Coincidence?

Steven Tyler + Joe Perry

equals

Tyler Perry



Coincidence? Or is God speaking to me?

Like a Movie

Why can't my life be fun and exciting... like a movie?

Tough Beef

After I dropped Andy off at school I drove down the side street towards the main highway. I had never been this way before, so I was paying more attention than usual. I noticed an unusual amount of manufactured homes that butted up against the narrow road. There was barely enough room for two cars, and there certainly wasn't a lane divider. Should another car come barreling towards me I would have to quickly veer off into the high grass that occupied the shoulder.

As I approached the highway I noticed a large group of cars parked off to the right. A few seconds later I could see a large, run down building sitting on a vast parking lot which was partially paved, and partially dirt, but completely dilapidated. The building was white stucco with dark brown wooden trim and featured a red tile roof. The roof line had been purposefully designed to look like some unholy American version of a Chinese temple. "This must be a Chinese restaurant" I thought to myself. I looked at the sign, which was posted on the East wall, as well as on a large post out front. It read "Tough Beef" in exotic, Asian sign calligraphy. I could see a neon sign in the window that flashed "Open" in red.

I was hungry, but not in the mood for Chinese food. For some reason I was compelled to pull into the parking lot, and park near a chain link fence that separated the restaurant's parking area from the storage facility located next door. There were so many cars in the parking lot I just had to go in and see what was going on. "This place must have been here since the early 70's" I thought to myself. Seeing that it had obviously not been updated, I guessed I would be in for a trip down memory lane. I walked in the dual oval doors and was greeted by a small Mexican lady with a toothy grin. "Bienvenidos!" she said as she rounded the corner, approaching me. It was almost as if she was expecting me.

"This is no Chinese restaurant!" I said to myself. "This is a Mexican place." I was ecstatic. The hostess sat me in a booth with a painting of the Virgin Mary hanging watchfully above. The wall was avocado green and the bench was sparkly red vinyl. Like most booths, the bench seat felt low, and when I put my hands on the table I felt like a muppet anchorman reading the news. I ordered chicken nachos, and they were the greatest nachos I had ever tasted. With each bite I noticed that every ingredient was represented in a consistently perfect ratio. And the consistency- the consistency was heavenly.

I listened in on the conversation between two ladies sitting at a table near my booth. "They catered my daughter's wedding." said the woman with her back to me. "It was good, but I don't think I would ever choose Mexican food for a wedding. It's just not very classy." She took a sip of beer. Her friend was nodding her head in agreement as she sipped on her Margarita. For a moment I felt sorry for the woman's daughter, as I imagined her mother's complaints during the wedding weren't limited to the food.

After my meal I asked the hostess about the restaurant. She informed me that she and her husband moved here from New Mexico in 1986 and bought the restaurant.

Summer With Grandma

"I'm baaaack" he screamed as he ran into the house, slamming the screen door behind him.

"Oh dear" his grandmother said. "How did you manage to get off the bus?"

"I bribed the bus driver with the $40 you gave me" he said proudly. "I told you I don't want to go to Summer Camp."

"You're a real Houdini" she sighed. "I guess its just you and me for the next 6 weeks."

"Great. I'm going over to Dave's house."

"I don't think so. You owe me $40. You're doing chores until you pay off your debt."

And so began his Summer of hard labor.

My Date With a Vampire

It's embarrassing to admit, but I have terrible luck with relationships. I mean, I've turned more women gay than softball. But lets be honest, finding love in today's romantic landscape is challenging. That's why I lowered my standards and signed up for Match.com. After sifting through the vast wasteland of cat ladies and shemales, I finally found Ms. Right. Her name was Samantha, and she was a vampire.

I saw her profile last week and I made first contact by sending a quick message that read "You're hot. I am employed and I speak English. Want to go on a date?" The next day I had an email in my inbox that said "You have a new message...". I frantically opened my web browser and navigated to the dating site to see who had responded to one of my many "feeler" messages. Samantha's reply came with just one word- "sure". Of course I had to follow up to get her phone number and address, but I won't bore you with those details.

She wanted to meet me at midnight out in the woods underneath the weeping willow tree on the night of the first full moon. "How romantic!" I thought.

The night of the big date I made sure to follow my standard pre-date ritual, which consists of making a trip to the ATM, changing into clean underwear, saying 100 Hail Mary's, drinking a Scope-tequila cocktail, and sticking an icepack down my pants for a good half-hour.

I drove out to the woods and arrived at the weeping willow tree 15 minutes early. I sat and waited nearly 2 hours before realizing I'd been stood up. With a deflated ego I walked back to my car and drove home, where I watched Twilight twice before falling asleep.

Once, Twice, Three Times a Bridesmaid

I've been to plenty of weddings over the years, many of which shotgun. Most of them are indistinguishable, as they all seem to follow the same general pattern. "Do you take this man, sickness and health, love and cherish, until death or financial trouble..." "Do you take this woman, sickness and health again, honor and obey, until something better walks along..."

The ceremony usually lasts a little too long and during the 30 minutes or so in which I can't talk or distract myself I am stuck in a folding chair examining my darkest inner-most thoughts. I look around and catch a tearful look on the bride's mom's face and I start to well up. But then I see the groom's nephew playing with his iPhone and my thoughts turn violent as I reach down and grab a nice, round river rock. I check out the bridesmaids and wonder why they avoid my efforts to establish intense eye contact. "The sun must be in their eyes" I think to myself.

After the ceremony I grab a plate of food and smuggle it out to the parking lot and eat in my car, so as to avoid eating with strangers and the awkward conversation that follows. I then take a few hits off the flask, dump some altoids in my mouth, and walk confidently back into the reception area, where I am met with an air of celebration, and people desperately trying to find segues for leaving.

I dance with a drink in my hand because I think it looks cool, and I loosen my tie for the same reason. In between slow dances I play the "mother-daughter" game in which I stare at a girl until her mother notices.

After the reception I go home by myself and leaf through the wedding magazines I keep in the bathroom as a single tear rolls down my face.

Is Everyone on Vacation? I'm Lonely

All this time I had been looking forward to Summer. I thought that the warm weather and the barbecuing would bring me everlasting peace. Instead the Summer brings restlessness and sorrow. Every day spent inside feels wasted, as does each weekend without a special Summer function. Each day that passes reminds me of the finite quality of the season, and in turn directs my thoughts towards my own mortality.

Summer is a time of abandonment. Friends and families pile into the station wagons and leave town. Even TV has packed its swimtrunks and went to the beach without me. All I have to do is wait another month or two and TV will return, bringing football with it. Thanksgiving and Christmas will loom on the horizon, and my life will have purpose again. However, I'm sure that while I'm unwrapping presents or carving a turkey I will be longing for Summer once again.

Circle of life.

Funny, Yet Relevant, Play On Words

... Fonzi Scheme ...

I'm sure somebody thought of it already. I know, I suck. Go to hell.

Michael Jackson's Doctor Implicated in Death

Newsflash ---

Dateline July 14th, 2009:

Los Angeles Police have officially ruled the death of Michael Jackson a Homocide. In a statement issued by Deputy Director Chief Commisioner Trevor Villaizquierda, Dr. Conrad Robert Murray, Michael Jackson's personal physician, has been named as chief suspect in the death of the late pop singer. This announcement comes in the wake of a search warrant issued by the 3rd District Court of Appeals in Los Angeles County for Dr. Murray's Silverlake Condominium.

The search turned up $500,000 in cash, a thank-you card signed by LiveNation CEO Michael Rapino (also in custody) and the alleged murder weapon (see file photo below).

Dr. Murray and his attorney have declined to comment.

There is a God

When I die, and go to heaven, Michael Jackson and E.T. will be there to greet me.