Sunday, March 18, 2012

Dear Diary: The Boys Are Back In Town (Addendum)

Several people have suggested that the recent loss my Blue Devils suffered at the hands of Lehigh University was due, in part, to my last blog post (i.e. “The Boys Are Back In Town”).  While it has always been my belief (really, really strong hope) that Jesus has a sense of humor, I do not believe in leaving things to chance.  Therefore, this blog post (addendum) serves as an apology to the aforementioned “King of Kings”.

Before I get to that, however, I would like to take this opportunity to dispel several myths that seem to pervade (Yes, “pervade”.  Ivy League education, people.)  the vast landscape that is the Collective Human Delusion.  A “collusion of delusion”, if you will. (Or even if you won’t)

Myth: You look good in skinny jeans
Fact: There are approximately 12 people in the entire world that look good in skinny jeans.  Odds are, you are not one of them.  If you are male, you are definitely not one of them.

Myth:  Hats worn by Justin Timberlake or Andre 3000 look good on anyone
Fact:  Hats worn by Justin Timberlake or Andre 3000 look good on Justin Timberlake and / or Andre 3000.  The same holds true for vests.

Myth:  Diet Mountain Dew tastes delicious
Fact:  Diet Mountain Dew tastes like liquid self-loathing.  In fact, it’s not actually a diet drink.  It just tastes so bad that it makes you drink less of it, and the aftertaste makes you lose your appetite for up to six hours.

Myth:  Men sometimes get “sympathy cravings” when their significant other is pregnant
Fact:  Men get hungry, and they see pregnancy as an opportunity to eat the things they are not usually allowed to eat at times they are not usually allowed to eat them.  Ask yourself this question, ladies:  Does your man crave pickles and ice cream?  No.  Why?  Because that sh*t is disgusting.  Men “crave” smothered nachos and red meat (and the occasional salad, because intestinal irregularity is the downfall of a nation).  “Then why doesn’t every expectant father (i.e. ‘baby daddy’) get these cravings?” I hear some of you ask in disbelief.  Because every male collective decides within its membership which one, or ones depending upon the size of the group, gets to have cravings.  The key is to have enough men experience cravings to make the phenomenon believable, while keeping the number low enough so as not to raise suspicion.  Men may appear “simple”, but our processes are extremely complex.

Myth:  The person you hooked up with the other night hasn’t called you, because they lost your number
Fact:  The person you hooked up with the other night hasn’t called you, because they found their sobriety and self-respect…until the next time they lose their sobriety.

Myth: My body is like steel
Fact:  My body is actually like a material that combines steel with polished marble and wood from the mighty redwoods of Northern California.

Now, to the apology.

March 17, 2012

Dear Diary:

The day began like any other, which is to say with me waking from a sleep, perchance a dream.  (Shakespeare, people.  “Hamlet” to be exact.  Ivy League education?  No.  Dorothy Findlen.)  The inner warmth of The Duke Room did little to numb the pain of my Blue Devils early exit from the 2012 NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament.

“Jesus,” I called out.  “Are you there?  It’s me, “not-Margaret”.  Are you spending the day with Maury?  I hear his Sundays are booked.”

“You know you’re not funny, right?” a voice responded from on high.  “Did you spend the entire night in here?”

“I find it comforting.  Like a womb.”

“Well that explains the in utero soundtrack you have playing in the background…while simultaneously raising a host of other questions.  You know I’m not really comfortable in this room…You added another devil???”

“That’s a gnome.”

“A gnome with a pitchfork and flaming basketball.”

“Yeah…a gnome.”

“Most gnomes don’t – You know what?  I’m not gonna have this conversation.  What did you need?”

“Some people have suggested that my depiction of you in my previous blog post may have contributed to the early exit of my Blue Devils from the tournament.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that.  Well, I CAN, because, you know, I’m Jesus.”

“Anyhoo…I just wanted to take this opportunity to sincerely apologize for anything I may have said that painted you in a less than flattering light.”

“Apology accepted, Captain Needa…Just kidding.  I’m not going to smite you.  Although I could, because, you know…Jesus.”

“Great.  Again, all apologies.  Now, do you think you could…ya know…turn back time and make it so that loss never occurred?”

“I don’t do that.”

“Superman could do it.”

“You know Superman isn’t real, right?”

“Cher can do it…and Cher’s real…at least most of her…some of her.”

“First of all, she said ‘If I could’…IF.  Secondly, she was referring to something called ‘towhm’.  If I could turn back towhm…towhm.”

"What about the Tea Party?  Can't they turn back time?"

"Only on race relations and female reproductive rights."


“So, that’s a ‘no’ on the reversal of fortune request?”

“I’m not a genie.”

“You’re right…You’re right.  I apologize for the suggestion.  You wanna grab some lunch?”

“I could eat.”

“Great.  I’m gonna go get changed.  In the meantime, can you put these on?”


“I prefer the term ‘shoe covers’.”

“For what?”

“We both know you spend a lot of time at the beach…carrying people apparently.  While that is commendable, a lot of that sand gets in my car.  It took like two weeks for me to vacuum all the sand out of my car last time…and it still doesn’t FEEL clean.  So, I was just thinking you could…uhhh…ya know…wears the shoe covers.”


“I’m gonna have to apologize again, aren’t I?”

“Wouldn’t hurt.”

“Sorry…Did I tell you that I bought a ticket to the world?”


“No, I just can’t seem to get that lyric out of my head, and thought saying it aloud would help.”

 “How’d that work out for ya?”

“Didn’t seem to help.”

“You’re welcome…”

Thursday, March 15, 2012

The Boys Are Back In Town

March 11th, 2012

Dear Diary:

The day began like any other, which is to say with my stomach disagreeing with many of the decisions I had made the previous night.  As I wiped the “sleep” (i.e. remnants of unfulfilled dreams and the wings of fairies driven mad from flying too close the madness that lies within my soul-mares), I realized that, contrary to the norm, I was not alone.  I was greeted by two familiar voices. 

“Morning, funny face,” they said.

“Ugh…Seriously???  Don’t you two have something better to do?”

“Why so grumpy, Gus?”

“I was up late last night reading about overcoming insomnia.”

“Well, that just doesn’t even sound right,” a third voice surmised.

“Jesus Christ,” I sighed under my breath..


“I wasn’t calling you.  I was – never mind.  What are the three of you doing here?”

Jesus: “Just thought we’d stop in.”

Death: “—and give you the good news.”

“So, you’re Jehovah’s Witnesses now?”

Satan: “It was good enough for Michael Jackson…You better than Michael Jackson???”

“I was just—“

Satan: “Damn right, you’re not!”

“So, what did you guys want to do?”

Jesus: “We could order a pizza and play cards.”

“I don’t like playing cards with you.”

Jesus: “Why not?”

“Because you cheat.”

Jesus:  “I’m Jesus…I don’t cheat.”

Death: “You cheated me.”

Jesus:  “You ever gonna let that go?”

Death: “I would, but it’s kinda hard when you’re reminded of it every single year!  You know, I can’t even look at a bunny without feeling mocked!  I’m Death, I should be respected!  Freakin’ bunnies…”

Jesus:  “Life without bunnies?  Cry me a river.”

Death:  “Don’t.  Just sayin’, someone makes such a big deal about dying for mankind’s sins, you’d think they’d have to stay dead.”

Satan:  “Man’s got a point.  Seems like a contract was entered into.  A ‘Gentleman’s Agreement’, if you will.  Only Begotten Son for Mankind’s sins.  There were a lot of sins committed to that point.  A lot more than a long weekend’s worth.  Sins were forgiven.  You reneged.  Death suffered public humiliation, and You get parades, bunnies, and bonnets.  Seems like negotiating in bad faith.”

Jesus:  “Why do you always have to take his side?”

Satan: “Seriously?  You get our thing, right?”

“Can’t you guys just Cadbury the hatchet?  You know you’re my Peeps.  See what I did there?  Huh???  Hahhh???”

Death: “You’re not funny…”

Jesus:  “You really aren’t.”

 “On that note, I’m gonna grab a shower…and vacates my bowels.  You guys figure out what you want to do.”  I retreated to the facilities to cleanse my anatomicals, and take care of my biological particulars.  Afterwards, I got my dress on and headed back to the fray.  (Editor’s Note:  When I say, “got my dress on”, I was referring to the act of getting dressed.  Not putting on an actual dress…though I do have the arms and calves that would be flattering in a flowy, spring number.  Perhaps, a sunhat and bug-eyed sunglasses to complete the look…Some bracelets…not too many.  Don’t want to look gauche…As I was saying, I didn’t put on a dress.)

“You guys figure out what you want to do ye--?  Where did ya’ll go?”  I headed downstairs towards the rumblings in the kitchen. 

Satan:  “You know you don’t have anything to eat, right?”

“You know you didn’t call, right?”

Satan:  “It’s customary to have snacks at the ready in the event of unexpected guests.  It’s a matter of preparation, expectation, and ettiqutte-ation.”

“So, you’re a Boy Scout now?”

Satan: “I was an angel.”


Satan:  “And you’re an ass.”

“You can leave anytime.”

Death: “Fellas…fellas…fell-uhs.  Let’s take it down a notch.  This is Women’s Month.  ‘History’ not ‘Time of the’.  So, stop acting like a couple of catty b’s.”

“Can you be a catty b-?  Seems like an incorrect mix of animals.”

Death:  “Why don’t we just go to the store and get some groceries.  We get snacks; Damion gets groceries.  Let’s ‘two birds’ this thing.”

Jesus: “Shotgun!”

Death:  “Why do you always get to ride up front?”

Jesus: “Because ‘Death is my co-pilot’ is counterintuitive, and ‘Satan is my co-pilot’ just sounds wrong.”

We piled into “Shakira” and headed to my favorite grocery.  “Favorite” other than the elevated price point for P.F. Chang’s frozen culinary masterpieces, which have become a staple of my highly-acclaimed diet.  Body by Chang, thighs by Chick-Fil-A, and intestinal regularity by Honey Bunches of Oats.  It takes a village…

“So, Jesus, have you had a chance to read my book?”

Jesus: “Haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Gave it to you like a year ago.  Can’t believe you haven’t read it.”

Jesus: “Can’t believe you haven’t read mine.  Been out for awhile.”

“Touché…In my defense, it is rather long.”

Jesus: “So, you have time to read about overcoming insomnia, which is a 6-week program, but you don’t have time to read my book?”

“I get $50 for completing the insomnia program.  What does reading your book get me?”

Jesus:  “Salvation…”

“I think we can both agree that ship has long since sailed.”

Death: “He’s got a point.”

Satan:  “Already got a room made up for him.”

We arrived at the grocery store, shopping list in hand, and headed inside.

“Remember, we’re only getting things on the list.  I don’t want you trying to buy a bunch of junk food and stuff I don’t need.”

Jesus:  “We are guests.  You should welcome us with loaves and fishes.”

“Aren’t you able to make a little food go a long way?  Shouldn’t I be able to buy a box of Ritz crackers and 3 slices of ham and have it feed my entire neighborhood for a week?  You see, I may not have read your book in its entirety, but I got the gist.”

We headed down the breakfast aisle so that I might replenish my cache of early morning sustenance.  First, the cereals: oats, honeyed and bunched; frosted Lucky Charms, because I enjoy a hint of magical deliciousness with my toast and morning paper; and, of course, a little something from the Cap’n’s table.  It’s a guilty pleasure, but a pleasure nonetheless.  Next, came the syrup.  I needed something that complemented the natural goodness of my Belgian waffles without being too overpowering.

Death: “Does it really take this long to pick syrup?”

“Trying to decide between Aunt Jemima and Mrs. Buttersworth, but can’t decide which one is less racist.”

Satan:  “Oh, for goodness sake.  Just get Log Cabin.”

“Not a fan of the wilderness.”

Jesus: “Karo?”

“I don’t hate myself.”

Death: “Hungry Jack?”

“Don’t want to pour ‘man juice’ all over my waffles.”

Jesus: “Blueberry?”

“I tend to make blueberry waffles…don’t want to get too blueberry-y.”

Satan: “Oh, for the love of--!  Would ya just pick one?!?”

“You know what?  I think I have some at home…To the dairy aisle!”

I got some milk…to do my body good; butter…for mah toast; and strawberry cream cheese…foze my bag-els.

Satan: “Can we get some ice cream?”


Jesus: “Oooh Breyers Blast Cookies & Cream with Golden Oreos…”

Death: “That’s like crack with little bits of crack in it.”

“What know you of crack?”

Death: “Unfortunately, too much.  It brings me a lot of business…too much…too soon.”

Jesus: “Only dopes use dope…”

Satan: “…And that’s one to grow on.”

“Are ya’ll done?”

It was then off to the cheeses.  “You know, I likes my cheese like I likes my ladies.”

Death: “White American?”

“Well played.”

Satan: “As part of a sandwich?”

Jesus: “On top of your meat?”

“Wow!  Really, Jesus?”

Satan: “In packs of 24…year olds?”

Death: “Mixed with wine?”

Jesus:  “Arranged on a platter and enjoyed with friends?”

“You know what?  I’m gonna need you to be a little more ‘of Nazareth’ and a little less ‘Last Temptation’…By the way, the answer was ‘extra sharp’…’extra sharp’.”

It was then that I spotted the most elusive of all grocery store wildlife…the hotness.

Death: “Go hit her up.”

Satan: “Seriously.  Make it happen.”

Jesus:  “Don’t look at me.  You only have the two shoulders.  You made your choice…kinda telling if you think about it.”

“I really don’t feel like hitting on a random woman in the bakery aisle.”

Satan: “Go on…”


Death: “Cause you’re a butterfly”

Satan: “…and butterflies are free to fly.”

Death: “Fly away…”

Satan: “High away…”

Death: “Bye-bye.”

Jesus:  “Don’t look now, but someone just saved your life tonight.”

“What does that even mean?”

Death: “Nothing.  Just really like Sir Elton John, and it didn’t seem like there would be another opportunity to work that song into this thing we’re doing.”

“You guys are just strange.  Let’s head back.”

Jesus: “Poker?”

“No cheating.”