BOSTON: PEOPLE EDITION

NOBODY SAID WICKED :(

I'm sitting in the airport after five days in Boston. And boy did a lot happen in Beantown. To recap my New England adventure I will be telling the story in themes. Today's theme, the weird things we saw Boston citizens doing this past week. 

Let's start with a strange Chinese looking lady. She was standing on the sidewalk -- doing what I don't have a clue. 

We came out of the subway, and as we began walking, I let out a wicked sneeze. That didn't set well with the old lady. 

She stared at me and unleashed a verbal rampage in Chinese -- or Korean or whatever she speaks -- the likes of which scared the holy Buddha out of me. 

I couldn't really respond, but as we walked away, she was still pointing at me and yelling in Mandarin. 

There was the older short gentleman with just a rat tail for hair who was asking women out for dinner, except no women were really anywhere near him. He also seemed quite upset, I guess because he couldn't score a date for the evening. 

There was the worker who yelled "Suck my dick" pretty darn loud while filling holes in the street. In his defense he had DMX blaring out his construction vehicle. Didn't really belong in Little Italy at noon. 

There's the homeless of course, the one thread of people every major city has in common. You expect to be asked for change, but each city always brings a unique encounter. (My all-time favorite is still the Atlanta gentleman that followed Paul for about a mile and couldn't believe his efforts didn't lead to Paul going into a Subway -- the line was out into the street -- to buy him a foot-long.)

The top 3 strangest homeless experiences in Boston. 

3. The guy who had a sign that said: "no story here. Just down on my luck."

2. The man who fell asleep on the street with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and his finger on the lighter, which almost was at the cig. 

1. The dude pushing his cart along the sidewalk, stopping in front of a restaurant with outside seating and proceeding to curse out one of the patrons. He said "motherfucker" several times as the patron tried to ignore him and we stopped to watch what would happen. 

The homeless man eventually stopped yelling and started pushing his cart again, still mumbling "motherfucker" as he went. 

This old man didn't do anything weird, but he's my dad's doppelgänger, so he makes this post. 

It would have been one badass prank for my dad to buy tickets in the same Fenway Park section, follow me to Boston and then just sit there and watch the game while I sit there and thought "hmmm, nah, well?!?, nah" for three hours. 

This has-it-all-together Bostonian clipped his nails while waiting for the Subway. Efficient, I reckon. 

The shirtless black dude got the crowd gathered around him all excited for like 30-45 minutes. We only stopped because the crowd in this square had swelled so much. Must be something to see. 

All he did was yell about nothing, clap and collect money. And he hustled up close to $200 in the time I watched this ridiculous street show. He went on and on and on -- like this paragraph -- and nothing happened. 

Finally, after he sort of forced even more money out of the second to last white dude in this line, one of his cronies -- with the entire crowd of 200 or so people excitedly clapping and Nicole and I still trying to figure out wtf all the excitement was about, because again nothing had happened in half an hour -- jumped over five of those people lined up in the photo. 

It was a decent jump. But after all that money gathering, clapping and random excitement from the crowd, that's all that happened. That felt good to get out. 

In the middle of the day, we watched this guy climb a fence and enter some building through the fire escape. Criminal or normal occurrence? Dunno. 

As we end our first Boston post -- hopefully several more posts to come -- here are the five best quotes I overheard strangers say in the home of clam chowder. 

5. On Saturday, a young businessman passes us on the street and says into the phone: "I'm not losing my business and my job over you."

Was it a client? Lover? Both?

4. On Thursday, we were at the Boston Common public park, and a young lady admires a duck dunking his head in and out of the water. Her: "Oh my god, I wanna be a duck."

3. On Wednesday, a middle-aged woman looks at a shirt at a merchandise stand and says "what's KVP?" The vendor explains that's the nickname of one of the Boston players. "It's for Pablo Sandoval. He's called the Kung Fu Panda." 

Keep in mind that Sandoval has won two World Series and got a $100 million contract from the Red Sox in the offseason. 

Her: "I watch every game. I've never heard of that."

2. At the same park as in No. 4 and looking at the same group of ducks, an adorable little girl asks grandpa: "Is it fun to be a duck?"

That's her later on the mother duck, Mrs. Mallard. I swear we weren't stalking her. 

1. On Friday, I'm waiting in line to pee at a library. One lady to another: "I'll just meet you downstairs, OK?"

"But I have to poo, so ..."

"Oh."

ALSO, I HURT MY FOOT. SAW A DOCTOR. IT'S BETTER NOW.

PARTY PLANNING COMMITTEE

Ever since we got engaged, most of our lives have evolved around organizing the wedding. Actually, it ain't been all that bad, just a little bit stressful. 

Let's see, we have a date, a church, a priest, a reception hall, a photographer, a videographer, transportation and a photo booth type thing only better. 

But let's look at some pictures and see what else has been happening. Cool?

A five-year saga came to an end on Tuesday when Nicole took my Meachem ball to Saints minicamp, waited out the crowd and scored Brees' autograph, even though I told her that task was really difficult to accomplish. 

So to recap, I went to a Saints game in Tampa Bay in 2010, Meachem caught a TD from Brees -- the 245th of his career -- and threw it directly to me in the fifth row. 

Lopes said his girlfriend could get it signed through her family working with the Saints, she basically hijacked the ball, Lopes broke up with her without telling me I might be fucked on the ball, and then with the help of JRap, I stalked the bitch down and got my ball back. 

That night could be argued as our first date, as Nicole and I drove to the bitch's house, retrieved the football -- the bitch had it hanging from a grocery bag off a fence -- and then had pizza. 

Last year, Nicole stalked down Meachem at the Fox and Hound, and I got his autograph on the ball, though he was less than enthused by the story. 

And now Brees' autograph -- albeit small and possibly unauthenticable (made that word up) -- is right there, too. 

A piece of Saints history. 

Put the house on the market Monday, though I accepted an offer beforehand. Fingers crossed I don't need a second buyer. 

Check it out. http://m.movoto.com/river-ridge-la/416-park-ridge-dr-river-ridge-la-70123-721_2017221/

The house served me well for nearly four years, but it's time to start the next chapter. With a girl. Yuck. 

Pretty sign, eh?

Got an awesome frame from a neighborhood frame shop. Red trim mat with purple background. We know how good it looks, but you can tell me so anyway. 

The girl that helped us pick the frame and colors said not one word about the poster. Nothing. No, aw, how cute. Or how did you do this in the paper? Nothing. 

When I picked up the frame the next week, she said it came out really nice. Like as in the shop's labor force did well. No, we were all gushing at how cool the page is or again, how did you do this?

Nothing!!!!!!!!!!!

After taking several years off from baseball, I'm back. And since WGN decided it was WGN America and not a WGN that shows Cubs games, I recently purchaed mlbtv for $25 a month. Can watch any game, even on my phone. 

All kinds of other features, too. Baseball!

Went to yet another wrestling show a few weeks ago. So I write these articles on Nola -- they really good -- and the WWE gives me free tickets. 

The first few times, Paul and I sat on the floor in the second row. The last time in January we were in the second row of section 113 and this time the 15th row. 

In a few years, they are going to give me tickets outside the building.

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom couldn't get over Bruce Jenner as a woman. 

"Fucking cover of fucking Vanity Fair. That's history. Vanity Fair is a fucking fashion magazine."

She continued. 

"That's got to be strange. Boobs with a dick."

Mom was in a mood. And she felt the need to express her rights as a dying person. 

"I can look at you however the fuck I want. I can tell anyone whatever the fuck I want. And if they don't like it, I don't give a shit."

GIRL LOOKED AT HER FINGER A LOT

ENGAGEMENT BOIL

After Nicole finally said yes to my proposal on May 17, it was time to spread the word. I started with a Ron Burgundy news team call, but that didn't seem to work in real life. 

Kelly got out of the bushes -- not literally, though she was threatening to try and spy on the question popping -- and came over, tears steaming every which way down her face. Nicole went from worried about the details of preparing for the crawfish boil to announcing her pending nuptials to all her loved ones. 

Kelly: "You had about 10 minutes left to call me or I was coming over to see if that paper was still on the lawn."

We drove to her parents house, somehow forgetting the newspaper I had used to propose. Oops. 

Each of her grandmothers live on the opposite side of her parents, and both were downright giddy. It was even her paternal grandmother's birthday. Also that day was her parents' 35th anniversary. May 17th is quite the day in that family. 

There was a group text among aunts. One wanted to know if Nicole was pregnant. Another didn't believe it was really her hand in a photo Nicole sent. Her brother said "that's great" and rolled over and back to sleep. 

Every time Nicole broke the news, the joy in her voice was beautiful. And she kept saying, "We getting married!"

We returned home and did some of the things on her list to get ready for the boil. Her mother, aunts and grandmother stopped by the house to further celebrate. They read the paper I made and seemed to really enjoy it. Her aunts even yelled at Nicole when they read how she used to turn me down for a date. Ha. 

After some calls to friends, Kelly and Nicole disappeared into Nicole's room to make her even prettier for the party. Which they did. 

Bert did a superb job with the boil. I was stuffed from the first batch but found room for a little bit of the second one. 

My mom met Nicole's parents for the first time when dad drove her over to the boil. Mom was exhausted from the trip but was able to enjoy the afternoon. There was a champagne toast, and a shitton of goodies, from Oreo dip to cake to buttermilk drops. 

Nicole's mom drove Tina home, and the mothers got some bonding time in. Meanwhile, Joe and I won a rousing corn hole tournament. We declared ourselves River Ridge Regional champions. 

We got 246 Facebook likes -- which is the same number as my high bowling score -- on our engagement photo, mostly from people I didn't know. I have this social experiment where I count the "congrats" vs. "congratulations" in Facebook posts like this one. Congrats has won every time, but on average, it's 53 to 47 percent. 

For us, it was 45 congrats to 41 congratulations. At one point the full word was winning, and the score was tied at 39 until a late congrats push. 

The amazing day ended with some games and shit. 

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

While watching TV, I had to explain a glory hole to my mom. I ask her if she thinks it's erotic. "Until it's a fucking rat trap. That has to hurt. Boom!"

There was a mistake in mom's initial flood insurance bill. "Fucking flood insurance. What the fuck are they doing to us?"

Mom still has good days and bad days. Today she went out and had crawfish with me. Two days ago, she didn't have the strength to get out of bed. It's a process every day. 

She was in the kitchen twice last week. 

PENNY FOR YOUR BILL?

I canceled my cable May 5 as I'm hardly ever at my house using it anymore. And  the month I canceled it, the bill went up $27. Whoa. 

Over the phone, Cox gave me the amount I owed for the final month after I talked some of the bill additions down. I paid it the same day. 

A week later, I get another bill from Cox. For one cent. Yeah, one fudging penny. The bill said it was a tax. You know what you can do with that one-cent tax?

The customer service rep tells me on the phone that I have to pay the penny. 

"But I paid every bill to your company on time. I paid the final bill that you gave me in full. You can't just cancel out the penny?"

"Sorry sir. It says you owe that amount. Would you like to pay now with a credit card?"

"No."

A few days later, I drove to the Cox office -- it's directly on my way to work. A worker is helping me, and her face changes when the total I owe comes up on the screen. 

I put a penny on the counter. 

"I'm sorry you had to come in for this, sir."

She printed a receipt and apologized again. So, at least they ain't all dummies over there. 

 I STILL CAN'T FLY MY CAR, THOUGH

We recently switched from a system using a Mac to one with a PC. As you can guess, I don't like it. But I ain't here for a bitch session. 

One advantage is that I can work from home as I did Saturday while watching part of a Back to the Future marathon. 

 

WE GETTING MARRIED

DATE IS 99 PERCENT SET FOR 6/11/16

As I was on bended knee Sunday morning near the front door looking up at the love of my life, the whole world stopped. 

I had just shocked Nicole by proposing first thing in the morning. And I knew I would be shocking her. But I didn't expect the silence. 

After what seemed like an eternity of her staring at the paper and looking down at me, she finally spoke. But it wasn't the word I was anticipating. 

"Did you do this?"

Did I do this? You mean make a fake front newspaper page with the headline "Nicole, will you marry me?" across the top? Of course, I did. Who do you think did it? Cyrano de Bergerac?

But it was all she could muster in her state of shock. So I continued to stare up at her waiting for a real answer.

It was as if she had forgotten to agree to the marriage. Or thought she already had. 

Another eternity passed before I prompted her for a response. 

"Yes."

A week of anxiety and anticipation was over. I let out a big sigh and kissed my bride to be.   

Even though I knew she would say yes, I had constructed quite the blueprint and I couldn't wait for her to see it. 

The plan 

Nicole had said she didn't want anyone to see the proposal. So it had to be private. 

My options: 

-- Play a card game with her and deal the cards. Write "will you marry me" on the cards dealt to her. Probably on the four queens. 

-- Order a pizza. Pick it up. Before I come back in, put the opened ring box in the middle like that old ladder Pizza Hut used to use. Have her open the box. 

I decided on option 3. Make a replica front page of the Picayune. 

I made it with the help of one of our finest designers who agreed to dedicate some free time to the project. 

The paper's biggest day is Sunday, and Nicole had picked out a ban May 6 and said it was on sale until that Saturday the 9th. 

We had been to a few places before that and had talked about getting engaged, the future and the such for several months. 

So I decided then that I would propose the next Sunday, the 17th. I also decided I would put the fake paper in a bag with the real paper and leave it on her lawn. 

The execution

The designer, David Jack, and I went to work Monday the 11th. I sent him 12 pictures Nicole and I have taken over the past year. He turned them into a giant heart on the page right under the big headline. 

Inside the heart I composed a 12-line aabb love poem that will just melt your heart. Take notes, Shakespeare. 

To the side of that, I wrote a short story about the process I went through to make the page happen. I quoted sources saying we were about to get engaged, you know like they do in the real paper. 

At the bottom, I wrote a 500-word summary of our relationship history, covering our not-so-storybook romance. 

Above the name of the paper, we put a picture of crawfish and a headline that said "newly engaged couple celebrates with crawfish boil."

For weeks before I decided to propose, we had organized a small boil with some close friends. Fuck, I said to myself, let's make it an impromptu engagement party. 

The rest of the week

After the paper was done Monday, I had six days to wait to give it to her. I was busy the rest of the week, but the nerves still were gnawing at me the whole time. 

Actually the paper wasn't done quite yet. Every day, I reread the page and changed like five things. There's like five drafts. 

On May 7th, I went to buy the band Nicole had picked out and got that and the diamond. Boom!

Between the 7th and 17th Nicole and I had countless discussions about possibly getting a ring soon. I had to choose my words carefully to not give anything away. 

On Tuesday the 12th, I picked up the ring, paid for it and stashed it at my mom's house. On Wednesday, I got a haircut for the occasion. On Thursday, I went to her parents house to ask for her hand. 

They were very happy and her dad got choked-up. "Glad to have you in the family." Awwww. 

The last few days took forever. Time ticked sooooooo slowly. 

After work Saturday, I waited for the paper to print and grabbed one right off the presses. I swung by mom's house and scooped up the ring. I left my paper and the real one on Nicole's doorstep. 

The proposal 

I slept at Nicole's on Saturday night, a ball of nerves. She made me worry a little more as she ran through a list of everything we had to do in the morning to get ready for the crawfish boil. 

Ha, I thought. She has no idea. Also I knew she would wake up early, and we would be engaged before I knew it. 

We awoke around 8 a.m. Sunday morning. As she was getting ready to get out the bed, she listed the first few things she was about to do to prepare for the party. I knew I had to get her mind off of that and to the front door. 

"Oh, shit."

"What?"

"I think I messed up a headline in my section."

"Nobody else checks that shit?"

"No. Just me. And I had the delivery guy throw a paper here so I could check. I'm worried. Can you look for me? I can't stand to see it if it's wrong."

"Ok, I'll go check."

When she left the room, I snatched the ring from my hiding place and followed her to the front door. She picked up the bag and questioned why the paper looked different. I said just open it. 

As she flipped the paper around and finally started to realize that it was going down for real, I popped open the box and got to one knee. 

Next week I'll write about the aftermath and the boil. And some other stuff. 

Here's the newly engaged couple. 

I WANNA FLY AWAY. YEAH.

HEY, BRO. DO YOU EVEN FEST? SAW THAT ON A T-SHIRT. 

Even though I've lived here all my life and have a fondness for the music, I somehow had never been to Jazz Fest. 

In my 20s I worked almost every day of the festival. Lately, I've been off on Sundays, but it's hard for me to shell -- see what I did there? -- out $60 unless there's someone I really want to see, someone that's one of my favorites. Not just "oh, hey I like them." 

This year that all came together as I was off this past Sunday and Lenny Kravitz was playing. A Lenny concert from 1999 is still my favorite concert I've ever attended, when Paul and I went to see headliner Smash Mouth but came away from it only talking about Lenny's amazing set. 

We saw him again in 2002 when we got lost in the city, a story I recounted at Paul's rehearsal dinner last year, with the highlight being a drunk doctor telling us "you're gonna get shot."

So I popped my Jazz Fest cherry, with Nicole leading the way, as I had no idea where I was going or what to do. 

The crowd was large but not overbearing, and even though we sat a mile away, I still enjoyed Lenny once again. Granted, he got to Jazz Festy with two of his songs that lasted way too long and he only played nine songs in 80 minutes. 

The dude is still magic on the stage, though. The beginning and end of the set were awesome, and I danced, sang and grooved right along with him. 

Would I go back? I can see going back once a year but certainly not more than that. It's exhausting and expensive. And if there isn't someone I love, it'll feel like a big waste of money. 

What I liked about the Fest: 

-- The Meters. They played before Lenny, and I very muched enjoyed their set. My favorite song was "Be My Lady." Good jam. 

-- Catfish almondine. Also ate crawfish Monica, stuffed crab and a pound of boiled crawfish. All good. 

-- Nicole. A nice day out in the city with my lady. 

-- Got exercise. It wasn't too hot. Nothing to complain about with the atmosphere. 

Things I didn't like:

-- Expense. When you add up the ticket (even the discounted one I got from Joe and Jenna), the shuttle ride and all the food, it was a costly day. Just wouldn't do it like more than once in a weekend. 

-- Crawfish bread. Did. Not. Like. It. At. All. Brought the rest to mom figuring it was just me not liking something, even though it's cheese, crawfish and bread. Mom tried it and immediately spat it out. "That's nasty."

Quote of the day: As I was venturing out for food at Jazz Fest, a dude walks up to me and just says this before walking off:

"How do u know I'm a lazy motherfucker? Cuz I have a free pass to a tent with a bathroom, but it's too far. So I'm using this port a potty. That's how you know I'm one lazy motherfucker."

I'M PROUD OF MYSELF

My lawnmower wouldn't start, and I determined it was the spark plug after changing the oil and gas and cleaning out the filter. I got a new spark plug and a spark plug wrench. I changed out the spark plug, and it started right up. 

I know that doesn't sound like much, but I didn't think I could do that by myself. 

I also fixed my mom's breathing machine when it turned off -- though that was only temporary and we had to get a new one -- and parallel parked for the first time. 

So just really a banner week. 

But then Monday morning I brought the trash can from the street back to the side of the house, only to literally watch the garbage man pass an hour later.

Yup, I'm still a moron. 

I ATE A LOT OF CRAWFISH, TOO

SINCE WE LAST SPOKE

Here's a rundown of my super busy life in the past two months. 

-- Nicole and I celebrated our one-year anniversary. Twice. 

The first time was March 19th, the day we picked as the anniversary. Nicole went to lunch and came back to this on her desk. 

That night she picked up Waffle House, and we devoured it. I spent the rest of the night watching the NCAA Tournament. 

So to make up for that we went to Tommy's Cuisine on April 4. And it was a good choice. 

We really liked the ambiance and all that kind of shit. She had the crabmeat au gratin, and I had the fish capri. Both delish. 

We made a bet on who could come closest to guessing the bill, as the prices for those dishes are not on the menu. 

Gene won by a landslide. 

-- That wasn't the only fancy place I ate at in April. On the 13th, I took Nicole and my mom to Dickie Brennan's Steakhouse in the Quarter. 

Best steak I ever had. And I also loved the crawfish soup.  

It was pretty cool to get mom out of the house and into the city, too. She loved the steak. Didn't want to stop eating. 

Nicole was in agreement. She also got banana's foster at both joints and declared Dickie's far superior. 

One of our waiters was in my grammar school class. He didn't recognize me. And a refill took forever to come. Minus dollars for him. 

-- We celebrated Kelly's 30th birthday in style, renting a limo bus and hitting the town after dinner at Drago's. Went to Madigan's, Quill's and the Goldmine, where we had the best time.

Limo was pretty awesome itself. Bert and I both made rap mixes. Kelly was in the zone. 

For Valentine's Day, I got Nicole a puzzle with our picture on it. We finished the 500-piece masterpiece the other day, but there's a piece missing. 

Can you spot it? 

The puzzle was only in two rooms, and we searched every nook and cranny. Nothing. 

-- The professional photos came in for Bridget's wedding. My favorite:

-- I went to the Pelicans win over the Spurs to make the playoffs and Game 3 against the Warriors last Thursday. 

But I'm not here to talk about the collapse. That's been done enough. I have a larger issue: the line in the men's bathroom. 

Apparently the great men of New Orleans do not understand bathroom lines. This is disappointing. At every halftime and after games, bathroom lines extend outside the bathroom and wrap fairly far into the concourse. This is not necessary. 

There are 15 or so stalls in each bathroom. But are there 15 lines? No, there is somehow only one line. 

For some reason, once the stalls fill up, the next dude starts a line near the door of the bathroom, and everyone else follows suit. 

Problem is that first dude can't see half the stalls. So half the stalls end up empty.  

What I do is I walk past the entire line, sometimes 20 people, and go straight to an empty urinal. No line. 

Here's what should happen. You don't start a line at the bathroom entrance. You walk in and stand a reasonable distance behind someone peeing, so that there's 15 separate lines. 

It'll go much faster, and there won't be a line in the concourse. There's plenty of room in the bathroom. 

Boy, draining that out of my system feels good. 

HOLDING ON TO THAT FEELING

BRIDGET'S WEDDING 

Nicole's best friend -- cue Kelly's angry face -- I mean one of Nicole's best friends, Bridget, got hitched Feb. 28. And it was a good time. The following is a summary of the events of the day. Just the facts. 

I was watching basketball in the early afternoon when I got a phone call saying they needed me at work. I said I could give them an hour before I left for the wedding, and I hopped in my car and headed down there. 

After a standing ovation from my coworkers and the quickest of tutorials on the duties for that night, I was back out the door. 

An hour later, Bert, Kelly and I arrived in LaPlace for the wedding of the year. Sure, it can be topped, but so far, wedding of the year. 

Bridget made a lovely bride with a dress that suited her just right, but I couldn't take my eyes off this one particular bridesmaid. I've hit on bridesmaids unsuccessfully before, but this one I wasn't gonna let get away. Hehe. 

The priest gave a riveting sermon to John and Bridget about using the building materials for a good relationship. The three of us decided the way they introduce couples when the marriage is made is a bit old-timely, and we ain't doing it. 

Why isn't the women's name used? Mr. and Ms. Boys first name Boys last name. What year is this? Fact is, it's 2015. And we need to start saying "Ladies and gentleman, let's hear it for John and Jane Doe." (Or if the girl is keeping her name, then say both their full names. And I was called sexist for my college columns in the Maroon.)

See Kelly gets it. Check out how she signed the guest book. 

This was my first visit to Chateau for a wedding reception since Paul's wedding last March, the week before we learned about the cancer. 

Chateau is 2 for 2 in excellent weddings. I've enjoyed the food there more than other weddings I've attended. (In Forrest Gump voice): I must have had me about 15 catfish strips. 

The roast was awesome, too. And the roast guy was the only black person in the building. I wonder if he just kept thinking to himself all night: white people. Am I right, Joe?

I wore a suit for the first time in forever. Nicole bought it earlier in the week, and many said I looked good in it. Yeah, no kidding. But I still didn't like wearing it. 

And for the record, I counted 12 dudes not wearing a suit at the wedding. So there. 

John and Bridget really seemed to have a good time, dancing the night away. John did a moonwalk at one point. 

I caught the garter belt. Well, actually I dropped it and picked it up off the floor. So I guess ... Kelly, on the other hand, threw all her effort into making the catch but could only get a fingertip on it. So I guess ...

With about 20 minutes left in the reception, I was taking a break from dancing when a familiar first chord hit. Bridget didn't know about my penchant for worming, so before I got going, there was a quick approval process. 

The wedding photographer actually laid on the ground and took a series of photos, so the official shots should be gnarley. That was my ninth dancing performance to that song at a wedding. What a journey it's been. Gotta do it big for the 10th one. 

Also of note is Bridget's napkins had the wrong date. I noticed, and Nicole disposed of them in a raging fire -- just kidding -- before the bride could see. 

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom has a new attitude. "I'm dying. I don't give a fuck."

When I encouraged her to take some nasty-tasting medicine, she said: "I'd like to see you drink this shit."

My uncle once had a surprise birthday party, mom recalled last week. "He had no fucking idea. Had jeans on with holes and shit."

Mom doesn't like the way I've been keeping up with the cleaning of the house. "When I'm dead, you can burn this morherfucker down. But while I'm here, you need to keep up my house. After I'm gone, do whatever the fuck you want."

On a less-funny note, I've taken mom to lunch a few times in the last few weeks, the first time she got out the house on her own since September. 

Barbecue shrimp. Yum. 

A COUNTRY SONG

Nicole loves the country music, but since it all sounds the same to me, I tried my hand at writing a country chorus. 

Enjoy. 

I got my pickup truck and a beer in my hand

But I ain't got no girl it was a one night stand

Took her out for pizza and an ice cream cone

But she robbed me blind now I need a

loan

And Ill keep on going til my days are done

Maybe I'll call up the boys and well have some fun

Nicole and I finished a 1,000 piece puzzle after five long sessions. It was complicated.