I can tell that we are gonna be friends

I want to have Jack White’s baby.

That was my Facebook status update today. I share that with you because most likely you’re not my friend on Facebook. Don’t take offense. On here, in this here blog world, you’re my good friend. We’re close. If I had something in my teeth I’d expect you to let me know. If you needed a shoulder to cry on then go on, let us hear about it in the comment section. We’re with you. But in the real world? Not so much.

I bring this up because today it slipped at work that I have a blog. Ouch. I hate that. The last thing I need is my co-workers reading my thoughts on Selma Hayak’s major yabbos!

(They’re like mini-basketballs. No, they’re like puff pastries fresh outta the oven. I want to stick my nose right in there. I want to dab each of them with a little bit of honey, sprinkle them with some powdered sugar and enjoy. Thoroughly enjoy. I want to crawl inside of them and conduct a puppet show with a moral lesson at the end for the kids. Remember a few years back when some supermodel got her tits insured for a million dollars? Well what are we doing for Selma’s bad boys? These need their own branch of government. These things could cure old age. For fuck’s sake! I don’t care if you’re a dude or a chick but the picture from yesterday's post should be in a museum. Am I wrong?)

Where were we? Oh right. These are thoughts I only share with my friends.

I have a really hard time mixing work and real life. A really hard time. And I bring this up because Facebook seems to be the point at which both worlds collide. Hear me out. I’m on Facebook. I collect friends. I spy on people from High School who have become uncomfortably heavy. I do my best to make people laugh with my status updates. But a few days ago I got a friend request from a chick I work with. I didn’t know what to do. If I ignore her then it’s gonna get awkward at work if it ever comes up. If I accept then my life is over. I don’t want her to see pictures of me hammered or wall postings from my slap dick friends. That’s for me to enjoy. When I’m away from work. When I can be myself.

I’m completely different at work. Please know this about me. I don’t talk about my junk, I don’t make jokes about little boys and I sure as shit don’t talk about what I actually did on the weekends. That’s for my friends. That’s for you all. That’s not for my co-workers to know about. I’m a respectable citizen of the working world. I’m not trying to be elitist. And I don’t think my shit don’t stink. (Check that sentence English majors.) But you know what? That’s my stink. And I hold its fumes close to my heart.

To be honest, I’ve never shared the applesandmoustaches.com link on Facebook either. It’s just another piece of me that I’d like to keep separate. I don’t want my neighbor from 5th grade who won’t shut up how much he misses his ‘boo’ to be in on this little joke we have going on here.

I’d be a terrible famous person.

Jericho and I have talked about it. We came to the conclusion that we are completely different people in the real world then we are on this blog. On the blog, I am a bit gentler, write about my feelings and always get mad at him when he berates a commenter (sorry Mark. Actually I don’t think Mark ever came back after that last one.) In real life I like to tip a few back and knock over furniture. Jericho on the other hand writes about pedophilia, sodomy and Shaun Alexander’s vagina. In real life Jericho’s a peach. A gentle flower with soft hands.

I just can’t do it. It’s a slippery slope. First one co-worker’s my friend, then another. Then I’m saying things on my Facebook status like “peanut oil is a tasty substitute for olive oil” and “Mondays sure are the pits!”

Fuck that.






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Sweet Candied Yams

My hands are cold today.

I tried to warm them by sitting on them, but then I couldn’t type. I drank a cup of tea and spilled some on my crotch and got laughed at by co-workers. Maybe I should switch to V8. Then more girls would like me.

(That was my Matthew Berry impression. That guy’s a major d-bag. Am I wrong?)

Welcome back from Thanksgiving, hope everyone’s blah blah blah filled with good times and cheer. Me? I ate way too much. I know everyone says this, but I actually did eat way too much. I perfectly timed my Thanksgiving dinner so I was at maximum hunger and maximum stomach capacity at the time of mastication. (Yes, you read that correctly. Hunger and stomach capacity are two separate and equally important factors to consider when trying to maximize your food intake. Consider this your gastro tip of the day.) I spent the rest of the day immobile, hiccupping and feeling disgusting. Pretty sexy huh?

Let’s get to it.


Apple
Lane Kiffen signed to be the head coach of Tennessee next season. Chalk it up as another loss for Washington. There was some good momentum around Kiffen joining the Dawgs up north but obviously the allure of rednecks and big haired trophy wives sounded better. Whatever Lane. I hope you’re paired with Peyton on Alumni bowling night and you have to listen to him tell his crazy Toga party stories, “…and then me and the fellas picked some branches off a tree and made them into crowns. The Greek’s used called them Laurel Crowns. My daddy lets me wear a crown on my birthday cause he says I’m a special boy….”



Moustache
New Kanye album is out now…Stream it for free here. At first listen I love it. Jericho wants to debate the album in an upcoming post so I’ll save my thoughts for later.



Apple
I ain’t no holla back girl.



Moustache
I’m having a great hair day today. I feel bad for my hair stylist (yes I have a hair stylist) because she only sees me when I look like Richard Simmons and desperately need some help or when I look like a shorn sheep right after the hair cut and I should be in hiding for about 2 weeks. If she could only see her work in action today…she’d take a snapshot and include it in her hair portfolio NO! She’d make it the LEAD photo in her hair portfolio.



Apple
Unless Sage Rosenfels throws for 8tds and 700 yards tonight I’ve officially made the playoffs in both of my leagues. Holy shit. I don’t think I’ve done that ever before. If nothing else I can be proud of the season I put together based on:
1) Drafting ‘Bang Bang’ Eddie Royal before he was known to the rest of the fantasy world.

2) Trading for Tony Romo but not starting him until I got every bit of goodness out of Tyler Thigpen.

3) Starting Ted Ginn Jr and Matt Jones during their hot streaks and letting them ride the bench when they cooled off

4) Picking up the Ravens D after week 1 (thanks Jericho)

5) Drafting Aaron Rodgers and Matt Forte.

Now let’s see if I can be more Philadelphia Phillies rather than Tampa Bay Rays during my return to the post season.



Moustache
I went to the Dr last week cause I wasn’t feeling well. Among other things, he told me to stop using Q-tips in my ears. He could tell by looking in them because he said he could see scaring. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I didn’t use Q-tips this morning. Do you know what that’s like? It’s like sitting in a packed church that’s dead silent and trying to hold in uncontrollable laughter. It’s like going to Tepia Taqueria, ordering the Burrito Supreme then being stuck on a boat for the next 4 hours. It sucks. My ears have been itching all day.



Apple
Big ups to Michael and David…two of my cousins who are regular readers of this blog. (I love saying “big ups” like I’m black. Or ‘I ain’t no holla back girl’ like I’m a skinny white girl trying to be black.)



Moustache
Thanks for reading. Here's our gift to you...a joke, try it out in your fantasy league now........"Remember when Plaxico was so pissed at being on (fill in friend's name here) team that he shot himself in the leg? Can't blame him can you?"






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An A&M Quickie

A Few Quick Hits:

• Let me put it this way, I never bring bathroom towels to the beach for the same reason I don’t want to have anal sex with my wife: once it’s out there you can’t take it back. The towel will always be the one that smells like sand and your wife will just be a girl that takes it in the ass.

• Here’s a book I’d definitely buy: A guide to making sounds and proper hand placement while receiving oral sex by George Clooney.

• Why didn’t Popeye have spinach on him at all times? That will always baffle me.

• To me, homosexuality is like peanut butter, I decided a while ago that neither was for me, but I have no problem with either of them existing. In this scenario, gay marriage would be like a peanut butter and banana sandwich, I’m not going to partake myself, but it will not affect my life one way or another if someone eats one.

• Having a good fantasy team is kind of like having sex with your wife, you pretty much know right away if it’s going to happen or not. You can push, you can fight, and every now and then you get surprised, but more often than not the first few moments will tell you everything.

• Microsoft’s new “I’m a PC” ad campaign is akin to getting raped in a prison shower and then bragging loudly at dinner about how you clenched your butt cheeks so tight that there’s no way the guy enjoyed his orgasm.

• The “Who Wore it Best” section of trashy magazines has to be the most ridiculous part of the trashy magazine era. Comparing Charlize Theron to a chick from Gossip Girl is like chiding a zebra for losing a swimming race to a dolphin. Charlize, Heidi Klum, Megan Fox and all the Victoria’s Secret models are not from our Phylum and comparisons to other Phylum are moot.

• If I were a CMO at a light beer company, here’s the only ad slogan I would approve: “It’s on Sale!”

• Does GAP have any idea who they’re customers are? Who are these ads supposed to target? You walk into a GAP and it’s painfully obvious who the clothes are made for: pussies and assholes, but the ads don’t seem to serve any purpose. Jason Bateman and his daughter are pretty cute, but how is that supposed to reach my inner pussy?

A happy ending...

“Sidney Ponson…ingredients for a turkey burger….the 1989 Oakland A’s starting line up in fielding order…Mr. Mariano’s Italian class…”

These were the thoughts running through my head last night while wearing nothing but a robe and plastic flip flops that were 4 sizes too small. I was sitting in a dimly lit room that smelled like cucumbers and freedom as I waited for the knock at the door. Yes, I got a massage last night.

This wasn’t my first rodeo. No, I have had two before. Both were on vacation while in Hawaii. Both took place in outdoor huts where you could hear turtles mating and the masseuses (how crazy is that word?) all had dread locks and could hook up a bag of weed afterwards.

But this time I decided to change up the rotation a bit. I was going to go with a male masseuse. Now, before you make that weird face and start to question if my references to David Beckham and Ryan Reynolds weren’t just for laughs, let me explain. Chicks aren’t strong. It’s the truth. They have small hands, small muscles and I was 2 for 2 on a weak ass rub down. It felt like my mom was gently rubbing my back to put me to sleep. Look, I can take my shirt off and have Patch walk up and down my back if I need a tickle. I call that Tuesday night. But not when I’m paying for it. I want a grown up massage. I wanted to figure out why my wife loves massages so much. I wanted to be sore the next day. (insert butt joke here.)

So there I was. Brainstorming everything I could so if and when it came down to it, being oiled down by another dude and sporting a huge boner, I could properly talk myself out of it. I had perfected this mental preparation in elementary school…who hasn’t? (side note: it works during sex also, to last longer. Try it.) Is there anything out there more terrifying guys? I mean, if it’s a chick giving you a massage, sure it’s embarrassing. But half of you wants it to turn into a porn where she smiles and asks if you’d like her to take care of it for you and the other half of you knows that it’s totally fine…she’s a chick. She’s used to seeing a dong in her face. She calls it a Wednesday night. But a dude? How could I explain this? How could I explain this to myself? I would forever question my sexuality and quickly understand my years of underachieving in fantasy football. The anticipation was causing anxiety like you wouldn’t believe. What if he thought I requested a male because I was gay? What if he was gay? What if I knew him? What if he knew me? What if a finger got a bit too oiled up and slip, right in the butt? I was terrified. This was a horrible, horrible idea.


Well, I’m happy to report (or sad to report you sick fucks) that there was zero movement downtown. Nothing. Not even a wrinkle. All thoughts/fears of sexual arousal disappeared immediately. The guy introduced himself and acknowledged that I was at the spa with my wife. Whew. After about 3 minutes I quickly forgot my homophobic worries and spent the rest of my time doing endless calculations of the overall ROI of the massage. Was it worth it? How many rubs per body part per dollar were spent? Is this what is supposed to be happening? Does this feel better than if my wife, a non professional masseuse was rubbing my shoulders? Is this what it feels like for Patch when I rub his neck? Are there dog masseuses? Who would pay for that shit? I bet weirdos in LA pay for dog massages. Ok, if I had the money I’d totally get Patch a hot female masseuse. What would he want her to wear? What would I want her to wear? It was exhausting.

It was like taking a bum hit of ecstasy and having a few beers while you wonder the whole time if you’re actually feeling the effects or if you’ve just talked yourself into it. (side note: if you have to ask yourself, then nope, it didn’t work. Take another.)

I still don’t get it. Sure, I felt good and relaxed afterwards. But for the price we paid, I don’t know if it’d go again. I’d rather put it on Atlanta at home giving 1.5 against Carolina this week parlayed with the Niners getting 11 at home against Dallas.

But I’d definitely ask for a dude again. This much I know for sure.




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An A for you and an M for me

Apple
Look, sometimes the universe just doesn’t want you to win. Case in point, I was dropping the kids off at the pool, stood up and the seat cover came with me, dripping pee and water on to the front of my pants. So now it looks like I peed myself, which, for all practical purposes, I guess I did, but as any self-respecting whiskey drinker can attest to, when I piss myself I mean to piss myself. Whiskey drinkers don’t piss themselves on accident – when you set down that halfer of Makers on the counter you are basically saying to the guy at the counter, “yeah I’m pissing myself tonight what the fuck are you going to do about it?”


Moustache
I’ve got a gnarly cold and have been overdosing on Tylenol Cold and Chamomile the last few days. Hey, is just me, or when you see the word “Chamomile” do you instantly think of a girl in tight spandex pants with a really noticeable clump of butt hair, aka, Camel Heel? Or is that just me?


Apple
I’m sorry, but calling Sarah Palin a “star” is kind of like calling Brad Johnson a “quarterback.” Republicans, if this is your great hope for 2012, you might want to start drinking Drano. There’s a lot she can read, a lot of knowledge she can acquire in 4 years, but you can’t learn smart. McCain couldn’t get younger between 2004 and 2008, and Palin can’t get smarter by 2012. Anyone see that interview where she admitted that she didn’t know Africa was a continent? Honestly, a lot can be taken out of context and a lot of the shit politicians say can be easily explained, but I dare anyone to counter that one. Africa? I mean, Bush can’t talk too good, but I do think he knows the continents.

(Which might be the most amazing part of the Palin era, the fact that she makes all rational, thinking people look at Bush and say, “you know what? Maybe he’s not so dumb afterall.” This may be the last great move of the Rove era, knowing that McCain had no chance whatsoever, he pushed for a VP candidate that would somehow make Bush look a little better on his way out. The equivalent to this would be hooking up with the ugliest girl in college, then immediately walking up the second ugliest girl and punching her in the face. Then you can go to all your friends and say “see, look at ugliest girl in college, she’s not so bad now, huh?”


Moustache
Way too early Oscar Predictions:

Picture: Milk (call this a hunch, but with all the noise about Prop 8 this pic is coming at an absolutely perfect time, feels right to me)

Director: Christopher Nolan, Dark Knight (I do think Dark Knight becomes the first comic book movie to get a best pic nom, which is really all you can hope for, everything about the Dark Knight was great, great performances, great sets, great writing, but at the at end of the day it’s Nolan’s show and he fucking announced himself in a big way and the Academy will want to recognize that)

Actor: Clint Eastwood, Gran Torino (this is a complete fucking hunch, but Clint announced a year ago that this would be the last time he’d be in front of the camera and I think the Academy won’t want to let one of most Oscar-friendly stars in history ride off into the sunset (prerequisite cowboy joke) without a lil gold fella)

Actress: Kate Winslet, Revolutionary Road (Big year for Kate, I think she actually will have two nominations in this category, one here and one for The Reader – marking her 6th and 7th nominations overall – kind of crazy that the best actress of her generation doesn’t have a trophy yet, something the Academy will fix this year)

Supporting Actor: Ralph Fiennes, The Duchess (I do think Heath gets nominated, but Ralph is an industry favorite who’s never won and gives two enormous performances in this movie and in The Reader, think of this as a culmination award)

Supporting Actress: Meryl Streep, Doubt (The minute this script landed on her desk she was already nominated, just a hunch here, but I think the Academy is ready to make her the most decorated person in history)


Apple
I took Mrs. Royall to Cyrus the other night, a 5 star restaurant in Healdsburg, CA that has a “Chef’s Choice” Menu – you basically don’t order, they just bring you course after course of the most exotic, strange, weirdly delicious food you’ve ever had in your life. If you’ve never had an experience like this, French Laundry is another one, I highly recommend it, the service is out of this world, the little things like the linens and silverware are like nothing you’ve ever seen and the food is unbelievable – a once in a lifetime experience all the way around. A few observations:

- At the end of the day, the food that you recognize and have had before is by far the best. We had squash spaghetti with pumpkin sauce that tasted like nothing I’ve ever had before, no precedent for it, and it was unbelievably good, but at the end of the day the duck breast is what I remember most. Here’s the analogy for this. Let’s say you’re in a dark, swanky club. Nine bands get up and play one song each. The squash spaghetti is the greatest band in the history of Denmark – you appreciate them for their artistry, for the fact that they don’t sound like anything else you’ve ever heard. But a few bands later, here comes the fucking White Stripes, they don’t say a word they just fucking launch into seven nation army – they greatest performance of their greatest song. That’s the duck breast – you dig?
- The service was so fucking good that at one point I expected a waiter to offer to burp me. You can imagine that can’t you? Waiter saunters over, extends his arm with a freshly washed towel draped over it, and I lean over while another waiter gently taps my back until I burp. Hell, they might even have a special burping menu and you can pick which technique you want. “I’ll have that pat, tap, tap, tap and the lady will have the swirl, pat, swirl, pat.”
- Remember the Milgram experiment from college? That psychological experiment from the 50s when the testers were quizzing someone and then shocking then when they got the answers wrong, proving the power that an authority figure has? I think you could do a similar study at restaurant like this – serve people crazy shit like human fingers and baby heads and see if they eat it. “Well, this is pretty weird, but it’s 5 star and all so here goes! You gonna eat your nail?”

For fuck's sake!

Shot down. That’s what happened. I wrote a whole post tonight. Not sure what it was about. Ok, I lied. I know exactly what it was about. It was gay. Totally gay. And luckily my wife read and it and told me it was gay. And not to post it. Because of its gayness. Note to self, don’t drink red wine, put on Elliot Smith and try to post. This blog is pretty linear in its direction. Not in its topics, cause with that we’re all over the place. But at least we’re consistent about our ridiculousness. We never stray too far off the path of ridiculousness. If I come along and get all Nancy Kerrigan and post some touchy feely bullshit then what does that do to our reputation? Smushes it. Knocks it around. Like Samantha Ronson when she gets to rub her face in those delicious looking funbags.

This much I know. Jericho is back tomorrow, thank God, it’s been lonely. The Giants and the Huskies can hold their head up high for a few more days. I watched most of the World Series of poker last night but turned it off during the final table just to prove a point. For the first time all season I’m feeling good about all of my fantasy teams but know very well that feeling will soon disappear. I have 11 people on Facebook who’ve asked me to be their friends and I knowingly haven’t acted on it. I love red vine licorice more than I love pancakes and waffles. Patch took the most impressive shit today, literally it was the size of a well fed third grader. I just found out about a few random people who read this blog and I couldn’t be happier. If Ryan Reynolds was any more attractive I might consider switching teams. My green Hurley hat is my new go-to hat in my collection. Keith Olberman’s video denouncing Prop 8 was moving…trust me, Google it. I still find myself wildly attracted to Sarah Palin, not her ideas, just her banging body. For fuck’s sake, I just used the word “wildly” in a sentence to describe my feelings like I was Charlotte Bronte. My new favorite response to something I find crazy is “for fuck’s sake.”


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Will you be my Billy Volek?

Apple
“I'm hung over, my knees are killing me and if you're going to pull this shit at least you could've said you were from the Yankees.”


Moustache
The Sports Guy, despite his raging boner for all things Boston, is as good as it gets. No doubt about it…this is from his recent column ranking the NFL teams:

“Really, the fantasy football season isn't fun. Winning is OK; losing is agonizing. You constantly feel awful about your choices and your bad luck; it's the only exercise that causes arguments with friends you normally never would argue with; and you spend roughly a kazillion hours managing your team for the 10 percent chance that you might win your league. There's just not a ton of upside. It's almost like smoking cigarettes -- it started out with good intentions, and it's something to do, and it can be fun in the right moments, but ultimately, there are an inordinate amount of moments when you find yourself leaning out a window in 20-degree weather to puff out a quick cig as your nose gets frostbitten, or bumming a cig from a group of horrible girls and then feeling obligated to talk to them, or waking up in the morning and coughing up your right lung. Really, it's more harm than fun. And yet, we continue to do it. And love it. This entire paragraph made me want to smoke.”


Apple
There are few victories in fantasy football, as the SG clearly notes, so you need to celebrate them when you can. Well, this week, I’m celebrating. I picked up and started Tyler Thigpen and had the high score this week with Hightower still left to play. Feels good. And between you and me, I think I’m going to start Thigpen over Romo next week. Yeah. I’m that crazy. I’ve been saying it all season, if I’m gonna make any sort of run at it this year I got to find that big pick-up mid season. Like Drew Bennet a few years back. Or Shaud Williams a few years before that. Hey Tyler, will you be my Billy Volek?


Moustache
Contrary to popular belief, Patch is not the one eyed dog featured in the SPCA commercials with Sarah McClaughlin. But, I do believe he will, and should, someday be a national sensation.


Apple
I saw TV on the Radio last night. Fantastic band, I highly recommend seeing them live. They are so passionate about what they do. We stood about 8 feet from the front of the stage. That lasted about 4 songs, and when I couldn’t even bob my head because it was so crowded, we moved to the back of the room. I gotta say, it’s fun to be close, but it’s more fun to be able to breathe. That’s my strategy. I like to get as close as possible for a few songs, then move back and take it all in. And to the nerd standing next to me who looked like Sally Jesse Raphael if she was a 19 year old frequent World of Warcraft masturbator…keep up the good work. From the outside you look like a major tool. And though your dance moves did nothing to disprove my theory of your dorkdom, I appreciated your intensity. Now get a hair cut.


Moustache
Let’s check in on some bets shall we? At the start of the year I put money on Jacksonville to win the whole thing. Not good. I put money on the Bears to win less than 8 games. They’re currently 5-4. Ouch. I need that team to fall apart quickly. Luckily I have Rex Grossman helping me out. I also have money on the Steelers to win more than 9.5 games. They stand 6-3 but have the hardest schedule in the NFL. I think that team is Super Bowl bound. Mewelde Moore and all.


Apple
Speaking of 9.5, the Niners are 9.5 underdogs tonight in their only MNF game of the season at Arizona. Anyone want a piece of that action?


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