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.

The Ghost of War made her final voyage 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 floor 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

Long time friends of the MB, Mark and Sara, ruined their lives over the weekend. It was a lovely affair that went down at Red Rocks Amphitheatre and included Apache Wedding blessings, drinking and revelry, an R2D2 cake and a slideshow of two fine-looking youngsters in love. I understand your reasoning for putting us at the Smashing Pumpkins table, Mark, but were we at least considered for The Clash table? I must know. Congratulations (again) from the wife and I. Enjoy England/Scotland/Ireland. Also, something for you to consider.

Labels: /mark, colorado, wedding, weekend that was, wife

A recipe for Guinness ice cream. Before that tattooed freak Jake turned the wife and I on to Guinness Floats (two scoops of vanilla ice cream and one pint of Guinness Stout) at the Exchange Tavern one hazy evening, I would have cringed at the thought of a Guinness-based ice cream. Now all I have to say is, "Fuck yes."

Labels: decadence, drinking, jake, wife

• The man who quipped "The name is Dalton..." after his set/bar fight at the Double Deuce is no more. Godspeed, Mr. Healey. I thought you would be bigger.
• Bacon cups. I may have the wife whip me up some bacon cups so I can pack them full of bacon bits and have a heart attack upon consumption.
  
• A photo essay about Uncle Dirty (NSFW). Uncle Dirty has a hog, friends. Enjoy the thong photo (near the bottom) which displays Uncle Dirty's skid marks. You are welcome.

Labels: bacon, death, link goodness, perversion, pop culture, 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: 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

Highlights from the Eugene/Coastal Oregon family vacation (click here for some hot Flickr action):

• Number of relatives houses we crashed at that had wireless internet but not cable television: 1.
• A movie that is not fun for the entire family: I Am Legend.
• A movie that is not good in any way, shape or form: The Man From Earth.
• Times the phrase "I slept like the baby Jesus" was uttered: 4.
• How many trips were made to Autzen Stadium to procure gifts: 4.
• How many trips made to Autzen Stadium were to take back items bought by hasty husbands who purchased items with no thought of sizes/people in mind: 2.
• Times the assumed identity "Grayson Buttdorf" was used to sign into the Oregon Coastal Parks and Recreation gray whale watching sheet: 1.
• How many variations of the assumed identity "Grayson Buttdorf" were mulled over numerous Alaskan Ales and one annoyed 18 year-old misquoted cousin: 5.
• Beer, in ounces, that was consumed on the front deck of a the Heceta Head Lighthouse bed and breakfast in one evening: 184.
• A roaring ocean, a good buzz, a comfortable bed and a warm room gave me the best night of sleep in recent memory.
• A short, slanted ceiling, high-backed bathtub and hand-held shower head gave me the most uncomfortable bathing experience in recent memory.
• How many gravely-voiced suspected serial killers ate with us during our "seven-course breakfast": 1.
• Lastly, props to my brother-in-law drove who our rented mini-van like Al Cowlings across Northwest Oregon in order to get us to our flight at PDX with minutes to spare.

Labels: bro-in-law, travels, wife

The wife knocked the Xmas gift exchange out of the park (again) by procuring me an official Tyler Durden leather jacket and This Is Spinal Tap Collectors Edition on DVD ("The question is how much more black could it be? And the answer is none. None more black.") I got her jewelry and perfume. I am the best husband in the world. Aside from skidding our truck into a ditch and having my brother-in-law tow us out with his penile enhancing mega-vehicle and than having said skidded truck's battery die on my parent's driveway, our baby Jesus day went off without a hitch. As of post time I am sitting at PDX minutes from procuring a rental car and driving down to Eugene to spend the week with my wife's family. We also plan to renew our love affair at the Heceta Head Lighthouse as the romance is dead in our marriage. Happy holidays, loyal readers of the MB. I hate all seven of you.

Labels: travels, wife, xmas

Me: The wife asked me yesterday, "If a comet were to hit the earth tomorrow and end all life as we knew it what would I do with my last day on earth?"
DJ: What did she say?
Me: "I would have a big dinner with all our family and friends."
DJ: What did you say?
Me: "I would pick up a whore and kill her. Then I would come to that dinner."
DJ: I can almost hear her squeal "Matty!"
Me: She did. I am totally and completely serious, though.
DJ: I know.
Me: I would not even have to hide the body.
DJ: Take the body to dinner with you and prop it up at the table.
Me: Even better. "Who is that, Matty?"
DJ: "Dead whore. Pass the butter?"
Me: As in, asking the dead whore to pass me the butter? Because that would rule. "Dead whore, can you please lead us in grace?"
DJ: Then just sit there in silence for a moment while everyone stares at you all freaked out. Then look up and say, "Amen."
Me: I am glad you are my friend.

Labels: dj, im convos, whores, wife

The first annual Brozovich Thanksgiving was smoother than eel ejaculate in a Wendy's Frosty machine (in fact it went so smooth that we are planning on hosting 46 family, friends and a village of Sudanese refugees to dine on a 250 pound peacock for Christmas). Bird was devoured, spirits were imbibed (including one Christmas Tree flavored Jones Soda) and my fur pants and the wife's matching fur skirt were the talk of the event. Total cook time for the beast: four hours.

Labels: thanksgiving, the greens, wife

Tired of driving to and fro during past Thanksgivings, the wife and I decided to host the annual binge-eating celebration of the harvest's conclusion at our house. We are expecting over twenty people to show up and obliterate the 28 pound turkey we ordered and leave a trail of intestinal gases in their wake. Equally impressive to the girth of our fowl will be my fur pants. Yes, you read that correctly. I must be careful what I mention to the wife in passing in the future. Jokingly proclaiming that "Thanksgiving would be a lot more comfortable in fur pants" last year has motivated the wife to make me some fur pants. A picture of me adorned in my befurred trousers carving up an immense turkey will be imminent.

Labels: thanksgiving, the greens, wife

Yesterday Team Krugman called from the anniversary paradise of Palisade to inform the wife and I of a stray kitten that had been roaming the grounds of their bed and breakfast all weekend. Naturally they assumed we would take the feline as the wife gets weak in the heart at the site of kittens and is one step away from filling our crib with hundreds of cages and strays and stacks of newspapers and aluminum cans that she picked out of the garbage dumpster behind a Chinese restaurant. They claimed the kitty was hours away from going to a "farm where it will be able to roam free for the rest of it's life" so we agreed to give "it" (it being the operative word as we will not know the sex of new pussy until the vet appointment tomorrow) a new home. Kitty is thus far very chill; purring each time you walk into the room and jumping onto your lap. MJ, our cat who is three times bigger, hissed and ran to hide under the bed upon seeing the newest addition to our household. We are keeping the two of them sequestered for a week so they can get used to one another and eventually go out and kill together.

Labels: killing, kitty, wife

There is no better way to celebrate my birthday than by reading my favorite type of story; a big fat slob being extricated from his house by way of cutting through the side of it. In just a few short hours my coworkers will be treating me to a sloppy plate of birthday tacos. Later this evening the wife will be making me a birthday dinner of "whatever my little heart desires." My little heart happens to desire pancakes, pumpkin pie and a glass of scotch. Here is hoping my thirty second year that will bring happiness, prosperity and employment stability. This tax season I am going to have more W-2s than a contract porn actor.

Labels: birthday, gluttony, tacos, wife

Friday, June 29. My daunting three-day trial on the unemployment line ended when I was offered an Art Director position immediately after a two-hour interview. I accepted the offer and start this Friday. The people seem great and of the non-douchebag variety, the pay is solid and my skill set should grow exponentially. That night our neighbors extended an impromptu invite "for a drink" over the fence. We ended up staying for six hours, helped drink their cooler dry, gorged ourselves on barbeque spare ribs and watched their 13-year-old daughter's recent European vacation slides.

Saturday, June 30. With the wives at a baby shower talking about their uteruses, I stuffed an amazing basket of fish and chips down my cake chute and drained numerous Coors Light pitchers at Clancys with CH, Tyler and Fateh. Aside from the poor patio location and a bad wait staff that included a red-haired meth skank that kept forgetting our orders and a chubby blond girl with a giant snake tattoo, good times were had by all. That night we ate a late sushi dinner and took in 1408 with Team Sutton. It was refreshing to watch a movie in a theater since we have not done so since the Korean War.

Sunday, July 1. The wife and I celebrated our one-year anniversary. We walked around our deserted wedding venue in the 100-degree heat sipping on blended coffee drinks, ate heaping plates of steamed mussels and took in back-to-back movies thanks to my criminal wife who snuck me into Ratatouille in the confusion of the exiting Rise Of The Silver Surfer crowd. It was refreshing to watch movies in a theater since we have not done so since Saturday, June 30, 2007.

Labels: career, drinking, sg crew, unemployment, weekend that was, wife

The wife and I threw a housewarming party on Saturday night, inviting our friends and family over to destroy all the hard work we put into the place over the past few months. Some highlights:

• Japanese Whiskey is a great housewarming gift and a fun treat for Grandma.
• My four-year-old nephew held court over the fire of a citronella candle waxing philosophical to numerous adults on Star Wars, baseball, war and gladiators.
• Johnny Ballgame rolled up in a new truck named "The Licorice Whip." New is a relative term as said truck is an early 80s Chevy Half-Ton with visible fire damage and more miles on it than 50-year-old stripper. Jake reported that it died twice during the convenience store cigarette run. The convenience store is a quarter mile from the house.
• My neighbor Kevin (who I have talked to three times) walked into the house grabbed a cup from our kitchen and poured himself a keg beer. He than greeted us and proceeded to hang out for the next six hours.
• A pack of youngsters found kitty's second confirmed kill in our backyard. That brings the body count to two in less than one week.
  
• Most decadent housewarming gift: 80+ ounces of Grey Goose vodka.
• Number of partygoers that threatened to Top Shelf one of the bathrooms: 2.
• Number of partygoers that requested Journey's Greatest Hits for a musical selection: 7.
• Number of partygoers that had to be called a cab at 3 AM due to someone "taking their keys": 2.
• Number of partygoers that drank the bottle of rum they brought as a housewarming gift: 2.
• Approximate time on Sunday that my hangover wore off and I was able to able to stand up without getting lightheaded: 4 PM.

Labels: drinking, kitty, the greens, tomfoolery, weekend that was, wife

Yesterday the wife and I took in a Father's Day barbeque and a 100-degree scorcher at my sister's house out on the plains. I stayed inside with the air conditioning most of the day and had a glorious nap as the final round of the US Open played out before me. The male contingent of the barbeque were emotionally invested in the tournament, getting excited at good shots, sizing up the leader board and making the standard comments that professional golf fans make ("He can hit a (insert club here) that far?" or "They all make it look so effortless.") Although I play golf a handful of times each year, I have no desire to watch it played professionally nor do I care if a nobody from Argentina wins the thing. I did discover that professional golf woos me to sleep as if I were an infant wrapped tightly to her warm, bare bosom. Sit me in your rocking chair and sing me a lullaby, professional golf. Your sweet baby boy has a stomach full of bratwurst and needs the sleepy.

Labels: sleep, sports, wife

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, the greens, wife

The wife and I have spent the past two weeks cutting through underbrush, overgrown shrubbery and raking decomposing piles of leaves. While the previous occupants showered the inside of the house with the love and tenderness of a small child stroking a teddy bear (they installed new commodes, tile, stove/range and paint), they let the yard work go like a seventeen year old girl's body during her freshman year of college. Tomorrow morning Waste Management might actually enjoy stopping at our house as there will not be throngs of black trash bags filled with four years of neglected landscaping. Then again there are three recycling bins filled with dead soldiers thanks to the goddamn the alcoholics I play poker with.

Labels: 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 Beyoncce-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 Brooklyns for "a drink." After downing six beers each we then headed home.

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

During the height of my binge drinking days I could drain things down my gullet that would curl the stomach of a goat; straight whiskey, Irish Car Bombs, Natty Light and tequilas that do not even deserved to be named. I was blessed/cursed with an abnormally high metabolism and a steel stomach that allowed me to absorb alcohol faster than your average frat boy. Enter this past Saturday. The wife and I watched some Roller Derby with Jake and crew downing numerous tall boys of PBR in the process. I came home to spend a good clip on the toilet cursing the PBR and saddened that my once iron constitution is now broken.

Labels: drinking, jake, tomfoolery, wife

These past few weeks the wife and I have been up to our tits in UHauls, 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: jake, l-i-v-i-n, moving, the greens, wife

• Miss Tennessee Rachel Smith was crowned Miss USA recently. Methinks it had much to do with her prominent camel toe during the swimsuit competition.
• The 10 worst rap album covers ever made. Sadly, I used to own one of them. I can only wish it were M$ Tee Having Thing$ or Tec-9 Straight From Tha Ramp.
• After the move this weekend the wife and I will be within spitting distance of the best liquor store and mini-golf in Colorado.
  

Labels: camel toe, link goodness, liquor, music, pop culture, the greens, vajayjay, 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: 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

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

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, idaho, travels, wife

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: funk, italian shower, l-i-v-i-n, navy bath, wife

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: l-i-v-i-n, new years, tomfoolery, wife

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

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: health, l-i-v-i-n, 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. Good times, Westminster Petco. Good times.

Labels: 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, 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, wife

I heard back from both companies I interviewed with last week. Company #1, located in Downtown Denver, gave me the "I just want to be friends" routine via email. Classy move. Maybe you should hire my ex-girlfriend She Who Will Not Be Named, Company #1. Like you, she is a cold-hearted bitch with no regard for social etiquette and would thrive within your corporate culture. Company #2, located near the Governors Mansion, offered me the position and I turned it down. Sure, it would be nice to start working again and sock away my severance booty towards a Mexican holiday with the wife, but something told me to stay away from that place. Perhaps it was the HR lady wearing sneakers, the invasive personal questions regarding my values or the "We do not use Macs" line that turned me off. All I know is that I ignored my instincts far too long while languishing at the data slaughterhouse and I refuse to ever do that again. In more interesting news, a neighboring town home burned down a few days ago. It appears as if the firewall did its job and kept the whole unit from succumbing to the flames. Good times.

Labels: data slaughterhouse, she who, unemployment, wife

My day of interviews was enjoyable and seemingly successful. In between trips in the car and long, boring dissertations on design and inspiration, I got the feeling both places seemed mildly interested in my abilities (one interviewer even inquired about where he could get a Your Mom hockey jersey). It is also just as likely that the interviewers tuned me out upon my first mention of "color schemes" and "corporate identity" and thought about the bills they had to pay and the puppies they had to strangle later. I feel really good about one of the companies that was not in Governors Park and hope they hire me before I have to turn my attractive new wife out for groceries.

Labels: unemployment, wife

My third week of unemployment will include two web design job interviews; one in the heart of downtown Denver which is a block off the 16th Street Mall and the city's main bus depot (I'm all about the public transportation) and one a few blocks away from Govnr's Park which has amazing happy hour beers and a Slider Basket that would make Wimpy cry (the Won Ton Juans are equally as glorious). Keep your fingers crossed that one of these interviews will pan out before my severance runs dry and we will be subsisting only on a meager public school teacher's income. The wife has yet to wear tattered clothing and babble incomprehensible phrases while standing over a barrel fire, but I can assure you that that time is nigh, my friends. Onto an unemployed artist's browser history:

• An anti-NCAA Hazing website where images of basketball chicks wearing blindfolds and sombreros while drinking from a beer bong and snorting things off the floor live.
• Nate Dogg makes a Wolverine costume for Halloween. Hijinks and homoerotic posing ensue.
• The unluckiest man alive.
• Wedding cake in the form of the Great A'Tuin.
• A guy who loves his Starbucks a little too much.
• Jimmy Dean chocolate chip pancakes and sausage; on a stick. I just threw up in my mouth a little.
• Colorado Avalanche season preview.

Labels: link goodness, unemployment, wife

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, sg crew, unemployment, wife

• A comprehensive explanation of the sport cricket. In St. Lucia the wife and I encountered some cricket grounds while driving through the countryside. Our guides informed us that while cricket is not a big game on the island, a brand new stadium, Beausejour Ground, was built on the outskirts of Rodney Bay and will host matches of the ICC Cricket World Cup 2007.
  
• Existential Garfield comics. This depressing storyline originally ran the week of October 23, 1989 as a lead up to Halloween. Garfield awakens in the future when the house is abandoned and he no longer exists. Some theorize that the end of this storyline implies that the rest of the "conventional" strips are just fantasies Garfield plays out in his head to delude himself from realizing that he is starving to death in an abandoned house. Here I thought that Garfield was just a shallow husk of commercialism that yielded film abominations staring Jennifer Love Hewitt and plush orange stuffed animals.
  
• Claire Hoffman, staff writer for the LA Times, spends some time with Joe Francis, founder of the Girls Gone Wild empire. Hijinks ensue.

Labels: link goodness, perversion, st.lucia, wife

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: 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, l-i-v-i-