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.