So anyway, I get there and realize that I’m the only person who dressed up and I want to smoke really bad so I decide to elbow my way through the dance floor to the bar when weirdly the crowd does that thing where it opens up like in the movies and he’s right there. Standing at the bar like any other person anywhere in the whole wide world. Just like that.
He doesn’t see me so I stop in the middle of the dance floor and watch him sucking on the ice in his glass trying to work out how much longer he should stay. He looks like he’s waiting for someone. He looks sad.
I want to fix him, like that one day in Puerto Rico when he hurt his hand in the pool and I tried to bandage it up but didn’t know how so I just kept wrapping gauze around and around and around until his hand was as big as an oven mitt and he drew a goofy face on it with a blue marker and we went out to dinner and he used it as a puppet to order our meals and I laughed so hard piña colada came out of my nose. He whispered that he loved me and bought a light up rose. I kissed him and he laughed and the busboy dropped a glass and the waitress looked at us like we were crazy.
I suddenly notice that he’s the only other person in the bar besides me who’s in a costume and maybe it’s that realization that does it, because he looks right at me. Like I was the one who he was waiting for. Just like that.
We say nice things to each other and he buys me a drink and I buy him a drink and then there are more drinks and then we’re kissing and then I’m finally smoking and then we’re running out the back through the doorway by the bathroom that says ALARM WILL SOUND but of course it doesn’t and then we’re two people in the cool air of the night and it smells like wet pavement and rain and a happiness deep inside of me unfolds and he yells something stupid at a guy in a car and I’m laughing and we’re walking in the street and he keeps kissing me and I keep letting him even though I know what’s coming.
Then we’re outside my place and the moment between us is gone - or maybe the moment between us has finally arrived - and he is making some excuse about needing to use the bathroom, but he forgets I know all his tricks. He doesn’t know why he can’t come up or maybe he does know and just wants me to say it but I don’t know how to say it so instead I let the silence say it for me and the silence says it very well.
I adjust my wig and look at my hands. I want to tell him how good it felt to see him again, to kiss him, to be with him again even if it was only pretend and only for a little while, but I don’t. I just stand there like a big dumb stupid idiot until he gets it and shoves his hands in his pockets and says “Okay” and turns and walks away and crosses the street and is a block away, now three, now four, and years later I will realize that this moment is the last time I will ever see him and four blocks become five and now I’m crying and I can barely make him out and suddenly I can’t tell if that’s him or not and he’s become just another person walking out into the night like any other person. Anywhere in the whole wide world. Just like that.
A brand new episode of my new stupid fashion podcast - FASHION CHAT 2 - is up and ready for a tremendous listening experience. Let’s just say I get a liiiiittle worked up about how dudes can’t accessorize. IT’S SOME SERIOUS FUCKING BULLSHIT, BY THE WAY.
About three weeks later I’m in limbo, literally dying painfully. I’ve thrown my back out I’m so stressed out about the whole thing. It’s Sunday of Memorial Day weekend. I’m in bed at 8 a.m. and I get a text: ‘Ted it’s Bill. Can you meet me at LAX in an hour?’ And I write back, ‘Yeah I’ll be there!’ Murray: ‘I’ll be at baggage claim, flight so-and-so.’
So I take a Vicodin and get in my car and I drive to LAX. I go to baggage claim and there’s a guy in a black rumpled suit holding a card that says ‘B. Murray’ on it. I go, ‘I think I’m with you.’ He says, ‘Yeah?’ I think, oh god, he doesn’t know anything either. Bill Murray comes walking down the hall with his golf bag and goes, ‘Ted? You want to talk about the script? Let’s go for a drive.’
“Nobody will stop you from creating. Do it tonight. Do it tomorrow. That is the way to make your soul grow — whether there is a market for it or not! The kick of creation is the act of creating, not anything that happens afterward. I would tell all of you watching this screen: Before you go to bed, write a four line poem. Make it as good as you can. Don’t show it to anybody. Put it where nobody will find it. And you will discover that you have your reward.”—Kurt Vonnegut (via devilduck)
Because I am seen far and wide as a fashion expert, I decided to start a weekly FASHION PODCAST with my pal John DeVore! Ladies and gentlemen, I’m pleased to present… FASHION CHAT 2 (“Fashion Chat” was already taken). Submit your burning fashion questions, photos of your outfits for critique, and much more! ENJOY Y’ALL.
So anyway, the party was terrible so we left and kissed a little bit more on the street outside her place, and for a few moments it felt like nothing had happened and that we were still together and happy. Or at least still together. But then she pulled away and adjusted her wig and looked at her hands and I looked at my hands and in the silence of the moment I stared at the pink scar on my knuckle, the scar from scraping my hand on the bottom of that pool in Puerto Rico the day she told me she loved me for the very first time on the side of the road while the guy from the tow truck place was jumping our car, whispering the words quickly and urgently like a spell that could destroy the world. I kissed her and she laughed and the engine turned over and the tow truck guy looked at us like we were crazy.
I look back up at her and now she’s looking at me like she wants to say something and that’s when I know why I can’t come up to use the bathroom, it’s because he’s up there and has been and if it’s not him it’s somebody else and I finally understand, I finally “get it” and it’s all finally clear or maybe it was always clear how finally everything was but now I’ve actually finally got it through my big thick dumb head so instead of trying to kiss her any more I stick my hand with the scar on it in my pocket and give her a nod and say “Okay” and turn and start walking away. I want her to call after me but she doesn’t so I keep walking.
I walk and walk and walk and later I get in a cab and months later I am standing outside a karaoke bar talking to a girl while she smokes her last cigarette and I say something that makes her laugh a big throaty laugh and I look down at my hands and the pink scar on my knuckle from that one day in Puerto Rico is gone like it was never there at all.
PRETTY DISAPPOINTED WITH THE WIG INDUSTRY, ACTUALLY
Look, I get it. You came up with an incredible invention - revolutionary, actually - and that doesn’t happen often. A truly amazing idea probably only comes around one every couple generations: The airplane, the printing press, the lifelike robot that is Taylor Swift - and you should be proud of yourself! The wig is up there in terms of cool shit. Thanks to that sweet invention that is “The Wig”, you can wear hair over your own hair (or your stupid looking bald head) whenever you want! I LIKE THE WAY YOU WORK IT NO DIGGITY.
But then… What? Somebody created the fake mustache? Fine. Somebody else thought a fake beard would be cool? Whatever. And then, nothing. Nothing? Nothing. The inspiration dried up. The ingenuity stopped. Hair game: Over.
CUE MY CRUSHING DISAPPOINTMENT.
Look, you fucking wig inventing dickheads: Why did you stop inventing wigs for weird places to wear hair? What about if I wanna cover my arms in thick caramel yak hair? CAN’T DO IT. ARM WIGS DON’T EXIST. What if I wanna just wear hair on my neck, but not my face or any other areas? NOPE. THE HAIR TURTLENECK IS BUT A THING OF FANTASY. Perhaps I would like a luxiourious dark carpet of rich hair covering my back?! THERE LITERALLY IS NO SUCH THING AS A HAIR CAPE AND THAT IS AWFUL (Full disclosure: I already have a disgusting hairy back, so this is just a hypothetical sitch. But I know all y’all smooth backed sugarsnaps be feeling me hard on this)
Nothing. Nothing? NOTHING. There’s nothing out there for those of us fashion forward feeling gangstas who wanna wear more hair on their body in cool weird places. INVENTORS, WAKE THE FUCK UP AND FIX THIS SHIT OR AT LEAST MAKE A DEVICE WHERE I CAN TALK TO GIRLS WITHOUT SWEATING SO MUCH. (Full disclosure: I have had kind of a weird sweating problem lately - at first it was kind of fun, but now it’s like getting a bit Biblical)
Everybody’s all afraid of tigers and bears and scorpions and shit. Hell, half the sports teams in this country are named after big cats. But I just got one question to all you motherfuckers out there who wanna strike fear into the hearts of their enemies: WHAT ABOUT OWLS, BIIIIIITCHESSSS?
Owls are dangerous as shit and scary as fuck. Don’t believe me? Just take a look at these facts about owls:
1.) OWLS CAN FLY
You ever hear of air superiority, bitch? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Let’s see a tiger FLY UP IN THE AIR LIKE A BIRD. Well, that’s exactly what owls do, sugarsnap. They spend most of their time JUST MAD CHILLIN up in the air just. like. birds. In fact: OWLS ARE BIRDS, SHITFACE. Boom!!!! Checkmate, motherfucker!!!!! AND THAT’S JUST FACT NUMBER ONE.
2.) OWLS SWALLOW THEIR PREY WHOLE
Have you ever seen an animal swallow something whole? IT’S FUCKING HORRIFYING AS FUCK. I had a girlfriend once who didn’t really chew her food and it was DISGUSTING and REALLY GROSS but also SUPER SCARY. She ended up cheating on me with a guy named Terry so whatever fuck that bitch.
RJ & Bley welcome their friend Keri back one last time to talk about the unexpected turn in Bley’s latest lady strikeout, getting & giving fake numbers, “mushing”, and much more. ONLY TWO EPISODES LEFT!
It’s the third to last episode of the podcast of me complaining about my love life, and it’s a DOOZY. This week, we venture into territory that’s super embarrassing, even for me… And that’s saying something. ENJOY ME READING A BUNNNNNCH OF TEXT MESSAGES, EVERYBODY
Calories in 1 McNugget = 47. Approximate caloric needs of a 200-lb sedentary man = 2700. 57 nugs per day = breaking even. If reducing calories by 3500 per week means losing 1 pound, then 50 nugs per day = lose 0.7 pounds per week. Like tears... in rain...
Bley?… Is that you? -RJ
WHO CAN JUST STOP EATING MCNUGGETS AT #57?! - Bley
The boys welcome comedian Nick Mundy to answer the question “when is it gloating to post pics of your hot girlfriend on social media”? Plus, Bley reveals the first time he tried to impress a lady with his cooking. GUESS HOW IT TURNED OUT?