The way it all went down really pissed me off. I didn’t show it through the entire ordeal, as I knew the only way to get out of the situation would be to keep my mouth shut. Say a lot of “yes sir”, “no, officer.”

And getting thrown in cuffs while passersby only stoked the fire. But though it enrages me to say it, and the way it was executed wasn’t the best, the guy was only doing his job.

Now that statement is a tough one. Anyone can say “I’m only doing my job”, and use that excuse to justify basically anything at all. But when it comes to cops, well, they probably have a lot more wiggle room.

Until last week, the fiancee and I used to watch shows like Lockup: Raw, and when a prisoner would complain about the conditions in jail, I would always say “Hey, I’ve got an idea. If you don’t like jail, don’t commit crimes.”

I can’t say that anymore, because I’ve found out that you can be thrown in jail at any time for no reason whatsoever regardless of whether you’ve done anything whatsoever.

But after I paid around $700 to get out of the horrible situation, I looked at everything with a level head. I never would have been pulled over if the RMV hadn’t completely screwed up. Now, it’s not as easy to get pissed off at a faceless, nameless bureaucracy that operates simply to make everything difficult for anyone to drive a car, but really, that’s where the blame lies.

I’m not under any delusion that this little blog will get a ton of attention, but at the same time I’m a little bit paranoid that I’ll now be a target for the cops that took me in. Okay, I am absolutely paranoid and it would be ridiculous to believe that a blog post would get me a giant bullseye that makes every cop around decide to pull me over without any reason.

So that’s that. I believe that police officers- in general- are decent human beings that do want to put the bad guys away and help the good guys. And if something happened where I- or someone around me- needed help, regardless of what I went through, I’d still call the cops.

I’d just make sure I wasn’t in a car.

BTW- I wish there were a hotline that I could call every day to make sure my license is in good standing. I would call every morning when I wake up.

Seriously, I would.

Because you see friends, I just did a bid. I spent time in the slammer. The clink. Jail. But let’s not jump ahead.

Tuesday June 22, 6:30 PM EST

It’s time for me to leave work. I work in an office building that’s in back of a hotel. See Figure 1.

I always go very slowly, as every person leaving the hotel conveniently ignores the fact that other people are leaving the other building, and they never look to see if anyone is coming.

In this case, it was a Waltham cop. Of course, he zooms ahead of me and never looks until I put on the brakes. I wave him ahead. He waves me ahead. I wave him ahead. He shakes his head, points at me, and frantically waves me ahead. I go.

The moment I turn on to Totten Pond Road, the blue lights come on.

Hmm. Weird. I obviously did nothing wrong, so I’m wondering why I’m being pulled over. I pull over immediately, and the officer comes to the window.

Cop: License and registration.

Me: Here you go.

I hand him my license.

Cop: Don’t worry about the registration. Stay in the vehicle.

He leaves and goes back to the car. I’m really wondering why I was pulled over, and it’s taking a long time for him to come back to me. After about 10 minutes, I see another police car pull in back of him. Great. He called for backup. This is going to end well.

The cop comes up to my window.

Cop: Do you have $40?

Me: What?

Cop: I said do you have $40?

Me: No. I have no cash on me, just a debit card.

Cop: You’re going to need someone to bring you $40 to bail you out, because I’m arresting you and towing your car right now.

Me: What? Why?

Cop: Your license is suspended, so we’re towing your car and you’re going to jail. Get out of the car now.

I get out of the car completely baffled. I did nothing wrong, and I’m POSITIVE that my license isn’t suspended. I’ve only been pulled over once in my life, and that was because my plates expired on the last day of April, and it was May first. But we’ll get to that later.

I walk over to where he’s pointing and he cuffs me and takes everything out of my pockets including my keys. He then THROWS me into the back of his car. While I’m in the back of the cruiser, his partner searches my car.

I’m then driven to the police station without the cop saying a word to me other than “It says here your license is suspended. I’m only telling you that because I’m nice. I don’t need to be.”

So let’s take inventory here: I was pulled over, thrown in handcuffs, had my car searched without being asked, never was read my rights, and never explained why I was being arrested. Moving right along….

As the cop drives into the receiving area, he’s sitting in the car, reading facebook on his cell phone for at least 10 minutes before ringing the doorbell to have me taken in.

He leads me up the ramp saying “face forward and don’t turn around.”

Waltham Police Department

I’m brought to a room where there’s an officer standing behind a desk with a computer, another officer, and the guy that took me in. I’m still in cuffs that are so tight I no longer have circulation in my hands.

Cop: “Walk up to the desk and stop exactly where I tell you to stop. Do not move your hands, and face only forward.”

I do.

Intake Cop: I’m now going to take the prisoner’s information. What is your first name?

Me: Barry

Intake Cop: Last name.

Me: Freed

Intake Cop: Spell it.

Me: F-R-E-E

Intake Cop: Not until I say I’m ready.

I’m not going to go through every question he asked me, as there were a lot. One highlight, however, was when he asked if I had a “street name”. And no, I didn’t answer “Tater Salad.”

After the questions, they finally took off my handcuffs.

Intake Cop: You will have the opportunity to make two phone calls in the first hour. Do you want to make a phone call?

Me: Yes I do.

Intake Cop: Then you will be able to make a phone call when we’re ready. Now take off your shirt and your shoes.

I take off my button-down and my sneakers, and I’m then told to keep my feet on either side of a yellow line, again, never turning around. I have my mug shot taken, fingerprints, etc.

I’m then able to make a phone call, and I knew my fiancee would be sleeping (she works nights), but I tried anyway. Next, I tried to think of who is the person geographically closest to the station. I’d spend the morning with the CEO of our company doing a presentation at Harvard Business School, so his was the most recent number in my phone. I called. He answered.

Me: Hey, CEO. Are you still in the office?

CEO: Yep.

Me: Got $40?

CEO: Uh, sure. Why?

Me: Well, I kind of need you to do me a favor. A big one. Can you come down to jail and bail me out? I was pulled over for a suspended license, which is complete bullshit, and they cuffed me and put me in jail.

CEO: Are you okay?

Me: Yep

CEO: I’ll be right down

I’m then put in cell #3, with only socks on my feet. Dude. The cell was all metal, and had a toilet filled with shit and puke, along with a camera directly above it. It was roughly 109 degrees, encased in plexiglass. After about 10 minutes, a cop came by to say “your buddy just bailed you out. Now we’ll call the bail clerk. She shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

During my hour in jail, I noticed some things. I noticed the guy that would bang on his cell every minute or so and yell out “Hey! I’m not afraaaaid of yooooooou!” I noticed a very cheerful officer that brought a spanish-speaking gentleman in and had a long conversation with him in broken spanish, but when she saw me, shot me nothing but dirty looks.

I then found the biggest guy there and punched him in the face. I then converted to Islam, joined a gang, and made several license plates.

When the hour was over, the formerly cheery woman officer opened my cell and shouted “Go!” to me while pointing and looking at me with a disgusted face. I walked back to the intake desk where an old woman with a scowl said “sign all these” while pointing to three documents. She seemed genuinely annoyed that I wanted to know what I was signing, and that I took a minute to read them.

Once signed, she told me “go to court tomorrow at 8:30 am.”

Finally I asked “Can you tell me what I’m being charged for?”

She answered “The officers already explained to you that you were driving with a suspended license.”

Rather than saying “No, they didn’t. They also didn’t read me my rights, tell me why I was being arrested, or ask if they could search my car”, instead I just thanked her and asked “What do I do about my car?”

Her answer: “Your car is at a tow lot. Your license has been taken and you won’t get it back. Your plates have been turned in. When you go to court tomorrow, they’ll tell you what to do. It’s not for us to decide.”

Very pleasant.

I was free to go, and after collecting my shirt (which was thrown ontop of a rusty drinking fountain) and my belongings, I went out to meet our CEO. He gave me a ride home and I explained the entire story, and let me tell you, I was pretty damn thankful that he’s a good guy.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

The fiancee and I head to court at 8:00, as we needed to be in at 8:30. By around 8:20, everyone started lining up at the door, and the court officer came out, looked annoyingly at his watch and announced “don’t open til 8:30.”

All of the court employees sauntered in, and by 8:45, they opened the door.

I was instructed to go to the probation office, and told the guy at the desk my name. He told me to come with him.

Court Guy: Can I have your license?

Me: Sorry, cops stole that.

Court Guy: They stole it?

Me: Yes, along with my car, plates, and keys.

Court Guy: Okay. Give me your info (name, license number, etc.). Now, how much money do you make a week?

Me: Why?

Court Guy: I need to get all of this information to find out if you’re eligible for a court appointed defense attorney.

I give him all the info. I do not qualify.

Court Guy: I don’t know why you’re here. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to go into the courtroom, and the prosecutor will find you. He’s going to motion for this to be dismissed, and you’ll be all set.

All right, first good news of the day. We go upstairs and find a bailiff to ask what we’re supposed to do. Nice guy. He goes inside the courtroom, talks to the prosecutor, and says “go ahead and sit down in the court. He’ll come find you and will explain everything.”

After sitting down, someone yells out my name. It’s a mustachioed police prosecutor that again, seems annoyed that I breathe the same air as him.

Prosecutor: Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to represent yourself, I’m going to recommend that the case be dismissed and you’ll have to pay a $200 fine. How long do you need to pay?

Me: 10 minutes.

I go back to sit down and told the fiancee that I just need $200 to get out of there. She runs to the ATM and comes back with the dough.

3 hours later, my name is finally called, and the case is dismissed. Took about 30 seconds. We pay the $200 and get out of there. This is where the fun starts.

Watertown Registry of Motor Vehicles, 12:30 PM

Though the ticket said our wait time was approximately 14 minutes, it was actually an hour and a half. Pretty standard.

This is where the twilight zone shit starts.

Me: Hi. Just found out my license was suspended, and the cops took my car, my plates, and my license. I’d like to know why my license was suspended and what I have to do to get everything back.

RMV Woman: It says here that your license is suspended because……

Let me interrupt the story here and go back to the only time I was ever pulled over. It was May 3rd, 2009 in Revere. The cop told me that my registration was good until the last of April, so I was driving with an expired registration. He said “I’m not going to be a dick and tow your car or anything, because I know you’ll take care of this tomorrow. But, since I ran your plates, I have to give you this ticket (for $40). Now, you won’t be able to renew your registration until you pay this ticket, so make sure you pay this online tonight. Just print out the receipt and bring it to the RMV tomorrow.”

I paid it. The next day, the fiancee went (I was at work) and renewed my registration for me. Let’s get back to Wednesday.

RMV Woman:  It says here that your license is suspended because you never paid a $40 ticket in Revere.

Me: Wait? Is my registration expired?

RMV Woman: No.

Me: Hold on. I would have had to pay the ticket to renew my registration, right?

RMV Woman: Yes.

Me: And my registration is renewed, right?

RMV Woman: Right.

Me: So would it not be impossible for me to have not paid the ticket?

RMV Woman: ? (says the same thing over and over)

At this thing, I see that I’m in a feedback loop of crazy. It makes no sense, I have paid the ticket, but I’m not going to get anything resolved by arguing. The fiancee is about to lose her mind at this point, but I just want to get out.

Me: Okay, fine. So what do I have to do to get my license, plates, and car back?

Her: It’ll be $255 for the license, $20 for the plates, and I won’t charge you for the license. Just fill out this form.

Now to the tow lot.

Pilgrim Towing, Waltham MA

Long story short, it’s a $144 fee. I pay it and notice that only my ignition key is in the car. I ask the woman at the tow lot if they had my keys. Nope.

I drive the car back to the police station.

Female officer: Can I help you?

Me: Yes. My car was towed last night and my keys aren’t in it.

Female officer: You should have got your keys back when you were released.

Me: I didn’t.

Female officer: Describe your keys.

Me: Three keys. 1 for a Nissan, one is my house key, the other is my work key.

Female officer: Nope, not here.

Me: Well, they’re not at the tow lot, so….

Female officer: I’m just trying to help you sir.

Me: What do you recommend?

Female officer: Well, the officer that arrested you comes in at midnight. Maybe they’re in his cruiser? You can call him then.

Me: Thanks.

That’s exactly what I did. The call at midnight:

Me: Hi. My car was towed by you the other night, and the keys aren’t in it, and they’re not at the tow lot.

Cop: If they don’t have it and we don’t have it, I can’t help you.

Me: I spoke with an officer this afternoon that said the officer might have had them in his cruiser.

Cop: We would never do that. Hold on……

5 minutes later

Cop: They’re here.

Me: So I can pick them up tomorrow?

Cop: You can get them now for all I care.

Again they try to kill me with kindness.

Summary

So, I’m out about $700, I went to jail, all for a ticket that I paid. I cannot possibly explain how truly awful the Waltham cops were. There was only one that acted somewhat like a real human being. The arresting officer is likely to be the worst person on the planet.

But hey, you can’t blame the cops, right? Just doing their job.

And that’s the big problem here. I don’t really know who to direct my anger towards. Suggestions welcome.

Saturday

The fiance and I got up late and I was playing some Red Dead Redemption (ridin’ horses, bustin’ up wagon trains, homie) when we decided to hit up Home Depot. Bird feeder, yo! We got more birds up in here than, well, a place that has no birds at all. Booyakah!

Time to go walk the dog. Went to the swap meet park and just as soon as we got out of the car….BOOOOM! Rain, yo. Sky opened up.

So we went to Petco and picked up some ill shit. No More Algae to clean up the mf fish tank. Mah-fuggin algae be cloudin up the tank, yo, and we’s about to get gangsta on it.

Got home and got crazy! I went insane on the internet and set up a blog for the fiancee and the dog. Yo, what could be more sick than a dog blog, right? Nothin.

After that, fiancee was strait up napping, so I went out and played some KENO! $10 investment, won $26, baller! Yo, that was enough for one night.

Sunday

Woke up early (11:00) and went on another dog walk, kid. Chilled at the crib and went to Margaritas for some grub and drinks (chain Mexican restaurant, player).

On the way home, my girl wanted some drink, so I dropped her off and went to the liquor store. CLOSED???!!! Yo, liquor stores be closing mad early on Memorial Day weekend. Went to another liquor store, and….CLOSED!!! Shee-it.

Busted out the celly and called another liquor store and damn, they are open! Went up in there and what did I get? 2 bottles of Australian wine! Hells yeah!!!!

That’s when things went crazy. After a couple of blog posts about our dog, we went wild: Antiques Roadshow drinking game, yo!

The Game:

Player one guesses how much the item is worth.
Player two guesses whether player one’s guess is over or under.
When the price is announced, whoever is wrong drinks.

After a weekend like this, this dude is gonna need some rest. Life in the suburbs is so crazy, y’all don’t even know.

Let me preface this post by saying this: this world is full of people of all different colors. Some of them are white people.  Some of them are black people.  Some people are asian people.  Some are latin. Some are a whole mix of different stuff. Those words don’t mean anything to me beyond the literal descriptors they are.

I was brought up to believe that nobody is any better or worse than anyone else, and I believe it.  You better, too.

So let me tell you a story.

Mrs. Hoffa and I hit Slade’s for the first time on a Friday.

We had dinner at the bar at Jae’s, a local sushi-pan-asian-whatever place, and ended up having an amazing 80s and 90s music conversation with three young women, (whose names we learned but forgot) one Hawaiian-latin, one white, and one black, who told us they were there for dinner, then they were on their way to Slade’s…the club in our neighborhood that we walk past every day, to which we’ve never been in the two and a half years we’ve lived there.  It’s always just been a loud nightclub full of dance music, rap and hip-hop that lets out at 2 am on weekends with people yelling and honking and generally acting like people who’ve just been at a bar all night.

(Mrs. Hoffa and Hoffa’s private convo):

Mrs. Hoffa: “what the hell, wanna go? we’ve never been to Slade’s”.
Hoffa: “alright. ALRIIGHT. Let’s do it!”

So after the necessary wardrobe changes, we went. Paid 10 bucks each to get in, and started to have an awesome time.  What I haven’t mentioned up to now, is that Slade’s is, and always has been, a “black” night club.  There’s some sort of unspoken rule that people of color are fine to go in, but neither of us has ever seen a white man even looking remotely like he was about to go into or had just come out of Slade’s.  So after we entered, we were very obviously the only white people there till we met back up with the three women from Jae’s, but whatever. We danced, did shots, danced some more, and felt honestly really damn comfortable.  It just felt like being in any other club.  We were having fun, so Mrs. Hoffa and I decided to hit the lit up dance floor for reals yo, because it was time to throw that shit down…

…which was when the awkward moment hit out of nowhere.  Mrs. Hoffa and I are on the fringes of the lit up dance floor when the black girl who had been part of the original Jae’s triumvirate came up to us, took our elbows gently, looked us in the eye, and shook her head “no”.  Now, we didn’t ask why, we just assumed there was a reason for it…but still.

So we left the dance floor. Feeling a little ashamed, and more than a little confused, we went to the bar, and ordered another drink. But at this point, we felt weird, like unwelcome white folk, and we left soon after. We said goodbye to the three women, who were totally nice and friendly in their good-byes, but we never even got a hint of an explanation as to why the one woman had encouraged us off the dance floor.

So I say this: Screw the racial nonsense, people. We all share the same world.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

While anxiously awaiting the result of yet another paternity test, the following commercial popped up and I was awestruck.

I did a couple of google searches and found that 55 Moore Street in East Boston is a church: The Universal Church of the Kingdom of God. And the first article I saw was from the Boston Globe, saying:

It’s been five months since the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God bought the old Saint Mary Star of the Sea church in East Boston , putting $1.8 million into the pocket of a photographer who flipped the property.

But to outsiders, the neighborhood’s new Pentecostal church remains a mystery. And the sale of the property remains a question mark.

and

A woman who answered the phone for the Brazilian-based Universal Church at its Downtown Crossing location refused to say whether the East Boston church is open. “We’re not interested in any publicity,” she said, declining to give her name or that of the church’s Boston leader.

But, that was from 2007.

A few searches later, and it seems like the church is a cult of some kind:

• Miracles. Exorcism. Catholic-bashing. Going for broke in the Universal Church.
• A blog with a category devoted to the church
• Universal Church of the Kingdom of God UCKG Pastors Row

- 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.

]]> http://tellhimfred.com/2010/03/02/random-strange-thoughts/feed/ http://tellhimfred.com/2010/01/09/yawning-dog/ http://tellhimfred.com/2010/01/09/yawning-dog/#comments Sat, 09 Jan 2010 20:46:26 +0000 Barry Freed http://tellhimfred.com/?p=866

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.

]]> http://tellhimfred.com/2009/12/23/bad-advice-for-guys-or-really-anyone/feed/ http://tellhimfred.com/2009/12/21/21-things-women-wish-men-knewto-be-bullshit/ http://tellhimfred.com/2009/12/21/21-things-women-wish-men-knewto-be-bullshit/#comments Mon, 21 Dec 2009 20:58:15 +0000 Jimmy Hoffa http://tellhimfred.com/?p=864

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.

]]> http://tellhimfred.com/2009/12/21/21-things-women-wish-men-knewto-be-bullshit/feed/ http://tellhimfred.com/2009/10/20/favorite-80s-showsdrunk/ http://tellhimfred.com/2009/10/20/favorite-80s-showsdrunk/#comments Tue, 20 Oct 2009 15:35:07 +0000 Jimmy Hoffa http://tellhimfred.com/?p=863 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.