Fat Tina??

I was at Lifetime today and as I walked by the "massage" room, I noticed a picture of a masseuse. She appeard to be a large Samoan girl, but that's not why I noticed her, because, let's not kid ourselves here, if the Peniata's are any indication, that is not unusual. But I digress...

I noticed her because of her unusual name. It was Fatina. Of course, I immediately thought that her name was Fat Tina and found it interesting that it fit her. Then, I began to see the awkwardness of it all. Imagine back in 9th grade when she went to cheerleading tryouts:

Fatina: Hi, I'm here to try out for cheerleading.
Snotty Cheerleader Captain: Fine. Whatever. What's your name? Like, duh.
Fatina: Fatina.
Snotty Cheerleader Captain: (snickers to herself) Umm...okay Fat Tina.
Fatina: Why are you laughing?
Snotty Cheerleader Captain: (whispers something in the ear of her cheerleading cohort and they start laughing like morons) Oh...no reason...Tina.
Fatina: Can I be on the top of the pyramid?
Snotty Cheerleader Captain: (looks at the rest of the cheerleaders and rolls her eyes, while puffing out her cheeks and stomping on the ground like an angry baboon) No, Fat Tina, I don't think you should be on top of the pyramid.
Fatina: (squints her eyes while looking at the Snotty Cheerleader Captain. The Snotty Cheerleader Captain explodes and blood and innards coat the whole cheerleading squad) Don't F with the Fat Tina!!!
Cheerleading Cohort: So, Fat Tina was a witch. Hmmm. Makes sense.

I'm sure that's about how it happened, because with a name like Fat Tina, you're either going to be picked on a ton or learn how to use witchery to defend yourself against people who make fun of your name.

Come to think of it, if I ever have a daughter, I'm going to name her Fatina. And if I have a son, he's going to be Fathomas. And soon, the entire world will be under the spell of the Fat Nelsons. (Brent starts emitting an evil sounding laugh)

It begins...

Well, apparently it's starting already. I didn't expect it to begin until at least six months from now, but the first article appeared today. What am I talking about? The first article insinuating (or flat out saying) that MArk McGwire doesn't belong in the Hall of Fame when he becomes eligible next year. The article I speak of appears on ESPN.com and is by Gene Wojciechowski. This prompted the following e-mail from me to Mr. Wojciechowski:

I bet a million bucks you'd hit zero homers, even if you had "better chemistry". Being ethical is a hazy line, and I see nothing ethically wrong with doing something that was not against the rules at the time it happened!! If we're going this route, why not take all the players who didn't wear a batting helmet out of the Hall of Fame? I mean, come on, it's a rule now, so that must mean that everyone at that time period should conform, even though there were no rules against it at the time. Seriously, get off your high horse. I think it's a good thing you don't have a HOF vote and I hope it stays that way...

God, I really do not see the point of these debates. Let's break it down right now:

1. There has been no admission of any illegal activity
2. IT WASN'T FIRKING ILLEGAL AT THE TIME IT WAS BEING DONE!!!!!

I think I've proved my point. Some other things we'll have to conside if Mr. Wojciechowski's line of reasoning permeates the people who have an actual vote (who I hope are not morons like Wojciechowski is)

• Kevin Garnett will not be allowed to be in the NBA Hall of Fame: He came straight out of high school and was drafted when he was 18. Everyone know the rules say you have to be 19 to be drafted and play in the NBA. So, he broke the rules, hence, all his accomplishments don't count. What do you mean, it wasn't illegal at the time? That has no bearing on anything, right Mr. Wojciechowski?
• Pete Incaviglia gets his single season NCAA homerun record taken away: He was using a bat that has been deemed illegal today, because the difference between the length and weight is too great. It doesn't matter that others at the same time were using the bat. It was their choice to use it and they knew it may be illegal in the future, jeopardizing all records they set when there were no rules against it. What do you mean they're not Nostradamus? They should just know if something might be considered wrong and illegal, right Mr. Wojciechowski?
• Pete Maravich loses his NCAA career scoring record: You see, at that time, coaches were allowed to have the players practice as many hours as they wanted a week. Currently, the rules indicate that you can only practice so many hours a week. This made the players in the past that much better, hence allowing them to score more. So, since it's illegal now, we need to make sure the record books reflect that. What the hell are you talking about? The coaches made them practice? Doesn't matter! The kids can't do it today, so we need to remove those records from when it was allowed, right Mr. Wojciechowski?

As you can see, I could go on all day. But I won't. But soon, there will be a ton of these articles and I'm going to have to start my own website (www.youareadoucheifyoudonotvotemarkmcgwireintothehalloffame.com) to refute their claims. Either that, or my head will implode into itself and no one will ever hear from me again...

This was an e-mail exhange that Alison and I had today. Umm...is there really any question about why we're dating?

Brent:
So, we went through a system e-mail change here, and Ryan (I'm sure I've mentioned him...he's the one who complains about his swollen feet all the time) is complaining so much, I just want to impale myself with a Sharpie. I mean, seriously, he's complaining more than that girl was last night when she got voted off AI. And that was a lot of complaining. I swear, he is going to drive me crazy today. Good times.

Alison:
Why don't you just tell her how you really feel? Perhaps something like this...

Brent: Hey, Ryan?
Ryan: Yes?
Brent: Why don't you shut up?
Ryan: Excuse me?
Brent: I have had about enough of your fricking complaining - in fact if you don't stop I will be forced to either punch you in the throat or impale myself with a Sharpie. I will let you guess as to which one is more likely.
(uncomfortable silence)
Brent: Hey, Ryan?
Ryan: Ummm yes?
Brent: Can I borrow your stapler?

END SCENE

The Water Fountain

I hopped off the treadmill after a grueling series of 400 meter sprints. My whole body ached and all I could think about as I walked towards the locker room was getting some cool, refreshing water from the water fountain.

Just as I was about to sidle up to the fountain, the Tall Taco stepped in front of me. No big deal, I'll just have to wait a couple of seconds for a drink.

I looked up at the ceiling and started to whistle.

I looked back at the fountain and the Taco was still sipping water. This was going on thiry seconds. Okay...I'm fine. He'll be done in a couple of seconds and then I can fill up my water bottle a bit and aggressively drink it; Dynamite style.

I looked back over my shoulder and noticed the line starting to form behind me. I made eye contact with the lady behind me and shrugged my shoulders as if to say, "I don't know what's wrong with him, but the ocean called and it wants all its water back."

She identified with my plight and gave me the sympathetic head tilt. I responded with the "I'm OK" head bob.

If drinking were people, he'd be China! I didn't want to say anything to the Taco, but the fact remains...

The Taco was still drinking! It had been over a minute! Was this ever going to end? This was beginning to feel like Batman & Robin. I didn't know whether to kick him in the bottom, yell at him or just fall to the floor in tears.

Finally, he leaned back and wiped off his mouth. He was done.

"So...how was the trip across the Gobi?"

"Huh?"

"You must have been quite parched from your trek across the Gobi Desert to require such a long time at the water fountain. I hope you found interesting artifacts and had a superior time, because everyone in line here hates your guts and probably wouldn't brake if they see you in a crosswalk. But I bet that was some goooooood water."

"Oh, sorry. I just walked half a mile on the treadmill...so I was really thirsty."

And then a towel came flying out of nowhere and severed my jugular, thankfully ending this conversation before I was forced to murdify this guy with a Q-Tip. Not that I condone murdifying, it's just that when I'm thirsty, watch out...

The Meal Deal with Bill McNeal

So, you need to peep this. I just came back from the A.Z. and it was splendid, thanks for asking. But that's really not the point of the story. I mean, yeah, it was 75 and sunny everyday, but that's neither here nor there. I'm just saying, it was the most perfect weather ever. There I said it. Happy now? Jerks.

But anyway, while we were down there, my younger brother challenged me to an eating contest. HE CHALLENGED ME TO AN EATING CONTEST!! You gotta be kidding me. This, to the man who can Hambone an entire buffett (plate of meat, plate of meat, 3 desserts, 3 desserts) in 15 minutes. And he thought he was going to beat me?

But, of course I was up to the challenge. Hell, I'm like the Badlands Booker of my family and there was no way I was going to let that crank try to snag all my hard won glory. So it was on. That's right, he danced at me, so I danced back.

We went to a lovely little place called the Horny Toad, which is right down the street from the Satisfied Frog. It's a family style place, where the ribs and chicken flow like Jesus Juice at the Neverland ranch.

When the food came out, I was off. I felt like Raffy Palmeiro must have...except I wasn't all hopped up on Tejada's B-12. No, I'm an all natural eater and I don't condone those who use steroids or have surgery to add an extra stomach. No sir.

But, the gist of the story is, I was eating like a man possessed. I kept one eye on the ribs, one eye on the chicken and one eye on my brother. In the end, it wasn't much of a contest, as those who have seen me eat can attest to. My plate was full of 22 clean ribs and three chicken legs. In comparison, my brother had 14 ribs and 2 chicken legs.

So, the moral of the story is...don't mess with me on a day I'm eating a lot because I will own you and demoralize you in front of all your friends and loved ones. And no ones wants that. So...best recognize.

Work...

Um...I had to work today. Everyone else had the day off. If I had gone to the zoo, they wouldn't have let me in, because no one was working there. And even if I had broken in, the animals knew it was their day off, so they were just sitting around, smoking stogies and scratching their unmentionables. See...everyone else had the flippin' day off and could scratch to their hearts content. Nice work HR. Nice work...

No Masterpiece

Now, as many of you had heard, I was planning on moving to the Masterpiece to take a job with Cramer. Well, apparently, that is now not the plan.

A good piece of fortunate news came my way on Thursday and I got offered a different job with the same company I work at now, which allows me to do the three things I want to do most:

1) Stay in Minnesota and not move to the Masterpiece so I can still be close to the love of my life Alison. So, that's one down, two to go.
2) Get an increase in salary. Yep, that mission is accomplished too
3) Change positions. That's the trifecta.

So, my new job here in Minneapolis will accomplish everything the job in the Masterpiece would have, except I get to stay by my girlfriend (alleviating some difficult decision making at this point) and a bunch of my friends.

So, this is good...

Guest Blog: The Wedding Story 2 w/director commentary

Introducing part two of the Kevin Urban saga, as told by my esteemed pal Justin Petredis. As you all remember, Kevin and Kristen met at the Trete's wedding and spent a "boff" filled weekend over Thanksgiving. Kristen is in the process of moving out to Vegas...and that's where our story begins. As always, I will fill in the details in red where I see fit. Enjoy!

Kristen recently got a job in Vegas. ( I understand it's tough to get a job there. Real hard.) Huber doesn't know where. I assume as a stripper. (Hooking is also legal in the Vegas. That's just an aside...kind of an FYI...not saying anything about Kristen) And she is moving out there on January 16th. (The Lord's Day) That is the date she moves into the condo. (Holy buckets. I wonder what kind of condo they can afford on her hooking...er, stripping salary) Kevin moves in later. Yes, they are living together. (Well...they've physically seen eachother twice...so why not?) They are leasing a condo about 8 miles off the strip. (8 miles??!!? Firk!) Kevin is giving up his nice, although small, apartment that was 1/4 block away from work, and 2 and 1/2 blocks away from the strip to move 8 miles off the strip in with a girl whom he first met drunk for 3 hours, went on a first date throughout the entire Thanksgiving holiday, and has only know for 83 days. I actually counted. (Um...Justin. That's just sad. Might want to keep that one to yourself. And this is coming from the guy who creates fake dialogues to amuse himself)

The last time Urban had a girlfriend, he was a Junior in college. (So...that's gotta be about 8 years...but what about do-rag girl??) I was a sophomore. Her name was Marley. (She sounds...special. Marley, eh? What was she, one of the Ghosts of Christmas?) She was nice. I never saw them kiss. (Not a great slogan for the Petredis Spy School...but I get your point) I think they broke up because he spent much more time with his "friend" Tash. (It's alllll making sense now) The last time she had a boyfriend, well that was the day she met Kevin, and they were living together and had been dating for 6 years. (Well, Kevin is charming) So with his vast experience with women, and the fact that she actually went from boyfriend to boyfriend without being single for one second, this relationship should be filmed for our enjoyment. (This would be a great reality show...rivaling "I Just Boffed Your Daughter" where we put dads into a living room, waiting for their daughters boyfriend to exit their daughters room. Hilarity ensues...)

Kristen is driving to Findley to meet Kevin, then meet Kelly, and Mr. and Mrs. Urban for the first time. (That shouldn't be awkward in the least..though the Urbans are finally glad to find out that Tash was indeed just a friend...) I hope the phrase, "Kevin where did you meet this whore again?" will be used at least once. (We don't know for sure she's a whore...it may be stripper, but I get the gist) His mother seems like a good candidate to drop the "whore" word. (I prefer play the Whore Card, but potato-tomato) I also hope Kelly gets drunk and really tells both of them her thoughts on the subject, because as you and I (and every other man at Miami knows) Kelly is an obnoxious drunk. (This is true...but I can't really say anything, because I have legendary exploits under the influence)

Sidenote: This really sucks. Not that they are getting together, but that Urban now lives 8 miles from the strip. (I concur. I mean, seriously...think of us) We have little incentive to see him now when we go to Vegas. (Nothing like using a man for his pad. Urban is a good egg though...but I loved that apartment) No more crashing for free, unless you want to catch a Taxi for 8 miles. (Nope) No more walking home. Actually no more crashing at his place. I would rather just stay in a bad hotel, but be able to walk to the good places. (Plus, then you wouldn't for sure have to see Kristen, unless you pass the street corner of Las Vegas Blvd and Flamingo...but perhaps I've said too much)

You know what sucks??

You know when you get back from the beach and sand has engulfed your entire person and all you want is to get it off yourself before you go all Jack Torrance on the next person who says a word to you? Then, when you finally get into the cool, refreshingly cooltastic shower and you get some of that sand in the bar of soap? Then, as you try to cleanse yourself of the smell of the beach, the little pieces of sand proceed to cut you as you move the bar of soap over your body? You remember that and how you wish it would never, ever, ever happen again?

Well, luckily, Irish Springs has managed to capture that feeling in their new bars of Irish Spring Micro Clean soap!! Yes, the tiny micro beads feel like little pieces of sand, knawing at your very soul until all you want to do is collapse into a tiny fetal ball in the corner of the shower and never feel anything again. So, Irish Springs, I salute you!

From what I understand, Neosporin is working on a lemon juice infused ointment for cuts! Mmmm...excalibur!!

The Gift...

"I can't believe you broke the ornament? Why the hell did you get them a sand dollar anyway?" Jillian yelled at me as we drove to my uncle's house.

"Umm...HE'S FROM IRAN, DUH!!" I yelled back.

"What in the hell does that mean? You're retarded!"

"I'm retarded? Did you hear that, she thinks I'm retarded. I'm retarded? Oh yeah, well......SHUT UP!!"

"That is the lamest thing I've ever heard. OK, we need to calm down. What's open on Christmas?"

"Ummm...Kvotzki's Deli?"

"I hate you."

"OK, let's see if we can stop in the Quick-O Mart."

"Do you really think they'll have a gift there? What are you going to get him; jerky and a 48 oz. cola?"

"Maybe they'll have sand dollars in there?"

"Get off your stupid sand dollar horse and get in the actual gift mode. You cheap bastard."

"HE'S FROM IRAN!!"

"Don't they have enough sand over there Hawking?"

"It'll remind him of home. I don't care, the gift is a sand dollar and if Jonny Giftman at Quick-O Mart doesn't have another sand dollar, I'm getting some Kra-Zee glue and putting that bitch back together."

"That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Next to you getting him a sand dollar because he's from Iran."

I pulled the car to a fast stop and went into the Quick-O Mart. Luckily, they did have a tube of Kra-Zee glue. I purchased it and came back to the car.

"See...Kra-Zee glue. Akmed is going to love it!" I said vicotiously.

"So, you just going to glue it together?"

"Umm...no, smart ass. I'm going to make Akmed glue it together himself."

"WHAT? You're going to give him a broken sand dollar...and a tube of Kra-Zee glue?"

"Yep. He'll love it. It'll be the three things Iranians love most: Sand, Puzzles and Glue."

"You are retarded."

*Thanks to The Vance for the virtual premise of this story. Keep fighting the good fight.*