Top Five

Anyone who knows me, probably already knows this. As it is one of my favorite questions to ask and answer. Here it is, documented; my five “I want to plug” celebrities. Starting at five:

5.) Kate Beckinsale                                                                                                  

Reason: British, MILF, played a vampire before vampires were vampires.

Downside: Older, from a different country.

4.) Allison Williams                                                                                                   

Reason: Young, fresh onto the scene, snob appeal, cool that her dad is Brian Williams (big money).

Downside: To see her, you have to watch Girls. Which means you have to see Lena Dunham knobs every Sunday.  It’s also shitty that her dad is Brian Williams.

3. ) Mila Kunis                                                                                                    

Reason: Assumed hilarious personality based on her movie selections, killer distinct voice, great skin, awesome laugh, she is friends with Natalie Portman.

Downside: she dated Macaulay Culkin for like 6 years. Also, she has two different colored eyes. However, these are things I could get over if I was approached by her for sex.

2.) Carrie Underwood                                                                                      

Reason: Normal up bringing, talented, incredible singing voice, she is country girl, AND her legs.

Downside: Was on American Idol, wears a shitload of make-up. However, if we were together I would make her be done up all the time, so not a big factor.

1.) Natalie Portman                                                                                              

Reason: Hot as shit, smart as shit (Harvard), talented, funny, raspy voice, seems ‘real’, girl next door look, shit she even looked good with a buzzcut.

Downside: She shit out a kid.

                                                                                                                    

Honorable Mentions: Selena Gomez, Julie Bowen, Erin Andrews, Olivia Wilde, and Taylor Swift Keri Russell.

                                                                                                                          

I’d Cap That Wednesdays – Week 3

Check out this week’s I’d Cap That in honor of this wonderful Wiscahnsin weather…shoveling.

The Oscar Snob

Breathe it in, the shit spewing out of the Oscar Snob’s mouth. They flap their gums about best motion pictures while working an entry level sales job in Manitowoc, Wisconsin. I don’t watch the Oscar’s to be given a tutorial on screen play adaptations, rather to watch the hottest people in the world for seven hours straight. It’s a nice escape watching these gorgeous humans parade around on the red carpet.  The whole time knowing that they are better than everyone one of us. We visual ourselves giving the mindless responses to Joan Rivers questions.  Then the flashbulbs crackle and snap us back to February in Wisconsin. We have no Vanity Fair party to attend. Only another Monday at our mundane jobs. Natalie Portman’s beauty taunts us and Jennifer Lawrence teases our dreams. We laugh at Mickey Rourke because his face has been ran through a kitchen blender. Twitter is abuzz with tasty jokes and quips about Joaquin Phoenix’s hair lip. It’s Oscar night. Suddenly, you quiver as you remember you are going to be subjected to this Oscar Snob’s smut during the tiresome acceptance speeches.

We all have our opinions on movies, actors, directors and even genres. I don’t want Zero Dark Thirty to win because I think the movie came out too soon after the covert black ops mission. That is it. I have no other opinion on the matter. I am not going to snobbishly say “well you know the lighting in the fourth sequence and the actors jaw line didn’t  quite accurately reflect the mood.” I am an idiot when it comes to movies, however these snobs think they know better. They will go on to tell you what movie had the best soundtrack.  Explaining which had the best underlying theme like Sophomore English teacher reading from Spark Notes. They ramble on and on about movies, and it is impossible to check their knowledge. Nobody knows, I don’t have a research paper or a pie chart to shove back in their face.  You can’t sit there and tell me Les Miserable should win over Silver Lining Playbook because of the way  the director zoomed in on Hathaway’s huge mouth in during her solo.  No. Did you like the movie? Shut up. Did you like the movie? I always respond the same way. Did you like the movie?? I know, I know, you thought the lighting was better in Argo. I get it. What movie did you like better?? These people give me a headache.

I am not smarter than anyone when it comes to movies; nobody is in my mind. We aren’t part of the Academy. Accept it. I like crap.  All my opinions are based off what I like, not, “what is critically acclaimed”. Here is some insight to my bullshit, I loved Lincoln and Argo. I didn’t care for Django Unchained, at all. Before you say anything I loved Reservoir Dogs and Inglorious Bastards. However, factor this in; I have seen Never Been Kissed and Drive Me Crazy like thirty times. I watch Shooter every time it’s on TNT. These things are all based on opinion. There are literally less facts to back up anyone’s movie argument than there is on religion. “Well of course Noah saved two of every animal, and of course Daniel Day Lewis should win for his portrayal of Lincoln. Both are just true.”  Well actually, those aren’t facts, merely beliefs. There is less science backing up Lewis’s performance than that ‘great flood’ that covered the earth.  However incredible he was in Lincoln, it isn’t a fact. At least Christians can point to the Bible as some kind standard.

These are the same people that will blabber on and on about how the best movie of the year was some foreign film. Then they are shocked you haven’t seen it. I love Hollywood, not Bollywood. Stop talking about the best movie to come out of Denmark. I don’t care about the Slumdog Millionaire of this year; I want to Philip Seymour Hoffman’s fat gut in The Master. The only reason these people saw these foreign films, is to tell you they saw them. Which is just the worst, no one cares. It’s not American, I don’t care. I would rather watch the sequel to Never Been Kissed, Still Not Kissed Yet, than something about a retired teacher in Austria (Amour).

I just want to have meaningless conversations about the Oscars with someone who gives less of a shit about the cinematography than me. Someone whom I can argue with about, basically nothing:

“Yes I know Helen Hunt was good in The Sessions, but who cares about Helen Hunt anymore. Unless you are talking about Twister, get out of my face. Even Mad about You was all Paul Reiser, you’re crazy.”

That is what the conversation should sound like during the Oscars, not about costume and make-up, but relevance to today’s society. That also goes for all the people that  say the actor paid their dues and finally won an Oscar; this is big in Oscar Snob community. Actors should win their Oscar on based on that particularly performance, not overall body of work. If Leo didn’t perform good enough with that fake South African accent in Blood Diamond, then he shouldn’t have won. Save it for the bullshit “Lifetime Achievement Award”. I am not even sure what the Academy is doing anymore.  There are nine movies up for best picture, if you bought tickets to all those it adds up to a mortgage payment. It’s gotten to a point where nothing is special and “everyone is a winner in my book”. Cut it to four of five pictures and then these snobs can offer some perspective. I almost feel like if you give me a book on New York Best Seller’s List I could turn it into a picture that will get nominated.

All I am saying is keep your opinions light when talking about the Oscars.  You aren’t friends with Ron Howard; you grew up in Sheboygan, Wisconsin. You don’t know dick about story-lines and character development you’re an accountant. Stick to saying things like, “oh I really liked him in…” or “oh, I cried during…” and we will be fine. Nobody needs to hear about your love affair with the costume designer.  Two things matter, did you like the movie? And did you like the movie? With all that said, here are my picks.

Best Movie: Argo

Best Actor: Bradley Cooper

Best Actress: Naomi Watts

Supporting Actor: Phillip Seymour Hoffman

Supporting Actress: Sally Field

Director: Steven Spielberg

Animated: I only saw Wreck it Ralph, so that should win.

26 Things I’ve Learned Since Turning 26

Last year I created a list of 25 Things I’ve Realized Since Turning 25. I turned 26 last month and figured I’d come up with another list since… well… I have nothing better to do with my time these days.

1. Childhood leisure activities have become ultra competitive past times. For example, it is now impossible to kick a homerun in co-ed kickball. Childhood Alyssa would have tied up her sneaks, kissed her fingers, pointed in the sky and said “smell ya later” to the catcher before launching one to the back wall of the gym, thereby defaulting to a home run. Oh and don’t get me started on board games. I’ve seen people brought to their breaking point to answer a trivia question. There’s no such thing as games anymore, this is serious business.
2. Hangovers are no-freaking-joke (amiright?). There are times I’ve woken up wondering if I’ve contracted some sort of rare strain of avian flu, but no, just one too many cherry bombs the night before. Woof. On top of it all, those suckers can last anywhere from a few hours (ha) to a few days (likely). When will I learn? Fantastic question, check back at 27.
3. On that note, shots are the enemy. Plain and simple. Just stay away from them. LOOK AWAY!
4. Friendships change. People change. Big time. Now I’m not saying this is necessarily a bad thing, it’s just the growing pains intended to weed out those who aren’t truly your ride or dies in life.
5. Hobbies are hard. And by hobbies, I mean knitting (good one) and/or crocheting (maybe some day) or most art projects. I tried to find a way to pass the time that was a productive alternative to drinking, but instead was driven to angry drinking due to my lack of craftability. True story.
6. My parents are hilarious – and not ironically. I seriously can’t believe some of the catch phrases that come out of my dad’s mouth. He-lar. I’m pretty sure everyone likes my dad more than me and that’s fine.
7. Shit gets real. Friendships end, people get married, birth, death, financial responsibilities, figuring out your career, yadda yadda yadda sometimes it’s a bit much. It truly makes you thankful for all the positive in your life. Even it’s something as small as dryer sheets that make your blankets smell like love and security (thanks mom).
8. I live for brunch. It’s not just a meal, it’s a lifestyle.
9. I want a house. Badly. I want projects, my own yard, a house-warming party. After 8 years of renting, with nothing of my own to show, this ish is getting old.
10. Children are equal parts absolutely adorbz and terrifying. This is because I am now at the ripe birthing years and my human nature and sanity are in an epic battle. Spoiler alert – my sanity wins. Plus I can’t imagine loving my own child more than my dog. Don’t scoff at me, a lot of you are thinking it too.
11. I actually like to cook. *sometimes*
12. Cooking for one soooooks. My options are modifying a recipe beyond the capabilities of my math knowledge or shoveling the same thing down my mouth for 4 days.
13. I am still nowhere near finding the act of baking to be anything more than complete and utter torture.
14. I like my night’s in so much that I get cranky and stressed out if I have more than 3 consecutive weekends plumb full of plans. I start to recoil in to the fetal position screaming until I am back in the safety of my own bed and/or couch.
15. I’m in a romantic relationship with Netflix and I don’t care who knows it.
16. I’m not getting older, popstars are getting younger. Piggybacking that, today’s teens don’t know diddly squat about what real pop artists are. One Direction? Uh yea right, Bye Bye Bye! Get over yourself and put on some N*SYNC.
17. These comeback tours are giving me a reason to live. First NKOTBSB, then Britney cleaning her act up, NKOT98BIIM announcing a tour and now JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE BRINGING SEXY BACK?!?! The perfect recipe for me to lose what little dignity I have left. I am NOT sorry (ok, maybe a little).
18. I hate myself for not knowing the latest and greatest trendy dance. I didn’t know what Gangam Style was and corrected someone for texting me PSY thinking they mistyped PYT.
19. I’m kind of over taking pictures. Ask any of my high school or early college friends, I was the queen bee of photo ops. I was referred to as “paparazzi” and my tag line was “you’ll thank me for the memories.” However, this does not apply to taking pictures with my phone. Duh. With Instgram and I’d Cap That, I feel like I’m getting closer to having an actual real-life hobby (again, see #5).
20. You realize your college degree doesn’t mean jack shit. While this is not applicable for all degrees and career paths, it’s the sad truth for anyone who graduated after 2008. The sooner you realize this, the better.
21. There is a giant difference between early-20 year old girls and mid-upper 20-year old ladies. If you have to ask what those differences are, it’s because you have a penis.
22. Meeting a great guy really isn’t difficult. Meeting a great guy who is not dating someone else or emotionally unavailable is the real problem. More on that some other time I’m sure. In the meantime, I’ll just stick to finding comfort from my local Chipotle and Qdoba employees where the love and guacamole side with my veggie burrito are unconditional.
23. One of the most valuable things you’ll ever learn is how to let go. Letting go of expectations, grudges, anger, responsibilities… there comes a time when you just have to let go and move forward, and mean it. Letting go of yourself and your appearance is completely different, yet appropriate and necessary at times. Oh hello ketchup stain on my shirt.
24. Back to something chipper… day drinking is the way to go. Plain and simple. As long as the sun is out, everything is peachy. Be cautious as dusk approaches. Also known as the witching hour, this is when fun day drunk turns in to sloppy-go-home-before-you-puke-on-yourself-or-start-crying-because-you’ve-been-drinking-for-10-hours-drunk.
25. There are still so many ways to humiliate yourself, you’re just tapping in to your potential now.
26. 30 is still a few years away, so keep your composure you stud.

I’d Cap That Wednesdays – Week 2

Check out this week’s I’d Cap That in honor of Valentine’s Day… Love

Don’t Judge a Hipster by their Suspenders

Stereotypes, who doesn’t love them? I sure as shit do. They save so much time. I don’t even fight them anymore; I just embrace them as if they were my children.  More often than not they are true, thus the stereotype. Scenario one: A guy in a Porsche cuts you off, gets out of his car wearing a
North Face and sporting Oakley’s on an overcast day. The guy is a douche-bag asshole and his wife is probably a bitch. Scenario two: while walking in the mall you spot a Chinese guy with gelled hair and red frosted tips. He is wearing a backpack and baggy black jeans. Immediately you know he drives a Civic and loves techno. You just saved yourself some time. Smiley face.  However, sometimes in the course of human events negative stereotypes become positive. This exact thing happened with me and hipsters.

My relationship with hipsters has always been a complex affair. As a clean cut Nordic-American, it is in my genetic make-up to dislike anyone who is not conforming to the standards set by Dwight D. Eisenhower during his presidency in the 1950’s. I would continually snub my nose at this demographic. I would shuffle past one shopping the granola section of the grocery store. Pissing myself thinking this guy is just being different to be different. Hey nice penny loafers, asshole.  I would watch a girl with dreadlocks dressed in ‘vintage clothes’ walk her golden retriever and think, she probably smells like shit.  I would snicker every time I drove past a hipster on a fixed gear and think; why are you wearing a floppy wool hat, it’s 85 degrees out? Also, dumb suspenders.

But, not anymore. Now it is more like, hey…cool suspenders! I did a complete flip flop on this crunchy bunch. This is a thank you note to all hipsters. Hipsters if you don’t like this term, I will gladly crusade to reduce it to the H-word. The history behind this flop isn’t a complex one. Broken down to its simplest form, it’s because I eat at a lot of restaurants. As a 26 year old grown child, I am not big on making my own meals. I would prefer to spend countless dollars eating at cafes and bistros around town, than wait for noodles to boil to choke down Prego spaghetti. Having lived in Bay View for a few years now, this place has grown into a hipster haven. They own and operate the very cafes and bistros I frequently attend. Underneath their mustard cardigans is a personality that we should all attempt to emulate.

Every hipster that I have came across the past two years has been the most caring, warm individual in the world. Every order I place at these restaurants is greeted with a smile and “that sounds lovely.” You know what, that does sound lovely, doesn’t it? As I greet her smile, with a smirk of my own.  This is a group that society pegged as not giving a shit about anything, I have found the contrary is true. They actually give a shit about everything. In fact, the only not caring they do is about the before mentioned Eisenhowerian social statuses. They care about literally everything else. They care about your food, your drink, the way it tastes, the texture, if your enjoyed your meal, if you enjoyed you experience, whether or not you like the authentic map of Paris above your table, whether the food is fresh, where they get the food from, how the animals are treated there, if the vegetables were sprayed with pesticides, if the truck drivers are happy with their pay. Also, I guarantee the bathrooms are as clean as a whistle. It is incredibly refreshing. Every corporate place you are bombarded with not-caring-drones. Their whole lifestyle is based around being happy within that moment. Based around caring about things.  Hipsters are to customer service what that lady who threw that hammer at the movie screen in commercial for Apple in the 1980’s.

I am not categorizing every hipster into a waiter, waitress, Batista, sandwich artist, or any other service industry job. I know there are thousands of other careers that this demographic work in. This is strictly who I run into on a day to day basis. Frankly, they are building one hell of a reputation. Never once, have I ever been hurried or shuffled out of my table on a busy brunch Sunday. They never rush the bill, never rush the drinks. “Finish your coffee, there’s no rush at all (smile)”. I breathe a sigh of relief, throw some extra money down for the tip and I am outta there. They are good people. I feel good walking out of their brunch bar. Knowing that I have a stomach full of organic eggs, and a heart full of kindness. I dare you to get that level of satisfaction from the shit stains that work at Cracker Barrel or George Webbs. Those people are zombies, in it to make an extra buck. Those morons don’t hand your food, they throw it at you.  However, when a lady Batista caresses my hand as she hands me a coffee, I know she is the kind of person that would bandage a random toddlers scrapped knee. They have an overwhelmingly positive impact in the community I live in and I am glad they are here.

So, hipsters,  I guess this is where I tell you that the world is a better place with you in it. Please continue wearing your tight red corduroys, vest, bolo ties, and fedoras. Keep smiling and keep caring. From now on rest assure when I snicker to myself when you pass by, I am not laughing at you but with you. At the rest of America for not embracing how ahead of the curve you are. I hope, nay, pray, to one day ride our one fixed gear bikes (SEE THEY EVEN CARE ABOUT POLLUTION) hand in hand into the sunset. Me happy with you, and you comfortable, and accepting of my corporate attire. We will park our bikes at the cafe, slowly sipping our coffee and taking a few minutes to savor the flavors in our Eggs Benedict. Then gently wiping our mouths clean, we will embark on the rest of our lazy Sunday morning.

You Are Here Because You Obviously Hate Yourselves

“You are here because you obviously hate yourselves.” – Mr. Perfect

Truer words have never been spoken than by one Mr. Perfect during the Thanksgiving Day 2011 Boot Camp workout. Sure we all laughed, but then it sank it, why the hell was I at a workout class on the holiday I feel defines me as a person. Of course my existential thought process was interrupted by an almost nip slip of the girl doing burpees next to me (gentleman, you’re welcome for the visual imagery). Which brings me to today’s topic – gym culture and my pet peeves.

Ladies, ladies, ladies, contrary to popular belief of adolescent (and 20 year old) boys nationwide, the locker room is not full of steam, towel fights and sharing secrets. No. It is a place where working women get in, strip down, clean up and get out. Unless you’re telling me my skirt is tucked in to the back of my tights, puh-leaaaase do not talk to me. Or if you must, I beg of you to wait until I am fully clothed. There’s nothing worse than being dripping wet, wrapped up in a towel and having a middle aged woman ask you if she looks too fat in her outfit (true story, this did happen). Who, me? You’re trying to engage in conversation? Normally I’d love to boost your ego, tell you how you are woman let’s hear you roar, only A- I’m dripping wet B- I’m struggling to balance holding my towel and get dressed with mimimal nudity/without my bare feet having to touch the ground (it’s a thing I have) and C- Have my routine down to the second in order to get to work on time. This is NOT the time! Plus, you’re at a gym! If you think your workout gear is too snug, tag on an extra 15 minutes to your elliptical workout.

Speaking of workout outfits, it really grinds my gears when I see women at the gym dressed like they’re freshman at welcome week trying to get a free solo cup at a frat party. The caked on eyeliner, porn star cleavage and intentionally messy pony tails (an art in and of itself), it makes me wonder how they manage to get anything else done. I’m sure I drive them crazy by throwing my hair back in a pony tail, slapping on a headband and letting my bangs stand tall like the feathers on a peacock (get on my level son!). Don’t even get me started on jewelry. I see woman at the gym more accessorized than me on my best night out. Again, not sure what point I’m making here: they are over doing it, or I am fashionably challenged. I guess they have the right motivation since everyone knows how easy it is to meet your soul mate at the gym (enter screen right Katherine Heigl catching the attention of one Channing Tatum while power walking on the treadmill) right? Next!

Lastly, I just do not understand people who come to classes, but make up their own workouts as they go. Ok, I get it, there’s such a thing as modifying a workout, but why bother standing front row of a class if you are marching to the beat of your own drum? And by drum I mean making a complete and utter ass of yourself. Exhibit A – the 5′ 4″ popeye-esqe manboy who stands front row center at my weight lifting class determined to max out every muscle. The point of the class is to work out each muscle group for periods of 4-6 minutes, not lift the bar 4 times, grunt 6 (do the math, it makes no sense) and take 5 water breaks. Not only are you distracting me, you are humiliating yourself. Come on bro, quit while you’re ahead and join the rest of us. Oh and while you’re at it, stop blocking my otherwise perfect view of my gay obsession of an instructor. I only get to see him once a week, do NOT ruin this for me!

So to go back to my personal favorite of Mr. Perfect’s quotes, sure we all go to the gym for our own personal motivations, but just remember, it could be worse, you could be one of the aforementioned gems of gym goers. Consider this a public service announcement.

Attention Gym Members: Wipe Down your Machines when Done.

I have one problem with going to the gym, the people. I have never had an issue with dragging my lazy ass off the couch and going for a run on a Saturday afternoon. Or packing a duffle bag and hitting the gym after work.  To say I never had an issue with going to the gym would be an understatement. I actually enjoy it, a lot. It has great therapeutic value. I could get scientific about how it releases endorphin’s that send positive brainwaves and all that bullshit; however that’s not the therapy I am talking about. I mean it in a way of self worth. There is a lot to be said about looking yourself in the mirror and being genuinely happy with what you is staring back at you. The feeling of accomplishment that you are becoming fit, tight, chiseled, elite, basically just better than the majority of America. Our population is nothing but fat, slobbish, fast food eating creatures. However, beneath this cynical exterior I find myself being a hypocrite. I don’t want America to be fat; however I don’t want certain types of people taking up space my gym either.

Herein lies my dilemma with the crumb bums that go to my gym. I wish they would just turn skinny and attractive immediately. Unfortunately, they don’t and I have to look at these soft bodies everyday.  There are roughly four categories I like to place this trash into. The first of which, I like to call “Doctor says I should workout, midlife crisis club”. They trot their bulbous bodies into the club under doctor’s orders and think going through the motions will halt their inevitable heart condition. So they saunter around on the treadmill for 15 minutes and kick dumbbells around for another 20. They do this with the intention of ordering the Pizza Hut Dinner Box with their three ugly children when they get home. Then they wash it down with a couple of Oreos after because “ Dammit, I worked out today.” Sorry, baby boomers I would rather pay your Medicare in 10 years then have to catch a glimpse of your sloppy workout routine. Don’t even bother.

The next category is neither worse nor better.  The “workout wife who is on the brink of divorce”. This is usually a middle age fit spouse who bought a membership for the husband she is thinking of leaving. I know I stated workout wife, but that was strictly for alliteration. It can easily be the workout husband. This group, however shitty, is at least entertaining. They are enjoyable if you have a sick twisted mind, because you can put two and two together. You have the fit spouse, and the other who has been gaining weight for the past two decades. The fit spouse is on their last nerve.  They have the divorce paperwork filled out but not filed. “Get them a gym membership” their friends say, “Workout together” their friends say. So they obey, because what is more important than what your friends think. Dragging their spouse with them to the gym, they do a couples workout plan.  It’s at that moment the chunky spouse realizes “he” is doing this for their marriage and “he” attempts to mimic the correct movements of the exercise . I chuckle as I watch him use ‘divorce’ as motivation to power through the last leg press set.

The third group, which is sadly closest to my demographic, I like to call “the fashion show club”. This group is predominately twenty something male; they walk into the gym as if they are fist pumping their way into a Jersey Shore night club. I don’t have any qualms with people keeping up on their hygiene and fashion; however there is absolutely no reason to put a fistful of Axe hair gel on before pumping iron. Please save it for your bro’s bottle service on Saturday night. This clique particularly irks me just because you don’t need to try at the gym. I sport an old t-shirt from high school and a pair of non stained jersey shorts. I try not to look like shit, but I also don’t pretend there are Abercrombie and Fitch talent scouts taking notes on a clipboard. Just stop caring so much man, hop in your 2007 Mitsubishi Eclipse and grab a old cut off and come back. We will even hold your spot on the bench press. On a side note, this is usually the group that doesn’t feel the gym rules apply to them. They are careless with the equipment and are don’t wipe down the machines when finished. “Bro, they should be so lucky to get MY sweat on their bodies.”

Lastly, and unfortunately I am attacking “skinny guys”.  I’m sorry, but this group tests my patience more than any other. They don’t fully have the coordination or strength to perform the exercises they are attempting. Jake, everybody has got to start somewhere? Jake, how are they supposed to get stronger? Jake, at least they are trying!!! Thank you for thinking that. I know all this; I play those phrases on repeat everyday to keep me from laughing in their faces while they are embarrassing themselves on the shoulder press.  I know everyone has to start somewhere, for I started somewhere. However, that somewhere was not around people. I hope these little guys don’t get discouraged. Keep fighting, you will get there. However, start your ascent to masculinity just not…here.

In closing, I long for an America that is healthy. For a country where I can walk into a grocery store and am not stalled behind three diabetics fumbling over bags of Cool Ranch Doritos. I want to move freely and briskly around stores free able to pick from fresh vegetables and healthy alternatives without witnessing a struggling elderly woman help her gout ridden husband pick up a 10 for $10 Hot Pocket coupon special. Yet, I don’t want a gym where I am not running the gauntlet of douche bags that don’t know how to adhere to the unwritten rules of gym membership. I want these fatsos to get fit before they come into the gym. I know how hypocritical it sounds. I don’t want these people in the gym, yet I don’t want America to be fat. So I guess my answer is that I am the purest form of American: I want my cake and I want to eat it too.

Fit, tone women, thank you. It doesn’t matter, ugly face, semi-attractive or really hot, if you are tone, thank you. It makes this intolerable bunch, tolerable. I will try not to stare.

I’d Cap That Wednesdays

Check out this week’s I’d Cap That… Donald Driver.

“At least we lost to the team that won it all”

I am at my breaking point with fans that take satisfaction in losing to the team that won it all.  “We lost to the best team”. Fuck you.  It makes me question their allegiance or better yet, their intelligence. I base my hatred on a simple formula.  How much I hated the team prior to meeting them in the playoffs, multiplied by 1,000 hatred points and you get your answer. If equated into cash, this year I could close out my 49er’s haters bank account with enough money to buy that stupid house Warren Buffet grew up in.

“At least we lost to the best team” no, that’s such bullshit. I couldn’t want them to lose anymore than I wanted the Packers to win. I want the Packers to win and I want every player on the opposing team to tear their ACL in the process. I want the team that beat us to lose the following game, and I want their plane to pull a “We Are Marshall” on the flight back. I will be satisfied by seeing a heart felt memorial on their local news asking for “thoughts and prayers” be sent to their family members in wake of said plane crash. Is this outlandish and extremely vulgar? Yes, of course it is. However, if you don’t want me to wish that upon your team there is a very simple solution; don’t fucking beat the Green Bay Packers in the playoffs. That way everyone wins, I don’t pray your team burn in a plane wreck, and perhaps more, importantly the Packers win the Super Bowl every year. It’s a win/win.

I think people on the other side of my argument don’t fully understand what it is to root for a football team. You know who usually makes this argument, my mom. It is a mom argument. The types that sit and watch the game because all the boys are doing it and it’s a big game so they should be involved. They make their dips and put on their “Green Bay Packer socks” and call themselves fans. Only to console true fans after ‘we’ lost and say things like ‘this really sucks’ and ‘I feel so bad for the players’. Really?? You feel bad for the players? What about me?! I put down 14 beers on a Sunday night, poured my soul in this game, lost my voice, and have to work tomorrow. These ‘mom fans’ sit on the couch not really grasping the concept or magnitude of the game or my depression to follow that loss. They stand and cheer when the men do, look sad and mope when the true fans are pulling their hair out.  Then they give their meaningless advice on how to grieve, all of which falls on deaf, angered ears. Keep in mind, these aren’t just moms, they could be friends, brothers, sisters or talking babies. Basically anyone uttering versions of the phrase “At least we lost to the team that won it all” .

If this was offensive to you, then you are one of those “mom fans” and I don’t want your approval. In fact buy a plane ticket to the team’s “We Are Marshall” flight leaving out of San Francisco this year. And while the plane is going down, comfort yourself with those meaningless words; and I will take orgasmic satisfaction in the disappointment radiating from the team that beat us getting destroyed in the next round.  Hate is a strong word, but yet, not strong enough to properly explain how I feel for the team that knocked the Green Bay Packers out of the title run.

Super Bowl prediction: Ravens over 49er’s, 28-17.