I Saved Thanksgiving

Since we bought a house a few months ago, I have began my pursuit to become a competent handyman. I have fixed, built, and installed things since moving in, and although most people aren't incompetent boobs when it comes to these things, I definitely started as one but have now evolved into only sort of a dumbass. If there was a riddle that said, "Every time you use one, you look like one," the answer would be tool.

My shining moment began on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. I was at work, while my wife had the day off since her whole family was either in town or on their way. She contacted me to tell me that the oven was having issues. I knew that was not good, because a working oven is an incredibly important aspect of cooking a Thanksgiving meal. Since the oven was likely 20 years old, I told her it was probably in our best interests to get a new range (that's the fancy word for an oven/stove combo; I honestly don't know if you can get the two separately).

Since I wasn't too busy at work, I did some research on ranges. I found some Samsung options that I liked and figured that if they're good enough to make a TV in my living room, they're certainly good enough to make my home appliances. Also, one lady gave a review where she described the knobs as "sexy." SOLD.

But there is an issue with that. Apparently, stores don't just have a bunch of ovens hanging out in the back. Luckily, my wife was able to shop around and find a Lowe's where a customer service rep not only found one in the back but accidentally promised next day delivery when he definitely shouldn't have done that. Oh well, our score, as once they said they could do it, they had to honor it, so we were going to get an oven delivered on Wednesday.

Oh, and just as a fun sidenote, we also found out that we only had 7% of our propane tank left, so there was a chance that even with a new oven, we may not have enough propane to actually run it.

The range got delivered on Wednesday night around 5:00, and that's where I come in. I had already disconnected the old one and saw that this was actually going to be a super easy installation. Plug it in for power and then connect the gas and make sure there isn't a leak there, and bingo bango, we'd be ready for turkey the next day.

Everybody was going out for pizza, so I figured I'd be good after a quick hookup to feast on some celebratory 'za. That's when I ran into some issues. I tried to hook up the propane and realized it didn't fit, because apparently they are supposed to sell you a conversion kit to help hook up propane to a gas range. Apparently propane and gas are different things and not just like in-line skates and Rollerblades or tissue paper and Kleenex. This is literally what I thought, because I am a stupid person.

But I guess it's good that they didn't give us the conversion kit initially, because that gave me time to read through the instructions on installation. Yeah, that whole propane is not the same thing as gas talking point I mentioned earlier? Apparently, you can't just convert the connection in the back of the oven and call it a day. You see, there's these things called orifices, and they allow the gas to come through so you can cook. The issue is that gas is denser than propane, so you need orifices with smaller holes so you don't have an excess amount of gas coming through when you try to cook. That seems important.

Oh, and when I looked at the instructions, they blatantly stated that only a professional should do the propane conversion. They may as well have said, "Hey dumbass, don't even think about it, because you're going to blow up your house. You're out of your league, dipshit." I looked at that and thought to myself, "Uh, well, that's not good." But I also had another thought, "I want me a damn Thanksgiving meal, and what's the worse that could happen...oh, it's blow up the house? That is quite bad, but I still want me a damn Thanksgiving meal, so let's get after it."

Everybody went out for pizza to leave me alone with my new project. This was definitely a good thing as I like to work through my thoughts, so I really didn't want the in-laws looking over my shoulder trying to be helpful. So I had to switch out seven orifices. These orifices are about the size of a kernel of corn, which doesn't help make things easy. Still, the stove was pretty easy, as I was able to pop the tops off, unscrew the old ones and pop the new ones in. There was one that was a little difficult, just because it was a small burner so I didn't have much room to work with, but I got the job done. I'm glad I did this last, as it didn't give me time to get cocky.

The oven was another story. Luckily, they gave me a diagram of what I needed to do. Unluckily, the pictures were so tiny and zoomed in that I often had no idea what the hell I was supposed to be doing. Whenever I didn't know what to do, it was time to play with Casey The Dog to clear my head. Then I would come back to the project refreshed and ready to just start unscrewing stuff until I found what I needed. What did I need to unscrew? Oh, that turned out to be everything. These orifices were in the least convenient place possible, and it made me understand why people talk shit about engineers, because they are assholes who definitely do this shit on purpose. I literally took apart everything in that oven, and only one of those things was I not supposed to remove (I dropped a relatively unimportant screw and knew that my wife would not be pleased if she heard a rattle in the oven, even if I assured her that it was unimportant). They really do not want you doing the conversion yourself, but I was undeterred. Okay, I was actually frequently deterred, but I persevered, and that's what matters.

Eventually, I tore up that oven, replaced what needed to be replaced and put the entire insides back together. After all that, I just slid the door back on, and of course, the oven door wouldn't go back on. After all the shit I went through, I couldn't get the damn door back on. At that point, I did the logical thing and decided to wait for the in-laws to get back, because I did an entire conversion, so the least they could do is figure out the damn door. It still took them a good half hour to figure it out, and I came in at the end  to help make some final adjustments. But finally, we had a working range. I fired up every burner and the oven, and they all worked beautifully.

Everything went flawlessly the next day as I sat back and watched sports waiting for the meal as I basked in the glory of saving Thanksgiving.

The Idiot's Guide to Buying a House

This is definitely not our house.

My wife and I (and pup dog) bought a house. Buying a house sounds like an easy thing to do. You give someone money; they give you a house. We're a little late to the game on this, but we've moved around quite a bit, and there has never been a place where we wanted to stay. I'm from Davenport, Iowa, but we certainly weren't going to live through those cold ass winters. Then we moved to Bradenton, Florida and it was fine, but people drive like 20 MPH below the speed limit at all times. I think it's because they're close to death, and they're just trying to bring everyone else a little bit closer with them.

Finally, we moved to Clearwater, Florida. It's where Hulk Hogan lives, and if it's good enough for the most awesome power in the world, Hulkamania, then it's certainly good enough for us.

Still, that does not mean this was a quick and easy process. We rented for a year so we could better discover whether the Hulkster had it right. I mean, what if Ultimate Warrior had it right and we needed to move to Middle of Nowhere, New Mexico? But although Hogan hasn't mastered his opinion on race relations, after a year, we knew that he had some pretty damn good ideas on real estate.

So the search began for us, and really, it began for my wife. She was my pitbull, which was necessary, since my dog, as a Weimaraner, is not a pitbull in any way. She was searching all of the information, and she was going to open houses every weekend to see what neighborhoods she liked and didn't like. She made me sit down with her to decide what our "must-haves" and "wish lists" were so we could be fully prepared when our lease w was set to expire. She had a full printed out sheet of all of these things as well as pictures of design items that she liked in houses. Our realtor told her she was the most prepared person he had ever dealt with.

But even with this sort of preparation on our (really, her) part, this was by no means a smooth process when we finally got to the part of looking at houses. We went to about a half dozen houses early on, but all of those had major drawbacks that didn't excite us. After that, we got more picky about what we were going to check out, and we really didn't look at houses for a few weeks. It was also at this point where we started to make irrational decisions.

You know that "must-have" list that we came up with together. During this dark period, my wife was willing to bend on half of the things that we supposedly must have. That dumb broad beautiful angel wanted a house.

I was not innocent in this matter either, as I would casually say that we should start looking at houses in different areas or because she wanted to bend in one aspect of the house, maybe we could bend on a different aspect, even though I did no research, and I was just throwing ideas out of my ass, because my thought is always that doing something is better than nothing. This is not the case when that something drives your wife crazy and makes her want to smack you.

So, yeah, the dark period was not a great time in house hunting.

But then, late on a Thursday night, it happened. A house popped up. A nice house. A really nice house. It was slightly more than we would have liked to spend, but certainly not something that we couldn't afford. Also, it was just down the road from the park where Casey The Dog and I drive to so we can throw her ball and play basketball together (Air Bud is a glory pup who is all about offense; Casey is a gritty defender who does what it takes to win, just sayin'). This house had a lot of appealing characteristics.

We took a tour, and we knew. This was the house for us, but we also knew that it was priced high. We sent in an offer that night, they barely countered. We sent another counter offer, they decided to wait on it. Finally, they gave another offer, and we decided that a few thousand dollars shouldn't stop us from getting this house, especially since every month we pay our monthly rent, that's just thousands of dollars that could be going into a house. We got it for less than it was listed, so we felt good, especially because we finally had a house.

Well, not exactly.

Buying a house ain't easy, so now you've got a ton of paperwork to do. The bank will not just hand you six figures and be cool about you paying them back when you have a chance. Instead, they make you fill out form after form and send in every bit of personal information. Even though we got pre-approved, we needed to update everything that we had sent them a month and a half earlier. Since I watch too much television, I constantly think people are trying to screw us over in some way, so I question everything. I know I question way too much, because the people we got our loan from had no idea how to explain things that I was questioning. On top of that, our realtor gave us a bunch of things to sign. My bank could easily steal my identity, but now my identity is tied to a giant debt to the bank, so I think I'm safe.

And then there's the inspection. Do I need to get the 4-point inspection? What about wind inspection? Termites? Shit, man, give me the deluxe package, because I'd rather get screwed out of an extra $50 than find out we have four-pointed wind termites later on. After all of that, apparently, I should have gone cheap, because all that was found was a few outlets that weren't working. That was not a dealbreaker for us.

After that, there's a damn appraisal, and appraisals are a very big deal. An appraiser comes in the house and sets a valuation. If it's high, no big deal, everything is good to go, but if it's low, that creates major drama. The bank will only give a loan to cover what the house is appraised at, so if you agreed to pay a million for the house (Note: We are nowhere near baller enough to consider this pricing option), but it only gets appraised at $900,000, you either have to come up with $100,000 cash, or you need to renegotiate with the seller where you can compromise on a price. The latter seems to be the easier thing to do, as if the house only gets appraised for a certain price, then that is what the seller would have to sell for since it will only get appraised at that price down the road if they want to put it back on the market.

Oh, but that is only if appraisals make sense, and appraisals do not need to make sense. Appraisals can vary wildly from one appraiser to another, because there does not seem to be any actual method of appraising homes. In my imaginary scenario, they can vary by hundreds of thousands of dollars, and even in my price range, they can vary by five figures. Oh, and the owners are there for the appraisal, and they can influence what the appraiser thinks on the price. It's kind of insane.

We were kind of hoping for slightly lower than our asking price, to maybe save some cash but not too low and have the whole deal blow up in our faces. But, probably fortunately, the appraisal came right in at our offer price, so we would not be getting any deal, but we also wouldn't have to deal with any drama.

Finally, we had all of the big stuff done. All that was necessary was to sign the final papers, oh, and for the people to move their shit out of our house, which apparently took them three weeks. They already had another house that they were primarily living in, but they were just lazy and took their sweet time in actually moving their stuff out.

We finally got to just a few days before closing and nobody communicated anything to us about wiring the money for the down payment. That was odd, so I followed up. No response. Finally, our mortgage lender gave me a super high number that I could wire to the title company but said they would have the final number the day before the closing. The day before the closing they completely went dark again and gave me no information. Finally, our realtor found out the final costs and where to send it that night.

Of course this would come back to bite us in the ass. We signed the paperwork at 11:00 AM. The owners of the house did not show up, so we literally had zero interaction with the people that we bought the house from. We got the paperwork all done, but still no wire transfer since nobody told me what to do in the days before the transfer, which was neat. The movers called and said they could be ready early. The internet guy called and said he could be ready early, but since we couldn't get a wire transfer, we couldn't be ready.

So we went back to our shithole rental and waited. We should have been ready to go by 1:00 PM. Instead, we waited, hour after hour, for the damn wire to clear. It was especially home when one of the ladies at the title company told me that she didn't want to wait around until 5:00 (you know, and do her job), because she wanted to go back to her home. I assured her that I wanted to go to my new home just as badly as she wanted to cut out of work early.

Finally, after three hours of waiting, I saw the money leave my bank account and started driving towards the title place so I can get the keys and we could move in. At that point, I had only seen the house for about 10-15 minutes 40 days ago. It was just our quick walk through, and then my wife saw it a few other times, but I didn't. I made the biggest purchase of my life off of a 10-minute walkthrough, and then hoped for the best from then on. I was really hoping it didn't suck, and luckily it did not. I was anxious to get our stuff inside. Of course, since nothing can move quickly, the movers turned out to be the slowest movers ever, as it took them nearly five hours when the last moving company we hired only took three hours to move us, and there was an hour drive in between as opposed to 15 minutes.

By the time everything got moved in, I didn't even have the energy to jump in the pool, but at least Casey The Dog did as she was busy doing dive bombs after her toys and then not understanding the value of stairs when exiting the pool.

The next morning, I woke up at 4:30 AM to fly across the country for work for four days. By the time I got back there was a family of four squatters living in our house (my wife's friend and her family). I like them all, but man was I happy to see them leave so I could finally walk around naked in my house without having to worry about scarring small children with a traumatic dong sighting.

Honestly, house buying isn't exciting; it's more of a relief. I really like the house, which is good, because I really don't want to do this again. 

10 Things I'd Rather Do With My Dog Than My Wife

I love my wife. I love my dog. Now I would say these loves are different. One is someone that I can kiss and tell my deepest secrets to, the other one is my wife. But they both serve their roles. Still, there are things that I can't get from my dog that I can get from my wife, like going to places that don't allow pets, but there are also things that, although I could do with my wife, I'd rather do with my dog. Here are ten things that I would rather do with Casey The Dog than the old lady.

10. Play With Her Ears
My dog has big, soft, floppy ears that I can just run through my fingers, and snuggle my face up against. My wife has human ears. They are these weird cartilage things, and sometimes she puts stabby things (earrings) in them which makes them uncomfortable and dangerous. I'm not saying I want my wife to have an ear transplant, but I'm not saying I'd be disappointed if she woke up with Weimy ears one day.

9. Throw The Ball
Sometimes, my wife and I will play catch. It's fine, but the highlight is the involvement of my dog who is just waiting for one of us to miss it, so she can swoop in and get the ball. Meanwhile, throwing the ball with Casey is great. She sprints after it, brings it back, and we go through this until she decides that she's had enough. Also, it's a nice boost for my self-esteem as she has some toys that are easy to throw to the point that somebody once said I should play quarterback in the NFL. I mean, they were a Browns fan, so that's barely the NFL, but it still counts.

8. Go For A Walk
I'm not a big fan of walks. They're a little too slow-paced for me. But still, the enjoyment that my dog gets out of the walk spreads over to me. If my wife panted and smiled like that, it might close the distance, but she just talks. The one edge my wife has in this category is that I don't have to pick up her poop, because if my wife decides to take a dump in a neighbor's yard, she can at least pick it up herself.

7. Wrestle
Casey isn't a great wrestler, especially as she's gotten older, but she's up for a battle when it comes down to it. It almost always ends with Casey clawing my face or headbutting me, but there is a lot of excitement leading up to that moment. My wife gives up pretty quickly, as she can't overcome my size and strength advantage. I always win the latter, but I get more satisfaction out of the former.

6. Play Basketball
My dog loves playing defense which adds to the difficulty. She's also not a glory pup who needs shots, so I can put up as many as I want. Plus, she never talks shit to me about how my shot looks. I think I appreciate that last part the most.

5. Watch TV
Casey The Dog never minds when I watch wrestling. It doesn't matter if it's Raw, Smackdown, NXT, the Cruiserweight Classic, Lucha Underground, or classic episodes of Monday Nitro. She just chills and enjoys the show. The old lady could definitely learn about television appreciation from our dog.

4. Go To The Beach
My wife could spend an entire day at the beach. Just hanging out, reading, and maybe occasionally getting in the water to cool off. My dog and I are way more on the same page. We attack the beach, play as hard as we can, frolic in the water, and then we're tired, bored, and ready to go home. She's puked in my car the last two times, but she still gets the edge, as although my wife looks great in a two-piece, my dog is even skimpier when she's down to only a collar.

3. Cuddle
Cuddling is kind of boring, so I usually don't do it for very long. My dog is softer than my wife, and she doesn't mind if I stop cuddling after just a couple minutes. And I also don't get offended if she gets up when I'm snuggling up next to her. We have a mutual understanding that either of us can end it at any time with no guilt, and I appreciate that.

2. Pick Up Her Poop
As I stated earlier, I'm not picking up my wife's poop. I do pick up my dog's poop. I mean, it's not an enjoyable experience, but it'd be far more traumatizing if the old lady was dropping trou in the front yard and becoming the first human female to poop (you know, because ladies don't poop).

1. Road Trip
This is the most important one. My dog is the ultimate road trip partner. All I want on a road trip is silence and just a bit of companionship. I can listen to my tunes and podcasts, and if I want to reach over and pet the dog, she's there when I need her. Occasionally, she'll rest her head on my shoulder, and she's just really pleasant to be around. My wife only wants me to occasionally act like a social human being, but my pup dog has zero wants, and that is what makes her so special.

Don't get me wrong; my wife is great. But there are some areas where she's not as great as my dog. No shame in that.

Garage Day 2016

With the mold issue that we had at the house, we really didn't feel like staying inside and getting terribly sick. We also couldn't go far, because we needed to be there to let people in to work on the house. This led to a great compromise, Garage Day 2016. A day spent in the garage with my wife, while celebrating my dog's ninth birthday.

Since our house was full of mold, we really didn't have the option of staying in the house. We were hoping to do a beach day at the local dog friendly beach, but we had to stay at the house in case someone actually came over to work on it. This seemed like it would be a huge bummer for Casey the Dog, but Casey may have had the best birthday ever with Garage Day 2016.

Garage Day 2016 led to constant throwing of the ball for her. She could take breaks as she pleased, but we were always there waiting when she wanted to resume chasing her ball. I mean, it was either that or have conversations with my wife, so of course Casey got plenty of attention. What also helped was a mid-day rainstorm that cooled everything off for a while.

So I sat and chatted with my wife while throwing the ball for Casey. We never talk this much during the day, just because we have things to do and don't want to just sit around all day. But when forced to sit around all day, it was actually pretty nice just hanging out and conversing. I mean, it's not like I forgot, but it really reminded how well I get along with my wife where we could just chill and chat it up all day without getting bored.

Occasionally, we would take turns walking down to the community pool to take a dip and cool off. Since the community has archaic rules that do not allow pup dogs, we'd spray Casey off with the hose, which she didn't love at the time but probably appreciated being cooled off a bit. Overall, this plan lasted from about 8:00 AM - 4:00 PM. It was A LOT of garage time.

Finally, at 4:00, the amateur mold specialists that were coming in and out of our house said they were done for the day. The problem was by no means fixed, but it was at least better than before. Oh, and since we made them pull up a bunch of carpet so they could actually dry it and what was under it, we had to move our couches to the kitchen which meant that it was impossible to make a meal. So we did the only thing we could do and followed Garage Day with a good ol' fashioned brewery tour where I was the designated driver so my wife and pup could party hard.

Unfortunately, Garage Day 2016 took a toll on the old pup, and she literally just lied down to pass out by the time we made it to the second brewery (lightweight). She was so tired looking that a guy who also owns a weimaraner thought we had given her Benadryl to tire her out, but no, we just did it the old fashioned way of play all day. At that point we called it a night to head back to our mold house. Casey the Dog had a good long sleep that night, and overall, I'd say that Garage Day 2016 was a huge success.

I can't wait for 2017, this time, preferably, without the mold.

Cauliflower Ear Is the Only Tattoo I Need

I'm not a big tattoo guy, which is another way of saying that I have zero tattoos. Now I have no real issue with tattoos, as people are free to decorate/design their body as they see fit, but for me personally, I have just never had anything I wanted to have on my body for the rest of my life. Like, there's no way I'm going to get something involving my wife. I love her more than anything and we're great, but shit can change, you know? I mean, I will forever be a fan of the Iowa Hawkeyes, but what if they have a big rape scandal like Penn State? Do I really want to have to explain that every time I pop my shirt off? The answer is no, I don't. And then there's the greatest tattoo ever.

It simply doesn't get better than a full back tattoo of the grim reaper snuggling a little baby with a German phrase, "God is with us" above it. Yes, totally badass, but maybe a little much for a guy who is only 5'9" and 150 pounds.

So I live my life without any ink on my body. Luckily, there is another option for me to mutilate myself in order to show my individuality, and that mutilation is the Cauliflower Ear. Growing up, cauliflower ear was seen as a gross thing that you should do everything you could to avoid. So, I did that, as I always wore my headgear in wrestling and kept my ears in pristine condition.

In my mid-20s, I went down to Jackson-Winkeljohn to learn the wonderful world of mixed martial arts. This was a grind, and one day after a hard practice, I noticed that my left ear was swollen. I checked it out in a mirror and realized that it was about twice the size of my other ear. Since I was still a single guy, I decided I would start wearing headgear again while grappling, because I needed to stay pretty if I was going to find myself a wife.

Fast forward five years later, with a wife and a dog, I found myself scratching that MMA itch again, and since I didn't need to be pretty, I left the headgear in my gym bag and just got after it. Lo and behold, the cauliflower ear came back and is here to stay. Now, it's not quite the doubling effect that I had at my worst, but if you look at my right and left ears, you can tell that the left ear is noticeably swollen.

This is my tattoo, and it's really grown on me. It's subtle enough that you'd have to really be looking for it to notice, but when people do notice, I get instant credibility that I am not a man to be trifled with, and thank god, because I seriously do not want to be trifled with. But my left ear that is cauliflowered is my tattoo, and I'm cool with that being permanent. It's not something you ask for; it's something that you earn. It's not just a tattoo; it's a badge of honor. I weirdly love my cauliflower ear.

And again, please don't trifle with me; I'm not tough, and I'm way too old to be getting in fights, so I'm really counting on the appearance of this ear to protect me.

My Review of Top Golf

I'm in my 30s, married, a dog but no kids, so I basically live the most boring existence imaginable to the outside world. Now, this works great for me, as I love just hanging out during most weeks, as I love my wife and dog (sometimes not in that order) very much, and I'm a pretty chill dude so hanging out, getting my ass kicked at an MMA gym and going about my day are good days for me. Plus, although I'm chill most of the time, I do it big with things like WrestleMania, Grapple on the Gridiron, and the Rose Bowl. Still, my wife needs to be involved in activities, so both of us are always keeping an eye out for possible date nights. That is why I was very intrigued when my buddies mentioned Top Golf being a cool place and me realizing that there was one only about a half hour away. So, I ditched the dog, gathered up the old lady, and went out to show my wife what a dominant golfer I can be.

Here's the thing about me: I was probably made to be white trash. I don't really care about my appearance, to the point that I have gone out to meet people with my wife and had blood stains on my shirt...multiple times. I don't care about the nicer things in life, because I'm really not that picky. That being said, I'm always surprised when I go to nice places. Golf places have to be nice, because golf people somehow all act like they went to Duke. They're entitled douchebags with racist undertones, so they need to pretend they're fancy. The nice thing about Top Golf is that it is really nice, but had a variety of people there that made it not as pretentious as most places that appeal to golfers. I saw grandparents hacking away with their grandchildren, dudes just out drinking beers, and I also saw a lot of people who looked like they were cosplaying Rory McIlroy, so yes, there are still douchebags there.

Still, a three story driving range with electronic targets to keep score add some necessary excitement to the game of golf. After acquiring player cards, they sent us up to the third floor, because they could tell that we were a couple of swing...er, ball...eh, that doesn't quite work, how about club aficionados, yeah, that'll work. Anyway, we go up there, slide are card in and let the games begin.

Now, I had one strategy going in, and strategy is a word I use very loosely, because I wanted to smash golf balls. Grip it and rip it as the fellas on the links like to say. On my second shot, I sailed the ball 250 yards with just a slight hook to the left. It was a beautiful shot. Unfotunately, the deeperst target is 215 and slightly to the right from where I was, so my ball sailed over, and I got zero points.

On my wife's first attempt, she missed not the ball not once, not twice, but three times as she struck out in golf. She then hit a little dinker that manged to get near one of the targets and get her 4 points. I would say that this was the story of the day, but she actually got better as the day went on and hit everything straight as an arrow. I usually slice everything, but on this day, I hooked everything, and we were one of the furthest boxes to the left, so it was not my day to score points.

I got my ass handed to me. I found every way to miss the targets, and she just kept hitting them straight as an arrow towards those targets and kept putting up points. It was super aggravating, but instead of changing my strategy, like an intelligent person, I just kept gripping tighter and swinging harder, and hooking that ball violently to the left.

Luckily, Top Golf is not just golf, as we also got ourselves some BMs (Bloody Marys), and they had a pretty extensive bloody mary bar, so I decided to live by the motto of "Treat Yo Self" and had some celery, some bacon, a pickle, some Tabasco, a little Worcestershire, pepper, and Lawry's to really bring my BM to the next level. Also, since drinking was involved, I can just claim my wife is an alcoholic and has a higher tolerance than me, and that is why she kicked my ass so badly.

So, yeah, I got my ass handed to me by my wife in the competition (and I never let her win, so I am not even going to attempt to claim that), but it was still a good time. Oh, and next time, I'm going to be totally focused on my wife's annihilation, and no Grandparent, dude, or even a cosplaying Jordan Spieth will be able to save her.

I'll probably get destroyed again.

My Review of Atlanta

My wife, dog, and I took a trip to Atlanta this past weekend. All it took me was one weekend to understand the city of Atlanta completely.

Before arriving, I needed to find a hotel. We wanted something close to the stadium, but since the dog was coming, needed something pet friendly. Hotwire had a deal on a 4-Star hotel less than two miles from the ballpark that was pet friendly. That sounded perfect, so I booked it and found out it was the downtown Sheraton. I went to their website, and found that although they are pet friendly, it is only for dogs up to 40 pounds, which is about 20-25 pounds too light for my pup. Also, they make you pay $100 deposit, and you only get $65 back. That is not pet friendly; that is pet exploitation. They are basically just trying to wring $35 out of you with no extra work on their end of things.

I was not having any of that, so after our 6.5 hour drive to get there, I snuck in my dog through the backdoor after I checked in and continued to sneak her in and out through the back doors of the place, so I didn't have to answer any questions from that nosey front desk.

But this hotel drama was far from over, as this supposed 4-Star hotel does not have free WiFi. They were trying to charge like $9 a day to use internet. What kind of hotel charges for internet in this day and age? I have stayed in some absolute shitholes, but even those would at least give you free WiFi. Don't stay at the downtown Sheraton. It sucks.

Saturday was a day of exploration in order to obtain food and wear out the dog. The morning was uneventful, but business picked up in the afternoon. We went to Cook Out for lunch on Saturday, because it delivers a lot of food for very little money. I got walking directions from Google, and luckily Google knew of a shortcut that would save us three walking minutes. I live my life with the motto of, IGWT, In Google We Trust, so I had no issues following Google's directions. Did the neighborhoods that we walked through get sketchier and sketchier? Did we most likely walk by a drug dealing operation? Yes, that seems quite likely. Was my wife happy about Google's directions? Honestly, she wasn't. She wasn't too pleased with me at all. We took the long way back home, and honestly, when you're not walking around in fear of being murdered, the walk does seem quicker.

But maybe the most disappointing part of that story is that Cook Out was not nearly as good as I remembered it. The caramel cheesecake shake delivered, but the burger, nuggets, and fries left a lot to be desired.

That night, we went to the Braves/Cardinals game, as it was the main reason for our trip. The old lady used to work for a Cardinals affiliate, so she knows a lot of the players. I am a lifelong Cubs fan, so I could give a shit about the Cardinals, but whatever, I figured I could root, root, root for the home team.

This plan would have worked, but Atlanta got rain that just would not quit the entire night, and the game got postponed, so we would not be seeing a baseball game on our 13-hour round trip drive to go see a baseball game. But hey, that's the way it goes sometimes.

And had the game not been cancelled, I would not have seen what I assume is the most Atlanta thing possible. While driving back to the hotel around 10:00 PM, I saw two pitbulls trotting down a busy street. I thought there owner would be following closely behind, but nope. There were just two pitbulls trotting down the street in the middle of downtown Atlanta. They just took up the far left lane on a one way and looked like they knew where they were headed. I would have adopted those pups, but they were so badass that it would have made more sense for them to adopt me.

Our trip ended with a dinner with friends, and then breakfast with another friend the following morning. They were both very pleasant experiences but unless I want to reveal secrets about the persons at these meals, they were rather uneventful.

So what is my overall review of Atlanta? If you like Waffle Houses, drug deals, and pitbulls running the streets, then Atlanta is the place for you. Personally, I'll take the tamer streets of Clearwater, where the only real concern is Hulk Hogan's racism getting totally out of control.

What Is True Love?

What is true love? It is a question that we have all contemplated. We have thought that we were in love and realized that it wasn't love at all. Many times, it is lust, and other times it is just doing whatever we can to not be lonely. But I feel like after today, I know what true love is, and this story has nothing to do with my wife.

I went outside to throw the ball for Casey The Dog (my dog, whose name is Casey). After her first sprint for her orange bowl, she had shaken some things loose in her system. It was time for an exit strategy. So she squatted and produced waste.

Usually, that is where that chapter ends and we get back to throwing the ball. Unfortunately, this was not the end for Casey The Dog. She got some of her poop out, but unfortunately for her, she had gone a little heavy on her grass diet, and there was a long log of a poop/grass mixture hanging from her butthole. A lot of dogs know to just rub their ass on the ground to wipe it away, but Casey The Dog does not do that. She tries to squat and walk at the same time until she gets super frustrated and just lays down on her side.

As she lies her body down on the ground, she has a look of fear in her eyes. She does not know what to do, or if she will be cursed to permanently have poop hanging from her ass. "What type of existence will that be?" she surely wonders.

I see my dog suffering, and I must act quickly. Unfortunately, I do not have a poop bag as we were just hanging in the backyard. But I knew my dog needed me, so I told her to lay still, and I removed the substance from her butthole. It was not a pleasant experience for me, but she was totally ready for the next throw after that. Life was good once again.

What is love? Love is the will to suffer to prevent that loved one from suffering.

What is love? Love is pulling poop out of your dog's asshole with your bare hand. I love my dog, and she sure as hell better love me too.

Why Perfect Isn't Always Best

I have been married for nearly two years, and things have been great. I love my wife a whole bunch, and unless she's playing some sort of long-con, she loves me a whole bunch too. As I mentioned earlier this week, I am not my wife's type, but this also made me realize that my wife isn't really my type either. As a single guy, there is no way I would have described my wife's traits. This will surprise no one, but I would have given a very shallow and idiotic response if somebody asked me what I wanted in my future mate. The things I thought were important do not match up with my wife at all. Had I been asked to create a future wife in a lab, I would have messed it up so bad and probably would hate my creation within a week. Here are all of the characteristics my wife does not possess that single me thought were important.

Sense of Humor
A sense of humor is very important to me, as I fancy myself a fairly witty individual. My wife has a good sense of humor, but she does not find me funny. She doesn't laugh at my jokes, as she usually just rolls her eyes and calls me an idiot. I want that approval so bad, but she is very rare to give it out. She is far more entertained by me just saying and doing random things, which is a pretty nice thing. Still, as a single guy, I would have thought that I would have needed a girl who found everything I said to be hilarious (because it is), but I will admit it does feel good when what I say actually does make her laugh, as I crave that approval. Even when that happens, she is still quick to point out that I'm an idiot.

Height
I'm not a tall guy (5'9"), so I definitely have a Napoleon complex in nearly all aspects of my life. This is what partially led me to train in mixed martial arts. I knew I couldn't be bigger, but I have always wanted to feel bigger. It seemed logical to find someone shorter than me so I could at least have a decent height advantage on my mate. I thought 5'6" was about max height I would go for. Instead, my wife is about half an inch shorter than me. I have a height advantage, but just barely. I did make sure that she wore flats for our wedding, so I could at least have a height advantage on my special day. I never thought I would end up with a lady that tall, but at least I have a chance of producing a child that is 6'0" tall.

Age
I definitely thought I'd marry someone younger than me. That seems to be the traditional way of doing things, and it seemed good enough for me. Of course, the world is a-changin, and my wife is a year, a month, and a day older than me, so she's basically ancient. I never let her forget this fact.

Nice
Now don't get me wrong, my wife is a nice person. She cares about people and is unselfish, which is all well and good. However, I really wanted someone who would build up my incredibly high self-esteem. Instead, she is there to beat me back down to reality every chance she gets. It is very easy for me to get lost in my own cockiness, but she is there to remind me of any and every fault that I have. I really thought I would find a girl who was there to constantly be in awe of me, but it's probably best for the entire human population that I have someone to keep me in check.

Cooking
Growing up, I thought that my woman would cook and clean (and yes, I thought of them as a possession at that time). My wife does the latter, but she did not come equipped with the former (she has made tremendous strides). But I'm actually kind of happy that I do the cooking. This means that I always eat what I want to eat. If I feel like steak tacos, I can have steak tacos. If I feel like ground turkey tacos, I can have ground turkey tacos. Chicken tacos? Yep, any time I want. I really like tacos, but I also like other stuff, so I can whip up a Chicky Chicky Parm Parm, a whole beef brisket, or deep fry some things for funsies. I want to eat what I want to eat, so by doing most of the cooking, I get to do that, and that is pretty awesome.

Party Girl
This was by far my dumbest inclination. I used to be young and dumb and figured I would want to get wasted every weekend, and my significant other should be ready for a life of hard partying. Now, I am way more into fitness and would rather not feel like shit in the morning. I am a special occasions drinker. If something big is going down, then I'll party hard, but if it's just a regular night out, I'll gladly be the designated driver. There is no beer in our house, because I don't really care for casual beers; water and milk are good by me. My wife does party more consistently than me, but we're pretty cool just hanging out with the dog and going out for non-drinking nights out. I know that sounds uncool, but it makes us happy, and I'm not too worried about living out what someone else thinks we should be doing. I'm glad my wife is a chill lady.

Seduction
Now, I didn't want to be seduced, but I wanted to take pride in my ability to seduce my chosen target. This did not happen. I had to use the classic tight rope act of wearing my wife down without getting arrested for harassment. I walked that tight rope to perfection, but I wouldn't say she was ever seduced, more worn down with logic of letting her know, "Hey broad, we should be together." I would like my wife to be amazed at my charm and seduction skills, but I made it to the end goal, and that's all that really matters.

************

So I've tried to put a positive spin on the fact that my wife does not possess the qualities that I thought I wanted in my mate, but just in case that isn't clear, I wanted to point out that my wife is super awesome. I mean, she is totally, 100% out of my league. Also, she has the one attribute that I wanted above all else.

Happiness
My wife makes me happy. Honestly, it's tough to point out specific characteristics about my wife that I love, because things don't stand out, it's just that I really have trouble finding fault in any of her actions. And that's what it comes down to. Being with her is easy. I don't have to try, but she still thinks I'm cool to be around, and I thoroughly enjoy our time together.

And that's the whole point of this. None of these qualities really matter. If somebody makes you happy, and they feel the same way about you, hold onto it. My life is better sharing it with someone that I really care about, and I got lucky and found someone who is dumb enough to genuinely care about me. That's really neat (Also, nothing wrong with being single and happy; it's way better than being with someone who doesn't make you happy). As always, just try to be happy and everything else will take care of itself.

My Wife Has a Type, And It's Not Me

I came to a sad realization this week, as I finally had to admit that I am not my wife's type. What really hammered it home was my wife saying that "I did not see myself ending up with someone like you." That sounds bad, but that is the kind of brutal honesty that can only be had in a very stable relationship (or a relationship that is very close to ending, but I'm pretty sure we're the former).

The gentlemen she is interested in do not share commonalities with me. It's always the same type of guy that she likes, and it is literally the most boring combination imaginable. She likes tall, dark, and handsome. I definitely don't fit the first two traits. The third is at least debatable; I mean, there are many people who refer to me as Hott Joe to my face, but that may say more about them than it actually says about me. Oh, and the most important characteristic that she likes in other dudes, they must have absolutely no personality (and don't be a dick and say that I can at least fulfill that role for her).

This is never more true than when we watch The Bachelorette. She always favors the most generic looking dudes on the planet. Like, this season, it got down to the final three, and she liked the guy who nobody can remember. Does anybody even know that dude's name? I'll call him Billy. Seriously, if Billy just disappeared, would anyone have any questions? I'm not sure Billy didn't just join the show in like week six (By the way, my pick was Tanner, the only guy who actually stood up for the super drunk guy from the first episode, because, yeah, we've all gotten too drunk before. Also, he made jokes about how he couldn't believe he was still around, and I respect that sort of self-awareness). Can you name one thing Billy has done outside of being accused of being a virgin? No, because the only memorable thing about him was an interaction sparked by another person. He's as impactful as wallpaper, and that's the type of guy my wife digs.

Although the dudes she likes are good looking; they're not great looking. These fellas ain't Brad Pitt, and I think it bothers me way more that they are somewhat attainable. Like, if you're going to admit to your husband that you think another man is attractive, at least aim for the stars. Instead, she's aiming for a weekend getaway in Branson, Missouri.

Still, I put a ring on it; we've been married for almost two years, so she's basically stuck with me at this point. Oh, and to be fair, she's not my type either, but we'll get into that next time.

Why I No Longer Care What I Look Like In Pictures

I am a person that is somewhat (totally) consumed by my own vanity. I am well aware of this, as it has been this way for quite a while. I like looking at me, and it's a big reason why I stay in shape, although in most public situations, I will cite the variety of health benefits associated with working out. In reality, it's all about looking good.

Despite this, I have stopped caring about what I look like in pictures. I am a very logical person, and logically, it made sense that I should want to look good in pictures as it presented myself in the most attractive way possible. I knew ladies were judging me by my Facebook pictures, because I know I was judging them on their Facebook pictures (It's easier if I can assume everyone is as shallow as me).

But now I'm married. I no longer need to attract ladies. That is why I don't really care what I look like in pictures. My wife makes me take pictures with her, and she gives me the courtesy of seeing if I like how I appear, but it really doesn't matter. If I look good, that's nice, but I honestly prefer looking poor in pictures. If my wife looks great, and I look like shit, people will just assume I have mad game, and that's way better than just being a normal, attractive dude with an attractive wife.

Now, that being said, my wife better look good, as she is a reflection of me. If she looks like shit, it makes me look like shit, so she needs to have her shit together. But honey, if you're reading this, you always look great, and I love you so much.

So I'm totally cool with pictures now. Got a zit? Who cares? One eye is halfway open and it looks like I'm having a stroke? I'm good. Wing sauce all over my face, because I'm a 30-year-old who eats like a baby? No problem. Outside of having love and affection from a person who genuinely cares for you, not caring what I look like in pictures may be my second favorite part of marriage.

My Second Worst Nightmare

So just to be clear, my worst nightmare is definitely being buried alive. Nothing will top that, but just behind that was what happened on episode three of Black Mirror. Black Mirror is probably the most messed up television show out there, and that's why it works on NetFlix. It's British, it deals with the dangers of technology, and even when awful people have bad things happen to them, you don't actually feel happy at the end of the episode (episode 5 is a great example of this).

But the third episode was interesting in that people had chips implanted in them so they would have video of all of their memories. They could recall anything and even post up their videos on the television. Immediately, I thought of how I could relive some great times with this technology, but it was infinitely outweighed by all of the bad things I wouldn't want to relive. Now you are able to delete things that are boring or you do not want to remember for eternity, but other people would have my embarrassing moments saved, so I'm totally cool with our current memory system (Even in the positive moments, it may be better that I can glorify the moment and remember myself as way cooler than I actually was).

SPOILER ALERT. Do not read on if you do not want episode three ruined for you. I'm about to go over things.

So my second worst nightmare definitely happened in this episode, as a guy found out that his wife was cheating on him. That would be enough to put me in a very dark place, but then he finds out that their only child actually isn't his kid, as it was caused from the affair. There is no coming back from that. Not only did you get cheated on, but this guy is more successful than you at impregnating your wife.

At this point, I would have no choice but to live my life full of hatred. I'm not a big supporter of hate, but at that point, you basically have to embrace it. Here would be my hatred power rankings.

3. The Other Dude
Yeah, what he did was really shitty, but a lot of dudes sleep with women who are in relationships. If I saw him out and about, I'd probably fight him, because my hatred would outweigh the fact that I'm an adult and fighting is for children.

2. My Wife
I'd hate her more for sure. Not only would that shitty thing be out there, but it would also ruin all of my other memories of and with her. The dude in the episode ended up carving out the chip in his head so he could just wipe away all of his memories, and that totally seems worth it, because otherwise, happiness would not be attainable. At least my memories would be blurry, but happiness would not be finding me anytime soon.

1. The Baby
I know it's a baby, but I would hate that baby. I know that baby didn't do anything to me, but that baby would represent the worst moment of my life, and I would really wish for that kid to fuck up his life and possibly become a famous serial killer. Actually, I take that back. I don't want him to become a famous one. I want him to be one of the shitty ones that time has forgotten.

And the reason I can write about this is I'm currently in a really good marriage with my wife. I trust my wife won't cheat on me, and especially wouldn't get impregnated and make me think the child was my own, but, uh, I guess if my wife is reading this and was thinking about it, like, don't. Yeah, please don't do that. It would not be cool.

But gun to her head, she has to cheat on me and have a baby or bury me alive. Cheat away, honey. Cheat away.

How's Your Sleep Going?

People always ask about work, why not sleep? Spend roughly the same amount of time and the stories are usually just as interesting. And since everybody asks about work, it becomes so repetitive. Once I tell a work story once, I am completely over it, because even good stories get old quick. I mean the best story from work I have had recently is going to take a piss, and when I was washing my hands, watching a guy walk into the bathroom with his lunch and just lingering around, clearly waiting for me to leave so he could eat his lunch. I don't know if he was going to go after it at the sink or take it into the stall. I don't want to know, but needless to say, I now walk across the street in order to go to the bathroom in another building. I don't want to relive that every time somebody asks about work

Meanwhile, sleeping has been way more exciting. I've been sleeping real well. I have this plan where I turn on an old episode of Raw, and Marty Jannetty instantly puts me to sleep. It's amazing. Also, last week, my wife was out of town, and my dog insisted on snuggling, but where she usually likes to kick my wife in the middle of the night, she didn't move an inch for me. Unfortunately, my wife came back and was a blanket stealer, so there is some drama in the household. 

See? There's a story of triumphant sleep, unconditional love, and drama, all in a week's time. Sleep is way more exciting than work. 

And if you think this is just a long-winded way of saying I still haven't found a full-time job? Well, you'd be right. Thanks for reading.

Alone on Christmas

The title of this post makes it seem like it will be sad, but let me be very forward, this is not a sad occasion. I am cool with being by myself on Christmas. Christmas just doesn't mean that much to me.

Now don't get me wrong, Christmas was great growing up. I basically got everything I wanted outside of one Christmas, and I cried like a baby because of it (I'm pretty sure I was like 15 or 16. God, I sucked). But even though Christmas was always great growing up, the holiday itself doesn't mean that much to me. I currently live in Florida, so the idea of going up to Iowa during the winter has zero appeal to me. I will admit that upper 70 degree weather doesn't feel like Christmas, but I'm okay with that.

It means way more to my wife, and although she likes stuff more than I do, it's not about that at all. For her, it is a huge deal for her entire family, so the holiday represents way more than Jesus, Santa, and cold weather. My family gets together when we can; her family makes every effort to get together for Christmas.

My wife has been pretty bummed, because up until about two weeks ago, she thought she was going to have to work over Christmas. Then she found out she would be able to get the time off. I told her that even though I couldn't go, she should go back home to Ohio and spend it with her family. She didn't want to leave me alone on Christmas, but I had to assure her that for me, it's like being left alone on any other day. It means that Casey the Dog and I will spend way too much time together, and I will watch a constant stream of WWE Network.

That was enough to convince her to go, and she was able to surprise her family as Saturday night she snuck in and provided them a "Christmas miracle." Thanks to technology, I'm never really alone, as she texts, Snapchats, and calls. Calls are the worst. What a cruel world where I have to pause a Sabu/Alex Wright match from Nitro circa 1995 to talk to my wife.

And I'm enjoying my freedom. For Christmas Eve, I hit the gym, did my back workout, drank a smoothie, took the dog to the park, ate some Salmon for lunch, took the dog for a little walk, and then made Steak, grilled onions and mushrooms, and mashed potatoes for dinner. In between, I alternated episodes of Monday Night Raw and Nitro. My plan for Christmas day is going to be very similar outside of a run replacing the gym, and my meals changing a bit. It is going to be a very nice day.

That all being said, I am choosing to be alone. I can completely understand how involuntary loneliness can be awful this time of the year. I don't have great advice except for to try to make the best of the situation. Have some guilt-free binge watching, cook up your favorite meal, and most importantly, get some fresh air; it's amazing how much something that simple can change an attitude.

But I'm going to go take care of the important things in life. Poop out this steak (with the bathroom door open, no big deal), go for a run, and eat even more steak. Merry Christmas to you? Merry Christmas to me!

Being Unemployed Sucks

Being unemployed sucks. I have been without full-time employment for nearly a year and a half. That sounds bad, and it is bad, but it could be worse. I got a severance package from my last position, so I was still getting paid for a few months, and then I collected unemployment for a few more. In May, my wife got a job and we moved, and in June I began taking temporary positions. Still, after nearly a year and a half and nearly 1000 positions applied for, I remain unemployed.

One thing I like to do is read about the unemployment statistics and stories. Well, I don't really like doing it, but I do it, and this is definitely a case of misery loves company. At first, the one thing that surprised me was the number of people that had just given up on finding a job, but as time has gone on, I understand it more and more. I have been able to stay motivated at most times, but there are days where I just don't want to look at open jobs, because I have already convinced myself that there is nothing out there for me. Those are the sad moments, which happen slightly more than the angry moments where I get mad at nothing in particular, just my inability to move forward.

I only have myself to blame. I have made irresponsible decisions when it comes to my career, and this is the side effect of those decisions. In 2010, I left a job that I enjoyed in minor league baseball to move to Albuquerque to get my ass kicked every day training in mixed martial arts. It was one of the most fulfilling experiences of my life, but it doesn't exactly pop on a resume. Combine that with the long stretch of unemployment I had after leaving my last job in Iowa, and there are definitely some red flags for potential employers. I suck on paper, and it prevents me from proving how great I am in person, but whining about it won't help. It's nobody's fault but mine, so all I can do is suck it up and keep plowing forward.

90% of the time, I keep a positive attitude. Logically, I understand that feeling sorry for myself isn't going to help, so I might as well keep a good attitude about things. As I said, this works 90% of the time, but there are other times where it gets super fucking depressing. Like, holy shit, what is wrong with me? I'm not gonna lie; I've had a couple days where I just wanted to curl up and go to sleep, because the only thoughts on my mind are about my inability to get a damn job. It is that sense of failure that just weighs me down. I know that sulking isn't going to help, but sometimes, it has gotten the better of me, and I give in to start new the next day.

I'll admit that seeing that in writing is pretty sad, but I'm still fine. Everybody gets depressed here and there; Most people have it way worse than I do, so I am definitely not looking for a pity party. I just have one area that causes me a ton of grief. I'm incredibly happy to be married, as my wife helps me feel like the luckiest unemployed guy in the whole world. If I was not married, I would really be struggling, but she has been beyond great the entire time (I could probably write an entire post that just focused on how great she has been). Also, shout out to Casey the Dog as she helps me get outside to play with her. Just getting out and breathing in that fresh air is really helpful, and it is something that I would be lazy about and avoid if I didn't have the dog forcing me to play.

I am actively failing to find a job every day, but eventually I will succeed. Will that make it a more enriching experience when I do find a good job? I'm not gonna bullshit you; it won't. It will simply be a feeling of relief, because in the day-to-day struggle, it can be pretty miserable. Still, in the grand scheme of things, I'd say I'm still coming out ahead. I have a great wife and dog, I live in Florida instead of the Midwest; so my December has 80 degree weather instead of 8 degree weather. Being unemployed sucks, but it's not the end of the world. Now if you'll excuse me, my dog is pestering me to play ball. I could use the fresh air, and this is one job I plan on keeping.

What Turning 30 Means

The short answer is "Not shit." I am guessing that you would like a little more insight than that, but today being my 30th birthday, I can assure you that it is just another day.

I have been married for nearly a year, and I still love my wife. Just knowing that she is in my life is enough to put a smile on my face. Also, she loves me way more than she did on our wedding day. She's even starting to laugh at some of my jokes now instead of just calling me an idiot.

I have a dog that I love way too much, but to be fair, she loves me way too much too. I can neither confirm nor deny that she tries to hump me anytime I crawl on the floor (yes, she). I can confirm that my wife is very jealous of our relationship.

I'm in good shape, even better than I was a year ago, so if all else fails, at least I have my health.

My only real complaint is that career-wise, I am a giant loser. Considering my education and skill-set, I should be way further ahead in the corporate world, but I only have myself to blame as I have taken two long sabbaticals from work for no other reason than, "Eh, I'm gonna go do my own thing for a while." Shockingly, that can scare off potential employers. Still, I'm bouncing between temp jobs, and although it's easy to feel down about not getting offered a good full-time job, logically, I know something will hit soon.

With that, I wish I had more money (who doesn't?), but complaining about it is silly. We live comfortably a mile from the beach, and eventually, I promise to get my wife a bedroom set so our mattress doesn't lay on the floor.

This isn't how I imagined my life turning out. I'm never going to be a professional athlete (who would have thought you would need size, athleticism, and coordination?). I'm never going to be rich and famous. But at least I have a blog, damnit. In all seriousness, life is good. I'm happy with where I'm at, and I'm excited for where things are going.

These thoughts may have seem jumbled, and that's an accurate representation of what goes on through my head. 30 adds no clarity to the mind, as just like when I was 10 and 20 years old, I'm still trying to figure things out. I have more answers now than I did then, but I still have just as many questions. I'm smart enough now to realize I'll never figure life out, so I'm going to do what I think is best. Do fun things, spend time with fun people, and overall, try to leave more good than bad. Outside of that, I don't have a clue, but I guess that's part of the fun.

My WWE Battleground Experience

So it was date night on Sunday, and I did the most romantic thing I could think of, getting my wife and I tickets to WWE Battleground. We shared a Mountain Dew beforehand, because we needed that childhood sugar boost in order to truly enjoy the evening. It also helped complete my transition into the 12-year-old that I become when watching professional wrestling. My seats were right by the preshow broadcast table. The most interesting part about that is obviously that Renee Young was constantly giving me looks despite my wife being right there. Get a hold of yourself, Renee. The best part though was Alex Riley refusing to acknowledge any fans calling his name, because he knew that the second he did, they were going to talk shit to him. Poor Alex Riley also got to his position 15 minutes before anyone else would join him. But let's look at this card match by match.

Fandango vs. Adam Rose was uneventful. My wife (who will be in the room while wrestling is on but rarely pays attention) made a good point in that everything around the Adam Rose is really fun. Unfortunately, she doesn't really care for Adam Rose. I have to agree. I want to cheer it, because the group is fun, but Adam Rose is not anybody that I care about.

For some reason they put on the main event second with Naomi taking on Cameron. It was bad. Yep, that's all for that.

The main card started off with BY FAR the best match of the night. The Usos vs. The Wyatt Family was awesome in every conceivable way. I screamed like a child throughout this match, as that third fall was insane. I thought the match was over at least eight times, and it got by far the biggest crowd reaction of the night. That match alone was worth the price of admission, which is good, because the other matches did not offer much.

Next up was AJ vs. Paige, and they got nothing out of the crowd. They were fine, but this crowd was only really into the tag match and the main event. Otherwise, it was dead in the arena. 

Then there was Swagger and Rusev, which was a little anti-climactic with the countout, but it was a fine match. Still, Swagger could have just been dazed from hitting the steel pole as opposed to being unconscious for the next hour.

You know what this card could have used? An exciting match between two young guys who just flat out go in the ring. Luckily, there was a match scheduled between Seth Rollins and Dean Ambrose. Unluckily, they cancelled the match. This was by far the biggest disappointment of the night.

Jericho vs. Wyatt was almost there in so many ways. It was almost a good match, but they couldn't quite find the right chemistry in the ring. The finisher came a little too easy. Overall, it was fine, but it could have been so much more.

It is impossible for battle royals to not be entertaining, and this one delivered. The Kofi spot was really cool, and everything Cesaro did was awesome, especially putting over Heath Slater. But as great as all of those things were, the best thing Cesaro did was during the entrances. He was just casually walking around the apron, and out of nowhere, he gives Big E a shove from behind. There was no provocation that caused it; he just did it, because that's what heels do. God Bless Cesaro. 

But yeah, it sucked knowing that Dolph was going to eliminate Sheamus only to be eliminated by The Miz immediately after. The crowd didn't even pop when Ziggler knocked him out, as everyone knew what was about to happen. 

The main event happened. Another okay effort with a stupid predictable ending. It could have used a whole lot more Brock Lesnar. 

So the tag match was amazing, and the battle royal was fun. Everything else was pretty forgettable, and still, it was a worthwhile experience. Live WWE events are fun to go to, and my wife said she would definitely go the next time that they were in town. I love her so much, almost as much as that Usos/Wyatt tag match.

The Best Name For A Baby Boy: Machete

I know what you're thinking. Machete isn't the name of a child. It's a giant knife. Yeah, well John and Joe used to be the name for the bathroom and coffee, but it worked out pretty well for a large portion of the population). But the real question is: If I have the perfect boy name, why am I sharing it with the world? Unfortunately, I have to share it with the world, because my wife will not let me share it with my son.

My wife and I talk about baby names a lot. The girls' names we came up with were easy. I just went to the local strip club with a pen and paper and boom, 15 great names for girls that will make sure they are go-getters. But the boys names are tough. She would bring up crummy names, and I would point out how children are going to make fun of them for that name.

Finally, the perfect named dawned on me, like an angel setting me on a wondrous path. It was manly, classy, and there was literally no way to make fun of it.

Machete. How badass is that? My wife tried to ruin the name by saying kids will call him MaShitty, but that was a silly argument. Do you know how much fun my son would have when he was in high school and college and yelling at parties, "Who wants to get MaShitty tonight?" There would be a small earthquake from all the panties dropping at once.

Also, you can shorten it to Mach, which can be pronounced like Macho or like Mach-Five. Either way, it's gritty as all hell.

It's the best name ever, but my stupid wife (honey, if you're reading this, I'm only kidding about the stupid part; also, you're very pretty) won't let me use it. So, please, don't even include your wife on the naming of your child. She'll be so drugged up after giving birth that you can sneak in naming the child before she even realizes it. Machete [whatever your last name is] has a pretty good ring to it, doesn't it?

Be on the look out for most popular boys' names. Machete will be topping the list by the end of next year.

Goodbye, Quad Cities

Goodbye, Quad Cities.

That is a something that I have wanted to say for as long as I can remember. I grew up in the Quad Cities, on the eastern border of Iowa, and despite my family being from there and most remaining there, I can never remember a time where I thought I would grow old there. I hated the area, and I was going to do my best to leave.

Since I didn't want a massive debt, I stayed in state for college and went to the University of Iowa. It was less than an hour from my hometown, but it felt like a world away. It had a thriving nightlife with college girls, tailgating, alcohol, and college girls. For an 18-22 year old, good looking college women could make Siberia seem like Paradise. It was not too bad.

When I graduated, I was wiling to move anywhere for my first job. I really lucked out as I got a job in Seattle, one of the best places on the planet. If I were a single guy and found any job in that area, I would move out there in a heartbeat. In fact, if you are young and single, do that. Move to Seattle. The rain is way overblown and the summers are perfect. 

So why did I leave? Well, the main reason is that my bosses hated me. That meant I had no chance of being promoted, and even if I were promoted, the long-term job prospects of the Seattle SuperSonics were not the best (Spoiler alert: They moved to Oklahoma City). Because of that, I had to look around for jobs. Luckily, the guy who originally hired me for the Sonics really liked me and he took a job with a different sports team. Unluckily, he happened to move from Seattle to the minor league baseball team in my hometown. Back to the Quad Cities, it was. I was happy to have a good job, but it was bittersweet for the area I was moving back to. 

This next go-around wasn't so bad. The most positive thing was that I worked so much that I barely had any free time. Because of that, where I lived really didn't matter. When I did have free time in the fall, I could go to Iowa football games to tailgate, but still, I knew that the area was not made for me.

After two years, I quit my job and decided to move to Albuquerque. This was my "Be young and stupid" phase of life. Surprisingly, my young and stupid phase did not involve drugs or alcohol. But I moved to Albuquerque, tried to write a screenplay (I finished it; it has potential, but needs a major overhaul, something I have not done three years later) and trained in mixed martial arts. It was a great experience overall, but I knew I was never going to be a fighter (I'm a pussy), so it had no long-term potential. I got my ass kicked for the better part of a year before moving back to Iowa, but this time, it was at least West Des Moines.

West Des Moines was good; I lived with my brother, and since we are practically the same person, we got along really well. But there was a girl that I had been on and off with, but we were going to try to be on again, and she convinced me to move back to the Quad Cities for the sake of love. I packed up and headed back.

She dumped me two weeks later. 

So I was back in the place I wanted to be the least, with no job, no lady friend, and living with my parents (pretty cool roommates, but not exactly an ideal situation for a single guy). The best job offer I had was a part-time tennis instructor for children. The job was great, the money was not, and I was still in limbo with life, just hanging out in the QCA, not really doing much of anything. 

Don't get me wrong. When things lined up nicely, and a big group of people came out or something special was going on, I had some fun times. But for the most part? Going out in the Quad Cities is awful. There wasn't a single place that delivered more fun times than times where I was staring at my phone hoping for the night to end. It was miserable.

But this story does have a happy ending. I got a job and got promoted twice in a year. That on-again, off-again lady friend became on again. I proposed, and we got married in September. 

Since we both hate the cold weather, we quit our jobs and moved to Florida last week. I have finally left the Quad Cities, and this time, it's permanent. Hooray, me. I finally did it.

And yet, as much as I hate living in the Quad Cities. This moment is still bittersweet. It's 80 degrees down here and has snowed and been in the teens up there, so the weather is really, really sweet. But it's still tough.

Although a lot of friends have moved around the country, there are still some awesome people in the Quad Cities that I am going to miss. Those people don't hate the Quad Cities. They go out and have a blast, and there's nothing wrong with that. Just like I am doing what makes me happy by moving away, they are doing what makes them happy and staying in a place that they thoroughly enjoy with people they love to spend time with. I will always look forward to going back and hanging out with those people, and I hope they're smart enough to come visit me during the winter.

As much as I love my friends, there are two people I am going to miss even more, and those are my parents. My parents are the nicest people ever, and none of my bad traits should be attributed to them. They have gone above and beyond in helping me out in every way imaginable, and I am going to miss them only being a 15 minute drive away. I would not be where I am today without their love and support, and for that I am forever grateful.

The one thing that makes this easy is the number one person in my life. My wife is an amazing person, and I am incredibly lucky that she settled for me. We're going at life together, and although there is still a lot of uncertainty in our immediate future (we should probably try to get jobs soon), there is nobody I would rather face this uncertainty with than her. 

In my hometown, there is a saying that runs on the local news where people get on TV and say, "Hello, Quad Cities." Today, I say, "Goodbye, Quad Cities." Although this is definitely a happy moment, I am going to miss my family and friends. But with my wife by my side, it's hard to not be excited about the future, and I'm really happy with where things are going.

Oh, and the weather is going to be pretty sweet too.