Wednesday, April 01, 2009

So What's The Deal With The DMV? Amiright? Come On, Folks.

As some of you may know, I have interests outside of my day job. As fun as it is, it's not my life mission to explain to the elderly why they have no money left in their IRAs. Like most of you, I am a fan of comedy and have always felt like a career in this field would be very rewarding. I have wanted to try something in this field for a long time, but for various reasons excuses I haven't really pursued it. Well that changes today my friends.

I am going to be doing stand-up comedy on April 27th and May 5th at a club called Comix in the city. I got in touch with a couple people there, and they have agreed to give me 5 minutes of time on the mic. If you are in the area, I would love for anyone and everyone to come. If you aren't in the area, then come anyway. I know you have a car, so what's the fucking problem?

I have provided an FAQ that should help answer some of your questions. The club's real FAQ is on the website, in case you were looking to wear your mesh tanktop, but it's all pretty standard.

If you have any additional questions, please fire away. I'll be right here, curled up in a ball under my desk, trying to come up with something funny.


What makes you think you're going to be funny?

I don't. I am just going to take a shot and see how it goes. I think I have a decent feel for what makes a good bit for stand-up comedy, but there's no telling how it will work out. Hopefully everyone comes to have fun and they laugh along with my silly little rants. Or I could run off the stage screaming and crying. Either way.

Why are you doing two dates?

April 27th is downstairs in a smaller room (seats about 50) for an open mic. This will serve as a bit of a test run for the May 5th date, which is upstairs in a much bigger room. The May 5th is the bigger event and if you can make it to either date or both, I would love you for it. If not, I still love you, but I'm not in love with you.

Why does it have to be during the week?

Because my name is Bryan Brown, not Chris Rock.

But weeknights are bad for me.

That's not a question. They're bad for everyone. Suck it up and come anyway.

What time do the shows start?

They start around 9 and I've been told I will go on around 930, but this is subject to change. I suggest getting there early (the website says 45 minutes beforehand). That also allows us to get in the necessary amount of drinking it will require in order for me to get on stage.

Do you think it's unprofessional to not know the time you're going on?

Look, they are in charge. So if they say get on stage and mop up vomit, then that's probably what I'm going to do. I mean, probably not, right? But just get there early. Everything should be starting at 9. I will let you know when I know any different.

Fine. How do I get tickets?

This is very important. For tickets for the May 5th please call the reservation line 212-524-2500 and make sure you tell them you're coming to see me, BRYAN BROWN. You have to mention my name. The cover is $10 and it's a two item minimum, meaning you can combine a food item and drink item as your two if you want.

The April 27th show is NO cover charge and a ONE item minimum. As I said, I'd love you to come to both, but the May 5th one is considered "bigger." If April 27th works better, then that would be great because that will be the real first time.

Why should I pay $10 when I've been getting it free for years?

Because those days are over. I will now only be funny in exchange for money. But seriously goes to the club of course and I don't associate with poor people so I know you can afford it. Now give it up.

Will the jokes be better than the ones in this entry?

No promises.

Parking and directions?

The club is on 353 W 14 St and 9th Ave. Whether you're in or outside of the city, you can get driving/subway directions here.

The website also details parking if you need it. And please ask questions in full sentences.

Can I heckle you?

Nigga I wish you would.

So what's supposed to come of this?

I don't know. Hopefully it goes okay and you all enjoy the evening. If you don't enjoy it, then I hope I do, because my joy is more important than yours.

Maybe the club will like me and invite me back. Maybe I'll meet some other people in the industry and another job opportunity will present itself. Maybe I'll bomb horribly and you will never think of me the same again. Regardless, at least I will go to work the next day knowing that I am making moves and that I didn't lose my soul without a fight.

Ultimately it should just be a fun way to get together and have some laughs. Please come if you can. Your support really means a lot.

And, for the record, if you don't think I'm funny, then you probably didn't get it anyway. Asshole.

Friday, March 20, 2009

Friday Clip Show Copout

It took me ten minutes to look up the proper arrangement of "cop" and "out." Still not sure I got it right. Look at it up there. It looks weird. This one site said it had a hyphen but I said fuck that.

Anyway, internet people, my very real girlfriend XG is going to visit her twin sister Ally this weekend. You may remember her from such blogs as:

24 Hour Vacation -- The Travel Day

24 Hour Vacation -- The Family Day


24 Hour Vacation -- The Family Night

Ahhh, yes. Some of the finest work I've ever phoned in.

Some of you may also remember Ally from the time they went to New Orleans together. I love that episode.

If you loved hearing about that trip as much as I did, you'll LOVE hearing about what I did while I was home by myself taking care of a dog who hated me. Buckle your seatbelts, folks. We may be experiencing HIJINKS.

Surviving Tuppy -- Day One

Surviving Tuppy -- Day Two

Surviving Tuppy -- Day Three

If you're like me, you can still feel the shame and humiliation like it was yesterday! If you want your Maury update, Tuppy and I now get along famously...meaning I feed her, she shits, and I clean it up. This arrangement seems to work well for everyone.

Now Tuppy and I are alone again for the weekend, and we have nothing to do.

I'm thinking maybe a road trip, hmmm?

Maybe we could bring our old friend??

Or maybe I should stop linking dated, boring, pointless blog entries???


Or maybe I'll just take Tuppy to her friend Josie's house and we'll all watch Hotel for Dogs.

I see no way this can end badly.

Friday, March 06, 2009

That's None Of Your God Damn Business And I'll Thank You To Stay Out Of My Personal Affairs

If you're the type of person to ask a friend for gum, and then you take two pieces of gum, well...then you're not the type of person I want to be friends with.

Also, give me my gum back.

Tuesday, March 03, 2009

Live-Blogging the Mundane

For some reason, Chick-fil-A includes with your order one of those pillowy little mints they keep in a dish in your local diner. For some other reason, I decided to eat one. For a seriously troubling this-kid-might-need-help-before-he-loses-his-mind reason, I am live-blogging the experience.

4:05 -- Opening it. Looking at it. I was hoping it would look like a name-brand mint. But no. Same diner mint.

4:06 -- Popping it in. Here we go.

4:07 -- I am barely sucking it. Just letting slide around in my mouth. Not sure what I'm getting into yet. I feel like my dog when I give her an ice cube. Or a stripper giving a $300 private room "blowjob." Whatever you prefer.

4:08 -- It tastes like the top layer is just melting off leaving a strange milky-minty goo in my mouth that I am avoiding swallowing. It's like when you have to spit and then someone important is around so you can't and you're just thinking, "God I hope they leave, I hope they leave...what the fuck get out of here...jesus, what if they don't leave?...what if they ask me a I going to have to swallow this shit?"

4:09 -- Swallowing it. Not as bad as you'd think, but just so distasteful mentally. Girls. I now know exactly how you feel.

4:11 -- It's clanging around in my mouth hitting my teeth and making me sound like that obnoxious douchebag who pops his gum. Yeah we get it buddy, you're chewing gum. But don't stop cracking it just in case we forget!

4:12 -- Second swallow. It still tastes poor, but it gets easier. You hear that, ladies?

4:13 -- It should be noted that my breath is not getting any better. This mint is merely making my breath more thick and cloudy.

4:14 -- I am frustrated that it is seemingly the same size in my mouth because I really don't want to suck it. Oh my god are they all going to be blowjob jokes? I'm not even trying to. I can't write a normal sentence anymore.

4:16 -- I ignored a call at my desk because I didn't want to be that obnoxious guy with shit in his mouth on the phone. People call me all the time with food in their mouths. It's disgusting. Way worse than mint-milk breath.

4:17 -- I burped and it tasted like chicken and fries. I'm not complaining, it tasted good, but still. You'd think the mint would be running some interference.

4:19 -- It's still not ending. I feel like I'm only halfway through. I do have actual work to do. This could be a problem.

4:20 -- Okay. I'm going to take this call.

4:24 -- I had to hold the mint in my cheek like a chipmunk. Now that side of my mouth is all fuzzy.

4:25 -- Holding it there so long also created a BIG reservoir of mint drool, which I had the pleasure of swallowing. That tasted like I swallowed a lipper.

4:26 -- I'm avoiding the rest of this work for now. Someone else can do it. This is arduous enough on its own.

4:27 -- It's always good for a mint to make you feel like you have to brush your teeth. That's definitely a quality you want to promote in a mint. "Enjoy our new mint with added tooth film for long-lasting freshness!"

4:38 -- Got caught up with work. Had a guy on hold for so long that he hung up on me. What, all of the sudden 11 minutes is a long time to hold? Well, sorry, Mr. President. I didn't know your time was sooo valuable.

4:39 -- Actual mint update: it is finally getting small. It is about the size of a piece of corn. It tastes like sucking on someone else's rotting tooth.

4:40 -- It's almost done. My entire mouth tastes like ass from the top of my gums to the back of my throat.

4:41 -- Almost done. So small now. Almost imperctible. Yet, the scent is still formidable.

4:42 -- Done.

4:43 -- That mint was very dissatisfying.

Friday, February 27, 2009

The Root of the Problem....BOING!

Well, I'm off to see Doctor Dickhole again tomorrow. The abscess went down when I took the antibiotics but not entirely. It feels like it has possibly entered my bloodstream and coursed its way down the inside of my arm. It is not visible, but the vein inside my arm feels as though it is solidifying like that kid from The Wish Giver. In the book, the girl wishes her boyfriend would "put down roots." Of course, she simply wants him to stop banging her friends, but instead he literally puts down roots by becoming a tree. This would be funny and all if this wasn't, ya know, happening in real life and scaring the shit out of me every day.

As an aside, I saw the TLC episode about the Tree Man and it is truly horrific. I can barely stomach it when they start using power tools to saw through the "roots" that turn his hands into giant clubs. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw this headline from 12/22/08:


Success! Modern Medicine! Tree Man!

Unfortunately, my hope was quickly destroyed when I saw this headline from 1/06/09:


Oh! Great! Thanks for the two weeks of false hope for Tree Man! He would definitely send you a strongly-worded email about this if he could log on to the internet...or type...or get out of bed under his own power.

When I go to the doctor tomorrow I plan on demanding a test for MRSA, demanding the treatment for MRSA, demanding he examine my arm rather than just brushing me off, and demanding he treat me with the professionalism you'd expect from a doctor.

Here is what is actually going to happen:

Doctor Dickhole: Hey! What's up Brendan?

Dying Patient: Hi. It's Brown.

DD: You're goddamn right it is! Sooo whassamattayou?

DP: Well, uh, remember my arm problem?

DD: Sure. Looks like it's all better. Think fast! [throws a jar of tongue depressers across the room that smashes against the wall]

DP: Umm, was I supposed to catch that?

DD: Yeahhh, but that's okay. Not everyone is an athlete. I just wanted to test your reflexes, and it looks like I was right. Not only are your reflexes sharp but you have full mobility. You're all healed.

DP: Well I didn't break my arm. I had an abscess. And it's not healed. It hurts a bit but what's more disconcerting is the movement down my vein.

DD: Alright fine. Let's pop that shirt off. [presses stethoscope to stomach]

DP: I said abscess. And you don't need a stethoscope. Please just look at my arm.

DD: Hey. Listen, poppaluke. You see that diploma on the wall?

DP: ...sorry, what? Am I poppaluke?

DD: That says infectious - disease - SPECIALIST.

DP: It does.

DD: So I think that about says it all. [winks]

DP: How does that say it all? Please. Just look at my arm and use your medical knowledge to make an informed judgment as to whether or not I have MRSA in my bloodstream that is trying to kill me.

DD: Hmm. [looks inquisitively]

DP: Is it okay?

DD: Hmmmmmm....

DP: What is it?

DD: Uh-huh...

DP: What does that mean? What do you see?

DD: Hmmm-mmm-hmm-mmm...

DP: What are those noises?! What are you doing?!? What in god's name is it?!?!


DP: Are you fucking SINGING RIGHT NOW?!?

DD: I love that song! I don't know why it doesn't get more play. It's like everyone loved it and then they just stopped. Why? A good song is a good song forever. Am I right?

DP: That song fucking sucks and you're a horrible doctor.

DD: Whoa, whoa. Don't get upset and say things you don't mean. That song is a total CLASSIC. You of all people should appreciate it. She's got birthmarks on her body and they don't know what it is! Come on, that's relatable! But don't worry. You don't even have MRSA anyway.

DP: Are you serious? How can you be sure?

DD: Because I know what it looks like, and you don't have it.

DP: What's happening to me then?

DD: Oh that? That's just razor burn.

DP: What the hell are you talking about?

DD: Razor burn occurs when you shave an area and the skin gets irritated-


DD: ....from shaving.

DP: Right. Okay if it's just from shaving, put your face in it.

DD: What?

DP: You heard me. If this is just razor burn, then put your face in my armpit. Go ahead. Rub your face on my "razor burn."

DD: Well, I don't think that's really.... [leans in towards armpit]

DP: Get the fuck outta here. We're done here. [walks out of office]

DD: Wait! Hold on! Here I got something for you. This might help.

DP: ...okay, what is it.

DD: Do you want a lollipop?

DP: ........Yes.

After the appointment, I plan on heading to Mohegan Sun. Unlucky in life, lucky in cards, right?

Don't worry, all weekend I'll be chugging pencil-flavored coffee.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Ten Words Straight Men Should Not Use About Women

Good afternoon, misdirected Google searchers! I'm sorry you did not find what you are looking for here. Blogger has a strict policy against posting bukkake videos. But before you navigate back to search again and feed the beast, please enjoy my comedic offerings that won't cost you a monthly fee or a visit from the FBI.

The following is a list that should be self-explanatory if you bothered reading the title.

10. Hottie

This word isn't banned for use by straight men, we just don't use it. We never did. You only hear gay men and straight women using the word "hottie" to describe an allegedly attractive female. Straight guys don't elbow each other and say, "Check out this hottie!" Even just typing that gave me the vague notion that I wanted to kiss a man.

The word has largely fallen out of favor with the general populace as well. So even if you're a woman and you use this in front of your guy friends, you're just embarrassing yourself. "Hottie" only remains prevalent in gossip rags and in the mouths of gay men. There has to be a better way to word that.

And you may disagree because you have a straight friend who uses the word "hottie." Well guess what? You have a gay friend. Enjoy that conversation.

9. Booty

With apologies to Latin Americans, this is not acceptable in the straight male world. Men don't refer to a woman's ass as her "booty." It is really weird and juvenile. I've never heard a straight man say it. I'd rather say "tooshie" than "booty," even though now I'm not so sure that's true. But I wrote it so there's no going back. For your own sake, you should consider them both off the list. Sorry, Mexicans. I'll make it up to you later.

8. Supple

"Supple" is a word reserved for your grandmother. "Supple" is a word reserved for Literotica. It makes me think of pregnant women and milk-filled cow udders. And while both of those may be hot in their own right, the word itself still is not appropriate in describing normal women. "Supple" sounds like life is going to spring out of your loins at any moment. Most guys will tell you that a woman's ability to produce children isn't what exactly what they think about when they bust a nut. Unless they're gambling with the rhythm method.

So save "supple" for doctors and grandmas. There is nothing sexy about "supple." Unless, of course, you write for Literotica.

7. Ravishing

Sorry, Clement Price. "Ravishing" is strictly off limits unless you have a British accent, thus making it impossible to determine if you are gay or straight. "Ravishing" is creepy simply by its origin. Here is the definition of "ravish" via

1 a: to seize and take away by violence b: to overcome with emotion (as joy or delight) <ravished by the scenic beauty> c: RAPE

Sooo, yeah. Does that still sound appealing? Does anyone want to be told they are rapingly beautiful? I don't think so. Leave "ravishing" to the Brits. And, no, your Austin Powers impression does not qualify.

Side note: I am writing this at work and someone just walked behind me as I typed the words "rapingly beautiful." I think that means this qualifies for the "i'm fired aren't i" tag.

6. Mommy*

There are few things more disturbing in this world than hearing a male call his mother (or anyone) "Mommy." That goes for any male, any age. When I have a son, he is never allowed to refer to his mother as "Mommy," but he has a 5 year grace period where I won't beat him for it. I have adult friends (yes, I do) who actually call their mother "Mommy." I ask them why and they claim, "I say 'Mommy' to my siblings because that's how we know her." I ask them if they still want to breastfeed and they say, "Yes. I mean no! Well, I mean, it depends. Is it going to make things weird? Would she be into it? Did she say anything about me?"

Consider yourselves on notice, Mommy-loving America. Don't call your mother "Mommy." Unless, of course, she's into it.

*Hello, Mexicans! Here is your special reprieve! Mexicans are allowed to say "Mami" about a woman without sounding gay or creepy. Granted, whatever you say following "Mami" is definitely going to be creepy, but that's why we love ya!

5. Daddy

See #6. And then blow your head off with a shotgun.

4. Tasty

I'm not sure if people are saying this, but I think it's worth taking the time to be sure. If you know someone who is saying this about women, do not let him into your fraternity. He is a giant waste of your time and energy and just listening to him pontificate about his conquests with women is going to make your frat less appealing to the opposite sex. You don't want to be known as the tool frat after he wears kanye glasses to a party and when a girl goes by he lifts them up to his forehead and elbows you and says, "That broad is taaaaastyyy." Is that the kind of party you want to throw? If it is then you should all buy shutter shades and then get custom t-shirt jerseys with your nicknames across the back because that is definitely awesome.

Please. Let's keep "tasty" in 80's cinema where it belongs.

3. Cuntrag

This word is another one that I find-...wait a minute. Cuntrag? I'm sorry. That doesn't belong here at all. Moving on.

2. Cutie

Saying the word "cutie" makes a man feel as diminutive as the female he is describing. Saying "cutie" makes you scrunch your face up until you look like the petite little lady herself. Go ahead and say "cutie" right now and watch as your hands gravitate toward your hips. The word is just too effeminate to be used by a straight man. It sounds as if you might just follow it with "pie" or "patootie." And once you go there, there is only one place you end up: Rooty Tooty Fruity Cutie Town.

1. Smart

Sorry ladies. Love yaaaa.

Friday, February 20, 2009

18 Ways to Destroy Your Relationship

MSN Lifestyle is back with more relationship tips. Let's discuss them in a fair open-minded forum that is definitely not sexist.

18 Clues He's Still Crazy About You
You say your husband can't express his feelings? Here are all the funny little ways he says, "I love you."

By Ann Hodgman

1. When you wear a T-shirt, boxers, and socks to bed, somehow he still thinks you're cute.

Hey we're off to a great start. Feeling confident, ladies? Even when you look like a slob because you're not decked out in a skirt and a push-up bra and a thong and crazy boots with buckles on them and one of those weird scarf belts that hides your fopa, somehow he thinks you're still cute.

Well guess what, ANN. Any guy who is worth your time likes that look. Presumably he thinks you are cute, so all the deception and misdirection of your clothing shouldn't really matter. Lingerie and the like are okay, but the idea is that we're in it for you. Plus, the t-shirt and boxers look shows off more than you think. Sometimes you can catch some hard nips, and if you find the right angle, you might even get yourself a box shot.

There is a limit to this look of course. But as long as the boxers aren't shitstained and the t-shirt doesn't say COCK DEPOT, you should be alright.

2. He doesn't laugh when you pronounce former hockey star Mark Messier's name as "Mark Messy-er."

Andddd we have our first swing-and-a-miss. It was fun while it lasted. One in a row, though. That was a nice streak.

First of all, ANN, Mark Messier plays hockey. Nobody watches hockey. Are you writing this from Canada? Did you run out of names of jockeys? Even professional soccer has more recognizable names.

Also? Messier last played in the NHL in 2004, and he hasn't been relevant since 1994. But I like your attempt at being topical. Got any Lewinsky jokes coming?

Finally, he will laugh. Mispronouncing his last name is retarded. It's not retarded because you don't know sports, it's retarded because you don't know language. But there's good news. You're women. You're all retarded. And we love you anyway. In fact, we might even love you because you're retarded. I know that might not seem romantic, but I think it's time we all admit it.

3. The only framed photo on his bureau is of you at age ten — with short bangs, cat glasses, and metal braces. (If he kept it in his wallet, you would have to kill him.)

First of all, what the fuck is a bureau.

Second of all, HOLY SHIT WHAT KIND OF CREEPY MOTHERFUCKER ARE YOU DATING?!? His only picture of you is from when you were age ten? TEN! If it was a baby picture, that would be adorable. If it was a picture up to age 5, that would be endearing. If it was a picture of you as an adult, that would be romantic. If it's a picture of you when you were ten, that would be a felony.

If your boyfriend has this, he may in fact still love a not-so-appropriate way. Just make sure you don't have kids.

Separate questions that should have been asked if I wasn't trying to wash my brain of the image of a guy biting his lip while thumbing the picture of a ten year old girl:

What are cat glasses?
What kind of non-metal braces would have been available when you were ten?
Why would he keep that in his wallet?
Why would you have to kill him?
Why are you trying to be funny?

4. He automatically smooshes all spiders for you.

Is he wearing a dress while he does it? Guys don't "smoosh" things. Sorry. We kill bugs, yes. But we do not smoosh. Which is unfortunate because we all know how attractive it is to see your man kill a spider and then go, "Don't worry, honey. I smooshed him. I smooshed him good. Now he's bye-bye-all-gone. I made him all squishy-wishies. Sooo do you want to have some straight sex now? Because that's definitely what I'm into."

5. He tried — unsuccessfully, but he tried — to clean the rust ring his shaving-cream can left on the sink.

What the fuck would this prove. If a guy is doing that, then he is a beaten man who has chosen to do what you say rather than listen to you nag. The rust does not need to be cleaned off a fucking can of shaving cream. A can of shaving cream is not a permanent fixture in the house. It is disposable. It will be gone and you will buy a new can. It is not something she uses or needs to look at. There is absolutely no need to clean it, let alone attempt a rust-removal procedure. This is a complete fucking horseshit task that a woman asks you to do just to maintain control over you. You need to slap that bitch in the mouth and tell her that you're the man of the house and your manly products are under your manly jurisdiction.*

That or just clean it anyway. That's what I do.

6. After you rear-ended that Lexus in the parking lot, his very first words were "Are you OK?"

*I misread Clue #5 and thought she meant that the shaving can itself had rust on it. I was unaware that there were shaving cans still making rust rings on sinks. I guess you can always cover the rust ring with your bottle of hair tonic. At any rate, my diatribe made me look like an asshole. Luckily, Clue #6 slams women drivers, and I think that will take the attention away from me quite nicely.

Apparently, even fellow women think you are terrible drivers. There will continue to be unequal pay in the workplace so long as women drive like idiots claiming men's lives with car accidents and road rage-induced heart attacks.

I tried to imagine what my natural reaction would be in this case. I think there's a very high chance that I would say "Are you OK?" There's a small chance that my reaction would be, "Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME," if the accident was preceded by, "Babe, watch out for this car. You can text her later."

7. At this point, his wedding band is so tight, it makes his finger look swollen — but he swears he'd feel naked without it.

Clue #7 is completely transparent. It is not a "clue" about him loving you at all. It's her way of saying, "Look, I know your husband got fat. I know he probably got a little more than fat. Not like a healthy fat or a thick fat. I know he got fat-in-all-the-wrong-places fat. But he's still wearing his wedding band, and that's worth something. I know that, additionally, the sight of his fat fingers swelling around the ring disgusts you and is a constant reminder of just how not sexually attracted you are to him. But come on, you're no Heidi Klum yourself. Have you looked in the mirror lately? You haven't, have you? Can't stand the sight of it? Don't want to know? You think he likes all that extra cottage cheese in the house? Well, he doesn't. The years haven't been kind to either of you. But at least he still wears his wedding band. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it shows that your husband is still committed to you even though you have become two slovenly beasts."

8. He doesn't try to guess what you want for your birthday — he asks your best friend.

I don't know who is still guessing what their girlfriend wants at this point. We may not get you the perfect gift. We may not get you the right size. We may get you something you hate. But as a culture we're done guessing.

The last guy to guess was Fred Flinstone and Wilma was NOT happy with that bowling ball. I think we all saw that episode, and I think we all learned a little something.

9. He's incapable of putting dishes into the dishwasher but has learned to stack them in the sink.

At times this article reads more like, 18 Ways to Cope with Your Constantly Disappointing Boyfriend.

And I have no problem with that. Please continue to set the bar as low as possible.

10. He understands which old boyfriends are fair game and which aren't.

I'm sorry, what? What exactly does "fair game" mean? This isn't one of those jokes where I pretend not to know what she's talking about in order to make some deliberate obvious joke. I really don't get what the fuck that means, and the more I read it the angrier I get.

Seriously. I just sat here and stared at that sentence for five minutes with the idea that I would write the possibilities of what that could mean. I have no idea. Someone please help. If there is a "fair game" rule in the female handbook that we haven't discovered yet, we need to know about it.

11. He doesn't "whoop!" while watching the Super Bowl anymore. OK, he does, but he's definitely cut back the whooping by about 20 percent.

See, this is why you are single and writing relationship advice columns that are 0% helpful and 20% hurtful. No one "whoops" during the Super Bowl. No one "whoops" during football at all. "Whoop" sounds like the noise a gay man would make while watching America's Next Top Model, making tiny little claps, and jumping on a mini-trampoline. You're an idiot who obviously knows nothing about football or men.

I apologize for the gay man comment. I do not know any gay men who would actually "whoop."

12. He'll pick up a box of tampons at the drugstore without wincing.

You may not have noticed it, but there is always wincing. Even if you're just a crushed soul in a shell of a man who doesn't blink at your wife's commands, you still wince at that request. If only on the inside...

I had to pick up my first box of pads two weeks ago. It was a nightmare. There are like a million different brands and a billion variations. Always. Always with wings. Always with extended wings. Regular. Heavy flow. Super. Family size. Overnight leak protection. Ultra thin. Overnight leak protection ultra thin with extended wings.

When I got to the counter, I felt slightly uncomfortable buying tampons and pads for the first time, with no additional items. I put them down and told the checkout girl, "Guarantee I got the wrong kind." She said, "$21.43." I don't think she appreciated my quip.

I learned 5 things from my first time picking up feminine hygiene products:

1) Tampons go in and pads go out.

2) Always get Ultra Thin.

3) Never get the CVS brand of tampons. Sorry about the papercuts, Xmas Girl.

4) Family size is a quantity.

5) After you get them once, you are now officially in charge of picking up pads for the rest of your life.

13. Though you've had several kids together, he's never once announced, "We're pregnant!"

That would be a bad thing? I think I saw a movie where the girl wanted the man to say "we're" pregnant rather than "you're" pregnant. I thought that was supposed to be important to women because it shows that you consider yourselves a team and that you always go through everything together.

Are you suggesting that saying "we're pregnant" would not be masculine? Is he supposed to say, "Heyyy you're pregnant that's great let me know that works out for you. Now could you go ahead and fuck off, I'll be in the waiting room tell me when it's out."

Seriously, ladies. Figure out what the fuck you want.

14. He wears that "Kiss Me, I'm Irish" sweatshirt you bought him during a weak moment — sometimes even in public.

I can't think of a more effective way to determine the state of your relationship than buying your boyfriend this shirt.

If your girlfriend buys you this shirt, you should dump her because that shit is corny.

If your girlfriend buys you this shirt and you like it, then you should propose because you are two corny motherfuckers.

15. He's careful never to deal with nose hairs in your presence.

Why is this considered disgusting? I've never done this, but from what I've seen on Queer Eye, it's a little electric buzzer the size of a pen that the guy puts in his nose for 2 seconds. That is so gross that it is to be done in private?

Ya know what? If that bothers you, then go fuck yourself. Because no one else is going to.

16. When you drag him to sentimental movies, he doesn't sit there and snicker. (He may fall asleep, but he won't snicker.)


Listen I'm a sensitive guy. Very sensitive. Too sensitive. But not about vapid chick flicks that masquerade as "sentimental" movies. I saw the sex and the city movie. It was boring and pointless. I'll give you the rundown of the movie fromthe actual Plot Keywords on IMDB. *Spoiler Alert*

Wedding Dress
Marital Separation
Valentine's Day
Soiling Pants
Personal Assistant
Cell Phone
Brooklyn Bridge
Wedding Planner
Fashion Show
Male Frontal Nudity
New York City
New Year's Eve
Brooklyn New York
Gay Stereotype
Getting Cold Feet
Female Nudity
Sequel To TV Series
Body Waxing
Los Angeles California
Fashion Magazine
Voice Mail
Flashback Sequence
Pregnant Woman's Water Breaks
Male Female Relationship
E Mail
Sex With Food
Based On TV Series
Break Up
Child Swearing
Love Letter
Gay Kiss
Based On Television Series
Sex Standing Up
Covered Female Frontal Nudity
Magazine Editor
Canceled Wedding
Interracial Adoption

I had a joke written where I run down the fake plot points, but the real ones are actually much funnier. Have fun picking your favorites.

My personal favorite is that Sex and the City is the only movie on IMDB that uses both the "Soiling Pants" and "Diarrhea" tags.

17. He doesn't comment on your new haircut unless you ask him to. And then he lies.

Lies: the hallmark of a loving, healthy relationship.

Ladies, I'll save you the time. We don't care about your haircut. Up, down, bangs, straight, dyed, whatever. Do what you gotta do. So long as it's not a boycut. Guys want to date Kim Bauer, not Teri Bauer.

So please, leave the short hair to the men. We can't both look like a lesbian elf.

18. He may forget to give you a card for Valentine's Day, but at least he understands this is a criminal offense. And he's prepared to pay the price.

The price? Having your girlfriend read you an article out of MSN Lifestyle.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Good Morning, Children!

This is the face that I look at every day. His name is Clement Price. He is on my homepage at work. He is speaking at a Black History Month event in Newark (!) today. I have no idea what he has to do with Prudential.

But it's hard to look at that face every day and not wonder what the story is behind this picture. So to steal from honor The Sports Hernia, I present:

Clement Price...

...has a closet full of Cosby sweaters.

...would like to know if you would accompany him to a sock hop.

...has a signed copy of the movie The Bodyguard. on Black Planet as mandingo69. trying on a new pair of glasses for your approval.

...thinks you look ravishing. reaching up to twist his mustache.

...still has a solid head of hair.

...did not enjoy the Mercury Morris entry.

...has a brother who sells rice and loves bowties.

...owns a miniature pony named Miracle.

...had three glasses of Merlot at lunch. smiling through the pain of wearing the tie he got for Father's Day.

...enjoys wearing boy shorts under his suits.

...looks more and more like his pet owl every day.

...has been holding this pose for five minutes and wants you to take the goddamn picture already.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Bad News: I Do Have Arm Cancer. And It's Contagious.

But don't tell all the victims of "Free Hug Day!"

Look, I don't know what it is. It's a lump under my arm that keeps coming back. There are many possibilities including abscess, C. diff, MRSA, cancer...but not AIDS! Do NOT google image search them. I assure you that I have not become grotesque in the spirit of Tree Man. I remain classically grotesque. What I prefer to call "politely grotesque."

Let's go through the finalists:


The original diagnosis from the ER doctor was that it's an abscess caused by a blockage in the pores of the skin that leads to an infection. And by "diagnosis" I mean "garbled words mumbled by the half-in-the-bag ER 'doctor' who carved me up like a sadist on the last day in Guantanamo Bay."

He said that once you get it, you are more likely to get it again. He also said that I should shave the area and get "healthy" deodorant. I did neither of those things because I think he just wanted to see if I'd do it.


Not life-threatening, apparently.

Abscess is the least gross-sounding one on the list.


If it gets too big or doesn't respond to antibiotics, I have to go to the ER and have them lace into me. It hurts like fuck but the first time I did it my girlfriend was impressed by the fact that I didn't make a sound. So, yeah. I gotta keep that whole charade up now.

My doctor is a real knobjob who pretended to fill a prescription for me on Monday. He blew me off on the first phone call, so I called him later to confirm that he filled it, and he said, "Yeah, yeah." Not the best response you want to hear from a doctor. There should be a class in med school called, "Two 'Yeahs' Make a No: How to Lie to Your Patients." So of course when I show up at CVS, they say they never got a call from him. Well played. Then I called his office today to find out why, and the office was closed. Got me again, Doctor Dickhole!


C. diff

No doctor has ever given me this diagnosis, but I read about it on the internet. And when you see a disease on the internet that matches your symptoms, you know you've got it.


From the article I read half of I am going to go ahead and guess that it's not fatal. I didn't read that specifically, but the overall vibe of the article didn't feel like they were talking about death here. So I'm gonna go ahead and list that as a Pro.

Symptom: Diarrhea 10 to 15 times a day. That's a fact from the You may be wondering why I list that as a pro. If you are, you do not read this blog enough. I am already producing diarrhea at that rate, so that symptom doesn't really affect me. And if it's going to increase? That's fine. I'm an expert at anticipating and handling immediate emergency diarrhea. Bump it up to 30 times a day if you want. You can't phase me.


Uhh, turns out it can be fatal. Yeahhh. Did a little more reading and it turns out it could really fuck up your colon and give you kidney failure. According to, "Even mild to moderate C. difficile infections can quickly progress to a fatal disease if not treated promptly." They go on to use the words "resistant" and "superbug." Sooo ummm. FUCK.

Also, the only real way they test for this is by either going up your ass or analyzing your "stool sample." Either way. Not for me.


MRSA is what I think I have. I'm pretty sure it's MRSA. It's a hot new virus that has pretty much all of the symptoms I'm getting (except diarrhea--no one has shit on C. diff when it comes to diarrhea) and it's really common. I've got MRSA.


MRSA sounds cool to someone who hasn't heard of it before. It sounds like some deeply engrained sickness in my bones. MRSA sounds like it's due in part to some form of radiation poisoning. MRSA sounds like I may have gotten it in the line of duty. Or maybe it sounds like a disease coursing its way through the anonymous gay sex community. I don't know.

This disease is really blowing up right now. I'm serious. Ask anyone in the medical community. They will know about MRSA. It may be kind of cool to get it before it gets too mainstream. Maybe I would tell people I have it and they'd be impressed like, "Daammnnn, you got MRSA? How'd you get that already? I heard that shit is jumpin off!"

It's treatable. If, ya know, you have a doctor who gives a flying fuck.


It's treatable, but it's still killing people. Sooo who are these people? Is it just a matter of how strong the virus is? Or is it killing people who have a weakened system or leave it untreated? Which do you think it is? Probably the last one, right? Yeah? Yeah. And guess what I'm doing about having the disease? Right.

It's highly contagious. I may have already given it to my girlfriend.



Getting the sympathy for having cancer.


Having cancer.

Living with cancer.

Dying of cancer.

So that brings you up to speed. Something very wrong is happening inside me and it's probably killing me. If I do end up dying and you go back and read this, don't feel guilty when you feel mildly impressed with the prophetic nature of my writing. I want you to read carefree when you come to this blog without any added stress. After all, you're not the one dying!

Unless you were a part of Free Hug Day, in which case I am sorry. And I'll see you soon.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009


UPDATE: Addendum:

I need to clarify my statement that 70% of my traffic comes from misdirected google searches. I was only referring to hits that are not me personally clicking refresh. I do not think it is fair to count those as page views, even though I could because I take the time to re-read my blog every time I hit refresh.

So if you disclude the 17 hits that I account for, then there are 10 remaining hits. Of those 10 hits, 7 are from Eastern European pervos (no offense, pervos) and 3 are from a group that includes my girlfriend, my girlfriend's friends, my grandma, and myself, depending on who is checking that day.

So to my loyal readers, thank you for invading my privacy by regularly checking my blog for updates on my life. I appreciate your prying. To the rotating group of daily pervos, feel free to stop by any time. My parents go to sleep at 10.


"I. Choose. BREAKING."

This is one of my favorite movie quotes of all time. It is from the movie Sidekicks, when the villain dramatically chooses the event in which they will compete for the grand championship of fake karate tournaments. I know what you're thinking, and yes, this movie does feature a young Danica McKellar. If you need further proof of its greatness, check out these lines listed under the Memorable Quotes section of IMDB:

Barry: Nobody likes me. Why would he?

Barry is the protagonist. He gets picked on by his classmates and he has asthma. His nickname is "Barry Warry." He is played by Jonathan Brandis, who would later hang himself in 2003.

So, yes. As it turns out. Nobody likes him.

Kelly Stone: Chuck Norris? Chuck Norris? He doesn't compete anymore kid, and the main reason, one of the main reasons he doesn't compete anymore is me. He doesn't compete 'cause I would kick his ass.

This quote becomes infinitely more enjoyably when you know that Kelly Stone, the instructor at the evil karate dojo, is Joe Piscopo.

Barry: Milk.
Kelly Stone: [loud laughter] Hey, how 'bout some cookies?

This quote comes from one of the many dream sequences in which Barry fights off 100 ninjas and assorted bad guys who are being gassed up by Mr. Stone. Barry waddles up to the bar like he's Clint Eastwood and defiantly orders a milk from the bartender.

I've seen the movie and even I don't understand the signifance of the milk order. I guess the joke is that he's a kid? So he would order milk at a bar? Does that really qualify as a joke? But he's in high school; he's not 8. And even if he really loved milk, why would you set up Mr. Stone for a great zinger like that?

Mr. Lee: I have something for you.
[takes off Barry's shirt]

Mr. Lee is the off-brand Mr. Miyagi who teaches Barry how to be a karate master using various household items. He throws dodgeballs at Barry, makes him juggle lettuce, and makes him nunchuck himself in the balls a few times all in the name of sharpening his karate skills.

But this quote is just insane. I don't remember the scene, but I'm guessing Barry Warry hurt himself baking cupcakes for karate class and Mr. Lee had to put some tiger balm on it. But out of context, obviously it looks like he is going to fuck Barry. *Spoiler alert* He does not fuck Barry. No matter how much they may flirt, he never fucks him. I'm starting to think the person choosing these quotes is fucking with us.

Jerry Gabrewski: My son has asthma!

Yeah okay they're fucking with us. What is this line?! They put this as a memorable quote?? So you're saying that if there is this group of die-hard Sidekicks fans who get together to watch this once a month and one guy brings popcorn, and one guy brings chips, and one guy brings soda, and one guy brings nothing because he's always the guy who brings nothing, and they put the movie on but are secretly resenting the guy who brings nothing as he eats everyone else's food and uses the bathroom for twenty minutes and leaves the door open when he leaves which is gross because the bathroom he used is right in the kitchen and they sit there shaking their heads because he didn't have the decency to take his business to the upstairs bathroom so now they all put the food down because they are disgusted and they can't even enjoy the movie.

You're gonna tell me that when the guy who brings nothing realizes that his company is no longer appreciated and tries to mend fences by recalling one of the movie's best lines for the group to warm up to him, that he is going to say, "My son has asthma!" as his go-to line?????

I highly doubt it. If he has any hope in being invited back for next month's Sidekicks movie marathon then he better drop a Kelly Stone line on them.

[a still somewhat asthmatic Barry is determined to join in the push-ups in gym class]
Horn: Gabrewski, if you die I'm going to shoot myself and come on after you!

Horn is Barry's gym teacher, who would still be his main tormenter if Barry hadn't foolishly tried to pick up karate. This line is a bit deflating after the Mr.-Lee-undressing-Barry line. I do appreciate the detail provided regarding Barry's physical state, though.

Horn is Richard Moll, a.k.a. Bull from Night Court. I decided to take a look at what Bull has been up to since Night Court. And the answer? Sidekicks. Apparently, Sidekicks is what he's been up to in the past 20 years. Interesting.

But I did find out that the director of this film is Aaron Norris. You may remember him from such films as "Forced Vengeance," "Lone Wolf McQuade," and "Hey you can't arrest me! Chuck Norris is my brother! I didn't know she was a he! Please! Chuck will kill me!"

Honorable mention? "White Water Rebels."

Chuck Norris: Come on, Barry. That's it. Use your legs.

Now you're really reaching. That quote is only marginally sexual. What are we to believe? That the line comes from a scene where Chuck Norris is trying to coax Barry into sex? And that Barry would somehow be willing to let Chuck Norris bang him? And that during, Chuck is trying to teach him some sexual positioning that involves using his legs? That Barry is on top of Chuck and using his legs to really work it? Or that somehow Barry is banging Chuck and Chuck is bent over and encouraging Barry to get more power with his legs? Is THAT what we are to believe?

Personally, I'm more interested in the literal explanation of this quote. If "use your legs" is helpful advice, then what was Barry doing before that? Throwing lettuce at the ninjas?

Well that is the last quote. But let's get to why I started writing this post in the first place.

I have BREAKING news. As you may know, 70% of the traffic on this site comes from misdirected google searches. Usually, these searches are illicit in nature, so I'm sure they don't stick around once they realize that there are, in fact, no vietnamese boys on this site. But I've gotten a lot of international visitors lately who have been google-image searching for Kaiser Wilhelm II. I don't know what makes my page come up under that search, but I welcome all my new foreign friends just the same.

Please enjoy all the entertainment you can handle in an updated-once-in-a-three-week-period format.

Brown is the New Black: Come for the comedy. Stay for the sexism. Leave for the racism.

Except you, Spain!

Monday, February 09, 2009

Programming Note

I had no idea the Grammy's were on yesterday. I mean NO idea. Zero. Was it even yesterday? Saturday? I don't know.

A real entry is coming soon.

Thursday, February 05, 2009

Nonecdote Addendum

After I wrote that last entry, I sat back proudly as I thought I coined the word "nonecdote."

It turns out that this Urban Dictionary entry confirms I did not.


I still think I might have.


It occurs to me that these boring little two sentence posts would be better served on a Twitter page.

That's right. I found out what Twitter is.

More Work Updates

I saw a pre-made tuna sandwich wrapped in plastic in the cafeteria.

I should NOT have eaten that.


The office lady who told me I look like Owen Wilson (both of those conversations really happened) just walked by my desk.

She said, "Hello, Mr. Olsen."

I assume that she meant "Mr. Wilson" or "Owen Wilson," and not my neighbor "Mr. Olsen." She got it wrong the first time she tried to tell me too. She said "You look like that actor. What's his name? Wilson Owen."

I don't know. She's from Barbados or something.

Monday, February 02, 2009

You Know Who You Look Like? Part 8,451

Office Lady: You got a haircut.

Brown: Yes.

Office Lady: You still look like Owen Wilson.

Brown: I do?

Office Lady: Yes. I just confirmed it with another woman here. She agreed.

Brown: ....Ohhh I get it. You hate me.

Office Lady: Yes.

Brown: Very well. ...Did you watch the Super Bowl?

Office Lady: Could you go sit back down now?

Brown: But I'm not that bad of a guy.

Office Lady: Are you going to change your face?

Brown: My face?

Office Lady: Yes. Are you going to change your face?

Brown: I don't think so?

Office Lady: Then I don't care if you're a good guy. You are just a guy whose face I hate.

Brown: Is this about something else?

Office Lady: No. It's about you and your face. Nothing else. How have I been unclear?

Brown: Well it was a little unclear with the whole Owen Wilson angle.

Office Lady: Well I hope I'm clear now.

Brown: It kind of makes me think you really just hate Owen Wilson.

Office Lady: No.

Brown: Because you don't even know me.

Office Lady: I don't want to know me.

Brown: Why not?

Office Lady: I could come up with a million reasons. And then I would pile those reasons on top of each other to form a pyramid. And at the top of that pyramid would be the most important reason. And that reason wouldn't be in words, it would just be a picture of your face. And then I would smash that pyramid like I want to smash your face right now because I can't stand to look at it even when it's illustrating my own point.

Brown: This is about Owen Wilson isn't it.

Office Lady: God I hate you.

Good News

I fixed the internet in my house so I can go back to blogging.

And by "fixed the internet in my house," I mean stole someone else's internet.

And by "blogging," I mean losing money at online poker.

And by "good news," I mean no one really cares.

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Lying In Bed Just Like Owen Wilson Did

I was walking past this woman's desk and she goes, "You look like Owen Wilson."

And I said, "Really? Umm...thank you?"

And she said, "Yeah. Right after he tried to kill himself."

I said, "That seems overly harsh. How long ago did it take you to think of that?"

She said, "I just thought of it now."

I said, "Last night?"

She said, "Earlier this morning."

I said, "Ah."

She said, "Seriously, though. Get a haircut."

I said, "I know. I have been meaning to."

She said, "Fuck 'meaning to.'"

I said, "Whoa, whoa."

She said, "Okay sorry. But are you going to?"

I said, "I could tell you I am, but I would have said that last week and I still haven't. So what do you want me to say?"

She said, "I don't care anyway, I don't even know why we're talking about it."

I said, "You had to make your stupid joke."

She said, "Well this whole thing seems contrived anyway."

I said, "Maybe, but I really don't want to go back to work."

She said, "Well you probably should unless you want to get fired."

I said, "Maybe I do..."

She said, "No you don't."

I said, "I know. Soo....whatelse, whatelse, whatelse.."

She said, "Go sit down."

I said, "Okay."

She said, "And fix the internet in your house."

More Work Updates

This coffee tastes like pencils.

It always tastes like pencils. I've resigned to drink pencil-flavored coffee for the rest of my life. I don't really know how to make it. That is all.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

In Case You Were Wondering...

I haven't been posting because the internet in my house isn't working. I know that sounds like an excuse but it's the truth. I am posting this from work because they let me out of my cage for 15 minutes of Internet Free Time Minus Any Sites Containing Porn, Pornographic Images, References to Porn, the Word "Porn," Pornography, or Anything Mildly Interesting. I've talked to them about changing the title of our breaks. I took my suggestion under advisement. And I was beaten.

Fortunately, since this blog doesn't contain anything mildly interesting, it is not blocked! So I am free to write from work during my 15 minutes.

Unfortunately, nothing of note really happens at work, unless you count answering phone calls and going to the bathroom, so this post might not be as thrilling as my usual blogs.

Fortunately, I do consider going to the bathroom blogworthy, so that's what you're going to hear about.

Unfortunately, my girlfriend is the only person who reads this.

I have a short list of the stalls that I prefer in the bathroom at work. Both are against a wall, which helps to minimize the noise in the event that there is a grunter in another stall on the line. I'm not sure why these people have to make noise while shitting, and that is coming from a guy who often has intense stomach problems. Even during the most explosive episodes, I have never felt the urge to moan out loud. A guy once told me that groaning through it makes it feel better. I said that I don't think that's something I feel comfortable discussing through the partition.

So when I speedwalk into the bathroom, I usually head for the first stall on my list that is open. Then when I walk in and close the door, for some reason, I immediately pull my pants down. I don't mean down to my ankles like a 5 year old, but just down past my ass. Gentleman style. I don't know why this is because I never sit down immediately. Even if it's an emergency, I am not going to sit on a toilet seat full of pubes.

As disgusting as this is now sounding to me, I have to clean the toilet seat of whatever collection of pubes, piss, or boot scuffs, all with my pants down. Again, I don't know why I'm telling you this and I don't know why I do it. I find myself bending over in a stall, half-naked at work, cleaning another man's asspubes. It's the most depressing part of my day, and it happens 5 times a day.

That is all for now. Yep, that is what that entry was about. I wish I could tell you it was some form of meta and that I'm writing some above the rim comedy. I am not. I am writing about cleaning bathrooms naked not because it's funny but because it happened. I took a moment to try and think of something funny and all I came up with was a Larry Craig joke. I failed. This is what my life has come to. And my 15 minutes are up.

Honey, I'll see you at home.

Thursday, January 08, 2009

Hurry Up And Die -- Carl Pavano

That's the look of a leader. The look of a champion. The look of a Carl.

It just goes to show you. Hard work, dedication, and guts can get you a million dollar contract.

But laziness, apathy, and generally being a pussy works too, apparently.

Oh and I almost forgot. Happy birthday, fuckface!

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

What Are You The Rug Doctor?

Whenever you feel like you've got nothing to write about, you can always count on MSN Lifestyle to provide you with hours of entertainment. The Lifestyle section deals mainly in relationship advice and diet tips usually reserved for the cover of Cosmo. You'd think these articles would be weak, tepid fluff pieces with little or no redeeming value. But you'd be wrong. They're abominations of human culture and sure signs that the end is rapidly approaching.

Today, I found a piece on Lifestyle called "Is She Cheating?" Well that depends. If by "she" do you mean "every woman ever?" Then the answer is "Yes." A resounding yes. All women flirt. All women cheat.

And yes I am aware that my girlfriend reads this blog. In fact, she's probably reading it right now, since I force her to read it while I watch her and gauge her every reaction. But, Xmas Girl, I don't want you to take this blog entry as some sort of implicit threat regarding our relationship. It is an explicit threat. Cheating will not be tolerated, even if you have good reasons.

You have a great gal.

So great, in fact, that I am reading an article titled "Is She Cheating?"

So great, in fact, that she attracts packs of men who try to capture her attention or, worse, coax her out of her clothes.

How are those two separate ideas? What kind of rational is it to draw a line between "trying to capture her attention" and "coaxing her out of her clothes?" Is there a man in the world who is so naive as to think that someone would simply want to get her attention and then stop short of having sex?

They could be platonic friends. Or they could be interlopers, scourges bent on emasculating and circumventing you.

"Vacillating between wanton courtships like a mercurial perfidious coquette!

Sorry. I got a thesaurus for Christmas and I get a bit carried away."

What to do?

Definitely don't follow her to another house and then watch her from your car in the WaWa parking lot across the street using night vision goggles. Did you know that's considered illegal?

"Everything starts with having ground rules, open communication, and strategies for how to proceed," says Janice Levine, Ph.D., a psychologist in Lexington, Massachusetts, and the author of Why Do Fools Fall in Love?

Why Do Fools Fall in Love? is the follow-up to her first book, the smash-hit General and Elementary Guide to Problem-Solving.

Either blowing your lid or turning a blind eye could create more problems than addressing the situation head-on.

But no more problems than following her and camping out across the street in the WaWa parking lot with your survival gear will create. I'm tellin ya. Do NOT do that...

The following tips will help you know if there really are signs of a cheating wife or girlfriend and stand your ground without devolving into a raging, soon-to-be-single maniac. Read on: Your love life could depend on it.

If you have to encourage your reader to "read on," you're probably not writing a very compelling piece. Now let's continue with the article.

Worry when . . . she's focused on pleasing him, not doing her job.

She's focused on pleasing him and not doing her job? That's a "sign?" I think we're beyond worry if she wants to "please" her boss. Maybe I'm just an asshole boyfriend but that's creepy out the gate.

And not to quibble (it's really not my style you know) but if she's focused on pleasing him, doesn't that make this category "The Overly Interested Employee?"

Not when . . . he's a kindhearted mentor.

Oh! Is that when not to be worried? Phew! I've met her boss and he is surely just a kindhearted mentor who is 97 years old and in a wheelchair. But I didn't know if I should be worried or not until you just let me off the hook!

His motives could be sincere, and if she's happy at work, she'll be happy at home, says Jeffrey Bernstein, Ph.D., a psychologist and the author of Why Can't You Read My Mind?

If she's happy at work, she'll be happy at home.

That is the laziest dimestore non-psychoanalysis that I've ever read. If this "writer" actually contacted a "doctor" for his professional opinion about the relationship between someone's work life and their home life, and he said THAT, then he is basically saying FUCK OFF.

Let me ask you then, Doctor: if she's happy at home then is she happy at work? Is that even remotely true? Does that fall under the transitive property of I-Never-Really-Went-To-School-To-Be-A-Psychologist-But-I-Read-A-Lot-Of-Redbook?

You are the worst Dr. Jeff since Dr. Jeff Gardere.

Your move: Lead with concern for her, not your issues. If she thinks you have an agenda, she'll become defensive and fail to see any negatives, just to prove you wrong.

None of this advice is specific to this category.

Say, "It seems your boss is really helping you. How's that going?"

Then when she says, "That was the most transparent ham-handed segue I've ever heard," you start sweating profusely. Then start stammering an explanation to buy yourself time. Follow that by urinating in your pants, hiccuping uncontrollably, and then blurt out, "Are you fucking your boss yes or no yes or no?!?!?!?" THEN drop to your knees and start bawling hysterically.

Follow my advice to the T, and you will have artfully coerced the information out of her that she was not in fact sleeping with her boss, but she is now.

Worry when . . . they talk frequently and secretly. Regular contact sends up flares. Covertness fires a cannon.

Not when . . . she has a once-a-year, 15-minute phone call. There's a lot of history -- some good.

Okay wait. So wait. Wait.

What IN THE FUCK does that line mean?

I'm not even going to touch on the horrible construction of that sentence, but I have no idea what he is saying with that line. Is he saying that there is a lot of history between your girlfriend and her ex? Well I highly doubt that is true. My girlfriend went out with a guy for three years and they never talked, hooked up or even met. I don't think girls have much history with their ex-boyfriends.

But let's just assume that is true. How would some of their history be "good?" Do you mean good in the sense that they might have enjoyed each other's company at some time? Well, as I'm sure that's true and as enjoyable as that is to picture, WHO THE FUCKS CARES ABOUT THAT NOW.

Your move: Calmly say, "I have a problem with the relationship, because I don't understand it. Can you tell me what it does for you?" suggests Jackie Jaye Brandt, M.F.T., a psychotherapist in Universal City, California. You're not being invasive, you're just gathering information. An ultimatum leads to resentment -- or abandonment. Be ready to walk out the door if she picks him.

Be ready to walk out the door if she says she wants to be with another man and you aren't him and she doesn't care for you and your stuff is packed and outside of the apartment. Is this article written for men or women?


...What the fuck is going on here. Am I in Baby Land? Am I in a fictitious land for babies where the most simple of life lessons are spoonfed to people in supposedly adult relationships? That has to be it. I must be in a land for FUCKING BABIES WHO WOULD HAVE A DIFFICULT TIME DECIDING WHAT TO DO IF THEIR GIRLFRIEND STILL WANTED TO BE WITH HER EX-BOYFRIEND.


Worry when . . . she drops his name in subtle or obvious comparisons to you.

It's never really subtle, is it? And if it is that subtle, presumably the guy doesn't even notice it. Soooo, hi. Where am I?

If he initiated the breakup, there's a big chance she's holding on to the fantasy.

Not when . . . it might be just fond memories, so the threat could be all in your head.

Okay. So. Worry when "she drops his name in obvious comparisons to you." And don't worry when "it might just be fond memories." I'm asking for your sage advice about when not to worry and you tell me "when it might just be fond memories." OF COURSE IT MIGHT JUST BE FOND FUCKING MEMORIES. THAT'S THE WHOLE FUCKING PROBLEM IS NOT KNOWING. YOUR ADVICE IS THAT THE TIME NOT TO WORRY IS WHEN THERE ISN'T ANYTHING TO WORRY ABOUT. THANKS.


Your move: Say, "I just need some reassurance here."

You know what she will do? REASSURE YOU. But in the words of Nice Guy Eddie, "If you fucking beat this prick long enough, he'll tell you who started the god damn Chicago fire, BUT THAT DON'T MAKE IT FUCKING SO."

When, in history, has a guy said "I just need some reassurance here," and a woman said, "No. I'm sorry. I can't do that. Nothing is going on with my ex and I want nothing from him. But I can't reassure you." Of course she is going to reassure you whether she's blowing him or not. How does that help us?

She should respond definitively that you're her man, Levine says. If she pauses, follow up with "I'm not trying to control you. I just want to be with someone who knows what she wants."

That line has never failed to define and solidify a relationship.

She needs to think it's something to fix. If she doesn't, walk.

I. I'm sorry....What?

She needs to think it's something to fix. If she doesn't, walk.

Hmm. Ummm. Nahh still not getting it.

She needs to think it's something to fix.

I'm gonna take a stab at it here. Okay. Sooo she needs to think that talking to her boyfriend a lot is something to fix. In other words, she needs to know that she shouldn't be pining for her ex-boyfriend..? I'm guessing?

Well if I may take over as the head instructor in Baby Land for a moment, there is no "fixing" the fact that she is pining for her ex, or anyone else for that matter. Have you ever tried to tell a friend why they shouldn't like someone? That has never ever worked in the history of the world.

In conclusion, if she is still pining for her ex, the only fix is to let that bitch go. Or you could tell her that you want to "be with someone who knows what she wants" and try to get her to fix her feelings away. Let me know how that works out.

Worry when . . . she spills intimate details about his life. Chances are, the sharing goes both ways. "The relationship should be friendly, not familiar," says Rita DeMaria, Ph.D., a marriage and family therapist in the Philadelphia area.

Not when . . . he's just pumping her up.

Well done.

It's his job to give her encouragement and attention.

Is it?

Your move: Once again, share your discomfort and watch her response.


If she's open and says, "I didn't realize that," she's not drinking in the man's attention, and she respects your feelings. If she's defensive, she might be guzzling it,

I'm not even going to bite on your "guzzling" setup.

so back off for a few weeks and see how she deals with it. It's up to you how far you push.

Here's another lesson from the new Mayor of Baby Land. NO PERSONAL TRAINERS. EVER. Now I know what you might be saying. That "Baby Land" was a poor choice of a metaphor and that it's not really funny and it doesn't make a hell of a lot of sense. Well we're already in Baby Land and there's no going back now.

Worry when . . . she's ignoring the situation because she hates conflict. That's bad for your relationship, because this issue will recur.

Oh word?

Not when . . . she's simply working at her own pace to let her admirer down easy.

When her pace is weaning him down to one blowjob a week, don't worry! That's just her own way of letting him down easy!

Your move: If you've given her pace a chance, let her know you're uncomfortable. Offer to help. If she allows you, meet the guy: Put your arm around her and introduce yourself as her boyfriend. That should be enough.

Yes, that should be enough. Assuming, of course, that you are living in an 80's movie. Just put your arm around your girl and tell him, "Back off, rodent!" Then take your two fingers and push him in the chest. His eyes will sink to the floor. This is the time to start berating him about how poor he is and how rich your dad is. Your friends might jump in and say, "Cool it, Chaz!" But you just say, "Butt out, Joey. This aint none of your business!" His only defense is to propose a challenge to you in some sort of competitive event. Now this is important so listen closely. No matter what he challenges you in, your only reply is, "You're on!" You can throw a "chump" in there, if you like, or add another insult about his family being poor. Then turn your back and cackle as you walk away with your girl, arm still around her shoulder.

If it's not, say, "I think it would be best if you limited contact with her," Levine says. Use restrained strength, not tough-guy tactics.

Use restrained strength, like screaming through your teeth. Not tough-guy tactics, like screaming how you're going to kill her as you're being tackled by WaWa employees until the cops come and they cuff you up against the squad car facing her as she comes out of the house with her new boyfriend and you yell to him that he's a dead man and that you "know people" who will set his house on fire while you're in jail. NOT that.