- I had a dream in which my wife and I were somehow kidnapped by a cannibal cult, led by my good friend Loki. The cult consisted of all sorts of different people from all walks of life. The deal was, join them, or they’d let you go, then find a way to kill you and make it look like an accident. They wouldn’t let us go from their bbq party till we’d eaten some “long pig”. We both ate it, and left, then had an action movie sequence where we managed to get to the police alive, somehow.

- After the tenth high school reunion, who really gives a shit about seeing people you have no contact with anymore, that you happened to share classroom space with years ago? I can’t imagine how high school reunions are relevant anymore.

- I thought about the high school reunion thing this morning before I left for work, and on the train to work later in the morning, saw someone I graduated with. I pretended I didn’t know her, and she very politely did the same for me. I didn’t remember her name anyway.

- I don’t really know why I would have had a dream about being kidnapped by a cannibal cult, then wake up and think about high school reunions.

- There’s nothing more disgusting than a guy who talks on his cell phone while taking a dump in a public bathroom, except maybe a guy who audibly spits on his toilet paper in the public bathroom. I almost yacked today.

- Its easy to be brave behind a keyboard, but its even easier to be brave behind the controls of an M1 Abrams. Sabot rounds solve internet arguments.

- Is it wrong that there are beers I want to know in the biblical sense? Probably.

- The BBC is the greatest source of broadcast entertainment in the known world. There are countless unbelievably great shows, movies, documentaries and news programs that come out of the sceptered isle. Yet in this country, people still post about “The Bachelor” on Facebook.

- I am addicted to making ice cream for people. The more exotic and odd your flavor combination is, the more I view it as a challenge. Enough with this “chocolate” and “mint chip” BS. I want someone to ask me for “cucumber ripple”.

- I once read a book about a kid whose uncle raised him, and the uncle owned an ice cream parlor, and made a flavor called “cucumber ripple”. For some reason that always sounded awesome to me.

- I’m beginning to understand why there’s this stereotype of “don’t argue with your wife, you’ll lose”. The other day I was thinking “jeez, why doesn’t my wife ever put the tray back in the toaster oven when she’s done!” I imagined how that argument would go in my head, and it resulted in her asking me why

o I seldom replace the TP roll

o I leave wet towels on the bed in the morning

o I take off my shoes in the hallway

o I leave a light on 95% of the time I leave for work in the morning

o I have yet to fix the toilet despite it having been several months that I said I would do so.

and I realized there were probably two or three that I didn’t even know about, and I figured maybe I’ll just shut up about the toaster. I should really fix that toilet this weekend.

- My wife thinks its really weird that I would be asked to grow a beard for the wedding I’m in this summer. I, on the other hand, look at it as a fun and exciting challenge. I want to grow a Zack Galiafinakis beard, but I think I probably won’t make it by June. I can probably shoot for Unabomber though.

The second one is my favorite.

I’m thinking of starting a regular feature on THF, called “Bad Advice From the Internet”. The other I posted a ridiculous article about “What Women Wish Guys Knew” – a reminder that listening to advice found on the internet can easily have startlingly traumatic consequences. But let it never be said that equal time is not given here on Tellhimfred.

The website MadeMan sends out daily emails, which I find mildly entertaining from time to time, mostly for their “check out this cool gadget” column. It’s your typical Maxim/MANswers/FHM analog, nothing really to write home about. I keep their emails in my spam bin, but every now and then will scan through and read about beer-dispensing robots or bed pillows shaped like boobs. Today, however, their lead story was titled “The Secret to Sexual Charisma”. Of course, I had to read it, knowing it would be full of the same kind of great advice I’d found in the aforementioned MSN article.  After doing so, I was convinced that the editors of this website, if such creatures exist, must have decided to pare down the original title of the article for economy’s sake: “The Secret to Sexual Charisma With Slutty, College-Age Indie Rock Skanks of Below-Average Intellect”

————–

Look the part

So you’re eyeing up a hottie at your local watering hole (or airport). (Yes, there really is a link to an article about “how to pick up girls in airports”. Win.) No matter how great a catch you may be, if you’re dressed like a sweaty tourist, the only thing she’s gonna give you are directions out of the bar. So baggy jeans and a jersey are out… what’s a look that exudes that telegraphs to your target that you’re an experienced carpenter (ie you’re great at NAILING… heh heh)? (WHAAAT)

We’d suggest something confident and trendy (like a pair of skinny jeans) paired with something loud and borderline outrageous (like a wild colored button down and a pair of red shoes) with a touch of “asexual, sexual” flair (like some bracelets, a necklace or anything else that looks like it might’ve been pilfered from a woman after a night of steamy love making).

OK, I’m guessing that the writers of this oracular treatise are estimating their target audience at around the 17-22 age group, which, given what I know of the “hick skills of that talent pool, might be just the group to aim this bullshit gun at. Skinny jeans, outrageously colored shirt, red shoes and bracelets? I have a hard time, even today, believing that the stick-leg, amusingly flamboyant ladyboy look is a guaranteed chick-winner wherever you go. If it is, then something has gone horribly wrong and I don’t want to live anymore.

Smell like sex

What did you smell like after the last time you had sex? Sweaty, a bit nasty and a lot like her perfume. Thankfully, there’s a cologne on the market that can replicate that smell, called Morning After.

Wait, no, there isn’t. But there damn well should be. So if you can’t completely replicate that Morning After smell, you might as well come as close as humanly possible… when you’re getting ready to hit your pick-up spots, definitely take a shower but DON’T SHAMPOO YOUR HAIR. Just rinse it with water and add a smidgen of conditioner.  Get some unscented anti-perspirant because while you don’t want to smell like an air freshener but she’s not gonna give you the digits if your pits are dripping. Then make sure the shirt you’re rocking has been worn once or twice before. And then visit a female friend (or a Sephora) and get a spritz of her favorite perfume a couple times on your clothes.

If you do it right, this potent mixture of manly and feminine smells will be too hard for her to fight. And it’s damn cheaper than cologne.

Hi, ladies. I smell like a curious mixture of unclean laundry, faint b.o. and hair that hasn’t been washed, with a side order of last night’s skank. WHY ARE YOUR CLOTHES NOT FALLING OFF

I’m well aware that the right smell can be gold…but again, if this is what scientists have determined is the right combination, I’m going to go live on the moon.

Walk the walk

We can’t stress this enough… CONFIDENCE, CONFIDENCE, CONFIDENCE! You know that when you open your mouth, you need confidence to bag the kitty. Your walk and posture and general physical demeanor before you talk to any potential one night stands is just as important, if not moreso.

Here’s a seemingly stupid tip that actually works — walk pelvis first. Don’t look like a fool and make sure you’re not sporting wood, but yes, really, walk pelvis first. When paired with confidence, a pelvis-first walk conveys the message that “This Guy Has A Lot of Sex.”

This section starts off with great promise: Confidence really IS the key to doing well with women. But then, in a move I can only assume was calculated by the writers to actually discourage their readers from scoring, thereby assuring more girls for themselves, encourage you to walk in an awkward, artificial gait - leading with your dick. Try it. Walk around the floor a few times. You look and feel like an idiot whose gait is totally contrived! Go purchase a gross of condoms! WHAT

Eye Contact

After your presence has piqued her interest, you gotta reel her in. First step is to make effective eye contact. Smile at her and look at her directly in the eyes. The trick now is a balancing act — you don’t want to be the first one to break eye contact but you can’t be a creepo who stares.

So make your eye contact, keep it and then do something to get her to break first. If you can make funny (but not ugly) faces, make a funny (but not ugly) face and then smile. More likely than not, she’ll blink and smile.

You could also wipe a corner of your mouth, indicating that she has a food smudge on her face, even if she doesn’t. If you can pull this one off with a straight face, this technique is a winner because you’re lowering her defenses on multiple levels — she’ll think you were looking at her because of the food smudge rather than because she’s a hot chick and that will briefly make her think you’re not interested in her. And as many pick up artists will tell you, the key to picking up women is to make them think you have zero interest in picking them up.

Let’s put this one into the “begins overly complicated, then just descends into weirdness” category. Look at her. DON’T LOOK AT HER. Then look away, THEN LOOK BACK. Make a face. SMILE. Blink twice. Then wipe your mouth. WIPE YOUR MOUTH. Chicks love talking to guys who have seen them with béarnaise sauce on their faces. Chicks ESPECIALLY love being duped into THINKING they had béarnaise sauce on their faces.

Approach

Okay, so you’ve got her hooked.

Which, if you’ve followed all the rules thus far I highly doubt, but I’m willing to suspend disbelief here.

Don’t just saunter up to her (pelvis first) and drop your best game. Turn away, briefly, pay for your drink, talk to a buddy of yours and count to three, and then turn back and if she’s no longer looking your way, head over.

Just enough time for her to forget you and your stinky, clown-like appearance and your weird eye-and-face games.

You want to catch her with her guard down and that requires that she stop sizing you up when you strike up a conversation. Like with all the other nonverbal techniques listed in this article, if you approach correctly, she won’t think, “God this guy is another cheesy dude trying to pick me up in a bar.” She’s going to think, “Man, I was just pulled into this stud’s sexual orbit. I might suck on his penis this evening.” And if you don’t blow it with the VERBAL stuff, that’s exactly how your fine evening will conclude.

The first chance they have at actually offering some sound advice – “make sure your approach doesn’t suck” – and then they fail to actually offer a way to do that.  So, big win there – and they wrap it up by throwing in the artfully timeless phrase, “suck on his penis”. Nothing but net.

I, for one, actually feel dumber and less sophisticated after having read this article, though I am fairly confident that little real damage has been done. It’d be like publishing an article on how to pull off a “perfect crime”. The kinds of folks who would put the terrible advice into effect are too stupid to know how to do any of it it anyway, and will probably just fuck it all up.

Till next time, Fredders, remember: believe only half of what you read, but none of what you read on the internet.

Hey Fredders. Long time no see.  I was reading email today, when an article title caught my eye: “21 Things Women Wish Men Knew”, on some MSN page or another.  I remember thinking as I clicked the link “maybe this is important information I and all of my male friends should have!  Perhaps I will become some kind of modern day Oracle at Delphi by reading and disseminating the information I discover!” A moment later I was reminded, “oh wait, this is the internet.”

Abstract: There are still women out there trying to convince us that it’s okay for them to be crazy.  It’s not.

The original article can be found here.

21 Things Women Wish Men Knew

1. Please listen to me. Not because what I’m about to say will rock your world, but because listening is a sign of respect that rocks my world.

Too bad women shoot themselves in the foot on this one time and time again. Men are generally willing to listen to you pretty much all the time, but start babbling insanely, and we check out. No amount of beej is going to make me tune into this week’s edition of “She Said This, Then I Said This, And Isn’t She A Bitch I Can’t Believe She Thinks She’s So Amazing”

2. Women speak a different dialect than men. For example, “I’m fine” means “I’m so not fine,” just as “No dessert for me” means “I’ll be polishing off yours.”

Bullshit. What? Are you fucking kidding me? Bullshit. I get the whole “not being fine when you say you’re fine” thing – everyone does that from time to time, but get the fuck away from my Bananas Foster. Since when did “speaks a different dialect” somehow translate to “is completely contradictory half the time”? This kind of thinking is just an excuse for irresponsible behavior.

3. Remember, PMS stands for “physical and mental stress.” So let me cry freely, behave irrationally, and eat your dessert. My mood swings are hormonal, not personal.

So…hang on. Are you saying you’re eating my dessert because you have PMS? Or because you “speak a different dialect”? Or is this another example of women just being generally contradictory and kind of nuts?

4. Manicures and pedicures are a woman’s gift to her man. I love looking pretty for you. The time to worry is when I stop going for them.

Do you really think we notice your fingernails and toenails? Manicures and pedicures are first and foremost a woman’s gift to herself – and everyone knows that other women are the ones checking this shit out on each other. We see your face, and your body. And how your body looks in your clothes. 

5. Always tell me when I look hot; never tell me when I don’t. And don’t forget: I need 20 compliments to offset one thoughtless remark.

If I tell you that you look hot all the time, one day when you’re honestly looking for my opinion on whether you look good and I say “yes” are you really going to believe me?

6. I remember the shirt you were wearing when you first said, “I love you.” The fact that you don’t makes me question whether you meant it.

The fact that this is something more than one woman believes just reinforces my belief that the “female experience” is mostly about being clinically insane.

7. I loved you long before I told you. Playing the long game is in a woman’s DNA. We don’t throw a Hail Mary in the first quarter. (And you thought we didn’t know football.)

What is this supposed to reveal to me? What do I carry away from this statement? If I fell in love with you (God help me) I probably also did not blurt it out right away. Guys are not generally any more or less weird about this than girls. And PS you don’t know football.

8. Of course you’re the best lover I’ve ever had. All others cease to exist when I fall in love.

Every guy knows they’re probably not the best lover a woman has ever had, and every guy knows not to ask that question. If he doesn’t, he deserves whatever answer he gets. All we care about is the fact that you seem happy to have us keep doing to you whatever it is you want us to do.

9. I’ll never tell you my true number. Never, never, never! Besides, see #8.

Thank God. Because then that would probably mean I’d have to do the same. And we’re all manwhores.

10. I read your horoscope every day.

That’s because you’re a nut bag.

11. I secretly delight when the maitre d’ slips up and calls us “Mr. and Mrs.”

That’s fine. I secretly delight when other guys check out your ass.

12. Yes, my girlfriend knows what we did last night. We share everything, including that.

That’s fine, all my guy friends know what we did last night. And my story was probably better.

13. Make me laugh and I’m happy. Laugh at yourself and I’m all yours.

How about I just laugh at you? See my responses to Nos. 1-12 above.

14. A little jealousy is good if (a) no kneecaps are broken and (b) you don’t cross-examine me to exhaustion. The right balance shows you care, and it’s even flattering.

Jealousy is never good. If you don’t give me a reason to be jealous, then I’m happy. If you do, you’re what’s known in the industry as an “ex-girlfriend”.

15. I don’t withhold sex to punish you. Sometimes I just need to be left alone but, at the same time, not left alone. And no, I can’t explain that.

See my response to #2. This is simply irresponsible, and sets a bad precedent.

16. You are irresistible: freshly showered, doing something sporty or strenuous, smiling, charming the old lady from the third floor, suited, reading the business section, DIY-ing…

This is not particularly helpful, unless it’s an exhaustive list. In which case, GFY.

17. “Do you want flowers?” kills the romantic gesture. Don’t ask, just do.

A useful piece of information that hopefully every human, male or female, above the age of 10 already knows instinctively: you never ask anyone if they want a gift – it spoils the concept of “gift”.

18. I’ll probably be late — because I’m preening for you. At least that’s how I reason. My reasoning skills are phenomenal!

If by “reasoning” you mean “making shit up to justify my insane behavior” then I agree. You’ll be late because you have poor time management skills.

19. If you cheat, I may not break up with you. But you’ll wish I had.

Eh. Fair enough. I’ll dump your ass before I cheat on you, though. Easier that way.

20. I once kissed a girl and liked the taste of her cherry ChapStick. No, I didn’t. That’s your fantasy. Sincerely sorry.

Really? What if that’s not my fantasy? Women seem to believe that all men have this fantasy, but that’s bullshit. If you believe they do, then you’ve been hanging out in the frathouse too long. There are plenty of guys in the world who have all sorts of different, interesting, imaginative fantasies. Also, please note: there are plenty of bisexual chicks, chicks that experimented in college, chicks that kiss other chicks for attention, etc. If it really was my fantasy, it’d be easy to fulfill. But in the end, I don’t give a shit if you once kissed a girl or not. Now, if you once gave Gene Simmons head while he was taking a shit, on the other hand…

21. I feel lucky to have you, and I hope you feel the same. You can’t have it all unless you have someone to share it with.

I think I speak for all men when I say this: If I saw these responses in an internet dating profile I would run the other way. If a woman told me these things at any point in a relationship, or I believed them to be true about the woman I was with, I would bail like a sailor in a leaky boat.

This post is inspired by some very lively recent discussion.  Imagine your favorite 1980s TV shows…where everyone is wasted.

Drunk Webster just gets stuck in the dumbwaiter, followed by 30 minutes of cursing and banging.

Drunk Punky Brewster ends badly for George.

Drunk A-Team:
While investigating the local crimelord who is extorting the two beautiful sisters who run the local seed/feed store owned by their elderly father, the guys decide to stake out the local bar to spy on the bad guy’s flunkies.  Seven hours and 20 rounds later, Face has committed several acts of sexual harassment.  Hannibal continuously walks around with no pants, trying to light his cigar with a pen, B.A. flies into a frightening rage at the bartender about “bein’ drugged all the damn time” and Howlin’ Mad Murdoch leaves and burns down several houses in the nearby town.

Drunk Alf:

“Heeeeeey willy… i love you big guy. i mean that. LOOK AT ME! i mean it.”
-eats cat-

Drunk Magnum PI:

Drunk Magnum PI would just be sad.  Magnum sits in his lonely room on Robin Masters’ estate, swigging from a bottle of Jack Daniels and weeping over framed photos of his platoon mates in Vietnam.  Later, when he goes downstairs to make hardboiled eggs, the Lads make their usual evening run at him, but Magnum’s fucking pissed this time, goes upstairs and gets his 1911A1, comes back down and “ends that fuckin’ noise once and for all.”

Drunk Airwolf:

Stringfellow Hawke gets drunk in his cabin off of vintage wine while eating freshly caught fish. He takes Airwolf out for a spin and crashes it directly into a mountainside.

Shortest episode ever.

Image by Getty Images via Daylife

If you’re not a fantasy football fan, I’m guessing this post isn’t for you. But if you are, feel free to give us your critiques, suggestions, and general opinions of the team Hoffa and I put together last night in our draft.

We’re playing in a 9 team league, and last year Hoffa and I were on separate teams. My team took a nose dive in week one when Tom Brady went down and I never recovered. This year we’re planning on winning the whole thing.

With that out of the way, here’s our team:

WR- Larry Fitzgerald- We had the number 5 pick this year, which stinks. Right in the middle. Because of our shitty spot, we missed the top running backs and instead of just picking up some jobber out of the backfield, we went with the #1 stud receiver in the game, and I was very excited about this pick.

RB- Chris Johnson- We were kind of surprised he was still around for the second round, but after the top 3 or so running backs, Tom Brady was picked, so a bunch of teams went for the top tier QBs. I thought this was a damn good pickup in round two, as he’ll get a lot of carries for the Titans.

QB- Kurt Warner- Sure, he’s up there in age, but he led the Cardinals to the big one. Plus, with Larry Fitzgerald on our team, having Warner gives us double points whenever the two connect. I like that a lot.

RB- Michael Westbrook- I wasn’t sure about this pick and I’m still not. But in the 4th round, with not many top running backs around, it was a decent pick.

WR- Roy Williams- Well, he’s another gamble, but both Hoffa and I seemed to think he’s going to be decent this year.

DST Pittsburgh- While everyone else was scraping the bottom of the barrel for RBs, we decided to make a bold move and get the top D in the league. A lot of people were surprised we went D that early, but for us it made a lot of sense.

WR- Vincent Jackson- Another guy that seemingly fell through the cracks in the early rounds, we thought it was a steal this late in the game.

RB- Beanie Wells- I had to have him just because he’s out of THE Ohio State University. And he completes our Arizona trifecta.

QB- Matt Schaub- All the fantasy football magazines were high on this guy and we needed a backup. No further explanation necessary.

K- Rob Bironas- Since we missed the top tier of tight ends, I thought we’d go for a top kicker and wanted Steven Gotskowski from the Pats. Alas, he was taken right before our pick, so we nabbed the #2 kicker.

TE- Owen Daniels- The best TE available on the board at the time.

DST- Philly- Why not.

The rest of the draft:

In no particular order we picked up the following as shots in the dark:

QB- Matt Sanchez

RB- Fred Taylor

WR- Michael Crabtree

WR- Brian Robiskie

DST- Colts

TE- Zach Miller

So, that’s our team for this year. See any glaring weaknesses? Any potential problems? Any injured guys that we weren’t aware of coming in to the draft?

I’ve done it, Fredders. As both an apology and an excuse for the long absence from writing, I’m proud to inform you that I’m now a married man.  All the months of planning, plotting, scheming, building, telephoning, wheedling, cajoling, rending of garments, etc. came to a head on August 15th, 2009 at a sweet, unique spot on the North Shore of Boston, in a much-anticipated interfaith ceremony between me and (now) Mrs. Hoffa. (No, that’s not us. Do you think I’d put pictures of us on the interwebs like that? Please. Not till I see a picture of Magglio.)

My side of the wedding party consisted of the reprobates I hang out with on a regular basis, (Loki, Opposite, Cutty and Barry) with my new brother-in-law to keep us all in line, and despite such a lineup, one which could well have resulted in multiple felonies, we all got through it just great.

Of course, that morning at Loki’s house, I was having some “breathing in and out” problems, as I understand folks getting married are wont to do, but with some help from my friend, and our new acquaintance, Svedka, I was calmed down enough to put on my tuxedo in time.

Speaking of heavy polyester suits, did I mention the weather that day? After days of stressing about rain, the day was sunny and clear. A little TOO sunny…90+ degrees for a high that day, and between my corpulence and the layers of polyester…well, lets just say there was some sweating. Damn you, coumadin.  But let’s not complain – after all, an outdoor wedding can only be as good as the weather it takes place in, and at least I didn’t get married this weekend, as my poor friend Caroline did…

Did I mention that me and the Mrs. (along with generous help from both our families) know how to throw a party? Oh yes. A good old-fashioned, New England clambake, from the best caterers in New England, an open bar, a pro club spinner, DJ Beat Train, plus the best band in the land, Red Square, don’t you know…

Seriously. A throw-down to end all throw-downs. At least as far as weddings go. Anyway, after a beautiful ceremony, a great reception, a mellow after-party, and a great hangover brunch the next day, it was time to pack and get ready for the honeymoon – Mazatlan, Sinaloa, Mexico. 

More on that later Fredders.  Thanks for sticking around, and we’ll see you soon!

In my last post, I explained that the search is on for a new local establishment where I can have a few beers, play a little keno, and watch a game or two. Well, last night Hoffa and I decided to check out a place that seemed to fit my stringent requirements, The Wave.

If you read the last post, you may have noticed the following bullet point in my requirements:

• Some degree of danger and uncertainty

Well, let’s talk about that for a second.

First, the Wave is located in a nondescript industrial-type park, fairly off the beaten path. This type of location usually lends itself to a diverse range of sketchy people, which is exactly what I want. And I was not disappointed.

When Hoffa and I arrived, the bar was a bit crowded, so we opted for a table near the dedicated Keno TV. He sat down and checked out the Karaoke book, as he wanted to impress the crowd with his self-described “unfair” vocal stylings. This is where things take a turn.

I ordered us a pitcher of Stella for $13 and handed the gentleman a 20. I then took out another 20 and placed it directly ontop of my keno card, as I was going to play 10 games at $1 each. It was DIRECTLY in front of me. The bartender handed me my change and the pitcher along with 2 glasses.

In the time it took me to turn around to hand the glasses to Hoffa, the 20 dollar bill on top of the keno ticket mysteriously disappeared.

In a situation like this, I always want to make sure I didn’t do anything with the missing item before making allegations. I am known to be a dipshit, and often pick things up and place them elsewhere almost subconsciously, so I checked my pockets quickly.

The bartender then asked “Do you want me to play that ticket for you?”

“Just a second,” I answered, hoping I’d just dropped the 20.

The gentleman directly to my left and his “wife” looked sketchy as hell, and I noticed him placing something in his jeans pocket. It was abundantly clear that this scumbag swiped my 20. There was no one to my right, no one behind me, no one else in the immediate vicinity that could possibly have stolen the 20 in the few seconds it took to make the handoff to Hoffa. It would have been physically impossible.

I was angry.

I told Hoffa about what had just happened, and he planned on stabbing the guy in the neck with a pen. I thought he was just joking. That’s foreshadowing.

Now, this is the point in the story where you ask yourself: “Why didn’t you walk up and punch the guy in the throat?”

I’m glad you asked.

See, this was the second time I’ve been in the bar, the first on a weekend night. As a veteran of sketchy and sometimes dangerous establishments, I have some experience in matters like this. And the first thing you want to find out is whether the person you wish to confront is a regular. If this had occured in Bill Ash’s Lounge and I confronted a regular, I would be writing the post from my grave.

So I formulated a plan. But not before Hoffa decided to take action.

The scumbag thief got up and walked to the men’s room, and Hoffa followed. I yelled to him “Hoffa, get back here.” He forged ahead. I yelled a few more times, but he just kept walking.

He would later tell me that he was about to put a pen to the neck of the guy while he was standing at the urninal, demanding the 20 back. But when he heard me yelling to him, he decided this wasn’t the best idea.

I made eye contact with the bartender and pointed off to the side. He followed my lead and came around to talk to me.

“Hey. Is that guy in the blue shirt a regular?” I asked.
“This is the first time I’ve ever seen the guy, and I’m about to cut him off.” He answered.
“Well, I just wanted to know, because he stole my 20 that I’d put ontop of the keno ticket when I ordered our pitcher.”
“You know, I thought you’d put money on top of that, but then I didn’t see it. I’m sorry about that, man. He’s been here for hours and the lady he’s with was just slapping him in the face and screaming at him before you guys got here. I’m going to kick him out now. Your next round is on the house.”

He then informed the guy that he had to leave, and that he saw him stealing my money. The guy didn’t say a thing, got up and left. Hoffa and I followed him out, but with the bouncers with us, there wasn’t much point in saying or doing anything.

There are two points to this story:

1) I would have loved to have said or done something to that piece of shit for stealing my cash, but prior experience tells me that I need to get a feel for a place before doing something like that.

2) Big ups to the guys at the wave. I like the way they handled the situation.

The wave is now high in the running for my new local. And I can’t wait to see that guy again.

HOFFA’S NOTE:

I really did want to stick a pen in this guy’s neck, but I totally wasn’t going to stab him, just press the point of it up against his jugular while he whizzed on his pants, and tell him that he better go buy sick orphans some teddy bears with the 20 he just palmed off the bar, because if I found out he bought meth for his skank, I was going to ventilate his spleen.

I’ve always wanted to say that to someone. But Barry sounded pretty serious about me not doing that, so I let it go. I think we scared him pretty bad anyway.

One of my best excuses for not posting in, well, a month is the fact that I just moved to a new place. And it’s great. No more bashed-in windshields, no kids throwing basketballs at our walls, no more awful Revere Beach traffic. Everything is excellent, and I have no complaints.

But one thing is missing: I don’t have a local yet.

Though I had my life threatened more than once at Bill Ash’s Lounge, it still remains my favorite bar of all time. It was my local. I have a lot of great memories from that den of sin, and I will always remember it fondly. But this isn’t a looking-back-and-gagging-while-being-all-nostalgic post. Nope. This is a looking-forward-and-trying-to-find-the-next-place post.

So let’s get into that, shall we?

Like any job, a new local bar search has both qualifications and nice-to-haves. So, in that style, here is my "Bar Wanted Ad":

Title: Local Bar
Location: Waltham, MA
Category: Bar
Position Type: Part-Time
Experience: 5+ Years

Barry Freed is looking for a new local bar in the greater Waltham, MA area.

Qualifications:

• An established base of sarcastic regulars
• Some degree of danger and uncertainty
• Keno is non-negotiable
• Dart boards with at least an in-house league
• A chip system whereby a gentleman can buy another patron a drink without waiting for them to finish their current beverage
• Jameson
• TVs showing sports

Pluses:

• Draft bud light (bottles are fine, but draft is preferred)
• Foofy beers for my out-of-town fancy friends
• Terrible cover bands
• Terrible original bands
• Shots that are not measured
• An outdoor area out back where drinks can be taken

All qualified candidates should leave a comment in this post. Know a bar that fits this position? We do offer a referral bonus of a beer and a shot for anyone that refers the right candidate. If several qualified candidates are found, they will be reviewed here on TellHimFred.com.

Weelll…I had hoped to be finished with our masterpiece, and have a complete and total package to show you this week.  But paint takes time to dry, and the nice days where you can play a game of golf are limited! (Mom had a 4 pm tee time) Nevertheless, we completed the final steps, and short of assembly, the masterpiece is complete.

You’ll remember last time, our ingredients were:

4 planters, each with 2” PVC poles cemented inside

4 1 ¼” pine dowels, stained with Red Barn (yuk yuk) stain

Well, in the meantime, Mom had gotten busy with the gardening. And by “busy” I mean “busy making these pots sing with floral decadence”. To wit:

So we had but one mission: Make those silly orange planters look less like $7.99 from Home Despot, and more like a million bucks.  ON WITH THE SHOW.

Step 1: a muted metallic glaze

Step 2: Sea sponges

Step 3: Dapple the planters with the metallic glaze, giving them both a toned-down appearance and a bit of glitter.

One by one, they’re all done!

Now to the canopy.  My late grandmother, Peg Rossi, the most kickass lady I ever knew, gave this antique lace banquet cloth to my mother, which will be the canopy under which Steph and I will be married.   It’s a fitting aspect of our wedding, since the chuppah symbolizes the home we will build together…and nothing was more important to my grandmother than the home.

We have to find a way to make the canopy hang properly without being pierced or cut; again, mom wins the invention prize with her foam ball idea:

Wad a volume of foam into a ball around the top of the pole, securing it with a ziptie.  That becomes the anchor around which the canopy will be secured, using a cloth ribbon.

We made sure that the ends would hang properly, and they do. (Don’t worry – that’s not how the drape will end up!)

Once the paint on the planters dry, and the flowers have finished taking root, our journey will be complete…my quest to build our wedding chuppah will have been realized…and Mom becomes the indispensible gardener who makes it all blossom.

Steph’s grandfather’s Tallit will be the crowning piece of our multi-generational, multi-traditional chuppah.  Everyone who we love, everyone who we wish could be there…will be there. 

See you under the canopy, Fredders!