Red or White and Blue

I leave for my honeymoon in just over a month.

For those of you keeping score at home (mostly the single ladies) - I'll have been married five months tomorrow (thank god for Google Calendars). So we are running kinda late on this whole honeymoon thing. I guess we were just waiting for gas prices to go up.

So in just over a month we will be leaving for Italy. My wife, being Italian, is excited to see her family that she hasn't seen in a few years. Me, as an alcoholic fatty, I'm excited for homemade wine and pasta.

Since she is fluent in Italian, and the only thing I am fluent in is flatulence, she has been trying to teach me how to speak some basic words and phrases.

I thought this was a great idea - what happens if her and I were to get separated in downtown Rome? How would I find her? Or a phone? Or more importantly, some homemade wine?

With this in mind, she began her lessons. The first word was "grattugia".

This word requires you to roll your R's and not be a complete idiot. Which means I failed miserably. It felt like my tongue was a drunk bum stumbling down the street - or like it had eaten too much Chipotle and now just wanted to watch Wings reruns on the couch.

So we worked through it until I could kinda maybe say something that sounded somewhat like "grattugia".

Proud of myself for having mastered the Italian language I asked what this word meant. Her response?

"Cheese grater"

CHEESE GRATER!

At what point on my Italian honeymoon am I going to need to say "cheese grater"???

If we get separated in the middle of Rome, am I just going to scream out "GRATTUGIA!" and find my way home?

So now we only focus on words that will be of use during the trip.

Like "vino".

Hayride to Heaven

City kids love to make jokes at we rednecks' expense.

The talky-box makes us look like a buncha unlearned heathens that stumble in the city limits and look more confused than a three legged mule tryin' to do the two-step.

But I see it the other way.

I grew up in the country and seem to have mastered most of what it takes to live in the city; I can handle rush-hour traffic, eat sushi and know how to pronounce 'duvet'.

If I ever learn how to order a drink at Starbucks I'd get my official Metro-Sexual Badge.

But throw a city kid in the country and they are lost.

Case in point: my wife thought small towns just had hayrides all the time. Like it was some sort of redneck transportation system or a daily parade. As if farmers worked all spring and summer to grow the perfect crop of hay so that people can sit on it and ride around on a wagon all day.

And beyond public transportation, there is the threat of boredom. City kids will be driving home from the mall to change on their way to a baseball game before going to the movies and complain about being bored. Guess what - in the country there is literally nothing to do. Your choices are drink until you fall down or...well I guess I never thought about it long enough to find another option, so they're stuck with the drinking.

But there are SOME skills that translate. After a long night of hayrides and drinking beer, when I'm fighting through that hangover and need caffeine, it'll be GREAT to have someone around that knows how to order Starbucks.

Slip of the Tongue

I called something 'retarded' yesterday.

Which is pretty lame.

I work fairly hard to clean up my language and remove some of the ignorant and offensive phrases that are common these days.

For example, 'retarded' just isn't a very efficient insult. Calling someone 'retarded' would mean they have an actual physical condition that results in their mental retardation. I don't want to tell someone they have a physical condition - I want to tell them they are fucking stupid.

It is also lazy and unoriginal to call something 'gay'.

I once stayed in from a night at the bars to hang out with my girlfriend and my friends referred to me as 'gay'. Because nothing says, 'homosexual' like turning down drunken ass slaps with your buddies to have naked ass slaps with your girlfriend.

And 'gay' isn't really a good description of how it is often used. I know plenty of homosexuals who are not effeminate. Just because someone doesn't exude a complete and total image of MANitude at all times does not make them 'gay'.

It makes them French.

Finally, an insult that isn't offensive to ANYONE.

Sporting Chance

I am one of the biggest sports fanatics you'll ever meet.

I'm that guy that spends HOURS everyday reading message boards for his favorite teams. I follow six different beat-writers for the Miami Dolphins. So when news breaks, I get to hear it six times in various 140 character flavors.

I watch at least bits and pieces of every game from my favorite teams. If you are keeping score at home (and I would not only be keeping stats but would have them in an easy sortable Excel spreadsheet), that means 162 baseball games and 82 basketball games.

What about football, you ask?

I haven't missed a single Miami Dolphins game in the last ten years. And let me tell you, that is a LOT of crying for one man to do.

So you would think attending sporting events would be like mass for my religious following of men in matching tank tops.

But no.

When I am at a sporting event, I can barely tell you the score. I don't know how much time is left. Hell, sometimes I'm not even sure which sport I am watching.

Because people watching is much more important. Who wants to watch a homerun when you could watch a dancing fat kid instead? Or sneak a peek at that girl in the low-cut shirt bending down to get her beer. Or that fat kid in the low cut shirt bending down to get jiggy wit' it.

And that is just in the first quarter/inning/period. There has to be a round of "Dating Up", "I Spy" and "Celebrity Look-Alikes".

Not to mention the glorious Kiss Cam. Oh, man, is she going to kiss that old guy? GROOOOOSSS!

It has gotten to the point where watching the actual game is like a commercial - I just want to fast-forward to the end of the quarter.

Because I know they're going to play Will Smith and that fat kid is going to break. it. down.

Cuz I'm A Flirt

Life has a funny way of kicking me in the groin now and then.

Remember how just last week I lamented about how horrible my life was because no one would flirt with me anymore?

Well, I was hit on Friday night.

And it was the worst thing ever.

I expected the angels to sing. Confetti. Maybe a high school marching band. In my head there would be a cameraman there asking me what I was going to next.

"I'm going to Disney World!"

But there was none of that. Just the sad realization that I had spent 24 years of my life trying to sell myself like a reject shirt on the CLEARANCE pile at Marshalls. The free drinks, the bad pick-up lines, the awkwardly staring at girls across the bar trying to overcome the paralyzing fear of actually speaking to them - all of that wasted.

Suddenly all of that blood, sweat and Red Bull that I put into being single came rushing back to my memory.

And now? Now that I'm happily married and just trying to stay out past 11 on a Friday?

Now I get hit on.

Looking this good never hurt so bad.

Winning