Everything is wrong with me
Monday, July 25, 2005
weekend notes
Friends of mine, a married couple, recently had a baby. On Friday after work, I went to see the baby. And I mean, wow. I really love babies.

I don't mean to be getting all soft on you or anything. I'm just as bitter and angry as I've always been. And I'm pretty sure I'm not dying (at least 60% sure). Nor have I found God or anything like that. He and I are still not anywhere close to reconciling, especially since two weeks ago I called Him at 4 in the morning to leave an angry rant on his voicemail about how quickly milk goes bad and how expensive condoms are.

And it's not like I'm unfamiliar with babies. I am the second oldest cousin on both sides of my family. On one side, I have fifteen cousins. On the other, twenty-four. The point is that I grew up around babies...it seems like I had at least one cousin born every year for about twenty years.

But I'll tell you, maybe it was the tequila, but seeing this baby really got me. And I immediately made a decision without seriously thinking about it: I want one.

I know what you're thinking, "Aren't you the same guy who fell off his roof two weeks ago because he drank a bottle of shampoo and tried to fly?" Well, yes, that's true. Although it wasn't technically "falling off", as I did get a pretty good running start. Just pointing that out.

All I know is that that baby was the most wonderful thing I had ever seen. Upon seeing it, I forgot about my low self-esteem, my drinking problems, my sexual, physical and mental impotence, and all those crimes I committed in Ohio, Illinois, Tennessee, Oregon, Washington, Pennsylvania, and New York from 1988 until 1995. And three times last week.

I realize that in order to have a baby one most procure the help of a real live woman. All I can say about this is that I'm working on it. I won't take any further questions, because they are just too painful.

Two side notes about my baby experience:

1) Everyone came to the new parents' house with gifts for the baby: clothes, stuffed animals, toys, etc. I showed up with a bottle of Grey Goose. Some people made fun of me for this, but I thought this was perfectly acceptable. Who needs a gift more: the baby who's been sleeping, eating, and pooping every three hours or the parents who have been harried and sleepless since its birth? Mulgrew: 1, Others: 0.

2) There was a lot of talk about how expensive baby clothes are. I think this is kinda moot. Why would you care what your baby wears anyway? The baby doesn't have any idea what it's wearing, so why not just drape it in old t-shirts for the first few years? Of course, you can start buying the child clothes when it gets school-age, maybe five or six, because you don't want him/her getting picked on. But in the meantime, why not save the cash for other crap and fit him in your old Zeppelin shirt? Seems pretty simple to me.


A lot of the emails I get go something like this:

"Dude, you rock. Mostly because by being so terrible, you make me feel better about my miserable life. You should write more about New York City. I love New York City."
I don't exactly know how to respond to this, because I don't really know what you all want me to say that I don't say already about NYC. It's cool. And beer is expensive. Otherwise, not bad.

Do you want me to name drop? Not that I can name drop, since I know only about seven people here now, but should I say things about where I go? Like, "On Saturday, went to Anatomy in Alphabet City. It was cool. Had to leave though, because Brian somehow lost a shoe. Then caught a cab to 151 in the LES. God, that place was so much cooler before all the frat boys discovered it (much like 6s & 8s, which now can get so fratty they might as well set up a beer pong table in the middle of the fucking bar). Disdain, disdain in your general direction."

Well, I can't do that. It's too tiresome. So I'm glad you like NYC and I thank you your suggestion, but this isn't a travel guide. So don't expect to hear about a bar unless I really, really hate it or it's really, really awesome. Thank you.


Prior to going out on Saturday night, a couple of buddies of mine were pre-gaming at my place, drinking beers and eating pizza. Something that might shock you about me is that I don't drink beer with food (if you start to feel light-headed because of this information, please sit down). For me, it's a separate thing - there's eating, which is glorious, and there's drinking, which is also glorious. I don't like mixing the two.

So on Saturday night when the pizzas came, I finished my beer and got some Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper, which is a pretty fucking awesome soda. I don't usually drink soda, but I did so here, because it is delicious and also because it gives me a little jolt of caffeine.

(Another thing about me is that I rarely have caffeine. I don't drink coffee, tea, or soda, so the only time I get my caffeine is on the weekends when I have a few red bulls to kick start the night. Because I don't have it during the week, when I drink these red bulls, they hit me very hard and really get me going. It's like a safer, cheaper cocaine, although you're not as likely to start a fight with a wall on red bull. But I digress...)

Anyway, my buddy Jeremy was over having some drinks and he tried some of the Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper. I said, "Pretty good soda, right?" To which he replied, from his reclined position on the couch, chewing on a giant mouthful of pizza, "Eh, too many words."

We all shared a laugh and nearly peed ourselves, mostly because of the alcohol and drugs going through our systems. Sadly, that was the highlight of my Saturday night.

I think I need new friends.


I went to Cold Stone twice this weekend and came to a conclusion: the singing has to stop. Whenever you tip them, one yells, "Hey guys, we got a tip!" and they all break into song. It is very, very uncomfortable.

I went on Saturday and it wasn't a big deal, because when I tipped them the place was packed with people and there were a lot of Cold Stone workers behind the counter singing, so I just got the hell out of there and let the crowd deal with the song. But when I went on Sunday, there were only three employees working and myself and another woman in the store. So when I got my ice cream I tipped and sure enough, the three employees started singing. I didn't know if I was supposed to sit there and listen to them sing or what, but I got the hell out of there and let the other customer deal with it. Very, very uncomfortable.

The sad thing is that I don't think I can tip these guys anymore. I mean, I really want to - what with them giving me a delicious and over-sized ice cream treat - but I can't take that singing. And I feel like if I tried to tip the guy but said something like, "You don't have to sing", it would turn into some Larry David-esque episode with him calling me out on it and saying, "What? You don't like our cheerful singing?" and then a customer saying, "Yeah - what's wrong with you?" and then some hot chick saying, "He's just bitter because he's fat!" But unlike Larry David, I would grab a fucking chair and hit the bitch who called me fat and would scream "You fucking bitch! I will kill you and shit on your grave! I will shit on your fucking grave in front of your family and your pets! I was in People fucking magazine! Do you know who the fuck I am! I have a blog! I have a fucking blog!". I am sensitive about my weight.

So sorry, no more tips.


I am thinking of buying a digital camera in the $200 - $250 price range. I need help with this. I know nothing about digital cameras, but I want something small and something that can hold a lot of pictures (I got a free digital camera last year when I got my laptop that held a whopping ten pictures) and easy to use. I don't need any fancy bells and whistles, since most of the pictures will be taken in close range and of my scrotum.

If you can help me with this by offering some suggested models, please send me an email. Now that y'all know what I look like, I wouldn't mind putting pictures on this site. However, that is probably a ways off and reading that last sentence most likely gave Site Guy Brendan a heart attack, as he now knows I'm going to start stalking him about this.

[And I promise to be better with emails in the future in the hopes of resurrecting the "Email of the Week" thingee that I did a few months back. There were some really good ones that I didn't get a chance to respond to, so my bad.]

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