I must own this book and pass on its wisdom to the boy. Here are some of my favorites maxims with comments directed at my infant son as if he were an adult with the ability to reason:

• Surround Yourself With Smart People. You are who you hang out with. Your friends will expect you to do what they are doing alongside them. Smart people expect you to be intelligent and well read. Drug addicts expect you to pass the Guns N' Roses coke mirror you won at the carnival balloon-dart game after snorting a line.
• It Is Not A Gang Without The Cool Girl. Be sure to always have at least one cool girl in your inner-circle of friends (bonus if she is hot). She can provide invaluable feminine perspective and is bound to bring around other cool girls. You may even marry her someday.
  
• Ask Your Mother To Dance. There is no better way to make your mother's night then taking her for a spin around the dance floor and acting like it is fun and not a chore. You will do this and you will like it.
  
• Do Not Get All Fancy About Your Beer Or Coffee. Coffee? Black. Beer? Yes, please. It is as simple as that.
  
• Do Not Have A Girlfriend In College. Think of all the awesome shenanigans you can get into while attending college. Now think about doing them while maintaining a steady relationship with an average looking girl that you met in the first week of your freshman year.
• Never Sit Down On A Ball Field. Take A Knee. You do not sit down on a sports field unless you are severed at the torso and have no legs. Even then, you still take a stump.
• Always Meet Your Date At The Door. Do not be the dickhead honking the horn in the driveway. Go up to the door and ring the bell. Doing this affords you the opportunity to open the car door for her as well. Double the points, my son.
  
• Yes Ma'am. No Sir. No Exceptions. People that are older than you are always sir or ma'am. Even if your friends parents tell you to call them by name you still call them sir or ma'am.
  
• Try To Lose The Adverbs. Nothing illustrates how weak your vocabulary is more than an adverb. You are not very tired. You are exhausted. You are not extremely happy. You are ecstatic.
• Keep Your Word. Even the over-consumption of liquor does not excuse you from this one. If you tell someone you will do something, you do it.
• If You Are Good At Something, Never Do It For Free. Excluding sex, masturbating and murder.
• Walk It Off. This philosophy that can be applied to many situations including electrocution, being on fire and venereal diseases.
• Never Be Afraid To Ask Out The Best Looking Girl In The Room. Be fearless. What is the worst that can happen? She says no and you call her a lesbian? You are still in the same position you were in when you walked into the room.
• You Do Not Get To Choose Your Own Nickname. You are luckier than most as you have a sweet last name that can be shortened to "Broz" or "Brozo." Even so, you do not ask anyone to call you this. They must do it of their own accord.
  

Labels: books, coffee, college, drinking, liquor, sports, the boy, wife

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

My response to the well-compiled Tomato Nation 25 and Over list:

1. Remember to write thank-you notes. The written word is a lost art and most youngsters under age 25 think texting 'THX PLAYA' does the trick. Taking the time to send off a stamped, hand-written note (especially after a job interview) shows that you are considerate and not a serial killer.
2. Do not invite yourself to stay with friends when you travel anymore. Being as I have a deep aversion to inconvenience (both for myself and those around me), this has never been a problem for me. I would much rather crash at a hotel even if family/friends are close by.
3. Do not expect friends to help you move anymore. I only expect my friends to help me move things if they stayed at my house due to a bout of excessive drinking the night before. Asking someone to help you move a roll-top desk with a crippling hangover should not be an issue if said someone yacked in your sink twelve hours earlier.
4. Develop a physical awareness of your surroundings. I pride myself on assessing my surroundings and acting accordingly. Alcohol often kills this one for me.
   
5. Be on time. I generally show up on time to most events. If I am late to anything longer than thirty minutes, I will blame my infant child who cannot speak.
6. Have enough money. Nothing pisses me off more than somebody who never brings money out in card or cash from. You did not leave your wallet at home. You are just a cheap bastard.
   
7. Know how to calculate the tip. It is not difficult to multiply the bill by two to get the 20% tip equivalent. If you do not have the mental capacity to calculate a tip without the aid of a calculator or cell phone, eating out is probably the least of your worries.
8. Do not share the crazy dream you had last night with anyone but your mental wellness professional. Depends on what the dream is about and what your intentions are by sharing said dream. A sex dream with the intention of getting yourself laid? Absolutely. Murdering all you co-workers with a machine gun during a casual Friday with the intention of getting a raise? Probably not.
   
9. Learn to walk in heels. Only applies to me if I patronize an East German sex club.
10. Have at least one good dress-up outfit. Before the wife cleaned me up, taught me how to dress and expanded my wardrobe, I owned only one suit at the behest of my mother. It was my all-purpose suit that saw many weddings, funerals and job interviews. I could sometimes tell the last time I wore it by reaching in the inner-coat pocket and finding an old event program.
11. Do as invitations ask you. I am usually not formally invited to anything and if I am the wife handles all the RSVP-ing and gifting. It is better this way.
    
12. Know how. Sadly I think most people 25 and under grew up with every convenience afforded to them and would perish in the wilderness after being given a knife and a water source. Problem solving is lost on a generation that did not have to solve any problems because their parents were afraid if they failed it would crush there delicate sensibilities. I like to think I know enough about enough to be dangerous.
    
13. Don't use your friends. This should be on an age 5 and over list. You should never use your friends unless they have an awesome surround-sound system.
    
14. Have something to talk about besides college or your job. As the many people in my life can attest, I have plenty to talk about besides college and my job.
15. Give and receive favors graciously. As my Dad said while scolding me after an excessive sports celebration in my youth, "Act like you have been there before."
16. Drinking until you throw up is no longer properly a point of pride. It depends on how good the scotch is.
17. Have a real trash receptacle, real Kleenex, and, if you smoke, a real ashtray. Toilet paper serves multiple purposes (in my opinion); nose blowing and ass-wiping. If you smoke? You will be dead before me. That and you should properly dispose of your butts. My yard is not that place.
    
18. Universal quiet hours do in fact apply to you. Working from home I keep weird hours and I keep the volume down during the quiet hours without even realizing it.
19. Take care of yourself. Workout a few times. Take a shower every other day. Do not eat Taco Bell three times a week. Repeat.
20. Rudeness is not a signifier of your importance. It is when you are from California.
    

Labels: career, dad, drinking, family, gluttony, sex, stupidity, wife

• Unicorn madness brought to you by my wife's childhood needlepoint "Unicorn Jumping Over A Rainbow" project.
• Best. Jon Mayer. Fan. Ever.
• I need to order business cards for Broz Design and beef jerky is now officially under consideration.
  

Labels: broz design, link goodness, music, pop culture, tomfoolery, wife

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 wife and I are officially prepared for our spawn to make its grand entrance into this world. The nursery is littered with the spoils of numerous baby showers, bathed in gender-neutral tones and is decorated with a ridiculous amount of monkeys. We have registered with the hospital and have taken assorted labor preparation classes. I have read two great books (Punk Rock Dad and Babywise) that have given me honest perspectives on fatherhood and read half of one terrible book (The Expectant Father) before throwing it across the bedroom and calling the author a "new-age queer." All we need now is the living, goddamn baby (the wife is due on April 3). In an effort to celebrate the last few weeks of our baby-free couplehood, the wife and I are spending this Saturday night at the Brown Palace Hotel for a romantic, in-city getaway. It is there where we will renew our love affair and my wife will get her pregnant lady bubble bath on while I drain cocktails at the Ship Tavern and watch opening weekend of the NCAA college basketball tournament.

Labels: babies, denver, drinking, sports, wife

My love for the Terminator franchise began in 1985 when my dad let me stay up late with him and watch the James Cameron joint on HBO. The movie had everything a ten year-old boy could want; violence, cyborgs, sex and boobs! I was hooked. In 1991, early CGI technology, a ripped Linda Hamilton and a Guns N' Roses-laden soundtrack made for a sequel that was much better than the original. When T3: Rise Against The Machines came out, I took my wife on our first date to watch it in the theater (I am a hopeless romantic). I thought I would have to keep her informed with back story through out the film, but she quickly interrupted me mid-Skynet dissertation with, "I know what Skynet is. Please shut up," and thereby proved her worthiness as a mate (this date was the very reason I engraved 'NO FATE' on the inner-band of my wedding ring in reference to Linda Hamilton's bowie knife table-carving in T2). I even went so far as to tune into the first full season of the Sarah Connor Chronicles only to tune out once Brian Austin Green joined the cast (thanks to long-time reader of the MB, Bryan Candee, who pointed out that Brian Austin Green's initials are BAG for a reason). Sadly, the television series has resorted to this for viewership. Summer Glau has a nice little frame, but her eyes are so far apart she looks like a cutthroat trout. Cutthroat trout are delicious when sauteed in butter, but are not sexually arousing. I can only hope T4: Salvation with Christian Bale will renew my faith in the franchise. At least they cast Christian Bale. He alone will get my wife out to the theater with me. She would watch that guy read the paper.

Labels: dad, movies, pop culture, wife

Wil: You ever want to just generally fuck yourself up? Watch CNN World for two hours. The human race is not long for this planet.
Me: Agreed. Hopefully my unborn child will get something out of it all before it blows up.
Wil: I am kind of counting on him/her to fix it all, actually. Is that not going to happen?
Me: If he/she takes after the wife, yes. After me? We are doomed.
Wil: Your spawn has been spoken of in countless Nostradamus prophecies. "And she who kicketh ass in softball shall breed with he who has odd hair of the face, and together the savior is born."
Me: Wow. Thanks? Let us hope said spawn makes the animals go bonkers at the zoo ala The Omen. The original with Gregory Peck. Not that bag of dicks remake with Julia Styles.
Wil: Well played, sir. Going to go get some dinner here in Barcelona. If I can find a place with an early bird special at 8:30 PM, that is. The Spaniards do not like to sleep.
Me: Save for the daily siesta?
Wil: Right. Adios.

Labels: babies, death, im convos, movies, pop culture, wife, wil

This past weekend the wife and I celebrated our final Valentine's Day sans children. Next year, we will be up to our elbows in shitty diapers, crying babies and "dress-up" clothes covered in baby vomit (or so I am told). We were told by many to savor our final Valentine's Day out which we semi-scoffed at because we have never really been "Valentine's Day people." I am of the opinion that greeting card companies have inflated Valentine's Day's importance and think overpriced flowers, chocolates and/or stuffed trinkets sent to a lover are fleeting (if not ridiculous). I tend to buy the wife flowers on a semi-frequent basis and remind her I love her everyday and she, in turn, keeps me happy by accepting whatever career path I may be on that particular week and consistently makes me cookies, banana bread and blueberry muffins. So when Valentine's Day rolls around, we tend to do what we did this past Saturday; grab a steak early in the afternoon with the blue-hairs and catch a matinee at the local movie theater. Nothing says "I love you" like Clint Eastwood slinging some racism ala the late Grandpa Broz.

Labels: babies, family, movies, pop culture, valentines day, wife

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

This past year has been rife with big happenings including planting a spawn in my wife's womb and career upheaval. My mentor once said, "The best way to learn on how not to do things is by being around people who consistently fail and learning from their mistakes." My former mentor was once fired from a job for looking at porn on his work computer, but that is neither here nor there. The point is he is right. I have a solid understanding on what not to do professionally provided by a bevy of past employers. I have great examples of unsuccessful parenting skills thanks to former friends and coworkers (i.e. buying your kids beer only if they "drink it at the house" does not keep them "safe"). I am hopeful I have learned enough from these bad examples to forge onward and do the right thing. If I have not learned enough, I look forward to an illustrious career as a bartender and snorting cocaine with my kids.

Labels: babies, bad parents, career, drugs, porn, wife

• My pregnant wife has not taken her crazy hormonal levels out on me. Yet.
• My pregnant wife and unborn child are in good health.
• The 20 stupidest GI Joe vehicles ever.
  
• I am living the pants-free dream again and no longer working in Design Purgatory.
• My lower back is no longer destroyed.
• Learning about this before the wife dragged me to see Twilight tonight (yes, the crowd was rife with loser-tastic Emo kids. And for the love of God, Edward, just turn Bella into a vampire).
  
• Rachel Ray and Ann Coulter with be silenced through the month of December.

Labels: babies, career, health, injury, movies, pants-free, pop culture, thanksgiving, wife

Americans all have their own traditions for the Thanksgiving holiday. The wife and I are usually run in the Turkey Trot pre-gluttony, but in lieu of her being with child, we are skipping this year and instead I am skating in an early morning ice hockey game at Denver University. We will then partake in two Thanksgiving meals; one at my parent's house in the afternoon and one at the wife's parents house in the evening. Sarah Palin, on the other hand, will have a quiet holiday at home, cooking a turkey for her husband and her children named after English towns. This will occur, of course, after some guy slaughters a turkey during her interview with a local television network. We are all different, yet we are all the same.

Labels: america, denver, family, health, hockey, politics, thanksgiving, wife

• Fetal Bites: America's number one fetus cookie cutter. Upon purchase I foresee Scottish Shortbread fetus cookies in my future.
  
• A giant pregnant anaconda is slain. Seeing all those dead anaconda babies strewn about gave me a Temple of Doom vibe as opposed to a JLo/Ice Cube vibe.
• A preview of Steven Colbert's "Another Christmas Song." Colbert has a decent voice and I am guessing the album will kitschy and mildly entertaining ranking somewhere between Mr. Hankey's Christmas Classics and The Star Wars Christmas Album (the latter of which I owned on vinyl in my youth).
  

Labels: america, babies, dead babies, food, geekery, link goodness, movies, music, nostalgia, pop culture, wife, xmas

Last Monday my boss and I had a Come-To-Jesus chat regarding my complete lack of enthusiasm for my current position. While I informed him my lack of passion did not hinder me from going through the motions (just ask my ex-girlfriend She Who Will Not Be Named), I did acknowledge that I was completely burnt out. Many factors led to my burnout; frequent late paychecks, a complete lack of any tangible project process (i.e. massive undertakings were given one line explanations like "Client Center back-end development: 36 hours"), lack of established deadlines and milestones (other than early 2008 or late 2008), non-payment of contractors/vendors and a general malaise regarding client/vendor relationships. I was issued an ultimatum to decide by that Friday whether or not I wanted to stay with the company. When Friday rolled around, I quit, packed up all my shit and went over to DJ's house to get drunk and play poker (in a rare Ex-Data Slaughterhouse Employees Game victory, I took home $60). After a tumultuous career path over the past three years, I am finally growing some balls and committing full-time to Broz Design. I have already nabbed two and a half retainer clients (the other half happening once I get off my ass and draw up a contract) that will pay me more all while working less and living the pants-free dream. My pregnant wife is thankfully awesome and supportive of my pursuits and deserves a new Lexus once I start rolling in the dough. It is either that or we will be selling our unborn child on the Mexican black market to make ends meet. Wish me luck either way.

Labels: babies, broz design, career, data slaughterhouse, dj, drinking, pants-free, poker, she who, taxi dev, wife

• Confessions of a naked sushi model. Surprisingly, combining nudity and sushi do not make my balls rise in the least.
• RoboCop on a Unicorn. Dig the Flickr gallery. One of the best things I have linked to since Johanna's Art Inspired by Stevie Nicks.
• A list of Manic Pixie Dream Girl characters from popular culture. I may have married Manic Pixie Dream Girl. Read this description and judge for yourself: The Manic Pixie Dream Girl is stunningly attractive, high on life, full of wacky quirks and idiosyncrasies, and inexplicably obsessed with our stuffed-shirt hero, on whom she will focus her antics until he learns to live and love.

Labels: chicks, food, link goodness, pop culture, wife

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

I love me some Olympics. I love the history, the majesty, the competition, the pseudo-sport "athletes" doing lesbian modeling shoots, the underage Chinese gymnasts and the ridiculously shredded Dara Torres looking like she could punch through the ass of a thoroughbred race horse. I long for this Friday's opening ceremony in Beijing where anti-rain rockets will be fired into the atmosphere, crippling pollution will destroy the lungs of the most well-conditioned athletes and the Chinese government will slaughter kittens in the streets. I look forward to the 29th Games of Olympiad to watch the best of the world compete on a grand stage and ogle hot female Olympians. I am especially anticipating rooting for my wife's childhood friend and one of Arvada, Colorado's native sons Casey Malone, who will be representing the United States in discus for his second appearance in Olympic competition (and just in case he forgot, I wish to echo what I told him at his send-off picnic: "If you do not come home with a medal, Malone, do not come home" which loosely translates in Brozovich to, "You show them, Malone. You show the world.") Let the Women's Beach Volleyball, and the games, begin.

Labels: a-town, chicks, history, lesbians, sports, 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

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 Amphitheater and included Apache Wedding blessings, drinking and revelry, an R2D2 cake and a slide show 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 are welcome.

Labels: bacon, death, link goodness, movies, 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: 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

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, family, movies, 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, career, 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 barbecue 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 barbecue 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 barbecue 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: family, 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, l-i-v-i-n, 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 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

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, poop, tomfoolery, 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

• 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: 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

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, drinking, family, idaho, l-i-v-i-n, sports, 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: career, funk, l-i-v-i-n, 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: drinking, geekery, kaye, l-i-v-i-n, new years, pop culture, sports, 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: 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 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: career, data slaughterhouse, denver, 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: career, 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: career, comics, drinking, food, geekery, hockey, link goodness, sports, 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, pop culture, 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: comics, link goodness, perversion, pop culture, 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: 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