Three Decades Of Triumphant Sauciness

Here it is: the last week of my 20s. In this past decade, I've seen countless friends married off and spread across the country. I've traveled to Mexico and discovered bacon tacos. I've seen a man chase another man with an axe past an establishment called Mo' Better Ribs. I've spent 94 hours watching Lost. I've seen Mothball wearing nothing but a pillowcase diaper. I've consumed 700 gallons of Coors Light. I've successfully convinced a friend that I tragically lost both testicles in a freak gardening accident. I've laughed until the world went gray over the concept of lettoose. I've gained four nieces and a nephew, two of which have punched me in the crotch. Probably some other stuff happened.

Now, as the decade closes, I've got the big house, the hot lawyer wife, the monogrammed beer mugs--and yet, I feel a great emptiness inside of me, fed by the inescapable knowledge that somewhere out there, a new iPhone exists and it is not yet in my possession. Fortunately I've preordered for delivery on Thursday. Until then I guess I'll fill the void with food.

Pitying Fools For 58 Years

Happy birthday, Mr. T.

.565

Farewell, Magic Pants. I will think of you every time I bite into a submarine sandwich and italian dressing spills out all over my shirt.

Screwed!

So apparently as awesome as government insurance is reputed to be, those bastards only cover Urgent Care visits at 80%, and after a $200 deductible. Now I owe $130 to some chump doctor for giving me the go ahead to get antibiotics I already knew I needed for a sinus infection I already knew I had, as well as "labs" which I know for a fact they did not actually run. I guess they just thought, hey, if we write "labs" on the bill, that's probably good for another $50. I'm outraged, OUTRAGED! This is the kind of rage I might need to take to the streets, raise my voice for my whole generation and let those corporate fat cats know that we are miracle whip, and we won't tone it down! And someone remind me to write the guys who came up with that commercial a congratulatory letter, firstly for coming up with the world's only viable contender to "I'm so 3008, you so 2000 and late" for the dumbest series of words ever strung together, and secondly because that commercial is GENIUS. I think someone at miracle whip realized that people in my demographic are only capable of appreciating things ironically, and that millions of 20-somethings wryly smiling at the concept of a sandwich spread attempting to align itself with some imagined xtreme/hipster youth movement is vastly superior to not being in the public consciousness at all. They've probably already sold more bottles as joke gifts than they had from 1953-2008 combined. I'm thinking of buying some to slather on my Urgent Care bill so it smells real nice when they open it.

Go Irish, Beat Wolverines!

In order to get maximally pumped, I encourage you all to reread the gloriously unsportsmanlike and now classic Blue-Gray Sky letter to Michigan fans:

Hatefest 2005

My pick:

ND: Jason Statham
Michigan: This guy

Good Boy, Oscar

The family dog died yesterday. He was a lumbering, endearingly oafish, incredibly sweet behemoth, and a good boy.

Merellowicz Wedding

The Merellowicz wedding was a grand success. Although I regret to say that no one exploded, Amy looked like she was about to throughout the entirety of the ceremony. At one point she actually started to bounce with glee--I'm pretty sure Lizett got it on video. There was a lot of the same crowd from the Ball's wedding a couple weeks before, with a few extras. Little Eli is a pretty adorable dude. Maggie was there, and I was pleased to find she has retained her cackle. The reception was a great time, with good Maggiano's food and lego towers. I broke my no dancing rule and must've been getting a little frisky, by which I mean Lizett must have been getting a little frisky, because suddenly Vnak ran up to us screaming "CRAZY MAD SEX TONIGHT! CRAZY! MAD! SEX!" Or, just as likely, that was unrelated to the dancing. One of Merello's cousins brought a hula hoop, and thusly hula'd. Also, I am happy to report that my request for Tuank Tuank was granted, thorougly confusing the woman standing behind me on the dance floor. It's okay, random woman, some things are best left shrouded in mystery. I myself am at a loss for how such a tradition got started, but I imagine they were sitting by candlelight in shadowy cloaks, drinking goldschlager from bejweled goblets.

Vnak: As our next order of business, I propose that once every party, the three eldest of us sneak into Mal & Ball's room, add Daler Mehndi's Tunak Tunak to the playlist, and vigorously engage in synchronized, Bollywood style dancing.

Angelo: The dancing should be done on a futon.

Ben: And we should pretend to pass around a crown.

Vnak: Very well. The wearer of the imaginary crown shall dance so exhuberantly that the destruction of the futon is ensured, and the lives of nearby guests are gravely endagered. Are we all in agreement?

Angelo: Sic infit.

Ben: Cogito sumere potum alterum.

Vnak: SO IT IS FORETOLD! <sacrifices a goat>

Not that I minded the destroyed futon. One could in fact argue that it was actually improved, as the weight of repeated assaults eventually bent the frame into a gentle V, so that any couple crashing on it invariably woke up as a single mass of tangled flesh. BONG! Anyway, the point is the wedding was an awesome time, congrats!