The Holy Weekend of Annoyance and the Search for Redemption

I've always argued that everyone's a little gay sometimes. It makes one wonder if hot lesbians like Portia de Rossi are ever straight sometimes. Probably not. Bitch.


I don't write enough. I don't write enough. I don't write enough. I don't write enough.

I used to believe that by going weeks in between columns that somehow I'd build up this gigantic reservoir of genius release to detonate upon all of you. My God. Even I'm grossed out by that poorly-worded analogy.

But alas, I think that I've been fooling you as well as myself. Baby, I've got something to admit. The honeymoon is over. You know how I said 'it's not you, it's me'? Well, it is you. I'm just not as into you as I once was.

If only it were so easy. I could just nix this little project known as "I Don't Mind if You Forget Me" and turn against it. And ironically, forget it. However, there is one basic problem. This little bitch that nags and doesn't put out enough and spends all my money and isn't understanding of my porn addiction and why "probation is no big deal" isn't some woman so easy to kick to the curb. This little acre of webspace is me. The Reverend. Robby Rob Rob. Rob-O. The Dirty Puerto. So it begs the question: Am I bored with myself?

I could spend another twenty pages pontificating on this subject, but I'll provide a short and concise answer: Yes, I have become less interested in myself lately. No, no. Don't feel sorry for me. As much as I love you guys, you're all just as boring in your own way a good deal of the time. This period I'm going through is a lull. A rut. A whatever and give me the remote so I can see what's on my Tivo. We're all there, have been, and/or will be there again. Don't worry. You guys are still cool enough for me. I guess.

History highlights so many tremendous achievements, tragic conflicts, and undeniably important individuals. But even Napoleon took a break between conflicts to sit around and think, "Man, I'm fucking bored. What am I supposed to care about and will I? Is there a baseball game on?"

But my friends, I'm sure there's hope. I'm not really sad. I'm just frustrated with not being happier. You know that feeling? Let's go on a quest.

On Friday, I decided it was best to ponder all that should be pondered at the bar. Now begins the Holy Weekend of Annoyance. And Easter.

I got to my usual bar on an unusually slow Friday evening and the only person I knew in the bar was this guy named Matt. Matt is a dumb dumb overlaugher. Dumb because he's dumb. The second dumb because his laugh makes him sound dumb. And "overlaugher" because he does it loudly and too often. However, he had two girls with him and I didn't know anyone else, so I bit the proverbial bullet and joined him. So let's break down the table of four:

Me: Kind of a big deal

Matt: Dumb dumb overlaugher

Tracy: Talky, but somewhat hot girl

Girl 2: Tracy's older sister whose name I can't remember and who I tuned out once she said she was A) 35 and B) a mother.

I never denied being a dick.


So we drank for about five minutes when the trio I had joined decided they wanted to leave and go to another bar called the Hi/Lo. Left with the option of sitting at the bar and drinking alone and because I'm way too cool for that and really I am, I headed out to join them.

Once I arrived, I had the option of sitting next to Tracy or Girl 2. So I sat down next to the girl with a name of course and proceeded to have a very nice conversation. At one point, she left to make a phone call and I was left sitting with a space between Dumb Dumb Overlaugher and myself to the left. To my right sat a very large black man who had the nicest set of fake boobs of anyone I've ever seen. Nice dress, too. Fashion is a priviledge, not a right you know. Next to big black boob she-man sat a heavy set gay man who got my attention by drunkenly slurring a sentence to me about how "adorable and cute I was". The Hi/Lo isn't a gay bar or a straight bar. It's a little bit of both like so much in life. Happy to have someone flirting with me, I gave the gentleman a smoke and a light. Flattery, even from a heavyset gay man, goes a long way. Those of you who know how stingy I am with my smokes can appreciate this gesture.

As I drank my last beer, I sat and thought to myself. This is my life. At least tonight. And I couldn't help but chuckle. And I also couldn't help thinking I ought to dress a little sexier the next time I came to the Hi/Lo.

Saturday was uneventful. Got up, cooked breakfast, shot hoops, watched hockey, showered, napped, played poker, went to bed. These are the days of great men.

Sunday. Easter Sunday. My mother called me the Spawn of Satan even though I told her that that was actually my ex and not me and said I needed to go to church on Easter Sunday or I'd burn in hell, hell, hell. So even though it was today, do I remember much about the sermon? No. All I can remember is the 500 hundred year-old corpse behind me who I shall call Hymn Destroyer Jim. Don't know if his name was Jim. It doesn't matter.

HD Jim is high definition bad. Not only is he tone deaf, but he's a meritless proud singer. A meritless proud singer is one of those people who not only can't carry a tune in a remote way, but is so oblivious to it and has lived a life where people have been so afraid to tell them, that they've become unabashed. While God and DJ Jazzy JC were trying to fill me with something great, HD Jim was singing so loudly and badly that he was successful in sucking all the life force from my cute and adorable body. I left the church with no hope for that good feeling you're supposed to have when you finally go to church and you feel like a better person and that there is indeed hope and you'll meet someone and get married and have a family and finally get your mom off your back and not be alone and will die knowing that Heaven awaits. Ya know? Instead, I left the church feeling more evil than ever. There was this twenty something girl whose job it was to greet people randomly. I totally checked out her rack. At church. I'm so going to hell. And yeah, it was really nice.

Today, I arrived home to have my Easter feast of frozen Tombstone pizza and checked my e-mail to find this message from another future leader of America. As the Master of the Universe, Undergraduate Admissions Division, it is my job to screen potential candidates for admission to my little school. Here was the message that followed:

hey this is (name deleted), thank you for emailing me, my application has been sent. it was sent close to two weeks ago. thank you so much for your intrest in me, i know i well make a fantastic difference in your school. thank you so much.

A cool breeze I like to call peace blew across my temple at that moment. Clarity makes me so horny. In my weekend filled with an overwhelming sense of glum and despair, I'd forgotten one of my most important core values. I am better than so many people. Well, it's sort of a value. Four people made a huge difference in my life this weekend. Three--Dumb Dumb Overlaugher, HD Jim, and this retarded kid--let me know that while it could seem bad and a tad hopeless at times, that on my worst day I'm ten pantloads better off than these douches.

Oh, and the fourth person? Well, that's my drunk gay admirer from the Hi/Lo. He let me know that there are still people in this world who find me attractive. But he called me adorable and cute. Now I know that I must work on looking better so that next time he might call me hot. No one actually likes being called adorable and cute. I know I'm better than that. At least that's the idea.



Album of the Week: "The Essential Neil Diamond"

Artist: Neil Diamond

Song Highlights: Almost all of it








Song of the Day: "The Agony of Lafitte"

Artist: Spoon

Album: "A Series of Sneaks"

Lyric of Possible Relevance:

"Here's a mark, he's a mark on the page
Dishing out the wisdom of this reflexive age
Dotting the eyes with an eye for defining what you were."