Guy's Laws

I've actually been working on this post for some time. Originally, it was kind of a joke. It started with a guy in my office who wouldn't return The Nod, which annoys me, and I thought I would make a fun, sarcastic list of Guy's Laws, since all guys should know these.

However, events have happened recently that made me realize that no, many people do NOT know, or don't care, about Guy's Laws. Well listen assholes: you should. If you violate these, at best you're a huge asshole who deserves no friends. At worst, you deserve to get the ever living shit kicked out of you.

No, on second thought, there are things on this list that are killable offenses.

A quick note: none of the bad things have happened to me, they've all happened to other people.

Onto the laws...

* Whenever your girlfriend brings up marriage in front of your male friends, you must make some sort of sarcastic comment. Rolling the eyes and/or snorting will barely make the requirement here, though that is a little weak, Sally. Ladies, it's not that we aren't totally in love with you, and don't want to get married and spend the rest of our lives with you. You're the love of our life! Of course we do! It's just we can't admit that in front of the fellas. Come on now. You've got to be an independent man in front of them.

* If a married man cannot do a guy thing (play video games, go play sports, watch "the game") because he has to do activities with his wife, you must give him shit about it. Yes, we know he has priorities. Yes, we know we'll be the same way once we get married (well, not Bob, but he's the only man I've ever met who I think has a chance of pulling that off). But you've still got to harass your boy. You're not a true friend if you don't. The levels of harassment depend on how important the guy thing is, and how girlie the wife's thing is.

* You must return "The Nod" from another man. There's not many worse things you can do to another man as see him give you The Nod and ignore it. It's the ultimate male bonding experience. It's the way we say hi. To not return The Nod is the same as saying, "Yeah, I think you're a little bitch. And just what exactly are you going to do about that, you little bitch?" I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to beat your ass is what I'm going to do.

* Some sort of lewd comment or look must be uttered when two women do anything. Yes, it's such a cliche, and so childish and immature. But if two women do anything that can in any way, shape, or form be possibly sexual in nature, you have to make a smart remark about it, or throw out the wink. And yes, I'm a little ashamed of myself every time I do it. But you have to. It's a Guy Law.

And besides, it's funny. :-)

* Whenever a woman gets their hair cut or colored differently, we cannot say anything. Here's the thing ladies. We almost always notice. And yes, it always looks nice. And yes, we know you're just DYING for compliments on the new doo. But we can't say anything for a variety of reasons. First of all, we're too scared. If we compliment it, there's at least a 60% chance that you'll snap back how much you hate it, and how that dumb bitch (could apply to a man or a woman) screwed up your hair and didn't listen and I said no bangs, blah blah blah. By the time you're done ranting, you're pissed, we're scared you're going to cut our balls off just because we're standing closest to you, and we know there's no way we're getting lucky tonight. Next, we're afraid of the fakeout. This is especially common when you dye your hair subtly. We notice the difference...we think we can see it...but we're not entirely sure. And the last thing we want is the false call: "Hey, I like your hair!" "Really asshole? I didn't do anything to it! Thanks for caring!" Repeat step 1. Finally, if we complimented your hair immediately with glowing praise every single time, you'd go even more to the salon, and good Lord have you seen the prices there! We can't afford that!

Now onto some serious Laws...

* You cannot have sex with a friend's girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, wife, ex-wife, or sister without permission. Should go without saying, right? Unfortunately, no, apparently some people need to learn this lesson. Timeline doesn't matter. It could have been an ex-girlfriend who he hasn't seen in five years, and you still have to ask first. Now, you can make out with any exes on the list (obviously, nothing with a current is allowed). Maybe even the sister. You can probably even feel up the ex-girlfriend, though definitely not the sister or ex-wife. All of that falls under the universally accepted category of "I'm sorry buddy; I was drunk" (excepted everywhere, like Visa or American Express). But you CANNOT have sex with any of the above without receiving EXPLICIT permission.

And the fact that you have to receive such permission means you probably shouldn't even ask. Just don't do it.

* Thou shalt not go wherest thoust brother has gone. No. Fuck permission. Can't do it. If your brother has had sex with her, you cannot have sex with her. Done. Do not pass Go, do no collect $200. Brother also includes any cousins who are close family members; close enough that a rationale person would say that they almost have a brother relationship. If your brother has been there, you shall never be there.

* Under no circumstances should a boyfriend call an ex-husband to discuss a relationship. We're moving into married land now. You know the scenes in movies where the new boyfriend goes to talk to the ex-husband? Are those not the most uncomfortable scenes in any movie? You don't want to see it, you know it's a train wreck waiting to happen, and you just want it to be over with as soon as possible. And besides, how often does that scene end well? 60% of the time it ends up with them screaming at each other, 30% of the time they end up getting in a fight, and 10% of the time they go away deciding to ruin each other's lives in some bizarre revenge plot.

News flash people: that's how it works in the real world. It's one of the few times Hollywood doesn't lie to us.

So don't do it. Don't think that a "man to man" conversation is going to help any situation. Don't call and ask permission to marry the ex-wife, don't call to warn him that you're going to do it, don't call to try to "work things out" so you can be in the same room together and not stare daggers at each other. You both fucking hate each other. It's the way it should be. Don't try to make it any better. Just be civil to each other, and if he's not being civil, let the wife deal with the one who isn't. But you two are not buddies, and should not pretend to act like such.

That's it. If you've got any more good Guy's Laws, feel free to post them. Otherwise, gentlemen, please observe.

The Wright Amendment

Anyone who loves Southwest airlines, it's important that you read this.

Anyone who loves American Airlines, shame on you, and you probably don't want to read this.

The Wright Amendment was passed in 1979 (came into affect in 1980). In a nutshell, it was passed by American Airlines to put Southwest Airlines out of business, and to run Love Field into the ground.

You see, up until about 4 years previous to the Wright Amendment's passage, the airline industry had been heavily federally regulated. Obviously, commercial giants like AA HATED the deregulation that was no longer protecting them. So when Southwest entered the airline industry with innovative leaders and a bold new business plan, AA was scared and bought off Congressional members in order to shut them down.

The Wright Amendment wasn't AA's only attempt to legally close down Southwest. At one point, they paid off the city to try to get them to shut down Love Field. Close it off completely. Fortunately, Love Field had been built with Federal funds. Southwest Airlines sued the city and won, as the city could not shut down a Federally funded airport without jumping through some impossible hurdles.

Fast forward to now, 2005. As we know now, AA had every right to be afraid of Southwest. In spite of being the little guy versus the corporate giant, in spite of all the ridiculous and un-free market legislation passed against Southwest, they have grown and prospered. THEY are now the kings of the airline industry, and AA is facing bankruptcy, and no, it's not 9/11's fault. So now, now that they are in control, Southwest is attempting to rid themselves of the Wright Amendment. In a capitalistic society, Southwest has the nerve to ask for a free enterprise market. Shame on them.

What, exactly, is the Wright Amendment? I haven't answered that yet. Basically, what it says that any flight flying out of Love Field must stop in an adjoining state. Not only that, but you can't even BOOK a flight to a state not touching the great state of Texas.

For example: Southwest flies to Las Vegas or Kansas City. However, if you're departing from Dallas, you can't fly there. Go to their web site right now, select Dallas. Do you see either of those cities there? No, you don't. Now select Oklahoma City. Look at how many more cities are there!!! That's right. Including Las Vegas and KC.

That's it. In order to fly from Dallas to Vegas, you would have to book a flight to OKC, or Albuquerque, or New Orleans. Then you would have to book an ENTIRELY SEPARATE FLIGHT to Las Vegas.

Same thing coming back. From Vegas, you'd have to fly to OKC (or another city), and then fly into Texas. Again, you'd have to book two entirely separate flights.

Explain to me the logic behind this. Trust me: there is none. If you are a supporter of the Wright Amendment, I DARE you to post in the comments why this law should be in effect. I'll rip your argument to shreds, I promise you.

We, the consumers, will benefit from this so much it's not even funny. Now we'll have so many more cities we can book direct flights too, so it will be more convenient. Because we can book direct flights to those cities, we'll save money on airport and southwest fees, making our flights cheaper. There is NO WAY we don't benefit from this. It's greatness.

So, if you hate the Wright Amendment, and want to see it revoked, click here to join a mailing list to have it removed. I am on this list.

In case any of you read the article in the Fort Worth Star Telegram supporting the Wright Amendment, Kyle got so fired up he wrote the author an email response. He published that response here, on his blog. Of course, it being Kyle, he has included more facts than I've included here, so if you want more technical details, go there. It's very well written and pretty brief.

Yay to Southwest! Yay to capitalism! Yay to free enterprise! Down with the Wright Amendment!

Peace.

I won't play basketball with white people anymore.

That's it. I'm done. And yes, for the record, I am white.

There are some exceptions. Shane, my bad ass and very cool teammate from my Thursday night league. My brothers and Kyle, of course. I'll still play with Marc.

Other than that, I'm done. I'm out. I'm finished. Why, do you ask? Because white people are FUCKING CRAZY.

For those of you who don't know, I'm a fairly talented basketball player. I've been playing since 7th grade, I love it, I've devoted most of my life to it. I've had the pleasure of playing with some of the best players in the world in my life, and I walked on at OSU. I only did it for one semester; I was proud of the fact that I went out and was talented enough and worked hard enough to make the team. After the first semester, I realized two things: 1) That the incredible amount of hours that college athletes have to put into their craft (I laugh at anyone who still thanks college athletes are "amateurs"; you're living in a dream world that died a long, long time ago, but that's a whole nother column) just wasn't worth it for me, a simple walk on, and 2) my desires for basketball changed: I no longer wanted to play in such a structured environment; I wanted to play just for fun.

Therein lies my problem.

As I said, I love playing basketball. Many of the best memories of college--Hell, many of the best memories of my life--occured on a basketball court. It is my dream to play in--and win--a 3 on 3 tournament with my brothers (so if you know of any indoor 3 on 3 tournaments in Dallas or Stillwater, let us know please, we do have trouble finding them). But there are too many God dam morons who think they are playing in the mother fucking NBA Finals out there, and lose their minds. It's starting to piss me off.

You see, when someone gets hurt, that's not "fun" to me. When someone threatens to "put you in the hospital", that's not fun to me, either. I'm 25--damn near 26--years old. Getting in fights isn't cool to me--it never has been, and it never will be. Unfortunately, I've had to participate in too many fights on basketball courts, and have even had weapons pulled on me. But at this point in my life, I don't expect that to happen anymore--especially from people my own age, or older. But when white people are involved, it seems that more and more, I find myself facing the situation I'm shocked to have to deal with anymore.

This post isn't meant to be racist in any way, shape, or form. I'm going to write my own observations from years--almost decades, dam--of playing basketball in Texas and Oklahoma. Maybe this isn't true in your part of the country. But this is what I've observed, over and over again, here, and it's not meant to offend anyone: like 2Pac, I ain't tryin to gas ya up, I just call em how I see em.

Basketball is a physical, man's game, and whenever competitors are pushing their bodies to the limit, it's easy to get excited and even angry. On top of that, there is a huge mental/bravado aspect to basketball that is possibly even more important than the physical aspect to the game. So challenging someone with "trash talk" is an accepted part of basketball. I don't talk shit unless you start doing it to me and piss me off, but almost every player I've played against has done it to me. It's a right of passage. Most of the players I play with are black, and I'm usually one of few--if not the only--white boys out there, so it's a test. It's a test of how mentally strong I am, whether I'm afraid, and whether or not I can handle any pressure. However, that's all it is: a simple test. It's all simply a way to win on the court--it's just business, nothing personal. Once you pass that test, you've earned those players respect, and normally the guy who was talking the most shit is the first guy up to shake your hand after the game, whether it's a pickup game or a league game with refs.

For whatever reason, it's entirely different with white people, and it's getting worse, not better. There are a ridiculous amount of "hard fouls" or "takeouts" with white folks. "No layups!" "It was game point, foul them rather than let them score!" and shit like that is common. Again, people: it's not the NBA Finals. If you get beat, you got beat. It's as simple as that. White people also are the dirtiest players in the world. Trust me on this, people: I'm more afraid to play in a Church league in Plano or Frisco than I am a rec league in South Oak Cliff. Those nutcases will hit you in places you didn't even know existed. I've seen 30 year old men undercut kids in the air, damn near breaking the kids arm, all to "get a charge" and "not give up a layup". Hey asshole: FUCK YOU!! It's a game. It's not worth breaking a kid's arm over!!!

The worst part is the physical violence, or threats thereof. I don't know what causes it: roid rage (that's an issue more often than you would expect, I assure you), ex-frat boys who still think fighting is cool, or racism (not wanting to lose to black athletes). Probably a combination of all three. But it seems like with white players, the first thing they want to do is threaten to kick your ass, and they mean it. Again, it's not totally uncommon that you're asked if you want to go with a black athlete. However, like I said, it's just a test: it's over once the game is over. With white guys, it's not over. They are seriously ready to go once they make that threat, and they are ready to go as soon as the game is over. It's like dealing with 30 year old children.

So there's not really a point to this (okay, is there really a point to very many of my rants? ;-) other than to say shame on you. Fucking shame on you, white people. Grow up. News flash: fighting is not cool. You can have fun and play sports without someone getting hurt. Threats of physical violence are not enjoyable for anyone except you, apparently, and are techinically prosecutable.

Now, to be fair, the last two actual fistfights I've been involved in have been have been with black athletes. However, the threat is much more prevalent with white athletes, and the last two fights I assure you had more to do with steroids than with any cultural tendancies we've talked about above (in other words, those brothahs were roided out of their minds, and that's what made them go nuts).

So I'm going to play basketball in the ghettos. I'm going to play basketball with people who live in the projects. I'm going to keep being the only or one of two white guys on my team. And while this isn't the only reason I play with who I play with, it is the saddest reason: becuase it's safer there.

Harry Potter

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/8560858/

Now, as a HUGE Sci-Fi/Fantasy fan, in both movies, books, and comics, I'd just like to say this in regards to the above article:


Can we please get a fucking life, everyone?

I mean, those books aren't even any good.

Thanks.

Europtrip, Part 4: Hail the Conquering Hero

9:00pm Monday, May 30th. Munich, Germany. I board my train, where I am THRILLED to see I have my own car! How awesome is that? After all the bad luck we had on the train earlier, and the inability to reserve a sleeper car after arriving in Munich, I end up with my own car! I'm pumped. Plus it's a lot cooler today, so I'm not sweating bullets this time (I came prepared with water; fool me twice, thou shalt not!). I give my ticket to the very angry Nazi looking ticket guy who speaks no English, open up my bag and spread out some clothes that I had to pack while a bit damp, and then kick back, read for a while, and then lie back and try to get some sleep. I'm ready for a nice, relaxing trip to Paris.

2:00am Tuesday, May 31st. I've been dozing off and on; the seats are maybe five feet long, so I'm having trouble sleeping. Not that I'm complaining; it's still great. We just pulled into some train station and stopped; I continue to try to sleep.

2:10am: HOLY SHIT. The Ticket Nazi just threw open my door and started screaming at me! I'm lying there, half asleep, all the lights off and the shades drawn, when he throws open the door and does this. Plus, as I said earlier, he speaks NO English. All I know is there is a short heavyset buzz cut ticket taker screaming German at me while I'm still groggy.

Not a good situation for either of us.

I have no clue what this guy wants. I pull out my ticket and hand it to him, and it becomes obvious that no, that's not what he is looking for. Suddenly it dawns on me: he wants me to change trains, and he wants me to change trains NOW.

Now I have a dilemma here. One of the most important lessons Bob taught me was to beware the train station. That was the biggest place that people try to take advantage of you, especially in Italy. So I'm dubious, for several reasons. First, there is nothing on my ticket that indicates I need to change trains (I double check this as he screams at me), nor did anyone at the trainstation--when purchasing the ticket or checking in--give me any instruction to be prepared to change trains. Now here I am, it's 2:00am, I have no clue what city I'm in, there's no one around in the train or outside, and this is basically the second German I've met who can't speak English, even though he works on the fricking TRAIN, where it would make the most sense to have someone who speaks English.

In other words, I'm sensing a trap.

I decide to trust him, for basically two reasons: 1) I still have a full day to get to my plane, so if I do get stuck here overnight, it shouldn't be THAT big of a deal. 2) If he does try anything, I have no doubt I can beat him in a fight, and I can even get to one of my couple of knives (I'm a Pondrom, you know we don't like to go places unarmed) as I get off the train.

So I frantically pack as this guy is screaming at me to hurry, we run to the end of the car with me carrying my bag (zipping my bag is not easy, so I'm just carrying my 80 pound bag like you would a baby), he kicks the door open and hops out as the train starts to move. I jump off the train as it starts pulling away, thinking, "I am going to fucking kill you if you are trying to pull some shit on me."

He wasn't. We ran a couple minutes up the track, where there is another train waiting, that has the correct name on it and appears to be going to Paris. This guy literally saved my ass. God only knows where I would have ended up, and when. So Angry German Train Guy, who I thanked profusely when I was aboard my train, I thank you again sir! You are truly a gem amongst human beings, and a fantastic ticket taker guy dude!

I board the new train (again, get my own suite), zip up my bag properly, and attempt to get some sleep.

7:00am, Paris. I arrive safe and sound, back in gay Paris. Now, tonight I will be staying with my good friend Tracie, the same one we had dinner with the night we got locked out of our hotel. However, she has been in New York all weekend, and won't be back until 11:00am. So I need a tourist attraction that will be open at 7:00am, preferably one that I haven't been to.

It's off to Notre Dame.

I take the Metro to Notre Dame, and that Metro stop is actually behind the Paris Police Station (I forget its name, and am too lazy to look it up), which is across the street from the cathedral. I go inside the church, look around, and say a rosary. As I'm finishing up the rosary, a Mass begins, so I get to take in a Mass at Notre Dame. I think this makes up for me missing Mass on Sunday...right God? Please? Sorry about that.

Notre Dame is beautiful, but very dark. I mean, not that there are many really well lit churches, but this one is REALLY dark. I view the church, and then go outside to read in the courtyard, as it is a beautiful day outside.

10:30am. I'm starving, and am in DESPERATE need for a shower, so I get up and head for the Metro, so I can go meet up with Tracie and get the keys to her place. Now, as I'm crossing the street to head to the Metro entrance behind the police station, I notice that there are riot cops surrounding the police station. They don't have their helmets on, and they're just standing in groups talking casually, but they're still there, and that's never a good thing.

I get to the Metro entrance and it's shut down. They've sealed it off. I've never seen or heard of such a thing. Granted, I've never seen or heard of much of anything for the Metro, but I think it's a safe bet to say that when an entrance gets shut down, that's not a good thing. So I go talk to two cops--both in riot gear, and one of them who was a good inch taller than me, this was the biggest mother fucking Frenchman I'd ever seen, I didn't know they could grow that big--and try to figure out where I should go. Though they don't speak any English, they quickly point me to simply ago across the river, to St. Michael.

Unfortunately, to cross the river, I have to walk back around to the front of the building.

Literally as I'm walking away from my two Popo friends, the word comes out to them to gear up. They put on all their crap, and start to circle the building. There is definitely a sense of anticipation in the air.

Now I'm torn at this point. I know what the riot is for: yesterday the French had voted not to accept the European Union constitution. So it's not something that I'm thinking they would get too violent over. Plus, being a student of history, I know that the French riot about as often as the Italians strike, which is whenever they're bored and want a day off. So I'm kind of curious...I'm thinking about hanging around and watching the riot.

Three things stop me: 1) I'm alone, 2) It's literally time for me to be meeting Tracie, and 3) except for that big cop, I'm head and shoulders above everybody out there. Which means if anyone gets killed, everyone will remember the tall American in the blue sweatshirt and black skullcap. Or if the cops start shooting tear gas, the easiest target to aim at will be me. So my good sense gets the better of me, and I depart. I grab the best orange I've ever had in my life from a shop, and head to see Tracie, literally as the first idiots begin screaming and charging the line of police.

11:30am. I arrive at Tracie's office without too many problems, get her key, and head to her place, again without too many problems. Now, Tracie has a roommate, though she has assured me that she is at work and I don't need to be concerned about frightening her.

I get to Tracie's apartment, and start messing with the lock. Now I was treating it like an American lock: turning the key until it clicked and I felt the bolt move, releasing the lock, and turning the knob and pushing the door in. The doorknob was in the middle of the door, much like a Hobbit's hole would be, but other than that it seems fairly straightforward.

Door won't open.

I start playing with the door, trying to get it open. It's obviously the right key; I'm just doing something wrong, and I can't figure out what. Right about the time I'm starting to become concerned that someone might come along, see me, and think I'm trying to break into my friend's apartment, I just barely hear a tiny voice saying "Monsieur?" coming from the other side of the door.

Holy shit. Claire is home.

I'm now picturing what this looks like for her: possible the largest man she's ever seen in her life, wearing a baggy sweatshirt and a skullcap, is fumbling with her door while cursing and muttering at it in American English. I'm also remembering that Tracie told me she hadn't actually TOLD Claire that I was coming, but she did shoot her an email that morning.

"God I hope she checked her email," I think.

She had, so she was (somewhat) expecting me. I explained who I was, and she let me in, as I was figuring out that it was one of those locks that you pushed on, kept pushing on the lock to keep it open, and then just push the door in. My bad. I walk in and see Claire, and feel even worse. She is incredibly beautiful French girl who is about 5'5" and petite. Let me put it this way: later in the evening, Tracie said that Claire was wondering if she should go get the baseball bat right before I heard her calling me through the door. I looked at her as Tracie told me this and thought, "Okay. Go get the bat. Hell, I'll give you two free swings. As long as you don't hit me in the head of the nuts, I'm 99% sure I'll be fine. If it's a wooden bat, I'll even let you get a head shot in."

It's at this point I'd like to thank God for making me a man and huge, so I don't have to physically worry about things like that very often in my life.

Anyway Claire, I'm so very sorry that I scared you. I do hope you'll forgive me, and I hope you do come to Dallas some day so I can make it up to you. We chatted for a few minutes, but Claire had a huge test the next day that she needed to study for, so she retired to her room. I dropped off my gear, and then went out to repurchase my pictures.

Yes. I'd left my pictures on the God dam train. No, not the time when I leapt off the moving train. I made sure I grabbed them then. It was as I was leaving the last train! Just left them sitting up there! I carried those pics from Paris to Germany, went on a quest for a cardboard tube, carried the cardboard tube from Germany to Paris, and then left it on the God dam train! I'm an idiot. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Since those were my presents to, well, almost everyone, I went and got a lot more. I also stopped and found a florist and bought Claire and Tracie some flowers for putting me up for the night. I came back, took a much needed shower, and then passed out on their oh so comfortable couch.

6:00pm. I wake up with a phone call from Tracie, telling me that she has to work late and won't be able to come home for dinner. I feel very bad for her, as she's had a long day. Claire is making chicken and potatoes, and graciously offers dinner to me. It's delicious, and we have a very pleasant meal together.

I decide I need to do some sightseeing this evening, and so I get dressed and head out to see the town. Now the sun sets REALLY late in Europe, so I don't leave until about 9:00pm. I really want to see the Arc and the Eiffel tower lit up at night. So I take the Metro to the MusÃe de l'Homme, which is the cool museum directly across the Eiffel Tower. The view of the tower is fantastic from there. I arrive at 10:55pm, and while it is dark over the tower, there is still a tiny bit of light behind us to the East. It doesn't matter though, as the tower is lit up in yellow light, and truly does look beautiful. Now as I'm sitting there watching the tower, I overhear another American say that something will happen at 11:00pm.

11:00pm. Remember what I said earlier? How disappointed I was in the Tower? I stand by that statement...during the day. At the top of every hour at night until 12 or 1, they tower sparkles for 5 minutes with white light. It is AMAZING. It's literally one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen in my life, and it was incredibly romantic. I really wished a certain someone was there, right then. People, I'm telling you, you don't even need to go see the Tower during the day. But if you don't see it at night, you're a fool. No matter who you are, what your tastes are, what your preferences are; I don't know if I've seen anything as fantastic as the Eiffel Tower lit up at night. It was an incredibly moving experience.

I went and saw the Arc next, and while it also looked beautiful at night, it was nowhere near as impressive as the Tower. I really wished I'd been able to go to the top, but of course it was closed. In other words, the Arc rules the day, and the Tower rules the night.

I went back, got to chat with Tracie a few minutes, and then she went to bed, and I watched Trading Places (the hilarious Dan Akroyd/Eddie Murphy movie) and fell asleep. Tomorrow, I return home.

8:00am, Wednesday, June 1st. Up and at em! I get up, put some clothes on, get one last tartelette fraise, and take the bus to the airport. I arrive relatively painlessly about 10:00am for my noon flight. Plenty of time, right? Wrong! The lines at the airport are unbelievably long, and the customs guys are unbelievably slow for having doing absolutely nothing. I mean seriously. This guy asked me a couple of questions about where I stayed and what I did. He asked me if I had receipts. I said no. He sent me along. The only person out of the 20 people in front of me whose luggage he opened was the smoking hot blonde's, who he took an extraordinary amount of time with. I'm sure it was just a coincidence that it happened to her, and I have sympathy for Lindsey, Kelly, Nancy, Alyssa, Brande, Emily, Halley, Jamie, Jami, JDub, Tracie, and any other smoking hot blonde friends of mine who has to put up with that shit.

Oh, and you too, Barry. ;-)

Anyway, so I finally clear customs, and get to the automatic ticket printer machine at exactly 11:16am. Unfortunately, in France, 45 minutes before the flight leaves they stop issuing boarding passes. Now, I'm not saying that I was homicidal at this point, but I will say that it's a good thing a nice ticket lady came over and checked me in manually, because the 5'6" maybe 120lb blonde army girl wasn't going to stop me from boarding that plane, Stayer Aug or no Stayer Aug.

So now I clear the metal detectors, haul ass to my gate, and get in line. Now I want you to picture a room. Then picture the hallway that leads to the ramp that boards the plane. Okay? Good. Now picture this: When deboarding the plane, you don't deboard into the room. There's a glass wall that runs around the perimeter of the room, and you walk literally around the room to get off the plane. But in doing so, you walk past all the other ramps where people are boarding the plane.

This is the stupidest set up in the history of airports.

I mean really. Who's bright idea is this? Now of course, the airports don't want boarding and deboarding passengers mingling, in case someone tries to sneak on or slip someone something. So every time a plane was deboarding and people were walking out, they made us wait to deboard. Nevermind that we're now half an hour late to board, and that these people have arrived at their destination and are not late. No, we are the ones who get to wait to be made even later! This is good thinking people!

We finally get on the airplane, and end up taking off about 12:40pm, when we were supposed to take off at 12:00pm. Yes, I do have connecting flights in New York that I am now concerned about. Oh well, we'll just see.

12:45pm. Now, on the way back, I'm on a 767, not a 777. There is a LOT less leg room, and I'm in the 2 seat aisle with someone sitting next to me. In other words, I'm shoved in like a fucking sardine. For I think an 8.5 hour flight. Let's pull out my favorite, the bullet point list for thoughts on the trip back.

* I popped on my headphones, and the first song I heard was Gavin Degraw, Chariot. I almost started crying. Seriously. I missed American music that much. I was singing along with the music like crazy; it was GREAT! You want to talk about elation, that was elation.

* I saw National Treasure on the plane. Not bad. It's no The Rock, Gone in 60 Seconds, or Con Air, but it was pretty good.

* Airline food: not bad! Not bad at all! I was VERY pleasantly surprised by how good the meals were. And nice and hot, too! Thanks LSG Sky Chefs!

* I'm 95% sure I saw a couple join the mile high club. They were sitting across the aisle from me and back one. At one point, she did the "crawl over him in a sexy way to get into the aisle" bit to him. Seriously, how do you do that? I mean, I know I'm bigger than almost everyone else. But I can barely turn around in that bathroom. I don't care if you're Nirupa sized, I just don't see how you can comfortably or quietly have sex in there. Anybody who has done this want to explain it to us? I guess the exhibitionist aspect is such an aphrodisiac that it surpasses the physical discomforts. And no, I didn't use the bathroom after I suspected that they did that.

* Mmmmmm...orange juice. Not Fanta; real orange juice.

2:30pm, New York, New York. Since we were traveling back through time zones, I arrive at New York for the first time in my life after what timewise looks to be just a two hour flight. Now, I have to clear customs, pick up my bag, do something with my bag, and then reboard a plane to Dallas by 3:30pm. What the fuck, I like a challenge.

So I've cleared customs, and am standing in the regular security checkpoint with my day back and my huge bag, and I'm assuming that they'll just take my bag and toss it on the plane when I get up there. Of course the line is ridiculously long. Then, all of the sudden, I remember something rather important: I have knives in my bag.

Shit.

Yeah, I don't think the security personnell are going to be too keen on that. I go back downstairs, talk to a lady at one of the check in desks, and ask her what to do with my bag. Of course, by now it's 3:15. She points me where to go, and in no uncertain terms tells me to haul ass. I run over, drop off my bag at some checkpoint while wondering why I was given my bag in the first place, and then haul ass back to the ridiculously long line. Fortunately for me, the line has disappeared, and I run right through the check in.

A side note here: this is my first time in New York, and I must say, the accents in New York amused me more than anyone's in Europe. They're awesome. The most ridiculous accent you hear on TV is the New York accents I was hearing in the airport. It was awesome! I seriously felt like I was still in Europe, trying to pick up on another language.

Well, fortunately for me, my plane was 15 minutes late, so there was no danger in me missing it. The plane from New York to Dallas was the biggest piece of shit I've ever seen in my life: it was at least 20 years old and I wouldn't be at all surprised if it was 30 years old, none of the headphones worked, so even though they showed Ocean's 12, I couldn't hear any of it, and the looks the stewardesses were giving us seriously scared me. One good thing happened, though: I got an emergency aisle seat. This is good for two reasons: 1) I had a ton of leg room, thank God, and 2) I was sure that I was going to need to use the emergency exit on this POS plane.

The flight home was fairly uneventful. I arrived at DFW airport, and got my baggage along with the Dallas Maverick's Marquis Daniels, who you've often heard me describe on this blog as the scariest looking Maverick. Well, after seeing him up close in person, I'm right because of his crazy eyes, tats, and nutty hair, but not because of his size. I was taller and stronger than he was, which was very surreal for me, and I don't know why. Anyway, I got my bags, and met Nirupa outside, who took me home sweet home.

It was a great trip. I highly recommend going for anyone, and if you're under the age of 30, I recommend the backpack and hostel route, even if you're married. Most of the hotels we saw were crap unless they were at least 4 star, and those are pretty damn expensive. The camaraderie and the people you meet are so cool, it easily makes it worth the inconvenience of not having your own room.

I lost 8 pounds in my two weeks over there, and I didn't have much weight to lose in the first place. Between all the walking, lugging the bag, eating food that is better for you, and not eating as much as you do in America, it's aguaranteedd way to drop some pounds and get leaner if you want to do that. I didn't come back with any weird illnesses or anything like that, and I never got really sunburned, even though I never wore sunscreen and I burn fairly easily.

Well guys, I hope you enjoyed the tale of my trip. I'm sorry it's taken so long to get it all out here, but I have definitely enjoyed the telling of it. My only regret is that none of you out there were over there with us, hanging out, having a good time. I'm going to Southern Europe (Italy and Spain mainly) in two years, so if you want to go with me, start planning/saving now!!!!!

Top Ten Hottest Women

It's been awhile since we've done this, and let's face it: it never gets old.

1 Halle Berry (Actress; X Men 2): Still incredibly beautiful, though she hasn't done much lately.
2 Jessica Alba (Actress; Sin City): SKYROCKETING up the list, my new "if she's in the movie, I'm interested" star.
3 Clara Morgane (Adult Film Star): I saw an article about her while in Paris. She looks better than ever.
4 Kelly Hu (Actress; Scorpion King): Please do more movies. Please? Don't make us beg...
5 Selma Hayek (Actress; Desperado, Fools Rush In): Incredibly beautiful, while down to Earth.
6 Vida Guerra (Model): Might have the best ass I've ever seen.
7 Shania Twain (Singer): How does she get more naturally beautiful as she gets older?
8 Marissa Tomei (Actress; My Cousin Vinny, What Women Want): Naturally beautiful, and coolness factor is through the roof.
9 Scarlett Johansson (Actress; The Island): I'm starting to really warm up to her, and she gets points for blowing off Tom Cruise.
10 Adrianne Curry (Model): Saw her on The Surreal Life on VH1, and damn near couldn't change the channel, in spite of the fact that I had to watch The Surreal Life.

Honorable Mention: Ashley Judd (I'm so sad to see you go), Charlize Theron, Vanessa Marcil, Carmen Electra.

Dishonorable Mention: Paris Hilton & Nicole Richie (please tell me their 15 minutes are up), Jennifer Garner (still a man), Lindsay Lohan (put that weight back on and go back to being a redhead), Jessica Biel, Brittnay Murphy, Drew Barrymore (always).