The wife and I braved freezing temperatures last night to watch game three of the National League Divisional Series in a four and a half hour affair that left our extremities numb. 50,000 faithful at Coors Field were in attendance, an impressive number considering the cold. Some highlights:

• The Rockies organization once again fucked up some form of the post-season. The game started at ten after eight. We arrived at the gates at ten 'till eight, happy we would be catching the first pitch. We waited outside Coors Field for forty five minutes in the cold. No announcements as to why tickets were not being taken. No signage explaining why there was a delay. Chants of "Let Us In," almost degenerate into an angry mob poised to rush the gates and get into the game. My sweet wife even mentioned to me how easy it would be to get away with kidney-punching Phillies fan in the mayhem.
  
• By the time we get to our seats, it is the bottom of the second inning and the Rockies are up 2-1. Fucking Rockies organization. I almost do not enjoy my Rockies Dog and refreshing beer(s).
  
• Our section is fun early on; good fans, good spirits and an overall good vibe. This situation changes as sobriety slips away and is replaced with stupidity. Once polite Phillies fans sitting a few sections below us become raging assholes and start picking fights. One of the fans is a fat white guy who has long dreadlocks. Insults are hurled his way. "Cut your hair, white Bob Marley, " and, "Got any weed?" and my personal favorite (because I said it), "Go home to your bottle of shampoo, hairbag."
  
• The couple in the row below us are stoned out of their mind. Through out the game, the guy eats slices of salami he has smuggled into the game via his coat pocket. No Ziploc. No brown bag. Literally eating slices of salami from his coat pocket.
• The girl below us dances like she is at a rave every time music comes on. Her balance is so off I remark to the wife, "That girl is going to take a spill." Within minutes of my comment, it happens. The crowd is on its feet after Carlos Gonzalez belts a solo shot to right field and the girl takes a head plant into the seats below her, flips over another row, lands on her head again and somehow manages to finish the maneuver with her ass in a seat four rows down. She looks confused, disoriented and possibly concussed. Her boyfriend expresses no concern and casually takes another slice of salami from his coat pocket.
• We decide to head out in the bottom of the ninth as our infant son it at his grandparents and probably needs sleep. It kills us both considering Brad Lidge has been a nightmare closing ball games this season. By the time we arrive at the the car, the Rockies have lost 6-5, unable to cash in two walks.

Upon further reflection, I should have kidney-punched a Phillies fan to make my night more enjoyable. Especially the fat one with dreadlocks.

Labels: colorado, denver, drinking, drugs, l-i-v-i-n, sports, wife

Fatherhood has yet to provide me with any kind of spiritual awakening. After speaking to the other expectant fathers in my various babying classes, I was expecting angels to descend from heaven and play a harp rendition of "MMMBop" while I recognized the kinship of all living things when my son was born. Instead, I was relieved that the boy arrived with no serious health/birth defects and his mother did not go all 19th Century on me and bleed to death during childbirth and leave me and the boy to resent our stations in life and grow bitter over the years while tending to the family farm. It is cool to have an entire life dependent on you. It is also scary as hell. I think the true measure of whether or not I was a successful parent will come when it is time for me to go into a nursing home. If I did well? The boy will come visit me with his family on a semi-regular basis and take me out for a steak on occasion while tolerating my rants at the waitress for being too slow with the side order of gravy. If I did not do well? I will suffer in a multi-level town house in Thornton and eat Alpo out of the can and call my son "a fucking pussy" when he makes his annual call to wish me a happy birthday. Right now the boy is much like a zombie army; singularly focused on food, growing at an exponential rate and adverse to any kind of a rest. I am debating the Boggins Window Crib to make nap time more interesting. Not sure if that will get me the steak dinner or the Alpo. Only time will tell.

Labels: bad parents, family, l-i-v-i-n, music, pop culture, the boy, tomfoolery, wife

Articles like this make me happy I committed to Broz Design last November. From a guy who has been laid off and fired more than most, I can tell you that offering to cut your own salary will do little other than show your employer you have no pride left. If anything, it makes you look desperate and afraid.

I take more risks with my income than most. There is no guarantee when my next pay check will arrive. My retainer clients may decide to cut losses and liquidate their contracts tomorrow. Yet in spite of all this, I am happier than I have ever been professionally. I have always refused (sometimes at my own peril) to justify to anyone why my skills and abilities are indispensable. If my work did not speak for itself or it went about unnoticed, than I do not want to work for you.

My employment missteps have led me to where I am today. I am flourishing. I do not have to wear pants to work. I am making enough money to keep diapers on the boy. I would rather fail on my own that be somebody's puppet. I do not like anyone's hand up my ass, be it metaphorically or literally.

Labels: broz design, career, l-i-v-i-n, pants-free, the boy

The first few weeks of parenthood have been rife with happiness, urine, poop and sleep in three hour clips. The boy is still getting the day/night schedule figured out so I am getting used to working at four in the morning while he squirms about and makes cute little noises. The wife has it far worse as she is the food source and usually the one waking up at all hours to nurse. Women really get the shitty end of the deal in nature. Menstruation? Check. Squeezing a living human out of your vagina? Check. On call for the first year (or first six years if you are a perverted fruitcake) to suckle said living human? Check. Then here I am, Sperms McGee. Just the male actor in a straight porn movie. The prop. "Stand over there with your penis and do not say anything stupid. We will call you when we are ready."

Labels: babies, family, l-i-v-i-n, porn, the boy, vajayjay

The wife has successfully gone number three and brought into this world our first offspring (click here for some hot Flickr action). She was in labor for 33 hours and produced our eight pound, twenty-inch boy on April 7, 2009 just after 8:13 PM. I saw many things I can never un-see during the birth of my son. All parts of the female anatomy are now completely demystified for me. While I can still objectify naked woman, I now understand that nature intended for boobs to be suckled by infants and that a vagina was meant for a baby to be pushed out of, not for me to press/push/thrust my penis on/in/around. The boy is experiencing a touch of the Jaundice and is currently laying in a portable baby tanning bed, but other than that, we are all happy, healthy and exhausted.

Labels: babies, boobs, family, l-i-v-i-n, pregnancy, the boy, vajayjay, wife

The aftermath of the nature's windy wrath has been rife with insurance adjusters, fence contractors, gutter repairmen and one unemployed handyman that was canvasing our neighborhood door-to-door who claimed he could reset our fence posts for "next to nothing" (I quickly learned that "next to nothing" in unemployed handyman talk comes out to be roughly $750). The insurance adjuster stopped by on Saturday morning to assess our property damage and surprisingly turned out to be a genial individual with a soul. Not only did he agree to our damage assessment to the house and fence, he gave us money to replace our hammock that looks more beat up than Tara Reid's midsection and some roof shingles that may or may not have been ruined via the storm. Minus our $1,000 deductible, insurance will cover nearly 100% of our property damage which was far more than we expected. This week I will be supervising gutter and fence contractors hammer away on the homestead in the chilly January air from the office window while I drink coffee in the warmth.

Labels: colorado, l-i-v-i-n, the greens, wind

Early this morning the wife and I awoke to the hurricane force winds. In Colorado. In the winter. When champagne powder should be falling from the sky, young lovers should be skating a frozen pond with hot cups of Wassail and children should be giggling as they sled down soft twinkling hills of twilight gossamer. Instead, fences are being destroyed and coming out of the ground post-first, gutters are being shredded and left for dead and beloved backyard napping furniture is being cast asunder. Thankfully, our wind damage is minor compared to some in the neighborhood. For the record, I call a 35-foot tall pine tree blowing down on top of your fence "major."

Labels: colorado, l-i-v-i-n, the greens, wife, wind

As my seed festers in my wife's baby maker, I have been laying awake at nights and pondering life's important questions. Will I turn into the cold, unforgiving man my father was growing up when my unborn child arrives? Will I be able to afford diapers and a college fund? Will the wife and I stay happily married with the added stress of a newborn baby? Could DJ and I get away with beating Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt to death? I keep coming back to one nagging query; do I hate my job or do I hate my career? While I acknowledge I do not have the worst professional life by a long shot (I could be languishing in data sales, for example), I cannot say that I am satisfied with where I am currently at career-wise (nor, for that matter, have I ever been satisfied). I love what I do but I am finally acknowledging that I am running on creative fumes. A new job may be the answer. A full-time stab at freelance may be the answer. Writing the book I told myself I would write a long time ago may be the answer. In short; I am dealing with a lot of shit. Confucius once said "By three methods we may learn wisdom: first, by reflection, which is noblest; second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest." F'in A, Confucius. F'in A.

Labels: babies, career, death, dj, feelings, l-i-v-i-n, pop culture, wife

The first trimester has been a breeze for me thus far. The wife on the other hand, has been experiencing severe exhaustion, hormonal mood swings, headaches, that hungover morning feeling minus the enjoyment of a night consuming numerous gin and tonics and ravenous hunger. Non-pregnant wife has always been a small eater, happily subsisting for weeks on nothing but ice chips and lettuce. Pregnant wife on the other hand, can put away the grub. Thus far her predominant pregnancy craving has been tacos. We actually rolled to Taco Bell late one night because "Momma had a hankerin'" (the wife last made a Run For The Border during her junior year of college a decade ago). Last week after our first doctor's appointment, we spent over $30 dollars at Little Anitas on just tacos. I pride myself on my taco consumption and plan on matching the pregnant wife's totals anytime she sends me to an area taco stand during the wee hours of the morning. This is a sacrifice I am willing to make on behalf of my unborn child. I think this is the definition of unconditional love.

Labels: babies, drinking, l-i-v-i-n, pregnancy, tacos, wife

About a month and half ago, the wife decided to get off birth control to, "See what happens?" Three weeks later, the wife excitedly woke me up by waving a positive pregnancy test in my face. My immediate response was, "Did you just pee on that?" I spent the rest of the day like I think most men do upon finding out their woman is with child; praising my sperm and a youth spent rubbering up and then planning all the chores my child will perform once it is potty-trained. For the past few weeks I have been running the gamut of emotions; happiness, excitement and the crippling fear that I will soon be responsible for another human life. Later today we have our first doctor's appointment where a man twice my age will familiarize himself with my wife's lady parts while I watch helplessly. Operation Baby Thunder and nine months of a personal designated driver has officially begun!

Labels: babies, health, l-i-v-i-n, pregnancy, sex, vajayjay, wife

Before my wife, the only time I lit candles was when I was sitting closest to the cake at a birthday party. She exposed me to a world of scented lotions, methods for doing laundry that did not include sorting clothing into two piles; "whites" and "everything else" and of course, candles. Now I have candles everywhere. I never knew one needed scented candles for bathrooms, offices, living rooms, family rooms, spare bedrooms and laundry rooms. Every odor issue in our house is solved by lighting a candle. "God you stink, Matty. We should light a candle!" Maybe I could take a shower? My wife has corrupted me. I now find myself debating the aromatic pleasures in the Yankee Candle area at Bed, Bath & Beyond. Do I want Pumpkin Pie or Clean Cotton? Cucumber Melon or Beach Walk? Finally, there is a candle company that appeals to my male sensibilities; Hot Wicks. They carry scents that smell of urinal cakes, campfires and strippers. Hot Wicks describes the stripper scent as, "the perfume counter at your local department store times a thousand ... then add some glitter." I think a more accurate description is "bitter desperation mixed with the hint of ass sweat, stale bourbon and broken dreams."

Labels: l-i-v-i-n, pop culture, strippers, the greens, wife

Friday. The wife and I attend the 2008 Punk Rocks show at Red Rocks. The band lineup includes NOFX, Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Bouncing Souls, Street Dogs and young Denver skate punks Frontside Five (the Circle Jerks are a no-show). I soon recognize how old I am when I breeze through beer lines in mere minutes. I soon learn that new punk kids like smoking weed way more than old punk kids. NOFX, Mighty Mighty Bosstones and Bouncing Souls are still awesome. The Street Dogs are the opposites of awesome due to an hour and a half set and a fifteen minute dissertation on who the Ramones are and why they are so important to punk music. The only way to make their set less cliche would have be for the lead singer to not remove his shirt before his Ramones tribute song only to reveal a strategically planned Ramones shirt underneath. I conclude that six hour concerts and $7 beers are not nearly as fun in my thirties as they were in my twenties.

Saturday. Enter the annual neighborhood pool luau. We represent a respectable drinking crew and my next door neighbor's classic rock cover band melts faces. Our HOA is awesome because they allow (tolerate) my next door neighbor to wheel an ice-cold keg over to the pool to serve free beer. I soon realize that inflatable monkeys cannot sustain the belly-flop weight of a grown man from a diving board. Post-luau we torch a fire in the backyard pit and the wife provides ingredients for 'smores. Three people fall asleep in their chairs. I conclude that staying up late and drinking until intoxication two nights in a row is not nearly as fun in my thirties as it was in my twenties.

Sunday. My annual fantasy football draft goes down in the living room. Being as this is the fifteenth year of my league's existence and the same team owners have been in said league for the past six years, I expect the draft to take no more than two hours. Four hours and eight cases of beer later, the draft concludes after much humor, animosity and stupidity (this sums up my fantasy football league perfectly: upon the draft's conclusion one team owner loudly proclaimed, "I have to get going. I am late for marriage counseling.") Steak, potatoes and a gigantic apple pie from Costco are then decimated in less than twenty minutes. I conclude that sports gambling and NFL football viewing are not nearly as fun in my thirties as they were in my twenties.

Labels: chili dog, denver, drinking, drugs, glory days, kaye, l-i-v-i-n, music, sg crew, sports, the greens, weekend that was, wife

Two years ago today you foolishly took my hand in marriage. During that time, I have been unemployed twice (1, 2), made the neighbors suspect I was beating you when yelling "You dirty bitch!" at the computer while designing a website, bulged a disc, come home late countless nights from post-hockey drinking benders, continued my subscription to numerous smut magazines, remained dutifully absent from all Monday night plans during the fall/winter to drink with my Fantasy Football buddies, run down a couch on the highway and have never let you hold the television remote in my presence. In short, you are still the amazing, accepting and funny person that I fell in love with. I appreciate you more with each passing day and I love you like Extreme; More Than Words. Happy second anniversary, honey. It is the cotton anniversary so let us pick up some righteous sheets that make it feel as if we were sleeping atop a marshmallow cloud. Or we can save our money and just get a giant box of maxi pads. Those commercials make them look like giant stingrays swimming. Just saying.

Labels: drinking, feelings, hockey, l-i-v-i-n, open letter, sg crew, wedding, wife

Friday. The wife and I attend a homemade rib bonanza at Team Muff's house where we drain shitty Mexican beer and play a rousing game of Trivial Pursuit 90s Edition. Proof that we have all turned into our parents: we began questioning the "correctness" of card answers and commenting on how staying up until 11:30 seemed "late."

Saturday. The wife and I attend a barbecue at DJs which we learn upon walking into his house is actually his birthday party. The wife gets angry at me for not knowing it was his birthday (even though it was on the Evite) and I explain to her that knowing when your guy friends birthday is is totally gay, and if I bought a gift for him we would have to move in together and begin re-decorating his house in the finest tapestries and velvets. I down a homemade chili beer that I regret four hours later, eat some swine and watch some UFC fighting. The wife and I decided to duck out early to get some sleep. When we arrive back at home, Team Hofkamp stops over with a twelve pack of shitty Mexican beer and cigarettes. We hang out in our backyard for an hour until my neighbor invites us over the fence to share in his raging backyard chimenea fire and more shitty Mexican beers and cigarettes. Four hours and eight beers later, we go to bed.

Sunday. The wife and I walk over to the movie multiplex to catch the new Indiana Jones joint. On the way, we stop to view the recently dedicated (but unfinished) Armed Forces Tribute Garden. We grab a burger and some Lumpy Dogs at the Rock Bottom Brewery before watching yet another abortion written by George Lucas. Why do you hate me George Lucas? Aliens and UFOs? Shia LaBeouf as some sort of 1950s hood with a Pompadour and switchblade swinging on vines with monkeys? Next thing you know, you will be telling me that the force is some kind of blood disorder. Oh. Right.

Monday. The wife, myself and 52,000 other people run the Bolder Boulder under the cover of cool mist and fog. My back (almost fully healed from the bulged disc) feels great and I finish in just over an hour. We retire to the homestead for a much needed shower and nap. Later we attend two more Memorial Day barbecues that feel like autumn barbecues due to the inclement weather. I play ping pong. I play foosball. I play 3-square with a beer in my hand. I go to sleep wishing I celebrated three day weekends more often.

Labels: chili dog, dj, drinking, family, food, gluttony, health, kaye, l-i-v-i-n, movies, pop culture, the greens, weekend that was, wife

Yesterday I rolled into the local liquor superstore Total Beverage to replenish my depleted garage refrigerator beer stocks and keep the wife happy with a thumb-hole jug of Tanqueray and assorted flavors of tonic water. The TBev is a magical place where the end of the liquor rainbow meets with the weakness of humankind to form an alcohol purgatory where all stripes and strata of society are equal in the eyes of their liquid master. In the checkout line I witnessed the following things:

• Two morbidly obese females getting their fake IDs confiscated by the manager.
• An Eminem reject attempting to purchase two 40 ounces of Olde English and a carton of GPC Basic cigarettes only to realize that he did not have enough money to purchase said items. He eventually settled for one 40 ounce and one pack of smokes.
• A frazzled store clerk having the following sarcastic exchange with an oblivious 8-Mile after he figured out his money situation:
  "Why are you guys so busy today?"
  "It's Mother's Day Weekend. Mom's like to get down."
  "Oh."

Labels: l-i-v-i-n, liquor, tomfoolery, wife

After running down an errant couch on I-25, the wife and I decided the time was nigh to purchase a new automobile. We first called our credit union to get pre-approved for a loan and were pleased to learn they offered their customers a free auto broker service. This was exactly what I wanted to hear as car salesman rank in character somewhere between necrophiliacs and Rent-A-Center employees to me. The wife and I were referred to a genial gentleman named Gordon. He called to inform of us of an auto inventory showcase they were having the next day at Bandimere Speedway and invited us to come down and test drive whatever he had. So we did. He introduced himself and then became scarce and the wife and I spent the rest of the morning speeding new and used whips around the hills near Morrison, Colorado. We fell in love with the 2008 Toyota RAV4, both for the V6 engine and the stellar Consumer Reports ratings (thanks EZ). After discussing the features we were looking for in an automobile with Gordon, he informed us that he would scour the Denver metro area for what we wanted. The next day he called to inform us that he procured a 2008 flint-colored, be-moonroofed Toyota RAV4 and that he was driving it up to the crib to let us take it for a spin. We loved the damn thing (of course) and two days and fifteen minutes of paperwork later, the wife and I had us a new ride.

I made my final voyage in the Ghost of War yesterday (a youngster in Castle Rock bought her for $500) first to Santiagos for a sack of breakfast burritos and than to the office. She was a steady machine that gave me scant trouble in ten years of hard driving (I work a clutch like a Mexican field hand works a burro). Godspeed, Ghost of War. May all your future rides be down the smoothest of couch-free roads.

Labels: colorado, denver, ez, ghost of war, l-i-v-i-n, technology, the greens, wife

Tonight on our drive down to south Denver for a hockey game, the Ghost of War smashed into an errant sofa on I-25 at about 75 mph (the sofa conveniently lay on the highway less than three hundred feet from Furniture Row). I am guessing that a new sofa purchaser, unskilled in the art of twine and furniture hauling, dropped that big bastard on the road upon merging and failed to look in their rear view mirror to notice that their load was lost. The sofa lay in the far right lane as we sped along in the far left lane. An eighteen wheeler barreled through said sofa and sent it careening across the highway. The Ghost of War happened it be directly in its wake. I swerved enough to deflect the brunt of the blow, but the old girl still got tagged pretty good. The damage included the passenger side mirror being shattered into oblivion, a large dent on the passenger side door and the passenger side headlight being bashed to pieces (click here for some hot Flickr action). Being as the Ghost of War still gets 35 miles to the gallon and is paid for, I am running her for at least another 100K. I plan on hitting the Yota Yard at lunch tomorrow for some replacement parts as it is close to the office and located directly across the street from the Walnut Room (which makes a mean meatball sandwich). May the parts be with me, indeed.

Labels: denver, ghost of war, l-i-v-i-n, tomfoolery, wife

Now that the bulged disc is mostly healed, the sciatic nerve is growing less annoying by the day and my stupid injury is tolerating two league nights of ice hockey again, the wife and I decided to get back on the fitness train. For Xmas we bought ourselves a treadmill and are looking into a bench and dumbbell set (I am hoping some recently divorced father of three will be unloading a joint cheap on Craigslist because he is moving into a crappy one bedroom apartment due to crushing monthly alimony and child support payments). These fitness items all fit nicely into our unfinished basement. My goal is to be back in pristine condition for the 2008 Runnin' Of The Green in the middle of March (Runnin' Of The Green is a 7K road race through downtown Denver which features free beer and corned beef upon crossing the finish line. The Irish finally got something right).

On Monday we started a high-fiber, high-vitamin cleansing that has shaved four pounds off my middle and has seen feces flying from my ass faster than a midget being fired from a cannon (I tallied a lifetime record ten bowel movements today that were both refreshing and enjoyable). We finish said cleansing this Saturday when I will start eating solid food again in lieu of fitness shakes and health bars.

Labels: denver, health, injury, l-i-v-i-n, wife

On Saturday morning, I dragged the wife out of bed, bought her a coffee and took her along with me on a magical voyage to Comcast. Our mission? To trade in our old cable box for some hot HD DVR action. It is true that I may not love our unborn children as much as I love this box of wires and wonder. We just got finished watching the first two episodes of American Gladiators and high definition shots of sweaty beatings, homoeroticism, exuberant machismo and water-soaked camel toe never looked so good

Labels: l-i-v-i-n, technology, wife

I recently learned that I have a herniated disc. I tweaked my back after a hockey game last November and have spent the last year in varying degrees of agony. Bouncing around jobs and health providers this past year has not helped the recovery process. Nor has sitting in front of the computer nine to ten hours a day designing websites. Nor has playing in three softball leagues, two hockey leagues, one kickball league and running in six road races. These past few days I have been laid up on the couch and experiencing excruciating pain when attempting to put socks on. I started physical therapy on Tuesday and have an appointment with a reputable chiropractor tomorrow afternoon. I will be taking it easy for the next few weeks whacked out of my skull on horse-grade anti-inflammatories and tall glasses of bourbon.

Labels: injury, l-i-v-i-n

For those uninitiated with high plains landscaping, juniper bushes are abundant as they flourish in arid soil and spread faster than an STD on a college campus. My hatred for this vile shrub dates back to my high school years when I worked at a golf course and spent much of one summer removing throngs of this coniferous abortion. Upon purchasing our house, I knew that cutting up the overgrown junipers in our front yard would be imminent. This weekend, while the wife was playing in a softball tournament, I chainsawed one bush to the ground. The work was taxing and sweat poured from every orifice but it was also satisfying. The plan is to remove all the junipers in the next few weeks and plant more aesthetically pleasing and manageable shrubs in their place. I will have some excellent before and afters shots on Flickr when the work is done.

Aside: I have yet to finalize a method for pulling the stumps/roots out of the ground. I have narrowed it down to three ways:

1. The Firestarter Method. Pour kerosene/gasoline on the stumps. Wait three weeks until root dies. Remove.
2. Granpappy's String-To-Tooth-To-Door-And-Slam Method. Tie one end of chain around root base and the other end to a truck trailer hitch (truck must have four wheel drive). Accelerate and remove.
3. Aquaman Method. Saturate root with water. Remove with pick axe.

Labels: l-i-v-i-n, the greens

Last night our kitty threw down with a neighbor cat that wandered into our backyard (the wife described the interloper as twice her size and black). I was upstairs on the computer when I heard the ruckus. The wife bolted out the back door after the whirlwind of fur, fangs and claws to break it up. The felines were spry and the fight quickly spilled over the fence and into the neighbors yard leaving no time for the wife to hurl a broom javelin style between the cats like my late grandfather Broz. Kitty came strolling to the back door an hour later seemingly unfazed by the scrap. Further inspection revealed a bloody back paw and a claw that had been snapped off (hopefully in her opponents face). Her psychological well being seemed off the rest of the night (moreso than usual) and we were concerned she tangled with some diseased pussy. To our relief, she woke us this morning in her normal manner; laying on our faces, licking our faces and purring like a chain saw. We can only hope she clawed the eyes out of her opponent and taught it a lesson.

Labels: kitty, l-i-v-i-n, the greens, wife

Tonight the wife and I will be attending the Gwen Stefani concert at the Pepsi Center and joining throngs of anorexic sorority sisters whacked out on Dexatrim, underage girls adorned in midriff shirts and flaming homosexual men badly singing, "This shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S!" I bought her the tickets for Valentines Day after scoring a sweet deal on StubHub that will put us in the fifteenth row. This should be a close enough to turn the wife into a blubbering mess of drunken fan girl as well as fill my masturbatory database for a solid year after catching shots of dew and early morning fur from the Pussycat Dolls.

Post-Concert Update: A Gwen Stefani fan demographic I completely overlooked yesterday: lesbians. Namely, hardcore, golf coaching, femullet sporting, hardware store lesbians. We were lucky enough to sit next to a fun couple that fit into this aforementioned classification. Not only were they friendly, half drunk and had a great sense of humor; they enjoyed making out during most of Gwen's ballads. I was saddened to learn the Pussycat Dolls were not opening (I was fed misinformation) and instead had to listen to the verbal abortion that is Lady Sovereign. Akon took the stage next and was solid all around save for the ten minutes he gave the mic to some Beyonce-wannabe hack signed to his label that sucked the life out of the crowd. Akon sang about the ghetto and being in love with strippers and made countless inquires to the female audience members while taking off a shirt saying, "Ladies are you ready for this?" Eventually he got rid of the shirt all together and informed us it was alright to do so because he goes to the gym and gets "his fitness right." Gwen took the stage amid the piercing shrieks of thousands of middle school girls and proceeded to dominate the set. She was at her best when the show antics were at a minimum (she had a troupe of break dancers and Japanese girls doing all sorts of shit behind her) and did one song in the middle of the crowd (much to delight of the folks sitting in general admission). She accidentally called Colorado "Utah" in the middle of a song, but she made up for it by mocking herself for the slip up afterward and displaying her naked, shredded midriff and scantily-covered "mom" boobs for the rest of the night. Overall I would say it was a great performance. Walking out of the venue we ran into my best friend growing up and his girlfriend (he also bought her the tickets for Valentines Day) and we decided to stop into Brooklyn's for "a drink." After downing six beers each we then headed home.

Labels: denver, drinking, l-i-v-i-n, lesbians, music, pop culture, wife

These past few weeks the wife and I have been up to our tits in U-Hauls, moving boxes, giant Tupperware containers and throngs of able-bodied help throwing our furniture around for the promise of free food and liquor (including one tattooed freakshow who has visited the new crib twice since moving day but has yet to bring over any housewarming scotch). Amidst the chaos we only lost one small mirror that the wife purchased on clearance at Marshalls. While the wife was conveniently out of town I spent the past few days unpacking, trimming juniper bushes, raking leaves, committing genocide on the ant colony in the mud room, configuring the entertainment center and setting up my office. My Dad gave me a bevy of tools; rakes, shovels, hedge clippers, an extension cord, a pruner, a hatchet, a lawnmower and a gas trimmer that came with the spoken caveat, "Don't tell your mother I gave it to you. I just bought it last summer." A housewarming party will be imminent. Bring scotch.

Labels: dad, jake, l-i-v-i-n, moving, the greens, wife

The moment of truth arrived for the wife and I as potential property owners this past Saturday; the dreaded home inspection. The first few times we walked into the house we were awash in euphoria and statements like "We could put our [furniture piece] in this corner" or "We could do [short-term project that will turn into a long-term project] this summer." The reckoning arrived in the form of an elderly gentlemen with shaky hands and a red Geo Metro. Being as the home inspection is a make-or-break affair, I called in Big Guns (read: my Dad) to tag along while the inspector eviscerated our future residence. My old man is the working class hero of North Metro Denver, somewhat akin to Bruce Springsteen minus the gravely voice and the E-Street Band. Whenever something breaks, my Dad "Has a guy" for it. Usually that guy has a blue collar handle like Jimbo or Murph and will charge you little to no labor costs to fix the problem. The inspector was a friendly and competent man, and aside from my Dad correcting him about an electrical box and aluminum wiring being legal for certain types of jobs, he wrote a fine report. He mentioned on numerous occasions that the house was "well built" and "has good guts." Aside from some leaky gutters, a pipe that needs tightening, a sewer line scoping and siphon valves that need to be installed on the sprinkler system, the future homestead is in solid working order. On a related note my Dad just sent over a quote this morning that his sprinkler guy Bruno gave him to install the siphon valves. He agreed to do most of the work for cost.

Labels: dad, l-i-v-i-n, real estate, the greens, wife

The wife and I have spent the past month and a half looking for a house all over Denver and her surrounding suburbs. We have seen our share of some awful, filthy and disgusting properties. Any one who has ever shopped for real estate knows the market is rife with run-down hell holes, terrible design choices (such as flowered wallpaper and faux wood paneling), homes that haven't been updated since the Kennedy administration and box elder bug infestations that would make the scene in Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom look like amateur hour. This past weekend we finally walked into a house and felt like we were "home". We made an offer on Wednesday and the offer was countered last night, being upped a few grand and the sellers agreeing to cover the closing costs (buyers market, yo). We gladly accepted because the house is the tits; 2500 square feet (3100 if you count the unfinished basement), updated dumpers, counter tops and lighting, over sized two car garage and air conditioning. Assuming the inspection goes well we move in on March 31. I intend to do a naked moonlight ass-walk on the deck off the master suite on night one. You know, to set the tone.

Labels: l-i-v-i-n, real estate, the greens, wife

Minutes ago I heard sirens nearby and instantly thought the authorities were raiding another meth lab in the neighboring apartment complex or that another unit in our town home community was on fire. I set foot outside to witness paramedics wheeling out a dead body four units down.'Burb livin' is hardcore, yo. Represent.

Labels: death, l-i-v-i-n, the fairways

I am tired of your attitude, Winter. This is not the cabin scene from Dr. Zhivago. This is Colorado and we revel in living at high altitude. We are used to eight inches of snow falling one day and then melting by sundown the next. As it stands now, the mountain of plowed snow in the town home parking lot is just growing in size and I am dangerously close to losing the bet I made with the wife in regards as to when it will melt. Granted, it was a friendly wager but just once in this marriage I would like to be right.

Labels: colorado, l-i-v-i-n, snow, the fairways, wife

I am mesmerized by large, flat high definition screens, stereo surround sound, sub woofers that shake the house and anything that has an Apple logo on it. I am usually beyond anal retentive when it comes to keeping my electronics in immaculate condition. I cringe when the kitty gets too close to the multi-channel receiver or when the wife sticks a greasy finger too close to the 24" display. Enter this past Sunday. A backpack carrying our treasured MacBook Pro was carelessly placed on the edge of a table in the Boise Airport terminal while Daddy was off procuring himself a Bloody Mary. An elbow (who's elbow is not important) accidentally knocked the backpack off the table and turned our once beautiful MacBook Pro into a hideous and deformed beast. We still love you, MacBook Pro. Even if you look like Joseph Merrick.

Labels: geekery, l-i-v-i-n, technology

The wife and I spent the weekend gallivanting around Boise, Idaho and visiting with family. Some highlights:

• Taking your intermediate level skiing wife down a run called Widowmaker first thing in the morning does not help her psychologically for the rest of the day. It just scares the bejesus out of her.
• My wife's grandfather, aged 97, to me regarding the Boise State Fiesta Bowl victory: "It was the best thing to ever happen to this town."
• A hotel room sink packed with ice can hold a twelve pack of Alaskan Amber nicely.
• My wife's grandfather, aged 97, to the jabbering ladies on stage during Robbie Burns Night: "Get on with it!"
• Haggis and Scottish shortbread cookies make for a fine meal.
• If the United Nations would only listen to heavily intoxicated, foul-mouthed artists and German citizens working towards Ph.D.'s in brain cancer research than this world would be a much better place.
• I was recognized as "That guy from the parade" twice in the same night. Once next to the urinal in the men's bathroom at the Bittercreek Alehouse and once outside the Bittercreek Alehouse by a throng of intoxicated college girls.

Labels: boise, drinking, family, idaho, l-i-v-i-n, sports, travels, wife

A message to all pants-free subway riders in NYC: You are poseurs. I live the >pants-free dream everyday. Or at least I did before this cold, arctic air rolled into town. Yesterday I reveled in the sub-tropical 18-degree afternoon by wearing Puma track pants and starting my car without it sounding like Han Solo's frozen Tauntaun just before it dropped dead. When the temperature gets back to above freezing again, then the pants come and off and sweet freedom returns.

Labels: l-i-v-i-n, pants-free, the fairways

The wife after seeing me in a hockey jersey, baggy shorts and catching the stink of cologne on me:

"Look at you, getting all dressed up for work."

The hockey jersey, baggy shorts and cologne are a modified version of the Italian Shower, which, in its truest essence, a monochromatic tracksuit, a drenching in Armani cologne and at least four pieces of gold jewelry (which must consist of a watch, a ring, a bracelet and a crucifix necklace). A more accurate description of my slovenliness is a cross between an Italian Shower and a Navy Bath; which is hand soap and sink water splashed about the armpits and genitals than liberally dried and a caked-on or over-sprayed deodorant application. Either way, it is time for me to take a shower.

Labels: career, funk, l-i-v-i-n, wife

Working from home affords some tremendous opportunities; like watching the incompetence of our home owner's association labor contractors unfold before my very eyes. Take this afternoon for example. Armed with shovels and picks, Indian Summer Landscaping was out in full force today with orders to chisel away at the layers of ice on the driveways and sidewalks. This work is essential as Colorado is expecting another big storm this Friday and it would be helpful to have unobstructed gutters and walkways so the snow/ice can melt faster. Instead, I watched as the laborers worked hard at dragging their shovels down the middle of the already plowed street, smoking cigarettes and sucking down Giant Big Gulps. I hope we get fifteen inches of snow and you assholes have to work through the weekend.

Labels: colorado, l-i-v-i-n, snow, the fairways

Here in Denver, we have not pulled an intact, fossilized woolly mammoth out of the permafrost yet but I did just witness a family of Eskimos clubbing a baby seal out in the town home common area. I awoke this morning to another big winter storm (now dubbed "The Storm That Should Not Be") and the third immense snow dumping in the past three weeks. We are currently sitting on about seven inches of fresh snow here in the northwestern suburbs and it does not appear to be stopping anytime soon.

Labels: colorado, l-i-v-i-n, snow, the fairways

The wife and I spent the Christian New Year within stumbling distance from the house by slogging it to a party in a foot and half of ice, slush and snow with a backpack full of booze. We welcomed in 2007 with burnt pizza, shots of Jack Daniels, warm Squirt chasers and countless games of Guitar Hero (Kaye and I rocked in 2007 with a head-to-head ax battle of Cheap Trick's "Surrender" neither of us caring that it was past midnight). On New Year's Day we invited the in-laws over to watch the Fiesta Bowl in High Definition and eat sweetened swine. Three native Idahoans were in the house as Boise State upset Oklahoma in overtime to go undefeated on the season and wreak havoc on BCS voting. Swept up in the heat of the win, famed running back and crochet master knitter Ian Johnson proposed to his girlfriend. In other news, Jessica Alba throws a football in a bikini.

Labels: drinking, geekery, kaye, l-i-v-i-n, new years, pop culture, sports, tomfoolery, wife

Christmas came and went without much aplomb; spirits were imbibed, holiday cookies were devoured, presents were opened, kittens went bezerker rage on their stockings and cousins in from Baghdad with an affinity for strip clubs and Heineken's were entertained. The wife got me some new creative direction slippers to keep my feet warm while I command oversea subcontractors from afar and utilize new Apple products in the home office. It appears I will be getting screwed out of another work snow day tomorrow as the Kwanzaa Blizzard rolled into the metro area this afternoon to blanket the foot of snow not yet melted from the Hanukkah Blizzard.

Labels: blizzard, career, colorado, l-i-v-i-n, snow, xmas

One of the few things that sucks about working from home is you do not get a snow day unless the power goes out. I spent most of the Hanukkah Blizzard aftermath on the phone with my genial new boss going over job duties and procedures. Around lunch the wife and I went outside to dig my car out as the plow company packed a night's worth of snow in front of the community parking area. At dusk we strapped on our snowshoes and went for a trek around Lake Arbor Golf Course. It was a beautiful evening of breaking trail and assuaging cabin fever. Now we are hunkering down for a night of terrible 80s movies (Cocktail is on as I post this), a blasting furnace and Amaretto eggnogs.

Labels: blizzard, career, colorado, l-i-v-i-n, snow, the fairways

Last night I took the wife up to Creekside Cellars for her 30th birthday. We sat in the wine cellar all up on the romance-ambiance tip as a marvelous spread of assorted meats, cheeses, olives and wines were laid before us. My old friend Tim runs the joint and we spent the evening killing glasses of wine and discussing the intricacies of wine production, basic chemistry, The Satanic Bible, high school shenanigans and String theory. The highlight of the evening came when Tim tapped a decade worth of wine barrels for us to sample with a turkey baster. If you are ever in downtown Evergreen, I recommend the place for a great night out (be sure to pick up a bottle of the 2003 Robusto. Trust me). If you play your cards right on a winter's night, you will even be able to play some drunken pond hockey on the lake afterwards.

Labels: birthday, colorado, drinking, l-i-v-i-n, wife, wine

My immediate family is now 28% unemployed. My sister was laid off from her job yesterday as nothing says Happy Holidays like a pink slip and a lackluster severance package. While my career is artistic triviality at best, hers is choked full of sexual deviants, pedophiles, predators and substance abusers. No, she is not a politician, she is (was) a caseworker for Colorado Social Services. I am hopeful she will land on her feet in a job with better pay and something easier on her psyche. As for my employment situation: 88 resumes sent, 7 interviews and a lone job offer from the place creative people go to die.

Labels: family, l-i-v-i-n, unemployment

The wife and I celebrated our annual Thanksgiving tradition and ran in the Denver Turkey Trot this morning. The weather was beautiful and my legs and lungs felt good. My iPod crapped out on me during mile 3 and after numerous attempts to reboot the device, I am now faced with retiring the old girl for one of those new fangled jimmys. Soon we will be off to gorge on basted fowl and curse Jake Plummer as he fumble fucks around on the gridiron and causes our beloved Broncos lose two in a row to division rivals. Happy Thanksgiving.

Labels: denver, geekery, health, l-i-v-i-n, sports, thanksgiving, wife

The wife and I have been back and forth to the local Petco for all manner of kitty supplies over the past few days. After three trips to the same store, I have noticed that every employee appears to have a serious drug problem. Sunday we rolled in with our new pussy to get some Meow Mix and a litter box. Our cashier who reeked of cigarettes, wore a bad perm and had fewer teeth than a jack-o-lantern asked us for the inane details regarding our feline. Tuesday we patronize the store for a litter box scoop and a spray bottle (or "Instant Kitty Be Good" as I call it) and the same cashier waits on us and proceeds to ask us the same questions as if she has never seen us before. The topper was this afternoon when I took back a food dish. A cashier with a female golf coach haircut smelling of pot waited on me. She had to call the manager over to approve the return. When the manager arrives, I am frightened with her countenance as she looks more strung out than Andy Dick, has pockmarks all over her face and has not one tooth in her head. As I walk out to the parking lot a Petco employee is smoking cigarettes and pretending to be collecting carts.

Labels: drugs, kitty, l-i-v-i-n, wife

What is the most sensible thing one can do when they are unemployed? If you answered, "add another hungry mouth to the family" then you are correct. That is exactly what the wife and I did this weekend when we responded to a posting for 'free kittens' on Craigslist. It was all very Madonna-esque; we entered a foreign place with odd smells (in this case Thornton), we ogled over some unwanted babies and then we took off like criminals with a little bundle of joy before parents and the authorities got wise. As I post this, kitty is napping at my feet and purring like the dickens. To view photos of my new pussy dig on the Flickr.

Labels: kitty, l-i-v-i-n, unemployment, wife

We get an average of two trick-or-treaters when Halloween is upon our town home complex. Last night we got one; a youngster dressed as Death who got himself a handful of snack-sized Skittles. Halloween is much changed since I donned a costume. Parents did not drive their kids to go trick-or-treating. If you wanted the big candy payoff, you earned it by braving the elements (it is always fifteen degrees colder on All Hallows Eve in Colorado) and walking until your feet bled. You would come home sniffling and collapse from exhaustion, not caring when your Dad stole the Snickers from your sack in the middle of the night. Town home and apartment complexes were like money in the bank for trick-or-treating back then. An orgy of corn syrup, chocolate, caramel and preservatives awaited for a kid who was willing to rip off "Trick or treat" in rapid-fire succession. I thought that with the burned out unit, we would at least get some middle-schoolers around here playing Ouija and worshiping the devil. Nothing. The Wife clicked the front porch light off at 10:15pm and died a little on the inside.

"Doesn't anyone want candy anymore, Matty?"
"I guess not, honey."
"Hold me."
"Indeed."

Labels: colorado, halloween, l-i-v-i-n, the fairways, wife

I just got back from an appointment with the oral surgeon for an errant wisdom tooth that was going the way of the cavity. The tooth in question was tucked behind a mass of muscle and bone next to another wisdom tooth. The tooth was impossible to reach with a brush and even more difficult to put a filling in so the obvious solution was to yank it out of my head. Being as my health care benefits run out at the end of September, the time was nigh to do so. Even under happy gas and Novocain, I felt extreme pressure, a violent tug and impressive agony as Doctor Mengele extracted the diseased tooth with his medieval dentistry devices. As I post this, my mouth is packed full of gauze, I theorize to having swallowed a shot glass of blood and I am sitting on a prescription of Percosets in case I go all Mary and cannot handle the pain. It could have been worse, I suppose.

Labels: health, l-i-v-i-n

Today I am 31 years old and will be celebrating another year of life by watching Judge Judy, sending off ten resumes, having a lunch plate of spaghetti with my mom and entertaining numerous offers for well paying and exciting design jobs. The wife has some big plans for me tonight. She still feels guilt over last year's birthday when she was sick and fell asleep on the couch early in the evening while I drowned the passing of my third decade in cheap, domestic beer at the local watering hole with a jackass named Tyler.

Labels: birthday, l-i-v-i-n, pop culture, sg crew, unemployment, wife

Yesterday I was called into the CEO's office and was introduced to the Angel of Death (the Corporate HR Manager) and asked to sit down. I was informed that my position was being eliminated in a "10% workforce reduction." We then went over my severance information, COBRA benefits, standard employment reduction fare and I agreed to not take a flamethrower to the place. I was then escorted back to my cubicle to gather some personal effects. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief as I exited the building and proceeded to drive off for an expensive cup of gourmet coffee that tasted like dried Orangutan ass. I dialed up the wife, the parents, and a few of my "former" coworkers to tell them the news. I made it no secret that I was unsatisfied with the company and had been sending resumes off for sometime now. During five and half years I languished under the direction of multiple bosses, the workload of two designers, a culture shift from a tight-knit family towards a huge, worldwide mega-corporation, watched as good people with great ideas quit or got vilified and bad people with political agendas took over and unaffordable consultants shuffled in and out the door telling us what we already knew. I was blessed to work with some of the most awesome and genuine people I have ever known. A more complete collection of perverts, jackasses and alcoholics I have yet to come across and doubt I ever will again. I appreciate the excellent camaraderie (some days it was all that kept me going), the friendships that will endure long after the company closes its doors and the near uprising that was launched when my crew first learned of my fate. I wish those other unfortunate 10% well as their severance packages were not as healthy as mine and more akin to a smack in the face with a ballpene hammer. Where do I go from here? I have no clue. I plan on doing a lot of soul-searching, painting, reading, job hunting and reveling in the fact that I do not have to work at that fucking place anymore.

Labels: career, data slaughterhouse, l-i-v-i-n, unemployment

This weekend the wife and I ensured a future of habitual nesting by purchasing some wicker furniture at Pier 1 and a new television and surround sound system. I spent countless hours throwing dressers around, cussing at speaker wire, buying components at Ultimate Electronics and admiring the 42-inch eating disorders of Miss Universe pageant contestants via the magic of high definition technology. Congratulations, Miss Puerto Rico; a year of binging on ice chips and laxatives brought home the crown.

Labels: l-i-v-i-n, technology, wife

The wedding transpired with much happiness and celebration. It was a surreal whirlwind and I do not recall many specific moments from the night. I know the ceremony seemed intimate and joyful, I had a few dances with the wife, I chatted with many guests (although I am sure I missed talking with a lot of them), I saw an amazing sunset and I think I even had a beer or two. Overall, it was an awesome party and I think most everybody enjoyed it; even if they had to drink Tommyknocker all night (it was an open bar, cockbags, you should be happy you got anything at all).

We left for St. Lucia early the next morning. While the wedding was a surreal whirlwind, the honeymoon was the exact opposite of that. We relaxed and slept on the beach, hiked in the jungle, water-skied, snorkeled, drank rum and Piton beer, ate like fat Midwesterners at the Sizzler, won the resort archery tournament, shopped in Castries and generally forgot about our lives for the week. Some notes I jotted down over the course of the holiday:

• Coconut milk is a natural laxative not a fun liquid to go in every alcoholic drink.
• Archery yields crazy friends from Scotland and bottles of Bounty Rum.
  
• Dr. Feelgood bears striking resemblance to a shirtless, unkempt Bob Marley and likes to walk in traffic near the Castries Public Market.
• Saffron is not "super cheap" in St. Lucia; it is just turmeric.
• I could eat my body weight in fresh mangoes and bananas; and then some.
• Fire ants attack cute wives with an affinity for tropical flora and fauna.

To see all the magical photographic goodness from the honeymoon, click here. Thanks again to everyone who came to the event or sent us their well wishes and condolences. You people are the cream in our Twinkie.

Labels: honeymoon, l-i-v-i-n, st.lucia, wedding, wife

Tomorrow, after a sixteen month engagement, I will officially be ruining my life. Immediately following my nuptials, the wife and I will be honeymooning at the Rendezvous Resort on the rum and banana rich island of St. Lucia. There will be drinking, eating, swimming, snorkeling, archery, dancing and a general malaise about life for the week. The MB will be on hiatus until I return in mid-July with a wife, a tan, a shaved head and a perpetual hangover.

Labels: drinking, honeymoon, l-i-v-i-n, wedding, wife

Yesterday the future wife and I opted out of running the Bolder Boulder for the fourth straight year and instead went for a six-mile hike around Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Morrison, Colorado. The day was beautiful and it was good to wallow in our funk* outside for a change. Before we hit the trail, we ate breakfast burritos at the neighborhood coffee shop. I am proud to announce they held us together like steel for the duration. Click here to see photos from the trek.

* The future wife and I tend to not shower on the weekends unless we have a good reason. By the waning hours of Sunday (or in the case of holiday weekends, Monday) our home will smell like the monkey cages at the Denver Zoo.

Labels: activity, colorado, funk, l-i-v-i-n, wife

I took a brief hiatus from the MB to travel to Glenwood Springs and get engaged. I apologize that the site has been as barren as an old Hebrew woman's womb and I was unable to satisfy your lust for links about high school girls fighting and Whitney Houston entering rehab for the second time. On with the magical engagement story.

The now future wife was under the impression we would be enjoying a relaxing three-day holiday in Glenwood Springs, Colorado. She was unaware that I had been plotting for months to drop the engagement hammer on her during the trip. Thanks to my ninja-like discipline, I managed to keep the entire engagement process a secret and accomplished the following tasks without her knowledge:

• Shopping, purchasing and hiding the ring.
• Asking her parents for their blessing.
• Keeping the many individuals involved in Operation Engagement Hammer quiet and maintaining radio silence.

Operation Engagement Hammer began on March 23 as we set out for Glenwood early in the morning. Being as I was a nervous wreck and only had gotten a total of two hours sleep the night before I had to stop for a large colon-destroying latte to keep me going.

We made it to Glenwood in two and half hours and arrived at the historic Hotel Colorado, a place that has hosted the likes of Teddy Roosevelt, William Howard Taft, Al Capone and Patrick Swayze. Our check in time was at four o'clock, so we decided to hit the head and then hit one of the many snowshoe trails surrounding Sunlight Mountain (11 miles outside of Glenwood proper).

The weather was miserable; it was spitting rain, snow and hail and the sky was overcast. By the time we hit the trail head, I was a nervous wreck and the weather was set to ruin a component of Operation Engagement Hammer. I checked my pocket where the ring was for the umpteenth time and then I started freaking myself out. Did I remember to put the ring in the box before we left the house? Did I ever take the ring out of the box? Did I put on deodorant this morning?

Operation Engagement Hammer had to succeed. I have never been this happy with anyone. I knew from the beginning that my now future wife was the one. She understands that I am a perverted, beer-swilling bastard that enjoys pornography, hockey, books about war and depressing, soul-crushing documentaries on HBO about crack addicts in love (thanks for the referral on that one, Gary) and she is alright with it. In fact, in spite of all that, she still makes me muffins and is sweet to me.

The trail grew strenuous and the ring began weakening me like Frodo Baggins in Modor. After awhile, the clouds broke and the sun came out. I started looking for a good spot to implement the final phase of Operation Engagement Hammer. A voice that sounded like R. Lee Ermey started screaming in my head: "Quit playing grab-ass and do it now, soldier."

As I started questioning my sanity (my inner-monologue was shouting at me like an angry drill sergeant and I felt that was reason enough to evaluate things) the now future wife found the spot for me. "Look Matty! Look how beautiful the view is!" I look out to the where she was pointing and she was right. The view was amazing.

The sun was now unobstructed by clouds and the wind had stopped blowing. The moment of truth had arrived. I dropped to my knee, fumbled in my pocket and said, "Will you marry me?" The now future wife stood there, dumbstruck. She did not see it coming. Operation Engagement Hammer had achieved total surprise. It took her a few minutes of convincing that I was serious. "You can say yes anytime, honey," I said. The realization of the moment finally hit her and she started jumping around. "Yes, Matty! Yes!"

I do not remember much from the rest of the hike except for a wonderful feeling of euphoria. I know that she is the one I will be spending the rest of my life with and the fact this does not scare me nor keep me awake at nights is the reason why it is right. By the time we made it back to the car, the now future wife was more excited than a kid off of her Ritalin on Christmas morning. We spent the rest of our week in Glenwood relaxing in the hot springs, getting massages, visiting Doc Holliday's grave, walking hand-in-hand and generally being all stupid in love.

On our last night in Glenwood, I had a wonderful dream of her and I, many years from now, our eyesight failing, wearing adult diapers and bragging to each other about our new plastic hips and bowel movements but still very much in love.

During the two and half hour car ride home, I grinned ear-to-ear as she planned most of our wedding. Goddman, I love that girl.

Labels: colorado, engagement, l-i-v-i-n, perez, wife

My Thanksgiving holiday was pleasant, fattening and free of stabbings. My lady and I ran the Turkey Trot in the morning and then spent the rest of the day being gluttonous hogs. Big comedy was delivered via the grandmothers as we kept vigil over the basted fowl:

Grandma #1: (describing her recent cataract surgery) It was like a psychedelic nightmare.
Grandma #2: I do not like anybody who takes drugs when they do not need them.

Labels: family, gluttony, health, l-i-v-i-n, thanksgiving, wife

I just ran into my neighbor outside. In the process of exchanging pleasantries he mentioned that he is on medication for high anxiety. He works as a chef at a locally owned pizza restaurant and I am having a hard time believing he has that much to be anxious about. Unless they just hired a guy from Little Caesars who has more experience.

Labels: a-town, l-i-v-i-n, the fairways

A weekend of heavy drinking caused me a Sunday morning hangover that could rival a Kennedys (minus a sex assault and driving a bitch into a lake). The recap:

Friday. I attend the Great American Beer Festival at the Denver Convention Center. The Great American Beer Fest works as such: assorted beer brewers from all over the United States set up keg stations in a large convention hall. Attendees are given an empty one-ounce glass upon entry. Assorted brewers pour beer into the one-ounce glasses. Attendees shoot glasses of beer. This process is repeated for four hours. Our group becomes intoxicated quickly. I run into two sisters I went to high school with who are both wearing cowboy hats and have the following exchange:

"Courtney, how is everything going?"
"Good, Matt."
"How is your sister doing?"
"Ask her. She is standing right next to me."

The evening degenerates into immature drunkenness. A member of our group throws a road cone into a public parking lot for no apparent reason and hits a car. A large man in a jumpsuit passing by proclaims, "Hey man, that ain't cool" to which the cone thrower replies, "Keep on walking, Devo." The cone thrower later orders a $20 sampler platter at Old Chicagos, eats most of it and then smears the remainder of it onto the gentleman next to him. The evening concludes with our heavily intoxicated group standing outside of Old Chicagos waiting for our ride where a Ford Explorer with twenty two inch rims is urinated on, a foreign cab driver is yelled at for not using his mirrors and a biker riding down the sidewalk is kicked and told to buy a handlebar bell to alert pedestrians that he is coming through. The biker proceeds to ring his handlebar bell when he reaches the end of the block.

Saturday. Jake's bachelor party starts off at a Westminster dive bar called On The Rox. A meth addict shooting pool gives Jake marital advice. We consume $5 pitchers of beer and watered down whiskey. Our group becomes intoxicated quickly. Unbeknownst to us it is Karaoke night. Jake attempts to sing "What's Going On" by Marvin Gaye, but ends up talking through most of the song as our group heckles him unmerciful. We proceed to the Brunswick Zone where we bowl three games, smoke cheap cigars and drink numerous buckets of Coronas. After our games, we retire to the bowling alley lounge where unbeknownst to us it is Karaoke night. The evening concludes with a drunk hairbag singing Karaoke to Slayer's "Seasons in the Abyss," Jake's fiance cleaning puke out of her car, drinking a nightcap poured by a fat bartender in a sports bra with a large tattoo on her breast and me calling an Asian coworker "Spanish" while I dominate him in air hockey.

Labels: denver, drinking, jake, l-i-v-i-n, pop culture, tomfoolery, weekend that was

Over the weekend I celebrated my ten year high school reunion. Festivities spanned the entire weekend, capping off with an adult prom on Saturday evening. I chose only to subject my lady and I to the Friday night homecoming game and post-homecoming game drinks with former classmates. Here is a breakdown of said evening:

• Number of former classmates I did not recognize due to an excessive weight gain: Three.
• Number of former classmates I did not recognize due to an excessive weight loss: One.
• Number of former classmates who had to, "Go get something out of their car" then came back smelling like marijuana: Three.
• Number of former classmates who had just "Gotten something out of their car" that thought my lady went to our high school and graduated with us: One.
• Number of former classmates I had to convince that this website was not pornography: Three.
• Number of former classmates that look like Anton LaVey, founder of the Church of Satan: One.
• Number of former classmates that look like Lou Ferrigno: One.
• Number of former classmates that were wearing a trendy GAP-style stripped shirt: Five.
• Number of former classmates that are working in real estate: Four.
• Number of former classmates that are working in real estate that got pissed I did not use them to sell my town home: Three.
• Number of former classmates I told, "My lady is only in it for the dick" to: Two.
• Number of former classmates I told "You did not like me because I am white" to: One.
• Number of former classmates I gave my business card to: Twelve.
• Number of former classmates I gave my business card to that I expect to hear from: Zero.
• Number of years I hope to see the majority of my former classmates in: Ten.

Labels: a-town, drinking, glory days, l-i-v-i-n, wife

This summer I have been busier than your mother's digestive tract post all-you-can-eat special at the Sizzler. Not only have I been moonlighting as a freelance web designer, my lady and I moved in together after spending two and a half months painting and tiling our town home. Thankfully, our good friend/neighbor works for Coors and brought over many cases of free beer to placate my laboring ass while I was up to my tits in tile mortar. So, my apologies that I have not been diligent in finding links regarding chicken fucking and adolescent impalement.

Labels: diy, drinking, l-i-v-i-n, the fairways, wife

My lady and I spent most our Fourth of July holiday in Steamboat Springs. It was the first time I had seen Steamboat Springs in the summer time and sober (the last time I was there it was 14 degrees, I was blasted out of my skull and cruising down Howelsen Hill on a crude sledding device at obscene speeds). We also engaged in water park revelries with family members, ate some barbecue and threw some 'shoes. It was a relaxing way to celebrate the signing of the Declaration Independence. Added bonus: watching some skinny Asian freak inhale four times his body weight in hot dogs.

Labels: drinking, family, l-i-v-i-n, nels, wife

After reading this, I love the Costco even more. I usually roll up into that bitch every other week for some steaks, a case of Orbit chewing gum, assorted fruits and vegetables and two gallons of non-fat milk (and just because I have not said it lately and it has been on the tip of my tongue: Fuck Wal-Mart).

Labels: gluttony, l-i-v-i-n

During my lunch hour I was driving like the Bandit and blew past a Jeffco Sheriff going 20 over the posted speed limit. I heard sirens, looked in the rear view mirror, and the bottom dropped out of my stomach like a Rollie Fingers slider as police lights were practically up my tail pipe. I pulled over and the Jeffco Sheriff walked over to the Ghost of War and motioned for me to roll down the window.

"What seems to be the problem, sir?" I said, trying my best to sound like an innocent little girl holding a bunny rabbit and a stick of cotton candy.
"You were going pretty fast back there. I am going to need your license and registration."
"Oh. Okay." I replied, and began fumbling around in my glove box.

He gazed into my eyes and I sensed his bullshit detector jumping like Irish people in a House of Pain video. Without saying a word, he sauntered back to his vehicle and left me assuming that he would return with a speeding ticket and some KY Jelly in order to ass-fuck the fine out of me. Instead, he gave me a warning, handed me back my information, slipped me his card and sent me on my way. Good times, Deputy Pierce, good times.

Labels: colorado, ghost of war, l-i-v-i-n

My friend John is a Catholic so he knows how to lay down a solid guilt trip. Take this email he sent me at lunch, for example:

I had a moment and wanted to share a surreal personal experience, not unlike your dream of advanced aircraft maintenance. I dreamed the other night that I had pimples on my face and one on my left eye (yes the reference to Lisa "Left Eye" Lopez, RIP, comes to mind). Well, I went to pop that bad boy and my eyeball exploded into my hand. According to my understanding of anatomy, the innards of the human eye have the relative volume and consistency of a chicken egg yolk. Little FYI. Then, with a black hole where my eye should have been, I ran around looking for a ride to the hospital. Just thought I would share that with you. I think it was my subconscious wrestling with trying to understand why you would not come out with us on Aaron's birthday. Thanks for the nightmares, jerk.

John, congratulations on your recent engagement. It is always wonderful to hear big news like that through a third party. Asshole.

Labels: johnny ballgame, l-i-v-i-n, tomfoolery

My lady and I were laid up with colds for most of the Thanksgiving holiday. Luckily we did not catch the death flu. While we were able to eat Thanksgiving dinner, our heads were so full and stuffed up that tasting the meal was another matter. I spent most of my illness boozed up on NyQuil, sleeping and watching daytime television. NyQuil does some funky shit to your subconscious mind. I had some strange dreams when I was serving my green master. The most bizarre was when I dozed off watching the Peoples Court and dreamed that my lady and I were attending the Westwood College of Aviation with Scott Weiland (I think he was on Maury Povich that day) and Judge Marilyn Milian. Watching my lady, a judge and a heroin addict rebuild an airplane carburetor was a thing a beauty.

Labels: l-i-v-i-n, pop culture, thanksgiving, wife

My sort of lady is now officially my lady. So if you are a young, barrel-chested, boxer-brief adorned male brimming with semen I urge you to bark up another tree because the bitch is all mine. Luckily for her, I will not act upon my animal instincts and piss a circle around her. At least not until I get ten drinks in me.

Labels: l-i-v-i-n, wife

I have completed my home improvements for the summer and I have to say the place looks sexy as hell. My town home now dominates all other town homes. I know I promised awhile back I would post pictures from my recent backpacking trip and this time, I really mean it when I say they will be up later this week. I realize I am more of a cock tease than a panty-clad high school junior in the backseat of a 1984 Honda Accord, but I promise you will see my chiseled, mountain man ass climbing narrow, winding trails behind the backdrop of of Colorado fourteeners very soon.

Labels: colorado, l-i-v-i-n, the fairways

Friday. I work until three in the afternoon until I notice that myself, Neal and Brandon seem to be the only people left in the office. I give myself the rest of the day off. At home, I order Chinese food, drain four Newcastles and paint the fucking walls. My sort of lady calls me on her way home from the final Bronco Pre-Season game. Talk gets serious.* We hang out anyway, agreeing to avoid relationship conversation for the evening.

Saturday. My sort of lady wakes up early because she has stuff to do. I leave her house and walk home and we agree to meet up later as I need her to help me purchase new bedding and towels. She is the shopping queen and I hate shopping (read: I am willing to pay $80 for a set of sheets at one store as opposed to shopping at many stores and finding the same sheets for $40.) I paint the fucking walls. In between painting the fucking walls, my sort of lady takes me to numerous linens and bedding stores. I purchase new linens and bedding. My sort of lady and I head downtown to meet friends for birthday drinks. We consume numerous whiskeys, vodka tonics and eat $9 steaks. The birthday girl informs us she wants to go to the Diamond Cabaret. We comply with her request where my sort of lady and I consume many beers and I smoke a $10 cigar that tastes like filthy assholes. We stuff dollar bills into stripper's panties.

Sunday. My sort of lady wakes up early again. After she leaves and I spend twenty minutes staring out my bedroom window at the rain as I told the boys I play hockey with that I would meet them for practice at an outdoor rink at nine o'clock. I roll over and go back to bed. My brother-in-law picks me up and we proceed to our fantasy football draft. I have been competing in the same fantasy football league for ten years. Every year, we sit in the same basement, tell the same jokes, drink assorted Coors products and draft fourth string NFL players thinking we got a "sleeper." I get home and paint the fucking walls half drunk.

Monday. I sleep in. I work out. I buy groceries. I eat a pork chop for dinner. My sort of lady and I rent a movie. Talk gets serious* again. We laugh at ourselves and go to bed.

* My sort of lady and I are currently "hanging out." The relationship dynamic has progressed into something neither one of us expected. I like my sort of lady. My sort of lady likes me. I am interested in pursuing things further. Taking risks, especially when it comes to matters of the heart, is something I am willing to do. I figure it is best to try it and realize it does not work, then not try it at all. Relationship situations are like combat; you either get out of your foxhole alive and return home the conquering hero grateful for every day thereafter or you wind up getting shredded by machine gun bullets, laying on a field of battle with your intestines in your hands being comforted by a fat soldier named Murph telling him things like "I am so cold" and "I wanna go home now" before you die. Thankfully, my sort of lady does not use war analogies like me to describe her feelings.

Labels: bro-in-law, denver, drinking, feelings, hockey, l-i-v-i-n, sg crew, sports, strippers, weekend that was, wife

Friday. Work late to complete a corporate Flash presentation that nobody will pay attention to. After work, I play in a coed softball game where my team wins 26-4 and the opposing team's third baseman catches a ground ball with her face and breaks her nose. Immediately following the game a torrential downpour ensues and I sprint to my car leaving my glove on the field. I roll to Tyler's house and play College Football with the Slushy Gutter Crew. At one point in the evening Tyler pours me either a glass of bourbon, scotch, or whiskey. I drink it and proceed to kick his ass with Virginia Tech 30-14. On the way home I realize that I left my mitt on the softball field.

Saturday. I attend my company picnic and run the corporate Flash presentation I put in long hours over. Surprisingly, people pay attention, laugh and tell me good job. After the presentation the picnic continues at a nearby park with a luau theme and a pig roasting. I eat heaping platefuls of swine and mingle with coworkers. Jake, Gay Joe and I make fun of some pasty kid trying to play football. We call him "Mary" and giggle like the dickheads we are. Joe tells us about his homosexual encounters the previous evening. Hula dancers many years past their prime shake their asses for our amusement. I volunteer to dance with them, throwing my inhibitions into the wind like Kevin Bacon in Footloose. I perform a dance with pom-poms and hip gyrations. I win the grand prize in the company raffle (a $200 gift certificate to the Flagstaff House). After the picnic, I attend a lesbian wedding with Monica, Kaye, Aaron, Nels and Kerry. We quickly become the obnoxious drunk table at the reception. A plant is passed around and the recipient of said plant gives a toast. A diverse blend of people wishes the couple well including a militant lesbian with an attitude problem and a sexual predator with disheveled hair holding a kid that liked to hit people in the face. I share my toast with the happy couple, lifting my glass and saying, "Here's to eating pussy." They laugh hysterically. I love the lesbians and wish them the best. We roll to Monica's crib for a nightcap. I discover Kaye does not like playing drinking games with me. Monica informs me she picked up my softball glove up after our game. This makes me happy.

Sunday. I wake up at noon with a screaming hangover. I pour a glass of water and take ibuprofen. I watch Panic Room on digital cable. I drink a glass of water. I make a trip to Home Depot to buy some sandpaper and steel wool. I drink a glass of water. I strip paint for four hours. I drink three glasses of water. My Mom calls and invites me to dinner. I drink a glass of water. I drive to my parents house and eat spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner. We discuss home improvement. I go home to play a game of College Football. Colorado State beats Wyoming 21-3. Nels picks me up for our hockey game. I tally a hat trick and an assist. I drink seven glasses of water. Mark throws a shoe at Nels's face. I come home and take a shower. I go to sleep. If anyone asks me what I did this weekend, I will say, "Nothing."

Labels: /mark, chili dog, colorado, data slaughterhouse, diy, drinking, gay joe, geekery, hockey, jake, kaye, l-i-v-i-n, lesbians, mons, nels, sg crew, sports, tyler, wedding, weekend that was

The summer of home improvement has officially begun. I spent some serious coin on paint stripper, paint and tile at the Home Depot. I currently have discolored linoleum in my bathroom and kitchen and white paint in every inch of the town house. I started last night by stripping paint off three windowsills. It took me five hours. At two this morning, after sanding and sweating like I gave your fat mother a piggy back ride, I decided that the summer of home improvement is going to suck assholes.

Labels: diy, l-i-v-i-n, the fairways

I am currently embroiled in severe relationship and emotional strife. She Who Will Not Be Named and I have hit the proverbial wall. I am hoping we will pull out of this tailspin get back to happily watching G-String Divas and eating ice cream out of the carton once again. One can only hope. If things do not work out, I will probably be spending my free time trembling, naked and curled up in the fetal position on the kitchen floor with an empty bottle of whiskey in my hands. I may be having some problems, but at least my relationship is nothing like this.

Labels: drinking, feelings, l-i-v-i-n, she who

Colorado is buried from the biggest snow storm to hit the state in 20 years. Work has been canceled for the past two days. I have killed time reading, watching television, playing Tenchu: Wrath of Heaven and redesigning a website. Last night, I was in the midst of posting new material to the MB, and my power went out (thank you, expensive surge protector). Sitting in the dark for a few hours, I realized two things:

1. I need to save working files on my computer more often.
2. Trapped in your house during a blizzard would be the best time to have diarrhea.

This morning I woke up, made a delicious plate of eggs and bacon and dug myself out. I started with my patio, which had been buried the night before (I shoveled this area off three times the day before). Next, I cleared the snow from behind my garage so I could back my car out. Finally, I made a path from my front door to the walkway. My neighborhood is a winter wonderland and it is still snowing.

Labels: bacon, blizzard, career, colorado, data slaughterhouse, geekery, l-i-v-i-n, snow

I am living in the waning hours of my vacation and getting woozy from the giant swig of NyQuil I just took. The only good thing about having a cold is drinking all the delicious NyQuil. Last night, after whacking down some of the green goodness, I blacked out and came too sometime this morning in the exact position I fell asleep in. NyQuil also has my two favorite preservatives in it: propylene glycol and green #3.

I do not want to go back to work tomorrow. There are two things I learned during my time off:

1. I would much rather be on vacation then work.
2. The new He-Man on Cartoon Network kicks ass. Teela has been transformed into a cock-teasing whore in a cod piece.

My time off was productive. I completed a giant painting (three 4 foot by 2 foot canvases), re-caulked my shower, wasted many hours with She Who Will Not Be Named playing Dynasty Warriors 3, read The Jungle by Upton Sinclair and I took numerous power naps.

I am now prepared to trudge back into fluorescent-lit cubicle hell a weakened, husk of a man. In actuality, my job is great, I feel refreshed and I am grateful to have work in a down economy. I am just bitching because I will miss the time off watching He-Man cartoons.

Labels: books, data slaughterhouse, geekery, l-i-v-i-n, pop culture, she who, the fairways

Christmas was nice and fattening. Between an amazing all-you-can-eat buffet at the Adams Mark Hotel, heaping platefuls of homemade raviolis and more cookies than I can count, I estimate I gained seven pounds over the holiday. Luckily I have the metabolism of a 16 year-old girl on cocaine. I received some decent booty: assorted hats, fleece sweatshirts, books, video games and various kitchen appliances.

I am on vacation until January 6. Yesterday, I awoke at 11:00am and met She Who Will Not Be Named for lunch. I came home and caulked my shower, played video games for six hours, made some dinner and read for a few hours before going to sleep. Today I awoke at 10:30am, ate a bowl of Peanut Butter Crunch, watched Heathers on cable, played video games for three hours, went to Home Depot to buy a plant and touch-up paint, applied said touch-up paint to various areas of my town home and, finally, shaved for the first time this week.

Labels: geekery, gluttony, l-i-v-i-n, movi, pop culture, she who, the fairways, xmas

Last night I purchased my new oven-range combo. My mom and dad floated me the cash for an "early" Xmas present and I blew it all at Sears. I would have rather spent the Xmas cash on lap dances and whiskey but I am grateful nonetheless. I am taking off work next Monday because Sears will deliver said appliances between 10am and 4pm (thanks for nailing down a time, jerks). When everything is installed and ready for use, I am going nuts right out of the shoot. I intend to simultaneously fry bacon, cook a pot of chili and make some scrambled eggs on the burners, throw a twenty five pound turkey and a Totino's Party Pizza in the five cubic foot oven and make an industrial size batch of Top Ramen in the microwave.

Labels: family, food, gluttony, l-i-v-i-n, technology, the fairways, xmas

My oven and microwave died over the holiday weekend. It was the original appliance that came with my town home (circa 1983; an era renowned for flip-clock displays and record players). On Friday night, She Who Will Not Be Named and I rented a movie, made a few rum and Cokes and threw a bag of popcorn in the microwave. After attempting to cook the bag of popcorn for half an hour, I concluded that the microwave no longer worked. Last night, after my hockey game, I came home to grill a steak and attempted to make a baked potato in the oven. The oven door got stuck and would not open. Tonight I am heading over to Sears to purchase a new oven-range combo. It will be refreshing to have appliances with digital displays and timers that I do not have to wind.

Labels: drinking, food, hockey, l-i-v-i-n, she who, technology, the fairways

Everyday I carpool to work with my friend and coworker JT. It is an event filled with colorful metaphors mixed with mindless drivel about substance abuse, threats, sexual escapades, pornography, sporting events, video games and world events. We also yell out the window at bad drivers like a pair of crazed vigilantes. Every so often, a gem escapes in conversation that is worthy of praise and respect. Yesterday afternoon JT dropped the term chumming the waters to describe masturbation. The phrase's beauty and elegance are truly something of wonder and henceforth I will be using it until my dying day.

Labels: a-town, data slaughterhouse, l-i-v-i-n, random

My neighbor moved in less than one week ago. I attempted to say hello to him and he ignored my friendly platitudes. In the early hours of this very morning, I decided my neighbor is stupid and I hate him. Around midnight, I had just finished watching American Pimp on HBO when I remembered it was trash day. I walked down the stairs and into my garage to put the trash cans out and I was smacked around like a trailer park wife with the pungent aroma of gasoline. My first thought was my car was leaking gas, so I checked underneath it. Nothing. I concluded that my neighbor was huffing gas in his garage like some middle school kids in a deserted park. I did not think too much of it so I shut my garage and proceeded upstairs to bed. Within minutes the smell of gasoline was everywhere and strong enough to make me nauseous. In a rational and calm manner I proceeded to yell obscenities out the window. I noticed emergency lights outside on the street and next to his customized, rusted Ford Bronco a team of police and firemen were circled around it. Apparently, MacGyver ruptured his gas tank with a screwdriver trying to change his oil in his garage and instead of finding a bucket or some empty liquid holding device to catch the falling fuel, he let the gas pour out all over his garage, started the vehicle quickly and drove it across the street leaking gas the entire way. He parked next to the gutter and let the gas leak into it the sewer and then walked back to inside and went to bed. In the end, he received a ticket, his piece of shit Bronco was towed away and my town home was awash in gasoline fumes until about 6:30 this morning. The stupid fucking bastard. I hope he trips on his front steps and the fall renders him immobile so I can walk by and kick him in the face until he dies.

Labels: l-i-v-i-n, rage, stupidity, the fairways