HOW TO GET OUT OF A TICKET. HONESTY. 

In the past month, I've been pulled over by the cops twice. Both times, I clearly committed an infraction. Both times, I did it right in front of a cop. And both times, I didn't get a ticket.

The first one was on my way home from Tina's about three weeks ago. The speed limit changes from 40 to 45 about halfway between our houses. In the 40, which is in Harahan, I normally go right at 40. In the 45 in the Ridge, I bump it up to 50.

That night I thought I had hit the Ridge, so I jumped to 50, but I clearly wasn't paying attention as the Ridge was another two blocks away.

The exchange with the cop started auspiciously. He commanded from his car that I exit the vehicle and step to the back of the car.

Cop: You got any guns in the trunk?
Me (taken aback): No.
Cop: You were going 50 in a 40. Can you tell me why?
Me: I thought I was to the 45 zone already.

He then took my license and registration back to his vehicle to check on them. When he returned, I reached out my hand to accept my ticket. But he said: "This registration is an old one, but you check out." Me: Oh, I grabbed the wrong one.

And that was it. The second one was worse.

Coming home from Rachel's on Saturday night, I caught a red light on Carrollton, but I wasn't paying attention and didn't stop until I was directly under the light, meaning I passed through the entire intersection.

The car behind me was a cop car. Cue the lights.

Cop: Have you been drinking tonight sir?
Me: No. (That was true.)
Cop: You have any warrants out on you?
Me: No.
Cop: Why did you run the light?
Me: I thought that was where I needed to stop. Didn't see the intersection.
Cop: Next time, you might as well go all the way through. Have a good night.

What should I do next with this power? Drive through a DUI checkpoint drunk and say I didn't know you guys would be out here tonight? Run into a cop car and say I didn't see it there?

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom was displeased with the condition of my front yard. "You need to take care of your yard. It's a fucking disgrace to your neighborhood." (I cut the grass three days later.)

Mom is excited about one of those singing shows. "You see who's fucking hosting X-Factor?"
Me: No.
Mom: Kim Kardashian and what the fuck is his name? (pause, thinking) I just looked this up. My fucking brain is going. (pause) Who the fuck is it?" (It was Mario Lopez.)

Mom says she got a strange call last week. "I say, 'Hello.' She says, 'Oh, sorry. I was looking for my fiancee.' Who the fuck says that? How bout, 'Sorry, wrong number.' No. She says fiancee."

Mom is discouraged about the state of affairs in the country. "What a great fucking economy we have."

Mom recently had the floors redone in her dining room after the room flooded for Isaac. "Now, there's fucking glue everywhere. It's all sticky."

LANGUAGE BARRIER

I had a fortune cookie the other day that said: "It's is very possible that you could achieve greatness." Well, shit. When you put is twice in the sentence then I know you're serious. Of course, it's not like I could write in Chinese.

And since it's very possible that I might achieve greatness, I've never been so inspired. Greatness here I come. Possibly.

PHONE UPDATE

I have yet to drop my new phone. I'm very proud of this stat.

Speaking of new iphones, work offered me a new iphone the other day. Just my luck. I buy a new phone for $328, and three weeks later, I'm offered one for free. They are now checking (I say now, but this was two weeks ago, and I haven't heard back yet) to see if I can just switch my phone over to the company's plan. Both plans are with Verizon.

Otherwise, I'll have to pay the cancellation fee to get out of my contract, then sell the iphone I bought.

Meanwhile, I called T-Mobile on Friday to get an explanation for why my final bill I got was for the full month when I cancelled my service with 10 days left in the month. The man on the other end said (and then repeated himself at least 10 times) that because I kept my phone number, they can't cancel my service until the end of the month.

That sounded like bullshit to me. He did assure me that I didn't owe an early termination fee. You don't say. Considering my contract expired in 2006, you bet your sweet ass I don't owe a cancellation fee.

PARTING SHOT
I went to Bud's after work Sunday night. I read a text on my phone after finishing my order.

Worker: That's got to be your old lady's phone with that purple case, right?
Me: Uh-huh.

WHAT HAPPENS AT MANTOBER, STAYS AT MANTOBER. EXCEPT HERPES. THAT SHIT WILL COME BACK WITH YOU. 

Last October, my friend David got married, which isn't relevant to today, except that we had a most memorable bachelor party that weekend.

There was so much fun had, in fact, that we decided at the conclusion of the weekend that we needed to make it an annual thing. Since no one else happened to be getting married this October, we couldn't call the weekend a bachelor party. And thus MANTOBER was born.

Mantober is an all-weekend debauchery fest in which wives or girlfriends are not allowed. At all. The planning started with a facebook group created in April. I even used my remaining vacation days for the year to take off this past Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

If this in anyway sounds gay to you, then you just don't get Mantober. It's a state of mind and a way of life. For one weekend a year, anyway. Impressively, we had four married guys and five more with live-in girlfriends. And they all consented (begrudgingly or not) to letting this happen.

Unfortunately, my employer decided to dissolve its company and create a whole new enterprise, hell-bent on world domination. Actually, we just changed our business model, but the point is, this past weekend was the first weekend of the new company, so nobody was allowed off.

This was the Mantober schedule.
Meet at David's at 9 p.m. on Friday. Party at his house.
Saturday: Breakfast, football and trade-a-polooza (in which we get drunk and make league-altering fantasy trades), go downtown for the night and see where the night takes you.
Sunday: Football at bar during day. Saints game at night.

This was my work schedule.
Friday: 2 p.m. to 12:15 a.m.
Saturday: 12:30 p.m. to 10:30 p.m.
Sunday: 2:30 p.m. to 12:30 a.m.

Did I let 30 hours of work stop me from participating in Mantober? Heck no. I was drunk by 2:30 Friday night and tipsy by 2 a.m. Saturday night. I went to Golden Corral for breakfast Saturday. Surprisingly, it wasn't bad. And I watched football at the bar Sunday before work.

But I did I miss a shit ton of fun in between. Next year, this will not happen. I will be off the whole weekend. It's also been decided that the whole weekend will be downtown.

Oh, and we're getting T-shirts.

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom heard about some website with cheap daily products.
Mom: Gotta be a fucking rip off, right? They got a lot of fucking shit.

Mom still can't stop talking about her favorite show, Sons of Anarchy, killing off a beloved character.
Mom: Fucking shocker. Blew my mind.

I recently started dating a co-worker. She's not a fan of the idea. "You better be careful. That shit can get fucking ugly."

MY HAIRCUT IS POLARIZING

I recently got a new haircut. It has drawn mixed reactions.
Bert: I can't look at you with that haircut.

Marcus: Who gave you that?
Me: Tina.
Marcus: Was she blindfolded? Drunk? On Shrooms?

Paul: You look like a punk.

The last one was the part that made it mixed. That's what I was going for. I think it goes with my beard. Tina also likes it. One day I shaved the chin part of the beard, but Tina did not like that. "It looks like shit."

PARTING SHOT
If you were disappointed with the details about the Mantober festivities, I apologize. But I'm not at liberty to discuss any of that. It's in the Mantober manifesto. Look it up. But I liked this exchange.

Person we encountered: So, is this some sort of bachelor party?
Corey: No. ... It's the anniversary of a bachelor party.

CAN YOU UPGRADE ME NOW?

I've had the same phone (a razor) since December 2004. It's the phone I had during Hurricane Katrina. It was standard fare at the time. Now, it's beyond ancient.

Last Thursday, my phone was working at noon. I then cut the grass, and when I came back, the aliens had taken over my phone. There was a black and white screen where my homepage photo used to be. A blue line was going in and out in the middle of the black and white, probably some sort of signal of when to start the invasion.

Some of the buttons also made noise when I pressed them, but twenty minutes later, the phone turned off, never to work again.

Confession time. I've been lying to everyone I've talked to about my phone's death. But you, the loyal (funny sidebar, when i first typed this paragraph, I put loyola instead of loyal) reader, is about to know the truth. Brace yourself, and remember you can't repeat this in public as I will continue to lie about the circumstances surrounding the phone's demise.

The totally believable lie is that it was just my phone's time. It turned off because it was 8 fucking years old. And that actually may be true. However, it probably has more to do with the fact that  I, like so many others before me, DROPPED THE PHONE IN THE TOILET. Shhh.

I got it out quickly and dried it off. It still was working an hour later. But not two hours later. So who knows.

Anywhos, the next day I set out to buy a new phone. What's this, I see on the Internets. The new iphone 5 was set to come out that very day.

I arrived at the Verizon store at 2:30 in the afternoon to find out how long I the waiting list was. I was hoping for a week, and I would just make due without a phone for a while. There were no other customers in the store.

Me: How long is the wait for the new iphone?
Worker: Um, we have one left. It's a 32 gig white.
Me: I'll take it.

When I gave my phone to the guy to transfer the numbers (yeah, they actually transferred), he said: "Whoa! What the heck is this?"

And so the same person who has a crusade against technology and getting new things had an iphone 5 on the first day it was available here. I do miss the simplicity of the razor, though.

I got a lavender case for the phone. Peeps at work made fun of me for it. The highlight was AGG saying: "Gene, your phone is gayer than mine."

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom and I are discussing the new phone. She thinks people my age overuse their phones. "They're on the motherfuckers all the time."

Mom recalled the days when she did pot. "Back when it was cheap. When it was good. Now, it's shit."

I WANT TO ROCK AND ROLL ALL NIGHT

And party every day, which it seems like I've been doing recently. Check out the times I got home last week:

Thursday (or Friday morning): 5:15 a.m.
Friday (or Saturday morning): 10:30 a.m.
Saturday (or Sunday morning): 1:45 a.m.
Sunday (or Monday morning): 4:05 a.m.

PARTING SHOT
JRap and I are fake-fighting Saturday night.

JRap: I'm gonna kick your ass.
D: Kickin' ass and taking names.
JRap: I don't even bother getting their names anymore. Just kick ass and walk away.

FAKE PAPER. REAL PAPER. MORE PAPER.

I was told to show up for work by 10:15 a.m. on Tuesday. Considering I normally wake up around noon, that's tough for me. I set my alarm for 9:15 and woke up. But then I dozed off, and when I came to again, it was 10:03. I showed up for a meeting at 10:32, so only 17 minutes late.

We then went about the process of making a fake newspaper in preparation for the new system in October. I call it a fake paper, but it's really a practice to make sure we know what we're doing. They called it a Dry Run. Damn, I usually have at least two shots per shift.

After the Dry Run, we had a meeting to discuss what went right, what we wrong. After the meeting, somebody called in sick, and before you knew it, I was working a night shift, making a real newspaper.

That shift ended at midnight. I had a thirty-minute dinner break. I clocked in a total of 13 hours. Did I mention Tuesday is an off day for me?

When we left the building, JRap decided to hit golf balls on the lawn. I went about 30 yards away and caught them out of the air. Now, that's how you wind down after a rough day. That and alcohol.


THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom is mad because Wal-Mart hasn't had the water she likes the past few times she's shopped. "Every time you find something you like. They say, 'Fuck you. We ain't selling it no more.' "

Mom mostly liked the series finale of Weeds. She didn't like the time jump. "They moved eight fucking years ahead."

SAINTS ARE DONE 

1. The 2012 Saints are like the 2009 Bizarro Saints. The Super Bowl team allowed the other team to score first like almost every game. And then bam, they would dominate. It got to the point where I would cheer for the other team to score first.

This team has been doing the opposite. They scored the first touchdown in each of their losses and then got the shit beat out of them. I mean literally. I got a shit covered squirrel. Don't know what to name it.

2. I don't see the 2009 Bizarro Saints making the playoffs. Even if they played like the actual 2009 Saints. They are 0-2, and I'm chalking up losses to San Fran, Green Bay and at Atlanta. That makes 0-5.

So to make the playoffs at 10-6, they have to go 10-1. Yikes. Just don't see that happening. Assuming they win this week to go 1-2, the next six games are at Green Bay, vs. San Diego, at Tampa Bay, at Denver, vs. Philadelphia, vs. Atlanta. Brutal.

They only way I can see talking myself into a playoff possibility is if you take the mentality that they win the rest of their home games. That makes them 7-2 just on going 7-0 the rest of the way at home. Add in losses at Green Bay and at Atlanta for 7-4, and they only have to go 3-2 in road games vs. Tampa, Denver, Oakland, Atlanta, Giants and Dallas. Doable, I guess.

3. Meanwhile, my boy Meachem has two catches for the Chargers. Maybe they'll just give him back.

WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN

Great song, but when it came on the radio the other day, I decided to change the lyrics.

When a man loves a woman
Better make sure she loves him back (Can't keep his mind on nothing else)
Otherwise, they (He'll trade the world)
Arrest him up for rape (For the good thing he's found)

LET'S TALK ABOUT SEX. WEIRD SEX. 

Whenever my oldest group of friends get together lately, a large part of the conversation turns to sex. Throw in some alcohol, and it becomes about weird sex. Like shit I never thought of before.

So Friday was David's 28th birthday, and he had a get-together at his crib. We discovered recently that Kelly doesn't like it when you touch your belly button, so all the guys were rubbing their belly buttons to gross her out. Yes, I started this, though David took it to the next level when he dipped a chip in there and then ate it in front of Kelly.

Before you know it, the conversation turns to sticking a penis in weird places.
Kelly: "I've never taken it in the belly button."
Me: "Where else, though? Have you ever taken it in the ear?
Kelly: "A what? Dick in the ear?"

This, obviously, delved into a butt conversation. Or as Black Matt (it's OK, he likes to be called that) put it: "It's not a party until there's a butt conversation."

Before it gets really freaky, though, here's the heartwarming part of the night. Our friend Allen, who once responded to my question of how many people he killed in Afghanistan with "Enough," moved some time ago to New Jersey for work.

But at 12:30 a.m. as the party was veering into crazy drunkenness, the son of a bitch shows up and surprises David from behind as he was setting up glasses for the usual group shot, even though everyone's already drunk. Touching moment. David had no idea he was flying in for the occasion. Tear.

But now back to the freaky sex talk. Of the six long term relationships in the group, three (that's half) say the girl occasionally sticks her finger up the dude's butt. Hey-oh!!! I don't think any sentences that come after that one really matter. Just read that again. Is that just this group? Or is this a thing?

Then, we started inventing sexual terms. Paul says a Mr. Freeze is when a guy puts his semen in the freezer, then later throws it in the girl's face instead of ejaculating. And this from a guy who said the thought of the finger-up-the-butt never came close to crossing his mind until the group discussion.

Me: OK. Now what if he took his semen and put it in the oven or microwave? What would that be called?
Paul: Why would someone do that?
Me: I don't know. You just had him putting it in the freezer. Why can't I have him put it in the microwave?

We took a poll to find the best sexual name for throwing microwaved semen in a girl's face. And the winner is, courtesy of the birthday boy David: A hot pocket.


THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom had to throw out the carpet in the dining room due to Hurricane Isaac flooding. She's replacing it with tile. "Isaac was worse than fucking Katrina."

Mom and I are discussing a TV character with back problems. Mom: "That means he can't fuck good."

Mom loves Big Brother. Somebody was gullible, and it cost her. "He tricked her, and now her fucking boyfriend got kicked out."
Mom's dream is to get on Big Brother. "I would do everything it took to get that fucking $500,000. Lie. Cheat. The whole fucking works."

GEAUX, GEAUX ... GEAUX, SAINTS, GEAUX

I'm taking the blame for the Saints' loss to Washington. I have this thing for my garden. It's a stick (about yeah high) with a football on it that says Saints. Left it in the garage to start the season. My bad. It's on display now. Look out, Carolina.

The Saints blocked a punt for a touchdown in the opener last week. That was the first game in the Dome since Isaac. You may recall the Saints also blocked a punt for a TD in the first Dome game after Katrina. Hurricane hits the city = Saints block a punt for a TD.

PARTING SHOTS
From Thursday night's work shift.
I explain to the group that I don't like this trend where writers and announcers say "at the (name of position) position." Instead of just saying the name of the position. "At safety."
Me: It aggravates the piss out of me.
Liam: So, are you weak at the bladder position?

I see one of our new reporters had two front-page stories.
Me: She was a busy bee today.
Brick: What did you say?
Me: I said she was a busy bee.
Brick: Oh, I thought you said something else.
Me: What?
Brick: A busy Oregon State mascot.  (Editor's note: Oregon State is the Beavers.)

From Saturday night's shift.
I explain that I don't like anything on the menu from the place we're ordering from.
Beth: "If I ate like you, I'd kill myself."

D doesn't want to spend money on food.
Sandy: You heard of the rapper Old Dirty Bastard?
Me: Yeah, ODB.
Sandy: Well, D is OCB. Old Cheap Bastard.
D: I've heard that before, that I was cheap.
Sandy: That's the only one of those three words you've been called?

TOP LIST
My favorite movies since the old blog.

2009: Up.
2010: Toy Story 3.
2011: 50-50.

MY HOUSE IS A VERY, VERY FINE HOUSE

I've only done one blog in the past three years, and I didn't even tell anybody I did it. As I write this, I'm not sure I'm telling anybody about this entry. But I'm giving it a go here mainly because I've heard enough, "Please, bring the blog back," comments recently.

So, the main thing that's happened to me in the past year is that I bought a house. I live in River Ridge now. Or as they call it out here, The Ridge.

Of course, I no longer live with Tina, but that doesn't mean she doesn't still curse. I just don't hear as much of it. And without the regularity of the blog, I don't write it all down. Never fear, The Tina Cursing Corner is only a few paragraphs away.

As a growing boy in his 20s, the thought of moving out was always on the brain. Whenever mom and I would butt heads the previous few years, I would say to myself: "Fuck, I've got to move out." But didn't because I was too lazy and scared. Uh, there were other reasons, too. I forget them now.

Anywhos, when I went to the dentist in August 2011, the receptionist greets me with: "Hi, gene (get it?). Have you moved out yet?
Me: No. Why do you ask?
Her: Cuz that's all your mom can talk about when she comes in here, is getting you out.
Me: Oh.

I started looking for a house that Saturday. I bought the first one I liked. Sounds quick to pick, I know, but I did the same thing with my car, my couch, my TV and the NERF hoop I have in my bedroom.

On Oct. 7, 2011, I moved in and that Saturday, threw one helluva house warming party, with Tina's help. Duh. Actually, that turned into a crazy night, one in which I didn't even sleep at my house. What?

The only problem (knocks on wood) I've had so far is multiple ant infestations. First one was in the kitchen. I killed more than 100 ants several nights in a row before heading to the store for some help. This liquid shit I bought made them disappear. It was sort of fun watching them eat the poison. Another  infestation appeared in my memorabilia room. Killed that one, too, and haven't seen the little bastards since.

The other downfall is it's been a year and all my bills just went up. Boo to that. That's enough about the house. And to answer your first question, I've only had one girl over. Better than zippo, right?

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom, like every other woman, read that Fifty Shades of Grey book. Full disclosure, I read a few page and thought it was stupid. Mom: Son, what does cunnilingus mean?
Me: Uh, what do you think it means?
Mom: Is it when he puts it in her asshole?
Me: That would be anal.
Mom: Then what the fuck is it?

Mom followed the Jerry Sandusky trial. I was at our house the day after the verdict.
Mom: He stuck his dick up those kids' asses.
Me: What you think they should do to him?
Mom: Stick something up his ass, so he knows how it feels. Then take him to the middle of campus and hang him by the balls.

SPORTS IN 2012 SUCKS

1. LSU was perfect in 2011. And then WTF in the title game.
2. The Saints had the best team last season but couldn't cover one dude in the final minute.
3. The Heels were on their way to the Dome for the Final Four until their best player (and my 3rd favorite Heel ever) broke his hand. Ugh.
4. The Cubs were atrocious.
5. And my rec basketball team blew a five-point lead -- to a team that was 10-1 -- with 1:38 left in the playoffs.

QUOTE OF THE DAY
There's been so many good one-liners at work in the past three years. Unfortunately, I can't remember any of them. I guess it helps to write this shit down. But I do remember this from a conversation Bert, Kelly and I had about them having a threesome with a transsexual.

Kelly: I would do it.
Bert: I guess. But I have to make sure to never lose track of the tranny. (And thus, our new catchphrase  -- Never lose track of the tranny -- about doing anything adventurous or sexual.)

THE TOP LIST
The top five moments of my past three WrestleMania trips.

5. Car trouble. Atlanta. 2011.
On our last day in Hot-lanta, Paul and I had a full day planned. Hmm, that sounds a little guy. Whatever. We checked out of the hotel and parked in a $10 lot for the day.

The night concluded with Monday Night Raw at Philips Arena, and as the crowd filed out, a huge thunderstorm came thorough the area. Kinda felt like Isaac from 10 p.m. to midnight when it first hit.

We waited it our for a while before heading back to the car, which was like a mile away. When we got to the lot, it was just before midnight. Yup, you guessed it. The gate was locked, and the little garage we parked in was fully closed. It didn't open until 8 a.m.

When we had parked there earlier in the day, we asked the guy who we paid if the garage if it would be open when we returned around 11 p.m. He said yes. Bomp.

We had just walked a mile in pouring rain (and it seemed to have no end in sight), and all of our stuff was in the car. We checked into the only hotel on that block (a cheap $141), and -- this is going to sound gayer then before -- we took off our drenched clothes and put them on top of the air.

They weren't dry yet when we walked back to the lot at 7:45 a.m. The whole thing was disgusting. Luckily (yes, Christina, luckily), the car was intact, though the garage didn't open until 9 a.m. So we sat there in our drenched clothes for more than an hour waiting. Did I mention it was like 40 degrees that day?

4. South Beach. Miami. 2012.
Just like the island in Lost, We have to go back! We have to go back!

3. The Coke tour. Atlanta. 
I love Coca-Cola. You can taste like 100 flavors from all around the world. My favorite was Costa Rica. I forget which country was the worst, but I had to spit it out because it tasted like cat piss.

2. Wrong direction. Phoenix. 2010.
We took a rail from the airport to the street our hotel was on. It let off about a block away. We carried our luggage the rest of the way, but after several blocks, we hadn't arrived yet. Plus, the neighborhood was getting more and more sketchy.

We checked Google maps again, and it said we were literally standing next to the hotel. But all I saw was a run-down church, a ghetto convenience store and abandoned buildings. The hotel's website shows the joint near downtown in a nice area.

When we call the hotel and explain to the manager, he says: "Oh, that happens to our guests often. Google maps is wrong. It sends you to the ghetto. Go the opposite way you've been going for a mile or so (we immediately hailed a cab) and you'll get here."

Uh, gee, you want to put a notice on your site about that. Or, fuck, tell Google, so they can fix it, you know, so one of your guests doesn't get murdered on the wrong way to your hotel.

1. Homeless man. Atlanta.
On our way to one of the rasslin' events, a homeless man started following us. He didn't ask for money, though. He engaged Paul in conversation for several blocks, talking about the weather and life.

After several blocks, he points to his left at a Subway: "Say, man, all I need is a sandwich. Can you get me one."
Paul: "I can give you a dollar."
Homie: "No, I want a sandwich. It's right there."
Paul: "But the line is going out of the store." (The line was a legitimate 20-people deep.)
Homie: "But you about to get in line anyway. Just get me a sandwich, too."
Paul: "No, we're going the other way. Here's a dollar."

Homie didn't accept the dollar, but he did continue to follow us, despite Paul asking politely for him to go away. I seem to remember him calling us clowns. When we got close to the building, we blended in with the crowd and lost him.

It seems there's always a weird homeless story on these trips. There was the guy in Detroit who wanted a rail ticket and the leftovers Paul was carrying back from dinner. There was the feuding homeless men in Houston, one of whom insisted the other was the richest homeless man in the area and therefore, he, not the rich man, should be given a diaper by us.

If I decide to keep going, I have to tell you about the four weddings and a funeral I've been to since my previous blogging days. Whoa, that's the name of a movie. Four Weddings and a Funeral. Ha.