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.