What’s Up With That? Pato Shi

It’s time for round 4.

These are a few of my least favorite things!

Pajama Public Peoples – Seriously? Are you THAT lazy that you couldn’t take the extra 3 minutes out of your day to change into presentable clothing for the public?

And don’t give me any BS about, “I don’t care what people think. I’m an individual and do what I want!”

No, you’re not! You obviously care what people think because you want them to think you are your own person. You want people to think you don’t care, that you’re fighting the man, rebelling against the status quo of society.

Well, guess what? You did that, jackass! You’re just too cool for this planet with your plaid pajama pants and “Don’t Bother Me, I’m Grumpy” night shirt. Woo-hoo!

Organized Dancing – I get nervous when the Cha Cha Slide comes on, or when I hear the Cupid Shuffle, Electric Slide, or any dance that requires rhythmic/robotic moves.

I’m a free soul. I’m a maniac on the dance floor (after a couple of drinks). You can’t cage this beast once he wants to dance. I want to move like Jagger, not follow the same steps as everyone else. That’s not dancing; that’s following directions, and it’s for the weak individuals who would otherwise never dance.

Dancing is feeling the beat and just grooving. Dancing is not sliding to the left, then the right, then stomping three times and spinning around to do it again.

The next time you’re at a wedding or party, take a step back when one of these songs comes on and just watch. Watch the robots on the dance floor. It’s quite comical.

But don’t get me wrong; if you catch me at a wedding, I’ll be on the dance floor following directions OVER and OVER again, laughing with my friends as I think it’s a great song, adding my own variations as everyone laughs, only to have the song end, the next song come on and I head immediately to my seat…Or to the bar; whatever gets me away from actually dancing.

People that say “I Say What’s On My Mind” – No, you don’t. Drop the tough guy front and realize that if you are someone who says what’s on their mind, then you have no regard for other people’s feelings.

Speaking your mind does not garner you respect, nor does it make you a desirable person, rather it makes you an individual where people don’t want to act themselves around you because they are afraid of what you would say.

Granted those people are lacking the self-confidence to be comfortable with themselves; but that’s beside the point.

Congratulations on making people feel fake around you, only allowing yourself to think that you’re the coolest kid in town with your “I Don’t Give a Shit” attitude. We’re all applauding your efforts to be biggest jackass in the world; and it’s obvious you’re well on your way!

Contestants on Competition Reality Shows Who Tell the Audience they are Competing for a Dying Loved One – It’s been done, many times…PLEASE stop. We’ve all had loved ones die, we’ve had the support from our friends and family, we don’t need an entire country to mourn/support us and trick us into voting for you. THANKS!

Upside Down 8’s on Gas Station Prices’ Signs – The little circle on the eight goes up, the big circle is on the bottom. That’s why they make them that way, people.

Regards – RJ

Small Tales of Random Thought, Vol. IV

Ah, yes. The run-down pizza joint that caused each of us to spawn an evil twin after our first bite into the cheesy pie.

I remember it like it was 6 years, 4 months and 3 days ago.

“Welcome to Dante’s Pizzeria!” the host with the lazy eye said.

I could’ve sworn I just saw this same girl outside the pizzeria on her cell phone, swearing like a sailor, right before we came in!

The place seemed alright. It seemed easy on the eye and it made you feel comfortable. There was this glimmer about it that invited you in.

The smell of fresh dough, tomato sauce and garlic filled the air, just like Emeril’s kitchen I imagine. The scent makes you feel hungrier than you are.

Your eyes are as big as a pie when you walk in. 20” pizzas lined up in a row for your choosing. And the pickings aren’t slim.

There’s traditional fare such as pepperoni and cheese, but there’s also out-of-this-world flavors to choose from, flavors I couldn’t even pronounce.

“De Twino…It must be Italian,” I tell Ben.

The De Twino pizza looked like it was full of flavor; with the grease sitting right on top, waiting to ooze of your slice and down the sides of your mouth.

“Let’s get it!” Ben yells with excitement.

“Four slices of the De Twino, please,” we tell the chef.

We’re hungry and at this moment, it seems the only thing that will satiate us is a thick slice of the De Twino.

The chef pulls the slices out of the oven and they look appetizing. The cheese is bubbling up and the crust is a perfect golden-brown.

The host guides us to our seats and we choose a booth. Like all Americans, we prefer a booth. She asks if we need anything in the kindest of voices. We reply no, and she walks away.

As we go to take our first bite of what will probably be the best pizza money can buy, we are interrupted by the host, which seemed like no more than an instant.

“Hey assholes, do you need anything?” she asks.

“Uh, no. You just asked us and we said no,” Kate says with aggravation.

“Whatever! Go f*%# yourselves then!”

The lazy eye host walks away in the opposite direction she initially took.

“Is it just me or was she extremely rude?” Mel asks with skepticism.

There couldn’t have been more than 5 seconds in between this nice host asking us if we needed anything in her soft-spoken voice, to this rude lady cursing at us.

Something wasn’t right. Something felt strange about Dante’s Pizzeria. Nevertheless, we were hungry, and we had to eat to refuel before our backpacking excursion into the Ozark Mountains.

Ben takes the first bite and his reaction is priceless. His face lights up like a kid at Christmas. I follow suit, followed by Kate. The pizza is too good to be true. It’s divine. Heavenly. It’s magnificent.

All three of us devour our slices before Mel even has a chance to begin eating hers. She prefers to cut up her pieces, and stares at us like we’re pigs for doing the opposite.

“That was good, I’m going to have another!” Ben said with enthusiasm.

Ben got up from the table and proceeded to head to the pizza line.

We could see Ben from our booth seat at Dante’s. He was in our sights the entire time.

“I don’t feel so good,” Kate murmured.

“Me either, it feels like something’s growing inside of me, trying to escape!” I confer.

“Well, I’m not eating this pizza if it makes you guys feel this way,” Mel said.

Within an instant, before Kate could open her mouth with a reply, an exact replica…In the flesh, another human being with her exact features appeared out of nowhere next to her.

This twin grabbed the knife on the table and held it up to Kate’s throat, choking her until her face was blue.

A spawn of my own appeared next to me too, bumping Mel out of the booth. He quickly used his ruggedly handsome looks and swift fists and punched me in the face, knocking me out on the table.

“Oh my god, what’s happened?” Mel asks with a hint of fear. “RJ. Wake Up! Let go of Kate!”

The room is spinning for Mel. She’s scared.

RJ lay knocked out on the table; his evil twin wreaking havoc on the pizzeria. Kate has now passed out and her twin is gutting the other guests.

Blood’s now mixing with marinara sauce; no one can tell the difference.

BAM. The sound of gunshots ring through the air.

“Ben. Oh my god, Ben.”

To Be Continued

Regards – R.L. Bean

Tags: Ben, chef, dante's, Emeril, evil, eye, host, Kate, lazy, Mel, pizza, RJ, sailor, to be continued, twin

Through the Polaroid Lens at Age 25

Earth Space Science class, our freshman year in high school. It was in this class that I had the privilege of meeting my beautiful wife.

Emotions were racing through my mind that first year at Great Mills High School. I was a bad ass kid at Esperanza Middle School, and I felt I had to carry this image over to high school if I was going to “make it.”

I started the year with that mentality; but that quickly changed with each moment spent around Mel.

We started off exchanging pleasantries on a daily basis. She approached me the first day of school, without really knowing me, and introduced herself.

What kind of person does that? I had to know, so I carried the conversation on with her, which blossomed into this, both of us, year two in our marriage, year 10 in our relationship.

This picture was taken around our first few months together. We started dating in April 2002, which was right when baseball was in full swing (no pun intended). We already spent many months growing close in our Earth Space Science class, and we reached a point where we felt something for each other.

We couldn’t describe this feeling. I don’t think anyone could describe the feeling. If they try to put words to it, they would fail only to realize such words do not exist for feelings so strong and mature towards another being.

During baseball season, we grew a lot closer to each other as we were able to ride the bus together to each away game. It was tough because we wanted to focus on our upcoming games, but that seemed impossible as we were too busy getting lost in the thoughts behind our eyes; daydreaming of days to come.

We made it. It was finally time for Prom. We were in the third year of our relationship during this picture.

Three months in a relationship in high school seemed like a long time. Mel and I made it to three years!

We didn’t know why, nor did we discuss the reasons as to why. We just felt close to each other. We felt these vibes that I don’t think were ever discussed between our feelings.

We felt as though we could take on the world. We felt as though we were ready to start talking about life after high school. The conversation probably went something like this:

“Mel, are you going to go to college?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, then I guess I am too. I want to do what you want to do.”

I was terrified, having never discussed my future with anyone. It was always assumed in my head that I would graduate high school, and move on to find a job with my father or mother, the latter sounding like the more viable, less strenuous option.

College was not an option in my opinion. And the thought of doing it alone was certainly not in the cards.

But we pressed on.

Here we were. Fresh out of high school with majority of our friends moving off to college, joining the military, or some other ambitious adventure that deep down we yearned for.

We both waited too long to take the SAT and apply for universities in high school, so we were forced to begin our college career at the College of Southern Maryland. This saved our parents money and helped us (mainly me) determine if college was the right path for us.

In my first semester, I found out it wasn’t. I hated English. I hated everything about it. I hated it so much that I was one car ride away from joining the Air Force. I talked it over with Mel before telling my parents, and she understood. She was thinking about our future, while I was still trying to determine mine.

She had her thoughts together and knew what she wanted. She was going to be a teacher and she wanted to transfer to Towson.

I decided to stick out the whole college thing, and the rest of my semesters at CSM were a success.

Everything was going well, and it was in that moment, on a beautiful night in April, on our five-year anniversary, I asked for Mel’s hand in marriage. The night was magical.

We were both getting to a point where we wanted something more for ourselves and each other. We were jealous in the sense that everyone was leaving St. Mary’s, whereas we felt “stuck.”

In all honesty, it made me feel unsuccessful, like I deserved or was made for something more.

So we packed our things and moved to Cockeysville, MD, where we still reside. I will never forget the day we moved. We had all of our items packed. My dad and I went to pick up the Budget Rental truck and proceeded to load it up.

Everyone arrived at my parents’ house to set up the convoy. I led the way in my Ford Focus, and everyone followed.

It was the hottest day in August, but we all worked together and got it done. Mel’s family went back down the road and my parents grabbed a hotel to make sure we had everything we needed the next day.

They left us that morning and after tears, our life together, on our own, officially began. We finished unpacking all of our items and made our first meal at our new place, chicken teriyaki.

Towson was a breeze for me. I went through knowing what had to be done; graduate and get a job.

So I did. I graduated from Towson University on what was a happy day for my family and me, because I was the first in my family to go to college and graduate with a BS (I say Bachelor of Science, you can say Bull Shit ).

I graduated in early January, and Mel followed suit in May. We did it. We (expletive) did it.

And so the time came. In the traditional old-world thought, you graduate college and go to find a job. And that’s what I did. The day after my graduation ceremony, I was calling places and sending my resume out to whoever had an open eye and ear.

I landed my first full-time gig on April 1, 2010, and two years later, I’m still here at my first job out of college, one of the best jobs a fresh college puke could ask for.

Mel found her calling in August 2010 as she was hired for her first teaching job.

We were relived and excited to be making it in the world on our own. And to do it in Baltimore, a town where we felt on top of the world, where our privacy was never bothered and our love flourished, felt great.

Mel and I felt as though we were living the dream. And one of our greatest dreams was about to come true as September 18, 2010 was quickly approaching.

September 18, 2010. The greatest day in the history of days to be documented. There we were, up at the altar in front of people who loved and cared about us; proving to the world our love for each other.

It was a dream come true. And to think we were just two high-school freshmen with no idea what we wanted out of life, or each other. We found it in that moment. We knew then that this was truly our dream, one of our purposes of existence. It was evident that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together.

We knew what we wanted. We were both young, we were both attuned to our surroundings and we both assumed we wanted to stay in Baltimore.

We’ve made so many friends up here and forged relationships that will last a lifetime. We were both sure that this was it for us. Baltimore was the place to be.

Which brings us to this day, March 17, 2012. I’m now 25 years old, which in old-man terms is a quarter of a century. I’m older, yes, but wiser, I’m not so sure.

We’ve lived in Baltimore for five years now, two of which we’ve had full-time jobs, and one and a half of which we’ve been married. But where do we take it from here?

Our thoughts are to the future, as that’s how you have to live these days. If you get too caught up in the moment, you will lose yourself within your thoughts.

We both know what we want. Or at least we both think we know what we want. We’ve talked about it, talked about it, talked about it and talked about it.

Our minds, at this pivotal moment in our lives and future seem clear now. It’s like we both had an epiphany.

We’ve pushed away our friends and family for so long from St. Mary’s. We’ve battled with ourselves to tell each other we’re better off up here in Baltimore. We can make it on our own. We don’t need anyone but our own selves.

That’s the mentality that we’ve had. The code of conduct so to speak that we’ve structured our lives around.

We were harassed every trip to St. Mary’s County, “Are you moving back home? When are you coming back home? Are you moving? Are you? Are you? Are you?”

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

It’s enough to make a sane man want to flip the switch and go ape shit.

It pushed us away. The constant badgering, bickering, the back and forth pushing and pulling, the fighting for us to be somewhere where we were wanted, but didn’t feel it in our hearts.

Until now.

Until this day, when Melissa and I are planning our future. A baby. A home. Buying into our American Dream with what we want, and what we think is best for our future.

And when we run through the pros and cons of our current situation, when we asses our future, our plans to bring another being into the world, we’re tortured by the fact that it may not have the same family bond that we’ve had for so long.

We want our child to experience the joy of staying over at their cousin’s house, spending the day with their grandparents; just being around family that will love the hell out of them for what it’s worth.

We miss that, now. We miss that closeness to our friends and family. We need that in our lives.

We’ve pushed it off for so long, thinking we were the modern-day rebels by living in Baltimore.

To be honest, we thought we were better than everyone in St. Mary’s for that reason. We thought, “Hey, we got outta Dodge and now look at us, we’re making it on our own!”

And we’ve pushed our families into a situation where we’ve called them selfish. Where we told them they weren’t being fair. We had it in our heads that we know what’s best for us.

And we still think we do know what’s best for us. We know what we want, and we know how we are going to go about getting it.

But to put our people who are dearest to us in a situation where they have to swallow their pride and think to themselves, “Alright, I’ve tried; they’re just not moving back to St. Mary’s,” is preposterous.

Why they’ve continued to support us, I don’t know?

Actually, I do know. It’s because they love the hell out of us. And we don’t say it that often, but we love the hell out of them, too.

Which is why I’m comfortable to say, that at the age of 25, after spending the best years of my life with my best friend, my wife, for the last 10 years, it’s an easy decision for both us: We will probably, eventually move back to St. Mary’s County.

It’s what’s best for us. For our family. For our beautiful child that’s yet to be conceived or born (sorry if I mislead on that part). For our sanity. For our comfort. For our future. For our life together.

We’re out of the rebel phase, I think. We’re at a point where we’ve been together for this long, and we can tell in our eyes when we get lost in our emotions; it’s time for the next phase of our lives together.

It’s time to come home.

“Come On, Get Up, Romeo…Don’t You Know What the Time Is?” – Band of Skulls

Regards – RJ

Tags: 25, altar, baby, Baltimore, best friend, college, Esperanza Middle School, family, future, Great Mills High School, heart, lens, love, Mel, move, Polaroid, selfish, September 18, st. mary's, Towson, wedding, wife

So What? Who Cares?

There used to be many things in my life as a young man, growing boy, adolescent, whatever term you want to use to describe me during the different periods in my life, where I was ashamed to tell my friends if I liked something that they might use as arsenal to mount a bullying attack and make fun of me.

I was afraid of what one might think about me dabbling in something that may be considered “joke’s on you” worthy at the daily lunch room table.

But you know what, I just don’t care anymore. I have so many things in this world that I really enjoy and I don’t care who knows it.

This is me, spilling my heart and soul, to the guilty pleasures that have inhabited my life over the years, making me the ruggedly handsome manly man I am today.

First on my list of clean laundry: Hanson.

I can’t stand the song Mmm…Bop. And it’s because of that song that I’ve always felt embarrassed to say that, as of today, I actually enjoy Hanson’s new music!

Melissa got me hooked on their new stuff, and as I’m typing, I can’t stop singing Penny & Me. It’s a great song. They write their own music, play their own instruments and produce their own songs. What more could you ask for in a band?

I like Hanson.

There. I said it. So what? Who cares?

Second item on the list of guilty pleasures is filing my nails.

I don’t like my nails to be crooked and the edges rough like a rock. I like them to be smooth to the scratch, and a little glossy after buffering.

So what? Who cares?

I use women’s hand lotion. I’m a big fan of Magnolia Blossom from Bath & Body Works, and I’ve always loved Cucumber Melon. There’s something about the scents of a woman in hand lotion form. They leave my hands oh-so-soft and keep them moisturized throughout the day.

Here’s a quick shot of RJ Liquor to bury down the hatch for thought; I used to use women’s body wash, more specifically Cream Ribbons by Oil of Olay.

So what? Who cares?

I know almost every word to every Jonas Brothers song. I’ve even seem them in concert with my wife. Their newest CD was their best yet, but just like all boy bands, they had to come to an end.

So what? Who cares?

I don’t like touching door knobs or handles in public…AT ALL. I refuse to use my bare hands to open a door and often have Melissa do the favor. If I’m wearing a long sleeve shirt, I will pull my sleeves over my shirt and open the door that way.

But if I’m in a situation where I absolutely have to touch a door knob, I like to make my way to the nearest bathroom to wash the filth off of my hands after going through the life changing experience.

So what? Who cares?

I hate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches; with a passion. When I was in second grade, my mom would make me a sandwich every day for lunch. I would never eat them, and I often collected them until the end of the week and threw them away at school on a Friday.

One day, a substitute teacher caught me in the act and scolded me for not eating my lunch. I started freaking out and crying, I mean balling! I had to go to the nurse and my grandparents came to pick me up early.

I never had to carry a peanut butter sandwich again.

So what? Who cares?

Speaking of food; I have a hard time getting over my gag-reflexes when it comes to eating food at a pot-luck style party. I have developed this crazy idea in my head that the food has picked up transportation germs as it has travelled from one house to the next.

Plus I’m very picky. So that doesn’t help the Transportation Germ Contagion.

During the holidays, my mom will make food at her house and take it down to my grandmother’s house (no more than .25 miles away). I will not eat that food, even though I enjoy my mom’s cooking.

Call me weird, but so what? Who cares?

I used to wear athletic tracksuits back in elementary school. My favorite one was my Notre Dame Fighting Irish ensemble, even though I had no inkling as to who Notre Dame was, and why the Irish liked fighting.

So what? Who cares?

I used to make my G.I. Joe’s with the kung-fu grip stand watch as bodyguards for my sister’s Barbie’s. It was a tough task, but Ace had to pull through for his plastic ladies.

So what? Who cares?

I was playing with a cigarette lighter in my grandmother’s car when I was a young boy and burnt a hole in her seat (sorry grandmother). To this day, unless she’s reading this post, I’m not sure if she knows or even remembers.

So what? Who cares?

I really enjoy watching Vampire Diaries on The CW. It’s a show full of soft-core vampire sex, blood, werewolves, hybrids and other out-of-this-world shenanigans. It’s almost like True Blood, except you save your eyes the pain of having to see Sooki naked and follow a story that leads you nowhere.

So what? Who cares?

I’m no longer bothered by these things that I have otherwise let bottle up inside of me and spew out like brain matter through a tiny hole in your skull. I just told the world my inner-most secrets that I’ve kept hidden away from many.

Now it’s your turn. Air out some guilty pleasures or past feelings below and we’ll see who’s worse.

“I’m not afraid anymore. Did you hear me? I’m not afraid!” – Kevin McCallister, Home Alone

Regards – RJ

Tags: Bath & Body Works, embrassed, germs, GI Joe, grandmother, Hanson, Jonas Brothers, lighter, lotion, nail file, Notre Dame, PB & J, school, SNL, transportation germs

Small Tales of Random Thought, Vol. III

“We gotta get out of this place,” I yelled. The stench from the blood was too much to take.

We were expecting a state-of-the-art facility where one could access quick and easy transportation to local hotspots, but we were in for a rude awakening that fall evening.

We parked our car and headed to what we thought was the entrance. The outside of this “new” facility didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel new like the brochure suggested.

There was a light flickering by the only door we could see; almost to the effect of a strobe light. It was entrancing, a psychedelic feeling as if we lost all control of our senses.

It seemed like time stood still as we slowly crept toward the door. Were our feet moving at a normal walking pace? One can’t recall.

But it was evident something was happening. It was clear to all of us that, on this day, at this moment, something different was in the cool, autumn air.

Melissa reached for the door. Before she could get it halfway open, a man (or what appeared to be a man) entered the doorway. Something was different about this being. He was rather deathly looking, with his white face and veins that you could see bulging from his neck.

He didn’t seem kind. He didn’t seem like the kind of person you would find at a brand new Park N’ Ride facility. But despite his not-so-easy-on-the-eyes look, we felt attracted to him. We felt as though he was the most handsome man we’d ever seen.

His coal-black hair was slicked back to perfection. Two teeth were protruding over his bottom lip. He smelled of Brute Faberge, a scent that stung our noses as we caught a whiff when he opened the door.

“Enter…Enter if you dare, feeble humans,” a dark, deep voice twisted our brains.

“Let’s go, guys!” Kate said.

We were all oozing with excitement, but we didn’t know why. We all looked at each other, then looked at the sketchy entrance to what we thought was the Park N’ Ride; looked at each other again, and decided to enter the decrepit building.

“Yes…Yes…Right this way, my four-course meal.”

Unknowing to what awaited, we made our way inside. We felt as though we had to. It was like falling in love all over again. We couldn’t help our actions, but knew they were for a greater means to an end.

We navigated down a long, dark hallway. There were no lights for at least 200 yards.

“I’m Vladimir, and it’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance,” the coal-black slicked-hair man said. “I’m the owner of this place, and you guys are right on time.”

In the distance, we could hear the thump of bass, pounding our ear drums and making our brains rattle. The sound of acid-infused techno music was blaring from the end of the hallway. Finally, there was light.

“Please, step inside,” Vladimir said.

We followed him into what seemed like a dungeon. There was a foul odor of rotting flesh and blood; blood of all types. Animal, human, you name it. The stench was too overwhelming for Ben’s stomach. He blew chunks all over the floor.

We couldn’t take the smell; the smell of that smell. It entered our noses and had an eerily similar scent of a million rotting corpses piled on top of old diapers, mixed with a fresh batch of dead skunks and methane gas.

We all started blowing chunks. Dry-heaving because our stomachs were empty; we hadn’t yet had dinner.

By the time we finished vomiting, it was clear that this wasn’t the Park N’ Ride. This was something else. Every person in the building was either covered in blood with wounds on their necks, or with blood covering their faces.

That’s when it hit us. We were dealing with the Vampires of White Marsh.

“We gotta get out of this place,” I yelled as I coughed up blood after dry-heaving from a few minutes before.

I could see the blood spew out of my mouth in slow-motion, taking its time as it made its way to the dusty floor.

It was on.

The Vampires of White Marsh sprung from their seats and circled around us like vultures. They all looked the same and they all wanted one thing. Our blood.

“RJ, we gotta get out of this place,” Mel screamed with fear. “I’m scared, husband.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll get us out of here!”

Or so I thought. But how were we to escape the clutches of 20 or so Vampires of White Marsh? It seemed impossible and highly unlikely. The odds were not in our favor.

The Vampires of White Marsh inched closer and closer with their coal-black hair, slicked back like a Yuppie. Brute Faberge filled the air like a Bob Seger concert. They were all tatted with crosses on their spines and we could see their fangs. They were salivating like dogs. They had an insatiable appetite for our blood, and nothing was standing in their way.

WHOOSH!

Suddenly, the floor beneath us dropped. And before we could blink our eyes or have time to comprehend what just happened, our booth on the train started moving.

“Thank you for visiting the White Marsh Park N’ Ride. We hope you enjoyed our newest attraction here, VAMPIRES OF WHITE MARSH 4-D. Please buckle up and enjoy your ride.”

We were terrified, we were covered in puke, and we were brothers.

Regards – R.L. Bean

Tags: Ben, blood, Kate, Mel, Park N' Ride, RJ, smell, stench, vampires, White Marsh

And All Was Quiet in Baltimore

Monday, January 23, 2012. It’s a foggy morning in January, the kind where visibility is low and the mist from the low-lying clouds dots your windshield.

It’s a quiet Monday morning; a Monday after the Baltimore Ravens lost in the final seconds of the game to the New England Patriots.

To some, it’s a sad day. To others, it’s a day to rejoice. A day to reflect on all of the things you dislike about the Ravens, ball it up into quick one liner jokes and poke fun at a team you despise.

Many will call this jealousy. Many will call this being a poor sport. I, on the other hand, call it serving justice.

SO MANY people on Facebook and Twitter couldn’t accept the fact that their beloved Ravens didn’t win the game. The blame game immediately initiated and the finger-pointing began as soon as the clock said 0:00.

The blame game soon turned to blaming all other NFL team’s fans for the Ravens loss. Suddenly, the hate and anger from the loss was directed to any and every person who made fun of the Ravens losing a big game, on a big stage, in front of millions of viewers. This, my friends, is what many would call, an EPIC FAIL.

Many used the same old, worn out comment such as, “Whatever…I don’t remember seeing your team in the playoffs,” or “Shut up…Your team just sucks and you wish you could’ve made it to the AFC Championship,” and lastly, “We beat Pittsburgh twice this season, so shut up Pittsburgh fans.”

And all I can say is this, and I quote, in bold, all caps, to make a sarcastic, smart-ass point: IT DOESN’T MATTER. It doesn’t matter that my team didn’t make it to the playoffs. It simply doesn’t matter that my team finished 5-11. And it definitely doesn’t matter that your team may have beaten their biggest rival twice in the regular season.

Here’s what matters, in sequential order:

1. The Ravens disappointed their city and entire fan base with their loss in the AFC Championship.
2. The two times you beat the Pittsburgh Steelers in the regular season mean absolutely, positively nothing! NOTHING!
3. The Ravens did not live up to the expectations many experts discussed at the start of the season.
4. The better team prevailed in the AFC Championship game.

Here’s my rebuttal to any negative comment you may be brewing in your head to formulate this terrible opinion about me that is otherwise untrue; unless you truly mean it, then I guess you’re probably right, so we can end the argument and move on.

But for those who want to continue reading and hear my opinion (the truth), turn your ears this way and glue your eyes to these next few paragraphs.

Rebuttal of Comment #1

You can’t be “proud” of your team if they finished below your expectations. Point blank. End of story. You can be happy they made it that far, but they ultimately failed; and because of that, it’s heartbreaking. And I know all about heartbreak, I’ve been a [Insert Color Here]skins fan for all of my life. But my expectations for my favorite team were set extremely low, which didn’t allow this season to disappoint. It was the complete opposite for Ravens Nation.

Rebuttal to Comment #2

Granted the two wins against Pittsburgh helped your chances of making the playoffs; to use this line directed at Steelers fans after losing the AFC Championship game is ludicrous. Yeah, the Ravens beat them, but you know what? Just like Steelers fans, Ravens fans will be on the couch (along with the fans of 30 other NFL teams) on Super Bowl Sunday, dreaming of next season. Ergo, those wins mean nothing!

Rebuttal to Comment #3

Ravens + Expectations = Super Bowl. If we follow the fundamental laws of common algebra, we can see that when we carry the Ravens over to the Super Bowl, adding the two, we are left with the Expectation that the Ravens will be in the Super Bowl. However, in order for this equation to compute, each factor needs to be isolated individually as its own variable, and held responsible for its value.

• Ravens Value – Really good team; can they win when it matters most?
• Expectations Value – High
• Super Bowl Value – AFC Champion vs. NFC Champion

The Super Bowl holds its value. The expectations remained high for the Ravens. And the question was answered: The Ravens cannot win when it matters most. Therefore, this equation cannot hold up and the Ravens did not live up to their expectations.

Rebuttal to Comment #4

You can blame the loss on Lee Evans. You can blame the loss on Billy Cundiff. But for some reason, no one is looking at it from the other perspective (maybe they are, but I don’t have time to read sports news all day). The New England Patriots had the better team. Better coaching; a much better QB that underperformed; and an alright defense. Of course the Patriots aren’t a “lights out” defense like the Ravens, but they’re hard-nosed, scrappy players. This was proven when Moore stripped Evans of the touchdown that should’ve been…He wanted it more. The better team wanted it more. And the better team won!

So, Ravens fans, I invite you to join all other 30 NFL teams that didn’t make it to the Super Bowl and reminisce, laugh, cry; whatever you need to do to realize the dream for this season is over…And as every [Insert Color Here]skins fan says, “We’ll get ‘em next year!”

Regards – RJ   

Tags: AFC, Baltimore, baltimore ravens, football, loss, low lying clouds, New England, new england patriots, NFL, one liner jokes, Patriots, pittsburgh fans, pittsburgh steelers, Ravens, Super Bowl

What’s Up With That? Pato San

It’s time for round 3.

These are a few of my least favorite things!

New Year’s Resolutions – Let’s be real for a second…New Year’s resolutions should be renamed to, “Things I Plan to Fail at in the New Year!” I get it. Trust me, I do. I understand the idea of “New Year, new you.” It’s a great concept! But unfortunately, it fails to mention a couple of hidden dangers.

In order for this “new you” to happen, there has to be a lifestyle change. And when you follow the crowd and try this lifestyle change by hitting the gym more often or eating healthier, along with the millions of other people, you’re setting yourself up for failure.

Why do that to yourself? Here’s a suggestion: DON’T make any resolutions for the New Year! If you do, enjoy feeling sorry for yourself with a tub of Chunky Monkey on the sofa every night during the third week in January, when your resolution has failed and you’re self-loathing.

Again, resolutions are a great concept; just don’t make them at New Year’s! The stigma around it is over-hyped and over-played, which is why we feel like we get right back in the rut of our everyday existence as soon as we fail at it.

Just don’t do it. Wait until February or March. Take it one day at a time; one change at a time and you will find much more rewarding results. Trust me; I used to watch Doogie Howser, M.D., so that makes me qualified to make that statement.

Don’t Blame Me, I Voted for “Insert Politician Here” Stickers – Nothing says, “I blame my problems on everyone else” like one of these stickers. It’s basically saying that you don’t accept any responsibility for what’s happening in your life, everyone else is to blame, and when push comes to shove, you’re throwing them under the bus!

This is the same person that will jump back on the bandwagon as soon as things are going great. They’ll complain when they don’t get their way, regardless of who’s at fault, and cheer when they do get their way. They are selfish individuals with no regard to their own stupidity, which is obvious, because they tell the world unknowingly with their bumper sticker.

They’ll be the first to tell you they love this country, usually using this statement as a precursor or some disclaimer to air out a laundry list of all the things they hate.

I have an idea; tell it to someone who actually voted for the same guy you did, so you can get together and bash a country that’s given you so much, and complain when you get so little. But to organize a meeting would mean you would need some logistical sense, which you are probably lacking due to the fact you voted for the person no one else did.

But, hey…It’s not your fault, right?

Transformers Movie Franchise – I know everyone has picked up some chatter through the wire regarding the FBI changing the definition of rape. If you haven’t, let me fill you in. At first, it didn’t include the physical act of rape against males, so they added that action. And after further thought, the FBI decided to spare all of humanity who enjoy bad-ass action flicks and also added ANY viewing of the Transformers movies after the first movie in the franchise.

Many were shocked at the addition to the definition. But after the hoopla settled down, all agreed. We were all hooked on the first Transformers movie. It was big explosions, a pretty lady, transforming robots, and things of that nature. To see a childhood cartoon on the big screen blew our minds!

The first movie was awesome. The second movie pulled down our pants. And the third movie pretty much pulled a Jerry Sandusky on us all. Not cool, Michael Bay…Not cool at all!

90s Music – Seriously? The best thing to come out of the 90s was All-star by Smash Mouth? Seriously? The Macarena?

The list of terrible music from these years goes on and on. But what’s crazy about this list is I know every song from this era of music since I grew up with it. It was the music of my generation; a musical generation that was so undefined it made the 80s music sound like the second coming of The Beatles, only to go through their heightened popularity again and relive the break-up, better known as 90s music.

There was no identity to 90s music. It was just…Blah. It was music that when heard, made men and women across the nation consider suicide as a way out of this place. I’m pretty sure there were several deaths related to the listening of Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It by Will Smith. No need to check sources on this one, just trust me. And if you believe that, you’ll also know that The Sign by Ace of Base was used for interrogation and torture purposes during the Gulf War.

Granted there were some gems that came out of the mid 90s to early Millennium, but most of it in my opinion was Garbage, just like the band. You can’t tell me there was any legitimacy to Aerosmith’s sell-out song for the movie Armageddon, Creed being serious about music, Enya having a top-selling album, that you actually enjoyed Barbie Girl because of its “new sound” (not because of the name), or that “Pissing the night away” was a fun thing to sing?

And please don’t belabor me with the Backstreet Boys, N’SYNC, and other bands about how they paved the way for today’s music, because today’s music (for the most part) sounds like a horde of goats being slaughtered by pack of rabid sheep screaming for their lives after a night of ecstasy and vuvuzela blowing.

Redneck Woman by Gretchen Wilson – Nothing says you’re proud to live a frowned upon lifestyle (in my opinion), like this song. It’s an anthem for a small, proud group of people to tell the upper low, middle and high-classes; “Damn right, I’m proud to be a redneck!”

Are you really? Do you like being considered a poor and uneducated individual? Does it make you mad that by accepting this stereotype, you’re doing nothing for yourself but having babies with your family, killing deer for fun, driving a gigantic truck because you live on a road that isn’t paved? Cow tipping? Wearing flannel shirts? John Deere tractors? Dipping Copenhagen? Praising Shooter Jennings, Alabama and the horse they all rode in on?

The list of stereotypes goes on and on!

This song by Gretchen Wilson is just terrible. So terrible that I had it banned from the playlist at the Wedding of the Century. It aspires to do nothing for a group of people that aren’t inspired to do anything. It was a quick and cheap way for Gretchen Wilson to tap into a market that’s proud of their selves and have a hit (if you want to call it that). It basically took every single stereotype that exists for rednecks and ran it through the country music wormhole to make a hit; and we all know that if Honkey Tonk Ba-Dunk-a-Dunk (also banned at the wedding) can become a hit song, ANYTHING is possible!

And the rednecks love it!

Regards – RJ

Tags: 90s, 90s music, Ace of Base, Aerosmith, Alabama, All-star, Barbie Girl, bumper sticker, country music, Creed, Enya, Gretchen Wilson, Jerry Sandusky, jiggy, Macarena, New Year's, politicians, proud, redneck, resolutions, Shooter Jennings, Smashmouth, Transformers, Will Smith