

Just like balloon boy.

And Jon and Kate.

And the Duggans.

Everyone wants their own reality show - so they cook up outlandish schemes. We have to look at every news story with a bit of skepticism now.

Kids these days are just too obsessed with being on TV. How else can you explain the fact that the casts from Jersey Shore and The Hills are regarded as "famous".

This whole generation of celebrities is an embarrassment. Back when I was growing up, you had to have real talent, a real drive to be famous.

Or a sex tape.

My generation was awesome.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Rock Stars

You know those super annoying kids that only listen to bands that no one has heard of and, even if they REALLY like a band, will quit liking them when they get on the radio?

That is totally me.

I like bands that have like four fans, including their Mom. They are so underground they haven't even formed yet. The singer hasn't even been born. If there is a singer.

Yes, I am one of those complete music elitist pricks.

And I love it.

But it does create some awkward situations.

Like the time I met Tift Merritt at a show of only around 100 people and I went through the autograph line twice. And told her I love her. And not in an "I love your music" kind of way.

Or the time Jason Isbell was shopping for records in the basement of the venue at the same time as myself. And I screamed "OH MY GOD! THERE'S JASON ISBELL!" to the other ten or fifteen people who were at the show.

Or the time I drove two hours to Columbus to see Collin Herring play and was literally the only person (out of seven) that had heard of him. And then didn't have the courage to go talk to him because he was too famous for me.

I guess these experiences are useful - because now I understand why a lot of people are too scared to come introduce themselves to a famous blogger like myself.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Tour Guide

Someone has to explain this to me.

Why is it, whenever people go on vacation, they spend half their time taking pictures of landmarks.

If you go to Paris - I don't need to see your picture of the Eiffel Tower. I've seen thousands of pictures of the Eiffel Tower, and every single one of them was better. Even the one my 3 yr old nephew drew in crayon - and he told me that one was actually a cow.

Now, if you take a picture of you WITH the Eiffel Tower. I get it. You needed evidence you were there. So when you say, "One time, I went to Paris and saw the Eiffel Tower" no one can question you. Or if they do you can bet them $5 and then pull out that picture.

So to avoid more boring pictures of Cleveland, I have a proposal -

I want to be the new Cleveland landmark.

When people come to Cleveland, I don't want them taking another boring picture of the Rock'n'Roll Hall of Fame - I want them taking pictures with me. I'm pretty open to interpretation - we can do it OUTSIDE of the Rock Hall, or anywhere else. Maybe I'll wear a funny shirt. Maybe we'll do something funny like point at each other and make stupid faces. I don't care - it's your life, man.

I just want to make YOUR vacation in Cleveland memorable. And to give you something to look back at and say, "Wow, that Narm guy sure is a handsome devil." Or, "Remember how much fun we had in Cleveland because we weren't just taking pictures of inanimate objects the entire time?"

I'm serious about this. I want to be more famous than Drew Carey. I want the dozens of tourists that accidentally come to Cleveland each year to get that perfect shot. Of me.

I want to be your Eiffel Tower.

Monday, May 24, 2010

America The Beeee-utiful

God bless America. Land that I love.

We are a great nation. But, we are an ugly nation. A fat nation. A...horribly dressed nation.

You see, I love finding Old Glory flying outside of people's homes or at the post office or at major league ballparks.

But I don't like to see it hugging an overweight person's ass.

Who decided it was ok to wear the American flag as clothing? Was there a designer that was like - GOT IT! Let's slap the Stars and Stripes on this frilly vest!

I like a lot of things - bacon, dogs, boobies - but you don't see me trying to wear them anywhere.

And the worst part? It is disrespectful. The American flag is not supposed to be left out in the rain, so if you are wearing it as...wait...

New rule - girls - wear all the American flag apparel you can find.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

LeBron Phone Home

As Cleveland's second most famous celebrity (behind Alexa), a lot of people want to ask me about LeBron James.

Listen, I don't know where he is going to play next year.

Because I haven't decided yet.

There are so many options! Obviously, LeBron doesn't want to go and make a decision before consulting me. Wherever he goes, I'm sure I'll take a lot of vacations to come see Bron play, so I need to make a good choice.

There's Los Angeles, but they film all those shitty MTV reality shows like The Hills out there, and it would totally ruin my street cred to have LC rubbing up on me at some club. I'm a taken man, LC - get over it and move on. I'm not just a piece of meat.

Another option is New Jersey - but take everything I said above and replace the word "LC" with "Snooki".

New York is another option, and while it would be great to hang out with Chris, there are way too many people there. I hate walking through crowds as it is. I picture walking through the streets of New York like living in the crowd at a sporting event. Like I just want some fucking peanuts but I'm in line behind the asshole who ordered 12 hamburgers. Oh great, I just missed a homerun.

Finally, Chicago would be a nice vacation home. But the other famous people from Chicago are Oprah and Obama. My name starts with N so I would be superior to them by one entire letter. Can you imagine the jealousy? What if we were in line in gym class and they said "Alright, last names A-N on one team and O-Z on the other team." Man would Oprah be pissed.

So really that just leaves Cleveland. It only makes sense. Cleveland has everything LeBron and I could ever ask for - small crowds, great restaurants and I just put in a nice little patio behind my house for he and I to drink lemonade.

Yeah, life is good for LeBron and I - so I think we'll just stay put here on the Cuyahoga River.

I just don't know how I'm going to tell Oprah

Monday, May 17, 2010

Horse Play

I'm not scared of horses.

That doesn't mean I don't get a bit squeamish and pee my pants a little when I'm around them. But, I'm not scared of them.

You see, in 6th grade my class went to a week-long camp. At this camp, we got to ride horses. Before we got to RIDE the horses, we have to brush the horses.

Little 6th Grade Narm went up to the horse, gently brushed his side - and than that fucker reared back and kicked me right in the shoulder. I mean hard. Like for the next month it looked like I had the Indianapolis Colts logo tattooed on my back.

End of story, right?


They made me go up and pet the damn horse again. After it just Chuck Norris'd my ass. Ok, what could possibly go wrong? I got closer to the horses head so it could see me and not be frightened, raised the brush and...


This time the bastard kicked me right in the upper thigh. 6th Grade Narm was about 2 inches from never being able to make little Narm Babies.

And then?

And then they still made me ride the fucker. Who does that? It is like losing a boxing match and then having to take the winner out for ice cream. Nevermind the pain - what about the humiliation? That horse powwwwwny'ed me, and here I was, riding him around like nothing was wrong. Like some domestic violence report on Cops - no, officer, I just fell down the stairs.

So now, when I see a horse - I assume it is going to start blasting hooves in my direction. Does that make me scared of horses? Are you scared of putting your hand on a hot stove? Or have you done it before and it hurt like hell, so now you don't do it anymore.

No, I'm not scared of horses. But there is no way in hell I'm taking Mr. Ed out for ice cream.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Super Market Sweep

I'm officially not allowed to go to the grocery ever again.

It disorients me. It confuses me. I get flustered and have no idea what to do.

Look at all that produce. What do I do with that? How do I get these stupid bags open? I sit there and stare at the fruit and pretend I know which one is better. Like my choosing of fruit is some kickball game and you don't want to get picked last. Except I'm a blind kid in a wheelchair.

Then I get in line at the deli counter and they ask me how much provolone I want. I don't know? What is a normal amount of cheese? A pound? Two pounds? A gallon? What is cheese measured in? Is there a cheese metric system?

And just think how confusing it would have been if I were sober!

Monday, May 10, 2010

Smell Ya Later

I want you to smell me.

Was that weird? I feel like that came out wrong.

I want you to smell my house.

Every time you go into someone's home - you smell it. Every home has a different smell - not necessarily good or bad - just unique.

Grandma houses always smell kinda old and like weird perfume. Like you unearthed a mummy's tomb. College houses smell like beer and old socks. Crack houses smell like regret and urine and ginger bread houses smell like Christmas.

But what does my house smell like?

I hope it smells like something awesome. Like diesel fuel and fireworks. Or burnt rubber and strippers.

But more than likely it smells like those damn "lavender and chamomile" candles the lady friend has in the living room.

I bet Rambo's house never smelled like this.

Monday, May 3, 2010

Aim For The Head

I suck at a lot of things.

Sports, math, forming sentences, walking, not having chiseled abs and a million dollar face -

But perhaps nothing more than having an opinion.

You can pretty much talk me into anything. Or win any fight. Because I simply don't care.

There are much better ways to spend my time than talking at someone who is simply waiting for their turn to talk. This may seem mean-spirited now, but when the eventual zombie apocalypse happens, you'll be glad I've identified all the exits and most useful blunt objects.

So when someone tries to make plans - I analyze if there is A) beer and B) a tv with the game. If so? I'm in.

But my entire world has come crashing down.


Because I decided to get married.

Now? Now I have to have an opinion about EVERYTHING. Stuff I didn't even know existed is now the most important thing ever.

I thought I just bought the ring and then woke up married one day. Like there was a wedding fairy. When I discovered that couldn't happen I tried to take matter into my own hands and the "wedding fairy" turned into "whiskey" - but even that hasn't saved me.

So come my wedding day, I will know all about the flowers, the invitations, the center pieces, which readings at the mass, what song we are going to dance to, when we cut the cake...

...and where to fortify the doors and what decorations could be turned into a weapon in a zombie war.

I'm not taking any chances.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Crowd Pleaser

Professional athletes are incredible. Every time I go to a professional sporting event I can't help but be in awe of how good they are.

Not at their sport, but to not just sit there and people watch the entire time.

The funny fat kid who is dancing on the jumbotron.

The drunk girl in the low-cut top that is falling all over the place.

The guy in the mullet and basketball jersey with no shirt underneath.

All of them - right there, right in the open - and nothing.

They don't even flinch.

They don't even laugh when fans yell something hysterical or boo when the jumbotron shows a Yankees logo.

How many hours of training does this take? Do they watch film on all the greatest people watching there is, just to become numb to the entire experience?

They have front row seats to America's freak show and focus 100% on their jobs.

But I bet if they had internet access they would still spend their entire day reading blogs.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Train Wreck

Welp, I've gotta murder someone.

Awkward, right? I'm not really the murderin' type. Besides that once. Wait, do strippers even count?

Anyone who has been watching the NBA playoffs has undoubtedly seen the Samsung 3D TV commercial. And then heard that god awful song.

The first time it is ok. You might tap your fit. You might enjoy it.

The second time - ok this is a bit annoying but there is no way this station will play this commercial every single commercial break for the next 6 hours of basketball, right?

Wrongo bongo.

Instead they are going to bludgeon you to death with this commercial. They are going to punch you in the face with catchy "woooo-ooooo"'s.

They're going to play a TRAIN song.

Here is my plea - I will buy the damn TV if you STOP PLAYING THE COMMERCIAL.

I don't need a new TV - and sure as hell don't need a 3D TV. Just what I need - to be stuck on the couch while the Lady Friend watches Kendra in 3D.

But I will do this - because I hate that commercial than I hate anything. Maybe even Wanda Sykes.

Thursday, April 22, 2010


I've been pretty hard on Nickelback here at the 'Neck. I mean, yes, they are a completely talentless waste of overprocessed rock cliches forced down our throats by record executives who realize that with enough repetition, you can force-feed a public that has been brainwashed from accepting anything new and innovative.

But other than that - it is just a couple of douche-bags in a rock band. Nothing new there. I was once in a completely horrible rock band that relied on cliche and imitation - if the cards had fallen another way maybe I would be Chad Kroeger and he would be some blogger making fun of me all the time. Too bad for him, he'd still be ugly.

So with all my hatred for Nickelback in full force, I think I have found someone to unseat them as "Most Horrible Thing Since The Boy Band Era".


Wanda Sykes.

I've been sitting here thinking about anything that could possibly be worse than Wanda Sykes -

Helping a friend move a pull-out couch to his new apartment on the 14th floor.
Girls with small boobies.
Having a runny nose and nothing to wipe it so you use your sleeve and then it dries and is really gross.
Anything done by Tyler Perry.
Two and Half Men.
People who digress from stories and talk about people I don't know, and therefore don't care about.
Justin Beiber.



Those things all suck. But not as much as Wanda Sykes.

Help me out - name something that could possibly be worse than sitting through a full hour of Wanda Sykes stand-up routine.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Wedding Woes

I've been a horrible blogger the last two weeks. Apparently no one told me that planning a wedding was more fun than trying to set the clock on a VCR. (Some of you kids might not get that one - go back to Farmville and leave this old man alone.)

Or as the Lady Fiancee puts it -

Me - "Just because we are planning a wedding doesn't mean we aren't allowed to have fun until it's over."

Her - "YES IT DOES!"

If you need me I'll be addressing invitations and planning centerpieces.

Thursday, April 15, 2010


You'll never believe what happened.

I was listening to the radio the other day and a rap song came on talking about money and girls. Then, right after that ANOTHER RAP SONG CAME ON ABOUT THE SAME THING!

What are the odds? If those rappers knew this happened they would be SO embarrassed.

So I changed the channel and heard a country song about living in a small town. Next song? ALSO ABOUT LIVING IN A SMALL TOWN! What are the odds? I wonder if they were from the same small town!

After that I decided to listen to a rock station. The first song sounded like some guy who was angry at his Dad for not hugging him. Next song? You guessed it. ALSO ANGRY ABOUT HIS DAD. I wonder if the singers were brothers? Was it the same Dad? What a famous family.

Man, I think I'll stick to TV. I just hope if I search long enough I can find some shows about hospitals or cops.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Bathroom Pride

I use Head and Shoulders shampoo.

I don't know why. Maybe I don't like dandruff, or maybe I'm just really uncreative.

But I also love cheap things. My worlds should collide in a rainbow of awesome for the Target brand generic version of Head and Shoulders.

But no.

They named it, "Dandruff Shampoo".

I don't want that in my shower. I don't need my guests seeing that in there and judging me, or my hygiene.

Why wouldn't they name it something much more user friendly?

When I buy cotton swabs that aren't Q-Tips they aren't called, "Earwax Removers".

Off-brand Kleanex aren't named "Snot Receptacles".

And lip balm that isn't made by Chapstick is not named, "Herpe Lip Preventer".

Nope. Target wants me to look like the stinky kid. I think people would be less grossed out if I left an open bottle of Valtrex on the bathroom sink. Maybe something with the words, "open sores" in the product details. Or a Nickelback CD.

So I am shamed into spending the extra $2 to get the name-brand because of foolish pride.

I'm so embarrassed I could cry. Now where did I leave that box of snot receptacles?

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Ninjas, Tater Tots, OCD

If I had one piece of advice for loving couples who are thinking about moving in together it would be this -


You see, while 99% of the time things are peachy-keen, by letting a woman this close into your life she discovers your weaknesses.

Before we lived together I was like some handsome super hero. I would show up, be punctual, charming, have a beard and be an all around woo machine. Then, I could go home and let out all of my weird little quirks and no one would know. I mean, I'm not a mass murderer who wears the skin of his victims around the house - but sometimes instead of walking down the stairs I jump all the way down and then do a ninja kick-punch combination. I'm lethal.

So now that the Lady Friend has infiltrated the Bat Cave, she has discovered my kryptonite and become quite the joker.

You see, I have some off habits. Her favorite? During a meal, I make sure that at the very end, I have exactly one bite of each course, as well as exactly one sip of my drink left.

It takes some careful planning. I love tater tots and don't really like the green beans - but I have to eat them in equal portions so that they both reach the finish line at the end. Then I wash it all down with that last, delicious sip.

But the Lady Friend is on to me. She watches me eat, she calculates exactly when I what pace I am at and then - BAM - she takes a sip of my drink.

This obviously sends me into a spiral of despair. Now I have to recalculate the entire order of my dinner - I won't get to take a drink when the normally scheduled drink would happen and am left to push my green beans around my plate, wondering if life is really worth all the hassle.

And the worst part is the satisfied smile on her face when she sees my world fall apart around her. She sits, all content, eating the last of her tater tots without a care in the world.

Pretty cocky for a girl sitting so close to a ninja.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Bird Call

I've been watching "Life" on the Discovery channel because I am a giant nerd and was probably watching the Discovery channel anyways, but since a popular show came on now I can pretend like I'm cool.

If you don't know what "Life" is, you better get one! BURN!

Anyways, it is pretty much just like "Planet Earth" but less cool and more Oprah-y. Instead of just giving obscure facts and showing pictures that make my ridiculously awesome plasma TV outrank my girlfriend in my life, "Life" adds puns. Like when talking about birds and saying, "this bird is low in the pecking order". Get it? Because Oprah is a pecker?

(Side note - haven't called anyone a pecker in at least 13 years. It feels good. Real good.)

Last night they talked about birds. I have a love hate relationship with birds. I grew up in the country, so I am one of 6 people under the age of 65 to have ever participated in bird watching. For you city kids, imagine bum watching, but with less garbage and scratching themselves.

So even with my extensive bird knowledge, I still find them to be completely filthy disgusting animals. When was the last time you saw a group of birds and wanted to run and frolic with them? They are like the anti-puppy. (Editors note - penguins do not fall into this same category. I am convinced they aren't birds, but nature's comic relief).

And so last night, I watched a program that was more or less a slow-motion play-by-play of those damn things "feeding" each other.

Which means their parents go binge eat and then puke all over their babies.

Who decided that was ok? Was god just like, "Shit, I don't know what to do with these things. How about the parents are bulimic and the babies are trying out for 2girls1cup the sequel?"

Somewhere a frat house was watching this and were PUMPED. "Dude, that robin parties so hard. I bet he gets a TON of chicks."

Whoops. Ok, maybe this pun thing is kind of fun.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Word Play

Why are all bad words fun to say?

What was Merriam-Webster thinking when he made "poop" a bad word? Poop is a blast to say. Poop. Say it. Right now. I don't care if you are at work or in an elevator or sitting on your grandma's lap. Poop.

"Booger" is another one. And its brother "goober". What about "testes". Who doesn't wish it was more socially acceptable to walk about talking about "testes" all day?

But it isn't just bad words - there are other words that I randomly try to work in conversations. "Guacamole" for example. It is like a playground for my mouth. "Haberdash" is another. I don't even know what that means, but I make sure to say it once a day for good measure.

But is there anything more fun to say than "conquistador"? Try saying it. I bet you had an accent when you said it, didn't you? And you delivered it in some dramatic fashion, like you were the Dos Equis guy.

"I don't always speak in a Spanish accent, but when I do, I prefer to say 'Conquistador'".

So what are your favorite words to say?

Monday, March 29, 2010

Lord of the Weens

Three nights.

Three movies.

Three hours each.

The Lady Friend and I watched all three of the Lord of the Rings movies this weekend, one each Friday, Saturday and Sunday night.

After lengthy discussions between the difference between orcs and goblins; grey wizards and white wizards and hobbits and haflings, there is one question that could not be answered -

Lady Friend - "It's been 9 hours of these movies and I still can't decide who I'd rather bone - Legolas or Aragorn."

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Head in the Sandra

Listen, I have the love for Sandra Bullock. Who doesn't? She seems like a real human being, is funny, humble, kind and looks like this -

Luckily for her this is America, so with legs like that she probably doesn't have to pay taxes or stop at toll booths. My only complaint would be that even though she is gorgeous, she kinda looks like Ashton Kutcher with longer hair. But I'll let it slide.

But even with parts of me having it hard (TWSS!) for Sandra, I don't really feel that bad for her in this whole "my husband had sex with a slutty, tattooed white supremacist" thing.

You see, she is a fucking idiot.

And I know some of you are outraged right now. You are saying, "But Narm, how can you say these evil things about our beloved Sandra!"

How can I say these things? How about the fact that she chose to be the third wife to a man who was once married to a porn star. Who used to party with Danzig and Slayer. Who stole cars as a teenager. Who slicks his hair back like some hilarious 90's bad boy stereotype. WHO WAS IN A COMMERCIAL WITH WHOOPI GOLDBERG!

When you heard Jesse James cheated on Sandra Bullock, was there any question it was going to be some raunchy girl with fake boobs? Were you surprised? About as surprised as when that KILLER whale KILLED that woman?

And this isn't new. Girls are notorious for this. If girls shopped for cars like they chase men, Toyota would be booming. "There's a chance the accelerator will stick and I'll go down in a ball of flames? Where do I sign?"

Yes, the 'bad boy'. Because normal guys are 'boring', Girls need some 'spice' in their life. And then, when the 'bad boy' cheats on her with a 'bad girl' because he got 'bored' with 'normal' and needed some 'spice' - we are all supposed to feel so bad for the girl and attack the guy for doing exactly what we all knew he was going to do in the first place.

Besides, she'll get back on her feet, and maybe we can introduce her to some nice boys down at the state penitentiary.